Belgian type porn

Not that I am a fan of grey and rain on any given day (I get my fill from living in London), but visiting Brussels and Antwerp on a rainy November weekend with Mr Handsome had its fair share of visual treats. Namely typography. Lots and lots of sexy retro typography. Who would have thunk that chip/frituur shops could look that classy?

You can travel around these bite-size cities easily on a bike (Antwerp has city-run bike schemes similar to Boris's Barcleys Bikes), I would ask the hotel to stay at to rent one out for you, much cheaper than going through a private bike company. Unless it rains. Then you dash into a coffeeshop and order a hot chocolate which you make yourself (yes, they give you blocks of Belgian chocolate and a steaming cup of milk and off you go!). Albeit the weather wasn't the best, but the buildings are old and lovely (and skew), Belgian beer is sublime, the streets are cobbled and echo, and if you are lucky, you can wander into the main square with a lone flutist playing up from one of the windows to passersby. Just for the hell of it.

Back to Motherland

A few weeks back I was lucky enough to see my mom after 10 months since the grand move to London. We met up in Katowice, and where I saw some rad typography (especially like the flag allusion on the blinds).

I ate some things I shouldn't have (they're called rurki, wafers stuffed with cream)

I saw the usual decrepit, soot-covered buildings that I see every time I go back to where I was born.

We went to a puppet show, where we were the oldest parent-daughter combo there.

 I nom-nomed on my bestest, fresh blueberries every day.

We also went to Górki Wielkie, where my mom reunited with old family friends she hadn't seen for 30 years. That balcony is their view of the mountains, enclosed with sweet grape vines.

 I came across some eye-brow-raising memorabilia and caved taverns in the mountains.

 In Poland I realised all you need is beer and God (and fruit juice).

And that you get soup in loaves of bread.

I walked in forests whose trees were getting ready for winter, reveled in the beauty that is Polish folk art, and ate mushrooms picked from behind our house. 

Back in Katowice, I also sifted through some old family photographs. Found some old ones of my sister and me, and my mom and dad looking uber-trendy with their shades. What a treat.

London in black and white

There's really something about film that captures the spirit of a second that in my mind that digital can't. It's that spirit of waiting to see what you tried to capture a while ago, it's about not getting what you want immediately.. It's about putting thought into the creative process, and looking forward to the end result. It's a good tool to teach patience and curiosity.

The Great Dorset Steam Fair

Oh my satchel, England has some interesting festivals. This one in Dorset is dedicated to the glory of coal, steam, horse power and diesel. Wandering around you come across rows of beautifully maintained steam engines, some big, some small, the largest collection of musical organs, can-can girls, vintage cars, stalls to test your strength, merry-go-rounds, women on tractors, lots of cider and lots of steam. Steam that takes me back to some distant collective memory I can't quite recall, a living part of history, right there and working hard and honestly in front of me. People come in their hundreds of thousands to this festival, in their comfie camper vans with their family pets, Mr Handsome and I met some folks that knew how combine harvesters work and what time the sun sets, who make things with their hands still, and smile when they greet you, we drank cider with them made onsite, pressed by a harnessed donkey close by. I can't recall the name of the cider, and forgot to take a picture of the donkey, but I can recall that who we met along the way were salt of the earth, who bring their own metallic cups to festivals, drink without their shirts on, don't care that pink hot pants don't go with hiking boots, and understand and treasure the beauty and simplicity of way back when.

Under a blue sky for a change

As you might have gathered from previous adventure posts, I like getting out of London. A great one-or-so hour train ride out of the capital reveals Brighton, voted UK's.coolest city I overheard somewhere. Calm and collected I would add, less feverish and friendlier. So I'll overlook the fact that the beach is pebbled. And that Brits tend to suntan in the oddest places (and no those aren't my pedicured talons being tanned in one of the shots). There's a pier there that was built in 1899 (well rebuilt after the original 1823 one had been destroyed by a storm), you could tell from the great ironwork and the vintage rides. They left another pier that was burnt way back when, it stands burnt, black and beautiful in the ocean distance. Quiet vistas and parallel lines, beautiful wide promenades with couples just sitting together, perfect for cycling.  I would highly suggest hiring a bicycle to see more of the area (I brought mine down from London), I visited Hove, a 10 minute cycle or 30 minute walk from the pier, and 20 minutes east was Rottingdean, where I stumbled across a windmill (que?) and an oh-so civilised game of croquet in Rudyard Kipling's garden. I like Avery Sawyer take on the ocean, as "a giant reset button. You could go to the edge of the land and see infinity and feel renewed.” Sigh, and with that I had to head back to London.