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.

One love, one heart, one destiny

Europe. Part of my ♥. Thanks for the memories.

“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
call to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”
― Mary Oliver

The hills are alive...

Oh my satchel. Austria is the business. Look at that lake. Look at that goddamn blue lake. Walked around the circumference of it, and every 10 minutes the blue was a different hue. I have never. Albiet there was the occasional wrinkly, lone nudist. But I didn't care. My heart was so happy walking there. No wonder Mary Poppins burst into song in that one movie while she was there.

Monet's water lillies and watering hole

Here's a suggestion to potential future marriage-proposing men: This Giverny garden home of Monet's is possibly one of the most romantic places I have ever seen. Maintained just as the artist himself preferred, it's hard not to feel romantic in this green-thumbed haven. Close by was his favourite bar, where I just had to sample some cider, one of Normandy's specialities. What a treat both experiences were. Flowers and cider, could a girl be happier?