FRANCE : LIFE WITH BIRD

 

 Life with Bird tank, Life with Bird pants, ASOS heels, RayBan shades

When travelling, especially through the summer months, I'm definitely very particular when it comes to packing. I always find myself drawn to great basics, matching coordinates and beautiful fabrics.

This outfit, photographed on the streets of France is the work of Melbourne designer, Life With Bird.

This gorgeous digital print tank and matching pants work as perfectly worn together aka jumpsuit style as they do separately, worked back with the rest of my travel wardrobe.

When it comes to my travel wardrobe - its all about versatility.

You can follow my summer adventure around the world on instagram @friendinfashion, twitter and facebook.

Photos / Tim Florea 

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French Riviera

The Côte d'Azur has absolutely stolen my heart!

The other day I hopped on a scooter and made the beautiful journey from Nice to Monaco, and today again from Nice to the beyond beautiful Cannes.

If you've been following my travels on twitter, you'll know that my days consist of sampling delicious Provençal fare, exploring the beautiful coast-line and ending each day with a dip in the crystal blue Mediterranean - paradise.

I'm wearing:
Dress: Zara
Sunglasses: Armani
Ring: Flea market, Seville

X

Good, Old-Fashioned Tits and Ass

I haven't done one of these travel posts on my blog for awhile. Mainly because I forgot all about it and they do take a looong time to post (think it takes you long to read them?) . Then I remembered that Ross and I still had a few days in Paris after New Years Eve, days spent riding the metro, exploring, adventuring and spending the last of our Euros.


But keep reading, I promise I will get to the part about the succulent bare boobies and jiggle-free bums that paraded in front of my eyes.

(no, that's not it)

Those days were sort of uneventful, just pleasant milling about the city, taking in the sights and sounds and permitting ourselves to do not much of anything. We did a bit of shopping, looking at the holiday displays at the Bon Marche.


And strolled down the crowded streets of the Latin Quarter(it's New Years Day, shouldn't you people be sleeping off your hangovers? Crazy French).


We wound our way to the Notre Dame, where I had fond memories of being harrassed by a Tunisian man years before.



Where I indulged in hot mulled wine (mmm, public drunkeness makes you feel so warm).


We also went by the Hotel De Ville to watch people fall on their tres petite arses in the skating rink.


And walked along the Seine, attempting to be romantic and coupley.




Afterwards I found a bar dedicated to me.


And a metro stop.


The next day, we walked to the Eiffel Tower...



We were way too lazy to actually stand in line with all the crazy people, as you can see, so we just shot video and took pictures. Once again, second time in Paris and I still haven't been up the damn thing.




Then we went to a nearby cafe where we sat and drank for hours, taking a mirade of quality (read: trying to be artsy) photos, all while we killed time.




Killed time for what, you might say?


It was our 11-month anniversary and we splurged on a night at the Moulin Rouge.


The Moulin Rouge needs no explanation, but I will attempt to anyway. This cabaret "Red Windmill" is as dynamic as the seedy neighbourhood of Pigalle that it's located in.


Because it is so famous, there is a huge lineup, despite your required reservations.



And what really sucked was that you weren't allowed photos inside. Boo-urns! But they did have a professional photographer go around and we gladly forked over dough for our memento of the evening.


Being at the Moulin Rouge is a unique experience. You are seated next to people you don't know, in our case it was two old ladies. Well, one old and one REALLY old. From what I got from it they were niece and aunt and from Tel Aviv, but born in Russia and living in Paris. Or something. Whatever, the old woman had been living in Paris for 80 years. I think it was her 94 birthday or something crazy.

And to celebrate, she took her niece to see bare breasts.

It's true, the entire show the ladies proudly dance around and sing with their mammaries flying about the place. Luckily, most were petitely endowed so there wasn't too many thoughts of udders, though one voluptous blonde definitelty had some clout over the others. I was mesmerized watching hers bounce about, as was Ross...and probably every other man there.

But it wasn't just breasts! And bums! It was ponies and pirates and everything else I love.

And one insane, naked woman who got into a tank filled with live pythons and tried to swim with them. "Tried to swim," meaning that the snakes kept trying to swim away and she would literally pull on them and wrap the poor things around her body. Classic!

Here is a short video of the Ferie show that we saw:

Click Here (Opens a new window)

I should also mention that boobies aside, the food was superb. Pricey, yes - my "middle" meal was 97Euros, Ross's was...more - but so worth it. Was especially nice to have a bucket of champagne at your table and your own waiter who sneaks you glasses of Kir Royale for free. Plus there is something so decadent about ordering a three-course menu at the Moulin Rouge. You don't do that every day.

So that was the rest of our days in Paris, before the loooooong haul home with a looooong stop in New York.


And then finally our motel in Seattle, where we would stay before our drive back to Vancouver the next day.



Whew! That's all she wrote!

*****

Ok I lied. That's all I'm gonna write about my France/Scotland trip...at least on this blog.

In other news, it snowed today. Just when you think winter is gone, it pulls you back in!

Actually it was wacky pseudo snow. It was warm(ish) and sunny...and yet little white flakes were falling down from who knows where. It didn't settle or set on the ground, just made everyone look like they have dandruff.

What else? I've delved into more culinary artistry and just made myself butter chicken. It's so freakin' spicey I may just have to have another glass of chardonnay. I'm so glad I have these pre-chilled, emergency wine bottles at hand.

But hell, I deserve it.

Do you know what I had to do yesterday? Go back to freaking bootcamp! You would have though that they would have known my whole body was stiff and in pain and that I wouldn't have to go.

But I did. And this time, I had a different instructor.

This one likes to yell at you.

A lot.

"PULL THOSE KNEES UP HIGHER! YOU, YES YOU, THE FLABBY BLONDE ONE! WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS, A WALK IN THE PARK?! WORK IT HARDER! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!"

At one point I had to do push-ups only my poor, painful pecs couldn't handle it, not even the girly way.

Yet, she (Psycho Nazi Bitch) still had to come over to me, point out that I wasn't doing it correctly (ie, not going down all the way) and then proceeded to push me into the ground until I ate sweaty gym mat.

I'm not even going to get into what happened when I was handed a jump rope and was told to skip. When I was little I was never invited to jump rope...I was always the one twirling the damn things. This is why:

If I didn't trip over my own feet, get my legs tangled up in the cord or wasn't hitting myself in the face with the thing, I was hitting other people in the face with the rope as they tried (in vain) to sneak past me. None of this was on purpose though, I am seriously that uncoardinated. Although I did try a little bit when Miss Fit passed within reach.

I wonder how I will manage to embarass myself further and whip others with my inane clutzyness tomorrow?

New Year's Eve in Paris, Yeah Baby!

Ah yes...time for the long-awaited (and just plain looong), highly-anticipated New Years Eve in Paris Post. It took ages to get to it but it is finally here! All rejoice in the land!

Though I must warn you...it's actually not that exciting (and definitely isn't at all like the picture to the left). Although I like to pretend it was.

Yes, there was a moment when I thought I was going to die and yes it was a proud moment when I found my way through unfamiliar, dark Paris streets. But...honestly? We didn't really do much. I mean, really. That said, I did take a crapload of pictures as per the usual, have lots of stupid videos to share and it was the best New Years I have ever had.

Keep in mind, though, that I hate New Years and all of mine usually suck...a lot (unless I'm in any other place than Vancouver, so it seems).

I decided to skip over my last day's in Scotland because it was more sad than exciting. I did manage to cram one more castle into my trip:

Sterling Castle

But sadly it was from our moving car as it zipped towards the airport. Boo.

Anyway, it truly was hard to leave. I spent 6 days in Scotland and it was starting to feel like home....in a really good way.

We had a late flight going into Lyon (we were to catch the TGV to Paris the next day) and upon landing Ross had the unwanted task of trying to explain (in French) to the taxi driver where his sister's flat was. Thing is, even though we had the address written down and we showed him, he had no clue. And we couldn't have told him where the nearest cross street was or nearest attraction. I kept mentioning the Wallace Pub but it was met with a blank stare. The taxi driver obviously wasn't a fan of Scotch.

Ross did an excellent job though, and despite for a moment thinking the driver was going to stiff us on route, take our money and deposit our bodies in the Soane, we ended up in front of Cat's flat and settled in for a very long sleep.

The next morning was, of course, December 31st. We decided to pop into the Wallace to hand over Cat's keys to the owner (they are a trusting bunch) and, well, it just seemed like a place we had to say goodbye to. Too many beers were had here, too many times my skirt was tucked into my thong (OK, once...but that's enough!)


The TGV was nicer going back to Paris then coming here as we didnt have to sit across from anyone. And of course we weren't so tired that we couldn't enjoy the landscape that whizzed by at 50 million miles an hour. The only minor thing was the fact that Ross forgot a duffel bag which housed his jeans, my (old) boots and Xmas presents. I only mention the fact that he forgot it because, for once, something didn't go wrong on the account of me. And I don't think it will ever happen again.


We arrived at the Gare de Lyon and I immediately switched into Metro Mode. I think I impressed Ross with my internal GPS which I accrued at a mere glance of the metro map. What was also impressive was our Parisienne welcome...classical buskers were hammering it out in the hallways.


In no time we arrived at our hotel. It was a piece of cake finding it since I had stayed there for a week the year before. The eccentric owner was the same, as was the neighbourhood cafes and shops. It felt familiar and nice to be back and it was great to be able to share my previous discoveries with Ross. It was even nicer to be able to eat in the local cafes with someone and not be alone as solo travelers usually are. And even nicer yet was getting Ross to order so I didn't have to embarass myself by ordering another "cup" of wine.

Of course, after we unpacked and had a nap, it came time for the crucial question.

It was New Years Eve. In Paris. We had no plans. What the hell were we going to do?

As it happened though, the room we were in this time was up 5 floors (no elevator, wheeeze) and not as soundproof as the one I had on my last visit. By that, I mean I could hear everything that was going on in the next room over and across the hall. That meant taps running, people peeing, doors creeking, beds squeaking...and every word of conversation.

Turns out the two rooms were taken over by some family of sorts from the states. With their loud Southern accents I could hear everything...and since one of the girls had actually been living in Paris for awhile, I could hear all of her advice for the evening.

Whatever she said was true. There was no point going to a bar or a restaurant because they were already booked or closed for private parties. When someone asked if it was best to go to the Eiffel Tower for the celebrations, she said the Champs Elysees was a better bet since the fireworks weren't going off at the tower this year.

So Ross and I eagerly took in this advice (not going out to eat meant saving money and we were bone dry after Britain) and got ready and for a night out on the town of all towns. I had bought this amazing dress off of the UK Ebay especially for the occassion: a Jane Norman satin strapless dress at 50% off. I was a bit concerned though since I had gained a few pounds since I bought it and the dress had already fit me like a glove. But I think I made it work....tried to anyway.


Only it started to piss outside with rain. And my camera ran out of batteries and I ran out of champagne. Being brave souls we decided to venture out into the streets to find a store that might be open...sans umbrella.

It didn't look good....

...but we braved it anyway.

Ten minutes later, with our mission accomplished, we were drowned rats and with New Years just a few hours away, all I could think about was how miserable I was going to be standing in the rain all night.

So he cracked open the champagne...


...and I cracked open the mini red martinis.

And we toasted each other while waiting to dry off...


...and tucked into our New Years Eve dinner that consisted of potato salad, Pringles, diet muffins, brie and bread. We pretended it was gourmet.(Warning: the following video of our hotel room is fairly boring).



Then as 11PM approached, I made some last minute finishing touches...


...which were a bit all over the place due to the quickly drunken champagne...and as you can see...I am also a bit all over the place. And no, I don't really dance like this..I swear.(Warning: the following video of me getting ready makes me look incredibly silly)



With booze tucked away in our clothing we headed out into the streets...and guess what? The rain had stopped. We made our way through the balmy, damp streets and down to the metro to wait with all the other drunken revelers.


To our surprise it wasn't as crowded as we thought it would be. That is till we got on the train. Champagne central!


When the metro stopped at Champs Elysee, well, that's when the chaos began...

It was mobbed. And I mean MOBBED. Several metro lines with hundreds of passengers each all bottlenecked together up a narrow stairwell...(Warning: the following video does not capture the full choas of the situation)



...then through only one open gate and then through to the outside. I was actually afraid for my life. There was at least 500 drunk people trying to go through ONE exit.

People were screaming! Girls were being trampled! People were pushing and shoving and pulling and yelling. I was soon soaked in random champagne. The police were there but even they couldn't do much but get swept through this outflowing tide. I just hung on to Ross and let myself go limp. We literally were squeezed out of the tube, at times I was moving and my feet weren't even touching the ground!

Thankfully we found our way to the top like gophers scurrying out of a hole (the one in Caddyshack comes to mind) and before us lay the Champs Elysees, that famous boulevard, all lit up with lights with the Arc de Triomphe at one end...

And the Place de Concorde at the other.

Before we even got a chance to let the vibrancy of the situation settle in, some young and drunk French guy accousted me and begged Ross to take a photo of us. We obliged and I smiled sweetly for the cameras while the guy yelled "Bonne Annee!" in my ear. Then he was off with a shot as fireworks from all around us started to go off.

OK, so this video actually is a bit entertaining...kinda

Ross's watch said we had plenty of time so we were a bit unsure if it was New Years or not. But after the billionth firework went off from beside us and the millionth person shouted "Bonne Annee!" we got the picture.



Happy New Year!


We toasted each other and decided to walk down the street towards the Arc but it was too packed (there was 500,000 people there! Can you believe it?) and there were too many fireworks/crackers. I've seen too many firecracker safety videos during assemblies in grade school to know how darn scary those things are.

So we found this little bench off to the side and spent our time drinking and watching the New Years Eve in Paris unfold before our eyes.


What was most amazing was the fact that it was warm! A humid breeze would occasionally drift past...and of course, still no rain. You couldn't have asked for a better night.


After awhile though we headed off for the hotel. We decided against the death trap that is the metro and would walk instead. We stopped in for an expensive drink at a cafe (talk about hiking up the prices for New Years)...

Contemplating the past year
And then set off. Here comes the amazing part. We were on the Right Bank. The hotel is on the Left Bank. While I have walked over the Pont Alexander (one of the many bridges across the Seine) before, it was over a year ago and it was always in the daytime. When you travel alone, you don't tend to frequent Paris streets at night.

So using the soaring heights of the lit-up Montparnasse Tower as a beacon, we walked. We went down streets I never heard of, around strange corners, past hidden museums and dark parks. There wasn't one street that I had heard of, one building that looked familiar (that said, all buildings in Paris look alike). I just kept walking as if I knew Paris like the back of my hand.


A half hour later we showed up in front of the hotel. I don't know how I did it but it wasn't to be the last time either. Too bad my internal GPS only works with geographical directions. I'd love to be able to apply it to the rest of my life!