Tag: fashion

Clothes make the man

Clothes make the man

Well our Peru holiday has finally arrived and something has already gone mysteriously wrong.

It’s like this. I spent the early hours of the morning scurrying around the house throwing last minute things in my bag. Being a shorter holiday I’ve returned to the trusty backpack, squashing last minute items into pockets and dragging out non-essentials until I’m down to the bare minimum. My travelling wardrobe for most trips currently consists of three pairs of tracksuit pants, a super-hero t-shirt and two multi-purpose scarves.

Upon arrival at the airport I strapped my backpack on, wound my scarf around my neck, untucked my shell necklace and turned to look at Don for the first time since leaving the house.

And found him sporting a jaunty Panama hat, a beige tailored jacket and brand new jeans. Wheeling his suitcase behind him.

While I’ve been busy looking for a beanie and cutting down on knickers, he has somehow become the modern man’s style guide to South American travel.

I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to do, but I think if I just leave him be he’ll eventually return to type. Although he’s now discussing purchasing a belt in Santiago.

And here was me worried he’d come home with an Alpaca wool poncho.

A winter onesie

A winter onesie

Dresden

I know I’m on the most fabulous holiday, but can I just indulge in a short whinge?

I have no problems getting out of bed in the morning. I’m excited waking up in a new city. I’m excited about exploring the sites, trying new foods, wandering through markets. And it’s not like I’m getting up at 5am like I do at home, it’s closer to 9.

I’m just so over getting dressed.

For a Queensland girl who’s used to wearing next to nothing, I feel like I spend half my morning wrapping and binding my whole body in thick blankets so that only my eyes are visible. It takes forever. I no longer care about fashion, it’s just a case of ensuring enough goes on to stay warm. Ergo my colour scheme today is red, aqua stripes, pink, black, grey, navy blue, brown and a hint of purple.

Trying to make it a bit easier, I’ve been putting my daily proposed ensemble on the bed to create a pile the size of Don, and then systematically working my way through it until I’m completely covered, exhausted, and unable to move or breathe.

What I need is a European winter onesie – socks, hat, scarf, the lot. Step in, zip up and you’re done.

Whinge over. Thank-you. Pass me a gl├╝hwein.

Layer upon layer upon layer

Layer upon layer upon layer

Iceland

I have completely acclimatised to the freezing cold weather, and have the cold weather habits of people who live here down pat.

Bahahahahahaha! I have no freaking idea what I’m doing.

It is cold in Iceland. Freezing cold. Several layers of clothing cold. It’s a science getting dressed for this, and every morning I drive Don mad with a string of questions. What’s the temperature? What does minus 1 mean? Is it much different to 3? How long will I be inside? How long will I be outside? What do I have to carry? Is it snowing? Is it raining? Will I be too hot? If I take layers off how much will I have to carry? How many days in a row can I wear these socks? Long or short sleeve thermals?

In the end the answers to any of these questions have been irrelevant because I’ve been in the same clothes for five days in a row. And everything about them is a drama.

I have three layers of pants. Thermals, followed by thick tights followed by even thicker leggings. They may keep my legs warm, but it’s a complete nightmare getting them on. And getting them off? Every time I need the bathroom I have to roll them down my legs, creating a giant black Lycra wad around my knees. The crotch of each pant hangs at varying levels between my legs so for even a hint of comfort I’m forced to try to separate each layer and hoik them up one by one. All this while holding all of my other clothes out of the way. At the end of the day I peel the whole lot off in one go, only to find I have three elastic band welts at various heights around my stomach. Charming.

I’ve worn four shirts with the same big red puffy jacket over the whole lot every day. It’s so puffy the one time I tried carrying a shoulder bag I got so tangled up in scarf, sleeves, strap, hair and hood that Don had to rescue me before I cut off my airway. Now instead I have cash, cards, tissues, camera, phone, spare battery, hair tie and gloves all stashed in the three pockets of the jacket. Every time I pull the gloves out, all of the other items go flying. Every time I need something and I’m not wearing the jacket I spend 20 minutes searching through metres of red puff just to locate a pocket. Almost always the wrong pocket.

I can’t put my hair up because if I do I can’t jam my beanie far enough down my head. I left my hair loose for two days and ended up with three enormous dreadlocks. I tried low hanging pigtails like a five year old, but have now settled on a sort of a side plait.

But all of this is nothing compared to the time and effort spent whenever I go from inside to outside or from outside to inside. We’ve been getting around in a big Nissan Patrol for the past few days, which has been great, but space is at a premium.

Getting out of the car? Pull on hat, wind scarf around neck, look for gloves that aren’t stashed in pockets like they should have been and put them on. Undo seatbelt. Untangle scarf from seatbelt. Wind scarf back around neck. Manoeuvre one sleeve of puffy jacket on before exiting the car and getting too cold. Exit car. Pull on other sleeve and try to connect puffy jacket zip while gloves are still on. Fail. Take off gloves, connect zip. Look for gloves again, find them in the snow, pick up and put back on again.

Go see waterfall/geyser/glacier/snow/mountain.

Come back to car. Unzip and remove one puffy jacket sleeve before entering car. Sit, pull on seatbelt. Remove the rest of puffy jacket, get tangled in seatbelt. Undo seatbelt, remove puffy jacket, stuff puffy jacket in a ball on the floor. Remove beanie, gloves and scarf one by one and stuff on the floor. Do up seatbelt. Realise we’ve already arrived at the next waterfall/geyser/glacier/snow/mountain.

As you can tell, it’s a slick routine I have going here.

Most people would think I’m a local if not for the accent.