Tag: winter

London calling

London calling

Before I start getting into our European winter holiday, a word about London.

We absolutely hands down, no questions asked, no correspondence entered into, public transport shenanigans aside, love London. Love.

London was my first city on my very first overseas holiday with my family. Together Don and I have been to London six times. Twice we stayed for over a year. We found ourselves jobs, somewhere to live, and settled in like so many Australians before us. We caught buses instead of the underground in order to soak up the streets of London and learn how places connected. We had our local pubs, meeting after work for pints of lager and cider. We even dabbled in amateur theatre – at least to go and watch Tim and Ruth in plays and pantos. We bought winter coats and leant how to survive January when the Christmas sparkle was gone but the cold weather remained. During spring I sat in every patch of daffodils I could find. In autumn we marvelled at the colours.

We connected with people and made wonderful English friends, but we also gathered our Aussie friends close. John and Nicole, travelling the UK to play music, Lucy living and working and building a family.

When people ask us New York or London, there is no question. It will always be London.

London is familiar yet different. The double decker buses, the tube, the black cabs. Don grew up on British radio comedy, my early years were all Mary Poppins, Enid Blyton and anything Roald Dahl. Our Monopoly board was always the London version. We knew The Goodies, Dr Who, Yes Minister and The Young Ones. Too many musicians and bands to name. Live Aid. Harry Potter. Oliver, Paddington Bear.

London has The Globe, and Shakespeare in the park, and crazy arsed local pantomimes. London has the astonishing Kew Gardens, and markets filled with antiques and local designers and food and craft. London has an abundance of charity shops filled with cheap hidden treasures.

London has a gritty charm, and a majesty beyond Buckingham Palace. Tube stations are old school ornate, and everywhere there are arches and towers and old brick walls. There is Westminster Abbey, and the Thames with its multiple bridges.

In London you can get about in thrown together winter colours that imply you don’t care, or bedazzle yourself in boots and sequins to take on Abba Voyage with your girlfriends. You can go high fashion or you can rug up in rarely worn hiking boots and sturdy jackets and walk for miles through the suburbs and parks. There are squirrels and robins and hedgehogs.

Every trip we make to London we walk forever. Every visit we’ll go to the Natural History Museum, the lions in Trafalgar Square, the National Gallery, Windsor and Eton, Tower Bridge, Hyde Park and Leicester Square. We’ll check out Forbidden Planet for comics, Waterstones for books, Marks and Spencer just because it’s Marks and Spencer. We’ll buy a Radio Times from W H Smith, a Christmas teddy bear from Harrods and something random from Boots. We’ll have a full English breakfast more than once. We’ll talk football with our friends, even though I have no idea what I’m talking about. This visit has been no different.

Yep, we bloody love London.

Anyway, I write this post from a whole other European city where we’ve been for the past two days. We absolutely hands down love European cities.

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 glühwein.

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.