of rainbows

of rainbows

Glasgow, 2010.

On the eye of the Lunar New Year, after a magnificent bout of afternoon showers, a double rainbow rose over the Singapore skies. It was beautiful. (Or so I've learnt afterwards, looking through the endless stream of photos on Facebook.)

In another time and place, we were together, our feet soaked from the wet grass, standing atop a hill, in the middle of the Necropolis. Then the evening sun peeked out for a wee bit, its rays hitting the tiny droplets that were dancing in the air, forming a rainbow halfway across the sky. I was so thrilled. This must be a sign that, put in the most cliched words, we will brave all our storms together. 

Rainbows, I hope they'd always remind me of that afternoon in Glasgow. 

I left my heart and soul…

i left my heart and soul...


New York. Montreal. Paris. Rome. Venice. Santorini. Amsterdam. London. Glasgow. I think I left my heart and soul all over the world. It’s been three weeks, and every other night I find myself dreaming of all these places, dreaming up new homes that could have been or better still, could be, sometime in the near future.

It’s a funny notion though. Home was always been a fixed entity to me. But in the past year, I’ve spent nights in so many different rooms, slept on so many different beds and called 2 cities in separate continents home.

I miss the complete freedom I had in Montreal. Living alone and arranging everything around nobody else but me was liberating. I decide when I want to do the laundry. I decide what time I want to go to bed. I decide that I can have breakfast food for lunch everyday. I decide that I can live alone.

I loved the one-month old home we had in Glasgow. The long, long evenings, the daily walks along the river, the colds nights of us falling asleep next to each other, and then the simple act of drawing the blinds up in the morning. The redundancy of scheduling dates because we come home to each other. The thought of us, just us, living and building a life in another part of the world.

And then there were those days where we fall asleep in one city and wake up in another the next day. Those were the days where we live and breathe a whole new culture every single day. Those were the days we stood shoulder-to-shoulder on an unknown street corner, trying to read an unfamiliar map.

Those were the days… And now, back in Singapore, all I really want to do is to dive right back into those gorgeous photographs and relive those moments. Slowly, I find myself looking at cities in which we might build ourselves a home. Suddenly, I can’t wait to grow up. I can't wait to pack up all over again and find those pieces of my heart.

I don’t know if they’ll call this widening your horizons or withdrawal. I’d call it finding a new dream.

I remember Hamburg

I remember Hamburg

I remember Hamburg. And I want to write a song, or a story, so that you will remember Hamburg as I do.

The strange woman we kept running into, in her queer dress. It wasn't loud and flamboyant, nor was it anything striking to remember by. It was stark and stern, her face without a smile. We were placing our orders by a roadside cafe, smiling and gesturing to the waitress who didn't speak the same language. The strange woman was tall and alone, marching on with her eyes set on a horizon we couldn't see. I remember her roaming the streets of Hamburg. I remember my backward glance at her as she walked on. I remember Hamburg.

The blue lake with its white boats. The blue sky with its white clouds. We talked and laughed and built castles in the sky. You held my hand and I smiled in secret, dropping a coin on the pavement, making a wish by my own tradition. I close my eyes now and I can feel the German breeze in my face and hear the song of ducks splashing in the water. Small white petals floating in the air, dancing, like fairy dusts, like it was snowing in spring. I remember my fascination and endless questions. I remember you laughing. I remember Hamburg.

The dark, Gothic buildings looming on the opposite shore, beckoning. Landmarks of a strange land. It was a destination, a terminus for tourists on a pilgrimage. It was a long walk around the lake. We stopped for pictures, framing the city as we remember it. The buildings have names and stories, but I don't quite remember them. Yet I remember the pair of friends who walked by as we crossed empty streets to get to the aged cathedrals. I remember being the only ones in the quadrangle, as if Hamburg belonged to us. I remember Hamburg.

The bright orange that decked the streets, people cheering. 11pm and the sky was still bright. It was a nation at war, eleven warriors in black against eleven others. We marveled at the roar of the city. I bought a flag, striped black, orange and yellow, an emblem of my transient loyalty. You holler with the boys, the patriots, the vagabonds and the uniformed men. I remember the old gentleman, with his white hair, black suit and brown walking stick, smiling with a gap in his teeth and wrinkles around his mouth as we gave our seat to him. I remember the Ghanaian on the subway, the loner wayfarer in a foreign land, standing by his homeland. I remember the rest of Hamburg smiling at him, a city celebrating its country's victory, embracing all who have come to Hamburg. I remember Hamburg.

I remember Hamburg. Do you?

pompeii: italy/singapore

pompeii: italy/singapore

Entrance to the exhibit. That's a dog contorted in its final moments of death.

Glenn and I had a very intellectual date the other day - we went to the museum, again! This time, we didn't just decide to go because we've never been before; we went to see a specific exhibit - Pompeii, Life in a Roman Town 79CE. I whipped out my phone and dialed Glenn's number the moment I read about it in the papers. How could we travel a gazillion miles to Pompeii (and miss its museum) AND miss this exhibit now that the mummies travel the gazillion miles for us?? We have to go!

The prettiest hostel we stayed at, which is right beside a super scary old church with a sealed entrance. Hostelworld described the landmark as a "little red church". Imagine my shock.

We had to take a million trains and subways and more regional trains to get there. Pompeii is near the Italian city of Naples btw. And have I mentioned we missed our last train back and had to take a cranky old bus which took 2 hours on cobbled streets and then WALK back to the hostel at 1am? It was mad scary cos Naples isn't exactly the safest city in the world and the fact that the police didn't speak English didn't help. In fact, I was so scared at one point I almost screamed and wanted to pick up an empty beer bottle along the roadside for fear of the drunkard across the street rushing over to rob us or something! This is why you stick with the boy even though at some points you feel like jumping off the moving train. And I apologise for the exceptionally long caption. Hahaha. One gets carried away with travel tales.

Authentic Italian food (for tourists) to start our day (at Pompeii, if you're confused by now Haha).

So after much planning, we re-visited Pompeii some 6 months after our actual experience of the Roman city which was completely buried by the first Plinian volcanic eruption (or the first that was so named) within 24 hours. The pyroclastic flow happened so fast that the people were buried in the act of running, and forever fossilized in that manner. Okay, there were not reaaally fossilized but they left impressions in the hot lava which a clever archeologist guessed correctly and then they poured resin into it and created the statues we see today. Or something to that effect.

I think I should add an disclaimer here: historical/archeological facts are NOT accurate. This is not Wiki, and even Wiki isn't 100% foolproof as all you academics should know by now! I'm sure you guys don't read my blog for geographic/historical information ANYWAY. Right?? Hahaha. I sincerely hope you don't.

Casts of the bodies and lots of artefacts excavated. Bottom one is an exhibit here.

So anyway, the point is that the town was buried for a good 2000 years and disappeared from the map and from history until someone found it about 200 years ago! The archeologists then dug up the 6 meters of volcanic ash and whatnots, and voila! Pompeii reappears on the world map! They found that much of the architecture was intact, or as intact as it can be following a volcanic eruption, so now we can walk through a town that is 2000 years old.

Main square of Pompeii town upon entering.

This is the volcano that erupted and took the town off the map.

It is pretty amazing because the streets are almost gridded, which is the system used in Manhattan today! There are eateries (the Pompeiians were very modern and loved to eat out), bath houses, stadiums, holiday chalets and even brothels! The roads were pretty well-paved, and if you look closely, you can even see two strips of dents created by the wheels of the carts (I assume).

Love these two shots and how the grey skies make for great contrast against the ancient stones.

Here's something you don't see at the exhibition - 2000yo brothels! The murals serve as some kind of karma sutra, inspiration for those who need. Hahaha.

Stadiums where gladiator fights took place. They estimated the size of the population in Pompeii by measuring the circumference and then dividing it by the average width of a person. Creative!

The exhibit in at the National Museum of Singapore did pretty well in recreating the city for us. The long murals bearing images of the city walls, the layout of a typical house, the strategically placed exhibits and the short 3D film depicting the eruption were really quite well done. Imagine the details that the curator has to pay attention to! Prior to this guided tour, I always thought curators had shit boring jobs, like wiping down the glass tops of exhibits and stuff. New found respect!

Imported mural and the ones at the actual site.

They imported this whole fountain so that we can see the details of the mosaic. Check out the shells embedded in there!

All other things that I enjoyed at the museum - the colonial architecture, the 3D film and the readily available clean toilets!! And of course, my outfit, which actually emits some form of fashion sense that completely disappeared in Europe with the constraints of a suitcase.

Anyway, the exhibit will go on for another 2 weeks, and guess what? It's OPEN HOUSE! Which means its freeeeee! I finished the last leg of my Europe tour at the exhibition, maybe you could start yours there!

Until the next!

greece, gorgeous greece (1)

greece, gorgeous greece (1)

Athinas

Can you stomach another holiday post? Because that's exactly what you're gonna get. And this one was drafted right after the best part of Europe, so you might wanna get a pail in case it makes you puke. Haha. Here goes!

As the 737 flies over the Mediterranean seas towards Milan, I'm already missing Greece. The ancient ruins of Athens, the blue and white dome tops of Santorini's rooftop houses and the medieval town of Rhodes still beckon with all their charm. Greece, of history so old it dates back to the beginning of time. Greece, of seas with a million shades of blue. Greece, of Gods and Goddesses, myths and legends. Greece, I could stay there forever.

Yes, as you can tell, I'm completely charmed over by Greece.

From the moment we saw the aquamarine seas surrounding the islands from the cramped, upright seats of Ryanair, we were already in love with Greece. Even when we set foot in Volos (have you ever heard of Volos? No, me neither), where possibly the smallest international airport in the world (it's probably twice the size of your living room, no kidding) is situated, not knowing how we were gonna get to Athens or whether we could even get to Athens on the same night, we were still happy that we were in the country. And even upon reaching the bus station and realizing that there was actually a bus to Athens that very night BUT we didn't have enough cash on us to get those bus tickets, we were still semi-rejoicing over the fact that we found ourselves a cheap flight to Greece. Of course, the Greek Goddess of Luck worked her magic, and we first found a group of very nice HongKong kids who were willing to do a private exchange of GBP with us, and then we (okay, not we, but Glenn) ran quite some distance and found an ATM that works! Greece!

This is where I attempted to jump off the plane.

Welcome to Volos, Greece.

When we finally got to Athens the capital, it was close to 1am, and a whole TROOP of cabbies surrounded us, blasting us with suggestions and prices. After much bargaining and some threatening, we managed to get a cabbie who agreed on a flat fare of 10 euros for the 10min ride to our hostel. I couldn't help giving myself a pat on the back for checking how much it's supposed to cost, because otherwise we'd have been victims of the let's-milk-the-tourists-dry scheme. But well, it was all part of the crazy Athens charm.

In daylight, the city is completely different. Well, not completely. I mean, of course there were still gypsies who "accidentally" bump into you so that you drop your wallet into their waiting hands. And strange men trying to coax you into buying the bloody dog hanging in the window while stroking your arm. But in general, the city is pretty safe in the day. I guess with PLATOONS of soldiers and police around every other street corner, it's kinda hard not to feel safe.

But once you step into the touristy areas around the Acropolis, you can stop clinging on to your handbag and start behaving like a normal tourist again. And finally, after a rather steep climb up the Acropolis itself, the view of the city just takes your breath away. My favourite part of exploring the Acropolis was sitting on the edge of the hill with my eyes closed and imagining the ancient Greeks walking the same grounds as I walked. I'm not even a huge history fan, but that feeling of being connected to people from thousands of years ago is simply amazing.

Reason #1382975 why I wanna be Greek - their little oh-so-charming streets.

Ahh, there you go, THE tourist shot.

And when the tummy starts to growl after the long walk around the Acropolis, stop by any local eatery for their 2 euro kebab and grab a cup of fresh orange juice for 1.50 euros, and you'll have died and gone to Greek heaven. It was a much appreciated break from the big, expensive European cities for us. Hmm, cheap food, breathtaking sights, city madness... What's there not to love about Athens?

Fresh fruit carts, 2euros Kebab, 5euros Fendi's and a happy boy.

best memory: june

best memory: june

Waking up in Santorini, Greece, after missing 2 flights, getting chased off a train, surviving a late night walk in Naples, evading pickpockets in Athens and a 10hour ferry ride. When I opened my eyes to the blurry scene of beauty in the morning, my heart literally sang with joy. This was our real holiday on our very, very adventurous trip.

paris in 8 hours

paris in 8 hours

Aside from sleeping on restaurants' tables and on benches in the parks, here's the other crazy thing we did - we tried to tour the most romantic city in the world in 8 hours. Yes, we had 8 hours to see Paris!

We consulted The Oracle (Lonely Planet Western Europe), picked and chose which pieces of advice to take, and set off without delay. Okay, maybe we spent 45mins trying to wash up in the toilet at Gare du Nord, but hey, you gotta make sure you look decent at the very least in those Parisian photos right! Especially after a 23hour bus ride!

Those were such tough decisions to make. For months, I've dreamt and drooled about Paris. I wanted to take a million photos of the Parisian streets and of course, the Eiffel Tower. I wanted to sit by La Seine and eat about 204 macarons and drink 3 gallons of wine. I wanted to recite French poems and speak proper Parisian French in the capital. I wanted to finally see all the places that I learn about during French cultural lessons.

I wanted to take many, many photos like that.

But thanks to our very careful planning, we had 8 hours in Paris. And that meant we could only pick TWO attractions to visit. Since we'd purchased tickets for the Louvre in advance, that took up one slot. Glenn suggested spending the ENTIRE DAY in there, so that we can actually appreciate some of the art pieces instead of just walking through the hugeass museum. I looked at him with tears in my eyes, and asked "Do you really expect me to examine the wrinkles around Mona Lisa's mouth while every cell in my body is screaming LA TOUR EIFFEL???"

Between the former,

and the latter...

I'll always pick the former. HAHA.

So our eventual itinerary went like that: French breakfast dans un petit café, Le Musée Louvre, La Tour Eiffel, beaucoup des photos la-bas, et finalement Notre-Dame avec Camie! I was a little disappointed to skip the Pompidou and Champs-Elyseess (dammit, I wanted to show off my almost perfect pronunciation of that one name that bug so many tourists!), but really, once you arrive at the pyramid of the Louvre and the iconic Eiffel Tower, you know you've arrived. By then, Paris would have engulfed you already, like it did us.

In front of the iconic glass pyramid.

Da Vinci Code. Haha.

My favourite. (La Baise d'Amour)

And then

.

.

.

LA TOUR EIFFEL! VOILA!

My best poster shot.

Despite the fact that Paris didn't seem quite as clean and therefore as romantic as movies, books and the posters portray it to be, I became deliriously euphoric the moment I saw the grand metal structure, and went shutter-happy immediately. In short, Paris is probably overrated, but the very idea of Paris takes over, then you're gone. Hopelessly in love. Lost in its classic romance.

So after 8 hours in Paris, my final verdict is: J'aime Paris. Beaucoup beaucoup.

Oh, and I resolve to go back and see the Eiffle Tower by the moonlight. I know right, which loser goes to Paris and leave not seeing the Eiffle Tower lit up. ): While I'm at it, I will also actually go up the tower and see Paris with all its dazzling lights at night. Paris, I will be back.

Until the next time!

the skirt of many stories

the skirt of many stories

Spot the similarity.

Yups, you've got it, it's the skirt! But this is not just any skirt. This is the skirt of many, many stories. It's an ordinary H&M skirt, and the only thing special about it is probably the fact that it's kid's size. Hahaha. It's a great trick to stealing excellent deals especially with your favourite brands! Try it, pretending you're trying for a niece/cousin, and then buy it! HAHA.

Anyway, back to the skirt. It's been my BEST piece of clothing throughout the trip. It's comfortable. It's rather glamorous (however glamorous you can get semi-backpacking). And it's got SO many stories.

I think the first time I wore it was on the long-haul flight from Boston to Glasgow. Now, having not seen the boy for 4 months, I didn't wanna be completely unglam when I step off the plane. Then again, I have to be comfortable right?? 7 hours is a pretty damn long time on the plane! So I wore the skirt with stretchy leggings and spag top, along with a cardigan and scarf. That way, I can sit however I want and be comfy no matter warm or cold. Much later, I realized I wore the EXACT same outfit on the even-longer-haul (7hrs + 5hrs) flight back to Singapore. I've now declared it my official plane outfit.

The next memorable time I wore it was when we took a day trip to Edinburgh. Wanting to look nice in the photos, I wore the skirt with stockings and, again, a spag top. (Spag tops are your MUST-HAVE'S when traveling, I swear. Plus the skirt, of course.) BUT, my idea of Edinburgh didn't include a climb up a pretty steep hill! Not to mention the fact that my pumps were highly unsuitable for the climb, my skirt was highly unsuitable for the wind! So half the time I was flashing the poor Scottish people who were trying to have a nice picnic. Lesson to learn? Always, always wear matching undies!

On the Scottish highlands, terrorizing pinickers.

That wasn't the only time where the wind caught me unaware though. The next time was in Santorini, Greece. I wore the skirt without tights, cos the temperature was just soaring in Santorini. And I picked the skirt because 1.) It's cooling, and 2.) It matches my strawhat and spag top! and 3.) It's pretty awesome for the beach. Now, what I didn't think of was the clifftop walk that we'd be doing in Fira and Oia. THE WIND WAS CRAZY. Well, once again, long-live matching undies, or rather, bikini bottoms this time. I guess if the ang-mohs can prance around in bikinis all over the island, I can show off my bikini every now and then too.

The guy who took this for us was so embarrassed about my flying skirt for me that he offered to take another one for us. Hahaha.

Because this skirt is great for pairing with leggings/stockings, it's also great for visits to churches and temples because I stupidly didn't bring my jeans on the trip. Now, it's only respectful that your shoulders be covered and your skirt/shorts/pants reach your knees. Most of the time, as long as I wore a completely opaque pair of tights (which are almost like long pants actually), it was okay.

Except at the Doumo in Milan. The security guard took one look at my skirt and went uh-uh, too short. But I really, really wanted to see the inside of the Doumo and that's the only reason why I went to Milan! And I even consciously dressed for the occasion! But I guess to him, leggings = stockings = nothing, rather than leggings = pants.

Now, this is the beauty of high-waisted skirt with a stretchable waistline - you can adjust the length however you want! So, I went to a corner and pulled my skirt as low as I could, and viola, it was knee-length and properly acceptable! So yes, I did manage to go into the Doumo in that skirt too.

Leggings? Stockings? Pants?

As much as this was a glam skirt, it also became a comfy, lazy skirt, as did ALL my outfits towards the end of the trip. Haha. So I stopped wearing it high-waisted, just so I could simply throw on a spag top without even bothering with stockings and shoes.

Lazy outfit for a photo trip in Pisa.

Oh, and finally, this skirt also manage to score a story in fashionable London. After a 5min walk from our hostel to the subway, I felt a light tap on my shoulder just as we were entering the station. Slightly startled - because I didn't know anyone else except Glenn in the city, and he was right beside me - I turned around suspiciously. An elegant lady in her mid-thirties looked at me shyly, and whispered "Excuse me, your skirt is tucked into your tights."

I WALKED 5 BLOCKS IN LONDON WITHOUT REALIZING THAT MY SKIRT WAS TUCKED INTO MY TRANSLUCENT TIGHTS. Oh dear Lord. The embarrassment. The appalling embarrassment. WHY do I have to have all the wrong fashion statements made in all the fashion capitals? First it was the girlfriend tights, and now the skirt that's tucked into my tights! Bahhh.

Oh wells, at least I got noticed in one way or another huh. Hahaha.

My infamous skirt and the famous tower bridge.

And will I ever wear that skirt again? Hmm, maybe it deserves to be framed up on my wall more than anything. Just in case there's another windy (or unlucky) day.

this is how we rock it

this is how we rock it

Rome, Ciampino Airport Hostel. 3 stars (out of 5).

This is how we rock it after the sun goes down. On better nights. Due to my ah-hem brilliant planning and grand ambitions to save money, there were nights on the calendar marked out for airport camping.

Here was the plan: If our plane touches down past 11pm, we spend the night at the airport and get into the city bright and early the next morning. Plus point? We save a night on hostels and start out early the next day! Or, if our flight is an early one in the morning, we go to the airport the night before and spend the night there. Plus point? We save a night on hostels and skip the morning rush.

BUT. All that was based on the assumption that airports are open 24hrs. Ha! Boy, were we ever more mistaken. When you fly budget ryanair, you'd better do a double-check.

Well, our first night at the airport was actually unplanned. After missing our flight from Paris to Rome (and believe it or not, that was the SECOND one we missed on the trip [and oh, we missed two in a row>]), we spent a night at a friend of a friend's who was really nice to put us up at such short notice. Not wanting to impose on her any further, we decided to spent the next night at the airport since our flight was early in the morning.

So we caught the last bus to the airport, and sat down to wait for the passengers to clear so that we can find a nice spot to sleep. Well, the crowd did clear after awhile, but apparently we were supposed to clear WITH them! The security guard came up to us and told us that the airport was CLOSING. Yes, the AIRPORT was CLOSING.

Glenn and I just stared at each other in disbelief - airports actually close??

Well, apparently at Paris-Beauvais, they do! We prolonged our stay for as long as possible, and then dragged ourselves out into the cold reluctantly. But not before I overheard another American backpacker imploring the French security to allow him to go change into warmer clothes before getting out. It must have been the strangest occurrence for both of them as I, an Asian girl, stepped up and brought down the language barrier one notch. Very proud to speak at least a teeny weeny bit of French! :D

This same American dude later huddled with us on the alfresco tables of a restaurant that was closed for the night as we waited for morning to come. He even took a video of this once-in-a-lifetime-experience. Hahaha.

And as for me, I've never had a more excruciating 6 hours in my life before. NO ONE EVER MENTIONED SPRING NIGHTS ARE FREEZING! Out in the countryside, with nothing in the vicinity except the airport and its carpark, the temperature goes straight DOWN at night. And this was the moment when I took out my fleece blanket (wise foresight of Yiting) and went AH-HA! See! I told you we needed a blanket. (Glenn was complaining my luggage had waaaay too much rubbish.) But even that had its limits. I was literally trembling the whole night even though I had on every single jacket/sweater in the luggage.

When 6am neared and the airport staff reopened the waiting lounge, I almost burst into tears. Which is why I went ahead to order "tea" - which is really a cup of hot water and a Lipton tea bag - without even asking for the price. Oh, you don't even wanna know how much that cup of hot water + teabag cost. Let's just pretend it saved me from hyperthermia.

Paris, Beauvais Airport Hostel. 1 star (out of 5).

That was the first time we had to spend the night outdoors. I say "first", because that was not the only time, unfortunately. A few more days into our trip, we got chased off an Italian train. And it was not even because we were trying to cheat the system. We bought the tickets proper and STILL got chased off the train!

So here's what happened: When you buy a regional (the cheapest) train ticket in Italy, they issue you an open ticket, and you're supposed to validate the ticket at a machine at the station. Don't ask me why they do it way; I don't understand either. But anyway, we hardly ever did that because there's a conductor on every train who'd punch your ticket all the same. So basically you never get to re-use a ticket.

Then, as we were going from Venice to Milan, we had to run for the connecting train (because Italian trains are notoriously late, even after Mussolini), and of course we didn't validate our ticket. Happy and proud that we managed to catch that train, we settled back to take a nap. And when the conductor came to check our tickets, we just gave it to him without a second thought.

This was when I witnessed a transformation from human being to asshole. He glanced at our ticket coldly and stated flatly "Not validated. Pay fine. 50 euros." Mind you, both our tickets added up didn't even cost 50 euros! So we tried to explain ourselves, telling him that we had to rush for the train, and this has never happened before. We even took out our stack of punched and unvalidated tickets to show him. But the now-asshole of a conductor just insisted that we pay the fine.

"You no validate ticket, you pay fine. In English. Behind. You no understand? 50 euros. No pay, no train. Get off."

WHAT AN ANAL ASS! Fine, I told Glenn that if he wants to play by the book, we'll play by the book. The plan was for Glenn to get off at the next station, run to get the tickets validated, and then run back on to the train while I hold the door. You want it validated? THERE YOU GO. IN YOUR FACE!

But we were obviously not the first geniuses who came up with this scheme because that asshole got off the train, scanned the platform, chased me off the train, AND STOOD AT THE TRAIN DOORS BARRING US FROM GETTING BACK ON! He insisted that we didn't pay for the train ride, and so we couldn't get back on! Before we had a chance to say anything else, THAT ASSHOLE WAVED THE TRAIN DRIVER OFF!

And there we were, stranded in the middle of Italy between Venice to Milan, in the middle of the night. There were no more trains back to Rome (midpoint), and the next train to Milan was at 6am.

What did we do? We sat in the dingy waiting area on the uncomfy chairs until the security guard came to tell us that they were closing. By then, we weren't even surprised anymore. Hey, if airports close, of course train stations close too. We just shifted to the park right outside the train station, chose a bench and sat down. Actually, Glenn sat down to watch the stuff, while I lay down to make myself comfortable, hoping to catch forty winks.

But then I had to pee! Like, I really, really desperately needed to pee! There aren't too many moments in life when I get annoyed for being a girl, but this was definitely one of them. HOW TO PEE WHEN THE ONLY TOILET IS IN THE TRAIN STATION RIGHT? Well, when you need to go, you need to go. You just find the nearest big tree, and tell the boyfriend to watch the surroundings for you. And pray he doesn't ditch you the next morning.

So when I finally relieved my poor bladder of the enormous pressure, and tried to settle down to sleep, I heard a loud gushing sound and jumped up at once. Just when you think you've had the shittiest shit, life hands you more shit. No, it wasn't rain, thank God, but the SPRINKLERS in the park went off!

We panicked for the longest time, trying to shift here and there, and then we realized that our bench was the ONLY bench in the park that wasn't going to get wet. Thank God for small blessings in life. THANK GOD.

See, this is why Rome-Ciampino gets 3 stars out of 5 - there's shelter, there's an actual toilet and there's floor space to camp out! By the time we reached London-Stansted airport, we were wowed to tears - THERE ARE ACTUALLY CHAIRS TO LOUNGE ON! We were so happy that we spent 2 nights (in 4 days) there. 5 stars out of 5!

~

Having been through all that, here's some advice I have for all you adventurous travelers. Here are some things they don't quite tell you in the travel books.

1. AIRPORTS DO CLOSE. So check this website first.

2. If you ever need to spend a night in London-Stansted, there's this one secret place that's totally awesome... It's almost as comfortable as my living room couch! Ask me in private and I'll share the secret! (:

3. Italian train conductors are exceptionally anal on the last trains - probably because they think travelers have no choice (i.e. take the next train instead) and will have to pay the fine. So make sure you have everything in place. Just validate that damn ticket.

life is good

life is good

Favourite photo of the trip.

This photo pretty much summarizes our entire Europe trip, and I love the effortless irony it screams. Seriously, after freezing our butts off one night in a park in the middle of nowhere (or rather, in the middle of Italy), we finally arrived in Milan, thinking "We've made it!"

Then my suitcase handle just had to snap right after we got off the train. Right before our next flight out.

I don't know if it was the Europe air, or the lack of sleep, but we sat and laughed and laughed and laughed instead of dissolving into frustrated tears, like I might have done in the same situation elsewhere. The Italians who walked past stared and stared.

I then put my feet up, leaned back, took a photo of me trying to relax despite the broken handle. Only to burst into louder laughter upon the discovery of the shop's name in the background. How apt, how apt.

Oh gosh, I miss Europe and all its madness already. And I should really find time to write about our very, very exciting trip soon!

best memory: may

best memory: may

Flying across the day/night zone.

Walking through the arrival gates of Glasgow airport and finally seeing the boy after 4 long months. It wasn't a passionate oh-I-ran-into-his-arms-and-kissed-him-silly reunion, but thinking back about everything that followed that awkward yet familiar Hi again, it has to be the best memory of May.