Yesterday morning I got up at 3 a.m. Total madness. Even with my plane leaving at six it was still way, way too early, and way, way too dark and cold to be up and about. And it was still way, way too cold almost four hours later sitting in the front of the airplane, the door for some mysterious reason open to let the freezing wind in and absolutely no heating on whatsoever. Me, I was by that time practically asleep anyway, but the old dears sitting next to me were practically turning blue. When somebody finally asked the stewardess, who, by the way, was also turning a fetching shade of purple, what the hell was going on she explained that the plane was being de-iced and therefore the engines could not be started to heat the cabin. Nice. I mean yeah, I wouldn't want to fly on a plane with frozen wings but I also don't think deepfreezing the passengers does much good for the airline publicity.
Gone are the golden days
of air travel...
Later yesterday afternoon, having listened to several hours of both pretentious, just-doing-this-because-it-sounds-brilliant sort of academic garbage and some absolutely brilliant pieces of research, I felt the need for some fresh air and during a coffee break decided to take a walk around the area surrounding the compound. And what did I find? My oh my. A little shop called the Vaudeville Boutique.
And this, of course, is the
legendary wiggle skirt.
Want a new one.
They have it...
And speaking of occasions, last night I was supposed to be partying my head off with various academics and other strange creatures, but instead found myself sitting in a rocking chair in an empty one hundred years old wooden house by a lake before the evening had even turned into double digits. There were going to be other people arriving later, once they're done getting all wild and woolly eyed , but right then and there it was just me and the ghostlies in the candlelight. Yeah, I travel with a candle in a glass jar. Of course I do. Who doesn't? Adds instant atmosphere to the skankiest of hotel rooms. Just light the candle, turn off the lights and voila, the dirty, cigarrette smoke stained ceiling just disappeared. And somehow the left-over-from-the-80's furniture suddenly became mysteriously shadowy and alluring...
Not that this place would need any help from candles. Its perfectly old, shadowy and rickety all on its own. My Mother said as I was showing her pictures of this place that there are bound to be ghosts. Fine by me. Room for everyone. But seriously, this place is lovely...
Last night I heard plenty of heavy
footsteps on the stairs...
...unfortunately it was just my
wild and woolly eyed comrades trying
to climb the stairs to their bedroom upstairs.
This evening as I was coming back from a day of academia again, I decided to try the bus system and as the bus does not come all the way to the villa I had to walk quite a while to reach it...
...and now this warmblooded woman is taking herself to a well-earned, steaming hot bubble bath. Tomorrow shall be a day of vintage finds!