On bookstores, harnessing the sun, and face-stuffing

HEYYOUGUYS. Guess how many blog posts I planned to write but never did and now they're likely never to see the light of day? The rest of my Christmas burgers - I had 16 in total, shout out to Chick 'n Sours for the best one - our trip to the Ice Hotel in January - in which the northern lights flipped us the bird but we still basked in the glow of permanent snow-twilight while snowmobiling and dogsledding - and last month's trip to Sicily. (Though that one may still make it in at some point, probably when I'm feeling moody at the endless London grey and want to pretend it's okay because you can leave it so easily.)

Instead of all those topics that come with built-in photographs and adventures, I will tell you all about my day of nothing yesterday. Extra fun, because I have no pics or actual story. Good to get the practice in if I'm going to do an additional MyBloWriMo in June this year (jury's still out on that one). 

Al and I are very good at spending our weekends lazily and yesterday was no exception. We booked a nice lunch, then spent the afternoon wandering through bookstores on our way to a nice dinner. These activities encompassed two of our favourite past-times: eating, and reading, and eating some more.

The first bookstore we hit was Persephone, notable as both a publisher and bookseller of out-of-print works by female authors. It was teeny tiny and quaint and crowded and sweet and the overall environment made me want to buy every book in the house, even though I knew I probably wouldn't make it to the end of half of them (all that old timey wordsmithing, innit). I did get this one, though, because it was flipping hilarious:

 

Here are the first two pages that sold me:

I think we all know Lady B.

After that we hit Skoob - MY NEW FAVOURITE BOOKSTORE EVER, like the green apple of London - which has - according to le googles - over 55,000 used books. The ceiling was low, the shop was dark and underground and full of nooks, and books were stacked EVERYwhere. After tripping over a half dozen piled haphazardly on the floor, I was in love. I couldn't stop myself from buying a handful of crime novels on our way out. 

We also hit Judd's used books, which was no Skoob but had - randomly and weirdly - an excellent vegetarian cookbook selection - before wandering to Treadwell's. NOW LET'S TALK ABOUT TREADWELL'S. This came as a recommendation from my favourite darkest magik friends as an 'occult bookshop,' which is - as one pointed out - 'two of the best words to hear in sequence in the English language.' And the shop was LOVELY. Warm and incensey with Celtic font everywhere, including on the signs to the Hindu and Biblical sections. I couldn't resist buying two aroma oils - frankincense and sage - which - per the shopkeeper - apparently have planetary alignments (the Sun and Jupiter, respectively) that would bring me wellbeing (the former) and success (the latter). To think I just thought they smelled nice! Embarrassing. Needless to say, I blended the two before bed and smeared them all over my face. 

Then we headed to the Waterstones on Gower which - while being a chain - still exists, so gets props for surviving in an Amazon-era. This one is extra lovely because it's got red carpet and mini-levels. We headed straight for the basement to see an art exhibit - recommended by KT - of The Quiet Medusa, who sculpts/stitches/creates doll-like female effigies - that relate to works of literature and also her life. It was powerful and intimate stuff. Do go to see it if you're in the area.

And then we ate some more and then went home and read some more. It was a thrilling day, I tell you. 

I hope to see you again in June - post- our next trip Stateside - and until then,

Big hugs and lots of love,

Esss

MADE IT.

OMGYOUGUYS. Here's a thing I'm learning today: I can't blog from bed. I usually work in the kitchen but today I thought I'd shake things up and try the bedroom (the living room is too cold unless I light the fire) but this is not working. I'm so LAZY in here. I opened my 'new post' tab, leaned against my pillows, and then immediately started cruising the internet. WHAT IS HAPPENING AND LOOK AT THAT CAT WHY SO SQUISHY

I wouldn't say it hasn't been productive, though: I ordered McQ's first Christmas present! Very excited about it, want to hand it over as soon as it arrives tomorrow but MUST RESTRAIN SELF. Impossible.

I wonder what's happening on Twitter.

Okay, nothing.

Is it time for first lunch? It's past noon . . .

Speaking of food: YOUGUYS I thought I was going to die yesterday. It turns out two Thanksgiving meals IS too much, unless you spread them approximately eighteen hours apart. Four, as it so happens, was not enough; by 9 p.m., I was sure I heard death knocking - insistently - at the door of my over-worked digestive system. But I couldn't stop eating - I mean, have you BEEN to Capish?! - so I kept shovelling in every gorgeous morsel, one slow bite at a time. IT WAS GIRL V FOOD.

And I WON.

In other fun times, the Pinner Panto was far beyond what I expected. The entire neighborhood turned into a Christmas village for the night, complete with rides and fairground food, and all the little shops dressed up and provided some sort of entertainment. It was like ST. ALBANS-sweet: 

The only flaw was the CHILDREN. Don't they know that the shop featuring an Elsa look-a-like was for ME?

And you thought I was kidding.

And then there was the CHILDREN'S CHOIR, like we wanted to hear their precious voices raised in song: 

The storm trooper in the shop agrees.

We survived, though, and only puked from cuteness, like, six times. 

Today I get to travel to Peckham! This is south of the river, so in a way even more terrifying than yesterday's suburbs, which at least had the decency to be north. I'm nervous/excited about the adventure but I've got my waders on and I'm feeling migh-ty brave. 

Happy Friday!

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

Sushi and shopping and spray paint and suds

AW YEAHHHH. It's Friday come AGAIN, what have we done to deserve this. I'm celebrating by spending my day editing and shopping for dinner. Shopping for dinner over here is one of Life's Great Pleasures. There's never just one store that has what you need, so you get to wander in and out of  assorted little shops and talk to humans over counters, and it's all just very nice. 

For example, on the menu tonight is sushi. So I'm off to the fishmonger:

Right!

And then we have the fishmonger himself: when I asked if it was okay to take a picture, he not only said yes, he immediately grabbed his tap-hose and sprayed all the fish down 'to make them shiny for you.' The results speak for themselves:

THIS IS WHY WE SHOP HERE.

Then once I sorted the tuna, I had to pick up the veg. Another shop! Isn't this grand? I left the street where the fishmonger is located, though, because it's Fancy Town, all wine shops and bakeries and fancy butchers - which works when you're looking for high-grade fish good enough to eat raw, but outsmarts me for anything else. The green grocers there are all antique-wooden-crate, rustic-sign-board, flower-adorned pretty places that sell a designer selection of faux-organic produce at Victoria Park prices. Closer to home, my local veg shop is all cardboard and plastic, and they have a machete behind the counter to whack open the cassava root, and you'll never spend more than a fiver. 

Mircey Fruit: Keepin' It Real, since whatever year that font was in style.

I also had to go to The Tescos, but that's not photogenic or charming, so let's just skate right past and pretend we didn't see it. 

And just to make my morning more exciting: there's a row of derelict, abandoned shops right on the corner between our place and Where All the Shops Are, and today I passed a group of local women painting them pretty:

I don't know why This & That and Bankrupt Stock didn't survive. They had some decent wholesale handbags that were not at all of questionable origin.

Okay, back to work! If I hit my editing target early enough, I'm going to take a hot bath before dinner, and that would be my day won.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esssss

 

On a desert road trip, the Salinas Grandes, and 'adventure travel'

OMGYOUGUYS. It's time for a travel tale. Do youguys remember last winter, when we went to Argentina to visit delightful friends (the ones who sent me that gorgeous diary yesterday) and cruised the countryside for a while? SURELY YOU MUST. Anyway, you may or may not also remember that there was a bit of a gap in content between Cafayate and our return to Buenos Aires. In that time we cruised Salta and Iguazu Falls and things got Super Real. Super Awesome, to be sure, but Real, nonetheless. This was no urban, hipster portion of our holiday, where we ate fancy food and watched dancers do the tango, or cruised vineyards and poolsides and ate our weight in empanadas. No, Salta was none of these things. It was cowboy country, close to the borders of Bolivia and Chile, a gorgeously wild, rocky countryside, full of llamas and gauchos and wool and stew and folk music and grit.

I don't know if you know this, but Wolf and I aren't super gritty.

Our day out of Salta began with a drive north to Purmamarca to see the Cierro de Siete Colores (Hill of Seven Colours). We intended from that point on to continue our drive north to Humahuaca to see More Colourful Hills and Rocks before turning around and trekking back south. It would be a long day on the road - about three hours each way - but THOSE VIEWS, right! That LANDSCAPE! IT MUST BE DONE IT IS WHY WE ARE IN SALTA.

It all started according to plan: we made it to Purmamarca by 10:30 in the morning - after a drive through rolling hills covered in fog, very Northern-California - and got to see this:

I'm pretty sure this is where unicorns are born.

Purmamarca was the sweetest little village nestled in the crook of a rainbow: it had a charming market square filled with dusty pottery and llama wool blankets and a whopping total of about five little shops packed with mate gourds, bombillas, and wooden carvings of animals. It was EXACTLY what you wanted it to be.

Taste the rainbow.

Our plan from this point was to make it to Humahuaca by lunch, take some more photos of pretty rocks, maybe take a walk, and then head back to Salta for dinnertime.

It was in the tiny Purmamarca tourism office - if you can call a single room containing nothing but a giant yellowed wall map a tourism office - that our path changed. 'You MUST go to Salinas Grandes,' the tourism-girl/map monitor assured us. 'It is MUCH nicer than Humahuaca. Also closer. Drive is very nice.' We consulted Wall Map, squinted at her one faded brochure from 1994 that showed giant salt plains and a bunch of fluorescent nerds jumping around, looked at Wall Map again, and saw that it was indeed a closer dot. And - unlike Humahuaca - we could loop back to Salta via a local highway so we wouldn't be backtracking and taking the same road up and down the country. All new territory! And halfway through this loop was a town that - going by the size of its dot - was pretty good-size, and the brochure said that tourism buses bound for the Salinas Grandes used this town as its halfway point for a break, and that it also had a train station because it was on the track of the Train to the Clouds or Heavens or whatever. So it must contain at least a charming square of some sort and possibly an empanada or two! Who needs Humahuaca and its dozens of cafes? We're sold. Caution to the wind - me feeling very proud that for once I wasn't following a carefully-planned itinerary, I am so spontaneous and exciting - we hit the road.

And the girl didn't lie: the approach to the Salt Plains was BEAUTIFUL. Mountains and switchbacks and views in every direction:

'Look at those rock formations!' we exclaimed, convinced these were at LEAST as nice as those of Humahuaca, if not BETTER.

'Have you ever SEEN such beauty??' we thrill. 

'Oh yeah. We made the right choice.'

It took us about an hour to get to the Salt Plains, and we are psyched. We got to drive through SO MUCH PRETTINESS and now we're going to see SALT PLAINS. We're thirsty, and starting to feel peckish - it's noon, after all, time for first lunch - so we decide we will pop in to the Salt Plains Visitor Centre and buy a bottle of water and an overpriced cookie or something to tide us over until we get to that Halfway Town.

Except we get there, and there is only this:

Salt Plains, as advertised.

That's okay! How naive of us to assume that all national parks would have visitor centres! This isn't the UK or America, after all. We've travelled the world, we should've known better! And we aren't sissies, we can wait until Halfway Town to eat or drink. We jump around like nerds because the brochure seemed to indicate that was the number one activity here, and then we continue on our Fun Times Road Trip.

We took the car back to a painted arrow we remembered seeing a few minutes before: 101km to San Antonio de los Cobres *that way*. Excellent! In about two hours we'll have a break and a bite. Sure, we hadn't eaten since 7 that morning and now we were looking at two in the afternoon, but a little hunger builds character. WE ARE NOT SISSIES. Onwards!

Things are still looking good as we head back to the arrow. And then: Where is the road?

Is it that dirt track?

SPOILER ALERT: IT IS THAT DIRT TRACK.

We're momentarily alarmed before realising that it must only be dirt for a short time before becoming a normal road again, because Wall Map showed this road as a thick yellow line like all the other roads we had been on before and none of THEM were made out of sand. Let's not worry too much, we must get on with things, lunch awaits and it's this or return to Purmamarca.

We take the turn.

This is what it looks like when donkeys are laughing their *sses off.

We ignored the warning, the hilarity, in his eyes.

We start driving. And driving. This is all we see for the first half hour: 

Eff you, Salt Plain horizon.

And this is all we see for the NEXT THREE HOURS:

At this point, the road is so rough that Alan's struggling to keep our tiny tin-can rental car in our 'lane' (insert delirious laughter here. There are no lanes. There are no other cars). The constantly shifting sand, the buffeting wind, the rocks - everything conspires to push our vehicle into the path of nature. His knuckles are white on the wheel and every time we hear a pebble ping against the side of the car - which is every two seconds - we flinch and regret not taking out the insurance policy, because surely by the end of this, our car will be as pocked as the surface of the moon. We can't roll down the windows, because within seconds the wind pushes so much dirt into the car we are covered head-to-toe in a fine red dust.

Eventually, having driven for over two hours without seeing a single other vehicle, Alan relaxes his grip and gives up and drives down the middle of the road, where the car appears to be (more) content. Any approaching vehicle we'd see coming days in advance. So, you know, bright side?

THERE IS NO BRIGHT SIDE HERE. THIS IS DEATH.

This is where they bury the bodies of all the tourists who take this road.

And then - finally, finally, oh thank God we've made it - San Antonio de los Cobres! We made it! Civilisation! We made it! There will be water! Food! Gas! WATER WATER OMG WATER WE ARE DYING OF THIRST AND HUNGER WATER. It's now 3:30 in the afternoon, we are low on gas, and it's been over 8 hours since the last time we had anything to eat or drink. Our hanger has led us to bottomless depths of silence and all we can think of is putting ANYthing in our face, ANYthing AT ALL, and not running out of gas because we still have A BILLION MORE KILOMETERS to get to Salta. This was HALFWAY, YOUGUYS. HALFWAY THROUGH THE JOURNEY. But it's a town! Salvation is upon us.

OH. EFFING. NO.

THIS IS THE ENTIRE TOWN YOUGUYS.

Just let that sink in a minute.

Maybe that's the convenience store?

It is at this point we begin to despair. This was our goal, it's what kept us going through over three hours of driving through a deserted wasteland. We panic in a silent way, because we are too worn down to panic in our usual scream-to-the-gods way, my preferred method of supplication. Our focus narrows immediately. GAS. WE MUST GET GAS. Forget dreams of food and water, forget white-washed churches and leafy town squares, IF WE DON'T GET GAS WE ARE STRANDED HERE. And we are pretty sure the only place to sleep is that graveyard we passed an hour before. 

We drive down the road. We find a dirt track that leads to another gravel road. We drive down that road. There is still nothing. We internally panic some more as the car's tank trickles down. We stop and ask two men walking down the road who are so covered in that pervasive white dirt you can't see the brown skin beneath and their insides must be white and cracked as well, and when we asked them for directions, their Spanish was not my Spanish and we can only understand their gestures and confusion. 

We finally find it: a tank. A man. A hose. GAS. We are so incredibly thankful we don't care that there's no shop attached, still no sustenance. We pass a house with a table in front and there's evidence of a parrilla that smells torturously of roasted meat, but this semblance of a place that sells food is already shut, they shut at three. Our Spanish is not your Spanish, so we cannot feed you, we are shut, you see our gestures? 

We get back on the road. We're slightly less terrified than before - at least now we have a full tank so we can die farther down the road - but now we are hell-bent on getting back to Salta. 

The road is still rough, but it's smoother, it's cleaner, we are moving faster, scenery is rising again: 

What is beauty in the face of the end of times? 

IT IS NOTHING. A WEARY SOUL KNOWS NO BEAUTY.

And then youguys, it happened. THE ROAD BECAME PAVED.

THE ROAD BECAME PAVED! You would not believe our shrieks of joy, the way we bounced in our seats and attempted the radio again and then gave up and sang our own songs. It didn't matter that we still had two hours of driving ahead of us, that we are now going on ten hours with no food or water. IT WAS PAVED, YOUGUYS.

You wouldn't believe how quickly two hours can pass when you can drive at a million miles per hour without swerving off a dirt path. As soon as we got back to Salta, we squealed to a halt in front of the first street food vendor we saw, not caring what he was selling, how authentic or local or charming it was, whether it had been reviewed by Tripadvisor or Yelp or Travel & Leisure, and we ate the best cheeseburgers of our lives and drank cokes so fast we nearly choked. Propped up on his stools, shovelling it all in, crusty and wild-eyed, the guy must've thought that we were absolutely insane.

We were. INSANE FOR THIS BURGER. I'm pretty sure my hand was trembling in this photo.

Eventually we made it back to our tiny hotel and showered and went out to Real Dinner - because OBVIOUSLY I still had a plan and a list of places we had to eat and no Burger Starter was going to stop that - before we at long last stumbled back to our room. We slept for ten straight hours that night, as heavily as the dead buried in the middle of the God-forsaken Argentinian desert.

The next day: Iguazu Falls. AKA 'Water.' It had better be good.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss

C'est la life, c'est la Hackney, c'est la leaving the house

OMGYOUGUYS. Because my monthly cleaner has occupied our home and nothing makes me more uncomfortable than sitting on the couch while she hoovers around me, even if I AM working, I've currently camped out in my neighborhood organic cafe (because Hackney) right next to a record player (because Hackney) sipping a bottomless cup of coffee (because 'they've always wanted American coffee service'). It's absolutely lovely and I can't believe I haven't been here yet. 

My workstation:

See the stack of paper my laptop is sitting on? 

That's about one QUARTER of the manuscript I'm proofreading right now.

Then, as I was taking the above photo (feeling a bit basic because come ON, if one more person instagrams a cafe with distressed wooden counters and quinoa salad and a blackboard menu, then surely the world will combust. Also don't check my instagram), the woman sitting at the table across from me asked if I would like to be IN the photo. I mean, obviously not, no, never, don't make me slap you, but then also HOW NICE WAS THAT and WHAT KIND OF NEIGHBORHOOD IS THIS so of course yes, I would love that, thank you so much! *hands over phone, sits back down slowly, suspiciously*

Not even black and white makes it look like I'm really working in this photo. 

Also, the curve of the 'Specials' going over my head makes it look like I'M special. That woman surely had the last laugh. 

Speaking of this crazy place we now live in, we had an excellent time with the neighbors at our social hour last week. They didn't try to dismember us ONCE. We gathered in their kitchen, where the husband cultured his rye sourdough starter every half hour and told the Wolf about his new smoker and I chatted with the wife about the grossness of attachment parenting and how good her nanny was. It was delightful. And get this! In a couple of weeks the neighbors on the OTHER side are having a little meet-and-greet for all the cute couples at our end of the road! I think it's safe to say we've found quite the little community here. I'm going to pack ALL my best behavior. *curls hair, digs out pearls* Why yes, Louise, I too feel the same about Benedict as Hamlet, ha-ha, ha-ha! Do pass the wine, won't you? Ha-ha! Aren't we wild!

Okay, I should get back to tackling that mound of paper. All my love to you and I hope you're having an excellent weekend!

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

Oh Buenos Aires, you.

OMGYOUGUYS. I have too much content today. I have FOUR DAYS of Buenos Aires to cover. This will be impossible - there is not enough coffee in the world, and I can feel the sun on my ankles - it is a delightful burning - and also it is only a matter of minutes until the Kitty Patrol comes and sits on my computer. Oreo and Melita are the Holiday Enforcers, the Vacation Guard, and if there is one thing they will not stand for, it is the presence of a laptop on a sunny balcony when you clearly  have two hands capable of more than tapping away at a keyboard:

Like rubbing tummies.

So for now, in this brief window, I will attempt - perhaps in vain - to at least cover the weekend. Here we go!

First, let us start with our friends who are hosting us, Palermo-style. This is them plus their Lily-Allen sister, Pia:

I KNOW.

Meet Vik and Pablo. They are artists, influencers, and socialites to the nth degree (more on this soon). They are also warm and funny, and they know EVERYTHING. We've loved them since we met in London many moons ago. I should add that Vik, in addition to being a famous illustrator, is also a singer. We will also see this in action soon.

This is their shop, Monoblock. They have two of these in Buenos Aires - one in Palermo, and one in the Galeria Liceo, which is pictured below. Everything in their shop they have produced in collaboration with local artists (and one from Londres, woot!). It is awesome: 

Sidebar: can I tell you how weird it is to celebrate Christmas when it's a million degrees outside? There we are, walking down the streets, sweating and dusty and wondering where we can find a lemonade, and there are baubles and reindeers and glitz in all the shop windows. Feliz Navidad? YOU ARE MOCKING ME.

Back to Monoblock! Remember the Lily Allen Sister? She is a chef and this is her deli, snugged away in a courtyard behind the shop and full of tattooed hipsters. Her food is gorgeous, leading me to believe that between her and her sister, there is a bit too much total talent for one family. But that's why I am not in charge. 

You want to go to here:

After lunch, Alan and I finally quit stalking our hosts (me, pawing Vik's hair, murmuring nonsense) and headed to La Recoleta Cemetery. Youguys. You know my history with cemeteries: they do not want me in them because I Know What's Going On. For the most part I am happy to oblige, but sometimes, rules must be broken. I will tell you now, though - cue foreboding music here - just because I am willing to compromise, doesn't mean the graveyard will. Our understanding is in place for a reason, and this will become apparent very soon.

But first, let's start off when things are good and happy and I am merrily skipping about the mausoleums. Aren't they stunning? Aren't they spooky and magical? *click click snap snap* I wonder where Eva Peron's is? I hope these pictures capture the atmosphere. Why is it that cemeteries always look gloomy? Can the sun not penetrate here? --Ooh! Look at that angel statue! *click click snap snap*

Then, we turn down one of the teeny tiny labyrinth-like paths, and:

NOT OKAY.

I see this for the omen it is - because Not My First Graveyard - and turned us down a different path to get away from his Curse. And am immediately confronted with this sky:

THE KITTY DID THIS.

I turn and look back at him.

In that half-moment when my back was turned, the sky grew to this:

STOP IT, KITTY! You are summoning the overlords! 

WE ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.

THUNDER OF DISPLEASURE.

I lingered long enough to photograph This Graveyard's Wrath - because some people never learn - and that is when THE HAIL BEGAN.

An angel dispensing doom like so much salt over fried potatoes.

This was the gate leading out. It took me years to reach it. 

The graveyard clearly won. We had to take refuge in a cafe across the road, attempting to dry off with the warm comfort of Malbec, as the rain lashed the windows, still trying to get at us. When at last we could move again, I got close enough to shoot this church and then got out of there as fast as I could. I knew my place.

This is clearly not it.

Then to Floreria Atlantico! This is one of those super-hip cocktail bars that looks like a flower shop on street level because So Secret but then they open the magic door and you go underground and ooh la la So Dark and Sexy and Look at That Typeface and This Cocktail Menu is Written in More Than One Foreign Language and I Don't Care What It Is, I Want to Drink It and Is That Eucalyptus Infusing in That Bottle? 

In short: exactly right.

I don't know about you, but the more steps I have to take for my negroni, the better it tastes.

And then dinner, wherein we take a full 180 from the sophistication of Floreria and head to El Cuartito. It is the whole package: flourescent lighting, full of locals, and home of the squidgiest gooeyiest pizza you have ever put in your face. Also, that guy:

My new favourite pizza is the one on the bottom left - yes, I was so hungry I took a bite before I photographed it, don't judge me - it's called Fugazzetta, and it's basically crap-tons of mozzarella and onions. At El Cuartito, they also stuff the crust and add cream cheese. I WILL TAKE IT ALL, PLEASE.

And Oreo just sat on my arm. Apparently I have been given enough time. I got Saturday done, though! Progress!

I will now leave you with the view from our roof terrace - pictures of rooftop asado coming soon! - and take my leave. Today is San Telmo Day! 

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esssss