An Idiot Broad Abroad

Hello again! The time has finally come for me to regale you with the tales of DAY 2! At this rate you will have Day 3 episode unlocked just in time for Christmas morning! Enjoy 🙂

Day 2 marked our first camp wake up. Thanking our lucky stars that we didn’t get blown away in the night following gale force winds that nearly uprooted a few tents. Earplugs, my friends, and you won’t hear that as it’s happening to you… A few others were not so lucky and woke in the middle of the night fearing for their lives. On the bright side, no wolf or bear attacks!

Hello morning porridge and large dollop of peanut butter. In retrospect, I can definitely say I was overeating, thinking I was going to waste away during the big rides. How do I know this? All I will say is that my bowels are not used to a double serving of porridge with all the trimmings every day at 5:30 am. Topped off with some jet fuel coffee and a pastry top-up a few hours later. Gut microbiome was being conditioned to handle a wide spectrum of beige foods.

Setting off with our stomachs full of porridge, I was riding with the mountain masochist Giulia, along with Alice, Laura and Joe. We started right off the bat with a substantial, gradual and never ending climb. We snaked our way up to a pretty fat highway that was busy and unpleasant. Joe, our fearless leader, made the superb call to divert off route and take us on the old switchback descent that clearly hadn’t been updated since this newer highway was constructed. This meant we were gravel dodging down completely calm and glorious switchbacks, lined with beautiful greenery and a hell of a view.

Normally I am not a fan of descending. It hurts my hands and wrists and I find it can be pretty scary. But this was just the right grade that you could let the wheels go a fair amount and not be white-knuckling the brakes. I loved it! Giulia was well at the back complaining that the gravel was going to give her a puncture… not how that works G! After this little foray into gravel biking, I think I need to get into it more! So fun!

The end of descent did get a bit steeper which was somewhat stressful, however, we all made it out alive. Our reward being a very pleasant riverside café second breakfast stop!

We carried on our merry way passing by views of Lake Skadar below. Ice cream stop was in order as we had a pretty significant climb ahead of us (of course we did…). There was a bit more faffing around than I normally condone – faff, for those of you who don’t know the term, being unnecessary time wasting. I may have inadvertently started an Anti-faffist movement among my peers…

However, in the end we put our heads down and slayed our way up that hill. When we reached the top we needed to find a place to have our lunch in the shade. It was a very hot day. Not presented with many options, we opted for a small depression in the cliffs next to the road and squatted around our food like a pack of hyenas.

Of course, we cycled for about 10 minutes following our lunch break and found a café at the crest of the mountain with benches and a toilet. We took another quick break anyhow. Major faff. But I was okay with it as we didn’t have to log as many miles that day. So we faffed around and lounged on a bench with a spectacular view while the wild wind ripped through us. At first it was enjoyable but then we all started going a bit squirrely and decided to get outta there.

I had another classic clip-in slow motion fall over – the first of many.

On we went and I felt like a weighed down sack after lunch – again, the panicked overeating got the best of me. It was a hard, hot slog of a climbing day.

Following a bit more climbing, we descended into a bizarre little town with abandoned Soviet era buildings and a mosque which we heard doing the call to prayer in the distance. I didn’t expect to see so many mosques during this journey, being rather dismal at Eastern geography and historical recall. A very interesting cultural surprise though.

I raided the village bakery and got a hit of meat borek (Thighs is all vegetarian… good stuff, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I had to sample the local animal based delicacies ;P).

Our day wrapped up after a final coffee stop quite early compared with the rest of the trip. We only rode about 80km total and were treated to a beautiful camping stop by Lake Skodor. So nice to reach camp and set up well before it was dark, to have time to go for a swim/ bathe in the tepid bathwater of a lake and to even have a little solitary time to read before our group dinner.

We were jam packed into the backyard of the very kind proprietors along with their chicken coop and dog cage. Made for quite a cacophony of sounds and smells…

We enjoyed one of the most magical sunsets there along Lake Skodor sharing a delicious meal prepped by the wonderful core team. How lucky we are indeed!

We capped off the evening with a blissful yoga session led by Mike, with subtitles (aka yelling overtop of the video) by Giulia. Yoga on hard, jagged rocks – ahhh so zen.

DOTD

108.86 km distance

1,866 m elevation

6 hours and 44 seconds in da saddle!

I was riding on a combination of nerves and excitement when I slammed my hand onto my phone to snooze the alarm at 5am from my top bunk at Anchi Guesthouse (sea(wage) view room). Still dark outside means I should still be sleeping… but it was indeed time to orchestrate my body into a series movements that simulated being awake.

We prepped ourselves and gathered for our first morning of porridge, to be our camp breakfast each and every day of the ride. Turned out to be fabulous with a wide array of fixings, most importantly, a large jar of peanut butter. I reported to the team that this would be plenty, if it was just for me.

Luckily the core team restocked frequently…

After a wee bit of faff (a word you will hear a lot of in these Thighs of Steel posts, more discussion pending) I was off with a first day dream team – Zeina, Alex (Terrible Trio couldn’t be pried apart on day 1), Sarah and at the helm was Eva.

As the sun began to poke up from behind the mountains in the distance we headed out on the big bad roads out of Dubrovnik, direction Montenegro! The roads were relatively empty in the morning hours but grew busier as the morning whittled on. We had been warned about very impatient and, for lack of a better word, asshole drivers. So, with this setting my nerves a bit abuzz I was clinging to the shoulder like a moth to a flame. Luckily it really wasn’t as bad as anticipated. And we soon took a much appreciated turn off the main road to find some wonderful back roads that were clear of cars and lined with vineyards and rolling hills.

Day one was the day we learned firsthand the magic that is “second breakfast.” With the porridge sitting somewhat questionably after being force fed at 5:30am, we generally needed a coffee and pastry top up around 9am. This is when I learned another valuable lesson of Thighs: when presented with a pastry shop, always buy more than you think you need.

Shortly after our second breakfast we were back on the road and already approaching the border to Montenegro. It is still such a novelty for me to be able to cycle from one country to another – being from the massive land that is Canada. But being able to cross one border, let alone 4, in the space of 7 days is incredible. And makes me feel very grateful to have had the dumb luck to be born in a country that provides the privilege for me to do so.

I wasn’t the only one excited about the border… Alex – the European – demanded a stamp in his passport which wasn’t actually necessary because of his allegiance to the EU, however, he wanted it for his collection! Though slightly confusing because Montenegro isn’t officially an EU member yet… anyways… he got the stamp. He was pleased.

Montenegro immediately offered dramatic mountain views littered with raw vegetation. We again had to shimmy along some busy roads for some time before descending into the Bay of Kotor. Quite impressive to see the small beachside roads dotted with shops and restaurants tilt upward into lush green mountains.

We stopped for a swim in the bay where we had hoped for some beachside showers. While there were indeed showers installed, no water emitted from them… not ideal. Some of the more dedicated to hygiene went in search of showers in nearby establishments, while I just pulled my – already salty – cycling kit back over my salty body.

This strip of beach reminded me of the English seaside, in the sense that most of the beachgoers were mildly to morbidly overweight, necking either a beer, a hotdog and ice cream or a cigarette – just with better tans than the English.

After our swim break we took a ferry! The duration of the journey was approximately 7.5 minutes. We sidled up behind a chain-smoking motorcycle gang and parked our bikes. Stunning little crossing of the Bay of Kotor.

One more dip and lunch – and an espresso – before embarking on “the climb” that everyone had been murmuring about all day. There had been non-stop chat about this impending climb due for us at the end of the day and I was both curious and nervous at the same time. Luckily we had free reign when going up mountains to go at our own pace – I can’t stop and dilly dally or I go mad.

So I took off with quite a bit of first day gumption and comfortably left everyone in the dust, except Giulia. Giulia the Italian from Trieste who would definitely become known as the Queen of the Mountains – with me being a close second ;P – of the trip. She wasn’t just good at cycling up mountains, she frickin’ loved it. Sure, I don’t mind a climb too but she was a real hill masochist. (I need another word for masochist, because clearly we had our fair share of them among the group.)

“We love the hills.”
“It’s a vibe.”

– Giulia

Giulia and I fuelled up with a nutritious pack of crisps and took in the fabulous view when we reached the top. We were then told by the proprietor, after saying we would be camping in a nearby area, to look out for wolves… oh and maybe some bears. Dear god.

So with potential midnight mauling on the cards we headed on toward camp, first ones to arrive! Closely followed by another two Queens of the Mountains: Sarah and Laura.

It was so nice to roll into the large field where the van was set up, hot delicious meal waiting and even a cabin where the generous host let us use the facilities. Any day you don’t have to use a poop shovel is a good day (more on that later).

This was night one of camp, which meant setting up my tent. Selecting a little red two-man number I was hoping for the quick assembly system that I have grown accustomed to with my MSR. No such luck. It took a few considerable tries to even figure out how the thing fit together. I also had Giulia next to me trying to set up hers, where it seemed that her experience as a youth in the Italian Scouts didn’t really pay off. Finally erecting the tent, I opened my zipper and got my first whiff… oh right, this had been used for six weeks straight by various other riders…

Needless to say I nodded off quite quickly due to being completely wiped out from the day, or due to poisoning from the noxious tent odour.

COTD

Cat of the Day – not a doggy in sight that I captured on film. Plenty of dogs heard throughout the night while trying to sleep though…

Until the next intsalment, happy riding!

We made it!

Seven days, 9520 m elevation gain, 812.88 km travelled, five countries, and 16 new friends! Yay! See my Strava for overview of the rides: https://www.strava.com/athletes/12159631

What a doozey of a week.

It’s been difficult to actually get myself together and write about my experience because it has been so special. How can I possibly put into words the magic of the past nearly two weeks?! Finally after a short visit to Venice alone (a weird place for a solo trip immediately following a week straight of 24/7 socialization) I am on a speeding train toward Bologna to meet my mother and have the mental space to tip tap type some updates!

My ambitions of updating you all while on the road were foiled when I realised there was little to no cellular service in the countries we travelled through (at least on my phone plan). In addition to this we were doing so much cycling there was very little time left to reflect and actually report on what I was doing each day.

But here we are, several days after our triumphant arrival in Thessaloniki, where I can take the time this update deserves. In parts… probably broken down into several posts. You may treat it as a lively new Netflix series, except with no guarantee on when the next episode will be released whatsoever.

Finally finally, thank you so much to everyone who generously contributed to my Just Giving page and helped fund grassroots projects to support refugees and displaced people. Thighs of Steel has raised over £88,000 so far! And if you haven’t but would still like to it’s not too late!

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Suzanne-Faye-king

Strap in and enjoy the ride!

Friday 1 September: T-minus 2 days until The Ride begins

I woke to the shrill call of my alarm going off and slunk myself out of bed with the knowledge that I had a long day of human sized box (H.S.B.) schlepping ahead of me. Out the door of my London flat and onto the dark streets to wait for the bus to take me the 10 minute journey to Zeina’s. Normally a very walkable commute, I was burdened by the weight of a bike, two filled pannier bags and camping gear (minus a tent).

I picked up Zeina who was “ready” aka still doing her final workplace admin moments before our Uber was due to arrive. Typical faffist antics.

We crammed our H.S.B.’s into the Uber and drove to Victoria Station – further than we normally would have had to travel due to train strikes. We were then dropped off at the wrong entrance and had to sled pull our H.S.B.’s through a closed mall to take us to our platform. At least we got in a good morning workout.

At Gatwick we momentarily paused to re-tape our bike boxes due to the substantial wear and tear they incurred from being dragged/ schlepped. The check-in crew slapped a couple of HEAVY stickers on my human sized box and we dropped them off at the oversized luggage area, crossing our fingers we would ever see them again.

Our flight took off an hour or so late, so all things considered this left us in pretty good shape.

Hello Dubrovnik!

The real fun began when the human sized boxes indeed made it to Dubrovnik and we decided to assemble our bikes in the airport. We found a quiet corner near a café and proceeded to set up shop and provide a great deal of entertainment to the lounging passengers nearby over the next several hours.

We got most of the bikes together before remembering all we had with us was a small, mostly useless, hand-pump. We weren’t in a position to get the tires up and running very well for the hour and a half ride to our hostel with that.

Not a problem in Zeina’s perfect little world, and she was off out into the desert-like abyss of the Dubrovnik airport parking lot to source some air.

She came back a while later with one inflated tire and good news that a rental car agency had a car compressor situation we were able to use. Luckily, thanks to Naoum, Zeina had a converter valve. So I marched out with my bike and Zeinas other tire and filled all up, save for one of Zeinas that wasn’t taking the air.

Puncture #1

A pinch flat from when she changed her tire back in London.

While she attended to that I took my bike out for a spin in the parking lot and promptly realized my derailleur was completely and utterly dingled. The gears were chunky and not changing nicely at all. This would be unrideable into Dubrovnik unless fixed.

Back in the workshop – sorry, airport arrivals hall – I tinkered with the derailleur and attempted to watch some Youtube videos… it got better then worse and then about the same.

In the end, we made the decision to take the shuttle bus into the city. The first rip off of the trip when the bus sales rep arbitrarily decided to charge us 10 euros each for the bikes. Cool.

So, there we were, probably 4 hours after we arrived and collected our human sized boxes, we were on the road! In a bus. But, while riding along the busy highway with non-existent shoulder I was thanking my botched derailleur for rendering us unable to cycle this road.

Finally, we made it to our hostel and checked in. We were delighted to learn we had the sea view room, until we saw it. A bunk room with windows facing the busy road, industrial port site and construction with a nice waft of sewage to boot. Ahhh, budget travel. It’s fine, all we had to do was sleep there. Still, I thought my days of top bunk co-ed hostel slumber were behind me…

We met the first of many new faces when Mike appeared from the upper balcony of the hostel and introduced himself. Mike being a real cycling masochist who had been on a solo ride for the past several months.

We freshened up and headed out with Mike, Alice and Mimmi to take the bus into the old city. Which was beautiful! Dubrovnik certainly exceeded my expectations in terms of breathtaking-ness. Though it was, of course, very busy in the main area of the old town. We toured in and out of the smaller side streets and alleys and decided to get dinner to go and take to the “beach.” I say beach in quotations because it was actually a cliff face that had stairs and a bar etched into it. It was very beautiful though and so nice to sit overlooking the sea.

A few of the more deranged of the group decided to descend all the way down to water level and go for a night swim. Still traumatized from my near drowning in Lebanon thanks to Zeina I was staying firmly planted on land for the night.

After the dinner, swim and rock face chills we headed back into the old town in hunt of gelato. We also linked up with Alex, who had taken a later flight in. With the dilly dally duo (Zeina and Alex) and the Terrible Trio/ Sheep Shaggers/ Cyclists who Brunch reassembled, we were in for a good time. However, it was quite late and we had a big day of prep to do the next day so we took the bus home and settled in to the calming lullaby of traffic and relaxing scent of festering sewage.

___

Saturday 2 September: T-minus 1 day until The Ride

Turns out even a sea view room in Anchi guesthouse, Dubrovnik, is no match to my earplugs and eye mask combination. I slept like a baby angel until almost 10 am. I had to get a move on, though, to take myself to the only bike shop that seemed to be open on Saturday to deal with my derailleur issue.

I tried to ride and was foiled on the incline, so walked my bike about 20 minutes to the shop. It was a small place with one worker and he was quite uninterested in my plight at first, saying I should have called ahead and that he had a full day. I was very concerned as this was the last chance I had to get my bike in working order before we set of the next morning.

Luckily, with a little persuasion the bike shop guy took a look and when he removed the bike he was working on and put mine up on his rack I felt a sense of relief. He fiddled around with it for 15 or 20 minutes and I was pretty much in business. There was still some issue with a few gears, but it wouldn’t be a problem he said, as long as I just didn’t use them… okay then.

Anyway, 13 euros lighter and with much relief about a functioning bike I rolled back to the hostel to link up with Zeina and Alex to begin a day of pure dilly dally (aka faff). Time wasting for time wasting’s sake. We strolled toward a beach recommended in the direction of the old town and stopped for a coffee on the way.

We happened upon a parking lot quite close to our hostel – lovely area – that had rows of wooden picnic tables set up and the smell of roasting meat wafting through the air. The tables were peppered with a few old men eating plates piled high with unknown meat and beers. At about 11 am. Walking further on there were open fire pits with whole animals twirling round rotisserie style in massive trailer cum ovens… Further investigation revealed this was a once yearly lamb roast festival that occurs on the first Saturday of September. Unfortunately, we were not quite ready for roast lamb as our first meal of the day so we wandered on, vowing to come back later for lunch.

Before descending down to the beach – many of them being the same deep bay, cliff staircase situation – we stopped to pick up supplies at a corner shop. If you ever are curious about how much time is humanly possible to spend inside one food dispensing store, just take yourself into one with Zeina and Alex…

Zeina decided it would be best to ask for some of the cheese that appeared to have been sitting behind the counter for what looked like a good couple years and additionally asked the proprietor to slice it, which he proceeded to try to do with a meat slicer. Actually, turned out pretty well…

Finally at the beach, which was a nicely protected bay with rocky sand and some rocky/ concrete outcrops, we set up camp and jumped into the beautiful turquoise water for a swim.

I read my book and napped while Zeina and Alex swam across the bay to find a staircase hidden in the cliffs and ascended to find some nice old walls and buildings. I was quite happy with my nap though as it was charging me for the days to come…

Post beach we dawdled a bit in the old town before hightailing it back to the hostel for our first group dinner and meeting. We had a delicious meal and got to know the crew we would be riding with for the next 7 day… and we also got the devastating news about our future wake-up times…

That is where I will leave it today, next post will actually get into the meat and potatoes (or rather the borek and bougatsa (will explain later)) of the ride!

DOTD

Hello to all my loyal fans:

Thank you for your continuing dedication and unwavering support of my frequent and thorough blog updates!

Hold on to your frickin’ hats because we’re in for a good one here, folks.

It has been far too long since I have actually had any solid cycle content to post on here – nothing beyond long weekends away to various British middle-of-nowhere’s. One weekend in the Yorkshire countryside in July where Ryan and I had a double cycle breakdown, including a gear cable snapping mid-triathlon in the pouring rain – weather I am starting to understand is quite typical to British summertime, particularly if one happens to be outdoors on a cycle-camping trip.

Another weekend about a year ago took me, Zeina and Alex to the land of sheep-shaggers (Wales) for a delightful culinary tour of the Pembrokeshire coast.

Oh, and I suppose a wee trip to Lebanon too. But we didn’t cycle much there…

But none of these short adventures even hold a candle to what is to come! In just over a weeks time the sheep-shag crew will load our bicycles up into human sized boxes and fly from London to Dubrovnik. We are taking part in a cycling event called Thighs of Steel where we will join a group of 15 other adventurous masochists (I mean cyclists) to tackle 810km + 9000m climbing over 7 days. Oh, and we will be camping each night. What could possibly go wrong?!

For more info check out the detailed itinerary here.

We begin in Dubrovnik on 2 September and go flat out each day until we reach Thessaloniki in Greece. Actually, not flat… very very hilly each day.

The best part of it all will not be our cycling glove tans nor our diaper rashes, but the funds we raise to support grassroots refugee organizations. Thighs of Steel is a charity that works with Mass Action who funds these projects with dignified and sustainable initiatives for migrants and asylum seekers.

Here is an example of one of the great initiatives thighs of steel has supported – in Thessaloniki no less. We plan on going to visit this once our ride is over to see the benefits of the support first hand.

My job, along with completing the 7-day ride, is to raise a small portion of the overall funds with a target of £500.

Your job (maybe… if you want… no pressure) is to give me a small (or large) portion of this money if you are able and would like to support the cause.

To persuade you a little bit more I will be posting “live” blog updates each day of the ride. Okay, they won’t be live because we are going to be in the likes of remote mountain villages in Albania and I really can’t account for the strength of data signal out there, but they will be each day after our ride to the best of my ability. Just think of all the idiotic antics my friends and I will be getting up to!

I leave you with a selection of photos of The Sheep Shaggers on previous cycle adventures to give you a taste of what is to come. I also leave you with the link to donate if you wish.

CLICK HERE TO DONATE 🙂

Thanks for popping in – probably because you are a legacy subscriber who completely forgot you had email notifications on! But still, I hope you are keen to hear some idiot broad abroad content.

If you want to support me on my ride you can donate via my Just Giving page:

CLICK HERE TO DONATE 🙂

Until we next meet virtually when I make a new post, happy riding!

DOTD

Hello again dedicated readers and acquaintances I have forced my blog link upon.

Our second day in Barcelona was a combination of flat hunting for Ash and light debauchery… here we go!

We started off by regaling each other with news read off our cellular machines while lying in our domestically blissed state of separate single beds. Following what became our morning ritual, we prepared for the day and headed to the canteen for fuel.

The breakfast spread was good not great and was hampered by the overbearing voice of a – most likely American – loud mouth soup mansplaining some sort of psychology to a poor woman. It was really quite unbearable. We tried to drown out his ramblings about the lack of “critical mass” among ancient Greek philosophers and other such irrelevant information.

The question really is, what on earth were these two people doing having this conversation at a breakfast buffet in a hostel in Barcelona?

Anyway, we downed our brekky and got the hell out of there. The most hilarious moment was when we were finally leaving the hostel after freshening up and we ended up passing the same man and woman – the man appearing not to have taken a pause to draw in air amidst his tirade – now just seated in a different location in the hostel.

What a day she was going to have.

We moseyed our way to Coffee and News – the stand where Ash’s new flatmate makes a hell of a flat white – and had our first in-person exchange with Guillermo.

After a chit chat and confirmation that Guillermo was a real human and not a robot who was going to scam Ash out of a flat deposit, we made plans to meet him after work to see the flat and then continued on our way.

The next play was to make our way down to El Raval to view a place. El Raval is exciting but a bit more rough around the edges than the area we were staying. We felt this change as we walked along the perfectly manicured and designer shop clad pavilion of Avigunda Diagonal and transitioned into El Raval.

El Raval houses the MACBA – the contemporary art museum – and we considered a visit. Mostly to try to use the toilet. After our realization that the permanent collection was under construction and you had to pay to enter we decided to tour around the gift shop instead. Maybe if we bought enough schlock we would magically become more cultured.

It was a nice shop though…

The MACBA has an open courtyard where skateboarders and other ‘enemies of the state’ congregate. We were out of place in the hip countercultural hub.

Naturally we moved on and found somewhere we felt much more at home: a local bakery.

I couldn’t even use the toilet there because we weren’t allowed in without a ticket. The hunt for a washroom continued…

We had a chat with the owner who was from the Philipinnes but had lived in the El Raval neighbourhood for the past 20 years. She talked of the improvement in safety of the area accompanied by gentrification but also the loud partying that goes on every night until the wee hours that makes it nearly unliveable.

We got some delicious treats and carried on our way to find the next flat viewing.

The person we met was a lovely Ecuadorian man but the flat was unfortunately small and dark. Not a winner.

We drowned our sorrows with an empanada and a beer… Initially we had planned to just get a snack to take away but it started pouring rain as we ordered so we stayed and relaxed over our snacks. We were on Spanish time after all.

I think it was just shortly before this that we sat outside the big ol’ gothic Cathedral of Barcelona and did some people watching. We were disappointed by the action and found ourselves drawn to food. As is our custom. We were passed by a very creepy man dressed as a Victorian era clown with his face painted all white and he was making clown nose honking noises with his mouth as he passed us. Terrifying. I’ve never been one to have a clown phobia but this was certainly off putting.

Another great food find of the trip were roast chestnuts – t’was the season in Barc Barc. Was so lovely to have a load of hot, roasted nuts scooped into a rolled-up newspaper and to shove them into our mouths as we wandered down the quaint streets. I’d never had them before and they are probably now in the top three of my warm nut rankings. A close runner up to warm airplane peanuts. (I know this isn’t even a thing anymore – what is the world coming to?!?!).

The real highlight of the night was going out to see the flat which has now become Ash’s new home! Located at the heart of the Eixample, Sagrada Familia and Gracia neighbourhoods, it is a lovelly fifth floor walk-up with a 130m hallway (great for indoor bowling) and a nice sunroom with a view of the Sagrada Famila! I was loitering around the flat knocking on walls and checking out the contents of the fridge trying to look like I knew what I was checking for while Ash sealed the deal with Guillermo. A few pictures later and a reassuring demonstration that the horrendous white lighting in the living room had other potential mood settings, and we were off in search of dinner!

But first… a stop in at the erotic shop.

I had reminded Ash an average of 69 times throughout the day that we had to go check out the erotic shop that day. Now, what you must know about Ash is that she is just a wee bit more of a prude than me. In fact, she had never been into a sex shop before. And, as you can imagine, I certainly didn’t make her first visit to one a carefree exploit. She was constantly teetering on the edge between fearing me embarrassing her and me embarrassing her. Poor gal.

We spent far too long in there and she eventually was convinced to make a purchase that I will not detail here for fear she reads this and then never speaks to me again. So, ‘great outcome’ you’re thinking – ‘she made a purchase and walked out of the shop proudly with her item in hand.’

Oh, no no. She made me take it to the front and pay for it, ask for an unmarked bag and to carry it the whole evening.

Flash forward to dinner. We had an excellent local Catalan restaurant recommendation from Farah for a spot called El Glop. Yes, you read that right – Glop. The place was cozy and traditional with several locals dining. We were there about 9 or 9:30pm, which is just about perfect timing to get in with the locals eating on a Monday night. We didn’t have a reservation but lucked out to get a table – I think reservations would likely be a good idea here in the future.

Ash was making quite a fuss about having our erotic shop purchases only separated from our fellow diners by a thin layer of carry bag. When we sat down at our, quite central, table in the main dining room and I made a show of putting the bag down beside me and ACCIDENTALLY fumbled with it just as a woman walked by and Ash’s item flew out onto the floor… “whoops”. She was mortified. I was filled with joy and laughter.

The most fascinating situation was unfolding at the table next to us – a group of three middle aged Catalan men were dining and clearly interested in us two foreign female clowns who had seated themselves next to them. I think they were shocked when they saw I knew my way around the plate that came with bread, a whole tomato and a full clove of raw garlic. Without missing a beat I crushed the garlic and removed the peel, rubbed it into the bread until it was all mashed in and then cut the tomato in half and did the same.  Pan con tomate… so fresh and so good!

Next, they ordered some sort of dish we were unfamiliar with but it was like long and fat roasted spring onion with a reddy/brown sauce that they were dipped in. One of the men received a plastic bib and clear plastic gloves which he donned before digging into this. It is always an exciting sight when a grown man wears a food bib.

I naturally had to ask our waiter for a bib for myself – both because I genuinely need one the way I eat and because I wanted to further mortify Ash. Unfortunately, we didn’t know to order this traditional Catalan dish so I didn’t really need the bib – but it was still fun to wear.

Of course, Ash doesn’t like seafood so paella was out. Sadness. I ended up getting a traditional Catalan sausage and potato dish (essentially Spanish bangers and mash) and Ash got lamb. Amateur.

We wrapped up the evening with a dessert and then strolled the calm and quiet streets of Gracia toward the hostel. All that was left was to walk in the door and see the woman still being lectured by the American ‘intellectual’.

Lucky for her it seemed they had vacated the premises.

DOTD

Petting this guy down required us to conduct a thorough hand washing in a public water fountain after… worth it.

No need to do a double take… this is really happening. A new post from your favourite idiot broad abroad! Coming to you from Hackney and regaling you with tales of my latest travels to Barcelona. I look forward to the pouring in of praise and accolades from my biggest fans (my parents).

Enough foreplay, let’s get into it. I am all jazzed up and ready to roll out some serious run-on sentences so I think I will break the post into parts and just cover the first bit of our trip here.

we have entered:

The time was approximately 15:00 when Ashlea and I were swept into the air on our British Airways flight toward Barcelona from Heathrow. For those of you who don’t know (everyone except aforementioned number 1 fans) Ash is my dear Australian friend who resides in London and who is shortly leaving the land of tea and crumpets for warmer climates and relocating to Barc Barc to study her Master’s in Urban Design. Her and I are – how to put this – absolute menaces of society when we get together.

Thus, Barcelona didn’t know what was coming when we touched down for what was – in theory – a flat-hunting trip for Ash, but in practice was more of a two-woman comedy (/horror) act. The majority of the rhetoric involved discussion about how humans are significantly more attractive in Spain than in the UK (or anywhere for that matter)!

After a brief domestic dispute (one of many) regarding transport to our hostel we ended up on the airport express bus – which actually turned out to be very economical. We were surprised that masks were still mandatory on the bus (yeah, Covid is still a thing they think about in Spain I guess).

We stayed in Casa Gracia sandwiched between Diagonal, Eixample and Gracia districts. Very central for our metropolitan selves. Upon our arrival we dumped our stuff, freshened up, bickered over who got which single bed and then left to meet Farah for a drink and tapas in Gracia. I failed to take any photos of this but we ended up at La Rovira and it was delightful. A quaint local hole in the wall for traditional tapas and many different beers on tap. Non-alcoholic beer was Estrella Galicia in a bottle – still quite tasty though!

An evening stroll home through Gracia after our tapas and beer was just what we needed to clear out any remaining plane induced lethargy. We wandered through the countless open public squares where people were still out and about having drinks, eating gelato and chit chatting late into the night – on a Sunday! Ahh, Spanish time. A wonderful characteristic of Spain is the vast areas of public space available for everyone to gather and connect.

Not many photos taken our first night – we were too busy wining and dining Farah. But here is the first of many svelte facades. The main site of interest was the boutique erotic shop that Farah pointed out, unfortunately closed at the late hour we passed. But not to worry – I marked it out in my Google maps and made a point to return with Ash the next day (as I reminded her over and over and over again until we got there).

We tucked ourselves into our single beds side by side and said goodnight. The next day we had a full schedule of flat viewings, coffee consumption and urban wandering!

I will leave it there to whet the reader appetite and post again soon…

a little extra to keep you coming back:

The great news was that we actually did find Ash an apartment with impeccable efficiency despite our haphazard planning. Here is a photo of me paying her new flatmate for coffee and a copy of BOYS! BOYS! BOYS! Yes, you read that right. Scroll to understand visually when I am saying.

The new flatmate works at News and Coffee – a cute kiosk with artist curated magazines… I spotted BOYS! BOYS! BOYS! out of the corner of my eye like a squirrel drawn to something shiny. I asked what it was all about and was told it is a magazine full of pictures of boys. Sold. Sold even before I turned it over and saw a photo of Leo Dicaprio in prime 90’s style. Hands down the best purchase of the trip!

DOTD:

Also not the best image I’ve ever captured of a dog, but at least something to excite you until my next post!

It should be a picture of a golden retriever as I think Barcelona has the greatest goldens per capita I have ever encountered on the continent!

Dear devoted fans (i.e. my parents and their friends):

I realize I set myself up for a bit of a backlash when I posted that I was reigniting the ol’ blog and then failed to write any follow up posts. All I can say is I have been horribly indisposed sitting on the floor staring into space, mapping out which grocery store I am going to walk to, and facing the existential crises of whether or not to go our for a jog on a daily basis.

In short, I haven’t really had much inspiration lately and have found myself at a loss of what to write. It looks as though this post is shaping up to be some brain drippings of the stream of consciousness variety.

Though, given most of the time I feel trapped in the confines of my wee Shepherd’s Bush flat I am grateful we are able to now go out as much as we like and officially can meet with one other person. I’ve been on several long bike rides to the far reaches of London I otherwise likely would not have seen – simply for lack of anything else to do.

I’ve also been engaging in a regular sort of rain dance to try to get the hair gods to supply me with an ample amount of hair growth A.S.A.P. Currently I am in transition from a botched self-administered bowl cut into a full mushroom cap. I have to resort to pulling up what little amount of hair is long enough into little pig tail buns to avoid looking like an 80’s soccer mom.

I have been getting quite well acquainted with my 20-minute neighbourhood during lockdown. It is nice to discover all I can reach by foot that wouldn’t have otherwise explored. In fact, just a few weeks ago I found what is most likely my favourite shop. It is simply called ‘Wine Shop’. It sells wine. Also beer. And candy. What could be better? It is only two blocks away from my flat and yet I never knew of it before. Thank you Coronavirus!

That said, I am trying to limit alcohol intake during lockdown. I began with the hopes of only drinking on the weekends, but then Cinco de Mayo came around and fell on a Tuesday and somehow I found a delivery man at my door with nachos and margaritas?! I’m sorry, but living in a city that has that sort of delivery on demand is very difficult to resist.

Okay, anyway – enough about fluids. Perhaps some discussion of more substance.

Hmm, I got nothing…

I think I am going to try to get out to explore a bit more of central London while it is still not crammed with people. I will take some photos and regale you all with stories of these wanderings. I will probably also bang on about cycle infrastructure a bit since that is massive at the moment and clearly dear to my heart. There may be a bit of public art (read: vandalism) that comes up. Plus, Tom the flatmate is returning beginning of June so there should be intrigue surrounding which of us murders whom first!

To tide you over until I am able to go on my next urban safari and post about it I shall leave you with some photos.

I suppose it was only a matter of time that I would be back. The reasons are two-fold. One: I am utterly and completely bored being shut up in COVID-19 lockdown; and, two: a colleague discovered my blog, has unleashed it on the rest of the work team, and I have been reminded of the good ol’ days of bloggy blog times. Oh, and I suppose there is a third reason: my millions of devoted fans (read: my parents) have been pestering me for updates!

As you may or may not know the world is in the midst of a global health pandemic. We are confined to our homes essentially all the time, save for once a day exercise and essential trips here in London. Currently, I am sitting on my couch in Shepherds Bush. Tommy boy – the flatmate – has abandoned me to be spoiled by his mother in Grimsby for the duration. Hence, I am alone.

The first month was fine. I am thankful for my job and colleagues and the regularity in schedule and routine that brings. I am thankful for friends and family, but mostly for the interwebs. Zoom upon Zoom meeting really does begin to become a full social calendar.

Speaking of Zoom, for those who missed it, I gave myself a bowl cut live on Zoom in front of my work team. The results were dismal. It has now been just over a week since said event and my hair hasn’t regrown in its entirety – I don’t understand!! I look like Lloyd Christmas.

The bowl cut was inspired by colleague Meg who completed a fundraiser for homeless people during C-19. If she raised 500 lbs she was going to shave her head. In solidarity I agreed to give myself a bowl cut if she shaved her dome. So, the deal was set. Meg easily surpassed her fundraising limit and went ahead with the shave.

I delayed as much as I could but eventually had to carry through with it. I didn’t, however, have to do it live over Zoom – but, why not right?!

Unfortunately I don’t really have much else to say. I think that will be one nagging issue with writing a personal blog during lockdown – I have absolutely nothing going on. Perhaps I will have to resort to more creative entries… If you have any ideas leave a comment!

Cheerio for now!

The idiot broad is abroad once again. This time, for a more permanent stay.

A few days ago I packed up several large bags (more on this later) and flew to London Gatwick via Calgary. Now I am more or less sorted in my new flat in Kensington Olympia and have one day of work under my belt. And I’ve finally had enough time to sit down in the evening and regale the internet with the story of moving myself and (far too much of) my stuff over to London.

Before the flight

Well, I suppose it began with the constant groaning and whinging of my father as he assisted me shoving my bags into our car to take them and me to the airport. He insisted they were all going to be over the weight limit. My mother and I were more optimistic.

Flash forward to the bag drop off at the West Jet gate and having to individually weigh each one of my four checked bag. Yes, you read that correctly, I had four checked bags…

The first one that went up was 45 lbs. Perfect! The limit is 50 lbs. Bag 2 went up and was 10 lbs overweight. Bag 3: 11 lbs over. Bag 4 (saving the best for last) was my ski bag, which contained not only my skis, but also two Persian rugs. Bag 4 weighed in at 89 lbs.

Okay, I guess my father was right on this one. I had to pay overweight charges for three bags – but I still maintain that this is cheaper than buying two new rugs in London!

Once I was unburdened of my four big bags I only had to deal with my backpack and carry-on suitcase, both packed to the verge of explosion. I said bye to my parents and made my way to the gate knowing that this was only the beginning of the hardship that lay ahead.

The flight

I sat down in my aisle seat and nervously waited as the masses inched their way down the cabin cramming bags and jackets and loose items into open compartments.

Devastation struck when an elderly woman came to sit right next to me in the middle seat. This did not bode well for potential middle seat openness.

I felt a mutual tension in the air as the elderly British lady and I watched the remaining passengers board. I think we both hoped we could have one space free between us.

This was not to be.

Quite possibly the last person to board was our lucky winner. She kindly asked if the elderly British lady wanted the window, who graciously accepted. Then she asked me if I wanted the middle or aisle and I, obviously, wanted to stay aisle. Middle is just a rookie mistake.

I wasn’t too horribly upset about the seating situation at this time. It was clearly a full flight and there was nothing to be done. However, I was too quick to let my guard down on this mystery middle seat occupant.

Middle seat woman was a nightmare. She was constantly moving, readjusting, taking her jacket on, then off, then on, then off, and she would flail it over the seat back of the person in front of her. I don’t know how they didn’t say anything about it.

Now, middle seat woman may have just been a nervous flyer and that is fine and there is nothing to be done about that. But to make matters worse middle seat woman appeared to have a cold and was sniffling non-stop, rubbing her hands all up and down her nostril business and then on her sleeves. It was really disturbing. I was working my wet wipes like mad!

At one point I could hear her sniffling through earplugs and noise cancelling headphones so I figured it would be nice if I brought her some tissue from the washroom because maybe she just didn’t want to ask to get up or something. I came back with a massive wad of tissue and handed them to her. She was very grateful.

It seemed that I had perfectly timed the tissue delivery with the climax of a tear-jerking romantic comedy she was watching and she interpreted the tissues for use on her wet eyes, rather than her nose.

She used the wad to wipe her eyes once and then shoved the whole load into her seat back. Sigh.

Middle seat woman also had a special talent for spilling any liquids (and some solids) on herself and others.

All this to say, it was a VERY entertaining flight with any attempts at sleep squandered.

After the flight

Deplaning was full of mixed emotions. Happy to be off of the flight that dragged on and on. Terrified at the next steps that lay ahead re. collecting my baggage, getting my baggage to the estate agent to pick up spare keys (because my dear flatmate Tomithy forgot to leave me my set of keys in London), and then getting my baggage to and inside my flat.

I made my way through customs with ease (hello, I am a Permanent Resident now ahh thank you) and found the carousel that was to regurgitate our flight’s bags. I put a one pound coin in a luggage cart and began to strategize how to fit everything on it.

I had to take multiple breaks between the carousel and the exit to the airport. I was pushing the luggage cart with three big bags and my small checked bag with one hand and I was dragging a 90 lb ski bag in the other.

I was half way out the clearance area you have to walk through in a tight little corridor with all your bags when I had to stop and re-grip again. This is when I was approached from behind by middle seat woman.

She offered to help me and I immediately forgave her for all questionable plane antics. Although, having her help was comical in itself. She was pushing my cart with four bags while I tried to roll her one suitcase and my ski bag. Shortly into this exploit her handbag exploded on the ground in the middle of the narrow exit corridor. People were piling up behind us and as we were trying to get things back into her bag other things were displacing themselves. It was pure comedy. And in that moment it dawned on me, are we not all middle seat women deep down?

Finally, with a thick layer of sweat on my brow in addition to many other places, I managed to get all my damn bags out to the cab stand only to be told that I had to book the cab inside. I told the cabbie I was leaving my stuff there and at that point I really didn’t care whether someone took all of it.

The cab had to stop a short distance from my flat where I got the spare keys from the estate agent. The cab was stopped precariously on the corner of a main street while I tried to do this. My chatty estate agent had to be reminded several times that I had a car waiting with all my luggage and that I was in a bit of a rush.

Back in the cab with the keys and I was nearly home free. The cab driver dropped me off, helped me get the bags to the curb and then I was alone.

Hauling the bags up one set of outdoor stairs and two small sets inside was a workout. Tom picked a really convenient time to be out of town…

My ski bag barely managed to clear the turning radius of the stairwell and I was halfway through pulling it in my door when the lovely British couple who live in the flat upstairs found me essentially sandwiched between what looked like a body bag and the wall. They were kind enough to help me until I ensured them I would be fine.

I wasn’t fine.

I was lying on the little set of steps inside our flat with the ski bag half on top of me.

At home

When I arrived in the flat I was in full bore mode. I hauled hundreds of pounds of luggage out of the airport, into a car and up to my flat, with both personal strength and extreme anguish. 

I immediately got to work on the place, which had clearly not undergone the deep commercial clean we stipulated on our rental contract. And unlike me, Tom seems to be content enough to live in a lair of filth. 

I homed in on the vacuum and made it work like a dog for at least an hour. At first I couldn’t find any location where the tube detached from the main vacuum structure and thought there was no smaller nozzle for nooks and crannies. I was violently trying to shove the massive vacuum head into the corners of the stairs, which resulted in both lack of cleaning the corners and increasing anger and distress on my part. 

Luckily, I later did find the detachment point and this added roughly another hour and a half to my vacuuming procession. 

Next, I decided to rearrange the entire living room to a more appealing setup. I wanted the couches to face the windows so we can look out while sitting. The couch is not small. It is a hefty two part corner sectional apparently made of solid slate. 

While doing this I also wanted to lay down the new carpet – the one from the ski bag – underneath the new couch configuration. I moved the larger, straight part of the sectional off the carpet area all together and then tried to move the carpet with the curved corner piece of sectional still on it, teetering dangerously on end. Needless to say this did not work very well. In the end I had to set the corner piece down in place and lift its front while ramming the carpet under. I am still not happy with the carpet alignment. 

Following the living room redesign I moved onto clearing up the hallway and finishing vacuuming. At this point I wanted to go out and get a few essentials for the night before I could start working on my bedroom: duvet, pillows, soap (I desperately needed a shower), sultana bran cereal (lol), and milk. Raisin bran cereal: dinner of champions. 

Back at home I could begin working on my bedroom. Here too I wanted to rearrange the direction of the bed. This proved to be an even bigger challenge than the couch. It has a somewhat tall headboard on it and it also is made of a similar brand of slate as the couch it seems.

Because of the dimensions of the room the bed could not simply be slid around and shifted the 90 degrees desired. Instead I had to emulate an Olympic champion dead lifter and try to lift the bed up from the end and tip it onto the headboard to turn it via the shorter length side. This also didn’t work because the headboard made contact with the wall before it was on its end as I was being sheared in two between the other end of the bed and the wall.

Clearly, this wasn’t going to work. But, of course, I was determined beyond my general capacity. I decided to remove the mattress, reducing the weight considerably, and then tried the same move but from the other end. Success! 

Behind the bed I found an area of dust the was so substantial and old that it was essentially glued into place. A frenzy of vacuuming again ensued. 

I lay down my smaller carpet and made up my bed. Most of my bags were to remain packed the first night as I desperately needed to shower, watch some mindless television and go to bed by 8:30 pm.

All this to say, I’ve made it to London and I am happy to be here in one piece.

DOTD

Melba toast is a dry, crisp and thinly sliced toast, often served with soup and salad or topped with either melted cheese or pâté. And it has nothing to do with this blog post.

This post is about MELBOURNE (Melb)!

I really really really enjoyed Melbourne! What a fabulous city! This post will basically be me writing a promotional tourism advert.

So, what’s there to love about Melbourne?

Architecture

It’s old enough that it has a rich history and beautiful period buildings which are mixed in with modern development. The Victorian influence is stylistically interesting. I especially enjoyed the little houses in the Fitzroy neighbourhood.

Food

Oh. em. gee. The food. The food is fabulous. I was staying quite close to Chinatown so I had a million little hole in the wall Asian places within a two block radius.

There’s also a great bar scene and plenty of funky spots around town.

Arts n’ Culture

Melb has a vibrant arts and culture scene from what I could tell. Firstly, it is a hot spot for street art and underground art movements. I was lucky enough to be there during the Melbourne International Arts Festival and went to see a play one evening.

There’s also lots of places that do live music, and best thing I noticed was the large amount of karaoke places! yesss!

Transportation

The engineering nerd in me was absolutely drooling in Melb. It has one the world’s oldest tram systems and some of the trams are still ghetto fabulous 80’s style.

The cycling infrastructure and public spaces were excellent too. In general, it was a very easy city to move around in.

Aminals

I went to the ZOO!

Personal highlights included the lions and penguins.

The people

What is a city but for it’s people? Well, Melb is full of people! People who are hipster, friendly and happy to the point of concern. It was a great place for people watching.

Maybe I am still reeling from a hilarious incident that occurred at the Arbory Bar and Bistro. I was sitting alone at the long bar table looking out over the Yarra River finishing up my drink when a man came and asked me, “are you Alexa?” I told him I wasn’t and then a very awkward fit of laughter and brief confusion ensued. “Oh, sorry… I was just… looking for someone.” Clearly this dude was trying to meet up with a Tinder date but didn’t have a great grasp of what poor sweet Alexa looked like… yikes! Anyway, it was pretty hilarious.

Old pals

I met my friend Ciara for lunch at an establishment called ‘Naked for Satan’ – no joke, that was what it was called. It had a really nice rooftop view, good food and great prices on exorcisms.

We walked around the Fitzroy neighbourhood and then she showed me where she is staying, at our mutual friend Ryan’s place. Unfortunately, Ryan was out of town when I was there.

Toilet things

There seems to be no shortage of creativity in the public toilets of Melbourne.

DOTD