New York, New York!

Never before have I felt so familiar with a city that I've not yet set eyes upon. New York has existed in my conscious for so long that despite this being my first trip, I felt instantly at home in my surroundings. When I felt the ground rumble beneath me, I already knew it was the Metro. When I saw the steam rising from the sidewalks, I knew it was the drains. I wasn't even surprised to see the spiral staircases wrapped around each and every building; I already knew what they were for. All of my questions had been answered before I'd even voiced them. 

The only slight oddity was not seeing the familiar faces I'm so used to seeing roam these streets on my television screen; Brad Pitt, Courtney Cox, and Blake Lively were nowhere to be seen but there was at least one friendly face there to welcome us ; the lovely Hannah who had kindly offered to put us up during our stay. Hannah's little studio flat oozes New York City style with its vintage décor and exposed brick wall. Though it consists of just one room and a bathroom, it was perfect for the four of us to huddle in together and play SATC for a long weekend.

It's also situated directly opposite Chelsea Market so it made sense for that to be our first stop. This urban, underground court reminded me a lot of Brixton village with slightly less edge and a little more sparkle. We weaved in and out of the shops and stalls, picking up snacks, taking snaps and making note of the happy hours at each and every wine bar. Then, as if by a gravitational force, we found ourselves being pulled towards the flashing lights at the centre of Times Square. It’s absolutely mental; like Piccadilly Circus on ecstasy and we placed ourselves in the very centre in complete awe. The clock chimed eight but I have no idea how much time had passed before that point. We were completely lost in the madness.

After a brief visit to the gigantic Forever 21 in the square, we headed in the direction of the gigantic Christmas tree outside the gigantic Rockerfeller buiding for the turning on of the gigantic Christmas lights (all nine-thousand-and-ninety-something miles worth, ahem Sophie!) Unfortunately, we were also faced with gigantic crowds and never actually made it to the event, despite Bianca's best efforts at playing the 'I'm lost and British and speak like the Queen' card with the policemen guarding the entrance.

We turned away defeated, not all that fussed until the next morning when we heard whispers of Michael Buble performing alongside Sting and other A-list stars at the opening. We should've known that New York would do nothing by halves and certainly should’ve remembered that fact just a few hours later when we foolishly ordered two stacks of pancakes and a Full American breakfast between us at Bubby's. I'm not sure which is more of a wonder; the fact that we finished every scrap or that we managed to walk out afterwards and continue our day.

We didn't stop walking in fact; after an extremely brief encounter with the Metro which didn't see us even getting to the other side of the turnstile, we decided to explore the city by foot as much as possible.

Our first leg was along the High Line, the old railway which follows the riverfront and has since been transformed into a beautiful boardwalk. I imagine it to be even prettier in the summer months when the flowers are in bloom, breaking up the city concrete with colour. 

Once we'd reached the end, we took a turn towards the centre estimating that it should take us about half an hour to reach the very heart. In reality, it took us almost two but we can blame Zara for that. And Tiffany and Macy, and all the other old friends we just kept stopping to greet. 

It was exhausting work and by the time we made it to Grand Central station, we were ready to crash despite it being just midday. Cue our first prosecco pick-me-up of the day! One glass turned into two bottles which we polished off whilst people-watching from a balcony under the twinkling stars of that giant dome. We must've seen more than a hundred thousand people storm past beneath us; everyone in a hurry, everyone with somewhere to be. It was rather refreshing for once, to be so far removed from it all; to be the ones with no agenda. We could sit here all day if we liked and believe me, it was tempting! 

Nevertheless, we eventually tore ourselves away and rejoined the rat race below. I'd been warned previously about the chaos of New York and the skyscraper-induced claustrophobia which so many people experience but somehow I found it the contrary. Though the crowds of people easily compete with those in London, the excessively wide streets and overwhelmingly large buildings gave me a sense of infinite space which could never be filled. They say that you stop being a tourist in New York when you can walk down the road without looking up but I could live there forever and still find my gaze drawn towards the tallest spires. It's difficult to feel suffocated when you're continually reminded of the endlessness of the skies above you. 

On that note, I was pleased that our next stop was one of the tallest buildings of all - the Rockerfeller. The sun had set when we reached the 70th floor and the city in darkness was quite something; hardly dark at all in fact, but alive with thousands upon thousands of sparkling lights in every direction for as far as our eyes could see. We quickly found our bearings and identified the Empire State; a building which was once so famous for being enormous but now sticks out little more than the hundreds of other sky high towers surrounding us. At the very top, we were completely exposed and the sheer distance between ourselves and the ground suddenly felt very real. As did the hammering wind edging us forwards like a less than gentle nudge from a passive aggressive friend. What truly amazed me was the size of the cars on the road - even those typical American SUVs seemed no bigger than my fingernail. It occurred to me that this was the only time I could recall in the last few days thinking that something was small. 

As the lift descended, I felt on a literal comedown. Perhaps it was all the walking, or perhaps it was the overwhelming events of the day but after a couple more proseccos (which in hindsight could also have been a factor) we gave into exhaustion and called it a night. 

The next morning was a whole other story. I woke up feeling completely refreshed and so rather than focusing my energy on another gigantic stack of pancakes, I decided to go for a run along the Hudson. Somehow, I managed to convince the girls to join me and we were soon out in the crisp December air stretching and pulling Usain Bolt poses on the pier. The river, just like the roads, is extremely wide and shockingly blue. It struck me as sad that this surprised me, having become so accustomed to the dull grey shade of the Thames. The route was so beautiful that we'd smashed through 8 kilometres without even realising. 

Following a quick shower and green goddess smoothies, we then returned to walking pace and ambled back towards the centre again, this time to Ground Zero. Having never seen the Twin Towers whilst they were standing, I was unsure what to expect from this memorial site but I soon realised that it made little difference to the effect it had on me. The contrast between the vast open space and the cluttered life surrounding it is devastating. Two gaping holes now lie where the towers once stood, with water trickling down the sides and into the depths beyond view. It's a peaceful feature but one that, at least in my interpretation, signifies a continuous sadness. Beneath the exuberant positivity of New York, the water will still always flow, like the city's endless tears for those who were taken from it. 

Before we left, we took a moment to note some of the names inscribed into the border of the fountains and admired the white roses which had been laid upon those who would have been celebrating a birthday on this day. We left the site wondering who these people were and what could have been, our hearts breaking for each and every one. Though they’re one in three thousand killed that day, each one has a story and they deserve to be remembered as more than just a statistic. The memorial stands as a strong depiction of this. 

Moving on, we felt it appropriate for the Statue of Liberty to be our next stop. Rather than paying for a tour, we hopped onto the free commuter ferry to Statton Island and passed by the lady herself along the way. Though we didn't get too up close and personal, her beauty was evident from afar and the iconic representation of an incredible city.

Upon our return to the mainland, we were suddenly struck with hunger and though still miles from Brooklyn, had our hearts set on a pizza from Grimaldi's just over the bridge. It was a long while before we made it (the bridge alone is a twenty minute walk!) but the size of the pizza served once we sat down was more than enough to compensate. 

Unbeknownst to us, the day was disappearing to night outside. Whilst we'd been busy inhaling pizza, the sky had darkened to a midnight blue and as we crossed back over the bridge into Manhattan, we just caught the final glimpse of the sun on the horizon turning the skyline pink. It was absolutely stunning. 

Back at the flat, we met Hannah and popped open the champagne to mark the start of pre-drinks. Tonight, we were going out out! 

Once sufficiently tipsy, we walked down a couple of blocks to Catch where we were met by Hannah's friends and another few bottles of prosecco. It was a fairly reserved start to the evening but the guys explained that a lot of the clubs here are restaurants and hotels and that they 'pop off' later on. That, they did. 

How we got there is a little hazy but we ended up at the Jane Hotel where there were more people dancing on tables and sofas than on the dance floor itself and the music resembled an old school garage/rnb/hip-hop compilation. Basically as soon as the diners dispersed and the tequilas made a timely appearance, it all took a turn for the better, or worse judging by my hangover the next morning. 

Worse still, we woke up twenty minutes before our brunch booking at Paradou which just so happened to be unlimited mimosas. Oh god. 

The only option was to power on through it and by midday my hangover had been replaced by a warm and fuzzy state of merry which was much better for my head but less so for the shopping which followed. Goodness knows what I bought (seemingly everything) but it was enjoyable nonetheless. 

For the remainder of the afternoon, we wandered through the city, making frequent coffee stops to simultaneously sober up and warm up as the prosecco blankets abandoned us and the winter chill hit. It felt very much like any ordinary Saturday afternoon and I realised how quickly we'd adjusted to life here - we were already referring to Hannah's place as 'home.' With my best friends in tow, I truly believe I could live anywhere but New York definitely sits at the upper end of the list. 

There was still one last thing we needed to tick off before leaving so on Sunday morning we headed out early in the direction of Central Park. We'd hoped to cover it all but had once again underestimated the size of all things American. We managed about half, passing the reservoir, lakes and Alice and Wonderland memorial which all contribute to its wonderful character. 

Before we knew it though, we were flagging our final yellow cab for the airport and reminiscing on our favourite parts of the trip. We covered so much in our short stay and yet it still feels as though there's so much more to see. In a city like New York, there will always be more and we're certainly not done with it just yet.

A Trip to Eataly

The moment I passed my probation at my new workplace, I stepped straight out of the office and onto a plane. Having not been allowed to take holiday for my first three months, I couldn't want to break the cabin fever and travel again. I also couldn't wait for a rest so it seemed sensible to make my first stop Lake Como, which conveniently happens to be both my dad's home and the most relaxing place on Earth. 

That is, when you're not setting an alarm for 4am to go mushroom picking. 

This ever-so-unrelaxing activity wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my first day of holiday but having recently developed an intrigue in the Italian side of my family's fascination with mushrooms, I appreciated the invite to tagalong. 

For the twenty-five years which preceded this curiosity, I'd pretty much just written them off as insane and as we clambered up the steep mountain terrain, fighting through the brambles in complete darkness, I was quite sure I'd been right all along. Surely I'll never find any if I can't see? Or even worse, I'll pick one that's poisonous! 

When I did, however, find my first porcini it was nothing short of momentous. Never have I ever experienced such parental pride from my dad; my university graduation, multiple championship wins, even my very entry into this world, all of which he was there to witness, felt overwhelmingly insignificant in comparison. The enormity of the mushroom just about matched the size of the smile on his face and my own sense of achievement as I ripped it from the ground and held it up to the sky. 

I was one hundred percent hooked and my enthusiasm only grew in the hours that followed (and we were there for hours.) I suddenly felt like the mad one for not jumping on this craze years ago. Who wouldn't enjoy this? It's essentially a treasure hunt for adults and a lot of fun!

Only once we found our baskets, backpacks and every available body part overflowing with mushrooms did we finally call it a day. Back at the house, Dad and Stefy got straight to work cleaning and slicing our winnings whilst, I on the other hand, went straight back to bed. Hours later, my rumbling stomach woke me and the strong fumes of the drying fungi filled my nostrils. Tip-toeing over and around the dozens of racks which now filled every corner of the house, I went to find my dad, Stefy and their friend Claudio who was staying with us for a few days. 

The four of us decided to toast our success at Cantina Follie, a beautiful wine bar in Tremezzo which specialises in cheese and meat boards. I devoured far too much before realising that this was only the aperitivo and we still had pizza on the menu for later in Santa Maria. Having been to Italy more times than I can count, you'd think I'd have learnt by now but perhaps it's a subconscious decision not to. Contented in my food coma, I retired to bed relatively early that evening, soothed by the sound of the waves lapping outside my window. Bliss. 

A far less welcoming sound woke me the next morning; the cat, scratching persistently on my bedroom door. She wanted to be let out and despite virtually every window in the house being open, insisted she leave in a more dignified manner suited to the absolute princess that she is. It was 5am and as far as I was concerned, we were no longer friends. Unfortunately, the feeling wasn't mutual (or perhaps it was?) but either way, she came clambering back at 6am, this time clawing against another closed window to crawl back into bed with me. I was destined never to have a lie in. 

Wide awake, I suggested a long walk through the mountains to fill our now rather extended morning. It was a cloudy start to the day though, so rather than climbing too high we instead meandered through the hamlets above our own village, covering a long distance but ascending slowly. 

Despite the lack of sleep, I felt entirely relaxed. There's something about this place which is almost enchanting in the way it draws you into its slow pace of life and makes you appreciate the moment for what it is. There are few occasions in life that I can vividly remember being able to simply stop and breathe but the majority all seem to be here. 

By the time we reached San Martino, the skies had cleared and we were awarded our view after all. We enjoyed a late lunch and a well-deserved carafe of red wine before making our way back down. As it was Claudio's last night with us, there was no question of where we'd be taking him; Fabio's, of course. Without so much as glancing at the menu I ordered a melanzane pizza and left the drinks  order to my dad (which is always a safe bet.) 

We drank enough at the restaurant to know that we'd be continuing back home and the four of us (plus the cat) stayed up way into the early hours putting the world to right over whiskey and Nutella. We spoke of love and war and everything in-between, and when we'd exhausted conversation, we sung of it instead. Claudio, a psychiatrist by day but musician by night, whipped out his guitar and treated us to an entire set of Italian classics before taking requests. I was pleased to be able to then singalong in my mother tongue. 

For my final full day, we'd booked tickets to the World Expo which is held in a different city every four years and focuses on a current affair. This year, it was held in Milan and the theme was food! Absolute win. 

Considering I fly to Milan so regularly, I've spent very little time in the city so we made the most of the trip and travelled in early to explore. The metro took us to the main square which is home to the grand cathedral. It looked stunning with the backdrop of the bright blue sky and kept our attention for quite some time before moving on into the heart of the capital. 

Surrounded by Milan locals, I suddenly felt incredibly under-dressed. Every street is a catwalk runway with perfectly styled mannequins poised in the front row. The shop windows scream expensive but the in the classiest of whispers behind the marble stone frames. 

I could easily have stood for hours in the midst of Milan simple people watching, but it was time to head to the expo. The first room we entered introduced the concept of food from around the world; where it comes from, how it's processed and what's produced in each region. There was a strong focus on World Hunger and the fact that there's sufficient food to feed the entire population if only it were distributed more evenly. We now produce 17% more food per person than we did 30 years ago and yet close to 1 billion go to bed hungry every night. 

With that in mind, what followed felt a tad oxymoronic. The rest of the park was filled with exhibitions from every country in the world from America, to Burma, to Iran and Papa New Guinea. Each nation had been allocated a plot of land to represent their cuisine however they pleased and the results were quite astounding. The UK had chosen to focus on their production of honey and constructed a giant beehive from honeycomb laced fairy lights. In Malaysia we found an interactive rainforest, in China an impressive fountain display, in Brazil an assault course, and in the USA a grand entrance of glittering stars and lights. Of course Italy had the largest space of all to play with and had a mini village called 'Eataly' filled with all the best restaurants and an epic Nutella bar. 

With so much on offer, we were cautious not to commit to any one cuisine so picked up little bits from as many countries as we could. It was all divine and whilst it was served with a twinge of guilt on the side, all profits were at least donated to charity to help fight World Hunger. 

As always, it was a fantastic trip and I was very sad to leave.  For me, I suppose Italy is a break without the hectic planning of a real holiday and a home without the responsibilities of real life; for me, it's perfect. 

A Weekend in Geneva

I'd just about had enough time to unpack and re-pack (and fight off dengue fever) and I was back on a plane again – this time to Geneva!

We were met at the airport by my Auntie Liz who whisked me, my mum and my best friend Hana back to her beautiful home situated in a rural area just over the French border. The house is instantly impressive both in terms of size and setting but the interior is even better; I felt as though we'd arrived onto the set of an Ideal Home Magazine shoot!

In fact, I was so distracted by the modern feature walls and striking artwork which decorate the space so beautifully that I almost didn't notice the view beyond. Sliding open the glass doors, Liz led us out to a glistening swimming pool overlooking the snowy Alps. Even in the fading sunlight, we could just about make out the peak of the Mont Blanc. I was quite sure this was going to be an awesome few days.

The evening ran away with us as we caught up over wine and nibbles and before we knew it, it was time for bed. The following morning, we woke late and had a leisurely breakfast by the poolside whilst making a plan for the day. Midway through, we were joined by a welcome surprise - my cousin, Sian! 

Sian lives and works in Africa and my travels are yet to take me to that part of the world so we're rarely in the same continent, let alone country. I felt very lucky to have her with us for the weekend and having listened to her incredible tales of Chad and Sierra Leone, I don't imagine it will be long until I do spend some time that way.

Though we could easily have spent the whole day by the pool, we were keen to make the most of our short few days so got ourselves sorted and headed out to Annecy. My Aunt told me that I'd been before as a child but my memory was hazy and I certainly didn't remember it being quite so stunning. The lake is almost impossibly blue with fountains  at the centre which cast rainbows in the ripples.

All five of us wanted a closer look so we hired a pedalo and made our way into the midst of it all. The youngsters pedalled whilst our mums took pics (not a fair deal) with all of us pointing at the marvels passed along the way. In particular, I loved the turreted castles high up on the hills which struck me as quintessentially French and really rather beautiful.

The Frenchniess continued into the afternoon as we settled on a Creperie for lunch, indulging in a mixture of savoury and sweet, from entree through to dessert; at least some of us had earned it after our work-out on the lake! Soon after we headed back, fighting the temptation to enter every Swiss chocolate shop in our passing and instead settling for pink champagne on the terrace at home. 

Over dinner the bubbles continued, unveiling more and more hilarious family stories. My favourites, however, were those from before my time when my mum and Liz toured the States together and got up to all kinds of mischief. It reminded me a lot of mine and Hana's own tales except that ours are arguably a lot more tame!

On our final morning, Liz took us along to a typical French market which we fell in love with instantly. Wandering between the stalls, we soon found that our sense of smell was far more reliable than our GCSE French skills in leading us to the best vendors handing out small portions of cheese, fruit and freshly baked bread. Unsurprisingly, the tasters did the trick and we found ourselves leaving with an armful of baguettes amongst macaroons and all sorts else.

This all made for an epic lunch spread back home and there was a genuine concern that if we stayed still for too long afterwards we'd fall into a food coma and miss the flight home. Instead we swiftly (but sadly!) packed our bags and headed out to Geneva for one final stop in town before the airport called. 

It was a whirlwind of a visit but so worth it. There's nothing better than escaping the city for a weekend and immersing yourself in the beautiful European countryside – with a flight time of little more than an hour, it really is at our fingertips!

The Dubai High Life

Time to destination: 6 minutes, and yet staring out of the window I could see nothing but desert; endless stretches of sand in every direction. It's not until we're seconds from landing that we appear to cross a line of civilisation and we're suddenly immersed in a city.  

It was 4am UK time when we landed in Dubai so despite being smacked in the face with thirty degree sunshine the moment we stepped off the plane, our first port of call was bed. Luckily our friend Jess picked us up from the airport and whisked us straight to her beautiful apartment in Business Bay where we slept for five hours and woke up feeling considerably more human.

However, even as we came around from our dreamy, delirious state, something about Dubai still didn’t feel quite real. The grass was too green, the streets too spotless, the cars too fast and the sky high buildings unnaturally tall. At eighteen floors up, we weren’t even averaging mid-level! I didn’t instantly fall in love with the place but I was certainly intrigued and very much looking forward to the next few days with the girls.

After catching a couple of hours of sunshine by the pool, we got ourselves ready and jumped in a taxi to Blue Marlin Beach Club. The club was so busy and the queue so big that we couldn’t even get close to the entrance in the car. As we climbed out and started walking, I was seriously doubting our chances of getting in at all but Jess promised us that it wouldn’t be a problem. True to her word, she marched past the crowds and we were ushered straight in. It turns out that being blonde, British and working in a popular nightclub makes you second only to the Sheikhs in Dubai. 

Jess and her entourage are treated like royalty wherever they go and we were more than happy to join them for the weekend.Our table at Blue Marlin was buried under ice buckets filled with all kinds of drinks and a gigantic 3L bottle of Belvedere which was so heavy, it could only be served by hoisting it over our waiter’s shoulder. It was complete madness, but the real madness was down below on the dancefloor so once we’d each had a few drinks, we ditched VIP and went and joined the masses. The club’s mostly outside so there’s a real summer vibe and we danced the hours away until our feet hurt too much to go on.

Our return taxi was an interesting one; it seemed our driver was struggling to find Dubai let alone our apartment, simply claiming ‘I’m not from around here’ (as if we were...) I found it a little baffling that a city which has successfully installed penguins into a desert climate and the world’s biggest structures into a 4,000 square kilometre space, has not yet installed satnavs into their taxis. Anyway, ater coming close to being abandoned on the freeway we eventually made it home.
The following morning, we woke up surprisingly chirpy and went straight to Eden Beach Club for brunch. It’s a beautiful setting and the sun was out in full force so when we weren’t lounging on the beds, picking at sushi or sipping on cocktails, we pretty much spent all day in the pool. Eden is owned by the same company as the club that Jess works at so once again we were served all day without spending a penny, something I found myself quickly getting used to.

That evening Jess and Susan had to work but let us tag along. Crystal is one of Dubai’s best nights on a Saturday and this was no exception. We had a table bang in the centre of the dancefloor with a perfect view of the DJ booth which just so happened to be occupied by Craig David! All jokes aside his set was awesome; old school RnB and Hip Hop with every song sparking a memory from our own school days and our first tastes of the clubbing scene. We left when the lights came on.

Our own lights, however, didn’t come back on for a very long time. It was 3pm before we left the house on Sunday and we completely missed our booking at Cove Beach but keen not to waste the day entirely, we headed to the Madinat Souks to wander around the market. It was probably the closest we came to culture all weekend but even so, it still didn’t feel particularly genuine. Though the shops sell traditional Arabic lamps and trinkets, it’s all very geared towards tourism and the super-air conditioned mall sucks out any air of authenticity.

Realising we’d not eaten for 24 hours, we grabbed a late lunch by the man-made canal overlooking the iconic Burj Al Arab. On our way home, we insisted we stop at the mall to see the legendary fountains dancing on the hour. I’d been told about them beforehand but nevertheless, I was taken aback by how awesome they were. The first performance was to an Arabic tune which was completely mesmerising and the second, Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Each was initiated with hundreds of tiny lights twinkling beneath the surface of the water and minutes later the jets were set off, each one a dancer in its own right demanding the attention of the surrounding crowds. The standard of the choreography was quite astounding and I wished we could’ve stayed to see more.
Tearing ourselves away, we raced home to get ready for dinner; a thirty course meal at Em Sheriff, once again completely free of charge. I genuinely thought there must have been a mistranslation but the food just did not stop. As well as a whole lot of wine, we were served tasters, cold appetisers, hot appetisers, starters, grills, mains, meats, desserts – in total, thirty dishes! 

Perhaps most people select just a handful of dishes and leave the rest but they all looked so exotic and interesting that we had to try at least a mouthful of each. We had everything from pepper and pomegranate hummus, to spicy chicken liver, to shoelace pastry filled with syrup, nuts and cheese. I wish I had a copy of the menu, though I doubt my chances at recreating any of it. 

Three hours later and two party members down, we rolled out the restaurant and headed to a club. However, we were still so full when we arrived that we found it virtually impossible to dance. Fortunately, The Act is famous for its on-stage performances so I could just sit and sip (very slowly) on drinks, occasionally swaying in time to the music. A few hours later, I called it a day and waddled home. 

Our final day crept up on us and conscious that we still hadn’t made it to Cove Beach, we did our best to ignore our hangovers and food comas and woke up early. For the first time in four days, I had to get my purse out as this beach club is brand new and hasn’t yet established relationships with Jess’s company. One glance at the price lists and I suddenly realised why everyone thinks Dubai is so expensive – when it’s not free, it’s extortionate! Nevertheless, we were more than happy to fork out this once and wanted to treat Jess as a thank you for sorting us out all weekend.

Another first was finding something truly authentic – the sea! Admittedly it was so perfectly clear that it seemed too good to be true but this sparkling water couldn’t possibly be man-made. It was untouched and exceptionally beautiful.

When we’d had enough sun, we called the group we’d been out with the previous night and met them at the harbour for an afternoon yacht party. Sprawled out on the deck, we sailed through the Persian Gulf, docking an hour or so later in a nearby bay. We’d barely poured our first round of drinks when a guy appeared on a jetski and offered everyone a free ride. I never worked out whether anyone actually knew him but he later abandoned his jetski, initiated a dance-off and proposed to half the girls on board.

Watching the sunset from the boat was pretty epic and even in our vodka-induced state, I could still appreciate the wonder of our setting. The sky high giants which lined the coast glittered in the darkness casting light onto the rippling water. Nobody wanted to leave but a complementary dinner at Cavalli was calling and we had to head back.

The combination of delicious steak, red wine and pink-lit chandeliers did well to distract us from the sadness of this being our last supper. I’d been determined not to over-eat this time but the food was so great that I was soon regretting my body-con dress choice. 

We did, however, all make it to the club this time which was conveniently right next door to Cavalli. Cirque le Soir is very similar to its sister club in London and equally as eccentric. Candyfloss and popcorn were a necessity upon entry and our table backed onto a small stage which was occupied by all sorts of fire-eaters, contortionists and midgets throughout the evening. As we continued to drink, it only got weirder and my last memory is of Yas drawing out a hopscotch through the dancefloor.

I absolutely loved every minute in Dubai but the more time I spent there, the more I realised I needed to get out. It would be all too easy to be drawn in by the lavish lifestyle but after four days of worrying of nothing but which Instagram filter to use, I started to yearn for more of a purpose.

The city is fabulous but it has no history, no story and no real identity. To me, it feels as though a spoilt child has travelled the world, plucked their favourite parts from each country and slung them into one place to create Dubai; white sand from the Caribbean, ski slopes from Switzerland, skyscrapers from New York, hotels from Vegas, nightclubs from Ibiza, and the list goes on. Whilst in some ways this makes it the best place on earth, the lack of synergy or sense of belonging leaves for me, in the long-term, a little to be desired.

Skiing, Sadness & Smiles - 2015

My number one new year’s resolution was to prioritise travel so it only felt appropriate to start 2015 on foreign soil. Therefore, January  1^st this year was spent journeying across the continent along with my good friend Jorge and the worst hangover I've ever endured. Resisting the temptation to climb into J’s board-bag and sleep, we caught a tube, train and plane, eventually landing in Milan a few hours later.  

As we arrived late that evening, we spent one night at my dad’s house on the lake before heading off to Bormio, one of Italy’s best ski resorts. Still feeling the effects of new year I slept most of the journey, awaking to find myself completely surrounded by the stunning Italian alps. There was not a cloud in the sky and the mountains were glistening green in the sunshine. Yes green, not white. The lack of snow was instantly obvious but nevertheless we could just about make out a few dozen black dots zigzagging their way down the mountainside. 

Wasting no time, we dropped our suitcases at the apartment and set off to join them. My excitement gradually turned to anxiety, however, as we approached the bottom and I realised I could barely remember the last time I’d skied, let alone how to actually do it. ‘Please don’t be shit’, says Jorge who just so happens to be sick at snowboarding, ‘it will be painful for me.’ Oh good, no pressure then.

To make matters worse, my dad and Stefy decided to sit out the first day and so I was left to the mercy (or non-mercy) of Jorge and his snowboard which unintentionally (supposedly) led us down the World Cup run within our first hour. With no other option, I just launched myself downwards giving little thought to technique or what might happen if I skied off a cliff edge. It was really fun but I was still thankful for the distraction of a load of drunk Italians dancing on tables at a bar halfway down. We quickly grabbed ourselves a round of drinks and joined in with their terrible singing for a dozen or so European songs which I’m ashamed to admit I know.  

Alcohol appeared to improve my skiing, or at least my confidence, and before we knew it we were back at the ski shop where I'd somehow become some sort of celebrity. For reasons we never worked out (certainly not my ski skills) every member of staff seemed to know me by name and continued to fuss over us for the entire week. We didn’t complain.

The following day, all four of us set off for the top together but my dad and Stefy soon gave up on the grounds that it was far too icy. Not having the luxury of living an hour from the Alps all year around, however, Jorge and I soldiered on. We got a good couple of hours in before stopping for lunch at a beautiful place midway down. With the mountains as our backdrop, we ate our way through two gigantic pizzas and I taught Jorge his first Italian phrase of the week: ‘vino bianco’.

Wine became a prominent theme for the remainder of the afternoon and once we finally reached the bottom, I was nothing short of drunk. I can only assume Jorge felt the same as he face-planted twice and fell asleep as soon as we stepped through the apartment door. Fortunately we both perked up in time for dinner but not before I smashed him at poker which resulted in a free lunch, the loan of his gloves, a neck massage and a very angry Jorge. Win, win, win.  

Our penultimate day in Bormio, Dad and Stefy joined us again, this time long enough to give me some actual lessons. I really felt like I was just getting the hang of it when we hit a particularly icy patch and I stacked it in the most spectacular fashion. Crackkk. Where my skis should probably have popped off, my knee instead popped out and I ended up flat on my back with my head facing downwards and my legs sticking up in all kinds of directions.

Within seconds, the other three had skied over to me with their phones in hand ready to document this epic fail. However, soon realising my initial laughter had turned to tears, it was time for a rescue mission. I couldn’t ski, or even really stand up, but there was zero chance of me getting on one of those bloody snow stretchers so instead I slid down one-footed to the nearest stop. Along with lunch and a litre of wine, we ordered a big bag of ice to stop the swelling of my stupid knee.

Luckily we’d planned to take the afternoon off skiing anyway to visit one of Bormio’s famous thermal baths. By far the best is the authentic Roman Spa a little way out of the centre but they were sadly booked up for the entire week and so we had to settle for one in the heart of town. Whilst the indoor pools reminded me a little too much of Coral Reef, it had a lovely outdoor area which was the perfect setting to watch the sunset behind the mountain. Even so, my highlight was probably meeting our new Italian friend in the sauna who will forever remain in my contact list as ‘Fat Sauna Man’ (‘Whatsapp??’)

That evening we were able to explore Bormio itself which is a beautiful town with cobbled roads and quaint little squares. Christmas already seemed an age away but the pine trees and fairy lights strung throughout the streets really brought it back.

Tuesday, I woke up to some tragic news from home so it was all a bit of a blur from there. Not wanting to sit around in my thoughts all day, I attempted to ski but the combination of my bad knee and teary eyes didn’t make for brilliant skiing. We called it a day pretty early and drove back to the lake in time to book a table at Fabio's for dinner. Nothing could have stopped me from crying that day but the world's best pizza gave it a really good go.

Exhaustion and emotion hit me straight on and whereas the previous day, I’d been longing to be at home with my girlfriends who were sharing my grief, I was suddenly very thankful to be right there on Lake Como; the most calming place on earth.

Mid-morning, Jorge and I dragged our old canoe boat down to the water and paddled all the way into the next village, stopping only when we reached the James Bond Villa. Taking advantage of the winter and nobody being around, we docked up and unpacked our picnic onto their private pier for lunch. It was incredibly peaceful – the lake never lets me down.  

After a second lunch (eating our feelings) back at the house, we took the bikes out to explore the next village on the opposite side. Though we intended to cycle the regular route to the old castle, at some point I took us down a very wrong turn and we found ourselves high up in the mountain, unable to make our way back down to the road. Fortunately, any route along Lake Como is the scenic route and it was beautiful regardless.

On our final full day of the holiday, we decided to venture to St Moritz where we’d heard whispers of real snow. Jorge drove most of the way so I was able to sit back, relax and admire the picturesque views on either side. Speeding through the border, we were soon in Switzerland and whilst we did indeed find snow, we paid the price for it! Everything there from the ski pass, to the soup dishes, were double the price of Bormio and so we held back on the wine and just made the most of a full day skiing.

The wine re-commenced back on the lake though as we went to Fabio’s for the second time in three days. As it was our last night I asked for a special favour from the chef (Fabio), ordering the Gnocchi Caruso which is no longer on the menu but really should be. There has to be some benefits to being my dad’s daughter!

Packing the next morning was pretty surreal. I’d been so keen to get home earlier that week but now I was dreading it. Thousands of miles away I’d only really half faced the reality of Hatti’s death and returning to London would make it hit all over again, even harder. After an emotional lunch at Fabio’s (why break tradition?) we returned to the house, stripped down into our swimwear and plunged ourselves into the lake in literally arctic conditions. I have no explanation for why; it just felt like the right thing to do.

With only a few hours left before our flight, there was still one place I wanted Jorge to see so we took off on a walk up into the mountains. A little while later, we arrived at our land or ‘campo’ as my dad calls it. Aside from an incredible view, I’m never too sure exactly what I’ll find up there but this time we were met by a tiny kitten, rabbits, chickens and two sheep. Whilst the cute little kitten clawed at our ankles for attention, Jorge was far more interested in the two massive sheep, soon naming them as his good friends Richard and Judy despite them both being female and pregnant.

As we started our descent the sun began to set, turning the entire sky pink as it had been every evening since my beautiful friend passed.

Though the second half of the week was undeniably tough, Lake Como is always a pleasure and both Bormio and St Moritz were wonderful too. More than anything, I was so grateful to have had Jorge, my dad and Stefy out there with me, as well as Hatti herself who lives on continuously in my thoughts.

Though Italy will now always remind me of Hats, that’s not a bad thing. As her boyfriend so rightfully said, ‘the things that remind me of you now and upset me will soon remind me of you and make me smile.’ I look forward to that day, as I’m sure you do too up there in the sky. Though we can’t guarantee dimples to match yours, we’ll be smiling again for you soon - I absolutely promise <3

Culture and Chaos, The City of São Paulo

Where to start with São Paulo? We spent three days in the city and I think I changed my opinion on it at least thirteen times but with a place this big, it's really no surprise! 

My immediate impression wasn't the best as for the first time since landing in South America, I didn't feel particularly safe. Though police can be found on every corner, they seem to incite more fear than comfort and on multiple occasions we witnessed them pass by a potentially dangerous situation without stepping in. 

Currently, the city is in a worse state than ever as the people are rioting against hosting the upcoming World Cup. It seemed strange at first that they'd be protesting when so many others would consider it a privilege but having seen the country and spoken to the locals, it's perfectly understandable why they feel that the money should be allocated elsewhere.

The city itself is simply bursting at the seams with over twenty million Brazilians calling it home. However, a heartbreakingly high proportion of this population have no actual home, instead living out on the streets and settling for any sort of surface to lay their heads. The poverty here is blatant and hectic, with swarms of people trying desperately to sell anything they can get there hands on, from socks, to massage toys, to stolen bottles of water. The noise whilst everyone competes to be heard is incredible, and street vendors will literally grab you by the arm to grab your attention. In a way, this chaotic frenzy creates a carnivalesque feel, even if there's seemingly not much to celebrate. 

In the poorest parts, the town is physically crumbling down and there's an overpowering stench of sewage carried in the air. That said, once our senses adjusted, we came to like even the of grimiest of areas. Though the streets were in utter turmoil, it was liberating to lose ourselves among it and in those mad moments, we couldn't help but feel a fondness for those who embrace it every day whilst appreciating our own lives for what they were. 

Shortly after accepting São Paulo to be this crazy place, we stumbled across a much quieter part of the city. We were pleasantly surprised to find some beautiful neighborhoods with both quaint little buildings and modern architecture. We dedicated one whole day to exploring the Art of the city, heading first to the MASP Museum on Paulista Avenue. The exhibition showcased the works of some of the world's best painters, including Monet, Picasso and Matisse, amongst other lesser known but no less impressive Latin American artists.

Later, we swapped the classic for the quirky, seeking out São Paulo's best and most outrageous street art. The Vila Madelena area is particularly interesting with almost as many walls covered in brightly coloured paints as left plain. We visited the famous road, nicknamed Beco do Batman, which was nothing more than a small alleyway before artists re-designed it to be a street art masterpiece, with murals on either side from one end to the next.

On our final day in São Paulo, we climbed the Banespa building for a three hundred and sixty degree view of the city from over a hundred metres high. Of course, we already knew it was big but this view really brought it to life. From our position on the small platform of the Altino Arantes, it felt as though we were staring down into the canopy of a ginormous concrete jungle which stretched further than any of our eyes could see.

Our feelings about São Paulo were therefore mixed but whether we'd liked the city or not, we'd have always had a brilliant time there because of the hostel we stayed in and the people we met. The owner, Erik, was an ex-professional football player turned hip hop artist who raps in a Brazilian punk band and plays the trombone. He also makes an insanely good breakfast and just as we were starting to think he was the coolest guy we'd ever met, we came across David - a doctor from Porto Alegre who is also a qualified hairdresser and make-up artist, as well as an unbelievably good cook. Sadly he was travelling Brazil with his husband (as well as another friend) otherwise I think we'd have snapped him up straight away! Anyway, he completely spoilt us, setting up a hair salon in the front room and treating the whole hostel to an incredible homemade pizza party, complete with caipiroska cocktails and sparkling wine. 

The final member of this little crew was Claudio, another absolute gem of a human being and another bloody brilliant chef. Primarily though he's a philosopher, and he spent his days finishing off his latest book as well as every bottle of wine in sight. Interestingly, his English improved considerably after a glass or five of his special 'Spanish water' so I only hope it has the same effect on his writing. 

There's no doubt that parts of São Paulo are unsafe but for every bad Brazilian, there are hundreds of others like Erik, Claudio, David and co. who will do anything and everything to look out for you and ensure you love their country. And if you're lucky, they'll feed you amazing food whilst they're at it too!