Danielle, my hairdresser

I got my hair trimmed today and it made me miss Danielle. She was my hairdresser back when I lived in the States. Sure, she was in Chicago and I was in D.C., but I’d save my hair cutting for whenever I visited the city. When I first got my hair cut by her, I was actually a little bit afraid. She had a very big personality and seemed slightly crazy– especially because she’d just curled the hair of a guy dressed like a cowboy, who came in before me, like Farah Fawcett and asked me if it looked beautiful. I nodded in fear. I had this giant urge to bolt, but I was too scared. “My hair will grow back,” I told myself, even before I got in the chair.

In the end though, Danielle gave me a gorgeous hair cut and I had slowly warmed to her as she took her time to trim my tresses and entertain me with stories of her friends and family. It was particularly when she told me that she’d tried and loved Durian in Thailand that I decided I liked her. I know, I’m too easy, but the bond of love for food and travel can be too great sometimes.

Anyway, today, as I walked into a random salon near my apartment, the hairdresser didn’t greet me. She just pulled out a hanger and waited for me to respond by passing her my cardigan. Then I stood awkwardly in the middle of the shop, not sure what to do as she stood behind me, about half a head shorter than me, and grabbed at my hair, asking what I wanted done and how short. I felt like I had to bend backwards a little for her to have a better look, or else go sit in a chair like is normally done. Then, not saying anything, she dangled a hair cutting apron in front of me and I obediently put my arms through the holes at the side. In silence, I followed her to the sink, sat down, and threw my head back. The whole ordeal continued without a word and lasted about 40 minutes with her sighing audibly, grumpy-faced and tugging mercilessly at my hair. She also didn’t smell so good and I had to try not to breathe in too deeply. To her credit though, my hair turned out a lot better than I’d expected after she’d given it a good blow-dry. But 30 quid later, I’m not sure I’ll go back. I suppose you get what you pay for. I didn’t even get her name.

-Image courtesy of stock.xchng

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Accidentally Crazy

I am told that if you walk into a bar alone in London without any plans to meet up with anybody, then you’re either crazy or weird. I wasn’t aware of this before I walked into a bar alone to watch the World Cup more than a month ago. I had only recently arrived in the city and wanted to catch the Germany-Spain match with some fellow German fans but couldn’t round up any friends to join me.

So I headed to a bar in the busy Leister Square area figuring that’s where I’d find some fans. I located a bar with the familiar black, red and gold colours flying outside, got myself a pint and sat down at a tiny table that had a great optical path to the TV. I got there quite early but it wasn’t long before the football fans started pouring into the bar. A couple asked if they could sit beside me and I consented.

Then the girl, whose name is Anna, asked, “Are you alone?”
I said, “Yea.”
To which she asked incredulously,”Where are your friends?!”
And I said,”Er, I just moved here…”

Then Anna graciously introduced herself and her friend, whose name I don’t remember anymore (Johnny? Freddie? Frankie?) and as might happen at any sporting grounds, we shared who we were rooting for and then spent the next 90 minutes or so cheering or screaming in frustration.

When the match was over, and Anna and I sat disappointed and her friend, Sammy or Ricky or something tried not to gloat, Anna asked if I was coming back for the final. I told her that I’d actually been invited for a World Cup BBQ at a friend’s house and couldn’t join her and Danny or Peter. She actually looked a little sad. And I almost felt obliged to come back. But as the fans cleared out of the bar and sanity returned, I said goodbye to my 90 minute friends and left.

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Riffraff at The Opera

(L-R: Jolyn, me and Sarah; me in my boxed seat!; Hänsel und Gretel by Humperdink, inside the opera house)

I was fortunate enough to be a new friend’s emergency plus one the other night and got a fully-paid-for taste of the opera at Glyndebourne, which is an hour or so outside of central London by train, in the Sussex countryside. The opera house is next to the country home of its founder and members of the opera troupe usually stay there while performing.

My only experience of the opera so far had been from Pretty Woman and Little Britain, so going to the world renowned Glyndebourne was rather exciting. I was also particularly thrilled that we were watching Hänsel und Gretel because I have had a tiny (OK, medium-sized) crush on Germany ever since my trip to Munich and Berlin (will explain in another post).

It was a black-tie affair and a little intimidating as I stood sipping my Pimm’s in my little-worn black dress surrounded by posh-looking women in fancy outfits. The guys didn’t look like they were renting their tuxes for the night either. The age demographics of the crowd generally leaned towards a generation or two older than my friends and I, and it was a bit of a problem when we were looking for some techno-savvy to get a group shot of us with a phone camera.

Nevertheless, the atmosphere was really lively as people enjoyed elaborate picnics with proper silverware and all, before the performance began. My group had to look on a little hungrily but there was to be an extended interval during the show and we had dinner reservations at the restaurant next to the opera house (called Middle & Over Wallop! Haha!).

The first half of Hänsel und Gretel was a little slow but the singing was incredible and the invention of supertitles is right up there with sliced bread. Dinner was satisfying to our hungry bellies and dessert was even better. The second half of the performance went by quickly and we all agreed that while there was some amazing singing, we probably would’ve chosen another opera if we had the chance. I think the full effect of operatic singing might be better felt in one of those dramatic love stories, not really a lighthearted fairytale. Still, the whole event was an amazing experience and I wouldn’t mind doing it again, except maybe with a prettier dress.

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Things I Miss Most

View of the Kennedy Center from Georgetown

It’s been just over two months since I left the States and in general, I don’t think about it much. But when I do think about my home of five years, there are some things I really miss…

1. My daily dose of NPR on WAMU 88.5
I am trying to get familiar with European politics right now but I can’t seem to shake my need to be on top of the goss on Capitol Hill.

2. Up-to-date movies
The stuff that’s showing in London is so last season! When I hear about the latest releases in the U.S., I get super excited, then sad cos’ I know I won’t get to watch them til much later, and that’s if they do well enough at the box office.

3. Summer weather
My American friends have been complaining about the heat over there but I really wouldn’t mind a week of hot weather where I wouldn’t have to bring a jacket everywhere (I am from the tropics after all). It feels like spring here. The air is chilly and the skies are cloudy a lot of the time. I’m sitting here typing in a hoodie with the window opened just a crack and a bit. I am thankful that the sun is finally out though.

4. My Ballet Class
I miss my sweet teacher, classmates and the amazingly relaxing hour of flit floating about each week.

5. MY Friends
Of course I miss my friends. Good thing email and Skype was invented.

And that’s all folks. I’m otherwise very much enjoying discovering this new world out here!

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Love & Machines

That beauty in the picture and I almost didn’t meet if not for the highly cumbersome dutch bike that sucked the wind out of me as I tried to climb up to Hampstead for crepes.

“Worst idea ever!” I yelled after Dawn as she rode her dutch bike up the hill with ease.

It was her ingenious plan that we ditch public transportation for the day and bike about London (a place I’m only just getting to know) on rentals. By the time we got up the hill, I was almost in tears thinking about having to drag the motherload of metal all over the city, all day, and then getting up early to drag it back to the shop. Luckily my botox-free face expressed enough grief as to extract sympathy from Dawn and she agreed to accompany me back to the shop to exchange my mega weights-on-wheels for a bike whose handlebars looked more familiar.

I have never ridden a single-speed. And the idea of not being able to downshift gears, especially after having barely made it up a long, giant slope was daunting. But once I felt how light she was (and I have never carried a bike so light before), I wasn’t afraid anymore. I could even push her if I wanted to without too much panting. I was in bike heaven, if ever there was one. Sure, her painfully uncomfortable seat hurt my buttocks like hell after only about an hour but she was SO SO BEAUTIFUL-a shiny blue frame with white handlebars, seat and wheels, and silver rims. Everyone admired her.

And now, long after she’s been returned to the shop, I’m still thinking about her. I must have her.

But she is so expensive and I don’t know if I can afford her. I don’t know if I want to fear losing her all the time. Alas, I will probably settle for a lesser her. Something a little more rusty, a little less bright, something that nobody would give another look at but would be just as light and fun to ride.

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Deutschland! Deutschland!

Berliners partying in the streets tonight.

Had to post this pic before I went to bed. Will update with details later but just wanted to say the German celebrations after the 4-0 win tonight was a pretty awesome experience.

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Forwards Georgina!

View of the Capitol building while crossing the street to…

my favourite place

I spent my last day in America like a true Singaporean– eating. I went to Eastern Market for my last taste of the famous crabcake sandwich and sweet tea. And then feasted on the juicy fruit samples from stalls that line the outer rim of the market.

I lingered for a good few hours after lunch trying to commit the 3 or 4 blocks of happy space to long-term memory before dragging myself back to my friend’s apartment for the final packing of bags.

More pics of my favourite place here

And now I sit blogging in a cozy apartment in Munich, almost ready for another day of exploring the world outside of America!

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Bye Bye America!

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I Could Get Used to This

Poolside at Gigi & Kyle’s

Unfortunately, that was my last afternoon in Florida. I spent Memorial Day weekend catching up with the old DC gang (Kyle and Gigi), spending time in their lovely new home, feasting and playing nerdy games. I didn’t want to leave. :(

Now I’m sitting in Tampa’s airport and even though I’m heading back to DC for another few days before embarking on my Euro adventure, I feel like I’ve already said goodbye to my time in America. G and K were a huge part of my life in this country and I’m glad I got to see them one last time for the next few years at least.

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The Good Life

La Siesta Beach, Florida

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