A week of winter hibernation

We were on leave this week, and a planned Berlin trip scuppered by Ryanair cancellations lead us to have the sweetest week off at home. Doing next to nothing, hanging out, laughing, eating and sleeping. Little did I know that that was exactly what I needed after a very stressful and exhausting few weeks. I have just started a more senior role, and my final MSc module has just begun. It’s safe to say that I have had a decent amount of things on my to-do list.

The Saturday before our week off was my husband’s birthday. Family dinner at Ceviche (one of our favourite restaurants – try the Lomo Saltado flame-grilled steak and Don Ceviche) was followed by drinks in a craft beer pub with friends. This, of course, ended with a rowdy late-night pizza session at Voodoo Ray’s Dalston.

Monday was his actual birthday, which brought us to St John Bread & Wine in Spitalfields after a lazy day at home; and a fabulous 4 plate sharing meal of smoked mackerel, ox heart & chips, butternut & pearl barley, and a beautiful lamb stew. We paired this with a dry (and strong!) crisp rosé.

St John Bread & Wine

Drinks at Black Rock Bar in Spitalfields never disappoints for whiskey fans. It was voted UK’s Best Specialist Bar 2017 in the Class Bar Awards, and this is definitely well deserved. The staff are always so knowledgeable, and they just do make the finest cocktails around.

Black Rock whiskey bar

Tuesday brought another cosy day in, followed by a Queens of the Stone Age gig at the O2 (this doesn’t sound like a very relaxing week so far, but I swear we did very little during the days!). They played a furiously tight and yet chaotic set, my favourites being ‘The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret’ and ‘Sick Sick Sick’. The sound was incredible, and even from our seats the heavy bass was deeper than anything I’d heard at a gig before.

QOTSA at the O2

Wednesday and Thursday were more home-based. I desperately needed to find time for some quiet so enjoyed having the TV off (once I’d finally finished Netflix’s Punisher), and listening to the birds out in the large oak tree in our garden. I tried a gym session but my body was telling me it needed rest, so I did more stretching-based movements instead.

Friday, we relished in another lazy lie-in, and a slow meal at a great local Pho place (apr and concisely named) Pho in Balham, South London. The spring and summer rolls (not pictured – eaten too quickly!) were fresh, tasty and just what we needed. The beef steak pho (look away vegetarians!) was so warming with plenty of five spice and star anise – of course I then add a good shot of sriracha to make things interesting! The lunch deal was fantastic, £20 for a two course meal for two.

Pho

We stopped in at Milk Cafe down the road for a relaxing post-lunch coffee. I was disappointed to find out their only milk alternative was soy, so opted for a black espresso instead. The vibe was great though, as was a cute little card served with our coffees explaining the flavour profile of the blend used.

Milk Cafe

Today was a day that felt lazy and like time wasted, but how often do people dream of an aimless lunch on a weekday, watching the world go by? We laughed and strolled and actually tasted the flavours of our food, more than I can say I’ve done in weeks.

Slow in the City – the beginnings of winter

Today we nipped out to Pop Brixton for some food. It is a lively market created from the skeletons of repurposed shipping containers, filled with nearly any kind of food stalls you’ve ever wanted to try. It’s somewhere we’ve always popped to as it is so nearby, but I never really took the time to take it in before. It definitely has settled in since it’s inception, and seems to fit right into the Brixton backstreet where it kind of stood out before.

There are also things I don’t like too much about the place (the whole idea of it feels a bit too hipster and like a symptom of gentrification at times, thus making me feel uncomfortable for being a part of that process), but there are things I like about it too. I like that it’s a place that is trying to give something, however small, back to the community it sits in. A lot of the stalls in Pop Brixton use compostable food packaging, and/or reduce food waste by donating extras to a local food pantry. Even if it is just a hipster fad, hopefully these little things will become the absolute norm in large city society.

Pop Brixton, made out of shipping containers

It was also a nice surprise to find a little herb garden out the back, like a return to something more simple than having an imported Belgian blonde beer alongside your Japanese gyoza. It may just be for that ‘rustic’ vibe, but I enjoyed perusing the chard, Thai basil, strawberry, coriander (nearly dead as usual – how does anyone succeed in growing one of them?!) and various salad leaves.

Top and bottom: makeshift planters at Pop Brixton

For him, the Miso pork ramen was on the menu from Koi Ramen; and for me some fantastic real-deal tacos from Maria Sabina (slathered in so much hot sauce that the chef showed concern. Edit: I not only survived but LOVED it!)

Koi Ramen Bar

Brixton Village market, a lot quieter than it’s newer, flashier cousin, had some pretty chilli peppers that I might go back for some day this week – I bet they’d make a mean hot sauce!

Brixton market chilli peppers

Walking home past Electric Avenue

 

Now to return home after a very low-effort afternoon, and think about the Thai basil I could be planting in my teeny-tiny window box ready for next summer.

Sudden Stranger, 2017

Spotlight: 18 Hours in Los Angeles

At the end of our California trip, we spent a whirlwind night and morning in Los Angeles. This is a how-to for finding a selection of pintrest-worthy hotspots in just a few hours.

 

 


 

The skyline of the city of angels appeared over the horizon of a six-lane motorway. It almost felt like we were emerging into civilisation after living in the wilderness – the freedom we’d experienced at the lake, and in the desert dissipated with every mile driven into the concrete heart of the city. We arrived at our hotel in Echo Park, a rather grim low end chain joint, but even this was covered by the almost trademark Hollywood glow.

Rosa Mexicano


For our last night in the USA, I had a Lakers game at the Staples Center planned. I was excited to go to Rosa Mexicano for a pre-game meal, as I have always been a fan of their New York location. The food was plentiful, and the heaped, fresh guacamole made table-side was luxurious. I dragged my food coma to our seats, way up in the dizzying height of the nosebleed section. After the game, we lost our parking space for over half an hour. Roaming the emptying lots, we laughed as we retraced our steps multiple times and in various different directions before we could retrieve our car.

Staples Center

LA Lakers v. Toronto Raptors


Our flight was at 4pm the following day. As soon as we woke, our bags were in the car and we stopped for fantastic flat whites and handmade pastries at Alfred Coffee on Sunset.

A good motto


It seemed like this was the embodiment of L.A; it was a bricks and mortar metaphor for a city built on facades, glitz and the money of some.

There were so many things I had hoped to see in L.A, we just did not end up having time for every one of them. However, we had a few hours to kill before our flight from LAX, and were up to the challenge of hitting a few spots on the way to the airport. To do this, I combined sights that were in close vicinity. First off, across the street from the cafe, were the Micheltorena Stairs.

Micheltorena Stairs


Next, we headed further west towards the Pacific. The Hollywood sign was visible to our right as we drove high above the city on the Rosa Parks freeway, even through the heavy morning cloud and fog.

Tired and Sad on Santa Monica beach

Towards the Pacific


Sticking to the ‘two birds, one stone’ method, we strolled a few minutes down the beach boardwalk until we found hidden between the modernistic millionaires’ homes a real-life Barbie house; the home of Barbie Creator Ruth Handler. It seemed like this was the embodiment of L.A; it was a bricks and mortar metaphor for a city built on facades, glitz and the money of some.

Barbie House, IRL


The drive southward, and ever closer to the airport, took us through iconic Santa Monica and our final L.A stop: Venice. Very different in winter to the lazy, sunny, surfer images I had seen, the quiet side streets off Abbot Kinney Blvd contained every dream bohemian house I could have imagined. We roamed the streets, waiting for our lunch reservation at an eatery I had always wanted to go to. The Butcher’s Daughter, on Abbott Kinney, is a vegetarian restaurant that serves food as beautiful as the surroundings it is in. We each had a huge mixed bowl, for him a tumeric latte and for me a cacao latte on the side.

The Butcher’s Daughter, Venice


Strangely, it was here we felt the most out of place on our whole trip. Slim, highlighted blonde girls dressed similarly in expensive knitted jumpers gossiped over coffee; tall, athletic-looking guys talked about crossfit, mindfulness and yoga over their food. As beautiful as this place was, and as tasty the food, we were outsiders in our hiking boots and unbrushed hair.

In a way, it was almost a perfect end to our trip; the only way to leave a place you love is to finally look forward to going home.

Mairead Daly, 2017

Spotlight: A day in and around Joshua Tree, CA.

Read more about our stay in Palm Springs here.

 

During our stay in the desert of southern California, we spent a day further in the Mojave desert. Driving down the Twentynine Palms Highway, winding up to higher ground, the dark grey sky sat heavy on the horizon. This was the first day on the SoCal leg of out trip that it really felt like winter, it lent a different quality to the desert landscape than one normally sees in photos. This area is of interest ecologically, a place where two desert landscapes blur. It shoulders where High Mojave and the Low Colorado deserts merge. This strange feeling sits low to the earth here, the jarring and contrasting landscapes provide a true otherworldy experience. This small part of the world has inspired some of our favourite music: desert rock, Josh Homme, and U2’s eponymous album. Rancho de la Luna is one of the recording havens for many artists; John Lennon and Jim Morrison also both recorded music in this corner of wilderness.

The High Desert

 

 

First stop was coffee at Cafe Frontier in Yucca Valley for two flat whites and two buttery chunks of coconut-oat flapjack. Attached to the cafe was Hoof and the Horn, a store with bohemian homeware and western-inspired clothing, where we wondered around with our coffees. I bought a beautiful handwoven throw that I was willing to forgo a few clothing items in order to fit into our case. This shop seemed to embody our spiritual home, a far cry from our current past-paced city existence.


Shop goals

Empty intersection in Yucca Valley

‘They say that this part of the desert has a ‘two or three year rule’

 

Driving off the highway up into the hills, we headed for Pioneertown. Historically created as a wild west film set, the ‘town’ still operates today with a saloon, motel and selection of small stores. Still, the heavy grey sky loomed over us, a reminder that most people were home with their families during this time of limbo between Christmas and New Year. I forgot my jacket in the car when we got out at Pioneertown, I could feel the ghostly desert cold seep into my bones and we cut our stroll short, in favour of the warmth of our car.


Above: Entry to Pioneertown; Below: Pioneertown Motel

 

Joshua Tree National Park welcomed us, and our little jeep wound through the nearly empty roads. Getting out several times for photo stops, the silence almost became the third passenger on our drive.


Joshua Tree N.P Entrance

Above and below: desolation in Joshua Tree

 

 

Imagining what it would be like to visit in the height of summer, at first I felt let down that we were missing that true ‘desert’ experience due to the rain. However, we really had the place to ourselves, and barely bumped into a hiker or cyclist the whole drive through the park. This in a way was more special than seeing it properly, a desert is inhospitable and empty whether it is dry or wet.


Climbing in flipflops

 

They say that this part of the desert has a ‘two or three year rule’: that after this time the extreme conditions either spit you out or change you forever. Regardless of outcome you will never be the same after spending time in a place like this. I now often think of this in relation to living in London, of course a different experience, however such extremes to pace of life will either change you or make you leave. When I travel, I always aim to completely immerse myself into the area, and mainly visit places I could see myself living in. It’s easy to see where I fit in to a landscape, the footprints left behind, but it’s often only when one is long home that the imprint of a place recently left can be felt. Such was the mark Joshua Tree left on me.


The unbelievable luck of seeing an almost double rainbow in the desert

Our way home wound past Desert Christ Park, a sculpture garden on the hills overlooking Yucca Valley. The modest park was created by Antone Martin, in the height of the late 1940s Cold War tension, and was dedicated on Easter Sunday 1951. Antone’s hope was to inspire world peace in a time of fear and war. All the statues embody this desperation and unease.


Meanwhile, for us night was fast falling, and the grey clouds were slowly turning to indigo. Being the only people moving for miles, we walked trough the white statues alone and in silence.


All above: Desert Christ Park

The view to Yucca Valley

 

Back at our kitcsh Palm Springs hotel, we were too tired for anything but some low-key pasta and hotel room margaritas. Early the next day, we would be leaving for L.A. Tomorrow we would leave behind this haven of bandits and dreamers, anarchists, bohemians and loners.


Mairead Daly, 2017

Lazy Beach Days: Ibiza Weekend

June brought a long-awaited trip to Ibiza for the wedding of two friends. I arrived to our house at Vadella Pueblo past midnight on my own, my own husband having arrived earlier for the stag party. The 40minute taxi ride to the little bay where we were staying for the weekend, Cala Vadella (Vadella Cove), was stressful conducted in my half-Spanish. It included many dead ends and wrong turns, literally, not linguistically, as the driver spoke to me in fast Spanish. I went to bed after checking all the closets for hidden intruders by torchlight, glad to put the journey behind me.

Cala Vadella, Ibiza

I woke up to the steady hum of cicadas, alone in the silence of our whitewashsd house, and able to actually see it in the light of day. I pottered around, looking through each of the rooms in turn. When I had left my hunger long enough in the empty apartment, I prepared to venture out En Español.

Barely a breeze

Walking down the quiet street towards the beach of Cala Vadella, I marvelled at the Balearic houses sitting perfectly in place under a flaring hot sun – whitewashed with cactus-lined pools.

The view from our front door

The road to the bay veered sharply to the right at the edge of a cliff, then wound steeply downwards. Through a break in the trees the sapphire bay opened up dramatically in front of me, and though it may sound corny it did take my breath away.

Cala Vadella from above

My husband joined me, and we spent our first afternoon together on the sandy beach eating bocadillos de jamón at Vadella Beach Bar and drinking fabulously strong mojitos para llevar from Restaurante Cana Sofia.

Cala Vadella

Laziness and hunger took us from our beach loungers to Cana Sofia when the sun started setting, where we had a meal of freshly prepared tapas under the vines. We sipped on ice-cold rosé wine and watched people walking the beach beside us.

We returned to our balcony to sip a €4 bottle of local cava, listening to the steady hum of crickets and cicadas and talking long into the night.

A long evening on our balcony

The heat woke me before sunrise, I returned to my spot on the balcony from the previous night, and watched the sky turn from navy, through light blue, to spectacular pink.

Timelapse of the sunrise

 

The second day was our wedding anniversary. To celebrate we did what we do best, headed down to the beach to do it all again. I swam through the azure water, one of my favourite things to do, and had a run-in with a rogue jellyfish producing a nasty sting. I had no idea at the time that this sting would ‘re-appear’ weeks later as the venomous stingers were still in my arm. We had a fantastic stone-baked margarita pizza from Cana Sofia (again!) which was covered in fragrant basil leaves the size of my hand.

We went home in the late afternoon to freshen up for dinner, and I was desperate to see a famous Ibizan sunset as clouds obscured the one the night before. On our walk back in to town for dinner, we stopped at the cliff, in a deserted parking lot. The sunset was better than I had hoped for, the sky seemed to be set on fire, and it gave both our faces a golden glow as we looked around. We could hear music, and walked closer to the cliff’s edge to see a huge sound system set up in a small cave below, the bass so loud I could feel it in my chest. Only two people danced around, and it felt like we had crashed a secret party.

All above: that golden glow

 

We concluded the night with an enormous, and first ever, paella, followed by a beer on the beach. I can still taste the flavour, it was so rich and savoury.

Ibizan sunsets: plenty bang for your buck

The next, and final, day was the wedding day. We struggled to a achieve any semblance of ‘pretty’ in a heavy heat, but made it to the other side of the island in time regardless. Experimental Beach was a venue within Las Salinas nature park, a UNESCO world heritage eco-system area, and a large exporter of salt. I knew we were drawing near in the taxi when we passed salt ponds and piles. We were greeted at the venue with a citrus-crisp white sangria, and we had enough time to look around before the wedding got started.

The venue before the guests arrived

After a beautiful ceremony where two friends were promised to each other for life, we ate and drank in the glare of the setting sun, and danced for hours under a navy blue sky.

The venue from the beach

 

Ibiza was a surprise, it was somewhere I hadn’t really planned to go to due to its reputation for a wild party island. What I saw was completely different, our quiet bay was such a refuge from City life, the local food so spectacular. I found the locals on ‘our side’ of the island to be some of the most friendly I’d ever met. I loved the peace and being close to nature once again.

 

 

 

By Mairead Daly

High Desert: Palm Springs, USA

Make sure to check out Part 1 and Part 2 of this road trip

 

The first morning in Palm Springs, I knew in my bones I was somewhere else. The light was so different, a hazy glow, that even going through everyday routines felt foreign. Even on the stroll for breakfast and the first coffee of the day, the street seemed to be covered by a halo. Breakfast was from Koffi, an egg-ham-cheese bagel for him, and a fruit parfait for her. Even in late December, the weather was mild enough for a t-shirt.

Koffi coffee

Houses on E. Canyon Drive

Tiredness from the previous day’s mammoth drive, we stayed local and ran some errands. Ed enjoyed the laundromat, the waiting room peppered with heckles from locals aimed at the political coverage on the small television.

At the laundromat

That night we ate at King’s Highway, the restaurant at Ace Hotel. We ate real-deal tacos, and had fabulous cocktails (including a spicy chilli margarita).

King’s Highway at Ace Hotel

Holiday season in the desert

The following day, we ventured south-east towards the Salton Sea. First stop, Shields Date Garden for a famous date shake. I would recommend sharing one with at least one other person, it is huge, thick and heavenly.

The route to the Painted Canyon

Shields Date Garden

At midday, we headed further south-east through citrus grove after citrus grove, the fresh sweet scent lingering in the air. It amazed me to see such vibrant life erupting suddenly from the bone-dry ground. Around two kilometres of dirt road led to the mouth of the Painted Canyon, in the Painted Hills. It wasn’t hard to find the Ladder Canyon, a picturesque slot canyon waving and weaving through the ochre-red rock, following the carving force of water years before. I walked, slow as a trickle of water, running my hand along the curve of the canyon.

The mouth of the canyon trail

Slot canyon path

The namesake ladder

After navigating our way safely through the canyon (someone else was not as lucky and was being airlifted out with a broken leg), we ate pre-packed Reuben sandwiches from Vons supermarket and drove to a destination beyond the scope of our satnav: Salvation Mountain. We reached the nearest town, Niland, barely a one-horse town, and had to just drive into the desert, hoping we could find our destination. And find it, we did.

Salvation Mountain

Salvation Mountain

The view from Salvation Mountain

 

Cirrus clouds flecked the sky, the sun sat low in its winter position in the sky. Looking around from where I stood, all I could see was complete desolation. It was a fantastic feeling. We continued along a dirt road through Slab City, an off-grid community of activists and anarchists, to East Jesus. As the sun slowly lowered in the sky, shadows brought all the sculptures to life in a completely different way. The sound of gunshots peppered the air and, not sure if they were a threat or not, the vibe felt well and truly wild. My imagination ran wild thinking of what life was like here, hidden deep in the desert, free of legal and social convention. On the drive home, the haze-covered, malodorous Salton Sea lay to our left and a mile-long cargo train racing us to our right. Phone batteries dead, we turned on the local radio station; Alice in Chains, Led Zepplin and Black Sabbath blaring out the windows as we drove into the fading sun.

All above: East Jesus

 

On our final day, slightly margarita-hungover and dreading the impending end of our trip, we spent time in the Moorten Botanical Garden admiring the cacti under a heavy grey sky. Hummingbirds darted through the air, jumping from leaf to leaf. An empty semi-circular arrangement of chairs lined a lonely glade under a giant aloe, and I thought about whose wedding it might be arranged for.

Top and bottom, Moorten Botanical Garden

 

 

Check out my follow-on spotlights on Yucca Valley/Joshua Tree and Los Angeles, the finale of out trip.

Where Snow Meets Desert: Lake Tahoe to Death Valley, USA.

Part two of my USA retrospective, find part one here.

After our last photo stop, we took the route 50 perpendicular to the lake that wound through the mountains. The contrast between the thick pine forest, streams and snow of the lake basin with the desert beyond Lake Tahoe’s surrounding peaks was astounding. It somehow felt like we were either returning, or going into outer space. I couldn’t quite work out which.

In Carson City, NV, we took the route 395 headed almost due south. Anticipation and trepidation filled the air gaps in the car between us and our suitcases. As we left the relative comfort of Tahoe, we knew we would head far south, beyond our comfort zone.

The route

Where snow meets desert, Mono County.

 

The road followed California’s backbone, the Sierra Nevada mountains. We watched the landscape slowly change from snow, to the moon-like desert as traversed Mono County. I’d found another brewery for us to stop at for lunch on our journey. We turned off for June Lake, the sleepy little sister to Big Mammoth further south. June Lake Brewing was hidden deep in the little town, seemingly the only place people existed here. We ate Hawaiian Tacos at Ohanas food truck parked in the brewery lot.

June Lake Brewing against a crystal clear sky

 

Messy Hawaiian taco-eating

 

The tacos were messy but delicious, and we enjoyed a small beer in the brewery enjoying the heavy metal echoing throughout the building. We bought a few large bottles of porter, and rejoined route 395 to resume our journey.

”With the burning red-pink of the Sierra sunset now behind us, we were headed into the darkness of the desert”

The small towns of Mono then Inyo county passed by, empty motels with ‘Vacancy’ signs blowing in the wind. Luck would have us find a Starbucks in Bishop,Ca. The town was otherwise a more local affair. Towns got smaller and smaller the further we drove, and our last tough with civilisation was Lone Pine, CA where we stocked up on gasoline and water.

From Lone Pine, we forked left towards Death Valley National Park. With the burning red-pink of the Sierra sunset now behind us, we were headed into the darkness of the desert.

A glowing Sierra sunset

 

We survived multiple hairpin turns and arrived at Panamint Springs Resort, on the edge of the park – our home for the night. We foolishly had no camping supplies, and the shop had run out of sleeping bags for hire, so we donned our ski gear and sat on the picnic bench outside the tent to have one of our June Lake beers.

 

Home for the night

 

Death Valley National Park is a recognised dark sky area, and I never fully grasped how much I could see without air pollution and high-rise buildings obscuring the view. The milky way looked close enough to touch, every single star glowing as bright as the moon, and shooting stars framed our view. Road-weary, we went to bed and endured the coldest night of our lives.

An unbelievable Panamint sunrise

Before dawn the next morning, feeling fragile and ready to flee our campsite, we waited for the gas station to open for coffee and gas before hastily retreating deeper into the park. The elevation dropped and dropped with every mile driven, giving fantastic views for miles.

Waiting for the only gas station for miles to open

 

Panamint Springs general store

 

The road into the park at dawn

The descent into the heart of Death Valley

Mesquite Dunes

 

Palms outside the Furnace Creek Resort

 

We drove through the park, stopping to add our footprints to the Mesquite Dunes and later the Furnace Creek resort for a slightly bizarre and hasty breakfast. The palms outside the resort signalled that we were getting closer to our final desert destination. Leaving the heart of Death Valley behind, we headed to the deserted south. Badwater Basin, the lowest point of elevation in North America. That was a bucket-list item ticked off.

At Badwater Basin

With the end of the national park, we entered the Mojave desert. Food options were a bit grim roadside in Barstow, CA, so we bought Jerkey and Reese’s cups and pushed through exhaustion for the last of the day-long journey.

Arrival into Palm Springs

 

The tell-tale windfarm heralded our arrival into chic Palm Springs, welcome civilisation after what felt like an eternity in the vast and lonely expanse of the desert. Our hotel, a 60s-themed tiki establishment (definitely what I would consider a niche market!) had a plush king-size bed and on-site restaurant, everything one needed after a frightening frozen desert night the night before.

Death Valley made me feel small, it is so hostile that surviving there for only one day feels like an accomplishment. Watching the snow turn to sand as we covered only inches of the map of California felt like a small rebirth. Seeing the small roadside towns, the forgotten ones like Independence and Baker, CA gave me a glimpse into the victims of the American dream. The orphans left behind their glitzier cousins, where faded pitch and putt greens sat unused, and teenagers’ best prospects may be to depart for somewhere bigger.

This is the real US, no In-n-Out or flat white coffees, no Whole Foods or kale. Just real people, scratching out a living in the middle of nowhere, wathing the odd tourist pass by on the way to somewhere else.

Part 3 | Palm Springs coming soon!

Lake Tahoe, USA

I thought I would go back over our honeymoon trip of a lifetime back over Christmas 2016 in a 3 part series including: Lake Tahoe, Death Valley, and Palm Springs.

I knew I was never going to be the same after our trip to a small part of the Wild West. We decided to take our honeymoon to the US over our first married Christmas, to put off the ‘whose family will we spend it with’ for another year. I could easily orientate myself on the flight route from San Francisco, CA to Reno, NV. I knew the wide expanse with no lights to my right to be Lake Tahoe, a deeper than black hole in the night, followed by the festive glimmer of Reno in the distance. To get to our condo, we had to drive over Mount Rose pass, which winds treacherously over its namesake mountain.

Flying over Reno, Nevada
Our condo was in Incline Village, right on the shores of the beautiful lake Tahoe.
During the days, we snowboarded at Homewood Mountain Resort, where we had a great 3-day beginners package deal. The mountain had excellent choice of terrain, and everytime you turned your back to the mountain you would be rewarded with the jewel-like lake. I literally felt like a different person when staring at the peaks lining the Tahoe bowl, and never thought I would have the chance to see such an iconic, all-American horizon in person. The base restaurant at Homewood served up the enormous plates of chilli/burgers/pulled pork required to keep us going all day.


The courtyard at our condo


The view from our window

Jet-lagged early mornings gave us a chance to watch the first snowfall out our window before any of our neighbours even stirred. Cup after cup of filter coffee passed the time from 4am twilight to fully-fledged day. I could just imagine a mama bear and two cubs trundling by, paws crunching the new snow.


The view from the lower Homewood slopes

A secret find of mine to surprise my beer-loving partner was Alibi Ale Works, where locals serve and drink fantastic brews. We tried the Rubus Nocturne, a barrel-aged dark raspberry sour, a pale ale, and Boysenberry Berlinerweisser. The porter was rich and deep giving us a warm glow to carry on our walk home. We panic-bought a couple of growlers of that to keep us going over the Christmas period when shops would not be open.


Alibi Ale Works, Incline Village, NV.

We didn’t eat out much in the evenings, jet lag and hours being flung down slopes rendered us useless past 6pm. Homemade margaritas, blue corn tortilla chips and pasta were generally all we could muster up the energy to put together.


Homemade margaritas

One of the first days, we visited Squaw Valley/Alpine Meadows resort while we had a rest from mountain activities, ate delicious football-sized burgers fireside at the Plumpjack Inn, and strolled through the faux-alpine ski village. There was such a peaceful calm about the place. Due to the altitude, we could feel the sun beating down overhead in contrast to the ice cracking below our feet.


Squaw Valley, Ca.

We spent Christmas Day at Lone Eagle Grille, literally on the Incline Village lake shore. The Christmas meal was a buffet, not my usual choice, however it proved handy this time when we went back for the pork belly canapés too many times to count! We tried razor clams, crab, and had lamb that melted in the mouth. Cocktails were at the fire pit afterwards, all wrapped up and ruddy-faced from a bottle of rioja. I had a spiked hot chocolate that seemed made for this moment. It was this evening I fully caught the splendor of a Tahoe sunset, as previous evenings had seen snowstorms.


Top to bottom: spiked hot chocolate, sunset, fire pit

On our last morning, as we started heading south to our next destination, we had to stop multiple times for me to take pictures. The Lake really pulled out all the stops, almost as if sensing and regretting our impending departure. On these last few looks back, over the mirror-blue surface, I knew I would never be the same. I knew I would be back, and somehow, to own my own clapboard condo and stroll those lazy streets forever.


Top and bottom, our final views of Lake Tahoe.

Make sure to check out parts 2 and 3 of my Wild West restrospective, coming soon!

A Little Bit Wild: Wilderness Festival 2017

Wilderness festival is held every summer in the rolling fields and forests of Cornbury Park, Oxfordshire, UK.

Wilderness festival is perhaps the only one I know I can survive (with at least some dignity). We went last year, were completely overwhelmed by everything on offer, and resolved to do it right this year.


The swimming river
With last year’s tent (complete with little spider skeletons within) and this year’s self-inflating mattress (we splashed out) under our arms, and a cooler bag full of beer, we arrived. Thankfully, the campsite layout was familiar so we were no longer the new kids in school, and set up camp exactly where we did last year (near-but-not-too-near to the toilets). The first night, Thursday, we stayed right in our little tent and barbecued sausages sheltering under our parasol. They tasted delicious with a side of tomato salsa and a gleeful, childish sense of freedom at the prospect of the weekend in the ‘wild’.


The view from our tent
Now, I am from South Africa originally, so I’m aware that being Cotswold-adjacent is not necessarily wild. However, now I live in London, so sipping warm cider barefoot in a light drizzle was pretty out there.

With an early night the first night, we were ready for Friday. I have eliminated wheat and dairy from my diet, so Deliciously Ella’s pop-up was a safe bet as opposed to the countless ‘Bacon Buttie’ signs. Yes, there were many yoga panted, lithe and beautiful young professionals discussing the merits of almond vs. oat mylk. And yes, we were in shabby converse and vans but devoured our avocado-on-rye hungrily.


Me on a shell at a clothes stall


A talk on lonliness in literature in the Books Tent


A pop-up in the Greencraft Village

The food and clothes stalls are a kaleidoscope of noise and colour, smells and people. It sometimes feels quite strange and overwhelming being in an environment geared fully towards creating pleasure. The best food we had were the beef short rib tacos, on real-deal tacos, and buffalo wings with a tequila and blue cheese sauce, which we had to have both nights. The location of Man Meat Fire‘s food truck, at the top of the main stage hill, meant we could listen to the other acts from the comfort of a picnic table (replete with margaritas).


Tacos and hot wings at Man Meat Fire


Hip hop karaoke

On Saturday night, we watched Bonobo play the main stage under a slowly fading pink sky. It was a dreamy sight, all of us gleeful at the lack of rain originally forecasted, dancing under a nearly full moon.


Celebrating the lack of forecasted rain watching Bonobo at the mainstage.


Bonobo after night fell

Afterwards, came The Spectacle, an annual performance. This year was a bewildering light show, accompanied by an astronaut revolving above us. Saturday night was bitterly cold, the clouds we had so desperately wished away in the day now nowhere to be seen. We were glad to get into the tent that night.


A lightshow in the night
Sunday morning, we were planning a fairly early departure, and so a lot of thoughts came to me on that last stroll to Deliciously Ella’s. Afterwards, we sat under a billowing art piece, enjoying the stillness in the early morning breeze. I thought about my career, where that will take me next; about how we will continue to create our own music back home. Really though, I thought about what the festival meant to me.


Where we sat early on Sunday morning, collecting our thoughts

I thought about how crazy it seemed to me to have all these ‘city types’ retreating to a field once a year to feel free, wear glitter, and learn how to climb trees. Surely we should feel we have the same freedom the other 360 days of the year, away from the strains of a 9 to 5, gym and kids? I wondered if I had lost a bit of that side of me in the last few years.

Trying to be a more ‘responsible’ festival-goer was the most tough aspect of it for me. We were two people who ate out the whole weekend, and still generated a bag of rubbish back at the tent. It also seems slightly crazy to me to want to ‘return to nature’ but still have running water, hot showers, and fresh avocado on toast. I thought about the people who were really ‘in nature’, and not out of choice. No tent, no showers and no flat whites. It seemed a little rich of me to need to escape from a full time job, and a little flat in the heart of London, when people are looking to escape the horror and fear of a life torn apart by war.

Mostly, though, I will just take it for what it was: that we are so fortunate to be able go have a brief little break from normal, and that we need to be kinder to people in every way that we can.

Rejoice in quality time to reconnect with nature and each other, and don’t forget having a chance to do hip hop karaoke whilst sipping cider in a field.

www.wildernessfestival.com

Ireland 2017

This summer, for our weeks’ escape from The City, we chose family. We decided against the sunny shores of the Corinthian gulf in Greece – our default – and stayed instead with the ‘Out Laws’ in County Tipperary, Ireland. When we’d booked it, I almost felt nervous at the prospect. The weather could be terrible, the kind that no matter how well you prepare saps the life out of anything you do, so there was a lot of pressure riding on our one week of freedom.

What we got was a delicious surprise, we ended up leaving with our hand luggage and hearts full. We walked along a bare-sand beach, ate fresh hot chips on the seafront, hiked up cliffs to the howling sound of the sea birds mingling with the wash, and blared music in our tiny tin can car. We ate barbecued food outside in the garden with a granny, ate fresh-baked scones the size of my head with another; walked through wildflowers, cooked and ate with Atlantic seaweed, drank coffees, strolled around historical houses with family. We were shown apple trees heavy with ripening fruit, not ready yet to be tasted.

Each moment was so rich, and I greedily squeezed every ounce from every second. I felt like this was an important time – normal life with family – joking and chatting about nothing in particular. I will never forget the sun on my face hiking those cliffs, the dog jumping to lick me when lying on the grass in the garden. The sound of the clothes line squeaking lonely in the breeze keeping the apple trees company.

Lahinch beach, Co.Clare: River Suir towards Cahir Castle, Co. Tipperary:
Swiss Cottage, Cahir, Co. Tipperary:
A man and his dog:
A Yew tree in Co. Tipperary:
Cliffs of Moher, Co. Clare:

A namesake pub (Daly’s) in Ennistymon, Co. Clare:

Learning how to use foraged foods (including wild Atlantic seaweed and wildflowers):

Lahinch beach, Co. Clare:

Looks like Provence, is actually the Tipperary back garden: