There is a season for each thing, is said somewhere in the Bible. As I stand some days before leaving for Norway, I feel that the seasons are changing. And not only because I go from an African heat wave hitting Barcelona to a weird Nordic summer of +17 and rain, but also because I feel that the story is changing. I am turning some invisible pages right now.
Only now I feel like enjoying Barcelona at my most. I even want to share some photos of it – but when I searched my gallery on the phone, I found only photos of furniture, its prices and flower pots. I remember when after my first months here my friend asked me: “And when are you going to write a post about your favorite places and cafes in Barcelona?” Not that I was not eating outside. But I was like: “Dude, what do you imagine my life to be? Sipping coffee on the terraces all the time? I can write a post with the review of furniture stores though. If that would interest someone 😆”
There are so many things that make our traveling easier these days. Apps, Tripadvisor, online maps and GPS, travel blogs. And still I wish for more. I wish for an option “to set back all the novelties – and travel like in the old times”. I am not so old yet (well, it depends on the perspective, my 37 is a stone age for the teens :)), but sometimes I feel like a grumpy old-fashioned lady from another century. When I start recollecting, I wonder if there are still many people who could understand what I’m saying. Let’s do it for a while!
Do you remember travelling without google maps? When you had to ask strangers for the way and figure out the instructions in any language. The best were Spaniards. On my feeble and polite “Hablas ingles? Do you speak English?”, followed by their energetic “Si, si, si” – “Where is this place?” they would almost grab my hand and go: “Mira, guapa, todo recto, de recha, al fondo, primera – no, segunda – si”. And I would just read their hand movements and improve my Spanish vocabulary immediately.
Today I want to share my last year’s memories from our trip to Drøbak. It is a town where Santa Claus (julenisse) has his official address in Norway. The town has the post office of Santa Claus that takes itself of all letters addressed to him. As the year is closing by, I wish I could send a thank-you note to Santa Claus (with a wish list attached), but right now my energy is just enough to share those images and memories. Trying to keep up my humor in December turned out to be more difficult than I imagined. As we entered the darkest week of the year, I found myself lying flat with the flu and fever, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so bad. Though the previous week was full of positive events, I always find it so difficult to think positive in the time of sickness.
I am so grateful for the conversation on the blog! Sometimes I read the blog posts that say: “thank you for 1000 views!”. There are people celebrating the number of new followers and the number of views. Sometimes I find myself also caught up in the numbers game. This is the world we are living in. But I really enjoy when I don’t care about the numbers (I also found that less time on Instagram helped to beat that habit :)). I would not mind 1000 views too, but I’d better exclaim: “thank you for those 2 comments you left under my post!” They are more meaningful to me than numbers. Because they sparkle a conversation, they help me think and change and grow, and that is so precious (which maybe great number of views provides too, I just lack the experience of it :))
November is not an easy month for blogging. It is getting darker, the days are so grey and so short. My inspiration gave me a lot of ideas some weeks ago – and disappeared for a while. Then again, I got caught up in writing about interesting subject on my blog in Russian. And what makes me come back to this blog, in the times of low statistics and poor light conditions, is those meaningful conversations. Thank you for them, dears!
Do you have a story or a hero that has changed your life? Can you say that some of them have saved you? I think, I have, and I am lucky to have it.
Two days ago I watched the movie “Julie and Julia”. It is a history of two lives, both real: one is of Julia Child, an American lady who lived in France, fell in love with cooking there and wrote a book “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”. The second one is of Julie Powell who seems unhappy about her work and moving to Queens, so she starts a project of cooking all the recipes in Child’s book during a year while blogging about it. Her story becomes a book too, and a movie, as we see. According to Julie, Julia Child had saved herself from falling into bored expat wife in Paris by discovering her passion, and she saved Julie. While Julie’s husband says: “No, you have saved yourself”.
Maybe, not everyone has a dream city, but I have always had. One of them was – and is – Paris. That case when your dream of Paris is bigger than the city itself. I have been several times in the City of Light, and still my thirst has not been quenched. Of this I was reminded recently when a book title started to pop into my eyes.
The book title is “A Paris Year” by Janice MacLeod. It appeared in several places, like a little case of synchronicity. The book is partly a journal, and partly a visual memoir, filled with photos and author’s drawings. I just have to get this book in paper and hold it in my hands. And imagine that this is my journal from the future. Because it looks like the author is living my dream.
Last summer I spent three unforgettable weeks in Croatia which I call my personal “Eat pray love” project. There was one week of salsa festival, a week of relaxing, eating and taking pictures in the beautiful town of Rovinj, and a week of yoga retreat on Hvar Island. Yoga would be the pray part, eating and relaxing speaks for itself, and dancing is definitely love. I have shared reasons to love Rovinj here and here, and the time has come to tell its stories. This is going to be the post about the dancing part aka love (you will find more posts about this story under the tag eatpraylove).
I came to Croatia for the first time in summer of 2015 for the salsa festival and it captured my heart forever. On the night of our arrival we were pulling our suitcases through cobblestoned streets, the stones reflecting the light of the lanterns, the old houses towering around us, the laundry hanging from the windows – I felt like I was instantly placed in the setting of a romantic movie, and soon the cameras would roll. The town of Rovinj in the Northern part of Croatia is known as the most Italian town of that region Istria which used to be a part of Italian Veneto for ages. That’s why Italian atmosphere is luring everywhere, in the colorful facades, in the cuisine, in the smiles and jokes of local waiters. And what can be more romantic than Italian atmosphere in summer?