wolford

A Certain Path

My profound apologies for missing the link up this March. Things have been swamped, my computer broke, work has been all-consuming, and that’s before saying anything about class. The link-up will resume on schedule next month. I still haven’t decided whether to postpone it until later this March, or what… I’m open to feedback on that point.

All the hullabaloo that has been life lately, though stressful, is really exciting. But I can’t help wishing at moments that it would all be over and my future *momentarily* clear. Then again, there’s a certain vivifying pleasure to having the road stretch endlessly before you and endless opportunities waiting to be discovered. I wanted to personify this dynamic and tried to dress in a similar drama to a silent movie heroine. Coupled with these trees and this path with their ominous about-to-envelop-Snow-White appearance, I hope we can share the trepidation and ecstasy that comes with prospects the future holds.

Beachy Cliff: A Romance

The British Romantic poets and writers were profoundly affected by the vision of the Swiss Alps. After the dreary slopes of the English countryside, the towering edifices were the embodiment of mystery, the promise of adventure and peril, and the unspeakably delicious thrill of the unknown. Now, their radical break from the orderly and structure-loving conventions exemplified in the Enlightenment is commonly interpreted to be the stuff of surprise flower deliveries. But rather than humming “your song” (if you’re with someone) or daydreaming about their sense of humor (if you’re not), as we stare into the abyss of uncertainty buzzing around a new year, I have chosen to resurrect the true Romantic meaning.

As we look towards the frightful and awesome unknown that is 2015, instead of approaching it with trepidation or even boredom, I will choose to see it for the huge opportunities (or obstacles) it can bring… even if the wind is an absolute torrent along the way. Make sure to take a moment to reflect on the romantic possibilities that lie ahead!

Oh the Posh Posh Traveling Life, The Traveling Life for Me!

Say it with me: Newsh-von-schteen. You might want to try again, and a third time. To be honest, you might want to give up altogether and just gaze at the Bavarian view, or you could adopt my all-too-American approach and call it the “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang castle” (after being corrected by about a hundred Germans).

See those familiar headlights peaking into the picture?

Well, considering the fact that I couldn’t dress like a doll on a music box to visit, I decided to channel the Baron and Baroness Bomburst (of Vulgaria) and Ludwig II’s outlook on glamour and drama, generally in epic proportion.

However, there’s a limit to personal pizazz when a 40-minute walk up a mountain is involved with a very full suitcase (the consequence of back-to-back overnight train/ bus rides). Still, the view surpassed any struggle involved. Bavaria is like the fantasy backdrop of any pastoral landscape. Blue skies, fields of green, mountain silhouettes, endearing chapels, and little red roofs dotting the area next to the water. It’s easy to see why land prices are so high. It’s a veritable paradise.

And at the top of the hill? A fairy tale castle surrounded by the terrible legend of the eccentric and reclusive prince who could not face the reality of his diminishing power. In its stead, he built himself an edifice, a makeshift temple to his majesty, ready to receive his subjects when they should come (or it would have been, to this day it remains unfinished). Unfortunately, we were strictly prohibited from taking any pictures of the actual inside of the castle, but here’s a promotional photo of the reception area:

Check out the view!Once outside, there was a path to a wooden bridge. Word to the wise, if you want a picture of the castle as a whole, this is the place to get it (you’ll just have to fight the rest of the tourists for it). I’ve included a helpful map

What I wore:
Headband: Primark (old)
Sunglasses: Chloe
Earrings: Vintage
Fur: estate sale boon (shown here)
Blazer: DKNY
Blouse: Yves Saint Laurent- Rive Gauche
Skirt: New Look
Tights: Wolford
Heels: Chloe
For more information on Ludwig and Neuschwanstein, you can go here (or of course wikipedia). However, the more involved your research gets, be sure to look out for this guy:

–Shared to the lovely Patti’s Visible Monday (it’s good to be back).

Hej Stokholm: Part I

I bought my tickets to Sweden after checking the Ryanair prices for all of Scananavia. I ended up in Stockholm rather than Copenhagen or Oslo due not to my overwhelming longing for St. Lucia’s Day and love for Ikea, but really my overall greed (or thrift, as the boy scouts say) and ignorance. I was even more excited to find out that for every American Dollar, I would get a whopping 7 Swedish Kronor. Get that? SEVEN!!

Well, fate played a cruel joke.

That remarkable 7 wouldn’t buy a candy bar, much less a coke, and 7 kronor is about the equivalent of 25 cents. As it turns out, Sweden is one of the richest, and most expensive countries in Europe. While it’s not, you know, Zurich, Priceoftravel.com lists it as the second most expensive city on its backpacker index. Do note that Monaco does not figure in the rankings, but honestly, when you are competing with Monaco, doesn’t that concede the point?

Nevertheless, unlike Paris, with the price tag came a new standard of cleanliness. Stockholm proper was cleaner than Disney on a given morning, and some of the views could seriously compete for one of those two remaining spots on the world showcase. Virtually everywhere in the city is surrounded by the river (Norrstrom), and it makes for some truly breathtaking scenery. With such a pristine city, I can only imagine what the fabled countryside of the rest of Stockholm looks like (though Ryanair is always quite in coming complete with an hour- long sightseeing tour as you try to find civilization relative to the remote airport where it has dumped you- this was no exception).

20140926_145832

20140926_143849 Once I finally reached the city, I immediately bought a map and some “toast” which turned out to be none other than a well-timed panini. After planning out the day, I decided I would go to the hostel and drop off my luggage bag. Unfortunately, it was then I realized (bereft of wifi and data) that I had no idea, except for a general direction, where the hostel was. With that, I started walking in the direction of the island area (there are 4 major ones that compose Stockholm) that I thought it was on. The Hostel’s name was “Lodge 52,” so I decided to keep walking until I came to the address numbered “52” (which was much further away than it sounds). My father likes to say “even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then,” while I cannot speak for hogs, I can say I had an incredible stroke of dumb luck, because apartment 52 and Lodge 52 of this random road happened to be the same place.

Master of Directions

From there, I went to see the Royal Palace (which looks more like another feat of seventies architecture than anything old and regal), the town, and the Nobel Museum.

What I Wore:
As a preface, I would advise anyone travelling to Stockholm to bring almost exclusively black clothing if you are visiting after September 1st. I was the only breath of pastel on most streets I was in. But more on that in the next post…
Hat: British Vintage (from charity shop)
Dress: Anthropologie
Scarf: BCBG
Tights: Wolford (ebay)
Shoes: Clarks

Moor From the North: Bronte Country

There is a small place in the heart of every 19th-century British literature devotee that longs to walk across a moor. What is a moor? we ask. No one really knows, but we have a vague idea— it’s how Elizabeth won Darcy. If you walk around one for long enough, you might find Heathcliff, or if you’re particularly unlucky, the dread Count Fosco looming around Blackwater. They seem to be common places, but are rumored to have particularly bad weather and a lot of fog through which people trek for miles somewhere between early breakfast and tea time.

I had expressed my long curiosity of these mysterious places to my friend Olivia, who I met during my time at Oxford. It was then that I found out she lived in northern England, near the Lake District. Being a fellow enthusiast of English literature, she graciously invited me to visit, on what was to be rather a pilgrimage to the towns of Great British authors (Wordsworth! The Brontes! Beatrix Potter!). To get ready for our adventure, Liv packed me a care package full of Northern food. I was converted by Rhubarb and Clotted Cream Swirls.

Yorkshire Tea and Lancashire Cheese!

Our first stop was Bronte Country, or the village of Haworth in Yorkshire to see the Haworth parsonage (where all three sisters lived and in which Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre were written). However, along the way we made a small detour into Rose & Co., and old school apothecary (and the background in the pictures), and a few vintage shops where I procured the navy velvet turban I’m wearing.

Rose & Co.

Downtown Haworth

Pasture behind the Bronte’s House

Bronte’s Creepy Parson-side Graveyard (which most likely poisoned their water source, and served as the fountain of Gothic writing)

What I’m Wearing:
Hat: Vintage
Dress: Le Cremieux (available at Dillards)
Blazer: Pendelton Wool
Bonjour Bag: Zara
Tights: Wolford
Boots: Hunter

I had a wonderful trip, and I can’t thank Olivia enough for the wonderful experience. Further, a warm shout-out to Simon (I didn’t forget you) for driving us all around the Lake District (and everywhere else) for a glimpse of Wordsworth’s house.

Worth it.

The Clothesline

Style for people blowing in the wind