maximum

My first pair of ballet flats were the kind you actually needed. They were tiny, smaller than my hands are now, little shoes for little feet to go with little leotards and little tights. They were baby pink. I was baby pink. I was joining the ranks of little girls the world round and taking my first ballet class. I have vague recollections of getting those shoes - softer than the softest puppy dog, softer than my mum's pillow in winter - from a ballet shop in Randwick, where you got to sit on a high chair like a real princess and find the shoe that fits. But really, it was never about the shoe. It was always about the tutu (I was five years old! what do you think). I'd like to think that I loved ballet flats from the start, that it was enduring, passionate, overwhelming love but to be truthful I never really started loving ballet flats until I owned my first pair of Porsellis. 

Some things just never sink in until you're older. I recently mused on the fact that for the first 10 years that I watched Sound of Music I never really realised that the bad guys were Nazis and this was all set in the midst of the third reich and in the lead up to world war two. I honestly thought that Herr Zeller was someone who didn't want the family Von Trapp to win the singing competition, and they were chasing after them to take back their trophy. Trophies are very important to five years old. Of course the whole kefuffle would be about a trophy - who would want that take away from them? I'd climb every mountain to ensure that it wasn't, that's for sure. Well, now that I'm older (and wiser, with someone telling me what to do) I know a few things. I know what happens at the end of the Sound of Music, I know that you have to follow a skincare routine, and I know that investing in quality really does make a difference. Which is why, when I was in Milan, I snapped up a few pairs of Porselli ballet flats (my favourites) to add to my collection. Ever since I eschewed heels altogether a few years ago (another grown up thing, or maybe a childish thing I've claimed as a grown up?) ballet flats have become the cornerstone of my style. I wear them in summer and winter, and they are the perfect foil for university, work and weekends. Like beloved sandals in summertime, ballet flats are indispensable because they completely, wholly embody that feeling of relaxed, effortless comfort that I actively search out in all aspects of my life. As Lindsay summed up in a recent post, style is about so much more than the sartorial, it is about discovering how it is that we want to live our lives. Well, I want to live mine in simplicity and comfort and ease and - as for me this follows unquestionably, inevitably, without any shred of a doubt - contentedly. So thank you to Porselli for allowing me to do that.

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ps. I recently found out that my favourite online store My Chameleon will be stocking Porselli very soon. This is exciting news for fans like me who lament over how difficult it is to get hold of them. I really cannot wait!

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mamie gateaux

I saw Mamie Gateaux first on Tommy's blog and I knew that I had to go. The location was perfect, tucked away in the heart of the 6th, (right near Le Bon Marche and the Armor Lux store, King of the bretons), the concept couldn't have been better, the decor had me from the start. The day we went there it was pouring rain, grey and grisly and gloomy from the start. But when we pushed open the door and entered the warm confines of the dining room it could have been summer, there were so many bunches of flowers, so many bright colours, so many cakes sitting pretty on the counter. We all had a variation of the savoury tart to start (and a glass of wine here and there), and followed it up with dessert. I tried the carrot cake and can safely say it was one of the best I've ever had, cinnamon-y with just the right amount of icing.We got lucky that day, about 15 minutes after we walked in about 10 other people - rain-sodden, clutching newspapers over their heads and shielding their faces - ran in, all clamouring for a table. All the same, the staff never rushed us, and let us take our time over our meal, savouring every bite of that crispy salad (After Austria and Germany it seemed like I hadn't had vegetables in a long time). Together, those factors constitute the recipe for a perfect cafe; plenty of locals, and staff that let you be. I'll definitely be back.

Mamie Gateaux, 66 Rue du Cherche-Midi, 6eme Paris

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hello, I live here

Arriving at Paris in the dead of night doesn't quite seem fair. You're cheated of breakfasts, of cups of coffee, of sight-seeing till your feet are sore, of craning your neck to look at art, of bottles of wine finished before the sun even thinks of setting (and this is winter!), of sneaky cigarettes, of having three course meals that never seem to end, of running to the metro to catch the last train. But one thing that you do get is this, all lit up light a Christmas tree, every night of the year. And that makes it all worthwhile. Some people - like Petrovsky's daughter in SATC, think that it's "hideous, hideous, hideous"- but me? Well, I feel just like this.

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winter wonderland

My mum is really jealous of all the alpine locations and all the snow and all the beautiful winter wonderland scenery (as she keeps messaging me every second day!) so this one's for her. The walk up to Neuschwanstein castle was punctured by bubbling streams and breathtaking views and picturesque lamp-posts (Mr Tumnus! Mr Tumnus!) and everything you could possibly want on the stroll to and from fairytale palaces. This kind of stuff really doesn't happen in Australia, so my mum really is missing out... but I sent her a postcard so hopefully she's not too upset! Miss you mum!

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fairy tales

If I started out the day in Hansel and Gretel I surely ended it in Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. I'm not going to lie, the whole trip had basically been a prelude to this. I had bought postcards already that morning, we had been looking at pictures on the internet, we had been sharing stories about how beautiful (beautiful! beautiful!) this castle was. But nothing could have prepared me for the moment we turned the corner, the moment we braked at the lights, the moment my friend shook me by the arm and said, "Look up!" There it was, literally emerging out of the mountains, surrounded by a sea of tall conifers, dusted lightly with icing-sugar snow and standing tall and proud, almost taller than the mountains (or was that all part of the illusion?). Neuschwanstein. The fairy-tale castle of Bavaria's slightly nutty 19th century King Ludwig, deposed before he even got a chance to live in this palatial spread (just as well, the inside is a bit kitsch), but what a legacy to leave behind! 

The tour on the inside was short and not so sweet, like with all kinds of castles left with furniture and artworks intact it's a very look but don't touch/talk/document/breathe kind of approach, and because of bad weather (hmmphh, I hate the snow) we couldn't climb the tower. But one thing did make up for all of that. Ludwig, mad though he may have been, had the foresight to request windows on all four sides of the castle, steadily increasing in size as the floors climbed up. It was quite, quite startling to look out the window from the 7th floor onto sheer rock face, covered in snow, completely endless, practically pushing the borders of the windows further and further out that's how infinite this mountain was. I'm sure in summer, with rolling greenery and lakes and birds chirping happily from windowsills and all of that Disney stuff the castle would be something to behold. But I'll never forget that afternoon in winter, cold, so, so cold, when everything was white and still, a true fairy tale.

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gingembre

I secretly harbour a burning, fiery love (to the core of my being) for little village towns. I love the homey atmosphere, the cosy houses, that lovely, blanketing feeling of fire and smoke and cooking things on a stove, the sense of quietude and calm, the clean air, the simplicity. It's for this reason that I've always loved travelling to our family friend's beautiful house in a blue mountains town for this reason. It's also for this reason that I harbour not so easily realisable desires to abscond to a cabin somewhere isolated and secluded to cook, and write, and be alone.

I think that's why I was so comfortable in Oberammergau, the little alpine town we travelled to in Bavaria. We arrived in the dead of night and didn't have much chance to see the surroundings, other than the spire of the town's beautiful embellished church. So when the sun rose the next day it was almost shocking to see that we were surrounded by perfectly formed Gingerbread houses, sloped roof, wooden shuttered windows, hand-painted houses and all. Famous for its wood carvings and its annual Easter crucifiction re-enactment (images from the event were stenciled all over the houses, and immortalised in wooden figurines), Oberammergau reminded me of a children's book we used to have as kids. In it, a family with 14 children (many sets of twins) lived in a mountain town in a cute little cottage, where the mother would make elderflower jam and the children would frolic in the woods. One snowy day (it had turned into winter quite quickly) a carriage went past carrying the King and Queen and their sons and daughters, who came into the house for refreshment and tried the mother's jams. The Queen instantly fell in love and asked the mother to come to the court to be her royal jam-maker. While there, the Queen's four eldest children fell in love with the four eldest of the alpine children, and they had an extravagant quadruple wedding complete with fur hoods and sleigh rides and a cake filled with elderflower jam.

Of course, it's easy when you put it all together. It's the child in me that loves these kinds of towns, the child in me that loves cottages and gingerbread houses and that truly idyllic, truly story-book kind of dream location.

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on the road again

Being on the road constantly isn't so much of a drag when it looks like this. There was a little tricky moment when we thought we'd be in trouble, driving down a snowy, icy road without chains, but it was all fine. And when we crested the mountain all we could see was this. It was worth getting lost and getting cold and getting hungry for that.

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the hood

tommy ton for style.com

Paris is as lovely now as it has ever been - those wide boulevards, that white light, those corner cafes, that cuisine, cuisine, cuisine, those "soldes" signs, those double windows, that clear air, those late-night dinners, that sense of contentment, those iconic moments - the only thing that it needs right now is a cosy hood. Man it's cold.

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salzburg photo diary

Churches on every street // The interior of Salzburg's cathedral, awe-inspiring // Walking in a winter wonderland // The view down the river // Decoration on the Cathedral's doors, restored and replaced after the bombings during World War 2 // Sunset over the old fortress // A view of the fortress from below // Cityscape

 

I really liked Salzburg. And not just because I got to indulge my childhood dreams of visiting Sound of Music fans (and singing "How do you solve a problem like Maria" really loudly). There was something very calm and collected about the city. It is small and therefore manageable, but because it has a few universities, a thriving tourist industry and also a sense of local Austrian culture it never felt claustrophobic or cluttered. Shopping on the main street was diverse and yielded fantastic results - handmade chocolate with crystallised violets and that mango coat I was obsessed with 4 months ago ! - there was so much to see, including trips out of the city to the lakes and the salt mines, the people were friendly, the history was fascinating and, perhaps most importantly, the food was nothing short of fantastic. We had a couple of really great meals - classic Austrian food done really well. I downloaded the Wallpaper guide before I left and it was extremely well-edited. We followed it like a bible (literally, it could find you even without internet, so that's a big plus) and one of the restaurants it suggested ended up being a perfect meal, long and never-ending, with lots of wine and delicious food. I can't wait to get back to Salzburg again, so long, farewell!

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the lake pt 2

I think me and lakes are having a bit of a moment. I fell in love with Lake Como the moment I opened the windows, the moment morning sun - or what little winter rays there were - fell onto the palazzos and the wide expanse of water. Well, I'm sorry Como, but Salzburg's beautiful lake districts (immortalised in the Sound of Music, of course) just trumped you. We were lucky to see them on a bright, sunshin-y day, completely bizarre for the middle of January, but there you have it. The sky was blue, the air was crisp but not cold, there was no wind. Just awe-inspiring mountains all around us, and then water so clear we could see straight to the bottom in front of us. Each lake seemed determined to out-do the next - bigger, better, brighter, bolder. How wonderful it must look in summer, we thought, green and luscious and fragrant. But then you'd have to share it with others who all had the same idea as you. That day in Salzburg we got lucky. Even though the sky was blue and the sun was bright everyone seemed to have gone elsewhere; in search of snow, perhaps, for a toboggan or a sled. So we got the lakes to ourselves - plus a few friendly swans - which was lovely, and actually kind of perfect.

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vienna photo diary

Snow-covered Belvedere Palace // Traditional, original, delicious Sacher Torte at the Hotel Sacher // The staircases at Schonbrunn completely blanketed in snow // A beautiful Chagall painting at the Albertina // Vienna does palaces pretty well, this one is the Hofburg // Early morning demonstration at the Spanish Riding School // Snow, glorious snow! // The view from the top of St Stefansdom Cathedral 

Vienna had that kind of elegant, stately beauty that makes your heart truly ache. It's not a beauty you can beautify or dress up, it's not the kind of beauty you can replicate, it's not the kind of beauty you can even quite describe... It's something about a stately, self-possessed elegance that comes from history and legacy. Not all cities have this. I'm not even sure that Paris has it. But Vienna certainly does. It make my heart ache, really, truly ache, to stand at the top of Stefansdom and look out over the city, dusted lightly with snow, stretching out into the confines of the grey sky.

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snow!!!!!!!

"This must be a simply enormous wardrobe!" thought Lucy, going still further in and pushing the soft folds of the coats aside to make room for her. Then she noticed that there was something crunching under her feet. "I wonder is that more mothballs?" she thought, stooping down to feel it with her hand. But instead of feeling the hard, smooth wood of the floor of the wardrobe, she felt something soft and powdery and extremely cold. "This is very queer," she said, and went on a step or two further. Next moment she found that what was rubbing against her face and hands was no longer soft fur but something hard and rough and even prickly. "Why, it is just like branches of trees!" exclaimed Lucy. And then she saw that there was a light ahead of her; not a few inches away where the back of the wardrobe ought to have been, but a long way off. Something cold and soft was falling on her. A moment later she found that she was standing in the middle of a wood at night-time with snow under her feet and snowflakes falling through the air."

 C.S Lewis, The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe

 

You call that snow? (You call that a knife??? Aussie joke) There was real snow, winter wonderland snow, the kind of snow that a girl from Australia can only ever dream about. I want to say that I was cool, that I was calm and collected and acted like the grown up that I supposedly am. I want to say that I didn't make snowmen and throw snowballs and yell out "Mr Tumnus" really loudly and make a make-shift sled out of a thrown away cardboard box and take a million pictures and get really wet making snow angels. I want to say that I was like that. I really, really do.

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At the gallery

We have been to some incredible exhibitions in Vienna - including the impeccably curated jubilee Klimt exhibition at the Belvedere, where they had placed Egon Schiele and Klimt's work side by side alongside ephemera from Klimt's life (the original bill for the Kiss!) and portraits of the artist as a young man, though you sadly could not take any photos - but this was my favourite. It was at the Albertina, one of Vienna's loveliest galleries in the centre of town, right next to the Hofburg, and we wandered over there after a morning listening to the Boys Choir at the palace chapel. They have a permanent exhibition called Monet Bis Picasso, showcasing the private collection of one family that was donated to the gallery. It was an amazing grouping of late 19th century early 20th century art, the kind that is so stunning to think that it once hung in someone's home. There was a beautiful Brancusi statue of a bird, a really beautiful Monet study of roses, and a lot of wonderful impressionist works by Signac, Degas and Pissaro. My favourite was a picture of winter by Edward Munch, a melange of grey and blue and brown with no end. The attendant told us that - even though it was a Sunday - we came on a peculiarly quiet day, and that they have been packed to capacity for weeks with people lining up to see the amazing pieces. Well, it was peculiarly cold, and I was grateful for that cosy feeling you get of being rugged up and toasty inside a warm gallery while it is bone-chillingly cold outside. It was nice to sit on the chairs and look at these works, to sit on the chairs and look at people wandering by and looking at these works, to sit on the chairs and be surrounded by art. 

Monet Bis Picasso, Albertina Gallery Augustinerstraße 1, Vienna

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Guten Morgen!

For me a good morning begins at breakfast. It might have muesli and yoghurt and fruit, it might have coffee or hot chocolate, it might have freshly squeezed orange juice or carrot and ginger vitamin press, it might have soft-boiled eggs and ham off the bone, it might have bagels and croissants, it might have home-made marmalade, it might have english breakfast tea, it might have salty butter, it might have toast and jam, it might have pastries to finish, it might have newspapers from around the world. For me, the perfect breakfast is all of those things. At the Hotel Daniel in Vienna.

Hotel Daniel, Landstraßer Gürtel 5, Vienna

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