My Eastern European Adventure

So, I have just returned from a month of gallivanting across Eastern Europe (a.k.a. The Best Month of My Life So Far)

It was the craziest, most hilarious and non-stop month of my life and I cannot even begin to recount all that happened (parts included a perilous crossing of the Serbian border in a taxi with a driver who spoke no English – an experience that I won’t be forgetting any time soon!)

However, despite my best efforts for the sake of this blog, it wasn't particularly fashion orientated.

Embarking on the holiday, I had planned to return with expansive portfolio of Eastern European street-style made up of 11 different cities in 9 different countries.  This did not go to plan.  It was in Belgrade (a city that I realised does not get enough credit for its exquisitely nonchalant style) where I learned how truly difficult it is to communicate asking to take someone’s picture for your blog in a completely foreign language (the poor girl in question looked at me with pure terror in her eyes – I may have got slightly over-excited at her beautiful leather t-shirt and tulle midi-skirt combo)

In addition to this, before my travels I had also planned to represent British style to the max, and so continued to stuff my entire summer wardrobe into the suitcase that I would be living out of for the month.  Here, I also failed.

1.        Summer style is not my forte.  Being British, Winter is my prime style season.  Only seeing the Sun a handful of times a year causes one to immediately strip off all extraneous layers and wap on a bikini whenever the giant ball of fire appears in the sky, and so this leaves me rather unsure how to dress for it.

2.       Unfortunately, my clothes didn't all fit into my case and so I had to take into account practicality (my least favourite consideration when it comes to clothes).  This meant that not only could I not take a new outfit for every day (crycry), but I also had to consider the fact that they would be LONG, HOT days (I’m talking 34°C in a city centre with no pool to cool off in - much shade-hunting ensued).  This leads me on to...

3.       TAN LINES.  Otherwise known as THE BANE OF MY LIFE.  In Summer, tanning is my favourite hobby.  People who live in Britain will know that this is actually a lot more difficult than it sounds as we only get about 2 days of actual sun per year.  Therefore, the only serious tanning you can get is on holiday.  On a beach holiday this is fine and dandy.  When you’re spending the month wandering around cities where it isn't socially acceptable to walk around in a bikini unless you look like Gisele Bündchen, tanning is a lot more difficult.  As a result, when packing for a back-packing holiday potential tan lines must be considered.  Want to wear that gorgeous vintage floral summer dress that you bought especially?  No chance!  Not unless you want a chest whiter than snow and oh-so-fetching two-tone arms where the sleeves cut off.  And so this is how Levi cut-offs and vest tops became my new staples, turning me into a generic clothes zombie.  This made me sad.  But not as sad as awkward tan lines, so I got over it pretty quickly.

4.       It became obvious pretty quickly that living out of a suitcase causes clothes to become extremely lack-lustre.  Doing all my washing when I got home, I had never been more thankful for an iron in my life.

To sum up; this holiday was not the most successful in terms of fashion.  I would have cared, BUT I WAS BACK-PACKING ACROSS EASTERN EUROPE FOR A MONTH AND IT WAS BLOODY AMAZING.  The best experience of my life so far.  Totally and indescribably amazing.  If you want to do it, work and work in whatever job you can find until you can afford to go.

I would recount all my fantastic tales but that would take forever and a day, and so I provide you with a picture from each place I discovered.

...Holly

SPLIT, Croatia

ZAGREB, Croatia

BELGRADE, Serbia

BUDAPEST, Hungary

KRAKOW, Poland

BRATISLAVA, Slovakia

VIENNA, Austria

PRAGUE, Czech Republic

MUNICH, Germany

BERLIN, Germany

AMSTERDAM, The Netherlands

Lunch in Soho

Well. Well, well. I HAVE slacked on the promise of internship anecdotes. I apologise. Technically, I finished my internship before I even started this measly update for you - it was only a month long. HOWEVER, never fear - they've kept me on as a production assistant and now, lo and behold, they're PAYING me! Argh!

While most days have been a whirlwind of budgets, script breakdowns and networking, today I am simply babysitting the office. That's right - the entire office has jetted off to Cannes festival. And because everyone in the industry is also in Cannes, the phone has rung ONCE in, like, five hours. Ha.

Watch a film, my boss said. In a film production office that somehow has not one DVD. Hmm ... what to do? I'm thinking of the falafel cafe down Old Compton Street ...

Ok, skip forward an hour: welcome to my illegible and inaccurate map of Old Compton Street and vicinity! But, hey, at least the office has Sharpies.

Because everyone at my internship is so wonderfully nice and generous, I have, until today, been let loose into Soho with £5 lunch expenses for an hour - which, of course, is every intern's right but not reality.

I'm a sucker for all food, and especially all food sold in unique(ish) and independent(ish) outlets. Bearing in mind I've been too lazy to stroll into any of the cool places such as the Seven Dials or Kingly Street, etc, here are my top eateries for anyone who may be working in/passing through this particular area of Soho. Think £5 budget, give or take a couple of quid.

In no particular order of preference:

1. Bar Italia, Frith Street
             Like, the best latte ever. Ever. Tacky, tiny, entrenched and always busy. Open 24
             hours. Watch out for: their vintage 1950s cashier tills.

2. Maoz, Old Compton Street
             Fresh-fried falafel in gluten-free pittas with hummus, avocado, etc, etc, etc. So.
             Good. Watch out for: the free salad-y bits you can get from the salad bar as comps. Treat
             like a buffet if you're feeling cheeky.

3. Joe & The Juice, Old Compton Street
             Ok, so there are a fair few of these scattered around but it's no Starbucks. The smoothies
             are great, the staff always cute and the pink pinkness of each eaterie is cheery on a bleary
             summer's day such as this one.

4. Vitao, Wardour Street
             OMG, Vitao is amazing. It's vegan and organic, blah, blah, and just so good. All the food is
             made and served in large metal pan-dish things so if you want to be cool and authentic,
             Bob's your uncle.

5. Cafe el Buen Gusto, Frith Street
             Tiny cafe on the cheaper side of the Soho price bracket. Great, great bread stuff. Watch
             out for: each and every order being made fresh (and quickly) before your eyes.

6. Lick, Greek Street
              Good ice cream, as they come. Little bit pricey, but the lychee flavour is worth it.

7. Tuscanic, Old Compton Street
              Considering Old Compton Street is essentially London's little Italy, and this is the best
              pizza in the area, you can believe it's bloody good pizza. Last I had was grated courgette
              with added  mozzarella, finished off in the oven as you order. And if she asks if you want
              salt and pepper on top, say yes. Trust me, the littlest things make all the difference.

8. Paul A. Young Fine Chocolates, Wardour Street
              Sometimes you don't need lunch. Sometimes you need chocolate. Expensive as, but even if
              you steal in for the samples, hmm-hmmm.

9. Gelato, Old Compton Street
              To be perfectly honest, I don't even know if this place is called 'Gelato'. But they sell it,
              and that much is obvious - let's call a rose a rose, shall we? Consult my trust map. Besides,
              that was about the only word my brain had capacity for at the time. It was that good.

10. Tesco, Dean Street
               I know, I know, it seemed a good joke at time of drawing ... just in case spontaneity or
               funds fail you, at least there's a hearty Tesco around the corner.

I'll leave you with a sincerer promise of more regular updates in future, and the thanks for having killed a couple of hours for me (the phone still hasn't rung ...) ... ...
Hannah

GRADUATEFASHIONWEEK13

               Forgive my blatant enthusiasm (appreciate fashion is supposed to be nonchalant and all) but I just LOVE things like this. Graduate Fashion Week, 2nd-5th June at Earl's Court 2, was catwalk shows, designer exhibitions and social forum all in one. A mammoth effort of over forty universities finally coming together in four days of oozing innovation. All in all, a very cool crowd of Bright Young Things.

               My shitty pictures don't quite capture the degree of colour, ethereality or sheer energy invested in the Edinburgh College of Art designs. Shauni Douglas's (above right) and Melissa Thwaites's (below right), pull off the blasé, somehow, despite the extravagance that has gone into their collections: layers and layers of vibrant lace; mouthpiece moustaches and woollen horsewhips. I happen to appreciate the illusion, having worn Melissa's collection in previous shows and often run headless chicken-esque towards the catwalk (chest gaping, I may add) so she could do up the intricate layers of material in time. Ha!

           

                Outside the catwalk theatre, exhibition hubs positively buzz with their hundred low-light lamps installed against the cavernous darkness of the domed ceiling of Earl's Court 2; the atmosphere is pretty electric. Mannequins and hangers and large white tables boast collections that are selling for hundreds of pounds. Portfolios come beautifully in the form of newspapers, printed artbooks, specialist zines, telling stories through sketches, photoshoots - and hinting by the thickness of the binds at just how many long days and long, long nights went into these degrees. In return, the fashion world is rewarding the young innovators with something it doesn't give lightly: Time. One example is Henry Holland's Henry Holland himself, who visits and gives question time. In the middle of it all, bottled Aspall ciders tantalize at the bar - my favourite; Perfect. It feels chiquely, sheepishly exclusive.             

               This is despite the fact that, actually, Rose and I got our tickets for free. Stepping out of the tube and onto Earl's Court territory, free Coca-Colas were a smug perk. Complimentary programmes and goody bags were the cherry on top. Even those who paid for a ticket were only £12 out of pocket. Again, Graduate Fashion Week plays its illusion - the fine line between the aesthetics of the clothes and the ardour of the designers. The Week is refreshing because it embraces the concepts of inclusion, youth, hard work, without sacrificing the fashion industry's notions of exclusivity, timelessness and nonchalance.

              I'm not even a prospective recruit or whatever. I just went because (being honest) I could go for free, and I wanted to see the hard work of friends paid off. But there is something so electric about watching hard work come together beautifully, and know that the adult world has decided it is worth time, money and effort. I love things like this because days of such creativity and excitement, in whatever field and with whatever crowd, are the ones I aim towards while I sit at my desk and procrastinate.