Walking in Athens

                                     

The glittering sea rippled under the wind. We approached thistle land and landed with a thud. My father met me at the airport, in an elegant collared shirt, linen trousers, and suede brogues, topped off with sunglasses he’s had since the 70s, oblivious to the intense heat except for a blotting of his white brow.

He drove me to the Acropolis in his 80s Renault. We climbed the slippery white marble stairs, so soft and smooth I was tempted to pet them. Tourists felt the same and reached out for the columns for a historic stroke, despite the “Do not touch” signs. My father told me how he visited the Acropolis as a boy and back then you could sit on the steps. In the ancient amphitheatre dancers rehearsed below the endless steep stairs. Music drifted up to the crumbling temples. The cream columns glowed golden in the twilight.

Next he showed me a little abandoned building nearby that resembled a Japanese teahouse. It used to be a café. It still had the mood of a place you could spend hours in, resting your feet on the uneven marble floor in the warm Athenian evening. We noticed two half-drunk champagne flutes and the remains of a picnic on a table.

We walked past the outdoor movie theatre to Psirri, dipping into narrow streets, people watching and pausing to admire boxy old cars, guessing the make as we got closer. One street had cables or ropes strung up and down it, as if the houses on either side were loosely laced together. The ropes were decorated with a random assortment of chandeliers and old lamps.

We went for dinner at Omorpho in Kolonaki where I devoured potatoes seasoned with oregano, followed by garlicky tsadziki, fried zucchini balls, and green beans in a fragrant tomato sauce, gently spiced with a dash of cumin. My father drank wine in a small glass, poured from a small tin pitcher. For dessert, we ducked into a pastry shop and bought two miniature chocolate cakes with rich, gooey insides.

It was nearing midnight so he drove me to the boat. He deposited me inside the ferry with hugs and kisses and a wave. Goodbye Athens.

YOUR QUICK GUIDE TO ATHENS

Walk around Psirri (there are lots of nice little bars in the neighbourhood) and Plaka.

Visit the Acropolis and the Acropolis museum; check out the traditional costumes at the main branch of the Benaki Museum on Vassilas Sofias Ave. 

Watch traditional Greek dancing nightly at the Dora Stratou theatre by the Acropolis. 

Eat In Kolonaki. There’s Athenian food at Omorpho on Xenokatous Street. While you’re in the neighbourhood nibble on a little chocolate cake at the French-named sweet shop on  (Patriarchou Joachim Street about half way down towards Kolonaki Square on your right.) At Hatzi's try the cake soaked in honey syrup topped with buffalo milk clotted cream. There is one in Kolonaki and one in Sytagma. Of course there are other delicious places too. If you have any suggestions leave them in the comments section...

The Night is Tender on the Côte d'Azur

They fed us cherries on a baron’s yacht. We lay on the deck in Pucci bikinis before jumping into the sea dangerously close to an island guarded by thousands of pink jellyfish. After dancing all night we threw breakfast parties at our house, featuring hot brioche with vanilla pear jam, scrambled eggs and cocktails by the piano. Witty Swiss chaps joked on the balcony at dawn as a pretty South African nymph sunk into a Madeleine-scented bubble bath with a French Dionysus. In the afternoon, underwear-clad, we read books in the searing sunlight as birds cruised over the palm trees. The air in Cannes was scented with flowers and toast. 

Took the train to Nice, left our luggage at the station. After walking to the old town and exploring the beautiful baroque churches we enjoyed strange gelato at Fenocchio: refreshing tomato and basil flavour, orange blossom, and almond flower. We strolled to the beach and saw a man walk on water. Back by Place de Yves Klein, breakdancers practiced their moves by the contemporary art museum.

Evening tiptoed in and it was time to return to London. I can’t wait to see the rest of the south of France. Send your invitations…

p.s. Here are some pictures of Nice and Cannes around 1900-1925, from Editions Giletta:

 Colour photo (at beginning of post) by Megan MacKay. 2014.

Brighton for Dreamers

A page from the book I bought at Rockola.

Jim and I took the train to Brighton a few days ago. I missed the sea and I was dreaming of ice cream cones, record-hunting, blue dresses from the 1960s, and walking down quiet streets lined with pastel houses. If you like vintage shopping, vegetarian food, or pretending you're in a Flamingos song, here is my guide for a day out in Brighton.

Rockola Coffee Bar is a 5 minute walk from the train station. Every wall is painted a different shade: lemon yellow, pale blue, mint green, and they're adorned with memorabilia of 50s and 60s pop stars: Elvis records, Billy Fury posters, Beatles collectables... Take a seat in the booth and order buttermilk pancakes and the tart fresh-squeezed pink lemonade. They also have burgers and a vegan menu. While you're waiting for your breakfast browse around the attached record store. Jim bought a rare Echo & the Bunnymen record while I drooled over an early Pulp 12 inch before the waitress popped her head in to tell us our breakfast was ready. Between bites you can pick out songs to play on the free jukebox. Before paying the (inexpensive) bill I bought an old book of pop star portraits and mod advice called 'The Boyfriend Book' for 4 quid. (I heard Food for Friends on Prince Albert Street has better vegetarian food but this Archie-comic-book-come-to-life is more fun.) 29 Tidy Street.

If you like vintage shopping walk down Upper Gardner Street to Sydney Street.

North Laine Market at 5A Upper Gardner Street is a random assortment of old cameras, furniture, photographs, some 70s clothes and a few treasures. It's like looking through your grandfather's attic and discovering that dusty bookshelf is actually a bar. I bought a large bamboo hatstand, which was a big hit on the tube back in London...
Wolf & Gypsy at 30 Sydney Street often has great stock though it's pricier than the others, about 30-70 pounds per dress.
Immediate at 34 Sydney Street caters to mod fellows.
Dirty Harry at 6 Sydney Street is more 90s than vintage. For jean shorts, Levis, and American-style jackets.

What next? An essential stop is Gelato Gusto on 2 Gardner Street. They serve delicious gelato and sorbet in exciting flavours. Try the peach melba, apple cinnamon, bacon waffle, or Ecuadorian chocolate. If you're more in the mood for a light drink swing by Hell's Kitchen, at 4 Gardner Street, for a bottle of ale or a Toffee Apple cider, which tastes like cream soda. Walk by the Brighton Pavilion on your way to the famous pier where spaniel-sized seagulls roam free. There you can find cotton candy, bumper cars, mechanical bulls and other rides. If you prefer a quieter scene try the old carousel on the beach. Lastly, lounge on the dusty rocks and kiss your sweetheart by the sea.

The view from Brighton Pier

 THE PAST IN THE GRASS

He disentangled his body from hers. Above the low bed, the rotating blades of the ceiling fan dragged the air in circles. He held her hand to stop her nuzzling, to keep her connected but at an arm’s length. The empty feeling seeped in. Her breathing slowed and he slipped out.

The morning bleated around him in a song of herds and dust and chains of jasmine.  He walked to his bike and took off for Bagan. White cows ambled by mares on the side of the road. Thin women walked in the opposite direction, balancing massive roped-up branches on their heads. The smell of earth inhabited his nostrils, the sun eased over his face, the wind stroked his hair and he forgot about her. Freed from thought he relaxed into sensation. The monsoon had intensified the landscape: trees bloomed everywhere, half-submerged in pools of water where leaves and sky met in  curdled reflections. In the stark sunlight everything looked too vivid to be real. He felt he was riding through a photograph.

Glancing around, he parked in the high grass about a mile away from the temple. He carried his shoes. There was no one. The temple rose before him. Hall waited there.  

Barefoot, he entered the cool shadows, climbed the steep steps and paused beneath an arch, “I need to give you something.” Standing close enough to see the sweat on Hall’s brow, he looked into his eyes, searching for a reason to stop. He reached out and struck the man. Hall lost consciousness. He gripped Hall’s neck, pressing on the stun spot, before rolling the limp body over the edge to fall from the temple into the grass.

Shoes in hand, he walked back to the motorcycle, remembering the times he had let himself be crushed. The prostration was over.   

-a short story by Margo Fortuny, with photographs taken in Burma.

MARGO'S GUIDE TO PARIS (PART VIII)

Just in time for Paris fashion week I whipped up a list for my friend Gareth and my other favourite creatures heading there this weekend. Read on, mes amis...

EXCITING THINGS TO DO

Honour the spirit of Serge Gainsbourg, Robert Desnos, and Sartre at the Cimetière de Montparnasse.

Check out the large format French paintings section in the Louvre (room 77?)

Go to the Centre Pompidou. If you get there before nightfall go to the top of the escalator and check out the view- you can see the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, and the skyline in between. If you get there after 7 pm (it’s open late on the weekend) there will be smaller queues. Right now there’s a great Dali exhibition on.

Buy ‘Pariscope’ at the newsstand to see what’s on. (It’s similar to ‘Time Out.’) There are so many fantastic museums in Paris. There are also lots of queues so make sure you’ve eaten first and you’re bundled up or you won’t be in the mood for culture by the time you get in.

Wander through the morning flea markets in outer Paris.

Walk by the Seine and think about life.

Pick out cheese at markets like Le Marché des Enfants Rouges.

Buy a 60s dress at Mamz'Elle Swing at 35 Rue du Roi de Sicile. Last Saturday I found a beautiful white crochet Jane Birkin number for 50 euros.

Visit Sacre-Coeur and pretend you’re in Amelie.

Watch endless amount of films (look for v.o.  version originale to see stuff in english or original language) Paris is the best city in the world for cinema and revival houses.

Explore St Germaine, Le Marais, Rue des Martyrs, Les Abesses, and Belleville.

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WHERE TO NIBBLE

Lunch

Candelaria, 52 Rue de Saintonge, metro: filles de calvaire. Affordable, fantastic proper Mexican food. Try the cactus or verdes tacos. Cool décor- check out the loo. The soundtrack adds to the ambience: Television and Patti Smith were on last time I was there. Also, the neighbourhood is good for a stroll. There are some cool galleries nearby.

Le Loir dans la Théière – Métro Saint Paul , 3, rue des rosiers, in the marais neighbourhood. Low-key fantastic affordable bistro, no laptops or talking on your mobile allowed. Nice vibe. Try the courgette omelette and the camembert epinard tart, and the famous lemon meringue pie. Best pie in France. The queue outside is totally worth it.

L'Eclair de Génie, Métro Saint Paul, 14 Rue Pavée. Actually this is for after lunch. It’s around the corner from Le Loir dans la Théière. Even if you went there for lunch-and you should- and you had the famous tarte au citron, pick up one of these mindblowing eclairs. They are worth the 5 euros and the wait. Seriously.

Dinner (make a reservation first)

For a romantic but slightly expensive and super delicious dinner:

Hotel Amour, 8 rue de nevarin, metro: St George or Pigalle, 75009 (Try the memorable  lemon soup, the roast goat cheese salad, and the ravioli  is amazing!)

Le Derrière, 75003 (Explore the whole place and go inside the secret armoire upstairs and lean back- see what happens. The experience will be more exciting if you don't read anything about this place beforehand.)

Nightclubs:

Le Silencio- This is David Lynch’s club. It can be hard to get into so wear something original and pretend you're friends with a band David likes. I was hoping it would be like the bordello in Twin Peaks but it's more of a fancy disco with a cinema inside. Random crowd, cool décor,  drinks are 18 euros.  Le Social Club, 75001, right by Silencio. Electro, techno, not pretentious. Le Baron- hit or miss. Actually forget nightclubs- why don’t you just get drunk and shag in an alley?          You’re in Paris.

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Merci  Zoe et Thomas, my favourite Parisians.


p.s. here’s  another little guide to Paris...

MY FIRST TIME IN CANNES: The Evening Hours

Le Genou de Claire, Eric Rohmer, 1970

Recently I travelled to Cannes, thanks to some wonderful people I work for. We lived in an airy villa near the beach that week. An enchanting photographer named Robyn stayed with us; she spruced the space with white peonies and plates of sliced honeydew melon. The sun, the boardwalks, the palms against the summer sky, the old town with narrow streets leading up to a museum that houses ancient swords edged with pointed animal teeth…it was magical.

One evening a band from London played at our party.  Afterwards my friend Tara and I had a drink (or seven) with them in the Carlton Hotel. Someone kind treated everybody to massive bottles of pink champagne. We told dad jokes and talked about music and then Tara invited everybody back to the yacht she was staying on. We crammed into a car and sped towards the port and tumbled out onto the dock and crept onto the yacht.

“Let’s go swimming!” Three of us headed to the water, and stripped off our clothes. The sun was rising now and the sea enveloped us. We swam out to the rocks and climbed around, slipping and laughing and bruising our shins. “I swear my cock is usually bigger than this. It’s just because it’s cold,” the keyboard player joked. I waved towards the shore, “Come on in!”  The rest waded in and splashed around. Upon returning to the boat an old man hosed us down. It wasn’t clear if it was his yacht or if he was an important person I vaguely worked for.  Who could contemplate such matters on a cloudless morning in France? We drank red wine in our underwear and talked about John Waters’ films. The side of my face stung a bit.  I took another sip of wine. It was already warm out.

A few minutes later it transpired that my friend and the bassist had been stung by jellyfish.  The handsome fellow turned to show us his welted, scarlet bum. “Anyone want to piss on me?”

“I don’t think your missus would like that,” Tara answered, wrapped up in a big towel. The old man appeared, brandishing vinegar and talc to treat the sting.  “Thank you so much, if you ever want to come to one of our gigs, I’ll make sure you’re on the list…” The old man drove us back to our respective dwellings. It was touching how gentlemanly the band was, staying arm’s length from the girls, since they had sweethearts at home.

One afternoon I saw Debbie Harry, one of my heroes, give an interview. She is still the epitome of New York cool, with the grace of Marlene Dietrich. She moved with such finesse. It was thrilling to have her just a few feet away. She even stood up in her Dolce + Gabbana pencil dress and sang “Heart of Glass” a cappella.

Another evening, a friend and I walked into a dark afterparty filled with Canadians. Right away a man came up to me and started chatting. I was pretty blotto so I began arguing with him about what he was wearing.

“What? Girls don’t like this?” he asked, gesturing towards his Quantum Leap blazer and loose trousers.

“Depends what kind of girl you’re looking for.”

“Wait a second…” he unbuttoned the blazer and pulled off the shirt underneath and then unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them – to reveal a completely different outfit underneath. What an impressive move.

“That’s better,” I laughed, and we transferred to the sofa, clutching whisky cokes, and talked for an hour.

Later in the week, after a cocktail party followed by a dreamy Swedish pool party then a stop at the Gutter Bar, some of us meandered home in the moonlight. As we passed a gazebo I scampered over the rail and beckoned everyone to join me. It was perfect weather for dancing around to the songs on my tinny cellphone. After some moves and relaxing in a mint green Mini Moke, we disbanded. Emily and I traipsed home. When we got back to the villa we realized we didn’t have keys to the main house, where she was staying. 

Since I’m quite flexible and fond of scaling things, I whipped off my floor-length 70s dress and started the ascent in my underwear.  As I stood with one foot balancing on a pile of table and chairs, I reached up and grasped the balcony, semi-dangling, wishing I did push-ups occasionally and hoping my boss, who was sleeping near my attempted break-in, wouldn’t wake to this fracas. I was so close! Alas, at this early hour, it wasn’t possible. I dropped down to the courtyard, put the furniture back, and told Emily she could sleep in my bed.

Two afternoons of winning (three) awards was very exciting and motivating.

The last night was the most decadent, but it’s late, so the story shall end here for now.

Swing by Copenhagen on your way home.

Tivoli Park in the 1890s. It still looks like this.

Last fall I went to Copenhagen to visit my friend Anders. The metropolis is dotted with whimsical details like fountains based on characters from Hans Christen Andersen stories. As a city, it’s very clean, safe, bicycle-friendly, and laid-back.

We rode on a rickety old roller coaster in the Tivoli gardens, admired paintings in the Danish National Gallery, went dancing, and ate some vegan cake at a friendly squat party.

Here are a few ideas for your next trip to Copenhagen:

NIGHTLIFE

The Modbyen (Meatpacking district) is really fun for going out. On Friday night we went to Mesteren & Larlingen, and a little place called Jolene, where they were playing 50s and 60s music. On Saturday night Bakken is pretty lively and crowded with a house party vibe. They played a fun random mix of music to drink to, everything from the Rolling Stones to 90s dance to 2Pac.

For late night snacking, try the delicious pizza from La Foretta on Istegade Street.

I heard the best time to visit Copenhagen is during Distortion Fest in June.

SHOPS

Illums Bolighus is an expensive design emporium filled with gigantic sky blue wooden pepper mills and tangerine velvet sofas that cost $10,000. If you’re on a budget, pick up some beautiful glasses instead. It’s a great place to buy presents for a modernist.

Pede & Stuffer is a cool (but pricey) clothing boutique with carefully edited menswear and womenswear sections. They sell Acne angora sweaters, Isabel Marant dresses, Opening Ceremony pieces and Calvin Klein underwear. Klosterstræde 15, 1157.

Most shops seem to be closed on Sundays, and those that are open close around 4 pm.

FOOD

If you’re a vegetarian you should visit Morgen Stedet in the commune Christiana.

There are numerous delicious places to get pastries. Anders took me to Andersen in the city center, which is run by Japanese owners. There is a mix of tasty treats, green tea sweet buns, and classic pastries. I recommend the cinnamon bun. Østerbrogade 103 , 2,100 Copenhagen

Copenhagen is also famous for delicious fish.

ART

If you want to go to the pictures check out the independent cinema Gloria Biograf. Or if you’re in the mood for new art, visit Andersen’s Contemporary. More galleries can be found here.

If you venture out of Copenhagen to Aarhus this summer, there's a great exhibition on performance art featuring Marina Ambramovic's SSS and Lene Adler Petersen's The Female Christ, which captured the day she disrupted the Copenhagen Stock Exchange by walking in naked, as a feminist and political statement.

Performing Women is at The Aarhus Art Building from June 23-September 16, 2012.

Bjørn Nørgaard and Lene Adler Petersen, The Female Christ. 1970.

Thank you Anders and Anna for a fantastic time.

mind scrape

Gerhard Richter, Bach (1) 1992, Oil on canvas

Gerhard Richter, 1990, Oil on canvas, The Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh

“Abstract painting illustrates nothing…allows ourselves to see the unseeable that has never been seen and indeed is not visible. This is not an artful game, it is a necessity: since everything unknown frightens us and fills us with hope at the same time, we take these images as a possible explanation of the unexplicable or at least a way of dealing with it. Thus paintings are all the better, the more beautiful, intelligent, crazy and extreme, the more clearly perceptible and the less they are decipherable metaphors for this incomprehensible reality.”

-Gerhard Richter, 1979.

Gerhard Richter, 1991, Oil on canvas

The retrospective exhibition Gerhard Richter: Panorama is on through May 13th 2012, at the Neue Nationalgalerie
in Berlin. You can read about upcoming exhibitions here.

Gerhard Richter, 1987, Oil on canvas