Adventures in Edinburgh

I took the train up to Edinburgh last Friday to visit my friend, Adeline, who's lived there for the past six (seven? eight? nine?) years. Adeline is my French, impossibly petite, curly-haired (think: dark, glossy ringlets that Samantha from American Girls would be jealous of) friend who also happens to be my go-to guide on all things related to life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness - and more importantly, yoga and what beauty products to use on my face. True story. Speaking of stories, the tale of how we met will be saved for another post (suffice to say that you'll either find it really interesting or really surprising - or even both).

That evening, Adeline took me out to dinner (tres romantical, might I add) at The Pantry, a foodie's delight located in Stockbridge, which boasts all the types of things trendy restaurants these days like to boast of i.e. fresh, locally sourced food that's delicious and beautifully presented. And trust me, folks, it was all of the above. MY, WAS IT GOOD. After enjoying our fill of freshly baked bread, smoked salmon and main dishes compromised of sole (for Adeline) and pork belly (for me), we waddled - stomachs bursting - out of the restaurant and into the gusts of that famous Edinburgh wind.

Huddling under Adeline's turquoise umbrella, I managed to pinpoint the exact street I'd like to live on for the rest of my life:

The only problem is, I have no idea what that street is called, except that it's in Stockbridge. And I want to live there. Please add a grey cat scratching at that blue door and it'll be mine, thanks.

The next morning, we woke up late and stuffed our faces with pastries while watching an impeccably groomed Jillian Michaels scream, "MOVE!!! MOVE!!!" at clinically obese contenders for the Biggest Loser USA title. It was horrific and I may need to seek counseling for the trauma inflicted upon me during those moments.

We then made an effort to get off our behinds and do something productive by heading to the Shore in Leith, where I've never been. "There might be some historical buildings down this way," said Adeline as we wandered around the quaint port. "This one looks weird," I commented, with the intelligence and inflection of a Kardashian. "I'm not actually convinced it's really, like, you know, old and stuff," I said confidently to Adeline, while waving my hand. "Hmm ... I think it might be quite a significant building," Adeline ventured politely. I peered closer at the sign accompanying the house. Apparently, it was Lamb's House, where Mary, Queen of Scots, had stayed. Nicely played, nicely played.

And so, because my throat was feeling quite scratchy from my cold and talking too much like a Kardashian, Adeline took me to Roseleaf Cafe, which, at first glance looks deceptively like a pub. In reality, it's a pub, cafe, tea room (note: there is a difference between a cafe and a tea room), and restaurant all in one. Menus were bound and sandwiched within back issues of National Geographic and I ordered the "Heartbeat" - an ice cold, refreshing blend of pomegranate, apple, and raspberry juice - while Adeline went for the "I-Pal", a mixture of carrot, apple and ginger described as "a wee gold mine packed full of nature's nutrients". Delightful. We spent the afternoon there chatting away about nothing and everything.

A trip to Edinburgh isn't complete without a whisky purchase (or two). We headed to Royal Mile Whiskies - the one-stop shop for tourists and whisky fans alike. I'm not a huge whisky drinker, but my Dad loves Oban in particular and John's a Laphroig fan, so I bought a small bottle of Oban for my Dad in preparation for Father's Day and a mini sample of Edradour for John so he could try something a bit different.

Soon, my short vacay to Edinburgh drew to a close and I bid Adeline and the beautiful city farewell. If you've never been, I highly recommend getting the train from London. At four and a half hours, it's a bit long, but if you're at a window seat on the right side of the train, it's beautiful going up - especially along Scotland's east coastline. On the train ride back down, I smiled at the tiny lambs playing hopscotch on their mothers' backs whizzing past, before closing my eyes for some much needed sleep from all that yapping I did with my best friend.

Laduree & Uniqlo Partner Up To Make Irresistably Delectable Tees

 

My favorite French and Japanese imports have teamed up to make the most adorable selection of tees EVER. Laduree (of macaron fame) and Uniqlo (of chic Japanese-designed apparel fame) have combined their talents to produce this limited edition collection of t-shirts for women which are available to buy via Uniqlo's website. Already, the design I've shown above has sold out and the others are disappearing quickly as we speak.

I was initially introduced to Laduree by one of John's ex-flatmates, who suggested I bring a selection of the luxury macarons to a dinner party I was attending. Needless to say, I was smitten the minute I stepped into the Burlington Arcade shop. Rows and rows of pastel perfection greeted me as I struggled to make a selection of twelve, let alone six. My favorite flavor is probably salted caramel, although I'm also a sucker for their seasonal specialties as well. Their gift boxes are beautiful and terrific to use as keepsake boxes long after the last crumbs of macarons have been dusted/licked away.

I started shopping at Uniqlo when their first store in Hong Kong opened, taking advantage of their free alterations service and simplistic, clean lines with a twist. I was thrilled when they opened in London and still visit frequently for quality basics like shift dresses, leggings, and "comfy" clothes. 

I almost ordered the tee above (as I loved the design so much), but in reality, when am I going to wear a t-shirt with macarons and the Eiffel Tower printed on it? Certainly not to work, and probably not during my "down time" either - it's probably slightly too childish for me. But, I hope someone with more fashion sense than me has picked up a piece or two from this line because it's just too cute to pass up.

Fresh Fruit Popsicles, Biang Biang Noodles, and Provolone Meatball Subs at Harringay Market

Last weekend, it was beautiful outside, but I was feeling rotten with the onset of this flu virus I've had all week. Feeling bitter that none of the street food stalls I'd been dying to try in London were open on Sundays (including KERB, in King's Cross), I was super excited to stumble upon London Eating's mid-morning tweet announcing Harringay Market's food line-up for the day. My mouth watered at the prospect of trying Mama Wang's traditional Chinese hand "pulled" biang biang noodles, plus the enticing sound of Capish's provolone meatball sub.

At this point, I really should have listened to my body and stayed in bed (I had a fever and aches at this point, plus a throat so swollen that I could hardly swallow), but stubbornly, I didn't want the bug to ruin my weekend. So, John and I trudged to the bus stop and made it to Harringay in less than 20 minutes.

The market is set up within an elementary school ground, which lends it a terrific feeling of community. It's clear that locals visit regularly to catch up at the small tables set up on the playground, while their kids play happily within watching distance. There's also live music, which adds to the overall ambience. It all felt very friendly and inviting - but most importantly, not overcrowded, which can often ruin my food stall experiences in London (have you ever tried elbowing your way through Borough Market? I love it there, but it's often just too much for me to handle. Feel the same way about Greenwich Market).

In Vietnam and Thailand, we paid a pittance (around 80p per dish) to enjoy the street food - in London of course, it's quite a different story. A bowl of noodles, a sub sandwich, two popsicles, two brownies, and two drinks later (yeah ... um ... we overindulged) set us back around £25, which is more than we'd usually spend on lunch. But it's the experience that counts.

I had my first popsicle (or as Brits call them here, "ice lollies" - one phrase I will *not* be adopting, thankyouverymuch) of the year:

A delicious blend of fresh, frozen raspberries with a twist of vanilla ice cream from Ice Kitchen. At £2.50 a pop, it's possibly the most expensive popsicle I've ever had but undoubtedly the best as well. It's essentially frozen fruit, which I know I could probably make myself, given the time and effort, but on a day when I was feeling downright lousy, it was an absolute savior to my sore throat.

By the time we returned home, I felt a lot worse, so surrendered to Motrin and my bed. Still, I'll definitely be returning to Harringay Market soon for more delicious street eats and friendly conversation.

Say 'Yes' To Pulled Pork, Kimchi & Cheese Frites* (that's Freedom Fries to us 'Mericans) @ John Salt, Islington

There are "date nights", and then there are those spontaneous date nights that happen when John texts me out of the blue at work to ask, "Hey! Why don't we go out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us?" Yes, John, just the two of us - without our three imaginary, non-existent children. That would be so fun.

I love it when John suggests going out mid-week; it's exciting to try new places, order alcohol on a school night, and generally relax together with some excellent food. The problem is, when these spontaneous texts arrive, they always happen to occur on the one day I've decided to dress down (and I hardly ever do that) and he always happens to suggest a restaurant where palate refreshers and white tablecloths are involved. Get the picture?

Thankfully, he suggested going to one of our local favorites (that requires no dressing up, unless you want to make an effort to look like an anorexic hipster - challenging for me), Duke's Brew & Que (for those of you who are not acquainted, GET ACQUAINTED) for ribs, sliders, and burgers. Obviously, I love the place, but not when I'm trying to watch what I eat (I'm gonna avoid using the four-letter D-word here). So I suggested a possibly lighter option, John Salt, which has recently opened on Upper Street and might look familiar to you Islingtonites, because it used to be Keston Lodge (don't worry if you don't remember it, it wasn't really worth remembering).

Of course, being on a d*et and all, what did I order? Just a whole baby chicken and a side of pulled pork, kimchi, and cheese fries. And a green salad, for the healthy part.

So what if I had to not-so-surreptitiously unbutton the top button of my Topshop skinny jeans under the table? So what if the two pounds I managed to lose this week totally popped back on the scale when I got home? Can I just tell you, though? Those fries were AMAZING. Sorry, frites. AMAZING. I know that Kimchi fries have been around for a while now in the States, but the UK is a bit slow on the uptake for such things so John Salt deserves a serious pat on the back for bringing them to London. My green chilli poussin was tender and glazed in a deliciously tangy barbecue sauce. But the fries, oh, the fries. They were my downfall.

And then the dessert. THE DESSERT. Oreo, peanut butter (crunchy), and chocolate tart. Innocent sounding enough (to an American, at least), right? It was divine. I almost wept at how perfect it tasted (this could also be down to the fact that I've been trying to deprive myself of sugar all week). If there was a shrine to this dessert, I'd worship its incredible-ness. Even John, who usually feels so-so about the dessert, pulled the plate a little closer to his side of the table.

And the bill? It didn't hurt that much. Food, drinks, and service came to a respectable £63. I'd say that the 12.5% was deserved. Our server was pleasant, non-obtrusive, more than happy to answer my 100 questions about the menu (it doesn't give away much, to say the least, in terms of descriptions), and totally nice.

So will I be back? Absolutely. D*et or no d*et.

Warming Vinyasa Flow @ Yoga on the Lane, Dalston

The first thing I ask myself when visiting a new yoga studio that I've never tried before is, "Is it a friendly place?" Is it welcoming and inclusive? If not, I'll probably never visit again. There's nothing worse than feeling intimidated and shy already, only to be met with teachers who ignore you and students who give you the stink-eye when you've unknowingly "stolen" their usual spot. This has happened to me at a couple of locations across the UK and I've just walked away from my practice at those particular studios (and on occasion, gym) feeling a bit sad; it's a shame for yogis and yoginis to foster this kind of hostile attitude and environment. It bring so much negativity to a practice that should be open, kind, and above all, humble.

So, I was a little nervous to try the newest (and reportedly coolest, according to several online sources) studio in London. Not only is Yoga on the Lane in Dalston both friendly and inviting, but their beautiful studio and space makes you feel like you're practicing in the comfort of a friend's living room. Simply but tastefully decorated, the studio provides mats and a variety of props so you don't have to worry about bringing your own (plus, they don't smell, which is always good news to me).

Upon entering the studio, I was surprised by how small the room was. Long and narrow, I was worried about space, though it did fit about 15 students comfortably. Did I mention that their studio's floors feature under-floor heating? Do you know how amazing that makes savasana feel? Or how amazing it feels to practice vinyasa flow in a room that's gently heated when you've traipsed in from -2 degree temperatures?

The Level 1 class was taught by Tony Watson, whose background is in contemporary dance (like Lauren's). I remember closing my eyes at the beginning of the practice, when we worked on our pranayama, and feeling a smile creep across my face. I felt safe and mindful; I felt good. I was also concerned that the teacher wouldn't bother making corrections if the class was so full. I once took an ashtanga class where the instructor stayed on her own mat for the entire class - which is cool if that's the kind of instruction you prefer, but not for me, as I'm always striving to make improvements and learn more from my practice. I was super glad to see Tony making small corrections to students throughout, myself included, and grateful for his attention to detail. In particular, I found his detailed method of instruction helpful; I imagine it's difficult to teach alignment to students who haven't studied dance before (I had fourteen years of classical ballet training), but Tony managed to teach us how to feel correct alignment instead, which was both innovative and phenomenal.

I left the class feeling much more positive about my day and the rest of the week. If those are the benefits of taking one class at Yoga on the Lane, I'm eager to find out what a regular practice there would bring me.

Photo source

Vietnam Part 4: Discovering Hoi An

On the first cloudy day in Danang, we headed straight for Hoi An, where it promptly started to rain. No matter, as it made the historical trading port all the more atmospheric and magical. Colorful fishing boats (such as the ones pictured above) still line the river, with plenty of hawkers on paddle boats hungrily staring down tourists and aggressively peddling boat tours. This can't be avoided, but after a while, the 40th "no, thank you" uttered becomes tiring.

The hard sell continued in the market and on the street, where local business owners would shout and try to attract your attention from nearly a block away. You can't let this put you off discovering the charming town, however, and must put it down to the new but growing tourism industry. We were asked to fill out a survey by Hoi An's cultural and tourism center, asking us what improvements could be made in order to attract visitors to Hoi An, which I found quite interesting.

Hoi An has a very heavy Chinese influence, as it saw a large influx of Chinese groups settling there in the 16th and 17th-centuries (I get my historical info via Wiki and Lonely Planet's "History" pages, btw, so don't take this as gospel). All the historical houses (which now serve as open-house museums), assembly halls, and temples are emblazoned with Chinese writing, though I was disappointed with the lack of opportunity to utilize my Cantonese and Mandarin there - no one spoke the language. More familiar with French (Vietnam being a French colony between 1887-1940), you would readily hear a Vietnamese tour guide leading large packs of French tourists, speaking accented, but easily understood French.

Silk shops and tailors adorn the streets of the Old Town, where tourists commonly take pages ripped from Elle or Vogue and ask for them to be expertly copied by the copious number of skilled seamstresses who work around the clock to produce lookalikes. An American woman staying at Fusion Maia asked if she could photograph me in my simple Forever 21 shirt-dress/shift in order to have it tailor made in Hoi An. "Sure, so you can have it in silk, rather than this cheap polyester!" I joked. I took a photo of an intricate gown I had fallen in love with on BHLDN, but alas, it was a tad too difficult to make.

We paused for a delicious lunch at Miss Ly - a restaurant located not far from the fresh food market in the Old Town. With Miss Ly herself at the helm, whipping up culinary delights such as those pictured below, her husband (an American) manages the customer-facing side of things with his friendly-but-not-overly-so approach to service and genuine, deep appreciation for Vietnamese food and culture. Though we ate at several notable restaurants in Hoi An (including the well-known and frequently lauded Morning Glory), Miss Ly was our favorite. Their homegrown, home-cooked attitude towards food and relaxed but popular (several people came in to make reservations for dinner while we were eating lunch) setting is a welcome combination to the restaurant scene in Hoi An.

There, we sampled mouth-watering Hoi An specialties, such as plump and flavorful White Rose dumplings (lost in the lower left hand corner in the photo above), cau lau, a type of thick, flour noodles wok-fried in a meaty, flavorful broth with pork and fresh vegetables (bottom center), plus a spicy, zingy Singapore fried noodle (top center) with fresh seafood and greens. After a rewarding but exhausting day trip to My Son sanctuary, we arrived at Miss Ly for the second time, hungry and thirsty. Although it wasn't on the menu, I sorely craved a grilled pork banh mi and apologetically asked the staff if this would be possible. Of course, I was served the best banh mi I've ever had (hands down) within 15 minutes or so of waiting. For dessert, I ordered a banana pancake (crepe to Americans) drizzled with condensed milk, and an iced Vietnamese coffee. Our eyes widened with each sensational bite as we marveled at the sheer freshness of the ingredients that were used - most likely purchased from the market just a few feet away.

The abundance of fresh vegetables and fruit in Vietnam never ceased to amaze me. Whereas vegetables can look dry, withering, and limp in the UK, they were bright, vibrant, and plentiful in Vietnam. Greens were sold in thick, generous bunches - too big for both of my hands to contain - and tomatoes appeared in large wooden crates as a juicy, attractive red. Chickens roamed freely on the streets, with fresh eggs being sold every few feet.

Hoi An will continue to learn and grow as a tourist attraction. But its historical importance for being considered, at one stage, as the best trading port of all of Southeast Asia and the stories behind its previous and current inhabitants will outlive the tacky souvenir shops and tailors so desperately seeking business.

Vietnam Part 3: Beach-side Pampering at Fusion Maia Resort, Danang

The first thing I did when we arrived to our room at Fusion Maia Resort in Danang, was 1) strip off 2) put all my "train" clothes in a "quarantine" plastic bag at the bottom of my travel pack, never to be used again 3) shower - twice. I washed my hair three times as I was so anxious about contracting lice on the train, I definitely thought that more was better. I smelled so bad and was so thirsty upon our arrival, that I made sure to sit at least 2 feet away from the poor girl who was checking us in at reception, all while chugging down the fresh plum juice we were offered as if it was my lifeline. I'm not being dramatic here, y'all - I'm just being real. I stank.

Memories of the roach-infested train soon faded into the background as I realized we had signed up (or rather, John had signed us up) for four days of luxury at the hotel. "Don't you think the train ride made this seem even better?" John smiled widely, as he swept his hand across the room. I scowled at him and applied ointment to the mysterious bites up my leg that I had acquired during the journey (remember the whole, "What I can't see, can't crawl on me?" mantra I repeated to myself? Clearly, something I couldn't see, definitely crawled on me. And had breakfast, lunch, and dinner).

Tantrum over, I took this in:

... and sank into the four-poster bed, nearly crying with joy at the sight and smell of truly clean sheets, fluffy pillows, a generously sized shower and bath, plus my favorite part - a pool to ourselves. This was more like it.

We headed straight for the private beach (as pictured in the first photo above) and promptly ordered a grilled pork banh mi, but not before scheduling massages for the evening, as - yes, it's true - two treatments per day, per guest, are included in the room price. Ingenious, right? The spa menu included everything from your usual mani/pedi to luxurious deep tissue massages and facials. After a while, the pampering became a little ... well ... onerous (I'm joking here, in case you can't tell). "Our massages are in 10 minutes," John and I apologetically told our friends, who had stopped by the resort for a drink. "We wish the timing wasn't so rushed, but ... you know." "I need time for my nails to dry after the manicure," I added, eyes rolling. Someone should have just poked my eyes out then and there. How quickly one can lose perspective!

But in all seriousness, the spa treatments were heavenly and totally blissful. Yoga classes were held in a beautiful studio within the spa complex at 8 am each morning. John joined in for one class, then I went to another on my own.

In the afternoons and evenings, we took the hotel's shuttle bus to Hoi An, a popular and well-preserved fishing village located about 30 minutes from Danang. Full of souvenir shops and tailors who can easily whip up a dress from a page torn from Vogue, Hoi An was a village rich in history and terrific food. The shuttle deposited us in front of the hotel's satellite location in Hoi An, Fusion Lounge, which - not only served you your included breakfast, if you so wished to dine there - but featured a mini-spa upstairs, where a number of express treatment options were available. I had a manicure upstairs and enjoyed a drink while John had a neck and shoulder massage after a long day of sight-seeing.

Breakfasts at the Fusion Lounge included "bento" boxes with a theme of your choice - I usually went for the "Fusion Bento" above, which included an adorable box of fresh pastries as well (not pictured).

We enjoyed ourselves so much that we decided to stay an extra day (or rather, I convinced John that an extra night at the hotel on one of the sunniest and hottest days of our trip would have been preferable to seeing the imperial opulence at Hue).

And when it was time to go, I was really, really sad to say goodbye. I can't imagine any other time when I'll be scheduling in two massages into my day, plus a yoga session against a backdrop of crashing waves. Spoiled. Rotten.