It's Wingardium LeviOsa, not LevioSA

Challenge 3: Go on lots of day/weekend/many day trips

A friend once asked me if it was weird that when she thought of Harry Potter she thought of me. I knew she meant because the release of the movies always coincided with my birthday in the school holidays, but I was secretly flattered. See I'm a self-proclaimed HP nerd. Some of my fondest memories growing up involve going on road trips with my best friend and not saying a word to each other because we were so engrossed in the novels. At one point I became so obsessed I would take my book into the bathroom with me, prop it against the shower glass and keep one hand dry so I could turn the pages. I was absolutely convinced that I would bump into the casting director one day and he'd tell me Emma Watson had to go because I was his dream Hermoine, and it's no secret that here in London I don't like sitting on the top level of the double decker buses...I've just failed to tell people it's because I'm traumatised by the way the Knight Bus was driven.

Last weekend my childhood dreams came true; I went to visit the Harry Potter Studio Tour to experience how the films were made. It only took a short train ride from Euston and a Harry Potter bus to get us to the attraction where we spent a blissful few hours exploring the world of Hogwarts. Whatsmore, we were told that Chris Hemsworth was on the next backlot shooting a new film while Henry Cavil was filming on the other side (sandwiched between Hemsworth and Cavil...suddenly my adult dreams had come true too!).

The tour began with a short film that outlined how long it took to make the movies and how many people were involved. To my amazement, after the film the cinema screen lifted up to reveal the door to The Great Hall, where we were invited to step inside and explore the set just as it was during filming and view a range of the costumes. From here, the tour was self guided and we were free to go and marvel at sets of places like Dumbledoor's office, the potions classroom and Diagon Alley. A smile was permanently stamped on my face each time I discovered something new and amazing.

What struck me most was the level of detail that went into the preparation of the sets, props and costumes. Every oil painting was hand painted, every tapestry specially made and every single one of the thousands of wand boxes in Olivanders was labelled by hand just to make it all seem more real. What also amazed me was how they created Hagrid; when filming shots where Hagrid was standing with smaller actors and needed to appear huge, a 6"10 former rugby player would stand in with a mask of Robbie Coltrane that was voice activated, and would move as the double spoke the lines, all to avoid using digital animation. But perhaps the most dumbfounding thing I learnt was how short Daniel Radcliffe is! His costumes revealed a lot about his tiny stature (which Google later confirmed).

Amongst the sets you could learn to use a wand, practice flying on a broomstick and my favourite part, try butterbeer. The delicious concoction was served on a backlot where you could also jump on the Knightbus, get in the Weasley's blue car and visit the Dursley's front door. 

Upon walking past the to-scale model of Hogwarts at the end of the tour, I felt like I'd found somewhere that I was understood and in no way judged for my nerdy tendencies. While most teenagers were probably caught hiding porn from their parents, my mum used to tell me off when she busted me reading the Deathly Hallows when I should have been studying for my Year 12 exams. But here's the thing, at the HP studio tour that's not only ok, it doesn't even put me in the same quidditch park (see what I did there?) as some of the other Potterheads! I don't own a wand, or a Griffandor scarf or even a Hogwarts notebook...but I did notice they were all available in the gift shop if anyone needs ideas for Christmas presents...

Fiestas and Siestas (Spain Part 2)

Challenge 3: Go on lots of day/weekend/many day trips (don't stay in the same place, explore, travel, wander)

Having completed my leg of the Camino de Santiago, it was time to enjoy Pamplona. The city is full of old Spanish charm and is a labyrinth of cobblestoned streets built within the city's large wall. It is on these streets that the famous running of the bulls festival takes place. Although the festival was not on while we were there, the streets were buzzing with food markets, medieval festivals and even a travelling choir. We decided to walk the route that the bull run takes in order to see the city and the large bull ring where bullfights still take place. To be honest, the stadium was a little underwhelming. Perhaps I was expecting something a little more like the bullring in Madrid which is quite spectacular, with beautiful statues and architecture. The one in Pamplona is quite a stark round structure in the middle of the city, much like any old football stadium, but you can see that it would come alive during the festival. 

After our walk we decided to enjoy some tapas and retire for my new favourite part of the day, siesta. I definitely felt that I had earned an afternoon of reading my book and resting my legs after my effort over the previous three days! Despite the rest, we were still keen to eat dinner at a normal hour rather than the Spanish way of eating around 10pm. If not from the jumble of Australian, British and New Zealand accents, the restaurant must have known we were tourists purely based on our dinner reservation time. When we were entering for dinner we were literally the only people there and the place was packed and still eating when we left after midnight. In that moment I got a sense of what my old age would be like, getting in for the early bird special at the pub.

The following day we left Pamplona and made our way to San Sebastian. This was a special trip as we were heading there to go to lunch at the three Michelin Star restaurant, Martin Berastegui. One of the people in our group had visited the restaurant the previous year and had loved it so much that he made another reservation, just in case he was in Spain. I can say with confidence that the hype was well worth it. While I wasn't brave enough to sample the 10 course tasting menu that most of the others in our group dined on, I had an amazing 3 course meal and copious amounts of gorgeous local wine. As an appetiser I had a potato soup, which sounds pretty standard but as I quickly discovered, nothing on this menu was standard. Everything was beautifully served and creatively put together. For example, the soup came with tomato to accompany it which was served in the form of a red powder along the side of the bowl. The second appetiser was a squid ink pasta ball served in a broth. We were told that the ball should be eaten in one bite otherwise it could become messy. I had misunderstood what we were eating, assuming that the pasta was dyed with squid ink when it was in fact filled with it. I did as instructed and ate it in one go, however I had pushed it to the back of my throat where it exploded and the ink went down the wrong way. Anyone who knows me well knows that this would have been a big deal for me, as I usually don't eat small round objects (yes, I know it's odd). Grapes, cherry tomatoes, pretty much anything that can burst in my mouth so to eat a ball filled with squid ink was no small feat and it didn't exactly go well!

For entree I decided to continue my brave exploration of food and ordered oysters served in coconut, kaffir lime and cucumber. I had never tried oysters before so I thought that the best way to do it would be when they're served in the thai flavours that I love. While I wouldn't go making them a regular choice, they were delicious. For mains I had red mullet served with squid ink pasta (not the exploding kind). By this point in the meal I was well and truly drunk so the novelty of having my tongue dyed black from the squid ink resulted in some very unflattering photos as well as uncontrollable giggling in the privacy of the bathroom. Last but certainly not least, was the amazing chocolate soufflé for dessert. Articulating how soft and light the soufflé was and how warm and rich the sauce tasted when it oozed out of the centre does not do it justice. Finally, when tea and coffee came around I thought it best not to ruin my meal with something as standard (and sobering) as coffee so I ordered a cheeky moscato, much to the amusement of the others at the table.

Red Mullet and Squid Ink Pasta

After lunch, in a wine fuelled haze, we headed into town to see a bit of San Sebastian. There was some sort of festival on though and the streets were filled with drunken adolescents, singing and peeing wherever they felt appropriate. We sought refuge in a pintos bar where we drank sangria, played cards and somehow managed to fit in a little tapas and pintos. 

The following day was my last day of the trip. I had the pleasure of catching up with the two friends I travelled to Budapest with and we enjoyed a lazy day together, walking along the beach and catching up on some much needed rest. That evening I had dinner with my fellow pilgrims for one last taste of the amazing food that Spain has to offer. I am so grateful for such a unique and amazing experience; not many people can say that they walked the Camino and ate at a Michelin Star restaurant all in one week!

El does El Camino de Santiago

Challenge 3: Go on lots of day/weekend/many day trips (don't stay in the same place, explore, travel, wander)

While all the rest of the staff at my school returned to work on the first Monday of September, I was lucky enough to be whisked away to France for an extra 10 days break with my dad. The trip had been organised for months and I was under the impression that we would be spending 8-9 days walking the Camino de Santiago with a day off at the end. However, I quickly discovered that travelling with my father should really come with its own manual entitled, 'Shit My Dad Doesn't Say'.

The first thing my father failed to mention was that our trip started in the gorgeous beach town of Biarritz in the south of France. As I had packed bathers I couldn't really be too annoyed at the notion of spending a day or two sprawled on the sand with the sun beaming down on me. In fact any annoyance I had seemed to disappear when I found my spot on the beach right next to the lifesaving tower. I couldn't help but notice a common theme amongst the lifeguards; apparently tanned + beautiful = good at saving lives in Biarritz. I suddenly resented my parents for buying me swimming lessons as a child...

After two days in paradise we caught a train to the little town of Saint Jean Pied de Port. This beautiful French town sits at the foot of the Pyrenees and is the beginning of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. It was also our meeting point with our other fellow pilgrims, a group of my dad's friends. It was from them that I discovered I would only be walking 3 days however, it was the most challenging 3 days of the entire pilgrimage as it went straight up and over the Pyrenees into Spain. I was starting to realise that perhaps my training, which consisted of walking between London pubs, may not have been enough. I was so ill-prepared that I hadn't even brought a backpack (in my defence Dad said I wouldn't need one). Luckily while Dad and I were at the supermarket stocking up on mass amounts of water, we found me a lovely 4 Euro bright pink backpack and a matching pink water bottle to attach to said stylish backpack. It even had a matching pencil case. I was ready.

The following morning we rose bright and early to conquer our mountains. Equipped with walking sticks, walking boots and filled with adrenaline we began to stride out to the edge of the town in search of signs of shells which point the pilgrims in the right direction. This grand beginning was somewhat anticlimactic when we discovered that we were headed in completely the wrong direction. My faith in the seven adults, who were supposedly Camino veterans, began to waver. Moreover, I had heard horror stories of vultures who had pecked a pilgrim to death when she broke her leg on the walk and couldn't escape. Even with my adorable pink backpack our odds of survival weren't looking good if we couldn't even find our way of a very well signposted town.

Eventually we made it out and began our trek up into the mountains. It was not long before we encountered our first very steep incline which seemed to set the standard for the rest of the day. It was about 30 degrees while we were walking however, it felt slightly cooler due to a wind that was both a blessing and a curse. Although the wind meant the heat was not as stifling, it made it difficult for me to walk in a straight line at times. Despite all of this, the scenery was absolutely magical. Nestled amongst the green mountains we encountered sheep, horses and cows grazing. Their huge cow bells in the breeze quickly became the soundtrack to our walk. But what goes up must come down, and of the 25km we walked that day only 5 were downhill, resulting in an incredibly steep gradient to the point of being painful. Even high powered businessmen were making noises that resembled the whimpering of a kitten. It was sweet relief to finally reach our first destination, kick off the shoes and enjoy a Sangria. I was pleasantly surprised that not only had I completed day 1, I had done it with relative ease.

Day 2 was by far the most challenging for me. Although the track was flatter, my toes were covered in blisters and it was incredibly hot. My pace was a lot slower than the first day and I thought I was going to cry from the pain at one point. However, once again the scenery was pretty amazing. Very different from the first day, we ventured through tiny Spanish towns littered with window boxes full of bright flowers. I also discovered that the best way to distract myself was just to get lost in my own thoughts. They say that miracles happen on this walk so long as you focus on them. While I'm not sure I can claim I witnessed any sort of miracle, walking through the idyllic countryside and beautiful Spanish towns did manage to provide me the clarity I'd not been able to get in the hustle and bustle of London.

Day 3 I was bandaged up and ready to go! We had a much shorter walk for our last day so we went at a leisurely pace and nibbled on wild blackberries along the way. We stopped for omelettes, to cuddle horses and even for wood fired pizza. At one point I had a little black and white cat accompanying me down the path however, when she figured out I had no food to share she decided the trek wasn't worth it. After a three day journey the final hour into Pamplona seemed to drag on for an eternity though. Finally, we crossed a bridge to encounter a huge wall that encased the home of the running of the bulls and the end of my Camino experience.

To be continued...

A little party in Notting Hill

Challenge 3: Go on lots of day/weekend/many day trips

The talk of the town in London this Bank Holiday weekend was Notting Hill Carnival. Not having experienced one before I began to imagine it was going to be like Portobello Market on steroids; tea cups and trinkets galore with an abundance of men who resembled Hugh Grant. I was definitely not prepared for possibly Europe's biggest street party.

In fact the carnival is a huge Caribbean street party with a parade that processes through the streets of West London. Large trucks pump out Caribbean music while voluptuous women donned in amazing costumes made with feathers, sequins and glitter dance behind them. To be more specific they follow the trucks while whining, a dance that involves the women twisting their hips while a man often gyrates behind them. Google it if you've never seen it, but all I can say is I didn't know whether to stare in awe of how well they move their bodies or book them a hotel room. I quickly discovered that I definitely can't whine, but regardless it was impossible not to smile and shake my pathetic white girl booty when surrounded by the sea of colour and music. Even the police couldn't resist busting a move with the beautiful partially clad women.

Off the main streets we found an abundance of jerk chicken stalls as well as other street food. After building up an appetite dancing we grabbed a quick bite and congregated outside a bar which was hosting one of the many parties for the day. The music from the bar spilt out onto the street, so armed with BYO wine and beer a mass of people began dancing on the pavement outside. Eventually a crowd began to form around one woman who was easily 75 years old had all of their attention with her old school dance moves. Delicately placing one foot to the side and then in front while holding her floor length floral skirt, she would lure in young shirtless men and relish in their attention.

Eventually we left our little street party and went in search of some colour. Feeling as though we were lacking the glitter required to fit in at carnival we headed straight for a little face painting stall. However, when we were informed it was going to cost 8 quid per face, we decided our money would be better spent pooled and we would nominate one person to take one for the team. When one of the boys announced that we all knew who it was going to be, I completely misunderstood where he was pointing and assumed he was picking on the youngest, me. High on the spirit of the festival my hand shot straight up in the air and I declared, of course I would do it. Unfortunately I had not realised that the deal was I didn't get a say in how my face was decorated. Imagining I would get a beautiful glittery butterfly across my eyes, I was mortified to see my friends flipping through the catalogue and picking out zombie faces. Eventually we came to an agreement, a koala seemed to be the most appropriate option for the loud mouthed Australians. This didn't bode well with the face painter though as it would have been time consuming so somehow my friends settled on a kitten.

For the rest of the day I was subjected to walking around the carnival with my face painted as a white kitten with big whiskers and a pink bow in the middle of my forehead. Luckily we soon found ourselves not watching the parade from the side lines like before, but smack bang in the middle of it. Surrounded by the amazing costumes I merely became an attraction for camera phones and had my picture taken with numerous strangers. It was amazing to be right in the middle of the crowd and to bump and grind our way down the street with the rest of the carnival goers.

After a long day of festivities my housemate and I decided to make our way home by bus. In my tired state I had completely forgotten what I looked like and was only reminded when I saw a lady on the street waving up to me. At first I began to look around to see who she was waving to until she began pointing right at me and waving. Possibly worse were to the two Rastafarian men sitting on the bus who started exclaiming 'what a silly face...look at the joy on that silly face'. They weren't wrong I suppose, it was a pretty joyous day even if I did get meowed at on the walk home from the bus stop!

Fork in the Road

Challenge 4: Introduce yourself to EVERYONE

All too frequently we make fun of people for having a whinge about their "problems"that stem from otherwise pretty good circumstances. Well, this post is unashamedly all about my mother of a  #firstworldproblem: getting accepted into The University of Cambridge.

At the impressionable age of fourteen I went on a family holiday around Europe. One of our stops was Cambridge and I was instantly in love with the beautiful grounds, gorgeous river and historic colleges. At the age of 18 I returned to Cambridge for yet another visit which only rekindled the romance. So, not being a girl that believes in playing hard to get, this year I introduced myself to the prestigious University and applied to study there. Admittedly I didn't actually believe I would get in, so it was a huge surprise to receive the invitation to go for an interview. One thing lead to another (as they often do in romance tales) and last week I received my acceptance letter...well, email into the Masters of Education and Psychology.

It all sounds peachy keen except that there were a few details I had grossly misunderstood. Firstly, I believed that on my British passport I would be eligible to pay local fees rather than international fees. This is in fact incorrect and I would have to have lived in the UK for three years to be able to claim that I am a local student. Secondly, I hadn't factored in that taking the place would mean giving up my place in a Masters course at home, a risk that could result in losing my spot in a course that will allow me to practice as a psychologist while the Cambridge degree is purely course work and research.

Looking back I think I was blinded by the romance of the place and believed that if, on the very off chance, I got in it would all work itself out somehow. Well, now that 'off chance' is reality and I'm left with a pretty large decision to make. If I close my eyes I can imagine an intersection with three possible ways that I can travel. To the left, I can go to Cambridge and spend a lot of time and money on something that would be purely for the experience and my ego (a fantastic option if money grew on trees), straight ahead I can stay in London for another 18 months and continue 'playing' granted I get permission from Uni, or to the right I can go home to Australia in February and decide to be an adult by starting my Masters and in turn, my career.

I'm not going to lie, I'm utterly petrified of making the wrong decision. It breaks my heart every time I tell people I don't think I'm going to take the Cambridge offer because the circumstances aren't right. Like a love struck stalker I made the mistake of Googling the college I got accepted into only to pine after how stunning it is (it was St Catherine's by the way). I suppose every good love story is about timing though. I know that now is probably the best time to galavant around Europe and frequent London pubs, as I'm still young enough to enjoy it without the pressures of life. Perhaps in the future the timing will be better for me to get stuck into academia and I can reintroduce myself to Cambridge. For now I just have to take comfort in the fact that I can officially say I'm smarter than I look!

I lost my heart in London but I lost my liver in Budapest

Challenge 3: Go on lots of day/weekend/many day trips (don't stay in the same place, explore, travel, wander)

I've never really been the spontaneous type, an impromptu trip to the pub is about as unplanned as it gets. However, when my Australian Tax Return and a voucher from STA travel came through in the middle of my six week summer break, I couldn't resist the calls of an old uni friend urging me to meet her somewhere in Europe. Purely based on dates, Budapest was the chosen destination for five days. Before I begin attempting to recap, I feel as though there should be some kind of disclaimer that this will not be a story about our cultured trip to Eastern Europe... 

The girls and I arrived in Budapest on Sunday to discover that it was the last day of the Sziget Festival, one of the biggest music festivals in Europe. Feeling a little sheepish that we didn't know it was on, we were almost resigned to the fact that we would be the only people in Budapest not donning a yellow "Lets Sziget Fucked" singlet and making our way to Freedom Island. However, choosing to ignore the "out of stock" notice on the website we went ahead and ordered the tickets anyway. Before we knew it we were printing them and heading off to Sziget. Simple as that! 

The festival was like nothing that we get in Australia. Not only did it have the main stages, there were circus acts, piercing parlours, traditional Hungarian dancing and bars galore. Due to our late entry the only act left on the main stage was David Guetta, so we made our way straight there. Amidst the laser lights, confetti, fireworks and gropey European men, we danced while Guetta pushed some buttons and did a lot of fist pumping. Sounds trivial but it was pretty amazing. The rest of our night was spent dancing to various DJs and exploring the island. Among the crowd we noticed that one girl had brought her mum to the festival. Keen to join in the fun with the young ones, 'mum' jumped on the back of a bike with a side cart, dancing in that unique middle-aged woman way. Unfortunately, she was so consumed by the attention that she lost her balance and fell backwards into the cart, legs straight up in the air like a cartoon character! I only hope I can embarrass my children half as much as she did when I'm her age!

The following day was spent eating ice-cream and enjoying the sunshine. I had planned on sleeping in, but was woken by my British roommates returning from the festival around 7am. They were very concerned that one of their trio hadn't come back, not because he was lost but because the girl he had gone home with wasn't very attractive. Trying to dig deeper into the male psyche I naively enquired whether their mate would get any kudos for picking up at all. He informed me that no, his friend would not as he would rather remove his genitals than engage in coitus with said female (but not nearly as eloquently as that). 

Once we had recovered from Sziget it was time to jump back on the horse, or in this case boat. Monday night's festivities consisted of a booze cruise down the river Danube. Despite the large bottle of champagne we were given (each) we were awe struck by the city which looked stunning by night, especially the beautiful building of parliament and the Chain bridge which lit up the river. There was a loose rule that whenever the boat went under a bridge you had to kiss someone. I now understand how my Nan feels at Christmas as all the kisses I received were on smack bang on the cheek. 

On Tuesday we took the opportunity to enjoy the heat at one of the oldest thermal bath houses in Europe. Lying in the beautiful ornate surroundings of the bath house with the Budapest sunshine peaking through the clouds was the perfect way to spend the day. The lovely warm water also did wonders for our aching muscles from all the dancing in the previous 48 hours. However, the best part of the baths was definitely the people watching. There were tattoos, piercings, six-packs, guts, breast on ladies, breast on men, selfies, cellulite and more hair than you would find on yogi bear himself. Perched on a sun lounge with my big sunnies on I was enjoying the display of the human species when we were unceremoniously asked if we wanted to pay for our sun lounges. Our bikini clad bodies lying on the ground must have been a pathetic site because the gentleman in charge of taking payment shortly returned to inform us that we could have our sun lounges back free of charge as long as we didn't tell anybody. 

By Wednesday we realised we hadn't been very cultural while in Budapest so we decided to take the walking tour of the city. We learnt that Hungarian is the second most difficult language to learn, a Hungarian invented the Rubik's cube and that Budapest is the largest exporter of baby hippos in the world. Possibly most interesting the the fact that Budapest has the third best bar in the world and it was just around the corner from our hostel. So of course that evening we jumped on a pub crawl and went to visit the famous ruin bars. These bars were decaying homes which have been emptied out and filled with an eclectic mix of retro furnishings and decorations and turned into very cool night spots. Szimpla is the one that has the top rating. It goes over two stories linked by winding spiral staircases. Fuelled with a little dutch courage from a hefty pre-drinking session, we went about meeting some new friends in the tourist-filled bars. As a result we encountered some of the most creative pick-up tactics I have seen in a while:

• Apparently, if your name is George you are in luck. With the recent naming of the royal baby this name now has some serious pull, as a 21 year old English lad discovered with one of my friends. 
• Also, lulling the girl into a false sense of security with quite camp mannerisms and studying fashion seems to (almost) work. Another friend of mine found herself sitting on a guy's lap for this reason but became quite confused when his hands started wondering up and down her leg. By the time he offered to buy her a drink she was out of there. 
• Or finally, if all else fails and you're Canadian and attractive, you can just grab the faces of three girlfriends and give each of them a cheeky kiss. You may even have the audacity to remind the girls of this the next day (well played "Canadian Dave").

Needless to say after a night of vodka shots, beer chasers and Baileys on the rocks my last day in Budapest was spent sleeping, eating and debriefing with the girls. On my way to the airport I met a Hungarian-born American who told me she had caught up with her ex-husband while in Budapest and had gone for a candle-lit dinner to "celebrate" their divorce 30 odd years ago. She seemed to think Budapest was a good place for karmic retribution. I just think it's a good vibes city and I was so sad to say goodbye.

Buon Compleanno in Italia!

Challenge 3: Go on lots of day/weekend/many day trips (don't stay in the same place, explore, travel, wander)

Photo by Wendy Lipzker

Having been away from home for almost 6 months now, my 24th birthday had the potential to bring a strong dose of homesickness with it. Luckily, I received one of the best birthday presents I could have wished for: a weekend in Italy with my mum.

On Friday morning I dragged my heavy body out of bed at 3am to get myself to Gatwick for my much anticipated flight to Milan. I was anxious about missing the Gatwick Express or that my flight might be delayed as I was told my step-dad had booked tickets for us to see The Last Supper. Admittedly, I was very confused by this; we're not really a religious bunch so why were we going to see a reenactment of a biblical story? Would Jesus be Italian? Once reunited with my mum and step-dad, I politely posed these questions to them only to be met with laughter. We were actually going to see the famous Leonardo Da Vinci painting which is painted onto a chapel wall. In order to keep the painting in good condition, people are only allowed 15 minutes of viewing time to avoid too much moisture and dust entering the room. It was 15 minutes well spent though; the painting was beautiful and the history behind it was incredibly interesting.

With the cultural stuff out of the way by noon we were free to spend the rest of the day focusing on what was really important: eating and shopping. I realised by the end of my first day in Milan that I had found my culinary mecca! Where else could I consume copious amounts of my two favourite foods, pasta and ice-cream, without judgement? I was mildly concerned to discover that on profile I looked about 3 months pregnant, but if that's the price you pay for happiness, I'll pay it.

The following day we woke up early to catch the train to Como. The first few hours of the day were spent lazing on a ferry in the sun as it took us to the town of Bellagio on Lake Como. The lake sparkled as the sun danced across it, lighting up the different coloured villas dotted along the bank. We spent about an hour exploring Bellagio (stopping to get a gelato on the way, of course) then it was back on the boat and over to the medieval town of Verenna. It was so relaxing to enjoy the beautiful scenery of the town as well as more pasta and my second gelato for the day. Needless to say, my food-baby and I slept soundly on the train back to Milan that afternoon.

That evening we returned to the restaurant we had visited the night before as the food was so good. After polishing off a large bowl of gnocchi I discovered that I could in fact translate Italian despite not speaking it. The jolly waiter explained to us that he enjoys watching Australian Border Security on TV and that in one episode a man shut down the whole airport because his belt buckle looked like a bomb, but in fact wasn't. Unfortunately my translation skills were not good enough to save me from the disgusting Italian liqueur that tasted like cough syrup that he insisted I try. Unable to bare more than a sip, Mum came to the rescue and decided to shot it using her limoncello as a chaser. We discovered that wine, limoncello and horrible Italian shots are a lethal combination resulting in my drunk mother alerting the streets of Milan that she would skip if she could, but she would probably wet herself.

Regardless of her escapades, Mum was bright and perky the next morning for my 24th birthday. I was spoilt with chocolate mousse croissants for breakfast before setting off to visit the oldest church in Milan. It became apparent that modesty is still highly valued in Italy as I was scolded by an elderly nun for showing my shoulders in the church. If only she knew I would be showing a lot more than that later that morning...After leaving the church we jumped on the 'Bike Mi' bikes and cycled around to another chapel. While the notion of riding through the cobblestoned streets of Milan in a beautiful white sundress sounds romantic, the reality is far from it. As I rode I could feel my dress slipping up my thighs and I'm quite certain I gave a few elderly Italian men a view that was hardly modest. For the sake of decency I tried to awkwardly ride with my knees together making the journey that much more challenging.

The next chapel we visited was famous because it has been decorated in hundreds of human skulls and bones when the cemetery became too full hundred of years ago. We then headed to the most famous Cathedral in Milan, The Duamo. After visiting the awe-inspiring interior, Mum and I ventured up onto the roof to see the amazing view of the city. For lunch we refuelled with a pizza, then headed to the castle for a quick bike ride through the beautiful park. However, this became problematic when we could not get one of the bikes out of the stands. An Italian gentleman named George, witnessed out plight and saw it as an opportunity to attempt to run a scam or pick our pockets (we're not quite sure). His tactics involved buttering up Mum by asking if I was her sister and then organising for us to return the next day so that we could discuss our engagement. I couldn't help but laugh when he purred, "I'm a good looking man, no?" Well, no, George was not which is probably why he used lines like, "I will see you tonight...in my dreams." Eventually we made our escape on the bikes in search of more gelato.

Luckily, I did not spend my birthday evening with George. Instead the three of us dined at an amazing restaurant on the canal which was awarded a michelin star. The food was creative, quirky and completely amazing. Highlights included a dish called 'frog in a pond' which came served in foam with origami frogs made out of pastry, pigeon served on a light board with fake blood underneath and my birthday dessert which came on a lit up PAC-man board with sorbet pieces. The food played with all of your senses and was a very memorable way to end the trip and to spend my birthday.

"This is not a game" dessert

"Frog in a Pond"