A Million Grains of Sand

It takes me about an hour to adjust.

First I water the plants. I always think they know if I don’t do it straight away. I sense them as I walk around the place stuffing things in drawers, disappointed and vengeful, wilting their leaves hurriedly, on purpose, just to spite me. I remove dead petals, prod at the compost, sprinkle plant food.

Then I unpack the suitcase. I load the washer, return sandals and flip flops to the shoe closet, perfume bottle to the vanity top, half read books to our nightstands. An impossibly intricate sea shell to the already overflowing bowl on the coffee table.

One or two things still smell like the sea. But mostly it smells like home. Furniture wax and a fresh bottle of red breathing on the kitchen counter, fabric softener and basil, a hint of geranium through the living room windows.

I feel rested. A new, unexpected state of affairs.

Five Things Today


We’ve had no hot water in our shower for three weeks.

Get a plumber look at it, you say? Well, you’re probably not up to date with the latest developments in London’s flourishing plumbing industry.

There. Are. No. Plumbers. Not one.

Sure, you’ll find plenty online, or recommended by friends, and believe it or not a handful of them will even return your calls and/or emails. But getting one to actually come and LOOK at your shower, now that’s a different story. They are busy, these people. Doing… not sure what really, but definitely not shower tinkering.

The last person we spoke to was quite funny. Too busy to come over, obviously, but kind enough to suggest we take our shower apart ourselves and keep the pieces in lemon juice overnight. And you know what? After nearly a month of freezing cold showers in the middle of winter, lemon juice sounds like it might just work. So yeah. Fancy joining me in a lemon squeezing marathon tonight, anyone? Anyone?


Several of my friends have quit or are on the verge of quitting their jobs, with little to no future career plans in mind.

No, they’re not all Romanian.

Yes, it might be mid-life-crisis early-thirties-crisis.

And yes, I do worry about it being contagious. But then I just turn off my alarm clock and jump out of bed, dragging myself towards a keyboard yet again.


I am, if somewhat reluctantly, making friends with people at work these days.

After a year marked by one or two social disappointments, I’m testing the waters again. I guess it’s true what they say, that we’re social animals above all else, even the most self-proclaimed antisocial of us.

So I’m hitting the pubs for the now compulsory after work pint, catching up with former colleagues for lunch, mingling at office parties. It still feels a bit like I’m walking around wrapped in an unfamiliar skin, but it’s not an uncomfortable one.

I was chatting to an old friend the other day, and he said something that made me think.

Growing older, he’d realised he could no longer judge his friendships like he’d used to. He couldn’t just walk away from people who’d disappointed him at one time or another anymore. He couldn’t dismiss people based on one or two incompatibilities with the perfect friend image he’d built for himself. His best friends now weren’t people who finished his sentences or got all his jokes. His best friends were the few people who’d stuck around. Imperfect in their friendship, but still there.


Do NOT give me Amazon vouchers.

I’ll just buy ELEVEN books in one go and then you’ll find me feverishly browsing for another bookshelf, because there’s only so many paperbacks you can stack on your windowsill before they’re blocking the light. Who knew light and reading go hand in hand anyway?

For what it’s worth, I’ve so far read seven books this year, which is a miracle considering how much of my time I’ve been spending glued to a pint. Alcohol and books is the way to go, people! That is, if you want to make it out alive of this forsaken, snowed-three-times-this-month London winter!


In other news, V and I are very busy these days.

We’ve just thrown a belated New Year’s Eve party for a friend who had emergency surgery during the real celebrations, we’re taking another friend on a post-breakup seaside trip this weekend, joining a bunch of people for a clubbing night out (Don’t. Ask.) for Valentine’s, and leaving London for our yearly anniversary trip the following week. Then guess what, it’s spring! Season of concerts, bank holidays and tennis tournaments!

So yeah, I’m excited to say the least. There’s something absolutely delicious in browsing your Google Calendar to see brightly coloured squares marking the end of each and every one of the coming weeks. I’ll try and document our this and that as much as I can, especially now that it seems I’ve finally kicked the January blues away, and I’m feeling more like a living, breathing, and only occasionally moaning human being.

Wishing you all a lovely, brightly coloured weekend!

I’ll Always Know What You Did in Cornwall: St Ives

Our third and last day in Cornwall (read about day one and two) was a day of walks along the beach, Cornish themed food, and lots of rain.




After two days of sunny, if a bit windy weather, we had a feeling our luck wouldn’t last much longer. So after another indecently decadent breakfast at Tregenna Castle, we armed ourselves with umbrellas and waterproof hoodies, and set off to properly explore St Ives this time. The plan was to follow a long, somewhat wild looking footpath along the railway out of town and eventually descend on the beach at its furthest end, then walk back along the sea front towards St Ives, where we still had a bunch of sights to check off our list.

St Ives

Train path ftw!

It being quite early on Easter morning, we imagined we wouldn’t run into anybody for a while, but we came across countless groups of early hikers, dog walkers and landscape photographers with whom we happily exchanged smiles and morning pleasantries.

St Ives

Hobbit Country

I think V and I have a bit of a walking culture, if not an obsession. It’s been a challenge finding equally exploring enthusiastic traveling partners, as most people we know find it strange that we spend our holidays waking up at the crack of dawn only to walk streets, paths and museum corridors for 12 hours a day, every day of a trip at the end of which we’re usually more tired than we started out. What can I say, we’re weird that way.

Minutes shy of two hours later, our footpath finally descended onto the beach. By this time, the sky had turned an intimidating shade of grey and the wind brought hints of the coming downpour.

St Ives

Rain is in the air!

We walked around for a while, but not before I put on my winter hat and gloves (!!!) and made V add a couple more layers to his already Eskimo style outfit. I’m an absolute cosy-temperature-or-bust freak, so by the time I was done with us we both looked like oversized, waterproof dumplings, dutifully rolling our eyes at the pack of paragliding daredevils and one particular swimmer who looked way too lively for what I imagined was freezing cold water.

St Ives

Shiny happy people floating.

And then, all of a sudden, the rains from hell broke through. There’s little photographic proof of our hours long walk back to town through the storm, as we were way too busy keeping ourselves below freezing temperature, mending our clearly wind-is-our-kryptonite umbrellas and squeezing disheartening volumes of water out of our hair, eyelashes, shoelaces and so called waterproof outfits.

By the time we made it back to civilization, we rushed into the first dry looking coffee place and rested our exhausted drenched selves above a tray of piping hot Cornish pasties and steaming, cinnamon freckled hot chocolates. It was well past lunch time by now, and in spite of the seemingly never ending rain we had to get a move on and check a couple more places off our St Ives themed itinerary.

Barbara Hepworth Museum & Sculpture Garden

Barbara Hepworth Museum & Sculpture Garden

St Ives

Barnoon Cemetery

We concluded the evening sipping wine and stuffing ourselves with mountains of mussels at The Ocean Grill, while outside the window the tide was coming in and rain was slowly fading into a shiver inducing memory. As we were making our way back to the hotel, our multilayered clothes still reminiscent of the recent downpour, we decided we’d be coming back in the summer, to try the sand, and who knows, if we’re feeling particularly daring, the waters too, with bare feet.

As always at the end of a trip, I was feeling nostalgic about having to go back to London and our every day lives of walking up and down tube carriages and rooting ourselves in plasticky office chairs. More than a month after this holiday, I still find myself thinking of cramped houses built in grey, permanently damp looking Cornish lime, of the cave drilled cliffs by the beach where I shrieked every time V stuck his hooded head inside a particularly dark, dangerous looking cavern, of the Cornwall green, the greenest green I’ve seen in this country, one you can almost taste, tangy and raw.

I brought back a bag of white shells I’d picked during our beach walk. Ever the hygiene freak, once I got home I rinsed them in a million waters in our bathroom sink, washing all things Cornwall off them. They fill a jar on one of our living room shelves now, and sometimes I pick it up to dust it, way more often than needed, just to hear them rattle.

St Ives

Tide out.

St Ives

Tide in.


I Still Know What You Did in Cornwall: Land’s End, Minack Theatre, St Ives

For our second day in Cornwall (read about our first day of Cornish adventures here) we’d planned to drive out of St Ives and visit some of the surrounding sights. The weather being unexpectedly beautiful, we quickly chomped our way through our diet-friendly-not, full English breakfasts, and left Tregenna Castle towards our first stop of the day, The Geevor Tin Mine and Museum. We’d never toured a mine of any kind before, and V in particular was very much looking forward to it. Truth be told, hopelessly claustrophobic as ever, I was more than a bit reluctant to willingly descend into what I imagined would be a network of tangled, damp, airless tunnels, out of which, best case scenario considered, I would eventually emerge all sweaty and unfashionably covered in soot.

You can imagine I was infinitely relieved upon finding the mine closed, as it apparently always is on Saturdays, despite V stomping his foot in protest. Of course I had to put my understanding, super duper loving face on, and comfort him with promises of touring at least a couple of mines a week from then onwards, the deepest and darkest the better. And we didn’t leave the place before we took advantage of the lovely sunny, green fields around the mine entrance, taking a million Mr & Mrs Smith style photos and climbing atop each and every mossy stone wall in sight.

Geevor Mine

No scary mine photos, but here’s an nonthreatening looking gate instead.

Eventually we got back in the car and set off towards Land’s End, a place of beautiful scenery at the most south-westerly point of mainland Britain, which had been recommended to me by pretty much each and every one of my Cornwall versed friends. We hadn’t read anything about it it beforehand, which rarely ever happens, the two of us being absolutely obsessive itinerary makers and all, so we had no particular expectations. Imagine our surprise as we stepped out of the car to this:

Land's End


I think it’s about time I admitted that I have a thing for this country’s coastal scenery. I first became aware of my dangerous addiction when we stayed in Eastbourne for a long weekend during last year’s AEGON International Ladies’ Tennis Championship, and we spend hours walking up and down the chalky Beachy Head cliffs in between tennis matches. Since then, we’ve been regularly planning coastal holidays, and I always put aside a full day to just walk around and enjoy the views. (If V finds all that walking boring, he’s been smart enough never to have mentioned it.)

Land’s End is absolutely stunning. I was on the verge of a heart attack several times throughout, as V is super duper brave aka insane and was monkeying around way too close to the edge of the precipice, relentlessly posing for a million blood curdling Facebook photos.

Land's End

Yup, that’s me, embarrassing braided hairstyle and all. It was windy as hell, OK?

We walked around the cliffs for an hour or two, very much feeling like we pacing up and down a Lord of the Rings setting, V taking countless photos of me posing next to scary creature looking rock formations, doing cartwheels along the only, tiniest patch of flat grassy land around, and trying the marsh water with the tip of my finger.

Land's End

Swamp = super duper artistic photo op. Always.

All in all, the day had turned out beyond expectations already, and I’d have settled for a drive back to the hotel and a Cornish pasty themed lunch, but V had read about The Minack Theatre being a stone’s throw away, and we couldn’t really pass on the chance to visit a place looking like this:

Minack Theatre

Shakespeare by the sea, anyone?

Minack is Cornish for “rocky place”, and that’s certainly one way to describe this open air theatre built on the rugged edge of what used to be Minack House’s back yard. Work began in 1931 and was planned, supervised and financed by one extraordinary woman, Rowena Cade. The first performance, Shakespeare’s The Tempest, took place in 1932 and was lit by car headlights. It was a success and improvements on the place continued throughout the decades, until Rowena’s death in 1983.

The theatre is very much alive these days, and we’d have absolutely loved to actually see a play there, but there was nothing on that weekend and it was quite windy as well (my hairdo will very much attest to that below), but we definitely won’t miss on that opportunity next time we go to Cornwall.

Minack Theatre

Easy does it…

We came across a million steep stone steps behind the theater’s stage, leading down to a lovely, private looking beach below, so after a somewhat dangerous descent, made even more dangerous by the strong wind, we finally made it to the most stunning slice of beach I’ve seen in this country. There were few people around so we just sat there looking at the waves, sharing a chocolate chip cookie I’d taken from the hotel restaurant in the morning. Note to self: always have a cookie to share after climbing six hundred steps down a deadly cliff.

Minack Theatre

So, I kind of luuuuurved this.

It was late afternoon by the time we left The Minack Theatre, and the plan was to take the car back to the hotel parking lot, then walk to St Ives in search of a yummy looking dinner place. We had our eye on Ocean Grill, a lovely seafood themed place overlooking the harbour, but as enticing as it smelled, it was absolutely packed, so we booked a table for the next evening and had to take our starving bellies elsewhere for the time being. We settled for Caffe Pasta, also extremely busy at that hour, but where we were lucky enough to get a table for two with a great view.

St Ives

Good evening, St Ives.

We both had the lasagna (can’t seem to find a photo right now, but I’ll keep looking and will definitely update this post with mouthwatering proof of our dinner depravity) and a pint of Italian beer each, as they were singing Happy Birthday and exchanging gifts at a table nearby.

It was still sunny and we were considering concluding the evening by playing a bit of tennis on one of the courts at Tregenna Castle, but by the time we finished dinner and I’d dragged V along each and every St Ives art gallery in sight, it was already getting dark, so we settled for a quick badminton session on the hotel’s covered and conveniently lit badminton court instead. I lost by a million points and blame the lasagna.

I’ll definitely follow this up with a day 3 centered sequel, as soon as I’ve recovered from my psycho excitement at only just booking another holiday for early in June, this time in sunny Portugal. Until then, if you fancy checking out some other St Ives related ramblings, have a look at what we did during the first day of our Easter trip.

I Know What You Did in Cornwall: St. Michael’s Mount, Tregenna Castle

Yes, I know this post is seriously overdue, as it’s almost been a month since we got back from our Easter Cornwall trip, but in my world it’s never too late to brag about amazing holidays.

Since our move to London, V and I have always spent Easter with our families in Romania. But this year, we were already planning a May/June trip home for V’s ten years high school reunion (it seems now it’s not going to happen, sigh), so we decided we’d save a little money and just stay in UK for Easter (don’t even get me started on how expensive Easter flights to Romania are!), then tick his reunion and visiting our families all in one go, a month or so later. My mother was, of course, outraged at our spending Easter among strangers, but countless phone debates, threats and promises later, she accepted the unacceptable, and V and I allowed ourselves to finally be giddy with excitement at trying a British Easter for the first time ever.

We decided we’d leave London for what would be our first proper road trip since we got the car, and settled for Cornwall, where neither of us had been before. We booked a three night stay at a hotel in St Ives, and V spent about a week prior to our leaving setting up itineraries, testing his new camera lens an inch away from my face, and ignoring my attention seeking somersaults and twirls.

We set off early in the morning on Good Friday, keen to beat the holiday traffic out of London, and I was so tired that I repeatedly dozed off during the first part of the ride, only to wake up terrified that V would crash us into a tree. For some reason, trees growing on motorways is common thing in my deranged sleepy brain. Fortunately, Red Bull injected  V was in much better shape than me, and we made it to our lunch pit stop safely, where the super duper combination of indecent quantities of junk food and delightfully fizzy hydration brought me back to life.

Our main destination for the day was St. Michael’s Mount, a tidal island (I’d read this on Wikipedia the day before our trip, and believe me, I’d given absolutely no thought to what tidal island actually meant until it was too late. But more on that later.) off Mount’s Bay coast, crowned by a priory and medieval castle.

The weather was absolutely beautiful so the beach was full of people flying kites, building sand castles and playing frisbee, as well as tourists making their way to the island, maps and cameras in tow. The tide was out so we walked to St. Michael’s Mount across a dry, algae strewn sand path.

St Michael's Mount

Hey there, island!

Legend says a giant used to live on the island, and had this nasty habit of making his way to the shore village and eating people’s cows and sheep. Until one night, when a local boy named Jack rowed to the island and dug a really deep pit. Then, when the sun was up, he blew a horn to wake up the giant, who, blinded by the sun light, fell into the pit and was lost. A guide was telling the story as we were walking up the rocky path to the castle, in between stops to admire the beautiful view of the coast, with its white painted, terraced holiday houses the likes of which V and I fantasize of raising kids in one day.

We spent a couple of hours strolling through the castle and its lovely terraces from which you could admire the tropical gardens, and of course, the amazing coast. My favourite was the Map Room (turns out that’s pretty much always my favourite room, whether we’re in the Palazzo Ducale in Venice or in Winston Churchill’s bunker in London), but warrior-at-heart V liked the Garrison best. On our way back, I bought a framed print of the Mount to hang in our new home (No congratulations are in order, we still haven’t found anything yet, but I can’t help nesting.) and almost caved in front of a white ceramic seashell shaped fruit bowl way too expensive for my hey-we’re-saving-for-a-house-here budget.

St. Michael's Mount

Castle invasion

Remember how I had no idea what tidal island really meant? Well…

St. Michael's Mount

I’m not cold. I’m not cold. I’m not.. Okay you guys, who’s carrying me to shore?

By the time we were finally ready to part with St. Michael’s Mount, the tide was in and the sand path we’d taken to the island earlier was under water. Plenty of brave people had started making their way through the freezing, ankle high waves, and I’d have definitely been up for it, but as V and I bickered about it (he’s really a scared, don’t-you-dare-get-my-toes-wet little man) the water reached people’s thighs and that was a bit too much even for super duper adventurous me. So we took the boat back (Yay! Boat! I luuuuurve boats!), and after a sunset themed photo session on the beach, we started on our way to St Ives and the hotel we’d be staying at for the weekend.

We’d chosen Tregenna Castle because we’d found a really good weekend stay deal on Groupon, but also because we really really liked the look of it. (Never stayed anywhere castle-ish before so yeah, ok!)

Tregenna Castle

What? Castle-ish is a most definitely a word!

Our stay included a three course dinner on the night of arrival, and since we’d spent so much time bickering about the St. Michael’s Mount tide adventure, we decided there wasn’t enough time to visit anything else before said dinner, and we just went for a walk around the hotel instead. Oh, was it worth it! The Tregenna Castle grounds include a humongous, beautiful Mediterranean garden, golf and tennis courts and absolutely outstanding views of St Ives. So we just walked around until it got too dark for photos and our food centered fantasies became too vivid to ignore.

St Ives

Wouldn’t mind living here.

We actually dressed up for dinner, which we rarely do, savage as we are. So I wore a dress (very grownup-ladylike, I know!), heels and a touch of red lipstick, and go figure, the waiter didn’t ask to see my driving license before pouring the wine, which always comes as a nice surprise. I’m not a good culinary chronicler,  so I’ll let this risotto closeup speak for itself.


Nom nom nom!

Yum, right?

So that pretty much sums up our Good Friday. Now, this post has already turned out longer than I’d planned, so I’ll leave the rest of our Easter adventures for part two and three of this Cornwall themed chronicle. Everybody loves a trilogy, am I right?

Until then though, I hope you’ve all got amazing plans for the coming weekend, and if you’re planning a trip or have just returned from one, do tell, I’m a sucker for other people’s traveling adventures!