two years of ruby slipper journey-ing

A couple of days ago was the second anniversary of starting Ruby Slipper Journeys. Going through the past year's posts to try and put together some coherent retrospective was actually overwhelming. How should things go? Chronologically? Outfits or travel photos? Should I talk about all the places I've been?

In the end, I've left it a colourful jumble. The past year has felt crazy, surreal, and moving at lightning speed sometimes, and at other times entirely mundane. Since I don't blog the mundane so much, you get a retrospective of cherry blossoms, seasides, dresses and erm, alcohol.

I'm hoping for another year of all of those things!


summer style is my favourite!


Brussels, and my grandfather's home on a lake in the Ontario woods. This year I've lived in Barcelona, with multiple visits to Germany and Canada, and little weekend trips to France, the Netherlands, Belgium...


Barcelona and all its bars...


I tried to get into layering in the fall, then defaulted back to just wearing cool tights with my dresses. I've promised myself that I will stop buying summer dresses and work on developing my wardrobe for the other 9 months of the year.


I spent a week in Germany in the winter and drank at least one mulled wine per day. December was an especially wonderful month, as I stayed in two castles, and went home to Canada (where I made mulled wine for my family). ;)




I went to so many typical Catalan festivals with dragons and fire and suchlike and bored half of my readers by posting about them every chance I got. ; )


And then I went to Paradise.

Thank you so much for reading! It's been a pleasure to get to know so many of you, online and in real life. I'm looking forward to another year.

in a kingdom by the sea

I don't know when finding time to post became so impossible. Menorca feels like a year ago (it was two weeks ago). The beach the second day didn't have quite that turquoise cove perfection of the first one; it was for a different type of day. One of strolling through the surf, kicking up spray. Of eating peaches and probably a bit of sand. Of leaping across the scalding ground to sink your feet into cool silty water. And of slathering on SPF 50 every twenty minutes!

islander

I could really get used to living on an island. Actually, the weather was pretty much the same as Barcelona, so I think it was less the tropical feeling and more the holiday feeling that was making me happy in Menorca! Either way, I had that contented glow (having survived my horse allergy attack the night before) as we wandered around the little town we stayed in. Ferreries isn't a big deal of a town, but it was nicely local and non-touristy. We spent out time trying to decipher the accent (they speak Catalan on Menorca but there are lots of different words and a really strong accent and I was just basically confused the whole time--also, all locals seemed to always give directions starting with "go to the No Entrance sign," followed by confusing their rights and lefts--not sure what was up with that), and eating amazing seafood at the town's one restaurant that wasn't a bar!





Photos by Albert

you definitely want to read this post

It contains hazelnuts, flying women, horses, and even a video!


The above picture looks like Palestine or equivalent, but was actually one of the more bizarre features of the Sant Joan (St. John--summer solstice) celebrations in Menorca. Some of the traditions are well-known and part of the reason we went that weekend. What is less well-known is that they start everything off with a giant hazelnut fight. And I have to tell you, having hazelnuts hurled at your head kind of hurts! After the hazelnuts had been flying for a while, it was time for phase 2: hurling women in the air! Bands of men (well, teenagers) roamed around finding smallish girls and tossing them in the air repeatedly. This whole things was clearly a bit of a juvenile mating ritual on the island... note that all the girls being thrown are kind of cute (and they were all wearing a throwing-friendly uniform of shorts, some revealing top, and long hair to be whipped around). ;) I was told to keep out of the thick of things, but Albert waded in in the name of journalism to bring you these pictures!




(note the hazelnuts flying around).

But this was mostly a time-filler. The real reason we were all there was for the horses.



Menorca is famous for it's Sant Joan festivals featuring the beautiful horses that live on the island. In honour of the event, they're groomed to within an inch of their lives, dressed up in velvet saddles and decorative bridles and paraded through the streets. Or perhaps paraded is not quite the right word--this being a Catalan place there needs to be some danger involved. So the horses come down the streets and everyone jumps in front of them and the horses get scared and rear up and everyone supports them as they come down and chant and sing and get really drunk and so on. :D





Much better than the pictures is the video. If you really want to feel like you were there, give it a watch (you get me laughing too--this was before I rediscovered my lifelong allergy to horses)!

paradise thy name is menorca

Menorca, island of sunshine, sandy coves, friendly people, and the craziest summer solstice traditions I've come across yet (more on that later). I was only there for two and a half days, but they were peaceful, dreamy, exciting days and they're going to be over-represented here on the blog. The water was turquoise (and cold!), I ate plums overlooking it, and only succeeded in reading two pages of my book. It was perfect.





The dress is from Boutique by Jaeger, and I wanted it as soon as I saw it, but it was definitely too expensive. I snagged it a few weeks back for 50% off but almost ended up returning it as it was enormous and made me look like a frumpy old lady (not that old ladies are inherently frumpy, but I was). Anyway, I had it taken in and the waist seam raised a bit, so all's well that ends well.

1929

It's no secret that I've been going through an extra-strong 1920s kick this year. Maybe it has something to do with my own 20s winding down; I want to end them on a jazz-age worthy bang. A few months ago I read Barry Paris' biography of Louise Brooks and watched some of her classic German films, which inspired a sort of decadent frenzy in me (although the second half of the book read like more of a cautionary tale, and that had an effect too). I've never been a hardcore party girl, and frankly it's not my style, but I definitely feel a need these days to burn the candle at both ends, to not turn down that one-for-the-road drink, to go out on Monday (and Tuesday and Wednesday) night, to try new things. Preferably whilst wearing something a little bit reminiscent of the 1920s, like this Alexandra Grecco dress (April's splurge). My hair may not quite fit the decade I'm referencing--I'm just waiting for fall to chop a bunch of it off--but the building certainly does. These pictures were taken at the Mies van der Rohe Pavilion, designed by the German architect in 1929.







Photos by Albert

picnics in the park

On Sunday, my outing was no further than the park directly behind my flat, armed with a blanket, chickpea salad sandwiches, shandies and books. My need to go out and enjoy weekends is almost pathological sometimes... I've always felt that time spent at home, unless you're with people you really like drinking tea or wine, is time wasted. However, I've been working 50 hours or so the last couple of weeks with one thing and another (including a new, more interesting, temporary job), plus bashing myself up in bizarre ways (tripping over suitcases and smashing my elbows springs to mind). Under the circumstances, an outing that required as little time spent getting there as possible was needed. It was so nice to lie on the grass, wonder at everyone in Barcelona seeming to have a French Bulldog, and read a few pages...





Photos by Albert

baptism of fire

Pa-tum, Pa-tum, Pa-tum... a man wearing purple velvet with mutton-chop sleeves beats the drum, steadily, and thousands of people crowded above, below and around him let out a cheer. After hours of gathering and waiting in a small square never intended to hold so many, La Patum de Berga is beginning.

Men on horseback charge into the square, or rather, men dressed as though they're on horseback (complete with horse) and the show is on. This popular festival, unique to the Catalan town Berga, dates back to at least 1454, and has clear roots to pre-Christian festivals. We were promised demons, giants, dragons... and we got them.

Clearly the only thing to do when there are this many people around is... start some fires...


The "Guita" makes an appearance.

After they have thoroughly doused everyone with fire (one went into a nearby bar to make sure everyone there got a a taste as well), one of the Guitas moves gracefully through the crowd (at times with children riding on its back) to bring the drummer and the band leader a skinful of wine.

The eagle bows to the crowd. The man in purple on the tiny balcony (squished in with a number of children) is the drummer.

The eagle was my favourite; when it enters, everyone hushes and shushes until silence descends, and then the eagle dances to a haunting tune from the band, and as the tune picks up, everyone begins to dance along too, hands in the air.

Giants dance


And dwarves


And towards midnight there was a lengthy explanation about safety, and being sure to only dance in a counter-clockwise direction... and the square slowly filled with ... bushes (or rather, devils of the forest). With fireworks attached to their heads.


And then all the lights went off.


In 2005, UNESCO declared La Patum to be a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity, which may be what has kept it so far from being banned in the name of fire safety. After seeing a documentary filming of the event a few years ago, I became obsessed with seeing it in person. I was worried it wouldn't live up to my ideas... after all, what is darkly majestic and quietly magical on the laptop screen can be exciting but uncomfortable in real life, with smelly people crowded all around and dragons pouring buckets of sparks on your head. But La Patum was even better in real life: three straight hours of standing amid fire and smoke, listening to the band play, watching an eagle dance and feeling like I was watching her through a haze (a smoky haze) of centuries, and understanding the common history that shapes people watching everyone from the village dance with her. I wouldn't have missed it for anything! Next time I'm bringing my fire-proof hat though.



Photos by Albert

a vision in pink

For the past couple of years, I've been in pursuit of the perfect gingham picnic dress. It probably comes with the territory of sort of naming your blog after The Wizard of Oz. I'm not picky about colour, but I'm picky about almost everything else. This one came and turned out to be more plaid than gingham, so the search goes on, but I've been wearing it loads anyway since it arrived. I'm trying to decide whether to shorten it or not: I feel it's a bit long on me, but at the same time it's nice to cycle around without wondering where my hemline is.

So far no picnics in this dress though, just work and errands, sigh...



Photos by Albert

P.S. Here was my previous gingham dress purchase... I'm sure I won't stop with two either!