How to sip and glamp

How to sip and glamp

 

In the gentle grip of the grape. 

When you are ready and able to take a road trip out of Sydney, head towards Orange in the central west of NSW.

Rustic but refined, this experience sets you in the middle of classic Australian terrain – generous glamping and a spectacular cellar door next door. Everybody needs good neighbours.

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 Was I having sheep dreams? I wake to the sounds of a variety of bird song, some chirpy, some a little glum, some positively raucous. Then the bleat of sheep. But I was in the middle of a vineyard. I stepped outside and on a narrow path through one of the vineyard rows I spied a line of sheep, cream coloured except for one black sheep being led by a haughty alpaca. In front on the lawn was a duck and two rabbits. To my right I turned to see the soft glaze of an early morning mist still settled on the land looking all the while like a scene from a Hans Heysen painting. Where was I again?

I’m standing on the deck of a splendid ‘glamping cabin’, one of two sitting on the edge of 17 hectares, 900 metres above sea level in the Nashdale Lane Vineyard, just outside the western NSW city of Orange.

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To the left I see the rather cool building that is a repurposed 60-year-old apple packing shed, now a rather fine cellar door with large windows drawing in the view of the surrounding rolling land, neighbouring vineyard, a few wandering cattle and the view to Mount Canobolas.

I give a silent nod of thanks and respect to the the mountain – it’s because of this extinct volcano that the rich, fertile land gives guts and glory to the wine grown here.

Take a sip

Nick and Tanya (Ryan-Segger) Segger (below) took on this property in 2000 and have turned it into a productive, all Australian owned winery. Wine and cellar door is the core business of this property with small groups turning up for serious tastings and considered purchasing.

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Wine tastings of the full range of wines include:

Whites –  “the social” blanc (Pinot Gris, Riesling & Arneis blend), Pinot Gris, Riesling, Fumé Blanc (lightly oaked Sauvignon Blanc), Chardonnay.

Reds – “the social” rosé, Pinot Noir, Tempranillo, Shiraz.

The labels are creatively designed, with a delicate graphic edge. The necks of the bottles have coloured stripes that indicate the type of wine the bottle is housing.

After a relaxed and comprehensive wine tasting in the afternoon we at Nashdale Lane Wines we head to our accommodation for the night. The glamping cabins are large and impressive (there are two only, which adds to the exclusivity of the destination).

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Now, I’m not a camper but I am a glamper. This accommodation suits the terrain and has a rustic, familiar and distinctive Aussie short break attitude. And it promises a carbon-neutral footprint with the almost au natural experience of camping – with benefits!

Glamping here does not compromise on comfort and style. (Nashdale Lane Glamping Cabins are designed for couples only and children are not allowed.)

We step up on the outdoor deck (barbecue sitting patiently and ready for action) and unzip the front door. The floor is hardwood throughout and the entire construction is to a high standard of state-of-the-art fabric.

There’s a well-designed little kitchen with everything you need to whip up a gourmet meal. Coffee, tea, salt and pepper, muesli and local olive oil are at the ready.

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There’s a large couch, an eclectic selection of books and magazines, a four-poster bed with high thread cotton sheets and a romantic muslin net folded around the beams. I particularly loved the bathroom, smelling all woody and Scandinavian. The fab shower (which is hot and powerful) is in an open rectangular curve of corrugated iron. There’s a basin and toilet and a couple of windows to roll up for extra light.

But on this chilly night the star of the show is a wood fire (totally safe) and with the wood cut and supplied it promoted a roaring blaze, a heady scent of wood and mighty warmth.

And for a short couple of days we immersed ourselves in ‘disconnection’. Relaxation, frequent naps, pristine mountain air and the fully Monty of a glorious night sky thick with stars.

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The zipper on the cabin door was a little stiff as we tried to leave – was it the universe trying to tell us to stay longer?

(And back to the sheep and alpaca on the early morning walk: they are called the ‘lawn mowing team’, lent to the Eggers by a generous neighbour to keep the grass down in a gentle way.)

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The Cellar Door is open 7 days a week. Sunday to Friday – midday to 4pm.Visit:

Saturday – 11am to 5pm. Enhanced food & wine tasting available. 

Tastings are $10 per person redeemable on purchase.

To ensure delivering a great wine tasting experience, groups of six or more are encouraged to book ahead.

Visit https://nashdalelane.com

Nashdale Lane Wines are located just under 10 minutes outside of Orange, NSW. We can be found by searching us up on Google & Apple Maps or by entering our address 125 Nashdale Lane, Nashdale, NSW.

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Five local highlights

Five minutes from Nashdale Lane Vineyard to Orange and you are in the heart of excellent food, so try myriad gold standard restaurants and cafes – there are more  than you can poke a fork at.

  1. Mr Lim – we had the drunken duck and dumplings. The standout dish of the trip was sweet and sour pork – divine. $$$
  2. Lolli Redini – slow cooked wagyu beef, barramundi and a splendid souffle at this classic Italian restaurant. $$$$
  3. Visit the Orange Visitors Centre – lots of great info from really lovely, informed staff. And there are regular exhibitions on too.
  4. Drive to the top of Mount Canobolas for brilliant views of the city and surrounds.
  5. On the drive back to Sydney and a few minutes out of Orange, visit 2 Fat Ladies café and lolly shop. Freshly baked fluffy scones (so good) and a good cuppa are on offer for a superb morning tea. $$

 

 

 

Slow Travel: Cruising Vietnam

Slow Travel: Cruising Vietnam

 

An up-close and authentic view of real life in Vietnam is happily experienced while cruising the rivers with stops along the way in villages and hit of the big smoke – Hanoi. Take it slow . . . 

Torrential! And that’s the perfect word for the monsoon rains that lashed our ship for 20 minutes, and then, like all good monsoon downpours, the air stilled and regained its hot and steamy attitude and the wide Red River became a silky, calm spread of chicken gravy coloured water.

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Welcome to north Vietnam. We were sailing on a ten-day cruise on the Angkor Pandaw, a beautiful ship designed to mirror the ships of the Irrawaddy Flotilla that plied the waters of colonial Burma. The vessel is pretty special, and the decks gleam with the rich timber patina walked on by many barefoot passengers. The brass is polished daily and all detail on the ship is ship shape and immaculate.

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I was a little concerned at the thought of a ten-day cruise as I’d only sailed for five consecutive days in the past. I had nothing to worry about except at the end of the cruise when I just wanted a few more days on board.

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Our ship left Hanoi and we sailed to the glorious heritage-listed Halong Bay, where we gently sailed in sight of extravagant limestone islands and towering, craggy kasts. We visited water-limestone caves by kayaking and row boats.

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Off the ship for an afternoon as we were taken to a deserted beach, where we had an entire bay to ourselves for a cooling dip. Bliss.

As the sun set and lights from the bay’s scattered fishing boats twinkled we sat down for our first of many abundant and creative dinners.

The ship sails west and after the Red River, it hits the Lo River the Red River delta and then the Black River. The sights along the river don’t display quaint and pretty castles and rolling hills. I hesitate to use the word ‘authentic’ but we were immersed in the real life of north Vietnam and the progress and industry that keeps the country ticking along. There are concrete factories, sand mountains shoring up the banks against flooding, amazing fish farm floating villages, banana plantations and often in the distance, the soaring spires of catholic churches and terraced steps of Buddhist temples.

The startling contrast of the rural tranquility and the brick kilns and facades of heavy industry, neat patches of corn fields and passionfruit vine mounds were sights that juxtaposed the life of the rivers.

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Almost every day there is an excursion (all included in the price) and to places where few other westerners are. As well as the ship being the only pleasure craft among gliding barges on the rivers, the villagers are laid back, welcoming and eager to show their talents. Bemused barge captains waived and I imagine they thought that our beautiful ship looked like it had wandered in to the wrong neighbourhood.

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In one tiny village, three generations of women from 18 to 90 years of age showed us the skill behind the ubiquitous conical hat – the most practical chapeau for tropical weather countries. Such an endearing experience and we were welcomed in a friendly and understated way – cups of tea were offered and bananas and peanuts put out for us.

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Between excursions we came back to cold towels and a cooling drink before a tasty lunch (don’t fight it, just enjoy the banquet!).

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At each stop along the river we were looked at as a novelty as there weren’t many westerners in this neck of the woods. Other trips to villages include a walk through a pretty town, Thanh Ha, to watch a water puppet show, an inspection of a small village that has the noble tradition of producing fine ceramic items with the skills passed down through the generations. This was in the province of Hanoi and a local Lion Dance troupe, welcomed us to the region with a raucous drumming performance and dancing lions.

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We were treated to an extraordinary concert in the village of Hung Lo temple to hear a choir, yet again, women from seven years to their 80s carrying on the tradition of singing ‘Hat Xoan’. And we danced with the singers to a fishing song, without the usual embarrassment of looking like bulls in a China shop – a testament to the generosity of spirit of these local people.

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In this village there is the Thay and Tay Phuong pagodas, both built around enormous pillars of jackfruit, decorated with hundreds of statues, and surmounted by sweeping upturned eaves.

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Another village introduced us to the knife makers – families that for generations have been pounding red hot steel into machetes and chopping knives.

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A walk around Duong Lam village exposes us to the elegance and grandeur of the UNESCO designated village. Duong Lam has a history that dates back to around 1200 years with many of the houses almost 400 years old. Apart from its historical and touristic values, the ancient village is a significant place for scientists to study resident communities in ancient agriculture.

Our last meet and greet was in an H’mong village sitting among glowing green, lush rice fields. The village is in an idyllic valley with stilt houses dotting the landscape. A shared cup of tea and some locally made banana wine, peanuts and bananas – and all traditional social mores had been adhered to.

What a cruise, what an experience and what about Vietnam for another cruise? Don’t mind if I do.

Friend or pho?

  • Around and beyond World Heritage listed Halong Bay, there are 1,969 dramatic limestone islands and rock formations dating back 20 million years.
  • The lotus is the national flower of Vietnam. All parts of this sustainable plant can be used or consumed and as most homes don’t have foil, the leaves are used for wrapping food for cooking or storing.
  • Pho is an aromatic stock-based soup with noodles, and beef, chicken or tofu – eat for breakfast lunch or dinner!

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  • The durable conical hat worn by farmers is called ‘Non La’.
  • Be flexible – monsoon rains could change the river levels and perhaps change the itinerary – enjoy the adventure.

Writer, Bev Malzard enjoyed extra time in Hanoi before and after the cruise and will cobble a few city images together for another blog in a couple of weeks. Here’s the writer with a lion, not quite extinct in Vietnam yet. 

This article was previously published in www.mydiscoveries.com.au

 

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And below, a reminder to do our bit while travelling, start small and don’t accept the plastic bags and take your own water bottle.

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Bali: then and now

Bali: then and now

NEWS . . .NEWS . . .NEWS . . .Hotel Indigo Bali Seminyak Beach becomes the first 5-star rated Hotel Indigo in the world. The five star rating is from LSU Pariwisata Bali Mandiri, a tourism association in Bali responsible for all Indonesian property ratings, which is part of the National Accreditation Committee in Indonesia.

Following is a post from last year, and after the accolade for Hotel Indigo – thought it time to rerun . . .

Our car swept into the hotel’s large arrival pavilion, and we walked into a vast, endless gallery of light and space, a breezeway of extraordinary proportions dotted with chairs of differing design and wonderful hanging objects of light shade designs.

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This was the recently opened Hotel Indigo, Seminyak Bali. A five-star beauty. In the heat of the day we were offered a cooling drink, wet towels and sincere smiles of welcome.

Our room’s hero was the enormous bed, the bathroom had a shower with a nod to old Bali with a large, gold pitcher mimicking the ‘mandi’ style of the simple Bali way to bathe.

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It was then it hit me, how things have changed, Well, of course I have changed in 30 years and so has Bali! I arrived here with a presentable piece of luggage and not a world-weary backpack. I was wearing linen pants and not a long cheesecloth skirt. And I was immediately unashamedly in love with this hotel.

Bali for a beginner

An earlier visit for me was a spontaneous decision to go to Bali when I found I had a secret stash of $500 in an old bank account. I had been back in Sydney for 10 months after living in Europe for three years. I was restless and needed to get away again. Bali it was. That $500 was a bloody fortune then.

I stayed at el cheapo places along the way when on the island; motels. guesthouses and losmens (a bit like homestay but in a family compound). The places cost no more than $2 a night. Came with a room, simple furnishings if any, a bed, overhead fan and a mandi. A mandi is a divine way to clean yourself. Usually round about a square metre concrete tub filled with clean water. You stand outside the tub, soap up then dip a pale or pitcher in the tub, scoop up the water and pour it over your head and body.

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Cheeky monkey, and a minute later he grabbed hold of the top of my dress and dragged it down about my waist.

Travelling solo I met up with other girls and we ate together, went to the beach and one of them (from Canada) and I ended up in a tiny truck, sharing the back with large bundles of bamboo, a pig and an old lady with large holes in her pierced ears that held her rolled up money (notes). She kept on plucking at the blonde hair on my thighs and chuckling for the long journey

We arrived in Singaraja, an old Dutch port in the north of Bali to see a river crowded with rubbish and filth. This was my first encounter with a polluted river. Not much has changed in Indonesia.

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River pollution in the 1980s . . .and it gets worse, right into the 21st century.

The beaches along the coast up north have black sand and the sea is warm. There were few tourists in town back in the day and most restaurants were tiny shopfronts selling basic but good nasi goreng and sates. But there was always a good breakfast even at the cheapies, fresh fruit, strong Bali coffee and flakey pastries.

Back down south to what was to become known as Bali’s cultural heart, Ubud. It was a sleepy village then, where bullock drawn carts crackled though the dirt roads, someone would be churning ice in a roadside cart making ‘icejuices’ (ice, condensed mild and fresh fruit) and where women still comfortably walked around with bare breasts as they went about their daily chores and placed pretty Hindu votives on the side of the road and at entrances to homes and shops.

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Hardly another tourist in sight.

After two weeks in Bali I had $150 left over and ended up giving it to a guy with a motor bike whom I had hired to drive me to all the sites in and around Ubud. His response surprised me, he said that the money would keep his two daughters in school for a year. Sometimes you don’t know when you do a good deed.

Years on and $500 wouldn’t go so far. But Bali is still quite inexpensive.

And no longer do I sleep under rickety fans, eat for 50c at the beaches or get a baby oil massage on the sand and fry like a hot chip!

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Ready to roast. What were we thinking?

At Hotel Indigo I swam in beautiful pools, sat in the shade under tropical foliage around one of the pools and the sun didn’t stand a chance with my 30 plus sunscreen.

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Instead of drinking ‘java’ on the roadsides I sipped on Earl Grey tea in the beautiful Pottery Cafe at Hotel Indigo. Here all types of coffee is roasted and served. Choose from the wide variety of beans grown throughout Indonesia. But for me, it has to be tea in the afternoon because you have to eat scones, jam and cream with your soothing cuppa. The main restaurant is large and inviting with a visible kitchen and after experiencing dinner and breakfast (lunch was lazy hot chips by the pool), I could see how the hotel has lifted Bali’s culinary offerings. Beware the breakfast menu! After fruit, toast, eggs, and a few other delights, you think you’ve finished, then a sneaky fella turns up at your table with fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolat au pain – what can you do? And with the coffee roasting next door, a large cup is mandatory!

The hotel is opposite the beach at Seminyak, separated only by the road. So, with local design ambience and colour, the hotel has a typically local feel, but  . . . everything is better on this side of the road.

Time flies, and my early hippie days were fun and frivolous, but older and not wiser now, the comfort of a beautiful hotel, the kindness of Balinese staff and the indulgence of a five-star experience beats the past. And if I feel nostalgic for the old days, I’ll just fill my elegant pitcher in my shower and pour water over my head.

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Writer, Bev Malzard was a guest at Hotel Indigo Seminyak www.hotelindigo.com/Bali

And despite age and moving on from the past, she can still rock a cheesecloth skirt, but refuses to have an afro perm – one of her appearance fails in the early 1980s.

Holiday tips

_IGP1560.JPGHappy new year friends, let’s hope for fun, frivolity, fairness and a fecundity (couldn’t think of another F that was suitable) forthcoming.

I’ve had a lovely Christmas in sunny Sydney and ate my body-weight at the groaning table of abundance. Headed to Melbourne to view the amazing array of wall art that has been decorating the laneways of Australia’s fabulous southern city.

Back to Sydney for the amazing fireworks that are emblazoned across the city on the harbour. Always spectacular, always producing shouts of joy from the crowd.

January 1 is the day for the first swim of the season at Coogee and a day to reflect and make resolutions.

I reflected on the year past and was fairly happy with it and my place within those 12 months and as for resolutions . . .nah, not for me. BUT I have promised myself to post every Tuesday for this blog – and as I woke up today with a sore throat and a croaky voice, I didn’t feel too inspired or creative. Next week, so much more for you.

So I dragged a few old posts from another blog I did for a magazine and offer them to you as ideas for your future travels, they are snippets and observations . . .enjoy. ( The top, featured picture has nothing to do with this post but these little Pope fgurines took my fancy in Assisi.)

Solo in Avignon


We walked into the courtyard in front of the mighty Palace of the Popes in Avignon,
France, a marvellous sight to see with the blue sky framing the silhouette of the building roof. There was the clear, pure sound of the saxophone echoing around the empty square and this fellow was there on his own in his own musical world – a particular lovely memory of a Trafalgar Tour. (Well worth it to take a day and walk around Avignon.)

France to Tuscany




In Tuscany, about 20 minutes from Florence now. We arrived (a small group) at Rome airport to a sunny day then coached it north. We left behind a rainy gloomy looking Nice – but only after a few splendid days in Provence.
The ‘A’s’ have it
Avignon and Aix-en-Provence were the spots we looked at and enjoyed.
We had a wonderful lunch in a small town at a tucked-away Michelin starred cook’s Le Jardin du Quai. Chef Daniel Hebet gave us a masterclass ‘demo’ on creating the perfect macaron. Perfect little pink beauties.
Highlights:
* The 2 1/2 hour fast train trip (TVG) from Paris to Avignon
* The dinner at night in a restaurant over a thundering river – we were eating trout too.
* A stroll around the walled town of Avignon checking the Pope’s Palace – those crazy pope’s and their indulgences!
* Lunch at an exquisite private home in Provence – set in the middle of its vineyard
* Counting the dogs being taken for a walk in Aix-en-Provence
Off to buy ingredients in Florence with the chef from the villa here. Then to take a cooking class – bella! (www.trafalgar.com)

Holiday in Istanbul


Thinking of visiting an exotic destination for your next trip? Readers may have visited Istanbul 30 or so years ago in their hippie heyday – say no more! I’m 24 hours away from flying out of a city of more than 15 million people – Istanbul. I’ve been here for just four and a half days after a brilliant cruise from Athens to Istanbul.
After the peace and sailing serenity, arriving in Istanbul was like a shot of adrenalin.
What an extraordinary place, layer upon layer of history – talking Turkey means talking Hittites, Persians, Romans, Gauls, Macedonians, Ottoman Turks – and an amazing, glittering era of Byzantine rule and splendour.
When I see a pile of pomegranates, next to a tray of fresh dates – I’m seeing the same thing here that someone else was checking out at the green grocer’s a few thousand years ago.
I am here in the middle of Ramadan, and there aren’t too many people in a bad mood. I wonder as a man serves me dinner – humus, shepherd’s salad, kebabs, bread floating across the room with air-filled wings; all finished off with a plate of sliced watermelon. A glass of apple tea washes it all down as a cup of the high-octane Turkish coffee would keep me awake until next week.
Everything about Istanbul is full on . . .
Enjoy a couple of non ‘postcard perfect’ pictures (above) from the frontline.

Neck and neck, a tale of three scarves

They keep our necks warm, they are lovely companions, they can be roiled up into a little ball as a pillow, they accessorise the plainest outfit, they’ll cover up a bad hair day, their colours can enhance your looks, they are beautiful gifts, they can be worn as a sarong, a sash or a stole and can become objects of obsession . . . in fact not to have one on hand can be quite anxiety making.

Silk, pashmina, cotton, merino wool, cashmere, hand-knotted, woven by angels – any which way a scarf comes into being makes the world a better place.

I have far too many scarves to even put on a post, but I’ll start my tale with three old friends who have travelled the globe with me.

The first is a beautiful blue and black fringed scarf from India. I purchased it in Chennai – no bargaining, it came from a boutique that didn’t play hard and fast with tight fists. This is a one-off,  and when it is folded in a drawer near its market cousins, it remains expensive and haughty.
A few days before I purchased the scarf I was in a bus trundling through the southern part of India. The bus had made frequent ‘comfort’ stops – let’s call them toilet stops at places that I couldn’t quite cope with – and I have a high tolerance for shitty toilets.
At one stop I said to my lady companions that perhaps it would be more hygienic if we just went into the bushes. All agreed with me.
As we were squatting in easy silence I looked behind me and there was a holy man wandering through the bush and starring at us. We all turned to wave and the poor skinny fellow took off like a rocket – don’t think he’d quite seen that many white bums lined up ever.

This next, soft, pretty confection came from the markets in Istanbul. I had just finished a cruise from Athens with my sister and we were stockpiling scarves. They only cost about $5 each but were comely and colourful. We wore them draped around our shoulders back to our hotel.
In a café near the hotel a young, pushy fella called us every night with true Turkish hospitality to come and have apple tea with him. We did, but he was starting to get annoying and we were trying to find ways to avoid him.
One night I said, ‘why are you flirting with us, we are old, there are lots of young, gorgeous girls around. ‘Ï don’t care’,  he said,  I just want a little bit of kissing and   . . .’- yep, he wanted more. I just starred at him and said ‘you’re a lunatic’. He laughed hysterically and attracted the attention of his boss. The boss came out and shooed him away. ‘Why did you do that,’ I said – ‘he doesn’t work here, so why not?’ he said. So a strange man had been flirting with us and making us apple tea from the café . . . ah, Istanbul.

This silk organza lovely was found at Stanley Markets, Hong Kong. I had bought an embroidered silk coat that I was thrilled with, and not cheap either. While the coat was being packed up I saw the edge of this scarf poking out from under a pile of sweaters. As I gently tugged it out I saw it was silk organza with fine cotton tufts sprouting – it was intriguing and quickly attached itself to me. I bargained for a while then put my foot down and said I should have it for free, as the coat had no bargaining attached to the deal . . . shopkeeper was bemused and said – ‘why not’.
That trip to Hong Kong I was invited on a helicopter ride too see that amazing city and surrounding islands from on high – what a flight! And the scarf playfully tickled my neck as the helicopter swooped through the mighty canyons of the vertical city.
Tell me about your scarves . . . where did you buy them, what do they mean to you, and do they tell a story?