Vienna, Vienna...

has stripped me of a few demons.
In spite of its intense loveliness, I needed to leave Prague.
Here is better; here my feet are lighter; here I feel my heart beating evenly again.
We laid eyes on a stunning Klimt exhibit yesterday (as it stands, he will forever have my heart), lounged in a cafe with tea against our lips, then drank in the stimulating chaos of an Austrian street market--copious amounts of scents wafting, voices screaming, languages twining, dogs wandering solo, and aggressive vendors, etc etc. And that shoddy description hardly does it justice. It was enriching and entrancing...my observation instincts went into full blossom, and it is no exaggeration that I could have walked up and down that same lanky strip for hours, and not have grown tired of it.
I connect well with this city...we have a strange and fierce affinity for one another...I feel its energy slipping through my veins like liquid inspiration...
and I am savouring that.
Going going gone,
R.

I'll put my kaleidascope on and meet you by the river.

Prague is a curious city.
It is prettier than Berlin, though more slippery to define in head and heart.
Perhaps it is just me...
I feel a little as if I were in a dream right now.
We saw a drop-dead amazing film last night, called "Once."
Do see, do see...if my instincts are right, it will stir slash inspire you in a powerful way.
I was left saddened, and strangely hopeful.
The book I am tearing through at present is also one thousand percent gem..."If On a Winter's Night a Traveler." It is keeping my mind sharpened and entranced.
The snaking smoke in cafes...bars...in the station...on the streets still startles me. It continues to seem so strange and foreign, but cigarettes are like gloves or earrings in this place...it is not merely a Europen cliche, but a complete truth, that more individuals than not are partial to the cigarette here. Oddly enough, I have never been less inclined to partake.
The espresso here is liquid pleasure. I am off to indulge, and then to take my feet to Prague Castle.
Tomorrow, a first taste of Vienna...
Carrying on, soldier-style,
but with a sense of wonder on my breath and in my blood,
Rebecca L.B.

Cat naps between paper-thin walls:

Oh, hello.

This afternoon I fell asleep on a stomach chock-full of Thai delicacies, and dreamed that I was eating gooey candy hearts and cleaning my apartment. I woke up smiling.

I have breathtaking new pirate-esque boots, and sunglasses that channel Audrey Hepburn with sheer brilliance. I am content.

Berlin is frosty, however, this face is blessed because she brought along an approximate seven scarves on this trip. Touche.

We ordered coffee and muffins at a sweet cafe this morning...and we were brought coffee and ice cream. My German needs some serious honing.

I could eat olives and only olives for dinner every night and be satisfied beyond measure.

Tea is the new coffee. Or something like that.

Love.
R.

Street-schlem and Hobo-chic.

The German countryside is pure beauty. Whipping, six-hour style, from Amsterdam to Berlin on the train...my breath was taken more than once. The green was of a sort that I had not laid eyes on before--lush and rich and vividly lovely. I polished off 'Down and Out in Paris and London' (thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, George Orwell) amidst tattered fragments of sleep, a plethora of Yo La Tengo in my ears, and pieces of laughable conversation with the drunken Australian lads parked in the seats directly in front of us. Light blazed through dirty windows like arctic summer, feeding my frighteningly-white skin, and continually drawing my gaze to the wonder outside.
Berlin, still a little shy of my full 24-hour acquaintence, has shown itself unique already. Ladybirds and I took a frosty tour of radiant churches and buildings today...stood before the Berlin Wall and over top of the bunker where Hitler took his life...heavy heavy heavy boots, but still an extraordinary privilege, oui? So I felt. Night has fallen here, and Berlin's extravagent streets call. Nightclub mayhem, anyone?! Apparently, in this city, techno is the new black. I am off to see for myself...

current muse: i am, i am, i am...

My little cherished wolves,
Here is a glimpse of just the thinnest sampling of curiosites/thrills I have noticed thus far in the Netherlands:
1.dogs in cafes
2.tea in glasses
3.candles in the afternoon
4.Dutch Vogue
5.wine in dingy corner grocery stores
6.babes lighting cigarettes in said afternoon candles (seriously)
7.pigeons, pigeons everywhere (for clarification, this one is a curiosity and NOT a thrill. blegggh, shivers. birds are not my forte.)
8.bread and cheese picnics on bedroom floors
...and so forth...

Aussi,
here is my latest, hottest mathematical discovery...

tea of the Earl Gray sort + George Orwell + cozy layered clothing + brittle leaves + candles aglow + grim lighting + Amsterdam outside the window = the perfect rainy day.

The Red Light District blew our minds. For anyone who desires explosive stimulation of the eyes, ears, tastebuds...in essence, all the senses and more...I would urge you to take yourself there, immediately if not sooner. Enchanting and startling all in the same breath.

You are all in my heart and on the frosty edges of my thoughts.
Stay well, loves.
Berlin waits a startling one night away...
Rebecca L.B.

from the land of bicycles:

There is a raw magic about the city of Amsterdam that I had not expected.
Sleep is sweet at last, wake is glowingly stimulating, and the wine is scandalously cheap...among many, many other things.
Multiple children (including those fresh out of the womb) and multiple dogs are roosted more often than not right on the bicycles with their occupants. Exquisite.
My sickly camera is now in the possession of fresh batteries, so the visual images are fast-approaching, I promise promise.
Over/out,
Rab/Olga.
***Our alibi (if we ever encouter the need for one) is that us three femmes are a Ukrainian dance troupe, traveling the world and performing along the way. I was blessed with Olga as my alter-ego name, and I tend to embrace it with vigour.

poetry and dream.

All,
London london london is beautifully off-the-chain. We are starry-eyed and mere bebes in the realm of city navigation, but our hearts are light and our bank accounts becoming gradually lighter. But the money melting into thin air is spent well...fish and chips at a petite cafe, the occasional stolen Marlborough (stolen as in snuck in, not thieved!), wine shared three-ways, fruit stands spilling onto every street corner, double-decker buses, a traipse through the Tate Modern Gallery and Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. Inspiration is flowing like cool water, and our makeshift family of sisters is thriving and blossoming. Precious minutes are trickling by in this haggard basement Internet cafe, though...I must take wing to search high and low for hostels in the Amsterdam realm. We are fluttering from this brilliant city via ferry tomorrow, for I fear if we were to attempt staying a third night, we would be selling our bodies in the street to make ends meet...
Alas, no photos yet...copious amounts have been snapped, but I promise a full-fledged post sooner, rather than later.
Amour,
RB

Ready, set, go:

Hello bonjour, cats et kittens. Photos this rain-streaked night are begged, bartered and (mostly) stolen, for my camera is being temperamental. Forging ahead, though, sans shots courtesty of myself, is the name of the game pour moi this evening. I am feeling rather reflective...my bedroom is in the complete glory of disarray...half my closet and an estimated one trillion other objects of the miscellanious sort are strewn all about. I cannot see my bedroom floor for the books, boots, dresses, scarves, et al. In stark contrast to this chaotic space that currently surrounds me like a very daunting sea, I am feeling calm and refreshed. Thanksgiving with mum, dad and brothers was intensely relaxing and decadently low-key. Fires, cats, Monopoly avec les garcons, a little red wine, a lot of Leonard Cohen and some gray prairie rain...my head was cleared and my heart lightened.

My last number of days in the land of home have melted by with a strangely effortless grace. This city is at it's best...if there is one thing Winnipeg wears well, it is autumn, oui? Here are a few golden reasons why I am such a lover of this season...

-dead leaves crackling under boots.
-layering on scarves and sweaters for an afternoon of reading by the river.
-pumpkin spice lattes.
-watching "Amelie" for the seventeenth time, and still being inspired.
-catnaps midway through a frosty day.
-curling up with cup after cup of earl gray tea and the crossword.
-letter-writing.
-a newborn season of Grey's.
-the latest Iron and Wine album, in all its brilliance.
-London/Paris fashion weeks.
-my fiery-warm apartment.
-goodbye, geese.
-splurging on long lusted-after books and magazines for my trip.
-pristine bicycle weather.
-cool hands and flushed, wind-kissed cheeks.
-the air by night.
-i could go far, far on...

That's it that's all. Next time I write it will be with a different light in my eyes and energy coursing through my body.
Love, etc.

Bird-free and watery-light.

Guest appearance: Esther and Ethan. Both these beauties belong to my boss. They light up the restaurant like no others.



A drop-dead sushi slaveland was blessed by later visitations from two of my my all-time favourite individuals. One thousand
"merci beaucoups", Barkman and Drewber. You two were angels in the flesh that night. Chopsticks may have found their frantic way to my heart if you hadn't dropped by and heeded my commands to stay and dine...




Luke, remember when we were young? Mere bebes...




I despise goodbyes. They make me ache. So, in parting, here are a collection of words far lovelier and more profound than I could ever claim as my own. They have meant more to me over the past few years than I can even begin to articulate. And I feel as if they will only continue to speak volumes...now, later, and even in another life, when I am a cat or perhaps a Russian princess. Yes yes. Bon nuit, friends/foes/lovers. RB

THUNDER PERFECT MIND
(Poet: Unknown.
What I do know: --"Thunder Perfect Mind" is a poem discovered among the Gnostic manuscripts at Nag Hammadi in 1945...and takes the form of an extended, riddling monologue, in which an immanent saviour speaks a series of paradoxical statements concerning the divine feminine nature. These paradoxical utterances echo Greek identity riddles, a common poetic form in the Mediterranean.--God bless Wikipedia.)

...For I am the first and the last.
I am the wife and the virgin.
I am the mother and the daughter.
I am she whose wedding is great, and I have not taken a husband.
I am the bride and the bridegroom,
I am the silence that is incomprehensible and the idea whose remembrance is frequent.
I am the voice whose sound is manifold
I am senseless and I am wise...and establish the great ones among the small first creatures.
Come forward to childhood, and do not despise it because it is small and it is little.
And do not turn away greatnesses in some parts from the smallnesses, for the smallnesses are known from the greatnesses.
I am the one who is honoured, and who is praised,
For I am knowledge and ignorance.
I am shame and boldness.
I am shameless; I am ashamed.
I am strength and I am fear.
I am war and peace.
But I, I am compassionate and I am cruel.
Do not hate my obedience and do not love my self-control.
But I am she who exists in all fears and strength in trembling.
I am she who is weak, and I am well in a pleasant place...
I am peace,
And I am an alien and a citizen.
I am the substance and the one who has no substance.
I am control and the uncontrollable.
I am the union and the dissolution.
I am the hearing which is attainable to everyone and the speech which cannot be grasped.
I am a mute who does not speak, and great is my multitude of words.