Onwards and Upwards

Hi there blogging world,

First of all, happy 2014! I bet your New Years memories are fast becoming distant, and given that most of them would have been fuzzy and unclear to begin with, it is safe to assume you are all probably looking ahead instead of behind.

Well aware that it is now mid-February and this is my first blog for the year, perhaps some explanation is in order.

While most of you would have welcomed the new year with a fresh slate and a sore head, I still had quite a few life altering decisions hanging in the balance. I had yet to find a new place to live, given that the Clapham flat would be no more come 26 January. I was desperate to get out of a job that was now making me miserable beyond words, yet finding alternative job options was proving difficult with doors being slammed in my face as soon as employers found out that I would be kicked out of the UK in April 2015. I had well and truly made a muddle of my romantic life (again), I no longer had the wonderful Megan to lean on in London and being away from home over Christmas had left me feeling horrendously home sick, so much so that I couldn't get through a Skype call back home without bursting into tears. Who on earth would have wanted to read a blog written by a girl in the depths of despair, as Anne Shirley dramatically phrased it in Anne of Green Gables?

Stay with me readers, things will only get happier. I promise.

First thing was first - finding a new place to live. Groan. Back on the old Spare Room website I went, booking in viewings left right and centre. For some reason it seemed so much more competitive than the last time I had to find a place, with more people holding open-view type scenarios whereby you had to compete with 10 other people at the one time, all wanting the same room. Just a nightmare for one who needs more than a split second to make a good impression! Another room was lost when a decision came down to a coin toss by the current occupiers of the house. I found this even harder to swallow, losing out by chance. Finally, finally, early one Saturday morning, my new refuge at Tooting was found when I met Tegan and bonded over exhaustion. On a side note, Graeme has moved in with the lovely Sarah and Dan will soon be a London home owner. So grown up! These boys will forever be the brothers I never had.

My move to Tooting wasn't to be the cleanest transition though, with the new move in a week out from our departure at Clapham. This meant hauling all of my belongings (which disturbingly have DOUBLED in size since moving over to London 9 months ago!) to be stored at work for a week while I was fortunate enough to couch surf with the lovely girls of Finsbury Park.

This just so happened to coincide with starting a new job. When it rains it pours, hey? After much deliberation and many Skype calls for advice from the parents back home, I have decided to alter my career path slightly and give recruitment a whirl. I am now working for a company that specialises in recruiting for the property industry, which fortunately links in with the knowledge I have gained by working in an estate agency since moving over here. Three weeks in, it has been a roller coaster ride of learning, adapting, applying, surviving but so far so good...

So fast forward to 15 February 2014 and I blog to you sitting on the couch in my new house (still upright following crazy weather that has left the rest of the country in flooding and disarray), which has JUST been reconnected to the Internet, having finished my last day helping out the estate agency in Southfields, being one week out from finishing my initial training academy at a new job and beginning to feel in control once again. I have worked the gym back into my routine and have even successfully mastered how to roast a chicken, though I did stare at the naked bird for quite a few minutes before plucking up the courage to stuff its insides with herbs.

The South London crew have all decided we are going to make the most of the city this year, and we already have local gigs in the pipeline. So indayyy. A dance studio has been discovered in Covent Garden as well and this week will bring our first Burlesque class... definitely stay tuned for that blog post. Good grief. Still, despite the rocky start, it really is shaping up to be a great year with many social events, an interesting job and a great group of friends to boot. NOT to mention visits from Kirby, Charlie, Bri, Joss, Matty and Selby just to name a few! Words cannot describe my excitement for your visits, and best of all will be a trip to the US to catch up with Scott and Jill in May. They have been warned that I will be likely to clutch on to their limbs for the whole duration of the week and expect hugs on demand, but I am sure it can all be accommodated.

A massive thank you to all those who have been a constant source of support over the past two months. I generally find it quite difficult to admit any struggles and ask for help, but your kindness and generosity to help when I did just blew me away. Rest be assured that the funny tales will be regular and constant from here on in, with a few already in the pipeline! I hope 2014 is treating you all well so far, sending my love far and wide to you all.

Love, Em xxx

Christmas Time in London Town

Season's greetings, Facebook friends! I hope this blog finds you well and enjoying life now that work is wrapping up for the year. I have seen many photos of you all soaking up the sun's rays back home and it paints a very different picture to what I am experiencing in the northern hemisphere!

I must say, Christmas time in London Town is something entirely different to what I have grown up with. I think it is safe to say that the English population Genuinely. Love. Christmas. LOVE Christmas. And not in a I-hope-I-get-lots-of-presents-this-year way. It is moreso a let's-all-gather-round-the-chimney-and-wait-for-Santa-to-slide-down-because-magic-really-does-happen-on-Christmas-Day experience. The lights are shining, the Christmas jumpers have been dug out from the cupboard, the mulled wine is warming and the food is endless. REAL Christmas trees are carried over shoulders of new owners having spent long and hard deciding on which one is juuust right. People can ice-skate OUTSIDE at Winter Wonderland, the Natural History Museum or perhaps the local pub (I kid you not).

My lacking knowledge of Christmas in the traditional sense has been shown up big time in the last few weeks. My flatmates nearly fell of their chairs when listening to me describe a usual Christmas Day with the family - unwrapping presents, going to the beach, enjoying a selection of salads and fresh fruit for lunch and perhaps simply some gingerbread for dessert later that evening. "SALADS?!" cried Dan, possibly one of the biggest Christmas advocates I have come across so far. "SALADS?!!!" Even though both boys agreed that they would not necessarily enjoy sitting down to a full roast in temperatures exceeding 30 degrees, they still declared that it's "just wrong."

I have been fortunate enough to already experience what a true Christmas Day "should" be like, as the boys enjoy hosting a large Christmas lunch for their close friends each year. Preparation was stressful enough as I was assigned to look after dessert. After hours of researching and trouling the internet for ideas, I proudly told the boys that I would be making a Christmas pavlova. "Great, that will be a good light option to go with the others," said Dan. Light option?! Others?! It was then that I learned all about the CHRISTMAS PUDDING, a dessert that nobody particularly likes to eat but must be included in any Christmas event. Fortunately I had already missed the boat in making one myself so was given permission to purchase one, but still had to be talked through the warming and lighting of the brandy to pour over the top in a spectacular manner at the dinner table. Whoever came up with this dangerous tradition obviously wasn't as clumsy or fan of red wine as I am.

I am pleased to enlighten you all that, at least in the case of the Clapham Flat, a traditional Christmas Day schedule goes along the lines of:

• 9am - wake up. Start contemplating the tasks ahead as you stretch out in bed and tell yourself that another 5min can't hurt.
• 9:30am - get up. Realise the extent of how much tidying and preparation is actually involved and regret the last thirty minutes you spent lying in bed.
• 9:45am - actually start tidying and preparing the place, trying to squeeze 17 chairs around two tables and wishing that all your guests had eating disorders so you had some hope of fitting them all in.
• 10:30am - finish off the shopping list which has now exceeded one A4 page.
• 11:00am - head to the supermarket now it has opened to make the first of many trips. At least two trolleys should be filled with alcohol. Any alcohol.
• 12:30pm - guests were told to start arriving half an hour ago and you've only just got back with all of the groceries. There are now three animals in the fridge and at least four bags worth of vegetables to be peeled. Showers have yet to be had and guests are starting to arrive.
• 1:30pm - breakfast comprising of chocolate croissants is served along with alcohol. All seems right with the world again.
• 2:00pm - chef is looking cool and calm in the kitchen.
• 4:00pm - chef is looking hot and stressed in the kitchen.
• 4:45pm - entrees are served. Smoked salmon, prawns, cream cheese with lemon and chilli, rocket.
• 5:30pm - mains are served. Includes roast turkey, lamb and beef, roast vegetables, brussel sprouts, cabbage, mashed potato, yorkshire puddings, pigs in blankets, gravy. Plus a couple of centimetres to your waistline.

• 5:45pm - Emma completes her main meal only to realise that it's her turn to deliver the goods.
• 5:50pm - Emma scolds Dan for leaving the mess in such a state. Decide bath towels rather than tea towels will be better to dry up with in this situation. Am helped by angels of girls with clean up.
• 7:00pm - Dessert is served after copious amounts of alcohol is consumed by Emma. Pavs are out. Pudding is lit. Flat is still standing.
• 8:00pm - Singing
• 8:30pm - Drinking games
• 9:00pm - Clothes start to come off.
• 10:00pm - Guitar is brought out.
• 10:30pm - Whisky is brought out.
• Being woken up at 7am by alarm clock to get to work on time - death.

The actual Big Christmas Day will be spent on the skiing fields in France with a big bunch of Aussies which should be amazing. Having never skied before, the next blog post should be highly entertaining.

Though this one cannot be left without a big mention. Megan, my best friend over here, is sadly leaving the UK on Monday to make her final voyage back home. It's easy to forget how quickly two years can pass and that eventually all of us will have to make that same trek! Kiddo - thanks for everything xxxxx

A Reluctant Return to Fitness

There are many moments in life when you can no longer ignore the changes happening to your body. Having to be fitted for your first bra while transitioning through the awkward adolescent stage, embracing elasticised waistlines and flowing dresses during pregnancy, investing in every eye cream under the sun once those wrinkles start appearing...

And, also when you feel all of the muscles in your body deteriorating and being replaced by fat following six months of having a good time and enjoying life in London Town.

Despite kidding myself that my long speed walking sessions to work of a morning could replace the regular personal training, cardio and weights sessions that I had back home, a sleepless night in Berlin due to overconsumption of food led me to face a cross road. One path leading to fitness, health and financial tightness; the other leading to being engulfed by fat and suffering from chin loss.

Tough call. Unfortunately, the increasingly cold weather and cravings for hearty English food have finally led me to join a gym.

Ergh.

Oh, be quiet and give it a rest already!

Having worked in the health and fitness industry for a couple of years prior to moving to London, I've never quite been able to associate the familiar environment of a gym floor with a sense of intimidation. I remember feeling shocked when my boss told me that walking into a gym for the first time is often one of the most daunting experiences in a person's life. Surely not?! There was no doubt about it though, after such a long time away my heart was positively racing as I walked through the doors of Fitness First.

Fancy equipment: check. Shiny, new and plentiful. Mysterious devices such as a "power plate" and weight equipment with so many hinges and levers it looks more like a sex toy than anything else. Even the treadmills come with challenges, as I nearly had an embarrassing incident while running and trying to work out how to work my iPod through the machine at the same time.

The mysterious Power Plate - if this is all I have to do to look like that, sign me up!

Luxurious bathrooms: check. Free locker hire, use of ghd hairdryers and and more naked female bodies that I have ever hoped to see in my life.

On that note, gorgeous/naked people: check. How effortlessly you make running on a treadmill look. How mysteriously you become tanner while others become paler and paler. If this wasn't bad enough, you then choose to walk around and parade yourselves in naked glory around the change rooms. Seriously, people of London, learn to cover up! We already know you're tanned and toned and gorgeous, don't make us hate you even more for it.

Not a stomach roll or three to be seen...

It's not all moan and groan. Having slotted back into a routine, sourced some good class instructors and refamiliarised by butt with squats, after only two weeks I am back into the swing of things. To be fair, it wouldn't have taken much to achieve this but it feels so great to be reunited with my boyfriend substitute - the gym. I was feeling pretty darn good and proud of myself yesterday morning getting ready for work following an early morning spin session, until smashing my perfume bottle all over the bathroom floor. Baby steps. Baby steps.

You go, girlfriend!

If anything though, this recent experience has also given me so much appreciation for the amazing staff at PURE Health Clubs back home. Honestly, your expertise in training and care for your clients is second to none and makes you the best in the industry. Just keep doing what you're doing!!!

Lots of love (and in lots of muscular pain),

Em xxx

Nerding It Up in Berlin

Last week saw my escape from work to take off to Berlin for a few days. The choice of destination was curiosity more than anything else. For such a seemingly ugly city, why did people rave about it so much? I had heard of the infamous night life scene, but doubted that this had tempted my grandparents into multiple visits... Sure, it certainly had history and some galleries, but what was it that drew people back like some magnetic force? I was determined to find out.

So determined that I must have had a rush of blood to the head when I booked my flight from London two months prior. A 6:30am flight from Gatwick Airport was perhaps a tad ambitious, given that the train departing from Clapham Junction to get me there in time was at 4:10am. After foggily getting myself from A to B I collapsed in a waiting chair at the airport having, only to have a drunken man sit next to me and spend the next half hour trying to chat me up. Methods included complimenting my American(!) accent, saying that my (imaginery and non-existent) boyfriend (who I had conveniently created for the purpose of this conversation) surely would not have a problem with me returning his flirting gestures, and breathing rum breath all over me. Charmed, I'm sure.

Now, I don't believe I have delved in to discussing budget air travel throughout Europe yet. That is, your Ryanairs, your Easy Jets and your "WhizAirs", which my Kiwi friend Ash was relieved to discover was actually an airline when she snagged some super cheap flights to a European destination shortly after arriving in London. These airlines offer amazing deals on flights that leave at midnight and/or from airports far far away to destinations that nobody wants to visit. They do also offer okay prices for all normal and sane people who don't fit into that category, so despite the unglamorous conditions these airlines remain to be quite popular.

I must say, whenever I book one of these budget airlines at the time I remind myself that it's all about the destination and feel quite smug when I see that I have managed to save all but £50 (every little bit counts!). However, it is a different feeling altogether at the airport that you've spent an hour longer getting to, needing to stuff your handbag into your hand luggage (strictly one bag only) and pushing and shoving your way onto the aircraft to ensure that you have overhead locker space to store your hand luggage. Otherwise, as the unfortunate man sitting next to me on my return trip had displeasure of finding out, you are forced to somehow store it underneath the seat in front which left him with his knees around his ears for lack of leg room. It's all about the destination, it's all about the destination....

Reichstag 

Which brings me to Berlin! A history nerd's delight. I partook in many walking tours, the latter two covering Third Reich Berlin and Cold War Berlin. Man. What can one say. The twentieth century was not kind to this city. It is impossible to avoid memorials - to the Murdered Jews, the Homosexuals, the Murdered Politicians, the fallen American and Soviet soldiers... all of these are in prominent areas in central Berlin and are visited by thousands of people each day. If that wasn't overwhelming enough, a visit to the remaining part of the Berlin Wall which just over only 20 years ago separated one half of the city from the other is just mind blowing. After managing to survive WWII, Berlin residents literally went to sleep on 12 August 1961 and woke up the next day to a wall that 30,000 workers had built during the night separating East from West, family and loved ones from one another, employees from work places. Just mind boggling!!

Berlin Wall Death Zone

Without wanting to bore those who don't find history as spine-tingling exciting as I do, I will resist rambling further and simply say that it was a great trip. It was my first experience booking accommodation through airbnb.com and I was really impressed. Not only did I stay in the Bulimba-equivalent area of Berlin in the district of Prenzlauer Berg, but the host provided recommendations of cafes and restaurants that were just divine. I did nearly burn the place down with a slight cooking disaster which was slightly embarrassing but otherwise cruised on by, awkward moment-free.

Pretzel cart

All in all, Berlin has been one of the only cities that I have left after a few days and felt like I hadn't even scratched the surface of what it has to offer. With my sights set on history, I hardly even touched on art or architecture, not to mention night life (which unfortunately is the one of the downsides to travelling by yourself.) Another trip is definitely on the cards at some point!

On a completely different side note, it is interesting that no matter where you travel, you are never too far from home. Such constant reminders induce a feeling of warm-fuzziness - it's nice to know that the world really is a small place! It really is a rare day when you partake in an English tour and don't come across fellow Australians. To my delight as well, the highly recommended local coffee shop featured a "Tim Tam Slam," which involved being given a latte and Tim Tam and having to suck the coffee through the chocolatey goodness centre of the biscuit. The owner had learned the concept on a trip to Australia and decided it was so great, he'd bring it back.

Smart man.

Lots of love, Em xxx

Keeping Cool around Celebrities

Change is in the air in London Town - along with the seasonal change, there are exciting things bubbling away in my pipeline that I can't wait to share with you shortly.

For the moment though, perhaps it is time to elaborate on the

EXTREMELY

EXCITING

LIFE EVENT

that happened during the week.

The story starts on Tuesday, when I was innocently scrolling down on my Facebook news feed over eating tomato soup at lunch time and praying not to spill any on my work clothes. It would have been much more sensible to give my soup full attention and finish it before touching my phone, and I was debating whether or not to choose sensibility over living on the edge when something caught my eye. One of my friends had liked a Woolworths status that seemed to be talking about needing Australians for a television commercial featuring Jamie Oliver.

Jamie Oliver, blog readers, is quite possibly one of my favourite chefs and favourite people. If there is anyone who can change the world through cooking, it's him. What a superstar. The Charlton family shared every moment of joy and frustration as he tried to change school lunches in America and the UK, and as he helped kids in trouble have another go at life through his Fifteen programme. Those close to me know that I love nothing more on a quiet Friday night in than picking up one of his gorgeous take home meals from his Recipease store at Clapham Junction and relishing every bite. Hungover Sundays are spent watching repeats of his 15 Minute Meal shows, a particular favourite flatmate bonding activity. Hours have already been spent turning the pages of his new cookbook recently purchased.

You might say I'm a fan.

So when the Woolworths Facebook status caught my eye, all thoughts of soup went out the window and I followed the hyperlink. Jamie Oliver was in need of 300 Australians living in London to help him film his festive-themed commercial for Woolworths. Food and entertainment would be provided for all those willing to give up time to help him out. Wow, thought I. I wish I'd seen this earlier - surely all of the tickets will have been snatched up by now. Yet, the link to the ticket event still worked. And the ability to select a number of tickets still worked. And the link to the confirmation page still worked. And wouldn't you know, I had an email confirmation waiting in my inbox informing me that I had secured two tickets to attend the Jamie Oliver commercial, to be filmed outside his Fifteen restaurant in north London.

Trying to find my ability to speak again, I raced up the stairs and asked if I could speak urgently to my manager about a private matter. Looking startled and concerned, he followed me downstairs and asked whatever was the matter.

"Daniel, can-I-please-leave-a-little-bit-early-from-work-on Friday-afternoon?"
"Yes of course, what is going on?!"
"Are you really sure it's going to be okay?"
"Yes yes, of course. Emma what is the matter?!"
"I'M GOING TO MEET JAMIE OLIVER!!!"
"Oh how exciting! That's really great. By the way, do you realise you have soup on your blazer?"

Bugger. The ruddy soup. Close, but not yet winning at life.

In any case, Friday afternoon came and my friend Danielle and I eagerly huffed our way with Jamie cookbooks in our bags to the filming location. We joined the queue and tried to catch a glimpse of what was happening in the background. A green double decker bus was decorated with Woolworths advertising and tinsel, lights, cameras, bustling activity. What would be awaiting us, we wondered? And wondered. And wondered. For we waited for two hours until finally a familiar voice thanked us for our patience and invited us in. A very familiar voice. JAMIE'S. Ahhhhh!!

We entered and found ourselves in a marketplace-type setting from a hundred years ago. Fairy-lighted stalls offering market food such as pulled pork rolls, meatball burgers, wood-fired pizzas, roasted vegetables and ice cream were all on offer and we simply had to mingle and act normal. Should Danielle and I be seen in the background of the commercial, you will witness us stuffing our faces with such delights.

Jamie was a true gentleman, true to form checking up on how all of his staff were going and turning a blind eye to starstruck fans trying to get sneaky photos of him (such as yours truly). The opportunity to have a photo came so close, until a random old man asked Danielle where to find Jamie Oliver. When she pointed him out just in front of us, the old man proceeded to go up and abuse Jamie for the ruckus he brings to the community. There was a heated argument between the two, with J eventually yelling YOU BORE ME SIR, YOU BORE ME before the gentleman was escorted off the premises. Turning to us audience with mouths wide open, he apologised and explained that this man has been following him and yelling abuse for 11 years now. "He is simply a massive dork, that's all I can say," before moving on and pretending nothing had happened. Legend.

I now have 18 months remaining on my UK visa whereby it is going to be my sole mission to get that photo with Jamie. However, I like to think I'm that one big step closer :)

Lots of love, Em xxx

Squeezing out the End of Summer

Well, it's happening Australian readers. We are about to enter a transition stage whereby my summer photos that have made you all green with envy during your chilly winter days - will now be yours! With Brisbane weather already hitting balmy thirty-something degree weather, I'm sure you won't look back as I look forward to ever decreasing temperatures on the other side of the world.

Living through a European winter has me more than slightly nervous. It has become increasingly apparent that the warm clothes that I brought over from home will be hideously insufficient to get me through the winter with every body part still intact. As I'm rather attached to all of my body parts, I've got no option but to invest in some heavy duty winter clothes.

However, shopping for an unfamiliar season is how I imagine learning to walk on your hands instead of your feet would be like. The weather will be cold, but HOW cold? What if it's cold and WET? How do you manage to layer so that you are warm outside and won't die inside with the intense heating system, without laying so much so that you look like a human snowman?

These are all very valid questions that I have turned to the English public for answers. I.e., I have been staring intently at every female who passes me in the hope that they might impart some of their knowledge on me.

Unfortunately, someone should inform Revlon that they are guilty of fake advertising as "the London look" - ONE London look - does not exist. Instead, there are mixtures of short coats, trench coats, wool coats, puffer jackets, leather jackets, biker jackets, with hoods, without hoods, thick scarves, thin scarves, pants, leggings, skirts and leggings, low boots, riding boots, high heeled hooker boots, beanies, hats... you get the general picture. And for all the clothes that people are wearing now, they are bound to multiply or completely change in a couple of months' time when it gets REALLY cold. And should I  succeed in surviving these major hurdles, I will not be able to fake it until I make it at the French ski fields at Christmas time.

Speaking to local English girls for help and advice, I have been met with blank looks and long pauses. Not because they don't understand what I'm asking, but moreso that they do not know exactly how to answer it. Dressing for the cold is second nature to them as they have grown up with it, just as we have grown up knowing how to dress for the beach. I am facing the prospect of being the winter equivalent of a tourist dressed in socks and sandals on the beach, holding my expensive $1000 camera not knowing the dangers of sand getting in to electrical equipment.

I plan to face this learning curve with a three point multicultural approach - the Australian attitude of "she'll be right, mate", the British custom of hot tea to warm the bones and failing that, then I shall have to turn to the Irish and their liquid comfort of Guinness. Cheers to that!

Love, Em xxx

Wonderful Wonderful Copenhagen

Wonderful wonderful Copenhagen. Apparently I'm not the only one who feels this way, as an artist by the name of Danny Kaye dedicated a whole song with this title to express his love for the city.

A few questioned my choice of travel destination. Yes, it was random. No, I didn't know much about... well, anything to do with the city. How could it be that after years of comprehensive history learning that I didn't even skim the surface of Danish history? Whatever, there's no better time the present I thought as I packed my suitcase and departed for Gatwick airport in the cold, wet, wee hours of Friday morning.

Amazing train system, green society, a wonderful sense of togetherness, canals, boatsss....zzzzz yadda yadda yadda. There are more important things to discuss.

Calling all the single ladies out there.

If it is going to take putting on a black leotard and shaking my booty about Beyonce-style to get your attention, then sign me up because it would be entirely worth it.

It is time to put Copenhagen or perhaps just Scandinavia in general at the top of your travel list.

I must have spent my first day in Copenhagen walking around with my mouth open gaping at the men passing by. Tall, blonde, tanned to golden perfection. One, after the other, after the other. It was so right and yet so wrong. How is it that all of these men could be so beautiful? Was it the diet of fish and rye bread? Perhaps the city is just a magnet to attractive men in general, as even my tour guide from London seemed unreasonably attractive.

Unfortunately the city's effect hasn't rubbed off on me, as I've returned home with a very pink and wind-burnt face after deciding it was a good idea to brave the wildest weather and walk miles to see the Little Mermaid statue today. I'm also probably a couple of kilos heavier after indulging in some Danish pastries (which could quite possibly be BETTER than the French variety - big call, but I'm throwing it out there!) However it was all worth it and I had a fabulous time learning more about the city and picking up randoms at my hostel to make the journey to the Louisiana Gallery of Modern Art to see the Yoko Ono exhibition with.

I also accidentally found myself in Christiania, described by Wikipedia as "a self-proclaimed autonomous neighbourhood." Read: a hippy land that residents have declared as their own, and the government is too interested in how this social experiment turns out that they are just letting it run its course. Just as people travel to Amsterdam to indulge in brownies, so too do people travel to Christiania to indulge in marijuana. The fumes were so overwhelming that by the time I found my way out my head was most certainly in the clouds.

On a more serious and helpful note, for all those considering a trip to Copenhagen some time soon I highly recommend the Woodah hostel as an anti-clubbing escape from your usual hostels. Not only do you get to sleep in cupboard arrangements, but it also hosts free yoga classes every morning that certainly take your mind off London boy dilemmas while you concentrate on your tight hamstrings.

Free walking tours will provide insight into buildings and history of the city - Sandemann's is my company of choice, having previously done their tours in Paris and Barcelona as well. But perhaps most importantly of all, just enjoy the male (and female) scenery and try to keep your mouth closed as you do.

Love, Em xxx