An Exception To Every Rule

1. No vintage bags.
2. No lambskin bags.
3. No children-sized bags.

Those have been my longstanding rules in collecting bags. However, there’s an exception to every rule.

Now, you’ve seen me drag a Gucci bag across the Sahara and a Balenciaga through the snow, so you must know the road does not make a friendly companion to more precious bags, particularly the Chanel kind. So in anticipation of this summer’s trek that will involve planes, trains and automobiles, I found a couple of mini flaps that I believed would be more suitable for traveling.

This first one, a quilted, semi-circle goody from the 80s, was a no-brainer purchase since the price was just too good to resist. It has been lovingly broken in yet immaculate on the inside, so I know it will be perfect for sweltering, rainy, or any other kind of day when I don’t want to carry the Hermes I posted about the last time.

The chain is not quite long enough to wear it messenger style, but the lambskin is supple enough to hold a lot more than expected. They sure don’t make bags like this anymore! Here’s an action shot of it on some random street in Antwerp (more about this in the next entry):

It’s also a great size to double as an evening bag. I suppose after this trip the bag will get sent in for “spa services” and hopefully it will come out looking even better than ever. But the one bag from a seller in the UK is the one I had written about before I left LA…

When I finally picked it up here and saw it in person for the first time, I was hooked. How is it possible that I never gave these vintage bags a second look simply because they were not made…like yesterday?

This particular bag is probably over 15 years old and yet it looks like it’s been held maybe twice. It is in better shape than some display bags I’ve seen at the Chanel boutiques. I can wear it messenger style, by the arm by doubling the chain, or in the hand as a clutch if I hide the chain. And you know, all those lovely ladies I see around Europe in their vintage Chanel bags that show a whole spectrum of wear and tear…I’m starting to become a believer that there’s an amount of charm–a je ne sais quois if you will–to carrying bags that show as much life lived in them as in the faces of the women who wear them. If every laugh wrinkle on my face records some fantastic memory from a trip, then why not carry a lambskin bag that will witness and commemorate those memories as well?

So those are my reasons for breaking the first two rules. As for the last, I’d like to think that by carrying a smaller bag that may look more like a full-sized bag on say, a ten-year-old, I will save my shoulders from the weight of a jumbo-sized classic flap (you gals know what I mean here!). The smaller the bag, the less temptation there is to fill it up with unnecessary things that we women like to schlepp around on a daily basis.

PS: I guess this means I brought 3 bags on this trip. And yes, also an extra pair of sneakers .

Tags: Antwerp, Balenciaga, Chanel, Hermes, vintage bag

I’ve done this part of my trip times before, and for many reasons Belgium is like a second home. I should be able to do this trip in my sleep. But for some odd reason, this leg of my journey is turning me upside down. I can no longer brag about being immune to jetlag because for the third night in a row, I’ve fallen asleep around 1am only to wake up at 4, and by wake up I mean wide awake with no chance of falling back to sleep. Which means I want to crash around 2pm the following day.

It’s also very warm and sticky here right now, so that’s probably affecting how quickly my body can retrieve its normal internal clock. Right now I just feel like a sluggish vampire in Belgium.

But sleep deprived or not, I am here to reveal my latest workhorse of a purse that I’d hinted about last week. As many of you “orange lovers” out there guessed, it is indeed the Hermes Massai bag in the smaller size.

It makes a perfectly comfortable messenger bag, and the pebbled togo leather molds to one’s body. Did I also say it is extremely light? I don’t think it would look too cute overstuffed, but on the road it will hold maps and all my other necessities.

So where am I in these pictures? Somewhere on the grounds of the Citadelle in Namur, where there are lovely homes…

chapels with priceless views…

and hotels with gorgeous gardens and restaurants…

Tomorrow I will reveal the bag that broke three of my purse rules only to become one of my favorite little treasures. Meanwhile, think I’ll try napping now and hopefully feel more like myself by dinner.

Tags: Belgium, Citadelle, Hermes, jetlag, Massai, Namur, togo leather

 

I may be terrible with remembering names and birthdays but if you looked inside my brain you would find airport blueprints.  Well, maps of airports and Chanel boutiques around the world.  I think I’d make a pretty good human iPhone travel app. Give me the airport’s IATA  three letter code and I will recite the ranking of each airport based on check-in  efficiency, baggage claim down time, location/ hours of VAT (Value Added Tax) offices, dining choices, and any other odd services like shower rentals (NRT: Tokyo, both terminals) or foot massages (PEK: Beijing, Terminal 2).   But I know what you really want to know is how’s the shopping…duty free shopping, that is…the tiny glimmer of silver lining for the long, long international flights.

 

Well, unfortunately for me my first flight this morning pushed out of  Brussels National (BRU) , a tiny airport.  B+ for general efficiency–it picks up the + for processing my VAT refund very quickly even this early in the morning.  But if you have a long wait, bring food and some form of entertainment.  For an international airport in a bustling metroplex, it feels very second rate. This airport, in my own grading system, is barely a C-. But as long as I don’t see human hands sticking out of a window to throw my luggage at me (e.g. RCB: Richard’s Bay, S. Africa) then I won’t rank it as a D.

Anyway, from Brussels it’s a wink of a flight to London, and I arrive at Heathrow’s relatively new Terminal 5, which is so celebrated it has its own website. I give Heathrow an A just for its politeness. In fact, I give all of London an A for this.  Maybe it’s just the English accent that makes everything sound so much…nicer.  I mean, you’re an idiot still means you’re an idiot, but they’ll say it like please, madam, you’re an idiot, thank you. And the insult just doesn’t hurt quite as much.  For this reason I love flying on British Air and connecting through London whenever possible; there’s just a certain polite efficiency that runs through the entire plane ride and terminals. There are signs telling you exactly how many minutes it will take you to get from point A to point wherever so that you could plan accordingly. God forbid you should be late here; it wouldn’t be…polite.  And the shopping! Pure madness. But I’m old school. From T5

 

I can’t wait to catch my pleasantly narrated shuttle to good old Terminal 3, or what I consider my own version of a Las Vegas “high.”  As soon as I set foot inside T3, my ears perk up like my cats’  when they hear another animal outside the window. It’s a signal from my brain to pay attention.  Something good is happening!  The sound level is as high and the flashing lights as bright as at any casino on the main strip. I literally hear a flush of coins dropping as if from slot machines, when in fact it’s  just the sound of funny money rustling in my pockets, dying to be spent at the Chanel, Gucci, Hermes, et al, boutiques all around me. If they allowed smoking and scantily dressed waitresses to bring you cocktails then T3 would truly be a Vegas experience. Just more pleasant, and no roulette tables unless you consider the boutiques to be just as dangerous.

Anyway, here I am on my laptop writing this after having spent half an hour at the Chanel boutique. It’s a tradition for me to pick up a hat from this terminal’s store every time I pass through here, but the dollar is still being pounded by the…pound, so even though I also spot a bag I’ve not seen in the US, I decide to pass. It’s always easy to spend funny money on the road, until you get the credit card statement later and then it’s no longer very funny.

 

T3 gets an A+ for entertainment value. Value Added Terminal. Here is where you will find people of all colors, sizes, and personal preferences.  While I am typing this, two young boys are texting in Arabic on their phones next to me. Apparently my glances are not surreptitious enough so they move away from me.  Sheesh, it’s not like I can understand what they’re writing. They may be texting some juicy details but it just looks like pretty squiggles to me.

But as soon as they leave, another family comes over to take their seats. This little boy has spotted my shiny laptop and almost sits on my lap. In seconds his hands are already near my keypad.  I’m amused by his forwardness but disturbed by the tiny grubby fingers so I move them away from the Caps Lock key. He smiles and tries again. I think it’s time to put my laptop away; my gate info has just been posted on the board anyway. The boy pets my laptop when I close it, disappointed. But I manage to get this from him as I get up…

 

I think there’s still a little time left in my T-3 casino. What do you say, let everything ride on red?

Tags: BRU, Brussels National, Chanel, Gucci, Heathrow, Hermes, iPhone app, Las Vegas, NRT, PEK, RCB, T3, T5

 

I’ve been following the online news of the embattled fashion/retail industry for a while now on WWD and the WSJ, and the bad economic news continue the whole time that I’m here.  Which makes it very difficult to shop in good conscience; hence, these pictures of window-shopping in Prague.   I sniff my way to the most expensive shopping area of the city,

and it’s quiet here just like at the boutiques back home.  All the usual suspects are around…Dior, Vuitton, Prada, Hermes…but not a single swishing of shopping bags can be heard for blocks.

 

The global belt-tightening is hitting all industries, but when it comes to fashion it feels a little personal to me.  As fashion houses shutter–even the most venerable ones are not  immune–I shudder to think about my shrinking playground. Where will I find my sweet escape if haute couture becomes extinct, fashion magazines suffer even worse cases of anorexia (have you seen how thin even the fashion issues have become lately?), and designers can’t sustain their imagination when investors disappear?  There’s already a shift in how fashion is delivered/presented (less show, more tell), so who knows when that catwalk will become entirely obsolete?

 

It’s definitely a sign of the times when Target advertises in W magazine. I still remember when, many years ago in an advertising study group, we were asked to select out of a group of elite advertisers which would best fit within W’s overall image as an avantgarde, artistic fashion magazine.  La Mer, yes.  L’Oreal, not so much.  I suppose now that the fashionista readers have morphed into recessionistas, the often elitist world of fashion will learn to adapt to a new way of finding its own relevance.  The chase for cash tends to tear down the ivory tower anyway.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for leveling the playing field.  And I’m a happy consumer when I can find Thakoon guest designing at Target.  Can’t beat pairing my $20 pair of Exhiliration skinny jeans (full price no less!) from there with my Prada jacket either. 

 

But in my heart of hearts, in my weakest moments of giving into my girly girl calling, I truly hope the decadent fashion world survives long enough so that when we buyers come off the sidelines, the playing fields will still be open.  Retweaked and retooled, of course, but hopefully just as irreverent as before.   When the time is right, I will still crave the tulle, chiffon, organza, feathers and all the irrelevant, impractical, unnecessary bits that make being a girl worth all the hassles. 

There will be no bailout when fashion companies go under.  The lucky ones get saved by white knights only to be reinvented to court the public.  Consumers have never had it so good in terms of access and sales, but for the dwindling spare change….and therein lies the saddest irony of all. Fashion has never been so near, and yet so far.

But I’m optimistic. In time, we’ll walk past the windows,

 

only to turn around and go through the front door.

Tags: Dior, fashionista, haute couture, Hermes, Prada, Prague, recessionista, Vuitton, W magazine, WSJ, WWD

 

When I left you yesterday I was mulling over the window display at Chanel.  I can honestly say nothing shouted at me to come back to the store this morning. But let me spin you 180 degrees to the opposing store window at Hermes, where the green alligator Lindy bag literally made me gasp out loud:

 

In Europe it’s not so uncommon to find signs showing prices of items displayed in the store windows. I suppose this way, you get the sticker shock out of your system before ever entering the store. At Hermes I saw no such signs or at least I don’t remember seeing any–perhaps everything faded to black after I saw this bag! Let’s just say it’s a good thing the store was closed because there’s no greater temptation to resist than falling in love with something before finding out it’s absolutely no good for your checkbook. Then you start to rationalize about selling everything you own, your kidney, maybe both kidneys, your least favorite kid (just kidding… any kid will do) to finance it. 

Anyway, this morning I decide to chuck my usual obsessive compulsive habit of making a laundry list of stuff to see/do before heading out and instead to just go out there and watch Venice wake up. As predicted, it is drizzling this morning but luckily there are only small puddles instead of flooding on most streets. In this video I am going right under the famous Rialto Bridge, which was originally built out of wood in 1172 and then rebuilt in stone in 1557…

 

I hop off instead at the Rialto Mercato stop as there seems to be a lot of activities happening here:

 

This large, covered market is a foodie’s heaven. Fresh produce, seafood, meat, and flowers of all kinds are being laid out on stands as I arrive. I’m told most locals don’t eat out on Monday nights because there’s not much seafood delivered at the markets on Mondays, but today there seems to be something for everyone:

 

I can’t wait to eat some of this seafood for dinner tonight. So far I’ve been filling up on delicious vegetarian pasta and panini. I’m thinking I must have been born here in a past life because I just can’t get enough of Italian food in Italy.

 

Anyway, I leave the market to go to Isola di S. Michele, a cemetery island. Nicknamed Island of the Dead, it primarily houses a large cemetery and once a prison. When you approach the island, the first thing you see is the immense wall around it:

 

I’m hoping to catch a special funeral gondola today but only manage to see flowers being delivered prior to a service instead:

 

Inside the cemetery gates there are various sections and some chapels…

 

Prominent families have their own areas and some tombstones are more spectacular than others. But in the not so fancy part of the cemetery is actually where I find the graves I have come especially to view:

 

Diaghilev was a ballet impresario and founder of the Ballets Russes so it is fitting to see toe shoes left at his grave:

 

So after about 30 minutes on this island, I play vaporetto hopscotch along the Grand Canal of Venice to see if I can’t immortalize this city through my lenses:

 

 

But traveling is so much more than just spotting the sights highlighted for you on tourist maps. It’s about running across someone’s life in action…

 

 

It’s seeing every day events like a police chase that can happen in your own backyard (or in this case, canal)…

 

Or finding a fast food joint like McDo, except it all sounds so much more charming to call a Big Mac a panini:

 

And sometimes for me, it’s just getting mildly lost even with a map in hand…

 

and struggling with but not minding the rough weather because…well, just look at where I am:

 

Besides, after a cold day, there’s every excuse to recharge with the celebrated Bellini at Harry’s Bar if you can stomach the 15 Euro cocktail:

 

But I think overall, one of the most fun things to do when traveling is just people watching. In observing behavior, speech, and dress of local denizens as well as global tourists, you get to briefly inhabit their space and see what it’s like to be so different and yet so alike wherever you happen to be.  

 

Today I leave you with two memorable if small things that I stumble into on my last evening here. The first is La Bottega dei Mascareri, a mask store at the foot of the Rialto Bridge. Yes, it is tourist central on the bridge, but this 25-year-old shop is owned by a rather cool guy (along with his brother) whose creations have been used in movies like Eyes Wide Shut and featured in a ton of fashion magazines. I literally want to buy every mask in his store but walk out with two. For some reason I don’t think this will be the last time I will see him.

 

The other is simply this view from the top of the bridge. To the right of this picture are restaurants where you can dine al fresco and watch the boats sail by.  I have to confess I do have dinner here even if I should have gone to a less touristy place on my last night and tried something more “authentic.” But I’m enamored with the canals and it’s here that I want to spend my last waking hours watching the world go by. Because sinking or not, Venice is forever.

Tags: cemetery, Chanel, Diaghilev, grave, Hermes, Isola di S Michele, Italy, La Bottega dei Mascareri, Lindy, mask, pasta, Rialto Bridge, Rialto Mercato, seafood, Venice