London's Olympic flavour: Brazil and France

Brazil:

Carnival of colour. Source

If you can’t make it all the way over to Rio, the next biggest street festival is held right here in London. Notting Hill Carnival is big, bold and bursting with colour, just like its South American big brother. This year organisers expect to see record numbers in attendance in that crucial period between the Olympics and Paralympics.

Translating professionalism

Not long before I was due to fly out to Spain to begin an internship at an English language newspaper based on the Costa del Sol, a terrifying thought suddenly struck me; how on earth do you dress professionally in a hot climate? I took myself post-haste to the ‘office’ section of Primark in the hope of creating a respectable ensemble or two that would not leave me dripping with sweat. This was unnecessary for two reasons: Firstly, I seemed to have forgotten that Spain is in fact part of the developed world and was likely to have discovered air conditioning, and secondly, this was the first of many times that my British take on professional etiquette would be entirely out of sync with that of our fiesta-going Mediterranean amigos...

Island-hopping in Greece

My guest post for Gecko's Adventures on behalf of Pocket Village- 'Island-hopping in Greece'

http://bit.ly/xjtCdS

Mad for Karneval

In Cologne Karneval time is so important that it has been named as the fifth ‘season’, kicking off with a whirlwind day of costumed alcohol consumption on 11^th November (‘Elfter Elfter’) and culminating in a six-day party extravaganza in February. This is no tourist event or youth rebellion; here the overwhelmingly native German crowd brings together the fresh-faced, newly legal drinker and the veteran Karneval-goer in a mass of crazy, ridiculous, and often entirely impractical outfits in order to celebrate… well I have no idea what actually, perhaps beer? Or the quashing of the German stiff ‘n’ sensible stereotype? Certainly watching my boyfriend flail his arms around gaily whilst dressed in a ghastly old blue wetsuit and entirely random mullet wig made me stop and think – we were wrong all along; the Germans DO have a sense of humour, we just don’t get it!*

Fiesta de la Virgen de la Paloma

I was aware that the 15th August was an especially holy day in the Spanish calendar, and, thanks to our new friend at the cheese-and-meat counter, knew that it was a public holiday and a lot of supermarkets, shops, etc would be closed for the day. With this in mind, we thought we would perhaps venture out in the early evening to see if we might stumble across some evidence of this fiesta. As we emerged from the metro station at La Latina we were immediately met by crowds lining the street all around us. A member of said crowd informed me that a procession was due to pass by soon, and so (my boyfriend's German efficiency starkly contrasted against the mañana approach of the unhurried Spaniards) we walked in the direction that the procession would come from, and continued to do so as the procession passed us, thus cutting the time it took to see the entire thing in half. This was in fact a smart move, as Spanish processions (just as I had witnessed during the Semana Santa processions in Málaga) when in full swing appear to be a grand, ceremonial march, accompanied by a full band, various important-looking flags and ornamented maces, but will suddenly, and often after only a few metres physical progression, grind to a halt, at which point the previously impressive mass of robed, bejewelled, uniformed processors end up looking like a bunch of disorganised costume fanatics stopping for a chat in the middle of the road.

Procession stops for a quick gossip