Beach bliss: Sri Lanka Part 1

Usually my years travel is planned and organised at least 6 months ahead of time, simply to calm my inner Virgo control freak. So when Hubby and I decided, slightly on a whim to book a trip to Sri Lanka 6 weeks in advance, I did freak just a smidge. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go, in fact it had been on the list for a while, but I felt like I wasn’t fully prepared, in terms of research or what to expect. I’m not going to lie, I was very anxious before leaving, as this wasn’t going to be our usual 5* middle eastern luxury trip. Instead, what happened over the next 8 days was that I lost every ounce of anxiety and fell in love with this incredible country. 

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Shoulda, woulda, coulda

Last week I had a little impromptu chat with a fellow expat blogger, over Instagram. The thing about bloggers, and especially expat bloggers, is that we are an incredibly friendly bunch. Just like my desert girls they “get it” so we tend to gravitate to each other, not only in real life, but in the social media one too. Anyway I digress a little, I was sent a message regarding life in Kuwait and did I have any specific posts about life here and advice I could instill. I realised that whilst I had a couple of posts directly about Kuwait, I did not have a post, that anyone considering a move to this little random corner of the Middle East, could read and gain a little insight into what life is really like here. So thanks to the lovely lady for inspiring this post and hope that this may guide her decision.

The girl who cried (into) chicken

So I had a whole other post planned for today and then last night happened. It was our last night in Dubai and we had planned to return to The Scene (for the 2nd time in four days) for their EID special: an all day proper Sunday roast. Now this may not have been the most glamorous of nights out but when we spotted it on the menu, half way through our first meal, we both looked at each other with excitement – I know, a very rock and roll life we lead!

Love island

Adventures of Jersey Girl is now officially blogging from the motherland. Blogging HQ is now set up in my mum’s conservatory, even though she still smirks when I say I’m going to spend a morning writing whilst she is out and about. I’ve been back on my little island for just over a week now and apart from the rain, I’m loving everything that comes with being back on the Rock. It’s surprising how quickly I jump back into my old life and feels like I’ve never been away. So this is a little self-indulgent post about all the things I love and been up to, my first week back in Jersey.

Lights, camera, action

I must confess something to you all; this is an addiction which has no doubt cost me thousands over the years, caused friends to leave me alone and was the only sticking point when I met my lovely Husband. I am a movie geek.

I’m not some celluloid freak that will only listen to the critics or avoid the Hollywood blockbusters like the plague, only to focus on the beautifully shot indie filmmakers latest artistic triumph, I have one rule. Will I be entertained. Simple. I want to watch a movie and be transported to Hogwarts, be cheered up by comic one liners, inspired by true stories of adversity, seduced with moonlit walks through Central Park, be in awe of the classic glamour of the bygone age of movie stars and kick ass with superheros. It is the best kind of escapism and I’m first in line to put on the ruby slippers and click my heels into the new world.

Love is in the hair

Yesterday was a big day in my Kuwait life; a make or break day; if this went badly then possible departure would be necessary. This is something all expat women have to face at some point upon their arrival in their new country, facing the fear of the unknown and walking boldly over the threshold. Holding their breath with anticipation and saying a small prayer to the gods, as they take a seat in the waiting area, hearts beating. So the leap of faith is taken, no going back, the scissors are out………the hairdresser approaches.

A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life – Coco Chanel

Now I have never been a vain person and growing up was not someone who would spend hours upon hours applying makeup and doing hair. In fact I remember turning up for my first day at dance college, an ethusiastic fresh-faced 20 year old, hair pulled back into a frizzy pony tail (I’m blessed/cursed with curly hair which just went into frizz before I discovered straighteners) and being told that we could no longer come to class without a full face, which must be re-applied throughout the day. So a trip to Covent Garden and more than my student funds could afford I walked out of MAC ready to take on the world. I subsequently went home and relegated my Body Shop pressed powder, which had served me well since I was 15, then came the realisation that there is a whole beauty world out there, waiting to be discovered. And so it began……

Good food, good life

I am one of those people who thinks about food all the time, it seems to be in my subconscious aiding every decision and I think my life is better for it. My Instagram page shamelessly posts my food experiences, and they are a reminder for me rather than the judgmental follower who rolls their eyes at yet another weird angled food shot. Food just like music, smells and books can evoke so many emotions and memories; that Greek taverna on your first holiday with the love of your life, the smell of turkey wafting on Christmas morning or knowing you will never touch another meatloaf again after the Home Ec class disaster. I have not always had a good relationship with food and I know too well that it can control your life in a negative way, but I’m a long way down the road and letting the past go and now I am happy to eat myself around the world.

Your wish is my command

Today’s post is coming from the relative comfort (my back is still limiting my every move) of a sun bed at my beach club. The weather has just turned and we are enjoying beautiful sunshine days chilling on the beach or by the pool. Now before you stop reading due to my brazen promotion of my chilled day in the sun, this post is actually going to explore the service industry of the Middle East, as I was reminded this was something I wanted to post within seconds of me setting up my towels this morning. A member of the Food & Beverage Team had eagerly made himself available to be at my beck and call during my tanning session, when I realised this was no longer a novelty gesture which blew me away, but an expected occurrence.

In the U.K. customer service seems to be a dying art and one of my pet peeves. Numerous times I’ve stood at a cash point, where the cashier has barely looked up from her conversation about her latest social escapades, to even acknowledge me, the customer. As I hand over my money for the piece of clothing that is then thrown into a bag, she still hasn’t met my rather angry gaze. It makes my blood boil and more times than not you get little or no reaction from your protests. What happened to the customer is always right and simple manners?  Ugh I can feel a rant coming on, so I’ll withdraw from this scenario.

In a desert, far far away….

There comes a time around the world, where women simultaneously scream in horror realising bikini season is upon them. We are exposed to what seems to be every magazine cover spouting the bikini diet, the latest celebrity fitness DVD or food fad that will drop inches whilst we sleep.

Now coming from Jersey we boast that we have more sunshine hours than anywhere else in the UK, however the reality is we still don’t have masses of beach days which are two piece viable. So my “normal” (hardly normal to a sane person) bikini ritual would be realising you only have 30 days to that holiday and you’ve just had your 2nd helping of cake, so there is only one thing for it; a 3rd piece of cake whilst you ponder how to drop 20lbs in a month with the least amount of effort.

When doing “nothing” means everything

Around the world people are celebrating International Woman’s Day and it’s got me thinking about how far we have come. This could be a rather controversial post, yet I sometimes feel conflicted by the pressure to be a modern woman and my lifestyle choices.

Going to an all girls school we were consistently exposed to strong women, the feared matriarchal head mistress, who lived up to the Dickensian image of a boarding school spinster, who took pride over her girls. The 6ft wooden boards noting every Head Girl in the school’s 100 years gleaming back at you in gold italics, and the Houses named after the past century’s most celebrated women; Garrett Anderson, Nightingale, Cavell, Fry and Curie. My alumni produced doctors, teachers, lawyers and artists all making their way in the world as independent women, blazing ahead.