Drink me, eat me

Another lovely birthday gift from an equally delightful friend (Rapunzel this time), this enormous cake of soap hails from Italy via Klein’s Perfumery in Fitzroy.

Knowing I had recently become obsessed with freshly-squeezed pomegranate juice during my holiday in Dubai last December, Rapunzel couldn’t resist presenting me with this pomegranate-scented soap.

“About the pomegranate I must say nothing, for its story is something of a mystery.”

The pomegranate is such a strange and exotic fruit that it’s no surprise there are many stories and myths centred around it. I particularly love this quotation: “About the pomegranate I must say nothing,” whispered the traveller Pausanias in the 2nd century, “for its story is something of a mystery.”

I’m obviously not too shy to wax lyrical. If the delicious scent of the fig-and-almond-milk-flavoured version is anything to go by, pomegranate soap might just be as addictive as the juice – and I’ll be telling everyone about it.

I couldn’t have made them myself

These pretty little earrings were a recent birthday present from some friends. Their mission was to buy me some jewellery that I ‘couldn’t make myself’, so Scarlet ventured into Design a space.

This boutique is a great place to find gifts; full of fashionable frivolities that one might not often indulge in for oneself. Already I have worn these Moyou earrings several times – the pale beechwood is practically a neutral.

I love the filigree pattern that has been laser-cut, like lace made from wood. The designer was inspired by Oriental patterns; they remind me of the windows in the Blue Souq in Sharjah, designed in the Islamic tradition.

And at least I can buy myself a matching ring.

Bonbons of blue

Cerulean. Turquoise. Tiffany blue. Azure. Robin’s egg blue. Aquamarine. Whatever is your preferred designation, it is my favourite colour. I am not sure why – perhaps it is the association with the sky on a spring day: all that blue serenity; the notion of floating away on clouds of fluffy bliss.

In fact, these beads look so delicious I want to eat them. When I suffered my tragedy in blue, I actually could have – except for the choking factor. Those round agate beads (second from right) came from Temple St Night Market in Kowloon, and have now been restrung more securely.

Making up the long necklace are oval and round beads of Czech pressed glass; this is one of the very first pieces I made. It was in memory of some blue beads I once saw in a vintage boutique in St Kilda that I always regretted I didn’t buy.

Second from the left is a string of faceted quartz roundels that came from a hippy store called Larama, right here in Melbourne – no romantic tales to tell of them. I do wear them often though; being quartz they have a lovely sparkle.

Just before the midday closing time for prayers, I bargained a shopkeeper down to 100dhm for two strands of beads…

My favourite among this quartet however is the strand of green and black onyx. This is a true international piece. After a long and fruitless search online for 2mm round, black, onyx beads, I finally ran them to earth in a shop at Stanley Market in Hong Kong two years ago. I remember the salesperson telling me they were very rare (because of their minute size). “Believe me, I know,” I answered fervently. This was one instance where letting my fingers do the walking had got me absolutely nowhere.

The faceted green onyx beads came from the Blue Souq in Sharjah. Just before the midday closing time for prayers, I bargained a shopkeeper down to 100dhm (about AU$40) for two strands of beads: these gorgeous sea-coloured beads, the others blue – a cross between teal and cobalt.

And the semi-precious stones that are my favourite colour’s namesake? I do have several strands of turquoise beads, awaiting a day of inspiration … but I’m afraid to actually complete anything for fear I’ll have a better idea as soon as I clamp the last crimp. That does agitate me!

Ode to a Grecian hairstyle

When I first saw Chloe’s hairstyle one hot day this past week, I instantly likened her to some exotic princess of the Classical era. I could imagine her standing at the prow of a ship, white skirts billowing. “You look regal,” I said to Chloe, which bemused her. That resemblance owed itself undoubtedly also to the dotted white shirt – even the enamelled earrings continued the theme.

I instantly likened her to some exotic princess of the Classical era

Greek woman, 4th century BC, from www.mlahanas.de

Apparently she spent two seconds on her hair that morning, merely twisting it up and fastening it with a tortoiseshell butterfly clip. Patently hair texture – and length – is all, as my hair would never do this of its own accord. It’s too fine.

“That’s always the way,” I agreed with Chloe. “When you’re in a hurry, your hair ends up looking fantastic. But just try repeating the effort for a special night out!” My hair is so slippery it often falls out of any updo, although I have recently rediscovered hair product, and that does help!

I remember in my early twenties my friend Rapunzel visiting me at my parents’. She and Chloe have similar hair texture, thick and wavy. My dad is the traditional sort, and, admiring Rapunzel’s red locks, he opined that I too should have hair that flowed to my waist. At the time I was sporting a short 20s style bob, and looked like Louise Brooks. I made a face in response to this admonishment. My hair would never actually do that even if I wanted it to. Rapunzel laughed and replied diplomatically that she’d always wanted hair like mine.

I guess the hair is always Greeker on the other side.

The bells go dingle, dangle…

I was on a mission: I wanted to buy little silver bauble earrings to replace the pair I had lost. Nothing fancy, just little spheres; about 10mm in diameter.

Very quickly I discovered my problem with trying to locate such a style in the souqs of Dubai. They don’t believe in minimalism over there. When you learn that many Indian brides travel to the famous gold souq in Dubai for their bridal jewellery, you understand that it is Bollywood style that rules. As much as I love it, the lost baubles were my go-to earrings when I couldn’t decide what to wear, or if I was in a hurry.

In the end, while meandering in Muttrah Souq in Oman, X and I stepped into a shop that was bedecked in glass lanterns, thousands of strings of beads and myriad earrings. I delicately lifted one pair from their hooks and held them up for X to inspect. “What do you think of these?” I whispered dubiously.

Boing! My eyes rounded. “I want those!” I said sotto voce to X, while attempting to look completely disinterested.

While I modelled them in front of a mirror, the owner handed another promising pair to X, who brought them over: little filigree bell-caps with dangling chains of varying lengths, each finished with a tiny bauble.

Boing! My eyes rounded. “I want those!” I said sotto voce to X, while attempting to look completely disinterested. (I had already received several homilies from X regarding my propensity to get over-excited in front of the shop owner, thereby driving up the price of whatever item I had my heart set on.)

“What’s your upper limit?”

“I don’t care what they cost, I want to buy them!” I shooed him away to bargain for me, while I took the opportunity to take some photos of all the magical goods on display.

Suddenly I was being hustled out the door. “What’s going on?” I demanded. “Where are my earrings?”

“Relax.” X strode off and I anxiously trotted after him. He came to a stop a few shops away and motioned for me to hand over the Omani rials. It would destroy his manly image if he did that in the shop, he explained suavely.

“Oh, whatever,” I answered, too impatient to snigger, as I eagerly handed him the foreign dosh. We returned and I became the proud owner of what I dubbed my ‘dingle-dangle’ earrings.

But I still don’t have baubles!