Summer 16' and everything in-between...

Oh Hello September, and hello a very shameful lack of blogging. But here it goes, the last eight months in ahem eight paragraphs? Let's give this a whirl....

So starting January, and being as depressed by the cold January blues as one can be, I figured the best way to beat it was to leave. And head to the sun of course! Always having had this romantic notion of Sri Lanka in my head I thought I'd follow this notion through, booked my flights, and a week later found myself in Heathrow airport opening the first pages of my Lonely Planet to read up on the place. Spontaneous? Yes. Silly? No. Probably more silly was my decision to get my nose septum pierced a few days prior. And wonder the eve before I was flying to Sri Lanka why it was hurting quite so much. Cue my boyfriend with a pair of pliers on it the evening before I depart for two months. Remove it we could not, so the morning before my flight I ended up in the only piercers open on a Sunday for them to tell me I had been pierced through the cartilage instead of the septum. Ouch. But hey, anything for fashion, right dahhhling? (it's now firmly out for good...)

So I landed pretty clueless in Sri Lanka with my plan of five weeks there, and then heading onto India after. A few days in, and my idea of five weeks in Sri Lanka wasn't quite looking as promising as my romantic notions had been. So I racked my brains for where else I could explore in the world, and then booked to head back to my favourite spot: Ubud. I mean, after the septum incident you have to play it safe sometimes right? So I cut my time short, and spent ten days more days in Sri Lanka trying to see and do all I could. I got fat off samosas for breakfast, lunch, dinner (and snacks); skinny from mountain treks in the dark; made friends with locals on the trains; watched the most stunning sunrises and sunsets; saw baby elephants in the wild; and basked on idyllic beaches.

And then ten days on I found myself back on a plane to my favourite spot in the world: Ubud. A large claim to make I know, and I when booking my return I found myself fearful that the beautiful memories I had made of Ubud would not seem as beautiful when I returned. Gladly this was not so, and when I arrived in the middle of a monsoon downpour with my backpack, unannounced at my old homestay - the grandma came out the house and exclaimed 'you're back!'. And I did feel back home.

Ubud is an amazing place. Known to the Balinese as the spiritual heart of Bali, I strongly believe this. When I am there I feel a sense of calm I can't seem to get anywhere else. And only in part due to the clean eating, pilates and kind people. Even the sun seeker in me wasn't disheartened by the daily monsoon which only seemed to enhance the beauty of the place. A couple of healers and a couple of weeks on, I left to head back the way I had come.

Then India called and oh, it was everything and more than I could have dreamt of. The country is awash with more sounds, smells, colours, people, madness and calmness then your senses can imagine. I found myself falling so easily in love with it. From riding camels through Jaisalmer desert, to watching the stars as we fell asleep, to watching the locals live from a house boat in Kochi, to drinking tea on the side of the roads, to acting like kings and queens drinking in the view of the Taj Mahal from the Oberoi, having each mealtime an explosion on your senses and tastebuds, seeing more head wobbles, envying more Saree's, and searching out the best Indian sweets in frantic markets.

I found the people as fascinating as they found me - the token white girl. People were kind, and given the nature of how poor people are, they're surprisingly generous. India can teach you life lessons again and again. And I know I will always return again and again.

But I came home and became sensible (ish) and acted, for once in my life, like an adult. Cue a lot of blood, sweat and tears (mainly tears and sweat) and me and my sister got a mortgage on a place in Peckham. Grown up, hey. Well, I did turn twenty-nine in June. And a twenty-nine year old needs to act their age. Or make the most of their last year of their twenties? I'll go for the latter.

So off to Glastonbury we headed. With enough booze to take down a small army, and many shoes that just would not survive the mud. Tough mudder when high would pretty much sum that long weekend up for me. That and the feeling that the world was going to end on returning to London. And only part to do with Brexit.

Secret Garden Party came as a vast contrast with England deciding to actually have a summer that weekend. And we basked in our sweat and smiles on the pagoda, dancing away. And the glitter which we so meticulously applied looked so meticulously skew-whiff in the heat. But who cares when you're with your best friends and dancing to Fleetwood Mac.

A few weekends ago was spent in Berlin clubs with best friends, where getting home at Ten AM has never been so acceptable. We all wore black and nonchalant faces to gain entry, and my friends advice to "dress like your walking your dog" worked well. 

Oh and I moved house once again in all the frenzy, and went back freelance again, cracked more phones, lost more bankcards, turned vegetarian (barr that one drunk time in McDonalds with the nuggets), took up gym classes, left gym classes after the shock to the system ripped my ankle ligament, took up cycling to work on my lovely blue bike with a basket (and only singing Corinne-Bailey-Ray to myself sometimes when doing this), shot some more commercials here and abroad, started writing poetry again, got a few more grey hairs, definitely got a few more laughter lines, and learnt to make a pizza #wifeme

And yes I'm aware it's more than eight paragraphs, but hey - you try and encapsulate your year into bullet points. Especially when you love to talk...

Happy end of Summer everyone! 

Emily x

Bali, Boozing and Broken Resolutions : 2015 to 2016...

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, and in the blink of an eye I find myself at the end of December, wondering how 2015 has managed to fly by so fast. This year has felt the shortest of my life. London is a rat-race, and my work has pulled me in - jumping from job to job - great I know, but leaving little time to reflect on anything. Let alone keep up to date with this blog. (apologies blog).

I took time out of the rat-race in August. I'd been working 12 hour days, had just come back from Ibiza and felt as if my head was about the explode. Only in part due to the Ibiza fun with 7 other girls ;) I flew to Ubud, Bali to stay for a month by myself. There I gave up alcohol, meditated, took up Pilates, read mountains of books, climbed real mountains, took myself off all social media and all in all just got myself back to feeling well in mind, body and spirit. And I actually felt like that. Until I flew back into London on the Friday, and found myself out on the Saturday night.

And I had great plans for the new me - I really did. I bought a Pilates Mat to get up and use at 6am each day. Warning my housemate that when he was ironing his shirt every morning, I too would be there; practicing Pilates. Two months on he commented how he'd not seen me once.

I quickly got sucked into the late nights again, the long hours at work and treating my body as the complete opposite to a temple. And then after an exhausting stint of shoots, I decided to take December off work so I could catch up with all my friends, attend every Christmas party possible, and well, just have a grand old time here in London. Subsequently my bank balance is a lot lighter, my waist line is a lot heavier, and I'm signing up to 'dry January'. With eagerness. Going out every evening in December has definitely taken its toll, my liver needs a break, and I wouldn't mind being able to do up my jeans again. But hell its been fun.

2016 excites me already. I have plans for Sri Lanka, India, Cuba, and Glastonbury. This is the first time I've ever managed to get a Glastonbury ticket and I'm so excited. My boyfriend was rather less enthused however at my proclamation that I will need two tents - one for sleeping, and one for my wardrobe. I mean it makes perfect sense to me - who wants glitter all over their pillow?! So far he's definitely said no to the idea of a clothes rail coming...

Last New Years Eve I brought it in in Sao Paulo, and the rest of the year has been absolutely incredible. I traveled Brazil by myself, danced in Rio Carnival and won it with my Samba school, moved from South London to East London, threw a festival just outside Paris for my best friend, watched two of my best friends get married, was a bridesmaid for one, spent sleepless nights in Ibiza with 7 girls, ran away to Bali to find my inner-self, found my inner-self in more East London drinking establishments then I can count, broke / lost / drowned 5 phones this year, got 2 more tattoos, shot 12 TV commercials, lost numerous important belongings and dignity, and did all of this while having some absolutely lovely people come into my life who I cant imagine not being there.

New Years Eve will be brought in on a London rooftop watching the fireworks. English weather prevailing that is...

Happy New Year everyone, eat, drink and be very merry!

And bring on 2016!

Emily x

Copious amounts of cakes, commercials and hens : life after Rio...

So I've had my feet back on London soil for a grand total of three and a half months now since Brazil. The 'real' tans firmly faded, the four fillings I needed from Caipriniha overdoses have finally been completed, and my Rio Carnival Costume has safely made it's way across the ocean to reside in my mum's garage.



I've found myself working non-stop on my return from Brazil. Terribly lucky as a freelancer, and terribly needed, as the bank-of-Dad required quite a payback after one's abundance on their travels! I've taken this week off, as a long needed break (and I can already see my sisters eyes rolling at this comment - 'you've worked for three months Emily, big deal welcome to the world of a normal worker!') as it's my Birthday week, and I figured I'd be comatosed by Prosecco and cake for days. (I have been).



I've turned the ripe old age of 28, which means every time I get ID'd (twice this month...just saying) it becomes some sort of youth affirming celebration. And obviously I text all my friends with the great news sporting the hashtag #stillgotit.



But turning 28 hasn't actually been that scary. Infact, its been rather delightful. With age comes I guess more wisdom, (yes, obviously still waiting for mine) but it also can't help but make you realize what matters most in life... good friends, and good honest people. To be surrounded by that is pretty much all anyone can hope for, and right now I feel lucky enough to have that. Plus, I also got five birthday cakes made by five amazing friends which spelt out my name. (So quite truly...what more could I hope for in life?!). Whilst others may dream of seeing their name in lights, seeing mine in cake was always more of a goal...


Breaking up nicely the last three-and-a-half months back in England, I've been away twice to France on two different hen-do's. One I organized (as a bridesmaid), and one I didn't. I have to say in organizing my best friend's surprise hen-do the pressure really got to me (organizing large scale commercial shoots are a doddle in comparison!), and if anyone is in line to become a future Bridezilla I think its safe to say I'm at the front of the que. One hen task I happily took upon was to arrange an Easter Egg hunt for the girls on Easter day... and obviously the Easter eggs had to be bought three times over before they even made it into my suitcase for Paris. 



The other hen, I had no part in the organization (phew!) so just paid my money and turned up where I was told to. Or, well, almost did. For some reason I believed the Hen was in taking place Cannes. No-one had thought to correct me that it was infact in Nice, and the bride-to-be only panicked when she saw my Instagram post whilst boarding the plane in London declaring "Cannes I'm coming for you". Alarm bells ring to her as she has this vision of me getting out at Nice airport in my over-sized hat and heels and dramatically declaring to the nearest taxi 'TAKE ME TO CANNES'. Which was infact exactly what I was planning on doing. So once switching my phone off from flight-mode I received a mass of redirection messages, and bashfully took myself to Nice. Thank god the airport for Cannes is Nice airport... otherwise it would have been a slightly more costly and disastrous mistake...

Aside from getting lost in other countries, I'm getting lost in the enchanting ideas of how to spend this summer in London. The city comes alive, and in the warm summer nights it truly is my favorite place to float around. A little project titled '85 Days of Summer' means that a whole-big glorious London bucket-list is in line to get ticked off this year.

July brings two weddings. Remembering to pack my bridesmaid dress to take to Yorkshire for my best friends wedding is something that is worrying me quite a lot, if past scattiness is anything to go by. It's never good when you wake up after a heavy bank-holiday-weekend and feel as though your missing something, to realize sickeningly that somewhere along the pubs you visited last night after you were handed your Bridesmaid dress you no longer have it. And when you raise your eyebrows in shock at this, the feeling of pain also reminds you, that yes, you managed to face-plant a lit cigarette last night too. 



Since the last blog post my little sister ran the Brighton Marathon, one of my best friends completed the Three Peaks Challenge, and I've managed to successfully get a refund from McVities about some burnt chocolate digestives. Whilst my achievement may pale slightly in comparison, hey it's all baby steps. Plus if I don't stand up for our basic human right to get an edible biscuit, well, we may aswell not bother having a democratic society. And I'm all about the politics now I took the Guardian Internet Quiz the night before the General Election to tell me which party I should vote for. 



I'm moving back East, I have a new tattoo and I've booked to go to Ibiza... life is feeling pretty bad-ass right now. Next thing you know I'll be riding a Boris Bike without a helmet. 

Turning 28 is hopefully turning over another incredible year ahead, with filled with good friends, big travels and plenty more cake. (Oh and mum, don't panic, I'll wear a helmet really).

Happy Summer everyone!

Emily x

Sleepless, Long Nights, that is what my Youth was for...

I did it Ladies and Gents! I, Emily Duffield, speaker of no Portuguese, owner of two left-feet, and know-er of no-one in Brazil, donned on the heaviest, and certainly most extravagant outfit I've ever worn, and sang and paraded my way through Rio Carnival's Sambadrome as part of the Beija-Flor Samba School. Carnival is such a huge deal throughout Brazil - each Samba School represents so much to its people, and whilst it's extremely competitive, it's also the most magnificent spectacle you could possibly ever see, or have the honor of being a part of. The colors are magnificent, the atmosphere is electric, and the excitement is truly indescribable.

In all honesty, I couldn't quite believe I'd pulled this one off, and especially now as I sit back in a grey, cold London, I certainly can't. And what makes it even more unbelievable to myself is that my Samba Parade won the whole Rio Carnival! Beija-Flor were announced the winners the hour before I left for my flight home, and as I struggled through the airport with a large additional suitcase, which just managed to fit my costumes headpiece inside to bring home safely, it felt like the icing on the cake of a very sweet, dulce de leche flavored trip. The rest of the outfit is on some ship somewhere over the Atlantic right now, and should hopefully arrive in a huge box sometime before Notting Hill Carnival. Bets are already being taken for which of my male friends has to wear it this year...

I spent the last eleven nights of my Brazil trip partying non-stop in Rio. From beach to bloco, from bloco to nightclub, Brazil doesn't sleep during Carnival, and neither did I. I needed four fillings (!!) on coming back home, and if that doesn't say Caipriniah overload then I don't know what does. Before my party marathon, however I got back to basics in the Amazon. Intrepid I am, practical I am not...

Not the most prepared, I turned up in Manaus the day before I embarked on my Amazon Adventure with a checklist of essentials I had to source for the jungle. Shopping when you cant speak Portuguese, don't know the town, and have stepped right off a 24 hour airport-to-airport sleepless flight made my task all the more difficult. Consequently I turned up to take on the jungle with my following take on the list's essential items (...and I feel this has to come with a 'don't try this at home kids' warning...) :

A pair of £10 bright white plastic trainers instead of proper trekking shoes. An umbrella instead of a waterproof raincoat (the only one I could find was a small child's 'Barbie' one and I couldnt move my arms in it so the woman in the shop would not let me buy it) left me praying it wouldn't monsoon. My protective head wear was a gangster cap with 'G-UNIT' written in gold on it. Oh and the trousers to protect me against snake bites? My black Primark leggings. And what was my camouflaged backpack to take with me into the jungle? A bright pink child's rucksack with 'FASHUN' written in large gold letters on.

I looked ridiculous, and a safety hazard in itself. When I met my fellow trekkers and they were all attired in head-to-toe mosquito body suits, camouflage clothes, proper shoes, and had been planning it for months, me and my hastily bought bright pink rucksack stood out like a sore, ghetto thumb. David Attenborough would not have been impressed.

But practicality issues aside, my time spent in the Amazon truly has to be one of the most magical things I've experienced. To canoeing through floating forests, to camping out in the jungle, watching the sunrise rise over the river whilst surrounded by dolphins, to learning about healing plants and trees it was a beautiful experience. Ok, so my attempt at carving my own cutlery whilst 'surviving' in the jungle left me with chopstick-like utensils (I had to eat with my hands), and my attempt at fishing for my own dinner found me 'catch' the boat and recruit others to help me pull in the 'massive fish' I was struggling with (...we nearly capsized.)

And so glitter, lost fish, and samba hips aside, I'm now back in London. Bronzed, hungover and very cold. Back home things haven't changed. You return feeling slightly altered: you've experienced a million different things and your life moved at a million paces; but then your back and things are exactly the same. Whilst comforting, it can't help but make me urge others to go out and see parts of the world before it's too late. Life back home will always wait, but life experiences wont.

And after spouting off that little hippy freedom speech, I'm now going to directly contradict it, as I am taking the step to being a little less fancy-free, and am attempting to get a mortgage in London. I've lived in seven different places over the last two years, and in all honesty it's about time I had somewhere that I actually could call a home, and it be mine. Plus the sooner I get my own flat, the sooner I can get a French Bulldog right? I have no visions of grandeur with my first home, an ex-council estate in Hackney it will be (says the budget). Well, either that or Essex. But I'm not really into vajazzles, so East London vibes it is.

I've just wrapped my first TV commercial of this year, and am starting work on another next week. My body's now used to late nights from laptop spreadsheets rather then samba beats. Whilst the verdicts still out as to which one involves less sleep, I know which one definitely involves more chocolate.

I work hard at my career so I can go get lost on dreamy beaches, and last year I Produced an hour long documentary called 'Black and Blue'. Its airing tonight (22nd March) for the first time on Sky Sports 1, at 6.55pm. Shameless self-promotion from me, but if you find yourself at a lost end please do tune in. It was a great pleasure to make, and something I'm extremely proud off.
 
Emily x

Coconuts, Caipriniahs and Condoms...Feliz Ano Novo from Brazil !!

Feliz Ano Novo!! A very late, but very Happy New Year to everyone from a sunny Brazil!! Apologies in advanced for formatting errors on the blog, I'm attempting to write it on a severely cracked iphone. I learnt a little too late that hammocks, phones, and balance do not bode well when one is intoxicated by caiprinias. My phone now resides in a sock, has a hissy fit around 3pm daily, and attempting to send emojis means dabbling with shards of cutting glass. I give it until the end of the week. But hey, I made it through all of January with a phone, so Ive got to give myself an air high five for that!

So, my trip. I'm not going to lie, on the train to Heathrow Airport I had a sudden reality check about what I was doing coming out here by myself. After losing my bankcard, and not even realising when I arrived in Brazil until the day I flew, it raised several alarming question marks in my own head (and no doubt my parents) about just how capable I am of not being my usual hopeless self when I'm travelling alone on the other side of the world. Well here comes the truth... it's been absolutely fine. In fact its been more then fine, my trip so far has been amazing. Going to a non-Western country on your own as a girl to travel raises quite a few fears, and certain stigmas, but so far in my experience as long as you keep your wits about you and go by the book then you should have little to worry about. I couldn't be prouder, and happier with myself for getting out here and just doing it.

And one thing which continually surprises me is just how receptive everyone seems to be to a solo traveller. I have had no problems meeting people, befriending people, or a lack of invites. Gone out the window are the cliques which are formed back home and everyone seems to get along. I've formed friendships with many people which in day-to-day London life I possibly would have not, and found each of these new different friendships to be an entirely rewarding experience. Something which cant help but open my eyes to how I view new friendships, and how I should change my initial ideas of first impressions back home.

I'm struggling with the language I'm not going to lie. It took me the first two weeks to say 'thank you' the correct way - 'obrigada'. Until then I had been saying 'arrabiata' (which of course is an italian pasta dish), which was always followed by a palm-to-face moment. Which was then followed by me wondering if it was time for dinner yet.

My lack of even basic Portuguese means I've taken to using lots of grand hand-gestures and facial expressions as an attempt to get my point across. Being the ever organised person I am, I obviously turn up in Brazil without an adaptor for any of my english plugs. Cue me in shop attempting to explain to a confused shop assistant what I want, by grandly mimicking with my hands the plug going into the socket. The shop attendants confusion shifts to a knowledgeable 'Ah Si!'. Perfect, workable hair-straighteners here I come! She returns triumphantly... carrying a pack of condoms. Since that misunderstanding I have somewhat downplayed hand actions, I am still yet to find an adaptor, and I am still yet to have straight hair.

Alas, I've fared no better reading Portuguese. Such as that time I was on a night bus and misread the buttons in the loo. Theres me pushing the panic button wondering why it wouldn't flush, until theres people at the door and little english me shouting 'It's fine I'm just trying to flush!!'. Or that time (well, three times) that I've doused my hands in liquid sweetener at cafes, reading the front to be antibacterial hand-wash.

But let's start from the beginning; Sao Paulo. I turn up on New Years Eve to the hostel I frantically booked last minute, to find out my booking was so last minute that they don't have it. And that the one person working there trying to explain this to me doesn't speak any English. The only space they have left is a solo room. I take the solo room and walk into the dormitory to introduce myself to make NYE friends...and nobody speaks English. Or seems interested. I walk back to my room and the door handle falls off, locking my belongings behind it. I spend the next hour with the hostel employee on google translator - 'I need to make friends tonight - dont want to be on my own...' - 'what kind of friends' -'no i think your misunderstanding me' and another half-hour trying to get the door handle back on to retrieve my belongings. By now its 9.30pm, I'm terribly sweaty, despairing, and leave for another hostel. On entering my next hostel two English speaking girls are just about to leave for New Year festivities. I take two minutes to change from my twenty-hour flight clothes, wipe the sweat off my brow and stick a bindi on. I have never spent so little time ever getting ready, let alone on NYE. All vanity has pretty much gone out the window on this trip, along with the thought of ever having straight hair, or proper makeup on. My companions take me to a club, and we drink Caiprinias first on the street. All the Brazilians are dressed in white as it's meant to bring good-luck and prosperity for the year ahead. I'm head to toe in dark blue; so go figure. And so, I dance my jet-lag off in a cachaca induced state with perfect strangers who are all saying Feliz Ano Novo and someone is even sick down my leg (thank god for flip-flops), but in the imperfect madness of it all it became a perfect New Year. And one I'll certainly never forget.

I move on from sprawling, hot Sao Paulo to the beautiful Florianopolis. And from there to the breathtaking Igacu Falls. And briefly into Argentina (but no steak!). And from there to the rhythms of the Salvador streets. And from Salvador to the pretty little town Lencois and to trek Chapade Diamantina National Park. And from there to the Unesco World Heritage town Olinda. And then from there onto Natal, and then onto the beautiful beaches of Praia da Pipa, which is where I am currently residing.

And what have I learnt so far from all of this? Brazil is BIG. I've travelled on more 28-hour bus journeys then I want to think about again, and I've eaten at more roadside pitstops then restaurants. But thats what travelling is, being on the road right? And by damn Brazil has a lot of it.

After all my grand designs on go-pros, and different cameras, and camera head-straps, I've realised that the best moments on this trip just cant be captured on camera. Like swimming in a lake at night surrounded by fireflies. Or boating right up to the mouth of Igacu Falls and laughing so hard that I am choking on the water flying in my face. Or lying out looking at a full moon and the most stars I've ever seen through the leaves of dancing palm trees. Or playing dominoes on the street with some old men that speak no English, and me no Portuguese. Or trying to keep up to the pounding drum beats at a sweaty Bloco in Salvador. And then after the Bloco *ahem* be interviewed by Brazilian television afterwards and be asked to dance like a Brazilian for the camera. Proving the point - Definately not one of my best moments captured on camera.

My plans of coming home a skinny traveller have quickly diminished with the Brazilians diet. Revolving round meat, cheese and bread (fried of course) for every meal, I am just thankful my harem pants are elasticated. Thank god for the caiprinias are giving me one of my five a day!

My backpacks ridiculous. I shouldn't have packed half the rubbish I did. And I'm too stubborn to throw any of it, so I spend half my time nearly toppling over once its on, and purposely booking hostels that do not require an uphill walk. Luckily Brazilian men are so charming, and helpful. And in my packing panic of quite how many hot-pants I should bring, I forgot the key essential of packing enough underwear. Cue me turning a group walking tour in Salvador into the guide having to take me underwear shopping. And cue him telling me after, that the shop was laughing at me as I did not buy the norm (thongs), but instead only pants that grandmas wear.

I've nearly been here just over a month and I don't want to stop. England seems a bit of a far away dream, and a cold one at that. I cant recommend getting away enough to people, and now I've done this I can't recommend enough just doing it by yourself. Pushing your boundaries is all part of finding out who you are and what you can do. My next stop on this journey is the Amazon, to sleep in the forest, catch my own food, and carve my own forks and plates out of trees and stuff. Whilst it all sounds very Bear Grylls, I have the feeling the only boundary I will be pushing is starvation, as I cant say I'm too optimistic about my survival skills. I think the mosquitos will be feeding better than me...

Emily x

I dream of Rio... HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! x

December has been a tipsy whirlwind of work, Christmas parties, packing, new tattoos, and eating. I don't know why it is, but the only film shoots I do outside always happen in December. In the freezing cold. For several days. However, all was forgiven by the Ad Agency coming over from India with bags of bindi's. Nothing of course to do with the 'moodboard' of bindi's I sent over to them prior to there arrival. Probably my hardest work on the shoot if I do say so myself. (that can also be firmly backed up by the Producer...)



Christmas has been and gone and I rolled like a pig in a blanket (well, fur coat) back to London after leaving a note in my mothers fridge to apologize for eating all the chocolates. And taking all the cheese. I got myself some red Lana Del Rey-esque talons done before Christmas, so unfortunately I was put out of action on the sprout peeling this year for Christmas dinner. Shame. It appears all one can do with these nails is drink Prosecco? But in all seriousness, glamorous whilst they are, highly impractical they also are. The first night I realized I had to remove my contact lenses with them, it was touch and go as to whether I might have an eyeball left. No wonder only footballers wives don them on, or people with 20/20 vision.



This was the first year I have been back home for Christmas since 2008. My families happiness at my presence was only slightly tarnished by the realization that late on Christmas Eve I had rolled in drunk, and managed to consume ALL the smoked salmon meant for Christmas breakfast. Not ideal, even less so when ones hopeless cooking skills mean your unable to whip up a good egg dish to substitute. I had also managed to drunkenly destroy a contact lens (damn you lovely nails) so my comeuppance was spending Christmas feeling terribly off-balance from a one-seeing eye. (well that and the Prosecco.)



2014's been an incredible roller-coaster of a year. I've pushed my own boundaries, had some rock bottom moments, and had some of my happiest moments. Right now as I stand on the brink of this New Year I'm happier and more self-assured then I have ever been with myself, and where I'm headed in life. Growing up, and learning who you are and what you want is something that takes time. I'm off to Brazil for two months on my own, because I never want to dream something and not do it. Following that, I plan to live in Ibiza for the summer, and then India and Sri Lanka for the winter. With a little bit of lovely London in-between of course. My carbon footprint in 2015 is going to be well and truly trod.



Obviously I'm embarking on this Brazilian New Year trip in the way I do best - like an idiot. To start things off, yesterday I lost my bankcard. With all my money on. And no way to get another one in time. Did I mention I'm flying tonight?

Secondly, I casually look at my flight ticket this morning to see what airport I'm going from, to realize I am not landing in Sao Paulo on New Years day like I thought, but I actually arrive at six o'clock on New Years Eve. I mean seriously - who books flights, and doesn't even check when they arrive in the country until the day before?! Cue major freakout. I'M GOING TO BE IN SAO PAULO FOR NYE! This is going one of two ways - disastrous, or amazing. Or maybe both. Probably both...



I'm picking up my Rio Carnival costume for the parade in Rio. For those of you who haven't seen the pictures - it's huge and looks to weigh about the same amount as me. I'm probably (definitely) going to fall. But I have a go-pro (thank you dad!) and I have a headstrap for the camera - so at least my fall can be caught in all its glory in the Sambadrome! Apart from those plans, I'm pretty, well, unplanned. I know I want to be on a beach, and I've got my malaria tablets for the Amazon (check out that for organization!) so I'll be heading there too. I've packed my glittery hotpants, and a glittery waistcoat, and will probably break all the Amazon fashion rules by wearing them both on a trek. At the same time. 



It's exciting, its exhilarating, and I can't wait to share all the stories and pictures! 

I'm off to the airport now, so I wish everyone a very Happy New Year! And as to 2015... bring it on! 



Emily x

Photo by Paul J. Beard

I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere...

 
Since the last blog, there has been not only one, but two engagements within my circle of friends. Utterly ecstatic for them both, my nine year-old self is also jumping inside, as I have the honor of being a bridesmaid for one of them. I've waited twenty-seven years to play this part, and cannot wait for the two weddings next summer. I also cannot wait for the hens - although I have strictly been warned about midget strippers...

However, one can't help but notice a direct parallel when two of your best friends are now planning their weddings, organizing their mortgages, and you just spent the the weekend before last wandering around Amsterdam believing you were a giant tulip. (that's a joke mum - don't worry!) But yes, I was in Amsterdam last weekend. And yes, I am still slightly ruined now. I am also terribly addicted to stroop waffles (no-one got there presents), but that's a whooole other story. And on wondering why I might feel so bad of late, I count back on my calender and realize I have been partying for the last seventeen weekends without a break. So this weekend I hung up my worn-out party shoes, did my Christmas shopping, and booked my escape to Brazil.

My dream is now a reality, and I will find myself in Sao Paulo for New Years Day. I'll be away for two months, and I'm venturing their on my own. The independence of that is terribly exciting, exhilarating and liberating, and I intend to make the most of every single minute. I mean what could go wrong?! The last time I went to South America I only got altitude sickness, bitten by a dog, and spent every other day getting rabies jabs in hospitals... and I was with someone... 

I've been warned about how strong the Caipirinha's are on the beach, and I've been warned even more so about the Brazilian men. And, quite rightfully, I fully hope to fall in love with a bronzed, speedo wearing 'Tiago' along the way. My plans are excitable, if not slightly scatty, with my notebook consisting of lists of things such as "Visit the Snoop Dog steps" and "go to Christ the Reindeer". It was only at my sisters hysterical laughter at my indignation that that was the translation, that I realized it's actually 'Christ the Redeemer'. Which reminds me, I really need to learn some Portuguese.

Apart from trekking the Amazon, visiting waterfalls and soaking up beaches, the one plan I have already put into motion is...dance in Rio Carnival. Yes that's right, I have joined a Samba School (in Rio), I am choosing my costume, and I, Emily Duffield will be dancing along in the 2015 Rio Carnival Parade. All I have to do is make it along to the rehearsals (in the Favela eek) and fit in the brashly colored clown costume. These English hips better do me proud.

Christmas is so close that you can practically smell it. The lights are on in Oxford Street, I'm living in colored variations of the same woolly jumper, and I've already eaten my way through three advent calenders. Two of which weren't even my own (sorry housemates!). This years list for Santa is more practical rather then pretty, and involves things like trek towels, mosquito repellent, and a head strap for my Go-Pro Camera. Thats right, I've surpassed the selfie-stick, and am taking it one step further on my trip - a camera strapped to my head. Spot the tourist anyone?

Tis the season to be Jolly, and Christmas parties are in full-swing. Being freelance means I have a full list to attend this year, and wanting to still be employed next year means I will have to watch the amount of mulled-wine consumed...

Happy 1st of December everyone!

Emily x