I'm not buying it

I've never dieted, given anything up for lent, stuck to a New Year's resolution or broken a habit.

However, since I started earning £30 a week working as a chambermaid at 15 I've developed a bit of a problem. I've been snapping up a little of what takes my fancy to bolster my wardrobe, add to the shoe pile, spruce up my living space and top up the vinyl library.

Nothing too unusual there you might say. I'm not talking major credit card debt, hoarding or bankruptcy, but the overall effect is not be able to say no to clothes which really suit me, 'bargains', 'rare finds' and things which are 'really me'.

As William Morris said 'Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful'. The result is I have rather a lot of clothes, shoes, accessories and vinyl!!

(photo by Tori Mayo)

I used to run a vintage bric-a-brac stall down Brick Lane. Under the guise of shopping for the stall, I'd often end up buying bits for myself and not to sell cause they were cheap, had that one-off quality and I wouldn't be able to go back for them.

I don't have to tell vintage shoppers about the allure of car boot sales, charity shops and eBay. The adrenalin rush of getting your hands on that certain something is virtually unrivalled. I can't seem to shake this instinct. I have the kind of eyesight which is usually reserved for ornithologists!

Justifying these acquisitions is second nature - 'it was £1', 'it's just what I needed to complete my outfit', 'it's made for me', 'it might not be there if I go back'.

As a creative I've always had a keen eye for fashion and design. I know a fair bit about designers, art history, classic designs. Knowing this only exacerbates my curiosity, makes me want to learn more even if its via the medium of retail.

I used to make jewellery and weave friendship bracelets as a kid. Over the course of my foundation year and photography degree I was constantly producing artwork. DJing and knitting have been creative outlets too. These days, aside from the odd photo, I feel I only really 'create' and express myself through my choice of clothes and interior design at home. I depict my taste through crockery, cushions and clothes.

It's the acquisition itself as much as having the actual thing. But I definitely feel certain items are an extension of my creativity and sense of style. These sartorial purchases act as an artistic form of self expression. I pride myself on buying lovely pieces which go towards completing an outfit or a collection.

I don't grow tired of most things I buy as I choose carefully and appreciate them years down the line. Consequently these things mount up Rather than buying this seasons look from the high street, unearthing that hidden gem wins hands down every time. It means once I've discovered something I consider perfect I can't let it go, if its less than say, £40.

Perfect example This weekend while out and about in Dalston a royal blue jumper hanging on a rail behind the mesh of a stall on my street caught my eye. I recognised it immediately as being from Primark. I'd bought the same one about a year ago but sadly had to take it back as it didn't fit. Through the mesh I could see it was the right size. I asked how much it was. At £2 I had to get it. I'd only regret it if I didn't.

Bits I acquired last weekend

Next I went to the charity shop Traid on Kingsland Road to drop off a couple of bags of unwanted clothes. I had a browse around and picked up a gorgeous black leather belt with gold geometric details, from Topshop for £6.99. Good skills I reckon.

Up the road in Pelicans & Parrots I could have easily bought 10 gorgeous vintage bits - a green wool skirt, a beautifully cut black coat, black leather handbag to replace my trashed Primark bag, stunning jewellery box, strange unidentified wooden block thing with a magnifying glass, a gold link/chain bracelet and a really unusual necklace.

This kind of expenditure might be incremental, hardly breaking the bank, but now, with bending rails in my wardrobe and repeated, regretful dips in the cash flow, I'm going to embark on an experiment.

Its time for the 'Didn't Buy It Detox'.

Starting May 1, I won't be buying anything stylish until May 31. Practical yes, stylish no.

Instead of buying things I really want, I'll photograph them instead. Plan is to post the pics here and on Pinterest each time, creating a record of the objects I've passed up.
This won't include a pair of black high-waisted jeans I'm currently bidding for on eBay. These are to replace a pair I lived in until they wore out recently.

I promise to report back on any slip-ups and sneaky purchases!

Weaknesses:
Cute vintage clothes perfect for a swing dancing trip to Como
Clear glass espresso saucers for some little glass cups which don't have saucers. I haven't managed to find any which work yet.
A plain black dress to go with the belt I've just bought
Anything I'm looking to replace

So this is what I'm gearing up to do.

I'm actually really looking forward to seeing the virtual mood board of my taste rather than seeing money disappearing from my account.

Also I'm dying to know if I can actually do this. 

Watch this space!

Daschunt

DUMBO, Brooklyn, New York (photo by Tori Mayo)

Daschunt

Fashion darling! Galway, Ireland (photo by Tori Mayo)

Lure of Latvia

Art Nouveau façade in Riga (photo by Tori Mayo)

As I wander around the smart hotel in my dressing gown and slippers, scents of wild strawberry puree waft from my skin.

This isn't the result of an accident with a smoothie, but the after-effect of a detoxing fruit body scrub at the Amber Spa hotel in Jurmala, Latvia.

Knowing little about the tiny Baltic republic of Latvia, a former Soviet state now part of Europe, I took a gamble, following in the footsteps of a friend who had visited its capital, Riga.

She'd spoken of its world-famous art nouveau architecture, craft markets, buzzing atmosphere and Bohemian spirit, describing it almost like a mini-Berlin, though it's known as the Paris of the Baltics.

While the chance to explore a new city is always alluring, I want to take time to de-stress and unwind.

Amber Spa hotel is only a 20-minute drive from the capital Riga, has a beautiful coastal setting and boasts an extensive list of beauty therapies, treatments and personalised holistic programmes.

Affluent Jurmala is the largest resort city in the Baltic and a popular destination for Latvians and holidaymakers from further afield looking to benefit from its natural  treasures. The region is famed for its ' natural therapies especially mud treatments.

Pine woods in Jurmala (photo by Tori Mayo)

The nearest beach to Amber Spa is only a five-minute walk through the forest. A scenic jog, stroll or cycle are on the doorstep and there are nature trails, aromatherapy walks and entertaining beach volleyball tournaments.

In my hotel room, I'm intrigued to find a punnet of tiny, tasty berries, looking not too dissimilar to teeny strawberries. Not so savvy on the latest health kicks, I'm guessing they're goji berries.

While I'm eager to start selecting my spa treatments, a note from the hotel has caught my eye. It details the weather forecast, upcoming events in Jurmala and recommends I have a vacuum body massage with lymph drainage.

Though grateful for the recommendation, which promises to help get rid of fat deposits, it sounds too complex to comprehend at bedtime. So I polish off the last of the red 

things and indulge in that age-old therapy – sleep.

Breakfast at Amber Spa, Jurmala (photo by Tori Mayo)

Next morning, over an amazing buffet breakfast at the hotel’s fine dining restaurant, which includes Latvian curd, cold meats, muesli, salmon and German black bread, I learn that the red berries were locally-picked wild strawberries and not the latest antioxidant or super fruit.

Before my spa experience, there's time for a walk into the centre of Jurmala - once considered the St Tropez of the former Soviet Union.

Passing traditional wooden residences, typical of the area, I'm soon strolling down the sophisticated main street, lined with little shops, hotels and cafes.

It's market day and stalls are selling Latvian wares including amber jewellery, hand-knitted mittens and local delicacies including freshly-foraged mushrooms and jams.

Freshly picked mushrooms at the street market in Jurmala (photo by Tori Mayo)

Jurmala City Museum is worth a visit to see how the resort established itself and also the history behind its wellbeing culture.

Jurmala City Museum (photo by Tori Mayo)

Refreshed from my walk, I don my robe and slippers and head to the spa for an intense sports massage. Not the most relaxing, but it loosens knotted muscles and straightens me out.

A guest of the Russian baniya at Amber Spa (photo by Tori Mayo)

I can’t resist trying the Russian baniya too. A commonplace activity for Russians on a Sunday afternoon, it usually consists of a dry space to sit and relax, eat, drink and chat as well as a wet area with sauna, cold pool, showers and treatment rooms. Men, separated from women, often play cards and even broker business deals in the baniya, while women socialise and beautify themselves.

On entering the baniya, it's apparent that if I'm going to have the authentic experience, I'm going to have to bare all!

For most of the afternoon I take strict instructions from the burly but rather endearing manageress, or 'poparshitsa', which literally means 'steam maker'.




The poparshitsa of the Russian Baniya (photo by Tori Mayo)

I'm told to shower, don a special felt hat to protect my head from the intense heat, and sweat it out in the steam room before taking the plunge into the cold pool.

I repeat this several times, and during one session in the steam room the poparshitsa bats me down from head to toe with aromatic oak besoms (bundles of soft twigs) which contain phytoncides in the leaves to open my pores and stimulate circulation.

Unable to speak Latvian, I'm unprepared as she marches me over to a corner of the baniya where a large container of icy water is poured over me from a great height. My senses are definitely awakened!

Brezhnev's dacha (photo by Tori Mayo)

Nestling in neighbouring pine woods, in the grounds of another sanatorium, Jantarnij Bereg, is the private dacha or holiday home of former leader of the Eastern Bloc, Brezhnev. Visitors to this retreat follow in the footsteps of politburo members as if time has stood still.

Brezhnev's dacha (photo by Tori Mayo)

The study in Brezhnev's dacha (photo by Tori Mayo)

R&R is just the ticket but Riga beckoned. The capital can be easily reached by a short taxi ride or train from Jurmala. By day it’s worth heading straight to the colourful Art Nouveau or Old Town areas as they are not to be missed.

Symbol for the Art Nouveau district in Riga (photo by Tori Mayo)

Riga is said to be the art nouveau capital of Northern Europe. The ornate buildings bear countless figures and faces, with all sorts of expressions worked into their facades.

Old Town Riga (photo by Tori Mayo)

It’s no surprise that Old Town Riga is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The city is such a pretty patchwork of colourful roofs, charming chocolate box fronts and cobbled streets.

Old Town also boasts the largest concentration of quirky bars, shops and artisan cafes.

A good few second hand shops selling Russian relics and cafes dotted around the city tap into the trend for all things vintage, if you know where to find them. My favourite is Otra Elpa - the first charity shop in the country.

Dessert at Bergs (photo by Tori Mayo)

It's easy to dine cheaply in Riga or indulge in exquisite epicurean fare. I've been to Restaurant Bergs twice and I'd return to Riga at the drop of a hat just to dine there again. Elegant and understated, chic yet cosy, the conservatory setting features a quirky black and white chequered floor, petrol blue paintwork and rattan seating.

The waiters and sommelier are wonderfully attentive, yet laid back. The melt-in-your-

mouth steak I ordered is etched into my top five food memories.

Bonera café, Riga (photo by Tori Mayo)

Bonera vintage-style cafe and shop is adorable. Coffee and cake is served up front while with vintage clothes and accessories share the space at the rear. This dandy and doilies spot is the perfect pitstop on the vintage trail. 

Off the beaten track, Piens bar-come-club is a quirky, hipster hangout. Shabby mismatched lounge furniture,  re purposed banquette seating at the bar and lamp lighting make this joint on the outskirts of town a find you'll want to keep to yourself.

Cafe Gauja (photo by Tori Mayo)

  

Cafe Gauja (photo by Tori Mayo)

I step back in time to the Soviet era once more at Cafe Gauja. Here the mid-century furnishings, black electrical sockets, chess and dominos make this little bar feel like a typical Soviet apartment.

I don't mind saying I'm a little bit in love with Latvia.

A haven of peace in the Middle East

Tori Mayo goes on a driving trip through Jordan and finds out why it's one of the safest countries to visit.

Sunset over the infinity pool at Moevenpick Resort and Spa Dead Sea (photo by Tori Mayo)

A jewel at the heart of the arid Middle East, Jordan is rich in sites of Biblical significance and monuments of antiquity. 

Given its position – bordering Israel, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Iraq and Egypt – it’s also surrounded by conflict and political unease, causing visitor numbers to drop off in recent months.

But when I arrive in capital city Amman, with fellow passengers clutching Versace bags and prayer mats, this land of contrasts feels remarkably peaceful and safe.

There’s not a hint of the unrest in Syria, and despite some Westerners' concerns, in reality this is a good time to visit: many of the key sights are less crowded than usual, and this year also marks the 200th anniversary of the rediscovery of that archaeological gem, Petra.

Hiring private drivers and taking coach tours are popular ways to explore the country, but my boyfriend and I take the more independent option of hiring a car.

After leaving the city, we travel through desert to our first stop, the Dead Sea. Famous for being the Earth’s lowest land elevation – it’s 400 metres below sea level - this region is home to a number of chic beach resorts, capitalising on the health-benefiting properties of this salt lake whose shores are shared with Israel.

We spend the night at the Moevenpick Resort and Spa Dead Sea, located in Sweimeh on the north east shore. 

The hotel looks a lot like the old city of Jerusalem (photo by Tori Mayo)

Moevenpick Resort and Spa Dead Sea (photo by Tori Mayo)

The architect’s brief was to create a hotel based on the old city of Jerusalem - the Holy City is just 40km away - in a traditional Arabic style, with houses made of baked clay.

He’s done a good job. Organised like a small town, the resort reminds me of houses pictured in the Bible stories I read as a child.

Due to the high salt content, no life can survive in the Dead Sea. But the mineral-rich mud at the bottom of the lake has been used in health and beauty treatments for thousands of years. 

Mud bath at the Dead Sea (photo by Tori Mayo)

I'm itching to experience it first-hand, so don my swimsuit (although this is a Muslim country, it’s very liberal) and make my way down to the rocky beach.

I smear myself with mud and allow it to bake in the sun for 10 minutes until it begins to harden and crack. My boyfriend and I then wade back into the saline soup, bobbing weightlessly on the water’s surface.

The high salt content makes it impossible to sink, and it feels as if we’re wearing life jackets.

Guests are recommended to stay no longer than 20 minutes in the water, but we continue our pampering at the hotel’s award-winning Zara Spa. After a signature salt scrub and mud wrap treatment, we relax with cocktails by the infinity pool, watching the sunset over the Israeli border.

From a sterile sea to one brimming with life, we travel three hours along the desert highway to the Red Sea. Aside from a few tricky road signs and a minor sandstorm the journey is relatively stress-free. 

A shepherd walks his flock by a highway (photo by Tori Mayo)

A seven-minute drive from the border with Saudi Arabia, Moevenpick Tala Bay is set on a marina peppered with super yachts. Contemporary in style with chill-out bars and glossy furnishings, the resort also features lagoon-style pools and family-friendly waterslides. 

Taking advantage of the clear, unspoilt waters of this protected coastline, we visit the hotel’s Sinai Dive Centre.

Much of the marine life here is unique to the Red Sea, and while exploring this treasure trove we spot a turtle, beautiful coral and an array of multi-coloured tropical fish.

Back on land, Mars-like desert plain Wadi Rum where scenes from Star Wars were filmed, is only a 70-minute drive away. The sunset over the 'valley of the moon' is spectacular, with stars glistening like jewels.

But the most precious moments of our trip are yet to come.

The ancient Kingdom of Petra, hidden from the West until 1812, is an awe-inspiring testament to nature and human ingenuity. 

Dwellings and temples carved into the sandstone rock at Petra (photo by Tori Mayo)

This year marks the 200th anniversary of its rediscovery by Swiss adventurer and scholar Johann Ludwig Burckhardt it's now one of the world’s most popular ancient sites. Even if the number of visitors to Jordan has fallen recently, tourists are still flocking to Petra.

Our hotel, Moevenpick Resort Petra, is a stone’s throw from the main entrance to the site, in the town of Wadi Musa. The location is perfect for early morning visits to the rose-pink city - the gates open at 7am. 

The Treasury (photo by Tori Mayo)

One of the settings for iconic 80s cinema hit Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade, Petra is now listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and ranked by some archaeologists as the Eighth Wonder of the World.

Built by Nabataean people, an ancient Arab tribe who made it their capital city, Petra was first established around the sixth century BC. A warren of temples, tombs and living spaces were carved into the red sandstone with many occupied by local tribes until as recently as 30 years ago.

Most are now permanently settled in a village on the edge of the main site but they still trade jewellery and souvenirs and offer horse, camel and donkey rides to tourists.

We prepare for the 800-step climb up the mountain of Ad-Deir to the monastery, one of the key sights in Petra. 

I spotted this guy standing on the edge of the world on the climb up to the monastery (photo by Tori Mayo)

We walk quickly and make it to the top in a gruelling 45 minutes. Our reward is having the place almost to ourselves. 

What a view after our epic climb to the monastery (photo by Tori Mayo)

A handful of locals are still milling about the site. Having finished work for the day, daring Bedouin lads, wearing thick black kohl eyeliner and long headscarves, are playfully leaping between rocks.

On our way down, we catch a breathtaking sunset over Wadi Araba, where the Israeli-Jordanian peace treaty was signed in 1994. 

On top of the world and looking down on creation (photo by Tori Mayo)

It’s a fitting end to our trip. Sadly, wars may be raging elsewhere in the Middle East, but in Jordan life goes on as normal. For many years, the sandstone caves of Petra provided safe shelter for so many people, and two centuries later it doesn't feel much different.

TRAVEL FACTS Tori was a guest of Moevenpick. For the latest special offers and promotions, further information and reservations visit www.moevenpick-hotels.com. Royal Jordanian is an airline based in Amman, Jordan, operating scheduled international services over four  flies daily from London Heathrow to Amman. Visit www.rj.com or call the reservations team on 08719 112 112 for further information.

Daschunt

Rather dasching in Riga, Latvia (photo by Tori Mayo)

Daschunt

At Wells by the Sea daschunds hang out in delightful beach huts (photo by Tori Mayo)

Daschunt

Celebrating Kate and Will's wedding at the Wilton Way street party in Dalston (photo by Tori Mayo)

Daschunt

This fine pair were spotted on a day out at Wells by the Sea (photo by Tori Mayo)

Is it me or the music?

There’s piles of it on my bedroom floor next to box after box in brightly coloured sleeves, a fair bit filed away on my hard drive and a nominal amount taking up memory on my iPhone.

 

So why do I feel so disconnected to music?

My love affair with music was going strong until six or so years ago. I was brought up on trad jazz, country, gospel and blues. As a teenager I saved up to buy the latest albums and singles. I learned the lyrics of my favourite pop songs from teen magazines. Listening to Radio 1’s chart show every Sunday night was only interrupted to press record on the cassette player. I DJed disco, house and electro for over 10 years - paying £8 a pop for 12-inch vinyl. My job in a record shop was one of the most rewarding I’ve ever had. I went clubbing religiously, made it to one or two festivals every year and all the gigs my meagre wages would allow. Until recently I also wrote a music review column syndicated to regional newspapers.

These days I’m selling one of my precious Technics decks, trading bags of obsolete CDs and managing to download a track or two on iTunes every few months.

At the same time music stores are shutting up shop, less and less column space is given over to reviews and artist profiles and the industry is dying on its arse.

It really doesn't feel like there's much I'm missing out on such is the downturn. It's as if the industry is on pause while it decides if it's worth it.

Still, a handful of big names and classic acts are keeping what’s left of it afloat. Most kids are doing the download thing creating Internet sensations overnight, via social networks. Headphones are permanently attached to their heads as they plough through their playlists.

Maybe it’s my thirty something self who doesn’t go clubbing anymore or maybe, on the whole, we just don’t care for music the way we used to. Music seems to have lost its mojo and the result is I hardly listen to any from my collection. I do tune in to BBC Radio 6 Music, namely Huey Morgan's legendary Sunday show, but there's not much else I can rely on to float my boat.

The medium is so accessible and easy to consume we value it so much less. There’s no need to really own music and if you don’t own it follows you’re less selective in your choices.

Streaming has made tunes instantly available, for free, on YouTube and spotify. Quick fix bursts are all over ads and who needs albums when you can buy one-off tracks at the touch of a button and play them on shuffle? The practise of listening to a whole body of work, collated in the form of an album could soon be a thing of the past.

The value placed on music has certainly dropped. In order for me to part with my pennies and buy an album, at least seven out of the ten tracks had to be winners. I was seriously selective when buying vinyl singles averaging £4 per track. At least with CDs, LPs and even singles, I felt like I was buying a degree of artwork too. The design added that extra layer of connection with what the musician was trying to convey.

Right now I’m in limbo. It's not that my favourite music no longer moves me. I only have to hear something that's so me in a bar and I'm right back in the zone. It's more that I don't have the desire to surround myself with music in the formats of the moment. This is where I worry I'm losing the connection.

I find iTunes a faff so I rarely get around to updating the playlist for my iPhone and quite frankly it’s just not sexy! I miss the buzz of visiting a record shop, hurrying home to play my new tunes, listening to an album in the order the artist intended...

All in all my consumption of music has come full circle. I now listen to trad jazz, swing and blues while out lindy hop dancing. If it wasn’t for this regular flexing of my music muscle I fear I might forget how to do it altogether.