Rituelle Tin

Posted by Shireen Sandoval  11/05/12, 4:52pm

Rituelle Tin

Snaking down the Billabong River at the Top End of the Australian Outback near Kakadu National Park, just outside of Darwin, in a *tiny tin* motorized boat with an Aboriginal guide was one of the best experiences of my life.

Gigantic green lush trees lurched toward the water, floating sundrenched lily pads illuminated the horizon, bubbles rose up occasionally as crocodiles sauntered secretly by and the brightest of blue Forest Kingfishers called out, stirring the deepest of emotions in me.

I'd never seen anything like it. It was an assault on the senses; awe-inspiring. I knew words would never be able to do it justice but damned if I wasn't going to try. As we journeyed further, my pale skin turned a shade darker, sweat dripped from my brow and as cheesy as it sounds, in that moment I felt the grandeur of life. I knew Mother Nature was giving me a gift, one I unwrapped with my eyes.

Mind you, when first told I was going on a cruise in Australia (on assignment for Deco Drive,) I thought: "Okay, a cruise, hmmm. What will I wear? Will there be cocktails? What purse will go with my safari look?" I laugh now, as I remember walking up to the boat, thinking it was a yacht, instead I was horrified to find something more like a dinghy. By the way there was NO place to put my purse, NO bartender in sight and it didn't matter what I was wearing because I was sweating like a pig in heat. That's when a fashionista has to let go and let life style itself. 

Days later, in a white Land Rover, my crew and I barreled toward civilization with the back country in our rear view mirror. I dozed off with red clay rolling by and Wallabies jumping about. I woke suddenly when I realized I hadn't had a chance to shop (gasp) except at a street fair on Mindil Beach while covering the annual Beer Can Regatta. At that point, it really didn't matter, because I was already at the Darwin airport drinking an Imperial Stout looking at the cork hats in a sad little gift shop (yes, I bought one, my photographer insisted).

Thank God for the Sydney Airport. We connected there before flying to Los Angeles. My TV crew and I split up like spies on a secret mission (to find sovenirs that didn't look like they were "actual sovenirs" from the "actual airport"). What started as a frantic shopping fiasco turned into a pleasant walkabout! I found lovely shops with  indigenous art, jewelry, UGGS and beautiful crocodile skinned leather goods. The best part? No tour guide was needed for this terminal.

In a sweet little soap and perfume shop (where I stopped to squirt away the smell of my dirty, I've been in the Outback for days, hair) I discovered an ultra feminine pink & green tin. When i opened it, the loveliest of smells perfumed the air. It seemed all the things I adored about the land down under folded up perfectly into this tiny treasure. I looked at the label, it read Urban Rituelle.

It's a company based in Sydney, Australia that makes its own bath and body products. I was drawn specifically to the Ginger Apple hand cream, petit parfum and lip balm. Needless-to-say, after flying around the world, racing a camel, riding boats made of beer cans, roughing it in the wilderness and keeping a few crocodiles company, some self pampering was a few hours overdue.

Eventually my sun-kissed skin faded back to pale and my Rituelle ran-out. No worries, whether on a tiny tin boat or in a tiny tin can,  it's always a good day, mate, at http://www.urbanrituelle.com/ 

The Gallant Gladiator

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

The Gallant Gladiator a blog story...

I know it didn't happen in slow motion but it felt that way. My feet danced around me; forward and backward, up and down, side to side. My body lunged in different directions, twisting and turning, in what I thought was a dazzling display of agility. So, imagine my surprise when my enemy sunk her dagger straight into my heart. I gasped in pain and my body grew limp. After she stabbed me, she pulled me close and whispered: "Rest in peace Gallant Gladiator."

Rosebuds, Mr. Herrick, Clover Canyon & Floggs

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

When Springtime approaches, the poem "Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May" incessantly runs through my head. It affects me in two ways. At first, I feel a renewal of sorts. Spring brings such possibilities. Then I feel an overwhelming need to inflict pain on Robert Herrick. He's the 17th-century English writer that penned the poem. It's basically a warning to young people to heed love ASAP. He states: "That age is best which is the first." My translation - love is better when you're young (virgin-like) so get it while the gettin's good.

Paula, Kookie & Molly my hair chronicle ...

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

I didn't lose my hair all at once. It came out little by little, here and there. It trailed behind me like a brillant mystery novel, leaving little clues to my whereabouts. First, I noticed it on my pillow. Then my shower drain. I'd find strands on my shoulders and frantically pick them off. Eventually a clump would follow. Each piece was like a string of rope coming untethered. The once strong, tightly bound fibers unraveled around me. Over time, my magnificent mane became minuscule. The bottom shed so much it turned see-through. The top, typically full, thinned-out into a lackluster, lifeless thing that just laid there. It was a case of "hair today, gone tomorrow" literally.

A Fashion Felony

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

I was in a deep sleep when the raid happened. It was the middle of the night. The sound of the front door getting kicked in jolted me from my slumber. My heart raced. I knew it was over. I had the premonition a few days prior. I just didn't think it'd be so soon. I'd prepared myself - going over and over it - hundreds of times in my head. But now that it was actually happening, I wasn't ready. I looked through the darkness, toward the door of my bedroom and saw flashlights flooding my apartment. A cop yelled my name, demanding my surrender. I couldn't let them take me. Not now. Not like this. I was vunerable, disheveled and undressed.