Author: ALPIE Moreau
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The Chignon That Collapsed in Capri
There’s humidity. And then there’s betrayal. Capri began, as it often does, with delusion.Glenda said the words that now live rent-free in my trauma archive: “Let’s walk, Tatie. The view will be worth it.” She said this with the sincerity of a woman wearing espadrilles and optimism. I—a French-British construct with heat-induced disdain and a…
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She Brought a Candle to the Thermal Baths
Let’s begin with a truth: Glenda romanticized Budapest before we even landed.She said things like “I’m going to find my melancholy here” and “Maybe I was Hungarian in another life.” Darling. In that other life, you also didn’t understand the tram schedule. Day one, she stood on the Széchenyi Chain Bridge like she was in a perfume commercial. Hair tousled, scarf…
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The Lucerne Parking Debacle
And the Duck Trauma We Don’t Talk About We had left Crown Hollow that morning with the kind of confidence only fools and women in linen possess. The plan was simple: a day trip to Lucerne, carefully choreographed by Glenda herself, complete with a designated parking garage—pre-selected, star-rated, and emotionally pre-approved. “It’s okay, Tatie,” Glenda said,…
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A Table for Three, oh Four!
Let me tell you about the day I saved my darling niece from culinary catastrophe in Venice – though she’d probably argue she was perfectly capable of identifying tourist traps without my intervention. Charming naivety. There we were, four souls wandering through San Marco Square: Glenda and her ever-patient Rashid, my sister ALPIE looking impeccably British despite…
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The Lavender Didn’t Save Us
A Three-Day Dispatch from Provence Day 1: Lacoste — Where Memory Wears Linen We arrived in Lacoste just before noon. The air was lavender-laced and stubbornly warm, the kind of heat that settles behind your knees and doesn’t apologize for it. The village unfurled in soft, honey-colored stone, as if someone had built a town…
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Whitewashed: A Cautionary Tale in Linen
They call them the White Villages—but don’t be fooled. They are not peaceful. They are not “charming.” They are blindingly gorgeous, aggressively steep, and absolutely full of themselves. And Glenda, of course, fit right in. This is the story of how one woman set out to “connect with the land” and ended up emotionally exfoliated, culturally…
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Seceda & the Art of Not Dying on a Hike
It began, as all catastrophes do, with confidence. Glenda had done Seceda before. A triumphant autumn ascent the year prior—cool breezes, functioning gondolas, and photos so ethereal they looked AI-generated. So naturally, when she returned in late spring, she believed herself to be an alpine veteran. We stood at the bottom of the mountain. The first gondola…
All Around The World 