#I just usually write about him during the war so I got used to Pierre Etienne and now he's perpetually tagged as that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

write-a-bad-romance · 4 years ago

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Two Hares Running Side by Side [Part II]

Part I here

Characters: Jean d’Arc, Napoleon Bonaparte, Sebastian, Comte de Saint-Germain, minor characters adapted from historical figures

Pairings: Napoleon x MC, Napoleon x Jean, Sebastian x Saint-Germain (main)

Words: 2940

Warning: Slight gore and major character amputation.

"Herr Mozart....or, Wolf as he asked me to call him, was unexpectedly amiable to my visiting him. One of his violinists even invited me to play, and I was elated when they applauded me and...."

Leon didn't need to read the rest of the letter. He understood.

There was little you could hide from Leon, not even in writing. He had long suspected his fiancé's fondness for the young musician. The more he read her letters, it was as clear it went beyond simple admiration.

Her feelings didn't go unrequited, it seemed.

Leon was a kind man. He didn't believe that he was, but everybody else insisted he was. He didn't climb the ranks of the Grande Armée through hard work and ingenuity alone.

Leon didn't want to accuse his own fiancé of unfaithfulness. Leon, on his part, believed his feelings to be earnest. But could he say the same for her?

With the letter crumpled in his fist, he strolled along the streets, in need of a distraction. He had gotten so used to having people around, to getting himself so busy there was no time to nurse festering wounds. Thoughts grew louder in silence, after all.

He stopped at a familiar bookstore, one he and Sebastian liked to frequent on breaks. Large yet cozy, and only sparsely crowded. It was the perfect sanctuary, and Leon grabbed a novel from the shelves to start reading.

But none of the words drew him in, and soon Leon put the book down to observe the other persons. One was particularly noticeable, a tall figure clad in a black shirt.

It was none other than Sergeant-Major d'Arc, flipping through a selection of leather-bound notebooks.

Jehanne, Leon gulped uneasily. Memories of gloved fingers stroking the nape of his neck resurfaced.

Leon (along with Sebastian and Saint-Germain) swore to pretend nothing happened to preserve the sergeant-major's dignity. The man in question himself woke up with no recollection of what transpired the previous night, and everything was back to usual.

But Leon's head was currently in a jumble, and it took him a while until he noticed that the other man had spotted him.

Iolite eyes bore into emerald eyes, and Leon had never felt more vindicated in his entire life.

So he did what most sensible men would do, sweep it all under the rug and show your opponent your flashiest grin.

"D'Arc! What a coincidence!" he greeted. "You alone?"

D'Arc held his chosen notebook to his chest, a rosy-colored thing that didn't suit him. "Mm," he answered. "My friends are currently preoccupied....elsewhere, and I need to replace my old journal."

"Ah, so you're keeping a journal!" Leon exclaimed, only to scold himself because soldiers keep a journal nowadays and that it's an obvious thing to say.

"Not for....reasons you might expect," D'Arc looked away. "I've been told that my writing is terrible. Gilles suggested I practice my cursive in a notebook."

The other man's bluntness never stopped being a surprise to Leon. "Ah."

They exited the store together, and Leon thought about following him for the entire day. Leon felt guilty for imposing himself on the man, but it was bound to be a long day, and he needed a distraction.

Was it safe to assume he was close enough to Jehanne—D'Arc to take up his personal time? Soldiers don't usually grope their superiors when they're drunk.

It didn't hurt to ask, Leon thought. And his initial embarrassment was already long gone. "Seeing as we're both alone, why don't you accompany me? I can treat you if you like."

Leon could sense some slight hesitation on Jean's part.

"Fine," he muttered. "I don't see why not."

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D'Arc ended up following Leon throughout their entire excursion. The Sergeant-Major wasn't one for small talk, but Leon didn't mind the peace.

He had to admit it was immensely refreshing to learn more about d'Arc. One, he was apparently skilled in sewing, and that he'd mended his own uniforms flawlessly. And second, he had as much interest in flower viewing as he did in testing weapons.

There were rumors about a soldier whose firearms expertise was unmatched and was second to none in swordsmanship. This mysterious soldier was said to swing his sword out in the open every morning without fail, even during midwinter.

The sharpshooter turned out to be d'Arc, who didn't seem to take much pride in his commendable habits. He even asked (insisted really) Leon to keep them a secret.

Even more blackmail material, Leon thought, amused.

But Leon felt some degree of affection for the innocent man, and something tugged his heartstrings when d'Arc marveled at the posh café they entered. There was probably none in his hometown, Leon wagered.

D'Arc, the humble man he was, refused everything else but water (Leon insisted he try the café’s renowned rose tea). And it wasn't until Leon ordered a plate of colorful macarons that the youth's interest was piqued.

And you said you're against sweets. Leon smiled as he took a bite of his own crêpe.

He was puzzled when d'Arc suddenly bent down and set a sheet of crumpled paper on the table.

Leon's eyes widened in recognition but didn't immediately snatch the letter back into his pocket.

"Must have fallen when I took out some coins," Leon smiled. "Thank you, d'Arc. I didn't notice."

"I didn't read it," d'Arc whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

But there was a tinge of redness on his cheeks, and the way d'Arc tried to bashfully hide his face was....was....

Darling. But damn the entire Grande Armée if Leon had to say it out loud. Last he checked, he had none of Sebastian’s inclination.

"Don't worry about it," Leon cleared his throat. "You've told me your secrets, and I showed you mine. It's alright."

D'Arc raised a thin eyebrow. Any other officer would've found the act insolent, but Leon wasn't just any officer.

He was a considerate officer. And a distraught one.

"I suppose I can't blame you for peeking then," Leon smiled wryly. "I should've kept my problems to myself. Put that letter back in my quarters or something,"

D'Arc listened calmly and took a sip of his tea.

"But maybe I'm just not capable enough to solve this one," Leon mumbled. "I'm never good at this.... at this sort of thing. She's always the one to go after me and make me sit down and....and talk. But we're far away from each other, and I'm at a loss on what to do."

Leon ran a hand through his black locks. He was crumbling in front of his subordinate, but it didn't matter. He trusted that d'Arc trusted him with his secrets, and that was grounds for confiding in the man, wasn't it?

And d'Arc's presence was calming, like a sturdy bastion amidst the whirlwind around Leon.

"We're drifting apart. My fiancé's got a fancy for this gentleman whom I had introduced sometime during the holiday. I can't entirely blame her," he continued. "He was elegant. Very charming, I might add. A bit standoffish, perhaps. But definitely attractive in every sense."

He straightened the creased letter over and over.

"At least he can be by her side all the time," Leon toyed with his fork. "I never thought once that I'd be losing her. We've been friends together with Sebastian. I simply can't imagine the thought of us, well....not being together."

"I'm not supposed to leave this as it is. But," Leon's breath hitched. "I have too much on my plate right now. A part of me wished I could run away. I don't run from problems, I don't. But this? This is something completely new."

When Leon finally raised his head to look at d'Arc, the man was staring outside the window.

Had Leon finally bored him?

"Choose your battles," d'Arc finally replied. "Be it at home or at the front."

D'Arc snatched a macaron and rotated it between his gloved fingers.

"I have no real experience in matters of the heart," he went on. "But you are a capable commander, Second Lieutenant Bonaparte. Even if you can't guarantee they'll eventually result in victory, you're always willing to see them through."

Leon listened to d'Arc, articulating his words like a saint. Do pious men all speak in tongues?

"Look," Leon countered delicately. "War and people are two very different things. You can't just think about...defeating the other person and be done with it."

Leon sighed. "Friendships may suffer, and hearts can break. I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to hurt...us."

"But does it hurt you?" D'Arc asked.

"Huh?"

"Does it hurt you?"

Leon laced his fingers on his lap. Did this cause him to lose sleep? Did it cost him hours of pondering whether the relationship had any hope of salvaging?

If the relationship was even worth salvaging?

"I'm not sure," Leon breathed. "I still love her. Very much. But I'm afraid I won't be getting much rest if I let this on any longer."

"Good," D'Arc nodded. "You can't fight a war while having...troubles from home lingering at the back of your head."

"Troubles?" Leon couldn't help but ask.

"My father," D'Arc confided. "I haven't spoken to my father since I left home. From the letters my brother Pierre sent to me, it seemed he hasn't quite forgiven me for departing."

"I see," it was a fairly common problem among recruits, especially those as young as d'Arc when he enlisted.

To some, it sustained their will to survive the wars and come home. The less fortunate ones, however...

The coffee tasted bitter on Leon's tongue. D'Arc had to survive, and so did the other countless young men under his wing. Their wings.

Napoleon chuckled. Funny how he was moaning about his love life a moment ago. And now, he was concerned for the younger man's personal struggles.

Friends, eh?

"Is something the matter?" D'Arc tilted his head, exposing a swath of his slightly tanned neck. He had become less paler over the years, Leon noticed.

"It's nothing," Leon ceased his chuckling. "Tell me more about your family, then, d'Arc."

His chest now felt a little lighter, and Leon decided he'd deal with the letter in the evening. For now, he was content listening to d'Arc talking about the mysterious Pierre and his hometown.

Twilight came, and Leon finally found his courage to write to his fiancé and ask about Herr Mozart.

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"So things didn't go well between both of you," Sebastian confronted Leon one day over coffee.

"I didn't— I haven't told you. How did you know?" Had Leon been too obvious? Or was it Sebastian's uncanny ability to read people?

"She's been writing to me, too. You both broke off the engagement pretty neatly, I must say," Sebastian sipped his mug. "You even wrote to her parents and told your mother. How gentlemanly of you."

Leon was wary of the tone in Sebastian's voice.

"But you didn't even tell me, your friend of ten years!" He hissed. "I thought you know better, Napoleon Bonaparte!"

"I'm sorry," Leon answered sheepishly. "I wasn't sure how to go about the entire issue, even when it was just between the two of us. I wanted to talk to you, but everything was resolved quicker than I expected."

Sebastian's lip thinned. "Congratulations,"

Outside, the wind was roaring, and mist descended upon the camp.

"So," the grey-haired man clapped his hands. "You're free to pursue whoever you like then."

His friend's abrupt change of demeanor baffled him. "I've just broken things off with my childhood sweetheart. Is a man not allowed to rest?"

"Ah, but she already left you for another man. All while you were moping," Sebastian pointed out, "I'm not telling you to take revenge or anything. But I can see you've already sorted things out in that department."

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean," Leon retorted.

"You've got your eyes on somebody," Sebastian waved his hand. "Nothing can escape me, Bonaparte. Don't think I've been unaware."

"There is absolutely nobody," Leon swore. "I've not met with another woman for ages, and you know that."

Sebastian stepped forward and flicked Leon on the forehead.

"So is that what you prefer, Bonaparte?" The man grabbed Napoleon's shoulders, practically shouting in his face. "Lanky, quiet youths with narrow eyes?"

"I-I don't follow," Leon rubbed his forehead. That flick stung!

"So, you like them beautiful? Okay, I can see why!" The other man continued his rant, "Was I too manly for you? How come you're suddenly paying attention to other men when I'm already with Saint-Germain?"

"The fuck are you even talking about." Leon had all but lost Sebastian at this point.

Sebastian finally released his hold on Leon, who stared bewildered at his best friend.

"You said you had no interest in men when I confessed to you," Sebastian closed in on Leon. "But you're eyeballing Sergeant-Major D'Arc all the time."

It finally dawned on Leon that Sebastian was referring to their budding relationship. Their strictly platonic relationship.

"Is that what you're thinking?" Leon gulped. "Nothing more than brotherly affection. Yes, that's it."

But the slate-colored eyes only narrowed at him skeptically.

"Oh, I give up! I accidentally consulted him about her letters, okay?" Leon gave in. "I admit that's rather private considering I haven't known him for long, but he shared his secrets too, alright? I wasn't the only one airing my dirty laundry out in the open."

Sebastian stared down at him silently.

"What?" Leon frowned. "Are you jealous or something?"

But he was instead met with laughter from the other man. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"No, at this point, no." Sebastian giggled. "I have my man, and you get yours. You're free to come crying to me whenever your relationship with d'Arc goes south, though. Consider we're even after keeping me in the dark about your breakup."

"Incomprehensible as always, Adjutant Second Officer." Napoleon squinted his eyes.

"Go at him while it's still eager, then," Sebastian brandished his mug exaggeratedly. "You're not the only one doing the ogling, you know."

"What—" but he was left hanging as Sebastian opened the tent flap and went outside.

"Time is of the essence, Bonaparte!" The man shouted. "Good hunting, I say!"

Napoleon was left in the empty tent with another headache.

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Leon wondered if there was a sliver of truth in Sebastian's words.

God only graced his most beautiful angels, and d'Arc was one amongst throes of monsters in uniforms.

Some joked that he was a sort of holy man, sent by God from the provinces to aid the Grande Armée in its lowest point. Others say he was, in fact, a he-witch who could not die and could not be grazed by any bullet or sword.

He was a lucky bastard, Leon concluded. A lucky bastard who also happened to be a living embodiment of beauty.

D’arc was perfect in many ways that Leon and his men couldn't be. He was pious, educated despite his origins, and had no interest in women whatsoever.

The sergeant-major was kind to nurses and milkmaids they met while passing villages, yes. But he was also known to fly into an unexpected rage when he discovered his lads were smuggling wenches into camp.

When teased why he didn't just volunteer to be a standard-bearer, d'Arc simply answered, "You men wouldn't survive a day without me behind the cannons."

It wasn't ambition, Leon noticed. Some men just found their purpose after escaping death after five battles despite no real hope of staying long upon entering the camp.

"I wager he's just horribly repressed," Sebastian joked one evening over wine. "Hey, maybe you'd get a chance with him. With those types, you never know!"

Leon thought of nothing when his best friend suddenly confessed that he harbored feelings for him, back when they were only with the army for six months. He kept mum when he learned Sebastian was visiting their blond doctor after hours and only coming back before dawn.

Hell, Leon himself was been looking forward to a quiet life with his fiancé and their children, back in Paris. He also never expected to be left to continue his life in the barracks, tending to an empty heart and a never ending war.

At least, there was now a face to look for after the smoke cleared.

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"We only had to amputate one of his legs. He'll make it through the night. I guarantee he survived." Saint-Germain's words rang in Leon's ears as he weaved through hordes of medics.

He didn't find Sebastian immediately after they retreated. And now he knew the reason why.

The ward smelled of soiled linen and painkillers. It was a miracle that they found a makeshift hospital nearby, a university building filled with rows of beds and better supplies than what they were used to having out in the fields.

Leon found Sebastian on a bed near the window. There was an empty space where the left leg should have been.

Leon scrambled to grasp at his pale hand, thankfully still warm. Yet the man barely stirred, even as the afternoon light streamed in and hit his bandaged face.

"Sebastian...." Leon whispered, "Can you hear me?"

But the man didn't. The morphine was potent, and Leon was left to stare blankly at his best friend's prone body.

Nurses came and went, and more soldiers were wheeled in. The clamor inside the infirmary was constant, but Leon was deaf to everything but the slightest rustle from Sebastian's paralyzed form.

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#ikemen vampire #ikevam fanfic #ikevam jean #ikevam napoleon #jeanpoleon #riri tries ikevam

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taniasinel · 7 years ago

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CHIC ON GRAN CANARIA

Years ago, when I was obsessed with the series of books and later the movies, “Twilight,” I met another devotee of the books who lived in Spain. We became close friends online and “talked” via Skype. We are still close even though we are no longer fans of the books. While Izzy is Spanish she actually lives on the Canary Islands, that romantic destination that so many of us from the states don’t really know where they are. In fact, the Canary Islands are just 100 miles off the coast of Africa, right near the Sahara Desert and Morocco. Desert sand from the Sahara has made its way to the islands, carpeting the beach in its dry ivory sand.

The tiny yellow star to the left of Western Sahara, Africa is where the 7 Canary Islands are, just 100 miles off the shores of the large continent.

The Canary Islands are seven tiny islands that are technically an archipelago. They were populated before 500 BC and in 1483, Queen Isabella of Spain conquered the land after a five year war. Their pleasant subtropical climate helps secure their reputation as a tourist attraction. It was their location on the Atlantic Ocean that made them a popular stopover for explorers and Christopher Columbus often stayed there before he started off on his explorations.

The 7 Canary Islands. The round one in the center is Gran Canaria.

The second largest island is called Gran Canaria and its capital Las Palmas is the largest town on all seven islands. It is here on Gran Canaria that this story takes place.

This story starts with the debonair decorator Christophe Gollut. Though born in Switzerland, Gollut now lives in London where he has a very successful career designing interiors for the upper crust and the titled English. Though Gollut is not quite as well known in America, he is highly respected and very talented all through Europe. His work has been published in almost every design magazines and it was through his friendship with the founding editor of The World of Interiors, Min Hogg, that the two now both have second homes on the Canary Islands, Gran Canaria, to be exact.

When photographs taken by Miguel Flores-Vianna of Min Hogg’s house on Gran Canaria turned up in both this month’s Milieu Magazine and in Miguel’s fabulous new book Haute Bohemians – I became hopelessly obsessed with the island, with Min, with Christophe, and their charming houses there.

Obsessed, I tell you!!

First things first…

How does a woman from London become the world’s most famous design magazine editor?

Min and her family escaped the blitz during WWII in the countryside of Wales.

Georgina Hogg, seen here as a young girl, grew up in Regent’s Park, where she was the daughter of a surgeon, the personal doctor of the Queen. Her mother was into the arts and took young Georgina, known as Min, to museums and tours of England’s stately houses. Her mother had great taste, which she passed down to Min, along with her love of chinoiserie, porcelains, and faded carpets.

Min’s mother, Polly at 7, painted by a friend. She was actually sitting in front of a fire – the snow was in the imagination of the artist. Min credits her mother for introducing her to the world of beautiful objects.

Min attended boarding school and, later, art school where she was a student of Terence Conran. His wife Caroline got Min her first job in journalism – working as a typist for Queen magazine. For a time Min dated the director John Huston and befriended his daughter, actress Angelica. After Queen magazine came several other jobs and eventually, Min landed back at the now named Harpers & Queen as its Fashion Editor. Her assistant? Anna Wintour. Yes, THAT Anna.

Min, as a chic Fashion Editor. I LOVE this photograph and that ribbon!!!

It’s long been known that Min and Anna Wintour were not the best of friends. Anna knew that Min’s heart wasn’t in fashion and Anna was said to be livid that Min got the job over her. But Min’s boss later defended hiring her saying she was “very intelligent and very articulate” which obviously impressed him very much. Anna ended up leaving her post and Min stayed on for a while longer.

Min as a fashionista in London.

After Harpers & Queen, Min took a job at Interiors Magazine as its editor. Her first assignment was to decorate their offices, which she did in blue and white. “It ended up looking jolly good” she said.

When she landed what she has called her dream job – Min was 40 year old and had spent a lifetime visiting beautiful houses and traveling. She was obsessive about things “looking right” and being head of a interior magazine allowed her to do it all, just to please herself.

The magazine Interiors became The World of Interiors, a decorative read for the intelligent. The stories came from all over the globe, with a heavy dose of history and the exotic mixed in. WOI was an instant success and within six months of its launch, Conde Nast came knocking on its door with an offer to buy it. As founding editor, Min Hogg became revered and respected. Many have tried to copy WOI’s formula, but its uniqueness is impossible to mimic. As editor, Min chose interiors that were the personal reflections of the owners as opposed to decorators. She strove to publish houses that featured eclecticism, vintage style, and individualism, not modernism nor minimalism. She would cover anything from a palace to a pigsty, as long as she found it worthwhile.

The first World of Interiors cover is shown here, center, with Anouska Hempel’s London sitting room on the cover. The next issue had Monet’s Giverny yellow dining room on the cover. Min remembers the endless quarrels about what would go on the magazine’s cover. “I completely ruled the roost!”

Years ago, Houston designer Richard Holley told journalist Mitchell Owens why The World of Interiors was so influential: editorial independence. "It's not pushing the latest colors or the newest furniture or what's hot.”

That editorial independence came directly from Min Hogg.

In WOI, trends were ignored as were ads which are really how-to stories. Perfectly decorated rooms were also usually avoided, although they weren’t ignored. Mario Buatta said “Min hates decorators.” He was only kidding, sort of. Not true, Min replied. She just believed that amateurs have a lot to teach the professionals. “They are generally more enthusiastic and certainly more honest about their mistakes and how they managed to camouflage them. Why does everything have to be so perfect? Nothing in real life is, you know,” Min told Owens.

In World of Interiors, Min printed stories that no other editors dared to print – such as a derelict stable elegantly designed by a 21 year old squatter.

Although Min Hogg studiously avoided covering trends – she actually started them. The term “Shabby Chic” was coined by her. Country Swedish? After World of Interiors showed 18th century Swedish houses over and over again, a fad was started that is still going strong today. Then, an article written about 19th century china inspired Pierre Frey to manufacture their famous teacup fabric called “Minton” which was a huge hit.

Min stayed at the helm of WOI for over 20 years and now writes for Cornucopia, a magazine about Turkish design which keeps her traveling all over the Middle East. Today, in her 70s, Min has designed a line of wallpapers based on 18th century engravings of seaweed. Of course! She would never design a wallpaper collection of something mundane.

Min’s line of wallpapers & fabrics.

Min’s own London apartment, in a stucco townhouse down from Harrods, is typical of what is seen in The World of Interiors. She is part cluttered, part hoarder, and it’s obvious she likes to be surrounded by things she loves. “I don’t decorate, I just put things together,” she says.

“Decorating is at a really low ebb, depressing beyond belief,” she says. “It’s the fault of technology. People have stopped looking at pictures and furniture.”

Hard at work in her London apartment. The walls are pink. Love the Rolodex! The desk? It’s actually her antique Swedish dining table. Across from the table is the fireplace and bookshelves.

When Min first moved into her apartment, all the walls were papered in a honeysuckle pattern of different colors for each room. Her mother told her to leave it as is. Ten days before she moved in, the honeysuckle paper was all removed and the walls became pink instead.

An early version of Min’s 3 room apartment on the top floor of an old townhouse. Above the sofa hang 15 antique engravings of a military campaign in 1820 Burma. Min says if you can’t afford one large piece of art – group prints together, instead.

Hey, that’s what I say!!!

Originally Min had a pink skirted table paired with pink tufted Belle Époque chairs that she says came from either the theatre or a brothel because there are only two casters on the front legs.

Another view, with the filled bookshelves and neatly stacked porcelain on the mantel, obviously tidied up for the photo by the stylist. In the center is a large tufted ottoman with a pink chair. The blue curtains were fashioned by Min by hanging one 16’ long piece of fabric over a rod.

Words of wisdom from Min taken from different interviews in the New York Times and other papers:

'Over the years I've seen millions of places improved by the people who live there and not by decorators,'' she said. ''When the chance came to edit The World of Interiors I decided that I would show people not the usual interiors done by decorators.''

''I think we are going through a very arid time in design, you look at a modern house and what do you see? A chaise designed in 1929. Some Marcel Breuer. Some Corbusier. You look at new furniture and all you see is Mackintosh chairs, which is too bad, because neither the originals nor the copies are comfortable.''

In Min’s apartment, she later moved the Burma collection to over her bed.

Later still, the ottoman is replaced with this footstool. On the left is her blue and white striped sofa.

Min is known for the scarves she wears in her hair. The reason? She explained in an interview that she hates going to the hairdresser, so she dyes her hair and cuts the “fringe” herself. Her hair is long, but she doesn’t like long hair on older women, so she wraps it around her head – held up by the colorful scarf that is her now her trademark!! Another trademark are her pearl earrings which she used to make herself, but now has them custom made.

A newer piece is the red and striped slipcovered wing chair – is it obvious she loves stripes?

And here, Min instagramed it for us! Love!

When photographing her new line of wallpaper and fabrics, the stylist had Min’s antique sofa covered in one of the designs –the fabric was added inside the frames too.

I can only assume she kept the new design on the sofa!

A later view of the mantel with all the porcelains just as Min prefers them.

An instagramed photo of the living room mantel and oil painting.

And another instagrammed photo of the sculpture placed inside her mantel.

The antique Burma prints were later moved to her bedroom. I believe she remodeled this bedroom at a later date.

The vanity table is actually a wallpaper workman’s table with the legs shortened. Min’s mother made the skirt for her.

A “Hogg” ancestor.

Above an antique chest is an oval mirror. Another mirror is reflected in it.

Her pink room with the green antique dresser.

A collection of Witches Balls hang from the mantel. Here you can see the delicate pattern on these pink walls.

Min instagrammed this mantel with her pink walls.

And sitting in front of the mantel in pink.

Min doesn’t like kitchen items hidden behind cabinets. Instead, she has it all out on display. Here, she put checked fabric behind the wired doors.

While Min’s London townhouse used to get all the attention – it is her house in Gran Canaria that is now in the news.

Why Gran Canaria?

It was through Min’s friendship with the afore mentioned Christophe Gollut that she was introduced to the Spanish Canary Islands.

Christophe Gollut and Min are great friends. He was one decorator whose work was shown in World of Interiors, and long ago she also published him in Harpers & Queen. He has had a long and highly respected career, working with those who can afford to furnish their houses with priceless antiques - the complete opposite of Min’s aesthetic. His clients are rumored to be the Rothschilds, the Flicks, Princess Michael…but, wait. Gollut corrects this – he is friends with Princess Michael and only advises her on design.

This house he designed was just recently shown in The World of Interiors:

The owners met Christophe on the Canary Islands where they both have vacation houses. This is the fourth house Gollut has designed for the couple – the wife had inherited it from her grandfather. Located in Madrid, it was once connected to the Royal Palace through an underground tunnel, created for perhaps a lady-in-waiting or a lover? The house is an enfilade with room after room opening to each other. The walls are painted green over a pink base. The main salon is shown here with red upholstery. Many of the antiques were purchased on the Canary Islands.

The view towards the opposite direction, looking into the library.

The library with views through to the dining room. Heavy double doors open up to each room.

Just gorgeous! I can’t imagine how beautiful this room must look in the evening. The adjoining blue room is the stairhall. The door at the opposite end of the dining room is now closed up – the once public neighboring room is today the master bedroom.

The main hall with Wedgewood blue walls and striped silk curtains. I love the blue mixed with red. Gollut took one look at the house and decided this room must be Wedgewood blue. He is the type of designer who can immediately see how each room should look and then never wavers from that initial vision.

The 44 Carrera marble steps are the focal point of the house. Simply stunning!!!

Look at the hand painted ceiling!!!

Off the dining room is the newly created master suite with its large Flemish tapestry.

The second main bedroom.

This apartment gives you a view to Christophe Gollut’s aesthetic: classic, timeless, and tasteful.

He and Min Hogg have been life long friends.

Here they are…talking. Oh, to be a fly on the wall. Min looks quite serious!!

It was Christophe who discovered Gran Canaria in the Canary Islands and then shared it with Min.

Gran Canaria – the beaches ring the island whose center is high in the mountains. It takes one day to drive around the entire island along its beaches. Las Palmas is the largest city on the islands. Where the yellow star is – is where our story takes place, a bit inland, a bit in the hills.

Christophe Gollut was first to create his vacation house on Gran Canaria. Min Hogg followed her friend there and together they both have wonderful second homes.

Gran Canaria is a mix of sandy beaches with hotels and quiet towns where there are no hotels or tourists.

Las Palmas is the capital of Gran Canaria. Here, this photograph captures its colorful stucco houses and buildings.

Mogan is a colorful fishing town whose streets have arches to hold up the bougainvillea. The island is one large hill!

The bougainvillea is so beautiful on the island.

Playa de Maspalomas, the 10 mile stretch of beach whose sand has drifted here over the Atlantic Ocean from Africa’s Sahara Desert.

Guayadeque – a ravine in the hills beyond the small village where Min and Christophe live. In the older days, wealthy residents would have summer houses in the hills where they would stay during the hotter months. The area is now a National Park and is filled with secret prehistoric caves where the Guanches, natives of the islands, once lived.

Original caves where people once lived.

An older house in the hills – with the dark volcanic stone mixed in with the stucco.

In the 15th century, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain conquered the seven islands. It was here at this mansion that Christopher Columbus would stay before sailing the Atlantic to the Americas.

Miguel Flores-Vianna took this photo on Gran Canaria.

The town where Min Hogg and Christophe Gollut live is called Ingenio. Located somewhat inland it is a quiet town without a hotel and with no tourists.

The main church in Ingenio, where Min lives. Her house is right around the corner from it. Beautiful black urns are filled with bright purple flowers.

Inside the church. There is the main altar, along with altars on both sides - see below:

Miguel Flores-Vianna photographed this side altar showing Christ with the cross.

The streets of Ingenio are decorated with different patterns made of the tiles.

These houses are painted blue and purple with orange to end up at the bottom of the hill with a white house and green door.

These houses are pink and orange and white. The dark volcanic stone mixed with stucco is typically found all over the island.

Christophe Gollut’s house is the large white one on the left. He joined three townhouses together to create his vacation house. Located on a square, it is right next to a park. The façade is said to be a copy of Christopher Columbus’s house.

An early photo from a street in Ingenio. It looks a lot like Christophe’s – maybe before renovation?

The houses are built around interior courtyards, where the farm animals once used to live.

Christophe Gollut’s front door with its stone surround and stone drive.

Here is his interior courtyard with its arched doorways and lilac walls.

I wish I had fabulous photographs from Christophe’s Gran Canaria house, but most are from poor, old magazine scans.

A better photo of the lavender colored courtyard.

An alcove in Gollut’s courtyard holds urns and antique glass inside the arch.

The rooftops of his townhouse became gardens. His roof has a painted floor, in light and dark pink, to mimic tile. The area beyond the wall is another roof top, not used as a garden space. Stairs on the left lead down to the courtyard. Bougainville grows wild on the island. A turquoise arched door leads inside.

From Facebook…a more recent photo of the rooftop garden, so green and pink!

The rooftop garden styled for a magazine.

And yet one more from another direction with a view of an even higher roof garden.

This area of the garden is set under an straw awning. Above is a higher level of the roof garden.

The entry hall to Gollut’s house – faux stone wall painted yellow. A door with a transom leads to a room. Across the hall is another room through a paneled double door.

Across the hall – the other door is paneled.

The main sitting room is pink – a shade found all over Gran Canaria. So lovely! In the corner, an antique screen sits on a tabletop. Different styles of French chairs sit atop antique rugs.

This room is located on the second floor – with the windows overlooking the front street and the side of the house.

The arched windows to the outdoors have interior wood shutters.

A detail of the corner – with its beautiful gilt French chair covered in a pink and white check. A wood table is covered with a cloth.

This is the room that is the focal point of all the magazine photospreads – and no wonder why! It’s a beautiful collection of French furniture in a tropical environment.

This view shows more of the sofa against the windows.

This view from an old magazine shoot – shows the other sofa against the side wall flanked by the French chairs. This window overlooks the side of the house.

A long hallway from the entry. The windows on the left look into the guest bedroom. French sconces light the hall. In the center is an oil painting and console table, below:

The oil painting and console in the entry hallway. You can see that the walls are actually the pink color. I adore the scalloped frame!

The window on the left overlooks the front hall. Two French brass beds.

A larger view of the double bedroom.

The master bedroom is grand, with a stone fireplace and antique furniture. There is a large tapestry hanging behind the bed. The Egyptian bedspread covers the Empire bed during the day to create a sofa.

Another bedroom has a canopy bed with wallpapered walls. There is an odd window up high. Remember this is an old house – actually three houses combined together.

A view from the bedroom into the hall and down to the red painted staircase – the only photo of the interior stairs that I could find. Notice the framed painting on the right has a similar pattern to the paper. And notice the two door frames in wood with a small urn atop it. So unusual!!

Another view from a magazine of the dining room styled differently.

I wish the photographs were better!!!

An interesting loft area over the living room and under an original roof with wood beams. A red and white striped rug with yellow walls. Notice the built in cabinets and the arched window.

Min Hogg tells the story of how she landed in Gran Canaria in the 2017 Fall Issue of Milieu. The beautiful photographs were taken by the phenomenon Miguel Flores-Vianna who has a particularly good eye at capturing the homes of aesthetes like Min and Carolina Irving, another whose house he photographed for Milieu.

This month, Vianna’s long awaited book was released – called Haute Bohemians - it is filled with the most interesting places owned by the most intriguing people, artists, designers, and others with enviable good taste.

The book is a stunning collection of photographs and Min’s house is a standout. Her spread in Milieu was timed to coordinate with the book’s release date and everyone has been gushing with praise over both Min’s house and the book.

Min photographed on the cobbled streets near her house – again, there is the characteristic black lava stones from the island’s volcano mixed with white stucco.

Min discovered the island and the town Ingenio when she visited her great friend Christophe Gollut. They were walking along the cobbled streets and alleys when she saw a double wood door with an opened padlock hanging from it. She and Christophe were curious and peeked inside to see what lay beyond the door. It was a courtyard with a green painted balcony that ran along the upper floor, along with a large palm tree. For years, the courtyard had been used to stable the animals, whose sheds remained off to the side. The house was a complete ruin, but Min was intrigued. She quickly found the owner who agreed to sell it. Christophe had restored his own house just six years prior, so he was a great help in introducing Min to all the tradespeople and translating their Spanish into English.

Min’s house. The walls are pink with accented black doors and windows.

When Min bought the house - thought to be around 200 years old – there was no glass in the windows, just shutters. There was also no electricity, water, or drains. It took seven months to completely restore the house – all done while she lived in London. It is a four hour plane trip from London to the Canary Islands and Min visits just three times a year. I looked on Air BnB to see if she rents this beauty out – but no such luck!!

A close up of the front door.

Originally all the rooms lead directly to the courtyard or the verandah but there was no connections between the rooms, internally. To rectify this, Min had doors punched through the rooms – their stucco walls are over 2 feet thick! She created three bedrooms, each with a bathroom, for herself and guests. She also created a connection between the dining area of the main room and the kitchen by making a hatch window in the stucco wall. She also moved the kitchen from the ground floor up to the main floor. The former kitchen is now a garden cum laundry room.

The front hall with its geranium leaf-green painted doors and yellow walls. Her bedroom is to the right.

A glimpse of Min’s master bedroom with her French bed.

The main sitting room! I’m hopelessly in love with this room and would love to live here always!!! The rug is a red and white stripped dhurri. In the center is red and white striped ottoman that divides the room into two areas. The walls are a fabulous pink with green trim. While it resembles Christophe Gollut’s drawing room in Ingenio, Min’s is a bit more fanciful. I can’t decide if she has one or two chandeliers? She added the crystals to it, bit by bit. I think she has two. I love this blue and white lamp with the pleated shade!

A smaller view without all the magazine printing over it.

Much of the furniture was bought in France and shipped to London. She collected everything for months and then sent it all together to Gran Canaria when the renovation was complete. There are two French sofas and a wonderful painted screen. One sofa wears an antique rug, the other is covered by old curtains from her mother’s house.

A close up of the sofa and screen. LOVE!!!!!!

This view seems to confirm that there are two large identical chandeliers in this room.

The adorable Min looks perfectly Spanish in her striped T-shirt.

The dining area. The table was made on the island. The blue chairs are modern.

An earlier photo of the dining room before the blue chairs and the green cushions were added.

Notice a large difference between this house and her London apartment? Here, there are no prints or paintings hanging on the walls. In London, there is not one inch of wall left uncovered by art work. Here, Min said the house called for plain walls. And, I do think she is right.

Another think she is right about? The chandelier. The size is extra large – since the room is also. And I love how it is so curvy and feminine – the curves are juxtaposed against the strict rectangular shape of the room. Whether she has one or two, I love her choice.

The new kitchen – with everything exposed to the eye, just as Min likes it.

Her bedroom with the toile headboard. The woodwork was painted turquoise in this room and the floor boards are white.

An earlier view shows a different bedspread. At the window is her curtains. I think I like the checked bedspread better. Of course. Give me a check any time!!!

One of the guest rooms. She bought all this fabric in a souk in Cairo. Behind the curtain is the bathroom. I love all the antique French furniture!!!! It makes the house look so chic!!

A third bedroom in green and white. Through the curtain behind the bed is the bathroom.

The bathroom with a gilt mirror and antique porcelain toothbrush holder. Elegance!!

Min with her godchild in the same blue and green bedroom.

The green painted verandah that lines the upper floor. The chaise is where Min watches the sun set.

The courtyard with its cobbled steps. Her green checked chaise can be seen here at the left.

And another Instagram view of the courtyard with its cobbled steps and what looks like a blue plumbago plant? More bougainvillea everywhere. Notice the tiny green window in the upper wall on the right.

This old photo shows the town as it once was with the donkeys and cats and dogs. Love this photo!!

This looks a lot of Min’s courtyard with the verandah, the roof, the cobbled street.

I hate to leave this story! I’ve been so obsessed with Min and her two houses, especially this one with the glorious photograph of her living room by Miguel Flores-Vianna. Finding the photos of Christophe Gollut’s Gran Canaria living room which resembled Min’s but in a dressier way, made me obsess over these two houses even more!!

Christophe Gollut’s Gran Canaria living room – pink with gray, filled with French furniture.

And Min Hogg’s Gran Canaria pink living room – all red stripes and toiles and crystal chandelier. Sophisticated fun!!!!

To read more:

The new Milieu. Subscribe HERE.

Or Order by clicking on this photo below:

To order Miguel Flores-Vianna’s book with Min Hogg, Carolina Herrera, Marion McEvoy and a host of other fabulous houses, click on the photo below.

CLICK ON THE BOOK TO ORDER.

Christophe Gollut’s web site HERE.

Min Hogg’s web site HERE.

GET THE LOOK:

FRENCH NAPKINS ANTIQUE HERE

MOROCCAN POM POM BLANKET HERE

FRENCH 19TH CENTURY BISTRO TABLE HERE

SUZANI BIRD SPREAD HERE

ANTIQUE SALT GLAZE TOBACCO JARS, PAIR HERE

from COTE DE TEXAS http://cotedetexas.blogspot.com/2017/10/chic-on-gran-canaria.html

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krystynasierbien · 8 years ago

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There’s a Glenn Greenwald in all our Heads — He Mustn’t Be Destroyed.

So you found my message in a bottle on Copacabana beach, or in the sea; which evidently you got in to ‘fetch’; Congratulations,

Hiya,

It is right now twilight in my leafy sanctuary, and the amphibian purr of the rainforest — that ethereal constant, by now so familiar and so dear I know that to it, I have surrendered an enclave of my being — has prompted first, inclination to cleanse these half century worn muscles with my nightly yoga skit on the porch as the dogs run around outside like mad cats beneath the encroaching romance of the moonlight, then the compulsion to write this letter, by hand and by candlelight to you, a complete stranger, with free time only a lack of internet access could realistically inspire.

You see it poured with rain earlier; there was yet another power-cut, and the lines have been down for hours now. Which is too bad. My sort-of-boss wanted to get in touch this evening to discuss whatever legal issues hover over my latest, and for that reason, presumably, LOL, still yet to be published article.

The delay’s all been thanks to The Deatheaters at GCHQ: Who once again have gotten in touch with their specious appeals to “wahhh, ah, don’t publish, national security!” when in this instance all they seem to want to do, in fact all they ever seem to want to do is cover their own sorry incompetent asses. And don’t get me started on Professor Sir David Omand De Pfeffel III or whatever his name isn’t — that guy. That sneering, contemptuous, duckbilled platypus of a man who, if not shuffling along the corridors of the War Studies department at Kings College London, mumbling to himself and his colleagues about “The Terrorists” can be found on UK television waving classified documents redacted to the point of incoherency in Channel 4 News’ John Snow’s face; lambasting him for “not covering the story accurately” and causing “needless fear and confusion.” Omand’s open disdain for the public is obscene and astounding. The UK is astounding. But would Omand debate me Live, and face to face, about the broader implications of mass surveillance at its current technological velocity, hmmm? No, of course he wouldn’t. Because obviously he knows that GG (emphasis MINE) would wipe the floor with him.

Stepping back, you know it’s actually quite funny, ironic even. I think? I’ve mentioned this in interviews before of course although it certainly bears repeating here too. My sort-of boss, this guy, this Ebay guy, Pierre Omidyar. Mmmm-hmmm, that’s right, get this: Well, Pierre can’t get in touch with me a lot of the time because of the outages, yet he’s a multi-billionaire computer and technology whizz with coalescing political, philanthropic and entrepreneurial goals (that’s PPE to you, British establishment! LOL.) The point is none of that stuff makes a difference here. Not money nor status nor expertise, and tidbits such as these keep me grounded. You know, those little reminders that even one of the most influential and tech-savvy people in the world, not to mention a bestselling author and journalist whom reports on cutting edge computer technologies as weaponised by the burgeoning global security state, aka yours truly, me, Glenn Greenwald, that’s right bitches, are subject to the whim of a tropical downpour and temperamental public infrastructure, just like everybody else. Which means often Pierre and I are unable to email or even call one other for this reason, let alone encrypt our communications. Hell — I can barely encrypt!

But no matter because here in the rainforest. The rainforest in which I live. The rainforest from which I conduct most of my adversarial business in between regular trips back and forth to the US to attend MSM interviews & a variety of public and private speaking engagements, nature’s obstacles usually prevail. And I respect that.

I love not man the less; but nature more. I love not man the less, but nature more. This quote, by Lord Byron of all people rolled over in my head as I walked the dogs today, and it seems to make more sense with the so-called passage of so-called time. Nevertheless civilisation, free speech, civility, order — not too much though — also justice, always justice, justice applied to the largest and yes at times even the most mundane aspects of public life, has really always been my passion. And yet still, still, I feel most at home in the lushness, solitude and natural lawlessness of the jungle; where civilisation’s most concrete hallmarks and affectations are relatively scarce. I am conscious of this duality and honestly I’m still not sure what to make of it. What I do know is that the eleven adorable rescue pups David and I adopted from the local santuário animal a couple of years back really have transformed our lives for the better. We feel a deep-seated affection for our unruly four-legged companions; who have become a necessary counterforce to the many stresses our working hours burden us with. Each has a unique personality and complex emotional needs. This is how I personally have experienced every dog I’ve crossed paths with in all my forty nine years. And you know what? To me that’s life affirming. You see the dogs help me help myself let go of all that rage. The kind of debilitating rage only interaction with you the people could ever insight (LOL).

The birds living here with us in this sprawling primeval forestry we call home love it when it rains, but they sing louder when it pours, and whenever they do, and whenever it does, echoes of real-life tweets streak through the sodden air and then into my grateful ears whenever the wind’s blowing in my favour. The humidity here reminds me of my home state Florida, a place I left an inordinately long time ago now. The strangest of personal circumstances tend to develop in the lives of Floridians who actually leave Florida by the way. The meme is true. I am, by no memes, an exception to this ‘rule’ and yes I’ve certainly led a variegated life so far. Like many if not most people have. It’s not that I’m secretive about my past, nor about how I got here either, per se. It’s just that it’s none of your damn business is it really. And I think perhaps you should respect that. Enough about Cocky Boys already, pedants. It’s been done. Twice already. Whatever.

I was a member elect of the *drumroll* Lauderdale Lakes City Council recreation advisory board by the time I was eight. So admittedly I’ve been aware of this ‘game’ for a long time now, starting my own journey on the other side of the public/private tracks before relinquishing my post a year later to pursue other projects, namely cub scouts, at age nine (LOL).

I ran for council even, unsuccessfully it would eventually transpire although boy did I learn a whole lot about US electoral politics during that election campaign, when I was seventeen. Growing up, my grandfather was a Lauderdale Lakes City councillor for many years — as far back as I can remember in fact — and it was from him I learnt that the principles and constitutional rights of all must be upheld ‘doggedly’ (LOL) no matter how odious that token, idea, or indeed even that person might be.

I’m actually a bigger picture kinda guy really, and I’m funny and nice as anything in real life. But I also know the intricacies of the system because I’ve been there, okay, an insider of various descriptions, with first hand experience of these institutions in operational flux as their representatives often superficially interact with, lie to and clash with one another. You have no idea how much of a mess all this is of course. But I do. I know the system’s geared towards the moneyed, the unashamed pursuit of the ego; that in a comparable sense the law exists to infantilise, imprison and fine the unruly masses while invariably loop-de-looping for those wealthier entities, who admittedly I jam with from time to time, even though it’s obvious, self-evident maybe, that even ‘The Good Billionaires’ see buying political power as but one manifestation of the natural order of things. Which troubles me of course. Only how much really? And what if they’re right? I’ve heard about the sinister echoes along D.C. corridors: I’ve seen the grubby fingermarks lining the walls and yes I’ve spoken to the beasts that frequent the hallways and the conference rooms. (Obama voice) I get it, really.

There really are glimmers of hope though and yet rarely do we ever focus on them. As I write these words a small but dedicated army of human rights activists and free speech lawyers are in perpetual battle with the encroaching security state to carve out and maintain as safe a legal space as possible for whistleblowers and political dissidents alike. These are people who use their skills for good. Who refuse to serve ‘corporate interests’ and choose instead to secure the rights of whistleblowers everywhere by bolstering as best they can the safety net that whistleblowers are legally guaranteed.

I upheld the constitutional rights of a corporation myself before. A tobacco company no less. Whatever god is knows that I have. But I soon realised I was emptier for it. That I was merely existing. I started to blog soon-after before upping sticks, leaving my life in New York along with a relationship that had sadly long since run its course behind, and moved to Rio in ’05, where I was blessed enough to meet my soulmate, David Miranda, and then find this wonderful paradise for us to live in before my ‘second-wind’ career of sorts really started to take off. And now the rest, as they say (LOL), is history.

I started blogging as online media began to challenge and disrepute the establishment press and, I think, redefine the global media order entirely. People liked my work (LOL); I managed to land the Salon gig; The Guardian one after that. There, I was able to draw attention to NSA mass surveillance as the story crescendoed. As the NSA insiders continued to come forward and as that constitutional gut punch, The Patriot Act, was finally being acknowledged for the abomination it so demonstrably was and continues to be within broader political discourse. However nothing could have prepared me for the Snowden thing and everything he has entailed since. It’s been the most insane thing. An admission here, just a small one because, well, I’ve been candid thus far and it only feels right that I continue in this vein. So here goes:

It actually wasn’t a Rubik’s cube Snowden was carrying with him in the hotel lobby the day we met. As the Oscar Winning film Citizen Four suggests. Nuh uh. Ed had a Rubik’s cube, which he’d planned to use for the purposes that we described to you in the film, only turns out that he lost it the day we arranged to meet. We filmed all that crap afterwards. He was closing a window in his hotel room that morning when he sneezed, and his natural response was to move his hand over his mouth, like any good boy would. As he did so, the Rubiks cube, which was in his hand at this point, I have no idea why and to this day neither does he — slipped from his grip, and then ricocheted off his cheek, somehow. As if in slow motion; right through the tiny opening in the window. I mean really, what are the odds?! He was in his hotel room on the 51st floor so obviously he couldn’t leave the building for security reasons. When Laura and I heard the news via p2p we were absolutely devastated. How could this even happen?

With only a small window (LOL) of opportunity to amend the plan; the only thing we could think of was thus: We would meet Ed in the lobby just as planned, but instead of holding a Rubik’s cube, he’d be the guy in the furthest right hand corner of the room, facing the wall. Slowly, but purposefully banging his head up against it. Only little did we know, at that exact spot, just three days previously a decorative Chao Gong had been mounted on that particular stretch of wall. So when we arrived, there Snowden was: A young, scrawny looking man (Laura & I had expected him to be of retirement age up to this point) stood there banging his head against it as three startled receptionists from the lobby-desk bustled frantically around him, offering a glass of water, pleading with him to take a seat. Laura, Ewen and I hurried over when we spotted him and when he did the same he followed us to the end of the lobby and then out into the hallway where we exchanged nervous, awkward, but sympathetic glances before stepping into the lift together, going up, exiting, and then walking up to the hotel room in complete silence.

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