nomadic pal num. 4 : sacha pytka

 

 QUICKLY

YOU: Sacha Pytka, 23 (of Soyons Ouf) HOME: Venice Beach, CA 

I'M CURRENTLY: On lockdown in LA until I finish my next samples and head to Europe. 

I DIG: Cooking, clothes, and adventures. 

DESTINATION: Moscow, Russia 

WHAT: My friend Aline and I thought it would be fun to do a girls weekend in Russia with our little sisters.  Arielle and I got our tickets and visas, but my friends didn’t get their act together so it was  a sisters weekend. 

WHY: Curiosity 

WHEN: February 2009 

WEATHER: FREEZING 

TRIP TUNES: Whatever we were dancing to! 

TRIP THREADS: An amazing white fox fur coat given to me by my grandma. I could have been naked under that thing and still have been warm. 

CAN'T FORGET EVEN IF I TRIED: Arielle’s grand finale fall while ice skating in the Red Square. 

NEXT STOP: Back to Paris, then surfing in Mexico!

BEST

RELAXATION SPOT: The jacuzzi at our hotel- the Mariott Moscow Royal Aurora. It’s all you want after walking out in the cold all day. 

MEAL: I can't say it was my favorite meal, but certainly the most Russian meal we had was at the super-traditional Café Pushkin. Lots of pickles and cabbage and things of the sort, but the restaurant itself is stunning.  

DRINK: Beluga Vodka. I don’t like vodka very much, but when in Rome… This was the most highly recommended vodka from room service and I must say it was delectable.  I found it at a liquor store nearby here in California.  When I brought it up to the register, the Russian cashier asked me “How do you know about Beluga?”  He was quite impressed. 

ADVENTURE: Trying to cross the street.  The avenues there are basically 4 to 6 lane highways with no visible crosswalks. We rush across one trying to get to the Red Square, and a group of police officers approach us and start speaking to us in Russian.  Our stomachs drop. “We don’t speak Russian.” They look us up and down. “Give me your passports.”  There’s no way I’m giving these guys our passports. We smile, play dumb and walk away very fast saying we don’t have them on us.  We later find out there are underground tunnels.  We also befriended the gay man who sold me a pair of boots. He took us to Vika Gazinskaya’s fashion show at TSUM department store and we wound up partying at a Russian gay bar, that was pretty fun too.  Also, our flight home was cancelled and we had to stay in an airport hotel for the night. A chocolate and vodka fueled karaoke party ensued with the rest of the stranded passengers. 

SLEEP/LACK OF SLEEP: Simachev- This is the only club that I remember the name of, but we danced to everything from badass Russian rap to Backstreet Boys.

Arielle

Cafe Pushkin

  Trying to cross the street

 inside the super luxurious mall GUM

 

Arielle modeling some great finds from a shop in an underground crosswalk tunnel. my fur hat and her pilot's jumpsuit.

Red Square and GUM

Le Tigre: Wild Nights in Paris

It's Friday night, and Paris waits for no one. Literally.

"On sert plus d'alcohol a cette heure-ci," warns the little grocer which one of my best friends, Alienor, sees for all her household needs.

We've arrived only 10 minutes too late, but alas, we shall not be purchasing a bottle of champagne tonight. It's 11.30 PM and the famed city, up to its ears in culture and tourists, relinquishes none of its renowned charms as it proceeds in a perfectly French fashion: swaying and moving at a graceful, laissez-faire but upbeat pace. If 'laissez-faire' and 'upbeat' seem to you complete antonyms, it's that you've clearly never set foot in the heart of Paris. There is an evident elegance- palpable to any onlooker- in the way that Parisians go about their daily lives. The hustle and bustle is all there, but in a chic thus incredibly potent form. It's enough to make you feel drunk, with or without the champagne.

Samuel Red Grinfeder of Palace Rangers, is no stranger to the many treasures his contagious city has to offer. An avid music blogger and party-planner alike, he hosts and DJs at one of the city's most precious new hotspots: Le Tigre, an alternative nightclub with a unique and stylish flair. Standing outside of the seemingly hidden little gem, there really is no telling what may or may not lie inside, which instantly gives it an exclusive vibe -- reinforced by the fact that its home is smack dab in the middle of the regal 1er arrondissement. But the vibrant crowd who gathers here doesn't frequent the nightclub for its exclusivity, rather, because they simply know that it's a really good time. And on a Friday this February, I had to agree with the general consensus.

The grotto-like, small room which encompasses Le Tigre, is set with dim, red lights as eclectic music bounces off the 18th century replica furniture. Don't be alarmed: it's not cheesy, not even remotely. In fact, everything around you seems to halt when you first enter the place - you get the distinct feeling that you've stumbled upon something special, a little haven now yours to explore. One glorious moment later, and everything speeds back up, as you feel the buzz of the retro Parisian bar beckoning for you to have that much needed glass of bubbly. There's no abundance of places to sit and chat, but that won't affect your night one bit. You will most likely end up dancing your thoughts away, as the music does the talking for you. From the seating areas that are available, guests can choose an elevated platform, where a royal chamber would not be too far from a realistic description of the decadent little nook. There are curtains on all sides of the rectangular platform, and though they are not closed for privacy, you can't help but feel that with the dramatic couches and chairs at your disposal, you are now deemed royalty in Le Tigre's little kingdom. And indeed, from said platform, the club (or court) is before you, as the DJ masters your indispensable entertainment : la musique.

It's not only that Samuel is extremely talented at mixing, or that he has the kind of earnest smile which promises you'll be fast friends; but that he has a complete understanding of Le Tigre's people. Truly, each sound blends into the next with such comprehensive electricity, that as a consequence, ambience, decor and music merge together to form an aura of fun. It's instantly clear that here, you are never concerned with what song will play next; your cell never checked for the time or a text- in this little kingdom, you have no choice but to live in the moment. And that will most probably grant you a peek at Le Tigre in all its rapturous glory, as 5 AM rolls around and you experience the very last hour of Samuel's musical roar.

It doesn't matter where you happen to be when it comes. Even if you've chosen the royal quarters, you will be forced down from your throne, to find that on the dance floor, all subjects are equal as Samuel spins Le Tigre back into the wild.

LE TIGRE
5 Rue Molière
75001 Paris, France
http://www.facebook.com/letigreclub

And, for your listening pleasure, here's a dope little list the kind Samuel has put together for The Nomadic Files; links included - he's a doll.

Feldberg - Dreamin (Kyte remix)

The Temper Trap - Sweet Disposition (RAC Remix)

Angus and Julia Stone - Big Jet Plane (Michael Brun Bootleg)

Miami Horror - I Look To You

Stevie Wonder - Superstition (Fare Soldi Zupparstition rmx)

Big Boi x Black Keys - Black Bug


(all photos courtesy of Samuel Red Grinfeder/www.palace-rangers.com)

OLB.

BOO!

Miami Horror swept into, (dun dun dun) Miami, last Wednesday night and proved that, actually, the band has absolutely no beef with the city. Benjamin Plant, keyboardist and Australian mastermind behind the funky electro band, likes the USA ahellofalot, and colorful, hot Miami is no exception- which became quite clear when the skinny Melbourne-based foursome took up the stage at LIV.


It was a good night, filled with drunken falls on slippery glittering floors, Melbourne club bashing, and a Rome-bought red jumpsuit worn by yours truly.

When the Fountainbleau's valet pulled up A.'s green mustang at 5 in the morning, we weren't sure what was more Horrific: my 9 AM class, or her 12 PM job interview.



OLB