We travelled by rail, under water to arrive in London. My hands were cold and clammy before entering the chunnel and my heart raced throughout the 40 minute under water duration of the trip.
It was a freeing feeling to arrive in an English speaking country after such a lenthy time not speaking the language. We are on to the last leg of our journey.
I enjoyed the last French leg of our journey. We stayed with my dearest friend Gill and her parents in their village near Toulouse. We drank wine that never seemed to give me a headache, no matter how much I drank. And ate like royalty. I felt so blessed to be able to spend such a lovely week with friends that feel like close family.
And Paris was Paris. Lovely and hard. Searching for a stranger's smile is an exhausting task, but when it happens it washes away the majority of curtness you receive being an English speaking foriegner.
We accepted our chosen role as tourist and saw the sites with such ferocious velocity that it would make Rick Steves' head spin.
Eiffel Tower in lights, Pere Lechaise cemetary tour, Montmarte, book store roaming near Notre Dame, drinks with strangers we met at a book store, the Louvre, climbing the Eiffel Tour on a clear day and of course the decadent Palace of Versailles.
Because of our flight to India, London was the place we had to spend Christmas. So we wanted it to be comfortable and memorable. I caught a great deal on the Hilton Hotel in the city centre. So we dropped our bags and raced around the city on Christmas Eve preparing for the mass closures the next day.
By early evening we had run our most important errands and were on our way North to spend our Christmas Eve with strangers. What? I had found an events listing on couchsurfing.com of numerous Christmas events going on around London and got in touch with the organizer of 'Super Orphans Christmas'. So, we had enough beer and wine to last the evening and I had picked up a store bought trifle to help ring in Christmas day.
We were picked up by our host Dan, and arrived at his parents' place (they were in San Fran) in posh suburbia. Our new friends were waiting for us around Dan's dinner table. They had all met that day and were spending the entire Christmas holiday at Dan's.
We had a few drinks and then moved onto the local pub. Where it seemed the entire hamlet decided to spend their evening as well. We had a wonderful time with our little orphan Christmas family. I hardly felt like an orphan. We wanted to stay, but had to catch the last tube to the city at midnight. Wearing our santa hats (gifted to us by a fellow orphan, Jaf from Singapore) we 7 Christmas orphans hugged eachother and wished eachother a Merry Christmas. Brandon and I waved goodbye to their warm, smiling faces in the lamp light of that suburb side walk. Before we ran to the station.
Christmas morning we prepared our instant coffee and Baileys, fresh fruit, cinnamon buns and cheese. And enjoyed our morning in our hotel room with Christmas music playing on BBC Radio 2, while we ate and opened our little gifts to eachother and the few gifts my mom had sent for us. Finally it felt like Christmas. But it was a wonderfully low key Christmas.
We walked around the barren streets of London and attended the Euchrist service at St. Paul's Cathedral.
Later in the evening spoke to our families and I shed a few tears.
Sadly, no turkey. Just ministrone in a can.
Today we fly to India. More adventures lay ahead.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Skoozie a not-so-pushy Canadian is coming through.
There is no need to seek clarification when you use public transportation in Italy. As you'll just never know. You have to be in for a ride. It's a good thing if you're on board; this means you're going somewhere. To where, well you'll have to wait and see.
We took a full day to wander the ruins of Pompeii.
We weren't in a rush to get anywhere. We strolled through the straight streets of the town preserved by volcanic ash. We stood in awe, our mouths agape, when we stumbled across a corner of a vinyard that had the plaster casts of the remains of human beings, you can see the body language of struggle before death.
I stood wide eyed at the outdoor two thousand-year-old fresco of the Goddess Venus that looks like it was painted last year.
We toured the training facilities and battlegrounds where gladiators put their lives on the line, purely for the entertainment of the elite.
The large stone slab streets, today, show chariot ruts. I let my mind wander to wonder about the people and their stories that used to wander these streets so very long ago.
Outside the gates to the ruins of Pompeii my imagination was no longer allowed to wander. We needed to get home. Back to our hotel in Sorrento. The very reality of the moment was trasportation. And our 40 minute train ride back to the resort community was abruptly cancelled two stops in.
After a long process of syphening through the furious words in Italian being catapulted at the ticket office by our fellow commuters; it was clear the train would NOT be running to Sorrento.
There were no announcements. No delegates directing commuters to buses. NOTHING. We were completely on our own.
If there is one thing this country has taught me about getting what you need, it's don't queue - push. So, we pushed to the front of a group who seemed to be ravenous for a taxi. We grouped ourselves up with others heading in our direction. And before long we'd agreed to pay €70 between us to have the driver take us the 30km distance. Yes, we were desperate.
But we're where we need to be. Sadly it was a rockslide that severed the train line. So, again we're s.o.l to find our way to Napoli for our train to Florence tomorrow. Well, I'll go against what my culture and push my way to the front again if I have to.
We took a full day to wander the ruins of Pompeii.
We weren't in a rush to get anywhere. We strolled through the straight streets of the town preserved by volcanic ash. We stood in awe, our mouths agape, when we stumbled across a corner of a vinyard that had the plaster casts of the remains of human beings, you can see the body language of struggle before death.
I stood wide eyed at the outdoor two thousand-year-old fresco of the Goddess Venus that looks like it was painted last year.
We toured the training facilities and battlegrounds where gladiators put their lives on the line, purely for the entertainment of the elite.
The large stone slab streets, today, show chariot ruts. I let my mind wander to wonder about the people and their stories that used to wander these streets so very long ago.
Outside the gates to the ruins of Pompeii my imagination was no longer allowed to wander. We needed to get home. Back to our hotel in Sorrento. The very reality of the moment was trasportation. And our 40 minute train ride back to the resort community was abruptly cancelled two stops in.
After a long process of syphening through the furious words in Italian being catapulted at the ticket office by our fellow commuters; it was clear the train would NOT be running to Sorrento.
There were no announcements. No delegates directing commuters to buses. NOTHING. We were completely on our own.
If there is one thing this country has taught me about getting what you need, it's don't queue - push. So, we pushed to the front of a group who seemed to be ravenous for a taxi. We grouped ourselves up with others heading in our direction. And before long we'd agreed to pay €70 between us to have the driver take us the 30km distance. Yes, we were desperate.
But we're where we need to be. Sadly it was a rockslide that severed the train line. So, again we're s.o.l to find our way to Napoli for our train to Florence tomorrow. Well, I'll go against what my culture and push my way to the front again if I have to.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Wet socks.
I didn't want to see anymore. I had, had enough of travelling. I felt like it didn't suit me. I like to work, schedule coffee dates with friends, cook with an equipped kitchen. I like to feel settled and backpacking felt like the exact opposite of what I enjoy. It felt like a shirt that was itchy and was 2 sizes too small.
I wanted to go home.
We spent a week at a resort outside of Malaga, Spain that my mom gifted us with. She wanted us to relax for a week. Unfortunately this was when the horrific scene of the Mumbai attack unfolded and we had a t.v. at our disposal. I was glued to BBC. I felt everything but relaxed.
The night of November 26 I crawled into our comfortable seaside resort bed with fluffed pillows and shed tears for those dozen lives lost. It was senseless violence. When we woke in the morning the numbers of the dead had grown and kept growing.
Every time I turned the t.v. on my need to go home seemed to grow. I felt so far away. My longing to be close to everything I know and my fear of everything unknown was mounting. I had anxiety over catching a 2 hour bus to Gibraltar for God's sake!
In a month we are set to travel to New Delhi. But for a moment I second guessed this plan.
The moment was fleeting. I feel back to myself again.
We spent a night at the Madrid airport waiting for our 5 a.m. flight to Rome.
Roma greeted us with torrential downpours all day yesterday. But it was a good shower I needed to wash away the bad sentiments of travelling.
My socks, shoes and fears have now all dried. And I'm ready for more.
I wanted to go home.
We spent a week at a resort outside of Malaga, Spain that my mom gifted us with. She wanted us to relax for a week. Unfortunately this was when the horrific scene of the Mumbai attack unfolded and we had a t.v. at our disposal. I was glued to BBC. I felt everything but relaxed.
The night of November 26 I crawled into our comfortable seaside resort bed with fluffed pillows and shed tears for those dozen lives lost. It was senseless violence. When we woke in the morning the numbers of the dead had grown and kept growing.
Every time I turned the t.v. on my need to go home seemed to grow. I felt so far away. My longing to be close to everything I know and my fear of everything unknown was mounting. I had anxiety over catching a 2 hour bus to Gibraltar for God's sake!
In a month we are set to travel to New Delhi. But for a moment I second guessed this plan.
The moment was fleeting. I feel back to myself again.
We spent a night at the Madrid airport waiting for our 5 a.m. flight to Rome.
Roma greeted us with torrential downpours all day yesterday. But it was a good shower I needed to wash away the bad sentiments of travelling.
My socks, shoes and fears have now all dried. And I'm ready for more.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Homeless for a night
Well couchsurfing didn´t fail us but the Spanish rail system did.
Our Bracelona experience was fantastic. Our hosts, Cris and Fred gave us their spare bedroom and really in all ways possible opened their world for us. They provided us with helpful hints about the city and even had a map and brochures for us.
After a full day of touring the city on foot, which Cris was shocked about. They made us a gorgeous meal, Spanish Tortilla, which is like a fat potatoe omlete. It was the best home cooked meal we'd eaten is weeks. I'm getting sick of restaurants and cafes.
Sitting on cushions around their coffee table with a Spanish soap opera in the background we shared conversation that made me feel like I'd known them for longer than just 2 days.
We left for Madrid the next day with hopes of making it all the way to Malaga, but the information centre I went to in Barcelona was not helpful.
We arrived in Madrid and hoped to get on the last train south to Malaga, but needless to say this did not happen.
It was dark when we arrived so it was next to impossible to get our bearings in a foreign city with only 7 hours to go until the first morning train would leave. We didn´t want to fork over the money for a hotel we would use for only a handful of hours so we decide dto stick it out at the trainstation for the night.
The area outside of the train station was in everyway dodgey. I felt safer in the train station with homeless milling around inside than I did walking around the busy streets.
Sadly, the Madrid trainstaion locks everyone out at 1 a.m. So we had to leave!
Just before our eviction I had strck up conversation with a man that had a Canadian leaf on his bag. Leo is 80-years-old and from Duncan, B.C. He has been visiting Tanjiers every year for the past 30 years. It´s a good will visit. He spends his own money on the street kids and others in need.
Myself, Brandon and our new friend Leo left the station in search of someform of free shelter until 5 a.m. when the station would reopen.
It was a McDonald's that we stayed in until it closed at 2 a.m. I went to the washroom and a girl my age was openly shooting up.
From there we strolled through the streets full of Friday night party goers and found a kebab shop that was open. The man, Mustafa spoke brilliant English, but was upset to have turned us away as he was closing, but he took us on as his personal mission.
We followed him down the street to a hotel flashing their neon pink sign. This hotel had a locked courtyard that they were willing to let us wait in for 3 hours.
Mustafa was our translator and our saviour that night.
He told us that Madrid after dark really is a scary place to be and I believed it. I just never thought I'd ever feel so vulnerable, lost and far from home. But those handful of hours had me feeling all of these horrible stages of fear.
So we waited and waited. Leo had a wool sweater that he removed from his luggage for me. So we all bundled up and waited on the stone benches in the courtyard.
Those hours rolled along so slowly, but when 5 a.m. finally arrived I felt like dancing in the streets on our way back to the train station. Yeah! We were free!
It's strange how the early darkness of fall puts a foreigner on lockdown.
Leo bought us a hotchocolate and kept thanking him for ´saving his life´. I told him that he saved us too, but he didn't believe me. But if it weren't for his frail state I'm sure people wouldn't have left us alone as they did.
We hugged him goodbye and he went his way and we went ours.
Our Bracelona experience was fantastic. Our hosts, Cris and Fred gave us their spare bedroom and really in all ways possible opened their world for us. They provided us with helpful hints about the city and even had a map and brochures for us.
After a full day of touring the city on foot, which Cris was shocked about. They made us a gorgeous meal, Spanish Tortilla, which is like a fat potatoe omlete. It was the best home cooked meal we'd eaten is weeks. I'm getting sick of restaurants and cafes.
Sitting on cushions around their coffee table with a Spanish soap opera in the background we shared conversation that made me feel like I'd known them for longer than just 2 days.
We left for Madrid the next day with hopes of making it all the way to Malaga, but the information centre I went to in Barcelona was not helpful.
We arrived in Madrid and hoped to get on the last train south to Malaga, but needless to say this did not happen.
It was dark when we arrived so it was next to impossible to get our bearings in a foreign city with only 7 hours to go until the first morning train would leave. We didn´t want to fork over the money for a hotel we would use for only a handful of hours so we decide dto stick it out at the trainstation for the night.
The area outside of the train station was in everyway dodgey. I felt safer in the train station with homeless milling around inside than I did walking around the busy streets.
Sadly, the Madrid trainstaion locks everyone out at 1 a.m. So we had to leave!
Just before our eviction I had strck up conversation with a man that had a Canadian leaf on his bag. Leo is 80-years-old and from Duncan, B.C. He has been visiting Tanjiers every year for the past 30 years. It´s a good will visit. He spends his own money on the street kids and others in need.
Myself, Brandon and our new friend Leo left the station in search of someform of free shelter until 5 a.m. when the station would reopen.
It was a McDonald's that we stayed in until it closed at 2 a.m. I went to the washroom and a girl my age was openly shooting up.
From there we strolled through the streets full of Friday night party goers and found a kebab shop that was open. The man, Mustafa spoke brilliant English, but was upset to have turned us away as he was closing, but he took us on as his personal mission.
We followed him down the street to a hotel flashing their neon pink sign. This hotel had a locked courtyard that they were willing to let us wait in for 3 hours.
Mustafa was our translator and our saviour that night.
He told us that Madrid after dark really is a scary place to be and I believed it. I just never thought I'd ever feel so vulnerable, lost and far from home. But those handful of hours had me feeling all of these horrible stages of fear.
So we waited and waited. Leo had a wool sweater that he removed from his luggage for me. So we all bundled up and waited on the stone benches in the courtyard.
Those hours rolled along so slowly, but when 5 a.m. finally arrived I felt like dancing in the streets on our way back to the train station. Yeah! We were free!
It's strange how the early darkness of fall puts a foreigner on lockdown.
Leo bought us a hotchocolate and kept thanking him for ´saving his life´. I told him that he saved us too, but he didn't believe me. But if it weren't for his frail state I'm sure people wouldn't have left us alone as they did.
We hugged him goodbye and he went his way and we went ours.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Hoping Couchsurfing won't fail us.
We haven't had much luck with couchsurfing yet. I think it's because we don't give potential hosts enough notice or maybe it's because we have no references yet because we haven't experienced our first 'couch'.
But we finally found hosts in Barcelona where we wil travel to today. Only problem is, is that the couchsurfing website messaging service decided to die on us over the last 2 days so we haven't been able to correspond. I left a message as a reference (not sure if they'll even get it) telling them what time our train arrives.
We are to meet them on a bench at a specific city estacio. I pray to the powers at be that they are there. If not, tonight may be the night we sleep in a train station.
But we finally found hosts in Barcelona where we wil travel to today. Only problem is, is that the couchsurfing website messaging service decided to die on us over the last 2 days so we haven't been able to correspond. I left a message as a reference (not sure if they'll even get it) telling them what time our train arrives.
We are to meet them on a bench at a specific city estacio. I pray to the powers at be that they are there. If not, tonight may be the night we sleep in a train station.
Long overdue
Our route thus far has been:
Glasgow - Stranraer - Belfast - Galway - Dublin - Dusseldorf - Cologne - Amsterdam - Bruges - Ypres - Brussels - Lille - Reims - Dijon - Geneva - Lyon - Avignon
Therefore this post is long overdue.
Travelling without a set plan or route is just as foreign to me as drinking beer in the streets.
We wake up in the mornings and if we've seen enough of the city we're in we move on. But it isn't until that morning that a decision is made as to where we're going. This is both freeing and frightening. But so far I've been able to put my concern and worries in neutral and just go.
I keep hearing from other hostelers that the worst case scenerio is that you have to sleep in a train station for a night; they've been there and done that. They say it's all about the backpacking experience; so far it hasn't come to that for us, but it may.
Leaving Bruges was bittersweet for me. The Snuffle Inn was the hostel we stayed at and after only 2 nights it began to feel like home. The beds were comfortable, breakfast was included and the owners didn't skimp on heat.
We strapped our packs on and headed out towards the Bruges trainstation. Direction: Somewhere in France.
Not knowing where you're off to with minimal to no background information can really waste a day; as it did this day.
After a full day in trainstations and on the train we finally ended up in Reims. When done correctly the trip should have taken 3 hours from Brussels.
The morning after our arrival we were back on the train, but this time we had a plan (created that morning). We would stay in Dijon for a few nights. Yes! No more bouncing around, at least for 2 nights in a row.
There are good plans and there are bad plans; Dijon was a very, very good plan.
It was cheaper for us to settle into a chambre avec non toilet than it was to find a hostel. So we found our little space of French realestate at Hotel le Jaquesmart on a one way backstreet.
Our room was cozy and a way up three steep staircases up on the very top floor, which felt more like a converted attic. Our view was of the roof tops of the 400-year-old stone manors and town homes.
The next day was spent under the warmth of low autumn sunshine that would peak out between the elaborate homes and churches. These buildings continue to house people as well as immense history.
It was a market day. We weaved in and out of the outdoor fruit vendors, book vendors and anything you could think of selling vendors; all the while we were careful not to squash into a freshly laid 'poo-poo'. Dogs in France have no shame.
I was just so happy to walk around all day and take it all in. Once the sun set at around 5 p.m. we bundled ouselves up in our cozy room with 2 lemon tarts and a bottle of rosé.
Glasgow - Stranraer - Belfast - Galway - Dublin - Dusseldorf - Cologne - Amsterdam - Bruges - Ypres - Brussels - Lille - Reims - Dijon - Geneva - Lyon - Avignon
Therefore this post is long overdue.
Travelling without a set plan or route is just as foreign to me as drinking beer in the streets.
We wake up in the mornings and if we've seen enough of the city we're in we move on. But it isn't until that morning that a decision is made as to where we're going. This is both freeing and frightening. But so far I've been able to put my concern and worries in neutral and just go.
I keep hearing from other hostelers that the worst case scenerio is that you have to sleep in a train station for a night; they've been there and done that. They say it's all about the backpacking experience; so far it hasn't come to that for us, but it may.
Leaving Bruges was bittersweet for me. The Snuffle Inn was the hostel we stayed at and after only 2 nights it began to feel like home. The beds were comfortable, breakfast was included and the owners didn't skimp on heat.
We strapped our packs on and headed out towards the Bruges trainstation. Direction: Somewhere in France.
Not knowing where you're off to with minimal to no background information can really waste a day; as it did this day.
After a full day in trainstations and on the train we finally ended up in Reims. When done correctly the trip should have taken 3 hours from Brussels.
The morning after our arrival we were back on the train, but this time we had a plan (created that morning). We would stay in Dijon for a few nights. Yes! No more bouncing around, at least for 2 nights in a row.
There are good plans and there are bad plans; Dijon was a very, very good plan.
It was cheaper for us to settle into a chambre avec non toilet than it was to find a hostel. So we found our little space of French realestate at Hotel le Jaquesmart on a one way backstreet.
Our room was cozy and a way up three steep staircases up on the very top floor, which felt more like a converted attic. Our view was of the roof tops of the 400-year-old stone manors and town homes.
The next day was spent under the warmth of low autumn sunshine that would peak out between the elaborate homes and churches. These buildings continue to house people as well as immense history.
It was a market day. We weaved in and out of the outdoor fruit vendors, book vendors and anything you could think of selling vendors; all the while we were careful not to squash into a freshly laid 'poo-poo'. Dogs in France have no shame.
I was just so happy to walk around all day and take it all in. Once the sun set at around 5 p.m. we bundled ouselves up in our cozy room with 2 lemon tarts and a bottle of rosé.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Campus life all over again.
I remember the day that I told myself I wanted to study at St. Andrews University near Leuchars, Scotland.
That very same voice assured me that Ryerson University in Toronto would be the best place to get ahead.
Well, I went with Ryerson.
Now that we're here in St. Andrews I'm second guessing that voice. The weather is cold and ever so bone chilling, but we bundle up and walk up and down the streets hand in hand. We can avoid the piles of students our age speaking in a variety of British accents.
This place seems like not only a load of fun, but magnificently magical.
Strangely, I'm reminded of my youth here in this ancient city where golf was invented.
The weather is cooperating and the people we're meeting are making the trip for us. It seems everywhere we go the second we meet other Canadians there is an instant bond.
Our evening was contrasted with a few hours shivering as we explored the narrow cobble stone streets in this university town, to then head out for fajitas and margarita shots with two Canadian girls we met at the hostel. Frigid to hot. Way to mix it up when it's so damp and cold.
We're heading up to Aberdeen tomorrow to see what it's all about. I may have to find myself a lambs wool sweater on the way. Cold, oh so cold.
That very same voice assured me that Ryerson University in Toronto would be the best place to get ahead.
Well, I went with Ryerson.
Now that we're here in St. Andrews I'm second guessing that voice. The weather is cold and ever so bone chilling, but we bundle up and walk up and down the streets hand in hand. We can avoid the piles of students our age speaking in a variety of British accents.
This place seems like not only a load of fun, but magnificently magical.
Strangely, I'm reminded of my youth here in this ancient city where golf was invented.
The weather is cooperating and the people we're meeting are making the trip for us. It seems everywhere we go the second we meet other Canadians there is an instant bond.
Our evening was contrasted with a few hours shivering as we explored the narrow cobble stone streets in this university town, to then head out for fajitas and margarita shots with two Canadian girls we met at the hostel. Frigid to hot. Way to mix it up when it's so damp and cold.
We're heading up to Aberdeen tomorrow to see what it's all about. I may have to find myself a lambs wool sweater on the way. Cold, oh so cold.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)