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.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Money, money, money
Decided on the fly late last night, with a half a bottle of wine in my belly that we wanted to travel to Bristol the next day.
We were taken in for a night with Brandon's friend Johnny, a Canadian who has been calling South London his home for 2 years now.
The boys bought a case of beer and I shared a few bottles of rose with Johnny's girlfriend Rocio. Unfortunately, Rocio had work in the morning so she had to miss out on the living room kareoke session that lasted until 4 a.m.
Today my body is a bit sore from the over indulgence.
But Bristol is fantastic. The architecture has successfully combined modern buildings with the historical ones.
Plan on touring Bath tomorrow morning.
All of this goodness and I'm still allowing headlines from papers at home drag me down. 'The loonie drops more than 2 cents'.
At this early point in our journey I've already begun to let myself worry about money. Especially at this time where on the world stage our little old loonie is being beat up.
*Breathe, this isn't worth the worry*
We were taken in for a night with Brandon's friend Johnny, a Canadian who has been calling South London his home for 2 years now.
The boys bought a case of beer and I shared a few bottles of rose with Johnny's girlfriend Rocio. Unfortunately, Rocio had work in the morning so she had to miss out on the living room kareoke session that lasted until 4 a.m.
Today my body is a bit sore from the over indulgence.
But Bristol is fantastic. The architecture has successfully combined modern buildings with the historical ones.
Plan on touring Bath tomorrow morning.
All of this goodness and I'm still allowing headlines from papers at home drag me down. 'The loonie drops more than 2 cents'.
At this early point in our journey I've already begun to let myself worry about money. Especially at this time where on the world stage our little old loonie is being beat up.
*Breathe, this isn't worth the worry*
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Autumn Sundays
The damp, autumn weather of South London may have me chilled, but it seems to be warming my heart.
I love this season. I'm just so thankful that I arrived back in time from the Mediterranean to experience it for the first time in Britain.
The leaves that have fallen aren't the crunching kind, but they still give off that tired but contented glow. Walking through the little township of Horley I figured it was the best time to find a warm jacket.
Being strictly budgeted right now, I scoured several charity shops that line the town centers, brick lain square. I overheard the conversations of numerous white haired charity shop keepers who volunteer their time to keep the doors open. 'Ohhh hello love, how's Peter keeping?'
'Oh well ya'know he's still waiting for his new knee.'
After an afternoon of searching and eavesdropping I found it. It looks brand new. This grey, wool and nylon blend made for GAP by someone in India will be a good friend to me I'm sure. These next few weeks in Britain will certainly be chilly.
This morning was no exception. I was happy to bundle myself up for a walk to church.
My sister left during the dark hours of the early morning to catch her flight to Ireland. So I was feeling a bit restless. At that time I still had all day to wait for Brandon's arrival.
It's then that it occurred to me that it's Sunday and that it's been far too long since I sat in a pew at church.
Walking through the church yard with 200-year-old gravestones that were inching deeper into the earth with every passing year. These church sites are images straight out of a Jane Austen novel, that's where my imagination is taken to.
The church, St. Bartholomew stood in amongst the gravestones in a striking way. Its history was written into every inch of the building.
I pushed my way through the 10-foot double doors just as the bells of the bell tour began to ring. Looking up and to my right the bell choir were repeatedly tugging at the several ropes to create the chime.
I was embraced by the friendly smiles of strangers who before long felt more like good friends.
After a song filled and rather liberal hour long service I felt spiritually fulfilled and ready to carry on.
I strolled along the cemetery path with a bit more of a bounce to my step; feeling even more thankful for the friends, family and the love in my life.
****
Brandon should be here in any minute and I'm buzzing with excitement.
I love this season. I'm just so thankful that I arrived back in time from the Mediterranean to experience it for the first time in Britain.
The leaves that have fallen aren't the crunching kind, but they still give off that tired but contented glow. Walking through the little township of Horley I figured it was the best time to find a warm jacket.
Being strictly budgeted right now, I scoured several charity shops that line the town centers, brick lain square. I overheard the conversations of numerous white haired charity shop keepers who volunteer their time to keep the doors open. 'Ohhh hello love, how's Peter keeping?'
'Oh well ya'know he's still waiting for his new knee.'
After an afternoon of searching and eavesdropping I found it. It looks brand new. This grey, wool and nylon blend made for GAP by someone in India will be a good friend to me I'm sure. These next few weeks in Britain will certainly be chilly.
This morning was no exception. I was happy to bundle myself up for a walk to church.
My sister left during the dark hours of the early morning to catch her flight to Ireland. So I was feeling a bit restless. At that time I still had all day to wait for Brandon's arrival.
It's then that it occurred to me that it's Sunday and that it's been far too long since I sat in a pew at church.
Walking through the church yard with 200-year-old gravestones that were inching deeper into the earth with every passing year. These church sites are images straight out of a Jane Austen novel, that's where my imagination is taken to.
The church, St. Bartholomew stood in amongst the gravestones in a striking way. Its history was written into every inch of the building.
I pushed my way through the 10-foot double doors just as the bells of the bell tour began to ring. Looking up and to my right the bell choir were repeatedly tugging at the several ropes to create the chime.
I was embraced by the friendly smiles of strangers who before long felt more like good friends.
After a song filled and rather liberal hour long service I felt spiritually fulfilled and ready to carry on.
I strolled along the cemetery path with a bit more of a bounce to my step; feeling even more thankful for the friends, family and the love in my life.
****
Brandon should be here in any minute and I'm buzzing with excitement.
Friday, October 17, 2008
All the way out here.
All the way out here on the world wide web, I'm wishing a very special woman a very happy 22nd.
This fabulous woman has made such an impact on my life.
I'm not sure if this young woman really knows the mark she's left on my life. Every time I sit down to enjoy a new dish of any sort, whether in Canada or not, she's there. She's not there in the physical sense, but my dear friend is there in the figurative sense.
She's taught me how to appreciate flavours and to appreciate the conversation that can accompany these flavours.
Albeit a European flavour.
My dear birthday girl has had such an immense affect on my life over these last years of close friendship. It will take many more years to revel in all of the ways she's made an impact on my life.
I am just so thankful to have such a dear friend in my life.
Put simply:
I love you Gi-Gi.
Happy Birthday.
This fabulous woman has made such an impact on my life.
I'm not sure if this young woman really knows the mark she's left on my life. Every time I sit down to enjoy a new dish of any sort, whether in Canada or not, she's there. She's not there in the physical sense, but my dear friend is there in the figurative sense.
She's taught me how to appreciate flavours and to appreciate the conversation that can accompany these flavours.
Albeit a European flavour.
My dear birthday girl has had such an immense affect on my life over these last years of close friendship. It will take many more years to revel in all of the ways she's made an impact on my life.
I am just so thankful to have such a dear friend in my life.
Put simply:
I love you Gi-Gi.
Happy Birthday.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
A sad goodbye to the Greek goodness.
It's with a bit of a heavy heart that I have to say goodbye to this country, which has offered up its sights, sounds and tastes over these last 3 weeks.
Not only am I saying goodbye to the beaming sunshine, fresh souvlaki, domaldes, ouzo and men calling after us with whistles and smooching noises, I'm parting travel company with my mom and soon to come my sister.
Mom is off to Munich to tour around Eastern Europe.
I'm ready for this next leg of my journey, but having my mom with us for this time has been such a comfort. For being the stubborn and independent woman that I am it's always a bit of sobering moment when I realize just how much I lean on her, for everything. That moment usually graces me right after she makes her departure.
So this second leg will see my sister and I travel back to England where Ceileigh will fly on to Ireland and I will wait for Brandon to arrive from Canada.
Not only am I saying goodbye to the beaming sunshine, fresh souvlaki, domaldes, ouzo and men calling after us with whistles and smooching noises, I'm parting travel company with my mom and soon to come my sister.
Mom is off to Munich to tour around Eastern Europe.
I'm ready for this next leg of my journey, but having my mom with us for this time has been such a comfort. For being the stubborn and independent woman that I am it's always a bit of sobering moment when I realize just how much I lean on her, for everything. That moment usually graces me right after she makes her departure.
So this second leg will see my sister and I travel back to England where Ceileigh will fly on to Ireland and I will wait for Brandon to arrive from Canada.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
We are those people
We've found the hide-a-ways and we've also happened upon the tourist hotspots. I can't quite tell which I prefer more. I think I need both at different times.
Our encounter with Santorini was brief. Cruise ship sightseers swarmed the streets and walkways every morning. And then by 2 p.m. the more ambitious were winding their way down the thousands of steps, while the majority of tanned, but frail ol' gals and boys took the cable car back down to their waiting water taxi.
Fira is the main town on Santorini (or the Island of Thira) and it sits up atop the cliff. We stayed in a hotel that clung to the cliff side. I felt a bit caught up with the closeness, but we truly were nestled into our very own slot in the rock. I reminded myself to revel in that.
Each night, as we watched the sun set behind the volcano that sits across the water from Thira it was as if the town could finally exhale and breathe again. Another day of sightseers had been put to bed.
One of the most popular activities we'd witnessed here was the scooter and quad (atv)rentals. The three of us found the quad renters especially comical.
The majority of them were Brits, in Greece to enjoy the sun and have a laugh. With helmets on they looked like bobble heads. They sat, two to a seat, straddling their rented, afternoon 'steed' with huge grins dried to their faces.
The engines would make an awful noise as they bumbled their way along the streets and even in some cases highways. They never went very fast. From our seat on a bus or walking along the sidewalk you could tell who were the conscientious renters and who were the ignorant putzes. The thoughtful ones would drive along the side of the road pulling over when they could for the real traffic that quickly collected behind them.
Well today we were 'those' people.
Now on Mykonos with only one full day of sightseeing we wanted to get into the nooks and crannies of the island. My sister and I rented one quad and mom, well she took the bus.
We rented from an older man who wore a ball cap tipped forward and his blonde, cigarette stained locks came spilling out the bottom. His name was Carlos.
He set us up on our ride and urged us to be careful.
He was about to wave us off when I scrambled off the seat, "What about a helmet?"
"Oh you want helmet?" We followed him back into his dusty office and he unboxed a helmet for me. Obviously they aren't popular here.
He looked up at my sister and asked if she wanted one. She responded with a laugh, "No, no."
Carlos stood between us walking us back outside when he grabbed our waists and gave us a grandfather like squeeze. "I am a Greek between two Canadian flowers." He barely stood up past our shoulders. It was a good day for Carlos. A quad rented during the slow season to two Canadian lassies.
Before I could start the engine Carlos was at the side of our vehicle.
"Give me a kiss before you leave."
I quickly pecked the side of his stubbled cheek.
"You both are the flower sisters, the sweet sisters and the super sexy sisters."
Engine on!
With a rumble and a putt we put'er into gear and roared off down the rock wall lined roads.
We toodled around tight, winding roads, down one way streets in the wrong direction and down to a southern beach. We tried to be thoughtful on the road, but defensive driving skills are key. I could tell the locals just loved us (note sarcastic tone)!
After the sun had set we decided to keep 'er parked for the night. I took such a great delight in taking up a full parking spot at our hotel.
When it comes right down to it maybe there is a little bit of an asshole tourist in me after all.
Famous windmills in windy Mykonos
Pellicans - chilling on Mykonos
Mommy looking bonnie at the Black Beach on Santorini
Sunset off Santorini
Church in Perissa on Santorini
In Oia on Santorini
A cup of Nescafe - the best way to have coffee here : Nescafe, hot with milk and medium sugar
What a great way to see the island of Mykonos.
***
Off to Athens tomorrow on a 6 hour ferry.
Our encounter with Santorini was brief. Cruise ship sightseers swarmed the streets and walkways every morning. And then by 2 p.m. the more ambitious were winding their way down the thousands of steps, while the majority of tanned, but frail ol' gals and boys took the cable car back down to their waiting water taxi.
Fira is the main town on Santorini (or the Island of Thira) and it sits up atop the cliff. We stayed in a hotel that clung to the cliff side. I felt a bit caught up with the closeness, but we truly were nestled into our very own slot in the rock. I reminded myself to revel in that.
Each night, as we watched the sun set behind the volcano that sits across the water from Thira it was as if the town could finally exhale and breathe again. Another day of sightseers had been put to bed.
One of the most popular activities we'd witnessed here was the scooter and quad (atv)rentals. The three of us found the quad renters especially comical.
The majority of them were Brits, in Greece to enjoy the sun and have a laugh. With helmets on they looked like bobble heads. They sat, two to a seat, straddling their rented, afternoon 'steed' with huge grins dried to their faces.
The engines would make an awful noise as they bumbled their way along the streets and even in some cases highways. They never went very fast. From our seat on a bus or walking along the sidewalk you could tell who were the conscientious renters and who were the ignorant putzes. The thoughtful ones would drive along the side of the road pulling over when they could for the real traffic that quickly collected behind them.
Well today we were 'those' people.
Now on Mykonos with only one full day of sightseeing we wanted to get into the nooks and crannies of the island. My sister and I rented one quad and mom, well she took the bus.
We rented from an older man who wore a ball cap tipped forward and his blonde, cigarette stained locks came spilling out the bottom. His name was Carlos.
He set us up on our ride and urged us to be careful.
He was about to wave us off when I scrambled off the seat, "What about a helmet?"
"Oh you want helmet?" We followed him back into his dusty office and he unboxed a helmet for me. Obviously they aren't popular here.
He looked up at my sister and asked if she wanted one. She responded with a laugh, "No, no."
Carlos stood between us walking us back outside when he grabbed our waists and gave us a grandfather like squeeze. "I am a Greek between two Canadian flowers." He barely stood up past our shoulders. It was a good day for Carlos. A quad rented during the slow season to two Canadian lassies.
Before I could start the engine Carlos was at the side of our vehicle.
"Give me a kiss before you leave."
I quickly pecked the side of his stubbled cheek.
"You both are the flower sisters, the sweet sisters and the super sexy sisters."
Engine on!
With a rumble and a putt we put'er into gear and roared off down the rock wall lined roads.
We toodled around tight, winding roads, down one way streets in the wrong direction and down to a southern beach. We tried to be thoughtful on the road, but defensive driving skills are key. I could tell the locals just loved us (note sarcastic tone)!
After the sun had set we decided to keep 'er parked for the night. I took such a great delight in taking up a full parking spot at our hotel.
When it comes right down to it maybe there is a little bit of an asshole tourist in me after all.
Famous windmills in windy Mykonos
Pellicans - chilling on Mykonos
Mommy looking bonnie at the Black Beach on Santorini
Sunset off Santorini
Church in Perissa on Santorini
In Oia on Santorini
A cup of Nescafe - the best way to have coffee here : Nescafe, hot with milk and medium sugar
What a great way to see the island of Mykonos.
***
Off to Athens tomorrow on a 6 hour ferry.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Sandy feet and salty hair; dressed for a sunset
I relax backwards into a comfortably worn-in balcony chair that belongs to the small apartment we have for a week. I can't take credit for wearing it in. There has been a never ending cycle of sun seekers from the North that have stayed here before me, I'm sure.
How could you not. Our accomodation is simple, but beautifully Greek. White washed cement walls and a stained plank ceiling. We keep all of the windows open and the white flowing curtains blow in the breeze.
Everything flows here. Even the view from this balcony flows downward over the old traditional village, Koutouloufari and out to sea. You can sea the Isle of Dia out to the West. Out to the East is an endless vista of blue that sparkles at mid day.
Crete is a spectacular island. I'm pretty sure I've fallen in love.
Like on the Peloponese we spend our mornings wandering around the countryside in our tight rental car. And by early afternoon we find a beach with cobalt blue water lapping on the beach.
But I feel so much more relaxed and welcome here than up north.
Today we found Knossos and in typical style with signage, road mapping and directions in this country we gave up on everything and left it to our instinct and followed the odd tour bus to find the ancient palace.
I won't lie, I hated every moment of it. The reconstruction of the palaces felt forced and fake and the constant money grab that lay around every corner really got to me (including our parking spot).
So we left quickly and found ourselves, intuition leading us, on the road again.
We drove down winding highways minding the sharp corners to ensure that we were far right of the none existant line that was to divide traffic. We drove through countless olive groves with arid mountain ranges staring down at us from all points.
Way west and south we found ourselves at Matala. Yes, a tourist destination, but an enjoyable one.
Staring out to the cobalt blue bay, I melt. After the drive I'm ready to float about aimlessley in the ocean.
My sister and I barely arrive and we were already submerged, sadly we both suffer from the Canadian: no nudey syndrome, so both our bikini tops and bottoms were firmly fastened. Directly above us on the cliff overlooking the bay is a fantastic sight. We stare up to the deep caved entrances that were dug out by the Romans, tombs for their dead, thousands of years ago. They decorate the cliff side.
I just float. There is so much history here, but all that lays before me here are families holidaying, enjoying themselves in the Cretan sunshine. Some wearing tops, some not.
Tonight I've come home to rest in the worn-in chair on our balcony. A glass of wine in hand, I lean backwards and rest my feet on the low wall to take in the orange toned sunset. I lean over to brush the sand from my feet, a token, a reminder of our day in the sun.
How could you not. Our accomodation is simple, but beautifully Greek. White washed cement walls and a stained plank ceiling. We keep all of the windows open and the white flowing curtains blow in the breeze.
Everything flows here. Even the view from this balcony flows downward over the old traditional village, Koutouloufari and out to sea. You can sea the Isle of Dia out to the West. Out to the East is an endless vista of blue that sparkles at mid day.
Crete is a spectacular island. I'm pretty sure I've fallen in love.
Like on the Peloponese we spend our mornings wandering around the countryside in our tight rental car. And by early afternoon we find a beach with cobalt blue water lapping on the beach.
But I feel so much more relaxed and welcome here than up north.
Today we found Knossos and in typical style with signage, road mapping and directions in this country we gave up on everything and left it to our instinct and followed the odd tour bus to find the ancient palace.
I won't lie, I hated every moment of it. The reconstruction of the palaces felt forced and fake and the constant money grab that lay around every corner really got to me (including our parking spot).
So we left quickly and found ourselves, intuition leading us, on the road again.
We drove down winding highways minding the sharp corners to ensure that we were far right of the none existant line that was to divide traffic. We drove through countless olive groves with arid mountain ranges staring down at us from all points.
Way west and south we found ourselves at Matala. Yes, a tourist destination, but an enjoyable one.
Staring out to the cobalt blue bay, I melt. After the drive I'm ready to float about aimlessley in the ocean.
My sister and I barely arrive and we were already submerged, sadly we both suffer from the Canadian: no nudey syndrome, so both our bikini tops and bottoms were firmly fastened. Directly above us on the cliff overlooking the bay is a fantastic sight. We stare up to the deep caved entrances that were dug out by the Romans, tombs for their dead, thousands of years ago. They decorate the cliff side.
I just float. There is so much history here, but all that lays before me here are families holidaying, enjoying themselves in the Cretan sunshine. Some wearing tops, some not.
Tonight I've come home to rest in the worn-in chair on our balcony. A glass of wine in hand, I lean backwards and rest my feet on the low wall to take in the orange toned sunset. I lean over to brush the sand from my feet, a token, a reminder of our day in the sun.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Shaded by an olive tree
It's not as hot as I thought it would be, but the sun reflecting off the Sea of Korinth is intense. It's good to take a break from sunning my lily white, Northern Canadian shoulders.
Our self directed touring brought us to a small sea side town, Diakofto.
Everything was picturesque. The sun lit up the most intimate corners of cafes that were shaded by the twisted branches of leafy trees.
We stretched out on a pebbled beach with not a soul in site. The wind had picked up a bit, but it just made the strength of the sun a bit more bareable. I can't imagine how hot it gets mid-summer. I think I'd wilt.
Ceileigh immediatly threw herself into the cobalt blue wake. I stupidly had forgotten my bathing suit. After ensuring that we truly were alone, I stripped off what I didn't want to get wet and threw myself into the water.
We let the waves push us back on to the beach and we sat and took in the intensity of the mountain range across the water. The range of the Southern Coast of mainland Greece definitely gives the Canadian Rockies a run for its money.
As always my stomach began to sing. It was lunch time. So we made our way through the village in search of a place to eat. Local highschool students were playing volleyball on their outdoor paved court. We finally came to a taverna with deep windows and retan furniture and in indoor/outdoor fireplace.
We sat back and greeted the waiter. I expected him to pass us menus.
"Come and see," he said.
We followed him into his kitchen in the back. There we greeted his mother, the cook, who had to be in her early 80's. She wore a midlength black skirt and a white blouse and apron. Her salt and pepper hair tightly pulled back into a bun. She smiled at our limited Greek phrases and pointed to the industrial sized pots that were waiting on the cooling stove, covered up.
Her son lifted each lid and explained what each dish was in his clear, but broken English.
I chose the cabbage rolls in lemon sauce.
We had Greek Salad and our chosen meals from the big pots. I still can't get over how fresh the tomatoes are. Here each salad always arrives with a giant rectangular piece of feta that you have to break up yourself over the salad. So fresh. So tasty.
The cabbage rolls was the right choice, but a few hours after my body punished me and everyone else around.
After lunch we took a road up to a remote, mountain top village, which has turned into a skiing village for wealthy Athenians. But one side of the mountain is where the traditional village life still remains.
The roads were very narrow and weaved tightly between the cobblestone homes with wooden shutters. Some of the buildings have toppled and remain in a ruined heap.
There was a sombre tone to our visit here in Kalavryta. We wanted to see it knowing its WWII history. In 1943 the Nazis attempted to occupy this tiny village, 40 kilometers above sea level. When the villagers resisted on Dec 8 the Nazis violently took the lives of all the men who lived in the village. They then moved all of the women and children into the school house that overlooked the valley. They were to be burned alive. But is was at the hand of one brave Austrian Nazi that all of the women were spared and were able to escape.
Such dramatic overtones for such a tiny place.
But life has marched on for Kalavryta, where locals love to talk to visitors like us, even when we clearly don't speak Greek.
As we carefully weaved our way downward to leave the village we made room for an elderly woman walking up hill, leaning on her wooden walking stick. She was closely followed by a sheep and a goat that looked to be twice her size. We waved and smiled not expecting a response. We received the opposite, she paused, waved and beamed a friendly, toothless smile.
We weaved our way down the switch backed road way to make our way back to Rion.
But I'll forever remember that Kalavrytan smile.
Our self directed touring brought us to a small sea side town, Diakofto.
Everything was picturesque. The sun lit up the most intimate corners of cafes that were shaded by the twisted branches of leafy trees.
We stretched out on a pebbled beach with not a soul in site. The wind had picked up a bit, but it just made the strength of the sun a bit more bareable. I can't imagine how hot it gets mid-summer. I think I'd wilt.
Ceileigh immediatly threw herself into the cobalt blue wake. I stupidly had forgotten my bathing suit. After ensuring that we truly were alone, I stripped off what I didn't want to get wet and threw myself into the water.
We let the waves push us back on to the beach and we sat and took in the intensity of the mountain range across the water. The range of the Southern Coast of mainland Greece definitely gives the Canadian Rockies a run for its money.
As always my stomach began to sing. It was lunch time. So we made our way through the village in search of a place to eat. Local highschool students were playing volleyball on their outdoor paved court. We finally came to a taverna with deep windows and retan furniture and in indoor/outdoor fireplace.
We sat back and greeted the waiter. I expected him to pass us menus.
"Come and see," he said.
We followed him into his kitchen in the back. There we greeted his mother, the cook, who had to be in her early 80's. She wore a midlength black skirt and a white blouse and apron. Her salt and pepper hair tightly pulled back into a bun. She smiled at our limited Greek phrases and pointed to the industrial sized pots that were waiting on the cooling stove, covered up.
Her son lifted each lid and explained what each dish was in his clear, but broken English.
I chose the cabbage rolls in lemon sauce.
We had Greek Salad and our chosen meals from the big pots. I still can't get over how fresh the tomatoes are. Here each salad always arrives with a giant rectangular piece of feta that you have to break up yourself over the salad. So fresh. So tasty.
The cabbage rolls was the right choice, but a few hours after my body punished me and everyone else around.
After lunch we took a road up to a remote, mountain top village, which has turned into a skiing village for wealthy Athenians. But one side of the mountain is where the traditional village life still remains.
The roads were very narrow and weaved tightly between the cobblestone homes with wooden shutters. Some of the buildings have toppled and remain in a ruined heap.
There was a sombre tone to our visit here in Kalavryta. We wanted to see it knowing its WWII history. In 1943 the Nazis attempted to occupy this tiny village, 40 kilometers above sea level. When the villagers resisted on Dec 8 the Nazis violently took the lives of all the men who lived in the village. They then moved all of the women and children into the school house that overlooked the valley. They were to be burned alive. But is was at the hand of one brave Austrian Nazi that all of the women were spared and were able to escape.
Such dramatic overtones for such a tiny place.
But life has marched on for Kalavryta, where locals love to talk to visitors like us, even when we clearly don't speak Greek.
As we carefully weaved our way downward to leave the village we made room for an elderly woman walking up hill, leaning on her wooden walking stick. She was closely followed by a sheep and a goat that looked to be twice her size. We waved and smiled not expecting a response. We received the opposite, she paused, waved and beamed a friendly, toothless smile.
We weaved our way down the switch backed road way to make our way back to Rion.
But I'll forever remember that Kalavrytan smile.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Wear your seatbelt
For anyone interested in cycling around Greece - don't do it.
I discovered yesterday that on one lane highways Greeks straddle the bike lanes to allow speed demons to fly through, despite oncoming traffic.
So, 'when in Rome' we straddled away, in our litte VW rental car, all the way to Ancient Olympia.
We were able to find parking because it was the off season and we walked to the site. What a grounding experience. Seeing these ancient sites I'm reminded just how temporary our time on Earth really is.
We came to the Olympic ring. That was my favorite. It's still more-or-less in the same condition it has been for the last thousand years. It's simply a rectangular, sandy space with lime stone markers at either end where runners would have lined up to race.
I took my sandals off and stood ontop of one of the markers, my sister snapped a few photos. I felt connected to one of the oldest human traditions. So much history.
We're staying outside of Patra right now. Touring around the peninsula. We were happy to get out of Athens, but we missed Madonna by a day - shucks.
Today we're off to a rack and pin railway that will take us up a vertical 22 kms up a mountain to a remote village near Korinthos.
In a few days from now we'll fly to Crete. I'm looking forward to this because so far the big city attitude of people here is not really what I had anticipated on. I'm looking forward to the island pace.
I only have photos uploaded from our time at the Acropolis and our day trip to a quaint pedestrian town called Hydra Town.
Enjoy.
I discovered yesterday that on one lane highways Greeks straddle the bike lanes to allow speed demons to fly through, despite oncoming traffic.
So, 'when in Rome' we straddled away, in our litte VW rental car, all the way to Ancient Olympia.
We were able to find parking because it was the off season and we walked to the site. What a grounding experience. Seeing these ancient sites I'm reminded just how temporary our time on Earth really is.
We came to the Olympic ring. That was my favorite. It's still more-or-less in the same condition it has been for the last thousand years. It's simply a rectangular, sandy space with lime stone markers at either end where runners would have lined up to race.
I took my sandals off and stood ontop of one of the markers, my sister snapped a few photos. I felt connected to one of the oldest human traditions. So much history.
We're staying outside of Patra right now. Touring around the peninsula. We were happy to get out of Athens, but we missed Madonna by a day - shucks.
Today we're off to a rack and pin railway that will take us up a vertical 22 kms up a mountain to a remote village near Korinthos.
In a few days from now we'll fly to Crete. I'm looking forward to this because so far the big city attitude of people here is not really what I had anticipated on. I'm looking forward to the island pace.
I only have photos uploaded from our time at the Acropolis and our day trip to a quaint pedestrian town called Hydra Town.
Enjoy.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Pub lunches and old people
Sadly I'm happiest 40-thousand-feet up when I'm half in the bag. So, I arrived at Heathrow over tired and hung over from drinking too much on the red-eye.
Ceileigh and I found our mom waiting in the pub of the small, family owned hotel in Horley (outside of Gatwick). Mom had just about finished her first shandy and was ready to start on to the next one when we burst on to the scene.
We embraced her in the dimly lit, red cushioned establishment. We'd only been apart for 2 days, but it was a whole other experience 'rendezvousing' in England.
Getting over jet lag was easy this time, minus my nausea all day. We've pub lunched it and pub dinner'd it since we arrived: lamb shank, mash and mushy peas and the ever important scotch on the rocks. Hmm come to think of it, this could be the source to my stomachs discomfort.
We've spent the last day and a half strolling the streets of this London suburb. Waiting for mid-day Wednesday to roll around. Tomorrow we leave from Gatwick to travel to Athens.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Loose ends.
Passport - check.
Hike sack packed with clothes for 3 seasons - check.
Malaria medication - check.
Journal - check.
The list runs on and on. But I'm pretty sure I have everything I'll need for the next four months.
I'm in Vancouver now staying with my dad who will take my sister and I to the airport later this afternoon.
This has been a day I've counted down to for over 2 years now. I knew I wanted to travel after university. I just wasn't sure what it would all look like (ie. who I'd go with, where we'd go, how we would get there.) But it's all come to fruition and I couldn't be more grateful.
Today we'll meet up with my cousin who is moving to Australia, but he'll be travelling with us to Greece for the first leg of his trip. So, needless-to-say there will be a family send off that we'll be apart of. Stiff drinks are a must. Not because of the family time, but because of the looming flight take off. I'm not a very good flyer.
Mom is taking a flight before us. We're meeting in London. She's given us precise directions as to where to find her... a bar stool, in a pub, over a few pints. hmmm thanks mom that makes it easy.
So I'll let you know just how that turns out.
Hike sack packed with clothes for 3 seasons - check.
Malaria medication - check.
Journal - check.
The list runs on and on. But I'm pretty sure I have everything I'll need for the next four months.
I'm in Vancouver now staying with my dad who will take my sister and I to the airport later this afternoon.
This has been a day I've counted down to for over 2 years now. I knew I wanted to travel after university. I just wasn't sure what it would all look like (ie. who I'd go with, where we'd go, how we would get there.) But it's all come to fruition and I couldn't be more grateful.
Today we'll meet up with my cousin who is moving to Australia, but he'll be travelling with us to Greece for the first leg of his trip. So, needless-to-say there will be a family send off that we'll be apart of. Stiff drinks are a must. Not because of the family time, but because of the looming flight take off. I'm not a very good flyer.
Mom is taking a flight before us. We're meeting in London. She's given us precise directions as to where to find her... a bar stool, in a pub, over a few pints. hmmm thanks mom that makes it easy.
So I'll let you know just how that turns out.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Waves goodbye
The chapter in Prince Rupert came to a close today. Our goodbye came before sunrise with a foggy mist lifting on the harbour.
It was a goodbye to a town that has taught me so much about myself. But this was also the moment I had to say goodbye to my boyfriend. We stood in the middle of lane 2 at the ferry terminal. We stood clutching each other just before I had to drive on board the ferry. I tried to take in every second. We’ll be apart for a month. Not long, but it feels long right now. Our reunion will be just as public, Heathrow Airport. At that time we’ll begin our adventure together.
My sister flew up to our hometown to meet me and make the long trip down south with me. She was there at the ferry terminal with me as I said my early morning goodbyes to Brandon.
Our day began at 4:30 a.m.
It’s much later now and I’m tired.
I’m sitting at the bow of the ship and being gently rocked back and forth as our ferry enters the open waters of Queen Charlotte Sound.
There are a lot of elderly German tourists onboard; they’re a constant source of entertainment - so expressive.
The voyage began over 17 hours ago. Needless to say I’m about ready to get off.
We should be docking in an hour and then we’ll drive to Port McNeill where we’ll stay the night. Tomorrow we’ll continue down the island. It’s a big island.
The rest of my week is trip prep time. Because the count down has begun, yes that’s right 5 days till take off.
On Sunday my sister, cousin and I will be flying from Vancouver to London where we’ll meet up with my mom. From there we’ll get over the jet leg near Gatwick and then two days later fly to Athens.
It all feels a bit unreal at this stage in the game. With me still at home base, well just about back at home base.
This 4-month-long time away will be good for me. I can’t wait.
But right now I’m going a bit stir crazy on board this epic trip along the Inside Passage, aboard a ferry when at this time at night everyone is talking in whispers.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Fast paced, but slow moving West Coast.
What day is it, again?
I thought everything was supposed to slow down in my life after I arrived.
I made a list before I moved of all the things I wanted to accomplish in this small town. So far, I've only been able to cross off 3 of the 10 'summer to-dos'. Sad, but true.
My days are taken up with the current affairs news show I'm working on for the summer: booking interviews, live news and weather breaks and connecting with members of my community and northern region of B.C.
The first news break I had to do was about 3 weeks ago. I sat in the chair in front of the tech board. My jaw began to shake uncontrollably. My mouth went dry. I looked up at the clock, I had 40 secs to go.
All I had to do was hit play on the chime and turn my mic on.
I felt like my mind had drawn a complete blank. All that I could think about was the strength of the thumping in my chest. If there had been another person in the studio with me I'm positive they would have been distracted by the rapid noise my heart seemed to be making.
Click, switch, speak: It was that easy.
But, in my mind I pictured the thousands of listeners across all of Northern B.C. who would hear this minute and a half long break, yeah just a minute and a half what was I freaking over?
Like a hound at the gate, the second hand hit the 12 and I was off! Away on the news break races.
Never fear, this has a simple but positive ending. I finished my first news break with no major hitch. Although, my knees wouldn't stop shaking afterwards.
So, that's how I spend my days.
My evenings are completely different.
I throw on a clean black apron and clip my hair back and nestle my feet into a pair of comfortable rocketdogs and head down to the best known place to eat in town.
People come from very, very far away to eat here. There are only 11 tables and we're booked solid just about every night. The chef's mandate seems to be: fresh, local and personable. There are no airs, but the food is better than anything you'd find in Vancouver.
I've served everyone from European families on holidays, fishermen needing a break from their galleys and multi-billionaires in from their private yacht. Everyone eats side by side and excuses themselves as they have to squeeze past through the tightly placed tables.
It's a great place to make a bit of money for my trip (2 months to go) and meet some interesting people.
My weekends are spent as a tourist in my own town.
Brandon and I try to get out and see what we can, while staying as active as possible.
This past weekend the North Pacific Cannery was our must see location. It was a working cannery up until the mid 70's. My mom spent a summer filleting fish there.
It's now a museum that is always very quiet on dreary days. We chose to see it on the dreariest of summer days. We wanted to see it in it's truest of states.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Little buddies.
Making friends in a new town can sometimes be a hard thing to do, but with these two little beings first impressions definitely don't matter. We became instant friends.
My uncle has always had West Highland Terriers. He had two when I used to live just up the road. As a little girl I would come down to his house and spend rainy Sunday afternoons dressing them up and pretending they were royalty who were magically stuck in the bodies of little, white dogs.
Today now that I'm my uncle's tenant for the summer I get to play with his dogs again. They aren't the same ones I grew up with, but they're no less adorable.
This is the old girl, Tempest. When ever anyone resembling a human comes near she flops on her back, ordering you to give her a belly rub. She has no shame.
Now this wee man is, Jaques. He's the puppy and he won't let you forget it. My time off work has permitted me time to work on his naughty behaviour. If anyone out there has any tricks to inspire him to NOT piddle on the dishwasher it would be greatly appreciated. But lordy, he's cute.
The neighbour's black and white cat, Dumpy, is the dog's best friend. Strange, I know. So, it's the four of us holding the fort: Jaques, Tempest, Dumpy and me.
My uncle has always had West Highland Terriers. He had two when I used to live just up the road. As a little girl I would come down to his house and spend rainy Sunday afternoons dressing them up and pretending they were royalty who were magically stuck in the bodies of little, white dogs.
Today now that I'm my uncle's tenant for the summer I get to play with his dogs again. They aren't the same ones I grew up with, but they're no less adorable.
This is the old girl, Tempest. When ever anyone resembling a human comes near she flops on her back, ordering you to give her a belly rub. She has no shame.
Now this wee man is, Jaques. He's the puppy and he won't let you forget it. My time off work has permitted me time to work on his naughty behaviour. If anyone out there has any tricks to inspire him to NOT piddle on the dishwasher it would be greatly appreciated. But lordy, he's cute.
The neighbour's black and white cat, Dumpy, is the dog's best friend. Strange, I know. So, it's the four of us holding the fort: Jaques, Tempest, Dumpy and me.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
A sexy town?
I was one of the many that went to see Sex and the City on the first night that it arrived on the big screen.
Carla and I went together. We paid our $7.75 and had our purses full of grocery store snacks. It was a date.
The theatre was surprisingly empty for the late show of this movie that had received so much media hype. It didn't really matter because I was hyped.
It was my time to escape back to the time that I spent in the big city, meeting up with friends for martinis at midnight. Life here on the sleepy coast is much different.
We settled into our seats and giggled with excitement. We'd both been looking forward to this girly date.
A large group of girls settled right behind us. At first this didn't seem like an issue. I figured the theatre would soon be full of women and it would become a fabulous estrogen fest for two glorious hours.
But no, they had to start it all off by cracking beers, which they spilled everywhere. They grew ever more intoxicated as the film rolled on.
These 'ladies', (yes I'm being sarcastic) got louder and louder with each round that they chugged.
"What the fuck is she wearing?"
"Yeah that looks like something Napolio would wear. Wait, what's that guy's name?"
"Napoleon."
"Yeah him."
"It's cochur."
(I think this one meant couture, but didn't know how to pronounce the word)
"Whatever, it looks like shit."
So, yes, not in the same order, but this is definitely a conversation that took place within ear shot of the entire audience.
I also loved the part when there would be a same-sex love smooch and these 'ladies' would cry out in disgusted horror. Nice.
Okay, I sound like I'm mocking them. I just want to point out that it's easy for these two very different worlds to scoff at one another. Rural versus urban. At this time I'm in a place where I can standup for either side. I enjoy aspects of both worlds. I guess I'm a rurban. Oh that's bad, but you know what I mean.
This town may be the farthest thing from martinis at midnight, but it has an element of sexiness that not even Queen Street West nor the Brooklyn Bridge can top.
The sun setting across the harbour, behind Digby Island, the scene of a weather worn fishing vessel slow up her pace as she nears the marina. Kayaking along the shoreline to look up and see the old train station that seems to have stood since the beginning.
It's not just through rose coloured glasses that you can see beauty in this town. It's romantic and ruggedly sexy.
Carla and I went together. We paid our $7.75 and had our purses full of grocery store snacks. It was a date.
The theatre was surprisingly empty for the late show of this movie that had received so much media hype. It didn't really matter because I was hyped.
It was my time to escape back to the time that I spent in the big city, meeting up with friends for martinis at midnight. Life here on the sleepy coast is much different.
We settled into our seats and giggled with excitement. We'd both been looking forward to this girly date.
A large group of girls settled right behind us. At first this didn't seem like an issue. I figured the theatre would soon be full of women and it would become a fabulous estrogen fest for two glorious hours.
But no, they had to start it all off by cracking beers, which they spilled everywhere. They grew ever more intoxicated as the film rolled on.
These 'ladies', (yes I'm being sarcastic) got louder and louder with each round that they chugged.
"What the fuck is she wearing?"
"Yeah that looks like something Napolio would wear. Wait, what's that guy's name?"
"Napoleon."
"Yeah him."
"It's cochur."
(I think this one meant couture, but didn't know how to pronounce the word)
"Whatever, it looks like shit."
So, yes, not in the same order, but this is definitely a conversation that took place within ear shot of the entire audience.
I also loved the part when there would be a same-sex love smooch and these 'ladies' would cry out in disgusted horror. Nice.
Okay, I sound like I'm mocking them. I just want to point out that it's easy for these two very different worlds to scoff at one another. Rural versus urban. At this time I'm in a place where I can standup for either side. I enjoy aspects of both worlds. I guess I'm a rurban. Oh that's bad, but you know what I mean.
This town may be the farthest thing from martinis at midnight, but it has an element of sexiness that not even Queen Street West nor the Brooklyn Bridge can top.
The sun setting across the harbour, behind Digby Island, the scene of a weather worn fishing vessel slow up her pace as she nears the marina. Kayaking along the shoreline to look up and see the old train station that seems to have stood since the beginning.
It's not just through rose coloured glasses that you can see beauty in this town. It's romantic and ruggedly sexy.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Beyond the coastal view.
I'm here, but not all there.
My boyfriend and I moved up to my little hometown on the North West Coast. His work contract began right away, but mine is a bit of a wait. And I haven't been very patient.
I'm helping my uncle, the collector, get organized right now, but for some reason this busy work doesn't keep me busy enough.
My lovely friend, Carla moved up here as well. Her contract also began right away.
So, me, yeah I'm in a weird void of post university limbo. I'm trying to make the most of it... any suggestions? Honing in on the domestic diva role is beginning to get tired.
When my boyfriend asked if I wanted to accompany him on a business trip into the interior I jumped at the chance. This is a day and a half to just get away! From what? I don't know because I just arrived, but I felt that I needed a break.
So, I'm playing tourist in a town I spent my childhood summers traveling too. Smithers, B.C is a beautiful town if someone's looking for somewhere North, but not too North to see.
Our family friend has a holistic book store here. She serves up delicious bowls of lentil soup and steams up fabulous cappuccinos. This lovely hole in the wall smells of chai. The front door has bells that calmly chime that welcomes every new visitor.
I look up from my worn in laptop here at my wireless internet post and there's another mud covered truck parked illegally outside. But beyond that a snow capped mountain range stands on permanent look out over this quaint valley town.
This is just the break I needed from my other break; you know, the longer one.
My boyfriend and I moved up to my little hometown on the North West Coast. His work contract began right away, but mine is a bit of a wait. And I haven't been very patient.
I'm helping my uncle, the collector, get organized right now, but for some reason this busy work doesn't keep me busy enough.
My lovely friend, Carla moved up here as well. Her contract also began right away.
So, me, yeah I'm in a weird void of post university limbo. I'm trying to make the most of it... any suggestions? Honing in on the domestic diva role is beginning to get tired.
When my boyfriend asked if I wanted to accompany him on a business trip into the interior I jumped at the chance. This is a day and a half to just get away! From what? I don't know because I just arrived, but I felt that I needed a break.
So, I'm playing tourist in a town I spent my childhood summers traveling too. Smithers, B.C is a beautiful town if someone's looking for somewhere North, but not too North to see.
Our family friend has a holistic book store here. She serves up delicious bowls of lentil soup and steams up fabulous cappuccinos. This lovely hole in the wall smells of chai. The front door has bells that calmly chime that welcomes every new visitor.
I look up from my worn in laptop here at my wireless internet post and there's another mud covered truck parked illegally outside. But beyond that a snow capped mountain range stands on permanent look out over this quaint valley town.
This is just the break I needed from my other break; you know, the longer one.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
New York, New York!
We walked. We ate. We talked. We watched.
I've never seen anything quite like it. Manhattan boggled my mind. It's constantly moving. I've also never walked so much in my life.
Each day we would grab a wonderful cup of coffee for me and a chai latte for my lovely friend, Gemma and just plunk ourselves down and watch people. There's an endless amusing quality to New Yorkers and even the city's visitors. Their goings-on were captivating.
We stayed with my cousin who lives an hour North of the city. Believe it or not she lives in the country, which was a wonderful contrast to come home to at night.
I didn't make the typical New York tourist stops: buying a fake handbag in an alleyway on Canal St., making it to the top of the Empire State Building, touching Ms. Liberty. No, I was perfectly content with walking all day, while making frequent meal breaks. There's just so much to eat and see.
It was a whirlwind, but completely worth every penny AND calorie.
*Grand Central Station
*Central Park
*SOHO
*Brooklyn Bridge
*Magnolia Bakery @ 401 Bleeker
I've never seen anything quite like it. Manhattan boggled my mind. It's constantly moving. I've also never walked so much in my life.
Each day we would grab a wonderful cup of coffee for me and a chai latte for my lovely friend, Gemma and just plunk ourselves down and watch people. There's an endless amusing quality to New Yorkers and even the city's visitors. Their goings-on were captivating.
We stayed with my cousin who lives an hour North of the city. Believe it or not she lives in the country, which was a wonderful contrast to come home to at night.
I didn't make the typical New York tourist stops: buying a fake handbag in an alleyway on Canal St., making it to the top of the Empire State Building, touching Ms. Liberty. No, I was perfectly content with walking all day, while making frequent meal breaks. There's just so much to eat and see.
It was a whirlwind, but completely worth every penny AND calorie.
*Grand Central Station
*Central Park
*SOHO
*Brooklyn Bridge
*Magnolia Bakery @ 401 Bleeker
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
What a way to wrap it up
A way up on the 16th floor of an upscale, St. Claire West condominium sat a group of bewildered journalism students.
Bewildered because it's the last week of classes before we get the boot into the real world. And upscale because we were invited over to our Professor's home to listen to our final documentaries whilst sipping white wine.
What a way to wind it up.
This radio documentary class has come to feel like a little family for me. I've grown attached to everyone. It's hard to fathom that I may never see any of them again.
I did this to myself when I graduated high school too. I grow melancholy at the thought of good byes, but once it's that time I'm ready to hit the road and experience the next chapter.
So don't fret I won't shed too many tears.
Over our four years together we've watched each other grow into astute, self sufficient, twenty-somethings. I'm so proud of each and everyone of them.
But the goodbyes don't have to be said just yet. For now we'll just sip our wine.
Bewildered because it's the last week of classes before we get the boot into the real world. And upscale because we were invited over to our Professor's home to listen to our final documentaries whilst sipping white wine.
What a way to wind it up.
This radio documentary class has come to feel like a little family for me. I've grown attached to everyone. It's hard to fathom that I may never see any of them again.
I did this to myself when I graduated high school too. I grow melancholy at the thought of good byes, but once it's that time I'm ready to hit the road and experience the next chapter.
So don't fret I won't shed too many tears.
Over our four years together we've watched each other grow into astute, self sufficient, twenty-somethings. I'm so proud of each and everyone of them.
But the goodbyes don't have to be said just yet. For now we'll just sip our wine.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Flowers a'Bloom
It's beginning to warm up. You can see every one's spirit take one of those big, all encompassing (cat) stretches. It's been a long Winter, but Spring is beginning to bloom -finally
The Canada Blooms trade show was like an enormous green house in downtown Toronto. Complete with every shade of tulip; there was also authentic bird sounds and small water features.
It was a nice place to spend a Saturday afternoon. It had me looking forward to the season ahead.
I don't think I would have gone to enjoy this man-made ambiance if I were not covering it for a magazine I work part-time for. I know, shame! My story was on sustainable bird houses.
I know, sustainable bird houses? Well I guess if we're going to be serious about this green living thing the birds have to pitch in too.
ha. I crack myself up.
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