No turkey, just soup

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.

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.

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.