Whither Must I Wander

Walk This Way

2007-10-12T07:31:00.000-06:00

Things are perking up over here in Glasgow. Which is good! I think. I have procured a place to live, a roommate that is Canadian (surprisingly enough) and my daily freakouts have been reduced to no more than 3. Improvements. That being said, let me take you on a tour through what I've seen of this new city I've decided to call home.
This is Park Circus, the ritzy neighborhood where the hostel I called home was located. Unfortunately I had to bounce from hostel to a gross hostel to a B&B as accomodations became scare during the bank holiday weekend. Sneakily (or creepily, take your pick) peering into some windows revealed some super fancy living quarters. The area is also above Kelvingrove Park, a huge park in the middle of the West End, sort of like Kensington but grittier, for those who know Calgary.

A view of Kelvingrove Park. The tower in the distance is part of the University of Glasgow.

This is Buchanan Street, the top part of the main shopping drag in Glasgow City Centre. I love this view. It's virtually jammed here on weekends and rush hour and pretty much any time ever. But it's bustling and fun and who doesn't love a zillion consumers crammed into a small space?

The Mitchell Library. The biggest reference library in Western Europe, right here in Glasgow. It's a sign, clearly.

Not terribly exciting, but this is the view from the window of my B&B. I thought it looked quintessentially British. Or Scottish.

The Glasgow Cathedral. I thought I'd do some touristy things, like visit the oldest cathedral in mainland Scotland. It was begun in the 13th century and finished in the 15th. Very cool, slightly creepy place. Let's go inside.

So this plaque was in the lower vestry (is that the right word???) of the cathedral as a commemoration to those who died in battle during the reformation. How awesome is that? Not that they died, obvioulsy, but you get my point. The historian in me is loving this place.

This is the Necropolis and view of the city from the Necropolis, respectively. It's an enormous Georgian graveyard built on a hill behind the cathedral. It was pouring rain, proper for being in a graveyard, and was quite impressive.

To happier places, such as the street where I live. I adore it here - such a good neighborhood and pretty, as well.

My tenement, from the outside. Glasgow is covered in these old tenement flats. I'm not sure exactly when they were built, I they're pretty old. The ceilings are usually 12 ft. high, roughly and pretty spacious. Such is the case with ours.

My room. This flat is huge.

Well, that concludes our walk through Glasgow, I hope you've enjoyed. I'll post more soon. Now I just need a job so I can stay here...

Week 2

2007-09-17T04:11:00.000-06:00

Hey y'all. For some reason none of my internet connections have been letting me onto blogger, but today we've apparently had a breakthrough. Huzzah. So yes, here we are in Week 2. I'm still alive, am going to buy a new purse today because my other one is KILLING my shoulder and have eaten a lot of Hob Nobs. Things are better this week. Possibly because I'm no longer jet lagged. Jet lag does crazy things to me, like causes me to wander around cities, trying unsuccessfully to hold back tears, wondering what the hell I'm doing. But the lag is gone so things are better. I've resigned myself to the fact that I might have to live in the hostel for awhile (crap crap crap) but I have a little routine so I feel more in control. Funny the things we do.
As soon as I find an adaptor for my camera plug (one of many things I don't have) I can post some pictures. Until then, I'll tell you that things are green, it rains a lot, and old sandstone buildings are cool.

Inner City Pressure

2007-09-11T14:13:00.000-06:00

I am here. I'm not sure why. Why did I want to do this? I can't remember. Maybe it's the jet lag, maybe the lack of hygeine, but I'm mildly freaking out. Hopefully tomorrow is better.
Could hardly understand my cab driver - it was awesome!

My Cubicle Without Me

2007-09-07T08:17:00.001-06:00

An empty desk,
No Dwight Schrute statue
SNC, I'm laughing at you.

Or maybe just smirking.

Two Weeks Notice

2007-08-27T15:50:00.000-06:00

Turns out the best thing about giving notice is the option to be mysterious. Due to the reason that certain people in my organization would make me a spectacle for their own gain, I've decided to keep my plans for Glasgow on the QT. My offical and truthful story is that I'm taking time off to re-evaluate my situation. I just happen to be doing it overseas. A number of people know, but I made a point of telling everyone to keep quiet about it. Now that the main perpetrators are on holiday, I'm a little more free about telling people. But it's really a delight to answer nosy-parkers with 'nowhere' when they ask where I'm going and noting their alarmed/jealous/disdainful reactions. But hopefully they don't take my response metaphorically...

21 Days Later...

2007-08-20T08:30:00.000-06:00

Three weeks left. I try not to think about it too much while planning etc. because it fills me with a sort of paralyzing anxiety. And that's not fun. But if I do think about it, I try to think about happy things like the new wardrobe I plan to buy and the M&S sandwiches I plan to consume. Yes, consumerism is a safe topic to think about. However, then I start thinking about money and whether or not I'll find a job...see, there goes that pesky anxiety again. Deep breaths. Okay.

Rocky Mountain High

2007-07-18T19:40:00.000-06:00

At the end of June, my sister, an oft-featured persona in this venue, demanded that we go hiking before she left for Montreal. When I say 'demanded' I am not exaggerating. I wish I was. The girl, if I have not made this clear, is a force to be reckoned with. And so our feet that had not touched mountain soil in far too long left Calgary and headed west for the super-popular Johnston Canyon hike. And hike we did.

Optimistic and unaware of the scads of tourists ahead.

Samantha commented at one point, "Have the trees always been this close together?

Perhaps my most favorite picture of myself ever.

The first leg of the hike up to the falls was gorgeous and lovely-chilly thanks to the water, but was overrun with elderly Europeans taking pictures of chipmunks. Do they not have chipmunks in Madrid or Le Havre or Dusseldorf? I mean, really. The Euros were amusing, though. Taking a break from the hike to perch on a rock and smoke. Only the Europeans.

Past the falls the trail turned much less structured and became what we'd come for: a hike. A bit tough at times but relatively easy, we hiked up the mountain then down into a valley that is home to 5 mountain spring pools called The Inkpots. I suppose the more romantic names were taken. No one else was in the valley. It was just about noon, it was sunny and breezy and practically perfect in every way. Truly, I could have stayed forever. Hunger and responsibility be damned.

An inkpot. Looks a bit like a fairy pool, whatever that is.

Down in the valley.

Vancouver

2007-06-17T23:30:00.000-06:00

As a birthday present to myself I took a few days and headed to Vancouver to visit my friend S. I hadn't been there since I was 9, so it was a pretty much a brand new city to me. S. and her roommate E. were fantastic hostesses and showed me a rip-roarin' time in ol' Vancouver - thanks, ladies!

Apparently the Calgary International Airport provides broken hearts, supposedly along with defibrulator services.

The harbor by Granville Island, right by a shack called 'Go Fish' that served the absolute best salmon and chips I've ever eaten. Traveling is all about food, yes?

Little white flowers in the grass on Granville Island after dropping considerable cash on pretty new accessories.

The view from Stanley Park.

Me in front of said view.

Sarah and me, after a delicious, fantastic dinner at Toshi, her favorite sushi restaurant, also known as 'the Second Coming of sushi'.

E., my new friend and also a Toshi afficionado. I did have more than one shirt.

From the beach at sunset. This was also accompanied by S.'s bang-on Boyd K. Packer impersonations. Seriously, I got chills.

Me in the Naitobe gardens at UBC - stunning Japanese garden. I hung around campus with E. for a bit my last day and almost cried because I am not a grad student there. Maybe in a few years...? The entire trip I kept saying to myself, "WHY do I live in Calgary?" If I didn't already have a plane ticket across the ocean, I'd move out there so crazy fast...

She Moves In Her Own Way

2007-05-22T11:43:00.000-06:00

What I Learned This Weekend:

The May long weekend invariably stinks. Usually the weather is crap-ola, usually I try to have some sort of birthday celebration but everyone's out of town and then I usually get bummed because I'm getting older. Then I realize that I'm being a big baby and why don't I just grow the heck up?

This did not happen this particular weekend.

The weather did indeed suck, and I also had to move most of my belongings into storage which resulted in exhaustion and my trick knee giving out, but I did have a birthday party (am I 5?) with friends and another with family and good times were had. So I'm happy.

I also learned that I am probably the worst waitress ever. Among many other mishaps, I have dropped two beer bottles (empty, thank heavens) on two separate people in the past week. How I have not been fired I do not know. Fortunately I've managed to coast through life on my good looks, seems to still be working...

Little Sister

2007-05-18T08:14:00.000-06:00

This is not an obituary nor a tribute, but a desire to express my gratitude, I guess, for my favorite and only sister, 10 years younger, 20 years wiser, much prettier, surprisingly clumsy and gut-wrenchingly hilarous.

- I was thrilled when she was born. After three younger brothers I was dying for some female companionship, even if it was in infant form.

- When she starts to cry, her face looks the same as it did when she was a baby.

- She's very empathetic (towards anyone but me) and abhors passing judgement on others.

- Her eye for fashion astounds. It's astonishing.

- Our entire family is terrified of her on some level.

- She wrote one of the best songs I've ever heard, entitled "I'm Stuck, There's Nothing To Do".

- She also wrote a short story called 'The Wall-ed Knight'. It's about a knight behind a wall.

- We've honed the knack of speaking like movie stars in the '40's and also Audrey Hepburn.

- Her stuffed animals have always been called by their respective species. Eg) Cow, Dog, Panda, Shark (I gave her the shark.)

- She never fails to chime in with the comments my grandmother once made on my singlehood: "You're doing just great, you don't get down on yourself, you don't get depressed..."

- I have saved several of her emails because they make me laugh out loud.

- For some reason, probably my fault, she assumes that I'm an ATM.

- I used to call her the 'Razor Tongued She-Devil'. It was (and still can be) fitting.

- She and her friend who has the same name as her made a movie for school last year about her stuffed cow falling in love with a flashlight. It also featured a hobo.

- She recently discovered texting and has sent me several random texts, the first of which read, "I always thought it such a shame that there was no such thing as banana juice."

- I find her obsessions with Charlotte Gainsbourg, Sophia Coppola and Sherlock Holmes hysterical/endearing.

Et voila, c'est ma souer. She's now graduated high school and spending a large portion of the summer in Montreal so our time before I leave will be cut short. While there are times when sororicide seems logical, I wouldn't get rid of my sister for anything. Ever.

Material Girl

2007-05-02T15:25:00.000-06:00

This is not bragging. It's excitement. And fear. Of my bank balance. I purchased three things today:

A MacBook. Eeek! And I am NOT a victim of advertising, it was suggested to me as an alternative to Dell and I'm taking the plunge. Cannot wait 'til it arrives...

Tickets to The White Stripes. June 29th. Floor seats! Sweet merciful crap. I don't care if Jack White is married to a super model - he will be mine. I've been waiting for this for a loooong time.

Adorable adorable flats. Looked everywhere for flats I didn't hate and of course the only ones I loved were at Browns. Naturally. Why spend $30 at Payless when you can shell out more than 3x that?

At this rate I'm going to be on the streets when I hit Glasgow...yikes. Somebody stop me.

How Soon Is Now?

2007-04-25T09:14:00.000-06:00

I can't take it anymore - I want to go NOW. I'm cranky and tired of, well, everything.

A psychic once told me that my karmic lesson was patience, which made me laugh out loud, because it is sadly true. And waiting 4 1/2 more months before I can go is testing all of my patience reserves, which are unsurprisingly low.

Speaking of Low, I'm going to Vancouver in May to visit my amiga S. I am anticipating sushi eating, shopping and a crapload of fun. What's could make this even better, you ask? How about the flight costing all of $130 CAD? I know! Crazytown.

*sigh*

Girl On The Wing

2007-03-28T08:22:00.000-06:00

Panicked slightly, took a breath and entered credit card number. Clicked 'Submit'. Result? One plane ticket for September 10th.

No turning back now...

Bumbershoot 2006

2007-03-15T09:20:00.000-06:00

Often I’ve said to myself, “I feel a severe deficiency in my life of highway driving in a hot car.” How do I rectify this? By asking a friend to haul her cookies to Seattle with me for an extended weekend of live music, Americans and shopping at Target.

Roadtrip! Woohoo!

Ahem.

This is obviously a post in hindsight - if this was supposed to be a travel blog at its inception, then I have been neglectful in omitting my Labour Day trip to Seattle. Why? Because it was all kinds o’ fabulousness, albeit exhausting. And it was travel - 12 hours each way, driving whilst half awake, if that ain't travel I don't know what is. My partner in crime was my amiga and ex-roomie R - fellow music lover and owner of a vehicle with clearance for highway driving. My Jeep (RIP) wouldn't have gotten us past Nanton.

The Frank Slide, just before Crowsnest Pass. Mountain collapses on the mining town of Frank in the early 1900's. Hundreds die. Creeps me out every time I drive through here, thinking about the crushed bones atrophied under the rocks. And maybe now you're creeped out, too.

A&W in Cranbrook, B.C. As per the sign, it's comforting to know that if I ever desire a change of profession, I could pour rootbeer alongside surly teens for travelers.

After a 12 hour drive through Washington, mostly in the dark, we hit our hostel in downtown Seattle at 2am. I love hostels. Quick and dirty and efficient. The next morning we roamed around the harbour area and Pike Place market to get a feel for the city. I love this shot because it reminds me of Douglas Coupland's Microserfs and the characters's collective obsession with highway construction.

By the harbor, someone had clearly taken off his shoes and gone his separate way.

The World Fountain, or something like that, at the Seattle Center, home of Bumbershoot. The weather, as a side note, was phenomenal and to the best of my knowledge the Pacific Northwest is consistentally hot and sunny.

Who knew Debbie Harry and Blondie still had it? I sure as hell didn't. Anyone who can pull off lime green spandex gets a shout out.

Our yellow-skirted friend here (centre), referred to as 'Yellow Skirt', danced in the blazing heat for the full set. Why she didn't pass out half way through still baffles me. I don't know what she was on, but must be some pretty powerful stuff.

Spoon. We ate dodgy tacos and listened to the first of three Gnarls Barkley covers for the weekend. Everybody loved the "Crazy".

R., lounging in style during Of Montreal.

Between the afternoon and evening shows, we went back to the harbour to escape the crowds. Gratuious sunset shot.

Badly Drawn Boy, surprisingly amazing and enjoyable.

Pike Place Market, just a step or two from the hostel. Claustraphobia, anyone?

What would we do without The New Pornographers? Listen to the old ones, I suppose. *guffaw guffaw*. They kicked all kinds of ass at this show. Probably the best I saw them all year. And the drummer was having the best time out of anyone.

"There's always money in the banana stand." - George Bluth, Sen.

Mates of State. Super fun.

After a boring show in a poorly chosen venue in the Seattle Center, I waited impatiently in line for Copeland for what seemed like 1000 hours. It was, in reality, only 1.5. There I crouched like Quasimodo, looking adorable/horrible with sore feet. This was all for my brother, the die hard Copeland fan. They were unpleasant wankers. I was incredibly unimpressed. I realize that record labels make you do stupid things, like sign albums, but muster a little pleasantness, yeah? Hmph.

Rocky Votolato. *birds singing, sun shining, la-di-da* Hey, the heart wants what it wants.

The final evening of the festival, we decided to support Feist, a fellow Calgarian. Pretty low key, but it was a good way to wrap up.

Our last night at the festival, one final shot reminiscent of the unrepaired Hubble Telescope.

We took an extra day in Seattle after the festival to squeeze in some necessary shopping. This trip made me think a lot about consumerism. I beaked off about it here. I may have issues with globalization/corporatism, but that certainly doesn’t stop me from gleefully tossing money at the red-shirted cashiers at Target. Sadly, all that American stuff is such an irresistable novelty to us Canucks. Teeny tiny Altoids? Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper? The American junk food machine is a veritable enticing behemoth.

I wish I had a picture of our one hour in Couer D'Alene, ID. We needed fuel for both vehicles and humans and decided to fuel the humans at Taco Bell. It was baking hot that day and I stood in the parking lot, heat radiating from above and up from the asphalt. The sky was the endless pale blue that occurs in extreme heat, and it was flat flat flat as far as I could see. My dominant thought at that moment was, "If I was a teenager and lived here, I'd probably want to kill myself". Oddly enough, I was harassed for being Canadian by a couple of teenage guys while eating a bean burrito (I don't remember how it came up) but it took a lot of self restraint to keep from saying, "Hey, don't you realize you live in Couer D'-freaking-Alene, meat heads? Do you really think that's better than being Canadian???" But why use my disdain to pique self-loathing in young men? I don't want that on my conscience.

The reason I was forced to lie to customs? This messenger bag. So maybe it cost more than my monthly grocery budget, but it was meant to be. Love at first sight. Our eyes (and star) met across the crowded thoroughfare and my heart was stolen. Part of the reason my frugality lost out was the adorable couple that owns Persnickity Designs. Both so eager and helpful, I was supporting humanity by purchasing this lovely thing. At least that's what I keep telling myself...

So long, Seattle. If I'm not already in Glasgow, maybe next year?

Hello City

2007-03-09T15:29:00.000-07:00

I'm gettin' outta this one horse town...however I am fairly certain that there are several horses in this town as opposed to just one.

September - a new country?

This city.Home of this band.

Should be interesting. Six months to go...

Soundtrack 2006

2007-01-10T19:16:00.000-07:00

The past year was peculiar in the way that a lot of my memories revolve around and are entrenched in the music I was listening to at the time, more so than usual. If only for myself (as no one else reads this) and to preserve my ever failing memory, this is my life soundtrack for 2006.

- Ben Folds, "Rocking the Suburbs" album. Back before I got booted from my adorable, expensive apartment so they could turn it into an over-priced condo, I was able to walk to work every day. Listening to this album whilst trekking amongst 17th Ave was awesome - the energy in the songs completely complemented the cadence of my steps. *sniff sniff* I really miss walking to work. As does my metabolism.

- Belle and Sebastian, "Tigermilk" and "Dear Catastrophe Waitress" albums. I listened to the "Tigermilk" album nonstop while traveling through the UK via train. Seascapes, old tunnels and gloomy weather made it a perfect accompaniment. "Dear Catastrophe Waitress" kept me company on a different kind of train, the commuting kind (booooo). "If She Wants Me" might be one of the best songs ever and provided comfort for me amidst my fellow sardines. And of course, I enjoyed seeing them in Trafalgar Square (name drop, name drop). What is it about this band? My sister and I had a conversation recently about how we know we're supposed to listen to other music, and we do, but all we really want is to listen to Belle and Sebastian.

- The Mountain Goats, "No Children". My middle brother and I have a bet to see who can get married first, solely so we can be the first play this song at the reception.

- Regina Spektor, "Us". I first heard this in a commercial before this excellent French film we saw in York. Makes me think of my adorable/horrible little sister and the winding, cobblestone-y streets of York.

- The New P*rnographers, "Twin Cinema". Wintry Saturday mornings, Cafe Beano, pain au chocolat and the Globe and Mail. Life really doesn't get much better. "These Are The Fables" is a great sing-along. Got to see these guys 3x this year - money well spent.

- The Raconteurs, "Intimate Secretary". Driving in my Jeep during the scorching days of summer with this song blasting out the windows = exuberance.

- Ella Fitzgerald, "If I Were A Bell". Love it.

- Jenny Lewis & the Watson Twins, "Rabbit Fur Coat" album. Tried like gangbusters to see them when we were in Europe but no dice. Jenny Lewis has a gorgeous/unique voice.

- Rilo Kiley, "Portions for Foxes". This song kills me. See comment about Jenny Lewis above.

- Brendan Benson, "Alternative to Love". This album was the perfect accompaniment to driving around Northern Alberta in a rental car in July while being courted by Big Bad Energy, who were trying to entice me to work with them admidst the pines and crude mines. They were not successful (read: not forthcoming enough with the coinage).

- The Postal Service, "Give Up". During an end of summer road trip to Seattle for the Bumbershoot Festival, the calming vocals and snappy beats kept us tranquil yet alert for night driving across Washington.

- Matt Costa, "Sweet Rose". I love this song so much, it's just plain happy. And he played Bumbershoot so hearing it just as good live was a bonus.

- Rocky Votolato, "White Daisy Passing". This might be one of the prettiest songs I've ever heard. "Pretty" is of course a rather weak adjective, but that's what it is - pretty. Do yourself a favor and listen to it. R.V. was also at Bumbershoot - got a wicked sunburn as a result of standing as close to the stage as possible, but didn't care.

- Death Cab For Cutie, "Transatlanticism". I like the songs on "Plans" better, but this album flows together as a whole almost perfectly. And it was a good panacea for heartache. (Ugh, how affected, typical and slightly pathetic. Meh.)

- Wolf Parade, "I'll Believe in Anything". This songs picks it up, throws it down and stomps on it. Whatever 'it' is.

That's enough. I could probably go on but I'll refrain. Y'know, I love how senses trigger memory. Like the smell of a certain perfume taking you back to a relative or a song reminding you of an old boyfriend...I don't know. Definitely a perk of this whole life business.

Always On My Mind

2006-10-23T15:16:00.000-06:00

Time is fleeting, as are blogs, apparently. I've been a bad blogger, as I haven't posted since my last travel re-cap, mainly because I intended for it to be a travel blog only. But lately there is something that has been plaguing my mind and I need to air it, if only in binary format. The issue is this:

My Ipod is psychic.

At first glance, this confessional might not seem plausible, rather stupid, even, but I assure you it's true. At least 93% of the time, anyway. Let me 'splain. This is a used Ipod. This is because a) I am cheap and b) I got it from one of my younger brothers who is a generally reliable-type young man. He purchased said player in October of last year, just before Apple released the Video Ipods, which became his new desire upon their issue in November. My brother, commonly referred to as "BN", (seriously) offered to sell me his new-ish MP3 player at a very reasonable price so he could buy something with video capability. Everyone was happy. I had an MP3 player (finally), BN got a GMini and my new Ipod didn't have to play The Strokes or Yeah Yeah Yeah's every waking minute, just occasionally.

And then it started.

At first, I never used "Shuffle" mode. I'm more of an album/playlist girl, so I'd pick what ever suited my mood during my transit commutes or 45 minute drives across town (Calgary is WAY too sprawl-y) and groove away. Then for some reason, one day at work I decided to throw caution to the wind and turned on "Shuffle". 5 GB of music or so (I think it's currently at 7 - I'm trying, I'm trying) and a sort of Russian Roulette - I was worried. But the strange thing was that the songs played were an almost perfect playlist of music that suited my mood incredibly well. And this has been the pattern ever since. Whenever I choose "Shuffle", the song choices are eerily perfect.

At first I thought it was just luck and of course, I actually like most of the music I put on the player, so why wouldn't all playlists work, right? No. Case in point - last week it was a gloomy, rainy day, and as I gazed from my window on the 24th floor across the city, I felt the melancholy that usually accompanies such weather. I like this melancholy, so I decided to listen to music and take my chances with "Shuffle". Before I began, I thought to myself something along the lines of "I really need some rainy day music". The first song? "Rainy Day People" by Gordon Lightfoot. Mockery aside, it was unsettling. The Ipod then proceeded to churn out a perfect mix of rainy day songs. I mean, what are the odds out of 1600 songs? Well, obviously 1600:1. But those are not good odds. Therefore, I present my assertion that my Ipod has some sort of freakish mind reading capability. Perhaps it's through the headphones? I chucked those crap white ones that never stay in your ears. Perhaps that was the key. And this worries me. No good can come from anthropomorphizing your electronic doodads. Increased paranoia is a certain side effect.

I thank you for your patience in my telling of this useless tale, but it needed to be told.

p.s. Amusing side note: I was telling one of my other brothers about this and asked him "Is your Ipod psychic?" He answered, in all seriousness, "No, but I'm pretty sure it's out to get me." Interesting.

Five Things I Love About Eu(rope)

2006-06-16T10:05:00.000-06:00

Por mi amiga Diana, la chica que ama listas. Especialmente los “Top 5’s”.

Top 5 Little Things I Loved About ‘The Trip’ in NPO (sorry for any repeats)

1. The Drunken Irish Men. I’m sorry to propagate a stereotype, but it started with the seemingly sober man walking up to me and my sister, lurching forward unexpectedly and slurring “The two o’ yas, yar gahrgeous, yes yar.” Hi-larious. And there were more, oh so many more, from Belfast to Dublin.

2. Greek Style Plain Yogurt. Those Brits have got it all figured out, at least in the yogurt department. I’ve been on a mission to find it since returning and succeeded just a mere few days ago whilst burrowing through the dairy case in Safeway. Who knew? It was twice the price of the yogurt from Sainsbury’s but I did not care. And it is fabulous, 18g of fat and 9 million calories be damned.

3. The smell in the air while floating down the Seine, and the accompanying feeling that everything everywhere, both in and around my life, was perfect. Even if it only lasted a scant three minutes.

4. Cheap books everywhere. Three brand new books for 10 quid? Yes, please! I did not, however, love the 30 Euros I had to pay when flying to Paris because of the (ahem) extra weight. Exactly how many did I buy? Well…

4a. This book nearly ruined my life. I realize it is not inherently European, but that's where I started reading it, and I needed to mention it somewhere. I knew it was going to be one of those books and I refused to sully it by finishing on the plane, so I holed up for a few hours upon my return. Let's just say that no book has ever come even close to gutting me the way this one did. Is this a good thing? No se.

5. Getting lost in Islington with Jax and her friend Richelle. On our way to the Tate Modern from Camden Town, we got on the wrong bus and ended up in North-ish London. But would I have had the experience of wandering ‘round Islington with the starry-eyed hopes of running into Nick Hornby otherwise? No. And to my dismay, no N. H.

Esta bien? Gracias por visitar! Y excuse por favor mi Espanol horrible.

Gotta Leave Here, Get On With My Lonely Life

2006-06-14T11:51:00.000-06:00

Back from Paris and completely exhausted, we collapsed once again in Tara & Sarah's flat. My friends Jax and Dana whom I hadn't seen in ages were also in London at the same time so there were some bizarre reunions to be had. If only if we met all our old friends in London. As we had to ration our time but use up our train passes, we took a day trip to Brighton. Before the trip, The Pants had never seen the ocean, or sea as we were told to call it, and Brighton was perfect for another seaside excursion. We dutifully attended the Royal Pavilion of George IV, a gorgeous Oriental palace and the only building of its kind in England. I was particularly interested as I studied a lot of late 18th/early 19th century history in University. (Side note: It occurs to me that a lot of film versions of important British historical events star Rupert Everett, so as I took the walking tour of the Pavillion and the guide mentioned George IV, I kept imagining him as that saucy rouge Rupert. I really hope I'm not the only one.) No inside pictures in the Pavillion, though. They were pretty strict.

Like most tourist towns, Brighton was laid-back and full of great stores. Apparently it's known as the San Francisco of Britain, and there was no shortage of guys with funky hair. My favorite was the dude with the green goatee. During the trip I discovered a have a knack for sniffing out Lush stores. Seriously. It was confirmed in Brighton when I caught a whiff of essential oils and boldly declared “There must be a Lush shop nearby”. The Pants rolled her eyes, but two blocks up and around the corner was the familiar green and yellow sign. This happened on three other occasions. So, uh, if you’re, um, looking for a Lush shop, give me a call…? Ah yes, another useless skill.

We also found an excellent record shop in Brighton staffed by the jolliest old man who rattled off a surprising amount of information when we bought a Jeff Buckley album for one of our brothers. Well done, sir. And The Pants purchased her third, count it, third, copy of “Is This It?”, this time on vinyl. I imagine that my sister is responsible for funding Julian Casablancas’s sneaker collection.

Our feet on the pebbly, briny beach. The Pants's feet look particularly mangled and band-aid covered, and they were. I'd like to think that'll teach her to buy pretty new shoes too small and wear them everywhere, but it won't. The sea smelled strongly of fish, which I'd never noticed at any other shores, but you get used to it.

Our next to last day we hit Camden Town. Camden Market wasn’t as crazy busy as Portobello, but I enjoyed the endless array of thigh-high lace up patent leather boots and flimsy vinyl basques. (Apparently that’s the Brit term for bustier, not a reference to the people in northern Spain, in case you'd make that grevious error.) Next Halloween, watch out! Hmm. Geez, I can’t even kid about that without feeling slightly ill.

They did have other good stuff not in the S&M category, though. I found excellent earrings for 2 CAD and dirt cheap pashminas in a veritable rainbow of colors. And I don’t care if pashminas are out, they’re comfy. The Koko theatre in Camden would also feature in this post if I had gotten my crap together. We were supposed to see The Shins whilst in London and were tres excited. But tickets were never available online, and then a few days before the show it said they were sold out. What the heck? And being that I was with a minor it would most likely have involved me having a good time and The Pants chatting it up with the homeless Camden folk. So we were despondent. And don't even get me started on the Radiohead debacle. Suffice it to say, the UK was a wasteland of missed live music. But we soldiered on. Later that evening, I saw Thandie Newton outside the Baker Street tube station.

No, we did not make it to Florence. Our last day we went to Harrod's and ogled the food hall and then to the Victoria & Albert Museum. One room was entitled 'Cast Court' so we went inside to investigate. Imagine our shock to see the above statue towering over us. Turns out that the European royals liked to make plaster casts of famous works of art to keep in their courts, hence the name of the room. It was full of enormous Roman columns, crypts and statues, just in cast form, though. But that David is pretty convincing, hey?

More furtive snapshots. This is a Rafael, in a gigantic room with 11 others. The painting is easily 30 ft. x 50 ft. It's an awful shot, I know, but the lights were incredibly dim to protect the paintings and I just had to rebel and use that handy 'museum mode' on my camera.

A frantic dash to Heathrow, one extra suitcase that I 'packed myself' and nine long hours later we landed at YYC. Home again, home again. Exhausted, sick of each other and desperately craving that dry Alberta air.

To sum up my thoughts on this entire experience: while in Galway, I think it was, we were browsing through a used bookshop and I came across a book of poetry by Dorothy Parker. I flipped it open and the first lines I read were:

"Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?"

This made me laugh out loud. While I had an amazing time, I was so looking forward to going home, but the next day wanted nothing more than to be back in Paris or London. Ol' D. P. hit it square on the nose.

Well, thanks for reading along, folks. I've enjoyed this blog experience, as scattered as it was, and may dabble again. More upheaval coming my way in the form of moving and new jobs and new callings (yikes!) but I suppose we all need change. But do I really need so much at once? Anyway, maybe I'll see you in Seattle over the Labour Day weekend. On behalf of myself and The Pants, thanks again.

In The Station Of The Metro

2006-06-08T13:55:00.000-06:00

Post Louvre, The Pants and I took a stroll through the adjacent Jardin de Tuileries. Parched and dying of hunger, we stopped at an outside café and ordered Crocque Monsieurs. She also ordered ice cream to the tune of $12 CAD. Slaking our thirst was not an option as drinks started at 6 Euros and I flatly refused to pay $8 CAD for 250ml of Coke. Even I have some principles. This is also where The Pants’s mild fear of pigeons took on a new and more horrifying meaning. Turns out the little b*stards can smell fear and would torment her by pecking and bobbing precariously close to her already mangled feet. This induced no end of terror on her part, but at least I was amused. She particularly hates their little red feet. I think that's a bit of projection, but we'll PopPsych my sister at a later date.

At the end of the Jardin is the Champs Elysees (tried not to cringe when someone asked last week if I made it to the "Champs [to rhyme with stamps] El-eese") and a lovely photo-op of the Arc du Triomphe.

That evening, after wandering around St. Germain area, we took a cheesy boat ride down the Seine, which was a perfect way to wind down. Our guide had the most bizarre accent, as if he'd learned to speak English in the Ukraine. Sort of like the narrator of the film version of "Everything is Illuminated". It was the perfect night to be out on the river - warm spring breezes and such. Parfait.

The next morning we went to Montmartre to find a supposedly excellent market, but no luck. We ended up in the dodgy bit and left broken hearted. But we did become officianados of the Metro system. I finally understood what my friend Ezra Pound was talking about. So, to the Musee D'Orsay we went. We waited in line FOR-EV-ER but The Pants was pleasantly surprised to discover that she got in for free, being under 18 and all. Lucky. The clock that hangs in the musee is gigantic. Doesn't look like it here, but holy crap. The Pants preferred this museum to the Louvre, which I think is ridiculous, but to each her own, I suppose. We split up again whilst we roamed the musee, which was once again the best idea ever.

A Klimt.

Van Gogh - La Salle de Danse a Arles. Mucho Van Gogh ( and Impressionism on the whole, really) at the Musee D'Orsay, but to try and get a glimpse of Starry Starry Night was near impossible. Lots of Rodin sculpture here, as well.

Degas - Danseuses Bleues. I love Degas so I was happy to see an original. M. Degas once caused a mite of controversy in the house I lived in during University. Apparently partial nudes are not to everyone's tastes. Philistines.

Everyone smokes in Paris. I've never had such an urge to breathe toxins into my shiny pink lungs in my life. All those chic little Gauloise cigarettes and a certain unaffected air, c'est parfait. I'm sure I'd fit right in with the 1920's Gertrude Stein crowd, right? Also, cigarillos are very popular, as seen here. Giving our poor feet a much deserved rest outside the Musee D'Orsay, we caught sight of this gentleman relaxing and enjoying a cigarillo. The Pants was delighted with him and demanded another random picture, so in all my photo sneakiness, I managed to catch him unawares. Merci, monsieur.

The Pants, admiring the Degas print she bought at the gift shop. Perhaps the most crowded gift shop in all of Paris. Side note - we, or I, managed to get by on Junior High French quite well. Being Canadian has finally paid off! Granted, much of the service industry speaks passable English, but the waiters tolerated my attemps to speak their language with a certain amount of feigned comprehension, for which I am grateful. But really, how difficult is carafe du l'eau?

After another particularly inappropriate film, Chromophobia, we wandered the Latin Quarter and had dinner at a streetside cafe, absorbing oodles of ambiance. Our conversation revolved around how we would find a way to live in Paris, and quickly. I've discovered that there is nothing like the peace of observing Paris nightlife from your seat at a cafe. Au revoir, Paris.

Next (and last) post: London/Brighton

La Musee Du Louvre

2006-06-05T13:16:00.000-06:00

When you’re already in Europe, the temptation to travel elsewhere is heightened when you hear that Londoners frequently jet to Spain, Portugal or France for the weekend. A two hour flight for less than $100 CAD? Hell, yeah! So we thought, “We’re already here, let’s take one little side trip,” and we chose...Paris.

Of all the cities we visited, Paris was the place I am sure I could live and be very very content. Despite the language barrier, of course. Less junkfood than London, just as picturesque if not more so, and so many beautiful men in suits it made me want to cry. Seriously. We arrived at 9:00am, after a 5:00am flight, so we were completely knackered, but we sucked it up and tried to make the most of our three days.

First stop: La Musee Du Louvre. We arrived on a Monday, and the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays and we were leaving late Wednesday morning, so our time was limited. We hoofed it over to the musee as soon as we were able, after a quick breakfast/lunch of chocolate brioche. Mmmm...Paris. Due to the early flight, exhaustion and general stress of trying to get around in a non-English speaking country, The Pants and I were a little short with each other, to put it mildly. We decided to split up at the Louvre, which is probably the best thing we could ever have done.

I'm not an art aficionado by any means and I have little to no skill in that area. I do, however, appreciate art immensely, so the Louvre was #1 on my list. I'd been previously on my erstwhile trip many moons ago, but all I remembered really was the Mona Lisa, that tiny postage stamp, and the crowd gathered around it. We only had three hours, which is peanuts compared to how long we really wanted to stay, but I think we did well.

As it was early afternoon, the museum was horribly crowded. Once I entered Italian Sculpture, I began to mildly freak out, so I decided to hightail it to a less crowded area to calm down. I went to the top floor to the French painters and it was much less frantic, only a handful of people. I also had the brilliant idea of plugging in the Ipod to drown the noise. Turns out Rufus Wainwright's "Want Two" is the absolutely perfect soundtrack for the Louvre, particularly the song "The Art Teacher".

Theodore Chasseriau - Self Portrait. I loved his paintings and de facto realized that I love portraits. We saw a bit more of his work at the Musee D'Orsay.

Georges De La Tour - The Card Cheat, I believe it's called. This is before I had the brainwave of actually photographing the name plate. Half the time it didn't matter as they were all in French, anyway. I did have a very art-proud moment on this floor. I looked at a painting and thought immediately, "that must be a Goya," and I was surprisingly correct. I think that's the only time it happened, but, hell, I'll take what I can get.

This is me being ever-so-sneaky in the 'cameras forbidden' section. This furtive shot is Bacchus by our friend M. Da Vinci. I tried to blend in with the Asian tourist group and look like I understood the lecture in Mandarin in order to take the shot. This painting was tres interesting what with the weird smiling face and the pointing finger you can somewhat see in this blurry rendition. Weird because next to it was a similar painting of John the Baptist in the same finger-pointing pose. Odd. Either Leonardo was lazy or maybe...maybe there's a secret hidden within the paintings. That would make an excellent storyline for a poorly written novel. Hmmm. Oh, and suffice it to say I was most irritated to be in Paris and the Louvre during the week that a certain movie starring Tom Hanks and Audrey Tautou was set to release. There were posters EVERYWHERE. My favorites were the ones that said "Ian McKellen es Teabing". I kept repeating that in a bad French accent, to The Pants's delight. I was going to skip The Madonna of the Rocks and ol' M.L., but thought better of it and did a quick run-by. Still tiny, still crowded.

I really wish this picture properly conveyed the sensation of standing at the bottom of these worn marble stairs and the light filling the hall, sculpture a-glow. I was somewhat overwhelmed at the Louvre at times. Heaven forbid I go all maudlin on you, but is it possible to be so moved by beauty? I almost teared a few times. Very strange as I'd never experienced that before.

Michelangelo's Cupid and Psyche. I love this picture because it makes it look like I was in the Louvre by myself, which was certainly not the case. And kudos to me, I had to be extra quick on the draw to take this picture without anyone in it because so many people (read: morons) kept posing. Do you really think you're more attractive than a marble sculpture? Really?

So, whilst on the top floor, wandering the various rooms, I walked through one doorway and found myself looking up at this painting, La Tentation du Christ. It's actually over 20ft. high and it took up the entire wall facing me. I don't know if it was the exhaustion or stress or malnutrition, but I was very overwhelmed by this enormous work of art. The room was mainly roped off so you could only stand at the back, so I couldn't even get the name of the painting and had to search online much later.

I don't know what it was exactly that made me react the way I did. Perahps how Satan is depicted completely in shadow, which reminded me of the Ordo Virtutum where he is denied any music, and the contrasting light of Christ...I don't know. It was strangely overwhelming and perhaps put me in the frame of mind I'd been too busy/frazzled to pursue the previous few weeks. It was welcome, regardless. Odd how you can find peace in the most unlikely of places.

C'est la Louvre. I plan to one day have the means to spend a month or two in Paris and visit the Louvre pretty much every day. Dare to dream...

Next: More of Paree

Cheers Darlin'

2006-06-02T08:56:00.000-06:00

Ireland

This retroactive post thing is highly lame, but you do what you must, I suppose. I’m finally accepting that I really am home and find myself half-heartedly attempting to get back into the proverbial swing o’ things. But it is comforting to be back in routine, and I enjoy not living out of a painfully heavy bright purple suitcase. Little things like walking to/from work with Ipod blaring and shopping for groceries make me surprisingly happy. Which is good.

So, anyway, Ireland. I always fancied that I had a good ear for accents and was adept at understanding other’s accents, but as I discovered in Yorkshire, I ain’t as good as I thunk. Ireland was challenging at first in that respect, but then I discovered that if I tuned my ear to Newfie, it worked like a charm. I suppose that’s where Newfoundland got the accent, after all.

Belfast was really interesting. I’m probably being redundant as I already posted about this, but it felt very much like home, or somewhere close to home, anyway. Odd. Except for the barbed wire everywhere, as seen above. We took it easy here, shopped at Tesco, wandered around museums, saw a few movies. Finally saw “The Squid and the Whale” which was excellent, and minus the foul mouth, the Jeff Daniels character was so disturbingly familiar to The Pants and myself it was frightening. Come to think of it, almost every single movie we saw on the trip had some sort of highly inappropriate content, considering the presence of my 17 year old sister. Those European ratings mean nothing, clearly. It’s like being in Quebec. But oddly enough, the tamest film we saw was French. Ironic, n’est ce-pas?

As we were forced to eschew small town Ireland, we hightailed it over to Galway, and I’m glad we did because Galway was grand. It felt a lot like Southern California – very laid back and humid. There’s a park in the centre of the city called Eyre Square where it seems the entire population hangs out and drinks Guinness. The mess afterwards was appalling, but the city cleans it up. Bizarre. We spent three languorous days here, wandering around in the heat, shopping at the plethora of shoe/handbag/jewelry boutiques that peppered the winding streets and lounging in Eyre Square (minus the Guinness, of course).

We did, however, decide to splurge and go on a bus tour of the countryside. The sunshine pulled a disappearing act that day, so we wandered around rural Ireland in the gloom. This delighted The Pants, who had been pining for the misery and gloom she’d so been looking forward to. Our guide, Billy, was hi-larious. I asked him a question at one point and he said “Oh, ‘tis a very sensible question,” and I actually almost giggled.

The Aillwee Caves on The Burren. They took us to this caves deep in the earth - pretty neat the with stalagmites and stalactites. It was a little spooky and when they mentioned bats both The Pants and I got a little anxious, but all was well. Perhaps not worth the 7 Euros we paid for it, but ah well. The Burren is this bizarre part of County Galway that is essentially a sea of limestone rock atop the grass and flowers. It looks rather bleak at first but had a charm of its own, I think.

Poulnabrone Dolmen - "A remarkable megalithic monument and the most famous is the vortal tomb, or portal dolman, located in the heart of the Burren and dating from about 2500 BC. This was also an ancient burial site." Pretty gnarly, no? That's another dolman above.

This is where I became entranced with the tiny flowers growing in between the rocks on the burren. "Are you serious?" I'm sure you're asking yourself. But it was sort of pretty, and think of all the cheesy analogies relating to beauty and adversity you could come up with. The Sunday School lessons practically write themselves.

The Cliffs of Moher. They don't look so big in pictures, but I assure you they were almost 800 ft. high. Billy told us that a woman died here last year when she got to close to the edge and the soil broke away and she tumbled down into the sea. I still stood at the edge, despite the warning, but on the rocky bits so as not to meet a watery death. They were insane, these cliffs. One might even call them...The Cliffs of Insanity. I nearly neglected to mention the friend we made on the tour, Yaele from Bordeaux. She was hilarious, spoke as much English as we did French, but we had a great time. My favorite was when she told us she was going to Dublin "To, uh, make party," dance moves included. Cheers!

Dunguaire Castle and the little tiny flowers growing out of it. See above for the rocks/flower obsession.

Dublin. City of garbage and stench. Sorry, Dublin, but that's all I got. Well, I did get a nice jacket here. The above shot is the river Liffey. Which smelled like sewage. I suppose if someone who knew Dublin and what to see and do had taken us around it would have been different...but it wasn't. And it rained so bloody hard we didn't get to see the Book of the Kells and we'd, ahem, forgot our umbrella. So maybe it wasn't entirely Dublin's fault. But the smell certainly was.

Farewell, Ireland, we hardly knew ye.

Stay tuned for Paris. Ah, la ville d'amour. Je t'aime!

The Remote Part/Scottish Fiction

2006-05-30T10:28:00.000-06:00

My friend Georgia refers to Scotland as “Och Aye Land” and that’s not a bad moniker. I had an easier time understanding French than some of the accents we encountered. Scotland was the country I was the most apathetic toward before the trip, but it quickly became one of my favorite places. It had elegance, edge and, uh, Edinburgh. And other things that start with 'e' I'm sure.

I fell in love with Edinburgh. Similar to London, but with more room to breathe and a little more relaxed. The area we were in is divided into the Old Town and the New Town and the above castle is located, of course, in the Old Town. It’s funny because you'll walk out of TopShop or H&M and across the street is a trench surrounding a mountain and on top of said mountain is the above castle. Doesn’t happen so much in Canada. This is Edinburgh Castle, by the way.

This allows for another Pants story. Our first night in Edinburgh we grabbed some sandwiches from, you guessed it, M&S, and sat in the park at the base of the castle and watched expectant mothers smoke and drink Guinness. Lovely. The Pants tried to take pictures of some 'lads playing football' as she termed it. I tried to convince her that it was creepy to take pictures of people without their consent, but by the end of the trip she'd convinced me otherwise. Other people are more interesting. The above is her attempt at surreptitious photography. We later attended a production of "Les Liasons Dangereux" in this fancy theatre. We walked in off the street, bought the most expensive tickets ($40 CAD, can you believe it???) and had great seats. The usherette kept asking, "Are you sure this is where you should be sitting?" We did look rather dodgy. The next day I suggested going to see some sights and maybe the castle. “What castle?” asked The Pants. “You know, the castle,” I said. Blank stare. “You know, the castle looming above us as we ate our sandwiches last night?” Still nothing. We made our way to the main strip and as the castle came into view I pointed it out. “Oh, that castle.” My sister, folks.

Edingburgh had an excellent free gallery, the National Gallery, to be exact. We saw a Botticelli, lots of Rubens and a John Singer Sargent that we both loved. Outside the gallery was a couple of punks doing these amazing chalk drawings (I am in no way an artist so they looked good to me). We gave them a pound and then took their picture. I don't think that's very punk of them. But who am I to argue? And speaking of punk, I've never seen so many elderly women with pink/green/blue hair as I have in Edinburgh. Which further explains why it rocks.

Our brother, Seth, (who apparently is exempt from anonymity) insisted we bring him home a kilt. I tried to tell him how freakin' expensive they were, but he thought I was just being cheap. This is only one of many pictures indicating that I was right, as usual.

Two shots of Glasgow - the bottom one is the view from the hostel. Ask anyone in Edinburgh about Glasgow and the immediate and inevitable response is, "Why would you want to go there?" But I loved Glasgow. We were there on a Sunday so our activities were limited, but the hostel was adjacent to a gorgeous park and a beautiful University campus. And the accents were top notch. 'Pairfect'! I also bought an obscene amount of books in Glasgow. All the music stores carry cheap books so my addiction was further fueled, much to the chagrin of my suitcase. I still have blisters on my hands from the damn thing.

This might be my most favorite picture fromt the entire trip. The Pants had read in British Vogue about a good vintage shop in Glasgow called Starry Starry Night, so we mapped it out and hiked across town to see what treasures we could find. It was located in this dingy alley next to a hemp store - we were stoked...but it was closed. The sabbath strikes again. So we took a picture of The Pants looking forlorn and she plans to mail it to them to accompany the note she left expressing her dismay. So very sad. I do wish we'd spent spent more time in Scotland, but there's always next time.

Up Next: Ireland

England, Yeah?

2006-05-24T13:59:00.000-06:00

My time in England confirmed something I have long suspected: I love the British. Their clothes, the humor, their obsession with pre-packed sandwiches, the large selections of vinyl in their music stores, their tendency to keep left…I could go on.

The view from the kitchen in Tara’s flat. Speaking of flats, the cost of living in London is just as bad as you’ve heard, if not worse. To live in central London in the same flatshare as Tara and Sarah would cost me more than 4x what I pay for my reasonably sized apartment in central Calgary. Yikes.

Bored? Walk around and you may come across a free concert by some very talented, foul mouthed Glaswegians.

The Pants searching through vintage finds at Portobello Market. A crowded gong show, but so much fun.

Windsor Castle in Windsor. Oldest working castle in the world and home to the queen, when she’s at home. She was not home when we were there. Silly Liz. We were of course not allowed to take photos inside, and I was at the stage of the trip where I obeyed the rules. You will later see my sneaky snapshots in various museums. Actually, if you hit up Tara and Sarah's blog you'll find a better account of the Windsor visit, and probably better pictures, too.

St. George’s Chapel at Windsor. This place was amazing. It was such a gorgeous church and was the site of many royal marriages and tombs. They even had a 1st edition Leviathan on display. Ack! We decided to attend the service later in the day and were absolutely bowled over by the traditional Catholic mass in the inner chapel, complete with chanting choir and Latin. I was enthralled to be in such a historically important place, listening to beautiful music, never mind the tomb of Henry VIII right in front of me.

Ah, th’moors. Heathcliff? Actually, this is just the edge of th'moors. Diehards, calm down.

Yorkshire. The land of some of our forbearers and great accents. And so many sheep! The little white dots on the other side of the valley are our fluffy friends. We were sitting on the top of a hill, having a moor rest, when all of a sudden the loudest, most frantic bleating you’ve ever heard came echoing across the valley. We were hysterical for about 10 minutes.

Small town Yorkshire did not win The Pants’s heart. In fact, we altered our Irish itinerary and had to miss the Gaeltacht area because three days in small town Ireland would have been just as bad and might have killed her. The best part was the following conversation:
“I’m bored. Let’s go to a movie.”
“But they don’t have a movie theatre in Haworth.”
Silence. “But, how can it not have one?”
“It just doesn’t. It’s too small.”
Confusion evolving to wrath. “I. Hate. Small. Towns.” Her deep-seated hatred of small towns is the result of an unexpected breakdown in Boulder, Montana a few years ago. She’s never recovered. Probably for the best as getting to Haworth was a ridiculous ordeal involving rickety trains and an elusive bus station in Keighley.

I, however, enjoyed seeing a bit of regular English life, as London, I was assured, is decidedly not English. Haworth was obviously built long before modern construction equipment was invented so the unleveled ground made for some insane hikes up some of the steepest streets I’ve ever encountered. We were mortified as little old ladies trucked past us.

York was an incredible city. All cobblestones, narrow streets and old buildings. I seem to recall that it's the oldest city in England, but I could be wrong. As we walked back to the hostel after midnight it was horribly foggy and the gothic spires of the looming Minster scared us silly. We walked very quickly.

The Pants having a chat with her new friend Constantine.

Next: Scotland.

Homeward Bound

2006-05-21T14:14:00.000-06:00

We're back, kids!

It's bizarre to be in a city that has:

-People driving on the righthand side of the road
-Wide open spaces
-Lots of Canadians
-Less than 4 flights of stairs in one house
-Front lawns
-No cobblestones

So, due to the lack of photos and ridiculously expensive internet that rendered the blog lame in general, I plan to do a few posts as a last hurrah whilst trying to conquer the jet lag. Perhaps country by country or something. I'm knackered. Nine and a half hours is a looooong flight. But at least it was direct. I had a great view of the north pole, too.

Thanks to great friends like K. and A. who are encouraging and are in general fabulous people. Overall, it was a phenomenal trip and we were so fortunate to have the time and means to do what we did. I don't know that I'll ever recover from 3+ weeks avec the wee Pants...but I have no doubt she feels the same way.

Also, gigantic thanks and more thanks to our cousin Tara and her friend Sarah for putting us up while in London. It was by no means a roomy ordeal and we so appreciate them sharing their floor space, hot water and TP in an already busy flat. You guys are amazing, not to mention hysterical, and we wish you the best on the backpacking trip!

Tara's on the left, the one that strongly resembles The Pants.

Well, for the 4 of you that I think read this, thanks for coming along. And sorry for all the references - no less than 3 people have commented on the apparently obscure references that peppered my entries. I didn't mean to leave anyone in the dark, I guess it's just how my mind was working. Anyway, stay tuned for a few more days, if you like.

Down By The Bay

2006-05-11T08:54:00.000-06:00

Since I heard the phrase "Galway Bay", the above mentioned song has been in my head ever since. Not sure what that says about me. But that is a damn good song. Have you ever seen a whale with a polkadot tail?

Anway, never mind about the validation. After my last post, I went and talked to The Pants about my concerns. She was on her top bunk in the hostel in Belfast, reading an Agatha Christie novel and eating digestive biscuits. "Who cares?" she said amidst a mouthful. "We do what we want. Here," she said, shoving the packet in my face, "eat a digestive." And this is why I went traveling with my sister. She drives me mental most of the time, but every once in a while she says the right thing. And we love Galway. It's super hot and humid and everyone is out on patios drinking Guinness, or Diet Coke in our case. It's so relaxing here. J'adore!

We've also been practicing our French. It's pretty much a lost cause, but no matter. Je voudrais un chocolat chaud, s'il vous plait. D'accord? C'est vrai! Ma soeur, quelle dommage! Or something like that, anyway. Perhaps I'll get some pictures up whilst in Galway.

Slainte!

Still Fighting It

2006-05-09T10:37:00.000-06:00

What are we still fighting? Everything. Traffic, other travelers, pedestrians, train officials, each other...the list goes on. I'm probably being dramatic, but today is a day of fatigue. We're just over half way, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm not doing everything I should be, making the most of the trip, y'know? I guess I could take every moment and squeeze until I'm wrung out, but... I don't know. Frustrated today, I guess.

Saw some of the murals in Belfast yesterday and the barbed wire on a lot of the back walls and fences. Not on purpose, either. I may have gotten us a little lost. Whoops. It was a little scary, even though I know 'The Troubles' are over. We went to the Ulster museum today and it gave a bit of insight into Belfast history. Fascinating but sad.

Belfast is so far the city most like home, which is a comparison I did not anticipate making. I'm not sure exactly why, but it feels a lot like Edmonton. The Pants agrees. Who knew?

I've accepted the fact that this trip is not about nature and backpacking and scenery, although there's a bit of that going on. It's more a survey of the cities, and getting to know them on foot and experiencing the life of a Londoner, a Glaswegian or...you get the picture. I'm fine with this and I really enjoy it because I'm a city girl at heart, but we meet other people who are going hiking in Scotland or touring the coast of Ireland and I feel like I'm doing something wrong. I'd love to see more remote places, but when it's two girls on foot and limited funds, side trips are really difficult, as Haworth proved in spades. Validation, anyone?

Galway tomorrow.

The State That I Am In

2006-05-07T11:30:00.000-06:00

Hiya! So, the first song I ever listened to by Belle & Sebastian was the above mentioned, in which the line 'turning tables at Marks & Spencer' is featured. I was intrigued by this M&S mention ("M&S!" said The Pants, "It's our initials!" She's easily amused), and subsequently heard it elsewhere. As The Pants will tell you, it has become something of an obsession, and that is the state that I am in. I'd like to say it's because of the easily accessible facilities, but in truth, it's the food. I fully understand this "Heathrow Injection" everyone talks about, and it's probably due in large part to the lovely array of smoothies, baked goods and ready made delights that entrance as you enter. Thank heavens I don't live in the UK or I would weigh, well, a heck of a lot. Not to mention all the other things, like Jaffa cakes and Bakewell Tarts and Double Decker bars...you get the picture. Probably just the novelty, but ugh. Barf.

Anyway - today we're in Glasgow. I listened to some Belle & Sebastian (didn't intend to talk about them so much here) and Franz Ferdinand on the train, all proud Glaswegians. It's so green and gorgeous in Scotland. The hostel here is uncommonly nice and friendly. Other titles for this trip, had we officially named it at all, could be "Hostels and Train Stations, all the live long day", or "Why is the crazy lady washing her socks at 11:30pm?" Suffice it to say, hostels are useful, but odd.

Glasgow is misty and foggy today, but I feel an odd and unfamiliar sense of calm. As we sped along on the train from Edinburgh this morning, I started thinking about the poem I nicked the title of the blog from. RL Stevenson was a Scotsman, so it was quite fitting. Not to get maudlin on y'all, but the lines that were rattling in my head...

"Home no more home to me, whither must I wander
Hunger my driver, I go where I must.
Cold blows the winter wind, over hill and heather
Thick drives the rain and my roof is in the dust."

Seemed quite fitting today.

Now, a week in Ireland, to be sure. Once again, no USB ports so no pictures yet. Lame!

Common People

2006-05-05T09:24:00.000-06:00

Want to speak like the common people...?

"I'm knackered after slavin' at the TopShop and this to'ally mingin' slapper 'ad the gall to nick the last sarnie at M&S!"

This sentance? The reason I would move to London. So many fabulous things - knackered, mingin', TopShop, M&S...I could go on. Due to hostel internet access, the pictures may be limited at first, but I'll try to add them later.

So far, I *heart* the UK! It's even better than I remembered from a long 12 years ago, or maybe that's 13? London is amazing. You might be walking through Trafalgar Square and notice a free concert going on. Who's playing? Maybe Belle & Sebastian. Seriously. And if it's important to you, celebrities everywhere. We may have taken a stroll past Ewan McGregor's. But no pictures. Even I have some standards. And a shout out to my super cousin Tara and her friend Sarah who graciously allowed us to stay with them, free of charge, and toured us around their new home. Don't worry ladies, we'll make it up to you for sure.

Anyway, after a whirlwind four days of shopping and sightseeing, The Pants and I hightailed it to King's Cross and jumped a train to Leeds then another to Keighley where we hitched a bus to the teeny tiny village of Haworth, home to our ancestors, no less. On the way, we listened to a little Kate Rusby and Pulp to pay homage to the area of Yorkshire. Not sure if small towns are the way to go when it's just two of you, but I still enjoyed the slice of small town British life. The best part was trying to convince The Pants that there was no movie theatre. "But, how can there not be?" she asked, confused. This is just one of many moments that affirmed her distaste for small town living, and why we will most likely have to forgo the Dingle Peninsula and head to Galway instead. 17, a glorious age. Although I'm sure I was no picnic either. Then or now.

On that note, I'm not sure it was such a good idea for us to travel together. As she reminded me, no one ever thought it would be a good idea, but I guess we're stuck with it now. Oy.

After a day in York (freaking beautiful!) we're now in Edinburgh. I listened to a steady stream of Idlewild on the way in honor of the city and after the desk agent said the phrase "freak of nature" in his lovely accent, I was won over. We'll be off shortly to explore and shop some more. The UK is taking all my money and I'm letting it happen.

Wish us luck, kids! Hope you're not bored and I'll hope to update more and get some pictures on here...

She's Losing It

2006-04-27T09:45:00.000-06:00

Days like this I wish I drank coffee, even if it tasted like washing-up. The panic of the past few days has been replaced by a sort of numb terror, but I've embraced it and made it my own. Even though I got an email from Tara telling me that due to crazy goings-on in her flat, we may all have to stay in a hostel. Not exactly in our plans, but it's all about flexibility, or so I keep telling myself.

11:30 pm, last night. Jack Bauer is givin me the stink eye for the empty suitcase...

2:00 am

But I finally blocked this. If you can point it out in upcoming photos, you'll get a prize. For real.

I am clearly secure with myself to post such a flattering picture - post concert with smudge-y eye makeup and sweaty hair. I never said this was a happy place, folks, I just tell it like it is. And by the way, who told the under 18's that "moshing" = bouncing around and jamming elbows in my ribs? Seriously, guys, enough already.

Geez, I gotta get outta here.

Panic

2006-04-25T08:13:00.000-06:00

Fortunately, this panic is not quite on the streets of London yet, rather, the panic I feel on the streets of Calgary as I imagine all the things left to do. Like fill that big empty suitcase in my apartment. And the 9 million things left to buy. But excitement is starting to edge out the frantic terror. Which is good.

I would do all my packing tomorrow night, but it's the Death Cab/Franz show which I've been waiting for for sometime. I discovered The Pants also has tickets, which we found out after we'd both bought our respective sets. She says if she sees me she'll glare and shake her fist at me. This is not an uncommon occurrance. So packing will happen after the show, which should be interesting.

28 hours. Sweet merciful crap.

West Side, Yeah?

2006-04-19T07:48:00.000-06:00

Okay, so we’re still in Calgary, obviously, but for your viewing pleasure, here are some photos of my 2005 travels. (Think of them as the crappy preview before a mediocre movie) I didn’t go very far in the grand scheme, Victoria and San Diego, but they were new to me and highly enjoyable. West Coast Rules! I wish I had the pictures of when I, the lone gringa, got lost in the barrio, or that time Carla and I saw a monk pushing an empty shopping cart down the street, but you can’t win ‘em all.

Hiking in the East Sooke region of Vancouver Island, we made our way down to the ocean. As we wound through the trees we could hear seals barking. Oddly enough, that never happens in Alberta.

There were some excellent cliffs here. I wish I'd had family members around so I could've 'pretended' to shove them off.

The Victoria Day parade in Victoria. And it was my birthday. It was pretty much the most magical day ever. In theory, anyway. There really aren't enough marching bands in the world. Or enough bagpipe bands. Sadly, our seats in the parade happened to coincide with the point where the bands just marched in place instead of playing their instruments. What a gyp.

Carla Rae and Warren behind a castle-y type thing in Victoria. Crap, I can't remember what it was. I think it's a school? Objects are always better when covered in ivy or kudzu or something, no? Anything, really. Buildings, cars, people, animals...

I thought I would hate California, but I freaking loved it. If things don't change around here career-wise by next spring, SoCal might find itself a new resident helping retirees improve their trikonasanas. Unfortunately, my San Diego pictures stink. Seriously. This is the only one that even remotely conveys the splendour of my trip. Being that I was solo, I felt like a moron taking pictures in the first place so the ones I do have were snapped in a furtive state. And I was without a digital camera at the time, too, and forgot about the airport x-rays. Stupid LAX. Actually, the best picture from the trip is on my phone. Sweaty concerts when you're two feet from the ground-level stage = bliss. Fortunately, there are no pictures of my breakdown in the San Diego Airport. Nor of the sweet flight attendant that offered me a ride to LA so I could catch a plane home. And she took me to In n' Out Burger. Sweet merciful crap, was it great.

Eight days. The hysteria (read: panic) is starting to set in.

The List

2006-04-13T09:57:00.000-06:00

Things We Shall Eschew:

- Union Jack printed paraphernalia
- Anything to do with Jane Austen. I’m sure the books are very clever and witty, but it’s hard to notice amongst all the snoozing. The movies are much better. I’m not entirely sure how that works.
- Berets. (I can’t speak for The Pants on this one.)
- Gwyneth Paltrow, Chris Martin, Apple, et al. We know they eagerly await our arrival, but I don’t see how we’ll fit them in.
- Loch Ness. Oh please, let me travel for hours to see a big lake that may or may not house a big fish. Boo-urns.
- The IRA, hopefully. We don’t want no trouble.
- Beefeaters. It’s just weird.

Things We Shall Embrace:

- Our cousin Tara when we arrive in London.
- Portobello Market (We’ll refrain from singing.)
- Wellington Boots
- Th’moors
- Th'sheep
- Tramping about th’moors in Wellington boots whilst herding th'sheep.
- Anything to do with the Brontes. Wind wuthering ‘round a draughty auld mansion? Hoo-ah!
- People who sell us cheap food.
- Rosslyn Chapel. But NOT because of its mention in a poorly written, over-hyped crap book.
- Saying "Och, aye" a whole lot.
- Irish pubs due to the sheer volume.
- The sea
- Parler en francais. Mais pas exactament.
- Yeats’s grave, hopefully. But not literally. That would be weird.

Oy!

2006-04-06T08:54:00.000-06:00

Are you ready? Okay, here goes. My kid sister and I are throwing caution, work and high school into the wind and trekking around the United Kingdom and Ireland (with a brief pit stop in Paris) for just over three weeks. I've set up this travel/photo blog at the behest of friends and family (okay, two friends and one family member) and while I consider blogs in general to be slightly vainglorious, the show-off in me has won. That being said, I have no idea how often we'll be able to update as who knows how connected we'll be on, say, the Dingle Peninsula or whilst tramping o'er th' moors.

My sister, The Pants, is completely against this blog altogether, however, she doesn't realize that her resistance will render her defenseless against any depictions of her antics, be they written depictions or pictoral. And I virtually guarantee the antics.

If you're unfamiliar, The Pants and I bookend a set of five siblings, so there's a significant age gap which I'm sure will make for an interesting few weeks. Our relationship is tempestuous at best and I hope that I, as the elder, can compose myself. Not to paint an unflattering picture, of course - she is nothing short of delightful and being the younger sister she is tres fun and much more cute.

Tally ho.