Empty Cage

Rest in Peace Rick Wright.

All the best at the Great Gig in the Sky.

Anyone else here look back fondly on their childhood and find when ponder growing up they simply think ’Wow, if I had known this was going to happen I would never have eaten my vegetables.’ I miss the days when summer meant doing whatever struck my fancy (within vague reason) and whenever I wanted to. If I wanted to sit on a computer all day I did, and if I wanted to run wild through the streets of Uxbridge, well, that was another option.

 Now, my summers are like a preview to ‘the real world’, I wake up at some heathen hour, drive an hour, work all day, drive an hour home, and have no desire to live much less do anything productive, then sleep on edge, because I know the very next day I will be jarred awake at 6:30AM. Rinse, repeat, every day, all summer. Summer is really no more special than any other season to be honest, but our society have given summer standing above all for no reason

Go, winter, go!

Anyways, apart from whining about my job, I’ve been trying to pick my courses for Uni, but it looks like all my compulsory credit courses are filled in the fall semester, making me wonder if, perhaps, I’ll have one course in Autumn, and nine in the winter, which would not be cool at all. I have to call University of Ottawa and find out what I’m supposed to do. I’m hoping to get into a Latin course, and I think I’m the only one ever that finds the idea of one cool.

In the universe of web, I’m going to recode everything… and I mean everything. As well as hopefully update layouts as well and simply make Empty Cage able to make it part of the way through validation before it says ‘funk this’ My coding is abysmal! Thank god for Amber who is my Web Guru, and has been helping me all the way along. Hopefully one day E-C.NET will look pretty.

I’m back in Canada.

I guess the word I would use to describe how I feel right now is wistful. I think it was the second grade when I first looked that word up in a dictionary because I had stumbled upon it in a number of books ’sad, as if longing for something’ and when I thought of the word I thought of a maze with invisible walls. You can always see the prize but the work to reach it is astounding. But let’s not make this an angsty entry.

Going abroad, I need to make some final comments on it, until I return next summer. And believe me, as long as I still have a good Visa I will be returning.

Going to the UK by myself in February has certainly been a learning experience. In fact, that’s what it was more than an job, holiday, or anything else I expected it to be. It was school for me, my remedial classes in life, and I needed them badly. As we can see by the trials, and triumphs.

The first thing, and likely most painful thing I learned is that sometimes the best friends you will ever make in your entire life you’ll meet once and never again. You have to accept this or you’ll go crazy. For all the contact details I’ve accumulated, I’ve only got a fraction of the people I’ve met. And of those I do have most will drift away, even if they are people who I will never make better friends with.

I’ve learned that courage is a rare and valuable virture, and the valour is something irreplacable in humankind. And you have to live with as much bravery as you can. You have to be shameless in throwing yourself into life or you lose so much in the experience. I hope I have enough courage to make my life one of greatness.

I’m so jetlagged, I can’t seem to get the rest of this entry out.

Excuses, excuses.

Well, I guess now is the point in which I finish talking about my trip and talk about my homecoming. Home… such a relative term. Anyways.

 At Munich I also toured Dachau, the other concentration camp on my mission. I took a guided tour and it wasn’t quite as moving as Sachausen, but I learned a whole heap more about sort of what when on in the camp itself. On the whole Munich was a pretty average place to visit. I would recomend it to people who actually drink unlike yours truly.

Keyboards in Germany are bizarre. The letter ‘Y’ and the letter ‘Z’ are actually switched, so it was nearly impossible for me to type anything. In Munich I met an Aussie lady travelling actually with her daughter, I tried to imagine how that would go for me and my mom, and who would try and drown whom first in the beer garden.

There were some other strange things in Germany though, like every cup has a line on it to show exactly where, say o.4 litres is so they don’t accidentally give you too much soda, as well, most bathrooms have an automatic seat cleaner, which, after you flush, wipes down the seat with what looks like a wet napkin. So strange, and yet, so German. My German was terrible as expected.

My thoughts are scattered again, so apologies for another entry that seems disconnected, my mind is missing today. I’m just so… But nevermind.

From Germany I went down to Italy, stopping in a small Austrian town in the Alps. It was pretty, but we only stopped there half an hour. I think it was called St. Johannes or something. Regardless, very picturesque… but of course… I have no pictures of it.

Yea, my second camera was stolen in Venice. Go me. Ugh.

Anyways, Venice was quite interesting, but beautifully terrifying. When they say you ‘get lost in Venice’ this is not some sort of romantic sentiment, this is cold hard fact. You will get lost in Venice. I went into the city thinking I’d spend two or three hours just chilling in the city — seven hours later when I found the train station again. Haha. But yea, camera with all of my pictures from the trip… gone. Figures.

Venice is stange and terrifying with an hundred small streets and alleys the walls are all high so it’s almost impossible to navigate properly, and with all the mask shops and other rather eerie looking places it really is a bit of a creepy city. Though it is interesting to go into a shop and see some Italian painting a mask right there on the front counter. Seriously, genuine Venetian or what? I wish I had someone to talk to in Venice though because I felt very alone the whole time. My Visa stopped working for awhile whilst I was there too, thus leading to a little unbridled terror for one of my days in Venice.

The ‘hostel’ in Venice was actually a camp site, right by the airport. Yes, all night it was awesome all you could hear was ‘VAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!’ of the airplanes going overhead. And, my room mates who left on the first day left something rank in the room. Venice was, on the whole a place I was a bit uncomfortable in. I want to go back, but not alone, which is odd for me.

 From Venice I hit Rome which was a bit on the surreal side I have to admit. Oh, look, there’s the Collseum, and… the Forum… and the Pantheon… and a hundred amazing buildings and… well let’s face it, the city oozes awesome from it’s ancient pores. Seriously, if walking London is like walking a novel, walking Rome is like walking a history text book. Who knew the Pantheon was now a Christian church, because I certainly didn’t. Seems, I don’t know, ironic or something.

Vatican City was impressive to say the least, so extravagent, sort of like Versailles, where you sit there thinking no wonder it couldn’t last forever without some serious trouble. I even got to see the real version of my favourite painting, ‘The School of Athens’ by Raphael. And the pope paid for my lunch. Indirectly of course.

I go to the cafeteria and pick up a modest lunch, noting that they take Visa, as to be honest I never had more than 5 Euros cash all through Italy, anyways, I go to pay and wouldn’t you know it, the Visa machine isn’t working. I ask where the nearest ATM is, and she says there isn’t one in the Vatican. I’m starving and probably look it, because she mutters something in Italian and runs off, coming back with a manager looking guy, and they basically say ‘Go eat.’ so there we are free lunch.

Okay.

Sorry this entry is lacking my usual charisma, but my heart isn’t really in it right now. I really want to relate all these stories to you properly, but I’m so dejected about returning to Canada just opening up Wordpress seemed unapealing to the point of nauseating.

Now everyone’s mad because I don’t want to come back, but it’s not the people I don’t want to come back to. It’s that I’ve fallen for this stupid country quirks and all. Everything from the robolady on the Chyuuube, to driving on the wrong side of the road, to the lifts. And I love all you nutty Canucks back home, but this is the place I feel like I should be, and leaving it is hard.

Back to packing.

I have 20 minutes to update all of you on what I have been doing for the past week now. And it hasn’t exactly been the most laid back week of my life.

I left Scotland last Sunday or Saturday (can’t even remember anymore) with a tragic good bye to Jamie and Derek, and to Steve in spirit I imagine, I returned to Milton Keynes to get my act together.

Starting laaaast… Monday I guess I was on a plane to Amsterdam, in the Netherlands for the prescious few who have not made it their life’s goal to go to Amsterdam. And what on Earth can I really say about Amsterdam that hasn’t been said before? If you’re as straight laced as I am (secret high five for Amber here) you cannot help but feel a twinge nervous about the idea of Amsterdam, even if the city itself is very nice. It won’t surprise most to know that very few people who are actually from Amsterdam smoke, it’s mainly the idiot tourists.

Highlight of the visit was the Anne Frank house where I felt it was safe to let my guard  down a little (in all honesty who is going to drug me in the Anne Frank house?) it was interesting, but, like Versailles most of what I saw was the back of another tourist’s head. I went to the house after the New Europe free walking tour ( I love these tours — and not only because they are free but it helps) So, I did technically see the red light district. Technically. I spent the day hanging out with a British guy, who was quite awesome to be honest.

Amsterdam is Andrew’s city, drugs and bicycles. ( I love you too, Shiny.)

From Amsterdam I took a day trip to Brussels, and quickly discovered… there’s nothing to DO in Brussels. Seriously, give me one reason to go to Brussels besides to chocolate?  Ah? I win.

From Amsterdam I jetted off to Berlin which was amazingly awesome, now when I read history books and they talk about somewhere in Berlin I can actually draw up a memory and not just use the gigantic mental substitute of ’somewhere in Europe’ Berlin was pretty in such an intersting way, plus they do memorials like no one’s business. The one to the burnt books was especially dramatic, and the holocaust memorial, it was like something you cannot describe. You have to go there and experience that.

Because I’m in a rush now with my clock at 10 minutes, I have to tell you about Sachausen concentration camp at a later date. Needless to say, it was the single most powerful experience of my life so far and literally a human turning point for me. My entire life has been altered by this one day. Scary, isn’t it?

Berlin to Munchen (or Munich if you spracken englisch) I was let down by Munich mostly because I wanted to see Prague or Vienna more but it didn’t happen like that. It was a very impressive city regardless, what with it’s Glockenspiel.

And, okay, this entry will have to be postponed as my clock is about to run out.To be continued (dun dun dunnnnn)

I had had more than my fill of being poor in London. And that’s not to say I dislike the city at all, it was simply that I had no money, and I didn’t want to feel like a poor colonial cretin anymore. I will go back one day and become a proper Londoner, until then I have moved to Edinburgh.

But I have so much to write about! My last entry hardly covered everything that has happened. It didn’t really even scrape the surface.

My last week in London (for now, I still have to see the Jack the Ripper exhibit at the Docklands exhibit, as well, I WILL see the Phantom when I get more money) was so full of stuff I’m still reeling from it. It’s amazing how much you still want to do once you realise you’re leaving.

I went out clubbing (I use the term extremely loosely here) with an American girl I met in the hostel named Cassie. We headed to some pub first, where she starts drinking and I peacefully drink my coke. (I swear people who read this must think I’m insane or a complete liar… I assure you, it is the former) So, we invited the Belgian girl from our hostel and she came along later, with, oh yea, six Spanish guys in tow. Well, permit me to correct, five Spanish guys, and one guy from “nowhere” (that’s actually where he told us he was from) but he was twitching seemingly uncontrollably, and kept saying weird things, he left early, Danke Gott.

Initially the main language used by the group was English, which is lovely, because it’s the only one I’m completely fluent in. But then some Dutch guy comes to our table and asks if anyone smokes, Cassie does. So she leaves. Belgian girl lived in Spain for three years, guess what happened next?

=D

Yes, we all started speaking Spanish. Well, they all started speaking Spanish, I started counting the bubbles in my coke. One of the Spanish guys (who I think was probably sweet on me as his hands kept accidentally finding it’s way on my knee or shoulder… Andrew told me laws of seduction lesson one, casual physical contact is key) gave me play-by-play on the conversation ‘Now we’re talking about sports’, and ‘Now we’re talking about the English’ I nearly politely excused myself, but then, I guess Canada came up as the topic of conversation, as I was left all alone, (Cassie is now sitting with the Dutch guys laughing and carrying on) I had to try and decipher broken drunken English as the Spaniards pelted me with questions about North America, then got frustrated because I was talking to fast and speaking ‘too well’ I kept my cool, but when the bar closed and they invited me ‘dancing’ I politely declined, and fled with guy-crushing-on-me and Belgian girl in tow.

It’s funny, they could not believe I had never learned a word of Spanish. I think I got asked a hundred times ‘Never? Not even once?’ ‘No. I’m Canadian they teach us FRENCH. You know, ‘bonsoir’, ‘fromage’, ‘pomme’… Blame the Quebecois.’

The next day I played tour guide in central London for Cassie. It’s amazing how quickly things become unimpressive when you live around them. “There’s buckinghampalacethereswestminsterabbeyandbigbenandtrafalgarsquare yayz’ I feel so spoiled.

So that evening I was supposed to see Mama Mia in the Leicester (Lester, damnit) Square cheap seats with Hong Kong room mate and Belgian Room Mate, but we lost Hong Kong girl and I didn’t feel like spending £20 to see a show I’ve seen in Toronto all by myself. So I went on a Jack the Ripper walk.

Strange days. I met a trainee tour guide while on the Jack walk and so I chatted with him the whole time about who I thought the Ripper was and all of my little theories. He said I should be doing the ripper walk. We went to the Ten Bells after the tour, (a favourite hang out of the victims apparently) and they played the Doors there all night, which felt oddly wonderful. Myself and this guy just sat around and talked Jack and Diana and JFK.

I left the hostel for Milton Keynes and from there hit Edinburgh where I am now. Night before last I met up with Cassie again and her friend from the city, again the loosely termed ‘clubbing’ she was already plaaaaaastered beyond concept, so I sat and sipped my coke and watched real-live sexual tension between the two (British guy has a girlfriend in Wisconsin, but seems to have a crush on Cassie as well) by the end of the evening Cassie was proclaiming that she was going to call BUNAC the next day and get her VISA. Okay.

So other then that, calling agencies and stuff is the next step, I plan to stay in this lovely little hostel (with free Wifi) and temp from there. Ah, bliss and easy stuff.

Last night I went to a Chinese restaurant, it was a bit more expensive than my usual fare but worth it. I came out of the place feeling like a princess. (Back to my weekend hostel which smelt terrible and was right in the middle of the party district so it was loud all night and the blankets looked like they were pulled out of a dumpster)

Regardless, I feel somehow happier.

To my commenters:

Mah, yes, I suppose that is a job suited to my talents.

Amber, Danke lav.

Every single year on my birthday I blog or write about what I thought about the year that has passed, usually ranking it in terms of ‘good’, ‘bad’ or ‘ugly’. Last year was a bit on the ugly side, but I’m confident in my ability to make this year rock. Afterall, I am going overseas to have some sort of amazing adventure. (At least, that’s what I’m told, I’m still I touch skeptical about the whole thing). I’ve brooded on being old in my journal for ages now and don’t feel like continuing, so, my few empty cage readers… feel very lucky. You could have had to deal with me complaining about being almost a senior citizen. (Not that I would mind a pension).

I have no plans tomorrow, despite being legal drinking age I really do detest drinking in general. So, I’ll have caffine and sugar for my birthday which I doubt is much better for me. I’ll do all my website and other intended updates later, it is my birthday afterall, and I can only use that excuse once a year!