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 virtue, and the valour is something irreplaceable 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.

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 recommend 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 Coliseum, 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 extravagant, 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 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 precious 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 interesting 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)

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.

No momentum in the job/home front so I’m moving.

Scotland here I come.

Oxford, was there maybe last week or so, it wasn’t too bad, I mostly did (dun dun dun) shopping. So, I can’t tell you about the beautiful sites. Also, incidentally, it was pouring. I did get a copy of Memento and eat pizza though, so it wasn’t a total loss.

So! What else have I been doing? Working! YAY! A charming £9/hour with a 1 braincell/second tax. Angelena’s rant about going to school plays ad nauseum in my head daily. I’m just waiting for my Tell-Tale Heart moment when I shriek to the silent room “I GET IT! SHUT UP!” The office is as silent as a tomb usually, as I liken tapping on keyboards to rattling bones or something equally spooky.

I am allowed to listen to music, but my ears actually hurt from two weeks straight of having ear buds in them. So I’ve gone unplugged today (buy the album) and kind of want to gouge my eyes out. No particular reason, but it might alleviate the boredom.

Some nice things about my job — well, not the job specifically, but they are more work related than not. The nearest Tube (Chyuuuube) Station is St.James’ Park. I work on the short street between the Chyuuube Station and the actual park.

I talk to mom quite a bit because I get so bored at lunch, see example below.

April 1st:

“God, mom, the weather here is bloody TERRIBLE! I have never seen anything so miserable.”

“Tell me about it, at least there’s something in common!”

“APRIL FOOL’S! I’m sitting on the grass in the warm sun in the park surrounded by flowers!!”

Wasn’t that a funny April Fool’s Prank? I thought it was hysterical.

My new pals the Kiwis don’t get it. But then, they’re so far south they frequently get cut off the bottoms of maps.

Ah! I haven’t mentioned my new found knowlage of New Zealand, and love for all things Kiwi! New Zealand is the Canada of the Southern Hemisphere you see. Always getting bullied by stupid Australia!

I learned much about the Kiwis after meeting Clare the Kiwi in the Earl’s Court Hostel, then finding out my fellow bored temping co-worker James is ALSO a Kiwi! We hardly talk for fear of hurting the silence, but when every one else was in a meeting I found the ideal ice breaker.

“Am I the only one who wants to KILL myself?”

“Yea, I’m on Facebook.”

“Fair enough.”

So, he was on Facebook and we had quite the talk about how little work he does. Thus, my rebel-blogging!

I went pub hopping with my Kiwi Pal Clare, and a (quite good looking) Scottish guy named Jamey. Andrew and I are finito (again) and so I am allowed to look at cute guys. I have his phone number so I win. Told me to look him up if I was in Scotland. He’s 22 so there’s no prayer, I’ll just gaze dreamily off into space.

Thank you to my beloved commenters, I’ll reply to them on the next entry. I’m off to Dublin tonight!

“WTF?”

It took me a clean hour to convince the little thing the door was open… I imagine it had probably fluttered into the glass desperately a number of times already. I just want to know when it got in… it was either when Mike left for work this morning or had been in overnight!

I’m booking my ticket to France for tomorrow because the agency just called because they forgot to mention I have orientation for this new job on Thursday. Gee, what a bloody thing to forget. Anyways, I’m still going to France and trying to come up with somewhere else to go over easter. Maybe Edinburgh. As much as I wanted to throw the phone at a wall I think I was very mature about having to completely shift my trip due to a bit of a stupid mistake on their part. And maybe I’ll get to see another new place (or old place that I love) thanks to this largely unplanned break in the trip. Maybe even somewhere closer like Oxford or something. I’ll be paid for the orientation, so I can’t complain too much.

Uhm, in other news, I talked on the phone to Terri last night, and it was pretty much awesome. I’ll probably call Ange or Stacey tonight, because I’m not racking up roaming charges on my phone by calling people from France. Sorry guys, you aren’t worth that much to me after all! Bahahahahahahahah~~! I kid, I kid, but roaming charges means I cannot afford to bring anyone British Sweets, so choose your battles wisely.

Other then that– anyone who has any suggestions as to where to go for Easter send me a Comment… and don’t say Isle of Wight, I hear the place is booked solid, the whole island, during Easter.

Last time I wrote to you all I was in York, I was having a particularly miserable day, and plotting my starring role in ANGST! the musical. Feeling frustrated, I walked around the town and found myself sitting on the steps of York Minster and I just thought for awhile in the damp Yorkshire cold that sends deep into your bones and finally decided this trip is what I make it. And it was time to make it something incredible and memorable, I have money, I have a lot of money, I left Canada with a lot of money. I will be perfectly fine.

It was then I decided to go to Whitby.

It had been on my mind for awhile, but I finally made a resolute decision to go to Whitby. Why Whitby? Probably something to do with that goth-Dracula thing, and maybe wanting to see the sea, looking out and seeing the way home. Whitby was nice, the whole area smelt of fish and chips, and my hostel was the old abbey house at the top of the famous 199 steps where Mina sees Lucy with Dracula for the first time.

Everyone in Whiby was friendly, they all smiled and didn’t give me the infamous ‘North American Stare’ the one that usually involves a lot of disdain. They just smile in a polite manner which you fumble along. Internet access was a sweeping ten pound an hour, so I decided you guys could wait a few days to hear from me.

The trip from York to Whitby was absolutely astonishing. It was like going back in time, tufted green grass, punctuated by sheep, ancient walls and small farm houses. Picturesque, really.

P.S.

I never wrote on the British Museum. It was like heaven, my own personal Mecca. I could hardly contain some wave of emotion after seeing the real rosetta stone right there in front of me. I felt like I was going to have to die happy right there. It was the most amazing place I had ever been before in my life. And I only arrived there two hours to closing!

I survived my first night in a hostel, despite the nay sayers who claimed I would be killed in my sleep. It wasn’t that bad, sort of like a dorm room with little-to-no moderation. The people there don’t actually know how to sleep I don’t think, as there were people giggling and carrying on at 12Am as well as 6Am, yikes, not a happy experience. My room mates are very nice, one from France (I tried experimental french with her, though she seemed to under stand I think she was humouring me) as well as someone from the US, and someone from Hungary. The American — Addy — and I were up late talking politics. Go Canada Go!

To my family, I got your e-mail, I called at home and at work and got nothing from you mother. Tsk Tsk Tsk. I’ll likely be getting my cellphone today, so, you’ll have a number to reach me at.

The city of Toronto looks like a bucket of spilt beads at night, and there was a baby crying my whole flight, thank god for the Sweeney Todd soundtrack. I over packed in that my luggage was wayy too heavy, but didn’t as I can’t imagine leaving anything that I brought behind. Fair, and fair alike I suppose.

I hear some people have had trouble commenting on the entries so I’ll try and tweak it so comments are more open, if you still can’t comment let me know asap and I’ll try to fix things again. I have so much more to say, but orientation starts in a few seconds!