Woah. Yesterday was one of the longest travel days eva! It's kind of hilarious now that I've actually slept...but I didn't think we would make it. Plus...you know how the day before travelling always turns into the longest time ever? Like the time seems to slow down considerably? Ahhh yes, I usually love the nervous anticipation of knowing I"m going somewhere, but yesterday was a bit much. And it wasn't even like we had to sleep at the airport or anything, which I would be really unimpressed with.
We got up at 3am to leave for the airport...we were supposed to fly from Buffalo to Atlanta, and from Atlanta to Pensacola. But Atlanta got a "snow storm", so all flights to Atlanta were cancelled. So for whatever reason, they rerouted our flights so we would now be going from Buffalo to Chicago, from Chicago to Atlanta, and from Atlanta to Pensacola. We sat in the Chicago airport from 3 hours and in the Atlanta airport from 5 hours. It was a lot of sitting. And a lot of eating airport food. I bought several coffees, all which cost me about 5 bucks. Anyway, it wasn't horrible, but I'm just glad to actually be here! The sun is shining today, and although it looks like it might be a little cool....we are right by the ocean and sand and there is no snow!
Also...when we actually got to Atlanta there was not even any snow accumulation on the ground...it was raining. I guess it may have been snowing earlier in the day, but the way everybody was talking I was expecting a total blizzard!
Well, I'm going out in search of hot beach boys that aren't senior citizens! Tomorrow I'll do a post on skeet shooting which I finally got to try and which I highly recommend to everybody! So. much. fun.
Showing posts with label travel tuesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel tuesday. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Travel Tuesday-Peace, Love and Paris
"Jim. Jim. Jim. We need to go see Jim now!!" It was becoming a chant, and the rest of us were starting to get a little annoyed. Jess would not give it a rest.
Six of us. Me, Jess, Laura, Lisa, Rob and Asmir. We were leaning against the cool stonework at the bottom of the Arc de Triomphe. It was a boiling hot day in Paris, and the 284 steps to the top of the Arc didn't help with the sweatiness of the situation. Not that the view wasn't worth it; it was.
"Can we go see Jim now?? We've been wandering around Paris all day, seeing nothing but dumb tourist stuff!!” Jess was verging on whiny.
"Okay, okay, we'll go!" I said. Anything to get her to stop talking. I kind of agreed, because as great as the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre was, sometimes you just want to get down deep into a city and away from the masses. Okay, that's a lie; I thought the Louvre was boring. We ran through the museum like we were in the Da Vinci Code, and we were still in there too long. And the Mona Lisa? It's cool and all, but it’s not worth getting elbowed repeatedly in the ribs for as crowds of tourists jostle for the perfect photo. You know what? It looks exactly like it does in pictures, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the real and a copy. But hey, but I'm not an art connoisseur by any means, so take from that what you will.
"Asmir, you going to come with?" Lisa inquired. We all turned to look at the new friend we had made in front of Notre Dame that very morning.
"Oh. Of course!” He had wandered up to us as we all gathered in front of the giant church to stare, and he had stuck to us like glue ever since.
"Okay, we'll go. But first, I need to fix my pants somehow, they are driving me crazy." Laura gestured down to one leg of her khaki pants which now had a long flap of fabric dragging on the ground. "I have no idea how this even happened".
"Don't worry, I fix", Asmir crouched down and grabbed the hanging fabric in his hand. "Ready? One, two, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip, oops!" Laura's pants now had a huge tear going from her ankle to just past her knee. We all started cracking up, as Asmir hurried to remedy the situation by tying a haphazard knot so the tear didn't get any bigger.
"Okay then. Thanks!” Laura chirped. Laura was the nicest person on the planet. Always eternally optimistic about anything and everything. "One, two, ooooops" would soon make our way into every conversation we had.
Rob whipped out his guide to the Metro, and we planned our route to our destination: Pere LaChaise in the East end of Paris. Jess was practically jumping up and down by the time we emerged from the Metro station across the street from the cemetery.
We entered from the main gate and didn't bother getting a map. At this point, I think we all thought Jess would be divinely led to Jim's grave. No. The moment you walk into the cemetery, Paris changes. Row upon row of flower covered graves, with row upon row of trees lining the paths, make it a beautiful albeit confusing place to find your way around in. The trees created a shady canopy, blocking us from the summertime heat. It was silent, it was still and it was eerie. We slowed down; heck, even Jess slowed down. We stopped and looked at all the different graves, venturing inside some of the large dark tombs. None of us really knew anything about the cemetery, beyond the fact that it held the body of Jim Morrison, Jess's idol. The cemetery is one of the most popular places to visit in Paris, but as we walked in and out and around the worn paths, we barely saw anyone. It was an environment that forced you to stop and reflect on where you were. We couldn't rush in any direction, because no matter what, we were going to get lost. Better to just wander.
We stumbled upon Jim's grave mostly by accident; we rounded a corner and saw a small group of people in the distance.
Jess let out a happy squeal, yelled, "that's Jim!!!", and took off running, her sandals slapping the ground as she went. The rest of us took our time wandering up to the group, none of us being overly concerned with seeing Jim's resting place. That was Jess's thing. We chatted about what we were going to do afterwards: I was planning on doing some window shopping and people watching, Laura and Asmir were heading to an art museum, and Lisa and Rob were going back to the hotel to rest. We caught up to Jess, who was standing just outside the black iron fence that encased Jim's grave. One group of people were singing, and another group of people were passing around a joint.
"I can't believe we are finally here!" Jess was beyond excited. How great does it feel to be with somebody when they cross something off their life goal list? Pretty damn great.
We all got to chatting with two hippie esque Australian boys. One had long dreads, and the other a long pony tail. They were lounging on the ground by the grave, passing a bottle of red wine back and forth.
"Drink?” one of them nodded at me. I grabbed the bottle and took a swig, passing it to Jess, who also took a big drink. The cheap red wine made its way around the circle, ending with Lisa who gave it back to the dreadlocked Australian. We all turned to stare in silence at the grave of the rocker. Jess slipped off a ring she had been wearing for the entire trip, and threw it over the fence. It landed on Jim's grave with a clink.
"I've been waiting to do that for so long!".
We were all silent for a couple moments longer, linked by wine, pot smoke, peace, love and rock and roll.
Soon after, we said our goodbyes to our Australian friends and made our way back through the winding lanes of the cemetery.
"Okay," Rob said as we walked, "that was cool!"
"I told you!” Jess replied, grinning. "This was way better than any dumb church or museum!!"
And she was right, it totally was.
We found the exit, and stepped out onto the sun scorched pavement, horns blaring, people jostling. With one glance back into the cemetery, we exchanged “byes” and “see ya laters”, then all went our separate ways.
This is one of my favourite days of travelling ever. I almost can't describe how it makes me feel without getting ridiculously sappy, but in that moment, I felt really connected to the people I was with, despite how different we all were. That is one of my favourite things about travelling, because in a moment like that the world shrinks a little bit, and makes you question why people just can't get along. There is almost always common ground somewhere, be it a love of red wine, a love of a dead stoner rocker, or just the knowledge that the moment you are in is special, and will never, ever happen to you again. I tried to make this story as non cheesy as I could, but seen as I feel cheesy and nostalgic about the whole day, it's hard. But, I just, I loved that day and I loved those people, and even though I'm 99% sure I'll never see any of them again, I still feel connected because we were all there living in that moment.
Six of us. Me, Jess, Laura, Lisa, Rob and Asmir. We were leaning against the cool stonework at the bottom of the Arc de Triomphe. It was a boiling hot day in Paris, and the 284 steps to the top of the Arc didn't help with the sweatiness of the situation. Not that the view wasn't worth it; it was.
"Can we go see Jim now?? We've been wandering around Paris all day, seeing nothing but dumb tourist stuff!!” Jess was verging on whiny.
"Okay, okay, we'll go!" I said. Anything to get her to stop talking. I kind of agreed, because as great as the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre was, sometimes you just want to get down deep into a city and away from the masses. Okay, that's a lie; I thought the Louvre was boring. We ran through the museum like we were in the Da Vinci Code, and we were still in there too long. And the Mona Lisa? It's cool and all, but it’s not worth getting elbowed repeatedly in the ribs for as crowds of tourists jostle for the perfect photo. You know what? It looks exactly like it does in pictures, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the real and a copy. But hey, but I'm not an art connoisseur by any means, so take from that what you will.
"Asmir, you going to come with?" Lisa inquired. We all turned to look at the new friend we had made in front of Notre Dame that very morning.
"Oh. Of course!” He had wandered up to us as we all gathered in front of the giant church to stare, and he had stuck to us like glue ever since.
"Okay, we'll go. But first, I need to fix my pants somehow, they are driving me crazy." Laura gestured down to one leg of her khaki pants which now had a long flap of fabric dragging on the ground. "I have no idea how this even happened".
"Don't worry, I fix", Asmir crouched down and grabbed the hanging fabric in his hand. "Ready? One, two, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip, oops!" Laura's pants now had a huge tear going from her ankle to just past her knee. We all started cracking up, as Asmir hurried to remedy the situation by tying a haphazard knot so the tear didn't get any bigger.
"Okay then. Thanks!” Laura chirped. Laura was the nicest person on the planet. Always eternally optimistic about anything and everything. "One, two, ooooops" would soon make our way into every conversation we had.
Rob whipped out his guide to the Metro, and we planned our route to our destination: Pere LaChaise in the East end of Paris. Jess was practically jumping up and down by the time we emerged from the Metro station across the street from the cemetery.
We entered from the main gate and didn't bother getting a map. At this point, I think we all thought Jess would be divinely led to Jim's grave. No. The moment you walk into the cemetery, Paris changes. Row upon row of flower covered graves, with row upon row of trees lining the paths, make it a beautiful albeit confusing place to find your way around in. The trees created a shady canopy, blocking us from the summertime heat. It was silent, it was still and it was eerie. We slowed down; heck, even Jess slowed down. We stopped and looked at all the different graves, venturing inside some of the large dark tombs. None of us really knew anything about the cemetery, beyond the fact that it held the body of Jim Morrison, Jess's idol. The cemetery is one of the most popular places to visit in Paris, but as we walked in and out and around the worn paths, we barely saw anyone. It was an environment that forced you to stop and reflect on where you were. We couldn't rush in any direction, because no matter what, we were going to get lost. Better to just wander.
We stumbled upon Jim's grave mostly by accident; we rounded a corner and saw a small group of people in the distance.
Jess let out a happy squeal, yelled, "that's Jim!!!", and took off running, her sandals slapping the ground as she went. The rest of us took our time wandering up to the group, none of us being overly concerned with seeing Jim's resting place. That was Jess's thing. We chatted about what we were going to do afterwards: I was planning on doing some window shopping and people watching, Laura and Asmir were heading to an art museum, and Lisa and Rob were going back to the hotel to rest. We caught up to Jess, who was standing just outside the black iron fence that encased Jim's grave. One group of people were singing, and another group of people were passing around a joint.
"I can't believe we are finally here!" Jess was beyond excited. How great does it feel to be with somebody when they cross something off their life goal list? Pretty damn great.
We all got to chatting with two hippie esque Australian boys. One had long dreads, and the other a long pony tail. They were lounging on the ground by the grave, passing a bottle of red wine back and forth.
"Drink?” one of them nodded at me. I grabbed the bottle and took a swig, passing it to Jess, who also took a big drink. The cheap red wine made its way around the circle, ending with Lisa who gave it back to the dreadlocked Australian. We all turned to stare in silence at the grave of the rocker. Jess slipped off a ring she had been wearing for the entire trip, and threw it over the fence. It landed on Jim's grave with a clink.
"I've been waiting to do that for so long!".
We were all silent for a couple moments longer, linked by wine, pot smoke, peace, love and rock and roll.
Soon after, we said our goodbyes to our Australian friends and made our way back through the winding lanes of the cemetery.
"Okay," Rob said as we walked, "that was cool!"
"I told you!” Jess replied, grinning. "This was way better than any dumb church or museum!!"
And she was right, it totally was.
We found the exit, and stepped out onto the sun scorched pavement, horns blaring, people jostling. With one glance back into the cemetery, we exchanged “byes” and “see ya laters”, then all went our separate ways.
This is one of my favourite days of travelling ever. I almost can't describe how it makes me feel without getting ridiculously sappy, but in that moment, I felt really connected to the people I was with, despite how different we all were. That is one of my favourite things about travelling, because in a moment like that the world shrinks a little bit, and makes you question why people just can't get along. There is almost always common ground somewhere, be it a love of red wine, a love of a dead stoner rocker, or just the knowledge that the moment you are in is special, and will never, ever happen to you again. I tried to make this story as non cheesy as I could, but seen as I feel cheesy and nostalgic about the whole day, it's hard. But, I just, I loved that day and I loved those people, and even though I'm 99% sure I'll never see any of them again, I still feel connected because we were all there living in that moment.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Travel Tuesday-A brief German tour
Sorry, I've been slightly MIA. I've been consumed with thoughts of Haiti and consumed with thoughts of Pitbulls. My brain has been full.
Anyway! I've been meaning to put up some pretty pictures for a while, and now seems like an opportune time as I don't have a travel narrative in me today. So today I present to you, a photo tour of a very pretty part of my favourite country in the world-Germany.
My ancestors were from Germany, and I've felt a pull towards the country for a while, so I finally got my butt over there this spring. I had been before, on a Contiki tour, but that was filled with Jagermeister and beer and to be perfectly honest that is all I remember from the German portion of the trip. That and buying new Birkenstocks and watching the Glockenspeil like, "this is it??? Really???". Anyway, this spring I went back, alone, and I fell deeply, deeply in love. My travels went through the Bavarian part of Germany, and I didn't even cover it all by any means.
When I arrived at the Munich airport, I was so very proud of myself because I found the train to get into the city, and I got off at the correct stop. When I walked up from the subway stop, this was my view. Directly after this, I proceeded to walk through the streets of Munich for about two hours, pulling behind me the heaviest luggage known to man. Around and around I wandering, stopping in several stores and being like, "ummm where the feck do I go??? Danke, danke!!". I asked cabs, I asked in other hotels, and after several hours I was running on no sleep, and on the complete verge of tears. I opted to stop dead in the middle of the pedestrian area on a random street and kind of spin in bewilderment. Shortly after this, a kindly German man came up to me and pointed me in the right direction.
That giant billboard of a green hand was basically the saving grace of my day. I thought I had arrived at the correct hotel (note-hotel names are kind of similar in Munich), so I walked in, plopped down my stuff, and was like, "phewww, it took me forever to find you!", then the guy was like, "you are at the wrong hotel". Never have I wanted to cry like a small child having a tantrum more than at that moment. But he took me outside, pointed to the hand billboard, and was like, "walk towards that". Which I did, and I eventually found my hotel. All was well.
I am a huge history nerd, so the fact that Hitler used to rally his troops in this very square got me very excited. I spend a good while hanging out on those steps.
Hansel and Gretlish, right?
Another history nerd moment. This is a memorial to the White Rose Movement, which was a group of young adults who tried to organize an uprising against Hitler. Eventually they were caught and executed. But holy crap, if you interested in Germany history at all, check out the movie Sophie Scholl: The Final Days. These kids are my absolute heros. I can't imagine being that brave.
Have you ever gotten that email with all the pictures of the most beautiful places on earth, and you are kind of like, oh my god, if I could only go there, and then one day you find yourself up on a mountain top all by yourself, taking in just the most beautiful view, wondering how you got so lucky? Yeah.
This is my hotel room in the teeny tiny town of Berchtesgaden. I LOVED this little place. When I saw my hotel room, I may have jumped up and down a bit, for there was a window seat and a balcony, two of my absolute favourite things. I was in Berchtesgaden for about 4 days, and believe me, I spent incountable hours on that seat, reading and just looking at the mountains.
When I finally got brave enough to go to an actual restaurant by myself, this is what I got. Story for another day.
How quaint!
Is anybody obsessed with the Amazing Race like I am? Then you might recognize this!!
This is in Berchtesgaden National Park. It was at approximentaly at this point in the hike that I was up on a high path with no guardrail and had to change my batteries in the camera. A German lady came up behind me and started getting positively mad that I was going to fall off the cliff. I pretending I didn't understand because I sure wasn't hiking down without getting a picture of this. Just...wow.
This is a battery operated boat, it moves very slow and makes no noise. You just glid peacefully through the water. The coolest thing was when the boat stopped and the driver got out and played the trumpet. The lake is surrounded by mountains, and the sound just bounced off and echoed.
Eagles Nest! More history nerd moments!
WWII Bunkers with D-Day graffiti.
This was my last day in Berchtesgaden. I was chilling on my balcony when this random parade went by.
Sorry this wasn't more detailed, I have to keep minimizing the window to ensure no one notices what I'm doing. I'm a good employee.
And that's the German portion of my trip! I have about 1 billion pictures, but I tried to par it down for you. Hope you liked it!
Anyway! I've been meaning to put up some pretty pictures for a while, and now seems like an opportune time as I don't have a travel narrative in me today. So today I present to you, a photo tour of a very pretty part of my favourite country in the world-Germany.
My ancestors were from Germany, and I've felt a pull towards the country for a while, so I finally got my butt over there this spring. I had been before, on a Contiki tour, but that was filled with Jagermeister and beer and to be perfectly honest that is all I remember from the German portion of the trip. That and buying new Birkenstocks and watching the Glockenspeil like, "this is it??? Really???". Anyway, this spring I went back, alone, and I fell deeply, deeply in love. My travels went through the Bavarian part of Germany, and I didn't even cover it all by any means.
When I arrived at the Munich airport, I was so very proud of myself because I found the train to get into the city, and I got off at the correct stop. When I walked up from the subway stop, this was my view. Directly after this, I proceeded to walk through the streets of Munich for about two hours, pulling behind me the heaviest luggage known to man. Around and around I wandering, stopping in several stores and being like, "ummm where the feck do I go??? Danke, danke!!". I asked cabs, I asked in other hotels, and after several hours I was running on no sleep, and on the complete verge of tears. I opted to stop dead in the middle of the pedestrian area on a random street and kind of spin in bewilderment. Shortly after this, a kindly German man came up to me and pointed me in the right direction.
That giant billboard of a green hand was basically the saving grace of my day. I thought I had arrived at the correct hotel (note-hotel names are kind of similar in Munich), so I walked in, plopped down my stuff, and was like, "phewww, it took me forever to find you!", then the guy was like, "you are at the wrong hotel". Never have I wanted to cry like a small child having a tantrum more than at that moment. But he took me outside, pointed to the hand billboard, and was like, "walk towards that". Which I did, and I eventually found my hotel. All was well.
I am a huge history nerd, so the fact that Hitler used to rally his troops in this very square got me very excited. I spend a good while hanging out on those steps.
Hansel and Gretlish, right?
Another history nerd moment. This is a memorial to the White Rose Movement, which was a group of young adults who tried to organize an uprising against Hitler. Eventually they were caught and executed. But holy crap, if you interested in Germany history at all, check out the movie Sophie Scholl: The Final Days. These kids are my absolute heros. I can't imagine being that brave.
Have you ever gotten that email with all the pictures of the most beautiful places on earth, and you are kind of like, oh my god, if I could only go there, and then one day you find yourself up on a mountain top all by yourself, taking in just the most beautiful view, wondering how you got so lucky? Yeah.
This is my hotel room in the teeny tiny town of Berchtesgaden. I LOVED this little place. When I saw my hotel room, I may have jumped up and down a bit, for there was a window seat and a balcony, two of my absolute favourite things. I was in Berchtesgaden for about 4 days, and believe me, I spent incountable hours on that seat, reading and just looking at the mountains.
When I finally got brave enough to go to an actual restaurant by myself, this is what I got. Story for another day.
How quaint!
Is anybody obsessed with the Amazing Race like I am? Then you might recognize this!!
This is in Berchtesgaden National Park. It was at approximentaly at this point in the hike that I was up on a high path with no guardrail and had to change my batteries in the camera. A German lady came up behind me and started getting positively mad that I was going to fall off the cliff. I pretending I didn't understand because I sure wasn't hiking down without getting a picture of this. Just...wow.
This is a battery operated boat, it moves very slow and makes no noise. You just glid peacefully through the water. The coolest thing was when the boat stopped and the driver got out and played the trumpet. The lake is surrounded by mountains, and the sound just bounced off and echoed.
Eagles Nest! More history nerd moments!
WWII Bunkers with D-Day graffiti.
This was my last day in Berchtesgaden. I was chilling on my balcony when this random parade went by.
Sorry this wasn't more detailed, I have to keep minimizing the window to ensure no one notices what I'm doing. I'm a good employee.
And that's the German portion of my trip! I have about 1 billion pictures, but I tried to par it down for you. Hope you liked it!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Travel Tuesday-Ontario Edition
If I was organized about things, I would surely have these ready a couple of days in advance instead of just writing them on Tuesday. I mean, that way, I could actually edit them and what not. That will be my goal for next week.
In unrelated, yet related news, I have made it one of my goals of January 2010 to declutter my life. I have so much stuff, and I need...not to. So, I've decided I am going to gather all the stuff I no longer have any use for, sell it on Ebay or Kijiji, and then hopefully make enough money to pay for Matador U Travel Writing Program. This seems like the perfect solution because I have no extra money at this point to pay for it, and all this stuff is just sitting around anyway. We'll see how it goes. So far, I've made $10. So just $340 more. I'm giving myself until the end of Feb.
Anyway! Today's Travel story takes place in my university town, London, Ontario.
The Boler Bump
We both got on the elevator with all our ski gear. We had decided to take the bus to the ski hill because it seemed like a direct route, and neither one of us had a car. It didn’t occur to us at the time that this would perhaps be a hassle both for us and the other people on the bus. People cursed at us as we got on and jostled for space with our bags and skis; and then they all stared at us like we were completely crazy.
After about a 15 minute ride downtown, it turned out we had to transfer buses. We hopped off and trudged over to where the connecting bus was supposed to come. We waited, and waited, and waited. Our eyelashes began to freeze as our eyes watered from the wind, and we became increasingly irritated.
“Do you think the bus is ever going to come?” We whined and freezed and whined and freezed. Just as we were contemplating giving up and taking the bus back home, a lady in a sedan pulled up.
“You girls going skiing?” We stared at her and then stared at our skis. Clearly we were.
“Boler Mountain’s quite a bus ride from here…I’ll give you a ride!”
We hesitated for perhaps 10 seconds before we agreed that this would be a great idea. We followed the lady to her car, and helped her as she packed our skis and bags into the truck. We looked at each other once before getting in the car, as if to say, “well, she very well could be taking us out to the woods to hack us to bits, but at this point, it beats standing in the cold”. She drove us all the way out to Boler Mountain, which indeed would have been an eternally long bus ride. She dropped us off and we thanked her profusely, and then went to get our lift tickets. It was at this point we realized we had just travelled a total of what added up to several hours to come skiing at a place where there was one chair lift and something that barely passed as a mountain. We stared at the hill in disappointment for a while, but we went to ski and that was exactly what we were going to do.
We rode the chair lift up and skied down the hill in about 20 seconds. We repeated this about 10 times before deciding to head in for dinner. As we sat in the cafeteria style room with our french fries and hamburgers, a girl with long blond hair came up to us.
“Are you Megan and Kaitlyn?” she inquired.
“Yes…” Kaitlyn replied, “Ummmm, how do you know?”
“My mom told me!” she chirped, “she said she had given two girls a ride to the ski hill and I just figured it was you! I work here!”
Apparently for some reason we didn’t know, we stood out.
“Oh, well it was so nice of your mom to drive us!! We probably still would have been waiting at the bus stop if she hadn’t!” I smiled at her.
She smiled back, said “nice to meet you”, and was on her way.
“Wow”, Kaitlyn said, “that was random”.
We finished our dinner and went out for a couple more rides up and down the ski lift, before deciding to call it a night. There was only one bus back to town and we sure didn’t want to miss it. We packed up all our gear and headed over to the bus stop. It was frigid out. An hour later, the bus came. We made it downtown to catch our connecting bus, and were standing awkwardly with our skis, leaning against the bus shelter. A man wandered up to us, looking slightly…tattered.
“You guys just go skiing?” he said, slurring slightly. “Where abouts did you go?”
We told him about Boler Bump, and it was at this point that things went slightly downhill. All of a sudden, he was shouting at the top of his lungs,
“I USED TO DO THAT SHIT!! I had money once! Do you think I’ve always been like this, do you??? I used to do that shit! I did!!”
Kait and I stared wearily/fearfully at each other as he continued on his tirade. People passed by in the street and shot us looks that said, “we feel for you, but at no point will we be intervening in this situation.”
As the man continued to yell and get increasingly in our face, we both were just kind of frozen onto the sidewalk. We had our skis leaning on the bus shelter, so it wasn’t easy to just walk away. We shrugged at him. Eventually his yelling turned to disgusted muttering and he walked away from us.
“Wow”, Kaitlyn said, “Just wow…this day is ridiculous!”
We had just started to laugh it off, when we noticed the man was rounding the corner and now coming back towards us. We looked at each other, grabbed our skis and took off across the street for the safer pastures of McDonalds.
“Hey!!!” he shouted after us, “heyyyyyy!!!”.
Clearly we ignored him and huddled down inside the entrance to the fast food restaurant.
“Should we maybe call the cops?” Kaitlyn said, picking up the receiver of a pay phone.
“I dunno”, I said, as I peered out the window at him. “Maybe we should just get on a bus and get the hell out of here.”
We stayed in the alcove until a bus came, and then ran across the street to hop on. Never in my life have I been more thankful to get on public transportation. We sunk down into the plastic seats, and took up two more with all our ski gear. We finally made it back to our residence safe and sound.
That was the first and last time we skied the Boler Bump, but to this day, it remains the most random day of my life.
Fini.
Okay, so it doesn't take place in the most exotic of locations, but thinking of that day now makes me crack up. It was just a series of one random event after another. One of those things that is hilarious now, but was really not so funny as it was happening. Ohhh boy.
In unrelated, yet related news, I have made it one of my goals of January 2010 to declutter my life. I have so much stuff, and I need...not to. So, I've decided I am going to gather all the stuff I no longer have any use for, sell it on Ebay or Kijiji, and then hopefully make enough money to pay for Matador U Travel Writing Program. This seems like the perfect solution because I have no extra money at this point to pay for it, and all this stuff is just sitting around anyway. We'll see how it goes. So far, I've made $10. So just $340 more. I'm giving myself until the end of Feb.
Anyway! Today's Travel story takes place in my university town, London, Ontario.
The Boler Bump
We both got on the elevator with all our ski gear. We had decided to take the bus to the ski hill because it seemed like a direct route, and neither one of us had a car. It didn’t occur to us at the time that this would perhaps be a hassle both for us and the other people on the bus. People cursed at us as we got on and jostled for space with our bags and skis; and then they all stared at us like we were completely crazy.
After about a 15 minute ride downtown, it turned out we had to transfer buses. We hopped off and trudged over to where the connecting bus was supposed to come. We waited, and waited, and waited. Our eyelashes began to freeze as our eyes watered from the wind, and we became increasingly irritated.
“Do you think the bus is ever going to come?” We whined and freezed and whined and freezed. Just as we were contemplating giving up and taking the bus back home, a lady in a sedan pulled up.
“You girls going skiing?” We stared at her and then stared at our skis. Clearly we were.
“Boler Mountain’s quite a bus ride from here…I’ll give you a ride!”
We hesitated for perhaps 10 seconds before we agreed that this would be a great idea. We followed the lady to her car, and helped her as she packed our skis and bags into the truck. We looked at each other once before getting in the car, as if to say, “well, she very well could be taking us out to the woods to hack us to bits, but at this point, it beats standing in the cold”. She drove us all the way out to Boler Mountain, which indeed would have been an eternally long bus ride. She dropped us off and we thanked her profusely, and then went to get our lift tickets. It was at this point we realized we had just travelled a total of what added up to several hours to come skiing at a place where there was one chair lift and something that barely passed as a mountain. We stared at the hill in disappointment for a while, but we went to ski and that was exactly what we were going to do.
We rode the chair lift up and skied down the hill in about 20 seconds. We repeated this about 10 times before deciding to head in for dinner. As we sat in the cafeteria style room with our french fries and hamburgers, a girl with long blond hair came up to us.
“Are you Megan and Kaitlyn?” she inquired.
“Yes…” Kaitlyn replied, “Ummmm, how do you know?”
“My mom told me!” she chirped, “she said she had given two girls a ride to the ski hill and I just figured it was you! I work here!”
Apparently for some reason we didn’t know, we stood out.
“Oh, well it was so nice of your mom to drive us!! We probably still would have been waiting at the bus stop if she hadn’t!” I smiled at her.
She smiled back, said “nice to meet you”, and was on her way.
“Wow”, Kaitlyn said, “that was random”.
We finished our dinner and went out for a couple more rides up and down the ski lift, before deciding to call it a night. There was only one bus back to town and we sure didn’t want to miss it. We packed up all our gear and headed over to the bus stop. It was frigid out. An hour later, the bus came. We made it downtown to catch our connecting bus, and were standing awkwardly with our skis, leaning against the bus shelter. A man wandered up to us, looking slightly…tattered.
“You guys just go skiing?” he said, slurring slightly. “Where abouts did you go?”
We told him about Boler Bump, and it was at this point that things went slightly downhill. All of a sudden, he was shouting at the top of his lungs,
“I USED TO DO THAT SHIT!! I had money once! Do you think I’ve always been like this, do you??? I used to do that shit! I did!!”
Kait and I stared wearily/fearfully at each other as he continued on his tirade. People passed by in the street and shot us looks that said, “we feel for you, but at no point will we be intervening in this situation.”
As the man continued to yell and get increasingly in our face, we both were just kind of frozen onto the sidewalk. We had our skis leaning on the bus shelter, so it wasn’t easy to just walk away. We shrugged at him. Eventually his yelling turned to disgusted muttering and he walked away from us.
“Wow”, Kaitlyn said, “Just wow…this day is ridiculous!”
We had just started to laugh it off, when we noticed the man was rounding the corner and now coming back towards us. We looked at each other, grabbed our skis and took off across the street for the safer pastures of McDonalds.
“Hey!!!” he shouted after us, “heyyyyyy!!!”.
Clearly we ignored him and huddled down inside the entrance to the fast food restaurant.
“Should we maybe call the cops?” Kaitlyn said, picking up the receiver of a pay phone.
“I dunno”, I said, as I peered out the window at him. “Maybe we should just get on a bus and get the hell out of here.”
We stayed in the alcove until a bus came, and then ran across the street to hop on. Never in my life have I been more thankful to get on public transportation. We sunk down into the plastic seats, and took up two more with all our ski gear. We finally made it back to our residence safe and sound.
That was the first and last time we skied the Boler Bump, but to this day, it remains the most random day of my life.
Fini.
Okay, so it doesn't take place in the most exotic of locations, but thinking of that day now makes me crack up. It was just a series of one random event after another. One of those things that is hilarious now, but was really not so funny as it was happening. Ohhh boy.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Travel Tuesday- Joyce Speedy, what a gal.
The plane touched down at London’s Heathrow airport, early, about 8 in the morning. I got up out of my seat and stretched my body after a long plane ride. I grabbed my overhead luggage, and bid a quick farewell to my annoying seatmate, who thankfully I would never have to see again.
I stepped off the plane and just took it all in. I was here, in England, all by myself. I could hardly believe it. Shortly after that, the elation wore off, and sheer terror set in. My mind became of jumble of anxious thoughts.
What am I doing? Why did I come here by myself? I don’t know anybody! What if I get lost? What if I get homesick? What if, what if, what if? I continued to curse my decision to travel solo, all the way through security and baggage claim. I was living my dream, but I had no idea it was going to be so scary.
I was going to be staying with a friend of a friend, a woman whom I had never met before. I had no idea what she looked like, and had only talked to her on the phone once. This experience was entirely new for me. As I dragged myself sleepily through the long hallway, and down into the greeting area, I scanned the crowd for Joyce, and spotted her almost immediately, as she was standing there smiling, holding a cardboard sign with my name on it. She was about 75 years old, and I immediately liked her, even though I hadn’t officially met her yet.
My luggage trailed behind me as I made my way over to her. I was scared, I missed my parents, I missed my friends, but there I was.
“Hi, I’m Megan!” I smiled as I held out my hand.
“Well nice to finally meet you Megan, would you like a cup of tea?” was her immediate reply.
As a person who never turns down tea or coffee, I agreed, and we made our way over to the airport diner.
“You must be exhausted after your plane ride! You sit here, and I’ll grab us some tea”. She shuffled her way up to the counter to place the order, and was soon back with two steaming cups of tea. I thanked her profusely and slid down in my chair. My body was tired.
“Well”, she started, “I think we should hop on the train, go back to Reading, unload all your stuff, then we’ll do some sightseeing!”
I sat there wondering how this woman could possibly have so much energy when all I wanted to do was sleep, but I liked her plan and we decided to spend the day in Windsor. We took the train there, and spent the day touring Windsor Castle, eating scones and clotted crème and getting to know each other.
As it turns out, Joyce had travelled all over the world by herself, and she still took a trip whenever she had the time. Back in her flat, her fridge was covered, absolutely covered, in magnets from all the places she had travelled too. There was hardly a spot of white left on her fridge. Well, I thought to myself when she told me of her travels, her flight in a Concorde jet and her hikes across Thailand, if she can do it, so can I. Here she was, my travel mentor, all wrapped up in a little old English lady package. I thanked fate for bringing us together.
We spent the next several days touring around London, and she never let me pay for a thing. I tried to pay for her dinner once, but she wasn’t having it. She started to call me her travel good luck charm, because we saw things together she had never seen in her life. The opening of parliament happened to be on the day we visited Buckingham Palace, and we got to see the Queen. A boat was passing through the Thames while we visited the Tower of London, and we got to see the Tower Bridge open. She was telling her friends about our adventures for weeks!
It was soon time for me to leave with a tour group and take a whirlwind trip around Europe. She made me promise to call her when I got back to London so she could come to the airport with me. She dropped me off at my hotel and was then on her way. As soon as she walked away, that familiar feeling of homesickness started to crush me, and I missed her terribly. She was one of the nicest people I have ever met in my life, and it felt like I had known her forever.
My tour of Europe went by in a flash, and I came back to London with new friends and tons of new stories. I rang up Joyce to tell her I had returned safely, and we made plans for her to meet me at the hotel the next day.
The next morning, me, my new friend Jess, and my old friend Joyce set off for the airport. I made the mistake of eyeing two stuffed bears that were dressed up as an English cop and guard respectively, and before I knew it she had bought them for me. They still are sitting prominently on my bookshelf, and every time I look at them, I am reminded of her, and of my first solo trip.
Soon I was back in Canada, and had resumed my normal, “boring” life. Joyce and I wrote to each other, and I began to think of her as my surrogate grandmother.
Four years after my initial trip to Europe, Joyce came over to Canada to visit. She stayed with a friend, but I went over to visit often. I took her out for Chinese and Thai food, and showed her around my hometown. I was so excited to show her the same kind of hospitality she had shown me. She was here for about a month, then she went back home to England.
A couple years after that (and countless letters in between), I found out that Joyce was sick, and she was not going to be getting better. She had no children, but tons of friends, so she was well taken care of. Joyce died last year after getting diagnosed with cancer, and there is no doubt in my mind she went flying straight up to heaven.
Joyce was one of those life changing people for me. She was a kind soul, and you couldn’t help but like her. She had a total lust for life, and it was contagious. She fed my love of travel, and she encouraged it.
It is because of her that I know I can go anywhere by myself, and be alright while I am there. I don’t think I ever thanked her for giving me that confidence. If I didn’t have her as a role model, I wouldn’t have seen half the things I have seen in my life. She remains a wonder to me, and I will always think of her as the person who almost literally gave me wings.
So now my fridge is slowly starting to become cluttered with magnets of all the places I have been, things I have seen, adventures I have had. It is my little shrine to her, my jet-setting grandma.
I stepped off the plane and just took it all in. I was here, in England, all by myself. I could hardly believe it. Shortly after that, the elation wore off, and sheer terror set in. My mind became of jumble of anxious thoughts.
What am I doing? Why did I come here by myself? I don’t know anybody! What if I get lost? What if I get homesick? What if, what if, what if? I continued to curse my decision to travel solo, all the way through security and baggage claim. I was living my dream, but I had no idea it was going to be so scary.
I was going to be staying with a friend of a friend, a woman whom I had never met before. I had no idea what she looked like, and had only talked to her on the phone once. This experience was entirely new for me. As I dragged myself sleepily through the long hallway, and down into the greeting area, I scanned the crowd for Joyce, and spotted her almost immediately, as she was standing there smiling, holding a cardboard sign with my name on it. She was about 75 years old, and I immediately liked her, even though I hadn’t officially met her yet.
My luggage trailed behind me as I made my way over to her. I was scared, I missed my parents, I missed my friends, but there I was.
“Hi, I’m Megan!” I smiled as I held out my hand.
“Well nice to finally meet you Megan, would you like a cup of tea?” was her immediate reply.
As a person who never turns down tea or coffee, I agreed, and we made our way over to the airport diner.
“You must be exhausted after your plane ride! You sit here, and I’ll grab us some tea”. She shuffled her way up to the counter to place the order, and was soon back with two steaming cups of tea. I thanked her profusely and slid down in my chair. My body was tired.
“Well”, she started, “I think we should hop on the train, go back to Reading, unload all your stuff, then we’ll do some sightseeing!”
I sat there wondering how this woman could possibly have so much energy when all I wanted to do was sleep, but I liked her plan and we decided to spend the day in Windsor. We took the train there, and spent the day touring Windsor Castle, eating scones and clotted crème and getting to know each other.
As it turns out, Joyce had travelled all over the world by herself, and she still took a trip whenever she had the time. Back in her flat, her fridge was covered, absolutely covered, in magnets from all the places she had travelled too. There was hardly a spot of white left on her fridge. Well, I thought to myself when she told me of her travels, her flight in a Concorde jet and her hikes across Thailand, if she can do it, so can I. Here she was, my travel mentor, all wrapped up in a little old English lady package. I thanked fate for bringing us together.
We spent the next several days touring around London, and she never let me pay for a thing. I tried to pay for her dinner once, but she wasn’t having it. She started to call me her travel good luck charm, because we saw things together she had never seen in her life. The opening of parliament happened to be on the day we visited Buckingham Palace, and we got to see the Queen. A boat was passing through the Thames while we visited the Tower of London, and we got to see the Tower Bridge open. She was telling her friends about our adventures for weeks!
It was soon time for me to leave with a tour group and take a whirlwind trip around Europe. She made me promise to call her when I got back to London so she could come to the airport with me. She dropped me off at my hotel and was then on her way. As soon as she walked away, that familiar feeling of homesickness started to crush me, and I missed her terribly. She was one of the nicest people I have ever met in my life, and it felt like I had known her forever.
My tour of Europe went by in a flash, and I came back to London with new friends and tons of new stories. I rang up Joyce to tell her I had returned safely, and we made plans for her to meet me at the hotel the next day.
The next morning, me, my new friend Jess, and my old friend Joyce set off for the airport. I made the mistake of eyeing two stuffed bears that were dressed up as an English cop and guard respectively, and before I knew it she had bought them for me. They still are sitting prominently on my bookshelf, and every time I look at them, I am reminded of her, and of my first solo trip.
Soon I was back in Canada, and had resumed my normal, “boring” life. Joyce and I wrote to each other, and I began to think of her as my surrogate grandmother.
Four years after my initial trip to Europe, Joyce came over to Canada to visit. She stayed with a friend, but I went over to visit often. I took her out for Chinese and Thai food, and showed her around my hometown. I was so excited to show her the same kind of hospitality she had shown me. She was here for about a month, then she went back home to England.
A couple years after that (and countless letters in between), I found out that Joyce was sick, and she was not going to be getting better. She had no children, but tons of friends, so she was well taken care of. Joyce died last year after getting diagnosed with cancer, and there is no doubt in my mind she went flying straight up to heaven.
Joyce was one of those life changing people for me. She was a kind soul, and you couldn’t help but like her. She had a total lust for life, and it was contagious. She fed my love of travel, and she encouraged it.
It is because of her that I know I can go anywhere by myself, and be alright while I am there. I don’t think I ever thanked her for giving me that confidence. If I didn’t have her as a role model, I wouldn’t have seen half the things I have seen in my life. She remains a wonder to me, and I will always think of her as the person who almost literally gave me wings.
So now my fridge is slowly starting to become cluttered with magnets of all the places I have been, things I have seen, adventures I have had. It is my little shrine to her, my jet-setting grandma.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Travel Tuesday-New York, New York
Once upon a time, a young girl named Meg dreamed of going to a place she saw only in the movies: New York. With it's skyscrapers, it's shopping, it's culture, it's history, it's people, it was so very different from the small Canadian town she grew up in. She dreamed about it for years, until one day, when Meg was 15 years old. She was going along with her family on a trip to Florida and while Meg does love the sun, she's not one for sitting on the beach for any length of time. At least she wasn't then.
"But", her parents said, "there's one more thing, "on our way to Florida we are stopping in New York City."
This was quite possibly the most exciting news Meg had ever heard in her 15 years of life. She burst into tears. So this is what it felt like to actually have a dream come true.
You might think that New York could never live up to such high expectations, but it did. That first trip began a love affair that will likely last until my dying days. New York City is hands down, my favourite place on Earth. And I have a lot of love for a lot of places. But oh, that city.
If someone were to ask me why I love it so much, I don't even know if I could put it into words. It's a bit like the love I have for Bette Midler; fierce, yet kind of unexplainable.
It was great to see the city at Christmas time. I mean for a city that bubbles with energy all the time, then it absolutely oozes it at Christmas time. If you go to New York at Christmas and don't leave filled to the brim with Christmas spirit, something ain't right.
So I present to you, a photo diary of my trip to New York City. I love New York, I love New York, I LOVE New York.
I have several hundred more pictures, but I didn't want to go overboard. More stories to follow.
"But", her parents said, "there's one more thing, "on our way to Florida we are stopping in New York City."
This was quite possibly the most exciting news Meg had ever heard in her 15 years of life. She burst into tears. So this is what it felt like to actually have a dream come true.
You might think that New York could never live up to such high expectations, but it did. That first trip began a love affair that will likely last until my dying days. New York City is hands down, my favourite place on Earth. And I have a lot of love for a lot of places. But oh, that city.
If someone were to ask me why I love it so much, I don't even know if I could put it into words. It's a bit like the love I have for Bette Midler; fierce, yet kind of unexplainable.
It was great to see the city at Christmas time. I mean for a city that bubbles with energy all the time, then it absolutely oozes it at Christmas time. If you go to New York at Christmas and don't leave filled to the brim with Christmas spirit, something ain't right.
So I present to you, a photo diary of my trip to New York City. I love New York, I love New York, I LOVE New York.
I have several hundred more pictures, but I didn't want to go overboard. More stories to follow.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
My Eternal Question
I'm at a bit of a crossroads right now. I've mentioned before this whole stuck feeling, and it is still driving me crazy.
I've been thinking lately about settling, and at what point a person should give up on their dreams. Here's the thing-there is this job coming up that everybody thinks I should apply for. It's full time, 9 to 5, doing communications, which is what I went to school for. I think I would have a fair chance of getting it. It would be an okay job. The pay is good and there are even benefits (omg, benefits!). But still, I waffle. I mean, this is clearly all hypothetical at this point, because I don't have the job, but I just can't help thinking, "what if". If I did apply for this job, and I got it, I would have to put all my plans on the back burner. On the one hand, I think I would be settling.
Is it irresponsible of me, to say "to hell with benefits, and large gobs of money, I want to work with dogs for a living. I want to travel, see the world, and I want to write about it." Would it be more adult, more responsible of me to just say, "Yes. I need to buy a house, get married, settle down. Save enough money for retirement. That'll be enough. You can travel when you retire".
But. I don't want to be 80 years old, staring out the window, thinking of all the things I could have done, but didn't.
The money for this job is extremely good, and everything I want to do costs money. More money than I have now, and more money then I could ever make at this job. So, I think to myself, perhaps it would be wise to really try for this job, and just save money. But then I fear I would become stuck and comfortable.
I just don't know you guys. Life is short. There's a big world out there, and while I've seen a lot, there is still so much more.
Maybe I'm making it too big a deal, being slightly too dramatic. I just can't seem to figure out at what point do I stop dreaming so large. A big part of me says never, but there is a little part in there that is just saying, settle down already. I love where I live, but I don't want to be stuck here. I can't be stuck here.
I dwell on these things so much, that everything gets all tangled. Responsible me and daydreamy me are duking this one out, but no one's winning yet. Sometimes, I really wish I could turn off my head.
I meant for today to be a New York post, but that'll have to wait until Monday or Tuesday. My computer at home is trying to kill me with it's slowness. I have no idea what is wrong with it, but I sure can't afford a new one. wamp wamp.
I hope I don't sound whiny or anything in this post, I just honestly dwell on things way to much, and it is nice to put it out there once in a while.
On a completely random note, how great was Glee last night?? So many lines made me laugh hysterically.
"She's the one they made me talk to when they found out I was keeping that bird in my locker."
"Okay. I'm just gonna come out and say it. This is a singing competition. I don't know how those deaf kids got in. They weren't singing, they were like honking and everyone was crying and I was like, "Get off the stage. You're terrible and you're making me super uncomfortable."
"You'll be adding revenge to the long list of things you're no good at, right next to being married, running a high school glee club and finding a hairstyle that doesn't look like a lesbian."
Bwahaha. It's like the only show I never miss.
Anyways. This is the last quarter life crisis post I'll write for a while. Back to puppies and travel stories!
I've been thinking lately about settling, and at what point a person should give up on their dreams. Here's the thing-there is this job coming up that everybody thinks I should apply for. It's full time, 9 to 5, doing communications, which is what I went to school for. I think I would have a fair chance of getting it. It would be an okay job. The pay is good and there are even benefits (omg, benefits!). But still, I waffle. I mean, this is clearly all hypothetical at this point, because I don't have the job, but I just can't help thinking, "what if". If I did apply for this job, and I got it, I would have to put all my plans on the back burner. On the one hand, I think I would be settling.
Is it irresponsible of me, to say "to hell with benefits, and large gobs of money, I want to work with dogs for a living. I want to travel, see the world, and I want to write about it." Would it be more adult, more responsible of me to just say, "Yes. I need to buy a house, get married, settle down. Save enough money for retirement. That'll be enough. You can travel when you retire".
But. I don't want to be 80 years old, staring out the window, thinking of all the things I could have done, but didn't.
The money for this job is extremely good, and everything I want to do costs money. More money than I have now, and more money then I could ever make at this job. So, I think to myself, perhaps it would be wise to really try for this job, and just save money. But then I fear I would become stuck and comfortable.
I just don't know you guys. Life is short. There's a big world out there, and while I've seen a lot, there is still so much more.
Maybe I'm making it too big a deal, being slightly too dramatic. I just can't seem to figure out at what point do I stop dreaming so large. A big part of me says never, but there is a little part in there that is just saying, settle down already. I love where I live, but I don't want to be stuck here. I can't be stuck here.
I dwell on these things so much, that everything gets all tangled. Responsible me and daydreamy me are duking this one out, but no one's winning yet. Sometimes, I really wish I could turn off my head.
I meant for today to be a New York post, but that'll have to wait until Monday or Tuesday. My computer at home is trying to kill me with it's slowness. I have no idea what is wrong with it, but I sure can't afford a new one. wamp wamp.
I hope I don't sound whiny or anything in this post, I just honestly dwell on things way to much, and it is nice to put it out there once in a while.
On a completely random note, how great was Glee last night?? So many lines made me laugh hysterically.
"She's the one they made me talk to when they found out I was keeping that bird in my locker."
"Okay. I'm just gonna come out and say it. This is a singing competition. I don't know how those deaf kids got in. They weren't singing, they were like honking and everyone was crying and I was like, "Get off the stage. You're terrible and you're making me super uncomfortable."
"You'll be adding revenge to the long list of things you're no good at, right next to being married, running a high school glee club and finding a hairstyle that doesn't look like a lesbian."
Bwahaha. It's like the only show I never miss.
Anyways. This is the last quarter life crisis post I'll write for a while. Back to puppies and travel stories!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Travel Tuesday-An Adventure in the Mountains
Today’s story is a short tale of my horse riding adventure in Poland. This would be much better with some pictures, but I suppose I just need to work with what I’ve got here. I’ve adapted this story from my travel blog which I wrote while I was away this Spring. I’m thinking I’ll leave this one pretty much exactly as it is in the journal. This story is a slightly different format than the others! Enjoy!
“Okay, the farther east I get, the more wonked out the computer keyboards get. Please excuse any grammar or spelling errors!! It is allll the computer.
Zakopane is a very cute little city…right in the Tatra Mountains. Everybody is friendly, there are cheese and bread stands filling the streets, and it just smells…fresh.
Today we went horseback riding, which I was totally looking forward to, because yay horses! When me and Deanna initially signed up, we told Carlos our tour manager that we were beginners, because while we have both ridden horses before, we could in no way be considered good at it. But he was like, “if you say beginner, you will have to just stay in the pen area, so I am going to write you down for advanced.” Warning sign one. But we were just like…okay, that’s fine, we will deal with it when we actually get there.
So we got into a car (we being Me, Deanna and Nikki), with this polish woman,who drove us to the horse farm. It was beautiful. We get there, and standing before us were three of the most effin huge horses I have ever seen in my life. I was like…ummm do you have one half this size?? I cannot emphasize enough how large these horses were. We may as well have been riding elephants, although that very likely would have been less scary. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Giant horses-warning sign two of impending death. Instructor that does not speak english-number 3. horses that only understand polish,number 4. Can you see where this is going?? I mean, I love horses, and these horses were absolutely beautiful, but holy shit, I could tell this might not turn out well. The guy working there had to actually lift me onto the horse. The stirrup was so high that I could not physically boost myself up. The instructor told us that the word “volo” means “slow” in Polish. “This is all you need”, she assured. We tried to tell her that we weren’t expert horse riders, but I really don’t think she understood us.
Off we went. We walked through the woods, and at one part we had to let go of our horse and move branches out of the way. Hmmm get your eye poked by a tree branch or dangle precariously off your giant horse? What to choose, what to choose. We went down rocky slopes; we walked on bolder covered paths. We went through the river (which was awesome). Deanna’s horse fell on some rocks at one point, but she managed to right herself. We did all this while walking at a nice pace. It was leisurely, and the scenery was beautiful. When I picture riding horses, this is basically what I picture. Giant open fields filled with wildflowers, mountains in the background, all while walking at a slow and non life threatening pace.
W eventually get to the end of the one road , and the instructor said to me, “you want to try trotting?” In my mind I was like, well no,not really. But then she yelled,”KICK YOUR HORSE!!”, which I did, but he did not move. SO THEN, she gets out this whip thing, and just slaps my horse on the ass, and he takes off like a bat out of hell, all while I was clinging to his back for dear life. I screamed at the top of my lungs, and I’m pretty sure the whole of Zakopane heard me, because my scream ricocheted off the mountains. The instructor was behind me yelling, “STOP, STOP!!!” Which…I had no idea how to get my horse to stop. I was pulling reins, I was yelling an increasingly panicky “Volo! Volo!! Volo!!!!”, but my accent must of been off, cause horsey did not stop until we were up the road and around the corner.
The instructor trotted up on her horse, stopped beside me, and proceeded to yell at me, because I had grabbed that little handle on the saddle instead of the reins. I was like, “lady, I thought I was going to die, I had to grab something!” She just stared at me. Nikki and Deanna came riding up, hysterically laughing. “That”, Nikki said, “was hilarious. But you are doing a really good job!!”
Deanna and I trailed behind for the rest of the ride and chatted about our horror of a horse riding instructor, and our complete dumbness in thinking this was a good idea. We made it back to the farm in one piece and to get off the horse, the man again had to lift me off while I slid down the horses side. I was the very picture of grace. I backed away slowly from the horse, all while thinking I would not be horse riding again anytime soon.
So concluded our horse riding adventure. It is funny now, but at the time, I was certain death was coming to greet me in the form of a giant Polish mountain horse.
And I haven't even gone near a horse since!!
“Okay, the farther east I get, the more wonked out the computer keyboards get. Please excuse any grammar or spelling errors!! It is allll the computer.
Zakopane is a very cute little city…right in the Tatra Mountains. Everybody is friendly, there are cheese and bread stands filling the streets, and it just smells…fresh.
Today we went horseback riding, which I was totally looking forward to, because yay horses! When me and Deanna initially signed up, we told Carlos our tour manager that we were beginners, because while we have both ridden horses before, we could in no way be considered good at it. But he was like, “if you say beginner, you will have to just stay in the pen area, so I am going to write you down for advanced.” Warning sign one. But we were just like…okay, that’s fine, we will deal with it when we actually get there.
So we got into a car (we being Me, Deanna and Nikki), with this polish woman,who drove us to the horse farm. It was beautiful. We get there, and standing before us were three of the most effin huge horses I have ever seen in my life. I was like…ummm do you have one half this size?? I cannot emphasize enough how large these horses were. We may as well have been riding elephants, although that very likely would have been less scary. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Giant horses-warning sign two of impending death. Instructor that does not speak english-number 3. horses that only understand polish,number 4. Can you see where this is going?? I mean, I love horses, and these horses were absolutely beautiful, but holy shit, I could tell this might not turn out well. The guy working there had to actually lift me onto the horse. The stirrup was so high that I could not physically boost myself up. The instructor told us that the word “volo” means “slow” in Polish. “This is all you need”, she assured. We tried to tell her that we weren’t expert horse riders, but I really don’t think she understood us.
Off we went. We walked through the woods, and at one part we had to let go of our horse and move branches out of the way. Hmmm get your eye poked by a tree branch or dangle precariously off your giant horse? What to choose, what to choose. We went down rocky slopes; we walked on bolder covered paths. We went through the river (which was awesome). Deanna’s horse fell on some rocks at one point, but she managed to right herself. We did all this while walking at a nice pace. It was leisurely, and the scenery was beautiful. When I picture riding horses, this is basically what I picture. Giant open fields filled with wildflowers, mountains in the background, all while walking at a slow and non life threatening pace.
W eventually get to the end of the one road , and the instructor said to me, “you want to try trotting?” In my mind I was like, well no,not really. But then she yelled,”KICK YOUR HORSE!!”, which I did, but he did not move. SO THEN, she gets out this whip thing, and just slaps my horse on the ass, and he takes off like a bat out of hell, all while I was clinging to his back for dear life. I screamed at the top of my lungs, and I’m pretty sure the whole of Zakopane heard me, because my scream ricocheted off the mountains. The instructor was behind me yelling, “STOP, STOP!!!” Which…I had no idea how to get my horse to stop. I was pulling reins, I was yelling an increasingly panicky “Volo! Volo!! Volo!!!!”, but my accent must of been off, cause horsey did not stop until we were up the road and around the corner.
The instructor trotted up on her horse, stopped beside me, and proceeded to yell at me, because I had grabbed that little handle on the saddle instead of the reins. I was like, “lady, I thought I was going to die, I had to grab something!” She just stared at me. Nikki and Deanna came riding up, hysterically laughing. “That”, Nikki said, “was hilarious. But you are doing a really good job!!”
Deanna and I trailed behind for the rest of the ride and chatted about our horror of a horse riding instructor, and our complete dumbness in thinking this was a good idea. We made it back to the farm in one piece and to get off the horse, the man again had to lift me off while I slid down the horses side. I was the very picture of grace. I backed away slowly from the horse, all while thinking I would not be horse riding again anytime soon.
So concluded our horse riding adventure. It is funny now, but at the time, I was certain death was coming to greet me in the form of a giant Polish mountain horse.
And I haven't even gone near a horse since!!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Travel Tuesday-A Ride on the Bus
I’m always a big fan of taking public transportation when I travel, because a) it’s just cheaper, and b) it is way better to see a place the way locals do. I am completely directionally challenged, and have found myself lost on foreign public transportation more times than I can count, but as a means of getting place to place I still prefer either walking or taking the subway/bus.
I was in Dublin with my parents and we decided we would go take a tour of the Guinness Factory, which is about a ten minute bus ride from the city centre. Luckily my parents agree with my “no taxi” philosophy, and we hopped on the bus to go down to the brewery. It was crowded, and it was standing room only. We made our way to the back of the bus and stood next to a woman with a small boy in the stroller. Nobody was really talking for the first couple of stops, but one of us must have made eye contact, because suddenly the woman was our new best friend.
There were no introductions, no “where you from”, her main mission was to impress us with her toddlers anatomy knowledge. The woman was clearly intoxicated, and she stumbled and slurred her words.
“Ssssshow the family where your poo comes from!!” she directed the child in a thick Irish accent. The child stared at her with a look I interpreted to mean “mother please, you are embarrassing me.” Personally, I think two years old is a little soon to be mortified of your parents, but in this case, I was totally on the kids’ side.
“I said, show them where your poo comes from!!” she said again, louder this time. My parents and I exchanged awkward glances with the other people on the bus, and they smiled back in that way people do when they mean to convey their sympathies at your situation, but have no intention of getting involved.
“Ohhhhh, he knows this!” the lady said to my mother, “show them where your poo comes from!!”
“It’s okay” my mother said, “he’s probably just being shy”, trying to alleviate the situation.
“No. No. Fine then!” throwing the child a fiery glance, “SHOW ME WHERE YOUR POO COMES FROM” she hollered. Everyone on the bus turned around and stared. It seemed to be taking forever to get to the brewery.
“Hey!!” she was suddenly shouting, pointing towards the front of the bus. “It’s our stop now!!” A small child started making his way from the front of the bus to the back where we were standing. The three of them got off at the next stop. Once they were off, everyone shuffled kind of uncomfortably.
“Yup”, one man finally said, “she’s on the bus with them all the time, every day, always drunk”. The situation was comical in one way, slightly tragic for the children in another.
We finally made it to the brewery, and hopped off the bus.
“That was pretty much the best bus ride ever”, I remarked as we made our way towards the entrance. We laughed about it, and then continued on the tour of the brewery. We came back from the tour with bags full of Guinness related items. Hats, mugs, chocolate bars-we had ‘em.
Standing at the bus stop, waiting for another bus to take us back to the hotel, it had started to rain. Large puddles had formed on the road, and we huddled under the bus shelter. A man came staggering towards us, walking partly on the road, partly on the sidewalk. He was clearly intoxicated. A car drove by him and splashed him with a huge amount of rain water.
“HEY!!!” he screamed, “You fucking wanker, come back here!!!” He started to run drunkenly after the car, but realized soon enough he was never going to catch it. He came stumbling back over to where we were standing. Being the only three people at the bus stop, he stopped and stared directly at us. His face was a mess; he had clearly been in a fight as his nose look broken and bloody, and his eye was blackened.
“Good day,” he said, directing his words towards my mother and I. “I’m very sorry for using such language in the presence of ladies.”
My mother and I stared for a minute before she said, “it’s okay!” He went on his way.
The bus came shortly after, and once again it was packed. We made our way towards the back, the crowd trying to make room as we went.
“Hello!!!”, we heard a familiar voice call out. “He’ll do it now. Show them where your poo comes from!!!”
And that is why I will always, always, choose public transportation to get me places when I travel.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Travel Tuesday-The Crazy Roommate
I've been slightly MIA from the blogging world lately because I have been super busy, but I'm going to do my best to continue posting three times a week. The rest of November is still pretty busy, and then I"m heading to NYC at the beginning of December for a couple of days (yayyyyyy!!)
Anyway, enjoy today's Travel Tuesday!! This story took place during my first trip to Europe (different trip than Paul).
“Excusez-moi monsieur, mon ami, ummmmm, she needs to know her ummm how do you say, her exit, no, no, no her, departure gate! Oui, oui.” Jess started off in French and eventually trailed into speaking with a fake French accent.
The employee behind the desk gave us both a weird look, and said in a flat voice,
“It’ll be up on the screen shortly”.
We laughed, said “thanks” and went on our way. Jess had decided earlier in the day she really enjoyed French Canadian accents, and therefore was going to talk in one for the rest of the day. This didn’t shock me; nothing shocked me with this girl.
We were in London, England, getting ready to fly home to our respective Canadian cities of Toronto and Edmonton. My departure gate number finally flashed on the screen, and we slowly made our way to the waiting area. Our gates happened to be right next to each other, so we stalled and talked for a little bit longer. When it was finally time to board, my eyes welled up, and I pulled her into a hug.
“I am going to miss you so much!!!”
“I’m going to miss you too!!” We broke apart, gave each other a weak little wave, and tried to stop crying. I settled into my seat for the 8 hour flight back to Toronto. What a trip.
Three weeks earlier…
“I told you!” the girl shouted, “I wanted a private room in the hostel, not a fucking room with 8 fucking other people!!” I glanced over from where I was seated in the internet café. The girl was a tiny bit of a thing, and she had on a black hoodie with cat ears on top. She continued yelling. Whoa, was all I remember thinking. I left the café, stepping as far away from the girl as I could, then wandered back to my hotel and got ready for bed. I had to be up at 4am the next day to meet up with the tour group. We would be leaving at 5am sharp, and for the next three weeks would be making our way around Europe.
I got up in time, and although I wasn’t looking so hot (it was 4am, what do you want?), I was beyond excited to get the adventure started. I got to the meeting spot with the group after dragging my luggage down the street, and boarded the bus. As I got on, I recognized her, the girl in the cat hoodie, which she was incidentally still wearing. Yeah, friggin, right, was all I remember thinking. I sat far away from her, in a seat by myself, and shortly after that, the bus was en route to Dover, where we took a lengthy ferry ride across the English Channel. After that, we were back on the bus, and would be arriving in Brussels within a couple of hours. The girl in the cat hoodie had become a mere blip on my radar; there were so many people on the tour, I could likely avoid her the entire trip.
We made it to our first hotel and the tour manager gathered us all in the hotel lobby, where she would call out our roommate situation for the rest of the trip. Numbers dwindled until it was only Cat Hoodie Girl and I.
“Megan and Jess, you’re together!” Lou smiled brightly at the both of us. You have got to be kidding me, I thought.
We made our way up to our room making awkward conversation. She talked all about her boyfriend, and then she told me about all the boys she intended to sleep with on this trip. Her speech concluded with “What happens in Europe, stays in Europe.”
I was less than thrilled to be stuck with this girl as my roommate; I couldn’t imagine spending the next three weeks with her. It soon became apparent though, that I would be the one that was going to have to adjust, because she clearly wasn’t going to.
We had a break through in Amsterdam; up until that point we hadn’t really hung out. We saw each other at night obviously, but during the day we went our separate ways.
“What are you going to do today?” she inquired the first morning we were in Amsterdam, as we were getting ready.
“I’m going to go check out the Anne Frank House for sure”, I said, my inner nerd jumping with complete joy and excitement.
“Anne who?” she said, “Mind if I tag along?”
I was kind of floored she had never heard of Anne Frank, but I said of course I didn’t mind. Four hours later we were making our way out of the Anne Frank House and she was bawling.
“That was fucking amazing. Thank you!” she said.
That night our tour group was taking a group outing to a sex show (Hey, what’s more awkward then watching live porn with people you just met two days prior? Not much!) This place seemed pretty sketchy, but looking back, I’m pretty sure it was tame considering what could have been. At one point, some of the performers wanted members of the audience to get up on stage. Who was the first and only person to volunteer from our group? Jess. The audience volunteer portion of the show started with people eating a banana out of a ladies vagina and ended with a masturbating gorilla. The lights went on, and we all got up with the same sort of shell shocked look on our face. Except Jess, she was ecstatic.
That night I was slumbering away peacefully when Jess came into the room, stumbled on my bed and drunkenly slurred, “hey, do you have a condom??” I did have one, but I was pissed she woke me up so I pretended to be asleep. Eventually she went away. Then she came back an hour later, shout-whispering, “I totally just had sex with a random guy on a park bench!” The pretend sleep continued. My brain was saying, lalalala, so don’t want to hear this!
By the time we had made it to France, I was used to Jess’s antics. I loved the girl to death when she was sober, but when she was drunk, look the hell out. She was hilarious, she was always up for anything and she was just as excited to be travelling as I was. But she woke me up every single night of the trip; inevitably I was always in bed before her, no matter how late I was out. Sometimes when she got back to the room, she would grab the phone and proceed to have the longest, loudest conversations with her boyfriend in Alberta. She fell drunkenly onto my bed more than once. She fell down and smashed her head on more than one occasion, and I heard about way more rendezvous in random European parks then I ever cared too. She danced naked on our balcony in Nice, waving and screaming at cars while touching herself (I shit you not). I made a fast exit from our room and went and found my other friends.
“Jess is dancing naked on our balcony!!!” I told them. They just nodded and laughed, and told me I could totally sleep on the floor of their room if I wanted.
I could handle all this though, I mean, she really wasn’t hurting anybody. She was annoying the shit out of me, but it made for some pretty amusing phone calls home. There was only one time I wanted to throttle her. We were in Italy, just outside of Venice, and by some miracle we both ended up back in the room at the same approximate time. We were just going to sleep when we heard the door open. She was drunk and sleeping topless, and was completely out of it. I shot straight up in bed, and called out weakly, “who’s there?” I could hear people approaching the beds. I flicked on the lights, and standing before us were two Italian men in their underwear. One in boxers, one in briefs.
“Ummmm”, I stuttered, fearing slightly for my life. This is not how I want to die!! I was inwardly freaking right out.
“Did you want something??” I continued. They came closer still, and one of them bent down and picked something up off the floor. Jess’s bra. Around his chest it went, and he fastened it shut. He proceeded to dance around the room with her bra on. I think this was the one point of the trip where both Jess and I were equally shocked at something that was happening. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry (I laugh now, because that shit is hysterical!! But while it was actually happening? A little bit scary!)
“Who the hell are these guys??” I hissed at Jess out of the corner of my mouth.
“I think I met them in the bar…maybe they followed me up??”
“You think?? Jesus...” I trailed off and turned back to the men.
“Could you leave now? Please? Please leave!!” my voice became higher and more desperate with every word I spoke.
Naturally they spoke little to no English. The word they did know? Kiss.
“First, we must have a kiss”, one of them said, the other one nodding in happy agreement.
I folded my arms across my chest and glared at Jess. Go for it. She wrapped the blanket around her chest, and jumped out of bed, pecking them each quickly on the cheek. Then they left. I barricaded our unlockable door with my suitcase. Jess was snoring away by the time I got back in my bed.
The trip ended shortly thereafter, and somehow, Jess and I had become friends. We soon found ourselves at the airport saying a tearful goodbye. I wouldn’t miss sharing a room with her, but I would miss her. Sober her. Despite all the sketchy situations, I am glad we ended up roommates, and I can honestly say, I haven’t come across anyone quite like her since, and I highly doubt I ever will again.
Anyway, enjoy today's Travel Tuesday!! This story took place during my first trip to Europe (different trip than Paul).
“Excusez-moi monsieur, mon ami, ummmmm, she needs to know her ummm how do you say, her exit, no, no, no her, departure gate! Oui, oui.” Jess started off in French and eventually trailed into speaking with a fake French accent.
The employee behind the desk gave us both a weird look, and said in a flat voice,
“It’ll be up on the screen shortly”.
We laughed, said “thanks” and went on our way. Jess had decided earlier in the day she really enjoyed French Canadian accents, and therefore was going to talk in one for the rest of the day. This didn’t shock me; nothing shocked me with this girl.
We were in London, England, getting ready to fly home to our respective Canadian cities of Toronto and Edmonton. My departure gate number finally flashed on the screen, and we slowly made our way to the waiting area. Our gates happened to be right next to each other, so we stalled and talked for a little bit longer. When it was finally time to board, my eyes welled up, and I pulled her into a hug.
“I am going to miss you so much!!!”
“I’m going to miss you too!!” We broke apart, gave each other a weak little wave, and tried to stop crying. I settled into my seat for the 8 hour flight back to Toronto. What a trip.
Three weeks earlier…
“I told you!” the girl shouted, “I wanted a private room in the hostel, not a fucking room with 8 fucking other people!!” I glanced over from where I was seated in the internet café. The girl was a tiny bit of a thing, and she had on a black hoodie with cat ears on top. She continued yelling. Whoa, was all I remember thinking. I left the café, stepping as far away from the girl as I could, then wandered back to my hotel and got ready for bed. I had to be up at 4am the next day to meet up with the tour group. We would be leaving at 5am sharp, and for the next three weeks would be making our way around Europe.
I got up in time, and although I wasn’t looking so hot (it was 4am, what do you want?), I was beyond excited to get the adventure started. I got to the meeting spot with the group after dragging my luggage down the street, and boarded the bus. As I got on, I recognized her, the girl in the cat hoodie, which she was incidentally still wearing. Yeah, friggin, right, was all I remember thinking. I sat far away from her, in a seat by myself, and shortly after that, the bus was en route to Dover, where we took a lengthy ferry ride across the English Channel. After that, we were back on the bus, and would be arriving in Brussels within a couple of hours. The girl in the cat hoodie had become a mere blip on my radar; there were so many people on the tour, I could likely avoid her the entire trip.
We made it to our first hotel and the tour manager gathered us all in the hotel lobby, where she would call out our roommate situation for the rest of the trip. Numbers dwindled until it was only Cat Hoodie Girl and I.
“Megan and Jess, you’re together!” Lou smiled brightly at the both of us. You have got to be kidding me, I thought.
We made our way up to our room making awkward conversation. She talked all about her boyfriend, and then she told me about all the boys she intended to sleep with on this trip. Her speech concluded with “What happens in Europe, stays in Europe.”
I was less than thrilled to be stuck with this girl as my roommate; I couldn’t imagine spending the next three weeks with her. It soon became apparent though, that I would be the one that was going to have to adjust, because she clearly wasn’t going to.
We had a break through in Amsterdam; up until that point we hadn’t really hung out. We saw each other at night obviously, but during the day we went our separate ways.
“What are you going to do today?” she inquired the first morning we were in Amsterdam, as we were getting ready.
“I’m going to go check out the Anne Frank House for sure”, I said, my inner nerd jumping with complete joy and excitement.
“Anne who?” she said, “Mind if I tag along?”
I was kind of floored she had never heard of Anne Frank, but I said of course I didn’t mind. Four hours later we were making our way out of the Anne Frank House and she was bawling.
“That was fucking amazing. Thank you!” she said.
That night our tour group was taking a group outing to a sex show (Hey, what’s more awkward then watching live porn with people you just met two days prior? Not much!) This place seemed pretty sketchy, but looking back, I’m pretty sure it was tame considering what could have been. At one point, some of the performers wanted members of the audience to get up on stage. Who was the first and only person to volunteer from our group? Jess. The audience volunteer portion of the show started with people eating a banana out of a ladies vagina and ended with a masturbating gorilla. The lights went on, and we all got up with the same sort of shell shocked look on our face. Except Jess, she was ecstatic.
That night I was slumbering away peacefully when Jess came into the room, stumbled on my bed and drunkenly slurred, “hey, do you have a condom??” I did have one, but I was pissed she woke me up so I pretended to be asleep. Eventually she went away. Then she came back an hour later, shout-whispering, “I totally just had sex with a random guy on a park bench!” The pretend sleep continued. My brain was saying, lalalala, so don’t want to hear this!
By the time we had made it to France, I was used to Jess’s antics. I loved the girl to death when she was sober, but when she was drunk, look the hell out. She was hilarious, she was always up for anything and she was just as excited to be travelling as I was. But she woke me up every single night of the trip; inevitably I was always in bed before her, no matter how late I was out. Sometimes when she got back to the room, she would grab the phone and proceed to have the longest, loudest conversations with her boyfriend in Alberta. She fell drunkenly onto my bed more than once. She fell down and smashed her head on more than one occasion, and I heard about way more rendezvous in random European parks then I ever cared too. She danced naked on our balcony in Nice, waving and screaming at cars while touching herself (I shit you not). I made a fast exit from our room and went and found my other friends.
“Jess is dancing naked on our balcony!!!” I told them. They just nodded and laughed, and told me I could totally sleep on the floor of their room if I wanted.
I could handle all this though, I mean, she really wasn’t hurting anybody. She was annoying the shit out of me, but it made for some pretty amusing phone calls home. There was only one time I wanted to throttle her. We were in Italy, just outside of Venice, and by some miracle we both ended up back in the room at the same approximate time. We were just going to sleep when we heard the door open. She was drunk and sleeping topless, and was completely out of it. I shot straight up in bed, and called out weakly, “who’s there?” I could hear people approaching the beds. I flicked on the lights, and standing before us were two Italian men in their underwear. One in boxers, one in briefs.
“Ummmm”, I stuttered, fearing slightly for my life. This is not how I want to die!! I was inwardly freaking right out.
“Did you want something??” I continued. They came closer still, and one of them bent down and picked something up off the floor. Jess’s bra. Around his chest it went, and he fastened it shut. He proceeded to dance around the room with her bra on. I think this was the one point of the trip where both Jess and I were equally shocked at something that was happening. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry (I laugh now, because that shit is hysterical!! But while it was actually happening? A little bit scary!)
“Who the hell are these guys??” I hissed at Jess out of the corner of my mouth.
“I think I met them in the bar…maybe they followed me up??”
“You think?? Jesus...” I trailed off and turned back to the men.
“Could you leave now? Please? Please leave!!” my voice became higher and more desperate with every word I spoke.
Naturally they spoke little to no English. The word they did know? Kiss.
“First, we must have a kiss”, one of them said, the other one nodding in happy agreement.
I folded my arms across my chest and glared at Jess. Go for it. She wrapped the blanket around her chest, and jumped out of bed, pecking them each quickly on the cheek. Then they left. I barricaded our unlockable door with my suitcase. Jess was snoring away by the time I got back in my bed.
The trip ended shortly thereafter, and somehow, Jess and I had become friends. We soon found ourselves at the airport saying a tearful goodbye. I wouldn’t miss sharing a room with her, but I would miss her. Sober her. Despite all the sketchy situations, I am glad we ended up roommates, and I can honestly say, I haven’t come across anyone quite like her since, and I highly doubt I ever will again.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Travel Tuesday-Part Three
If you have missed them, you can read part one of this story here, and part two of this story here.
The bus drove away, and I slowly broke away from the group hug.
“Well, I feel dumb!” I said
“Don’t even worry about it”, replied Allison.
For someone I had hated with an intense passion the night before, I sure was glad she was there now.
The four of us (Me, Allison and two other girls) walked back to our hostel. We decided we would meet up later and go explore Budapest some more.
I wandered up to my room, which felt extremely empty now that Deanna was gone. I stared for several minutes, then went and hopped in the shower.
In about an hour we all met downstairs and made our way over to the Budapest Castle, stopping for lunch first in the market. As we walked along the dusty streets, weaving between crowds, we chatted about Paul.
“I knew it”, said Allison, “I knew it the night we had dinner in Zakopane!”
“Yeah, you guys were like, oblivious to the world”, chimed in Mel.
“I wish something like that would happen to me! I’ve been travelling for months now, and nothing!” said Jen.
“So, what are you guys going to do after??” Allison said.
I knew they meant well, but all I really wanted to do was to tell them to please stop talking because I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t really think there was anyway to have an “after”, so thinking about it just made me feel worse. On the rest of the walk to the castle, I heard countless travelling love stories. About how so and so met so and so in Australia, but one of them had to go back home, but months later they were reunited and got married. Stories like that. And believe me, everybody has one, or so it seemed.
By the time we made it to the castle, talk had drifted to other things, like how the hell we were going to climb that hill in such heat, and how badly we wanted to be at the top of the mountain. We eventually found the elevator which brought us up to the castle. The Budapest Castle is weird; it is like an entire village unto itself. Winding streets lined with shops, restaurants and statues everywhere. You wouldn’t know it from the bottom, but Budapest Castle was huge! For some reason, we decided it would be a great idea to go explore the Labyrinth. Just a forewarning to anybody who is going to Budapest, don’t go into the Labyrinth unless you can somehow scam the student rate, otherwise you’ll be pissed. It’s basically miles and miles of long tunnels and huge cavernous rooms that were used as bomb shelters in WW2. There is one area that says “enter if you dare”, which ended up being just a series of pitch black rooms. You walk in, the door shuts, and you can see absolutely nothing. The only way to get out is to follow a rope which winds itself all the way around and through the rooms, finally leading you to the exit. The whole time in there I thought I was going to shit my pants because I was expecting someone to jump out and scream, but no, we just followed that damn rope for a good 20 minutes. I have never been so excited to leave a room in my life.
Anyway! The day continued as such. We went out for dinner, hung out on the patio of our hostel with some wine, and went to bed relatively early. I was in my bed, just falling asleep, when the phone started ringing. I immediately panicked, as one does when the phone rings late at night. I jumped up and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello???”
“Megan?” crackle, crackle. “It’s Paul!” crackle, crackle, crackle. “I hunted your new room down!!”
I was filled with an extreme amount of happiness. “Oh my gosh, it’s so good to hear from you!!”
We discussed how depressing the bus scene was earlier that day. He told me all about Bled, which is apparently the most beautiful place in the world. I was so bitter to be missing it. I told him about our wanderings around Budapest and about a random cat sanctuary we found.
“You are not walking anywhere at night by yourself are you??” he questioned.
We chatted until his phone ran out, and I told him I would call him soon. I went to bed happy.
The next morning, Allison, Jen, Mel and I decided to meet and go to Hotel Gellert for the day. We were all dying for some pedicures. My last day in Budapest was so much fun, and we were all giggly and happy, and it was one of those moments that was just…perfect. I caught the train to Vienna that night, and when I arrived, quite late at night, I was hit with extreme loneliness. I was absolutely alone again. The trip had gone full circle.
It was pretty late, so I caught a cab and went straight to my hotel and went to bed. I woke up the next day ready to whip out the German language skills I had acquired in Munich and Salzburg and explore. And explore I did; I walked for hours every day. I was in Vienna for four days, and during that time, Paul and I exchanged a flurry of emails. It turns out he was going to be in Austria the day after I was leaving. I finally got ahold of him on his cell phone the night before I flew home and again we chatted until my phone card ran out.
I left for the airport the next day with the feeling that I would probably never see him again. It made me sad, but it just was what it was.
I got back to Canada and slowly got back into my routine. I got random phone calls from him, but I never managed to catch them. One of them was from 11 o’clock my time, which was about 5am his time. I finally got him on the phone one day as I was walking to work…I inquired about the 5am phone call.
“Oh yeah, umm, I was out with my friends, and missing you, so I called. I didn’t wake you did I?”
We chatted until I was at work.
That was the last time I ever spoke to him on the phone.
Now let’s fast forward two months (does this story ever end, you’re all wondering?? Well, I reply, I hope so).
I had basically moved on at this point, and I honestly did not expect to ever hear from him again. Like I said, it just was what it was. Then one day I signed on to MSN, and a message popped up “Paul has added you as a contact”. Interesting, I thought. Over the next several weeks, we chatted several times, often for hours. Then randomly one day he said, “so, how far are you from New York City?” To which I replied, “Fairly close by plane, and about 8 hours by car.”
He went on to tell me that he was thinking of going to New York this fall/winter, and maybe we could meet up there. He wanted to rent an apartment and really spend some time exploring the city. He was looking into places to stay, yada yada, and I said of course I would visit him. I didn’t even hesitate because 1) New York City is my favourite place in the world without a doubt, and 2) I wanted to see him.
A couple of days after this New York conversation, I decided to try and look up his blog that he had mentioned in passing, during one of our conversations in Europe. It was so easy…all I did was type his full name plus “photo blog”, and it popped right up. And what was right there as the newest entry? Pictures from a recent trip he and his girlfriend had taken to Amsterdam. Yup, his girlfriend. I went back further in his archives, and low and behold, this was the same girlfriend that he had back in April, pre Europe trip. The one that he told me he had broken up with.
I felt like the biggest moron on the planet, and quite frankly, like a huge sucker. For a while, I tried to justify it, thinking maybe that they had broken up before he left for Europe and got back together when he got back. But that wasn’t true, and I knew it.
I emailed Deanna after I made this discovery, and her reply: “what a massive tool”. And I guess it was true.
It’s been, oh, about a month now since I’ve “spoken” to him, and I still don’t know what to think about the entire situation. Aside from the obvious douchy behaviour, he is still one of the cutest, more charming boys I have ever met. And I guess it just is what it is. Or was what it was rather. Part of me wants to send him a slurry of emails telling him off, the other, self preserving part of me wants to just let it go.
What I do know is that next time around I need to be extra careful about the cute ones with accents.
So that concludes this three part series! The next travel Tuesday will involve no cute British boys!
The bus drove away, and I slowly broke away from the group hug.
“Well, I feel dumb!” I said
“Don’t even worry about it”, replied Allison.
For someone I had hated with an intense passion the night before, I sure was glad she was there now.
The four of us (Me, Allison and two other girls) walked back to our hostel. We decided we would meet up later and go explore Budapest some more.
I wandered up to my room, which felt extremely empty now that Deanna was gone. I stared for several minutes, then went and hopped in the shower.
In about an hour we all met downstairs and made our way over to the Budapest Castle, stopping for lunch first in the market. As we walked along the dusty streets, weaving between crowds, we chatted about Paul.
“I knew it”, said Allison, “I knew it the night we had dinner in Zakopane!”
“Yeah, you guys were like, oblivious to the world”, chimed in Mel.
“I wish something like that would happen to me! I’ve been travelling for months now, and nothing!” said Jen.
“So, what are you guys going to do after??” Allison said.
I knew they meant well, but all I really wanted to do was to tell them to please stop talking because I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t really think there was anyway to have an “after”, so thinking about it just made me feel worse. On the rest of the walk to the castle, I heard countless travelling love stories. About how so and so met so and so in Australia, but one of them had to go back home, but months later they were reunited and got married. Stories like that. And believe me, everybody has one, or so it seemed.
By the time we made it to the castle, talk had drifted to other things, like how the hell we were going to climb that hill in such heat, and how badly we wanted to be at the top of the mountain. We eventually found the elevator which brought us up to the castle. The Budapest Castle is weird; it is like an entire village unto itself. Winding streets lined with shops, restaurants and statues everywhere. You wouldn’t know it from the bottom, but Budapest Castle was huge! For some reason, we decided it would be a great idea to go explore the Labyrinth. Just a forewarning to anybody who is going to Budapest, don’t go into the Labyrinth unless you can somehow scam the student rate, otherwise you’ll be pissed. It’s basically miles and miles of long tunnels and huge cavernous rooms that were used as bomb shelters in WW2. There is one area that says “enter if you dare”, which ended up being just a series of pitch black rooms. You walk in, the door shuts, and you can see absolutely nothing. The only way to get out is to follow a rope which winds itself all the way around and through the rooms, finally leading you to the exit. The whole time in there I thought I was going to shit my pants because I was expecting someone to jump out and scream, but no, we just followed that damn rope for a good 20 minutes. I have never been so excited to leave a room in my life.
Anyway! The day continued as such. We went out for dinner, hung out on the patio of our hostel with some wine, and went to bed relatively early. I was in my bed, just falling asleep, when the phone started ringing. I immediately panicked, as one does when the phone rings late at night. I jumped up and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello???”
“Megan?” crackle, crackle. “It’s Paul!” crackle, crackle, crackle. “I hunted your new room down!!”
I was filled with an extreme amount of happiness. “Oh my gosh, it’s so good to hear from you!!”
We discussed how depressing the bus scene was earlier that day. He told me all about Bled, which is apparently the most beautiful place in the world. I was so bitter to be missing it. I told him about our wanderings around Budapest and about a random cat sanctuary we found.
“You are not walking anywhere at night by yourself are you??” he questioned.
We chatted until his phone ran out, and I told him I would call him soon. I went to bed happy.
The next morning, Allison, Jen, Mel and I decided to meet and go to Hotel Gellert for the day. We were all dying for some pedicures. My last day in Budapest was so much fun, and we were all giggly and happy, and it was one of those moments that was just…perfect. I caught the train to Vienna that night, and when I arrived, quite late at night, I was hit with extreme loneliness. I was absolutely alone again. The trip had gone full circle.
It was pretty late, so I caught a cab and went straight to my hotel and went to bed. I woke up the next day ready to whip out the German language skills I had acquired in Munich and Salzburg and explore. And explore I did; I walked for hours every day. I was in Vienna for four days, and during that time, Paul and I exchanged a flurry of emails. It turns out he was going to be in Austria the day after I was leaving. I finally got ahold of him on his cell phone the night before I flew home and again we chatted until my phone card ran out.
I left for the airport the next day with the feeling that I would probably never see him again. It made me sad, but it just was what it was.
I got back to Canada and slowly got back into my routine. I got random phone calls from him, but I never managed to catch them. One of them was from 11 o’clock my time, which was about 5am his time. I finally got him on the phone one day as I was walking to work…I inquired about the 5am phone call.
“Oh yeah, umm, I was out with my friends, and missing you, so I called. I didn’t wake you did I?”
We chatted until I was at work.
That was the last time I ever spoke to him on the phone.
Now let’s fast forward two months (does this story ever end, you’re all wondering?? Well, I reply, I hope so).
I had basically moved on at this point, and I honestly did not expect to ever hear from him again. Like I said, it just was what it was. Then one day I signed on to MSN, and a message popped up “Paul has added you as a contact”. Interesting, I thought. Over the next several weeks, we chatted several times, often for hours. Then randomly one day he said, “so, how far are you from New York City?” To which I replied, “Fairly close by plane, and about 8 hours by car.”
He went on to tell me that he was thinking of going to New York this fall/winter, and maybe we could meet up there. He wanted to rent an apartment and really spend some time exploring the city. He was looking into places to stay, yada yada, and I said of course I would visit him. I didn’t even hesitate because 1) New York City is my favourite place in the world without a doubt, and 2) I wanted to see him.
A couple of days after this New York conversation, I decided to try and look up his blog that he had mentioned in passing, during one of our conversations in Europe. It was so easy…all I did was type his full name plus “photo blog”, and it popped right up. And what was right there as the newest entry? Pictures from a recent trip he and his girlfriend had taken to Amsterdam. Yup, his girlfriend. I went back further in his archives, and low and behold, this was the same girlfriend that he had back in April, pre Europe trip. The one that he told me he had broken up with.
I felt like the biggest moron on the planet, and quite frankly, like a huge sucker. For a while, I tried to justify it, thinking maybe that they had broken up before he left for Europe and got back together when he got back. But that wasn’t true, and I knew it.
I emailed Deanna after I made this discovery, and her reply: “what a massive tool”. And I guess it was true.
It’s been, oh, about a month now since I’ve “spoken” to him, and I still don’t know what to think about the entire situation. Aside from the obvious douchy behaviour, he is still one of the cutest, more charming boys I have ever met. And I guess it just is what it is. Or was what it was rather. Part of me wants to send him a slurry of emails telling him off, the other, self preserving part of me wants to just let it go.
What I do know is that next time around I need to be extra careful about the cute ones with accents.
So that concludes this three part series! The next travel Tuesday will involve no cute British boys!
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