I'm sure back home they think I've lost my mind...

This is one of my favourite Ben Folds lyrics, and I often think it applies to me, as I am usually not "back home". I've spent two of the past 12 months back in Canada, the year before that I spent two and a half months in South America, and before that I spent most of four years studying in Halifax, a city almost 2000 kilometres from home. So the people I grew up with haven't really seen some of the crazy shit I've done in these foreign places (don't worry Mom and Dad, I haven't actually done any crazy shit).

So, when I decide to go back to Denmark for another year away from all my home friends and family, I can understand if peeps back home are thinking "So... what's Dan doing anyway?" Most people haven't seen the films I've worked on, so for all they know I really could be just fuckin' around and doing shit-all. Thankfully, that's not the case - I'm actually moving up in the world, working at a (slightly) paid internship. If all goes according to plan, this will lead to an actual film-related job, most likely somewhere in the UK, like London or Northern Ireland.

Yes, even Northern Ireland. Which might actually lead those back home to really say "Hmm, indeed it appears he has lost his mind." London is an insanely competitive place and Northern Ireland has a faltering (at best) job market. But I spent 3 days there visiting a wonderful young lady I met while travelling and, well... if things could work out so we're in the same city/country/neighbourhood... well then I just might pursue it. Even if it is with someone I've known for less than 3 months. Or at least someone to go travelling around Europe with in the summer and visit back and forth until then, despite friends of mine saying "Dan when are you going to get a proper job, get settled" yadda yadda yadda. And to tell ya the truth, I'm kinda excited for when I finally get the whole '9 to 5' package. But that's not for a while. I got what, 55... 60 more years, right? So, just trust me. I haven't lost my mind.

Not completely. ;)

So weird to be back...

...and until my next travels, check out my new blog: popgoesmyculture.wordpress.com.

Debriefing: Back "Home"

“Come on, you bastard, come home.” - the part 5 epitaph in Hearts in Atlantis, by Stephen King

Standing in line to check-in at the Air Transat counter in the Fiumenico Airport in Rome, I had never been so happy to just be around Canadians. I was able to talk to a fellow backpacker and a middle-aged couple about Canadian things, Canadian places, and Canadian issues. Having been away from the country I love for just shy of 10 months, this was such a relief. I could see the Canadian families with their little Canadian children running around, the Canadian backpackers talking about the crazy shit that happened to them during their quarter-life crisis backpacking through Europe. It was so cool and so refreshing, it made me feel like I was already home and not feel so bad when I found out they didn’t have personalised video screens on the airplane and I had to pay for a headset (for which I was one euro short). Ah well, I have a book and that’s why I’m spending time writing this which as a result will be too long and unnecessarily wordy.

I found out that travelling is good for padding your Facebook account. At least, it is for mine. It’s interesting, because I never asked people for their Facebook accounts, with the exception of the Northern Irish girls we met, and even then it was initially for practical (not friendship) reasons. I feel kinda weird doing that and I can never tell if people will think I’m being a creep. But I guess I am always surprised by how open and friendly and warm people are around the world. I guess the people who go backpacking are the kinds of folk who like to meet new people and bring them into their lives. And I love being brought into other people’s lives because it’s almost always incredibly interesting. And so now, another handful to the collection, including a contact just outside Sydney, Australia. Word. Ideally, I’ll have someone in every place I want to visit and I’ll never need to stay in a hostel or hotel ever again. Expanding my empire. Empire of Love!

Uhm....

Interlude: Nationalities I’ve Met Along The Way

Norwegian, Dutch, Belgian, Luxembourgish, German, Czech, Austrian, Italian, Finnish, Iraqi, Aussie, Kiwi, Cyprusian, French, Canadian, French-Canadian, Argentine, Scottish, Irish, Northern Irish, English, Spanish, Polish, Swiss, Brazilian, Korean, Russian... and maybe more. These are all the ones I can remember. Oh, and of course, Americans. Or “United Statesians” as it would literally translate from Latin American Spanish.

I don’t remember what my exact expectations were for this trip. I think, basically, to have a good time and see a whole bunch of places I’ve never seen before. And revisit Amsterdam, because I love Amsterdam and some of the nicest people I’ve ever met live there. Man, it feels like it’s been so long since Amsterdam, much less Ebeltoft. And fuck, what was it even like living in Canada all those years ago? It’s almost like I’m Richard Dreyfuss at the end of Stand By Me, but instead of reflecting on my childhood friends, I’m reflecting on the country I grew up in. And like his childhood friends in Stand By Me, Canada is a big part of who I am - living in Mississauga and Halifax has shaped me in a way that I really like and have come to be quite proud of.

So I guess... my expectations were exceeded. Because unlike some of the people I met on my trip, my goal wasn’t “to bang a chick in every city” (although I’m pretty sure that guy was all talk, as he was travelling with his parents and kid brother) and I wasn’t there to party hard (because no matter what, any party is going to pale in comparison to summer parties and New Year’s with my friends). But cool things still happened. Little things went wrong, but I still have the great experiences. And that’s the thing. That’s the thing. Because of this trip, ingrained in my mind is the awe of walking out of the subway station to see the towering Coliseum. Because of this trip, ingrained in my mind is the feel I got from walking in the Jewish Memorial in Berlin. Because of this trip, ingrained in my mind is spending an amazing night with a really cool Northern Irish girl (young woman, really) and her hilarious friends.

Which brings me to another point. Gillian was making fun of me throughout Vienna and Rome about a missed opportunity I had. At least, I’m pretty sure it was a missed opportunity. Vienna is a city I really enjoyed (although I hear Salzburg is a billion times better) and have, ever since seeing the movie, fantasized about having my Before Sunrise moment with some wonderful young woman in Vienna. And in a way, I did... if Before Sunrise was Rated G. And I beat myself up about it for a long time. But then it hit me: So what if things never happen as good as they do in my fantasies? So what if, in the end, it was a “mission failed”? If my life is as interesting or enthralling as the movies I love, then I can’t complain. It’s pretty fuckin’ sweet, really. And whatever, I’m a pretty healthy guy. I think I got close to another 60 years in me. Hell, I’ll probably live to see hover cars.

It’s interesting, because I am now back “home” (or rather, on the plane going back “home”). But Mississauga is definitely not my only “home”. I lived in Halifax for the majority of four long, epic years. I’ve spent prolonged periods in other places - 5 weeks with a family in Chicoutimi, Quebec and 2 months with a Spanish school in Argentina. And now I finished a year in Denmark, only to return there for one more two months from now. So where’s home? Halifax is by a wide margin my Favourite City In The World, but Mississauga is where I grew up and where my favourite people from my life are. And now I have a plethora of friends from Denmark, a place that I will have spent most of 2 years living in. And almost all my filmmaking contacts live in Europe, so does that mean I’ll probably end up living in Denmark or England or someplace like that? It’d be cool, but I dunno. I like being bitten by the travel bug, but I think that bite’s now infected and I’m not sure what the antidote is. But I guess, I’m young, so yeah, I’ll see.

My friend Michelle once quoted The Grateful Dead to me, for reasons I now forget. The lyric, I believe, is from the song “Truckin’”, where they say “what a long strange trip it’s beeeeeeeeeen.” And although it hasn’t been that “strange”, it has been pretty “long”, and it certainly has been a “trip”.

...And that’s about the most insightful thing I can say.

Gillian's Reflection

("DVD Commentary"-esque note. The following blog post is Gillian's and does not reflect the opinions of this author, blah blah. I had nothing to do with the writing of this, but since Gillian was such a big part of my trip, what with her being around me for an entire month, it's fair enough for her to have her own post. Fuck, it's 5am, I gotta go back to bed.)

Ham and Cheese (Den of Thieves)

So on a backpacking trip, one has to expect to be eating on the cheap-Dan and I proved this false on our travels, “treating” ourselves to one dishy meal for every country/city. That was easy to do when we were being housed by friends in Amsterdam, Belgium, and Lüneberg, but when we actually spent our time in actual hostels, we found ourselves going back to that classic sandwich combo: the Ham and Cheese.

With free breakfast, comes responsibility, I feel-and with free breakfast comes buns, cold cuts, and inevitably, cheese.

Now, after twenty-two years of developing myself into a “foodie”, this was a bit weird. Ham and Cheese? Bit bland. Bit uncomfortable. But still satisfying; getting the job done, so to speak. And in a weird way, that’s how I ended up thinking of my travels with Dan.

Oh, come on-don’t take it that way. I know I just walked into that one, but traveling with Dan was nothing close to bland or uncomfortable. Trust me. Allow me to elaborate...

...by talking about myself, and how I felt during the trip-my growths, as I am loathe to say. (It just sounds so damn hoakey...)

All throughout my vacation-taking life, I’ve mainly been with my family, never alone, never setting the agenda myself. I end up feeling like I have no idea what to do, too much responsibility, too much freedom, too much too much! Yet years with my family made me think I was a casual holiday-er. I like to partake in activities, but unlike my father (whom my teenage self often thought of as over-enthusiastic), I’d enjoy spending some days inside, couching in front of the television, using the native commercials as a way of exploring the country’s culture. (Hey, my mother would be the one on my side here! I’m definitely her daughter...)

But no more, it seems!

With the exception of Vienna (it was so hot...), I pretty much felt the impulse to do something every single day we were in each city. I demanded tours, I wanted museums, I commanded walking around aimlessly. I was my father! It was weird, to suddenly realise that I was, you know, a man. But kidding aside (no seriously, still got my ovaries, promise), it felt, and still feels like a huge personal growth (oh god, what wording...), and as I look toward the rest of my time in Italy without dear ol’ Daniel by my side, I find myself in a bit of a panic, while knowing that aside from the permanent fear of asking strangers for directions, I’ll Be Fine.

Fine, but without a constantly amusing, constantly talking companion. No one to tease, no one to poke fun at, no one to boss around. Which leads me to...

Another discovery: I’m bossy. Well, that’s not big revelation to those who know me, but wow, Dan really became a sort of lap dog for me during this trip. For example...

Gillian: Oh god-where are we again?

Dan: Uhh...

Gillian: Oh wait, I see where we are on the map-go find out what that street is, will you?

(Dan scampers off to find out, reports back)

Gillian: Hmm...this isn’t right. Go ask someone what direction the [generic Europe tourist attraction] is, ok? Ok. Go, go, go!

(Dan runs off, asks a local for directions. Doesn’t get an answer)

Gillian: Oh god, come on-go ask that guy, he looks like he can speak English!

(Dan tries again)

Gillian: Finally. Ok, let’s go.

Or how about...

Dan: Man, going to that museum will be great, I can’t wait.

Gillian: Sunblock Stop! Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit and re-apply. I’m not burning and neither are you.

And finally...

Dan: Ok, well, I want to go out for a small walk before bed.

Gillian: Oh! Get me a Quick burger/fries/sundae on your way back? Here’s the money. Now can you help me turn up the volume on the TV?

Seriously. The words may be changed slightly, but...pretty accurate. I’m terrible! And it doesn’t make it any better that I can admit it, but for some reason, Dan either didn’t notice, or was fine with me assuming the role of Mother. Which is weird, but it does explain the moments of frustration I’d feel towards him when he’d suddenly be lagging behind, or I’d look up to find his face covered in food. Hmm...

If you’ll permit me to rewind a bit? Thank you.

Now, back at the EFC, Dan and I shared and still share roughly the same circle of friends. We wouldn’t necessarily seek each other to hang out and chill, it would normally just happen by proxy: I’d be with Andrea and Fiona, Dan would join, and voila, we have chillage. Every morning we’d discuss Canadian news, and when the Olympics were going on, we’d update each other on the hockey results (clearly the most important sport. Ever.). We would talk, but not in a Best Friend way. A very good way, a very nice way, but not in a Best Friend way. Which is fine to admit, because I’m pretty sure even Dan doesn’t consider me one of his “besties”. A very good friend (I better be this one!), a very fun friend (this too!), but a friend nonetheless.

So when the idea of a trip was broached, and it ended up being just Dan and me, I was a little unsure. Would we still get along? Would there be awkward silences? I wasn’t sure, but I was very pleased to find out that like Ham and Cheese, we got along just fine.

Now, in everyone’s mouth, there’s a tongue (oh god, I hope people without tongues aren’t reading this), and on that tongue, there are various taste sensors. It varies from person to person which sensors are strongest, so when eating a Ham and Cheese sandwich,

Yeah, sorry about that. I lost where I wanted to go with that whole taste analogy, and every time I tried to think about how it could work, it just. didn’t. work.

Rats.

Anywho, Ham and Cheese sandwiches. They come from your childhood. Or rather, they make you think they come from your childhood-most of my own childhood I ate peanutbutter and banana/jam, but the simplicity of Ham and Cheese makes everyone nostalgic for simpler times i.e. your childhood. Which brings me back to the Ham and Cheese-once you get used to them again, you feel weird without them. And suddenly, when the hostel you’re staying at doesn’t offer cheese and you end up only eating a ham sandwich, it seems wrong. What happened to the cheese? The cheese is needed! Without the cheese, the ham can’t even be capitalised! As they said in the 1930’s: “What’s going on here?!” (Dan will get this. I hope.)

Like White on Rice, Bill and Ted (cheer up, Keanu!), Dan and I were Ham and Cheese. Which yes, sounds like a television show Joey Tribbiani was once on, but it’s true. A cheese sandwich? Lame. A ham sandwich? Who knows what kind of perverts eat those. But Ham and Cheese? It just works. It’s not always harmonious, the cheese might sometimes be sour, and the ham might sometimes be sweaty and gross, but in the end, they still work. It’s a classic team.

(A note about the nostalgia aspect of the Ham and Cheese that I noticed? How being nostalgic makes you feel like a kid again...not just feel like a kid, but also act like one. With each other. In the most annoying ways. See:

Gillian: Pass me the camera.

Dan: (puts his bag on the ground) Yeah sure, go for it.

Gillian: Pass me the camera, please?

Dan: It’s right there, front pocket.

Gillian: Ugh! (bends down to get it at the same time when Dan moves-as she comes back up, his elbow collides with her head.) Argh!

Dan: Sorry!

Gillian: Fine. (takes the photo, and then gently bops Dan on the head with her own elbow)

Dan: What the fuck?

Gillian: We’re even now!

Dan: Oh come on!

See? Nostalgia ain’t always so good.)

Despite the bickering and the differences in opinion-it’s come to be my opinion that Dan and I? On the verge of becoming more than just ‘good friends’. You see, normally we’d have a couple of days in which we wouldn’t see each other’s faces and then voila, problem solved. On this trip though? In each other’s faces all. the. time. And sure, it doesn’t solve all of our problems or arguments, but when you don’t have the chance to de-compress, but don’t want to keep bitching, it changes something. It strengthens the friendship, and slowly, bit by bit, you become more and more accepting of the fact that those small arguments? Are idiotic.

And yes, most of them are started by me. (My mother once commented to me how Dan writes me out to be someone awesome and worth knowing, but...) But isn’t the cornerstone of every great friendship the fact that you can accept that your friend can sometimes be a complete idiot? And if they still stick around (or have to, in Dan’s case) despite this, this...this is when it gets Real.

We’re no where near being Best Friends, but I’d say we’re certainly on our way to becoming Better Friends.

And now, because Dan will be the one posting this, a little bit of comic relief, featuring all of our little one-liners and inside jokes.

Eh-hem.

Ode to Europe

They made a cake of us

And put it in a paddle boat

Tourists are lead by cake from Schlump

And have beautiful momos!

And have beautiful momos!

Momos!

I’d rather hit the wall than the children

Who have Benjamin Button parents

Who smash smash smash smash cut

Who smash smash smash smash cuuuuuut

To spelling “stupidest”!

We’re living in a kylling world

Finding answers on the street signs

We’re living in a chicken world

And it’s a beautiful momo

It’s a beautiful momo

Oh oh...

Oh right, and while Dan and I probably won’t be traveling together again any time soon, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.

I’d also like to add that while in my mind this whole post seems pretty harmless, it’ll doubtlessly go off and offend anyone it meets. Seriously. It can’t have been written by me unless someone reads into it wrong, or if it suddenly becomes a delinquent and starts wearing a hoodie and slouching around town, shouting out abuses to anyone who dares walk by.

It’s something I’ve come to accept, so just know-just know: no offense is ever meant in this. I’m writing this with all the love in the world, the best intentions possible, and I never bother with people I hate.

Signing out,

Gillian

p.s. I won’t go to Harlem in ermine and pearls, either.

Rome P.S.

2 things:

1) Walking on the Roman streets on Saturday, I randomly bumped into Martha. So cool and delightfully random to see a friendly face from university in Halifax on the streets of Rome. Awesome.

2) Apparently the "Bob Harris - Suntory Time" thing in Lost In Translation happens in Rome, too. Uma Thurman was on billboards and in Italian commercials for Alfa Romeo cars.

That is all. Next up: Gillian's guest post.

Rome

Gillian

Finding the hostel was a bitch. We had to take a train to a bus to a train again. Our bus to Venice was delayed because there was a car crash on the highway, so then we missed our train and were delayed an hour. We finally arrived in Rome at about 11:20 at night, then took the last subway to the stop we were supposed to arrive at. Then wandered back and forth along the streets of Rome in the middle of the night in search of a camping hostel. Much arguing and “the fuck is this place” later, we gave in, got a cab and arrived at the hostel. Then had to switch into a “shared” tent because they had apparently booked us in a private one. But cool, able to finally get to sleep, settled, nice.

The next day we just lounged around. We wanted a day to just take it easy and it worked perfectly. We hung out by the pool, swam (or in my case, floated face down) around, checked our emails, and occasionally ate. It was sweet.

Yo, the Sistine Chapel is fuckin’ impressive (we went to the Vatican the next day). Going in I was thinking, “Yeah yeah, big huge painting, very important.” But gawDAMN that thing is massive and so detailed! What would its modern day equivalent be? The ceiling is, as legend foretells, the most impressive, but for a reason I wasn’t aware of - all the bodies look 3D. Michaelangelo, the fuckin’ genius, used some sort of shadow drawing style to made the bodies stick out. And he did this hundreds of years ago, right? I usually can’t tell what makes one artist from hundreds of years ago better than another artist who used the same style, but I’m pretty sure I could see what made Michaelangelo so impressive. Ditto for Raphael, who designed a lot of the rooms that led to the Sistine Chapel, most notably (for me) the room with the four themes - Poetry, Philosophy, Theology, Justice. Very nice.

The next day, we got to see the “ancient area” of Rome. It’s really nice, except if you want to see anything in-depth in Rome, they charge ya up the fuckin’ nose. 15 euros to get into the Vatican, 12 euros to get into the Colosseum and walk within the ancient ruins, another 8 euros for a tour of it all. What the fuck, Rome? Be more like Prague and Berlin, please. Anyways, I should cut down on the swears, as I am preppin’ for work at kids’ camp. Regardless, ancient Rome is so beautiful. I tried my best to look at the ruins and then imagine myself standing there way back when, while Caesar would roam (pun) around, gazing upon his empire. And I think the way the city is designed and preserved, it really helps you get into that mind-state. I almost didn’t want to bother myself with taking pictures, so I could just focus on taking it all in. But I took a whole bunch anyway.

We also got to wander around the residential area a bit in Rome, which was cool. I got to do that in Vienna also, which was really nice. I think you see the connections other cultures have to your own when you immerse yourself amongst the local housing. You’re off the beaten track, away from all the annoying tourists with their sandals, short shorts, and ridiculous t-shirts (to be fair, this is exactly how I’ve been dressed). So it was cool to see.

We definitely took it easy for this week. We had enough time to see what we wanted of Rome, and then the rest of the time relax by the pool, talk to people, and watch lots of football at the hostel pub. Which is nice, because it always gives something to discuss - e.g. what team you cheerin’ for in this match? Oh really, cuz I... (and then off into discussion about something that most likely has shit-all to do with soccer).

So anyway, it’s my last night here, the trip is petering out. Hopefully we’ll be able to party despite all of a sudden some gross weather moving in. And that’ll be a nice send-off. I’ve also got some more Facebook contacts, in Ireland and in the States. So now I have places to stay in Belfast, Reno, Georgia, and Jersey, among others.

Cool. Peace. See ya soon at home, friends and family. :D

Interludes: Pt. 1 - Homesick / Pt. 2 - Cross-Country

Part 1

Yup. It’s official. And frankly I think I’ve fuckin’ earned it. I’ve never been away from my Home & Native Land for so long. I boarded my IcelandAir flight to Denmark on the evening of August 29, 2009 and I will be returning Air Transat from Rome at 10:30pm on June 21, 2010 (provided I land exactly on time). Probably won’t get back into my house home till midnight-ish. And then of course the next day I will spend physically (and to an extent, mentally) preparing for a colonoscopy on the morning after. So getting home probably won’t hit me until Friday, when my friend Christian arrives to visit and say “Whaddup!” and my friends from home come over to hang out and also say “Whaddup!”

So anyhow, I’m gonna try my best to enjoy my last week of this Euro-trip, but I also just wanna take it easy and mentally prepare myself for the culture shock of being home again. Actual home. The Original Home.

Part 2

My friend Christoph warned us about spending so much time on day trains and not taking night trains all the time because with day trains, you waste a whole day. I thought he had somewhat of a point, but in general I disagree. Also, night trains are more expensive.

To get from Vienna to Rome, we had to spend a shitload of time in transit. We caught a train at 10:30 in the morning, arrived just in time for our bus at 2:56 in the afternoon (they politely but hurriedly waited for us before taking off), and then missed our next connection due to a car crash on the highway around Venice, so we had to take the 7:39pm train, which arrived in Rome around 11:30 at night. Then we had our whole fiasco of trying to get to our hostel from there, given the minimal directions we had (sans actual address), but that story will be for later.

The point is, despite Christoph’s advice, I like travelling in trains during the day because it gives me a chance to see all the bits in between that I’m skipping. On the train to Prague, Gillian pointed out a flooded river. On the way to Rome, we marvelled at the Vienna countryside. Many times, on all train rides, we would emerge from a tunnel to see majestic green mountains or glistening blue rivers or sweeping valleys. Some towering cliffs in there, too. With night trains we wouldn’t see all this fuckin’ magnificent nature and we’d be restless the next day from an uncomfortable sleep. This way, I can get an idea of the landscape of each country (although it’s pretty similar everywhere). The thing is, I never really get bored of mountains, rivers, valleys, and cliffs. The bigger complaint comes from the view sometimes being obscured (although I do recognise the irony of me thinking, “Damn trees are blockin’ my view of all the nature!”). The meat of the point is that it’s a nice contrast to the historic, man-made cities see all the majestic, naturally-made environment.

So, Christoph, thanks for the advice, but no thanks. It was very sensible, but I’m glad we followed a different sense instead.

Vienna

Gillian

HOLY FUCK IT’S HAWWWWT! (hot)

Man, the humidity nearly killed us the first day or so. Gillian and I walked around sightseeing in the morning, went to see the Spanish Riding School do their horse-riding exercises (she taught me the difference between a “canter” and a “trot”), then had lunch, and then went back to the hostel cuz we were fuckin’ dying from the heat. And I was still feeling a little blecch, so it was good. Good to do. And then we did the whole lying in the backyard reading and listening to Ella (the classic jazz singer, not the “vocal echo” from the Rihanna song). To tell the truth, we didn’t do much sight-seeing or touristy stuff in Vienna and, upon reflection, I’m cool with that.

When in Prague, Gillian made the comment that she didn’t want to spend the whole vacation in museums and on tours. And I think that’s an important point to bring up - specific museums can be interesting and tours can be fascinating and informative, but after a while it just becomes the same old shit. I am very happy that we’ve only gone to see one art museum so far - the Van Gogh. Wandering around art museums, I feel like I’m paying to see bigger versions of pictures I can find with a quick Google Images search. So in Vienna, we didn’t do any tours or see any museums. There are some that piqued my interest, but I was much more concerned with surviving the heat, saving my last bit of money, and just enjoying “being there” in a beautiful city. We had a beautiful view from our hostel on the outskirts of town, so that allowed me to marvel at the majestic interweaving of forest and city whenever I felt like it.

That, I must say, is pretty fuckin’ cool. We saw the same thing in Hamburg and Luneburg and I never get bored of it. Toronto and New York, which are two cool North American cities, are just a scattering of buildings when viewed from on high. In Vienna, the trees and buildings weave in and out of each other like interlocking fingers, as if the two were holding hands. I once saw this hippie-ish architect on The Colbert Report talk about his organisation’s idea of urban planning, which included Nerf cars, blimp buses that floated around town with chairs hanging down you could just hop on and off of, and trees that would be used as houses (sort of like Bag End). Looking over Vienna, I felt like this must be the next best thing. And that’s pretty fuckin’ cool.

Another awesome thing - on one of the canals, in the summer, there is a wonderful boat called Badeschiff (or something like that). It’s a boat that stays anchored at a dock and has a pool, a sun deck with a TV and bar, a restaurant, and a basement club at night. After going delirious from the heat, Gillian and I searched the canals for the ever-elusive pool-boat. When we found it, we bought a day-pass and quickly rushed home to put on our swimsuits and then rushed back to bath in the refreshingly cold water. We then hung out on the sun deck, read, watched some soccer, I went back into the pool, and had dinner in the restaurant below.

The next ever-elusive thing we searched for was apple strudel. There were places that had it, but this was akin to getting store-bought strudel and we wanted real, properly-prepared, fancy apple strudel. We finally found a place and sat down to enjoy our apple strudels with whipped cream (we took pictures!), only to be interrupted by a crazy-ass windstorm that blew dirt in our faces and desserts. I quickly gobbled mine up, flecks of dirt and all, which Gillian said was absolutely disgusting and which I completely agree with. But I paid 5 euros for that delicious goddamn strudel!

One disappointment was that, on my tour of European friends, I didn’t get to meet up with my Austrian friend Veronika, who I had met in Cordoba and done a weekend trip with to Mendoza (along with two of my friends from Holland and some others). Veronika was very excited to meet up, and we tried to make plans, but things never worked out. It would’ve been nice, but I guess “sigh, c’est la vie.” Sorry, Vero. Hopefully things will work out better next time.

The Vienna trip, all in all, was pretty damn awesome. The first night we got to hang out with some Northern Irish friends we made in Prague, we got to spend a day in a swimming pool, and we got to explore a beautiful town. And also, we saw The Third Man in a cinema, which was a really great classic film. And I got to get a feel of Vienna’s musical culture (in the restaurants and bars we went to the first night), it’s horse-riding culture (The Spanish Riding Club), and it’s beautiful nature (the view from the hostel). Definitely a place I’d like to return to.

Tell ya what: I really enjoyed just “being” in the city.

Bonus Interlude: Various Thoughts Entering My Mind On Our Second Day In Vienna

I’ve been in a weird mood today. I was wondering if I’d missed out on a specific encounter in Prague, only to find the opportunity present itself again in Vienna and miss out again (with no one but myself to blame). I’ve decided not to be any less cryptic than that. Also, I still haven’t quite been up to 100% health as far as my internal organs are concerned. And the crazy-ass humidity was becoming too much for me. I was about to anti-socially lie in my bed and read ‘n’ sleep when Gillian suggested going to lie on the wooden beds in the hostel’s big backyard.

Good call.

After reading my book for a little bit, Gillian came out with her book to join me. She brought her iPod and put on Ella Fitzgerald singing “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.” This, mixed with the cooling shade of the trees and the background noise of kids playing in the backyard behind the hostel, hit the spot. I had been feeling like such a fool and also a bit homesick I guess (having been away from Mississauga for 9 and a half months) so I guess I needed an experience that was close to home.

Our hostel is located on the western outskirts of the city, so it’s sort of like staying in the Etobicoke of Vienna. There’s suburban housing all around us and it’s fairly peaceful. And after seeing lots of beautiful architecture in uncomfortably hot weather (for me), it was nice to just chillax for a bit. In a way, with the trip winding down, I am wanting less and less to “see things” and more and more to just “be in places”. So chillin’ out in suburban Vienna, at this point in the trip, fits into my itinerary more so than the historical city tours. And I suppose I’ll feel the same in Rome.

And good on Gillian for bringing exactly what I needed to pull me out of my schlump - some reading in the shade while listening to the best of Ella.

Interlude: Dumb Shit

(Note: please read the “Prague” entry before reading this)

Over the years, I’ve done a lotta dumb shit. “Duh,” Anyone Who Knows Me would say. I’ve had to pay close to a year’s university tuition to repair various cars I’ve driven (or driven into). I have lost or destroyed countless expensive material objects my family or I have owned. In Posadas, Argentina, I stupidly got into a cab with two drivers and got hustled down for 200 pesos. And now, in Prague, I drank too much and had to spend most of the next day in bed. Oh, and I also forgot my water bottle at my friend Christoph’s place and my dad’s jacket on a train.

Luckily, I’ve been able to afford to make up for these mistakes. But the “affording” isn’t the real problem. I guess the real problem is learning from these mistakes. Prague was not the first time I ruined my already shitty internal organs (bowel pun!) for a day. And this trip is certainly not the first time I forgot to pack something important for the trip home (I once had to pay $80 to have a wetsuit shipped because I left it hanging in our hotel bathroom). And reading this all back to myself, I feel like a spoiled bourgeois asshole - something I tease my friends for when they spend their money frivolously. As previously mentioned, I am not a religious or spiritual person, so where do I turn for guidance, since all these occurrences are meaningless and “the universe is indifferent” (one of my favourite Mad Men quotes). Well, as Ms. Frizzle points out at the beginning of every “Magic School Bus” episode, “It’s time to get messy, make mistakes, [and something else but I forget what].” So, the obvious question is:

Have I learned anything from all this “getting messy” and “mistake-making”? The answer: Yes, but.

But, because I don’t necessarily learn the things I’m “supposed” to learn. Or at least I don’t just learn that. Because while getting drunk, I could remember why all my friends liked inducing alcohol to reach that proper “nicely tipsy” mind-state - it’s fun! But it’s not for me, and I confirmed that one final time (hopefully). I still don’t know why anyone would want to get “destroyed drunk”, although I can see how it can easily happen when people are handing out unlimited shots or you go to a kegger with a seemingly unlimited supply of booze for the small entrance fee you paid. But, because I didn’t just learn “I should keep track of my things better” (something I’ve been studying since kindergarten) - I also learned that most physical possessions are meaningless. I will be able to buy my dad another jacket that will be just as good. The same for my water bottle. But are those the lessons I’m supposed to learn!?!? I guess... yeah.

And then hopefully I’ll have learned the other lessons for the last time. *winking smiley*