Tales from the Pants

"Joe Joe Laaa...

2009-03-21T23:16:00.000-07:00

...why did he say he was on a boat?"

Cutest thing in the whole wide world? Yuki Chen.

Yuki likes to buy things that have absolutely no purpose other than cuteness. When I asked Joe (as seen above) what to get Yuki (also seen above...hence why I added the picture) for her birthday, his response was, "Something cute." Yes Joe, but what function should it have? "The less functional, the better." La.

Yuki is the instigator of La, that wonderful Cantonese word thrown in at the end of random sentences, vaguely similar to "eh?". But it's less of a question and unquestionably more adorable, specifically when it comes from Yuki. Yuki could make the word 'genitalia' sound adorable. In fact, she did.

Last night Kaare, Carly and I wanted to borrow a movie called Pirates (yes, that one) from Joe. We had spent most of the night watching art-house porn which, it turns out, is much more disturbing than you'd think and we were overwhelmed, so the hunt for regular porn began. Through a series of lazy events, we ended up at Joe and Yuki's apartment dressed only in sarongs. Well...Kaare wore a t-shirt and I wore some pants, but there definitely wasn't underwear involved. Carly was wearing all her clothes. She's more industrious.

Upon arrival, Kaare decided that he needed to share some wonderful youtube discoveries with Joe. One is called "I'm on a Boat" and is from those wonderful Lonely Island guys! Check it...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_YlkEUOonI

This video spawned the opening comment of my blog today.

The next video, called "Show Me Your Genitals" needed a bit of a definition. It was eventually defined as "that thing of Kaare's which is only seperated from your chair at this moment by a thin layer of fabric". I think she may have bleached the chair after we left.

Needless to say, we eventually forgot the porn there and went home to watch a Chinese movie involving a horse penis transplant, a Buddhist master and a flute. Yuki suggested the movie.

If you don't know Yuki, you need to. She's probably one of the coolest people I know.

La.

Quote of the Day:

Actually not from Kaare for once. Amazing, no?

"I need to be less professional so I have time to get in more fights."

--Jesse

Fashions With No Fashion

2009-03-14T03:25:00.000-07:00

What's worse than speedos?

The collective fashion of the entire country of China.

Minus Shanghai, obviously. One pair of jeans in Shanghai is worth more than a pair of fake breasts anywhere else. You don't even want to know the price of fake breasts.

But other than that, the fashion of this country is beyond astounding. Take, for instance, Mickey Mouse. Yes, you read that right, Mickey Mouse. Now what's wrong with him? Jeeze, I dunno. Why don't you ask the 44-year old business woman over there who's wearing a pair of stilettos emblazoned with his visage? She doesn't see anything wrong with him. Neither does the Disney Store Lingerie Shop. No, I'm not joking. How happy would you be to strip a woman down only to find Goofy staring back at you?

Now, I'm not usually one for rhetorical questions, but I'm sure you've come to realize that this rant is full of them. It's the thing we like to call 'elicitation' in Wall Street English jargon. It basically means that we try to get people to think for themselves, partly because it helps them learn better and partly because we're lazy.

Now, isn't this what we tried to do by initiating a Vogue China, a Cosmopolitan China, a GQ China, a Flare China? Didn't we say, "Hey China, you seem to have organized yourself fairly well over the last ten years, I bet that you'll be able to come out with some amazing fashions if we just leave you to your own devices!"

WRONG.

Point in case, glasses with no glasses. Again, I'm not joking.

Now...wait a minute...can you hear it? What's that sound? Is that the sound of my soul screaming in defeat and shame? Why yes, yes it is.

Yup, that's me wearing glasses with no glass.

The look on my face is one of utter helplessness. If you can't beat them, join them and take pictures so that your children can later mock you. This is what we call "preparing for future generations".

Quote of the Day:

"Where else in the world can you combine white leather cowboy boots, stockings, fur-lined short shorts and a Mickey Mouse tube top and have that be acceptable?"

-- a text I received from Kaare

Seriously?

2009-03-13T03:55:00.000-07:00

Of all the bloody useless things to waste my time on, do you want to know what I did today? I spent a solid twenty minutes staring at my Microsoft Excel spreadsheet trying to figure out how I could puzzle piece my info-boxes together to fit on one, printable and aesthetically pleasing page.

Twenty minutes of my life.

I need a career change.

Or sex.

Probably both.

Quote of the Day:

"He's got a soft muffin in there somewhere."
-- Kaare on Niklas's bird-muffin-horse name

Fun With Adjectives

2009-02-28T19:00:00.000-08:00

All of the following adjectives describe exactly two things. You may not want them to, but they do. Can you guess what it is?

(a prize to anyone who guesses correctly)

mesh
sloppy
long
saturated
chapped
steeped
quivering
shark cartiledge
hard
inky
starving
wrinkly
dank
long-sleeved
goaty
mormon
sharp
cornbread
sourcream
snaggley
paper bag
gulping
poached

***hint***

Quote of the Day

"Sloppy is the most unisex word of the night...if that isn't quote of the day, I don't know what is."

-- Kaare

You Know What They Say...

2009-02-28T02:14:00.000-08:00

...when it rains, the air conditioning breaks. Or some such other absurdity.

We're on the fast track to rainy season here in Guangzhou. Apart from literally months of rain, here's what this means for me:

1. I am about to spend a small fortune in umbrellas that will immediately be destroyed by hurricane force winds. If I don't buy them, the wind won't blow and I'll be soaked. This is China.

2. If the streets flood, I'll probably get cholera. There's no way that the Pearl River isn't swarming with at least eight different kinds of venereal diseases.

3. Humidity. Polluted humidity. My sheets are damp and dirty and not for any rewarding reason.

4. My brand new and highly magnificent camera is close to useless because it needs sunlight. My pictures tend to look like grey crap. Fortunately, God invented something called "Adobe Lightroom" which allows me to twiddle with my pictures post-developing. (This is what we call subliminal advertising.)

5. I have recently started to climb. That's right, after years spent at the CRUX and the crags, watching and supporting others, I've actually started to do it myself. And the climbing walls in Guangzhou are all outdoors. Guess what this means for me...

I would complain about the lack of blue sky lately, but it seems a bit redundant. I would complain about the lack of pollution filled orange sky, but I don't really miss it. I do miss sunlight though. And cheese, oh yes, cheese. I know that's not really applicable, but Lordy I miss cheese...(*insert gurgling sound*)

If I sound a tad bitter at the moment, it's because our air conditioning at work is broken. I have been covered in a fine layer of dampness all day. In fact, I've been moist all day. And I really hate that word...

Quote of the Day:

"There's nothing better than a screaming, scared Cantonese girl on a rope."

-- Kaare on Yuki climbing

I ♥ Skort

2009-01-01T04:13:00.000-08:00

(Some names have been changed to protect my coworkers.)

So there's this student we call Skort because that's what she wears; short skorts. Whether or not she realizes it, every man who looks at her immediately has an 'incident' involving his nether regions and thoughts of hers. She weighs about as much as my finger, has eyelashes that go forever and so far can barely pronounce "hello" correctly. (She's Unit 8 for those familiar with the Wall Street system). I should also mention that Wall Street is a private school for adults only; this story could have taken on a slightly disturbing tone without that little piece of info.

I guess I'll explain a little more about Wall Street to give the following story some context. All of the walls are made of glass. That's really all you need at this point.

The other day I was in the teachers room with Steve and Jesse. Our office is in direct sight of the Encounter rooms, an Encounter being a class of four or less students. We glance over to Jarrod's class and see our old pal Skort wearing what used to be a skort, but has magically morphed into a skirt. How did this transformation occur? Because she took the shortest pair of short shorts ever and cut out the crotch turning them into nothing but vagina. We could see straight up the ex-shorts and, for the life of us, could not look away. To make matters worse, her sweater said, in giant black lettering, "I ♥..." and the last word was blocked from view by the table.

Read: I ♥ Crotch

We were mesmerized. As more teachers joined us in the office (all male I might add) the atmosphere ranged from amazement to down right arousal.

Finally, the class ended and Jarrod came into the office with a look of utter helplessness on his face. He made a phew sound, shook his head and said, "That damn girl wouldn't stop speaking Chinese in class and it drove me nuts."

There were a few seconds of shameful silence in which the rest of us started to realize what pervs we were compared to Saint Jarrod when, under his breath, the good Saint muttered, "I thought I was going to have to spank her," and gone was any semblance of decency.

To top it all off, remember how we couldn't see what the last word on her shirt was? Guess what it said. No, you can't, it's too good...

I ♥ NAKED

No word of a lie.

Quote of the Day:

About Skort, obviously. Before the class had ended.

Seth: It's really just spelled out there, isn't it?
Steve: It's more like a diagram.
Angie: A flow chart, if you will.

Kentucky Fried Christ

2008-12-25T20:05:00.000-08:00

Shao Kao.
The bane of my existence.

The rough translation of "shao kao" would be "barbeque". A more direct translation would be, "what you eat when you're so drunk that you can't actually stand anymore and are definitely not going to remember having eaten the things you are throwing up the next day."

Shao kao tends to occur around 3am after a raucous night of cheap beer, kedamine and hookers. Well, maybe not the kedamine or hookers, but I'm sure you have a vivid and fairly accurate image now. It always sounds like a great idea...but I'm pretty sure our toilet is a suicide risk by the end of the night.

The plus side of shao kao is how cheap it is. Even with eight people eating, I've never seen a bill that was more than 100 kuai (about $18 Canadian). You can eat such magical things as whole roasted eggplant, oysters on the half shell, crucified chicken (yup, Jesus in chicken form), peppers stuffed with veggie goodness, vegetarian fried dumplings, hot pot and hand made donuts. Oh, and there's beer. And baijou. But let's not talk about baijou. That's a bone-chilling story for another day.

You see, shao kao isn't so much the beginning or end of psychosis, it's more like the fertilizer that helps it grow. For 50 kuai, I got to watch Dallas teabag Lucas. For those of you who are so far (and probably happily) unaware of what teabagging is, allow me to educate you: "to teabag" someone is to place your balls (the hairy kind) on someone else' face. Why would anyone in their right mind want to see or do that? The only answer that comes to mind is: Shao Kao. And considering the public nature of shao kao, being that you're sitting on the side of the road and all, I'd say that my 50 kuai was well spent.

In closing, anyone who decides to come visit us in China will definitely experience the combination of glory and horror that is shao kao. I'm almost certain that they won't remember the teabag incident...

Quote of the Day

Two friends of ours, Dallas and Joe, were discussing the possibility of Joe touring around Europe doing spoken word. Joe was fairly skeptical, claiming that he didn't have enough material to do something like that. However, Dallas was pretty convincing, arguing that Joe only needed 15 minutes worth of material. Joe's response?

"15 minutes!? I can't manage that outta my dick let alone my mouth!"

Awesome.

(We're about 99% certain that the previous statement is untrue. Wanted to mention that so no one makes any unfair assumptions about Joe.)

I Has Learning English Since Three Years

2008-12-18T05:25:00.000-08:00

Not quite.

The most important thing that you should know about the English language is this: just because you can speak it doesn't mean that you actually know anything about it.

For example, what is the difference between, "The movie is absolutely brilliant," and "The movie is absolute brilliance."

And why use "am going to" instead of just "will"? I am going to catch the train. I will catch the train. I am going to punch you in the face if you ask me that question again. I'll do it, I swear.

The obsession with grammar here is almost terrifying, mostly because we simply don't learn it in Canada. Without a doubt, Chinese students know more about English grammar than any Western student does. Prepositions anyone? I didn't actually know what those were until I'd been working here for about two months.

And when the hell did we get twelve different verb tenses in English?

I am an English teacher. (present simple)
I will be fired if I don't understand grammar better. (future simple)
I was an English teacher who didn't know anything. (past simple)

I am punching you in the face. (present continuous)
I will be punching you in the face if you don't shut up. (future continuous)
I was punching you in the face last night. (we shouldn't have drank so much a.k.a. past continuous)

I have decorated the Christmas tree. (present perfect)
I will have decorated the tree by the time I'm sober. (future perfect)
I had just decorated the tree when Santa started streaking. (past perfect)

I have been dancing all night. (present perfect continuous)
I will have been dancing on the table for three hours by midnight. (future perfect continuous)
I had been dancing for three hours before they finally kicked me out. (past perfect continuous)

All I want for Christmas is for Santa to take back the bloody verb tenses.

But it's not all bad. In fact, this is just me being a giant whiner. Most of the time my job is hilarious. For example, what do you call a person who takes pictures for a living? "A potato!"

Not quite.

Quote of the Day:

"She's self aware, she just doesn't realize."
(Angie)

Drive: Indonesia

2008-04-21T01:57:00.001-07:00

Things That Are Not Required For Driving in Indonesia:

Mechanisms:
I mean, really, who needs an engine when you could just use a horse? No joke. From Yogya to Lombok, and I'm sure many places between and outside that geographic, horse and carts are a completely acceptable form of transportation. In the Gili Islands they're referred to as the Gili Lamborghini.

Money:
It costs about $10 for an hour and a half cab ride through the city. However, it will cost you much more if you fall asleep during your cab ride. You'll either get driven around to rack up the tab, or they'll simply rob you blind. They won't kill you though, so at least that's a plus.

Unleaded Gasoline:
I mean, you can certainly get unleaded gasoline, considering that it's all they sell at the petrol stations. But it's just so far to go to get to the station...you know? And there's a guy right there on the corner selling the leaded stuff in recycled water bottles. I mean...(insert long suffering sigh)...it's just so far to the petrol station. At least two extra blocks.

Lanes:
If they exist, I certainly can't tell. Cars will generally pay attention to which side of the road they should be driving on, but there are no lines on the tarmac to keep them there. And the keyword in that sentence was "generally". Even that's being kind. These guys will pass a bus at 100kph, going uphill, around a hairpin turn, honking their horn the whole way, while they smoke their cigarettes and try to convince you of the rightness to you marrying them and bearing them ten children. On the other hand, motorbikes don't even care about lanes. In fact, motorbikes don't even seem to care about the road. And really, why should they? They have sidewalks, two-by-four bridges, construction sites, markets and pedestrians to drive over. A road just seems like overkill.

Directions:
Because honestly, it doesn't matter how long you repeat the name of your hotel to yourself, trying to make your tongue remember words that are foreign to it. It doesn't matter how much preparation you put in to becoming one with that state of being known as "Where You Are Going". It doesn't matter because your cab driver has no idea where the hell he's going anyways. And he will never, ever admit to this, nor will he ask for directions until it is painstakingly obvious that he is out of options. "Out of options" could mean that you end up in another city when you meant to go down the street.

Example:
Dagan, James and I were in a cab one night, on our way to a fairly well known area of Jakarta known as Blok M. It's especially well known to cab drivers as it happens to be the prostitute district (no questions please...call it a sight seeing excursion). So, no problem getting there, right? Right. We ended up at a closed down shopping mall. Why did our driver take us to a mall at 3am? Why didn't he just tell us he didn't know where he was going? Since this is a Muslim country, I'll have to refer you to Allah on that one. Go with God...just don't take a taxi there.

Quote of the Day:

While in the back of the taxi on the afore mentioned night, I brought up the fact that in the old days, Chinese sailors use to take pigeons on board ships to have sex with them (I believe you can thank Marty for imparting that knowledge). Dagan was completely unconvinced of this, thinking it anatomically impossible. James was completely convinced of its plausibility, and what ensued was an extremely heated debate based on James saying yes, Dagan saying no, and me saying that I'd put money up for whoever wanted to prove it.

Finally, James slapped his hand down and announced loudly:

"FINE!!! Get me a pigeon, a condom and a lot of money! We'll settle this now!"

Our poor cab driver. It's probably good that he didn't speak English.

Jakarta, Indonesia - Day 1

2008-04-08T22:14:00.000-07:00

Jakarta. Aptly described as the armpit of the world. Home to 16 million people and twice as many rats; dirty in a physical and bureaucratic kind of way. Jakarta. Home of the Muslim Butterfly. Cocooned in her head scarf by day, she morphs by night, reborn in a dress made out of slightly less material than the head scarf. Jakarta. Home of the limp-wristed force field of pedestrians and the surging beast of traffic that ignores it. Jakarta. The White Mans Graveyard. The Big Durian. Jakarta. The armpit of the world.

My first night in Jakarta went something like this:

I tried to take myself out for dinner at this little seafood warung (street side restaurant). It turns out that nothing in the restaurant was in English...not even the staff. After I unsuccessfully tried to order menu items by simply pointing at them, my waiter decided to make a stunning career move from the hospitality field into that industry fondly known as "Staring at the Stupid Foreigner with an Equally Stupid Expression on Your Face". I think he's going to go a long way with this employment choice. He had a real grasp for the finer nuances.

I should also bring to the table the fact that the rest of the staff, who were all girls under the age of twenty, were watching our entire exchange and probably giving themselves hemorrhoids because they were laughing so hard. Finally, a very nice Chinese man stood up from one of the other tables and came over to try and help me. And help me he certainly did. He helped me order about four million times more food than I could ever have possibly ingested. As a direct result of this, I didn't have enough money to pay for my meal. Nice Chinese man was already gone when I realized this, and I was back to dealing with my space cadet of a waiter. Basically I just held up my bank card and mimed myself walking to the ATM and then coming back. This was greeted with a blank stare, so I just gave up trying to explain and walked myself over to the ATM and came back. This was also greeted with a blank stare. Like I said, he has a solid handle on the nuances of his new career.

The kicker to the whole story is this:

When I met Dagan and his flatmate Luke after they were done work, I told them this whole story. Dagan kind of grinned, but Luke just lost his mind laughing. Now, I think that my story is kind of comical, but I have no delusions about just how humourous it is. And it wasn't funny enough for Luke to be laughing that way. So I asked him what the deal was. After he relearned how to breath, he just beamed at me and said:

"But they all speak English there!"

Yeah.

Quote of the Day:

There were about eight of us sitting around a table one night, playing poker and discussing quantum physics. You know, regular old card playing conversation. We were basically tossing around random theories that we'd heard from one place or another, mostly just to see who had heard the same things and whether or not we thought they were true. Then all of a sudden, James, who had previously been completely silent in the conversation, pipes up with:

"You know that theory, where if you half a distance, then half it again, then half it again, then half it again, and just keep going, that you'll never get there? Well I don't get it. I reckon, just aim for twice as far and you'll get there straight away."

Yogya, Indonesia

2008-03-25T01:27:00.000-07:00

After spending ten hours in an airport in Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia), I finally got on my plane to Jakarta (Indonesia) with that blankety-blank airline, Air Asia. After a four hour delay. Actually, it wasn't even a delay. They just happened to change the flight time. For no reason. Air Asia sent me an updated email itinerary, informing me of this change. The day after.

Nevertheless, I made it to Indonesia, with Dagan being kind enough to wait all those hours for me and pick me up at the airport at 2am. We then decided on the spur of the moment to make a trip from Jakarta, where he lives, to Yogyakarta in the southeast of Java for his Easter vacation. Funnily enough, all flights, trains and buses appeared to be booked in this Islam nation for the Easter holiday. Go figure.

Our solution? Well, to be factual, Dagan's boss' solution? The black market.

Basically, we just stood around outside the train station "looking for a score" (the boss' words, not mine), which we found in the form of train tickets to Yogya for about $50 a piece, even though they should have cost $10. I wasn't too upset though. I'll spend the extra $40 just to say that one time in my life, I actually bought something on the black market. It felt good.

Yogya was definitely a happy city. Horse and carts, restaurants that were actually made of canvas tents, the largest Buddhist temple in the world, traditional dance shows and music music music. I've never seen a city so filled with music. Guitars, drums, violins, flutes, cellos, the works. People in cafes just having coffee and scratching out a tune on their fiddle. A hole in the wall guitar makers' shop with the creator creating right there on the side walk. I would live in Yogya based on that alone.

The highlight of the weekend, except for Dagan's company (obviously), was Borobudur, the ruins of the largest Buddhist temple in the world. The tiered structure stands 34.5 meters tall, covering an area of around 200 square meters. Each level represents a different stage on the path to nirvana. The first four levels depict man's earthly existence in stunning stone carvings and reliefs, as he begins on the path of enlightenment. The high gallery walls on the first four levels cut you off from the scenery around you, effectively representing the murky spiritual world inhabited by man. Suddenly, as you enter the fifth tier, reaching enlightenment, the walls and busy reliefs fall away; below is the chaos of the world, above is nirvana, represented by a huge empty stupa (a mound-like structure containing Buddhist relics) almost ten meters in diameter. Surrounding this stupa are seventy two smaller ones, each occupied by a statue of Buddha, said to give good luck if a person can reach in and touch the statue. The stupa at the top, however, is empty. There was once a Buddha here too, but it seems somehow appropriate that this has disappeared, nirvana signifying, after all, a state of non-being. Buddhist pilgrims (along with tourists) should approach from the Eastern side, walking clockwise around the base before ascending to the next tier via the eastern stairway. This is repeated on every level so that as you make your way around the temple passages and slowly spiral to the summit, you are symbolically following the path to enlightenment.

Now before anyone gets overly excited about that last paragraph, I should state that the words aren't really mine. I basically just paraphrased (and in some cases blatantly plagiarized) The Rough Guide to Indonesia. There is no way that this little noggin of mine could have held on to that kind of info on its own accord. Oh, I had the basic idea of what the temple was about, but things like 'stupa'? There's no way I would have come up with that word on my own. So, to avoid being sued by The Rough Guide series, if they ever somehow manage to blunder their way onto my blog, I'm giving them full credit for the information. Even if I did reword it in some places to sound better than the original. No offense.

One of the truly interesting things about Borobudur was that the temple itself wasn't actually the main attraction. Dagan and I were. By the time I started keeping track, at least ten groups of people had come up to us and asked to have their pictures taken with us. Babies were thrust into our arms. Men with video cameras followed us around. Giggling groups of school girls called out their undying love for us. Apparently they get a kick out of foreigners. Now I know how the guy wearing the Mickey Mouse costume at Disneyland feels.

The main attraction for Dagan and I was discovering the scariest bloody spider I've ever seen in my life. I've never come across anything like it, even in a zoo. It was about the size of my hand with a web that could have caught small children. Birds had nothing on this spider. He ate them as a warm up. His body was yellow and speckled, with long ass legs in the front and creepy little short ones in the back. Dagan and I spent about fifteen minutes getting to know him and taking his pictures. We didn't name him because I'm sure he's already taken care of that. He seems like the kind of sketchy bastard who would legally change his name to something like "Executioner" or "Death". It's probably even scarier than that.

Quote of the Day:

It's actually an old one I found in my journal that Kaare had said months ago while we were in Poland. I was feeling a little nostalgic and home sick for the guy, so I thought I'd include it here.

"What came first? The alcohol, or the abusive father we call God...(tea drinking pause)...I almost spat my tea out on that one."

Thailand = Islands

2008-03-18T09:15:00.001-07:00

And you know what? The title even rhymes. Dang if I ain't a smart one.

I know I keep making promises about writing more, but hey, if you were island hopping in tropical weather, would you be on the computer? That's what I thought.

So let me explain.

No, there is too much.

Let me sum up.

Phuket: The Island I would have never gone to if it wasn't for my Australian friend Amy.

You know, everyone hates this island because they think it's soooooo touristy, and guess what? It is. But so is the rest of Thailand, so I don't know what everyone is complaining about. Quite honestly, I understand it's popularity because it's the most beautiful beach I've ever seen in my life. Well, at least Karon Beach was, the one we were staying on. Patong Beach, the more famous one (slightly north of Karon), was pretty much Bangkok on a beach. And if you've ever been to Bangkok, you'll understand my horror. If you've never been to Bangkok, imagine the smell of sewage, at least 2.8 million 7-11's, and ladyboys trying to sell you a ping pong show. And just to quiet any fears, no, I have not yet attended a ping pong show. I thought I'd wait for the boys to get here to do that.

Ko Tao: The Diving Island.

It may be a diving island, but as Simon Billy Beard put it, "I had to quit diving because it was getting in the way of my drinking". I was smart enough to just not even bother diving in the first place. I did some snorkeling in Phuket, but as some of you may know, I hold a slight (SLIGHT) phobia towards undersea creatures. Some of the boys that I met on Ko Tao tried to convince me to go snorkeling with them. You know what their selling point was? All the sharks that we would get to see. Needless to say, I didn't do any snorkeling on Ko Tao. I did, however, get to listen to some amazing music played by some incredibly cute Australian boys. And no, there was no hanky panky on my part. Australian musicians working in a foreigner playpen in Thailand? That's just asking for an STD.

Ko Chang: Not to be confused with the larger Ko Chang on the other coast.

This is my secret island paradise, and most of the reason why no one heard from me for about two weeks. I can't say that it's the nicest beach I've ever been on, but it was certainly one of the most peaceful places I have ever been in my life. My cabin was made of wooden planks nailed together. My shower was a hose in the wall that intermittently spurt cold water...if you were lucky. There were trails all through the jungle which was filled with cashew trees, Hornbills, jack fruit trees, coconuts and Sea Eagles. There was even a bakery in the middle of the jungle run by an Aussie ex-pat and his Burmese wife. And for the first time in my life, I went swimming by moonlight with glow in the dark plankton. It was amazing.

Railay Beach: Not technically an island, even though it feels like it.

This would be where Miss Lisa Cham lived once upon a time! I traveled here from Ko Chang with some kids from Quebec that I'd met, Stephaie and Matthew. Some of the coolest people that I've met so far this trip, hands down! As for Railay itself, you can only get there by boat from Krabi and you can only get back to Krabi if you happen to have enough people to fill a boat. One side of the peninsula is filled with mangroves and mud, while the other side is filled with white sand and rock climbers. Tons and TONS of rock climbers. Stephanie and I had a fascinating time watching all the men rock climbing. Fascinating.

I think that there were two best parts of Railay Beach for me;

1) Drinking a triple Lisa lindy at YaYa's Bar where Miss Lisa use to hang out all those years ago and

2) Running through the jungle with Stephanie screaming our brains out and freaking out the local foresters because a swarm of bees were chasing us. Terrifying at the moment, but we couldn't breathe for laughing afterwards.

And now I'm off to Indonesia! Well, that's sort of a lie...I'm already in Indonesia, but as far as this blog is concerned, I haven't gotten there yet. That's a blog for another day.

Quote of the Day:

Stella turned to me while we're were on Koh Tao and said,

"Oh darling, you are just so cute that I want to put you in my pocket and feed you peanuts!"

I think she was calling me a squirrel.

Bangkok, Thailand

2008-02-05T23:19:00.000-08:00

This blog should, in all honesty, be titled:
The Day That I Actually Did Something in Bangkok Other Than Drink and Shop

The sad thing is that I truly did try to go sight seeing on two separate occasions. The first time, I was trying to get to a temple to see an alms giving ceremony. I got so completely lost on my way to the Wat that I ended up having to take a Tuk Tuk back to Khao San road because I couldn't remember where it was. The second time, I was heading out to see the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew. I got to the first intersection and became so terrified that I immediately turned back. You know how you see the pictures of traffic intersections in major US cities? They're about three levels high, have two hundred lanes, and probably kill fourteen people a year with air pollution? Well if you took those three levels, and squashed them down into one, you'd have an intersection in Bangkok. And add about seventeen more deaths.

But today - TODAY - I was going to do it. I was my last day in Bangkok, and I refused to walk away saying that the only thing I saw was Khao San road. So I marched out, armed with my Lonely Planet, prepared to take on that bloody intersection...and I immediately went the wrong way. Happily, there was a very nice Thai man who spoke very good English, wished me a Happy Chinese New Years, and pointed me in the right direction. He even warned me about Tuk Tuks and cabs trying to scam me. Which I thought was quite honest and sweet of him.

So I made it to the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew! But not before I lost 150 Baht ($5) to some blankety-blank pigeon woman. I was walking down the strip, almost at the Palace, and she stops me to tell me where Wat Pho is. So I thank her, and she dumps corn in my hands. I am then surrounded by pigeons, but she just keeps the corn coming, and now I am completely covered in pigeons. Then her friend joins in with more corn and at this point, she demands 500 Baht ($15). I kept saying no no no no no, and she just kept going down in price, until I gave her the 150 Baht just to shut up. Then - THEN - she tries to ask for another 150 blasted Baht for her friend. I walked away. Which I then realized I should have just done in the first place. Whatever...I got to hold a pigeon. That's worth $5 to me.

The Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew were astounding. I've never seen so much gold in all my life. The area that holds the Emerald Buddha is practically blinding. It felt amazing to for-real-for-real be sitting in front of one of the most revered objects in the whole world. On the downside, I picked the smoggiest day that Bangkok has had since I got here to do my tour. Also, I decided to tour the Palace on some sort of state holiday. So half of it was closed. However, the Palace is really only second to Wat Phra Kaew. But don't tell the King that I said so. Or any Thai people for that matter. They looooooove the Royal Family here.

On my way out, I decided to skip Wat Pho for the day, where the giant reclining Buddha is held. After my fiasco with the state holiday, I figured that I wouldn't risk it and just save it for when I come back to the city. Walking back to Khao San I stopped for some fresh fruit at a road side stand, which are fantastic inventions by the way. Cheaper than dirt and better than restaurants, they have everything from fresh fruit and hand squeezed juice to Phad Thai and Som Tam. Anyways, I did some pointing, she did some yabbering, and what I ended up with was either an extremely green mango, or the tartest pear I've ever had. She ended up with my 10 Baht. Or she sold me something that no Thai person would have ever eaten and I got laughed at horrendously after I left. Either way, I liked my sketchy fruit thing.

So this is it now, I head to Phuket at 6pm tonight, provided that I don't play the ass and miss my bus again. Amy, here I come (for real this time)! And Mike, I'll see you on Samui in a few days. To everyone else, wish me luck on the bus! Hopefully none of my things get stolen...

Quote of the Day:

So I ended up talking to the Doppel last night for about four hours on Skype. For those of you who don't know the Doppel, his name is Jesse (but no one calls him that except his mother), he is Kaare's evil twin, and he lives in Kagoshima, Japan. He's also one of my bestest friends. Anywho, I'm talking to him last night, and we get onto the subject of Dragon Ball Z, a Japanese Anime cartoon, for those who aren't losers like us. There is this thing in...you know what...this is just going to take way to long to explain. I'll give you the quote and shut up about the Dragon Ball Z geek-details. Basically, he discovered the translation for something, and in a little kid sad voice, he says to me on the phone:

"But humans are life-people too..."

You probably had to be there.

Angie and the Airports

2008-02-01T22:08:00.000-08:00

It's official. I hate airports with a firey passion that could only have been born in hell. Which airports are, so obviously my firey hate came from the airport. Logic.

I get to the airport in Istanbul exactly two hours before my flight to Bangkok. I stand in line for thirty freaking minutes to check in. When I get to the check in, the woman at the counter asks me how long I plan to stay in Thailand. I tell her thirty days, which is the allowed length or time for Canadians without a visa. She then asks to see my ticket out of the country. Which I don't have because, firstly, I've never found information telling me that I needed to produce one, and secondly, I had been planning to take trains and busses overland. So I get a little frightened. The lady at the desks directs me over to the ticket agents on the other side of the extremely large, international airport, and tells me she'll reserve me a seat, but that I need to get a ticket out of Thailand.

Over I head to the ticket counters, feeling like an idiot hauling my luggage all over the place. I explain to the woman at that counter what my problem is. I ask her to get me just a cheap ticket to anywhere in Southeast Asia because at this point I don't really care. Inter-Asia flights are quite inexpensive, so I knew that even if I didn't catch the flight, I wouldn't really care too much. This woman then proceeds to tell me that it's going to cost 150 Euros (about $225 Canadian), but that it is only a "ghost ticket"...I can't actually use it. This seems a little steep and sketchy to me, so I ask if I can pay with my credit card. When she tells me that they only take cash, I start to see what this "ghost ticket" is actually about, and why I can't catch a flight with it. Thank God I'd been in Turkey long enough to reconize a scam when I see one.

Next, I run all around the airport trying to find an internet stand. I finally find one, get online with Air Asia, and book a flight from Krabi (Thailand) to Kuala Lampur (Malaysia) for about $60 Canadian. This sounds fantastic, doesn't it? The fine print, however, is that they won't let me print, even after I explain what my situation is. I think they work in tandem with the ticket sellers. Well my only option now is to write down all the information for my ticket and hope that the check in people accept it, because at this point, I've got about forty five minutes left to catch my flight.

I get to the check in counter, sweating from running, wide eyed with fear, ticket on the ready...and the lady checks me in. Without even asking to see my ticket out of Thailand. This is actually the exact same story that a friend of mine had when he was leaving Britain for Singapore. It appears that airport officials just get to decide on whatever they like. I end up making it onto my flight with five minutes to spare.

I then have a wonderful flight, no problem with my transfer in Doha (Saudi Arabia), and a very comfortable rest of my flight to Bangkok. I arrive at 6:30am. As I am heading to customs, I see a sign that says "Visa on Arrival". This trickiest of tricky signs roped me in. When I get to the Visa on Arrival counter, I see that I need 1000 Baht ($30) for my visa. I also see that I need small ID photos for the visa, which cost 200 Baht ($6). Thankfully I have some of these...in my checked luggage. I have only Euros on me at the moment. So I ask an official walking by where an ATM is. He tells me that it's on the other side of customs. So I hit the currency exchange counter (interesting that they had one of those but no ATM) and change about 50 Euros into Baht. I head over to the photo booth, get my ID pictures taken, and get told by the lady standing there that I don't need them if I'm Canadian. This is after I'd already spent the 200 Baht for them. Great. Well then I go sit down and wait for my number to be called for my visa. Thirty minutes later, an official walking by asks me where I'm from. He then informs me that Canadians don't need to apply for visas on arrival, and that I'll just get my passport stamped at customs.

Which I do, and finally arrive outside of the airport at 10am. I catch a taxi to Khao San road, which mysteriously went from being 500 Baht ($15) when we started the trip, to 600 Baht ($18) half way through the drive. But what do I do at that point? I'm already in the cab and I frankly don't want to be left on the side of the highway in Bangkok. I'm not going to squabble over $3 for something like that. Finally arriving on Khao San road, I grab a hostel for 180 Baht ($5-6) per night and immediately fall asleep.

So here I am everyone, in Bangkok! It's been a few days now, and I have done absolutely nothing. I haven't left Khao San road the entire time. But it's been amazing. I've been playing my favourite sport everyday, people watching. It's just so much fun to do when the whole atmosphere is a completely new experience. And I've also met some really nice people, some of whom I'm meeting up with later this month. I ended up missing my bus to Phuket yesterday because I was hanging out with a gent named Travis and totally forgot about it! So I rebooked and now head to the islands tomorrow, and hopefully you'll all hear from me safe and sound on Phuket.

Quote of the Day:

Travis is an American rock climber...his take on America? (Pardon the French Nana)

"America actually celebrates Colombus Day and the fucking retard thought he was in India."

Istanbul, Turkey

2008-01-29T20:23:00.000-08:00

This is a city of character. Full of it and them. Character in spades. Also in hearts, clubs and diamonds. As in, I heart backgammon, I want to club the guy down the street and the 84 carat diamond at the Topkapı Palace. The sights in Istanbul are amazing. We were staying right next door to both the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofia, which look like something out of Aladdin. The Grand Bazaar was two blocks away, and the Asian side of Istanbul, with its fresh fish (aka alive) and produce markets was only a fifteen minute ferry ride.

It's difficult to describe Istanbul. I think the best adjectives for this city are its people; foreign and local alike. So, I give you my top five people in Istanbul (not including Kaare). Hopefully they will help you piece together a piece mealed city.

1. Pascal (Aussie)

This guy could tell a story almost as well as Kaare can, and his laugh made you wonder if the world has ever had anything worth crying over, it was that infectious. He couldn't dance worth snot, but when the belly dancer at our hostel called him up...well...we took pictures and he didn't even care! Istanbul and its insincerity can really start to get to a person. You can never tell if someone wants to actually talk to you, or just sell you a carpet. Pascal's laugh was a cornily described "breath of fresh air", and a thankfully received, light-hearted perspective.

2. Becks (Kurdish)

Remember the guy down the street that I wanted to club? This is him. I have never seen a more text book psychopath in my life. Series of events:
a) He invites us into his restaurant for tea and teaches us to play backgammon.
b) He hits on me later that night.
c) I say no.
d) He freaks out.
e) Everyone is afraid of him.
Add a lot more details and what you get is every person in our hostel walking five minutes out of their way, all of the time, just to avoid the street he works on.

3. Amy Heading (Aussie)

Now, don't take this next sentence the wrong way, read the whole section before you judge. The was nothing overtly special about Amy. She had no fantastic story behind her and no crazy personality trait to warrant writing a blog about. Except for the fact that I honestly liked her a whole bunch. This is so rare for me to say about a woman, that I'm surprised at myself. I'm even rearranging some of my Thailand plans to meet up with her in Phuket. She was genuine. And you know, I think that's all I'm going to say about her. Anything else would just be extra adjectives, and I don't want to waste her on them.

4. Jay-Z Rex (Brazilian)

His name was Ken. He Fluently spoke Portuguese, Spanish, English and Japanese. He was conversational in French, Italian and German. His Japanese family moved to Brazil, then gave birth to him. So he was actually Brazilian, but looked Japanese, hence, Japazilian. Well, Kaare decided that "Japazilian" sounded way too much like a dinosaur to not include "Rex" after it. He became Japazilian Rex, later shortened to Jay-Z Rex. Did I mention that his real name is actually Socrates? Who gets to live a life where your name is Socrates and your nickname is Jay-Z Rex? Can life possibly be that sweet?

5. The Kid Who Scammed Kaare (probably Turkish or Kurdish)

Readers Digest Version:
a) Kaare goes to the ATM.
b) Shoe Shine Kid (hence forth referred to as the SS Kid) chats Kaare up Turkish style, which comprises or four important phrases:
i. Yes please, my friend!
ii. Where are you from?
iii. I love (insert country)!/I have a friend from (insert country)!
iv. Can I offer you some tea/sell you a carpet/spend your money/shine your shoes?
c) After Kaare says no, the SS Kid shines his shoes anyways.
d)The SS Kid brushes Kaare's shoes for 2.45 seconds, then demands $45 (perhaps a dollar to 1/10 second ratio? I'm just trying to rationalize here...)
e) Kaare says, "I'm quite sorry young sir, but I do not believe that the service provided was quite adequate enough to warrant $45, especially after I refused said service. Perhaps you should forget about it." Something like that.
f) The SS Kid goes down to $20.
g) see 'e'
h) some random huge guy walks up and offers to pay for Kaare's shoe shine, and then does so after Kaare says no.
i) The SS Kid runs away.
j) Random Huge Guy now tells Kaare to pay him back.
k) Kaare loses $20.

My only personal interaction with this kid was:
a) Listening to him call Kaare "my brother" the day after the scam.
b) Watching him stick out his tongue at Kaare whenever we walked by.

Kaare wants to throw rocks at this kid. I want to take his picture and love him forever.

Quote of the Day:

We were hanging out at our hostel watching women's volleyball, in which, after each point, all the players on the team hug.

Angie: I don't think that I would want to be touching someone that sweaty after all that physical exercise.

Random Dude on the Couch: So you don't like sex?

Paris, France

2008-01-05T15:23:00.000-08:00

So everyone told us that the French were complete assholes. The first day we got there, we learned that this was just not true. While exploring a menu board outside a small cafe, one of the waiters came out, bestowed kisses on all of us, held our hands, and walked us to a table inside.

We then learned that this was due to the fact that the French government had actually done an ad campaign telling the citizens of Paris to be nicer to tourists. They even sent police officers around to enforce this niceness. Interesting way to promote the tourist industry.

Our first stop in France was at Versailles. It was...justifying to say the least. This was where the French Revolution came to a head. After walking around Versailles for an entire day, I completely understand their motives! Kaare and I estimated that if one was to rebuild the palace in this day and age - including the grounds, the architecture, the paintings, the carvings, and the bloody gold - it would definitely be somewhere in the trillions of dollars. No exaggeration. The revolution happened because the people were fed up with the amount of money that Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were spending. Antoinette had her own village on the grounds of Versailles, put aside for those days that she wanted to feel like a "peasant". She actually had an entire village built for her whims. If the revolutionaries were worried about their justifiability, I'm sure that the march through the grounds of Versailles on the way to the palace swept away any and all doubts.

I'd also heard that the Louvre was just too big to see in one visit, and that you needed at least three days to see it properly. "Pfft," I thought, "people just don't know how to manage their time!" Having now been there, I can safely say that the Louvre is about the size of Canada. A couple of the paintings there were actually two stories tall. It is one of the most amazing museums I have ever been to, and I would suggest that everyone put it on their list of things to see before they die. Because it would be very easy to get lost and die inside the Louvre.

The traffic in Paris is ridiculous. This one time, we watched seven lanes converge into one without the use of road lines, traffic lights, or street signs. The Arc de Triomphe is encased with a twelve lane roundabout. And pedestrians? You must be joking. Or at least the highways department of Paris must have been joking when they put crosswalks on the road. It's just a way for drivers to hit more people all at once. We call it violence, they call it efficiency.

Finally, to sum up, I saw my first dead person in Paris. Well, at least what we thought was a dead person at the time. She was in fact a drunk in the subway that had somehow managed to pass out head first through the bars of the chairs. But I definitely thought she was dead for a solid ten minutes.

Quote of the Day:

In Kaare's guidebook for the Middle East, there is a section on Iraq. In this section of Iraq, there is a heading that says "Solo Traveling". The advice it gives on solo traveling in Iraq?

You must be mad.

That is all it says.

Brussels, Belgium

2008-01-02T07:40:00.000-08:00

Wow...where do I begin? Well, how about by calling myself lots of names because I lied about keeping up with everyone once we got to Belgium. I know you're all getting a good creative work out thinking of all those wonderful things you'd like to be doing to me right now. In fact, one person (who will remain anonymous) threatened to send me anthrax via postcard. Another person (who will remain anonymous...*cough* Aunty Julie *cough*) threatened to don a Ninja Turtles costume and come searching for me. By the way, my coughing back there was a direct result of the afore mentioned anthrax. Thanks to all my fans. Your death threats really touched my heart.

So what can I say about Belgium? Well, some hosebeast on the plane told us that it sucked. Were I able to find her again, I'd punch her for lying. But she was British, so I won't hold it against her.

What she failed to mention was the fact that Brussels is a wonderful city. It just doesn't make any sense.

Item 1: There is no Belgium government right now. Not even kidding. In fact, Belgium has broken it's own record with 200 days of no government. Apparently the French and the Dutch can't agree on anything. Surprised?

Item 2: Although there is no government, there is, apparently, a King. Okay...say it with me: What?

Item 3: One time, we were riding the Metro, and it started going backwards. As in, we stopped, and then the train went back in the direction it had just came from. Yet somehow, we ended up at a different station.

Item 4: They celebrate Saint Nicholas Day on Dec 6th. Now, over hundreds of years, this tradition found its way to the rest of Europe, then to North America, where it got transformed and amalgamated with Christmas, giving us Santa Clause (Saint Nick) on the 25th of December. This in turn worked its way back to Belgium. Belgians now celebrate both Saint Nicholas Day and Christmas Day, without noticing the fact that Saint Nicholas and Santa Claus are the same person.

Item 5: Sometimes, buses just don't come. Other times, the same bus will come three times in a row. And I mean in a row. Lined up, one right after the other.

Item 6: People who are driving straight do not have the right of way. People who are turning right have the right of way. All of the time. So if you were driving down Highway 97, and someone was turning right on to the highway from Pandosy, you would have to stop and let them go first. Even if your light was green and theirs was red.

Item 7: Sultans of Kebab. It just makes no sense how good the Kebabs were at that place. What really doesn't make sense is why Kebabs haven't migrated to Canada yet.

Item 8: The average price for a bottle of wine is about $5. If you spend $10 on a bottle, you're living large. Tequila costs about $15. My Mom really liked the country.

Item 9: Pub Quiz. For those of you who haven't heard about it yet, Pub Quiz takes place at the Irish Bar every Monday night. There are eight rounds, ten questions per round. It happens during happy hour. The three teams with the highest scores win prizes. What about this doesn't make sense? There is no guarantee that the answers they give you are correct. So even if you win, by their count, you've lost. Also, the questions vary from the astoundingly easy (what are the colours of the rainbow?) to the ridiculously hard (Botswana became independent in what month of 1966?).

Item 10: To get to Brussels from the airport, you have to go through one of the dodgiest red light districts I've ever seen. Are they purposely trying to thwart tourism? Maybe the lack of government is going to their heads...

Well folks, apart from all that, I have to say that Belgium was great! Christmas with the family was heart warming, of course, and seeing Mom and Kate again was wonderful. We did a couple side trips from Brussels, but those are different cities, so they get new blog entries! Yay! More for you to read!!! Now please don't send anthrax...

Fun Fact of the Day:
It's about Paris, so you'll have to wait until I write that blog.

Quote of the Day:
Deanna was trying to call her Mom on Christmas, but had misplaced the new phone number. My advice?

Angie: Why don't you try looking her up on canada411.com? Do you know her last name?

Apparently, I'm a genius. It's just a bloody good thing I didn't decide to major in biology or genetics...

Macadam Reverie

2007-12-04T14:50:00.000-08:00

today
my road is made of cobblestone
jigsaw crosswalks
the puzzle piece pathways
of people long gone

with every stone
I think about them
and me
and the way we aren't so different
building life sized jigsaws
of what we're given
piecing together to get to the future
trying to produce the pictures
we see in our dreams

they built the roads
so with no roads left to build
I'm trying to make my own path
but all that seems left, to me
is tarmac
smooth lines
paving over jigsaw dreams

but today
my road is made of puzzle pieces
cobblestone highways
that let me believe
in the people long gone
let me believe
that I'm not so different

because I can see
that someone else
had jigsaw dreams

Helsinki, Finland

2007-11-30T07:01:00.000-08:00

We have just spent over seventeen hours in transit. I am two coffees on stuttered sleep into the next day. My thoughts dart like hummingbirds. Tangible, numerous; easy to see but impossible to grasp. I suspect, that were I to catch one, it would make about as much lasting sense as a meth freak. Gibberish doomed to deteriorate. Caffeine tends to turn my insides into chaotic mish mash. Especially now that I've agreed to the third cup. My innards shall be mashed potatoes, cigarettes are my gravy, Oxford the dish that this feast is served on. And so, erratically and potato-like, I remember Finland.

Fitting, actually, as potatoes are one of Jessica's favourite foods. She claims she use to get drunk on them. I believe her.

The house of Jessica and Jan (pronounced 'yawn') is like a prototype for the House of Awesome. A miniature prototype. A shoebox diorama held together with paintings, puppets, posters and utter disarray. Well, not so much disarray as functional chaos. Animators by profession, their workday start time amounted to a shoulder shrug. As in: "What time do you have to work today?" Reply: shoulder shrug. They are artists from the core.

After spending almost a month in the Baltics, surrounded by Old Towns and the ancient, Helsinki was almost refreshing in its newness. The architecture had obviously been planned with aesthetics in mind, as it was utterly gorgeous. Also, probably one of the best planned public transit systems I've ever seen. However, the roads are ridiculous to try and navigate. It took Kaare and I about twenty minutes to walk from the market square to Jessica and Jan's apartment. On the third day there, we realized that it should have only taken us about two minutes. I felt like a giant ass. But hey, I've felt dumber over more important things than that!

The market was so sweet. Imagine the Granville Island Market on speed. Vendors everywhere selling everything from bulk olives to fish eggs. One of my favourite new dishes being mashed potatoes with fish eggs. Amazingly good! And we also ate horse. And reindeer. Dear Rudolph: the end. Sorry kids...Rudolph's nose didn't save him this time. It was actually really good. Extremely salty. Sorry to all the veggies out there, I'll stop talking about it now. Well, one more thing: Yummmmmm.......!

I think one of my favourite parts of Finland was Soumenlinna. Oh yeah, just you try pronouncing that one. We'll hold a conference call contest to see who gets the closest. Anyways, Soumenlinna is an island just off the coast of Helsinki. It was about a fifteen minute ferry ride, the price of which was included in our tram ticket, proof of Finland's superior public transit. The island was beautiful. We spent almost four hours wandering around: in ruins, on the shore, over rocks, and down those rickety wooden staircases that I've always associated with the ocean off of Long Beach. And when we went for lunch, I had a fish stew with a tomato base. Yup, tomatoes. I've decided that if you can manifest things, then you must be able to de-manifest things. So no more tomato allergy for Angie! I hope. I haven't had the guts to try fresh ones yet. Plus I don't really trust the hospital systems of the countries that we've been in. And I don't think Kaare would be quite as good with an allergic reaction as he was at fixing Jessica's arm WHEN HE BROKE IT!!!

Don't worry, that happened in Thailand! Not in Finland. Although I don't think Jessica will ever let him live it down. Much to my entertainment. Sorry for the heart attack I must have just given you Mom.

Anyways, that's about it for now folks! We're alive in Oxford right now, and we head to Brussels later this evening. I will hopefully be able to keep in better contact with everyone! Look forward to long and detailed emails folks...providing that Marty has internet that he doesn't mind me using as crack. Lets hear it for internet withdraws! (Hooray)

Quote of the Day:
I was wearing my ewok touque and bouncing one of the balls on the end of the idiot ties off my head. Kaare gave me a look (you know..."a look"), and I explained that I was building up the bounce ratio. His reply...

"Did you calculate that using your retard powers?"

Alcohol Fact of the Day:
In Finland, they have Fish Vodka. That would be Fisherman Friends Vodka. The menthol is so strong that you don't even taste the alcohol. It's crazy.

Tallinn, Estonia

2007-11-20T08:17:00.000-08:00

For Stella-Mom and Auntie Julie: who wanted to hear about something other than drinking.

And for Nana: not a single f-bomb to be seen!

The beauty of Tallinn is quieting for me. The grey sea port day. The winter bare trees in hidden courtyards or growing out of moss covered ruins. As I walk past the soaring architecture of Alexander Nevsky Chapel, I have to quickly step onto the two foot wide sidewalk to avoid the cars whizzing down the cobblestone. A colourful lane lined with galleries and stencil graffiti has, on the left side, a steep, concrete staircase. On the right is the original, 800 year old roadway, built at an almost mind boggling forty five degree angle (although Kaare will argue that I am exagerating the angle). How did people, never mind horses, manuever it? Imagine Dawes Hill made of cobblestones. (For those of you who know Vancouver)

I feel like I'm stuck in juxtaposition. Like, all of a sudden, the cartoon Mickey Mouse from "Steamboat Willie" (circa 1928) happens to appear in "Finding Nemo". Stylish (and gorgeous) women in fur lined parkas and jeans that I'm pretty sure they put on with a paint brush, navigate the age worn streets in spike heels. Although we have it on good authority that these women aren't locals, they're Russians. A local told us that. At the top of the city, I can look over both the colourful Old Town and the bustling port area of the new town. Even our hostel, with it's laminate flooring and central heating, has a kitchen situated in what could very well have been a medieval dungeon. Possibly, it still is. We found some very suspicious Hansel and Gretel sized holes in the wall.

And the art community here is like nothing I've seen outside of Nelson or the Sunshine Coast. We accidentaly came across the art gallery/workshop of Aleksnar Savchnkov. We walked through an arched tunnel on a whim, finding ourselves in a hidden courtyard. It was like walking into a faerie garden. Stone arches and staircases covered in vines, stained glass lanterns, wooden planks carved with foreign script and the utter silence of a garden in hibernation. I half expected a little gnome to come racing around the corner and chastise us in gibberish for our intrusion. To our right, an aged stairwell led down into the basement gallery. Inside there were paintings everywhere. On walls and chairs, in tiny alcoves or hanging from the ceiling. Images of women, scenes of snow covered Tallinn and innovative pictures of angels or the Virgin Mary. If the painting was framed, it was done so artistically with driftwood, stone, scrap metal, wool and even with the building itself. There was one alcove about two feet wide, one foot tall and two feet deep, that held a tine painting of the Virgin with a candle burning blithely beside it. Most of the paintings, however, were unframed. They lay in folders on tables, or strewn unfinished around Savnchkov's work space. A fireplace roared, surrounded by comfy chairs, the artist, and a few other tea drinkers. The building, from what I could gather, had been a monastery once upon a time. It was one of the coziest places I have ever had the privelage of stumbling into.

Finally, I apologize to everyone who hasn't been hearing from us lately. Internet has been hard to come by. Right now, we're stealing internet from Jessica's neighbours. (We're in Helsinki by the way) We have officially become gypsies.

Vilnius, Lithuania

2007-11-11T08:07:00.000-08:00

I will start with the bad. So far I have lost my Terza Rima t-shirt, my scarf that Dusty brought me back from India (that one sucked), and all of our soap products. Shampoo, condtioner, bodywash, and face wash. I've actually lost our shampoo twice, having lost the replacement the day we bought it. Awesome.

Having said all that, I will now say this: I LOVE VILNIUS!!! So far, this city has been our favourite. I'm actually not really sure where to start...so much has happened. Also, I'm pretty sure that I'm still drunk from yesterday (it's about 6pm right now) and I'm not going to attach any guarantees to my wit today. This is going to be a long one folks, so buckle down.

Day 1: Wo Wowy Wow

We arrive in Vilnius at 8am, having taken an overnight bus and been harassed by terrifying Polish border guards, who we thought were Belarussian, which led to minor panic attacks, as we did not have visas for Belarus, and it was 3am. And very cold outside. And a very long walk back to Warsaw. Turns out that they were just angry Polish people, which really should not have surprised us at all. Sorry Dorota, but the older generation of people in Poland were just plain horrid. Younger generation, wonderful (and the women are unbelievably beautiful...like...unbelievable...men, not so much...a cross between Neanderthal and KGB). Older generation, as cruel and hard as the communism that they lived through.

Back to Lithuania! Vilnius, day 1, 8am. We get to our hostel and immediately go to sleep. We wake up and hit the streets in the afternoon-ish. We wander around, grocery shopping, soap shopping, toursit informationing. We shower (we smelled very bad, having lost all of our soap). We then go to a bar called Amatininku Uzeiga. Say that one...well, I was going to say "three times fast", but in reality, just try saying it at all. If Guiness is the steak of the beer world, then Horn is turkey. It smelled remarkably like ground meat, tasted very wonderful and went down very quickly. It is served in a giant "glass" emblazzened with the name of the beer. I'm guessing that it's not actually glass, but carved from the clear horns of some mystical Lithuanian creature. Beer cost about $2 for .5L in a bar here. Yup, we love Vilnius.

From here we moved to Ibysh. This bar has become my best friend. There was a DJ spinning awesome hip-hop and 60's doo wop music. The decor was a cross between a disco and an exploded paint store. There was a giant fish in a giant tank just hanging out. At this point we were drinking rusty nails. We were actually the only customers in there. We ended up hanging out with the bartender, who's name we only learned last night is Mantas (like preying mantas), and the DJ (who's name I forget) and a couple of girls, Ruth and Steffanie, who were there hanging out with those guys. I believe the bar closed at 3am, but in the style of the Fixx, we just hung out after it was closed, drinking and smoking around the bar. Possibly, we got home at 5am. Ibysh = A+

Oh oh oh...almost forgot! For those of you who have seen Borat, and Kealey, this is mostly for you, remember how he gets excited about something and he says "Wo Wowy Wow"? The DJ did the same thing. But for real. No word of a lie. Exactly the same.

Day 2: TO THE RIVER!!!

We wake up around...1pm? We are useless sacks of shit until about 3:45pm, at which point we decide our need for food is greater than our need to nurse our hangovers. As we are leaving, Adam asks if we want to go to Forest.

Lets talk about Adam. He's from Perth (Australia, for those geographically challenged) but he's been living in Riga (Latvia) and a little in Vilnius for about five years. He now speaks broken English. It's crazy. He sounds like English is his second language, but he has the Aussie accent. He deletes little words (ie. a, the, are) and drops all tenses. So when he asked if we wanted to go to a sauna in the forest overnight, it sounded something like this:

"Some of us, we go to Forest. There is smoke sauna. We take train to town...how to say...not all way? We take taxi cab to village from train, there is well, river, maybe we stay for night? Come home morning. Forest is relax, calm. Maybe you come?"

So strange.

However, we decide that this sounds pretty sweet. We went and grabbed some food from the most magical pancake house you can imagine. Pancakes of every kind. Filled with everything. For maybe...$3 Canadian? Magic. Not quite Kebab magic (please note the capital 'K', Kebabs deserve it), but pretty close. Then we meet up with Adam around 5pm to catch the train.

We get on the dodgy train and about now is when the horror movie feeling starts. At this point I started wondering if Adam was taking us out to the country to kill us and steal our identities. However, we were then joined by a group from the other hostel in town and I felt much safer. Except for the fact that, once again, I was the only girl. There was Andrew (from Melbourne, smart as hell, could talk about anything), Chris (a Christian from the States studying at a school in Tallinn, Estonia), Viktor (the Spaniard...think Princess Bride) and Andrew (English drunkard obsessed with documenting through photo and video). I'm not sure how to describe our experience in Forest. I think the best thing to do is go point form. Hopefully this disjointed flash of images will give you a good impression of our side trip.

- we are staying in a bunk house with bunk beds, a wood burning stove, a clock that is stuck at 3am, the Witching Hour. The clock appears to be trying to go backwards. Kaare changes it so that we are not stuck forever in horror hour.

- there is a pirate eye patch outside our door.

- crazy neighbour who keeps knocking on our window. Adam attempts to talk to him. He's nice, but absolutely looney.

- the outhouse is the worst one I have ever seen in my life. Bar none.

- we have lots of beer.

- somehow a fishing lure appears outside our door that wasn't there when we arrived.

- we have mead...for real mead.

- our dinner consisted of a block of cheese, a loaf of rye bread, some salami, all between seven people. Oh, and three bags of fish crackers.

- the sauna is built of wood, with smoldering rocks that aren't even properly contained. Low roof. About 20 meters from our bunk house.

- as Kaare and I are getting ready to go into the sauna, the owner came in to ask us for money. Adam walked out completely naked to talk to him.

- the boys are all naked. And very very very hairy. I kept my bathing suit bottoms on. My legs are very very very hairy.

- the sauna is soooooooo hot.

- throughout the night we discuss everything from suicide to ewoks riding laser shooting dinosaurs.

- the whole thing feels like the Blair Witch project. We are literally in the middle of nowhere.

- there is a river about 5 meters away. A very cold Lithuanian river, in the middle of a very cold Lithuanian winter. It was down a flight of extremely slippery wooden stairs, which you dived off into the water. I did it once. The cry for the night became "INTO THE RIVER!!!"

- shrinkage.

- the Spaniard screams like a girl.

Day 3: Chlamydia?

The next morning (or afternoon) we went to go catch our train from the station. The night before we'd got off the train a town early because the train didn't run all the way at that time. We'd taken a cab to Forest. Forest train station? Some tracks, two benches and a sign post reading Zervynos. That was it. We spent about 30 mins in the freezing ass cold hoping, waiting, and wishing for our train. Which eventually came, leading us to warmth, home and food. Oh, and Andrew, our English documenter? Absolutely no shame about what he took pictures of. There are some really really good photos. Well...I'm not so sure that "good" is the right word...incriminating is a much better word. He's got my email, so hopefully we get them sent to us! Nana, you can't see them. Dad, you DEFINITELY can't see them.

Side note: eating out here is so strange. If you get service (large IF), you are not given the right amount of menues, your food will come out whenever it's ready, sometimes your food will come immediately, sometimes it will take half an hour, no one checks on you, it's extremely easy to walk out on your bill 'cause no one appears to care, and the servers are all very nice! Much different service standard.

Back at the hostel we start chatting with an Aussie named Shane and a brother sister combo from Hungary named Anita and Saboech (I probably completely fuckered the spelling on that name). Anita lives in Budapest and is visiting Saboech for a few days, who is studying in Klaipeda. Which I cannot ever say correctly and have continuosly pronounced as "chlamydia". It worked out rather well 'cause Klaipeda is our next stop. It's on the coast of Lithuania, and Mom, you'll like this, it has the biggest amber museum in the world. So we're going to meet up with those cats for a few days in Klaipeda and then in January we're going to go stay with Anita in Budapest for a few days. Anita is completely fluent in English, Saboech almost as good.

The night that ensued with these people was crazy. But Kaare is going to tell you about it. Otherwise, this blog would just be way way way to long. If he doesn't have something up in a few days however, you'll get the rest of the story from me. You hear that Mr. Iverson? Get your ass in gear. I don't care if you're "not feeling it" right now. Stop being a girl. (He's sitting at the computer right beside me at this moment and he's going to read this as soon as I post it. Hehe...)

Fun fact of the day: bars here don't appear to have a closing time. Or if they do, it is completely ignored. I asked Mantas (from Ibysh) what time he closed the bar. He said "last person". Which means that he was there until 6am with us. The "closing hours" represent what time they stop letting more people in. If you're already in, you can stay as long as you want. At least that's been our experience.

Quote of the day:
We were discussing with Chris (the Christian American) the emo culture in Canada and the States and how absolutely ridiculous it is. This is what he came up with...

Chris: I mean, yeah, we're all depressed, but we don't have to be fucking queers about it.

Auschwitz/Warsaw, Poland

2007-11-06T12:27:00.000-08:00

"Arbeit Macht Frei"
Work Will Set You Free

The sign above the gates of Auschwitz I. Ironic and morbid to say the least.

I'm not going to talk about Auschwitz except to say three things:

1. There will not be any pictures ever posted of our trip there. I took my camera with me, and then just felt too wrong about taking any pictures. I actually felt strange watching other people take pictures. Like, "Oooh, thousands of people were executed against this wall...lets remember it in personnal photographic digital history for ever!" Gross.

2. I think alot of healing has happened at Auschwitz. I'm not going to downplay it, there were definitely some parts of it that sobered me. The crimes against humanity made tangible. But for the most part, I think the fact that so many people have been there since 1945 bringing peace, mourning, love and healing, that alot of the negative imprinting has been washed away.

3. I learned that I am able to pray. Nick, I said one for your family.

That's all I'm going to say about Auschwitz. If you really want to know what the experience was like, then go there. I think it's a pretty personnal thing. Kaare and I pretty much didn't talk to eachother the entire time we were there.

Moving on to happier things...

Well...longer things. Longer, like our trip to Vilnius, Lithuania. We went to the train station in Krakow, only to find that we had to take a four hour train to Warsaw. And then a TEN HOUR BUS RIDE from Warsaw to Vilnius. The next day. At 11pm. Yup. 11pm. We get into Vilnius at 9am on Nov 8th. So much balls.

The plus side is that our hostel in Warsaw is awesome. As soon as we got checked into the hostel, we decided to go out for kebabs. Remember kebabs? Oh God...so much greatness. Anyways, on our way out we asked some people at the front communal area if they knew of a place to get a good kebab. This launched a ten minute debate between a balding English ex-pat and a special ops-looking Texan grad student. Apparently, we have some kebab experts in the house. Represent.

This in turn led to another debate about whether or not Polish cab drivers try to scam you. Mr. English funny guy is completely convinced that they do. Our American political science major thinks that they don't. This could be because he is one scary looking mother fucker. No joke. Bigger than Kaare and I combined, covered in tatoos and smart enough to stop a speeding train using his oversized brain power. The guy is a combination of those crazy war journalists (you should hear his stories) and Doogie Howser. If Doogie Howser was interested in political terrorism in refugee camps. He reminded me of just how little I know about the world.

Back to the main point: Kebabs. Oh Lordy...kebabs. They sent us down the street about a block. There we found a four foot tall, two foot wide, rotating stack of chicken meat. The girl there was slicing it off with what appeared to be a saber. And they were the best kebabs we've had so far. I'm still full two hours later. Although, we hear that the best kebabs anywhere are in Istanbul. Kaare and I have decided to do the 2007/2008 kebab world tour. We will be making a travel guide to the best kebabs in Europe, based on a very scientific rating system. Our stomachs.

Th-th-th-that's all for now folks!

Traveller tip of the day: book your hostel in advance! If you do not do this, you will end up wandering the streets of Warsaw, in the freezing rain, 22kg packs on your back, not even able to smoke because you're so cold, getting turned down at every hostel you can possibly find on the map. I don't care if you're in India. If you don't book in advance, this will be your fate. Warsaw, rain, wandering.

Quote of the day:
Scene: after kebabs, we decide to go out to find some beer to bring back to the hostel.
Angie (asking people at the front entrance): Do you guys know where we can find a liquor store?
Polish guy with a huge beard and smurf toque: This must be your first time to Poland.
Kaare (laughing): Haha, no no no. We know that there must be tons of liquor stores around here, we're just looking for the closest one.
Giant Polish Smurf: Poland IS a liquor store.

I like this country.

Krakow, Poland

2007-11-04T05:18:00.000-08:00

Absinthe party at the fly honey warehouse!!!

That's right, I said absinthe. The real stuff. The wormwood content being measured in mg/L. We were drinking 30mg/L last night. It was called Mr. Jekyll. I love my life. This blog is going to be as disjointed as our night was.

The absinthe den that our hostel is situated next door to:
I don't even know what it's called. The decor is late 1800's Victorian era. Smoke filled. Dim lighting. Chandeliers that only partially work. Playing 30's jazz music. Nana-style hand crocheted table cloths. Did I mention the ABSINTHE!!!

About three drinks in, we're already walking the line of sanity. Kaare is wearing the biggest shit eating grin I have ever seen on his face. Before anyone gets excited, there were no hallucinations. But definite craziness.

Around now we meet Cameron and Pol. Cam is from Texas. My favourite part of running into Americans is telling them that Steven Colbert is running for president. They lose their minds. Pol (I think his real name was Luke) is originally from Krakow, but moved to the States at age 9 to go to school. Now he's living in Krakow again with his wife and little girl. Cam was just on a week long trip to visit him. Pol is short for Poland. The same way we call Alex: Alabama.

Another absinthe and we're off to the jazz bar. Downstairs, WWII brick basement. Real jazz. Upright bass, keyboard, trumpet, sax, and guitar. On the way, Pol teaches us Polish phrases. Don't remember any of them. We must have walked 2km to get to this bar. Pol kept saying it was close. We drink Polish beer. We have no idea how to get back to our hostel. We meet some cats from Dublin, and one guy from Ontario. I think his name was Rick. Don't know what happened to Rick. Pol is fuckered and, for some God unknown reason, in charge of leading us around.

The set is over, 2:30am. We embark on an epic journey to find kebabs. Kebabs appear to be a favoured Polish fast food. If you've listened to the Patton Oswald sketch about putting all your favourite foods in one bowl, mashing them up, and shoving them down your throat, then you have an idea of what kebabs are. A piece of bread topped with meat, cabbage (lots of cabbage), pickles, and occasionally some vegetables. Between perogies and kebabs, I'm pretty sure we've both gained about 10lbs.

3am. We do not find kebabs. However, we do find another bar. Kaare and I have run out of money at this point. Cam is buying our drinks. I set out from the bar to find an ATM.

3:30am. I am completely, utterly, and hopelessly lost. I have no idea how to find the guys or the bar or our hostel. I decide to wander aimlessly until sunup when I will be able to find an open store that can hopefully sell me a map.

3:45am. As I am wandering aimlessly, I notice that I am walking past the bar where the guys are. No word of a lie. I join up with them again, and we decide to head home. Pol and Cam are nice enough to walk us back to our hostel, as we literally have no idea where it is.

4am. We are lost again. Kaare and Pol are both way to drunk to read the map. Not lying about that. They actually can't figure out which way is up. They start talking to some random dude walking by. I start skipping off on my own, some how figuring that if I just walk, I will eventually find the hostel. This is a bad idea. Kaare and Pol send Cam to make sure that I don't skip off into some dark alley and get murdered. Kaare says that at this point I was making out with Cam. I don't believe him. I have photographic proof that Kaare was trying to make out with Cam. So who do you believe? The absinthe affected opinions of one man, or my solid photographic proof? Probably both.

Noon. Today. We have slept through breakfast. Kaare is in a very bad state. I have no idea how we got back to the hostel. I did somehow manage to take out my contacts, put my money belt under my pillow, and put my pajamas on (backwards). I have now drank about 2L of juice. My brain hurts.

And now it's 3pm! I'm blogging, Kaare is captain puking (hopefully not on my bed, but I'm too scared to look), and I'm about to go explore Krakow!

Morbid fact of the day: We are going to Auschwitz tomorrow. I feel strange about turning one of the most devastating and horrifying places in history into a tourist attraction. But as we are so close, I feel that we can't miss it. I think it's going to be a very sobering experience. The museum doesn't allow people 14yrs and younger. Keenan wouldn't be able to go. Scary.

Quote of the day:
Kaare: if Krakow was a video game, it would be Castlevania.

Torun, Poland

2007-11-02T05:48:00.000-07:00

Sweet mother of God, we're in Eastern Europe.

That was my first thought when we flew into Bydgoszcz. Yeah, I can't pronounce it either. Imagine if you will, every scary post-WW2 image of Eastern Europe that you can gather into your mind. And now you have a picture of Bydgoszcz. Horridly huge and run down appartment blocks, people begging for change (and following you to shops to see if you have any), and a train system that probably took people to Auschwitz. This was our first impression of Poland.

But then we hopped a train to Torun. The city is bloody beautiful. Not much to do in it, if you don't speak Polish, but definately an architecture enthusiasts dream. Our hostel is clean (thank you lord) and pretty centrally located. We are however, in the old town. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the tourist area of town, and that were we to move out into the city, we would find the scary Poland again. Ah well, we do what we can.

Idiot fact of the day: I actually discovered that I had a racial stereotype so deeply inbedded in my pschye, that I was completely unaware of its exsistance. We met some cool cats from Singapore at our hostel. Michelle, James, and Ching. As we were chatting with Michelle, Kaare commented on how good her English was. She then replied that it should be, because it was her first language, as it is for most of the people in Singapore. Her Mandarin isn't even that good. And I assumed that every Asian with an accent must use English as a second language. Don't I feel like an ass.

Fun fact of the day: I'm pretty sure that the Polish construction workers outside our hostel are trying to marry me. They continually talk to me (in Polish), bow, tip their caps, call me beautiful, and hold doors for me. If anyone has any advice on how to avoid acquiring a Polish husband, please let me know.

Quote of the Day:
Me: Do you think it's safe to leave our boards out?
Kaare: I feel pretty secure about it. I can't imagine anyone stealing our boards in Cobblestone World. It's like a level of Mario. Seems pretty redundant.

Halloween Day 1 & 2 pt 2

2007-10-31T13:33:00.000-07:00

to continue...

Westminster Abbey:

We claimed to be worshippers and attempted to get in for free. The guard at the back entrance allowed it, with these sage words of advice:

"Go in, sit down, and don't look at anything."

Which we, of course, ignored. We then tried to join a German tourist group (by accident), but were deterred when we tried to return the German pamphlets. The priest then produced a walkie talkie from somewhere in his robes and started communicating with the original guard that let us in. This is further proof that the church is actually just a faction of the mafia. We got out with our skins, but not by much. Nick talked about it for the rest of the day. I'm pretty sure he feared for his life.

Halloween Day 2:

Why "day 2" you may ask? Because today is the second day that we've celebrated Halloween. Why did we celebrate Halloween two days in a row you may ask? Because we thought yesterday was Oct 31st. Which would have made today Nov 1st; the day we were supposed to catch our flight to Poland. As it turns out, today is not the day we are supposed to go to Poland. Tomorrow is the day that we're supposed to go to Poland. This we discovered after taking a three hour bus ride to Stansted Airport to catch our flight that leaves tomorrow.

So now we're in Cambridge for the night! And happy Halloween to everyone out there, no matter what day it is! I'll continue the updates in Poland. For real in Poland this time.

Quote of the day:
Kaare talking about "snakebites"
(a drink suggested to us by Marty...half lager, half cider, with a shot of cassis. Similar to snake bites, they are extremly deadly)

"It looks like a purple people eater blew a load in my cup"
and tastes just as good (I say)
Kaare replies:
"I'd love to get drunk on the purple people eaters weiner"

happy thoughts everyone!

Halloween Day 1 & 2 pt 1

2007-10-31T08:48:00.000-07:00

Halloween Day #1

I woke up yesterday morning knowing that we had to meet Nick (more later on him) at 10am. I wake up, it's dark, but I hear people walking around outside our door. I think, "Haha! I'll get an early start!" My early start, which included cleaning up, make up, and clothing, ended up being 4am.

Once I realized the trick my jetlag had played on me, I decided to catch a few more hours of sleep. Problem: my bed in our eight person dorm was diagonally across the room from the door. Also, it was a top bunk designed to thwart anyone under six feet tall. These two things, combined with the fact that it was 4-fucking-am (!), almost guaranteed that I would wake up everyone in the room. Being the nice Canadian that I am, I decided to sleep in the common room.

Fast forward to 7:30am.

A tiny and cherub-like young girl rests peacefully on a bed woven of rainbows and angeldust*. Suddenly I am awoken by a 500lb, yellow-eyed, terrifying Jamaican man. (I say Jamaican in the most stereotypical sense. I have no idea what nationality he actually was.) His first words? In his 500lb, yellow-eyed, I-could-grind-your-bones-to-dust-with-one-of-my-toenails voice?

"Hey! You go! Sleep in room! Go to room now!"

Yeah. Terrifying.

Using my cuteness skills, I managed to convince him that I wasn't some sort of skeevy crack nob, and that I was in fact an innocent young girl of angelic proportions**. This brought him down from terrifying to only horribly scary.

Being as it was now 7:30am, breakfast was being served, which made it a prime time to start my day. I figured to have a smoke while the toast finished becoming toast, and so went out to the smoking room. Suddenly, I was once again accosted by a Jamaican (different Jamaican, same stereotype).

"Hey you de smokes! We no do smoking here I no more tink! Look at dis place! Is fucking horrible!"

Now, I'm slightly frightened and starting to back away while stuttering mumbled apologies in my dysfunctionaly nice Canadian way. With a suddenness that matched the first onslaught, he 180's.

"Ah no, you stay me tink! You smoke, is okay! I clean later!"

Oh, wow.

I'm going to take a minute here to state that if I were to convey on these e-pages all that is happening in my neck of the woods, we would have a perpetual motion situation based on me typing and everyone else reading. While I would like to believe that my life is fascinating enough for that, I don't make a habit of being that large of an idiot. So I'm only touching on certain subjects, specifically the ones I believe to be the most entertaining. Having said all that, let's talk about Mohammed.

Our multilingual-French-gypsy-chatterbox-party guy roommate. He has seven different kinds of "parfum", all "originale" from France. He speaks French, English, German, Hebrew, Italian and a little Polish. His favourite phrase is "fuckin' 'ell" said with a perfect Cockney accent. He gets us black market cigarettes. He spent about 30 mins last night trying to convince the two German girls in our dorm that they needed to get married soon or they'd be too old to have babies. They were 18. He was vaguely sketchy, certainly fantastic and so classically European.

Changing of the Guards in London:

Wait, backtrack a tube ride: Nick.

Kaare's old flatmate from China. He lives, and is from, Oxford. Nick has just taken a job in Singapore. How did he get this job you ask? By purchasing as extremely expensive coat, which would be completely useless in Singapore, thus ensuring that he would (by Murphy's law) get the job. Also, he was hoping that it would change his romantic situation, as it is quite a dashing coat. So far, since purchasing the coat, his romantic situation has been basically the same; null and void.

Nick came down to London and gave us a walking tour of the city. The sights were pretty neat, but the company is where it's at. Nick is a super rad guy.

Which brings me back to the Changing of the Guard.

Totally useless and unentertaining. We stood around for about and hour and a half to see two marching bands and one cavalry. A total of about two minutes. The exciting part was that we learned the Saudi Arabian Royal Family is visiting Britain. Which meant a HUGE al Quaida bomb threat, particularly near the palace, which was exactly where we were standing. Awesome.

must go for now...we're hungry. Keep in tune for pt 2. Should be later tonight.

*possibly an exaggeration
**definite exaggeration

London, England

2007-10-29T05:03:00.001-07:00

We're in London! Ahhhhh!!! The flight was good, albeit a little sketchy. Our pilot was so painfully Italian. He kept up a running commentary with us whenever we were landing or taking off. Sometimes he just talked during dead space. Even when he had no idea what was going on. For instance, we ended up stuck on the ground in Calgary for about an hour. His commentary went something like this:

"sooo, 'elo folks, we zeem to, uhhhh, have zees problem, ahhh, zee 'ead count we deed, uhhh, does'eent match zee, ahhhh, pazzenger leest, uhhhh, we don't know why. Ummm, we don't, ahhh, really know what to do? Maybe we just count zee, ahhh, 'eads again? I don't know..."

Totally the experience I was looking for.

and there's nothing like experience...for instance, the experience of our hostel. I am currently sharing a room with 12 guys (yup, the only girl), most of whom have limited English and seem to think that practicing their slang on us is a good plan. The basement smoking room appears to be some sort of area between buildings where they forgot to put a roof. A glorified chimney of sorts. With lots of garbage. Dick Van Dyke's dump. And the black mold on the shower room roof leers at me whenever I'm in there. I think it has more personnality than some of the front desk clerks.

And I couldn't be happier! The people are wonderful and funny. London is a quirky little town for what we've seen so far. The tube is as ridiculous as I remember it. Crowded, suffocating, and soooooo humid. You think that someone would have told the British about air conditioning by now. We met this one Hungarian gent at the hostel who is learning to speak English by watching the new James Bond film. Brilliant.