In a nutshell

I’ve been a bad, bad blogger. I sort of apologize. I was genuinely busy getting out in the cities (Paris and London) I’ve been in, and haven’t taken the time to write. I also met my parents in Paris, where they flew over to join me for a two week vacation when my mom finished teaching at the end of Spring semester. This meant that the laptop that had been mine for any spare moments I had in hotel and hostel rooms, was suddenly shared, and my dad, god love him, likes to waste time on a computer at least as much as I do, so my access was restricted in a way it’s never been before, since at home I have my own separate computer and never have to share.
I think part of it is that, in Vienna, I wanted to write about shared experiences, because I knew my friends who were there were also looking and writing their own accounts. When I was alone in Spain and Italy, I had no real way of reflecting on what I was doing except to write about it, and I also knew I had to be sole curator of the memories I was making there; if I didn’t write it all down, I would probably forget some of it happened, in light of the overwhelming body of experiences I’ve had.
However, in Paris, I had travelling companions which meant I wasn’t as likely to forget anything, and that I suddenly had to share duties on deciding what we would do with our time. It was often trying, when it came to deciding what we would do, since I could spend most of my life in art museums, street cafes, and sitting on park benches, where my parents get bored quickly with art museums, and just have a different operating pace than I had grown used to in Spain and Italy. After all, in the Mediterranean, you just don’t do things fast. There’s a relaxed pace because it’s often too hot and humid to do it any other way. Paris and London are a different breed of city, to be sure, and my parents were coming directly from Canada, which is, to say the least, not a lot like the Mediterranean.
Travelling with someone is quite different from any other experience you can have with someone. I still live with my parents, though I’m definitely reaching that point where I would like to move out (I just need a little more impetus to undertake something so expensive when there’s nothing really wrong with living at home right now). However, living with my parents isn’t really like travelling with them at all. The combination of the stresses of public transportation, sharing very small spaces, and the delicate balance between seeing everything and actually relaxing on vacation makes for a complicated dynamic where we didn’t always get along.
If this sounds like I’m complaining about my parents, don’t mistake it: I’m really not. Travelling with anyone is hard, particularly when you feel obligated to do things together. In Vienna, there were enough of us that if you wanted to do something, usually at least one other person wanted to go with you, so the rest of the group didn’t feel obligated to go just so you wouldn’t be alone. With the three of us, there was an obligation to be together most of the time, and I’d just spent the last three weeks on my own, so it was an adjustment, to be sure.
Anyway, by way of a short recap, in Paris, I saw and did most of the things you might expect: we went to the summit of the Eiffel tower, we spent most of a day wandering the Louvre and saw the Mona Lisa, we walked through Notre Dame and saw the view from Sacre Cœur’s bell tower, we went to l’arc de Triomphe and wandered down the Champs Elysees, we went to the Pompidou centre and my parents sat downstairs when they were tired, while I pored over modern and contemporary art (from Picasso to Kandinsky to Schwitters to Duchamp, all the way up to modern and political stuff, like the work of the Guerilla Girls about the art in the Met (in NYC, that is). I may have to write something entirely separate, just to deal with some of what I saw in the Pompidou), we went on an evening boat ride on the Seine and got mooned by a girl who had emerged from the throngs of young Parisians who hang out on the banks, we went to Pere Lachaise cemetery and saw the graves of Orson Wells, Edith Piaf and Jim Morrison, we went to the Musee d’Orsay and saw amazing impressionist works and Courbet’s L’Origine du Monde, which I would kill to be able to hear people’s responses to...and we sat in street cafes and drank wine and espresso and ate croissants. We rode the metro lots and lots and lots. I bought at least a dozen CD’s, some entirely French and some by French bands with mixed French and English lyrics.
In short, I had a pretty great time.
London, well, again, it was another entirely different type of city. In London, I was fortunate enough to get to go to quite a few theatre productions in the west end because my parents love musicals. We saw Avenue Q (absolutely bloody hysterical. Funniest musical ever written), Priscilla: Queen of the Desert (really funny and interesting, especially if you’re as interested in the performative aspects of gender and orientation as I am), We Will Rock You (I love Queen music, but I hate bad writing so much more. Don’t do it, folks. It’s god-awful), Les Miserables (glad to have finally seen it, but having Nick Jonas in the cast for a 3 week run made for an awful audience of squealing, misbehaving girls instead of the usual audience), and Grease (honestly, I think the movie’s better). We also went to the Tate Modern museum (meh), the London Eye (not worth the money), walked past Buckingham Palace, saw the vault in the original Hard Rock cafe, celebrated Canada Day in Trafalgar Square (because the Canadian Embassy is right beside it), drank a lot of cider (because I still don’t like beer), shopped, did a walking tour through Soho to a bunch of places where the Beatles, Rolling Stones, The Clash and others did their thing, cruised down the Thames in a big boat, went to the top of Tower Bridge, shopped some more, took the tube a bunch.
In short, it was also a pretty great time.
So now, as you’ve probably figured out, I’m home (and have been for a couple days now). I’m trying to adjust to jetlag. It’s 7 hours time difference, so the first night I slept at home, I got a little less than 4 hours of sleep, woke up at 4am and watched Golden Girls reruns. The second night, I was able to sleep until 6amand the third night until around 8, so I guess it’s getting better and I’ll probably be back to normal (whatever that is), within a few days. I start back at work the day after tomorrow, and then some of my family come to town for the Stampede. I thought I’d be bored with all the time I’d have here, but not yet, anyway. I’ve felt busy pretty much since I got home. I’m still unpacking and putting things away, along with fighting off a cold I got the day before I left London. I haven’t got much of a voice right now, but I am getting better.
I’m finding the adjustment back to be a little weird. Being in a mall for the first time in almost two months was really weird, as was walking through a food store and seeing names that now look unfamiliar to me. It’s weird having a coffee maker and a fridge and a microwave and a tv that plays shows I can understand 24 hours a day on about 50 channels. It’s weird knowing that I can understand the packaging on any product I see at a store, or I can talk to people anywhere and assume that they will probably understand me and have at least one thing in common with me. I don’t know. I keep having moments of weirdness. When I had to move my calendar from May straight to July, it seemed completely impossible that I could have been away. Some things feel so familiar, so immediate, it’s like I can’t have been away at all, but I think that’s to do with living in one place your whole life. It becomes so familiar that you perhaps can’t forget it. At least, not in a matter of weeks or months.
I had an interesting moment when my Mom was speaking to her own mother, and started saying how she’d been to more countries than her mother, and now I’ve been to more than her. I’ve been to 10 countries in 23 years (though, to be fair, a full half of that was this trip). It’s done amazing things for me, to me. I still haven’t reflected the way I need to, but hopefully I’ll find the time soon to do so. And to put my pictures up on facebook.

“I want someone badly/To burn in here with me”

-“I Want Someone Badly” by Jeff Buckley

<3 Angi

Goodbye Hugs and Long Layovers

As I write this, I’m sitting in the arrivals area of Heathrow, waiting out my exceeding long, overnight layover because I’m way too cheap to do something like find a hotel for 14 hours, especially when I’d still want to be back at the airport by about 4 am anyway. Who knows, maybe I’ll actually sleep a little here later.
But let me go back a bit, and maintain the continuity with my last entry. I did, indeed go to the impromptu little soiree Rachel set up, beginning at Crossfield’s Australian Pub. Kathy, Jill and Elinor also came along, and we met up with some of Rachel’s new Austrian friends. We proceeded to play foosball, eat pub food and drink. Lots.
Yet again, I somehow ended up drunk at 1516, this time on a combination of tequila shots, vodka shots and Radler. It was a good night, indeed.
The next day—my very last in Vienna—was spent writing in the park with David, where I got super sunburned on my shoulders and my legs. Awesome. We went to the Naschmarkt again, needing some dried strawberries for the road, then ate garlic soup and gelato for lunch. Our final group meeting was an informal affair where we talked about our progress with our plays and as writers. I felt a little strange hearing all these talented writers talk about having never written before, and then me saying I’ve taken quite a few writing courses and been working at creative writing for several years now, and I’m probably not much further ahead of any of them for it. We also got to meet Natalie’s dog, Rocket, and I was able to cure a little bit of my severe case of dog withdrawal by getting some snuggles and kisses from him. I still miss my dogs though.
After the meeting, we ate at a little cafe/restaurant that is, quite literally two doors down from us, called Smokey’s Bar Food. They give you a ton of food for really cheap given the proximity to the center of Vienna. 8.50€ (maybe $11 or so CAD?) gets you one of the best veggie burgers I’ve ever tasted, a huge salad and a huge serving of potatoes.
On that note, I really don’t think I can accurately describe how good I ate in Vienna. Even the street vendor food I had was amazingly good. If you’re ever in Vienna, I have a whole list of places I could recommend near the city center. I’m going to crave the garlic soup from Venezia for the rest of my life, and I don’t know where I’ll ever find such good hazelnut or lemon gelato in Canada. I feel like such a fat kid talking so much about the food, but I had psyched myself out pretty badly before I left Canada because I’ve always been a picky eater, so to find I liked pretty much everything I ate was a really pleasant surprise. I also found it shockingly easy to eat vegetarian there. I only ate chicken or shrimp at about 5 meals the entire trip, which is way less than I would at home. It makes me want to put a little more effort into eating less meat at home.
Anyway, enough about food (I swear, even with all the extra exercise I was getting there, I gained weight in Vienna. Ugh.).
This morning dawned with the unmistakeable sadness that comes with leaving a place that feels good, though I think we were all ready for a little time away from each other. For me, at least, it also dawn with a lot of trepidation about what’s coming.
After breakfast, the last four of us to leave took a cab to the airport around noon, and got on our shared flight to London—the last shared journey for us. After a delay boarding in Vienna and a delay in London airspace waiting for a runway, we were about 40 minutes late.
The plan for me was to already be checked in for my Madrid flight, and then find somewhere to store my luggage at Heathrow, before following Elinor on a little London adventure, since she’s got about 4 days here since the London to Calgary British Airways flight was cancelled.
Unfortunately, the luggage storage place is only accessible from 5am to 11pm when I would have wanted to get my luggage around 4, AND they charge £8 for 24hours of storage (around $15 CAD I think?). Can you say ridiculous? Already frustrated and stressed and hot and tired from lugging my heavy shit all over the airport to find this out, I gave up on going with Elinor, so after a goodbye hug, I began looking for somewhere to kill an entire night.
What I have learned already knew but have had reaffirmed today:
-I seriously envy people who travel with practically no stuff (though I still have no idea how they do it)—and wish I’d left a few things home
-airports are crazy expensive
-while being in different places may be awesome, travelling itself actually REALLY sucks
-travel stress makes me weepy
-I miss home if I have time to think about it
Anyway, I ate some really overpriced bad pasta, drank an enormous coffee (so I’m brimming with caffeine right now), and wandered around just trying to find somewhere to sit that was slightly quieter than the inside of a plane’s engine.
After much wandering, I found it. It ain’t great, but it’s the least crowded area I’ve found. At the little convenience store here, I bought something called a King Tango (cherry flavoured pop) though I didn’t read that it contains sugar (good) AND sweeteners (really not good). Boo. I also bought a Kerrang, which is only £2.20 here, as opposed to something like $12 in Canadian bookstores. I’m trying to kill time by doing my homework (I have plenty of it to get done), but I’m also tired and cold and really wish I had a bed right now.
I’ve also been having a ton of difficulties with my allergies the last 4 or 5 days. I forgot how bad spring can be. I can’t even wear eye makeup right now, and I have that itchy feeling in my ribcage underneath the skin, which is impossible to fix by scratching.
But, here’s my attempt to redeem all the whining I just did: A couple of times, I’ve looked at my wrist and it has done exactly what I hoped it would do. It has reminded me that all the bitching I’m doing needs to be kept in perspective. I’m doing something most of my friends are crazy jealous of by travelling around Europe. Of all the problems to have, a long layover, overpaying for food, and seasonal allergies are pretty good problems to have.
I’m pretty certain this entry could bore you to death. Sorry for that. I’m bored right now, so I’m sure that’s a contributing factor.
I’m going to attempt a little more homework now. By the time I get the entry posted, I have no idea where I’ll be, but it won’t be here. There’s no free internet here, and as we established before, I have problems justifying airport costs. Sigh.

“The glove compartment isn’t accurately named/’Cause behind its doors there’s nothing to keep my fingers warm and all I find are souvenirs from better times”

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Afternoon becomes evening becomes the middle of the bloody night. It’s 2am local in London (3am Vienna, 7pm Calgary), and the airport that was a teeming, crazy mess of humanity a few hours ago is mostly asleep. There’s something kind of nice about seeing it this way. The lights never go out, perhaps, but this place does sleep. Just not me, of course.
I tried. I really did. I even found a group of benches without arms so I could stretch out, but it’s too bloody cold and uncomfortable. Eventually I gave up and watched episodes of Extras on my ipod.
I should be reading. At least then, I might feel like the weight of my ridiculous carry-on is justified. But, no. I could also do homework.
Instead, I wandered a bit. I’m sort of glad I did. I walked outside onto the main entry of the departures area. My flight is the next one out, top of the board, about 4.5 hours from now. This place is very different this time of day. I wish I’d taken a picture of the insanity a few hours ago, just for the comparison shot, but I never thought it’d be worth taking a photo of at 3am. A pleasant surprise, I suppose.

First Impressions

So, I can officially say I’ve slept on the terribly attractive (and uncomfortable) blue carpet of the London airport. Couldn’t sleep at all on the nine hour flight from Calgary to London, but the industrial grade carpet in the London airport—the kind of carpet I will always associate with my high school band room: basically some short, velour-y fibres over concrete—felt like a superb place for a nap.
Jealous?
But I should go back a bit. I had a weird week. I’m a really bad packer. When it comes to packing, I'm notoriously bad. Ask my best friend, who generally bears witness to my 4am-the-night-before-I-leave throwing random shit into a suitcase fiasco. Ask my parents, who've had to take me shopping numerous times upon arrival because I've forgotten a swimsuit, or a pair of shorts, or a toothbrush, etc, etc, etc. Ask anyone who's travelled with me, and had to see the too-large bag I bring only to hate "everything" I have with me because none of it goes together.
I freely admit to being really, really bad at packing. And I gotta tell you: I've never had to pack for more than two weeks. And I'm pretty sure I get exponentially worse at packing as the length of stay increases, so I truly have no idea how to pack for 7 weeks. 49 days is a long time. So as you may have guessed, packing stresses me the hell out.
On top of that, one of my dogs (Zap, our youngest, the black and white springer spaniel) had to be put to sleep on Wednesday. I was pretty awful and extremely quick. 2 weeks ago, he was perfectly fine. The same day, I went to the Chuck Palahniuk reading which was a really intense experience given the day I’d had.
I was also trying to see several of my friends before I left, so scheduling in packing time was ridiculous, and I ended up staying up until 5am on Thursday night, and then getting up at 9 am, just to continue getting ready. I fought with my bags and declared that I “didn’t want to go anymore” more than once. But eventually (after buying a new, bigger backpack on the way to dinner and the airport), I got everything into my bag and carry-on, and got through security (which was, yes, as fun as you might have expected it to be).
My flight from Calgary to London left at about 9:30 at night. And just for the record, this will have more significance to some of my friends than to others, but I was on the same flight as Christian Bök. Small world, huh? And I was further forward on the plane than him. Make what you will of that. The flight was about 9 hours. I did not sleep more than about 10 minutes on it. I hate trying to sleep on flights. I am no good at it. The food was really good, actually.
I watched a couple of movies, and thought I was dying from a blood clot when my leg started aching so bad I wanted to cut it off. Otherwise, it was uneventful. There was a 3 month old baby one row in front of me, but after fussing in the first 5 minutes of the flight, it didn’t make a sound the rest of the flight (admittedly, I had headphones most of the time, but it didn’t make any noise that I heard).
Then, the London airport. That bitch is big, kids. When we finally made it through the buses and another security checkpoint, we wandered around the really expensive stores (Tiffany and Co., Cartier, Burberry, Versace, Harrod’s etc.), then found somewhere to hang out for a couple hours while we waited. After being uncomfortable and trying about a dozen different places, I gave up and slept on the floor for about an hour. And now we’re caught up.
Flight to Vienna was pretty quiet. We arrived in Vienna local time about 10pm, but Calgary time, it was only 2 in the afternoon, and we were getting hungry, so after we got to the hostel (disturbing our already sleeping roommates), we went back out to find food. The only things open were a few really expensive restaurants, and some street vendors, so we found a stand that said pizza and hot dogs. The guy didn’t really speak English, but I managed to end up with some sort of spinach struedel. It might have been sleep-deprivation induced, but it was really good. We ate in the subway station because it was the only dry place we could find around. Did I mention it was pouring rain? I suppose not. And it’s forecasted to rain all week.
We couldn’t find anywhere to hang out, so we gave up and came back to our rooms. Our current room is about the size of a postage stamp, but I’m told we’re supposed to be switching because we were supposed to have a kitchenette and this one doesn’t even have room for a mini fridge. I shared a bed with a guy I’ve known for about a week. Technically we’re on separate mattresses with one sheet over them and separate blankets for over us. It’s weird. Anyway, I slept eventually. I’ve now had about 5 hours of sleep, but given I slept 4 hours Thursday night and...well, I guess the hour on the London floor counts as Friday night, so getting 5 hours on Saturday night is pretty good. So we’re gonna hit up breakfast pretty soon here.
I love you all back in Canada. If you’re reading this, comment so I know someone’s interested. Hopefully my stories will get more interesting over time.

"there's something coming around/as wicked as it may seem/as wicked as anything could be"

-"As Wicked" Rancid

<3angi