Equipment failure in Stockholm

The love of my life has left me...

...My camera has died. For those who know me, they'll know what a tragedy this is. I'm rarely without my Canon S2 IS. It's been to Israel and England and everywhere else. It takes beautiful pictures. And now the screen will only show the dreaded E18 error. Jammed lens. I'm screwed. None of my options at this point seem much cheaper than a new camera at this point. I don't have the money for this, but I don't want to be camera-less.

Also, my shoes have bit the dust. I've been in denial about it for a bit. I tried tying them looser and tighter. I tried thick and thin socks. I tried insoles. Today, though, the foot pain was almost unbearable. It started shooting up my shins to my knees. It was time to admit that my shoes were officially toast. The lovely guy who was helping me at the camping shop said that it was likely because my shoes were meant more for hiking, and the street-walking I'd been doing killed them. Grand.

My feet hurt and I have no camera.

Midsummer was awesome. I'm glad my camera at least waited till after that to conk out. I was at a cottage belonging to a friend of a friend. I have pictures of what looks like a plain old sunrise, taken at 2 am as the sun was on it's way up again. Also, I ate meatballs, herring (it's traditional!) , drank schnapps and sang kareoke. Everybody Was King Foo Fighting...

Sweden's landscape looks remarkably like Ontario. Driving up there, I could have sworn I was on my way to a May 24 party somewhere.

Does it count as partying till dawn if dawn happens at 2 am?

Where were you when...?

I can tell you where I was when Princess Di died. I remember walking into Roosters on September 11 and seeing a TV showing the second tower fall.

I don't think the Oilers losing in the cup finals is one of those moments that will go down in history, but I'll always remember where I was. At about midnight some Canadian guys told me they were off to watch the game, which started at 2 am local time. Kickass. We hopped in a cab and ventured off to The Sports Cafe (not the London one, sadly). There were about 80 people total, and a a surprising number of them were in Oilers jerseys. People were singing the HNIC song, cheering, and generally being hockey fans. The only jerks were 4 Brits who showed up and pretended to be Americans, and then got thrown out for having a nacho fight. It was just such a cool Canadian bonding moment, even though they lost.

Upon leaving the bar, the sun was just peaking over the horizon.

Other Amsterdam coolness -

I saw Anne Frank's house. I touched the bookcase, and looked out her bedroom window, and stood where she stood. WWII/Holocaust history is something that really interests me, but it's a bit of a morbid fascination. I stood where Nazis stood. The thought makes me shudder, but also makes me grateful. I was lucky to be born where I was, when I was. I need to not take that for granted. The house was actually pretty cool. It's become a bit of a museum, set up by Anne's dad, Otto. He was the only member of the family to survive. It's a museum in that it shows the past, but the foundation responsible for it also works hard to raise awareness (and money) about other social issues.

The red light district is exactly as you picture it - women standing in windows lit by red lights, wearing next to nothing. It isn't as depressing as it sounds, somehow. Most of them seem more bored than victimized. They chat on their cell phones or with buddies, read books, do their makeup, etc, while they wait for customers. And then they haggle.

The coffeeshops are also exactly as you expect them to be. Dark, smoky, full of guys who look like they've been sitting in the same chair all week.

They also have amazing munchy food there. Noodle bars rock, we need some in Canada. You choose what type of noodles, what type of veg and they fry it all up for you with a sauce that you also get to choose. There are tons of people just strolling down the street eating noodles with chopsticks. I don't blame them. They also had amazingly cheap ice cream. I went back to the same stand for pink bubblegum flavoured stuff 3 times in one day.

From Amsterdam it's a 19 hour train ride to Stockholm.

Try to book ahead and never give up.

I was going to call this post "Always book ahead and never give up" but it didn't quite work out like that after all.

I woke up at some awful hour, right in time to see a lovely Paris sunrise. Said a quick goodbye to Kelly and dashed off to Gare du Nord to catch the 6:55 direct to Amsterdam. Apparently that train was full. As were all the other ones today. I could pay full price (my interrail pass allows me to travel at a steep discount) - 91 Euros. Eep. I asked about tomorrow. The (now heavily annoyed) lady said they were also full.

I left, backpack on my shoulders, in search of an internet cafe. Too bad it was 7 am and none were due to open for the next 3h. I wandered back to the train station and asked where I could catch a bus to Amsterdam. They said it was far away. A little voice in my head insisted that I was not gonna go down like that. Not today. So I hopped back in line and prayed for a different cashier. This nice guy helped me, and boom. I was on the 9:25 to Brussels, transfer there for Amsterdam. No need for a reservation. Just jump on.

I did as he said, but something felt wrong. Sure enough, the ticket taker came by and asked for my reservation ticket. Hmm. I told him the guy in Paris told me I didn't need one. He told me to give him 20 Euros. I did. It was that or pay the full price of the ride (60 Euros).

I wound up arriving in Amsterdam about 3 hours later than anticipated. I was hoping against hope that The Flying Pig hostel would have room for me. Theý're quite well known, and come highlyrecommendedd.

"Tell me you have room for me,"I begged the receptionist.
She raised an eyebrow. My heart sank. I could see myself spending the day trouping around Amsterdam, looking for a place to sleep. "We just had a cancellation".
"I love you!"

Yeah. And that's how I managed to score a spot at one of the cooler hostels around. Had I shown up at the original time, I'd never have had that spot.

How not to see a museum (and other Paris fun)

Last time I was in Paris, I fell in love with the city. it's unbelievably beautiful, the food is amazing, there's so much to see and do, the wine is cheap, the people are lovely, etc. I could go on all day. Everywhere you look could be a postcard picture. I was afraid this visit wouldn't live it. It has.

Day 1 - Took the overnight train (Last stop: Paris, so there was no chance of my overzealous). Went to meet Dan and Kelly, 2 friends I met while in Israel last summer. We took off for Versailles, which is pretty much a history dork's dream. The highlight was the Hall of Mirrors, which is where the Treaty of Versailles was signed. Then we went out for a gorgeous French meal, including oysters, red wine, and tartar (Kelly's, but we all tried some) among other things.

Day 2 - Dan left early in the morning, so of course Kel and I spent the day being girls - shopping! We didn't buy much, but it was a very Paris experience nonetheless. We also saw Notre Dame, and the Pantheon. For our evening meal: Crepes and McDs. In keeping with tradition though, I tried something new at McDs. Chicken wings! They were surprisingly tasty.

Day 3 - Kelly and I split up for a bit so I could see the Picasso museum, which she'd already done. It wasn't quite as nice as the Barcelona one, but it was gorgeous nonetheless. I'm not a huge art buff, but I've really gotten in to Picasso. Anyway, I lost a chunk of my camera somewhere in there. Yeah. It's just the rubber that keeps you from poking your eye out if you use the snail viewfinder (not the screen)... I have no idea how it came off, but my camera looks kind of pathetic without it. I walked through the whole museum, eyes on the floor looking for it, but no luck. Oh well, at least I still have the rest of it. I stumbled upon the Jewish neighborhood (it smelled of falafel, but I had a divine gelato instead). next was Jim Morrison's grave: Jim Morrison's grave has a guard there 24/7, to stop people from breaking in and shooting up there, according to Kelly. Dinner was had - I ate escargots.. they aren't like in Canada. They come still in the shell with a bunch of complicated cutlery for de-shelling them. And then frogs legs! I figured I had to. I wasn't a huge fan. They kind of taste of bland fish, and were kind of hard to eat. But hey, I ate frogs legs in Paris.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Amsterdam. I have no hostel booked and no train reservations. I wanna see what it's like to live on the edge. Not having a hostel booked scares the shit out of me, so I'm gonna give it a go. Wish me luck!

Found!

Well, Andorra´s a write off. This time. Good thing I´m already planning LiveTheDream The Second (now, even more global!). Makes me less stressed out about the things I´m missing. Sounds weird, but if this were my only chance I´d feel like I absolutely had to tackle everything. This way, I know I´ll be back. It isn´t realistic to expect to see all of Europe (the way I want to, anyway) in 6 months. Here´s a good mantra for today - I can´t do everything...I can´t do everything... repeat as needed.

I´ve lost a lot of things so far..but I´ve also found some pretty groovy stuff. Long lost (and not so long lost friends being one of those things. If you´ve left me a comment so far, check the comments section of this post for answers! I´ll be more prompt in replying next time.

Found - Old friends, one sense of duty to keep recording everything.
Let´s see what today brings.

Lost

A list of stuff I´ve lost so far -
-One pair of Birkenstocks, black.
-One travel towel
-A bit of dignaty

A list of things I don´t have with me, but know where they went
- Sunglasses
- Laundry Bag

Feh.

Also, potentially lost - my day trip to Andorra. I know, I know. I REALLY wanted to do this, but oversleeping may have ruined my chances.

There´s always next time.

The best laid plans

I´m back in Europe. It´s been just over 24 hours and already I´ve managed a few adventures.

I must have been over tired, because on the flight here I cied at Cheaper By The Dozen 2. Not one of my prouder moments. After that fiasco, I have no idea why I thought it´d be a good idea to watch Finding Nemo. Yeah.

I didn´t sleep much, due to general jet lag and inability to get comfortable. Thus, I arrived in Madrid exhausted. I was taking the night train out that evening, like I did when I flew into Porto. I didn´t want a repeat of the Lagos illness so I crashed on a park bench for a few hours. One day back on the road and I´m already a semi-hobo. Anyway, I was woken up by a sketchy guy offering to let me go stay at his. Yeah, not so much. I was so dazed I didn´t think anything of it, though, and then went back to sleep.

I woke up and promptly got lost. Seriously, I walked in circles for 2 hours and then went into McDs for a bite. Yeah, I suck. To be fair, though, I´ll only eat local McDs food (eg - McKebabs in Israel). Anyway, I had a Mc-Something I´d never seen before. I have no idea what it was, but it tasted like ass on a bun. It wasn´t so much gross as it was random. I think I tasted curry, and there was definitely burger, special sauce (Big Mac stuff) and some tomatoish salsa thing. No idea. Also, I witnessed a dude

The night train to Barcalona was cramped, but I slept like a log. So much in fact that I woke up in France. Ahem. Apparently my ear plugs are really efficiant. It took me till 4 pm to get back, and now I´m on the hostel computers trying to work out my chances of getting to Andorra. I hope everything settles down once I get back on track. I feel like I´ve spent more time on trains and working things out than actually, you know, travelling. That should settle down once I get to Paris and will start spending more than 1 day per city.

The trip home was fully worth it, though.

Roll with it

Note: This is my third attempt at posting. The first try took me 45 minutes to type and ended up coming out with an A with an accent over it between every letter. I tried erasing them but they kept reappearing. The second was quite witty, but the computer ate it. One more try...

I'm at home in Ottawa briefly. A cheap flight was found online, and I decided to hop on it. (Having said that, I'm determined to be a real traveller and for some reason understood only to me that equaites to no less than 6 months on the road. So I've extended my trip an extra 2 weeks, and my new arrival date home is December 13 or 14 2006.) No idea what I'll do with those extra 2 weeks yet. Maybe Spain or the south of France?

The fact that I'm home isn't that big of a deal (even though my mom kind of freaked out about it - "But whyyyy? Is everything okay? Are you okay?").

The trip home, on the other hand, is a fun story. I booked it the night of Sunday the 28th of May. The flight left Tuesday the 30th of May at 1 pm from Madrid, which was easy enough to catch as long as I caught all my trains. One missed connection would have led to a domino effect which would have led to me missing my flight. Keeping that in mind...

I hopped on the train at 5 pm on Monday the 29th in Lagos. It was about 20 minutes late (apparently Portugese public transportation isn't exactly known for punctuality), but the ticket checker told me that they'd hold the onward train to Lisbon until we got there. So, I transferred in Tunes, and was on my way to Lisbon. We were cutting it really close, it looked like I'd get there right before the overnight to Madrid was due to leave. The train pulled in to Lisbon an I transferred with about a minute to spare.

There were 2 girls from my hostel on the train. The conversation went like this:
Them: Wow, hey. How'd you manage to get on this train?
Me: Well, it was pretty close, but the train just got in and --
Them: No, how'd you get a ticket?
Me: Well, I have my rail pass so it wasn't a big problem.
Them: No, a reservation ticket.
Me: What do you mean?
Them: This is a weird train, but you need to reserve in addition to having a pass
**the doors to the train close and it starts to pull out of the station**
Me: What?
Them: Yeah, we came yesterday afternoon but the train was full so we had to stay here an extra night.
Me: Um....oh....

The ticket checker came by and, in Spanish, told me to produce another ticket. I said I didn't have one. He said I'd have to get off the train at the next stop. I begged. I said I'd sit on the floor, pay extra for a sleeper bunk, stand in the spot between the cars, anything. I just needed to stay on the train. The guy said no go, the train was sold out and I'd have to get off at the next stop.

I started to freak out, but tried to pull myself together. If there's ever been a time to stay calm, this was it. The train guy told me the town the train was stopping in had no hostel or hotel. The people in my train cart started trying to help. Taxi company names, suggestions about taking the bus to Madrid, ways to change my flight. Someone even started making me a sandwitch so I wouldn't be hungry in case I did wind up sitting up all night at a train station somewhere in Portugal or Spain.

The train started to slow down. The ticket-taker came towards me. I started to gather up my stuff, wondering what I was going to do. He said (still in Spanish) I could stay. About 10 people burst into applause. I had to stop myself from flinging my arms around the stodgy Spanish ticket taker. Turns out some Canadian guy left his passport to the last minute and couldn't travel with the rest of his friends. I gave his buddies some money to buy him some beers. Whoever he is, I owe him huge.

I went to the food car and had some tea with the 2 girls from my hostel, dozed a bit and woke up in Madrid. After getting lost in the metro a few times (their system is sadly lacking in directional signs) I wound up at the airport.

And this is where the fun begins. This has been a novel so far, so I'll keep it brief. In essence, I'm pretty sure I was flagged as a terrorist. I think it was because I carry 2 passports. In the Spanish airport I was patted up and down, questionned for half an hour about my motives for going home, had all my stuff inspected, was made to play my ipod, show them that there was no bomb in my camera, and was almost kept off my flight.

Better yet, they electroncally flagged me so when my ID was swiped in Philly it all happened again. The plus side was at least this time they spoke English. The bad thing was they were a lot more thourough. They inspected my shoes, read my journal (and just who is this Mathieu? Did he ask you to bring anything home for him?), made me take my hair down so they could make sure there wasn't a bomb in there. Finally, they finally let me go to Canada.

Montreal, to be specific. Only a 2 hour bus ride from home. The guy in the bus booth told me that the Greyhound takes all kinds of cards, so "just sit back and relax". I hopped on the bus, and was informed that they only took cash. I gave the bus driver my cash card and a sincere promise that I'd pay on arrival. Great, except on arrical my cash card didn't work. Good thing Matt's mom was there to bail me out.

And my reward for all this was a Big Mac - cold, of course, because the bus was 25 minutes late.