There Is No Such Thing As A Stupid Question. Usually.

While the pages of The Quid are consumed by the Cégepian inferiority complex and a debate over the shortage of social conservatives, I find that each day I walk into this building something about one of my classmates amazes me. Everyday. Since September I have met students who speak myriads of languages, come from a multitude of cultural backgrounds and whose lives prior to McGill Law include everything from acting to police work, from working in refugee camps to fashion design. Being in complete awe of these classmates has more than a few times caused me to wonder what the hell the Admissions Committee was thinking when they let me in.

And yet, despite such an abundance of diversity, somehow everyone seems absolutely blown away with the fact that I am from PEI. If there is such thing as a positive stereotype, I have certainly been the victim of one over the past few months: “I love people from PEI!”, “My parents were there in 1982!”, “I’ve always wanted to go to PEI!”. The twelve-hour drive from PEI to Montréal has brought me closer to being a foreign-exchange student than I’ve ever been in my life.
By the questions I get on daily basis, it is obvious that the knowledge most students here have about PEI is limited to the ‘PEI Potato Marketing Board’ decision, so I figured that a poorly written article in The Quid would be better than nothing. So here is a crash-course on P.E.Islandology. These are all actual questions that I have been asked.

“Do you know Anne of Green Gables?”
Actually no. She is, in fact, a fictional character, and her stories are set in the early 1900s. So if she were real, she’d be dead.

“Is Anne of Green Gables a bigger deal on PEI than it is everywhere else?”
Actually, Anne is a lot bigger in Japan than she is anywhere else: thousands of Japanese tourists flock to PEI every summer to see Anne’s (fake) house and watch her (fictional) musicals. It is a pretty big deal on PEI though, at least economically. Dozens of my friends have played Anne, Diana, or some other character in some capacity at some point in their life. This total immersion in Anne culture explains in part the angst that myself and a lot of us Islanders have for her.

“Can you jog around PEI in, like a few hours?”
Eff sakes. By area, PEI is about 11x the size of Montréal. Depending on how heavy your foot is and on how well you know the speed traps on the Trans Canada, you can drive from tip to tip in three hours, give or take.
But you would be right if you guessed PEI has a small population. The most recent census sets PEI with a population of 139,818 (139,817 now that I’m gone).

“Why the hell does PEI have four seats in the House of Commons?”
Good question, seeing as with that population, PEI is only slightly larger than a city like Trois-Rivières. After refusing to join Confederation (after a meeting about Confederation that we hosted), we figured we’d shop around, maybe join the States, build an insolvent railroad and I guess whatever else they used to do back in 1870 (growing potatoes would likely be a good guess). But then John A. and the other Upper Canadians came down for another visit, and among other things, promised to assume the colony's debt, basically buy all the land on PEI from absentee landlords and give it to us, build a bridge (or use ferries until the bridge was built in 1997) and to give PEI what is probably the most ridiculous disproportionate representation in Parliament. Not exactly a hard sell. So Islanders said “To hell with this,” (a common Island phrase) “why work if we can get it all for free?” (also a common Island phrase). The Island has been drawing pogey and equalization payments ever since.

“Is there much ethnic diversity on PEI?”
Not unless you include species of trees as ‘diversity’. Ninety-nine percent of PEI’s population is of European descent. In the absence of racial tension, Islanders have adapted by having the Catholics make fun of the Protestants and the Protestants make fun of the Catholics. Then collectively we all make fun of CFAs (come from aways). Upper Canadians are a favorite target of ours, as some Torontonians in the Faculty have already found out from me.

“How are Islanders different from Mainlanders?”
Well that’s a bit more complicated. We all grew up being subjected to the same fads, watching the same TV and listening to the same music as everyone else (we just got them six years later than the rest of you did).
There are some differences of course. Dialect for example. My parents ‘warsh’ clothes instead of washing them. My Dad wears short pants in the summer. When we were kids, they bought us ‘kitbags’ to carry our books in, and when there is ice on the driveway it is ‘slippy’.

There are some paradigmatic shifts as well. The concept of ‘open bars’ that is so prevalent here in Montréal would be completely lost on most of my friends and family. No one is stupid enough to advertise ‘free alcohol’ at any event on PEI. None of the bars have a capacity of 139,818 anyway.

When it comes to politics, there are only two options PEI: only one person who wasn’t Liberal or Conservative has been elected, ever. And your last name and hometown is usually a good indication of how you voted. Seriously.

I also feel that PEI has a good hold on old-fashioned, family-oriented community-ness. I mean, I am sure there are strong communities all across Canada, but the Island seems unique. The bar scene, for example, is a million times different on PEI than here in Montréal. Stumble into any one of the thousands of bars here and you’ll run into the same bunch of non-descript douches and ditzes who scowl and push and curse at you, often in a language you don’t understand. Stumble into any of the five main bars in Charlottetown and you’re suddenly at a party with a ton of your friends: the kids you went to elementary, junior and high school with, undoubtedly some family and that cute girl that was in your first-year History class. Sure, there are drawbacks if you have a penchant for macking randos on the dancefloor and therefore seek anonymity, and sure, some fights break out now and then, but it’s all a lot less serious. No one is going to get knifed or anything.

PEI is the kind of place where anyone who can comes home for Christmas and for at least a few weeks in the summer. It may sound a little morbid, but people keep informed by listening to the obituaries on the radio every day. In my mind, that’s how it’s supposed to be: you are welcomed into the world, spend your life among, and are bid farewell by you friends.

So go ahead. Call me backwards and backwoods. I’d trade a thousand CN Towers for a good bag of potatoes, a day at the beach, a night of camping and a few beer with friends at a PEI bar.

...And now for something completely different: Une Session à Québec

"Ryan!"
It was like déja vu. An early morning wake-up in my sister's living room.
"Ryan!" Ugh. My eyes adjusted to reveal my sister standing beside the couch.
"Ryan, it's ten after 7:00." She said.
My flight was scheduled to leave at 6:55.
"WHAT?"
"Oh, I mean ten after 6:00."
And so began another long day.

By the time my plane began its descent into Québec, the lack of sleep, as well as the glasses of wine and beer from the night before, were beginning to catch up to me. As I dozed on and off and thought about how I was going to live out of two bags of luggage for the next four months, that age-old question slipped back into my mind: ""What the hell am I getting myself into?"

Well, first of all, I was getting myself into a semester of French as a Second Language courses at L'Université Laval in Ste. Foy, Québec, just outside of the capital city. Laval has over 37,000 students, studying everything from Philosophy to Languages, Dentistry to Medicine, and the Languages Department in la pavillon Charles-de-Koninck was to be my home for the next 15 weeks. After landing at Jean Lesage Airport, I hopped in a cab and arrived outside my dorm, la pavillon Alphonse-Marie-Parent, at about 11h00 on Saturday January 12th.

Suddenly I was and eighteen year old all over again, signing in to residence for my first semester at a new school in a strange land. After getting all my stuff packed away, I slept away most of the day on my sheetless bed, and, waking up around 18h00, I decided to check out the nearby mall and to buy some essentials for my room. Like sheets. Of course, no one had told me that the Québécois shut 'er down at 17h30 on Saturday nights, which seems ridiculous. I mean I know that Confederation Court Mall kicks mall rats and prostitots out at the same time, but that's, well, Charlottetown.

L'Université Laval is connected underground by a 15-kilometre network of tunnels, which makes walking around in the winter a lot less of a pain in the ass. And so, even though I had classes in Koninck on Monday and Tuesday, by mid-week I still had no idea what the building actually looked like from the outside. As we started courses we were placed in different levels based on preliminary testing, but some of the placements were messed up, leading to a confusing week for everyone in the program. I somehow started in the 'Débutant' group, where we working on phrases like "Hi, my name is Ryan. How are you today?" (In French, obviously), all of which I had done in about, oh, Grade 2. By the end of the week I was up in 'Inter-Avancé', the most advanced class. Though I'm still not sure if I belong there, you have to admit that's pretty good progress in the language in one week. Haha.

In the class I finally ended up in, there are only three other Canadians, the rest of the class being mostly made up of Thai, Chinese, and Spanish-speakers from various countries. One of the other Canadians and I, along with a bunch of other residents have become the unofficial drinking team of the program, which has been a lot of fun, but which has also taken its toll on the studies, and perhaps also the health, of each of us. We represent a variety of provinces from across Canada: Scott Pickup - Nova Scotia (Or Republic of Cape Breton... and yes, Pickup is his real name), Gillian Irving - New Brunswick, Luke Moyer, Laura McDougall, Debbie Lobbezoo, Barbara Ciochon - Ontario, Sara Lechasin - Manitoba, Tammi Viney - Alberta, and Kirstie Bagshaw - British Columbia. The main topic of discussion is making fun of each other’s pronunciation of different words (I apparently say 'peanut butter' wrong), and sharing regional sayings (Pickup's "Not dat bad... not dat goood, but not dat bad." is an oft-repeated example). Our Mexican buddy Gerardo Sistos Sescosse hangs out too, but his regional diction is in a totally different ballpark.

Designating a different room for pre-drinking each night, one soon notices that the thermostats in many of these rooms are set way too high. The residence has over 900 rooms, and each series of three or four have one shared thermostat, with one lucky resident given the power over the heat of all the rooms within his immediate vicinity. For some people, well for me anyway, this is a problem when it is -22 degrees outside, because there are a lot of Franco-Africans on my floor who like the keep the temperature set at a balmy 30+ degrees all the time. More often than not though, we drink in Tammi's room, first of all because she has candy, and also because from there you can see all the action going on outside. One night last week, for example, four cop cars rolled up with campus security, followed shortly by a media SUV from TQS. Another night, no less than six cop cars sped into the driveway, with an ambulance following close behind. I don't know if some serious shit is going on in Parent on a regular basis, or if there is very little action going on in the rest of Québec. Either way, I don't wander around when the cops show up, just so I don't get caught up in a shoot-out or something.

There is a lot of interesting stuff going on in Québec this year, as it's the 400th anniversary of the city's founding, which adds to the usual Carnivale de Québec, l'Hôtel de Glaçe, and the Red Bull Crashed Ice competition. There is literally too much to do, but so far we have been taking in as much as possible, and enjoying as much as we can without freezing our faces off. One of the big misconceptions that I was wary of before coming here was the idea that les Québécois are rude. I have not found this to be the case at all. If anything, I would say they have been more polite than most people back home. They politely say hi and bye as they get in out of elevators. As far as I know they don't talk about you behind your back or make up rumours about you. As a perfect example, on the third day of school I was stopped in the tunnel by a girl, and I had no idea who she was. She introduced herself as one of the sisters of the kids from the Explore program that I worked with last summer on PEI. She recognized me from Facebook pictures and offered any help that I may need. Now, I would say it takes balls to pick out one student out of 37,000 that you sort of recognize from your sister's pictures to introduce yourself to some random.

Of course once they discover that you to be an Anglophone, all bets are off. Haha.

Half-Assed and Clueless - Across an Ocean

The next morning Meghan and I heisted on our backpacks one last time and lugged them across the huge bridge towards the cruise dock in Barcelona. After going through some security checkpoints, we boarded our ship that would take us across the Atlantic: The Legend of the Seas.

This ship is a Royal Caribbean-owned, offshore-registered cruise ship in a huge fleet of luxury liners. It was certainly a sight to behold. The ship had 11 floors, with a 7 floor-high atrium, and with grand marble staircases with glass elevators spanning the distance between. The ship has an internet café, coffee shop, library, study, two pools, spa, casino, fitness centre, photo gallery, hundreds of rooms, 7 bars, a huge cafeteria, and an 1000-seat restaurant.

Basically everything is jammed in there along with about 2000 old people who will go home and describe the ship like I just did (perhaps with not so vivid a memory), and all of it seemed so gloriously meaningless. This ship has no real purpose other than to cart old people around and sell paintings and photos and internet and phone time ($0.50 and $7.95 a minute, respectively) to their captive audience. It was truly a monument to Western civilization. Luxuriously cruising from poor country to poor country, blissfully ignorant to everything else in the world. Imagine living in an impoverished country and watching a five-star hotel pull into the harbour every other morning, discharge a bunch of rich tourists, who come and haggle about the price of whatever trickets you are trying to sell, and then as you go home to feed your family, the tourists sit up on deck eating all-you-can-eat dinners as their hotel sails off for some other 'exotic' location. Imagine what that would do to your view of the world... and of the people of the West. But I digress.

After some guy died on our ship while in the Canary Islands, we headed out across the ocean, mostly hanging out with our table mates from the dining room; Les and Zoiey, a fourty-something couple from Britain, and Ed and Linda, a sixty-something couple from the US. We partook in a lot of trivia games during the journey, but the majority of our time was spent on the deck in the sun, reading books, or eating. The days at sea themselves were quite uneventful, but it was a good oppurtunity to reflect on the past month. Those five days at sea were really the culmination of my trip, allowing me to read the books and think the thoughts that were hard to get through while we were jumping from train to train and checking in and out of hostels.

One might say that the thought of being 2000 kilometres away from the nearest land and that the ocean floor is seven kilometeres below the bow of the ship is quite unnerving, but what I can certainly say is that the colour of the ocean in the middle of the Atlantic is so beautiful that it is hypnotizing. At first it looks like a black but after looking at it for a moment, you will see that it is actually a deep deep blue, and even as I stared at it, I could hardly believed that such a colour could exist. It was in view of this water and in the presence of absolute solitude (save for the other 1999 people on the ship) that, in many ways, my journey concluded.

I asked myself at the beginning of my trip: 'Why does one leave their home?' It is quite obvious to anyone who knows me that I am comfortable among the people I know and within a community where people know me, but over the span of the two months abroad, I realized that sometimes, one must see for themselves that the world is more than a sum of its parts. That for its beauty, nature reveals most of herself in its variety. That human kind is most gifted in its rich cultural mosaic, and that we share in our own cultural experiences not by insulated ourselves from all others, but in understanding that societies naturally complement the amazing aspects of one another.

One must also travel to understand that beauty exists in many forms, and that everywhere and everything is beautiful to someone, somewhere. Stare at a captivating landscape or at the world's most amazing masterpiece for long enough, however, and the colours will meld, and the lighting will become unremarkable, even commonplace. And so, one must step back, re-focus, and realize that just as the people of the netherplaces of the world are incredible and beautiful, so much more are the captivating and amazing people that we care about, the same people who, over time, have come to seem commonplace.

In that, upon seeing the immensity of the world, one must come to understand that the incomprehensible size and scope of the world does not make one insignificant, but instead, highlights the careful and beautiful intricacies of life and creation, wherever it is found.

For all their adventures and experiences, travel is as much about coming home and seeing it anew. My trip affirmed for me one thing in my heart: there is no place quite like home.

Half-Assed and Clueless - Eurotrip 2007: Switzerland and Spain

After 28 days on the road, carrying our lives on our backs and jumping from train to train, hostel to hostel, Meghan and I were pretty tired out. After a week in Greece and Italy, with a lot of bar-hopping in between, I was about ready to sleep for seven or eight days. Once we reached Bern, the cold temperature didn't help our ambition to walk around, but we did the best we could, seeing much of what the very small, very beautiful capital city of 120,000 has to offer within the first few hours of our arrival. We checked into the hostel at 15:00, and spent most of the evening sitting around, doing laundry, and reading. On our way to the train station that morning, I remarked that Switzerland was the only country in our travels that didn't have any pigeons. We also noticed that Switzerland is the only country where McDonald's serves 'chicken' wings. Coincidence? Probably.

Anyways, this was to be a long day on trains, switching threes times as we made our way through Switzerland, France and into Spain. It was an uneventful journey for the most part, the only events out of the ordinairy being that there were tons of police at one of the train stations in France and a long delay once we crossed the Spanish border. I have no idea why there were so many police and emergency vehicles around but they were controlling the flow of traffic in and out of the station and had some of the exits cordoned off. I didn't really feel like sticking around until I found out or until a bomb went off or something. As for the delay, we were told in broken English that the tracks up ahead were 'broken', which is a great comfort after a long day of traveling, but we eventually were back on our way, and made it into Barcelona after nightfall.

As we hopped in our cab on our way to the hostel, I smacked my head off the side of the cab and then my head bounced back and smacked the door. I yelled a quick combination of interesting words, grabbed my head with both hands and thought: "Wow, what a great end to a great day." It took us a bit of walking to find the hostel once we got dropped off, but once we did we went into the office, and I shrugged off my backpack and... that was it. My leather folder (with my Eurail Pass, Passport, insurance info, cruise ticket, etc.) was defintely not in my hand anymore.
"Could I see your passport please?" (Hostel lady)
"Uh oh." I said
"Don't say uh oh." said Meghan
"Uh oh." I repeated.
And then I remembered grabbing my head WITH BOTH HANDS after I smacked it off the side of the cab. "Wonderful." I thought. The folder was still in some cab, roaming the streets of Barcelona. To make matters worse, the hostel lady told me there was no way of tracking down who had dirven us there from the train station, even if we called the cab company. As soon as we had finished checking in I told Meghan I would be back, and I headed down to the streets, determined to somehow find the cab that had driven us to the hostel. Just as I stepped down from the last step to the ground floor, a familiar face stepped through the door: Mr. Cab Driver, with my folder in hand. I could not believe it. He had driven around the city, and returned once he had found my folder in the back seat. He asked for some cash, so I gave him 10 Euro... which is quite a lot, but after making a dumbass mistake like that, I didn't care.

As I sat on my bed the next morning (Friday), with a stuffy nose, applying nasal decongestant with instructions that I could not read, and listening to Meghan cough her incessant cough, I remarked about how sick and tired I was of walking. Back-packing around Europe was interesting and all that, but by this point, my legs were ready to tell me to eff off and just quit. And enough of these old buildings and sights to see. And I realize that a lot of people would be pissed at me if they somehow heard me thinking that, while they dug out from 20cm of snow back on PEI. But I was done. And I guess that is an good place to be at the end of a trip.

With the consolation that this would be our last day of walking around and looking at random stuff, we headed out to the streets to see what we could see. It was a warm sunny day and we toured around the waterfront and the sidestreets and bought some supplies for the cruise ship that we were getting on the next day. On Meghan's insistence, we jumped on a dumb over-priced tour bus and went around the city. It was a huge waste of time, and after about an hour I told her I would meet her back at the hostel, jumped off, and walked through the city by myself. It was the first time I had had the chance to go off on my own in a long time, and it was damn near exhillerating. By the time I got back, it was dark and Meghan was just getting back from the bus tour. We found a little place for dinner, and ended the evening (our last in Europe) by having an argument in hushed tones over dinner at the restaurant. Good times.

Half-Assed and Clueless - Eurotrip 2007: Greece and Italy

On Friday we headed for Patra, Greece to catch our ferry to Italy, but we got off at the wrong station, and consequently missed our train. And so myself, Meghan, John and Richard found ourselves in speeding taxi, racing against time to catch our connectin train at the next station, but we missed it by about 2 minutes. (Either way we appreciated our taxi driver balring 'Bohemian Rhapsody' on the radio and the fact that he was far more interested in telling stories about his trip to Italy in 1972 than to what was going on on the road in front of him).

We were therefore stranded in some random town, with about four hours to kill before the next train. We headed into the town to see what we could see, and we found a beach, which is usually boring in mid-November, unless you're in Greece and it's 25 degrees. I decided to go for a swim while the others wandered the beach and after an hour or so of skipping rocks and other mundane beach activities, we ate at a seaside cafe (except for Meghan, who fed most of her food to a hungry cat), and then I had a nap on the beach. Probably the best nap ever, making the missed train the best mistake of my life. Eventually we got on another train and headed for Patra, this time we were much calmer than we had been during the early morning dash for Patra, and we arrived just in time caught the last boat to Bari, Italy. On the ferry we shared a 4-person cabin for the 16-hour journey, complete with a bathroom and a shower. After sharing some Bulgarian liquor and having gotten up at 6:00 that morning, we all slept tremendously well.

We stuck around waiting for a train in Bari until 13:42 and headed for Rome, and took the time (after John insisting that he wanted to be able to say "I've done Bari"... pun not intended), to tour the city of Bari. After looking at all the fishing boats that Bari had to offer, we headed for Rome where Jared, having flown earlier that day, was waiting for us. Jared and I made a laundry run for the five of us, before we headed to dinner, this time with Phil, student from Niagra, Ontario. Again, dead tired and filled with Italian food, wine, and ice cream, we were all asleep by 1:00.

The next day was Sunday and we all rushed off alll the way to St. Peter's Sqaure in time to see mass (mostly in Latin) and to receive a blessing from the Pope. We got a hell of a lot closer to him than I ever did in my entire trip to Germany for World Youth Day, and we didn't even have to sleep in a field with 1.2 million people. We then found a small Italian restaurant that ripped us off severely, and then wandered more of the city, visiting the Pantheon and the Coliseum. As that would be our last evening with John and Richard, we went to the grocery store and bought a bunch of food, and made a massive meal for ourselves (for a fraction of the price of the meal we had bought earlier), and drank and the five of us played Risk until 2:00 with another two Aussies that we had met.

Despite the late night, we got up early the next day and went back to the Vatican so that we could tour the inside of St. Peter's Basilica and the Vatican Museum. Both of these were, as you would expect, absolutely incredible, except they get real pissed if you take pictures of the Sistine Chapel. Before Richard and Joh headed for the train station, we found a greatItalian restaurant and had lunch together one last time. We saw John and Richard off, I got my hair cut (finally) and we all prepared to go out. It was Phil's (the guy from Niagra) birthday, and as 23 of his Canadian classmates had just arrived, we had been invited out on a Roman pub crawl. It was a great night, (complete with the 'I Am Canadian' speech in one bar), and it ended with us carrying poor Phil back to his room, where he spent a very painful morning the next day.

Our train left at 20:40 on Tuesday, and so we had most of the day to see what we had missed so far in our visit to Rome. We dug deep in our pockets and paid the entrance fee to the Coliseum, and I walked around with my iPod headphones on, listening to the soundtrack from Gladiator the whole time. It was awesome. And dorky. After some lunch we sat around the hostel and hung out with the Canadians for the rest of the day.

We left Jared and Rebecca (one of the other Aussies) behind in Rome, and for the first time in a week, Meghan and I were once again on our own. Our train was another night car, which we shared with an elderly Swiss couple. The husband spoke German, Italian and French, but no English. So him and I chatted about a few things in French (including a debate on stem cell research) while Meghan and his wife sat in silence, awkwardly smiling at each other every now and then. Another couple joined the car in Milan, and we all took up residence in our bunks for the night, somewhere between Milan and Bern.

Half-Assed and Clueless - Eurotrip 2007: Serbia, Bulgaria, and Greece

The next morning in Budapest, (well technically the same morning), we got up at 11:30 and headed over to the train station to catch our train to Belgrade. At this point I was ready to jettison any thought of staying in Eastern Europe any longer than was absolutely necessary. I just wanted to get the hell to Greece. We hopped on the train and seven hours later ended up in Belgrade, Serbia. We stayed on the ground in Serbia for about, oh six minutes, and hopped on another train for Sophia, Bulgaria. Now this train was the sketchiest vehicle that I have ever travelled in. Imagine, if you will, the old dental mobile home they had around PEI back in the day. (If you don't remember that, imagine the old bookmobile or one of the old replacement school busses. If you don't remember either of these, you are probably a townie, and would not understand the state of anything beyond the Peter Pan Corner anyway). Now imagine any of these structures experiencing traffic upwards of 300 people a day, smoking, drinking, eating, etc. And now imagine that it is mid winter, the heaters are broken, as are many of the windows, and that it hasn't been cleaned since 1987. It was pretty ridiculous. Some guy came to me and asked for 6 Euros so he can get on the train too (God knows why he would want to). I pulled out some change, and he informed me that they wouldn't take Euro coins, so he needed a 10 Euro note. Of course he promised to pay me back. The benevolent heart that I am, I obliged and spent the rest of the night thinking... they don't take coins... riiiight.

I made that money back though, kind of by accident. The tickets booths were closed in Belgrade, so we just hopped on and figured we'd pay on the train. Every time a ticket person barged in (which was several times during the night, usually when I had just nodded off) I wordlessly handed him my Eurail Pass (which is totally not valid in Serbia or Bulgaria) and he would frown at it, and then pass it back to me and mumble something under his breath. I don't know which was the funnest part of the journey, feeling like I was going to get robbed (and keeping my long heavy flash light handy just in case), trying to use the washroom without a proper door or toilet, or being questioned by Hungarian border guards about smuggling. When he pointed to my bag and asked (I think he said something about cigarettes), I just shook my head no. Not five minutes later I read in my guide book that: "Bulgarians shake their head 'no' and nod their head 'yes'." Wonderful. There were about 25 border guards on the train, poking holes in the walls and ripping stuff apart looking for... God knows what. Thankfully they didn't seem to care too much about a dumb Canadian with an invalid ticket and who may or may not have had contraband cigarettes in his bag.

Our original plan was to arrive in Sophia at 6:25 and have 35 minutes to get on another train to Thessaloniki, and then to head for Athens, arriving by 19:50 tthat night. But seeing as our train was a full two hours and fourty minutes late, we didn't quite make the 7:00 train out of Eastern Europe. You know what they say: don't set your watch by Bulgarian trains.

We found the ticket office in Sophia so we could reserve beds on the next train to Athens, and ran into two British guys, John and Richard, who were in a similar predicament to us... that is, wanting to get the hell out of Eastern Europe. Our introductory conversation went something like "Holy shit it's good to hear someone else who speaks English." They agreed, and after we hung out at the hostel, walked around the city and had some lunch (with no meatballs), we made plans to meet up with them in Greece once they arrived the next day. Meghan and I then headed for our train. After being harassed by a bunch of husslers to carry our bags and what not, (I gave one guy $5 Canadian. He gave the blue bill one look and he got really pissed at me. Should've just gave him Canadian Tire money), we reached our sleeper car, locked the door, and slept the night away on a much more comfortable and much nicer train than we had encountered... nay, endured, the night before.

Somewhere in the night we finally crossed the snow threshold as we passed into Greece, and arrived in Athens shortly after 6:00 to somewhat more temperate weather. We found our hostel and ate, then headed off to a landromat to do some laundry until our room was ready. It was a fairly uneventful day, but we did meet an interesting guy at the laundromat who was absolutely obsessed with California, saw some of the city, and the many stray dogs that inhabit it. Even though most of the dogs that roam the street are strays, many of them have collars provided by the locals, and are fed by people around the community. More on this later. Tuesday night we stuck around the hostel and hung out in the pub, meeting more Canadians and Americans, along with a Mexican and two Brazilians. We had a lot of interesting conversations. (I met one girl (Cynthia) from Ottawa who went to middle school with a friend's roommate at UPEI. Small effing world). Before I nodded off to sleep, the Aussie in our room (Jared, who would become one of our travel companions) threw up all over himself and the floor. I dozed off to the sound of him apologizing profusely to the Ohio girl whose bunk was directly below his.

On Wednesday we headed out to see the sights in Athens, you know, all the usual ruins you would see on pictures of the city. It was all very nice, and we ran into a lot of our hostel mates on the hill, most of whom were slouched on benches or drinking water in an effort to recover from the intake of Ouzo the night before. The ruins were beginning to look an awful lot like each other when we randomly ran into John and Richard at one fo the sites, and they had met Cynthia at the hostel, and so, reunited in a more comfortable climate, the five of us went out for lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Athens.

That night was much the same as the night before, but considerably more rowdy, as England was playing Croatia for a berth in the EuroCup 2008. England lost, and so there were a lot of pissed off backpackers and staff. In the midst of the angry post-game drinking, Richard, John, and I headed up tp the top of Acropolis (a plateau in the middle of the city with the most prominent ruins on it) to see the view at night. As we left the hostel, as if followed by body guards, three dogs who always hung around the hostel led/followed us to the hill, barking and intimidating anyone or anything that they perceived as a risk to us. By the time we had reached the hill, there were five dogs guarding us, and as we sat down on the rocks talking about history and other boring stuff, the dogs each took a sentry point in a circle around us, alert and ready to take down anything. It was amazing.

On Thursday the weather got a lot nicer, and we (myself, Meghan, John, Richard and Jared) headed to a monastery on a hill in the centre of the city to catch the view from up there. It was beautiful, and by mid-day, the temperature had climbed to 25. We made a final effort to see as much of the city as we could before sharing a traditional Greek meal together, finishing off some random drinks in a trendy local bar, (where Richard, John and I met a couple from the US/Taiwan, and a bunch of Americans, one of which was a girl from Iowa who hated Canadians because one had asked her if Iowa was where all the potatoes come from [that would be Idaho]), and getting set to take off for Italy the next morning.

Half-Assed and Clueless - Eurotrip 2007: Austria and Hungary

After dragging myself out of bed following a late night in Prague, we made our way to the train station, by which point I was incredibly thirsty. I stopped into a sketch grocery store that devoted about 80% of their shelf space to liquor and cigarettes. (They sell liquor absolutely everywhere; news stands, McDonald's, etc. and people smoke all the time; in restaurants, trains, church... it is very hard not to slap people in the face.) With a few shady characters roaming around the store, I bought some bananas, an apple, carrots, bread, iced tea and a huge bottle of water. Came to a grand total of 66 Koruny (about $3.50 Canadian). I thought it was a pretty good deal. Plus the water was probably the best water I have tasted in my life. See, they carbonate everything here in Europe, even their water, so when I took the first drink of cold water and realized that is WASN'T the gassy crap, I almost cried with joy. Meanwhile, Meghan wussed out and got a Happy Meal at McDonald's.

We made it to Vienna and immediately got lost once we stepped off the tram. While Meghan ate at McDonald's (yes, for the second time in one day), I trudged around in the snow, trying to find our hostel. Eventually, after tracking down streets with no names and getting confused by streets with the same damn name, we found our hostel by about 19:00. This hostel was decent, but the bathrooms were a huge pain in the ass. They had both an automatic light sensor and an automatic shower faucet. What this meant was that once in the shower, one has to push the faucet every 20 seconds to keep the water running. Meanwhile, the lights go off in the room every minute or so, so you have to open the shower door, wave your hand around in the dark until the sensor turned the light back on, get back in the shower, and push the faucet again. Showers therefore take about 3 hours.

Other than being the country that spawned such notables as Mozart, Freud, Hitler and Swartzenagger, Austria boasts tons of national history, as indicated by the number of museums in Vienna: about 3.2 million by my count. We toured around Vienna and decided to check out four of the museums, the largest and most interesting of which was the Natural History Museum, which had thousands of pieces of rock and thousands of stuffed birds and fish and animals. It was pretty intense before it got boring. We also continued our search for ethnic food by getting Chinese for lunch.

When we stepped off the subway in downtown Vienna, we were stopped to help a Japanese girl who looked lost and was looking for some monument or something. Although I obviously had no idea what we were looking for and didn't speak her language, for some reason I figured I could help her out. Then some Austrian lady stopped and asked if we need help. So out came HER reading glasses, and the four of us were standing there, staring at a Japanese map, while I tried to explain to the Japanese girl what some lady was telling me in German. God knows if she ever found what she was looking for.

The next day we took the plunge into the Eastern European states of the former Soviet Republic. I can imagine you may be wondering "I wonder if you can tell the difference between Eastern and Western Europe." Oh yes. You can tell. While we had seen some sketch areas in the Czech republic and in Austria, the journey from Vienna to Budapest was like a trip back in time, a trip from a modern, clean city to a... old,dirty city. Buildings became increasingly shabby and our surrounding were likened to something out of a seventies-era James Bond movie (minus the lair). More than a few times Meghan was prompted to tell me that we weren't in Kansas anymore. I've never been to Kansas, but we sure as hell weren't in downtown Charlottetown anymore either.

And so, of course the first thing we decided to do in this former Soviet Republic was to stand around outside in our bathing suits in 0 degree weather. Yes, with nothing better to do, we checked out the famous thermal baths, and they were awesome, though very very crowded. It took me a while to get oriented in the thermal bath complex, mistakenly walking into a few rooms full of naked men before finding where I was supposed to be. Once we got outside though, the baths were phenomenal. It was basically a hot tub as big as a swimming pool, naturally heated by underwater springs. There were old men were playing chess with other men stood around and watched with eager anticipation, most only able to communicate through the game, as everyone here is from any number of different countries. There were a few couples macking out in the pool (as they do everywhere in Europe), but overall, it was a good relaxing afternoon, and a fitting rest period for what is more or less halfway through the European adventure.

Now comes the fun part of our Hungarian advernture. We had planned on sticking in Budapest for the day and then catching the overnight train to Belgrade, Serbia. And so, after dinner we headed back to the train station and waited three hours for our train. Finally, when we got on our train at 23:25, we settled in for the 7-hour journey to Belgrade... except that about 45 minutes later we were told that we weren't going to Belgrade. I don't know who screwed up, but our train was apparently going to Hatvan, a small town about 80km outside of Budapest. I awoke at 1:20 on the train with Meghan and I the only people left on the train as cleaners were going through the car, which seemed to be parked in the middle of nowhere.

We got off the train and walked through the tunnel into the station and discovered that it was completely empty. Well, realtively so. It was an old Soviet-era stone building, with the door wide open, broken and barred windows and garbage all over the place. When I went to blow my nose, there was no toilet paper in the bathrooms, but there WAS a homeless man sleeping on the toilet that I scared the hell out of when he woke up as I walked into the bathroom. We got to hang out in Hatvan until 3:05, when we got to catch a train to go BACK to Budapest, which I was real thrilled about. Once there, were would wait until 13:15 to catch the next train to Belgrade. When we got back to Budapest, it was 4:00, and I slumped down on a bench, tired, cold, and totally not looking forward to sitting there for the next 9 hours waiting for the next train. To hell with this, said Meghan, and went across the street to rent a room at a hotel. I have never checked into a hotel at 4:00 before, and I'll have to hand it to her. I did not have that much initiative by that point. A bed has never felt that good.

Half-Assed and Clueless - Eurotrip 2007: Dresden and Prague

Towards the end of the Second World War, when the Allies were looking to bomb the hell out of any remaining Nazi strongholds, they decided to fire-bomb Dresden, a German centre of military industry. Not a very proud moment for the RAF and the USAF. This attack, with arguable logistical purposes, killed roughly 30,000 civilians and destroyed most of the city. Keeping the good times rolling, once the war was over, Dresden was taken over by the USSR a half-century or so of Soviet rule.
And this is where we ended up after riding the aimless train away from Berlin, thanks to my stupid mistake. As we were headed for Prague (just a couple hours south of Dresden) we rolled with it and hung out in Dresden, ate the atypical German breakfast of bread, random meat, Nutella, and some dumb cereal, (reminiscent of the two weeks of World Youth Day 2005 in Germany), did some laundry (the first time I had had clean clothes since London), and hopped on another train headed for the Czech Republic.

We found our hostel, Sir Toby's, by 17:00 in Prague after jumping on the tram and, as usual, walking around for a bit. Sir Toby's is in an incredible old building with a huge kitchen and great dorm rooms, with a pub, common area and chapel in the basement. It was, by far, the best hostel we stayed at throughout our travels. Though it may have been a bit of an exaggeration, I later wrote in the guest book that if I had nothing better to do, I could live there for the rest of my life. Meghan and I hung out in the pub the first night and played Scrabble (I won all three games, if you count the first two, which she quit because I was doing too well). Eventually the basement pub filled, and by the end of the night we were into some deep convos with a bunch of Canadians and some Americans who liked to pretend they were Canadian (so they would get treated better in Europe). And then there was some Brazilian dude, but he didn't say much.

After a lot of snoring from our roommate, and apparently some sleep talking about the Canadian Dollar exchange rate from me, we got up the next morning and took off on the tram to tour Prague. We took a bunch of pictures, ate at Subway (again), and then headed up the hill to see the castle and cathedral. When we reached the top the view was incredible. My first reaction was "Wow!" (Meghan's was "Holy shit!"). The trek up the 287 steps of the spiral staircase to the top of the cathedral tower was incredible too. I was all like "Yeah, no big deal" but even after walking around with a back-pack for 2 weeks, that climb was rough. But again, the view was unreal.
After buying my new favorite t-shirt ("Prague: Czech it out"), we headed back for another night at the pub.

We had intended on going out on the town in Prague, but by 3:00am we were still all in the basement (six Canadians, six Americans, five Brits and a Mexican... I don't know where the Brazilian dude was) telling stupid stories and making fun of each other's countries. After sampling the local beer once or twice, and a traditional Czech shot a few times ...and then the local beer a few more times, I was sufficiently uncoordinated. I remember sitting at the computer completely no longer able to type any word in the English language properly.
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Needless to say, the 10:00 check-out time came and went the next morning without myself or Meghan noticing. Eventually we got it together headed for the train station, on our way to Vienna. Ibuprofen is your friend.

Half-Assed and Clueless - Eurotrip 2007: Belgium, Netherlands, and Scandinavia

One may be interested to know how Bruges came to be included in our travel plans. After spending a day and a night there, I'm still not really sure. And as I am many tourists think when they visit PEI in the winter, I am inclined to ponder: "Who the hell would want to live in Bruges." Not only that, how could 120,000 people simultaneously think: "HEY! You know where I wanna live?! BRUGES! Yeah! In the middle of BELGIUM! Yesssss!"

Don't get me wrong, Bruges is a nice little town with tons of old buildings and quaint little cobblestoned streets (just like every other town and city on the continent) It received its charter as a city on my birthday (July 27th) in 1128 and was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2000 (probably because of the aforementioned cobblestone streets and the like).

Quickly becoming our number one activity, we spent the afternoon and evening walking around Bruges, checking out the town and settling for some local cuisine at Pizza Hut. When we got back to the hostel, I destroyed Meghan at Scrabble twice (which would become an on-going theme) and we headed off to bed. On the way out of Bruges the next morning we stopped for some traditional Belgian waffles. Meghan has not shut up about them since.

Amsterdam wasn't too far of a trek from Bruges, but by the time we arrived at our out-of-the-way hostel it was 16:00 and getting dark in the already dreary city. (We were sharing our room with three Spaniards and a Dutchman, half of whom liked to stay up late and take noisy showers, and the other half of whom liked getting up insanely early. It was wonderful.) The hostel was a brand-new hostel with all the amenities of a hotel, a welcome change from some of the dingier accomodations that we had seen.

Ok, so I know that there is a lot of near-hysteria in the mind of any young traveller on their way to Amsterdam. It is almost like a popularly conceived anticipation, which the city works hard to propogate. In my mind, Amsterdam was ok to visit, and even on that note I was a bit tedious about the child-like fervour that it seems to work some travellers into. Aside from the beautiful canals it is a city trying in every which way to be shocking. I don't know if people like it like that, or if it is just an exagerated sense of Western 'LOOK AT ME!' culture. Either way, after spending the night and much of the next day walking around the crowded streets filled with smoke and red lights, I had had enough. Next country.

Well, I guess it was good that I was ready for a change of pace, as the next leg of our journey brought us the Malmo, Sweden. Malmo was nice, but getting there required a train journey back to Brussels, through the night to Hamburg, onto another train to Copenhagnen, then to Malmo. The trip took, by my watch, just under 19 hours. And if you're keeping track, that is 5 countries in one day. Hostels were pretty expensive in Malmo, so we splurged and rented a hotel room for the night. After 19 hours on trains, we napped away much of the next 24, with the bitter cold not being condusive to exploring the city streets. We took some time to walk around Malmo the next day and then hopped back on the train for Copenhagen.

By this point we had not washed clothes since London, had been through seven countries in as many days, and had logged more hours on trains then I cared to count. Weary as I was, we walked around Copenhagen in search of a laundromet for about an hour, realized that none of them were open on Sunday, and with that, I returned to the hostel and collapsed on my bed for a few hours, exhausted and dirty. Meghan tried to pry me from bed to visit a museum, but I would have none of it. By the time she returned, I had effectively re-charged my batteries and we headed out for some local cuisine. This time at the Hard Rock Café.

We once again walked through the streets of Copenhagen the next day to the train station and headed back towards Hamburg with the destination of Berlin. Unfortunately, as we arrived in Berlin that evening, I missed the right stop, figuring we could get off at the next station, closer to our hostel. The 'nest' Berlin station never came, and instead, the train went for another two hours. Southbound on a German train in the middle of the night, no known destination. Fun times.