"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.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, January 11, 2008
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.
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.
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.
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.
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