Living Out of a Suitcase

Technical Difficulties

2009-03-12T13:26:00.002Z

There's a bug in Blogspot. It won't let me upload photos. We all know that pictures are integral to the survival of this baby. So I'll sit with the computer/Blogspot and we'll go manno-a-manno until one of us comes out on top. Propbably Blogspot. But I'll be back up and running when I can.

A Transit City for My City

2009-03-11T12:30:00.000Z

Rarely do I step back from my own adventures and talk about stuff that’s going on in Canada. But this issue is something quite close to my heart. When I was at home during Christmas I kept seeing signs for the TTC’s Transit City plan. And I have to say that I am ecstatic about it. The plans look amazing: 120 km of LRT spread out over seven lines, 175 million new riders a year, 92% less emissions. Transit City aims to finally link Toronto’s suburbs (Scarborough, Etobicoke and parts of North York) to the core. As someone who has taken the Scarborough RT for years and suffered through the nails-on-a-chalkboard-magnified-a-million-times squealing of the tracks, I eagerly await a newer, modern LRT system.

LRT in Brussels that goes above and below ground

I know they’re at the planning stages still and that transit projects usually proceed with prehistoric-age speed, but I will not be discouraged. According to this, the Mayor Miller plans to have financing early in 2009 and break ground by the end of the year.

"If we have [federal] funding commitments in January, we can do a lot to get shovels in the ground by the end of 2009," Mr. Miller promises.

The first visible project of Transit City is a new light-rail line on Sheppard Avenue (from Don Mills Station to Morningside Avenue), with construction set for September, 2009. But the mayor says federal dollars could speed up plans for the next two projects in the lineup: the Eglinton Crosstown (from Kennedy Station to Pearson Airport) and a new Etobicoke-Finch West line (from Yonge Street to Highway 27).

That's all well and good, but don’t let the exclamation points and italics fool you. There are issues and problems with the plan (financing it not to mention that it probably won’t shorten the commute downtown by that much), but it’s a start and an effort at tackling a huge problem in this city.

Inside the LRT in Brussels

All the articles about the plan always mention the “European-style light rail” which is funny but completely true. Light rail in some form has been in most of the cities I’ve been to (with London a notable exception). I have to admit, when I first heard about the plan a year or two ago, I was very skeptical. Streetcars in Scarborough sounded like the worst idea I’d ever heard. But then I went to Europe. It works. The Dutch rely on nothing else in Amsterdam and streetcars cross major streets with no problem. It works for them, let’s see how it’ll work for us.

Picture of the Day

2009-03-10T12:30:00.000Z

Graffiti near Borough Market
Originally uploaded by dan taylor

So maybe it's becoming a bit of a tradition.

Here's another fun sign. This one's a bit closer to home. It's graffiti near Borough Market

Fun Fact

2009-03-09T12:30:00.000Z

In many "romance" languages (ie. French, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian) the word for subway is "metro." I always wondered where that came from. It's not even close to "train" in any of the aforementioned languages, which only fits considering that's what a subway is. Well, I learned in Paris that the French "metro" stands for "Métropolitain." Doesn't really help crack the code, but at least I have an answer.

One More Reason to Master the Art of Packing Light

2009-03-06T12:30:00.002Z

ryanair invasion
Originally uploaded by paolo màrgari » www.paolomargari.tk

When I flew to Dublin on Ryanair I took one small carry-on suitcase. I was only going from Friday to Sunday but I wanted to be well prepared: two pairs of shoes, a few change of clothes, make-up bag and a hair straightener. All together that’s 11kg. I know this because it was weighed and stamped with a bright orange ‘overweight’ sticker.

This meant that I was over the 10kg limit allotted to me by Ryanair. I thought they’d make me check it (for €10) or worse, not let me take it on to the plane. But they didn’t do any of that. I walked into the cabin, threw it up in the overheard compartment and was on my way.

Now they want to charge me for that.

Checking a bag will cost between 10 and 20 Euros, but anyone caught trying to sneak too much into the cabin can pay the 30 Euro fine, or stay home, because not paying the fine = no travel for you.

The system appears to be pretty well planned, as it does not seem like you are able to check the excess cabin baggage once on board - which should force people to just pay the checked bag fee instead of trying to take a chance the flight attendant won't notice your massive bags. [Source]

I understand the need for it. On that one flight I saw more flagrant violations of requirements. But on the other hand, I’m a little angry. The list of additional fees for Ryanair is substantial—if you’re not a European citizen, checking a bag, airport check-in, etc and so forth—now they want to charge me to bring anything. Sometimes hair straighteners and shoes weigh more than they should, but should we really be punished for that?

Cyclist Insanity

2009-03-05T12:30:00.001Z

In light of what I posted a few weeks ago, last week, this is a bit sad.

The Velib bike rental system has been hailed by Parisians and tourists alike for its convenience, as well as being a “green” alternative to getting around the French capital via taxicab, bus or metro. But the high cost of fixing, maintaining and, in many cases, replacing the fleet of about 20,000 bikes is proving too much for JCDecaux, the company that runs the program.

Of the 15,000 bicycles originally disbursed for the program, more than half have disappeared, reports the BBC, presumed to be stolen.

Though I'm not at all surprised. Put something worth even a little bit of money and it's a just a matter of time until they're either defaced, stolen or broken. But someone think of the cyclists.

Long live angry, rude cyclists.

Picture of the Day

2009-03-04T12:30:00.000Z

I don't usually do this--put up pictures of the day--but this was too good to resist. This is another side value of travelling, aside from the enjoyment, cultural education and adventure.

Here's the article that went along with it.

City of Music

2009-03-03T12:30:00.000Z

It happened on my second day. We were on a train back from Versailles. A man walked onto the train we were on caring a speaker. He turned it on, put the microphone to his lips and started singing. Among the classics he belted out was an off tune Sinatra rendition. It wasn't done particularly well but it set the mood.

It's events like these that make Paris so charming. Because it wasn't just on that train. In my four days, there was music everywhere we went. On the trains, on the subways, in the stations, in the restaurants.

What I liked the most was that it was all different kinds of music. American classics like Sinatra and singer songwriters. Spanish ballads and French accordion. It was nice to hear. Nicole rolled her eyes when we got on the subway late and night and were subjected to an accordion player directly in front of us asking us for money, but I thought it was Parisian. At least we got a nice show beforehand.

The band in the subway

Smile, You're On CCTV

2009-03-02T12:30:00.001Z

One Nation Under CCTV - Banksy
Originally uploaded by unusualimage

You know that feeling you get when you're being watched? Well, I get it a lot here. But that probably has to do with the fact that, in England, you're practically always on TV. And by TV I mean CCTV--closed circuit televisions.

It all started when the Bulger case, a story of the murder of a little boy by two 10-year-olds caught on CCTV. The footage helped lead to a quick arrest After that, the British Home Office made grants available to any local council that wanted to install cameras. Four years later, the numbers have swelled and London is the biggest customer. After the IRA detonated a bomb that killed one person and did an estimated £1 billion worth of damage, after which the police put a "ring of steel" around Bishopsgate to prevent any more attacks, including hundreds of CCTV cameras.

Now, years later, CCTV is everywhere. The numbers are actually staggering. One fifth of the world's CCTV cameras are in the British Isles, which represent less than one five hundredth of the world's habitable land mass. No one knows exactly how many there are, because so many different agencies, private and public, have installed them. Here's one estimation:

"Clive Norris, Professor of Sociology at Sheffield University, calculated four years ago that there were "at least" 4,285,000 – one for every 14 citizens. Norris claimed in his 1999 book that a person could be caught on CCTV cameras 300 times in a day. This figure is on the high side; Prof Norris has described it as "a piece of rhetoric" intended to "make a point" – but a few hours' spent travelling around central London could take you past 300 cameras."

You see them walking down the street or waiting for the bus. Near shopping areas, tube stations and even around school. And I'm not sure how much safer I feel or am. There's a lot of debate about that too. While they may may sound like a great idea, but at what cost? Just consider this.

"A website run by the charity Privacy International publishes a world map, updated annually, in which countries are colour coded according to the level of surveillance to which their citizens are subjected – white for the countries where there is the greatest respect for individual privacy, black for the countries such as Russia, China and various Middle Eastern states, where surveillance is "endemic". Most years, there is only one European country coloured black – the UK. This is because the UK could be almost be called the home of the CCTV camera." [Source]

And now comes another development. There's a rumour that the Met (London police) want to install CCTV in pubs around London. Just imagine what will happen then.

Guess the Passfield Alum: Round 2

2009-02-27T12:30:00.000Z

Every day I find out more and more cool people who've walked the hallowed halls of Passfield. Here's another one. See if you can guess. This one's easy.

1. It's a man.
2. He was here in the 50s.
3. He studied for a degree in accounting and finance,
4. He had a minor in physical education, though you'd never know considering he's still so skinny.
5. He couldn't get any satisfaction. He left after one year and didn't graduate.

Give up? Check it out.

"Yummy British Food" is Not an Oxymoron

2009-02-26T12:30:00.002Z

When I came home for Christmas my family and friends all commented on the fact that I didn’t have a British accent. Undeterred, they remained on the lookout for subtle signs—words, expressions, interests or opinions—that would reveal my increasing Britishness. Aside from the occasional use of Tube,” “splendid,” and “pence” I think for now I’ve resisted the assimilation and managed to stay Canadian, eh?

But there are a few ways that I’ll admit to forsaking my country: my diet. I’ve never heard of British food being particularly good (haggis, though Scottish, springs alarmingly to my mind). But I’ve got to say, as a result of my residence cafeteria, I’ve developed a love of certain foods. Here are some:

1. Yorkshire pudding. In the British tradition of naming meals after deserts, comes Yorkshire pudding a food that is not pudding in fact but bread and quite lovely indeed! It’s shaped like a butter tart but hollow. What makes it amazing is the sweet sauce, topping or spread that they coat it with. It is divine. I raved about it for a week straight before my British friends knew what I was talking about.

2. Banoffee pie is unlike Yorkshire pudding, actually a pie and actually a desert. It’s made of pie crust with, bear with me here, bananas and toffee. And it’s exquisite. Originally, bananas and toffee were along the lines of peanut butter and oranges, and I wasn’t wild about the idea of mixing the two. But by God it’s not half bad. In fact it’s quite delicious. And for all you Love Actually buffs, it’s banoffee pie that Keira Knightley’s character offers to Mark when she comes to see the wedding video in his apartment.

3. Tea. This is not a secret nor really a new development as I've been drinking tea as an alternative to coffee since university. But here, no surprise, my intake and appreciation of tea has doubled or even tripled. I have at least one cup a day, usually two. And that's just at dinner. On particularly cold days I brew my own before school and maybe at night to keep me up and focusing on that next chapter. So far I've only had Earl Grey and English Breakfast Tea but I see myself venturing into more adventurous territory soon. Note to readers, Orange Pekoe, the variety that is common in North America is unknown here in Britain. I think it exists, just not under the same name.

4. Rice pudding. I tried to find the most appealing picture I could find. Not an easy task for this particularly dish. Those of you sensitive to texture, may need to take a pass on this one. They serve it in our canteen (what the Brit's call a cafeteria) but I'd never tried it. My friend once got a bowl full and by the end of the meal, his spoon was trapped had to be levered out. It was not appealing imagining that in my stomach. But last week, picking up a lunch I'd ordered after a late class, I was given rice pudding in a yogurt style container. And I was converted. It is amazing. It's made out of rice kernels and is a sort of paste-like dessert. It's sweet and the little rice kernels are a little surprise that I quite enjoy. I had the vanilla flavour but apparently there's others like strawberry and blueberry. I'll let you know if they're as good. It may look like something a baby eats, but trust me.

Image: The World Wide Gourmet and Dessert Comes First

Watch your step

2009-02-25T12:30:00.000Z

A fun thing about living in Bloomsbury is that even the sidewalk isn’t boring. It’s splattered with famous faces.

Apparently they’re were part of a welcome event for the nearby University College London. In case, walking around is a lot more interesting you’re worried about stepping on Darwin, Ghandi or Charles Dickens.

Image: Londonist

This Can’t Be Good for Your Reputation

2009-02-24T12:30:00.000Z

In my months in Europe, I’ve heard a lot of smack talking about the EU. It wasn’t so bad in Brussels. But now that I live in London, it has quadrupled. When one of my friends said, “Yeah, I think Europe is a great idea. I’d love to be European” I almost fell down and died from shock. The EU gets such a bad rap in Britain, especially, as a wasteful and bureaucratic organization.

But stories like this aren’t going to help rehabilitate that image. Calabria, a province in Italy’s poorer southern region, is looking to use EU development funds to help promote its soccer team citing, “it can help raise the profile of their area, both within Italy and overseas.” According to one website promoting Italian tourism, Calabria is currently "little-respected by other Italians and little-known to tourists." They expect it’ll cost €1.8 million over three years. I’ve heard of soccer doing a lot of things, but developing a nation isn’t one of them.

Oh and by the way, Calarbia just happens to be home to “the N'Drangheta, one of Italy's most powerful and violent mafia organizations.” Coincidence?

London Fashion Week 2009

2009-02-23T12:30:00.006Z

London Fashion Week S/S 2009
Originally uploaded by K Gillett

Happy London Fashion Week!! Don't panic, this hasn't transformed into a fashion and beauty blog, though I've read enough of those I could probably be pretty good at it.

As this blog keeps those of you who can't be here updated on the goings on in London and my life, you might be interested in this. Last week was the New York Spring/Summer 2009 shows, where designers show off their upcoming collections, thereby setting the trends for the next few seasons. This week (actually it started Friday) is the beginning of what promises to be a quirky week. Though this year's shows are smaller, yet another effect of the stellar economy we're currently experiencing.

In any case, I'll let you know of any sightings of hungry models or bored British celebrities. I doubt they'll journey over to my end of the city. We all know models won't read unless they're paid to.

What the World Thinks of Canada

2009-02-20T12:30:00.004Z

Being a Canadian in Britain is, for the most part, awesome. You’re not European so the Brits don’t dismiss you as lazy and wasteful (like the French) or drunk (Irish) or corrupt (Italians). But there is the odd time where I’m mistaken for an American. The conversation usually goes like this:

Them: Where in America are you from?

Me: Actually, I’m Canadian. (sympathetic smile)

Them: Oh! (look of horror). I’m so sorry, I know that’s a huge insult.

Me: No, that’s OK, don’t worry. It happens a lot.

With Obama in the White House, I anticipate there will be less apologies, more “Do you guys really have polar bears?” questions (I’ve gotten a few of those). But I genuinely imagined the perception of Canadians by Brits was pretty favourable.

This article was a rude awakening. It's about Obama’s visit to Canada yesterday.

Canada is an interesting testing ground for the theory.

On the one hand, Canadians appear to like Mr Obama rather more than they like their own politicians - he has scored approval ratings here of nearly 90%.

On the other, reasonable, multilateralist, compromise-loving Canada doesn't really seem to do mania. You imagine the arrival of the Beatles here would have provoked civilised curiosity, and performances by the early Elvis might have prompted polite applause.

Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper is a Conservative who leads a minority government, and it would be fair to say that he has avoided the temptations of charisma in doing so.

Now, I’ll forgive the Harper comment because God knows he’s not the most awe-inspiring figure to ever grace Canadian politics, but really? Canada “doesn’t really seem to do mania.” Ever heard of a little thing called Trudeau-mania? The word is built in the title!

Boring, they think we're boring. They may not have said it in so many words. But that first sentence is the journalistic equivalent of "You're a big fat fuddy duddy!" This is the only time that I’ve ever actually wanted to comment on a news story. Wisely, the BBC doesn’t have that feature available. Otherwise I would have made severe use of it!

DISCLAIMER: No offense is meant by the cultural references above.

Quiz time

2009-02-19T12:30:00.000Z

I've told you about my neighborhood being home to some famous faces (Darwin, John Maynard Keynes, etc). Well, I forgot to mention a more contemporary famous face who lived in my residence. Here are some hints about their identity:

She is American.
She was a student at LSE in 2006 quite a bit of time after the scandal that made her infamous
Her received an MA in Social Psychology.
Her thesis was entitled "In Search of the Impartial Juror: An Exploration of the Third Person Effect and Pre-Trial Publicity."
She had a pretty famous face--and dress--in 1998.

Click here, to see her identity.

Sweet Primark

2009-02-18T12:30:00.000Z

There are things that I have had to do without while in London that have hurt me. Bagels is a big one. Another is new clothes. It is brutal living in one of the capitals of fashion and being unable to partake in the fun. Markets and shops abound adorned with gorgeously dressed mannequins, and fabulously dressed women walk down the London streets while I watch in envy.

This fashion fast is partly self-imposed. I don’t have room in my suitcases or my tiny room for my entire wardrobe. But part of it is a result of consequences. The British pound is worth twice as much as the Canadian dollar. Let that sink in a bit. Every price you see must be doubled. That hurts a bit. If I were making pounds it wouldn’t be so bad, as if you compare one to one, things aren’t that more expensive than Toronto. But adding the exchange makes you want to kill yourself. It really puts a downer on going to the Gap, Selfridges, Topshop or any other store here and seeing a shirt for £25, taking a moment, doing the math to realize that’s $50 for a top. Not worth it. Then there’s Primark.

Primark on Oxford Street

What is Primark you ask? A godsend, heaven, incredible, frustrating, unbelievable. All these words are applicable and none are exaggerated. Primark is similar to Forever 21 and H&M, a discount retailer that takes trends from the runways, shifts them slightly and then sells them for cheap. What’s special about Primark is that it sells it cheaper than I’ve ever seen—even with the exchange! Here are some of the stuff I’ve bought at Primark in the last four months.

All this glory doesn’t come for free. There are two problems with Primark. The first is obvious: quality. My friend Nicole once said it’s cheaper to wear Primark stuff once and throw it out than wash it and have it tear, rip, or deteriorate before your eyes. While not fully true, it’s close. Because you get sweaters for £4, they won’t be the best quality. I have a grey sweater (not pictured) that is 32% cotton, 30% nylon, 26% viscose and 8% wool, which isn’t bad, but it’s not going to last years. That’s why you have to be strategic about it. If you’re looking for a foundation item such as a white button shirt, you’re better off getting it at the Gap where it’ll last longer. But if you’re looking for a party dress, the trend of the moment for £8 is good enough. There are some exceptions. My red patent high heels are leather interiors which was a surprise.

Just one of many stalls'o'fun at Primark

The other downside is the crowds. I have never seen mobs like the ones constantly in Primark. Even on a Wednesday at noon, the line up for the dressing room is a few meters long. I once went on a Sunday afternoon, which was a huge mistake. But if you’re brave enough to navigate the crowds, and know how to work the trends, Primark can be your best friend.

Bikes: the European Transit System

2009-02-17T12:30:00.000Z

A friend of mine posted a photo summarizing his two years in Europe. In it was a wall covered in graffiti and a bike lying against the wall. I don’t know about the graffiti, but I can tell you bikes are big here. And it doesn’t matter what country you’re in. I thought it was a Dutch thing in Amsterdam, until I started to get almost-run-over by bicycles in Brussels on a regular basis. They get special sections of the pavement to stick to. And woe is to the sorry soul who tramples on this sacred Earth. Many a time I was faced with the annoyed staccato “Brrring! Bring!” of a bike bell when I stepped onto the dark red brick that was “pour bicyclettes.”

Even here in London, they’re passionate about their bikes. A few days ago I stepped onto the street and was almost run over by one. I think he yelled, "Moron!" after our near fatal collision, but I can't be sure.

Aside from the rudeness of the cyclers themselves, I think bikes are a great part of Europe. They’re quick, fast, cheap, good for you and don’t emit pesky fossil fuels. And they’ve got it down to a science. In both Brussels and Lille there were Velo stations or Velib (pioneered in Paris) where you go to rent bikes. It works like renting a car but on a shorter term.

“To access the bikes, riders can select a one-day card for 1 euro, a weekly card for 5 euros or an annual card for 29 euros. After the purchase of an access card, riding for the first half-hour is free and a supplement of 1 euro will be charged for an additional half-hour, 2 euros for another 30-minutes and 4 euros for every addition half-hour after that. Example: a 25 minute trip = 0 euros, a 50 minute trip = 1 euro, an hour and 15-minute ride = 3 euros.” (source)

And it’s not just the French speakers. Barcelona and Rome have them and now London is thinking of tossing its hat in the ring. A big push for the bikes are that they reduce traffic jams in Europe’s massively congested city centres. Every time I see these stations I think what a great idea they are and that Canada should definitely do that. Well, it turns out we are.

In September, Montreal started a pilot program similar to the Velib program, called the BIXI, part bike, part taxi. It costs $28 a month and the city hopes to have 2,400 BIXIs by next spring. Stationnement de Montreal, the company that manages the city's on-street parking is picking up the $15 million tab and expects to recoup costs through membership fees (read here for more).

I’m game to see how the experiment goes, especially in the frigid Montreal winters. That’s a problem Paris never really had to deal with.

This Is Me...Now.

2009-02-16T12:30:00.003Z

I got my hair cut in a sweet little place in Covenant Garden last week. These are the results. The grainy quality of the pictures are a result of my webcam.

Paris...At Night

2009-02-13T12:30:00.000Z

They don’t call Paris the "City of Light" for nothing. It is absolutely gorgeous at night. That’s the unfortunate thing about visiting the city. You see interesting and amazing sites during the day but most of them are lit up at night and look even better. So you almost want to re-visit the sites you visited during the day at night to see how they look. I didn’t do that, but I was very tempted.

Remember when I got this for Christmas? Well I wanted it specifically for Paris. And the results turned out quite nicely if I do say so myself. Here are a selection of them

Arc de Triomphe

The Bastille monument

Sacre Coeur Basillica

The view from Sacre Coeur

The Moulin Rouge, where dinner and a show will set you back €170

The famous tower

The Louvre and the famous 'Da Vinci Code' pyramid

For the Da Vinci Coders

2009-02-12T12:30:00.000Z

Before we started our tour of the Louvre I engaged in a little photo shot. I couldn't resist. Enjoy.

Look how strong I am

Napoleon Dynamite

2009-02-11T12:30:00.000Z

For three days, it seemed like I couldn’t step four feet without stumbling over something Napoleon oriented. It started at the Palace of Versailles, the absolute last place in the world I expected to find him. Turns out he has a whole wing for him. After the absolute splendour of the palace there’s a room dedicated to what happened after Marie Antoinette lost her head. That means Napoleon. There’s a whole room dedicated to Napoleon, filled with a giant statue, and multiple paintings, one being a reproduction of his coronation.

Napoleon's coronation painting at Versailles

Napoleon at Versailles

There are several paintings of the man as well. Later on in the palace there is a room that commemorates France’s victory throughout time. Surprisingly, Napoleon features quite heavily here with three or four paintings of his battles. He also gets a statue in a hall of warriors and famous French men.

His image also turns up in the Louvre, where the original painting of the Coronation appears.

Look familiar?

Next, there’s Les Invalides, a military museum, which also includes Napoleon’s final resting place. This isn’t a grave. No, this is too simple for France’s only emperor. Napoleon gets a sarcophagus wrapped in tin, two layers of lead, ebony and encased in granite. It’s really quite impressive. His son, rests across from him—oddly under a statue of his father—and his brother to the side. The grave is the biggest attraction in an otherwise impressive church, that had it not housed arguably France’s greatest general, which be a nice attraction. Along with the tomb there are objects from Napoleon’s life including his notes on the Wealth of Nations, his love letters to first wife Josephine and a pocket watch that originally belonged to Louis XIV.

Napoleon's tomb

"Napoleon, Emperor of the French"

The Church at Invalides

Tales from a Crypt Walker

2009-02-10T12:30:00.001Z

There’s a first time for everything and the weekend I went to Paris was full of them. It was my first time in Paris. Nicole’s first ride on the Eurostar. My first ride on a funicular. And my first time playing tourist in a cemetery. The Père Lachaise Cemetery is a located on the outskirts of Paris. It’s in a rather non-descript area of the city and looks kind of run down.

The Père Lachaise Cemetery

We don’t usually hang out in cemeteries, so you’re probably wondering why we did, especially in Paris. But it’s packed with celebrities. Literally. We were doing some star gazing, or at least gazing at their graves. Even in the middle of the day, with people all around, cemeteries are still creepy.

Jim Morrison's grave

Edith Piaf, pride of France

Irish author Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde, I don't understand the kisses

Surrounded by celebrities,
here is one of many memorials to the Holocaust

Composer Chopin

Coincidentally, it seems being around dead people was a theme in Paris. Aside from Napoleon and those in the Père Lachaise Cemetery, we visited the Panthéon which holds some of France’s most celebrated thinkers, politicians and scientists.

They say Americans are the most gratuitous flag waivers and blatant nationalists, but I think the French could give those Yanks a run for their money. The Panthéon used to be a church, which is a good indication of the reverence this country shows these men and women.

Inside the Panthéon,

That circular thing in the middle proves the Earth's rotation

While it was really cool seeing "the places they were interned," it was also incredibly creepy. For one thing, the entry to the crypt contains an urn with the heart of a former PM of France. That sets the stage for what is to come. That is, several large halls full of empty rooms in the crypts just waiting for the next great Frenchmen to die. Let me tell you, I don't envy them. These are some pretty big shoes to fill.

The graves of Voltaire and Jean Jacques Rousseau. Both famous French philosophers of the Enlightenment era . Rivals in real life, their final resting places are facing each other. I don't know if that's ironic, funny or respectful or insensitive.

Victor Hugo, author of "the Hunchback of Notre Dame"

Alexandre Dumas, author of the "Three Musketeers"

The crypt that contains Hugo and Dumas

The Curies.
Marie Curie, the chemist, is the only woman buried in the Panthéon.

Walk Along the River

2009-02-09T12:30:00.002Z

After walking to Notre Dame, Nicole and I strolled along the islands located in the Seine, Île de la Cité and Île Saint Louis. These islands are two of three islands in Paris. They are naturally occurring, as opposed to the other, Île des Cygnes, artificially made and home to the Statue of Liberty. Aside from being a natural wonder, these two islands are home to the Notre Dame de Paris, the Palais de Justice and as well as other notable attractions. They are also a keen assault on tourists to make sure those who have not already fallen in love with Paris do so immediately. I say this because it was at this point that I feel in love with Paris.

The weather that weekend was rather dreary and the day we went to Notre Dame was no exception. It had rained quite extensively. We stepped out of Notre Dame and began walking along the River Seine and all of a sudden, the sun came out. The sun peaked out from the clouds, started shining and soon rays were bouncing off the river and windows of the lovely buildings along the river and I found myself in a painting.

Île de la Cité, with Notre Dame on the right

Gorgeous buildings

Adding to the scene are the small stalls, called riverside bouquiniste.

"The first Seine-side salesmen appeared in the 19th century on quai Voltaire and sold many of the same items you still see sold today. In 1993, President Jacques Chirac created legal standards for the wooden stands. Today, around 250 vendors—bouquinistes—can be found in the city of light. Peppered along the right bank, on Pont Marie, at Quai du Louvre, the left bank, at Quai de la Tournelle, and the original quai Voltaire, they carry cheapo souvenirs in abundance.” [EuroCheapo]

Nicole at a bouquiniste

They may be cheap souvenirs, but I find them quite charming. On display is everything from vintage magazines and newspapers, as well as old maps of Paris, art reproductions, and French books. And in case you're wondering, it's all very highly regulated.

"Each bouquiniste is given four boxes, all of a specified size, and rent is paid only for the stone on which the boxes rest (less than €100 per year). The most coveted spots are awarded based on seniority. Maintenance costs, including the required vert wagon paint (the green color of old train cars), are paid by the bouquinistes. With little overhead, prices are usually cheaper than in most shops. And yes, they do leave everything inside when they lock up at night; metal bars and padlocks keep things safe." [Rick Steves' Europe]

They may seem like a small thing, but they really add to the character of the area. And it’s not just the riverside vendors. The whole island has a beautiful, laid back, small village feel to it. We crossed into Ile Saint Louis for ice cream. The ice cream—I got praline—was exquisite as was the island.

The back end of Notre Dame.
The road is the entry to the other island, Île Saint Louis.

Street on Île Saint Louis

The River Seine from Île Saint Louis

My yummy praline ice cream

Leaping Off the Page

2009-02-06T12:30:00.000Z

You know what’s fun? Visiting places you’ve only read about in books. When I was in Grade 11, I read the Hunchback of Notre Dame in my French class. It was a dumbed-down version of the French classic by Victor Hugo, obviously, but I enjoyed it. I had seen the animated Disney animated version when I was 10, but it was much more moving in literary form.

As I read it, I imagined what the beautiful cathedral looked like: the gargoyles, the bells, the angry priests within. Then I went to Paris and I saw what it actually looked like. Turns out I was wrong. It looks nothing like what I thought it does. The Notre Dame de Paris cathedral is located on Île de la Cité, an island in the middle of the River Seine in Paris. Standing in front of it, the cathedral looks quite small.

But it’s much larger from the inside. Nicole and I went in and ended up staying for mass. Then we wondered around and it’s actually quite large. It’s even larger from the back.

Inside Notre Dame

Taken from the altar looking backward

Disappointingly, there’s no hunchback lurking around, ringing bells. I checked.

Managing Expectations: The Museum Edition

2009-02-05T12:30:00.000Z

When I visited the Prado in Madrid, I had a plan. I went twice in order to scout the area and devise the best plan of attack. With the Louvre, I had no such opportunity. We just attacked it. Well, that’s not really true. Nicole and I decided before we arrived that it would be folly to try to hit each floor. So instead we picked one. Actually we picked two floors, but soon realized we only could do one. And we didn’t even do the entire floor.

First things first, the Louvre doesn’t just house beautiful works and paintings, it is beautiful. It’s a former palace and so it’s full of stunning ceiling paintings and wood work.

Inside the Louvre

Secondly, you ask most people and they’ll say the most famous works in the Louvre are the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. Of course, because they are so famous, they’re also the most disappointing. If anyone reading this is excited to go to the Louvre to see these two works, starting ramping down your expectations now. I know I did. The Mona Lisa is especially lack lustre. It’s very small for one thing. And there is so much security around it that it takes the fun out of it.

Da Vinci's Mona Lisa and her security.
There are also guards on each side of her

The Venus

There is the cool factor: I’m standing in front of a really famous painting. Then there's the Venus which is slightly more interesting because it’s a statue and quite stunning. But there are more interesting things in the Louvre. There’s a section dedicated to the apartments of Napoleon III, which Nicole accurately summed up by saying, “Easy on the velvet.” There’s an area dedicated to Crown Jewels, and there are other, lesser known but much more interesting works of Da Vinci. So if you go, don't just see the famous stuff, take in the whole floor.

Napoleon's Apartments

Very famous painting of the French Revolution

Da Vinci's Madonna on the Rocks

A surprisingly nice museum is the Museé D’Orsay which exhibits mostly impressionist art from the 1860s to 1914ish. If at the Prado I was reasonably sure that I preferred impressionism, this is where I became sure of it. D’Orsay is full of Monet and Manet, Degas and Picasso, water lilies and dancers, really pretty paintings with vivid colours and scenery. If you like pretty things, you won't be disappointed here. I'd love to show you pictures from it, but my camera wasn't working that day.

Snow Day

2009-02-04T12:30:00.001Z

The following are pictures of London from February 2nd to 3rd. For average Canadians, this could be a picture of a normal day from December to (sometimes as late as) March. But for London, England, theses scenes represent the apocalypse.

It started Sunday night when it started snowing and, two hours later, was still on the ground. This already distinguished it from other snowing episodes I’ve lived through here. It was still snowing at 1am when I went to check out the Super Bowl half time show. The British kids and some other Europeans who’d never seen snow before were having a jolly old time looking out the window, throwing snowballs and making snowmen. Being Canadian, I went to bed unimpressed at the few centimeters on the ground.

Eight hours later, when my alarm went off, I heard the city had shut down: the highways (or motorways) were a parking lot, buses weren’t running, the Tube (subway) was closed save for one limited line. Airports were closed, flights were delayed, schools were closed (including mine) and they were encouraging people to stay at home and make no unnecessary travel.

Still in bed and a bit groggy I texted my friends to cancel our plans to go to the library that morning. As I did I absently wondered at how much snow had fallen to make London (population 7.5 million) come to a complete standstill like this. There was barely 10cm outside! Ten lousy centimetres of snow brought London, a great city that had withstood bombings from Nazis in WWII and angry rebellious Protestants during the 80s and 90s to a grinding halt.

I read later that up to 20 cm fell that day. But the problem isn’t snow it’s infrastructure.

“We're not in Russia here," said Guy Pitt, a Transport for London spokesman. "We don't have an infrastructure built for constant snow."

He’s absolutely right. London doesn’t have snow-plows or salt to deal with the snow. So they let it be, accumulate, freeze and turn into ice. All the while people are trapped in their homes. And they have to wait for it to melt. School was cancelled Monday and Tuesday as the city slowly recovered from it’s “onslaught” of 20cm of snow. We didn't care. I had an extra day to do work and some people went tobogganing on nearby Primrose Hill.

But, as a Torontonian, who is the perpetual butt of every "wow-it's-snowing-why-don’t-you-call-in-the-army?” joke, I was mortified to find myself in another city that can’t hack the elements.

Images: Flickr

Palacial

2009-02-03T12:30:00.003Z

There are times when I’m strolling through palaces and castles and I look around at all the gold, silver, tapestries and millions of dollars in art and I think, “No wonder they hated you.” At the Palace of Versailles, I found myself saying this. A lot. Except, I said, “No wonder you people lost your head.”

Versailles is just outside of Paris located in a small town that I bet now is known only for the palace. It’s most famous for being the home of French King Louis XIV and his grandson Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette.

One of the Louises.

Way more interesting for me was the Hall of Mirrors, which was used by Louis XV and XVI as family apartments and ballrooms. It’s pretty impressive.

"The principal feature of this famous hall is the seventeen mirror-clad arches that reflect the seventeen arcaded windows that overlook the gardens. Each arch contains twenty-one mirrors with a total complement of 357 used in the decoration of the galerie des glaces. The arches themselves are fixed between marble pilasters whose capitals depict the symbols of France" [Source]

But what makes the Hall even more spectacular is that it is the site of most beautiful piece of historical symmetry I've ever known. In 1871, it was the site of the proclamation of the German Empire after the Germans trounced the French in the Franco-Prussian War. Less than a century later, in 1919, that very same Hall was the site of the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, which decimated Germany, forcing it to pay millions in war reparations and crippling its military. The sense of history and ceremony in the room was so thick it was almost palpable.

The rest of the palace is pretty stellar too. There’s Marie Antoinette’s rooms and the rooms of her children. The private quarters ofLouis XIV, aka the Sun King, complete with wall to wall upholstery and priceless paintings. Then there are the fun things like their beds, their toys and the secret doors that they used to escape the mad mob calling for their heads. But after checking out the furnishings I can understand their anger.

The Chapel

A sample of the furnishings

Marie Antoinette

One of the 546 (or something like that) staircases

The gallery full of paintings paying homage to French victories
The American Revolution is there. The Plains of Abraham are not.

Then there's the gardens. Can you imagine mowing this lawn?

Take #1

Towering Above the Rest

2009-02-02T12:30:00.002Z

The first thing we did on getting to Paris was eat lunch. Then we went to see the Eiffel Tower. Celebrated and clichéd as it is, I still got a huge kick out of it.

I feel an affection for the Tower. It was the tallest building in the world until 1929 and the inauguration of New York’s Chrysler Building. Not unlike our own CN Tower, which until recently (thank you Dubai), was the world’s tallest free standing structure.

We went there twice, the first on a Friday afternoon and the second late Saturday (the dual trips was due to my camera being on the fritz the first time and I wasn't going to the Eiffel tower camera-less). It was pretty packed both times. Even after reading about it, I was still shocked at how big it was. It’s really impressive. As we sat in the huge line waiting to go to the top we contemplated the tower. And seeing it in real life left me with some questions.

View from the top

Here’s one: What’s it made out of? Nicole made the good point that if it was made out of copper, it would have turned green over time. I didn’t know the answer. Until today. I found this really cool article about the Tower, explaining all the cool inner workings of the Tower like these:

"A 1,000-gallon tank full of water, which was once pumped in from the nearby Seine, provides the counterbalance needed to hoist the roughly 18,000 visitors per day up to the 377-foot-high second-level landing."

"Subterranean pumps send water shooting up to tower-top sinks and toilets. Dozens of miles of plumbing are integrated into the structure of the monument, exposing the pipes to the elements. Mini-heater coils prevent them freezing when the thermometer drops, so the sinks run and toilets flush even in the harshest winters."

Oh and in answer to Nicole’s questions, turns out it’s paint:

"It takes a team of 30 painters working full time over 18 months to spruce up the tower with a fresh coat of its signature bronze paint."

Nicole and I at the top

The fake island the Statue of Liberty is on

Some tips for the Emerald Aisle

2009-01-30T12:30:00.002Z

Upon leaving I have two pieces of advice. One came from Shane, who expressed upon me the importance that I come back to see the Irish countryside. Only about 1millio of Ireland 4 million live in Dublin so the heart of Ireland really is its countryside. This wasn’t new to me. The beauty of the rolling Irish countryside was famous, the subject of many a poem or song. Apparently, you haven’t really seen Ireland unless you’ve been to Galway, Limerick and County Clare.

The other I learned from myself. Ireland is expensive. I don’t know if it’s because it has a strong economy, a small population or because it’s an island, but it’s not for the skint. A pint costs €5.90 and dinner cost €10 for a main dish. We cooked dinner together Saturday night which was not only a nice experience but a nice relief for the wallet.

Travel Karma

2009-01-29T12:30:00.001Z

Originally uploaded by Chee Seong

I have had some bad travel experiences. Like this, for instance. Or this. Then there's this one. Or even this one. I thought I had bad luck with travel. But this is pretty bad.

"In 2001, terrorists crashed hijacked planes into the twin towers. Jason and Jenny Cairns-Lawrence were vacationing in New York at the time.

In 2005, when terrorists set off a series of bombs targeting London’s public transit system, Jason and Jenny Cairns-Lawrence were visiting the city.

In 2008, terrorists went on a killing spree in Mumbai. Jason and Jenny Cairns-Lawrence were vacationing in Mumbai."

Ceck out the rest of the article here.

United Magnets of Europe

2009-01-28T12:30:00.001Z

Remember when I said that I had started collecting magnets from the cities and countries I've been to? Ever wonder what it looks like? Well here it is. The first is the country, the rest are cities I've been to in the country.

The entire collection

Belgium, Portugal, Spain and the Netherlands

Germany, France (Lille) and Luxembourg

I'm still missing Bonn because the souvenir shops were closed by the time I went there. This doesn't include Paris or Dublin because my magnets are at home in Toronto. Niether does it include the other places I've been in my life, before this summer.

Another Border Falls in Europe

2009-01-27T12:30:00.002Z

Remember when I made my New Year's resolutions? I said that I wanted to go to Eastern Europe? Well, the people who make Eurail passes just made that a whole lot easier. The Czech Republic was added to the list of countries accessible by the Eurail pass.

And it seems they've made a pass especially for me: the European East pass. The pass is good in Czech Republic, Austria, Slovakia, Hungary and Poland, exactly the countries I planned on seeing.

So, maybe I just might be able to fulfill one of those resolutions...

The real cost of low fare air travel

2009-01-26T17:30:00.004Z

Sitting in an airport terminal at 11:30pm, I suddenly had an epiphany. Booking a £50 return flight (via Ryanair) to Dublin from London is all well and good, but that glee can fade. And quickly. Getting to Dublin, our flight was delayed an hour from London Stansted. I had gotten up at 6:15am and arrived at the airport for 9:30am to catch a flight for 11:10am. But at 10am word came from on high that the flight was delayed until 12:30pm. We didn’t get into Dublin until 2pm.

But this was a minor blip compared to the return journey. Ryanair closes the gates 20 minutes before a flight takes off. As I mentioned, it was raining all that afternoon, so we scrambled to get to the airport by 6:30pm for our 8:10pm flight. Fifteen minutes later—and a minor kerfuffle regarding Erika’s non-European passport—our flight was delayed until 9:20pm. That’s a delay of 2 hours. This was dismaying not only on principle but because of my circumstances: my iPod was long out of batteries (that’s what a 7 hour trans-Atlantic flight and a jaunt to the Emerald Isle will do to your battery) and I hadn’t brought a book. All I had with me was the latest issue of Toronto Life (which is amazing, by the way. There’s a feature on a cheating website which is outstanding!) To keep ourselves occupied we took our sweet time going through security, rummaged through Duty Free very thoroughly and absolutely meandered to the gate. It was only 7:30pm. After reading for a little while, I headed to the Internet kiosk to check three days worth of emails.

When I got back 15 minutes later, the flight had been delayed to 11:30pm! I did not take it well. Leaving at 11:30 meant we wouldn’t get back to London until 12:30am. Then there was still the hour and a half bus ride to central London—and we didn’t know if the buses would be running that late at night. That’s when my epiphany occurred and I realized the true cost of budget airlines. Sure the flight was only £50, but it was now three hours late. I still had to get home and no idea how that would happen. For all I knew I’d have to stay in Stansted for the night take another bus home or pay a taxi.

By this time, Erika and her boyfriend had left to pick up McDonalds (because it was located in Arrivals, they had to go through customs and security twice) and I was rationing my Toronto Life. To add insult to injury, a later flight to Stansted left at 10:30, right in the gate we were due to leave from. When Erika came back, it was almost time to head to our new gate which was done in the basement of the airport.

At 11pm we began lining up facing several Ryanair jets—put there, I’m sure, to taunt us. We didn’t board until past midnight and because of strong winds we didn’t leave until 1am, Monday morning. Exhausted we hustled through the airport and lucky for us there was a 24 hour bus downtown; then I took a taxi (which a nice man wouldn’t let me pay for) home. All told, I didn’t get to the residence until 4am. I should also mention at this point that I was moving back to residence. So I arrived to an empty room, in the middle of the night. Exhausted as I was, I changed into my PJs threw the cover-less duvet on the sheet-less bed, lay my head on the pillowcase-less pillow and collapsed into sleep.

More Than Just Potatoes

2009-01-23T17:30:00.003Z

Since the potato famine in the 1860s, the population of Ireland has been shrinking. Even in the 50s and 60s, while the world experienced the post-war baby boom, Ireland was hemorrhaging people. Last year I read that recently in the last few years, that trend was starting to reverse itself. People are returning to Ireland or, at least leaving in less numbers. Dublin, especially, emerged as a cosmopolitan city with all the benefits of London. When I read it, I couldn’t believe it. But having visited Ireland’s capital, I understand.

Dublin is a lovely capital city. Like most European capitals it sits on a river, the River Liffey, that divides it in into a north and south half. I visited Dublin the weekend before I went back to school, and the good fortune to stay with a native. Shane (with a typical Irish last name) is a friend of my school mate Erika and her boyfriend, Marcel, when they lived in Geneva and he graciously put us up in his apartment.

The fact that we had a tour guide meant we also had access to wheels, which meant we drove by a lot of things. Though I saw the spire built for the Millennium, the General Post Office—a historical site for the Irish independence movement—and various statues, it also meant I didn’t get to take photos of them. What we did see was lovely. There was Trinity College, the oldest in Ireland and home to the Book of Kells (which is usually on display for gleeful tourists such as I, but believe it or not, was being cleaned!). We took a stroll along Grafton Steet, the shopping promenade, and through St. Stephen’s Park. We visited the Dáil (Irish for Parliament) and took in the Nation Museum which had some very cool Bog Men.

Trinity College

Shane, our host and Erika on Grafton Street

The Dáil

Me at St. Stephen's Park

We also devoted an entire three hours to the Guinness Factory in St. James Gate, which is best described as intense. It’s a massive factory with 7 floors detailing every aspect of brewing: ingredients, the brewing process, transportation, advertisement. Then on the top floor there’s a viewing gallery and a free (with admission) pint of Guinness. Not being a lover of "Irish gold" as it’s called, I took the requisite photos and passed my brew on to a more deserving person, Erika’s boyfriend Marcel.

It was raining. Hard.

Alfred Guinness signed this lease in the late 1700s
giving him the building for 9,000 years for £46

While I didn’t do a lot of touristy things in Dublin I was able to conduct various anthropological experiments and experienced the local culture more than I have in other cities. Translation: I went to the pubs. I was with friends and in Ireland and was told that’s the thing to do. I have to say that Ireland is a lovely place and the people are just fantastic. They’re very friendly, extremely hospitable (Shane wouldn’t let us pay for anything), jovial, born story-tellers and always eager for a chat (I had a five minute conversation with the elderly man at the off-license who sold me my liquor). They’re my new favourite people.

Traditional Irish pub, in Dublin

Marcel and Erika

Irish taps and booze

And true to form, it rained. It rained, at least a little, each day. Until it poured cats and dogs on the last day, butchering any last-minute plans we had to conquer the city’s tourist traps.

Reading, Writing and More Reading

2009-01-22T17:30:00.002Z

Graduate school has changed me in many ways. The biggest—besides the fact that I moved countries and continents—is my study habits. In undergrad, I studied journalism and history and I’m not ashamed to admit that for the majority of my four years, journalism was the priority. I existed primarily within business hours calling people. Afterward I was constantly thinking of story ideas, sources to contact, new angles and deadlines, deadlines, deadlines. History was a great escape and fairly straight forward: go to class, take notes, listen to the professor, write 1-2 papers, take exam. This was the formula and thought it might sound boring, I enjoyed history immensely and excelled at it.

It became clear soon after school started that this pattern would be impossible to replicate in graduate school. So the biggest shock has been the reading. In undergrad I never read. Well, no, that’s not really right. I read for papers. I did extensive research for 10-15 page papers, but I never read to understand the material. I just had to listen to the professor to understand the events and their significance. But here I have to read, widely, thoroughly and constantly. I’m doing an MA in the History of International Relations, which is a mix of International Relations (or IR, how nations interact with each other) and history. But in undergrad where you are taught the events in class, here you are expected to be well versed in the events before you arrive at the seminar. It's like they skip steps one through three and expect to start at four and discuss the intricacies, questions and controversies of the events during a 2 hour seminar. That means reading lists 10 pages long full of required and subsequent readings.

This was a big adjustment in the beginning. In the past I'd read entire books for my essays and take painstaking notes. Within the first week I learned this wasn’t going to cut it. I needed to be strategic about my reading. The important thing is to read widely, from different authors with different perspectives, and only one or two key chapters. I’m not saying I’m a pro at it as I still manage to read only 1-3 sources a week (per course, and I have three of them) and that’s when I have no papers due. In any case, that was the challenge.

To deal with the new demands I had to adapt. In undergrad I always did work at home in my room. I didn’t like libraries because they were too quiet and I could feel the anxiety and the nervy energy of the people stressing out around me. I liked the quiet and privacy of my room where I could listen to music and go to the bathroom whenever I wanted.

But while my room was great for freedom, it was also plagued with distractions: the Internet, the books on my shelf, the window, postcards on my bulletin board, coloured pens, whatever was close at hand. If I’m being honest, it’s not really my room's fault. There are sometimes when no matter what you do, you’re determined to not do work. I also started to go stir crazy. The idea of going to school, coming home and sitting in my room and reading for five hours depressed me. I needed a change of scenery.

So I ventured to the library and it worked. So now I have a new system. Some days I go to Senate House Library (a 5 minute walk) and other days I head to the LSE Library. Each has their strengths and weaknesses. Senate House is cozy and small without many people and has that old-time library feel. It also doesn't have Internet, which is mostly good--though while writing a paper I distracted myself by listing the 50 US states (got to 48), 27 members of the European Union and the countries using the Euro (see, sometimes you'll do anything not to work). LSE is bigger and has more people but it accommodates laptops easier and has wireless Internet for when I need it.

The British Library of Political Science
aka the Lionel Robbins Building,
aka the LSE Library,
the spaced out stairs mean you can climb up the 5 floors
without being out of breath, but look like a pirate coming down

In the new year, I’m going to add the British Library also just 5 minutes away, to the list. Hopefully this will help me tackle my listlessness.

Photo: flickr

One Law I Could Live With

2009-01-21T17:30:00.001Z

As you read this, I'll be back from Paris and back to the grind (read: school and life). I'm sure I'll have much to say about the City of Lights and many pictures to share. But just to whet your appetites, here's something you may want to ponder. Last July I was talking about the sales in Brussels. Well, according to the New York Times, they are legislated:

"These sales are the real deal. Under French law, retail stores are only allowed to run public sales for several weeks in January and July, and for two weeks sometime during the year."

And they're even better than in Brussels.

"That marks opening day of this year’s winter “soldes” (sales), five weeks of frenzied bargain-hunting for the perfect Azzaro cocktail dress or the normally unaffordable monogrammed Noël bed linen — at between 30 and 70 percent off...

For foreign visitors, the best bargains are in clothing, although porcelain, glassware, linens, furniture, even wine and Champagne also go on sale. Pricey designer handbags and shoes are particularly good value, so expect long lines with cash-carrying, battle-ready Russian, Japanese and Chinese tourists outside Prada and Gucci."

I don't see myself forking over my scarce Euros for Gucci or Prada, but I'll let you know what I end up bringing back across the Channel.

Self Evident Truths and Inalienable Rights

2009-01-20T17:30:00.006Z

Barack Obama [President-Elect]
Originally uploaded by slight clutter

I usually write about European politics and European culture, but today is a momentous enough occasion for me to step away from that for a while. On the day of Barack Obama's inauguration as the 44th President of the United States, I thought it would be fitting that I at least mark the occasion.

By now expectations for his presidency are so high, he'll need to walk on water to not disappoint. Being a student of history and international relations, I don't really want to add my two cents to the millions of people (both paid and not) who are speculating about his presidency. I will share more about what it's been like experiencing this election abroad with a later post. But on Inauguration Day, it might be interesting to think about other inaugural addresses, great orators (both real and fictional) and the power of words.

With that, please enjoy this article about former presidential speechwriters from my friend Sara.

Au Revoir, Mes Enfants

2009-01-16T17:30:00.005Z

I'm off to Paris for the weekend. I want to get in a little trip before school gets busy and swallows me whole. I'll be back posting Tuesday! Au revoir!

A Different Kind of Shopping

2009-01-15T17:30:00.001Z

There are many differences between the British education system and the Canadian one. Different school year, marking is different even different terminology. But the best difference is the idea of shopping for classes. It was first introduced to me in Michelmas term (what they call the time from October to December). It's based on the idea that you should go to a class before you decide to invest 10 weeks, countless hours of reading and work and pounds to excelling in it. Teachers are fully aware of it too. The first class acts as their pitch to students: here's why you should take my class and why I'm awesome.

I have to say that I think it's a great concept. It is kind of ridiculous to choose a course based only on its title and professor. That's why here they make as much available as possible--timetables, class syllabus, due dates, reading lists, etc—all with the hope that it will help you make your decision. This concept benefits students to: if your students want to be there, they’ll try harder, do well and make for a more interesting seminar.

But sometimes the system breaks down. Case in point, last semester. I had to choose three classes. I ended up choosing "Presidents, Public Opinion and Foreign Policy," "Political Economy of South East Europe" and "From Nationalism to Fascism: Europe, 1880s-1939." Now according to the first class, "Presidents and Public Opinion" should have been the worst. I had already studied American history and I actually fell asleep during the introductory class. But this was not the case. This class is by far, no contest, hands down, my favourite class. The classes are brillantly structured and the professor is very engaging. Ironically, the class with the best introduction class—From Nationalism to Fascism—turned out to be the worst. The class is disorganized, the teacher is unhelpful and the concepts are sometimes too abstract for me to care about.

That’s why this week I’m shopping for another half credit class. I was supposed to take Varieties of Capitalism, but after a horrible experience with Political Economy of Southeast Europe, I’m thinking of moving away from political economy. I’ll let you know what I end up “buying.”

Image: jisc_infonet

A note about the weather.

2009-01-14T17:30:00.001Z

Before coming to London, I was warned constantly about the weather. Rain, clouds, gloom was what awaited me. After a summer in Brussels, enjoying less than summery weather, I was even less excited weather-wise. Then I arrived here and I have a confession to make: I love London weather.

I am in love with London weather. Who wouldn’t love 14 degree weather in October? Who wouldn’t like fall in November? Who wouldn’t love 8 degrees in December?

I know I’m prejudiced. I’m from Canada and Canada is a cold place. And Ottawa, my home for the majority of the year these last four years, sometimes feels like the coldest place in the world. So when I come to a country where I can wear a light jacket in December, no mitts and no hat and my Converse sneakers, I’m happy as a clam. Yes it’s cold, but a lot of places are cold. London doesn’t have the bone-chilling, feels-like-swords-are-ripping-at-my-skin feeling of sub-zero temperatures. Sometimes it rains—OK, more than sometimes—but rain is just water. There’s no snow, no salt stains on my pants. I now realize why I have so many jeans: it’s not for fashion but because every winter I had to wash my jeans every day after coming home with huge salt stains up to mid calf.

This will revolutionize my life: I'll spend less on pants and do less laundry. I'll buy lighter clothes with less material and therefore spend less money. I'll take less time getting dressed in the morning because I'll have less layers. And I'll use less moisturizer because it's not as cold--or dry--in London than Ottawa. This will save me time and money.

Don’t get me wrong, there are parts that suck about London weather. It gets dark at 4:30pm here, and I am not down with that. That extra hour makes a huge difference. And the grey when it rains, doesn’t make me feel cheery inside. But it just makes you appreciate the sun when it does come out. But there’s something to be said for going outside and not feeling the hairs in your nose freeze.

The Best Places I've Been This Year

2009-01-13T17:30:00.000Z

This past year was been one of travel. I’ve been to eight European countries, seen thirteen cities, and lived in four countries. I’ve travelled in planes, trains, cars, subways and streetcars. I’ve met politicians, cheered on celebrities and made new friends. So what’s been the best? Like any parent knows, choosing among their children is impossible. Each is precious and special in their own way. Trier will stand out for its Roman landmarks while Madrid's opulence and culture is unparalleled. But, in the end, there are always favorites. The end of the year always comes with countdowns. In that spirit I bring you the best places I’ve been this past year:

1. Amsterdam is more than just prostitutes and drugs. This almost under water city easily takes the prize, by far and without question. It has everything you could want: gorgeous architecture, great museums (the Rijksmuseum, Van Gogh), exciting nightlife (outside of the Red Light District) and fun things to see and places to explore. The outdoor markets are not to be missed. The Albert Cuyp market is worth a trip as is the Flower market. Museumplein is chock full of interesting museums and then there’s the Rembrandt and Anne Frank’s house; the sex museum is tacky but fun for the young at heart. But exploring this city where you find the hidden treasures like restaurants that serve pancakes all day, the coffeehouse from Ocean’s 12 or a giant outdoor chess game. Grab a bike and cycle down the canals or hope on a boat and take a canal tour. The only downside is the rain. But if you can get over the torrential downpour for two hours a day and then brilliant sunshine, the Dutch city will is well worth the visit.

2. Lisbon. There is no way I’d make a list like this without having a Portuguese city high in the ranking. I’d never seen the capital of my homeland until this year and what a place it is! The charming Chiado district is unparalleled. I recommend either taking the Santa Justa lift or skipping the cost of admission and going through the Carmo convent. Same view, much less Euros. Statues and monuments to Portuguese kings and queens adorn the many grand squares scattered throughout the centre. Then there’s old Alfama home to the Castle of São Jorge, the electric street car where you get the feeling you walked into Lisbon circa 1923. Finally, Baixa, the party district. Although I never had the opportunity to experience it firsthand, I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews about the street that is shut down to car traffic at night and brings the city to life.

3. Madrid made the list purely for its opulence and the fact that there is so much to see, you can easily spend days there. The Golden Triangle are the biggest reasons to go. You can easily spend days in Prado, I know I would have. And the modern art in the Reina Sophia could be a fun game to play. The huge plazos (Mayor, Puerto del Sol) are mesmerizing in their scope and the Royal Palace is worth a visit for history buffs or fans of tacky, opulent furnishings. But be warned: the lines are long and no pictures are allowed (and they're vigilant about it. There are guards in every room and signs everywhere). Walk through the huge gardens and spend a quiet afternoon wandering in El Retiro park or hope on a boat right in the pond if you're feeling romantic. Then at night take a stroll along Gran Via and take in a show. And please, go shopping in Madrid. You'll thank me later.

4. Bonn is very different from the first three on the list. It’s simply a charming German city. I think it ranks higher than the others for its historical significance. It’s the old capital of West Germany, which for some Cold War buffs is worth a trip in and of itself. But it is also Beethoven’s birthplace, a fact that the city now relies on heavily. Indeed, the Beethoven museum is not to be missed. A little pricey, it is worth it if only to see the instruments the great composer played and the ear trumpets he used. It’s not particularly cosmopolitan, with little or no nightlife that I’m aware of. But it’s charming and quaint, perfect for a quiet stroll along the Rhine.

5. Bruges is the kind of place that you visit and don’t realize it’s made an impression until you leave. No part of it is extraordinary alone but it’s the sum of its part that makes it worth the visit. There are the chocolate shops—hardly a novelty in Belgian towns—and the medieval buildings and horse and carriage that make you think you walked into A Knight’s Tale. Add to that the river (I’m a sucker for anything with the water) and you’ve got yourself a party.

My New Years (Travel) Resolutions

2009-01-12T17:30:00.007Z

Everyone has 'em, everyone breaks 'em. Here are my projects for the upcoming year.

1. Go to Berlin: For all I know, this European adventure will end in September (when I finish my degree). So I intend to make the most out of it. I have had my sights set on the German capital since I was supposed to spend last summer in Frankfurt. Sometimes when I’m bored I plan my trip in my head: Berlin Wall, Checkpoint Charlie, the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag, and maybe the Holocaust Memorial.

2. Go to Central Europe. For a history buff like me capitals like Vienna, Prague and Budapest are calling my name. I want to see it all. And I want to go before they develop, are yuppy-fied and get the Euro—I’m too late for Slovakia which gets the Euro January 1, 2009—but it's not to late for Prague, Budapest and Krakow.

3. Take better pictures. It’s been one of goals since I first saw the Life Magazine im age of Kim Phuc after the napalming of Vietnam.

Photos are such a captivating medium that I’ve never really been able to grasp. Terms like composition, framing, shutters and aperture just confuse me. I’d like a personal tutor (Joni!) but as that might be a bit hard to find abroad, I’ll settle for learning a term a year. And Picasa and Photoshop Internet tutorials.

4. Work out consistently. This has been on my list for the last three years now and each year I get closer and closer but I never mnage to make it the "life change" it needs to be. Though I came the closest in third year. I started off well enough in the beginning of last semester. Then my system broke down around week 4. Only to collapse around Week 7. So I’d like to last longer than that.

A New Year, a New Start

2009-01-02T17:30:00.001Z

It’s a new year, a new month and a new start. Hopefully you’ve noticed the new look of the blog (if you’re reading this through a newsfeed click the homepage to see what I'm talking about).

Over the break I was tweaking Blogger and fiddling with Picasa so you’ll notice a new theme, a (new) picture in the title, some changes in the sidebar and other small improvements. Pictures will also be done a bit differently in the future, as I became faster and better with Picasa. But the bare bones of the blog will remain. I’d also like to change the theme and picture quarterly, but that may be a bit too ambitious for now. New posts will start when school does, January 12. Again, I’ll update as long and regularly as school, life and Internet connections permit and keep commenting. Enjoy!

Happy New Year's Eve!

2008-12-31T17:30:00.001Z

It's New Years Eve so that means another break for yours truly. I'm pretty caught up here so look forward to new posts and stories in the New Year. For today, enjoy the champagne, put on that party hat and I'll see you in 2009!

Ghosts of Places Past

2008-12-30T11:30:00.001Z

Just for the record, I've done most of the things on this list. Except for #5 and #7 but that was pretty much out of choice. But I think they're missing a pretty big one...

Santa Was Good To Me

2008-12-29T17:30:00.002Z

I wasn’t going to share my presents here and rest assured, I’m not going to. Except this one. Just in case you find it as cool as I do and want one yourself.

It’s called a GorillaPod tripod. I’ve been looking for a tripod since Cologne and my 16 shot attempt at a night shot. But I didn’t want to pay $50 for a tripod that was huge and so heavy I wouldn't carry it around. That’s why this is brilliant. It’s small, but it’s not like an ordinary tripod. It’s made to hang on or from things so you can get really interesting pictures from interesting angles.

I intend to use it not only for those cool perspective pictures but to take pictures at night. No longer will my hand shake and my pictures be fuzzy. Hopefully...

Photo: CameraWorld

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and the Lot!

2008-12-24T11:30:00.001Z

It's Christmas Eve, what are you doing reading this blog? I'll be back December 29 with more posts. Until then, enjoy the turkey, presents and eggnog.

Why I Believe in a Higher Power

2008-12-23T11:30:00.000Z

There’s nothing like a free trip. After a summer of planning and paying for every trip I went on, I was looking forward to a trip to lovely Riga, Latvia. As part of the EU Study Tour I was attending a conference on social policy in Canada, Scandinavia and the Baltic States. It had speakers from all three areas and some interesting subjects were to be discussed (right up the alley of the work I did at CEPS). Add the opportunity to reunite with my fellow Tour-mates and I was very much looking forward to it. Did I mention that because the conference was being put on by the European Commission it was free (airfare and accommodations)?

The trip conveniently fell right after my first heavy round of assignments (two 3,000 word papers), so this was meant to be my reward. My flight had been booked since September and I was missing Cumberland Lodge, an opportunity to go to the country with my department, listen to lectures and bond with my fellow students. I was blowing it off for the chance to party in Riga.

I was set to leave November 5th at 6:40pm. So after getting four hours of sleep (it was Election Day), putting the finishing flourishes on my papers and running to school to hand them in by noon, I had enough time to buy a dress for the Opera (we were going to the Opera!), run home and pack quickly and efficiently. My plane left at 6:40pm, I left my house at 3:10pm.

First I headed to Euston Station (3 min away) to catch the train I’d need to take to get to Gatwick Airport. Except when I got there they told me I had to go to King’s Cross/St. Pancras. Not a problem, it was only 5 minutes away. Except when I got there, bells were ringing and the doors were closed. There was a fire scare and they shut down the station. Police and officials told the huge mass of people not to worry as it’d re-open soon. It took 40 minutes. I was still OK. If I got my train now (4: 20pm) I’d get to Gatwick at 5:20pm and make my flight.

I went down to catch my train but the 4:27pm was delayed to 4:36. Then 4:49, then 5:03. Then 5:13. Then at 5:17 it finally arrived. By this point I was livid. It was an almost certain that I would miss my plane (unless the train broke speed records), and I’d left THREE HOURS EARLY! My train to Gatwick was the ONLY TRAIN that was consistently delayed. Train after train arrived at the station with people jumping on and off and with each one I wanted to throw myself on the tracks.

Clinging to a foolish hope that I could catch the flight I caught the 5:17pm and arrived at Gatwick at 6:20pm, 20 minutes before the plane left. I ran to the counter and asked the attendant if there was any way to catch the plane. She shook her head and spouted off information about the next flight.

I took the train back and emailed the organizer, a friend from the Tour and asked about making a reservation for the next day. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go. I would arrive Thursday night, having missed the first day of the conference. She told me to think about it and call her when I had decided. I thought about it and then sent her an email that night saying to book me on the flight the next day. When (early) the next morning I didn’t hear anything I left her several voice messages. At noon, I sent her a text message. I didn't leave my room until 5pm. When I didn't hear anything from here I wondered what the heck happened? Turns out she had forgot her cellphone at home that day and was at the conference the whole day. She didn't book my flight and I didn't go to Riga.

So it seems I wasn’t meant to go to Riga. It was like ever piece of modern technology (smoke detectors, trains, computers and cellphones) were against me. The worst part was having to see the pictures my friends posted about their "awesome" weekend in Riga and the four star hotel they stayed in, paid for by the Commission.

Halloween Across the Pond

2008-12-22T11:30:00.001Z

Halloween swept up on me like a thief in the night and, like always, I was not prepared. As I’m not such a fan of the holiday—and haven't been since I was in the single digits, (and even then I thought it was way too much effort for candy)—I thought I’d coast by. Halloween was a North American holiday. Ensconced in London I thought I could get away with letting the day pass peacefully.

Any chance of that soon evaporated. Turns out like SUVs and smog, Halloween has traversed the ocean and made it to Europe. My whole residence seemed to get in the spirit with a big themed dinner (Human BBQ ribs, Sponge cake as lungs, etc), decorations and a party. So I got in the spirit too. I went as a mime—I already had the striped shirt, I just had to buy the beret. Presto, change-o, Halloween here I come.

Me and Erika as Mime and Mickey Mouse respectively

Sarah as Little Bo Peep

Our party was held at a nearby bowling alley. Somehow I ended up beating everyone else I played with, a testament to (a) my competitors sucking, or (b) their alcohol consumption. Then there was karaoke (which required singing loudly and off-key to the Spice Girls) and getting down on the dance floor. In any case, much fun was had and here are some highlights.

Melissa, Gong, Ama (all without costumes) and Sarah

A Mickey Mouse that smokes and drinks

Little Bo Peep, a Hare Krishna, Mickey

Celeste is a Ballot Box

The Gingerbread Man sings karaoke

A Walk on the Wild Side

2008-12-12T11:30:00.002Z

I live in the Bloomsbury area of London, but Camden is only a ten minute walk away. It’s also the neighbourhood of Amy Winehouse, so I knew that a trip would be a walk on the wild side of life. It’s an area known for punk rockers, hippies, skaters and just generally being hard core.

We went for the Camden market where I’d read that you can get a lot of neat stuff (rain boots, purses, piercings, vintage clothing and jewellery, fruit or wooden furnishings). And I’m also a sucker for a good market.

Camden market on a Saturday morning is a bustling place. The main road is blocked off and people fill the sidewalks, street and market like plaque on artery walls. And there really were a lot of really fun stuff there. I saw a stall of pocket watches and for the first time in my life contemplated buying a pocket watch. I started thinking of all the things I could do with it and how cool I'd look with one. Needless to say I didn’t buy it. But I walked away with a beautiful teal purse that I bartered down to £12. I left the rain boots—the reason I’d originally gone to the market—as they were too wacky for me. There were some with little cherries and others with skulls and bones.

After perusing the stalls we crossed the street to what seemed like the “higher class section,” or the hippie area. Here we were bombarded with hand crafted woodwork and jewelery, aromatic incense and plush Indian textiles. It was all gorgeously set up and the goods were all quite impressive. The friend I was with is moving in with her boyfriend next year so we had fun decorating her non-existent flat.

When we’d had enough, we sat on the locks near some body of water and took in the sunshine. I marvelled at the fact that although it was October I wasn’t wearing a jacket and was actually comfortable.

On our way back to the main road we stuck by the water. As we were leaving we saw a bunch of teenagers, all dressed in black. Some were smoking cigarettes some not, but all were listening to loud rock music I didn’t recognize and teasing each other. A small group gathered around two pre-pubescent boys fighting, while the crowd cheered them on like betters at a cock fight (though I've never been to a cock fight, this is how I imagine it to be).

Walking through it was a surreal experience. I looked at my friend Erika and we both had that pained, slightly terrified look in our eyes, despite the fact that there were hundreds of people around and it was in broad daylight. And that these kids were 15 years old. Saying nothing I tried to scoot around the brawl as quickly as possible, but was accosted by a stray flailing arm that struck me lightly in the arm. I kept walking and kept my head down. When we were free of the kids Erika and I looked at each other.

“I’m not going to lie,” I said, “but I was a little afraid of those kids for a second.”

“Me too,” she said.

“Man, we’re getting old,” I said

Welcome to the Neighbourhood

2008-12-11T11:30:00.003Z

There are a lot of reasons I chose the residence I’m living in. It’s only a 20 minutes walk to school, and relatively cheap. It’s catered—a mostly fabulous dinner is included. And I have a single room. But a nice addition is the neighborhood.

My residence is located in the Bloomsbury area of London, a place that’s known to be home to artists, academics and yuppies. In the early 20th century it was home to the likes of John Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf and the many members of the Bloomsbury Group. In fact, you could say we’re neighbours now as their houses are on the next street from me.

Keynes' House

The proof

Meeting place of the Bloomsbury Group

the proof

A nice feature of the neighbourhood is the parks. There are no less than four parks within five minutes of my house: Russell Square, Gordon Square, Tavistock are just some. And Regent’s Park (link) is just a 10 minute walk and five minute run away (I know this because when it’s nice outside, Ericka and I would go for runs in it).

Tavistock Square

These parks are gorgeous, especially in the autumn with the leaves changing. They have fountains, statues (like one of Gandhi in Gordon Square) and plagues on the benches engraved with dedications, just like in the movie Notting Hill. They’re a nice detour from the mundane sidewalks on my walks to and from school.

I choose this place hoping that it’s chill, bohemian vibe would rub off on me and I’d learn to be relaxed, artsy and chill like them. So far, this hasn’t happened.

In fair London, where we lay our scene

2008-12-11T11:30:00.002Z

Full of the excitement of being in London, living in London and studying in London, I wanted to do a bunch of London stuff. When we heard that the Globe Theatre was ending it’s season the following Sunday, my friend Nicole and her sister and I decided to make the most of cheap tickets. On a rainy (surprise surprise) Tuesday night we headed to the Globe to check out some premium theater.

The Globe is just across the Thames and based on the designs of the first Globe which was the theatre that Shakespeare played many of his masterpieces—think Shakespeare in Love, that’s the Globe. Though I’d wanted to see a Shakespearean play, none were available. Instead we saw Liberty a comedy-drama about four friends during the various phases of the French Revolution. It was spectacular. Toward the end, I was this close to shedding a tear.

The set-up of the theatre is pretty innovative. There are the stands which are in an oval around the stage. Then there are the “gallery” an empty section on the floor reserved for the “masses.” We were going to sit there—tickets were £5—except it was cold and you had to stand for almost three hours. And there’s one other thing. The unfortunate thing about the Globe is that it has no roof. I think it has to do with the idea of the people and 16th century conceptions of the theatre and bringing culture to the masses or something. In any case, it was raining and not warm, despite the fact that it had been very warm that day. So while the show was excellent, the next day I woke up with a sore throat that burgeoned into a pretty stellar cough. But it was worth it.

Home Sweet Room

2008-12-10T11:30:00.001Z

Friends and comrades, for those of you seeking to place me in a setting when reading my blog, this post is for you. A picture of my room, my lair, my home.

It's not as big as my room in Brussels and I think it's smaller than my room in Ottawa. It's certainly more narrow. I'm standing in the doorway; on one side is a wardrobe, on the other, tucked into a knook are my suitcases. The sink in the middle of the room was very jarring in the beginning, but now I barely notice it. In fact, I don't know how I ever did without it. The window is also a nice part of the room. It's actually a commodity here and apparently cost a bit more (though I had no choice in the matter). Though because my desk is right beside the window, if the curtains aren't drawn, I get the mother of all drafts.

My incredibly tidy desk. Imagine this overflowing with books, papers, pens and highlighters and you'll get a more accurate vision of my life for the past few months. If you'll look at the left of the picture, you'll see my collection of cutlery at the top of the shelf. It began as a covert operation, with me smuggling one piece out at a time a la the Carleton cafeteria. But when news broke that a friend had gotten caught taking a mug and had lived to tell the tale, the free for all began. My count stands at 9 cups/mugs, 8 teaspoons, 2 bowls (one salad and one soup), one knife, one spoon and one fork.

This is a view from in front of the window. It's all pretty self-explanatory. The box with the blue lid is a convenient place for hats, mitts and gloves as well as miscellaneous clothes. But it also contains non-perishable food: pretzels, Melba toast, soup-in-a-box, etc for when I get the munchies. All in all, it's not a bad set up. The building is a renovated 19th century Georgian hotel. I share a bathroom and shower with about 7-10 people. There's a common kitchen that we share with the floor (about 20-40 people maybe). Though it gets snug in the fridge I use it to hold my milk, sandwich meet and miscellaneous dip, if I'm feeling extravagant.

The First Day

2008-12-09T11:30:00.003Z

My first day in London rivals that of my first day in Brussels all those months ago. First of all, my flight left Portugal so early I had to be up at 6am, not my favourite time. Second, when I got the airport, my flight was delayed an hour and a half. So I sat in “Departures” waiting for my flight to show up on the screens. Then a lounge full of ornery British people on vacation attempted to squeeze through the only available gate, and then piled on a tiny bus to our waiting plane. Being the resilient and experienced traveller I am, I was barely fazed by this. Except for the early wake up call, I was sitting pretty: I had my book, a wheelie suitcase and my iPod. I was impervious.

My flight landed without incident at Gatwick airport and I managed to maneuver the luggage carousel, buy a train ticket and get to King’s Cross/St. Pancras without incident. Following my parents instructions I took a cab the 5 minutes (and £5) it took to get to my residence.

Full of glee and laden with two suitcases a purse and a backpack, I walked into the reception and proudly claimed I was here to check in. The young women at the desk took my name, checked her list and after a while gave me a key card to E204. She said it was in the annexes and thrust a piece of paper at me with instructions and off I went.

First, a note about the building I live in. There are 4 floors, but only 3 have rooms. Then there are three annexes located outside the building: Tavistock, Endsleigh and the one where the warden (or person who manages the hall) lives.

It took me 5 minutes just to get outside. I rode the elevator on every floor except the one I wanted, was distracted by meeting a fellow Canadian and checked every floor in the main building before realizing my room was outside. Once outside, it didn’t get any easier. I had no idea what annex I wanted. I tried the wrong two first of course: one I couldn’t get in (the warden’s probably), and the second took me climbing the two flights of stairs (with no elevator and carrying ALL my stuff) only to find my key card didn’t work. I finally realized what the “E” in my room number meant and headed to Endsleigh annex, walked up the two flights of stairs (again no elevator), waved my card in front of the scanner and saw the green light. Absolutely giddy with relief I heaved a spine trembling sigh of relief and opened the door.

Immediately something wasn’t right. The bed was made, had sheets and towels were neatly folded on the edge. There were papers and folders on the desk and cosmetics on the sink.

“Wow, way to clean up for me,” was my immediate thought. The hall is used as a hostel in the off season so I assumed someone had just moved out and they hadn’t cleaned up. Then I went to the closet and found clothes still there, shoes near the bed and a jacket behind the door. After a slight debate over whether I should leave it or complain, I decided on the latter.

At reception, the woman checked the computer. “Oh, that’s not your room,” she said. Well that explains it. Turns out I’d changed my move in date once and they gave me the wrong room. She gave me another card to my room (this one in the main building) and I went there immediately. I shed one of the layers of clothing I was wearing and went to the other room to begin the process of transferring stuff. I got there (outside, up the stairs, then up the stairs to the room, etc) and found it locked. Strange.

I went back to the reception and she gave me another card. I went back and tried it again. Nothing. I went back to reception where people know me now and this time she comes with me. She opens the door with her master key and ends up helping me to move my stuff into the other room—which considering she sent me to the wrong place, is the least she could do.

After she left, I took stock. I was drenched with sweat from the constant moving and going up and down stairs. This room was smaller than the other one and I had to share a bathroom and shower with a floor that seemed to go on for days (it wasn’t actually that bad but I was a bit hysterical). I tried to console myself that I wasn’t going to be here very long—my contract didn’t start for another 4 days and I was told this was a temporary room until then.

Then there was the matter of the Internet. A friend of mine had already moved into residence and was on the internet that night. Of course it wasn’t that easy for me. I needed an Ethernet cable, which of course I didn’t have. So with a rough map and rudimentary advice provided by reception (someone other than that woman, but still bad), I set off to find my materials. It took half an hour but eventually I found my cable—I went to three stores as the first had closed minutes before I got there—but got lost coming home (one of several times that week). I got online, checked my email sent my parents an “It’s OK I’m still alive” email.

Next was the phone. I wanted to call my friend to let her know I was in London. But I couldn’t just dial the phone in my room that would be too easy. No, I had to buy a phone card and set that up. When I arrived at her flat an hour later, I was exhausted and on the verge of tears.

London had not welcomed me.

Back to School

2008-12-09T11:29:00.001Z

For those of you dying to know what I've been up to since I arrived in London, you're going to love the next few entries. They are by no means as comprehensive as the summer, as I stopped taking pictures of absolutely everything I came into contact with. And there's the whole going to school thing. But they should satisfy your curiosity for a while.

Fun with Public Transportation

2008-12-08T11:30:00.003Z

Because of my extended trip to Europe, people have gotten in the habit of calling me a world traveller. But I'm not even close. I've been to about 18 cities, my country count is at a measly 9 and Facebook tells me I've been to 4% of the world.

Now there's a new way to track "world travelled-ness." How many public transportation systems have you used? It's actually shameful how small my number is (8). Though in all fairness, they didn't have Ottawa, Cologne, Bonn or Ghent. So my count should be three higher.

Got at b3co.com!

If you want to check it out yourself, click here

UPDATE: Since I made this post in September, the website has been taken down. If you could see it, you'd see the badges of the public transportation places I'd been: Toronto, Brussels, London, Madrid, Lisbon, Lille, Montreal and Amsterdam. It would have been cool. But feel free to comment with your number and the cities you've been to.

More European Ads

2008-12-05T11:30:00.000Z

I know I said I'd only cite ads with celebrities in it. But this kind of counts. It gets me every time.

Getting My Hair Did

2008-12-04T11:30:00.002Z

Having been in Europe for about five months at this point, my hair looked terrible: 4 inches longer and no bangs to speak of--notice that my bangs are pulled back in all the pictures. So on my last day in Portugal I got my haircut. I thought I'd show you not only the hair--which I think was really nice--but also my sweet tan. The white wall actually brings out the colour even more.

Proof that I'm Growing Up

2008-12-02T11:30:00.003Z

Much of my memories of Portugal were shaped by something called the Maxibon, an ice cream delight consisting of one part ice cream sandwich and one part chocolate bar with hazelnut coating and vanilla ice cream cream-filled inside.

The Maxibon was a bit of a myth with my family. My older brother and sister and I would always be on the lookout for the Nestle sign, a rare spectacle indeed in a country dominated by Olás (the Nestle-Olá rivalry is akin to the Pepsi-Coke one, but with ice cream, in Europe, no celebrity endorsements and on a smaller scale). We would be on the lookout for that sign, calling it "tunnel vision," that interestingly enough extended to our minds as we thought of nothing else. Like a diamond, the fact that Maxibons were so rare that made them so good.

That's why I was dismayed to find that when I had my first Maxibon of this trip, the excitement had dimmed: my heart didn't beat, my hands didn't shake and my mouth didn't water. It was just an ice cream. And sadly, it wasn't even that good. I've grown out of Maxibons? What's next? Developing a distaste for chocolate? What has happened to me?

Loulé, Loulé, Loulé, Loulé

2008-12-01T11:30:00.001Z

When we're in Portugal, we usually stay in a place called Quarteira. But when we get tired of the beaches, need some food or go see our grandmothers, we go into town. Either my mom's hometown of São Brás de Alportel or my dad's town of Loulé. Here are some pictures of what small town Portugal looks like.

The travel circle entering the town

Loulé City Hall

My sister and proof that Portugal has good taste in books

Shopping street in Loulé

The Mendes Sisters

Rocky Road

2008-11-28T11:30:00.001Z

One thing I got to see thanks to the "Let's Show Steve the Algarve Tour" was Praia de Rocha, a very popular Portuguese beach. Beaches are usually pretty simple concepts: sand, water, sun, towels, and fun ensues. Easy combination, not much to it. So it’s tough to get excited about one. But this one was pretty nice. Praia de Rocha (which literally means “beach of rocks”) has a reputation in Portugal for being pretty touristy and it is located in a fairly fancy schmancy tourist area. So we got up early one morning and made the trek to see what all the fuss is about.

It definitely lives up to its name. There were boulders in the sand and in the water, which strangely, made it endearing. When we left, I had a hard time coming to terms with our neighbourhood beach with its gaping lack of boulders in the water. I was never the same.

A boulder in Praia de Rocha. You can see how high the water rises in the winter

My sister Jen and I

Momma Mendes

The Edge of the World—or at least Europe

2008-11-27T11:30:00.002Z

This trip was also Steve’s first trip to the Portuguese mainland, so we did a bit more exploring than we usually would. One stop was Sagres, home of the famous Portuguese beer and to two famous tourist spots. There’s the remnants of an old fort some people say was home to a navigation school led by Henry the Navigator himself. As for the ruins, there’s not much too them, but there are some really fun views of the cost.

View of Cabo de São Vicente from the navigation school

Showing off the guns

The gorgeous cape and water
(In the distance is one of 2 lighthouses)

My mom picked this plant and smuggled it back to Canada

Awesome photo of Steve nearly falling off a cliff

Across the ocean (and a 5 minute drive away) is Cabo de São Vicente, the most Western part of Europe. It’s marked by a still working light house that due to our late arrival time, we couldn’t see. But I’ve been to Cabo de São Vicente already and the lighthouse is cool, but by no means
necessary. Never to be deterred we took more pictures of the coast.

Lighthouse at Cabo de São Vicente

My parents

The (Mendes) family

The Fruits (or Cake) of our Labour

2008-11-26T11:30:00.005Z

A few days after that fateful Saturday, we went to dinner with some cousins. After a great meal of seafood, we had dessert. And what was on the menu but a cake made out of alfarrobas.

My mom ordered it because she'd never tried it. The rest of us were eager to try something from the tree we'd suffered and maimed ourselves for.

It didn't taste like chocolate, but it wasn't bad either. The same can't be said for Steve's cheesecake. Not so much cheese as gelatin.

Carry a Big Stick

2008-11-25T11:30:00.005Z

My grandmothers are two of the toughest women I know. One is the finest lady I know and I’m sure could make a gangster feel ashamed of his profession. The other, in her 80s, makes her own cinder blocks and wakes up with the roosters. These are strong Portuguese women and I’m very proud to come from such strong stock.

But, there are just some things that an 84 year old women shouldn’t do. One of them is picking alfarroba. For those of you unaware of what an alfarroba is, don’t worry, it’s a Portuguese word. The English word for it is a carob tree. I’m not going to pretend I know what they are. I didn’t know there was an English equivalent and I still don’t know what is. All I knew was that they could be used in chocolate and that my grandmother picks them and then sells them.

Alfarroba's aka carob pods. The black kind play the starring role in this story.

That’s how it started. My mom’s mom has a house in the country. She spends her days in her garden tending to her flowers, plants and doing other upkeep. She also has a giant carob tree on her property. Lucky for us, our time in Portugal happened to coincide with the time of the year when alfarroba’s are ripe for picking. Not one to actually come out and ask for our help, my grandmother spent two days subtly (or not so subtly) hinting that she'd like us to help. We would ask her when she’d come to the beach with us. She’d sigh heavily, look out the window point at the carob tree and say she had so much work to do. Keep in mind that there is no real obligation to the tree—there is no law to pick the tree. But it was on her property and she wasn’t going to neglect it. So we made a deal: she would come stay with us for a few days and we (me, parents, my sister and brother-in-law, Steve) would devote our Saturday to picking this tree.

“It’ll take a morning, probably less with all of us helping,” my dad assured us, himself a veteran of the task.

We began early: up at 8am and after a wake up coffee for the oldies (Jen and Steve I’m talking to you) we were off. Our task was to get the alfarroba pods off the tree and collected in sacs. In some cases this was easy. Some had fallen off the tree and all we had to do was pick them off the ground.

Others were not so accessible. In order to get at them we resorted to different tactics. The first was to use giant sticks to smack at branches of the tree. This would send pods falling to the ground and usually hitting whoever was picking them up— in this case me—on the head (imagine raw lima beans smacking you in the head).

In order to get at the hard to reach branches, some of us would climb the trees to smack at the branches with our aforementioned big sticks. This was both a test of balance (standing on the branch) as well as coordination (using the stick to smack the branches).

But perhaps the most efficient way was Steve’s, “making it rain.” It involved Steve climbing the tree, going deep into the brush and with each hand holding a different branch and either jumping or shaking the branches. This would cause the pods to cascade to the ground in large numbers and “making it rain.” It proved quite successful as it maximized the amount of alfarobas and minimized the effort of everyone—except maybe Steve.

But it was not without its dangers. There were a few times when Steve neglected to tell us it was about to “rain” and those on the ground—me and Jen—where assailed with bean shaped missiles smacking us in the head from great heights and at greed speeds.

In the end, collecting all the alfarrobas took a full day. To amuse ourselves we sang out loud—Pretty Woman, Bon Jovi and others. By the end, we were exhausted, full of back pain and covered in battle scars.

Scraps and scuffs from the carob tree

And to add insult to injury, my grandmother welshed on her bet. She never came with us to the beach.

B-I-L Steve and I in a tree

My sister Jen

My tough grandmother

Me and the parents