As it goes.......

I seemed to have lost my knack for writing these things -- something about the timing not being right, not having my own laptop... or my just being cranky. I always mean to write, think about writing and then... pfft, nothing for months.

I'm here in Liverpool... and life is life.

I'm beginning to wonder if the weather is getting to me or if, dare I say, I'm getting a bit bored with it all. The skies are gray most of the time here and it seems to give the impression of lifelessness -- mind you, we've been spared the rain that we had all during the summer -- but I just wish it would do something! Snow even... the weather doesn't make the days very distinguishable. We've had our day lights savings time here, about a week or so before you at home, and the sun begins to set around 3:30 I'd say.

The early evenings are beginning to remind me of Christmas time... it doesn't help that they've had x-mas decorations up in the shop windows since early October --- coinciding with their Halloween decorations.. that's just strange.

Halloween... it's a strange thing, but Halloween had made me remarkably homesick. I found myself working my first night shift, behind the bar in about 5 months. I've been spoiled by my faovorite Irish boss and have had the luxury of working only day shifts as a waitress on the floor. In a pinch and in an act of desperation -- he had asked me to stay until mid-night to work the bar.

There I found myself standing behind the bar feeling completely out of place -- not being able to chat the customers like my waitressing position allows me to do. Having a chat when there are 30 people staring at you to serve them just doesn't go over smoothly. Anyway... in came the freaks, geeks, and skantly dressed locals girls, they calll it fancy dress over here, which I just think is strange. Anyway, though I was there physically, my mind was at home and I found myself day dreaming about what my family was doing and where I was last year on Halloween.

One of the hardest things for me being away from home is that I'm trying to cope with missing Seanna -- my neice. I thought about taking her our trick or treating in her little bunny costume -- and I thought about how I was able to be a cruel treat giver at my mom's house when the little hellians from the reserve came over to beg for treats -- every once in a while I was taken away from my retreat and brought back to Liverpool each time someone shouted their drink orders at me -- somehow, they think by ending each order shouted with the word "love" at the end it makes it all better -- PINT OF GUINESS LOVE! Blah.. How dare they interrupt my remincing about the good old times -- don't they know what it's like to be away from home.

Halloween was never a sentimental time for me -- but it seems that these days my emotions, age, and a combination of being so far away from home all of the time allow for any sort of situatuion to become overwhelming. I'm a bit worried about what Christmas time will be like.

There, I said it, I'm home sick.

Intellectually -- well, school is my life. If there was ever an addiction to have, I suppose going to University isn't necessarily a bad one to have -- except over here it costs double what it would cost at home. The trick about all of this is that it takes half of the time.

I found myself browsing Masters programs over here... trying to figure out what I could that would actually land me a job -- I've come to realize that my current degree's are practically useless over here and, well... it's about time I do something that I want to do --

TESOL -- yeah, that's right -- Korea flashback. Teaching English as a Second Language. Why not I thought. Thinking back to Korea -- cutting through all of the homesickness, infinite hangovers, nights out until 7 am, and all the rest of it, I actually remembered that I liked standing up in front of that class room. I really did like preparing my lessons, and apart my my lack of smiling and affection from my students -- I've realized that I really did like teaching. How's that for soul searching. £8,500 British Pounds for one year of university -- international student for you. That's, $16,777 CDN dollars!

Anyway -- the allure to this degree is not only can I work after ward, but it's recognized all over the world. You all know that I'm not one to stay put very long... so this would be fantastic. I've looked into it and am beginning to seriously consider it. The difficult part is trying to dig up and harass old profs to write me, yet again, a reference letter. So -- that's where things are heading for now.

Of course there is the issue with Visa's... and all the rest of it.

What else -- I'm applying for a UK licence -- haha. The opposite side of the road, here I come. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about all of that, but when I sit in the passengers side of Saeed (my boyfriend)'s car I try to envision which lane I'd turn down, where my signal light indicator is, and ... well, all the rest of it. He's a brave man -- he's insured me on his car which means sooner than later I'll be a big girl and finally drive again. Truthyfully I really do miss driving -- I wonder what it will be like.

So that's it for now.. lack of photo's I know -- but at the beginning of this blog I felt really home sick -- but at the end, I've reminded myself just how fortunate I am in my life here --

I'll be sure to post sooner than later about -- my first trip, where there were 2 suitcases rather than one and post some photo's of this mystery man of mine.

Miss you all lots...

On a less than selfish note...

I find myself sitting in Liverpool and enjoyng my life -- at the same time I get to read all of your blogs and to hear about how you're enjoying your lives. Pregnancies, New babies, Houses, Boyfriends, Husbands, Anniversaries, Careers.... in a word, wow. It's the blogs that remind me that at one point or another we've become adults. Scary huh?

First of all, Arrah -- I am so happy for you. I can't believe that you're going to be a mom!! That's great news. Thanks for the birthday wishes -- my mind was with you and Wes, as I can never forget your wedding anniversary.

Myah -- sounds like you're going to have your hands full soon. Happy be-lated birthday by the way -- must be busy celebrating a double birthday on the 9th. Or perhaps, efficient! : )

And... Anyone know what's going on with Jill, Scott, & the twins? I love checking all of your blogs -- It's my favorite thing to do when I'm feeling home sick -- makes me feel like a part of your lives, so I really look forward to updates -- this coming from me who hasn't updated in ages. I plead no contest -- as I don't have my own laptop.

Angie -- Great to hear from you and to know that your lovin' Fort McMurrey - hope you can get your brother to smile. He doesn't look so happy in that photo on the blog post.

...Robin... love those comments, keep 'em coming, and I'll keep the Johnny Irish stories comin'.

As for myself -- life is good. I haven't picked up an English accent yet, but there are differences in the language -- There's English, and there's English -- Aubergines for Egg Plant, and Courgettes for Zucchini??! Hmm... I've got some of the slang down which is funny really... I can't help but laugh.

I am, slightly homesick, but I think it's becasue I've taken a week off of work and have had way too much time to think -- but did do something interesting, I'll save that for an other post -- oh what a birthday. Apart from that -- I get my weekly dose of my most FAVORITE CBC program every Saturday night -- Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap. Absolutely love it. And the program preceeding it -- The Debaters. The latter is particularily important -- always full of Canadian Jokes and it reminds me where I'm from. I'm such a wiener -- I stay in on a Saturday night to catch these radio programs at 11:30pm - 2:00 am each week.

Anyway -- all is well. Looking forward to getting back to my life, work, gym, and everything in between. Miss you all and am always wondering what you're doing in your lives.

Eammon

"MARGARET you're either out there in part time land, or you're protected and in full time land with the rest of the long termers. You need to make a choice. You can't have your cake and eat it too" -- This is my boss, Eammon.



I'd gotten called into his office just before my shift the other day. He told me this and I just stood there with a blank look washed over my face -I'm tempted to say, but I like cake Eammon, but this isn't the time for jokes I can see that he's rather serious and slightly pissed off -



"Well Margaret, you need to make a decision --" I shrug at him and put my hands up, "I don't know Eammon, what do you want me to say?" I can only imagine the furstration that he's containing by the look he gives me -- it was one of those moments that you have with your dad and he's scolding you -- but you don't quite know what's going on. I just stood there in the doorway to his office, my black uniform with the tops of my pens and note pad sticking out of my left shirt pocket eager to take orders.



If I was telling you this story myself, it would be in a strong Irish accent with lots of swearing involved -- because he just loves to swear, which actually makes retelling his stories much more fun.



Eammon is one of the most unique characters that I've come across in all of my life -- he's the kind of boss that can make you cry one minute and having you laughing the next. When he's happy all is well, but when he's in a foul mood -- two words, watch out. But he's the kind of boss who is more like your father -- he gives a heavy scolding out of frustration and then he calls you back to apologize and talk to you in a much quieter tone of voice once he's calmed down -- if he likes you you'll get the apology otherwise, staff are easy come, easy go in this industry.

I love this guy -- when we're working morning shifts at some ungodly hour of 8:30 on a Saturday morning he cranks Queen's Flash Gordon and walks around the pub to 'ensure' the speakers are working and walks around singing under his breath as though we can't hear him and as though he's not enjoying every second of this song.

He's always trying to include me into his Irish humour, or the English jokes that I may not get -- he speaks in a tone of voice that could be classified as yelling but that's just the way he talks -- when he says you're name, you often jump because you're not sure of his tone of voice, "MARGARET, have you seen Flash Gordon the movie?? -- Meekly I respond, "no, but I know the song". His response is like that of a child who you just told Santa doesn't exist. "What?! how could you have not seen it! Everybody's seen it... " It's almost like an order from a drill sargent to find this film and watch it -- I'm again tempted, "Sir, yes Sir!" But the sleepiness overtakes my quick wits and I just nod yes.

Eamonn -- he was the first guy to pick, or at least come close to picking out my accent. "Newfoundland?" Were his first words to me. I was stunned. He's the kind of boss that you either love or hate -- and there isn't any inbetween. He's great at his job and if you give him the time of day, he'll do the same. He's one of, if not these best bosses I've ever had -- he can relate to anything, at anytime -- I think he likes most to draw on his experiences as a younger man -- his favorite stories usually begin with, "When I was younger and much better looking..." and then if he feels he's lost you or just needs to reassure himself he says, "you know, I really was good looking in my younger days" ...and the story continues.

One of my favorite things about working there are the stories that I get to tell about him later on that day -- and there are always stories. He's curt, blunt -- but gets efficiently to his point without icing the cake. Sometimes I feel sorry for the new person who runs into him on a bad day -- I watched him fire someone over the phone one day-- I can only imagine what what said on the other line -- but this person had made the mistake of calling in sick only one hour before their shift on a Saturday night and I think they said something like, I'm sick and I'm really sorry that I won't be making it into work today. On my end I heard -- "Well, I'll be really sorry when you don't show up and you lose your job." -- Just like that, phone hun up, job lost. He looked at me afterward and said, "I just don't have the fuckin' patience for that shit today." I laughed, but I think it was more of a nervous laugh and I was happy that it wasn't me.

Okay, okay....he's not all bad. Considering what he has to put up with -- a staff full of 18 -20 year olds I suppose it's just what you become -- thick skinned and blunt. He opens up once in a while -- apart from his stories that begin with when he was younger and better looking. He's got 2 daughters - twins, and is happily married. He confessed to me the other day, "Look Margaret -- if I don't run a tight ship here my family life will fall apart and that's too important to me so this is how it's got to be for my sanity."

He's good dealing with his female staff as well -- and here we thought it was all 'cause of his wife and kids. Turns out, he's the only boy in a family of all sisters -- 4 to be exact. Makes our job a little bit easier. Although he does tend to exaggerate some of the problems we have as women just to get a laugh now and again.

I've been working at O'neils for 5 months now but in this pub industry -- just as it is at home, there is an extremely high turn over rate so now I've become one of the long termers. Other long termers, Magda my friend from Poland -- the only other staff that is my age so it makes a nice change to come in and to have someone to talk about life in general with, not just how drunk we got last night or who's shaggin who. Of course Cara -- Belfast, Ireland. She, like most people from Ireland tell it like it is.... love it. So I'm a long termer with the best of 'em, and with good hours as well -- this, of course, being my cake. I do. Working 5 days a week, 3pm - 8pm. They're good hours because I can get up, have some coffee, do some writing, go to the gym, have something to eat and still get to work a few minutes early to have a cup of tea -- yes, I said tea..... oh the effects of this country.

The wages here in the UK are crap -- really they range from £4.45 - £5.35 p/h this is all according to age. The rates will go up on the first of October -- £4.60 - £5.52 p/h. It's not all bad though -- I can suppliment my wages with tips, depends on whether the Irish are over or not. The locals are tight, I mean tight! The Irish -- well they're usually over here for someones stag party, birthday party, or just to watch the football so they haven't a care in the world -- they love some good banter and fortunately I do as well.

My life really revolves around work -- it plays a bigger role than most jobs. I've come to love my job and the people that are a part of it -- both my staff and some of the regulars. Work is both my means of employment and my social life all wrapped up into one. Everytime I walk into work it's like I'm transcending into a different world, or perhaps a different country -may be its the smell of stale beer, the mustyness of the basement venue but whatever it is, it's great.

Margaret,Maggie, Mags ....

No, I'm not suffering some kind of multiple personality disorder, but these are some of the names that I answer to over here.

Something came over me this time around in my travels and I thought it would be interesting to go by my first name for a while -- after all, there was (like any of our names) a lot of thought put into it. I've been going by Margaret now for 5 months and admittedly, I quite like it. What's more is that it's even a bit strange to call home and to hear people call me Claire --

So I thought I'd let you in on what could possibly be construed as an identity crisis.

... did I ever mention how I love the gym?

"You forgot the weights!" he said, as he laughed. I took out my ear buds and had directed my attention to him, slightly annoyed, "what?" "you forgot the weights!" he said, and laughed again.

--I was sitting on the slanted bench at the gym warming up for my alternate bicep curls. I'd realized that he had a good sense of humour and decided to reply to him, but at the same time I was trying to be polite (because those who know me know I hate talking to people at the gym) I replied half laughing, "no, I didn't forget them -- I'm warming up, takes a lot of concentration you know." "oh" he said, "I thought may be you forgot the weights and you needed to be reminded" -- and he had a laugh.

I didn't think much of him. In fact, I didn't think anything of him. As soon as the conversation was done my mind went back to what I was doing and that was it.

The next day when I walked into the gym there he was on the chest press machine, right in path to the change room. Due to some maintenance at the gym the change rooms were swapped around -- with huge signs posted everywhere so that even the blind could see. I was just about to mount the steps up to the newly designated change rooms and as I was about to pass him by he said, "the change rooms are different today you know." -- "oh yeah, thanks" was all I had replied -- wanting to get past him in my haste.

He continued to occupy me with small talk as I stood there, surely wearing one of those looks on my face that you all know so well when I'm really just disinterested. He asked me a few questions, but the only one I can really remember today is, "are you Irish?" -- "No" was all I said with no elaboration and with that I walked off into the change rooms. I didn't even bother to ask him where he was from -- but he was clearly not from the UK.

I went along with my usual gym routine not even remembering the conversation or his presence. At the end of my usual work out I'm often running on the treadmill, that day was no different -- there I was, red faced, sweaty, and out of breathe when this guy walked past and had somehow taken all of my attention. I watched as he passed by, until he was out of sight and as he had walked right in front of me he smiled as he passed. I marveled at his good looks and immense sense of style -- then it had dawned on me, it was him. I'd been so caught up in my own work out routine and stubborness that I don't even think I'd taken the time to make eye contact with this guy as he has spoken to me...

All I remembered of him was his green jacket, his orange adidas gym bag, and his diesel belt -- how terrible I thought that I didn't even give this guy the time of day.

It was a Friday when he walked out of the gym and I couldn't wait until Monday when I went back to see him again so this time I could at the very least find out his name.

The world is cruel -- really, it can be. I went to the gym everyday as I usually do hoping to see him again. I had changed my own gym times trying to catch him at different parts of the day -- but truly, I didn't know who he was, because I didn't ever really look at him. I found myself smiling at and looking happy to every Joe blow who resembled him hoping that it was him but to no avail. All week I went to the gym hoping to see him and nothing. I was so disappointed and angry with myself.

Because this gym is in the bottom of a huge hotel in Liverpool I thought, alright, he was just a guest and now he's gone. I figured it was for the best that I hadn't spoken to him.

The following Monday I went back to the gym as usual. I had, in fact, dragged myself there. It was a long week end, filled with lots of drinking, working, and going out -- Monday was, to say the very least, painful.

In the middle of my work out just as I had hopped on the treadmill I'd glanced to my right and there he was, running only 2 treadmills down. I couldn't believe it. So this time I had decided that I wouldn't let him get away from me.

It was one of those days where you wish you were buried deep into a feather duvet sunk into the couch in the livingroom watching movies -- it was one of those days where you feel like you are just not meant to be seen in public -- yet I was at the gym and there he was. I'd gathered up all of my confidence -- I have no idea where it came from. In my procrastination I went out to fill my water bottle telling myself to just do it -- just go.

So, with all of my inhibitions aside I walked straight into the gym and directly up to him. I, quite bluntly said, "...and where have you been? Haven't seen you around all week, thought you quit." -- I had no idea where these words were coming from. "ahh, " he replied, "I've been away for the week with some friends on holiday, that's why I haven't been to the gym." Suddenly a feeling of relieve came over me. I don't even remember what I'd said to him after that -- some kind of small talk. I told him that I'd be in the Sauna after my work out -- and low and behold -- there he was after his.

I had no idea what to say, do, or even how to act. For those of you who've been swimming with me in our teenaged days -- you'll remember this -- I've still been wearing that bright yellow Nike swimsuit. (Yikes, I know, I know...) So.. we sat around in the Sauna for a while -- both kind at a loss for words. I was tired of sitting there so I told him I was going for something to eat. "Do you want me to go with you" he asked quite forwardly, to which I replied with some kind of assumed confidence, "yeah sure, I'll meet you at the front desk."

It was like one of those sitcoms where you walk away from the person and repeat what you'd just said out loud and wonder what the hell you're doing -- I literally had done that. In a haste I showered and tried to be out there first. I was -- and then we were off. I brought him to my favorite cafe -- a vegetarian/vegan soup place (the bridgehead of Liverpool for me). And we had soup. We sat there -- and he was very quite, but had made me laugh.

It was a strange situation -- but at the same time, somehow it was normal like it had happened so many times before. When we were to leave it turned out that we had both lived in the same direction -- so we walked together. We walked just to the corner of the hostel -- he went straight and I turned right. It was slightly akeward then -- cause, really -- what'da ya do? "Can I call you?" he asked. "Yeah -- I've already put my number in your phone." ... "really?" he said, "you're fast." So I showed him what I'd put it under and then he gave me his -- and that was 3 months ago.

I know, I know -- I can hear you Angie -- 3 months ago? And you're only telling me this now? Well, relationships for me are similar to a pregnancy-- it's not something you want to talk about too prematurely in case there are some complications.

He's been amazing -- I'm not one to gush about relationships, but I'll make the exception. He was there for me when I moved out of the hostel -- boy was he ever. He consoled me when I was upset about making a bad decision for moving into a house with these guys -- he took me in most nights when there was no electric & gas... he did everything that he possibly could for me to make my life that much more comfortable without any question -- He supported me when I needed to be supported the most -- and truly, I've never had that in a relationship before.

We've been nearly inseparable. We get along like we've known one another for years -- it's not that sickening kind of couple that agrees on everything -- rather things just seem to fall into place. It's easy to be in one anothers company, and that's something I've yearned for.

It's strange to have met someone -- after being alone for so long (for almost 4 years), it's nice, but slightly strange to have someone included in my life. I've become so accustomed to being alone, travelling alone, and being independent that having someone along side of me had taken some adjusting, but it really wasn't that hard to do.

He's 29, is rather settled here, but nothing permenant. He's got his own house, runs 2 businesses, etc. he loves to travel, (yeah!) and holds liberal views and is very open minded -- he's down to earth, and loves, absolutely loves to laugh. It reminds me not to be so serious and intense all of the time. I think we compliment one another well -- and thing have being going great.

Anyhow -- I thought I'd publish a much happier post after my last one -- damn those weirdos! Pathalogical liars, neurotic clean freaks ... argh! But -- if that's what I needed to do to get where I am now -- I'll tell you, in hindsight, it was all worth while. ; )

Squatter

Squatter;

3. to settle on or occupy property, esp. otherwise unoccupied property, without any title, right, or payment of rent.

The hostel had finally drove me nuts -- Christopher Reed (a past hosteller who I'd met in Victoria would have said that I was suffering from a bad case of hostel-ite-is). It had come to the point where I couldn't stand my over night shifts, and didn't even want to talk to anyone -- imagine, me not wanting to talk?! I suppose, like any place the politics were beginning to get to me. He said, she said .... did you know who... etc. It's difficult to avoid such politics, especially when you live at your place of work. Things had just gotten messy. So... the wheels had begun to turn.

Desperate to get out I jumped at the first chance of life on the outside -- I suppose I had been blinded by my eagerness. There were two guys who were older, working constantly and had asked me if I would share a house with them -- little did I know.

July 13th -- Friday July 13th, it was the day where I packed my bag (yeah, bag....doesn't sound so good without the plural), anyway, packed my bag and was heading for life on the outside. I felt like I was being parolled, or at the very least, leaving home again. I was just so excited.

Kensington -sounds nice- this was the area that we'd moved into. Because one of the guys had lived in Liverpool before he said this area wasn't so bad. Meanwhile, on my way home at nights I'd been mistaken for a prostitute -- as the main drag for prostitutes was on walk back home. Now ... Liverpool is a bit of a rough city but -- c'mon, how can someone dressed in a black rain coat with hiking shoes on and a backpack look like a prostitute??? Trust me, it happens. Being mistaken for a prostitute would, however, be the least of my worries.

The house was fine, I mean, it had all of the amenities -- well, it was capable of having all of the amenities. Wait, lets backtrack-- these 2 guys, my future roomates. One, a 35 year old father of, wait for it... 5 kids, nicely divided amoung 2 women who had just left his last wife and headed for Liverpool for a new start. Fair enough I thought -- This was Peter.

Peter who was English- turned out he loved to gossip and had a bit of a dependence on anti-depressants. Which, of course, I'd only come to find out after moving in with him. A bit of a clean freak -- slightly neurotic when it comes to cleanliness actually -- but in general I didn't think he was too bad of a guy. I kept my mouth shut about others around him and didn't give him any insight into my own life -- I figured that it would be fine.

And -- there was, Daniel. He's like Madonna or Cher -- I have no idea what his last name is until this day. Daniel -- a very kind man. He's one of those guys that you'd describe as a nice guy, a big teddy bear... always there to lend an ear, provide advice, etc. He was a larger man, always working hard -- in fact, rarely to be seen because he was working so much. Daniel 38, from Romania, husband, father of one was working so hard to send money home to his family in Romania -- aww, how noble. He was one of the most caring men I'd met -- caring perhaps, sincere? Well...

Okay so, insert me. We had all moved our few possessions in this house -- the landlord was both Daniel and Peters boss -- so we'd gotten it for a deal. Great. I didn't care really -- as long as I was out of the hostel and had, quote, 4 walls and a bed of my own. We were never there at the same time -- and I thought this was great. Yeah -- great until one day when I walked in we had no electricity, no gas, and no proof of a signed contract anywhere in sight.

Daniel kept going to Romania and began his, or perhaps continued his sympathic stories. My wife is so sick, I need to go back to Romania. The next week, my son is really sick with a long elaborated story. We had all felt sorry for him and thought, what a poor guy. He was the biggest charity case I'd ever seen. We had all gotten sucked in -- he was all about secrets, asking everyone to borrow money and making sure no one had ever known about the money he'd borrowed from the other.

Daniel -- he was like one of those single men who you see or hear about on t.v. that hit up old ladies for their money, marry them and then make off with Millions, leaving them with nothing -- except the line, "I thought he really loved me." That was my analogy -- none of us could foresee what would happen to us.

I had been no different. I must have had sucker written on my forehead -- the first time I had given him an advance on my rent -- £200.00. This was, of course, so that he could go home and see his sick wife. Off he went. When the time came -- my rent was paid for the month of July and all had seemed just peachy. Not long after he came around again -- this time with the same proposition -- yes, I know you can all see it coming -- but for some reason, I'd still been blinded and hesitantly handed over the same amount, this time for his sick son. SMRT, my friend Lindsay would say... I wasn't worried -- well, wasn't too worried.

Then strange things began to happen... he was gone to Romania again leaving me and my anti-depressant/gossip queen roomate to cope on our own. It was only then that we began to realize just how little we knew about our roomate. Either of us had a last name, or had even seen proof of a signed lease. Whatsmore, one day the electric ran out (they run on a pre-paid system here like pre-paid cell phones... you have to buy a card each time). No power, great. Apparently, Peter had no money either and already feeling like I had made a huge mistake, there was no way that I was dishing out more of my savings.

Okay, no electric -- not a problem for me. I was always working and showered at the gym. All I needed was a place to sleep -- of course, you can only live so long with out Electric. And then -- no gas. Nothing! We couldn't hook up the gas, because we didn't have our name on the lease -- our ficitional lease, only Mr. Daniel had a copy of this lease which he, coincidently left in Romaina?!

Anyway -- no gas, no electric, and no lease and no sign of Daniel. We had officially dubbed ourselves squatters.

Daniel became very aggressive when asked about money and as time went on and we had all begun to talk to one another (we being other people that he had befriended at the hostel) had come to realize that this guy had taken us for more than we had originally thought. The worst case, was him hitting up one of the 18 year olds from Poland for his entire savings of £500.00 -- I think that's what had bothered us the most. For us, we were adults and made a stupid decision, but that was just too much.

In the mean time -- my gossip hungry roomate Peter would be left in the house on his own most of the time and in his "cleaning" spree's saw it fit to go into my room at the very least to, quote, change the bins. I had suspected that there was someone in my room but couldn't quite accuse anyone -- and one day while visiting the hostel I'd been approached by one of the girls there asking me about something Peter had told her. As it turns out, he was in my room digging around in my things and whatever he found to be interesting he'd go to the hostel and spread the word.

At this point - I had had enough. I couldn't trust anyone. Going back to this place at night just killed me. I didn't feel safe and wondered what else this guy was doing with my things -- I felt so unsafe there that I'd taken my passport out and felt it would be safer at the hostel. I felt stuck, and dreaded every minute of it. I'd just sit on my bed and cry -- I wondered how I could have been so gullable and blinded by it all -- but there I was, via candle light crying. I felt so isolated and disconnected from the entire world -- I didn't want to call home because I was just so embarassed by being so gullable and most of all, I was angry at myself.

Things had gotten a little better -- eventually, after 2 weeks we had electric and gas. Even still, tensions were high amoungst us. I was at a breaking point and held back no confrontation -- one nightI was confronting Daniel and realized that it was just he & I in the house and the reality of it all was that I had no idea who this guy was. I dropped the argument and realized that the only thing that I could do was to get out -- no matter how, where, or what I had to do.

Work -- work was comforting, they really were. They'd come up to me and tell me about places to live -- offeres to be roomates, etc. My boss was supportive . Of course... in keeping with the drama there was this incident at work in which the police had to be called, a guy sent to jail, and then accordingly charged the next day. Wow. What a month...

Whatever the case -- I'd finally decided -- after many hours of wondering what I was actually doign here in Liverpool -- to pick myself up and start again.

Sometimes, I don't know where I find the strength -- I really just wanted to go home, to give up. But, my rational was, what exactly am I going to do if I go home?? Am I going to let these 2 idiots ruin my time here in Liverpool? I left that house on August 12th. I walked away from my neurotic anti-depressant dependant roomate Peter, and the pathological liar/con man Daniel, and £200.00. In hindsight -- £200.00 is a lot of money that if it was a price that I had to pay to get out of there then sobeit.

Sitting here writing about this entire situation fills me with emotion -- I mean, it's kind of funny in hindsight, only because I'm not there anymore, but it was a hard, hard time. I'm not one to rely on anyone, but there was a lot of support from the people I'd met here -- which I'm not sure I could have done with out this time around.

As with any story -- there is a silver lining. In my desperation I thought that no matter what, I could move back into the hostel -- I had given myself this as a back up plan and had moved on from there. With diligence I went to the library and searched rooms for rent -- everyone knows how shitty it is to look for a new place to live -- well, it's no easier when you're in a city you hardly know (apart from the area surrounding the hostel) and you're in a foreign country -- which, although is English speaking is much different.

I found many ad's but there was one in particular that had stood out for me. Of all the ad's I'd contacted I had only gone to see one place. I went and it was perfect - I had an instant feeling of wanting to be there -- it felt like home. Of course though, I was ever so slightly deterred about jumping into anything too soon. I waited around for a week, browsing ad's all the while this place I'd gone to see was just so prominent in my mind.

A week later -- I'd called back and although it was more expensive than I wanted I thought to myself -- if it's still available it's meant to be and I'm going to take it. I'd called back and they hadn't let it out to anyone. At this point, I figured that I had nothing to lose, so I negotiated the price to what I thought was suitable and have finally found myself a home. At least for while I'm in Liverpool.

Life, the home life, is now good -- perfect I dare say. I live in a secure house, recently refurbished, fully furnished, and in a quiet area. I live with an Italian man who owns the house, a guy from Latvia, and a couple from the Czeck Rebublic. I like to joke with people when they ask me how my new place is -- I always tell them, it's great -- we have electric and gas all of the time. It's funny how you come to take things for granted -- gas and electric.

My roomates are like my family -- we each take turns baking, share our stories about how we ended up in Liverpool, what we aspire to do, and differences in our culture. We're all well educated people and likeminded. It's great.

So, yeah, I'm no longer a Squatter -- I am out £200.00 which hurts, I wince each time I'm reminded of it, but admittedly, if it was the price I had to pay to learn this not so easy lesson than sobeit. I'm alive. And as my friend Magda (from Poland) reminded me, it's just money and it can be made again.

Still alive....

Okay, Okay... I know what blogs are for and clearly, I have been neglecting mine. But, I'm back. I have finally gotten internet at "home" and I have my own laptop again so I am estatic (did I spell that right??). Doesn't matter. I have loads to say and I hope that you're still checking this site every now and again ...

Will post in the very near future -- miss you all.

Things I miss... in no particular order.

Shopping at Smart Set and Jacob;
Playing Hockey;
Roller blading;
Stores being open past 6pm;
Driving my car;
My laptop;
Bridgehead... oh how I miss you Bridgehead;
My cd's;

Life outside of the Hostel...

From time to time, when you work and live in the hostel, it's like being instutionalize -- to say the very least. Often times we, I, tend to forget there there is an outside world. Wandering the streets of Liverpool I feel like I'm out on parole or something. Here is a glimpse and bit of a journey to the great outdoors of Liverpool. Life outside of the hostel ... yes, it does in fact exist.



Below, the lonely corner were each traveller rings their families from -- I of course, am no different. If you've ever found yourself wondering where I'm calling from, just insert a photo me sitting there curled up embracing the phone and hoping not to get hit from the incoming and outgoing traffic of the Embassie hostel. This is the first step to getting out on the "outside".





Okay.. half the battle. This is the view from the other side of the great big red door. Not so bad huh? Walking outside to the palm trees in your front yard, the sunshining, and a beautiful park just across the way, and an open gate are enough to get anyone moving forward...





And before you know it, you're walking down Duke Street admiring the lush green lined streets -- wondering just when summer had snuck up. Away I go...





When I'm leaving the hostel I'm usually on my way to the library, work, or the gym. Now that I type this out, seems my life seems suddenly uneventful -- routine even. But there places are the foundation of my day and everything else happens in between, and each day usually brings something new.



Above... the bombed out church. It took me a while to figure out what they were talking about... on the surface this looks like an ordinary church. I just thought the clock was busted, which is why it always said 12 0'clock. Lost in translation, was that they were actually saying bombed out church, rather than bummed out church. I just saw a bunch of homeless people hanging around... and thought oh... this is where the homeless people hang out. Of course, the church has actually been bombed at one point or another (will have to stop and read the write up one of these days). Anyway... the entire church is hallow and it is only the shell that remains. It's really pretty at night -- which is the shot that I was going for above, but it didn't seem to turn out. So... this is one of the landmarks of Liverpool that I walk past each day...



Below is Bold Street... one of the main semi- pedestrian streets leading to down town Liverpool. Semi-pedestrian?? Yeah -- they have automatic pillar things that are sometimes hidden into the concrete or elevated -- making walking around here even more confusing. On that note though -- I'm getting quite accustomed to looking the proper way before I cross the road -- now I dread crossing the road in North America again.







This street is lined with shops, restaurants and everything else you can imagine. I of course have my favorite -- organic food stores, fair trade Indian goods, International food markets, and a coffee house that I can sit and stare out of the window from for hours from a comfy leather couch. It's no bridgehead -- but it's certainly a viable substitute for now.


Liverpool seems to take shopping rather seriously -- shops for everything, except clothes that I'd actually wear (but that's a different story altogether). The only other problem with all of that is that the entire city closes down by 6pm each day -- with the exception of Thursdays. They have dedicated this day for "late night shopping"... and how late is late? 8pm. Apart from the early closures of the stores -- the only thing that remains open are pubs, clubs, and kebab take aways. The culture here, seemingly, has some strong roots in having a drink or two... I wonder if they kept the shops open later if there would be less drinking. I kid you not, any night of the week this city is jam packed with the after club crowds. Its insane... shoulda came here when I was 21, would have fit right in!

This year is Liverpools 800th birthday and this small city has also been crowned the European Capital of Culture. European's Capital of Culture -- this isn't a title that Liverpool has taken ligthly... they are doing some major work on the water front and through out the city itself. This is the view from my most favorite cafe, the egg cafe -- a vegetarian restaurant that I frequent every day after the gym for soup. I'll write more about it in another blog... anyway... here is what you'll see when you arrive in Liverpool -- a sky full of cranes, it's almost tempting to hang around here until 2008 just to see what the end product looks like. The downtown area at the moment is slightly chaotic.

Ahh Eamonn... below a photo of my super stressed out boss who has gotten himself fully gray by the time he was 30 or so. This was what the pub looked like on the big night when Liverpool played Milan in the champions league final -- Liverpool lost, and I was happy. I thought I'd try to provide a glimpse of what my other job entails. This of course was not the norm... the pub was so back that night. The city was full, and a sea of red moved through the streets. The only analogy that I can provide is being in Ottawa on Canada day -- otherwise, I've seen nothing like this.

People were lined up outside of every pub that afternoon trying to get in to see the match... this was the line up outside of my work. I was hoping that the door man would make me line up to get into work, but no such luck. My luck didn't change as the night progressed -- I suppose it would depend on what way you looked at it. I didn't want to be there working that night because the crowds and I suppose I got what I wanted -- in a less than impressive manner.

Not two hours into my shift while I was stacking glasses from the dishwasher I'd fumbled, dropped one and for one reason or another tried to catch it.... it broke in mid air as it had bounced off of the stack I already had in my other hand and I caught it with or rather in my forearm. Ewww... I know. It wasn't really anything major I thought..... but with my bosses insistance, I went to a clinic.

So, due to the match, the streets were empty. It would have been a perfect time to do some looting... everyone and their dog were at the local pub and if they couldn't get inside they'd watch the game from the windows of the pub. The clinic -- as it happens, was next to a pub. The doors were locked and I had to buzz the door to get in. As I stood there looking for the buzzer the people who were standing outside of the pub next door said, " No... no love... the door is over here." My being niave, thought oh, okay. As it turned out, they thought I just wanted to go into the pub -- they actually seemed disappointed when I told them that I really wanted to just get into the clinic...

.. long story short, clinic, hospital, x-rays... what a process. I walked out in a sling and was instructed not to work for a week, nor go to the gym. What a long boring week -- lesson learned, careful what you wish for. What was interesting was that by the time I had walked out of the hospital the football match had been over and in coming were the bloody boys who had somehow gotten into a fight due to the overcrowding of the pubs and Liverpool losing. It was phenomenal... within minutes of the match being over the hospital was flooded with injuries... a strange place I'd say.

I've also been prone to injuries over here though.... not one week after being back at work I ended up busting a vein in the very same arm, and to top it all off -- the pain killers the hospital had given me for my arm had caused me to break out in a rash. I was one sad looking person. In fact, when I went to the clinic for my busted vein she asked me if I had been injecting drugs -- I told her "no... but I think I am going to start."

Those 2 weeks were by far the hardest, longest, most trying days of my time travelling abroad. The poor nurse had to endure my whining. I seriously thought that I was going to buy a ticket and call it quits. It was just that bad....it's all past now though. And it's easy to laugh about it, a month after the fact... not so funny then.

So, now that I don't look like I'm shooting smack and that I'm back to work and to the gym things are better again. I've just recently celebrated my 2 month anniversary here in Liverpool. Strange. It's like I've been here forever... minus the scouser accent.

Finally, I'll leave you all with some great people that I've met in my travels -- or I suppose that I met them in their travels. Two friends from Norway... on the left Per and Eirik.

Home Sweet Home... at least for now.

The big red door -- welcome to the Embassie Hostel. This is the front door to the place that I call home. It's a well hidden hostel that lies on the top of the hill in a place called Falkner Square....and it even has palm trees in the front yard! This place is often difficult to find, but worth while once you do -- they joked with me when I had first checked in. They sang hotel california to me and said I could check out but never leave. This has become to be the not only the reality of my life, but of so many others. Travellers come back to visit from time to time, sharing stories that reach back sometimes as far as 10 years ago.

Each morning when I walk down these stairs from my shared room upstairs, it isn't uncommon to find a new face working at the front desk. Past guests know how it is all too easy to offer your time at the reception in exchange for a free bed during their stay. Things are very laid back here, to say the least. It's like a time warp once you walk through the front door -- there are no computers, no reception -- just a big wooden kitchen table with benches and all the free tea, toast, & coffee that you can ingest. The bookings are kept in an oversized daily planner and as one of our long term guests would say, "daa-zit".

This is the "reception"...

-- and this is the view from my post when working over nights... sometimes it's blury... something like the photo, especially when my manager gets the better of me and puts me on the drink.

Othertimes, I can see clearly and just sit back and take it all in...as I was trying to do in the above photo. On the night that the photo below was taken we has a Noreweigan group spending a few nights while they were here doing a gig and they had taken it upon themselves to get some practice time in through the night -- it was fantastic. Coupled with the Norway crew were a large group of Spanish who were on a trip to Liverpool as part of their course in learning English. I had a kitchen full of entertainment that kept me awake until half 5 in the morning ... the energy in the room was just amazing, and it reminded me again just why I love to travel so much.

Me & one of the Spanish Dudes -- Maneul.

There are a few of us who live here in the hostel as "long termers." It's become somewhat of a little family away from home. There is Luke, who, admittedly, loves to flex his muscles and isn't the least bit camera shy. He's from Ireland and is a rapper, if he could say anything to you at the moment it would be, "Chou Tube" ... "search C4 and give us a listen." In a very heavy Dublin accent. Trying to hit Luke over the head with a bottle is Adrian... a very quiet Australian who is also around for a while.

Where there is one Aussie, you'll most likely find another. Below is fellow long termer Matt on the left and Kev Senior to the right of him. Kev Sr. is the manager here and Matt... well sometimes he likes to think he is. This is taken in the free tea, toast, and coffee area.

Kev Sr. is full of life. He loves the Beatles and boasts of how many times he'd seen them even before they were famous. He greets each guest with the same stories time and time again with the same amount of enthusiasm as the first time he's told it. His most famous for his terrible jokes, signing around the hostel, and talking about how his band out placed the Beatles in a battle of the bands contest back in the day.

... there is my roomie, Sally. She's been here for a little longer than me and had been a past guest. She's absolutley full of life, it's fantastic. She loves 60's dress and has amazing style....did I mention that she loves the colour pink?? She even drives a pink mini, fantastic. In this photo is Adrian the Aussie and Owen who also lives here. A little ways down, you'll find Owen telling me that I'm number one... after he and I did a pub crawl on our own which consisted shots of Jagermeister chased with Red Bull and topped off with a shot of Tequila. He was in quite a state... and to be fair, as was I. Being the experienced drinker though, was able to hide it more -- or at least so I thought. There I am, smiling obnoxiously with our new roomate from Ireland, Sara.

And of course, there is Andy, or Bo-J. He's Jamacian and he knows his stuff. One of the wisest people I've come across. The kind of guy where you just sit and listen and suddenly you're entire life comes into question and by the end of it you're slightly more confused than you were at the beginning of the conversation -- but eventually it all comes into place. I love listening to what he has to say. He tells it. And he tells it in such a slow manner than you find yourself glued to every word -- then his speech lowers to a whisper and you find yourself leaning in waiting for what words are about to come out of his mouth -- like he's telling you a secret. It's captivating. That's just the way it is. A self suffiecient man. Lately, I've found myself comparing people in my life that I've met to disney characters -- and for him, he's like the wise Rafiki in the Lion King.... he just knows.

There is a lot that goes on within' the walls of this hostel. More than I could ever write about. We all manage to co-exist and get along as a family, welcoming new people both in and out of our home. Like any other place, it is the people who make this place what it is -- Sometimes in the run of a busy day I forget that I really do love it here and that I am, in fact, living in Liverpool, England.... strange.

A Day in the Life...

I'm already 2 weeks in to my Liverpool experience. It seems like I've lived here for much longer, not because it's a bad spot, but because I've become a part of things so quickly. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I'm settled, but I'm working towards it.

I've managed to land myself a job -- bartending. Of course, I had to get hired at the most busiest bar in Liverpool, an Irish Pub called O'neils. As if I didn't have a hard enough time understanding the Liverpoodlians (isn't that a fun word) or the Scousers [(skaus-sir)Brit. Inf. ~n. a person who comes from Liverpool.Scouse (skaus)n. 1. the dialect spoken by such a person] my job requires me to deal with those individuals from Ireland and fun places like Cork. Now, I can hardly understand what people from Cork are saying at the beginning of the night -- so you can just imagine what it's like after a few pints. I'm sure they think I'm retarded when I ask them to repeat themselves about 4 times before they order a drink, but I provide the excuse that I'm new and if that doesn't work I tell them that I'm Canadian and they seemingly understand. I love that I can play the foreigner card and rely on my accent to get myself some slack.

Anyway, I'm bartending part time which is fine by me. I don't think I have it in me to do that kind of work full time like I once had... Drinking over here seems to be like a sport. And when there is a football match on the tube drinking gets shifted into full gear and I begin to run around like a chicken with my head cut off. An interesting sight. Nevertheless, I enjoy my job and it keeps me in some kind of social circle. Bartending is hard work and as I found out tonight in my training session -- Bartenders in England are in the same category as Pharmacists in that we too are distributing a controlled substance... imagine! Lots of pressure.

Apart from this I'm working at a hostel and going to the gym. I've come across this work for stay business... it's not a bad deal for the time being. I'm in a huge hostel (which my roomate Sally likes to describe as a refuge rather than a hostel) anyway, its more like a big house -- perhaps like a half way house, minus the convicts of course. Being here also keeps me in a another social circle. There are some other 'long termers' hanging around and we've managed to forge some kind of family unit. Being here also has meeting people from countries that I hadn't encountered in my other travels -- Greece, Iran, Turkey, Argentina, and some countries that I haven't even heard of. It's fun but at times difficult to both work and live in one place. It's like hanging out at the office I suppose... but for the moment, it is home.

The gym... this too is an interesting experience. They have a pool -- so that's enough to keep me interested. I have perhaps even come across some womens hockey here -- though I haven't qutie followed up on that lead yet.

Anyhow, I am busy to say that least. So much so that I haven't even gotten around to snapping one photo of my new town upon returning. I had complained about not working for so long and I'm certainly making up for it now. I work over night shifts at the hostel from mid night until 7 am, sleep for a couple of hours and am off to work at my bar job only to begin the routine all over again the next day and some how squeeze in time for the gym and a very brief life outside of my 2 jobs. The long term goal is to save some money up and rent a room on my own some where in the downtown area. And I'd like to find a day job... I suddenly have a whole new respect for the office job. I miss Monday to Friday's... and having evenings to myself. I'll see if my years of university incarceration will finally pay off -- if not... may be Starbucks will take me in -- god help me.

Apart from it all I think I'm settling in quite nicely and am growing to love the city. It's difficult to describe what it is exactly that I really enjoy about the city... I think it reminds me a lot of home (home being Canada) in an odd way. The streets are broad and wide unlike most of the other European cities -- the only problem that I'm having here is that it will be any day now that I walk out and finally get hit by on coming traffic - considering that I am constantly looking the wrong way (almost got run over by a bus in Dublin... and still haven't learned). Also alluring is that Liverpool seems to be a blue collar town therefore making the people much more friendlier and life here is genearlly laid back.

So... this is what occupies my time here in Liverpool for the moment. I don't predict any major changes in the near future -- Ideally I'd like to stay here until the end of August and then mosey on some where else for a while...but we'll see when the time comes really.

And the winner is...

Drum roll please... Liverpool. I'm sure you could have guessed it. I quite liked this little town my first time around and knew immediately that I would come back. There was just something in the air... It seemed perfect to me.

I am on the coast of the Irish Sea and in the town where the Beatles made a name for themselves. What more could I ask for? Liverpool is a rather small city, may be I like it because in some ways it reminds me of Ottawa, but with a British Twist. It's population is just around half a million and the core of the city itself is small and walkable. The people here are friendly, but at times I struggle to understand exactly what they are saying when they speak -- who would have thought that there would be a language barrier for me. The accent here is a combination of your traditional British accent coupled with some mumbling...

Work? Yeah.. that would be nice. At the moment I am living and working at a hostel. We've negotiated a deal ... I volunteer some hours a week offering my excellent skills as a front desk receptionist and in return, I get to live and stay there for free. Can't go wrong. It does however provide me with the motivation that I need to get out and look for a real job. Ahh.. a real job. I'm anxious to become a contributing and functioning member of society again... I'm not sure how functional I'll be or what I'll be contributing to... only time will tell.

I've been back in Liverpool for about 4 days and I've managed to get myself a library card and a bank account -- not a bad start. The real trick is to find a job... it's difficult to wrap my brian around working a minimum wage job that pays only £5.50 an hour. It sounds like so little... I guess it is in a way. I'm afraid my university incarceration isn't going to get me much further ahead over here. Office work pays just on or pound more and it would bore me to death... so I've opted for the former option and will hope to find a place on the other side of the bar again -- at least there's a chance to have some fun and be social... no longer incarcerated to a cubicle. Yuk!

That's it for me at the moment. Somedays are better than others you know? Looking for a job is a full time job, and not always a fun one.

What is fun is mocking the (and I quote) "style" over here... let's just hope that I don't return back to Canada wearing the very popular polyester half dress, half shirt top... or the "city shorts" with lycra nylon things underneath... oh my! Alcohol consumption is something else over here as well... tricky to avoid especially when you're manager brings you beer and cider while you're working the front desk.

So with that, I'm going to dive into Liverpool life and try to escape unscaved by the fashion and beer belly (which is seemingly in style with the some of the ladies...compliments the the nice polyester tops... but that's a different story).

Thomastown, Ireland

"Good news Claire!"

--Did you get time off of work?

"The restaurant closed so we got let go and now you can come whenever you want."

--So, I take the train to where?

"Thomastown."

--So I want to be going to Thomastown?

"Not many people do, but yep that's where your going. I'll wait for you at the train station because there aren't many women around Thomastown and I wouldn't want someone to steal you from the station."

Who would have thought being fired was good news? Chris, that's who! This was my introduction to Thomastown that I'd received over the phone with my great friend Chris who I'd met in my hostel days in Victoria, B.C.

Thomastown is a little Irish Village about 2 1/2 hours south of Dublin. That's about all I can say about it. Everything was picturesque as Europe has proven to be... but there wasn't much else here but my friend Chris, random occurances, and lots of laughs. Chris gave me the tour and showed me the horizons, which he said were important to see so that you don't forget that there is more to the world than Thomastown. I thought he was joking when he said this to me, except when I walked into his kitchen and saw the message posted up on the wall... I just about died with laughter.

Jagerbombs away! Okay, only had one for old times sake, but boy was it good. We had lots of catching up to do and were just in awe that I was actually in Ireland. We had some laughs about the good old days and some new ones -- like the random occurance of underpants that littered the streets of Thomastown. How does one lose their underpants on the street??? Guess may be one too many Guiness's could do that to a person.

The next day was one of those days... 5 movies and the couch is what happened to us. Plans foiled for our super work out and jogging day. Oh well...collecting wood for the fire place was work out enough for that day.

















Being in Thomastown was great. I doubt many people would say this... but I will. I'd spent a total of 3 nights here with Chris and his flat mate Tim and let me tell you, these boys know how to live and certainly knew how to cook. The meals that I had here had rivaled any restaurant that I'd ever been in. It was like I was at some elite spa -- the plates were colourful and creative and more importantly, healthy and all vegetarian. Oh my.

We spent most of our time around the townhouse... they planted their organic garden in the back yard and planned meals all day, while we had the occassional drink and enjoyed the sun. Mojito's had been the drink of choice this time around -- we couldn't let the fresh mint in the garden go to waist. Okay, so judging by that photo -- perhaps we could have slacked off a little bit from the mohito's.

There were nothing but good times to be had here. We sat around and simply enjoyed life. Good meals, a wonderful fire place and the funniest of company with the most random of occurances.
Thomastown is the last destination of my travels around Europe... was great to meet up with old friends and with that... and without further adew, here are the boys responsible for my week end of good laughs.

Chris & Tim

Dublin, Ireland

I was too tired to care. That would be how I would answer your question if you asked me what my first impressions of Dublin were. Nicole and I had boarded our first train at 7 am that morning -- 3 trains later, a long ferry ride, and a long wait for the public bus we had finally arrived in Dublin at about 11pm that night. This was also the day that my MP3's player decided to go on the brink, excellent timing.

Dublin... um.. yeah... well just think of every Irish pub that you'd been in your entire life and then put them all in one square and call it Temple Bar. The lonely planet guide quotes Dublin as boasting of some 850 pubs... that's just nuts! The pubs, just like they are were you are at this moment are not filled with people -- but rarely any Irish. Granted, we were in the tourist area. The unique thing about the Dublin Pub experience was that there was plenty of Live Irish Music going on.





The first night was a quiet one as you could well imagine. All I wanted when I got to Ireland was some Bailey's... one would think that it would be cheaper here considering, but I was still dishing out a whopping 5 Euro's for a shot, therefore, making it even more expensive than ordering it at a pub at home. Rubbish.

The second night had proved more promising... Nicole and I had agreed to meet up in a pub the next evening. I found myself there first and by the time Nicole had arrived I'd found myself caught up with a group of guys celebrating their birthday wearing pink shirts and having to drink 57 pints each in the span of 3 days. They had stacks of coasters in their pockets to mark the pubs that they'd hit and had used black markers to write on their arms to keep track of each pint consumed. These drunkards had attracted a crowd and provided a great form of entertainment and before we knew it Nicole and I were just standing back and taking in the show and having a great laugh.

We'll never know what became of these very intoxicated birthday boys... as I'd realized that I was old and tired and still sickly... I had to bow down by mid night before I turned into a pumpkin and found comfort in my dorm on my top bunk. Since when did I become all responsible like that??? I left going on about having to get up early to take the train... oh my god, what has become of me???

Speaking of the early morning train... you'lll never guess who I ran into on my way there in the morning. Our old friend Fido Dido! I'd always wondered where he went, as it turns out it seems as though he picked up and made a new home in Ireland... living here inconspicuously amoung the billboards. I just had to snap a photo for old times sake.



Dublin was a small city. A river ran through it and there were plenty of walking bridges. We checked out some museums and a castle or two. My quest while I was in Dublin was to find a new journal -- and if you know me, I'm quite particular about what I'll write in. So my day was spent looking for a journal to keep me sane and with great luck and way too much money later -- I found exactly what I was looking for. That was basically it for me in Dublin. My travels are catching up with me and my body is beginning to revolt. I'm tired, feeling sick most of the time, and am losing motivation... blah.



So, yeah... Dublin. It was alright.

Pilsdon, England

Okay, so I wasn't really sure where I was going this time around. I had a vague idea and Nicole would be there so I was up for an adventure. After a train, a bus, a train and another bus I had finally arrived at the train station where Nicole was there to collect me to bring finally show me where she'd been keeping herself busy for the last few months. I went to spend Easter Week end with her where she was now working on a self sustaining community out in the middle of the rolling green pastures of South Western England -- affectionally known as the Pilsdon Community.


Pilsdon community for those of you are wondering is a place where people go to sort their lives out. It's like taking a time out from everything to collect your thoughts, dust yourself off and get on with it life again. Very peaceful and a strong knit community.

Pilsdon community was like something I'd never seen before -- I sort of felt like Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie and was about to live my own version of the simple life on this farm, except I'd like to think that I had a little bit more smarts about the whole situation. There were cows, chickens, geese, ducks, pigs, donkey's and chickens there to great me and some of the most lovely people that I could have hoped to come across to spend Easter week end with.


The place was busy with life. There was a larger than usual group of people there for the Easter week end, but everyone seemed to have an assigned role within this little community in order to keep things going. There was someone hanging the laundry, someone milking the cows twice a day, feeding the chickens, shaping the butter that was made from the cows milk, preparing dinner and planning out tomorrows lunches. Brilliant. I had suddenly been reverted back to when I was 5 years old and had been visiting a farm... I was estatic.



There was this huge house that was the hub of activity. It was so big that it was maze like to me and I often wandered in and out of rooms wondering how I ended up there. There was always someone doing something to peak my interest in this place and I wondered how I could ever find the motivation to leave -- I thought this was all so amazing.



If there was a place where I could say that I ate myself chubby it would be here. Breakfast at 8-8:30, morning tea with biscuits at 11 am, lunch at 1pm, afternoon tea & toast at 4pm and finally dinner at 7 pm with dessert. Oh my. There were plenty of first there for me and everyone had a good laugh about it -- little things that they had taken for granted in life were the things I'd never had eaten ever. It was mind boggling to them that they asked if I had heard of grocery stores where I'd grown up. Rice pudding, lamb, parsnips, custard were amoungst the few things that I hadn't ever eaten. At Meal time one of the men would turn to me and crack a joke about my inexperience with English food... it was a great time.



As I eventually blended myself into the group I too was delegated duties, but didn't mind one bit. Nicole had allowed me to help her plan and make lunch one day which as it turned out, was a 4 hours job, beginning at 9:30 am to have lunch prepared for 1 pm. Wow. Another time I was able to make bread for everyone and of course, since I had been given the opportunity to be in the kitchen again I couldn't very well go without making some banana bread for everyone. Even making Banana Bread was an adventure -- I realized that I didn't have enough eggs. Forget about going to the grocery store... I was sent straight to the chicken coop and got my eggs straight from under the hen. A friendly reminder as to where our food really comes from... I felt so guilty taking the eggs from under this hen that I would have rathered to not make banana bread... but that would just be silly.


Nights were spend sitting around talking over tea and playing some scrabble. It was great. I had the opportunity to hear stories from other travellers like myself, some who had been travelling with a bag on their back for up to 25 years. Each person had their own charm and amazing stories -- I was in heaven.

We took walks out into the country side. The country side had the greenest pastures I'd ever laid eyes on and were littered with life. Sheeps and lambs were everywhere and the growns of cows filled the air along with baaa's of the sheep, it was surreal. I found myself a favorite spot, it was called Pilsdon Pen. It was one of the highest peaks around and I would hike up there daily just to lay in the sun and take it all in. It was a nice place to collect my thoughts and to realize just how lucky I am.

The mountain that I loved sitting up on...and what's got me to all of these great places....

I had spent a total of 4 nights there and although I secretly had no intentions of leaving, the expanding wasteline of mine had lead me with no other choice but to go. While I was there I had made some great connetions with both the workers and the people living there so, as it stands, I've received an invitation to go back and I will surely will not pass that up.