Hellga
Upon arriving in our hostel in Berlin two things were immediately noticeable:
1: Our hostel had a very obvious Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy theme.
2: Our roommate was a 50 year old German women who spoke no English.
These facts together made coming back to the hostel each night both hillarious and unsettling at the same time. Our roommate (Hellga, we’ll call her) ran away from her family after her husband of 35 years died in a horrible car accident while travelling abroad. Every night before she went to bed (which was around 7:30pm) she would arrange what she would wear the next morning on a chair, read his final letter, and then cry herself to sleep. At least this is the life Nicole and i assigned to her once we realized that, being able to speak no English, she would never be able to prove us wrong. Tragic, really.
Because she both went to bed and got up so early, we never got to have an actual conversation with Hellga. Also, the whole we-don’t-speak-German-you-don’t-speak-English thing got in the way of meaningful dialouge. Despite this fact, there are some things we did know for sure about her. She did fold her black skirt and ruffled blouse very carefully. She dissapproved of us coming to bed at 10pm, let alone 5:30am, a dissapproval shown through the light on her indiglo watch and a “harumph.” She snored like a banshee.
One night Hellga’s deep German snores were interrupted as she woke up suddenly and flipped on a flashlight that she must have been keeping next to her bed. Nicole, having brought earplugs on the trip, had already fallen asleep, leaving me the only witness to her rude awakening. She proceeded to turn her flashlight on and off about 7 times before letting her old-lady-flatulance get the best of her, falling back asleep, and filling the room with her epic snores once more.
Prague
After taking the last night train of our European Adventure, we arrived in Prague tired and groggy. Night trains were the worst part (aside from Paris of course) of the entire trip. They left us worn out and cranky. It is next to impossible to get a good night’s sleep on a night train. Unless, of course, you are a smelly, snoring French man in a cabin with two light-sleeping Canadians. Then you get the best sleep of your entire life.
Our most interesting stop in Prague was a toy museum that we just happened to be walking by in Prague Castle. While deciding whether or not we wanted to go in, Nicole noticed a sign for a Barbie exhibit and immediately made the decision for both of us. While i originally wasn’t too excited to see an exhibit based solely on a doll that i had little to no connection with, it ended up being both enlightening and hilarious. Watching the progression of Barbie’s various looks is like watching a fashion timeline. Historically, she has always been on the cutting edge, simultaneously telling little girls what they should achieve and what they never will. My favourite, by far, was the Fetus Barbie:
Eating in Prague was a treat. Being raised on hearty Irish/British pub food, i learned at an early age that on a cold rainy day, little will make one feel better then a good gravy with a carb-based food-sponge. Enter goulash. During a rain storm, Nicole and i ducked into a pub for goulash and hot mulled wine.
After indulging Nicole’s unsuccessful quest for the location of her favourite scene in Mandy Moore’s Chasing Liberty for as long as i could, we drank some Czech absinthe and went out for a nice Italian dinner. We ended up spending most of the dinner laughing hysterically (at what, i can’t remember) and filling up on bread and garlic/herb butter. Delicious.
Bern
Trying to get out of Barcelona was more then an ordeal. They have two sets of windows at the train station, one that organizes connections for you and another where you actually buy the ticket. The former can not see whether or not a train is sold out and the latter can not check how to get from Point A to Point B. This created a situation in which Nicole and i were forced to go back and forth from window to window until we found a connection that got us out of Barcelona. We were trying to get to Italy but when the only option was a 22 hour train ride that we “might” make all the connections for, we decided to cut it from the trip.
We eventually got tickets to the town of Mullhouse where we would have to get another train to Bern, Switzerland. We got beds on a night train thinking that they would be comfortable enough to sleep through the train ride. Our compartment ended up being smaller then some closets i´ve been in with a total of 6 beds, 4 of which did not seem to be held up by anything more then seat belts. Nicole and i chose to fall asleep on the bottom bunks to avoid adding any extra weight to the already precarious beds. At some point in the night the door to our compartment opened at 4 French men came in wanting us to get off of their beds. There ended being a ticket confusion, made worse by the fact that we were half asleep and English. Nicole and i moved up to the top bunks just in time to see what must be the only obese person in all of Europe climb into the middle bunk. If we were still on the bottom beds i would have to worry about being crushed by this seat-belt-snapping man and Nicole would have had a perfect view of his ass crack, which i can only assume he was rather proud of.
We decided to take a breather in Bern. After moving from country to country with barely enough time to catch our breath we thought that this quiet mountain town would be a perfect chance to recharge our batteries. Plus, after discovering that a McDonalds meal in Bern costs about $13 and there is no restuarant with an average menu price below $25 we thought buying some fruit at the grocery store and staying in would be the best idea. The hostel had a selection of movies but ultimately the only thing they had that interested us was various VHS copies of Friends episodes. We ate oranges, watched Friends and German MTV, and played Skip-Bo with two Australians.
Next stop: Prague!
BCN
After spending the night in our lovely Best Western hotel room in Nice, Nicole and i took a 13 hour train ride to Barcelona, Spain. Getting from Spain to France was a ridiculous hassle. For some reason the computers in French train stations don’t connect with the computers in Spanish train stations. After trying multiple times in Paris to get a ticket we finally got one out of Nice and took the scariest and bumpiest train ride through the Pyrenees Mountains.
Barcelona was a blast. Our hostel was perfectly designed for meeting fellow travellers. We hadn’t been at the hostel more then 20 minutes before we met two New Zealanders and a man from Iowa. After asking the Kiwis multiple questions on The Flight of the Conchords we played a game of Celebrities and then headed to a cowboy bar. Cowboy bars in Spain are much different then cowboy bars in Calgary. For one thing, there’s not really anything cowboy about them. For another, they actually play good music! At the bar we met a gigantic group of Irish college students who told us about their post-retro-political-rock-punk band (which later turned out to be a lie).
One of the best parts about Spain is the siesta. This amazing invention is more then just a occasional nap to the Spanish. It’s a way of life! Many places actually close down after lunch for two hours so the employees can go home to take a nap.
After a busy morning of sightseeing, Nicole and i returned back to the hostel for our siesta and found our two roommates there for the same reason. Post-siesta we introduced ourselves and made new friends, this time from Poland. I hadn’t realized how much i didn’t know about Poland until i actually met a Polish person. I didn’t feel bad about it, though, considering all they knew about Canada was Celine Dion and Bryan Adams. We spent the rest of our time in Barcelona together hanging out and sharing cultural secrets.
What surprised me most about my conversation with our new friends was how much we had in common. With over 7000km of space between us and a very different cultural history/background/language, i was shocked to realize we had such similar tastes in tv, movies, music etc…
Meeting fellow travellers has been such a highlight on this trip so far. Sure, i can learn about another culture from its architecture, its museums, its pamphlets and postcards. But nothing beats the first hand accounts from actual live people with personal opinions and subjective insights. Delightful.
The South of France
After a less then amazing time in Paris, Nicole (my new travel partner!) and i headed down to the South of France. Our first stop was Bordeaux, a small town famous for its architecture and its wine. And believe me, both were rather nice. We spent the day poking into shops and marvelling at the vast number of well dressed individuals. If there’s one good thing that can be said about Europeans, it’s that they don’t go out looking like they just rolled out of bed.
For lunch we stopped in a small open air cafe and had chocolate crepes and red wine. Delightful. That night we caught a night train down to Nice, which is quite nice (a pun i couldn’t help making every chance i got). This small town on the French Riviera blew me away with views and sights i didn’t expect to find anywhere in Europe. At times, if it weren’t for the French signs everywhere, i would have thought i was in Hawaii.
Going to Nice was a very spur of the moment idea so when we arrived in the town we didn’t have anywhere to stay. After seeing an ad for a hostel with lots of young fun looking people in it we decided to test our luck. These ads could not have been more deceiving. The hostel was run by a very scary (but also very sad) looking older French woman who had apparently turned her apartment into a hostel. When we got up to her floor we found a messy, dilapitated room crammed with bunk beds. After sitting on the bed trying to decide whether or not we would stay we noticed a suspiciously dead looking body under one of the covers. Needless to say, it did not take long for us to grab our stuff and find the nearest Best Western.
The City of Lights
I really wanted to like Paris. As a hopeless romantic, movies like Paris, je t`aime and Amelie had me expecting a quaint beautiful city that i would fall in love with immediately. Sadly, this was not the case. Due to an unfortunate string of events my impression of Paris has been marked, assumably for ever.
My first day in Paris was spent seeing the three big sites for which Paris is known. The first, the Eiffel Tower. It was neat but ultimately pretty boring and tacky. After the Eiffel Tower i walked over to the Arc de Triomphe. This structure (which apparently was originally built to commemorate Napolean`s victories but was stopped when he started losing battles (yay learning!)) is really awesome but unforunately placed in the middle of one of the biggest traffic circles in the world. It`s hard to appreciate a giant work of art when surrounded by scary French drivers. Once i was done admiring the mind-boggling amount of cars circling the Arc de Triomphe i crossed the Seine and went to the Notre Dame de Paris. This cathedral is breathtaking from the outside but an immediate disspointment on the inside. When i was in London i spent over two hours in Westminster Abbey exploring and admiring every little detail. Notre Dame de Paris, however was more sad then anything. Very obviously not taken care of, i would go as far as saying parts of it even looked dilapidated. Once i came across what (i´m hoping) was a month old Christmas display of a lifesize nativity scene complete with cotton batting, Christmas tree lights, and a projection screen i decided it was time to go.
My biggest problem with Paris itself is the general feeling that it`s just not taken care of. The metro is old and clunky with ugly stations that appear to not have been cleaned in decades. There is graffiti everywhere but none of it is any good; Paris is littered with Sharpie tags. Even Euro-Disneyland showed signs of wear and ill-care and for a Disney park, that is an insult of the highest order. Maybe this grittiness is what so many people before me find so romantic about Paris. Or maybe to really enjoy this city one needs to be able to spend hundreds of Euros a day.
To top off my less then bright stay in the City of Lights, while walking around the Louvre (which is crowded and overrated) my ear started bleeding. It was as if my body was so upset by this city that the only way it could think of to let me know was to cause me to go deaf in my left ear.
On British Musicals
While in London i met up with my British friend. She showed me around the city and told me all about what it’s like to be a Londoner. One thing that I find fascinating about England is their apparant lack of taste. Many people will angrily jump on that statement and quote bands like The Beatles or The Rolling Stones, scribes like William Shakespeare or the comic genius of Mr. Bean. While i do not deny the fact that excellent music/theatre/tv has come out of England in the last few centuries that doesn’t change the fact that we’re talking about a place whose idealization of reality tv and pop stars surpasses even our ‘friendly’ neighbours to the South. An interesting thing about the reality tv here, though, is that its immense popularity has created a loop whereby reality tv shows like X-Factor create pop stars that will later end up on a season Celebrity Big Brother.
This brings me to my first foray into British theatre: We Will Rock You. At first glance this looked like a flawless idea for a musical. Set to the music of Queen, it takes place in a dystopian future where all music is manufactured by machines and actual instuments are banned. Based on the success of such discography-turned-musicals of ABBA and the Beatles i was more then a little intrigued. To top it all off, We Will Rock You has been on the London stage for 7 years. In a city where a new musical will open and close in the same month, i couldn’t go wrong.
Where to begin on how wrong I was…
Sets
I was immediately confused as to where the budget for a musical that has been around for 7 years could possibly go. A futuristic rock-opera can do better then screens showing Microsoft Word clipart and computer animation that would have looked cutting edge 10 years ago.
Plot
Essentially, the plot is a cheap ripoff of The Matrix with Queen songs squeezed in between actual progression. There were holes in so many places, i don’t even know where to start. Certain situations were obviously just slotted in to fit a popular Queen song that otherwise would have made even less sense. Fat Bottom Girls, for example, had no place in the plot, but a random pointless song break with the only “well rounded” women was apparently necessary. This is easily compared to Mamma Mia, where the creators were hindered by a pre-existing set of lyrics and yet seemlessly meshed each song into the plot.
Irony
Throughout this whole experience i couldn’t help thinking that the musical comes across as being unintentionally ironic. Throughout the performance the characters make jokes about how music was destroyed by Simon Cowell and reality tv. The whole point of the show, in fact was to point out how horrible the British mainsteam music scene has become. Ultimately, though, We Will Rock You ends up being a soulless pop musical with as little staying power as the very pop stars it tries to make fun of. Well, at least anywhere but England.
A Good Pub is Hard to Find
While in the UK i have been on a quest to find the perfect British pub. There is nothing i enjoy more in this world then good, rich, warm pub food. Where else would i find such delicacies like fish and chips, sheaperds pie and bangers and mash then jolly old England. However, what i’ve found has not been exactly what i was expecting. While the food has been warm and delicious it’s the atmosphere that seems strangely off. Everything is so bright and clean. The music is either pop songs from the 90s or dance songs from the early 2000s.
I was about to give up hope when i ambled into a pub called Blackbirds in Earl’s Court. At first i was disappointed by the bright lights and sound of George Michael’s pleading voice telling me to “hold onto his freedom.” All was lost. My time in London was almost up and Blackbirds was my last chance. It was then that four Irish guys sat behind me at a table barely meant for one. I could barely understand i word they said (or yelled, rather) but it completely gave the atmosphere a pub-like feeling.
First Stop - London
I have decided to start my European Adventure (which is its official name, by the way) in London for a number of reasons. To start with, it’s the only European city with direct flights from Calgary. Words cannot describe the deep rooted hatred i have for indirect flights. Changing planes in a different city is inconvenient, confusing and adds hours to an already long flight. Second, i have been to London before and therefore am more comfortable being wide-eyed and alone here. Third (and most importantly), London was chosen as my first stop because, apparenty, they speak English here. Being able to actually communicate with strangers is nice when i don’t have to phonetically read everything i have to say off of the translator app on my iPhone.
After a sleepless 9 hour flight i made it to my hotel room, only to find it smaller then most dorm rooms i’ve been in. I knew that the price i was quoted was too good to be true and this proved that i was right. Trying to distract myself from my tiny accomadations i turned on the television to see what British tv had to offer. Three of the nine channels this box received were playing Celebrity Big Brother. If working in a store that sells British tabloids has taught me anything, it’s that British people love two things: celebrities and reality tv.
After a long process of deciding whether or not i need my own bathroom (i do) i decided to upgrade my room. My new room was only slightly larger, due to the addition of a toilet and shower, and the only channel its tv gets is always playing blurry football (sidebar: i’ve been forcing myself to call soccer football in my head for fear that i will say the word soccer outloud, while in this continent, and be murdered).
This hotel may have many faults and oddities (like the proud proclamation of the two star rating they received from the Best of Britain; or the fact that none of the people that work here are British) but ultimately it’s quite cozy. Because there are maybe five other people staying in this hotel it didn’t take long for the staff to recognize me and call me by name. Also there is an adorable little bar set up in the lobby that serves delicious Boddingtons. I’m sure i can make this work.
Limbo
I have graduated.
That’s it. I’m done. I’ve spent the last 17 years of my life in school and now…
…well now something else happens. Everyone seems to know what the next step is for me. They call it “the real world,” they call it “life.” I hadn’t realized i had been in a magical fantasy land where books teach you things and essays appear out of mid-air but apparently it’s high time i stopped playing make believe and start being “real”.
What a dumb cliche. I’m making a promise right now to never say the words “the real world” to a recent grad for the rest of my life.
So. Now that i’ve left school the obvious next step is a career right? Wrong! I have decided instead to flee the country. That’s right, i’ve embarked on the post-grad Eurotrip (speaking of cliches). This, to me, feels more like a magical fantasy land, a break from the “real world”. I have put everything on hold and entered a sort of limbo where nothing in my life will progress. A purgatory, but a really fun exciting purgatory.
More to come!
