Fear and Loathing in Europa

Portugal and Retrospect

serious — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 04:47:00 GMT

I've seen the efficiency of German flirting first hand and the process is systematic. I've seen a relationship dissolve over an argument whether a plastic cup could be called a glass. I've been told by a Portuguese girl, in passing, that I looked exactly like her ex-husband; she looked 15. I've had a philosophical discussion with a French existentialist whilst 10 drinks deep. These fragments, separate and disjointed comprise of a single night in Lisbon. I write these things down in the hope that I will retain them but they're all transient. That's what makes them so amazing. The fact that you get to share these moments with amazing people makes them even greater. Travellers tend to form relationships at hyper speed. In two days time you'll find yourself sharing inside jokes, latent fears and secret hopes. The people I meet in hostels all tend to share a common quality of openness. They're opinions are usually very liberal but they accommodate the views of others. With the exception of one individual. His name is Ryan, he's from Australia and the following rant is inspired by him. “To all of the pretentious fuckers out there that believe your cuffed pants and typewriters give you a sense of superiority over the layman, do us all a favour and drink a quart of bleach. Your vaguely researched interest in middle east politics doesn't impress me. Or your European cross-legged, too bored to care demeanour. You're originality is a copy of a copy. If you were authentic in any sense of the word you wouldn't look like a fucking H&M ad, so don't come down on the “masses” until you accept the fact that you're a follower too. I'm not preaching from a soap box by any means so let me curtail your rebuttals before you spew them. I bend to society's whims at times, I have no illusions of otherwise. But I refuse to scoff at others while holding onto a fragile bohemian, intellectual persona that's more trite than a frat boy. Take your carefully choreographed party monologues about Faulkner and Faulk yourself.” But as I was saying, the majority of people I meet are genuinely cool and not Ryans. Most sit engaged, listening rather than silently waiting to talk. Its refreshing. And Portugal makes for the perfect setting to meet such people. The city is like a breathing entity, it swells and compresses with the ambient swirl of trams, markets, beggars and music. My God the music. These people exude rhythm at every turn. Nowhere else in Europe did I find a culture that felt the music more than the Portuguese. Maybe the Irish could rival them but their musical expressions are of a different style. Most Irish music is either deliberately sorrowful and thought-provoking or a high energy controlled chaos. Portuguese music is baby making music. Percussive and aggressively rhythmic, you have to be dead inside not to move to this music. Lisbon, itself, is stunning. It'd be easiest to think of it as a culturally rich San Francisco without Danny Tanner. The nightlife is incredible here as well. My first night I did a pub crawl (still not sick of these yet) and walked, nay, stumbled into a bar that Ben Harper happened to be playing in. The venue was intimate to say the least. I stood packed tight against the soft sweaty flesh of a local for an hour but loved every second of the show. That's probably what I've enjoyed most about Europe. You can have some of the best experiences of your life solely by chance. You can be in a market in Barcelona when a group of marching drummers spontaneously arrive and break into a routine. Those kinds of things happened to me constantly. Even the less fortunate experiences I've had like getting hit by a fiat in Rome, losing my phone to the Mediterranean or having no access to money in London have all had a hidden benefit to them. They've taught me how to react to the bad. There have been moments on this trip where I've been impervious to stress because I look back at the tougher situations I've been in. I appreciate everyone who has wished me well and I'm grateful for those of you that were able to make it through these journals. I would recommend a trip like this to anyone. Go alone, you'll learn a lot about yourself and you'll be compelled to meet as many people as you can. You'll find that the travellers and locals you come across are usually willing to help. At the risk of sounding like a cliche, I'll end with a quote from Marky Mark Twain. “ Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” Seacrest out.

Greece in 300 words

serious — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 19:27:00 GMT

I'm living in a postcard. But its not merely the beauty of this country that has made me enjoy Greece so much. A country on the precipice of change, Greece blends the ancient with the modern. The architecture is sun baked and flaking, paint peeling from years of scorching Grecian summers. But at the same time there's a vigorous energy to the city led by their recusant youth. I found myself in the midst of a general buzz everywhere I went. I missed the newsworthy protests by two days but I could still sense the momentum it had stirred. There have been cities in Europe where I've felt this dichotomy of the old and the new but nowhere was it more visible then in Athens. Accompanied by two Canadian sisters I met, we took on the Acropolis our first day there. Despite the engulfing throngs of tourists, the experience still inspired awe. You can actually feel the age of the stone under your feet. Its slippery smooth surface sanded down by innumerable footsteps makes the possibility of breaking one's ass very high. The climb itself wasn't too arduous despite the 29 degree dry heat. Maybe the heat only seemed to be an afterthought because of the amount of sights that held my immediate attention. The Parthanon and theatre of Dionyses were my favourite of the lot but they were only a few of many. The view alone from the summit would have been enough for many though. Getting back to the people of Greece itself, I guess I can best explain them through an interaction I had at a bar later that night. Being pretty green in my knowledge of the city, we decided to head out of the hostel and try to let our ears guide us to a spot. We ended up following a trail of Michael Jackson to a grungy bar down a side street. I want to be clear that when I say grungy I don't mean seedy or dangerous but rather, raw or unpretentious. The interior felt similar to a house party just before it gets busted by the cops. The patrons were drunk but playful. There wasn't any of the bullshit machismo or crying girlfriend crescendos that I've come to hate in North America. Just genuine people having fun; with ouzo. Ouzo, for the unfamiliar is an alcoholic beverage distilled from the sweat of Lucifer. It will fuck you without foreplay, steal your wallet and say obscene things about your mother. But I digress. Getting back to the Greeks, there was a particular moment when we were chatting outside when a guy approached me and asked how I heard about the bar. Evidently, we had stumbled upon a local spot and were coming off as painfully Canadian. I was waiting for the inevitable territorialism to come next, but instead he just smiled and said welcome to Greece. This exchange seemed to encapsulate the attitudes of every Greek we encountered, consistently helpful and congenial (With the exception of one experience which must be recounted in person, involving physical gestures and necessary impersonations). For people who have been posited into such dire financial situations by their government I was amazed at their positive outlook. Now I'm not going to be so arrogant as to think that I've seen the true underbelly of Greek society in a week, but I can only comment on my experience. Tourists will never fully penetrate the layers of stoicism and forced hospitality to reach the full truth, but I can confidently say that I never felt that my presence was oppressive in some way. Maybe they were just happy to see that not everyone had dismissed Greece as having nothing to offer. And really if one were to do an inventory of the mouthwatering food, azure water, beaches, history and nightlife of the place, you'd have to be insane to write it off. Just go to Greece already you asshole.

Austria, with a taste of Rome

serious — Wed, 10 Oct 2012 02:59:00 GMT

Innsbruck Austria

There's nothing settling about being awakened at 1am by Austrian police asking to see your papers. This unfortunately was my reality the first night that I got to Innsbruck. I arrived there around 8pm after a 6 hour train ride from Vienna. When I got to my hotel, the clerk at the reception informed me that my reservation wasn't in her database. After showing her my confirmation documents she said, “sorry there must have been a clerical error, but unfortunately we're booked for the night”, basically a polite and articulate go fuck yourself. After my rejection I tried 14 different hostels and hotels only to be greeted with similar results. I learned that the city was so full due to an animal festival that weekend. Apparently painted goats have a lot of drawing power in Western Europe. So I said screw it, found a secluded park bench and sprawled out on my pack. This was around 10pm. Three hours later I was startled awake by the aforementioned gestapo. He gave me two options an Austrian jail cell or a bed and breakfast he knew halfway up the mountain that would have vacancies. I chose the latter despite the cab and nightly rate totalling 120 euros. The next morning I did the reasonable thing which was to set out to jump off of the 600 foot high Europabruck bridge. I should mention that I intended to bungee jump. I'm not good enough of a writer to be suicidal. When I got to the platform you can probably imagine the neurotic fireworks spectacle that was occurring in my mind. You know that nausea you get when you look over the edge from great heights and imagine the rail breaking causing you to plummet headfirst? No? Well those who do, its like that plus the knowledge that you will willingly be doing that in moments. I've never been one to get weak in the knees but this time was an exception. Heart palpitations, dry mouth, tight stomach, 3, 2, 1. I've never bungee jumped before but I can tell you that its worse than skydiving. With skydiving, during my free fall I couldn't tell how fast I was going because the ground looks too far off. With bungee jumping from 200 meters you can tell exactly how fast the ground is coming up to meet you and you're praying that your elastic band lifeline doesn't snap. Thankfully I didn't end up as a statistic. I had survived and was flying on a beautiful cocktail of adrenaline and dopamine. I blame this high for my next decision of the day. My brain was so flooded with epinephrine that I thought why not hike up the Innsbruck Mountains. For more hours than I'd like to admit, I struggled up a trail that rose over 1000meters in elevation. Evidently my diet of schnitzel, sausages and beer weren't great preparation for such a trek. Despite quadriceps cramping, 3 minor slips and other such moments of near ass breakary, I arrived at the ski lift station a sweaty, defeated mess. You'll be happy to know however, that all of the exercise that has benefitted my body in Innsbruck will be destroyed in Munich. Oktoberfest ist good. ( Author's note: The Munich entries are missing due to an ongoing effort to recollect the activities that transpired those 4 days. See Facebook pictures).

Rome Italy

I'm sitting in a rustic hotel room in Rome and through my open window I can hear a medley of two Italians arguing, a child playing and The Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time Out album being blared. That pretty much embodies the Rome I've encountered; passion, joy and culture. There is a bit more hustle to the city than I found in Venice but nothing compared to Londoners. The people manage to get things done in the metropolis while still finding the time to lounge. Afternoon espressos or glasses of wine aren't uncommon on weekdays. There are cafes and ristorantes every few steps and there you'll find people engaged in animated discussions over politics, or football or whatever else I can guess at with my language limitations. Most likely they're flying into heated debates over something mundane but the layman (myself) would never know. Language is a pretty huge barrier when it comes to understanding a culture, but I do know body language and the Italians are the most expressive I've seen so far. As for my personal experience of Rome, I got here three days ago and I'm ashamed to say that I did a sightseeing bus tour the first day. In my defence, it was about 30 degrees and Rome is a pretty big city to cover on foot. The tour delivered at least in the sense that I was able to see the Colosseum, the Pantheon, Spanish Steps, the Vatican, etc. This has been the oldest city I've seen. Its almost incomprehensibly old. This thought struck me when I saw the ruins leading up to the Colosseum. Its hard to remember the soldiers and political leaders that marched down these roads lined now with gelato stands. That's another thing about Rome, I challenge you to walk 4 minutes in any direction in Rome and not find a place that sells gelato. Anyway, my second day I wanted to do my own personal tour of Rome so I set off in the morning for a run. I should have learned my lesson in Dublin; nothing good comes from running in a foreign city. About 3 kilometers into the run (which is much worse than 200 meters into the run) I ran past a crosswalk just as a Fiat was approaching. It was partly my fault for not making eye contact with the driver and partly her fault for not looking. She slammed on the brakes a bit too late and ended up hitting me with her front end. It wasn't too painful though, maybe because I had a heaping dose of rage fuelled adrenaline on my side. I got up ready to drag Jenifer Lopez out of the driver seat then realized it was a little old lady. She looked like she was ready to cry and got out speaking auctioneer-quick Italian that I discerned was an apology. I relented. Back to the hotel I limped, laughing at the irony of being hit by a Fiat in Rome and being able to walk it off. Today I decided to stay low key for obvious reasons and catch up on writing. If anything else noteworthy happens in Rome I'll fill you in.

Berlin

serious — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 20:41:00 GMT

My time in Berlin has been a blur. I've done a walking tour that covered everything from the fall of the Berlin wall to Hitler's bunker to the concentration camps. It was amazing to see the amount of history that surrounds this city. I also attended a pub crawl as previously promised. I met some great people from South Africa as well as an intriguing girl named Maytal who is currently on leave from the Israeli military. She was involved in intelligence which meant I couldn't enquire further or I'd probably be killed. She did seem intelligent. My day today has stretched across two thematic poles for sure. I decided to start walking and ended up finding a place called Museum Erotika. You can probably guess what the subject matter was. It was refreshing after being to the same highbrow museums over and over. The place covered African fertility rituals, women's sexual rights and an abundance of genitalia artwork. After getting my fill of genitals (yes, I'm content with that sentence) I wanted to change gears so I headed to the museum that commemorates the Holocaust. I decided not to take any photographs out of respect but I would highly recommend a visit, even if you're going in blind. Over the course of my trip I've been noting the cultural distinctions between my own upbringing and the places I visit. The Holocaust exhibit reminded me of an important lesson. Although its important to acknowledge our differences there are still universals that unite us as humans. When you hear a statistic like 6 million Jews being murdered its beyond comprehension. Its only when you put a face to the victim that you understand that these were individuals, not just a number. Lovers, parents, children, grandparents, when you read their letters and hear their stories the gravity of it finally hits you. I was affected for at least a few hours after and actually had to grab a beer to decompress. Humanity can seem beautiful and disgusting all in one day depending on how you spend it. But I don't want to meditate on the depressing for too long so I'll leave you with a story of my most awkward experience so far. Being abroad I'm constantly trying to find things to do that I wouldn't ordinarily try in North America. After hearing about the abundance of mixed saunas here in Berlin I decided to give one a shot. So being my bashful Canadian self I went to a bathhouse yesterday thinking it was acceptable to wear swimming trunks. Entering the first sauna, I found only one man in it. A very German, very fat, very naked man. When I entered the gentleman informed me in broken English that it was customary to remove my shorts. Always willing to adapt to the culture I was compelled to drop trou. Then it was just me and an elderly German man sitting nude in silence, which is not as awkward as you'd think. However, the atmosphere changed when the man stood up and walked to the centre of the room. With a look of resolute determination, the gentleman proceeded to raise his towel overhead in a helicopter like fashion. See Petey Pablo. Grunting far more than was necessary the man continued this for a solid 45 seconds. I, not knowing where to look (his penis was at eye level), struggled to stifle my laughter/anxiety before deciding to bail on the spa altogether. I've since learned that the man was simply performing a technique to circulate the air but during the moment it was lost in translation. It taught me an invaluable rule that I will follow for the rest of my time in Europe: no more bathhouses.

London

serious — Wed, 26 Sep 2012 02:13:00 GMT

I'm learning that experience supersedes all. I've studied London specifically through literature and have dedicated countless hours of research compiled into coherent MLA essays and that gave me only a sliver of understanding what this city is like. I'll be honest though, I have a love-hate relationship with this town so far, and since I'm on vacation, we'll start with the dessert. London is without a doubt a very vibrant city. You can't help but get caught up in the energy of it. The slow, laid back pace that I noted in Ireland is nonexistent here. Like most metropolitan cities I'm familiar with the people here are constantly in a rush. No more was this evident than when I was in Waterloo station at 6pm. It looked like a track meet; a track meet of remarkably fashionable sprinters. That's another thing about London, the people here dress immaculately. They can be impersonal at times but that's not to say that they're unfriendly. I could definitely stay here for two weeks without getting bored. The food and nightlife are amazing, couple that with the fact that its also a historical and cultural mecca and its tough to find any faults. Doug generously took me to the National gallery where we saw originals from Renoir, Rembrandt, Van Gough and Monet. I'm not an art buff by any means but I still felt honoured to see the authentic brush strokes first hand. After that we went to St. Paul's Cathedral where I was floored by the architectural expertise of Wren. Apparently the Catholic church has some money, who knew. We ambitiously decided to head to the top of the cathedral which was approximately 400 steps. The lactic acid burn was worth it though as it gave us an unparalleled 360 degree view of London from the top. But now getting back to the bitter entre. As hard as I try, I can't seem to escape the catered tourist experience that pervades every major landmark. For instance, I visited the Tower of London but wasn't able to appreciate the history of the building at all. I had to move with the hordes, gluttonously devouring the moment with pictures. It turned the whole experience into a monotonous routine of shuffle snap shuffle. Just cattle entering the abattoir. There's nothing like eating ice cream on the grounds where martyrs and political activists were tortured. It felt manufactured. At certain points along the tour speakers gave off ambient noises of sword fighting and battle cries. It made it seem too close to a universal studios ride for me. I felt so ripped off that it actually motivated me to head as far east as I could on foot. Free from the tour buses and key chain kiosks I could breathe easier. The stench of sewage and diesel were floral to me. Here the artificial smiles were swapped for grimaces. That sinking feeling in your gut when you see five hard looking strangers heading your way. All they need is a second glance, an excuse. Give me truth or nothing at all. I kept walking towards the docks until my knees throbbed. After wandering for a few hours I found myself in the Whitechapel area. After all of the literature that I read surrounding Jack the Ripper it was surreal to trace his steps. There was a definite uneasy feeling that followed for those blocks. Eventually I headed back towards St. Paul to wait for my friend Denise to arrive from Scotland. As I sit here writing this in a swanky cafe I can only feel gratitude. Regardless of the faults I've found with this city I am still amazed by it and thoroughly happy to be here. I realize that my sober musings don't have that alluring humour punch that my drunken stories have. In Berlin I will rectify this.

Galway

serious — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 20:23:00 GMT

Alright so I've avoided writing partly due to a combination of sleepiness laziness and drunkenness but what I lack in effort over the past few days I will try to make up for in this entry. I did end up making it out to temple bar which turned out to be a fun time, as expected. Mikael and I approached two girls who turned out to be from Philly. They were very sociable young women. They were waiting on an 18 hour layover in Dublin at the tail end of a 3 month backpacking tour. One of the girls actually received a job offer over the phone during a train ride to Venice. They actually turned out to be good contacts if I ever need advice on how to break into the advertising industry. They were also quite attractive, which for nothing else was aesthetically pleasing. The night went well in summation. The next day I made a split second decision to take a bus to Galway. For my Canadian friends and family Galway would be considered a mixture of Guelph Kitchener and London. Huge party/school vibe there. This was the hidden authentic Irish experience that was hiding beneath the surface in Dublin. I decided to do a pub crawl (this is becoming a theme already during my trip, I know). I met some great people there but if I can impart any wisdom from my experience it is this: it is dangerous to try to keep drinking pace with an Aussie. I'm fairly certain that they're nursed on Foster's. As you can probably tell my entries have become less verbose and grammatically polished. This is because I want to actually document the loss of my brain cells. However, before this gets off the rails with digressions I'll return to my prior story. I met an amazing fellow Canuck from Montreal named Marie, an American, a Brazilian and as mentioned, several rowdy Aussies. The weather was torrential rain that seemed to come at us horizontally with the wind. This proved to be testing when switching bars but also unbelievably fun. The night ended at a nightclub where I met a local that just came back from Canada and was enthralled with me simply due to my nationality. And pecs. She was a toucher. Heading back to the hostel I ran into a huge congregation of drunks that moved the party to the front of a convenience store. There guys would periodically take turns trying to climb the light pole while the crowd heckled and often threw things at them. Basically an exercise in drunken futility, though entertaining. So maybe this entry wasn't that great but I'm under some time constraints. I'm currently in Cork about to go get food with my roommate Jordan. He's here from Chicago for culinary school. Seems like a solid guy thus far. Anyway that will probably do it for now. I'll try to make it up to you guys on the next entry.

Dublin Continued

serious — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 05:35:00 GMT

So a fair bit has happened in the past 12 hours or so. I went out on a pub crawl last night which got quite messy. I met a duo of nice New Yorkers. It sounds like an oxymoron but they were legitimately welcoming people. We got properly inebriated then toured a plethora of bars and clubs that I cant seem to recall as odd as that may seem. Had you seen the inventory of my drinks however this information wouldn't be that shocking. We played beer pong at a bar which I feel should be an option for every bar. If you happen to get a pong ball to the head in the crossfire so be it. I also met a lovely local lass named Tanya. Another interesting moment that I left out happened during our cab ride. Apparently a passing motorist told our driver to go back to Africa. Our driver, a native of Senegal was disappointed with this comment as he proceeded to get out of the car to verbally accost the man at the stoplight. Upon returning to the cab our driver flew into a passionate yet disjointed rant about his current affairs and the bullshit he deals with. He had my sympathy. Today I decided to continue touring starting with where Oscar Wilde lived. There was a nearby park that was lusher and greener than Muskoka. I wandered through there for awhile stopping to sit on a bench and look at the pieces of art that were strewn about. I was impressed by how pristine the nature is here. There's an excellent marriage of the old with the new and the manmade with the natural. Being as hungover as I am I'll probably stay low key tonight and go hard tomorrow. That is all.

The Following Day

Today I took the advice of a couple Canadians and went to the village of Houth. It took me about 20 minutes by bus to get there but it might as well have been in another country. I went to the summit and followed one of the trails that lead down to the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic ocean, It was a spectacular view. All I could feel at the time was gratitude. Gratitude for being there and being able to witness the beauty of how the ocean carved out these amazing crevasses into the rock faces. It felt as though it was light years away from metropolitan Dublin. After climbing down the trail I arrived in the village of Houth. It would seem a cliche to call it quaint but I feel there's no better description for the town than that. The ocean side homes were the cottages I always associated with Ireland. It was undoubtedly a fishing town. True to Irish form the day started beautifully sunny and I, not exuding boy scout preparedness failed to bring an umbrella or a raincoat and was thus caught off guard when a thunderstorm rolled in. Luckily enough I was able to seek refuge in a bed and breakfast where I met a warm older couple. They were kind enough to let me stay without buying anything and offered to lend me a raincoat. We talked for about 10 minutes about everything Irish, Canadian and Irish-Canadian. I told them I was grateful for the offer but declined the coat. When I got back to Dublin I decided to go for a run, having recently charged my ipod. This proved to be my downfall as once I started listening to the white stripes I got caught up in the music and lost track of where I was going. A run that was initially meant to be 20 minutes turned into 40 as I desperately tried to trace my way back to the hostel. Eventually I got in just as my new roommates arrived. Three of them were from Sweden and they were friendly and invited me to dinner. We proceeded to get very drunk and they turned out to be some pretty fun people. I had two other roommates as well one from Switzerland and one from Australia. The Australian John gave me some good feedback on Galway, where he'd been 2 weeks before. After hearing this I decided to make a stop over there on my way to Cork. He's retired and has been travelling for the past 7 months which makes my journey seem far less impressive. I think that about sums up the day. I'll probably hit Temple bar tomorrow night as it'll be my last in Dublin. I'll let you know how that goes. Over and out.

Day one, in three parts

serious — Sat, 15 Sep 2012 04:46:00 GMT

SEPTEMBER 8 2012

So my bags are checked and I'm through airport security. Im sitting in the terminal and the predominant thought that keeps running through my internal dialogue is “what in \gods name are you doing. I'm terrified but that is exactly what \i was hoping for. \this whole trip is mainly about pushing back the boundaries of my comfort zone. I will do my best to document my experiences. I can only document what I can recall so I apologize if the Jameson's amnesia strikes me at some point. So far there isn't too many images worthy of description. I'm absurdly early so the terminal is still relatively sparse. The median age for this flight appears to be 67. I'm still debating whether \i should have a preflight cocktail or let my liver enjoy the lack of toxicity for another 24 hours. On the plus side I've never seen a congregation of so many redheads in one place before as in this terminal. Its eerily remniscent of the Weasly family scenes from Harry Potter. Although it'd be a shame to put an end to this poetic first entry I feel that I should leave room for more stirring details than airport articulation.

Part 2

I made it to Dublin and I'm currently running on fumes. Its 9am here but technically 3am in regular time. I shall resist this absurd time zone until \I acclimatize. Until then its irregular and irritating that people are waking up and starting their day. My cab driver \john was a funny guy. Think of an Irish stereotype and you've got him nailed. Quick talking, cursing, driving. Not drunk though shockingly enough. I'm putting that myth to rest until I acquire more evidence. I plan on obtaining this evidence later today at 3. Its an all Irish final for hurling (I will explain the rules of hurling as soon as I know) and I plan on being in the rowdiest bar available at that time. This is a promise I make to myself assuming my body/ consciousness holds out that long. My next entry will be drunken or not at all. This much I promise you, loyal reader.

Part 3

So this has turned into quite the long day. Already I've explored the Guiness brewery, walked aimlessly through both the tourist suburbs and the seedy parts of town. But perhaps the most memorable experience of today had to be watching the all Ireland final at a local pub. I had no idea what was happening throughout the game. It apparently ended in a tie, which means a “replay” on the 30^th . What was most remarkable was the spirit of the Irish in the bar. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it was comparable to Vancouver 2010 for Canadians. The most striking feature of the people I've come into contact with is their genuine nature. There's something akin to earnestness I get from their eyes. I feel like they don\t take life as seriously as North Americans either. Theres a sense of being carefree. Now this is a quick judgement to make less than 24 hours into being here but I'll stick to that judgement until it proves false. This nation makes me feel a preternatural nostalgia. Just knowing that I have blood ties here makes me feel connected to foreign architecture. I can see anamorphic shapes of long lost relatives stalking the same streets separated by time. Goddamn I'm a romantic aren't I? Until tomorrow (barring a late night drunken entry).