Breb, Breb, how I love thee Breb

No, Breb is not a person, I am referring to a place in the Maramureş region of Romania. Well, after a week of being shut out from the rest of technological-savvy, internet splurging rest of the world, I finally have internet again (Sorry Ma, I am still alive - nothing bad has happened to me). It's funny how our lives are so consumed by internet and we don't actually realise until we have no physical access to it... But, that's not the point of this blog. The point is how I have come to love a small village consisting of 400 give-or-take homes.

I've heard from fellow travellers that the Maramureş is the only place where you can see traditional ways of life being lived day in and day out, and that it's a must see. Well, after I arrived in the town of Sighet I walked to the Ukranian border, hitchhiked with a fellow named George simply because the "one shuttle a day bus" didn't show up on the one day, made friends with the local basket maker at the top of the hill, had two shots of horincă, and walked two kms to the Village Hotel, I was finally in for a week of village life. I was awoken bright and early just as the sun crest over the hills to strike light into the blood-shot eyes of those still asleep, and to make the rooster cluck in sequence giving me an all natural' alarm clock. As I woke up, had breakfast and got ready for the day of doing... well I wasn't exactly sure what was in store for me in a tiny village. I walked outside to see that the neighbour was sitting at her land-loom  stringing her sheep's wool into an intricate rug. She smiled politely at me, and I tried to strike up a conversation with her. Silly me, I should have known where I was in the world, I mean, how many people would speak English here? Not many is the answer. After the awkward language-barrier conversation consisting mainly of hand gestures I retreated back into my home to grab a book and some chai.

While trying to be entranced by a book entitled :Along the Enchanted Way, written by some English gent who moved to Breb years back, maybe as a means of escape, I kept getting interrupted by the sounds of horse-drawn carriages trotting past on the rain soaked, mud laid roads. I wish I'd counted how many horse-drawn carriages I'd seen in the small village, but definitely more than cars and tractors combined. 

Another English gent that lives in the village from time to time is Prince Charles, there's a little FYI for you.

Occasionally I would walk past a small house that had pots dangling from the tree branches, and I thought that maybe they were put there to dry out... But, no that's not the case. It is said that when there is a girl in the home who is ready to be married (or what I like to think her parents want her out of the house) they put up the pots to resemble asking her hand in marriage. There are only two times when a girl can move out of the house; marriage, and death. I don't know if that is still the case today, but that's what I was told so I'm sticking to it.

A lot of people are afraid of Gypsies it seems, but I don't understand why. On one sunny day as I was walking about the village I seen a darker skinned man coming towards me from down the hill. Slung over his back were pots that he and his family had made, and he was shouting to all of the villagers in the near-by homes to come and buy them. As I passed him, I smiled and greeted him a good-afternoon, Bună ziua. I seen a sale being made by a Gypsie, it consisted of a pot in exchange for the villagers' walnuts, yes, walnuts. That is how simple life works there in Breb, but I'm sure they would have gladly accepted New Romanian Lei as well. While driving throughout the smaller villages in the Maramureş looking for any junk that we (the owner of the hostel and myself) can buy from the people, we passed by many cars filled with the Gyspie folks whose eyes can strike many images when looked into.

I went picking. Not fruit or vegetable picking, but stuff picking. Have you seen the show American Pickers, or possibly the less heard of Canadian Pickers? Isn't that always the way between Americans and Canadians, the country above are always the less known? I like to think that I was Maramureş picking. Well the owner, a worker and myself strapped on a handmade trailer to the back of the owners new SUV and set off for a day of picking. It's hilarious the contrast between a 4 pieced-wooden trailer with one of the wheels about to fall off, being towed by a spiffy new car.. it attracted many turned heads from the people we passed by (if only I took pictures of their expression on their faces). We found 'heeps', as the Australians would say, of stuff - buckets that must have been used by their great-great grandfathers, dusty trunks from a wife's wedding, wardrobe closets, long benches that practically every house has, horincă holders, to them it was 'junk', to us it was heaven. After he paid them millions of Leis, because in those villages they still work on Millions and haven't come into the real-world money expressions, we took off to unload the new found treasures.

I was fortunate enough to be around on All saints day, or the Day of the Dead in the village. At one of the many wooden churches found the region, the woman dressed in their traditional clothes from toes to head-scarfs accompanied alongside their children and husbands gather with the other villagers to remember those who have died before them and to pay their respects. Throughout the day, I seen candles being slowly lit one-by-one on every grave in the church's graveyard, along with fresh flowers. If a grave didn't have a candle, it wasn't long until one of the villagers came and lit it and stuck it firmly into the moss over top of the grave. Most of the villagers prepare breads and food for everyone, but the priest himself is always given a loaf of bread too. They set up a long table, placed the food and when the time comes everyone who is at the church can dine in. On this day, I seen more horse-drawn carriages with the horses strutting their red tassells said to ward off any evil that may come.

Romania is a place of beauty. It is a different kind of beauty I think. One has to over-look the garbage strewn onto it's landscape, see the decrepit houses from a different perspective and understand the stray dogs. The beauty is from the people. The people have invited me into their homes, offered their 'best horincă' as each of them call it, and shown me true Romanian hospitality - For that, I cannot thank them enough.

As you may or may not realise, I've become fond of Romania. But like all good things, they must come to an end. That is why I find myself in the capital of Bulgaria typing this... Oh, I forgot to mention one little thing. I'm flying out from Istanbul on the 5th of December to Bangkok. 

- Autumo

I guess in life it's all the way you look at a situation. For example, there's some days where you can wake up at 6:30A.M on a squeaky top bunk bed with five other people in a room crammed in there like a can of sardines laid out in the basking summers sun giving off a stench one of else can quite describe. Still in a bit of a haze from the devil-y delicious hot wine you were drinkin' the previous night before at one of the best ruin clubs in town (more on that to come), and suddenly you remember you have a train to catch in under an hour. You can stumble to the nearest metro station with a city map in your hands, buy a ticket determined to make it to the train station at the departure time. There are those times where one can get lost in Budapests underground metro, a city below the city for those who go to work every morning without thinking where they are, or what stop they have to get off at. For them, it comes almost naturally as if they were a zombie dragging their feet onto the subway, ready to eat up the words mumbled from their bosses overused lips. Then, sometimes those zombie people will tell you incorrect trains to get on to help you get to the train station, and eventually you realize you've passed a certain underground stop many time in the past 30 minutes. In cities, there are signs that point the way of 'EXIT' in another foreign language and, well, they can go to the exit, or they can connect to another line that you need and the planners expect everyone to be psychic to know that. Yes, there are times in life when you can be lost below ground, in an unknown city, staring at a clock and it is showing the exact time your train leaves to another city, a.k.a you missed your train and you know the next one is not coming or another two hours.

So, what does one do in a situation like that you might be asking?

Well, my first reaction was to throw down all my bags in the middle of the platform and scream until whatever the hell piece of rubble building lie cemented above me, giving a wake-up call to the unsuspecting people. I could have done that, yeah. Or, I can think to myself 'I'm lost in the labyrinth of Budapests metro city, the capital city of Hungary and I am getting a little hungry too, but I am lovin' it'... I'm not too sure if any of you caught the reference to the McDonalds slogan, for that is where I find myself once again. At the same McDonalds as when I first got into the Holy city of Buda, no wait, I'm on the Pest city of Budapest, forgive me for that. I wonder if McDonalds will sue me for using their trademarked slogan, or possibly, they will pay me lots of money for advertising their company. Hopefully the latter comes true... If only they knew how much of their free WiFi I use.

Seriously, what I am trying to get at is your attitude is all dependent on yourself and how you look at situations, nothing more, nothing less. Look at me preaching like an out dated, missing paged book aptly entitled '100 and one ways of teaching, speaking, and preaching about preaching'. Never heard of it?
It's a classic. 

Also, what I am saying is that we should learn to trust our intuition, and not the finger-pointing of a complete strangers at 7:00 in the morning when your beneath a city. But sometimes, those strangers do help as well. 

At this point in the post I would like to leave you with a quote that I over heard from a fellow genius traveler:

      "Shit doesn't roll uphill..."

No. No it does not, unless of course it is being rolled by someone in the uphill direction then, it would in fact be rolling uphill. But, I don't know who would do that shitty job (Pun).

-Autumo

Getting hungry in Hungary (catchy, ain't it)

Walking out of the train station with my iPhone battery nearly about to die... and I know it has the directions on it about how to get to the hostel. I scramble to find any piece of paper and a working pen in my little backpack before the phone dies to write down how to get to the hostel, but of course, it died. McDonalds has been my savior on more than one occasion, and for several reasons. This time it was trying to avoid the guard standing by the front door pretending like he actually cares for protecting McDonalds from hungry savages, but I escaped him and found an outlet to plug my phone into. Usually I'm going to the fast food giant to grab some disgustingly delicious food because all of the supermarkets are closed, but not this time no, this time in Pest it was different. 

Well, I have been living on the Pest side of Budapest for the past two nights, and staying here either one more night or two. I still haven't made up my mind about that fact yet. My ritual is to find the closest supermarket, preferably Lidl because it is amazingly cheap and has almost everything I need. Lidl is like Costco, expect much smaller and not everything comes in huge quantities like we all have to feed 10 children in our families. For example, I help myself to water by opening up the package that it came shipped in, unless some other thirst quencher has done the deed before me, but I usually end up buying carbonated water considering I can't read the labels. After two months of travelling Europe, I still do not like 'Mineral water', or what ever fancy terms they consider putting on the bottle to increase the price a couple cents. There is a local supermarket around the corner and it is the most money I have ever spent on food to date. I keep glaring at the receipt making sure my eyes are seeing the truth, as it states that I have spent 1,670.00 HUF on four steaks, a pre-made salad, two somewhat ripe apples, an onion and one clove of garlic. But, when I did the calculations from Hungarian forint to Canadian dollars I spent a whopping $7.67, hard to believe ain't it? The dinner was made for the night, but I knew that eventually my stomach would remind me that it needed food again the next day.

So, what to do when I'm hungry in Hungary.

As previously mentioned to those who are actually paying attention and not just skimming through this post, I made non local steaks and a garden fresh salad for the first night. Today after the free walking tour was over I found some traditional Hungarian food. Unfortunately I cannot recall the name of the first delicacy, but kürtős kalács is amazing especially with coconut shavings. Tomorrow I am hoping to find some other traditional food to post them on here to make you all drool some more.

Smoke fried Pork legs, cabbage, onions, lettuce and some white sauce.
1,200 HUF

The chimney desert: kürtős kalács

900 HUF

I'm going to go back a couple nights to when I was in Bratislava, Slovakia. I was thinking 'what can I do differently for my travelling experience', that's when I remembered CouchSurfing. After two days without any replies from any hosts, luckily, some brave soul replied back and said he would put me up for a couple days on his couch in Vienna. We set a time to meet out front of his apartment, I hopped on the train, and set forth for his pad. Now, it's not that I'm cheap... I just like to spend money other ways and not on public transport if I don't have to. I knew it would be a long walk to his house from the train station, but after a nice hour long walk with my backpacks strapped to my back dragging me down with every step I finally made it. I waited for him, and waited until an hour and a half passed by then I decided to find a McDonalds (see where it has been my savior, simply due to the free WiFi) and I booked a hostel.


I messaged him after and thanked him for considering opening up his home to me, which he subtly stated that he had been into a motor bike accident. The first thing that would pop into anyone's head is "yeah right, that's just an overused excuse that you spluttered out to me". He invited me to come back to his apartment for a beer, which I am not overly sure why I agreed to go back, possibly because I wanted to see if he actually got into his so-called accident. Sure enough, I found him with a newly equipped pair of crutches and bruises. Well, we had a beer and he then invited me over to his sisters house because she was making dinner. For the first time in two months, I had someone else cook me food... and delicious risotto and salads for that matter with free champagne and beer to boot! What else could I ask for?

That was my first adventure couchsurfing, and a memorable one to say the least.

I'll leave it at this for today.

Autumo

 

The Market

Langos 

Goulash

I sit at the table eating my spaghetti and pasta sauce, well I thought it was pasta sauce but I can't read Czech and ended up buying some olive sauce, along with free bread that is conveniently placed in the center of the table. The kettle boils in the background hinting to me that the tea is ready. I drizzle some found olive oil (just in case my olive sauce wasn't enough) over the steamed pasta and grind the black and brown pepper over top to enhance the taste, with a rolled up sleeve I dive in for my Thanksgiving feast. I can't help to imagine the delicious food that my family and friends are eating back home, but they probably can't imagine what I'm eating either, so it balances itself out. I stop, give my thanks, and continue eating.

I arrived in Brno, Czech Republic after staying in Krakow for three days. The three trains took over eight hours, with a thirty minute delay in the pouring rain in Ostrava, but once I touched the ground in Brno, I found my hostel and crawled up the ten-ish flights of stairs to make it to reception. I like to think that whomever put the hostel this high up in the flat is testing my endurance and perseverance, it's rewarding once I made it though. While waiting at the train station in Ostrava trying to avoid the downpour, a man came up to me and started speaking in what I assume to be Czech. I politely stated that I do not speak Czech, but only English, and he continued to mumble away to me in Czech expecting an answer to his question. This has happened on numerous occasions, and I've learned to do the whole 'I don't know what you're saying to me look, while holding my hands palm up to the sky with shrugged shoulders as the universal symbol of No Idea'. Since I began traveling, I have a new superpower that I wish to possess, unlike my younger wished superpower of being able to fly, I now wish that I could speak any given language at any time. Though being able to fly and do that would be quite amazing.

Getting to Brno has been an adventure.

I need to stop here and rant for one moment about getting used to different keyboards in every new country that I visit. It has taken me over 30 minutes just to write this because I keep backspacing misspelled words, etc, etc. For instance, the Y key is the Z key, but it is labeled Y with a tiny z in the bottom right hand corner, likewise for the Z key. I still can't make the right closing bracket sign without the help of the Czech girl who walks by occasionally. The @ sign I figured out by googling 'how to get the at sign on a Czech keyboard,' luckily the responder simply stated press ALT and V together, even though there is an @ sign where the 2 is but no number of buttons I press will make it appear. Or, I am looking at a key with 5 different options to choose from. DISCLAIMER: If anyone catches any spelling mistakes I swear that it is not my lack of knowledge, but I shall blame this keyboard.

Moving on...

From my last post in Belgium, I have touched soil on six countries, whether it be for two days or eleven days. Amsterdam was exactly how I pictured the city to be. Getting lost there was very easy since every street looked the same by cloning the canals one after the other, the cafe shops line the streets while a gentle breeze of their perfume lingers out from their doors. The houses look like they are about to tip over due to the slantedness of them. Yet, I can't help thinking that the residence of Amsterdam see much more than that in their beautiful city.

The hostel that I stayed at is one that I would recommend to anyone taking a gander to the Dutch capital. It is a caravan park consisting of two to three person caravans, an outdoor fully equipped kitchen with free breakfast to boot, and of course, outdoor WC's, or water closets for those who do not know the acronym. The park is situated about a 5 minute walk from a huge lake with little islands speckled everywhere in their waters... it was definitely a nice break from the hustle-and-bustle of the busy city. Two German girls taught me how to make 'little pancakes' as I will call them simply because I can't recall its' proper name. Photo attached below:

 

 

Did you know that Luxembourg is the worlds second richest country? What, Luxembourg? Where's that? Well it's a small country, positioned between... it's easier if you google rather then me blabbing on. Any who, I was using a map that suggested I go from one street to the other to make it to my hostel, so that's what I did. I made it to the first street, turned right to where the second street was supposed to be and it was a market square. Lost, I asked someone to point me to the right street, and the kind lady showed me too an elevator that connected the two streets together. First time ever that I have had to take an elevator from street to street. It makes sense though once I truly seen the city.
 

From Luxembourg, to Berlin, to Copenhagen where I found myself questioning whether or not I was still in Copenhagen. In the midst of the small suburbs lie one reckless area what is known as Christiania or Freetown to some. It's home to about 650, or 850, or 1000 citizens (depending on where the information is gathered from) living in make-shift homes spray painted, or decorated with a variety of art, and it has three simple rules that must be abided by, numero uno: Have fun, two: Don't run, and lastly, no photos. It was started by a group of Hippies in the early '70s when they took over an abandoned military barracks, and developed it into a new society so-to-speak. They remind all the tourists of the 'no photo' rule by having spray painted signs everywhere. The Løn is the currency of Christiania, but gladly accept Danish Krone as well. While walking through the crowded streets, dogging bottles and boozers, a haze from the legal pot or hash stands strolled by I couldn't help to think that this would be a bottle-pickers dream place. I think that if the world suddenly got rid of the government, and most straight-edge adults, this is what it would turn out to become. All in all, it was definitely an interesting place to see.

Flag of Christiania
 

 

That is all for right now...



Where in the world am I?

Well that is a very good question that I asked myself, I really don't know where I am. For one, I cannot pronounce the name of the town to save my life, and two, I'm still not quite sure of the actual name of the town as it has two names that it goes by. I'm in Bruges, or Brugge in the northern part of Belgium. This town is exactly how I imagined Belgium when I think about it - the sweet smells of Belgian chocolate mixed in with a cool breeze of waffles is everywhere... I've already caught myself drooling over shop windows. The canals that run through here paint the town like 'Venice' so-to-speak with cobble-stone streets & bridges that run in every which direction. As I walk down the unfamiliar streets hopefully not looking too touristy (I've come to the conclusion that I do not like to look like a tourist), I am surrounded by many different languages. French, English, Dutch, Arabic, Spanish and some other languages that I cannot decipher. All in all the two whole days that I have been in Belgium have been an adventure but I'll get to that later, I need to start off from the beginning of my trip.

First of all, I need to apologize to all of my readers... maybe the three of them who occasionally look at my blog in the hopes that I have indeed posted but in all reality I just have not found the time to actually sit down and write. But have no fear, I am here.

The adventures started off the moment I boarded the plane in Calgary. I was supposed to leave around 9:30 at night, but due to typical Calgary weather never making its mind up I was delayed over two hours because of  a thunderstorm. Well after midnight I was eating my supper high in the sky overlooking the darkened Alberta while sitting next to a lovely woman who did not speak any English. When I landed at the busiest airport in the world, Heathrow, I was rushed to my connecting plane in under twenty minutes as I missed my previous flight due to the delay. I'm still astonished that I made it through at airport in the time that I did. I was exhausted, hungry, sore, wanted to change out of my clothes the moment I landed in Edinburgh, but no, I couldn't even do that because the airlines lost my luggage in London. The thing is, I didn't even care at that moment because I was to tired to waste my energy on that. Luckily the airlines delivered my 'home' the next day at my hostel.

Scotland:

- Edinburgh was simply amazing. If the buildings could talk they would all have stories to tell because that's how ancient they looked. The Scottish accent was just brilliant to listen to while hearing the melodies of bagpipes in the background, and the city had many things to do within walking distance.

In the 'capital of the highlands' a.k.a Inverness, the Scottish accent was definitely much thinker and harder to understand than Edinburgh (I've learnt to just smile and nod to most people now). I met a New Zealand lad there and we decided to take a trip to the Loch Ness but unfortunately we did not see Nessie.

Then came Glasgow which was my least favourite city of them all. For one, the city itself was too big and dirty and two, the hostel had mold all over the walls - was I ever glad to leave that city for Belfast, Northern Ireland.

Northern Ireland:

- I did a little bit of research into the capital Belfast before I departed on my trip but never did I think that city still had that much tension. I could only stay there for one night due to the Foofighters playing and all of the hostels/hotels were booked up but I got straight to walking along the towering peace walls that separate the Protestants from the Catholics. There are murals that cover most of their bricks depicting what happened at the time of the 'troubles' and then as I look up the barb wire is still there reminding even me not to cross over. It was an eerie feeling to say the least. At dawn, I walked to the place where the Titanic was built and launched for the very first time. In the global village hostel, I met an Aussie girl and we decided to take a bus up north to the Giants 'Causeway and stay a couple nights there.

The little town of Portrush is situated a stones throw away from the Irish Sea and it has amazing views, people and beaches.

Republic of Ireland:

- From Portrush I took a bus to the west coast city of Galway in Ireland. The hostel was also interesting, I got no sleep thanks to three French people coming in at 2:00 in the morning yelling and laughing then to top it all off one of them decided to stick by the toilet all night throwing up. I guess it's a hostel and you can't pick and chose who bunks with you. To clear my nostrils of the putrid puke smell from the previous night I decided to take a bus to the cliffs of Moher. The cliffs are hard to describe to someone who has never been there before, and pictures just don't do that place any justice. My advice - go there and see it yourself. From Galway I spent three nights in the capital city of Dublin before heading east to Liverpool, UK.


Wales:

- I was in Wales for a whole twenty, maybe thirty minutes :)

United Kingdom:

- The voyage from Dublin to Liverpool consited of one taxi ride, a ferry, two trains, one bus, and a lot of walking/getting lost in between. I spent one whole day in Liverpool searching for all of The Beatles childhood homes, as well as other sights such as Penny Lane and Strawberry fields... it was definitely hard to miss Beatles memorabilia as it was everywhere in the city. I've now learnt to try and not build something up before I actually see it because I don't want to be disappointed, such as the strawberry fields. I thought that there would be security guards blocking the entrance to the enchanted fields with heavenly angels singing Hallelujah with golden harps strung around them, but sadly there was not any of the above mentioned.

Nottingham consisted of me visiting the Sherwood forest, and no, I did not find Robin Hood, though there were many imposters of him.

London was extremely busy, even more so with the Olympic paralympic games going on in the city, there is so much to see in the city it's hard to figure out where to begin. I began by walking right past the Buckingham  palace which was about 15 minute walk from the hostel that I was staying at. Trafalgar square was filled with a giant big screen tv broadcasting the games while live bands played on stage. I was quite disappointed that there were no pigeons in the square like I always imagined. Big ben, the London eye and Tower Bridge came the next day. The most interesting thing that I found in the city was in the underground at the Tate Modern museum. It was an art piece put on by Tino Sehgal that consisted of many people walking, then running to moving in a way that made them look like they were playing a childs game, then came chanting in a cultish way. This was all syncronised to lights. All of a sudden a woman comes up to me and starts telling me a story of a relationship she had in the past, and before I knew it she was gone - then another person came up to me and told me a part of his past. It was the most odd, yet highly enjoyable thing to watch and be apart of.

A couple weeks ago I was told a quote that has stuck with me throughout my trip ''You can sleep when you're dead." Somedays in a hostel sleep is a luxury that one dreams about.

France:

- Paris was a huge eye opener trying to adjust to a new language where it seemed everyone spoke French and no English, or there were those who simply did not want to speak English. My hostel was a short walk to the Sacré-Coeur church were I got beer for 1 euro each! (and they say Paris is expensive) Well I got lost in the city after making the climb to the very top of the Eiffel tower and ended up at the Musee de louvre, or the Louvre museum to those who do not speak/read French. The most amazing thing was watching the traffic go around the Arc de triomphe. They have no road markings to dictate where you should drive, people look like they are going to rear end the car in front of them but miraculously they make it through. After spending three nights in the 'city of lights' as they call it, I headed up north to visit a small town called Bayeux.

I read about the only hostel in Bayeux before departing from Paris and I thought that it would be a breeze to find the place and get settled down. Well I did find the place no problem, the only thing I didn't realize until two hours after the fact was that the hostel actually closed down. So there I found myself in a northern town of France stranded lugging around my backpacks wondering what to do next, the only thing I could do was make my way to Caen.

I visited the beach of Juno to pay my respects to the fellow soliders that lost their lives there on D-Day 1944. It was very hard to imagine what took place there during the war, but the remaining bunkers give some insight. After strolling through the waters of Juno, I took a train to Brussels, Belgium.

Belgium:

- Somedays you just have to laugh and not take things so seriously when they don't 'work' out the way you planned it, this was definitely true for Brussels. I arrived in the city knowing of one hostel to stay at which was a good thirty minute walk from the train station, so I strapped my backpack on and set off to the hostel. Once I arrived there it turned out that the hostel had a fire sometime back and was still closed to do renovations, but luckily they had a poster on their door to say where the next hostel was. I strapped on my backpack again to find the next hostel. It was up the biggest hill I think I could find in Brussels! The receptionist informed me that all of the hostels within the city center were full for the next two days, and that there was one 5km out of the city. After two metros later, 40 minute walk to find the hostel which was really a sportscenter I finally laid my head down to sleep.

I took the train the next morning to a northern town called Bruges, or Brugge, and as you may recall I have already explained my time there.
                                                                                             

I have come to the realization that backpacking is no vacation, but more like a full time job.

-Autumo

A turtles shell is their home, a backpack will be mine.

They say to write a blog is like talking to another person, just write as if they were there with you.

So I guess that's what I'll do.

My name is Jesse, it's quite a pleasure to meet you, to whomever may read this. That's about all of an introduction you'll get right now, because as I post you'll get to know me better than a lame intro would ever tell you. And to be honest, it's hard to type on this iPhone - Always correcting my words as if it knows what I wanted to say. Spelling out things that I never knew existed in the dictionary, but yet, when I want it to correct a word to the proper spleling IT'S NOWHERE TO BE FOUND! "cough" You see what I did there right?

Any who, I am starting this blog before I being on my travel adventures. I am leaving my life here in Canada behind, strapping my papas 1980's backpack scratch that - I purchased a new backpack from the trusty Mountain Equipment Co-op store I am strapping that to my back and taking off for Europe. They call me crazy for doing alone.. I think nothing of it. (but to be honest I'm scared shitless, they say it's best to admit your fears.) I'm not too sure yet how long I'll be going for, or yet - why I'm even going. You know that itch in the pit of your stomach letting you know there is something more out there waiting for you? It spreads from the stomach to your feet, making you dance with the invisible sound of music - well that's what I have. So I decided to buy a plane ticket to Scotland and see where the road takes me from there.


I am leaving the YYC airport on August 12th/2012 and arriving on EDI's airstrip a day after... For many of you who do not know, YYC is the three digit airport terminology for Calgary International Airport, and EDI is the abbreviation for Edinburgh, Scotland's capital. I still have yet to discover how they make the digit codes for the airports. Why is YYC a code for Calgary International Airport? Can't they just call Calgary International Airport, Calgary International Airport or is that asking too much? If they really needed their beloved three digit codes, why not make YYC, CGY? Oh that's right, because Lumbia, Cagayan De Oro already took its place into the books. And for those who might be opening up the omnipresent Google page to ask the 'master' where Lumbia, Cagayan De Oro might be in this world, it's in the Philippines. It boggles my mind when I ponder the thought of where the world would be without Google, how on Earth would we ever find the answers to our questions?


From browsing the many sites that Google allows me to view, I have found out that the whole month of August is Edinburghs' festive season, they even have their own website dedicated to their festivities: http://www.edinburghfestivals.co.uk/. I look forward to be joining the haggis, brave-heart stricken capital to share their love affair for these galas. I am just hoping that I can find a worn out 4 inch, skin ridden mattress plunked on some two by fours resembling the outer shell of what is supposed to be a bunk bed to sleep on in a hostel there. Now my description of the hostel beds may be completely wrong seeing as how I have never been to a hostel before in my life... but only time will tell I guess. And if my description is right at least I have prepared myself by imagining what the beds will be every time I rest my head to sleep. Once again, only time will tell.


Now it's time for a random quote line to distract our minds from my previous jabbering:
"Peace is when time doesn't matter as it passes by."
-Maria Schell


I may do that from time to time, the whole quote thing - get used to it :) If you don't like it well that's your choice as it bothers me none.


As Dr.Seuss once said:
"Be who you are, and say what you feel. Because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."


... Getting back to my travels.


After I spend my long awaited time visiting Edinburgh, it's off to the nearest train station to travel the marsh-bogged fields to Glasgow. I have heard from rumors that Glasgow might as well be labeled the party capital of Scotland, and that's a pretty tough comparison since Edinburgh has a whole month dedicated to partying. I have yet to decide how long I would like to stay in Glasgow, but long enough until I get the travel bug crawling up my spine until it burrows its way into my brain, putting it to gear swinging me back on the road to Northern Irelands' capital, Belfast.


Belfast has been put into the history books by being the builders of an iconic ocean liner that will forever live in the hearts of people as the greatest lady to sail the seas.. the Titanic. I can truthfully say that I did not know this information before my research into the various places that I would like to see on my travels. After I walk down the unfamiliar streets of Belfast, I am going to cross the line that has separated the Protestants from the Catholics, the border between Northern Ireland, and the Republic of Ireland.


Dublin makes me think of a particular bar that I must go see, the Temple Bar. It's funny how there is a certain place, symbol, building, or item for every town/city in the world that when people see pictures of it, or hear about it we can track down where that place is. Just think about it for a second. When you hear the words "Statue of Liberty," where does your thoughts automatically project to?


After my time visiting the eastern coast of Ireland's capital city, I will take a ferry to Holyhead, Wales, UK.


From Wales to Liverpool, to Nottingham, to London where I will be part way in the 2012 Olympic games. Now if I am afraid of not finding a hostel in the midst of Edinburgh's festivals, London can top those fears. For one, the prices will be sky high, and two, travelers besides myself need a place to sleep too. And they have probably reserved a bunk-bed the moment they heard that the Olympics would be coming to London (scoffing at myself as I did not think about this before.) After having my fair share with the land of royalty I am wanting to take the Chunnel under the English Channel, if I had the physique like Michael Webb I too would swim across the water way. (For you Googlers, save your button presses. Michael Webb was the first man to swim across the English Channel in 1875.) But seeing as how they conveniently placed a tunnel under the Channel, I might as well give my patronage to the train and allow it to take me lazily to France.


As far as planning goes for the trip, this is where I am at. Of course, the 'plans' that I have put fourth thus far will always change. After London, I shall take to the open road for all its mysteries and just go with the flow. 


To live with a house on my back, I get the feeling that I may never come back. - Autumo