Word up

I’ve been on a roll lately hearing from people I used to hear from all the time. I guess it helps being on or around a computer 8 hours a day at work and then having the option to have another 4 hours in the evening. I came to realise quite early on in the history of this blog that I don’t and probably won’t ever have a really big fan base, which I suppose is fine and I guess since I’ve been not - not in Canada I’ve been pretty lazy in the whole blog posting thing. I’ve mostly concentrated on getting caught up with people I haven’t yet seen and as each week goes by I’ve gradually knocked a few off. This week’s cultural topic is:


RANTING

I can’t actually find a real definition for ranting, and that’s fine too, because I think the biggest thing there is to understand about ranting is that ranting comes form the heart, and when you’re heart’s not it in, there’s nothing to rant about.

I've been inspired a couple of times in the last little while about something to write but when I actually sit down to write something I just can't think about what it was I was inspired by. Do I have some sort of dementia? I don't think so. But I just can’t put my finger on it. I find myself sometimes mixing up simple English words with French ones, even though my native language is English. And even right now as I’m writing this, I’m kind of wondering where it might actually take me. Ranting turns into rambling and rambling just may not make sense.

I have to admit it, lately I haven’t been very good with the blog but that goes without saying. Hockey’s been on, football has taken over my Sundays and any rants I do come in the form of email or Facebook. I really like personal rants, but at the same time, there’s something gratifying about knowing that no one will read what you have to say but anyone could if they wanted to.

I never used to understand people who worked in offices all day and complained about always being on the computer blah blah blah and because of that didn’t want to work on computers on their own time at home. This is bunk. Sure, you sit at a desk all day, maybe you get up to get a coffee or hang out at the water cooler and of course you’ll have your time at lunch, but there is a HUGE difference between home computer and work computer. Like what? How about the liberty to do whatever you want whenever you want at home. Yeah, that’s a stupid thing to say, but that’s the point. Rants don’t have to make sense.

Blogging gives people like me the chance to put our ideas public. I think I have a pretty good format and if I weren’t me and I knew me or didn’t know me, I might think I might stop and take some time to read it. While I was away, I treated my blog like some sort of channel to entertain myself, maybe my friends, and I wrote as though I was writing an actual article and I created strict yet fake deadlines for myself to meet.

The thing is, you look at semi-celebrities, like Andy Rooney who has made a living ranting about stupid things. A couple of weeks ago I watched his rant which comes at the end of CBS’s 60 Minutes where he went on for 2 minutes about people carrying bags. Now, having said that, he IS really good at talking about something that doesn’t matter. Somehow, in that segment, he was able to incorporate street interviews with people who take books to work with them and somehow managed to accuse them all of reading on the job and wasting company time and money. That’s incredible.

Of course, most stand up comics talk about things that don’t really matter, observations if you will. Jerry Seinfeld pretty much dominated the observation realm in the 1990s, but it’s a comical fad that seems to be spreading. Most recently comics have put a spin on producing t-shirts or women drivers or being a man who doesn’t like working out. And they can all be funny. Of course, humour is a topic that can be discussed some other day, but the thing that I really hate hearing about from comics is them complaining about their wives or their kids or household pains. I don’t like it mostly because I can’t relate to it so for that reason it’s not funny. Seinfeld has now actually morphed into this type of show now and that’s fine too, because everyone grows up eventually, even adults.

As I’m writing this I’m contemplating not publishing it at all, because there’s no real reason for anyone to actually read it…that’s how much continuity it has in it. But that’s the point of ranting about ranting. Ranting doesn’t actually need make sense and if it DID make sense then it wouldn’t be ranting, it would be a well-planned writing. But that’s a rant for a different day…

Could have talked about it

Well, over the past few weeks, a few major things have happened that greatly influence the way I conduct my day to day life. First off, I got back to Canada, which put an end to my international wandering. Second, I searched for and shortly after got a job. Third, I reinstalled non-free television in the place where I live. This week's cultural topic is:

NORMALCY

Now, things are seemingly pretty normal in my life these days. But what is normal? I'm not really sure. Could be mobility; could be stationary. I could probably go on for a while about how great it is to be re-situated, get back to the things I grew up with, how glad I am to be back in Calgary with all of my friends and parents and how I love to drive my gas-guzzling sport utility vehicle with optional four wheel drive...just in case.

I could talk about routine and or earning money, or dressing nice for work every day, or how much I've already learned in just a short period of time, or how great my new workmates seem to be after hanging out with them for a week, or how my job is going to take me off-site soon and which I won't necessarily be hanging out with them all day in a few weeks, or how even though I thought I did really really poorly, I scored "Proficient" in most of the tests I took after I was hired even though normal people would have had to take them before they were even considered.

I could talk about my plans for the weekend or maybe how nice the weather has been, even though it really hasn't been that nice and even though I love snow, how I'm glad it's not dumping snow because it already gets dark early enough in the evening and we don't need anymore winter darkness, or how I hate the fact that we had to put the clocks back one week later this year which didn't give me an extra hour or sleep on the halloween-night-out night that I would have been, under normal circumstances/in any other year past, the most beneficial extra hour of sleep one could possibly ask for, but you can't change the past and you can't really blame anyone for that - except the Bush administration, who were the ones who changed it.

Or, I could just cut to the case and bring it all back around. This post has really only one point to make, and by point I mean rhetorical question to ask anyone who locks their laptops in one spot and never moves it feel stupid, which isn't to say that you can't have a normal/regular spot to put it on, like a desk or a table or something and if you don't, you might as well just get a desktop, but seriously:

What the hell good is a laptop if you never put it on your lap?

Idiots.

Missing Out

“…His nails a' clicking on the floor…” – The Remy Song

I’ve finally decided, after just over two weeks being back, that it’s nice to be home. For the past couple of weeks I was hesitant to admit it, but it’s occurred to me that being a nomad, causes you to miss out on many simple pleasures and some very important events. This post’s cultural topic is:

LOSING A PET
I was often asked in my travels what I missed most about home. The answer was simple: my dogs. This is why, when I got back to London only to find out that my mom’s little dog, Remy, was very sick with adrenal and lung cancer, it was an easy choice to come home earlier than planned. I made it back with just days left in his life. I’ve been trying for the past week to think about how I can properly word this post and though this is my first actual attempt at actually writing something down, I’ve come to realise that it’s just not going to be possible.

Two weeks ago, Canadian Thanksgiving Day, we drove down to a previously unvisited veterinary clinic in the south of the city with our smallest little boy in the family (just over 10 years old and just less than 20 lbs). Everyone in the car was crying and for one of the first times ever, Remy was calm as the car slowed down and pulled into the parking lot. His breathing was laboured, as it had been in the preceding weeks, and though he hadn’t eaten anything all day, he happily got out of the car and peed on some pillars and a small tree. That morning he wouldn’t even eat fresh meat, but in his last minutes, despite his sickness, he did not hesitate to munch on a Milkbone, his favorite treat. Even until his last breath, he saw us with an everlasting and reciprocated love.

Studies show that dogs have a really good understanding of their surroundings and some suggest that dogs have an equivalent comprehension level of a 5-7 year old child. But being animals, dogs also rely heavily on instinct and because of this, seem to be able to foresee certain events. Because dogs cannot talk, however, it is impossible to know for sure what they think about, how they feel, or whether they are in pain due to illness.

For most people, losing a pet is as tragic as losing a human member of the family. I’ve now lost three pets, but I think Remy was the one that hit me the hardest and think it’s because I have the best memories with him.

We adopted Joey when he was already 9 years old and he had a hard life, but he was epileptic and just one year after we got him his disease got the best of him. He, too, was very loyal and craved attention. Golden retrievers are known for having great demeanors and Joey was no exception. The second was my step-mom’s Yorkshire terrier, Bijou, who at less than 4 lbs had the attitude of a big dog, but the non-threatening bite of a little one. She only liked a handful of people in the world (myself, luckily, being one of them) and I’ll always remember the way she would do a cartoon-like shuffle on the terrifying hardwood floors as she mustered the courage to scurry from room-to-room.

But Remy was my little guy. I knew him right from the start and was there from the first time he learned to shake-a-paw to the time he became the supreme ruler of his house. Remy’s personality was one that is unrivaled by any other dog I have met. He was like a little boy who just walked around on four feet, was covered in mountain-goat hair and liked to sniff dog’s butts when they came around to the house. I can’t do him justice in explaining how great of a little friend he could be when you were sick, tired or just lazing around. He was always there (except for when he was eating Kleenex from the garbage) and he though he was mostly obedient, he, just like a real boy, could be stubborn when he wanted to be. My mom always joked that she wouldn’t be surprised if he just one day just got up and started talking. And that’s because Remy wasn’t just a dog, he was real member of the family.

In the past two weeks it’s been a much different welcome party at my mom’s house. The people still say hello, but no little thing comes crashing to the door only to roll onto his back and make you pat his little pink belly. It’s strange to think that only a month ago we didn’t know anything was wrong and now two weeks after he’s been gone, so many things have changed. One thing, though, will never change: the love and great memories we will always have and hold because of the silly little dog-boy who has been one of the most important things in our lives for the past ten and half years.

Thanks to everyone who has supported us, especially my mom, over the past weeks. Thank you also for all the notes, cards, and emails. But more than all, thanks to everyone who has helped us give Remy a great doggy-life.

See you later, little-guy.

Who says you can’t go home?

For the past 5 months, I’ve been woken up by the sweet sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd, and though it’s a really good song, it got a little repetitive. I’m lucky, though, that Sweet Home Alabama was the tireless longevity that it does, otherwise as the clock struck whatever time I set it to go off, I could find myself wanting to beat myself in the face with my tent poles. This week’s cultural topic is:

COMING HOME

When you take a long trip you come home for a only a few reasons. Maybe it’s been a year and your ticket is up. Maybe you’re broke and your credit cards are maxed out. Maybe you just didn’t bring enough warm clothing with you and because you’re too lazy you’d rather go home than buy new ones. Or maybe you’re just tired. But no matter the reason for returning home, one thing always stays the same. Relief.


I’ve taken a number of long trips (that number is 3), of course none as long as my latest of 5 months, but whenever I’ve gotten home it seems like I’ve grown up or experienced something so special. This time I was gone for nearly a year, which in the grand scheme of my life is a pretty significant chunk of time. The thing you have to realise coming home is that though you may have changed, things you were used to before you left probably aren’t that much different than they were. Most people have the same jobs, the same problems, the same girl/boyfriends, same cars, etc. But what you have to understand is that they probably won’t be as excited about your trip as you are. Sure, they’ll be happy you’re back, especially your good friends, but don’t be offended if they don’t want to hear every gritty detail of your last year.

I say this now, but it seems as though another chapter in my life is coming to an end. I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve met people in the past trips who have been on the road for years and years in search of something they probably won’t ever find. That’s because they don’t know what they’re even looking for. I had no idea what I was looking for either, and that’s what makes the “soul-searching” more interesting. It think I’ve decided where my heart is, and I guess what that means is that from here on in, I just have to make sure potential employers understand it the way I do.

In 2006, Bon Jovi ft. Sugarland released a single talking about running away from home, but ultimately finding what you were looking for right where you left it. It bothers me so much when I hear about people being ashamed of where they are from and it bugs me even more when foreigners disrespect a person based on where they’re from. I proudly call Canada my home and after being away I’ve been able to reinforce my appreciation for having grown up in such a nice country. Now, I’m not an idealist or an activist on the matter, but it would be great if we could all just get along and welcome each other home…wherever that may be.

Sorry for the delay

"At least try" - Markus

Well, first off, I'd like to apologize for the delay in posting. Stating that I've been one the road the past couple of weeks would be a drastic understatement, sleeping in hostels, friends houses, cars, campsites, there are many stories to be told. I'm back in London, but now I'm headed home. A couple of posts ago, I talked about how much I hated pigeons, and just so you know, I successfully kicked one. This monumental event took place in Stuttgart, Germany last week. This week's cultural topic is:

PLAYING IT BY EAR

Now, obviously this could be a post about music and how great music is and improvisation and how much I and many others would love to be part of something great like a world famous rock and roll band and rise to the peak of stardom...but it's not. This is the kind of improvisation you use in life, more specifically, in traveling.

I've been gone from home for nearly a year now and with my return this afternoon, this Europe chapter in my life is coming to an end. Have I matured? Probably a little, which is for the best, since I just recently acquired "mid-twenties" status.

I don't know if i can really do this topic justice in this short amount of time I have before I have to run around London sorting out many last minute things before I havce to catch my flight, and I suppose maturity is a topic on it's own. I also wonder if I'll continue to post once I'm back, since I'm not so not in canada anymore. But I'll try.


The entire past year I have basically just been playing it by ear, rolling with the punches, going with the flow, whatever you want to call it. It's been an easy-going existence with many different types of payouts. The main ones being friendships, experiences, and obviously memories, which will hopefully be long lasting and will lead to further payouts. But it doesn't feel like it's been a year, and because I'm just been playing it by ear, I've never really had to plan ahead too far, never really bothered to stress out about anything, and certainly never worried about shit I couldn't control.

Traveling the way I did/do leaves so many opportunities to experience things in way you never would have otherwise. I think it's good that the countries of Europe have designed types of "experience Europe" programs like Eurail or Interrail, but I also find that it's unfortunate people use them. When you lay out months of travel and they are all prebooked, there is no room for interpretation. If you like a place, you can't stay. If you don't like a place, you can't really leave. It's nice to have an idea of what you're doing before you take a trip, but I find it very unstimulating to be on the road after only one night in a place. So in a way, I'm happy for the people for getting out and a getting a taste for what other countries are like, but at the same time, it's too bad they don't really ever get to really know what it's like to BE there.

Am I grateful I have been so fortunate to have had the opportunity to do something like take a year off? You better bet your boots I am. I am also grateful to have had the opportunity to do it in a way that most people I know would never even consider, and I am even more grateful for this. Remember, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish nearly anything. So at least try.

Always on the Run

I'm sure everyone by now, of the few regular readers I have, are sick and tired of me complaining about the random, different, always changing keyboards they have in all different countries. Well, let me tell you, if you thought Germany was going to be any better, you have another thing coming. Ä, Ö, µ, and ß are just a few of the keys that we don't have, mostly because we don't have those letters in English, and though they get in the way of what is normal typing for me, they make sense in their respective languages. The one thing I HAVE noticed, though, is the common switching of Y and Z, and that only just proves that I've tried keyboards in many countries, this week's cultural topic is:

MEETING DEADLINES

With Canadian Universities gone back last week and Europeans about to go back over the next couple, deadlines seem to be popping up out of nowhere these days. I realise, yes, that I failed to meet my latest deadline of posting at least every Monday, so for those who check in regularly, my apologies. I've been making my way around the Czech Republic this past week, with an obvious stop in Prague and a second one in the home of Pilsner Urquell (the oldest Pilsner in the world), Plzen, where I stayed with a friend and didn't have internet...or even running water. It was fun.

There are two main types of deadlines, really: the kind that are for fun, which don't really matter and the kind that actually matter. The kind that matter, for example are ones where money is at stake, or pride, or something of substance. This might be like submitting a multi-billion dollar proposal to a client, or showing up for an exam, or making a flight on time, or whatever else that can actually affect the rest of your life of somebody else's in a huge way. Fun deadlines are like the ones that I make to make sure I write a little bit every week. In fact, this blog has had more action in the last month than my journal, which goes to show, I suppose, that I've been too busy making friends and surviving the travelers life.

This whole trip for me has been virutally unplanned up until now. I've been working my way along a general route, but when I find somewhere I really like, I stay for a while. A few months ago, I had all the time in the world, and the only real deadline I had to meet was a figurative one, which said that I couldn't run out of money. When the money's out, the deadline is therefore past. So aside from the bank balance, there has only really been one other deadline that I've been working towards. That is Oktoberfest. I've met so many folks in the past weeks and they all, like me, seem to be working towards the same goal. Survive, drink a lot, go home.

This time, though, I've managed to round up a friend from Calgary to come join the debauchery. So, my deadline is meet him. The hostel I check into tomorrow is the first that I've had booked ahead in the entirety of my trip, so I'm really looking forward to facing the real world once again.

That being said, beer is a diuretic. What this means is that it dehydrates your body, sending more water to your muscles, and as you drink more beer this is why you feel bloated. The problem, however, is that since your blatter is a muscle, it contracts the more a diuretic substance is intaken. Since beer is primarily water (average strength = 95% water, 5% alcohol), the average blatter has only a 600ml capacity (less when in frequent use) and at Oktoberfest the average size of a beer 1l, the deadline we will most often be faced with over the next couple of weeks? Not peeing our pants.

The Clay kind are better

"It´s not that I want to kill her, I just wish she wasn´t alive...anymore." - Stewie Griffin

It´s funny for me to think that only one week ago I was in Croatia soaking up the sun, desperately getting as dark as the sun would let me before I headed north into the mountains, but in one week you can do a lot and cover a lot of ground. This past week I ticked north-western Slovenia off the list and now I´m on my second day in Salzburg. As you walk down the streets of Mozart´s hometown (until age 24), streets are littered with everything Mozart. But he´s not Salzburg´s only claim to fame. The Sound of Music, of course, where, in 1965 Julie Andrews taught us all a song to help us remember our doe-rei-mi´s, which brings us to the cultural topic of the week:

PIGEONS

I hate them. I really just don´t understand why anyone could have any reason to like them either. They´re dirty; they´re ugly; they don´ßt sound nice when they caw; they scavenge; and they are inefficient flyers. In some areas, pigeons are considered vermin. People are strongly encouraged not to feed them and they are often compared to the likes of rats...with wings. I would have liked to have a picture of one of them for this post, but I can´t be bothered to waste a photo on one of them.

I WILL say it IS good to be back in the mountains, since there aren´t quite as many pigeons around. They tend to hang out in bigger cities where there are more stupid tourists to feed them. I guess that´s kind of the thing. If someone feed a pigeon or two here or there it doesn´t really matter to them, because they aren´t actually directly affected by it unless they do it in their own home. I saw some people doing it today and it really pissed me off. I suppose, however, I used to feed seagulls and sparrows and other little birds (Trivia bit: Sparrows are not native to North America. They were brought over by the explorers as pets and since they had no natural preditors, were able to flourish...I imagine it´s the same with whatever kind of devil bird pigeons come from), but they are at least big birds and raptor-like, respectively.

In London, they say that you are never at any time more than 10m away from a rat. I never actually saw any while I was there, but a habit I DID pick up was attempting to kick pigeons as I walked by. Now, this may sound mean, but it´s absolutely necessary, kind of like having to eat a horseburger in eastern Europe...you just do what you gotta do. For the animal activists out there, though, I have never successfully hit one. I´d feel bad if I seriously injured it or whatever, so I like to give them a bit of a chance to not get hit. It´s not that I was them dead, I just don´t want them to be around me. Ever.

Remember that scene from Mary Poppins when they go to the bank and there´s that pigeon lady and it´s all emotional and the kids sing a song? Well, Julie Andrews was in Mary Poppins, just as she was in the Sound of Music (different character, of course)and she was one hell of singer in both, so much so that she even brought the hills life here in Austria. Having said that, though, I would sing praise to anyone who does the opposite to all the pigeons.

Setting Sails

Q: Why are pirates pirates?
A: Because they ARRRRRR.

For the past week or so, I've been in Croatia. This is the second time I've been on the internet since I arrived, and it's the first time I've found the apostrophe key on the keyboard. It's not that I'm not smart, it's just that every country has their own different keyboard that better suits the way their own writing goes and uncommon letters are placed in the less reachable areas. I told you that story to tell you this one, which is the cultural topic of the week:

PIRATES

Being on the coast and seeing millions of dollars worth of boats, yachts and massive ships makes you want one. I don't know how to sail, I don't know anything about boats, I don't normally live on the ocean, I get seasick easily, and I don't know what the conversion is from nautical miles to normal ground speed. So why a prairie boy like me would want to be a pirate is questionable. But when it comes down to it, I think it's really everyone's dream to sail the world in their own private yacht.

In the open ocean, if you find an abandoned boat, it's yours...sort of like squatters rights, only with boats instead of houses. International I've been hanging out with 5 other people for about the last week and I think a six person crew would be a pretty good size crew to start out our pirating with. One day we all rented a boat (funny that it was coincidentally the only day it had rained in Croatia since sometime in May) and I suggested, as a proper pirate captain would, that we just roll (or rather float) over to a yacht and just claim it as our own. Apparently, however, there are legal implications involved, so we opted to not become international criminals and left most other boats alone.

It's strange to think about movies about pirates and how the good guys are actually the bad guys and the bad guys are the ones you cheer for. In France (and perhaps other countries as well) there was an entire comic book series around Jack Sparrow, the great pirate captain of the Black Pearl. People talking about violence on television and how it affects children behaviour is one thing...but teaching them that being a pirate is cool?

When it comes down to it, pirates are criminals. I have a moral dilemma every time that I deliberately do something like having taken a pint glass from a pub (which are not particularly good investments, since they always break in about 3 weeks and the risk of being caught are fairly good. I suppose I download music from the internet which is not totally ethical, but that's different. The problem is I really want a boat, but to have any sort of boat worth having, it costs too much, so that's why being a pirate would be a logical first step. But for every action there is an equal and opposite RE-action - which means that for every boat I would steal, someone would lose one. I've had my camera stolen before and it's probably the worst feeling ever, so I can't even imagine what it would be like to have something worth about 200 000 times the value stolen, no matter how much I would want one or even needed one.

Moral of the story is, even if I DID steal...no - Pirate - a boat, it would become pretty much useless, since I'm headed inland from here anyway. Plus, I don't have a crew anymore. Plus, I don't have a little boat to tow behind. Plus, I don't have a gun to hold up boats with. All valid reasons why I shouldn't be a pirate. But I have to say, I really with the Croatians would just get with the program and switch the Z and Y keys to where they should be. Maybe I'll steal them some proper English keyboards.

Seeing things a little darker

"Ah, there they are..."
- Mike Moussa, as I put on my Oakley Spikes on a sunny afternoon on the Thames

I realise now that a beach update was probably wasn't overly fulfilling last weekend, especially because I wasn't even on the beach, nor did I have plans to go to the beach directly from there, (though I DID make it to Sorrento whose beaches were more like jetis and I found one this afternoon in Bari) but I can turn this one around. When you want to go sun on the beach, what do you need? Probably a towel, a hat, a swimming suit, an umbrella if it's really hot out...and of course, this week's cultural topic of the week:

BIG SUNGLASSES

Today is my last day in Italy, which is fitting, since no one cares more about their looks than the Italians. You can probably outfit ourself in a brand new Armani or Versace outfit and you might compete with everyone looking their coolest in their Dolce & Gabbana bandanas and swimtrunks, but then one thing they'll always have you beat on in the glasses. After all, la bella figura needs to be accessorised...


I often get flack for having 'bigger than normal' sunglasses and I'd like to think I know sunglasses pretty well. I have probably over 20 pairs (all but one are really cheap) and as such am fairly critical of people who wear sunglasses that either don't fit their faces, are too little or too big or just don't suit what they're being worn with... I go through stints of purchasing sunglasses and believe you me, it can be an expensive, yet stylish habit.

I like big sunglasses because, when push comes to shove and we're all telling the truth, I have big head and a fairly wide face. If I didn't have big sunglasses I would look like one of those idiots who wears sunglasses that SHOULD fit his face but don't, and that's one of my big fears. Big sunglasses have purpose too, not only do they block the sun, but they block MORE of the sun. Coverage is important in not burning your retinas and becoming temporarily or permanently blind.

I have one pair of blue sunglasses that are pretty small, not too small, but when I've worn them I've been accused of being 'matrix'. I used to have a pair of glasses that one of my bosses told me made me look like Rock Hudson (whether that's a good thing or not, I don't know...). I've been accused of 'Elvis-ing' before also, while I had big ones on and I was trying to grow out my sideburns. I once had a red tinted pair for snowboarding when it was too warm for goggles that turned out to be womens' biking glasses. But I didn't really care. Any women who wore those would have had to have pretty bad taste.


The thing I love most about sunglasses is that the just turn down the world one notch. It can be bright as hell and you just pop on whatever tint sunglasses you think might fit. Yellow makes the world brighter, blue slows it down. Brown or black turn it down a little and redish/purple let you know when you or your friends are burning 30 minutes before it's too late. I don't personally like polarised glasses, but they're all the rage if you're fishing or walking along a hot ashfalt road. Mirrored sunglasses are cool to an extent, but if you really need to check out how you look more often than you can just by walking by a car and taking a quick glance, you should just get a real mirror, put it in your pocket and take it out every five minutes...just like the Italians do.

On the fly

It didn't take much, but I realised the other day that I've had quite the exciting past week. Granted, I suppose I've had a pretty exciting past few months, but that's not the issue here. In just under two weeks, I've been in 6 countries, including (of course) the two smallest sovereign nations in the world, Monaco and The Vatican City and including the country of Andorra, which many people have not even ever heard of. Pretty cool, I reckon. But overall, this tour of homelessness that I've been running around on seems to have one central theme, which is this week's travel topic:

BEACH TIME

Note: Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties, this post will not include photos, though being on the beach is definitely enhanced by having a nice view, so that I could actually show you, the audience, how nice the beaches just actually are. But here's a recap of the big beach stays that I've had over the duration of my time in Europe to this point.

La Rochelle, France
This is a historical port town, boasting three main beaches, but mostly surrounded by large rocks and constructed walls. The main point of the town is the two towers that lead to the main port, where not so expensive boats are housed. This is not to say, of course, that I wouldn't want any of these boats, because I would, and we contemplated pirating many-a-vessel while we were eating canned tuna and bread near the main area of the port. The beaches in La Rochelle are small, artificial and fairly difficult to get to by foot, but since we were walking everywhere at the time in an attempt to be cool and economical, we found no problem in it.

Biarritz, France
Say Biarritz and most french people will say something along the lines of 'Oh, vous faites du surf?' and we say, 'Yeah, maybe a little'. People come from all over France and the world (including European Surf Championships which are held there every year in late summer) to hang out on the long, rugged beaches. The sand is soft, the beaches picturesque and often given the extra bonus of a few massive rocks to give you something to look at while basking in the sun. The only unfortunate part about the beach is that it doesn't actually run all the way down from the south beaches to the main casino beach in the centre of town. The other unfortunate part (which also plagues the rest of Atlantic Europe)...COLD WATER.

Random Beaches between Biarritz and San Sebastian. Nice.

San Sebastian, Spain
Probably the most picturesque city on the nothern coast of Spain (that we saw), with three huge and constantly packed beaches. Hot Spanish women, and a big hill that you can climb up to and see the whole town, with a big statue of the virgin mary that seems to float in the night as they light it up.


Bilbao, Spain.
Contrary to popular belief, there are no beaches here. Sorry, folks. They DO have a Gugenheim Museum which we didn't see though.

Finisterre, Spain
Most people don't go here, so, as you might expect, the beaches are not busy. Nearly private beaches with beautiful weather and good friends. Good times.

Porto, Portugal
There are not actually beaches IN TOWN, but take a bus for 20 minutes and you've got 6km of sweetness. We did nearly a week soaking up the sun here in Madalena Sur, but if you don't make it out of town, make sure to try some Port, right from the source.

Lisbon, Portugal
Once again, though it would seem so on the map and contrary to popular belief, there are no beaches here. Nice city, but not as appealing to me as everyone would make you believe. As you go further south, the Atlantic, though cold, gets just a little more tolerable...enough so that you can probably swim for 3-4 minutes before it was just too damn cold.

Lagos, Portugal
Beautiful. Excellent. Can't say enough good things about this town. The campground is a skip away from the town, the town is confusing, and all you hear are English and Australians. But, that's the price you pay to go out and party all night, booze cruise on Saturdays and recover the next day on a beach surrounded by really really really cool grottos.

Tangier, Morocco
Weird. This was my first ever time in an Arab country and the differences compared to Spain and Portugal were vast. Coming from Spain it is uncommon to not see topless women making sure they get evenly dispursed tan across everywhere and doing everything in their power not to have nasty tan lines. In Morocco, however, you would be hardpressed to even SEE a woman on the beach, let alone in anything revealing. Soft sand though.

Tarifa, Spain
The windsurfing and kitesurfing capital of Spain. Tons of people stay here for weeks, I was there just for a day, but you better believe I liked it. With over 10km of beach just 100m from the centre of town, pretty cool place to make a stop in for.

Barcelona, Spain
I didn't, as you would call it 'hit' the beach in Barcelona, since my main goal was to not have my camera or wallet stolen, but I DID walk along it and unfortunately for the people of Barcelona, it was a stinky one. But it looked nice and the sun was hot. The water was a little rough, but most people looked as though they were having a pretty good time splashing around.

Cote D'Azur, France
I don't want to sound too cliche and say something stupid like 'Nice is nice', but I can understand why someone would. Though the beach is made completely of rocks, pebbles, I suppose, it's where most people head right away and it's where you'd better bet that I did the same. Tons of families, tons of couples and just as many singles. I made it to do some beach time in all of Monaco, Nice, Cannes and the lesser stopped in town of Antibes, all of which were sand, save for Nice. But we're not really sure if the sand was brought in, or if it's actually supposed to be like that naturally. And there's no way to know...

Rome, Italy
Yes, there are beaches here, but no, I did not go, nor will I. Crazy bus system here in this city.

Headed from here to check out some more beaches in beautiful Croatia, so we'll see if they can stand up to their reputation. Fingers crossed. But, even if they're not, one thing's for sure. They will all be warmer than the Atlantic.

Framing It Up

"You can take pictures of landscapes to show your mom everywhere you´ve been..."

Have you ever used a computer that was not your own and even though you are a pretty good typer normally the keyboard just makes you look stupid? Like maybe the backspace key is only half the size it should be, maybe the keys don´t rebound as much as normal or maybe half the keys stick, because it´s just an overall crappy keyboard...well, that´s what´s happening right now so maybe excuse any typos that might come up. Well, aside from the fact that every European country´s keyboard is slightly different (or in France´s case - VERY different) from the English/American (yes, Canadians fit in this category), this week´s topic is:

PHOTOGRAPHY

So over the past week I´ve been hopping around a great deal, and the distance I covered in Portugal over about two weeks was covered in one long over night bus from Sevilla, Spain to Barcelona and two just two days later into the mountain state/nation/principality - country of Andorra. If you´ve never heard of Andorra, don´t worry too much. It´s a country of about 450 sq km and is only home to 76 000 people. If you want more information you´d best ask wikipedia or something because this post is about taking pictures, not about small principalities that are renouned for skiing, hiking and shopping and sub-European prices because of many tax and duty exemptions they are allowed because of their small status in the EU.
Andorra

So anyway, in a big tourist city, like Barcelona (for a recent example), you see tourist snapping pictures of this and that (that is, if they didn´t get it robbed walking around), some with really nice cameras, some with little ones, some with big ones, some with disposable (which is something I just don´t get seeing as how for the price of a disposable camera and developing and then having to buy another one next week, you could have just bought yourself a loosable digital one...and that´s not disrespecting film either, because with film cameras you can still take much better pictures than you could with some crappy little disposable thing), and then the thing is that you know some are taking really nice ones and some are just taking photos of things they think you should take photos of.
I often get made fun of for "going Japanese" and taking pictures of everything I see (which is also funny because for those of you who had no idea, I´m half...I know, it probably comes as a surprise). But anyway, even in the midst of flashing the flash (inadvertant use of the word flash twice in one sentence) of my own camera (which was graciously given to me before my big trip), I realised that photographs, though many people take pictures of the same things at the same with the same thing in mind, will never be duplicated (sort of like no two snowflakes being the same). But snow was the last thing on my mind as I walked through the streets of Barcelona.

Morocco

So many people with their little cameras (and sometimes I´m guilty of this as well) try to get all artsy with their photos and take shots of close-up flowers or bugs or whatever and blur the background and are really proud of it. Unfortunately, until this trip, most of my travel pictures were all of landscapes, which were nice (not that I´m an expert photographer, but I consider blowing up many photos I take), but once I realised that just like any good party, it´s who you´re with when you´re on the road as much as it is where you were (though a good venue is always good as well), so I´ve tried to get that "human aspect" in it these days too. (That´s one thing that make action shots so fun.) A professional photographer reaffirmed those thoughts for me a couple days ago, just after he almost had his 10000€ worth of equipment stolen while he was eating lunch at a cafe in Barcelona. But, he said, the most important part is a healthy balance.
Spanish Mediterranean Beach

Anyway, seeing everyone snap at this and that always makes me wonder what their pictures end up looking like on the big screen and it´s always a pleasure to have the opportunity to see how other people have seen the world. It´s funny how you can stand right next to someone while they take a picture and though you can capture the scene, it will envoke different memories in everyone when they flip back through downd the road. Do you ever read a book, or rather a page from a book and when you get to the end realise that you were not paying attention at all, and then have to reread the entire page? Well, people take pictures so that when they go on through their lives and forget something, they won´t have to redo the entire trip over again just to see something for a second, third, etc, time...because that could become expensive.
Central Northern Spain

Anyway, this photographer guy wanted to make it clear that, in fact, `Photography is art, too.´ So there you go. By the way, everyone always talks about how beautiful the city is and so on, so going into Barcelona I was kind of skeptical, pessimistic, almost. And let me tell you. It really IS beautiful. Unfortunately for those who have not been there, my pictures did not accurately capture its entire beauty.

Shake it like a Polaroid Picture

"Where are you from?"
"How long you been here?"
"Where are you coming from?"
"How long are you staying for?"
"How long are you traveling for all together?"
"Oh, by the way, my name is Kai."

So this morning as I woke up in Morocco at 530am to make the ferry crossing, only to miss the bus that would have taken me out of the quaint Spanish coastal town of Tarifa, I realised that I have now been on the road for more than 12 weeks. Impressive, no? So as I was sitting on the beach contemplating actually making out to finding the internet cafe, my mind was overacting, while at the same time drawing a blank. Then it came to me. Traveling alone helps you meet many people, but you find yourself telling the same story day in, day out. So, this week´s topic is:

HIGHLIGHTS

It seems strange to do a highlights issue having only done just over half of the trip and having so much more to see, but since I've already cleared out a bunch of space on my memory card on my camera, added photos to Facebook, and already made three cds of photos, I guess it´s fitting to do so on my "non day-to-day" website. So where to start?


France. The highlights of this month began the first time we set up the tent. Wild camping is...well, wild. After testing out our legs in a short three day trek in the Val de Loire. The goal of the entire Europe trip for Dale and me was to do something
that most people just don´t do, while at the same time hitting all the spots normal people would as well. The first time we got the tent up was a really amazing feeling.

"Normal people have normal stories." - Luth Roose

France 2. Actually making friends for the first time. Sure, the company of one person can be rewarding and enjoyable, but at the same time, can leave you without new topics to discuss. The first time the Swedish bunch came out and said "hey, we´re going to the bar, you wanna come?" we couldn´t help but cry out with glee..."yeah, I do." BBQing is also sweet, but that topic´s been covered.

"When Chuck Norris jumps into a pool he does not get wet. The pool gets Chuck Norris." - Markus, though he did not make it up, made us laugh for minutes

Spain. Obviously, the Camino is uncontended when it comes to the official highlight of the trip. In fact, that´s hands down probably the coolest thing I´ve done thus far. I think about the camino all the time and am forever grateful that I had the time and opportunity to do it.I walked up a mountain the other day in Morocco and the views were unbelievable, but there´s just something about walking for 30some days in a row that blows day hikes out of the water. Obviously the people we´d met and the things we saw won´t soon be forgotten and the running of the bulls was also pretty cool to be a part of. Tons of parties along the way, including an unforgettable performance by Los Ronaldos, a Spanish high energy blues rock group in Leon and learning random german words with no way to actually use them in a sentence, ie. Ha-schneidemachine.

"Chicks don´t HAVE to be hot to love them...but it helps." - Dale Vaughn

Portugal. I was in Portugal for nearly two weeks all together, mostly spent on the beach just outside Porto. Though booze cruises and pub crawls in Lagos, port tasting and riverfront dinners in Porto and being offered fake hash right in front of cops in the streets of Lisbon are all cool, the best part for me going into to Portugal was the fact that crossing over the Spanish border, there was a sign that said "Portugal". Walking from France into Spain there wasn´t so much as a Bienvenido. All that happened was that the signs changed language and having not practised in about 5 and 2 years, Dale and I, respectively were confused beyond all belief.

"What, do you think you're tough or something?" - everyone who saw our packs

Morocco. Walking up a mountain by myself. But also going on public transit, which actually applies to almost every country I have been to. I always scope out the crowd as we get onto the bus, or the train and usually you can spot at least one of two backpacks which don´t cry "local". A fun game to play is the "who´s not a local" game as you walk down the street. It´s more fun with two people. But when a bus ride is more than about an hour, you can usually assume that at least most people around you are not making a daily commute (save for maybe the bus driver), which means they are probably on vacation, or WERE on vacation, at the least. But the biggest difference between their vacation any my vacation has one overlying factor, which is that when I looked around on the ferry this morning, almost everyone was wearing clearn clothes...something that only takes place in my dreams. Today, actually, I´m doing pretty well, sporting "clean" (washed) socks, brand new underwear, and a shirt that I´ve probably only worn for two-half days. My shorts? Are relatively clean, though relative is, well, (compared to the last three weeks on the camino I went without washing them) relative. But who´s counting?

"Girls like guys who look like they USED to have muscles, right?" - Consensus between Dale and Kai

But highlights aren´t always main events. Some highlights can come from meeting other people from your own country, say from Ontario, who really have it out for Alberta and you get to duke it out politcal ideological difference that that neither of you can really control at this point in time. It´s times like your last night in a country when you find yourself arguing the importance of teamplay in North American sports, defending baseball and American and/or Canadian football, against the overbearing international presence of futból, and even though you love playing both of those sports, couldn´t care less about what other people think of them.

So with all of that being said, and much more to be found out, I guess I´ll have to let this one go for a while. Thanks to eveyrone who still reads this thing. Though I do it for myself as a way to keep my mind active, it really means a lot to me that people actually care about what I have to say.

Flying Solo...again.

But, not even. You meet people, you hang out with people, and you do it all again tomorrow. This week's topic is:

Traveling Alone

Imagine complete liberty to do whatever you want, whenever you want, and nothing but the number in your bank account holding you back. Welcome to my current state. On July 25, 2007, my travel partner since London had to cut his trip short(er than mine) and left me high but not quite so dry.

It's easy being on your own. Today I woke up when my tent trapped in so much heat I couldn't bare to be in it anymore (just like the same way I woke up yesterday and the day before), I then wandered over to the people I've been hanging out with at the campground said hello and then went exploring. PS. if you ever get the chance to come to Lagos, Portugal, DO IT. It's bloody hot, but it's a pretty nice little place.

But I told you that to tell you this. Lisbon is not all it's cracked up to be. So, if you think that Lisbon is worth staying in for an extended period of time, I will disagree. But other than that...I really have nothing more to say. I'm entitled to an opinion and when you travel by yourself, you don't have to worry about much more.

(Sorry to cut this so short, but I have very very little time remaining on stupid pay by the time internet situation I am in.)

EDIT.

So here's the story, I suppose. I was going to leave that post just how it was, but to tell the truth, traveling alone is excellent. It's been one day since I wrote that other stuff and though it's nice to have freedom, I realised today on the bus while I had no one to talk to, no one to bicker with and no one to be in agreement or disagreement with about anything, traveling alone can also be lonely. I've met new people today and I'll probably add them to my facebook, as I have the ones from last night and the ones from tomorrow, but real friends only come along once in a blue moon, so even though you may love being on your own and at liberty to do whatever you want, really, everyone's just looking for a friend or two.

So cheers to everyone who I've shared drinks with, thanks to everyone I've talked to on the train or bus, and a special heartfelt muchas gracias de espana to all of the people who I have ever really been able to call my friends.

pps. Being back in Spain and able to communicate easily with the locals is sweet.

What do you just say to me?

"Do you speak...?"

So this will be a straight up rant. I only have about ten minutes left on this internet and heading to the beach today makes the next internet stop questionable. This week's cultural topic is:

LANGUAGE

Many people study them, everyone speaks at least one (I guess except for maybe deaf people and I guess even deaf people can sign, which is kind of like speaking, but in the technical sense, not really). But I always find it unbelievable when people speak many.

I speak english and french and I'm fairly priviledged in that respect, being virtually fluent in both languages and I can get by in Spanish, which is nice. At one point last week I was bored not knowing what's going on, so I picked up a Spanish newspaper and understood a great deal of it. Unfortunately, local news from rural Spain doesn't really concern me too too much...and global news would have been more of an asset. But nonetheless, understanding and being understood are very very important.

Half the fun of being a tourist is getting around, and though this will sound pretty ignorant, but being in a different country with a language different from any that you speak is a real bitch. In Europe, though, people are brought up to learn at least two, if not more and usually if they speak more than two, they speak at least three really really well. Luckily for me, the most commonly taught second language is english. The third most commonly taught third language is french. So I'm well set up.

But there can even be differences in within the english language, the most apparent ones are between british english and american english, where the use of the "our" v. "or" suffix and "ise" v. "ize". Also, did you know the word "properly" isn't a properly used word in American? Yeah, I just learned that too. It wouldn't be correct.

But what the hell is correct, anyway? As long as we can be understood, who cares about anything?

Running with the WHAT?

The camino is over. This post is on time for my self-imposed deadline, which means after this post, I´m caught back up. After 22 hours on the train in 2 days, 13 hours in Pamplona, and back in Santiago in time for coffee, beer, and last night´s firework show, this week´s cultural topic is:

SAN FERMIN

AKA Running with the Bulls. Sounds dangerous, and with good reason. Because it can be. The day we arrived in Pamplona, July 12th, was the most brutal day of the entire festival this year: 7 gorings and some record number of injuries. But, this 40-something year old tradition springs from Spain´s bull culture and need to be macho...or something. On average, there are from 10-15 bull gorings every year and up to as many has 30-35 hospitalisations. All things considered, it´s really not all that bad. In the past 11 years, only one person has actually died from injuries sustained in running.

Spanish bull culture dates back to I don´t know when, the urge to stampede for 825m with 2 tonne bulls is I don´t know why, and the things you see about the actual running are much worse than it would seem, and the way the spanish police actually work every morning is unbelievable. If you do it smart, you won´t get hurt. The problem is, it´s not a calculatable risk. If a bull wants to turn on you, it will and there´s really nothing you can do about it, especially if you´re cornered. Thousands of people run everyday and most of them don´t get gored or hurt (in fact, most people who get hurt get hurt because someone in front of them falls, or they get tripped up, or they bang their head on a railing, or they jump over the fence and can´t catch themselves and end up with a bleeding face), they just run into the stadium and jump the barrier.

The biggest and best part about the eight day Sanfermin festival is the all night party, the parades, the concerts, and the people of all ages all dressed in white with red bandana and sache. Just a big party atmosphere and, of course since drinking in the streets is legal in Europe, the party goes all night long and in every possible street.

The actual stampede only lasts about 3 minutes, and starts at exactly 8am (which is strange because usually Spaniards are taking naps) with the firing of a rocket and the release of the bulls. It´s a easy deadline for all the people still out partying from the night before. In the pack, there are 6 fighting toros, which are chased by a group of non-dangerous hearding cattle to create a Stampede effect. The toros run because they want to be part of the group, but they´re also bread to kill, which is why they can be dangerous.


Animal rights activists are trying to put an end to the tradition, since they claim it´s mistreatment of the toros and blah blah blah. If you ask me, though, if you have enough time to think about animal rights, you have too much time to think. Tradition is tradition, right? After everyone and all the bulls are hearded into the main stadium, where the race ends, a baby toro with corked horns is released and people taunt it and play around and everyone has a little fun. Later in the evening (which is probably what the hippies don´t like), the 6 bulls are put to the true killing test when they go up against matadors in faceoff: the bull fight. Unfortunately for the bulls, the matadors always win.

People start the race from all different points in the course. Dale started from about 100m in. I also ran, but I started about 150m from the end, which means I didn´t actaully see the bulls until I was safely behind stadium guard rail. But, as soon as we figured out Dale wasn´t gored, hurt, stepped on, injured, or whatever, we were back on a train. Long day for a good story. Yeah, I´m hardcore too.

Finito

That´s Spanish for finished. Yup, the walking is over.

After one month and three days, we walked nearly the entire width of Spain, amounting to somewhere between 850-900km. It sounds like a lot, and well, that´s because it is. We took a total of 3 rest days, one in San Sebastian, one in Burgos, and one in Leon. It´s a pretty big deal.

We wandered into cathedral square last night around 8pm after a day of about 45km of walking in the Spanish heat, through fields that smell like manure, up and down dirt and concrete roads, and around herds of cattle driven by short little old ladies with no teeth. This week´s cultural topic is:

BEING A TOURIST

It sounds funny being in a foreign country where you don´t really speak alot of the language, you don´t really know where you´re going and you don´t really have a clue about anything except that you have to somehow find a place to sleep, find food to eat and figure out what you have to see while you´re in the town. But that´s where the fun is. Basically, that´s the definition of tourism. Seeing things, doing things and getting out of your own country.

But the Camino is different. People start from all sorts of different places, coming from as close in as 110km away or as far as France, Belgium, Norway, Switzerland or even Poland...on FOOT. Some people walk 15, some walk 20, some walk 35km everyday and some take days off. Everyone takes the camino at their own pace. Some people come out for a walking vacation and some people come to find themselves and clear out their minds before going back to regular routine and normal commitments. Some do it with friends from before, some make friends on the camino, and some could make friends but don´t. Everyone has their own Camino. Everyone is there for a different reason and everyone has a different story. The only real thing everyone has in common is that everyone just follows the yellow arrows and will eventually get there. That´s the beauty of being a pilgrim on the Camino.

I came to the Camino as a tourist, looking for a unique, inexpensive way to spend time in Spain and in Europe, but I ended up with way more. On the Camino, you aren´t just a tourist, you are a pilgrim.

I´ll be the first to admit it sounds a bit silly, calling yourself a pilgrim, just because you walk for 800km, but it´s a strange feeling and the sense of accomplishment is a greater feeling than the pain that you have to endure day in and day out, with the blisters, the muscle cramps, or just the everyday soreness that comes from walking all day. I also endured a detox period of no beer for 10 days, which, considering how delicious and refreshing an ice cold beer can be on a hot summer afternoon, made it pretty pretty difficult. But it´s over now. And it feels good.

The closer in we came to Santiago, the more prearranged church and youth groups came, and competition for beds was fierce and we came to somewhat resent the newbie pilgrims. They seemed like bloody tourists who were out walking for the week. But afterall, when we got into Santiago, we didn´t care anymore. In the grand scheme of things, it´s kind of nice that they could have the opportunity to join in something as big as the Camino.

For most people, it´s the end, but for me, sadly, it´s the halfway point, but when you walk for 33 days, you get to thinking. I can´t say I´ve actually figured anything out for sure, but thinking all day sure can be nice. In the last five weeks I´ve seen the best of myself and I´ve seen the worst, and it has been one of the coolest experiences I could have possibly had as part of my great big Europe trip.

I don´t really know how to end this thought, because I´m still kind of trying to grasp the concept that tomorrow I´m not going to have to get up at 6am and start walking. It´s a bit sad, yet at the same time relieving. I am no longer a pilgrim; I´m a tourist.

Edit: this now has a title.

I guess this post won´t be getting a title.

Alright, so here´s the scoop. I really have nothing interesting to write about...again. So I´m not going to waste your time or mine. But I WILL let you know a few things that are going on and I may in the meantime answer some questions you just might have. This week´s cultural topic is

NAPTIME

Kids take naps. Adults should not. But, in Spain, around 13:00 everything shuts down and people just go to sleep. It was originally something farmers did to stay out of the heat, but now, everyone does it. It´s as if Spanish people do as little work is as humanly possible but still somehow manage to live comfortably, of course, when you live in a town of 50 people, comfortable is not the same as if you lived in a real city. When the highlight of your town is the one bar that is open until noon and after 6, maybe you should consider moving.

In walking the Camino, I have taken on some Spanish characteristics. My hair is brown, I have dark eyes and I have a tan, but no, I am not at all Spainish. Yes, I am currently in Spain walking the Camino Santiago, but I don´t live anywhere. The reason I haven´t had the chance to write a post in more than a week and a half and was late on the last one by probably 4 days as well is because people in Spain apparently do not believe in internet. In fact, I have seen more fully functional computers in this country that are not connected to any kind of internet whatsoever than I even used to see before the internet existed at all in North America.

Spanish people from other regions say "this is the least developed part of spain". I sure hope so, because they still heard cattle with a big stick and loud yells.

People on the Camino like to be done walking before 3pm. This is fine, only when we walk 35km in the 35C heat, it would be nice to have a bed when we show up at the hostel 10 hours after starting. Lightweight newbies, that´s what we call them. But that´s also not the point. The point is, the only reason they want to get in so early is so that they can take a nap.

What if I´m Spanish and I´m thirsty at 3pm? Sorry, you have to wait for another hour or two. Hopefully you don´t die of thirst...which you wouldn´t if you just opened your stores all day long - not to mention worked more than 5.5 hours a day.

Maybe it´s a little unfair to say considering I haven´t worked in now over two months, but if I took a nap every time I got tired I´d still be in France, not 850km away. All this writing is making me tired, but that´s because it´s night time, and that´s where sleep belongs; at night, not in the middle of the day.

The Curve Ball

So I realise it´s been a while since the last entry. Straight up, there has been a change of plan. Instead of following the northern coastal route, as originally planned, we took 6 days to make our way down south to the interior, main route. There were a number of factors that lead us to the conclusion, including costs, cheating/dishonesty, difficulty/lack of flexibility, and time constraints, but all in all, it´s been a pretty good decision.

By the way, if you have ever tried or needed to do any sort of non-technical writing, ie. what I do every week, you will know that sometime there is just a certain sense of writers block and sometime the throughts just don´t flow as easily as you would like. For me, today is one of those, but as I usually do, I´ll try to do my best to be entertaining. This week´s cultural topic, though broad, is:

Sometimes you do stupid things and Stupid things happen to you

Okay, I´ll admit it´s a stretch, but I couldn´t think of only adjective to describe what has happened over the past little stretch. It´s so broad a topic that i don´t really know how to start properly, so here goes.

In Spain, it is illegal to walk on the freeway. As in most countries it´s unsafe, maybe even dangerous and everybody knows that. What we didn´t know is that you can actually get a ticket for it. So write that down, kids, you should not, especially on a Sunday morning, walk on the freeway: it will cost you €63. Esta una souvenir de España, they said, as if to make it sound like they were doing us a favour. It is, in fact, SO dangerous, that they would not even let us into their van, but rather let us keep walking on the road until the next exit, where ironically, we would have gotten off anyway. I´ve never had a police escort before, though, so I guess we had to give that one a try.

Walking into the night. We have heard many people talk about wanting to do it since we got to this new camino. They want to see the stars, or they want to enjoy the silence, or they want to stay out of the heat, or whatever. This is a stupid idea, especially if you are walking on the shoulder of a two lane highway south of Orduña that doesn´t actually have a highway and you have already walked nearly 40km that day and by the time you actually get to your town that has a campsite, there is no campsite and you end up just camping virtually in someone´s backyard, so you get up so early that the sun isn´t even up, but you want to make sure you don´t get caught and you haven´t showered in two days because the night before that you also camped illegally (though we call it wild/free to make it sound less unethical) and when you get up all you can think about is going back to bed, though even in the real world this is often a thought that many people have each and everyday. The point is, though the stars are unbelievable, the view is not worth the huge pain in the ass.

Walking more than 50km in a day. This is silly. First off, if you walk 50km, that´s going to take you even an hour in a car, so that´s impressive, but it´s also stupid. We´ve done it now a couple of times and you just end up basically losing the next day anyway, so the average works itself out. But that´s the point of average. Average temperatures in the prairies in Spain, where we are right now are between 30-35C. To avoid some of the heat, pilgrims are awake by 6am, and if you walk in the afternoon you will get overheated. If you are overheated AND dehydrated and you walk 35km, the last 17 of which is a straight stretch with no shade, no water and no landmarks to let you know how far you are along the trail, you walk by yourself and are not motivated to get to the end, you will get heat stroke. The next day you will feel like crap, only walk 7km and pretty much waste the entire effort you made just to get to the stupid hostel that had the pool that ended up being too cold to be refreshingly cool. Hypothetically, of course. Heat stroke is bad and no one wants it.

Walking blind. Now, obviously we have eyes that work and we can see, but we don´t even have a guide to the 800km walking trail we´re on. Guide books vary in detail, in accuracy, in overall effectiveness and have varying degrees of helpfulness. We are following a little slip of paper that shows the distance between the town we´re in and the town coming up, leading all the way up to Santiago. That´s pretty stupid I guess, but the name of the game is follow the arrows. Even without a book you will eventually make it to where you really have to go.

But, of course, as I like to do in most posts, I´ll turn this one around for you. If you don´t do stupid things, you won´t learn anything. Stupid things happen because you don´t plan. But that´s the beauty of the camino. Everybody takes it at their own pace, whether to go on one day or to take a rest. Today we´re taking a rest in Leon, a charming little city with a huge cathedral and huger party last night, but that´s fine. That´s our camino, as they say. Point is, stupid things are what make trips interesting and if you have no stories, what´s the point of ever even leaving your house?

Hasta Manana, Suckers!

¨If you don´t practice, I won´t know - but God will.¨
- Mr Uzick

Alright, get this. We are currently in the commercial centre of the Basque country, a large city over almost 400 000 people, Bilbao, and there are no McDonalds. Lame? Yeah, I´d say. Listen, when you walk 160km in a week you really only expect two things when you get into a city: a place to sleep and a McDonalds. This place only has one of those things...greatly disappointing. This week´s cultural topic is:

CHEATING

Okay, so everyone has taken an exam at some point in their life and peaked over to the person in front of them, or beside them and made sure their answer is the right one. Everyone has compared answers on assignments before they hand them in. And, maybe even some academics have forgotten to source some part of their doctoral thesis....but that´s the kind of cheating that doesn´t really hurt anybody.

Along el camino de la costa, the northern trail that we´ve been following there have been a couple of groups that have all done the exact same days and have all ended up in the same places on the same nights. What this means is that when there are not enough spots for all of the people who are starting and finishing at the same point, some people end up getting screwed...and not the good kind.

If you care at all, you´re probably asking yourself, well wait, Kai, if everyone is walking, how can people be cheating? If you get up too late or walk too slowly, don´t you deserve to be left out when you get in to your town really late? The answer is normally simple: Yes.

But for the sake of a longer post, let me explain.

Doing a pilgrimage, like I mentioned last week is supposed to a spiritual experience, where (whether you´re religious or not) you are able to better yourself in some way by doing it. Personally, I´m in it for the fitness, photography and for the sake and the experience of a challenge. So, if it´s going to be really really easy, what´s even the point. Now, like I mentioned before, christians, mainly catholics, flock to the burial of St James to be enlightened, and as far as I´m concerned, if there´s no challenge for them, they don´t really deserve the enlightenment. Maybe they´ll get it, maybe they won´t. All I know is that just like any other time in life, cheaters might win in the short term, but when they cheat, no one wins.

For nearly the past week we have been walking and mostly all day been hanging out with a couple of older Germans (aged 51 and 62) who have followed us up and down hills, through muddy paths, through gagged rose-thorned bush fields and who have held their ground very very well. And even though I school them in climbing hills, they are very strong walkers.

So count that, two Germans, Dale and me. That´s 4. The other two groups who were competing for our spots: the ones we call the 6-pack (actually a group of 7 from Zaragoza) and the Choir (who were initially three groups of 2, 4 from Barcelona, 2 from Madrid and came together to a loud combo who talk into the night and wake up way too early) All told, that´s (count it) 17 people vying for what is often 10 or 11 cheap or free sleeping spots. Luckily for us, the 6-pack doesn´t really mind staying in a normal algergue (hostel) that will usually cost them around 10euros for the night. The choir, on the other hand, will not, especially if they were there first (!).

So now, how are they cheating if they beat us to the albergue? There are usually three ways to get to the finish point. The main route, which is the one they recommend, because it´s the actual path and therefore the most direct, but can often be very challenging. The cyclists route, which is often flatter, less rough and because of that, slightly less scenic. Then, there´s the road. The 6pack ALWAYS walk on the road, because they also have a car to carry all of their clothes and such. But the nice part about them is they don´t always take our places. The choir, however, USED to walk the proper path, but once they figured out that Dale and I are faster and stronger, they started to walk the roads. This, to me, is cheating and its ridiculous. Not only do they lose out on the true spiritual experience, but they also miss the entire point of walking the northern route of the way of St James.

So all I can do is keep walking with my head high and dignity intact and to get away from the road-walking cheaters, we´re headed south the normal Camino Frances. Hasta luego, jerks. Cheaters never win and I´ll have better pictures. Hopefully they have a McDonalds in the next place.

Free Transport...the legal kind

"Sommos piligrimos"

So as much as I would like to think that I always just play the cards as they lie and improvize my entire life, truth be told, I´m probably a pretty organised (though some people maybe call my type of organisation "unorganisation") person. Every night when I get home (though my definition of home at the moment is slightly unclear)I get out my things and put them exactly in the place so that I´ll know where they are when I get up in the morning and have to get ready. On June 6, Dale and I set out on what will easily be the longest backpacking hiking trip I will have ever taken. This week´s cultural topic (which is a topic that will probably be elaborated on in further posts) is:

WALKING

So this is going to be hard to explain hypothetically, but I´ll do my best. The walk we are taking is what is known as the Way of St James/Jean/Jacques/Camino Santiago/Camino del Norte... and is essentially a pilgrimage to the alleged burial ground of St James (elder), cousin of Jesus Christ, in Santiago de Compostela.

The walk itself is expected to take anywhere from 35-40some days (plus rest days and ours will be broken up by the Sanfermin festival in Pamplona aka Running of the Bulls). People come from all over Europe and the world to walk the Camino in hopes of being enlightened by or finding miracles of something from the Saint. Faithful catholics and other christians alike flock to the cathedral to find the closest known existing connection to Jesus.

Now, I´m not going to lie and say I´m a big believer, but I´ll tell you that a fourty day hike is one hell of a walk. I´m in it for the fitness.

So, only two days in so far (three if you count our rest day which is today) we started our walk just out of the way in Biarritz, France, and after walking, on a totally improvised 18km route until for hours in the french heat, came to the border town of Hendaye to set up camp. For those who don´t know, also, the French (like most non-english countries in Europe) like to close things down around about 16h30, so that they don´t get too tired for the evening.

Next day, walked into Spain and carried on even further to posh coastal port town of San Sebastian. Too many details to go into, but the guide book we have sucks balls and has no maps. We got lost, yes. But as smart people do, you find your way back to the trail and then hike for about 20 more kilometers until around 23:30, because all towns leading up until that point don´t have anywhere to sleep. Silly, really. ¡Pero Bienvenudo en España! Hope the rest of the trip maintains this level of fun.

Anyway, rest days are sweet, so if you remember nothing else from this post than that, you should be fine. Oh, and also, if you stay organised, however that might be, you won´t have to sleep on the beach and then have the SWAT team kick you off.