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.