I'm Not a Citizen

When I first arrived in Toronto, I went to see a band. They played a song with a chorus that repeated itself thusly:

I'm not a citizen *clap-clap clap*

Everyone in the band, all 11 or 12 of them, chanted and clapped along. I wondered if they were trying to tell me something. Yet Toronto was a very welcoming place, so much so that I look forward to moving there in the New Year. What I didn't expect was how small it would now seem.

St. John's has been a bit of a culture shock. It's great to be home, but if I had no exit strategy I think I'd probably wind up sleeping myself into a coma.

Coined

I’ve coined a new term: proactive puttering. It means slowly making your way through the day via a series of mundane yet necessary tasks which, if left unaccomplished, will eventually incur the stress and anxiety normally associated with having to complete a mountain of tasks with a molehill of time and a firmly fixed deadline.

I’ve the day to myself as everyone I know is tucked snugly into the nook of their current occupation, and so I must currently occupy myself. What better way to do so then by meandering through laundry and household scrubbing, sifting through my personal affects and affairs, and, well, blogging? The latter’s perhaps not as practical in terms of getting me ready to leave London, but it does help put me at ease amidst a day littered with sudden little pockets of anxiety.

The party was very good fun. It seemed to go on forever, and in an instant it was over. If pressed, I’d describe my time here in London the very same way.

Two Days in Paris

I've been to some other French-speaking parts of the world, which shall remain nameless, where they mock your attempts to speak French among them by immediately replying to you in English. Not so in Paris. Here, with my sad attempts at French communication, I am treated with dignity and respect.

Je suis quelqu'un!

My immediate impression of Paris upon first stepping out into it this morning, from the luxurious flat my Mom and I arrived in late last night, was that it is much cleaner and more authentic than I'd expected. To pick up some tomatoes, bread, cheese and salami for brunch I needed to visit four different shops: the formagarie, the bakery, etc. How utterly charming and reaffirming. While I was able to put at least two of the four shopkeeps I'd visited into a grump over my not knowing the ettiquette of the French customer, I still walked away feeling the love that gives this city its romantic reputation. Love oozes out of every element and aspect of Paris... even, as it were, the air, despite its pelting us with rain from high atop the city in the Eiffel Tower this evening. The view of Paris from above at night is flawless.

I leave tomorrow night on the Eurostar for London, while my Mother remains until Monday morning. I have a leaving do to attend (apparantly I'm leaving the country in less than two weeks), which I hear is going to be huge.

See you there!

That Was Hard

I booked my ticket back to Canada tonight. From work. I was in the middle of ten other things and trying to get my head around the special event I have to run tomorrow morning, getting me out of bed at 5am for the second Saturday in a row, and then I had my ticket booked and the confirmation, so unceremonial, was there on the screen staring me in the face. I leave London, with no certainty of return, in 25 days.

I've heard of lamer excuses to throw a party...

Time, etc.

I would have liked to have been posting to this blog with a greater frequency than never since returning from Ireland, but my internet access has been poor at best.

Today marks two weeks since I moved in with Eleanor, back into my old room. We still see each other about as much as when I didn't live with her, but plans are in the works for a meal together soon. I've been perfecting a pasta sauce recipe of minimal yet all fresh ingredients just for the occaision. Lucky us!

Work has been great, things are falling into place, everyone is doing their jobs and getting along quite well. Bob enters the mix tomorrow. This should be interesting. My commute is a dream - half by train, half by foot. It seems very few people realize the advantage of walking from Victoria to Knightsbridge over taking the tube, and for my own much-enjoyed sollitude I'd quite happily like to see it stay that way.

In harsher news, I'm running out of time. Its less than two months until the flight I have yet to buy my ticket for departs London for Toronto, thus ending my near-two year love affair with this city. At a time like this, I can't help but have my attention drawn to the eerily pessimistic tone of the word 'countdown'.

Ireland

The pints and the fists were flying last night, while in Ireland things had remained mainly calm. Go figure.

We arrived back in London Tuesday night, after a three day music festival in Stradbally, Co. Laois and a seven night stay in an empty house on the seaside outside of Dingle in Co. Kerry.

The festival, Electric Picnic, hosted its fair share of intoxicated dramas among our group - mixed, occasionally, with the sporadic enjoyment of live music. Broken Social Scene were the highlight for me, 2ManyDJs were unbelievable and Yo La Tengo had me at hello.

The house was absolute serenity; epic walks along cliffs and over rolling hills, picnics, kites and sand castles on the beach, pints around the pool table at the pub, a roaring fireplace every night.

Now I find myself back in London, homeless and nearly penniless, and the harshness of reality is setting in. I start back at Harrods on Monday for seven weeks of setting up and three weeks of running the Christmas Grotto. Having a job to take me through to the end of my visa is comforting, I just need to scrape together enough money to get me back and forth until my first paycheque comes through, nevermind finding a place to live.

I miss Ireland.

Budapest

**This blog entry has been posted late. Its date has been set to August 25th, when it was intended to be uploaded, but has in fact been posted on August 30th. Apologies.**

Cosmopolitan, contemporary, ancient: Budapest is a modern, stylish city with absolute old world charm. While the shock of the Communist era of oppression may not have completely warn off, nor should it, this is very much a city in the now. In planning for this part of the journey I was expecting to find something big, bustling, a little messy and a lot of fun, and that’s exactly what I got.

The truth about Budapest is you need to have your energy reserves on full to make the most of your time there, and unfortunately by the time we arrived our tanks were coming up on empty. The St. Stephen’s Day celebrations which greeted us upon our arrival certainly got us caught up in the excitement, and the bicycle tour we took the next day gave us plenty of insight and some fantastic views, but from there on in it was pretty much up to us, and we’d unanimously declared we were going to take it easy. Fortunately for us, taking it easy was made easy on us with a trip to the thermal baths.

After over three weeks and four destinations, with lots of little destinations in between, we were finally ready to come home Thursday night. I’d happily visit each and every one of the destinations on this holiday again, but for now London will do just fine… until this Thursday when we leave for Ireland, that is.

But before we get ahead of ourselves, here's a look back at Budapest.

This mysterious hooded character is believed to be responsible for recording much of Hungary’s early history, though his identity remains unknown. His pen, when rubbed, is meant to enhance or improve one’s skills in writing. Clearly I’ve dispelled that little myth.

Having survived the long climb up the hill to Buda Castle, Laura takes a well deserved fluid break.

Meanwhile, Agnes, our tour guide, drops some knowledge as the boys from our group… admire the view.

Protected from public demolition by a fence, this monument is one of only two still standing that has any ties to the Communist Era of Budapest. A paradox, it symbolizes both Hungary’s liberation from Nazi occupation and their control under Communist oppression. In the far background is the spire of the House of Parliament, atop which the same star, the symbol of the Communist Party, once stood. Behind me, facing the Communist monument, stands the American Embassy. Even Agnes had a chuckle at that one.

The awning of the Terror Museum literally casts a shadow of terror on itself, which creeps along its façade throughout the day as a chilling reminder of the recent past. If you haven’t gotten it yet, Hungary really didn’t appreciate Communism.