Monday, 25 February 2013
Something Compelling
This looks like a cool thing these guys are doing, filming the albatrosses on Midway Island. The broader picture and the inevitable situation we are facing is quite sobering indeed. It is hard for me to give a concise reaction or conclusion from it, because I see that the problem is much deeper than just plastic being thrown into the ocean - it's principles, values, man and society's view of life. This external problem has a root in the philosophical and also theological debates of belief. The way we view ourselves, where we came from, how we are meant to live, and how we treat others directly affects our world. There are physical ramifications of beliefs. We can change the way we live, we can even stop the use of plastics, but the true problem to which we must discover the true solution is on the inside.
Friday, 18 January 2013
Blue
I'm glad the ocean's my element. It's about 70% of the planet. And understanding her is the work of a lifetime, and not dull work neither. How she moves, the winds and currents and tides, it's simply fascinating. I've been reading Heavy Weather Sailing by Coles and it's deepening my respect for the ocean, as well as my appreciation for weather charts and the amount of knowledge we have at our disposal. His accounts of rough passages are greatly insightful into how weather systems work, and general ocean movement.
There was a fantastic sunset this evening that filled everything, reflecting pinks, oranges and purples off of anything, grey silhouettes of seabirds transiting the sky, the flash of the lighthouse and the sad moan of the mile buoy in the distance. The intensity of it overwhelmed me as I stood in what was perhaps a subconscious state. It didn't matter if I were happy or sad, heartbroken or hopeful, tired or fresh. There was only the Sunset, and the Ocean. Lines from a song floated in front of me,
There was a fantastic sunset this evening that filled everything, reflecting pinks, oranges and purples off of anything, grey silhouettes of seabirds transiting the sky, the flash of the lighthouse and the sad moan of the mile buoy in the distance. The intensity of it overwhelmed me as I stood in what was perhaps a subconscious state. It didn't matter if I were happy or sad, heartbroken or hopeful, tired or fresh. There was only the Sunset, and the Ocean. Lines from a song floated in front of me,
Mother, mother Ocean
I have heard you call
I've wanted to sail upon your waters
Since I was three feet tall
You've seen it all
You've seen it all...
I don't know why I'm so interconnected with the ocean, but I'm thankful for it. There's a mysterious aspect to her that I don't understand, but perhaps one isn't supposed to. Perhaps it's the force that produces the allure that makes us want to know her and sail her. But she's home, and when things are bad, she can always swallow my problems and drown my tears. And when things are good, she can send me forward towards the horizon believing in dreams.
Saturday, 5 January 2013
The Fantasy of Security
The strange society we live in gives us preset notions of how life should be lived. Go to school, find a job or start a business, work most of your life, and then the last 20 years or so do what you wanted to in the first place, if you're at all able to. If you're religious, then perhaps 10% of your income goes to the church and maybe you'll go on a mission trip a few times. You work to build your "empire," but what all for? These days we work for security, we live for security, we give up freedom for security. Why?
I've come to the realization that there is no security in this world. We like to think there is, that we can rely on something for certain no matter what happens, but it just doesn't exist. Outside the salvation of the soul through Christ there is no certain thing. So why worry so? Why deceive ourselves with this fantasy that doesn't exist?
It's true if you don't take action nothing gets done, and there is a healthy amount of attentiveness that should be taken to assure yourself agreeable circumstances. But more than that, why do we struggle with the worries of the future and the downward spiraling course the earth is on? We are not promised tomorrow, only today. Today! Seize it, do something with it, make it your own. It is a gift.
I've come to the realization that there is no security in this world. We like to think there is, that we can rely on something for certain no matter what happens, but it just doesn't exist. Outside the salvation of the soul through Christ there is no certain thing. So why worry so? Why deceive ourselves with this fantasy that doesn't exist?
It's true if you don't take action nothing gets done, and there is a healthy amount of attentiveness that should be taken to assure yourself agreeable circumstances. But more than that, why do we struggle with the worries of the future and the downward spiraling course the earth is on? We are not promised tomorrow, only today. Today! Seize it, do something with it, make it your own. It is a gift.
Saturday, 29 December 2012
The Creation of Art
It is said broken people make the best art. Perhaps because they understand it the best. After all, art is an expression of humanity that cannot be communicated any other way, and brokenness is only a concept to describe what we barely understand. It is also said we must be broken before we can be renewed.
In retrospect, "good" experiences that make you "happy," give you a natural high, exhilarate your feelings don't necessarily increase your productivity or creativity. When things are good, when you think you've found the best thing in life thus far, what more is there to consider? When the world's at your feet and you think you can see the future, things become so much more expressable - easy to relate. We've all been there, in love, or just on top of the world, like that 60's pop song, or 90's pop song, or that new one... the one with all the same chords.
But when things are hard, when you've hit the rocks and the last splinter has been ground away by the sand, when you're just a piece of glass on the beach being worn away by sun and sea, that is advancement. A piece of seaglass doesn't become smooth from being on a shelf somewhere in someone's bedroom, it's from months, years of turmoil and chaos, storms and tides. It's the hard times that make the beauty shine through. And though there may be the same beauty at the heart of it, it is hardly the same piece that came from the glass blower's. From the outside you wouldn't know.
In some respects, it's possible that is what art must go through before it really becomes worthwhile. Or even gets created. I'm no expert, but there seems an initiation process of sorts before things become great, or great ideas are born. Lately I've been thinking about Dickens and Beethoven. Alot about composing, just the process of creating something. Like the prelude, or the novel.
I'm only stewing ideas. Merely because I'd never written songs before, and now I have. Maybe that's really typical. I don't know. I'd like to think of playing it someday, maybe it being popular in underground circles, in a small way.. and somehow one person will know it was written for them.
In retrospect, "good" experiences that make you "happy," give you a natural high, exhilarate your feelings don't necessarily increase your productivity or creativity. When things are good, when you think you've found the best thing in life thus far, what more is there to consider? When the world's at your feet and you think you can see the future, things become so much more expressable - easy to relate. We've all been there, in love, or just on top of the world, like that 60's pop song, or 90's pop song, or that new one... the one with all the same chords.
But when things are hard, when you've hit the rocks and the last splinter has been ground away by the sand, when you're just a piece of glass on the beach being worn away by sun and sea, that is advancement. A piece of seaglass doesn't become smooth from being on a shelf somewhere in someone's bedroom, it's from months, years of turmoil and chaos, storms and tides. It's the hard times that make the beauty shine through. And though there may be the same beauty at the heart of it, it is hardly the same piece that came from the glass blower's. From the outside you wouldn't know.
In some respects, it's possible that is what art must go through before it really becomes worthwhile. Or even gets created. I'm no expert, but there seems an initiation process of sorts before things become great, or great ideas are born. Lately I've been thinking about Dickens and Beethoven. Alot about composing, just the process of creating something. Like the prelude, or the novel.
I'm only stewing ideas. Merely because I'd never written songs before, and now I have. Maybe that's really typical. I don't know. I'd like to think of playing it someday, maybe it being popular in underground circles, in a small way.. and somehow one person will know it was written for them.
Saturday, 17 November 2012
Philosophy of Rain
This weather has put me in a contemplative state. Or maybe it was walking into the closet door the other day that threw my thoughts around a bit. There's an irony to our best-laid plans of what we will make ourselves to be, our plans of success and fulfillment, and then the reality of being a puny speck on a planet in a corner of the universe.
I wonder how much the color of my room affects me. It's pink. I wouldn't have painted it pink, I probably would have made it blue. If it were blue, I wonder how much lonelier it would make me feel. Because I like blue, but it's apparently a lonely color.
Some great poetical lines from a Teitur song:
I wonder how much the color of my room affects me. It's pink. I wouldn't have painted it pink, I probably would have made it blue. If it were blue, I wonder how much lonelier it would make me feel. Because I like blue, but it's apparently a lonely color.
Some great poetical lines from a Teitur song:
There comes a time
When you must stay in the moment
Though your heart is bleeding
And there comes a time
When you must walk away
Though your heart's still beating...
All my mistakes have become masterpieces.
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
This is Terrible!
Well, it happened... I'm published. And quite embarrassed about it, to be frank. After 2years in the process, This is Terrible: The Writer's Lament is in print and available at The Word Shop, or from myself. It's a compilation of works from various writers associated with the Word Shop and particularly the First Tuesday Writers group. My submissions include a ten-minute exercise and a long short-story written at age 14 and edited and rewritten for years afterwards.
The last time I looked at Foul Weather Friends was when I submitted the final draft 2 years ago to the publishing project. Happy to have it finally out of my life, it seems almost foreign to see it in print all of a sudden. With my name on it. Ahhhh crap.
On first perusal, it's actually not too bad. The first thing that struck me was simply this: too many words. Just too many altogether. I wrote things elaborately, thoughtfully, skillfully actually, but they could have been stated much simpler. I definitely was reading O'Brian at that point. He has better command of the wordiness, though.
I suppose if anyone out there was even remotely interested in reading it I've probably turned you off by this point. However, you will be interested to know that the book features many great works by skilled and entertaining writers. Totally worth it even if you skip 6500 words in the middle.
The last time I looked at Foul Weather Friends was when I submitted the final draft 2 years ago to the publishing project. Happy to have it finally out of my life, it seems almost foreign to see it in print all of a sudden. With my name on it. Ahhhh crap.
On first perusal, it's actually not too bad. The first thing that struck me was simply this: too many words. Just too many altogether. I wrote things elaborately, thoughtfully, skillfully actually, but they could have been stated much simpler. I definitely was reading O'Brian at that point. He has better command of the wordiness, though.
I suppose if anyone out there was even remotely interested in reading it I've probably turned you off by this point. However, you will be interested to know that the book features many great works by skilled and entertaining writers. Totally worth it even if you skip 6500 words in the middle.
Sunday, 21 October 2012
Note Excerpts from Recent Travels in Europe
Upon Arrival in Munich...
Wandered around the Hauptbahnhof for a while looking for Tram16. Found the right stop, then Tram17 came by. I was wondering if it would get me to the same place when a guy who'd been standing nearby said, "After you. Yes, this goes to The Tent; I live there." And that was how I met Oskar, a longhaired young man from Spain. He has a summer job working at a Biergarten, and gave me some interesting info. He said Oktoberfest actually is in September, from about 15.9 - 27.9 so I may miss it. He also said it's not that special and it's very expensive (10euro for a pint as opposed to 7 for a liter). Unfortunately after checking in and buying some pasta for dinner, I got pulled into a long philosophical/theological discussion with some dude from Santa Barbara, so I wasn't able to talk further with Oskar. He was very helpful though.
Radstadt...
Amazing hike today. I think the big difference in the forests here is there aren't any medium-sized bushes. There are some small ground foliage like blueberries and ferns, and then there are the trees; so you can actually see alot more than the forests in California. Top of the mountain was incredible; the whole town spread below, two glaciers within sight, tons of ski resorts and amazing mountains and cliffs everywhere. Spaetzel und Kaese is really yum.
Daytrip to Venice...
Left the house at 5am and started the 3-1/2 hour drive to Jesolo, Italy. I slept most of the way to Udine. In Italy, the countryside drastically changed though. It flattened out and there were large fields of corn and grapes (vinyards) and ancient tumble-down brick houses. The architecture took on a major change as well, light tile roofs, older buildings had more of a rennaisance look than gothic. And things were generally in a state of disrepair. Rather like an older, wealthier Mexico.
We arrived in Jesolo, the main point from which ferries leave for Venice. It was crowded and chaotic, but Peter speaks some Italian, so he was able to help us get on the right ferry. Then began our wanderings in Venice.
We started in San Zaccaria, on the border between the San Marco and Castello quarters. The skinniness and romanticness of the streets, alleys and canals was overwhelming. And the buildings were astonishing. Architecture from centuries over, cute shutters, arched doorways and incredible sculptures amazed me.
There were a lot of people though, and most of the city stank. Billions of tiny shops, bakeries and cafes, a lot of them selling similar things; bags, purses, theatrical masks, scarves, clothing, coffee, glasswork, leather shoes...
We passed one super fancy shoe and purse shop, on a corner enclosed in glass. There were a husband and wife, the husband was trying on shoes, and the shop clerk helping them, the only one in the store, was wearing a tuxedo. Haha.
Stopped at a cafe for coffee, and in Venice, Italy, a place known for good coffee, I had the worst cup of my life, ironically. I ordered a "cafe corretto," there being a large menu and not knowing what to try. It was a shot of espresso with a shot of grappe. Disgusting. It didn't have enough coffee to really be a "coffee," but there was just enough coffee flavour for it to not be a shot. Gross. Most definitely something I will never forget.
On the exciting ride home in the dumping rain, we went over a mountain pass. The rain turned to snow and it was 1degree celcius. Near the top, Viola and I got out and ran around barefoot throwing snowballs for a few minutes. The way down the mountain was trickier because the car still has the summer tires. Got home to find that we had locked ourselves out of the house, which was another adventure altogether.
A Day in Munich...
The couple who sat next to me on the train helped me get the right tram to Marienplatz, and thus began my adventure in Munich. I saw a lot, much of which I forget what the building or story was.
Except Asamkirche. When I saw that, I realized in full what Fred meant when he talked about the Baroque style. Embellishments, over-the-top gold leaf, sculptures in every imaginable location... The church was built by the Asam brothers (I forget exactly when) because they vowed to build a church if God saved them from a terrible shipwreck.
At about four I was in the garden by Max-Josephplatz and it really began to dump rain. Sitting in the gazebo, I came up with a brilliant plan to keep both my umbrella-less self and my backpack dry [at this point I had everything for 2weeks of my trip with me]. I draped my coat over my pack and the hood fit perfectly over my head, accomplishing my goal and creating a ridiculous hunchback at the same time. Happily, living in Santa Cruz has taught me not to worry about outward appearances, and I continued my sightseeing in the direction of the Hauptbanhof. Had a little difficulty find the actual station... for about half an hour... on the same block...
Vienna...
I got up early to get standing room at mass, where the Vienna Boys Choir and the Vienna Phil were playing Schubert's Mass in Gminor. That was how I met Amber, who was staying at the same hostel. We got brunch together afterwards at cafe Ruedigerhof and shared single-traveller-stories. She left today unfortunately, but it was a very enjoyable morning. The waiter was funny, he seemed the sort of man more suited to construction than waiting on tables. He plunked our coffee and food down disinterestedly and that was the last we saw of him until we walked up to the bar an hour later to pay. The stereotype for the Viennese waiter is quite humorous.
London...
After reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, or actually halfway through, I started wondering if I myself am a wallflower [...] I'm having some Bulmer's apple cider, which is quite good and reminds me of Fantastic Mr Fox which makes me smile and feel fuzzy inside. It's been entertaining to legally buy and consume alcohol, but also I've learned how to simply enjoy a beer or drink in moderation, something I knew I should learn after [...] Also all this writing is helping me, I can feel it working through my system, all the months bottled up now to come spewing out of my pen at last. Sometimes I just forget to write. Or I'm afraid to. Maybe I am just like the wallflower.
Leaving London...
I got to Canada Water station at 01:35 like the stationmaster told me to... and waited...and waited. There was no bus. There were a couple other people standing around, so I asked this guy if he was waiting for the bus also. He wasn't and he said I wouldn't be catching the bus at this time of night, but inquired as to where I was going. Then he asked, "Wait, are you American?"
-"Yes."
"What state?"
-"California."
"REALLY?! Are you from LA???"
-"No, I'm closer to San Francisco actually."
"Oh... Well, I do have one American friend, and for his sake I will help you get to Stratford."
One of his friends had just got in from Portugal, so they were waiting for a cab to get them to the flat she was staying in, and then he was going home, which was quite near to Stratford. The cab was quite late, and it seemed to take forever to get to the apartment. After his friend was situated and he's gotten a jacket (poor guy was freezing at the station in a t-shirt), we headed towards the Stratford part of town, which is East London. The cab driver turned out to be an old neighbor of his fathers, and consequently he said we didn't need to pay him. I think they were speaking Portugese, but I'm not sure. The cab dropped us off at a bus centre, and the real race against time began.
We almost got on the wrong bus, and it was lucky he was with me because I wouldn't have known the difference if I were told it was the right one on my own. We found the right bus, which dropped us off near his flat.
He said we had 15minutes to get to the bus stop that would get me to the station, so we alternated between running and walking, and I think it must've been over a mile altogether.
He said the three other American girls he had met in the past had all been on a European trip to get over their breakups, and I had to disappoint him in saying that wasn't the reason I'd gone. He said it was very strange, 2 would be a coincidence, but 3 was starting a statistic.
As we got closer to the bus stop I thanked him heartily for helping me, because honestly I wouldn't have known what to do otherwise and I didn't even have a phone to call a cab. He said it was no problem.
I had to run the last block and around the corner to make sure I hadn't missed the bus, which thankfully I hadn't. As the bus pulled up, I dug through my bag and gave him a package of Manner (Austrian cookies). He asked if I could find the rest of the way myself, and I said I was confident I could. He said goodbye and good luck, I thanked him again and that was the last I saw of him.
I got off at the stop for the main station, but to my consternation I had no idea where I was. Again, a divine intervention I believe, there was a girl with a suitcase and I followed her through the empty shopping mall, and when we came out the other side we were at the station.
The bus I caught to the airport was late, and when I got through security there was no information for my flight. There were mobs of people and it was awful and crowded, worse than airports normally are it seemed. Perhaps because it was nearly 4am.
There being no gate information, I bought some groceries which took probably about 15minutes. Then I checked the screen again and it said final call for my flight! I ran as best I could, and there was a horrible mess of slow people in the hallway to the gates, and guess what - there was a terribly long line at the gate. Horrid. Bloody fishpaste.
Anyhow, I got to the gate and the girl there was simply cruel. First she said I had to put my handbag inside my luggage "because, madam, you are only allowed one bag only." So I crammed, reorganized, smashed my crackers and got it all to fit. I started walking, but she said "Oh, now you have to fit it in that grid" By this time I was the last person, and I frustratedly jammed the thing in and couldn't get it back out. There was a nice man who kindly helped me pry it out, and then I ran to the plane.
Of course I was the last person, so everything was packed. Then they made me move. "Excuse me miss, you can't sit there, evne though the rest of the plane is packed and the girl at the gate made a mess of your luggage and made you last, and you're about to cry." When I finally got a seat - next to a window ironically - I did cry. I just wanted to go home and forget this stupid airline and these idiot snobs and all the crap.
I arrived in Salzburg, it felt like home, and immediately got a bus from the airport to Mirabell Gardens, and took a nap. I love that place.
Graz...
Riding our bikes to church, albeit late, was amazing. The fresh air of the morning, the bright fall colours everywhere, the incredible Austrian architecture... a great experience.
On the crowded buss to the Hauptbahnhof there was this cute little boy in the stroller I was standing next to. He was probably about a year old, and all smiles. Being the bad influence that I am, I stuck my tongue out and made silly faces, and he stuck his tongue back at me whilst grinning. Then it stayed there, and he kept sticking his tongue out at me delightedly, and his poor mother noticed, and tried to push it back in with her finger, all in vain of course. Hilarious.
Wandered around the Hauptbahnhof for a while looking for Tram16. Found the right stop, then Tram17 came by. I was wondering if it would get me to the same place when a guy who'd been standing nearby said, "After you. Yes, this goes to The Tent; I live there." And that was how I met Oskar, a longhaired young man from Spain. He has a summer job working at a Biergarten, and gave me some interesting info. He said Oktoberfest actually is in September, from about 15.9 - 27.9 so I may miss it. He also said it's not that special and it's very expensive (10euro for a pint as opposed to 7 for a liter). Unfortunately after checking in and buying some pasta for dinner, I got pulled into a long philosophical/theological discussion with some dude from Santa Barbara, so I wasn't able to talk further with Oskar. He was very helpful though.
Radstadt...
Amazing hike today. I think the big difference in the forests here is there aren't any medium-sized bushes. There are some small ground foliage like blueberries and ferns, and then there are the trees; so you can actually see alot more than the forests in California. Top of the mountain was incredible; the whole town spread below, two glaciers within sight, tons of ski resorts and amazing mountains and cliffs everywhere. Spaetzel und Kaese is really yum.
Daytrip to Venice...
Left the house at 5am and started the 3-1/2 hour drive to Jesolo, Italy. I slept most of the way to Udine. In Italy, the countryside drastically changed though. It flattened out and there were large fields of corn and grapes (vinyards) and ancient tumble-down brick houses. The architecture took on a major change as well, light tile roofs, older buildings had more of a rennaisance look than gothic. And things were generally in a state of disrepair. Rather like an older, wealthier Mexico.
We arrived in Jesolo, the main point from which ferries leave for Venice. It was crowded and chaotic, but Peter speaks some Italian, so he was able to help us get on the right ferry. Then began our wanderings in Venice.
We started in San Zaccaria, on the border between the San Marco and Castello quarters. The skinniness and romanticness of the streets, alleys and canals was overwhelming. And the buildings were astonishing. Architecture from centuries over, cute shutters, arched doorways and incredible sculptures amazed me.
There were a lot of people though, and most of the city stank. Billions of tiny shops, bakeries and cafes, a lot of them selling similar things; bags, purses, theatrical masks, scarves, clothing, coffee, glasswork, leather shoes...
We passed one super fancy shoe and purse shop, on a corner enclosed in glass. There were a husband and wife, the husband was trying on shoes, and the shop clerk helping them, the only one in the store, was wearing a tuxedo. Haha.
Stopped at a cafe for coffee, and in Venice, Italy, a place known for good coffee, I had the worst cup of my life, ironically. I ordered a "cafe corretto," there being a large menu and not knowing what to try. It was a shot of espresso with a shot of grappe. Disgusting. It didn't have enough coffee to really be a "coffee," but there was just enough coffee flavour for it to not be a shot. Gross. Most definitely something I will never forget.
On the exciting ride home in the dumping rain, we went over a mountain pass. The rain turned to snow and it was 1degree celcius. Near the top, Viola and I got out and ran around barefoot throwing snowballs for a few minutes. The way down the mountain was trickier because the car still has the summer tires. Got home to find that we had locked ourselves out of the house, which was another adventure altogether.
A Day in Munich...
The couple who sat next to me on the train helped me get the right tram to Marienplatz, and thus began my adventure in Munich. I saw a lot, much of which I forget what the building or story was.
Except Asamkirche. When I saw that, I realized in full what Fred meant when he talked about the Baroque style. Embellishments, over-the-top gold leaf, sculptures in every imaginable location... The church was built by the Asam brothers (I forget exactly when) because they vowed to build a church if God saved them from a terrible shipwreck.
At about four I was in the garden by Max-Josephplatz and it really began to dump rain. Sitting in the gazebo, I came up with a brilliant plan to keep both my umbrella-less self and my backpack dry [at this point I had everything for 2weeks of my trip with me]. I draped my coat over my pack and the hood fit perfectly over my head, accomplishing my goal and creating a ridiculous hunchback at the same time. Happily, living in Santa Cruz has taught me not to worry about outward appearances, and I continued my sightseeing in the direction of the Hauptbanhof. Had a little difficulty find the actual station... for about half an hour... on the same block...
Vienna...
I got up early to get standing room at mass, where the Vienna Boys Choir and the Vienna Phil were playing Schubert's Mass in Gminor. That was how I met Amber, who was staying at the same hostel. We got brunch together afterwards at cafe Ruedigerhof and shared single-traveller-stories. She left today unfortunately, but it was a very enjoyable morning. The waiter was funny, he seemed the sort of man more suited to construction than waiting on tables. He plunked our coffee and food down disinterestedly and that was the last we saw of him until we walked up to the bar an hour later to pay. The stereotype for the Viennese waiter is quite humorous.
London...
After reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, or actually halfway through, I started wondering if I myself am a wallflower [...] I'm having some Bulmer's apple cider, which is quite good and reminds me of Fantastic Mr Fox which makes me smile and feel fuzzy inside. It's been entertaining to legally buy and consume alcohol, but also I've learned how to simply enjoy a beer or drink in moderation, something I knew I should learn after [...] Also all this writing is helping me, I can feel it working through my system, all the months bottled up now to come spewing out of my pen at last. Sometimes I just forget to write. Or I'm afraid to. Maybe I am just like the wallflower.
Leaving London...
I got to Canada Water station at 01:35 like the stationmaster told me to... and waited...and waited. There was no bus. There were a couple other people standing around, so I asked this guy if he was waiting for the bus also. He wasn't and he said I wouldn't be catching the bus at this time of night, but inquired as to where I was going. Then he asked, "Wait, are you American?"
-"Yes."
"What state?"
-"California."
"REALLY?! Are you from LA???"
-"No, I'm closer to San Francisco actually."
"Oh... Well, I do have one American friend, and for his sake I will help you get to Stratford."
One of his friends had just got in from Portugal, so they were waiting for a cab to get them to the flat she was staying in, and then he was going home, which was quite near to Stratford. The cab was quite late, and it seemed to take forever to get to the apartment. After his friend was situated and he's gotten a jacket (poor guy was freezing at the station in a t-shirt), we headed towards the Stratford part of town, which is East London. The cab driver turned out to be an old neighbor of his fathers, and consequently he said we didn't need to pay him. I think they were speaking Portugese, but I'm not sure. The cab dropped us off at a bus centre, and the real race against time began.
We almost got on the wrong bus, and it was lucky he was with me because I wouldn't have known the difference if I were told it was the right one on my own. We found the right bus, which dropped us off near his flat.
He said we had 15minutes to get to the bus stop that would get me to the station, so we alternated between running and walking, and I think it must've been over a mile altogether.
He said the three other American girls he had met in the past had all been on a European trip to get over their breakups, and I had to disappoint him in saying that wasn't the reason I'd gone. He said it was very strange, 2 would be a coincidence, but 3 was starting a statistic.
As we got closer to the bus stop I thanked him heartily for helping me, because honestly I wouldn't have known what to do otherwise and I didn't even have a phone to call a cab. He said it was no problem.
I had to run the last block and around the corner to make sure I hadn't missed the bus, which thankfully I hadn't. As the bus pulled up, I dug through my bag and gave him a package of Manner (Austrian cookies). He asked if I could find the rest of the way myself, and I said I was confident I could. He said goodbye and good luck, I thanked him again and that was the last I saw of him.
I got off at the stop for the main station, but to my consternation I had no idea where I was. Again, a divine intervention I believe, there was a girl with a suitcase and I followed her through the empty shopping mall, and when we came out the other side we were at the station.
The bus I caught to the airport was late, and when I got through security there was no information for my flight. There were mobs of people and it was awful and crowded, worse than airports normally are it seemed. Perhaps because it was nearly 4am.
There being no gate information, I bought some groceries which took probably about 15minutes. Then I checked the screen again and it said final call for my flight! I ran as best I could, and there was a horrible mess of slow people in the hallway to the gates, and guess what - there was a terribly long line at the gate. Horrid. Bloody fishpaste.
Anyhow, I got to the gate and the girl there was simply cruel. First she said I had to put my handbag inside my luggage "because, madam, you are only allowed one bag only." So I crammed, reorganized, smashed my crackers and got it all to fit. I started walking, but she said "Oh, now you have to fit it in that grid" By this time I was the last person, and I frustratedly jammed the thing in and couldn't get it back out. There was a nice man who kindly helped me pry it out, and then I ran to the plane.
Of course I was the last person, so everything was packed. Then they made me move. "Excuse me miss, you can't sit there, evne though the rest of the plane is packed and the girl at the gate made a mess of your luggage and made you last, and you're about to cry." When I finally got a seat - next to a window ironically - I did cry. I just wanted to go home and forget this stupid airline and these idiot snobs and all the crap.
I arrived in Salzburg, it felt like home, and immediately got a bus from the airport to Mirabell Gardens, and took a nap. I love that place.
Graz...
Riding our bikes to church, albeit late, was amazing. The fresh air of the morning, the bright fall colours everywhere, the incredible Austrian architecture... a great experience.
On the crowded buss to the Hauptbahnhof there was this cute little boy in the stroller I was standing next to. He was probably about a year old, and all smiles. Being the bad influence that I am, I stuck my tongue out and made silly faces, and he stuck his tongue back at me whilst grinning. Then it stayed there, and he kept sticking his tongue out at me delightedly, and his poor mother noticed, and tried to push it back in with her finger, all in vain of course. Hilarious.
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