I dream of Paris...

For a long time, I had my head in the sand and fully believed that the sun rose and set on Montreal. Not only was this city the centre of my universe, but also the centre of the world. I didn't believe there was any reason to leave it for a sustained period and thought the whole world could be found in my backyard. Now, several years later, while I still hold my home city in the highest regard, I know a little better. A couple of weeks ago, I visited Paris, a city I swore up and down I had no interest in visiting. Why go all the way to there when I had what the city had to offer just down my block: the French language, the beautiful architecture, the food...But I was very sorely mistaken.

I decided to take a rather spur of a moment trip to two of the world's most famous capitals - London and Paris. Nottingham is really conveniently located - it's about a two hour train/bus ride to London and 30 minutes from the airport. I decided to take the bus to London and drop in on my cousins for a couple of days then take the Eurostar to Paris.

Now, I've never been to London and didn't really expect much, but I was happy with what I saw. My cousins, Sarah and Esther, are conveniently located in South London and Esther and I went to town a couple of times and I was floored with just how dense London was. With a population of 8 million and home to so many museums, it sometimes felt like I was walking through molasses because the crowds were so thick.


I didn't really get to sample the best of what London had to offer food-wise (traveling on a budget - hoo ray!), but I tried a seminally British stalwart - the cornish pasty. You can get all sorts of pasties and pies everywhere in this country, but apparently, the Cornish Bakehouse supposedly offers one of the best. I tried it twice, and while they satisfied my hunger, I wasn't particularly crazy about them. Meat stuffed in pastry - not rocket science, but no foodgasms here. Perhaps my palate has grown too sophisticated.


I travelled on the tube a few times and I couldn't resist getting a shot under the Underground sign. What was really cool was there was a place right around the corner called "The Japan Centre" where I was able to get an onigiri (rice ball) and some yaki niku (grilled meat) sauce. There were so many Japanese people that I felt like I was back in Japan! Sigh. Excuse me, I'm digressing. London has a pretty easy metro and I found it a great way to get a taste of the characters that called the capital of England home. Unfortunately, I was not lucky enough to get treated to this event though I was in London when it happened. Damn shame.

Overall, I thought London was pretty nice, and was happy to see all those famous sites, but I wasn't particularly bowled over. London is like a song with a really loud baseline: you feel the pulsing beat but you really can't make out the details of the composition. However, I really enjoyed the the museums and the fact that entry was free. I only had enough time to visit two - the British Museum and the the National Portrait Gallery. My appreciation for art, particularly those of the impressionist persuasion, has been growing since I arrived in the UK and I plan on taking every opportunity to see the greats of the past and the future while I'm living here and traveling around.

After a couple of days in London, I set off to Paris on the very sleek, very clean and very fast Eurostar. In 2 hours and 15 minutes, I was in the centre of gay Paris and I was buzzing. Stepping off the train was like exiting a really fast revolving door - you pray you don't crash and burn. Thanks to my very handy Lonely Planet Paris, I knew I had to make my way to the metro station below Gare du Nord and buy a carnet of 10 tickets. My hostel, Oops! Budget, was located in Le Quartier Latin, an area off the beaten track, but still centrally located. At 23 euros a night, it was a steal. It was clean, practically next door to the metro, new and close to restaurants. The only downside, however, was that I was in a dorm and had to share a room with 3 men. All very nice men, mind you, but men, nonetheless. Needless to say, I didn't get a lot of sleep and it was definitely an experience, but one that I'm loathed to repeat again. I would recommend the place and I would return, with an army of girls, but I probably wouldn't stay there on my own again.

After checking in, I walked back out and headed to the Montmartre area where I got down to it. First, I went to the very beautiful Basilique du Sacre-Coeur. Finished in 1919, the basilica is perched at the very top of Butte de Montmartre and has fantastic views of the city. There are three ways to get to the top - stairs as far as the eye can see, a cable car, and a mixture of pathways and stairs, which was the route I took. There were not many tourists on that cold, gray, late-January day, but there were quite a few pushy Africans peddling their crappy wares, one of whom put their hands on my wrists and wouldn't let go. For the first time ever, I felt a shock of fear while I was travelling. He was a persistent guy and I just kept saying "no" in increasing volume until he finally let me be. I don't know why, but he was just on me. A few 100 feet later, I was greeted by more pushy creeps, including one who I could have sworn spoke in Ga.















Undeterred, your plucky heroine soldiered on and made the trek all the way to the top. It was just so stunning. I kept having to stop, look around and pinch myself. My pics really can't do the basilica justice. It was so white and clean. Inside was also lovely and I took a minute to collect myself and pray for an enjoyable and SAFE time in Paris.

After I left the Basilica, I meandered through the tourist stalls in the area and bought a couple of reproductions of paintings and posters and a pretty pair of earrings. I headed south and found myself in Sexyville, or the red light district. I noticed a few skanky ladies trying to physically pull men into their strip clubs so I stuck to the pedestrian path in the middle of the road. I was tempted to go the the Museum of Erotic Art but realized that I didn't have enough time to really give the place the attention it needed. Instead, I walked down further and danced in the glow of the Moulin Rouge. It was pretty freaking cool. Just amazing. There was a line of people all the way down the block and once again I was tempted, this time to see the burlesque show. But I just didn't have the funds to see naked ladies that night, and really, it probably wouldn't have been so fun seeing it solo.




















After a simple meal of Vietnamese food (I know, how French), I headed back to the hostel to get some shuteye.

The next morning, I awoke to showers and chill but I left early and went to see the most famous Parisien sites. I went to the Charles de Gaulle-Etoile metro station and started there.


The Arc de Triomphe was the first stop, and OMG, it was beyond my wildest dreams. It was huge and imposing, but awe-inspiring at the same time. I walked the length of Champs-Elysees and kept turning back to stare at it. I took so many photos and I can still recall it clearly in my head. The feeling I felt when I saw it will probably remain with me for the rest of my days.


I spent several hours along Paris' most famous avenue and stood outside such iconic buildings as the houses of Cartier, Louis Vuitton and Remy Martin without have the courage to step inside them. Not that these places were must-sees on my list, but it was cool seeing the beautiful architecture of the exteriors.

I passed by Le Grand Palais and Le Petit Palais and was shocked by how palatial these buildings were. Further down the street, the beautiful golden dome of the Hotel des Invalides,the final resting place of Napoleon, brightened up the gray skies.

I made my way along the Seine, getting closer to what many people consider the epicenter of Paris, and took my time. The sun came out and chased the rain clouds away and I basked in the heat of it. I passed by the Flame of Liberty Memorial and looked at the place where Princess Diana died. It was eerie being so close to the place where someone died so violently and publicly and I thought about how even today, the circumstances surrounding Diana's death takes a leading place on the news roster. Though this sculpture was intended as a symbol of the friendship between France and the USA, it became a shrine of sorts for the late princess.


After hours and hours of walking around in the rain, wincing with pain with each step I took (my new shoes, in particular the right one, weren't fully broken in), I made it to the Eiffel Tower.

And it was stunning. Just indescribable.

I fell in love with it, and the sky cleared and I got to behold it in all of it's amazing beauty. And I was so glad that it didn't disappoint me. There is nothing else I can say.

After a dinner of moules-frites and a dessert of a waffle with chocolate sauce, I went to the (in)famous Louvre and was really impressed. There weren't a lot of people there because I went around 7 p.m. so I didn't have to queue to see the Venus de Milo (remarkable) and the Mona Lisa (overrated), and I took my time through the Roman and Greek sculptures and paintings (my favourites). I was so happy, I even bought a book about 300 featured masterpieces. It truly was a great day.

So there it is. I had a great time and I feel like I've relived my trip by relaying it here. I was pretty tired on the last day and it was so ball-breakingly cold, that I threw in the towel in the afternoon and went back to the warmth of the hostel before I departed in the late evening. But I left satisfied. I will definitely go back. It was a great experience for my first solo trip and highly recommend Paris to anyone.

I have two more trips before I go back to work in April: the Canary Islands and Rome. New posts soon!

Catching my breath...

I can't believe we're nearly 3 weeks into 2008. A happy new year to all 5 of my readers! It feels like a lot has happened since mid-December, a series of minor adventures in the grand scheme of things. My job ended on the 19th of December and culminated with a horrific office Christmas party with scenes that I still can't get out of my head. A couple of days later, Dave and I flew to Edinburgh Airport where we were heartily welcomed by his wonderful and warm parents. We stayed in the beautiful house near the sea in Fife, Scotland and made day trips to Edinburgh and Glasgow. Scotland is truly a heartwarming country and I loved my time there.

Me and the family. This was my second time meeting the Blackwood Family and they are truly loveable people. I love his sisters and the squabbling that went on between them made me miss my own sisters. The 'rents are fantastic people and I loved talking with them. I heart all of them.

Opening our presents Christmas morning. It was a madhouse - wrapping paper flying through the air, shouts of "Oh my god, thank you!!!" and crazy generosity. Blissful.

Dave's younger sister, the talented and pretty Louise.

Trifle - yumm. This British dessert is comprised of sponge cake soaked with sherry, a layer of Jello, or as Dave's mum kept reminding me, jelly, and a layer of whipped cream. I couldn't eat this on Christmas Day because I was absolutely stuffed to the gills, but when I ate it the next day, I fell in love with it. Sweet without being nauseatingly so, trifle is a fantastic dessert. The different textures complement each other rather than fighting for supremacy, so it all goes down rather nicely. I probably wouldn't make it because it seems rather labour intensive, but I would definitely eat it if it was on the menu.


Ahh, mince and tatties. A distinctly Scottish dish. It's a simple ensemble of stewed mince meat, a side of potatoes, steamed cabbage and suet (flour) dumplings. It's a really easy dish, but I loved it. Comfort food comes to mind.


The beau and I in a pub in Kirkcaldy. I think it's called Wetherspoon's. My fro is growing.

Gringo (Graham) and I. Lovely chap.

Dave's wee sister, Caroline and her friend Claire. We were having a photo shoot in the loo. I didn't care, I was quite tipsy at this point.

Took a scenic walk on the Fife Coastal path. It was an overcast day but the sights were really pretty, especially this waterfall that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

A rickety, old pier. I wanted to walk on it, but I didn't want to fall off and either bash my head on some rocks or get wet, so I didn't.

A beached anchor we stumbled upon on our walk.

At the end of the day, Dave and I got pretty tired (we were both sick) so we had his Dad come pick us up by the side of the road. He then drove us to the lookout point and I started snapping the sunset. I must say, sunsets in Scotland are spectacular. Then again, dusk is spectacular anywhere in the world.

Same day, same locale.

One more.

Yes, I'm a grown women, but the silliest things still crack me up.

We went to the Kelvingrove Museum in Glasgow one day and it was brilllant. I don't remember how many hours we spent in there, but it was time well spent. This war armor from a Micronesia (??) was made out of the teeth of sharks. Cool.

The various expressions of man are represented on these heads.

This reminded me of something out of Jurassic Park.

The Kelvingrove from the outside. Not only was it a beautiful and well laid out museum, but it was free! My kind of outing.

I will be travelling once again very soon, this time on a couple of solo trips. First up, I'll be off to London and Paris! Check back here soon for pics and commentary.

The other day, as I was waiting for the light to change to cross the street, I realized that I am actually living in England. Yes, it has been 3 months since I stepped on British soil, but sometimes it just hits you, you know? It happened pretty much all the time until about the last day I was in Japan. It’s so easy to take things for granted sometimes. Shiloh and Dave taught me a lot about living in the moment and enjoying what you have NOW rather than fretting too much about the past and the future. I’ve gotten better at doing this, though with the peaks and valleys of settling in a new country, you sometimes lose that insight. But wow. I never thought I’d take a huge leap and live away from my beloved Montreal. I lived in Ottawa for almost four years, but Montreal was always home for me. But here I am, living in my third country within a 2.5 year time period and taking leaps of faith when I would never have fathomed jumping. In the back of my head, home is always there for me, so in a way, a little of the pressure is taken off, but when I commit, I commit. I’m going to be 30 in 6 months and I’ve started to take stock of my life thus far. I used to fret about not having anything to show for my life when I was in my early 20’s, and to a lesser extent, I still do, but I’ve grown so much into ME, it’s a little funny. It feels good.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Japan is and forever will be an irrevocable part of my life. I feel such an affinity for many things Japanese and I have such a tender spot for the country and its people. I read a NY Times article and I felt like I knew the subject, Ms. Matsuyama. When she was talking about preparing sukiyaki and oden for her kids, my memories nearly overwhelmed me. Mmmm, it’s totally sukiyaki and onsen season right now. I wish I could just go to the onsen, get nekkid and soak my worries away. Don’t get me wrong; I got my fill, but it never seems like enough. Dave and I have noticed a few Japanese people in Nottingham (I saw loads in Edinburgh) and we both agreed that there’s a certain sense of knowing and happiness when we’re in their vicinity. There is a trio of Japanese girls that attend the college where I work, and I always try to sit near them when I catch them on my lunch break. I catch snippets of their conversation (in Japanese) and I smile, fully understanding what they’re talking about.

I gave in my notice at work almost 2 weeks ago. I think I made a real impression here as they don’t want me to go. As much as I know that this isn’t the sort of thing I want to do with my life, I was good at it, fit in well with the team and learned a few things (another nice notch on my CV). Perhaps I will get a little moist in the eyes when I say goodbye next Wednesday when the College closes down for the holidays.

I got really excited after I read DBM’s blog (I feel you girl, keep writing!) and from a link to a link to a link, I found my way to http://www.servas.org/newsite It’s a UN affiliated organization that aims to foster peace and international organization through putting hosts and travellers together. The deal is for a small membership fee, travellers can board at the home of a host for 2 or more days FOR FREE. You know I signed up for that post-haste. This is so valuable for solo travellers, comme moi. The only trouble is deciding where to go first. I’m thinking I’ll take my first trip in January. Any suggestions???

I’ve pretty much decided to take a sun holiday in February with TravelEyes. Basically, sighted and blind travellers travel together to cool locales. Due to the fact I recently decided to take a sun holiday every year in either February or March (when SAD hits the hardest), what would be better than going to Fuerteventura of the Canary Islands? Maybe winning the lottery? Maybe, yes. I’m hoping to visit London as bookends to my trip. Just gotta check with my cousins.

On one of those links of a link I visited today, I read about someone who prayed for a friend, and literally 3 days later, got one. I’d definitely like to have a friend, someone who fit. I feel blessed that I can call or email anyone at home whenever I need to, and that I’m living with the one I love (and my ultimate best friend), but it would be great to have a great friend. As one gets older, it’s more difficult to make real friends and really connect. So, as I walking to the bank machine, I said a little prayer and asked for a friend, someone like me, who was funny, smart, well read, pretty (I don’t know why I threw that in – pretty on the inside? I hope I’m not that shallow), and very importantly, available. Let’s hope I get lucky sometime soon.

I've been SOO slack with taking pictures lately, especially of the stuff I've been eating lately. Also, it has just occurred to me that I don't have a Lonely Planet England yet. I haven't had time to be a tourist yet so I'm now looking forward to the two months I have off. I promise, I'll post on the proclivities and absurdities of people and things while I'm living in a country that is HRM (Her Royal Majesty's) everything. Should be good.

Keep on truckin'...

I've been back in a Western office for almost two months and I can't believe I've actually missed it. Well, actually, I know what I missed. It was the socialisation that goes on in the office. Chatting, laughing, exchanging ideas and generally making the day go faster. I lucked out in landing the placement I did. I'm back in a school, a college this time, and I'm working in human resources. I've been curious about HR for a long time and this job was an opportunity to get my feet wet in the field. It's interesting in a lot of ways because I'm learning about the finer points of recruitment, selection and the ins and outs of managing people. BUT, it's not something I want to do for the rest of my days. Interaction with people outside my colleagues is minimal and the paperwork is never ending. I'm more of a paper jockey than a people aide. Some days I can't be bothered searching for invisible files and calculating how many annual leave hours a part time worker has accrued. But, I get paid, I'm out of the house and I can scratch another job I'm curious about off my list.

But back to my earlier point; months ago I stated that I was looking forward to going back to the office. I was still in Japan at the time and the constant pressure of coming up with lessons for my Japanese students was wearing thin. What was really getting to me was the lack of communication throughout the day. My co-workers were great, but the communication barrier was THICK. I was always doing some independent, non-work related activity like Japanese study, reading or surfing the net. Sometimes I'd get so batty from not speaking in my own language all day that I'd say the daftest things when I'd be out with English speakers. I still shake my head when I think about that. It seems like a long time ago now. I miss quite a few things about Japan, and I recently teared up when I saw some pics of my former students on my successor's Facebook page. But that was then and this is now.

I've been noticing a few things that have made me go hmmm in the past few weeks. One of them is the abundance of BBMs – Bad British Mums. These are the young mums who yell, beat and swear at their young kids in public. I've seen examples of these BBMs at the supermarket, the bank, in the street and at my workplace. They have no patience with their kids and yell at them at the top of their lungs for infractions that do not warrant the punishment. I've heard BBMs telling their children to fuck off, to shut the fuck up, that they're going to get their fucking face smashed, and on and on. To make the matter worse, these shrieks are in gutter English accents which make my ears bleed from revulsion. These BBMs think of nothing of smacking their kids in the face, on the chest and on the bottom, further adding to their petty fury. It truly infuriates me. Of course these BBMs are not symptomatic of the whole British nation, but it's stunning to me that I've seen so many of them in the short weeks I've lived in this country. I've been thinking about children a lot and I know being a parent is probably the most difficult (and rewarding) job there is, but DAMN, I'm ready to give out condoms on street corners.

I've also noticed that Brits love to eat crap. 2 out of the 4 people in my little office area eat chocolate and chips before noon. Fish and chips, fried everything, mayo on everything, large portions – it's a healthy eater's nightmare. I'm not a calorie counter, but I do read the nutritional information on EVERTHING I eat. If it's got too many carbs, too many grams of sugar or fat and not enough fibre, I put it back. And I've been looking – a lot of foods have to too much of the bad stuff and not enough of the good stuff. According to studies and alarmist reporting, Brits are getting fatter and fatter, rivalling Americans in their girth. I've gained 7 pounds since leaving Japan, and while some of that can be attributed to living with a boy and consuming what he eats, it's also because of the availability of snacks and foods that weren't accessible in Japan. Well, NOT NO MORE. I plan on hitting the beach in February and aim to return to my more svelte self (even though I can't find where these extra 7 pounds have lodged themselves on my body) and not fall into the British way of eating. I will sample the local fare and review them, as promised.

One last thing I'd like to remark on is the multiculturalism that seems to be alternatively celebrated and abhorred. Nottingham has a beautiful market square that sees vendors from across Europe peddling their wares and community groups putting on shows. Recently, I've browsed the stalls and have bought cheese from France, olives from Italy and smelled German baked goods. I've also been to Afro-Caribbean Day where I've eaten delicious jerk chicken while watching kids of different hues perform a "hip hop" dance.
There are so many biracial children and adults here and I've seen every hair texture and variance of skin tone. I love it. But turn on the telly and you'll hear how the influx of migrants is putting stress on the school and health systems and how Britain needs to stem the influx of immigrants as their numbers are "alarmingly" high. In a way, my bubble has been burst. I had no idea how much of a "problem" immigrants are to (white) British citizens.

I'm struggling a bit to end this post in a positive way. I'm happy. The sun was out for a bit yesterday and it's out today. I've finally made it to Season 5 of "The Sopranos". Life is good.

Ups and downs...

This has been, for lack of a better word, an interesting week. I found out the conditions of my visa (working holiday) have been changed and where I had choices a couple of months ago, I now have only one option in relation to working here. Rather than choosing between working full time over twelve months broken up over two years and working part time over 24 months, I can now only work for twelve months, full stop. These twelve months can be full time or part time, it doesn't matter. I just don't have the option of working continuously part time over my allotted two years. Which sucks. It takes away some part of the security I thought I had and feeling secure is my security blanket.

I don't know why things changed or when it happened exactly, but there is a climate of anti-immigration here that I underestimated. Nottingham and England is deliciously multicultural, but some people are just not happy about it. It's a constant feature on the political agenda and in the newspapers, and with the recent tightening of Britain's borders coupled with the terrorist attacks here, things are getting ugly. Or maybe they always have been. I don't know. I've only been here for a couple of months. At this time, I'm not able to critique what I see as an issue of all wealthy countries; the push and pull of "us" vs. "them". All I know is how it's affecting me. The rules have changed and I'm in the mix.

But.

I've started to look at this whole thing differently. Rather than a pitfall, it can be an opportunity. An opportunity to actually travel, get as much experience working in different offices in the UK and to enjoy this "career break". I was pretty down about where I am in my life right now, but I have to look at things differently. I need to. So I will continue to taste the sugar with the salt and ride this thing like the kick ass cowgirl I can be.

Nott's (not) so bad...

It's been 4 weeks since Dave and I moved into our flat in Nottingham and we're getting nicely acquainted with our new town. Dave has started classes, pursuing a Master's degree in journalism at one of the two nearby universities, and I have started work as a human resources assistant (temporary) in a college. My finding work so quickly after moving in was a bit of a surprise, but I'm pleased to be working in a field that I'm genuinely interested in. I've set up a bank account, Dave and I have registered our names for all possible utilities, and I'm on my way to securing a National Insurance number (comparable to Canada's SIN) and a health insurance card. We're getting used to living together and negotiating through the sometimes sticky terrain of co-habitating, but we're learning and growing stronger as a unit, and as individuals, with each passing day. For a pair of transplanted souls, we're doing nae bad.

I sometimes find it strange that we're living in the middle of England and it's more than a little disconcerting living amongst folks who speak like Harry Potter and Oliver Twist. What's most frightful to me is hearing little kids speaking English in their weird babyspeak. It reminds me of a horror movie for some reason and literally sends shivers up my spine. Anyhoo, I think I've taken to Nottingham quite nicely. It's quite the beautiful, old town. It's got cobbled streets, a wonderful market square (seen here at night), big, old trees to go along with the big, old houses, a castle, a legend (that of Robin Hood ,which I found out is a gross bastardization of the truth. Robin Hood was a bastard. More on that another time.), and tons and tons of fantastic shops. We live quite close to the city centre (about a 10 minute walk) in a beautifully appointed neighbourhood aptly named "The Park" and by all accounts, this is ideal place to live.

However.

There are a few x's behind the name of Nottingham. For one, it's got the highest rate of gun crime in the UK. IN THE UK!! For a small island of over 60 million people, my adopted home is known all over as the place where there is a clear and present danger of getting a cap in the ass. But, to defend Nottingham, or Shottingham as it's sometimes lovingly referred to, it's not as bad as it seems. According to the Wiki article, Nottingham reported a spectacular 51 kills in 2003. For a town with a population of about 600,000 in a country where not even the cops carry guns, I suppose this was a lot. But I think it was a lot of sensationalistic reporting, though I wasn't here at the time. But things have calmed down, with the number of shootings falling to just 13 last year. It's good to know that people have gone back to stabbing and "glassing" one another.

My next gripe isn't really specific to Nottingham, and maybe not even England. It's the phenomenon that occurs on Friday and Saturday nights - the assholing of perfectly reasonable people. The women, who I think have such a fashionable way of carrying themselves, go through a horrifying slutification where they lose their good sense, their minds and their knickers come the weekend. I've seen women walking around in mini-mini dresses, garter belts and panty hose in the name of hen (bachelorette) parties and cleavage like you wouldn't believe. To be fair, women here are definitely NOT shy about showcasing their bosom. I went to a recruitment agency to get registered and the woman who was serving me was wearing a blouse that was too tight and too see through. I had to really focus on keeping my eyes on her face. I don't know, is it just me? I've seen my share of cleavage in my native Montreal, but here it's so OBVIOUS. Maybe because English ladies seem to be particularly well-endowed...? Of course, this observation and slight discomfort is further exaggerated by living in Japan for the past two years and seeing nothing but cotton/silk/wool up to the neckline.

Another thing that I'm adapting to is the drinking culture. In Montreal, you drink for pleasure, in Japan you drink to socialize, and in the UK you drink to get stinking assed drunk. To quote David, "So you see, it's not just my problem, it's society's problem." With recent articles and studies reporting that British people have a high incidence of problems related to heavy drinking (illness, unprotected casual sex, pregnancy), it's a big deal. Friday and Saturday nights are prime time for drinking and you'd be hard pressed not to see signs of binge drinking all over the place. To add to this, it seems that British males get highly aggressive when drunk (must be a throwback from all that historic war mongering). Take for example what happened a couple of Saturdays ago: Dave and I were on our way home from a lovely (and expensive) dinner at an Indian restaurant and we were weaving our way through the crowds of under-dressed, over-intoxicated folk. We were focusing on a particular group of mutton dressed as lamb (grown assed women wearing outfits meant for children) when this guy, a bloke with big ears and a surly expression, was looking at Dave with cold dead eyes and said: "You lil' prick."! This was an unprovoked attack and the ferocity of his conviction caught me so off guard that I burst out laughing! I couldn't help it. I'm still laughing about it nearly two weeks later. What a twat.*

Well, that's it for now. I've been remarking about the food culture here lately so I'll be sure to post something about that soon. Til next time!

* "Twat" doesn't mean the same thing here as it does back home. It means stupid or idiot. It still tastes like acidic glass on my tongue when I attempt to say it though. Incidentally, I'm doing alright with "cunt" (which means bastard or asshole)though it still burns my ears from time to time.

The journey continues...

The two months I spent in Montreal seemed to pass by in a blur. From late nights out, eating all my favourite food with all my favourite people, to hours upon hours spent by myself trying to put together all the different pieces of me, I had an amazing, if not short, time in Montreal. I also had a chance to spend a week in Toronto and a couple of days in Ottawa. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, yours truly was a busy little beaver.

Alas, all the fun in games in my home city came to an end on September 15th when my little sister, mother and I drove to Ottawa for me to board my flight to Glasgow. The following morning, I arrived in ye olde country, into the arms and the home of the one I love, and officially began my tenure in the UK.

There were so many things to take in: seeing the Hot Scot again after 7 weeks apart, meeting his family for the first time, realizing that I'll be living in a new country and seeing as much of Edinburgh and the surrounding areas as possible. Needless to say, it was a busy week, but it went really, really well. You know when you're filled with anxiety about something, then you do it and it was successful and then you're all like, "ahhhhhh"? Yeah, it was like that. I was as happy as a pig in shit.

Scotland was beautiful and green and cloudy skies and intermittent rain and castles and people saying "y'awright?" I visited some authentic British pubs, perused the aisles of Top Shop, saw a hell of a lot of sheep, got to see where my beloved was from, was awed by a bagpiper busker, and lots of various things that I'm grateful I took pics of, or else would have forgotten. It took my leaving it to realize that I was actually in Scotland. I can't wait to go back at Christmas.

On September 22, Dave and I moved on to stage two and drove a rented van 7 hours from the south of Scotland to the middle of England. The country side was breathtaking. I will put up some pics on Facebook, but I saw the rolling hills that I've come to expect from such films as Braveheart and Trainspotting...okay, maybe not the latter though I did walk down the same street in Edinburgh that Ewan McGregor ran down at the beginning of the film. Yeah, as a total movie nerd, I was pretty excited.

And that's me. 10 weeks summarized in just a few paragraphs. I've seen a lot of things and have written many posts in my head regarding my first impressions of the rose country. I will be updating this blog with more frequent (and shorter) posts and pics of all the interesting things I see and do. I probably won't go on any trips until the new year, but I'm sure there's plenty to see and do in the town I've just settled in. Stay with me as I continue on this path to...I don't know where, self-actualization? Enlightenment? Jewellery from all over the world? We shall see.

What the body remembers....

It's been over a month since my last post. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. Actually, no, I haven't been that bad. I left Japan on July 29 and left behind a country that filled me with conflicting feelings, but I can look back and say that all of those feelings came from love.

I had a dream last night. It was the day before the end of the world and I was a Japan, alone. I was in the East Garden of the Imperial Palace (which was the last tourist attraction I went to before I left Japan and the pic at the beginning of this post). The palace was my elementary school and it housed all 77 of my students. I was trying to get a flight to get back home to Montreal but there was a lightning storm, making it impossible for planes to fly (there really was a small lightning storm last night). It looked like I wouldn't be able to see my family before the end of the world. So I went for a jog and I took in the cleanliness of the grounds, the rich blue of the ski, the lush green of the trees and the sweetness of the air. I looked at the faces of my students and I felt if I were to die tomorrow, then I'd be okay. I was happy, so very happy. And then I woke up.

So what does it mean? I've started to miss Japan a bit, and I look back on my days there with a mixture of awe, satisfaction and fondness for my home for the past two years. During the good bits, I could say that if I were to die in my sleep I'd be satisfied with my life.

So here I am, back in Montreal, in transition, feeling like a tourist in my hometown. It's a bit strange sometimes, especially when I'm dealing with people in the service industry and feel like knocking out their teeth because they're so damn rude. It's also really strange to be bombarded with sounds of the city, especially people screeching outside their windows in the morning. There is construction going on across the street so that's always pleasant. And I saw the stars for the first time in over a week, and that was only because I was in the South Shore. That's something major that I miss from Neo - the quiet. Living in the village has definitely changed my idea on where I want to live in the future. Not in a tiny village, but not in the city either. Somewhere with a lot of green space, away from traffic. But that's later. For now, I'm here, soaking up the great weather, seeing my fabulous friends, eating amazing food, being close to my family and shedding the skin of my old life, but keeping the memories and the lessons learned inside me.

I will be leaving again in four weeks, first to Scotland to meet Dave's family then to England to live. I got my working holiday visa without a problem (and so quickly too), so very soon, I will be living my dream of seeing Europe. A new journey for me. This is my life and I'm so happy.

I'm not sure if I will write too much about what's been happening in Montreal unless something really interesting happens or I feel the need to write about what I'm feeling. But I will definitely continue to remark on my observations when I move to the UK and travel throughout Europe. So watch this space! Oh yeah, thanks to everyone who has been keeping up with me over the last two years. I had no idea I had so many people reading this thing. Thanks for the support!

Getting ready to leave the nest...

Last year, in about May, there was a nest of pretty swallows by the entrance of the JHS. They had me entranced for a few weeks before they broke my heart and flew the coop. This year, a new batch were hatched and I spend several mintues of each day just staring at them in sheer wonderment. I'm having a sense of major deja vu, but rather than taking heart in the knowledge that I will see them again, I know that it will be the last time I observe them in this environment. It's getting down to the wire, less then 3 weeks and counting before I leave Neo for good. Everything is bittersweet, but in a good way. It's positive because I'm determined to go out in a high note and so far, it's been pretty easy. My elementary school kids are counting down with me, not because they can't wait to get me out of here, but because they know that each time I see them, we have one less class together (which means one less class of mind-blowing English fun). I'm bringing the noise/bringing the funk in my last few classes and we're killing it. I hug them every chance I get (such a huge change from over a year ago when they'd examine their hand after I slapped them five). At the JHS, we're cracking mad jokes, with me stooping to the humour level of a 14 year old boy. I've got nothing to prove any more. It's all about the fun. And it's fierce.

I've started to say goodbye to people and I'm handling it well. I guess it's because I've made peace with the fact that most of my relationships will end here. If we hook up again, it'll be glorious but I'm not going to live with baited breath that it will occur. But then again, I haven't said "peace out" to the top guns so who knows how that will play out.

I will be leaving Neo on July 25, leaving Gifu on July 26, spending three days in Tokyo before flying out of Narita Airport on July 29. I sometimes think of how things will play out when I arrive home. What it will feel like to sleep in my own bed and to hang out with my family. I also think about eating whatever food I feel like when I feel like. I especially think about re-adjusting to having choices and variety and understanding languages all the time. I remember reading an account of an ex-JET who broke down in the aisle of a supermarket because there were too many varieties of peanut butter. I love PB and have hardly eaten it in two years. I hope I don't go postal in Loblaws. Don't even get me started about bagels. Montreal bagels are the best in the world.

On the edge...

I have been a ball of emotions lately. I will be leaving Japan in about 5 weeks and I feel it every day. I'm ready to leave my job and can't help but think "I will never have to teach numbers 11-100 again! Wheee!!!!" or "This is the last time I'll have to teach present perfect! Hoo raa!". But at the same time, I remember that I won't see my 9th graders graduate or that I'll miss their ocarina performance with the great and powerful Sojiro and I get a bump in my throat. That's what happened when my kids ask me if I'll be at their concert and I said no, last year was my last one and the kids said that there were sad. Ack! My tear ducts were screaming for release, but I held it together. I'm getting much better at that, thank you.

But, I've made it apparent in this blog, more than a few times, that I'm ready to come home. That's completely true, but I'm a little apprehensive. My world in Montreal has changed since I've been gone. My family has changed, my friends have changed, the scene has changed and I know a whole host of things I can't even anticipate have changed as well. But most importantly, I have changed. I wonder how I'll react to things that I used to take for granted. This morning, I was on the phone with my sister and she was cussing out some dude for stealing her parking space, and the guy was screaming at her at the top of his lungs. And I said (Christ, I can believe it), "That wouldn't happen in Japan." Eeeek. I don't want to be one of those people that looks at life through the rose-coloured "Made in Japan" lenses. You know what I'm talking about. Those people who were away for an extended period of time and come back to their hometown going on and on about how everything was so much better abroad. I can't stand that. I don't want to do that.

That gets me thinking though. Is life better in Japan? Can I say, that after two years of living and breathing all things Japanese that this was better than anything I've ever known in my life? I can say (somewhat hesitantly), that no, it ain't. There are a lot of good things about the country, as well as a lot of things that don't make sense to me or are just wrong, but life is not better here. I hesitated because I think that Japan has bettered me in a variety of ways. Without all the free time I've had here, and the opportunities I've had to travel and learn about the world and myself, this would have been all for naught.

So while I am sad about leaving my temporary home, and saying goodbye to friends and my sweet students, I'm ready to move on and to see how the new me takes to the outside world, the real world, if you will. I've been challenged and am still being being challenged. But now I'm ready to dip my feet in new waters.

I should be setting sail (or ahem, leaving on a JET plane) on July 29th.

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Last weekend, Gen, Shi, Dave and I went to Fukui in search of nothing but finding a lot. We found some very interesting rock formations in the sea and decided to climb them. Never mind the facts that 3 of us were wearing flip flops, no one else was climbing, and bottom below was full of crashing water and jagged rocks. We climbed and we succeeded. I decided to take the above picture when I had the startling realization that I could very well die doing something that didn't need to be done. I guess I took the pic to commerate this moment when I grew golden balls. Dave was proud and surprised that I attempted this feat but I knew I had it in me. I guess I just choose/chose not to show it all the time.

We also found a sweet little cafe that jutted out into the sea and the view was breathtaking. Though it was seemingly picture perfect, the limitations of a camera made it difficult to do it justice.

I might be able to squeeze in one or two more day trips, but if this was the last one, then I'd be happy. It was all that and I bag of dried octopi.

Fight-o!


There are many words in the Japanese dictionary that are difficult to translate. One that you can hear on an almost daily basis is ganbaru, which according to the dictionary means to persevere or do one's best. Often, when I tell my kids to "ganbatte kudasai", I translate it to English and tell them to please do their best. Similarly, when people tell me that, I reply "ganbarre imasu", which means I will try my best. However, irregardless of how many times people are told and taught otherwise, the most common translation of ganbaru is fight! Or in katakana English, fa-i(ee)-to! You'll here it at competitions, before tests or when someone isn't feeling too hot. I've decided to adopt this ill-translated word as a personal mantra for my final 8 weeks here. See, I've been feeling amazingly underwhelmed and understimulated during working hours, which means I'm a lazy sack of shit after I'm relieved of my duties. A growing sense of apathy started to take over my mind during my hours of solitude and I began to look at my remaining time as a cold, desolate desert that stretched before me. It sucked. I would awaken for the weekend and then return to a semi-catonic state sometime around 8:15 a.m. Monday morning. But today, I said enough is enough. I don't want my final weeks in Japan to be filled with disdain and blinding anticipation so that I would forget my nearly 100 weeks here. So I will reach down into my spirit and savour the lasts of everything. I WILL FIGHT!

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I had a good weekend and I felt like I accomplished a lot without over-exerting. I shipped four boxes of my belongings, got a quote for my return plane ticket, tried out a new recipe, saw Pirates of the Caribbean, ate at one of my favourite restaurants (mmm, miso katsu, how I'll miss you), thorougly enjoyed watching Snakes on a Plane (Samuel L. Jackson, you are still the shit), walked around near a brook and saw dozens of fireflies (tres romantique) and spent 8 hours making the Samurai doll that you see here. I royally messed up this doll and had to make the pants all over again, plus I forgot to not glue one side of them in order for the samurai to hold his swords in his belt, but it worked out well because my guy is holding swords in each hand and looks like a total badass. I love happy accidents. This doll took a lot out of me so please forgive how used up I look in the first pic. This doll will be my second to last and I'm going to miss these classes that infuse Japanese culture with laughter and conversation. Truly one of the best things I've done here.

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I received a newsletter that contained information about reverse culture shock, which is something I might encounter when I return home. Basically, it's a phenomenom that affects people when they return home after they've lived abroad for an extended period of time. I felt culture shock when I moved here (and how!), and I anticipate feeling its companion when I go home. The newsletter suggested doing a few things to prepare for this inevitable part of living internationally. For example, it suggested making a list of the things that I like about Japan and thinking about which things I can take home, which I can try to recreate back home, and which things I must honour and say goodbye to. This is something that I'll be working on over the next little while. It's extremely important for me to say goodbye to this place properly so that I can close this chapter of my life and move on to a brighter future. The newsletter also suggested writing a list of the 5 people I will miss the most and thinking of the most meaningful way to say goodbye to each of them. Thinking about it makes me want to barf. Saying goodbye is truly the most difficult and painful thing for me. Lord have mercy, it's going to be miserable. Gotta remember my new motto though - FIGHT-O! You can just sense my false enthusiasm, can't you?

Happy birthdays...

I recently celebrated my birthday in Okinawa and it was one of those trips that will go down in awesome birthday history. It was so great, that for two days after I returned, I was still on cloud nine. Dave and I spent four days in Miyako-jima and each day seemed to go on and on, but definitely in a good way. We weren't running around trying to see every little thing. Instead, we spent three days on the beach and wandered around in our rented car. Miyako is a fairly large island, a lot bigger than Tokashiki, the island we visited last year, so I'm happy that I took Julia-jima's advice and rented a car.

There were so many highlights on this trip. The biggest one was seeing Julia again after nearly two years. Julia and I met in Japanese class and during JET orientation stuff in Montreal before leaving to Japan, and have been communicating exclusively through our blogs and email. Hanging out and talking with her was like having a little bit of home on this island was huge for me. Thanks Julia!

A few other highlights were eating Greek food while overlooking the ocean, Dave and I having a whole house to ourselves, eating a lot of great food and swimming in crystal clear waters. Being on this island with Dave made everything happen in technicolor and I was so happy to share everything with him. It was everything I wanted and more.

Today is Dave's birthday and we celebrated it this past weekend. I organized a surprise trip to Osaka and Universal Studios for him and invited a bunch of our friends to share in the fun. I didn't tell Dave that we'd be going on an overnight trip until the day before and arranged for everyone to meet us on the train. It was perfect: at 8:15 in the morning, 7 foreigners jumped out of their seats in a quiet Japanese train car and yelled "SURPRISE" for the delighted Scotsman. Oh man, it was awesome. But he still didn't know where we were going. I blindfolded him when we were about 30 minutes away and we led him to the entrance of the park where we unveiled in his surprise. A lot of hootting, hollering and hugs later, we entered the park where we would spend 9 hours waiting in lines, playing Catchphrase, talking too loud, eating and drinking overpriced food and beer and going on the fantastic attractions. The Spiderman ride and the huge rollercoaster were my favorites.

At night, we had a really late dinner at an Indian restaurant that stayed opened especially for us (thanks to Kana - arigato gozaimashita!). The food was delicious and spirits were high and I was happy that everything worked out. This past weekend was one of the best times I've spent in Japan (gotta make a top ten list before I leave).

So, I'm back at work and trying hard to get back to my routine. I feel like I haven't had a good sleep in ages. I have about 7 more weeks of teaching and then I'm done, but I've got so many things to do. It's getting a little intimidating. I had a craptastic teaching day today and I'm ready to get out of here. I'm sorry if my writing is lackluster but all my happy-happy joy-joy was spent this weekend. I'll be back on track soon. To everyone whom I've been ignoring through email/Facebook, a thousand apologies. I'll get to you soon!