"I'm Coming Up Roses Now, Flying High..."

...No one can touch me as I wave good-bye
I'm tall as a willow baby, tall as a willow
I'm sure not sorry for that

You wouldn't believe the stuff I know and have collected

I'm hung up on breathing now, when I want
No one can hurt me, when I'm in trouble
I'm strong as I'm mellow baby, strong as I'm mellow
I sure am happy for that

Have you ever seen the things I own, and have neglected
They're all quite strange, and unconnected
And that's why they're strong

A mile is long when home is far away
(Coming up roses now, flying high)
A mile is long when home is far away, home is far away

I'm holding the fiddle now, playing hard
I've learned my lesson in self-composure
I shout and I bellow baby, shout and I bellow
Can you hear me out back

Can you feel the way I've grown, and disconnected

A mile is long when home is far away
The night is long the day is long, the night is long the day is long

A mile is long when home is far away...

* * *

Since 5 February 2008, I've been to 15 countries and about 50 cities, towns and villages.

Some of the most memorable things about backpacking aren't what one might expect. For instance, whenever I met people from Canada or the States it didn't take long for the conversation to veer into food nostalgia: "man, you know what I miss?..." and it goes from there. Hilarious. And yes, Tim Horton's was mentioned more than a few times.

Also, I'll never forget the first time someone told me that one of the major differences Europeans notice between Canadians and Americans is that Canadians smile more. It happened three times, in so many words.

I won't reiterate the highlights, those are self evident and this entire blog is a testament to how amazing the last six months have been for me.
But you know what I won't miss? hmm, let's see...

- sleeping on trains and buses

- hostels that claim a full kitchen, but only have two hotplates and less than one full set of dishes and cutlery

- fridges that aren't cold enough to keep milk from spoiling

- speaking of milk: I wont miss that long-life crap they call milk.

- the disturbing lack of glassware in hostels (yeah yeah breakage, whatever - tea from a plastic cup tastes like crap!)

- cities in which every single toilet costs $.75

- shitty supermarkets, and the fact that cold drinks cost more than something from the shelf

- showers that require a button to be pushed every 10 seconds or a cord to be held down the whole time

- cold water in general

- beds that are too soft, too hard, too old, filled with bed bugs...

- cranky/rude hostel staff

- encountering people who have clearly never stayed in a hostel before and can't comprehend the most basic of courtesies. Yes, I at one point had never stayed in a hostel, but I am not a moron.

- limited breakfasts that offer nothing but refined sugar in various forms.

- standing in line ups

- looking. I'm actually tired of looking, tired of being a spectator.

- making up excuses as to why I cannot go out with guys. I've gotten pretty creative but it's exhausting. My new line in Toronto will be "sorry I don't speak english."

Soon, all these negative things will fade into the background of the fantastic memories I have of travel, but at the moment I'm so tired of this lifestyle, however temporary, that the simplest thing, like a good hot shower, will make me freakin' ecstatic.

* * *

The Soundtrack:

Curve, Portishead, Radiohead, Tool, the Arcade Fire, Chili Peppers, Nine Inch Nails, Bob Marley, Amy Whinehouse, Jeff Buckley, Sigur Ros, Gorillaz, Massive Attack, Fiest, Hooverphonic, Faith No More, Mr. Bungle, the Tragically Hip...and countless mixed playlists of wicked tunes (heavy on the sixties and eighties).

* * *

Supplementary Reading:

Don Delilo Americana

Thomas Pynchon Vineland

Camilla Gibb Sweetness in the Belly

Paulo Coelho The Alchemist

Paulo Coelho The Witch of Portobello

Paulo Coelho The Devil and Miss Prym

Yann Martel Self

Lynne McTaggart The Field

Slavenka Drakulic Cafe Europa

Virginia Woolf The Waves

Elizabeth Gilbert Eat Pray Love

Bill Bryson Neither Here Nor There

Geert Mak In Europe: Travels Through the Twentieth Century

* * *

Periodic Homes-Away-From-Home:

- England: the last of my privacy - a cottage by the sea all to myself for six days.

- United Arab Emirates: family bonds.

- Spain: Starbucks (I know - shut up)

- Malta: ocean, fields and friendliness.

- Italy: Nutella and the bottom of a wine bottle.

- Belgium: I dare say, the best dark beer in the world.

- Netherlands: the best bookstore ever, and Bagels & Beans.

- Germany: one word - Rittersport.

- Czech Republic: the surprisingly-comforting ability to blend in with other Eastern Europeans.

- Sweden: pine, birch and oak; mountains, fields and lakes; basalt, granite and quartz.

- Switzerland: decent fruit smoothies.

- France: la langue.

I'm ready to come home - I'm actually excited. My Canadian money looks foreign. I haven't accidentally said loonie or toonie for months now...

So many amazing places and experiences...I'm running out of adjectives. I have even caught myself using awesome in a non-ironic way which is, of course, unacceptable.

I'll be getting a cell phone (my first cell phone ever, yes I've capitulated) and I'll be hanging out in Toronto for the next couple of weeks, until I start grad school at McMaster in September.

I kinda like this blog thing. I'll have to think of a new theme to keep it going...

* * *

Finally, I'd like to share a little poem I came across in Amsterdam (for those of you who've gone backpacking before, I'm sure this will elicit a little smile of recognition):

In Heaven: the chefs are Italian, the police are British, the mechanics are German, the lovers are French, and everything is organized by the Swiss.

In Hell: the chefs are British, the police are German, the mechanics are French, the lovers are Swiss, and everything is organized by the Italians.