Moving to Korea: Insert Lyrics from “Leaving on a Jetplane”

No long post, no long goodbyes. A few days ago, I had a going away party with the regular cast of my life: family, friends, coworkers, colleagues, well-wishers, acquaintances, old friends not seen in ages, new ones met within the last months. Sometimes you forget how many people are in your life, whether through neglect or through moves or drifting away, or others who I just happen not to see for ages. I sometimes think myself solitary, with only a few friends, and then they all get together in the same room and I am reminded that I’m not solitary at all. And then they all began to make it very difficult for me to remember why I wanted to move so far away.

So I’m leaving, because I just have to, for whatever reason. Like Poochy. And I’ll be far away from home, and family, and friends, and all of those people who love me and who I love in return. And I’ll miss them. (And by them, this probably means you, because who else reads this blog anyway?)

Tales from a Eurotrip IX: A Florentine Sunset and a Gypsy Curse

Florence was ludicrously relaxing for a number of reasons. For one, the heat was similar to Rome’s, generating a laziness that allowed for quality slacking. For another, our hostel was unparalleled in terms of luxury: it had arctic, full-blast central A/C, free internet, free breakfast, single beds (no bunks!), spacious, pristine bathrooms. As though being this pampered was not enough, every night they served free pitchers of sangria and a “snack,” which one night amounted to a free dinner, and the next was slices of watermelon and plums soaking in ice water. I think maybe they have now upgraded and have nubile Italian youths to serve you peeled grapes.

Leaving Home: Oh Crap, Goodbye Canada

There are the obvious things I’ll miss: family, friends, my home. Canadian foods, drenched as they are in cheeses, gravies, and sugars. Abundant English signage and speakers. My neighbourhood, where I know the streets automatically, and can walk around with my brain mostly shut off.  My labyrinthine knowledge of public transit, long embedded into my head through university. I’ve been trying to adjust to the idea of leaving these things behind, while I’m also realizing the other ridiculous, more subtle things I just doubt I’ll find in Korea.

Tales from a Eurotrip VIII: Wine at the Laundromat

In a few short weeks of travelling around Europe, I was able to develop some pretty haughty opinions of myself as an experienced traveller. What a natural I am! I thought. I nursed fantasies of being able to go it alone in most any foreign nation. We had had more travel success than failure, and when met with failure, we overcame it with vigorous, lofty-chinned aplomb. Nothing could stop us, and certainly nothing could stop me. Enjoy for a second my unearned hubris and the obvious overturning of fortunes once more as we entered Rome.

Cross Canada IV: It’s Like a Butterfly Fest Over Here

Our last day in Revelstoke was leisurely: Zack and Shannon split off to do some kayaking (I declined, as I have no balance and maintain that I would have been in the water in minutes), Gillian walked along the river, and Brianna slept the day away. I decided to do my wander thing: I put on the runners, popped in the earphones, and prepared for some quality walk-about, to really get a feel for this city, like I was some anthropologist or particularly skilled traveller. I maybe put on cargo shorts. This was, perhaps, overzealous: Revelstoke has 8000 people, and its numbered east-west streets go up to the number seven. I completed my navigation of the downtown in about fifteen minutes, and began circumambulating, taking alternate, winding paths, to both prolong my walk and to milk at least some sense of accomplishment out of the excursion.

Tales from a Eurotrip VII: Swim the Tragedy Away

If one national group is particularly common on the Euro trail, it is Australians. But rampaging pleasantly at a near second is Canadians: our international policies are inoffensive enough, or at least pale in comparison to that of our neighbours, that few Europeans have any base qualms with us. Our reputation for caricaturish politeness and gentility precedes us and softens our presence. We are generally welcomed. And despite how common we are doing the Eurotrip thing, every meeting with a fellow Canadian seems like an astounding and cherished event. Meeting others from Toronto, the largest city in Canada, all the way in Munich? What a crazy coincidence! We should be fast friends!

Korea Prep: It Still Hasn’t Hit Me

The prospect of actually, physically moving to Korea is still blissfully theoretical to my silly, naïve brain. It’s a fun idea I’ve cooked up as a way to stave off the more horrifying alternative of being a consistently unemployed teacher. It’s a cool, alluring story I tell others to make my life seem interesting. It’s something to keep me busy. I’ve been trying to learn the language, and even that my brain just sees as a cool new thing to acquire, a parlour trick I can pull out at parties. Look at that honky, others will think with wonder, he can write in Hangul! My brain, presented with all this evidence, stands valiantly, resolutely against the very notion.

Cross Canada III: That Guy. The Sheep.

Have you ever heard a raven caw? I do not recommend it. It sort of goes “err-RAAAAAAAW!” in a nasal, inverse-bird noise seemingly issued from the upper layers of hell. It is as though raven was once made fun-of by a song-bird and has spent the rest of time making fun of the song-bird through comical imitation. I say all of this because our wake-up in Banff was the sound of two ravens braying back and forth to one another horrifically, shattering our ear-drums and evincing unceasing, sleep-deprivation chuckles from me. Quoth Zack in regards to the raven noises: “Oh god. Someone has set loose monkeys into the park.”

Tales from a Eurotrip VI: There is No Sleeping in this Establishment

Amsterdam began with some degree of sturm und drang. Donny was to leave Paris on a later train than both Zack and me, so we headed to Gare Nord early in the morning. We had ordered tickets online, and later on I received a weird email from Eurostar with a bunch of numbers in random places: only by chance did I decide I would write them down, as we had a bunch of other confirmation numbers for our tickets, that all seemed like they werevalid and useful. Of course, when we arrived, the machine would only accept numbers: indeed, the random ones from the email which I had not told Zack about. Well done, Eurostar; well done, Michael.

Cross-Canada II: Please Admire Our Trees and Rocks

We knew that the second day of the trip would be the most arduous. Scores of others assured us that the prairies were flat, desolate, scenery-less wastelands. Moreover, we had set day 2 as the most ambitious of the days on the road: we were to exit Ontario, clear Manitoba entirely, and make it nearly halfway into Saskatchewan (to Regina or bust). We would be gaining hours as we blasted through  time zones, we argued, so we could make up the difference in rest and sleep.