Tehran and the Cyrus syndrome.

I remember a few years ago, right about the same time 300 came out; I was obsessed with Persian history. It’s amazing. Just like every great civilization, it has a humble beginning, a rise toward world dominance and a steady decline. The Persians were arguably the first civilization that replaced killing and raping conquered lands, with exploiting people for their talents, traits and resources. I remember walking through Persepolis last time I visited Iran and noticing how much of what remained was influenced by Assyrians, Greeks, Egyptian and other civilization. Perhaps the same way much of United States is now a derivative of what people imported from the old world.

One of the downfall of being linked to a great ancient civilization, is the fact that it can suck you in. I know many Persians who associate with Cyrus and Darius as if they’re their uncles. They speak with such passion and dedication about Iran’s history, it borders creepy. I mean I can understand where they come from. For a society that doesn’t have much to offer now, it’s easy to find attraction toward a past that they can be proud of. But lets no forget that, it’s always unhealthy dedication and dogmatic perspective toward certain individuals that can lead to what Iran is today.

In many ways I view Iran’s history as “Erised Mirror” from the first Harry Potter. It shows many Iranians their deepest desires for Iran, but it offers nothing else. Many have spent countless hours dedicating their lives, idolizing a past that’s long gone,without spending time considering the truths of present.

Tehran and the waltz of Prides

I drove for the first time in Tehran. For me driving in Iran was different than anywhere else. Although I’ve seen similar forms of driving in other European cities (Paris and Rome) Iran is genuinely unique in its style.

First off, everyone, hands down hates they way everyone else drives. In their mind everyone else lacks the culture and the required skill to be on the road. They all think people in other countries are much better drivers and are respectful. They all complain that people have lost their ways and no one cares about anyone else on the road. And they say this while they cut through three lanes, ignore stop signs, drive on the wrong side of the street, and all sorts of other crazy things.

None of what they say is actually true. I don’t believe people in Tehran drive they way they do cause they lack culture or skill. I also find people in Iran to be very polite and respectful toward each other on the road, much more than any other place I know. I honestly don’t think anyone can truly drive in reverse on a highway and not expect to be flipped off by at least eight to twelve other motorists. In tehran, not only you’re not flipped off, other motorist actually clear the way and signle the traffic behind them to make way for the car driving the wrong direction. Cutting through multiple lanes on a last second ditch for an exist that you should have anticipated few hundered meters back is considered acceptable. In all honestly I believe the reason people drive the way they do is due to the amount of cars in the city and the limited number of streets. I don’t think it has anything to do with the type of people they are as whole.

Tehran is an old city that has grown way beyond its capacity. It lacks the roads required to cater to its massive population. I have no doubt, if drivers from anywhere else are on those roads, same style of driving would eventually emerge. No one’s going to wait five hours behind a stop sign if there is no way they can get in. If three lanes are not enough to, people will make extra imaginary lanes. These behaviours in my opinion have nothing to do with them being Iranian and everything to do with the limitations imposed by the number of cars on the streets.

Due to all of this, driving in Tehran doesn’t follow any formal rule of law. Even though they have very complete and comprehensive laws and regulations, most of it is not enforced due to its impracticality. Because of this, a very organic style of driving has emerged in Iran that I had the honor of experiencing for the first time on this trip.

Driving in the streets of Tehran is not an automatic flow of procedures that I’ve come to understand in Canada. Here in Canada my lane is my lane and I can only change it if it’s safe. A stop sign means full stop. These are simple and easy to follow rules that are ingrained my brain. I’ve done them so many times they’re automatic. In Iran however, although these rules exist, there is another underlying set of rules that are not written and I would consider writing them to be impossible.

In Tehran driving is like a dance. When you’re driving in Tehran you’re dancing with all the cars around you. You follow your steps, and hope so will the cars around you. You’re all entangled in a musical performance with the goal of reaching your destination without hitting each other. When you move they move. It’s as organic as a tribal dance and none of it can be formulated in to a procedural set of commands. It’s something you need to get a feel for. You need to feel the rhythm of the streets and the drivers. Once you do, seeing a car driving backward on the highway is no loner shocking. This is why I think drivers in Iran are actually more polite than drivers anywhere else. I don’t think any sane driver would tolerate someone driving in reverse on a highway, let alone consider helping him out by clearing the way for him to make his exit.

I'm going to be honest,the little time I drove in Tehran I got honked at multiple times. But it was all because I followed the law. My favourite one was when I was on the highway minding my own business when the car beside my started honking at me. I sped up quickly to get out of the way, confused at what I had done. My dad explained to me, he was honking because I wasn’t letting him nudge in to my lane. I told him, why should I let him get his car half way in to my lane when I’m driving safely in the center of my own lane. He said the car on his other side wanted to merge in and he had to partially come in to my lane to let him in, he was honking cause I didn’t let him in. It was somewhat amazing to realize that I got honked at for not breaking the law. I wasn’t even thinking about the car beside me, as far as I knew he was driving in his own lane and worrying about him and the car beside him shouldn’t have been any of my concern.

Examples like this happened multiple times as I made my way home from a restaurant that was ten minutes away. I didn’t get in to an accident but managed to piss off multiple drivers for stepping on their shoes. I was never much of a dancer, but I’m sure with little practice I can learn my steps.

Tehran and young people fucking

Since my goal in Tehran was to get a new and fresh perspective on the city and its people, it was imperative for me to infiltrate some social circle that went beyond my family and relatives. I don’t have any friends in Iran. I never kept in touch with anyone after I came to Canada. There was no Facebook or email to exchange back then and even if there was, who really keeps in touch with their friends from grade six. So to make friends and socialize, I had to improvise. Staying in a rather large residential complex made things somewhat easier. After hanging out in the common areas and becoming familiar with a few people around the neighborhood, I threw a party. Shortly after that I started to regularly hangout with a crowd and thus my Iranian social circle was created.

Every time I’m about to make a generalization about certain people or a culture, I tend to question my own understanding. It’s perhaps something I’ve picked up during my time at school. Anyone with some degree of formal education knows that It’s never acceptable to make broad generalization without research or data. My short time in Iran and my limited interaction with a small group of people by no means give me any authority to judge the population as whole. However there are certain patterns, behaviours and common traits that showed up during my time. So the following are simply what I saw put in to words and are not broad generalization of everyone.

Young people in Iran have to be the most jaded group of people I’ve come across. It appears they’ve been disappointed by their parents, society and most importantly by themselves countless time. They unanimously roll their eyes at the slightest sign of hope. Although they seemed about life, future and themselves, they were perhaps most jaded about love.

When we get in to relationships, and by relationships I mean meaningful relationships, we follow certain procedures. These relationships do not include your one night stands or the stuff you do when you’re drunk in Vegas. These are meaningful relationships with people you potentially love. And although the procedure differ from person to person, and from couples to couples I believe the underlying process is pretty universal. If I may, geek it up a bit, I think the following flow chart perhaps highlights the process of a couple meeting and the manifestation of their relationship in the simplest and most direct way.


Now this is generally how your normal, run of the mill relationship between two rather normal people tend to start. People meet, they hangout for awhile, when they feel comfortable they start going out and eventually they take their relationship to the next level and get their groove on. Now, in Iran the government doesn’t like this. Just like any theocracy, they don’t like the idea of their youth spending too much time with each other. After all sex outside of marriage is a sin and it’s the duty of a government that’s based on religion to prevent its citizen from breaking laws set forth by God. For that reason the government in Iran has made social outings and hanging out somewhat difficult for its young people. It’s a hassle to go out for a coffee or a movie in Iran. Dating carries a risk of being harassed if not by Iran’s moral police at least by disapproving and judgemental looks of the public . Although the idea of dating has become more acceptable over the years, still the stigma of two unrelated individuals of opposite sex enjoying each others company is felt throughout. For that reason, I got a sense that Iran’s youth is not really in to dating. They much rather spend time in each others houses. After all, in your house, you can dress the way you like, you can eat and drink what you like and most importantly you can be comfortable without worrying about anything. What’s also true, is that, once you’re comfortable and have had a few drinks the bedroom is literally a step away. So for that, the process outlined in red in the above diagram is non-existent in Iran. Due to lack of options for young people to socialize, dating is practically eliminated. Hence the Streisand effect:

The term ‘Streisand effect’ was coined back in 2003 by Mike Masnick of Techdirt. It references the singer’s attempts to suppress photographs of her Malibu house from becoming public. Not only was she unsuccessful in doing so, her attempts to intimate and suppress inadvertently lead to more publicity. The official definition of the term is the phenomenon in which attempts to hide or suppress a piece of information has the unintended consequence of publicising the information more widely. Although the ‘Streisand effect’ is mostly associated with the online world and attempts to hide information, I believe the more generic idea of backlash from forcing a group of people to do one thing and have it lead to the exact opposite of the intended action, is still applicable.

So the Islamic Republics attempt to suppress its youth from mingling and god forbids take part in premarital sex, has managed to do the exact opposite. By making it difficult for its youth to date and socialize in a healthy manner, by turning perhaps the most natural and normal form of human interaction in to an evil and debaucherous act, it has lead its youth to do what the republic dreads the most. I’m sure there are couples in Tehran right now, getting it on, when they wouldn’t have they had a chance to go on dates and spend sometime knowing what a horrible match they make. But since that option is not really available and there isn’t much else to do, they might as well do the one thing that can bring them some from of minute pleasure. Sex has lost its meaning among Iran’s youth. It is no longer an act meant to symbolize love between two individuals. It has become a passing form of entertainment for a population that doesn't have much else to do. Being promiscuous is the norm and kids move from one bedroom to another trying to find an ounce of happiness or meaning in an environment that doesn’t offer either. All the while holding the Islamic Republic responsible for perhaps for the largest Streisand effect.

Tehran and the milestone expectations.

On my flight from Istanbul, I met a guy from Tehran. Or so he claimed, his accent suggested he was from one of the other provinces, but that doesn’t really matter. He was seated next to me on the plane, the flight was long, and I wasn’t the least sleepy. He said he was coming back from Germany where he was continuing his education. He had finished his MD and was focusing on something specific in some medical field. I don’t remember the details but that doesn’t really relate to where I’m going with this post. What I found interesting about him was his discontent with all that he had achieved and his life in general.

Being unhappy with life is as Persian as a Tabrizi rug. That’s nothing new. However what I find interesting is people’s expectations when it comes to their own achievements and milestones. There is a common pattern among Iranians when it comes to all they’ve achieved in their life. When they speak of their lives and the things they’ve done, a pattern tends to creep up over and over again. I like to call it “unrealistic milestone expectations.” To elaborate more on this I’ll continue with my example.

The guy on the flight, we’ll call him Babak, was in his late 20s early 30s. He had a geeky demeanour and his lower-middle-class upbringing was evident. Babak told me that after he finished high school he worked extremely hard to get in to a state-sponsored university. To do so he had to do well on a nation-wide test (konkoor which I think comes from the French/English word ‘conquer’). The result of that test determines what university you’ll end up in and pretty much dictates your future.

Once he got in, he studied medicine. After years of hard work he finally became a full fledged doctor. To continue his studies he decided to move to Germany. He’d been in one of the smaller German towns for the past few months and was on his way back to Iran for a break. He was telling me how he was disappointed that he had spent all his life studying and working hard on becoming a doctor. He told me but he had gained nothing else. He was complaining that he wasn’t rich. That his hard work had not gotten him any power or influence in society. He told me to his disappointment he had not been able to woo the girl that he wanted to marry. All the while being sad that he had spend all his time becoming a doctor thinking it would entitle him to all the things that it didn’t.

During my time in Tehran I used taxis to get everywhere. By most standards they’re pretty cheap and the drivers usually make for interesting conversations. One of these drivers was a young guy named Ali. He was in his early 20s and he was telling me how he worked over time to get himself a Maxima. Maxima is a car in Iran that apparently entails some sort of status in society. I personally find nothing special with the car, but Ali seemed pretty proud of his achievement to finally being able to buy one. However that sense of pride was also attached to an overwhelming sense of disappointment. He told me he thought he’ll have an easier time with women once he got his Maxima. However his Maxima had apparently failed him on that front and he had his eyes set on a Benz. I found it somewhat humours how in his mind the car he drove equalled the number/quality of women he would get. And that his lack of success with women had everything to do with his car and nothing to do with him as a person. Although I would come to learn about going “Dordor” and Iranian style of flirting in the streets and the importance of the type of car you drive, I still think his vapid connection of cars and women was pretty shallow and weak.

Examples like Babak and Ali are endless. What do these two individual have in common? In my opinion they both suffer from what lots of Iranians suffer. They both have “Unrealistic milestones expectations.” When you chose to become a doctor, you work hard to become one. Once you succeed, you’re a doctor. That is it. This doesn’t mean you’re entitled to wealth, fame and power. It entitles you to being a doctor. As a doctor you have gained a valuable tool which will make it easier to reach those other ends, but it doesn’t make it inevitable or sometimes any easier. Getting a Maxima means you have worked hard and have saved enough money to drive a nicer car. That is it. I don’t see why you should expect anything beyond that. Doing so would only lead to your own disappointment.

This is very common among Iranians. When they work hard for something, and finally get it, there is an expectation to get more than what it entails. When someone puts in the time to go to Home Depot to buy a hammer, that person has got himself a a hammer. It’s asinine to come back home and complain that you went all the way to Home Depot and the nails aren’t still hammered in. In my opinion our accomplishment are an end on their own. They’re fulfilments within the scope of their domain. Once our milestones are realized for what they are, they can be effectively and efficiently used as a mean toward other ends.

Iranians view life as a swim toward an island, a struggle toward some blessing, a dash toward a light at the end of a tunnel. They are persistent and swim hard, however once they reach it, they expect everything and anything. I’m not sure if this mentality stems from a religious understanding of a better after-life or has something to do with a common upbringing among Iranians. One where you’re told over and over again, “If you study hard and become a doctor, then you’re set.”

Over time I’ve managed to distance myself from that type of thinking and view life is an upward climb. A continuous climb where you equip yourself with better tools as you progress through different stages of life. Tools that make the climb faster and easier. And as you get higher and higher, life starts to show you a better view of all that it has to offer.

Enjoy your degree as a doctor, and if it’s fame and money you’re after use your knowledge and background as means to help you on that front. Don’t expect it to come to you automatically. Enjoy your fancy car for what it is, if you tell a girl how it was your dream to drive a Maxima and through hard work and persistence you managed to achieve it, I’m sure she’ll be much more impressed by you than your Maxima.

Tehran and my 12 year old daughter.

The following articles chronicle my time in Tehran. Unlike my other posts, they’re mostly descriptive and argumentative in nature and tend to drift away from the narrative. Because of this, I think it’s important to highlight what Tehran means to me. This way the you have an easier time digesting and understanding why I say what I say and where it all stems from. This post is an introduction to a series of articles on me, Tehran, Iran and Iranians.

Here I was, sitting at the Fiumicino airport once again waiting for the boarding call to be announced. Even though being back in Italy was a detour, spending few nights in Rome had been delightful. My sister and mom had met up with my dad and it only made sense for me to drop by and complete the set. Seeing everyone together was nice. Over the past few years, occurrences of all four of us being in the same place at the same time had become a rare experience. Although I could probably fill pages after pages on my family and my relationship with them, I want to focus on something, or perhaps more accurately somewhere completely different. Right now, I’m at the airport waiting for my flight to Istanbul and then to Tehran.

I was born in Tehran some 26 years ago. I lived there for the first 12 years of my life, after which I moved to Canada. I visited the city on multiple occasions, all for three to four weeks. This trip was going to be the same length, however I had different plans on how I was going to approach my time in Tehran this time around.

Tehran holds a special place in my memory. It defines my childhood and early adolescence. Just like any other 12 year old I had no responsibilities or worries at that age. I used to ride my bike around Tehran’s wavy roads and deep potholes, play soccer with a double layered plastic ball and do a round of “Stop-Havaai” with the kids on the street. I knew everything and everyone I needed and felt comfortable and secure in my little world. Life was carefree and my only concern was making sure I do good in school. I had friends, my family and a comfortable life with nothing that could possibly stress me out. Tehran was a paradise and I was its king. Life was good.

I feel kind of old recollecting on my childhood as a far off fantasy world with no worries or responsibilities. I say this, because of all people I should know better. This is not something unique. Most people feel the same way as they get older. As life becomes more focused on our responsibilities and things we have to do, we easily become envious of our careless past. Unless you had horrible a childhood, most people associate the same carefree values with being a kid. However unlike most people, right around the time I was to become more aware of the world around me, I left Tehran for a new life in Canada. I never grew up in Tehran. That city froze in time and became a gateway to my childhood. Associating that carefree time with Tehran became intuitive and something I had time for a long time.

Anyone who spends any time studying US politics is probably familiar with the an old campaign trick, employed usually by the Republicans that focus on the message of “America is no longer the America it used to be.” This tactic usually appeals to the same sense of peaceful and worry-free connection most people have with their childhood. It’s all too common seeing a politician on a podium speaking of his younger years when his mother used to bake him a pie. When he used to play with the kids around the block. How he enjoyed going to baseball games and fishing trips with his dad. These type of banter is usually followed with the message “I miss that America, it’s not longer like it used to be, we need to get it back”.

What most people don’t realize is that life was peaceful and carefree cause they were young, not cause US was a magical Utopian paradise 30-40 years ago. in fact, looking back, 30-40 years ago with the looming possibility of a nuclear holocaust and an unwinnable war with Vietnam, you could argue US was in a worse shape than it is now. In that regard I am no different. Although my life In Tehran was carefree and easy, I consider myself extremely lucky and blessed for not growing up in it. However that’s not the focus of this post.

For the longest time following my move to Canada I had viewed Tehran as this far away fantasy land that still held my carefree and innocent childhood. It had become a place frozen in time. Every time I visited Tehran I would find myself walking the same streets I used to play in as a child. I would visit the same hangout places. All the while wishing the buildings and the stores were still in place. My relationship with the city and its people had become one of a 12 year old and his friends. I refused to acknowledge certain realities in Tehran and Iran in general and filter out anything that could possibly damage my picture perfect city. After all, a 12 year old doesn’t care much for unemployment, drug problems and rising youth suicide.

My relationship with Tehran and my perspective on the city had spilled over on my view on Iranians. I would find myself forming unstable relationships with other Iranians. Some could be attributed to my naive perspective of that country and its people. I had kept myself stuck in a time capsule, incapable of seeing people beyond how I perceived them during my childhood years. This had a reached a point, where if a dialogue was in English I was capable of being witty and mature but when it was switched to Farsi I was a 12 year old with a silly hat on. Every time I met an Iranian I liked, I would view them as a possible childhood friend. I became overly trusting and shortsighted in my relationships with them.

However all of that was about to change.

Like a father, who watches his daughter grow up, we all have to come to terms with realities of life. Nothing stays the same. As the good times and the bad time roll, our environment and the people around us change. All we can hope for is that we become a better person through the experiences. Although it’s an old cliche that I have no personal experience with, one could argue that perhaps doing so is as difficult as watching your daughter grow. Seeing her go on her first date. Your little girl is no longer little, and as hard as it can be you start seeing her experience things that you wish were “unexperienceable” But you know this day was to come and it doesn’t have to mean that she’s something less. It’s time to accept her as someone different and change your perspective so you can deal with the world you both live in on a mature level. Perhaps Tehran had become my daughter, and it was time to accept that just as I have grown, so should my perspective on the city and its people.

Therefor, this time, I will not spend too much time walking through my childhood neighborhoods. I won’t sit at parks I used to go to and won’t daydream about all the carefree time I had in the streets of Tehran. It’s time to see this city for what it is. I’m going to treat it like an adult and do what I would have done in any other city: Meet as many people as possible and party like there is no tomorrow.

Lisbon, primeira noite; estreia.

Plan for today's to pack things up and head out for Lisbon. I hanged around the common room for awhile and met more people. The Hostel was picking up again. New crowd was moving in. If you ever go Madrid, The Way hostel is good times. Steve-Yiota and I headed toward the station. We had a long night train ahead of us. Steve and I were in the same cabin and Yiota was booked in the one next to us. This was kind of weird since they both had requested to be in the same cabin. Once we got the station, we found out that we were on Jesus Express and that guys and girls actually slept in different cabins. Not to worry though, boys and girls both got to drink at the same bar.

We head out to the bar on the train along with two Norwegian girls who were cabin-mates with Yiota. We slammed back a few Portuguese beers and chatted away. I was impressed by the Portuguese and their openness to speaking English. The Spanish and the French are somewhat reluctant to the idea. We headed back to the cabins pretty late and passed out. Next morning we were in Lisbon.

We cabbed it to the Hostel. The city was quiet, it was still too early for the tourists, gypsies and the locals to come out. We made it to the Hostel, it was quiet and the staff were getting ready for breakfast. As I'm writing this I've stayed in more than seven different hostels and Lisbon Lounge is easily the best one when it comes to style, atmosphere, staff, breakfast and just being cool. After breakfast I moved in to my room and relaxed.

Around lunch time I came down to the kitchen and met Katy. A masters students from Montreal. She had been traveling through Portugal and was going to be in Lisbon for awhile. She too was a lone traveler and made a perfect candidate for my random adventures. After lunch we headed out, walking through the streets of Lisbon, dodging gypsies selling drugs, taking pictures, absorbing as much sun as possible and relaxing by the beach. After a long day of sightseeing we head back to the hostels, had a few drinks and chatted politics.

Great night in Lisbon.

Madrid, better to be a bull in India than Spain.

When I was hanging out with The Lone Travellers, I found out this year was the last season of bullfighting in all of Spain. It was being banned and it would have been my only opportunity to partake in a truly Spanish spectacle. I thought about it for a while and did consider attending, but eventually decided against it. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I'm no hippie. I'm also not a member of PETA or any animal rights group. I love my stake rare and appreciate a good meaty dish. I'm even somewhat indifferent toward fur. However I do consider bullfighting to be inhumane. There is no reason for any living being to lose its life for sake of our entertainment, however that is not my biggest issue with bullfighting.

Bullfighting is unfair. The bull is already dead before it enters the arena. He is out numbered, handicapped and primed to die. It's shouldn't be called bullfighting, it should be called bull-killing-by-out-numbering-it-and-totally-rigging-the-odds. The only way I would watch bullfighting is if it's one on one. Man vs Beast. Only the matador and the bull enter the arena. The bull gets to use its horns and the matador gets a sword. If the bull has to bleed when it gets hit then the same has to happen to the matador. No help, no aid. If the matador gets a standing ovation and the envy of his audience after a victory, then the bull should be treated with the finest hay west Toledo when he sticks it to the man. If the matador gets the admiration of bullfighting groupies after he wins, then the bull should be treated to his choice of heifers all night long.

Make it fair, make it even.

Madrid, Una mas!

I got up late today. I think my sleep's finally fixing itself to European time zone. It's getting harder and harder to wake up in the morning. Plan for the day is to do the free city walk tour. I met Steven on the pub crawl and he was chilling in the common room. I grabbed him and we headed out to the meeting point for the tour. I love these tours, they're perfect for learning about the city and meeting people from other hostels.

Once the tour was over, we went to a tapas bar with a bunch of people from the tour. If you ever go through Spain, make sure you try it out. There are plenty of them and it's an authentic Spanish experience. After the tapas I headed out toward the Museo Centro de Arte Reina Sofía. It's one of the better known museums in Madrid that carries Picasso's famous works. It also carries quite a few modern pieces and hosts various theme exhibitions. The museum kept me busy for three hours. I didn't even notice it took that long, it was quite a ride.

The plan for the rest of the night was to go on another pub crawl. This one with a different company. Steven and I head out close to eleven and met up with everyone else. It wasn't long before the booze started flowing and singing and dancing filled the night. Same routine as before, just as fun.

Madrid, No te preocupes!

(Steve looking up the Chinese GDP)

Yesterday was an eventful day. I decided to take it easy and relax. My next stop was going to be Lisbon Portugal so I went to the central station and bought my ticket. It was going to be an eleven hour night train from Madrid to Lisbon. I came back to the hostel and met a couple from Australia. Steve and Yiota had been travelling through Europe for awhile. I found them to be pleasant and easy to talk to. I usually stay away from couples. They're not smart social investments when you're travelling by yourself. They tend to levitate toward each other or other couples. But these two were different.

We chatted about philosophy, books, religion and my favourite topic: US politics. At the end, Steve and I made a bet that if in 30 years the Chinese are the sole superpower I have to fly him out to Canada and show him a good time, and if the Americans are still the superpower he has to do the same for me in Australia. I'm not much of a gambler but I'm pretty sure I'm safe on this bet.

(Yiota)

As we chatted more, I learned that Steve, Yiota and I were heading out to Lisbon on the same train. I booked the same hostel they were staying at in Lisbon and pretty much took it easy for the rest of the day. One of the fun things I've been doing a lot, which I suggest anyone seeking absolute serenity to try, is to nap by a water fountain. One thing I love about Paris and now Madrid is that there is always a fountain somewhere close by. Sound of moving water and the heat from the sun make for the perfect recipe to relax and unwind. Try it next time, just take off your shirt, lay down on the brick foundation and nap for hours. It is heavenly.

Madrid, Serve Reza Cerveza

I got on the train around seven Paris time. Got in to my cabin and tried to make myself as comfortable as possible. It was a small room with not a lot of leg room. There was no way I was going to spend eleven hours in such a cramped space. I got out of the cabin and walked toward the bar. Watching the bartender and the chef work on a moving a train was fun. Imagine the challenge of making a drink and cooking a dish, while everything is shaking and could fall any minute.

I met Kim at the bar. She was an accountant from London going to Madrid for work. She worked for THQ, so we quikly started to talk video games. Once the nerdy talks were out of the way she told me about her travels to South East Asia and South America. Kim turned out to be pretty exciting person for an accountant.

After a few drinks I head back to my cabin. The beds were folded out and the lights were out. I got up on my bunk bed, turned on my music and passed out. It wasnt long before I was in Madrid. I hopped on the metro and made my way toward the old city center. I found the hostel, checked in and made myself comfortable on my new bed. The room was big and spacious. There were no bunk beds and the other three beds were empty. I had the whole room to myself, atleast for now.

I went out to the common area and met a group of lone travelers. John from Florida, Ryan from Edmonton, Mellisa from States and Alex from Quebec. They were all travelling by themselves and had merged in to a group of their own. They´ve been hanging out since yesterday. Apparently Madrid had gone a little crazy the night before. They told me about the protests around the city and how they heard gun shots and witnessed confrontations between the police and the protesters. They seemed a little surprised to see that kind of stuff in Europe. I hanged out with them for awhile. They were going out for food and then to see bullfighting, but since I wasn't hungry, and am too much of a hippy to support bullfighting, I decided to go out on stroll around the city.

I try to get an idea of where everything is when get in to a city. Madrid's much smaller than Paris and has a completely different feel. I walked around for a bit and head back to the hostel. The Lone Travellers had also returned. They were planning on hitting up a park on the northern side of the city, since I had no other plans, I decided to join them. The park offered a full view of the city. It was a beautiful sight. The park also offered a building that looked like a crypt from Indian Jones. It was apparently built by the Egyptians and offered to the Spaniards as a gift. I love the old days when countries build buildings and monuments and sent them over on a ship as a gift.

(The Lone Travellers™)

We came back to the hostel. This was the last day before The Lone Travellers were parting ways, each one heading out to a different city. I grabbed their details and bid them farewell in case I wasn't going to see them again. I went back to my room and met three Brazilian girls who had checked in. They were going to be my roomates for the next few days. Their English was pretty broken but it was enough for us to get to know each other. We had a short chat and decided to head out tonight on a pub crawl. I also rallied up a few other people around the hostel for the crawl and before we knew it we ended up being a pretty large crowd. The pub crawl company should have really given me a cut of their earnings for that night cause I made them a lot of money.

We went out, hit up a few a pubs, got drunk and danced and sang the night away. It was close to morning time when we came back to the hostel, pretty smashed and passed out. Great first night.

Paris, A l'aise, Blaise

Today was my last day in Paris. I have an overnight train to Madrid in the evening and need to have everything set for the trip. I find travel days to be the longest and most draining part of the trip. The process of having to repack everything and the stress of making sure nothing is being left behind plus figuring out how to make it to the train stations and the hostels all add to a very tiring day. Today was going to be no different, so I grabbed my book and head out to the Eiffel Tower. The plan was to relax and rejuvenate until evening time. Then I'll shift gears and get to work for my trip to Madrid.

It was a cloudy afternoon in Paris. The tower was swarmed by tourists. I walked around for awhile, trying to scope out a perfect spot to sit and read. I opened my book and read a few pages, but the thought of Paris and all the things around me kept distracting me. I guess I have a long way to go before I can be as disenfranchised from the city as the Parisians. I lied down on the grass across the tower and started to reflect back on my short time in Paris, the people I met, places I went and the amazing food I had.

My only exposure to French culture is through Paris. After spending time with Mathieu, I realized how limited this perspective is. He told me there is no specific taste to French cuisine . There is no unique taste or style of cooking. Each region has its unique dishes and flavours. The cuisine north of France is more focused on game meat where the south is more sea food oriented. A bottle of wine from Bordeaux has its own unique taste and flavour in comparison to a bottle from Avignon. The people of France too, come in different shapes and styles. That's why it's difficult to try an backup a specific view on their culture based on a four day experience in Paris. That would be equivalent to judging all of United States based on a four day trip to New York.

However much like judging a work of art at a museum, coming from an uneducated perspective and solely focused on an emotion evoked in mere seconds, I'm going to try and share my opinion on French culture.

Any human being with an ounce of taste or style, would not be able to walk the streets of Paris and not appreciate the beauty and glamor that is the city of light. It is truly one of a kind and there will never be another city like it. Gushing with history, character and culture, I believe you have not lived, until you visit Paris. I remember the first time I came, the feeling of being in Paris and walking through its street stayed with me long after I left. I know the same will be true this time.

However, I personally can not relate to the French culture. I've spend some time thinking about this and I think I've figured out why. Through my own experiences and what I've seen, I feel the French culture, or what I've seen in Paris lacks a certain level of masculinity. I think because of this, I can never see myself living in Paris or being able to become part of its culture. A cute example I use from time to time is the one of Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin. He invented the Guillotine in the early 1800s, perhaps one of the most masculine inventions coming out of France. Shortly after its inventions, the French suffixed it with an 'e' to make it feminine.

Another reason I can't relate to the French is cause of something important to me that I couldn't find in their culture. Paris is a busy city very much like New York. However the vibe I got from Paris, is one where hard work and persistent is not celebrated. Work is seen as work, fun is seen as fun and no purpose in life seems to be greater than being French. When you see New Yorkers, you a get a sense that they're aspiring to become something better, to do something bigger and to make a difference. When you see Parisians, they're already something better and are doing something bigger and the biggest difference they're making is that their Parisian. a 35 hour a week work schedule and heaps of social services makes it kind of unnecessary to try and make something out of yourself. Paris is an overly relaxed city that can inspire a painter to paint a mesmerizing painting or a poet to write an epic poem, but don't expect anyone living in Paris to paint the greatest painting, or write the greatest poem.

I headed back to the hostel, grabbed my stuff and took off for the station. Next morning, I was going to be in Madrid, Spain.

Country of Champions!

Paris, Chaque jour je vous espère.

After an amazing drunken night through the streets of Paris, I wasn't in the mood for anything overly outrageous. I got up and went for breakfast with the girls. Shortly after, I came back up to pack my stuff, I had to change rooms for my last night in Paris. The girls also packed theirs and put it in storage, they were moving in to their apartment later today. Orsay museum was scheduled and we headed out after breakfast.

After riding through the Metros of Paris for half an hour, we made it to the Museum.

I'm don't know much about paintings or sculptures and my knowledge of different genres or styles are limited. In fact my only endeavour in the field has been limited to an introductory ancient Greek art class and Facebook Graffiti. However, I feel my lack of kowledge and education in the field, gives me an unbiased perspective when it comes to appreciating each piece. Since I have no idea who the artist is, when the work was created, what type of category it falls under or anything else a real critic considers when judging a painting, I simply look and try to find the feeling the piece evokes. If it reminds me of a personal memory, if it conjures an emotion or reveals a personal message: that's what I judge it by.

There were definitely some pieces that I could sit and stare at for hours. This one by Monet, for example, as simple as it was, I found very captivating. But my favourite was a painting called a beggar woman, by Hugues Merle. It was an odd piece among all the other fantasized, nude works that were featured in the same section. The artist had done an amazing job of capturing the pain and misery of his subject. Her hopeless eyes and painful expression along with a desperate body language evoked the same feelings in me.

We walked through the museum and checked out the Monet, Manet and Van Gogh exhibitions. I had already been the Louvre so getting a chance to visit Musée d'Orsay was great.

We got back to the hostel, the girls took off to find their apartment. The sensory overload of visiting a Parisian Museum had drained me. I had a light dinner and took it easy for the rest of the evening.

Paris, Ce soir, on danse!

All the walking, eating and sightseeing had me drained. I slept in till one. I was planning on partying with Mathieu tonight and didn't want to have too packed of an afternoon. When I got up the German duo had left and the room was all mine. Even though for the sake of being French I was contemplating skipping shower, I took one anyways. I eventually made my way downstairs. It was long after breakfast and it was fairly quiet. I met Meave and Kim. They were both travelling solo and had met at the hostel. Meave was from New Mexico and had stayed in Paris for a few days before heading down south to visit her family. Kim was from Australia and was travelling through Europe.

After a short introduction we decided to head out to a coffeeshop. Meave was leaving in a few hours so we decided to grab coffee somewhere close to the station. Kim was planning on being in Portugal about the same time as me, we exchanged E-mails and decided to meet up and go for drinks once in Lisbon. Meave was also nice enough to offer to show me around if I ever ended up in New Mexico. Who knows, maybe I will.

After awhile Meave took off to south of France and Kim and I walked back to the Hostel. Two girls had already checked in and were waiting for their room to be ready. I heard them speak English and that was enough of an invitation for me to go over and chat them up. Laura and Brenna were from Abbostford BC, and were planning on travelling through Paris and London. They were going to stay one night at the hostel and then move to an apartment they had rented. Their plan was to stay in Paris for a week and head up north to London afterwards. They were a fun couple and were first time Parisian tourists.

I went out for food and people watched for awhile. If you enjoy people watching, the place to be is definitely Paris. Within a span of an hour I saw a couple fighting, another couple making out, a girl dressed in the most obscure outfit, a mother yelling at her kid, a man walking his dog with matching outfits. It was quite a sight.

I came back to the hostel and went staright to my room. I was going to meet up with Mathieu again tonight for some authentic Parisian good time. I saw Laura and Brenna in the room, they were assigned the bunkbeds and we were going to be roomates for the night. I got dressed and headed out to my meeting point with Mathieu. He was on time, something that he said is somewhat uncommon among the French. I wasn´t suprised, not being punctual sounded pretty French.

We walked through the streets and alleyways of Paris until we hit the bar that Mathieu had picked. It was loud, young and full of energy, excatly what I was looking for. We got in and started drinking. Every half an hour, the bartender would ring a bell and the whole bar would erupt in a frenzy of dancing, singing and drinking. The waiteress would get on the tables dancing and everyone else would light up their sparkle sticks. It wasn´t long before Mathieu and I were in the middle of it all singing and dancing with all Parisians. It was a memroable night and felt like an authenic Parisian experience.

After that we strolled the streets of Paris aimlessly for awhile and decided to call it night before the metros shut down for the night.

Parisian Walk

I wanted to spend some time talking about what I like to call the "Parisian Walk". I tired to figure out where I could fit this little banter, but I like it so much I decided to dedicate a complete post to it.

When you come to Paris and spend sometime people watching, there are certain things that stand out. The biggest thing that stood out for me, was their walk. Parisians have a unique walk. In fact it's so unique, it's probably the easiest way to tell the difference between local Parisians and tourists. If you're a Parisian sidewalks, alleyways, streets, bridges and crosswalks are not common paths laid in front of you to get you to your destination, they are catwalks at the most prestiges fashion shows.

And you as a Parasian, are not a mere mortal walking down a common street, but a bourgeoisie expressing your superior Parisian sense of fashion and taste. You look straight, do up a subtle and serious blue steel, and walk as if you're modelling Yves Saint Laurent spring collection. You are not to be distracted by anything and each step you take is firm and confident. You look forward, with your head up and your face expressionless. You are a serious person, You live in Paris, you're a Parisian and French. There is nothing you can´t do and you will never surrender.

Paris, traîner avec ses amis

I woke up pretty early today, took an amazing shower and head down for breakfast. Started my day with cereal, French croissant and tea. The only thing I had planned for the day was to meet up with an old friend from my residence days. Mathieu was an old roomate for four months in residence. We lived in the same dorm back in 2007. I've gotten in touch with him before coming to Paris and we've decided to meet up and go for coffee. That was supposed to be at seven so I decided to be a tourist and go sightseeing till then. I got on the number four metro and headed south toward St. Michel fountains.

The streets were buzzing with tourists. This is the 'island' area and is regarded as one of oldest parts of Paris. This is where you would find the Notre Dame Cathedral, Sainte Chapelle and Ile de la cite conciergerie. Last time I was in Paris Notre Dame was closed for renovation and I never got a chance to go inside. This time I decided to get in line and check it out. I met two girls who had come all the way from Mexico and were staying in Paris for a week, to go to London next and then back home. I soon noticed there were a lot of Mexicans coming to see the Cathedral. I haven't really looked in to this but I think there is some cultural/historic connection between the church and Mexican Catholics. The church was full of tourists. It was interesting to see flat screen TVs mounted at random spots in the church. They were displaying slides full of tourist focused information. It definitely took away from the 'holy' feeling of the place.

After a few minutes, I left the cathedral and stared to walk north toward the Louvre Museum. I've been to the museum before so I decided to skip it and relax by its fountains. Paris was sunny and the narrow edge by the fountains made for the perfect place to nap. I put on my shades, took off my shoes and lied down. The sound of tourist chatter, moving water and distant traffic made for the perfect ambience lullaby. Seven o' clock was ages away and I had plenty of time to absorb as much Parisian sun as I could. It was great and soon others followed.

Before I knew it, it was getting dark and it was time to make my way to our meeting point. We had decided to meet at St. Michel Fountains. As I started to walk back toward the fountains, I discovered The Great Canadian Pub. I went inside, it was empty. I looked at the menu and scoped the place out. It seemed nice but I didn't have much time to give it a full tryout. So I left, but it was definitely nice to run in to something Canadian.

I met up with Mathieu at seven. He was dressed like a typical white-collar working man. We went to a bar close to the river. He'd been in Paris for a few months working as an intern. Political science was no longer his focus, he was now aspiring to become an auditor. I noticed his English had taken a hit since he left Canada but he was quick to get it back. We talked about all the people we knew and where they're now. After the bar we walked around some more and he educated me on French cuisine and culture. We ended up at a restaurant further north, he recommended a specific duck dish. When the dish arrived I realized I've had something very similar in Quebec city last summer. I complimented the dish with some escargot and French wine from Bordeaux. It was heavenly.

I tend to give the French a hard time every opportunity I get, but when it comes to food, it's as if everything they make is glazed by the essence of culinary Gods. They know what they're doing and they deserve all the credit in the world.

It was getting late, I bid adieu to Mathieu. We decided to meet up again tomorrow night for drinks. I head back to the hostel and slept like a baby.

Paris, nous nous reverrons

I got on the plane and made my way to my seat. The plane was half empty and I had the full row to myself. I laid back, took of my shoes off, put up legs and slept through the whole flight. After an hour and a half I was in Paris. This would be my second time in the French capital. Last time I was here was back in 2006 with my then girlfriend. So I have already done most of the touristy stuff in the city and was looking forward to random adventures with strangers. I wouldn't regret missing out on seeing the Opera house, Arch de Triumph or any other touristy spot.

I grabbed my backpack and made my way to the Metro. Paris has one of the most expansive and complete metro systems in the world. If you ever visit Paris, that's probably the easiest way to travel. Of course after you get comfortable with the awkward ticket checking gates. After 30 minutes I arrived at Gare du Nord, one of Paris' main metro/train terminals. I got out and wondered for a few minutes, trying to figure out which street led to my hostel. After walking around aimlessly like a typical tourist, I finally managed to find my way around to 73, rue de Dunkerque.

I walked in, it seemed nice, a little too quiet for my liking but I had a good feeling about it. I got my bed sheets and made my way to my room. The room had bunk beds in one corner and a normal bed on the other, nobody else had checked in so I claimed the bed for myself. The washroom looked amazing, with a tall shower and solid water pressure. I was impressed.

I went to the common area of the hostel, scoped the place out and chatted up the only other person in the hall. Thea was a 26 year old, small framed Asian girl who also had been travelling by herself. In the past 30 days she had visited Italy, Germany, France and Spain. We decided to head out and check out the city. We walked through the Moulin Rouge area, went up to Sacré-Coeur and strolled through the artist district.

Thea works as a state prosecutor and had taken a month off to visit Europe. She was clever and pretty quick on her feet. I was also surprised by her formidable command of the English language. Not only was she able to keep up a normal conversation, she was also able to understand most of my subtle sarcastic and obscure references that are exclusively 'amusing' to North Americans. We wondered around for a bit longer and head back to the hostel. She was heading back home tomorrow so I grabbed her Email and decided to keep in touch.

I was pretty tired so I head back to my room, a mother and daughter from Germany had checked in while I was gone. They had claimed the bunk beds and seemed very friendly. Their names escapes me, but I know the girl was in city to do an interview for a position at a kindergarten. And like any other Germans I've met so far, they were lovely people.

I was tired, so I passed out pretty quickly.

Way of the Irish

I got up early today. The Airport shuttle picked me up at 6:30 and now I'm sitting at a coffeeshop by my gate. My stay in Ireland has come to an end and soon I will be leaving for Paris. Looking back at my experience in Ireland I find it kind of awkaward to try and form a perception about a country and its people in so short of time. We all know it's impossible to judge a person after knowing them for a few days, let alone makeing broad statments about a nation and its people. This is clear to me and I'm sure you understand this as well.

In the last few days as I walked through the streets of Dublin, talked to its people, hiked through its country side and drank its guniess I gained a new found respect for the tiny island country. Before this trip my connection to these people were limited to Lucky charm cerials and Bill O'rielly. Ireland is a beutifull country with beutiful people. They have a rich and colorful history, with never ending ups and downs. One of the reccuring themes that keeps coming up in Irish history is a sense of "Struggle". From their early viking days, through their ordeals with the Biritsh, the famine and their eventual indepence, a sense of struggle has alwasy been present in Irish life. The more I looked around and the more I talked to the locals the more this idea seem to be present still.

Ireland went through a big economic boom during the last decade. It began to progress and for the first time it was establishing itself as an advanced european country. However following the economic downturn, Ireland got hit hard. This is evident not only through all the "for sale" and "reduced priced" signs scattered across the country, but also on its people's faces. There is a sense of uncertenty and doubt that lingers through the streets of Dublin. The Irish find themsevles once again, struggling and uncertain of the future. I wish nothing but the best for this tiny country and its people and I hope next time I visit, "struggle" has given its place to "progress and prosperity"

Now it's time to visit the French. Next stop Paris!

Galway and cliffs of Moher

Yesterday, after the tour of the city I figured I'll go on an adventure in the country side. It would be a shame to come all the way to Ireland and only see Dublin. I signed up with an all day tour that would take me to the country side, through the rolling hills and the grasslands of western Ireland, all the way to the majestic Cliffs of Moher. I woke up early to meet up with our tour guide. When I got to the meeting point I ran in to couple of people I met earlier during the pub crawl and the city tour. None of them however ended up being on my tour. That was fine though, this was a great opportunity to meet more new people.

Caroline appeared from one of the adjacent streets. She was our tour organizer. She approached us with a vibrant yellow jacket that could be spotted form a mile away and a small binder with all of our names on it. She got us organized and we were all on the bus heading out west to Galway. Caroline and her cousin John run MacCoole Tours that offers an authentic Irish experience. It is very well organized, informative and all around a great experience. The plan was to meet up with John at the family farm close to the "Burren mountains". On the three hour ride out west I met two fellow Canadians from Ottawa who were on their last leg of an extensive European journey.

Brittany and Lindsey had been backpacking through Europe for the past month. They stood out from the rest of the crowd cause of their gigantic backpacks. They were planning on staying the night at Galway. Brittany had graduated recently, studying marketing and broadcasting. She had done some work for CBC as an intern. Ever since I took on organizing a radio show, I have been fascinated with people who're in that line of work. I think she was somewhat worried about the prospects of getting a job when she gets back, I tried to be reassuring, but then again, I have no authority on the subject so I didn't push it much. Lindsey worked for a youth help centre and had met Brittany while they were both working as waitresses in a restaurant.

I found their dynamic somewhat interesting. I got the sense that their personalities were somewhat different and I wouldn't have guessed them for really good friends. When people form relationships, now be it between friends, co-workers, lovers or etc they tend to have their own corkey way of communicating. However some themes sometimes run more common than others. One thing I've noticed is how interesting interactions become when people are unsure about how "strong" their relationship is. Again these are all based on my own personal experiences and I have no formal education on human interaction or psychology to comment on this. But from my own experiences, these observations have proven to be true for the most part.

Between Lindsay and Brittany, when they were talking about what they would do next and how they were planning on organizing it, they both overly focused on how they were agreeing on the same things. "It's so funny how you and I think so much a like!", "I like how we're planning things, cause you tell me exactly what you like!" I find, when two people reaffirm agreements verbally over and over again, what they're actually saying is "We are agreeing! so our relationship is strong, right?" When someone says "You and I are so good at doing things" they're actually unsure about how good they are at doing things and for reassurance they're indirectly asking "Hey, I think we're good, you think so too? right?"

(rest was deleted cause of google blogger fiasco, too lazy to rewrite it, Cliffs of Mohr are awesome)

Wolf Tone, you're bound to start something.

Last night was fun. I came back to my bed and slept in the same room with 12 others. This was something new for me and it would have been a fine experience had it not been for a dying walrus wailing through the night. If you snore at night, and you've been told it's loud enough to shake the building, perhaps you should save up a little more and ask for a private room. The noises coming out of this man, was so obnoxious and loud, I was laughing under my sheets at how ridiculous it all was.

Kinlay House Dublin

Next morning, I made my way down to the kitchen/dinning area. Cereal, toast and tea were the menu. I sat down with a group of Americans who had been in Ireland for the past week. They were part of an "Irish History Class" and were visiting Dublin for the weekend. They were a friendly and social group, something I've come to expect naturally from most Americans. They told me about their experiences in Ireland and how they're looking forward to the rest of the trip. The professor was a soft spoken man who did a solid good job of not letting his excitement for being in Dublin with his class look too obvious.


As I was about to finish my tea, a guy who looked local, walked in and announced that a free walking tour of the city would start in an hour. It was a few blocks away from the hostel. I didn't have anything planned so I decided to check it out. I put away the dishes and made my way to the meeting point. A solid amount of people had shown up. This looked promising. David was going to be our ring leader for the next three hours. He was a short stocky man in his 30s with a shaved head and whole lot of passion for Ireland. As he walked us through the city he gave us an infatuating history of every building and historic sight. He also had no qualms about expressing his hate for modern architecture and the capitalist attitude Ireland had taken for the past ten years.

Spot David

(Pictures to come of facebook soon!)

I met Nadine and Anne, two German girls from Berlin on the tour. They worked for an airline company and had taken some time off to visit Ireland. They were friendly and had a surprisingly open sense of humour. Something I thought was uncharacteristic for Germans. Nadine had a varied taste in music and was quite fond of making obscure and subtle references to random 80s-90s bands that were probably only popular in Germany. I got a sense that she thought I was somewhat detached from popular culture because I had no idea what she was talking about half the time. After the tour, we went for lunch and decided to meet up later that night for a few drinks.


I went back to the hostel and took a two hour nap. I still felt jetlagged but short naps here and there was enough to get me back up and going. I met up with the girls in front of Dublin's legendary and infamous Temple Bar pub. We began to bar hop and tank up on different types of beer. We ended up at an overly clichéd rockabilly pub named "The Gypsy Rose". After a few more pints the music kinda took over and we began to dance on the stage as well as any drunk tourist with no knowledge of 50s rockabilly would.

Gypsy Rose

Pictures on facebook soon!

I grabbed the girls contact information as they offered me a plce to stay when I end up in Berlin. They spoke highly of the city and I'm sure having local connections is going to make for a much more memorable experience.

Dubh Linn: Whiskey in the Jar-o

On my flight to Dublin I met Martin (pronounced Marteen). A lively 30 some year old woman from the city. She worked in London as a nurse/psychologist/teacher and was going back home to a small town south of Ireland to see her family. Her parents passed away last year, and they were holding services on their one year anniversary.

She wanted to buy something for her niece who's in her 20s. She asked my opinion on a watch or a wristband. It's always flattering when someone you've just met, asks for your opinion on something they want to buy. Especially if it's a fashion item. It means you've managed to impress them enough (atleast with your sense of style) that they seek your opinion. I sensed she had decided on the wristband, and not really being an expert on women accessories, I reciprocated her compliment by reaffirming her choice.

She had a cool Gothic look to her, and although I could tell, her drunken party nights were behind her, she was full of energy and spoke with an oomph that made me quite optimistic about Dublin. She told me about the Temple Bar area which definitely ended up surpassing my expectations.

I got to my Hostel around 8:00 pm Dublin time. It was cloudy and it seemed like it was about to rain any minute. I checked in, put my valuables in a locker and made my way to bed C in room 119. I began to make myself comfortable and unpack some of my stuff. Apparently there was a pub crawl at 9:00, which didn't give me enough time to lollygag around the hostel. surely enough I wanted t0 hit the streets as soon as possible. Jetlagged be damned, I'm here to party!

And Party I did. I partied with loads of Canadians. In fact I think I partied with more Canadians than I usually do back in Canada. I was somewhat surprised to see so many of them in Dublin. But I thought it was a nice home away from home flavour that was perfect for easing me in to my trip. Drinks were plentiful and good company was the only company.

Temple Bar Area

Close to midnight our group ended up in a small pub, filled with all the nicknacks you expect from an Irish pub. book shelves, old pictures, and dark green walls complimented with low lightning, to bring out its turn of the century Irish pub feeling. The bar was compartmentalized in to smaller sub-bars, each one having it's own set of tables and patrons. The main hall which was the biggest of these sub-bars had a small stage around its far end corner. On the stage stood a tall, bulky bald man, equipped with an accoustic guitar and a pleasantly raspy voice. He covered old rock n'roll classics and Irish drinking songs.

The only Irish drinking song I know is Whiskey in the Jar. And the only reason I know it, is because Metallica released a cover of its Thin Lizzy version back in 1997. Apparently not a whole lot of people know this. In fact when the guy started playing it, the only people singing along to it were old Irish men, who quite visibly have had their solid share of Guinness earlier that night, and me!

Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da

Whack for my daddy-o. Whack for my daddy-o

There's whiskey in the jar, oh!

Great start!

Quick notes:

If you ever do visit Dublin, Temple Bar is the area you want to hit up for its vibrant and fun nightlife.

There are plenty of cabs in and around of the city, kinda pricey but since everything's pretty close in the core downtown area, they make for great forms of transportation.