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.

Flight to Heathrow

As I entered the plane and I relazed that I was going to be in the middle. I hate the middle. When you get the aisle seat, you can get out whenever you want without disturbing anyone and when you get the window, no one disturbs you as they get out. But the middle! the middle sucks!

I walked through the aisle and approached my seat. My "flight companions" had already taken theirs. A 20 year old girl from Switzerland, who spent seven months in whistler baby sitting for a family and a 30 some odd year old woman, going up to Scotland for a wedding. If you're going to be in middle, you might as well be in the middle of this.

To my right sat Heidi. She was from Switzerland and had taken some time off school to work in Canada. I felt she was disappointed that she was going back home. The family she was staying with apparently had treated her well, but deep inside I think she was disappointed to be back in school. She didn't bring it up, but I had a gut feeling she was also leaving a guy behind. She told me about about some fun places in Switzerland. Her English was as good as someone who's been in an English speaking country for seven months, but she was social and easy to talk to.

To my left, sat Kelly. She was in her late 30s, blonde hair, blue eyes with a slender yet visibly aged body. She appeared excited to be with people who were somewhat open to converse. She definitely had a lot to say. As we chatted more and I told her about my plan to travel the world, she told me about her trip to Paris. I never miss an opportunity to talk about how I was yelled at by random Frenchmen during my time in Paris back in 2006. I find it amusing and it always leads to other people sharing their stories dealing with the French.

She said when she was in Paris, not short of 20 minutes after getting off the plane, she was pickpocketed, left with 20 pounds and not much else. What I found interesting was how quickly she highlighted her perseverance. I could tell she was a type of person who didn't want to appear weak or a victim of circumstance. We continued to chat, I could tell she was getting more comfortable and she definitely had a lot to share.

I tend to study people when I talk to them. I believe what someone says carries ten percent of what they mean. I believe it is an art to be able to pick up and comprehend the other 90 percent. It's something that definitely takes practice and lots of trials and errors. One of the more interesting social behaviours I've come across is what I call a "Trojan comment". This is something I made up and if there is anyone with formal education on the subject that knows more about it, please do share because I find it truly fascinating.

As I was talking to Kelly she gave out one of these so called "Trojan comments". A "Trojan comment" as defined by me, is any statement that visibly carries heavy emotional weight by the speaker yet it's presented in a nonchalant, informal manner, as if it's not a big deal. We were on the topic of sleeping pills. She was planning on using one to sleep as much as possible before getting to London. I asked her if she has tried melatonin, and she replied that she hasn't because she suffers from MS.

It was obvious she wanted to talk about her condition. It was also visible through her body language and subtle behaviour that this was a topic that was emotionality charged. Slight squinting of the eyes along with a change of body posture showed this was a subject that brought about some degree of stress. Yet, she brought it up in a nonchalant manner, wrapped around the topics of sleeping pills and a long red-eye flight to London.

I personally think she wanted to appear strong and resilient. It would have been consistent with how she talked about being robbed in Paris. Although she was focusing on sleeping pills, what she was actually telling me was that: there is something in my life that a weak person either doesn't bring up or deals with in an emotional manner, but I'm strong and such things do not shake me. Look as I bring it up on a passing conversation and move through the topic unshaken.

Step one: A human expedition

It's Friday evening and I'm in Vancouver's International Airport. I have a long and tiring flight ahead of me and I'm planning on sleeping through most of it. It's typical foggy/rainy Vancouver weather outside and it seems like it's going to be the same for Dublin. I'm optimistic and can slowly feel the excitement brewing in me. As I mentioned in my long and 'philosophical' introduction, this is a 'social expedition'. In case you missed it, here is a quick summary of it:

-I have no specific feeling going on this trip. (Although I am pretty excited now as I'm writing this.)

-I quit my job and left everything behind because I had the means to do it and I believe what I gain from this trip will be well worth any short term setbacks.

-I live to be happy

-People make me happy

That's why it wasn't too difficult to brand this vacation, not so much as a touristy trip to see the world, but as an exercise to meet as many people as possible. An expedition to learn as much as possible about each person that crosses my path.

Therefore, this blog is going to be structured the same way. I'm not going to spend much time writing about the beauty of European country side or the wild African savannas or the futuristic Asian urban life. I believe National Geographic does a solid job of that. I will focus on the people I meet, their stories and my interaction with them. I will try to be as honest as possible and not only share what they had to say but also my own perception along with any personal judgement, praise or prejudice.

It's time to leave Vancouver.

Next stop:

Dublin, Ireland.

Introduction (Part 2): End of Spring and demise of Ft. McMorley

(Read part one first, some of the stuff may not make as much sense)

As I mentioned in my previous post, summer of 2010 was a transitional period for me. One that I did not see coming. I thought long and hard about talking about that phase and how it, perhaps relates to this trip. I wasn't sure it would make much sense, but the more I looked into it, the more I realized, seeds of this idea are deeply rooted in that phase.

I covered two common questions that I get asked about the trip and I feel it's important to cover another question. A question that was asked of me only once. After I told Dave I was planning to leave my post in order to travel the world, one of the questions he asked was "What is it that you hope to get out of this trip?" I feel that answering this question will not only shed some light on my own personal workings, it could perhaps shed some light for whoever else that ends up reading this. To answer this question to the extent that I feel comfortable, I wish to spend some time sharing my opinions on two universal questions that I'm sure all of us have asked ourselves one way or another.

What is my purpose in life?

How can I fulfil my purpose in life?

A few years ago, I finally answered one of these questions. I was finally in a position to present an answer that was a clear reflection of myself. "What is my purpose in life?" I live to be happy and my purpose is to be as happy as possible. I realized everything I do, everything I say, everyone I know, they're all means to this end. My purpose in this life, regardless of how well I do in school, how much money I make, how many women I sleep with, how many fancy toys I buy or how much I donate, is simply to be happy. It may sound selfish or presumptuous, but coming to this realization has made life simpler and more meaningful for me. Now, it's important to note that, just because the purpose of my life is the pursuit of happiness, I am by no means ambivalent to the plight of others. I donate money to charities, I help people whenever I can, and overall I believe I live life based on strong moral foundations. All of which play a part in my overall happiness. It's hard to be happy if you're an absolute asshole.

The second question has been somewhat perplexing to me. For awhile I thought I had it figured out, however I've begun to question my own understanding of its answer and my own struggle to find it. "How do you fulfil your purpose in life?" Well since I live to be happy, I guess whatever makes me happy will be the sorcerer's stone and the answer to this question. As a computer scientist I've been trained to break things down, look at things in simple compartments and tackle them one by one. This divide and conquer technique led me to my first "formula" for happiness. I figured to be happy I had to fulfil three requirements. 1) be in good health, 2)have something to do, 3)have someone to love. I used to call this formula the 3/3 or the "Three out of three" golden rules for happiness. However, as time has gone by and I have tested this formula I've come to realize this may not be as simple as I thought. Going through all the different phases 1/3, 2/3 and 3/3 (Which I used to proudly advertise on Facebook) it's pretty clear the answer to this question is more complicated than a simple three line checkbox.

Growing up, I was seen as an exact opposite of my sister. It was a simple narrative, conceived by my parents to define us. Whatever Reza was good at Niki was lacking and vice versa. They saw it as a cute Ying Yang relationship that somehow brought some sort of balance to our family. From the get go, my sister was very social. She was quick to make friends and had a sharp tongue, especially with adults. Because of her visible extrovert personality, I somewhat ended up being the introvert older brother. "Oh Reza loves to play with his toys on his own, he doesn't like social games, he can spend hours building and destroying stuff with his Legos" This was a definition I had come to accept and didn't really challenge. It was something I was told I was. I also didn't want to oppose the behavioural structure my parents had created, regardless of how naive it truly was.

Perhaps the reason why it took me so long to find the answer to "How do you fulfil your purpose in life?" is because I had to rewrite and question some attributes that had been passed on to me early on. Things that most of us don't really reflect back on and question. It's much like when you ask someone "What religion do you follow?" and they say "Oh I'm a Christian." and when you ask them why, they simply say "Oh, I don't really know, I've always been a Christian, I guess I was kind of born into it." So if you find yourself in the same position, if you find it difficult to find an answer or find it difficult to get a clear image of your inner workings, do not fear looking for definitions that contradict what you've been told early on. Who knows, perhaps Christianity doesn't really suit you anyways.

Now as to how I fulfil my purpose in life.

As the transitional phase of 2010 unfolded, I lost quite a few people who meant a lot to me. People who had made happy for quite some time started to leave my life. I also noticed a quick drop in what I considered to my purpose in this life. I had a solid job and I was in good health, yet for someone who was floating at 2/3 I felt the happiness was not proportional. The formula didn't take in to account friends and families, two important variables that I had completely ignored. It was right about then that I figured, the "Three out of three" golden rules did not truly reflect my state of happiness. So I began to re-evaluate. I categorized all the times I've truly been happy and tried to mine out the one major factor that contributed to that happiness. As I looked back I started to realize what it is that truly makes me happy and how I had to redefine some basic variables that were passed on by my parents early on

As I look back at my life, I've been blessed with many things. I come from a well off family and have lived a comfortable and considerably stress free life. I've already travelled to quite a few countries, experienced some amazing adventures, seen some wonderful sights, and done some outrageous things. However the more I reflect back, the more I see the number one factor that has made me happy in life are not the toys I've had, the places I've been, the sights I've seen or the things I've done. It's all rooted in the people I've been with.

In 2006 my dad bought me a brand new Mustang, as I look back, the happiest memory I have with that car is when I was driving up to Edmonton with someone I loved. The happiest memory I have with the 52 inch flat screen TV that I bought with my first pay cheque are the times I used to watch Law and Order re-runs with my roommates back in Ft. McMorley*. Walking through the streets of Paris were only fun cause I was doing it with someone I loved. Going to coffee-shops and citing Persian poetry was only magical because I was doing it with someone I loved. Smoking a high quality sheesha was great because it was done in good company. My Trip to Miami was only fun cause I ended up partying with random people I met in a bar. New York was only great cause I partied with an old friend, hitting on random girls. Peace club was only fun cause of its members and their antics.

The more I replayed the happiest moments of my life, the more I realized how dependant I am on others. Contrary to what defines an introvert, I find, I'm truly happy when I'm with people. Of course close friends and lovers are the ultimate source, however the thought of sitting down and talking to a random stranger, discussing politics, engaging in philosophical debates or simply talking about the weather makes me happy.

That's why I see this trip not so much as a sightseeing or a touristy vacation, but as a means to meet as many people as possible. It's an excuse to go on random adventures through the streets of Europe with complete strangers. Hear about their stories and the things they've done, and listen to their opinions as I tell mine. When I enter a country on this trip, my main goal is to make friends and meet as many people as possible. If I happen to miss a castle or a statue because I spent too much time listening to someone talking about their drunken walks through the street of Barcelona, then so be it. This is a social experience, and what I hope to get out of it, is a new understanding and appreciation of the people in this world. After all, my happiness and purpose in life is heavily dependent on them.

*Ft. McMorely is the name given to the house I used to share with six close friends back in 2008-2010.

Introduction (Part 1): The Two Questions

I arrived in Vancouver yesterday. Although I have lived in Calgary for God knows how long, it still feels like coming home when I see the arch on Lions Gate Bridge. The next few days in Vancouver are going to be the calm before the storm. Of course I mean storm in the most exciting and fun aspect of the word, (as I'm sure there is one). As you guys know, I have planned an extensive and comprehensive trip around the world. This idea kind of evolved in my head over a period of three-four nights in February. Anyone who has spent any time in Calgary during winter, knows that those long, cold and lonely nights can drive any mind with an ounce of imagination to try and find a way out!

The original idea was to do another* road trip in US. Perhaps do a west coast drive, from San Diego to Vancouver. But in a lot of ways, that felt like reading the same book, only this time in a different room. I wanted something new, something exciting, something big. So I continued to shuffle different variables in my head. Big words like budget, work, radio** and timing where floating around in my brain. I was trying to go as big as possible. And as the idea got bigger, I saw myself having to cut more and more strings. I couldn't have anything holding me back. This is the big time now! And once I worked out all the high level details, it all slippery slopped into a trip around the world.

The two most common questions I get asked when I tell people about this trip are "How do you feel?" and "What made you do this?" Although these two questions are completely detached and unrelated, I find it difficult to come up with a simple and honest response to either one. I never realized how difficult it is to explain how I feel and why I do the things I do. But I'm going to attempt to do just that and hopefully have it paint a clear reflection on what I consider to be a simple and honest answer to both of these questions.

"How do you feel?" Hmm, every time I hear that question, I find myself void of any specific feeling. In my attempt to not sound like Khomeini***, I simply respond "I think the scope and magnitude of what I'm doing hasn't really settled in yet, but I'm sure once I'm on the plane and looking down as it flies over Vancouver it'll dawn on me. And then I'll probably be excited and perhaps slightly terrified." For better or for worse, I usually don't form any specific feeling for what I consider to be unknown. I find that my feelings are based on experiences(... and sometimes personal prejudices). If you were to ask me "How do you feel about visiting Paris?" I can tell you "Oh I'm excited about the food and all the beautiful architecture, but not looking forward to getting yelled at by random French assholes!" But when it comes to "How do you feel about going around the world?"

... I've never done it, have no idea what it's going to be like and I have no feelings about it.

"What made you do this?" I get this question from people who kind of know me more. and when they ask it, I sense a little glimmer in their eyes waiting diligently for the respond, as if they have already made their own assumptions and are more interested to see if they were right. Contrary to what those assumptions usually are, the reason behind this, for the most part is based on logic. The main reason why I did this was because for the first time I had the means to do it. One of the things I've come to accept from life is that things change, and they change quickly and without warning. Right now I have the money, I'm not too deeply involved in my career, I don't have a hefty mortgage to pay and most importantly perhaps, I don't have a family. All the major lights to get this up and going are green. That being said, to have your head wonder in such escape like territories, there are always emotional elements.

Close to the end of 2010, I went through a pretty rough transition. Within a scope of two weeks a few people who were very important to me left my life... (To be continued..)

*Anyone who slightly knows me has probably heard about my Miami to New York road-trip back in 2009, if not, remind me to take you out for a beer and tell you all about it.

** During the same, I was in the process of getting a radio show in Calgary. However that's a whole 'nother beast on its own.

***In 1979, as the Iranian revolution was coming to an end and Ayatollah Khomeini was coming back to Iran from exile: he was asked "How do you feel about coming back to Iran." He responded "I feel nothing"