All on my own

Well, for the first time in my life, I’m not surrounded by friends or family. I just left Wally and company at the train station; they are returning to Amsterdam and I am off to Prague. I whole heartedly enjoyed my time in A’dam It is a city with so much history and heritage that myself, coming from a babe of a country, can only gape and marvel at it’s extensive heritage. The last two days have been very relaxing for me, as we stayed with Wally’s sister’s boyfriend’s (Moses) parents. We were thrown into a traditional Samoan party the minute we arrived; we were treated to traditional Samoan songs and dancing. Samoan dancing seems to be comprised of getting drunk, hoping around, hooting and slapping your chest while trying to put out a fire with your body. Strange traditions for a very friendly people.

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High Speed Trains and Samoan Parties

It seems ironic that I travelled to Europe to write, and yet so far my writing has been less then forthcoming. Perhaps it’s only a matter of getting away from the Internet, because when I’m connected it’s as if all those possibilities prevent me from focusing on just one thing. So it’s only when I’m on my computer and not on the Internet that I find the time to actually sit down and write.

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The Flotilla of Faggots

Ordinarilly, I would view the word ‘Faggot’ as offensive and prejudiced. However, this phrase is the only thing that can properly describe the Gay Pride Day in Amsterdam that I witnessed today. I’ve been here for one week and one day, and there’s a lot to talk about, but I also find it hard to convey what I’m doing here in a manner that makes sense. Right now, I’m just chilling with Wally and his wife, enjoying the sights and sounds of a very strange city. I think I might leave more verbose descriptions for another day.

Two for One

I may very well be staying in the smallest flat in London. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very cozy and full of love, but in terms of physical dimensions, I believe it’s all of 290 square feet. I’m staying with my buddy howie and his girlfriend, and every night I put down the futon and engulf the entirety of their free space. In terms of convenience, I don’t think you could find anything better. It’s smack dab in the middle of downtown london, easy access to any tube that you may wish to travel on. Their hospitality has been unexpected and beyond what one might ask – you don’t know how many times I’ve tried to pay something only to be waved away and told that because I’m not used to british pounds, I can’t be expected to pay. At any rate, I’ve spent far less in these last few days then I expected, and the time has passed quite pleasantly. Tonight’s adventures involved happy hour (2 for 1 coronas), drinks at one bar, drinks at another, emotional dramas and dramatic emotions. All in all good fun and pretty much what I expected when I crossed the pond.

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On the Tate (Modern) and Flat Parties

Today was one of random encounters and free particles. I went to the Tate art museum in the afternoon – enjoying the wide assortment of modern art that I had never really appreciated before. At one point there was a balcony on which I tried to take a complete landscape photo of southern london, however my program was not up for the task of stitching it together. I enjoyed a traditional english Kebab on the roof of Howie’s flat, where we encountered some gents from the other set of flats who share the roof. Many drinks and interesting conversations later, we stumbled to a flat party that was at least five, distinct, cultural zones from home base. It’s a bit of an eye opener for me, a simple Canadian from Winnipeg, but it’s incredibly enjoyable. The flat party was kicking, the booze flowed freely, the night ultimately fulfilling. Tomorrow the traditional London clubbing experience. Hopefully I’ll find time to update tomorrow, however I cannot guarantee the state in which I’ll be writing. Who knows what batshit crazy stuff will spew.

A voyage of a thousand miles…

I have a confession to make. For the last while my writing has been lackluster, uninspired drivel with no real purpose or direction. From this day on it changes – new environments demand new perceptions. Yesterday, I boarded a creaky old 767 that flew me direct from Winnipeg to London, England. I’ve been planning my journey to Europe for the better part of 4 years – basically since I got back from a year and a half in Australia. Planning, well that’s a generous word. How about a nebulous idea with absolutely no preparation, a flight date, a mad scramble to pack, a series of drunken and not so drunken nights with friends, regrets, hopes, loves, losses and all that fucking jazz. I love to procrastinate, but let me tell you – preparing for an extended journey is something you should be doing months before your departure, not days.

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Some birthday presents you can’t return

In an effort to bring awareness to an injustice being done, I feel the need to inform you guys of something occuring between the great nations of Canada and the USA that is emblematic of the current US administration. It may seem like a small, nitpicky issue to you, however when treaties are being ignored and ecological damage is irreversable, people have to stand up and say “this is not right”.
The problem is simple – North Dakota is attempting to divert their crappy water into Manitoba.

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Musically declined

I still don’t understand the relationship between humanity and music. If you think about it abstractly, why is it that these harmonized rhythms and rhymes resonate with us so profoundly? A lot of my friends are music aficionado’s, and it makes my relative lack of musical insight all too apparent. For many years I’ve considered Way-k my own personal DJ, but there have been others who’ve enlightened me with regard to inspiring music as well. At any rate, when you hear a good song, you *know* it’s a good song. Is it the lyrics? Is it the melody? What determines a good song?

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