Europe Round Up

Dec 3/09 - Beijing, China

Life has changed since Amsterdam. The most important of these changes is my moustache. And despite it's astonishing growth, my life has really slowed down over the last 10 days in Beijing.

I've found China to be an open and warm society. The people of the People's Republic are quick to smile, impossible to anger. I've been slow to see the sites. During my first week in Beijing, I managed to transport myself no faster than the speed at which my legs could carry me.

This allowed me time to work on the draft for chapter 1, and finally complete the European Union page. The new EU page will serve as the model for future updates as I complete each leg of the journey, so I hope you find it useful. If not, then let me know, or better yet, keep it to yourself.

The most surprising thing I've discovered in China is the zip-line at the end of the Simatai section of the Great Wall. Following a three-hour hike along one of the non-reconstructed parts of the wall, the last thing you'd expect to see at the end is a Chinese man in uniform, standing beside a zip-line.

He points to a sign: 35¥. Let me think, '$5 bucks Canadian to fly down the Great Wall of China?'

Hell yes.

I propose more wonders of the ancient world install zip-lines. As a real world example of how this would boost tourism, I can tell you right now that if the Great Pyramids included a handy zip-line, I'd have extended my stop over in Cairo.

But it was not to be, so instead I filled my cup at the newsstand. I wish I hadn't. At the current time, Egyptian newspapers are filled with hatred towards Algerians over a football match where Egyptian fans were attacked by Algerian fans.

The situation is slowly spiralling out of control, and calls for blood are being made by both sides. I met an interesting Egyptian in the airport who was returning from Europe. We discussed the situation at length, and he told me that when he was riding the Paris subway, he had to hide his accent for fear that members of the Algerian community would recognize it.

In a year where Africa will be hosting the world cup, this should be a time for African solidarity in football, if not in politics.

I had the conflict in mind at a urinal in Beijing last night. A Nigerian was taking care of business beside me, and opined to ask me where I was from. Perplexed, I turned the question around.

"Well, where are you from?"

"I am from Africa," he stated.

I thought for a moment, zipped up, and replied "so am I."

Africa is the cradle of humanity, after all.

Thinking further ahead, I look forward to reaching Ethiopia. Not only does the country host the capital of the African Union, it's also widely believed to be where the human species originated.

A Bridge Too Far

Nov 4/09 - Amsterdam, Netherlands

Of all the signing locations I have looked for so far (Lisbon, Rome, Nice, and Paris), none of them have proven to be as difficult to find, as that of the Treaty of Amsterdam.

After an exhaustive search of the internet, including, but not exceeding a look at the wikipedia article on the Treaty; I came to the inevitable conclusion that it would be impossible to pinpoint the exact location of the signing ceremony.

However, it was at this moment of peril that it occurred to me to extend my search to Google Images. Voila, there on my screen was the clue I needed. The Treaty of Amsterdam, the agreement that created European Citizenship was memorialized forever on the internet by a grainy 300 x 186 picture. I went about the task of reviewing the picture for clues. I noticed a large gathering of leaders near the front of the photo, but immediately dismissed the idea that they would still be assembled in this way. The treaty, signed in 1997, would have allowed even the slowest of the leaders ample time to orderly vacate the photo-op.

So I scanned the picture again, more intently this time, seeking additional clues. First, the man in the middle forgot to wear his black suit – idiot. Second, there appears to be a two-level red brick building in the background, can't be too many of those around. Third, This picture is taken on a bridge, overlooking one of Amsterdam's canals. How many canals could Amsterdam have? After a quick review of the map, I'd say no more than 50.

The best thing for me to do at this point would have been to print out the picture for comparison purposes. Of course I did not do that. Instead, I wisely forgo the 50 Euro cent charge in order to keep things on budget. I take it one canal at a time, giving each vista the eye. Hours pass. Nothing. Though my eyes get tired of giving vistas the eye. I start to recognize porn and coffee shops that I've already passed. I'm going in circles.

Nothing is working, I had to completely rethink the way I was navigating. I was a city planner god damn it. Amsterdam is a system of canals and roads laid out in a hemicircle. I couldn't navigate by the roads, I'd proven that fact. Sticking with the canals would be my best option. It would be helpful if Amsterdam had signs that were coloured differently on either side, with one colour indicating that you are travelling clockwise, and the other indicating that you are travelling counter-clockwise. In leu of such a system being instituted within the hour, I had to keep track of the centre using some other method. A compass would be useful. As would a copy of the picture. Or at least a map. I knew what I had to do.

I opened up my trusty MacBook and reviewed the picture once more, this time it was coming with me. Snap. I took a picture of the Mac's monitor with my camera. This was truly brilliant, now at least I'd have the picture with me.

Day gave way to dusk. Amsterdam's infamous lights burned red. All hope was lost.

Even with the picture in hand, there is just to many canals. If I couldn't find this bridge during the day, what chance did I now have at night? Against these harrowing odds, a lesser fact-finder would have turned back. Or at least acquired a map. But, I pushed on.

After walking all day, I rubbed my eyes at the sight of a familiar pyramid. Lit up, it's light fled across the surface of the water straight to me. Hustling to the centre of the bridge, I took a picture, and compared it to the original I had stored. It was almost a perfect match. There was only one problem. I was standing much closer to the buildings than in the official photo. Something's different.This bridge is metallic, with railings everywhere, not like the photo.

I looked behind me, to an old bridge draped in scaffolding. I wonder. So I stopped a bystander and asked:

“Is this bridge new?”
“Yes, it's new, but it's only temporary”, the man replied. Adding with a chuckle, “it took them a year just to build this, the old bridge is over there, god knows whenever it'll be fixed.”
“Thanks,” that was all I needed to know.
“You know when they started building that bridge...”
“Ok, that's really quite enough,” I interjected, as the man continued:
“...and now they're still working on it.”
“That's great, I just wanted to know if the bridge was old, you've done enough.”

As the man walked off mumbling incoherently about bridges and construction times, I took it upon myself to lean over the edge of the railing, and drink up the view.

Five treaties down, only one to go – Maastricht, I'll be there in the morning.

The Many Joys of Italian Train Stations

Nov 3/09 - Nice, France

Rome was great. Getting to Nice was not nice.

Things started so well, I used my handy InterRail pass to get on a Train from the Central Station in Rome (Termini) to a small town on the Italian-French border called Ventimiglia. The instructions from the guy at the informazioni booth were clear enough, either get on the train for "free" using my InterRail pass, or pay 3 Euros and book a seat. In a decision that would prove to haunt me, I elected to keep this trip as frugal as possible, and skip the 3 Euros. No problem I thought, I'm tough, I don't mind moving around the train a bit.

Ut oh, no seats available on the train, tired, I ended up trying to sleep in the stairwell outside the bathroom. Little did I realize at the time that this would be the best sleep I would get all night.

Just when I'm nodding off, along comes the ticket checker. He claims I need a reservation. So I go through the two options that I was given by my friend at the informazioni. Nope, his mind was set, pay 15 Euros, or get off the train. And you know it, I politely explained my decision and eloquently wished him well (actual events may differ from account given here), and jumped off the train at the next station, making my way out onto the platform into the dark. Throwing my hood over my head to keep the rain off.

I consider the known facts. I'm on the Italian Peninsula, somewhere between Rome and Ventimiglia, and I need to get Nice. Let's find the Informazioni and see what they think. I tell them what happened, and they try and call the train to tell the ticket checker that I did not require a reservation, but it's too late, train's gone. What are my options? Pay 40 Euros for the EuroRail express train to Nice, or take the "free" train covered by my InterRail pass at 3:08 AM. It has 3 connections, and get's into Nice at 10:00 AM. Great. I've got some time to get to know this Italian train station.

The Station clears out, and the cold sets in. The station is small, decorated in the classical Italian fashion. I try to close the doors to keep the wind out. No help, strong gusts keep blowing the doors open. This wasn't going to do, I was freezing. So I empty out my bag and put on every piece of clothing that I have. Warmer now, but uncomfortably bloated and tired.

Thankfully I meet a friendly French man named Mario, and together we head out to explore the city. He buys me a coffee to warm up and stay awake. He also gives me a california salad that his girl friend gave to him. Europe may have a cold rail network, but it is filled with warm people. His train comes at 1:00 AM, and he is gone. But not before I give him a hearty handshake.

There is nobody in the station but me, and from the looks of it, at least three other homeless people. I figure it would be unfair to exclude myself from their ranks at this point. I'm too tired to stay awake, so I curl up in the corner of the station with my bag as a blanket. If only I could plug in the MacBook, those power adapters generate enough heat to melt themselves down on occasion. No, luck.

With no alarm, I'm worried about missing the train when it comes. Luckily, in this particularly station, they don't use a digital board, but one of those antiquated systems of flipping plastic cards. With every update the board comes to life and everything starts spinning around, in search of the letters they seek. It keeps me up.

The hours crawl by, and before you know it I wake up with the usual chatter of flipping plastic to see the train update. Here it comes...

Train to Ventimiglia, Ritardo: 2 hours. Ritardo? What? The booming voice over the speakers confirms my worst fears, the train would be 2 hours late. I thought Mussolini was famous for getting the trains to run on time, and that was in the 1940s. What has everybody been up to in the last 60 years? I'll tell you what's Ritardo, the Italian rail network. The guy who kicked me off the train is ritardo. This station is ritardo.

I can't keep up, fall asleep in a ball in the corner of the station, death grip abound my bag, incase any of the other bums get any crazy ideas. Miss my train by half an hour. Shit. I'm ritardo.

I give the flipper board a long hard look, there is a train leaving soon to Genova, I know where that is. Nobody at the informazioni yet, too early in the morning for them to dispense their information, might as well give this train a try. At least the train will be warmer than the tiled floor. There is just one thing to do before I leave.

I bend down, and gently push over the California salad towards an older looking homeless lady. I saw a glimmer into her world tonight, and felt she needed it much more than I did. I feel bad that I'm giving away the gift that Mario so generously gave me. I wonder what his girlfriend, would be thinking if she knew that the pasta she bought her boyfriend in Corsica, was now being left for a homeless women in an Italian train station, by a weary traveller she had never met.

Finally pulling into Genova, I take advantage of the hour in between trains, and run down to the beach to jump into the freezing Mediterranean. The water may be cold, but it wakes me up and washes away the night. With the three dollars I saved on the reservation, I bought an ice cream. An hour later, I would be in Nice. A full 24 hours after I left Rome.

Life in Lisbon

Oct 27/09 - Lisbon, Portugal

My planned three day stay in Lisbon turned into six fairly quick. Stumbling upon the EU Commission was a nice find. Great staff, they'll let you talk to anybody if you ask. Lisbon is, or course, an anglicized version of Lisboa, which I would suggest is derived from the word labyrinth. It's so easy to loose yourself in this city, filled with countless winding bends, and narrow streets. I find it difficult to retrace on a map where I've been. Plus, I think I've involuntarily managed to go up and down five of Lisbon's seven hills.

In other updates, I bought an Inter-rail Pass, 10 trips over 22 days. So that'll be my way around Europe. No route plan yet, but I'd like to make it on one of the ferries. Well, Spain tomorrow. China, by months end.

Reflections on Fort McMurray

Oct 2/09 - Fort McMurray, Canada

If you have never been to Fort McMurray, then most likely your view of my adopted home is coloured by stories sensationalizing rampant drug use and unchecked environmental degredation.

What you'll never read about in the paper, is just how amazing it is to be apart of a community populated by those bold and daring enough to leave the familiar behind, and take a chance with themselves to create a better life.

Make no mistake, Fort McMurray is Canada's most Canadian city. You can drive up and down the Trans-Canada highway all you like and you'll never find more out-of-province people living in one place.

Therefore, I submit to you that Fort McMurray embodies the Canadian Dream; a wide-open, resource-rich community drawing dreamers from all over the country, and indeed the world, to give it their their best shot at getting ahead.

As I leave this remarkable place, my thoughts are turned to those special people that make Fort McMurray such a great community to be apart of. No matter where this trip may take me, I'll always remember that it was only possible because of the amazing people that I met at the confluence of the Athabasca and the Clearwater.