EURO TRIP - France & Austria

After a week in Italy Carey and I were heading to the South of France. The drive alone made the 4 hour detour worth it.  No wonder there's a toll every hour, how else are they ever going to pay for the 10,000 tunnels that make up the hwy from Italy to France?  Of course when we first started going through the tunnels I did what any mature adult would do, hold my breath.  Carey got a kick out of this because some of the tunnels ended up being ridiculously long and watching me starve for oxygen really seemed to make his day.  After about 40 minutes of huge tunnels with very small gaps in between and no end in sight I started to feel pretty light headed and had to call it a day on the breath holding.  I've got to hold on to the precious brain cells I've got left.

When I was imagining the South of France I had pictured us lounging on the beach, working on our tans with a bunch of topless ladies with hairy pits.  Surprisingly enough that's not at all how our 3 days there went.  We were staying in a small town just outside of Cannes called La Napoule and a seriously awesome hotel called Corniche d'Or for about 50 euro a night.  This got us a room with a balcony (about 3' by 6') which had a view of the town courtyard just a few steps away from the most amazing grocery store and bakery known to man.  We did spend one day at the beach, which was absolutely beautiful.  The bulk of our time was spent people watching from the balcony and of course me kicking Carey's ass at every dice/card game possible while eating countless baguettes. 

One day after stocking up at the market across the street with a few liters of wine (which is very cheap but substantially less drinkable than cheap Italian wine) a problem arose.  Long story short I had somehow dropped both of our pens down into the much larger unused patio below. I was feeling pretty good at this point, a little tipsy and still kicking ASS at dice.  I had to get those pens back asap.  We had noticed earlier that other guests from the hotel hung up their room keys as they left on a hook at the front.  Being suspicious distrusting Canadians we never did this.  How perfect for this situation though! I would just cruise down and grab the room key for the room below us.

 When I got to the lobby area there was only one man there t checking out the brochures, so I felt pretty safe snatching the key and running back up the stairs.  Thinking back this probably looked extremely conspicuous.  I climbed three flights of stairs to the door of room 7 and knocked on it a few times waiting about 2 seconds before letting myself in calling out "house keeeeepinnnggg" just to be safe lol.  Once I was in I saw that someone was in fact staying in the room but luckily was not home.  I then clued into the fact that I was really breaking into some guys room and started to PANIC.  What if he caught me in here? What would I say? I don't even speak french.  Great now I'm going to be raped, beat up and thrown in jail all over a couple fricken pens. I ran over to the patio doors, yes there are 2 fully separate locked french doors between me and the patio.  There's no real way of getting through them fast or quietly because they are both probably 50 years old.  When I finally got onto the patio I grabbed the pens and looked up only to see Carey pointing at me and laughing like a hyena.  Maybe next to him I could be inconspicuous? In this moment next to him I look like a god damn ninja.

I closed and locked the 2 french doors and front and lightning speed desperate to get out of this situation unscathed.  I felt instant relief once I was back out into the hallway.  Now all I had to do was return the key to the hook.  I ran down the two flights of stairs into the lobby to see the man who was looking at brochures earlier sitting behind the desk on the computer.  Turns out he was the owner, great.  As I was making my way to the key hooks when I noticed a man coming in the front door.  This distracted the owner at the just right time and I replaced the key to the room 7 hook, turned and ran up the first flight of stairs.  I couldn't help myself and I turned back from the top of the first flight to see which key the man was going for.   Of course he's reaching for the only key that's swinging back and forth, room 7.  He turned and looked at me while trying to process the situation.  I did what anyone would have done, sprint back into my room, shut the door and double locked it.

When I got back onto the patio I started to tell Carey the turn of events which almost lead to my capture.  Had I been 30 seconds later I would have been caught red handed with a key that was not mine or worse, in his room! It's then that I hear the patio doors below us open.  The man comes out onto the patio and looks directly up at us.  I smile and wave, giving my most Canadian "Bonjour!"  I was obviously shitting my pants on the inside.  He had clearly realized I broke into his room but could see that nothing was missing so didn't have grounds to say anything about it. Yep, I totally got away with it.  

We celebrated that evening by heading out to an Irish bar.  Quite random but I guess you can find an Irish bar pretty much anywhere.  Met a strange dutch man and proceeded to booze heavily with him for the rest of the evening.  Overall it's a bit blurry but I do remember one shot he bought for us which changed my world, tequila, sambuca and espresso.   Seriously the most revolting thing to hit my lips since the raw hamburger I accidentally ordered the night before.  

Waking up the next morning it was all I could think about.  Why is it that when your extremely hung-over your mind keeps taking you to the WORST drink you had of the whole night before?  It's like having a bad song stuck in your head, but much worse.  I don't usually suffer from hangovers that aren't cured by a double cheeseburger, this morning was an exception.  Of course this is the day we have to make the 4 hour trip back to Italy and drop our rental car off in Milan.  Actually I think the only time I get THIS hangover is when I have some impossibly long painful thing I must do the next day.  Carey of course was totally fine and not feeling nearly as sorry for me as I am feeling for myself.  After a couple pukes which resembled slug slime and black liquorice we were ready to go.  I forced down a croissant and settled in for ride.  It was sad to leave France.  I was leading the winner’s board by a cool 10 games. Who knows if I'll ever find another place where I'm actually luckier than Carey? Goodbye France.

We had booked a hotel in Milan for 1 night and were heading out on a 6am train to Innsbruck, Austria. We made it to drop off our car with literally 3 minutes to spare before they closed.  Somehow close calls seemed to be a reoccurring theme on this trip of leisure.  Anyways, Milan was sort of like an Italian Vancouver but less beautiful.  Seriously, it’s not that special and hardly worth staying in for more than a few hours.  Our hotel was extra ghetto but at least it was walking distance to the train station out of there.  

In the morning we hopped on the train, my first ever train ride actually.  Europeans got this right; trains are the way to travel.  After a scenic trip 6 hour ride we had arrived in Innsbruck.  This place is a MUST SEE.  The buildings are all pastel colors that reminded me of easter eggs.  The town is in a valley between a few massive snowy mountains.  Sadly we only had 1 day there.  We made the best of it and cruised around town for the afternoon and ending up in some sort of farmers market for a few steins of beer.  One of the BEST things about Europe as a whole is that you can get a beer ANYWHERE you want.  No one is judging you for cracking a beer at any point of the day.  As we sat in this market and got a little drunk I remember thinking, does life get ANY better than this?!   Well, turns out it does. We picked up our motor home rental the next day......

Euro-Trip - ITALY

Yes I'm still alive.  After 4 unbelievably glorious weeks in Europe I'm back.  Do I feel horribly depressed and shocked at how awful reality is? Absolutely.

There really is something to be said about having something, ANYTHING to look forward to.  In most cases the buildup is half of the excitement. Just waiting and planning, counting the days.  That was just not the reality of our Europe vacation.  I think it's the kind of place that deep down inside you don't fully believe exists until your standing there seeing it with your own eyes.  Somehow it was better than I imagined.  It's hard to give a highlight reel because everywhere we went was in some way the coolest place I had ever been.  I hate to think my life has peaked at the age of 24 but it's hard to believe I'll ever do anything that awesome again.  Just being realistic (and if you saw the debt we put ourselves into after 1 short month you would likely agree).  I've decided to write this in chronological order and split it between a few posts, hope you enjoy the highlights and lowlights and the useless information in between.

ITALY - The country of smells.

After 3 flights and 17 hours and not a wink of sleep we arrived in Naples.  We grabbed our rental car (that was approximately twice the size of my big toe) loaded up and headed south for Sorrento.  Our initial thought once we got on the highway was that we were in fact in a much muggier version of Mexico. Thank god we got our GPS working and got the hell outta there.  The scenery picked up immensely once we got further down the coast line and Sorrento was a perfect first stop on our 10 day adventure in Italy. The next 2 days were spent cruising the Almafi Coast, all the while risking our lives every time we got back behind the wheel. Italy by far has the largest population of horrible drivers per capita.  After several delicious bruschetta’s and a couple 2 euro bottles of wine we were on way up to Rome.

It was days like this we were really praising Rosa (our GPS).  She got us through some tough times and I really think without her we would have been filing for divorce right now.  Once we checked in and carried our bags up 10 flights of stairs (which was pretty standard fair for everyday in Italy) we were on a sweaty bus into the city center.  I decided the people who gave me average reviews of Rome are likely retarded and I made a mental note to not believe a word out of their mouths from that day on.  Rome is a MUST SEE, even if you’re seeing it through a thick layer of sweat in 35 degree weather.  We hit lots of the main tourist attractions but honestly just cruising the streets was the highlight in my opinion.  Well that and the unbelievable dinner we had that evening followed up with about 4 liters of wine.

For a non-god loving sinner like me it was hard to believe how glorious the Vatican would really be until I saw it with my own eyes.  I really didn't think it would be something I was that interested in, more of a check on the list of Europe to do's. Being only 4 or 5 days into our trip we were still suffering the effects of jet leg (that and passing out at 9pm after 4 liters of wine) and were up at the crack of dawn.  After a quick cappuccino and croissant we were headed into St. Peters Square before 8am.  Would have had the same effect on me had it been noon, 35 degrees and filled with people? I honestly doubt it.  The sun was just coming up, there was next to no one in the square when we arrived and it was honestly breathtaking.  That is not a word I use lightly but seriously, breathtaking. We cruised through the empty line up ropes (which always makes me feel like I'm getting some sort of ripping deal, even if entry is free) and through the first security check.  By this point we're practically running were so excited to get the inside of the basilica (or as I would say, church) which by now is glowing and making me think it might be time to turn over a new leaf and let the sweet lord into my life.  Only one more check point to get through when all of a sudden I hear an Italian man screaming something.  I' had decided days ago that Italians are extremely bad loud talkers and this guy is no exception. That's when I feel a tap on my bare shoulder.   Before I know it I'm being turned around and told to kick rocks as my thoughts of godly worship dissolve.  

Well, turns out they don't let floozy, dress wearing hooligans into the Vatican.  I admit my t-shirt length flesh colored spaghetti strapped dress may not have been pope appropriate but that wasn't what I was thinking when I got dressed that morning.  I was clearly thinking about how many liters of sweat I would be producing after another 30+ degree day in Italy.  You can't tell me god would want to me sweat any more than I have to?!  At this point I was starting to feeling like the lord was truly laying hit wrath upon me.  This is probably thanks to me bad mouthing him in a previous blog.

At this point I was feeling pretty awful because now I was holding Carey back from seeing all the glory inside the glowing building.  Also I was just plain annoyed with the situation and feeling like a prostitute. With few options we started walking aimlessly back into the square when I had an idea.  I remembered seeing a gift stand at the far side of the square and I figured they would have a t-shirt.  Instantly I began dreaming about slipping into an oversized t-shirt with the popes face on it or better yet, a picture of Jesus being crucified. Unfortunately (and surprisingly) they didn't have either, but they had whore scarfs. This is clearly a niche market in St. Peter's Square.  4 euro and my problems were solved.

By the time we get back to the last check point I feel like pull a Deena style jersey turnpike on the fool that turned me away 20 minutes before but I figured I shouldn't push my luck.  We finally get in; I was totally feeling like I had pulled a fast one on Catholics everywhere.  Now I don't want to drag my whorness through the mud much longer but I can't leave this part out.  After seeing the basilica I pull out my handy Europe guidebook and find that we can take an elevator to the top of the cupola (the highest point in the Vatican City).  Who wouldn't want to do that? After some confusion we find the entrance to where the tickets are sold for the elevator.  I strut directly past the guy manning the door with my silk scarf tied tightly around my shoulders.  Again with the yelling Italian.. what I make out from his actions are that my dress is in fact too short.  REALLY!? Little does he know I've out smarted one skinny, hairy, annoying Italian today and have no plans to let him ruin my fun.  We are escorted back outside and I began scheming up a new plan.  

Only one thing we can do now, make a run for it.  Just kidding, that would never work.  I adjusted my scarf and took off the straps of my dress so I can pull it down to knee length.  I still don't understand how wearing a scarf for a shirt is more respectable than my dress but they're a lot of things about churches I don't think I'll ever comprehend.  I knew we only had one more shot to get by this guy before he had us booted out for good.  I waiting for the next group of people going in and I pushed my way in the middle of the crowd (if you can call 3 people a crowd?).  Of course Carey of course was able to walk right in, still feeling like a rebel no less.  We made it up to the cupola which turned out to be a short elevator ride and 312 winding stairs.  Yes, 312 stairs. THANK GOD I wasn't wearing more clothes!  All in all a very successful trip to the beautiful Vatican City, all done before 9:30am.

Soon we were back on the road and heading north to Florence. This will very likely make you think less of me but I was pretty stoked to be in the very same city where Jersey Shore season 4 was filmed just months before!! lol, but seriously, I was excited.  Florence did not disappoint.  We didn't have any specific attractions we wanted to see which made it pretty a leisure 2 days.  Spent hours wandering through the streets, ate a couple pizzas, and drank a few dozen Heineken. Florence was good to us and like every place before very easy on the eyes.

I think calling Italy the country of smells is a little unfair.  Really it’s Europe as a whole that is the continent of smells.  Florence was no exception; actually I think this is where we really came to a head with the smell factor.  The sewers run under the streets and with the buildings all being a few stories high and so close together there really isn’t a lot of fresh air being brought into circulation.   One minute you’re sucking in a huge whiff of delightful Italian food and the next you smell Italian food that has been digested, shit out and is stewing in the ground just a few feet below.   I think it kind of keeps things even though, no country that is that gorgeous should smell like roses.

Overall Italy was good to us.  Great food, so much history and even better looking than I could have imagined.   The only thing that really holding it back is…. The Italians.  HAHA kidding, sort of.  More euro-trip coming soon!

Legit Motives

While deciding what on earth I would name my blog I considered many things. I came up with words that I feel people may use to describe me. Some good, most bad. I find it substantially easier to pick out the negative attributes of others than attempting to locate the positive. I searched the definitions of these words and found only one that truly suited me, cynic.

Cynicism: a distrust of the apparent motives of others

Since as far back as I can remember I've questioned peoples motives. Good or bad I wonder why people do what they do and most importantly as a friend of mine often says "how does this affect me?". If a near stranger does something nice for me, such as bringing me a coffee, I would likely misconstrue this as them trying to butter me up so they can ask me for a favour. Or maybe I would think they were trying to poison me. When someone is doing something callous or evil it's a lot easier to define their motives. They have likely been wronged are trying to level the playing field.

Now your probably thinking one of two things: "Finally a blog worth reading!" or "Wow, another bitter bitch trying to spread more unhappiness". If your leaning towards the bitter bitch thought don't stop reading just yet. This blog is called HOPE for the cynic.

Hope: a belief in a positive outcome.

Yep, even the sour side of me has hope that everything will always turn out right sooner or later. I think thats what makes all the difference. There has to be a small percentage of your being that has hope. Whether it's hope that the annoying girl you have on your facebook breaks all her fingers and is unable to post another status update for 6-8 weeks, or hope that you lose 10 lbs overnight. If you don't have hope for anything you might as well tie up a fresh noose and prep for a hasty 20+ year overdue abortion your mother should have had.

What I hope to do with this blog is make you think and mostly to make you laugh. It's likely going to be a collection of rants, times when I've been wronged and occasionally you may fine a post with a silver lining or a happy ending (and I'm not talking about the kind you get after a thai massage). Regardless I hope you enjoy it, or better yet, I hope you hate it. That way you'll have something to rant about too.