HMS Warrior and HMS Victory visit

The Warrior
I've visited an old ship before, in Boston, that was nicknamed Old Ironsides (can't remember the real name). The Warrior is iron-sided as well, but way cooler. The ship in Boston wasn't all kitted out like the ships in Portsmouth are, so yesterday I really saw how the ship functioned and what a sailors life was like. I am really not eloquent enough to describe how wicked it was, so I'll leave it at that and put up some pictures (I have loads of pictures, so more can be made available upon request).

To try to imagine the scale of this deck, notice that in the upper right of the deck there are two people clothed in black standing to the right of that white lifeboat. The ship is huge. It carried a crew of over 700. (Just noticed the photo is slanty again. I think that's my habit of putting most of my weight on my right leg).

A rope ladder, but quite stiff and with wooden crosspieces, so better than any rope ladder I've ever climbed.

Swords hanging on the ceiling and cannon cleaning and packing equipment hanging in behind. There were guns and swords on racks everywhere. The swords were all locked in, unfortunate since I wanted to hold one to see what the weight of it would be like. I looked around at the staff to see if one was dressed as an officer complete with sword, so that I could ask politely if I could just hold his sword for a moment, but no luck. I could tell just from pulling on a sword while it was in the rack that it's heavier than my fencing sabres, but that's sort of obvious given that the blade's a lot thicker.

Chain for the anchor, and my hand to show you how big it actually is. I could just lift one of the links with one hand. Considering that I picked up a 12 pound cannon ball up with one hand no problem, these have got to be heavier.

A fancy way to coil up your rope. I feel ashamed of all my coils, or piles, of rope now.

Largest gun on the main deck with the metal stripping allowing it to be slid to face pretty much any direction I'd say. Pretty slick.

On to the Victory!
So I finally got to see the famous ship from the battle for which Trafalgar Square is named, and whose admiral, Nelson, has monuments in his honour all around the UK. I didn't know these things prior to visiting the ship, but I finally put it all together. I'd been wondering who this Nelson dude was, and why a square in London had a Spanish name.
I like the colours on this ship. The old sailing ships are incredibly beautiful. The contrast between the Victory and a modern aircraft carrier that was docked nearby was stark to me. Modern naval ships are impressive, but I wouldn't call them beautiful or elegant. The Victory is all three (it's still a commissioned ship if you didn't know, in order to honour Nelson).

Speaking of Nelson, this is his "cot" aboard the ship. I think I would have opted for one of the bunks like they had in some of the cabins below so that my bed wouldn't have been swinging so much. The style of this doesn't exactly match up to the rest of his quarters, with leather chairs and well-made wooden dining sets.

Squeeze everything together: this is the sick ward, a dining area, and that's a cannon in the background. Healthy crew lived in similar circumstances, except that there hammocks were not boxy like these. The mugs on the table are made of horn, just as are the powder horns hanging about the ship.

It takes a lot of ropes to rig sails.

Here's some freakin' huge ropes. They were fenced off, so to give you the scale, imagine this: if you took my torso and squeezed it so that it were round insteead of the flattened off shape that I have, it would be about the same circumference as the bottom rope. So about 28 inches, give or take an inch.

Crushing snails

Sign on Portsmouth dockyard:
I think I read that that is a lowered level from "critical" last week. It might also be why it took me about 40 minutes to get through immigration at Luton airport even though it was late at night. I think the Non-EU passport holders line should be divided into two: countries the UK likes (Canada, Australia, New Zealand, etc.) and countries whose residents slow the line down.

Went on a Portsmouth Harbour tour yesterday, thought this cloud formation was cool.

Here's another interesting cloud behind the Spinnaker Tower. The tower's not as impressively high to me since I've seen the Toronto CN Tower but it's a lot more attractive.

The main bus station and ferry terminal in Portsmouth is called The Hard Interchange, commonly referred to as just "The Hard". Since I've actually been staying in the town of Fareham, I've been taking the bus into town each day. Today when purchasing my return ticket, I tried to make a joke out of it by saying "Hard return" please but the driver gave no indication of getting it. Not that I blame him :)

Stacey and I went for a walk to the town of Wickham last night when it was just getting dark. The sidewalk became a narrow path out between the two towns, and were brushing past bushes and crunching on what I thought were tree cones. On the way back, I heard a crunch and Stacey said "there's another snail!" I was shocked - I'd no idea that I had been crushing snails! I've had snails as pets (working pets, mind you). For a moment, I seriously considered sweeping my path like those monks who don't want to kill anything. The moment passed.

I went to the Historic Dockyards today to visit the HMS Victory and HMS Warrior, but I'll write about that in a separate post because I have a lot to say.

Fifty's nifty

On the bus to Portsmouth, I noticed that English motorways give you a lot more information than elsewhere in the world. Where there were some pylons ("cones" as they were called) blocking off some sections for some sort of road work, there were signs advising drivers that in the event of an emergency they could drive in that section. There were also signs telling drivers of wide vehicles that they were to straddle the white line on the shoulder. The transportation departments in the rest of the world just leave it up to the driver to figure out how to do these things.

Then again, roads in the rest of the world don't go from being straight to being circles every few hundred yards. Yes, I'm talking about roundabouts again. I am just plum astonished by their frequency.

I have seen road signs that rhyme over here. One is "Twenty's plenty", referring to speed in miles per hour (doesn't quite work in Canadian cities: Fifty's nifty?). Another I saw on the bus from London to Portsmouth and thought it was quite good, but oweing to my mental fatigue I didn't retain it and I'm kicking myself for it.

Maybe I just haven't been around children in Canada much and they are snot-nosed little punks as well, but English children seem to be an ill-behaved lot. In the centre of Portsmouth, on the high street, my bus drove by two young boys who appeared to be opening packets of sugar and sprinkling the contents over the bottoms of their bicycles, which were overturned on the sidewalk. They were then tossing the papers on the ground. I could not figure out any purpose to it. I've had children crawl over me while their parents were seemingly powerless to stop them. English parents in particular always seem to be shouting at their children in shrill voices.

While waiting for a lift from Stacey on Saturday, three boys who could not be much more than 10 years old each sat near me and one expertly rolled a cigarette. I was stunned. Upon hearing my accent, the boys asked me if I was American, and then asked me to say "potato chips". They seemed to find how I say it funny.

I met two Brummies (fellows from Birmingham) for the first time the other night. Stacey was making fun of their accents, as most English people will tell you that they dislike the Brummie accent the most, but I thought it was pleasant. It reminded me of the Beatles, even though I knew they weren't Scousers (Liverpuddlians). They also said "pop" like me for things like Coke, instead of "fizzy drink" so that made them ok in my books.

England sure does pack a lot of accents into a small country. Down here I find that people talk as though they are reluctant to let their lips touch each other, so it's an open-mouthed form of speech. Many of the women speak in a tone that at first made me think that I was annoying them but I now realize that it is just the accent. It is still a little disconcerting as it feeds into my paranoia about offending anyone.

Photos for the last month

I've finished adding what photos I had that were in the realm of decent. If you go back as far as June 13 (Brasov, Romania), that's where I started adding this time round. Not every post has photos, but a fair few do and those that do have a fair few (going for a rhyming thing there, or something).

English BBQ

This is Stacey, who I'm visiting in Portsmouth (we met in Varna) barbequeing in the rain. Like any good English day, it was really sunny earlier so we thought we'd barbeque for supper. Then the rain started trickling, then absolutely pissing down. Out came the umbrella.

And the food's just about done and now the sun's coming out. Stacey says the weathers "taking the piss out of her".

More photos should be coming for my posts for the last month, since I've downloaded my photos to Stacey's computer and will be uploading them as I get a chance. I'll let you all know.

You're being watched...

I don't know if you know this, but I've been using Google Analytics on this site just out of interest to see what traffic I get. I started doing it last fall (autumn to those of you in the UK), but then when the new version of Blogger came out it must have intefered with my tracking. For awhile I simply thought that no one loved me and didn't visit my site. I eventually realized otherwise and fixed the problem back in June by setting up things again.

So here's a map of the world showing where I've been receiving visitors from. If you search my name on Google (and why wouldnt't you), this blog now comes up, meaning that people are finding me so I will have to watch what I say ;) But then I've also forwarded the link on many an e-mail, so some of these people do actually know me. Others may be finding me through the "random blog" button in Blogspot. And a few times it is actually me if I view my blog somewhere (I know the eastern European ones are me).

That big circle in eastern Canada is centred around Charlottetown because I get the most hits from there.

Anyway, it's reassuring to know that I'm not writing into the void. Thanks for the visits!

Lost phone

While I was in Madrid during the parade, I lost my phone at either a restaurant (where it fell out of my bag, I think) or someone pickpocketed me in the crowd (the master of ceremonies from my Vaughan Town program had his wallet stolen that night, so "is possible" as the Spaniards say in English).

So if you have my 07787 mobile number, I can no longer be reached at that number. I'm using my old 07726 number. If you need that number, just drop me an e-mail or a comment.

Blown away by Pride

I spent the last week doing another Vaughan Town. It was lots of fun although quite tiring - I lost a bit of sleep each day I think and it caught up to me by the end. I didn't lose my voice this time round. Once again, I was one of the people that the Spaniards found hardest to understand. The other Anglos found that a bit puzzling because they think that I pronounce my words clearly. It's not my pronunciation that the Spaniards find difficult, it's how fast I speak. But they also tell me that it's good for them to listen to me because they learn eventually to keep up with me.

At the first of the week, I was unsure as to whether I would enjoy the week as much as I did the first one. In the end, I think I did enjoy it as much, although it is hard to compare as the people are so different from one week to another.

In Madrid prior to my departure was Pride week, and the parade was last Saturday. Given that my hostel was at the parade end (there are sort of two parades - a political one in the afternoon and then a party one in the evening into the night) - there wasn't much point in trying to sleep while the parade was on anyway, so I wandered around the streets with some girls from my hostel. I have never seen anything like it. I was told that there was something on the order of a million people in the street. There were gay people who had travelled for the event but there were also locals of all ages and sexual orientation. Old ladies sitting on the side of the street watching, people out with their kids. It was just a massive party in the streets. Everyone was friendly - people were drinking, but I didn't see any of the aggression that often accompanies drinking.

For a country girl like me, it was amazing just to see that many people having a party. To top it off with the acceptance of homosexuals that was present was even more amazing - there's many places in the world where that kind of event couldn't happen without protest.

After the parade ended at around midnight (the partying went on in some streets all night as there were still people about in the morning), I watched as a whole team of workers moved in with leaf blowers, brooms, bins, street-sweeping machines and garbage trucks and cleaned up Gran Via from an absolute mess to being open in under an hour. I was impressed.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of the parade because I didn't have my camera with me (and I discovered that my phone was missing when I thought: I'll take some pictures with the little camera on it).

Now I'm back in the UK, having flown to Luton last night. It's a bit of a relief to be where people speak English in some ways - I can figure out bus schedules and the like.

Happy Canada Day and the simple joys of a bed

I'm in Madrid, heading out to Vaughan Town on July 1 so I'll have to teach the Spaniards about Canada Day.

Last night I slept in a bed for the first time in two days. In those days, I slept stretched out on train seats on a trip from Romania to Hungary, then beside a pool at the Turkish baths in Budapest, then on the floor of the Budapest airport the next night, and stretched out on some seats in the Berlin airport yesterday. Having a pillow other than my handbag was a real treat, as was a mattress.

I did take a picture of the public bath I visited in Budapest this time round, so here it is.

I like Hungarian statue style for some reason I can't pinpoint. I also like the fact that they put up statues of historical figures all over the place and are quite proud of their history, even though no one else really knows about it. I think we should try that more in Canada - instead of the Heritage Dept. spending money on free flags or whatever it is they do, they could put up a few statues. Here's some heroes of Hungarian history that I don't know anything about.
At Budapest, we boarded a bus that drove us all of 150 ft to our plane. I think this must have been due to safety regulations that didn't allow for us to cross the airport road that the luggage cars and fuel trucks drove on. At Berlin, and other airports I've been to, they provided a crossing guard. Seems that's more expediant than putting us all on buses for a 10 second journey.

Travelling the last couple of days, I have become aware that I'm a good size for travelling. I wouldn't want to be any taller or bigger and try to fly budget airlines. I flew Easy Jet this time round, and my knees were a mere few inches from the seat in front of me (the seats don't recline on those flights because if they did, you'd be lying on the person behind you). On trains, I'm just the right length to stretch out on compartment benches, and ditto for making a bed out of two airport chairs and a coffee table. I'm big enough to carry my luggage, but small enough to squeeze into where I need to. 5 foot 5 inches works well.

Oh, beware the airline MyAir. Two French girls I hung out with in Sighsoara discovered, by a chance checking of e-mail, that their flight had been moved to two days later and that there was no other flights to allow them to get back home when they needed to. We spent some time searching on the internet and managed to find them a flight from another city on another airline, but it was more expensive then the flight they had originally booked. And if they hadn't checked their e-mail, they would have shown up at the airport to be told that they didn't fly that day.

Itinerary

Not sure if I posted a general outline of where I'm going over the next while, so I'll do it just in case.

June 28 I'm flying to Madrid (via Berlin) to do another Vaughan Town from July 1-6.

I'm flying to an airport in the vacinity of London after the Vaughan Town, going to spend some time visiting London (ouch! says my wallet) and some other places in England (thinking Hadrian's Wall as one stop) as I make my way north to Edinburgh.

Hope to visit some people in Edinburgh for a few days and then head to Isle of Skye for two weeks for a Scottish Gaelic course (go ahead and laugh, I don't care) that starts on July 30.

After that, I will hopefully be on track to getting a job and will rejoin the world of the earning.

Don't you wish your girlfriend is hot like me?

I was thinking that while I was in Eastern Europe I might do some clothes replacement shopping, as new clothes would be slightly cheaper here. They are, but I didn't count on the clothing style being quite so different.

In the east, branded clothing is even more popular than in the UK (where it is more popular than in Canada). So all those shops I avoided, leaving me with the cheap shops that I like to frequent. The clothes in the cheap shops in the east tend to involve lots of glitter and slogans in English on the tops, like this post title (complete with grammar mistake) or something like "Your boyfriend bought me this" or just simple stuff like "superstar". Not really my cup of tea.

I suppose I could blame the clothing choice on the ignorance of English on the part of the buyers, but then I've seen shops in Glasgow selling shirts that read things like "porn star" or "I'm not drunk enough for you to look good yet" and the like.

Home of the Impalers!

I'm in Sighsoara, Romania for a couple of days until I head to Budapest to catch a flight. Sighsoara is the birthplace of Vlad Tepes, also known as Vlad the Impaler, the model for Count Dracula. If the local high school hasn't named their school team the Impalers, then they're missing out on a cool name. Choosing an appropriate mascot that's not too controversial but not stupid looking might be difficult though - look what happened with the Rural Raiders (here it looks sort of cool. On the actual mascot, in the suit, nope, but can't find a photo).

It was a bit of a relief to get back to Romania because here at least I know the alphabet if I don't know the language. Then, spending only a few minutes in the Bucharest train station could kill that relief. Carrying a backpack just makes me a target for people wanting money. There was a guy there sporting a badly photocopied ID badge offering information then wanting payment. Last week when I was there, a guy dressed in imitation of a railway employee pointed out the correct train car to me and some other travellers, then grabbed the beer can of one fellow and took a swig as payment. He later came into our compartment asking for tickets and changing that to a demand for money.

The gypsy kids are also annoying. I think they pick me out as foreign just be my looks and they have followed me along the street, demanding money I presume (they speak Romanian to me, which makes little sense if they know me to be foreign). One girl approached me when I was sitting on a bench, wanting me to buy a bunch of weedy flowers and all my repeated "no's" could not dissuade her. She laid the bundle down on my bag and I gave it back to her. She set the flowers aside and started tapping me on the shoulder. I swatted her hand away each time (when people start touching me, I feel that they've really crossed a line) and she eventually gave up.

The Carpathian mountains are for the most part large rolling hills, but there are several rocky peaks of a light grey colour. The land between the mountains is a large plain, flat as can be.

The roof tiles here are red, as they have been in small towns in Portugal, Spain, southern France, northern Italy, Hungary, and Bulgaria. Since most of these countries do not have red soil, I wonder where they get the tiles from? The houses in all these countries look quite similar despite the vast distances between say Portugal and here.

Town clock tower - the window to the right of the clock shows statues for each day of the week, generally the god for whom the weekday is named.

Main commercial street as viewed from the tower.

Just a building that is sort of representative of the town's style.

Feeling guilty for being rich

Travelling from Varna to Russe (on the Bulgarian border with Romania) I met some high school students who wanted to use me for English practice so I sat with them. They questioned me about Canada and my visit to their country, and one of their questions was whether I thought Bulgaria was poor. I told them that on the surface the country doesn't seem poor (except for the trains that I'll get to in a bit) but that I know it must be because I can buy things so cheaply.

The students asked me how much I was spending on my trip and when I told them about 2500 Leva (1250 Euro) they were astonished, saying that is about half an average annual salary. They were further amazed because I had said that my job didn't pay extremely well and yet I had saved that money in a matter of months.

That being said, all these kids were carrying camera phones and wearing branded clothing. Those kind of items aren't that much cheaper in Bulgaria, so either they're not doing too poorly themselves or they spend absolutely all their money. Still, I felt a little guilty for having so much money.

I mentioned the trains being a sign of the country's poverty. Firstly, train travel is cheap compared to other countries (I paid 4.5 Euro to travel over 200 km) and bus travel is even cheaper. But the trains in Bulgaria are the oldest and dirtiest ones I've been on. I could smell the toilet before I even got on one train, so I sat as far away from it as possible and fortunately I didn't have to use it. The seats are dingy and small - eight seats where there'd be six elsewhere in Europe. Trains still have compartments, not the open seating that you find in the west. In Romania and Hungary I've also been on grubby old trains, but they also have some new ones for the intercity runs.

Buses can be just as grubby and are a rough ride by times. Seat upholstery is often torn open. One bus I took in Bulgaria had what I believe was the transmission protruding from the floor and covered by a blanket. That bus' side doors would not close but that provided needed ventilation.

Other than the transport, I found nothing else problematic in Bulgaria really. The locals were all friendly (excluding train station employees who don't seem to be nice in any country in the world) - when walking through the village I stayed in, little kids would shout greetings in English and older people would smile. One woman at a restaurant washroom, upon learning that I was from Canada, very enthusiastically tried to get across some point about Canada being number one and Bulgaria being number four (in sports or something? I still don't know).

It seems that a lot of older Bulgarian men get to sit around and drink all day while their wives are out working. All the menial jobs, except hard labour, are done by women, and the really old women still try to make some money by selling handicrafts.

There are huge beetles in Varna. One of them could take on a mouse.

Death notices are posted on sheets of paper tacked on to posts and trees, bearing a picture of the deceased. I couldn't make out anything more than to gather that these people were dead (Cyrillic makes things tricky), so they could be full obituaries for all I know.

Pretending to be rich

I'm leaving Varna today, heading back Romania way as I make my way back to Budapest where I have a flight in a few days.

Varna's been fun - the hostel I've stayed at is one of the best I've ever patronized, the city is neat and the beaches are nice.

Beaches here are... organized we'll say, compared to the ones back home. There's bars and restaurants on the beachfront and they put out umbrellas and lounge chairs which they will charge you for using. But they will also serve you on the beach, of course. It's very different then the canteens you get at places like Cavendish beach.
You can be charged for a lot of things here. Going to the washroom - even if you're in a restaurant, there's often a little old lady ready to collect your 30 Stotinki (the Bulgarian cent, basically) for the privilege of using the facitilies. In the city's cathedral, I was admitted free but told that if I wanted to take photos I'd have to pay 5 Leva. Then there's the beach stuff as mentioned - an umbrella will run you 3 Leva I believe. That's under two bucks, but if you add up all the little bits it's not so cheap any more.

I hung out with some folks at one of the beachfront cocktail bars yesterday. It's expensive by Bulgarian standards but still cheap to any of the tourists. A swanky kind of place that none of us could afford in our own countries. The clientele, besides tourists, consisted of many bulky men with beer bellies and numerous tattoos, and their slim, attractive wives - the kind that only money can buy, I guess. The lounge had two swimming pools with pillows all around, which you had to pay to use, and then loads of white couches with pillows. So for a few hours I got to pretend to be a rich girl, which was alright.
Since everything is so cheap over here, there's loads of foreigners, mostly from the UK but now others from Germany and other European countries, who are buying property over here. Small houses needing work are going for 7,000 Euro even, and it seems that decent ones are in the 30,000 range going upward of course (from what I gathered from the displays of all the real estate agents in the city).

The building style is a little different over here as well - here's an example and then the cathedral exterior.

The lace-curtained bus

The hostel where I'm staying is in a small village, so the hostel will bus you into town every day or you can take the local bus. There's one bus that runs back and forth on the line, and it's quite the old machine. For starters, the bus driver doesn't collect your fare, there's a woman who rides along on the bus all day who comes by to collect your money and issue you a ticket once you sit down.

The bus has lace curtains hanging in the front to block the sun, as well as a lace doiley over the console at the front. The suspension isn't too hot, so it's a bumpy, squeaky ride. There's no air conditioning, so we drove to town with the front door open to get an extra breeze. The villagers transport an odd assortment of things with them. One older man had some carrots and herbs wrapped up in newspaper and a bucket of meat.

The twenty minute trip to the city costs about 55 cents (27 p).

Bulgarian restaurants are pretty laid back, which I'm told is typical of Bulgarians in general. In the restaurant sense, your food will get to you when it gets to you. Dishes don't all come out to everyone at once, they come when they're ready. So sometimes the main course comes out before the salads. It can be a little annoying when you're absolutely famished and every one at the table has gotten their food except you, but otherwise it's not really a problem.

Harpoon fishing

This photo is someone else's; I'm the brilliant white person in the middle who appears to either be doing some calisthenics or handwashing some clothes in the sea. The Black Sea isn't black at all as you can see from here.

I went to the beach with a bunch of people from the hostel today (about 11 of us) and we had two spear guns and sets of snorkeling equipment between us. So a bunch of us tried harpoon fishing - snorkeling amongst the rocks and hunting out little fish that are called gobi, I believe - just fat little ugly brown fish. I love snorkeling, although I've sort of forgotten that I do. I did it once 6 years ago and haven't since, an error I hope to correct in the future.

I didn't manage to catch any fish, although one fellow caught 8 which is the hostel record. I enjoyed the snorkeling more than anything, although the hunt of the fish was fun as well.

Arrived in Bulgaria

I'm in Bulgaria now - staying at a great hostel in a village outside of Varna, on the Black Sea coast. I wanted to make it to the Black Sea, but even Romanians were recommending that I bypass the coast in their country for another, so here I am. Getting here involved an overnight train that made lengthy stops at the border on each side, and then I had a long wait in a town called Russe on the border (from 1 am to 6 am). I spent it wandering around town with a Kiwi guy and we were invited by two Bulgarian fellows, one of whom spoke a little English, to play pool.

If I said that Hungary and Romania were cheap before, well Bulgaria beats them still. I had a decent, filling meal last night that cost me 3 Euro (4 bucks). I can hardly buy food from the grocery store and cook something for less than that, at least not without eating the same thing for days on end. So I'm living like a king here.

The local gas stations have specials on - get a 500ml can of Becks beer and a bag of Lays chips for something like a Euro. Quite different than Canada's Coke and chips combos.

They sell beer here in two litre plastic bottles, which I've never seen before but maybe I didn't look, practically everywhere (the above mentioned gas stations, the train stations). Around Europe, alcohol is much more available than in Canada (especially PEI where it's all government controlled), but Eastern Europe has it available more than anywhere I've been.

Toilets here lack a bowl, so are basically a hole in the ground. Those where there is a bowl you can't flush toilet paper (I guess the plumbing can't handle it) so there's a bin next to the toilet to dispose of the paper in. And you know what: here's a picture (a friend took this).

Change in mints

I'm heading off to Bulgaria hopefully today, on an overnight train from Bucharest. There may or may not be a direct train depending on who you talk to - I've met backpackers who have taken this train, but the train station people in Brasov insist that it's not possible to take it. I'll see when I get to Bucharest.

I'm going to Varna, on the Black Sea coast. I wanted to go to the Black Sea, and was planning to do so in Romania, but travellers and Romanians have been recommending to me that I go to the coast in another country than Romanian as it's nicer (less built up, better accomodation, etc.). I've gotten a recommendation on a really good hostel so I'm headed there.

I've been in Brasov 8 nights now, and honestly I could just keep staying here. The hostel I'm at is great. It feels like a home and there's great people around. I've met lots of other travellers and local young people. It's been interesting hearing the perspective of Romanian people around my age on their country and it's future and past.

I have never felt so popular as when sitting in a bar the other night with some fellow travellers and some Romanians we've met. All the locals just seem to love everyone. People who could hardly speak English sat down and tried to talk to me, and if they couldn't say much at all they'd still managed to say "I like you" at some point. People were affectionately patting me on the head as they went by. All this and many couldn't understand a word that I said (maybe that helps in liking me!).

The currency here is the leu (lei plural), and $1CAD=2.2 lei, and 1pound=4.7 lei. Now, that's not as bad as Hungary where you're getting into the hundreds of forints before you equal the dollar, but even so they don't really like to divide the lei up here, perhaps because it's not really worth so much divided up (a Coke will cost you about 2 lei). So the bani, of which there are 100 to a leu, doesn't get used much in actuality. If your total comes to 3.20 lei, shopkeepers will often just take 3 lei from you if you don't have 20 bani because they don't have the coins to make change with (or they don't want to bother, perhaps). If the total comes to 3.80 lei and you give them 4 lei, you will generally be given "change" in the form of a mint or a toffee or something like that. An odd little system - change in mints.

Brasov, Romania

I arrived in Brasov from Budapest and I'm still here. Was planning to spend about 4-5 days here but fatigue and the flu has kept me in one spot a little longer. I'm feeling better today so tomorrow I will probably head to the Black Sea coast.

If I thought that I had time-travelled in Budapest, the effect has been even greater in Romania. Brasov is a modern town but in the villages nearby people still use horses on their farms. Very small tractors (like a lawn tractor with a cab) seem to be used for the rougher work and then horse-and-cart is used for tasks like gathering up piles of weeds or transporting things. Older people wear "traditional" clothing - I spied several middle-aged women hoeing weeds in a field with their skirts hiked up over their knees.

There's a lot more old cars of the like that I saw in Hungary. Lots of Trabants, plus a Romanian make, the Dacia.

I was out to Bran Castle, the one that Bram Stoker based his Dracula castle on. It's nothing like how I would have pictured Dracula's castle, but it had a secret staircase and seats built into all the windows so I liked it for those features alone. It was filled with Romanian schoolchildren and other tourists so that was a bit annoying.

I think I have a short right leg or something. A lot of my photos are coming out slanty when I don't intend it. So here's Bran Castle on a slant.

You know you have a lot of rooms when you have a "Waiting Room For the Music Room" (hey, you can see the top of my head in that sign!)

Houses in the hills as seen from the castle.

I took a walk up some of the hills around Brasov - there's a Hollywood-like sign of the town name that I walked up to with some French girls. I fell off the trail twice, proving that I can't (yet) speak French and walk properly at the same time. My hostel was down a street to the left of the square that you may be able to see in the centre of the picture by the church steeple in the picture below.
The hostel staff here are Romanian and I've hung out with them plus their in-town friends. It's astonishing to me to see someone who can hardly speak English sing along perfectly to song-after-song of English-language pop music.

Finally, here's a close-up of a standard roof with the red-brown tiles.

Final Hungarian thoughts

I'm out of Budapest now, having taken a train to Romania. More on that in another post.

I'm not sure what it is that I like about Budapest, but I would say that I like it. It has many things that I dislike in a city. It's often dirty, there's graffiti everywhere (I'm Canadian, I expect my cities to be clean). It's poor - I've seen more people sleeping on the streets in Budapest than anywhere else - on main streets as well. So I can't explain even to myself what I like about it. It would be like trying to explain why I like chocolate or milk.

Hungarian is a very tricky language. I was told that they have "around" 46 letters, because double consonants and double-double consonants are considered letters. So I only managed to learn the barest number of words. I try to learn "hello", "goodbye", "please", "thank-you", and "sorry/excuse me" in the language of a country I visit, as I figure they're essentials. In Hungarian I learned only "please" - kerem (spelling not correct) - and "thank-you" - kozonom - and that was only after having a Hungarian teach me how to pronounce them. I figured out a few other words that were less useful from signs: sugar is "cukor", sale seems to be something like "akcio", and then there was "szex" on signs with silhouettes of women near the train station, so I'm sure you can figure out what that means.

I must say that, despite the bother they may have caused many people at the time, I'm glad the Romans spread themselves so far over Europe. Because it means that, even in difficult languages like Hungarian, there are words that I can figure out. "Muzeum" - I can figure that out. Or "politizik", or however it was spelled - I can tell that's politics. Those Latin-based words have been my friends in many languages. "Possible reservation train..." and then city name can get you pretty far in any country so long as you pronounce the words with an accent that is similar to the locals.

Please keep your arms and legs outside the vehicle while it is in motion (Budapest)

Signs on Hungarian train windows (sorry for the bad picture but circumstances were difficult).So, my best interpretation is: DO lean out the window, and DO throw objects, including bottles, out of the windows. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't obey the signs, but the fat school children in my train car certainly did.

Did I take a train or a time machine to get to Hungary?
OK, to be fair, I'd estimate that only 1/5 to 1/4 of cars on the road here look like that. Everything else is quite modern - if you judge by the number of McDonalds and Burger Kings (and why not?) then this is the most modern city I have ever visited. That being said, the hot water in my hostel is produced by gas fires burning in boxes above the faucets. It produces wicked hot water. Since I'm accustomed to hostels where you really have to crank up the hot water, I nearly scalded myself when I first took a shower.

The above picture sums up much of the buildings in Budapest. Splendid but neglected. These doors are typical of entry ways to apartment buildings here, but as you can see the wood's in need of some treatment and there's graffiti. Hungarians, like the Portuguese, have a lot to say through spray paint (at least those aren't bubble letters). Even in the downtown, on pretty fancy shopping streets, you see graffiti.

The building that my hostel is in has a fancy wrought iron railing on the stair case that has gotten rusty and someone has attached an old can to it for use as an ashtray. The wallpaper which was once cream with a gold leaf pattern is water damaged and stained, as are the walls. There's stained glass windows from which the paint is flaking and panels are broken away. This city was very rich once, but they just can't keep it up like they used to.

Turkish baths are popular in Hungary, and they seem to have a lot of natural thermal springs so that works well. I went to the Szechenyi Baths one day, the largest one in Budapest. I didn't have my camera with me, so see the link for a photo. It was beautiful and definitely relaxing. In the outdoor pools, one is cooler, around 25-27 degrees Celcius, and the hot pool is 38 degrees Celcius and stays that warm even in winter. I spoke to an elderly Hungarian man who goes to the baths of senior discount days about 3 times a week year round and plays chess with his buddies (they hadn't shown up that day so he was bored and talking to me). He credits the minerals in the baths waters to his good health.

I liked this lion sculpture, and later read that when they first appeared on a bridge crossing the Danube (there are four lion sculptures), the sculptor was ridiculed because you can't see their tongues (they're in the backs of their mouths). He was so traumatized that he lept to his death from the bridge. Poor guy. I like his lions.

I went to the Castle district of Buda with two American girls, Meredith and Ellen, one night. It was magical with everything lit up, only a handful of people wandering about, and the air completely calm.

The bridge with the lions (chain bridge):

Just liked the way this looked - statue near the palace.
I went out to Statue Park, where the government placed all the old Soviet monuments from Budapest after the fall of the communist government. My favourite, that I couldn't get a picture of owing to it's size and orientation (on the ground), showed Communist soldiers shaking hands with the people, and one soldier holding a small child!

I went out to the town of Eger, north of Budapest, for the day. I strolled around the town, went to the baths for the hottest part of the day, and attempted to go out to see the vineyards but was thwarted by a flash rain and hail storm. This is part of the basilica; I took this because of the deep yellow colour that is used frequently in the town and that I really like (my bedroom walls in PEI are this colour).The square where everyone seems to bring their toddler so that he/she can ride around on his/her push trike. Eger Castle is in the background; it's famous for holding back the Turks I believe.

Friends don't let friends let their post offices become banks

If Canada Post ever proposes to offer banking services, fight it if you can. A lot of post offices in Europe (Portugal, France, Spain, Hungary) act as banks as well as post offices, and it really slows buying a stamp down. Even the UK's Royal Mail offers insurance and accepts tax payments and other transactions that involve people spending a lot of time with postal workers.

I thought it was bad enough when Canada Post started selling teddy bears and Royal Mint Harry Potter coins. At least you can still move through the line-up at a decent pace.

Passport stamps and shady dealings

As I mentioned, I'm now in Budapest. To get here, I first travelled from France into Italy, Milan to be exact. There I inquired at the ticket office about how to get to Budapest as soon as possible. The ticket agent spoke French so things wet smoothly. I showed her my rail pass, and she made me a required reservation on an overnight train from Venice to Budapest, 2nd class seating, and she told me the time for the next train to Venice, for which I didn't need a reservation.

So I was on my train from Venice to Budapest, which they could call the "ticket-and-passport inspection" special. Honestly, after the first hour it seemed that my ticket was inspected every 20 minutes. I kept falling in and out of consciousness - I was tired from travelling plus I was in the middle of a head cold - and being awoken by seemingly a different ticket inspector each time.

Then we crossed the border into Slovenia. Here I should mention that my rail pass is not valid in that country, and that I also had no idea the train was taking that route. I was under the impression that we were travelling via Austria, and the woman at the train station had not mentioned to me that I would be travelling where my pass is not valid.

I was made aware of the problem by the Slovenian ticket inspector. He informed me that we would be travelling through Slovenia and Croatia, both countries where my pass was not valid, so I would have to pay a supplement of 30.10 Euros.

As soon as he said the price, my heart sunk, so to speak, as I was pretty sure I did not have that much cash in Euros. Since Hungary doesn't have the Euro, I hadn't stocked up on cash. I had a little over 27 Euros, and some money in pounds sterling as well. I informed the ticket inspector of what I had. He didn't seem keen to accept pounds, and I was about ready to try hawking my 5 pound note for 3 Euros (a bargain, since it's worth about 7) since there was a lot of English-speaking people on the train and odds were some of them were from the UK. Then the girl next to me piped up with "How much do you need?" She gave me 3 Euros, proving to me once again that in general people in the world are kind and helpful. I got a receipt from the ticket inspector, gave the girl next to me a couple of chocolate bars that I had as an attempt at repayment, and started snoozing again.

Then we crossed into Croatia, which meant passport inspection. The Slovenian border police checked out all passports carefully, holding them up to the light and comparing photos with faces. I actually appreciated having that done, because often police just look at the cover of my passport and toss it back to me, and I think what's the point of having all the anti-fraud measures on my passport when no one looks at it? My passport got stamped with an exit stamp (although I never got an entry stamp to Slovenia) and I thought that was cool, because I rarely get stamps and my passport looks lonely with all the blank pages.

I was musing on how I thought it was a shame that with the EU, you don't get passport checks all the time, when the train then had to make another long stop while Croatian border guards checked our passports. By the time I had gone through two more passport checks (leaving Croatia, entering Hungary) I had grown to appreciate the ease of travel permitted by the EU. All those stamps take time, afterall.

Getting into Croatia meant a new Croation ticket inspector, who when I presented him with my rail pass, seat reservation, and supplement receipt, sternly informed me that I had to pay another supplement of 20 Euros because I had only paid for Slovenia, not Croatia. The Slovenian ticket inspector had kindly not informed me that I would be in trouble once I got across the border if I was out of money.

I told the ticket inspector my situation - that I had no Euros and only British pounds. He frowned and told me he would be back. So there I sat, waiting for him to return and wondering if I was going to be put off the train at some one-horse Croatian town at 3am. I had 75 pounds, and figured that 20 Euros would mean 15 pounds, and I even had the proper note for it. The question on my mind is whether pounds could be accepted - I figured it should be do-able, since the Euro isn't even the currency in Croatia anyway, and the pound is a good currency to get hold of. I was also wondering if I would have to "top-up" my supplement to encourage the ticket inspector to accept my UK notes, and considering how much it was worth to me not to end up off the train.

I tried staying awake waiting for the guy to come back, and he passed me a few times but didn't stop. I thought that perhaps he had just decided to leave me and eventually fell asleep, stretched out from my seat to the empty seats that were across from me (the helpful girl and the two other people seated with me and gotten off in Slovenia).

I was awaken, quite gently, by the ticket inspector tapping on my legs while seated across from me. He said to me "15 pounds, I write, 10 pounds, I not write." He was telling me that he'd write me up a receipt fo 15 pounds, like I thought, but that he'd cut me a deal if we left no paper trail and he could pocket the money. I was a bit reluctant to accept the "no write" deal at first because then I wouldn't have a receipt to prove I had paid to a different inspector.

Opening up my wallet, I said "15 pounds?" and the man, quickly and hopefully replied in a quiet voice "10 I no write." I guessed from the expression on his face that he wasn't going to let me get taken advantage of by this situation. He was doing me a favour if I'd do him one. Since every ticket inspector had been only concerned with their own country so far - Italian train station woman didn't care that I'd need to pay more outside of Italy, Slovenian guy didn't care that I1d need to pay more in Croatia - I figured I'd be alright.

I gave the man his 10 pounds and didn't see him again as we soon crossed into Hungary. It was my first dealing with a public official that was of a... I guess you wouldn't call it corrupt, so of a shady nature. I now think that it was sort of cool, as I felt a real part of that Eastern European state culture that we all hear about.

The Hungarian police not only checked our passports, but a guard moved along the corridor of all the carriages with a step ladder and opened up all the ceiling pannels to look inside. On top of my under-the-table dealings of the night, that extensive search just added to the feeling that I was in a different world now. And I won't ever attempt to smuggle something into Hungary. Those guards were stern and big. One had legs as long as me.

I have 3 new stamps in my passport, I'm 27 Euro plus 10 pounds poorer than I anticipated being, and I was very glad to get to a hostel bed this morning and take a nice nap there instead of sitting on a train platform in Növere'sz vyl, Croatia (I would like to visit Croatia someday, but under circumstances of my own choosing). Still, it's not a trip that I'll forget.

Congratulations France on getting ruled notepad paper

The lined notepad I bought in Bordeaux had the word "NOUVEAU" on the packaging. I wonder why it's taken so long?

Pedestrian crossing light update: the "green man" does not move (shucks!), but the ones near the train station look like they're marching. Vite! Cross the street!

Another perhaps quirky note: I am sure most of you have heard an announcement on a PA system at some point in your life that used a few tones at the start to call your attention. All Islanders, for example, should be familiar with the "bee-bee-boop" sound used to start the "welcome aboard" announcement on the ferries. Well, some train stations use the tone system as well. French train stations, however, decided to jazz it up a bit. They don't just have tones, they have short compositions that involve a woman singing along to the tones. It's quite upbeat, and after a few hours of waiting for a train I found myself even singing along.

So as I write this I'm now in Budapest. The details of my journey here will be in my next post. Some people may be wondering: what happened to visiting northern Italy? Well, it's all booked up I'm afraid, or it seems that way. I've gotten tired of fighting with hordes of other backpackers for accomodation so I'm leaving Italy for another time, perhaps in a less busy season.

I still haven't seen much of France, but I'm not too worried as I figure I'll be back. France is just so easy for me to travel in compared to other non-English speaking countries. I also toy with the idea of getting a work visa for France and living there to improve my French, as I'm beyond the level where classrooms can help me anymore.

For the first time in my life I feel really glad that I took the late French-immersion program (here's a brief description for any non-Canadians). It's not that I ever regreted it before, but I never really felt that it had done me a huge service or that I had come out of it very fluent.

Finally some photos!

I've gone and put my photos up in the appropriate posts because they will make the most sense that way. There's new photos as far back as April 28.

I will try to put photos up more frequently, but it really depends on the computer situation. I will try to try.

Am I charming or funny?

I'm not asking for answers to that question.


Pretty much every time that I have spoken while in Bordeaux (I'm referring to speaking in French since that's all I speak except with Anglophones that I've met at my hostel), I have noticed that people within hearing range all start smiling at me. Being paranoid, I wondered at first if they were laughing at my French - I do make the occasional grammatical error and my accent is different of course. The smiles, however, do not seem to be those of people who are laughing at me. First of all, they make no attempt at concealing their smiles; in fact they turn toward me and smile.

Still being paranoid, I asked myself if perhaps the smiles are patronizing ones - the way you would smile at a small child who cannot express himself well and that you find to be cute. Once again, the smiles don't quite match up, and I doubt people would overtly be patronizing towards me (at least, I hope not).

Also, people have been surprised to find out that I'm not a native French speaking Canadian, or at least they're acting that way (there goes the paranoia again). This has suprised me a lot, because of the aforementioned grammar mistakes.

So, I have been left to conclude that for some reason, the people in this region of France find the way I speak French to be charming or endearing. I have had one Frenchman tell me that he liked my accent, surprising to me because I had heard that many French view Canadian French with disdain. I've spoken to Francophone Quebecers who were asked to speak English in France.

Maybe the disdain is just for the Quebecois accent, and since I don't have that accent I don't get that treatment. I speak French with an Anglophone Maritimer accent (honestly, my French sounded different than that of my Anglophone Albertan classmates) and it seems that the people here like the sound of it. There's not a lot of Maritimers in the world, so my accent could be the first of its kind that many people here have heard. Funny, I used to be embarrassed to speak French in France because of my accent. I even felt embarrassed in my French classes in Edmonton until I decided that I wasn't going to let myself feel inferior to a bunch of Westerners.


At least there's one place in the world where I may sound charming! I never thought it would be France, if anywhere. Maybe I don't have to worry so much now about feeling big and awkard amongst the effortlessly elegant French women.

A day in Bordeaux, à la James Patterson

This is a bit of a lengthy (sigh, as always) rant, but I had fun with it so I'm putting it up.

I've been inspired once again! Not by large pieces of steel this time (you had to be there, alright?), but by a book that I was reading. "The Big Bad Wolf" by James Patterson is the book, a former New York Times bestseller.

You might think this is a strange book to be inspired by, but hear me out. You see, until I started reading this book (I found it abandonned on a train, by the way), I had never entertained the notion of being a fiction writer, much less a bestselling one. I'd always assumed that to do that took some writing ability or a knack for creating interesting characters and plot lines, neither of which I'm capable.

Now I know better! The Big Bad Wolf has neither of those. I'm not going to quote from the book to prove my point, because who knows what the hounds of copyright infringement can sniff out. Instead, I will present for your consideration an account of yesterday morning in the style of the book.

I woke up from a noise below me. The girl in the bunk below. Her alarm. I checked the time: 20 minutes before seven. Too early for breakfast yet, so I dozed a bit longer.

I went down to breakfast at 7:30am - half a baguette, cornflakes.

I walked to the train station to get a timetable. I walked to the centre of town. From there I walked to the tourist office.

It started to rain. Wet drops of water falling from the sky. The drops were damp, and also wet and moist. My hair became slightly wet, probably on account of the rain. I was wearing a green corduroy jacket.

I needed to contact a girl I know who lives in the area. I had her phone number, just needed a phone. Found a public phone - it only accepted calling cards. No coins. Another phone, same deal. And another.

It didn't seem possible. It wasn't possible. And yet, that's how it was. No money accepted. Welcome to France.

What was I to do? How could I contact her? Why was France against coins? And where in the world was Carmen Sandiego?

An internet cafe, email and reply. The girl was busy, unfortunately. Too bad, I would have liked to see her. Another time, another place.

I spent several hours walking around the city. Old buildings, new shops. Clothes, bakeries, chocolate. A girl like me could easily spend a lot of money in this city. I only need the money to spend...

Hopefully that gives you the drift of it.

Just for the record, I'm not literary snob. I'm usually easily entertained, even by weak characterization and storylines. I can let myself get carried away by a story. I've enjoyed many a bestseller. The last novel that I read was by Catherine Cookson, I will admit, and I enjoyed it well enough. For those in Canada, Catherine Cookson writes dramatic novels set amongst the lower classes in early 19th century Northumbria (northern England). The novel I read, The Dwelling, was summarized as follows: "Cissie Brodie - a girl of determination, a woman of passion".

Apparently, I have found my lower limit for writing in Mr. Patterson's works.

Oh, Mr. Patterson, if you somehow ever read this, I'm sorry for being mean (my mom always warned me to say nothing if I didn't have anything nice to say), but sir, someone paid 11 bucks (8 US) for your book. A lot of people did. I'm just glad that I wasn't one of them.

Now, as for my own "writing", I'll just sit back and wait for the publishers' offers to roll in.

Wrapping up Spain because I'm now en France

And struggling with the French keyboard that has letters where I'm not used to them being.

So when you last heard my location, I was in Granada, hanging out with international Trailer Park Boys fans. From there I journeyed north, via Madrid, to Bilbao. Seeing as I was planning on going to southwestern France it seemed like a good way to break the journey up - it took about 12 hours in two parts as I did it.

Bilbao is a nifty little city - I say little because it felt that way since wherever I was I could see the surrounding hills. The city's sort of nestled amongst rolling green mountains. So nestled, in fact, that it conceals certain parts of the city from view; hence the feeling of smallness. I like cities that feel smaller than they are. Edmonton always felt that way for me (until I had to walk to get around the South Common, but that's another, old tale).

A fountain in a park that I liked.

The famous Guggenheim Bilbao Museum, sitting on one ugly river (sorry Bilbao but it's true).

People are very friendly in Bilbao, as in the rest of Spain. Sadly, I can't understand what they are trying to say to me in a friendly manner. I do think that I do understand Spanish a bit better now - I can sort of get the gist of directions that are given to me now. When I'm told something, the price of goods being a good example, if I go with my instinct on the meaning then I'm usually right. If I try to think about it, I tend to screw it up.

I think Spanish is probably better suited to my linguistic abilities than French. French is a delicate language requiring proper ennunciation, so it is treated brutally by my heavy Maritime tongue and locked jaw.

Oh, if you thought that a continental breakfast involves toast and cereal, think again. From what I have ascertained, it is coffee, a croissant or some other type of bread roll, and a cigarette. The ash trays are sort of nifty: a ceramic ring for resting the cigarette on, and a ceramic dish under the ring containing water. Not realizing what it was when I first spied one in my hotel room at Vaughan Town, I picked the ashtray up and tilted it to examine it, promptly spilling the water all over the desk. Go Megan.

Pharmacies in Spain and France are indicated by electric signs in the form of crosses, generally green, that also read the date and the temperature. I wasn't aware it was a temperature at first (I'm not used to such courtesies from signage) and so wondered what exactly was on sale for 29.0 or whatever (I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed by times). The pharmacies also sell only what would be termed "salon" hair products in Canada, that is expensive. I held off buying toiletries until I found some in a supermarket.

If you see someone on the street in Spain who is using a shopping bag to carry something, it will inevitably be a blue paper bag from the clothing retailer Zara, or it will be a plastic bag from El Corte Ingles, a department store that's name translates to the English Court? I guess at home you'd generally spy me using an Atlantic Superstore or a Sobeys bag, since they're always in large supply.

After making that observation, I realized that I am not a typical person. Most people travelling are commenting on the lovely scenery, the buildings, the food. I'm noticing pharmacy signs and shopping bags. I'm sorry if you don't find shopping bags interesting, but I can't say the observations are going to change.

Finally, while in Bilbao I visited the Guggenheim Museum of modern art. There I had an experience that I was not expecting and calling it significant would be an understatement.

What struck me so fiercely was the sculptures of Richard Serra, in the exhibit A Matter of Time. The sculptures are huge, curved steel plates wrapped in spirals or forming corridors, and you walk through them. The experience was often bizarre - in one sculpture, I felt as though I was being physically pushed from one side to the other just because the slanting of the walls shifted. Another toyed with my sense of distance: inside it seemed much shorter than it did outside. Basically, the guy was sculpting space itself, an idea very simple but one that had never occurred to me previously. It blew my mind, as the expression goes, but I can't sum it up better. It was like my mind started considering things about space that it never had before. If there's truly a Platonic form of space, I may have had brief contact with it, even if I didn't entirely understand it. I actually had to go back to my room after leaving the museum in the early afternoon in order to sleep for about 6 hours. I had overexercised my mind, I guess.

I won't try to explain my Guggenheim experience any further because it won't come out coherently without hearing my enthusiasm and seeing my wild hand gestures (I'm not sure it will then either, but oh well). So you'll just have to ask me about it in person sometime if you want more details - maybe I'll have figured it out some more by then.

TPB Around The World

I forgot to mention this before, but it may be of interest to the East Coast folks. So when I was in Granada, one of the people I met was a guy from Norway. When explaining to some people where I'm from I made reference to Halifax. Upon hearing this, Mr. Norway exclaimed "Trailer Park Boys!"

Since I wasn't aware that the Trailer Park Boys aired anywhere other than Canada and the United States, I questioned him about how he knew of the show. Turns out he downloads the episodes from the internet (fair enough, as I've seen most of them that way since I didn't have Showcase). Who would have thought that Julien, Ricky, Bubbles and crew were making the Maritimes known around the world?

And for those of you who may be worried about the impression the world is getting of us Maritimers from Trailer Park Boys, rest assured that our Norwegian friend did not assume me to be gun-toting, nor did he ask to buy some hydroponic dope grown in a trailer or hash scraped from a "driveway".

If you have no clue as to what Trailer Park Boys is, then I'd recommend that you follow the Norwegians and download some for yourself. Just to be fair I'll warn you that it's not everyone's cup of tea (some people absolutely hate the show) and it does contain foul language, etc. But I likes it anyway.

Regarding Scandanavians: based on the ones I've met, I've come to two possible conclusions, neither of which I can rule out at present. The first is that all Scandanavians are good-looking. The second is that Scandanavian countires only allow the good-looking people to leave (if so, then going there would reveal a country full of the ugly and average-looking folk). Or perhaps I'm just a sucker for blonds and redheads.