The Long Road Towards Belfast

Why call this entry the long road to Belfast? Well...it has been nearly eight months since an update; a full year of living in Bristol, England, working twice in the Scottish highlands, a trip to the French and Swiss Alps, a visit home for Christmas and a huge move to Belfast have all passed with nary a picture, blurb or phone call to say all is well. Here it is now, complete, concise and only slightly abbridged (we'd be here for hours otherwise).

If anyone has been to France driving through any of the mountain regions, (Alps, Juras, Pyranees) and can explain the meaning of a Passage Canadien then please do let me know, my French companions had no idea. Our only conclusioj was thatit referred to the many cattle crossings in the roads...I preferred to think of it as regions only I and fellow canucks could venture; yet leaving my French chauffeur behind would have left me stranded high in the French countryside. Not an unworthy prospect but at the time undersireable. I passed five weeks in France well over a year ago, it has become the country I have most travelled and thoroughly enjoy. Vive les Francais et leurs culture, j'adore!

Yet it is not my desire to spend excessive amounts of time in any one European country, my aim is to get about as frequently as possible and tackle most, if not all the continent. Apon my return to England I set up camp in Bristol, about 21/2 hr drive west of London, of favourable size and likeable people...for the most part. You may find the city to be great for a night out, party or clubbing but only if you're in the know. There are so many sects of people each partaking in their own agenda, it's difficult to convince a sizeable amount of them to congregate in any one area at any one time unless you declare your party as a free party, in which case half the city will turn up.

The city itself has many beautiful pockets, dispersed due to WWII's Blitzkrieg against England, Bristol being hit because of it's shipping prominence. It also has a thriving Drum 'n' Bass scene in which I partook in semi-regularly as those I'd made close friends with were deeply intrenched in it themselves. One of the best weekends I spent was at the Ashton Court Festival portraying Bristol music acts along with multinational bands. The only mishap took place when a group of young chavs* walked by our group and an 8 yr old or so girl blurted out at me "Learn to dance!". I didn't take particular offence to this but figured I was within my rights to rebuttle with "Then teach me to dance. Show me some moves!" It would seem the girl felt rather put-down from this because she step square up to me and thudded a right hook to my crotch! How could I have seen that coming? Her gang of thugs tried to circle us, all pint size punks trying to bully us around. We shortly scared them off and I was perfectly fine after that degrating prod.

*chavs - term given to misguided youths through out England, always wearing gawddy faux gold jewllery and jump suits. In Edinburgh they are known as N.E.D.s (Non Educated Delinquents) and in Belfast as Spids (pronounced as in spider)

In March/April I joined forces with Olaf and Shannon to set fire to
the Scottish highland country side in was deemed heather burning...and generally scarring the begezus out of the grouse. Little did these unsuspecting birds know that I was to return five months later in August/September to add to their fright; in large numbers they were shot down by upper premium to partake in this "sport" while us working us class Joes were paid peanuts to risk life and limb waving makeshift flags in lines up to a km long walking through knee deep heather, bogs, rocky terrain and cliff sides to shock these birds into flight. It waclass hunters paying a s no kind of glamorous work but the scenery was unparalled and unique while getting to know a new group of Auzzies, Kiwis and Polish, along with the lone South African and Canadian.

Now we're getting caught up, a few glaring ommisions but that's alright. I made a weekend dash to Devon with a housemate who grew up there, we ventured to a few towns and sights before heading back to Bristol where I rounded out my English days. It was then homeward bound over Christmas for the first time in three years, that was a great visit. Spent much anticipated time with all of my family, saw many but not all of you guys, my friends, and was able to soak up some Canadianism that had been seeping out of me overseas.

Upon returning to Europe I took another month off to test my legs with three weeks of skiing/snowboarding in the French then Swiss alps. It was my first time in Switzerland and found it to be utterly beautiful, away from the cities that is. Geneva and Zurich are nothing really to speak of, the true beauty is deep in the alps amoung the many villages and towns perched on the mountain sides; it was in one of these in which I was staying with a friend I'd made over a year previously at Oktoberfest. She was working in a bakery at the base of a major resort, skiiers could literally come off the mountain and ski right to their door steps! Fantastic, but you had to watch out when walking the snow covered paths for irratic skiiers. One of the highlights was visiting the Top of Europe, the highest point average people can go with little effort and much expenditure. The lowlight came as a result of me trying to save myself a few bucks, or francs if you will, by using my host's season ski pass. All was well and good, I got in three full days of skiing at virtually no cost, that is until the very last day...it was too windy and snowy, several lifts were closed preventing me from accessing the side of the mountain and therefore the slopes leading back to my village, the gondola was my only option to get back. It was the bugger checking the passes getting on that gondola who noticed a bearded man was using a female's pass...perhaps not so bright on my part but nobody else had been overly perceptive. He brought me down to the ticket office, confiscated her pass and forced me to pay 500 Swiss francs, roughly $450 CAN, after which I felt obliged to buy my host a new season pass at another $280! Damn, talk about bringing my vacation to a wimpering halt! Lowest of the lowest depression set in, I was bust.

Well, the only way to lift my spirits was to visit one more beautiful, albeit tiny city. Actually I'd already booked my flight and had to stop over in Luzern anyway and I'm glad I did. The old town is very compact but the sights withing that area are truly spectacular, I would deem it right up there on the romantic cities charts. It was just a quick visit though, which is really all that is required for it, before flying from Zurich to Palma de Majorca, Spain for an hour stop over before heading to London. The extremes were incredible, from cold and snowy peaks to a warm and sunny island of Spain to the cold, wet and overcast island of Great Britain, all within about 1, 700 km. Oh how I wish I could've stayed in Spain just for a while.

It wasn't to be though, I found myself in London again, back at my cousins for some much needed recuperation and home cooking. But that was short lived as well, a quick turn around saw me in Belfast, Northern Ireland trying to get set up for a lengthy stay, finding work, a home and friends were my new priorties. All of those have begun to fall into place, I'm currently working as a Humand Resources Officer interview candidates wanting to work for the London transport system, living in townhouse with one other guy native to N. Ireland and waiting for a bit of cash to start enjoying the city properly.
I'm really pleased with where I'm at at the moment, things are going well enough, I have an exciting year ahead of me with lots of prospects and adventures on the horizon. Most excitingly I will have a car soon to scoot me around making my local travelling so much easier and bountiful. Look forward to more frequent updates, many more pictures (like me and my Citroen), and soon some video footage...cheerio for now then......