The Icelandic Canadian - 01.09.2003, Side 19

Vol. 58 #1
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
17
Hello, Readers
by Heather Neale
Dear Readers:
I just returned from a two-month tour
of England, Spain, France and Italy that
proved just 'brilliant' as the Brits would
say.
My diary is now full of chicken scratch
written down on bumpy train rides
through the Pyrenees, and dimly lit metro
stops in the bowels of London. It’s got
overpriced train ticket stubs taped to the
back of espresso-stained pages, and glossy
brochures from places I never reached. It
also reveals an extraordinary recipe for
authentic Italian pizza crusts if you’re
interested.
The trip was an opportunity for my
boyfriend David and I to practice our bro-
ken French and Spanish and to recover
from four years of hard work at university.
(I finally graduated this spring despite my
strong resistance to hard work.) It also gave
what had been a long distance relationship
from its start over one year ago, a chance to
sink or swim being thrown together for
two months. (It swam!)
Here are some excerpts from my diary.
(Coffee stains were removed for your con-
venience.)
Excerpt-
Tips for future trips:
Packing earplugs when traveling is not
optional; it is essential. Despite my previ-
ously held beliefs, I am now hip to the fact
that most people make strange noises when
sleeping (myself excluded of course!)
Some snort every so often when their
dreams seem to be getting good. Some
make juicy bubbling noises through their
nose, and others have adopted a nasal whis-
tle that has the same effect on non-sleepers
as a mosquito hovering around your
eardrum or even a modified version of
Chinese water torture. All of these asinine
variations have come to my attention as I
sit here in the eleventh hour of a train ride
to Barcelona from Paris, clutching a book
after giving up entirely on the notion of
sleep. The countryside here is a series of
lush rolling hills with quaint Spanish style
homes (red tiled roofs and white-stucco
siding) nestled into the greenery. A woman
rides by on a 'one-gear Pierre’ bicycle as
David calls them, a fresh baguette jutting
out from inside her wicker basket as if it
were leading the way.
This sleepy landscape is such a perfect
contrast to the bustle of Paris. Don’t get me
wrong though, Paris is spectacular. A col-
lage of high art culture and ancient gothic
architecture, world famous wine and vel-
vety brie cheese that melts on your tongue,
it has become a staple location in the diet of
North American tourists for quite some
time and justly so. David and I visited the
Louvre yesterday and after six hours of
walking through it—our jaws hanging out
on the floor. We had seen only a quarter of
what it offered. We both stopped talking
within the first 45 minutes or so after the
realization that we had adopted the 'Bill
and Ted’s Excellent Adventures' vernacu-
lar. (Excellent? Amazing, totally unbeliev-
able? Wow! We did have the tact to stop
before words like 'bodacious' escaped.)
Excerpt-
Barcelona seems to be where it’s at
these days. After four hours of searching
for a hostel, we are desperate for some-
where to stay. As the city is not really what
you would call safe. We watched in shock
as two police officers picked up a woman
on the corner who had just been stabbed in
the shoulder while our American friend
Doug was being robbed of his camera. We
are not into camping. (We did not retrieve
the camera either.)
Later that day:
Well, we found a room in the Hostel