What should I be doing?

Let me share with you something that's given me a bit of anxiety while I've been travelling (and it's something that gives me a bit of anxiety in daily life as well; it is magnified by the fact that I'm travelling). It's a thought, that can be phrased as a question, that can be repeated over and over, in the background of what you're doing: How can I best be spending my time right now?
As I mentioned in my "to-do" list, I'm hung up about the fact that I'm not able to write anything. I feel like I'm getting too old to keep saying that it's something I can do a little later. If I wanna have some artistic masterpieces to my name (and I do), I'm going to have to be productive. I'm going to have to write. I don't know from where stems the source of this absolutely paralyzing anxiety on the matter, but it's there, and it's been there for a long, long time now.
So anyway, that thought keeps coming up: How can I best be spending my time? I sometimes feel wasteful if I spend too long in a museum, wake up too late in the morning, turn in too early for the evening, wander too aimlessly in a new city. I just get the feeling that whatever I'm doing, I should be doing something else.
Now, this is, of course, not a rational thought; it's an anxiety. Rationally, I understand that this is a self-defeating anxiety, since I'd be enjoying my time if I could just let it go, but since I can't let it go, I'm not enjoying my time as much. And of course there are times when it goes away. These are typically times that I'm spending with other people; people I like. So what I'm then asking myself is, do I need other people to enjoy myself? Is this why I'm so miserable in those places and times where I feel like I can't find anyone, or when I see people I want to talk to, and just don't?
I relate this to a deeper insecurity I have about needing the approval of other people to feel validated myself.

Man, I just spilled something heavy on you there. Sorry about that. Just thinking and typing...

Also

Who likes my Ghostbusters-style logo?
Check how the red cross-out line, like, pierces through the plane wing, creating the illusion of depth. And the drop shadow beneath the title text, creating the illusion of depth. And the dark red surrounding the light red in the logo, creating the illusion of depth.

To do

I know that when people travel, or undergo any kind of dramatic event, they like to talk about all the things that are going to change in their life from then on. And of course, few of the changes ever actually happen. I think people can change, but usually only very slowly and modestly.
Nonetheless, I too have been thinking about things I wanna do when I get home, and things I wanna start doing, and simply writing them off would likely not be wise, so instead, I'll write them here, so I have a record of them. Here are some:

• Take French language course
• Learn to dance
• Start being creatively productive (damn it!)
• Host more gatherings
• Volunteer to tutor children in science and math

I've got a good start on #3, since I've been drawing more lately, and I got a sweet new music-making tool on my computer. When making music is convenient, I do it more. I still can't seem to write (I mean, this blog, for instance, is one thing; but I'm talking about expressive and creative writing), which is really bothering me, because it's something I yearn to do, and something I've always told myself I was good at.

The Day is Cold and Damp

- Paris: Dec 8 - 16 -

Phase 1: Dec 8 and 9

I want to make these entries a little more detailed, for a few reasons, all of which I will eventually get to. The first obvious reason, as seen in the header, is that I’ve spent more time in Paris than any of the other stops I’ve made in the last month and a half. I will proceed.

I had a plan for getting to Paris.

First stop: Shakespeare and Company, the English-language bookstore that also houses young writers for their stay in Paris. I was going to check if they had any room, and what the requirements for staying were. The backup plan was to go to a hostel, the address of which I had taken down in Lyon. I knew there would also be a CS event in Paris that evening, so I made that my order of operations: Shakespeare and Co., hostel (if no S&C), quiz night (the CS event). This was thrown off a little when there was no room on any trains to Paris before 6 in the evening. This would mean I’d arrive there at 8, and not have time to do my full plan. Being the sensible young lad I am, I chose to go to the hostel that night, and check out Shakespeare and Co. the next day.

And the modified plan worked well. I checked into the hostel, paying for two nights, and went to the quiz.

Okay, so everyone I’ve met through CouchSurfing so far have been pretty cool people. My hosts, certainly. But before I arrived in Paris, I received a message from someone here who said my profile was interesting, and she’d like to host me. After exchanging a few messages, working out the details, I got a strange vibe – I found it a little odd, though not outright inappropriate, that she asked me to help her buy her groceries and carry them upstairs with her. Just seemed strange. Then at the last minute she said she would only host me for one night, which is fair enough, but it did leave me with no place for the rest of my stay there, and very short time to find one. So with all that, I just said I’d stay in a hostel, since I didn’t want to be going to a new host every day with my heavy bag. And that was that.

Well, this person was at the quiz as well, and the weirdness continued. I don’t think she’s a bad person or anything, but she just really had the ability to push my buttons. I ordered food – a plate of nachos and fries – when I arrived at the pub, and I hadn’t eaten all day, so I was quite looking forward to them. “Maybe we can share them,” Vibes said. “I’m really hungry, so I think I’ll probably want to have it for myself. Sorry.” I diplomatically concluded. “Well, it’s a big plate. We should share.” Call my judgment into question, will you? “I haven’t eaten all day, and I really do eat a lot, so I’d rather just have it for myself.” I say again. “If you’d like, you can have a couple; that’s no problem, but I really am hungry.” See, I bargained. “Well, the cheese on the nachos is very heavy. You will probably be full very fast.” Damn it! I hate having to repeatedly make the same argument. I know I can eat these nachos. There’s no issue there. This was starting to annoy me. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. I’m telling you now, I’ll most likely eat it all myself, so don’t count on sharing, but I will happily share if I can’t eat it.” Quite reasonable of me, I thought. That was basically the end of that little struggle. She pulled up a seat beside me for the quiz, so she would be on the same team (teams were made based on the table you were sitting at). She ordered a platter of food that was on special. She offered everyone bit of her food, which included chicken wings and calamari, but everyone else at the table was vegetarian. One of us said, “Thanks, but we’re all vegetarian.” “Oh, so am I ,” said Vibes. “But you’re eating calamari,” said another person at the table. “Yeah, I eat seafood.” Okay, fine. I know people who do this – say they’re vegetarian and eat seafood and—chicken now too. She’s eating the chicken. Okay, she’s allowed to define vegetarian as she sees fit, no problem.

A question comes up on the quiz: “What does the word [and I’m paraspelling here] ‘hippomonstrosequippmentphobia’ mean?” Ah, we can crack this, I think, using our knowledge of Latin. “A fear of big noses,” says Vibes, “Big noses like on a hippo.”

I try to diplomatically dissuade her from this suggestion: “Fear names are usually in Latin, and ‘rhino’ means ‘nose’ in Latin, so I don’t think that’s it.”

“Put it anyway.”

Okay, the illogical approach. Here’s where my tyranny in game-playing turns me into somewhat of a monster (but a monster of the most reasonable kind): “But there’s no reason to think it’s about big noses.”

“Hippos have big noses. Maybe it’s a fear of big noses like a hippo.” She makes a gesture with her hands to indicate big noses. She starts with her hand somewhat open, close to her face, then pulls it away and closes her fingers slowly, forming an imaginary cone extending from her nose. Okay, she’s confused hippos and rhinos.

“But hippos aren’t really known for their noses.” I try an alternate strategy: “Does anyone know what ‘hippo’ means in Latin? What’s a hippodrome again – that might help.” We deduce that hippo means horse, so I cleverly think we’ve broken through the first part of the riddle. While this is going on, several other questions have come, and we’ve answered them, but I keep coming back to this one when there’s time. We had written, tentatively, “fear of being trampled by horses” as our answer. When the quiz is over, and we’re to hand in our form, Vibes takes the sheet to write in an answer she says she knows. When she hands it back, she had written in that answer, but also had crossed off our horse answer in place of her “big noses” answer. “Did you put ‘big noses’ on the sheet?” I ask, as if I don’t know.

“Yeah, I think it’s good.”

“I’m telling you,” I say, “I don’t think that’s right. There’s no reason to think it is.” I look around at this point, and see that a few people at the table are watching this. Not wanting to look like I’m taking this too seriously, I concede and hand in the form as is.

The answer, by the way, was “a fear of big words.” Stupid.

Vibes then tells me about a restaurant she’s going to the next day, and that I should come to. Another girl, who I did enjoy talking to, also expresses interest in going, so I say sure, I’ll come. Vibes scribbles something on a paper and hands it to me. “I don’t know the name or address of the place, but here is a map.” I look at the paper. It’s scribbles. I can’t make out anything. I don’t know what information I’m supposed to take from this.

“I can’t promise I’ll be there based on this,” I say, “but I’ll try my best.”

“What’s the problem? That map is good.”

I look at the map again. Nope, not good. “I don’t know if I can find it based on this.”

She goes and talks to a few friends and comes back with the address. Fine, I can work with that. I agree to meet at 6:30 the next evening. “If anything changes, I have your number, so I’ll call you,” Vibes adds.

Whatever. I’ll do this, then that’ll be that. It’s one night, it’ll pass, no biggie.

Upon leaving the bar, I start walking to the metro station I came from.

“There’s one closer this way,” Vibes says, encouraging me to come with her. At this point, even if it were better for me to go that way, I would probably opt for the other metro, just to avoid her company. I don’t like having thoughts like this, but I really wasn’t enjoying our conversations, if they can be called that. I wondered if she was having the same experience, but she didn’t seem to be, based on the fact that she was continually setting us up to keep talking. Anyway, the fact is, I’m going to the other, slightly further metro station because it’s in the same direction as I’m going.

“I’m going to the other one, because it’s in the same direction I’m going.”

She looks at me with sympathetic confusion, and there’s a touch of scorn and mockery in there too. “Okay, but this one’s closer. It’ll be faster.”

Stop questioning my judgment! I’m a 24-year-old human being! I’ve obviously made it this far! Obviously things seem to work when I do them this way! I’m not going to agree with you!

“I think I’ll just go this way. I think it’s faster for me.”

“Okay.” Again, she doesn’t seem to agree, but she leaves. Phew.

I go back to my hostel and sleep.

I meet my hostel-mates the next morning. A young Australian couple, very friendly; I’m happy for them. I checked out some of Paris, and when 6:30 rolled around, I made my way to the restaurant to meet. Oh, I also couldn’t help myself, and I bought Rivers Cuomo’s Alone 2 album to upload to my iPod. Nice.

I get the restaurant early by about 10 minutes and wait, while listening to the album. It’s cold and wet, but I wait, because that’s what I do – that’s what I’m good at: waiting. I go through the album maybe twice. It’s now 7:30. No text messages, nothing. If I get sick because of her... I search for a wireless hotspot so I can check my email and see if she ever sent me her phone number. I find one, do the search, and eventually find the number. I send her a message: “I’m waiting at the restaurant. Are you coming?” The reply: “In car. You?” Me: “I’ve been waiting here since 6:30”. No answer. The other girl, by the way, didn’t show up, but she never committed, so no biggie. Anyway, it’s me, Vibes and a friend of hers, who – nothing against him- didn’t speak English. So it was quite unfortunate that I was either talking to Vibes, which I’ve already established I don’t enjoy, or waiting as they spoke French. I tried to make a little joke in French to ease the silence when Vibes would get up for any time, but it wasn’t well-received. My French must be worse than I thought. Then the buffet: I skip the items that look like they have meat in them and eat. Round two, everything has meat, so I return empty-plated. Then: “Try this, I don’t think there’s meat.” She’s talking about a pizza which really looks like it has chicken on it.

“That looks like chicken.” I say.

“No, I don’t think so.”

God damn it. I’m the one who sets my criteria for whether or not I eat something!

“Yeah, look, it’s chicken,” I say, poking at the stringy flesh with my fork to show its texture.

“Well, it’s not a lot.”

“I don’t eat any.” I say, perhaps now a little visibly annoyed, adding for good measure, “Go ahead, you can have it.”

She makes a similar argument about one of the pasta dishes, which clearly also has little bits of chicken in it. Again, I turn it down and make the case that I am the kind of vegetarian who doesn’t eat meat.

On the topic of vegetarianism, she goes into how hard it is for her not to eat meat. “When you go to business meetings, you just have to eat meat. So it’s hard.”

I make the argument that, yes, there can be all kinds of pressures, and that it’s ultimately the individual’s choice. She doesn’t seem convinced. No matter. The rest of the evening goes relatively smoothly, without much more unpleasantness, and I exit after paying. Phew.

I go back to the hostel and vent about this story to the Australian couple, pretty much the same as I vent about it here. I don’t like speaking ill of people, so for the record, this entry is more about capturing my thoughts and feelings during these events than it is about me wanting to talk about a terrible person; I don’t think this was a terrible person, just the kind of person who knew exactly what to say to annoy me in conversation. Perhaps this entry says more about me than it does about her. I acknowledge this, but still don’t wish to spend any additional time with her.

And that was the second night in Paris.

Oh! Also somewhere in there, I visited Shakespeare and Co. to see if they had room. Spoke with Sylvia Whitman, the daughter of George Whitman (I won’t nickname them, since they’re notable and researchable figures; Nicknaming would be an empty gesture), who told me that they would have room the following night. Success! I planned the next week at the bookstore, which would unfortunately cut into Barcelona time, but, man, would it be worth it!

Fete des Lumieres

- Lyon: Dec 5 to 8 -

Some stories are better seen than told.

Fete des Lumieres

Cool stuff at the weekend-long Fete des Lumieres. Much like a bigger version of Toronto's Nuit Blanche.

Bear Pits

- Bern: Dec 2 - 5 -
This'll be a short entry for a few reasons. One, I'm falling behind and need to catch up by writing quickly; two, I was only in Bern a short time; and three, not much happened in Bern.
I really enjoyed the train rides around Switzerland. The scenery was just marvellous - mountains and lakes - beautiful. I stayed with a CS host in Bern who had an injured foot, and so couldn't show me around or anything, but we got along well, had some good conversation.
I wandered Bern, which is probably the smallest city I've visited in a while. Bigger than Aalborg and Kristiansand, from the beginning of my trip, but still a small-sized city. Oh, everything is expensive in Switzerland - comparable to the prices in Denmark, for sure.
Bought some chocolate, made some curry. Went to see the film Religulous at a local movie theatre. I'd wanted to see it for a while. It's not exactly an Earth-shattering film by any means - more like a comedy version of Dawkins' documentaries, confronting religious people and asking them to explain their beliefs in a rational way.
I took a few more train rides while in Switzerland - making use of my rail pass for the free travel. Went as far as Interlaken. Walking the city didn't do too much for me, but the train rides, man, they were something. In general, I was growing bored with all the wandering - didn't really feel the drive to see much in the city itself. I still haven't really answered a lot of the questions I've had about travelling - whether it's really worth it. I mean, some things are nice, and it's always a good exercise to meet new people and explore new landscapes, but I don't know what I was getting from the experience beyond this basic mental exercise. If all I want is a change in routine, I can simulate that at home quite easily. But I don't though. Maybe that's the point. Maybe Europe ain't the best place to really find a different worldview from that of North America.

Anyway, that's Switzerland.

Hostel Environment

- Rome: Nov 28 to Dec 2 –

Goddamn dogs. Okay, so my Couch Surfing luck so far has been flawless. I’ve spoken with other people who have been amazed that I’m able to find hosts after sending out only two or three requests per city. Apparently people are used to sending up to 20 requests before finding a host. Well, friends, I employ some fancy selection tactics, and I craft every request with care, which apparently greatly improves my success. Plus, I have a killer profile. I’m a superstar at writing web profiles that people like. It’s a wonder I haven’t done better with online dating (yes, I’ve tried). But anyway, I was unable to find a host in Rome. No biggie. I’d budgeted for hostels from the beginning of the trip, so I don’t depend on finding hosts; but I also know that with my social habits, it’s possible that I could hole up unless I have someone to force me to interact. Maybe. I don’t know. Sometimes I’m under the impression that I’m socially quite normal, and that it’s everybody who are afraid to talk to people. Cowards, all of us.
So I book into a hostel. It seems like a sweet deal: 15 Euros a night, which includes blankets, pillow, breakfast and a pasta dinner with a glass of wine every night. So I book it. I go to my room and see two other backpacks already there; one has a Canadian flag on it. Okay, something to talk about there. Two girls enter the room – the owners of the backpack. They actually are from not-too-far from Toronto, so we form an immediate comradery, I feel. They explain that the final (fourth) bed in our room is to be occupied by an Australian backpacker they had met in… Somewhere else; I forget. He arrives quite shortly. I learn that one joke they have with him is that they give him a hard time about his age. I can’t tell how old he is, but I’m placing him in the high 20’s. I’m terrible at this game though. I’ll learn his age later.
We go do laundry, which is something we all had to do, then go to the free pasta dinner (small, and crap wine, but FREE!) and out for a short night walk in Rome. Okay, the social problem is resolved. I’ll simply cling like a flea to these people for my time in Rome. It’s an unspoken agreement that is made. They seem cool and friendly, and I’m immediately able to joke with them, so I revert into comfort. I also notice that the girls are generally a little more worrisome about some things than I am, which I think causes me to take the “hey, relax; don’t worry” role. I’m pretty cool anyway, so it’s a role I adapt well to. We wander until some time, I don’t know, then find our way back to the hostel.
Rome is the first of my cities that I’m visiting for the second time (well, in memorable history). It’s an interesting experience, since I’m trying to place things against their image in my memory, but it certainly looks like a different city. I don’t think I was paying attention before, or perhaps all this travelling and mental-map building has caused me to look at cities a little differently – a little more functionally (when last I visited Rome, I took the role of passenger; not really paying attention to the map, just following my sister).
Day 2 we get up and head for the Colloseum. Spell-check is calling me out on that one, but I’m sticking with it. It’s all right, I guess. I remember it being kind of but not really impressive, and it’s exactly as I remember it. Certainly not worth the 11 Euro regular price, but we bought Roma passes, which work out to be a decent deal, so it’s no biggie.

From Italy

After the Colloseum (relax, spell-check) we wander the nearby ruins. I can’t recall their name, but this is a much more satisfying experience than the Colloseum was. I try to use my imagination to recreate the bustling streets, the politicians, the Forum, the togas. We also come upon some orange trees, and me and the Old Man try to retrieve some of the higher-up and juicy-looking oranges using a long stick. Minimal success, but a fun diversion. There’s a ridiculously long line for seeing Augustus’ house for what it is. Just a few frescos in two rooms. The best part is the Forum. There used to be a city here, but now there is a hole. I can’t help but be a little reflective about the whole thing. Always thinking about mortality; anitcha.
We see more stuff, probably, then go back for the free dinner. There are a few flakes of meat in my vegetarian pasta, so I bring it to the attention of the hostel guy, but I do it in a very awkward way.
“I think there’s meat in this.”
“It could be, yeah.”
“Was it prepared with the meat sauce?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
“So you agree that this looks like meat?”
“Yeah.”
Long pause.
Me: “Okay.”
Hostel guy leaves. When he comes back a few minutes later, I managed to turn it into an actual complaint, instead of a series of questions:
“Sorry about that awkward interaction, I know it’s not your fault, but I’m a little upset that there’s meat in this. Can you tell the kitchen?”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
I’m making him out to be heartless and ignorant here, I think, but he wasn’t. I just think he knew what I was getting at, and didn’t know how to react, so he was waiting for me to make a specific request he might be able to fulfill.
Anyway, me, the Girls and the Old Man (oh, by now I had found out he was in his early 30s) go to a gelato place that I was told about by a wonderful girl in Berlin. It’s a little outside the main city, but a relatively close walk nonetheless. Man, oh, man, was the wonderful Berlin girl right. 3 Euros gets you FOUR scoops (each of a different flavour) in a big waffle cone. And this is in-house-made gelato. Top-quality stuff. Great flavours. We all agree this is the best thing, and that we’ll return the next night.
Next morning, Vatican. More idiocy with prohibited photo-taking. Again, I don’t care; I don’t take pictures of junky chapel ceilings; that’s for chumps. But it’s ridiculous that they even pretend to enforce a no-photo policy in the Sistine Chapel. People are snapping photos everywhere – the place is packed – and two “guards” walk around covering random cameras, saying, “no photo.” Then they walk away, and the person is free to continue taking pictures. What a joke. Who hasn’t seen the Sistine Chapel? It’s everywhere. There’s no way the extra money they make on postcards can justify what they pay these guards. Whatever; not my museum. Then into St. Peter’s Basilica. Nice. Oh, in between those, we allow ourselves to be a little ripped off on a meal. But that’s to be expected. And it wasn’t a huge rip-off. Anyway, we go back for the free dinner (doesn’t seem like we did much, but the line into the Vatican museum was a monster – took ages), then pretty much call it a night. After gelato.
Next day. Goddamn dogs. We want to get the most from our Roma passes, so we head towards other sights listed in the pass guide. It’s a little outside town – we take a bus to get there. We then walk a good distance away from civilization, passing several busy and narrow streets before getting to the site, and it’s closed, but a friendly little white dog greets us. There’s two old men sitting on the nearby curb. Ah, the dog must be theirs. It runs up to us, and we pet it (well, my companions do, but I wisely resist). Well, time to go; good-bye, dog! We walk back toward where the bus dropped us off, and the dog is still following us, occasionally running ahead and falling behind, but always in our general vicinity. Okay, these guys don’t seem to mind their dog going far, but surely the dog will realize soon how far we’ve gone and will want to turn back. Several minutes later, closer to those busy roads, and no such thing has happened. The dog is distracted occasionally by other people and animals, but does not leave our side. What a stupid dog. We get to the busy road and don’t know what to do – this dog is jumping on and off the road, oblivious to the amount of momentum being carried by these roaring metal beasts. My mind goes back to the day last Halloween when me and Nemo stumbled upon a dog running around the streets of Toronto. It didn’t end well.
We wait for traffic to calm down a little, then call it towards us on the side of the road to make sure it doesn’t just step out. We had passed a large parkland area a short while ago, so we make our way towards there, hoping that the dog will grow distracted long enough for us to leave it in the safety of the park. We lure it in, and indeed it does get distracted by some people sitting at a booth for something, so we take the opportunity to jet back to the bus stop. Phew, problem solved. As we wait, we can peer down the narrow street (narrow because it’s surrounded by walls) at the entrance to the park. I dread seeing that dog’s head poke round the entrance, and we all joke about it, as if it couldn’t happen. Ten minutes later, no bus and no dog. The bus makes its approach, and we’re almost in the clear, when the dog pokes its head out, followed by a person who appears to be calling it back. Ah, this poor soul is now where we once were – the accidental guardians of the dog that is clearly not meant to live in such a world. But what can we do? We board the bus and leave, the dog and its guardians behind us. I don’t think there’s any chance that dog made it through the night; it was just too stupid.
Rest of Rome passed without incident as far as I can remember. More gelato, exploration, human bonding, and finally, a departure. I took the day train to Bern, because I was told by a nice girl in the hostel that the view from the trains in Switzerland is spectacular – a fact I was soon to verify.