The Broke Girl's Guide

To backpacking, breakups and binge-drinking.
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On Humour (Or how mine seems to fail me) If you’ve met me- you’ll know that I have a pretty strange, if not wicked, sense of humour. I laugh when I am uncomfortable. I tell morbidly embarrassing stories about myself as if I were proud of them. I enjoy the quirkiest and most obscure jokes. (Including jokes that involve puns, require basic intellect and aren’t remotely slapstick) Another thing I do, and only recently realised- I judge people according to what they find funny. To me, there is nothing more off-putting than meeting a person that can’t laugh at themselves, or at lifes little nuances. If someone rambles on about their petty troubles, my solution is to make a joke of it and move on. Dwelling on it gets you nowhere. If you laugh about it, it makes it less awful. The same can be said for my (abysmal) dating repertoire: if I meet a guy, it doesn’t matter how darned good looking he is, if he isn’t funny- it just aint happening. I joke, and I jest, and I fool around (sometimes even while we’re fooling around, if you catch my drift) and if a guy doesn’t do the same- it just won’t work. Humour is what get’s me through the tough times. To me, there are two kinds of people in this world- the ones who cry when they spill milk, and the ones that turn it into a funny anecdote and shrug it off. Lately though my humour has been falling flat. It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone that caught my sarcasm (seriously, you REALLY thought I enjoyed her 29 hour long drawl about her bad day at work?), knew my pop culture reference (Has nobody watched Monty Python?) or found my deliberately bad pun-jokes about beer even worth forcing a laugh at? Here’s hoping I meet someone funny soon, or I’ll go all Sylvia Plath and put my head in the oven.

On Humour (Or how mine seems to fail me)

If you’ve met me- you’ll know that I have a pretty strange, if not wicked, sense of humour. I laugh when I am uncomfortable. I tell morbidly embarrassing stories about myself as if I were proud of them. I enjoy the quirkiest and most obscure jokes. (Including jokes that involve puns, require basic intellect and aren’t remotely slapstick)

Another thing I do, and only recently realised- I judge people according to what they find funny. To me, there is nothing more off-putting than meeting a person that can’t laugh at themselves, or at lifes little nuances. If someone rambles on about their petty troubles, my solution is to make a joke of it and move on. Dwelling on it gets you nowhere. If you laugh about it, it makes it less awful.

The same can be said for my (abysmal) dating repertoire: if I meet a guy, it doesn’t matter how darned good looking he is, if he isn’t funny- it just aint happening. I joke, and I jest, and I fool around (sometimes even while we’re fooling around, if you catch my drift) and if a guy doesn’t do the same- it just won’t work.

Humour is what get’s me through the tough times. To me, there are two kinds of people in this world- the ones who cry when they spill milk, and the ones that turn it into a funny anecdote and shrug it off.

Lately though my humour has been falling flat. It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone that caught my sarcasm (seriously, you REALLY thought I enjoyed her 29 hour long drawl about her bad day at work?), knew my pop culture reference (Has nobody watched Monty Python?) or found my deliberately bad pun-jokes about beer even worth forcing a laugh at?

Here’s hoping I meet someone funny soon, or I’ll go all Sylvia Plath and put my head in the oven.

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The Setbacks of Life on the Road (Or The Perks of Leaving) As you can tell, I am an avid traveler. It’s what get’s me out of bed in the morning. I like the idea of going somewhere new. I don’t even mind all of the admin and paper work that is involved in planning a trip. I like the unknown. There is an entire world out there, and I want to see as much of it as I can. There are setbacks to travelling though. One of the worst is that it can sometimes get very lonely. Once you let go, and step out of your comfort zone- anything can happen. You have to put the effort in to meet new people. You can’t be introverted or shy- you have to fake confidence, or exude confidence. And even if you do all of the above, and make friends all over the world, you will eventually find yourself right back at square one: alone, somewhere unfamiliar, and without anyone nearby to turn to. When this happens, you repeat the pattern, you make new friends and you share new memories. It is great, and I can’t stress how incredible it is to meet people that are also living day to day, out of a suitcase. But apart from that, there is a definite lack of intimacy when you’ve taken to living life on the road. I’ve been single for quite some time now, and I don’t always mind. I’ve had my fair share of holiday romances and hostel flings. The problem is that these are always short lived- how can I get attached to someone when I know I’ll be leaving? Even when I daydream about meeting someone that I really like, it always dawns on me that somewhere along the line I will have to inevitably break things off- and say another goodbye. It can be heartbreaking. You can’t stop yourself from doing it: even though logic is telling you it’s stupid to get attached- you will, and it just makes leaving that much harder. You’ll question your travel plans. You’ll catch yourself thinking “maybe, maybe I could just stay here, or move to his home town (if he’s also a passing traveler) the reality is- it’s not always worth it. My advice? Put yourself in that person’s shoes. Would they move for you? would they stay? Another dreadful thing about traveling (and a far more tiresome one) is the ‘feedback’. I hail from a small town. In my small town it is normal to get married as soon as you finish school. It is normal to go straight to University, to graduate and settle into a 9-5 job. By not doing this, and by choosing to travel instead, I have become an outsider. My friends back home all say the same thing when I tell them about my adventures: “Oh, that’s great, but when are you done? Like- when are you coming home and settling down?” most people don’t see traveling the world as a feat to be proud of, they see it as a tragic waste of time. I don’t get congradulations, I get pity comments. People legitimately feel sorry for me because I am 24, single, and still working my way through life, one city at a time. Here’s the thing: I’m NOT traveling because I can’t get a job, or because I can’t find a man, or because I’m a no-good-useless-lazy hippy. I’m traveling because I want to explore. I want to experience everything the world has to offer, from elephants in Thailand to Snow in Canada, to festivals in South America to camping in Europe. I don’t want to hit 45 and think “what have I done with my life?” Almost everyone in my family got married really young- and almost every single one had the same regret “I wish I’d done more while I still had the chance”. Travelling solo when I can decide where and when I want to go somewhere, is NOT the same as an annual trip to some overpriced resort with three kids in tow. Please stop judging me with pity, take a harder look at your own lives instead.

The Setbacks of Life on the Road (Or The Perks of Leaving)

As you can tell, I am an avid traveler. It’s what get’s me out of bed in the morning. I like the idea of going somewhere new. I don’t even mind all of the admin and paper work that is involved in planning a trip. I like the unknown. There is an entire world out there, and I want to see as much of it as I can.

There are setbacks to travelling though. One of the worst is that it can sometimes get very lonely. Once you let go, and step out of your comfort zone- anything can happen. You have to put the effort in to meet new people. You can’t be introverted or shy- you have to fake confidence, or exude confidence. And even if you do all of the above, and make friends all over the world, you will eventually find yourself right back at square one: alone, somewhere unfamiliar, and without anyone nearby to turn to.

When this happens, you repeat the pattern, you make new friends and you share new memories. It is great, and I can’t stress how incredible it is to meet people that are also living day to day, out of a suitcase. But apart from that, there is a definite lack of intimacy when you’ve taken to living life on the road. I’ve been single for quite some time now, and I don’t always mind. I’ve had my fair share of holiday romances and hostel flings. The problem is that these are always short lived- how can I get attached to someone when I know I’ll be leaving? Even when I daydream about meeting someone that I really like, it always dawns on me that somewhere along the line I will have to inevitably break things off- and say another goodbye. It can be heartbreaking. You can’t stop yourself from doing it: even though logic is telling you it’s stupid to get attached- you will, and it just makes leaving that much harder. You’ll question your travel plans. You’ll catch yourself thinking “maybe, maybe I could just stay here, or move to his home town (if he’s also a passing traveler) the reality is- it’s not always worth it. My advice? Put yourself in that person’s shoes. Would they move for you? would they stay?

Another dreadful thing about traveling (and a far more tiresome one) is the ‘feedback’. I hail from a small town. In my small town it is normal to get married as soon as you finish school. It is normal to go straight to University, to graduate and settle into a 9-5 job. By not doing this, and by choosing to travel instead, I have become an outsider. My friends back home all say the same thing when I tell them about my adventures: “Oh, that’s great, but when are you done? Like- when are you coming home and settling down?” most people don’t see traveling the world as a feat to be proud of, they see it as a tragic waste of time. I don’t get congradulations, I get pity comments. People legitimately feel sorry for me because I am 24, single, and still working my way through life, one city at a time.

Here’s the thing: I’m NOT traveling because I can’t get a job, or because I can’t find a man, or because I’m a no-good-useless-lazy hippy. I’m traveling because I want to explore. I want to experience everything the world has to offer, from elephants in Thailand to Snow in Canada, to festivals in South America to camping in Europe. I don’t want to hit 45 and think “what have I done with my life?” Almost everyone in my family got married really young- and almost every single one had the same regret “I wish I’d done more while I still had the chance”. Travelling solo when I can decide where and when I want to go somewhere, is NOT the same as an annual trip to some overpriced resort with three kids in tow. Please stop judging me with pity, take a harder look at your own lives instead.

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A Little bit of Nostalgia (or why I wish I could have gone to Woodstock) At the moment one of my courses for University is the history of Pop Culture. It’s an interesting look at the cultural trends of the last half of the 20th Century, from the 50s Beatnicks to the 80s punk rockers. One of the things that has become obvious throughout the course is how each generation had something to fight for. In the 60s it was student protests against the war in Vietnam. In the 70s it was the Sexual Revolution and the fight for equal rights between women and men, gays and straights, interracial lovers, etc. In the 80s it was the voice of the working class that fueled angry punk songs, making their discontent heard. What has be baffled is this: what are we fighting for now? There is so much wrong with the world these days. Oppressive governments, the culture of violence and rape, racial profiling, unequal distribution of wealth, global warming… etc. But how are we making our mark against it? Gen Y and Gen Z have more access to media and immediate public outcry, more so than any generation before them- but instead of stage our own revolution, we turn massacres into memes, issues into petty online arguments and instead of getting out there and yelling, we stay indoors and share pictures of cats doing funny things. We have a platform to change the world on- and it’s definitely in our hands, but what are we really doing with it? Take the 2012 Kony debacle as an example. No, I’m not against awareness campaigns. I mean, yeah, the Kony video that went viral did alert a lot of ignorant people to the fact that there is a country called Uganda, and that some 30 years ago he used child soldiers. But apart from millions of people sharing the video online, what actually happened? I cannot stress this enough: awareness is where it should start, NOT where it ends. I’m fed up with people giving themselves a pat on the back for sharing a photo of a starving cat in the name of “animal rights” or for writing a status about the trouble with child abuse and then… well, that’s it. nothing else. I don’t need to see gruesome images in my news feed to know what is going on. I don’t need anymore hearsay or “Like this if you care”. Instead of reblogging a post, why not get off your lazy ass and feed those cats? fund an event online that supports shelters. Start a petition that raises the legal punishment for abuse. Stage a rally against oppressors. We have the media platform to make any one of those a huge success. But we retire after hitting “share” because we feel like we’ve done our part. We haven’t. everybody is making everyone aware. But being aware of something doesn’t stop it. We have the very real ability to make a big change in the world. It’s high time we got off of our asses and did.

A Little bit of Nostalgia (or why I wish I could have gone to Woodstock)

At the moment one of my courses for University is the history of Pop Culture. It’s an interesting look at the cultural trends of the last half of the 20th Century, from the 50s Beatnicks to the 80s punk rockers. One of the things that has become obvious throughout the course is how each generation had something to fight for. In the 60s it was student protests against the war in Vietnam. In the 70s it was the Sexual Revolution and the fight for equal rights between women and men, gays and straights, interracial lovers, etc. In the 80s it was the voice of the working class that fueled angry punk songs, making their discontent heard.

What has be baffled is this: what are we fighting for now? There is so much wrong with the world these days. Oppressive governments, the culture of violence and rape, racial profiling, unequal distribution of wealth, global warming… etc. But how are we making our mark against it?

Gen Y and Gen Z have more access to media and immediate public outcry, more so than any generation before them- but instead of stage our own revolution, we turn massacres into memes, issues into petty online arguments and instead of getting out there and yelling, we stay indoors and share pictures of cats doing funny things. We have a platform to change the world on- and it’s definitely in our hands, but what are we really doing with it?

Take the 2012 Kony debacle as an example. No, I’m not against awareness campaigns. I mean, yeah, the Kony video that went viral did alert a lot of ignorant people to the fact that there is a country called Uganda, and that some 30 years ago he used child soldiers. But apart from millions of people sharing the video online, what actually happened? I cannot stress this enough: awareness is where it should start, NOT where it ends. I’m fed up with people giving themselves a pat on the back for sharing a photo of a starving cat in the name of “animal rights” or for writing a status about the trouble with child abuse and then… well, that’s it. nothing else. I don’t need to see gruesome images in my news feed to know what is going on. I don’t need anymore hearsay or “Like this if you care”.

Instead of reblogging a post, why not get off your lazy ass and feed those cats? fund an event online that supports shelters. Start a petition that raises the legal punishment for abuse. Stage a rally against oppressors. We have the media platform to make any one of those a huge success. But we retire after hitting “share” because we feel like we’ve done our part. We haven’t. everybody is making everyone aware. But being aware of something doesn’t stop it.

We have the very real ability to make a big change in the world. It’s high time we got off of our asses and did.

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Hostel Living Part 3: Etiquette (Or how not to be that guest that everybody hates) After living in a hostel for such a long time, I have seen many guests come and go. Truth is, no matter how lovely you are as a person, if you’re a pain in the arse to live with- that’s all you’re going to be remembered for. here is a foolproof list of things to keep in mind, so that you don’t become that guest that everybody hates: 1. flush the toilet. No need to go into detail here. it’s pretty obvious. You’re sharing a washroom with several other guests at any given time. It is never nice to find a nasty surprise. 2.If the food is in my basket, has my name on it, and you watched me put in there, it’s obviously mine. I can’t believe I even have to write this- but you’d be surprised as to how often other guests forget the most simple rule of living together- DON’T TOUCH WHAT ISN’T YOURS. yes, that’s right- you that stole my cupcakes- I’m looking at you. 3. If the food is not in a basket, isn’t totally labelled correctly and might or might not have been left behind- double check. A friend of mine got sent some cheese from Germany (yeah, how he got that across the border astounds me- anyway) it was pretty fancy cheese. One morning he decided to make himself a fancy omelette. he assembled all of the ingredients on the counter: 2 eggs, a tomato, the fancy cheese, some butter and an onion. He then figured he would download some stuff on his laptop while he cooked, so he nipped back to his room to grab his laptop. After returning, and setting up his laptop at a nearby table, he noticed that his beloved cheese and omelette ingredients were gone. He also noticed another guest happily munching on what looked a lot like what his omelette would have looked like- if the ill-fated ingredients hadn’t gone AWOL. When he asked about it, the guest just shrugged and said “I assumed they were freebies, so I cooked them”. Yeah- well that guy was forever known as the Fancy Cheese Fiend. 4. If you’re going to have “special” nighttime guests- make sure they’re discreet. There is really nothing more awkward than watching someone do the walk of shame and getting lost down the hall because a guest never told them how to exit. It’s also really bad if you’re going to have several of these because you WILL become the hostel slutbag and will be treated accordingly. 5. If you’re dorming- don’t assume everyone has the same sleep patterns you do. When I was staying in Banff one of the girls in my room thought it was perfectly okay to wake up at 6am every day, switch all of the lights on, have a shower in our en suite, and then blowdry her hair. It’s not okay. It’s never ever okay. TIP: if your roomies are in bed, with their eyes closed, it is safe to assume they are asleep- and it is safe to assume that they are not, and do not want to be woken up with blinding lights and noise first thing in the morning. use your common sense. 6. This is not your house. This is not your private washroom (unless you paid extra for a private washroom- in which case just ignore us poor folk who didn’t). As much pleasure as it gives me when a cute guy accidentally forgets that he is in public and does a nudey run back to his bedroom after having a shower, the same cannot be said for most of the guests at the hostel. It is not fun walking into a washroom to brush your teeth and finding a very naked (and sometimes overly hairy- seriously, Hippies, what do you have against shaving?) person standing in your way. It’s just all round awkward “Oh, um… sorry” and thoughts of “where do I stare to not make this worse than it already is?” and “Oh um, hey remember that time I saw you totally starkers and now I’ve found out we’re being forced to team up at trivia, and oh, this is your wife? that’s great”… yeah. towel up or go home. on the whole, just think of it like this: if you wouldn’t want somebody doing it at your house, don’t do it here. If you don’t like certain things, keep in mind other people might not like things either. be respectful. It’s really not that hard.

Hostel Living Part 3: Etiquette (Or how not to be that guest that everybody hates)

After living in a hostel for such a long time, I have seen many guests come and go. Truth is, no matter how lovely you are as a person, if you’re a pain in the arse to live with- that’s all you’re going to be remembered for. here is a foolproof list of things to keep in mind, so that you don’t become that guest that everybody hates:

1. flush the toilet. No need to go into detail here. it’s pretty obvious. You’re sharing a washroom with several other guests at any given time. It is never nice to find a nasty surprise.

2.If the food is in my basket, has my name on it, and you watched me put in there, it’s obviously mine. I can’t believe I even have to write this- but you’d be surprised as to how often other guests forget the most simple rule of living together- DON’T TOUCH WHAT ISN’T YOURS. yes, that’s right- you that stole my cupcakes- I’m looking at you.

3. If the food is not in a basket, isn’t totally labelled correctly and might or might not have been left behind- double check. A friend of mine got sent some cheese from Germany (yeah, how he got that across the border astounds me- anyway) it was pretty fancy cheese. One morning he decided to make himself a fancy omelette. he assembled all of the ingredients on the counter: 2 eggs, a tomato, the fancy cheese, some butter and an onion. He then figured he would download some stuff on his laptop while he cooked, so he nipped back to his room to grab his laptop. After returning, and setting up his laptop at a nearby table, he noticed that his beloved cheese and omelette ingredients were gone. He also noticed another guest happily munching on what looked a lot like what his omelette would have looked like- if the ill-fated ingredients hadn’t gone AWOL. When he asked about it, the guest just shrugged and said “I assumed they were freebies, so I cooked them”. Yeah- well that guy was forever known as the Fancy Cheese Fiend.

4. If you’re going to have “special” nighttime guests- make sure they’re discreet. There is really nothing more awkward than watching someone do the walk of shame and getting lost down the hall because a guest never told them how to exit. It’s also really bad if you’re going to have several of these because you WILL become the hostel slutbag and will be treated accordingly.

5. If you’re dorming- don’t assume everyone has the same sleep patterns you do. When I was staying in Banff one of the girls in my room thought it was perfectly okay to wake up at 6am every day, switch all of the lights on, have a shower in our en suite, and then blowdry her hair. It’s not okay. It’s never ever okay. TIP: if your roomies are in bed, with their eyes closed, it is safe to assume they are asleep- and it is safe to assume that they are not, and do not want to be woken up with blinding lights and noise first thing in the morning. use your common sense.

6. This is not your house. This is not your private washroom (unless you paid extra for a private washroom- in which case just ignore us poor folk who didn’t). As much pleasure as it gives me when a cute guy accidentally forgets that he is in public and does a nudey run back to his bedroom after having a shower, the same cannot be said for most of the guests at the hostel. It is not fun walking into a washroom to brush your teeth and finding a very naked (and sometimes overly hairy- seriously, Hippies, what do you have against shaving?) person standing in your way. It’s just all round awkward “Oh, um… sorry” and thoughts of “where do I stare to not make this worse than it already is?” and “Oh um, hey remember that time I saw you totally starkers and now I’ve found out we’re being forced to team up at trivia, and oh, this is your wife? that’s great”… yeah. towel up or go home.

on the whole, just think of it like this: if you wouldn’t want somebody doing it at your house, don’t do it here. If you don’t like certain things, keep in mind other people might not like things either. be respectful. It’s really not that hard.

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It’s Fleet Week in Halifax (Or “Why you should never date a Navy lad”) What is it about men in uniform that still makes a lady go gaga? Don’t get me wrong. Throw an officer of law my way, or a fireman or a paramedic and chances are I’ll turn into a total blabbering mess. But why is it that the instant a guy tells us his uniformed profession, we succumb to immediate attraction? In Halifax, there aren’t too many firemen or paramedics… but there are navy sailors just about everywhere. A few weeks ago a ship docked in our harbour, and we were bombarded with fresh new recruits that would be staying and training at the Halifax navy barracks. This meant that for that first week, every bar in Nova Scotia was bursting at the seams with sailors and search and rescue teams. Now, I don’t know about you, but the Navy lads I’ve seen in old war films were charming gentlemen just looking for a good time on their week off. Pah! This could not be further from the truth. A group of girls and I were at a bar downtown when some of these afformentioned Navy lads joined our table. At first, they seemed harmless enough. They shared stories about their adventures out at sea, what they thought about Halifax, and other banter. But as the night progressed, and the drinks multiplied, things turned sour. I hadn’t really been drinking (I know, a shocking event on its own!) and I watched as the lies began to unfold. Unfortunately, I overheard one of the Navy boys say to another ” something something, why are you flirting with her?” to which the other replied “blah blah.. what happens in the navy, stays in the navy,” he winked, they fist bumped, and the conversation ended. The navy lads partied with us for most of the night, taking it in turn to flirt with myself and my friends. As the night drew to a close, some of my friends went off with some of the navy lads, and others exchanged numbers. I walked home drunk and alone (have you noticed how often this seems to happen, haha) Anyway, the next day I heard about the hook-ups, and the secrets and the dirty details. All of these fella’s had proclaimed they were single. All of them had used the sleezy “I’m just looking for a good time while I’m not rescuing the world from whatever it is out at sea”. Unfortunately though, one of those drunk smug sonsofbitches had mistakenly blown their cover, by telling me about how two of the “single” guys were married. One had just had a son! Gross. Moral of the story, ladies? While it might be fun fooling around with a navy boy when he’s in town, don’t date the guy, chances are he’s in another town now, pulling the same moves on another hopeless girl just swooning for a man in uniform.

It’s Fleet Week in Halifax (Or “Why you should never date a Navy lad”)

What is it about men in uniform that still makes a lady go gaga? Don’t get me wrong. Throw an officer of law my way, or a fireman or a paramedic and chances are I’ll turn into a total blabbering mess. But why is it that the instant a guy tells us his uniformed profession, we succumb to immediate attraction?

In Halifax, there aren’t too many firemen or paramedics… but there are navy sailors just about everywhere. A few weeks ago a ship docked in our harbour, and we were bombarded with fresh new recruits that would be staying and training at the Halifax navy barracks. This meant that for that first week, every bar in Nova Scotia was bursting at the seams with sailors and search and rescue teams.

Now, I don’t know about you, but the Navy lads I’ve seen in old war films were charming gentlemen just looking for a good time on their week off. Pah! This could not be further from the truth.

A group of girls and I were at a bar downtown when some of these afformentioned Navy lads joined our table. At first, they seemed harmless enough. They shared stories about their adventures out at sea, what they thought about Halifax, and other banter. But as the night progressed, and the drinks multiplied, things turned sour. I hadn’t really been drinking (I know, a shocking event on its own!) and I watched as the lies began to unfold.

Unfortunately, I overheard one of the Navy boys say to another ” something something, why are you flirting with her?” to which the other replied “blah blah.. what happens in the navy, stays in the navy,” he winked, they fist bumped, and the conversation ended. The navy lads partied with us for most of the night, taking it in turn to flirt with myself and my friends. As the night drew to a close, some of my friends went off with some of the navy lads, and others exchanged numbers. I walked home drunk and alone (have you noticed how often this seems to happen, haha)

Anyway, the next day I heard about the hook-ups, and the secrets and the dirty details. All of these fella’s had proclaimed they were single. All of them had used the sleezy “I’m just looking for a good time while I’m not rescuing the world from whatever it is out at sea”. Unfortunately though, one of those drunk smug sonsofbitches had mistakenly blown their cover, by telling me about how two of the “single” guys were married. One had just had a son! Gross.

Moral of the story, ladies? While it might be fun fooling around with a navy boy when he’s in town, don’t date the guy, chances are he’s in another town now, pulling the same moves on another hopeless girl just swooning for a man in uniform.

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A Lesson in Self Defence (Or How to Survive in the Suburbs)

Now that I’m living in an apartment downtown, and not right next door to my work, I have to walk for about 20 minutes every night to get home.

Because I grew up in South Africa, I have come to take advantage of Canada (and Australia) as being places that are relatively “crime free”. To me, being mugged is nothing- if I walk away with my life being spared, I consider it lucky.

That being said, walking home is not always fun. It doesn’t matter where in the world you go- there will always be the occasional oddball meandering about, looking for trouble.

There must be something about me that says “Hello, crazy person, please strike up a conversation with me,” because whenever I seem to go anywhere lately, I’m confronted by a stranger. Last week I was sitting outside on the patio, and a balding man with a hobble did a double take whilst walking past, and then walked back up to me, only to invite me to the pub next door for a few drinks. I politely declined(and also wondered why it was always bald hobbling men after me, and never, not even once a Ryan Gosling lookalike). Anyway, this has been happening pretty often, and it got me thinking, do I have what it takes to defend myself if someone did get too pesky?

I evaluated possible scenarios, and realized I was definitely not strong enough to fend off any possible attacker. I’d like to imagine I could summon brute strength at will and do some kung pow moves if I wanted too, but considering I have trouble just opening windows at times, it’s unlikely. So physically fighting off my attacker was out. What about wit? well- I could try and talk them out of attacking me? Or perhaps I could start singing? My rendition of The Cranberries Zombie, is particularily horrifying, but would it be enough to ward off a stranger?

In Australia it is illegal to carry a concealed weapon. Unfortunately (In my opinion) pepper spray (also known as capsicum spray or Mace) is classified as such. I did stumble upon this nifty canister though (pictured above) the pepper spray is actually attached to your iphone. Nifty.

BUT, with my incredible clumsiness and shocking coordination, I would probably only injure myself with such a device. Perhaps my options are limited to sticking to well lit streets or walking home with friends from now on…

… although I will be practicing my singing. Just in case!

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On Homesickness (Or the awkwardness of skyping with a bad connection) My mum and I have this running joke. Whenever we skype, the connection almost always drops out, to which one of us is left yelling “hello? Hello? HELLO?” in the hopes that we can be heard on the other end. Have you even seen that film, City Slickers? There is a scene where Billy Crystal is on the phone, making a hilarious voice as he yells “Hello” too. So, everytime, either myself or my mum puts on this same silly voice, and our conversation ends up being a competition of who can do it better. One of the hardest things about travelling solo is the homesickness. If you’re new to traveling, you’re probably thinking in defiance “Pfft, I won’t get homesick! That’s for losers who can’t be away from their parents, or do things on their own!” well- you’re an idiot. No matter how much of an experienced traveler you are, no matter how much you may have detested your family or your home town or the rumdrum bore of your previous life, you will find yourself, at one point or another, missing home. For me, it was the smallest things that triggered the biggest bouts of homesickness. I have moved before, and learnt how to overcome such little nuances, but I still found myself wanting to cry myself to sleep or perusing the internet for cheap flights home. My suggestion, stay in touch, and don’t get disheartened if the people back home aren’t quick to respond. It’s not that they’ve forgotten you- it’s just that you’re not an active part of their immediate day to day life anymore. I email my friends and family once or twice a week. When I can, I call my mum, just to bitch and banter about everything and anything in between. Another tip is to bring something with you, however small and insignificant it may seem, to represent your home country, or town. A friend staying at the hostel brought a tub of Vegemite. Whenever she felt particularily home sick, she’d make herself a veggie toastie, and it would cheer her up. For me it was my harddrive- an infinite storage of photos from all of the fond parties and places back home. Whenever I felt particularily lonely, I’d peruse the pictures and laugh at the memories. But above all else, my suggestion is to stop comparing the new with the old. Halifax will never be Melbourne. Just like Melbourne could never be Port Elizabeth. Instead of dwelling on what I missed, I focussed on what I had ahead. New experiences, new photos, and new memories to make.

On Homesickness (Or the awkwardness of skyping with a bad connection)

My mum and I have this running joke. Whenever we skype, the connection almost always drops out, to which one of us is left yelling “hello? Hello? HELLO?” in the hopes that we can be heard on the other end. Have you even seen that film, City Slickers? There is a scene where Billy Crystal is on the phone, making a hilarious voice as he yells “Hello” too. So, everytime, either myself or my mum puts on this same silly voice, and our conversation ends up being a competition of who can do it better.

One of the hardest things about travelling solo is the homesickness. If you’re new to traveling, you’re probably thinking in defiance “Pfft, I won’t get homesick! That’s for losers who can’t be away from their parents, or do things on their own!” well- you’re an idiot.

No matter how much of an experienced traveler you are, no matter how much you may have detested your family or your home town or the rumdrum bore of your previous life, you will find yourself, at one point or another, missing home. For me, it was the smallest things that triggered the biggest bouts of homesickness. I have moved before, and learnt how to overcome such little nuances, but I still found myself wanting to cry myself to sleep or perusing the internet for cheap flights home.

My suggestion, stay in touch, and don’t get disheartened if the people back home aren’t quick to respond. It’s not that they’ve forgotten you- it’s just that you’re not an active part of their immediate day to day life anymore. I email my friends and family once or twice a week. When I can, I call my mum, just to bitch and banter about everything and anything in between.

Another tip is to bring something with you, however small and insignificant it may seem, to represent your home country, or town. A friend staying at the hostel brought a tub of Vegemite. Whenever she felt particularily home sick, she’d make herself a veggie toastie, and it would cheer her up. For me it was my harddrive- an infinite storage of photos from all of the fond parties and places back home. Whenever I felt particularily lonely, I’d peruse the pictures and laugh at the memories.

But above all else, my suggestion is to stop comparing the new with the old. Halifax will never be Melbourne. Just like Melbourne could never be Port Elizabeth. Instead of dwelling on what I missed, I focussed on what I had ahead. New experiences, new photos, and new memories to make.

(via fuckyeahbookarts)

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Hostel Living Part 2: Getting Along With Other Guests (Or how to avoid the hippies and the hipsters) When I arrived in Halifax, I decided to stay at the HI Hostel downtown. It had a monthly deal which worked out pretty cheap, and I figured what better way to meet new people? November- February is off season. Budding tourists opt out of exploring and backpacking and choose the warmth of their homes instead. This meant that there were only a handful of stragglers staying at the hostel. I didn’t mind this- the small group became something like a family to me. My stay stretched from the intended four weeks to five months. I became the longest resident the hostel had ever had. During November, there were a few interesting guests. A surfing couple from Ontario had also signed up for the monthly deal, and became my neighbours. They were typical hippies- dark tans, wavy tousled blonde hair, all sorts of peculiar vegan recipes they shared at dinner. They woke every morning at a time I deem too early to be conscious (sometimes also refered to as “sparrow fart”- the origins’ of which I have no idea) and headed out to find another wave break. Aside from my hippy friends, there were also some more unfortunate guests: the Hipsters. I don’t mean to critisize any social groups, I swear. But hipsters annoy me most of the time. I think it has to do with the fact that most of the things I like, and most of the clothes I normally wear, are pretty old fashioned or “thrifty”. Hipsters misinterpret my style as a sign that I am one of them, and I found myself being approached at breakfast every morning, to talk about some underground gig or bicycle tour of Nova Scotia. If you’re new to hostels, I recommend having an open mindset. Guests choose the budget accomodation for a number of reasons. Before the HI Hostel, I had naively assumed hostels were solely for sandal wearing backpackers and Germans (although, I wasn’t entirely off- there were so many Germans!) but this isn’t always the case. I met travellers who had chosen the hostel, like me, as a foundation for their new social lives. I met people who were down on their luck, and simply couldn’t afford anywhere else to go. I even met an older man going through a later-in-life crisis, who had been advised by his daughter to stay at a hostel in order to find his youth again. Friends of mine who have never stayed in a hostel are often intimidated by them. I don’t blame them. Hostels have developed this stigma over the years, and have been seen and compared to hippy communes and party hotels. Yes, there will be a mishmash of smelly hippies, and partying guests, but it isn’t a den of eniquity. I’ve said it before, but I’ll mention this again. Meeting people at the hostels I have stayed in has really broadened my perspective on life, travelling and even people in a lot of ways. The experience is one that you cannot get at a fancy hotel or resort- it’s real.

Hostel Living Part 2: Getting Along With Other Guests (Or how to avoid the hippies and the hipsters)

When I arrived in Halifax, I decided to stay at the HI Hostel downtown. It had a monthly deal which worked out pretty cheap, and I figured what better way to meet new people?

November- February is off season. Budding tourists opt out of exploring and backpacking and choose the warmth of their homes instead. This meant that there were only a handful of stragglers staying at the hostel. I didn’t mind this- the small group became something like a family to me. My stay stretched from the intended four weeks to five months. I became the longest resident the hostel had ever had.

During November, there were a few interesting guests. A surfing couple from Ontario had also signed up for the monthly deal, and became my neighbours. They were typical hippies- dark tans, wavy tousled blonde hair, all sorts of peculiar vegan recipes they shared at dinner. They woke every morning at a time I deem too early to be conscious (sometimes also refered to as “sparrow fart”- the origins’ of which I have no idea) and headed out to find another wave break.

Aside from my hippy friends, there were also some more unfortunate guests: the Hipsters. I don’t mean to critisize any social groups, I swear. But hipsters annoy me most of the time. I think it has to do with the fact that most of the things I like, and most of the clothes I normally wear, are pretty old fashioned or “thrifty”. Hipsters misinterpret my style as a sign that I am one of them, and I found myself being approached at breakfast every morning, to talk about some underground gig or bicycle tour of Nova Scotia.

If you’re new to hostels, I recommend having an open mindset. Guests choose the budget accomodation for a number of reasons. Before the HI Hostel, I had naively assumed hostels were solely for sandal wearing backpackers and Germans (although, I wasn’t entirely off- there were so many Germans!) but this isn’t always the case. I met travellers who had chosen the hostel, like me, as a foundation for their new social lives. I met people who were down on their luck, and simply couldn’t afford anywhere else to go. I even met an older man going through a later-in-life crisis, who had been advised by his daughter to stay at a hostel in order to find his youth again.

Friends of mine who have never stayed in a hostel are often intimidated by them. I don’t blame them. Hostels have developed this stigma over the years, and have been seen and compared to hippy communes and party hotels. Yes, there will be a mishmash of smelly hippies, and partying guests, but it isn’t a den of eniquity.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll mention this again. Meeting people at the hostels I have stayed in has really broadened my perspective on life, travelling and even people in a lot of ways. The experience is one that you cannot get at a fancy hotel or resort- it’s real.

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Have you ever watched a movie and it’s left you feeling kind of funny? Perks of Being a Wallflower is a fine example. I never grew up in the 80s. I didn’t suffer from abuse or social isolation, but I still found myself feeling like I’d seen a film that peered into the depths of my adolescence and provided a soundtrack to my teenage angst. I’m 24 years old now, and pretty damn normal. That being said, there were times when I was growing up when I just caught myself wondering “Is this all there is to life?” and being overwhelmed with the emptiness of it all. Perks is a simple enough story. It’s based on the premise that even the wallflowers in our lives can make change. What I really got from spending 2 hours watching it was this: David Bowie is a musical genius and I need to download (ahem, purchase legally) the soundtrack. No, I’m not saying the movie lacked substance. It certainly had an intriguing plot. But the story was sidelined by the power of the carefully chosen songs that played through all of its awkward and inspiring scenes. I’m a firm believer that music is the strongest way to dredge up an emotion, or a feeling- and the soundtrack to this movie definitely nailed that. After watching the film, I put Bowie’s Heroes on my ipod, turned up the volume as high as it could go, and let the song take over. It was a strange experience, but the association the film created played out brilliantly. I felt infinite. Escaping the mundane reality of every day life. Even if only for a brief 4 minutes. Interesting. Also, Bowie kicks ass.

Have you ever watched a movie and it’s left you feeling kind of funny?

Perks of Being a Wallflower is a fine example. I never grew up in the 80s. I didn’t suffer from abuse or social isolation, but I still found myself feeling like I’d seen a film that peered into the depths of my adolescence and provided a soundtrack to my teenage angst.

I’m 24 years old now, and pretty damn normal. That being said, there were times when I was growing up when I just caught myself wondering “Is this all there is to life?” and being overwhelmed with the emptiness of it all.

Perks is a simple enough story. It’s based on the premise that even the wallflowers in our lives can make change. What I really got from spending 2 hours watching it was this: David Bowie is a musical genius and I need to download (ahem, purchase legally) the soundtrack.

No, I’m not saying the movie lacked substance. It certainly had an intriguing plot. But the story was sidelined by the power of the carefully chosen songs that played through all of its awkward and inspiring scenes. I’m a firm believer that music is the strongest way to dredge up an emotion, or a feeling- and the soundtrack to this movie definitely nailed that.

After watching the film, I put Bowie’s Heroes on my ipod, turned up the volume as high as it could go, and let the song take over. It was a strange experience, but the association the film created played out brilliantly. I felt infinite. Escaping the mundane reality of every day life. Even if only for a brief 4 minutes.

Interesting.

Also, Bowie kicks ass.

(via love-dianet)

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More Things I Love About Canada (Or “If he’s missing some teeth, I’m missing my pants”) I mentioned my love for canadian men in a post a few weeks ago, but here are several other reasons I am having a blast in the Great White North: 1. Ice Hockey When I first got to Canada, there was a lock-out. I’m not sure what that actually means, but from what I’ve gathered some hockey players were having a little tiff about their million dollar contracts, and some hockey unions were refusing to split the costs. So basically Hockey in Canada was cancelled. BUT around mid january the NHL hiatus was over, and I must admit, watching hockey has become a guilty pleasure of mine. I don’t understand most of the rules, and I’ll never learn the names of the players, but I do have a favourite team, and I love getting worked up watching the games. Hockey is a fantastic sport. The players are rugged and manly (not sissy boy soccer players). The game is fast paced and aggressive, and there are plenty of fights and ‘kerfuffels’ throughout. It’s riveting! (also, side bar: has anyone else noticed how sexy hockey players are? I never knew I was attracted to burly aggressive men with missing teeth and broken noses- but oh, boy, I really am!) 2. Canadians are polite. Too polite. No offence, Aussies, but when it comes to etiquette and discrepancy, you fall short. Don’t get me wrong, I like it when someone is honest and straight forward, but do you really have to cuss all the time? Canadians tend to have more humble manners. When they get upset, they try and reason with you for the most part. They’re a bit more considerate of what they say and how they act. It’s a nice change. 3. Not everything in nature is trying to kill you In both Australia and South Africa the wildlife is pretty… wild. Australia boasts some of the worlds most deadly bugs, and these can be found in your very own home. Yes, Canada has bears and wolves and the occasional moose on a rampage, but if you’re living in the city like I am, you can rest assured you’re safe. There are no giant spiders lurking behind your curtains. There are no scorpions scurrying about the bottom of your closet. And most importantly, it’s really really unlikely there are almost invisible deadly snakes slithering along you window frames. These are just a few of my loves for Canada. I could go on, but I know I’ll just begin rambling about how gorgeous canadian men are, and how lovely their accent is and how they really pull off their flanny shirts… and and… you see my point.

More Things I Love About Canada (Or “If he’s missing some teeth, I’m missing my pants”)

I mentioned my love for canadian men in a post a few weeks ago, but here are several other reasons I am having a blast in the Great White North:

1. Ice Hockey

When I first got to Canada, there was a lock-out. I’m not sure what that actually means, but from what I’ve gathered some hockey players were having a little tiff about their million dollar contracts, and some hockey unions were refusing to split the costs. So basically Hockey in Canada was cancelled. BUT around mid january the NHL hiatus was over, and I must admit, watching hockey has become a guilty pleasure of mine. I don’t understand most of the rules, and I’ll never learn the names of the players, but I do have a favourite team, and I love getting worked up watching the games. Hockey is a fantastic sport. The players are rugged and manly (not sissy boy soccer players). The game is fast paced and aggressive, and there are plenty of fights and ‘kerfuffels’ throughout. It’s riveting! (also, side bar: has anyone else noticed how sexy hockey players are? I never knew I was attracted to burly aggressive men with missing teeth and broken noses- but oh, boy, I really am!)

2. Canadians are polite. Too polite.

No offence, Aussies, but when it comes to etiquette and discrepancy, you fall short. Don’t get me wrong, I like it when someone is honest and straight forward, but do you really have to cuss all the time? Canadians tend to have more humble manners. When they get upset, they try and reason with you for the most part. They’re a bit more considerate of what they say and how they act. It’s a nice change.

3. Not everything in nature is trying to kill you

In both Australia and South Africa the wildlife is pretty… wild. Australia boasts some of the worlds most deadly bugs, and these can be found in your very own home. Yes, Canada has bears and wolves and the occasional moose on a rampage, but if you’re living in the city like I am, you can rest assured you’re safe. There are no giant spiders lurking behind your curtains. There are no scorpions scurrying about the bottom of your closet. And most importantly, it’s really really unlikely there are almost invisible deadly snakes slithering along you window frames.

These are just a few of my loves for Canada. I could go on, but I know I’ll just begin rambling about how gorgeous canadian men are, and how lovely their accent is and how they really pull off their flanny shirts… and and… you see my point.

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Onwards to Nova Scotia (Or ” fun ways to spend 15 hours in an Airport”) Can I just reitterate how much I loathe airports? If I could recommend one thing, above everything else, it would be to avoid flying as much as possible. Yes, it’s faster, and way more convenient, but it’s still a nightmare for the most part. It’s not that I hate flying. I don’t. It’s everything else that comes before and follows on after a flight that drives me insane. I can’t count the number of times I’ve run into trouble during customs or baggage checks or with airport security. It’s not even that I’ve done anything really terrible either! Normally I’m just the unlucky soul that gets “randomly” selected to be searched for explosives (I’m not kidding- this happens almost every single time I fly anywhere). When I used to travel with my South African passport it was even worse. I’ve been interrogated, “taken aside” and scrutinised too many times to count. Another thing I hate is waiting. I feel like waiting in an airport is particularily bad because there is no fresh air or realistic means of distraction. Yes, you can have a pint at the pub, or buy a magazine, but if your standby is more than a few hours, even these options become unbearable. On that note, why is it that every airport in the world invests in the most inhumanely uncomfortable steel chairs they can find? They’re too narrow to fall asleep on, and too slippery to lean back against without completely sliding right off and onto the floor. In the past 6 months I have flown with 6 different airlines, waited in 8 different airports, and had my luggage rudely searched through three times. I’m exhausted. But, there are ways to make a long wait at the airport more comfortable. Firstly, bring a good book rather than a magazine. Secondly, make sure you have an ipod or something to block out the crying children and bickering old couples (These are both common in airports everywhere). Thirdly, talk to people. I met a really avid hockey fan at the bar in Calgary while I was waiting for my flight (which just so happened to only be in 15 hours!) and we spent the better part of the afternoon watching the NHL while he taught me about the rules and I oggled at the cute players. Other than that, there is no real way to enjoy waiting at an airport. It is a boring and soul-destroying experience at the best of times. A quote from Douglas Adams always springs to mind: “It is of no coincidence that in no language has there ever been the phrase ‘as pretty as an airport’,” Avoid them, if you can. Take the bus, take the train, hitchhike if you must. I guarantee you’ll have a better time. Unless perhaps, if you were to get picked up by a truck driving serial killer somewhere in States.

Onwards to Nova Scotia (Or ” fun ways to spend 15 hours in an Airport”)

Can I just reitterate how much I loathe airports? If I could recommend one thing, above everything else, it would be to avoid flying as much as possible. Yes, it’s faster, and way more convenient, but it’s still a nightmare for the most part.

It’s not that I hate flying. I don’t. It’s everything else that comes before and follows on after a flight that drives me insane.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve run into trouble during customs or baggage checks or with airport security. It’s not even that I’ve done anything really terrible either! Normally I’m just the unlucky soul that gets “randomly” selected to be searched for explosives (I’m not kidding- this happens almost every single time I fly anywhere). When I used to travel with my South African passport it was even worse. I’ve been interrogated, “taken aside” and scrutinised too many times to count.

Another thing I hate is waiting. I feel like waiting in an airport is particularily bad because there is no fresh air or realistic means of distraction. Yes, you can have a pint at the pub, or buy a magazine, but if your standby is more than a few hours, even these options become unbearable. On that note, why is it that every airport in the world invests in the most inhumanely uncomfortable steel chairs they can find? They’re too narrow to fall asleep on, and too slippery to lean back against without completely sliding right off and onto the floor.

In the past 6 months I have flown with 6 different airlines, waited in 8 different airports, and had my luggage rudely searched through three times. I’m exhausted.

But, there are ways to make a long wait at the airport more comfortable. Firstly, bring a good book rather than a magazine. Secondly, make sure you have an ipod or something to block out the crying children and bickering old couples (These are both common in airports everywhere). Thirdly, talk to people. I met a really avid hockey fan at the bar in Calgary while I was waiting for my flight (which just so happened to only be in 15 hours!) and we spent the better part of the afternoon watching the NHL while he taught me about the rules and I oggled at the cute players.

Other than that, there is no real way to enjoy waiting at an airport. It is a boring and soul-destroying experience at the best of times. A quote from Douglas Adams always springs to mind:

“It is of no coincidence that in no language has there ever been the phrase ‘as pretty as an airport’,”

Avoid them, if you can. Take the bus, take the train, hitchhike if you must. I guarantee you’ll have a better time. Unless perhaps, if you were to get picked up by a truck driving serial killer somewhere in States.

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A Short Stop in Banff, Alberta I’m not going to write a long one here. I spent a regretably short amount of time in Banff. Again, I stayed at the infamous Samesun Backpackers, although this time the roudy international travellers were replaced by predominantly stoned hippies and undeniably cool snow boarders. If I could redo my trip to Banff (which I intend to, at some point) I would change the following: 1. I would travel with a friend. By now I was completely comfortable with traveling solo, and I had no trouble making new friends along the way. I don’t mind meeting new people, although I can be shy at times. In Banff however, I found that even the travelers at the hostel were all part of already close-knit groups. I’ve never really been able to relate to stoners (I think it’s because I’m an avid drinker- there’ll be a post about the Stoner vs. Alco situation at a later stage) and I simply did not know enough about snow, mountains or boarding to really get along with anyone else. 2. I’ll budget better. Right, so this is pretty humiliating to admit- but by the time I had arrived in Banff, my travel savings had already been depleted. I blame Halloween parties in Vancouver, but it was also due to my own carelessness when it came to spending. When I arrived in Banff, I was almost completely broke (like, completely broke) and this put a lot of stress on me. I couldn’t afford to do half of the things I wanted to do. (Tip: stock up on the free muffins they serve at breakfast. It’s better to save money on food, and spend it on beer) 3. I won’t go midseason. I arrived in Banff towards the end of Autumn (“Fall” for my North American readers) While it was absolutely beautiful, it was a hinderance, because almost everything in this town was catered to Winter or Summer. The Lake Louise tours were closed. The Ski Slopes weren’t open yet. The hiking trails were laced with ice and deemed too dangerous. It was a pity, because it meant my trip to Banff was wasted on short strolls through town and listening to other guest’s stories of amazing Banff adventures. Regardless, Banff is the epitome of Canada. With street names like Moose Drive and Elk Avenue, and picturesque little buildings set on a backdrop of the snowcapped Rockies, it really did look like a postcard worthy little town. With locals that had strong country accents, and flannel shirts and lumberjacks are far as the eye could see, it really did leave a lasting impression of what the Great White North had to offer.

A Short Stop in Banff, Alberta

I’m not going to write a long one here. I spent a regretably short amount of time in Banff. Again, I stayed at the infamous Samesun Backpackers, although this time the roudy international travellers were replaced by predominantly stoned hippies and undeniably cool snow boarders.

If I could redo my trip to Banff (which I intend to, at some point) I would change the following:

1. I would travel with a friend. By now I was completely comfortable with traveling solo, and I had no trouble making new friends along the way. I don’t mind meeting new people, although I can be shy at times. In Banff however, I found that even the travelers at the hostel were all part of already close-knit groups. I’ve never really been able to relate to stoners (I think it’s because I’m an avid drinker- there’ll be a post about the Stoner vs. Alco situation at a later stage) and I simply did not know enough about snow, mountains or boarding to really get along with anyone else.

2. I’ll budget better. Right, so this is pretty humiliating to admit- but by the time I had arrived in Banff, my travel savings had already been depleted. I blame Halloween parties in Vancouver, but it was also due to my own carelessness when it came to spending. When I arrived in Banff, I was almost completely broke (like, completely broke) and this put a lot of stress on me. I couldn’t afford to do half of the things I wanted to do. (Tip: stock up on the free muffins they serve at breakfast. It’s better to save money on food, and spend it on beer)

3. I won’t go midseason. I arrived in Banff towards the end of Autumn (“Fall” for my North American readers) While it was absolutely beautiful, it was a hinderance, because almost everything in this town was catered to Winter or Summer. The Lake Louise tours were closed. The Ski Slopes weren’t open yet. The hiking trails were laced with ice and deemed too dangerous. It was a pity, because it meant my trip to Banff was wasted on short strolls through town and listening to other guest’s stories of amazing Banff adventures.

Regardless, Banff is the epitome of Canada. With street names like Moose Drive and Elk Avenue, and picturesque little buildings set on a backdrop of the snowcapped Rockies, it really did look like a postcard worthy little town. With locals that had strong country accents, and flannel shirts and lumberjacks are far as the eye could see, it really did leave a lasting impression of what the Great White North had to offer.

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Next stop- Calgary (Or “How to annoy everyone with Cool Runnings references”) When I left Vancouver in a flurry of halloween costumes and packing my bags hungover, I had some tredipation about my next short stop: Calgary. Why? well I am a fan of the 80s classic, Cool Runnings, a film in which a group of Jamaicans brave the wintery weather of Canada to partake in the Olympics (If you haven’t seen the film- what have you been doing all of these years!) and in this film they emphasis just how gosh-darn cold it is in Calgary. They weren’t kidding, either. As I made my way to the exit, the snowfall caught my eye. It was the first snow I had seen since my arrival in Canada. I was so in awe I completely forgot that I was just wearing a light cardigan. I strolled right through the doors and BAM! was hit with the exceptionally chilly air. I hurriedly ran back inside and retrieved my coat, gloves, scarf, hat and ear muffs. Passers by looked at me with bewilderment. I guess to them the weather was “mild” or “not that bad for this time of year”. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud because I was reminded of a similiar scene from the film, where the Jamaicans departed from the same airport, and had the same reaction to the freezing temperature. (Note: laughing out loud to yourself, when you have already attracted attention for quirkily hurling on every warm item of clothing you can find- just causes more amused onlookers to give you concerned stares). I didn’t stay in Calgary, I caught a coach directly to Banff, a small mountain town nearby. This isn’t something I really regret. Calgary, as I observed it through the brief drive through town, was just a mishmash of grey buildings, grey skies, and white blankets of snow. The scene was meloncholy at best. I won’t make this my final judgement- perhaps it is more inviting in the warmer months? One good thing that did come out of my brief encounter with Calgary was that I decided to download (ahem, I mean purchase legally) Cool Runnings, and it was just great watching the film and laughing at all of its hilarious anecdotes once again.

Next stop- Calgary (Or “How to annoy everyone with Cool Runnings references”)

When I left Vancouver in a flurry of halloween costumes and packing my bags hungover, I had some tredipation about my next short stop: Calgary.

Why? well I am a fan of the 80s classic, Cool Runnings, a film in which a group of Jamaicans brave the wintery weather of Canada to partake in the Olympics (If you haven’t seen the film- what have you been doing all of these years!) and in this film they emphasis just how gosh-darn cold it is in Calgary.

They weren’t kidding, either. As I made my way to the exit, the snowfall caught my eye. It was the first snow I had seen since my arrival in Canada. I was so in awe I completely forgot that I was just wearing a light cardigan. I strolled right through the doors and BAM! was hit with the exceptionally chilly air. I hurriedly ran back inside and retrieved my coat, gloves, scarf, hat and ear muffs. Passers by looked at me with bewilderment. I guess to them the weather was “mild” or “not that bad for this time of year”. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud because I was reminded of a similiar scene from the film, where the Jamaicans departed from the same airport, and had the same reaction to the freezing temperature. (Note: laughing out loud to yourself, when you have already attracted attention for quirkily hurling on every warm item of clothing you can find- just causes more amused onlookers to give you concerned stares).

I didn’t stay in Calgary, I caught a coach directly to Banff, a small mountain town nearby. This isn’t something I really regret. Calgary, as I observed it through the brief drive through town, was just a mishmash of grey buildings, grey skies, and white blankets of snow. The scene was meloncholy at best. I won’t make this my final judgement- perhaps it is more inviting in the warmer months?

One good thing that did come out of my brief encounter with Calgary was that I decided to download (ahem, I mean purchase legally) Cool Runnings, and it was just great watching the film and laughing at all of its hilarious anecdotes once again.

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On Flirting (Or How Whiskey Makes Me Frisky) Let me make something abundantly clear before I write this: I am horrible at flirting. Not alright, not bad, horrible. When I meet someone I like, I come up with something hilarious to say in my mind, but by the time it reaches my mouth, well it turns into an awkward shamble of words that make me look like a loony that’s escaped from the loony bin. This doesn’t stop me from trying, however. If I meet someone at a bar, it’s even worse. Drunk me thinks that I am hilarious and sexy and full of great, witty anecdotes. Drunk me is wrong. Whilst on my travels, I have had several opportunities to flirt and hit it off with people I have met. Each time, however, something has gone horribly awry. For example: Thailand. I don’t want to divulge too much here, but I will try and paint a clear picture of my failed attempts. The first attempt was on one of my first nights on tour. We were exploring the Phuket nightlife, visiting bar after bar on the busy Bangla Road. As it was my first night out on holiday, I was buzzing from too many cocktails and in the mood to have a crazy night. Two of the other girls on my tour had the same mindset and as we sipped our “Woo Woo’s” (Thailand Cocktails made of… well I can’t remember) we scoured the party for any potentially cute guys. Unfortunately all three of us took a liking to one guy in particular. You know that saying, “nice girls finish last”? well- it’s true. I backed out of the competition, figuring there was no way I could compete with either of these girls (They were both beautiful and exuding confidence I didn’t have) and decided to call it a night. Well, I wish I hadn’t. Even though I doubt it would have changed anything (did I mention how awful I am at flirting, anyway?) I still wish I could have at least tried. Y’never know, the afformentioned guy could have secretly been attracted to a complete ditz like me. The second attempt was far worse. And mortifying. I haven’t actually told anyone this story yet, because it is just that embarrassing. On one of the nights out, our tour headed over to a Swedish nightclub (why we went to a swedish nightclub in Thailand, I’ll never fully understand) and we spent the night partying with a group of swedish and australian tourists. While the rest of my friends where breaking it down on the dancefloor, I slipped away to a quiet table at the back of the bar. A cute swedish guy came over and we started chatting. Amidst all of his bad english, the blaring music and the fact that I was tipsy, we started to flirt. I was impressed with myself. This guy was pretty good-looking, and I’d never flirted with a Swede before. I thought I was onto something, and my confidence was boosting, when another guy strolled over and proceeded to MAKE OUT with the Swede. Yes, that’s right ladies and gentlemen, I had been making moves on a gay guy the entire night. All the while the two other girls were having a blast with previous flirt attempt. I called it a night, yet again. Since arriving in Canada, my flirting has not improved in the least. Not only have I caught myself saying some really silly things, but I am also bad at making judgement calls. I really need to learn on when to give up. After all there is a fine line between being flirty, and just being desperate. That being said, I don’t regret my cringeworthy chat-up lines or awful anecdotes. This is who I am. I am Roxanne, the awkward ditz that has a wildly innapropriate imagination at the best of times. I might be a bit of a “nervy-spaz” when it comes to flirting, but hopefully one day someone will find that quality endearing and not completely terrible. one day * But until then, have I ever mentioned how Whiskey makes me frisky? also, do you come here often? ;)

On Flirting (Or How Whiskey Makes Me Frisky)

Let me make something abundantly clear before I write this: I am horrible at flirting. Not alright, not bad, horrible. When I meet someone I like, I come up with something hilarious to say in my mind, but by the time it reaches my mouth, well it turns into an awkward shamble of words that make me look like a loony that’s escaped from the loony bin.

This doesn’t stop me from trying, however. If I meet someone at a bar, it’s even worse. Drunk me thinks that I am hilarious and sexy and full of great, witty anecdotes. Drunk me is wrong.

Whilst on my travels, I have had several opportunities to flirt and hit it off with people I have met. Each time, however, something has gone horribly awry.

For example: Thailand. I don’t want to divulge too much here, but I will try and paint a clear picture of my failed attempts. The first attempt was on one of my first nights on tour. We were exploring the Phuket nightlife, visiting bar after bar on the busy Bangla Road. As it was my first night out on holiday, I was buzzing from too many cocktails and in the mood to have a crazy night. Two of the other girls on my tour had the same mindset and as we sipped our “Woo Woo’s” (Thailand Cocktails made of… well I can’t remember) we scoured the party for any potentially cute guys. Unfortunately all three of us took a liking to one guy in particular. You know that saying, “nice girls finish last”? well- it’s true. I backed out of the competition, figuring there was no way I could compete with either of these girls (They were both beautiful and exuding confidence I didn’t have) and decided to call it a night. Well, I wish I hadn’t. Even though I doubt it would have changed anything (did I mention how awful I am at flirting, anyway?) I still wish I could have at least tried. Y’never know, the afformentioned guy could have secretly been attracted to a complete ditz like me.

The second attempt was far worse. And mortifying. I haven’t actually told anyone this story yet, because it is just that embarrassing. On one of the nights out, our tour headed over to a Swedish nightclub (why we went to a swedish nightclub in Thailand, I’ll never fully understand) and we spent the night partying with a group of swedish and australian tourists. While the rest of my friends where breaking it down on the dancefloor, I slipped away to a quiet table at the back of the bar. A cute swedish guy came over and we started chatting. Amidst all of his bad english, the blaring music and the fact that I was tipsy, we started to flirt. I was impressed with myself. This guy was pretty good-looking, and I’d never flirted with a Swede before. I thought I was onto something, and my confidence was boosting, when another guy strolled over and proceeded to MAKE OUT with the Swede. Yes, that’s right ladies and gentlemen, I had been making moves on a gay guy the entire night. All the while the two other girls were having a blast with previous flirt attempt. I called it a night, yet again.

Since arriving in Canada, my flirting has not improved in the least. Not only have I caught myself saying some really silly things, but I am also bad at making judgement calls. I really need to learn on when to give up. After all there is a fine line between being flirty, and just being desperate.

That being said, I don’t regret my cringeworthy chat-up lines or awful anecdotes. This is who I am. I am Roxanne, the awkward ditz that has a wildly innapropriate imagination at the best of times. I might be a bit of a “nervy-spaz” when it comes to flirting, but hopefully one day someone will find that quality endearing and not completely terrible.

one day *

But until then, have I ever mentioned how Whiskey makes me frisky? also, do you come here often? ;)

(via lovelyxhallucination)

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wondering if I should stay in Canada for another season. Thoughts?


wondering if I should stay in Canada for another season. Thoughts?

(via cthrin)

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