4 years ago was a momentous day for me, for it was the first time I sat at my computer and wrote my first '
sounds-like-it-should-be-a-term-for-what-the-dog-yakked-up' entry.
What initially started out as a way to vent/keep Cori and Corey up to date on my life has now turned into a love/hate affair that I can't seem to leave well enough alone. Like a toddler, this blog has given me it's fair share of headaches, but vast amounts of joy, too.
It's been with me through a toxic relationship, a pseudo relationship and a relationship that everyone figured would end in happily ever after. It's been there through happy, sad, and jacked up on caffeine. It's hosted loads of pictures of dumb things my roommates and I did, dumb things I did to my dogs and generally just dumb things.
So as my long term readers will know, at this time of year I like to cop out on writing a Christmas letter, and do a blog entry summing up my year instead. My nana is the only one who rates a personalized letter.. everyone else gets this entry.
January started out pleasant enough. Mr. Roberts and I had a lowkey New Years on the couch watching Arrested Development and drinking pink champagne.
In mid January, by the time my company holiday party (yes, in January) rolled around , things seemed off between us, but we kept working on making a go of it.
In late January, he and I went to a Romane Stop Smoking Seminar which was effective. We both quit, and while my boss was really understanding about my bursting into tears without provocation, it wasn't as easy as Karrlee said it was going to be.
In early February, Mr. Roberts, star of many blog entries, and I called it quits for good. He still remains a damn good man, and will make some woman very happy one day. If his friends like her (sorry W).
A few days later, Charlotte, my roommate tells me she's moving back home with her parents to save for a trip to Australia before she joins the armed forces in the spring. This news, combined with my recent breakup with both Mr. Roberts and an 11 year habit turns me into a wailing banshee who doesn't leave her room for several hours. I'm certain Charlotte called Mental Health.
Around the same time, my mom suggests that I move home to help her with her new cleaning company. The workload is growing to be too much for her, and is only going to grow as time goes on. I suggest only moving home temporarily. I am told that is the stupidest idea ever.
I debate what to do for around a week, but ultimately, end up packing up most of my wordly possessions, giving my house up to my other roommate, putting in my notice at work and moving back into my parent's attic with the cat, who is not happy about the sudden turn of events. I spend a lot of time watching movies, trying not to be depressed.
13 days on, 4 days off is my life from March until late July. Nothing of consequence happened, except I decided that I had nothing better to do with all the money I was making than to blow it on something.
I always wanted to travel, but never really had the means to, so I debate on whether to hike through the
Yucatan Peninsula looking at Mayan ruins or to be cliche and backpack around Europe. Cliche wins when mom reads an article on Canadians getting caught in gang crossfire in Mexico. Even cliche sounds sketchy to her (note: I'm dying to see how she reacts when I go to India).
I save around $16K to buy a round trip ticket to London, a one month
Eurail pass, a damn good backpack and other travel essentials.
Head off to Edmonton, and then Calgary in late July and catch my flight to the land of bobbies, bangers and mash, where I fell in love.
With London. Seriously, awesome city. Go.
One night in Paris and a few days in Portugal (sadly, I suggested to a friend that she go and she was largely unimpressed, but still, it is a beautiful country and I do suggest it -- just not in November) where I started to finally come into my own as a traveler.
By
Madrid, Spain, I was into a groove, and Spain was a blast. A big part of me still wants to move to
Seville and finish my degree there, but another thinks something quite different is going to happen.
I skipped over the
French Riviera, not on purpose, but only because I chose one of the busiest weekends of the year to try to travel there. Knowing now from the misfortunes of several of my traveling buddies what a hassle it was, I'm happier that I missed it. One day, when I don't have to depend on my overdraft to get me by a few days before payday, I'll go back, and it'll be great.
Into Italy where I got dreadfully lost in
Turin, avoided stepping on a sea urchin at
Vernazza in the
Cinque Terre, saw the famous Leaning Tower of Pisa, fell in lust with 2 beautiful Albanians in
Florence, partied in
Rome, almost got accosted in
Naples and then headed over to
Bari to catch a ferry over to Greece.
I drank the entire ferry ride, assuming that my childhood bouts with seasickness may still be prevalent. My logic was that if I was going to be sick, at least I wanted a good story to tell.
If drinking until the sun rises with a group of rowdy Aussies is a good story, then mission accomplished.
One rotten and hungover day in Athens and then off to the Cycladic islands of
Santorini,
Ios,
Naxos and
Paros.
Setting off from Paros back to Piraeus (the port outside of Athens), I was convinced we were going to die when the gale force winds forced our boat to capsize. In actuality, our boat didn't even come close to capsizing, since they have
good captains in Greece.
Since mass amounts of wine were consumed on that journey back to the mainland, it goes without saying that I not only had the bad judgment to almost sleep outside a Starbucks upon arrival, but that I also had a vicious hangover again in Athens.
I can't shake the feeling that maybe my bad feelings toward that city base more around the fact that I was hungover both times I was there, or that it just wasn't what I expected. If you're wondering what I was expecting, think Gods and Goddesses hanging out on the rocks having cocktails while nymphs played around their feet.
A quick flight back to London from there where the lovely Ania put up with me for a few days, hanging around her flat, monopolizing her laptop and eating all her Jaffa Cakes.
Headed to Gatwick on September 11th for my flight back to Canada, and was surprised by the vast amounts of armed guards everywhere. Had the bad fortune to have not one, but 2 dead camera batteries in my case and was unable to take a photo for posterity. Honestly. They were everywhere.
One long, but uneventful flight back home. Greenland looks beautiful from above. Met a lovely couple whose daughter is living in Hong Kong after spending 4 years teaching in Egypt. Decide I want my mom to have the opportunity to chat up random strangers about her jet-setting daughter on long journeys places. Make a mental note to add Hong Kong to my already extensive list of places I want to travel.
Arrive back in Canada. Begin buying every recent Lonely Planet guide I can find in used book stores.
Research options for earning my degree in Spain.
Go to The Beach Boys concert with Mama and Papa. Enjoy myself immensely. Spot someone cute.
Begin dating someone cute. Fall in love with someone cute.
I think Spain is on a hiatus. Maybe for good. Unless someone cute wants to come with.
Hopes everyone out there doesn't mind that the last 8 paragraphs are mildly abbreviated since someone cute is taking up a lot of my time (not that I'd complain).
Merry Christmas, everyone.
