New York, New York (a little creative writing)

You hear a siren in the distance. Suddenly there are more. Fire engines and ambulances are sounding the alarm, multiplying like white blood cells fighting an infection. Their chaotic orchestra bouncing off walls and down alleyways, penetrating deep into the heart of Brooklyn. It's impossible to tell from which direction the sound is coming from.

You walk passed seemingly identical shops, deli's and corner-store's, their owners sending fresh stock through cellar doors down into the basement. Continuing down the street you hear the low rumble of a train, passing just metres beneath you, carrying hundreds of passengers into Manhattan. Across the road you notice a basketball court surrounded by chain link fence. Young kids gathered around, ready to hone their skills in the hopes that someday they will make it big, and maybe play in the NBA.

Suddenly the warm smell of exhaust and steam is replaced by smoked meats and spices. A throng of food vendors have set up shop, ready to feed any and all who pass. A taxi blares its horn as it careens around the corner, narrowly missing a mob of eager pedestrians. Further along you pass a park of sorts. A reclamation project... a public garden. Looming on either side of the property, are tall narrow brick houses; Brownstones. Their crumbling brick and foggy windows revealing the structures age. The city's age.

People always say New York exhibits a certain personality; that it is as much alive as the people who inhabit it. And it's true. I was only able to spend two days there, but even then I could feel it. Each neighbourhood and borough was different from the rest. Something about this city grabbed ahold of me, and wouldn't let go. Just being there, anywhere, felt like an experience on its own.
I would walk until I got lost, and then walk some more. I didn't want to just hop on and off the subway, suddenly arriving in a new neighbourhood. I wanted to see the transitions, the invisible borders where things slowly changed into something different.

I managed to fit in some of the touristy stuff. The Brooklyn Bridge, Times Square, and the top of the Rockafeller Center. On impulse I even got in to see a show on Broadway. But mostly, I walked. I walked from Brooklyn to Central park, and by the end of the day I'm not sure I could have walked much more, and it was all worth it. If you get the chance, I really recommend visiting NYC. It took me by surprise how much I enjoyed it, and I hope I get a chance to go back someday.

Welcome to London!

What an adventure this has been!  London was amazing! I had a wonderful tour of Heathrow Airport, and had the rare opportunity to spend 7 magical hours in custody, detained alongside 2 Afghan asylum seekers and an enormous angry woman wearing a moo-moo. But hey, the drinks were free, and they even had complementary crisps! Yay!

I'll try and give the play by play. Prior to arriving in Boston, I had been visiting my sister in St.John's, Newfoundland for a week and a half. Airfare from St.John's was extremely expensive, but I managed to find myself a wicked deal on a flight from Boston to Dublin. I got myself over to Boston, and booked a one night stay in a Hostel downtown. So far, everything was going along smoothly and as planned.

My flight connected at Heathrow airport in London, and would have me arriving in Dublin an hour or two after touching down. No problem I thought. I'm a Canadian citizen and a member of the commonwealth, so I figured it would be smooth sailing and I would soon be on my way to Ireland.

Wrong.

Meet Immigration Officer Bartholomew, aka "Bart the Dickish". I get in line to pass through Border Control, and at this point only one of the stations is staffed. A decent sized line has formed, and so Dick picks up the phone and calls for some help. Twice. Nobody showed for a while and he was starting to look annoyed. It's my turn and I proceed to hand Mr.Dickish my customs declaration, with all available information I can provide. The address of the Hostel I had reserved. How long I would be in Dublin. Where I would be heading afterwards. He asked how much cash I had on hand which was only $40 US. At that point the questions began to get a little more involved. How many credit cards do you have, and what are their limits? He rattled off a few more questions, and I gave him all of the info I could. I was then told to take a seat and wait, as he was "unsatisfied". So is your wife Bart... So is your wife.

Off goes Bart with my passport and boarding passes gripped firmly between his dick fingers. I sat down and waited calmly for about an hour, and at that point it was obvious I would not be making it onto my original flight to Dublin. Bart comes back, pretty much exactly as the flight was finished boarding, and lets me know that I am being detained while they investigate my "claims" further.

WTF? Now this is sounding serious. While being escorted to my luxurious accommodation I asked a few questions to see if I could clear things up. There must be some kind of mistake, I thought. I asked if it was due to financial concerns, and if I could show my bank statements on my tablet. I've been saving for this trip for a few years now, and definitely have enough money to spend a few weeks in the UK. I was told that there would be no point in discussing anything until I had my formal interview. Alright then, I'll just wait. Surely this will be resolved shortly right?

Wrong.

I hand over my bag along with everything from my pockets, and out of the corner or my eye I notice a man putting on latex gloves. Fuck shit fuck!  Instantly in an act of self preservation, my asshole shrinks down three sizes like it's trying to hide. It's like the opposite of the Grinch's heart. Luckily it didn't come to that and they just gave me a pat down. What was with the gloves? Are they just trying to scare people?

The "cell" was fairly large with a few interview rooms along the side. There was a washroom, and plenty of seats along with a TV and a vending machine that gave out free drinks. So I wait. And, wait...

Nothing happens over the next few hours aside from our excitable moo moo wearing friend arriving. She was screaming and yelling, and fighting the security staff every step of the way, which was somewhat entertaining until I realised she would soon be locked in a room with me. She looked like she could have been the poster child of the American Diabetes Association. I moved to a spot where she was less likely to eat me and figured if I surrounded myself with fruit she might stay away.

Finally, it's time for my interview, and at this point I have no idea how long I've been inside. While I was first being processed it seemed like there was a possibility that I might be interviewed by someone other than Mr.Dick. In fact, someone else actually volunteered. But, my man Bart must have enjoyed my company, because he shot down the offer and decided to handle the interview himself.

Many of the questions were repeated, and again I offered everything I could. I asked to show him my financial statements once again, but was declined a second time. Interview ends and I get back to waiting.

Eventually he comes back in, and asks me to join him in the interview room once again. Bad news. Bart explains that he is still not satisfied and that I was being denied entry into the UK. I would then be placed on the next available return flight to Boston. At that point it was obvious that there was absolutely nothing I could do to change his mind. So, I reluctantly signed his papers and sit down again, in completely in shock.

There really wasn't any one thing he could offer as the reason I was being denied. Yes, I left work in August and so I am unemployed... but people quit their jobs to travel all the time.

When it was time (after nearly 8 hours of detention) I was escorted by two men to the appropriate gate and boarded onto the plane. My passport and boarding passes were held by the flight staff for the duration of the flight, until we arrived back in Boston 6 1/2 hours later. At that point it was now nearly 8PM Eastern time, and I had just spent an entire day warping back and forth between time zones. It took over an hour to get my bags and make it back through US Customs, and I had nowhere to stay.

I tried getting back into the Hostel I had stayed at previously, but it was all booked up. So, I started heading for another one except it turns out there are 2 different "School St." in Boston, and I was at the wrong one. Fuck. It was getting pretty late by that point and I had been awake for the better part of the last 30 hours so I was willing to stay anywhere that would take me. Eventually I found a Holiday Inn, and they managed to open up a previously unavailable room. At nearly $200 it must be the most expensive Holiday Inn in the world, but I had to take it. It was either that or find a park bench.

Day Two.

Remember when I said I could do this without music? I lied. We're now 20 hours or so into this thing, and it's starting to look like that scene from Trainspotting. Ok... maybe there aren't any dead babies crawling on the ceiling, but you get the idea. It's bad. Throw in a pinch of sleep depravation and general weariness from sitting in pretty much the same position for an entire day and you've got the whole picture.

This morning I went and camped out one of the good seats in the dome car. It's the one that's meant for sightseeing and taking pictures. I figured competition would be stiff once we started getting near the Rockies; and this being a train... I also figured it wouldn't be so fucking slow. (I swear I saw a guy on a horse and buggy pass us.) So... there I was. 9 hours early to start looking at some fucking mountains. Like I thought they were going to move or something. I'm the geological equivalent to an Apple fanboy I guess.

Being able to pass through the Rockies was one of the main reasons I wanted to take the train, so at that point I wasn't gonna give it up and miss out on getting some decent pictures. I ended up sitting with a nice couple from Southampton on their way to Jasper. Being British, they were extremely polite, and so, I was slightly worried they might give my seat away when I went to the washroom. Somehow they managed to stave off the hordes of marauding tourists long enough to make it back and snag some decent shots.

So... 4pm rolls around and we're about to head into Jasper for a 1 hour stop. I've now been up since about 6am having gone the whole night trying to contort my body into some kind of workable position. (I still haven't figured that out by the way.) Pretty sure I was just doing yoga.

So the train stops, and I can't feel my ass anymore and I figure I could use some fresh air. I take a little stroll down the main strip in search of food, only now my legs don't work so good, my hands are starting to shake and every single restaraunt is a tourist trap with expensive menus. Channelling my Canadian spirit I head around the corner and Immediately find a Tim Horton's. Instantly feeling better I head back towards the train... ready for Yoga Fest day 2.

Oh and 10 hours of mostly wheat. We musn't forget the wheat.

Day One.

So this is it. The trip has officially started, and I don't think I've fully come to grips with the fact that I could potentially be travelling for a year or more. I feel really calm. Maybe I'm just a badass.

After arriving in Vancouver, my phone seemed to continually be trying to give me directions to E.Hastings street instead of the train station. For those unfamiliar with the area; it is pretty much ground zero for our wonderfully populous homeless community. It's like their rec centre. Available activities usually include some combination of needles, incoherent rambling, and hepatitis. Also, strange hats, sometimes made of fruit. I was briefly having visions of some ninja junkie injecting me with Heroin and skitching away with my stuff.

Eventually I made it to the train station, and went straight for the big line to start boarding. Looking around I started noticing everyone else in line seemed to have physical tickets in hand. There I was, following my instructions from the confirmation e-mail waiting to scan some barcode. Oh what's that? There's another line? Train leaves in 2 minutes you say? Here! Catch my bag? *POOF* (That was me disappearing in a cloud of smoke...) When I re-emerged from said smoke; ticket in hand, I was quickly herded out the door and onto the platform to board the train. Relieved to have made it this far free of a debilitating heroin addiction I sit down and relax. Hmm... no Wi-Fi. Ok then, let's music. Wait a second... where's my iPod? Oh that's right... it's in my main bag somewhere else in this 25 car train; probably buried by 900 others by now.

Awesome! It's only 30hrs right? How bad could it be.