It's Summertime But I Still Miss Your Skies So Clear

Edinburgh, Scotland

UK

This, from page 11 of today's Edinburgh Metro:

Scotland was the hottest spot in Britain yesterday – almost eclipsing the country's warmest day of the year. […] Renfrewshire saw the mercury soar with a temperature of 25.4C recorded at 4pm.

Never have I witnessed such frivolous misuse of the word "soar".

I Am Everyday People

Ballintoy, Northern Ireland

UK

I've noticed something about travelling in Ireland. You don't meet any Irish people. Correction: you don't meet any young Irish people. You do, however, meet some real characters amongst the older generations...

---

Brendan ¦ Galway, County Galway

My German friend, Marlene, was making a video of her trip. A video diary of sorts. I was interviewing Brendan for the video, just talking to him about life, Guinness, Ireland, the price of Teletubbies DVDs in Dubai - just the usual stuff. As we wrapped up, Marlene asked, "Finally, do you have anything to say to Germany before we go?"

"Well," he began. "I think Germany has a LOT to answer for".

Always a good way to begin a 10-minute diatribe.

---

Billy ¦ Anascaul, County Kerry

I met Billy in a pub. He threatened to punch me in the face. Why? He said I was being a smartarse. I was. But honestly, I didn't think he could understand a word I said (I could barely understand him). I later found him asleep in a bar. I think I'm safe.

---

Des ¦ Ballintoy, County Antrim

Myself and my new Israeli friend, Guy, travelled to a small town by the name of Ballintoy.

Sitting in a pub one night, we got talking to a thickly-accented Northern Irish bloke named Desmond. He was softly spoken, and difficult to understand, but we had a drink with him. Later, he took Guy for a tour of the town (which included a visit to the world's smallest church and a visit to Des's house for a drink with his wife and kids).

Back at the pub, Des decided to share a little secret with us.

"Don't tell anyone, but, I'm a taxi driver and I'm supposed to be on a job right now, ha ha ha. But I'm drunk."

Ah, the Irish.

Next day, I consulted with Seamus, our hostellier, as to how to get to the train station to make our 9.20am train from Colraine back to Belfast. The problem was that the Irish transport system is so well integrated that the only bus running that morning got us to Colraine at 9.28am.

"Leave it to me," said Seamus. "I know a guy who's kind of an unofficial taxi driver round these parts."

What's his name? Not Des is it?

"Yeah, Des. Ah you can't stay two minutes in this town without meeting Dezzy."

Grrrreat. Anyhow, aside from the fact that he arrived 12 hours early ("Oh, 7.15 in the morning?"), the ride went smoothly, and we made it to Belfast in time for our ferry to Scotland.

When I Close My Eyes, You're Everywhere

Belfast, Northern Ireland

UK

Now, since I've been travelling, I've learnt to sleep through just about anything. Trains, loud music, too-short beds, noisy beds, people eating breakfast, people stepping on me and, of course, snoring.

I'll admit that, from time to time, I snore myself. I'm sure it can't be all that pleasant for those around me, but at the same time if I can have a fairly restful night despite the 10 people snoring (and talking and grinding teeth and whatever else) in a 15-bed dorm, then so can you.

But there comes a point when you just should not sleep in share accommodation, and should also probably seek medical and social help. And possibly a personal bodyguard.

Enter Exhibit A. A small (perhaps a little portly), softly spoken Englishman, asleep on the bed above mine. Almost immediately after everyone (six of us) have gone to bed, this guy begins to rumble, it's fairly soft and a little rhythmic even. Gently does it. Not a problem thinks I, who can sleep through anything.

And then it stops, as quickly as it started. Nice. I start to drift off.

HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT? I'm disoriented as I sit bolt-upright in bed. Did a wall of the hostel collapse? Was a missile launched at the nearby police station? Did I explode?

Alas, all seems fine, so I lie back in bed. That's when I notice that the gentleman above me seems to be struggling to take a breath. When he finally does, the entire bed trembles.

This is honestly the worst snoring I have ever, ever experienced. It was inconsistent, it started and stopped. He struggled and then would all of a sudden let out a giant gasp and an enormous drum-roll of a snort. It was thunderous. It sounded like the guy was dying up there. And no amount of poking or prodding would wake him up. In fact the only thing that disturbed him seemed to he once or twice when his own snoring actually seemed to frighten him.

In the morning, after I'd had maybe three hours discontinuous sleep, he was gone.

What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor?

Anascaul and Killarney, County Kerry

Republic of Ireland

Captain's Log
Stardate: 31.07.2007

Our party happened upon a town in between Galway and Killarney, known by locals and visitors alike as Anascaul. Now, Anascaul is famous for two things. Actually, to say that Anascaul is famous for anything is a bit of a stretch. But if it were famous, it would be famous for the fact that, in a region of only 600 people, the main (and only) street of Anascaul boasts six pubs. It might also be famous for its bright green pub, The Randy Leprechaun.

Having dropped in - all the way from Australia, mind - at local boy Paul's 21st to wish him a happy birthday, our 6-pub voyage continued up the road. Here, I met Billy - a fisherman from Belfast. Billy was drunk; this was immediately apparent. He had travelled to the South, so far as I could tell, to see how shite it was.

"See, the South is pretty much a Third World country, like. It's just shit. I love Australia though - it's great. Southern Ireland is just a joke."

I was curious. Why, then, was he here?

"Likeforexample," he slurred. "They don't even have air conditioning."

My house doesn't have aircon. Is my house a Third World country?

"No-but, they're just backwards is all. It's shit. It's honestly shit. They just settle for whatever."

I wasn't in the mood to argue with an incoherent man, and honestly I really wanted him to walk away so I could go back to my conversation. So I changed the subject and told him that my dad invented Vegemite Pop-Tarts. He thought this was great at first, but then he rounded on me.

"Mate. Don'be a wise-arse. That won' wash here, mate. Keep that up and I'll crack you in the face. I mean it. Serioushly, d'yawanme to punch your face in?"

"Go away," I thought.

But again, in no mood to mess with a large, drunk, Northern Irish man with a chip on his shoulder, I apologised, made my excuses, and left the pub.

I later saw Billy sitting alone in another watering-hole. He looked lonely, and I almost wanted to go and say hi. But that would have been stupid, so I didn't. Later, I saw him slumped, asleep, over the bar.

Let's Clean It Up

London, England

UK

07.07.07
Live Earth, accross 5 continents. My location: London. After my initial disappointment of missing out on Live Earth tix for London, in the late round I was allocated tickets. So, having changed my NY-London flight to the 6th (it was supposed to be two weeks earlier, but I loved the States so I wanted more time there), I arrived in the country less than 24 hours before the concert.

It was 8pm on the 6th when I arrived at Heathrow, expecting the worst from immigration. I'd heard horror stories of suspicious-looking characters such as myself being detained and questioned for up to half an hour before (sometimes) being let into the country. Expecting the worst, I presented my passport:

"What's the purpose of your visit?"
"Travel."
"When are you leaving?"
"September."
"In you go then."

It's times like those when I regret not buying a "THAT WAS EASY" button from Staples while I was in the US.

So, off to bed (thanks Oli and Kaisa) and up again next day for Live Earth. Our seats were good, but I wanted more. I wanted to be down amongst it in general admission. So I hatched a cunning plan to deceive the field marshalls, involving costume changes, hiding in tunnels and general double-crossing. I executed my plan down to a tee, twice.

Later in the day, Oli just strolled in, without any such shennanigans. I maintain that it was worthwhile.

So, on the field, and we're soaking up a bit of Bloc Party, some Chilli Peppers, some Damien Rice, all of the Pussycat Dolls, and of course Madonna. Standing beside us (us, by now, refers to our expanded party of four, with the addition of Nads and Eleni) are a lovely Mexican couple. Now, I'm all for sharing the love, and by all means go for a bit of the old PDA. They did. Good on them. But things started to get a bit hot and heavy, and, I'll be honest, to the point of being uncomfortable for the unsuspecting bystander. But I kept quiet.

Nads did not. She'd noticed that there was a little bit more than heavy petting going on, and it was time to step in. Which she did. When MexicanMan approached to 'calm' her. Ew.

It's time to go: Mexicans. They didn't.

The rest of the concert was good fun all the same. The whole thing was a little disjointed - although a definite highlight was a video which consisted mostly of a shopkeeper and an elderly woman slapping one another.

Excuse me now while I save the planet.

I hear it's nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice...

Boston, MA

USA

Here's what you've missed:

• Seattle, WA


• Vancouver, BC


• Chicago, IL


• Toronto, ON


• Montreal, QC


• New York, NY Updated! See below.

So, er, sorry about that... I've got some half-written postings for some of those locations which I may publish at a later date.

But I'm in Boston now (or Bah-ston as many a t-shirt, bumper sticker and novelty condom proclaim. They're very proud of the Boston accent) and staying with Lauren and her family of roommates in their splendiferous apartment just across the road from Harvard. It's oppressively hot.

Last night, we went to dinner at a lovely Family-owned pizza joint in town. (Note the capitalisation of the "F" in "Family"; it is not incidental.) Lauren and I arrived a little late (she on crutches, but that's another story) and were greeted by the customary sausages which are an essential (and curious) prelude to any meal at this place. Later, our three pizzas were delivered to the table by an older gentleman. Estimates placed his age at somewhere between 70 and 110 years old. Tall with greying hair and a slightly hunched back, he had the classic thick Italian-Boston accent and the charming Boston-Italian who-gives-a-flying-fuck attitude.

The pizzas were delivered stacked one atop the other, layer cake style: Tray/Pizza/Tray/Pizza/Tray/Pizza. They were very tasty. Once we had had our fill, there was still a considerable portion of pizza remaining, so one of our company asked aging waiter if we could "get it boxed" (doggy bags are the norm in this country). He remained hunched, then grunted or snorted (I'm not sure which) and walked away. Did he hear us? Was that acknowlegement?

About ten minutes later, he reappeared, and reached for the remaining tray of pizza.
"Oh," said Kristen. "We wanted to take th..."
"AH HEARD YA," he drawled.

Oh.

Pizza is returned, boxed, and bill is delivered. The only thing we can make out on the little scrap of paper is the price, so we each went to put in some cash.

"Do yah need change?" offered Aging Italian, gruffly.
"Yeah if we could, like, get a ten and two fives from this?"
"HAVE FOUR FAHVS"
Me: "Oh, and I need some fives too."
"GET EM FROM HER," referring to the earlier recipient of the four fives.
Aging waiter turns to walk away.
"WHADDOEYE LOOK LIKE, AH BANK?"

We pay, and hand over the bill along with the cash.
"AH DONNEED THAT!" he spat, throwing the bill on the table.

Add to the friendly service the suspicious doorway at the back marked

This is NOT an exit.
Staff only.

and the numerous men in blood-stained white aprons who entered said room carrying bundles of large spikes. What can I say?

The place has character.

When you're a boy, Some days are tough

New York, NY

USA

New York City - the city that never sleeps. It's true. More so than Vegas (which was decidedly sleepy at 6am), mid-town Manhattan runs 24/7. At least, it runs til 2am when all the bars close and I assume that it then continues to buzz but I never saw it.

I did, however, see some pretty cool things.

I saw Amy, which was brilliant (of course) and even got to sleep atop her in her swanky downtown dormitory for three nights (and no more). Can you use the words "swanky" and "dormitory" in the same sentence? The bunks had kind of a synthetic covered mattress which made some interesting sounds and led to some awkward misunderstandings - but the apartment was cool.

I saw the sun set over Central Park, The Empire State Building and the rest of the city from the top of the Rockefeller Center.

I saw a man running on a treadmill, non-stop, for 24 consecutive hours.

I saw a ferris wheel inside a toy shop (although I was too tall to ride :( ) and a McDonalds inside a Macy's.

I saw the Statue, the Park, the MoMA, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Bayonne Bridge and they all lived up to expectations. Although the statue wasn't as big as expected, and someone called NYPD to stop me taking photos of the Bayonne Bridge.

I saw a Cat Man Dude. That's a man who's had his face surgically altered and tatooed to look like a cat. Seriously.

I saw two Broadway shows: Spring Awakening which has its share of confronting moments, but exceeded expectations to the point that I would grant it "brilliant" status; and Chicago which exceeded no expectations and only barely lived up to them but was enjoyable all the same.

I saw David Hasselhoff.

I've seen it all.