two months later

Two months later. Two months on the road. Two months travelling around. And what do we have to say for ourselves?

This last month has taken me through Paris, Barcelona, Madrid, Rome, Florence, Pisa, Venice, Verona, Milan, and Interlaken. How did it compare to month one? Yes – how did it compare to month one. That's an excellent starting question, and one that's answer is far less than straight forward.

In my first month of travel, everything was new and fresh – so you'd think it would be the greater experience, And it was for a brief while. There are few things t compare to my first stop in Iceland. And yet, so long ago now, it fades into almost nothing. I've tried to keep in touch with the people I met there – with varying degrees of success. Facebook has made this easier, of course. But just like that infamous party where everyone bonded before going off to university, the return to real life weakens some bonds. Still – the bonds rarely break, and though the ol' college team may never get back together again, they're still there one on one, and all the merrier for it.

But after that – I was staying in hostels full of old people, school groups, and the like. I hadn't fond my stride yet. It wasn't until month two that I was able to really understand what I wanted, and as such go out and try to get it. There's something far more widespread to that by the way. You really need to know what you want before you can try to obtain it. And it's only through failure, and god awful miserable times that you're able to correct your bearings and start heading out in that new direction. Even then, you'll find time and time again that you're still not headed exactly where you'd like to be. But you keep on changing course little by little, and I have no doubt that you'll eventually find it.

I still have no idea where I'm headed, but at least I have a better idea now.

I've seen so much the last month. Paris offered me one of the most beautiful cityscapes I had yet to imagine. And it also provided me that little piece of insight – obvious though it may seem – of just how much “more” travelling with a friend can be.

The days with my pseudo-Parisian accomplice made all the difference on those days. Going to the top, or middle, of the Eiffel would have been significantly less meaningful were I alone. And yet both of us were allowed to go or separate ways at night. And there's something to be said for that too.

I've heard a lot of stories lately about people travelling together. More often than not fights break out, and people go their separate ways. The worst story I heard was of one person who packed up in the middle of the night, wrote an “eff you” you to their travelling companion, and grabbed a train and took off, without saying where they went.

It's terrible – but these things happen when you travel some times. When every waking moment is with the other person. You don't even spend that much time with your boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, or anything there in between. But just like NAS says in The Message, “a thug changes, and love changes / and best friends become strangers, word up.”

Word up indeed, NAS; word up indeed.

Paris led to Spain, and that had its good times too. It was to be the last time I'd feel true warmth. Hanging out at the beach is something that everyone should try out now and then. But being part of Barcelona made everything hard to enjoy. The more I travel Europe, the more stories I hear about people getting robbed, or mugged in Barcelona. This is the city's legacy. And it's just accepted. The police don't care, the people don't care. Barcelona is the 1980s New York that everyone feared would become real. But because it looks like a resort town, rather than urban drawl no one seems to care. Well no more, Barcelona, no more. You may have a magic fountain – but you're still a terrible place for any traveller to go, who wants to stay safe and leave with everything they brought with them.

We can look at theft and think how really it's helping the locals who are losing their town because of the tourism industry, but that's always seemed like a lousy excuse to me. Maybe in ultra-poor countries this is true. But if you live in a city like Barcelona and you're upset that it's full of tourists – well, get out and leave. Your city would crumble and be forgotten if not for the millions of people passing through each year to see your unfinished church, and your half naked women on the beaches.

It would be like me claiming that I rob people in Toronto, because I'm sick of the snow, and get affected by the winter. It's something you know will be there, something you know will come, and blaming it for anything is ridiculous. If you don't like it – leave. Madrid is close enough.

I do not rob people in Toronto.

Just saying.

Madrid had its moments – back to the city life. And hello giant rally. It takes all different types of people in this world, I'm sure. So the less said about that the better. But it was back in Madrid that I really felt, for the first time, that I knew what I wanted. It was there, contrasting against B'lona, that I got just how much the life of a city meant to me.

This would be put into further perspective in Rome.

Rome – it really didn't do it for me. Rome was like a museum. It had lots of great stuff in it, but hey – no one really wants to live in a museum, do they? And this is one thing that I would tell all potential travellers – it's ok to hate something.

Sure you paid lots of money to get there, and you feel like yo should tell yourself you love it – but don't force yourself. If you don't like something, own up to that, and feel the hatred, feel the rage, feel the utter apathy and cynicism.

But don't let it cloud you too much, else you'll find yourself creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But – seriously – don't feel you have to love everything, and enjoy everything. Some places just are god awful. Some countries you will absolutely hate. And that's fine. I met a girl in Italy who told me how “ignorant I was” because I didn't like Ottawa – that I found it to be a boring, slow city. She told me that it was so ignorant for me to be travelling the world, without appreciating my own nation's capital.

Now – this is the problem with letting the youth of the nation out on the world stage. They're not quite sure what the words they use mean. Is it ignorant for me to not like Ottawa? No it is not. My dislike of the city (despite the fabulous War Museum, and the best Chinese Food – Jade Dragon – I have ever had) is based on a lot of well considered thought. It's just not “urban” enough for me. It's very slow paced.

I tried to explain this to her – but she would not listen. Instead she just yelled, and screamed, and told me how wrong and ignorant I was. These are the heralds of our nation now. Oh good.

So once again – do not feel bullied into loving something. If you hate it, then you feel proud to hate it. Hate it with pride!

Rome was also the place where it really hit me how much the weather affected my love of a place. I'm still not sure what my “true feelings” on a city are – the rainy ones or the sunny ones. Probably neither. It's probably stuck somewhere in between – either that, or there is no capital t Truth, and all thoughts are as true as they are in the moment that you feel them. But no more of this talk!

Florence provided me with more things to dislike, despite the love that other people seem to feel for the place. And it was here that I really started to appreciate a city not as a destination, but as a base of operations from which to launch day trips. And for that Florence is an excellent place.

Venice fulfilled my expectations. Some people said it was more magical “because it was real” but I found that a lot of the magic was gone because it was real. It's hard to take what you've seen from television and movies, and then try to fold that over into real life. Despite how much I love Tokyo – that place will never seem as wondrous as it does in Lost in Translation. The simple reason being that any time a week of life is condensed into two hours, it will always seem to capture - - - something - - - more. It can't not.

And this is, once more, where I would warn potential travellers. Travel isn't all fantastic, and wonderful, and magical. Every moment will not be this great adventure. There will be terrible times, annoying times, boring times – times where you may want to pack it all in and head back home (I've not hit this yet – but I'm sure it could happen.)

Think of travel shows, where everything looks lovely. You don't see them waiting in line for an hour to grab a train ticket, or have screaming kids around them while they sit on a ferry for hours. They don't have to wait to get from point a to point b, they're just there. That's not travel. That's television magic.

Travel on television is about as real as relationships and romance is on television. So take that how you will. Did Dawson ever end up with Joey Potter? How did that ever play out, anyway? Is that reference too far lost from today's pop culture? Maybe I should have invoked Smallville instead.

And then there was Interlaken. I loved it in the rain. I loved it in the sun. I just loved it. Mountains + Water = fantastic, I don't care where you are. And it really makes me greatful to live in Canada, because as great as this place is – and oh, it is – I could see comparable things without leaving my home country.

I'm also noticing how things that remind me of Canada bring forth a lot more love than those that don't. So there's some hometown pride. Take that “ignorant” girl. I love my country just fine, thank you very much.

And that's that – two months on the road.

A little wiser, a little better travelled, and a little more ready for things to come.

With one month left in Europe, I still have Poland, Prague, and Germany ahead of me. Not many countries – but man, it's not until I travelled that I really appreciated just how big Germany really was.

two months later

Two months later. Two months on the road. Two months travelling around. And what do we have to say for ourselves?

This last month has taken me through Paris, Barcelona, Madrid, Rome, Florence, Pisa, Venice, Verona, Milan, and Interlaken. How did it compare to month one? Yes – how did it compare to month one. That's an excellent starting question, and one that's answer is far less than straight forward.

In my first month of travel, everything was new and fresh – so you'd think it would be the greater experience, And it was for a brief while. There are few things t compare to my first stop in Iceland. And yet, so long ago now, it fades into almost nothing. I've tried to keep in touch with the people I met there – with varying degrees of success. Facebook has made this easier, of course. But just like that infamous party where everyone bonded before going off to university, the return to real life weakens some bonds. Still – the bonds rarely break, and though the ol' college team may never get back together again, they're still there one on one, and all the merrier for it.

But after that – I was staying in hostels full of old people, school groups, and the like. I hadn't fond my stride yet. It wasn't until month two that I was able to really understand what I wanted, and as such go out and try to get it. There's something far more widespread to that by the way. You really need to know what you want before you can try to obtain it. And it's only through failure, and god awful miserable times that you're able to correct your bearings and start heading out in that new direction. Even then, you'll find time and time again that you're still not headed exactly where you'd like to be. But you keep on changing course little by little, and I have no doubt that you'll eventually find it.

I still have no idea where I'm headed, but at least I have a better idea now.

I've seen so much the last month. Paris offered me one of the most beautiful cityscapes I had yet to imagine. And it also provided me that little piece of insight – obvious though it may seem – of just how much “more” travelling with a friend can be.

The days with my pseudo-Parisian accomplice made all the difference on those days. Going to the top, or middle, of the Eiffel would have been significantly less meaningful were I alone. And yet both of us were allowed to go or separate ways at night. And there's something to be said for that too.

I've heard a lot of stories lately about people travelling together. More often than not fights break out, and people go their separate ways. The worst story I heard was of one person who packed up in the middle of the night, wrote an “eff you” you to their travelling companion, and grabbed a train and took off, without saying where they went.

It's terrible – but these things happen when you travel some times. When every waking moment is with the other person. You don't even spend that much time with your boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, or anything there in between. But just like NAS says in The Message, “a thug changes, and love changes / and best friends become strangers, word up.”

Word up indeed, NAS; word up indeed.

Paris led to Spain, and that had its good times too. It was to be the last time I'd feel true warmth. Hanging out at the beach is something that everyone should try out now and then. But being part of Barcelona made everything hard to enjoy. The more I travel Europe, the more stories I hear about people getting robbed, or mugged in Barcelona. This is the city's legacy. And it's just accepted. The police don't care, the people don't care. Barcelona is the 1980s New York that everyone feared would become real. But because it looks like a resort town, rather than urban drawl no one seems to care. Well no more, Barcelona, no more. You may have a magic fountain – but you're still a terrible place for any traveller to go, who wants to stay safe and leave with everything they brought with them.

We can look at theft and think how really it's helping the locals who are losing their town because of the tourism industry, but that's always seemed like a lousy excuse to me. Maybe in ultra-poor countries this is true. But if you live in a city like Barcelona and you're upset that it's full of tourists – well, get out and leave. Your city would crumble and be forgotten if not for the millions of people passing through each year to see your unfinished church, and your half naked women on the beaches.

It would be like me claiming that I rob people in Toronto, because I'm sick of the snow, and get affected by the winter. It's something you know will be there, something you know will come, and blaming it for anything is ridiculous. If you don't like it – leave. Madrid is close enough.

I do not rob people in Toronto.

Just saying.

Madrid had its moments – back to the city life. And hello giant rally. It takes all different types of people in this world, I'm sure. So the less said about that the better. But it was back in Madrid that I really felt, for the first time, that I knew what I wanted. It was there, contrasting against B'lona, that I got just how much the life of a city meant to me.

This would be put into further perspective in Rome.

Rome – it really didn't do it for me. Rome was like a museum. It had lots of great stuff in it, but hey – no one really wants to live in a museum, do they? And this is one thing that I would tell all potential travellers – it's ok to hate something.

Sure you paid lots of money to get there, and you feel like yo should tell yourself you love it – but don't force yourself. If you don't like something, own up to that, and feel the hatred, feel the rage, feel the utter apathy and cynicism.

But don't let it cloud you too much, else you'll find yourself creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But – seriously – don't feel you have to love everything, and enjoy everything. Some places just are god awful. Some countries you will absolutely hate. And that's fine. I met a girl in Italy who told me how “ignorant I was” because I didn't like Ottawa – that I found it to be a boring, slow city. She told me that it was so ignorant for me to be travelling the world, without appreciating my own nation's capital.

Now – this is the problem with letting the youth of the nation out on the world stage. They're not quite sure what the words they use mean. Is it ignorant for me to not like Ottawa? No it is not. My dislike of the city (despite the fabulous War Museum, and the best Chinese Food – Jade Dragon – I have ever had) is based on a lot of well considered thought. It's just not “urban” enough for me. It's very slow paced.

I tried to explain this to her – but she would not listen. Instead she just yelled, and screamed, and told me how wrong and ignorant I was. These are the heralds of our nation now. Oh good.

So once again – do not feel bullied into loving something. If you hate it, then you feel proud to hate it. Hate it with pride!

Rome was also the place where it really hit me how much the weather affected my love of a place. I'm still not sure what my “true feelings” on a city are – the rainy ones or the sunny ones. Probably neither. It's probably stuck somewhere in between – either that, or there is no capital t Truth, and all thoughts are as true as they are in the moment that you feel them. But no more of this talk!

Florence provided me with more things to dislike, despite the love that other people seem to feel for the place. And it was here that I really started to appreciate a city not as a destination, but as a base of operations from which to launch day trips. And for that Florence is an excellent place.

Venice fulfilled my expectations. Some people said it was more magical “because it was real” but I found that a lot of the magic was gone because it was real. It's hard to take what you've seen from television and movies, and then try to fold that over into real life. Despite how much I love Tokyo – that place will never seem as wondrous as it does in Lost in Translation. The simple reason being that any time a week of life is condensed into two hours, it will always seem to capture - - - something - - - more. It can't not.

And this is, once more, where I would warn potential travellers. Travel isn't all fantastic, and wonderful, and magical. Every moment will not be this great adventure. There will be terrible times, annoying times, boring times – times where you may want to pack it all in and head back home (I've not hit this yet – but I'm sure it could happen.)

Think of travel shows, where everything looks lovely. You don't see them waiting in line for an hour to grab a train ticket, or have screaming kids around them while they sit on a ferry for hours. They don't have to wait to get from point a to point b, they're just there. That's not travel. That's television magic.

Travel on television is about as real as relationships and romance is on television. So take that how you will. Did Dawson ever end up with Joey Potter? How did that ever play out, anyway? Is that reference too far lost from today's pop culture? Maybe I should have invoked Smallville instead.

And then there was Interlaken. I loved it in the rain. I loved it in the sun. I just loved it. Mountains + Water = fantastic, I don't care where you are. And it really makes me greatful to live in Canada, because as great as this place is – and oh, it is – I could see comparable things without leaving my home country.

I'm also noticing how things that remind me of Canada bring forth a lot more love than those that don't. So there's some hometown pride. Take that “ignorant” girl. I love my country just fine, thank you very much.

And that's that – two months on the road.

A little wiser, a little better travelled, and a little more ready for things to come.

With one month left in Europe, I still have Poland, Prague, and Germany ahead of me. Not many countries – but man, it's not until I travelled that I really appreciated just how big Germany really was.

one month later

[editors note: I was originally typing these up for a site called Wandering Educators, or something like that - but as they have not got back to me, I figure I'll just use them here.]

On a one year trip, M. Barltrop is reporting about his travels on a near-monthly basis. To visit his blog where he updates daily, please direct your browser to http://www.oneyeartrip.com/

I've been travelling for just over a month now, and you know what I've discovered? There's nothing magical about travel. There's nothing mysterious, or difficult, or treacherous about travel. You just pack a bag, book a place for the night, and get on your transportation. Wherever you go, there you are. It's something that anyone could do; it's something everyone should do.

As of this moment I've been through Scandinavia, some of northern Europe, and into France. Tomorrow I'll be leaving for Spain, but that hasn't happened yet, so I'll try not to get ahead of myself.

Why should you travel? The obvious answer is that you get to experience another culture, see the world through different peoples eyes, and become more tolerant of those around you. But what does that mean exactly?

One of the most important things that has been hammered home is to not judge someone's intelligence by their language skills. If you're dealing with someone who doesn't have a firm grasp of English, this does not mean that they are uneducated. In all possibility they could be a well educated BAh, Bed student. Try going to your local Japanese restaurant and ordering without using English. No matter how well you prepare, odds are you'll find yourself using very simple sentences, and throwing grammar to the wind.

As a teacher from a very multicultural area, who has taught students who have had little more than six months in an English speaking country this is of the utmost importance to remember. I've always – known – this to be true, but to be able to reach back and draw on these experiences will only strengthen my understanding. Heck, I have a hard enough time getting around here in France, and I had nine year exposure to the language in Ontario schools.

Things are also easier to learn when you are where they happened. For example, I spent one day – ten hours – in the fields of Flanders. In that one day I learned more about World War I history than in my entire grade 9 history class. And why? Because when you look at pictures of fields turned to mud, and craters, it means very little. It becomes an idea of an imagined landscape, no more or less real than what the North Pole looks like. You have a concept of it – but nothing real to compare it to.

When you look at that same picture, and then glance out the window of your bus to see farmers fields, and Idyllic meadows suddenly the power, and destruction hits home. That those landscapes could have come from this – and that this, in turn could have come from those landscapes is incredible. And all of a sudden you start to pay attention, to internalize, to really learn.

When you see the live shells that farmers find, to this day, placed at the side of the road for military pick up and defusing, you understand just how much a war nearly one hundred years ago still has long lasting effects on the citizens today.

A similar experience was had while touring Anne Frank's Annex. It's one thing to read her story, and picture the darkness, and terror all around her, brought to life through your internal pathetic fallacy. It's another to look out the window that she would have peered through all those years ago, and realize she was looking out over a beautiful canal running through town, glistening under the sun – each ray broken up into a field of ephemeral diamonds on the water. It is another thing to walk behind the bookshelf that guarded her safety for so long. Haunting is the only work that can describe looking into the attic in which she shared her first kiss – and really knowing that this is the location that it all happened. This is not some recreation, this is not simply a memorial for people to look back upon. These are the walls within which she lived, and breathed, and was eventually pulled out of, taken to concentration camps.

One can sit at home, and view Google Maps. One can read all the books one wants. One can feel as if one understands, knows, learns.

But it is through travel that we truly educate ourselves.