modern art: 1, Ian: 0.

Salzburg has been an interesting experience, like the chance to learn how to type on a German keyboard, the chance to see rayband-sporting Mozarts (yes, plural) rocking out in town square, or the chance to drink in a giant church devoted to by-the-litre beer consumption.

We#re staying at the super-keen all natural good times family funhouse and youth hostel (jugend and familiengasteshause!). They show the sound of music everynight at 8, but what gets me every time is that each of these viewing is packed. The place feels like an all-ages summer camp, a sort of depressing wholesomeness powered by rootbeer and pizza parties.

Salzburg is gorgeous, all medieval architecture and what 'ave you. I've toured castles, looked at old things and generally have been impressed all around. I'm in the midst of the Salzburg music festival, its a Mozart orgy!

Speaking of (best segue ever), I decided to tour the Salzburg gallery of modern art. I've been reading some mad The Fountainhead, andf the exhibit as devoted to the influence of art on architecture (stage design). It was great, I toured, learned, dropped words like "cubism" to impress people, stroked my chin and looked just disinterested enough to appear confident. Then I came to the final room. All of the others had been oh so quiet, oh so modern. Still places I felt I had mastered. Then I opened the door, I entered a space that#s hard to describe...european? Austrian? High-octane-facehammer-chocolatebunny-hitler fighting an ostrich-furiousMozart-meatexplosion-rotating-chamber of perverse and immoral leprechauns?

Well played modern art, well played...

Tomorrow I fly Ryan air to London, then one more day in London before I head to Gatwick at 6 for my flight at 10. Following some keen time-travel, home at around noon-something.

Time to veroffentlichen this post, see you soon.

Ian

Taste the Vlatava!

Made it to Ceske Krumlov safe and sound. The town is astonishing. Hell, its adorable, all tiny castles and windy streets. We toured the castle a bit, but decided to rent a boat, and spent the afternoon rafting down the Vlatava rive which encircles the town and then head into the country side. Tomorrow we leave for Salzburg. I'm pressed for time, so all the best. I have to stop checking my inbox, its making me anxious, but you cant do revisions on the Vlatava.

"The truth will set you free"

When I sat down at the computer, the menu suggested the above as a header. Who am I to argue with the legacy of Jan Hus?

Prague continues to astonish. I'm going to miss the winding cobble-stone streets and radio that flits between Czech pop and the hits of Toto (the hit of Toto?). I spent today finding secreted coffee shops, drinking coffee, and practicing my eight new brooding-poses (one of them was invented by Franz Kafka - EXTRA BROODY-POINTS!). One more full day left in Praha, and then I follow Cam-Ron's posse to Cesky Krumlov. Unfortunately we won't have much time there (two nights) as we will catch an early train to Salzburg. Yeah...I know. This is the first time I've ever written the word "Salzburg", but now I'm going there...to Salzburg, Salzburg (just practicing). The magic of european airways makes Salzburg my best bet for getting into London (leaving Salzburg on the 29th at 9 pm), plus its all laden with peppy Austrians and Salzburgian charm (Seven different "The Sound of Music tours"? Swoon!).

I confess to having done no background research into Salzburg, so any Salzburg or Sound of Music related jokes to test on the locals would be appreciated (all I remember is the song about goats who yodel, and that can only carry you so far in life).

Eight more days and I'll be in London...then I geuss I'll be seeing you all pretty soon, but first, yodeling goat jokes!

Jig easy,

Ian.

Pittura

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Some of these need rotating...but all mz rotation menus are in Czech, so use your imagination. I§ve included a picture from the bone church, cause it was creep-tastic! Right, time to meet Cam. Peace.

Ian.

Praha

Italian tourists. I live in a perpetual cloud of italian tourists. Not the soft-spoken, friendly kind that I roomed with, but the loud, immaculately dressed, pushy kind that mysteriously light a cigarette in front of you every time you inhale. I know, I'm a tourist too, I'm sure I'm performing a number of really irritating Canadian things (like perpetually thanking people, they don't do that here), but why are they so loud and critical of my clothing?

Still, nothing could ruin Prague. This is a phenomenal city with an amazing history. So far I've spent my days touring the city (extra-touristy style), I won't get into the monuments and history because there's too much to talk about (plus you all have mad google skillz-Czech out the Zhukov TV tower. A communist monument hated by the people and decorated with creepy metal infant things silent-hill style). Old town Prague has just the right amount of broody atmosphere to balance an area lined with curious shops and fed by cheap beer (70 cent pints). The newer areas of Prague, where the tourists don't go, have a different atmosphere (Darker, more grafitti, way poorer, but still many interseting neighbourhoods). This is a town that spent years building a gigantic monument to Stalin, only to blow it up and replace it with the Worlds Largest metronome. You catch yourself going "is that a metronome, a big firccking metronome?" Yes my friend, it is.

I'd love to post some pictures (especially of the metronome) but all of the computers are tamper-proof. I'd need compter hacking skills or a Macgyver-esqe ability to fashion a USB port out of beer bottles and duct tape.

I've noticexd that whenever I say Canada, people either say "Vancouver?" or "Degrassi!" (demonstrating what amounts in my mind to two distinct levels of familiarity with Canadiana). It's amazing really, last night I found myself in a catacomb like bar (normal on the top, but 5 basement levels that each look like caves) being asked by a Scotsman whether I thought the new series lived up to the old one (Uh, No.). I'll have Canadian back up soon, as I meet up with Cam in a couple of days. Then probably off to Cesky Krumlov and the maybe Vienna.

Hope things are well back home, thanks for all of your comments. Did anyone notice that the second I started talking about giving metaphors the finger my Grandma posted (love you Grandma!). Oh interweb...

Mental note - when I get back I have to tell the story about fighting the drunken Chelsea fan who thought I looked like Dominique Monaghan.

Praha

Made it to Prague! 1 Hargreaves + 1 phenomenally lovely backpack ensemble. Had to arrive at the airport and queue for two hours before I could join the queue, and I think I'll write easy jet advising them on training their staff to show a little more calm during medical emergencies (the stewardess was holding both sides of her face stammering "Oh my god, oh my god" - a lady passed out duringlanding) but the Gatwick experience was pretty painless, and the mandatory patdown was pretty racy for england.

Prague is lovely. Time to explore.

Emphatic gestures and onomatopoeia.

I'm feeling pretty good, karmically I mean. I gave four separate buskers mad coinage (extra-mad coinage for the much appreciated slide guitar), which should put me in the black enough to hesitantly suggest that I might be getting over my cold. By tomorrow, I will have busted out the giant middle finger to this illness of mine (imagine Dave Grohls hand in the "Everlong" video, but in FINGER FORM!) sending it rocketing into the hills like a foot-clan ninja just hit buy the Turtle-van.

Whether my Karma extend to airport queues is another question. Tomorrow I leave for Gatwick airport, intending to arrive almost 3 hours before the two hours before I'm suppossed to arrive (were I not in a nation under the "siege of terror" - stole that from a paper I did). My intent is to make my 11:35 easyjet flight to Prague (pronounced Praha). So far (since Yesterday) easyjet has actually been flying its flights (so good!)...so fingers crossed. In the worst case, I may be spending an extra few days in England, or perhaps shelling out big bucks for a trainride. If it's the former, I'm going to give the selfsame emphatic finger to London, and head to place worth loving, Brighton. Me and London. We had a thing sure. There were moments when we couldn't get enough of each other. But the glamour wore off, and now London sees me for the science-loving, adjective abusing, squirrely ninja-referencing fool that I am. Nothing to mourn, we are just looking for different things right now.

Brighton...I'm a bit of a fan of Brighton. Its a town that radiates cool (and creepy, but only in the one creepy sector which isn't bad). Sipping beer looking out over the ocean, bikini beach volley ball tournaments and the coolest shops I have ever encountered (in droves). I think it would be an amazing place to spend a weekend.

Saw a Fulham football match the other day. It was exciting (even though it was just a friendly game). Unfortunately, while Fulham did win the Premiership (in days past) they were unpredictable yesterday. For the spectator, this meant that there were some truly brilliant football moments, the perfectly placed long cross, off the mits, neatly tucked in by the offense, but there were far more crummy moments. Inconsistency doesn't work for Fulham.

Right, last night in London, I'm all packed, I've literally set up my things so I'll injure myself on things before forgetting them...time for a beer.

I had a wonderful epiphany...no, not an epihphany, but a moment of hazy to off-hazy insight that I'll save for Prague. In any case, my best to Calgary, I'm not used to being out of the basment this long, maybe I can write some practice abstracts for magazine articles in the departure lounge.

Hoping I get to Prague yes?

Being a sequence of events narrated at a soothing pace.

Two posts in one day? Yep, I'm getting sick.

Today:

Went to the Dali exhibition, which kindly exhibited mad Dali-action. If you want to crawl inside his head, he loved Freud, Newton and Don Quixote. "Just I don't know what a painting means while I am creating it, doesn't mean it won't have meaning when it is done.".

All UK airports are operating at extreme security alert levels. Flights are getting dropped cancelled and rearranged, creating a sense of panic in the hostel. The current restrictions in airports mean that hand-luggage is no longer allowed on any flights. I feel releived that safety is being guarded by watchful paranoia, but guilty that the first thought I had to the news was "I hope they lift the security for my flight back to Canada, cause I'd be some kind of bored without my I-pod".

Spent the afternoon near the Thames at a massive open air book stand under an old bridge. It was lovely, even dizzy with illness.

On the tube coming back to the hostel there was a man in gorgeous white leather shoes, crusty track pants (the kind with melted bits), a "Jesus died for your sins" t-shirt (tucked in, but straining against his gut), and a shiny elaborate silk shirt (hot pink) left unbottoned. The media have been doing their terror-shuffle, it hits you from every side, and on a crowded train he started preaching the end of the world in a thick French accent. At first I (and other people around me) felt the familiar reaction that I normally get to crazed evangelical types, a kind of cynical bemusement softly lit by irritation. But as he kept going, shouting at the top of his lungs about how we all will die and god will judge us, things changed. "What would you do if you died this minute? It could happen?". People stopped exchanging knowing glances at each other and started looking at their hands, I caught the guy across from me sizing the pink preacher up. He was thinking what I was. Sure he's crazy, but how crazy? A man like that should make me feel slightly irritated, not angry and scared. I found myself counting how many paces I was from the guy. I'd like to think that I was prepping some elaborate subconscious action sequence that would make Tony Jaa dizzy with admiration. Things stayed tense. Stops came and went. I got off the train at my stop feeling bullied by the British press.

Tomorrow? Brighton. I hear they keep an ocean there.

Some test shots before my time online expires.

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Please Mind the Gap. Please do not stare directly at the Britons.

Ahh Streatham Hill. My old lodgings gave me a bit of an uneasy feeling, but you lot chalked it up to me just being a green traveller. Streatham, 2002's "Worst street in Britain", never quite recovered from an economic downturn it took in the late 50's (culminating in the 80's-natch). Today it is a curious mixture of families whose homes sell for well over £500,000 (that money = crazy) and asylum seekers (predominately from Somalia). That was the feeling! I'd better qualify that lest you think I have a Somalian-sense (most useless superpower ever). You see, my doorman was some kind of creeped out by the area, and it radiated. I've now taken residence at the ACE Hostel in West Kensington, sadly it lacks the Somalian asylum seekers, depressed Bangladeshi door men who speak of the neighbourhood while shaking their heads back and forth, and packs of old Jamaican men whose conversations read like a rum commercial ("Lifes too short too be surly son"). For the next four nights I'll be sharing my room with a group of three Italian "bestest friends ever". Seriously, these guys are tight, its a thing of beauty. Our room is clean, as it is hot as an oven (thus baking the germs into a powder that the English use as a condiment).

Thanks to Sarah for emerging as most useful comment (empirically validated by most any opinion I'd ever care to listen too), as our winner, Sarah will be awarded a picture postcard of either a randomly selected royal, or a baby dressed like a cabbage!

Trip report. Stay away from "Old Speckled Hen Bitter". Just...trust me. I took some parental advice a toured the tower of London. It was phenomenal, absolutely worth the price of admission (so long as you could dart your way through the gift shop so as not to get stuck, a skill I have honed in my professional life). Best fish and chips so far for only £4.50 at a shop right by the river. I did some fierce meandering, ended up with only an hour at the Tate modern. I figured "who cares about modern art?" now I figure "who cares about things-not-modern-art?", oh yes he did. I shall be back.

I've tried my hand at souvenir shopping. Don't expect anything, even those of you who more than deserve it, if an item doesn't tell me that I need it how will I ever know if someone will want it (that goes for you too Harrods, absurdly opulent palace of smarm)?

Oh! I had an awesome talk over coffee with a Linguist who is interested in Neurology. I'll visit her in Brighton so she can finish explaining how fractals can map semantics to neural networks (and see Brighton...but mostly the first thing).

Too much typing, I'm sorry. My best to all of you.

A little art a little marching

Sunday. The day of rest. The day I discovered Jetlag and slept in until 2pm.

It's not that bad, I almost fell asleep at 3am and I'm pretty sure I made it there by5am. Any advice on the lag from you seasoned globetrotters would be appreciated (my plan so far involves setting my alarm clock and just being sleepy for a while).

Saturday was great. I'm in the city, but off the map, so to get things going I start with a train ride into Victoria station. I thought I'd begin my saga by touristing it up hardcore (hardthemuthacore) so I headed via tube (crazy amazing tubes of people carried on sooty wheels of progress!) to Big Ben, the houses of parliament, the London Eye...it started of fairly innocently. I walked around, felt dwarfed by the old stuff, photographed the old stuff, got lost in the old stuff. Then I noticed a bobby in a yellow vest carrying an automatic rifle. And then I noticed a few more, increasing with frequency as a made my way back to parliament, where the entire area had been redecorated with massive posters baring logos like "Bush: The real terrorist" and a guy using a megaphone shouting "Good morning Vietnam! Good Morning Kandahar! Good Morning Lebanon!!!".

Neat! So I found a pub, had some lunch, and as I was leaving I bumped into the crowd heading towards that square, around 20,000 people walking and protesting the war in Lebanon. This was the first time I've ever stumbled into a march that massive, so I went with the flow. We marched for a few blocks, but as the square filled up I was part of the overflow and allowed to just sneak across the safety rails into the podgyfaced and startled entity that was the crowd. The protesters manged to get airtime on BBC 1.

So, I'd protested against the Zionist agenda (check. - there were many agendas actually, the protesters had a hard time agreeing what they were protesting, but seemed to agree on a formula that goes roughly "Bush = Bad. Blair = Bad.") and decided to head to Trafalgar square and check out the free art, free Gougin, free Van Gogh, free everything. I think I'll head back there (and to Picadilly and oxford circus, its lik an enless maze of things I can't buy).

Right then, 3:30, time to start my day.

London.

I made it. The flight was uneventful, full of brits doing distressing glutial excercises to avoid blood clots and help the roast-beef dinner to settle, but on the whole, uneventful. I geuss the real news is that I'm tired...and in London. I landed around midnight my time, and promptly managed to get irrevocably lost on the train lines. Was that West Croyden to Balham to Streatham Commons or Streatham hill? (in the end it was the latter, but I had to travel to Sutton to find that out).

Then I got lost in town, I took the wrong ancient street to the wrong ancient twisty corner (my bad). But the hotel let me check in a little early (noon here, so 4am my time?). A quick power nap and slight perusal of Brittish television encouraged me to head down the street toward this small internet cafe. Next up, the pub. Then bed.

People on the plane kept warning me from travelling in London alone, well that's not true, but they did call me a "Poor dear." and pet my hand as if I didn't know what I was getting into (which arguably I don't) but after initiating the "No touching on the plane please" rule I think I managed to convince them that I'd just have to meet knew people, and one inspirational tyrade about who we are as people and how we are defined by "the other" I think I my case came across.

I've also learned that I don't actually speak english. I know. You're thinking, but Ian, I've heard you speak it, I've heard you butcher it, what are you talking about? We actually speak something not English, real Engligh requires little to no enunciation, is often uttered quickly and at various tones while bobbing ones head and requires a lot of patience (and having seen the first two seasons of "Little Brittain" and "Monty Python") to begin to understand.

Right. Beer time, just wanted to let you know I'm in town and connected (ish).

Going to England, in TYPE form.

So I'm blogging.

I'm sure you all know that (and by "you" I mean those who choose to check this blog, be you friends, family or people who randomly skip around the internet leaving people messages like "UR hot!" to strangers who may in fact be hot, but needn't be reminded in text form) but I'd just like to clarify a particular point before we proceed. At some time or another, my fingers will have majestically worked their magic on a keyboard, literally giving form to the thoughts that dwell inside of me. However, this narrative may not always be "good", but that's okay precicesly because this is a blog (you get what you pay for).

So...beginnings are pretty tubular. Speaking of tubular, it has occurred to me that I should explain why I went with "ockmarshebazzjenkins" as a URL. I'd like you to say it out loud, sounds fun doesn't it? Well it did to me. Enjoy.

What can you expect from this blog? The usual: weird memes that may not deserve any consideration at all (check out www.channel101.com if you aren't familiar with wasting time-man I miss "Yacht Rock" and "House of Cosby"), emo poetry, painfully self-aware postings that abuse words like "epiphany" and "awareness", but mostly I intend to use this space to keep people up to date about my adventures in Europe.

Tomorrow I head to England, cause its what all the cool kids are doin'. Until then I'm just a dude with a heavy backpack (thanks Kate!), and since nobody wants to hear much from THAT guy, peace.