I Told You No Gifts!

On Ukrainian Christmas Eve morning I was impatiently waiting for my roommate to get back home from going out to get a gift bag for our host’s gift for the holiday. He had been gone for close the thirty minuets and I was starting to get really pissed. We were going to be be late and miss our bus if he didn’t come soon. I called to ask where he was and he said he would be back really, really soon. I had everything packed and I was just waiting on him. When he came home he yelled Merry Christmas with a huge shit eating grin on his face and thrust a Pull and Bear bag at me. I was shocked for a few seconds, as I had kind of forgotten what the day was, then I started stomping my feet and mutter about how I had said no Christmas presents for me. I sat down on my bed and pulled out a box wrapped in brown paper bags mixed with gift wrap and my friend apologized for it not looking pretty, but all the shops had been closed. I told him it was fine and in the States I wrap gifts with news paper. I was more concerned with the amount of what looked like packing tape that had been used and how I was going to open it. When I tore off the first piece of paper and saw a box for a new Cannon 75-300mm zoom lens. I might have started crying a bit, yeah I did, and I was over joyed to say the least. I also got a new 8GB memory card, which was a huge improvement over my 1GB.

(My arms are folded to show that I am mad for the gift giving, but seriously look at that face. Not mad one bit)

I thanked him and complained that it was too much, but he said no it wasn’t because I need it and deserve it. The whole walk to the bus stop I am pretty sure I was glowing I was so happy. He turned around and asked if everything was ok and my smart ass reply was something along the lines of “I’m horrible. I don’t know how I could possibly be happy right now. It’s not like I just got the most awesome Christmas present ever or anything.” The shit eating grin had now been transferred to me. The more I thought about it, the more impressed I became of how well thought out this gift was. It was probably the most perfect thing I could have ever been given and I didn’t even know that I had wanted it until I had gotten it. 

I have only been using my new lens for about a week now, as Ukrainian Christmas is on January 7th, but already I am ecstatic about my new toy. I have been going around Lviv using it to stalk people and photograph them. I feel like I am paparazzi or something. It is truly amazing the freedom I have been feeling with it. I feel like the possibilities are endless right now. I also truly do thank my friend, even though it was too much. I wonder what he will get from my birthday...

Derailed Abandonment

Last Tuesday I was feeling down and upset, which I am sure had nothing to do with all the vodka I drank the night before, and I reasoned with myself. I could either stay in bed feeling sorry for myself, due to my emotional hang over or I could go out shooting. Making the grown up choice, I went with shooting because I know it almost always makes me feel better to get out and get lost behind my lens. 

I made my way to the bus stop to take bus 8, about forty minuets outside of Lviv to a small town that had old abandoned railroad cars at the train station. I was feeling a little more adventurous that day, then perhaps I normally am. I think it was the combination of being really mad, lack of sleep, needing to get out some pent up energy and never getting in trouble for taking photos, except for getting yelled at once or twice and I just decided to for it. I really did not care if I got in trouble with anyone.

Once I got there I had the choice of which of the three trains to tackle first. Two were in a gated train park if you will, so I went with the one not inclosed. I walked along taking pictures of the outside, noticing that most of the door handles were tied with rusted metal wire. I walked down a few cars looking for a door that it looked like I could get in. The stairs were not lowered, so I had to hold on to the ice cold hand rails on either side of the door while leaning back a bit due to the stair position and try to get the metal wire off. It did not work so well at all. I snapped off some of the metal, but not the part that would let me open the door. I jumped down, thinking of what I had in my bag that I could use to cut it, and I came up with nothing, so I gave up and kept walking, swearing inside my head at my bad day and bad luck. Now I must interject here, that I know that this is most likely classified as private property and by breaking off the metal thing and trying to get in that way is clearly “breaking and entering”. I normally just go into places that aren’t locked, or don’t have doors, so I can play the “Oh I didn’t know that I’m not suppose to be here” game if I was ever to get caught. I would also like to that I do not condone anyone doing what I am doing. 

I kept walking along the train cars and saw one with smoke coming out the top and I was pretty sure at this point that someone was living in it. There were wood chips all around, like someone had been chopping wood. This door also had no metal on the handle so I started knocking on it. No one answered, so I just decided to keep walking. Clearly this person did not want to be bothered. 

I walked passed some more train cars, and they all looked the same after a while so when I got to the end of the train I turned around and walked back on the other side. It looked again mostly the same, except for when I got to smoking train again I saw that there was tons of wood stacked against two of the windows. I thought to myself “What kind of Into the Wild, Christopher McCandless shit is going on here?” I stood there debating on ducking under the train and going back to the other side and really banning on the door until I was let in. Clearly this was not just some drunk hobo, who happened to stumble upon the train for shelter for the night. Someone was genuinely living there, with their stock pile of wood. Sanity kicked back in and told me to just keep on walking. This could be a serial killer for all I knew, ok so maybe that wasn’t the most sane assumption, but better safe then dead. There were a lot, and I mean a lot of empty vodka bottles as I walked, I did not think they were from my train friend, as in Ukraine its kind of habit to just throw things where ever. I kept my eyes on the ground so I wouldn’t step on too much glass and all of a sudden I saw human fecal matter. Well this person has my hole in the ground beat. I am assuming that it was the train friend, because it was a few cars down from his own and the area was used more then three times. I also have seen a lot of animal poop in my life and I know for a fact, that is not what it was. I’m just happy that it was cold out so it didn’t smell, even though who doesn’t enjoy the nice smell of sun roasted poo? 

I walked until I reached the end of the train and the gate to the park for the other two trains. It was open so I walked right inside and went to the train on the right. The first third of it looked like it could be used if needed, but wasn’t. The second third looked more run down and there were bars on the window. It kind of freaked me out like it was a car from Soviet times to take prisoners to Siberia or something. I hate the thought of prisons, especially train ones. Bad karma that I just do not want to be apart of so I walked briskly past.

       The last third of the train was completely in ruin. The cars had been gutted and all of the doors were open. I had mixed feelings about this. I wished that there had been a little bit more inside, but at the same time I was happy to have access. The stairs were a tad easier to get up on, but I still had to pull myself up using the hand rails and then I kind of ended up kneeling on the floor of the train and getting up that way. Its hard to explain, but I soon realized how stupid I had been in wearing a short dress with leggings to this expedition, that got covered with rust. Looking back it may not have been such a bad idea as my jeans are getting a little, ahem tight, and I could have very easily ripped a hole in them moving the wrong way. After getting up I carefully walked through every car, as it soon became apparent that the floor, was not too sound and almost fell through a few times. I know all the caring adults in my life right now are reading this and cringing, but it’s kind of like going out onto a pond in winter and not knowing if its fully frozen or not. I know you have all done that. So there.

I got off my run down train and walked along number three and there again wasn’t much to see. All the doors were closed on the train, the sun was starting to set and it was turning cold so I thought it might be best to get heading back to Lviv, even with my melancholy still intact. Everything can’t be perfect the whole time I am living in Europe. I know with the amazing days I will have some that aren’t so blissful, but I also know as time fades my memories into a blur I will always have my photos to jog my mind and I will extract what this one moment in time meant. Perhaps this one day or moment at the train grave yard will have some profound affect on my life that I have yet to realize. All I know is that I am living a life that leaves me flabbergasted and at a loss for words a lot of the times. 

Awwww Shit!

*The first half of this blog was written in mid December 2011* Being the proud Mainer that I am I have owned a pair of Bean boots (see picture for image, incase you don’t know what they are.) for about eight years now.

I’ve been on all sorts of Maine adventures with them from a walk in the woods, getting stuck in ocean mudflats, and braving down easters with them. I debated bringing them with me to Georgia with me because of limited packing space. I sat on my wooden hallway floor by my bedroom debating the pros and cons and they made the cut and got added to my 100lbs checked bags combined weight. (Who am I kidding? I always knew they were coming. Got to represent Maine in style.) My Bean boots and I are on a new kind of adventure now a days that I could have never imagined. They are now, pardon the term, my shitting boots. Thats right my Bean boots are now my bathroom footwear. You are most likely sitting in is your cozy house back in America reading this. I want you to get up and go to your favorite toilet in where you ever you are and give it a hug. I am dead serious right now. Come on. Go. I’ll wait right here while you do this little exercise. ... ... ... *Me waiting* ... ... ... Thank you for that. I don’t normally ask my reading audience to do such things, but you will understand why in a bit. Now imagine that precious porcelain chair is gone and replaced with a dirt covered stone slab, that has a hole cut into with two stone blocks a little bigger then bricks that are strategically placed around said hole. Surrounding the stone slab is a little shack like structure made out of wood slats and a metal roof and is situated about 30 feet from the house. Is it coming together yet? I have a “squat” outhouse for a toilet. That’s right for the past week and a half I have been going to the bathroom in a hole in the ground.

I normally never talk about any bodily functions in front of anyone besides the family that lives in my house and if I do say anything to someone else it is usually “I need to go to the bathroom”. I however will sacrifice myself to inform you on an issue that has become very real for volunteers here and as my Aussie friend Alex said when I told him about my situation “You know, someday you will look back on this and laugh”. Well, I’m not 100% sure I am at a laughing point yet, but seriously this is really funny when I think about it like its someone else. If you can’t handle bowel movements you may just want to stop reading right now, if you can read on. Monday the 12th, my host mother showed be the toilet, the one I described above, and I just nodded my head and let out a silent scream inside that included a lot of swear words. I then fallowed her inside to eat lunch and tried to forget about what I had just seen. After a while it sunk in, that I was suppose to go to the bathroom there. A slight panic over took me and I kept thinking “This can’t be it. This has to be a joke. Ok Georgian Candid Camera you can come out now and show me my brand new shinny toilet!” They never came. I guess now would be a good time to mention that its not so much that its a hole in the ground as, its not an actual “western” toilet. I’m not the girl who ever learned to “pop a squat”. I’m not a huge camping fan so I never really need to learn how. The sheer mechanics of not getting my jeans soaked seemed to baffle me and the holding it game began. The first night in my new home I held it. I went to school the fallowing day and all the volunteers had been warned about the school bathrooms, but I hoped that the teachers had a gleaming special teacher one. I was wrong. That afternoon I was shown to, two outdoor squat toilets. God Damn It! I thought. After school I was taken with my principal and two co-teachers to the regional resource center for TLG. Once I got there I promptly asked if they had a bathroom. I was shown down the hallway and when I saw they were western toilets, I kid you not, I did a happy dance and tried to keep in a shriek of glee. During my first few days I was having a slight melt down. I tried to eat and drink as little as possible so I wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom. When my mother called from America I started crying telling her that I didn’t know what to do. Trust me I am 99% sure there is no western toilet in my village. There is no McDonlds or gas station to go to. My mother swung into full Mama Otter mode and naturally called and e-mailed someone to get this all fixed. It was decided that I would switch families after I got back from spending most of my winter break in Ukraine, in the mean time I had about a week and a half to hold on. (Turn that into a poop joke if you want.) After a few days of me freaking out I reasoned that I just needed to put on my big girl pants and learn how to go to the bathroom. After all it most likely would be one of those skills I would learn and never regret knowing it. Well putting my big girl pants on turned out to be more of me taking my skinny jeans off and putting a dress and my Bean boots on. I am sorry to say, but I just don’t understand how to go pee with pants on. I understand the mechanics, but over all I just don’t want to chance it as I don’t get to wash my clothes that often, so dress it is. It also makes sense why so many women wear dresses and skirts here. You all are so smart. Bean boots are a natural choice for any urine covered surface. I am sure my host family finds it amusing when I run down from my room it my bathroom outfit, bare legged in the middle of December. Also to add to there amusement, I’m sure of it, I had a nasty fall a week or so ago that resulted in both my knees being bruised and one got scuffed up pretty badly and the cold makes the marks stand out even more so my legs look awesome. Over all it really isn’t that bad of a situation, now that I have gotten use to it, but then again I can just think of all the horrible things that could happen if this stayed my toilet. The most amusing one that keeps me laughing is the thought of me trying to use it completely wasted in stilettos. First off my host mother doesn’t approve of me drinking. Second there is no place to really drink in my village, no local bar. I could drink in the street I guess. Third there is no one to drink with, I did however see one of my students drinking a beer one day after school. I just kept walking. Fourth I don’t drink. I could just imagine me trying to place my feet in my heels on those stupid blocks and falling with my face landing perfectly in the hole and being so drunk I just kind of lay there laughing in the middle of the night because I knew this would happen, covered in other people’s excrement. What a shitty mess that would be. (Come on it would be kind of funny, if it wasn’t me.) There was also the point brought up that I am perfectly healthy right now, but what would I do if I got sick and had some intestinal issues. That would blow chunks. Part Two. When I left my village in late December and arrived at my hostel in Tbilisi actually used a western toilet, I kind of thought “hmm is this sanitary? I mean who else has sat here?” It took me a couple of days to readjust to my life of western comforts, but I did it. A week ago I was out walking through farm land and I came across a house that was being built and there was a straight up out house for the workers I assume. I had been out shooting all morning and I had, had a cup of coffee on my bus ride to the countryside, so I opened it and peered in and well you can see how it looks from the picture. You better believe that I used that bad boy. When I met my friend at a market a little bit after, he gave me a look that seemed to say “I knew that you were different, but this toilet business is starting to get out of control.” I’ve become a toilet connoisseur in the past month and a half really.

A few nights ago I went to a bar in Lviv and they had a squat toilet, which took me completely by surprise as this was a new bar, and any other one I had ever been into in Lviv had normal western toilets. (Trust me I have been to almost all of them here, even the Harry Potter one.) I looked down at my winter boots that went up to my knees and skinny jeans and knew I had no other option. I didn’t have my bathroom cloths with me and I really, really had to go. It was probably a good thing that I was slightly drunk, because I just went on auto pilot and went for it. I am so proud to say that I did it perfectly, especially after hearing how a Canadian girl in my group, just sat down on the Turkish toilet because she couldn’t figure it out. I felt like I could do anything after that. I feel like I am a master of bathrooms now, however I do not want to test my skills anytime soon when I’m ill.

No, No, Not The State, The Country!

I’m going to admit right now I am living a truly awesome life, in every sense. I’ve been given the huge honor and privilege to work with the program Teach and Learn with Georgia. I will be in the country of Georgia teaching english in a village for the next year. I arrived on December 5th and spent a week in orientation getting to know some of my fellow volunteers and then we were picked up by our host families and scattered through out the country. I was sent to a small village about a two hour bus ride from the capital. I had no idea what to expect, except I was told I would be living with a family with a mother, father, two children and a grandmother in a two story house with an outdoor bathroom an toilet, what ever that meant. The family was warm and welcoming, watching out for me, without being over bering. The house by American standards was not up to par, minor things really, like no microwave. (How am I suppose to cook my tv dinners? Oh wait I get cooked real food here.) However coming into this I knew what to expect and the only thing that really threw me was the fact that my toilet a dirt covered stone slab, with a hole cut into with two stone blocks a little bigger then bricks that were strategically placed around said hole. Ahhh yes a squat toilet ladies and gentlemen. I would also like to say that I have very proudly mastered using it, kind of, but that is a story for another day. Houses in Georgia tend to not look the best from the outside, maybe they need a paint job or some broken siding or what not, but the inside is always well taken care of. (I will come back a domestic goddess) My house had chickens in the yard that were free to roam around, and a big fluffy dog that was always chained up and would bark when ever anyone comes or goes. There was also a decent sized garden with a few remnants of the past growing season.

The village its self was a good sized place with no less then six shops carrying mostly basic foods and goods. The few main roads were paved, but in disrepair and always covered with cow, horse, and donkey manure. The other roads were dirt and often had big pools of muddy water or the ones that went down hills, little streams had been carved out of them.

The village has two schools and I worked in number two, which was in major need of restoration. There is no central heating and all of the classrooms have wood stoves. Most of the teachers and students keep there coats on all day, however the classrooms for the younger children always seemed to have a roaring fire going, which was so hot I was afraid a few times that my boots were going to melt when I sat close to it. I also have a sneaking suspicion that the students in the older grades are too cool to be cold, there for don’t make much effort to keep the fire going. The students are in charge of the classroom fires and some of these kids have mad skills. I bet some of these seven year old boys could beat any of you in a competition of fire building. The school had three floors and the third one was mostly abandoned, except for a computer lab and the head teachers office. That left about eight or so classrooms with there doors nailed shut. I of course tried opening everyone and an old science room at the end of the hallway opened, probably because the rest had nothing in them and I snuck in to look around and take pictures. I don’t really know what happened at my school so it was like that, but with my passion for sneaking into rundown and abandoned places I was more then ok with it.

My village is about 10 or 11km to the next town, so it takes me about an hour and a half to walk, not stopping to explore somewhere and take some pictures. Now living in Georgia with no internet access at my house and a relatively short work day of between three and four hours, leaves me with a lot of time with not a whole lot to do, so this walk in America that may seem pointless and tedious is a godsend. On the walk it leads through flat farm land and pastures, that are filled with animals and there good natured herders that always seemed more then happy to see me. Most of the time they asked if I was a journalist because of my camera, (yes I am here to cover the daily herding of your cows back to the barn for the night. How did you know?) or they knew that I was the new english teacher. Everyone in the village knew exactly who I was and what I was doing at all times. It sounds a little creepy, but I cant get kidnapped with the whole town watching now can I? Also anytime on my walk cars would pull over multiple times and try to convince me that I didn’t have to walk, I could ride in a nice automobile with them to town instead. Not the point of a walk, but these people don’t really understand exercise just because. It was ok because I would just gesture to my camera and explain that I was out taking photos and they were more then happy to let the crazy American go on her way.

Eventually on walk I come to a river that signals I am on the outskirts of the next town over. The river this time of year is mostly dried up and has a bed of mixed stones. I walked in it one day for a little bit and was just struck by the beauty of it all. A dirt road runs the length of the river and dead grassy plains stretch on and on, up into pine tree covered hills that give way to snow covered mountains.

It was so peaceful walking until I couldn’t hear any man made sounds and finding a rock to sit and just enjoy everything. Sitting there I realized how relived I was by my situation. For a year I don’t have to be consumed with all the things I loath, like mass consumerism and keeping up the Jones’s. No Entertainment Tonight telling me the latest Kardashian news. I don’t have to worry about my appearance as much as I would in America. I can wear the same cloths three days in a row and no one will care. The time spent putting on make up in the morning is gone, except for lip balm and maybe some mascara. My students and fellow villagers won’t think twice if I show up to school like this. Also I don’t need it as much for reasons of things like circles under my eyes, because I get 10 glorious hours of sleep a night. Showering once every four days great. It’s cold so you never really smell and my hair looks so much better a few days after my shower. It gets a little darker so its this nice deep reddish orange and so shiny. I think my hair truly feels healthier or I’m just telling myself this. Not having the internet at my finger tips 24/7 is actually quite relieving. My family in Maine has my Georgian phone number so if they really need to get a hold of me they can call. I feel a lot calmer already and I am really looking forward to the next year. I’m in a beautiful country with beautiful people with my camera and chaining the world and I couldn’t be happier about my decision to come. Random village photos I wanted to share:

18 Hour Lay Over In London On The Way Home From Ukraine

When you have traveled, seen and experienced as much as I have, sometimes its easy to become jaded, especially when in a place like London. Last night I flew in to Heathrow for my eighteen hour layover. I stood in line waiting to go through customs, experiencing slight culture shock as a flight from Africa had appeared to have gotten in right before mine from Helsinki. I stared a little bit, but the native dress that some of the passengers had on was intriguing, as I work in a clothing store so I am always looking to see what people have on. I also was trying to play my guess what country they are from game, failing horribly as I could only tell what continent they were from. I know some of them were staring back at me, probably wondering where the hell I was from, with half my hair shaved off and a shirt that’s mostly in Ukrainian, except for “Wiz-Art”. Basically I look like a hipster rockstar, which made me slightly worry about going through passport control and think that I had drugs on me or something. It was my turn to go through and I got a white late 20 something guy as my inspector. He asked how long I was going to be in the country and I told him one day. He asked where I was coming from. Ukraine. He asked what the purpose of my trip to Ukraine had been, at this point I had been traveling for almost 24 hours, a 15 hour train ride from Lviv to Kiev, a plane ride from Kiev to Helsinki and now London. That morning on the train I had, had about six shots of vodka for breakfast and I am going to blame it on that, but I just said “I went there for a guy.” I know I shouldn’t have, as I am suppose to be serious and mature when going through customs, but I just had to. He started laughing and asked me smiling, if it had been worth it. I said yes, blushing. Now some of you may be wondering who this guy was, well you can guess, but I will nether confirm or deny any guesses.
My passport was stamped right after that and moved along to baggage carousel, I looked for a few moments, not spotting my pink and white poke-a-dot bag and went to ask if it had just been checked through to Boston. It had. Just my luck. The clothes I was wearing, I had, had on since Thursday and it was now Monday (yes I know that’s kind of nasty, but they didn’t really smell, until now.) All of my toiletries were in my checked suitcase too. I though to myself oh well, its not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. I am sure I could have gotten my bag if I had started crying or something, but I didn’t really feel like dragging it around London.
I fallowed the singes to the underground, located Gloucester Road Station, on the Piccadilly line, and got on the nice modern train, compared to Lviv’s trams. I choose to stand with my camera in my hand, and my classy L.L. Bean signature collection backpack on, looking like a photographer rockstar. I am sure that’s what the people in my car thought, if they didn’t then clearly they aren’t in the know of awesomeness when they see it. I took a few shots when the doors would open if there was something that interested me. The late afternoon was dreary with rain falling lightly and typically depressing.
When I got off at my tube stop, I clomped in my red cowboy-boots, through a strong mist, in the direction towards what I hoped was my hostel. I had a feeling that I was going to wrong way, so I stopped to ask a few passerby's, but one issue with London is that it is such a tourist destination that most likely when you stop someone, they are not going to be from there, which was the case this day. I ended up stopping this short petite lady in her late 50’s, with a red umbrella that looked too big for her, even though I thought she might be put off with the way I look. She didn’t live in London, but she knew where Queen’s Court was and fallowed me until I found it.
I checked into my hostel that for some reason was full of loud French and Italian speaking twelve year-olds. I was tempted to turn around and head back to Heathrow and tough it out in one of the terminals until my plane took off at a little passed noon the next day if it meant I would have to hear them play tag all night.
I got my key and took the lift up to the 6th floor and found my room. It was a nice four bed dorm with a sink in it. I tried to charge in my laptop, only to find out that England has different plugs then the rest of Europe. Bravo England, really lets have a slow clap for how much seance this makes. So I went back down to the lobby to get an adapter and also ask where the closest Gap was, so I could hopefully get a new shirt and maybe even a pair of jeans. The girl laughed at me and said they were closed, it was a bank holiday. Bank holiday? Really!? At this point between the luggage, plugs, and now everything being closed I thought it was one horrible joke. I had planned on getting some sight seeing in, but I had, had enough and decided that just getting dinner would be ok. It was too cold to wonder around without a jacket on anyways. I walked a little down the street looking at places to eat and I found a Middle Eastern dinner type place, that also served fast-food type food. I ordered fishcakes with chips, oddly enough it came with a side of beans. I normally never eat fish, but I knew that it would be horribly processed, barley tasting like the real thing and I was in London, so I just had to have fish and chips because its what any good tourist would do. The food was edible, but I seriously hope the Middle Eastern cuisine was loads better, it looked it at least. When I went up to pay the guy at the counter started smiling and laughing a little and went “Ok I’m sorry but I have to ask why your shirt is covered with lipstick kisses.” I then started laughing too and told him that I had a wild drunk night a few nights back and gave him a sweet mischievous smile, thanked him and walked out the door. The funny thing is that those kisses aren’t from a girl, but a guy who stole my lipstick when I was putting it on the other night and started putting it on himself and then we ended leaving lipstick kisses everywhere. There were even some left on a friends bathroom mirror, I don’t think he’s found them yet.

After I left the dinner I went to a Tesco Express. I was so excited to be back in one, as I had fallen in love with the grocery store when I was in Prague two years ago. I have an odd obsession with grocery stores in general, maybe its because my dad works for one and I grew up getting dragged into them when a new one was built or hearing about new products and lines that were coming out. When I travel its one of the first places I go when I get to a new town. Most of the time I don’t buy that much, but I like to see what they have. On this excursion I bought a two liter bottle of water and headed for the chocolate, walking passed the Krispy Kreams that I slightly lusted for. I ended up with two Aero chocolate bars, one was milk and the other was mint, and to my delight the mint one was bright green inside. I also opted for a bag of Cadbury Chocolate Buttons. I normally would not have chosen something so normal, but I had seen them on an episode of a TV show that was about the postal service in New Zealand and someone had sent a package of them with ecstasy hidden inside of them. I knew there wouldn’t be any drugs in mine, but I still went with them.
I went back to my hostel and settled in for the night with my chocolate and started photo editing. This might stress some people out, but normally it calms me and puts me in a better mood, which I needed with the balmy weather. I decided to go to bed around midnight and set my alarm for 7am.
The next morning I woke up around 5:30 to a shining sun. I decided to get up, not fully aware of what time it really was and take a shower, even though I was just putting my dirty clothes back on. A guy in my room let me use his shampoo, and I found some body wash. I was excited to see that the bathroom had a towel heater in it and I put my clothes on there too, mostly so they wouldn’t be balled up on the cold floor. I took my shower and when I was putting my cloths back on I bent down to pick something up that had fallen and my upper arm on brushed the heater, burning myself. I swore out loud and looked to see that it probably wasn't going to be that bad of a burn. I moved into the main part of the bathroom to use the hair dryer and opened the window wide so I could the soft rising morning sun the roofs of the houses surrounding me. I went back to my room, gathered my camera and then got the lift down to the lobby. On my way to the tube I passed a Parisian bakery where the smell of fresh bread came wafting out. I stopped and looked at the window in at the baguettes, pastries filled with jam and chocolate and empty spaces that would be soon filled and then emptied again by hungry early morning Londoners.
I made my way to the ticket machine and tried to figure out which ticket option would best suit my excursion of the day. Given that I had limited time and did not have a map of London I got a pass that would let me ride unlimited all day. I decided to first go to see Westminster as it was the closest. When I got off at the stop I had to walk down a long tile hallway that took a turn and sunlight replaced artificial light. I could see the London Eye on the left side of the tunnel and I just started running. The river shown in the morning sun and I turned around and there was Big Ben. I don’t know what over took me but I started gasping, and teared up, and my hands started doing that waving flapping things that women do when they are having a strong emotional response to something. I have never really had a strong yearning to go to London so my reaction was quite unexpected, but highly enjoyable at the same time because I know I will never forget it. I started taking pictures trying to capture the essence of being there to share with other people, mostly my close family back home as I am the one who keeps pushing them to travel more. It can get lonely on the road at times and I want to share moments with people I care about. Please take note that, that was not an open invitation to travel with me. I am still highly selective and probably always will be.
I started walking on a bridge that went from the Big Ben side of the river over to the London Eye, sometimes I walked facing forward and then I would turn around and walk backwards and snap a picture. Since it was only around 6:30am the only other people on the bridge with me were joggers and runners, who probably thought that I was coming back from a night of clubbing. I walked to the bridge that was in one of the Harry Potter movies, for those of you who don’t know I am obsessed with Harry Potter. While walking on it I thought I felt it sway a little bit and was worried about the Death Eaters coming and blowing it up with me on it. Thank goodness that didn’t happen and I disappeared once again into the depths of the Tube.








Buckingham Palace was next on the list. Walking from the station the street was lined with shops selling everything William and Kate’s smiling faces could be plastered on. I walked passes signs telling me that “Trespassing is a criminal offense”. Sadly since it was stated in English I couldn’t take a stroll on the palace grounds in hopes of spotting Harry and when upon getting caught, play the stupid American game that I can pull off in Ukraine. When I reached the front of the palace it didn’t over whelm me or fill me with any kind of emotional response. It just looked like a really huge European government building with a gate around it. It also was early in the day so the guards that stand in front were not there and I think that was also a bit of a let down, but on the bright side there were not that many tourists to get in the way when I was photographing.

I knew that time was running short so I started heading down The Mall, which runs through a park, ending up in Trafalgar Square. I decided that I was going to head to King’s Cross Station to find Platform 9 and 3/4.
Yes I am a Harry Potter fanatic. The whole tub ride there I kept checking my watching, knowing that I had very little time to get back to the hostel to check out on time and make it to the airport. As soon as I got to King’s Cross I rushed to platform 9, only to find out that they were doing construction on it, meaning my picture was a no-go. (Rumor has it that there was a place in the station where a trolly is half stuck in a wall and has a sign that says “Platform 9 and 3/4”, I however only found this out after my trip.)
With no time to feel defeated I ran back and hopped on the tube, back to my hostel. I stood impatiently in my grungy clothes, listening to Lady Sovereign on my ipod, praying that I would have enough time to get to the airport when I noticed a guy looking at me. He looked like he was in his early 30’s, black with dreads and in a proper suit, not some cheep one that you sale at JCPenny’s because you have to go to court for your baby daddy hearing, but a nice one that you went to Saks and dropped $500 or more on. He was eyeing me all up and down and I just looked away and smiled to myself. I thought I looked horrible that day, without makeup, hair not done and close to a week in the same clothes, apparently not to this guy and I was going to take that as an epic win for the day. He shortly got off a few stops later and I was left to dwell about what could have been, had I lived in London. It probably would have included me singing Britney Spears “Womanizer” or something along those lines.
I got off at my stop and went back to the hostel to return my stupid plug adapter and check out of my hostel. I went back to the bakery that I had passed a few hours earlier at the start of my early morning romp. The place was now packed and a long line almost to the door had formed, which suited me just fine as I pulled all of my coins, up to count how much money I had to spend. I looked over all of the pastries and settled one that had apricots on top of it. I can’t say that I am a huge apricot fan, its not from dis-liking them, but more never really being exposed to them. In the States its all about apples and in Maine blueberries. I honestly have no issue with this as when done properly apple pie and blueberry muffins are delicious. I also got a poppy baguette and one of those little pasties with chocolate inside. After I left with my over indulgent goodies, I went to Tesco and bought a liter of orange juice to drink on my forty minuet tube ride back to the airport, where I made it to my plane with plenty of time to spare.

Simply Happy Again

Another trip to Lviv, more changes to my life. I know some people may think that if everything on this journey doesn't go according to plan, then it has all been a waste. That is not the case at all. I feel that at times I have a unique out look on my life that may make people call me naive or stupid. At times I have put my heart out in the open, this trip is not an exception to that, then again I tend to put my heart into everything I do. A lot of people question why I would take such risks only to end up in tears some of the times. Without this sorrow how could one know what happiness truly is? You would never have anything to base things off. Being an American I feel that we tend to only look at the big things in life and forget the little things. We hate to be alone and out of comfort zones.
My favorite day back in Lviv so far was when I took a Marshook bus (84a) to the end of the line, something I also did this winter. It took me to the edge of a forest and a small village. I started to walk on one of the paths in the woods, and as I wandered I removed my head phones from my ears. Sounds from civilization drifted away the further I walked into the freshly budded maze of trees. The chirping of birds and the soft beating of my sandals on the ground below filled my ears. I walked in a half circle, by the time I had looped around to the village I had taken off my long sleeve shirt and walked onwards in a tank top, something I would never do in America for fear of what people would say about my imperfect arms. The soft moist earth of the forest, turned dry and sandy in the exposed lane the twisted through the houses. Hens and pot belly pigs scurried in front of my path. The smell of cow manure filled my nasal passages and I breathed in deeply, not being able to recall the last time I had smelled such an organic, natural smell. The houses grew further and further apart, small gardens turned into fields that horses and cows grazed in. As I continued on my walk I bent down to take off my shoes, collected them in my hand and swung them gently as I walked through green grass, underneath bright blue sky that was determined to change my ginger hair to strawberry blond and my skin red. After two hours or so of walking I laid down in the think grass of a meadow, only to be covered quickly by ants, getting up I shook them off and any regrets I had about choosing that particular spot. Those little insects, urged me to carry on, with my walk in perhaps a place that I could not have better thought up. I turned around on the lane and walked back from where I had come. I stopped and plucked a dandelion and stood and blew the seeds into the wind, like I did when I was little. Euphoria bloomed from deep inside of me and radiated from my toes that squirmed in the sandy dirt, to my face that was raised to the sun and soaking in its warmth. A gentle breeze was the only thing to disturb me and remind me that I had to get back to the confines of the city before dusk. I sat down when the houses started to grow in numbers again and put my shoes back on my aching feet. Oh the bus ride home, thoughts of my dirt stained feet and sun burnt shoulders escaped me, as I sat with my head pressed against the side of the window and dozed in a sun drunk slumber smiling to myself about my day.
The small, simple experiences I have on my travels and the attitude I put forth are the things that make the journey what it is. Taking the time to be alone and listen, uninterrupted, to what the world is saying can make the all difference in life and should be done in copious amounts, especially when one is at there lowest, because that is when it could make the biggest difference and have the greatest affect.