How to Stay Afloat

Can you feel it? The sinking of the Earth beneath your feet? The slow and steady slurping of the sea, the gulping of the waves? I can feel the rumbling earth beneath my worn soles: I can feel the water swallowing us whole. Can you feel it?

The vendors line the alleys side by side and sell their beautiful trinkets. Sequin masks beautifully painted along with little stamped and printed copies of artwork that was once real. And there, stands a beggar, next to the hand painted crafts. Hunched over in the stifling heat to steady herself, she rocks.

The gondola man beckons, his song so sweet. They’ll dig further into their pockets, a wealthy price for a slice of Italian life.

So long as the gondola glides, the beggars will beg. With the weight of this world a much too large burden to mask the green eyed sea, the world will continue to crumble, and be swallowed by the sea. Tell me, can you feel it? 

Serenissima: Venice; the Most Serene

Stepping off the train onto the platform, I struggled with my luggage. A woman sitting on a bench across from me choked down the last few puffs of her cigarette before flicking the butt away and I cringed at her broken smile. The air around me was thick and my t-shirt clung to my back with sticky sweat. After swinging my pack over my aching shoulders, I followed the herding crowd to the double doors that opened to the streets. On the other side I squinted against the sun's bright light and blinked again and again until I'd adjusted to the world around me. What I saw was no Western city, no buses, no sky scrappers. Instead the bustling streets that I had grown accustomed to were replaced by winding waterways, lengthy canals, and a steady thrumming from the engines of the boats that cruised down the waterways.

Stepping onto the Number 1 boat I took in the city that surrounded me. Merely floating on the tepid waves, the entire city crammed together in an enchanting collage of color. Peach washed apartment building walls lined the canal with their hanging flower baskets over flowing with spiraling vines and violet buds. My eyes drank in the warmth from the setting sun with a satisfying gulp and I couldn't help but sigh with regret as the city darkened, the last image, the silhouette the Rialto Bridge.

The water sloshed onto the dock with my leaving the ferry and I could feel the night's chill sweep in off the canal. After dropping my bag at the hostel, I took to the streets that had just begun to wake. Music buzzed along the alleyways and I could feel its rhythm tickling my skin. I turned left, then right, then left again, until the sweetest smell enveloped me in a drunken haze and it was then that I surrendered to a white and red checkered table cloth and a place setting for one. I sat down and watched the gondolas float lazily down an open passage, and watched as lovers skipped over chipped and worn cobblestone. When the waiter approached me I panicked, not having properly studied the menu, I was lost. I turned my instincts, closed my eyes, and pointed to the first thing I saw. He beckoned me to view the wine list and I shook my head, not ready to drink alone.

Instead I watched this ancient city glide gracefully through the night as if a painting moving in its frame. I could feel the electric energy of the people through every nerve ending in my body and couldn't help but float on this high.

When my order reached me I gawked at the tabletop size of the steaming pizza I had ordered. With greedy eyes I pulled apart a piece of the soft dough and bit into the melting cheese. The basil pampered my taste buds as the fresh mozzarella rolled down my throat. Soon after my love affair had begun the waiter approached me. With a mouthful of everything good in this world, I managed to string together a few incomprehensible words, "How's about that wine?"

A Finnish Fairytale

Finnish people are one tough breed. They've a messy history of fighting off the greedy hands of their neighbors, Sweden and Russia, battling famine, and ultimately keeping their own identity and culture in check. During Swedish occupancy in the 12th century, the Finnish language was spoken only by commoners and the country's native tongue began to quickly diminish. It wasn't long after that the Russian Empire extended its borders and made Finland a Grand Duchy. Along with a strong Russian influence came the famine and nearly 15% of the population was lost. But after load and load of crap was dumped on these people, they still managed to wade through the mess and in 1919 the country elected its very first president.

But it's not just the country's violent past that's left a lasting mark on these people of the North. Their language, quite possibly one of the most difficult in the world to learn, doesn't sympathize with history. Sounding like a combination of Japanese and Spanish but relating closest to Hungarian, true Finnish speakers have got it tough when it comes to learning their ABC's. It's no surprise that the Finnish would be the ones to master such a complex language. The country's educational system kicks the rest of Europe's ass ten fold.

But like every story there are two sides. When first arriving in Helsinki I thought I had hopped on the wrong plane and was returning to Prague. The locals didn't like being asked for directions or help or anything really, never mind being asked to lend out their cell phone in a time of dire need. It wasn't until after having spent a few days in a Finnish house hold that I realized the intimacy and importance that these people place on relationships. While Canadians are off chatting up the entire universe and forgetting every new acquaintance's name, the Finnish go on with their lives and don't pretend like every stranger on a train could potentially be their new best friend. They're calm and collected, stern but precise, and to the outside world they just might seem a little more reserved and chilly than your average Joe.

"The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction."

There is however an unexposed softness that the country possesses and just as it should, it comes in the form of romance. Just a short train ride away from Helsinki is the country's third largest city, Tampere. Here, like many other European cities you'll find the ever so popular Love Padlocks. On the Tammerkoski Rapids overpass and the Rönö bridge there hangs padlock after padlock secured to the bridges' rails by young budding couples who lock away their love and throw away the key. A little cliche, I know, but no matter where you're from or where you go, you'll always come head on with the likes of a hopeless romantic, and let me tell you, from one cynic to another, the world could use a little more love.

Swedish Meatballs

I look up, long bay windows stretch the length of the first floor and intricate metal works frame each pane. I let my eyes drink in the soft burnt orange that swathes every corner and can't help but fix my stare on the steeple that towers over me. The Stockholm Cathedral is but one of the many architectural feats that I've witnessed so far in Stockholm. Frying schnitzel, homemade donuts, and freshly made stroopvaffel swirl together and float past me as I lower my eyes to the street I've been walking along for the past couple of hours. Broken cobblestone paths weave between rows of brightly painted buildings that lead to Stortoget, the city's hub for the multi-cultural market.

We head left down to the harbor, walking along the bay in non-hurried steps and listen to the slapping waves. A couple holding hands smiles as they walk past us and I let my ears follow them as a wave of Swedish rolls from their tongues. There's something about this city that embraces outsiders with its charming nature and friendly locals.

After an exhausting day of wandering the streets of Stockholm, Henrique and I start heading back to his flat. On the way we both become distracted by a shop across the road. Abandoning our in depth conversation, we give each other knowing looks and follow our noses to the root of our diversion. We take our seats on two patio chairs outside the shop and motion for the waiter. Ten minutes later we're greeted by two plates pilled high with creamy mashed potatoes and steaming Swedish meatballs slathered in cranberry sauce. Sometimes things just can't get any better.

My Brazilian Amigo: Couchsurfing Gone Right

Because Sweden is so well recognized within the international community thanks to H&M and Ikea, it only felt natural to add it to my list. Arriving well into a Saturday night, the streets were buzzing with energy and the entire city seemed to spot an intoxicated haze. Weaving between out of control taxis and staggering drunks, I found a nook along the outside wall of the rail station and waited patiently for my couchsurfing host.

Henrique, a Brazilian born optimist and Swedish loving meatball eater, was exactly what my Sverge experience needed. His kind demeanor was decipherable through his hazelnut eyes from the moment I saw him and his ear to ear grin reminded me of a benevolence I'd long since forgotten. Spending time with Henrique was so natural and soon after introductions we were talking like two old friends. His quirky sense of humor often left me in knots and occasionally a little dumbfounded. We talked openly about our pasts, our presents, and our hopes for the future. But what I liked most about Henrique was how he described the world through his own eyes. He broke down everyday literal interactions and found a hidden and deeper meaning. He was non judge-mental and seemed to have a cool and collected way of making sense of our crazy world.

I believe that people are in your life for a reason, a season, or a life-time. It might be years before we cross paths again, but I know that when we do, we'll pick up right where we left off, never having missed a beat.

Vestmannaeyjar: The Westman Islands

On Thursday I decided that I had had enough of mainland Iceland. I was enjoying the country and small trips outside Reykjavik, but something deep down was egging me to go one step further. So I did a little research and came to the conclusion that the Westman Islands would be just as good a place to visit as any. As I began booking my 2 day excursion to the secluded island, I ran into a bit of a problem (and when I say a bit of a problem I mean a brick wall). There were two ferry ports that transported people from the mainland to the island and the ports were two hours apart from each other. That was all fine and dandy until I realized their schedules were based solely on the weather and that only one port operated at a time. This meant that at any moment the departure town could change along with the scheduled time. I found it difficult to wrap my head around this concept and continued to question whether or not this trip would be worth it.

When the time finally came for me to get that show on the road, I was shuffled awkwardly from bus to bus by various drivers, whom none of which actually knew which port to go to. Assuming they knew what was what, I boarded the first bus, took my seat, and hoped like hell I was going to the right place. When the bus rolled to a stop in front of a congested ferry terminal, I was able to rest easy knowing I had made it.

Heimaey, the largest of the Westmand Islands, was one of my favorite places in Iceland. I spent two days strolling along the cliff edges and listening to the water splash against the shore. The air was so fresh and cool that I felt more awake wandering through pastures and spotting puffins than I had in ages. Determined to hike one of the island's volcanoes, I challenged Eldfell. Half an hour into the trek and half way up the side of the volcano, I began slowly sliding downwards. The volcanic rock beneath my feet was so fragile that it kept chipping into tiny flakes and would shift with every step. I struggled at first, scared of losing my footing and tumbling down into the canyon, and then shifted gears and made a mad dash for the top. With the wind whipping my hair around in a mad frenzy and the sun's last rays seeping through my flannel shirt, I ignored the groans from my calves and pushed my body forwards. Once having crested the summit, I was able to take in the tiny community below, the ferry port to the West, and all of the tiny islands that bobbed along the coast with a breath of achievement. But there was something strange about being on top of this volcano that I couldn't put my finger on. It wasn't until I strained my ears that I was able to pin point what it was. Silence. It was just me, the sea, and a very steep hike back.

Second Star to the Right and Straight on Till Morning

Draft.

Eyjafjallajökull: A.K.A The Icelandic Volcano that Erupted

Living in a place like Iceland can have its setbacks. From ferry schedules based solely on weather forecasts to freak snow storms that hinder road transport, Icelandic people have seen it all. But in 2010 not only the residents of Iceland were affected by the eruption of one of the country’s most active volcanoes.

Located on the Southern tip of the island, Eyjafjallajökull, pronounced Eh-ya-fyat-la-yuh-cuttle, released a violent cloud of volcanic ash that hovered South East along the jet stream bringing air traffic to a halt for weeks; the greatest disturbance in air traffic since WW II. Nearly 500 local farmers and their families were evacuated from the site, and thousands of travels throughout Europe were left stranded.

Ever wonder how a volcano erupts and why?

A volcanic eruption is the change in volume and density of molten rock. Deep below the funnel of a volcano is a series of channels and layers of sediment. Depending on the rock and its proximity to higher temperatures, it will melt into magma. Magma, being less dense than the rock surrounding it, floats towards the surface and is encapsulated into little magma chambers. During this rise to the surface, components such as water, sulfur dioxide, and carbon dioxide expand into steam and when they are pressurized in these chambers, causing an eruption.

A new eruption can be caused by the buoyancy of the magma which deciphers how quickly the magma rises and pressure levels of the gases inside the magma.

Eyjafjallajökull was just an inside glance at how powerful our Earth really is. Because when it comes down to man vs nature, we all know who the undefeated champ really is.

Resouces:
www.vulcan.wr.usgs.gov
www.universetoday.com
www.earthmuseum.see.uwa.edu.au