Midsummer II - Fire, Fame, and...Uzbeks?

The following day, after a brief stroll through Trondheim, we were on our way to Lugnvik - our next host's town, just outside Östersund - for the Swedish installment of Midsummer. Sweden's, like, actually renowned for their celebrations. This is going to be a lot better than Norway's version, no doubt.

We soon found a ride straight to Lugnvik with a lovely woman and her daughter on their way to visit the Swedish side of their family for Midsummer weekend. After a short chat with them, and seeing our eyelids drooping, the mother just puts it out there that it's alright if we want to sleep - she will wake us when we get there. I was incredibly thankful for this because I was pretty knackered from the long haul of the previous day. At some point along this entire Nordic adventure, it became pretty easy to snooze in cars with strangers. I still remember how impossible it was for me initially.

Thanks to her daughter's iPhone, the woman drove us right to our host's place, and after thanking her profusely, we rushed to meet Benny and get started with the Midsummer festivities, woo! Benny was a fun host with a great sense of humour and a couple of guinea pigs. We found out from him that most people didn't really celebrate Midsummer too seriously, or else it was only a family event. But we still decided to go into town with him and another CouchSurfer staying there to see if anything was happening. I was looking forward to do some firepoi spinning too, since it had been so long, and perhaps there would be some money to be made on Midsummer. 

It was around 11pm when we got there, still crepuscular outside, and somewhat drizzly. Östersund was a ghost town. I had no end of François' mocking: "Let's go see Midsummer in Sweden, yeaaaaah!" But hey, if you can't find the party, make your own. Everyone was armed with an SLR as I performed for my limited audience at the city's bus station. Benny even recorded a short clip in which the desolateness is plainly visible.

It would be unfair however to say that there were absolutely no people and no celebrations though. There were a few happily inebriated young fellows passing by, cheering and taking photos. At some point I yelled back at them: "Give me money!". Then they came closer and we took photos together. Thusly went Swedish Midsummer. Fun was had once again.

Upon our return to Benny's place, his brothers had showed up, and as Benny was chatting with them in Swedish and pointing excitingly at the camera and at myself, the brothers suddenly turned towards me and stared disbelievingly. Luckily the social awkwardness was cleared up pretty soon; apparently 'poi' sounds a lot like 'porn' to Swedish ears...

***

A portion of the following day also deserves special mention though. Benny took us to see one of Sweden's largest waterfalls, and we also visited a chocolate factory where copious amounts of free samples were doled out. Then, after stocking up on some crushed reindeer in a tube, we said our goodbyes to Benny and he dropped us near the road we had to take to continue our journey. 

It seemed like the worst location to get a ride, so I set about making crushed reindeer sandwiches when a car stopped, and some bewildered passengers began gesturing to us half hesitantly, half insistingly. I was taken aback at first and was not sure what they were trying to communicate, as we had no common language. I finally managed to gather that they were headed in the same direction as us but only up to a town about half-way from where we had to be (thankfully I had a pretty good memory for some of the names of places in the areas we passed by!).

As we agreed to go with them, the driver, a sixty-something plain-looking man, stepped out of the car to move some items from the crowded back seat into the even more crowded trunk in order to make room for us. His wife, a jovial and plump woman wearing a headscarf, shortly followed suit to make sure he would not crush the cases of eggs. The couple had been in the area to buy some food because it was apparently cheaper. I suddenly had flashbacks of rural Eastern Europe.

We then all squeezed into the tiny space with our large bags and set about awkwardly acquainting ourselves. It turned out they were from Uzbekistan! They spoke Uzbek, Russian, and some Swedish, and the husband could speak a few words of English. The wife generously offered us little croissants and chocolates, along with some tea (she was holding a huge insulated teapot and some cups on her lap, among other things). We were incredibly grateful for their kindness, and I was glad to at least be able to thank her in a language she would understand. She smiled so deeply and nodded every time I said "Spasiba".

The husband tried to make conversation with us, and I kept turning to François to decipher what they were saying. Despite the fact that François' English and Russian are less conversational than mine, he was the one who understood most of it! He had a practised flair for interpreting what people intended to say in foreign languages, whereas I was analytically hanging on to each of the words' literal meaning. I think we were talking about how the summer had been rainy in Scandinavia so far. And we told them where we were from and where we were going. Eventually the guessing and interpreting became somewhat draining for everyone so we just enjoyed the scenery quietly.

As we were munching on the pastries, the husband cranked up the traditional Uzbek music to really set the mood. It was unreal. During that entire ride, I had completely forgotten we were in Sweden.

When we arrived at their hometown, the husband took François aside, looked him in the eye, and told him that he would go out of his way and drive us to our destination if we paid the gas. We declined. He then asked us if we needed a place to spend the night. They gave us their phone number and told us to call them if we needed anything, and that we could stay the night in case we didn't find a ride onwards. This was all translated to me from Uzbek-Swedish-English to French by François, by the way. I was just speechless. After many smiles and waves and "Spasiba", they were on their way and we were on ours. 

We ended up being lucky and getting a ride out of that small town, but I still have the little piece of paper with their phone number in my notebook.

Midsummer I - Vikings & Trolls

This lovely Scandinavian holiday was another of the main reasons for this trip, so I was pretty psyched to spend Norwegian midsummer in Trondheim on June 23rd, followed by a little side-trip to Sweden, where midsummer was celebrated on the 24th. Another of those expectation versus reality stories ensued. To be expected: huge bonfires, drinking, partying, eating fish, dancing 'round maypoles....but here's what actually happened.

The journey to Trondheim was one of the smoothest of the entire trip. It was also tied as one of two longest distances covered in one day of hitchhiking: 538 km (the other being Riga to Białystok - also around 530 km). We left early and the day started off well. After asking which way to the highway, François got offered 100 Norwegian krone by a guy in Oslo, who insisted we take the train. Soon enough, we found a ride with a lovely couple on their way to a funeral in Ålesund (second lift with people headed to or coming from a funeral...). They were incredibly kind and shared their lunch sandwiches with us as we discussed the floods that had recently occurred around Lillehammer. Some of the roads were still blocked and the damage to some properties was very visible. The woman was originally from the Faroe Islands, which was an interesting coincidence because François had gotten into the hilarious habit of asking everyone "Do you know how to get to Faroe Islands?". He had been looking for a way to possibly boat-hitchhike there from Norway, but turned out it was unfeasible. She also highly recommended Lofoten Islands and the southwestern coast of Norway. And after so many votes for Lofoten, it was now materializing as a concrete destination.

In Lillehammer, they dropped us at a gas station while they went to buy some groceries, with the generous agreement that they would drive us a bit further North (until the fork to Ålesund) if we still hadn't found a ride to Trondheim by the time they finished their shopping. However, despite still being quite some way from Trondheim (about 5 hours), it took all of 3 minutes to get a direct ride! While we were waiting around the gas station, a sizable Viking boat caught my eye. That's right. It was sitting on a trailer while the people from the two cars accompanying it were inspecting it, or chilling around. I thought it would be awesome to get a ride with the Viking boat if they were headed towards Trondheim. My hopes weren't too high, but I decided to go ask anyways.

O Viking Vessel! <3

A couple of minutes later we were settled in a mean-looking 4x4 with a view of the Viking boat being pulled by the first car. It turned out the convoy was headed to a BYOB (Bring Your Own Boat) Viking festival in Trondheim. Hurray!

While François and one of the younger boys snoozed for most of the ride, I absorbed Norwegian culture from Kristoffer, the driver. Troll legends, imported Canadian muskox, great trekking locations, music (Edvard Grieg; Bigbang; Electric Woodland)... The scenery became more and more breathtaking and reminded me of Western Canada. We stopped for a rainy lunch break and I took the opportunity to mingle with the local troll.

I also had a second go at attempting to fix my camera, prompted by encouragement from Kris, who was studying mechanical engineering in Trondheim. I gently nudged the mirror and it finally unjammed! Success! My pinky can do the job just as good as 500 krone. Like a boss.

Back on the road and soon arrived at destination. Following the 5-hour trip with Kris, it felt like we had known each other for much longer. I'm always thankful and amazed by how quickly bonds can form when hitchhiking; you seldom feel lonely or among strangers. There's a sort of unique trust and connection that inevitably permeates when you share a significant amount of time in a tiny space on wheels.

Kris promised to drop us off at our host's place once the boat was brought to the festival camp and the rest of the group had set up. The festival was basically a small group of people living out a weekend of Viking reenactment. We got to go in for free and have a quick look around during the preparations.

Real Vikings Recycle

The Festival Camp

We shortly headed off to find our host, Marco, but we only had an address and no idea about directions, and Kris was unfamiliar with the street name. But I happened to be half-consciously looking at the street signs, when one of them caught my attention. After checking in my notebook again, turns out that was indeed Marco's street -- stop the car! Trondheim is Norway's third largest city, so this very lucky coincidence saved us a lot of wandering about! I was however a bit sad to part ways with Kristoffer. The rest of the evening was enjoyed with Marco's company and some warm food - a lovely and quiet way to end a day of such good turnarounds.

 ***

I remember having a conversation with Kris at some point that went something like this:

"So, is this Viking festival part of the Midsummer celebrations then?"

"Midsummer? Hmm...no, not really."

"Oh... Well, is there anything going on in the city for Midsummer?"

"Not sure. I wouldn't count on it..."

So much for Norwegian Midsummer. Oh well, fun was had anyways.

Crushed Dreams

By now you must certainly be dying to know what became of those three beers we lugged around to use as currency for Norwegian goods and services. Well, I can tell you precisely what happened to each of them and why. So let's begin with that.

The first bottle disappeared around the time we headed out of Göteborg, in Southern Sweden, towards Oslo. The going was slow. We were finally dropped in a large shopping mall about a third of the way to Oslo, by a lady and her son coming from a funeral. They thought it would be a good spot (and so did we), but it turns out the mall sucked. We waited at one of the mall exits, then walked to a roundabout in the Oslo direction, but it was too dangerous, so we walked to another roundabout. Then we decided to go towards Uddevalla and try the traffic from that direction. Had a little hammock break.

Still no luck. Eventually, we returned back to the shopping mall and tried there again, but feeling pretty defeated. By that point, we had been in the area for hours, so we decided to have some eats, and...a beer, as recompense for our misfortune. Sigh. Discouragement made me do it. But I thought to myself: "Hey, we have two more that we can still trade for salmon!"

Fast forward some days, to Mosjøen; the "midpoint" of Norway. We had just returned to Norway following a brief detour by Sweden, and I was excited to start seeing fjords and snow-capped mountains. We were dropped at a busy gas station in Mosjøen, at around 5pm, with another gas station right across from it. So there was definitely no scarcity of cars and trucks stopping there. We asked as many people as we could, and the answers were always negative. Hours passed. This seemed like the perfect spot, why could nobody take us further North? We tried along the road too, to get the traffic that wasn't stopping at the gas stations. Still no luck. Eventually, it got late and we realised we would likely have to spend the night there. When we were just about ready to give up, we decided to have another beer. Hey, the going is tough. Might as well make it more pleasant.

 

The following day, it did not get any easier. After a rough night (despite there being no darkness, it was rather freezing in the tent), and some more hours of trying to find a ride, we decide to take the train. So we actually manage to get a ride to the train station! While waiting for the train, we had nothing to lose, so we attempt to get a ride on the road near the station. And this time somebody stops! Hurray! It's been almost 24 hours in this place, and it feels great to get out. We get dropped in Mo i Rana, another difficult spot. One driver even gives me the finger. Then one lady brings us a bit further outside of town, where we end up waiting several hours again. These past couple of days have not been going well, "going"-wise. Waiting in the sun, next to an ice cream advert, discouraged and losing patience, the only logical decision is to drink the last beer, this time quite early during the day. Sigh. I guess we won't get that salmon after all...

***

So, returning to the original timeline, we headed North by the planned route: Copenhagen, Göteborg, Oslo. The going was slow in Southern Sweden (as evidenced by the beer drinking). And by the time we arrived in Oslo (June 20th), it was pretty clear that my dream of making it to Hammerfest (just 'cause it sounded cool) for Midsummer, on the 23rd, was not going to materialise. We wouldn't even be anywhere near the North of Norway. At most, maybe Trondheim.

Even more crushing news: my camera stopped functioning. It was, erm, accidentally dropped. Really. I was disappointed, but not too frustrated by the idea of not taking photos during the trip. I know how trapped I can become in photo-taking mode during travels sometimes, so it was somewhat liberating.

Thus, I took a couple of days to deconstruct and reconstruct. My thoughts, my goals, my emotions, my camera. It was greatly helped by our fantastic host in Oslo. He made me consider stopping by the idyllic Lofoten islands where his family and friends might be able to host us. At first it wasn't really part of the "itinerary", but we eventually ended up there, and did not regret it! Now I could take my time more to see things, and not rush like crazy for a ridiculous time goal.

I was also told by And, whom I met via couchsurfing on this trip, that Hammerfest was not very worth seeing (she made it there way before us, and I was jealous! But then again she was travelling solo and by a different route). So I decided to scratch Hammerfest and aim instead for the new goal: Nordkapp - the Northernmost point of continental Europe. And besides, perhaps Midsummer would be quite fun in Trondheim as well, rather than in a small town in the North... Right?

On Art, Fences, & Death - An Interlude

Caution: Anthropomorphism and cuteness ahead, followed by angst. Read at own risk.

As a few of you may know, the irreplaceable and infinitely adorable Ixie has recently been having some serious health issues, and passed away this week. This personable creature that many have gotten to know and fall in love with had more character than the space she occupied would seem to suggest. (Really, she was just so damn cute, what can I say?!) She's been with me for some of the most meaningful years of my life, and it will be strange not to have her around any longer.

i can haz bathtub? no? i uze drinking bowl! look at mah mowhawk!

Ixie, short for Ixiona, adapted from Ixion, father of the Centaur race in Greek mythology, was a two-and-a-half-year-old budgerigar. When she reached reproductive maturity, she became pretty much a curious, clever, and overly affectionate egg-laying machine. If she was a chicken, we would have been happy to have breakfast every day, but her eggs were rather on the small side.

the hell is this?! *kick* ...ya! football!

A frisky budgie is adorable to witness. Because she was very tame, she craved human companionship, begged for kisses, and wanted to spend all day on your shoulder. But her egg laying started becoming abnormally frequent and I worried for her health. She continued to lay eggs, until it eventually became problematic. She had her first abdominal peritonitis in January of this year, and, following treatment with antibiotics, it seemed to have been resolved. However, this summer, her belly started to bulge again, indicating a more serious problem of egg retention. After countless vet visits, some X-rays showing multiple eggs in her abdomen, more medication, hormone treatment...it just kept growing.

For the past couple of months, we were just faced with difficult decisions. Surgery? Euthanasia? Long-term treatment? The veterinarians (who knew her all too well by then) never explicitly told us what to do either way, probably at least in part for liability reasons, and so the decisions have always rested upon us. Only during the last visit was euthanasia strongly encouraged; the size of her abdomen was beyond any case they've seen before and the chances of the eggs being reabsorbed eventually by the body (as sometimes happens) were rather, well...stupid...for her state.

During this whole ordeal, Ixie had kept most of her vivaciousness and personality, but in the past few days even her enthusiasm was decreasing, which is a sign for most small prey animals that it's probably too late. We put in a homemade nest box for her, but the chances of her eliminating the eggs were very slim. At least she was able to use the box as a hideout for her final days, and have some of the comfort of being at home with familiar sounds and voices.

***

This episode has definitely had me reflecting on a lot of things. The moral, emotional, and financial value of pet ownership, the extent of responsibility, humans' tendency to be allergic to suffering, how to deal with a guilty conscience, experiences of all sorts that I miss or crave and that I can't have (especially the ones that I will never have again)...

The hardest part was being on the fence; not knowing what decisions to take, not knowing how things would turn out. I felt, even though I knew we had done our best for the little chick, that I couldn't choose euthanasia. I don't like seeing suffering, but that is something I feel, and I didn't think it was reasonable to take a decision about a life based on my aversion to suffering. I don't know what Ixie would have wanted (or even if she had any awareness of life and death at all, as a topic for a drawn out philosophical discussion that I hope to avoid here), or what "suffering" pets in general may "want", but I feel that we often think for them in terms of human thoughts, needs, and emotions.

So we chose the path of prolonging our stress, and living in that uncertain middle ground, on the fence, where things can go either way from one day to the next. Not only did her state change constantly, but how we felt changed just as often, and our decision compass was also wildly oscillating. Lots of questions, lots of uncertainty. Maybe I have been thinking too deeply about a little parakeet? But she was incredibly dear to me, and I wanted to feel later that I've made the best decisions, ie. the decisions I would be least likely to regret.

I really dislike these sort of "on the fence" situations. In the past, I haven't been able to stay on the fence for very long before jumping off on one side. The instability of being up there ends up swallowing most of my mental energy and makes me incredibly uneasy. I find that a lot of people have trouble with these situations; the uncertainty of a situation can be far worse than its resolution. Sometimes, even having a bad outcome can at least provide closure and allow one to move on. Hence, one might often arbitrarily choose a direction, just to be done with it, just because the uncertainty of straddling the fence can become too unbearable.

Having quite a few fences to dance on in my life currently, I'm trying to improve my balancing act. I think it is best, in the long-run, to try to find calm even when on the fence, rather than force an outcome. There will always be fence situations; things rarely get resolved from one day to the next. Maybe I can make myself cozy while I'm up there, enjoy the breeze and the view, and forget, for a while, that the stable grounds are actually far below.

 ***

There's just something so quaint about it!

It has been a year of cases fitting in the "bad news brings good news brings..." category. But this and other incidents have brought me considerably closer to living the carpe diem motto, not just as a smart-sounding, stereotyped pat on the shoulder that people throw around, but truly trying to throw myself in it every chance I get. I've been more motivated than I ever have to actually overcome fears, reach for what I want, and stop putting it off (like the hitchhiking trip!). And for this I am thankful.

Although, at the same time, that's all nice and everything, but I'm still feeling like shit right now... As stoic as I may try to be, I do enjoy the occasional stroll through Kübler-Ross, in reverse; after understanding and acceptance, I deal with anger.

Adaptability: Full-time Job

Over the next couple of days, our luck always seemed to get us out of the frying pan and...the eagles are coming? OK. I lack mastery of metaphors and geeky jokes. Anyways. The point is...uncannily good luck.

After leaving Amsterdam via the conveniently located but not very useful Liftplaats, we had a few good rides towards Germany (during one, I accidentally stole a wicked awesome pillow that got caught in my bags - yes, this is relevant!). But nobody seemed to want to take us across the border (go figure, it's not like we were hitchhikers from Amsterdam wanting to enter Germany or anything). Eventually it got dark, rainy, and gas stations closed and kicked us out. Bummer. No tent, no sleeping bag, no food, no warmth.

Enter Mareike, yet another Deus Ex Machina with impeccable timing. The previous summer, we hung out several times across Canada, and I was excited to be on my way to visit her in her hometown. When we ended up stuck on the road, she drove a considerable distance to pick us up from where we were and drive us back to her place. Simply, stunningly kind.

The following day, to avoid another "Amsterdam effect", we decided to leave early, attempt hitchhiking, and if no luck by a reasonable time, we would take the train to our next destination: Hamburg. After about 20 minutes, a couple of hippie-looking hitchhikers also heading to Hamburg join us and settle a bit further (popular spot thanks to hitchwiki, I suppose). Not 15 minutes later, they hop in a car and wave to us! What?! How...What...Why...?!?! Not only is that not cool hitchhiker etiquette, I just wouldn't believe they would inspire more confidence than we did.

That gave me energy to really apply myself, and it occurred to me that hitchhiking success correlates considerably with the amount of energy you put in. That might seem like an obvious statement, but previously I had been doing what I had seen most other hitchhikers do: wait passively with a sign, half zoned out, or having a conversation. So I approached it more actively, made as much eye contact as I could, smiled, moved around instead of remaining statue-like, wore a different shirt colour, etc. Imagination is your friend. At least people certainly noticed us more, but still no takers. One driver offered to take us only if we would share part of the gas expenses, and normally I might have accepted, but I was still pissed from the hippie couple incident who likely got a free ride, so we refused. Maybe we should have taken it. After almost two hours, we were just about ready to give up. To pass the time, François comments on the cobra pillow, that he now dubs le coussin maléfique (the cursed pillow). Apparently, ever since that pillow decided to tag along, we have had a great deal of trouble getting rides. I start to believe him, so, after pontificating on the pillow's fate, we decide to leave it there.

Some minutes after we disown the evil pillow, a car honks for us! The driver says he can definitely take us all the way to Hamburg, so we stuff our bags in and go go go! Goodbye coussin maléfique. The driver's name is Christian. He is a navy officer from Germany but working in...yeah, damn straight...Norway! He learns of our travel plans and tells us that he's actually leaving Hamburg in two days and crossing Denmark to take the ferry to Kristiansand, then driving to Stavanger, where he works. Says we're welcome to go with him for any part of the way. OH MY WHAT LUCK! I've come to describe this kind of situation as "bad news brings good news brings..."

I didn't even notice the distance to Hamburg because most of the ride was spent discussing Norway at considerable length. This marked the first personal account I had about what Norway is like as a country. With every anecdote, with every tidbit, my eyes lit up. So I took his words seriously, and they guided a lot of the trip decisions as well. Christian says: bring a fishing rod, because there's fish everywhere; just stick your rod out and the fish will come like magnets, it's insane. My little naive and idealistic mind is already dreaming of feeding myself with fish in the wilderness! And camping, and bathing and washing clothes in the rivers! Who needs money? 

Another important piece of information he shared was how expensive everything is, particularly alcohol, and how much Norwegians love their alcohol. One anecdote that persisted in my mind was how he once exchanged a bottle of cheap German Schnapps for a giant-ass salmon from a fisherman! Now my brain is purring! We need to get alcohol to bribe people and feed ourselves this way.

And last but not least: in Norway, never underestimate the distances. (But what the hey, I live in the second largest country in the world, so I should be used to vast distances...right?)

So upon our arrival in Hamburg, we exchange phone numbers and, instead of enjoying the city (not entirely true), I spend the next two days running around looking for all the important supplies I can still buy cheaply. It's panic time! Need a tent, and food. Lots of food. No way I will be going broke buying food in Norway. Fast forward to the night before our departure. Supplies? Check; tent, sleeping bag, camping stove & gas, lots of nonperishable food, and, last but not least, three bottles of cheap German beer. Not for personal consumption, but to exchange for salmon, naturally. As we make the final preparations for our early wake up the following day, we get a call from Christian. Bad news. He found out on very short notice that he has to take another officer along, and so he can't take us anymore...

Although it would have been awesome to go with Christian, I did not feel very discouraged by this change of plans, for some reason. And, because of this news, we got offered two giant Turkish pizzas on our ride out of Hamburg the following day, got to see more of Denmark and Sweden, met more interesting people, hitchhiked my first ferry at Puttgarden, and got to see my good friend Sacha in Copenhagen. So, something about bad news brings good news brings...

Early Lessons, Early Luck

After a couple of days in Paris, I was ready to start this thing. Travel partner? Check; enter François. In fact, his parents drove us close to Lille, our launching pad. Travel gear? Check; extra pants and extra sweater. Norway will be cold, mofos!

And wouldn't you know it, I caught a mad case of the giggles as I stood near the highway entrance in Lille, with a sign showing "AMSTERDAM" and a little smiley face on it, feeling increasingly self-conscious as people gazed on. This will never work. I can't believe I'm doing this. Do I have to go all the way to the North of Norway? Then again, we didn't pick the friendliest hitchhiking spot for our departure.

Soon enough, our first ride. Orange vous accompagne en Belgique. (My new French phone kept texting me whenever we entered a new country. Such a friendly phone.) Encouraged by our progress, we eventually made it to Amsterdam by the end of our first successful hitchhiking day. So exciting! Oh my goodness! This is great! Where are we sleeping? Who cares, this is fantastic! What are we eating? Who cares, this-- oh. Right. As we didn't have any accommodation and it was getting late, I felt that it was up to me to find a roof for the night, since François found all the rides. Never fear! Poi girl is here!

I naively tell him: "Just you wait and see. We will make enough money to pay a hotel for the both of us! How much could it cost? I am super confident in my skills. I'm pretty sure people would pay for the show. In Vancouver I was offered--", I hesitated, increasingly doubtful of the dream. Different continents, different circumstances. Nevertheless, not many other options, and can't hurt to try. So after some toil, we found a bottle of cheap lamp oil and set towards the Dam Square. Let the show begin...

...well, on the plus side, it was lovely to be spinning fire again. Quite magical to be doing it at dusk, in another country. But I can't deny that my plan was a complete failure. On my first spin, not even a coin. Some people stopped to take photos but that's about all. And some dude began playing depressing guitar songs close by, which did not fit so well with the dancing flames. Eventually he gathered a rather sizeable crowd around him, as I sat there, trying to gather the pieces of my shattered ego. This is definitely not as easy as I expected. What was I thinking?! I suppose we will have to sleep outside now, and it's my fault.

François was quite impressed by the show though, and as my number one fan, he offered that the approach and location may not have been ideal. After some deliberating, we moved across the square to be closer to foot traffic, and, realising that you need noise to attract crowds, I set my tiny portable speaker at the front near my busker's hat. Round Two...

I must've almost burned myself when I saw the first few coins dropped in the hat. My first money made as an artist (well, except for that time when I was 5 and drew some stick figures of Michael Jackson to be sold at my parents' shop; they told me people bought them), a street artist! Geez, how do people make a living at this? At least I've always got science to fall back on. At the end of the show, people sitting on the monument steps applauded. Encouragement! We sit down and look at our coins. There's some Norwegian crowns in there. Norwegian! We're going to Norway; this is too lovely of a coincidence! We will probably not make enough for a hotel in one night, but at least I tried.

Enter Tim, the first of many Deus Ex Machina on this voyage: “Hi, you're the girl doing the firepoi earlier, yeah? I was wondering if I could do some fire staff with you; I have my stuff at home and I can go pick it up and run back here. Will you guys still be around?”. Tim is from Germany and has been studying in Amsterdam for some time now. We chat a bit and decide to wait for him; a show with another person would be fun at this point so why not. He soon returns with his toys and we go about setting up our duo fire extravaganza. He has travelled and busked before, so he shared some of his wisdom.

Tim's advice: 

1. You need noise! Be it recorded music or a drum or a violin, you need to be loud to attract attention.
2. Use your voice. Regardless of what you say or whether people understand the language, speaking loudly piques curiosity and captures attention.
3. Light up a torch some minutes before the show, to announce that something will soon be happening here, time to gather 'round.
4. Actively ask people for money during or after the show. This is the most important. Often people will not think to give money to buskers, but when asked, the chances are greater that they will.
5. Have something else prepared in case authorities show up and forbid you to play with fire (at least until they go away). This happened to us that night actually. In Tim's case, he had glowing juggling balls.
6. Sunday noon grannies give a lot of money.
7. Don't give up! You won't always earn money. Every location and every time is different. Don't pay too much attention to what others around you think or how they may react.

What I came to realise during that night and following performances is the importance of performer-audience interaction. Charisma and attention-grabbing is definitely more important than the quality of your skills. I still have a lot of work to improve on that aspect.

We ended up making some 30€ in total, which we split amongst ourselves. Definitely not enough for a hotel or hostel, but we didn't need it anymore. As it turned out, Tim was also a couchsurfer, and although he rarely accepts online requests, he often hosts people that he meets in the street. So he kindly let us crash at his place for the night. We were even more thankful when we were awoken early the following morning by the sound of torrential rain pouring in the streets. Pretty good for a first day on the road? I think so.

The Giant A

BEFORE (planned)

AFTER (executed)

So there I was in McIntyre building at McGill University, pissed at the circumstances, and finding myself needing to make a decision for my sanity, and fast. All I had was a round-trip ticket for Paris in two weeks, and ideas. Lots of stressful ideas. I finally made the decision then and there; I will hitchhike to the North of Norway by myself, disappear off the radar, and seek happiness! Yeah! What a fantastic idea, you little dreamer you. Just let go of everything you know, step outside the comfort zone (way outside), and plan to have an epiphany about your life and how to reach inner peace (because, of course, I plan when I will have an epiphany). And make it all look easy. None of my spontaneous, overly-optimistic, grandiose ideas ever usually materialise. 

But this one did...

Over the next few days, I struggled to prepare myself, mentally and materially, as much as I could for this...journey...while simultaneously juggling stressful amounts of work, interpersonal, and medical issues. O well. So I scrambled and traded the suitcase for a backpack (kudos to Liam for the holy bag), got lots of maps and helpful tips from Hitchwiki, and looked around on CouchSurfing for travel partners. I decided to attempt reaching the very North of Norway for the midsummer holiday, June 23rd, which meant about 11 days from the time I arrived in Paris. Then the plan was to come back South by Finland, and spend some time WWOOFing in Romania or chilling in other places. I called it "The Giant A" and was excited to attempt spelling out my initial on European land.

No matter what I did, I didn't feel ready for this at all. My first piece of advice if you are doubting whether you are prepared enough to embark on such an adventure; just go. You will never feel ready. How you feel doesn't matter. You are already prepared. Take a leap of faith, and everything else will be learned and gathered along the way.

8817 km of hitchhiking later (give or take a couple hundred kilometers of buses in Ukraine and a couple of ferries), I am still really quite a beginner at this kind of vagabond lifestyle, despite the mind-boggling amount I have learned and experienced. Sharp learning curve I guess :) Now back in Montreal for some months to finish my degree, I am already dreaming of roaming again, and of how I can improve my efficiency and maximise awesomeness in future travels. I could write a million stories and a million details of the things that I've seen and the places I've been, but I will attempt to recount here some of the more striking experiences. So here we go :)