Reunions in Europe

Excuses, the currency of life. Where each unmet expectation or failed obligation can be exchanged for an excuse. It's a barter system where the more plausible an excuse the smoother the transaction. "I couldn't come into work because I was sick" Bear in mind it has to be worth wild, otherwise people simple won't buy it. "I couldn't come into work because my dog ate it". So here I am bartering the reasons for my tumbleweed-excuse of blog activity.

#1. Work. There has been shock exodus of employees at work over the last couple of weeks, suddenly I find myself overwhelmed with the amount of work and the reduced amount of bludge time (proportionately correlated to blog time).

#2. Lifestyle. Despite being a somewhat unconvincing welcome of summer (unless you consider those two days of 26 degrees a season) the months of May through to July historically are the busiest for travel and out-and-about-ness.

#3. Familiar faces. Most importantly, I've been lucky enough to have a wealth of visitors from Sydney coming over to London for holiday. Those included, close high school and university friends and most importantly my family. Good times.

So, where's my change?

Spectator's weekend

The crowd rouses, the deafening whirl of the F1 car pierces the air, my ear drums only preserved by the supplied ear plugs. Through the branches you momentarily catch the colours of the car. Blue. Yellow. Red. Then muffled chatter and once again the focus returns the gray asphalt. The view, for €50 was expected, the street race track had thousands of people clambering on top of each other trying to squeeze that extra 1 cm of peripheral.

Monaco, one of the few circuits to offer General Admission had spectators spying the race from any vantage point. For the majority of the people, then would have seen a total of maybe 20 minutes of race action but the hype and atmosphere was electric! F1 paraphernalia, country colours, festival environment and gorgeous wo ... weather. As the race winds down, the laps tick into single digits, there's a heighten sense of anticipation. Oblivious to the safety cars and crashes they reveal to the crowd that Red Bull cross first and third. Mark Webber, Monaco Grand Prix 2010.

Coincidently, the weekend of the F1 also happened to fall during the 2010 Cannes Film Festival. This was slightly less planned out, our accommodation in Nice warranted a short and yet enjoyable train ride to Cannes. The small port city was alive, and despite the somewhat lacklustre weather people had amassed and the city was buzzing with the not-so recognisable celebrities. Reporters were interviewing unfamiliar faces, street performers were cashing in on the hype and occasionally an instant congregation of photographers would scramble around an individual and what would proceed would be a frenzy of flashes only to pique the curiosity of nearby tourists. Unfortunately, I didn't spot any celebrities, but then again, I wasn't too sure who I was looking out for.

Malta

If this is a precursor to summer, then I cannot wait! Feeling slightly lazy, not really bothered putting together any form of detailed post. Current read: Rusty Young's Marching Powder.

Pros versus Cons

Undoubtedly, the hardest thing about being overseas is being away from friends and family. Not only that but those moments that you aren't there to share with them. The various rites of passages, graduations, birthdays, ground breaking news flashes and anniversaries. It can be somewhat depressing to hear about front page news through written text, an SMS, an email, a Facebook update. It's almost as impersonal as reading about the escapades of a celebrity on the front page of Entertainment Weekly. In the end you can only congratulate them or share your salutations and express with deepest regret that you weren't there. In the end you just hope that these momentous sacrifices are not all in vain.

Ruing the fact that I am due to miss two upcoming weddings I made it a mission to make the most of being overseas. Iceland's Eyjafjallajokull had wrecked havoc on EU flight paths potentially derailing this trip. Also, it would be my first Ryanair experience. I desperately wanted to get on this flight if only to justify why I was overseas.

Finding people to travel with to this destination was a mission in itself. Majority of people that have been to Europe, let alone those living in Europe have toured through the Tuscan region of Florence and Pisa. Keeping it short, managed to tick off all the iconic items. The Leaning Tower, Pasta, Gelato, Florentine Steak and Michaelangelo's David. The highlight would be riding a bike through the narrow Florence streets and the Sunday Lunch consisting of take away pasta eaten on the steps of an old church.

Kicking the bucket

Of the 12 available settings only one worked. In its hay day it would have had the godly status of being a superior piece of Washing Machinery. Unfortunately it suffered the plight of being the communal flat share equipment. Thousands, perhaps millions of cycles later the trusty Hoover had been reduced to an all or nothing setting. There was no option for a spin , no delicates-only cycle it was Synthetics Tumble or nothing. 55 minutes for a load, no more, no less.

During my stay here I've seen the washing machine flirt with death on countless occasions. Each time a technician has come by and given it a new lease of life. Unfortunately, this time around nothing could be done - it had seen its last wash. So now I wait with bated breath for the replacement. Bated probably because I had over a weeks worth of dirty laundry and a weekend trip ahead.

So out of novelty I headed down to the local Coin Operated Laundromat. It was everything I expected. A distinct early 90s feel, with washing machines ranging from small loads to extra large loads. It was filled with the characters you expected to find in a laundromat, not the ones you hoped to see (no attractive females). The old yuppie with the bright coloured shirt and thick rimmed glasses. The ethnic in a wife beater and his suitcase of bed sheets. The weird smelly guy from the subway. The backpacker with the Lonely Planet and me, the guy with a fistful of change and not a clue in the world.

Currently reading Malcolm Gladwell's Blink.

Trashbaggery

That was the worst sleep in the world. I roll over, my back aches. I blink, my eyes dry, my vision clear (the consequences of sleeping with contacts). My head throbs and it takes me a few moments to gather my bearings. I'm not used to waking up to the artificial lighting of the fluorescent lights. It's only then, that I realise the looseness of my night. I had passed out on the stairs outside my apartment door. Peeling myself off the steps, I wonder how I managed to even sleep on the series of right angled steps.

Standing, I'm overwhelmed with vertigo, I'm still drunk. How long was I passed out for? Looking at my front door I see coins scattered on the floor. I must have been fishing through my pockets looking for my keys. Then in dejection, reluctantly passed out. There's vomit at the base of my feet. I check my pockets for my keys, they're not there. Further frisking reveals that my wallet and phone are no longer with me either. I plod down the flight of stairs, my phone and wallet lying on the landing, my keys another flight down. Lucky this all happened within the confinement of the secure apartment.

Started off at the Dutch Festival and then ended across the road at Zebrano. I want to die. But I can't help but laugh.

Easter Midlands

All signs pointed to me being stuck in London over the upcoming Easter long weekend. Majority of the "Londoners" had months in advance pre-emptively organised trips month and had taken the opportunity to make the most of 4 days away from London. Generally, I would welcome this situation with open arms, unfortunately my mind has been uneasy over the last week. I needed to get away from the familiar and minimise any form of reflective alone time. I need a distraction or anything to occupy my thoughts. Unfortunately most flights out of London were booked out and the few remaining fares were inflated beyond logic. Car rental lots were empty and I was forced to do the only sane thing a person in my situation could do. I jumped on a train out to Sheffield, the Midlands (£20).

I was conscious of keeping myself occupied over the 2 hour train journey and had deliberately packed a stockpile of entertainment. Book, Freakonomics check. DS, check. MP3 player, check. I was armed with the necessary tools to prevent me from drifting into a contemplative country-side stupor. The likes of MOS Annual, Kings of Leon and Kid Cudi kept me upbeat until the earphones drummed through the mood changing Missy Higgins and Jay Sean. Sure enough, I was soon staring blissfully out the train window at the slideshow of rolling hills, lush paddocks and flowing rivers. I was in a hypnotic lull and a million thoughts and hypothetical what-ifs bludgeoned my brain. I really need to re-sync my music.

I was welcomed by a close family friend and after a crash-course Sheffield tour we embarked on our Midlands romp. The beauty of this trip was that it was unscripted and unplanned. We we're winging it through the UK. A cheap National Express ride (£7.50) from Sheffield and 1 hour later we were in Nottingham, the home of Robin Hood. Our spontaneity had backfired! We had somehow managed to arrive into Nottingham on the night of the playoffs for the Ice Hockey. The entire town was brimming with people and after visiting 5 hotels the common theme was that no rooms were available. We sucked it up and each checked into the Hilton for one night (£107).

Easter Sunday, we woke early and gorged ourselves on the continental buffet before setting out to Nottingham Castle(£5.50), the oldest pub in the UK( Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem) and finally onto the Peak District. Nottingham to Bakewell via Matlock on the Transpeak Zig Zag (£8). We stopped off for some Yorkshire Pudding Pub lunch and the famous Bakewell Pudding.

Another 1 hour bus ride from Bakewell to Sheffield (£3.90) and we were back. We decided to find some Chinese Dumplings and ended up drinking Red Wine and chatting into the early hours of Easter Monday. I take for granted having a familiar person to talk to without having to think twice about divulging details. I crashed out in the Hospital Residency Common Room for my final night of accommodation. Another worthwhile random weekend in the UK, successfully managing to substitute the emptiness with friends, travel, food and alcohol. Surely, this can't be sustainable ...