Travelers

Yesterday at lunch, the various EFM members who weren't gone or working (we tend to have an interesting trickle in and out during the day) sat around the campfire and told ghost stories. Oh wait. No, that's what I was wishing had happened. We were actually sitting out at the green circle at Northgate, some of us on the handy concrete rim, and the rest perched uncomfortably on the chronically wet grass, switching butt cheeks every few minutes to as pants became increasingly saturated.

And we were talking about traveling.
More specifically, Lauren (henceforth referred to as "Skippy") was discussing the "fake" Great Wall she had just visited, as well as random traveling bits. Apparently you can't actually visit the real Great Wall, and on top of that, the only 'real' parts left are rather remote and local villagers tend to dismantle it in bits to build houses (B: "those bricks must be good, they've lasted this long already!") Who would think?

Margaret told a story about traveling in Morocco and almost being stabbed, which managed to capture the interest of everyone there, as well as the occasional passer-by (or at least the crow with a cough). It was harrowing, it was dark, and we all wanted to run home to mama... actually, I believe the full story, published after leaving Morocco for the express purpose of not scaring the crap out of parents and friends stateside, can be found here.

Well. Tomorrow I'm leaving for Rome, and I have to say, it's a little bit harrowing, though most likely because of the fact that I haven't given it much real thought. At the same time, I'm looking forward to the opportunity to be thrown alone into a culture and language I don't understand and immerse myself for a little while.

International travel is one of those things I'm incredibly grateful for. The more places I go, the more cultures and people I am rammed up against, the more sweaty packed subway rides, bargaining at market stands, and discussions with random old people in old run-down plazas, the more I realize that we're really all the same. And the more I realize that politics seem to do far more worse than good, because Jose Schmo living in Madrid and Jean Paul au Hasard in Montreal certainly don't care about the international strain between their nations (though perhaps Canada was a poor choice). If one were to visit the other's home town, and they met on the street, chances are they would try to interact in a polite manner, home-boy would certainly help out the foreigner if he was trying to find a cafe. We're all people, and we do all want a chance at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (well, I put it that way because I am American; otherwise, liberté, égalité, fraternité or one of numerous other freedom songs). It's only when our own country's political opinions are forced down our throats, or it becomes extremely personal for some reason, that layperson in country X begins to actually hate layperson in country R.

What a life we lead. At least the science is the same...

Well, as I'm off to go do this thing, I may not post anything for a day or two, but I'll certainly try! And pictures of gelato (for the random SCAMP/ PME CFO), and hopefully some lovely Italy! It turns out my hotel doesn't have wireless in the rooms, so it'll be a little interesting trying to get a place to do so... perhaps a cafe which I will be pointed to by Guiseppe Casuale even though I'm American. Or maybe I can pretend to be Canadian. That went over slightly better in NZ the first time...

In the meantime, to make your workday slightly happier, check out this ad from forever ago. It's pretty friggin ridiculous, and reminds me of the Crisco cookbook I found in a pile of old National Geographics from the 40s in our attic on BI, which claimed that "Crisco will give your children sweet dreams". Right, this one is about Cola.

Arrivederci et pace~