If your clippers break half-way through shaving your head, first you look like a diseased dog with fleas.  Then you’re forced to shave your head completely and you end up looking like this.

If you wash your beanie made from possum and merino, and accidentally throw it in the dryer, it ends up looking like this.

If you combine the two, this is the result.

 
Not a good day.

Someone once told me that I need to write more practical updates on what I’m doing.  Email my friends and family all the things that I’ve been doing, the places I’ve been, the things I’ve seen.  I’ve never really been overly keen on this for a variety of reasons, preferring to try and write about more specific thoughts, rather than specific things.  Boredom is however a powerful thing.  So in honour  of this current state of unparalleled boredom  bought on by a 19 hour bus trip that happens to be blessed with a power point next to my seat I’m going to make my best effort to provide you with one.  This however, will be a bit difficult considering that the eastern side of Canada apparently shuts down for the winter and everyone enters a sort of deep-fried food induced hibernation.

After leaving Montreal, and my previous update I arrived into Halifax.  Halfiax is a sleepy little fishing town lying in Nova Scotia, and is essentially as far east in Canada as your standard traveler can and will go.  During the summer there’s heaps to do, sea kayaking, hiking and the like - during the winter however things are vastly different.  The coast-line is perpetually bombarded with rain, freezing rain and snow, making kayaking a slightly undesirable activity.

What there is to do, entertained me greatly.  Point Pleasant Park lies to the east of the city, in between two rivers which then join and become an ocean at the parks end.  I don’t know if they were baby squirrels or simply some small breed of squirrel, however they’re jumping around in the snow was more than enough to keep my tiny mind amused.

The following day I embarked on my one tacky tourist event for the city, a tour of Alexander  Keith’s brewery.  Heavy rain did however force me indoors prior to the start of the tour and I sought shelter within a Pub attached to the side of the brewery.  Had I not been privileged with this head-start on the tour, I don’t know if I would have enjoyed it so much.  The tour itself is less of a brewery tour and more of a tour around a brewery whilst being given a history of the Keith family and Alexander Keith himself.  To make this tourist event even tackier, the whole thing is lead by guides dressed in period costume, speaking a kind of old English that Billy Shakespeare would surely shake his decomposed head at.

It’s definitely more entertaining than interesting, they teach you card games of the time, sing songs and amuse you with Soveriegn Hill-esque shenanigans.   All as part of the tour they sing a few songs and even ply you with more ale.

After the tour I staggered (read: strolled) back to the hostel for a delicious can of chunky soup, where I struck up conversation with Phil from Calgary and Esther from Holland.  We decided that the raging storm outside should not keep us down, donned our jackets and walked round to the local arena to see the local Halifax Moose-heads play some hockey.  The game was pretty good, there was a scrap and loads of goals.  After the game we trundled down to some local Halifax bars, at some point we lost Phil and the night ended with Esther and myself at a blues club next to the hostel.

All-in-all  it was a really enjoyable night out with some good people.

The following morning I dragged myself out of bed at a very ungodly hour and headed off to the bus station to take off to Prince Edward Island.  I had been planning on a Tierney Pilgrimage of sorts, heading off to Newfoundland where an old friend had gone on exchange in high-school.  It wasn’t to be how-ever as my Greyhound pass wouldn’t get me there and I didn’t really feel like paying for the bus and ferry over to that particular island.

Prince Edward Island (or PEI as it is known to the natives) was decided on after speaking to Levi a few days prior, a guy who was staying in the hostel in Halifax who coincidently runs the hostel in Georgetown.  I decided PEI was for me after Levi informed me that there was really nothing to do there in the winter bar watch movies and read.  This sounded ideal for me, and I headed to PEI with dreams of a comfy couch and a big pile of DVDs.

This dream came true at his little hostel in Georgetown that he runs with his partner Katie.  It was almost too good to be true when I saw that both Factory Girl and Waking Life were both available to watch, two movies that I’d been wanting to watch, or in the case of Waking Life - re-watch for quite a while now.

Beyond a very comfortable couch and a couple of very lazy days in PEI, I obviously did very little.  Katie celebrated her, according to Levi "Old" birthday, I hung out with some very cool people  in the hostel and braved the -twentysomething degree celsius weather to, you guessed it, go for a walk by the waterfront.  It was a nice walk, and the site of a massive frozen body of water was of course completely new to me.  As I passed the point and started to wander further around the coastline, I began to walk straight into a wind I’m told caused the temperature to drop to -34. The wind bought on a pretty severe fear of frostbite of the testicles and I sought shelter back on the couch in the hostel.

Now that I’ve left PEI I’m en-route to Ottawa where I’ll be staying with Adam, my housemate from Japan.  Not too sure what there is to do in Ottawa, however I hear that you can skate the river if frozen. 

Fingers crossed for more cold weather.

Since leaving Montreal, I’ve been trying to figure out a good analogy for how I like to travel.  Sitting here on a refreshingly comfortable Acadian Bus, I think I’ve got it figured out.

It’s a wee bit like the hierarchy of the Primary School bus.  The cool kids firmly planted at the back, not paying too much attention beyond whats going on beyond themselves.  The nerds at the front, looking out the window, making sure not to miss a thing that flies bye.  Filling up the middle are the awkward, unsure kids - with a vague understanding of their surroundings but also concerned with their status in the world.

The middle of the bus is of course, where I still find myself.  It doesn’t relate as much to my level of coolness (or lack thereof), but rather what I’m seeking out here in the windy, cold distance.  I couldn’t really care less about climbing the empire state building, or watching a light show at a French Gothic Church in Montreal.  I’m far more interested in the randomness - painting in Chicago, talking to stereotypes on the bus, canoing the Colorado river, pretending to be Ecuadorian - that sort of thing.  I do enjoy the occasional trashy tourist moment, like taking a million photos of Brooklyn Bridge, but am determined not to let that dominate my trip.

Behind me on this metaphorical bus are of course, the cool kids.  Drinking and rooting around the world.  Loud and obnoxious, acting as they would anywhere in the world.  And honestly, power to them.

At the front of the bus are the stereotypical tourists.  Always with a camera, map and guidebook within arms reach, making sure they take in all the sights.  Hollywood Sign, check.  Statue of Liberty, check.  This is the type of traveler I want to be least.  Having the exact same trip as the guy who wrote the guide book, running around making sure they cram enough crap into a two week trip.

Anyways, as I’m scribbling this, I’m crossing New Brunswick.  It’s been brilliant looking out over the landscape, watching the country pass me by.  Canadians keep telling me that I’ve picked the wrong time of year to travel.  Right at this moment, I do really strongly disagree.  Whilst this part of the country is still remarkably flat, I do really feel like I’m in Canada for the first time in ages.  Snow covered forests of pine trees, lakes and rivers frozen still in time, and a blanket of white that continues forever.  I’ve been scanning the forest for Moose on and off for hours at a time, the closest I’ve come is a few clusters of deer, and the occasional black bird that has forgotten to fly south.  The most frustrating thing about Moose Watch are the Moose Crossing Signs that litter the highway, their dark silhouette mocking me as I make this long trip east.

I’ll be in Halifax in a couple of hours, not too sure what’s there but I hear that the Maritimes are beautiful and full of Canadians with heavy accents and big smiles.

Really looking forward to getting there.

After jumping the border and a couple of days back in New York, I find myself in Boston (Baarrrston).  Boston reminds me a lot of San Diego, and is a brilliant little city.  Got back into tourist mode again and saw a few sights - beers at Cheers, The Freedom Trail, and a tour of Fenway.  All good, and the warmer weather has allowed me to walk everywhere.

Few randomalities - Prince isn’t allowed back into the hostel anymore, he sold the manager a fake gold necklace, swore it was real and when it wasn’t couldn’t give him the money back on account of having spent it on crack.  I think fault lies with Erick, after all he was stupid enough to buy the frigging thing.

Could have sworn I saw Prince from a distance, and although I didn’t think it possible, the poor bastard actually looks in worse shape.

Had no real dramas coming through customs despite the possibilities.  Although I did feel a little bit violated when the customs agent felt the need to read my notebooks.  Few stories in there that may seem a wee bit incriminating due to incriminating content.  Was preparing a defence of claiming it all to be fiction, the imaginary me being far more interesting than the real me - but the dialogue between us went something like this;

"What’s this?"

"A notebook"

"What’s it for?"

"Writing in"

"Writing what?"

"Random thoughts, pointless little stories - you know, just something to do while waiting for the bus.  Nothing exciting really"

"Alright then"

Anyways, a new era has begun;

Oh the joys it contains. Don’t think it will be fair to say that I’m a writer if anyone asks anymore, since stating an occupation generally suggests that you are paid for, you know, the work that you do.

Going to New York later today, got myself a bus ticket and some Americana currency - I feel organised despite constant reminders that I’m not because I don’t have an itemised itinerary of where I will be on specific days and what-not.

I don’t know if my Canadian phone will work in the states or not, well, it’s pretty safe to say that it won’t since it’s not working right now in Toronto (gots no credit) e-mail is probably the way to go.