Kenya Reunions in Northern Ireland

People often ask me why I travel alone. There are some obvious reasons, and some not so obvious.

OBVIOUS: It's surprisingly hard to find someone willing to fly with me when I pay 1/10th what normal people pay for a flight. Equally rare are those interested in throwing themselves into a Kenyan village on an island they've never heard of. Shocking. I know.

NOT SO OBVIOUS: There's nothing like launching myself into the deep-end - the exhilaration of turning up in a new city/country/continent, starting from scratch and creating friendships unparalleled to those made within the comforts of home. The experiences I've had this past year would not have been so memorable without the friends I've made along the way - many of these experiences I wouldn't have even had! I wouldn't have lasted one week on Rusinga Island without Denae, and the hours I spent in Dorman's Coffee in Mombasa pretending I wasn't in Kenya would have seemed a lot less tragically hilarious if I didn't have Beau. Oh the disasters I would have created for myself had I not made such good friends!

And then there are those who I only get to spend a few hours with, but for some reason can tell right away that we will be great friends. These are the ones who never allow for an awkward silence; who make me laugh from the very pit of my stomach, and never seem to think less of me no matter what inappropriate things accidentally come out of my mouth. When I met Stuart in Kisumu, Kenya only a few weeks into my travels in East Africa, I could tell right away that he was one of those people. We only spent a few hours together in total, but as I was planning the last leg of my trip through the UK I thought to myself: what better way to test my theory than to invade his family's country home! The next thing I knew I was in Northern Ireland and Stuart was forced to play tour guide. Fact: Stuart is something of local celebrity. He is invited to absolutely every wedding that takes place in Northern Ireland, yet somehow managed to take time out of his busy schedule to show me a good old (British) time. Stuart made Northern Ireland an exciting place where polar opposite ends of the entertainment spectrum can be experienced a mere 20 minutes from each other - breath-taking ocean front beaches on one end, infamous Nevin Family Karaoke on the other. It is one of those magical destinations where tea time is all the time and everybody knows everybody, and if they don't know you, they'll do their best in the few minutes they have to get to know you. I had such an amazing time that you are almost forgiven for waking me up at 6 am to tell me you were hungry. Almost.

As much as I wanted to stay longer, I had a date with my dad in Dublin on Sunday to mark the last of our layovers together for another year (unless of course I haven't been fully cured of this traveling disease...) After 11 countries, 40 cities, 3 cameras, 4 journals and a wheel of cheese attached to my midriff which I am now ready to be rid of, how nice it was to just sit back, relax and let my dad take me home.

Edinburgh Is Where It's At

What is it that I loved so much about Edinburgh? Is it the way people line up single file to board the city bus? The way that, no matter where I went, the city smelled like freshly buttered toast? Or maybe it’s the fact that there is a MEDIEVAL CASTLE RIGHT DOWNTOWN! There is so much going on in Edinburgh that it’s hard to say what exactly makes everyone fall in love with this city, but it stole my heart the moment I arrived at Haymarket Station.

I'm sure Edinburgh isn’t always like this, but I was lucky enough to arrive in town during the peak of festival season, when three world-renowned festivals overlapped - The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the Military Tattoo and the Comedy Festival. Walking down the Royal Mile, performers lined the street doing stand up comedy, performing unconventional music acts (the roller-blading mandolin player immediately comes to mind) and executing Matrix-like choreography while handing out flyers for their shows. Some nights I spent the entire evening in underground comedy clubs, wandering between floors and seeing new acts every half hour. Others nights I watched the action from the inside, staring out the window of the Southern Cross Café, bagpipes playing outside and Edith Piaf on the inside.


I’d be lying if I said my visit to Edinburgh during festival season was entirely coincidental. I, Claudia - a story of “the raw but beautiful interior life of misfit adolescent Claudia” - is what brought me here. I, Claudia touched my heart years ago when I saw the film version of the Toronto-based play, and continues to make me smile every time I watch the film or when I’m lucky enough to see it live. When I found out it would be playing at the Edinburgh Fringe during my visit to Glasgow, I couldn’t miss the opportunity to see it live once again. Being the die-hard fan that I am, I lined up half an hour earlier than necessary in order to get a good seat, and it was worth thirty minutes of looking like a nerd once the lights were off and the curtain was drawn. For an hour and a half, Claudia, Drachman, Leslie and Douglas transported me into Claudia's world once again - I laughed, I cried, and I went back the next day to do it all over again. Maybe that's why I loved Edinburgh so much. But then again, maybe it was just the buttered toast.

My Glaswegian Roots

Sunshine, galleries and finally some visuals to add to the stories I've been told of my family history - what an amazing trip to Glasgow! My trip would not have been the same without my great-uncle Harry and great-aunt Margaret. These two have a reputation that precedes them. My grandparents often warn the younger traveling Rews that Harry and Margaret are aging and can't take visitors (what with their hearing aids and recently replaced knees.) But for some reason we never listen, and every time one of us makes our way to Scotland, we're sure to pay Harry and Margaret a visit. Over the years I've heard so many stories of Harry's habit of kicking back in his chair as he laughs at his own jokes, and of Margaret's grandmotherly love. It was time for me to experience them for myself!

Harry and Margaret may be aging, but that hasn't dampened their spirits, or reduced their mobility! When Harry met me at the Gallery of Modern Art, fashioning the blue Angus tartan cap he promised he'd wear so that I would recognize him, I was the one who had to keep up with him as he raced back to his car without the slightest indication of his 86 years. When we made it home, after several rounds of his favourite game "Hit That Pedestrian," Margaret welcomed me with a warm hug and kiss on the cheek - she filled the void in my life in a way that only a Scottish granny can!

Over my 4 days in Glasgow they had me over for tea and shortbread, roast beef dinners and took me to explore outside of Glasgow where my family lived before the war. We went to Clyde Bank to my great grandpa and granny's grave (eerily on the exact day David Rew Sr passed away 61 years ago), the houses where my Granny and Grandpa lived before World War II, when the Clyde Bank Blitz forced them to relocate, then to Doune to the family mill where my great great grandpa was a barley miller (you may remember this mill from a few scenes of Monty Python and the Holy Grail!)

Seeing where my grandparents lived before the war brought me in touch with a different side of them. I've been a part of their lives as grandparents in Winnipeg - stopping by for chocolate digestives during their early retired years in Osborne Village, and meeting for coffee at the Bistro at the Shaftesbury Retirement Residence. In 2008, I got in touch with their lives as parents and professionals when I made my way to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to see where they raised my dad and the projects my grandpa worked on as an architect during the colonial years. Now I can visualize them as young people. I saw their homes, stood on the bridge where my grandpa would sketch during his early artistic days, and I learned that my grandparents were, in fact, once my age.

The Journey Home Begins

At 11 o'clock on Thursday morning, stepped onto the Hendaye-bound Euskotren and waved agur to beautiful Donostia. That was the first step of my 10 day journey home. It was time for me to leave San Sebastian. It had been a hectic month, and I wanted to end my year abroad with one last journey of self discovery, to Scotland, where half of my roots lie.

This isn't to say that my last month in San Sebastian was pure stress - not at all! I have plenty of wonderful memories - daily escapes to Cafe Bat to avoid the responsibilities of work; dance parties on the beach; abandoning the beach for the stage; day trips to Bordeaux, failed day-trips elsewhere. My mom visited for one week of gastronomic discovery, then Jessie and I met our dad in Barcelona for a day of father-daughter strolls along the beach. I was surprised with tickets to Mama Mia, and I watched Jessie power through a surf lesson, my heart bursting with maternal pride as I lived vicariously through her. Good times were had... but I'm never one to stay in one place for too long.

So here I am in Glasgow. After a train to Hendaye, a bus to Biarritz, a delayed flight to London, and wander through London town with my friend Ben and a night bus to Glasgow, I've made it. I couldn't be happier to be here. Glasgow is more or less what I expected it to be. Sophisticated yet grungy. It's appearance is at first unimpressive, but the closer you look, the more intriguing it becomes. Glasgow is a city of contrast. The city's architecture provides a refined background to the bad-ass Scots that exist in the foreground. The perfect example of this was my walk through Kelvingrove Park, with the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum shooting through the trees while the local neds (non-educated delinquents) went about their days, fashioning off their tartan, tattoos and mullets that would make Basque separatists proud. If I've learned anything after living in the Basque Region, it's that where there are mullets, there are good times. Glasgow will not disappoint.

Questions I am sick of answering

Q: What's the weather going to be like today?
A: Well, since I have the only interior room in the apartment, let me look out my window. I'd have to say it's going to be stuffy, partly sunny, with a large piece of plastic obstructing all natural light. Watch out for falling control top underwear.

Q: Do you work here?
A: I am standing in the bathroom with a pair of rubber gloves scrubbing the toilet. So no. I don't work here. I do this for fun.

Q: How does the toilet flush?
A: Well, that depends which bathroom you're talking about. If you're closest to the kitchen, pull the neon green string sticking out of the toilet. If you're in the middle bathroom, reach in behind the toilet and pull the yellow chord. If you're in the one closest to the office, push the button. If that doesn't work, wiggle the hose attached to the toilet. Something should happen.

Q: How long will this person be in the bathroom for?
A: That depends on what they're doing. And what kind of perv asks that sort of question??

Q: When you close the common room, do you close the internet?
A: What? Whaaaat?

Q: What's the best time to go to the beach?
A: When it's sunny. And that is a stupid question.

Q: Where is the 3rd floor?
A: Not on the 2nd floor, so stop ringing their doorbell.

Q: What is the code to get in the front door?
A: I told you when I brought you here. It's 1-2-3, and if you can't remember that, you can't stay here.

Glamour Shots For Stronger Friendships

Jessie and I recently came to the realization that our guests don't know us well enough. Sure, they know the basics. We are Canadian, sisters, students, travellers, beach lovers, dancing machines. What about our likes and dislikes? Exceptional skills? Our inspirations? Aspirations? We needed to address this issue before things got out of hand and the barriers between employee and guest grew too strong to break down. But how can one solve such a monstrous problem? The same way you solve any problem. Glamour shots. Glamour shots and bios. Now with our informative, uncensored glamour shot-bio posters, Urban House guests lucky enough to stay at Gipuzcoa 3 can get to know the genious behind our floor from the moment they walk in the door.

JESSIE REW

Occupation: Hannah Montaña

Skills: Dancing really fast to the most undanceable songs in history.
Hobbies: Teaching and perfecting suggestive dance moves.
Likes: Long jazz walks on the beach.
Dislikes: Everything.
Idea of a Perfect Date: April 23rd, because it's not too hot and it's not too cold. All you need is a light jacket.
Hopes, Dreams & Aspirations: Harsher punishment for parole violation. And world peace.
Inspiring quote: "Two weeks before the pageant, I was practicing my talent, finishing my costume, brushing up on current events and running 18 miles a day on about 400 calories. I. was. ready." - Alexandra Holden as Mary Johanson in Drop Dead Gorgoeus (1999)

CHLOE REW

Occupation: Hiphopapotamus
Skills: Getting criminal on the dance floor; making meatballs.
Hobbies: Collecting recipes from Martha Stewart Living and never using them.
Likes: Doing her hobby.
Dislikes: N/A
Idea of a Perfect Date: One that shows up.
Hopes, Dreams and Aspirations:
To have 6 official blog followers.
Inspiring quote: "You are your own rainbow." - Molly Shannon as Mary Katherine Gallagher in Superstar (1999)

Hallway Encounters at Gipuzcoa 3

Gipuzcoa 3 is open for business. The summer is kicking off and our rooms have been full for weeks. I meet new people everyday, getting acquainted with different cultures, personality types and habits that may or may not be socially acceptable anywhere other than a youth hostel. The Urban House guests never disappoint when it comes to making a lasting impression. Here is a selection of my personal favourites.

Man with the smokin' body who owns no clothing - It's as if he isn't comfortable wearing anything other than a towel. Every time I ran into him, that's all he was wearing. Walking from his room to the bathroom... in a towel. Pacing the halls... in a towel. Surfing the internet... in a towel. I'd probably do the same thing if I were as flawlessly chiseled as he was, but that's besides the point. I did a few loads of his laundry the other day, and had to hold on to one load for an extra day while the last few items dried. Teasingly, he asked me if I was trying to steal his clothing. I laughed, but later realized that every item I was holding were pairs of tighty-whitey underpants. I can't tell what's weirder - being the guy who peruses the halls in a neon-green towel, or being the girl accused of stealing his undies.

First-time traveler with no concern for personal hygiene, balanced nutrition or others' opinions - I have to admit, at first I was a bit put off by his smell/diet/lack of mental filter. His room smelled, he ate McDonalds 3 times a day, and every thought that came to mind he said right away. He stayed with us for weeks because that was the soonest he could get a tattoo appointment (which he impulsively decided he wanted only a few weeks ago.) But his carefree attitude grew on me and I was sad to see him leave.

Finnish boys that I yelled at on their first night - it was an awkward three days that followed the evening I yelled at these two. I've recently been a bit over-reactive when people interrupt my sleep. In the last year, I've had my sleep disturbed by drunk Frenchmen, rowdy backpackers, roosters, my alarm clock, marching bands, clock chimes, Kenyan village funerals, thunderstorms and protests. So when someone wakes me up, I get vicious. When these guys woke me up and refused to leave the common room right outside my door, I lost it. The air was thick with tension when we crossed paths for the rest of their visit.

The girl who complains about everything - lack of ice cube trays in hostels, corn trading agreements between the US and Mexico, types of sugar in Mexican cereals, grains found in digestive cookies (???). I can't believe the range of topics this girl had issues with.

But encounters in the halls aren't always weird. There are some perfectly normal people that stay here, and every now and then I have a normal conversation. But I have to admit, there is an ulterior motive to my friendliness. Since I've started a bar in the hostel, most of conversations start or end in "have you had a beer recently?" More often then not, this encourages people to buy one. With all of the profits going to Friends of Rusinga, the feeding program I worked with in Kenya, I will have a house full of beer-gutted charitable donors in no time!

Repairing Student Destruction

Have you ever walked into someone's house and wondered how everyone living there hasn't come down with some kind of disease - Hepititis A, Typhoid, Mad Cow, what have you. I have. Urban House is transforming student apartments back into hostels for the summer, and venturing into the filth these students created amazes me. I just can't believe none of these kids died!! Imagine the most appalling, abused state an apartment could be in after 5 months of reckless parties and I promise you, these apartments were much much worse.

38 Fermin Calbeton - an inaccurate, unfair introduction to the destruction that lay ahead. All it needed was a deep clean and something to cover the dart-board wall before we could let people stay here in good conscience. I was sure the next places wouldn't be so bad. I was so young. So naive.

2 Plaza Gipuzcoa, Floor 1 - This apartment has that European charm - and by that I mean it is falling apart. This may have something to do with the fact that the students confused their home for an indoor skate park - not sure how that happened! Scuffed floors, dented walls, a gaping hole in the floor and an ashtray that looks mysteriously like a kitchen table. I don't like to cook in this apartment for entirely health related reasons.

2 Plaza Gipuzcoa, Floor 3 - Higher in altitude as well as on the tragic scale. I don't like to inhale in this apartment for entirely health related reasons. Judging by the contents of the fridge, these students survived on a strict diet of expired sausage (which they left behind for us) and we suspect something died in a garbage can and was left to rot. Our suspicions were confirmed when Rudy rode the elevator with the garbage bag and barfed.

Considering the trauma we've experienced, it's important that team morale stays high. This is what the office is for. Harmonica jam-sessions, YouTube videos, fluorescent fanny-packs, naked Barbies - and who can resist the sight of two stuffed rats mating in the office window? Not me, that's for sure. I can honestly say that team morale is at a record high... largely due to this video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AN5YbfFszlI

Back in Europe, Learning Valuable Lessons

Why hello Europe! It has been almost three months since I left, and you are even more beautiful than before. Foreign languages and bottomless glasses, patio culture and people watching - just the life I left Canada in search for. Reverse culture shock has come and gone, but it made for an overwhelming few days in London. I practically froze every time I saw a double decker bus. Considering I was staying in central London, I didn't cover much ground. I also had a teary episode in the cereal aisle at Sainsbury's supermarket. I had forgotten that there's more to breakfast than the 10 varieties of fake Corn Flakes that Nakumatt supermarket is force feeding East Africans!

So here I am, back at Urban House Hostel in San Sebastian. I eased back into the Basque way of life smoothly - cider houses, pintxos nights (the Basque version of tapas), days on the beach and showing travellers a good night on the town. But I had forgotten the way travellers leave their inhibitions at home, making for some amazing nights out for even for the most sober of partiers... like the Kiwi who I introduced myself to three times on Wednesday night who drank so much he wet the bed, and the mystery guest who, during night-time fridge raids, always goes for my hard-boiled eggs. You know, being away from home does not make it okay to steal from poor people! I learn valuable lessons about human kind every day. Take the group I met today, for example, who taught me about being careful whom you invite out. As is the case with most good stories, it all started at the aquarium.

Jessie and I were given the day off. Considering we live in a city with three beaches and a 5:1 male surfer to interested female ratio, we headed to the aquarium. Naturally. While admiring the fish bellies through the see-through tunnel, we met a group of American law students on vacation in San Sebastian. They weren't sure what to do on a Friday night, so we invited them to meet us at one of my favourite spots. But that night, a series of humiliating dance moves and failed conversations suggested to me that we had made a mistake. As it turns out, we had invited a real life Ron Burgundy out with us. He told me all about his past life in LA working in film - "you know, like the movies," and the 300€ a night apartment where he and his friends were staying which I imagine smelled of rich mahogany and leather bound books. Let's take a minute to watch Will Ferrell in his finest hour in Anchorman to fully understand the situation I put myself in.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtKT0lwHNKo

His reaction to Jessie being my younger sister was also pretty priceless. "What? But she is taller than you!" Wow, I thought. I hadn't noticed. You are the first person I have ever met in my entire life to point that out. He insisted we become Facebook friends so we could hang out sometime, then he gave a big "Woo Hoo!" and fist pumped the air. I have no idea what to make of that.

So what valuable lessons have we learned today? Never pick up guys at the aquarium. And also that grown men can still wet the bed. Oh Urban House. I knew there was a reason I came back to you.