I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know...

Photo:Peter Guenzel

It's my last week in Cambridge. I can't say I am sad to be leaving, but perhaps the reality that this is my last week in the UK, and in a few days - my last week in Europe, hasn't hit me yet. We (the teachers of my school) were evicted from our accommodation on Monday, about 20 of us. Mainly for acting like drunk American frat boys. I am going to do a Cambridge post as soon as I have enough photos without me in them; I'm such a screen hog. I may not miss the 'student style' living here but I will definitely miss the students. I don't hold out much hope that any of them will ever visit Australia, which is a shame because Aussie teenagers could do worse than to take a leaf out of the Europeans' epicly stylish and (usually) mature book. Okay, time to teach The English...

I'm more than just an option

In one month I will be back in Melbourne. The adventure will be over, and a new one will begin - one that is probably not very interesting to the readers of this blog. So I think this will be my last month blogging, I did create this blog to document my travels afterall.

I'm still working in England. The routine of teach, drink, dance, write reports - repeat, hasn't really changed much in the past five weeks. I am here a bit longer and then I'm off to Paris for a few days and then Italy until I return home. I was planning on going to Greece, but I have backpacker's fatigue and the thought of lugging my beastly suitcase onto ferries and up hills etc. makes me feel more irritated than enthusiastic. I am looking forward to Italy though - I'll probably stay out of the larger cities and try to explore places I've never been between Florence and Rome.

Well, that was more a boring update than a decent blog post, but that's where I'm at, yo. Shake ya ass, watch ya self...sorry.

I shot for the sky, I'm stuck on the ground.

I've just been reading my blog archives. I can't believe I'm going back to Australia. What the hell? Social bullshit doesn't go away as you get older, and neither does indecision/panic about choices. But I am returning. It is happening. Unless I meet Luca in Italy.

(Luca is the Italian boy with curly hair - I am yet to meet- who I am going to marry)

We're reeling through an endless fall

Photo: Peter Guenzel

• I have picked up Latin in preparation for going back to Uni. I have Latin for dummies, and Ovid (Ars Amatoria) to translate.


• We had a 'Report Writing Party' in my room - complete with wine, nachos, and bitching. I think it will become a weekly event.


• I am sad to have seen two groups of students leave already, some of them are such brilliant kids, they really make me love teaching.


• I bought a new camera, Nikon Coolpix(I destroyed my three month old Canon by throwing it into my beach bag - sunscreen leaked onto it)


• We went dancing last night. It was well spazzy.


• I have confirmed my flight back to Australia, I'll be back in Melbourne early September.
• Latin is hard, even with 'Latin for Dummies'. Is there 'Latin for Morons'?

I haven't posted in a while, this is due to three main things - teaching, writing reports, and beer. I complain to my co-workers about the hectic nature of Summer Camp teaching, but I get a kick out of not having time to stop and think about anything other than my next class. The extreme awesomeness of my Italian students has convinced me to throw my Greece plans to the wind (I doubt I could have afforded it anyway) and spend my last couple of weeks in Europe in Italy, after my job here ends. It will be my third time in Italy, I really feel that I should venture to the South (I've never been below Naples) but I really want to visit Cinque Terre so......oh this post it shit. The end.

London calling (again? shut up London)

I thought being back in an English speaking country would be nice. It's bloody annoying being able to understand the damn stupid conversations people are having around you.

I promise this isn't going to turn into a food blog, but I have been spending many hours eating, drinking, laughing, talking and reading in cafes.

Pintxos in San Sebastian. Snails. My friends ordered them, the guy scooped them into a bowl, heated them up in the microwave and then handed them over and said 'be careful, I think some are still alive'. It was a joke of course, well I think it was, I don't know since I refused to eat any. The process of ripping snail bodies out of their shell with a toothpick and then eating them doesn't really appeal.

This was also in San Sebastian, we went to a Japanese restaurant and I took a photo of this because it looked cool....and was also very expensive. So expensive that I wanted a solid memory of it once the few pieces of raw fish were gone.

Berlin is cute/alternative/freaking awesome cafe and bar central. I was begging people to go on a cafe crawl with me (like a pub crawl but no alcohol) but my idea wasn't met with enthusiasm. My German friend, Ninhousen - that's not her name, but I like putting housen at the end of everything German- took me around Berlin and humoured my constant need and desire for coffee.

This was a breakfast I had on my lonesome in Berlin. It was lovely. I had good food (coffee isn't very good in Germany) my book (The sun also rises) and nice weather (except for the pollen snow - damn hayfever) and bloody interesting-looking people to watch.

I have so many things to say, so many updates to post, pictures pictures pictures....

Oh, and those who wanted postcards - I have written them, I just need to buy stamps.

...and I'm back in the UK. In London. Damn London. Updates coming soon, I promise.

I've heard it enough, I won't let your lousy reputation throw me off

Waiting to go to Spain = making new blog banners. You guys choose:

Toledo

Cambridge

Valencia

They're breaking both my hands, they're telling me to take it like a man. Well, fuck that!

Yes it's me, again. I am happy. I am in Edinburgh. I need to pee but don't want to leave my laptop. I changed my flight, no longer going to Asturias, still going to Spain though.


On a personal note, as personal as it will get on here: boys are fucking annoying.
I am working on the whole 'indifferent' attitude. Do you guys think that in every relationship one person is more powerful than the other? Any kind of relationship: family, friends, lovers...one person always has the upper hand and the other person either doesn't realise this, or has just accepted it. Just a thought from someone who is always aware when she doesn't have the upper hand and indifferent when she does.


I saw a traditional Scottish folk music group last night with some girls from the hostel, it was very small and intimate and we were the youngest there; during the chorus the men in the crowd would start singing along, and everyone was tapping to the beat of the jigs. Perfection.


Alright, I am starving and am going to venture out of the hostel to find some food. It's my last day in Edinburgh, I might go to Arthur's Seat one last time.


Oh, and to those of you who asked for postcards...they're on the way!

On top of Arthur's seat.

You know you would always run from here

So the lost wandering continues. Next week I am flying to Northern Spain. I will be sad to leave Edinburgh, but I miss the busy Spanish streets at night, and I don’t fancy the idea of a Scottish winter. So my plan is…wait for it…. fly to Spain. Yes, that’s where the plan ends. Does anyone have any suggestions of what to see and do in Northern Spain? I definitely want to visit Galicia.

I didn’t even notice that there’s a guy in a straw hat, playing guitar in the kitchen where I’m writing this. I’m starting to like hostel living, it’s nice when you stay in one place for more than 3 days and you’re not in a room with a group of drunken Australians.

A few of the people I worked with in Cambridge have come to Edinburgh while I’ve been here and it has been great to have some company. Someone to take photos of me not acting my age. How does a 22-year-old act anyway? I’m sure it’s okay for them to climb rocks and do cartwheels on nice looking grass.

I slept past the free breakfast today, so I’m eating mints to abate my hunger until I get off the free wireless and head into town to find something to eat.

Why did I book a ticket to Spain? I don’t understand.


Photo: Timothy Barnes

He's got no time for you looking or breathing

Okay, so this is what happens when I have no direction. I just booked a flight to Spain for next week. Not sure why. Apparently my completely insane implusive side decided I want to see Northern Spain. This stupid side has forgotten that I have no job and money is rapidly running out. I feel like laughing hysterically again, I tend to do that a lot lately. Stay tuned..

I'll miss you, Arthur's seat.

Everybody says I oughta get over myself

I think I may have gone insane.

Upon arrival in Ullapool, after a four-hour bus journey, I realised that in my haste to book accommodation and figure out where I was going to go next, I had read the ferry timetable wrong. I’d booked two nights in this tiny village and couldn’t do the day trip to the Isle of Lewis I had come especially to do; unless I wanted to go to the island for ONE HOUR. Oh bite me, Scotland. So I stood at the small ferry office looking forlorn and confused; a man working for the ferry company came over and asked if I was lost. ‘I know where my hostel is, I’m just lost in life in general’ was my automatic reply. Well done Te, freak out the locals. He looked at me like I was absolutely insane, that was all the prompting I needed to tell him all my woes in a muddled mumbled mess while randomly bursting into laughter at the uselessness of myself. He began slowly edging away from the insane Australian. Actually, he offered to store my backpack in the ferry office until my hostel opened in another 3 hours.

As it turns out I am glad I didn’t go to Lewis, I did a beautiful boat tour of the Summer Isles and got far too enthusiastic about taking photos. I’ve been looking over them thinking ‘why did I take 12 photos of that rock?’ I’m sure at the time it was the most beautiful and inspiring rock I’d ever seen.

Oh the quaintness of Ullapool, it is so charming, until the village runs out of water. Yesterday was day 2 without a shower, I hopped in and the water just never came. Grumbling about the crappiness of my hostel I went overboard with the deodorant and then went for breakfast. Sorry, Te, you can’t have coffee…there’s no water. Okay, I had orange juice and then went to use the public toilet, sorry, you can’t flush...there’s no water. How….charming. Happy to announce I was able to shower this morning. These small victories really make life worthwhile.
Today I’m on the road again. Back down to Edinburgh and then…well, I don’t know. After next week I officially have no plans. Someone choose a country for me, quick!

My Photos of Ullapool and the Summer Isles

...Okay, was just offered a job in an isolated Scottish village and turned it down. Guess I don't want to work in an isolated village, atleast I know that now.

Welcome to Te's postcard service. If you'd like a postcard from somewhere Te ends up (could be anywhere) email her the address you want it sent to, to thatwassubtle@gmail.com

I don't know why I'm writing in third person...

Every man I fall for, drinks his coffee black

Hello blog readers, I’m sorry I accused you of not existing. You’re lovely. I am on the train from Edinburgh to Fort William. The scenery is stunning, and once again I am thinking of staying in Scotland. It’s so rugged and diverse. So maybe I’ll stay here, but not in Edinburgh, although I’ll have to make at least monthly trips to Edin to climb Arthur’s seat. It’s magical, and I love the wind in my hair to the point it looks like the victim of electrocution.

I woke up with a fierce hangover this morning…holy crap I’m not going to talk about my hangover the view out of the window is…wow…I keep thinking I’ll see Catherine and Heathcliff running past. The man sitting in front of me has taken a photo of every. single. tree. since we left Edinburgh; killing the magic with each click.

A friend came to stay for a couple of days and it has cheered me up. It was nice to have someone to talk to and go to a comedy show with, someone to push me down a hill and to watch rabbits running around at 3am with. Yeah, we’re normal. Wait, who wants to be described as normal, really? I’d rather be described as a bit strange than ‘normal’. A normal person would probably know where she’s going to sleep tomorrow night.

So of the ideas I was playing with, the pub one is the most appealing right now; I’m imaginging myself in a tiny, isolated Scottish village working in a quaint inn serving pints. In an hour or so I might be thinking of Spain, tomorrow it’ll probably be the gypsy thing. Well, to be fair I feel like I’m practically there; take away my laptop and ipod and I’m pretty much gypsyfied, actually gypsies probably have cleaner clothes than me. Wow….wowww..okay I’m going to go and gape out the window now.

Yeah...that's me. Arthur's seat in the background!

Like a waterfall in slow motion, like a map with no ocean. There's a limit to your love.

Okay, so nobody is reading my blog anymore so I suppose my indecisiveness has bored everyone to tears; it is boring me to tears, almost literally. The problem is I don't have a passion. Before I left Australia my passion was going to Spain, planning for Spain, talking about Spain, blogging about..Spain. It's nice and easy to live with passion driving you, it's pretty much blind enthusiasm. Even if you want something which only exists in your head, at least you want something.

I'm in a pretty crappy place at the moment, not physically..well, having to pay for wireless in a hostel is pretty crap, but I was referring to my mental state. I have no idea where I want to go, what I want to do... NO IDEA. I have been looking around online for jobs in Scotland for the past week or so, but I'm not so sure I really want to work in a hotel changing peoples' dirty bed sheets. I've always wanted to work in a traditional pub, but I'm fairly sure the idea I have of the job is extremely romanticised; realistically it'd be hard work and bad pay. Oh listen to me complaining, goodbye few readers I still have. Pretty sure most of you are my uni friends anyway...stop just reading my damn blog for updates, write me an email, lousy loserfaces. Sorry..

Okay, well, my options are:

1. Stay in Scotland. Get a job in a hotel or a bar. Live here for 3-6 months.

2. Get a winter resort job in childcare from Nov-April.

3. Go back to Spain and get a teaching English job Sep-June.

4. Go back to Melbourne, live with my parents and sulk.

5. Become a gypsy and tell peoples' fortunes on the side of the Scottish highland roads.

Yeah, number 4. is just there to put things in perspective.

A friend from Cambridge is coming to visit today. I am probably going to scare him with my extreme happiness to have company. That'll be amusing.

Photo: Oezguer Albayrak

It's not about your make-up, or how you try to shape up to these tiresome paper dreams

When I left Australia I was obviously looking for something. An adventure I guess; yes, I definitely wanted an adventure, but I’d tried to plan it and if you try to plan an adventure it’s less an adventure and more..well, a plan. I said adventure four times in one sentence and plan three times. I am tempted to look up thesaurus for synonyms for ‘adventure’ and ‘plan’, but I’m just too lazy..idol..slothful….er, focus, Te. I was trying to say that I’m actually having an adventure now because I have thrown planning to the wind. Worst comes to worst, I run out of money and beg the parentals for a one-way ticket home. Considering how much I want to stay in Europe I will try my best not to let myself get to that stage. So the next stage of the adventure is finding somewhere to live and a job. I am staying in Edinburgh.

When I arrived in the city I got the elevator up from my train platform, the elevator announcement said ‘Doors opening. Please stay calm’ I’m not entirely sure why we were meant to be panicking, but everyone in the elevator burst out laughing. Welcome to Edinburgh. There’s something about this city that tells me that I could come to love it as much as I love Melbourne; which would be superb, since I have been told my evil plan to move Melbourne to Europe isn’t feasible…killjoys!

The past few days I have been wandering around the city, getting lost, taking photos, and getting a feel for the different areas. I have narrowed it down to a few areas I’d like to live in, but I have heard there’s more chance of a Scottish person giving you money than finding a decent flat this time of year. Oh, should I not be making jokes about the Scottish? Hey, they can make as many kangaroo comments as they like.

AUSTRALIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

My photos of Edinburgh

But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me..

I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Here I am in a new country, again. Where I know nobody, again. No job lined up, again! Why do I keep doing this to myself? In the 7 weeks since I was in this position last I seem to have forgotten how lost it makes me feel. I am already idealising my time in Cambridge, suddenly the students were all little angels, the weather was perfect, the work was easy and my workmates and I were all BFFs.

So who has tips for Edinburgh? I am sitting in my hostel, drinking a beer and feeling sorry for myself. I’ve only been here a day but I’m stressed about the lack of a job. I’m just going to pretend that I am not myself, I am someone else, and I am giving advice to this someone else. I’d say ‘stop your complaining and do something to help yourself, put down the crisps and the half pint of Stella and photocopy your CV'. I used to be the Queen of Plans. Making plans are easy it seems, but sticking to them once you realise things aren’t how you expected them to be is more difficult. I mean, what the hell happened to Spain? I’m justifying it to myself by saying I’ll take Spanish classes here in Edinburgh, but it’s not really the same thing now, is it?

I walked to Arthur's seat today. I love that place. I wrote my name on a rock, just a random rock at the top of a hill thing I climed up (in my thongs). I feel guilty about writing on a rock now.

Why am I listening to the Killers? I don't even like them. Now would be the time for a sign….waiting for a sign….

Photo: Oezguer Albayrak

I'm naked, I'm numb, I'm stupid - I'm staying.

Today was my last day of six weeks teaching English in Cambridge. I felt like a slave half the time, but I can't promise I won't come back next year. I'd have to say that meeting and teaching so many awesome kids has been pretty rewarding. I wouldn't say it has put me off the idea of teaching, but it has made me realise that right now I don't want to commit to a full teaching year. Maybe in January...maybe next year..maybe later. As for Spain. Well. Madrid was awesome, but right now I just feel like the right decision is to stay in the UK for a bit. So I'll be taking Spanish lessons- in Edinburgh. I really want to talk to my friends right now, I need advice about stuff, human interaction stuff..hmm that sounds a bit sus doesn't it? It wasn't meant to..or...

So, I have a train ticket, a few days in a hostel and a whole lot of possibilities. My students keep asking me when I'm going to 'scottyland' and whether I will be 'living under a bridge'. Bless the little brats. No really, I'll miss them and their awesome mistakes like 'I want to improve my grandma' and 'last night I was very boring'.

Today before I left my boss came up to me to say thanks and that he'll miss me. I didn't know how to respond, so I said 'is it because I'm Australian?' and then jumped up and made an A with my body, 'YMCA' style and shouted 'Go Australia!'. He just looked at me blankly having no idea why I had done it. I don't either. Social retardation is a possibility; luckily he just assumed I was drunk.


My photo of Cambridge. The Bridge of Sighs from the River Cam.

I said that you're a moron, when I said it I was smilin', so you think that I was jokin'

When I was 18 I lived in England for six months in the county of Norfolk. My banner photograph was taken in the small town where I lived. I was doing volunteer work at a respite centre, looking after disabled adults and children. I lived in the attic of the place I worked; there were six of us in that attic. The work was pretty much exploitation- long hours, the worst chores and very little thanks, not to mention no pay. I used to fantasize about packing my bags and leaving without telling anyone, but I felt obligated to stay and put up with it for the sake of the people I was looking after more than anything else. Of all the six-month periods in my life I think my time in Norfolk has had the biggest impact, thus far.

I went back to the town today. I was expecting it to be a bit of a mind fuck, returning to this place after four years. I was really curious as to how I would feel walking around my old haunts. In reality I was incredibly under whelmed; I spent an hour in the town. The place I worked at has been closed down (not surprising) the windows are boarded up and there are years’ worth of weeds. The pub I spent my nights at has a different name. The rest of the town looks no different to how I remember. I walked along the cliffs hoping for some kind of emotion, I played songs on my ipod which remind me of my time there, but forced nostalgia is bound to be weak.

At least I came to one realisation. I have my happiest moments on public transport. Lame.

Photo: David Vasiljevic

But you work in a shirt with a name tag on it

I've decided to move to Scotland in 2 weeks. Decision is made, now I just need somewhere to live and a job.

Photo: Timothy Barnes