south bank, london

i love cities. i love their bustle, their vitality, their people. i especially love the way that cities harbour vibrant subcultures, how anyone can find their niche if they work hard enough.

i arrived in london nauseous, exhausted, and sore from a long plain ride, and the panic attack i had before even getting on the plane. even though i was still nervous once the plane landed, i now was able to put it aside, because i had to concentrate on getting myself to my hostel. that's something i've noticed about travel already - when in doubt, force yourself into motion, and you won't be able to concentrate on your nerves anymore.

i spent my time in london walking. i walked and walked, went back to the hostel and bandaged my bruised and blistered feet, and walked some more. wandering the city rather haphazardly, and happily going back to places i'd enjoyed. this means i missed out on a lot of sights - i never made it to camden town, for instance, and both times i tried the globe a play was in progress, but i refused to stress about it, telling myself that i'd come back, i could see it later. it's bigger and denser than any city i'd ever been in before, and i got lost countless times, but it was all part of london's charm, and i found some lovely places i'd otherwise never have noticed.

to start

as dylan thomas said, let's "begin at the beginning." i'm not sure what the exact beginning is in this case, but i think when i was a little girl is as good as any. i grew up in victoria, bc. i was a very shy child, but a voracious reader, and the books i read were a big influence on me.

when i was little, i didn't actually have a wardrobe, but i checked inside any that i came across (my granny's seemed an especially appropriate choice) for a snowy wonderland. i wished i could travel to camelot, and meet king arthur - i would be his bravest, most loyal damosel. i wondered what my daemon would be. and i know i'm not the only person who hoped and prayed for a letter to arrive by owl on my eleventh birthday.

as i grew up, i of course realized that fiction and reality are two different things, but that didn't stop me from wishing that the worlds inside my books - worlds of teenage runaways, bizarre and amazing places, brave orphans, girl detectives, secret worlds and gardens, gypsies and pirates, adventures and quests - were real. i know now, as an aspiring writer myself, that existing in books makes them real, but i wanted adventures of my own, private worlds and battles against evil.

so here we are. i'm 21 now, an age where you're not supposed to believe in the fairy tales anymore. i'm too old to be a teenage runaway, and not nearly wise enough to be a gypsy, but i'm not going to let that stop me. i've got a passport & visa, a camera, a notebook, and good music for long train journeys. i'm off to meet the uk, explore europe for two years, and make my own ordinary adventures.