In this one I become a vegetarian

Let's talk about bovines. So what do we know about them? Yes, you in the front seat.
John Diefenbaker: They are large.
Correct. What else? Yes, you with the pony tails.
Lenny Kravitz: They give milk. Oh, and they have horns.

Ok, clearly I am working with insanely astute crowd. Why can you guys not be like my blog readers? They are smart, polite and ever so good looking. Anyways, bovines are large four legged creatures. Renowned for their abilities to congregate in large "herds", they are good sources of milk, meat and jackets/shoes. What people neglected to inform me prior to Ireland was that Cows do not voluntarily go to an abattoir and the meat is not surgically removed from them allowing them to continue a frolic-filled existence. Damn you people, why did you not support my delusions?

The first problem arose when I crossed the borders into the emerald isles. I discovered that the emeraldyness stopped when faced with the local cuisine. The food became predominantly meat oriented. This in itself never poses a great challenge for one so awesome as I, however, Enniskillen, where we stayed on a road called Killyvilly killed my desire for meat, forever.

Let me talk a bit about Enniskillen. Nestled in the heart of county Fermanagh, lies this depressing little burg. I have travelled to a fair number of places in this world. I adored the chaos of Delhi, I loved the "primal" nature of Algonquin Park, the gorgeousness of the Adirondacks, the swell of humanity in London. All those places had their downsides be it pooping in the dark imagining a bear around each shadow to mosquitoes (looking at you here, St. Lucia), from getting stranded due to trains being late, to a city grinding to a complete halt due to snow. But each and every occassion I have loved these places. In general, I have loved every place I have been to. I have memories stemming from each one, that are pleasurable and despite certain hardships, just bloody fantanstic.

Really? Is this the best Acronym you could come up with. 

Enniskillen, has no saving grace. None. I am sorry. No wait, the people were nice. I do like the people there. But take away the niceness of the people, you are left with nothing. The town has a feel of decay hanging over it, and is not helped by signs like this.

So we find ourselves, MT and I that is, in county Fermanagh, hungry as hell at around 6 in the evening. Venturing out in the wild of Enniskillen we find ourselves confronted with closed stores. Subway- closed, food stores- closed, ASDA - closed, the only places open, were a fish and chip store, a seedy pizza store, and a massive chinese buffet. It is here, that something snapped inside my head. I could not eat meat anymore. Every jiggling piece of flesh that was served in front of me, made me want to gag.

So here I sit, in a cafe in downtown Toronto, I can still say, I am now cured of meatatarianism with momentary relapses. It has been a long three weeks. Stupid, Killyvilly. I liked my beef burgers.

In this one I liveblog Northern Ireland

Oh hello,

I didn't see you there. As you lovely sinners all know, the Republic of Ireland is near and close to my heart. This is in part due to the fact that I am in it, but also due to the fact that Northern Ireland turned out to be a massive let down. Please join me as I and my faithful sidekick MT  as we tour around Northern Ireland. In italics are the accurate descriptions of the locations provided to us by the trusty guide "The AA best drives of Ireland" and our experiences which were recorded by my photographic memory. In this case the use of the word guide is about as reliable as my memory. That should not bode well for anyone. 

In this one I crack the code of ancient Irish

Sometimes, I shock myself. As the smarter of you lot might have figured out, I am in Ireland. The Emerald Isles are truly a gorgeous place. The vistas are truly awe-inspiring and, hell, the cliffs of Moher are alone worth a post. I am not going to write the post, because, well, I am lazy but I stand by my initial assessment that the place is phenomenal.

But since I can bitch about anything, I had a few questions to the ancient Irish. Why? Why did you put stone walls EVERYWHERE? I do not mean here and there. I mean everywhere. I mean look at Inishmaan on the Aran Islands. (Photo courtesy of Chris Hill at Pixdaus)

You see those lines, they are all walls. The entire island is full of them. Why? I was perplexed my little toucans. And then I put my 984 years worth of brain cells to work. With the processing power far exceeding the earliest computers, my brain told me "Mate, why do jersey cows look like that?" I promptly discarded it's answer as useless and turned my keen eye towards the country side. More walls, but hidden here and there were ruined keeps and castles. Abandoned towers and look out points (all made with more rocks) festooned the landscape. And then it hit me.

The ancient Irish, were great builders. Certainly the predecessors to Ikea, given their skill at assembling said buildings with rock and nothing but a rock (save a pickaxe which can be likened to an ancient allen key) they built these buildings and walls everywhere. The problem was that no one told them about the good spots to put said walls and buildings. I like to think of the ancient Irish as a band of enthusiastic nomadic DIYers going from village to village constructing castles and keeps. To thank people for food, or to warn other tribes of nomadic DIYers from entering villages or even specific houses they built these walls. These facts seem to fit my observation. Consequently, any further research in to this subject is pointless and not required.

As I said, sometimes I shock myself.... WITH BRILLIANCE.

Stay tuned as I live-blog MT and my experiences with sight seeing in Ireland.

In this one I steal ideas to start my own members exclusive club

My little Orcs and Goblins,

It is a well known fact that I am classy and stylish in every sense of the word. Why, once, I went undercover to study the homelessness situation in the Nomads of the Saharan deserts and even there, I was voted as the best dressed person. Granted, I was the only person who was dressed in a full tuxedo, but that is beside the point.

In this one I liveblog a cricket match from Lords

Starring in this live blog is Mr. KB and your lovely brown blogger. Come join us as we take you on an adventure through the mecca of cricket, Lords Cricket Ground.

These events are largely based upon factual events. (Sort of)

In this one I rock it in W8

Hello my lovely peasants,

As I type this, I am sitting in a lovely living room on top of a mansion block (also known as a penthouse, dah-ling) in the prestigious Kensington neighborhood of London. As my impoverished fans know that I am a down-to earth-person, who has his feet rooted to reality, so really this kind of top upmarket neighborhood does not really swell my head too much.

Now where is that goddamn butler with my badger infused macchiato that can only be served in a gold plated skull. Ugh, serfs.

So my little plebs, you might ask, how was your day, you handsome yet humble blogger? Well, children, day one in London was spent going to Brunch and then watching cricket. Brunch is an interesting experience in the motherland. In Toronto, where a certain handsome bald blogger lives, Brunch is a yuppie, fun experience to catch up with friends. However, Brunch in London is more of an upmarket dining experience. I had something called Prawn Omelette, with coriander, green chillies and Sambal sauce. Yea, kind of makes my badger infused macchiato sound normal now, huh?

KB just pointed out that my Badger infused macchiato joke is not funny. I took this to mean that the Butler could not prepare it, and consequently told him that he was fired. Bloody peasants.

Tomorrow, we actually go to Lords and hope to have cucumber sandwiches served to us on silver plated gold platters.

Toodles,

@damookman

In this one, London. I am in you. Again.

So here we are my lovely Gerdie-root hunters (I am on a Harry Potter kick, shut up). I have begun my travels again.  Armed with nothing but a general idea of where I will be waking up tomorrow morning, I have hit the road.... well first, I hit a person, then the millenium falcon and finally the road.

As I escape the monotony of running entire cities (added megalomania plus dictatorial aspirations to my list of mental health conditions), I find myself in my happy place. My happy place just happens to be London, England. Why this place? Well, as I type this, I am chilling in a cafe, where people are nice and friendly to me. In fact, to paraphrase a luminary of the 21st century, Homer Simpson, they call me sir, without adding the words "you are making a scene" right after it. It is warm but not too warm. Test cricket is being played live in this city and Tour De France is happening in the same timezone. Yup, this is my happy place. Also the cafe is a Starbucks because they have unlimited internets.

So how did I end up here you may ask, oh aspirational dementors?

A few aeons ago (it might have been last year, come to think of it) I went to the beautiful island of St. Lucia with my friend KB. KB, if you recall, is a man who is blissfully unaware of technology. Well, KB and his lovely wife V recently moved to London. Since they left me, I decided to follow them and impose myself throughly upon them. Consequently, they now have the good moderate some kind of fortune of hosting me for the next 8 days. During this time I hope to detail why, I am in love with this city. Stay tuned fellow Aurors.

Love,
@damookman

P.S A thought strikes me. I should not be insulting the person who is offerring me shelter. Right?

In this one I stand by helplessly

I am going to break the fourth wall today a bit. As many of you may or may not know, my Mother was diagnosed with Hogdkins lymphoma a few years back.  We went through the necessary treatments which included an open biopsy, a series of Chemotherapy and Radiation sessions. Eventually she went through complete remission and was declared healthy as a horse. While, normally, I object to my loved ones being referred to as farm animals or large bovines, I figured this was a good proclamation. The last few years she has been in tip-top shape. Thankfully.

A few months ago that old sinking feeling returned. They discovered new nodules in her neck. Thankfully, we are linked up with one of the best cancer treatment hospitals in the world. As I type this, she was just wheeled into an operation theatre where they intend on going inside of her in a tiny ship and extricating a nodule. Obviously, the tiny ship is a joke, but it feels better than saying that they are going to make an incision and extricate a lump from inside her.

Neither of us are overtly emotional people. In fact, most of @damookman's ex-partners have described him as cold and emotionless. She is strong and I am trying to be as logical as possible. To a great degree both of us have good coping mechanisms, mostly because worrying about an unknown never helps. This  system does break down though when faced with a particular road bump.

The wait

The wait feels like the worst part of this journey. You feel like yelling, screaming, snapping at things, people, objects and pretty much anything that crosses your path comes across as an obstruction to the answers that you need. The wait is like the Black Knight, it just refuses to move aside.

As she was wheeled into the theatre about 20 minutes ago, I stood there, helpless. Fully aware, that I should let the experts do their job, I stood there.... rooted to the spot.

Once this interminable wait is over, we will have to wait again for the results. Once again, Princess Margaret Hospital is amazing and they have treated us amazingly. Their turnaround time for things like this is spectacularly fast. But moments like this make you want to shake people just to make things go faster.

Still waiting @damookman

P.S. Humorous observations will commence in a short period of time. I just figured this was a journey of a different sort and wanted to talk about it a bit. 

An open love letter to Lake Placid

Dear Lake Placid or Misty,

Can I call you Misty? I think I shall. Where do I begin, Misty? I think I shall begin at the top. (Get it, hills, top, mountains... geez I kill myself)

As you well know before the wonderful weekend, that I was a sophisticated traveller who had experienced many different cafes and cities. I have been smooshed into trains in Delhi, I have been chased by ruffians in London, I have cried on the side of mountains, and I have laughed on the shores of oceans. But during all of those trips, I had never travelled to the 'Land of the Free' (Miami airport notwithstanding).

What I thought was that everyone in your part of the world hated cyclists? Turns out that you had a cycle lane from the border of your country to the heart of your city. You know what Misty, that means that you have a cycle path into my heart.

Your mountains, your marathons, your bike routes, your beautiful people and your roadies, they all conspired to steal my affections away from my true love, Londres (Fear not London, I am still yours, and soon I shall be in you).

I think both of us agree that this weekend while less than perfect (your rains, Misty. They need to not happen when we meet), was wonderful. Brief though this visit was, it was full of passion. I shall be coming back to you soon, Misty. So just make sure that the coffee is brewing, and the rain stays away. This time, I promise you, I shall be there longer.

Love,

@Damookman.

In this one raindrops keep falling on my head

Good evening my adorable Parameciums,

Let me tell you a story about little @damookman. Little @damookman was an avid sprinter and loved to read about physics. He learned at a very young age that when when one travels close to the speed of light, the traveller gets tunnel vision due to the vagaries of physics unicorn blood-magic. He also learned at a young age that running down a hill meant running way faster than his body could ever manage on a flat surface. It was during one such run that he started to experience Tunnel Vision. Instead of stopping like any sane living creature would, little @damookman assumed that he was nearing the speed of light and then wondered why he was lying on grass with red liquid secreting out of new orifices in his body. Needless to say it was confusing. Through careful study of unicorn blood-magic, I chalked it up to the fact that running at the speed of light causes your blood to freak out and it wants to run away from your success at mocking mother nature.

In this one I... ROAAAAADDD TTTTRRRRRIIIIPPPP

Ah, hello. I did not see you there. Welcome back, my lovely baby-lampreys. So as I promised, I have begin my journeys once again.

As many of you might already know, thanks to some lovely long term planning, I never legally got my license. Yes, despite my advanced age of 978 years, I never got around to getting one of those legal things that allows me to drive a big thing with four (sometimes 12) wheels. To the rescue comes my good friend Eric "Fatal Seige" C. As an avid cyclist who was once dropped by a lycra clad retiree (the same one who constantly dropped me last year. Click here if you need reminding.) Fatal Seige was totally up for taking a trip to... wait for it... Lake Placid, New York. 

"Lake Placid?" Yes,  my lovely upstream swimming Salmons, Lake Placid. Nestled up in the Adirondacks Mountains in Upstate New York is this athletic paradise. The site of two, yes count them, two winter Olympic games. But that will come in the next post. 

I should point out that Mr. Fatal Siege lives in the hamlet of Kitchener. With barely 200,000 people, it is sometimes literally minutes before the Seige sees another soul. Mr. Fatal, as he is known to his friends, also decided that working before driving 10 hours was a great idea. So Fatal comes over to Toronto whereupon we strap two bikes on his trusty steed (also known as a car). Install a G.P.S (stands for Guppy Placing System) which on top of placing Guppies should theoretically also tell you how to get to point B from A. After a brief food break, we left. 

During the journey we discovered things which I shall now insist that you know and memorize or I will beat you... with sharks.  

1) The GPS, is pretty bad at placing guppies but is even worse at telling you how to get from point A to point B. Mostly because it assumes you are starting from point C which is nowhere close to point B. However, it insisted on guiding us from Point C to Point A to Point B. Due to the piles of dead guppies and it's insistence of wanting us to start from Point C, it was soon abandoned and shot with a murderous tiger which had been expelled out of a howitzer. 

2) Enroute to the land of the Free, we decided to get some caffeine. To facilitate the flow of said goodness, we stopped at a Tim Hortons and were served by a person with one eyebrow. It turns out that Unibrows hate devilishly handsome bloggers with a killer smile, and Eric. Insults to the Siege aside, Unibrow-Man took the same approach to coffee as Jackson Pollock to painting. By which I mean, coffee was not only in the cups, but on the cups, counters, co-workers, lids, small children, the elderly, and my mother (really surprising since she was not actually travelling with us). Unibrow-Man handed us cups that were leaking and covered in brown syrup. Origins of the brown syrup were not immediately recognizable  but it was quite tasty. 

3) Dick-Punching is a good way of showing how much you respect a person and should become the new way of greeting old friends. Enough said.  

4) After 12 hours of driving, everything seems funny, but you are also prone to bouts of spontaneous crying about cats. 

Next post: Oh god. So much RAIN. 

In this one I talk about Food and me. Foodies, might want to look away.

My dear lovely baby Anacondas,


It has been a while, has it not? I apologize for this my lovelies, but I can promise you this, as I am embarking upon my next set of journeys I shall post a bit more frequently. Ok, frequently is a lie... more sporadically?!?!


But first let's discuss food. Yes, food,  in a blog devoted to factual truthiness (thank you Stephen Colbert) about travel. Food,  FOOOODD, Fewd, no matter how you spell it holds a special place in people's hearts. Which is strange considering food goes in the stomach. 


In my alter ego as a mild-mannered guy, I have been interacting with people in my immediate surroundings (I like to call them normies) who get shocked when I tell them that Food and I have a troubled relationship and that I do not care for it much. This invariably leads to people assuming that   I do not like to eat good food. Normies are not good listeners. Apologies to any normies reading. 


Yes, it is true, I will frequently forget to eat. I eat to live, not live to eat. Yes, my dear cute adorable nautilus (nautili?!?). It may be simple semantics, but it makes all the difference in the world. It simply means that I will eat when I need to. This does not preclude the need to eat good food, neither does it prevent me from recognizing good food when I see it. Simply, that I will eat it when hungry. Enjoyment is an aftereffect. I do not fixate on it, I do not chase it, I simply do not care that much for it. If there is good food there, I will eat it. If not, well I will keep it down and move on. 


In the case the world ends tomorrow, and I should know having survived four apocalypses, seven raptures and nineteen asteroid collisions in my 975 years of existence, "good food" will cease to exist leaving us with grey goo. Turns out that was my lunch in fourth year of monastery schooling. Guess who's ready for the new world order? THIIIIIISSSS GUYYYYYY