I’ve been getting a couple messages from friends lately telling me I look like I’m doing great. And I guess for the amount of time I’ve been in Toronto, I am. I don’t downplay how far I’ve gotten in such a short period of time.

However, I don’t think I’m flourishing in the ways I really wanted to be at this point.

It took me a bit of time to establish myself in Edinburgh. As everyone who knows me knows by now, the first few months were some of the toughest of my life. But after a while I fell into a group of good friends and like-minded people and started finding the things in the city that made me smile.

Unfortunately, I grew accustomed to how easy it was to get off a train half an hour outside of the city and be somewhere with amazing hiking trails or hills or Monroes with views that would make me cry. Nothing warmed my spirit more or made me feel less alone than walking next to the ocean or doing my best to reach the top of a big hill (even if I did these things on my own).

In Scotland I found so much peace in nature. I forgot how hard it is to find places like that in or around Toronto, especially if you don’t have a car.

Currently, writing is my only solace from a city I’m finding very overwhelming. I’m trying my best not to be too negative and to just make myself be happy, the same way I did for a while in Edinburgh, but it’s been difficult. What about a big city like Toronto makes me smile? I don’t know yet. And realistically the only way forward is to suck it up, stop being a baby, and try new things.

To be honest, I haven’t laughed hard in a long time. And that’s hurting me too. I love to laugh until I cry. I love it so much and I miss it so much. I know in time I will laugh again and feel at peace again, and I really hope I can do so in a busy city. Time heals all wounds but as I’ve learned, happiness doesn’t just come with time. It comes with hard work. And for me, it’s become something I find when I’m alone in nature or laughing with others who support me and who I can support in return. Right now those people are few and far between but the one or two I do have treat me like gold, and I’m so lucky to have them.

Toronto has been showing me some different sides I haven’t seen just yet though so I’m holding out hope that soon enough I’ll find my niche and in a couple of months have a gaggle of hilarious, caring, and selfless people by my side who help expose those great attributes in me too.

Amsterdam always feels a bit like a second home (or I guess third home at this point) when I visit. It’s tricky to navigate around the canals and busy streets of the city center, but all the missteps land you in interesting new areas and in unexplored shops and restaurants.

Looking back, one lesson I learned while in Amsterdam was that although it’s true that art inspires art, sometimes one requires an absence of art to be inspired. Yeah, it’s a bit confusing. Let me explain.

From the moment I arrived in Amsterdam, I was engulfed by artistic inspiration and creativity. Besides travelling with two incredibly artistic and inspiring pals, it was the city’s walls soaked in street art, classical museums, melodic sounds of buskers flooding the streets, and liberal attitudes towards self-expression that lit my spirit and began convincing me I should move into an artist commune and chop off my ear for the sake of my writing.

With all these avenues for artistic expression, I thought from day one that I’d be filled with inspiration to write, draw, sing, repeat. Though Dave, Jessie, Gary, and I did a lot of singing, the other two were in short supply from me.

Since encountering a few major writer’s blocks in the past couple years, I become incredibly nervous when I go through periods of a disinterest in writing. I tend to think well, I had a good run I guess. I should just accept defeat and hang up my pen. But being in Amsterdam reminded me that sometimes the best art comes from these creative dry spells.

Wandering NDSM—or “Art Island”, a 10 minute ferry ride from mainland Amsterdam—gave me some perspective on the creative process I tend to forget. Great works of art often come from a paint tray of random colours and bouts of instantaneous inspiration. I’m no believer in God, but inspiration is occasionally akin to a spirit that comes to your aid suddenly in a time of need, then leaves you in a quick burst. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just how it works.

There have been periods in my life where all I want to do is hole myself up in an isolated room and let my fingers fly wild across a keyboard, but oftentimes what I write makes no sense or doesn’t have the meaning behind it that I wanted it to. Looking back, many pieces of writing I’ve been most proud of have bloomed from ideas I’ve had while walking down the street, that got quickly jotted into a notebook or on a napkin. You can’t force inspiration I think, it just comes to you.

So when I look back on Amsterdam, at first I’m sad I didn’t take any time to write. But then I realise, hey dude, you had a pretty friggin fantastic and inspiring time even though you didn’t want to write about it then.

When I was in the city I was sad that the writer’s block was in full effect, but looking back on it now I’m glad I used my time to be with my friends and focus on enjoying my surroundings. I mean, as much as I’d like to say there was some spiritual, higher power convincing me to take every moment of the trip as it comes instead of worrying about writing, it was actually probably just all that weed I smoked, aye?

Xx Tori

 

It’d be easy to write a whole post about the scenery of Split, Croatia. It’s absolutely, insanely beautiful. But to be honest, I spent almost two years of my life blabbering on about scenery for a travel magazine and I’m quite sick of that shit. The flora and fauna blah dee blah dee blah. Instead, this is a retelling of one of the most magical nights of my trip to convince you all that you must pay Croatia a visit regardless of your interest in natural beauty.

Since a tan in Scotland is a rarity, I must admit I did spend the whole of my first three days in the city lying on beaches reading Trainspotting, and snacking on pizza and squid. I also ate some incredible veggie and vegan food—Marta’s Fusion for those of you looking for vegan food was wicked—and consumed a load of banana sorbet. But good eats aside the beaches were bomb.

On the bottom side of Marjan, a huge green space for hiking in the middle of Split, is a wee swimming spot called Bene Beach. It’s not just beautiful because of it’s crystal clear turquoise water (yuh can take the lassie outta travel writing but yuh can’t take the travel writing oot the lassie), but it’s also beautiful in its relative desolation. The other two beaches I visited were packed with plenty of beach-goers but for some reason this spot, with the best views, was the most private. There were areas a bit off from the main point of the beach that were completely human-free. I picked a rock, sat my arse down, and wrote the first poem I’d written in ages. Solitude and ocean air always make me feel creative.

Cut to day three. I had spent the majority of the day on Split’s only sandy beach—I wouldn’t recommend it, so crowded and covered in litter sadly. Because I had been foregoing party nights since arriving I decided to head home for a shower and a pick me up coffee before finding a cool drinking and dancing spot.

When I arrived back at my hostel I met a group of seven people from Germany who had all just finished a week-long sailing extravaganza around the Croatian islands. They expressed to me how tired they were but how stoked they were to spend their last night partying.

So I invited myself out.

The first part of the night was alright. I felt a bit out of place and a bit bad for intruding on their last night together and also felt guilty for not speaking any German, but it was a nice little sandwich and beer by-the-sea supper regardless. When we went for a post-dinner coffee, I was convinced the group were too tired to go for a boogie but I ordered a gin and tonic anyway and reminded myself that dancing alone was equally as fun as dancing with others.

On our way back to the hostel we stumbled upon a man playing and singing popular tunes with his guitar in the square of Diocletian’s Palace (an old structure used in the show Game of Thrones that takes up a large portion of space in the old town). Until about midnight we danced and sang along with the 50 or so others in the square as it rained on and off. There was some salsa, some line dancing, and some straight Elaine Benes-style nonsense going down; I loved every minute of it.

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After capping off the tunes with the likes of Have You Ever Seen the Rain, Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, and Hey Jude, all of us getting down in the square left in the same direction, collectively searching for more music.

As we entered into an echo-y dome located beside the square, one woman started to sing. We slowly turned to look at her and then all of a sudden at least 10 other women chimed in with all manner of harmonies. These tunes included Amazing Grace, Dancing Queen, and All About the Bass. The dancing and debauchery resumed until the women’s choir (apparently from Sloveinia) packed it in and headed off.

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We finished the night at a spot called Academia Club Ghetto, where glasses of 85% absinthe were being set alight, a haze of cigarette smoke carpeted the dance floor, and a French DJ was mixing techno beats with live oboe playing. Oh how I danced. The music was so good my mates and I stayed at the bar for a good few hours before my feet started to swell and I had to call it.

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When I left, the DJ was playing a mashup of tribal tunes, Irish folk music, and again techno beats to round it off. Needless to say, I was pretty damned impressed. You know you’re in for a ride when a man with a huge grey beard wearing gothic clothes in his early 70’s tells you he’s the owner and grabs your arms to admire your tattoos. Well that, and the absinthe thing.

The lesson here? Music brings us all together and strangers make the best dance partners. When I travel solo in the future, seeking out live music in town will now be my sure-fire way to meet new faces. Split, thanks for the incredible memories and major nose freckles.

Love, Tori xx

It’s taken me a wee while post-Krakow to process my few days there. It was a whirlwind of quick bursts of self-discovery, great discussions, lesson learning, and mind-altering experiences. So I’ve broken these down into four categories:

People

It was simple and comforting to tell myself that the majority of this trip would be spent alone wandering streets and inwardly contemplating my last two years. It was also foolish. I’ve already met so many new people and I’ve only been gone about a week.

I didn’t realise it was even possible to become best pals with someone in a matter of days (or day, in the case of an American BABE I spent the day touring Krakow with). Travelling has opened me up to the possibility of meeting people who can have a HUGE impact on you in a very small amount of time.

Speaking of huge impacts, did you know Oscar Schindler was responsible for saving the lives of more than 1200 Jews? One person was able to save not only one life, but hundreds when times were toughest. He risked his life because it’s what was right and seemed to do so with little hesitation. His quotes seem matter-of-fact in an “I could do it, so I did it,” sort of way. He’s an inspiration to everyone and shows the epitome of human goodness. In a time of such dark, it’s these stories of light and kindness that should give us the courage to save lives in our world today. Save one life and you save many, as they say.

What has this leg of the trip taught me about people? Lots. It’s reminded me that so many of them are good, it’s reminded me how hard it is to say good bye, and has taught me that timing—good or bad—is more than half the battle in the way we interact with and enjoy the company of others. Also I will never again travel with the notion that lonely is better. Travelling completely solo is great but it’s important to keep an open mind and talk to people you might not otherwise have chatted to (or gone out for many many drinks with).

Privilege

When I’ve heard people talk about experiencing Auschwitz, I had a very different idea of what it would be like to walk where so many innocent people needlessly suffered. I thought it would be one of the hardest things I’ve had to witness. And it was horrible. But because of the mass amounts of tourists circulating both camps and the number taking selfies and smiling photos in front of firing walls, barracks, and archways stained with the memories of murdered innocents, I didn’t feel like I could take what I thought I would from it.

I had to have a good think about it outside of the actual tour and away from many people who I was, to be honest, a bit disgusted by. In the end my reflections have led me to a couple conclusions:

1) Too many people still haven’t seemed to learn the lessons this atrocity should have taught us. Too many groups and individuals still fear differences and boil people down to a shade of skin, choice of dress, choice of beliefs, etc. With so much of the western world beginning to close its borders, how can so many people not understand that we could be headed for similar brutal conflicts in the neat future?

2) As someone who is from a privileged background, I need to be more aware of the way I speak. I’m guilty of saying some of these in the past: “You are where you’re meant to be,” “what goes around comes around,” “enjoy where you’re at because you’ll never be there again,” etc. Who am I, a woman at the top level of privilege in the world, to say these things? Can refugees running from their government and terrorist organisations, starving and trying to save their families be blamed for their own circumstances? Were people born into poverty because they were meant be suffering? Were the victims of Auschwitz supposed to enjoy where they were in their lives? People of privilege need to recognise how lucky we are to live where we do with as much as we do.

As a straight, white, middle-class woman living in Canada I need to acknowledge and listen to what others have to say about their own experience, be accommodating to their opinions, and sympathise with their circumstances. Us privileged individuals need to raise the voices of people who aren’t in the same situations and support our neighbours no matter what they look like or where they come from. I understand it’s not necessarily as simple as just loving each other more, but if that’s the only thing I can do to help for now, then I’m on it.

Pierogis

Nuff said.

Poland

Krakow, you did a bunch to surprise me. The majority of people are welcoming and kind, the food is incredible, the street art brightens up grey days, and it’s a city that’s easy to navigate and get from A to B on foot. Ultimately, the memories and friends made in Krakow will forever be in the back of my mind and front of my heart.

We all have different lessons to learn and different ways to approach life to make it easier and more enjoyable. I am in no way trying to say that these are lessons we all need to learn, I can only speak for myself and for my scatter brains that need to see things in writing before fully comprehending them:

1. Be calm. There are certain things that can’t be changed. Sometimes you might miss a train, or even a flight. Obviously try your best to make sure that doesn’t happen but generally you’ll encounter bumps that can’t be avoided. Before starting this journey, I got anxious and stressed out and would swear and cry and get flustered when things didn’t go as planned. Since moving around though, I’ve noticed I’ve become more patient than I even imagined possible, and I’m pretty happy about that.

2. Don’t just be patient with the world around you, be patient with yourself. It took me a long time to find my place and people in Edinburgh and instead of accepting that it takes time to settle in, I would get upset with myself for not making more friends, or not travelling as much as I thought I would be. But looking back, those first few months I did do a lot and see a lot of new things. I fell in love with a person for a little while but more importantly slowly but surely I fell in love with Scotland, with travelling, with being uncomfortable, with being alone, and most importantly, with just being me. In the future, I’ve resolved to be kinder to myself and allow myself as much time as I need to solve problems I encounter.

3. It’s okay to be nostalgic sometimes, but you also need to learn to let things go. A line from the song Welcome, by Hey! Rosetta goes: “Forget where you’ve been, it’ll never be that good again, and we must only look ahead.” I think they mean that the happiness we feel at certain points in our life feels so intensely bright because we’ve not experienced it before so we’ll never be able to double those specific happy feelings. That’s one major thing I’ve come to learn while dealing with depression. Life will never be as good as it was, but it will be great OR even better in the future if you open yourself up to new possibilities. If you always keep moving forward there are an infinite number of opportunities for happiness and light ahead of you, and that’s pretty damn exciting.

4. Find what makes you happy and practice it often. I love singing. I love it. A lot. Every time I sing I feel incredibly happy. So now I do it every day. I sing to myself when I wake up, I sing at work, I sing while I walk down the street, I sing when I play guitar, I sing when I cook, and I sing on the toilet. I especially love that my friends love to sing with me too. With Dave in the car or in the Meadows with no background music to hide our AMAZING voices, with Max and Izzy in their living room, with Alissa in the kitchen, with Asha wherever we are basically, with Evey before a night out, with Emma to the sweet sounds of Paolo Nutini, and with everyone at karaoke for my 25^th birthday last year. These are some of my favourite memories from my time away and I’ll forever cherish them and remember them when I’m low.

5. Sometimes the only person you’ll have to rely on is yourself. As much as your family and friends will be there for you when you need them, sometimes you’ll be all alone and no one will be available to take your call. It’s these times, when we’re truly alone, that show us how strong we really are. Depression was tough. There were many days I didn’t leave my flat, or even my bed. But the day I decided to get help and fix myself was the day I realized that as a 24-year-old woman, no one was going to grab my hands, pull me out of bed, and physically force me to go to the doctor. I had to want to get better and push myself to do things I didn’t think I was capable of at the time like getting a new job, leaving behind a relationship, going out and making new friends, and making myself enjoy my life since it’s the only one I’ve got. Don’t get me wrong, my parents and friends played a big part in my recovery, but in the end I was the only person who could start moving myself forward.

There’s definitely been way more than this list that I’ve learned while livin’ dat expat life, but I think 800 words of rambling, if anyone has actually made it this far, is probably enough for now. Stay tuned for more things that people probably already know but are consistently eureka moments for me.