true love/love at first sight

This was all stimulated by a strange conversation with my housemate. We were discussing Love Actually, which is rather a contentious issue with Brits, I have found, and I happened to mention how rediclous the story-lines following Colin Firth was; he and a girl, unable to communicate, fall in love "at first sight."
Immediately my house mate leaps in: " love at first sight exists" she asserts. I look at her for a second.
"Attraction at first sight exists" I counter. "Love takes a long time"
She doesn't get it. "I fell in love with my boyfriend when i first met him."
I don't want to tell her this is impossible, so i make some noncommittal remark, like: "oh, really?"
"Maybe you've never been in love" she decides.
This is the point at which I would like to take from. Firstly, I would like to say that yes, i have been what would be described as "in love", head over bloody heels in love, and no, it didn't happen when my eyes first fell on his gangly form. In fact, we'd known each other for years and it crept up when I wasn't really paying attention, and didn't even become real love until we'd been dating for months. What did become "in love" was seated in friendship and has lasted 4 break-ups, hospital trips, family arguments and university, and I'm pretty sure we'll be friends for life. My housemates "love at first sight" was her manager at her first shop job and has lasted a year but she is sure they will be married the day she graduates, her first boyfriend. I do not want to be skeptical around those who decide to live life differently than mine, but I find that we do not agree what "love" is.

Love. Love is what society is obsessed with. Teenagers moon over it, TV shows breed off it, newspapers fill sides of paper on celebs and Kate Middleton. Every film gets a bit more interesting with a bit of romance, all the popular songs question love, beg for love, hate love, love love. And not family love, usually. Romantic love.
I've been rather interested in romantic love for a while, the obsessive creation with it on the media, our own inward obsession with it. Every time I gt home from holiday or uni, my friends light up. First question:
"So, do you have a boyfriend yet? Any boy action?"
"...No"
"oh." The light goes off. I could continue to say I have found some exciting wonderful friends, joined an occupation, traveled and laughed and got drunk and learnt crazy things and that I went free running, or that I taught myself the ukulele, but that simply is not as interesting as whether or not I have paired myself with a male. Its the same with my parents. They inquire eagerly if i date people, seem confused when i shrug. I have friends who are guys. I fancy them sometimes, they fancy me sometimes. I'm not really focused on love because I'm busy living life hard. This seems as oddity to them.
"When I was your age, I had lots of boyfriends" My mum tells me. "Maybe your generation is different"
Maybe i am singing a lone song, and am actually just a freak, but to me, romantic love is an idea formed by society and continued by media. It is an idea that is over the top, exaggerated, unrealistic, empty, and destructive. teen magazines tell you how to get a boyfriend, films and books follow characters who desperately chase partners, newspapers gleefully follow famous break ups, glorify couples who are romantic; Valentines day is a sickening rush of hearts and the idea of love conquering all, love being the total answer to everything; and if you aren't included in this special sicken making day, you are not part of the best bit of society.
Romantic love is fettishised, it is a sacred space no-one dares attack. Romantic love is the answer to everything. With the constant refreshing and recreation of this ideology on the media, we all buy into this desire; by ourselves, we are nothing, not whole. But with the sunset picture of love and the perfect partner, we are "completed." I find this sick in so many ways, particularly that by ourselves, we someone have "failed". "she's on the shelf", tabloids crow, as a successful older woman is single. By not having a partner, by not "winning" the love game, by not conforming to strange ideals of reproduction which seem to relate perversely to the bloody church wanting to control who does what- then we have failed.
 But the love they sell us, the glossy ideal, it's empty. in films, beautiful people meet, exchange a few awkward sexually tense words and a few moments later are engaged in perfect and steamy sex where both orgasm, and by the end, against all odds, both dreamily gaze at each other, their love bright and fake. This is what people expect while growing up; an Edward Cullen look a like, a person diving in  to notice how wonderful you are, to tell you, you are wonderful. There is no you in there; you can only be wonderful when THEY tell you so.
I won't get started on how wrong films portray sex, and how destructive that is for generations of kids engaging in their first time, but I will talk about this "lover"; the other who perfectly looks after you, the man who will die for you, know everything you want, who can make you orgasm every time. Who is this? This fake "love at first sight" male? Is this what my housemate saw when she met her manager for the first time?  I find it very amusing imagining her meeting her manager and as soon as she saw his face, suddenly realizing he was her one and only, imagining her shock and happiness. I assume he felt the same. Maybe they had sex on the stock room floor a few moments later. Who knows. Joking aside, this love at first sight male, the "perfect" other is a dangerous construction of what love is. I actually believe that the rise in divorce relates to this creation of the prefect mate in the media; we are told we need true love, we are shown true love where they don't argue, they are always engaged in frenzied sex and high-energy japes, they laugh all the time, they always know what the other wants...
 But come on, come on come ON, love- REAL love- has nothing to do with this ideal. Real love is hard work, it's tears and arguments and then the compromises we make to live with each other. Its the other one always leaving the toilet seat up and getting drunk too much and not talking about feelings and getting on your nerves but still even through this, loving each other, still working out how to live together despite being two different people with different ideas and ways to live. real love is picking him off the street after he's drunk too much and got paralytic, taking him to hospital, letting him sick up on you, patting his head, and the next morning shouting at him really loud so his hangover hurts. Real love is him forgiving me for deciding I didn't want to use the door on his parents house, so throwing rocks at his expensive new window instead and breaking it. Real love is the two of us farting at each other while eating eggs and reading the newspaper to avoid talking. The picture postcard image of romantic love has nothing to do with this, with reality.
And it isn't half as great either, I bet.

But then again, as my flatmate says; maybe I have no idea. You never know, maybe I'll be picked up by a David Tennant look-alike, bewitched by his humor, swept up in the fact he wants to talk to ME- little freaky me- and then we can engage in steamy kissing and have sex behind the desk, and then, after a few idealistic dates with sunsets and everything, we can get married and have 2 beaut kids, and I can die in his arms with his lips telling me how I saved and him and changed him and he loves me. Probably i'll look back at this and laugh at myself. Right?

SO, here's what i don't get. I am 22, and I am uninterested in love and relationships. Like, I can't be bothered. And whats more, I feel guilty saying this, like I'm admitting to having STI's or herpes, or i've caught the a-sexual disease. Let's be serious, I'm am interested in relationships and love at some point, maybe, if they come around and i have no other reason not to, but they are currently riding the bottom of my priorities list.
But why do i feel guilty and if i've failed? Surely that I put my own hopes and dreams above the hopes of a significant other, this just shows I'm a person of depth/hopes?  I admitted this fact to my housemate the other day, and she seemed shocked. You don't want a boyfriend? well, no. they take up time and generally make me feel shitter than when i'm out of a relationship. Oh, she says, then you've never been in love.
I have been what society calls "in love." And when I was younger, being "in love" was all i could think about. First kisses, movie moments of awkward asking-outs and meeting the parents and tears and cherry popping and the like. I was desperate to have a boyfriend, even though I said I wasnt. I would hopelessly dream of some lad sweeping me off my feet and "making me better. making me worthwhile." I find that horrific, looking back. I mean, I was brought up in a liberal feminist family, and still the pervading myth of "love" and happy ever after took over my brain. And i truly did believe that because I didnt have a boyfriend, I wasn't "ok", and that having a boyfriend, I would be able to trust in myself and allow myself to like myself.
I wasn't the only one to think this. I also wasn't some naive girl who reads magazines. I was an intelligent, liberal, thoughtful teenager with a few confidence issues. And yet, those were my thoughts.
Anyway, I had a boyfriend and all that stuff, and it was great. Well, it was great sometimes. It was also, obviously shit at some times, and we forugth and broke up and got back together and it was hard work, and three years later it ended, but he is still my best friend, because i know him inside out, I know his flaws and I still love him for himself. That is what love is. Love is hard work, making compromises, it takes time and energy. And if you can deal with all the other persons shit and still love them, you're either an idiot or made for each other.
Coming out of the relationship, all i can think is that, all that time, energy, emotions,  compromises on my own hopes- surely life would just be easier if i focused on my own life, my career, my own happiness? And it is. Out of relationship, with control and freedom, I feel alive, so alive! And like I have every chance in the world.
But why do I feel selfish admitting this? I mean, that's all great, isnt it? I don't feel so. Love is the great meaning of society. You can't criticize love. It's an absolute naturalized means to an end. If people are acting like shits but are in love... well, they're in love. If you're friend leaves you for her boyf, well... She's in love. You cannot beat it. Society is OBSESSED with love. Every book, every film, adverts and TV and government policy breed on love, on the romantic paradim, that love saves us, makes us better, that we aren't whole without love. Look at, for example, at Kate Middleton, who before William found her, was waiting for him, hopelessly "poor", and now is "radiant." Society thinks love is the key. And thats why as a 15 year old, all i could think was: I need love to make me whole.
Which is shit. what i needed as a 15 year old was confidence in myself. Love is nothing if you don't like yourself. You can't find someone else to love you for who you are if you hate yourself, firstly because they'd have to like twice over, and secondly because if you hate what they like, how can you change into something you do like? and can you learn to love yourself through someone else? really? I hated many things about myself when I first got into a relationship, and so I acted confusingly. I was angry when he didn't try to make me like myself, when he didn't get it that I had to be "whole." My under confidence made the relationship hard, i know that.
Which is why I just think; why isn't society obsessed with things which don't have a romantic ending? Why shouldn't I be celebrating that I have found a place for myself, where I am happy, where I don't feel like I need to rely on anyone but myself?

"true love"
"have you got a boyfriend yet?"
Female masturbation
The "hot" complex
sexual harassment.

Hitch hiking the rockies in a snow storm

I was incredibly glad to have the chance to see the Rockies- a dream I had had for years and years. They didn't disappoint, each section of road giving forth some new sight of extreme glory, beautiful rocky shoulders and water the color of the a summer sky, dark somber forests and flower meadows flooded with color. The only problem I found (as in all of Canada and America) was that I did not drive, and because of this, getting anywhere was impossible, as the north Americans don't really DO public transport. This brought me on to hitch hiking. 

Hitch hiking, is one of those things that most people have mixed opinions about, and I too have my doubts about its safety, but then again- I had been talking to Banff’s locals, and they assured me that everyone hitchhikes in the Rockies, and I had nothing to worry about. I was encouraged by this, and after one short successful hitch trip, I decided to do a more adventurous one. 

 I set off with  Annika, a girl who I’d met in my hostel, one of the wonderful people who you only ever meet travelling, a free spirit who came to America, bought a van, converted it, (so it had a bed in it) and has been on the road ever since (until now, as it had broken) She was very laid back and fun, a good hitching companion. 

After an early start, we stood on the side of a road, thumbs out, surrounded by the shoulders of blue-ish mountains, rearing into a white sky- so beautiful it hurts in your gut. We had decided to hitch to a glacier 150km north, along what every guide book says is the most beautiful road in Canada, if not the world, the “ice fields parkway”, a road which winds through glorious alpine blue lakes, and vast ice fields, through gorges and flower meadows, sheer faces of rock and ragged peaks of mountains. I am quoting from a guide book and word of mouth- I didn’t actually see any of this. 

Me and my friend were picked up within minutes by a lovely German couple, and off we went north. We were very pleased with ourselves, and told the German couple all about our trip and how we wanted to go to the glacier. They were driving to Jasper, a town up north, and were excited to get out of touristy Banff. As we drove, the wind shield began to get covered in ice and snow, in a blizzard.

"I hope this is a brief snow fall." the German woman said. The car turned off the highway and on to the famous "icefeild's parkway." A proud sign announced our route. I was excited, and lent close to the window, camera at the ready, to take some photos i hoped to be truly spectacular.  

 The only problem was that we could see nothing. It was, as the Canadians called it, a “white out”, a frantic blizzard- acres of thick freezing white fog, low white cloud, snow and ice everywhere- the whole of the landscape was obliterated in an aching white. From the window of the car, I could see the faint outlines of road, some dark trees occasionally, but other that this, just a frightening blankness- even more scary by the knowledge that among this blankness lay huge drops and gorges. The teasing faces of cliffs sometimes emerged spookily from the gloom, and great white expanses appeared to our left (we worked out these were the "blue alpine lakes" frozen over and snowed in) The sky was dense and claustrophobic, and if you peered close enough to the steamy window, you could see that on either side of the road were massive piles of fresh, clean, even snow, which stretched into an unidentifiable horizon (perhaps forever)

The car began to skid and groan, and we passed a car crash which we were too scared to stop for, in case we skidded and made the crash worse. 

"I hope we have snow tires" The German driver joked.

"Do we?" I inquired.

"I don't know. I damn hope so!"

The road, faintly, led us on and on, ad the whiteness grew more and more intense- so much for stunning views-and we grew more sure that this indeed was not a good day to visit the glacier. The road itself was now under almost a foot of snow, and the blizzard was swooping ever lower, covering the car in a bridal veil of snow. I didn't say anything, hoping when we got there, the blizzard might have miraculously abated. 

Of course, this was not what happened.

 Finally we passed a sign saying “Alabaster Glacier”- This was it. With a feeling of foreboding, the two of us climbed out of our hitchhikers car, and waved the Germans off. The car disappeared quickly into the white, and we were left, gazing at the smooth white pages of snow which became the sky so smoothly you could not work out where the transition was. The sign pointing to the glacier indicated a walk right out into the deep, frighteningly untouched snow banks. There was no other vehicle or person to be seen.

“Well…shall we go?” I ask, cheerfully, thinking it always helps to have a positive attitude in times of trouble (and lack of sight). Annika agreed readily, and we set off in the direction the sign indicated, to the glacier. The first problem was that, in this new meter of snow which had fallen, the trail had completely disappeared. We didn't even have tracks of previous walkers, as nobody else was as crazy as us to want to go to the glacier on a day like that. We walked a bit further, our not-adequate-walking-shoes already filled with frozen water, and the road already dipped into whiteness behind us. All around was white, up and down, east and west, south and north. It's usually easy to work out a which way is north or south, but without the sun as a visual aid, we could have been walking in any direction. The snow got deeper and deeper, and there were no signs telling us we were walking on a trail at all. Soon we were wading up to our waist. 

“Have we gone the wrong way?” my friend asks cautiously.

“Maybe…” we plodded on, increasingly sure she was right. My eyes were freaking out, unable to work out the depths and levels of the snow; the white is so white, so smooth, I couldn't judge anything anymore.

It is a massive surprise when we  meet someone coming the other way, in a high vis jacket. He stopped and looked at us. There is a second of stunned silence.

“Where are you girls going?” he asked, with a rather alarmed voice.

“We’re trying to walk to the glacier!”

“The Glacier? Are you crazy? Today?”

As he says it, I see it as he does- two inappropriately dressed foreigners, wet, cold, lost in the snow. Very embarrassed, we began to mutter excuses for our hike.

“The glacier is closed today! Weathers too bad, its too dangerous” The man told us. I tried to fathom that a glacier can “be closed”, but the man was still talking: “The road is closing too, you better drive home now, slowly. before you get stranded”

Me and Annika exchanged glances, wondering if now was the right time to reveal that we couldn't drive home, as we had hitch hiked all the way here, and that if the road was closed, we really had no way to get home.

"I'll walk you back to the road, that's where you parked, isn't it?" The man, such a North American, was unwavering sure that we could, and had, driven.

I took the plunge. “We hitch hiked here, is there going to be anyone driving back to down the road, do you think? If there isnt, then we're... sort of stuck...”

“Hitch hiked?! From where?!” The man was appalled.

“Banff” I said quietly. 

“That’s a mighty long way. There wont be many people to take you home today… you can try I suppose…” The man was unsure and obviously doubting in our sanity, and this increased as he walked back with us and watched us stand by the side of the road, in a minus 10 blizzard, teeth chattering, holding out our thumbs. He looks positively alarmed for us.

“You girls sure are crazy” he told us, eyes round with fright. "What you doing hitching on a day like this?"

"It was sunny this morning!"

"But don't you want to drive? How could you not drive?"

"We...er... Can't drive"

This frightened him even more. "CANT drive? Seriously? Why not?"

"Um..." The usual reasons were gone from my frozen brain, and I thought, why CAN'T I drive? It would be damn helpful right now.... (I guess this is the downfall of hitch hiking- when you can't get a lift ,and the road closes, and its a blizzard.) My thumb soon had no feeling, and the snow lashed against us. 

Trying to be positive, we determinedly keep thumbing, but saw only one vehicle, which didn't stop and pick us up. As the time lengthened, we began to dance to keep warm. At first the man seemed even more perturbed. But as the dance became violent yoga stretch disco, (with thumb improvisation) he began to laugh. 

 The man laughed and laughed. He laughed so much his hat fell off. Then he walked off, and arrived a few moments later with a car. (at this point we were a little bit worried about HIS sanity, which just goes to show how confused you can get about each other)

He parked in front of us, flung open his door and let us in.“Wait in here. I have to be on shift patrolling the trail for another hour. After that, I’ll drive you home.” He left us in the warmth of the car, with a bag of treats, and an hour later, he drove us home. (thank goodness)

“Why did you guys hitch hike?” He asked. "There's a good old tourist bus that takes you here once a day"

“It costs 150 dollars ” I said, modestly.

"That is a bunch of money" he agreed.

"And- hitching is fun."

"You sure?"

"You get to meet people! Interesting people."

"Like me?" He laughed.

"yeah, I guess."

"So you're telling me, that instead of paying 150 dollars, you risked dying in a blizzard and falling down a glacier, or freezing on the icefeilds parkway JUST so you could meet me?" and then, he laughed so hard the car swerved all over the place and almost hit a smoking wreck of the car crash we had passed before.

Amercians in lake george

“You girls alright?” the American voice startles us from our frantic activity. An elderly American is standing behind us, clutching rather a lot of wood. It is obvious we are not alright, as the sun has set, the Lake George evening is chilly, and our make shift barbecue lit and died in 10 minutes, leaving our food barely warm.  Lizzy and I are starving and not in the best mood.

“We’re fine” I snap.

“You’re making that fire all wrong” The lady assures us. I am irritated by this, having spent all day on the bus, got here an hour ago with our meager one-man-tent-which-we’re-using-for-two-people, and bought an easy-start BBQ because we were too tired to invest in wood. This lady, our neighbor in the campsite, was staying in a giant camper van with built-in beds, heaters, kitchens, showers and everything else you can imagine, so it didn’t feel like camping at all. The woman, not in the slightest bit put our by my snap, swoops towards us. “You’re meant to make a pyramid of wood, and then put a fire starter in the middle. I make firelighters myself, you put wax and woodchips in cardboard egg cups, and put some string coming out- it works every time.” She drops her massive pile of wood and takes out a cardboard egg holder. “here, take this, you wont ever start a fire without it.”

We thank her, and take the makeshift firelighter and wood, and under her instruction, have a roaring blaze in minutes. We explain that the awful quick-and-easy BBQ we had didn’t work at all, and she realized we hadn’t eaten.

“We can cook on our fire” we assured her, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She whisked off out burgers with a “Y’all be hungry, and what if it makes you ill?” and cooked us a whole meal on their fancy gas stove. I was touched by her kindness, especially as she then began to offer us all sorts of food and drink and real seats by her and her elderly husband’s fantastically huge bonfire. We began to talk- she was called May, and her husband was Joe, and they lived retired in New York State, near Albany. They had 4 children and 3 grandchildren, who all called them one after the other so they could “say goodnight.” Whenever one of their family called, Joe and May would put them on loud speaker and introduce as “Two crazy English girls who are travelling around America!” The family member on the end of the phone would squeak in horror and amazement and shout “hi!” at us. They were all amazed we were travelling around America. “Good for you girls, what a brave and exciting thing to do!” May said, “How wonderful!”

“they’re travelling by FOOT” Joe said to his youngest daughter on the phone. (On foot meaning we were travelling by bus, which amazed the family even more) “Isnt that unbelievable? We saw them earlier, didn’t we May, and I said: Wow, they must be so strong to carry all of those bags around, really, I was going to offer them a lift, but we didn’t have any space in the camper. I did just look at them and think, they’re so brave! ”

“How often do you come to Lake George?” I asked them.

“We come here to this campsite, twice a year, every year, for the last 30 years.”

“30? Its 40 years!” May told Joe.

“I don’t think so, we first started when Oscar was born-“

“No, no, it was exactly 40 years this year, I SAID this before Joe!”

“I remember the first year, it was 1981, and it was really cold, remember?”

They squabbled for a while, and I tried to imagine coming to the same campsite, year after year, for 30 or 40 years. I can’t imagine loving a place so much, and wanting to return to its wooded hills and know it as well as home- so much that you return over and over. They even stay in the same camping spot, right in a pleasant green wood, overlooking the dark blue waters of lake George.

“Why do you come here so much?”

“the kids love it here. And we do too. There’s so much to do, you know- swimming and shopping and stuff. Do you want to go shopping? There’s a really nice outlet nearby, we could drive you. It has lots of good stores, not too expensive. We go every year.”

Lizzy and I have oversized bags and too little money already, so we decline, saying that we prefer to go hiking. This draws a big blank. Finally Joe says: “Ah yes, when I was a boy, we used to climb up Mount Prospect. Nice views from there. Good climb.” They both seem confused though. “Are you sure you don’t want to go shopping with us? It’s a beautiful mall!”

“We don’t have any bag space, but thankyou. Maybe we’ll climb Mount Prospect though”

Joe gives us through instructions on getting to the trail, and they both proceed to insist that we take food for the hike tomorrow. Its so sweet and generous, I am astounded. We are strangers to them! Yes, two innocent and unprepared girls, but strangers! But here they are, offering us food, advice, warmth, chairs and blankets for the cold, going out of their way to cook for us and make sure we are prepared. I almost don’t want to accept, feeling like I’m taking advantage of two lovely old people, but they seem genuinely happy to help us.

Over the next 3 days, May and Joe cook for us every night (without us asking) and share a fire and stories and ideas. I have never felt so looked after, as we waved goodbye, the morning we were set to bus to New York, I realized that they had taught me something valuable. It doesn’t matter who you are, or where, or why- human beings should just stop being controlled by the boundaries of society. Talk to other people, help people who need it, offer it even if they don’t appear to. American generosity is one of the things I am most amazed by, in our travels- once I was struggling with lots of food bags from a grocery store. Not one, but three people came over and asked whether I needed help. This would never happen in England. Never. American’s openness, and desire to help is unbelievable- something I was surprised by, as over seas, they are presented as selfish and stupid. Its strange that a country’s perception can be so much dependent on the single few in the medias eye and not the millions who exist and live beneath it. The every-day American is warm and kind, and genuine. Even after my trip, I still think of Joe and May and smile to myself that a couple could on the one hand be so kind, and on the other be so appalled that we would not want to spend the day shopping in a mall. The American oppositions! 

a travel blog

I have spent many years travelling all around the world, collected various gorgeous moments, memories, things which I will never forget, some which I must make sure I remember. Travelling is wonderful, something which gives you this giddy, wonderful feeling of freedom- a freedom which can only be found in the excitement of new places and being alone, making your own choices, seeing things which you can barely believe. A freedom which is annoyingly addictive and ridiculously better than any freedom living at home can offer.

The best thing about travelling is when you first step off a train, a bus, a plane- in a completely new place.... And everything is different- even the air tastes different. You don't know which way is left or right, east or west, right or wrong, you dont know where you need to go. This place, this world you've stepped into, is a blank; and its terrifying and thrilling in equal measures. There is such a brief moment of time- maybe half an hour- where you wander, and each sight, and smell, and taste, is new and alien and exciting, and you are overcome with the feeling that soon it will not be different, soon you will know these trees, these cracks in the road, these faces pushing past.

I hadn't thought about keeping a blog, because well... blogs are kind of self promoting and weird. But I met some people on my last trip, and it made me think. they were amazed by what I had done.

"You must have loads of amazing stories" this woman said.

i guess I do. Some here are some little snippets of the best and worst of my travels! :)