Opportunity Knocks

Ok, this computer isn’t allowing me to upload pictures, but here’s the website where you can find them when I put them up. In the meantime, you can at least see my cool new haircut. I cut off the mulletesque part with my pocket knife (thanks Stu Govt). And there’s something else there too…a little something called Ultra Violet. Enjoy.

http://community.webshots.com/user/blairnlampe

So, my good feeling about Brussels was right on the mark. But then, in a country that’s famous for chocolates and waffles, what’s not to love? Seriously. It was nice to stay in one place for more than one night. I also spent the next few days around Belgium: Antwerp (eh) and Brugge (yeah!). I’d not really heard anything about Brugge, but I’m so glad I went; it’s this quaint little town with narrow cobblestone streets, and everyone travels by bicycle or horse and buggy. I loved it, there were ornate cathedrals unexpectedly at every turn, meandering canals, and as in all of Belgium, exquisite food at reasonable prices. Geez, listen to me, I sound like a commercial. Really, though. Brugge. Go there. My intention was to leave from Brugge to Oslo, taking a series of connecting overnight trains, arriving there at 7am. Well, what do YOU think happened. I had my seats reserved on all the trains I was supposed to, but somehow, after making the second connection, I end up at the last stop in this little town I’ve never heard of, nor do I remember, near the southern Belgium/French border. I honestly have no idea how this occured, I was certain I’d gotten on the right train. Apparently not. So I stayed the night there, and decided, hey, maybe I wasn’t meant to go to Oslo just now (I kind of feel like avoiding it altogether, just for the principle of the thing. I have my pride.) So instead, I’m going to sneak up on it–take small steps closer and closer, until WHAM, I’m there, and they will have to deport me to be rid of me. Those Norwegians will never see it coming….so don’t tell them. Currently I’m in Amsterdam, I’ve booked two nights here, and my roommates seem lovely, even though I think I possibly came at an inopportune time. Ah well. Now, I’m off to see more of the city; everyone’s got bikes here too, and it makes me want one. We’ll see if I can hold out. I’ve just finished a book called Prague, which I highly reccomend for anyone intersted in Budapest (strangly the whole thing takes place there) or life in general. Now, I’m on to Thich Nhat Hahn, No Death, No Fear. I love that guy. I”ll let you know how it goes.

P.S. Sorry about the pictures, I know I keep promising them and then not delivering. I just keep forgetting to bring all the equipment with me. Soon though. Really.

Brugge.

Yeah; this may be a bit muddled/mispuncuated because I am on a foreign computer.

(Written yesterday; Sept 8th)

So here‘s one for you- I had booked a flight to Oslo for today; so I should be there now, yes? No, I am in Paris. Allow me to explain. Actually, first of all let ,e just finish my stay in London: All in all, less fun than last time when I was a bit less stressed and a bit freer with my money. Hyde Park is one of my favorite places in the world; but I did not get around to seeing it this time. Nicole and I still had a fun time of things though—she had a close encounter with an Aussie named Sam, and I with the auto,atic closing doors at the British Museum. Aside from this, Nicole had a close encounter of the violent kind when a passing homeless man kicked her in the shin as we walked peacefully and unoffensivly down the street. Ah, Crazies. Can’t live with them, can’t kick them back. My flight to Oslo left at noon on the 8th, so instead of waking up early for the flight, I decide to sleep at the airport: SO, I go to the train station to get said airport. I tell the man in the ticket booth I’m leaving from Prestwick Glasgow, and he gives me a strange look and says, “Nooo……you mean Gatswick. Fine smartypants, Gatswick. So, he’s being very friendly and ventures, “Single?” I smile, look down, probably blush, mutter something in the affirmative follwed by something I hope will be recieved as humorous self-deprecation, avoid eye contact for the rest of the conversation, only later did I realize he meant ‘single’ as opposed to ‘return’. I am a moron. BUT WAIT, it gets worse, I swear. Obviously, I get no impressive amount of sleep at the airport, and go to check-in at 10am. 10:30 happens…. 11….still my flight is not listed amoung the departures. I hope perhaps this is because of a delay, but this, alas, is not the case. My flight did leave from Prestwick and here I stand—right time, right airline, wrong airport. My only consolation-very lacking as consolations go—is that the ticket only cost me 30 dollars, so it could be worse. I check the prices of outgoing flights that day, but eventually decide to cut my losses and take the chunnel from London to Paris. And here I am. Apparently, it’s a busy weekend, because everywhere seemed to be booked. 9pm, my pack becomes too heavy for having eaten nothing all day and I pay too much for the last available room at a hostel in northern Paris.—the upside—I have a bathroom and tv to myself, so I am free to wear what I want—or not. I find myself now trying to figure out how to lighten my pack and watching what is apparently a French epedimic as well…reality tv. My winning dinner for the evening: peanut butter and orange juice.

TODAY, Sept 9: Paris agrivates me, so without seeing anything there, I board a train to Brussels. I’ve got a good feeling about Brussels; A Book Two Nights At The Same Hostel good feeling. I’m sure I’ll get back to France.

Not surprisingly, Nicole and I land in London and have already changed our plans. Little did we know a round trip ticket to Scotland would be something like 180 US dollars. You wish. So, we decided to stay in London the whole week. We’ve done a ton of walking/sleeping already and not much else because I’m cheap. Actually, we are going to see a show tonight, The Postman Rings Twice, with Val Kilmer, so that’s rather exciting. We got a student discount on the ticket, but I still doubt I’ll be seeing any more shows for a while. The good news about being in London (not that I’m upset to spend more time in London) is that my eurail pass doesn’t go into effect yet, so technically, my three months have yet to start. It won’t go into effect until I fly into Oslo, which incidentily, I may not do because I believe my luggage may be over the weight limit. Luckily, I have neither plans nor aim, so this won’t be the end of the world; I’ll just take a train. Other than that, I don’t have much to report. All’s well, it’s only the third day, I’m not entirely sure this entry was necessary.

P.S. I apologize in advance for the atrocious spelling. There is no spell check.

So today’s the day, officially. At 2am, I am still haunting Manhattan College, working away furiously into the Student Government office, just like the not-so-old days. In approximately 14 hours, I’ll leave here to go to JKF to board my one way flight to London, and then on to Scotland. I’ll be flying in and seeing Scotland with my friend Nicole, who’s going to teach English in Italy for 6 months. On the 8th, we go our separate ways, she to Italy, I to Oslo. The big question of the day has been, “How do you feel?”, “Are you excited/nervous/scared/crazy?” Yes and no to all of the above. It’s not necessarily something I pride myself on, but nonetheless, I’m exceedingly adaptable; I roll with the punches at an alarming rate. I have many of the same feelings now from when I moved to college and was being asked the same questions. I would say my lack of nervousness is just because it hasn’t sunk in yet, but if my last experience with college is any indication, it never will. I am happy to be going, of course. I don’t mean to say that I find this in any way to be lack-luster or that I am in a tranquil state, my feelings just do not match what others’ expectations of what my feelings should be are. Today, I attempted to shake myself up a bit by getting a haircut. I went to this one place and told the woman I would like to donate my hair, but all I got was a blank stare, she didn’t understand. “You know, donate. Give it away”. I make chopping and giving motions with my hands. “You want to cut it all off? Sorry, no comprende ‘you want to donate’…What language do you speak? ” Have you ever had that game played on you–you walk into a room and (unbeknownst to you) everyone has made a pact that no matter what you say, everyone acts as though they don’t understand? Very frustrating. Also, I’m not too keen on trusting someone to do what I ask with my hair when they don’t understand what I’m asking. So, I leave. Then I wander the Village for some time, searching for a reputable-looking establishment. It’s not happening, so I decide instead to find a store whose character matches the ‘mood’ of the haircut I’m looking for. I settle on a nifty little place called the “Mod Shop”, which sells cool do-dads and t-shirts with prints like “Tom Cruiazy” on them. There’s only one person working there…and he’s completely bald…but I ask him anyway if he would mind recommending me a good place nearby. He does, and now, voila, some lucky child is going to have a good 10 inches of my hair. It’s pretty short, so I’m still getting used to it. Some of the time I like it, some times I’m not sure. It’s like one of those scraggly, ugly little dogs that’s so hopeless it’s actually very cute. Only I don’t really think it’s ugly or hopeless. It’s different. It’s me. I love it even when I hate myself for taking a bald man’s advice on hair. So that’s really it. I’m going to attempt at least a few hours of sleep–jet lag will be bad enough on it’s own. A big thanks to all the folks who’ve leant me their houses, beds, futons, and couches over the last week. Sorry if I’ve been a pain….i.e. Clare, who, as it is now 2:30am is probably sleeping soundly until I barge in and start rummaging through my gear for pjs. You guys are the best.

Sleep tight,

Blair

It is my family and several friends’ general concern that I will not be safe when abroad because of my citizenship and physical attributes. The former is of absolutely no consequence, except in rare situations I am most certain I will never encounter. The latter is more feasible, but this does not qualify it anymore than becoming endangered for my propensity for singing in the shower. Everyone is hated by someone whom they have never met. Everyone has some physical expression which inherently makes them another’s enemy. There has not been a single race or solitary face in the history of humankind which has been accepted unconditionally—each person defies someone’s notion of perfection. But the disparity is more serious than this. It’s as if people would deny others right to exist as the same “level” of human being, some denying the right to exist at all. There are none who do not judge, and hate is everywhere.
Therefore, I submit that while I many not be “safe” I am no less safe than any other person, because for every group that would advocate or accept my physical appearance, there is a counter-view which rejects it. And what gives my life precedence over another? Why should I be protected when others are left to suffer? I am selfish in many ways, but this is not one of them. I am selfish in that I will use the time that I am alive to work for what I want and I will put this above personal relationships. But what I want is bigger than personal relationships, and for this, I would give my life. It is difficult in this world where people put such emphasis on their own lives and those of the individuals around them, but the world does not mourn us when we are gone. For this reason, I am sorry to those who love me who may see my actions as foolish or selfish, but for the betterment of a world that will never know me, I cannot be deterred, and I hope one day they will understand why. There is no reason for mourning a life of no consequence, and for that reason, I hope in the event of my death, especially if it is brought about by another person, people would not take it as cause for hatred or retaliation. Hate breeds hate. Love can breed hate too, but at least then, love exists as a 50% counter balance, instead of 100% of despair. It is always better to love, and where love is not possible, to accept. Were I not me, were my skin a different color, there are still areas of the world where I would be alienated for my height, tall or short, or the shape of my nose. It goes both ways.
Some would argue that we should then seek out our own, stay amongst those who will not question, judge, and possibly hate us. I say there is no life there. I want to be questioned by others. I do not want to be hated, but I recognize that if we isolate ourselves, we will continue to hate and misunderstand. I think if we go into the world open to others in the spirit of good will, for every person that will hate us, we will touch one who will draw on our light and forever be changed, they will be provided with sight. If this endeavor should cost me my life, my only hope is that there will be at least one will understand. Not that I did what I did, putting myself in “danger”, but rather why it happened, what it means. To see that the hate was not directed at me, but those who came before me. The only way to change this is to continue to try. I would hope that there is one who would follow where I left, without fear.