Wednesday 28 September 2011

Ghostbusters

'' Have you been here before?'' says the new german intern of Kipps Canterbury as I was making myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen the other day. I needed a break from Kipps Brighton. Kipps Canterbury is the next best thing for a short break.

Haha. Where do I start?

The week I spent here by mistake in 2005? Or the year that I lived here after that? Or maybe when I left my fiance with all my furniture to come back and live here in a cupboard in 2008?

Kipps Canterbury...

'' Yeah I stayed here for a bit'' I told her not wanting to sound overly dramatic like '' my whole life started here'' ( + tears )

But yeah. My whole life started here ( try not to cry Annabelle , you just met her 10 seconds ago )

'' You must have so many good stories about this place '' She says.

Hell yeah. Do you have 3 hours? I can tell you all about it.

She did not.

Obviously I had to pick one. When I checked in a drunk / disabled / homeless guy ? ( all at once. I scored that day) Or the crazy ''citizens of the world'' guests ? the Love Tent maybe ? ( No I can't decently tell her about the Love Tent , I JUST met her. Way to early.) Me winning a drinking game on Halloween 2008? ( and sleeping in the toilet thinking it was my cupboard , sorry my bedroom )

I picked the only story that is passed on from Kipps generation to Kipps generation.

THE ghost.

Don't freak out she's only a little girl. She lives on the top floor of the building ( near my cupboard) . She has not paid her rent in 200 years ( cheeky) and she sometimes plays tricks on people, just for a laugh. you know like shuting doors , turn TV off ( she hates big brother. Good girl.)

One of our german interns got so freaked out one day that he apparently prefered to spend his night at the bus station. Number of beers he had that night still unknown .

As I was talking about that with a great Kipps passion , I started to feel them. The other ghosts. The alive ones. You know people who used to live here before but who are now gone. People WHO HAVE MOVED ON.

No they were not there anymore. You know all these people I used to live with , people I used to love. It's crazy how you expect to see them when you walk in.

No mate they're not here anymore. Now they've gone. Finished. Over. End of.

Damn.

So I spent the rest of the morning walking around the hostel aimlessly with my now infamous '' I can see dead people'' face.

'' Sorry I'm going to be a little weird for a bit'' I say to my best friend.
'' You've been weird for 3 years, I'm used to it''

I had to go do something about it.

Retail therapy . That's what I used to do before. to feel better.

What do I do now? Just therapy.

First I went and buy some crystals in a ''witch shop''.
Then I went for a body detox.
I probably was in a sort of trance when I decided to do it because I suddenly woke up to the voice of a lady telling me '' you are now detoxing your kidneys'' in a heavy greek accent. With my feet in hot water feeling some electo magnetic charge through my whole body.

Then I decided to hang out in a book shop staring at book covers sitting next to a guy with dreadlocks who was reading '' witchcraft for beginners'' . I finally decided to buy the one called '' The art of happily going nowhere''
It basically says that no one has no clue where we're going so we might as well go there without dragging the burden of our past with you.

A spiritual version of Ghostbuster.

Who ya gonna call?

Damn , I ve got the music in my head now.


You think that'll be enough to kill my ghosts from the past . No. When I got back to Kipps they were still there.

You know that feeling you have sometimes. The '' I should have spent more time with people I love'' (understand ''I should not have fucked it all up'' )

Who ya gonna call?


There were still some people ''from the past'' hanging about. And that was good to see them. 2 of them are staff. The other one is Luigi.

Luigi : half human half italian. He was sold with the place a few years ago, has been living in the hostel for about 8 years . Age unknown ( about 45 + 8 now) but we know the age of the girls he fancies ( half his )

One thing I did NOT want to talk about was the past. Not good for my ghost syndrom.
'' Remember when....? ''

Shall I go for another detox NOW or do I have wait until tomorrow to go for a brain detox ( in a greek accent)

Who you're gonna call?

A pint of beer with a friend I have not seen in a while.

Okay let's do that.

It was good to see him (and his ghosts)

The best thing we found to get rid of our ghosts was to actually TALK about them. It's like vampires and daylight . It even gets better when you have a good laugh about them.

So We decided to have a competition . Who had the most pathetic love life.

'' I usually stay friends with my exes he says. Except for the dead one'' he says.

He won. But that was close.

'' Maybe we should go on a date together'' he says after 2 pints.

HAHA

Saturday?

What, you're actually SERIOUS???

He's obviously 1/ NOT over 60. 2/ straight 3/ never read my blog.

'' Maybe not .... because hum... this week end... '' I say .

Now WHO IS RUNNING A MILE NOW?

Bloody French women......

Who ya gonna call?



It was time to go back to Brighton. Home. Where ghosts are still alive. and walking up my street off their face.

I get off the train : 125 cops trying to stop 1 drunk guy from boarding a train.

Who ya gonna call?

I hope they caught him before he got to London

I decided to go and see Mister Dynamite before going home . He told me about this complicated English guy. Yeah he texted back.

But dude, he is SO weird. Like REALLY strange.

I got to wonder what weird REALLY meant when the girls who were watching football with a beer stood up and shouted ''yeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaah'' as their team scored, while boys were quietly listening to Chritina Perri's last love song in the bar area.

'' I've got a date with a Brit this week end'' I tell him proudly.
He gave me the " Why are you doing this to yourself'' sort of look.

Because if we are to create new ghosts , they might as well have a good sense of humour.

Who ya gonna call?


(Let me know how long that damn song stayed in your head today. Just curious)

Sunday 25 September 2011

It all started with brown bread...

'' 'It all started with brown bread' . That's how you should call your blog post for today. suggested my colleague in despair, surrounded by tons of rubbish , dirty linen and cleaning products . It was 12 and we only had 2 hours to clean a whole hostel.

All she wanted was to sit in a corner and cry, all I wanted was to lie down and stare at the ceiling. The rubbish bag in my right hand just broke and I could see the past 24h of the previous guests scattered all over the floor. Believe me you don't want to know what they were up to.

We were late , stressed , tired and yet what was SHE worrying about? My next blog post. How cute is that. I'm going to call her Cutie until I find a more suitable nickname for her.

Anyway...

'' Where's the damn key for the linen cupboard???"

That's fine J'Bo 's got them.

Cool why was I worried then?

Maybe because he is NOT working today and is not picking up his damn phone.

That's going to be a fun day.

The day had started well. None of the staff was hungover. It has never happened since.... Actually it has NEVER happened .

No weirdos for breakfast , even the hen party was nice. The bride to be was wearing sunglasses and still had her evening clothes on ( with a a huge L pinned to her back) but she was in a very good mood .

We had no bunch of guys having beer for breakfast.

Yes, all was well in Kipps Brighton...

Until we ran out of Brown Bread.

'' I can't eat white bread you see. I need brown ''

Ok ok. That's me running to the nearest supermarket at 9am . Near but far enough for my shoes to completely break into pieces ( Aussie shoes. They could not cope with the weather) .

Not only was I queuing for ever ( Britain's finest art) but the machine gave me change in 5p coins ( about 20 of them )

I Proudly came back with my bread and 1 shoe on.

'' Actually we don't need it thank you, White bread was just fine . We 're on our way out. See you ! ''

SURE..... ( smile)

let's have a cuppa tea to calm down . No single clean cup left.

'' they all came at once'' says Cutie whom I could barely see behind the pile of dirty dishes.

Yes we do the washing up here. when we are NOT running around with one shoe buying brown bread.

That's going to be a fun day.

We finally got the key to the cupboard. But it was time to play musical beds and find every one somewhere to stay tonight. That's me in Superhero mode. Saving the world is my job.

'' That's the manager's job''

'' So what?'' I say , not understanding.

'' So it's not you... anymore''

This is going to be a fun day.

Who did not cancel this group on the system? Who called this woman and said that her bed would be cancelled if she did not turn up when the booking was made for her daughter who has been here for 3 days. ( that one was me actually) She almost called the cops thinking her daughter was gone missing. Lovely.

And THAT was just before we even started cleaning.

In Kipps Brighton you know you re stressed when , instead of topping up the coffee in the double rooms you DRINK it. Instead of dusting the TV screen you WATCH it. Instead of dragging the vaccum cleaner it drags YOU.

When the phone rings you want to say f***** off instead of Kipps Brighton hello how can I help ?! ( second one being VERY hard to say when you are a French person)

After 2 hours of '' we can make it , just breathe'' and help from a German angel who was not even working that day , the hostel was spotless and smelt of a delicate breeze of air freshener. Right on time. As usual.

That's when we can start our real job : making people feel at home. And we all do it so well. So well that the guests had no idea that we were all dead in the inside

I left at 4pm with a choice : walking home barefoot or wearing a random oversized pair of flip flops from the lost and found box ( and risk verucas)

'' That's it. I'm done. I'm going home to my 20 year old gay husband. I say proudly with an exhausted look on my face wearing my size 43 shoes.

Home sweet home.

My ideal night : watch telly and moan about my day to my best friend on the phone. We should change this and that and that too. Go to bed at 9.30pm, wake up at 3 am and start yelling at the drunks outside my window.. Wake up at 6 am again to the sweet sound of seaguls.

My actual night : Got home to my flatmate who sat me down and made me listen to Canadian love songs until I stopped stressing him with my bad vibes.

'' This English guy texts me right. WHAT do I reply?'' he asks me.

What ? He's asking ME for advice with Brits?

Just say '' S.E.X?" so he's got a good reason to run a mile. Or not.

'' Mmmm Sorry you might not be the best person to ask for advice here. ''

Thank you darling. I feel a lot better now.

Then he took me for a ''slow'' jog. All I saw for an hour was the back of him. All I could hear was bystanders taking the piss out of that cougar woman trying to run after that hot 20 year old .

At least I found his new nickname '' mister Dymanmite. ( way better that Justin Bieber) and we had so much fun.

And Mister Dynamite is also a chef. Thank God I found a new person to cook for me ( Pip I will still love you forever though) . The fact that I was a gluten free vegeterian intolerant to lactose did not even bother him. yay.

9pm. Good time for some telly and do nothing. I thought.

One hour later I was drinking tequila shots with my young friends in a club nearby. We even got refused the entrance to the first one since some of my girl friends looked too straight ( I was fine for some reason. Should I meditate over that )

Yes , In Brighton you get refused in nightclubs for being STRAIGHT

Darling. Get real. There is no such thing as straight guys anyway. Just guys who don't know yet ( Thank God for us girls)

And I met a guy too .

34, hot, single.and .... British . Asked for my phone number 10 minutes after I met him , got me 2 drinks. Who said British guys were complicated?

Of course he is G.A.Y and was outrageously kissing one of my male friends on the dance floor a couple of minutes later.

But hey, he's sooo much fun. And I 'm pretty sure this one will text back. Wanna bet.
And then another hot one asked me if could carry MY babies. This is the cutest thing I've ever heard mate.
So it all started with browm bread. And ended in a nighclub aith gay boyfriends

Because You only know where Life really wants to take you if you just let it... flow.

Saturday 24 September 2011

Made in England

As I was randomly opening a can of beans yesterday morning I came to a shocking truth.

I am now eating English breakfast ON PURPOSE.

I ve come such a long way....

Now when I show up at bootcamp at 6.45am in the cold and rain, I say '' the weather is not too bad. it could be snowing. '' when even the most positive of the instructors is saying '' This rain is horrible man. Why didn't you stay in Australia ? ''

" I love England '' I answer doing half sit ups in the pouring rain.

Yes. I eat beans for breakfast and I am positive about the weather. I'm officially on my way to become a Brit with a French accent.

It wasn't always like that. Me and England had a rocky relationship. When I first moved here I thought I was the reincarnation of Joan of Arc going back to England to be burnt in the rain again.

2002. In France Every uni student who want to become and English teacher sort of has to spend a year abroad to try and get rid of this awful accent of ours and NOT pass it on to the next generation of kids.

Anyway Me and my friends needed a break from studying ( aka going to the pub down the road to Uni) so we applied to be assistant teachers. The wealthy are sent to Canada, Australia, America

WE were sent to ENGLAND.

SNOWDOWN. I say trying to remember when I was sent. (in France when you re a teacher you are SENT somewhere, like a fallen angel. You do not pick where you are going. And we would have picked France anyway.

'' Snowdown?!'' but that 's a freaking mountain. says my friend who had a basic knowledge of England ( I just knew that London was the capital)

'' Hang on , it's SWINDON''

'' Oh my god. That's WAY worse than being sent to the top of a mountain.

Swindon was the kind of place where when you say to people you re going there for a year they feel so sorry for you they can hardly hide it. You know the fake smile and that. Others, more honest, will tell you :

'' Don't go mate don't.''

But I did. It could have been worse. My best friend Mika was sent to WALES. I could not decently let him go alone.

Swindon. House share with 6 blokes. They PAID ME to do the housework. And then there was the job. in a 'school with '' special needs '' kids ( I love how positive the Brits are)

The only teachers who were smiling and willing to have a conversation were the ones who just quit or the ones who took an extra pill the morning before.
I think they noticed I was there when I was about to leave.

'' What's your name again?''

'' Annabelle. You know I've been here for 8 months... No I'm not the new cleaning lady. I'm the assistant teacher ''

I made a couple of friends at work. One got pregnant and left ( at the same time as a 13 year old in one of my classes) and never came back. A French girl who was a qualified teacher but decided that there was more to life than kids throwing stones at her in the middle of her lessons. Bless her she's now still in England and happy (and NOT a teacher)

When you were a qualified teacher there, you were also a qualified bouncer. When not teaching you were paid to patrol the school to make sure kids were just fighting, not killing each other.

No I was not qualified for that. I was just making the coffees.

When everyone quit I became the oldest staff member in the French department. ( still waiting for my medal) , trying to recruit new teachers. We had about 10. 1 per week. Then came a new guy who was enough in denial to stay and not noticed being called a faggot for the rest of the year .

He used to have 1 sugar in his coffee.

'' I hate it. Work is awful, the kids call me '' fucking frog'' . I almost pushed one down the stairs the other day ( I actually did but he did not fall. Damn)
People are cold in England , they're not talking to you and THE FOOD ( that's enough to send all the French to deep depression) is awful. They have sausage in the morning and they have a 10 minutes lunch break STANDING. When are we going home? '' I say on the phone to Mika in Wales.

In France we like our 2h lunch break when all the shops close. 3 course meal for lunch, not a damn sandwich. Funny I say that , yesterday for lunch I had a toast with butter while running around checking people in. Length of lunch break 1minutes 34. And I loved it.

It was all the same for Mika, but in a Welsh accent. I used to go and visit him at the week end ( ONLY a 7hour bus drive) . On the Saturday morning we would recover from our week , in the afternoon we used to talk about how better it all was in France. On the Sunday we would spend the day trying to understand what Welsh people were actually saying.

But I had great friends in Swindon. They were French and Germans.

English? Don't be silly. They're weird mate. And THEY don't talk to US.

Yet, One of US gave up hating the Brit and started to love '' one of them''. And now , 10 years later, she is still there with her lovely ''weirdo'' and a beautiful baby. Congrats.

Me and Mika needed 2 years to recover from England.

2005 we decided to give it another shot.

Same job ( it's amazing what we do to hurt ourselves sometimes)

He was sent to London this time.

I was sent to Faversham.

Where? It's not even on Google map.

Oh no. NOT that AGAIN.

'' Move to Canterbury, it's lovely'' someone told me.

Okay then. I look for accommodation on the net. I find a roommate called Matt and he tells me the room would be ready when I show up. 2 days before he emails me.

'' Sorry , flat is not ready yet. I booked you in a backpackers hostel called Kipps for a week''

'' A what????????''

I ended up staying for a year. In a female dormitory. And yes I started to love England. Everything about England ( almost. But please let me tell you about my love life later)

'' I don't think you should be a teacher'' says my colleague at school as I was telling her how fantastic my REAL job was ( part time receptionist in Kipps Backpackers)

It took me an extra 2 years to understand that. When I moved to England with my whole life in 2 backpacks.

Here I am now , loving every minute of it ( almost. But let me tell you about my love life later)

It's not about the place where you are .....

Australia, January 2011 : '' Back home in England, WE have wine in Supermarkets and it's a lot BETTER''


......It's about how you feel within YOURSELF. .


So yes here I am , now , years later calling England Home. My best friends British , and British humour mine.

If it was not for the tattoo on my neck that says Made in France ( and my accent) I would say that I'm from Brighton , England.

I still yet have to figure out the one of Britain's most well kept mystery : British men.

Yeah I know, all these years I still have no clue about them. ( Unless they are gay or over 60)

But I was busy the last couple of years. Busy trying to figure out Australian men ( don't start me on that) , then I tried to learn how to stop trying to figure out Australian men.
Then I turned to Kiwis. And just when I was starting to understand him (his accent that is ) he had to go.

British men? They tend to run a mile when they meet me.

In the opposite direction. Ironically, the last one was an excellent runner. I suppose he is currently still running. At least I keep them fit.

What ? It's not about other people?

It's about how YOU feel within YOURSELF .....

Damn.

I need a '' cuppa tea'' .

Thursday 22 September 2011

Committed

Commitment.

If you are a traveller ( or a man) you are probably VERY likely to be willing to stop reading now.
If you’re a male traveller you can skip this and pretend you have read this post when we meet later. I am very tempted to stop reading myself. But since I’m the one who’s writing it I’ll stick around a little while longer if you will.

‘’ So how long are you staying?’’

You might as well ask me if I want to marry you. This question freaks me out.
Commitment.

Simple question hey . But travellers usually hear is something like ‘’ what else are you going to give up if you decide to stay for a while’’

So we usually play our best card. The I don’t know card. I recently came up with a new good one

‘’ No plan is good plan mate’’ ( +wink)

Cool huh.

Commitment .

If I ever committed to anything ? Don’t be silly…. Of course I did.

Me , an engagement ring, a perfect boyfriend ( yes he did cook ) new furniture from Ikea , a house in the French countryside ( romantic music playing) a semi commitment to the French education system . Been there , done that ( I left him the tee shirt. And the furniture. Least I could do huh)

Happy ending ? Hell yeah. I moved to a 6 bed female dorm in Kipps Canterbury backpackers in England. I swapped my teaching skills to develop cleaning skills. Then I lived in a tent in the garden, then I had a full time job as a duty manager there. Later I lived in the cupboard on the third floor. I did. I swore you could put a mattress in that cupboard. Almost fit.
I could almost stretch my legs while sleeping. For 6 months. My legs still hurt. It was 2 years ago.

You know you’re a traveller when your room key is a padlock key.

How many guys did I pick up saying ‘’ wanna visit my cupboard darling?’’

Not so many. But still. Okay Yank , I told you you’d be in my book. There you are !
It was cool to live in a cupboard.

No commitment. No rent to pay , no bills , no 3 months stay minimum, you know all that crap travellers ( and men) are terrified about.

So yes. When you’re a traveller you live in a backpackers hostel. You end up living there for far longer than what you should but it’s YOUR choice.

No commitment.

Living in a backpackers hostel is cool. You hang out with Kiwis for breakfast, have dinner with Aussies and go out drinking with… what was their names again? Dude I got so drunk. Glad they checked out today , saves the embarrassment.

But some of them never check out. The hostel gradually becomes a house share.

With no commitment.

A perfect home for a citizen of the world .

That ‘s what me and Dwight we were talking about the other night. Yes the dude I was chasing around Bangkok last August.

What? Yes I found him in the end! In a Thai restaurant . In Brighton. Of course.
We had a nice meal. The first waitress answered ‘’Tokyo’’ when we asked her what part of Thailand she was from. The second one did not even try to hide her Eastern European accent.

But that’s what we love. Diversity.

With no commitment.

Ok. Now. Truth?

Travellers also get attached but don’t want to face it. Female traveller do still see themselves in their wedding dress ( with the coolest backpack attached to it) We still dream of freaking romance and fishing trips on Sundays. That must be in the DNA… right?

Travellers also cry their eyes out listening to love songs ( gay travellers and women especially. The other ones pretend to have a mosquito in their eye)
My last time? I was sort of… drunk. With my boss / best friend who was sober ( btw what’s YOUR excuse to listen to love songs darling?)

Here , in Kipps Backpackers Brighton we call it ‘’ Celine Dion moments’’ . Picture me on the floor staring at the ceiling , again trying to breathe and my gay manager vacuuming the whole hostel singing :

When I was young
I never needed anyone
And making love was just for fun
Those days are gone
Livin' alone
I think of all the friends I've known
When I dial the telephone
Nobody's home

We don’t want the commitment but we want the connection. What you call a date , we call it dinner with a friend

Friend is the ideal name for everyone when you’re a traveller. It’s like playing the ‘’ I don’t know card’’

‘’ he’s a friend’’ ( risk assessment 0. Commitment 0. )

Our ideal partner would be someone who appears from nowhere to share good times and great conversations for a while and drives us to the airport when we decide suddenly that we want to go to India next week.

‘’ See you next time darling, Have a great time, I love you for ever’’

Sure…

Deep inside we would also love the ‘’ darling I’m home’’ sort of life. But without the house and the dog.

Given how many homes I’ve got, how many darlings do I need?

But do you know what ‘s worse than commitment?

No commitment.

Taking no risk. Hang on to something that’s no longer there. Missing out on new experiences , people…

Stay when you could go. Go when you could stay. Ignore your feelings when you could just love.

Because guess what. Nothing lasts anyway.

So you’d better commit to every minute of it

Before it’s gone.

Friday 16 September 2011

Speaking of witch ...

I promised myself that I'd never have a 9 to 5 job after traveling.

I can't even go back to the fitness level I left so let alone a 9 to 5 job.

Yes I still wake up at 6 to go run around on the beach with BMF, a bunch of crazy Brits and have a military fitness instructor yelling at me for 4 hours a week '' 76 wake uuuup'' or '' kiss the bench and wave the sun good bye’’ ( it's 6.45 AM)
And I can see myself last year, running around proudly wearing my green bib, proof of me reaching the highest fitness level ever.

'' Were you not a Green before ?'' Someone asks me as I still was day dreaming about my glorious days.

Yes . And now I'm a blue. A freaking beginner

No one goes from Green to Blue unless they had a massive injury that changed their life. NO ONE.

'' So what happened to you?''
'' Australia happened, mate , Australia''

No, you don't know the real meaning of chilling out until you actually live in Oz. Or when you come back to Europe after you lived in Oz for a while.

Then you can spot the Aussie tourists in England straight away. They are the only ones to 1/ take pictures of bloody squirrels. 2/ walk effortlessly everywhere in their thongs ( you pick the meaning you want to give to that) with a ‘’no wuckers mate’’ grin on their face. And 3 jumpers when it's still 20 English degrees.

So yes, I 've got to learn it all again. But how come I was fitter when I was a smoker? I asked my instructor. He asked me what exactly I was smoking.

So I had to have a conversation with my body . '' Look mate , you're 32. You can't give up on me just because I neglected you a bit for a few months. I gave up smoking , meat and sex for you ( latter not my choice but anyway) so you and me have to be friends again ''

Be patient. Yeah, right.

In Australia I became a spiritual being, you see. As in hugging trees and giving unconditional love to total strangers in a castle in the bush at 7pm every Wednesday night ( I love you guys)

I Australia I was clearing my chakras more often than I was going for a run.
In Australia 9 to 5 was my meditation schedule. The rest of the time ? Chill out with loved ones.
In Australia I did not rest 2 days a week, I WORKED 2 days a week.
In Australia my real job was spiritual healer. And I was my main patient. So I was always broke. But still happy (silly peaceful grin of face)
In Australia I got in touch with my Spirit.
And in a Buddhist monastery in Thailand I even lost track of my body.

In England I’m trying to re unite both.

So no, I definitely can't do a 9 to 5 job anymore. My current job is cool. Working with a bunch of crazy future ex travellers in my favourite backpackers hostel in Brighton is my thing.
It’s the type of job when you show up in the morning you know that there is no way you can predict what’s going to happen.

You will either be carrying a giant penis balloon to a 10 bedded dorm full of drunk English girls for a hen or you will try to guess who fell down the stairs drunk last night ( and that’s just the staff) looking back on CCTV cameras or come up in the morning and find your work computer screen having a life of its own. You will then catch yourself screaming the name of the night receptionist who obviously can’t hear you since he’s just gone to bed after eating his last ice cream 10 minutes before you showed up.
After 10 minutes of panic and hallucination you learn that it was your geeky boss playing a practical joke. He has full control of the work computer from his own house, miles away.

Of course. Where was I the past 10 years.

The type of job where the first thing your 20 year old gay manager tells you as he first moved in with you in your flat is ‘’ I have plenty of condoms, help yourself’’

So, no. This is no 9 to 5 job. I can safely keep in touch with my Spirit here.
And guess what? I checked in 2 spiritual healers into a dorm the other day! If spiritual healers start checking in to backpackers hostels the world is ready to hear about Spirituality.

‘’ Did you hear there were 2 witches staying in my dorm? ‘’ says a colleague of mine with panic.

Maybe not quite ready yet….

Unless someone they KNOW is also a witch.
And they got used to me lying on the floor with the impossibility to move since I could not align my body with my Spirit. No one found that weird. Not weirder than anything else in Brighton anyway.
‘’ Just try to breathe’’
‘’ I’m trying, darling believe me, but all I can do is stare at the ceiling. And make an occasional bed because hey, that’s my job dude’’ And My crazy colleagues get that. They even lied on the floor with me today. I love them.

So imagine ME in a 9 to 5 job.

No, that‘s NOT funny. To those who have ever smoked pot : that’s exactly the same feeling, but without your lungs turning dark grey.
For those who have never smoked pot: what the hell did you do with your life.
This state implies walking around the hostel with a ‘’ I can see dead people face’’ ( I can’t really but I can hear them. Haha. Gotya. Not yet actually. ), make
ing the worst mistake you can do in a backpackers hostel ( no it’s NOT sleeping with a guest , THAT is fine. It’s called an overbooking) or throw yourself in the English channel at 6pm to make it stop.

When all you REALLY need is your favourite 61 year old Aussie woman ( see previous post) to grab your hands and shake them firmly , saying ‘’ Now you’re grounded. Feeling better?’’ and then walk away.

Wow another person in touch with her Spirit. Oh sorry, another witch. Dear God, they’re everywhere.

It’s good to be a witch because you have a good insight on people’s patterns. You can with no problem say to your best friend
‘’ Look , if this guy does not reply to your email it’s because you reject yourself from the start. You play the best buddy, try to set him up with someone else when all you want is to have a relationship with him but you’re scared to get hurt. That’s ridiculous!’’ with a proud look on your face because you know you are spot on.

But the answer can surprise you.

‘’ I think you are right. But are we still talking about me or are we also talking about you here ? ’’
‘Me? I am SO not like that. ‘’

Oh. Shit.

Because , EVERYONE is a spiritual healer. We usually have no idea we are.

Yes, that’s why I promised myself I will never have a 9 to 5 job again. Because I need time for witchcraft.

Just need to check my working schedule for next week before I go.

‘’9am to 5pm , just like last week ‘’

HA.HA.

Because it’s all about the attitude.

Monday 12 September 2011

Just do it

I've started my book. How cool is that. What? I've already said that in June? And July? And August?
No but this time it is real , Mate. My facebook status says so. It MUST be true.

What is it about? Why do you ask so many questions. You'll see when you read it.

I HAVE NO IDEA. Something about the past 8 months of my life. Or is it years?

But when you are naturally full on and disorganised HOW DO YOU WRITE A BOOK ABOUT YOU?

Where do I start....

You don't know how full on you are until you start working with someone as full on as you. And when he is 20 years old , gay and he is your manager it gets even more exciting. Like the kind of guy who shows up at your flat at 9am for a glass of water after jogging around Brighton twice and tells you '' my penis is freaking freezing'' and disapears. Yeah , that one.

Working with him is like watching myself in a miror.

We both came to the freaky conclusion '' is that REALLY how I am? '' F******

Dude, we need to help each other out on that one.

We 1 / energize each other and exhaust other people. As in we're dancing on Queen when everyone else is attempting to watch football quietly ( BO-RING) at 4pm.

2/ we Exhaust each other. The first day we worked together he slept for 12h after that and I dropped dead on my living room floor ( no there wasn't any drunk english guy sleeping , I checked first) and got depressed for about half a day

. We are so chatty on check with guest . Our jokes are in stereo. They must drop dead on their bed as soon as we shut the door behind them . At least they get a good night sleep. I guess it's good we're working in a hostel.


So yeah. When do you start your traveling book when the past 8 months of your life have been as full on as YOU are , and as disorganised as YOU are.

'' Hey , How u doiiiin' . I'm writing a book and you'll be in it'' was my best pick up line the past months. Not I have really picked anyone up actually . They probably waiting til the book is published. And I must have said that to 5788 people all around the world.

Damn. Got to write this book.

Where do I start. Australia? Malaysia? UK? Thailand?
FRANCE? Don't be silly. It's just where I'm from.

Yes, Being a citizen of the world IS a hard life.

Not that I've got a good ending either.
Forget about Prince Charming and all that crap.Although I have a few good gay guys in store. They probably would be good princesses. None of them want to be my Queen though ( I did ask)

The thing is , everytime I say I start the book, there is something in the way.

In May my laptop broke.

In july I bought a fake made in China I pad because I thought it was time but ....

1/ there was no note pad so I had to pretend to write an email to myself everytime wanted to add a page to my fantastic non existant book .
2/ My writing speed never exceeded 1 word per minute. Approximate age when book published : 83 years old. Forget about picking ANYONE up then.

In August I decided to stay in this monastery in Thailand for ever and hand write the book. A wake up call later I was checking my emails on my new smart phone back in the UK. And no book so far...

Here we are. September. Who and what am I going to blame for NOT starting this book this time.

WORK? Yeah that's a good one. Used to work all the time. Socialising ? No sorry I've got to work. I wish but I have to work tonight. Relationship? Sorry no time. Where would I fit that in my work schedule I've got responsibilities you know. . Loving people? No sorry I've got to check them in.

Well that was before. Now I have an extra day off a week and I'm not the manager anymore.
Can't blame work....

DATING

My only recent offer came from a 61 year old Australian woman.
That was a good pick up line though

'' I'm going out to the shops , anyone need anything?'' someone asked
'' A good woman'' she answered , looking at me straight in the eye.

Mate, you rock.

I did hesitate for a minute ...


ENGLISH PEOPLE . That's a good one for the french. That's what we do best. We blame the English. We still haven't digested that Joan of Arc story probably . So we blame the Brits. Especially those who don't call back .
What? He's also waiting until the book is published ?

Where have I been the past 10 years?

No, I can't blame the Brits either. I love them . They're too funny.


BRITISH WEATHER . I can't write today. It's too miserable out there. hahaha . That one can NEVER go wrong.
Until someone points out the ugly truth.

'' Do you HAVE TO write in the rain?''

Get an umbrella dude.

No , writing a book is not easy.

Ideas will come to you at the weirdest time. it's like wanting the loo when you're in a phone box.
and it stops as you walk in the nearest public toilet. Damn you spent 5p for nothing.
Yeah , writing is a bit like that.

I wake up at 3 am with the best 1st chapter I can dream of. If only I could be bothered getting out of bed and actually write it. Sure. I'll remember it tomorrow.

Give me a BREAK I can hardly work until 11.30pm already. I'm currently trying to blackmail Totoro, our night receptionist with ice cream and pizza so he comes half an hour early because I NEED MY BED . If you check in after 9pm my customer service drops to ''bitch level'' unless you feed me with an insane amount of caramels.
Oh and no , Totoro is NOT is real name. Thank God. ( he chose it though) And no, he still does not want my ice creams. He makes me wait until 11.29pm . Just for a laugh. Am thinking about upgrading to pepperoni pizza next time.

And you want ME to wake up at 3am TO WRITE?


Yes , ideas come when I'm working as well. Last night I was putting laundry away and I had to run down the stairs like a drug addict maniac and someone with intestine problems . No people don't notice. It's Brighton dude. It's normal here.

Where's my damn notebook.

'' Can you cover reception for 2 minutes I've GOT to write something'' I say to my german colleague adding that SHE will be in my book too. For sure ( How uuuuuu doin'?)

Like it's an emergency. Like it's life threatening.

She was happy to cover. She could change my boring music to austrian rap while I was sitting on the floor laughing my ass off because I think It's so funny what I'm writing.

Ideas come at anytime in any language. too. Although Spanish tend to be when I'm insanely drunk and german when I'm deeply depressed. Italian? No , not anymore thank you.

Usually it's frenglish notes that I can barely decipher the next day when I actually have time to write.
But all I can do is staring blankly at my screen, drink coffee and cry watching Grey 's Anatomy season 6.

Yes , travel writers are a bit mad. We usually blacklist them from the hostel
.
A paranoid crazy woman, who was still yelling my name on the street 15 minutes after I kicked her out last year, claimed to be a travel writer.

''Race-A-Lot you have no right to treat me like this , I'm a wriiiiiiter!''

My name is Raclot but I like Race -a- lot too actually . How did she know my surname? Dude. Don't ask.

This other guy who was stinking so much we had to tell him to go have a shower if he wanted to stay. He was a travel writer too.

So you know what I'm risking if I actually write this book?

I decided to relocate my writing spot in my friend's coffee shop so if it all goes wrong I can still have good coffee and advertise '' Redwood Coffee shop Brighton'' in my book.

When I start it.

In the mean time I can still have crazy full on conversations with my manager . The other day he ended up telling me :
'' What you say makes so much sense. You should write a book''

NO KIDDING .

But where do I start? Hang on a minute. THIS could be a great start right?

Because sometimes when you really want to do something. Like REALLY REALLY. You've got to stop THINKING about it find excuses, let go , And ... JUST DO IT.

What are YOU waiting for ?

Thursday 8 September 2011

The young and the restless

My manager is 20.

My work mates are slightly older ( shame on them)

I feel like I was born in the 18th Century and woke up last week.

You know you don't take responsibilty for your age when you hesitate more than 2 seconds to answer the question
'' How old are you ? ''

I usually say '' younger than Lee''. It makes me feels better.

So yeah , I feel like I've been asleep for about 185 years.

What? We don't buy fish tanks anymore nowadays ?

No. We buy a DVD.

Just select Menu... Aquarium, fish noise and there you are. Finding Nemo or saving Willy . It saves to feed the fish and you also have the log fire option for Winter.

Awesome.

Where have I been the past 10 years.

So of course on my first evening shift back I pretended to be 20 and know it all.

'' You guys go out, mummy can handle this''

Why is that thing ringing? it's a digital PHOTO ALBUM. Is it REALLY supposed to be an ALARM CLOCK too? And why 9pm? Probably to wake ME up. It was 10 minutes past my bed time anyway.

So... what would a 20 year old do in this case? Touch the screen. That's it.
After 2 long minutes of pure laughter the other staff decided to tell me.

'' You know there is an on and off switch...right?''

Sure.

Then came the reminders by email. There is a Google reminder for everything nowadays. Forgot to breathe? Ask Google to remind you.

'' Charge the electric sweeper''
mmm what? Is that the thing we used to call a vacuum cleaner?

NO it's an electric SWEEPER. aaaaaaaaaah okay I understand better now.

Kipps 2.1 . That's where I was.
Annabelle 0.1. That's who I was.

'' Can we please have another key to our room ''Madame?'' says one of our french regulars.
Ma.... what?

So you're talking to me right? M.A.D.A.M.E...... You know I kicked people out of this hostel for less than that?

Annabelle 0.1

I had to do something
32 going on 23...

So what do ''youngsters'' do nowadays. ( When you start calling them youngsters it can only go wrong)

How did I know I was doing well? I gained 6 Facebook friends in 6 days.

Annabelle 1.1

It's all about attitude.

What do you do when you wake up and there's a drunk English guy sleeping on your living room floor? You take a picture , put it on Facebook , make your coffee and go back to your room. Of course.

If I know him? Actually yeah. He's a friend.

How did he get the keys? They get passed around. In 6 days I shared the flat with 2 German girls , a Spanish dude and my English best friend. How much fun.

It's all about attitude.

But I had yet to make up for my lack of new technology knowledge. SO I bought a smart phone.
Buying it was already an adventure.

'' I want that one'' . I say to the guy pointing towards a million phones

'' You mean the Alcatel OT-980, madam?''

Piss off.

50 quid later ( yeah I can't eat this week but that's the choice a 20 year old would make right?

Smartphone VS surviving.... Food is SO last year.

So there I was , proudly holding my first piece of 21st century. I sat in the shopping centre for 30 minutes, playing with my new apps, going on facebook. How cool is that.

What 's my number? BECAUSE IT'S ALSO A PHONE? aaaaaaaah. No idea.
I finally gave up and called my hungover best friend so he can give me my new name. 07 something I believe.

The next day? I had no credit left. Who did I call? No one... Damn 3G ....

And how do you stop the bloody alarm anyway. So at 6 am you have to select menu , alarm , snooze. Seriously. Next time I'll buy one that picks up my voice '' Stop that bloody noise or I'll throw you out of the fucking window''

Annabelle 2.0

To be a perfect 20 year old in England you HAVE to wear a tiny mini skirt in the cold and rain. That's how you pass the '' party animal test''

So I did.

3 tequilas later I was dancing ON the bar at my work place with a hot gay Spanish guy drinking from the bottle. Who was filming? My boss. He can blackmail me for ever now. And it's just my first week back. Beat me , you youngsters.

Annabelle 2.1

Well I passed the test. Until I realized that there was no test. Just me thinking I was different. They always thought I was cool. In my own way.

We're all the same in the end. 20's, 30's , 40's.

Because guess what '' youngsters'' , it does not stop when you reach 30. That shit you feel. You just learn to deal with it .

After 30 you still wait for that guy you like to reply to your emails.

'' If he stops liking your facebook status that's it Dude. Move on''

Of course. Where have I been the past 10 years.


Yeah you need them , the 20 year olds. Just as they need you to listen to them , to make them feel secure because you bloody know what it's like not to be.

Because yes, after 30 you are still insecure. But you cover it up. You are still scared to wait for that text message that will never come. So You just don't buy a phone..... So you don't have to expect that there will be no text message. So you don't feel rejected. Twisted?

I can't wait to be 40.

That's when you need your 20 year olds to remind you '' Or you can just buy a phone and NOT give HIM the number''

That makes sense '' Dude'' ....

'' Or you can also face the fact'' says another one.

Face the What? Don't be silly.

So yeah , after 30 you're still scared shitless when you come back to your comfort zone and see that it's not there anymore. That all you thought you were , you no longer are.

SO you still drink yourself silly, eat yourself crazy to forget that how painful that all is. And how scared you are to re build it all.

But after 30 you know , somewhere deep inside that it's all bullshit. And guess what? It's YOUR bullshit.

There is no one and nothing else to blame for it ( Not even a little bit? NO.)

So you just shut up deal with it.

Painful? Tell ME about it.

So, until there is an App to deal with that I will look after my 20 year olds .
And until I can do it myself I will need my 20 year olds to help me move to my life ... 2.1

In the mean time you can still follow me on Twitter, Dude.













You know ,

Friday 2 September 2011

Same difference

'' So going back to an old routine then'' a friend of mine emailed me after I booked my ticket Home to England.

I already knew it would not be an old routine because :

1/ It's Brighton
2/ Everything changes
3/ it's Brighton

And how can it be an old routine with British humor in it ? Especially when your first conversation with an English man in England after 8 months sounds something like that :

ME '' Thanks for picking me up''
HIM '' I haven't even tried to pick you up . We're not even home yet''

Old routine? Hell no.

Brighton. Where no one gives a shit about what you look like , who you are and who you want to be. Yeah , it's great ! Except when you're just back from 6 months in Australia and 2 months in Thailand.

Hey I'm french. What? you don't give a f**** ? My forced french accent used to be s.e.x.y in Australia. What izz ze problem.

Hey look at me I'm pale skinned. What? So are you? I used to be the center of attention in Thai villages. Here , the only time a guy looked at me on the street was a drug addict who had his eyes closed

'' hey sis, you have a light?''

A humbling experience. So was my first day back at work at Kipps Hostel .

Yes I did follow everyone around with a pen and a paper. I could not even use the till.

Didn't you used to run this place before? Shut up.

No old routine there either.

Me , my pen and my paper were so nervous that I thought I was going to throw up the 265 instant coffees I had that morning. The rules were different. As in , not the same. As in '' if you think you're coming back to your comfort zone you're kidding yourself, love ''

The place looks so neat and EVERYONE seems to know what they're doing. Everyone but me. I've worked there the longest, and yet was on my first day.

" Shall I show you how to use the new Screen'' Oh God.... There are more New technologies here than in a supermarket in China. Did I tell him that I still can't use my fake Ipad properly?

Cigarette ? Sure ( I looked at the note on my hand. it said : Remember you stopped smoking.)

Shit

Another coffee? Hell yeah.

And then of course after a while of sweating , remote controlling and running around for no reason I realized. Different decoration , different staff , different rules but hey.... same atmosphere....

Kipps is another word for family. All you need to do is show up. The staff welcomes you , makes you so comfortable that you never want to leave again. Oh and if you ever consider leaving, their yum lasagna or pancakes will make you re consider. The next thing you know you have Canadian ,french, Swedish Romanian sisters, English Italian brothers, German cousins... Yes ,Kipps is the reason why you 'd chase a South African dude around Bangkok and become his official stalker. Because we're family, mate.

For the first time I could grasp the concept of Kipps family from the outside, like a guest would. Good job guys. And I give a 100% rating to everyone who made me feel like I was still a sister ( the first one who says mum will be forced to hoover for me for the next 15 days)

Everything changes but I've got good news for you. Some bonds remain...

My first check ins? Jet lagged Aussies fresh from the plane, Mate.

G'day!!!!!!! Of course I talked to them like... family. Because they were, also. That's my job and I absolutely still love it.

Everything changes but some bonds remain...

Me and my runners were on time this morning on the beach for my first day back at BMF bootcamp.

'' Who's in for a fitness test?''

Why not.

'' you've been traveling too long'' said my fitness instructor as I was agonizing. An hour later I could barely walk and had to reconsider my green bib from 8 month ago (the highest level) and swapped it for a blue bib ( the beginners level)

Shit. I've got to do it all again. Everything does f*** change.

Everything changes but some bonds remain....

'' you're coming to the Water ? '' says my crazy friend Kathy ( find yourself a cool nickname and I will change your name if you want ) as she was running towards the water with her clothes and runners on.

'' Water? As in... swim in the water in September at 7am in.... ENGLAND ?'' You're talking to an ex Aussie, mate. Are you mad??? No way. I'm going home.

10 seconds later I was in my underwear in the English Channel. Minus 10 Aussie degrees but how much fun.

'' We can go for a cup of tea now'' she says proudly as she was getting out of the water with her clothes and runners still on. Only the Brits ...

Yes, everything changes.And there is no such thing as going back to an old routine.

We can either ignore the change and hang on to a past that is no longer real, thus ignore all new opportunities people / life can offer you in the present.

Or you can take the risk and embrace it.

What have we got to loose?




















Game over. Play again?

Ah travelling is a magic thing … You suddenly realise that life is full of experiences with a beginning and an end , that you have to make the most of it and love people for who they are. What have you got to lose? It’s like a game. You know the kind of video games where you have unlimited amount of lives. Yeah that one. So you just go for it.

That's how you end up having a beer in an Irish pub in Bangkok with a Russian chick reading a copy of The Sun printed in Spain out loud ( including page 3) . Yep I did attempt to hide my '' made in France'' Tattoo there, thinking there might be an actual Irish or 2 around drunk enough to call me names like Thierry Henry. But no. Only us and some Brits.And the Thai waitresses trying to put on the fakest Irish accent I've ever heard.

Ah travelling is a magic thing. Whatever you want to do? You just go for it. What have you got to lose? And suddenly, even the question ‘’ How can I get enough money to be able to eat properly?’’ becomes fun. Because it’s like a game.

You'd sell the ipad you bought a month ago when you first got to Thailand and thought you were an Aussie millionaire wouldn’t you? Yeah, that's what I thought too.

So I put up ads in the building where I live and I get a phone call 10 minutes later.

'' Annabelle? you put add for ipad downstairs''
'' Yesssss I've got it here, it's brand new'' I say, smiling at Sue my Russian friend. We had plans on what we could do with the money already. Like have a dinner that did not include rice, have a coffee that does not include instant ( aka fly to Australia) and go to Chiang Mai or something.

'' You can't put ads in this building. We removed it.' the voice said.

LOOOSER . Game over. Play again?

Alright . So me, my Russian and my ipad we went to the market. I'd sell it there since I bought it there. That and my cleavage ( sorry French accent not working here, they don't speak English. Only have one other weapon) would give us enough money for all the coffees and rice free meals.

'' Sorry . Made in China''
'' Yep. So is everything here. How much ?''
'' No we don't buy. Rubbish.''

Yep. They sell it but there is NO way they'd buy it. Don't be silly. It's for freaking tourists. HAHA.

As if it was not bad enough, a guy with a perfect English showed up laughing and said :

'' Don't know where you bought it but you got ripped off''

LOOOOOOSER . Game over. Play again ?

Yes I will rip somebody more stupid than me off one day. You don't know anyone who needs a fake ipad , do you?

And no, the cleavage did not help. But the tattoo made them laugh. It does make people laugh. Usually. Yeah , that ‘s what to do when you’re travelling. Tattoo? ..How fun would it be to have one. So you get it done.Just like that. . Part of the game. And it looks cool my ‘’ Made in France ‘’ tattoo.

'' I've been following the conversation you're having with your friend and I don't think you need this tattoo with the thick accent you have'' says that random guy, in the tube at rush hour, in French.

What are YOU ? Made in Fucking Paris?

No I did not say it. Way too arrogant. I just thought it. Otherwise that would have made ME from fucking Paris.
Another French guy said to his girlfriend in English looking at me '' I should have one of them too''
I don't know exactly what he meant since she violently kicked him after that.
They obviously thought that I did not speak a word of English since I was made in France. Oui Oui.

'' You seriously are going to ENGLAND with this Tattoo?'' said another random French guy I met tonight at the airport. '' Now THAT is brave''

LOOOOOSER. Game over…. Play again?

Ah travelling is a magic thing. You care for everyone and anyone. Because we’re all brothers, mate.

That's how you end up in Starbucks sipping an ice green tea jelly made in Thailand to access the free wifi ( sorry Ronald YOUR free wi fi stinks too much for a poor vegetarian like me ) to check your Facebook for the 23rd time because you don't know where the hell the friend you were supposed to meet 3 days ago has disappeared.

A phone? Yes I'd have an iphone made in China if only I could sell my bloody ipad. Thank you.

A friend from Brighton. South Africa actually. But in the end, we're all from Brighton aren't we? I will call him Dwight here.

So I go and meet him at the airport. And guess who waits for 2 hours at the wrong exit holding a sign that read '' Lady boy from Brighton'' besides an actual lady boy? ME. And guess who never found him?

LOOOOOOOSER. ( with nothing to lose)

2 days later I get seriously worried. So I go and check if he actually arrived in Thailand and decides to go to his hostel. I went through the check in book with the lady boy from reception. And I was relieved to find his name.

'' Only stayed one night. Gone now'' So he was still alive somewhere in this world. Great !!!!

So Why was this woman/man (they?) staring at me with a compassionate look that meant '' BASTARD , he left without you didn't he.'' No no he's just a friend, we live together in a hostel in....

It was too late. I was the crazy ex girlfriend / stalker for everyone there. Smile. And leave. NOW.

LOOOOOS….. Yeah I’ve got it thanks.

Ah travelling. You just take any opportunity to have fun. What have you got to lose?

Flying is the best part. On what other occasion can you feel good about doing freaking nothing except eating / sleeping / watching crap movies for 16 hours? And pop in to India on your way back to England from Thailand? The best part was chatting about the weather in the UK with an English man drinking a Tiger beer while watching the cheesiest Bollywood movie ever. Or when the pilot told the passengers to sit down due to turbulences about 45 times and the Indians still could not care less.

What ? How was India? Mate. Amazing. I stayed for 3 whole hours. At the airport. Did not get to change my location on Facebook (LOOSER) but can say to people that I’ve been to India now.
Oh and do you know when you are a REAL passionate writer btw? It's when you ask Air India staff if you can have 5 more minutes to finish your blog article before boarding the plane. Of course you can't . Was just asking though.....

Travelling? You just go for it. You’ve got nothing to lose.

And the next thing you know you’re at Heathrow airport drinking a coffee in 13 english degrees ( ie -25 Thai degrees or 2 Aussie ones) , you’re back. Suddenly you feel like you have EVERYTHING to lose again………

H.O.M.E

full of people / places / jobs you LOVE and you don't want to lose....

The game? What game ? . Only one life left. MINE .

Love people for who they are? Make the most out of each experience and let it go? Don’t be silly. Who are you kidding. It’s the real stuff mate. I can’t fuck it up mate, I just can’t.

Me scared? Oh no , Not that AGAIN……

When did it become so damn serious anyway ?

What? Since Me/ myself/ I made it?

So what, you ‘re telling me it’s my choice what I want to make it ? That the journey is not over yet???

LIFE is a journey mate. And you only stop travelling through it when you stop being YOU.

It’s just the end of the beginning of a new experience. With loads of fun. With loads of people to love for who they are. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. If only you could dare to….

So… Play again?

HELL. YEAH.