The past week has been crazy.
I’m not saying that because I’m trying to find an excuse for not posting, it was actually crazy. I’m just stating.
I started work, (sort of) moved into my new apartment, and (partially) fixed a toilet. It was the kind of week that you don’t use definite articles to describe (kind of). It was the kind of week that had those sneaky bracket-ed factors of uncertainty that could trip you up at any step (almost). I shouldn’t even speak in the past tense, it’s (kinda sorta) not over yet.
Nevertheless, I’m really digging living in Victoria again. I love this city, and I’m doing my best to appreciate it this time around.
I remember saying that I wouldn’t post about what made my time in central america so great. But I think this would be permissible. Over the month, my dad and I met some really amazing people. People who travel, as a general rule, are pretty interesting. People who decide to move to another country are, as a general rule, even more interesting. 
I was going to list off a bunch of the people who we met in Guatemala, but there is a seagull attacking an abandoned carton of soy milk on the sidewalk outside this coffee shop and it is one of the most entertaining things I have ever seen. Somebody left the soy milk on the garbage can for a few minutes while unloading their truck, and this bird knocked it off, punctured the carton, and started drinking the fluid in about thirty seconds. The seagulls in this town are as opportunistic as crows, but bigger, with more personality and less caution.
Anyways. There were a lot of people on our trip who were super interesting. I can’t remember all of their names, so I’m just going to say what made them interesting.
There was the Turkish guy who smoked like a chimney and drank way too much Cerveza.
The Englishman who ran a hostel and cooked really good pizza.
The two guys from Denver and Ontario, respectively, who played music beautifully together.
The Irish guy who ran a restaurant called The Clover, who was a stage tech in his Irish life.
The drunk jerk who kept asking one of the boat captains if he was going to the town they were currently in.
The endless Australians on vacation. Seriously, do they never go home?
That’s all I can think of off the top of my head. Believe me, there were many, many more.
Anyways. Work. I have to go there soon. Last night I worked an 8 hour shift, 5 or 6 of which were spent in the dish pit. I just want to go back to making croissants. There is one upside though.
-A
Letters From The Great White North 