NORMAL LIFE: We NEED The Queen (Mail On Sunday, 1/10/2006)

Sometimes you come across some clear, succint peices of writing in the media and I just had to reproduce here one such example. The author, Peter Hitchens, has his own blog which features topical writing written in a convincingly clever way. His blog can be reached online here.

Two lazy and fashionable republicans have now been converted to the monarchist cause, simply by learning something about it. First, Helen Mirren played the Queen in a film and realised what a serious and devoted person she is. Now Jeremy Pazman has emerged from the royal presence at Sandringham mumbling that perhaps a monarchy isn't such a bad thing after all. Such perception.

Actually, these facts are blindingly obvious to anyone not on the dreary, conformist Left to which my generation almost universally belongs. Constitutional monarchy is an excellent system. Of the seven longest-lasting free, democratic and law-governed nations in the world, five are monarchies and four have Queen Elizabeth II as their head of state.

There's nothing especially free or good about being a republic. The German Weimar Republic bought the National Socialists to power quite legally and its constitution did not need changing to allow Hitler to govern as a despotic, murderous warloard for 12 terrible years. Apartheid South Africa was a republic and so was East Germany. North Korea and China are republics.

In Britain, is had been easier to criticise Tony Blair than for Americans to criticise George W. Bush for their stupid war. Why? Because Mr Bush is head of state and so can claim that his opponents are unpatriotic. In the UK, because we have a monarch, you can be as rude as you like about the Prime Minister without having your loyalty called into question.

There are plenty of other reasons for favouring a hereditary head of state. They don't take much effort to work out. What's interesting is that Mirren - a descendent of refugees from the Bolshevik's for heaven's sake - and Paxman, an educated man versed in Shakespeare, has gone through most of their adult lives believing it was virtuous to be republicans.

In the same way they have been brought up to sneer about dozens of other things about Britain that are good, fair and benevolent. Many of these have already been vandalised, abolished or undermined. How long will it take this poisoned, deluded generation to realise that they inherited a precious legacy and that it should be treasured rather than trashed?

Afterthought:-

I can somehow relate to Peter Hitchens' article. Firstly, living in Finland, I am living in a republic. While we have that democracy-in-disguise, Russia, to the East, we have a bloc of constitutional monarchies to the West comprising of Sweden, Norway and Denmark. During my time in Finland, the natives have often looked down on the British royal family, no doubt the most prolific royals in the world. Given a choice of a consistent figurehead over one who can be replaced every four-to-five years through democratic election, I would rather have the consistent figurehead.

The Australians felt the same way when they (albeit narrowly) chose to retain Queen Elizabeth II as their Head of State a few years back. Another legacy of being British is the Commonwealth, that thing that British children are not taught about at school. Somehow, I missed that part of my history education - I think there's some element of shame attached to the Empire, but the modern Commonwealth is truly a legacy worth preserving.

Who else in the world can boast of 'an association of 53 independent states consulting and co-operating in the common interests of their peoples and in the promotion of international understanding and world peace...drawn from the broadest range of faiths, races, cultures and traditions'? The strengthening factor is that each of those nations voluntary renew their membership every four years. While the Commonwealth was initially built up by force, the modern concept is an admirable one that unites 1.8 billion citizens, more than 30% of the world’s population.

Next time a Finn looks down on my nation's royal family, I asked in return: Nokia mobile phones aside, what have you contributed to the world?

NORMAL LIFE: Looking At Me, The New MSc?

I am a Master of my own destiny. I am a Master, don't mock me! It just isn't me to act aloof, although some might consider me a poof! The news is I graduated yesterday as a Master in Marketing from the University of Glamorgan and it's such a relief to feel like I have achieved something significant.

I have been in further education for some ten years, first graduating from the Assocation of Accounting Technicians followed by the Chartered Institute of Marketing. The news of my pass didn't come as a surprise for my dissertation at least had received considerable interest and feedback which was an indication as to its validity and credibility.

What has surprised me, however, is that feeling of an anticlimax. Where do I go from here?, I keep asking myself. Ever the impatient type, I am just going to let the news settle in before I plan the 'next big thing'! Did I tell you that I have a Masters Degree? Let your employer know that there's an educated Englishman our there!

NORMAL LIFE: Why Do I Bother?!

I was stunned, I really was, but now I’ve had time to digest what the women said, I’m thinking why do I bother? Ahead of a business trip to Dusseldorf, I called Helsinki’s taxi centre to reserve an early morning taxi to the airport. In what I would like to think – and am pretty sure - was reasonably good Finnish, I responded to the clerk’s questions which included giving my address, time of collection etc. For some reason, however, just as we were nearing the end of the conversation, she said: “If you speak English, maybe we could do it that way as it will be quicker for the both of us!”

Is that shocking, or am I just overreacting? I somehow feel that my Finnish studies have meant nothing, that there really isn’t any point in continuing with the lessons. This woman’s ignorance amazed me for learning what is reputed to be the Western World’s third most difficult language deserves some kind of acknowledgement or, in the very least, some encouragement wouldn’t go amiss. You know, sometimes I wonder why I bother!

NORMAL LIFE: Chilling Out Up North!

The hours have just accumulated at work, so I decided to take the afternoon off, something you simply just can’t do in British offices without extensive consultation with the boss and looks of jealousy from your colleagues. I packed up my things, and headed to nearby Pasila train station; from there, I took the 90 minute train journey to Tampere, Finland’s second city and the place I had lived my first two years in Finland. On the way, we passed the impressive Hämenlinna (Häme's Castle), set on the store of an iced-over lake, a contrast to where I was headed for the weekend.

I visited the now Ex-Neighbour (you can read about how I met this special lady here) who, by now has remarried and had two children. Currently on maternity leave, I decided to cram is all in, visit her and another friend before flying to Liverpool using Ryanair’s recently opened route.

We had lunch together, doting over the three month old girl who laid in front of us on one of those bouncy recliners on the living room floor. The Neighbour told of recent post-natal depression had recently taken its toll, but she sought help and it quickly alleviated; the baby has experienced many tummy problems and, in despair, my Neighbour just needed someone to say hey now, it’s perfectly normal to get depressed after having a baby. Personally, I think staying at home to look after a baby is depressing enough without the shitty nappy changing, grizzling from colic and whatnot!

After a few hours, I jumped back on the bus into town to meet Blue (read about our day out during my last summer in Tampere here), a mutual friend of mine, and the ex-neighbour.

We met in a bar quite close to the bus stop which would later transport me to Tampere’s Pirkkala airport. We spent nearly two hours chatting away endlessly. Blue is one of those people who are able to enjoy life while looking for Mr. Right. When we get together, it reminds me of those scenes when the girls from Sex & The City used to meet up for breakfast; we talk about relationships, dating, sex etc. When our time was up, I was all chatted out. I slumped onto the bus, knackered already.

What lay ahead was a three hour flight to Liverpool; the flight itself was uneventful, but the landing was quite awful. As we descended, I could see the runway below for some time before we had made contact. When the plane bumped down, the overhead lockers wobbled and it seemed that the plane momentarily skidded on the rain-soaked runway before coming to an eventual stop. When I looked out of the window, we had actually reached the end of the runway – honestly, there just wasn’t anymore tarmac left!

As I left the airport building at 8pm, I noticed that the airport was actually called Liverpool John Lennon Airport; I looked back, thinking to myself if I were famous and an airport was to be named after me, it would have to bigger than that! My friend Fred was waiting for me outside and during the drive to Manchester some 40 minutes away, we chatted as if though we had only met last week; time has a funny way of losing its meaning between friends. We checked in at the Princess on Portland hotel before 9pm and, settling down for a cup of tea on the sofa in the hotel room, we catched up big-time.

After 10pm, we dashed down to Canal Street, heading to hotspots such as Via Fossa, Queer and Essential. Via Fossa, laden with wooden interior, is gothic in style but the punters are far from gothic. In fact, Fred rightly point out that an international convention was in progress to our left where a group that looked Italian or Spanish were constantly mwah-ing (kissing on eachothers cheeks as if though they were in an episode of Absolutely Fabulous) with each new arrival through the doors. Music emanates from the dance-floor in the basement, where a mixed crowd danced their Friday night away.

Moving on, we went to Queer, a not so nice name, but the outspoken name given to this establishment is reflected in the I’m so up myself attitude of most of its clientele. With music loud enough to burst an ear drum, or both, it amused me to see a guy dancing quickly weakly in front of a fruit machine near the dancefloor. Why is that people who simply cannot dance try to do so? It’s a bit like these people that go on Pop Idol when, really, a friend or relative should have told them get real! In the basement on one side of building was a Glam Disco, a dismal attempt to provide a place for young, camp queens – Fred and I lasted down there for no more than a minute, retreating the moment that Lady Marmelade started to play. I mean, how gay can you get?

The only bit of inspiration came from when I went to the toilet. I was in a cubicle, doing my business, when I looked up at the calming glow of the blue neon light emitting from the ceiling. Next to me were these black tiles with white grouting and, for some bizarre reason, out came the camera embedded in my mobile phone; inspiration comes to me from such bizarre places and, for the record, no I wasn’t drunk (yet) nor was I on drugs. I’m not that kind of clubber!

We moved on to Essential, a nightclub consisting of three discos split over three floors – the music was better, got a bit of eye-contact, but the place was full of ‘attitude’ and devoid of character. Going out is always nice, but it’s even better to just chill out with your friends at home.

A bit tipsy, Fred and I headed back to the hotel and were in bed around 3.30am. I was absolutely knackered. When I woke up at 10am the next morning, Fred had already showered and was just getting dressed. He explained that he needed to put money in the care meter and, as he left, handed me a cup of coffee! Awww! What a start to the day. Admittedly, my head hurt a bit, but after a nice hot bath and a shave, I felt renewed as I listen to a number of ABBA hits coming from the radio.

When Fred came back, we headed downstairs for breakfast, indulging in a buffet breakfast consisting of anything you could possibly fit into the Full English menu! Yummy! Afterwards, we went for a wander around the packed city centre. I bought a poppy, one of those wonderful British traditions, which aims to remember those who die in conflict so we can continue to enjoy our freedom. You can read more about this wonderful tradition here.

Around 1pm, we left Manchester, bound for Liverpool to meet up with Sweetpea who I met in China (you can read about our trip to China in three parts starting here). By the time we arrived at Sweetpea’s, Fred was well and truly knackered. He dropped me off, and I waited for Sweetpea to arrive for she had gone to do a quick shop. Ten minutes later, she drove up and her smile drove away my tiredness. After all, I can sleep when I die, can’t I, Sweetpea? Indoors, we chilled over a cup of tea, huddled up on the sofa, catching up. Later on, we headed into town, parking just outside the town centre, right next to catch piece of graffiti on a white wall. Fair enough, graffiti is wrong, but sometimes it does look tasteful.

As we waded through the crowds of Liverpool’s town centre, it became obvious that Christmas was coming; store after store had glittering displays adorned with multibuy promotions. We went into a card shop, which had some hilarious cards adorning messages such as:-

Whatever women do, they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this isn’t difficult.

Women and cats will do as they please, men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.

Wrinkles merely indicate where smiles have been.

24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?

My favourite, though, is one which read Heterosexuals are so last year!

We got back to the house before 6pm and, over a glass of Rosė, talked deeply about my return to Finland and the journey so far. I felt privileged to have her as a friend, another native Brit to share my experiences, as well as my concerns, with. She talks a lot of sense, and I often remember that weekend we spent in Wales when I returned to Britain in August 2005.

Outside, the rained lashed down furiously – you could hear it through the windows. As a strained to see into the dark street below, a passing car’s headlights showed just how much water had accumulated. We pulled on our waterproofs, and dashed to a restaurant in nearby Lark Lane. And it wasn’t just any old restaurant we turned up at. It was the new Thai restaurant, Chilli Banana. Over a dinner of succulent Black Pepper Prawns and rich Chicken Coconut Curry, I listened intently to Sweetpea’s stories about her trips to Thailand and the time she legged it from a restaurant in Greece! Desert was sliced bananas in warm coconut sauce. Yummy! This was my first trip to a Thai restaurant, and it made a welcome change from the ever-familiar Chinese Chicken Chow Mein and Prawn Balls!

We were home by 9.30pm, both of us knackered from our late nights out the previous night. We turned on the gas fire, and got comfy on the sofa to watch an episode of the ominous Afterlife and Parkinson, who happened to be interviewing Comedian Peter Kay. It was a perfect evening, and the evening’s events suited our moods. As Sweetpea dozed on the sofa next to me, it made me realize just how chilled I had become; earlier in my 20s, I was much more uptight, wanting to cram everything in, but now I was just happy to relax. It was a Saturday night, and I was in bed by 11pm!

I woke up the next morning, feeling quite fresh, just before 9am. Sweetpea was already awake, finishing off in the bathroom so I quickly packed my things so that we could settle down for a natter. We made bacon butties and watched an episode of the Catherine Tate Show on DVD before heading to the Albert Docks in the heart of Liverpool’s City Centre. Established in 1846, the £100 million redevelopment now houses the Tate Liverpool, the famous Beatles Story, the Maritime Museum and HM Customs & Excise National Museum among countless eateries and bars. Read more here.

We met up with an old friend of Sweetpea’s in a bar, who I got on with very well, before we moved onto an Italian where I indulged into a pizza. By 3pm, it was time to get back on the road back to Liverpool airport. The security situation at the airports hasn’t improved much – it took me nearly 90 minutes from check-in to reaching the gate. It’s a good thing I arrived when I did as I had no time to even buy my much-loved Sunday newspaper IN ENGLISH! As the plane sped down the runway and lifted into the air, I could make out the inlet of the Mersey in what was left of the day’s light. I hope Ryanair continues this Tampere to Liverpool route for it connects me with what I’m proud to say are my two best friends in the UK. I love you, Fred and Sweetpea!

FLASHBACK SPECIAL: The Borneo Millennium Challenge!

If you are looking for some real-life reading during your coffee break, then this may be the FLASHBACK SPECIAL for you. This blog was originally intended to document the four years following my arrival in Finland in November, 2001.

However, I had to make an exception when my Mother found an old diary I had written, documenting my participation in the Borneo Millenium Challenge.

The event, which took place during March 2000 and April 2000, was organised by Children Today, a charity dedicated to raising funds to purchase much needed specialised equipment for disabled children. The event involved four tasks in a unique part of the world, and is presented on this blog in fourteen parts.

Start with March 2000, scroll all the way down to the bottom and then work your way up through the entries. When you reach part 7/14, click on April 2000 and scroll down to the bottom and work your way up again.

Enjoy!

NORMAL LIFE: 5 Years In Finland

On this day five years ago, I started my first day of work in Finland. I arrived in Finland in the early hours of the morning on November 1st, 2001. It wasn’t until November 5th, however, that I actually start working (read the very first Flashback here).

So what does one make of Finland after five years? While I can understand that not many people would like to live in Finland, the main things that have kept me here are Bree, my love of more than four years, and Finland’s quality of life; in contrast with the hectic and over-commercialised life of London giving rise to the 'keeping up with the joneses', Finn’s actually know how to relax and maintain simple traditions now alien to Brits.

Overall, Finns have had a very positive influence on my own development. When things haven’t gone my way, however, I have been able to assert my own influence and bring about change in my favour.

Sometimes, I am frustrated by the over-indulgences of alcohol by the natives and the undesirable behaviour it brings such as pissing in the streets. After all, what goes in has to come out, doesn't it, but why does it always seem to be on the streets with the Finns? And the efficiency of the tax authorities has been a constant fight for me personally for they seem unwilling to cooperate with someone who is ‘foreign’ out of nothing more than pure spite.

Like I said, though, the day to day quality living is the key feature that differentiates Finland from the many countries I have visited. Even in the workplace, I have been afforded more freedom than any company I worked for in the UK.

One thing in particular is that it is difficult to make good friends in Finland, but I think it’s difficult to make good, genuine friends anywhere these days, especially as people are so busy and seemingly self-absorbed.

However, while my social life could be better, I feel blessed just to have someone to love. Bree is forever my rock, helping me to understand the local cultural differences and to overcome the daily challenges that only ex-pats face.

Here's to the next five years, and beyond!

NORMAL LIFE: British youths ‘among worst in Europe’ (FT, Nov 3rd)

In yesterday’s Financial Times, there was an article that proves that I wasn’t imagining it; according to two major reports, ‘British teenagers are among the worst behaved in Europe, outranking their continental peers in the consumption of alcohol and drugs and levels of violence and sexual promiscuity’. Finally, a report that actually conveys what I think most of us have known for a long time! But what can be done about it?

My father and I often discuss the topic of today’s youth, and his theory on how this happened is a compelling one. Basically, today’s youth are the offspring of those who were born in the sixties and seventies to irresponsible parents of the free love era and that’s all there is to it, my father insists. As a result, the youth of today haven’t been taught morals or discipline. This makes me think back to my own childhood when my parents were overwhelmingly overprotective and strict to such an extent that my own uncles and aunts often voiced their concerns on the way we were being raised.

I have altogether some forty to fifty cousins, some I have never met; those on my father’s side of the family live in Scotland whereas those from my mother’s side are scattered all over London. The point I am trying to make is that not a week goes by when we hear some gossip that one of our cousins has done something that goes against my immediate family’s ‘code’ of what’s right and what’s wrong. So when I ask what can be done about it, you have to worry that when my cousins have kids (most already have children), what hope do my second cousins have if their own parents don’t know how to behave?

One report actually warns that the UK is actually in ‘danger of becoming fearful of its young people’. Isn’t this just bizarre? When I was young, I feared my parents. Friends and family admired us somewhat as were so well dress and so well behaved. Some might think that fearing your parents is wrong, but it hasn’t done me any harm, has it? You don’t see me going out on Friday nights, start fights with a broken glass bottle in hand and then collapsing in the street in a pool of vomit, do you?!

In contrast, the youth in Finland are not perfect although they are somewhat better behaved. For example, when you got to supermarkets, you don't hear children screaming and crying like you do down your typical Asda or Tesco. That's because Finns are very economical - they don't give their kids everything in an effort to 'keep up with the Joneses' and so kid's don't miss what they never had, unlike British kids who, at the age of seven or eight, demand their own mobile phones and £300 Sony Playstations!

Another interesting observation is that Finns very rarely take children to restaurants, which I think is a smart thing to do. I went for dinner recently in the UK with one of my sisters and I couldn't hear a thing she was saying because I was surrounded by noisy little monsters. I don't hate kids, just British kids!

When we know all this, it makes you wonder who the hell would want kids in this day and age? Speaking as a gay man, I'm not disappointed that this biological option has been taken away from me. Oh, no! In fact, I pity anyone who has the challenge of raising a child in the fast paced modern and dangerous world where nearlu 80% of British children honestly think they are going to be the next Pop Idol! Get a grip, kids!

NORMAL LIFE: Taxes, Taxis & Taxi-ing!

November kicks off with a declaration from the tax office that they have no intention of honouring the deductions I made against last years earning. Since I underestimated – and therefore underpaid - my tax liability for 2005, I have been lumbered with a bill for €2,100 (read more about my love of taxes here).

The very first day of the month brings the season’s first blanket of snow, which remains for the whole day. At 16:00, I packed up my things and ordered a taxi to take me yet again to Helsinki Airport, this time bound for Berlin.

I was running late; it was 16:10 when I got into the taxi, and my flight was at 17:30. It’s so unlike me to leave something like that so late, but I got caught up in a meeting and the minutes just flew by. You know how it is! Anyway, the traffic was so bad that I told the driver that I was running quite late for my flight. In his own frustration, he belted out a stream of Finnish very similar to the yudder-yudder-yudder of automatic machine gun fire, which I didn’t even bother to decipher! The guy was angry, that’s for sure, but it wasn’t normal frustration that many a driver exhibits the moment they hit bumper-to-bumper traffic.

As we neared the airport, I noticed that other taxis were overtaking the very taxi I was traveling in. I said nothing, fearful of being met with another barrage of anger; the driver really was that nuts! We pulled up outside the airport terminal, I paid the fare and, as I collected my luggage from the boot of the car, looked briefly down at the wheels of the car; I understood why the driver was so cranky as he hadn’t complied with the law which required that we change his car tyres to the winter variety. His very actions were downright irresponsible, and I guess his anger could be attributed to the fact that his customer had requested that he drive to a heavily police-patrolled area such as an airport, risking detection and a heft fine. After all, a taxi driver should know better!

In a huff, I quickly checked in, cleared security and headed to the gate where my plane was supposedly waiting. The departure time came and went, but boarding commenced at 18:00 only so that passengers could wait onboard for another hour while the plane was repeatedly de-iced! A petit, young Czech woman sitting next to me told of how she would miss her Berlin-Prague connection, but as we waited for news of our departure, I repeatedly reassured her that perhaps the plane was running late at the other end too. She wouldn’t be assured because Czech Airlines never depart late apparently!

Finally, we reversed from the gate, and were once against stranded as we approached the runway; this time, airport services were clearing the runway of snow. Bearing in mind that the temperatures of the last 24 hours had not dipped below -3°C, I thought this delay was downright ridiculous. Looking out of the window, where I could see countless snow ploughs clearing snow from the runway, was a bit like watching a scene from Die Hard 2: Die Harder, where a younger, gorgeous Bruce Willis tries to regain control of an airport overtaken by terrorists.

Two hours late, the aircraft finally took off into the bumpy, night sky. When I arrived at Berlin’s Tegel Airport, I collected my luggage and took a ride with another frustrated taxi driver. This one was from the Lebanon, had been living in Germany 19 years, and apparently many of his family had died in the recent conflict with Israel. Since we were on the subject, he quite freely went on to bash the United States, asking "why can’t they just leave the Middle East alone?" I totally agreed with him, partly because I certainly don’t know all the facts and partly because I wasn’t about to engage in a discussion that had the potential to erupt into a bloodbath in this guy’s taxi. I said that it was very sad what had happened in Lebanon, especially as it was starting to see the financial rewards after some twenty years of economic investment. “True, true!” he said, in broken English.

When I arrived at my hotel, it was after 20:00. What shall I do?, I thought to myself. Should I rest, or should I go out? I decided I would go for a walk, find a nice bar to have a couple of drinks and have a reasonably early night. As I walked through the surprisingly cold city, I made some calls, first to Bree, then to my friends Fred and Sweetpea in Liverpool. Without realising it, I had found myself in a deserted bar with huge windows overlooking the now-quiet streets.

Only one table in a corner at the back of the room had people, who occasionally glanced at me. Must be a family business, I thought. The waiter came over, and I ordered a Bacardi and Coke. When he returned, I gestured towards the people at the back of the room and ask if the bar was indeed a family business. “Yes,” he said “were are Iranian”. Interesting, I thought. This reminded me of a lively Iranian I had met in the United States just last week. He was working in a clothes store and was trying to sell me a lime green shirt, my favourite colour. In truth, someone rarely needs to try and sell something that is lime green as the colour pretty much sells itself to me! The salesperson was very chatty. First, he asked where I was from and, after telling him, he immediately started talking about football! To cut a long story short, he had moved from Iran to the United States so I asked him what he thought was the best thing about living in the United States. “Freedom,” he said “definitely freedom!” I understood where he was coming from, especially now the President of Iran seems keen to develop nuclear power for whatever intents and purposes, despite international pressure to refrain from doing so.

I headed to bed around midnight, my supposed early night! The next day was spent observing market research interviews through one-way glass. The interviews were conducted in German and, in an adjoining observation room, I sat next to a bilingual translator who was translating the discussion simultaneously; I was blown away by this young girl’s ability to translate so readily and fluently non-stop for 12 hours! On the whole, the research session was very educational, an opportunity to learn about the market in which I now work. The day’s end came as a relief at 21:30, and I gladly rested in my hotel room, channel-surfing through the many TV stations until I dozed off.

It was already 09:00 when I woke up on this very morning – as I reach the end of this entry, I am on the plane, on my way back to Finland. The morning was pretty uneventful – I showered, sent some emails, went to the café across the road for a sandwich and a slice of carrot cake! I hailed a taxi outside my hotel and, once again, engaged in conversation with the taxi driver. This taxi driver was a native Berliner in his mid-50’s and I was impressed by his command of English. He threw in a free city tour, telling of the sites we passed on our way to the airport. I told him of my experiences, daring to ask “Does everybody in Germany smoke?” He laughed. In hindsight, it occurred to me that everywhere I had been (e.g. the bar, the office where we conducted the research, the café), people were smoking. Therefore, all of my clothes stank of stale cigarette smoke. But I had an ally in the taxi this time, for he said he has never smoked and declared that this was a no-smoking cab in a proud matter-of-fact tone.

One thing that this oh-so-brief trip to Germany proved is how international-minded I have become in the last five years. Prior to moving to Finland, I would have avoided places like Germany as if it were a carrier of bubonic plague. Now, I happily engage in conversation with Czechs, Iranians and Lebanonese, let alone Germans. On the slippery slope towards my thirties, I notice a maturity in me where I see my down-to-earth working class childhood, the restoration of my hearing, my five years of living abroad, my education and my varied employment background complimenting each other perfectly, enabling me to really integrate with people from all walks of life. And when you can do this, you start to ask yourself “Is the world really that bad?”

With all the unrest conveyed to us via a controversy-hunting media, trips like these just go to prove that those who live in Europe actually enjoy doing so. I have long believed that Europe is the best place in the world; Asia is too undeveloped, rife with poverty and very little equality whereas the United States is just downright narrow-minded. While Europe has its fair share of social problems, it’s a relatively stable block in the world where various nationalities come and go quite freely, exchanging ideas and experiences along the way which result in mutual understanding; this is where the American’s go wrong for they simply expect the world to be like them.