Messages from Minsk

Message 1 - Message in a Bubble

This entry comes to you from a city at the end of the world.

To reach this forgotten and isolated place, I had to travel thousands of miles by land and air. I also had to travel back in time, back to a time when the hammer and sickle ruled Eastern Europe.

I am writing from Mogilev, a small city of a few hundred thousand people close to the Russian border.

This is not my first visit to Mogilev; I have visited this off-the-map place many times. In fact, I lived and worked here for six months in a nearby orphanage when I was 26 years old. Now I am back, back at the end of the world, back in the USSR.

A few days ago I had a party in this flat with a Mexican, a dozen 19-year-old Belorussian girls and plenty of Soviet vodka. Written on the bottom of the cups we were drinking our vodka from were the words: Made in the USSR. On a shelf in this room are an assortment of books dating back to the early days of the Soviet Union. Believe it or not, there are also a number of magazines, dated 1990 - 1991, which appear to glorify Stalin (the covers show photos of Stalin meeting The Workers, Stalin hugging a little girl).

A few days ago I said goodbye to the Mexican as he boarded a train to Moscow at a station which has changed little since the days when Khrushchev and Castro were sharing vodka and missiles.

Perhaps this country's Soviet past is not so much in the past after all.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let me get back to the very beginning, back to where it all began.

Message 2 - Condoms for Breakfast

Picking up from where I left off, I departed Quito, the capital of Ecuador, on 15 February. I managed to have more adventures and misadventures during my final hours in South America.

I arrived at Quito airport with $25 to pay the necessary departure tax, only to find that the $25 tax had become a $32 tax.

I had a grand total of $31.75 in my wallet and my Visa Electron cash card which would not work in the airport cash machines. I was 25 cents short and the airport staff would not let me proceed through security until I had paid the departure tax in full.

I was facing being stranded in South America because of a tiny sum of money, and could well have been, had an American tourist not learned of my plight and stepped to give me 25 cents.

This little episode made me angry and so when, after proceeding through security, I was approached by a young woman who started asking me questions about why I was in Ecuador, I was more than a little rude with her. I was in no mood to explain I had been living with Indians in the Amazon rainforest for the past four weeks.

With a smile, the young woman asked me to follow her into a nearby room. She was going to exercise the little bit of power that she had and she was going to teach this angry Englishman a lesson.

She pointed to a sign on the wall, written in Spanish, of which I could understand just one word: NARCÓTICO. That one word was enough.

After putting my signature to a sheet of paper, I was instructed to drop my trousers and place a protective sheath over my private parts. I was then x-rayed to see if I was carrying any illegal substances in my stomach.

Of course there was nothing of any interest in my stomach, other than plenty of boiled and fried bananas, a liquidised Mars Bar, a rusty licence plate, the remains of a young female bather and a small wooden puppet going by the name of Pinocchio.

After an apology from the young woman, my stomach and I were allowed to go on our way and I finally boarded my flight and left Ecuador and the Amazon far behind.

Message 3 - Trials and Tribulations in Toronto

After another pit stop in Panama and a few days in Mexico City with my friend Cesar, I flew on to Toronto where I had a ten-hour wait for my connecting flight to London.

I had intended to spend the day discovering Toronto, but it didn't quite turn out that way. In fact, it didn't turn out that way at all.

I arrived at the airport with no cash. I planned to use my Visa Electron card but I could not find a cash machine that would accept it.

I spent five hours walking around Toronto, through slush and snow, in freezing temperatures, searching for that elusive cash machine, but I could not find a single ATM that would give me cash.

After almost being stranded in Ecuador, I could have been stranded in Canada too. Luckily the airport bus driver accepted my Visa Electron and so I was at least able to get to and from the airport.

After walking the streets for the afternoon I headed to the CN Tower where I had arranged to meet the infamous David Shakespeare, the star of many of my mass emails.

But David turned out to be just as elusive as that cash machine and we did not meet. (I found out some days later that David was waiting for me on the opposite side of the tower).

After an hour I headed into the tower. They accepted my Visa Electron card and so I was able to reach the top of the CN Tower.

Standing 553 metres tall, attracting around two million visitors every year, the CN Tower is an icon of Canada and currently holds the title of the world's tallest freestanding structure on land.

Near to the top of the tower is a glass floor which I stood upon and looked at all of the cars and crowds far below, smaller than ants, wrapped up in their lives, thinking about money and sex and family and money and sex, most of them unaware that the foreign policy of the world's major powers is endangering all of our lives.

Next to the glass floor is a sign which states that the glass is strong enough to hold 14 hippos (or three average-sized American teenagers) but despite this many of the people around me were still too afraid to walk onto the glass. People are such wimps.

After scaling the tower I made my way back to the airport to catch my flight to London.

Looking back, I did not enjoy my brief stay in Canada.

After a month in South America and a few days in Mexico, returning to a capitalist country was not pleasant and I found the people of Toronto to be rude and insincere. In fact, I saw little difference between Toronto and any US city, with people hanging around on street corners selling hockey tickets and the awful Support Our Troops posters scattered across the city.

A Canadian told me that Toronto is possibly the worst city in Canada to visit, and perhaps I am being a little too judgemental, but I really did not like Toronto or the people and I have no desire to return.

Message 4 - Perchance to Dream

I arrived at Heathrow the following day and boarded a coach that took me from London to Liverpool.

I arrived at my Mother's house around midnight and after unpacking and repacking I set my alarm and fell asleep at two in the morning. A little under two hours later the alarm woke me and at 4.30am my Mother, my brother and I made our way to a local bus stop where we boarded a coach that would take us to Ostend in Belgium.

By this point I was exhausted. I could barely think, let alone speak, and all of my energy was spent just trying to keep my eyes open.

In the past three days I had been to Ecuador, Panama, Mexico, Toronto, the UK and now I was on my way to Belgium. I had barely eaten, barely slept and had gone from unbearable heat in Ecuador and Mexico to six below zero in Canada to rain in the UK.

In a word, I was tired.

A day later my family and I arrived at our hotel in Ostend and I was finally able to get my head on a pillow. I closed my eyes and slept for more than fourteen hours - and woke up feeling tired.

Message 5 - Feeling Old in Ostend

Exhaustion aside, I enjoyed my time in Belgium and I was glad that I got to know my Mum, Jackie, and my brother Mark a little better.

I am not close to my family; we are very different people I think, and this was our first family holiday for years and years and a chance for us all to enjoy ourselves and spend some quality time together.

I enjoyed the holiday too, though spending my days with a bus load of people twice my age is not normally my idea of fun.

Still, they were pleasant days. I got to explore the beautiful city of Bruges and, after my ordeal in the Amazon rainforest, a short holiday in Belgium was a welcome prescription for rest and recovery.

My family and I returned to the UK on Friday and on Sunday I packed my bags once again and headed to Liverpool John Lennon airport where I boarded a flight to Riga in Latvia. Once there I made my way to Belarus and to the Soviet Union.

Message 6 - Back in the USSR

The Republic of Belarus really is an anomaly.

It is hard to believe that in the year 2007 this throw-back to the Soviet Union still exists.

Everywhere you go in Minsk there are reminders of the past: Statues of Lenin, Soviet symbols, the KGB - still called the KGB - driving around in their 4x4s, silently observing the population.

Belarus is stuck in a time-warp; it's not that things in Belarus aren't changing, they are, they are just changing very, very slowly.

A black hole in the centre of Europe, the Republic of Belarus is trapped, trapped in the past, perhaps a little afraid of the future.

Life is different here, different to any other country I have visited. Belarus is cocooned, protected by a bubble.

There is almost no unemployment, no risk of terrorism and very little crime. The problems we face in the West don't apply here. Life is safer, different, unique and a little detached from reality.

It's difficult to put into words, but this is similar to what life was like in the Soviet Union. Simply, people felt protected.

Unfortunately, because Belarus is still pretty much the same as when Gorbachev was in power, life can be frustrating. Nothing works and when things do work they mostly work badly.

Common sense could not get a visa for Belarus; bureaucracy rules, the transport system is a mess, things are old and getting older.

Belarus does, however, have one redeeming feature: its people. Belarus is home to the finest people in Europe, possibly the finest in the world. Warm, friendly and sincere, these are good people and they have not yet had their souls corrupted by capitalism.

But things are changing. But we'll get to that later.

Message 7 - Message from Minsk

Undoubtedly the most surreal moment of this visit to Minsk occurred when I went with Emily to the funeral of her uncle who had died some days earlier.

Emily had just buried her beloved hamster Pushok and she asked me to accompany her to her uncle's funeral to give her support. It was a bizarre experience.

It started with Emily and I meeting her uncle's grieving relatives outside his flat. After a long wait, his coffin was brought out and placed in the street on four wooden chairs. The lid was taken off and we took it in turns to place flowers on his body.

I had never met this man before and the first time I saw him he was lying in a coffin, his skin a horrible yellow colour, almost translucent.

I placed a red rose on his chest and the coffin was sealed and placed in a funeral car. We clambered into a Soviet bus and followed the coffin to the cemetery where Emily's uncle was cremated.

After the cremation, we made our way to a cafe where I sat for four hours, surrounded by the man's wife and daughter and grieving relatives, a stranger in their midst, as everyone took it in turns to stand up and make a speech about the dearly departed.

My God it was so awful! It was such a depressing experience and so weird, being there when I didn't know any of those people.

I hope that when I die my funeral is nothing like that; I don't want people to cry and tell sad stories about me, I want people to celebrate my life and the fact that I lived.

Other than that, that month in Belarus was one that I enjoyed; basking in Emily's love, visiting the kids at the orphanage, eating in restaurants, losing money at the casino and doing the normal things that I do when I visit the last surviving remnant of the USSR.

After the month was up I returned to the UK and tried to make some money. In early May I boarded another flight and made my way back to Belarus once again.

Message 8 - Message from Mogilev

On April 26, 1986 there was a huge explosion at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant in the Ukraine. A plume of radioactive fallout drifted over Europe. Most of the fallout fell over Belarus.

Mogilev - along with Gomel - was one of the cities in Belarus most affected by the accident at Chernobyl. When I first visited Mogilev in 1999, I was told not to drink the milk or eat the mushrooms.

Eight years later here I am back again in Mogilev and yes, I am drinking the milk. I try not to, but faced with a calcium deficiency or possible radiation poisoning, I usually opt for the radiation poisoning.

Besides, the girls of Mogilev drink it and they are beautiful, so I think I will take my chances with the milk.

It's just a shame it's in those damn bags.

Message 9 - A Mexican in Mogilev

Until a few days ago my friend Cesar was here with me in Mogilev.

He flew to Belarus a couple of weeks ago and we spent our time visiting classes at a local university so that the language students could hear native English and Spanish speakers in action and ask us questions about England and Mexico.

We invited most of those students back to our flat and have had lots of parties, spent lots of money, drank lots of vodka and played lots of drinking games.

My time in Mogilev has been enjoyable enough. The people in this part of Belarus are friendly, warm and communicative. But they seem to have changed since I first arrived in September 1999.

Back then if I visited a cafe with someone they would insist that they pay for themselves. Now people are more than happy to let me pay for them and, to be honest, I have gotten pretty sick of it.

It is not nice to go out with someone - both men and women - and have them order things from the menu and then just assume that I will pay for them. On the whole, the people I have met have been very nice, but because I have met so many, I feel now that a few have been taking advantage of me.

I guess it was inevitable simply because Cesar and I met dozens of people. Nonetheless, it has put on a dampener on what otherwise would have been a nice time. It never use to be like this; like everyone else, the Belorussian people are changing.

When I return here later in the year I will not be so foolish with my cash. I have been a little stupid, and next time I will be much wiser and more careful because these incidences have almost ruined what otherwise has been a nice fortnight in Mogilev.

Message 10 - Putting My Passport to Sleep

So, this is my final message.

I have just re-read this entry and realised that there was nothing much to report.

No getting lost in the Amazon rainforest, no great cliff adventures. I didn't even get arrested in Latvia.

Cesar is back in Mexico now, no doubt drinking his USSR vodka and, I hope, remembering the days he spent with me in this crazy country in a flat in a little city at the end of the world.

There are no lessons to be learned from this entry, no great wisdom shared. Just a tale of an Englishman who went to the USSR and came back a little poorer and a little older.

It's time to put my passport to sleep for the next few months. But it won't be resting for too long. There are many more people to do and things to see.

Until next time, take care, Emily. Take care, Cesar.

Thanks for reading this.

Skyler Black.

The Westernisation of Warsaw

This must surely be the place that hostels go to when they die.

This entry comes to you from Nathan's Villa in Warsaw, the best hostel I have ever stayed in.

It's simply perfect - more like a hotel than a hostel. It's extremely modern and well designed with three floors, numerous common rooms, a great spacious kitchen and private bathrooms with showers.

There is no check-out time, a free laundry service, free Internet, free lockers and even a free breakfast. The staff are young and friendly and it's very central; the main railway station is just a stone's throw away.

I arrived in Poland on Tuesday after a two hour flight from London. It's nice to be back in Eastern Europe and to be greeted by friendly smiles. Poland is very westernised now and completely different from its neighbour, Belarus.

If you stay in Warsaw for long enough you can almost see the Westernisation (which, let's face it, is mostly Americanisation) taking place. Poland is embracing capitalism, and has been colonised by McDonalds, KFC, Coca-Cola, Pepsi and Britney Spears.

This is a more than a shame, as I see Westernisation as a kind of evil, and I can only hope that the Polish people don't ever become like the British. If you've never been out this way, I would recommend that you visit Eastern Europe now, while it's full of decent and genuinely friendly people, before capitalism truly sets in and eats away at their souls!

On Wednesday I got to know two young travellers, Sharon from Australia and Chieko from Japan. I usually find Australians to be loud, brash, indifferent and unlikeable, but Sharon was completely different and I enjoyed the time that I spent with her and Chieko.

We visited the Palace of Science and Culture together (a large tower in the centre of Warsaw presented as a gift to the Polish people by Stalin - it's both loved and hated by the people) and for the first time since the summer of 2000 I made my way to the viewing point near the top and looked upon this fine city.

Later we made our way to the Old City, which I didn't even know existed. It's beautiful and well worth a visit. As we explored the churches and cobbled streets, I was accosted by a man carrying an axe who insisted that I either pose with him for a photo or let him bury his blade into my neck.

He's supposed to be a 'tourist attraction', but the axe man was just a little too persuasive, and his grip just a little too strong, and it was up to Sharon to come to my rescue. It's a good thing she did, I may have lost my head, and decapitated men generally don't write good blog entries.

Later we went for a meal and were approached by a boy who tried to sell us flowers. When we left the restaurant we were approached by a man who tried to sell us cabbages. Then a little later we were accosted by an old man who kept us talking for a while, which could have been nice, had he known more English than just three words, which, oddly enough, turned out to be 'Hitler,' 'fascist' and 'Liverpool.'

But it was all good and I enjoyed the company of Sharon and Chieko.

I find it difficult to approach people and often end up wandering around alone, so it was nice to meet some new people. Sharon and Chieko left Warsaw today and are probably in Krakow now. I will never see them again, so I will end this paragraph by wishing them well.

A week before arriving in Warsaw I said farewell to Exeter.

Exeter, in Devon, was my on-off home for two years, almost to the day, in between visits to Warsaw, Minsk, Riga, Miami, Detroit, New York, Nassau, Douglas in the Isle of Man, Paris, Cheshire and York.

Leaving was sad. I made some friends and met some good people in those two years.

On my final night in Exeter I visited the cinema with my friend Craig where we watched Code 46, a pointless film. At one point in the film there's a gratuitous, unnecessary lingering shot of a woman's vagina.

On the way home Craig and I had a lengthy conversation about whether the vagina belonged to Samantha Morton, the lead actress in the film, or whether it was in fact a "stunt vagina," employed by directors for times when the action becomes a little racey.

Only the vagina knows for sure.

My last week in England was spent mostly on my Mum's settee. It was nice to see my Mum and my brother Mark, after not having visited them for three months. We enjoyed some days out, visiting a nuclear bunker in Nantwich in Cheshire, built during the Cold War to accommodate local VIPs in the event of a Soviet attack.

Tomorrow I catch a train that will take me to the city of Poznan. I'll be staying for two days in Poznan, and sleeping on a stranger's floor, before heading to a little village nearby.

I'm thinking about doing a two month SCI project in the village in January of next year and this will be a chance for me to meet the kids and the other volunteers and get lost in the fields of Poland. After that I'm not sure. I got a one month visa for Belarus today - my tenth - and I will probably head to Minsk next week but nothing is set in stone.

The world is my oyster now, with roads going in all directions, all of them leading into the unknown, and all of them leading to a place that I will, for a short time, call home.

Some of the roads I am taking will lead me to many of the people reading this entry, and I hope that we will have the chance to meet again, somewhere on this crazy planet that is home to all of us.

Until then, this is me, making the most of the free Internet in Nathan's Villa in Warsaw, saying goodbye and wishing you well.

Let's see which way the wind is blowing.

Skyler Black

P.S. Hi Mum and Mark xxx.

Searching for Magic in Minsk

Hi,

I am writing to you from Warsaw.

I arrived in Poland some hours ago after travelling by coach from Minsk in Belarus. The journey was one of the worst of my life. Ugh! I travelled on a bus with no heating, no proper lighting and two rude bus drivers.

For some reason the drivers decided to stop the bus in the middle of nowhere for four hours and we sat there, the passengers and myself, in complete darkness, shivering our socks off. It was awful and it will be the LAST time I ever travel by bus from Belarus!

However, as uncomfortable as the journey was, it has not spoiled what was a wonderful time in Minsk.

This was my 8th visit to Belarus. I arrived on the 19th of August, after spending two days in Riga in Latvia, and lived in the Belorussian capital until yesterday. In less than two hours I will board a coach that will take me back to jolly old England.

I sometimes ask myself why I continue to return to Belarus. The country itself is often very backward, though the people are often very wonderful.

I guess you could say that I have been searching for something, something that I once had but lost three and a half years ago. I don't know the name for this "something", so I simply call it magic.

Each time I return to Belarus I search for this magic, this sweet reminder of my youth, and yet each time my search has been in vain.

Until now, that is.

While I still haven't found the true and pure magic I have been looking for, during the past two months I've come pretty darn close...

I realise now that I lead two very different lives; I have my life in England, which is difficult and dominated by work, and then I have my life in Belarus, which involves visiting the ballet, helping kids, throwing parties and meeting pretty girls.

I've spent time with some wonderful Belorussian people, like Katja, Sasha, Lena, and especially my dear Emily, who is simply the kindest and most caring person I have ever met in my life. You could never find somebody like her in the West. Never.

These months have been very good for me and they have restored my faith in Belarus as a place I can go to, where I will find acceptance and kindness, when my life in England turns to crap, as it so often does.

When I first came to Belarus four years ago I had one of the best times of my life. True, there were some difficult days (this is Eastern Europe, after all) but overall they were six wonderful months.

I found compassion and kindness. I also found friendship, with an Italian boy named Michele and a multitude of Belorussians. I even found love, with a beautiful girl called Katja.

The days that I spent with Katja were beautiful and utterly perfect in every way. She never felt the same way but that never mattered. And I really was quite happy.

I've always wanted to be the centre of attention but sadly I was not blessed with the wit or charm to draw others unto me. So instead I became the centre of attention because of my clothes and my nationality, which was enough.

Coming to Belarus and working with children was a good decision I made at a time in my life when I was making bad decisions.

Not that it's all been sweetness and light, of course. Belarus is often a very difficult country to live in, for a variety of reasons.

I remember some time ago when a hole appeared in the pavement close to where I lived. Repair men were were called out and they came and filled the hole with sand until it was almost waist high, thereby creating a danger almost as bad as the hole itself.

But they didn't stop there. They then stuck a piece of wood in the pile of sand. Then some bright spark had the idea to tie a piece of thick wire to the piece of wood and stretch it across the pavement and tie it to a lamppost. Eh???? I cannot understand that mentality.

That's just one example of the way people in this crazy country think. Another example is milk in bags. Milk in bags! What's that all about? They don't stand up. You can't put them back in the fridge after you've opened them. Yay! Milk in bags!

And, finally, zebra crossings on corners! ON CORNERS! So cars zoom around the corner and knock you over as you cross the road. How wonderful. How quaint. How Belorussian.

So, yes, this is indeed a crazy and backwards country. However, one redeeming feature that Belarus has is its people - if you look carefully, and ignore the bureaucracy and the rudeness of some of the people, you can find an openness, an honesty and a kindness here that I've never encountered anywhere else.

It is for this reason that I will continue to return to Belarus for years to come, possibly for the rest of my life, and it is for this reason that I will continue to think of Belarus as my private, beautiful, special place, a place where I can find sanctuary when my life falls apart in England, as it often does.

Until my next entry, it's time for this wandering Englishman to leave Poland and head home.

Stay safe and stay well. Enjoy the winter months if you can and remember to wrap up well.

Goodbye.

Goodbye Belarus. We shall meet again.

Skyler.

PS: I miss you, Emily. xxx.

These Crows Feet Run Deeper

Howdy.

How are you?

I'm writing this a day after the dawn of the new year. How was yours, by the way? Mine was okay, but I don't really think that the coming of a new year is a cause for celebration.

I hate to sound like a pessimist, but this will be another year in which humanity gets it wrong again. A year of war and madness, tragedy and sorrow.

This will be a year when people will be blown to bits in Iraq and Israel. A year when innocent children will die in poverty. A year when all of us reading this entry will get a little older and become a little more cynical. And a year when the crows feet around these blue eyes will run just a little deeper...

No, the coming of a new year should only be celebrated if people are prepared to change and are ready to try to make the world a better place. But people aren't, so now things can only get worse.

I've recently found myself thinking about the days that made up the last 12 months of my life. If I close my eyes, I can almost relive those days.

I remember the sounds and sights of a city called York. I remember the smiles and laughter of people who came to be very dear to me. People like Urko, Cesar, Kimberley and Chris.

Now I'm faced with the bitter realisation that those people are out of my life and all that remains are these crystal clear memories, which are kept ever close to my heart, and which often threaten to overwhelm me with their sweetness.

I have a wonderful memory of a bike ride Urko and I took together through the Yorkshire countryside in July of 2002. I know that I've written about this before, but it was such a perfect day. It was beautiful, sunny weather and we just got on our bikes and rode together across fields of corn and through little villages.

We found a remote farm along the way and stopped off to pick some strawberries. Later we joined Cesar - another wonderful man, from Mexico, whom I miss dearly - and we all had a meal together. It was very nice and one of my personal highlights of the year.

However, not all of last year's happy memories came from York. In April I visited Brussels to spend time with a girl called Patricia Leduc.

I met Patricia in York and we spent a very nice week together. We got on very well and I felt very comfortable with her. And I was quite attracted to her. In fact, I was thrown out of a youth hostel in York because I was caught in the shower with her. This little incident increased my male friends respect for me no end! Ha ha! Yeah, baby!

In April, Patricia left York and I missed her very much. I arranged to go and see her in Brussels but, sadly, our relationship totally fell apart within an hour of my arrival in Belgium's capital city.

Patricia didn't know that I had come just to see her - she just thought I was visiting Brussels anyway - and this made things uncomfortable between us. It all ended with her telling me that I was a 'victim' and she didn't like me or my appearance.

I was upset about that for a day or two. Then I got over it and spent some very nice days in Brussels. I didn't meet anybody, but I did travel around the city and I saw some nice places and it gave me a great deal of time to think. I thought like I had never thought before: About life, God, death, everything. It was very spiritual!

In the same month my aunt Annette died after a long battle with breast cancer. It was a difficult time for her family and my heart goes out to them and to my Mother, who still misses her sister.

In June my dear friend Maxim also passed away. Maxim was a little boy I knew who lived in Minsk in Belarus. He was terminally-ill; he suffered from a muscle-wasting disease called muscular dystrophy.

Maxim's death came as a great shock to me. In September of 2002 I returned to Belarus and spent both a pleasant and sad evening with Maxim's parents, Sasha and Lena, who are two of the strongest and most welcoming people I have met.

Maxim's memory will continue to live on amongst everyone who knew and loved him. He inspired me and I shall never forget him.

In September I left York and went travelling across Eastern Europe. I went to Hungary - which was great - and Romania - which was not - and then briefly to Poland and then to Belarus.

I sampled frogs legs for the first time in Romania and had some adventures with pornography (see a previous entry) but didn't really enjoy my time there. I got the impression that everybody I met just wanted something from me, and so I left with quite a negative view of the Romanian people.

Hungary was different, however. And that was partly due to a wonderful little hostel called the Museum Guest House. I remember having a wonderful massage there. And I went caving in the bowels of Budapest, which was simply stupendous!

And those were some of the main events of my life in 2002. I don't know what 2003 holds in store for me or for any of us on this planet. But one thing I do know is that, sadly, the future is not bright.

I don't mean to depress you (though I will) but the truth is that there is little hope left for humanity now. It's only a matter of time until terrorists acquire some sort of dirty nuclear bomb and when they do, all hell will be let loose.

I guess all we can do is try to make the most of the time we have left. It's still a beautiful world, despite the actions of America, Israel and my own country, and things have not come to a head just yet.

So enjoy your life, travel, widen your horizons and cherish each and every day.

Wrap up warm and be careful when you take the Christmas decorations down.

Take care.

Skyler Black.

Two Men in a Bush in Brussels

Hi!

How are you?

This entry comes to you from jolly old England. I returned to the UK on Sunday after spending four days in Brussels.

You might just notice that this is my first entry in a long time that isn't sad or melancholic. That's because I had a very good last day in Brussels. Wonderful. It's that day I want to tell you about.

I saw some lovely places, met some nice people, basked in beautiful warm sunshine, disturbed two men having sex in a park, ate a lovely ice cream and had my photograph taken with a cheetah and a bee.

The day started off with a visit to a couple of buildings - Saint Michael's cathedral being one of them - and a museum of music called Old England, which was very interactive and very good.

Later I boarded a Brussels sight-seeing bus and visited a park called Mini-Europe. It was amazing. By far the best place I saw.

They have lots of impressive small-scale replicas of European landmarks like Big Ben, the houses of Parliament, the Eiffel Tower, the leaning tower of Pisa and so on.

While I was there I was conned into having my picture taken with a man dressed as a bee. Later I was conned into having my picture taken with a man dressed as a cheetah. In both photographs the cheetah and the bee looked better than I did.

Anyway. Something funny happened to me in Mini-Europe. I bumped into two people - a woman and her teenage daughter - from Poland. We managed to communicate in mini-English and mini-Russian.

The conversations didn't last long because their English was as bad as my Russian. It wasn't so much small talk that we engaged in - more like tiny talk.

I saw Polish Woman and Daughter often in Mini-Europe. It was nice. After we left the park we said our goodbyes and I went to look at a huge and pretty impressive molecule-shaped type thingy nearby. While I was there I ran into Polish Woman and Daughter again. This time when I said "privet" all I got was two polite smiles. Then I saw them again and in return for my smile I got two more polite smiles.

Then five minutes later I saw them again and the polite smiles had become nervous glances. I realised they probably thought I was some sort of stalker and so I tried to stay out of their way!

Then a few minutes later I saw them again and they pretended they hadn't seen me. I decided to take a different route to them out of the molecule-shaped type thingy and I soon reached the outside.

Then I saw them again.

After that, I boarded my sight-seeing bus (just made the last one, too) and made my way back to the centre of Brussels. Polish Woman and Daughter packed their bags and boarded a flight to Warsaw.

Once back in the centre of Brussels, I visited an Internet cafe and made some more use of my free sixteen hours. Some time later I took a walk around the city and came across a lovely park.

I sat on a bench next to a calm and very peaceful pond. I mentally opened the book of my life and skimmed through its pages. I thought about my life, where I'm going, where I've been.

I never realised how travelling makes you think. It really helped clear my head, and helped me to forget Patricia's cruel words. I sat there for hours, looking at the stillness of the water, then I took a walk through the park and came across two men having sex in a bush.

At least I think that's what they were doing! They both emerged from the bush looked nervous, flushed and worried. So I went on my merry way and left them to their carnal desires and their vaseline...

Later that night I visited an ultra-cool, you-must-go-there-and-see-this, tiny cinema museum. I watched a silent film from 1928 which was accompanied by a man sitting in the corner of the cinema playing piano. It was unbelievable. Unforgettable.

I sat there for an hour in this small, dark cinema as this guy played the most beautiful music I have ever heard in my life. It was lovely and really quite moving - an hour I will simply never forget.

If you ever find this place, take a look in the book of appreciation, if they still have it. You'll find enclosed within some rather sentimental words left by a Professional Englishman.

And that was it for Brussels. I can't think of anything else worth mentioning. I used up plenty of my free Internet time. I walked a lot. I answered the call of nature a couple of times. Oh, and I discovered that I love Belgian waffles! And that was it!

After I got through the first couple of days there I did enjoy my time in Belgium and it is a place that I will visit again. I don't know when. But Brussels and I will eventually meet again...

And that's it! Thanks for reading this entry. I guess that this, my first non-melancholic entry in a long time, just goes to show:

Even a Professional Englishman can have good days now and again.

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.

Skyler Black.