I kind of forgot I had a Tumblr. I’ve been busy with my first real newspaper-man job, which is steadily turning my feet into a blistered bloody pulp and creating a tower of published clippings on my dining-room table. Even if my stories in recent days have been heavily weighted to that local sports team of ours, I’m still out there reaching my dreams and shit and it’s all pretty awesome.

So here are some photos of The Kills that I took over a month ago. That is the last time I used my camera. But I’m going to use it more from now on… maybe. Anyway, isn’t Alison Mosshart rad?

You can search for “Laura Kane” on http://vancouversun.com if you want to see what I’ve been working on. Go back a few pages to see fewer Canucks stories. Just saying.

More Vienna. I can’t explain the bunny statue. It was next to a bratwurst stand. Maybe Austrians really love Donnie Darko. Also, note that the bicycle is not really a bicycle, but a skateboard-bicycle hybrid. There are so many things I wouldn’t notice if I didn’t have a camera.

I’m flying back to Vancouver tomorrow. This might be the last blog post I make from a foreign country. If I could summarize this trip in a word, I would probably call it “unsettling.” This is not always a bad thing.

To recap:

AMSTERDAM: Most eventful.
Best quote: “No photos, you’ll ruin my marriage!” – Charming gentleman exiting brothel.

ENGLAND: Most reflective.
Best quote: “You’re a liar and you’re daft, too.” – My granny to me, after I told her I was her granddaughter from Canada. She’s a shrewd lady.

VIENNA: Most artsy.
Best quote: “All art is erotic.” – Gustav Klimt.

So. You know that I missed you (all of you). See you SOON.

It’s a cliché that Europe is a contrast of old world and new culture – that there is this collision of graffiti and 17^th century buildings and mohawks and manicured gardens. But Vienna does it to the extreme. Space invaders and chalk hearts cover the walls just steps away from Mozart’s apartment, and avant-garde art fills museums adorned with cherub statues. I like it here.

Plus: SCHOKOLADE TORTE EVERY DAY.

So, a slight diversion in plans: I’m supposed to be touring the Reichstag and the remains of the Berlin Wall right now. Actually, right now, at nearly midnight, I’m probably supposed to be trying to infiltrate the futuristic underworld of German club kids. Instead, I’m in England, drinking tea, reading the Guardian and watching BBC specials that all star Colin Firth. I’m saying things like “knackered,” “blokes,” and “nutter.”

In the airport in Amsterdam, a stranger asked me if I was going home to England. I said “yes.” I couldn’t wait for the safe conformity of pre-war red brick houses and a countryside mapped out in perfect geometrical squares. In a lot of ways, Britain is falling to pieces right now, but I still imagine it as a place of stability and predictability. Even the Reading youth who think they’re so hard, who probably are hard, had to be hard, to survive - I can only imagine my parents and aunts and uncles before them, thinking they were hard, in their red brick houses.

I think all I’m talking about is home, and how you can grow up on the other side of the world but still never really feel like you belonged there. It’s cool to travel and see the world, but I hadn’t been home in four years. Cousins have spawned children and my grandmother has forgotten every person she used to know. So I’m here. It’s a shame that I made all those plans and they fell apart. But as the English say: “oh well, nevermind.”

However: the Royal Wedding makes me want to set Westminster Abbey on fire.

There are a lot of people in Amsterdam. People and bikes. Plus some other things I enjoy - extra points if you think “slagroom” is a funny word for whipped cream. You need to be British and immature.

Welcome to Amsterdam. I took these photos while escaping my six male 19-year-old Greek roommates. “You are here to party and get stoned.” Nope, I’m here to bike on cobblestone streets, eat pannekoeks, and look at history and art and stuff. They think this is strange.