Breakfast in Amsterdam, Lunch in Brussels, Dinner in Paris #Awesome

This is why I did this.

 

Amsterdam is a city unto itself. Brothels, Red Light District and yes, sex, are only a part of what makes the city such an attraction for tourists, no matter windy October mornings or balmy July afternoons. Holland was one of my 10 must see countries. Originally the plan was two nights in Den Hague and three in Amsterdam, but we decided to forgo the latter and instead have another night in the former. A 12 £ ticket and eight and a half hour bus ride later, and we had arrived.

The first Amsterdam-ite we interacted with, a worker with the city's transit service, made a crude joke about American pornography. That is when we knew we had arrived. All it took was a four minute commute on the street car, and we had reached the general area of where we were staying. The night had come, but there was a certain buzz about the city. Within our peripheral vision, there must have been well over a thousand bikes.



After checking in to Bob's Youth Hostel (we had tried Tom's and Dick's, but they were booked solid), exploring those famed red light areas was our first task. Walking down the Red Light District, there is a certain sense of curiosity and excitement, but also melancholy and sorrow. Yes, sorrow. Much of what goes on in the Red Light District isn't quite legal, with some estimates stating that as much as 75% of the women behind those glass doors are there against their will. There are certain areas of Montreal (the corner of rue St Catherine and Boulevard St Laurent) that slightly resemble Amsterdam's red light area, but it's safe to say that no where in Canada comes close to that much 'action' compacted into such a small area (about six blocks). What was quite unique was that, less than 10 meters opposite the oldest church in Amsterdam were a series of red lights. It is that prevalent. 

It is incredible to see a city so liberal and open about not just prostitution and sex, but also cannabis and its recreational uses. Coffee shops selling various kinds of legal marijuana dot the city. Older, younger, every generation seems to indulge in the past time, whether they are from the area or not.

The two must see's for me were the Anne Frank House, and the Heineken Factory. Neither disappointed. The Anne Frank House was very well preserved, with the book case that separated the Secret Annex from the rest of the office space still in tact. The signs said not to touch it, but I sneaked a stroke. The staircases are quite well preserved too, to the point that it is difficult for more than one visitor to climb them at the same time.

I was very impressed about how prominent Mr. Otto Frank, Anne's father, was in the overall exhibit. He was the only one to have survived the war, and spent much of his remaining life dedicated to his deceased daughter. He had a big input in the production of plays and movies about the diary. Overall, every human being should visit this museum. The signs are all in English, it is quite interactive (most rooms have video), doesn't cost much (nine Euro), and can be seen in half a day. Plus it is in quite a scenic part of town, and in the heart of the action.

The Heineken Factory was a different type of education. Again, it didn't leave me disappointed in the slightest, even though it was about double the price of the Anne Frank House. At the factory, you are taken through the beer making process. There's more though…you can relive the Heineken commercials of eras past, read about the Heineken family, and play interactive games on a miniature football pitch. You can also record your own music video (set to traditional Dutch songs no less), and, of course…free samples! During my visit, I had four glasses of the beautiful beverage, all "on the house."

Bob's was the first time I had ever stayed at a hostel. For the most part, it was a great experience. The staff was quite friendly and outgoing, the fellow travelers the same. Cleanliness wasn't an issue, although I am very happy not to be sharing a single toilet and shower with 16 other men now that I am back home. The hostel itself wasn't expensive (my total was about $91 CAD for four nights), and breakfast was included. There is something to be said about the brotherhood/sisterhood of those roughing it out on a budget, not staying at five star hotels and having unlimited access to papa's funds. I loved interacting with the others at the hostel, if only that we were all in pretty similar in age and life experience. We're all keen to see the world, obviously, and eager to meet new people and have new encounters with life.

The rest of the trip was spent strolling the canals, chatting with locals, and taking in the ambiance of a new city, one that most North Americans desire to see. One of my favourite scenes from Amsterdam was watching as a young Dutch boy biked with his younger brother sharing the seat. They were going through an alleyway, just by a canal. With an orange soccer ball in the basket. Canada, France, or Holland, kids have to get to their friends to play. No exceptions.

My other favourite scene was strolling through a touristy area in downtown Amsterdam, late at night, with the American friend I was traveling with. We were walking past a Belgian cafe, one that was overflowing with people and good conversation. The song that was playing was a classic American bar tune, and one that sums up our time in the 'Venice of the North' quite well. If I were to pick my personal theme song for my European living experience, it would probably be this one, if only for the continuous, happy beat and easy going nature of the chords.

À la prochaine, mes amis.

Inside the Louvre: A Glimpse into the World's Most Visited Museum

There is More to Life than Hockey

"Hey Erik, my name is Salim Valji. I'm going to be a sports writer when I grow up, so you'd better start kissing my ass right now."

Once upon a time in February, I sat in my usual spot in the athletics building of MacEwan University in Edmonton, Tim Hortons and Twinkies in hand, chatting with the many friends I currently miss dearly who happened to walk by, and hammered out a French cover letter and resume. After about three hours, my work was complete, an application was sent, and a cautious optimism formed. I was happy. I knew that even if the fruits of my labour were ultimately for naught, I saw an opportunity and seized it. I threw a Hail Mary, so to speak. I went for it.


The above quote is one of my favourite stories to tell people. I was 14 years old at the time. The Edmonton Oilers were having an autograph session at West Edmonton Mall. I had waited for three hours to get my jersey signed by someone, anyone. NHLer Erik Cole, an Edmonton Oiler at the time and suffering through arguably the most trying season of his career, obliged. I said my piece; Cole laughed and wished me adieu. 

The story doesn't end there though. I wrote a newspaper article about the experience (Cole had stayed an extra half hour to sign autographs). The column was published in the Edmonton Journal. A week later, a lady whom I had never met wrote me a beautiful card saying how much she loved the article. I still have the card, which was handmade. It is one of my most cherished possessions. 

Sometimes we define ourselves too much by our careers and salaries and our plan to achieve corporate greatness. I once read a cartoon by Bill Watterson, the genius creator of the Calvin and Hobbes cartoon strip. Waters could have made millions off his two characters if he had licensed the brand. He didn't. In the strip, the final caption reads:

" To invent your own life's meaning isn't easy…but it's still allowed…and I think you'll be happier for the trouble."

As a young guy who had achieved a fair amount of success in a tough industry, there is no doubt that I fell victim to the previous thought. All of us do at some point. Whether it's a career in engineering or sports journalism or hospitality, society fetishizes 'The Plan' and where we see ourselves in five, ten years. We're told to never be complacent and to strive for the pinnacle of our professions. To put it another way (and to those who have seen the outstanding Al Pacino/Matthew McConaughey film Two for the Money), I was slowly but surely turning from Brandon Lang, the kid who was happy to be there and down to Earth, to John Anthony, the artificial, suit wearing, fast talking 'Million Dollar Man with the Billion Dollar Plan.'

It is impossible for someone to have undergone the experiences I have had over the past few months and not have changed in some way. And that is part of the reason why I knew moving out of Edmonton was my only option. Not being surrounded by others and their expectations is really the best way to gauge who you are and what you want. As a varsity athlete (and great friend) I had the pleasure of covering for two years said (he himself having immigrated to Canada from another continent): "When you're in a new town, you're free. No expectations or worrying about what others think. You get to be you."

In Edmonton, I'm likely known as the guy who loves sports. Going to Montreal and knowing that I wouldn't run into a single person who knew me; that I had so many first impressions to write, was incredibly liberating. 

Changes? It's hard for me to objectively say how I have grown since inheriting this freedom. I do think I'm much more confident and open minded; I am incredibly thankful to have had hundreds of experiences that would have otherwise been impossible to have in Edmonton.

The reality is that I'm not 14 year old 'NHL General Manager or Bust' Salim anymore. Maybe the passion and desire for that life is going down.

"There is something pretty cool about getting a phone call from your grandma in Edmonton while you're drinking a Belgian beer, in an Irish pub, in Paris, with Americans."

There's more to life than just hockey. I'm slowly figuring out what exactly that is.

Homeless in France--Flirting with my Greatest Fear

Take the red pill or the green pill?

This was the decision at hand. The tears were gone, as were the trains. There was no one else around. A decision had to be made. Fast. In the back of my head, when I made small talk with the French man buying his train ticket, I wanted him to utter those exact words. It still didn’t make the decision any easier.

“Do I accept this man’s offer and get into his car so he can drive me to another train station, or do I stay out in the cold and sleep on the grass tonight in a town and country I have never been in?”

Tom Petty famously said that “The waiting is the hardest part.” To aide in my battle to stay sane and keep a positive frame of mind while waiting for the train in suburban Paris, I asked the rare local that walked by if they knew when the next one would come. Most of them were very polite and gave me a quick answer, and chatted for a minute or two. “Vous avez d’accent. Vous êtes né où, monsieur?”  In a town of under 2 000, a foreigner garners more attention and curiosity. On that day in Bréval, that foreigner was me. I was an exhibit.

With one local, the interaction was akin to a father teaching his boy the facts of life.

Monsieur Michel was his name, although I added the Monsieur part. I still cannot call someone my parents’ age by only their first name. We looked at the schedule together, and then he went to sit on the bench. He had been out for his nightly stroll through the country side before I had reached out to him. “Comme mon grand pére en Canada,” I quipped.

Monsieur Michel and I traded life stories while we waited patiently for the train to arrive. He told me about his four daughters, his three grandchildren, and his nightly nature walks. He elaborated on the French culture and life. He explained to me things he had seen in his 64 years. It has been a full 10 days since I last spoke to either my father or grand father. My time with Monsieur Michel filled part of that void. Every now and then he would sprinkle in the phrase, “Tu es jeune.”

In French, he explained to me that money and materials can be taken from you, but moments and experiences are yours forever. Time came for Monsieur Michel to depart. Perhaps it was his fatherly instinct to stay with me, a rattled youngster. We bid adieu. He wandered into the night; his wife no doubt worried about her husband’s prolonged absence.

The train; it never came. One hour passed. Two. With the prayers mounting, blind satisfaction had come to me. “At the very least, it will be a good story for the folks back home, being homeless in rural Paris for a night.”

Monsieur Charet had arrived just to purchase his tickets for the next morning’s commute. I asked him, like everyone else, if he knew the schedule. He said he didn’t; I thought that was the end of the conversation. He went about his way, getting frustrated with the ticket machine.

As the clock struck nine, the only unanswered question was which patch of grass I would attempt to sleep on.

M. Charet emerged, and said the magical words I had longed for. He offered to drive me to another big train station about a half hour away. Confused, elated, relieved, scared. All relevant emotions. A complete stranger had made the coveted proposition. I considered it for a moment; if only to reinforce to myself that I was in fact, in a new country and city, getting into the car of someone I didn’t know. There was no real decision to be made; the optics of the situation were in my favour: A well dressed, well spoken, good hearted man in his late fifties, with his wife in the car, was going to take me to the station. I accepted, thanking him profusely.

After a half hour that could easily have been spent at home with a nice book and glass of wine, we arrived at the station. Monsieur Charet opened my door, took me to the station and clearly pointed out which number to take. A handshake and, “Bon courage,” later and the good deed was complete. Two hours later I would be home. Unscathed, unharmed, and safe.

On the final leg of the journey, I thought about the kindness and warmth that had been shown to me in my first few days in France; all by complete strangers. A future co-teacher with a family of her own coming to fetch me at Charles de Gaulle Airport; another whose wife generously cooked a wonderful traditional French dinner upon my arrival. And, of course, Monsieur Michel and Monsieur Jean Charet.

I asked Monsieur Charet before we departed; he said that he had to, he couldn’t leave and have me sleep at the station. He knew that I was someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s friend.

Often when you are this far away from home and family, moments come that renew faith. That sequence of events did just that. When the tears are gone and the trains have stopped for the night is when the learning and discovering truly begins. As does the beginning of a beautiful story.

À la prochain. 

The Hardest Decision for a 20 Year Old to Make

Integrating with another culture. Exploring a completely different side of the world. Being away from home for an extended period. Meeting new people. Gaining something that goes beyond the resume and cover letter. Taking advantage of a time in my life where I am not tied down to anyone or anything. These were all among the reasons why I chose to ultimately accept the employment offer to live and teach in France for seven months. ‘Live and work in the French culture? What’s not to say yes?’  some may ask. Well, there are a lot of reasons why I could have said no to that gut feeling, caved in to the fear, and returned for my fourth year of university in Edmonton.

One of the main reasons for rejecting the offer would be that that I am still in the middle of my degree. That was a big concern with those aged 40 and above who I talked to about the opportunity. The thought process is that I may never come back from France; settling in to a life there, making a decent but not great wage, and later on realizing the value of a degree when my employment prospects dried up. That is a fair fear to have. There was also the concern that I would “find myself” while in France, and come back to Canada in a complete mental disarray. That is also an understandable, albeit less fair, concern. Is there anything wrong with finding yourself and doing a little soul-searching every now and again? Truth of the matter is that, while I am overseas, I’d hope to accomplish some of that. 

Montreal changed my outlook on life immensely, in a very positive manner. Because of that experience, I’m not completely convinced I will end up working in sports. Not because I doubt my abilities, but rather I saw so many other possibilities while living in the city. Politics, culture, arts, news, life…it really is entirely different once you get past Ottawa and are in Hull. I am confident that I will finish my journalism degree, either at MacEwan University or another institution, and apply for some sort of post degree education, whether it is law school or a Masters program or certificate specializing in certain types of journalism. But will it necessarily be in sports? Maybe not. And that’s great. Having the experiences I have worked for will change you. I can’t imagine, at 21 years old, being the same person I was at age 16. At age 26, I will be laughing at the naïve 21 year old Salim. Maybe I will be the General Manager of the Edmonton Oilers by then, maybe not. Not a problem either way. As my celebrity aunt Farhana Dhalla once said, “Sometimes the best decision we can make is to forget the life we thought we had, and embrace the life that is waiting for us.”

My life in France itself has gone well for the first seven days, if only being a little boring. Living in a new town, combined with not having a social life, cell phone, or internet connection, especially in today’s day and age, usually means you are counting down the minutes until bed time. The town I am in, Conflans Sainte Honorine, is a half hour train ride outside of Paris. Being in a small town for the first time, in a country I have never been in, lends itself to a few adjustments: Most places close by dinner time, you see people more often because of the size of the area, and life is generally less rushed. This comes after three months of living in the heart of a global city (Montreal) during the summer, where every night there was something that you couldn’t possibly miss. That being said, I’m right at the doorstep of one of the world’s most renowned cities for “Things You Couldn’t Possibly Miss.”

So far, Conflans Sainte Honorine and its people have pleasantly surprised me. The teachers at the school I will be working at have welcomed me with open arms. I was picked up at Charles de Gaulle Airport (not very close to the town) by one professor, and had dinner that night at the house of another. A third was kind enough to buy me some basic groceries for my first night. I could not have been given a better group of people to be working with.

The townspeople have also surprised me. They remind me of Canadians in that they are very friendly. While discovering the town, I encountered a lot of, “Oh you’re new to Conflans? Here is my shop, my name is ___. If you need anything, do not hesitate.” One thing I learned is that, no matter how great or proficient you think you are in the local language, ALWAYS genuinely apologize for not speaking it properly. It indicates a certain humility and desire to integrate into their culture. Your words will more often than not result in a smile and, “Non ton français est bien” from the other party.

I am also surprised that, for a town of 35 000, there are quite a lot of immigrants, and a very diverse array of dining options. There are many African, Middle Eastern, and Chinese people that live here. The dining options include Chinese, Japanese, Lebanese, East Indian, North American, Italian, and Moroccan options. Quite diverse for such a small town. The architecture is entirely different here as well. The town is divided into layers, with the first layer being houses that overlook the beautiful Seine River.

Overall, my first week has gone well. Once my internet and cell phone services are established, I will be in better shape to plan trips to Paris and other neighboring areas. À la prochain, mes amis!

Salim

Press Conference With Myself

Pre France Press Conference

Disclaimer: When I was 10 years old, I had a list of a few things I wanted to have in my future, as part of a school assignment (aah, Aurora Charter School!). One of the things I wrote was that I wanted to be the subject of a press conference. Given I’m not quite at that level of importance yet (although attending press conferences have given me some very fond memories), I decided to be the subject of a fictitious press conference. A few friends told me back in April, before I left for Montreal and Paris, that they would be living vicariously through me for the next few months. Hopefully this piece will give them that opportunity. As the French say, Profitez-en!

Salim Valji:  I’d like to thank all the members of the media for attending this gathering here today. I know I’ve fielded some questions already, but I’ll leave the floor open and be completely open with you all. Please just be polite. Even though I’ll be living in France, I’m still a Canadian eh.

Peter Mansbridge, CBC: First of all Salim, just talk about what prompted the sudden departures. Being a guy who had never been away from home before, Montreal was a pretty big step. Then you have the France offer a week later. What spurred this desire to get away from Edmonton?

Salim Valji: Thanks, Peter. Love the haircut, by the way. 

I knew I was going to explode if I spent another ‘normal’ summer in Edmonton. 

I felt that my mind was regressing, and something would explode if I didn’t have a change of scenery. It was interesting though because I was in talks with a CFL team about joining their communications team in some capacity. So, I put those talks on hold. I was itching for a way out and if it meant passing up a job with a pro sports team, so be it.

I applied for an internship agreement between the governments of Alberta and Quebec. The program was pretty good. Students’ flights were paid for, a living allowance was given, and a decent hourly wage was allotted. 

On paper, it was easy for me to say yes. I had the chance to look at all available internships, and the one most suited for my education (the position was called Agent aux Communications) was situated in Montreal. I pushed hard for that position, and was fortunate enough to be given it. If the Quebec/Alberta Exchange hadn’t worked out, I had plans to work in Jasper, Alberta in the summer as a bartender.

Getting out of Edmonton was something I knew I had to do. Looking at the same streets and restaurants and bars for another 12 consecutive months was going to kill me. I think that when you’re young, your life shouldn’t be predictable. You should take chances and leaps of faith because you have nothing to lose. I recognized this fact back in January when I began voraciously applying for any and all programs like this. And it turned out to be effort that was well spent.

Paula Simon, Edmonton Journal: Can you sum up the Montreal experience for us? Were your desires to leave Edmonton justified? Did you notice differences in yourself when you came back?

Salim Valji:  It was much better than I thought it would be. I was pretty petrified of being in a completely unfamiliar environment, but it was the most fun summer I have ever had. A varsity athlete I have had the pleasure of working with over the past three years, he himself having immigrated to Canada, summed it up best in that when you’re by yourself in an unfamiliar environment, you can be the person you actually want to be. There’s no dogma or expectations, you can be you.

I took that last sentence to heart and conquered Montreal. The city itself has such an array of districts and subcultures. The exchange program made it quite easy to make friends within the city too. Being able to establish a social life in a completely different city like that was definitely daunting, but easy. People are awesome.

I can definitely say that my desires were justified. It was not easy to battle with the nerves, but I was fortunate to be in an insulated situation with there being other Alberta students in Montreal too. I gained confidence and abilities that would have been impossible to get while still in Edmonton.

James Duthie, TSN: Thanks for the invite, Salim. Are you still focused on the goal of having your name on the Stanley Cup and constructing a championship NHL team? Or will we see you on the panel when you graduate from journalism school?

Salim Valji: My pleasure, James. To be honest, living in Montreal put that goal into…perspective shall we say. I’m not entirely focused on that anymore. Experiencing the culture and vibes of Montreal did get me thinking about career possibilities outside of sports. I know that when I come back from France, I will study for two years and complete my journalism degree. I know I want to remain in that field. I’d say I still have a preference, though not 100%, to work in sports in some capacity, not necessarily spent bent over a desk analyzing scouting reports and game film and analytics.

But France may bring that number down. It’s my job to go into these experiences as open minded as possible. I will say that the business field is certainly piquing my interest, as is expanding my portfolio as a journalist.

Wolf Blitzer, CNN:  Any fears about France, Salim? Montreal is one thing, but you Canadians still have that good coffee over there. France will be completely different. Any fears or concerns about temporarily moving to a foreign country?

Salim Valji: Lots of fears. Lots of panic attacks. Lots of nervousness. How will I fit into a foreign country? Will the stereotypes about France and Europe (petty crime being rampant, not very kind to foreigners) be true? Will I encounter racism? How will I build a social life?

But, as Ted Moseby once said, “If you’re not scared, it means you’re not taking a chance. And if you’re not taking a chance, what the hell are you doing?” This is the stuff you do when you are young. My biggest fear would have been caving in to the fear, not following my gut, and the years I would spend regretting making the “safe” choice. 

Salim Valji: I suppose that’s everything (considering probably only four journalists would show up if I had an actual press conference). I’ll hold another one of these when I return from France, which is a few months from now. Hopefully you all can decipher the new accent!