«Seat

that rusted, orbiting heap — to show those Americans one last time who the real superpower is. But they said “nyet.” And then the goddamn thing fell out of the sky and into the

By Matthew Dorrell ocean. In little pieces. Good people, Sa le a those Russians. me To Hell on a Bus The End Oh, the things I had

planned. There was so much to be done. So much I needed to tell you about. So much you don’t know. But now it is over. Now it is much too late. The sun has set, the ship has sailed, and it is all so very sad and disheartening. Seat Sale is finished. They’ve closed it down. I hesitate to say there is a plot against me, but I have been watching an average of two episodes of the X- files a day, so I do know something of plots. There are no vast and detailed schemes here, however. This is something simple and ugly. There are few words left, so I must be brief if I’m to share what truth I have gained. Some Seat Sale columns that will never appear:

Destination: Space

This, like so many things in life, is not my fault. I blame the Russians. Goddamn Russians. Three months of letters, emails and phone calls, and I was no closer to being allowed aboard the Mir space sta- tion then when I started. One would think that they would be happy for the opportunity to strap anyone to

wenmensiiliesiiin

Touring London on a bus is a lot like being locked in a faded blue furnace of a vehicle with a seatmate who has obviously never heard anything he liked more than the sound of his own voice. Touring Paris on a bus is a lot like being trapped in a rolling hearse where the air-conditioning breaks down on the first day and the windows do not all lower, and your seatmate talks even when he is eating, which is often. Touring Europe on a bus is an interminable ride towards hell.

That Was Supper?

London is not the best place to be arrested. It is, however, far better than being arrested in Thailand.

For better or worse, you don’t get to hear those stories. Seat Sale is done and I am home for a

9

‘See London on us!

Book any BUSABOUT European pass of at least | month duration and the BUSABOLTP London Link between London and Paris & get a FREE London aaa Package.

Only available it

PUTRAVEL CUTS A VOVAGES CAMPUS

(London Stopover oy

ATLANTA

* Two nights at St.Christopher’s Inn * Big Bus Puss * One evening meal * Continental Breaktust daily * Free hot tub and sauna use

Call Toll Free 1-888-450-2887

wwwtravelcuts.com

+ Busobuut pass must be ot least one month in daration, ond purchased at the same fime as the London Link #0 qualify for fee offe.. Must be puachasad between Apel | - May 31/01 at any Travel QUTSWoyoges Gompus office in Conada.© The two-nights multi-shore accomwmodation in the London Stopover package can be taken prior to or after use of Busabout puss, but must be talon consecutively and dotes must be confirmed at ting of booking Busabout pass. * London Stopover mud be token belween Apil 1 - Sep. 30/01, subject to availabiléy at time of booking. Ofer is non- torsfeable, non-changeable and fas ne cash value, Certain restichions apply. Offer subject to changa.

Chyned and apemated by the Canadion Federation of Stulents

time.

It’s odd, coming back to the Island. Every time I return it feels as though I’ve never left. Stumbling down Grafton St towards home as the April snow and wind sting my eyes and freeze my extremities, I think how good it is to be back. That perhaps what | have learned in my travels is sim- ply that where I began is where I belong. For a time.

It’s sad though. I curse them under my breath as I hang my back- pack on the wall - retire the money belt which protected the cash I wish I had.

All good things come to an end. All things mediocre grind to a halt at some point too, and not always of their own volition. The hallways here echo with their con- spiratorial whispers. I hear their voices dragging my name across gravel, the words “The Editor” in close proximity. They are plotting — have plans, expectations and direc- tions — and I worry.

How did it happen that I have sunk so low? To end up mired amid the mud and filth that desig- nates the position of “Editor,” when once I was an honest man. A travel writer.

The Cadre” 1