Unsolicited Rambling

Shane Doan: What happened to separation of church and state?

2007-05-03T20:59:00.000-07:00

If Thomas Jefferson was a Canadian, he'd be rolling over in his grave. The bizarre recent obsession in our nations capital, culminating in Bob Nicholson's trip today to Parliament Hill, fills me with mixture of disdain, anger, confusion, and embarrassment. Our politicians are violating so man tenants of our national sensibility:

Innocent until proven guilty
Mind your own business
Do you job

But above all these, the recent parliamentary preoccupation threatens that core western doctrine: separation of church and state. Hockey is our religion. This meddling is an attack at the very core. First Harper gets elected and now this. These are ill tidings indeed. Watch for locusts ....

Conclusion: Vancouver loves The Canucks and Beer

2007-04-24T12:59:00.001-07:00

Water pressure during Game 1 of Canucks vs. Dallas
Originally uploaded by Justin Callison.

A friend shared the following graph with me and I've found it quite instructive. The graph shows the water pressure in Burnaby during the long overtime game that started the series between the Vancouver Canucks and the Dallas Stars. One can't help but notice the drastic drops in water pressure that followed every period. A beautiful thing ...

Kyoto and Miyajima

2006-12-08T07:49:00.000-08:00

Just a few more photos from Kyoto (the cultural heart of Japan) and Miyajima (home of the famous "floating torii"). Click on the links or photos to see the full sets.

Kyoto

Miyajima

Hiroshima

2006-12-06T04:39:00.000-08:00

"The pain of Man's inhumanity to Man is unbearable"
-- written on the wall of the Tuol Sleng Genocide museum in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia.

Careful What You Give

2006-12-04T07:06:00.000-08:00

Riding the Shinkansen (bullet train) headed west today, I met the delightful couple pictured above. Despite no Japanese on my part and minimal English on theirs, we managed to converse for several hours as our train sped across Honshu. I pulled out my laptop with the intention of showing them a couple of pictures of Smithers. We ended up going through half of my iPhoto library. They were quite impressed that Haleigh played hockey. They also agreed that I have a wonderful family and a very beautiful girlfriend (damn straight).

By the end of our short time on the train together, I felt like these were old friends. They typified the warm, kind, and interested nature of the Japanese people. We’ve all heard it a million times, but it is amazing how much of communication is non-verbal. Half the time, we were floundering with words, but the smiles and laughs got across the real point.

I had brought a few things with me to give as gifts and I wanted to share with these folks as thanks for the time we’d spent together. But I knew of the Japanese culture of reciprocity when it comes to gifts and I did not want to create a situation where they felt obligated to give something in return. So I secretly extracted a small bottle both of Crown Royal and maple syrup from my suitcase and awaited our arrival at their station.

As we neared the station, we began to say our goodbyes. They warmly shook my hand and thanked me profusely for the great trip. At what I thought was the last minute, I quickly handed them the very small gifts, repeated my thanks for the wonderful trip, and tried to open the way for them to exit. How naive.

With the stealth and speed of a ninja, the man opened his wallet, pulled out a 10,000 yen ($100 CDN) bill, and deftly deposited it into my pocket. This was exactly what I did not want to happen. I tried to resist and return the money, telling them that their gift to me had been the conversation and time together. They would have none of it. As one who’s intimately familiar with dogged stubbornness, I could see what I was up against. From the look on their faces as I tried to insist on returning the money, you would have thought I was holding a gun to their child’s head.

Knowing that, at this point, to further refuse would have been futile and insulting, I had no choice but to relent. They each shook my hand about 20 more times and repeated thanks constantly until the train stopped. As they were milling out, they turned with every step to wave back to me. Once off the train, they came back to the window and waved to me furiously until the car pulled me out of sight.

I felt horrible that I had created a situation where they felt it necessary to reply with a truly inordinate return gift. But it was clear that this experience had made their day. I still feel bad and I wish that they could have accepted my very simple gifts. But I guess that they wouldn’t have offered such an exorbitant gift in return if they couldn’t afford it. And the exchange of gifts raised the level of our shared experience to something that fell within their own culture and tradition. All I can do is pass on the story of these people’s incredible kindness, openness, and generosity. They are the epitome of the unique warmth and kindness of the Japanese people.

Let It Snow

2006-11-30T15:04:00.000-08:00

This is the type of scene I was hoping for. In Sapporo on the north island of Hokkaido and the snow is flying. The air is full of light, white flakes. Not too big that they’re wet and sloppy. Not too small that they’re icy bullets pelting down from the sky. But those perfectly sized flakes that drift down from a grey sky, meandering in the quiet air, in no hurry to find the ground. Call them goldilocks flakes. It’s as if the neon streets have been thrust into one of those Christmas balls and someone has shaken it just perfectly so that the white stuff saturates the air.

I came up this way, drawn by my northern instincts, in search of the Japanese expression of winter. I arrived here the night before last and the snow started promptly the next morning. And as if according to order. It started out big, wet and sticky. After a brief dash from hotel to train station, I looked like a walking snowman. Cold and wet, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

I love the winter. Rain gets to me. But I could take snow and cold forever. The refreshing feel of cold air tugs at something innate. Maybe it’s the nostalgia of childhood memories, but winter feels like home.

There’s something comfortable about this city. I’ve hardly been here at all, but it feels very different from Tokyo or Kyoto. And not just the weather, though that may be the root cause. The sartorial landscape (that one’s for you Vince) is varied and somewhat reminiscent of home, though in a more elegant way. Less English speaking, but the people are as warm as I’ve found anywhere. And a noticeably mellower pace. I could spend many content days here, hunched over a steaming bowl of ramen, watching the sky empty on the streets.

Unfortunately, time’s a bit tight. So after touring the surprisingly impressive botanical gardens (only the green house open), I hopped a train for a cross-country jaunt to the island’s north coast. The trip there and back took me through the rural countryside, blanketed with a virgin layer of the season’s first snow. On the way there and back, I couldn’t get over the familiarity of the winter scenes. If the rice paddies were swapped for hay fields and the signs translated to English, I would have sworn that I was on the Highway 16 headed from Smithers to Houston. I’d traveled over 7,000 km to end up in Quick.

For reasons of time and season, I’ve only managed a small taste of what Hokkaido has to offer. I feel like wine connoisseur, given just the slightest sample of a deep, rich, and complex offering of sweet nectar. Sold as I am, I must delay the full bottled rapture.

More photos here

Harajuku Girls

2006-11-28T04:48:00.001-08:00

Circumnavigating Tokyo on the Yamanote line, the fashion is an analogy of Japanese culture. The dress is uniformly conservative and homogeneous. Men wear business suits. Young women wear skirts with high socks. All very well dressed, but with little variety. A young man with wild hair or a hip-hop look adds the odd bit of flair. These stand out like pale stars against the otherwise uniformly dark sky.

By comparison, the Sunday crowd at Harajuku is a brilliant explosion of fireworks. Every weekend, girls (and a few guys) from the areas surrounding Tokyo ride into the city and converge on Harajuku station. Once there, they emerge like butterflies from the cocoon. The outfits are vast in variety, fulgent, and exquisitely intricate. “Gothic Lolitas” and visions from an anime reel walk the street. It’s an amazing spectacle. A feast for the eyes.

Drawn to this flame is a motley crowd of locals, Japanese tourists, and gaiijin. I was just one of many confused and bemused westerners circling the scene with camera drawn. But we weren’t alone. Buses full of Japanese tourists (yes, they have them too) stopped on the bridge to take it all in from behind tinted glass. Several older Japanese men prowled the scene, asking the girls to pose for their cameras. I couldn’t tell if they were serious photographers or just creepy old men.

Also attracted to this feeding frenzy were others seeking to capitalize on the confluence. A train of vans, painted with slogans and blaring propaganda, stopped to evangelize to the crowd. A man paced back and forth with a UFO adorned flag emboldening everyone to “Welcome E.T.” A peaceful young man held a large sign advertising “Free Hugs”.

Through it all, the girls showed an odd combination of exhibitionism and shyness. I sat along the bridge for a couple of hours, observing the scene and wondering. Why were these girls here? What drove them to this audacious form of expression? And what were they expressing? Doubtless, this was statement of individualism. These girls not only stood out from the crowd, but they also stood out from each other. But there was also a palpable sense of community and belonging. The girls arrived and remained in pairs. They greeted each newly arriving member with gleeful screams and hugs usually reserved for long lost friends. Maybe living in the less cosmopolitan outskirts of the city and alienated in their own communities, they found here a longed for sense of belonging. Many of the girls, underneath their elaborate plumage, didn’t meet the societal ideal of conventional beauty. So maybe this was a way of receiving attention not otherwise afforded.

I’m no anthropologist, so I don’t know. And I probably couldn’t understand anyway. But whatever the cause, the effect is a unique and curious bit of counterculture. Another beautiful idiosyncrasy of Tokyo.

Click Here For More Photos

It's a Small World After All

2006-11-28T01:58:00.000-08:00

It is a small world after all. At least for those who have a Japan Rail pass. Though not cheap in absolute terms, the JR pass is a relative bargain compared to paying as you go. And it gives you access to an all-you-can-eat buffet of the wonders of Japan.

It’s common knowledge that Japan has an excellent rail system. But once you’ve had the chance to use it, you realize it’s nothing short of amazing. The backbone of this sprawling beast is the Shinkansen (Bullet Train). Traveling at close to 300 km/hr, the Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kyoto takes under 3 hours. That’s about how long it takes to get from Vancouver to Whistler if there’s a bit of traffic. With unlimited access through the rail pass, my next trip to Kyoto, Nara, or Hiroshima will probably be a day trip from Tokyo. That’s like doing day trips from Toronto to Montreal.

Once off the Shinkansen lines, things do slow down a bit. But it’s still undeniably impressive. Today, I headed up from Tokyo to Sapporo on the relatively remote northern island of Hokkaido. I left in the morning and arrived in time for an early dinner. That’s the kind of like heading from Vancouver to Whitehorse within a work day. This trip involved a Shinkansen ride to the north end of Honshu, another train through the Seikan Tunnel (the world’s longest underwater tunnel at over 53 km), followed by one last leg up to Sapporo. The time between one train arriving and the next departing was never more than 15 minutes. But everything runs like clockwork and the transition is nearly seamless. Just enough time to grab a bowl of noodles and head out again.

The accessibility is phenomenal. There are hardly two points in this country that aren’t less than a day’s travel apart by train. And with a JR pass, you can ride to your heart’s content. On Sunday, Dorian was feeling sore from a lot of walking, so he decided to just hop on a Shinkansen, ride up Honshu and then come back again. A Japanese person would have paid hundreds of dollars for that same privilege.

Seeing this paragon of efficiency, it’s hard not be embarrassed by the poor effort delivered by B.C. Transit, B.C. Ferries, and the like. We’re still in the dark ages. My hat goes off to JR.

The Happiest Place In Asia

2006-11-26T01:46:00.000-08:00

Japan is a land of contrast. And when in Rome, as the saying goes, one must do as the Romans. So after spending 2 days in Kyoto, the cultural heart of Japan, absorbing the expansive Shinto shrines and austere Zen temples, it was time for a change. A shift of modes and times. You’ve just spent 2 days enjoying the cultural wonders of Japan. Now what are you going to do?

Go to Tokyo Disneyland of course. What better way to experience another country than to invade that most audacious of American “cultural” exports? Seek to understand a person by studying the mirror they peer into. It’s the kind of subversive guerilla tactic that would make Hunter Thompson proud. And hey, it’d be fun.

On the way out, we were trying to rectify the position of Tokyo Disneyland within the pantheon of happiness. Disneyland is supposed to be the Happiest Place On Earth (HPOE). But by our count, there are a few such places in California, Florida, France, and Tokyo. We quickly ruled out Euro Disney (even Disney seems to have no illusions on this one), but that still left a few. Does the title of HPOE pass from park to park as the sun crosses the planet? Is it “The Happiest Place On Earth Between 1 AM and 2 PM Greenwich Mean Time”? But that would overlap with some of the other parks. That won’t do. The perils of globalization. In the end, we settled on “The Happiest Place In Asia.” I’m sure there are some who would argue that. Hmm, I think I’d better let this train of thought die right here.

Moving right along. It’s obviously a gross generalization, but Japan loves America. Icons of American popular culture are everywhere and they’re worshipped with zeal and money. So it should be no surprise that this has been the most visited theme park in the world. And sweet Jesus, it didn’t take long for me to believe that.

The crowds were ridiculous. Only in a country as orderly and patient as Japan could this work. Every ride had a lineup estimated at between 60 and 150 minutes. The women’s bathrooms looked like electronics stores the night before the PS3 was released. The popcorn stands had about 300 people lined up to pay 800 yen (about $8 CDN) for a commemorative pale full of flavored popcorn. And the lines didn’t shrink all day. I kid you not, there were still that many people waiting for popcorn at 8:30 p.m. I had to wonder what sort of “special seasoning” they were using.

Japanese people are amongst the most courteous and considerate you’ll ever meet. But they still haven’t shaken that Asian penchant for pushiness in crowds. I guess it’s inevitable whenever there’s such dense population. Maybe they’re not pushy and we North American’s are simply spoiled. But I just can’t accept that using your infant child and his stroller as a battering ram isn’t a violation of natural law. Or that it can be deemed anything but rude to drive your grandma’s wheelchair into the back of someone’s calves.

This all reached its crescendo following the fireworks show as the massive crowd headed for the gates. Apparently everyone had the same idea as us and decided to hit up the gift shops on the way out the door. There were so many people crammed into these shops that you could hardly move. Getting to the back of the shop was like trying to fight your way to the front of a mosh pit at a rock concert. And somehow through this melee, people managed to clear the shelves like piranhas stripping a cow’s carcass. I’ve never seen such zeal to part with the contents of wallets. That famed Japanese consumerism.

So the day ended up being an intense trial of patience. I wonder if it’s occurred to the Zen masters of Japan that this could be an excellent training vehicle. If you could survive a day at Tokyo Disneyland without at least once harboring thoughts of bloody murder, enlightenment would be a snap.

Now, I don’t want to make it sound like it was all bad. We did manage to have a good time. Some highlights were hearing Zippity-Doo-Da sung in Japanese, plunging off of splash mountain, seeing gleeful teenage girls ask to have their photo taken with Aiden as if he was one of the Disney characters, and watching the Christmas version of the Electric Parade. Good times but by the end of the day, all three of us were sore, exhausted, and ready to drift off into never never land.

On the Road Again

2006-11-21T18:00:00.000-08:00

It seems very strange that as I began my trip, I couldn’t get my internal radio off of the country channel. Nothing seemed to rid my head of Willie Nelson’s voice singing “On the Road Again”. It makes no sense. I’m going west, true, but so far west that it’s east. What does this country song have to do with going to Japan? I struggled to figure it out, but eventually just let it go and sang along. Maybe it was God making a request for Karaoke night.

So I’m off to Japan for a little under 3 weeks. Aiden’s been studying in Tokyo for the past semester and Dorian will be passing through on his way back from Thailand. No real plans, just some time, a place to stay in Tokyo, and a rail pass. We’ll see where it takes me.

The flight over was exceptionally smooth, despite being with Air Canada. I’d managed to snag an emergency exit seat. The difference between a normal Air Canada seated coffin and the 10 feet of legroom I enjoyed is indescribable. Night and day. So I stretched out and worked my way through 8 hours of the second season of 24. A great way to start a vacation.

Arrived here in Tokyo around 3:40 pm local time. Riding into Tokyo from Narita was a strange experience. The visual reminders of taking that same trip 3 years earlier were stronger than I’d expected. The rice paddies squashed between clumps of modernity. Row after row of bicycles. Massive transmission towers silhouetted against the dying blue of a fading sky. The tightness of things. What struck me more than the familiarity of these images was the vastly different perspective I’d brought with me. So much has changed in my view of the world since that last ride into Tokyo. Like looking at a yearbook and seeing all those things that were invisible to you in high school.

Aiden met me at the station, then we dropped my stuff at his place (which may just make the Guinness Book for the world’s smallest elevator). From there, we headed out to meet Dorian at La Qua, a massive complex near the Tokyo Super Dome that has, among other things, a big onsen. If there’s any cure for jetlag, it’s the soothing, warm, mineral rich hot spring waters of an onsen. It was wonderful to unwind and catch up with my two brothers. As we relaxed together, I was reminded of the words below, which express the feeling far better than I could.

To My Brothers by John Keats

Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.
And while for rhymes I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fixed, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birthday, Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly:
Many such eves of gently whispering noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world's true joys, -ere the great Voice
From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly.

So Long Frances

2006-09-06T23:58:00.000-07:00

I just received word today that a dear family friend, Frances Young had passed away. At 97 years of age, I guess it shouldn't have been unexpected. But somehow it was. Not a surprise like that engendered by the recent death of the relatively infantile Crocodile Hunter. But surprise nonetheless. I guess news of death always comes as a forceful reminder of something we try to hard to ignore.

But with Frances, you really couldn't help but think she was going to live forever. She was just such a truly amazing person. In her late 90's, her mind was sharper than most people my age, myself included. It's a humbling experience to have your mental faculties and your energy level put to shame by someone who's seen so many winters. Most people, when they get into their 80s and 90s (or late 20's in my case) start to repeat the same stories, with the details growing foggier with each retelling. But not Frances. Every meeting and conversation with her was new and interesting. Just last Christmas, she was describing the view of Lake Huron's Georgian Bay as seen from an open cockpit plane in the 1920's. And then telling us a very pedestrian story about the man who used to escort her up to the bank when she worked in a Younge St. store in the Toronto of her youth. A simple story of everyday life, but one that was a perfect extension of our conversation and one that was told in staggering detail. And her mind was so liberal and contemporary. She didn't lament how the world had changed; she'd just changed right along with it. I always wondered if it was her eternal optimism, zest for life, and her open and active mind that lead to her long life and good health. Or was it her good health at great age that enabled these?

I love the story my mom told just the other day about visiting Frances on her 97th birthday. They caught her having dinner and she hadn't been expecting them. But if she was going to celebrate with her friends, it had to be done right. So it was rum and root beer all round! But my favorite memory of Frances is from her 95th birthday party. I can still picture her tiny frame perched on my younger brother's knee. She had just made a sly comment about her position when someone went to snap a photo. Just as the shutter went, she threw up her arm in a gesture of such youthful triumph that I don't think I'll ever forget that image. A perfect combination of youth and age. Which is how I'll always remember her.

Who does these things?

2006-08-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

I generally consider myself an optimist and I tend to look fondly on this human race of ours. But every once in a while, something makes me certain there's no hope for us at all. Acts of such irrational, fruitless stupidity that I can't help but wonder if things have gone truly sideways and that doom is inevitable. Now this is a very pedestrian case compared to more prominent examples (such as those provided daily by our friend curious George to the south), but it's still enough to make me shake my head.

Haleigh came out of work on Tuesday to find a flat tire. A pain in the ass, but par for the car owner's course. The 2 1/2 hour response time from GM's wonderful road side assistance made it worse, but that's another rant. I brought the car in this morning to get the tire repaired and have them check the others to make sure they were in good shape. Came down to a Starbucks and began my daily caffeine injection. As I'm happily bobbing my head to corporately chosen jazz and soaking up the "Starbucks Experience", I get a call from the shop. Apparently a large nail has found it's way into each of the 4 tires on our car.

Who they hell does something like that? And why? I want to understand. Is this revenge for some unrecognized slight? I could respect that, but what's the victory if you don't take credit for it? Or just a prank by some young hoodlums, driving nails into cars and charging gleefully into the night? At least someone would have gotten something from it. Or is it just some weird amensalism of our urban ecology?

Anyway, I'm at a loss to explain it without resorting to some heavy enmity for the world. I guess I'll just bury it and move on. Like water off a duck's back …

26.2 Miles of Wisdom

2006-05-09T00:48:00.000-07:00

I’ve used this blog to share my travel experiences, but for lack of other material, I’m going to talk about a journey of a different kind. Last Sunday, I took part in the Vancouver International Marathon (see some pictures here). This was my second time running Vancouver and my third marathon. It started out as another check box on the list of things to do before I die. But somehow it’s stuck and here I am over a year later, once more struggling to walk forwards down stairs. So as I limped my way from the bus stop to work, I couldn’t help but wonder why. Which made me think of something I’ve heard said many times about the marathon: “You can learn everything about yourself in 26.2 miles.” But I think there’s also a lot to learn (or re-learn) about life in general. So, in the spirit of this blog, I’m going to ramble on a bit about the lessons that I’ve learned and re-learned from pitting myself against this iconic race. I’ll apologies in advance if they’re vague, confusing, inconsistent, and contradictory. But after all, so is life.

Be prepared

As my good friend, and Jedi Master, Vince is fond of saying: “proper planning and preparation prevents a piss poor performance.” Though I was schooled as a Boy Scout from an early age, it never did stick. I tend to stumble through life with my eyes at my feet, wondering why my head is so sore. Thankfully, that’s generally enough to survive. Even when it comes to running, it’ll get me through a 10k. But the marathon is a whole different ball game. There’s so much to think about: clothing, water, gel, body lubricant (not kidding), race plan, pacing, route. And the margin for error is paper thin. One tiny mistake and this race will crush you. If you want to do something serious, you must think it through.

The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gag aft a-gley

Robbie Burns knew what he was talking about. Running a marathon can be one of life’s most fulfilling experiences. But what the marathon giveth, it can also taketh away. You can dedicate 6 months of your life to preparing for this race. You can follow a training plan down to the most minute detail. My god, you can even give up alcohol! But come race day, it’s in the hands of the marathon gods. And they can be a fickle bunch. I learned that the hard way last fall in Kelowna. I’d trained much better than I had for my first race. The weather was perfect and the course was flat. Things were looking good for our hero as we left the start line that cool morning. But I ended up limping across the finish line 30 minutes late, looking like I’d seen the business end of an AK47. That’s the marathon and that’s life. Planning is necessary, but on its own, it’s not remotely close to sufficient.

You get what you give

This is another truth that the marathon makes painfully clear. No one is going know if you hold back on those hard runs. Or decide to stay in bed rather than dragging your sorry ass out into the liquid sunshine of a Vancouver winter. You won’t get a ticket in the mail and you don’t have a teacher there to scold you. But come race day, good intentions don’t count for a thing. When my legs gave out on me as I climbed the Burrard Bridge on Sunday, I was paying the price for missing out on my hill training. All rationalization of how other training would transfer wasn’t worth a thing. The bridge said “that’s a nice story, but I get paid in hard currency.”

Be flexible

Pray that you never receive the praise Stephen Colbert recently bestowed upon George Bush: “He believes the same thing Wednesday that he believed on Monday, no matter what happened Tuesday.” The training schedule may say that you’re supposed to run hills on Wednesday. But if you twist your ankle Tuesday night, gutting through the workout the next day isn’t tenacity. It’s called stupidity.

Be yourself

We’re all dealt our own hand of cards. We can make the most of it, but we can’t change what the dealer throws our way. Kassahun Kabiso won this year’s race with a time of 2 hours and 18 minutes. Joanna Blank was the last across the line on Sunday in at time of 8 hours and 12 minutes. I’m quite confident that the greater accomplishment belonged to Joanna. The marathon is an intensely personal challenge. There may be thousands of others out there, but it’s really just you, the course, and the clock.

If you never fail, you’re not trying hard enough

If you want to know where you’re limits are, you have to push them. There’s a lot more to learn from a losing than there is from playing a game you’re going to win every time.

Serenity, Courage, and Wisdom

So much of life can be summed up in the prayer “Grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” In the wonderful movie St. Ralph, Ralph frets that he can’t pray. His coach, and priest, tells him not to worry. “Everyone finds prayer at 20 miles”. 26.2 miles is a long way. If you’re racing it, there will undoubtedly be a healthy amount of pain involved. The hard part is knowing when you’re being smart by holding back and when you’re just copping out. Building that wisdom, more than anywhere, is where improvements lie.

Life’s a journey, not a destination

I stole that cheesy line from Steven Tyler. But it’s so true. And in the grand scheme of things, the race itself is just a tiny part of the whole experience. Sure, it’s the focal point of the last half year and the culmination of countless hours of training. But the real accomplishment, and for me the real reward, is in the training. The real marathon is getting yourself out of bed every Sunday to tour the city on foot. It’s getting through 6 months of Friday being the only “non school night” of the week. It’s sinking your legs into an ice cold bath to fend off the damage of a 5 hour training run. It’s learning to cope with incessant talk of heart rate monitors, pacing, mitochondria, aerobic base, lactic threshold, gels, technical fibers, foot turnover, and goal times. If you’ve gotten through all of that and made it to the start line, then you’ve reached your goal. The rest is just a chance to showcase it to the rest of the world and smile with your hands in the air as you cross the finish line.

When I decided to run a marathon the first time, it was a goal I hoped to accomplish and never thought for a moment that I’d be dumb enough to try it again. And I have a pretty healthy respect for my own stupidity. But I just ran my third and I can’t imagine giving it up. I’ve come to love the training process and the people I train with. I’ve been converted. Long Sunday runs are like church where I get to worship the beauty of this city and the joy of being healthy and relatively fit. And I get to do it with one of the most interesting and eclectic group of people you could hope to find. People from their 20s to their 60s and from all walks of life. People who have nothing else in common and would never otherwise cross paths. Most really have no business even liking each other. But somehow, we’re all brought and held together by this strange obsession. An odd cult indeed, but an entertaining one. It’s these people and the long weeks of preparation that have me hooked.

I know there’s more wisdom to squeeze out of this beast and I tend to need things driven into my head repeatedly before they stick. So I think there’ll be a few more runs in my future. I just hope that I get fa bit faster, a bit smarter, and have a good time doing it.

Gorillas, not guerrillas

2005-12-06T10:45:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just have to laugh and scratch your head. I had one of those moments as I was walking through the dense jungle. In the dark. In the Congo. Surrounded by men in army fatigues with machine guns and machetes. I had to chuckle and wonder, how the hell did this happen?

Well, it was a quest for the rare mountain gorilla that started this. These endangered species are found only in a very small area, amongst the volcanoes and dense jungle along the borders of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly Zaire). There are only around 700 left in the world and the chance to see them with my own eyes was a large part of what drew me to this part of Africa. My understanding before I arrived was that our permits would be for the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in southwestern Uganda. Upon meeting with my group in Nairobi, the vague language and handwaving I'd received from the booking agent began to make sense. Our permits were not in Uganda, but across the border in the Congo.

If you're not familiar with the recent history of this part of Africa, that might not mean much to you. But if you want to get an idea, pick up any African guide book or check out your government's travel advisories. In every book I'd seen, the Congo shows up as a grey area on the coloured maps. Any information they reluctantly give is surrounded by huge warnings saying not only "don't go there", but also "don't even get close". As is tragically all too common, the Congo has been embroiled in civil war for quite some time. This part of the Congo has also been a haven for the Interahamwe, the Hutu militia responsible for much of the horrific Rwandan genocide in 1994. In 1998, 4 tourists were kidnapped when trying to visit the gorillas in this area. Three were never seen again. So I was a touch surprised by the news that this would be our destination.

However, this was not a case of recklessness on the part of the group I was joining. It was a case of ignorance on my part. The situation in the Congo has improved and tourists have been safely visiting the gorillas on the Congo side for almost 2 years now. But just as with neighboring Rwanda, good news travels much slower and shorter than bad news. Rwanda is now a very safe, inviting, and wonderful country to visit. But this doesn't make for good headlines in the west and as a result, the stigma of past events still prevails. It's sad that good news and progress isn't interesting enough to grab our attention and headlines. Now, the Congo still has a lot of problems and could flare up at any time (as they could anywhere in this part of the world). It's not as safe as Uganda or Rwanda, their government is tenuous, and rebel groups still roam in the jungles. But things have improved even if the Lonely Planet doesn't reflect it.

Our foray into the Congo was to be based from the southwestern Ugandan town of Kisoro. The road into Kisoro isn't the best, so we had transferred to mini-buses for the drive in from Lake Bunyoni. And an absolutely stunning drive it was. I felt as if I'd been transported to Asia as we passed through the mountainous and richly cultivated countryside. I could have sworn we were in Nepal. Terraced plots of lush green crops all the way to the peaks of the rugged hills. This land, as with much of Uganda, appeared to be the most productive my untrained eye has ever seen. Stark contrast to the relative desolation of the what I saw in Tanzania and what one generally pictures when envisioning Africa. This, more than anything, has fostered in me the hopeful feeling that at least Uganda has chance.

Cresting the top of a large hill, we were treated to a fantastic view of the Virunga Massif in the distance. Three towering volcanoes could be seen closely clumped together. I was told that each of these resided in a different country: one in Uganda, one in Rwanda, and one in the Congo. Looking out, I couldn't help but be struck by the arbitrary nature of borders. From what you read, you'd expect to see the Congo shrouded in absolute shadow with bats and other diabolical creatures circling in the darkness above. But all we could see was the cohesive form of the mountains where the gorillas roam without any respect for the lines defined by their not so distant, but arrogant cousins. It reminded me of something I heard Neil Young say: "the line's only there if you don't cross it."

The next morning, we turned our heads from the brilliant neon sunrise and headed to cross that line. All of us were excited about the encounter we sought, but also by the chance to cross into the Congo. Despite all that I've said before, there was a definite novelty about crossing into the Congo. For many travelers, our favorite souvenirs are the stamps in our passports. So, like winning a rare hockey card, we were gleeful at acquiring a stamp that few others could boast. And on top of this, there was also an unspoken tension in recognition of where we were headed. As travelers, we try to seek experiences that are crazy but not stupid. Though the security situation here has improved, this was not a trip to Disneyland. So we were excited about being a bit crazy and nervously hopeful that we weren't being stupid.

As soon as we entered the Congo, a couple of things became blatantly apparent. First was the language. Being a former Belgian colony, French replaces English as the most common non-African language. I marveled at the kids who spoke their own native tongue, French, and a bit of English and Swahili. As in almost every way, we have it so much easier. The children, as is the case most everywhere in Africa, were fascinated by us. Surrounded by these children who couldn't really communicate with us and who looked upon us as if we were strange and exotic creatures, I couldn't help but wonder if this was what the gorillas felt like.

The other obvious impression was the greater degree of poverty compared to neighboring Uganda. You could see this in the clothes that the children did or didn't wear and the general appearance of most everything. These lands are just as productive as those across the border in Uganda. They have the same resources. But the people were obviously not afforded the same standard of living. A sad reminder of who always loses in war.

Another example of the poverty and neglect was the roads. The roads in other parts of Africa left much to be desired, but as we climbed up towards the start of our trek, the path we followed lost any claim on being called a road. Becoming more uneven, bare rock than dirt and reaching ridiculous grades, it reminded me of the places we'd seek when 4x4ing back home. The kind of places we chose for the challenge of seeing if we could make it and the enjoyment of having to get un-stuck when we failed. I was brought even closer to home when we stalled on a hill and had to bomb start our little Samurai because the starter was toast. I even had to guide the fairly clueless driver back down a steep hill when he looked poised to lose the truck altogether.

But eventually, we made it to the ranger's station and started out on our trek. The habituated group we were seeking had been located the day before. They generally don't move more than 1 km in a day, but we were told in no uncertain terms that there was no money back guarantee. This was not a zoo and nothing could be promised. Our group was made up of 8 trekkers and 5 park staff carrying some people's bags, radios, machetes, or automatic weapons. At first, the trail was quite wide and the brush was cleared back. But as we climbed higher onto the shoulder of the mountain, the trail became much narrower and muddier. The brush closed in so tight that it was in constant contact and we felt like we were passing through a huge automatic car wash. The rangers guided us confidently through this labyrinth of trails and side trails, sharing the experience they've gained through walking these trails every day for years.

After 2 steady hours, we reached a clearing where we stopped to eat some lunch. John, our main guide, told us a bit more about the gorillas and the family we were hoping to see. Each family group has a dominant "silverback", a large male who is distinguished by the silver swath of hair that covers his backside. The rest of the group is made up of mature females, juveniles, and babies. In the Virunga Massif National Park, there are 3 families that have been habituated to human presence. The group we were seeking has 10 individuals, including 2 babies under 2 years of age.

We also asked John about some of the problems the gorillas have faced. Specifically we asked about poachers, to which he answered that there were two kinds. The first type doesn't have guns and is quite common. These poachers are just hungry locals who set snares and traps for bush buck and other wildlife that also roam the park. As is very common throughout Africa, a national park does not seem as wonderful to a poor and hungry resident as it does to us. These people generally do not see any of the much lauded financial benefit of tourism. For many, the park is merely a loss of land that could be cultivated and of wildlife that could be harvested. A haven for wild animals such as elephants that can quickly destroy their homes and farms. With our full stomachs and massive comparative affluence, it's easy to believe in the importance of conservation. But for someone struggling with subsistence, such luxuries have little importance. So it shouldn't be a big surprise that some do slip into the park in search of rare protein for their tables. And for all my strong belief in conservation, I have a hard time blaming them.

The other kind of poacher is the armed one that actually targets the gorillas. John downplayed this and said that they no longer have a problem with that type of poacher. And I would like to believe him. But I have heard from other sources that things are not so rosy. That there is still a demand for "bush meat" from people living in cities and wanting a taste of their former traditional life. And I've also been told that there is still a market for baby gorillas, with people in European countries willing to buy them. I hope that this was just hearsay or based on old information. But it seems likely this was a reality that our guide was keeping from us. But the bigger elephant in the room was the topic of rebels groups and guerrillas that roam the lawless jungles of the Congo. This was something we all chose not to discuss. But despite all of the problems facing these gorillas, their numbers are on the rise. A baby naming ceremony was recently held in Rwanda where 30 babies were given names. This, along with the dedication obvious in the park staff, gives me hope that my own children may have this same opportunity some day.

After our lunch, we continued up the mountain. As we did, the brush began to give way to bamboo forest with a tighter canopy and sparser floor coverage. We made slow progress as legs began to tire. The guides didn't say it explicitly, but their encouragement to pick up our pace told me that we were getting close to a required turn around time. I'd heard stories from other groups that had to turn around after 5 hours of walking and head back empty handed. Something I was dearly hoping to avoid.

Continuing closer to our goal, I really got the feeling of entering into another kingdom. The domain of the gorillas. The canopy above us became very tight and the light dimmed. And the rains began to fall, forcing us to cover up and drenching everything in sight. It felt as if we were passing through a deep, dark, and wet cave. A passageway to another time and another place. Somewhere deep in our own past.

After we'd been walking for about 4 and half hours, the rains began to let up slightly and we came into a bright clearing. As we were walking along in a line, there came an unholy crash from the darkness to our left. Everyone froze and 13 heads turned sharply to peer into the forest. There was a moment of silence before one of the guides decided to state the obvious. "I think it's gorillas."

As the realization and anticipation spread through the group, our spirits were dried and there was a smile on every face. What I found most amazing was the giddy excitement of the guides who had brought us. They're up here almost every day, but the excitement at being able to share this experience with us was tangible on their faces. Which confirmed that we were about to experience something very special. We all dropped our packs, grabbed our cameras, and headed into the bamboo cave.

As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to make out dark forms spread around amongst the trees. We were all clumped together, simultaneously excited and uneasy at being amongst these rare creatures. As we were milling about and trying to get a look at the closest female, I turned to see another member of the family heading straight for us. We all froze, unsure whether to be excited or afraid. I was paralyzed with this ambivalence as the huge primate loped towards me. I quickly turned to see that the others had started to back away. I just stood there as she approached, then passed within feet of me and carried on oblivious to our presence. Apparently, we were of less concern than the surrounding trees.

Shortly after that, we were introduced to the big boy. As the silverback strode across in front of us, the awe we'd already been enthralled in grew to match the size of this massive creature. He was simply huge. A rock solid mass of muscle and hair, he moved with the power and confidence of a tank. I just could not get over the size of this guy. Imagine the biggest man you've ever seen and multiply him by 2. Or maybe 3. A truly awesome sight to behold. Terrifying to think of the damage he could inflict if he so desired. He sat himself down, broke off a huge piece of bamboo as if it were the slightest twig, and distantly began to munch away. This was essentially what we saw from all of these creatures. They were like giant pot heads who just sit around with glazed eyes, oblivious to those around them, and peacefully munch on whatever they can lay hands on. One of the babies approached and played happily next to his massive father. There was an obvious interaction and closeness to be seen here. The baby wanting to be close to a caring father who was carefully keeping an eye on the youngster.

Watching this immense and powerful creature as he quietly ate and watched over his family, I couldn't help but be struck by the humanity. You could see emotion and expression in their faces. You could see the curiosity and playfulness of a young child in the babies. You could feel the paternal and maternal interactions as the adults watched over their young. And when you looked into their eyes, you couldn't help but believe there was something sentient there.

There's no way one could doubt our relation to these beings that I can no longer refer to as animals. But I also realized that it's arrogant for us to think of them as being primitive, somehow a partially developed version of ourselves. Here was a giant silverback with immense power to destroy. But despite that power, he was one of the calmest and most serene creatures I'd ever seen. I think there's a lesson for us there as well.

One of our guides asked us how we felt to be there. Ian, one of our friends, just said "I feel privileged". Which was exactly how I felt. Privileged to be tolerated for a short time by these magnificent creatures. Privileged to have an opportunity that very few people are afforded. Privileged to grow up in a country that allows me the freedom and resources to seek out such experiences. Privileged to be humbled by an experience that can't help but you in your place. That gives one a real perspective on where we came from, the connection we have with nature, and the responsibility we have to take care of all our relatives.

At the end of our hour, we were told that we had to leave. This was probably the only thing in the whole of Africa that was ever on time. We reluctantly said goodbye to this family and began the long trek back out of the park. Shortly after we started, the rains began again, this time with a ferocity that I've rarely seen the likes of. Drenching every one of us to the bone. The walk out was very long and interrupted by mud, slippery slopes, and the odd person falling. At one point, we were trudging through the dense bush when the guides up front stopped suddenly and began beating their machetes frantically against their rifles. It was obvious that these guys were scared and I joined them in fear when I heard the nearby trumpet of an elephant. Ian and I drifted back and were looking for climbable trees while the others pressed forward for a closer look. We shook our heads as the others were obviously oblivious to how dangerous it is to be that close to an elephant. I thought about informing them sharply, but decided it probably wouldn't help. Luckily, the elephant moved on and we were able to continue safely on our way. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Because of the long distance we'd had to cover, the rain and the mud, as well as our slow and slowing pace, we were well shy of the ranger's station when darkness settled on us. The coming of night revealed cracks in the strength of many and there were a lot of people who were very uncomfortable. Which is when I had to chuckle and wonder about how we'd gotten there. Luckily for me, I'm fairly experienced at planning poorly and having to hike home in the darkness. And though not literally, I knew we were figuratively out of the woods at that point. At the same time, I shared everyone's desire to get my tired, wet, and hungry self back to Kisoro. What was actually worrying me more was the pending closure of the border crossing. The prospect of spending the night on this side of the border was not one I relished.

But as it turned out, we survived the mad dash down the dark and brutal roads to the border. And our guide was able to summon the border folks and get us back through to Uganda. We were surprised to hear that another group of our friends was still out in the park. They didn't get out until an hour or so after us and were even more physically and emotionally exhausted from the experience. Arriving back well after 10 pm, many went to bed without food or showers, happy simply to have a warm and dry place to curl up. The difficulty of the return trip had taken it's toll and not many could appreciate the wonders of the day. But the next morning after a good sleep and a cup of coffee, there were smiles on every face and we spent the whole drive back to Lake Bunyoni rehashing the day and basking in the experience of a lifetime.

Where the wild things are

2005-11-18T08:05:00.000-08:00

I was enjoying a cup of after dinner tea under an acacia tree when my guide Lyimo says "It's better not to be going to the toilet over there at night. Sometimes the lions is coming around." I says "Pardon?". Lyimo then proceeds to tell me about a previous time staying in this campsite in the middle of the Serengeti. He was awakened in the middle of the night to the terrible sound hyenas make when being pursued by lions. Missing the hyenas, the lions ended up in the campsite, which is completely open to the rest of the park. It was raining, so the lions decided to take a nap under a nearby shelter. 2 meters from his tent. For the next 3 sleepless hours, he was serenaded by the grunts and growls of these unexpected bedfellows.

I knew he was serious when he said he was sleeping in the truck instead of his tent. But my tent is stronger, so I should be fine. Reassuring. I looked down at my cup full of water and diuretic and determined that was enough tea for one evening. I drifted off with "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" hopefully playing in my head.

Luckily, if the lions or any other creature did join us that night, I was blissfully ignorant. However, I have had many incredible close encounters with wildlife from the relative safety of our truck. I've spent the last 5 days in the back of an open roofed Toyota Land Cruiser, bombing through the National Parks of northern Tanzania. Tarangire with it's abundance of animals and baobab trees. Lake Manyara, set dramatically below the western escarpment of the great rift valley. The vast oceans of grassland known as the Serengeti, synonymous with the natural wonders of Africa. And the astonishing microcosm of east Africa that is Ngorongoro crater.

I was lucky enough to see just about every animal I could imagine. The "big five" (lions, elephants, buffalo, rhino, and leopards). Plus hippos, crocodiles, ostritch, hyenas, baboons, monkeys, warthogs, impalla, waterbucks, gazelles, giraffe, cheetah, and more wildebeest and zebras than you could shake a stick at. In the Serengeti, I was fortunate to catch the first of the herds migrating back down from Kenya. Countless, spreading across the grass to the edge of sight.

One of the highlights of the Safari came when we found a leopard that had hauled a fresh kill up into his tree. From where we sat, I could hear the bones crunch and the tendons snap as it bolted down it's prey. Creepy but cool. Another hightlight was this morning in the crater when a lioness decided to walk up an have a rest right under our truck. That's about as close as I ever hope to be.

It's been a wild last couple of days and I'm overwhelmed with all I've been privileged to see. Places like the Serengeti and animals like giraffes and hippos are the stuff of childhood dreams. Things read about in books and seen in films. So, to see them right in front of you is pretty surreal. Kept having to pinch myself and hope I wouldn't wake up.

But alas, my time in Tanzania is through. The next stop will be where the real wild things are. Nairobi. Or "Nairobbery" as it's affectionately known. I hope to see you all on the other side with at least most of my personal belongings.

Mountain Masochism

2005-11-13T21:30:00.000-08:00

The last time I posted, I was on the neurotic side of a bi-polar rollercoaster that had gripped me since arriving in Tanzania. I was constantly flipping between abject despair and hopeful confidence. My state at any point was generally determined by the last climber I'd talked to. If they'd done well, I was up. It they had a horror story to tell, I was down. I now find myself on the other side, drinking a beer in the hotel bar and passing on sage advice to nervous new arrivals. So did I make it? The existence of this post tells you that I survived, which is a good start. But you'll have to slog through the rest of this to find out.

Once the wheels rolled on the bus out of the hotel, the nervousness passed. Nothing left to worry about, just time to do it. One of the most amazing parts about this climb is the variety of climactic zones that you experience. The drive started in the red, arid savannah around Moshi and ended in the lush, green rainforest of Marangu, on the lower slopes of the mountain. Our first day was spent climbing slowly through this rainforest to Mandara Huts at 2700m. In the dining hall and on the trail, I met some wonderful people from many countries. One of the great joys of travel. Our next day saw us climbing out of the rainforest and into the "moorlands", the vast expanse of short shrubs that lay between us and Horombo Huts at 3700 m.

Now, I had been concerned by my plan leading up to the climb, but my plan for the climb itself was actually well thought out. I'd taken several precautions, including being certain to go very slow on the trail, and I managed to make it to Horombo and through our acclimatization day without any symptoms of High Altitude Sickness (HAS). This was quite a feat considering I was very sick by this point in Nepal. Strange but, contrary to form, I just might be getting smarter.

The next jump up to Kibo Huts at 4700 m is a huge one. The generally accepted rule of thumb is no more than 300 m per day. So we were breaking all the rules. I had honestly not exerted myself at all on the way up and felt great as I crossed the high alpine desert towards Kibo. Then, on the last hill, up to the hut, it hit me.

My old friend HAS. My pace slowed to a crawl and I barely eked my way up to the hut. I got there around lunch time, and as the others arrived, we spent the next few hours before dinner complaining about the altitude or resting. I had my dinner around 4 and went to bed at 5:30. The few hours of fitful sleep did little to help. We were woken at 11 pm. Lying in bed, I had a headache, a fever, and a resting heart rate of 110. At home, it's usually 50. Not a good sign.

Walking out of the hut, I was greeted by the most perfect of nights. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the stars were out in force. The moon was bright and the air was still. Better conditions could not have been asked for.

It was into this night that I set out with my guide Frank. Many others were doing the same and, looking back, I could see a long line of headlamps snaking their way up behind us. Frank and I, along with our friend Anne and her guide, ended up at the front of this line. As we climbed, our guides started to sing songs in Swahili. Frank sang Silent Night, which was very fitting in the still night with the moon as our guide. He continued, singing other hymns, all in Swahili. It was incredible to hear these familiar songs stripped of their words. Bereft of all specific religious significance, all that was left was the beautiful melody. The universal language of music.

As we climbed higher, the songs became less frequent and eventually ended all together. It was an absolute slog and for that time, there was nothing in the world but the stars, the moon, and Frank's feet in front of me. I just struggled to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Just doing that became harder and harder as the altitude sucked away more and more of my will and strength. After what seemed like an eternity, we stumbled over a rise and found a wooden sign leaning against the rocks. Frank gave me a hug and said congratulations. It was about 5:30 am and we'd made it to Gillman's point at 5685m.

But that wasn't it. The actual highest point, Uhuru peak, was still 300 m higher and some distance around the crater rim. It was along this stretch, somewhere near Stella Point, that the sun rose through the distant clouds to the east. Looking out at this sunrise, with the lower peak of Mawensi in the foreground, it brought me to tears. Now that may have had something to do with the the strain of the climb up, the hours of fighting mountain sickness, and the extremely thin oxygen that was dulling my cognitive abilities. But looking out at the beauty of that sunrise, it was more than I could bear.

Frank and I made our way the last bit around to Uhuru peak. I thought it would never come, but eventually we got there. Snapped a few pictures in front of the sign and said "let's get the $!@# off of this mountain". The descent was also long and arduous, draining every last ounce of strength I had. Back at Kibo Hut, I had half an hour of sleep then woke up to see that the symptoms were not abating. So I quickly packed up and we rushed to make the descent all the way down to Mandara Huts, rather than the usual destination of Horombo.

I arrived at Mandara still feeling ill and quite tired from the day. We'd started at 4700m and climbed 1.2 km up over 7 km of distance. We'd then undertaken a 3.2 km descent over 29 km to Mandara Huts. More than enough to cause a bit of knee pain.

After a good night of sleep in the thick air, I felt much better. Had an easy walk out and now find myself sitting at the hotel, like the ancient mariner passing my story on to others. So I guess it all worked out well in the end. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. Would I ever do it again? Not a chance. Such masochism, along with such experiences, should come once in a lifetime.

Fear and Loathing in Moshi

2005-11-07T07:40:00.000-08:00

What the hell was I thinking? This must have made some sort of sense when I planned it, but right now, I can't begin to fathom how. Just look at the numbers. In 2 days, I've flown for 18 hours, covered 15000 km, crossed 11 time zones, and touched ground in 4 countries on 3 continents. And now within 4 days, I plan to be 5900m above sea level, where there's 50% as much oxygen as in Vancouver, on the roof of Africa.

The reality of my predicament hit home as we were approaching the airport in Tanzania this morning. As far as the eye could see was nothing but snow white cloud and briliant blue sky. Then the pilot banked left and there it stood, the impossibly massive form of Kilimanjaro. It's no wonder that the first Europeans were ridiculed when they reported seeing an immense snowcovered peak in equitorial Africa. It left me shaking my head and questioning my own eyes. As well as my sanity.

So with more than a pinch of trepidation, I'll be heading off to make my attempt at climbing this mountain. It's not as if it's never been done before, but it's absolutely going to be a challenge. Modest doubt is the beacon of the wise. But not feeling so modest right now.

If all goes according to plan, I'll be heading for the peak around 1 pm Vancouver time on Nov. 11, hopefully making the summit 5 or 6 hours later. Please send me all the energy, prayer, or karma you can spare. I'm gonna need it.

Hasn't hit me yet

2005-11-06T03:38:00.000-08:00

Sitting at my buddy John's place in England and reality still hasn't sunk in. Things are all very familiar still and it's easy for my mind to maintain the illusion that this is routine. Not sure when that will pass, but probably sometime between now and when I lay eyes on Kilimanjaro.

As most of you know, I've managed to wrangle a respite from the rat race. I'll be spending the next month in Africa, touring around Tanzania, Kenya, and Uganda. As I've done in the past, I'll take the opportunity to fill your inbox with unsolicited rambling. But there's a twist this time. I've decided to step out of the 90's and make myself a blog. It can be found at http://unsolicitedrambling.blogspot.com. Feel free to e-mail me back here, but I thought I'd experiment and see how this goes. The blog looked really pathetic when I first started, so I posted a bunch of old e-mails from past trips so that it doesn't look so lonely.

Take care,

Justin

The Inca Trail

2004-07-06T20:35:00.000-07:00

Luck is all a matter of perspective. The good, the bad, and the ugly all depend on how you look at it. And happiness comes under your control when you choose the best angle. A week ago, if you had told me I'd finish the Inca Trail to find a rainy day at Machu Picchu, I might have been dissapointed and felt unlucky. But when it turned out that way, I couldn't have felt more differently.

The "Inca Trail" is the name given to a piece of the vast system of roads and trails built to expand and serve the Inca empire through the Andes and beyond. This piece that I had signed up to traverse leads from the floor of the "Sacred Valley" of the Urubamba river, up into the foothills of the Vilcabamba range, and above the sacred river to the ruins of Machu Picchu. As we left Cuzco, we heard that rain was expected, but the forecast only made it 2 days into our 4 day trek. Our first day was pretty much true to form with a bit of sun in the morning and some light rain in the afternoon. As we climbed up to our camp at around 3700 m, it wasn't too bad.

Then things got interesting. After a night of little sleep due to the constant feeling that our tents would be blown off the mountain, we awoke to find that the rain had gone solid on us. As we trudge up through the pelting snow to "dead woman's pass" at 4200 m, I was sure that we'd walked straight into the first Lord of the Rings movie. Luckily, despite the wind, snow, and altitude, our fellowship had more luck and we made it to the other side. But the rest of that day and the day after were filled with constant rain or snow. With a 4 am wake up call looming over the last night, we went to bed early in hopes that the rain would pass. But pass it did not and we set out in the dark and rain on the forth day to head for Machu Picchu.

This had all finally started to get to me and I was feeling that luck had abandoned me this time. But then the rain retreated momentarily to leave only clouds shrouding the mountains. And when we crested the top of the Sun Gate and saw Machu Picchu there below, even in the pallid, grey light, it was an incredibly beautiful sight. The rain continued to fall intermittently throughout the day, but we were able to make our way through the ruins. A few of us even made the treacherous scramble up to the top of Huayna Picchu for the 360 degree view.

We got pretty damn wet and cold. We missed the panoramic views that most encounter. We didn't get the classic postcard photos that we'd hoped for. But we left with a real sense of accomplishment, having made it through the snowy pass. The day after we came through, it was closed. We got to experience the very rare event of snow falling in the cloud forest, something that hasn't happened here for 10 - 20 years. We were given a much greater appreciation for the rugged strength of the Inca people that inhabited these high places without Gore-Tex. And most importantly, we actually made it and got to experience Machu Picchu, even in the rain. So we were lucky. Damn lucky.

Anyway, I'm rambling again (what's new). I hope all is well with everyone and please write back to help me as I return to the world of the working. :-(

Take care,

Justin

Galapagos

2004-06-27T16:51:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, I've managed to escape the real world again, but only for a short time. I've just returned from a spectacular 5 days sailing around the Galapagos islands. The famous inspiration for Charles Darwin's theory of natural selection. And an absolute treasure of nature. So much unique life and so many strange animals. Amazing to stand face to face with a 100 year old giant tortoise. And yes, I did get to see Lonesome George and unfortunately he's still not interested in his female companions. But we all gave him our best and suggested to the ladies that they get him drunk ...

I didn't have many preconceptions about what I would see. I prefer to avoid that in order to avoid the inevitable disapointment that comes with it. But still, you can't help to have a picture in your minds eye. I was hoping to see some of the special endemic species of the islands, but I imagined that they'd be pretty far off the trail and I'd need to be using my zoom lens to it's full extent. Not quite.

Our first real morning, after the roller coaster night ride across to Floriana island (sleepless for most), went like this:

6:45 - Wake up to the sound of my fellow passengers admiring the giant pod of dolphins surrounding our boat.

7:45 - Hop in a dingy and head for shore. Pass several galapagos penguins on the way. Land on shore to find a pile of sea lions lounging on the beach, not overly concerned with our presence. Walk up the trail past a lagoon full of flamingos. Trail leads onto a gorgeous white sand beach covered in turtle tracks. Wading into the surf, you can stand and watch as sting rays glide through the murky water in front of you, sometimes passing behind you and right past your feet.

10:30 - Back on the boat, we hop back in the dingies and head off to Champion Rock for some snorkelling. Immediately met by hords of colourful fish, beyond words to describe in their colour, shape, and variety. Passing around the point, I spot a sea turtle down below and swim with him for a while. Getting back close to shore, we run into a group of around a dozen sea lions. We spend the next 45 minutes or so swimming with these startlingly graceful animals as they check us out. One nips my finger, but not too hard. Eventually a large male shows up, at which point most of us back off. Dave goes in for a closer look and I'm thinking "here we go". But the big guys doesn't actually mind too much.

12:00 - Back on the boat for a big lunch followed by the soon to be common siesta.

And the rest of the trip was more of the same. Just magnificent. Walking on Española, we were literally tripping over Blue-Footed Boobies, marine, iguanas, and albatross. The blue footed boobie has to be one of the goofiest creatures I've ever laid eyes on. From the striking colour of their feet, to the vacant look in their eyes, to the odd little dance they do as they court, they're just funny. We were lucky enough to see the full process of reproduction in these guys, right in front of us. From courting, through a blue-boobie porn show, to incubation, to actually seeing a chick being born, and the young ones squacking and badgering their parents for food. Gives better understanding of what a unique natural laboratory this place is and why it has been such an inspiration to mankind.

But alas, I'm back in Quito tonight. Heading down to Peru tomorrow to start my trek on the "Inca Trail" to the ancient Inca city of Machu Picchu. I hope all is well with everyone and I'll talk to you soon.

Cheers,

Justin

God must be a climber

2003-12-02T18:56:00.000-08:00

It's really the only reasonable explanation. We've spent the last few days on Ton Sai beach, next to Ray Lai beach on the Andaman coast of Thailand. The place is just too perfect to be explained any other way. Looking around, it reads like a rock climber's Christmas list.

"First, of course, we need rock. And lots of it. High, interesting, varied, limestone cliffs will do just fine. Now that we have that settled, let's put it on the ocean. Tropical ocean, with brilliant turquoise waters and some nice corals. Lots of tropical fish to swim around in those too. Hey, we need something to do on rest days. Next, we'll need some beautiful, powdery white sand beaches to cover the few feet between the rock and the water. Plus a little more for just lying around on. Of course, we'll need some reasonably priced places to stay, with restraunts that serve excellent Thai food. Then a couple of bars on the beach where we can enjoy a few beers in the evening. Oh ya, and make those limestone cliffs big enough that they can't build roads to get here. Only boats. And cover everything else with palm trees and lush jungle. Add a whole lot of sun and I think we'll have it made."

The whole thing is just too perfect to be believed. We've had a great few days hanging around here. Went climbing ourselves one day and loved it. Spent another day touring around to some of the islands in the area, snorkelling and relaxing. Spent the rest of the time lying on the beach and trying to pretend I didn't have to leave so soon.

But unfortunately, I do, and I'm now on my way back to Bangkok. One day there and I'm back on a plane headed home. Hard to believe that this time has passed so quickly. The trip seems in some ways to have been incredibly quick, but in other ways it's hard to even see back to where it started. At least I have Christmas to look forward to and to break up the reintroduction to the real world. Could be quite a shock ....

So, thanks for putting up with this spam for the last few months and I hope to see you all soon. I'm back in Vancouver on the 5th, so if anyone is around that area, we'll have to go for a beer. Going from tropical sun to Vancouver rain, I'm going to need it ....

Justin

Laos, the land of a million elephants

2003-11-25T07:20:00.000-08:00

Well, we haven't actually seen any elephants, so like many things in this part of the world, it's a bit of false advertising. But we have seen some incredible things and given the wonderfully warm and honest people here, I'll assume that I'm either blind or haven't looked hard enough. Chang Mai was great and we had a blast doing our cooking course, though I'm quite worried about my new ability to make spring rolls. This could be seriously hazardous to my health. One highlight of Chang Mai is the night market. This frenetic zoo of shops and stalls crammed together with barely enough room for passage is a place where one can lose a lot of money along with their sanity. You can buy pretty much anything, but in order to keep your arm and part of your leg, you have to bargain hard. More to the point, you have to be a real asshole. Unfortunate reality.

Next to this, Laos sits in stark contrast. Walking through the night market in Luang Prabang, I was blown away by how open it was. How friendly the people are and how they aren't hell bent on squeezing every last penny from you. You almost don't have the heart to barter. And it's not just in the market. All around, the people are so honest and happy and beautiful. Travelling in Thailand, you have to keep your guard up all the time, but in Laos, it's much different. And you can feel it in the atmosphere. It's easier to breathe here.

In Luang Prabang, we hired our very own boat and driver to take us up the Mekong river to the Pak Ou caves. The first of these spectacular caves has it's entrance right on the waters of the river. Both caves are stacked with old dilapidated buddha images. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of all shapes and sizes and in all states of disrepair.

But as beautiful and impressive as the caves were, the most amazing part of the day was the trip up the river. This was our introduction to the mighty Mekong who's muddy waters span a couple hundred meters at this point. As our slow boat meandered back and forth up the river, moving at a pace that seems natural and proper, we were treated to some incredible snapshots of life along the Mekong. From the brown of the water and the shore, through the lush green of the surrounding jungle and mountains, to the brilliant blue of the cloudless sky, the specturm of colours seemed so complete. And all along, we passed beautiful images of everyday life. Naked children bathing and playing in the water. Fisherman casting their nets. Farmers tending the crops that sit crammed between the banks and the river. Men tending their boats. Everything was so amazing and exotically pedestrian that we were going through film like it was water. Everywhere you look, you see a photo waiting to me taken. The whole country is a photographers wet dream.

However, that dream turned into a nightmare for me yesterday when I realized the cause of the funny noise my camera has been making for quite some time. Seems that somehow, the shutter got messed up and when I've been taking pictures, it hasn't been opening. In short, all of my photos, maybe back as far as Nepal, are likely crap. This was a pretty heartbreaking realization to make, but I'm trying not to let it get me down. On the bright side, I'll have much less to bore you all with when I get back ....

We're in Vang Vieng now and we spent today tubing down the river. For $2.50 US, you can rent a tube and get a tuk tuk ride 4 km up the river. From there, you just hop into the slowly moving river and float away. So peaceful and relaxing, sitting there watching the jungle and the limestone monoliths, for which this area is famous, pass quitely by. But the most beautiful thing is that every hundred yards or so, you can pull off to the side of the river to where some enterprising local will sell you an ice cold, 650ml Beerlao for 80 cents US. And once you've had a rest or had your fill of diving off platforms and swinging off ropes into the river, you and your beer can just hop onto your tube and float on. A brilliant way to pass a gorgeous sunny day.

But alas, time is short and we'll be heading back towards Thailand tomorrow. I wish we had time to explore Laos more completely. I've really fallen in love with this country. From the people to the scenery, it truely amazes me. It reminds me a bit of Nepal, in that it feels like a backwater. Like it is just quietly ignoring the rest of this crazy world. A great place to be when one is trying to do the same.

Take care and I'll talk to you soon,

Justin

Dangers of Jogging in Chang Mai

2003-11-17T03:13:00.000-08:00

Aiden and I are hanging out in Chang Mai, in the north of Thailand, where we just finished our second of three days of Thai cooking courses. Yesterday, we ate so much food that I couldn't eat until the next morning. This continuation of the blatant gluttony that has been our time in Thailand (as Dr. Nick put it, "a slow gorging process followed by assal horizontology") was already getting to me and the course pushed me over the edge. So when I was woken up this morning to the sounds of barking dogs, crowing chickens, and fireworks, I decided that I needed to go for a jog.

Heading out of the guesthouse, things were going well until I reached the end of the alleyway. At that point, I was introduced to the first of the many obstacles I was to face. Traffic. Bikes and cars seemed to fill every inch of road, and most of the sidewalk, while more poured out of each little side street. It was not chaos on the scale of what I saw in Phnom Pehn, but it was still a royal pain trying to get around. With my current physical condition, I could use the odd break, but it would have been nice if I could have kept moving for at least half a block.

The old part of Chang Mai is surrounded by a moat and I was finally able to make my way to it, then hop across the road frogger style. From here, I thought the large sidewalk would afford a decent path for my run. Wrong again. A few paces along this road, I ran into another obstacle in the form of street vendours who seem not to have understood the "walk" part of "sidewalk". This drove me back into the road where I had to skip between clear pieces of sidewalk, parked motorbikes, and oncoming traffic . At the same time, I was being introduced to another obstacle for which most of you will have little sympathy, the heat. At such an early hour, this was a lot for my tired brain to deal with, especially the fact that these people are all confused as to which side of the road they should be driving on. I still cannot get used to the logic of traffic on the left hand side of the road. The amazing "success" of English colonialism has afforded me the ability to travel to almost any country in the world and expect everyone to speak the same language as me. So I guess I shouldn't complain too much about this other side product. At least I think it's their fault. I'll blame them anyway .....

I eventually stumbled upon a nice little park with nice little ponds in the middle and a nice little paved track that I could run around like a nice little gerbal. The Thai radio blaring from speakers all around did little to dampen my relief and I set about trying to work off the spring rolls from the day before. Thinking I was home free, I settled into a pace and receeded into my own little world. This trance was broken when I nearly ran headlong into a pair of people standing still in the middle of the track. My surprise was compounded when I looked up to see that everyone in the park was stopped and seemed to be paying silent respect to a tune playing over the loudspeaker. I quickly surmised that I had just commited a cultural faux pas of unknown proportions. Once things got moving again, I figured I should cut my losses and do the same before an angry mob formed. On my way home, I had to deal with the same melee and accidentally bumped into a Thai woman as I was jumping to pass a motorbike. My horribly feeble attempts to say "sorry" in Thai didn't go over so well, and this reinforced my desire to get home fast. Returning to the safety of our guesthouse, I decided that I'll just have to accept my path towards obescity. Hey, I tried.

Sorry for this very pedestrian story, but I felt the erge to share. On a more interesting note, Aiden and I have been learning TONS about cooking Thai food these last couple of days, so I should be able to repay you by cooking up a storm when I get back. If anyone is looking for a housewife, I'll be accepting offers for the next 30 days.

Take care,

Justin

Full Moon Fever

2003-11-13T20:16:00.000-08:00

It’s been a while since I sent one of the messages, so I thought I should let you all know that we survived the Full Moon party. We'd arrived well in advance and settled into life on the island. As the day of the party approached, everything continued to build. Boats crammed full of people arrived continually, the sight of people with backpacks wandering the street looking for a home became ever more common, the restaurants and bars got busier, and the buckets got more and more expensive. We killed the days mainly by sleeping late and lying on the beach. No more trips to the hospital and my good friend the taxi driver didn't seem to recognize me. Somehow, we'd had the date wrong so we were surprised to find out that the party was upon us one day early.

Full Moon on Hat Rin. This is something that is quite beyond my ability to describe. We'd spent most of the preceeding nights out on the beach and the bars had been pretty busy by any other standard. But when we walked out onto the beach that night, it was a completely different story. The entire beach, from end to end, was one mass of people. Every bar along the strip, most of which had been empty the night before, was packed with partiers. Music of every variety, from top 40 to Jungle was pounding out at you as you worked your way through the crowd of people, all in various states of intoxication, that poured out of each establishment. A massive strobe light shone like the sun from the south end of the beach. Vendours of every sort, most selling drinks, crowded the top of the beach. The water just off shore was full of boats floating and swaying in the waves, bringing more partiers or waiting to take them away. With all the people and the 10 baht charge for using the toilet, the ocean had unfortunately become a very large urnal in which, strangely, a large number of people still found room to dance in the waves. And over all of this, the full moon shone so brightly that it seemed to be focusing directly on this place.

The party went on all night, and as it did, some of the people and the scenes you witness got stranger and stranger. People in all states of dress and undress. Overweight farang (foreigner) guys, in their underwear, grinding to the music with Thai "lady boys". The whole atmosphere was like something out of a movie and has to be experienced to be understood. As the sun came up and shed daylight on the festivites, it did little to dim the enthuisam. Walking home, the crowd was thinner than it had been, but it was still impossible to walk a straight line down the beach. For some, the beach had become a bed, but for others the sun was just a change of scenery. I'm told that things kept going well into the day and I don't doubt it. When I crashed, watching the moon turn red with the imminent lunar eclipse, the party showed no signs of letting up.

After the party, and the after party, and the after after party were finished, Hat Rin began to empty. We left as well, heading to a beautiful beach on the north west side of the island to recover in the sun and the brilliant blue waters. Doing little more than eating great food, lying on the beach, swimming, swaying in a hammock, and sleeping, it was a welcome change. However, we've now left that island paradise and I'm now sitting, once again, in Bangkok. Arrived on a night train this morning and we'll be leaving on another one this evening to head farther north. Back in motion.

OK, take care and keep your sticks on the ice,

Justin

Challenging the laws of Karma

2003-11-06T08:19:00.000-08:00

Well, Aiden and I have left Cambodia and after a very short stay in Bangkok, we're settling in on Koh Pha Ngan, an island in southern Thailand. We're staying at Hat Rin awaiting the famous, or infamous depending on your perspective, full moon party coming up shortly. Just to give you an idea of the number of people who will show up here, the entire island has accomodations for roughly 3000 people. These quickly fill up in the days before and the day of the party, they expect around 8000 people! However you do the math, that's going to add up to a big mess. Getting introduced to drinking from a bucket (filled with Thai whiskey, Red Bull, and Coke) and spending our days realxing on the beach. Just to make everyone in cooler climes feel less annoyed at us, I'll let you know that we were greeted on the island by a torrential downpour. We're actually in the monsoon here, but it's cleared up for us the last couple of days and we're trying to make the most of it.

The reason I'm writing to you here is not to brag about sun and beautiful blue tropical water. It's to relate the strange events of last night. This is a pretty long story, but I'll try to keep it as short as possible. Hopefully it's worth the effort.

The evening started out pretty well when Aiden and I ran into Debbie, a friend of Haleigh's from Smithers. Seems that the whole world is converging on this beach for the full moon party, so coincidence has become the order of the day. Down along the main beach, all the clubs set out carpets and low tables in front of their establishments where people congregate as the evening gets late. We were sitting, enjoying a bucket, getting to know Debbies friends, and generally having a good time. The stars were out, the waves were rolling in, the bar's staff was putting on an amazing fire dancing performance, and we were really enjoying ourselves. That's when things went sideways.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see Matt, Debbie's friend from Seattle, beckoning for me to follow him. Not thinking much of it, I got up, leaving my shoes, and followed him. As I catch up to him, he tells me that there's a girl lying face down on the beach in a pretty rough state. They've been able to determine that she's Canadian, so the logic of the night was that they should grab the nearest Canuck to sort this all out. By the time I arrived, there was another Vancouverite named Adam, a fellow we shall get to know better, already assisting.

Really, there was not much assisiting to do. Someone had the sense to lay her in the proper position so that she could vomit without concern for asphxiation, but beyond that, everyone was pretty much just staring. There were a couple of girls there as well who were trying to find out from this girl what had happened to her. She was barely responsive and starting to get cold, but none of use were sure what to do. We had no idea how she got there, or what it was that got her there, so it was hard to say whether she needed a quiet place to sleep it off or if she really needed medical attention. We eventually got her up, Adam under one arm and myself under the other, and did the six-legged shuffle up the beach to where someone thought there was a nurses station.

When we got there, the glorified pharmacy wanted nothing to do with her. They told us that there was a clinic or hospital 2 km away and sent us on our way. The girl, whose name we had now determined (let's call her Jane), had become responsive enough to shower our feet with vomit, but that was about it. Again, we were not sure what to do, but when her eyes started to roll back in here head, we thought better safe than sorry and called for a taxi to take us to the hospital.

At this point, we figured we would just run her a few kilometers to the hospital, make sure she was OK, and be back before the ice melted in our drinks. So Adam, Matt, and I hopped into the back of the pickup with Jane and headed off. A short while later, we realized that we had gone much more than 2 km and that we were headed, at breakneck speed, along the perilously steep road to the main hospital on the other side of the island. The ride there was an adventure in itself and probably more of threat to Jane's well being that the state she was in. However, we made it safe and sound, brought her into the hospital, made sure she was OK, left some money for her to get home in the morning, and figured we would head home. Having done our good deed for the day, we thought we would ride wave of good karma back to Hat Rin. How wrong we were.

Our taxi driver was waiting outside for us and as we approached he demanded that we pay him 1500 baht for the trip there and to get us back. This was absolute extortion and we told him so. The normal rate is 50 baht per person. He quickly lost interest in taking us back to Hat Rin, but said we had to pay him 1000 baht just for the ride there. He knew he had us between a rock and a hard place, but we steadfastly ignored our situation and refused to pay the stupid sum he was asking. After a few minutes of unsuccessful bartering, he got in his pickup and drove off, leaving us stranded and barefoot on the wrong side of the island. Things were not looking good for our heros.

Going back to the hospital, the nurses said there was no way to call a taxi. However, one very kind nurse offered to drive us the 3 km south to the town where we could get a taxi. Very greatful for this offer, we hopped in the back of her truck and headed towards town. At the end of the driveway, we passed our good friend who's plan to force the money out of us was being foiled. He followed us into town, but we lost him shortly.

Unfortunately, town was not quite the salvation we were looking for. After saying goodbye to the nurse, we found ourselves alone and barefoot on the dark, deserted streets of a very unfamiliar Thai town. The locals were somewhat helpful. A bunch of guys sitting around in a garage declined to drive us home, but offered us a drink. We passed and after talking to some more people and stumbling around for a while, we finally arrived at an open 7-11 (yes, they have them here too) where several taxi's awaited. With some concern for what we would hear, we asked how much it would cost to get back to Hat Rin. We were surprised and relieved when the taxi driver told us 50 baht each.

So there we were, finally saved, with the finish line in site. Given the way things had been going, the smart thing would have been to hop in that truck and get the hell out of there. But no, that would have been much too easy now wouldn't it? Instead, we descided to head into 7-11 to get a road pop and when we returned, guess who was waiting with the other taxi driver? We hopped in the back of the taxi to go, but since our good friend had arrived, our new driver would not budge.

What followed was a half hour staring match that went from annoying, to boring, to scary, and back again. We tried to bargain, tried to talk sense, tried everything, but this guy would not budge. Even the other taxi drivers were getting annoyed with him. But he said 1000 baht or you walk to Hat Rin. Now, we're not really talking about a tremendous amount of money, but after what we'd been through, with our distain for this clown, and just on principle, we were as stubborn as he was. So eventually, we hopped out and started to walk.

Looking ahead to the 3 hour stroll we had in front of us, we quickly doubled back hoping our friend would be gone and we would be able to get a ride. However, we found that all the others had left. As our friend was coming over to have another incredibly fruitful discussion, a farang (foreigner) drove by on a bike. We had a quick chat with him, passing on the condensed version of the night's events. He said that he couldn't take us to Hat Rin, but that his friend could give us a ride in the back of his pickup to the party they were destined for. The party was actually in the exact opposite direction from where we wanted to go, but at that point, any chance for escape was welcome. So off we went north towards this party. Sitting in the back of a pickup driven by a guy I didn't know from a hole in the ground, sitting next to two guys I'd known for the length of this story, and heading off to some remote beach party, all I could think was "how the hell did this happen?" But by then, I was just rolling with the punches and trying to enjoy it.

When the truck stopped, we could hear the pounding bass pouring down the hill from the party. The greasy guy from the passenger seat, with a Thai girl in his arm, infomed us that "Up there man, you can get ANYTHING you want." With a quick nod and a "Gee, that sounds nice", we booked it straight for what appeared to be a taxi sitting on the side of the road. After rousing the driver who was sleeping in a hammock in the back and arranging a reasonable fare, we hopped into one more pickup truck. We gave the guy explicit instructions that he not stop for anything, then lay down on the floor of the truck bed to keep out of sight and headed for home.

In complete contempt for the theme of the night, we actually made it back. And even more surpising, our shoes were still where we had left them! So maybe the winds of karma just take a little while to turn. At least I got a good story out of it, much better than I would have if I'd just spent the night on the beach. From Aiden's perspective, I had just gotten up with Matt and disappeared. I guess there had been several very colourful conjectures about what we might have gotten up to, but as usual, truth is stranger than fiction.

Keeping with this theme of strangeness, we met Jane and her friends today, all of whom are from Vancouver. It turns out that Jane recognized Aiden from UBC and that she had lived in residence there. Between the 5 of us, there were a lot of common aquaintances. We tried to piece together what had happened the night before. Jane's friends had similar experiences, so we think that someone slipped something into their drinks. However, they had just "broken out" of a 10 day meditation retreat 5 days early, so maybe this was the fruit of the karma created there. All very strange, all very confusing, but all good in the end. I just need to lay low for a few days and avoid my good friend .......

Alright, if anyone actually got through this, you're a better person than I. Take care and I hope all is well.

Justin

Cambodia

2003-10-27T05:54:00.000-08:00

Folks, always remember that when something sounds too good to be true, it almost definitely is. When shopping for bus tickets from Bangkok to Siem Reap (Cambodia), the travel agent gave me a price of 150 Baht (about $5 CDN) to get all the way. The Lonely Planet had suggested that it should cost about 500. Out of curiosity, I asked what it would cost to get just to the boarder (about half way). When the price came back as 300 Baht, the alarm bells went off, which I subsequently ignored as best I could.

Suprisingly, the bus actually did show up. It was a very cramped ride to the Thai / Cambodian boarder, but a total walk in the park compared to recent experiences. Just before the boarder, we stopped at a restaurant so that we could buy lunch and gain commission for the bus company and that's where the fun started. First, they told us that we had to give them our passports and 1200 Baht so that they could go get our Cambodian Visas for us. Wise to this scam and knowing that we can get it ourselves from the boarder for 1000, we declined this service. Next, they told us that there was a disagreement with the Cambodian side (obviously not their fault), so they would get us to the boarder at Poi Pet, Cambodia, but we were on our own from there.

At the boarder, the officials there even got into the spirit of things. The Visa costs $20 US or 1000 Baht, which is significantly more than the US$ price. So even though the Visa in my passport says clearly that the price was $20, we had to pay in Baht, likely so that there'd be something for these guys to put in their pocket.

Through all of this, 10 of the people who had been on the bus together had realized that we should stick together. On the Cambodian side of the boarder, we were met with a maddening throng of guys telling us that we "had to" buy a bus ticket from their company and that it would cost $12 US. We tried fruitlessly to get them to honour our tickets then to give us a better price. When this failed, we started walking away into the town. A long time later, after a good walk along the less than inviting streets of Poi Pet with 5 or six touts from the bus company hounding us, a few heated exchanges between us and them ("What part of PISS OFF do you not understand?"), an eventual breakthrough where we got to talk to the real boss, and a deal which saw us paying $5 US each (a reasonable price), we were on our way to Siem Reap.

We weren't out of the woods yet though. We had to deal with a traffic jam when one of the bridges "broke". Then, we discovered that the Cambodian effort to set a world record for density of pot holes on one highway is coming along quite nicely. Then throw on a bit of rain and nightfall just so things aren't too easy. Luckily, we were travelling with a great group of people who had a good attitude about things and we made it to Siem Reap tired but with enough energy to enjoy a couple of beers before crashing. In all, it only took us about 16 hours .....

Now, you might be wondering if all this effort was worth it. It was. Our destination of Siem Reap is not much itself, however, it is the closest town to the incredible ruins of the ancient capital of the Khmer empire, Angkor. We spent 3 days touring this deservedly famous site and I don't nearly have the words to describe it properly. From the majestic Angkor Wat to the enigmatic Bayon (featured in the movie Tomb Raider) to the beautiful dance between man and nature that is the jungle besieged Ta Prohm, my mind was constantly blown. The scale, beauty, and architectural accomplishment of Angkor is truely amazing. I've never seen anything close and I doubt I ever will, though maybe in Egypt or at Tikal. Our guidebook says that some Khmers did not believe that Angkor Wat was built by people and that it must be the work of the gods. The effect of seeing this place is to make one think they must be right.

We're now in the Cambodian capital of Phnom Pehn. Today was a truely strange, surreal, and difficult day. A bunch of us hired a van to take us around to some of the sites nearby. Last night was spent enjoying Angkor beer, red bull and vodka, and some "extrememly happy" pizza, so we were moving a little slow this morning to start with. However, our first stop did much to wake us up.

We hadn't asked to go here, but it was on the way, so our driver said we should stop by "just to watch". Some of you have heard of this place before, but for others, it will either shock or amuse. Arriving at the site, we were presented with a menu. Not so exciting you say, but this was no ordinary menu. It did contain Coke, Fanta, and bottled water just as every menu in this part of the world must. However, it also included items such as "AK47", "M16", "Antiaircraft", "Colt 45", "Shotgun", "Hand Grenade", and "Rocket Launcher". And I shit you not, everything on the menu was available. This shooting range allows you, for a heafty fee, to let your Rambo fueled fantasies go wild. Rumour has it that for an extra fee, you can trade your paper target for a live chicken. Or if you really have money to burn, get yourself a cow to dispose of with your rocket launcher. Proof that truth is much stranger than fiction. I wonder what Michael Moore would think of this?

None of us intended to take part, but the place was just so screwed up and surreal that we knew someone had to give it a try. Since I knew that Barc would never forgive me either if I missed out, I said I'd take one for the team and give it a go. I selected the russian made AK47 with its 30 shot clip mainly because it was the cheapest alternative. Taking me into a little room and suiting me up in the requisate camoflauge jacket, I was introduced to the AK47. This assault rifle has two modes, single shot and fully automatic. I shot off a few rounds in single shot mode first. The sound was deafening but having grown up around hunting rifles and having been trained on how to safely use them, the experience was probably more exciting for those looking on.

Then I switched to fully automatic mode. The shock that I felt when holding down that trigger and having 4 or 5 bullets go off stood in stark contrast to the single shot. It really brought home the destructive power of these weapons and the realization that there must be something wrong with a world that needs such things. It was definitely a rush, but I don't think I ever need to do that again. In the end, 4 other people gave it a go. Our justification is that we're actually helping by ridding Cambodia of some very unneeded ammunition. The fact that this place exists and fits right in is a sign that Cambodia is a nation with way too many guns and way to much violence in its past.

Our next stop was more direct and powerful evidence of that past. The Killing Fields of Choeung Ek. Between 1975 and 1978, 17,000 men, women, children, and infants were transported here, bludgeoned to death to save bullets, and thrown into mass graves, somtimes containing upwards of 400 bodies. Many of the mass graves lay untouched and are only visible as sunken holes in the deceptively peaceful grass of the field. A memorial stupa houses a huge set of wodden shelves holding more than 8000 skulls, arranged by sex and age.

From there, we went on to Tuol Sleng Genocide museum. Called S-21, this infamous former high school was at the center of the horrendous detention and torture inflicted by the Khmer Rouge on the people of Cambodia. Preserved much as it as it was when the Vietnamese chased Pol Pot out of Phom Penh, this museum stands as a chilling reminder of how strange, cruel, and twisted an oppresive regime can get. Along with the torture rooms which still contain the sadistic contraptions that were used there, the rooms where prisoners slept shoulder to shoulder on the floor with their legs bound with iron bars, and the solitary detention areas that stand in some of the modified classrooms, the museum also has room after room full of floor to ceiling displays holding pictures of the victims. The KR kept meticulous records of everything and these haunting pictures show countless faces of men and women, old and young, who were victims of the revolution.

All of this was obviously pretty overwhelming. Trying to fathom how something like this could happen and what kind of monsters would perpetrate it, we all walked around in thoughtful silence. I've heard the stories of this and the halocuast along with the statistics (an estimated 2 million Cambodians were killed by the Khmer Rogue), but to really see these things right before you is a whole different experience. Especially when you realize that this all happened not so long ago. It's somehow easier to confront the halocaust which occured long before I was born, in a world that I've never known. But this happened during my lifetime. The people who lived through this and even those who worked (often against their will) for the Khmer Rouge still walk the streets of Phnom Penh and still live today. This seems to make the reality even more overwhelming and gives some insight into the pain endured by the people of this country.

This has all likely come off quite badly for Cambodia, so I must say that I love the people here. Beautiful people, they have such an amazing culture, as is evidenced by the temples at Angkor. When you look at a uniquely wonderful, broad Khmer smile, you can almost see the serenity and appreciation for peace that only a people to whom peace has been so illusive can hold.

The last night before we left Siem Reap, the guy who I had hired to drive me to and from the temples invited Aiden and I for dinner at his home. This was a really special experience. When Aly asked us, we quickly said yes and he mentioned that he would have his mom buy some chicken. From this, I had a mental image of heading to the supermarket to pick up something from the meat section, as nieve as that was. So, I was a bit surprised when we arrived and found that dinner was still running around underneath the house, quite unaware of what was in store for it. In the end, the food was terrific and we had a great time even though only our two drivers could speak english. Along with a couple of chicken dishes, we were served rice that they had grown in front of their house and harvested by hand. I thought that was pretty cool.

After dinner, we were sharing a couple of beers together and chatting as best we could. We talked about life in Cambodia, how 80% of the population are farmers, most of whom do not have the luxury of education. How the country is constantly under pressure from its powerful neighbours, Vietnam and Thailand, who some think will eventually consume Cambodia completely. We also talked briefly about the civil wars and governement oppression that has plagued their past. At one point Aly shook his head and said "Other countries, they fight with each other. But Cambodians only kill other Cambodians". These people are truely amazing and they deserve much better than they've had. Hopefully the future is brighter.

Anyway, we're going to be heading down to the beach soon before slowly finding our way back into Thailand. I hope that everyone's doing well. Keep in touch.

Justin

Bangkok, round 2

2003-10-21T03:37:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe, but our time in Nepal is over. Aiden and I are in Bangkok now and it's quite a change from Kathmandu. So modern. Really a strange experience to drive on an expressway. Felt like Star Trek after Nepal. Kathmandu really feels like it's off in a backwater of the world. Especially with the APEC conference here right now, along with it's long list of world leaders, Bangkok feels very much like it's in the main stream. Luckily, we'll be heading for the backwaters again soon. Off to Cambodia tomorrow. Figured we'd be better to do that first before our habituation to the third world wears off.

We knew that there was a conference here, but not that the main meetings would fall when we were in town. As we landed, I saw a slew of jets marked with "The United States of America", one (or two) of which looked to be Air Force One, Curious George's ride. Seeing that confirmed that something was up. Then on the way to our guest house, we had to make a bunch of detours around streets which have been closed. TV coverage was constant and showed all the leaders showing up for some big bash. Haven't heard if people raised a fuss like in Vancouver, but I kind of doubt it.

Anyway, I'm excited about being in Thailand. To be in the one place where the word "food" actually means "thai food". That's like being in a place where when they say "water", they really mean "beer". I'm going to be the fattest guy on the beach for sure! :-)

As a fairwell to Nepal, we signed up for a 2 day rafting trip on the Bhote Koshi. This river is the steepest in Nepal and one of the best in the country. That's saying something for a country that is one of the best places for rafting in the world. I didn't know they had so many great rivers before, but I guess it makes sense. What do you expect when you get monsoons onto the highest mountains in the world?

As it turned out, we didn't get to run the upper part of the Bhote Koshi because the water is too high. Lots of class 5 and according to the guides, if you fell in at the top, you'd have to swim the whole way. With the water this high, there are no breaks, so we couldn't run it. This was dissapointing, but they told us that we'd get to run the Dalbera Khola instead, a nearby river with lots of whitewater (class 3+, 4, 4+) which has never been run in rafts, except for when the guides ran down it to scout things out. So we were a little disappointed, but they assured us it would still be a blast and we'd be certain to live, which was a definite plus.

The first day we spent rafting the lower Bhote Koshi, learning how to act on the river. There are some nice big rapids here, but lots of slow spots in between. We had fun in the rapids and enjoyed the soft spots as well. The scenery was amazing. Drifting down the river, through this idyllic, lush green canyon, I just wanted to keep on floating forever.

A couple of times, we got to get out of the boat too. Had lunch on the side of the river. Stopped in one spot at the end of a rapid and the guides let us jump off this huge rock into the river. A long drop into the water and then you'd get swept away by the current and have to fight your way out to the backwater. So much fun, I did it three times.

A little after that, we were enjoying a nice relaxing piece of water when our guide said we could swim through the next rapid. From where we were, it didn't look like much, so we thought "what the hell". However, as I began getting sucked into the rapid, our mistake was quite vividly made clear to us. I managed to keep my head roughly above water for the first half. The second half was spent wondering when I would get another breath, which way was up, how my head had found it's way into my ass, and "what the hell was I thinking"? Apparently everyone else had a similar experience, but we all survived. Once we'd regained our spacial orientation and got a bit of fresh air into our lungs, the smiles returned to our faces and we all admitted that it was a lot of fun. These things turned a good day into a great one. It wasn't just for fun though. It had as much to do with safety, since the company wants to make sure you have experience in the river under controlled circumstances before you end up there on accident.

After packing the boats onto the bus, we headed up to the Boarderlands Resort, where we were to spend the night. This resort 16 miles from the boarder with Tibet is owned by the rafting company. We weren't expecting much, but it turned out to be a gorgeous little oasis up in the mountains. Beautiful rock paths all around and a cool thatched roof dining hall. Right along the river. The food was impressive and the beer wasn't bad either. We had a great group of people in our boat and we had an awesome time getting to know them.

The next morning, we ran the Dalbera Khola. Because this river has never been run by a commercial group, our presence caused quite a stir. Not long after we drug our boats down too the riverside, the crowd started to gather. Before we knew it, we had a huge throng of school boys, in uniform, bouncing on the rafts, trying on our gear, watching us intently, and of course, trying to get us to give them money. All along the river people were waving to us and running to watch us. At one point, we stopped to give a couple of "swimmers" from another boat some time to rest and recover. As we looked downstream, we could see a suspension bridge hanging over the river. Looking a little closer, we noticed that it was packed, shoulder to shoulder, with people. It turns out that word of our descent got down to this village as well and the entire school emptied to hang out on the bridge and watch us! And they waited there patiently for half an hour until we went by.

After a long, cramped ride back to Kathmandu, we all grabbed showers then met up for dinner. This led to a couple of clubs, lots of beer, and a few shots of Tequila. We had a great time, but it didn't leave Aiden and I with much time to sleep. 2 hours was about enough for the booze to wear off and the pain to set in before we headed for the airport. Had an amazing time on that trip and it was a perfect way to cap our time in Nepal.

So, I hope that everyone is doing well wherever they are. Hopefully not too many of you in BC have drowned. I hear the rains are back with a vengence .....

Take it easy,

Justin

Royal Chitwan

2003-10-16T11:16:00.000-07:00

When you're 5 meters from a 2 ton wild rhino and her baby, the best place to be is 10 feet up a tree. Thankfully, that's where I found myself. Absolutely speaking, the best place to be is on the back of an elephant. But really, they're just trees that move anyway, so let's not split hairs. When my guide started throwing sticks and stones into the elephant grass to try and coax them out into the open, I began quickly to question his sanity. This was followed shortly by an assessment of my own sanity in following him and a curiosity as to how I got into this situation.

Well, this is pretty much how. After spending a little too long enjoying the crazy, horn happy, madness that is Thamel (Kathmandu's tourist district), we were very pleased to get on a bus and leave for a short while. Our destination was Royal Chitwan National Park, around 150 road km from Kathmandu. Back home, that would take at most 2 hours to cover. In this case, the road which looked like it had been through WWIII managed to slow us down a bit. Countless times, the road would narrow to a single lane of gravel, mud, and water that reminded me strongly of the roads we seek when 4x4ing back home. This coupled with the sheer drop to the river far below made for an interesting drive.

What made it even more interesting was the traffic. Unfortunately, we were not the only people on the road. We had to share it with a plethora of other busses, most of whom seemed in more of a hurry than us. At any slight possibility, an opening of mere inches in the road, they would lay on their unique and musical horns and make an attempt to pass us. The insanity of these antics, often done on blind corners, must be seen to be believed. Then there are the never ending streams of transport trucks, each nicely decorated with pictures of Shiva, nice ribbons, and more garland than the most gaudy of Christmas trees.

So finally, after 8 long, hot, and uncomfortable hours, we arrived at our destination. Luckily, we found a nice hotel by the river where we could relax and watch the sun set on the almost African scene.

The next day we headed off on a day long, 22 km walk through the park with our guide from the hotel. This began with a nerve wracking crossing of the river in just about the dodgiest canoe I've ever laid eyes on. The fact that we had roughly 2 inches of gunnel above the water on either side was made more poignant by the fact that our guide had just pointed out 2 "Marsh Mugger" crocodiles lying in the water a short distance from where we launched.

Once across the river, our guide felt it was the appropriate time to give us a bit of "information" about what we might run into. This essentially consisted of a listing of the dangerous animals in the park and what to do if we ran into them. In summary, if a rhino get's upset, climb a tree. If the tree is too big, just hide behind it. If there are no trees, run in a zig zag pattern and throw anything you can in his way. I have a feeling that this zig zag thing is akin to the story that bears can't run down hill (something my great uncle attests to being fasle, having once been chased down a hill by a bear), but at this point I was happy to accept it. If a sloth bear gets upset, we can probably annoy it enough by just screaming really loud that he will likely just leave. Our guide then explained that the only time tigers usually take interest in humans is when they are too old to catch wild game. The fact that he did not contribute a defence strategy here seemed quite important.

Tigers. The Royal Bengal Tiger to be exact. This creature is the most famous resident of the Chitwan park, though they are rarely ever seen. For the likely large proportion of you who have read "Life of Pi", you will know what this animal is like. Between 70 and 100 Richard Parkers are thought to reside in the park. I'll break the suspense now and confirm that we did not see one. However, we saw tiger tracks EVERYWHERE which was a constant reminder of whose kingdom we were in.

Shortly after leaving the river, we were walking through the 10 foot tall elephant grass when we heard something just to our right. It was not long after this that I found myself up the tree.

The rest of the walk was interesting, but much less exciting. We saw deer, monkeys, storks, and various (harmeless) snakes. Near the end of the walk, we stopped to check out the crocodile breeding centre. Jody and Thomas will be interested to know that along with crocs, they also breed turtles. I even saw some faded old signs for conferences is San Jose and Puntaranus Costa Rica. The latter was associated with Cabo Blanco, the Costa Rican national park that I vistited in April. This seemed a strange coincidence.

All told, the most dangerous (actually, more annoying that dangerous) creature that we had to deal with was the leech. Even though I had my pants tucked into my socks, one managed to find its way inside and get a good donation from me. However, I faired much better than the other guy that was with us. I'll leave it to your imagination to dream up where he might have gotten a leach. Have you had a chance to think? You're right. As bad as it could be, this guy got it. If I hadn't been there myself, I wouldn't have believed it.

The next day, we took it easier. Had an absolute blast playing with the elephants in front of our hotel. For about $2, we got to go into the water and help bathe the elephants. So much fun, climbing on their backs and getting sprayed and all that fun stuff. Later on, we went for a proper ride on the back of another elephant through the forest and got even closer to some rhinos.

Returning here today turned out to be the greatest adventure of all. The Maoists decided to burn a bus in the middle of the road which left a traffic jam that took us 3.5 hours to get through. All told, it took us 12 hours to get back here. I am now completely ready for bed.

Well, sorry for the length here. Hopefully some of it is of mild interest.

Take care,

Justin

One road ends and another begins

2003-10-07T06:57:00.000-07:00

In a thousand ages of the Gods
I could not tell thee
of the glories of the Himalaya
Just as the dew is dried
by the morning sun
So are the sins of mankind
by the sight of the Himalaya
-- Skanda Purana

We're back on the map again. Well, in Kathmandu at least. We had an absolutely amazing time and I wish I could describe it to you all. But as the poem above implies, that's just not possible. There are some things that cannot be captured on film or described in words. They just have to be experienced and I hope that you all have the chance one day. However, that won't stop me from pestering everyone with zillions of photos when I do get back ... :-)

Leaving Namche Bazzar, we slowly made our way up the trail towards Everest Base Camp. Base Camp itself is not really the most important thing, but it is the one people recognize most, so I'll stick to it. Our first few days were mired by bad weather and a few bouts with AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness). However, a few days rest and a fist full of Diamox later, I was feeling better and the clouds began to part.

One of the first of the great peaks that was revealed to us was Ama Dablam. Called by some "The Jewel of the Himalaya" and rightly so. This spectacular peak is my favorite. As we got farther along the trail, we saw Lhotse, Nuptse, Cholatse, Taboche, Thamserku and many others whose names were meaningless to me a few weeks ago and which will probably be meaningless to most of you. But now, I'll never forget them.

It wasn't until late in our trek, as we got very close to the destination viewing point of Kala Pattar that we were able to see Everest itself. In the end, we saw the mountain from mamy different angles, some better than others. (Ironically, the best view of the mountain was not from Kala Pattar, but from the next valley over, Gokyo. It came at a place called "Scoundral's Viewpoint" because it has the best view and, unlike Kala Pattar and Gokyo Ri, you don't have to climb 2 hours straight up to get there.) Seeing the mountain was the fulfillment of a childhoon dream for me. I can remember hours spent pouring over the "Everest" and "Mountain" entires in the World Book Encyclopedia that resided in our family room. Then running my finger across a globe, looking for that spot between Tibet and Nepal where the great mountain lay. So now, being able to see it myself, was truely amazing.

Seeing the mountain, and being in that environment, also brought home the realities of how mankind fits, or doesn't fit, amongst these peaks. We passed several "Everest Graveyards" with countless chortens paying tribute to those, Sherpa and foreign, who have not returned from the mountain. I also finished reading "Into Thin Air" and "The Climb" (somewhat conflicting accounts of the diasterous 1996 Everest season) as we approached the mountain, so seeing the memorials to Scott Fischer and Rob Hall were especially striking. On the way into Base Camp itself, we came across the wreckage of a helicopter crash that occured last season. All of this a quite sobering reminder that when you play up here, you play for keeps.

But we were very safe and were never really in any danger. Covered a lot of ground though and I'm happy to be sitting on my ass for while. Took tons of pictures and will torture you with them as soon as I'm back. Met a lot of great people up here too, which was fun.

A couple of random observations:

Sherpas. For all of their many and varied skills, creating fire is not one of them. This was made apparent to us on several occasions, most notably in Tengboche where the Sherpa running the lodge descided to stuff the fireplace so full that there wasn't breath of air in the thing, pour a bit of kerosene on the top, and drop a match in. As one would expect, the mass of wood and yak dung acted as an excellent whick to ensure that the kerosene burned right off the top. He seemed to enjoy this. We Canadians (and couple of Kiwis) finally had to take over and prove that there actually was one thing we could do better ....

Working in the Khunde hospital (the medical centre for the region, established by Sir Ed and manned by both Canadian and New Zealand doctors) is tantamount to being royalty up in the Khumbu (Everest Region). We got to know one of these doctors, Jean, and everywhere we went, the proverbial red carpet was rolled out. We began calling her "Jean, Queen of the Khumbu."

Things are more difficult at altitude. This seems like common sense, but it hits home much harder when climbing five stairs to use the washroom leaves you so out of breath, you need ten minutes and a cup of tea to recover.

One thing that isn't more difficult at altitude is urination. This natural process goes absolutely sideways as the body tries to adapt to the thinning atmosphere. I am hoping beyond hope that this night I will be able to limit my nocturnal trips to the toilet so that they can be counted on one hand ....

HAT. Many have heard of High Altitude Sickness, but our friend Simon coined a new medical term to describe the declining cognitive abilities that come with the barometric pressure (and therfore oxygen level) dropping to 50% of what it is at sea level. HAT, High Altitude Thickness. If it takes four people half an hour to remember the name of a movie that everyone has watched, you know you've got it.

Anyway, sorry for rambling on so long. Just trying to perpetuate my excuse for sitting down and doing nothing for a while. We're going to be hanging around Kathmandu for a while and probably heading off to Pokara, a nearby city (that is, only a 12 hour bus ride), for a while. I hope that everything is well wherever you are.

Justin

P.S. Feel free to write me back and let me know how you all are doing. In Kathmandu, the internet access is cheap and fast, so I'll probably even be able to respond!

Hello from Namche Bazzar (3450m above sea level)

2003-09-22T04:45:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm going to have to keep this one short. In Kathmandu, internet costs 20 rupees (about 45 cents) an hour. Here, it's 20 rupees per minute.

It was looking pretty doubtful that we would get out on our second day. We had one false alarm where we were acutally in the plane with the engines started when they pulled the plug. We then spent half an hour just sittiing out on the tarmac (not quite the security system we have back home) before being shuttled back to the terminal. We had given up all hope and were paking our bags when a guy came running into the terminal saying we were going to give it another try. Within 15 minutes we had shuttled out to the plane, loaded up, and were heading down the runway.

And what a flight it was. Just incredible, words can't describe it. Had to go through a couple of passes where the mountains rose above us on both sides and we didn't have a whole lot of clearance below. Then, we turned north and headed up the valley towards our destination a Lukla. For those who have never heard about this airstrip, it begs a description. As we're flying up this very steep, very tall valley, I was able to sneak a peak out the front of the plane. There, half way up the valley side, looking as if it was literally hanging off the side of the mountain, was a tiny little airstrip. You can actually see most of the airstrip because it's not flat. It's angled upwards quite steeply which allows the planes to stop before the runway runs out. Good thing too, because after that it's just mountain. It was quite a ride, but actually pretty smooth. We were still quite happy to be on the ground. And Mom, don't worry it's not really that dangerous. The airstrip has been in use for something like 30 years and has never had a major accident.

So after that, we began our trek. The first day was spent actually descending to our first stop at Phakding. Rained on us the whole way, but the view was spectactular anyway. No Himalayas though, too much cloud. The next day, we continued our journey up the lush valley. We eventually crossed a crazy suspension bridge and began the nasty slog up to Namche Bazzar. The altitude really began to make itself fealt and by the end, I was having a hard time going at a snails pace.

But we made it and we're staying at a great lodge. The lodge owner is friends with the guy who made the Everest IMAX film, so we all piled into his bedroom last night to watch it on tape. So cool to be watching that film when the mountian is so close.

Hiked up to the Everest View Hotel today. This hotel is perched at about 3850m with views of Everest, Nupste, Lhotse (3rd highest peak in the world), and Ama Dablam. Unfortunately, due to the clouds, we couldn't see any of them. However, on the way up, the clouds did part and we were able to see from the bottom of the river valley we climbed up (2000m elevation) to the top of a nearby, but lower peak (roughly 6000m). I've never seen something so big. The sheer size of this thing was unimaginable. Just mind blowing. I can't imagine what the big ones will look like!

One thing that has become very clear to me so far is that maps are 2 dimensional. Always rember that.

We're off tomorrow and will definitely be beyond contact for a while. Hopefully we get at least one clear day .....

Take care and talk to you soon,

Justin

Namaste

2003-09-18T05:11:00.000-07:00

Well, we made it to Nepal alright. A little lighter in the wallet after being relieved of my traveller's cheques in Bangkok, but that's the beauty of American Express. Don't leave home without it.

First off, Jamie, I owe you several pints at Elwoods when we get back. Lhakpa (your Sherpa friend) has been unbelieveably helpful. Don't know what we would have done without her. She picked us up at the airport after our slightly bumping ride into Kathmandu (no mountain views unfortuantely). Getting through immigration was a not so quick introduction to the beauties of rampant bureaucracy. Jumped between so many lines, my head was spinning. Once we finally got through, it was great to see my name of a piece of paper on the other side of the road.

It actually wasn't Lhakpa who picked us up, since she doesn't have the appropriate pass to get into the airport area. Military is a bit tight around here right now. We met her at the bottom of the hill. I was surprised to find out that she's a she and she was surprised to find that I'm a he. At least we're even.

From here we headed into Kathmandu. I cannot begin to describe the madness that we saw. Narrow roads, filled solid with cars, vans, bikes, motorbikes, people, and the odd cow. Streets too narrow for one car and they're packing with cars going either direction. Each one trying to push through with the sheer sound of their horns. And these narrow roads go up and down, back and forth, resembling a hiking train more than a road. Completely random. And all along there are people. TONS of people. People dressed in everything from rags, to traditional Hindu garb, to very western clothes. All walking or sitting or trying to share the road with us. Just crazy.

There really is no analog in the western world. Imagine the Sun Run on Georgia street, but in the middle of rush hour traffic. On Halloween. Just after an earthquake has reduced the surrounding buildings to near rubble and narrowed the street to one lane. That's as close as I can get, but it's still not it. Something quite distinct to the Indian subcontinent I imagine.

Once we finally got to our hotel, we checked in then went to get our plane tickets for Lukla. Another adventure. After that, we grabbed dinner (dal batt) and headed back to the guesthouse. Had to be in by 9 p.m. since a curfew has been imposed from 9 til 4. Also found that today was the first day of a general strike, so nothing's open. Again, Lhakpa saved us, since she was able to come help us find sleeping bags and such that we need for our trekk. Spent the rest of the day touring around Durbar Square with a guy we met at the guesthouse.

So, we're all set for our trek now. Fly out to Lukla tomorrow for 21 days in the Khumu (Everest region). Can't wait to get going up there, but not sure if I'll be able to carry my back pack. I knew I should have run more before I left (and drank less in Japan). Oh well, I guess I'll just have to get Aiden to carry my stuff .... :-)

OK, I'd better go. Time's running out on my access here. This internet access is actually just as good as Japan. The world is shrinking ...

Take care of yourselves,

Justin

The Sidewalk Ends .....

2003-09-16T00:18:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, I'm sitting in a Starbucks at Narita Airport, surfing the web. It appears that their plans for world domination are almost complete. Our trip to Japan has been really great. Short, but great. Had a wicked time with the cousins on Kyushu. Recieved general disbelief everytime we explained to people that all 5 of us are cousins, all in Japan at the same time. Had many comments as well on how lucky we are to have such a close family. Which we are.

Anyway, we'll be jumping on a plane to Bangkok soon. Things have been pretty easy so far, Japan is set up quite well for the Western traveller. This country is also almost completely free of crime, very safe. Sort of a self policing society. We'll have to keep track of our stuff a little more closely after this. But we're also looking forward to a change of pace and a little more challenge. Luckily, Jamie hooked us up with a Sherpa in Kathmandu who is going to pick us up at the airport and help us arrange our flights in Nepal. Should make things a bit easier .....

Another long day for us. Up at 5:00 am to catch our first train at 6:30. 8 and a half hours later, we got here to the airport. Plane takes off around 6:00 p.m. and it's a 6 and 1/2 hour flight to Thailand. One night in Bangkok and we fly out for Nepal. Just in time to rest for a bit then head up into the mountains. Somehow this all seemed much easier when we first planned it ....

Anyway, I'd better get going. Don't want to miss the flight. I hope that all is well with everyone else.

Take care,

Justin

P.S. Another thing about this country, they're obsessed with Disney. If I have to hear one more flute version of the Aladdin theme, I'm going to lose it. Thai pop will be a welcome change .....

Onsen

2003-09-14T06:31:00.000-07:00

Second installment in what will hopefully prove to be a long and annoying series of completely impersonal, mass e-mails. Sitting on tatami mats in my cousin Dereck's place enjoying an Ashahi beer. Have spent the last couple of days with my cousins and we've had a blast. Really great to get out here into the more rural part of Japan (yes they do have trees) and get to see things a little more close up. Vast difference between the big cities and this.

One of the amazing thing we were able to experience here was the Onsen. An Onsen is a Japanese spa / comunal bath deal, fed by natural hot springs. This place was incredible. Can't begin to describe the place or the unbelievable effect is has on your physical and mental state. Went in feeling tired and still slightly jet lagged. Walked out feeling like a million bucks. Liked it so much that we went this morning as well and we're going again tomorrow. Aiden, Dereck, and I are now making plans to bring the concept to North America, making a tidy profit. If not, it has been added to the plans for my dream home. Dorian, you would love it.

And we needed to be revived a bit this morning. Some of Dereck's friends came up with him to Suzanne's last night and we had a bit of a bash. Dereck introduced us to Shochu. This drink, the pride of Kyushu, is essentially sweet potatoe whisky. The oldest woman in the world lives in Kagoshima (where we are tonight) and claims her long life is associated with daily doeses of Shochu. Depending on who you talk to, this stuff can do just about anything. Including get a person highly intoxicated.

So, after many rounds of Shochu, we descided that when in Rome, we must do as the Romans. What does that mean? What else, Kareoke. It's a bit different here though, as you rent a room for your group and don't have to deal with the crowds or prying eyes and ears of others. One hour turned into two and believe me, Japan has never heard such a racket. We had a killer time and screamed ourselves silly. Great time, but my throat hurts and I'm sure a few other people's ears feel the same.

Funny experience too when we walked into the Kareoke joint. Ran into this group of young Japanese kids that were completely inebreated. Just trashed. If you didn't know, Japanese people drink. A lot. And these kids were no exception. I won't give details, but one thing we've discovered is that Japanese people seem quite obsessed with breasts. It's actually the girls, not the guys who are most obsessed. One in our crowd was subjected to a random groaping, by another girl .....

We had a great time at Kareoke, but there was a bit of a somberness at one point. We were looking through the list of songs and I picked one out to add to the queue. Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. As I punch it in, one in our group notices and lets me know that Johnny is no longer with us. Came as quite a shock as it was unexpected and I hadn't heard yet. I've been listening to Johnny a lot lately so this really sucks. Once June went, I didn't think he'd be around long. Still sucks though. A great man and a great musician. Right up until the end, he was making great, valid music. So we gave tribute to the man in Black as best we could, given the state we were in.

Anyway, I'd better get going. We take off for Bangkok on Tuesday, then on to Nepal. I imagine e-mail will come less frequently after that, so not sure when I'll get back to you. I hope all is well with all of you.

Take care,

Justin

P.S. Aunty Muriel, we lit a candle last night when we were having dinner.

Konnichiwa

2003-09-11T08:03:00.000-07:00

Somehow I neglected to think about the logistics of flying over this way until it was too late. Due to the time difference, we flew out of Vancouver at around 1 pm on Sept 9th and arrived in Tokyo at around 3 pm on Sept. 10th. Following a ride on the fabled Shinkansen (bullet train) and a few other short lines, we arrrived at Ryan's near Kyoto at around 10 pm. By the time we got to sleep, it was after midnight. Doesn't seem that late, but we'd been up for over 26 hours by that point. In that state, a bed of tatami mats fealt like one of those wickedly expensive pillow top beds from Sleep Country. The ones you always check out when you're in there but can't afford to buy. Slept like a baby. We spent today wandering aimlessly around Kyoto taking it all in. Good time, but tired again. Heading for Kyushu tomorrow, rushing to get there before the typhoon hits. You'd think we'd be heading in the opposite direction, but somehow this seems logical ....

Impressions of Japan so far

- Japanese people are ridiculously helpful. We were on a train last night with a pretty good idea of where we were going. However, we must have looked cofused becasue an older Japanese man asked us where we were going. We told him the station and talked to him a bit, telling him where we are from. Pretty soon, he was talking to the person next to him. This conversation quickly grew until about 6 people were involved. It continued until they concluded that we should get off at the next stop, switch to an express train, and take it 3 stops fruther. The man even got off to escort us. Too much.

- There must be a plot by the Japanese to fight global warming using air conditioners. Everyone blasts these in stores and offices and leaves the doors wide open. Walking down the street, you get hit by these rivers of cold air pouring out of every door. Gotta love efficiency

- Huge contrast everywhere. Hot outside, cold inside. Moving around on the train, you'll see a perfect picture of rural life. A worker walking down a dirt path in the middle of a rice patty. But when you widen your view, you see that this is jammed between the rail line, a bunch of modern houses, and line of stores.

- Go big or go home. Everything here is new and huge. The Kyoto train station is stupidly big. Looks like something out of Star Wars. On top of this gigantic structure, there's a skyway that you can use to walk along the top, 13 stories above the bottom level (below which there are more levels). I was sure that Darth Vader was going to jump out at any minute.

- Too many people

Anyway, I'll quit boring you now and go to sleep. I hope everything is well with you all. Feel free to write back and let me know how things are going. I'd love to hear. Just can't promise I'll write back. :-)

Take it easy,

Justin