Down A Block

Howdy Denver!

2012-01-20T20:34:00.000-08:00

Nothing's better than a spontaneous trip at the last minute. My sister's down here for a few weeks working and invited me to join her for the weekend so I hopped on a plane yesterday afternoon and landed in lovely Denver last evening.

First things first, this is the friendliest city I've ever been to. I was here about 17 years ago and that was the overwhelming impression - the people all smile and are nice and pleasant and all around lovely. Nothing's changed, it's still the same that way. I think it's partly because they make everything around you pleasant. Like as soon as you land at the airport, which is huge, you have to get on a train to take you to baggage claim. The doors to the train open to a lovely little ditty, last time it was Yankee Doodle, I didn't recognize it this time. Then as the doors are closing a nice male voice comes on a politely tells you where you're off to. Then you get to the parkade and instead of the floors being called P1 or P2, they are the Cowboy Boot level, or in our case, the Horseshoe Level. Then we get in the rental and turn it on, and happy little tune goes ding ding ding. How can you not smile with all that cheer around you?

Today sister was at work so I took myself off to check out the things I missed in downtown last time I was here. Some chatty cathy male started talking to me about half way in and now I know his birthday is Feb.14, his mom's is Feb.21, he's originally from California, lived here for 12 years, and wants to move to Missouri next year because it's quieter and there are more there. I started my tour cruising up 16th Street Mall and decided to duck into the Federal Reserve for a free tour. The security guards, who were so pleasant and cheery and not menacing at all, laughed when they heard I was from Canada and then asked me politely to go through the scanner and then told me to have a great day. I was disappointed at how small the museum was but the upside was I got to "make" my own money and then left with a bag of shredded cash which every tourist is entitled to. It's worth about $165 but it wasn't accepted at Starbucks :-(

Then I headed south to go to the Mint but no way would they let you in without a reservation so I had to scratch that from my Capitalism tour. I managed to get in to the State Capital just in time for the almost last tour and enjoyed checking walking around and hearing about how heavy all the chandeliers are in the Supreme Court, the House of Representatives Hall, and the Senate. They weigh a lot.

A bit of shopping later and it was back to the burbs where we are staying while we're here. Spent a nice evening having dinner and then going to see "Mission Impossible". Du-umb. Tomorrow is as yet unplanned but I'm sure there will be more happy people and cheery little tunes all around.

The End

2011-07-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

After spending all of Friday getting over the previous night's dulce de leche, I got out of bed to shower and go with the family to Gibraltar on the southern tip of Spain. Once again lots has been written about it so I'm not going to rehash anything here. But here's what I do have to say about it.

Gibraltar still belongs to the British so you have to bring your passport when you cross the border at the airport. We parked on the Spanish side and walked over and to get to the main town, you actually get to walk or drive across the airport's lone runway. When a plane is ready to land or take off they shut off the runway similar to a raised bridge deck or train crossing and wait for the plane to do its thing before opening everything up again. We were up in the siege tunnels when a plane took off and could clearly hear the loudspeakers as the security personnel was basically yelling into it, telling pedestrians to clear the runway.

We spent the early afternoon touring the rock, including the caves, a brief stop to hang with the Barbery apes, and then a walk through the siege tunnels on the northern end. Gibraltar is far bigger than I imagined and it creeps me out a little to think it's still a small bit of land belonging to the British with a very small toehold on the continent. Obviously they've hung on to it tenaciously but still, what if Spain decided to close access to the ports or shut down the overland route?

While we were having lunch in a British pub, Mom saw a wedding party enter the neighbouring church. Later on as Dad and Andrew were exploring the rock by cable car, Mom and I sat in the church to keep cool while we waited. We ended up talking to a fellow who turned out to be the florist who handles all the weddings in that church. That day there were 3 weddings and when there are multiple weddings on the same day, the couples end up sharing the floral arrangements. This is fine when they agree on the same thing, like all white bouquets for example, but when they have different ideas it obviously creates more work for him. Like the first bride of the day who wanted red and white arrangements - he got to work earlier than usual to stick the red flowers in. As soon as that wedding was over and all the guests had left, he went back into the church to take the red flowers out so the next party's requirements of all white were met. Once he lined the church pews with calla lilies, and as he was talking to the bishop or whoever, someone came in and walked off with all the lilies. Klassy.

Fortunately leaving Gibraltar was far easier than leaving Granada so we were able to get back to Fuengirola with enough time to head to the beach for supper. The beaches there are beautiful, more than 4km long with soft sand. The whole strip reminded me a bit of Miami without the art deco, and once again demonstrated how humans love to be out in the sun with its rays on bare skin. Some more bare than others, and unfortunately it's never as great as you think it's going to be.

The next morning I flew with the parents back to Barcelona for one more day before heading home, while Andrew left for two days in Seville. We spent a lovely day cruising the Old City again and finished the day and vacation with a trip to Montjuic, site of the Olympic stadium. At the bottom of the mountain, close to Placa Espanya, are the fountains and even if the music selection is a bit cheesy, the displays with lights are quite fantastic. Much more elaborate and bigger than the Bellagio in Vegas (did I really just write that???)

And after almost 24 hours of travel time, I'm writing this last post from the comfort of my own computer. About to crash after spending two great weeks of touristing, vacationing, catching up with old friends, and taking in a whole new country, I'm glad we went and the whole trip was worth every second.

That's all for this trip, hopefully the next adventure is not too far off.

Lost in Translation

2011-07-21T05:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we went to Granada to check out the Alhambra, a 13th, 14th, and 15th structure from the Nasrid dynasty. I won´t give details here, everything that could be said has been said so I don´t need to try and add to anything. Rather, this post is about how being a North American has taken away certain coping mechanisms.

We are so used to cities and towns being laid out on a grid. This makes it very easy to find your way around, especially if one way streets are limited. Here, however, as in most European cities, it´s rare to find things laid out in such a methodical way. Cities grew up around the centres so their maps resemble the spokes of a wheel or a mishmash of streets. This is fine if you´re from one of them but can be confusing if you´re not. Take Granada for example, not only were the streets wrapped around like snakes, none of them had street signs which meant we couldn´t even get a point of reference once down in the Old City. Or was it the New City, or the Moorish quarter? Our GPS unit sucks big time, it´s more confused than we are I think. What I found disconcerting about this, apart from being lost and 32 degrees out and everyone´s tired from a long day, is that all of a sudden it felt like my coping mechanisms had gone the way of the street signs. I sat there feeling like an idiot for not being able to find my way out of there.

We tried asking people where we were on the map but here again we hit road blocks. Some said map was too small, which I doubt to be true since we ended up being pretty close to where we meant to go in the end. What´s probably more true is that people don´t read maps. I tried with two ladies, they had no clue where to find us on the map, and this became more apparent the more people you asked. I find that odd, that an entire group of citizens can´t find where they are on a map. Maybe this is more due to the fact they are from the area and perhaps they find their way around by points of reference. Once again I´m led to believe that North Americans have standardized life so much that if we´re met with a challenge like this, we don´t cope as well as others might.

And the other thing I find strange, and kind of hate myself for saying it, is how surprised I am by the lack of English speaking. When I lived in The Netherlands, or visited other European countries, even in the Arab speaking countries, it was something of a badge of honour for at least the younger generation to be able to string a few sentences together. They saw it as survival in the sense that their countries are generally small, who´s going to learn their language, or that the world is developing with English as the common language, it might be necessary to adapt if you´re going to keep up. Here, you are hard pressed to find anyone of any generation you can have a basic conversation with. Maybe in Barcelona it´s a bit easier, but even there it was difficult. And these are international places, you see and hear so many languages, to not pick up the basics is hard to understand. My sense is that they´ve dug their heels in and will not learn English. Maybe it´s because Spain is a large country, relatively speaking, and doesn´t move much outside it´s borders. But I wonder if that is part of their current economic problem, that they see themselves in isolation and don´t understand they are part of the larger world stage. It´s a surprise when other countries start telling you how you have to change your rules. I wouldn´t like it either.

Anyway, back to yesterday, our rental car is gutless as evidenced by our inability to leave our car park. There was no way that thing was going to make it up the steep incline in one go and in the end it required a team effort, Dad reefing on the e-break and Andrew revving the engine in the hopes it would propel us forward. It probably took 3 minutes of starting, revving, and stalling before we finally got to the top at which point the power in the garage went out and we couldn´t give our ticket to exit. Once again it was a Griswold experience. I´m not sure if I liked Granada in the end, it was reminding me of those creepy towns in American movies where a family inadvertently gets stuck in a town full of inbreds and everytime they try to leave they arrive at the same intersection which sends them back to town centre. Alhambra was great, the rest, well, I don´t need to go back.

Today is for recovering, sleeping in the sun and rotisseriíng my body for a full tan. And I´m going to ponder this regimented life we lead back home and figure out if there´s a way I can relax a little more when I get back.

Long Way Down

2011-07-18T11:09:00.000-07:00

The weekend in Copenhagen was great, not so much the city, can´t say I´m a fan, but the time with everyone from the trip was exactly what I think all of us needed. When you are not with the people you share experiences with, it comes out in a torrent when you finally do meet again, and it turned into 2 days of reminiscing and reminding each other what we went through. There was a lot of catching up, drinking, dancing, and just sitting around and relaxing. The rest of it I´ll leave in my memory banks to be restored only when with the Culture Vultures. But I love them all and have no problem posting that.

Since I was leaving at 4am from Adam and Anne´s place outside Copenhagen, I decided to stay up until the cab came which meant it was the long haul from 9am the morning before. I got back to the airport around 5am and was greeted by that overwhelming stench of sausage. The flight back to Barcelona was fine and I was able to pull myself together enough to get cleaned up and head into the city for the day. I went to La Padrera to check out another of Gaudi´s feats, and ended up having to press rewind on my audio guide 1000 times as I kept blanking out and not understanding what was going on. After that I managed to down a coffee and resurrect a little, but wandering around Barcelona with no sleep for 36 hours was difficult and I´m a little surprised I wasn´t mugged as I must have looked totally vulnerable and out of it. I wanted to sleep at the airport on the way to Malaga but that didn´t happen, so by the time I landed I was on the edge and ready to rip someone´s head off. I looked for my dad or brother and when I didn´t see them, figured I had not communicated that they were supposed to get me. I had no phone number and didn´t know the address of where we were staying. I found the internet but the f"·$%ing @ key was nowhere to be found and I was cursing at the computer when I realized there was a line of sympathetic people behind me. Finally I stomped back to arrivals and saw Dad and Andrew there. Turns out people aren´t supposed to come from outside to the arrivals so they were waiting there but I never saw them. Then they start telling me about their trip from hell with the ill functioning Tom Tom GPS unit which is geared for North America and not Malaga. Took them ages to get to the apartment and I guess by the time they had to come back to get me they were at the end of their ropes. So the Block family was more like the Griswolds last night and only a long sleep could save us all.

But, we managed to get to the apartment and I´ll describe it this way although it will probably make people roll their eyes if it doesn´t give them the totally wrong impression. I have to explain that the happiest place in the world for me is definitely the lineup to the Pirates of the Caribbean in Disneyland. I love the night ´sky´, the fireflies and the slightly humid, sticky air that surrounds you before you get on the boat. Well that´s what I thought of when we got out of the car and entered the complex. The lights from the other apartments were lending a warm glow to the courtyard, the sky was dark but still luminescent, the crickets were chirping, and the air was sticky and warm. Mom was sitting on our deck waiting for us and it was just like coming home after being away a long time. I´m very grateful for this part of the trip, not just because we are staying in a great place, but because it´s where we´ll chill out and take it easy for a bit. We´ve got a few places to visit in Andalucia, but we´re all agreed that hanging by the pool, going for walks, and eating meals on a patio is what we want to do for now. And that´s fine because the end will come too quick and we´ll have to head back to our busy lives in Canada. May as well enjoy the sun and relaxation while we have it, and it´s pretty great just to be together for this time as well.

More to come when we can pry ourselves away from the water.

Copenhagen

2011-07-14T14:30:00.001-07:00

I've been to a lot of airports in the world but I have to say it was a first to deplane in Copenhagen and be greeted with the overwhelming smell of cooked sausage. Lots of it. Wattup?

The airport is not far from the center so when my bag was finally the last one off the conveyor belt it only took about 20 minutes to get to Central Station, and then five more to get to my hotel. Which apparently is in the middle of the red light district. I was just looking for cheap hotels when I booked. Really.

Jim was already here, Arnout was stuck in Amsterdam because of a massive rain storm, so Jim and I headed out for dinner, quick and definitely not cheap. What is up with the price of this country? I've pretty much blown a hundred dollars in less than 3 hours and all I've got to show for it was a burger and 'small' beer. And the new Outlandish cd isn't even out, what now????

When I was growing up my parents bought a set of encyclopedias called World of Child Craft or something like that. In the 'D' book was a picture of Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen, 'D'enmark and I was so taken with the photo that all my life since I've dreamt of seeing it. After dinner Jim and I paid to get in and so I was taking care of one of my childhood dreams, 34 years after first seeing the picture. It is lovely, very touristy and a bit kitschy, but it totally lived up to my expectations. It's not very big but still manages to stuff in about 36 different types of restaurants and a bunch of amusement park rides. We ended up seeing the ballet pantomime about a harlequin and the love of his life, after which we went back to the hotel to see if Arnout had checked in, and he was sitting there waiting for us.

This part of the trip will be low on tourist activities as I'm here for a reunion with old friends, and judging by the 3 hours we just sat in a bar in Tivoli, it'll be long on conversation and catching up. It was 9 years ago that we all met to drive from Istanbul to Delhi on a big blue truck with red and yellow stripes. We were all together for 3 months, some went on to Nepal and another few months of travel. It was a significant time in my life and one that has largely disappeared from conversation as no one back home was on the trip. I'm sometimes saddened by the fact that the biggest experiences in my life have been shared with people not from home, but with others from different parts of the world. The upshot is that now I finally get to relive that time with the people who experienced it all together - it's as if a part of my life that's been sleeping for so long has finally woken up and gets to talk about it with the people who know it best.

So now it's off to bed to prepare for two days of partying. I will take my camera to the reunion because something makes me think there needs to be a record of the next 48 hours which may very well be forgotten or fogged over. After all, it can't be a reunion if we don't reenact some of the shenanigans that went on the first time...

Fruits and Jewels

2011-07-13T12:26:00.000-07:00

Today was a slow start, we eventually started moving around 11am when we headed to Mercat de Boqueria, a food lover´s paradise. Mostly fruits, vegetables, meats and cheeses, there were a few pastry stands and places where you could buy spices. The fruits were a sight for sore eyes. So far most of the food here has consisted of sandwiches loaded with meat and cheese which is fine if you like it but not so much if you´ve been told you´re allergic to half of it. My favourite sandwich name is the ´bikini´ and I haven´t bothered to find out why they call it that, if I knew I might not laugh so much. There was every imaginable fruit under the sun in this market, and every stand was packed with colourful fresh juices on ice. I downed a strawberry and then chased it with a blackberry banana. There were also little cartons of fruit salad and it all tasted like it was grown next door, no California hothouse strawberries to be found.

Next we made our way over to the Palau de la Musica Catalan which is consistently described as ´jewel box´and ´garden´. It´s a music hall built on the grounds of what used to be a cloister so the buildings around it filter out much of the natural light. To compensate for this the hall was constructed using as much glass as possible and the overhead light is let in through what is called ´a drop of light´, a giant, intricate, stained glass skylight which drops into the auditorium. The acoustics were lovely as demonstrated by the organist playing ´Jesu, Joy of Man´s Desiring,´ in a short, impromptu concert. The rest of the building is magnificent, a little more ornate than my personal taste goes for, but you can certainly appreciate what they accomplished in creating it.

Dad went back to the apartment to wait for my brother to show up while I accompanied Mom on an emergency trip to the dentist. My dentist office does not look like this one. We entered a cavernous, modern and very sleek reception area, and were then directed to the waiting room. We sat on leather sofas which rested on marble floors in front of high-def TVs and a huge, marble fireplace. Two hours later we were on our way and reunited with Andrew who had just arrived from the airport.

We were going to go up Montjuic this evening to see the fountains on display after sunset, but baby was ti-erd, so we opted to show Andrew La Sagrada Familia and then settle in for an early evening. The problem with doing these whirlwind trips is that you knock yourself out trying to get everything ready before you get to the airport, and then you force your body to adjust to a whole different time zone while walking miles in the heat to see everything you can see. It´s a pretty great place, but I now know why I hate being a tourist and why living in a city and seeing things at a slower pace is so much more desirable.

Tomorrow will be an early morning as I have to get to the airport and make my little detour up to Copenhagen for a few days. The group I traveled with in 2002 is having a reunion and it timed just right so that I could make it. I haven´t seen most of these people in almost 9 years so it will be the first time we get to reminisce as a group and I am so looking forward to hearing how people interpreted the experience. It´ll also be a nice break from the heat as well so perhaps I won´t look like an oil slick for a few days.

More from Denmark...

Garbage and Romance

2011-07-12T10:28:00.001-07:00

First, I have to say once again how lovely the drivers are here. Really, I cannot get over how friendly they are and not one of them has tried to kill me yet. Best drivers ever.

I know that Barcelona is lovely, much has been said about it in other blogs and travelogs, but what hasn´t been mentioned much is the garbage situation. I am impressed by the recycling here and am inspired to write about it. On almost every corner there are 4 to 6 giant bins and each has pictures on it to indicate what you can put inside. There´s a bin for composting, another one for DIAPERS, others for paper, plastic, and wood. Watching people use them all convinces me that we can easily learn how to do this back in North America, and yet we´re still waiting for composting bins in urban areas of Vancouver. I haven´t seen much, if any, trash lying around the streets so it would seem that people here take pride in their surroundings and do a pretty good job of keeping it all clean. Hats off to Barcelona for that. But there´s another side of garbage, the human side, that´s also quite apparent. Today we wandered into the Gothic Quarter, lovely medieval streets, lots of pretty window boxes, laundry lines flapping overhead, and the overwhelming pungent odour of raw sewage. It smells like a few hundred years of excrement in some areas and it doesn´t disappear after just a few seconds. It kind of hovers around your head and follows you for a few metres until you can gulp in fresh air. Turn another corner and the smell hits you head on again. I love the architecture but it´s a little hard to give it my full concentration when I´m checking my shoes all the time to make sure I didn´t step in someone´s crap and am carting it around with me. However, this is no reason to not visit the neighbourhood and if you can get by the stench you will be rewarded with great sites, pretty shops, quaint cafes, and the 13th century cathedral in the middle which houses some pretty big truckloads of gold. We spent probably 45 minutes in there capped off with a trip to the roof and a great view of the city.

Afterward we made our way to La Rambla and strolled down to the waterfront and over to the beaches. Beautiful white sand and lots of people out there to enjoy it. Eventually we caught the subway home, bought dinner at a takeaway place and ate a delicious meal on the rooftop of our apartment building, looking out to the Mediterranean and all points in between.

This brings me to my second topic of the title of this blog, romance. It´s alive and thriving here and not just because the Spanish are passionate people as evidenced in their colourful discussions, but because everything about the life here lends itself to being romantic. Picture wrought iron balconies everywhere, flower shops where the blooms are outside and scenting the surrounding area, wine, good food, and a language that just sounds sensuous. Can you see the young guy outside on the street, holding a flower and singing to his girlfriend on one of the balconies? I haven´t see that yet, but I can certainly imagine it happening. I can´t see it in Vancouver where it´s overcast most of the time and 90% of the balconies are 6 inches wide and covered in green glass. And for some reason young couples making out on the street here don´t gross me out as much as they do at home. I hate to say it but I actually find it kind of cute. And as we crossed the street to get to our apartment tonight, we passed a bride and groom decked out in wedding finery, eating lime popsicles and walking to wherever they were going next. But the best romantic moment of the day was in the subway station. As I got out of the train and walked the platform to the exit, I passed an elderly couple saying goodbye. She was in the train sitting by the window, he was on the platform. They put their hands together through the glass, holding them there and smiling at each other until the train pulled away. No words, just looks and years of understanding between them. The ultimate romance.

Barcelona First Days

2011-07-11T07:50:00.000-07:00

Mom and Dad have a timeshare that is fairly international and they know if they want us to join them, they need to pick a destination my brother and I are interested in. This time they picked Spain so on Saturday morning I flew out ahead of everyone else for a two week vacation. It started well enough on the leg from Vancouver to Toronto, but then took a slight header south due to the Bradley Cooper double header to Barcelona. I took sleeping pills to knock me out for the 7 hour flight, but each time I woke up to the living nightmare of his blue eyes staring at me either from the A-Team (so very very bad) or Limitless (I can only imagine how awful that one was). Nevertheless we arrived without further incident and I managed to make my way to our accommodations for the next week.

We are staying in an apartment on Carrer de Valencia and Passeig St. Joan and it is AWESOME. Wrought iron balconies and a direct view of the spires from La Sagrada Familia which is only about a fifteen minute walk away. Mom and Dad showed up a few hours later and we went for dinner and then a walk to keep ourselves awake til 9pm. Because it was Sunday the city was fairly dead and I was looking forward to seeing what happens when everyone goes back to work.

This morning we headed to La Sagrada Familia so the parents could jump on a city bus tour while I´d go in the basilica to check it out. First impressions of a ´busy´Monday morning - very quiet and relaxed compared to home, and no joke, these are some of the nicest drivers I´ve ever had the pleasure of observing. Even when you almost get clocked stepping out in front of a moving vehicle, they don´t even honk or yell at you. They just do that Catalonian wave thing and as soon as you´re safe on the sidewalk they´re on their way. I´ve heard one horn since being here and have not seen one driver gun for a pedestrian or cyclist. And speaking of cycling, it is so nice to see parents with young kids riding around the city. Note to Vancouverites who hate the bike lanes, you´re not very nice.

La Sagrada Familia is wonderful and I didn´t think I´d ever want to spend that much time in a church, even on a Sunday morning. What they´ve done with the light in there is beautiful and serene, and despite the hoards of tourists it´s all very calming and easy to meditate if that´s what you want to do. I loved the choir lofts, rooms for 1000 singers, and the 2000 kg bronze statue of Christ outside hovering above the entrance as He ascends to heaven is also magnificent. I hate using adjectives like awesome, cool, etc., but whatever ones used here are only appropriate for the awe that place inspires.

Then I headed to Park Guell to see where Gaudi lived and to view some of the architecture in the Park. Once again very lovely, as you step out of the trees colourful mosaic roofs and crosses appear and you can wander down the meandering paths to pass through covered arches where musicians are playing. My favourite was Yerko who was playing a kora, an instrument from western Africa. Since I just finished reading ¨The Book of Negroes¨I´m drawn to anything that comes out of the book, and luckily the kora is one of them.

I spent about an hour and a half wandering through the gardens to make the most of the mountainous hike to get up there, and was struck by how many of the street vendors are immigrants from different areas. Normally in other European places the street hawkers are from one area of Africa but this time there were Afghanis beside Pakistanis beside Ivory Coast beside Korea. It was a most diverse group of people and I wish I had time to sit down and get all their stories.

It was very warm today which inspired some guys to wander around with their shirts off and I had the (mis)fortune of observing some very odd body hair patterns. It was all natural as far as I could tell, I´ve never seen hair grow like that on a stomach. And this was the first time some of them had seen the sun so the white mosaic tiles were not the only things reflecting light in the gardens. All in all it was a lovely first day in the city and a pleasant way to start the vacation. Barcelona is lovely and I completely get why people decide to stay here forever after arriving.

And now a word about gladiator sandals. I hate them.

Canada Day at the Bandshell

2011-07-08T16:45:00.000-07:00

I know I said I was moving addresses but just haven’t gotten around to it. And since I had something to write about I decided to stick it here instead of waiting for a new address to happen.

This past Canada Day my friend Sara and I got tickets to see the Soulstice concert which headlined SWV, Ginuwine, and Tony! Toni! Toné! I was psyched, I certainly love TTT and also enjoy a song or two by SWV. Ginuwine I always found highly offensive and disgusting but was hoping he might have grown up a bit in the past 15 years. The concert was held at the Orpheum, a rather classy joint with rotten acoustics for an R&B spectacular. I saw K’naan there last year and it was a good thing I knew the lyrics to his songs because from where we were sitting it was pretty muffled. We sat in about the same area this time, note to self.

The evening started off when a couple sat beside us, totally excited to see the show. They had bets on who would open and close and which songs would start the sets. Shortly before the show started there was a minor commotion behind us when someone in the drunk group puked on their seat and the floor. The ushers came after the row had left and put up stylish canvas ropes to prevent others from walking in the vomit. Then SWV came out. I keep forgetting as the years move on quickly that time has passed so it was kind of a shock to see three middle-aged ladies rocking it out in 90’s attire. The first one wore shiny spandex tights, the second wore black sequined tights, the third wore black sequined culottes, 3 inch heels and a Michael Jackson military jacket. Halfway through the second song she kicked off her shoes and told us all she felt at home which is why she would perform the rest of the show barefoot. Mmmm hmmm. By this point the concert was reminding me of Canada Day celebrations at the bandshell in Fort George Park back home in P.G. You know those small town fetes where every cultural group has a cute group of kids dancing and there’s a lot of heart and soul driving it? The people who run sound and stage manage usually have big hearts too, just not a lot of organizational skill or ability to get rid of feedback fast. The roadies were running around the stage trying to replace mics while the ladies sang, pull cords, and do other visible things. I guess it was good the music was canned (sorry to the dj who I think might have been trying just a little) because if a band was up there it would have added a whole other mess to the mix. More on that later. Couldn’t understand much of what they were singing but the middle one sure had pipes. They were done in about 30 minutes.

They left, there was a 20 minute break, and then another dj hopped up on the stage followed by two guys wearing white cotton golf pant things, t-shirts and lovely navy blue pullover vests. Ginuwine strutted out. Wearing all white. Mother of mercy. He started singing and even though I couldn’t understand a word he sounded pretty good. You need to know that in the 90’s Ginuwine loved loved loved his penis and his abs. Fifteen years later his abs might not be the same since we didn’t catch even the tiniest glimpse of them, however, whatever love he used to have for them was transferred to his penis so we got a whole lotta crotch grabbing, him holding the mic in front of his manhood, and the lovely ladies in the front row make golden effort grabs for his pony. Meanwhile, the roadies were still running around the stage trying to get mics to work and hide cables and do other visible things. Music was canned again (sorry to the dj who I think might have been trying just a little, but really, can we stop with the “Let me hear you make some mutha f@#$ing noise” already?) Mercifully that set ended about 30 minutes in as well and now we just had to wait for TTT.

I was getting a little excited again, there were actual instruments on stage with monitors indicating the sound might possibly get better. A dj who had been hovering in the back like a lost roadie hopped up to the turntables and actually did some good stuff. T1 marched onto stage with his guitar, wearing a jungle print jacket over hot green pants and military boots. Then T2 came on wearing a sharp grey suit with orange shirt and smart white shoes. T3, otherwise known as Raphael Saadiq, was absent, probably because he has a highly successful career writing new songs and doesn’t need a comeback tour to cover last month’s expenses. Sound wasn’t better, roadies were even more visible, one had to run over to the bassist to turn his monitor around so it was facing him and not the drummer. T1 one had to squat down to fix his foot pedal with his hand, mics canned out. Again. T1’s 15 year old son had the most beautiful fro and rocked it out on the keyboards, but I had to wonder if his father wasn’t a little concerned that the lovely ladies up front were making a grab for the onstage jailbait. Fortunately the music for Feels Good was awesome even if we couldn’t understand the words and then terribly for us, seven ladies were pulled on stage to dance. Maybe two of them could groove, but the rest rocked back and forth while holding onto their purses and continually running their hands through their hair all sexy like, cuz that’s like, hot, right? The nice couple beside us left at this point after saying “This got weird.” Let’s Get Down ended the show with Ginuwine reappearing in track sweats and more crotch grabbing. I’ll bet what you got down there is super nice, eh Ginuwine? Thankfully it all ended finally. But is it normal for a group to announce the after party to the whole audience? Because they did. Twice. I hope someone showed up since it sounded like TTT was nervous nobody would.

This was probably the worst concert I’ve ever been to, including Billy Idol when he was so drunk we thought he’d wander off the stage and never come back. But just like Billy Idol, it was a fun time. And in case you don’t know who any of the bands were and are wondering what you missed, here’s a classic line from TTT’s Let’s Get Down:

Who is your friend?
She don’t look nice.
But I bet she will,
Later on tonight…

Moving & New Beginnings

2011-01-13T13:08:00.000-08:00

I'm not moving homes or towns. Yet. But I will be moving my blog to a different location in the days ahead. Blogspot is nice but it's time to grow up and do my own thing which means moving out of the domain to something a little more me.

Plus, as much as I've loved writing here, sporadically when at home and more often when away, it's time for a new beginning. I write more when I'm out of the country simply because I find my travels infinitely more exciting than living day to day in my life here. I know life is what you make it and if I suffer from boredom it's partly my fault. I'm not seeing the excitement in my surroundings because I'm not looking for it. I know days don't need to be filled with new languages, guns, pollution and whatever else for things to be exciting, but that stuff is easier to peg as interesting because it is different.

My plan when I move blog homes is to change my perception of what's interesting and worthy of being written down in the public sphere. It's not just about traveling to places overseas that most people don't go to, although those stories will always be great fun to write about. It's also about the cool things going on in my own backyard, and when you live across from a public park in a big city, you've got a natural starting point.

For whatever this blog was worth, I hope the 6 of you who read it liked it and will follow me to my new home when I find out where that is. Housewarming party to follow.

It's Cooking, and I am a Well-Done Steak

2009-05-24T04:55:00.000-07:00

Got to Bikaner yesterday after the hottest bus ride ever. Imagine sitting in a small box with 20 hairdryers continuously aimed at you, mostly on a low setting but on occasion cranking up to high, for 7 hours straight. What a relief to finally get off the bus, driven by unhappy mad man who must have been a terrible driver judging by the other females on the bus giving him what for, and the motorcyclist and autorickshaw drivers pulling up to his window after he tried squishing them to get more room. I guess I don't blame him, it is a crap job with crap pay, but still, killing people isn't the way to go either.

Checked into a clean hotel, showered up and spent the evening wandering around booking onward bus tickets and getting goosed by 7 year old boys who got THIS CLOSE to having their ears boxed. Got up early this morning to go to the rat temple. I'll say this, it wasn't as big a deal as I thought, 2000-4000 rats in one place at one time. And when they run across your feet, because that is what they do, they don't stop and they move pretty quickly so you barely even notice it. It was a temple however, which meant removing shoes, which also meant I have never wanted to clean my feet so badly afterwards.

The rest of Bikaner was a nice surprise considering I was only checking in for the rats. Spent the rest of the day at a beautiful fort around the corner from the hotel, and then headed off to Asia's only camel breeding farm where I saw 150 camels coming in from the fields for feeding time. It's not mating season right now but my guide showed me a video of two camels getting down. While my neighbours upstairs are loud, these camels beat them hands down, although I suppose if the apartment folk weighed 750 kg each they might be that loud as well. Not attractive but highly entertaining.

I'll catch the 9pm bus to Delhi tonight, the last of my long-haul journeys before two long flights back to Canada starting Tuesday night. It's been a great trip and surprisingly I have not been annoyed by any of it. Well, that's not entirely true. Salman Rushdie's 'Midnight's Children' spoiled the 6 hours I tried reading it before I finally gave up in misery. What a grind, like everything needs a symbol, and then repeat that symbol OVER and OVER and OVER. This is the written tradition, Mr. Rushdie, not the oral, we don't need things retold TEN TIMES to get the point.

Apart from that, it's been great. Will probably need another two years to recharge before doing something like this again, I do love my creature comforts. Thanks to everyone who checked in and dropped lines along the way.

That's all, she wrote...

I'm In Heaven

2009-05-22T07:19:00.001-07:00

Heaven = airconditioning, TV, soft bed, and clean bathroom

After the grossness of Hotel Maria in Kolkata and getting Delhi Belly there and having to spend way too much time in that disgusting place, I am now in the most beautiful place on earth. And it's pretty swank by western standards as well, all this for $15/night.

I totally princessed out for this part of the journey, flying from Kolkata to Jaipur in 2 hours instead of a train ride of about 32. This hotel was listed under budget, still costs more than anywhere else I've stayed but what a difference it makes to a traveler's psyche, especially one who lay in state for most of yesterday because she dared to eat the chowmein at the street stand. I knew as soon as I did it that my illness-free run was over and the runs were beginning. It's always a weight-loss opportunity though, so no complaints.

Still love Kolkata and found even more things to like about it. There's no way I can accurately describe the feeling of the city, but for all the people and traffic and beggars and size, it's remarkably laid-back and easy going. The people seem happier there - maybe I'm just imagining that - but it might have something to do with all the wonderful green space. I walked to the Victoria Memorial through a field inhabited by herds of goats, cricket players, horses, trees and green grass everywhere. It's one of the largest city parks in the world.

The highlight had to have been my sunset walk over the Howrah Bridge, the largest cantilever bridge in the world. Packed packed packed with pedestrians on either side sandwiching in about 8 lanes of solid traffic. As I walked over the river, I noticed ferries running back and forth between the banks, so I made my way down to a stand and got a ticket to who knows where. It happened to be close enough to the giant park again, so I was able to stroll leisurely back to my dungeon.

James and I found a great Swiss patisserie, "Flurys", and had the most amazing almond macaroon and rumball. Top notch bakery and still cheap by anybody's standards. But I ended up eating most of my meals at the Blue Sky cafe where the waiter flirted with everybody and gave great service. That is until I tried the street stand and then there was to be no more eating for about 36 hours afterwards.

The difference between outside the airport and inside was night and day. I grabbed a cab to the airport and asked my cabbie tons of questions on the drive over. He rents his cab, has no home, sleeps in the backseat when no one else is parked in there. All the cabbies in the neighbourhood I was in were like this, poor, skinny, and rotten teeth from chewing paan all day. Then I get to the airport where the middle class people are. They queue up, they have nice clothes and all their teeth, and a large percentage of them are overweight. The airport was one of the more efficient ones I've been in, but maybe it was just the sheer luxury of it all. And the best part, I didn't have to wrestle anyone for my seat.

Tomorrow the luxury ends when I have to take a local bus to Bikaner, a 7 1/2 hour ride without a/c in the desert. Speaking of desert, a sand storm has swept in tonight and during the ride back from the Monkey Temple (yes that's monkey temple #2, 2000 monkeys milling about waiting for peanuts to be thrown at them) a brown haze descended on the city. Reminds me of when I was living in Damascus and I'm glad I don't have to clean up after it.

That's it from Jaipur and probably it til I get back to Delhi for my last day there. Bring on the rats...

Poverty

2009-05-20T02:33:00.000-07:00

You can't really write about India without writing about the poverty. I haven't written anything so far, not because I don't see it, but because I'm trying to process it all.

In the Paharganj in Delhi where I first stayed, it's so visible it's painful. I call a lot of the kids 'spiders' because of the way they move around on their misshapen limbs, or what's left of them. Everywhere you go there little kids accost you with hands outstretched asking for food. "Please madam, one rupee". In Varanasi there were many as well but I don't think I noticed them as much, possibly because when I was out I was usually in a rickshaw or down on the ghats. Barely any in Darjeeling, except for one man I noticed on more than one occasion. He was probably somewhere in his forties, bent and crooked legs, missing his left arm. He was fairly quiet as far as the begging goes, but I noticed him especially because of his turqoise eyes, the exact same colour as Lake Louise in the Rockies. I must have passed him two times up on the ridge towards the zoo and back, but the last day I was shoveling some Dairy Milk into my mouth when I passed him again with his hand outstretched. It felt absolutely cruel to walk by someone in need while I have more than he could ever want, so I walked back and gave him the rest of my chocolate to be rewarded with the most beautiful smile. You wish you could do more, but what?

Down here in Kolkata it's bad once again. Yesterday I passed a boy who might have had polio, his legs twisted out at weird angles behind him while he scooted past on his arms. Another young woman lying in the gutter dragging her useless legs behind her. Then in the evening I saw a man who had no legs below his knees. We passed him on the way to the book store as he shuffled along on his arms, trying to keep his scarf from falling down and getting in his way. Later on we passed him again, sitting with his back to a bank building, and when he saw me he reached out both hands pleading for money or food while his stumps wagged in the air. That one was the worst, and again, what can you do?

Then there are the ones that make me chuckle for the sheer weirdness of it all. Just around the corner from the hotel there is a woman who I don't think can walk at all. She's missing most of the teeth on the right side of her mouth and the ones on the left are huge and fit poorly in her mouth. She reminds me of those mechanical witches at halloween or santas at Christmas, the ones that stand there and wave back and forth. She's the same, she lies on her left side and with her right hand joins her fingers lightly together at the tips and bring them towards her mouth and then back about 6 inches before doing it all over again, again and again in rhythm. The one time I didn't see her doing that was when it looked like her hand had stalled in front of her mouth while her left hand tapped her begging dish, almost like her system had shorted out.

It's hard to see this and I understand why people don't want to know about it. At least in Vancouver most of the worst of the worse is contained in the East Side so if you don't want to see it you just avoid the neighbourhood. But here it's everywhere and it doesn't take long to start blocking it out in one way or another. Once in awhile it breaks through again and you're overcome with a feeling of total hopelessness. A bunch of us were discussing it one night, we can't fix what the country's government won't fix. I guess the best you can do is behave responsibly in your own country and try to right the wrongs there. It's frustrating and it's sad. How on earth could you ever repair something like this?

Kolkata - First Impressions

2009-05-19T02:49:00.000-07:00

We arrived this morning at the Sealdah train station just after 7am and the first thing we saw leaving the station - hundreds of yellow ambassador taxis. Even that early in the morning the city is moving; taxis, human rickshaws, beggars, fruit & vegetables sellers, and everything else.

We left Darjeeling at about 3pm yesterday for another hair-raising trip back down the mountain this time. Views were spectacular and we could feel the temperature rising as we descended. We stopped for about 15 minutes when we reached the plains and the most beautiful scents were coming out of the bamboo forest. We had one slight traffic delay when the driver pulled over so we could look at the wild elephant in the forest. Then all of a sudden all the jeeps behind us started backing up super fast, and we did the same. Apparently the elephant was about to cross the road (no joke intended) and no one likes to be in the way in case it charges. Two minutes later it was all clear and when we started moving again we could see it moving off on the other side of the road. I think I might have a better understanding now of why the German tourists get all excited about black bears on the sides of the highways.

Ten hour train ride was uneventful if it rocked a little. This morning I started talking to the gentleman on the bunk across from me and he turned out to be the director of the Darjeeling zoo, or "joo" as they say here since there is no sound for "z". At first I was wondering what he meant by "Did you visit the joo in Darjeeling?" Ummmmm, yes? Then Yes! when I figured out it was an honest question and not a semitic one.

Checked into the hotel, more like a prison block actually, complete with bars on the windows. But it has a shower and you can't ask for much more for $5/night. After I showered I went for a longish walk to the Victoria Memorial which was well worth the price of admission, 15 times the local price for foreign nationals. And as it was hot hot hot and sunny sunny, my farmer's tan is now gone and replaced with a purse strap across my back tan. Tomorrow I'm off to the Kali temple since it sounds rather grotesque and interesting, and apparently they sacrifice goats in the morning so we may just try to catch that. Don't know what else I'll do but there is tons to see and I think I love this city so there won't be any boredom for the next three days.

Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe One

2009-05-17T07:13:00.000-07:00

That is the name of the tea we tried yesterday. Orange Pekoe is easier. Today was the last full day up on the Darjeeling stair master. After 4 1/2 days I now have calves of thunder. Apparently it's not uncommon to get charlie horses in the middle of the night and last night I woke up a few times needing to pop extra strength advil to help stop the burning. All of us have also developed a strange scratchy throat with cold-like symptoms. I think it's from the altitude and breathing in jeep fumes through hairless nasal passages.

It's a good time to leave, not because it's bad but because of the following:

1. always leave on a high. Darjeeling is awesome - the time here was worth every minute of the journey up.

2. saw one of the girls I met puking in a gutter today. The shopkeeper who's store was on the gutter came out to say "Vomiting is bad, it's not healthy." Couldn't tell if he felt sorry for her or was telling her that puking in public is unhygenic. She could have used some of my VomitStop tablets. I like that they call it what it is here, what does Gravol tell you it does? Whenever you see the white people puking in public it's time to move on.

3. feels like I'm cheating my trip up here. It's not conventional India, it's rather modern and not nearly as dirty or hot as down below. It's great but I need the grit again.

4. really looking forward to Kolkata now that I've had my break. Want to see the masses of people again and check out the sites down there.

5. I have a farmer's tan from wearing t-shirts. Those have never been attractive, need to even it out for a new look.

The one sad thing about leaving tomorrow is that me and my two little brothers will be separated. The guys will head north to Sikkim and then onto Nepal from there. They've been great fun to travel with, very entertaining and they certainly made the journey up here almost bearable. From here to Kolkata I'll be with James which is nice since he's been there before so I won't feel so totally out of it.

One more quick walk/hike tomorrow to find some monasteries and then sucking back the rest of my VomitStops for the 3 hour jeep ride back down to the plains to catch the train.

That's it from Darjeeling, one of the finest places on the planet.

Lions & Tigers & Bears, Oh My!

2009-05-16T06:19:00.000-07:00

So we didn't see any lions, but at the Darjeeling zoo yesterday we did get face-to-face with snow leopards, cloud leopards, a siberian tiger, red pandas, yaks, tibetan wolves, and the himalayan black bear. It's a pretty decent zoo and they seem to have done a good job of protecting and repopulating some endangered species. The walk to the zoo was a pleasant 20 minute stroll out of the main town centre. The Himalayan Mountaineering museum was included in the entrance so we also managed to check out the salutes to the pioneers of the big climbs out this way. Tenzing Norgay is buried a short way away and that is pretty cool.

Today I headed up to observatory hill in the morning to see if I could see Kanchenjunga from the lookout, I think I saw it but not sure as I have no idea what it looks like. That used to be considered the tallest peak in the Himalayas until one day someone saw Everest peaking out from behind. Afterwards I met up with the guys again and another British fellow we met a few days ago to go for an afternoon trek to the Happy Valley Tea Plantation for a tea demonstration. I don't drink tea and I find the cult following kind of weird, but the tea we got to sample was pretty impressive. With the workers being paid about 50 rupees a day, about $1USD, it makes you appreciate what you're drinking. Another 30 minute walk after that to the Botanical Gardens where we saw a wisteria planted in 1878. It's aged well and I'm hoping the pictures I snapped do justice to the massiveness of this thing.

Just picked up my beautiful new sari, gorgeous handwork and embroidery all along, got the top tailored so I think once I'm cleaned up and actually find something to wear it to it'll look pretty good.

Today was the counting of the election votes. Darjeeling is a BJP stronghold since the BJP promised it could separate. Congress won by what I guess is a landslide but the BJP did win a seat here in Darjeeling. There's a big military presence here tonight, men in green patrolling the streets and there's a chance things will get a little hairy before the night is out but at this point all is calm. There were firecrackers being set off in the streets this afternoon but that seems to be the extent of it. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Darjeeling

2009-05-13T23:21:00.001-07:00

This is heaven on earth. Lush beautiful land all around, the heavy scent of tea thick in the air. It's about 30 degrees cooler here than Varanasi and beggars don't seem to exist. Everyone is so nice, very few seem to be on the take.

We found our hotel after searching for about a 1/2 hour. This is a hill town which means everything is up or down, nothing straight across, and lugging a backpack around is a bit rough. I felt better though when the young boys who attached themselves to us temporarily were huffing and puffing way more than me and they were only carrying jackets.

The hotel is pretty simple, no running water so everything is done by bucket. This morning when I woke up the owner already had water boiling on the stove so I was able to take a hot bucket shower. It sounds primitive but when you're washing the pollution and a day's worth of gross travel out of your hair, it's absolute bliss. It's not just the hotel that does this, it seems to be much of Darjeeling. Walked to the outer deck to see the view, breathtaking with the mountains all around, flags flying everywhere in the city.

The views are spectacular and tomorrow morning I'll be up at 4am to catch the sunrise and a view of the mountains. I'm fairly certain this place will be the highlight of the trip.

The Not So Nice Train Ride

2009-05-13T23:06:00.000-07:00

Apparently I booked my first train ride for princess package. Not so this time, I booked on the cheap sleeper car to save money thinking it would be ok after everyone I talked to who rode it. What train did they ride????? Here's the journey in time blocks:

7:20pm leave hotel by autorickshaw for 1 hour 10 minute ride to train station. a vehicle that fits 12 nationals barely fits 3 north americans comfortably. driver nice, roads not.

10pm train leaves station 1/2 hour late. this is good considering this particular train is usually 5-6 hours late. we get on our car after running up and down the length of the platform (looooong), finally find ours marked in chalk, and find a family of 6 sleeping on our beds. i feel like a cheap white person until dave loses it and manages to get all 6 of them out with no hassle.

1am some loud obnoxious person is walking through our car, filled with maybe 200 people, clapping and yelling. it's a transvestite, might be pretty but very annoying. when she gets to my bed she fully wakes me with a slap to my head. i slap her back, she slaps me back, one more whack to her head and she goes away.

on the bunk below me dave is trying to sleep despite the family of three who are snuggling up next to his bum. he beats them off. andrew is in the bunk above and apparently unaware of the chaos below.

6am the chai, food, watch, electric-wallahs have arrived and go up and down the car repeatedly yelling their respective ware "CHAI CHAI CHAI CHAI" "PAKORA PAKORA PAKORA"

8am can't sleep anymore, a teeny tiny family of 10 jams into our area. the kids heads are shaved, i think it's because of head lice judging by how the cute little boy keeps picking at imaginary bugs on his head, placing them in his palm and smashing them with a satisfied "pow".

9am we make friends with the nice 15 year old sleeping across from us. two others shared his bunk unbeknownst to him.

the rest of the time we try to sleep, look out the windows, avoid the bathroom which can no longer be done due to 3 litres of water the day before. a squat toilet on a moving train is interesting. i'm tired and cranky until i'm walking back to my bunk when i discover you can hang out the side of the train and catch the views from there. all of a sudden traveling is fun again.

4pm have finally arrived at next major point of departure and catch a jeep, $2 for a 3 hour hair raising ride into the mountains, through tea plantations up up up on those roads you hear about in the news when buses plunge hundreds of feet, killing all inside. it's the best part of the trip in my opinion

7:20pm arrive in Darjeeling and despite being tired and smelling overripe, I am 100% in love with this place.

Varanasi

2009-05-12T00:45:00.000-07:00

It took 12 hours to get here by overnight train but the ride went fast and was very pleasant. This was my first time on an Indian train and I was expecting a lot less, at least some livestock in the cabins. No chickens although I was excited to hear a rooster until I realized it was the ring tone of someone's phone.

I ended up at a really nice guest house 30 seconds walk from the Ganges River and it's been an awesome stay for the past 2 1/2 days. Yesterday morning started with a 5:30am 2 hour boat ride on the Ganges to watch the morning rituals. It's a nice way to see what's happening since you can catch everything from that vantage point plus it means you can avoid the crush of humans on the ghats (banks) of the river. Lots of boats at that time filled predominantly with curious white people. Saw one energetic fellow yelling into his cell phone as people bathed in the river and people prayed to the gods.

Afterward I took a tour of five temples, something of a feat since I find temples as interesting as museums, ie., not at all. The monkey temple was cool though and I spent more time in the grounds watching the monkeys wrestle and bite each other. One was playing with what looked like some unfortunate woman's hair piece. He actually put it on his head and stroked it in that way that women do. Then another monkey came, ripped it off the other's head which resulted in a tug-of-war, tearing the hair in half. Everyone got some, everyone was happy. No cameras allowed so I couldn't get any pictures which was a shame because some of those shots would have made for great storytelling.

Then went to the Muslim quarter to a silk factory and ended up buying a bedspread, BRIGHT PINK. Yes oh yes it is lovely.

Got back to the hotel, met a great older couple who produced a bottle of Southern Comfort and loaded up the glasses. This was the way in which we wandered down to the ghats to watch the evening rituals, a little tipsy and very happy. Met the caretaker of a burning ghat so sat with him for a bit while he explained what was happening below. A family had just arrived with the body and was starting the ritual performance. The sun had gone down so when they lit the pyre it was beautiful in the evening light.

After that went to a classical Indian music concert and promptly fell asleep, bad form since there were only about 10 people there including the musicians. The tabla player woke me up with "MADAM, ONE MORE SONG!!" Afterwards he came to ask what I liked so of course I said he was very good, the result being that in my delirious state I was suckered into tabla lessons this afternoon. We'll see how that goes, I'm not doing any cooking classes so this may be a good substitute.

Tonight I get on the train for a 15 hour ride north to Darjeeling. I met two young guys from Montreal at the tourism booth in the train station once we arrived in Varanasi and we're all heading up at the same time so we'll go together.

No more sleep problems with sleeping pills in hand, G.I. is regular for the first time in two years, and have a rash on my stomach the exact size and shape of my money belt. All in all life is pretty sweet right now.

Welcome to Delhi

2009-05-08T04:58:00.000-07:00

For the first time in 8 months I am finally warm. We exited the airport around 11pm last night into 35 degree weather, not too hot, just right. The flight was uneventful although all the airport employees were wearing masks, strange to see after only watching it on the news. The hotel sent me a pickup and I wasn't too sure I was going to get there after I jumped in the back seat and the front seat immediately fell off into my lap. But 5 minutes later everything was fixed and the taxi stopped stalling.

Everyone says India is overwhelming and takes a few days to get used to the craziness of it all, but last night the roads were pretty empty and the neighbourhood I'm staying in was quiet when we arrived. Apparently cows are banned from most of the city but I guess they didn't get the news here as there seems to be one cow for every two tourists. The traffic is the same as the Middle East which means you go when there's a gap in the vehicles and hustle before you get pegged. It's loud and dirty and it takes a bit of steel to not feel rotten for ignoring every person who wants to talk to you or not handing money to every street kid who sticks his hand in your face. So far I've had two tag-alongs, one guy who was quite nice but disappeared after a cop pulled him aside, and the other was a young girl whose face was badly scarred from burns.

I'm exhausted after two days of traveling to get here and maybe 6 hours sleep through all of it. Spent a few hours walking around after finishing my first order of business which was to fix my glasses which I sat on on the plane and broke. Within 20 minutes I'd found a shop and got new frames, can you do that at home? May leave for Varanasi tomorrow if I can pull myself together and brave the train station. I saw enough of Delhi last time and don't need to do more. Why does 40 degrees feel ok?

Off Again

2009-05-03T18:58:00.000-07:00

It's been almost two years since I went off to travel the way I like which is usually to a place that looks completely unlike the one I grew up in and might be a little dirty. This time it's India for a quick three weeks. Unlike some tourists who pack it all in and see everything there is to see I've opted to check out a few cities and sites and take my time getting from one place to the next. Partly because I like to get the feeling of a place rather than just the flavour, but mostly because I'm tired of having a too-packed schedule which doesn't allow for any deviation from the intended path. I have no itinerary other than landing in Delhi with two nights booked at a budget hotel sans a/c. After that it's up to whatever the train/bus schedules permit.

Last time I was there in 2002 I was finishing up my overland trip and we were getting around by the truck we'd traveled in from Turkey. I was always with Jim and Arnout while we explored new places so unlike other travelers' stories, I got around fairly easily and was never harassed by men. That will probably be different this time as I'm off solo and don't have a personal vehicle at my disposal. I've been getting mentally prepped for this, checking out what traveling sites have to say and by far the biggest thing to be concerned about is how many times the locals try to take the tourists for a ride on the swindle system. For example, every guide book says when you've booked your hotel make sure you tell your taxi/rickshaw driver where you're going and don't let him convince you the hotel's been burnt down or it's full or that it doesn't exist or that there's a riot in the neighbourhood and it's unsafe.

When I was there before I had booked a plane ticket at a shop in one neighbourhood and had to back a week later to pick it up. I asked the first rickshaw driver how much the trip would be and he quoted me 10 times the price, adding "There's a riot in that neighbourhood today." Remembering what I'd learned from what everyone warned me about, I went to the next rickshaw driver who charged the same price and used the same excuse. By the third driver I was getting ticked off and told him not to rip me off. He said he'd take me up to the neighbourhood but not into it as it was unsafe. When we got there, there actually was a riot in progress and it did look a little messy.

Whatever happens I'm looking forward to it all and will update my blog whenever I get the chance. As a wise friend did a few years ago, I'll use the correspondence to gauge my tolerance and happiness levels inspired by my travels. It's not the easiest country to travel in and it tests the patience of the most saintly person, but I'm sure there will be many more highs than lows.

First stop is Amsterdam for 20 hours and dinner with friends, and then it's off to Delhi and the 45 degree heat that awaits...

Immigration

2008-09-03T17:02:00.000-07:00

I flew down to San Francisco last week to start my holidays. I try to give myself a little extra time to make it through immigration these days since the Americans take great interest in my Syrian visa. And sure enough, they liked it so much this time I got taken aside for questioning. I got my passport stamped by unhappy guy, who was actually flagging everybody who went through judging by the number of people going to Room 2. They all passed through in 30 seconds, I got to stay for questioning by two officials for about 10 minutes. Here's the abbreviated version:

them: Syria, whoa!! what for?
me: learn the language
them: why? why arabic? why not here?
me: can't learn it here, easier and cheaper there. syria's nice, has sun, nice people, no other tourists.
them: study at a mosque?
me: no, damascus university.
them: that a private place?
me: no, it's a government funded university.
them: what's it called again?
me: damascus university, think of dam u if it helps you to remember it.
them: blah blah blah would you go back? afraid of being kidnapped???
me: ??? blah blah blah
them and me: blah blah inane blah blah stereotypes blah blah blah for 8 more minutes
them: k, stay here.

guy #1 takes my passport behind some door with one-way glass. comes back 10 minutes later.

guy #1: do you know why we questioned you?
me: syria's a hostile country?
guy #1: no no no (laughing) we were afraid you converted to islam or something.

yes, oh yes they can say that. not sure what the fear is though. maybe converting to islam automatically makes someone a bad guy? nice to see we don't easily give up erroneous pre-conceived notions.

for the record, entry into canada took less than a minute. immigration guy looked at my picture, asked me how my trip was, and waved me through. o canada...

Billy Idol Weird

2008-07-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

This past weekend as a family event, my brother, sister, and I went to check out Billy Idol live in concert. “Live” might be a misnomer since Billy wasn’t very lively, more stoned and confused. The concert started off in a promising manner with the stage going dark and the sounds of lions and tigers and general jungle atmosphere rocking the theatre while the band came on stage. Lights up and… Billy wanders onto the stage looking like he’s not quite sure where he is. He lifts his head for a moment to look around and then treats us all to a big yawn. We three siblings look at each other to confirm that we saw the same thing, yep, and we’re off to the stoner races.

I can’t even remember what song he started with but he manages to sing it in key and with most of the lyrics intact while looking at the floor and tapping his chest in time to the beat. A little karaoke-ish, no?, and I want to yell, “It’s ok, Billy. They’re your songs, you can own them.” Song’s over, he mumbles something incoherent and we move on to White Wedding which he also performs moderately well. A few more songs, then everyone but the fanastic Steve Stevens (dude, what is that on your head??) leaves the stage for a break while Steve-O brings down the house with his excellent guitar riffage. Billy takes a hit of something backstage cuz when he comes back on he’s animated for all of 20 seconds.

We’re thinking the road crew must panic a little with the worry that Billy might wander off somewhere and disappear so it looks like they’ve given him tasks while he’s up on stage not singing. Like a roadie brings him an acoustic guitar which he expertly swings onto his neck before playing… nothing. Just standing there for most of the song with fingers on frets but no movement. Then he lifts his hands like he’s going to play and… more of nothing. End of song and two small chords later he passes the guitar back to the roadie. Then another rocking song with yet another fantastic solo by S.S., more time to kill for Billy. So he wanders back to the drum kit and picks up a drum stick, positioning himself behind the snare like he’s ready to kill it. Nope. Instead he tap tap taps it like he’s testing a steak on the barbecue for doneness and then pauses long enough to spin the cymbal around and stare at it in it’s rotating glory. A bit more tapping, spinning, tapping, he’s done. But there’s still more soloing going on and Billy needs purpose so one of the roadies has put a stack of white discs at the front of the drum kit. Billy picks them up and stares at them for a good minute or two before whipping them out into the audience. Fan appreciation moment over.

Not that I’m complaining. As we discussed afterwards, we all felt like we’d gotten our money’s worth although perhaps not for the show we were expecting. Nobody yells as well as Billy and Rebel Yell was the price of the ticket alone. Plus he has THE SEXIEST SPEAKING VOICE of anyone on the planet and his stomach still looks rock hard. Yes, he took off his shirt. As we exited the theatre I saw a few star-gazing, feminine mulleted variety ladies holding those white discs. Up close I discovered they were not Frisbees but white Corette paper plates with Billy’s autograph. Klasssss-eh.

Rebel YELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!

Mmmmmm!

2008-04-15T14:15:00.000-07:00

Have you ever taken a bite of something and it was sooooo good that you all of a sudden remembered what food was supposed to taste like? I'm eating a salad I made at home last night and the grape tomatoes are almost like a spiritual experience. Wait, I'm taking another bite... perfect!! Just one of those little moments that makes life worth living.

Qu'est-ce que le fuq?!!!

2008-04-07T13:51:00.001-07:00

Things I wish I hadn't seen in order of sightings:

1. dog in hoodie
2. dog in puffy
3. gold lame (lam-eh) jacket in shop window, FOR A GUY
4. dog in anorak

Note to people who follow trends: there IS a reason we all laugh at MC Hammer

Hooray for Hookahs!!!

2008-04-01T14:35:00.000-07:00

An exciting thing happened in the city of Vancouver on March 31, 2008. Hookah houses were made exempt from the new by-laws banning smoking in public places. The cafes won’t be closed down if they only serve nicotine-free herbs instead of flavoured tobacco, which means pot-free water pipe enthusiasts will still have a place to chill out, albeit for the price of $15/pipe.

While in favour of this exemption, I’m not sure how it will stick and so I continue to buy flavoured tobacco, both with and without nicotine (although one café owner did say there was no such thing as ‘nicotine free’ tobacco). It’s far cheaper to smoke in my apartment and I can serve food and other beverages if I so desire. At least I’ll continue to smoke in my apartment until the City decides it’s not in my best interest and bans that as well.

Refugee Food Distribution

2008-03-08T13:40:00.000-08:00

When I was living in Damascus last year, some of my closest friends were Iraqi refugees. Our view of refugees is that they are poor, uneducated, and live in tents on the outskirts of cities. This is not what I saw as my friends lived in a decent apartment down the street from my place. I met H. at an internet cafe when she was checking her email for pictures of her grandkids in other parts of the world. Her husband is a retired doctor and his stories of working in the First Gulf War are crazy. They had to pull their daughter out of university in Baghdad when her classmates were being kidnapped and killed and the situation was too dangerous to let her keep going. They are all highly educated and speak English fluently. Yet they have run out of their savings and now have to depend on the U.N. for food rations. Here is H.'s account of how they got their food last month:

On the twenty seventh of last month was our turn to receive our share of food. We got up very early in the morning and went to the president`s bridge and yet when we got there we got the number 240 in line so you can imagine the number of people. Because I stood in the women`s line I got a number earlier than if we waited for my husband to reach the gate. At first we were seated in a big tent, where lines of seats were provided. 20 people were called every time, to another tent. When our turn came we went yet to another tent where the first number was taken from us and we were given another one. 50 people were called this time and we had to go to yet another tent ( it was exactly like playing musical chairs ). This time we were called into a building where my husband got a card for food distribution. Now the fourth tent, we gave our name and waited to be called. A car driver was called for each family who would come with each person to yet another tent to receive the food ( Have you been counting the tents? ) I had to leave my husband go back home by bus because there was no place for me near the driver. I could have sat in the open rear with the food ( I think I would have looked ridiculous ). The food does help a lot ( rice, sugar, tea, two kinds of grains, tomato paste, spaghetti, cleaning detergent and sponge beds with light blankets ) we were given three amounts. They say this amount will be given every two months.

As I write this I can look out my window down the street to the corner market where I buy my food, whatever I want whenever I want. The only line I stand in consists of the three people in front of me who pay with cash and not food stamps. I'll get my paycheque this coming Friday so if I'm low on cash I know the next supply is not far away. I might not be rich in cash, but I am rich in the ease of my life.

Hookah-less Vancouver

2008-01-18T12:53:00.000-08:00

Provincial by-laws will prevail and Vancouver's hookah houses will be closed down. According to CKNW this morning, "The rules are intended to protect workers, but cigar store owners who have smoking rooms argued the rooms are for clients and staff don't enter." Anyone ever been to a hookah house? Anyone ever seen the people working there smoking the pipe? I go, not regularly since I own my own shisha, but when I do go it is precisely to smoke a hookah and talk to the other people in the shop. There's nothing else offered in these little cafes besides one kind of tea - no food, no alcohol, no drugs. These are not destinations for people who want to chill out in a smokeless environment or imbibe in a variety of teas or other beverages. Every time I've been to a hookah house, EVERYONE is smoking, including the staff.

Now you might argue the smoke thing smells gross and a lot of people are allergic or react violently to it. My mom is one such person and eating out on a patio is not an option since even outdoors the smoke causes her to have a migraine. However, I fired up my shisha in front of her the other day and smoked it. Nothing, no reaction to the smell or smoke. Her only issue with it is moral. And for the record, I never have to air out my clothes for two days afterwards, nor do they smell stale.

Now I haven't done any scientific research into this and the hazards of smoking a hookah and I know there are lots of people who argue for the evils of it. So I invite people to comment on my seeming ignorance. In case you haven't grasped what I'm getting at here, I think the bylaw is not based on anything substantial and is stupid for lack of a better word.

Thankfully they haven't banned smoking in my own living room, although at the rate they do things in the West to keep us 'safe' I'm sure that will happen in the future. Until then, if anyone wants to come over and smoke a lovely pipe of apple or cherry, drop me a line. I'll fire up the pipe, brew a lovely pot of tea and haul out the backgammon set. Smoke all you want, the charcoal's cooking.

Vancouver Winter

2008-01-14T08:34:00.001-08:00

For all those people who come to Vancouver in the summer and say how much they love it and want to live here, try it in a winter like the one we're having now.

The difference between rain and snow in the winter is the brightness. At least with snow the sun is able to shine through the clouds somewhat and give the impression of light. With rain, it's dark all the time. Last week, dark. It's 8:35am right now and as I look out the window from my office I can barely see 10 blocks away. Not that it's black, more like a dreary grey that's trying to glow but can't.

And the cold feels colder than it actually is because it bites through your clothes and sinks right into your bones. I hate winter here. I want to see the sun for more than an hour every two days. I want to show up somewhere without arriving damp or drenched. I want to stand on the streetcorner waiting to cross without getting another shower from the car plowing through the puddles.

For those who think it's the most livable or beautiful city in the world, come on over and have a go. Blah.

Public Pool: Part 2

2008-01-10T09:32:00.000-08:00

Back at the pool last night and into the hottub for the usual relaxation session. Sweater lady wasn’t there but the guy who hogs the jets on the steps was, bobbing up and down to massage his back and block the entrance. Some other guy exits the steamroom and hops under the shower to cool down. How do we know the water was cold? “I love cold showers!! Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold! Yes, yes, yes, I love cold showers!! Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold! Yes! Cold showers!” Intersperse this with a little deep digging for phlegm and you’ve got one happy guy in the cold shower.

My Neighbourhood

2008-01-08T12:02:00.000-08:00

I love my neighbourhood. I’ve been living there for just over 4 months and have enjoyed every minute of it.

My building is not too big, maybe 25 suites in all, so there aren’t so many tenants. It’s like every other big city though, none of us know each other, so what I do know about them comes from seeing them at their windows or hearing them through the walls.

The people across the hall have sing-along sessions every week and from what I can hear, they actually know how to play the guitar. Sounds kind of folky and sounds kind of nice. The guy to the right of my apartment, I have no idea what he does for a job, but whatever it is he needs to unload on Friday nights which means he opens all his windows and cranks Diamond Dave Van Halen til about midnight. During the day on Saturdays he’s usually playing other 80’s rock classics so I’ve become reacquainted with Europe and some AC/DC I’d completely forgotten about. The girl above my apartment, let’s just say she yelps like a dog when she’s ‘excited’ and she gets excited A LOT. Usually at 3 in the morning, but also at 7, 8, and 10:30 in the evenings. Sometimes it’s 6:30 on Saturday mornings or 2 o’clock Sunday afternoons. I’ve never seen her, I assume she sleeps a lot as she must be tired from all the activity.

My building is on the corner of a busy intersection and my apartment is the corner suite so I get to hear everything going on outside. Every night around 12:30 some guy walks by under my bedroom window playing a harmonica. I hear lots of animated conversations but can’t understand most of them as they are usually in Japanese, Korean, Portuguese and Spanish. It makes for pleasant white noise when I’m kicking around, but I’m always surprised when I finally do understand something being spoken in English. The street also seems to be the strip for drunken party-goers and a lot of them like to talk loudly and laugh about their exploits. One early morning three girls were laughing and yelling about how funny they were. Next thing they were all puking just under my window and chanting, “We’re funny but we’re not pretty, ha ha ha ha.” I hope they got home alright.

The best burger joint in the world is two blocks away, serving bison, muskox, and ostrich burgers. When you order their fries, you will be constantly reminded that they are hand-cut. “Here are your hand-cut fries.” “How are you hand-cut fries?” “Would you like some more hand-cut fries?” I finally asked if slave labour was cutting the fries by hand in the kitchen. Whoosh, over her head. “No, the fries are put through a hand-operated machine by one of our employees.”

Rumour is that the Hell’s Angels operate the super expensive Super-Valu three blocks away. I prefer to do my shopping at the little hole-in-the-wall grocery store where everything is way cheaper. From the outside it looks like a fruit and vegetable stand, but when you get inside it stretches way to the back and is packed with tons of shelves lining tiny aisles that you almost have to walk through sideways. At Christmas all the employees wore Santa hats and threw a store 30th anniversary party, clearing out the bread aisle to make room for a dance floor.

The angriest people in the world work at the video store around the corner and I’d say they go out of their way to be miserable except that it appears to be in their nature to be permanently unhappy. They should be happy, they all have excellent hair.

I’ve got a crush on the guy who used to work the nightshift at the corner convenience store. It made getting my morning coffees worth getting up for as my current job doesn’t inspire me to do so. He hasn’t been there in the mornings for weeks now, I wonder where he’s gone.

Public Pool: Part 1

2008-01-07T22:53:00.000-08:00

I'm back at the pool in attempts to get back in shape for some races in the spring/summer. I haven't done any swimming in more than two years and I feel the weakness in every muscle on my upper body. But at least I'm back at it and one of the benefits is hanging out in the hottub after a swim and stretching out where it's nice and warm.

The other day my goggles jammed out halfway through my swim so I had to toss them, the result being bloodshot eyes and almost zero vision since I wasn't wearing my contacts.

As I jumped into the hottub, I stumbled over a lady sitting on her own. Despite being almost blind I noticed two things about her:
1. she was wearing bright red shiny lipgloss
2. she was wearing a wetsuit

I think to myself, "weird". Why would you wear a wetsuit into the hottub? As I found my seat I glanced her way again and realized this time that she was not wearing a wetsuit. She was, in fact, wearing a red, pink, and black striped turtleneck sweater. Now I know a lot of women have image issues so it's not unusual to see females wearing all sorts of baggy things in a pool, but I've never seen a sweater before. And this is a very hot hottub. I find myself wondering if she's wearing shorts or track pants or perhaps a swimming suit down below. A few minutes later she stepped out of the hottub wearing... a black skirt and NYLONS. She then proceeded to take a shower in the rinse-off area, fully dressed, for about 5 minutes, carrying on a conversation with someone else. Then she left at which point I bolted from the room to follow her into the changeroom to see what came next... and she wasn't there! Where did she go???

Is this really a question?

2007-10-21T15:57:00.002-07:00

I'm sitting on my couch flipping channels and just landed on the democratic debate. It was a toss-up between watching that and The True Hollywood Story of Sex and the City, but then I was fortunate enough to catch Wolf Blitzer ask the question, "Are Human Rights more important than American national security?"

Richardson - "human rights are important" blah blah blah

Osama Obama - "the two go hand-in-hand, one is not sacrificed at the mercy of the other..." and just as he's about to explain the characteristics the U.S. needs to protray to the world, he's cut off by a commercial for Sony flat screen tv's

Billary Clinton - "national security trumps human rights because the first obligation of the president of the u.s. is to protect the security of the u.s. although that doesn't mean we should neglect our interests elsewhere..."

Is this really a question?

I enjoy that the moderator is the highly enlightened Wolf Blitzer from CNN, the most trusted name in news. And it's nice to see questions being asked by John Roberts, formerly known as J.D. Roberts, master VJ of muchmusic back in the 80s when it was kind of a cool show to watch. You've come a long way, baby.

Not So Different?

2007-10-21T15:57:00.000-07:00

Just got back from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, after spending a week down there with family. It was a balmy 90 degrees and sunny everyday except for yesterday, very unlike Vancouver. I was there for Stephen Colbert's big announcement although it didn't seem to rock any boats down there. Of course we were with a lot of senior citizens who were more intent on floating in the pool or winning blackout bingo.

Differences between here and Canada: the huge, flatscreen television in the registration area was showing a Joel Osteen sermon, yes, in a very public place. Can't see that happening up here because it might offend someone's senses, although I do find Joel Osteen offensive anyway. And one day when I was out in the pool the staff were piping another Southern Baptist style sermon through the P.A. system. Again, that would never happen here. It felt more like being back in Syria, or any other country in the Middle East for that matter. No matter where you were - on transit, in the market, in a shop or restaurant - there would be some Quranic sermon blasting from somewhere.

The biggest similarity between here and there, the value of the dollar, for which the whole family is very grateful.

Marion Jones

2007-10-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

I was watching the news last night and all the coverage of Marion Jones's confession to misleading the FBI and oh, the rest of the world, about her steriod use. She apologized to everyone because her lying caused us all "hurt and pain". I feel neither hurt nor pain for what she did. What I do feel is a lot of cynicism about athletes and their performances.

Right now I'm watching the track and field championships in Stuttgart on the TV and I am constantly amazed at how our bodies are formed and the lengths to which they can go. For me, that celebration is enough, to watch people push their bodies to the limit and do amazing things.

In some ways I don't care if people want to inject themselves with whatever to go higher and faster, you hurt yourself and assume the risk. What I do hate is the lying that goes along with it. When Florence Griffith Joyner died a few years ago at the age of 38, some of those close to her said the world shouldn't be asking if she had ever taken drugs, her legacy spoke for her character and determination. But a heart seizure at 38? Besides, she had always tested negative for steriods, but then again so did Marion Jones.

So finally Marion has come clean, now I'm just waiting for Carl Lewis and Lance.

Mother & Daughter Fingers

2007-09-21T22:09:00.000-07:00

Read this story from the Prince George Citizen:

HATCHET JOB
Mom, daughter injured in separate mishaps
(Top Stories) Friday, 21 September 2007, 04:00 PST
BERNICE TRICK Citizen staff

Nellie Lefebrve, left and her daughter Corinna show the hatchet that injured their fingers while cutting kindling. (Citizen photo by David Mah) A Prince George mother and daughter, who were determined to drive the autumn chill from the house, both ended up chopping their fingers with the same hatchet Tuesday.

"A silly thing happened at my house," Nellie Lefebvre said.

"When I was out in the garage chopping kindling to light the fire in my insert, I missed, and I cut my left index finger badly. I drove myself to the hospital. It bled a lot like a gusher. They couldn't stitch it because of nerve damage, but they glued and bandaged it.

When Nellie was at work the same afternoon, she received a call from her adult daughter, Corinna, who lives with her.

"Mom, I went out to cut some kindling to start the fire so you wouldn't have to, and I missed and chopped my finger," the 32-year-old told her mother.

A neighbour drove Corinna to Prince George Regional Hospital to deal with her right index finger that was also gushing blood.

"Darn those hatchets anyhow," said the medical person caring for a second family member in one day.

Nellie said now she and Corinna are trying to decide whether to frame the hatchet or throw it away.

"I wonder what the odds are of two family members --one left-handed and one right-handed-- cutting index fingers with the same hatchet on the same day," said Nellie.

Superglue

2007-09-10T13:11:00.001-07:00

You know how those superglue bottles come with warnings about skin sticking on contact? It's true. Missing chunks of fingers this morning.

Free Stuff

2007-09-09T21:09:00.000-07:00

So there's this thing about getting free stuff off Craigslist or other places in general. For example, the free TV stand I got from the "nice" lady? She told me when I got it that it was missing 'a screw.' 'A screw' in her mind meant all the hardware, instructions, and legs. Who steals legs from a TV stand? It's now in the dumpster and I reclaimed my old TV stand from my brother, so basically I still ended up with a free item.

The free 27" screen TV I got in the back alley? It decides when it turns itself off, which seems to be after about 1 1/2 hours when it overheats. The weird thing is it stayed on for all of "Children of Men", a movie so boring and flat that I wouldn't have minded if the TV had shut down in the middle of it. Why did people say that movie was so good? Did they watch it? They're probably the same ones who also thought "Babel" was amazing. What a tedious, stereotyping, redundant flick. It felt like the whole movie was an excuse to exercise the director's dream of slapping a full-frontal nude Japanese girl up on screen. It still doesn't make sense to me how she fit in, and no, it's not because I'm cinematically challenged.

Whatever. The point of this entry is to talk about free stuff. And I must say that I am relieved to be released from the bond of Craigslist. I am happily moved into my apartment and have no further need of other people's stuff.

$1500 Challenge

2007-08-28T22:30:00.000-07:00

Where have I been these past few weeks? Getting ready to move into my new apartment. Yes, it takes that long since I set myself a goal with the intent of saving money but also proving you don't have to spend a lot to get something that looks decent.

When I moved away from Toronto last summer, I sold all the furniture I had and almost everything in the kitchen. I thought I'd be overseas for much longer than I was so it seemed like the smart thing to do. Now I'm home and have to start all over again. So I set myself a limit of $1500 to get the whole apartment furnished and decked out to look like a professional something lives there and not a student, no futons to be seen.

In case you're wondering how this is possible, here are a few ways I saved money:
1. accepted gifts from family, like bed and dvd player
2. designed my own furniture and got my dad to build it (which he loves doing, btw)
3. scowered craigslist for cheap and free stuff. Two big finds: a 27" tv with amazing colour and picture that I got out of a back alley, and a chest of drawers someone tossed on the front lawn. I also scored a free tv stand from some lovely woman who said it was easier to give stuff away than to sell it
4. I'm having a shower instead of a birthday party this weekend. People seem to like that I've 'registered' at Superstore. I'll try anything PC except the beer.

Hints:
1. If you design a coffee table, don't do something with glass - it jacks the price up considerably no matter how cheap you try to go
2. Stain sucks. Go with paint and avoid the headache from fumes and frustration

Of course this is not easy and I've almost killed myself with all the projects I took on to meet my goal, but it's looking good and at this point I've got $30 in change leading up to Saturday's big paint/move. I have to break the budget since I'm painting the whole place but I will not go over by more than $200, my conservative estimate.

I'm tired and just want to be done all of this, and I'm really hoping it was all worth it.

Meaningful Lyrics

2007-07-16T21:42:00.000-07:00

I'm watching Much Less Music right now and a retrospective on that popular mega band of the 80's, Def Leppard. I can't count how many of their songs are written without the benefit of an editor or speaker of common sense English, and I am stumped at the meaning of 'Armageddon It'. I think it means 'Giv 'er' or 'Punch me in the face'.

But their brilliance doesn't stop there, check out these lyrics and guess the title of this song:

Make love/like a man/I'm a man/That's what I am (oh wait, on second thought, what am I?)
You want it/I'm the one/I got it/I'm Mr. Fun
You need it/I'm Captain Cool

Mmmmmm, sign me up for that dating service, please.

Verbing

2007-07-13T09:25:00.000-07:00

I am distressed by the number of new verbs that are appearing in the English language. The most offensive to date would have to be "scrapbooking." Consider this dialogue:

A: Hey, wanna go out for dinner tonight and then catch a movie?
B: I'd love to, but I've already got plans.
A: Oh yeah, what you up to?
B: I'm scrapbooking.
A: Hmmm. What's that?
B: You know, scrapbooking!! Putting photos and my own unique drawings in a scrapbook.

Du-umb. Why don't we just call it 'artsing and craftsing'? Equally stupid but I haven't heard anyone saying that just yet.

And I'm busy this weekend in case anyone calls. I'll be cerealing, then later on I'll be pantsing, and then by the end of the day I'll be pyjamaing.

No SUVs Please

2007-07-04T22:18:00.000-07:00

After last week's attempt to blow up the airport in Glasgow, I wonder what extreme measures airports in The West will take to avoid such further attempts. I'll bet they ban people arriving at the airport in SUVs because those SUVs might be loaded with explosives. If terrorists did that before, they are probably uninventive and bored enough to try doing the same thing again.

I loved the shoe bomber guy from a couple years back. He tried lighting his shoes up to take the plane down, so it follows that we all have to remove our shoes at the airpot now because hey, we saw him try it, why don't we give it a shot?

When I was flying back to Vancouver from Toronto a few weeks ago, the screener guy tried to take my bottle of suntan lotion out of my carry-on because the bottle could hold more than 100ml. I asked him to shake it around and tell me if more than 100ml was actually in there because I had been using it. He let me take it on the plane.

Contrast this with airport security in Damascus and Abu Dhabi where it took less than 10 seconds to clear the gates. No dusting of my laptop, no removal of shoes, belt, underwire bra. In Damascus the security guy did remove the batteries from my camera and put them in a separate part of my purse than the camera LIKE I'M NOT GOING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO REUNITE THEM. And as I was passing the screener guy in Abu Dhabi, I did notice that he was actively picking his nose and looking everywhere but the x-ray screen. OK, I'm cool with that, he's probably been doing this for awhile and has an idea of what he's about. And it is pretty funny watching a guy pick his nose with that much vigour in public. Then vigilante passenger dude passes through security and sees what I see except he gets his knickers all in a knot. He takes it upon himself to stand in the middle of a very busy and crowded gate to make loud 'guffaws' and 'what the?????s' before calling over a security guard to complain and criticize the apparent lack of concern Abu Dhabi has for our personal safety. I felt like knocking him on the head and telling him that 200 people might watch him raise a ruckus, freak out and start a bigger one. And it takes forever to clear security in Heathrow, a royal pain in the ass, so why not thank your lucky stars that finally you don't have to strip, open all your carry-on junk just to repack it, eat your deoderant sticks and drink your contact solution?

And guess what??? None of these planes fell out of the sky!!!!!!!!!

All this is to say that people in the west are learning how to live in a perpetually paranoid state about airline travel and personal safety. I do not claim to know anything at all about how airport security is handled from country to country, but it looks like in the past few years any new security measures appear to be largely reactionary instead of prevention-ary (is that even a word?) That is why I recommend no more SUVs within 1000m of an airport.

P.S. Why didn't they think of backing a Pinto up into the airport at full speed instead?

P.S.2 And what's up with plastic knives and metal forks? I can't hurt you by repeatedly poking you in the eye with my metal fork??

Hunting

2007-07-03T11:38:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows that the job hunt is a demoralizing, debilitating experience. I've given myself what I assume to be a reasonable timeline of finding a job by the end of August. I've watched my friends do all the same things - send out resumes and letters, wait for responses - and then follow the same psychological patterns. Day one they are hopeful and know that everyone wants them, by day two they're depressed and feel stupid and worthless. Day three means you've given up hope of ever being employed and make plans to live in a box under a bridge somewhere. Day four you consider McDonald's.

All my friends are employed despite this process so why do I feel like I'm going to be the odd one out, the one who actually makes it to fry-guy status? Big sigh.

Noticing Things

2007-06-19T14:05:00.000-07:00

I'm always curious as to how I'll view my country/people when I get back after an extended absence. Maybe this last absence wasn't so long, nothing's really changed, people look and act the same. The one thing I do see now though is how many women are bursting out of their shirts. I was sitting on Bloor and Yonge the other day, having my hotdog and people watching. Couldn't keep count of all the boobs I was seeing in almost all their splendor. This was around 4:30pm, end of the workday. I don't think I'm a prude but come on, is that what you wear to work? I'm assuming many of the women I saw are quite intelligent and could easily trade on their brains yet they insist in cashing in on their boobies.

It reminds me of an episode in "Cheers" when a bunch of guys showed up in Boston from their country where women walked around virtually naked. They were so excited to meet Rebecca because she wore clothes. Extreme, yes, but sometimes I think there must be some guys out there who wouldn't mind seeing a turtleneck occasionally.

A Day in the South

2007-06-09T02:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we went to Bosra in the south of Syria, an ancient Roman town and theatre. It was lovely, the air was fresh and clean, and the temperature was a delightful 28 degrees. We then hopped into a microbus to go to the town of Dara where a friend's friend picked us up for a tour of the region.

We went to the Yarmuke River, site of an ancient battle, and looked across to Jordan and Israel, just a few miles away.

Next we headed to a man-made lake where young boys jumped in and went for a swim while a younger boy took his pet cow on a leash for a drink (sorry, true but connection is too slow to upload pictures and verify).

Then it was off to another lake where families were rowing about in small boats. Other families were playing drums, clapping, and singing. Smells from the barbecue wafted in the breeze. A bedouin girl cruised the crowds asking for money. She liked my nosering, she was wearing one just like it.

Two motorcycles bumped into each other head on and the men driving them got off to have a go at one another. They had just gotten each other into headlocks when police sirens were going off. And then, a foal ran by. I turned around to see a man sitting on a white horse in the lake. I was confused.

We got back in the truck and stopped for cotton candy. The ice cream truck man was sitting there in his truck, not waiting to sell ice cream but sitting there to watch us eat cotton candy. The ice cream truck music was creepy, it helped to explain all the horses.

Change in My Pocket

2007-06-06T10:41:00.000-07:00

I'm buying gifts for family and friends right now and have been hit with raging PMS. This is useful when going into the souqs and having to bargain for good prices. For those of you who know what I'm like during this time of the month, it should come as no surprise that I got everything I wanted for the price I wanted. They didn't stand a chance.

Is It Safe Yet?

2007-06-02T02:19:00.000-07:00

The biggest problem with living in Syria was that I was muzzled from commenting on anything political, muzzled because I wanted to stay and check it out without getting kicked out. But now that I'm out of the country I've finally got my tongue back.

Last month the country had an election, or rather, a referendum. About 4 weeks earlier there was a first election where civic officials, ministers, and the current president were voted in for another 7 year term. So the referendum was something like this: Do you want the president to stay president for the next 7 years? Answer: Yes or No

The week before the referendum all these tents appeared around the city and every night there was a party. Free t-shirts, coffee, marches, banners, dancing, lots of music pumped out of crappy speakers, road jams everywhere. One song went something to the effect of, 'Save our president and Nasrallah, too.' Then the election/referendum. The vote was almost unanimous, 97.4% said yes. Now I heard that seven years ago the vote was 99%, so where did those 1.6% yessers go? Everyone who voted got a free candy. You also had the option of voting in blood.

To celebrate the "victory" there was another week of partying following the referendum. The same crazy gigs going on around the city, songs, dancing, etc. I got stopped by the police at one of the marches because I was writing 'something'. They tried to read my writing - English speakers can't even read it so how could these guys? I was allowed to go and so I did because the march was boring. But it is fun seeing fireworks every night, fired off by two-year olds unattended by their parents.

There are lots of billboards with pictures of different people and English slogans, things like, "I believe in equality", "I believe in freedom", "I believe in children". Then a picture of the president beside all of them, "I believe in Syria." I think his phrase should be prefaced with, "Yeah? Well fuck you! I believe in Syria!" Having said that, I do think he is a decent guy and even though his hands are severely tied by his cabinet, the country could do much, much worse.

I think our Prime Minister could use this P.R. engine, it's simply amazing at how much support you can get for the only contender.

Iraq

2007-05-29T12:03:00.000-07:00

OK, so I didn't really get into Iraq but that wasn't for lack of trying. I was with some Iraqi friends yesterday who had to cross the Iraqi border to get a stamp to re-enter Syria with permission to stay for another month. They continued on past the Syrian border on a charter bus without me and I stayed behind with one of the Palestinian bus drivers. He tried his best to help me cross No-Man's Land, taking me to the general having his morning breakfast in his undershirt. The nice general told me to get lost as did the other immigration officials. The Iraqi major was the nicest of all telling me 'Next time' as he headed back to Iraq with two security guys in bulletproof vests and a truckload of Iraqis returning to their hellhole.

Nevertheless, the experience was good, if not for the adventure then for seeing how these people are trying to cope and struggle from day-to-day, forced to flee from their country and having to fight for rights in the only one that will give them refuge. Right in the middle of No-Man's Land is a camp of displaced Iraqi-Palestinians. There have to be more than 2000 people living in tents right now, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no resources. I'm not sure how they get their food and other sustainables but I think it needs to be brought in by groups passing between the two borders. It makes me appreciate how incredibly easy we have it in Canada. There is also a military training base beside the border so as my new buddy and I were walking around you could here them exploding bombs on the other side of the security fence. This is the farthest thing from my Mennonite upbringing, really.

My Students

2007-05-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm an English teacher I suppose I need to share a few of the gems my students hit me with. (Note: they are all older than 18)

Two days ago we're practicing some reading and they have a hard time pronouncing 'suggested'. So I suggest to them before they fall asleep that night they should say 'suggested suggested suggested' and make the word their own.

I've also told them to stop calling me 'Teacher' and to call me Alison instead. This is difficult for them since they have always been taught to respect authority (notice I do not say elders). So one of the guys who believes himself to be the hottest thing on the planet is calling me over to ask a question. He says 'Teacher' so I ignore him but he keeps trying anyway. Finally I turn around and ask what my name is. He gets this smile on his face and says, "Tonight before I fall asleep, I'll say 'Alison Alison Alison', and then I'll never forget it." Gag.

To all you teachers out there, does this ever happen to you???

Canadian Girl Missing in Syria

2007-05-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

For everyone who knows that Nicole Vienneau, a Canadian woman, is missing in Syria, this email is to inform you that I am still alive and very, very safe in Damascus. I want to assure everyone who has sent me 'worried' emails that fears are unfounded, and I'm going to be very direct for the rest of this message. It may offend some people but I'm here and the rest of you are not, I'm speaking from experience.

I was speaking with mom last night and she was reading me the stories from the newspapers with comments from people responding to it and this is where a lot of my anger is being driven from.

First of all, Syria is not a shady country. While the policing system may be more noticeable here than in Canada, that does not make the rest of its citizens "shady." I'm using this word in response to a reader who said, "Those who go to shady countries are taking risks." He also said that if you go to countries like this, you are just asking for trouble. I'm tired of people making judgemental comments about a place they have probably never visited and have never researched. If you want to believe everything western media tells you, then you area a good candidate for believing in Santa Claus. And if the only thing you know about Syria is that it is 'dangerous', then you need to know the only thing Syrians know about Canada is that it is 'cold.'

Second, Nicole is a seasoned traveller and anyone who has travelled solo knows there are risks involved. From what I understand she is a smart traveller, one who lets people know where she's going. Anyone who's been on the road in these regions before knows that there is a community of travellers and locals alike with whom they share stories and experiences. It is almost impossible to be here and not have others know what you're up to. For one, the Arab culture is all about talking with each other, we call this gossip in Canada. There's not a lot you can do here without someone commenting or passing it along. For example, Sonya and I went to Beirut a few weeks ago and pretty much everyone in the tourist quarter knew about it even though we only told one or two people what we were up to. If Nicole was going somewhere in desert, I guarantee you at least one person knows where she was headed.

Third, anyone who comes to this area knows there are risks but they are not usually the risks Westerners are thinking about. There is no war in Syria - that is happening next door in Iraq. There is no imminent threat of war or attack from neighbouring countries such as what is happening in Lebanon. The risks come from eating dodgey foods or drinking contaminated drinks, from doing drugs, or more simply, crossing the street.

Fourth, what happened to Nicole, whatever that may be, is very very unusual here. All the Syrians I know are shocked about it, this doesn't happen here. Think about Canada and the U.S. where kidnappings or killings happen all the time. In B.C. a number of women have gone missing on the Similkameen highway in recent years while hitchhiking. Nothing has been solved. Think of the recent shootings in Viriginia. For everyone who's asking us to come home, you're asking us to come back to an area inifinitely more dangerous than the one we're currently in. For the record, I have NEVER lived in a safer country, including Canada. I can walk here, anywhere, anytime, by myself and not feel threatened. Of course you use your common sense wherever you are in the world and try to avoid potentially difficult situations. But you can never know for sure what's going to happen, no matter how much you plan in advance.

The biggest problem I have living here is that most people at home don't believe it is a safe and good country to live in. I can't convince anyone this is true unless they choose to believe it. No matter how many times I've tried telling people I'm OK, some still choose to ignore this. Again, I am here, you are not. Believe me when I tell you I value my life and that I would rather live than die. Because of this I choose places I am comfortable being in. Maybe they are not the same places others would choose, but some of y'all go to Florida and that is one place I have absolutely no desire to visit, precisely because of safety issues. Believe me when I say the Syrians are going to suffer for this incident because very few people will stand up in their defense. Tourism is already low here and might go down. One or two 'bad' people affect everyone else and it is a shame for those who take pride in their country and want to show it to foreigners.

In no way am I trying to undermine what has happened to Nicole. I can't imagine what her family must be going through and can only hope they have a good support system in Canada that is helping them get through this incredibly difficult time. I just want to give you peace of mind that if you know someone over here, they are almost 100% safe if they're being careful.

Good luck to Matt Vienneau and his family as they hope for a happy ending to this sad story.

Mmmmmm, Real Hotdogs

2007-05-07T02:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, oh yes! Yesterday I found a hole in the wall that serves real Canadian style hotdogs. The only difference between there and here is they serve the french fries in the hotdog itself. I think they should add that to the menu at the Vesta Diner in T.O. "Fench frie Hotdog"

Text Messages

2007-05-06T10:08:00.000-07:00

Everybody texts messages here, it's a cheap and easy way to communicate with (or to harass) people. This is a random, inane message I got from one of my admirers awhile ago (the spelling mistakes are all his):

"Hey. Am in my way home. home whr the dearest person in a lifetime lives that is u Aleson. pls make no plans friday night. We r going out 4 Dinner. Looking forward to seeu. warmest greetings to a beautiful blue eyes."

My eyes are green.

My friend Sally got this one:

"A star has 5 ends, a square has 4 end, a traiangel has 3 ends, a life has 1 end, a circale has no end, so I hope our friendship will be like a circale. Welcom my friend."

She met him at a cafe one night and spoke with him for two minutes. Very romantic, no?

Let's Play "It's Mumkin!!"

2007-05-04T04:51:00.000-07:00

"Mumkin" is arabic for "possible". I've noticed an unusual number of people with their hands bandaged, splinted, or cast here, and thought it might be nice to see what other people notice. So I've started a points-system game based on honesty and integrity, a strange concept in the Middle East.

Points are awarded as follows:
man/woman with bandaged/splinted/cast arm - 1 point
man/woman with cast on leg - 1 point
cast on both legs - 2 points (really, it's mumkin!!)
man/woman with one leg - 2 points
orange pants - 1 point
orange shirt - 1 point
orange pants and shirt - 2 points (got points today for that)
woman with two black eyes, attributed to nose job - 2 points
cast on one leg and wearing orange pants - 3 points (i've already scored on this)

automatic game winner:
woman wearing hejab and her bellybutton is exposed - 20 points

The Most Important Relationship

2007-04-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

The hardest person to meet in your new city of residence will be the most important one - your hairstylist. Forget doctors and dentists, these are the keepers and slayers of hair. Today I went to get my hair cut for the first time since moving to Syria and my apprehension grew larger after dreaming last night that I would leave the salon with - horror of horrors - female Syrian hair. This means layers and blow-outs so big they rival the miracles of women in Texas.

So I arrive and have the most beautiful thing done, someone else washes my hair, the best part of any haircut. Then the guy with the polyester track suit (opened halfway down his chest so I can admire his mat of curly chesthair) and attitude to match asks what I want done. I point to a picture of Charlize Theron with her delightful long, straight, minimally layered hair. He starts cutting and is done, umm, maybe 8 minutes later. Zero layers, nothing's even but I think I have something resembling bangs again. You need to know that my stylist in Vancouver, Glen the Giver of Amazing Cuts and Colour (call him at One Salon on Burrard 604-733-3909), takes at least 30 minutes JUST TO CUT.

Then another guy slaps some weird paste on my hair (to 'treatment it') and wraps it (my head) in seran wrap and leaves me there for 20 minutes. After he takes it off and washes my head - again - another guy blow dries my hair. You know how in North America most hairdryers come with cool bursts to help the hair set? This one comes with bursts of... HAIRSPRAY! I've never seen or smelled anything like it before. Amazing.

And so I leave the salon with flipped hair smelling like bad aftershave. I don't look too Syrian and thankfully my hair does not hold curl so by the time I get home, the walk and pollution have straightened it back to normal. I'm not crying so it must all be OK. We'll see how I feel after one night of bedhead.

What Not to Do at a Shi'a Wedding

2007-04-02T09:48:00.000-07:00

1. do not try and shake the groom's hand
2. do not wear your nine west sparkly gold heels, not because they're inappropriate but because women are competitive, especially at weddings
3. do not make enemies with the bride
4. do not make enemies with the mother of the groom

I didn't know the thing about shaking hands, but I was doing what we do in the West, shaking hands in congratulations. Not until I put out my hand did I notice he was holding the Quran and figured he wasn't supposed to touch another woman apart from his wife. Faux pas number 1.

My friend who I went with told me to wear Western style dress because underneath the hejab the women are all hooched up. They hooch up to compete with each other since no men are allowed at the bride's party. Then he saw what I was wearing and said that I was about to step into a viper's den and would get bitten alive. Apparently I looked too good and was therefore competition. Competition for what???? No men were there!!!!!

Faux pas number 3 was not my fault, the bride was not impressed with faux pas number 1 which no one explained to me.

Mistake number 4 was also not my fault. I was invited to the wedding by the father of the groom whom I met the week before. After the wedding when I told my friend that the mother was NOT friendly to me, he explained that she was probably ticked off because her husband made a big deal of me being there. Again, women are very competitive. WHAT IS OUR PROBLEM???????

I have many other observations about what I witnessed that evening but let's leave it to this one: I think the Sunnis are hipper and more fun but I'm not sure I want to go to one of their weddings to confirm that.

Followed

2007-03-26T12:07:00.000-07:00

I've been checking out what the women wear here. For example, can I wear a short skirt, short being around the knee. The answer appears to be 'yes' as long as I wear black tights with it. So this is what I do last Thursday on a very warm day. In addition I wear my knee-high black boots. I'm wearing a loose-fitting black top and my leather jacket. I think I'm more conservative than some of the girls here. Not so decide the men in their trucks and cars on the main road by school. I got honked at, whistled at, yelled at. All because, I think, I'm not wearing a headscarf. I get on my service to head home and the driver wants me to sit beside him. I try explaining that I like my seat, this causes a commotion in the bus and the young guy beside me tries to calm the situation.

At last we get to my stop and I jump off as does the young guy. I'm going to the internet cafe, which happens to be closed, so I start walking home. Guys come out of their shops to tell me the internet cafe will open again in two hours. The young guy from the bus magically appears and starts following me around. I eventually tire of him and tell him to get lost which he does not do. He persists in following me around my neighbourhood while I buy groceries and try to lose him. I get to my apartment and make sure he can't see that I'm going upstairs. He's not there, at least I'm sure he's not. I get to my apartment and start telling my roommate about this guy, who is maybe 19 or 20 years old. Ten minutes later my doorbell rings and it's him, standing there asking for my phone number. So I walk out to where he is and give him an earful in mixed arabic and english. I'm yelling "memnua" (forbidden)and a whole host of other words that my neighbours might not like if they understood. I haven't seen him since, I think he's been scared into hiding, as well he should be.

I will NOT wear a headscarf. I know who and what I am and if I have to explain that, OK. Just don't follow me home, you weirdo.

A Few Days in War Country

2007-03-22T08:54:00.000-07:00

last week i had a break from school after exams so i finally headed back to beirut after 4 years. it looks so much like vancouver that it felt like being at home at times. it sits right between the ocean and the mountains and the seabreeze was soooo good to feel and smell again. while i appreciated the cleanliness and a few familiar looking restaurants this is the number one reason why i prefer syria - it's not westernized and feels like i'm in a land far far away. it's very much like arabian nights and that is what i wanted. plus i like the people here better, they are less fractured and complicated. when y'all come visit beirut you'll see what i mean, nothing there is simple in terms of relationships and everyone picks at the other.

hezbollah supporters are trying to get more profile for their party and so there is a huge tent city outside parliament where everyone has been living for a few months now. it was just down the road from our hotel so i took a stroll through it - it was very quiet. it was the second anniversary of hariri's assassination on wednesday and so i think the military were trying to keep things low-key. last time i was there the only military visible were there because of a franco-nation summit which chretien was attending. lots of high-profile political leaders were in attendance so of course security was high, but there weren't any tanks anywhere and people were out and about. this time the city was dead, no people anywhere, tanks and soldiers everywhere, a very different feeling. i asked shopkeepers what was going on and they all said 'it's tense right now, hopefully it will be done by the end of the week' but i got nothing more elaborate than that. they also say they hope the 'situation' is fixed by summer, meaning the syrians are gone and there's a new map of the middle east. i saw this supposed map which is very different and more complex, i think, than the current one. i tried to take a picture of it but the guy who showed it to me hid it under the table and said no one else should see it. secrecy and intrigue makes beirut. i also asked one of the guards who checked my purse one day how he knew for sure there weren't any bombs in my bag as he only looked at the top. he told me that he trusted me, how's that for a very stupid question and benign answer?

i ended up walking everywhere since lebanon is quite a bit more expensive than syria and i didn't want to waste my money on taxis and get marriage proposals from taxi drivers. my feet were killing me by the time i left but i had seen a lot of the city. nowhere near all of it, it's definitely a place i want to get back to and explore a lot more as it is utterly fascinating. the american university of beirut is stunning and the walk along the ocean is beautiful. there were lots of bookstores with english literature so i was able to find a copy of people magazine and catch up on britney spear's sad life. i'm so glad to not have to see that stuff every day. i also found a cinnzeo and stuffed my face with a chocolate cinnamon bun, not as good as mom's of course. you don't see the military after awhile and they leave you alone anyway. the shopping is very upscale and some of the restaurant neighbourhoods rival yorkville in toronto or yaletown in vancouver. i saw at least 2 lamborghinis and there are armani, bcbg, and other high-end stores everywhere. you forget you're in the middle east and think you might be somewhere in france.

it started raining (the last day i was there) the way it does in vancouver and my shoes got soaked through. i was therefore uncomfortable and decided to head back to damascus a few hours earlier. it turned from spring to winter and as we passed through the lebanese mountains on the way back to syria it started snowing heavily. absolutely beautiful but too cold for my little leather jacket. i fell asleep after we passed the syrian border and woke up in damascus with the feeling that it was good to be home. i knew i liked it here but i had to leave for a little bit to confirm that it is actually becoming home.

The Best Bakery in the World

2007-03-10T07:27:00.000-08:00

I finally found loaves of bread! Not Syrian flat bread, pita bread, naan bread, hard and brittle bread, but a real, bonafide loaf of soft, sliced bread. Do you know what this means???? I can eat toast now!!!!! I was so desperate for North American bread I would have gladly eaten stale Wonderbread sent by snail-mail from home. Alison may not be able to live by bread alone, but at least it makes Alison very, very happy.

First Visit to the Hammam

2007-03-02T03:43:00.000-08:00

WARNING: there may be some content in here that makes people squeamish or they might take offense to. This is my apology for any damage to your mental health.

I'm not a big fan of spas, I think it's a little weird to spend a lot of money for people to slap seaweed on you or massage your face. Nevertheless, the hammam (public bath) is a popular pasttime in the Middle East so I decided to go check it out. I'd been once before in Turkey with a friend - we were the only ones in the hammam and I assumed I might encounter something similar here. Not so...

Arab women have an aversion to hair anywhere on their body apart from the head so I thought I might get my hairy western arms waxed just to see what all the fuss is about. The waxer looked as if she had just emerged from the steamroom, straggley hair plastered against her forehead, old track suit hanging yet clinging to her. A cigarette dangled out of her mouth as she went to work on me, tut-tutting at the state I'd let myself get into. They wax you in public, in front of everyone else who's come in to hang out for the afternoon. The portraits of the former and current presidents hang overhead staring down with creepy grins. They don't use hot wax here, instead it's like a thick paste they rub between their hands to warm up. Then they slap it on you and start ripping away again and again and again. I'm gritting my teeth, the waxer grins and grunts with her cigarette lodged between the gap in her teeth where at least two other teeth should be but have fallen out. She's doing my forearms and then horror of horrors, she moves to my biceps and shoulders. Now I know for certain that I do NOT have hairy upper arms and I try explaining this to her but she is convinced I must be cleansed. Then she starts trying to rip it out of my underarms where the hair is too short. I'm yelling "la la la la" (arabic for 'no no no no') but she must think I'm singing and makes it a mission to get rid of whatever is there. Finally she quits and the next scary lady comes over and grabs my arm to lead me to the next stage of bathing...

She drags me through ancient hallways - this hammam is more than 800 years old - through the steamroom into the large hall where at least 40 women are lounging about in various stages of undress, throwing hot water on each other, washing their hair, and smoking. This is where the women go to meet and talk, I assume they gossip and diss each other out but I'm not sure as I still only understand a few words. Fruits and vegetables do not seem to be a popular topic. I'm led to a smaller room where a young women is sitting with her mother and aunt. They greet me with big smiles and begin to throw water on me. Then one grabs my loofah from me and starts scrubbing my back with man-strength force. After awhile the masseuse comes in to give me a massage. This is no private room with pretty scented candles, Pachabel's annoying Canon playing in the background accompanied by chirping whales, discreet and calm massaging of my back. Instead I'm surrounded by chatty and yelling women, there is no music, the mother is still smoking, and I'm lying on my stomach while she pounds the crap out of my back. I must point out, however, that this is the kind of massage I like, it actually feels like they're doing something. Then she starts yanking on my fingers, I don't know why. Then she pulls out my shampoo and starts washing my hair. It smells nice when she's done but it's also in a billion knots. Then some women from Lebanon try to take over our room and the aunt goes crazy on them. You have to see a 70-something, toothless and topless woman running around tearing strips off people to know that this is not a North American spa. So I took my leave and went out to change.

While I'm towelling off and putting my makeup on, the daughter comes out and we start talking in stilted English and Arabic. Her mom also comes out and soon my purse is stuffed full of apples and oranges, and I'm drinking tea and eating pita with some olive spread on it. I'm clean, smooth from finger to shoulder, I've made new friends, I'm fed, and I think I might just come back, minus the wax job.

Sandstorm

2007-03-01T10:02:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday the atmosphere started to get a little manic when a brown haze settled over the city. At first I thought it was pollution but by mid-day the wind had picked up and sand was swirling all around. The drivers were crazier than before, people were edgey, and the billion stray cats in the city decided to come out and sing in unison. That evening I could barely see the green lights of the mosques as I was standing on my balcony and when I went to bed I could taste the sand in the air.

The next morning it started to rain - nice to make everything fresh but think about where all that floating sand is going to go. This is the first time in my life when I didn't wash just the fruits and vegetables I bought at the market, but also my bags of pasta, jars and cans of other stuff. Before now I haven't been a fan of vaccuum wrapping everything but now I get the point.

Marriage Update

2007-02-22T07:27:00.000-08:00

My Iraqi suitor is out of the running. He's currently in jail where he's been for the past week after it was discovered he was a bit of a thief - not of hearts but of cash. His friends ratted him out after he "borrowed" money from them to buy an apartment and a business. He never gave the money back. I think my decision to wait and see if the camels came through was a wise one.

Bidding Wars

2007-02-12T04:42:00.000-08:00

The man who owns the hotel I'm staying at has a 95-year-old father who comes and sits at reception every day. He challenges every guest to an arm wrestle - which he always wins - sometimes because people let him but most times because he is still tough as nails. He has taken a shine to me and offered 12 camels and his house to marry me. His son is concerned dad will throw in the hotel but I assure him this is not the case. The daughters-in-law think it's great and would love for me to marry their father-in-law and thereby secure the hotel for their sons when they grow up. Abu Sameer also wants me to convert to Islam.

The Iraqi man who has the room next to mine says he'll give me 15 camels and a donkey. He's said nothing about converting, he is already married.

Basil, the 22-year-old whose fiancee is 15, says he'll give me one camel. He's not very wealthy.

No one else has entered the race yet, but I think I'm going to hold out for something better than old men, married men, poor men, and livestock.

AIDS Test

2007-02-05T05:39:00.000-08:00

Everyone who wants to live and work in Syria needs to get an AIDS test done. There are only two places in the country where you can get the test - one in Damascus, one in Homs. Two weeks ago the Iraqi president visited with the Syrian president and requested that all Iraqis be sent back to Iraq within 15 days if they can't get their test completed. This means every morning before 8am there is a huge lineup at the clinic, maybe 500 people scrambling to get their test so they can stay. This is in addition to all the Syrians and other foreigners who are there for the same thing.

This morning I arrived at 8am and stood at the front of the line for foreigners, waiting to throw my passport through the gate to the men in the white coats. The first man was relatively gentle and pleasant, the second yelled and screamed until his face turned red and he sounded like he'd either pass a kidney stone or explode. I got my passport through on the first try and then stood in the cold and mud for the next three and half hours as relatively gentle man let Syrians jump the queue. Eventually he yelled out my name and I was able to get inside the gate and wait for another hour and a half.

As I was at the front of the line this time, I was able to watch yelling man take blood samples. First he yelled at whoever was in the chair, grabbed their left arm and tied the rubber hose around it. If he couldn't find the vein in 2 seconds, he'd rip the tube off, grab the right arm and give that a try. If no vein there, tube off, wrapped on wrist, a little bit more yelling, then BAM, jab into the back of the hand. If he was lucky he'd hit a vein, but sometimes it looked like he was pulling up muscle or marrow. I was lucky and ended up with a soft speaking and polite man who managed to get my vein on the first go. A bit of bruising but at least no emotional scarring.

Tomorrow I go back to get the results - they'd better be negative.

Prayer Time

2007-02-02T13:09:00.000-08:00

A 95 year old man makes the call to prayer at the mosque closest to my current residence, about 50 feet up the road. His prayer is painful, you're begging for it to end before he dies and the last breath gurgles out of his throat. While he gasps and wheezes his way through the ritual, the other calls to prayer echo out across the city, fading in and out like twisted backup singers. It's eerie and I'm glad it's only 5 times a day.

Clean & Tasty

2007-01-23T07:28:00.000-08:00

One of the things I love best about Toronto are all the divey restaurants you can chow down at. In Vancouver everything is so clean - I've actually seen people eating off the streets. Granted, it's at 2 in the morning when the bars close but I'm sure those fine citizens are very aware of what they're doing. Toronto, on the other hand, tries to be clean but misses the mark somehow, and this is precisely what I love.

Yesterday Chiuchiu introduced me to the JH on Queen West where you have to walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom. The dirty dishes covered in tomato sauce and grease piled high on the belt were no indication of the tastiness of my avocado shake and the tomato lentil soup was positively delightful. Waitress 1 wore a lovely jacket covered in skulls, some of which sparkled, and served us with a smile. Then surly and bored Waitress 2 brought our food. I'm never sure why those who hate people work in the service industry.

In conclusion, these dives are great and well worth eating at, with the exception of Sneaky Dee's which smells like gym socks and cooked broccoli.

First Leg...

2007-01-18T10:10:00.000-08:00

In less than a few hours I'll be on a plane to Toronto on the first leg of this trip to the Middle East. Right now it feels like someone else made all the decisions and arrangements and I woke up just in time to get on my flight. Who is this crazy person who makes these plans? I don't even do drugs, there's no excuse for this behaviour. I'm excited and I know it's going to be a great experience but saying goodbye sucks. The bonus of crying so much right now is that something is wacky with my tears and every time I cry my face burns. It's a self-inflicted and totally free acid peel which I'm assuming means I'll have fantastic skin by the time I get to Damascus if my face doesn't fall off first.

Check ya later, Vancouver...

Narcissist

2006-12-29T10:19:00.000-08:00

I've resisted starting a blog for a long time, thinking it's pretty arrogant to post my thoughts with the idea that others would be interested in reading them. However, I read my friends blogs, none of whom are narcissistic. I find them interesting and like knowing where they're all at. Besides, I've got this big life change thing coming up and it might be handy to start blogging since I'm a very lazy communicator. I'm bad at keeping in touch - respond to emails in about three months, return phone calls maybe two weeks later. Maybe this way I'll be better at letting people know what's up and where I'm at. So...

Update: I am currently in Vancouver. I've been here since mid-September. It's been nice. It's been windy. The trees are sad. I drank unboiled tap water all fall.

Highlights: a one-week winter - beautiful; the gospel choir I've been singing in - we rock.

There, now you're all caught up.