KO: Travel

Happy Tiny People

Mon, 19 Nov 2007 16:48:21 GMT

As a somewhat vertically challenged person myself, I was glad to find a special place amongst the predominantly Mayan people of the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico. The warmth, attentiveness and humour that exudes from their tiny frames could give many a North American a reason to pause and take note.

As we embarked on our two hour journey south of Cancun, toward the Mayan Riviera, we did not expect to see such a vast difference in the land, the sea, and the people. The people were by far the highlight, as one after another after another offered friendliness, happiness, and helpfulness to our travelled battered bodies. Their petite, short frames left us wondering what the reason was for this - perhaps such an evolution came from the jungle and the sea, with the heat, a smaller bodied person was more likely to survive the climate and the perils that the jungle offered. That will be some research for another day. All we know for sure is that the lack of physical size was more than compensated for by a heart that was mucho grande.

Until next time, hasta luego!!

Breeders and Bourbon....

Sat, 20 Oct 2007 18:04:36 GMT

"Ma..ma...ca-an..youuu b-uy me...thees baaa-ll?" echoed the drawled little voice of the four year old behind me in line. It was the interesting dichotomy of Kentucky; absolutely beautiful rolling hills with perfectly manicured white horse- fencing encircling turn-of-the century buildings like a bracelet of diamonds encircling a wrist, mixed in with a whole lot of funny talking and backwards thinking. It causes one to take notice.

I drove for a few hours between Lexington and Frankford, somehow ending up on a Bourbon circuit, as I passed (and visited) Buffalo Trace (http://www.buffalotrace.com/home2.html ), Jim Beam & Woodford Reserve, viewing the rolling hills, as farm, after glorious farm, was placed before me. Painted white fencing for the most part, chanelled through, and around hectares and hectares of rolling green pasture. No jalopies rusting in the fields, no broken fences, and no sign of backwoods thinking. Just nature, at one with the trusted stead, within the white outline.

It was hard to imagine how Kentucky had received the reputation that it had - backwoods, uneducated, and slow. Could it have been simply from the way in which the rural folk spoke? Or had the rich, well-educated person discovered a world in which their pedigree was matched - at least in the beauty of the land?

Either way, Kentucky had come a long way, along with the aging of their bourbon barrels. It suited my tastes just fine.

Indian Trek

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 18:01:47 GMT

Another GUEST blog from the Mountains of India:

It started out like any other mountain day hike. After driving beyond the edge of town and then another hours or so, the city landscape turned rural, with farms and wayside stands, and the occasional elephant. The land was notably flat, stretching for miles. Then suddenly a mountain appeared, one lone mountain, a mini-Himalaya plopped on the plains.

As we stood at the trailhead, the mountain still looked a long way off -- it looked like wee would have to walk an hour or more just to reach the base. Which is exactly how it turned out, but the path was wooded and enjoyable. (Later we discovered that most people drive or take autorickshaw to the base). We had some fun and challenging rock scrambling as we started up the base, and the mountain began to seem even higher. Then we began to see little huts on the edge of the trail, with their occupants cooking or sewing or otherwise going about their daily lives. The little huts coalesced into a village which, as we climbed further, about halfway up the mountain became a town with concrete buildings, a school, shrines, trailside shops and lots of huts. There is no road to get there! All of this was built from materials carried up the mountain, in big loads balanced on the tops of people's heads or the backs of donkeys.

And the whole place was a festival, which it must be everyday. Because this day wasn't any different than any other day for a pilgrimage to Kali Maa, the resident god enshrined at the very top of the mountain. There was music and excitement, people and animals everywhere. People were leading goats up the mountain to sacrifice them to Kali Maa (which mostly means turning them loose on the top of the mountain, although I understand a few people adhere to the old practices). One very devout person was prostrating himself all the way up the mountain.

The snacks along the way were wonderful -- baked lentil chips in newspaper cones with fresh tomatoes, onions, salt, chilis, and spices, fresh squeezed lime water with salt, chilis, and spices, fried chili peppers with salt and spices, dried tamarinds with salt, chilis, and spices -- see the common thread? It was all delicious! Especially delicious because of our exertions and the heat.

Once we neared the top, the crowds were getting thick. But there was a path less taken, so we took it and found ourselves alone amont some wonderful 9th and 10th century buildings covered with sculptural detail. After a meditative stay there, we rejoined the main trail and pushed on to join the throngs lining up to enter the temple at the top of the mountain. We had to stand in line for more than an hour, and the last half hour we were squished together, sweaty body to sweaty body, in a crowd of thousands of barefoot pilgrims. We each carried a coconut, a modern day substitute for our head, which especially devout people used to sacrifice, a practice now illegal. After filing singly past the god and leaving the temple, each person smashed his/her coconut on a stone ledge. We had earned the savoury coconut meat as we descended the mountain. About a quarter of the way down, we passed the prostrating pilgrim, still heading up the mountain and throwing himself to the ground with every step.

So now I'm back to my 14 hour days at the office and coming to the end of my stay in this most interesting of places. I've really gotten fond of our co-workers here and am looking forward to a continuing relationship with them through our shared work and shared experiences.

Maiden Voyage

Wed, 19 Sep 2007 18:05:09 GMT

We made our first voyage across Georgia Straight this past weekend. We bought a '99 Campion 622 Explorer Walkaround with a 200 Merc Optimax on the back. We then purchased a 9.9 kicker with controls that was a nightmare to install (and expensive!!) and of course a decent GPS - 5" screen. We had leaned toward the Lowrance GPS all along because of their great resolution, but when we were told they were made in the same factory as the Eagle - and the Eagle was 150 bucks less, we went with the Eagle.
We bombed out of Crescent Beach at around noon on Friday, dropped our brand new crab pot at the end of the markers, set a waypoint, and away we went. The seas were calm, with LV winds. We arrived in Montague Harbour at about 1 PM - a few zig zags before we got the hang of the GPS and I was driving - averaging about 25 mph!! ;)
We filled up there - that was probably our first mistake, as that cost 200 bucks and didn't even completely fill it. We should have filled it at a Mohawk while on the trailer, right?
Anyhow, we lunched in Montague, and headed North toward Porlier, not really realizing how long a voyage that was!! We made it through the whirly pools at the pass, and thought we should try out the new Scottie electric downrigger. We tried that for an hour or so. It was hot and gorgeous on the East side of the Island - far different from the West where it had been blowing! (but sunny)
At 4 pm we loaded up, battoned down and headed back to our crab pot, setting the direction on the GPS to that first waypoint. It was a VERY choppy crossing - it didn't say small craft warning, but I think it was. High tide was due at 5, if I remember right.
We hit our crab pot head on at about 5:30, and pulled it up, only to find that I had not 'un-bungied' the doors to the trap!! Doh!!
Anyhow, easy to launch, easy to load, able to handle fairly rough seas and go pretty fast....we are happy with our new boat!! We figure it probably cost 30-40 bucks for the day, which seems reasonable in that we were motoring for about 4 hours. Any other good experiences with the Merc Optimax 200??
Happy fishing....hoping that our next outing has a few less 'learning points'.

Spain, Andulucia, Granada and Federico Lorca

Wed, 25 Jul 2007 22:33:47 GMT

Frances Mayes new book, A Year in the World - Journeys of a Passionate Traveler, begins in the region of Andulucia, Spain. This southern region of Spain encompasses many, many Arab features that seemingly Christian educators have forgotten to write or teach. From Flamenco dancing to the architecture and cuisine of the region to the farming lifestyle, many middle Eastern strands of fabric have been woven through the beautiful landscape of many of the surrounding Meditterean countries, which now serve as part of Europe. It was so refreshing and educating to see that Mayes details those pieces in such flowing fashion.

She also speaks of Federico Lorca, her favourite of the Spanish poets. Needing a bit of education on him, myself, I went to www.poets.org :

"Federico García Lorca
Federico García Lorca is possibly the most important Spanish poet and dramatist of the twentieth century. García Lorca was born June 5, 1899, in Fuente Vaqueros, a small town a few miles from Granada.....

In 1936, García Lorca was staying at Callejones de García, his country home, at the outbreak of the Civil War. He was arrested by Franquist soldiers, and on the 17th or 18th of August, after a few days in jail, soldiers took García Lorca to "visit" his brother-in-law, Manuel Fernandez Montesinos, the Socialist ex-mayor of Granada whom the soldiers had murdered and dragged through the streets. When they arrived at the cemetery, the soldiers forced García Lorca from the car. They struck him with the butts of their rifles and riddled his body with bullets. His books were burned in Granada's Plaza del Carmen and were soon banned from Franco's Spain. To this day, no one knows where the body of Federico García Lorca rests."

Sunrise (snippet) - http://www.ctspanish.com/literature/sunrise.htm

The sunrise arrives, and no one opens his mouth to receive it,

because neither tomorrow nor hope is possible here.

Only now and then mad swarms of nickels and dimes

sting and eat the abandoned children.

Or in his Native tongue:

La aurora llega y nadie la recibe en su boca
porque allí no hay mañana ni esperanza posible.
A veces las monedas en enjambres furiosos
taladran y devoran abandonados niños.

And mine:

Take me for tapas in Andulucia

Let me listen to the sound of the click clack as the dancers dance

On the sidewalks, displaying their beauty and grace

On parade

For all to see, while we sip on Chianti and nibble on a light batch of Paella

Cooked over a small wood fire just for two

Or maybe more, if we met future friends that day

Let us dance too and not care a bit if others are judging

watching or seeking

Let us just be

Be for all that we are - In Andulucia!!

Hasta Manana mes amigos!!

http://www.andalucia.com/province/home.htm

On my mind

Wed, 13 Jun 2007 15:29:23 GMT

I can't seem to get Katrina out of my mind. It's been a week since we returned from New Orleans, and the images of the desperation and the damage that she caused are burned into my memory card like glue melting in the hot sun.

The French Quarter - the lucrative heart of the city was virtually untouched by Hurricane Katrina and her sad aftermath. Katrina would eventually kill 1100 people along the gulf coast, but one needn't venture far to see the wake of her disaster. Say nothing of the devastation that couldn't be seen; the lives that had been shattered, uprooted, moved, only to start again. Signs proudly displayed throughout the city included New Orlean's proud Fleur-de-lis, with the words, "Rebirth" encircling it.

The streetcars in New Orleans travel up and down Canal Street, passing Bourbon Street, and taking visitors and locals alike to the Riverwalk on one end, or City Park on the other end. In all, from end to end, about a 45 minute journey. It is only about 1 block North of the French Quarter that the signs of a departed Katrina are seen. The 20 story office building, that is a departure from the typical New Orleans architecture, is missing every other window, sitting empty. A shattered example of what still lay in wait almost two years after the category 5 storm. As the streetcar continues on, the lasting water line remains imprinted on the buildings and the fences at about 7 feet, where it stayed for days after the storm, until workers could start pumping all the water into Lake Pontchartrain(http://coastal.er.usgs.gov/pontchartrain/) in order to get the city functioning again. The bodies, the effluent, the oil, the gas and the other life blood flowed freely into the lake from the city streets, and locals worried about the damage that would be caused to the ecology of the historical lake on the edge of a historical city, but 6 months later, somehow, that same ecology managed to restore itself back to the pre-Katrina days.

The beautiful historical houses and monuments are boarded up, stairs missing, paint cracked and peeling, with 'For Sale' signs emblazened on the side of them, as though someone may return to buy the broken wares. The real deficiencies though are found when you start to talk to the locals. As we entered The Bulldog Ale House, right next to City Park for a mid afternoon 2 dollar Bloody Mary, we listened to the young female bartender tell us her stories of Katrina, with her token southern drawl, 'my grandma drowned in Katrina. She was 90 and still fit as a fiddle, but couldn't get out of her house. She was found in the attic. The water had risen so fast and chased her up the stairs and then there was no where to go. She knew about the potential for disaster in New Orleans. She had lived here her whole life and it was home.' A knot welled in my throat as I mirrored the one welling in the story teller. Humans connecting. Sharing stories of loss, and recovery, and hoping that recovery comes sooner than it ever does.

That was the first story that drew our hearts into the city, but there were many others. One man spoke of going with his brother to rescue his horse that was at a stable near the lake. By this time, the water had started to recede, but there was still a lot of water. They waded through the muk to get to the stables, and all 60 horses in the stable were gone. They walked on down one of the levies to find 6 horses that were able to swim for long enough in order to finally scramble up the side of the levy. The other 54 horses had perished.

It was story after story, some triumphant, some downright, unbelievably sad, yet still compelling enough to tell, and to get through, and to journey on. New Orleans is still journeying on. A city that once held 500 thousand residents now holds half that. Yes, it is built below sea level and yes, it seems to be a city that has always been filled with government corruption, but one can certainly understand why the people stay. It is not just the music that has the soul.

All of the flavours of the Big Easy

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 15:54:40 GMT

The wet air hung to his pant leg like a gator's jaws wrapped around a possum, dragging down each routine step. He pushed through it, continuing to process all of the smells and the sights of the French Quarter; a trip back to yesteryear, where simple tastes could be the focus of each day and the busy-ness that had consumed him for the past few years were relegated to the back burner in favour of those other ones that were so simple, yet so savoury.

The small, quiet alleys of the quarter were distinct for their New Orlean's charm. The little balconies hovering over the quaint

streets, the smell of coffee and beignets (http://www.cafedumonde.com/ ) in the air, the soft jazzy sounds echoing from several streets away, where once again the senses would become overloaded.

The draw of Bourbon street was like the call of the shrimp to the shrimpers down the bayou way. Most folk would be content on

the quieter places of the French Quarter, yet few could resist the unrelenting partying way of a Saturday Night on Bourbon Street (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bourbon_Street ).

The scantily clad gals walking the street, some selling dollar shooters, some simply looking for an excuse to lift their blouse as the cat calls launched from the balconies like water balloons, looking for any takers in the streets below, at which time the splashy New Orleans beads would be tossed to their new owners in exchange for a glance or two at some bare skin. The soft sounds of jazz and blues turns into the a mini battle of the bands as bar after bar compete for customers only too willing to sample all the sounds - and the beautiful musicians - that the street can afford.

The New Orlean's Jazz is unique, close to Blues, yet with more of a swing, and it seems responsible for helping those on the street to step back in time just a bit. The beverages, aptly named the Hurricanes and the Hand Grenades add to the relaxation of those looking to escape as everyone carries their beverages from bar to bar trying to take it all in. The music cannot help but put a smile on one's face.

No taste of New Orlean's would be complete without the REAL southern tastes of the deep fried Alligator, the Crawfish Etouffe, the Red

Beans and Rice, or the Jambalaya. Whether at Le Bayou Cafe (http://www.labayourestaurant.com/), the Gumbo Shop or Mulates (http://www.mulates.com/), these flavours come alive as the people search for comfort, passion, and full bellies in the streets of New Orleans.

The uniqueness; the excessive; the warm talk of the folks that have lived here through disaster after disaster combine to make this a place where the draw is undeniable and the love shines through with every bouncing jazzy bluesy step. Yes, the love is felt.

Podcasts on the road

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 17:02:56 GMT

The recent 4 hour drive north of here stirred many a season in passing. In years gone by I had driven this same stretch of highway so frequently, listening to a music cassette, or occasionaly a book on tape; the wind of every corner memorized, the tunes all too familiar. There are no radio towers near the mountainous path, so the chances of getting radio station tuned in is few and far between.

This adventure was different though. I could now pick from a surplus of topics and forms ANYthing that I wanted to listen to and simply burn it, via my laptop, on to a CD. If I was even cooler, I could just download it to my IPod, which I don't have yet, and plug it into my car radio and away I would go.

In the U.S.A., one of the beauties of car travel, in my humble opinion, is NPR. National Public Radio. Somehow they are able to generate enough funding to provide some of the most entertaining and inquisitive topics on the radio. Their web site is also brilliantly layed out, and contains smattering of diamonds throughout it - http://www.npr.org/.

For this particular journey, I chose a few different types of podcasts in the hopes that the trip would appear fast, and it did. Probably the highlight in the podcast arena was an NPR show, entitled Intelligence Squared. The host poses a question for the panel to answer and half the panel debates the topic with the other half, displaying pros and cons of each. In this case, the question was "Is America too damned Religious?" (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6263392) The ensuing 2 hour debate was fascinating and enlightening, and left both Tim and I to further discuss for an hour that day, as well as over the weekend, with anyone that wanted a go at it.

Of course, I had NOT only used NPR for a source of our listening enjoyment, I had to find something with a bit more of a bite in it, so I opted to check out www.pointofinquiry.com. This website boasts an appealing brand of secular humanism, and we were suprised to see a reverend and professor of theology being interviewed - http://www.pointofinquiry.org/?p=100 - supporting the fact that the tried and trued methodical historical method of inquiry will not support either the existing of God, or even, the existence of Jesus. When I returned home, I did a bit more research on Bob Price, and found that he has written many books, and is renowned as a fundamental Christian turned skeptic - his doubt brought on by the lack of substantiation and evidence of any of the claims in the bible. One of the more interesting segments in his interview deals with the impending Apocalypse detailed in many parts of the new testament, by many writers. As he points out, they all fail to give any real timeline other than 'soon', and as we know, we have been waiting close to 1900 years for the 'soon' to occur. Yes, start storing your water. Heaven knows that God could wipe out 1500 toddlers in Thailand the day after Christmas, but for you, my friend, you are special and will be spared!!

Part of being a secular humanist is to listen to all points of view in a humanistic manner, and I constantly have to remind myself of this...many scholars and peasants alike are apt to soar so far left they become right, and vica versa. While I do have a scientific mind that must support reason and evidence in supporting a conclusion (http://www.skeptic.com/), I also am a humanist that must accept all of humanity, even for the wild and whacky ideas that they portray - I will even throw a bone and say, as the Bible says, 'without judgement'. That one is a little tougher for us all.

Distant Memories

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 16:57:29 GMT

My mom and dad started taking us, as a family, to the Flying U Ranch, in the Cariboo, when I was 4, and though much time has passed since those early fun-filled days, I seem to remember those specific times with pinpoint precision. That VERY first year, my horse's name was Comet. No doubt labeled that, since he was anything but, however perfect for wee ones and perfect for me! He was a big horse though, and while gentle and meandering, I had trouble stretching my 14 inch legs to encircle his saddle, let alone find the stirrups. By day 2, we were pals and we each understood each other...I would bring him carrots, if he would coddle me above him, and not let me slip off!

That summer in the heat of the Cariboo it smelled so sweet with the grasses and the oats in bloom. Sometimes I will catch a scent similar and it will take me back to those earliest perfect memories. While I had been around animals my whole life, I had never experienced so many different kinds, so close up, as I did that first summer at the Ranch. The wee piglets scampering in the pen to find their mama, and the chicks running around behind their siblings, trying to keep up, and the beautiful gentle foals that had just learned to feed themselves. Those little foals were so soft and amazing, grazing with their mothers in the middle of the common area, between the cabins. They would let me walk up to them, and pat them and I wanted so desperately to take one home, but I knew my dad had other plans. Often as I walked to our cabin, one of the baby foals would follow me, thinking that my bleach blonde hair looked suprisingly like hay, taking a little nibble.

I can't help but smile when I think of the Ranch and all the lessons that were learned on, or near, horseback, through the years. I miss those days and think of them often and long to return to that simple life of meandering through the woods.

and....

Congratulations to the minature horse, Willow, who just gave birth to her very own treasure.

Under the Phoenix Sun

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 18:32:31 GMT

Phoenix ~ Ah yes, the warm desert sun beats down on one's back, warming the imagination with happy thoughts and abundant optimism....if only sunshine could work that way!! This week in Phoenix was nothing more than tease after tease of poolside glee; one day in the 70's (F), the next day in the 50's and the sweaters in short supply.

However, as pointed out many times on these pages before, sunshine can come from within and it did as we poured over a gluttony of information during the day and were rewarded by food and beverage aplenty in the evening.

One of my favourite desert hot spots is Tempe - a university town (Arizona State) with a bustling main strip, prolific with hip bars and restaurants. Of course, the restaurant of choice is Ra (http://www.rasushi.com/). It's outstanding fresh sushi, sashimi, gyoza etc. is set apart by an unbelievable creative art in rollmaking! Try the monkey roll or spicy crispy tuna roll to truly appreciate some culinary imagination!! Quite odd to find such amazing sushi so far from the ocean!

Mexican restaurants abound in the area as well. The one that we always seem to find our way to, is Macayo's Depot Cantina (http://www.depotcantina.com/). Their fresh tortillas and salsa alongside their VERY large Margaritas are sure to bring a smile to everyone's face. I am always disappointed that I cannot come close to finishing my meal! Damn chips!!

The last of the three restaurants we sampled this time to Phoenix was the Havana Cafe (http://www.havanacafe-az.com/). If you have never had Cuban fare, this quaint little dig just north of the Phoenix airport is well worth the drive. I had the Ceviche which was fantastic, while others chowed down on Pulled Pork, Cuban Steak, assorted Tamales, and Black Beans, complimented by a Caipirinha (http://www.cocktail.com/recipes/c/Caipirinha.htm) or a Pussers Painkiller (http://www.theartofdrink.com/blog/2007/02/pussers-painkiller-cocktail.php). Both delicious South American cocktails.

Travel safe BUT eat well!! Cheers!

High Flying Journal

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 04:13:28 GMT

37000 feet up again. On a 757 today. United. Was suppose to be heading to Philadelphia via Chicago - and by the way, was going to pick up a Bears t-shirt since they are in the Super Bowl and all - but alas, that flight was delayed, so I opted for Denver first, then on to Philly.

These 757s are nice. Spacious, even. My 'wireless network' connection keeps confusing me by saying that I am connected. That would be nice at 37000 feet. Mmmmn, if we convert that to metres, it is 12000 meters roughly, which translates into 12 kms up in the sky. That is a long way up!! Some people run that distance every day!!

The weather has been bumpy all the way. It seems every direction has a front coming or going. On our way in to Denver, we kept getting hit with 30 mph tailwinds. I suppose that helped to get us there faster.

It is odd chasing the sun too. Each city, or mountain zone finds another lost hour of daylight, and the sun always manages to stay slightly ahead of us. Now we are at Sunset in the East. It is about 5:41 PM - I think we should still be on Mountain Standard time. It makes me think of the many people in the world that must feel like they are constantly chasing the light....never to actually catch it. That is why it nice to always have that light turned on inside. Shine on.

White Noise

Wed, 18 Oct 2006 16:18:48 GMT

We have been back from Vegas for about a day now and my heart rate has finally returned to the beepbop hum to which it is accustomed. The excitement, bells, whistles, constant drone, bright lights, blaring sidewalk speakers and crowds are fun (EXTREMELY fun!) for a day or two but by day 4 it is time to go back to my 'ordinary life'. The simple pleasures of that ordinary life seem difficult to find within the mayhem of the make believe world, where the powers that be divert billions and billions of dollars of precious water to the middle of a desert in search of the 'everything else' that can apparently be found. Is that the great paradox that we are suppose to walk away with? All of the 'id' tendencies get fulfilled....but all of the substance is lost without the other ordinary pleasures.

Retrospective Communities?

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 17:05:44 GMT

When I think about blogging lately, I can't help but think of some of the opening and closing scenes from Sex and the City, and how Carrie is sitting there, talking aloud, writing her column. Who knew that such a personal way of expression could be one that is 'refreshed' for so many on a daily or weekly basis.

Such questions arise out of a new sense of community that 'blogging' has helped bring together. It updates, it unites, it shares. Does it actually help build community? Have we in 2006, lost 'real' community, in a sense? AND do we, as humans, continually search for it? Or become indifferent to whether it is here or there? How many people that read this will want to comment, yet not? How many will comment, and start building that community? IS it a community if no-one comments? Maybe just a lowly diary entry, where lurkers read on, unnoticed, unnoticing. Is it bigger than that? Or just an egocentrics way of getting their own twisted thoughts heard?

I wish I started blogging long ago. Words come so freely and naturally and fast to the keyboard that somedays I think that I could go on forever. Thankfully, for most, I try to keep it short!! It would have been great while we were in Europe last year to BLOG - such great times, great memories, AND FOOD! More real than a 'travel journal' or the sort, simply because so many folks are traveling to new places so often. Where to sleep, eat, drive may be of some sort of interest. Right?

In fact, I have traveled so much over the past 10 or 15 years, maybe I should do a 'retrospective piece': "KO's favourite hotspots!!" It has a ring doesn't it? Stay tuned for that!!