The weekend in Chicago was amazing. Amazing partially because not only did I have company (because really you can only do so much on your own) but I was in the company of some of my favourite people. We shopped and walked and laughed and ate. We saw a musical and visited Frank Lloyd Wright's first house and studio. We did architectural tours. We truly indulged in all things Chicago.
Chicago is often compared to Toronto and indeed visiting I could see many of the reasons why. But I have learned that traveling can teach us not only about the foreign place but also about our own home. In comparing Toronto to Chicago, I think that we can learn about how to make our own fair city even better.
Toronto and Chicago are wonderful places. Each city is dynamic and cosmopolitan. It is relatively safe and relatively clean. The people are friendly and generally proud of their city. There is lots of enterprise and great shopping. The sports teams and the productions are both world class. And mostly the quality of life is outstanding.
However, Chicago seems somehow brighter. It has a hugely better waterfront. The attention paid to capitalize on the natural setting has paid off greatly (although it is a given that the river and canal system adds hugely to this). Chicago also seems a little bit richer and a little bit bigger than Toronto. This may come simply from being in the U.S. as opposed to what Robin Williams referred to as 'a loft apartment over a really great party.' North Michigan Ave has all the big stores as opposed to Bloor St with only some of them. Finally, the city has benefited from its strong spirit of architectural adventure; constantly in the vanguard of new and exciting styles and designs. It has fostered this spirit and the reputation that comes along with it. The city is proud of its architectural dressing and has a plethora of attractions to capitalize on it.
Some of these lessons can be learned from Chicago and brought home. There is much we can do with our waterfront, for example (and my hopes are buoyed by the announcement of a development project).
This is not to say that we do not have much to be proud of. But I believe that being proud also involves searching for betterment and never settling. Toronto the Good deserves better.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
The Great American Roadtrip
Roadtripping is a quintessential American tradition. It's like baseball or capitalism or political sex scandals. It's hard to say why Americans are so into taking long trips in their cars. Maybe it's the sheer size of this country. Maybe it's that the U.S. has so much in it that Americans would rather travel within their country than elsewhere (despite the fact that the latter may actually improve geopolitical relations). Maybe it's their great interstate highway system... or maybe the great interstate highway system was created because of the roadtrip. Hrm.
Whatever the cause, Americans do drive a lot, covering vast distances within their vast country. And it shows. The aforementioned interstate highway system is truly impressive. An intricate criss-crossing of major highways allowing one to travel from Topeka to Denver or Eugene to Reno or Miami to Boise. The even-numbered highways run East-West and the odd numbers run North-South - as far as they can. It is seriously weird to pass the start of a highway (in my case I-80) on the East Coast on which you have once driven 3000 some odd miles away in California.
One effect I believe this has is to bring the country together. It makes everything seem possible, any destination reachable. It unifies the country in a typically American way - a man in his car can go anywhere. It's like the transportation version of the American dream. In a country this diverse, this sprawling, it seems necessary to have such physical links between states, regions, and coasts.
My drive (now totalling almost 7000km on the odometer) has taken me through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, D.C., Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida on I90, I95, and I75. I have also traveled on I10, I20, and I40. And over the past few days I drove almost the entire length of I55, from where it begins in New Orleans, Louisiana, through Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, Missouri, and finally to Chicago, Illinois.
I have seen some incredible things. There is truly a whole industry dedicated to supporting the American roadtrip. Gas stations and fast food joints and easy-in-easy-out roadside motels are everywhere, at almost every highway exit. The highways themselves tend to be lined with advertising - whether for the very luxuries of this roadtrip industry or for other things, most predominantly religion - my favourite in this category has to be "needGod.com." (Although "1-800-DIVORCE" is one of the overall faves.)
Roadtripping can bring about a lot of things. But the most interesting feeling for me is one of accomplishment. I didn't know what to expect going into this adventure, nor was I without fear. But I did it. I drove and drove and drove. I saw so much. I learned so much. And I think I got pretty good at it. Road trips like this make you feel like you could do anything. I mean, hey, if I could drive from the North to South and then South to the North by myself, I can do anything I want, right?
Whatever the cause, Americans do drive a lot, covering vast distances within their vast country. And it shows. The aforementioned interstate highway system is truly impressive. An intricate criss-crossing of major highways allowing one to travel from Topeka to Denver or Eugene to Reno or Miami to Boise. The even-numbered highways run East-West and the odd numbers run North-South - as far as they can. It is seriously weird to pass the start of a highway (in my case I-80) on the East Coast on which you have once driven 3000 some odd miles away in California.
One effect I believe this has is to bring the country together. It makes everything seem possible, any destination reachable. It unifies the country in a typically American way - a man in his car can go anywhere. It's like the transportation version of the American dream. In a country this diverse, this sprawling, it seems necessary to have such physical links between states, regions, and coasts.
My drive (now totalling almost 7000km on the odometer) has taken me through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, D.C., Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida on I90, I95, and I75. I have also traveled on I10, I20, and I40. And over the past few days I drove almost the entire length of I55, from where it begins in New Orleans, Louisiana, through Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, Missouri, and finally to Chicago, Illinois.
I have seen some incredible things. There is truly a whole industry dedicated to supporting the American roadtrip. Gas stations and fast food joints and easy-in-easy-out roadside motels are everywhere, at almost every highway exit. The highways themselves tend to be lined with advertising - whether for the very luxuries of this roadtrip industry or for other things, most predominantly religion - my favourite in this category has to be "needGod.com." (Although "1-800-DIVORCE" is one of the overall faves.)
Roadtripping can bring about a lot of things. But the most interesting feeling for me is one of accomplishment. I didn't know what to expect going into this adventure, nor was I without fear. But I did it. I drove and drove and drove. I saw so much. I learned so much. And I think I got pretty good at it. Road trips like this make you feel like you could do anything. I mean, hey, if I could drive from the North to South and then South to the North by myself, I can do anything I want, right?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Reflections on New Orleans
Entering the city, I felt as though I was bound to love her. How could you not love New Orleans? I mean, people I love love this city and people all around the world love her too.
I can see why. Even my limited exposure (one evening and morning in the French Quarter) showed me many reasons. This city is full of life. There is something going on at every corner. People practicing every sort of art and music. Shopkeepers plying their wares. Club promoters enticing you in. The city is steeped in character. The distinctively French buildings with their southern-style wrought iron balconies seem to embrace you. You can't help but wonder at the things they've seen while the parade of history has taken place around them.
There are French bakeries, oyster bars, bbq pits, and of course jazz clubs of all sorts. There are antique shops and jewelry boutiques and little art shops with hidden courtyards.
Everyone seems happy.
But I can also see how being loved - as New Orleans is - has damaged her. As happens far too often, the flood of tourists has changed the feeling of this place. It has created a gross patina upon her beautiful surface. There are strip clubs and Cancun/Spring Break style daiquiri bars. There is so much garbage and awful smells. There are many people too who obviously just live on these tawdry streets - and who have not survived it well. Those faring better spend their time trying squeeze money out of everyone around. For where there is money, there will ever follow opportunism. In this way, New Orleans reminds me of Amsterdam; dirty and seedy, leaving me feeling the need to hold my purse close and look over my shoulder, trusting no one.
It's sad actually, because like a beautiful woman with far too much tacky make-up on, the beauty of New Orleans persists but the whole appearance is tarnished.
I can see why. Even my limited exposure (one evening and morning in the French Quarter) showed me many reasons. This city is full of life. There is something going on at every corner. People practicing every sort of art and music. Shopkeepers plying their wares. Club promoters enticing you in. The city is steeped in character. The distinctively French buildings with their southern-style wrought iron balconies seem to embrace you. You can't help but wonder at the things they've seen while the parade of history has taken place around them.
There are French bakeries, oyster bars, bbq pits, and of course jazz clubs of all sorts. There are antique shops and jewelry boutiques and little art shops with hidden courtyards.
Everyone seems happy.
But I can also see how being loved - as New Orleans is - has damaged her. As happens far too often, the flood of tourists has changed the feeling of this place. It has created a gross patina upon her beautiful surface. There are strip clubs and Cancun/Spring Break style daiquiri bars. There is so much garbage and awful smells. There are many people too who obviously just live on these tawdry streets - and who have not survived it well. Those faring better spend their time trying squeeze money out of everyone around. For where there is money, there will ever follow opportunism. In this way, New Orleans reminds me of Amsterdam; dirty and seedy, leaving me feeling the need to hold my purse close and look over my shoulder, trusting no one.
It's sad actually, because like a beautiful woman with far too much tacky make-up on, the beauty of New Orleans persists but the whole appearance is tarnished.
The ATL
I spent the weekend in Atlanta. Aka Hotlanta. Aka The ATL. It was my first time visiting "the South." While admittedly Atlanta isn't that southern because it is a fairly large metropolitan city, it is situated squarely in the heart of the South and many consider it to be the area's unofficial capital.
It definitely felt southern to me. A light southern drawl seemed to exist on most residents' lips. There were many signs for fried chicken, ribs, bbq, and grits. And of course Atlanta is the 'blackest' city in the US (i.e. it has the highest proportion of African Americans).
The city itself is sprawling. Indeed everyone needs a car in the ATL. But I'm told that the sprawl is due at least in part to the fact that residents prioritize highly their greenspace. And thus Atlanta is the greenest city in the U.S. (Indeed from my friend's apartment - which her local friends consider to be 'downtown' - it feels like you're in the woods.)
I tried to experience Atlanta to the fullest. I ate shrimp and grits (apparently a southern specialty). I toured the CNN Center (no, sadly no sightings of AC). I sampled some of the 70 different flavours of Coke at the World of Coke. I walked around Piedmont Park (which was absolutely teeming with life and activity). I saw tornado-damaged buildings. And of course went out clubbing in downtown ATL.
I even got a change to go out and explore the far-reaching suburbs and new developments. I stayed with close family friends about an hour outside of the city. A real home-cooked meal and clean bed - what treats! They even had cats for me to get my feline fix.
Overall, I liked Atlanta and its environs. Although I do tend to prefer cities that are at least somewhat walkable (and not overwhelmingly hot in the summer).
It definitely felt southern to me. A light southern drawl seemed to exist on most residents' lips. There were many signs for fried chicken, ribs, bbq, and grits. And of course Atlanta is the 'blackest' city in the US (i.e. it has the highest proportion of African Americans).
The city itself is sprawling. Indeed everyone needs a car in the ATL. But I'm told that the sprawl is due at least in part to the fact that residents prioritize highly their greenspace. And thus Atlanta is the greenest city in the U.S. (Indeed from my friend's apartment - which her local friends consider to be 'downtown' - it feels like you're in the woods.)
I tried to experience Atlanta to the fullest. I ate shrimp and grits (apparently a southern specialty). I toured the CNN Center (no, sadly no sightings of AC). I sampled some of the 70 different flavours of Coke at the World of Coke. I walked around Piedmont Park (which was absolutely teeming with life and activity). I saw tornado-damaged buildings. And of course went out clubbing in downtown ATL.
I even got a change to go out and explore the far-reaching suburbs and new developments. I stayed with close family friends about an hour outside of the city. A real home-cooked meal and clean bed - what treats! They even had cats for me to get my feline fix.
Overall, I liked Atlanta and its environs. Although I do tend to prefer cities that are at least somewhat walkable (and not overwhelmingly hot in the summer).
Friday, May 16, 2008
A week of friend therapy
We all need it from time to time. It can be hard to admit and even harder to recognize as our lives accelerate and whiz past us at lightning speeds. We get distracted by work and school, family and partners. We see only those things in the now, those things that need immediate attention. And in all this we lose parts of ourselves - not necessarily for good but perhaps they become dormant; they go into hibernation until we are once again ready to pay attention.
These observations may sound strange coming from someone who is spending a year 'paying attention.' Isn't that what a 'year off' is supposed to be? A year of contemplating oneself and one's place in the world? Yes, but even that has its stresses. The planning that goes into these types of trips and the contingency preparations are enormous. There are concerns with every decision and even every day, particularly those spent on the road. And of course life does not stop simply because one decides to take a year off. I've had to tend to other responsibilities and life preparation type tasks.
So this week, amidst a year of what was supposed to be this, I indulged in a bit of a friend therapy. This is a widely used but not widely discussed type of therapy. It involves surrounding yourself with your best friends in a stress-free environment.
The most potent facet of this type of treatment is laughter. And boy did we do a lot of it. The week we spent on the beach in Florida was filled with it. It overflowed with it. We were silly. We were caddy. Witty. Happy. We were ourselves. Just us, trusted friends, together.
We talked and talked and talked. We talked mostly about things that girl friends can't talk about with anyone else. We needed each other for these things.
We cooked and drank and saw girlie movies.
We relaxed and took the time to pay attention to those sometime-dormant things.
These observations may sound strange coming from someone who is spending a year 'paying attention.' Isn't that what a 'year off' is supposed to be? A year of contemplating oneself and one's place in the world? Yes, but even that has its stresses. The planning that goes into these types of trips and the contingency preparations are enormous. There are concerns with every decision and even every day, particularly those spent on the road. And of course life does not stop simply because one decides to take a year off. I've had to tend to other responsibilities and life preparation type tasks.
So this week, amidst a year of what was supposed to be this, I indulged in a bit of a friend therapy. This is a widely used but not widely discussed type of therapy. It involves surrounding yourself with your best friends in a stress-free environment.
The most potent facet of this type of treatment is laughter. And boy did we do a lot of it. The week we spent on the beach in Florida was filled with it. It overflowed with it. We were silly. We were caddy. Witty. Happy. We were ourselves. Just us, trusted friends, together.
We talked and talked and talked. We talked mostly about things that girl friends can't talk about with anyone else. We needed each other for these things.
We cooked and drank and saw girlie movies.
We relaxed and took the time to pay attention to those sometime-dormant things.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mom's Day
Today is Mother's Day. I have thought a lot about my mother today. I seemed to be surrounded by mothers - old grandmothers, overworked mothers, inexperienced mothers, and even expectant mothers. Sadly, I will not be able to be with my mother today, on the day to celebrate her and all that she does for the family. I haven't been with her on this day for some time, as I was usually still away at school over this holiday. As in the past, I have tried to do all that I can to show my mom how much she does mean to me. But really, flowers and cards can only go so far.
My mom is an immeasurably important part of my life. She has influenced me, guided me, supported me, and helped me in more ways than I can likely grasp. Significantly, she was a strong proponent of my taking this year off. A year for myself to travel, have fun, relax, learn, and recharge before the intensity of law school. She knows. She's been there.
And of course, like with so many other things, she was right. This year has been worth it a thousand times over. I have learned and grown more than I ever could have anticipated. And this year is just one of the many things that she has given to me.
The best thing about my mom is that she is one of my best friends. We really share a lot and look to each other for advice. We also have a blast together - sharing jokes that get cookier and cookier as the years go by. My father doesn't even try to figure them out anymore.
So today, on this celebratory day, I celebrate you, mom.
My mom is an immeasurably important part of my life. She has influenced me, guided me, supported me, and helped me in more ways than I can likely grasp. Significantly, she was a strong proponent of my taking this year off. A year for myself to travel, have fun, relax, learn, and recharge before the intensity of law school. She knows. She's been there.
And of course, like with so many other things, she was right. This year has been worth it a thousand times over. I have learned and grown more than I ever could have anticipated. And this year is just one of the many things that she has given to me.
The best thing about my mom is that she is one of my best friends. We really share a lot and look to each other for advice. We also have a blast together - sharing jokes that get cookier and cookier as the years go by. My father doesn't even try to figure them out anymore.
So today, on this celebratory day, I celebrate you, mom.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
A big drive
I have just completed a big drive. A massive drive by my standards. Yesterday morning I left Cambridge, Massachusetts and tonight I arrived in Ocala, Florida. That is approximately 2000km and somewhere around 20 hours of driving.
I was in the car for about 14 hours yesterday and then another 9 today. Yes, that adds up to more than 20. Tell that to the traffic I hit in Connecticut and the particularly delightful D.C. rush hour. What is almost more amazing than the completion of the drive itself is that I started out not knowing where I would spend the night. I planned to drive until I was tired and then find somewhere to crash. For an admitted control freak, this type of freewheeling is a big step. I ended up stopping in North Carolina, in a little town called Rocky Mount. Wouldn't ya know that I nabbed the last room at the Hampton Inn. Felt kinda bad for the tired-looking woman behind me who had to go somewhere else. But dammit I was tired too.
The drive itself was somewhat boring - I95 S mostly the entire way. I was struck though by the differences between the north and the south. On the trip, I drove through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, D.C., Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and finally Florida. Now I know that I am not revealing anything particularly, well, y'know, new by commenting on the differences between the states north of and south of the Mason Dixon line, but it was new to my eyes.
The north seemed complicated and bustling. The cars appeared to drive as though they were rushing somewhere - some meeting or art gallery opening perhaps. There is obviously a dense population and many urban centers, and the states seem to blend into one another, without proud fanfare at their borders (unless you count the toll booths at the beginnings and ends of the highways).
The south, on the other hand, is rural and expansive. It seems at times like acres and acres of farmland and at others like one great strip mall. While the greenery along the whole coast is beautiful, the southern states have allowed it to be marred along the highways by an absolutely astonishing array of ads. Huge signs promoting mostly fast food. This is not to say that the states down here are not proud of what they have - indeed, each state welcomed and farewelled me with beautiful and prominent declarations. South Carolina's was particularly noteworthy for its section of finely manicured lawns, huge brick gates, and tall flagpoles.
I can't draw many conclusions from these observations. I would just admit that I am amazed that these types of differences still persist in such a physically and virtually integrated country.
I count this drive as a big accomplishment for me - particularly considering how little experience I have with long drives and that I was all by myself.
Well, not entirely by myself. Very wisely, my mother gave me a book on CD before I left. It is a book by Elizabeth Gilbert called 'Eat, Pray, Love'. It is quite popular right now. Autobiographical, 'Eat, Pray, Love' is an account of Gilbert's year of traveling after a very difficult personal, emotional, and romantic period. She spends one third of the year in each of Italy, India, and Indonesia. Her writing is quick and witty. Her metaphors are perfect and her intuition makes you want to exclaim out loud: yes, that's exactly right! She writes about love and romance, friends and family, growing up, growing old, having fun, not having fun, meditating, praying, finding spirituality, and finding herself. Mostly, it is a book about a journey. There is a destination only in the sense that the year itself ends (though sadly no epilogue to tell you what happens next in her life); for the point of the book is to reveal to the reader the lessons of her personal journey - and indeed through the revelations to teach.
For me, most of the way through my own year of travels, it was an obviously poignant book. It made me think about things I had not previously considered and it gave me new perspectives on old thoughts. The author herself read the book and she did a great job.
So in a way, I did have a friend with me.
I was in the car for about 14 hours yesterday and then another 9 today. Yes, that adds up to more than 20. Tell that to the traffic I hit in Connecticut and the particularly delightful D.C. rush hour. What is almost more amazing than the completion of the drive itself is that I started out not knowing where I would spend the night. I planned to drive until I was tired and then find somewhere to crash. For an admitted control freak, this type of freewheeling is a big step. I ended up stopping in North Carolina, in a little town called Rocky Mount. Wouldn't ya know that I nabbed the last room at the Hampton Inn. Felt kinda bad for the tired-looking woman behind me who had to go somewhere else. But dammit I was tired too.
The drive itself was somewhat boring - I95 S mostly the entire way. I was struck though by the differences between the north and the south. On the trip, I drove through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, D.C., Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and finally Florida. Now I know that I am not revealing anything particularly, well, y'know, new by commenting on the differences between the states north of and south of the Mason Dixon line, but it was new to my eyes.
The north seemed complicated and bustling. The cars appeared to drive as though they were rushing somewhere - some meeting or art gallery opening perhaps. There is obviously a dense population and many urban centers, and the states seem to blend into one another, without proud fanfare at their borders (unless you count the toll booths at the beginnings and ends of the highways).
The south, on the other hand, is rural and expansive. It seems at times like acres and acres of farmland and at others like one great strip mall. While the greenery along the whole coast is beautiful, the southern states have allowed it to be marred along the highways by an absolutely astonishing array of ads. Huge signs promoting mostly fast food. This is not to say that the states down here are not proud of what they have - indeed, each state welcomed and farewelled me with beautiful and prominent declarations. South Carolina's was particularly noteworthy for its section of finely manicured lawns, huge brick gates, and tall flagpoles.
I can't draw many conclusions from these observations. I would just admit that I am amazed that these types of differences still persist in such a physically and virtually integrated country.
I count this drive as a big accomplishment for me - particularly considering how little experience I have with long drives and that I was all by myself.
Well, not entirely by myself. Very wisely, my mother gave me a book on CD before I left. It is a book by Elizabeth Gilbert called 'Eat, Pray, Love'. It is quite popular right now. Autobiographical, 'Eat, Pray, Love' is an account of Gilbert's year of traveling after a very difficult personal, emotional, and romantic period. She spends one third of the year in each of Italy, India, and Indonesia. Her writing is quick and witty. Her metaphors are perfect and her intuition makes you want to exclaim out loud: yes, that's exactly right! She writes about love and romance, friends and family, growing up, growing old, having fun, not having fun, meditating, praying, finding spirituality, and finding herself. Mostly, it is a book about a journey. There is a destination only in the sense that the year itself ends (though sadly no epilogue to tell you what happens next in her life); for the point of the book is to reveal to the reader the lessons of her personal journey - and indeed through the revelations to teach.
For me, most of the way through my own year of travels, it was an obviously poignant book. It made me think about things I had not previously considered and it gave me new perspectives on old thoughts. The author herself read the book and she did a great job.
So in a way, I did have a friend with me.
Monday, May 5, 2008
You can never go home again
They say that you can never go home again. I'm not sure who 'they' are (indeed a google search didn't reveal much), but they sure seem to have hit on something. I think that this phrase can take on different meanings for different situations and individuals.
For me, the phrase hits on the fact that while some things can remain the same about a place that was once familiar, time does alter other fundamental characteristics. These may be subtle and non-obvious to the uninitiated, but they are there. The dichotomy of much being the same, but some subtleties changed, creates an unsettling feeling.
Wandering around Harvard for the first time since graduation has been much like this for me. Harvard is still the same. The same buildings; the same beautiful grounds; the same stores, coffee shops, and restaurants; even the same homeless people and protesters. In fact, the feel of the students is the same, rushing around to meetings and rehearsals and games, trying to walk the fine line between getting good grades and having a life.
But the difference is that my class is gone. The class of 2007 has long dispersed into the world, to far flung places in Africa and Asia and Europe, or simply to new lives with jobs and apartments within Boston. This may be just one class - and certainly I had many friends in younger years - but it has a huge impact.
Harvard is no longer our place; it is a place we used to know.
For me, the phrase hits on the fact that while some things can remain the same about a place that was once familiar, time does alter other fundamental characteristics. These may be subtle and non-obvious to the uninitiated, but they are there. The dichotomy of much being the same, but some subtleties changed, creates an unsettling feeling.
Wandering around Harvard for the first time since graduation has been much like this for me. Harvard is still the same. The same buildings; the same beautiful grounds; the same stores, coffee shops, and restaurants; even the same homeless people and protesters. In fact, the feel of the students is the same, rushing around to meetings and rehearsals and games, trying to walk the fine line between getting good grades and having a life.
But the difference is that my class is gone. The class of 2007 has long dispersed into the world, to far flung places in Africa and Asia and Europe, or simply to new lives with jobs and apartments within Boston. This may be just one class - and certainly I had many friends in younger years - but it has a huge impact.
Harvard is no longer our place; it is a place we used to know.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Leaving again
So I'm all packed. Organized. Planned. Double checked. Backed-up and safety locked. I'm leaving again. I suppose that's the nature of traveling - you're always coming and going, but never really staying.
This time, I'm driving. From Toronto to Boston. Down the East Coast to Florida. Hotlanta, New Orleans jazz, Memphis blues, up the Midwest to Chicago and finally back home. It is a big trip to do by myself and I admit to being nervous. (And am so thankful that I am not doing as much as I had originally planned.) I don't know what it's going to be like. The longest I've ever spent in the car on my own is the five hours from Toronto to Montreal. That's like a baby step compared to this trip.
I anticipate a lot of time for thoughtfulness and introspection. I hope to absolutely jam to my music. I am going to whip out my camera and take pictures of strange things. I'm going laugh at the funny things people do in their cars. I'm going to soak up the surroundings as I pass them by.
I am going to be by myself on the open road. What could be more freeing?
This time, I'm driving. From Toronto to Boston. Down the East Coast to Florida. Hotlanta, New Orleans jazz, Memphis blues, up the Midwest to Chicago and finally back home. It is a big trip to do by myself and I admit to being nervous. (And am so thankful that I am not doing as much as I had originally planned.) I don't know what it's going to be like. The longest I've ever spent in the car on my own is the five hours from Toronto to Montreal. That's like a baby step compared to this trip.
I anticipate a lot of time for thoughtfulness and introspection. I hope to absolutely jam to my music. I am going to whip out my camera and take pictures of strange things. I'm going laugh at the funny things people do in their cars. I'm going to soak up the surroundings as I pass them by.
I am going to be by myself on the open road. What could be more freeing?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Inspiration
So I have been silent for quite some time. On the last day of April (indeed the last hour), I am making only my third post of the entire month. There is no real reason for the stillness of my proverbial quill. I have not been prohibitively busy, nor have I suffered from a lack of potential content. Quite frankly, I just didn't feel like it. I wasn't inspired.
I found myself thinking a lot about inspiration tonight. I accompanied my father and eldest brother to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra to hear three pieces of varying ages, lengths, and popularities. They also had varying degrees of impact on me. The first was short and uncomplicated. It has an eerie, otherworldly tone and unexpected percussion beats. It sounded like a blend of good and bad, happy and sad. Not a binary, heterogeneous mixture. But blended, like both at the same time. How like life.
The second piece left me cold. In fact, I barely remember it. But the pianist stole the show, if only for his mannerisms. He was a caricature of himself.
The third piece, however, was a storyteller itself, for that is the nature of a symphony. It started out like a battle between a protagonist and an oppressor. The first movement ended with our protagonist in depressing defeat. The second began with a sort of melancholy resignedness, peaked with the hint of something better, and decreased again to a close. The third brought tentative hope and decided playfulness, as though the protagonist had decided to throw off oppression. Finally, the fourth movement brought another battle; this one far more joyful as the protagonist rises up and is triumphant - not in a military or gloating way, but more as the euphoria of survival.
Music is one of those things that both comes from inspiration - that of the composer - and can generate inspiration - among the audience. It can lift you up and bring you down. It can remind you of times gone by or bring you hope for the future. Music can make you think of a special someone or a long lost friend. But mostly, music makes you think about yourself.
While live music tends to be enjoyed collectively, it remains a solitary activity. You hear and process it in the confines of your own mind. You alone know its nostalgias and what thoughts it conjures up. I hadn't sat and really listened to music in a long time. I am grateful for the reminder of its power.
Tonight, for me, it was inspiring. To write, to think, to be.
I found myself thinking a lot about inspiration tonight. I accompanied my father and eldest brother to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra to hear three pieces of varying ages, lengths, and popularities. They also had varying degrees of impact on me. The first was short and uncomplicated. It has an eerie, otherworldly tone and unexpected percussion beats. It sounded like a blend of good and bad, happy and sad. Not a binary, heterogeneous mixture. But blended, like both at the same time. How like life.
The second piece left me cold. In fact, I barely remember it. But the pianist stole the show, if only for his mannerisms. He was a caricature of himself.
The third piece, however, was a storyteller itself, for that is the nature of a symphony. It started out like a battle between a protagonist and an oppressor. The first movement ended with our protagonist in depressing defeat. The second began with a sort of melancholy resignedness, peaked with the hint of something better, and decreased again to a close. The third brought tentative hope and decided playfulness, as though the protagonist had decided to throw off oppression. Finally, the fourth movement brought another battle; this one far more joyful as the protagonist rises up and is triumphant - not in a military or gloating way, but more as the euphoria of survival.
Music is one of those things that both comes from inspiration - that of the composer - and can generate inspiration - among the audience. It can lift you up and bring you down. It can remind you of times gone by or bring you hope for the future. Music can make you think of a special someone or a long lost friend. But mostly, music makes you think about yourself.
While live music tends to be enjoyed collectively, it remains a solitary activity. You hear and process it in the confines of your own mind. You alone know its nostalgias and what thoughts it conjures up. I hadn't sat and really listened to music in a long time. I am grateful for the reminder of its power.
Tonight, for me, it was inspiring. To write, to think, to be.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
North vs. South
Many countries have rivalries. West coast versus east coast. One culture versus another. Cities versus the country. Etc. In New Zealand, it seems as though the split is the North Island versus the South Island. And they could not be more different.
The South Island, distinctly closer to that great cold landmass of Antarctica, is, in a word, rugged. Despite being a larger area, it has far fewer people than the north - one third. It is largely rural and much of it is untouched by human hands. There are huge mountains and sprawling glaciers, amazing aquamarine lakes and rushing rivers. And what a great place to view the southern sky (which, I might add is quite disorienting). Oh, and did I mention that it's pretty cold and there are both deserts and areas that get up to 7 meters of rain a year!
The North Island (as far as I've experienced is thus far) is markedly different. It has three times the number of people and is quite developed. It has larger cities and settlements and much of what lies between is productive farmland. It is dotted with volcanoes and - in some areas - sulphur pools, geysers, and hot springs. It is also warmer with popular beaches and surf spots.
New Zealand is a diverse and fascinating country. While it may be small on the world stage, it has so much packed into it - deserts, beaches, volcanoes, geysers, hot springs, mountains, rolling hills, agriculture, fishing, fiords... plus all the adventure sports anyone could handle (certainly more than I can!).
Time constraints prevent me from writing much more today but hold on to the promise that I will be back with many more reflections. Just four more days on tour and then four days in Auckland and then back to North America!
The South Island, distinctly closer to that great cold landmass of Antarctica, is, in a word, rugged. Despite being a larger area, it has far fewer people than the north - one third. It is largely rural and much of it is untouched by human hands. There are huge mountains and sprawling glaciers, amazing aquamarine lakes and rushing rivers. And what a great place to view the southern sky (which, I might add is quite disorienting). Oh, and did I mention that it's pretty cold and there are both deserts and areas that get up to 7 meters of rain a year!
The North Island (as far as I've experienced is thus far) is markedly different. It has three times the number of people and is quite developed. It has larger cities and settlements and much of what lies between is productive farmland. It is dotted with volcanoes and - in some areas - sulphur pools, geysers, and hot springs. It is also warmer with popular beaches and surf spots.
New Zealand is a diverse and fascinating country. While it may be small on the world stage, it has so much packed into it - deserts, beaches, volcanoes, geysers, hot springs, mountains, rolling hills, agriculture, fishing, fiords... plus all the adventure sports anyone could handle (certainly more than I can!).
Time constraints prevent me from writing much more today but hold on to the promise that I will be back with many more reflections. Just four more days on tour and then four days in Auckland and then back to North America!
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Touring the South Island
So we are five days into our tour of New Zealand. First, let's get over the bad parts of a tour - that are requiring some adjustment from me. Because this is quite large country with long stretches of largely uninhabited areas and because we chose to attempt almost the whole place in a few short weeks, there is a ton of distance to cover. This unfortunately means that so far we have spent most of our time on the tour bus. Yes, it is a good way to see/cover the countryside, but I don't feel like I'm really experiencing a place if I'm seeing it through the windows of a moving vehicle. The second irksome characteristic is living on someone else's schedule. I feel a lot like I'm 10 years old and back at camp. It seems as though everything from the timing of our wake-up to the time and location of dinner is planned out each and every day. Now, that's a bit of an exaggeration, I'll admit, but I do find myself chafing against these restrictions.
Notwithstanding these weaknesses, the tour offers a lot. As I mentioned, it is a great way to cover quite a large expanse of land. It also allows us - two young girls traveling alone - to make it to rural and isolated places that might otherwise have proven tough to reach. Finally, while at times (ok, most of the time) he talks too much, our tour guide is a wealth of information (like, freakishly) and helps us to understand and appreciate many of the things we are seeing.
So far we've covered a large part of the South Island. Starting in Christchurch, we drove over the Southern Alps to the west coast, a cold, rainy, and isolated place. We saw the Fox Glacier and much of the surrounding scenery.
Queenstown has been the highlight by far. In the morning, we went white water rafting. It was pretty fun but not as exciting as I had hoped - they said that the river is really low right now, making it slightly less interesting.
After lunch we went on a jet boat, which is a supercharged boat that can go in as little as 4 inches of water, through canyons at around 70km/h. It was sort of like being on a rollercoaster... It was cool but mostly because of the surroundings.
After returning to Queenstown, we got some delicious gelato and wandered around one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. On a whim, Megan encouraged me to hike up this incredible mountain (which most people take the gondola to see). Almost an hour later, we arrived at the top and were treated to a breath-taking panoramic view of the town, mountains, and glacial lake.
On another whim, we decided to jump off of the mountain we had just climbed up. Yes, really. We paraglided down off of the top of the mountain. I was so nervous, but the guide I went with (it's tandem with an expert guide) was really nice and eased me into it (you really just sort of walk off the top of the mountain). It was one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had and I will carry that day with me for a long, long time.
Yesterday, we left Queenstown and headed for Milford Sound (which is actually not a technical 'sound' but a 'fiord' - i.e. carved by a glacier). It was rainy and misty but beautiful. Our cruise taught us about the area and its wildlife and showed us the beauty up close and personal.
Now, we are in Dunedin. A moderately-sized (by New Zealand standards) college town with a Scottish heritage. We haven't wandered around yet so I don't have much to say about it, but upon a cursory glance, I can't imagine that a walk around will add much to my preliminary assessment...
I have now been away for four weeks - 29 days to be exact - and I am starting to look forward to getting home, to not living out of a suitcase, to having a clean bed and good food.
More than that, some may note that I have been nomadic for much longer than that... In fact, I have not been home for more than two weeks since October 17th when I left for Europe. This year of traveling really has turned out in amazing and surprising ways. However - as expected and perhaps hoped - I am starting to look forward to returning to normalcy...and returning to school. I am craving routine and structure. I am craving intellectual challenge and ...well... knowledge.
We fly out of Auckland two weeks today. Whatever the ups and downs, I am going to make the best of the rest of my time 'down under.'
Aaaand, photos...
So far in NZ:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2139182&l=df157&id=1032
Paragliding:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2138403&l=a0597&id=1032
Notwithstanding these weaknesses, the tour offers a lot. As I mentioned, it is a great way to cover quite a large expanse of land. It also allows us - two young girls traveling alone - to make it to rural and isolated places that might otherwise have proven tough to reach. Finally, while at times (ok, most of the time) he talks too much, our tour guide is a wealth of information (like, freakishly) and helps us to understand and appreciate many of the things we are seeing.
So far we've covered a large part of the South Island. Starting in Christchurch, we drove over the Southern Alps to the west coast, a cold, rainy, and isolated place. We saw the Fox Glacier and much of the surrounding scenery.
Queenstown has been the highlight by far. In the morning, we went white water rafting. It was pretty fun but not as exciting as I had hoped - they said that the river is really low right now, making it slightly less interesting.
After lunch we went on a jet boat, which is a supercharged boat that can go in as little as 4 inches of water, through canyons at around 70km/h. It was sort of like being on a rollercoaster... It was cool but mostly because of the surroundings.
After returning to Queenstown, we got some delicious gelato and wandered around one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. On a whim, Megan encouraged me to hike up this incredible mountain (which most people take the gondola to see). Almost an hour later, we arrived at the top and were treated to a breath-taking panoramic view of the town, mountains, and glacial lake.
On another whim, we decided to jump off of the mountain we had just climbed up. Yes, really. We paraglided down off of the top of the mountain. I was so nervous, but the guide I went with (it's tandem with an expert guide) was really nice and eased me into it (you really just sort of walk off the top of the mountain). It was one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had and I will carry that day with me for a long, long time.
Yesterday, we left Queenstown and headed for Milford Sound (which is actually not a technical 'sound' but a 'fiord' - i.e. carved by a glacier). It was rainy and misty but beautiful. Our cruise taught us about the area and its wildlife and showed us the beauty up close and personal.
Now, we are in Dunedin. A moderately-sized (by New Zealand standards) college town with a Scottish heritage. We haven't wandered around yet so I don't have much to say about it, but upon a cursory glance, I can't imagine that a walk around will add much to my preliminary assessment...
I have now been away for four weeks - 29 days to be exact - and I am starting to look forward to getting home, to not living out of a suitcase, to having a clean bed and good food.
More than that, some may note that I have been nomadic for much longer than that... In fact, I have not been home for more than two weeks since October 17th when I left for Europe. This year of traveling really has turned out in amazing and surprising ways. However - as expected and perhaps hoped - I am starting to look forward to returning to normalcy...and returning to school. I am craving routine and structure. I am craving intellectual challenge and ...well... knowledge.
We fly out of Auckland two weeks today. Whatever the ups and downs, I am going to make the best of the rest of my time 'down under.'
Aaaand, photos...
So far in NZ:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2139182&l=df157&id=1032
Paragliding:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2138403&l=a0597&id=1032
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Christchurch: First impressions of New Zealand
We arrived in Christchurch late Tuesday night (bc of our proximity to the international dateline, I will specify that I am writing at around 5pm on Thursday). In contrast with the flight, our trip through customs and immigration was frustrating. They have very strict quarantine precautions to protect the secluded country from outside interference. Their immigration, too, seemed oddly tense. Maybe there is some underground mass movement to infiltrate NZ to steal their Kiwi birds and sheep (which, by the way, outnumber people here by 10 to 1). What bothered my most (I even found myself talking back to an immigration officer, a real traveler's no-no), was not necessarily the strict policies or precautions but the way that the officials treated us, implying that there was something wrong with us for not understanding their procedures (or need to pry into our lives).
Thankfully, our unpleasant encounters with Kiwis seem to have ended at the airport. So far, I've found them friendly and helpful. They are excited to talk about their country but are not arrogant about it. Actually much like Canadians, they seem realistic about its strengths and weaknesses and proud even of its existence. In comparison with what I found to be a slight arrogance in the Aussies, the demeanour of the Kiwis is a welcome change.
Christchurch is really lovely. It is a small city - a population of only 400,000 - and clearly heavily influenced by its British heritage. It is clean and relatively well laid out. It has lots of open public spaces and gardens, including the huge botanical gardens. However, quite simply: it's boring. We covered the downtown core in a morning and have since been searching for things to do.
Tonight we meet with our tour director and co-tourers. We are so hoping that they are not all retirees or at least that our tour director is youngish. But if not, we will as always make the best of it. The tour leaves Christchurch tomorrow morning, heading for Fox Glacier. The next 17 days will be exciting!
Thankfully, our unpleasant encounters with Kiwis seem to have ended at the airport. So far, I've found them friendly and helpful. They are excited to talk about their country but are not arrogant about it. Actually much like Canadians, they seem realistic about its strengths and weaknesses and proud even of its existence. In comparison with what I found to be a slight arrogance in the Aussies, the demeanour of the Kiwis is a welcome change.
Christchurch is really lovely. It is a small city - a population of only 400,000 - and clearly heavily influenced by its British heritage. It is clean and relatively well laid out. It has lots of open public spaces and gardens, including the huge botanical gardens. However, quite simply: it's boring. We covered the downtown core in a morning and have since been searching for things to do.
Tonight we meet with our tour director and co-tourers. We are so hoping that they are not all retirees or at least that our tour director is youngish. But if not, we will as always make the best of it. The tour leaves Christchurch tomorrow morning, heading for Fox Glacier. The next 17 days will be exciting!
Monday, March 24, 2008
Surf camp and Port Macquarie
First, my apologies for the prolonged absence. The last few weeks have provided little in the way of internet access (or electricity at times). We spent five days at surf camp (Mojo Surf, to be precise) and four days in Port Macquarie, on the east coast of Australia between Sydney and Brisbane.
I do not have much time (I am realizing that this style of traveling doesn't leave much time for prolonged reflection or writing - particularly with the concern of not boring a travel companion), but I will write a bit on each of the last two legs.
First, photos:
Pics from Adelaide:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2136152&l=c8a49&id=1032
Pics from surf camp and Port:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2137523&l=221f5&id=1032
Ok, so now onto some brief reflections on the last two sections of our stay in Australia. Surf camp was interesting. Perhaps it was the purest form of backpacking/roughing it we've done (and will do). The bus picked us up in Sydney (us being Megan and me and 48 of our new closest (or most annoying) friends). Six hours and one surf video later, our coach b us pulled into the surf camp - a true surf shack in the bus a relatively short walk from the beach. No privacy (no real walls to speak of), certainly no electrical outlets, co-ed rooms (shared of course with the bugs), and beds that were tiny mattresses on milk crates. Oh and of course the bathroom (aka the shower block) was a fair ways away and had recently been vacated by a huge python that had temporarily made it its home.
After two days there, we took another long bus ride up to the second location. This time we were at a trailer park right on the water. Drawing the short straw, Meg and I shared a triple bunk (see photo) with another girl in the hallway leading to the trip's sole couple's room. With squeaky beds and being the one who moves a lot during the night, I got the bottom (aka the floor). I didn't sleep very well, but I did get sweet pictures of the sunrise.
The instructors were certainly nice and friendly (particularly toward the many young women among us) and helpful in the waves. They were, however, an unflattering example of what surf culture is like. Some people embraced it, even loved it, encouraged to enjoy toilet humour and party all night. Megan and I didn't take to it quite as freely. I feel as though I got that kind of lifestyle out of my system a fair while ago and have since moved beyond it. Or maybe I'm just too uptight.
Either way, the surfing was great. The beach was amazing and almost completely our own. I managed to ride most of the waves I attempted and was even starting to turn by the end. My poor, blistered hands didn't love it quite as much.
Much in need of some tlc, at the end of the week, we boarded a greyhound after catching it by the side of the road in a tiny town called Woolgoolga and went back south to Port Macquarie. Alex and his brother Philip picked us up there. After the week we'd had, it was unbelievably nice to be in the comfort of a real home with clean beds and friendly faces. Even home cooked meals! For practicality, we were staying down the street with Alex's uncle and aunt (er, uncle's girlfriend) who were incredibly friendly and helpful (the Easter bunny even found us there!). We hung out a lot at Alex's though, enjoying real Aussie meals. They truly live differently - much more outside, much less focused on comfort and luxury, and certainly much less concerned about bugs.
The winery was only a couple of minutes away. An amazing facility right on the highway with a wonderful restaurant and huge cellar door. They have quite an extensive tasting list and trust me, when you're with the owner's sons, you get good treatment.
We went jet skiing in the Pacific, toured the winery, did an extensive tasting, partied during a night out, enjoyed the beach, and even tried body boarding. At this, I realized that in 2008, I have used a snowboard, sandboard, surfboard, and bodyboard. Perhaps now all I need to try is a wakeboard and skateboard. Never really saw myself as a boarder...
We leave this evening to head to New Zealand. Three weeks down, three weeks to go. We are wildly excited for what promises to be a very different and beautiful country.
Au revoir, Australia.
I do not have much time (I am realizing that this style of traveling doesn't leave much time for prolonged reflection or writing - particularly with the concern of not boring a travel companion), but I will write a bit on each of the last two legs.
First, photos:
Pics from Adelaide:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2136152&l=c8a49&id=1032
Pics from surf camp and Port:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2137523&l=221f5&id=1032
Ok, so now onto some brief reflections on the last two sections of our stay in Australia. Surf camp was interesting. Perhaps it was the purest form of backpacking/roughing it we've done (and will do). The bus picked us up in Sydney (us being Megan and me and 48 of our new closest (or most annoying) friends). Six hours and one surf video later, our coach b us pulled into the surf camp - a true surf shack in the bus a relatively short walk from the beach. No privacy (no real walls to speak of), certainly no electrical outlets, co-ed rooms (shared of course with the bugs), and beds that were tiny mattresses on milk crates. Oh and of course the bathroom (aka the shower block) was a fair ways away and had recently been vacated by a huge python that had temporarily made it its home.
After two days there, we took another long bus ride up to the second location. This time we were at a trailer park right on the water. Drawing the short straw, Meg and I shared a triple bunk (see photo) with another girl in the hallway leading to the trip's sole couple's room. With squeaky beds and being the one who moves a lot during the night, I got the bottom (aka the floor). I didn't sleep very well, but I did get sweet pictures of the sunrise.
The instructors were certainly nice and friendly (particularly toward the many young women among us) and helpful in the waves. They were, however, an unflattering example of what surf culture is like. Some people embraced it, even loved it, encouraged to enjoy toilet humour and party all night. Megan and I didn't take to it quite as freely. I feel as though I got that kind of lifestyle out of my system a fair while ago and have since moved beyond it. Or maybe I'm just too uptight.
Either way, the surfing was great. The beach was amazing and almost completely our own. I managed to ride most of the waves I attempted and was even starting to turn by the end. My poor, blistered hands didn't love it quite as much.
Much in need of some tlc, at the end of the week, we boarded a greyhound after catching it by the side of the road in a tiny town called Woolgoolga and went back south to Port Macquarie. Alex and his brother Philip picked us up there. After the week we'd had, it was unbelievably nice to be in the comfort of a real home with clean beds and friendly faces. Even home cooked meals! For practicality, we were staying down the street with Alex's uncle and aunt (er, uncle's girlfriend) who were incredibly friendly and helpful (the Easter bunny even found us there!). We hung out a lot at Alex's though, enjoying real Aussie meals. They truly live differently - much more outside, much less focused on comfort and luxury, and certainly much less concerned about bugs.
The winery was only a couple of minutes away. An amazing facility right on the highway with a wonderful restaurant and huge cellar door. They have quite an extensive tasting list and trust me, when you're with the owner's sons, you get good treatment.
We went jet skiing in the Pacific, toured the winery, did an extensive tasting, partied during a night out, enjoyed the beach, and even tried body boarding. At this, I realized that in 2008, I have used a snowboard, sandboard, surfboard, and bodyboard. Perhaps now all I need to try is a wakeboard and skateboard. Never really saw myself as a boarder...
We leave this evening to head to New Zealand. Three weeks down, three weeks to go. We are wildly excited for what promises to be a very different and beautiful country.
Au revoir, Australia.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Wine Tasting in the Barossa
The close of our time in Adelaide was actually spent in its environs - the nearby wine region of the Barossa Valley, one of Australia's premier wine-making regions. Best-known perhaps as the home of Wolfblass, Penfolds, Jacobs Creek, and Yalumba (Yellow Tail), Barossa is the third wine-making region I have visited this year (Bordeaux and Napa being the previous two), and it proved to be as different from them as they are from each other.
Suffering an incredible heat wave (15 days in a row over 35oC, over 40oC while we were there) and moderate, but long-lasting drought, the whole region was like a desert. Dry, yellow grass covered fields along dusty roads. Thin, thirsty animals grazed some of the fields. The vines, clearly watered, ranged from lush and green - the technical term being vigorous - to sad and suffering. The towns were small and mostly quiet. They seemed to be simple country towns.
There were lots of wineries. So many. Some huge - like Jacobs Creek, the vineyards of which seemed to be everywhere, labelled with large, commercial signs - and some tiny. We did lots of tastings. One that was set up by my wine-business brother, Scott, was at Grant Burge. We got great treatment and tried almost their whole list of potential wines, including some fortifieds. We checked out Wolfblass and Yalumba (where Yellow Tail is made) but bypassed Penfolds. Yaldara actually gave us a semi-cool tour of their cellar. Busy with vintage (the period during which the grapes get picked, pressed, and fermented), most of the wineries were too preoccupied to give tours. Or too self-important.
Traveling with my old travel companion, Alex, Megan and I got to learn so much more about wines. We talked and talked and talked. Well, actually, we mostly asked questions and let Alex do the talking and explaining. And I think we actually got better service at the tastings because the people there could clearly see how much Alex knows about their trade. One place even offered him a job.
A few newly-discovered likes: Semillon-Sauvignon Blanc, Tempranillo (a spanish red), unwooded chardonnay, Shiraz-Viognier, limestone Shiraz, and frontignac (a sweet white grape that can be made either as a table wine or as a dessert wine).
Now we're back in Sydney for one night, hoping to get a good night's sleep before our full five days of surf camp. Surf's up!
Suffering an incredible heat wave (15 days in a row over 35oC, over 40oC while we were there) and moderate, but long-lasting drought, the whole region was like a desert. Dry, yellow grass covered fields along dusty roads. Thin, thirsty animals grazed some of the fields. The vines, clearly watered, ranged from lush and green - the technical term being vigorous - to sad and suffering. The towns were small and mostly quiet. They seemed to be simple country towns.
There were lots of wineries. So many. Some huge - like Jacobs Creek, the vineyards of which seemed to be everywhere, labelled with large, commercial signs - and some tiny. We did lots of tastings. One that was set up by my wine-business brother, Scott, was at Grant Burge. We got great treatment and tried almost their whole list of potential wines, including some fortifieds. We checked out Wolfblass and Yalumba (where Yellow Tail is made) but bypassed Penfolds. Yaldara actually gave us a semi-cool tour of their cellar. Busy with vintage (the period during which the grapes get picked, pressed, and fermented), most of the wineries were too preoccupied to give tours. Or too self-important.
Traveling with my old travel companion, Alex, Megan and I got to learn so much more about wines. We talked and talked and talked. Well, actually, we mostly asked questions and let Alex do the talking and explaining. And I think we actually got better service at the tastings because the people there could clearly see how much Alex knows about their trade. One place even offered him a job.
A few newly-discovered likes: Semillon-Sauvignon Blanc, Tempranillo (a spanish red), unwooded chardonnay, Shiraz-Viognier, limestone Shiraz, and frontignac (a sweet white grape that can be made either as a table wine or as a dessert wine).
Now we're back in Sydney for one night, hoping to get a good night's sleep before our full five days of surf camp. Surf's up!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
An Adelaide Adventure
Short on time, I am going to write quickly, simply. I found Megan easily at Sydney airport and our flight to Adelaide was fine, somewhat in spite of and somewhat because of a gentleman sitting beside me, a flight attendant for another local carrier. Dear Alex kindly picked us up from the airport and took us to our hostel.
Thus the adventure commenced.
Our hostel, Annie's Place, was a disaster. Old. Dirty. Badly run. All this complimented by the full-size black and white model-style photographs of topless people - men and women - covering one entire wall of our room. Needless to say, we sprung into action to find a solution to our newly-formed housing crisis. We had to stay there that night as we had to pay for the room either way. We managed to find and book two spots on a two-day tour leaving the next day for Kangaroo Island, a large island off the coast near Adelaide that has become known for its plethora of wildlife.
The KI tour was amazing. Leaving our luggage with Alex and carrying only what our small backpacks could carry, we caught the bus at 6:30am. We saw some of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen - made particularly special by the fact that few people have ever set foot on them. We saw tons of koalas, kangaroos, and wallabies. We sat on a beach and were examined by sea lions, including one particularly inquisitive cub. We saw New Zealand fur seals. We witnessed the hectic feeding of some Australian pelicans. And we went sand boarding (think snowboarding on sand but with no boots or bindings, more like a skateboard). Our all-purpose tour guide/driver/chef/expert-on-all-things-KI was great. Not only did this tour solve our accommodation problem, but it was exciting, interesting, and provided experiences I certainly have no expectation of getting any other way.
We crashed on Alex's dorm room floor last night (which left no additional floor space in his sizable-for-one-person room). Today we hit up Glenelg beach in the 43oC Adelaide heat. Now the three of us (Megan and I and Alex as our resident wine expert) are heading out to the Barossa Valley for two days to tour vineyards and sample wines. We certainly had a bit of an adventure, but we've still had fun and seen a lot. Making the best of things!
Thus the adventure commenced.
Our hostel, Annie's Place, was a disaster. Old. Dirty. Badly run. All this complimented by the full-size black and white model-style photographs of topless people - men and women - covering one entire wall of our room. Needless to say, we sprung into action to find a solution to our newly-formed housing crisis. We had to stay there that night as we had to pay for the room either way. We managed to find and book two spots on a two-day tour leaving the next day for Kangaroo Island, a large island off the coast near Adelaide that has become known for its plethora of wildlife.
The KI tour was amazing. Leaving our luggage with Alex and carrying only what our small backpacks could carry, we caught the bus at 6:30am. We saw some of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen - made particularly special by the fact that few people have ever set foot on them. We saw tons of koalas, kangaroos, and wallabies. We sat on a beach and were examined by sea lions, including one particularly inquisitive cub. We saw New Zealand fur seals. We witnessed the hectic feeding of some Australian pelicans. And we went sand boarding (think snowboarding on sand but with no boots or bindings, more like a skateboard). Our all-purpose tour guide/driver/chef/expert-on-all-things-KI was great. Not only did this tour solve our accommodation problem, but it was exciting, interesting, and provided experiences I certainly have no expectation of getting any other way.
We crashed on Alex's dorm room floor last night (which left no additional floor space in his sizable-for-one-person room). Today we hit up Glenelg beach in the 43oC Adelaide heat. Now the three of us (Megan and I and Alex as our resident wine expert) are heading out to the Barossa Valley for two days to tour vineyards and sample wines. We certainly had a bit of an adventure, but we've still had fun and seen a lot. Making the best of things!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Reflections on a first stop
So, first, pictures! Here are the Sydney pics:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2135123&l=94f8c&id=1032
Now, a few reflections on Sydney itself. Maybe it's just the beautiful sunshine I've had while here... but Syndey seems like a shining city to me. It seems so clean. In many ways, it reminds me of home - like another Toronto or Vancouver (actually more Vancouver because of its glassy, modern skyscrapers). Many cultures all coexisting in a clean, modern, safe city. The public transit seems reliable and useful. The parks are clean and many. The waterfront beautiful. It has older sections (though old here means Victorian) and newer ones. It has pedestrian thoroughfares. It has a distinctive (and large) Asian population and area. Oh, and it also has homeless people (one of whom I think I saw peeing into a coke bottle on the sidewalk today. I didn't stop to ask him why).
I have relfected also on how I reacted to getting here and being here. Though perhaps it was not entirely obvious, I suffered greatly from jetlag. I am still adjusting to the time change, and I am only now getting any semblance of an appetite back. I found myself fatigued and disoriented, no more sure of where I was than what day it was (what day IS IT??). So that part was tougher than I anticipated. In the past I have shrugged off this thing people refer to as "jetlag."
I was also homesick. Yes, I know most people would have been bursting with excitement at the chance to visit Sydney. But simple, routine-oriented, comfort-seeking me sort of just wanted to go home. Home to my bed, home to my parents, home to my friends and the life that makes sense to me. But that, like the jetlag, is fading. I am adjusting, accepting. I wanted this year to be a challenge; I wanted my five days alone in Sydney to be a challenge. I got my wish and I think learned and grew from it.
I have enjoyed my time in Sydney and its environs. But I am done. Ready for my next stop. Tomorrow, Megan arrives and we fly to Adelaide. Good bye, Sydney; I hardly knew ye.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2135123&l=94f8c&id=1032
Now, a few reflections on Sydney itself. Maybe it's just the beautiful sunshine I've had while here... but Syndey seems like a shining city to me. It seems so clean. In many ways, it reminds me of home - like another Toronto or Vancouver (actually more Vancouver because of its glassy, modern skyscrapers). Many cultures all coexisting in a clean, modern, safe city. The public transit seems reliable and useful. The parks are clean and many. The waterfront beautiful. It has older sections (though old here means Victorian) and newer ones. It has pedestrian thoroughfares. It has a distinctive (and large) Asian population and area. Oh, and it also has homeless people (one of whom I think I saw peeing into a coke bottle on the sidewalk today. I didn't stop to ask him why).
I have relfected also on how I reacted to getting here and being here. Though perhaps it was not entirely obvious, I suffered greatly from jetlag. I am still adjusting to the time change, and I am only now getting any semblance of an appetite back. I found myself fatigued and disoriented, no more sure of where I was than what day it was (what day IS IT??). So that part was tougher than I anticipated. In the past I have shrugged off this thing people refer to as "jetlag."
I was also homesick. Yes, I know most people would have been bursting with excitement at the chance to visit Sydney. But simple, routine-oriented, comfort-seeking me sort of just wanted to go home. Home to my bed, home to my parents, home to my friends and the life that makes sense to me. But that, like the jetlag, is fading. I am adjusting, accepting. I wanted this year to be a challenge; I wanted my five days alone in Sydney to be a challenge. I got my wish and I think learned and grew from it.
I have enjoyed my time in Sydney and its environs. But I am done. Ready for my next stop. Tomorrow, Megan arrives and we fly to Adelaide. Good bye, Sydney; I hardly knew ye.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
A lot of Sydney and a lot of thoughts
Today I walked. And walked. And walked and walked and walked. After a morning that is becoming startlingly routine, I set out from my hostel at around 9am. I walked through a very quiet Saturday-morning downtown to the old Sydney Observatory, a building as typically Victorian as so many are here. From there I walked through an older part of Sydney set in the shadow of the imposing Harbour Bridge, through a weekend market, and along the waterfront where tourists scurried around trying to find the right ferry to get them to wherever. I took my time exploring the Opera House. It is a strange building in a strange location, set apart from the rest of the city. The most notable aspect not otherwise appreciable in pictures is the quality of the exterior - the white is not solid but much more like the scales of a fish.
Anyhow, from there I continued along the waterfront through Sydney's immense Royal Botanical Gardens, acres and acres of prime, downtown, waterfront land set aside to preserve the natural beauty of the land. And what beauty it has. Trees and flowers and birds of kinds I've never before seen. And it was such a beautiful day.
After winding my way through the gardens, I walked through Hyde Park and what turned out to be some sort of feminist gathering (including some people who were apparently pushing for rights for sex workers with the slogan "Give 'piece' a chance"). Though tired, I pushed myself further, walking what turned out to be quite far to Kings Cross. Finding a seedy and busy area, I peaked around a bit and got out of there. I'll tell you, by the end of it I was exhausted. I finally got back to my hostel, put my feet up in a tiny bit of sun I found, and read.
I reflected a lot in my wanderings. It is natural to think about the city around me. First of all, I've come to believe that buildings here fall into one of three categories: Victorian, art deco, or utterly modern (typically glass skyscrapers). Other than the fact that Australia was founded and came of age under Queen Victoria, I have no good theories for why this type of pattern exists. I have also found that Sydney seems to have a wonderful waterfront. Someone deserves some credit for that (particularly from the perspective of the disappointing but full-of-potential waterfront in Toronto).
I have also been pondering something else today. I asked my one-day friend Emily yesterday which flags she'd seen displayed on people's bags. In her month of traveling and my few days, we both agreed that we had only seen Canadian flags on bags. It seems that no other nationalities choose to display their flag so proudly. I've seen a fair number of good ol' maple leafs. Despite the prevalence of Brits, I haven't seen any Union Jacks. No Stars and Stripes either. The reason I find this interesting is because as Canadians we often chide ourselves for not being sufficiently patriotic, certainly not as jingoistic and flag-waving as our southern neighbours. But maybe our self-criticism is misguided. Maybe we aren't that patriotic at home. Maybe we don't feel that we need to be. But I have yet to meet a Canadian abroad who isn't proud of being Canadian . There are even some Americans who put Canadian flags on their bags when they travel. We must have something pretty amazing if we're comfortable enough with our country at home simply to live in it while displaying our flag proudly when we're elsewhere. At least, that's my hope.
Anyhow, from there I continued along the waterfront through Sydney's immense Royal Botanical Gardens, acres and acres of prime, downtown, waterfront land set aside to preserve the natural beauty of the land. And what beauty it has. Trees and flowers and birds of kinds I've never before seen. And it was such a beautiful day.
After winding my way through the gardens, I walked through Hyde Park and what turned out to be some sort of feminist gathering (including some people who were apparently pushing for rights for sex workers with the slogan "Give 'piece' a chance"). Though tired, I pushed myself further, walking what turned out to be quite far to Kings Cross. Finding a seedy and busy area, I peaked around a bit and got out of there. I'll tell you, by the end of it I was exhausted. I finally got back to my hostel, put my feet up in a tiny bit of sun I found, and read.
I reflected a lot in my wanderings. It is natural to think about the city around me. First of all, I've come to believe that buildings here fall into one of three categories: Victorian, art deco, or utterly modern (typically glass skyscrapers). Other than the fact that Australia was founded and came of age under Queen Victoria, I have no good theories for why this type of pattern exists. I have also found that Sydney seems to have a wonderful waterfront. Someone deserves some credit for that (particularly from the perspective of the disappointing but full-of-potential waterfront in Toronto).
I have also been pondering something else today. I asked my one-day friend Emily yesterday which flags she'd seen displayed on people's bags. In her month of traveling and my few days, we both agreed that we had only seen Canadian flags on bags. It seems that no other nationalities choose to display their flag so proudly. I've seen a fair number of good ol' maple leafs. Despite the prevalence of Brits, I haven't seen any Union Jacks. No Stars and Stripes either. The reason I find this interesting is because as Canadians we often chide ourselves for not being sufficiently patriotic, certainly not as jingoistic and flag-waving as our southern neighbours. But maybe our self-criticism is misguided. Maybe we aren't that patriotic at home. Maybe we don't feel that we need to be. But I have yet to meet a Canadian abroad who isn't proud of being Canadian . There are even some Americans who put Canadian flags on their bags when they travel. We must have something pretty amazing if we're comfortable enough with our country at home simply to live in it while displaying our flag proudly when we're elsewhere. At least, that's my hope.
Friday, March 7, 2008
A walk and a one-day friend
Today I went with a guide from the hostel and a group of fellow hostelers on a walk from Coogee Beach to Bondi Beach. It was about 6 miles or so but took us about 2.5 hours because of much stopping along the way. It is a seaside walk that is mostly along cliffs and beaches. Each little cove seemed to have its own little beach. And of course each beach had its own locals, its own scene. Oh, and its own "Surf Life Savers Club." Very cute.
It was stunningly beautiful (though it was cloudy). The ocean here seems so much bluer than at home. Some places a deep, dark blue, and in others more of a light aquamarine. It crashes up on the rocks with such force. It reminded me a lot of a brief drive I took along California Route 1 some time ago.
In contrast to the blue of the water, the plants are so so green and the flowers so bright. It seems at times like it must be a tropical paradise. It certainly isn't reminsicent of the water-starved, desert-like outback that most of us picture as Australia (and is, in reality, about 80% of the continent).
I walked with Emily. I noticed that she was alone as we were leaving the hostel so I struck up a conversation. With great conversation, we stayed together the whole day. She is from California and after graduating from nursing she enlisted in the Navy. Among her years as an officer, she served in Iraq as a trauma nurse for six months. Now that she has been decomissioned (though remains in the reserves) she is taking six months and traveling from NZ (where she already spent a month), through Australia, Asia, and finally Europe. She was smart and thoughtful. What an interesting walking mate. It was so nice to have someone to talk to. She leaves to travel up the east coast tomorrow. So at the end of our day, I said good bye forever to my one-day friend.
It was stunningly beautiful (though it was cloudy). The ocean here seems so much bluer than at home. Some places a deep, dark blue, and in others more of a light aquamarine. It crashes up on the rocks with such force. It reminded me a lot of a brief drive I took along California Route 1 some time ago.
In contrast to the blue of the water, the plants are so so green and the flowers so bright. It seems at times like it must be a tropical paradise. It certainly isn't reminsicent of the water-starved, desert-like outback that most of us picture as Australia (and is, in reality, about 80% of the continent).
I walked with Emily. I noticed that she was alone as we were leaving the hostel so I struck up a conversation. With great conversation, we stayed together the whole day. She is from California and after graduating from nursing she enlisted in the Navy. Among her years as an officer, she served in Iraq as a trauma nurse for six months. Now that she has been decomissioned (though remains in the reserves) she is taking six months and traveling from NZ (where she already spent a month), through Australia, Asia, and finally Europe. She was smart and thoughtful. What an interesting walking mate. It was so nice to have someone to talk to. She leaves to travel up the east coast tomorrow. So at the end of our day, I said good bye forever to my one-day friend.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
The lone traveler (part 2)
Back in November, I wrote from Paris about being a lone traveler. I mused about the various positives and negatives of being in a foreign place on your own. Some of those remain true here in Sydney, but as it's quite a different place from Paris, there are other aspects.
I think the most pointed for me is just the fact that Sydney feels so much farther away than Paris ever did. Perhaps it is being in the Southern Hemisphere. Perhaps it is the extreme time difference. Or perhaps it is simply that Sydney is a helluva lot farther from Toronto than Paris is. So because I feel so much farther away, I feel that much more alone.
That being said, Sydney seems much more like home than Paris did. For one, it's English speaking. Also, the whole feeling of the city is much more North American than European (although I would argue that there is a huge Asian influence here, for obvious reasons). It is clean and seems relatively safe, though I admit that's a hard thing to grasp on a cursory glance.
I found some practical drawbacks of being on my own yesterday. I took the ferry from Sydney harbour to Manly Beach. It was a beautiful trip and I think I got some great pictures (although I am appreciating how much extra weight my kickass camera adds to my bag). The beach was stunning... the sand is much redder than I've ever seen, and the water bluer. I rented a beach chair and got comfortable. Around two hours in when I yearned for a dip in the ocean, I couldn't... couldn't leave the chair, couldn't leave my stuff. When I would've liked a trip to the washroom, nope. No food either. I sat there for four hours until I felt that I had had enough of lying in the sun. Then returned the chair, gathered up all my stuff, and went about my business.
Another drawback: sunscreen. There is an area of my back I seem to be unable to put sunscreen on. So, of course, it got searingly burnt. The contortions I did this morning to attempt to protect it would have made great comedy.
So, anyhow on some practical levels, it would've been really nice to have had a partner in crime. And I suppose on interpersonal, psychological levels as well. Always nice to share experiences with someone. But Megan will be here soon and our co-adventure will begin!
I think the most pointed for me is just the fact that Sydney feels so much farther away than Paris ever did. Perhaps it is being in the Southern Hemisphere. Perhaps it is the extreme time difference. Or perhaps it is simply that Sydney is a helluva lot farther from Toronto than Paris is. So because I feel so much farther away, I feel that much more alone.
That being said, Sydney seems much more like home than Paris did. For one, it's English speaking. Also, the whole feeling of the city is much more North American than European (although I would argue that there is a huge Asian influence here, for obvious reasons). It is clean and seems relatively safe, though I admit that's a hard thing to grasp on a cursory glance.
I found some practical drawbacks of being on my own yesterday. I took the ferry from Sydney harbour to Manly Beach. It was a beautiful trip and I think I got some great pictures (although I am appreciating how much extra weight my kickass camera adds to my bag). The beach was stunning... the sand is much redder than I've ever seen, and the water bluer. I rented a beach chair and got comfortable. Around two hours in when I yearned for a dip in the ocean, I couldn't... couldn't leave the chair, couldn't leave my stuff. When I would've liked a trip to the washroom, nope. No food either. I sat there for four hours until I felt that I had had enough of lying in the sun. Then returned the chair, gathered up all my stuff, and went about my business.
Another drawback: sunscreen. There is an area of my back I seem to be unable to put sunscreen on. So, of course, it got searingly burnt. The contortions I did this morning to attempt to protect it would have made great comedy.
So, anyhow on some practical levels, it would've been really nice to have had a partner in crime. And I suppose on interpersonal, psychological levels as well. Always nice to share experiences with someone. But Megan will be here soon and our co-adventure will begin!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
A first day... or days...
So I don't know what day it is. It could be Monday because I haven't actually gone to bed since Sunday night. It could be Tuesday because I know that my plane left Monday night and flew overnight into the morning sunrise. But then apparently it's actually Wednesday.
The flight is so long. Unbelievably long. And quite disorienting. You do in fact fly overnight into the morning sun... but you also cross the international dateline so what seems like one night has actually caused two days to pass, not one. But fear not, you get that lost day back when you fly home.
However, I was in a brand new Boeing 777 plane and even for Air Canada, it was lovely. Even the lighting was cool. Although I have to admit that walking through the first class cabin on your way into and out of the plane does put economy seating into stark perspective.
I arrived at my hostel around noon. It's big and bustling. People coming and going. All young. All packbackers. Some who look like they came and just never left. My room is nice, bare, but nice. Clean and spacious enough.
Instead of succumbing to my exhaustion, I decided that noon was far too early to go to bed so I headed out. Thoroughly enjoying the 24oC and sunshine, I explored Darling Harbour. This really is a beautiful city. It sort of reminds me of Vancouver, perhaps with a bit of Sarasota thrown in.
The highlight of the day was definitely the Aquarium. It had been one of the top things on my must-see list and as it was right there I just went right on in. They really did a great job of setting it up and there was one particular aquarium (er, oceanarium, they called it) that took my breath away. You walked through tubes that went through the water while sharks, manta rays, eels, turtles, and fish swam over and around you. I just sat and watched them for a while.
Now I'm back at the hostel. It's 6:40pm on Wednesday. I haven't had a real meal since Monday. I haven't had a real sleep since Sunday night. I think I'm just running on adrenaline. I'm sure it's obvious in my writing (apologies)...
Adieu for now from this slightly lonely, totally disoriented, Canuck in Sydney.
The flight is so long. Unbelievably long. And quite disorienting. You do in fact fly overnight into the morning sun... but you also cross the international dateline so what seems like one night has actually caused two days to pass, not one. But fear not, you get that lost day back when you fly home.
However, I was in a brand new Boeing 777 plane and even for Air Canada, it was lovely. Even the lighting was cool. Although I have to admit that walking through the first class cabin on your way into and out of the plane does put economy seating into stark perspective.
I arrived at my hostel around noon. It's big and bustling. People coming and going. All young. All packbackers. Some who look like they came and just never left. My room is nice, bare, but nice. Clean and spacious enough.
Instead of succumbing to my exhaustion, I decided that noon was far too early to go to bed so I headed out. Thoroughly enjoying the 24oC and sunshine, I explored Darling Harbour. This really is a beautiful city. It sort of reminds me of Vancouver, perhaps with a bit of Sarasota thrown in.
The highlight of the day was definitely the Aquarium. It had been one of the top things on my must-see list and as it was right there I just went right on in. They really did a great job of setting it up and there was one particular aquarium (er, oceanarium, they called it) that took my breath away. You walked through tubes that went through the water while sharks, manta rays, eels, turtles, and fish swam over and around you. I just sat and watched them for a while.
Now I'm back at the hostel. It's 6:40pm on Wednesday. I haven't had a real meal since Monday. I haven't had a real sleep since Sunday night. I think I'm just running on adrenaline. I'm sure it's obvious in my writing (apologies)...
Adieu for now from this slightly lonely, totally disoriented, Canuck in Sydney.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Another adventure!
I am off again on another adventure. In a few hours, I will board a plane. 21.5 hours, 9 time zones, and one international dateline later, I will arrive in Sydney. It should be noted, by the way, that I am going from Toronto where the temperature in the last week dipped down to -25oC to a place where it is forecast to be 25oC and sunny when I arrive.
I am going to be spending five days on my own in Sydney, exploring the city and likely the surrounding beaches. Then, Megan (a girl friend from high school) arrives and we head to Adelaide to see some of Australia's wine country. Then a surf camp, a stop in Byron Bay, and a few days in Brisbane. Three weeks total in Australia.
On March 25th, we fly from Brisbane to Christchurch, New Zealand. After a couple of days to get settled there, we are meeting up with a tour that will take us all through NZ's rugged terrain. Hiking the fox glacier, exploring caves, enjoying the beaches, everything. Three weeks later, we end up in Auckland, where our trip will draw to a close.
I am excited and nervous. Six weeks without more than five days in any one place is going to be whirlwind! But adventures are supposed to come with some risk and I know that this one will bring huge rewards!
I am going to be spending five days on my own in Sydney, exploring the city and likely the surrounding beaches. Then, Megan (a girl friend from high school) arrives and we head to Adelaide to see some of Australia's wine country. Then a surf camp, a stop in Byron Bay, and a few days in Brisbane. Three weeks total in Australia.
On March 25th, we fly from Brisbane to Christchurch, New Zealand. After a couple of days to get settled there, we are meeting up with a tour that will take us all through NZ's rugged terrain. Hiking the fox glacier, exploring caves, enjoying the beaches, everything. Three weeks later, we end up in Auckland, where our trip will draw to a close.
I am excited and nervous. Six weeks without more than five days in any one place is going to be whirlwind! But adventures are supposed to come with some risk and I know that this one will bring huge rewards!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
California
I have spent much of this winter in California. No, not rubbing elbows with the stars or making millions in Silicon Valley or even enjoying the beautiful California sun on southern beaches - although those are certainly things one can do (or attempt to do) in America's most populous state. That's the thing about California, it is big and plentiful. It is an incredibly diverse place. Beaches, mountains, deserts, valleys, swamps, cliffs... You can drive for an hour, descending 6000 feet, from a blizzard-like snow storm in Alpine terrain to palm trees in a picturesque valley.
My experience of California this winter certainly has not encompassed the whole state but I have seen quite a bit. I have come to appreciate quite fully the immensity of the Sierra Nevadas. They rise from below sea level to over 9000 feet, jagged and challenging. The skiing there is technical and interesting. The lakes and forests and largely untouched and you can truly be alone in the wilderness.
We took a trip down to Yosemite National Park. We had to drive down into the foothills and fairly far south and then back up into the mountains. Gold rush country. Though quite near urban areas, there are towns there that are tiny, sleepy little places, busy only because a state highway runs through the town center. Between these dusty crossings, you find one of three things: rugged and seemingly untouched terrain, farms, or multi-million dollar homes.
Yosemite was one of the most amazing natural scenes I've seen. Yosemite Valley is an enormous valley carved by ancient glaciers. The rock formations are like out of a fantasy world. As you drive through, you pass boulders larger than houses that must have fallen in some past quake or rock slide. You pray you aren't there to witness one. You stand at the base of El Capitan, a 3000ft monolithic cliff face, and you understand exactly what 'small' means. These formations, trees, waterfalls, and boulders have been around longer than we have and will be around for much, much longer still. That too makes you feel small, a small blip in the history of the world.
Maybe all of California makes you feel small, with it's variety and magnitude. But I think feeling small is a sort of challenge. It's a challenge to prove that though you may be small, you can lead a big life.
My experience of California this winter certainly has not encompassed the whole state but I have seen quite a bit. I have come to appreciate quite fully the immensity of the Sierra Nevadas. They rise from below sea level to over 9000 feet, jagged and challenging. The skiing there is technical and interesting. The lakes and forests and largely untouched and you can truly be alone in the wilderness.
We took a trip down to Yosemite National Park. We had to drive down into the foothills and fairly far south and then back up into the mountains. Gold rush country. Though quite near urban areas, there are towns there that are tiny, sleepy little places, busy only because a state highway runs through the town center. Between these dusty crossings, you find one of three things: rugged and seemingly untouched terrain, farms, or multi-million dollar homes.
Yosemite was one of the most amazing natural scenes I've seen. Yosemite Valley is an enormous valley carved by ancient glaciers. The rock formations are like out of a fantasy world. As you drive through, you pass boulders larger than houses that must have fallen in some past quake or rock slide. You pray you aren't there to witness one. You stand at the base of El Capitan, a 3000ft monolithic cliff face, and you understand exactly what 'small' means. These formations, trees, waterfalls, and boulders have been around longer than we have and will be around for much, much longer still. That too makes you feel small, a small blip in the history of the world.
Maybe all of California makes you feel small, with it's variety and magnitude. But I think feeling small is a sort of challenge. It's a challenge to prove that though you may be small, you can lead a big life.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Effort and the easier route
Not taking this year off would have in many ways been easier than doing so. As someone who likes structure and routine (and generally knowing what I'm doing with my life), continuing straight on to law school and from there straight into a career would have been exponentially easier than stepping off of this crazy train of life for a year to go get lost in the woods of uncertainty. I could have stayed in my nice comfortable life track and never known what I missed.
Thank goodness I didn't. I am already so grateful for this year and know that I will carry the memories and lessons of it for the rest of my life. On those dark days when I am buckled under mountains of work, I will think back to sitting in a café in Paris or snowboarding in California or surfing in Australia and be able to persevere just a little bit more easily.
It has not been all roses and sunshine, however. There have been bumps along the way. Changes in plans and huge disappointments. I have had periods of major doubt and frustration. I have felt listless and drifting. But as I have already written about, one of the things I am learning from this year is to be ready for anything, whether it's an up or a down, and never assume that the current plan will be the future reality.
One of the aspects of taking a year off to travel that requires more effort than settling into the more comfortable road-more-traveled is decision-making. Being a traveler really does require a near-constant stream of decisions. Over the past few weeks, I have been planning - with a wonderful girl friend - a six week trip to Australia and New Zealand. I am absolutely amazed by how much time the planning of this trip is taking. We have had an unbelievable number of phone calls and emails to decide all aspects ranging from dates and travel plans to accommodations to tours and activities. Now some travelers might consider us "Type A's", needing to plan everything in advance. That may be so but either way these types of decisions must be made.
I was particularly blown away by how much time and effort flight bookings took. To travel the 15,562km from Toronto to Sydney, there at first seems to be an almost unlimited number of flight options. However, once you ask what is actually feasible given dates, possible aeroplan constraints, and budget concerns, the options dwindle considerably.
Anyhow, I am pleased to announce that we are booked to head to Australia! Six weeks of sun and fun, surfing, and exploring.
For now, though, I head back to Tahoe.
Thank goodness I didn't. I am already so grateful for this year and know that I will carry the memories and lessons of it for the rest of my life. On those dark days when I am buckled under mountains of work, I will think back to sitting in a café in Paris or snowboarding in California or surfing in Australia and be able to persevere just a little bit more easily.
It has not been all roses and sunshine, however. There have been bumps along the way. Changes in plans and huge disappointments. I have had periods of major doubt and frustration. I have felt listless and drifting. But as I have already written about, one of the things I am learning from this year is to be ready for anything, whether it's an up or a down, and never assume that the current plan will be the future reality.
One of the aspects of taking a year off to travel that requires more effort than settling into the more comfortable road-more-traveled is decision-making. Being a traveler really does require a near-constant stream of decisions. Over the past few weeks, I have been planning - with a wonderful girl friend - a six week trip to Australia and New Zealand. I am absolutely amazed by how much time the planning of this trip is taking. We have had an unbelievable number of phone calls and emails to decide all aspects ranging from dates and travel plans to accommodations to tours and activities. Now some travelers might consider us "Type A's", needing to plan everything in advance. That may be so but either way these types of decisions must be made.
I was particularly blown away by how much time and effort flight bookings took. To travel the 15,562km from Toronto to Sydney, there at first seems to be an almost unlimited number of flight options. However, once you ask what is actually feasible given dates, possible aeroplan constraints, and budget concerns, the options dwindle considerably.
Anyhow, I am pleased to announce that we are booked to head to Australia! Six weeks of sun and fun, surfing, and exploring.
For now, though, I head back to Tahoe.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Adventures
In recent years, I have become much more of an adventurer. Though I once held back and stuck to the beaten trail, I now appreciate the wonders that can come from striking out onto the path less taken. I am not merely talking about turning left when your gps tells you to turn right; I also include other examples of making unconventional decisions that can involve some risks.
Most of the time I was in Tahoe, I skied. I have been a skier since I was very young and feel that I can manage my way down basically any route on a mountain (even if I don't always look pretty). I feel good skiing and enjoy tough challenges. Squaw Valley was particularly fun as I found myself with an extremely proficient snowboarder who knows the mountain inside and out.
But to take a risk, I rented a snowboard and asked my host/former snowboarding instructor to give me a complimentary lesson. As an experienced skier, I know what it feels like to slip down snow, how edges work, and other such nuances of a controlled fall down a mountain on waxed platforms. However, skiing is quite different from snowboarding. The feeling is different, particularly with both of your feet stuck together, unable to move independently. Nonetheless, I ventured - adventured. From the beginners' area right to a blue square and all the way down the mountain. As I lay on the snow after one of my infrequent falls, I thought to myself that there was no better way to be spending my year off.
Our trip out to the coast brought more adventures. Stopping in Napa for a day was of course beautiful and interesting. A very different wine-making region than Bordeaux, it contains (or appears to contain) more much diversity in the types of vineyards and how they represent themselves. We did a wonderful tour of Rubicon (Francis Ford Coppola's vineyard) and enjoyed an exquisite meal. In the midst of sampling some wonderful wines, I thought about my sentiment about snowboarding the day before and decided that Napa's activities were an equally good way to spend my year off.
The adventure really began the next day with the torrential rains. I had wanted to see the Sequoias in Muir Woods, just north of San Francisco. These West Coast trees are some of the largest living organisms in the world. Despite the rain, we ventured. Into the woods for a walk. We marveled at the trees and at the less than impressive level of waterproofing in our various articles of clothing (my cashmere winter jacket became more of a sponge with that wonderful wet carpet smell).
Leaving the woods, we came to a fork in the road that offered San Francisco or Muir Beach. Choosing the road less traveled, we opted for the beach. Finding ourselves on the fabled California Route One, we wound our way along the winding road sandwiched between cliffs and the roaring Pacific Ocean. Over moving streams of water and small clusters of fallen rocks, we continued. We picked up some rations (a couple bottles of water and a bag of chips) in a little coastal town called Stinson Beach and headed back exactly the way we came, to brace the treacherous road once again. What an adventure. And what memories.
My entire trip out to California was somewhat of an adventure. It carried risks and held the potential for huge rewards. I will forever be grateful that I ventured. As the necklace that a family friend gave me for Christmas advises: take chances.
Most of the time I was in Tahoe, I skied. I have been a skier since I was very young and feel that I can manage my way down basically any route on a mountain (even if I don't always look pretty). I feel good skiing and enjoy tough challenges. Squaw Valley was particularly fun as I found myself with an extremely proficient snowboarder who knows the mountain inside and out.
But to take a risk, I rented a snowboard and asked my host/former snowboarding instructor to give me a complimentary lesson. As an experienced skier, I know what it feels like to slip down snow, how edges work, and other such nuances of a controlled fall down a mountain on waxed platforms. However, skiing is quite different from snowboarding. The feeling is different, particularly with both of your feet stuck together, unable to move independently. Nonetheless, I ventured - adventured. From the beginners' area right to a blue square and all the way down the mountain. As I lay on the snow after one of my infrequent falls, I thought to myself that there was no better way to be spending my year off.
Our trip out to the coast brought more adventures. Stopping in Napa for a day was of course beautiful and interesting. A very different wine-making region than Bordeaux, it contains (or appears to contain) more much diversity in the types of vineyards and how they represent themselves. We did a wonderful tour of Rubicon (Francis Ford Coppola's vineyard) and enjoyed an exquisite meal. In the midst of sampling some wonderful wines, I thought about my sentiment about snowboarding the day before and decided that Napa's activities were an equally good way to spend my year off.
The adventure really began the next day with the torrential rains. I had wanted to see the Sequoias in Muir Woods, just north of San Francisco. These West Coast trees are some of the largest living organisms in the world. Despite the rain, we ventured. Into the woods for a walk. We marveled at the trees and at the less than impressive level of waterproofing in our various articles of clothing (my cashmere winter jacket became more of a sponge with that wonderful wet carpet smell).
Leaving the woods, we came to a fork in the road that offered San Francisco or Muir Beach. Choosing the road less traveled, we opted for the beach. Finding ourselves on the fabled California Route One, we wound our way along the winding road sandwiched between cliffs and the roaring Pacific Ocean. Over moving streams of water and small clusters of fallen rocks, we continued. We picked up some rations (a couple bottles of water and a bag of chips) in a little coastal town called Stinson Beach and headed back exactly the way we came, to brace the treacherous road once again. What an adventure. And what memories.
My entire trip out to California was somewhat of an adventure. It carried risks and held the potential for huge rewards. I will forever be grateful that I ventured. As the necklace that a family friend gave me for Christmas advises: take chances.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Locals versus tourists in the Sierra Nevadas
A resort town will always provide a fruitful examination of the difference between locals and tourists. As a traveler, I try to walk a fine line between the two - I am clearly not a local, but neither do I wish to be 'a tourist.' I do my absolute best to blend in, adopt 'local practices,' and hang with the other locals.
I am in Truckee, California. A small resort town north of Lake Tahoe in the Sierra Nevada range. It is surrounded by wonderful ski resorts, perhaps the best known of which is Squaw Valley, the location of the 1960 Olympic Games. I am staying with a friend, Jesse, who is a local. He has been helping educate me on the differences between locals and tourists and the perspective of locals in a resort town, something I do not often get a chance to see.
I arrived this past Friday - the Friday of MLK Jr long weekend. Skiing at Squaw Saturday and Sunday was a fascinating first study. First of all, the locals will largely stay away from the slopes on weekends and particularly long weekends precisely because of the tourists, who overrun the place, creating long lift and food lines. They are not as experienced on the mountain (or on their equipment) so they can make quite dangerous choices (like crossing traffic without looking, etc). The locals not-so-affectionately refer to the tourists as gapers - because they stop in inappropriate locations on the runs and gape at the admittedly beautiful surroundings.
Their cars are markedly different, as is their general winter-mountain driving ability. Whereas the locals tends to drive older, well-loved Toyota and Ford trucks, the tourists are generally in high performance cars like BMW, Audi, Mercedes, and Lexus. Arguably their cars should be able to handle the frequently challenging conditions in the Sierra Nevadas. Unfortunately, when you do not have proper snow tires or you put snow chains on your front wheels when you have a rear-wheel drive car, you make for less than optimal performance levels. Not only this, but you endanger the lives of others on the road.
The influx of locals (that raises the population of Truckee from 14,000 to around 70,000) also has consequences to everyday life. The one grocery store in town gets over-run, with line-ups as long as an hour. The bars and restaurants are also overtaken by the gapers. Finally, there are always heavy traffic conditions and few parking spots.
The locals, on the other hand, are of course locals. They live here because they love the breath-taking surroundings, they are serious about skiing, snowboarding, mountain biking or hiking, or this is simply where they live and make a living. They know the area and the conditions.
I do not perceive that the locals truly resent the tourists. They know that it is tourism that keeps this little town alive and provides them with the world-class ski areas that are largely abandoned mid-week (as I gleefully experienced today). But that certainly doesn't keep them from complaining about it.
I am in Truckee, California. A small resort town north of Lake Tahoe in the Sierra Nevada range. It is surrounded by wonderful ski resorts, perhaps the best known of which is Squaw Valley, the location of the 1960 Olympic Games. I am staying with a friend, Jesse, who is a local. He has been helping educate me on the differences between locals and tourists and the perspective of locals in a resort town, something I do not often get a chance to see.
I arrived this past Friday - the Friday of MLK Jr long weekend. Skiing at Squaw Saturday and Sunday was a fascinating first study. First of all, the locals will largely stay away from the slopes on weekends and particularly long weekends precisely because of the tourists, who overrun the place, creating long lift and food lines. They are not as experienced on the mountain (or on their equipment) so they can make quite dangerous choices (like crossing traffic without looking, etc). The locals not-so-affectionately refer to the tourists as gapers - because they stop in inappropriate locations on the runs and gape at the admittedly beautiful surroundings.
Their cars are markedly different, as is their general winter-mountain driving ability. Whereas the locals tends to drive older, well-loved Toyota and Ford trucks, the tourists are generally in high performance cars like BMW, Audi, Mercedes, and Lexus. Arguably their cars should be able to handle the frequently challenging conditions in the Sierra Nevadas. Unfortunately, when you do not have proper snow tires or you put snow chains on your front wheels when you have a rear-wheel drive car, you make for less than optimal performance levels. Not only this, but you endanger the lives of others on the road.
The influx of locals (that raises the population of Truckee from 14,000 to around 70,000) also has consequences to everyday life. The one grocery store in town gets over-run, with line-ups as long as an hour. The bars and restaurants are also overtaken by the gapers. Finally, there are always heavy traffic conditions and few parking spots.
The locals, on the other hand, are of course locals. They live here because they love the breath-taking surroundings, they are serious about skiing, snowboarding, mountain biking or hiking, or this is simply where they live and make a living. They know the area and the conditions.
I do not perceive that the locals truly resent the tourists. They know that it is tourism that keeps this little town alive and provides them with the world-class ski areas that are largely abandoned mid-week (as I gleefully experienced today). But that certainly doesn't keep them from complaining about it.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Life and traveling
Ever analytical, I am constantly thinking about what I am getting out of this year, what I am learning from my travels, whether it was worth it... whether it was the right decision. Over the past few weeks, I have come to appreciate something quite significant that I have already gotten out of this year so far.
I may be good at a great many things, but one area in which I've never been overly comfortable is the tension between planning and spontaneity. I am a typical Type A - ok, perhaps with a little OCD, anal retentiveness thrown in. I like stability, predictability, and routine. I like planning and knowing what lies ahead. I am usually fairly good at knowing what I want, going for it, and getting it.
This year of travels, however, has challenged those long-held inclinations.
The very nature of traveling requires a certain amount of spontaneity and comfort with the unknown. The traveler must be prepared to encounter strange situations and unfamiliar choices. Often, the more you learn, the more you come to realize how many different choices there are. It is as though every corner you turn, you see only an infinite number of additional intersections ahead. Of course, you can take the easy road and only go where you had planned, never budging from your well thought-out, anticipated route.
But you would miss out on so much.
There is so much that we do not know until we arrive in any given situation. And there is so much excitement and opportunity in being able to capitalize on unexpected chances.
This is what I have learned.
I met a guy at a vineyard in Bordeaux. And because we were willing to take a chance, this Australian, wannabe-vintner and I had an incredible, memorable trip driving around Europe together. I will never forget that experience and it will keep me going when harder days inevitably hit. I have those memories only because I was willing to change my plans. I saw an opportunity and took it.
I returned to Toronto after New Years in Florida with no idea of where or when I would travel again. I felt like I had somehow lost my momentum. Then suddenly, a new, unexpected opportunity pops up. Off I head this Friday to an adventure in California. And it has renewed me.
The wonderful lesson I am writing of is certainly not contained to traveling. In fact, being able to be spontaneous and take unexpected opportunities when you are traveling is a wonderful metaphor for the lesson as it applies to life in general. As a traveler, it is important to set out your own parameters - rules, goals, general ideas of how you would like to proceed. Then you make your plan and subsequent decisions along the way within that framework.
I learn as I get older that life must also be like that. Each of us must decide our own personal guidelines. Like individualized rules of the game - including what is and is not permissible, what is out of bounds, and how to score points - these criteria allow us to navigate through the nitty gritty of everyday life.
But much like traveling, we must absolutely be ready for, recognize, and embrace unexpected twists and turns. You never know when something will change your life - whether in a small or profound way. A simple conversation that introduces a new idea may send you down a new but rewarding path. Talking to the person down the bar may flourish into a lifelong romance. Taking a chance on a new job might teach you an enormous amount, even if it is not what you are meant to do with your life. In fact, each new twist may not actually get you to your goal, but it will help you to move toward it in the future while enjoying every day.
Ultimately, while goals are important and reaching them is incredibly rewarding, life must be about the journey, the experiences you have, and those you meet along the way. Because just like traveling, the end is never as good as the travels.
I may be good at a great many things, but one area in which I've never been overly comfortable is the tension between planning and spontaneity. I am a typical Type A - ok, perhaps with a little OCD, anal retentiveness thrown in. I like stability, predictability, and routine. I like planning and knowing what lies ahead. I am usually fairly good at knowing what I want, going for it, and getting it.
This year of travels, however, has challenged those long-held inclinations.
The very nature of traveling requires a certain amount of spontaneity and comfort with the unknown. The traveler must be prepared to encounter strange situations and unfamiliar choices. Often, the more you learn, the more you come to realize how many different choices there are. It is as though every corner you turn, you see only an infinite number of additional intersections ahead. Of course, you can take the easy road and only go where you had planned, never budging from your well thought-out, anticipated route.
But you would miss out on so much.
There is so much that we do not know until we arrive in any given situation. And there is so much excitement and opportunity in being able to capitalize on unexpected chances.
This is what I have learned.
I met a guy at a vineyard in Bordeaux. And because we were willing to take a chance, this Australian, wannabe-vintner and I had an incredible, memorable trip driving around Europe together. I will never forget that experience and it will keep me going when harder days inevitably hit. I have those memories only because I was willing to change my plans. I saw an opportunity and took it.
I returned to Toronto after New Years in Florida with no idea of where or when I would travel again. I felt like I had somehow lost my momentum. Then suddenly, a new, unexpected opportunity pops up. Off I head this Friday to an adventure in California. And it has renewed me.
The wonderful lesson I am writing of is certainly not contained to traveling. In fact, being able to be spontaneous and take unexpected opportunities when you are traveling is a wonderful metaphor for the lesson as it applies to life in general. As a traveler, it is important to set out your own parameters - rules, goals, general ideas of how you would like to proceed. Then you make your plan and subsequent decisions along the way within that framework.
I learn as I get older that life must also be like that. Each of us must decide our own personal guidelines. Like individualized rules of the game - including what is and is not permissible, what is out of bounds, and how to score points - these criteria allow us to navigate through the nitty gritty of everyday life.
But much like traveling, we must absolutely be ready for, recognize, and embrace unexpected twists and turns. You never know when something will change your life - whether in a small or profound way. A simple conversation that introduces a new idea may send you down a new but rewarding path. Talking to the person down the bar may flourish into a lifelong romance. Taking a chance on a new job might teach you an enormous amount, even if it is not what you are meant to do with your life. In fact, each new twist may not actually get you to your goal, but it will help you to move toward it in the future while enjoying every day.
Ultimately, while goals are important and reaching them is incredibly rewarding, life must be about the journey, the experiences you have, and those you meet along the way. Because just like traveling, the end is never as good as the travels.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Traveler's Realities
As a preface, I would like to say that due to the number of requests I received to keep writing, Les Jeux de Mot will continue, though perhaps on a slightly less regimented schedule.
------
There are a number of realities that a traveler must face. Some of these are innate hazards. Theft is a particularly painful and unnerving one. I thankfully avoided that particular situation. Losing or forgetting things is another pitfall that can be troublesome - and yet another I did not suffer. Getting lost yourself can be quite terrifying, particularly if you do not speak the local language. Of course, some travelers want to lose themselves, so getting lost is a blessing rather than a curse.
While I avoided any of these, I did encounter another decidedly less sexy hazard of traveling: bed bugs. I'm told that in recent decades, the combination of the use of less lethal pesticides and increased global travel (ah, so I'm part of the problem) has resulted in the increase of the worldwide bed bug problem. Yes, it's true I was attacked by bed bugs. It remains unclear whether they snuck into my bag, only to pop out in Toronto and feast on me while I slept unaware of 360 degree attack, or whether they bit me while I was in Europe and the bites only manifested themselves once I got home.
My poor dear travel partner, Alex, got bites while we were in Amsterdam. While I was spared the itchy red bites while actually traveling, the hundreds of them spread all over my body did not make a nice homecoming present. I am happy to say, however, that the bites are gone and if there were ever any bed bugs that made their way back to Toronto (we never actually saw anything suspicious), they have been fully exterminated.
No harm done and yet another travel lesson learned.
Another hazard of traveling is one that every traveler must face: going home. (Ok, granted there are some nomads who refuse to be pinned down by such a traditional concept as a home, but let's leave them aside.) Going home marks the end of one's travels - whether temporarily or permanently. It is the end of the excitement and the return to the familiar. It most likely brings mixed emotions.
The romance of traveling is infectious. Once you get it into your system, it is hard to shake. You yearn for the open road, for a new, strange place to visit, and to hear those around you talking in a foreign language. You grow to love the anonymity of being a traveler - of knowing that no one around knows who you are or where you came from and that you will likely never see any of them ever again. Traveling not only allows you to rediscover (or perhaps discover for the first time) yourself, but it allows you to reinvent yourself. If so inclined, you can be whoever you want to be, temporarily released from the bonds of the persona you have built among family and friends at home.
But home is home. It is comfortable. It is familiar. It is warm and safe and wholesome. It is a release from living out of a suitcase, from sleeping in a different bed every night (with bed bugs!), and from eating in restaurants 3 meals a day. It is a return to what we know, a return to those we love. It brings us back to knowing - knowing the local stores and restaurants, knowing the streets, knowing the people, knowing the local practices. It is an easier life.
I am home now and have closed the European chapter of my travels. I will be mostly home in Toronto - with perhaps a few weekend trips - until mid-February. And then I have big plans.
------
There are a number of realities that a traveler must face. Some of these are innate hazards. Theft is a particularly painful and unnerving one. I thankfully avoided that particular situation. Losing or forgetting things is another pitfall that can be troublesome - and yet another I did not suffer. Getting lost yourself can be quite terrifying, particularly if you do not speak the local language. Of course, some travelers want to lose themselves, so getting lost is a blessing rather than a curse.
While I avoided any of these, I did encounter another decidedly less sexy hazard of traveling: bed bugs. I'm told that in recent decades, the combination of the use of less lethal pesticides and increased global travel (ah, so I'm part of the problem) has resulted in the increase of the worldwide bed bug problem. Yes, it's true I was attacked by bed bugs. It remains unclear whether they snuck into my bag, only to pop out in Toronto and feast on me while I slept unaware of 360 degree attack, or whether they bit me while I was in Europe and the bites only manifested themselves once I got home.
My poor dear travel partner, Alex, got bites while we were in Amsterdam. While I was spared the itchy red bites while actually traveling, the hundreds of them spread all over my body did not make a nice homecoming present. I am happy to say, however, that the bites are gone and if there were ever any bed bugs that made their way back to Toronto (we never actually saw anything suspicious), they have been fully exterminated.
No harm done and yet another travel lesson learned.
Another hazard of traveling is one that every traveler must face: going home. (Ok, granted there are some nomads who refuse to be pinned down by such a traditional concept as a home, but let's leave them aside.) Going home marks the end of one's travels - whether temporarily or permanently. It is the end of the excitement and the return to the familiar. It most likely brings mixed emotions.
The romance of traveling is infectious. Once you get it into your system, it is hard to shake. You yearn for the open road, for a new, strange place to visit, and to hear those around you talking in a foreign language. You grow to love the anonymity of being a traveler - of knowing that no one around knows who you are or where you came from and that you will likely never see any of them ever again. Traveling not only allows you to rediscover (or perhaps discover for the first time) yourself, but it allows you to reinvent yourself. If so inclined, you can be whoever you want to be, temporarily released from the bonds of the persona you have built among family and friends at home.
But home is home. It is comfortable. It is familiar. It is warm and safe and wholesome. It is a release from living out of a suitcase, from sleeping in a different bed every night (with bed bugs!), and from eating in restaurants 3 meals a day. It is a return to what we know, a return to those we love. It brings us back to knowing - knowing the local stores and restaurants, knowing the streets, knowing the people, knowing the local practices. It is an easier life.
I am home now and have closed the European chapter of my travels. I will be mostly home in Toronto - with perhaps a few weekend trips - until mid-February. And then I have big plans.
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