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.

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.

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.

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.

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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.

Belgium and the last hurrah

We spent the last part of our Eurotrip in Belgium, spending two nights in Brussels. Driving in, we stopped in Antwerp - an interesting town with a large industrial port area and a largely modern architectural feel. It's saving grace was its downtown core which seems to have been spared during 20th century wars - a beautiful central square and a stunning cathedral.

Brussels itself was a friendly place. It was easy to navigate and seemed full of people who were - well - friendly and happy to help travelers in need. This was highlighted by the owner/manager of the adorable little bed and breakfast we stayed in.

The city itself felt somewhat like a combination of all those we had visited before it. Its older architecture was reminiscent of Amsterdam's with tall, skinny buildings capped with elaborate gables. The main square was a stunning example of architectural uniformity and decoration.

To me, it also felt somewhat like Berlin. Parts of the city had been updated - the streets widened and the buildings modernized. You could walk into a certain section and be amidst buildings all built within the last thirty years - a marked change from the older, central square.

We enjoyed Brussels.

On our drive back to Paris, we took a slight detour to Ypres, the sight of much of the worst fighting of the First World War. It is located in Flanders - made famous by the tragic poem of John Macrae, "In Flanders Fields." There are WW1 cemeteries, a huge memorial arch as you enter the town centre (where I'm told they still play 'The Last Post' every day at sundown), and a fantastic WW1 museum. The museum (called the "In Flanders Fields Museum") takes you through the chronology of the war as well as the experiences of the soldiers fighting on each side. Alex and I were particularly entertained by one display that talked about how both the Canadian and the Australian soldiers were so passionate about fighting that they had to be cordoned off outside of town, having caused too much raucous with the locals.

After Ypres, we embarked on our final drive, back to Paris. Returning to Paris was somewhat like returning home. It had been my base for so much of my time in Europe and - unlike any of the other cities we drove into - is familiar to me. Coming back after an absence in unknown places made me realize that I really have come to 'know' Paris. I understand her and I think she understands me.

I Amsterdam

My apologies for the long absence between posts. Our hotel in Amsterdam had seemingly changed its internet policy between the time we checked it out online and when we actually got there. We spent the last four days in Amsterdam.

Amsterdam is a very different world. Compared to our previous stops of Paris, Strasbourg, Frankfurt, and Berlin, Amsterdam was not just picturesque and European but intense and seedy. Its intensity does not come from a frenetic pace like that of London's, but it is more that no matter where you are in the downtown core, there are people on the streets. There are people everywhere going about their business, whether legal, illegal, or somewhere in-between. The seediness on the other hand comes from city's somewhat sinister underbelly, which itself derives directly from the tolerance of soft drugs like marijuana and the legality of prostitution.

The unfortunate combination of its intensity and seediness makes inexperienced travelers like myself distinctively less relaxed. Holding purses tightly and always looking over your shoulder at night can diminish the enjoyment of an otherwise beautiful city.

But beautiful it is. Built in a "C" shape, it is comprised of concentric canals, which are lined with and connected by little streets. There are hundreds of bridges and a few thousand houseboats along the canals where residents live all year round with the luxuries of running water, electricity, and of course internet. The houses are both incredibly tall and incredibly skinny - the skinniest house in Amsterdam is about 1 meter wide. Many built before Napoleonic rule brought street numbers to Amsterdam, each house is crowned by its own distinctive gable - a way to tell between your friends' house and their neighbours'.

Our comedic canal boat captain told us that Amsterdam is not known for its palaces or churches because it was and always has been the city of the people. The French translation called it une ville des bourgeois. True to this, we hardly saw any major buildings. We spent most of our time wandering the canals and trying to discover the secrets of this ancient town.

And secrets it has. Some better kept than others of course. Without having the slightest idea of where we were or where we were going (and as my brother warned me, even someone with the strongest directional sense is always lost in Amsterdam), on the first night we turned a corner and were suddenly confronted with the red light district. I hadn't realized until that moment that the reason it has that name is because almost every window has a bright red light emanating from it. The prostitutes sit in their windows (which are also doorways) and solicit customers by advertising their products.

Tourists and perhaps potential clients stroll through and gawk at the sheer objectivity of it all. These women (I had expected but did not see a single man) seem to have made a conscious choice to sell their sexual services for money and have no problem putting themselves on display for all to see. I do not judge them, assuming that they made a truly free decision to be there - but it certainly takes some getting used to.

On one of our days in A-dam, we took a reprieve from the city's intensity to drive to The Hague, where the Dutch Parliament sits and where the International Criminal Court is located. A small town, it was quaint and quiet on a Sunday. We then made our way to Rotterdam, the largest port in the world at the mouth of the Rhine River. Having suffered massive amounts of bombing during WW2, it is mostly new, with experimental modern architecture. I find myself without much to say about it.

I'm glad we went to Amsterdam. I enjoyed the city, got lots of great pictures, and had fun. But I was not unhappy to leave. Perhaps it is a comfortable place for some, but not for me.

Skating in Berlin

We had another big day today. I would estimate that we walked for about 6 hours in total, covering a huge area of Berlin. One of the most personally moving stops we made was at what is known as the Topographie des Terrors. This is the former location of the headquarters of the Gestapo and the SS, as well as being the base from which the ethnic cleansing was organized. Interestingly, the Berlin wall ran right along one edge of this area - and that section of wall still stands there today.

It seems as though there has been some debate and political difficulties in trying to recognize and remember the spot - and commemorate the atrocities orchestrated from there. They are building some sort of permanent exhibition space but for now there is a temporary exhibit. Set against the dug-out foundations of the old SS and Gestapo buildings, there is a series of posters and informational plaques displaying the history of the Hitler's rise to power and the Nazi regime. Germans are clearly doing a solid job of confronting and remembering that dark period in their country's history. It is only through facing such realities that we can avoid repeating them.

We finally went skating today. We arrived too late last night and missed our chance. The weather was actually quite beautiful today (after a sprinkling of rain mid-day) - blue sky and temperatures around 8oC. There is a skating rink set up on the main street, in the midst of the Christmas fairs. It is big, well lit, and has speakers playing Christmas music. Though admittedlz it is covered in a thin layer of water because the air is too warm for ice. We rented skates and set out on the ice. It was a blast. I even have pictures to prove it (forthcoming).

In some ways, I have a semi-constant sense of skating while here in Germany. It is the first time I can remember being in a place where I do not understand any of the language and where most of the locals do not speak English. Unlike some anglophones, I don't just plough through and expect the world to bow to my needs. I actually feel guilty because I don't have even a basic understanding of German. Now it's true that there are many similarities to English but not enough to make it workable beyong being able to recognize the odd word here and there. So I put on my best "I'm so sorry" face and work with sign language.

Tomorrow we will set out back onto the autobahn to head west to Amsterdam. Amazing how fast this is flying by.