Manufacturing Content

Walking and Thinking (conclusion)

Well, we've been finished walking for almost two weeks now, and it's time to wrap this sucker up.  The Camino was a fantastic experience, that much is obvious.  I mean, how much more can you really say about getting up at six a.m. every morning and walking about thirty kilometers.

This tends to change the way you think about a lot of things; the baggage you carry, the difficulty of everyday life, the importance of all the superfluous things that ordinary life brings.  I won't preach or elaborate on these things, but they are very important lessons to have learned, and I'm sure that they will come through in the things we do during the next six months.

From here, we go to Africa, India, Nepal and South East Asia.  There, we will see some of the most challenging and beautiful thigs, and they will be a test to the tests we've overcome on the Camino.  Will we feel diferently about being a tourist in the poorest of the poor countries, where food crises threaten to take away even the most basic elements of life?  Will we stop and help, or get back on the tour bus and go on.  Heavy questions indeed, but the world is a heavy place, and the heavier your backpack is, the harder it is to get through it.

D.

Walking and Thinking (part two)

Pre-script: I totally ment to post this, like last week.  But due to a lack of internet, and clicking the wrong button, here it is now.  While today is actually day 26, with only 65 km left, most of this still holds true.  Look for more in a few days when we wrap this puppy up. 

So, today marks day fifteen of the Epic of the Camino, which is just about the half-way mark (or at least that's what I am telling myself to feel better).  By now, we've sent a second load of gear to be picked up at the end of the road, which has made our packs a feathery eight or ten kilos.  Our legs are longer screaming at us, and our feet have blistered, healed, and calloused.  We are officially pilgrims.

And so, as a pilgrim, I find myself pondering the Camino in various ways.

1) Mathematical - Today, on a stretch of paved road with signs marking the distances, I counted the number of steps I take in a kilometer: 1200.  A quick bit of mental math shows that this means each day (about 30 km) yeild 36000 steps.  Stretch that out to the full 30 days, and you have 1.08 million steps.  Now, flat paved road steps are the longest of all steps, so in theory, there are many more.  I think that by the time we finished, my feet will have hit the ground over 1.1 million times.  Which brings us to...

2) Physical - What is this trek doing to my poor body.  Well, besides the feet, there is the legs, knees, back and shoulders to worry about.  Most are good.  I forbid myself to complain about the physical (except to K, who has a fantastic knack for releiving pains) because of the number of old people walking the same distance.  I met a seventy-year-old who's been walking since somewhere in France, over 1200 km already.  But, once you get used to waking up at six a.m. every morning, and walking until about one p.m., you start to feel really good.  And not only physically good, but also...

3) Karmic - So far, I've returned two cell-phones to pilgrims who lost them along the way (what kind of pilgrim has a cell-phone, anyway).  I picked up a pair of lost walking sticks that K has been using in the hope of finding their original owner (two days later, and no takers...) and we've been walking with an Italian preist for about a week.  I like to believe that a direct result of these things is that we have not yet been without a bed along the Camino, a misfortune that many have faced with the innondation of Germans on the trail this year (due to some German commedian writing a book about it, from what we understand).  But our patience for ze germans is wearing thin, and I fear some karmic fallout will ensue.  Until then, we try to play nice, and we try to keep our heads together for...

4) Self exploration - Oh, I've done a lot of thinking on these first fifteen days, about the future mostly, but also about the opportunity we've had to travel the world, the things we've seen, and how I will approach the next legs of the trip.  I think there's a whole different post coming at the end of the Camino on this subject, so I'll just leave it at that.  Because we are, after all, only half-way done.

D.

South American Roundup

So, how was South America, in ten words or less?
Although an eternity for a vacation, two months and ten days is a short time to be in one continent.  We’ve met people who are spending a year in one country down here, working, leaning the language and getting to know the people.  Sometimes I envy those travellers who can pick a country and see the shit out of it.  I’m a bit too ADD to spend so much time in one place, and this constant changing of surroundings is heaven to me.  Although I’ve been to Peru before – and thought I was somewhat prepared for South America – I’ve seen places, landscapes and people I would never have imagined.  I can’t wait to get to those places that I never thought I would visit, like Africa and India.  Even out next stops in

Spain and France will be incredible new experiences.

Was that ten words?

Not really, but I’ll talk to the editor and see if we can’t clean it up.
Right on.  Make me sound smart, if you can.

I’ll do what I can.  So what were the high and low points of South America?
Do you mean literally or figuratively?

Um, both?
Okay, well literally, the high point was Aconcagua, Argentina the highest mountain outside the Andes.
Figuratively, the high point would probably be, of all things, the bus ride from Copacabana to La Paz, Bolivia during our first month of travel (which was not an overnight, by the way).  I don’t know if I can explain why - the scenery, while picturesque, was easily trumped by countless other landscapes.  The bus wasn’t particularly comfortable.  If I had to guess, it was probably just the first moment on the trip when I felt at ease, and started to get into the groove of traveling.  I had the love of my life at my side, a jar of Pringles, and all my belongings in a bag under the bus, and that was all I needed.  This feeling has come and gone many times since, but that first time was special.

Wow, deep, bro.  And the lows?
Well, the literal low point was probably doing yoga on the beach one morning on Iha Grande, Brazil – looking out into the Atlantic and keeping an eye on the forest behind me in case any pumas decided I looked tasty.
And the figurative low was eating the bad chicken on Ilha Des Sol in Bolivia, and staying in a hotel room with no heat.

How about your fellow travellers, how have they been?
Great.  I’d say the best travel friend we’ve made remains Simon the dog in Bolivia.  But the people are good company too.  I’m particularly impressed with the old folks trekking along down here.  Mom, Dad (not that you’re “old”, of course) take heed: you can travel anywhere, do it!

And how many Canadians have you met?
Only about four groups, two of whom were from Quebec.  C’mon Canucks, start representing in South America!  Tough it out in Peru and Bolivia.  Party it up in Brazil.  And eat steak with a spoon for $10 in Argentina (oh, the steak is sooooo good here).  And do it now because already prices are starting to go up.  Argentina has doubled in the last two or three years (but still cheep) and Brazil is already ridiculously overpriced.  Bolivia and Peru are still cheep like chips, but not for long.

What’s been your biggest complaint about the trip so far?
Well, in Peru and Bolivia, it was “Why don’t they just charge a little bit more for tourism and do it right!”  This was in response to shoddy tour operators and hostels that were only concerned with getting the most tourists through as quickly as possible.  However, Argentina has erased that complaint completely.  For just a few more pesos, you get a fantastic tourist experience.

Will you be back?
I’d love to go back to Bolivia and Argentina.  Bolivia was a great growing country, and I’d jump at the chance to go back and help in some way.  Argentina needs to be visited again with the luxury of taking K shopping.

For shoes?
Yes, for shoes.  The poor thing has to survive the whole ten months with only three pairs of shoes – none of which make her taller than me, or have sparkles.

Sounds like you’re really roughing it.
You bet!

D.

Achieving La Paz

The short four hour bus ride from Copacabana to La Paz had me in a great mood for daydreaming.  I can't tell if it was the finally perfect weather, or the rush of endorphins that my body was releasing as I recovered from another short bought of the stomach-rumbles.

Maybe it was just the scenery.

I mean, busing along the quiet highway (if you deign to call any road in South America a "highway") through the Altiplano - the high, fertile plains of the region - I just couldn't help myself.

We passed little idyllic villages, so loose in their housing clusters that it was hard to tell where one ended and the next began.  Keep in mind, however, that these aren't the "idyllic little villages" that you might see in Europe, or even elsewhere in rustic corners of the world.  These were clay-brick, stray dog, minimum electricity, basic plumbing, nothing paved little villages.  Livestock, the only visible measure of wealth besides land, roamed the muddy streets. 

But, somehow, the essence of life emanating from these little towns reel me in from the safety of the bus window, and I dreamt.

I could move here, if K decided to leave me for some taller, darker, and more handsome drink of water.  I would be the strange Gringo of the neighbourhood.  I would spring for the fancy wireless internet for only one year so I could learn to work the land with my own two hands, eventually becoming so proficient as to eschew the need for wikipedia to help me. 

I would plant enough food to live on, own a few chickens, pigs, and a donkey (which I'm sure is somehow necessary here).  Then, as my skill and wealth grew, I would begin hiring local help and expand my cocoa, potato, and corn patches into an eventual cooperative enterprise benefiting the whole area, which would lead to my becoming the mayor, or local magistrate. 

I would own a horse, and a small sailboat, and take solitary treks into the foothills, mountains and islands around Lake Titicaca.

Then, some dozen years down the road, the newly elected president - an extreme socialist and idea man - would visit on a regular tour and become fascinated by this Gringo-farmer.  We would get to talking and he would hire me as his speech writer. 

In this post, and using my newly gained knowledge of the average Bolivian, I would become his closest adviser, until the day, no more than a year later, we would both be killed in a bloody military coup, no doubt backed by the American pig-dogs.

Well, I guy can dream can't he?

D.

Blowing this pop stand

A big huge sigh of relief came over me this afternoon when, with just about twenty-four hours to go, I finished the last of the paperwork, packed my bag for the last time, and said a final goodbye to the rest of my worldly possessions.

On Sunday, K and I packed up a seventeen-foot U-Haul and drove through the wind and desolation of middle-Ontario to my parent’s place.  My sister’s old room is now full of what used to be our apartment.  Our cats are adjusting to their new caretaker – and are even allowing her a few cuddles here and there.  Yes, it’s official; we’re gonzo, dunzo, outta here.  Nothing can stop us now.

Okay, so a bit more context maybe?  We just weighed our packs.  Mine is thirty-five pounds, meaning that in the last week, I’ve been reduced from a full seventeen foot cube van to a thirty-five pound bag.

In the last week, I’ve also said all my final goodbyes to Canada, including a drive down the 401 through a winter snowstorm, a trip to visit my sis and see her housing project (click the Grand House Student Coop link on the sidebar and see how cool she is!), and a couple of semi-relaxing days with my parents.  Oh, and a long overdue trip to Niagara Falls.

Now, believe it or not, I’ve never been before.  But, while home in Barrie, my parents insisted that I see them before heading into the great wide world, so K and I made the drive down there, stopped the car, got out, froze for about five minutes, then got back in and took the scenic route through Niagara-on-the-lake back home.  Was I impressed?  With the cold and the sheer quantity of tourist traps, yes.  With the falls, not as much.  Granted, it was a cold-ass day, and the falls were shrouded in ice-mist and fog.  But the point wasn’t so much to be impressed as it was to be aware of their existence, as any good Canadian should be.  Now, when I visit Iguaçu and Victoria Falls, in Brazil and Zambia respectively, I can say with the authority of experience that they are either bigger, better, smaller, quieter, or bluer than our own.

Armed with this last patriotic jaunt, I’m ready to hit the road.  Although I am only leaving with thirty-five pounds, they do include the most important things.  I am bringing my health, enthusiasm for the adventure ahead, readiness to take (reasonable) risks for the sake of a good tale to tell, and the love of my life.

Let’s ride.

D.

Putting it all together

It’s no secret that guys like to take stuff apart.  I’ll admit that I can be a bit impulsive about this.  I can’t even pick up a pen without unscrewing it and playing with the little springs.

I’ve let this urge slide recently.  I’ve been trying to build a guitar from scratch for the past 10 years, which, while technically the opposite of taking something apart, does apply many of the same principles.  I chalk this up to a lack of access to that most coveted of male work spaces, a garage. 

Maybe it’s because we’re about to take this big trip around the world, which is in some ways a process of taking your life apart and putting it back together, but for whatever reason I’ve started to take things apart again.  Any excuse I can find.

Lately, it was my old iPod Mini, which needed a new battery.  Sure, I have a fancy new Touch, but that extra 1000 songs I can carry around on the Mini just might save my sanity while we’re gone.  The iPod was a piece of cake to take apart, especially since I cut my teeth on a much bigger project.

Just before Christmas, I had gotten fed-up with my laptop computer.  The wireless doesn’t work anymore – which defeats the purpose of a portable computer – and the damned thing would overheat and shut down even if it was sitting on a table.  For the past year, I’ve had to elevate it on four stacks of CDs, and during the summer, I had to point a fan directly at it if it was on for more than ten minutes.  I was stuck with a laptop computer that wasn’t portable, and couldn’t it be placed on your lap.

With only a Swiss army knife and some instructions from some random website, I sat down and took apart my laptop, cleaned the fans and heat sinks, and put it back together with only one extra screw, and one non-working LED.

Good as new.

And Mom and Dad, in one month, when I start to take my life apart, the laptop is all yours.  Proof that anything can be put back together.

D.

That’s it – I’m outta here!

(or: an ode to my bikes)

The best way to learn the tough lessons of downtown bike ownership is by never actually buying a bike.  I’ve gone through three since first moving to Ottawa, and poor Kimu has also had a loss.

Bike number one is by far the best story.  About seven years ago, my good friend M borrowed his parents’ Buick station wagon (complete with beaver-panels) to help me move up here for university. 

At about two a.m., we were driving through Perth when an eighteen-wheeler, driving the other way, knocked my bike clear off the roof-rack.  In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted that said bike was initially being held on by a complex series of bungee-cords and a thick length of rope. 

However, when the car’s fan belt snapped – at about one a.m. – M did some McGuyver-esque maintenance with the thick rope. 

Lesson learned: four bungee cords will not hold a bike on the roof of a car traveling at 100km/h when faced with the oncoming turbulence of a truck traveling at 120 km/h.

Bike number two was bitter.  I bought this one at the Stittsville Flea Market for about $20.  It was too small, and too rusted out for me to care too much about, so I rode it into the ground for a year. 

When I moved from my high-rise apartment (at which I safely stowed my bike on the balcony) into a brownstone in the dodgy end of the student slum, I didn’t have a lock, so I left the bike outside. 

After one night, the bike was still there, so I didn’t bother getting a lock.  By day three, the bike was gone.  The lesson here was an easy one: lock you shitty bike to something, dumbass.

Bike number three was the worst loss yet.  I bought this one from a friend who had it sitting in her apartment for about a year.  She bought it from a friend who “found” it, slightly dented and with one warped tire, somewhere in town. 

By this point, I had learned my lesson.  I locked it up every night and never tied it to any vehicle’s roof.  I only paid $10 for it, but I spent about $100 each year on repairs and maintenance, and it paid off. 

Then, in November, a snap snowstorm iced it to the “no parking” sign it was chained to in front of our house.  No problem, I figured, I’d be leaving town before the spring anyway.  I’ll just leave the key for someone else in need of a bike, and they can unlock in with the spring thaw. 

I hadn’t planned on having my bike, and the sign, be chewed up by a sidewalk clearing machine.  After the attack, the bike was still salvageable, but when the city came to repair the sign, thus freeing my bike, they ran off with it. 

Of course, I blame this one on our “Rock Star” mayor.  The lesson learned: don’t trust the city to preserve your property, especially if it is “illegally” locked to a street sign, and is almost bent in half.

D.

Off to a good start

For many years, my New Year’s resolutions were comprised of two or three “buzz-words” that I would strive for throughout the year.  Of course, this was met with great success, given that the reporting and monitoring variables of said goals were wholly impossible to measure.

How do you tell if you’ve actually “actualized, initiated and streamlined” any aspect of my life.

This year, I’m going full circle.  My goal is to work out at least four times a week and to write more blog posts - goals were chosen because they will be a cakewalk.

In case you are living under a rock, or just not reading my wife’s blog, we’re a little more than a month away from skipping town (AAAHHH!!!!).  For some parts of our trip, I’ll have no choice BUT to exercise seven days a week (please see: the thirty day hike along the Way of St. James, or the back to back Everest Base Camp and Annapurna treks). 

And even during those long weeks we plan to spend on beaches in South East Asia, I can’t wait to get up and run along the water’s edge in the morning sun.  And maybe do some yoga while I’m at it.

This new commitment is in part due to the personal trainer I signed up with in November.  Now, being a dude, I’ve always been of the “bah, I know what I’m doing” school of working out.  Boy was I wrong.  Turns out, the only way to really know what you are doing is to listen to someone who really does know what they are doing. 

I’ve seen such a change in the last two months, and I can’t wait to apply this new ethic to a whole year. 

Bring on those piddly little Himalayas. 

And the writing?  Well, when I first started writing in earnest, I was, coincidently, traveling around Europe.  There’s something undeniably inspiring about being on the road, in a constant state or renegotiation with your surroundings.  I only hope it translates well to the blog, as my previous writing escapades were done in the four to five notebooks I carried around with me.

I am blogging today, but I missed the gym this morning.  By all accounts, this might have been a good thing.  As besides, it was, like minus-30 this morning.  The bed was too warm.

D.

‘Twas the season

Growing up, the lure of all those mysterious presents under the tree made me the sort of kid who got up at 5:00 a.m. on Christmas morning.  My poor little brain just couldn’t handle the excitement.  For those who know me as cool-as-a-cucumber, this may come as a surprise, but it won’t be for those who know me as an overgrown child.

With the exception of the one Christmas I spent working in a hotel in the Swiss Alps, this was the only year I spent away from my parents, but that year in Switzerland remains the only one I’ve spent away from family.  I know, I know - it’s tough to deal with for the loved ones who weren’t woken up absurdly early.  But rest assured I’ll always remember Christmas morning as a child.

I remember the huge fir trees we decorated in our basement, and trying to find my presents in my Dad’s office.  I never did find my Mom’s secret stash.  I remember the vain efforts my parents made to try to get me to sleep in on Christmas morning – keeping me up late, having everyone open a present the night before.  They never worked.  At least I was always allowed to wake up my sister, who fought through the grogginess and was always a good sport.  We would sneak to the basement, turn on the Raffi Christmas album, and open our stockings and presents from Saint Nick. 

And I remember the traditions as well.  Brunch and dinner on Christmas morning were always special.  They were one of the few occasions that my Dad, the chef, would dust off his fancy tools, don an apron, and cook a family meal.  For a while, we went to church on Christmas Eve, but that fizzled as we grew, and that evening became one for the family to gather and watch a movie – never a festive one – or play a game.  We would drop off a box of food at the food bank and feel like good citizens.

Extended family was never near at hand, and we never had the stress of visiting multiple houses.  In fact, this year’s trip to W&J’s house for dinner was the second time I had ever left my house on Christmas day.

My recently minted family, including my still-blushing bride and our two kitties, started the long road of building our own traditions and rituals this year.  K, who lives for this time of year, had the apartment decorated within the first week of December, and quickly set to work on her yearly Christmas banner.  We put the Santa hats on the cats for about thirty seconds, and giggled at their displeasure.  Sufjan Stevens’ “Songs for Christmas” collection magically appeared on our iPod.  And we hung our new stockings.

Christmas morning, we woke up and curled up on the couch in our un-insulated sun-room, and opened the presents under our glowing tree.  We laughed, and awed, and gave our cats their catnip toys, and glowed ourselves in the love and happiness of the season.  I felt that this was the start of many traditions, some new to me and some old.

And while I did wake up at 5:00 a.m., the lure of presents under the tree wasn’t quite enough to force me out of our warm bed this year – not with a beautiful Christmas angel lying beside me.  No sir, this year, I made it to 7:00.

D.

Why?

K lies asleep beside me, her question still ringing in me ears. She asks not because she doesn't know the answer, but rather because she just wants to be reminded and reassured.

Why are we traveling around the world?

For all of her big talk and bravado, K worries a lot about the coming adventure. In the simplest terms, to answer her question directly, we are taking ten months out of our lives in order to really live our lives.

Does it get anymore complicated?  Is there really a need to further justify this little adventure of ours?  I mean, if you are going to put your life on hold for 10 months, seeing the world isn’t such a bad way to go.  What’s the alternative, having a baby?  Same time frame, less responsibility, you decide (please note that I can’t wait to be a Dad and for K to be a Mom – we’ve got names already, try not to steal them).

What are we doing?

But, she is right.  There is more to it than that.  We’ve always called this trip a “learning experience” and a “life changing voyage”.  We are wholly expecting to return with a brand-new pair of (rose, verdant, crystal?) coloured glasses.  And, what’s more, this trip has already changed me in so many ways.  Because of it, I’ve learned to scrimp and save.  I’ve gotten myself into the best shape of my life (whatever that’s worth).  And, I’ve become a better person because of it.

After only the planning stages, I’ve increased my knowledge of the world around me by leaps and bounds.  Go ahead, ask me about Africa – I can finally rhyme off a half-dozen countries on that continent! 

But, but, but…

Oh, sure.  It isn’t all fun and games.  We’re without a home, or a car.  Our comfortable little lives here in O-Town will be put on hold.  Our family and friends won’t see us forever, even as we wean them onto our blogs, and enticed them with promises of photos, postcards and travel opportunities while we’re on the road.

Sure, we’ve put everything we’ve been doing for the last three years into this trip, but it all comes back to the most simple of statements:

We’re traveling around the world for ten months.

See ya.

D.