What Did You Say?

   I wear hearing aids due to working for years in very noisy electric power stations. Upon receiving the aids, I was instructed to wear them during the entire day except when on the water such as kayaking. That's all well and good but when one cycles in remote areas of Vietnam and Laos with very little traffic and noise, I couldn't see the sense of using them. And one doesn't talk that much when cycling on narrow roads as you and your cycling buddies are in a straight line so that you don't get hit by a stray vehicle.
   And then the odd time arises when one realises that the instructions of one's hearing aid's specialist should be followed. While cycling in Vietnam, we came across 2 lady cyclists from the Netherlands who were coming from the opposite direction. We chatted for awhile and then after saying "dag", we carried on with our travels with my group heading up a very steep mountain on a very hot day.
   After the very strenuous climb, we stopped and rested to catch our breath and drink the warm water from our water bottles. One of my fellow cyclists said to me: "That sure was a long hill since the Dutch girls." I replied "Dead squirrels? I didn't see any dead squirrels." She said while laughing her head off "Dutch girls - I said Dutch girls!"
   Yea well, maybe I should be wearing my hearing aids more often.
   I'm sorry - did you say something?

Travelling Solo

   There are countless blogs, books and videos out there that lists seasoned travellers' thoughts on travelling solo.
   I will not compile the long list from their experiences here but rather note a few items I experienced on a number of overseas trips that opened my eyes for any my future travels.
   There are three possible types of trips:
      1. You plan a solo trip and you travel on your own
      2. You plan a solo trip and then a friend(s) mentions that they would like to accompany you
      3. Your friend(s) plans a trip and invites you to come along
   In all three types, I would start by discussing with myself and any prospective companion(s) to find out what our expectations of the trip would involve including what we like to do and what we have and have not experienced on previous trips.
   I would then compare all of their likes and dislikes to what I prefer on a trip:

• Accommodation: where do they like and not like to stay - inexpensive hostels, expensive 5 star resorts, camping?
• Trekking: have they had any physical adventures; are they physically fit for strenuous activities?
• Water activities: do they like water sports such as kayaking and sailing? sitting by the pool?
• Long distance tour cycling: can they handle camping every night, bad roads, bad weather, steep mountain roads?
• Tourist hot spots: loves popular, crowded tourist exhibits and an ABC (Another Bloody Church) or out of the way places where the locals hang out?
• Get lost in a  new environment or do they have to text their friends every few hours?
• Financial:

1. Penny wise - do they haggle with a poor merchant selling bananas in an underdeveloped country?
2. Pound foolish - will they run out of money and have to borrow from you?
3. Will they insist on using a common money purse to pay for meals, accommodation and events if you don't have the same taste in food, places to sleep and country highlights? 

• Do they have a passive-aggressive personality - how will they wake up each day?
• Three or more in the group - will there be a chance of cliquey personalities; what is the ratio of men to women?
• Will they be flexible throughout the trip due to a change of plans?

   You may have all of the above covered and agreed upon by yourself and your travelling partner(s), however, one must remember that the ability to adapt is more important than the ability to plan. Your plans are always going to change no matter what your itinerary is written on paper.
   I would not feel bad about not joining them or have them join me. A trip involves time and money and I wouldn't want to take a trip with them just to not cause any disappointment. If you don't want them to come along or join them on their trip - have your diplomatic excuse ready!

   And then there are times when it's all good at the start and then things happen. I was on a round the world cycle trip with a very compatible friend when after 3 months, a family member of hers passed away. We went back home to attend the funeral and support the rest of the family. After 2 weeks, we went back to Europe to carry on with our trip. Big mistake - there was no proper closure that my cycling partner had with the deceased and her family members and our trip lasted only 3 more months. My partner was out of sorts and could not deal with her loss; our friendship as cycling companions and as close friends deteriorated.
   I have told my 4 children that they should take a lengthy trip with their betrothed before their marriage. Being in a different country and adapting to a new environment, climate, people, transportation, meals, tours, accommodation and expenses is a true test of compatibility.

   However, a quote I came across allowed me to not beat myself up on these trips that didn't turn out the way I imagined: An imperfect trip is always better than a perfect trip you never get around to taking.

Cycle With A Mirror

     It was a very hot day with a clear, blue sky and like all of my cycle rides, I slapped on the sunscreen before heading out. By mid-afternoon, I could feel my skin starting to feel a bit prickly and so I found some shade beside a building and slapped on more sunscreen. I always do my arms, ears, my nose and surrounding area including my cheeks and neck - back and front. Mom would be pleased with me!
     And off I rode again. I found myself at a Starbucks, ordered a cool drink and sat outside to people-watch at a table adjacent to the entrance. Were they looking at me kind of strange? Nah, just my imagination. I asked a young lady if she would mind watching my bike as I had to use the washroom and she agreed. Did she look at me kind of funny or was she impressed with my red and white cycling race jersey?
     I then rode to a record store to purchase some Christmas CDs for family members in Scotland. I was kicking myself for not following through on introducing myself to a woman walking along the street. I stopped at a red light and just as the light turned green, a nice looking lady came up beside me to cross the street perpendicular to my direction. I glanced up briefly, our eyes met but I was already in motion and I just kept pedalling.
     I recognized the gentleman behind the counter in the record store from many years ago and after reminding each other of our names, we shook hands and started talking about our common work years and who was where and what everybody was doing.
     While talking, he reached back and pulled out some Kleenex and said, "Here, it looks like you could use this." I thanked him and in my mind thought that, yes I was perspiring but I wasn't sweating that bad and so I just wiped my forehead and we carried on talking. I made my purchases, bade farewell and continued on my cycle ride.
     I stopped in at a cycle shop to pick up some brake pads. I felt the clerk took a second look at me and I figured it was probably my red and white cycling race jersey. She told me that I could pick the pads up at the back of the store where I milled around with some other customers until the technician was available. We discussed the brake pad models and then upon returning to the receptionist to pay, I found that she didn't really look at me - just took the money and made it a quick transaction. I didn't give it much thought as it was the end of a hot day.
     I arrived home and couldn't wait to take a shower to wash the sunscreen and sweat from my overheated body. I looked in the mirror and what the hell was that!? I had a humongous, white booger coming out from my left nostril! I wiped it away and realized that it was a blob of sunscreen but it looked just like a booger.
     I was immediately relieved as it was just sunscreen but wait a minute! Now I know why the guy in the record store gave me a Kleenex. It wasn't for my forehead but for my nose!
     And what about all the other people that saw and talked with me before and after I left the store!? They must have thought the same thing.What gets me is why nobody gave me a heads up on my appearance. I then justified my embarrassment by saying to myself that I would never see all those people again. Well, maybe the guy in the record store but I won't go there for a good year. Same goes for that Starbucks and cycle shop.
     And then I thought of the lady at the crosswalk. Thank goodness that I did keep on riding because that would be one hell of way to meet a woman with imitation snot dripping from one's nose. And there's a good chance that she will never see me again.
     So what did I learn on that day? Well from now on, I shall apply sunscreen in a washroom with good lighting and a big mirror and better yet, ensure I have a mirror in my cycle gear.

Umbrellas Part 1 - Vancouverites Search For Their Umbrellas

  Robinson Crusoe made a parasol on his deserted island. Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain, danced with a brolly. And France’s former President, Nicolas Sarkozy had an armor-plated bumbershoot to protect himself from attackers.

  The world over, umbrellas are useful in so many ways besides the rain, and they've come a long way since their creation back in ancient Egypt, the Middle East and China.  

  There is a lot of misconception about who buys parasol umbrellas," says Scott King, manager of Vancouver's The Umbrella Shop.

  "Typically people believe that women of Asian descent use them more than others. We have actually noticed a larger number of Caucasian customers requesting sun protection as their skin tends to burn easier." 

  In Vancouver, umbrellas and people means protection. But there's more to umbrellas than just evading the rain.

  King's family business has been around for over 75 years. In their store on West Broadway, you have many styles, colours, patterns and price ranges to choose from. And it seems that the variety is met with just as many superstitions.

  “There's not one day that goes by that someone doesn't ask if it’s bad luck to open umbrellas in doors, " says King. "We usually tell them that it’s okay in an umbrella store and that we have personally done it thousands of times... on the rare occasion ...to calm a customer, the umbrella will be taken outside to be opened."

  Although the origins of this long withstanding superstition are up for debate, North America has some little known watermark superstitions of its own surrounding the umbrella.

  Some examples are that it is bad luck to give an umbrella as a gift. If you drop an umbrella, do not pick it up, but instead, have someone else do it for you. If a single woman drops an umbrella, she will never marry. If an umbrella is opened outside when it is not needed, rain and other bad weather will follow.

  Whether the weather and tools to protect yourself from it dictate such bad luck, is up to you.

  Michelle Payne, from England and says her hometown's weather is similar to Vancouver's. She says British summers consist of two fine days and a thunderstorm.

  She says she will buy a $10 umbrella when it rains because her umbrellas often break.” When asked if a more expensive model would be better, Payne replies, “It’s an umbrella, not a coffee machine!”

  On the type and colours of umbrellas carried in Vancouver, Payne says, "I notice the colours and styles are different depending on the area. In Yaletown, the umbrellas closely match the clothes people are wearing." As for superstitions, Payne says, "I don't believe in them at all."

  Mohammad Saadvandi, from Iran, fits King’s observations that men mostly carry a golf umbrella in their car and a portable one at home - both black, so as not to stand out perhaps.

  It appears that Saadvandi has good luck with hanging on to them as they have been at his side for as long as 6 years. And speaking of luck, he also doesn’t believe in the superstitions - as they don’t exist in his native country.

  “If I'm in a building and as a courtesy, I don’t open it if there are people around. If no one is close by, I will open the umbrella.” Brave man.

This post originally appeared in The Source, October 18, 2011 ©  Copyright (c) The Source 

Umbrellas Part 2 - Longevity

  I was preparing my move a number of years ago to Vancouver, British Columbia from Edmonton, Alberta in the middle of a cold winter. Reading through my check list, I thought I had better take my umbrella because of the quantity of rain that falls in Vancouver - approximately 50 inches per year. I dug around in the basement for my umbrella which I had not used for I don’t know how long as one usually wears a toque in Alberta due to the quantity of snow - approximately the same 50 inches per year.
 I finally found it at the back of a closet but it wasn't in good shape - torn with the spokes exposed and the handle broken. I thought I would get ridiculed by the people in B.C. if they saw this old, beat up umbrella.

  I decided to purchase an umbrella that would keep me dry and allow me to fit in with the rest of the population. There wasn't a great deal to choose from as Albertans do not use bumper shoots often. Summer rains come and go fast. The rains do not usually fall soft and misty but rather they come down in torrents and one’s umbrella has a good chance of not being used often - especially if the winds accompany the rain. Umbrellas don’t last too long in Alberta.

  I had a choice of the cheap five dollar compact model or a fifty-dollar unit with a nicely polished wood handle with a basic black colour. I bought the latter.

  Upon arrival in Vancouver, the skies were blue; not a cloud in the sky and it stayed this way for the month of January. When it did finally rain, I started singing “Singing In the Rain” while preparing myself for work. I had a meeting in down town Vancouver and I managed to find a parking space in front of the building where the meeting was being held but I drove a few blocks further on - I wanted to test out my umbrella! I got out of my car, opened the umbrella and started walking with a definite swagger to show my fellow Vancouverites that I too have an umbrella that was worthy of being in their league.

  I noticed the first person who was walking towards me. Man, this guy’s umbrella was a mess. It was black all right but nearly inside out with two wire supports sticking out and reaching for the sky. I shrugged it off and thought that he was probably from Alberta.
  The next umbrella I saw had “Pepsi” printed all over it with blue and red panels. Then more umbrellas – pink, green, some with tassels and even golf umbrellas! I then noticed a lot of people didn’t even have umbrellas. They were either scurrying for cover, wearing a cap, holding a newspaper above their heads or just walking with no regard for the blustery, wet weather.

  I was totally disappointed. And – nobody commented on my umbrella!

  A few weeks later, my umbrella came apart in some windy, rainy weather, which resulted in two wire supports sticking out and reaching for the sky. Umbrellas don’t last too long in Vancouver.

You're a Canadian, eh?

   While travelling within Vietnam and Laos in locations where there are few Caucasians mixed in with the locals, I felt like I was on display. While walking or cycling, I could feel their eyes following and staring at me as if I had come from another planet.
   At first I thought of it as a novelty and enjoyed the attention. But after a few weeks, I noticed that I became a bit impatient and I would mutter under my breath that perhaps they should just knock it off. Sure - I looked at them but I didn't stare!
   Whenever I started to get bothered by it, I would stare right back at the person but their expression did not change. I then realized that here are 2 people from different countries on this small world of ours looking at each other with no verbal or facial recognition for each other. I then started a different approach - I started to smile and a majority of the time, the person would smile back and then we became friendly, non-verbal world neighbours.
   When cycling throughout the country side, a majority of the children and adults in the fields and villages could not speak English but they would yell "Hello!"and wave to me. I would yell "Hello!" back and they would all giggle and smile.
   If they didn't say "Hello" but rather just stared at me, I would yell "Hello", wave and smile. They would respond with a "Hello" along with a big smile and laughter.
   And then one day, it hit me - I do the same thing the locals do when I see a Caucasian person walk or ride by me. I stare at them! Why? Because they are different looking from the greater population around me.
   I would then start to analyze them and ask myself: "Where are they going? Where are they from? Are they from Europe? Are they from my own country of Canada?"
  On two occasions during this trip, I was the one being analyzed by a traveller. The first man asked me if I was from Canada. I replied yes and asked him why he asked. He replied that he saw the "MEC" logo (Mountain Equipment Co-op) on my t-shirt as he was from Victoria, British Columbia. We had a nice chat and exchanged our travel experiences.
   The second traveller asked me the same thing as he also noticed the MEC logo. I found out that he was from Toronto, Ontario and we talked as if we had been long-time neighbours.
   I am tempted to write to the Canadian Government to have them consider changing our national icon - the Maple Leaf and instead, use the MEC logo.
   Have I learned a lesson from this trip about interacting with people in their native country? Yes - and that is to relax, allow them to look at me if they wish, have me say "Hello" and keep on smiling. And ... look for that MEC logo.

Vancouver and Christchurch – Possible Sister Cities

  A one month visit to New Zealand gave me the feeling that I was still in British Columbia and thought perhaps we should add another city to Vancouver’s list of sister cities - Christchurch.

  Christchurch on the South Island has many similarities to Vancouver. Although its population is approximately half of Vancouver’s, the city emphasizes its tourist attractions including cycling, trekking and skiing on mountains such as Mt. Cook - the highest mountain in New Zealand. Its rugged coastline with beautiful beaches has whale watching tours, sailing and kayaking; the surrounding farmlands with sheep and dairy herds are intermingled with wineries producing world class wine.

  Another similarity - earthquakes. New Zealand has major fault lines running the full length of the two islands. New Zealanders have always thought their capital city of Wellington located at the bottom of the North Island was the prime location to have a major earthquake. Christchurch was never considered to be in danger.
  On September 10, 2010, an earthquake with magnitude 7.1 occurred near Christchurch at a depth of 10 kilometres and despite widespread damage there were no fatalities. A large aftershock of magnitude 6.3 occurred on February 22, 2011. Although lower on the magnitude scale than the earthquake, the intensity and violence of the ground shaking was measured to be the strongest ever recorded globally in an urban area. The quake struck on a busy weekday afternoon and resulted in the deaths of 184 people. Many buildings and landmarks were severely damaged, including the iconic Christchurch Cathedral. Two years later, there were over 10,000 aftershocks that occurred since the first earthquake.

  I stayed in Christchurch for two days at the home of a relative and at 4:30 in the morning, I was woken by one of those aftershocks - I thought someone was bouncing on my bed.

  Peering through the fences and barriers within the city centre, now categorized as the “Red Zone”, one could not help but feel sadness when looking at the demolished buildings and empty lots where businesses once employed and served the citizens. Even if buildings were classified as safe, a number of businesses moved or were put out of business as people stayed away from the city centre.

  The New Zealand Herald newspaper reported on the memorial that was held one year after the earthquake: “A number of residents … wouldn’t attend the official memorial. It was still too raw, they said. They were worried about being in big crowds in case the worst happened. They wanted to remember friends and loved ones in their own way. The roll call of the dead was chilling – it took 13 minutes to read every name.”

  My relative's home is typical of many homes within Christchurch as it is still livable but has been classified to be demolished. The Government will pay home owners the assessed value of the home with some owners moving to the outlying suburbs but a greater number of people will be moving from Christchurch. A number of my relative's friends have moved back to their home country including Australia, the Philippines and North America - they feel safer with their families.
 The radar on Vancouver’s location for a major earthquake is similar to the distance that Christchurch is located from New Zealand’s fault lines. BC's Strait of Juan de Fuca has two tectonic plates that rub against each other. They are located south of Vancouver Island and is considered to be one of the most vulnerable in the country.

  Upon arriving home from my trip, I immediately set about to replenish my earthquake kit in my home and car and I’ll enquire at City Hall if they will give some thought to invite Christchurch to be a sister city.

This post originally appeared in The Source, March 20, 2012 & July 10, 2012 ©  Copyright (c) The Source 

Well, That's What I Would Have Said and Done

  Sometimes I can really analyze the hell out of my interactions with people. I'm very good at it as I run the specific event through my memory bank a number of times. However, I wish I could be good at it when I am actually in the moment. An example is when I was travelling last April in Portugal.
  I left one Workaway site in the interior of Portugal and headed to another site in Salema - a yoga and artist retreat in the southern part of the country.
  I took a bus from Lisbon to Lagos where I transferred to another bus that would drop me off in Figueira, a small community just a few kilometers from Salema. The bus stopped at numerous stops on the way and the drop off / pick up locations were all in the town squares within the villages.
  I knew that we were getting close to Figueira and as the bus came to a stop on the highway, 3 school kids got off but I could not spot a bus stop sign. I thought the driver was just being a nice guy for the kids. The bus started off again and then I saw the Figueira village welcome sign. I was sitting near the front of the bus and I got up and asked the driver if that was the stop I was supposed to get off. He said yes and I then asked politely if I could get dropped off as someone was waiting for me and I will just walk back the couple of blocks. He said no and that he can't stop anywhere other than at official bus stops.
  I looked out and there was absolutely no traffic on the road with no pedestrians and if he did stop, there would be no conflict with cars, trucks or people. The driver than said that he could drop me off at the next bus stop or else I could get off at the end of the line and then take a bus back. I asked where the next stop was and he said it was about 3 kilometers away. I said OK, drop me off there.
  I was really picked at this driver for not dropping me off a few blocks from my destination but also for the fact that I verified with him when first boarding the bus that my stop is very close to Salema - he knew me and knew where I wanted to go!
  He eventually did stop the bus and sure enough, there was a bus stop sign beside the highway and looking around, there was absolutely nothing around except farmers' fields. I got up and waited until he opened the front door but he didn't and not saying a word, he just pointed to the back doors. I was right in front of the doors and no one was getting on the bus!
  I turned around and walked to the back of the bus while all the passengers gave me the big, hairy eyeball.
  I waited at the side of the bus for the driver to come out and open the luggage doors to retrieve my luggage but he didn't appear. I could see him looking at me via his side mirror and that's when I clued in that the jerk wasn't going to come out.
  I opened a couple of the doors and while moving other passengers' luggage and boxes about, I finally found mine and pulled it out. While I was doing this, I could feel and sure enough when I looked up, everybody on that side of the bus was looking down on me as if I was a loser or something. And what did I do next? Why I shut the luggage doors because I'm a nice, well-mannered Canadian.
  When I crossed the highway to get to the other side, I noticed everybody on the other side of the bus giving me the big stare. The driver had the audacity to sit there for a few minutes and let all his passengers have a bit of a show. I should have sold tickets to this farce.
  That's when I started my analysis of this little hiccup in my travels. What a fool I was! Why the hell did I close the luggage doors? I should have left them all open, left some of the other riders' luggage outside and then he would have to come out and reload and close the doors. And when he did, I would have told him that his actions did not bode well for the tourism business and frankly he was an asshole!
  Well, that's what I would have said and done.

                                   

Oh Crap!

  I worked on a Workaway vineyard site in central Portugal for 6 weeks and I became a bit of a blood hound - always checking myself to see if I smelled. You know - crap!
  There were the proverbial dogs - four of them no less. Along with those wild and footloose critters, we had a gaggle of nasty, frickin' geese - deadly I tell you and did they ever leave a trail of good tidings all over the place.
  The chickens went every which way but loose and to top it off, the vineyard had 50 sheep that helped fertilize the vineyards, road, walkways and the bottom of my boots.
  For all the time I worked on the vineyard farm, I always wore my rubber boots - rain or shine. When entering the guest house, I left them outside as I didn't want to track any solid and smelly stuff into the living quarters. When entering the main house for meals, I also took my boots off but alas, I would immediately step on leftovers from the dogs' feet as they were allowed into the sundeck and eating area. So much for clean socks.
  Halfway through my vineyard tenure, I took a break to relax in Porto. To make sure I didn't carry any lingering animal leftovers and smells, I diligently cleaned all my clothes and shoes. The vineyard owner picked me up in his truck outside the guest house to take me to the train station and I silently cursed as I had to step between the offerings made by all the animals. I got into the truck, looked at my shoes and trousers - everything looked good so far.
  While waiting for the train on the platform, a stray dog wouldn't leave my feet alone - he came and went and in both directions, stopped and sniffed my shoes. I knew what he was smelling and where the hell is that late train?!
  Halfway to Porto, I had to switch trains to a commuter train which had standing room only. I was tired and half dozing off and kept thinking I was back on the vineyard as I was smelling crap again. I opened my eyes, looked around and right beside me was a mother holding her baby and guess who had a very full diaper? I couldn't get away from the stuff!
  Arriving in Porto, I escaped the lingering farm smell and drowned it with some very nice old Port wine. It worked so well that I took 3 bottles of it back to the vineyard.

   

Some Things You Miss - But Not For Long

  My mother travelled the world but very seldom ate the food of the country she was visiting. “Ricky,” she would say, “in China, I ate at McDonald's because there is nothing but foreign food in that country.” 

  I didn’t have her apprehension of local food while cycling throughout Europe. My cycling partner and I bought groceries for our home-cooked meals while staying in campgrounds as well as savouring the ‘specialties’ at restaurants and B & Bs. We enjoyed the anticipation of eating local food and the way it was presented although we did get a bit tired of eating ‘white’ bread all the time. 

  We had a bit of a relapse while wandering the streets of Patras, Greece on a hot day within the first month of our six month trip. We were searching for a store to buy ice cream to help cool off when all of a sudden, we spotted her - a woman with not one but two Starbuck’s Frappaccinos in her hands! We caught up to her and asked, “Please tell us - where is the Starbucks?” She pointed to a large square a few blocks away; we thanked her and immediately headed down the street with our mouths watering. 

  Did they taste good? You bet! A Grande Mocha Cinnamon Dolce Crème Frappuccino on a hot day in Greece was fantastic. In addition, the clean, spacious washrooms were adorned with paper towels - what a concept! Paper towels or even a hand dryer cannot be found in many washrooms in Europe, especially when one is cycling. But I digress. 

  Another Starbuck’s location in Greece was a bit of a sanctuary for us as it was located close to the ferry terminal in Athens. Returning from Santorini at 5:00 a.m. and landing in the rougher part of the city, we felt safer waiting on the steps of a cathedral until the adjacent Starbucks café opened. 

 We came across a few more Starbucks on our cycling trip but they were primarily in airports. We found the longer we were on the road, the less we missed our old coffee and eating habits - we enjoyed each country’s delicacies. 

  Sorry Mom, but I didn’t inherit your delicate taste buds.

Workaway Or How to Get That 20 Year Old Out of the House

   My sister and brother-in-law volunteered to cover for me at work while I took a 4 month sabbatical to climb Tanzania’s Mt. Kilimanjaro and following that, a 5 day safari with my daughter to the Serengeti.

   My daughter flew back home and I continued on to Porto, Portugal where I stayed for 3 days to unwind and mail my heavy climbing gear back home. I then took a train to Nelas, a small town in central Portugal to work on a vineyard – I was going to become a Workaway.

   I discovered the Workaway website from travel blogs and thought it would be a great way to learn about another country - the people and their language, food, culture, economy and history without spending a great deal of money. After posting a profile of myself, I sent requests to a number of hosts and I chose a vineyard in Portugal. Workaway hosts are found in most countries throughout the world and I picked one in Europe as I was eventually going to tour Italy in my fourth month with a friend.

   I couldn’t have picked a better host for my first Workaway site as I was provided with my own bedroom within a separate guesthouse. My 4 fellow Workaways and I were served a hearty breakfast at 8:00 am, started work in the fields at 9:00, coffee at 11:00, lunch at 1:00 pm and then the rest of the day to ourselves. We worked from Monday to Friday with the weekends free to do whatever such as travelling into the local town to shop or visit a pub; I also took a break half way through my 6 week stint and visited Porto again for 3 days.

   Working on the farm had me pruning and raking the vines, building a large garden, constructing garden fences and tending sheep. All of the Workaways were encouraged to cook at least one meal and we enjoyed eating specialties from our individual countries. The most hazardous part of the job was keeping clear of those nasty geese – I was more leery of them then the lions on the Serengeti.

   I found my second Workaway site at a retreat in Salema which is on the southern tip of Portugal. The owner rents her large home to yoga and art class groups and as it was being renovated, I spent 4 weeks painting, cleaning and undertook minor plumbing and electrical repairs. My free time was spent cycling and hiking in the surrounding mountains and relaxing on the beaches. 

   Most Workaway sites provide free room and board in exchange for working on their site.  Owners will require help for a multiple of reasons such as helping with renovations, shopping, caring for children, ESL lessons and cooking for the household. The ages of Workaways are from early 20’s to singles and couples in their retirement years.

   So if you have a young adult who doesn’t know what to do with his or her life besides eating you out of house and home, present the websites below to your son or daughter. He or she will thank you upon their return after living with people in another country and working beside other Workaways from around the world.

   There are a number of websites that can help one find a temporary job in another part of the world including:

Workaway:  http://www.workaway.info/

Anywork Anywhere: http://www.anyworkanywhere.com

HelpX:  http://www.helpx.net/ .net

WWOOF:  http://www.wwoof.net/

This post originally appeared in the Vancouver Sun, July 19, 2014  ©  Copyright (c) The Vancouver Sun 

Rueben, How About a Second Chance?

     I went to a local bicycle shop to obtain a bike box for my plane trip to Europe for a lengthy cycle touring adventure. I told Rueben, the young man behind the counter of my travelling plans and in turn, he started to tell me of his past adventures. He said he was from Australia and that he had cycled through a number of countries of which I cannot remember. In fact, I didn’t really give him time to tell me much of his trips as I was too excited about my first, long cycling trip. I thanked him and off I went with my bike box and my head full of upcoming travel adventures.

     When I returned from my 6 month trip, I was disappointed in the number of people who did not access my website nor were they interested in hearing about my adventures. One incident that really irked me was a question from one of my cycling partner’s relatives who asked, “You two were in Europe weren’t you?” I responded by asking if she had not followed the website and she replied, “No, I didn’t have time.”

     I started to realize that not everyone is interested in travel and they don’t really want to hear about someone else’s adventures in the backwoods of Germany or climbing the Eiffel Tower. This thought is substantiated by an entry on Rolf Pott’s ‘Vagabonding’ blog by Jean Baudrillard on the difficulty of coming home from a journey: 

     “Coming back from a trip overseas means re-entering a world you have known and lived in, but doing so without feeling the charm you might expect at returning to a former life. You had left that world behind in the hope it might be thoroughly transformed in your absence, but nothing of the sort has occurred. It got along quite nicely without you and it adjusts quite smoothly to your return. People and things conspire to make it seem as if you had not been away. … People are a thousand times more preoccupied with their own little lives than with the strangeness of another world. You are best advised, then, to land discreetly, to come back politely into this world keeping anything you may have to say — along with the few sights still gleaming in your memory — strictly to yourself.” – Jean Baudrillard, America (1986)

http://www.vagablogging.net/jean-baudrillard-on-the-difficulty-of-coming-home-from-a-journey.html

     Phil Cousineau substantiates the above philosophy in his book, The Art of Pilgrimage (1998):

     Prepare yourself. It will be harder than you think to find an audience for your stories. If you get a chance, express gratitudes rather than platitudes when you get home. The real jewels are the hidden treasure-stories many people at home, everywhere throughout time, have longed to hear – stories of the real Shangri-la, tales of what the soul, not the ego, endured. Tell what you have learned from your journey.

     What I noticed about myself is that I have started to listen more intently to people who have travelled; I now ask questions and I feel ‘travel excitement’ when they share their stories and tales of their adventure in far away lands or even within our own province.

     I have since enquired if Rueben was still working in the same bicycle shop and was told that he is currently in England. I feel bad but I am not really kicking myself as I realize that I naturally fell into that personal, preoccupied mentality before my trip. But now, I apologize to you Rueben for not listening to your cycling adventures and if you give me a second chance, I would be honoured to hear about your trips.



Smelling the Roses

     What took me so long? I knew 40 years ago that I would be moving to Vancouver from Alberta but I have lived here for only 20 years. The clock moved faster than I anticipated as I was raising a family, paying off a mortgage and gaining more experience to obtain a higher position with my employer.

     While visiting relatives in Vancouver four decades ago during the winter months, I stood on the shores of Spanish Banks, looked out over the water and noticed that English Bay wasn’t frozen over. Under trees with branches full of leaves, people strolled without wearing heavy parkas, snow boots and knitted nose-protectors. I even saw sailboats on the water and I immediately thought of my canoe, stored up in the rafters within my garage back home.

     Yes, the warm winter months were one feature that drew me to Lotus Land, but it was also the serenity and openness of the City. The ocean and mountains were there to walk in peace, surrounded in nature’s wonders. Strolling in China Town with its markets, food and a potpourri of dialects and clothing – it was a great way to believe you were on vacation in the Far East.

     I moved here a few years after attending Expo ‘86 and I, along with the rest of the city saw the influence of people emigrating from far-away lands and bringing with them their unique cultures.

     Perhaps this new world community is one reason I started to travel. My last trip involved cycling and camping for six months from the bottom of Greece to the top of the United Kingdom. However, the time was too short to intricately discover Europe as I experienced only a small portion of each country’s highlights. Reflecting on my trip by reviewing photos and reading my journal, I realized that I looked but I didn’t see the details.

     In his book, The Art of Travel, Alain de Botton quotes John Ruskin’s thoughts that people seldom notice details and “drawing could teach us to see: to notice rather than to look.” I took Ruskin's advice and participated in a drawing class at a local college. One of my exercises was to draw a photo that I took while on my cycling trip - a bicycle had been retrieved from a canal in the Netherlands; covered in mud, forlorn and left leaning against a fence.

     After studying the photo in preparation for sketching, I realized when I first saw the bicycle that I had neglected to observe the surrounding nuances – the waves and ripples on the canal, the trees, the sky and the amount of mud stuck to this lonely bicycle. I didn’t give it a thought as to what possible reason why or how it made its way into the canal; I just took a quick photo and continued on with my cycling.

     I have committed myself on future trips to stop and “smell the roses” – to see objects before my eyes, be it man-made or natural, to take in the beauty and symmetry of the scene. If time permits, I shall sketch the object; otherwise, I’ll take a photo with my camera, jot a few notes in my notepad and then in the evening, transcribe the details to my daily journal. Upon arriving home, I shall review my photos and notes and relive the special, odd, beautiful and even the unpleasant scenes of my trips.

     I have now started this practice at home. When walking through Vancouver’s neighbourhoods or driving through adjacent cities and communities, I now take notice of items that I have seen many times but paid little attention. I now look at architectural building details, the shape and colour of the skyline against the mountains, the unique shape of wind-blown trees adjacent to the ocean and even that small plaque in a park commemorating an historical figure.

     In doing so, I sense that I have the same feelings that I felt forty years ago when viewing Vancouver’s beauty and serenity from Spanish Banks.

This post originally appeared in The Source, May 17, 2011  ©  Copyright (c) The Source 

Cycling 101

     I admit I was a bit apprehensive when cycling for the first time in rush hour traffic. Adjacent to wild taxi drivers, out-of-town visitors slowly searching for a specific tourist attraction and garbage trucks cutting me off, careening around corners and charging into an alleyway. Or how about that bus that is almost a block long and the driver doesn’t see me in his rear view mirror as he changes into my lane?

     I feel I have graduated with at least a passing mark from the Cycling 101 class on ‘How to Ride a Bicycle and Live for Another Day’ by taking the following foreign-based compulsory courses:

Course Name: ‘I Hear You.'
     I attended this course as I rode ahead of my cycling partner on our first day while cycle-camping on Oregon’s coastal highway. I wore ear plugs as I had a bit of an earache due to the noise of the cars and the strong wind coming off the water. A semi-trailer carrying a full load of logs hurtled inches beside me and I almost got sucked into the side of the truck. I started to lose my balance and nearly ended up in the ditch. I did not hear any warning sounds such as the truck’s horn or my cycling buddy yelling at me to slow down and move over to the right. After my heart stopped jumping and eventually catching my breath, I took out my earplugs and never wore them again. It took another day of riding but I eventually got used to keeping my balance and not losing control while large trucks and noisy motorcyclists screamed past.

Course Name: 'There Are No Rules in Greece!’

     Most of the rural roads in Greece were composed of two lanes with wide shoulders. A slower car would straddle the shoulder line so that a faster driver from behind could overtake the slow vehicle by straddling the centre line. Got that? And where does that leave the lowly cyclist? Why, hugging the edge of the pavement and trying to stay out of the deep ditches!

     Speed limits are posted at the entrance to the towns and are of a reasonable lower speed. The posted sign when exiting the towns is the same speed limit as entering but with a diagonal line through the number. In other words, there are no posted speed limits when leaving the town, i.e. “No Rules”.

     The drivers honk consistently at other cars, pedestrians, cattle crossing the road and of course, cyclists. What really scares you is when you don’t hear them coming up from behind and they honk loud and long when they are right beside you to either say: “Watch out – I’m coming” or, “Hi, Welcome to Greece.”

     I firmly believe the only qualification to get a driver’s license in Greece is to know how to honk one’s car horn. The citizens themselves know this as a Greek gentleman who rents Vespas on Santorini would not rent me a motorbike because as he said, “It’s raining, the drivers on Santorini are very aggressive and you won’t be safe.” Instead, I rented a car which worked out better as it was indeed raining quite hard.

Course Name: 'Road Kill’

     I also took this course in Greece as I had no choice - it was compulsory. Throughout Europe, I had not seen as such a substantial amount of road kill on the shoulders of the highways. A cyclist had no choice but to practice one’s ability to swerve around the poor, dead creatures and not to go too far into the traffic lane or the deep ditches. I got the hang of it and eventually passed this subject after I ran over the first three critters I came upon.

     I am making light of the Greek drivers but I must say that they and the residents of Greece were more than friendly. The people who did ask where we were from were genuinely interested in my cycling equipment and travelling plans – I plan on going back. 

Course Name: 'Dog Gone'

     This course was instructed throughout all of Europe. Dogs barking and trying to bite your feet while you cycle can kind of throw you off kilter. The best method that I used to stop these mangy mutts is to use a Dog Dazer. You point a hand-held ultrasonic device that produces a discomforting but not harmful high powered sound, audible to dogs but not to humans. It helps stop the approach of unwanted dogs at up to 20 feet – it works!

     Of course you don’t have to go out of the country to learn how to ride safely. After cycling in various cities and countries and of course in my own local neck of the woods, I find that instead of fearing the traffic, I use my cycling energy in concentrating on the road. I watch for vehicles, potholes, glass and angry dogs and I also take in the scenery.
     Happy and Safe Cycling!

Am I Going To Be Thrown in a Mexican Jail?

     We were sitting in a small airport lounge in Guaymas, Mexico, waiting for a plane to fly us to our week-long kayaking trip in the Sea of Cortez. My kayaking companion, Mikayla and I were sweating bullets, not only because it was hot in the lounge area but also that our minds were full of the events that took place prior to our arrival in Guaymas. And now the latest setback - only one of us could board the plane. 

     Flying from Vancouver to Los Angeles was no problem but things started to go downhill from there as we were to catch a direct flight to Loreto in Baja California. The ticket agent told us that we had to stand in another line as our boarding passes were not valid. We dutifully went to the end of a one hundred foot lineup and moved exactly zero feet in one half hour. Our plane was preparing to leave in an hour and so we panicked and decided to circumvent the airport’s mad house. We took a bus to San Diego's smaller airport where we managed to end up flying the following day, resulting in missing the first day of our kayaking trip.

     We couldn’t fly direct to Loreto but rather we flew to Phoenix where we then had to stand in a long line for our connecting plane to Guaymas. The plane was late and it was overbooked. Mikayla and I looked at each other and we didn’t have to speak because both of our facial expressions read, “Were we really destined for this trip?” After an hour’s wait, we were fortunate enough to board the plane. 

     Our confidence on reaching our destination was further diminished when it was announced in the Guaymas airport that our flight was overbooked. Both of our facial expressions read, “Where have we heard this before?” I asked the ticket agent if there was any chance that we both could board and she replied that there was only room for one of us. I looked at the pained look on Mikayla's face and I gallantly said “OK –you go ahead and I’ll catch the next plane.” I heard her words "No, we have to go together!" but her facial expression read, “We're desperate - OK, give it a go!”

     So there we were, sitting in the Guaymas airport, despondent, perspiring like crazy and discussing how this mess was going to cause havoc with our kayaking tour group connections. Only Mikayla could go; we didn’t know when I could catch a flight and the kayak tour was already in progress.

     After mulling numerous scenarios in my head, I told Mikayla of a plan that just may work. In the most positive voice I could muster, I said, “We have nothing to lose. I’m going to bribe the ticket agent to get on the plane.” Mikayla, almost in tears said, “No, we’ll be caught and thrown in a Mexican jail!” I heard her words but her facial expression read, “We're desperate - OK, give it a go!”

     I looked in my wallet and came up with $50. I sat there trying to build up my nerve, sweating even more as I had never done this kind of thing before and thought, “Is it enough money? Am I going to be thrown in jail?” Spotting the agent, I thought “Now or never.” I stood up and started walking on my jelly-like legs to the check-in counter. Just then, the agent started walking over to me and said, “Mr. Moore, there is space for you also on the plane.” I didn't hear any words from Mikayla but her face went beet red and her expression read, "I think I'm going to faint" 

     We did finally land in Loreto and the kayaking trip was worth all the mental anguish.  

     Not long after returning home, I came across an article by John Flinn, former travel editor for the San Francisco Chronicle whose writing made me a bit more comfortable in my attempt to 'bribe' the ticket agent. 

A few things I've learned in a quarter-century-plus of travel:
In many parts of the world, there's little or no difference between what we think of as a "tip" and what we think of as a "bribe." A little baksheesh helps the desk clerk at Royal Air Nepal find your "lost" reservation, and opens the Luxor tomb that's supposed to be open but for some reason isn't. It might offend your sense of justice, but it's simply the way things get done in some neighbourhoods of the world. In most cases it's not a major shakedown, and it doesn't always involve cash. Often a pack of Marlboros or a commemorative pin from your home town is all it takes to open doors and get things moving.(http://www.sfgate.com/travel/departures/article/Idle-thoughts-on-street-food-postcards-diets-2521440.php)

Write On Cue Or If This Is Friday, I Must Be Confused

     It started as an 80^th birthday present for our Mother. One sister in Edmonton paid for Mom's trip for a 2 week stay in New Zealand to visit our other sister. Mom would then fly to Hawaii for a week as a follow-up before heading back home.

     The rest of us siblings were a bit concerned as Mom was often losing her short term memory and we thought an 80 year old woman travelling by herself might be a bit risky. Our sister told us not to worry - Mom will be OK. She then thought it over however, and came up with the idea of giving Mom cue cards. These ‘recipe’ type cards would remind Mom of medication instructions as well as her travel arrangements such as ‘what’ day she will be in ‘which’ city.

     The first card read: ‘You will fly from Edmonton to Vancouver and Ric will meet you before you board the airplane to New Zealand.’
     I waited and wandered the airport looking for Mom. Thirty minutes went by after her plane landed and I was just about to have her paged when I heard a squeaky, little voice, “Ricky.” I turned around and there was Mom, looking like a bag lady. She was pulling her heavy suitcase, an oversized carry-on bag slung over her shoulder, her coat partially off her shoulders and dragging on the floor. A frazzled look showed on her aging face. And she had only been on the plane for an hour and 20 minutes! I thought, "What was she going to look like when she lands in New Zealand after being on the plane for 18 hours?"
     She showed me her cue cards and they were already mixed up. "I will have to put these in order," she mused as I held her arm while we walked to the next departure gate.
     I telephoned my sister in New Zealand a few days after Mom arrived to see how she fared on that leg of her trip. My sister said that after picking Mom up at the airport and while driving home, Mom asked 3 times, “Are we in New Zealand?” My sister said “Yes Mom, but you should check your cue cards to make sure.”
     During her stay in New Zealand, Mom frequently dropped or lost her cue cards throughout the house. My sister related that the new family card game was placing Mom's cue cards back into proper sequence.
     We started to get a bit worried. Although she was staying with friends in Hawaii, we wondered how she was going to survive the next leg of her journey. We didn't hear of any tragedies from her Hawaiin friends and so we thought so far, all is well.
     I met Mom at the Vancouver airport from her return stopover in Hawaii. Talk about frazzled! Pushing her luggage cart, this forlorn, little lady looked at me and said, “Ricky, where am I?” I said “Did you check your cue cards?” “Yes,” she said, “but I think I got them mixed up and I’m not quite sure I’m here.” “Don’t worry Mom” I said, “you’re just about home – hang in there.”
     I shouldn’t have worried about her age or her short term memory as she still had some semblance of keeping her youth. I noticed she was carrying an item wrapped in plastic which looked like an umbrella. She said it was a walking cane that she bought in New Zealand and that she had been telling everyone it was for her father, who by the way, had passed away 15 years prior. Her reply when I asked if she had been using it was “No!” I asked why she had bought it. “Well” she replied with a philosophical tone in her voice, “It might come in handy one day – when I’m old!”
     Asked if she enjoyed the trip overall, she replied “Yes. I have travelled all over the world and I think New Zealand has to be the most beautiful country.” I told her about my plans to go to New Zealand within the next few months and she told me with that proverbial, motherly advice, “Use cue cards Ricky. I wouldn’t have known where I would have been without them.”

Yes, You Can Buy It In Europe

     Travel light. That’s what we hear and see from experienced travellers who talk and write about the virtues of carrying less. I’ll add my name to the long list of travellers who offer this advice, even after I understood the theory but didn’t follow-through before starting a major trip. 
     I, along with my cycling companion, M, toured Europe for 6 months on bicycles, sleeping in a tent with the odd treat of spending a night or two in a B & B or hotel. We spent months creating numerous equipment spreadsheets when planning the trip and finally came up with the 'one' that would do us well for who knows how long.

     All of our gear was to fit into 8 panniers, 2 handle-bar bags and 2 rear-rack bags. I carried approximately 60 lb. but M was a different story – she is only 4 ‘-9 ⅓” and weighs 100 lbs. soaking wet. She carried approximately 50 lb.

     We suspected that we packed too much when we loaded our gear into the taxi that took us to the airport – a few grunts and groans were heard from both of us plus the cab driver. But hey, we’re going for quite a while and we have to have all this stuff and what if we can’t buy anything in Europe? 

     We started our trip in Amsterdam and you would think we wouldn’t have any trouble since the country is fairly flat. Well, you should have seen us hop on our bikes when we left the home of our Warmshowers hosts. We both started wobbling like crazy – similar to how a child looks when learning to ride a bike – yes, it was embarrassing! The next incident was cycling into a head wind along side the ocean while we were heading towards Monnickendam. Luckily, we didn't come across anyone on the same cycle path as we looked and rode like two clowns on unicycles.

     Riding in Monnickendam on a cool, rainy day, M's bike skidded out from under her and she toppled on the street’s cobblestones. I stopped to go back and help her but she got up and quickly hopped on her bike as she shouted at me “Go! Just Go!” I was startled and didn’t know what to think and when she caught up with me, she said “I scratched the shit out of that car!” I asked why she didn’t tell me at the time and she stated “I was worried someone might hear.” When we were out of sight of the car, we stopped and had a good laugh but deep down, we knew we had to do something about the weight of our gear.

     Due to Netherlands’ cold, spring weather not helping our balance and weight issues, we hopped on a train to Milan, Italy where it was sunny and warm. Again we suspected we had too much weight as we had to climb up and down stairs in the Milan train station because we couldn’t find an elevator (this happened often throughout Europe). We found a campsite, pitched our tent and immediately looked for a post office to ship some irrelevant gear to family members back home.

     The weight and balance issue still didn’t go away. Cycling into Venice on the 4 km. long Ponte della Liberta bridge, the narrow sidewalk allowed us to just fit and we slowly made our way until I realized I hadn’t heard M's voice for some time. I couldn’t turn my head while riding and so I stopped and looked back. Way back! There she was - stuck; she couldn’t move and signalled to me with her hands held up in desperation. I couldn’t squeeze by my bike to help her and so I gave the proverbial shoulder shrug. With brute strength, she finally freed herself and we continued on. We eventually discarded other items during our trip as we realized that one can 'buy things’ in Europe!

     First time going on a major trip? My advice? Once again – travel light!
     But I know you’ll take what you know you can't do without and you'll say "If I don't take it, where will I ever buy it?"