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.