Rob From Canada

My Life 2009

2010-01-01T00:15:00.000-08:00

This was my life in 2009.

Thanks to all the people that have made all these places and my life absolutely incredible.

Phuket, Thailand

Penang, Malaysia

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia

Medan, Sumatra, Indonesia

Tuk Tuk, Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia

Bukittinggi, Sumatra, Indonesia

Lake Maninjau, Sumatra, Indonesia

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

North Island, New Zealand

South Island, New Zealand

Melbourne, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Brisbane, Australia

The Gold & Sunshine Coast, Australia

Byron Bay & Nimbin, Australia

Katoomba, Blue Mountains, Australia

Bali, Indonesia

Flores, Indonesia

Java, Indonesia

Singapore

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Kota Kinabalu, Borneo, Malaysia

Perhentian Islands, Malaysia

Krabi, Thailand

Bangkok, Thailand

Pattaya, Thailand

Kanchunaburi, Thailand

Luang Prabang, Laos

What a Wonderful Life!

Sawasdee Namaste, Khap

2009-10-12T20:11:00.000-07:00

Thailand (Krabi, Bangkok, Pattaya, Cha'am)

September 12 – October 12, 2009

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As I approached the fishbowl from a distance, I could make out dozens of dozy eyes lazily gazing without a glimmer of interest. As I passed into their threshold of attention, the fishbowl stirred into a frenzy of activity aware of their survival. Eyes suddenly broke loose from their previously placid preoccupations and darted in my direction. Teeth and lips puffed into proud displays of colour and fullness; spines snapped erect as confident display of breasts were thrust forth. This was a candy shop not for children, but for adult tourists who selected their pleasures by the numbers pinned to the girl’s shirts. This was my first entrance into a brothel, and I felt extremely conspicuous in every way possible.

Let’s back up a few days… My friend Tina, who I’d met previously in Vietnam, is a busy tour guide in notorious Pattaya. I joined her current assignment of babysitting 150 Indian medical doctors on a dubiously dubbed 5-day ‘medical conference’. Aside from the single 1-hour meeting, the closest their holiday got to being medical were the massage parlour gynaecological examinations… or the examinations required as a direct result of the massages.

I was immersed in a bobble-headed bollywood extravaganza. We moved as a horde of locusts, whisked from one tourist trap to the next, where professional grown men rivalled 5 year old children in terms of restlessness and helplessness. We turned 7/11s upside down as the Indians cleared the shelves of every gimmick, gadget, and sweetie in hour-long frenzies. Cabaret ladyboys had to fend off swaths of Indians unaccustomed to allowing personal space, and big brown bellies were bared at the beaches, highlighting the doctor’s shocking ignorance of balancing exercise and caloric intake. It all made me very unconvinced of the caste system’s ability to turn out competent individuals.

But for all the Indian’s clumsiness and general ineptitude, they made up for it with heaps of enthusiasm, friendliness, and a complete lack of shyness. At the signal of syncopated clangs of Indian instruments, the snake-charmed Indians arms immediately rose above their heads as legs and butts began to quiver in every direction possible to Punjabi pulse. The need for girls had completely dissipated, as this room full of men gyrated with each other in rhythmic bliss, each displaying their rehearsed routines and eager to teach anyone that wanted to learn… or not.

With expired babysitting patience, and an expiring Thai visa, I had to make a mad dash to the border consisting of 3 hour bus ride, 30 minute taxi, 3 hour wait, 14 hour overnight train ride (without a reclining seat), 2 hour wait, 5 hour busride… and I missed the border by 5 minutes. The next morning, after signing some papers possibly admitting my criminal guilt, I waited another 2.5 hours before taking the 2 day slow boat ride destined for Luang Prabang, Laos, where I would stay much, much longer than expected.

KSR, Bangkok, Thailand. After spending some beautiful relaxing days with Hannah down at my favorite beach (Ton Sai), we were (likely) gassed and pickpocketed on the VIP bus back to Khaosan Road. Hannah lost money, and I lost my visa card. It was very strange since we woke up very very groggy and didn't notice that anything happened.

Ton Sai Beach, Krabi, Thailand. Apple, my favorite massage person in Thailand! She's amazing at massage, and a little bit of chocolate usually guarantees me extra massage time!

Pattaya, Thailand. Most of the Indian doctors on the tour... it is impossible to actually keep all of them together at any given time, since their attention span is typical of a common fruit fly.

Pattaya, Thailand. My friend Tina who I'd previously met in Vietnam. On the Indian tours she is called Priya, meaning 'beloved' in Hindi.

Pattaya, Thailand. I got to see all sorts of things for free while working on the tour... These aggressive cabaret ladyboys apparently wanted me to comment on the quality of their surgeons.

Pattaya, Thailand. Parasailing is something that I said I would never actually pay for, as it is intended for ridiculous tourists. Admittedly, it was kinda fun, although not such a rush as paragliding or kiting. Tina didn't give me much of a choice, and before I knew it I was bound, harnessed, up in the air, then being dunked in the water for 10 minutes...

Cha'am, Thailand. Also through a friend in Vietnam, I met Tia who owned a small bar in Cha'am, and her crazy coworker Fay.

Cha'am, Thailand. These girls were really good-spirited and a whole lot of fun to hang out with!

The Gwailo - Malaysia & Borneo

2009-09-12T01:32:00.000-07:00

July 16th - Sept 12, 2009

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Borneo

“What the hell are we gonna do with a Gwailo??” That was the reaction from Yuri and Michie’s Chinese family. The two sisters and I had planned to take a short excursion from Kuala Lumpur to Kota Kinabalu in Borneo. Soon after our plans had been devised, their brother Nick found out and wanted to join. In a similar fashion, the entourage quickly expanded to include the two sisters, brother, mother, aunt, grandmother, aunt’s friend, and me… the whitey – the Gwailou.

Except for Yuri and Michie, their family hadn’t interacted much with Westerners before, and I had to dispel their preconceived notions that all Westerners were arrogant, loud, burger-munching pale-faced people. Most of our time was spent either preparing to go out to meals, eating meals, or recovering from the vast amounts of food that we had just eaten. Because our entourage was so large and the timing so short, it was impossible to venture too far out of Kota Kinabalu, and the wild jungles of Borneo still remain a mystery to me.

Upon returning to KL, I was extended a kind and generous offer to stay with Yuri and Michie’s mother and brother. I spent most of my time arm-wrestling with the absurdities of renewing my Canadian passport and surfing the internet for engineering employment… both were frustrating endeavours. In the evenings we would often meet for late-night ‘mamak sessions’ at the Indian street side cafes, where we would gather friends, family, and even the family dog PoiPoi. I enjoyed these cultural exchanges and also experienced a strange and unexpected twist on something that is very taboo in my own family. Yuri and Michie’s family (and especially their grandmother) sometimes use swearing, cursing, and making fun of each other as a tool for reducing a generational chasm into a mere generational gap. Everyone was placed on a level playing field and it seemed to keep everyone close, friendly, and in dire need of washing their mouths out with soap!

The Mystery of Ramadan

Due to the inefficiencies and bureaucracy of the Canadian government, I had to kill 3 more weeks in Malaysia without flying or leaving the country while my extremely expensive and limited passport was being reissued. During this time, the Muslim tradition of Ramadan began, where they are expected to purify themselves by fasting completely during daylight hours (except for the rampant cheating that apparently Allah would not be able to notice). As if from a bad Will Smith apocalyptic movie, the giant super-consumer malls, restaurants, and busy streets had become suddenly devoid of people. As the sun would set, however, the Muslims would reappear in gremlin hordes to drink fluids and binge eat while somehow maintaining the façade that this form of ‘fasting’ was actually healthy.

Having spent more time in Kuala Lumpur, my previous observations of a city where 3 distinct cultures lived harmoniously was being eroded as I began to sense the mass corruption, cultural differences, hypocrisies, and rampant media manipulation.

The Perhentian Islands

I was beginning to go crazy in the big city of KL and I desperately needed an escape. Renowned for relaxation and diving, the Perhentian Islands seemed like a much better beach option than the polluted and dilapidated tragedy of Port Dixon! I enjoyed several lazy days of early nights, late mornings, swimming in the crystal blue waters, and the lack of consistent electricity.

The Girls!

The Girls on Michie's Birthday at a rooftop bar overlooking the Petronas Towers.

Kota Kinabalu Zoo, Borneo, Malaysia. A special type of zebra!

Kota Kinabalu Zoo, Borneo, Malaysia. These Proboscis monkeys are the reason I had to at least go to the zoo. Their potbellies and glazed-over expressions were reminiscent of many of my coworkers back at the office.

Kota Kinabalu Zoo, Borneo, Malaysia. And the cage/cubicle parallels were uncanny as well.

Kota Kinabalu Zoo, Borneo, Malaysia. Except these cage-dweller monkeys generally had a more curious look in their eye than my cubicle-dwellers counterparts.

Kota Kinabalu Zoo, Borneo, Malaysia. We walked into a massive bird sanctuary where some of the most prehistoric and beautifully-feathered birds flew around.

Kota Kinabalu Zoo, Borneo, Malaysia. But, you had to be tremendously careful in the bird cage, because this particular bird was particularly agressive.

Melaka, Malaysia. My German road-tripping friends from the Great Ocean Road in Australia in the Unesco town of Melaka for a brief reunion.

KL, Malaysia. Looking down from above, these students were taking part in an advertising / competition campaign by an art supplier conglomerate.

KL, Malaysia. This award-winning bar/restaurant was almost completely made out of glass bottles!

KL, Malaysia. Here the gremlins... er... I mean Muslims would come out of hiding as the sun was going down. They had been fasting all day (in theory) and then would load up on foods in the evening!

Malaysia. Just outside of KL, my friend Poohling had taken me for a hike up some beautiful rolling hills.

Perhentian Islands, Malaysia. These relaxed group of islands were popular with divers, however, I chose to simply relax and enjoy the beautiful waters and scenery. On this particular day, I had gone hiking and swimming with a tremendously beautiful woman from Kazakhstan.

Perhentian Islands, Malaysia. Clustered around the patio light of my bungalow, these geckos were waiting to deal a death-strike of doom to the insects also attracted to the soft light.

2009-07-28T00:35:00.000-07:00

SSSSSingapore

Dates: July 21... for about 5 days or so!

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Sleek. Sanitized. Spotless. Shopping. Welcome to the efficient city of Singapore, a city that is a country, and a country that smells completely of money. Designer labelled mannequins and crack cocaine advertising schemes mutate consumerist genes into designer jeans, and the world continues to spin on its economic axis.

Standing on the balcony of my 5 star hotel room, my bathrobe fluttered in the updraft as I watched other executives lounging about and milking the corporate budget. I would soon be flung back into the slums of the backpacker hostelling world, but luckily only for a few days before I connected with a former university friend. We shared some beers and a few stories of individualistic and idealistic thinking and scurried off to social gatherings of drum performances and riverside brunches. The mosque outside her apartment in Little Arab sung sweet songs so unfamiliar to the other mosques in Indonesia.

Silent. Safe. Soft. Singapore.

Singapore, Singapore. The shopping in Singapore is truly off the hook.

Singapore. Brenda and her drum circle group!

Little Arab, Singapore. The promenade in front of quite possibly the best (or only good) sounding mosque in the world!

Little Arab, Singapore. The little arab mosque from the front.

Little India, Singapore. Ornate decorations adorn this indian temple.

The Big Durian Bomb (Indonesia Part 4)

2009-07-21T23:53:00.000-07:00

Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

July 17 – July 21

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The spiky durian fruit remains one of the strangest gastronomic experiences you will ever endure. Imagine licking warm mushy brown bananas covered in sweet condensed milk and served on the armpit of someone else’s sweaty gym jersey. Perhaps the infamous chef, Anthony Bourdain, describes his beloved durian best: "Its taste can only be described as... indescribable, something you will either love or despise. Your breath will smell as if you'd been French-kissing your dead grandmother." The durian excretes an overwhelmingly horrid smell, and Indonesia’s capitol city of Jakarta has been branded The Big Durian for similar reasons.

It was only 9am in Batu Karas and the rain had relaxed only a little. I had already finished a few hours of surfing and half a Bintang by the time I saw my cell phone flashing on my bed. Bombs had just exploded in Jakarta. Since the media has a bad habit of amplifying panic when sensational and also of suppressing information when deemed dangerous, I decided to take my chances on an overnight bus to Jakarta.

Sitting on the floor of the grungy bus station at 4:30am, we understood immediately why Jakarta is nicknamed The Big Durian. With a little time to waste, my new travel companion pulled out her guitar to play one of her own compositions. The unexpected beauty of Jenny Bell's voice cut through the thick and dirty Jakarta air; time, space, and smells dissipated into nothingness. Once the songs ended and the city buses were finally running, we sorted out some logistics and then took a brief stroll through Jakarta's even briefer tourist district.

We met up with a local girl named Novie, who was recommended to me by Gusti, the coolest djembe teacher in Bali. Jenny and I were immediately impressed by Novie and we were soon inseparable. Even in the shadow of the bombings, the infamous Jakarta nightlife delivered a very entertaining evening. I sat in awe of both girls as they rocked the house at an open mic night, and their charms also helped secure some complimentary and very flammable liqueurs from the manager of a discotheque later in the evening. Unknown to Jenny and I, Novie was testing for her karate black belt the next day! After watching her performance we met some people at the local streetside eatery where unbelievably delicious ayam baker (BBQ chicken) was being served by the armload. I would later watch Novie practice singing with a small orchestra in an adaptation of a Spanish love story.

In a seemingly endless display of talent, I met up with an Indonesian photographer, Rarindra Prakasar. For a few years I have been following his jaw-dropping image gallery where his philosophy is immediately apparent – to make photographs look like paintings, and paintings look like photographs. I was lucky enough to follow him around for a photoshoot and witness his talent for capturing the magic of light.

Indonesia is an incredible country full of diverse people with almost unparalleled charisma. The landscape is quite literally of volcanic proportions. The climate and fertility of the soil provides a cornucopia of exotic fruits with looks and tastes more diverse than the capability of your imagination. Apples and oranges cannot stack up to the pleasures of sucking the seeds from a fresh marquesa, chewing the sweetest pineapple, drizzling lime over a plate of succulent mango, ravishing a sweet mangosteen, peeling the red prongs off a hairy rambutan, licking the smooth inside skin of the soap-like gargantuan jackfruit, conquering a dragon fruit, savoring cinnamon strawberries, or harvesting a fresh young coconut from the tree and turning the milk and flesh into an iced shake to fend off the afternoon heat. Here, even papaya tastes good. Fruits from places like The Big Durian make fruits from places like The Big Apple seem a little worm infested.

Jakarta, Indonesia (sorta). Jenny breaking her durian-virginity.

Jakarta, Indonesia. Sometimes my life is pretty rough. Can you tell? Novie and Jenny and me in the middle.

Jakarta, Indonesia. There were a few mostly clothed dancers that put on quite an entertaining show on the bar that would make Coyote Ugly seem like Sesame Street.

Jakarta, Indonesia. Novie practicing for her musical adaptation of a Spanish love story.

Jakarta, Indonesia. This extremely popular roadside restaurant was a very cool gathering place and the BBQ chicken (ayam bakar) is to die for!

Jakarta, Indonesia. I count an amazing 10 plates that this guy is delivering at one time... and he does this ALL night long!

Outside Jakarta, Indonesia. My photos when learning from Rarindra Prakasar.

Outside Jakarta, Indonesia. My photos when learning from Rarindra Prakasar.

Outside Jakarta, Indonesia. My photos when learning from Rarindra Prakasar.

Outside Jakarta, Indonesia. My photos when learning from Rarindra Prakasar.

Outside Jakarta, Indonesia. My photos when learning from Rarindra Prakasar.

Smoking Buddha Boards (Indonesia Part 3)

2009-07-17T00:18:00.000-07:00

Mount Bromo, Yogyakarta, Borobudur Temple, Batu Karas
Java, Indonesia
July 10 – July 17, 2009
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Smoking Mount Bromo
I could call it an epiphany, or possibly a revelation of minor proportions. The decision came easy. It kinda came from god… er… mohammed. The searing noise of the mosque after a long overnight journey to Java was motivation enough to succumb to the demands of the tour operator and leave immediately for Mount Bromo. It was 3:45am and I am still not sure if the tour guide had a divine co-conspirator, or whether it was a simple but effective sales tactic to situate directly across from the insidious green mosque. It certainly lent itself to customers making fast decisions that took them fast and far from their location - at a price, of course.

Johnny and I brushed the sleep from our eyes and the bruises from our bodies after enduring a further bone-crunching bus ride. At the lookout point, we gazed across the wasteland where a few volcanic cones pierced the low lying fog, one still sputtered smoke that added to the cloudy haze. We descended down the steep cliffs of the Tengger Massif caldera and cut our way through the cold thick fog towards Mount Bromo. By the time we ascended, most of the fog had lifted and a thin dusty veil now shrouded the temple and the impossibly flat caldera that extended a diameter of 10 kilometres.

Yogyakarta & Buddhist Borobudur Temple
Immediately battered by Batik art salesmen, my impression of Yogyakarta sunk as low as the bad sales pitches. We were happy to escape the city as we rode our motorcycles through the cold early morning air towards the Buddhist Borobudur temple that was abandoned around 1000AD and only rediscovered in 1814. Intricate relief carvings adorn the side walls where followers walked around the temple gradually ascending the seven levels representing the stages of Buddhist enlightenment. Near the top, large bell-shaped stupas form a circular mandala and each houses a statue of Buddha. It was spectacular looking down where the mist and fog merged with the jungle that reached out the horizon where several volcanoes loomed. Still early in the morning, we aimed our bikes towards Merapi volcano and climbed upwards into the lush fertile hills where fruit and vegetables farms were planted on every conceivable metre of land and strawberry fields were forever.

That evening Johnny bailed back to the comforts of Bali and I was determined to push on upwards through Java. The next day I sat in my comfortable air-conditioned business-class train seat for the northwards journey, but because the car was located at the rear of the train, I did not see the sign for my expected station. As the train pulled away, I realized I missed my stop. I got off at the next station about an hour later, and crammed myself onto public transportation to backtrack my route. Four hours later, I had made friends with a few friendly Muslim women who were eager to practice their English, and wanted to share aspects of their life and family with a foreigner. Unfortunately my visa was expiring soon and I had to skip the cultural exchange, and I continued onwards to the small surfing town of Batu Karas.

Surfing Batu Karas
Batu Karas is possibly one of the best secret spots to learn how to surf. Long slow rolling waves gently fold over and when the ride is finished, you can walk up the beach to catch the next wave off the point break without having to waste all your energy paddling through the surf. Relaxed and laid back, the locals will often hold off catching a good wave themselves and will help you learn position and technique so that you can attempt to ride it into shore. Generally speaking, the surfer credo is to treat a new surfer like an asshole until they prove themselves a worthy surfer. In Indonesia, it seems you have to prove yourself to BE an asshole before they treat you like one.

I woke up early on the last of my 3 surfing days disappointed to see the rain pounding hard against the dark cloudy sky. After a few moments of wimpy deliberation, I threw away my excuses and paddled out alone into the water. The waves were mine, and my practice was paying off. I was finally becoming comfortable carving the long board slowly left and right, feeling the subtle balance point as I walked back and forth on the board in unsuccessful attempts to ‘hang ten’.

Mount Bromo, Java, Indonesia. A few peaks poking through the mist of the Tengger Massif caldera.

Mount Bromo, Java, Indonesia. Smoking Bromo.

Mount Bromo, Java, Indonesia. Mists in the forests on the outer edge of the caldera.

Mount Bromo, Java, Indonesia. Yeah, that's me.

Mount Bromo, Java, Indonesia. Looking down through the dust towards the temple in the middle of the caldera.

Borobudur Temple, Java, Indonesia. Silhouettes at sunrise and misty jungle in the background.

Borobudur Temple, Java, Indonesia. Silhouettes at sunrise and looming volcanoes on the horizon.

Borobudur Temple, Java, Indonesia. Each of these stupas houses a statue of Buddha.

Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia. Exciting intellectual nights in Yogya for Johnny and I.

Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia. Yogya's only form of excitement came when Johnny relieved the cyclo driver of his duties and pedaled through the streets with locals gawking and laughing at the absurdity of a sports-clothed booley goblock (stupid whitey) pedaling an old local around. Adding to our excitement, we were catapulted from our unstable contraption when we were rear-ended by an absent minded motorcyclist upon which we were strewn out all over the street. Injuries consisted of a little blood and scrapes, and some bruised egos!

Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia. This strange vendor was selling dyed baby chicks. For what purpose, I am not exactly clear, but they certainly looked hilarious. Do you eat the red ones last?

Batu Karas, Java, Indonesia. The view from my room in Java Cove hotel, Batu Karas.

Diving and Dragons - Flores (Indonesia Part 2)

2009-06-17T20:31:00.000-07:00

June 7 - 17, 2009

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Flores Island

The transaction was dead simple. I pushed the stack of cash through the small plexi-glass window and a handwritten flight ticket to Flores Island was returned in a similar manner. I sauntered through Denpasar airport security with a 2L water bottle in hand* and boarded my flight, never having shown any form of identification for any part of the process. The plane rose into the sky and traced eastward along Indonesia’s archipelago, passing the opalescent waters of the Gili Islands, Lombok’s clouded volcanoes, the dense forests and craters of Sumbawa, and the dragon infested islands of Komodo and Rinca. I attempted to tune out the naïve and socially-impaired North American Christian missionary girls excited about their first time out of their country on their way to ‘do good’ in a foreign culture. In preparation for landing, I loosened my seatbelt, reclined my seat, and cranked up Jim Morrison's 'An American Prayer' on my ipod as we descended onto the west end of Flores Island. I’d already realized that I’d accidentally booked a flight to the wrong city, and would be about 18 bumpy hours from where I’d wanted to be. I knew I was in for a little adventure.

Labuan Bajo

I settled into the little dirthole of Labuan Bajo, finding a cheap private room that kept my things somewhat hidden, but likely not too secure. Outside my window, a bedridden and mentally disabled teenager stuttered and stammered incessant nothings for every waking second of his life. Even though I knew better, I couldn’t resist the temptation of visiting the nearby Komodo Island tourist trap, where the legendary dragons kill their prey with venomous teeth. The incessant sun beat down hard on the bleak but somehow beautiful landscape, and we spotted only a single Komodo dragon under the shade of a tree. The rest of the dragons were ‘stalking their prey’ under the cooking huts of the makeshift tourist village hoping for the discarded morsels of food. Besides the dragons, Komodo National Park is renowned for the exceptional quality of its diving. Protected from bomb fishing and undamaged from industrial waste, the corals remain a spectacular wonderland of bustling activity. At Batu Bolong and Manta Point, massive hawksbill turtles brushed alongside me, delicate glowing jellyfish aimlessly undulated in the currents, white tip reef sharks curiously circled below, and sinister manta rays powered their 4.5 metre wingspan against the intense current.

Bajawa, Bena, & Ende

In the early morning, I crammed myself onto a local bus making the journey past the spiderweb fields of Ruteng and over to Bajawa, the halfway point to my intended destination. I spent an intimate 10 hours rubbing sweaty shoulders and legs with old local people and their chickens. Wind from the open doors and windows blew small black bugs and corn meal dust from a stack of sacks marked oddly with ‘From Canada’. Although the scenery was spectacular, I was in pretty rough shape by the time I was dumped out in Bajawa where I met up with James, a British guy with a similar itinerary. We rented a motorcycle and cruised to the touristy village of Bena walked up around the volcanoes, and boarded another 5 hour bus to Ende.

Moni & the Kelimutu Lakes

We continued our relentless journey across Flores and reached our final destination of the small village of Moni. Exhausted from the last few days of travel, we grabbed a quick bucket shower and then gorged ourselves on food from Bintang Restaurant. We found a place to play pool in the evening, having to finish the game by the light of a digital camera when the power blacked out. We woke at 4:30 the next morning and were transported up the mountain to the entrance of the Kelimutu Lakes. Still shrouded in cold blackness, we avoided the tourists and climbed up the hill where the ‘Danger - Do Not Walk’ signs were. It was surreal as we cautiously approached the crater’s ominous edge, not knowing what to expect and not being able to see the potential dangers. The sun eventually illuminated the clouds into pinkish hues, and slowly began to unveil the two crater lakes below divided by a narrow rift of rock and each filled with a different colour of liquid. As the sun poured into the water, the lakes began to reveal their true colours and seemed filled with impossibly thick turquoise and dark green paint. There are various theories why the colours of the crater lakes change over time, fluctuating through red, yellow, and orange.

Ever since I began to plan my travels, I was fascinated by the Kelimutu Lakes. My mind had created very specific images of primitive cultures and an impossibly remote destination. While there are no sky scrapers or superhighways, Flores was much more developed than what my mind had imagined. For better or (likely) worse, the world is growing up.

*Water bottles and airports aren’t dangerous… it’s just another way to breed fear into the public so they think that ‘we’ are winning the war on ‘terror’. It is also an unfortunately successful ploy to sell $5 bottles of water… why else do you think there are no water fountains inside security?

Labuan Bajo, Flores, Indonesia. Taken at dusk, this is about the best view of the area.

Komodo National Park, Indonesia. This is the rugged landscape in Komodo National Park. Somehow you just feel like it is a matter of time before a Jurassic Park dinosaur runs across the landscape.

Rinca Island, Komodo National Park. Taken from the island where we were looking for (and looking out for) komodo dragons.

Rinca Island, Komodo National Park. A water buffalo keeps cool in a mud pit.

Rinca Island, Komodo National Park. This dragon just finished eating a rancid fish that had already been vomited up by another dragon. This is a tourist trap. I recommend buying a DVD!

Komodo National Park. Although these aren't my photos, they were taken by another guy on my dive trip at Batu Bolong and Manta Point.

Bena, Flores, Indonesia. Bena is a traditional village where textiles and handicrafts are made. They also make a fair concession from the Lonely Planet tourists! This village overlooks the ocean far in the distance, and is located on the edge of a beautiful volcano.

Bena, Flores, Indonesia. Drying out in the sun.

Moni, Flores, Indonesia. James might look like he was going to win this game, but I managed to hold my unbeaten streak even when the lights went out and we had to finish by the light from a digital camera.

Kelimutu Lakes, Flores, Indonesia. Two of the crater lakes separated by a thin rock divide.

Kelimutu Lakes, Flores, Indonesia. These lakes look like someone poured thick paint into them, and their colours change over the years.

The Ring(s) of Fire - Bali (Indonesia Part 1)

2009-05-25T02:17:00.000-07:00

Bali, Indonesia (MAP)

Approximately 240 million people live along Indonesia’s volcanic archipelago known The Ring Of Fire, where subterranean geological giants wrestle beneath the surface generating earthquakes, mudslides, eruptions, and tsunamis. Incidentally, of much more frequent danger is the other Ring Of Fire experienced when exceeding your personal limits with the spicy local sambal. Although Indonesia has the world’s largest Muslim population, the small Hindu island of Bali offers a beautiful departure from the relentless mosques and strict oppressive rules. Fresh flowers and incense offerings (banten) adorn every business and home, beautiful clothing and dance ceremonies mix with the eerie clanging of the traditional gamelan, and if you are careful, you can still feel the ghostly vibrations of black and white magic of the animist traditions.

Kuta Beach

Pounding surf, plentiful parties, and cheap accommodation draw heaps of tourists to the slummy Kuta Beach area where pockets of charm make the place somehow bearable if you don’t have the funds to relax in Seminyak or the multitudes of 5 star resorts just out of town. Southern Bali is renowned for the famous surf breaks of Padang Padang, Ulu Watu, and Dreamland. I was satisfied just floating in the truly massive rolling swells and bodysurfing the smaller breaks that chewed up and spit out more than a few inattentive people. Back in the safer breaks at Kuta, the waves still punished me as I struggled to survive the physical lessons of surfing.

Ubud

I met my friend Sarah (from London Canada) up in the quiet inland town of Ubud, where we dined by candlelight since the power happened to be out that particular evening*. We spent several days riding on a motorcycle alongside the fertile volcanic terraced rice fields, viewing temples near crater lakes, being teased by exquisite luxury resorts and retreats, and meandering through small villages tucked along the winding roads, and even stumbled upon a cock-fight tournament before returning to the relaxing comforts of Ubud.

After eating tasty organic food at Kafe and discussing the Japanese snowboard and DJ scene with Craig, I wandered across the street and dropped into the otherworldly bliss of a hot stone massage. With my body and mind in a dreamlike state, I glided into the dark Monkey Forest where celebrations were underway for the semi-completion of temple renovations. I felt a little like Alice in her blue meanie Wonderland as the surreal clangs of the eerie gamelan instrument reverberated through the forest as I followed the winding flagstone path. Lost in a strange procession of traditionally dressed Balinese, I flowed towards the performance stage where I was mesmerized by the absolute precision of movements. Heavily painted eyes darted back and forth, hands and arms traced exquisite arcs, eyelashes danced expressions, and toes angled to the night sky as the feet played in exacting dance. Narrated in Bahasa by a single individual, the characters performed the translation for me in a silent enactment of a traditional Balinese tale of love and bravery.

Worthwhile things in Ubud, Bali:

Take a djembe drumming lesson with Gusti at The Drum Factory near the Monkey Forest. Way cool dude, and a naturally wicked drummer.
Indulge in an hour and a half hot stone massage from the shop directly across from Kafe café.
Just outside the information office, walk up the cobbled street and into the rice fields, then at dusk stop for a bite to eat at the organic café.
Go see the reggae band called Peace Love and Nasi Goreng and then go hit the small nightclub on the edge of town for some great local performers. Craig and I went out there on the day that we found out Michael Jackson passed away.
Relax for a morning meditation and Qi Gong session with Daniel (danielliox[at]gmail[dot]com).
Rent a scooter and take the smallest possible roads towards Rendang, or up to Lake Batur, or towards the north west in order to see amazing rice fields.

Worthwhile things in Kuta, Bali:

Rent a scooter for a day trip down to Dreamland to relax on the beach and watch the surfers, stop in at Ulu Watu temple, and then relax at Bulvari’s cliffside infinity pool bar for a sunset happy hour.
Go see the Wednesday night band Siztas at Obsession and watch and listen to Marina Sidik shred some good rock & roll . As a writer from Bali said: "With a throaty, husky Janice Joplin style voice, Marina screams rock from every pore of her body, loose and fluid on stage, her body girating to the twisted tunes droning from Sally's deranged approach to rock n roll violin playing". Then dance until the sun comes up at La Vida Loca on Double Six road in Seminyak.

*(I love it when the power goes out and eliminates the underrated annoyances of light pollution. It brought back memories of the massive power outage in Ontario, when we could gaze upon the stars while walking the city streets, and everyone was forced away from their televisions and computers to gather and spend time together.)

Tanah Lot, Bali. A beautiful temple that becomes an island at high tide.

Sania House, Ubud, Bali. This is a beautifully decorated guesthouse in Ubud.

Kuta Beach, Bali. Johnny and I went out for a few hours to see who could swallow the most sea water.

Dreamland, Bali. Surfers make me jealous.

Dreamland, Bali. Some surfers make me even more jealous, but for other reasons.

Dreamland, Bali. This girl can really rip it up!

Dreamland, Bali. This photo just cannot do justice to the absolute ferocity of the ocean on this day. On this day, the swells were too massive for even the surfers to go here.

Cliffside bar, Bulvari Resort, Pecatu, Bali. Sarah and I posing and pretending we could afford to stay at this insane place!

Amed, Bali, Indonesia. Our cool little bungalow overlooking the ocean. We didn't expect to make an overnight journey, but it was getting late and this spot was irresistible.

Town near Lake Batur, Bali, Indonesia. This is a roadside shop where Sarah and I stopped for an omelette dinner and also a game of pool with the locals.

Lake Batur, Bali, Indonesia. An old temple out near the end of the road at the far edge of the lake near the end of the day.

Lake Batur, Bali, Indonesia. The small village near the old temple out near the end of the road at the far edge of the lake near the end of the day. There is SO much garlic grown and dried in this area.

Near Ubud, Bali, Indonesia. A cockfight, though not to the death. We were the only westerners in the makeshift arena, and it took a while to understand the flurry of money, shouting, and fluffing of the birds and fixing of the heel-blades before they did combat.

Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia. A bit of our 'crew' in Bali... Craig, Me, Johnny, Eddie, and Flora.

Udud, Bali, Indonesia. There was a kite festival in Sanur that these kids were practicing for. The size of this kite is CRAZY!

Monkey Forest, Ubud, Bali. These girls are heavily decorated!

Monkey Forest, Ubud, Bali. The movements of even the toes and eyes are so precise in these dancers...

Monkey Forest, Ubud, Bali. This girl was so intense as she fluttered her wings totally embraced in her acting, I am not sure she was even aware of the crowd, or the fact that she was human.

Monkey Forest, Ubud, Bali. These were the women of the love story and the sassy seductresses.

Monkey Forest, Ubud, Bali. The men and boys gathered to gamble money on a simple dice game, betting on squares with mystic hindu gods are drawn.

Near Ubud, Bali. The terraced rice fields climb out of every river valley and up onto the slopes of the volcanoes.

Ubud, Bali. This is one of the short walks just outside the town near many rice fields. This flowing grass was quite unique to the typical rice fields that are seen all the time.

Wild Feral Beasts (Australia Part 3)

2009-05-24T05:19:00.000-07:00

The Yuppies, the Hippies, and the Wild Feral Beasts

Brisbane & Noosa

On a 17 hour train ride from Sydney to Brisbane, I encountered the wildest and most ferocious of all Australian wildlife… the fearsome Australian Outback Bogan – a close cousin of the North American Hillbilly. Jacked up on caffeine, alcohol, and Hollywood pop-trivia tabloids, this feral and argumentative couple foiled my attempts at snoozing away the overnight journey. Sleep deprivation proved disastrous for the surprise Suzy had in store for me upon arrival in Brisbane… supervising a downs-syndrome couple ‘helping’ paint a few bedrooms in her house (LMFAO). A few days later we visited another sort of zoo, this time owned by the late Steve Irwin, where we sat amongst the lounging kangaroos that were eerily friendly in a could-be-vicious Tank Girl sort of way. Since I was boycotting Queensland Tourism’s unwise decision to exclude me from last year’s final 50, I only chose to go as far north as Noosa where Suzy, her dogs, and I relaxed at her family’s holiday house and strolled along the quiet beaches.

The Gold Coast

Just south of Brisbane lies the Gold Coast, populated with small towns catering to the quiet and relaxed and also to the blonde Barbie bimbos high-heeling it along the boardwalks. I met up with Lynn and we hiked to the top of Mount Warning and also through the forest covered canyons where birds of magnificent red colours flittered in the treetop canopy. I spent some time with Csaba and Tanya for excellent home-made spicy thai papaya salad and also for a pool party crazy birthday celebration.

Byron Bay & Nimbin

If there are any true hippies left in Byron Bay, they are now sipping their iced chai tea lattes in the cosy manicured cafes that line the trendy laidback streets. The infamous Arts Factory Backpackers Lodge has a cool communal feel to it, where people share the kitchen, gardens, camping, and the stage for open microphone evenings. One of the popular excursions from Byron Bay is to jump on Jim’s psychedelic tour bus, groove out to perfectly timed classic rock music, and test the local goods sold in the smoke-filled hippie town of Nimbin. Gap-year university students venture down shady alleys to meet with old pusher hippie ladies wearing cool threads (beads and bellbottoms and lots of flowers) and make semi-illegal deals for far out brownies and psychedelic space cakes. Ingesting the various mind-altering goodies, the tourists then peruse the paraphernalia shops, informative drug museums, amazing alternative book stores, or opt for free food in the park that turns into a sneaky sermon of rhetoric from the Jesus crew. The tour promised (but failed) an interesting discussion of altered states, alternative philosophy, secrets of the mind, the illusion of reality, states of consciousness, and quantum physics. We split the groovy scene in Nimbin before the place became a drag, had a far out ride on the hippy bus groovin’ to tunes, man, and tripped back through the rabbit hole, closed the doors of perception, and went to find a pad to crash on back in Byron Bay.

Peace Out, Brother.

Near The Gold Coast, Australia. Hiking through the forests and waterfalls while amazing coloured birds flash though the trees.

Steve Irwin's Zoo, Queensland, Australia. Yup, that's a Joey in the pouch. These kangaroos really reminded me of the Tank Girl movie!

Steve Irwin Zoo, Queensland, Australia. Wow, that thing is huge!!! And so it the Galapagos turtle!!

The Great Ocean Roadtrip (Australia Part 2)

2009-05-23T05:19:00.000-07:00

The Great Ocean Road

South of Melbourne, myself and 2 German girls (Jana and Hannah, ja!) packed a tiny rental car full of camping gear, backpacks, juggling balls, frustrating card tricks, and some disastrously loose-lidded hummus for a 4 day road trip along the twists and turns of the famous Great Ocean Road. Slow-motion koala bears clung to the branches of the pungent eucalyptus forests as we breezed by listening to old LP music on the car stereo. We camped out at the beautiful Johanna Beach where the sand and dunes were constantly punished by pounding waves. We stretched out on the beach with a bottle of red wine, and watched shooting stars (or German stern schnuppes, or German/English stan snoopies) splash across the sky where the Southern Cross and other constellations slowly spun in the opposite direction than I am used to. Have you ever taken the time to notice which direction the stars spin? At bottle’s end, we retreated back to the tent where the girls cuddled up to a hot water bottle to take the remaining edge off the slightly cool evening air. Returning to Melbourne for a few days, I hung out with my really cool friends I met at ConFest (Wayne the dinosaur mechatronics engineer, and Maya the Mayan Calendar goddess).

Sydney
Sydney is home to a stunning collection of nooks and crannies of beautiful beaches and big swells… and is also home to possibly the world’s most expensive, least intuitive, and ugliest public transportation system. I met up with Andrea (my wild lawyer friend I met in Greece), Nyree and Nik (from my Guatemala yoga/meditation course), and Fiona (from the squash courts of the University of Calgary) and her two boys (husband and son).

Hannah and I went out hiking in the rain near Katoomba, where raging waterfalls plunged hundreds of metres into the soft tree-topped abyss of the Blue Mountains. The famous 3 Sisters hid from my sight in the thick fog, as did the steep stairways descending down into the dark valley. As afternoon blended into evening, the light changed only slightly and thick misty air intensified into torrential rain. We only just made it into the comfort of the Common Ground Café before we were completely soaked. As the wicked weather licked the windows of the cosy café, we warmed ourselves with pumpkin soup, yerba mate (Che style), and sunk deep into my chair and lost myself in the prose of a Mark Twain novel beside the heat of the stone fireplace. Back in Sydney, I weathered the German trash-talk and managed to educate my worthy opponent Jana on the devastating Canadian ping-pong forehand.

Great Ocean Road, Australia. I might not be able to jump like a kangaroo, but I still managed to get up on this signpost!

Great Ocean Road, Australia. Strange animals... and strange signs, and very true!

Great Ocean Road, Australia. Koalas just hanging out in the trees, too lazy to even munch the eucalyptus.

Bell's Beach, Great Ocean Road, Australia. Yeah, this is supposed to be the one from the end of the Point Break movie... I must have missed the '50 year wave'...

The Great Ocean Road, Australia. Jana and I balancing... she may have better balance, but it's really the ping-pong that matters!

Great Ocean Road, Australia. One of the fern-covered boardwalks.

The 12 Apostles, Great Ocean Road, Australia. I'm not sure if there are still 12 of them, since they keep falling down!

The 12 Apostles, Great Ocean Road, Australia. Hannah's unenthusiastic yoga pose.

The 12 Apostles, Great Ocean Road, Australia.

The 12 Apostles, Great Ocean Road, Australia. Jana flying through the air!

Sunset somewhere near Johanna beach, near a field of cows and a trunk full of spilled hummous!

The swirling stars at Johanna Beach. I used The Southern Cross to locate the point in the sky where the stars all rotate around... actually, it located the south pole, which lies on the axis the earth spins around that makes it appear that the stars are all rotating about this point... semantics.

Kangaroos, Koalas, and Tantric Yoga (Australia Part 1)

2009-05-22T02:16:00.000-07:00

Australia (Part 1)

My first tangible memories of a world beyond my childhood countryside are firmly rooted in my Grade 4 bas-relief map of the magical and mysterious upside-down world of Australia. Half a world away, and also almost half a lifetime later, it was about 28 years before I finally visited the Land Down Under. Australia conjured images of hairy poisonous spiders under every leaf, koalas hugging the tree branches, vicious scorpions sleeping in my shoes, wild dingos stealing babies, toilet flushes swirling the opposite way, and kangaroos and cane toads littering every inch of straight highway along the white sand of the sun-drenched beaches.

Melbourne

After New Zealand’s serene and subdued lifestyle, Melbourne washed over me in a fresh splash of refreshing life. Melbourne combines daring architecture, beautiful graffiti alleyways, and a bustling multi-cultural café scene that integrates all walks of life including the liberal thinkers and upscale boutiquers.

ConFest

After only a few days in in Melbourne, I bought a tent and a sleeping bag and hitched a ride to a mysterious event called ConFest (Conference Festival), a hippy-ish festival 5 hours outside of the city. I found out why people had a difficult time describing what to expect, because ConFest is whatever you want it to be… and you can choose to participate or observe from the periphery. Conferences were held by whoever wanted to host, and included discussions or workshops on sustainable villages, raw food diets, tantric yoga, night photography, religion, male orgasm, female ejaculation, drumming, the Mayan Calendar, geometries & quantum physics, cuddle puddles, meditation, fire spinning, or even biking and dancing around the makeshift village in the nude! In the evening people congregated in the chai tea tent for spontaneous live music, conversation, or a game of backgammon. Most of society’s judgements were left at the gate and people lived with open heads and open hearts... people felt free to be whoever they want, whether it meant to dress up in costume, or dress down to the short and curlies (which, incidentally, is why cameras were banned at ConFest).

Near Johanna Beach, Great Ocean Road, Australia. Kangaroos! I finally saw kangaroos!!!

Beautiful Melbourne graffiti!

Melbourne's daring architecture!

Old New Zealand

2009-04-07T02:15:00.000-07:00

Old New Zealand
February 14 - April 7, 2009

Somewhere over the Tasman Sea between Australia and New Zealand, my plane to Auckland experienced a disruption in the normal space-time continuum. The time warp was obvious when I disembarked the plane and stared at a mid-20's girl dressed in cowboy boots, black leggings covered by a short flowery skirt, a pink boob-tube top, and a hairstyle that indicated she was very confused about which current era she was actually experiencing. As I was soon to discover, it seemed much of New Zealand was caught in a similar conundrum. In general, the Kiwis enjoy an extremely laid back, simple, healthy, and beautiful lifestyle, ignoring the modern world desires of a fast-paced life full of distractions and stimulation. This is either the reason or the result of why many of the younger generations have fled to Australia or beyond for the lure of excitement and opportunity.

Even politically, New Zealand has held firm to its beliefs of a simple natural world, and has woven the traditional Maori culture deep into the lifestyle. New Zealand has managed to do something that the North Americans and Australians have not, by respecting the land of those who were there before them (this would probably not be the case had the Maori not been such fierce warriors). The current government denied the presence of American nuclear submarines in their waters, and are content standing up to the pressures and political terrorism as a result of denying such a request. New Zealand stands for its balanced lifestyle of nature, culture, and simplicity.

In many ways New Zealand is a geographically-compressed version of Canada, but with increased thermal activity and lots more sheep. The natural beauties of New Zealand offer almost endless opportunity for adventure, exploration, and adrenaline (which is thankful, because you won't find that in any of the cities). My Dad and step-mom Judy had decided to join me for a portion of my world travels, and New Zealand was a far-flung destination my Dad always wanted to see. They decided against the culture shock, spicy cuisine, and cost-effectiveness of Asia, and opted for the relative mental safety, natural beauty, and familiarity of culture in New Zealand. What my Dad hadn't considered was the fact that New Zealand is a renowned destination for extreme adrenaline addicts.

In contrast to the conservative destination, my parents rented a completely un-conservative spray-painted trippy hippie van, into which was stashed 2 sets of golf clubs, 17 pairs of nearly identical beige pleated pants, and myself and my backpack. For the next 5 weeks we navigated the Kiwi's awkward/cryptic/non-sensical/absent street-sign strategy (the term 'strategy' is used quite generously) as we explored New Zealand from tip to tail of the north and south islands. We drove without schedule or plan past lush rolling grassy hills, alongside beautiful stone fences, on the edge of stunning rugged cliffs, around twisted roads that hugged the coastline, past piles of NZ pie shops, and of course through herds of sheep. Everyday brought new experiences, new adventures, and here is only a beginning list of the highlights:

The North Island (map)
1. A well-needed relax with Chris and family on their organic Kiwi farm.
2. Actually seeing my Dad and Judy in Auckland, as I wasn't entirely convinced that they actually boarded the plane, and if in fact they did, or whether they survived the experience.
3. Elderly Kauri Trees thrusting from the earth like massive fists.
4. Hot Water Beach and digging for thermal pools in the sand.
5. Partying with Chris at the WAY cool Cuba Street Carnival in Wellington.
6. Hiking Tongariro, one of the best single day treks in New Zealand.
7. Golfing at a 5 star course, but losing more balls than there were holes.
8. Mildly redeeming myself by hitting a 550 yard drive down 90 Mile Beach.
9. Sleeping in a hippie van under the stars while the ocean waves crash in.
10. Going to a Miss Chief burlesque show in Auckland with Patricia!
11. Very narrowly escaping death, perhaps by less than a foot) from a collision with an absent-minded concrete-truck driver.

Auckland, NZ. This panorama was taken when Patricia (whom I'd met at the yoga/meditation centre in Guatemala) showed me around Auckland for a couple of days.

Cuba Street Carnival, Wellington, NZ. Chris and I went on a mission down to see this very cool event. It was held at the same time as Mardi Gras, and certainly outdid the La Ceiba Carnival in Honduras (which was the biggest carnival between Rio and New Orleans). Wellington is a very cool city that appreciates the artistic talents. The costumes, free music, body painters, and parade were completely off the hook!

Cuba Street Carnival, Wellington, NZ. These fish people swarmed through the parade as one of the very cool costume themes!

Auckland, NZ. My Dad and step-mom Judy proudly displaying their hippie rental van!

North Island, NZ. My parents working in the 'kitchen'.

North Island, NZ. The beautiful green rolling hills somewhere near Whale Bay near Whangarei, where the WH is pronounced as PH... interestingly, this pronunciation makes the town of Whakapapa much more dirty sounding.

North Island, NZ. Hmmm... is this a kiwi roadblock, or are these Kiwi speed bumps?

Cape Reinga Lighthose, NZ. This is the most northerly point in New Zealand, and is a very sacred place for the Maori culture. Then someone built a lighthouse upon it.

Cape Reinga Lighthouse, NZ. Wondering where I should go next... Tokyo? London? Los Angeles? Vancouver?

Northland Forest Park, NZ. Tane Mahuta, the majestic and breathtaking father of the Kauri trees of New Zealand. Photos will never do these trees justice, as you will have to experience simply being in their presence.

90 Mile Beach, NZ. After driving a golf ball 550 yards, in admittedly strong winds, it was fun to drive our hippie van through a speed test along the beach... 0-100 km/h in just under 23 seconds! Woohoo!

Hot Water Beach, Coromandel Peninsula, NZ. The thermal activity miles below the surface still allows people to feel the heat by digging in the sand. Make your own personal hot tub next to the ocean! One butt-cheek is freezing cold, while the other is burning hot! Pretty wild!

Whitianga, NZ. I spent a day relaxing on the beach and experimenting with some stop-action photography, which one day I may or may not compile!

Tongariro National Park, NZ. I got dropped in the early morning fog to start the popular Tongariro Crossing. This pass is often inaccessible due to extreme weather, and I lucked out on my first try.

Tongariro national Park, NZ. The sun was just rising as I started along this ~20 km hike, which I later added an additional 7 km walking along the highway while waiting for a hitchhike back to the hostel!

Tongariro Crossing, NZ. This stunning view of the 2 volcanoes!

Tongariro Crossing, NZ. The desolate yet beautiful scorched earth landscape.

Tongariro Crossing, NZ. As I crossed over the peak and ran down the scree slopes, these emerald jewelled lakes caught the sun perfectly.

The South Island (map)
1. Witnessing the power of the oceans at the blowholes at the Pancake Rocks.
2. Letting my mind wander at the fantastic Nelson bookstore called Possibilities.
3. Skydiving from 15,000 feet, 60 seconds brain-numbing freefall in Wanaka for my Dad's 65th birthday.
4. Hiking through the freezing wet caves on Franz Josef Glacier.
5. Driving with Ritch along the crazy Skipper's Canyon road outside Queenstown.
6. Respecting the vastness of the universe while at the Mount Cook Planetarium, seeing Saturn's rings through a telescope, and learning about navigating with the Southern Cross.
7. Kayak-surfing with the dolphins and a big sea lion in the frigid waters of Curio Bay.
8. Sleeping under the stars so unbelievably bright that the Milky Way was clearly visible as a splash of lights across the sky.
9. Boating through the incredibly steep and high hills of Milford Sound.
9. Sheep. Those damn sheep. They are deceptively fast and agile. Now I know why velcro gloves were invented!
10. The crazy Lost Gypsy Gallery, brimming with beautiful and ingenious gadgets and mechanisms made from bits and pieces of junk, displayed in an old locomotive.

Any Field, South Island, NZ. These sheep are everywhere on the South Island. And, lucky for them, they are FAST... Lucky, because of the Kiwi mentality down here... there is actually a Perfect Woman Contest which tests the woman's ability to change a truck tire, open a beer without an opener, and using a chainsaw... with that sort of feminine definition, I might also prefer a sheep! :)

The Caitlins, NZ. These sheep are lined up for their haircut!

The Caitlins, NZ. This is some really tough work, and makes me happy I got an education.

West Coast, South Island, NZ. Apparently they actually need penguin crossing signs, although it took us many more hundred kilometers to bag a YEP (yellow eyed penguin).

Curio Bay, NZ. As I was kayak-surfing the frigid water of Curio Bay, the dolphins (or are they porpoises) were following and jumping out of the waves all around me. Even one very large sea lion happened to sneak up on me and really make my heart jump!

South Island, NZ. My dad's 65 birthday... not just around the corner, but right then and there! I'm pretty sure he had no clue what was in store for him!

Wanaka, New Zealand. After opening his birthday card, my dad was less than excited about the 0.1% chance he stood of actually accepting his birthday present from my sister and myself. Looking for a way out, he turned to my step-mom for an escape plan, but she was in on it and excited to go herself! After taking my dad to the flight zone, my dad found a tandem diver that had somewhere in the vicinity of 15,000 jumps, so my dad felt this guy had figured out what he was doing...

Wanaka, NZ. This is my dad plummeting down from 15,000 ft for a 60 second freefall before gently gliding to the ground. I told my tandem guy to give me a good ride, and he proceeded to spin us so hard that I could feel my eyeballs loosening in their sockets!! Very very very cool!

Moeraki Boulders, NZ. These boulders are geological oddities that are made in a similar fashion as pearls... although much harder to wear, but perhaps it is possible for New Zealand's Perfect Woman.

Moeraki Boulders, NZ. I'm not sure how I managed to make this jump after my dad had 'treated' me to a Chinese massage therapist session which had me screaming in pain and nearly crippled afterwards. I think it was my dad's revenge for making him jump out of an airplane!

Franz Josef Glacier, NZ. Our tour group up on the glacier. Each of us paid $150 NZD to do this!

Franz Josef glacier. Stuck in a wet and freezing crevasse surrounded by the blue glow of the ice.

Franz Josef Glacier, NZ. Oh yes, and a few of us actually wore shorts! ;)

South Island, NZ. Picniking along the roadside!

Te Anau, NZ. The scenery is endlessly changing and always beautiful in New Zealand. We are on our way to Milford Sound.

Milford Sound, NZ. A massive fern which I could easily cover me completely.

Mitre Peak, Milford Sound, NZ. Our 2.5 hour boatride through Milford Sound.

Milford Sound, NZ. Clouds covered the sky, dolphins lept through the water, and waterfalls gushed down the staggeringly steep cliffs of the sound.

Milford Sound, NZ. We had to be prepared for all sorts of weather in New Zealand, and it was thankful we had at least 17 pairs of beige khaki pants aboard our hippy van!

Arthur's Pass, NZ. Although this pass is quite beautiful, I will take the drive from Calgary to Vancouver any day!

Queenstown, NZ. A short drive from Queenstown, this is the stunning view from a new and quite luxurious golf course named Jack's Point. I didn't have the opportunity to go lose all my golf balls here.

Queenstown, NZ. A beautifully reflecting lake somewhere near Queenstown.

KO'd in KL... Malaysia

2009-02-13T23:23:00.000-08:00

Kuala Lumpur,

Malaysia

January 31 – February 8, 2009
(Feb 8 - 13th Brisbane, Australia)

My bones were still suffering from the jarring potholed roads of Sumatra as I arrived in Malaysia’s port city of Melaka. In striking contrast to recent travel in Indonesia, our luxury highway coach whisked us down the silky-smooth highway towards Kuala Lumpur. The city is an interesting blend gargantuan modern shopping malls, beautiful lush scenery, stoic Muslim institutions, high-tech architecture, and interesting but scrappy night markets and food stalls.

Bored from a month long nasi goring diet, my mouth watered for the Indian tastes I’d savoured in Penang Malaysia. I headed straight to the Indian restaurants to sate my cravings, where I sat down surrounded by locals shovelling rice and curry into their mouths, their right hands caked past the wrist in rice and sauce… I will leave it up to your imagination what their left hands were likely caked with! Personally, I prefer the cleanliness of a fork, a spoon, or a chopstick, and the comfort of a good roll of TP. After a quick dinner, I headed into Chinatown’s night market, where stalls glimmered with knock-off versions of Tags, Rolexes, and Mont Blancs. Handbags, t-shirts, and other fashion were abundant, but Thailand definitely has the edge on quality, cost, and selection.

Just as the smells of worldly cuisines permeate the air of Kuala Lumpur, so does the smell of money. In contrast to the night markets peddling knock-off material, the megamalls sell high-end expensive luxuries that are gobbled up by the hordes of trendy fashionista consumers. Complete with indoor amusement parks, grandiose cinemas, and trendy restaurants, this is an easy place to lighten your wallet. Floor after floor is packed with the latest incarnations of cell phones, cameras, computers, and electronic gadgetry. This is heaven for a tech-head, and hell for a budget traveller like myself!

The most recognizable symbol of KL has to be the majestic twin Petronas Towers, 452 metres of shimmering aluminum and stainless steel which has been brought to you by heaps of petro-dollars. Outside the complex is a small version of New York’s Central Park, where children play in the fountains and pools, and where I get yelled at by the police for getting my toes wet. I strolled for hours around the Orchid Gardens park which overlooked the cityscape of towers, shopping centres and rigid Muslim infrastructure.

After donning purple robes to cover my bare knees, I temporarily escaped the stifling humidity as I entered the serenity of the National Mosque. It’s simplicity, intricacy, and vastness (and notably silent speaker systems) had a very calming effect to myself, but also to the stray Muslims who were sprawled out on the polished floors for a cat nap. Since this country’s policies are highly defined and regulated by Muslim culture, I took the opportunity to read all the literature provided in attempts to gain perspective on their thoughts. If you are interested further, please read at the bottom of this blog where I have quoted the literature and posed questions, comments, and observations. Malaysia seems to be a relatively successful social experiment in the coexistence of the Maylay, Chinese, and Indian backgrounds, and also with their mixed religions of Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Taoist, and even a hint of animism.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The Petronas Towers, full moon, and some freaky colouring I got with the long exposure.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. A reprieve from the sweltering heat in the National Mosque.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Petronas Towers, full moon, and even a bit of the adjoining bridge.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Scott and I outside the ghostly Petronas Towers at night.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Petronas Towers with Chinese New Years decorations.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Steel, steel, and more steel.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The lush grounds and pools outside the Petronas Towers.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The grounds outside the Petronas Towers.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. At the orchid gardens.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. At the botanical gardens.

Quotes from the KL National Mosque literature, and comments from... me! (To my Muslim friends, please don’t take this as criticism, just honest and brutal curiosity… I don’t let any other religion off any easier… While most religions have beautiful portions to them, it is my personal belief that all organized religions have lost their true meaning and have become institutionalized with arbitrary yet convenient rules that serve the organizers and leaders rather than humanity (and beyond).)

God is self-sufficient and has no needs. His creations need Him but He doesn’t need them for His existence. (This is kind of a pivotal statement, which in my mind provides a broad platform for hypocrisy.)
Many will say that they too believe in The One True God but their daily lives are infused with idolatrous practices such as wearing talismans and worshipping statues. Worshipping physical representations of God is considered the only unpardonable sin in Islam. (If God has no needs, then he shouldn’t care too much about this one, so long as it helps people lead a virtuous life. Perhaps it is God’s own ego that pisses him off when someone worships a representation of Him. But then again, the goal is to rid the ego, so hypocrisy is witnessed even at the highest level.)
The best names in the sight of Allah are Abdullah (Slave of Allah) and Abdur Rahman (Slave of The Merciful). (So, God does need people, since he seems to prefer slaves.)
Muslims are required to pray 5 times a day at fixed times. Performing these well spaced out prayers at the appointed times will leave no time for mischievous deeds. (It also leaves less time to ask questions. This seems to indicate that quantity not quality is important.)
In Islam, cleanliness is considered a part of one’s iman or faith. A Muslim remains in a state of purity if there were no acts that nullify his or her purity. Among them are excretion from penis, vagina and anus (including releasing gas), deep sleep (exempted if the person was firmly seated on the floor when he slept), touching the skin of sexual organs with palm, touching the skin of the opposite sex whom the person could marry and loss of reason or consciousness. (Touching the skin of the opposite sex is on par with excretion from a penis or anus…? It kinda makes people just not want to hug, touch, or kiss. I think there is something wrong with that.)
When we eat with the consciousness that is an act of worship, we are more likely to be less wasteful in our eating, eat less and think of others who are in need of food. (I couldn’t agree more with this one! This helps us respect the world that we live in, and if followed might allow much of world to realize what is actually going into their bodies.)
Wearing expensive apparel to show-off one’s status and affluence is not the way of Islam. (Partly convenient because it could reduce the amount of money payable to the institution, and aren’t mosques a reflection of wealth, status, and affluence? It seems that the louder and more deafening the speaker system is, the higher the status of the mosque. This seems to be a contradiction.)
A Believer does not hesitate to spend his or her wealth in the case of Allah. Do not be miserly by paying the minimum, pay more if you can do so. (Very convenient for the institutions, isn’t it? What is done with this money anyhow, build nice mosques which are in a sense a symbol of God – which he didn’t want? So, we have a culture not spending money on alcohol or excesses, encouraged to be successful without ego, and expected to contribute heavily to the institutions. This financial plan is built by a genius!)
The disbelievers and the evildoers will realize at death about the Punishment in the Fire that awaits them. They will be in great pain as their blodd vessels and nerves are ripped apart when their souls are forcibly removed. (Woah, here’s a God that doesn’t need people, yet feels the need to punish them with fire and brimstone… Kinda sounds like Catholocism, doesn’t it?)
Islam prohibits anal sex as an unnatural practice. The Qur’an permits all positions of vaginal intercourse. (Who is responsible for prohibiting or permitting anything as natural or unnatural, and what sort of criteria were they using?)
Muslims must direct their sight away from things that will arouse desires and lead them into prohibited sexual acts. (If an act is desired, then why is it prohibited? Don’t people realize that by prohibiting something in itself creates a desire? Isn’t it better to learn how to deal with that instead of try to pretend it doesn’t exist? )
Islam emphasizes foreplay in sexual activity. (Again, I couldn’t agree more!)
Women enjoy more protection and respect within Islam compared to any other faith. Just about everything that feminists in the West strived for in the 70s was already available to Muslim women 1400 years ago. (I am VERY curious what is meant by ‘just about’, and what is meant by protection, and protected from what? Do the men enjoy protection as well?)

Somewhere in Sumatra... Indonesia

2009-01-30T20:36:00.000-08:00

January 5 – 30, 2009

The ferry’s tarnished porthole windows cast a greasy yellow shadow across the weathered upholstery of the dingy lower deck. Stowaway beady-eyed insects darted curiously in an out of the cracks in the seats as the hypnotic diesel-engine-drone lulled us into a restless sleep. We were bound for Sumatra, an Indonesian island whose very name brought mysterious tribal images to my mind. I imagined Muslim/Christian conflicts stewing over top of old Batak cannibalistic traditions, where animal spirits ruled divine, and where ancient powerful ghosts roamed the jungles. But, perhaps the most scary thing we were about to encounter was… immigration. The customs form indicated the penalty of death for narcotics, and I was hoping I would not find out what the penalty was for the contraband Chinese medicines stowed in our bags.

Possibly the most popular place to observe the orangutans of Sumatra is the village of Bukit Lawang, located along a winding river nestled in the hilly jungles a few hours outside of Medan. Possessing DNA that is 98% similar to humans, these powerful creatures are very beautiful to watch as they gently muscle their way through the jungle, and stare back with inquisitive eyes while exhibiting humanlike mannerisms make Darwin’s theories seem obvious. We floated inner tubes for several hours with the gentle flow and sometimes treacherous rapids of the river that cut its way through the dense jungle. The tourist scene has been devastated over the recent years by a combination of earthquakes, tsunamis, and Christian/Muslim upheavals. The massive drop in tourism was also apparent around the town of Tuk-Tuk on Lake Toba, a massive fresh water lake surrounded by steep jungles, rising volcanoes, small artist villages, distinctive Batak houses, and tales of tribal ritual and cannibalism. For the equivalent of $5 per night, we rented a pleasant room overlooking the lake, and hung out with the locals who took us dancing, playing pool, swimming in the lake, tasting the local arak (palm alcohol), devouring sumptuous beef rendang curries, and even instructed for a private cooking course… vegetarian, not human!

We were attempting to visit the Mentawai islands off the west coast, where tribes covered themselves in tattoos and filed their teeth to sharp points, but we were constrained by the risk of overstaying our visa limits if the weather turned nasty. After a turbulent 17 hour bus ride, we careened down the 44 hairpin turns taking us to Lake Maninjau that was surrounded by rice paddies and threatening clouds that clung to the mountain walls of the steep thick jungle. We stayed at Lili’s guesthouse where an incredibly beautiful and vibrant older woman runs her little business and spends her days composing music on her Macintosh. As we biked around the lake, we stopped at a school to play takrow (a game similar to volleyball, but played only with the feet and a wicker ball), challenged some local guys to a match of ping pong on the side of the road, and watched a leashed monkey unloose coconuts from the treetops in exchange for food.

Our last stop in Sumatra was Bukittinggi, a reasonably large Muslim town surrounded by small market villages, silversmith shops, deep ravines, and forests filled with bats and magic mushrooms. Everyone was incredibly friendly and we were constantly being stopped for conversations, questions, and photo opportunities. On the downside, I can honestly say that the 3:30am cacophony of morning rhetoric and prayers blasted over loudspeakers is something I could NEVER come to enjoy. However, as we made our overnight bus journey to the east coast, I was thankful to be so exhausted that I entirely slept through the near-death experience being delivered by the aggressive bus driver jacked up on Red Bull.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. Orang-utans in the jungle are incredibly human-like in their actions. Their DNA is 98% similar to humans… kinda makes Darwin seem obvious when you watch these guys. Now if only they were holding a remote control and a beer, we would be absolutely sure that we descended from them.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. Orang-utan waiting for photos... or more food at the reserve.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. Orang-utan and her baby!! Absolutely beautiful to watch.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. These kids do this everyday on the way to school, speeding down the roads. It is probably survival of the fittest, cause the bad ones probably fall off the back!

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. If the kids can do it, so can we! Although, care had to be taken not to stare at the scenery too much and have your head taken off by overhanging branches and electrical wires.

Near Bukittingi, Sumatra, Indonesia. In a small village at the top of some road up the volcano were surprised and excited to see us up there on scooters.

Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia. Notice the last menu item. I was so shocked to see a country willing to put someone in life prison allow magic mushrooms to be legal. Perhaps it is not much different than our societies criticizing certain drug usage while promoting alcohol, tobacco, caffeine, sugar, and pharmaceuticals.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. Hanging from the massive jungle foliage.

Bukittinggi, Sumatra, Indonesia. Chilis in the market making it HOT! Don't eat these straight off the plant if you don't have anything to drink afterwards!

Tuk-Tuk, Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia. This boy rides the beast through the paddies.

Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia. This traditional Batak-style house is the Carolina Hotel. You can even have your own min-sized version if you stay here.

Maninjau, Sumatra, Indonesia. This Batak house is somewhere in the middle of the 44 steep switchbacks that lead down to Lake Maninjau.

Tuk-Tuk, Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia. This blind woman feels her way around the house and finally manages to find the window.

Tuk-Tuk, Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia. These people work in the rice fields near the volcano and the temples.

Tuk-Tuk, Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia. The rice paddies on the edge of the mountain range.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. This family comes back from working in the jungle.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra, Indonesia. This is the Friday market, where people sell their batches of rubber.

Bukittingi, Sumatra, Indonesia. These monkeys are hanging around some beautiful scenery!

Bukittingi, Sumatra, Indonesia. These monkeys are removing the fleas from each other. This would be embarrassing, no pun intended, under any other circumstance.

Phuket... Happy Endings in Thailand

2009-01-01T20:36:00.000-08:00

Phuket, Thailand

Christmas & New Years, 2008

No, Phuket isn’t pronounced as you probably read it, and the happy endings I refer to aren’t the sort typical to a Thai massage parlor. Instead, Phuket is pronounced something closer to ‘Poo Get’, and the happy endings refer to the dwindling moments of the incredible year of 2008.

While I had avoided it in the past, Thailand’s infamous Phuket beckoned as an interesting place to celebrate the end of 2008. This bacchanalian beach town was overloaded with pubs, drinking stalls, chatty bartending entertainment girls, smoky pool halls, topless ladyboys, dubious massage parlours (where happy endings were advertised with reckless abandon), raging discotheques, and an ample supply of hedonistic tourists enjoying the mayhem.

It was Christmas morning when I was finally able to stretch my legs after the 15 hour bus ride from Bangkok. The warm weather and palm trees welcomed me in a manner much different than last Christmas’ chilly Canadian winter. Chris (from my Mekong Delta travels) picked me up on his scooter and we aimed for the beaches where his brother’s ex-pat friends played some fierce beach volleyball every afternoon. As we put away the volleyballs and floated in the calm warm salt water, the evening sky exploded above us into beautiful pink clouded hues. By the time we showered off, the non-volleyballers had finished preparing a massive Christmas BBQ of chicken, fish, assorted spicy thai dishes, which we washed down with boxed wines. I didn’t miss the cold snow and slush of a Canadian Christmas.

We found ourselves on the same beach for New Years Eve, but with an even more extravagant BBQ and heaps more people that filled the beaches as far as the eye could see… and beyond. The night air was filled with anticipation of the midnight fireworks, and hot air lanterns softly floated up into the heavens like luminous jellyfish. As promised, the party back in Phuket continued with ferocity until the New Year’s sun finally put everyone to bed.

Phuket, Thailand. Playing beach volleyball under a glowing sunset isn't a bad way to spend Christmas.

Phuket, Thailand. And swimming in a warm ocean under a glowing sunset is an added bonus!

Phuket, Thailand. More beach volleyball along a perfect beach!

Phang-Nga, Thailand. This waterfall spilled everywhere in the national park.

Phang-Nga, Thailand. Well, I needed a shower, what can I say?!

Phang-Nga, Thailand. Chris, Hayden, Scott, and myself cooling off after running through the leeches.

Phuket, Thailand. Fireworks, floating fire lanterns, and thousands of people gather to celebrate New Years 2008 on one of the minor beaches.

Speeding Through Saigon... Viet Nam

2008-12-05T23:38:00.000-08:00

Saigon, Mekong Delta, Mu Nei (Vietnam)

November 24 - December 23, 2008

Take a moment to live vicariously through a glimpse of my life in Vietnam. Sit back, relax, and visualize the world as if you were breathing in the hot exhaust-filled air, smelling the wafting scents of a hot steaming bowl of pho, and tasting the scintillating the flavours of the fresh market fruits.

Imagine yourself for a moment, immersed in the afternoon heat of the Vietnamese city of Saigon. The massive trees and green grasses of Tao Dan Park offer a reprieve from the hypnotic ebb and flow of the incessant scooters. In a wave of gestures and a screaming bell whistle, your peace has been invaded by a uniformed guard who ushers you off the grasses and onto a concrete bench along the concrete path. You settle to watch several groups of fitness enthusiasts wearing interesting opinions of athletic clothing. They have congregated for daily workout routines led by fitness buffs toting subwoofers with a preference for bad 80’s Asian pop music. Just as you’ve moved your gaze towards the badminton matches and shuttlecock kicking circles, a pretty girl sits next to you and asks you to help her with her English exam. An hour and a phone number later, she thanks you profusely and leaves you with a gift of local exotic fruits.

As dusk settles over the city, you meander back to your hotel district and find yourself settling into a corner café along a busy Saigon street. Flashes of metal and helmets stream by as you gaze across at the French-influenced two-storey buildings from a by-gone era. A particular motorcycle or bicycle occasionally catches your attention, transporting unstable heaps of random merchandise, far exceeding the limits of common sense. A wandering street-salesman carrying a rack of sunglasses and lighters is interrupted by the waitress as she sets down your large bottle of Saigon beer. You pour the warm beer into your glass mug, the gold flowing over the large chunk of ice that was freshly sawn off the block with a semi-rusty handsaw. As the cool beer hits your lips, you feel the mysterious serenity nestled in the relentless pulse of the chaotic city.

You hit the streets for a stroll, cautiously avoiding the portable bookstores – women carrying the latest photocopied bestsellers in stacks supported on their slightly deformed and protruding hips. But it is almost impossible to escape the street children so easily. They flank you from both sides and attempt to sell you chewing gum at a price 5 times what you could pay at the 7-11 you are standing outside of. After making them work for the sale, you hand over the equivalent of $1.25 (dong) for the pack of gum. You realize quickly that you bought more than just gum, you gained their friendship. The children bring out a shuttlecock and motion for you to join in kicking it around like a hackey-sack in the street, while the motorcycles and taxis do their best to navigate around you. It’s 1:30am and these streetwise and savvy children have more energy than you do as you return to your $8 hotel room.

The morning in Saigon is already sweltering as you gather a spare t-shirt and a couple friends to accompany you on a motorcycle mission into the mysterious Mekong Delta. It doesn’t take long to realize that being timid will get you killed on these streets. In survival mode, your bike hurtles into the torrent of traffic which encloses and crashes down on you, swirling you around in the turbulent wave of tires and smoke. You hammer your throttle, as your only insurance policy seems to be the unwritten right-of-way owned by the tire that is furthest ahead. Speed limits in this part of the world are only defined as the differential between the size of your brain and the size of your balls.

Merely 20 minutes out of the city limits which you’d falsely assured the rental agency you’d remain within, your engine sputters and dies. Your friends push you several kilometres along the highway at 80 km/h until you find a roadside mechanic to replace a faulty sparkplug. As you line up for one of the river ferries to take you across the brown and sprawling waters, constant stares are thrown your way. It is rare for foreigners to be in the Delta unattached to a tour bus, and people are often amused and interested in the wild hair and tattoos of your friends. You adjust your helmet and join the fray of traffic descending down the bumpy ramp. At the bottom, you pick up the fairing that fell off your bike and notice that your front brake lever pivot is dubiously held in place only by the gravity acting on a stripped bolt. At least the throttle still works properly, so you twist your wrist and aim your bike in the general direction of some random town you chose from the map.

You collect vibrant images of Mekong life as you roll past modest houses, busy green fields, fume-choked cities, and brimming fruit markets. In search of a local adventure, your eye catches a group of guys relaxing and waving to you from under a roadside tree. As you and your friends sit down on the ground beside them, they select you to be the honoured recipient of a morsel of snake. They force the dried chunk into your reluctant hand, which you then place into your even more reluctant mouth. Before you finish cleansing your palate with local moonshine, they have already placed a piece of smelly dried fish in your hand. You cause a slight distraction and tuck the fish into your shoe in an effort to side-step being rude. The next culinary oddities are rather large duck eggs, which you immediately realize will not fit in your shoe without causing a scene. They crack the tops of the eggs with a spoon to reveal an unhatched and mostly unfeathered resident, surrounded by what appears to be a grey fluid. You are meant to suck the juice out from around the unhatched duck, but your unwilling mind and body utterly refuse to entertain the suggestion. No one in your group is brave enough either, so the locals devour your portions as well as a few extras for good measure, while you laugh and exchange stories in your friend’s broken Viet language. One of the more drunk and previously more friendly guys begins to hold out his hand, and you slowly come to the realization that none of this experience was a friendly gesture, but an unwanted restaurant extortion experience. Price negotiations consist of bouts of refusal, screaming, indications of violence, and the eventual handing-over of a few dollar bills for the food that the locals mostly ate themselves! You peel your bike around and ride away happy to escape unscathed. As you gear up, the dried fish in your shoe slides down even deeper.

Other evenings in the Mekong consist of stumbling upon small local roadside restaurants where you devour various tasty plates while imbibing in cheap beers-on-ice and banana liqueurs, playing cards, and gathering flirtations, blushes, and marriage proposals in broken English.

After five days of becoming intimate with your sturdy steed, you are aware of your overconfidence as you squeeze your throttle and suck in the adrenaline. You blindly overtake a series of large trucks, pointing your bike into oncoming traffic, aiming for the space where there is no space.

Saigon, Vietnam. In my quest for Miss Saigon, this is about as close as I got!

Saigon, Vietnam. Window washers streaming down the buildings of fashionable Saigon.

Saigon, Vietnam. One of the local touts in the tourist area attempts to lure passengers for a ride on his foot powered cyclo.

Saigon, Vietnam. Upon arriving in Saigon, a few of the Couchsurfers gathered at Natasha’s house for an evening social.

Tao Dan Park, Saigon, Vietnam. These are two of my ‘english students’ that I helped out with their pronunciations.

Tao Dan Park, Saigon, Vietnam. I think this is the only person allowed to step on the grass in this beautiful park.

Saigon, Vietnam. The massive amounts of crazy traffic in and around the majestic trees of Tao Dan Park.

Saigon / Sa Dec, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Girls in traditional working and school uniform cycle the streets.

Saigon / Sa Dec, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. A few overloaded motos!

Ben Tre, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Jack and Chris chillax in the boat as we cruise through the canopy of palms.

Ben Tre, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. This yappy dog almost ends up in the soup pot… as I’m sure has happened to the rest of his mates for lesser reasons!

Somewhere, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. This random group of men were drinking moonshine and sucking the liquid out of dead duck eggs. After eating snake, I had to stuff a piece of dried fish into my shoe, pretending I’d eaten it. After a minor extortion, we rode away from that experience.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. At 5am, the workers have created an impromptu boneyard on the side of the street where they hack, chop, and pull the meat off the bones before the markets open. My brain barely even registered this horrific scene as I strolled by with sleepy eyes still unaware of what was a dream or reality.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Jack, Chris, and I near one of the smaller floating markets.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Me chilling at the front of the boat while cruising past the canal slums near the floating markets.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Life along the river includes washing your hair in it!

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. More life and smiles among the floating markets of the Mekong.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Banana boats and brushing teeth in the river.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Old man clearing the floating river cabbage from his riverfront property in the morning, and another old woman rowing her goods to the market.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Woman washes up in the river as one of the many daily chores.

Somewhere, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. A crazy fish-catching contraption that yanks fish out of the water.

Sa Dec, Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Life on the water is paralleled by life on two wheels!

Mu Nei,

Vietnam

. Kitesufer rides a wave.

Mu Nei, Vietnam. Kitesurfer catches air in Mu Nei while making me jealous I wasn’t out in the water.

Mu Nei, Vietnam. After showing Mel how to fly a trainer kite, she opted to take some lessons in the Russian-mafia-infested town of Mu Nei.

Saigon, Vietnam. The city is cloaked in amazing displays of Christmas lights as the masses of traffic whirl by.

The Killing Fields... Cambodia

2008-11-23T21:22:00.000-08:00

Phnom Penh / Sihanoukville, Cambodia
November 4 - 23, 2008

I am sure most Westerners have never heard of the the Pol Pot regime and the relatively recent genocide of Cambodia in the years 1975-1979. During the Vietnam War, this neutral country was caught between the beliefs of ‘Communism’ and ‘Democracy’. Cambodia’s rights and borders were ignored by both parties, and eventually their government was ousted and replaced with corrupt (but useful) ‘democratic’ politicians who benefited financially from war. During this time, the Americans dropped 50% more bomb tonnage on Cambodia in a single year than was dropped on all off Japan for the whole of WW2. The stage was set for some Cambodians, formerly neutral, to reluctantly embrace Communism in order to protect themselves from the infringement of the 'democratic' powers. This set the backdrop for a very troubled and devastated country. Out of the turmoil emerged a European-schooled Cambodian, a ruthless individual named Pol Pot who orchestrated genocide against his own people.

Pol Pot’s vision was to turn Cambodia into an agrarian society focussed on the production of rice. He felt his vision would be threatened or hindered by scientists, scholars, western-educated people, Buddhist monks, and the crippled or lame. These people as well as those of other ethnic descents were tortured and killed in staggering numbers. What remains of this shocking genocide is a sobering tourist visit to the S-21 museum (formerly a high school-turned-torture-chamber) and the site of The Killing Fields where the mass executions occurred. I believe the Vietnam War was a catalyst that precipitated this horrendous blight on Cambodian humanity under the guise of honor and valor.

The recent generations of Cambodian people have lived with exceptionally corrupt political regimes and governments operating in their own self-interest and at the expense of their own people (which has also been happening in North America, although with a much more evolved and subtle strategy). Certainly, Phnom Penh remains an interestingly raw and gritty city, where laws and rules mean nothing, and where anything is available for the right price.

The real beauty of Cambodia is out in the green and brown countryside, where the simplicity of life and the smiles on people’s faces are balanced with the daily struggle of life. Cambodia and its beautiful people will remain one of my favorite travel experiences.

Rice Fields, Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Running with the Hash House Harriers, run number 887 in Phnom Penh.

Rice Fields, Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I spontaneously joined the Hash House Harriers, a worldwide and eclectic group of running and social enthusiasts, for run number 887 out of Phnom Penh.

Military Base, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
War disgusts me, but I always like to see things from different perspectives, so I thought I'd try something new. The complete lack of rules in Cambodia gave me the opportunity to shoot a Russian Kalashnikov (AK-47) assault rifle at a target. I opted not to shoot the rocket launcher at a living cow, but the option was available.

Railway Tracks, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Even though this old man didn’t speak a word of English, he insisted that I take his photograph as I walked by his shop on the edge of the abandoned railway track.

This is a small collage of some of the people tortured and killed in S-21

S-21 Torture Chamber, Cambodia
This former classroom served as one of the many torture chambers used by the Khmer Rouge.

These are some enthusiastic children that are playing along the abandoned railway tracks where they live.

Makeshift houses and small communities have sprung up along the old railway lines. These lakefront properties do not have facilities for garbage collection, so they live in their own refuse. Imagine if these people consumed on the scale that we do in our ‘developed nations’, where we are simply better at hiding our garbage from the public eye.

The Real Cambodia Is Green and Brown

2008-11-06T21:12:00.000-08:00

November 3 - 6, 2008
Battambang, Cambodia

A wise friend recently wrote to me and told me the real Cambodia is green and brown. I thought I understood what he meant, but I am learning the difference between understanding and knowing. Leaving Siem Reap for Battambang, our rickshaw boat sputtered along for 8 hours through flooded lands, floating villages, and along a slow and winding river where people fished, bathed, swam, and worked. Intrigued by the life I saw along the river, I wanted to see more.

The next day, I turned my back on the tourist destinations and unimaginative touts and pointed my weathered rental scooter in no particular direction, just following the roads until they withered away into paths of gravel and then mud. Tourists don't go here. I dropped the bike into the lowest gear and crawled along the muddy roads lined with banana trees and rickety wood houses on stilts. As I passed, smiles erupted on the faces of children, sheepish smirks blossomed on the young women bathing in the rivers as their eyes met mine, and parents and grandparents rushed to call their kids to my attention if they weren't already following me with barefeet or bicycles. Everyone waved. I was followed by echoes of "Hello" or "Bye Bye" and not necessarily in the proper contexts! This is the real Cambodia... living along the brown life-giving rivers, the shady green trees, the luscious rice fields, and the muddy brown roads with not much else but a smile to their name.

Nearing the end of the path and the end of my day, I encountered a group of men sitting on a bamboo platform under a large sprawling tree next to a wet rice paddy. They were playing some sort of traditional violin and drum while singing into a microphone and speaker system. An old man held out an offer of a grimy glass of what I guessed was Cambodian moonshine. More for the opportunity than the moonshine, I hit the brakes. For the next hour or so I completely left my comfort zone, and somehow completely entered it at the same time. After some laughs, some shots of alcohol, offers of vegetables and fish heads and mysterious large bug-things, they put me on the microphone and expected me to perform. I searched in my memory for some prophetic Jim Morrison or Leonard Cohen lyrics, but nothing came... not even my well-memorized Beastie Boys lyrics. It didn't matter since. Not a word of English was understood except for 'hello'. I was alone in the moment. I sung and rapped and chanted anything that the rhythm of the drum pulled out of me. They joined in with my impromptu chorus lines and I joined in with their dancing as a few old women and children gathered to watch.

On an ancient scooter my insurance company would laugh at, in the darkness on slippery brown unlit roads, without a DOT-approved helmet, and with a couple smiles worth of Cambodian liquid in my system, I am free.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Young girl trying to survive the swells thrown off by our boat as we pass by. For all you overprotective people... notice no life-preserver!

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. The girls are always paddling, it seems.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Presumably a brother and sister out casting fishing nets.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. A bicyclist following the river at about the same pace as our river boat.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. After the daughter cooled herself off by pouring a bucket of water over her head, the father decides to do the same thing!

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Another young girl out fishing in her boat.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Young boy fishing in his boat.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Boys and their fishing nets along the banks of the river.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. School children from the floating villages returning to class. No life jackets in sight.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Same schoolchildren and their cacophony of paddles.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Sadly, there is just no good way to deal with the packaging waste of the modern world. In the western world, we tend to hide our dumps better, but this is the future we are leaving for all our children.

River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Everyone is friendly along the river. Several girls along the way take their time to showcase a little and blow kisses at our boat!

Scooter Day, near Battambang. Kids playing in something or other...

Scooter Day, near Battambang. A naked family sings and chatters away as they float along the river.

Scooter Day, near Battambang. Boy transporting his load along the roads.

Scooter Day, near Battambang. My music group. The old guy on the right wearing the dress seemed to be the leader, and is the one who offered me the moonshine as I putted by on my scooter.

Scooter Day, near Battambang. This is the tree under which the guys were playing music and chilling out.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. A youngster returns home to his house in the rice fields.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. A friendly couple of kids that joined me for a few hundred metres while smiling and laughing along the way.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. An old woman tried to set me up (or marry me off) with this girl who owns and runs this roadside store. I ordered a Coke, and it took me a little bit to communicate that I would like some ice too. Finally she went to the cooler, and attacked the block of ice with a more than slightly rusty hacksaw, and then finished it off with an equally old hatchet...

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. There were a few of these guys transporting pots and pans throughout the countryside. Excuse the pun, but a few feet behind him was a one-legged amputee also on a bicycle.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. Shy and cautious girl and her bicycle.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. Girls walking through the muddy paths, caring for their siblings.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. A suspension bridge surrounded by browns, greens, and blues.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. This brave little kid didn't even hesitate... he stripped down to his underwear, climbed up onto the bridge, shimied up the cables, and threw himself off this bridge and into the brown waters below... then he continued to scrub his pants clean in the river. All part of a day's work. I don't think too many North American parents would survive the cardiac arrest if they saw their children doing this...

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. These boys just playing in the rivers.

Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. Bicycles and bridges.

Angkor Who? ...Cambodia

2008-11-03T07:56:00.000-08:00

Angkor Wat, Siem Reap, Cambodia
October 25 - November 3, 2008

I arrived in the dirty Cambodian capitol of Phnom Penh and the difference from Thailand was immediate. Bicycles clogged the dirty road as much as scooters, as everyone weaves and dodges through the uncontrolled chaos. Hanging out near the lucrative foreigner hostels, young girls of perhaps 8 years old peddle their photocopied books for money. When denied, they respond with shockingly mature but ill-placed comments such as "no money, no honey!" and "come on, daaaarling!" in perfect english. Charming as they may be, they are business women to the bone.

Before seeing The Killing Fields in Phnom Penh, I wanted to experience the current Cambodian Khmer culture in order to gain more respect and insight before subjecting myself to a glimpse of this relatively recent blight on human nature. The bus ride to Siem Reap gave me a window view of people living in wooden huts and alongside green fields of rice. The water buffalo cool off in the flooded lands near the people's huts, and the often naked children play, bathe, and fish with nets in the same waters. It was apparent that this country was very poor and back to the roots of civilization.

The town of Siem Reap has been revamped for the tourist industry. Vacationers spend the days being driven around in tuk tuks viewing the ancient Angkor Wat temples, relaxing in the highly european cafes drinking lattés, eating in comfortable restaurants, diving into the western nightlife, and avoiding child beggars, amputees, and ladyboys. People stay for 3 days. Get in, buy the t-shirt, get out.

Angkor Wat is a collection of temple ruins from the Khmer Empire existing between the 9th and 12th centuries. The ruins have become a massive tourist attraction, and have recently been made more famous by the filming of Angelina Jolie's movie Tomb Raider, featuring the twisted tree at Ta Prom temple. The jungle has reclaimed many of the ruins, where massive tree roots have uplifted and wound themselves into the ancient stone buildings. The ruins are filled with children sent by their parents to sell souvenirs, clothing, and constantly harass visitors for much-needed money. Unfortunately this really takes away from any spiritual feelings these temples may have. I did meet a young girl who was the exception in all Angkor Wat. Self-named Crazy Girl Kwan followed me through the last temple on my first day trying to sell me a tee-shirt and a sarong, but this girl of maybe 12 years old was witty, charismatic, full of humour, and a very good natured kid. We joked and laughed throughout the whole temple, as she greeted any nationality of tourist in their own language. When denied money, most schildren turn their backs and quickly forget about you, but Kwan was interested in talking, enjoying life, and smiling that perfect Cambodian smile. I offered her a very small amount of money if I could take her photo, to which she agreed. She then pulled out a cheap ring from her purse, gave it to me (no charge) and told me never to give it away to anyone else. I returned the next evening to bring her a Canadian pin and a little extra money, because she really is a fantastic and exceptional human being. Her brothers and sisters were also excited to see me again, and not once was I asked for money... they just enjoyed the jokes, the laughter, and the company. These were the real Cambodians.

Unfortunately, an earlier experience at one of the temples showed an ugly side of desperation. While photographing ancient doorways at the edge of Pre Rup Temple, a little girl suddenly ventured through and asked for money. I said "sorry", and she replied with "Ok, boom boom"? She was offering her body in exchange for my money. I then offered her some small change if I could take her photograph, at which point her younger sister also appeared in the doorway with an initially mistrustful look on her face. After I'd taken a couple of photographs, I noticed their older brother lurking in the background. These, unfortunately, are also real Cambodians. I hope this remains a rare exception for my experiences in Cambodia.

Between Phnom Penh and Siem Reap. Woman cycling amongst a herd of cattle!

Siem Reap, Cambodia. Crazy crazy amounts of rain doesn't deter anyone from getting anywhere!

Angkor Wat. Again, the trees tangle amongst the ruins.

Pre Rup Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. This little girl peddles her trinkets everyday at the temples. I caught her acting upon her frustration by throwing her goods into the wall after she thought she'd disappeared from sight after I wouldn't buy any from her. It is impossible to help everyone, and it is also questionable whether buying their trinkets even helps them at all since their parents force them to sell in the first place. It is scary to consider what may be this beautiful girl's future.

Pre Rup Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. Woman leading her cattle through the ruins.

Ta Prom Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. These roots of these ancient trees seem to flow like liquid amongst the ancient stones of these temples.

Angkor Wat, Cambodia. This fearless little girl races along on her oversized bike with an oversized smile on her face.

Angkor Wat, Cambodia. This girl isn't big enough for this bike, yet she manages to ride it along the road and through mud puddles... and we force our over-protected kids to wear neon vests and helmets.

Ta Prom, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. This is the famous tree. Really really touristed, yet this photo still doesn't do it justice. I would have liked to see Angelina Jolie perched up on the roots!

Angkor Wat, Cambodia. Carved creatures on the walls of the Temple of the Leper King.

Bayon Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. The ancient temples were amazing, but lacked the mystical vibe that was readily apparent in the Tikal temples in Guatemala.

Angkor Wat, Cambodia. The Temple of the Leper King and the walls of carved faces!

Bayon Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. Doorways upon doorways through the temples.

Neak Pean Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. You gotta love war! One of many amputee mine victims playing in a band and begging for money.

Banteay Kdei Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. My tuk tuk driver, and Crazy Girl Kwan (in the red and white shirt) and her family and friends. If you ever go to Angkor Wat, please stop by and tell them Rob From Canada sent them!!! These are the most amazing kids from Angkor.

Pre Rup Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. This is Eelie and her younger sister. Moments before taking this photo, Eelie had offered to sell her body to me for sex. Her older brother lurks in the background.

Roulos Group, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. Monk walking out of the temples.

Beng Melea Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. This temple is far out, and relatively isolated... the motorcycle ride through the countryside was amazing.

North of Siem Reap, Cambodia. Typical cyclist carrying goods. This is the future of transportation if our developed world doesn't smarten up...!

North of Siem Reap, Cambodia. Woman tending her rice paddy on a lonesome road.

North of Siem Reap, Cambodia. I'm not sure this load would pass by the transportation regulations in North America.

North of Siem Reap, Cambodia. Slow moving bamboo.

North of Siem Reap, Cambodia. Water buffalo and rice fields. This is a typical view in the countryside of Cambodia.

Banteay Srey Temple, Angkor Wat, Cambodia. A beautifully and intricately carved temple.

North of Siem Reap, Cambodia. Hanging the washing out to dry... over a pond!

All Thai'd Up... Thai Islands

2008-10-09T03:30:00.001-07:00

Rai Ley Beach, Ton Sai Beach, Koh Pha Ngan, Koh Tao, Thailand
October 3 - 12, 2008

Rai Ley Beach is the small piece of karst limestone paradise that everyone expects from a Thai island... except this isn't actually an island! Accessible only by boat, the area is divided into four distinct attitudes... the $1000 a night resort of Phra Nang beach, the overdeveloped West Rai Ley beach resorts, the urban backpacker scene of East Rai Ley, and the cool /chill / sporty vibe of Ton Sai beach. Although the area is far from undiscovered, I am sure it is a better destination than the heavily touristed Koh Phi Phi (ie - The Beach) and Phuket.

Ton Sai beach lured me into an extended stay where I got slightly tangled and tied up in the climbing scene, enjoyed relaxing massages, and chilled completely on the nearby beaches. The tempermental weather often churned the afternoon and evening skies into a stunning display of electrical storms, perfect for photographing. I spent a day snorkeling around the sheer limestone islands rising impossibly out of the water, followed by a curry dinner eaten on a spit of sand connecting three lone islands. At dusk, bats the size of small dogs emerged from their island caves slowly beating their wings in prehistoric silhouettes against the colours of the sunset. Behind us, another dazzling lightning display erupted in the distance. Before arriving back at the beaches, we snorkeled in darkness through the magical bioluminescence while the lightning bolt rapidly approched.

I decided that I had to move on from the vacuum of Ton Sai Beach, and the infamous Full Moon Party provided a deadline and a destination. I finally made it to the quiet shores of Bottle Beach to enjoy a few days of reading and writing before moving along to the diving island of Koh Tao. I only went on a single dive since the visibility was exceptionally bad, but from what I saw, I would choose the underground wonderland of diving in Honduras over Thailand any day.

Since the overland journey into Cambodia is rumoured to be hell, I opted for a cheap flight into Phnom Penh from Bangkok. When I grew up I remember listening to the song "One Night In Bangkok", but I never really understood the lyrics. One night in Bangkok in the Pat Pong district was certainly more than an eyeful than I had expected!

Rai Ley Beaches, Thailand. This is a view from an observation point which overlooks Rai Ley East on the right, Rai Ley West on the left, and Ton Sai beach in the distance. The best beach, Phra Nang, is out of the photo on the far left, where the resort charges $1000 a night! The karst limestone formations make for a climbers paradise!

Rai Ley Beaches, Thailand. The view from Phra Nang beach.

Rai Ley East, Thailand. When the tide goes out, Rai Ley East dries up completely!

Rai Ley, Thailand. Climbing up the strange limestone formations on the edge of the jungle.

Rai Ley, Thailand. It seems that most of the public miss this hike, or are too afraid for the climbing involved to get here, but it is well worth the trouble. In the middle of the jungle the limestone opens up into a fully enclosed 360 degree lagoon, completely isolated!

Rai Ley, Thailand. View towards the sky while floating in the middle of the lagoon!

Ton Sai Beach, Thailand. Looking towards Rai Ley beach, this vicious storm stirred up in only a few minutes, loading up the sky with crazy textures and colours.

Ton Sai Beach. A view of the incoming storm and the popular hangout at the Freedom Bar. You can see one of the popular multi-pitch climbing walls overhanging the Freedom Bar.

Ton Sai Beach, Thailand. The calm before the storm.

Rai Ley, Thailand. Snorkeling tour around some of the limestone formations.

Near Rai Ley, Thailand. The beach at night before the sunset.

Near Rai Ley, Thailand. Islands at sunset.

Near Rai Ley, Thailand. Sun setting over the narrow sand strips joining three islands.

Near Rai Ley, Thailand. An electrical storm off in the distance made for a spectacular light show.

Near Rai Ley Beach. The people from our tour enjoying a seafood curry and rice dinner under the stars while a lightning storm threatened in the distance.

Koh Phangan, Thailand. Crazy Australian guy named Lucas who bought a strange and magical pot filled with some sort of fermented grains... stick a couple of straws in, suck away, and enjoy the Full Moon Party...

Koh Phangan, Thailand. All painted up for the FMP, Lucas performs a dramatization of his possibilities for the evening, after he disposed of the contents of the magical jar into the toilet.

Koh Phangan, Thailand. Full Moon Party...

Koh Phangan, Thailand. The dutch girls releasing a balloon into the sky at the FMP.

Koh Phangan, Thailand. View of the full moon through the torches while the ghosted image of one of the girls dances it up!

Bottle Beach, Koh Phangan, Thailand. The ultra-sedate Bottle Beach.

Koh Tao. Sunset from the restaurant during happy hour.

Koh Tao. The fire dancers in Koh Tao were undoubtedly the best I have ever seen.

Koh Tao. Fire-enhanced skipping rope in slow motion!

Koh Tao. The fire dancers in Koh Tao were undoubtedly the best I have ever seen.

Koh Tao, Thailand. Watching a storm rip across the sky.

Thai Vegetarian Festival, Thailand

2008-10-03T03:31:00.000-07:00

Bangkok / Krabi, Thailand
September 26-October 3, 2008

WARNING - Parental Guidance Required. This blog is not for the faint-hearted... most of the photographs below are rather disturbing, so please be forewarned should you be curious enough to sneak a peek. Just remember, I bloody well warned ya!

In Thailand I met up with Greg, a buddy from university, and we hit the infamous bohemian backpacker district of Khaosan Road. Things have changed since I was in Bangkok four years ago. This area is now a bit more polished, a bit more commercialized, and quality is the only thing that is cheaper. There were noticeably more Thai people out at the bars and clubs, and they were spending money at the same rate as the Westerners do. Bangkok used to have a characteristic smell somewhere between wet rotting garbage and sewers, but now, the place smells a lot more like money.

To escape the madness of the Bangkok, I aimed myself towards the beaches further down south, stopping by the coastal town of Krabi. I was surprised by the Vegetarian Festival, where followers of Chinese Taoist religion entered into a short period of alcohol-free celibacy and vegetarianism, and dropped trance-like states to literally hammer out their sins... Axes were hammered into chests and foreheads, cheeks were pierced with various objects, tongues were slashed with blades, and revelers danced in the smoky midst of ear-shattering firecrackers. Unfortunately, when my backpack got stuck on a barbed wire fence, I was unable to retreat to safe location and also had to endure a close-fire round of painful explosions bursting withing a few feet of me. I had no other recourse than to keep the protective camera in front of my face and continue shooting. In a bizarre finale, the bloody participants were brought out of their trances in a ceremonious freaky-Baptist-sort-of-manner, cleansed of their sins. In a very scary way, this whole affair is somewhat reminiscent of the horrors I felt while watching the children in the movie "Jesus Camp". After witnessing such a bizarre vegetarian affair, we withdrew to the night market food stalls for a distinctly non-vegetarian meal.

Khaosan Road, Bangkok, Thailand. This bar was full of Thai university student causing all sorts of mayhem after two of the lady boys threw each other in the pool while partying. Fortunately, nobody thought it would be fun to throw the white guy into the pool...

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. Overlooking the scenic karst limestone hills, the Vegetarian Festival walked through the streets of Krabi. This guy has umbrellas pierced right through his cheeks.

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. After parading through the streets, this group seemed to be posing for a photo while self-mutilating themselves.

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. Yup, that's actually a fire extinguisher. I wonder if he found the Thai food too spicy!

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. Tongue cutting with an axe.

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. This looks a little more painful than a nipple piercing.

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. Tongue slicing...

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. This guy enjoys candle light dinners, long walks on beach, and pounding axes into his forehead and chest.

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. Such a cheeky fellow.

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. Shish-kaThai.

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. This is not the flower boy that I envision at my wedding...

Krabi Vegetarian Festival, Thailand. The night market food stalls at sunset... no vegetarian meals for me!

Dog Soup For the Seoul, South Korea

2008-09-25T03:07:00.000-07:00

Seoul, South Korea
September 22 to 25th, 2008

Well, perhaps in one of the Korean bookstores there is Chicken Soup for the Soul, however, on the streets you are more likely to find Dog Soup in Seoul... and I'm not referring to a book. There are definitely some questionably edible oddities that my brain just wouldn't allow to enter my mouth including the dog soup, deep fried miscellaneous insects, whole squid, and live squirming octopus that was freshly chopped into writhing bits of tentacles. I did manage to eat spinal cord soup for one dinner, where two massive cow(?) vertebrae in the middle of the soup waited for me to pick the meat off the bones...

Within my gastronomical comfort zone, however, I found the Korean food absolutely fantastic. Most meals were served with dozens of side dishes of assorted textures, colours, and interesting flavours. The Korean BBQ is exceptional and involves cutting kimchi, garlic, and meat with scissors and then cooking on the grill at your own table to be wrapped in a small green leaf before popping into your mouth. Operating the scissors, BBQ, and chopsticks become more and more dangerous with every bottle of soju delivered to the table. Another popular meal seems to be galbi, an inexpensive meal of rice and chicken dish cooked at your table, where the smoke and smell can accumulate sufficiently to require dousing yourself in a digestif of Fabreeze before walking out the door.

In the past, Korea has been punished and destroyed by the Japanese, politically pressured by the Chinese, and also divided by their own internal struggles with communism. Perhaps these pressures have helped build up a general suspicion and aversion to foreigners, although mostly among the older generation. As I was recounting many experiences that confirmed my thinking, I had three experiences that blurred my generalization. After 3 weeks of riding the subway, an elderly man approached me and started a conversation in very broken english... at well over 60 years old and with no particular need, the fact that this man was still learning things that the majority of his generation wouldn't care about really left an impact. Also, while hiking in the hills around Seoul, 2 more incidents occurred. An elderly couple approached me for general conversation and left me with roasted chestnuts and crackers, and another family who asked me to take a photograph left me with a tangerine as a gift of thanks. Even though there was a language barrier, the intent of friendship and acceptance was very apparent.

The younger generation in South Korea seems eager to embrace an interest in learning the English language, and I think this will help their already established technological and manufacturing presence in the world. However, Koreans generally study and work very very long hours, and there is significant pressure to 'succeed' and show a good face. There seems to be a lack of time to enjoy the more subtle aspects of life such as humanities and the arts, and it is apparent that this is not an important part of the Korean culture. Pressures to succeed in such a left-brained world undoubtedly contributes to the excess pleasures of soju and entertainment parlours as a release. I believe it is unhealthy and possibly dangerous for people and cultures to be so heavily obsessed with science and technology without a balance and appreciation for the artistic and softer sides of life. Of course, technology has more tangible value than arts and is therefore more sought after and appreciated from a world driven by the requirement for accelerating growth (although by definition this is unsustainable) and the definition of gross domestic product.

For my GoogleMap of locations in South Korea, check out this link.

South Korea. Some of the more visually appealing edibles in the food markets. Stalls on either side were quite likely stacked with piles of dried squid or other dried fish remnants.

Busan, South Korea. These are advertising girls for a women's make-up store. Incidentally, this is also how gas stations 'advertise for customers'... put girls in short skirts out on the road, and they even fill your tank for you. Now that's full service! Imagine that... and our government thinks talking on a cellphone is a distraction!

Seoul, South Korea. Basement bar in the infamous Itaewon district. I thought this view was kinda kool!

Seoul, South Korea. This very expensive but also very cool artificial river flows through the downtown core of the city. All hours of the day and night, this feature attracts both tourists and locals. Further on, the artificial river incorporates reeds and other natural grasses.

Seoul, South Korea. A popular and stylish karaoke house with little rooms that look out onto the street.

Seoul, South Korea. An artsy building for artistic offices!

Lob From Canada... South Korea

2008-09-21T06:22:00.000-07:00

South Korea. Busan, Daegu, Gwangju, Gyeongju, Damyang

August 26 - September 21, 2008

Yes, you read that correctly... Lob From Canada. In Korea, here's generally how it goes when I meet someone on the street:
"What is your name?"

"Rob," I attempt to say clearly and slowly.
"Lob?" they repeat.
I try a different version that seemed to work for Spanish people... "No, Robert." "Lob Lobert?", they say, excited that they understand me completely the first time.
"Yes, that's it... Lob," I concede. At least its a closer version than the stir-fry version I make trying to repeat their Korean names.

Landing in South Korea, I was overwhelmed by the massive rows of cloned apartment complexes that merged with a skyline otherwise dominated by large green hills (or mountains as the locals prefer to call them). Beneath, the neon cities are an epileptic's nightmare of flashing advertising for restaurants, DVD viewing rooms, karaoke clubs, and many other dubious 'entertainment' establishments that fill many floors of the commercial buildings. Luckily, my friend Minja, whom I'd met in Bosnia last summer, was kind enough to pick me up at the airport and ease my transition into South Korea.

In Korea there are many foreigners, but I am sure I was one of the only tourists. All the rest were teaching English, and it seems like a pretty good gig... From what I gather, the tax-free pay is very competitive with my salary as an engineer back in Canada... plus, the rent is included and the work hours are way less! A strange phenomenon among the westerners was the proliferation of extremely awkward North American guys who end up in South Korea. From casual observation and some well-placed eavesdropping, I am certain that these guys would be hard pressed to extract a phone number from a girl holding a telephone directory, yet in Korea, they are walking hand-in-hand with beautiful bombshell girlfriends! It seems this is the place I belonged in my early 20's!

As a cultural generalization, the Koreans seem like very strict law-abiding, organized, and very conservative citizens, yet there were some notable contradictions that I could not resolve. 1) Traffic... while it is not acceptable to J-walk on an obviously empty street, it seems perfectly acceptable (buses included) to run or ignore red lights. 2) The Elderly... given respect simply for being older, many elders have evolved into extremely rude and pushy individuals without respect for anyone else not sporting the ubiquitous white gloves and massive face-visors. Even on a jam-packed subway train, the seats reserved for the elderly and handicapped remain vacant. It doesn't even seem acceptable to sit in one of these seats and then willingly relinquish it when someone eligible comes along. Even more strange, these elderly and disabled seats are always at the end of the trains immediately next to the emergency buttons and fire extinguishers. Call me crazy, but my first choice of someone to weild the emergency axe or fire extinguisher wouldn't be old grandma with a walker and cataracts. 3) Sex... while it seems that Koreans are relatively sexually reserved as a culture, there are loads of neon drive-in love motels, fully equipped with private parking lots, free pornography, bigscreen TVs, moodlighting and mirrors, kingsize beds, energy drinks, hourly rates, and a no-identification-required check-in. These love hotels came in extremely handy for me since they were the only affordable accommodations in this non-touristy country...

While I spent most of my time in and around the bustling port city of Busan, I also managed to visit some outlying places of interest, including the temples of Gyeongju, the streets and malls of Daegu, the Biennale Art Festival in Gwangju, the bamboo forests of Damyang, and the traditional folk village near Andong. I have to apologize in advance for the misspellings, mistakes, and omissions in the text below, but I don't have my notes with me and am working from memory...

Near Busan, South Korea. Seaside temple.

Near Busan, South Korea. Me and Buddha. My belly will be this big after eating all this Korean food!!

Hae Un Dae Beach, Busan, South Korea. Beaches, innertubes, and right within the city!

Daegu, South Korea. 3rd largest city in South Korea, taken from a rooftop...

Daegu, South Korea. The front door on a bar, which mirrors my thoughts about many places in the world with respect to US Soldiers!!

Somewhere south of Gwangju, South Korea. Green Tea plantation.

South Korea. Typical temple designs and colours.

Food, South Korea. Typical spread of food... no, I cannot name them all!

Temple, Gyongju. Walked around the artificial lake and listened to a jazz concert being played in this ancient temple site.

Monastary, South Korea. Monastary out in the mountains near Busan.

Tongdosa Temple, Yangsan, South Korea. Looking up at the ceiling in the monastary at the paper lotus flower decorations.

More food.

Me playing photographer with my little camera in the bamboo forest near Damyang.

Bamboo forest near Damyang just after a seriously intense rainstorm.

Bamboo forest near Damyang just after a seriously intense rainstorm.

Different bamboo forest... I just like to climb things sometimes!

A little photoshop magic to make this Crouching Tiger, Hidden Rob scene!

Minja posing at the Biennale exhibit in Busan.

Minja dancing through the flowers in the traditional village near Andong.

Minja dancing through the flowers in the traditional village near Andong.

Return to Sender... Back to Canada

2008-08-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

Victoria, Vancouver, Whistler, and Los Angeles

August 5 - 26th, 2008

Traveling back to Canada from Guatemala was an excruciating day, accentuated by my Guatemaltecan friend Valeria who kept me out for an all night party in Antigua. With no shower and no sleep, I boarded a shuttle bus at 4am to return to the city, transfered planes twice, narrowly escaped a body cavity search care of a fat-fingered customs officer, boarded a long city bus and ferry to Vancouver Island, and drove for 40 minutes back to my dad and step-mom's place in Victoria. After 21 hours of travel, I arrived without my luggage. It amazes me that these airlines can now charge an extra fee just to check a bag, and they feel no pressing responsibility to ensure the bag arrives with the passenger.

Equally as curious to me are the customs officials who can't imagine that I could travel for 4.5 months in Guatemala without without selling drugs to support myself. I politely suggested to the officer that if he didn't have a house mortgage, utility bills, monthly car/gas/insurance payments, expensive cell phone plan, cable TV and internet subscription, gym membership, and perhaps cut out a few dinners at the Keg, that he might be able to afford the $600 a month it cost for a room, 3 meals a day, and 5 hours of daily Spanish lessons in Guatemala. He then asked me to produce my original boarding pass for my flight into Guatemala... yeah, right... and he sent me into the interrogation room. There stood a guy who had probably done more drugs prior to his shift than I have seen in my life, and the interrogation went something like this:

"Did you do any drugs in Guatemala?", he asked.
"No", I replied.
"Did you SEE any drugs in Guatemala?"
"No", I rep(lied).
"Have you EVER seen drugs in Canada? Have you ever seen marijuana in Canada?", he fished. Canada? What? I thought we were talking about Guatemala! At this point I wondered if he was looking for a business opportunity. "It's just not my thing", I reported calmly, neglecting to ask him for clarification on whether he meant medicinal or recreational marijuana.

After leaving the busy Guatamala City, one of the first things that struck me upon arriving in Canada was the serenity and openness of the skies. I was able to sit outside of the house and look at the unobstructed clouds instead of peering out at the typical barbed-wire blockade walls that are common in Guatemalan cities. I was able to enjoy a relaxing walk down the city streets without choking on diesel fumes and without constant fear of becoming fodder for the onslaught of traffic. These aren't completely fair comparisons, but nonetheless were my mmediate observations going directly from the chaos of Guatemala City to the calm and sedate city of Victoria.

After attempting to consolidate some travel logistics for the next leg of my travels, there was a little time left over for sailing through the San Juan Islands in the day and camping out under the stars and full moon in the evening, relaxing in the sun at Mystic Beach, cycling around Stanley Park in Vancouver, and visiting Mike Nolan and Danielle for dinner/breakfast before slogging up the Grouse Grind. My time up the hill was vastly improved over last year's office-chair-butt-induced time. Venturing further into the mountains, I met up with my Aussie friend Nikki in Whistler. The village was packed shoulder-to-shoulder and crankshaft to shinguard for a huge mountain biking festival. We watched these wheeled lemmings hurtle down the hills and turns before twisting and contorting themselves in the air after hucking themselves off the ramps, seemingly into the arms of the crowded plaza below!

After a night of dancing and being fully amused by Nikki's crazy friend Barney, we all dragged our butts out of bed for the Slow Food Bike festival in Pemberton. I must have misinterpreted the title, because I had expected it to be the "Slow, Food/Bike festival", when in fact it was actually the "Slow Food, Bike Festival" in efforts to raise awareness of the importance (health and environment) of eating locally grown natural foods. Hence the term "Slow Food", in contrast to "Fast Food". Hundreds of people gather annually to cycle along a 25km route, sampling local farm produce and products.

The next stop in my itinerary was to visit Jackie in Los Angeles, whom I'd met in a VW Van in Guatemala. Before flying out to South Korea, Jackie took me on some adventures in and around Los Angeles while whirling around in her speedy little Saturn Sky Redline. We went to check out a popular 80's Glam Cover Band on Sunset Boulevard, hang out on the multitude of LA beaches, spent an evening of climbing up in Simi Valley where I actually muscled my way up probably the hardest climb I've attempted, and went hiking and camping out in the mountains very near Joshua Tree National Park.

San Juan Islands. Two days sailing, and two nights camping under the full moon on some islands just on the American side of the border.and nights of camping, this time camping on some islands just across the border.

Vancouver, Canada. Ah, Vancouver... At least they have their priorities straight!

Pemberton, Canada. The Slow Food Bicycle ride through the Pemberton Valley, sampling local produce.

Pemberton, Canada. Our cycling crew!!

Pemberton, Canada. Nikki giving the hoola-hoop a workout at the Slow Food Bicycle Festival.

Los Angeles, California. Isn't she pretty!??! Jackie's not so bad either...! ;)

Somewhere near Palm Springs. Jackie about to make the leap across the gap!

Near Palm Springs, California. Camping, hiking, and a little rock scrambling on the hills overlooking the California valley wind farms!

Near Palm Springs, California. Me wedged!

The Lost Time in Tikal

2008-08-06T23:13:00.003-07:00

The Jungles of Guatemala... Tikal
End of July Sometime, 2008.

It was the mysteries of Tikal and the magic of the Maya that intrigued me enough to initially come to Guatemala, but it wasn't until my final week in the country that I made it there. Tikal is one of the most impressive of the ancient Mayan ruins since it is still located in the tangles of the wild jungle. Tikal was made more public during the filming of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, where the pyramids provide the backdrop for the secret rebel base (think Ewoks).

The Maya were impressive in their knowledge of astronomy, mathematics, and especially time and the calendar. Over centuries, the ancient Maya had obtained enough data from observation of the night skies to conclude very accurately the precession of our solar system, which completes a full cycle every 26,625 years, coinciding with the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012. The design and layout of the Mayan pyramids were highly integrated with nature and were aligned with the celestial bodies, which, on equinoxes and solstices highlighted their knowledge by casting interacting shadows throughout their structures.

My interest in Tikal was their concept of the dimension of 'time' and their sophisticated calendar system, versus our currently accepted calendar with deep roots in catholocism. The Mayan calendar incorporates regular cycles coinciding with those observed in nature, whereas our chaotic gregorian calendar observes no such regular cycles. Perhaps the calendar subconsciously influences a society's ability to live harmoniously with nature or live a programmed life always at odds with what is natural and human, such as our current culture.

The most magical time in the jungle is sunrise and sunset, which is why I woke up at 3am to witness two morning sunrises over the Tikal jungle. Sitting away from the crowd of people atop Temple 4, I sat quietly, letting my mind relax into the grasp of the jungle. Slowly, the howler monkeys screamed a majestic story from the still dark treetops and commanded the attention of every living being within earshot. The clouds high in the sky had slowly begun to change shades of pink over the jungle canopy that stretched out to the horizon, hinting that sunrise was near. The sun slowly spread out over the horizon as the light changed from minute to minute until a brief swath of fog washed over the jungle leaves and consumed the ancient temples. The birds were the next to wake up as their calls echoed each other's presence. Shortly after, the hum and whirr of insects began to consume the silence between the avian songs and eventually remained as the sole constant sound in the jungle only to be interrupted by the occasional flitter of a hummingbird or the rustling of leaves as a group of inquisitive howler monkeys danced through the canopy. Each in their order, each at their natural time, and exactly as the jungle has done since the beginning of time, the jungle awoke, and fell back asleep. This is a very different world from the mechanized and unnatural rat race our 'civilization' has become. My initial plan of staying in Guatemala for 5 weeks turned into just short of 5 months, reinforcing the elusiveness of time... always dynamic, always enigmatic.

Tikal Ruins, Guatemala. From the lookout at Temple 4, the sunrise had just begun.

Tikal Ruins, Guatemala. As the sunset rises, the mist is flowing gently over the tops of the trees.

Tikal Ruins, Guatemala. The main plaza between Temples 1 and 2.

Tikal Ruins, Guatemala. At precise times of the year one temple would lay down a shadow directly in line with this Temple, stacking a flat imitation on the ground below.

Flores, Guatemala. Unfortunately this was not taken with my camera, but this is the gorgeous sunset that I missed shooting for myself.

--------------------------
Esoteric Questions of Time and The Calendar

There are a few simple questions in life that I am upset I had never asked myself growing up...

Why are there 60 seconds in an hour?
Why are there 12 months in the year?
Why do the months of the year contain different number of days?

I simply accepted these things as stable, constant, and having been in existence forever... this is definitely not the case. Take time for instance... it is currently accepted that the solar day is divided into 24 hours, of which there are 60 minutes of 60 seconds. This may not seem like a big deal until you realize that everything in our life has become regulated by this simple division. Work meetings, school classes, doctors appointments, television programs, lunch hour, and even the time we wake up is usually based upon a multiple of the hour. What if our system had been based on a different number such as 10? How long would a school class be? How long would a television program be? It is quickly realized that the number 60 significantly and subconsciously influences the way we live our lives.

Similarly, our current calendar has divided a year into an arbitrary number of months with an unequal number of days, which is as illogical as using a ruler with uneven demarcations. If the arbitrary division of time has regulated our lives (at least with regular repeating divisions), how has our arbitrary and random calendar system influenced our society? Our currently accepted Gregorian calendar was not always in place, but was instituted into our mainstream (Western) culture by the powerful Catholic religion, and has undergone subsequent revisions, but still without reverting to a regular predictable division of time that mirrors natural cycles.

It is proposed by some that living our lives by a more regular calendar, aligned with natural cycles of nature and the universe, would result in a more harmonious way of living. We could shed ourselves of a culture subconsciously regulated by a particular religion and align ourselves with the natural world that everyone lives in. The curiosity of a more regular calendar and concepts of cyclic time led me to the ancient Mayans and their intricate calendar system. The Maya were obsessed with tracking cycles of time, and were even aware of that the universe rotates on its axis, with a cycle repeating every 25,625 years. The Mayan calendar mysteriously ends at the end of the 26,625 year cycle on the year 2012, coinciding with a rare planetary and galactic alignment. It is also interesting that some other important cultures such as the Tibetans, Egyptians, and the Hopi were similarly aware of a natural 26,000 year cycle. This information is ripe pickings for doomsdayers and other zealots, however, I do find it interesting that our culture, technology, political situations, and environmental destruction has been accelerating faster and faster. We as a society are becoming increasingly out of touch with nature and our own earth, and soon we will hit a definite breaking point. It is clear that some massive individual, environmental, political, and social changes have to happen very soon in order to live in a sustainable world. Perhaps these other ancient cultures were more advanced than we thought. Or forgot!

We can save the deeper discussion on 'Time' for another time...

Beaches, Please / Welcome to the Jungle, Baby!

2008-07-26T23:13:00.000-07:00

Monterrico (on the Pacific Ocean) & Semuc Champey (in the Jungle)
Guatemala. July Sometime. 2008.

MONTERRICO

It took me several fairly honest attempts to actually leave Xela, but I'd finally resolved myself to catch a 3am bus back to the capitol city. Upon waking up in the not-so-early morning (not on the bus), I found myself hitching a ride back to the capitol city in an ill-behaved mango-coloured VW van driven by a cool American couple... and AGAIN, my travel life took a minor unexpected twist, and I found myself just going with the flow! Since I hadn't made any arrangements for accommodations, Jackie (from Los Angeles), who was also catching a lift, offered me a place to stay at her family's apartment in Guatemala City. Exhausted after a long day, we stumbled next door to her tia's (aunt's) place for dinner then breakfast, where I would eventually learn to be spoiled by tia for the next week or so.

Jackie's friend Katie was coming to Guatemala for a holiday, and the three of us decided to hang out since we had much the same desires and itinerary. After meeting Jackie's cool cousin Melvin during a night of dancing, we decided to go to the black sand beach of Monterrico on the Pacific coast the following day. Melvin's BMW would brave the waterpits and potholes of the small villages we were to pass through, while we blasted music on the car stereo like highschool kids... and as we listened to Katie recite every lyric of every single song! Monterrico, a notorious party place, was filled with dancing, cucharacha (cochroach) flaming shooters, followed by relaxing just out of sight of the blazing sun while watching the waves crash in.

Guatemala City. Jackie and Katie on the dancefloor.

Guatemala City. Two out of three of us know how to dance!

Infamous Parking Lot, on the way to Monterrico. Apparently, since Monterrico is a long drive from Guatemala City, people stop by this parking lot and start the party early. Picture a high school scene with a beer in hand, and car trunks popped open with subwoofers competing for any eardrum within a kilometer radius! This is Melvin, Katie, and Jackie groovin' to the parking lot music!

Infamous parking lot. Obviously a re-enactment, but it was an interesting sign that the police 50 feet away didn't enforce, whether in the parking lot or patrolling on the roads... not that the police in Guatemala have a reputation for doing anything other than nothing or extracting bribes from people...

Monterrico. The black sand beaches, pounding waves with deadly riptides, and endless sand.

Monterrico. Our little hostel owned by a friend of Melvin's.

Monterrico. Our little hostel... restaurant, bar, chillout area.

SEMUC CHAMPEY

The next Guatemalan destination was to finally plunge into the jungle and the beautiful limestone pools of Semuc Champey. After stopping the small town of Coban for an uneventful night, we met up with another cousin of Jackie's, along with his gun-toting posse who 'work' for the local municipality. Somehow, without prior notice, they all were able to take the next day or two off without mentioning it to their boss. It later made some sense when we realized that their boss was doing much the same thing, including packing heat. We jumped in the back of a small 4x4 with the posse and drove several hours out into the jungle on a perfectly sunny day. Minor diversions included stopping for roadside goat-toe tamale's (and I'm sure other animal remnants), and a very confusing scene where the posse and boss stopped in the middle of the jungle road to investigate accident site from a week earlier. The boss's sister had apparently been run off the road, and these unskilled and impromptu investigators took it upon themselves to pretend to look for clues.

We staying in the backpacker town of Lanquin for two nights while spelunking the nearby muddy bat-filled caves, lounging in the blue waters of the limestone pools at Semuc Champey, and enjoying the booming lightning filled skies and flooded roads during the evening storms. When it was time to return to the city, we gave in to the 'cult of Pollo Campero' and bought our to-go box from the ubiquitous fast food chain before we boarded the bus with all the other locals and their Pollo Campero boxes.

Coban, Guatemala. The girls being goofs while overlooking this small town.

Into the Jungle. Somewhere on the road into the jungle, we squeezed far too many of us into this tiny little vehicle. The scenery over the jungle expanse was stunning already.

Somewhere in the Jungle. Somewhere, apparently at random, Jackie's cousin's municipality crew suddenly stopped along the cliffside road and turned from office workers into a Laurel-and-Hardy comedy act of CSI-style criminal (wannabe) forensic investigators as they looked for clues at the scene of a car crash that happened a week before. Apparently they didn't find this as funny as we did.

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. A view of the limestone pools and river that sweeps through the surrounding hills. Nearby are also some muddy bat-filled caves where we spent a short time spelunking.

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. Somehow, the majority of the river bypasses these blue/green limestone pools by actually running beneath these formations, and then emerges back to ground level downstream.

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. A reenactment spoof of Jackie's CSI Guatemalteca gun-toting cousin and friends...

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. Gentle cascades of warm water slowly flow into dropping levels of shallow blue pools.

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. More views of the cascades and bathers.

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. We managed to have a perfect day, without rain, which is unusual for this time of year. The area was only reopened the day before due to dangerous amounts of rain and flooding in the area.

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. Two sexy sunbathers on the limestone rocks.

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. How could I resist a mini-photo shoot!?

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. Me and my pseudo-afro!

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. Jackie about to go for a ride!

Semuc Champey, Guatemala. Going... Going... Almost gone!

Lanquin, Guatemala. The closest town to Semuc Champey, this intensely popular El Retiro hostel is a beautiful little paradise in its own right! Cabins lodged in the jungle on the edge of a river made this an incredibly scenic place to enjoy life! As typical for what I'd seen in Guatemala, the torrential downpours waited until dinner time, then cleared up in the morning.

Sprechen se Espanol?

2008-07-11T15:16:00.001-07:00

Quetzaltenango (Xela), Guatemala
6 weeks... June Something

As a personal challenge, I decided to see if I was capable of communicating in another language. Just shy of grunts and groans, I actually somewhat succeeded in rudimentary communication... but "una cerveza mas, por favor" only gets you so far... compounded by the fact that after a few Moza's you tend to believe your spanish sounds better than it actually does! The Spanish language is especially non-sensical due to the random assignment of a Masculine or a Feminine to inanimate objects, creating an unnecessarily confused language by crossing logical gender boundaries... very similar to what my parents have routinely done to their cats. But, I think that this genderization of the language manifests itself in the sexuality and passion of the Spanish speaking culture... Maybe it also explains why every single person can shake their butts so well on the salsa dance floor, much to the embarrassment of any wall-flower white boy lurking on the edge of the dance floor!

I initially expected to stay in the mountain town of Xela for a week, but in the end I spent 4 weeks with live-in families and 2 more weeks in hostels. I was intrigued by the humbling challenge of learning a new language, meeting amazing locals and other travelers, and enjoying the natural beauty that surrounded the city. Even the tourists here were not really tourists. They were in Xela to learn language, volunteer, and combine this with having fun... not simply snap pictures, check a box, and get out of town. One Saturday I chose to volunteer my time with one of the leading organizations (lets use the term 'organize' quite loosely here) that had arranged a tree planting day... I paid my money to help pay for the trees, and then we walked an hour out into the hills to a farm that was in no more need of me to pay for their trees than they were in need of new trucks or extra workers. This farmer was definitely well off with lots of hired-hands that weren't too busy doing much. I must say I was not happy that my money and time hadn't been given to a farm or community that honestly needed the help. From what I gathered, the farms that really need the help weren't interested in planting trees in lieu of space for valuable crops, and the volunteer organization was still able to sell a success story that X amount of trees were donated and planted without necessarily telling the whole truth. What saved the day for me were the fresh radishes served with lime and salt that the farmer had given us... the quality and size of the produce was rather incredible all around Guatemala, and this farm was no exception.

At this point in my travels, I was at risk of overstaying my 3 month Guatemalan visa, so I entrusted my language school, one of the teacher's fathers, and one of his corrupt friends to bypass the system and stamp my passport for a fee. Unfortunately, the corrupt friend also proved to be an absoulute imbecile, and for a ridiculously high charge he came back with my passport stamped with something other than what I'd agreed to. This wouldn't have been so bad if he had provided me with stamps that made sense, but instead I was stuck with a passport that had obviously been tampered with. Fortunately, the corruptness of Guatemalan officials and their lack of attention to detail allowed me to later leave the country without issue.

Quetzeltenango. Central Park church.

Quetzeltenango. The famous meeting place in the central park.

Quetzeltenango. A view of Xela from the lookout on the edge of town.

Quetzeltenango. The crazy Minerva market near the bus terminal. I sat down at one of the local eateries in the market and watched the hustle and bustle of people earning their everyday life.

Quetzeltenango. The crazy chicken buses outside the market being loaded with people, more people, and everything else that might happen to fit in them or on them!

Quetzeltenango. Kid in the market with stained hands waiting for his next shoe shine customer.

Quetzeltenango. Our CBA language school and the infamous, although not exactly precision... ping pong table where I tended to spend a lot of my time.

Quetzeltenango. CBA language school students, owners, and a teacher.

Quetzeltenango. JP, Nery, & Oswaldo from the CBA Language School .

Quetzeltenango. CBA language school students... Tom, Tiffany, Kyle, Kelly, and I.

Quetzeltenango. More language school peeps... Johanna, some random dude, Lucy, and Tiffany

Quetzeltenango. Rachel, JP, Lucy, Nery, Kelly from the school!

Quetzeltenango. Vinicio and Oswaldo... two of the crazy teachers for sure!

Quetzeltenango. San Simon, the Saint... undoubtedly one of the strangest icons that I have ever seen in my life. Some people believe he is the real christ... lit by Vegas-style lighting, he is given alms of alcohol, while outside the venue there was a woman chanting with upturned eyelids while stirring the headless chicken into the fire and smoking a massive cigar... until she was interrupted by her cellphone which she promptly answered without taking the cigar out of her mouth.

Quetzeltenango. Hiking in the hills above Xela, we find an abandoned truck with Poison on it... Alison, Erin, Mark, and I.

Quetzeltenango. Anna Silvia and I acting surprised about something.

Quetzeltenango. Anna Silvia, some random dude, and the infamous Mercedes... some of the locals I had met during my first week in Xela. I should also give kudos to Samantha and her mom who own the popular King & Queen bar in Xela! Very cool people!

I Finca I'm In a Village

2008-06-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 15, 2008
A Finca Village, somewhere out there in Guatemala, just past the volcano...

Occasionally our Spanish Language School (CBA) organizes worthwhile social and cultural excursions... this particular Sunday we spun out on a bus to a small finca village somewhere just beyond the volcano and on the other side of the mountain range. As far as I can tell, a Finca is a small farming community that subsists primarily off of the land, and earns cash from the crops that they sell. Our tour was led by a member of the village who only spoke Spanish. Lucy translated from his Spanish into 'our' Spanish, and I was still left not knowing what was being said!

We trekked through the jungle into their farmland, past the coffee beans, across a stream to the rubber trees slowly dripping their sap, and back up into the village after convincing fresh avacodos to drop from the tree. We were fed pineapple, which was the sweetest and best tasting I have ever had in my life, followed by a feast of meat cooked over coals with potatoes and green onions... and of course, muchas tortillas!

Finca Village, Guatemala. The forest where the villagers lived and worked, and home to the best pineapple I have EVER tried in my life!

Finca Village, Guatemala. Our Spanish tour guide that lives and works in the village. He was a nice guy, but I think he's a bit bananas.

Finca Village, Guatemala. Our tour guide needed Lucy to interpret from Spanish into Spanish, which left me needing one more level of interpretation into English!!

Finca Village, Guatemala. Johanna showing a little leg as she crosses the river.

Finca Village, Guatemala. Our Spanish guide crossing the stream, followed fearlessly by our Spanish class and Spanish teachers.

Finca Village, Guatemala. Some of them needed a little bit of help not to fall in...

Finca Village, Guatemala. Some needed a LOT of help!

Finca Village, Guatemala. For some, the help didnt matter anyhow!

Finca Village, Guatemala. How's the water, Lesly!

Finca Village, Guatemala. Nery wasnt afraid of the water... or scaling the avacodo trees!

Finca Village, Guatemala. This bunch made it across the river... more or less!

Finca Village, Guatemala. Tom and Kyle (Kee Lay) crossing fearlessly.

Finca Village, Guatemala. Rachel, and her Canon camera who both went for a little dip!

Finca Village, Guatemala. Johanna chilling out!

Finca Village, Guatemala. More river crossings...

Finca Village, Guatemala. Lots of steak!!! Onions, potatoes, and of course, tortillas!

On Top of Maria

2008-06-08T10:32:00.000-07:00

June 8 & June 18, 2008
Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala

It takes a really good reason to want to climb Volcan Santa Maria twice in relatively rapid succession. I was motivated heavily by the fact that the first time I trudged up to the top, there was no view at all, save for my friends who were being extraordinarily silly. It must have been the altitude, because there seems to be no other logical excuse!

Since the Guatemalan skies usually cloud up in the late morning/early afternoon, I decided that if I were to go up Santa Maria again, I would make sure to get my butt up there early. As it turned out, the Quetzaltrekkers had organized a midnight hike during the full moon, which guaranteed that I would be on top of Santa Maria by sunrise. At midnight it was threatening of rain and lightning with no full moon in sight, but luckily nothing of much consequence arose. Upon arriving at the summit, we looked down in time to see the nearby active volcano Santiaguito spewing lava and smoke into the dark skies while roaring like a jet engine. The morning sun rose slowly over the mountainous landscape and finally offered up amazing views of beautiful Guatemala.

Xela, Guatemala. This is the city that I have been studying Spanish in. Admittedly, the weather has been terrible, but this place really has some of the most amazing clouds I've seen in my life!

Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala. There she is in the distance... it doesn't look like much, but part of that illusion is the lens I used for this photo.

Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala. A view of the clouds rolling through the valley.

On Top of Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala. A beautiful view of the sky and the sacrificial Mayan altar... I'm just kidding.... I think...

Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala. The sun rising over the mountain ranges.

Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala. More clouds engulfing the valley.

Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala. The still active Santiaguito seen spurting lava... or is it magma... as seen just before sunrise.

Volcan Santa Maria, Guatemala. The volcano beginning to erupt and belch smoke.

Santiaguito, a still active volcano that spews smoke every half hour or so.

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. Myself, Trevor, Tom, and Fiachra (Frog).

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. Myself, Trevor... and Tom and Frog getting friendly.

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. Top-of-the-world Trevor...

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. The only excuse for this is the altitude...

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. Trevor and Tom.

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. Tom doing a Top Gun fly-by...

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. Trevor getting his hand taken off by 'Rocky', the local mountain dog who climbs the hill for food.

On Top of Santa Maria, Guatemala. Well, I've got a couple questions about this... but what in the world are you doing with an umbrella on the top of a mountain, Mary Poppins??!!

Fiesta, Fiesta - Guatemala City

2008-05-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

May 31, 2008

I ventured back to Guatemala City a little sooner than I otherwise would have in order to make it to Gessica's birthday party. The girls had specifically moved the day of the fiesta so that I would be able to attend! Yoshi was hosting the party at her house, and Gessica was preparing a tantalizing greek meal for the dinner party. Despues la cena, the party ramped up into music and dancing that lasted until quite late at night, and I got a personal salsa lesson from Yoshi's sister Sharoon who was brave and patient enough to humour my 'skills'...

After the party, I decided that I finally needed to learn some proper Spanish so that I could put to good use the plethora of dirty words that Yoshi and Gessica were teaching me. On Monday morning I jumped on a bus heading into the mountain region to attend a language school in Guatemala's second largest city, Quetzeltenango, more commonly known as Xela (Shay La). I have never challenged myself with attempting to learn a language before, and I was curious if I could do it without resorting to a cranial transplant. Que Huevos? What huevos?

Guatemala City. I think that's most of the people at the party!

Guatemala City... don't ask, cause I don't know!

Guatemala City. Group Hug.

Guatemala City. So, there actually is someone brave enough in this world to risk their feet! Sharoon helped hone my out-of-this-world skillz at salsa dancing.

Guatemala City. Yup, still dancing!

Guatemala City. Chillin with Veronica!

Guatemala City. Once it was discovered I am ridiculously ticklish, I had to be on my guard for the rest of the night.

Guatemala City. But when just being on guard wasn't enough, I had to resort to going on the offense!

Guatemala City. I think this is a self-portrait!

Guatemala City. Of course, the dancing is best left to the girls!

Guatemala City. Just chilling with Sharoon!

Guatemala City. Da Girls.

Lost, Cayos Cochinos, Honduras

2008-05-27T23:35:00.000-07:00

May 25 - May 27, 2008
Honduras: A Tiny Island in the Cayos Cochinos, Roatan Bay Island

After the madness of the La Ceiba Festival, a visit to the Cayos Cochinos Islands off the coast of Honduras was the perfect answer... click to see the satellite map. Leaving early in the morning with only a couple hours of sleep, we caught a chicken bus to a Garifuna village where we were to meet someone with a boat that would take us to the small secluded islands. The boat wasn't exactly as I had expected, and safety standards certainly weren't part of the Garifuna vocabulary. Somehow the small wooden boat managed to stay afloat with all our gear as we motored (term used loosely) through the bayou and out into the waves of the Caribbean without a life-preserver in sight. We bobbed and splashed slowly through the salty air until barely visible palm trees began to appear on the horizon, eventually revealing the low-lying white sand beaches they were perched upon.

Our little piece of paradise was simply a spit of sand, several palm trees, and a spattering of cabins that could be walked around in mere minutes while still taking time to enjoy the views. The island was free of annoying sand flies, and more importantly free of annoying tourists. There was nothing to do except for read a book, lay in the white sands of the shallow blue waters, watch as swarms of fish sped by in chaotic patterns both in and out of the water, or simply watch the sunset cascade across the thunderclouds hanging over the mainland.

I caught myself wondering if I were living in an episode of Lost... I got the feeling that strange things might happen on this tiny piece of paradise. This island was promised to be free of electricity, but recently the locals had installed a solar panel to charge some car batteries that were used for powering a few lightbulbs, and they also recently acquired a small generator which was used to run the only television on the island that sadly entranced the whole younger generation. One evening, in exchange for a bottle of rum and a few Lempira, some of the locals came over with their hand drums and began to dance punta-style. As one bottle of rum quickly turned into two, there was a relatively sudden change in the vibe... A fist-flying skirmish opened up between a few of the locals, and eventually a machete was produced as the drunk perpetrator fiercely slashed and scrambled around merely a few feet from me. My episode of Lost was being revealed, so I sat back and (relatively) calmly watched the show... I spent the rest of the evening by the dark shoreline watching the waves crash into the night sand in bioluminescent flashes while the unpolluted constellations slowly carved curves across the sky.

Departing the island at 4 the next morning, we boarded the same patchwork wooden boat and watched as the sunrise slowly opened up the darkness into a spectacular display along the clouded horizon. Approaching the mainland Garifuna village, the water was too low to motor in, so we had to wade through the bayou and mud with our packs high on our shoulders. After another chicken bus to La Ceiba, I boarded a ferry to the more expensive and touristed Roatan Island, famous for its diving. I spent an afternoon snorkling from the beach outside my hotel and jogging along the shoreline to the much more expensive area on the island.

On my first and only evening on the island, I finally had a face-to-face realization of the popular Central American reference Gringo. As I sat at the beach bar evesdropping into conversations and generally just watching people, I was stunned by the incredibly immature and pathetic pickup lines that were being used on the few attractive women hanging around. I slowly realized that the island had been bombarded by the american navy on shore leave, with their prostitutes not far behind. The island became a haven for drunk, ignorant, and immature sex-starved boys, having spent too much time solely in the company of other men... The term Gringo, as explained to me, is reserved strictly for americans (although generally applied to most white people), and originated from the military occupations by the americans... the term began as Green Go (as in green uniforms, go out of here) and morphed into the common term Gringo. If you want to spoil a beautiful place, invite the military boys!

I wasn´t going to spend two evenings in such disrupting company, so I decided to leave on the next boat. It was unfortunate because I wasn't able to arrange a morning dive that allowed me to catch the once-a-day ferry back to the mainland. I settled for a relaxing morning walk and read my book on the beach before stopping over in La Ceiba and then returning to Guatemala City.

Cayos Cuchinos, Honduras. The tiny wooden boats that took us from the mainland.

Cayos Cuchinos, Honduras. Fishing boats and the small grass huts where the few locals live. This single photo shows about a quarter of the whole island!!!

Cayos Cuchinos, Honduras.

Cayos Cuchinos, Honduras.

Cayos Cuchinos, Honduras.

Roatan, Bay Islands, Honduras.