What I see

CouchSurfing

2010-08-03T04:27:00.000-07:00

I write this sitting in the living room of my 'host's' house in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. My 'host' is a member of couchsurfing.org. Basically, you make a profile about yourself and your travel experiences, and as you approach a city, you can search people in that city who are willing to share their time (coffee/drink) or thier house (thus you 'surf' their couch). Everytime you have an experience with another member, you write a reference for how that meeting went - was it positive/negative? What things were unique/helpful? And so on.

I have been a part of it for 2.5 years now, with my first experiences coming in West Africa and the Middle East. I then opened my house in Korea to several surfers and I'm now surfing again in Central Asia (and did so in SE Asia as well). It's an opportunity to get an inside look at the city/country that you're visiting and a chance to share your culture with a complete stranger. Now, I know this may sound a little crazy to some - I mean who would let a complete stranger into their house to sleep with them and eat thier food? This is one of the reasons I love CSing the most - it puts blind faith in humanity, something we don't do enough of these days (okay, with the profile and references it's not totally blind faith, but imagine a stranger called you up and asked to sleep at your house, and told you the number of another total stranger to call as reference). In all my experiences - probably somewhere in the range of 30-35 (not counting the 'unofficial' couch surfing done with friends in different places in the world) - I've never had a negative experience, although I have had some very interesting conversations.

One memorable experience was when I was couchsurfing in a country called Mali with a 60 year old Dutch man who had quit his job as a computer engineer in The Netherlands to help women grow sustainable gardens in the villages outside the town of Mopti in Mali. On Friday nights he would take his computer and projector and play movies for the local children on the wall of his house (which he painted white for the movies). We were lucky enough to be there on a Friday and saw this man in action - literally hundreds of kids and their parents showed up to watch the movie, some walking an hour one-way. You must consider, a lot of these people don't have running water, let alone power or TV. This weekly event was something out of the future for them. It was inspiring to watch this man and the joy and laughter he was bringing to the people around him. These are the types of things CSing can add to your travels.

Another amazing thing? It's completely free, both to join and to take part in. I've never been asked for money, and I never asked for money when I hosted. You just clean up after yourself, replenish whatever food/drink you take and share some of your time with the host/surfer. Check it out.

Hammoms (Bath houses)

2010-07-25T02:59:00.000-07:00

First, I haven't written in two months because China and Kyrgyzstan both block access to blogspot.com (as did Myanmar, but one cafe there had a way around it). I'm currently in Uzbekistan and they block access to bbc.com, as well as a host of other international new sights. Second, to all those people bitching about having their rights taken away at the G20 in Toronto, maybe you should be thankful for having rights everyday of your life, rather than lamenting the one day they may have been infringed upon. You sound like spoilt, ungrateful Canadians to me.

Now, on to the topic at hand: bath houses. In Korea, bath houses are everywhere and a family/social event (divded by gender). While in Korea, I would try to go at least once a week to soak in the hot tubs, then jump into the cool tub and back and forth, sending my body's nerves into shock several times a visit. There are also steam rooms, traditional sauna rooms and heat lamps (not tanning lamps, strictly heat). Sometimes after a night of sparkling water and philisophical debate in Daegu, I would stumble into the bath house around 6 or 7am and soak for a bit (hot and cold pools) before gently falling asleep under the heat lamps. When I would wake up a few hours later, I would be flanked on both sides by naked Korean men (no clothes allowed in bath houses) relaxing under the lamps. This is when I knew it was time to go home.

Anyways, I went to a bath house (called Banya in Russian) in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, and it was unlike anything I'd seen before. Some of the men wore funny-looking cone-shaped wool hats (and nothing else, of course), others were beating themselves with birch tree branches, complete with leaves (a way to clear the pores apparently), and others still were donning both. Quite the sight to see, but relaxing and enoyable.

Most recently in Bukhara, Uzbekistan, I went to the most incredible Hammom (Uzbek for Bath house) I've ever experienced. Before entering, as I was negotiating the price, the guy told me the place was 6 centuries old. I figured "yeah, right", something he probably says to tourists to jack up the price. However, when we finally agreed on the price ($0.50 more than I wanted to pay, but $4.50 less than the posted price), and I entered, I instantly believed him. The place was something out of a foreign language movie - lighting so poor and steam so thick that one couldn't see across the room. The place was made of old, sand coloured brick, with domed roofs, dark nooks and corners everywhere - the type of place the KGB would've killed someone during the Soviet occupation. The massage was great, albeit a little rough at times (when the guy was standing on my back and pulling up my legs and arms at the same time I must've looked like an acrobat or contortionist). At the end I was given a honey/ginger scrub that felt like fire when I went into the steam room to let the concoction go to work, but it felt great when the cold water was poured over me again.

The only thing that makes me sad is that I will not be able to experience these when I return to Canada. They are such a great place to relax and unwind, yet in Canada I have the feeling they may be considered "gay" - all those naked men being rubbed down by one anotehr doesn't sit too well with the Canadian pysche. I think this is unfortunate, as I can't think of a better way to spend a few hours in the morning or evening on a day off.

How one person can make a difference

2010-05-27T07:14:00.000-07:00

Today while I was discovering the Temples of Angkor around Siem Reap, Cambodia, I made a detour to the Cambodia Landmine Museum (www.cambodialandminemuseum.org). What I thought was going to be a lesson on landmines, their history, their debilitating effects and ways for clearing them, turned out to be so much more...

The man who founded and runs the museum with his uncle and aunt, is named Aki Ra. When he was 10 years old he was taken by the Khmer Rouge (who killed his mother and father) and turned into a child soldier. He spent the next 13 years fighting, killing, maiming and - believe it or not - laying landmines all over Cambodia, first for the Khmer Rouge and later for the Vietnamese & Cambodian Armies. Some of the stories he has shared over the years can be read in the museum or seen in a video at the museum - they will chill you to the bone. He openly shares stories of killing and destruction during the civil war. However, he no longer personally shares those stories as he prefers to look to the future rather than dwell on the painful past.

In 1994 Aki Ra began working to de-mine the very areas he had previously mined. Because he had spent so many years working with mines he was excellent at detecting and defusing them. Word quickly spread about him and local villages would call him in to de-mine their fields. He kept all the mines he de-fused (30 000 plus) and eventually opened a small museum in Siem Reap to showcase his findings and raise awareness.

As word spread and money came in he got the help and funding to be an official NGO and opened a new museum as well as an orphanage/school for children affected by landmines. These children can also be seen in the video, as well as photos around the museum - scarred and limbless, but laughing, playing sports (soccer with crutches, for instance), swimming without arms and living life as children should. They also share their stories on the walls of the museum. These stories always begin with unimaginable horror and heartache, but all end with such hope for the future speaking of their new home, their chance at education and how happy they are now - as well as their love for Aki Ra and his family. It is beautiful to see the tangible effects this man is having on these children, as well as the work he is doing in his country.

As well as running this museum and orphanage and raising landmine awareness, Aki Ra still helps to de-mine areas in Cambodia - and when you see the videos you understand how dangerous this task is. He continues to risk his own safety in order to save the lives of people he will never know, and who will never even know they were saved, let alone by whom. Aki Ra is the definition of a hero, he is an inspiration, and he is proof that one person can make a difference.

The Universality of Football (see: Soccer)

2010-05-06T02:22:00.000-07:00

I have mentioned to people before in my travels how popular the game of football is around the world (and I call it football because that’s what it’s called by 5.5 billion people on this Earth – power in numbers, people). I’ve played football with locals on an island on Lake Titicaca in Bolivia at 3000m+ above sea level (none of whom spoke English). I’ve kicked the ball around in West Africa, and watched towns and villages shutdown in countries as remote as Burkina Faso when important football games come on TV - and I’m not talking fancy TVs here. I mean a 15 inch black and white TV pulled out onto the street and surrounded by plastic chairs for all the neighbourhood to watch. The conversation went something like this… “What’s that Chubabu (“white man” in West Africa)?”…. You want dinner? … Okay… After the game”. There is no other sport in the world that can do this on so many continents in so many languages.

Most recently the guy I met at the airport in Yangon (hence forth called Ilan) and I met a Buddhist scholar when visiting the Shwedagon Pagoda (google that). He invited us to the monastery he was studying at and when we went to visit him we noticed newspaper cut-outs on the walls of famous football players from the Premiership in England. This was obviously not something I expected to see in the dorm room of monks, but there were several pictures on the wall of Chelsea, Manchester United and Liverpool players. As we walked out of the monastery we ran into novice monks (8-12 years of age) playing football with a small plastic ball in their robes and bare feet in the 40 degree weather. Since Ilan is an avid football fan (he is from Israel but also loves the Premiership) we played for about an hour with the children. Ilan, myself and our Bamar friend (Bamar is the actual term for the majority of people from Myanmar – the British fucked it up, like everything else except football, and called it Burma) played against four gritty and determined 8-12 year olds who eventually beat us 13-11. The amazing thing? the kids come from hill tribes and can’t speak the Bamar language, so not even our Bamar friend could communicate with them. We just played the game as it is supposed to be played and shook hands/high-fived at the end. There is no need to talk when everyone knows exactly what is supposed to be done, and how it is supposed to be played. This is why football is the world’s sport.

To top it all off, tonight half of the men in the city I am in (Bago) are watching the Liverpool/Chelsea game live on TV. Every generator in town (power in Burma goes off as easily as a child flicks a light switch) must be on standby for this game tonight because the restaurants are packed with men hungry for their fill of European football. As I sat eating dinner and watching the locals watch the game (I personally don’t care for football), I started to think about how many people in how many countries on how many continents might people be watching the game? I mean, if most of Myanmar is watching it, are the astronauts in the ISS watching it? And would that make it truly Universal?

Jumping in Puddles

2010-04-23T19:38:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was in Mae Hong Son (North-western Thailand), and there was a wicked thunderstorm. It was the kind of storm where the rain gets horizontal at times because the wind is so strong, and the rain comes down in such torrents that the ground appears to be dancing.

I was walking back from a hike when it began to lightly rain, and as I got back to the guesthouse and was about to shower the rain started pounding the tin roof so hard it sounded like machine-gun fire raining down from heaven. Having nothing better to do, I decided to put on my bathing suit and head out into it. At first it felt good just to feel the cool water spalshing onto my face and body and within a minute I was soaked through. I spread my arms out, threw my head back and just smiled up at the sky, feeling as free as Andy Dufresne when he finally escapes from the shit-filled sewers of Shawshank. As I stood in the middle of the street I noticed the water pooling on one side of the street as it flowed down the hill. I sauntered over to where the water was running and felt it rush over the tops of my feet up to my ankles. I tentatively took a small hop... and burst out laughing as a child does upon discovering something so joyful that he cannot contain his mirth. I quickly took as big a jump as I could and landed with all my might into the water, splashing water up onto my bathing suit and chest. I laughed as a grandfather does when he watches his grandson do something his own son did years ago that frustrated him as a father, but delights him as a grandfather: one of those deep belly laughs that sounds like someone has lost their common sense. I continued to jump in the puddles for a while, every time unable to conceal my merriment - I must have looked quite the sight to the locals as I stood in the pounding rain in my bathing suit in the middle of the road jumping up and down while laughing hysterically. This only added to the enjoyment, of course.

After this experience I tried to remember when the last time I played in the rain was, and I can recall it - August of 2003, just before going to univeristy. Can you believe that? Six and a half years of rainfall wasted without enjoying it - in fact, probably wishing it away everytime I got caught in it. Next time I'm home in Canada and a good rainfall comes I hope I remember to get out there and jump in the puddles. Give it a try.

How to enjoy yourself, Thai style

2010-04-14T21:58:00.000-07:00

I am currently in Chang Mai, Northern Thailand, for Sangkron. Sankgron is the Thai new year (April 13-15th) celebration. Officially it's three days, but unofficially it's more like a week. As it occurs at the hottest time in the Thai year, the Thai people decided to celebrate their new year with a massive water festival. I arrived yesterday morning and quickly bought a water gun (super soaker style) to fight back against the constant onslaught of guns, buckets and myriad other contraptions designed to administer water onto any and all passersby. Pick-up trucks are turned into water assault machines, with huge pails of water and numerous people standing in the back of the trucks showering water onto everyone on the street, while the people on the street fire at one another as well as the people on the trucks. Even people on motorbikes and scooters aren't free from the onslaught - everyone is soaked and loving it.

This was probably my greatest realization of the day - that the Thai people can completely forget their egos and enjoy themselves to the utmost. It doesn't matter if someone gets water in the eye, or an excessive amount of cold water poured down their back - they may shout in surprise - but they turn with a smile on their face and spray you back. I didn't see anyone angry or abusive during the festivities. Foam put directly into ones mouth? No problem! Someone's sunglasses flew off from the stream of water and broke? HAPPY NEW YEAR!! Your gun is empty? Here, take some of my water! Of course, there is some etiquette. For instance, food is generally off limits, and when someone is opening their waterproof pouch (they hand them out for phones, money and cameras) they are (usually) left alone. Aside from that, no one is safe - old women or young children are fair game - and yes, there is something a little sick in spraying an 80 year-old toothless grandmother with a water gun, but you forget that after she throws an ice-cold bucket of water down your back!

What I love most about this event is the harmony that exists within the water warfare. I'm not confident that the city of Toronto could have such an event without a few fights breaking out due to bruised egos and male pride. Of course, a water festival of this magnitude wouldn't happen in Canada because the environmentalists would be up in arms over the egregious waste of water. Thankfully, the Thai people know how to have fun - if only for a few days a year (but I have a feeling it's many more).

The simple things

2010-04-09T02:50:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was on a public bus in Java, Indonesia, for just over five hours. This is a bus that travels between major cities, but has its doors open at all times (literally) for people to wave it down and jump on, or tell the "door man", for lack of a better word, whenever they want to jump off. He makes a shrill whistle (by the third hour I was able to sleep through it), and the driver knows someone wants off, and thus pulls over. FYI - there are two doors, with the door man controlling the back of the bus - most people get on and off via the back door - and the driver controlling the front door. Once the passenger is on or off the bus, the door man shouts the Indonesian equivalent of "go" and the driver continues. There is also a "fare guy" who walks up and down collecting the fare, which is dependent on the distance you want to travel. All the while, people selling goods will jump on and off, and even local musicians jump on with their guitar, play a few songs and collect a few rupiah from the passengers. As a result of this regular stopping and starting, what should be a 3 1/2 hour bus ride turns into just over 5 hours. That's sounds like a complaint, but it's not - I could have taken a shuttle bus that would have been direct, but where's the fun in that? The people who take shuttle buses pay twice the price, and when travelling, I feel there is an inverse correlation between how much money someone spends and how interesting they are. On the local bus you can walk on with your cigarette, live animal, or several small children all for one fare, provided they all sit on your lap. You can't get that on the shuttle buses.

Anyways, as I was on the bus I had to marvel at the order and precision in what could be seen as a constantly chaotic jumbling of passengers - some a few blocks, some several hundred kilometres. I couldn't help but smile as I looked around at the faces, many missing teeth and looking like life's been rough, but all quick to smile as they make eye contact with me. Like in Malaysia, nearly everyone smiles from ear to ear a friendly, genuine smile, whether they are missing teeth or not - more often the former (I feel there could be another correlation there - the more teeth one is missing the more interesting they are... Any thoughts?). It is these types of experiences that I hope to remember long after I've left these countries - they are the moments that cannot be captured by a camera, but tell more about a country than any picture can. Often when I tell people of my travels at home I tell them of the "highlights", ie. climbing Mount Kinabalu, seeing orangutans, etc, but simple things like bus rides can be even more remarkable in the day-to-day life of a traveller.

Brunei, Singapore and Bali

2010-03-18T03:51:00.001-07:00

Since my last post I've visited several countries. I went through the beautiful and interesting, but excruciatingly unexciting country of Brunei. This is a place with no income tax, subsidies for everything and no cost for post-secondary education. It also has some beautiful rainforest because the country's oil money has allowed them to keep the rainforest intact (of course, the debt remains and the interest accumulates). It's also a place where alcohol is outlawed and it effects the overall vibe of the country. Nearly everything shuts down at 10pm, and there is literally nothing to do at night. When I asked the couchsurfer I was with (couchsurfing.com - check it out), he had no answer for what he did at night. "Watch TV or movies" was his answer. Now, of course there are positives to no alcohol: the crime rate is low, violence is unheard of, and I'm sure health care costs are lower per capita than in countries with alcohol. However, is it not possible for clubs, bars, or some kind of establishments to exist without alcohol? My parents always asked "Do you need alcohol to have fun?" After visiting Brunei, I would have to say, "Yes mom, I do, and so does the rest of the country." I don't feel like sitting at home in front of the TV is any more productive than having a few beers with friends on a Friday night. Of course, people in Brunei could read a book, but I could go to the club just to dance - so long as other people are getting drunk...

Singapore was next. If you are in the area, go. It costs a bit more than other places in south-east Asia, but it's really nice. First-world-clean, cutting-edge, nice. The coolest thing I did in this country (besides walking around little India for hours on end) was going to the zoo with another couchsurfer and we happened to stumble upon the tortoises at the exact time of their feeding (just my luck!). For less than $4 CDN I was able to feed 80-year-old tortoises, as well as a few younger ones. Watching their mouths as their soft pink tongues stuck out to pull the apple back in to their beak-like mouth made me feel like a kid at a petting zoo for the first tim; giggling and wide-eyed in amazement of these magnificent creatures. I was then advised to touch, pet and scratch them (particularly under the chin of the biggest one!). The skin on the neck felt dry yet stretchy, while their legs were as hard as rocks. Despite all the rumours about tortoises being immovably slow, they move with great consistency and I can now see why the hare lost the race.

Currently I am in Bali and the Hindu culture has been intoxicating (Bali is the only part of Indonesia that ins't predominantly Muslim). Ornate stone temples with carvings that would take ages are everywhere, and offerings are made throughout the day everywhere I go. The offerings usually consist of several flowers, rice and incense compiled in small boxes made from banana trees. Beautiful for their elegance, simplicity and devotion, they are unlike anything I have seen before. There is also art everywhere, and people continue to greet me with a smile everywhere I go. It is a relaxing and calming atmosphere. I also happened to get into Ubud at the exact time the Spirit Festival began. Apparently this is the biggest single draw to Bali all year, and I happened upon it by dumb-luck. The festival is all about balinese music, dancing and yoga. It's been uplifting to be a part of, and it's definitely good for the soul.

The Rainforest Reality

2010-03-15T00:37:00.000-07:00

As I drove from Mt Kinabalu to the town of Sandakan (where the Orangutan sanctuary is), I quickly noticed that the roads were lined with what seemed to be an endless palm tree forest. Literally, for 3 and 1/2 hours of driving I only saw plam trees. At first, I thought they were naturally occurring and quite beautiful - I mean who doesn't love plam trees? They are part of the quintessential tropical vacation: lazing on the white sand beach with the breeze blowing through the palm trees' leaves with a cocktail in hand... Who doesn't dream of that scene as they prepare for their beach vacation? However, as I continued to watch them fly by from the bus window, I realized they were perfectly spaced apart and all at the same age of maturity. Typically, such perfection doesn't occur in the forests of nature, and I realized that these were the plam oil plantations I had read about before coming to Borneo. Malaysia is the world's second biggest exporter of palm oil, (first - Indonesia, who owns the other two-thirds of Borneo island... what do you think I'd see if I drove around the Indonesian part of Borneo?).

I mention this because for years I've heard about the "destruction of the rainforest", but it's never really meant anything. Obviously, I know it's a bad thing and that it's causing the loss of countless flora and fauna species, but could I really understand it as I read about it in my National Geographic magazine (printed on glossy-paper) from my air-conditioned living room in Canada (or even more absurd - my heated living room as the snow accumulated outside)? What was the tropical rainforest to me? Even when I went to the Peruvian Amazon the rainforest was a lush place, full of life and untouched by the hand of man. All looked in good order there.

The palm oil plantations in Borneo, on the other hand, have given me poignant proof that we are destroying the rainforests. At first, I was sad to see the plam trees, after a few hours I was scared at the sheer number and size of the plantations - on the upcrest of a hill looking down, all one can see is palm trees for kilometres around. The next day, as we drove from Sandakan into the jungle, again the roads were lined with plam trees. The palm trees went almost right up to the river - the government has forced a small buffer zone along the river that can't be planted. Even with the buffer zone sometimes I could see the plantations in the distance from the "jungle". At this point, I was just disappointed (remember how your parents used to do that to you "We aren't mad Russell, we're just disappointed... ouch). The forest, although still teeming with life and a great adventure, wasn't nearly as thick and exotic as the Amazon experience I had.

Now, some palm oil is used as a biofuel - but only a fraction of it, and how are we improving the situation if we cut down the rainforest as a way to combat our dependency on fossil fuels? It's like borrowing from Peter to pay Paul - the debt remains and the interest is still accumulating. I obviously have no answers, but I wanted to put this out there to remind myself of what I saw on my drives in Borneo, and hopefully make it a little more real for everyone else.

Content with no where to be and anywhere to go

2010-03-11T00:15:00.000-08:00

Borneo is an adventurer's paradise - hiking mountains, trekking jungles, boat rides through jungle rivers and incredible scuba diving. I am so thankful for how fortunate I am to be experiencing this.

As I was on the boat back to Semporna from Mabul (where I did my PADI certification and went diving for three days), I couldn't help but smile as the boat bounced off the waves and I looked out onto the sea. I realized that I was as free as I could be - I had nowhere to be, no one to see and I could go anywhere I wanted to. Quickly however, I felt the need to preserve the moment and hold onto it, in order to re-live it again and again in the future. This, as we all know, is a futile exercise - capturing moments is impossible. Of course, a camera can capture a scene, and it can help us remember that time in our lives, but it can't truly capture the emotions of the moment. As I came to this realization I just sank into the boat and enjoyed the moment for what it was supposed to be - a perfect moment. Perfect moments, when I notice them, bring so much joy and emotion that I can't help but think about loved ones who are no longer here physically, but who I feel sharing those moments of perfection with me.

Not everything has been perfect though - I feel torn by the disparity between my good fortune and the people I see everywhere who struggle to make ends meet. Why should I be given the opportunity to see all the riches the world has to offer, while others grind away everyday? The funny thing is people here smile more often and more genuinely than people at home (myself included). This makes me think that we have something backwards at home. We're so concerned with what happens next - what we have to do next, where we have to go next, who have to see next, that we can't enjoy the moment we are in. This constant planning for (or worrying about) the future makes the present less happy, as proven by the absence of random smiles in our lives, or by the forced smiles we make everyday.

Obviously, I am trying to connect both of these ideas, and while my buddy Mac may say that "we look for meaning in things", I feel that the Malay people are more prepared to enjoy their day, regardless of how their day will turn out, while we (and I include myself in 'we') spend all day planning how we will be happy next, yet rarely achieve any real happiness.

As I read over this post I just want to say that it wasn't meant to be so morose, in fact I hope that I read this in the months after I return home and it serves as a reminder for me to be content with the Now. I hope it can do the same for you.

18 Months in Korea. 1 post.

2010-02-28T05:00:00.000-08:00

I've successfully finished teaching for 18 months in Korea. I learned a lot about teaching, Korean culture, myself and my desires while I was here. I managed to save a lot of money by working incessantly and I had fun while doing it. I was asked by a friend what the three things I will most the most are about Korea and I answered: the kids I teach, the freedom foreigners have in Korea to do as they please, and the money I've been able to amass. The kids have been the most enjoyable part of my life here, and they've shown me that I want to teach young children for many years to come. This is the most positive thing to have come out of my experience here.

While I could gripe about Korea until the sun comes up, I've decided to share a few positive things about Korea and leave it at that. First, Korea is the safest country I've ever been to - and that includes Canada. There is no serious crime, rape or robbery. I have felt safe since the day I arrived and nearly everyone I know feels the same way. This is a thing of beauty that I wish could be replicated at home. Second, the public transportation is the best I've experienced and with everything in English as well as Korean, it is very easy to use. Add to the ease the low cost (a subway ride is less than a 90 cents Canadian), and getting around is cheap and easy. Third, the convenience of things like alcohol (sold in convenience stores) and delivery of all things under the sun make for comfortable living that I will miss in Canada.

As I leave Korea after 18 months, I know that I will miss the children and many of the people I've met. Most of those people I will never see again, but such is life when one lives and travels abroad. I've matured (maybe too much) and understand myself more now, and with a bank account well stacked, I'm ready to see what I can learn on the road in Asia. My first stop is in Borneo , where I will hike, swim and trek my way across the northern part of the island for three weeks.

From Tel Aviv to Toronto

2008-04-14T14:40:00.001-07:00

Thanks to Stephen and his family in Israel I was able to see Jerusalem and the Dead Sea in the few days I had in Israel before I returned home due to a family emergency. Jerusalem was interesting and I managed to see the tomb of Christ, the place where Muhammed is said to have made his ascent to Heaven, and the 'Wailing (or Western) Wall'. The old streets in the Muslim quarter were the most authentic, while the Jewish quarter was newer and more beautiful, but with less character. It was astounding to see the difference between the two areas, evidence of the oppression of the Arabs in Israel. Unfortunately I was unable to visit Bethlehem or the West Bank, an experience that I was looking forward to for the perspective I would have gained.
The Dead Sea was the other highlight in the few days I spent in Israel, and I again did this with Stephen and his Cousin Avi, an incredibly hospitable young man who taugt me a lot about Israeli life. The Dead Sea itself was an incredible feeling - that is when I finally allowed myself to 'sit down' in the water, at which point I was pushed up and found myself floating as if I was on a lounge chair. This feeling on water is amazing - and if Jesus really did walk on water, the Dead Sea would have made that an easy task.
I am now back in Newmarket with my family and have been so for since Saturday the 5th. I apologize for not writing earlier to those who have been following my adventures through this blog, but this is probablythe last you will hear from me on this sight for a while. God Bless.

Sinai

2008-03-31T22:56:00.000-07:00

I write this a few days removed from my hike up Mt Sinai ("Jebel Musa" in Arabic - "Mt Moses"). I arrived in Sinai and found the bedouin camp I was looking for without any problems. There I met a German couple who were looking to hike up the mountain and sleep there. The following day we set out at midday and hiked the hard way - up, over, and through the valley and mountains rather than the steps set out from the monestary. It was a great walk on which we were alone - something I appreciated more the next day as we walked down the 'tourist' way and couldn't get away from people trying to sell us everything; anything. We were joined throughout the night by worshippers of Christ praying and singing about the power of God. There were Nigerians, Japanese, Russians, Koreans, French, Germans, and the list goes on. It was intersting - but to difficult to sleep to - to see and hear the parises of God from so many walks of life and languages. The sunset was beautiful, with the entire mountain range being lit up like fire. From our viewpoint the sun rose between two closely situated mountain peaks, creating the image of the sun as a growing piece of pie, slowly creeping and manifesting into a red disk that hovered harmoniously above the desert mountains (Attn Matt: I think this is where "the rosy fingers of dawn" is most applicable). I have never seen the sun rise in such a manner, and unfortuanetly the pictures do not do it justice. The red sun lit up the valley and its grey/red mountains in a fantastic manner that made me feel as if I was on Mars (from the pictures I have seen of Mars, Mt Sinai is the closest I have ever been to its likeness).

After the sunrise I headed to St Katherine's Monestary at the base of the mountain. This monestary is the oldest working monestary in the world - amazing considered it is situated in the middle of a Mulsim country, surrounded by other Muslim countries. This was, and is, possible because the Prophet Muhammed personally gave his protection of the sight in a written document that is on display in the museum located within the monestary grounds. There is also a decree signed by Napolean Bonaparte himself on display that grants similar protection to the grounds and the people worhsipping within them (I am a sucker for writing, and these two documents floored me; the signatures of Napolean and Muhammed? that is some cool shit). Since St Katherine's is protected by the two most destructive forces in the world (monotheistic religion and the West), I don't foresee any problems for it.

From St Katherine's I headed to Dahab, on the coast of the Red Sea. Getting there was an adventure that involved hitching a ride with a local bedouin man (for a small fee) who was stopped at the police check forty kilometers outside of Dahab, leaving me to hitch another ride with two local bedouins in the most rugged car I have been in on this trip. Don't be fooled - I was in more ghetto cars in West Africa (one in particular was started with a crank by the driver's helper, thus literally 'turning over the engine'), and the cars that took us out into the desert in Mali were certainly more capable, but they were not as rugged as the jeep I rode in with these two bedouins (one of which was deaf - it added a whole new element to not understanding what they were 'saying'). I won't go into the specifics of the car for the sake of my mother (an insurance agent who would have had nothing to do with this car - I could just think what Robert would have said if she tried to bring this one in), but the car and the bedouins were great. Unfortunately for me Dahab was not so great - a tourist place that was three times the price of the rest of Egypt and yet felt nothing at all like Egypt. It was too bad, but it gave me a few days to relax and read a few books. The drive from Dahab to the boarder (on a bus) was spectacular however, winding and twisting along the turquoise shore of the Gulf of Aqaba. I would go back to this strip of beach, just not Dahab.

My arrival in Israel was easy and I am currently staying with a few couchsurfers in Tel Aviv. My University friend from Montreal, Stephen, is in Israel for work/vacation and is staying with his cousin about twenty minutes outside of Tel Aviv (and thus too poorly located to stay with). We are planning a few day trips - he has a car at his disposal - and it will be good to hang out with him in Israel. My girlfriend, Julia, arrives on the 6th and then I will be heading to Jordan to see Petra and leaving Tel Aviv for longer than single days.

Pyramids and Abu Simbel

2008-03-20T13:08:00.000-07:00

I am not even sure where to begin with respect to the pyramids. I am blessed and grateful to have experienced something so magnificent with my brother and Heather, two people I have grown quite fond of over the last few months. We rode camels up to the pyramids where we were immediately told that the grounds were closed (apparently they close at 4pm, and it was 4:30), to which we replied with one Ghanaian cedi (one dollar CDN), and we were left on our own. Another bribe to the keeper of the middle pyramid that amounted to about $1.80 CDN and we were left on our own until the police found us climbing the big pyramid around 5:45 and we were escorted off the grounds in the back of the truck. No harm done. We got some of our best photos from the truck as the sun was setting at the perfect height to the pyramids and desert. Although the entire experience was magical, there was a moment when two falcons were hovering motionless at the very tip of the pyramid, with the moon directly above it that captured me and will forever be etched in my memory.

The next day Matt and Heather flew to Madrid, effectively ending our fellowship in Africa. The same day I walked around Islamic Cairo, a fascinating place that seems to be a step back in time, and then I left for Aswan on the second class night train. The second class train was nicer than the regular class on VIA trains in Canada.

From Aswan I setup a day trip to Abu Simbel to see the temple of Ramses II and the temple of Neferteri, and the Temple of Philae. The temple of Ramses II boasts the largest Pharoah statues in Egypt - a serious claim in a country full of incredible monuments to Pharoahs. This trip also offered me a view of Lake Nasser, the largest man-made lake in the world. It was formed in 1971 when the dam in Aswan was built to control the annual flood of the Nile. This is also the day my camera slipped out of my pocket into the Nile at the Temple of Philae. Luckily, I must have been at the shallowest point in the Nile, with the water only about 5m deep. As I stripped down into my boxers to retrieve it (incredibly, my camera is waterproof up to ten meters- too bad it doesn't float though), the police stopped me and told me I was not allowed to get it myself. Instead, a young boy was nominated to retrieve it, and after two tries he returned to the surface successul to a chorus of cheers and hand-clapping (this spectacle turned out to be the highlight of the Temple of Philae for many tourists). In return I gave him the snowboarding goggles I had brought along in case of sandstorms, and a week's wage in Egyptian pounds (about $10 CDN). He seemed most grateful for the goggles - evident by his wearing them proudly as our boat pulled away from the island. The camera is fine.

After Aswan I took a day train to Luxor, again second class. This train was not of the same standard of the first, but it did result in some nice experiences. As there were children all around - many straining necks to get a better look of me reading my book - I passed around my MP3 player for them to listen to. As it was passed around, and smiles were being shared amongst everyone, a lady passed my her baby girl to hold. It did not take long for the baby to start crying at my ghostly complexion and blue eyes - at which point I passed the baby back - but it gave the mother great pleasure to share with me her child for the moment. All of this took place with no verbal communication because my Arabic is extremely limited, and really consists of 'please', 'thank you', 'you're welcome', and 'Sorry, I don't understand'. Nonetheless, we all understood one another and felt better for our time together when I got off the train in Luxor.

It is from Luxor that I write this, having gone to visit the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens today, along with the Temple of Hatshepsut. The Valley of the Kings is where the Pharoahs of the New Kingdom moved all their tombs after grave robbers continued to harrass the pyramids of the Old Kingdom. It is an entire valley within a mountain - chosen because it is so hidden and the mountain tops are similar in shape to the pyramids - that houses 62 tombs. The ticket is only good for entrance into three tombs, but the art and detail in each tomb is painstaking. The Valley of the Queens has fewer tombs and is located in another valley within the same mountain. Less impressive and less exhausting are the two tombs I visited here. Even so, the hieroglyphics inside the tombs are amazing and my favourite part of the Ancient Egyptian sites.

Tomorrow I head back up to Cairo and then on to the Sinai peninsula where I hope to snorkel, scuba dive, and hike up Mt Sinai.

Cairo

2008-03-14T13:21:00.000-07:00

Getting out of Ghana proved harder than expected, and two trips to the airport were necessary to get off the ground. I will never fly Roal Air Maroc again. On the positive, the extra day convinced Matt and Heather to come along to Egypt (it was cheaper for them to fly to Egypt and then Europe - but they've hung around in Cairo and we've all had a fantastic time). We are staying with two Americans who are studying at the American University in Cairo. They live in the best location possible, right by the Egyptian Museum, the Nile, and the main Metro station. We are in the heart of Cairo...
Thanks to our Couch Surfing hosts, Dave and Wes, we found out about a place in Cairo appropriately named "Garbage City". It is an area of Cairo consisting of 30 000 Christians who collect Cairo's garbage, sort it out, melt it down and sell it back to the city. We went there on our second day in Cairo and it was, for lack of a better word, a cool experience. The people were incredibly friendly and we were not allowed to pay for anything. We went with a guy named Kieran - a Canadian and a friend Dave and Wes - who had been to Garbage City in December and was remembered by a local man he had spent time with one his first trip. We were sat down for tea and sheisha by the man, Ahmed, after which he brought us up into his home to meet his family. Before I describe the house I must explain that the streets are dirty, but the smell is not as bad as you would think, and below all the houses is where the garbage is sorted and melted down. The houses have electricity and as we found out, some even have computers. The house of Ahmed was immaculate and one of the nicer houses we have entered on this trip, if not the nicest. Although the people make a living off garbage we realized that the community is an immensely proud one. Economically the people are middle class, but socially they are an underclass (their Christian faith does not help). After having fresh juice in the home of Ahmed, and meeting his gentle and hospitable family, we went up to the churches. The first one is said to be the largest in the Middle East, and it is an open air church with the altar and much of the seating carved out of the rock (the whole town is situated on a mountain over-looking Cairo). All around it is carving in the rock depicting anything from shepherds to Jesus to the Ten Commandments written in Arabic. There was also a second church that was completely carved out of the mountain that was more peaceful and enjoyable for me. It was amazing to see what the people of this town were able to do with the garbage of Cairo.
After Garbage City we walked to Al Hazar Park, a park that overlooks downtown Cairo. It is perfectly kept and incredibly lush, creating a stark contrast with the barren rock and sand that surrounds Cairo. It was swarming with people because it was Thursday evening (Friday is the holy day for Muslims, and lots of shops are closed, so Thursday night is the big night). From here we watched the sun escape into the desert, leaving Cairo lit up by the green lights that adorn many of the mosques around the city (green is the colour of Islam). At sundown the call to mosque begins, and as Cairo is known as "the city of a thousand minarets", the call was overwhelming from the park, with the chanting waving back and forth across the city for a several minutes. The call is intimidating to me for many reasons - the Arabic language, the holiness of the sound, and the fervor with which it is obeyed.
Late that night Heather, Matt and I took a felucca (basically a sailboat) out on the Nile so that we could look back on the city from the tranquility of the water. The ride was a beautiful way to spend time on a boat - far removed from the horrors of the pinasse in Mali. It was an incredible day that may only be surpassed by our trip to the pyramids, but we shall see.

The Ocean and Its Sparkles

2008-03-10T09:44:00.000-07:00

Green Turtle Lodge turned out to be the closest thing to paradise we have experienced in Africa. We spent a relaxing eight nights reading many great books, walking along the beach, eating good food and checking out the nearby fishing village. The place ran on solar power and was full of travellers and volunteers from all over the world, all looking to relax and hang out. It was a recipe for a good week...

Most nights the sky was alight with lightning and I would take these opportunities to sit on the beach and watch the water come in. I enjoyed looking out over the dark sea - a menacing black horizon - and watching the waves form and crest out of nothingness. It was neat to sea the white foam begin and then run a hundred or more meters in one direction instantly, and finish with a boom as the water crashed down on itself. It reminded me of a cartoon bomb fuse being lit and running the length of itself - leaving in its path grey ash - and inevitably ending with an explosion (often in favour of the RoadRunner). Watching the waves come at me after others had gone to sleep and the music could no longer be heard was relaxing and wonderous.
The only thing that could have made this experience better was if the sand sparkled - and it did. Allow me to explain: In the damp sand there were significant deposits of phosphorous (or so I was told), and when the sand was flicked or kicked, the phosphorous would momentarily light up as it was disturbed. It looked like tiny night stars were being created and destroyed in the blink of an eye by the flick of my wrist or foot. This was only visibly at night, but added another element to the visual I was already experiencing. It also gave me a feeling of omnipotence (a great word that I still remember my father teaching me when I was young) to create entire galaxies with my foot or finger. Although I know the moment was fleeting the image in my mind is permanent.
Other than our night watchings we enjoyed the wtaer immensley - it was the first time we were actually able to venture into the sea since we began travelling beside it over a month ago: the undertow was safe and the water was clean. We all went in to check out the village as well (a ten minute walk). On one of the days I was invited by two other travellers to go with them for a lunch at a omen's house they had met the day before. When we arrived at the courtyard we were greeted by numerous children who were thrilled at the opportunity to see themselves via digital cameras and just talk and play with the "obrunies". After a few minutes we were introduced to the elder women of the compund, then aken aside by the lady who invited my friends the day earlier and served fufu with a bean and fish sauce. The food was great, but the serving was monstrous. We struggled to try and finish because it is slightly offensive not to eat all the food given to you, but wound up coming up short nonethelss (the meal was cooked for four people and we were only three). The lady let us eat alone, but returned upon our being stuffed and we discussed the life and times of village life in Africa. We also discussed God (people here are devotely religious), food, education, and marrying (the lady offered her nephew to the young lady in good humour). It was a great experience that was made better because the lady - named Mercy and thus dubbed "Mother Mercy" - wanted nothing from us in terms of money or goods. She just wanted to sit us down, feed us and show us hospitality. The same rang true for the whole place as we were not asked for anything from the time we stepped into the village until the time we left - except for the few times we were asked to dance, to which we happily obliged.
Coincidentally, our last night was also a concert/dance/bonfire on the beach at Green Turtle Lodge. Many of the locals showed up to provide the singing and music, and the children showed us how to dance the way Africans do. Not a person around wasn't smiling and enjoying themselves. It was a fitting end to a great week.
Tonight I head to Egypt and then the Middle East. Heather and Matt will be heading to Senegal in a day or two. I am sorry to those who have been following along for the sake of Matt and Heather, as I will not be seeing them for sometime now.

Gotta go to Ghana

2008-02-19T02:26:00.000-08:00

After 7 weeks of 'understanding' French, we arrived in Ghana, our first English speaking country in West Africa. Amazingly, we now pretend to speak French when we're trying to avoid hawkers...

Accra was beautiful, but incredibly expensive. After two days of used-book shopping in the capital we took off for Cape Coast, home to one of Britain's most important coastal forts in Ghana. The fort in Cape Coast bears the same name as the town, and we visited it as the sun was setting, giving us a stunning view of the coast and the town itself. The castle is a large white-washed fortress that is located on the rocks along the shore, loaded with canons and look-out points that hint at the former territorial claims fought over by the British, Dutch and Portuguese. Despite the grandeur of the place our guide was out of place as he thought he was in drama class (overly-theatrical and flamboyant, when I thought he should have been giving the straight facts), and I did not take much away from the guided tour. These forts were initially designed for the storage and shipment of goods, but as plantations began in the Americas slaves became the main export from these forts. As we were taken through the old dungeons that housed the slaves until they were bought and shipped across the ocean, I had to shudder at the thought of what had taken place within those walls for centuries. I felt as though I should not have been walking through the place - as if I did not deserve to walk within the walls as freely as I did. Although we were only shown the rooms pertaining to slavery we were allowed to walk around the fort after the tour. The fort was its own community complete with primary school, church, post office and medical services. The church was built directly above the slave dungeons, creating a heaven above/hell below situation on Earth. The use of Christianity to legitimize slavery was the topic of an essay I wrote in third year, so I won't bother venting here. It is amazing how people can twist the teachings of their religion to feed their own agenda. It is too bad we never seem to learn from past mistakes.

The next day we took a ride to Elmina to see St George's Castle. To give an idea of the age, it was built by the Portuguese ten years before Columbus discovered the Americas. It was the largest of all Ghana's coastal forts, and the most important in terms of slavery. It is believed that 12 million slaves passed through the fort over 300 years, only 4 million of whom actually made it to the Americas. The other 8 million died from any of a numerous reasons: the squalid conditions; death at the hands of soldiers; and suicide (slaves would starve themselves to death or jump out of the smaller boats that were delivering them to the larger boats while still in chains). The death of created little worry among the Europeans because the slaves were all profit. The guide here was fantastic, and the tour took in the entire castle. It was a similar setup to the first one, with the church right next to the dungeons. I took away a startling amount from that tour and was extremely glad we decided to go.

After the castles we headed up into the country, stopping first at Kumasi and then Tamale. Kumasi is the center of the Ashanti culture (the most influential tribe in Ghana). There we visited a culture grounds that was a bustle of activity. Within the grounds there was an Ashanti museum; a reggae ceremony complete with music and prayer happening; a live performance in the open-air auditorium; plus it was generally a great place to hang out and soak up some culture. Kumasi is also the place where I fell in love with Ghanaian cuisine because I searched out a great food stall and had an excellent lunch with a few local boys of the same age. I have turned Heather and Matt on to the 'red-red' and jollof rice with guinea fowl or gizzard (not the greatest meat, but no meat here is great). We also met a couchsurfer from Kumasi named Bright who showed us around for a day and had us trying 'fufu' (cassava and yam) and 'banku' (fermented maize) - local dishes that are unlike anything we know in Canada. He was excellent and showed us a side to Kumasi we otherwise would not have seen.

Tamale served as the jump-off to Mole National Park, where we camped for two nights. The campgrounds were situated over-looking a watering hole that was occupied by elephants more often than not. We went on two walks with an arm ranger that allowed us to get within 20 or 30m of wild elephants, an unparalleled experience. As we watched them bathe we couldn't help but notice that they are much darker than we thought, nearing black. The grey colour we often see them appearing as is due to dust and mud they rub on themselves to stay cool. Really, they are nearly black - charcoal grey at the lightest. The young elephants were the most entertaining to watch, as they constantly tried to climb on one another while bathing. I could picture my brothers and I wrestling in a similar manner when we were younger (actually, not that long ago). After watching the elephants for an hour or so each morning we retired to the lodge pool, where we fended off baboons from stealing our pineapples (we had to chase one down at one point) and watched the elephants from a distance - all the while keeping cool; not an easy task in Ghana. On the first night I sat over-looking the savannah in the dark. I was treated with Hyena barks, low growls in the distance, sounds of a struggle in the watering-hole (I think the crocodile won), and an amazing feel of nature at work.

We are now headed back to Kumasi to spend a few nights with a local man we met on Couch Surfing before heading back to the coast to check out an eco-friendly lodge we have read about. It's called the Green Turtle Lodge and can be checked out at www.greenturtlelodge.com

Abomey and the Dahomey Kingdom

2008-02-16T08:22:00.000-08:00

After Natitingou we headed to Abomey, the capital of the Dahomey Kingdom. The Dahomey Kingdom was the kingdom responsible for the slave-trade with the Europeans in this part of West Africa (these slaves were shipped out of Ouidah, where we were days earlier). The museum - a UNESCO World Heritage Site - left much to be desired, but the owner of our hotel (a local who grew up in Ouidah) gave us a tour of Abomey that was fantastic. He spoke English well, but with a foreign accent that gave him an air of authenticity in the African town. He told the stories of Dahomey's Kingdom with such enthusiasm and mysticism that we were forced to listen with the fascanation of a child listening to his bedtime story; wide-eyed and grinning ear-to-ear. The Godfather (as we dubbed him) began the tour with his friends and himself singing an ancient Dahomey song that people in Abomey still sing when they have laboruious work to do, and it ended with the same song. It was a great touch and had a beautiful melody.
During our tour of Abomey - which consisted of visiting the ruins of several palaces of former kings, as well as sacred Voodoo temples - we saw a funeral procession along the main road. The casket was a typical casket, complete with a crucifix affixed to it, but the procession that consumed it was all Voodoo. There was music and chanting, singing and praising. Passerbys and onlookers threw change onto the coffin, or else placed it on the wife's forehead, where it would then fall to the ground and to be picked up by other family members. The most startling part of the procession was when the two young men carrying the coffin - who we assumed to be sons - got to the centre of the roundabout and began running as fast as they could with the coffin, coming within inches of a sealed door (that I originally thought they were going to try to break through with the coffin), only to turn around and head back in the opposite direction with an equal amount of force and determination. They did this several times across the circle, so much so that twice we had to get out of the way of a casket running at us with the determination of death (sorry). They finally placed the casket on the circle and took some much needed rest as passerbys threw more money on the casket (as onlookers, we did indeed throw on some coins of our own). The experience was mesmerizing.
The same night we were taken to a small Voodoo ceremony with two guides. It was held in the courtyard of a small settlement (the equivalent of a 'court' by our street-standards), and attracted what seemed to be all the local families. The Voodoo priest (who is dressed in ornate style with threads and beads coming off him at every angle) began the ceremony with some dancing that was followed by some talking in African tongue. The rhetoric seemed light and in good humour, as laughs were regularly drown from those in attendance. Following that, several other ornately dressed people came out and danced for over an hour. Often the dances turned into 'face-offs', or were otherwise mirror interpretations between two people. As we were unable to ask questions (our guides only spoke French, and it wasn't appropriate for us to be asking questions during the ceremony), we are not sure of the significance of much. One interesting thing that happened to us was when we nearly had our sandals taken by one of the priests. Apparently it is impolite to wear sandals during the ceremony, but our guides were either dumb or ignorant of this rule, as they had their sandals taken, and bribed the priest so as not to take ours. After that, we took our sandals off for the remainder of the ceremony. Although this sounds really bad, there were many people wearing sandals, and the priest made a point of getting as many sandals as he could until everyone was in bare feet. It was a little scary at the time, but immediately following it provided a few shaky laughs (from us) and friendly smiles (from those around us). While dancing was obviously an integral part of the ceremony, so too was the music. The 'band' consisted of about 8 to 10 young men playing African drums and bells. The music was so constant and so intense at times that it was intoxicating and dizzy-ing. Music is without a doubt one of the most sacred and constant things in West Africa.
After the ceremony we returned to our hotel to get some much needed rest. Despite the best inetentions of the Godfather, his hotel is a dump: no running water; a hard and lumpy mattress, and; a tempermental power supply. Add to all this the biggest cockroach I have ever seen serving as a guard to the bathing quarters (he definitely kept people out), and Abomey goes down as an all-out African experience in less than 20 hours.

La Parc National Pendjari

2008-02-14T07:06:00.000-08:00

When we planned our trip, Benin was never part of the intinerary. After our first day here I was ready to get on a bus and head for Ghana before our 48-hour Visa expired. After Ouidah and our 2 day African Safari to Pendjari National Park, I am glad we changed our itinerary - and that Heather's cool head kept us in Benin...
The jump off town for Pendjari Park is Natitingou, where we found our two guides (by far the best and most honest guides we have had so far), and from where we left at 530am to head to the park. Immediately aftering entering the park we spotted several antelope species, then a family of baboons. Definitely a good omen, and one that proved to be fruitful. During the course of the two days we saw: uncountable numbers of antelope and African deer; numerous families of baboons (which turned out to be my favourite animal on the Safari); jackals (that one's for you Graham); crocodiles (with their mouths open, waiting for birds to clean their teeth); warthogs (which are quite regal-looking animals: they trot in a princely manner, with their tails straight up in the air and their noses slightly turned up); hippos (and this time they were out of the water and moving around); beautiful birds of enormous dimensions and vibrant colours, and; elephants. Heather was most excited by the prospect of seeing elephants before we left for our adventure, and she was not disappointed as we were able to see 4 adults and 3 young drinking together from one of the watering holes. Our guides proved adept at spotting animals that were invisible to our untrained eyes, picking out baboons that looked like rocks from nearly 500m away. Thanks to the binoculars I received from Santa for Christmas (thanks mom), we were spoiled with up-close and personal viewings of the animals.
We spent the night camped in our tents within the park, protected by fire and big clubs (we're not stupid - we knew the clubs wouldn't stop an attacking lion - I just figured I could beat Matt unconscious and feed him to whatever wanted to eat us). Luckily, it didn't come to that. The next morning we visited another watering hole where we witnessed the harmony of nature. Around the small watering hole there were several crocodiles, hippos, numerous birds, and antelope and deer. All the animals realized the need for each other to drink, and none of the animals disturbed one another during their morning ritual.
Around noon we left the park and headed to some beautiful waterfalls nearby. Tha falls were spectacular, with blue/green water falling from a height of about 35 meters into a calm pool below, where we were able to swim and wash off the dust and dirt from our Safari. Afterwards, we were scammed by the guide who walked us up (the town with the waterfalls has their own guides, of course). When our guides found out they were not impressed. Yelling and arguing with the man who oversees the guides ensued, and although we do not particulalry like alienating entire villages, it was nice to finally have a guide stand up for us, rather than scam us. Shortly thereafter we headed back to Natitingou (for the better), where we treated our guides to dinner at a Tata Somba house/restaurant. The Somba are a group of people who live in norther Benin and Northern Togo, but this was unfortunately our only experience with their culture. It was a great end to the trip, and a nice way to thank our guides.
All in all, Pendjari Park and Natitingou was one of the best all-around experiences I have had in Africa.

Benin and Slavery

2008-02-12T09:16:00.000-08:00

Our bus from Niamey to Benin was eventful. After receiving a Visa that was only good for 48 hours - instead of the 1 month Visa we were expecting - we were forced to head all the way to Cotonou, on the coast, in order to get a proper Visa. The bus wound up being 16.5 hours (instead of the 9 had our Visa allowed us to stop where we had planned). The buses in Africa sit 5 people across, do not have air-con, stop for prayer, and everbody seems to have three or four carry-ons (kind of like you, Mom, when you get on a plane). Obviously, this creates a disgusting amount of heat that cannot be escaped. All in all, it was probably the longest day of the trip. Even the pinasse trip offered bright spots during the course of each day. As a result, our plans changed and we took the few days we needed for our Visas to be ready to head for Ouidah, a town that was an important slave-trading port.

On the first day we visited the musuem in Ouidah (in what was once the Portuguese fort), where we were shown how the slave-trade was conducted from this now peaceful town. The next day we walked from the old Portuguese fort down "La Route des Esclaves" ('The route of the slaves') - a 4km walk that ends at the Atlantic Ocean. As we came through the bush to the shore, I was taken aback by the angry sound of the water. The waves crashed down on the shore with such a vengence that I believe it is aware of the past atrocities commited on it's shoreline. I then realised how daunting the scene would have been for the slaves - many of whom would have never before seen the Ocean - as they were led in chains onto a ship bigger than any they had seen before, as it rested on what must have appeared as the ends of the Earth. Add to this the inhumane treatment of the slaves and the seperation of their families, and you might be able to have a glimpse into the sense of despair upon these people as they were lead away from the only land they knew (but probably not). How any human-being could have rationalized this treatment of another is incomprehensible to me. May the souls of those involved - the slaves and those who exploited them - find peace in death.

I do not know what else to say about Ouidah and this experience, so I will take what a wise man (aka my Father) pointed out to me and elaborate with thoughts of my own: 20 years ago white people in South Africa hardly blinked before killing blacks and they were rarely, if ever, prosecuted for it. 45 years ago in the USA blacks were targeted with water hoses and dogs while fighting for their civil rights (the same 'God-given' rights outlined in the Declaration of Independence). Thankfully, South Africa is making strides towards improvement, and the United States has a man of African descent running for the Presidency... While the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr, is far from being realized (if it ever truly can be), change is possible, and we must hold onto - and fight for - our dreams.

Hippos, Bats, and Giraffes

2008-02-05T04:30:00.000-08:00

On our eighth day in Banfora our health had returned to us and we made an early morning trek to Tengrela Lake on our mopeds. We were quite the scene, Matt on the back and me drving (or should I say swerving) off into the sunrise. It was fun, but I don't think we were given the top quality mopeds by the locals (and by think I mean know). Tengrela Lake is a quiet lake that is home to about 60 hippos (or so we are told). Our mission there was to see hippos, and see hippos we did. Our guide rowed us in a hallowed out canoe to within about 20 or 30 feet from the hippos. Although we were unsure as to the safety of this, the guide promised us it was safe. The hippos watched us approach, but paid little attention to us after that. They are odd creatures, especially when you think of their size, and picture their bodies floating around under the water. They make a noise similar to that of a whale when they surface, exhaling air with such force we were startled the first few times. Unforunately, hippos only eat at sunset, so we did not see them out of the water... After Banfora we headed back to Ouagadougou for a night before heading to Niamey, Niger, where I am writing this.

A quick note: My down-time in Banfora forced me to change my frame on mind on this trip. When we were in Mali, everyday had a purpose, and no two days were the same. We were constantly moving, rarely relaxing for more than an hour or two. In Banfora, I was forced (and I say forced because there was no where to go, nothing to do) to accept that nothing was going to happen for today..., tomorrow..., etc. This allowed me to walk around Banfora, meet locals, and do nothing for a week. The end result is that I am less concerned with where I am going tomorrow, and more content with where I am. Banfora - although scary due to the illness that befell us - was a blessing in disguise.

Niamey has been wonderful. Each night at sunset we have ventured over to the terrace of the Grand Hotel, overlooking the Niger River. As the sun goes to rest behind the mountains west of Niamey, painting the sky in pastel blues, pinks, and oranges, bats begin to fill the sky. Thousands of bats in Niamey come out to play at dusk. They fly directly above the river, from north to south, appearing out of thin air (literally - the dust particles in the air do not allow you to see them until the are close). The bats, who dissappear into the abyss in the same manner in which they appear, continuously 'bat' their wings, creating a frantic image against the evening sky; an image compounded by the impending darkness.

Niger is also home to the only giraffes in West Africa, and this morning we headed out before sunrise to see these animals in nautre. Our guide did not disappoint, finding a herd of about 15 -20 giraffes shortly after entering the park. I was amazed how close we were able to get to these sentient creatures, coming within 10 or 15 feet at times. The younger giraffes (2 or 3 months old according to our guide), would peek at us from behind the safety of mother's legs, curiosity abounded upon their faces. An observation the three of us could not help but make was the complete lack of noice these elegant creatures produced. The tranquility surrounding them was deep, and the time we spent walking among them was therapy.

Today is our last day in Niger, as we head to Benin tomorrow morning. There is a lot of slave-trading history in Benin, and I am interested to see how they present this to travellers.

I hear the Pats lost the Super Bowl... I guess it's true - Cheaters never win.

Distrust in Mali; Hope In Burkina

2008-01-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

Due to an unfortunate illness within Team Wam (Walsh + Sim = Wam), we have been in Banfora, Burkina Faso, for five days now, and it looks like another few will be necessary for recovery (all seems to be well now). This little town does not offer many exciting activites for a traveller, save for a small waterfall and a hippo-filled lake. As a result, I have spent my days walking aorund this sleepy little place, hiding from the sun at midday, napping, and planning further on in the trip. I have also had time to reflect on some of our experiences so far and will write a few of those thoughts here (please note that these comments reflect Malian society, not Burkinabé society).

First, one of our constant problems in Mali was the people - men, women, and children - asking us for 'un cadeau' (French for 'a gift'). At first I was torn because of the sheer number of people who seemed to need our help. However, as food was often looked at with disgust by these people, who wanted money istead, I realized that these people were not in the dire situation I originally perceived them to be in. It had nothing to do with needing anything from us, but a belief that white people ought to give them something. Obviously, this belief stems from tourists before who have readily opened their pockets to children, offering gifts and money. Unfortunately for travellers (I will make a distinction here - a tourist is someone with lots of money and little time, a traveller is someone with a lot lof time but little money), the people here assume every foreigner is rich and willing to give hand outs. Such is not the case, and since all literature covering these countries asks travellers not to give hand outs to children, many people refuse to give anything at anytime (sharing food or water being an exception).

On one of our treks through Dogon Country (see previous post), Matt and Heather were followed by a group of children, who were harrassing them for their empty nalgene bottles, for nearly fifteen minutes. Afterwards Matt and I decided that this was racism (discriminatory or abusive behaviour towards members of another race). The harrasment we received due to our skin colour in Mali was persistent, aggressive, intrusive, and constant. We payed more than the locals for the same items, and we were harrased by hawkers (street sellers) and guides at all times. I do not expect people to understand, or even agree with me, especially if you have never visited Africa. It is not like other places that I initially thought were aggressive... When I was in Peru we were often approached by street sellers, many of whom were children. Rather than looking for a handout, everyone had something to sell, and a simple 'no gracias' from us was sufficient to send the seller on his or her way.

I purposely made a note differentiating Mali from Burkina because it is well deserved by the Burkinabé people. Since our arrival in Burkina we have been seen and treated as people, not sources of gifts and money. When illness struck our team, the hostel security guard walked to the hospital to ensure it was open, then returned and walked us back to it - all of this occurring between 2 and 3am. He then returned at 4 or 5am to make sure all was okay, and the hostel owner came and checked up on us at 7am upon arriving at the hostel and finding one of his patrons sick. None of these people asked for, nor expected anything, in return for their help and kindness; it was done out of genuine concern for a fellow human being. When I went into the market on Sunday, I observed what locals were paying for fruits and vegetables, in order to gauge what I should be able to bargain down to. Imagine my surprise when the first price I was told was the same as that paid by the locals (amazing!). Burkina has not been perfect - in Ouagadougou a coffee girl purposely withheld the price for two coffees from us until we had drank the coffees, then charged us three-and-a-half-times the going rate. Despite my wanting to argue, Matt said we should leave it and we walked away. Once again Matt's peacefulness triumphed, when only moments later an artisan approached us and asked us to look at his work. Matt said that he would not buy anything in the area because the coffee girl had overcharged him (his French is improving rapidly). The artisan, upset that we would not visit his shop, and sorry that we had been ripped off, returned moments later with over half of our payment. He did not ask us again to visit his shop. It was a moment that would never have happened in Mali, and gave me great hope for Burkina, and the rest of West Africa.

Dogon Country

2008-01-22T07:37:00.000-08:00

My last 6 nights/7 days have been spent hiking through Dogon Country. In all we hiked about 100km, mostly in the early morning and late afternoon, so as to avoid the midday heat. It all occurred along, or on top of, an escaprment that runs for about 140km and is 300 to 400m in height. Along the rock face of this escarpment is where many of the Dogon and their ancestors lived, with houses right in the side of the escarpment. It is something that must be seen to be understood. The hikes were broken up, with 7 to 9km at each time. The food was plentiful and tasty, although the toilets and showers left somethings to be desired (like toilet bowls and running water). None of the encampements had electricity, although some had solar panels or kerosene powered lamps...

One of my most memorable moments from the trip occured the third day as we hiked along the top of the escarpment early in the morning. The escarpment is about 400m high, with a vertical cliff face that runs at nearly 90 degrees to the Earth. The bottom of this escarpment marks the beginning of the Sahara Desert. Here is what I wrote in my journal asI walked along the edge of the escarpment that morning:
As I look out over the beginning of the Sahara - a landscape dotted with trees and scarred by sand dunes - the vast, flat surroundings stretch as far as the eye can see. The morning sky has set ablaze the World with colours of fire. So flat and vast is scene before me that the sky and the horizon blend together in an orange, gold, and yellow melody, making a distinction between the two impossible. The landscape is so magnificent and uninhabited that it feels as though we are at the end of the Earth, a place where life dares not to roam, and that the Earth is indeed flat. The melting of Sand into Sun off into the distance looks so pure and natural that nothing should exist beyond it....

My nights were spent sleeping on the roof tops of the encampements. I have not noticed the full range of the Moon in a long time. When we were at the Festival-au-Desert a week before Dogon, it was a New Moon and the stars were spectacular at night. Over the course of our week in Dogon I saw the moon go from half to full. As I witnessed its ability to light up the escarpment around me, the villages below me, and the Sahara beyond me, I was taken aback with regret for never noticing this at home in the city. It made me realize how important the Moon was, and still is, to communities and civilizations without electricity...

Of course, the trip was not perfect and our guide wound up being a drunk, a problem that increased as the days added up, culmenating in a near showdown in Sangha on the last day. Our guide, who was wasted at 11am, was arguing about money that wasn't rightfully his. Thankfully, Matt and his peacefulness - the ying to my too prideful yang - allowed cooler heads to prevail and we got back to Mopti without a scratch. On our arrival the tour operator was so apologetic that he refunded some of our money and promised to blacklist the guide. Although I know he will be used again in Dogon by other tour companies (his name is Seg), if he loses one job a month, I will be happy...

On a lighter note, we head to Ougadougou tomorrow (pronounced 'WAH-gah-DOO-goo', and the second best name of the trip so far, behind Djigibuimbou, pronounced 'Jiggy-BOOM-boo', a city in Dogon Country). After one night there we will head to Niamey, Niger, to walk with the only giraffes left in West Africa. After that we head to Benin where we hope to stay with José (from the pinasse trip and the Festival), he is there working with the Peace Corps. Benin will bring us to the Ocean, where we will forget about our struggles in the desert and laze in hammocks, drinking cold beers and reading good books.

Pinasse fever and the Festival

2008-01-14T05:43:00.000-08:00

So I hear that those of you who read the Globe know about the Festival that occured in the desert this past weekend. The festival was amazing, but getting there was interesting in itself....

We decided to take a public pinasse because it was cheap due to the fact it takes a lot of cargo along the river. However, the captain had over-packed the pinasse and therefore we could not move when the wind was bad. As a result, a two day tripped turned into four, and we were not even close to Timbuktu, so ten of us jumped ship when it docked and piled into the back of a pick-up for a two and a half hour ride into the desert. Of course that is not the best part - the food was rice covered in fish gravy, and if we were lucky, a fish head. It was not bad the first few times we ate it, but by the fourth day of eating it three times a day I was ready to throw up. Of course, the rice sacks we slept on for three nights also did not help the comfort level. Despite all that (and the cockroaches we shared the boat and our food with) I am glad we did it. First, we met several people that we wound up spending most of our time at the festival with: a special note goes out to Jose who is Mexican by birth, American by education and now works in the Peace Corps in Benin. We plan on staying with him when we go through Benin in one month's time. Second, we read aloud "The Little Prince" to one another on our first afternoon, something that stirred nostalgic emotions (I haven't read aloud since high school). Third, the sunsets along the Niger were amazing. Lastly, it was an authentic experience that is unrivalled up to this point.

The festival itself was also tricky to set-up, but well worth the hassles. Although we had our own tents we were going to be charged to have someone watch them (pay us our get robbed), so we wound up renting a tent from a Toureg encampment that was less than the security costs (about $5/night). The encampment was incredibly safe and the people were gentle, even offering to cook us food.

At night we danced to numerous types of music, from a GErman accordian player to the most popular West African reggae group. The most memorable moment occurred on Friday night when the tambourines we brought along created a dance circle of 25 Malians and 5 foreigners. Of course everyone within the circle was colourblind, concerned only with having a good time. We were later told that we 'brought the party', no small feat for two Canadian boys in Africa. It was extremely exhausting however, and the next night was anti-climatic as the music and dancing did not have the same heart.

Of course, there were problems with the festival. First is the amount of in-your-face selling that occurs. Some of the sellers came right into our tent trying to sell us music or jewellery, and they are not always easy to get rid of. They seem to use the Western politeness as a way to push sales, and eventually one must be rude (ignore them completely or get ignorant verbally) in order to get rid of the seller. After three days of this constant invasion of privacy I was ready to punch someone out. This constant harrassement continues in the tourist areas, such as Mopti, with children walking up to you with their hand out asking for "un cadeau" (a gift). All the literature you read tells you not to succumb to this begging as it wreaks havoc on the communities because children are becoming professional beggars and avoiding school since they see no value in it compared to what the white people give them. Despite the warnings, I invariably see older people handing out toys and candy to children. This only creates more begging and more aggressive children. This has been the one sore point on the trip so far, and I am excited to get to less touristic areas so that the children will greet us as they did in Bamako, with a smile and a handshake (while shouting "Chu-bob-boo").

Although many of the children approach like this, not all of them do. Yesterday as we were on the ferry crossing the Niger (after the pinasse adventure we sprung for a ride back in a 4x4), a little girl came up to me as I was writing in my journal and wrote her name, age and 'enchante' (nice to meet you). She then began reciting the alphabet in my journal and I was nearly moved to tears with the hope and love I felt at that moment. This little girl, Djiena Bou Maiga aged 6, was the first genuine interaction I had had with a child in Africa in nearly a week, and it restored my faith in children.

Although I did not take many pictures at the festival, there is one image I would like to recollect here. On the Friday evening there was a display of camel racing (there were camels everywhere at the festival, it is the favoured mode of transportation among the desert people) by many of the Touregs. One rider in particular caught my eye and ingrained his image in my brain. He was on a white camel with a torquoise robe on, and as he rode over the white sand with the sunset behind him - his robe being taken by the wind behind him, thus resembling a cape on a super hero in flight - he raised his whip up into the air, and from my vantage point it looked like he was yielding a sword and riding into battle. It was very majestical, medieval, and Arabian nights all rolled into one.

Well, I guess that is good for now, although I have many other thoughts I must get my rest. We get up at 6am tomorrow morning to head into Dogon Country (try wikipedia-ing that) for six nights.

I am sorry to hear about my Colts, but Favre is going back to the dance.

A Few Days In

2008-01-05T04:09:00.000-08:00

Our host in Mopti, a Danish man named Willem, was incredible. He has a house in a small village 15km outside Mopti, where his adopted son and his son's family live. Willem helps villages create sustainable gardening projects so that they may become self-sufficient. On Friday and Saturday nights he has children and their parents form all around the village and as far as Mopti (no small feat considering the lack of personal automobiles here) for movies that he shows via a projector and a wall on his house that he has painted white. We experienced this last night after our trip to Djené and it was truly amazing and inspiring to see what his man was doing for the people around his village.
While staying at Willem's place we slept in our tents on his roof. The one thing I am missing from home right now is a mattress, as I did not bring a thermarest air mattress (big mistake), and we will be tenting for the next two weeks or so as we head up to Timbuktu on a boat for three days (both ways), and then spend four or five nights in the desert.
The distance between Willem's house and Mopti made for an interesting trip one morning, as we rode in on a young boy's donkey cart for part of the way, and then we jumped in the back of a dumptruck with a bunch of teenaged boys heading to school. Although a worthy experience, it took a long time, so we rented bikes to get into town after that.

The aforementioned trip to Djené was said to be two hours, but with ten people packed into a 1970's station wagon designed for seven it did not move at top speed. Add in the fact it broke down, and the 4 hour trip felt more like 6. However, the town of Djené is like something out of a Star Wars movie, with everything constructed out of a mud mixture that is baked by the sun into rock-solid two-storey houses. In the center of the town is a mud mosque that is the pinnacle of mud-engineering.
On the ride back from Djené we were packed into a cargo van that showed us a harsh reality of African life. In the van was a young man (16 or 17), along with his father, who was in tremendous abdominal pain. Unfortunately the nearest real hospital was in Mopti, so this cargo van that, that at times was carrying over 22 people, also doubled as an ambulance - only without a single amenity that we would attribute to an ambulance. I do not believe anybody cries wolf in Africa, as the ride was miserable for me and I had water and music. I cannot imagine how the trip was for the boy and his father.

Tonight we sleeep on the roof of a hostel along the Niger, and then tomorrow we head to Timbuktu. on a pinasse, or local boat that will be packed for three days and two nights. Should be an experience.

We also met a teenaged boy, Osoan, who helped us immensely one day in Mopti. He helped us find camping gas, baragained on our behalf for ammenities and food, and gave us tips for travelling to Djené. We tipped him 5000CFI (about ten bucks), for which he was truly grateful. We say him in town again today and he joked and played with us briefly, telling us he is going to Timbuktu on the same boat as us to see his mother, whom he wants us to meet. Travelling always seems to work out like that, with pieces falling into place right when they should.

Go Habs.

First Impressions of Africa

2008-01-01T09:24:00.000-08:00

Bon Annee, or Happy New Years to everyone

Our arrival in Casablanca on the 29th was easy, but as we (my brother Matt and his girlfriend Heather) went to get on the train to take us into Casablanca I realized how far from home I was. The station was poorly lit and everyone was in the traditional Muslim dress. I could not help but notice that every set of eyes were focused our way, and this was a little unsettling at first. I did not feel comfortable until we got to the next train station, where there were kids running around, laughing and playing, and genuinely excited to see us. Immediately I felt at ease as we not only smiled with the children, but also with their parents. The ability for children to make one feel at ease is a remarkable power that seems to be constant throughout the world...

Our destination in Casablanca was the Hassan II Mosque (www.mosquehassan2.com). This religious building is stunning and the meticulous detail found throughout it is awe-inspiring. It provided a final realization that I was no where near home as I was again surrounded by the Muslim world. Despite what CNN and the Bush Admistration would have us believe, people of the Muslim faith are incredibly welcoming and always willing to help...

While walking around the outside of the Mosque I found myself looking out at the Atlantic Ocean from the shores of Africa, where I realized that no matter where in the World we may find ourselves, the warm feel of the sun on our necks, the refreshing blow of the wind at our backs, and the way waves break and crash into land are Universal, just as humans are the same through and through...

After only a few hours in Casablanca we made our way back to the airport to catch our connecting flight to Bamako, Mali. As we arrived in Bamako at 3am on the 30th we were swarmed by taxi drivers before we even got to our bags. Despite the aggressiveness, the man who helped us, Ismail, was genuinely friendly and honest. When I awoke the next afternoon I was met with 30 degrees of heat and red dirt that I feel will become a symbol of Africa for me long after I leave. Along with an Irish guy named Keith, who is staying at the same house as us, I went to the Grande Marche. In order to get there we jumped in on the public bus, a surprisingly effecient and effective mode of transportation. The market itself cannot be explained by words, so I will try to post pictures soon...

Last night was our New Years celebration. Matt, Heather, Keith; and I went to a local club called Le Hogon, where we had dinner and watched several live acts of traditional African music while bringing in the New Year. It was a New Years I will not soon forget...

Tomorrow the four of us (Keith is headed for the Festival au Desert as well) head for Mopti where we will sleep on the roof of a Danish man's house who we met on www.couchsurfers.com before floating up the Niger to Timbuktu for the three day festival www.festival-au-desert.org...

Enjoy the snow.

Fall

2007-11-01T21:51:00.000-07:00

As I was travelling this summer I read several books that constantly talked about nature and how we should put aside a few minutes every day to really take it in and appreciate it. While we all hear this at some point or another, how many of us actually listen to it? Most of us are too busy people-watching (aka judging bodies, styles, labels, etc) to enjoy our surroundings. Of course, we could argue that in the city there is little to no nature to enjoy to enjoy. This, however, is bullshit. Even in the city there are tree-lined streets (The Annex, Rosedale, Forest Hill, etc). These trees are so old that they nearly form an arc over the street with the adjacent trees across the street. As a result of my readings I've given extra attention to the fall colours, and instead of getting frustrated with traffic, or the inability to find parking, I've recognized how amazing shit can be, and I've chosen to smile at life, rather than curse the asshole who can't drive in front of me.

Now, I know fall is coming to an end and snow is inevitable, but rather than dwelling on the cold weather, an overdue assignment, or your inability to get laid (you know who you are), enjoy the colours as nature's yearly art exhibition. To those of you who will chirp this as being 'gay' - grow up, get your heads out of your asses, open your eyes, and respect and admire what's around you.

Halloween And the Good Ol' Days

2007-10-31T16:01:00.000-07:00

So this is my first post on my on own blog. I am sitting at my front door awaiting young children to come by, all dressed up, shouting the classic "trick or treat!". I cannot help but remember how much fun and excitement this night brought when I was a child. I remember going out every year in hand-me-down, homemade costumes (by my mom). I remember the lead up, trying to figure out what I was going to be, trying to convince my parents to let us get out early in order to get as much candy as possible, and I remember feeling sick as I would sneak candy at all hours of the day for the next week or so, or until mom would finally cut me off.

Then came high school and I was too cool to dress up, opting instead to get drunk and high with friends who were also too cool to dress up. Invariably these nights were huge disappointments and I never knew why.

Then came university and the hype of Halloween was back in full effect. At this point Halloween was used by women to slut themselves out, and used by guys to fulfill alter egos - pimps, kings, pirates, Navy SEALs, etc. The truly energetic would get into character and not let it rest until the night was up. I remember a Halloween or two where this was the case, and they are by far my best memories of Halloween. It was also in these years that I realised what the night was all about - letting go of any inhibitions and reclaiming the innocence of our youth, dressing and acting in a way we haven't done since our imaginations ran wild in our parents' basements with neighbourhood friends. To these people who have resigned Halloween as a night for children, I pity you, as this is the only night in the year where you can act a fool and actually have it appreciated by complete strangers and those closest to you (although I may act a fool on other nights of the year, and they may be appreciated by those closest to me, they are rarely condoned by strangers).

In conclusion, if you did not go out this year, creep any of the hundreds of Facebook photo albums that will undoubtedly be posted over the next week for ideas for next year, save the pictures to your computer, and get excited for '08. I know I will.