Internet Disruption

Apparently, the earthquake in the Pacific has severed our internet connection to the outside world. Google is quickly adding itself to the list of survivors in the event of a holocaust as they were back on line first. Hotmail took longer and Blogger is now back up and running just in time for me to leave Vietnam.

Warning At Sea

From Hanoi, we took a tour to Ha Long Bay. The ancients described this dappling of limestone islands as the Descending Dragon. The story has it that Hanoi was chosen as a new capital based on a dream of a dragon flying towards it and it was called Ascending Dragon and Ha Long Bay was formed by a dragon crashing into the shoreline of the sea.
We took to the seas in a modernized version of a Junk. We had sails, but we also had a motor and airconditioning if needed. Along with our party of six, our junk carried eight other tourists - two more Canucks, two Thai, two Koreans, and two Russians.
We ate and drank and sailed around little islands stopping at a few sights. The islands are riddled with caves and we had the chance to go inside one of them, but it wasn't that interesting and our guides childish riddles made it a little painful at times.
Our junk carried several small open style Kayaks. (The kind that you can't sink even if you try.) And the highlight, for me, was taking them out on short little trips. We explored the edges of several islands and even had the chance to paddle through a tunnel into a bay that would otherwise be hidden.
Claudio Lopez turned a year older on the trip. It was a beautiful place to celebrate a birthday.
That night, while most played charades and I strummed the old guitar I found on board, the staff watched TV. So it was that we were at sea in a little Junk, when we heard the Tsunami warning. Not where you want to be.
Still, despite a 6'3" bed squeezed into a room not much larger and the possibility of the world's fastest Junk ride, I slept like a baby.

Hoi An

It seems that I have greatly underestimated the appeal of having tailors make your every whim. I have out spent Donna. I'm not sure how it happened. It seems to have crept up on me one garment at a time and then in the guise of a tailor made suit (cashmere blend) it leapt upon me. It seems that we may need a suitcase to get our loot home.

Travel Alert

Hanoi, VIETNAM - In conjunction with the offices of Interpol, the following travel advisory has been issued: Claudio Lopez is on the move. Once again, women of foreign nationalities with names not native to their culture are in the most danger. Last seen in Hoi An, it is believed that he was purchasing disguises a la Hugh Hefner and James Dean. It is possible that he is traveling with both a Japanese woman and a Canadian woman. Thankfully, each has a name appropriate to their culture.

Was it Something I Said?

It has been quite some time since I've seen my own blog. For reasons unknown, I can post to the blog, but not see it. Although, I can generally surf the web without any problem.

Tailor Made for Tourism

Hoi An is the cutest cleanest place yet in our travels. Things are generally more expansive here, but the place is worth it. After a week, I'm ready to pay for sidewalks.
While the traffic overall is quieter in this small town, the real joy lies in there being less cars and trucks here. Mopeds and scooters are easier to deal with when they don't have to deal with cars. The town is picturesque with a heavy influence of both French and Chinese in style. But it is a great town because of the shopping.
Every other shop in Hoi An is a clothing store except that they have very few items on display and in lieu of stock they simple have bolts and bolts of fabric. Everything is made to order. Everyone is a tailor. Half now, half later. Whether you want a different colour or collar, nothing is a problem. You can look through fashion magazines or pick from mannequins.
We've ordered a few things (which are almost ready) and if we like them, or packs could get a lot heavier.

Vietnam, brought to you by Heineken

I forget who said, 'To be a legitimate country you have to have your own army, your own airline, and your own beer.' Vietnam has plenty of good beer and I have put in a better than good effort to sample them all. When you are paying anywhere from fifty cents to a dollar, it is hard to turn your back on the brew.
Not many foreign beers are available and even if they were, I wouldn't be interested. Heineken is doing its best to change all of that. I don't know if it is a red star/yellow star connection or if they are like this everywhere, but they are one of the biggest corporate sponsors in Vietnam. For Christmas, they seem to be putting up a giant Heineken bottle Christmas tree everywhere we go.

Hue

Our train pulled into Hue early in the morning. (Deb had left us in Da Nang in search of a beach. Rob was still with Donna and I.) Trains, as you may know, don't always stop for the same amount of time. Smaller towns often get smaller stops and neither Donna nor I are strangers to the dangers of missing your stop. I have pushed a friend from a moving train and Donna, with the aide of her sister, has pushed complete strangers from a still train. So when we pulled into this small town and the conducter started yelling "Hue" over and over again at us, we jumped into action. We were off the train in a flash, pushing anyone aside who stood in our way. We got off the train with several minutes to spare. I think Rob still doubts our sanity.
Hue is much more enjoyable than Nha Trang. It is a smaller town and with it a slower pace. The tourism is also far more historical and a whole lot less "party". It is a shame that we haven't left more time for it. We've arrived today and we are leaving tomorrow. Still, it has been a great day.
It all began with finding a beautiful hotel for $20.00 (That includes free internet and breakfast.) If the building is new, and I can't say that it is, its architecture certainly was influenced by French colonialism. We are on the six floor, which is high for Hue. Our room is behind a heavy wooden door at the end of a wide hall that feels extraordinarily big due to its high ceilings. We have large windows, heavy wooden furniture, and a small balcony overlooking the Perfume River.
Having secured a room very early in the morning,

Hard Sleeper

Last night, we left the hustle and bustle of Nha Trang behind. Left behind too was the luxury of the Asia Paradise Hotel. Instead we took the overnight train to Hue. In booking the train, we were mislead a few times - not deliberately I think, just more of a language barrier. There was a great deal of confusion as to when the tour agency closed and opened and how that coincided with train office. In the end, it was our third visit in twelve hours and our agent had the train office on the phone and he confirmed that there was space in first class, but felt the need to reconfirm the price which we had known for quite some time and was not an issue. Having hung up to check with us again on the price, he needed to call back again to book and by that time the space was gone. So second class it was.
The difference between first and second class lay in two features. The first being 4 vs. 6 per room. We being a band of 4 definitely wanted 4 per room. The second being "Soft Sleeper" vs. "Hard Sleeper".
Now, being in marketing, I can see right off that the name of Hard Sleeper is not a good selling point. But what I can say is that it is an accurate description of the bunk they provide. The soft sleeper comes with a 3 inch mattress on top of a rock hard board. The hard sleeper, we were told, just has a thinner mattress. Truth be told, I've had many blankets that were thicker than what served as a mattress.
Not surprisingly, I slept like a baby. The rocking motion of the train put me to sleep as soon as the lights went out.
Donna and company had a rougher time of it. She also has a more sensitive nose than I do and even I noticed the smell was a little more than ripe. In fact, it was really gross whenever the train stopped for a while. As soon as we got moving again, it always smelled a little better.
While it didn't smell any better in first class, and I can always sleep - even on a board, I still want to make the following NOTE TO SELF: Book ahead.

A Day Lost at Sea

We took a tour on a boat. We read snorkeling and Aquarium and water sports. What they should have said is a strange attempt to mimic Mexican party boats aimed at 20 year olds looking to get drunk enough to think Brother John sounds good in Vietnamese.
We promise to ask more questions.

Let the Chips Fall

The Nha Trang Beach Hotel is, by local standards, a nice hotel. So when I say that it only cost $12.00, you must understand that many backpackers are staying in decent places for the standard rate of $6.00 We are far from slumming it. In fact, at $12.00, we're a little upscale.
Now it looks as if the hotel was built in two phases and those phases don't quite line up in height. So from one building to the next is a half flight of stairs.
Our friends have a $16.00 room in the front half and we have our less expensive room in the back half. The key difference in the two rooms is that their window faces the street and our window faces the hallway. We have air conditioning and the window locks and so it doesn't seem to be a big deal when we book in, but in the night the wind picks up and the window begins to rattle.
I am awakened not by the window, but rather by Donna wanting me to resolve this rattle problem. Which I do - by opening the window.
I am awakened again, this time to discover that Donna can't sleep. She is afraid that someone is going to get into the room while we sleep. I try to convince her that it is far more likely that they would break in while we are away, but this is doing no good in a dark hotel room in a foreign country with the Loop-O-Matic in full effect.
Why do I say that she is the Loop-O-Matic 3000? Not because she is afraid, however unlikely, that someone is going to reach through the window and open the door. Not because I discovered in the dark that she had lodged a chair under the door knob - a locking mechanism that is far superior to the hotel locks and should someone be able to reach through the window and unlock the door would then foil them somehow. No, it is because I was able to get her to sleep by placing a bag of chips on the edge of the curtain. Yes it was the additional security provided by the ancient Chip Trap that let her get to sleep.
Of course, we found a new hotel the next night that met her security standards for the low low price of $50.00

Teretz

The road from Mui Ne to Nha Trang begins with a brand new stretch of road. It winds its way along the windswept coast. The road climbs over the foothills of mountains as they tumble to the sea. A new road, it is open and uninhabited and really quite beautiful.
The Vietnamese have a very different sense of driving and in particular driving safety is certainly not foremost in their minds. Not only do they see lanes and stop lights as 'suggestions', they don't really adhere to which side of the road is appropriate for driving in any given direction. All of which works to some degree. Now safety, in say the form of helmets, is sorely lacking. Still, it seems that they can get away with driving 8 motorcycles to a lane with up to 5 people on a bike including a 4 year old standing on the crossbar - all without helmets. They get away with it, because they just aren't going that fast. They cut each other off at low speeds and no one gets angry. No one gestures or yells. They just slow down or stop. Likewise when the pass on the highway, they don't wait for a clear view. They pass on corners and hills, knowing that should an oncoming bus appear, the driver won't be angry he'll just swerve. All of this in my view depends on speed.
Having said that, I have yet to see a speed sign. It is likely that I've just overlooked the obvious, but I just haven't seen one. I think they go slow because the roads are always clogged. Well except on that stretch of new highway heading north out of Mui Ne. Where our driver seemed determined to test the gripping power of the bus as her sped through corners.
The sound of the luggage sliding back and forth underneath of us was making me very uncomfortable, so you may not find it hard to imagine Donna, looking frazzled, suddenly raising out of her chair and yelling, with an angry tone that didn't match the politeness of her words (a politeness I'm sure was lost on her audience), "Would you please slow down!"
When our team, and there was a team, of drivers turned to look - partly trying to see who the mad woman in the back was and partly trying to understand what she was shouting about - Donna ducked back into her seat as if it hadn't been her.
Perhaps she made the difference, perhaps we just joined back to the old clogged highway, either way we took everything a little slower after her outburst.

On the Move

We're leaving the luxury of the Sailing Club behind. And it has been luxurious. We've been waited on hand and foot, eaten royally, played billiards, soaked in the pool, swam in the warm surf of the South China Sea, and been massaged in a private hut with white flowing curtains blown by the sea breeze.
We're off to Nha Trang by bus. A five hour ride virtually devoid of luxury as we've come to expect it.

Pho Ga

For lunch today, I had Pho Ga, which is a very common lunch offering. Of course that sounds distinctly Vietnamese and perhaps even an adventurous exotic choice. Well, unless you order by the English translation of Chicken Noodle Soup.

Donna's a Softy

Yesterday, we hired a driver to take us around the local area. He didn't speak any English, but to be honest it wasn't at all neccessary. At the tour office, they spoke English and so we knew where he was taking us already.
He drove an army style jeep that, other than a brand new steering wheel, looked circa 71. (The new steering wheel did look odd up against the matte army green.) Rob jokingly offered to drive when our driver picked us up and just outside of town - perhaps away from watchful eyes or clear of conjestion, we'll never know - our driver pulled over and let Rob take the wheel. It seemed to amuse him to recline in the back and let Rob do the work. Once we got to the off road section of our trip, he took over once again. To be honest, I was glad to have him dodging both potholes and scooters.
Around Mui Ne there are a few sand dunes that appear from nowhere. Ocean on one front, a lake on the other, and forest around the rest, they seem inexplicable. Local children swarm tourists looking to sell packs of postcards and to rent what looks like crazy carpets. A pale comparision to snow, crazy carpeting down the sand dunes is a little slow. And while you aren't cold, you do have sand everywhere.
The area is also rich in clay and which has eroded to form mini canyons of deep red spires. At one such stop, a pair of little girls were selling postcards. Donna was looking to buy some postcards anyways and so this seemed like as good a time as any. Not having the right change she ended up buying two packs from a nine year old girl named Bo.
We had read in the guide book that the children's aim is twofold. They are certainly there to sell their wares, but they are also interested in speaking English. Bo was no exception. After Donna had bought her two packs, Bo was stuck to her like glue and the two of them were talking up a storm. Bo's English may have been the best English we've heard here in Vietnam.
To say that Bo followed us up the canyon would be a lie. It is far more accurate to say that she dragged Donna up the canyon. She would scramble up steps ahead of Donna and then grab her by the hand and pull.
After seeing the canyon, we climbed into the jeep and waved goodbye.
The next stop, the yellow sand dunes, was probably 2 km away. But by the time we'd climbed out of the jeep and crossed the road, Bo was right beside Donna again. This time we were swarmed by a dozen children, each selling postcards and/or renting a crazy carpet. While the rest of us struggled through the swarm, Bo cleared a path for Donna - half explaining and half bragging that Donna had already bought not one pack from her, but two.
It's a good thing we didn't bring more luggage, or I fear we'd be coming home with a bright little girl named Bo.

Kite Surfing

The wind did pick up yesterday and dozens of kite surfers took to the sea. They raced back and forth and when the more experienced riders hit waves they were shot into the air. Some could do flips, while others were lucky to land safely. It looked like with a few days of work you could be competent enough to enjoy it - somewhat like snowboarding. What was surprising was that with over 30 kites in the air, they never got tangled in each others lines.

Pets or Meat

Westerners are particularly freaked out by the idea of dog meat on a menu. We haven't seen it yet and we probably won't. That's certainly not to say that it isn't just around the corner. Guide books suggest it is more common in the North.
That said, we have seen a lot of pet dogs here in Mui Ne. Last night we were at a restaurant and the family that runs it have two dogs. They are little puppies full of energy and as happy as you could hope to see. What struck us as interesting was their lack of names. They were household pets to be sure and the family would play with them and paid attention to them, but they didn't pet them or name them.
It is the lack of names for their pets which sticks out most to me and not the willingness to eat them, because if you have ever seen Roger & Me or the follow up film Pets or Meat, it is clear that we feel the same way about rabbits.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

Or at least there are a few touches here and there to indicate the season is upon us even here. In fact, a number of nicer storefronts in Ho Chi Minh were decorated with snow scenes in the window. They didn't seem to be stores aimed at Westerners, but more the Ying of our Asian tattoo Yang.
In these expensive stores, (the fact that they have windows makes them expensive right off) they often had very Caucasian mannequins and fake white snow swirling in the breeze of a fan. In more typical stores, if they went for a Christmas theme it was more likely to involve a few red and green lights and a whole lot of tinsel.

The Calm Before

It seems that Mui Ne is well-known for its winds, making it a bit of a Vietnamese mecca for sailing and kite surfing. Which seemed odd to me since, despite the strong wind, no one can be seen doing either. It turns out that the wind I thought was strong is considered a 'still wind' and they are simply waiting for what will surely come.
Thanks to the diligent work of a Ms. Grey, reporter for the Kitsilano Record, we can say that we aren't expecting a typhoon to make landfall anywhere near where we are. Even so, on the beach a gaggle of would be kite surfers anticipating winds to go from the current 15 knots to 30 knots by the weekend as the most recent typhoon heads west.
I, for one, would like to see that.

A Rare Sighting

Rob, a childhood friend of Donna's with whom we are travelling, believes he spotted an Alaskian Cochwalloper, although he seems doubtful of their migratory pattern. I for one have little to add on the subject other than to wonder if that make him a naturalist or a naturist.

Mui Ne

What a welcome respite Mui Ne is from the frantic noises of Ho Chi Minh. We've arrived in this fishing village just as it is set to explode with tourists. The resorts seem to outnumber the tourists for now, but it may just be a matter of time. We are staying at The Sailing Club, which is likely to be our most expensive stay throughout the trip. It is beautiful and the service is everpresent and yet unobtrusive. Time to be pampered.
I'm big on being pampered.
The resort is stunning. I believe it is owned by a Kiwi. Certainly it has the details that appeal to foreigners and likely don't make sense to locals. We have a semi-detached bungalow with a thatched roof and a giant mosquito net that is draped over a king sized bed. The furiture is natural local wood. Why would we want a thatched roof? Crazy rich people.
The water is extremely warm and the waves are strong. The sea here is rich with shellfish and so getting in the water means navigating a stretch of shells that swirl around your feet for the first few metres. But after that the sand is soft and slowly slopes away.
There are other tourists here, but the sea is virtually free of the typical tourist clutter. No banana boats or jet skis. It's just quietly beautiful.

Mekong Delta

From Saigon, we took a bus to the northern edge of the Mekong Delta. There we were given a very touristy tour of a few islands. We were treated to local candy which was tasty and to local singing which was not. Actually, truth be told the singing was pretty painful. The instruments sound out of key as well, which kind of works with the singing since it sounds out of key as well. But they were quite proud and so we were kind with our applause and even tipped them. "Ha!", I say to the tourists who follow, for we only encouraged them.
Still, it was good to get a sense of the Mekong, however limited.

Cu Chi Tunnels

Totally freaky. We took a guided tour of a preserved section of the Cu Chi Tunnels. Originally 350 km in length, we had the chance to crawl through a few hundred yards of westerner widened tunnels. I'm certainly glad they widened them or I could't have even tried. The first entrance they showed us is preserved as it was: a small rectangular block hidden in the forest floor. I tried to climb down into the hole - feet first - and at my hips I was stuck fast. I was floating in the air unable to touch bottom. Rob could climb through, but had some geniune trouble getting out and need the guides instructions. Like a puzzle, he had to take particular positions and rotations to get back through the opening.
The widened section was far from wide. Those who were brave enough or curious enough climbed down 7 or 8 feet and then started crawling down little tunnels in relative darkness punctuated by the odd red light set into the wall and the occasionaly camera flash. Donna thought the better of it. I, being bigger than the average westerner, still didn't fit very well and where others were hunched, I had to crawl.
I have a photo I took of myself in the tunnel. It was pitch black and I held out the camera infront of myself, hoping that it was aimed at me, and when the flash went off my eyes weren't prepared for that burst of light. The result is a human version of a deer on a highway.
All the while, in the distance, live ammunition is being fired by tourists - M16's and other era rifles. And you can't help but imagine what it must have been like - for both sides. How frightening for American GI's to know that the enemy could pop up behind you at any time. And how desperate you'd have to be to live in those tiny tunnels underground.

Cao Dai Temple

While I often struggle to grasp the appeal of religions, the Cao Dai religion particularly seemed odd. It is, from what I've gathered, a mix of other religions. It elements from each of the competing religions in Vietnam and roles them into one brightly coloured bundle. The temple we visited is the marquee temple in Vietnam and while it was kind of cool, it was also kitchy looking and a little too Crayola for this kid.

War Remnants Museum

We've learned to cross the street. It took some courage, but we wanted to see some sights and the best way is by foot. Our morning was comprised of breakfast and a stroll around the neighbourhood. Around noon two of our friends arrived. We had a couple of cold beers and feeling brave we took to the streets.
The highlight of the afternoon was War Remnants Museum. A sombre place, it took us through the Vietnam War from a very different perspective. It begins with the obvious, they don't call it the Vietnam War, but rather the American War.

Time

Barb, I'm told that we are 12 hours ahead of you in Ontario and 15 hours ahead of Vancouver.

Traffic

Waiting for us at the airport was a man with a sign with our name on it. Did we feel special? Wow.
He had a minivan, with airconditioning, and another two people to pick up. Once we were all assembled we took off into the flow of traffic. "Flow" is the best word to describe what amounts to traffic rules. I've seen a few big cities in a fair number of places and this is the craziest traffic I've seen. The shear number of scooters (well scooters and there various deformed cousins) is boggling. But how they flow is the amazing thing.
Think of a stadium concourse just before kick off. Big streams of people flow left and right and there is an informal sense of the right and wrong side of the concourse, but if you want to move more quickly you dodge and weave against the flow of traffic. If you get to your gate, you turn into the flow and slowly make your way over. If you waited for a break, well the game would be well on its way before you got to your seat.
Now imagine that madness on motorized vehicles. Lanes are suggestions. Turn signals are warnings. Horns are constant. Most intersections have neither stop signs nor lights.
It is absolutely amazing to me that I haven't witnessed an accident yet. Rush hour was unbelievable, but it is pretty amazing even at what passes for quiet times.
Crossing the street has become an adventure. A steady movement combined with faith is the only recipe. Without faith that they will weave around you, you would be confined to a single block. It may be that come rush hour we will catch a cab just to cross the road.

Customs

On the flight to Vietnam, we sat next to a man who was born in Vietnam and moved to the US at the age of ten. He had recently returned to Vietnam to work for a foreign multi-national. A very western man with an inside scoop, he gave us a page full of what are hope are to be invaluable tips. From taxi companies to itineraries and he wrote it all down.
It's funny how some people can't resist the urge to be helpful. He was that sort of man. He wasn't satisfied with a list of tips. He encouraged us to get out ahead of the crowd and race towards customs with him as the line up was about to swell. Which we did to no avail as there was a prior flight just ahead of us.
Customs was a large room with a dozen chaotic lines. Each one growing quickly and looking daunting. Each one save for three. The three short lines all had signs that clearly ruled us out - not having a diplomatic passport or other such ID. Our new found guide told us to follow him into a short "Investors" line. He was satisfied there. He spoke to a guard and walked to the front of the line, still beckoning us to follow. He took our passports and told us he was going to tell them that we were investors.
Before we could discuss it, he was gone. Gone only three feet, but an important guard controlled three feet. Both of us were nervous. Too nervous to want to admitt we were nervous. Donna braved the words,"I'm not sure how comfortable I am with this."
But then the customs guard called us over. He asked if we were there as tourists and not wanting to lie and not wanting to go back and get in a now massive line, I quietly said, "Yes." I don't know if I thought that the quiet part would help somehow or if it was just a typical twelve year old reaction.
But that was it. Two stamps and we were through. I guess we'll just have to see about getting out.

First Stop - Hong Kong Airport

Last night, no wait, maybe earlier today, oh who knows when - anyway we were to start our trip at one o'clock in the morning in Vancouver, but that didn't happen. It took a few hours longer than planned to get off the ground. First off, our plane was delayed leaving New York and we, tired and cold in an empty airport, had to wait. Then when we got on the plane they discovered an engine problem. I for one was more than willing to wait. By the time it was resolved, someone on board had a baby with a fever. Or I suppose I mean someone's baby had a fever. Of course, it would have been a much bigger deal if she had had the baby on the plane. Either way, she and the baby were suddenly not fit to travel and they had to get off - which is the quick part. The slow part is finding their luggage. Another good rule in my mind as I never want to fly with people's unaccompanied luggage. So by the time we were ready to go, Russia was closed and we were no longer allowed to cut through their yard. This meant we needed to be in the air longer, which meant we needed more fuel, which meant we had to wait.
I mention all of this not as a complaint. I was prepared for 24 hours of travel and with a planned eight hour layover in Hong Kong, it made no real difference to me. I mention it instead for those who know my wife. She can go a little squirrelly in a car ride. A three hour flight stresses her out. So, you must understand that I feared she would go mad. Anxious about the flight without its delays, she had packed sleeping pills and planned to drink them with wine if needed.
What I am happy to report is a one-hundred-percent incident free flight. No outbursts. No tirades. Instead she slept for hours unassisted by either wine or pills.
Now all we have is a short flight from Hong Kong to Saigon. Should be no problem.

Science World's Body Works

Science World Body Works
I can't tell you why looking at plastic preserved actual humans was so massively more engrossing than looking at plastic models, but it was. I was fascinated. The odd part is that they don't even look real. They are saturated with plastic and exposed and there is nothing normal about that. I had to remind myself that these weren't artists' creations. These we actual people. Or at least parts of them.
The two lungs - healthy and unhealthy - side by side were startling. The cross section of an obese person was captivating. But I had imagined them or seen photos. It was the vast array of things that I had never seen before that keep running through my mind.

• The replacement hip - so different than I had imagined.
• The head reduced to skull and veins - the veins suspended three dimensionally, amazingly complicated and yet efficient.
• The appendix - so small, so insignificant looking.
• The brain and all its main nerves separated from the body - made us look like an alien invader from science fiction.

Well worth the trip.

Smoking

I understand that smokers feel put out. We've pushed them out of our restaurants and bars, out of theatres and stadiums, out of offices and airplanes. (well maybe not literally out of planes, but it sounds like we could) And for the most part, as a non-smoker, it seems we've been winning.

We've managed to coral smokers. Keeping them confined to little glass boxes in airports and alleyways outside of office towers. Typically, they have been left either hotboxing themselves or shivering outdoors in forgotten, unwanted spaces.

Well except for the patio. With the summer having been drowned away by a few pineapple expresses, it isn't front of mind, but we non-smokers have been losing the war on the last remaining front: the Patio.

Sure, you might think, on a cold November day with wind and rain driving against the glass, as you sit toasty and warm in your smoke free restaurant, "Give them the Patio. Let them have it. Let them shiver and drown for their addiction." And I'd agree, except that I know summer will come again and the sun will come out and I will want to sit out there on the patio enjoying a cold beer.

Victory may be at hand. Vancouver is considering expanding its ban on smoking to include patios. I for one truly hope it succeeds. I'm just not happy winning nine months of the year.

Big Things in Small Places

We are a nation strangely obsessed with giant statues. Not monuments like Mount Rushmore or the Statue of Liberty. For the serious statues, we stand aside for our American friends. No we like craziness, we like inane. I don't know the intentions of the creators of Sudbury's Big Nickel or the Wawa Goose or the giant Muskie in Kenora. Who needs a big nickel looming over their town. Or for that matter a giant fish or bird or lobster or wheel of cheese? At which planning meeting did the they pass that intention? Was it to increase tourism?
"Listen Frank, I'm sure that people would drive to Wawa to see a big goose. Where else would they go to see a big goose?"
As inane as the goose and nickel are, I have two favourites in inanity. One I've seen and one I've not.
The first I have yet to see: The Giant Pierogi. I guess my main question is simply, 'How does one recognize a Pierogi, giant or otherwise?' It really doesn't have much of a shape to it and the colour couldn't be more bland. Certainly it isn't a food that appears in a great deal of still life and so I find it remarkable that someone would make a giant version of it.
The second I saw recently: The Giant Gnome. An oxymoron of enormous proportions. A gnome is a gnome because it isn't giant.
Got to love that Canadian identity.

Remembering My Grandfather

Craig's List

I am suddenly a huge fan of Craig's List. Now that we've bought a place, we have furniture that will fit and some that won't. "Won't" ranges of course to include the armoire for which there is no room and the corner stand which will not do, not in the new place.
Since putting our things on Craig's List, we've sold our patio set, heat lamp, bedroom suite, wine rack/side table, two lamps, and corner stand. All of which is fueling our missing furniture fund. While I strongly suspect we won't come out ahead, we haven't lost nearly as much money as I thought we would.
I'm not surprised at the interest we had in the patio set and the bedroom suite. What amazed me was the fervor for the lamps. Who would have thought that anyone would give us money for those old Ikea lamps. Even crazier to me was the notion that someone would drive in from Richmond to buy our corner stand.
Anyway, if you know anyone that is looking for an armoire or an area rug, send 'em to Craig's List for us, would ya.

Knife Thrower

I can't say that I took a lot of pictures this halloween. A little video of Claudio Lopez of course and a couple of shots with my phone at Michelle's place. Once I was in costume (a blindfolded knife thrower) it was hard to see.
I could get around, but I had thought that it would be very annoying for me to wear a blindfold all night. The truth is I loved it, if only because it made others uncomfortable, which is sort of the point on Halloween. Isn't it?

MimeTime with SB-1

More Halloween Pictures

Z Effects

I feel better knowing his name was Brock. You see, in a broken telephone way, I heard his name was Rock, and to be outsmarted to the tune of $100,000.00 by a guy named Rock was more than I wanted to bear.

"Friday October 27, 2006 Nat & Drew opened the phone lines at 8am... ...and took call after call of ZFX Guesses.
At 9:39 a.m., Brock of Vancouver Called and made this guess:
A PROPANE TANK VALVE OPENING"

We Have a Winner

To celebrate my birthday, a few of my friends joined Donna and I for a Lions game. We had a few drinks before the game and a few at the game. So by the time we darkened the door of the Kingshead, we were all, well, gooned. In fact, gooned enough for Donna, with just a little push from Claudio Lopez, to enter a beer drinking contest.
Four people lined up on stage - two men and two women. I don't know if it was supposed to be two different competitions. Somehow I don't think it was, but as I've implied already, I'm by no means a reliable witness. Either way, Donna was convinced that she only needed to beat the other woman. The man with the microphone may have had other ideas. None of which needed to be very clear as this contest had absolutely no prize on the line.
Now, the two men finished their respective pints with relative ease. They were neck and neck coming down to the last second, but I can't tell you which one won. I can't tell you because as the host was trying to announce a winner, Donna feeling ignored perhaps, started kicking him.
I believe she was very proud of the tremendous lead she had on the other woman. So proud she demanded recognition and not wanting to even pause in her attempt to finish the pint, all she could muster was, not one, but several kicks. He seemed puzzled. Still drinking her beer, still kicking our host, she started pointing at the other woman's virtually full beer.
Our host tried to ignore her. He tried to announce a winner. He tried to get some distance between himself and this mad woman abusing his shins. Donna would have none of it.
In the end, all he managed to say was, "But your not even finished your beer."

Group of Seven

These men are a few of the members of the Group of Seven. If I were to simply stumble across this photo, I would have assumed them to be businessmen or bankers. Instead, they represent my favourite artists. (Of course, when I say they by no means do I mean to limit the "they" bit to seven. Even without Tom Thompson - the best of the bunch - they numbered more than seven)

Perhaps I'm biased by nationalism. Or maybe, it's that I've seen some of those same places and from the rugged, windblown and bare to the quiet views, twisted and dripping with branches, they captured our landscapes like no one had before. To see a canvas from across the room is stunning.

I forget about them from time to time. They aren't in my art history books. Yet clearly to me, it is not because they don't belong with the likes of Monet and Turner. So thank you Barbara, for reminding me once again how much I love their work. I love the book you sent.

(Oh yes, and mother, they are so much better than those English bed-wetting types. I fart in their general direction. )

Loius Garneau

Louis Garneau joins the sample sale!

Wet Dog Soup

OK, I know Miso soup has nothing to do with canines. And I don't mean this as some ill-informed slur. (Which I suppose implies that there are well-informed slurs.)
Anyway, it is just that I think Miso soup smells a lot like a wet dog. It doesn't taste like a wet dog smells, but a good portion of taste is smell.
So, I finally found a sushi restaurant who serves a miso soup that is remarkably wet dog odour free.
(It's in Kerrisdale, just west of the Run Inn and by the way, I understand you can order a Sparky Maki if you are so inclined)
Anyway it is fairly tasty and I was all excited by the dog free bit, so I took this picture. And well, I guess it is fair to say that Miso soup is also pretty gross looking. Without stirring it looks like brain soup.
I guess Miso soup and I aren't meant to get along.

Sample Sale November 25th and 26th

Reebok and Saucony are teaming up once again for their semi-annual sample sale here in Vancouver. It's on the weekend of November 25th and 26th at the Granville Island Hotel. Cash Only. Cash Only. Cash Only.
Here's a link to the website for more details: www.sample-sales.blogspot.com
Feel free to send out the link and bookmark the page, as we will use that site to announce future sample sales as well.

Once Again the World is a Safer Place

Finally the people of Attleboro, Mass. have come to theitr senses. (I for one have never met a sensible person from Attleboro) They have cautiously followed in the footsteps (not too closely mind you) of the visionaries of Cheyenne, Wyo and Spokane, Wash. At last, one more school is safe from the wreckless hazards of recess horseplay - "a time when accidents can happen." Or so said Willett elementary school principal Gaylene Heppe.

Well that was then. Gaylene has not just approved an anti dodgeball ban. No, that safety measure has been in place for years. Willett Elementary is now free of touch football and the always dangerous tag. (Well, actually any unsupervised chase game is banned. And well it should be.)

Sure there are nay sayers. Debbie Laferriere thinks that "playing tag is just part of being a kid." Clearly this woman has no regard for the safety of her children let alone everyone else's. Reckless fool. She probably encourages running with scissors.

Celeste D'Elia has a much better head on her shoulders. She said that her son feels safer because of the rule. (He has a bright future, that kid. Next step: Hall monitor - Then: The world.) You see, like many sensible parents, she has "witnessed enough near collisions."

NEAR COLLISIONS. And for what? So a few kids can have their fun? That's not the kind of world I want to live in. Thank you Celeste for standing up for all of us.

Sleep Over at Timmy's

I recently found myself waiting in line in a Tim Hortons. It was downtown Toronto and very early in the morning. I was there to buy a breakfast sandwich and I won't be back any time soon. In part, because I don't live in Toronto. In part, because I don't really like Tim Hortons. In part, because the breakfast sandwich left a lot to be desired. And in part, because the other patrons kind of freaked me out.
I'm guessing that they were, after a long night of clubbing, waiting for the subway to open. What they looked like was a group intent on catching a ride on a nearby comet. Creepy.

Mouse Control?

Do we need an International Office Games? What sort of everyday mundane tasks would that involve? Perhaps speed dialing. Who knows? Anyway Sparky sent me this link for this time wasting game that tests mouse control. Maybe he's in training now for some future games.
Keep it up, Sparky, Keep it up!

The Final Borthwick?

(Note: for those not familiar with the Borthwick see this link - Borthwick )

As written on the back of a postcard:

"Dear Paul + Donna,
I saw a herse (is that how you spell that
word?)drive by the other day. A white one
with a light on top and I presumed it was
carrying a coffin. In the backseat window was
a computer printed sign - nothing fancy - that
said "BORTHWICK". And so I got to
wondering. If Borthwick were actually in
there having snuck off to his final slumber
without having said goodbye, but then if I
saw him or his hearse, would that mean in
the end he had actually pulled a

WANLESS??

...Laura xx"

Kiss My What?

Despite the overwhelming weight of an upcoming down payment and the subsequent mortgage payments (or perhaps because of that same weight), we got away this weekend. Nine of us rented a cottage on Bowen Island. It's a small island that sits in our harbour. Only twenty minutes by ferry and yet a world away. It is a quiet island that reminds me a little of cottage country in Northern Ontario. Or it did until we arrived.

The view from the cabin's large deck was spectacular. We looked out over a steep wooded hill into a bay and out to the ocean. Several islands broke up the horizon and there was a nautical map on the wall inside the cabin that let us take a decent guess as to which island was which.

Al noticed, in the middle of the bay, a clump of reeds or brush. It was hard to say what it was. All that Al could say for certain was that it was moving. Funny enough, all that Claude could say for certain was that it wasn't moving. And the first of two fine wagers was made. Island or flotsam: loser to do one hundred push ups in increments or in full at the winners behest.

If it was moving, it was moving too slowly to be sure. At least at first and we immediately postponed the judgment till morning. But, before dark it was clear that the island was gone. Claude's only hope was for the flotsam to get caught in some kind of eddy and be slung back into the bay.

Morning came and in the clear light it was even clearer who had lost.

Then came tennis. They had a nice court. It was in good shape, with a decent net. But it was the most beautiful tennis court I've ever seen, because of the view. It also looked out into the bay.

Now what goes around, comes around and the tennis court was complete with what might be a royal box or perhaps a press box. In our case, it was simply the peanut gallery. It was from this box, maybe 14 feet above the court, that we lobbed our comments and snide remarks. It was from there that we were able to goad Al into betting Donna: the loser to kiss the winners feet five times.

Al struggled trying to avoid kissing Donna's feet for so long that the moon came out. Ah, getting back to nature. Isn't it great. Thanks M. for that little bit of nature.

Whitecaps are the Champions

That's it. Season's over. We're the Champs. Here's to the Whitecaps. Here's to the Southside. Well done.

Fight Like Jack Black

For me, it was hard to say if I thought this movie was funny just because Jack Black reminded me of Al playing an out of shape Mexican wrestler. Who's to say?

Who Knew How Much a TV Could Cost?

At first I thought this blog was going to need, as a preface, a warning to all women in heterosexual relationships. You see I had a friend over one Sunday and while we were watching football, my wife had three complaints:

1. Our TV wasn't new enough.
2. Our TV wasn't big enough.
3. And finally, we didn't have Sunday Ticket.


Now, most men would put that conversation in the file of 'Must Have Been Dreaming'. Most men would count themselves lucky just to have a wife whose list of complaints includes even one of those complaints. Not only did my wife have all three, it stopped there.

Or so I thought.

In hindsight, perhaps Future Shop or Best Buy would have been the place to go. Even rogers.ca would have been a better first step, but somehow on the way to buying a TV we found ourselves stopping in to look at a brand new townhome. And that shouldn't have been a big deal. We've been to many open houses - shopping without intent. But then I guess we never needed a TV before. And that's the catch. This townhome came with a TV.

Sure, we loved the huge open spaces, tall ceilings, great layout, gorgeous kitchen, blah, blah, blah. But at the end of the day, it seems we've bought the one of the worlds most expensive TVs. Of course, it does come with a new townhouse.

Now conspiracy theories will likely start popping up all over the net about how Donna knew about the townhome's built in flat screen and how really she was just after the townhome when she complained about our old TV. Some will even speculate that the end game was actually a dog, which was not allowed in our current apartment.

Not me. I know my girl. She still wants to get Sunday Ticket.

JMac

In the foreground of this photo, someone is taking a photo of their friends. Four of them. In the background of this photo is JMac. He almost looks like he is part of the group around him, but actually he doesn't know them at all. Just another JMac moment. Thumbs up buddy, thumbs up. You crack me up.

Only His Hairdresser Knows

This photo isn't proof of intelligent extraterrestrial life. Nor is it documentation demonstrating the existence of Yeti. It is blurry, out of focus, poorly framed, and taken a moment too late. And so for every crazy fool out there that has submitted a blurry, out of focus, poorly framed photo taken a moment too late, I apologize for doubting you.

I'm sure you did see the Abominable Snowman, or little green men, or something that went bump in the night. Just as I'm sure I saw my friend Claude sitting in a salon (not the barber shop as he'd have you believe) getting his hair dyed.

I'm sure you meant to get a better picture. One that would definitively reveal the truth. I'm sure you fumbled for a moment - just a moment - and in that moment your chance was lost. And maybe all you were left with was an ordinary photo of say huge footprints in the snow, or perhaps bright lights in a distant sky, or maybe your friend having his hair washed.

Sure I can send this second photo over the SB-1 to have it analyzed for evidence of dye. Maybe it would end up on the front page of the newsstands and we could debate the minutiae. But all I really have in the end is my word. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. The man is fighting it every step of the way. Why? Cause he's worth it.

Two Little Beer

I understand that there needs to be rules around how much beer one can have at a stadium. I get that letting people get completely hammered in a confined public space isn't drawing the "family" crowd that owners are looking for.

I just think that two beer per person is a boring way to limit people. I'd like to see the following slight change. As many as you can carry - No trays, No lids, No pockets, No holders of any sort - hands only.

If, as Chris demonstrates here, you can handle carrying three at a time, when then so be it. If, as I've seen Sparky manage, you can wrap your fingers around four cups simultaneously, then have at it.

If for no other reason, when you consider the flimsy nature of those disposable cups and the jostling nature of public crowds, it would be very entertaining watching those two run the gauntlet without spilling a precious drop.

The Pussy Cat Dolls vs. Andrea Wardrop

One of my pet peeves is the tendancy people have, myself included, to be ridiculously critical of celebrities. We sometimes talk about them as if they are ordinary run of the mill, in a way that may not be true, but somehow helps us feel like we are on the same level. That somehow, me, in my ordinary pedestrian life, would not only have the chance to brush of J. Lo, but given that chance wouldn't be awed by her obvious charms.

Maybe it is sometimes easier on ourselves to think that we would see through the mystique that is celebrity and not see the beautiful charasmatic person who rose above so many others and instead see, like the wizard of oz, an ordinary run of the mill everyday person. And with Paris Hilton out there, I can admit that this could happen. Just not as often as we might like to think.

So when I say that the Pussy Cat Dolls aren't doing it for me, please understand that I am well aware of the reality: Were I to meet them on the street somewhere, it would be a red letter day. I mean look at them, they are hot. Uberhot. So why don't I dig them. Skinny, good looking, young women gyrating to music in seductive outfits - What more can I ask for?

I really didn't know and I feared being kicked out of the club - having my men's membership revoked. Then the Georgia Straight came out with this cover of Andrea Wardrop. On close examination she is no match for the Pussy Cat Dolls. Sure there are lots of reasons - she's missing an army of people: stylists, personal trainers, makeup artists, and airbrushers to name a few. But that's not the point. The point is that cover is hot. Really hot. It caught my eye in a way that the Pussy Cat Dolls and their ilk have failed to do.

I don't believe that I'm alone either. I think there are plenty of men out there who think I'm nuts, but I also think there are plenty of men who get it. I think we are tired of perfect. Well, at least in the media. (Actually, probably only in the media. But maybe that's where the trend starts?)

My guess is that so much of our desire is about rarity. And with the proliferation of plastic surgery and magazines obsession with photoshop, some of us are subconsiously bored. Bored with the covers of Maxim and Stuff and well, most of them. It has got to the point, at least for me, that the Pussy Cat Dolls are a dime a dozen.

Ironman Weekend

This is what I love about Ironman. Doctors tell my friend, Barbara Dortch, not to exercise too much. She doesn't listen. This year she pushed herself too far. She finished the Canadian Ironman in 13 hours and 46 minutes.
(For those who don't know, that is a race composed of three legs - a 2.4 mile lake swim, a 112 mile bike ride over two mountain passes, and a marathon run of 26.2 miles)
Barbara finished second in her age group of 55-59 year old women, but that couldn't have been much of a motivation. I say that because she pushed herself so far and so hard that when she crossed the finish line, she had nothing left. Not enough to stand. Not enough to talk. Not enough to recognize the faces around her. She sat down and passed out.
So how can I say that second place couldn't have been the driving factor? Because third place wasn't breathing down her neck. In fact, she was an hour and a half behind Barbara.
Donna had been handing out medals in the finish chute. When she saw Barb coming in, it was clear she was running on empty - listing to one side so much she was nearly falling over. All Barb could see was the finish. And when she crossed it, she let go.
Medical staff are on hand at these events, prepared for just this sort of thing. A race this long takes a toll on the human body and one slip in nutrition can leave you delirious on the road unable to finish. Two paramedics picked her up and while Donna stayed by her side, I cleared a path to the medical tent.
An hour later she was up and walking, but the next day she still suffered from spells. She nearly missed receiving her award for second place.
But here is what I love about it. After all that, she didn't talk about pushing herself too hard. She didn't talk about what an accomplishment she had just achieved. She said that next time she had to get her nutrition right. Good on ya, Barb. You are an inspiration to us all.

Ah, Laura. We'll miss you too.

Laura got a little sentimental at her going away gathering, er party, er thing - well whatever it was. That's our spiritual guide.

Cute?

See, the thing is, I'm a bad person. You all see a cute little dog, while I see a drunk old man thinking he's all wild and crazy hitting on chicks at a party.

Jip Dogg Runnin' For Charity

Let's give it up for the Jip Dogg. I understand that taking time out of his busy schedule to even run a marathon is extradition, let alone train for one. I was surprised to hear he was willing to make that commitment.

Then he took it one step further - he stepped away from the gangster lifestyle and in a move that may reflect a serious life change: he is raising money for a charity. I understand that he has joined Team Diabetes. (here is the link to his site: J-P Runs Dublin Check it out)

We're not sure just how fast a man of his criminal background can run the marathon, but if you saw episode 257 of cops, then you'll know that Jip Dogg (or - as his lawyer pointed out - quite possibly a man who wished to emulate the Notorious J I P) can sprint.

Some say that having a celebrity like Jip Diesel run a marathon only takes deserved attention away from the top runners and threatens to turn the event into a media circus. For one, I feel that's a sacrifice that is worth making. Especially when a 'former' gangster says things like,

"Y'all lucky though. The reason Jip Diesel ain't been doin' no tourin' lately is 'cuz he be doin' some runnin' and I's got lots of shit to talk about--stories from my trainin', messages of positivity for my peep's, and what it's like bein' a runna in these times. So put down that bottle of Haterade, pick up tha 4-0 and chill y'all. Respect!"

I think it shows that running can be a positive outlet for anyone. And if a wonderful charity like Team Diabetes can benefit then all the better.

And those top athletes don't need to worry to much. When I asked Jip Dogg how he expects to do in the race, he said,

"I told you one time already that I only have one rule on this so-called race. That is that I keep it real. I don't let the man tell me when I gots to go. If I ain't got nuthin', why I gonna run? A'ight? If I'm too tired to fly 'cuz I been up all night cold-lampin' then they ain't nuthin' you can do about it. A'ight?"

Happy 50th Williams

Kamloops

I'm just wondering if anyone else doubts the authenticity of Kamloops. I mean the whole area. Is it real? The first time I came down the trans-Canada highway into that dry dusty valley I was struck by a notion that has never left me. As you drive along the road you are framed in by hills whose soft folds and giant wrinkles that remind me of the folds and creases of a stiff wool blanket crumpled carefully. Beside you a river meanders its way down the valley. It looked fake to me immediately and yet oddly familiar. A feeling I couldn't understand, having grown up in such a different part of the world. I had never seen trees so sparse. These were not the thick woods of my youth.
And then the train appeared. Riding the rails between the highway and the river, it seemed to be heading straight for me. It struck me that this is just an oversized train set in someone's basement. They didn't have enough trees to cover everything and so they have spaced them out until they make more.