Someone asked me recently what it was that made me start traveling. Is it something I always wanted to do? Or did I go on vacation and just forget to go home? I was drawing a blank for a while then, like a lightning bolt to the forehead, I remembered.
When I was 17, my High School Sweetheart (hereinafter HSS, because I'm too lazy to type that out every time) and I arranged a lunch for our mothers. So, off my mother toddled to his mother's house on a lazy Sunday afternoon. She was gone for about four hours. When she came back, she marched into the house, slammed the front door, pointed a finger at me, and stated "You're going to Europe." I said "Oh no I'm not." My mother won. I went to Europe. Twice. Travel seed planted.
I'll backtrack.
Lunch was going well. The conversation was flowing. Then, his mother said to my mother "I just can't wait until they start having kids!" My mother quietly freaked out. Lunch ended on a high note [happily, my mother refrained from freaking out publicly] and, on the way back to our house, she plotted. And planned.
As much as my mother liked the HSS, she wasn't prepared to see me settle down quite so quickly. As it happened, my high school was planning a cultural exchange to Italy for language and art students. My parents signed me up for it. I didn't want to go...bear in mind that I had no idea why my mother was suddenly shipping me off to Europe. Well, off I went, kicking and screaming. We did Rome, Sorrento, Capri, Naples and Pompeii. It was fun. The food was great. I saw a lot of art. I was homesick - I missed the HSS and, more importantly, my horse and my cat. I was happy to get home after the grueling ten day trip. A couple of days later, the HSS pitched up and took me off to a dinner. On my way out I told my mother that I was so happy to be back in the Hammer.
When I got home my mother suggested I do a family foreign exchange with a French family. Again, this was offered through my high school for language students. I balked. Loudly. Repeatedly. A whole summer in France seemed like an eternity. But my parents signed me up for it. And, kicking and screaming, off I went. My mother said that, after this trip and after my university degree (again, my parents said I must do my degree outside the Hammer), if I wanted to stay in the Hammer for ever and ever and ever like I was threatening to, then I could.
I did France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Holland and almost-Germany-by-accident (pesky trains and directions) on that trip. The family I stayed with in France was amazing... we stayed at their summer house in the South of France, we went sailing on their sailboat in Bordeaux, we hung out at her place in Nancy. I was with my own family in Amsterdam (my mother's side), which was great. My 64 year old uncle offered to take me to a 'coffee shop'. I politely declined. I ate my way through that summer and didn't speak English once. I was upset that I had to go back to Canada when the time came, but I was soothed by the fact that I was bumped to First Class on Air France. I discovered my love of carpaccio on that flight.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Tuesday
Friday
58 sleeps
Whoa.
[scratches head]
I can't believe it.
I jumped on the blog the other day quickly and noticed I had a new 'follower'. I didn't pay much attention, figuring it was another one of my CT friends with whom I have been chatting about the blog. Well, I just went to the 'followers' page and discovered that Big E - Big E - has joined as a follower.
This means the following:
1. Because Big E has no interest in things like 'blogs', 'facebook', 'IM chat' and other such 'nonsense', someone, presumably my father, told him about my blog.
2. Included in that factoid of knowledge was undoubtedly the fact that I had written masterpiece about Big E's Zimbabwean experience [ha!].
3. My father started laughing uncontrollably at the memory of his youngest son's little adventure into AFrica.
4. The logical progression would be a round-the-table belly laugh about The Time That T-Lo Got Pissed Off At Big E And Put Him On A Bus To Zimbabwe.
5. Knowing Big E, he would be sitting at the table, listening to the belly laughter and fuming (as we do).
6. Big E felt the need to share his side of the story.
7. Somehow, unbeknownst to me, he managed to:
7.1 get online
7.2 find the blog
7.3 sign himself up so he could comment; and
7.4 actually comment.
He is quite resourceful when he puts his mind to it. Naaahh... I put my money on the fact that he paid Shaw to sort it all out for him.
[scratches head]
I can't believe it.
I jumped on the blog the other day quickly and noticed I had a new 'follower'. I didn't pay much attention, figuring it was another one of my CT friends with whom I have been chatting about the blog. Well, I just went to the 'followers' page and discovered that Big E - Big E - has joined as a follower.
This means the following:
1. Because Big E has no interest in things like 'blogs', 'facebook', 'IM chat' and other such 'nonsense', someone, presumably my father, told him about my blog.
2. Included in that factoid of knowledge was undoubtedly the fact that I had written masterpiece about Big E's Zimbabwean experience [ha!].
3. My father started laughing uncontrollably at the memory of his youngest son's little adventure into AFrica.
4. The logical progression would be a round-the-table belly laugh about The Time That T-Lo Got Pissed Off At Big E And Put Him On A Bus To Zimbabwe.
5. Knowing Big E, he would be sitting at the table, listening to the belly laughter and fuming (as we do).
6. Big E felt the need to share his side of the story.
7. Somehow, unbeknownst to me, he managed to:
7.1 get online
7.2 find the blog
7.3 sign himself up so he could comment; and
7.4 actually comment.
He is quite resourceful when he puts his mind to it. Naaahh... I put my money on the fact that he paid Shaw to sort it all out for him.
Saturday
71 sleeps
What self indulgent little tale can I tell today?
I've written about Big E and his Zimbabwe experience [ha!], and Big A and his Namibia experience, so I will share a tale about T-Lo's South Africa experience.
June 1997. Cape Town. I was standing at the Pick n Pay in Gardens with all the money in the world that I had. It fit into my right hand and consisted entirely of brown coins. I figured out I could afford two loaves of multigrain bread. I opted for the multigrain because of its superior nutritional value to the average white bread.
I knew I wanted to get back up to Namibia, and I had three months left on my air ticket (Singapore Airways, via Singapore, highly recommend them) before it expired. I just had to figure out how to stay. I called my Dad. After a brief synopsis of my situation (I didn't want to leave, I wanted to go to Namibia, I just had to get there), I asked if there was anything he could do to help me. He said that he would overnight me something to give me the help I needed. I was overjoyed. Excited. Relieved.
The package arrived. I ripped it open. Do you want to know what was in there? Do you?
The job ads for Toronto. With some career options carefully highlighted in yellow. That was it.
I fumed.
And I was more determined than ever that I would get my *ss to Namibia and work on the Orange, like I had wanted to but not really believed possible. So I packed my backpack, took my remaining loaf and a half of bread and managed to get a lift to the Orange with one of the directors of the company. I told him that I had done a trip as a client and wanted to become a river guide. He told me that the Orange wasn't really suitable for women, maybe I would enjoy catering on the Breede.
I fumed.
And I was more determined than ever that I would become a river guide on the Orange. So, I learnt how to swim properly (doggie paddling doesn't count, apparently), took a river guide course and started doing trips as a 'hantie' - basically, dogs body. I washed dishes on the river. I carried wood and rubbish and pots and pans in my boat. I ran into rocks. I went down rapids backwards. I got stuck in trees. But I kept at it. Pops (the director on the Orange who eventually became a second father to me, Big A and Big E) was amazed by my stubbornness (its a quality I get from my mom, but she calls it 'determination'). Eventually, I was selected to be one of the guides on the company's flagship trip on the Cunene. Yes! It was a two week trip through a game park, down the Cunene, on a cheetah farm....overall brilliant experience. Because I had no where to live in Cape Town, I had to take everything I owned with me on the trip. On the way up to Windhoek at about 4am, the small Venter trailer (carrying everything I owned minus the clothes I was wearing and my wallet) on the back of the fully loaded LandCruiser popped off. We didn't notice. I lost everything I owned. After the trip, I called my mom and cried to her that I had lost everything I owned. She told me that the universe was cleansing me and I should embrace having nothing.
I fumed.
But I was more determined than ever that this would not detract me from enjoying my Africa experience. My airline ticket expired. I didn't care. I was loving life, guiding on the Doring, the Orange and the Cunene. I was living outside, sleeping under the stars at the base camp. I had a sleeping bag donated to me by one of the guides. My entire wardrobe could fit into a 20 liter blue bucket. I did not own make up. I did not read magazines or newspapers. I did not watch tv. I worked for a pittance and had a place to sleep and food to eat. I only found out Princess Diana died (may she rest) four days after she did.
Alas, the time came that I had to go back to the Hammer. I left Namibia in January 1998, at a balmy 50 degrees celcius in the shade. I flew back to Hammer. When I landed, it was -38 degrees celcius with the wind chill. I stayed with my mom in her apartment.
The amazing thing was that because I had slept outside for nine months, I could not sleep inside. So, for the first month I was back, on a nightly basis, I would go out to the balcony, sweep off the snow, drag out my mattress, put about two down duvets and my African sleeping bags on the mattress, put on flannel pjs and sleep outside under the stars. And all of that - and I mean all, the T-Lo story, the Big E story and the Big A story - started with the classified ads.
I've written about Big E and his Zimbabwe experience [ha!], and Big A and his Namibia experience, so I will share a tale about T-Lo's South Africa experience.
June 1997. Cape Town. I was standing at the Pick n Pay in Gardens with all the money in the world that I had. It fit into my right hand and consisted entirely of brown coins. I figured out I could afford two loaves of multigrain bread. I opted for the multigrain because of its superior nutritional value to the average white bread.
I knew I wanted to get back up to Namibia, and I had three months left on my air ticket (Singapore Airways, via Singapore, highly recommend them) before it expired. I just had to figure out how to stay. I called my Dad. After a brief synopsis of my situation (I didn't want to leave, I wanted to go to Namibia, I just had to get there), I asked if there was anything he could do to help me. He said that he would overnight me something to give me the help I needed. I was overjoyed. Excited. Relieved.
The package arrived. I ripped it open. Do you want to know what was in there? Do you?
The job ads for Toronto. With some career options carefully highlighted in yellow. That was it.
I fumed.
And I was more determined than ever that I would get my *ss to Namibia and work on the Orange, like I had wanted to but not really believed possible. So I packed my backpack, took my remaining loaf and a half of bread and managed to get a lift to the Orange with one of the directors of the company. I told him that I had done a trip as a client and wanted to become a river guide. He told me that the Orange wasn't really suitable for women, maybe I would enjoy catering on the Breede.
I fumed.
And I was more determined than ever that I would become a river guide on the Orange. So, I learnt how to swim properly (doggie paddling doesn't count, apparently), took a river guide course and started doing trips as a 'hantie' - basically, dogs body. I washed dishes on the river. I carried wood and rubbish and pots and pans in my boat. I ran into rocks. I went down rapids backwards. I got stuck in trees. But I kept at it. Pops (the director on the Orange who eventually became a second father to me, Big A and Big E) was amazed by my stubbornness (its a quality I get from my mom, but she calls it 'determination'). Eventually, I was selected to be one of the guides on the company's flagship trip on the Cunene. Yes! It was a two week trip through a game park, down the Cunene, on a cheetah farm....overall brilliant experience. Because I had no where to live in Cape Town, I had to take everything I owned with me on the trip. On the way up to Windhoek at about 4am, the small Venter trailer (carrying everything I owned minus the clothes I was wearing and my wallet) on the back of the fully loaded LandCruiser popped off. We didn't notice. I lost everything I owned. After the trip, I called my mom and cried to her that I had lost everything I owned. She told me that the universe was cleansing me and I should embrace having nothing.
I fumed.
But I was more determined than ever that this would not detract me from enjoying my Africa experience. My airline ticket expired. I didn't care. I was loving life, guiding on the Doring, the Orange and the Cunene. I was living outside, sleeping under the stars at the base camp. I had a sleeping bag donated to me by one of the guides. My entire wardrobe could fit into a 20 liter blue bucket. I did not own make up. I did not read magazines or newspapers. I did not watch tv. I worked for a pittance and had a place to sleep and food to eat. I only found out Princess Diana died (may she rest) four days after she did.
Alas, the time came that I had to go back to the Hammer. I left Namibia in January 1998, at a balmy 50 degrees celcius in the shade. I flew back to Hammer. When I landed, it was -38 degrees celcius with the wind chill. I stayed with my mom in her apartment.
The amazing thing was that because I had slept outside for nine months, I could not sleep inside. So, for the first month I was back, on a nightly basis, I would go out to the balcony, sweep off the snow, drag out my mattress, put about two down duvets and my African sleeping bags on the mattress, put on flannel pjs and sleep outside under the stars. And all of that - and I mean all, the T-Lo story, the Big E story and the Big A story - started with the classified ads.
Monday
Sunday
38 sleeps + 60
I'm sitting here at work reading the angryarab blog, looking at random NatGeo photographs and researching chinese horoscope compatibility. That's how I roll at work on a Sunday when nothing's going on.
I remember a conversation I had with my dad a couple of years ago. My dad called me one Sunday, randomly, politely, gently, to say hi. That's not really like my dad. Usually it's a rapid fire exchange of what's happening in our lives, followed by a quick discussion of current affairs and ending off with the latest books we've read. Not so this time. It went like this:
Daddy T-Lo: Hi there.
T-Lo: Hey how are things there?
D T-Lo: Things are fine. I'm calling to see how things are going with you.
T-Lo. Fine, the usual. Have you read Robert Fiske's -
D T-Lo: How's work?
T-Lo: Oh, we're pretty busy these days.
D T-Lo: That's good. That's good. How's the Masters?
T-Lo: Very good. I got a first for my Corporate Governance course.
D T-Lo: That's good. That's good. How's the kung fu?
T-Lo: It's muay thai, Dad. And it's great. I came second in the UM4 and we fought with no pads... it was great!
D T-Lo: What's muay thai?
T-Lo: It's thai boxing. It's like kickboxing, only you can use your elbows and knees. It's AWESOME!
D T-Lo: Oh. I see. That's ... [pause] I'm glad to hear you did well in your competition. Soo.... [pause] is there anyone special in your life?
T-Lo: What do you mean?
D T-Lo: Do you have a boyfriend?
T-Lo: Nope.
D T-Lo: Anyone on the horizon?
T-Lo: Nope.
D T-Lo: Any... uh... recent one night stands?
T-Lo: Dad! NO!
D T-Lo: [using a voice that I swear he picked up from Dr Phil] You know, if you have a girlfriend, you can tell me. You know we'll all love you no matter what.
T-Lo: DAD! I'm single! Not a lesbian!
Bloody hell.
But I think it goes to show how much my family worries about me when I'm over here. I never tell them at the time when something goes wrong, always after. Like, "Hahaha! Four months ago I got mugged! Hahahahh!" or "Hahahahha! I just got over pneumonia! Hahahah!" because I also don't want to them to worry unnecessarily. I think they've all come to accept that I'll always land on my feet somehow and manage to sort myself out and take care of myself.
I must admit, after nearly 13 years, I'm looking forward to getting on that big bad iron bird and singing "I'm coming home" in the manner of Ozzy Osborne, only without the headless dove, the previous heroin addiction and the pack of not-house-trained toy dogs.
I remember a conversation I had with my dad a couple of years ago. My dad called me one Sunday, randomly, politely, gently, to say hi. That's not really like my dad. Usually it's a rapid fire exchange of what's happening in our lives, followed by a quick discussion of current affairs and ending off with the latest books we've read. Not so this time. It went like this:
Daddy T-Lo: Hi there.
T-Lo: Hey how are things there?
D T-Lo: Things are fine. I'm calling to see how things are going with you.
T-Lo. Fine, the usual. Have you read Robert Fiske's -
D T-Lo: How's work?
T-Lo: Oh, we're pretty busy these days.
D T-Lo: That's good. That's good. How's the Masters?
T-Lo: Very good. I got a first for my Corporate Governance course.
D T-Lo: That's good. That's good. How's the kung fu?
T-Lo: It's muay thai, Dad. And it's great. I came second in the UM4 and we fought with no pads... it was great!
D T-Lo: What's muay thai?
T-Lo: It's thai boxing. It's like kickboxing, only you can use your elbows and knees. It's AWESOME!
D T-Lo: Oh. I see. That's ... [pause] I'm glad to hear you did well in your competition. Soo.... [pause] is there anyone special in your life?
T-Lo: What do you mean?
D T-Lo: Do you have a boyfriend?
T-Lo: Nope.
D T-Lo: Anyone on the horizon?
T-Lo: Nope.
D T-Lo: Any... uh... recent one night stands?
T-Lo: Dad! NO!
D T-Lo: [using a voice that I swear he picked up from Dr Phil] You know, if you have a girlfriend, you can tell me. You know we'll all love you no matter what.
T-Lo: DAD! I'm single! Not a lesbian!
Bloody hell.
But I think it goes to show how much my family worries about me when I'm over here. I never tell them at the time when something goes wrong, always after. Like, "Hahaha! Four months ago I got mugged! Hahahahh!" or "Hahahahha! I just got over pneumonia! Hahahah!" because I also don't want to them to worry unnecessarily. I think they've all come to accept that I'll always land on my feet somehow and manage to sort myself out and take care of myself.
I must admit, after nearly 13 years, I'm looking forward to getting on that big bad iron bird and singing "I'm coming home" in the manner of Ozzy Osborne, only without the headless dove, the previous heroin addiction and the pack of not-house-trained toy dogs.
Wednesday
42 sleeps + 60
Have you ever heard of Caribana? Growing up around Toronto, I associated it with a bunch of people dressing up in silly costumes, forcing their musical tastes on everyone, effecting road closures and causing traffic jams.
Then, in 1992, my parents took us - all of us - to Trinidad for Carnival. As Carnival takes place two days before Ash Wednesday, we had to be taken out of school to attend. My brothers were thrilled. I was horrified - missing two weeks of school while doing OACs for university entrance was simply unacceptable. I wasn't allowed to not go, so I brought my homework with me. I didn't touch it once.
My parents flew a week ahead of us. The four of us - me, the Prez, Big A and Big E - flew BWIA (but will it arrive?) on our own. We fought with each other the whole way. We changed seating arrangements about 47 times on the flight down. Musical chairs between the four of us. Big E had an earache, which made him absolutely miserable (fair enough) the whole way. We looked positively feral by the time we made it through customs.
Then we started the pre-Carnival festivities. It was the first time I have seen an entire country completely embrace a cultural event. Everyone was involved in carnival. I almost fell out of the car when I saw a police officer directing traffic while drinking a beer and grooving to Soca music. Such is life in the Caribbean.
We went to the Silver Stars panyard to watch my dad's friend play the steel drums. We tried to do Jouvert where the goal is to body paint yourself and each other then dance in the street. We ate shark and bake. We discovered what 'hot sauce' really is. We ate coconuts straight off the tree for the first time. We did Carnival. We managed to squeeze all six of us into a small sedan and barrel from one end of the island to the other. We fell in love with roti. We got attacked by a swarm of bats at dusk in Blanchicheuse at the summer home of the Trinidad Governor General where we stayed after Carnival. Then we accidentally burnt a section of it down. It was probably one of the best vacations I have ever had.
My brother, the Prez, got married there in 2004. A whole bunch of us flew down a week before the wedding. My dad and the Prez had organised a week of 'activities' for us to do before the wedding. We had a blast once again. I am determined to do Carnival one more time before I am forty. I loves it! Loves it!
Then, in 1992, my parents took us - all of us - to Trinidad for Carnival. As Carnival takes place two days before Ash Wednesday, we had to be taken out of school to attend. My brothers were thrilled. I was horrified - missing two weeks of school while doing OACs for university entrance was simply unacceptable. I wasn't allowed to not go, so I brought my homework with me. I didn't touch it once.
My parents flew a week ahead of us. The four of us - me, the Prez, Big A and Big E - flew BWIA (but will it arrive?) on our own. We fought with each other the whole way. We changed seating arrangements about 47 times on the flight down. Musical chairs between the four of us. Big E had an earache, which made him absolutely miserable (fair enough) the whole way. We looked positively feral by the time we made it through customs.
Then we started the pre-Carnival festivities. It was the first time I have seen an entire country completely embrace a cultural event. Everyone was involved in carnival. I almost fell out of the car when I saw a police officer directing traffic while drinking a beer and grooving to Soca music. Such is life in the Caribbean.
We went to the Silver Stars panyard to watch my dad's friend play the steel drums. We tried to do Jouvert where the goal is to body paint yourself and each other then dance in the street. We ate shark and bake. We discovered what 'hot sauce' really is. We ate coconuts straight off the tree for the first time. We did Carnival. We managed to squeeze all six of us into a small sedan and barrel from one end of the island to the other. We fell in love with roti. We got attacked by a swarm of bats at dusk in Blanchicheuse at the summer home of the Trinidad Governor General where we stayed after Carnival. Then we accidentally burnt a section of it down. It was probably one of the best vacations I have ever had.
My brother, the Prez, got married there in 2004. A whole bunch of us flew down a week before the wedding. My dad and the Prez had organised a week of 'activities' for us to do before the wedding. We had a blast once again. I am determined to do Carnival one more time before I am forty. I loves it! Loves it!
Friday
62 sleeps, part 2
Ok, I've been neglecting the blog again because of this whole 'work' thing, so I'm going to double up my posts now that I'm off for the day.
Well, I told the story about Big E and his Zimbabwean Adventure. To complete the circle, I have to tell one about Big A and his Namibian Adventure.
Big A and I did six months together in Southern Africa in the second half of 1999. He was, and still is, a handful. He is full of energy all the time. I don't think he slept until he was six years old. Then not again until he was 12. You get the idea.
Anyway, we flew that lovely Ethiopian route together, went up to the Breede, did a few trips, then on to the Orange where he ran the bar and I did overnight trips on the river, then he took an overland trip up through Namibia to the Zambezi and came back before I dropped him at Jhb International to head back to Canada. Sounds innocent enough, right? Well, what I didn't include was:
1. Upon waking up somewhere over, like, Chad, Big A told me that he was mad at the passenger in the next row. Excuse me? You're WHAT? Why on earth? Are you on crack? On a plane? Oh no... someone was looking at him. I told him OF COURSE people are going to stare at you... you are so white you glow, you're dressed like a hip hop star and you are a young man seemingly flying alone. Try SMILING at the person who is looking at you and see how that goes. We smiled. We got a smile back. Disaster on plane averted.
2. He wanted to work. He wanted to work hard and experience life on the river working hard. So I made him do 9 back-to-back trips on the Breede River outside Swellendam less than one week after we arrived. A back-to-back is when you say good-bye to your people at lunchtime, shower, then greet your new people for late afternoon snacks. I stayed at the guide house and watched MTV. He worked as a 'hantie', or, an apprentice. His job was to chop wood, carry boats, blow up boats, and do river safety. He was exhausted by trip 7. I pushed him for 2 more. Only then did we have the same energy level and we could proceed with our trip without me having a heart attack.
3. He ran the bar on the Orange very well. He pulled a profit that no bartender before him had done. And his tips were such that he could take himself on a nice overland trip from the Orange up to the Zambezi, a standard 21 day job available with any decent overland company. You go to Sossusvlei, fly into the Delta, visit a Cheetah farm, go down the white water section of the Zambezi. I ran the bar while he was away. Without a doubt, all the clients on trucks coming down from the Zambezi would tell stories about This Crazy Canadian, who was beat red and had white hair that stood on end. He certainly established a reputation for himself!
4. He hitched down from Zim after the trip was over. He wound up on the Caprivi strip one night, at a bar by himself. AngolanUnita rebel soldiers befriended him. He hung out with them for the night, drinking local beer and listening to their stories. They invited him to join their army. He declined. The next morning, at dawn, he awoke to the dulcet tones of AK47s going off all around him. He leopard crawled around his hostel room until he found his video camera. He videod for about 10 minutes (good boy!) before taking off.
5. It was only when we were in Pretoria and leaving for Jhb international did we realise that Big A left his plane ticket in the safe at the base camp in Namibia. A frantic trip to the police station to report it 'lost/stolen', then a frantic trip to the travel agent, then a last frantic trip back to the airport finally saw Big A, beat red, barefoot, hair standing on end, leaving for his Ethiopian flight.
It was a fun six months :)
Well, I told the story about Big E and his Zimbabwean Adventure. To complete the circle, I have to tell one about Big A and his Namibian Adventure.
Big A and I did six months together in Southern Africa in the second half of 1999. He was, and still is, a handful. He is full of energy all the time. I don't think he slept until he was six years old. Then not again until he was 12. You get the idea.
Anyway, we flew that lovely Ethiopian route together, went up to the Breede, did a few trips, then on to the Orange where he ran the bar and I did overnight trips on the river, then he took an overland trip up through Namibia to the Zambezi and came back before I dropped him at Jhb International to head back to Canada. Sounds innocent enough, right? Well, what I didn't include was:
1. Upon waking up somewhere over, like, Chad, Big A told me that he was mad at the passenger in the next row. Excuse me? You're WHAT? Why on earth? Are you on crack? On a plane? Oh no... someone was looking at him. I told him OF COURSE people are going to stare at you... you are so white you glow, you're dressed like a hip hop star and you are a young man seemingly flying alone. Try SMILING at the person who is looking at you and see how that goes. We smiled. We got a smile back. Disaster on plane averted.
2. He wanted to work. He wanted to work hard and experience life on the river working hard. So I made him do 9 back-to-back trips on the Breede River outside Swellendam less than one week after we arrived. A back-to-back is when you say good-bye to your people at lunchtime, shower, then greet your new people for late afternoon snacks. I stayed at the guide house and watched MTV. He worked as a 'hantie', or, an apprentice. His job was to chop wood, carry boats, blow up boats, and do river safety. He was exhausted by trip 7. I pushed him for 2 more. Only then did we have the same energy level and we could proceed with our trip without me having a heart attack.
3. He ran the bar on the Orange very well. He pulled a profit that no bartender before him had done. And his tips were such that he could take himself on a nice overland trip from the Orange up to the Zambezi, a standard 21 day job available with any decent overland company. You go to Sossusvlei, fly into the Delta, visit a Cheetah farm, go down the white water section of the Zambezi. I ran the bar while he was away. Without a doubt, all the clients on trucks coming down from the Zambezi would tell stories about This Crazy Canadian, who was beat red and had white hair that stood on end. He certainly established a reputation for himself!
4. He hitched down from Zim after the trip was over. He wound up on the Caprivi strip one night, at a bar by himself. AngolanUnita rebel soldiers befriended him. He hung out with them for the night, drinking local beer and listening to their stories. They invited him to join their army. He declined. The next morning, at dawn, he awoke to the dulcet tones of AK47s going off all around him. He leopard crawled around his hostel room until he found his video camera. He videod for about 10 minutes (good boy!) before taking off.
5. It was only when we were in Pretoria and leaving for Jhb international did we realise that Big A left his plane ticket in the safe at the base camp in Namibia. A frantic trip to the police station to report it 'lost/stolen', then a frantic trip to the travel agent, then a last frantic trip back to the airport finally saw Big A, beat red, barefoot, hair standing on end, leaving for his Ethiopian flight.
It was a fun six months :)
Wednesday
72 sleeps
I tried to call my youngest brother last night. I have a calling card number for Canadian calls, so I call the toll free number, follow the prompts, enter the numbers and BAM! I'm connected.
Not so last night. I called the toll free number, followed the prompts, entered the numbers and then BAM! I hung (hanged?) in cyberspace for minutes on end. I finally got in touch with a real live operator who, in turn, put me back in the auto-prompt system to let me tele-hang in cyberspace all over again. I gave up at 2 am.
I miss my youngest brother. That's the one who's lazy *ss I threw on a bus to Zimbabwe.... I jest...I jest...
Seriously, he was with me in RSA, staying with J and I, doing a weekend river trip here and there and spending the rest of time in front of the tv and living like (as my mother would say) he was the King of Riley.
The problem was that, aside from the occasional weekend river trip, he was living his life as he would in Canada. And that's not why we are in RSA. So, I told him that he should go hang in Zimbabwe for a while. Live a little, you know? Kayak the Zambezi, paddle the Okavango, ride an elephant, take in the Namib, hitchhike the Caprivi strip. That kind of thing. So we set a date - we gave Big E two weeks to sort himself out (pack, deal with mind numbing tooth ache, convince dentist to let him take his Xrays, sort out bus [ha!] ticket, etc).
Two weeks hence, I had Big E, his bag, his kayak, his paddle, his guiding gear and his first aid kit at the Cape Town Bus Station. His InterCape awaited. He got on. I waved. He looked at me.
And that's when I saw it - that look. I am absolutely positive I had that look when I hitchhiked the first time, or shot a rapid for the first time, or got lost in rural Japan by myself, or had my stuff stolen, or packed the Bullet on that day.... I actually have a few I can choose from, but I digress.
It's the look of abject fear. It's when you realize all your planning, all your talk, all your dreams, all your hopes and all your fears are sitting with you, like a monkey on your shoulders, as you travel into a seriously foreign situation all by yourself. And there is no backing down and no way but forward.
Well, off Big E went - to Zim via Namibia on a bus. I put him in charge of one thing to do by himself without me supervising - make sure you have cash for when you get there. Not hard, right? I did ask him before he got on the bus. He - snarkily - informed me that the backpackers had informed him that there was an ATM machine there.
Ok.
I didn't hear from him for four days. Then six. Then eight. Finally I caved and started tracking him down. I starting calling backpackers in Livingstone. Finally, I got hold of one, who laughed when I asked and said "Oh, Big E?!! He's at Jolly Boys."
A backpacker named Jolly Boys? How dodge.
I finally got in touch with Big E, who informed me of the following:
1. There were no ATMs that took his Canadian Bank of Montreal debit card on the way to Zimbabwe.
2. He had neither food nor water.
3. There is a USD 25 visa fee to enter Zimbabwe.
4. The bus patrons had a mini fundraiser to raise the funds so that Big E could obtain his visa.
5. A kind older woman provided him with both food and water.
6. The ATM machine in Livingstone only accepted foreign credit card cash advances.
7. He had no money to pay for the backpacker where he had booked himself.
8. They sent him to Jolly Boys, a camping backpackers down the road.
9. Jolly Boys was letting him stay on the campsite and eat one portuguese roll in the morning and a hot meal at night in exchange for him doing the maid duties.
10. He was fine, he didn't need my help, he didn't need any money, and I could f*ck right off.
You see?! ADVENTURE. That's what it's about! What an awesome story to tell.. He stayed there for six months doing the catch-the-pig thing and finally hitched down (good boy!) through the Kalahari to the Felix base camp on the Orange. Unfortunately he picked up malaria along the way but when he recovered he ended up guiding for another eight months. ADVENTURE.
(PS - for the record, and to prove I am not an absolute devil, I had my dad wire him some money to tide him over for a couple of weeks.)
Not so last night. I called the toll free number, followed the prompts, entered the numbers and then BAM! I hung (hanged?) in cyberspace for minutes on end. I finally got in touch with a real live operator who, in turn, put me back in the auto-prompt system to let me tele-hang in cyberspace all over again. I gave up at 2 am.
I miss my youngest brother. That's the one who's lazy *ss I threw on a bus to Zimbabwe.... I jest...I jest...
Seriously, he was with me in RSA, staying with J and I, doing a weekend river trip here and there and spending the rest of time in front of the tv and living like (as my mother would say) he was the King of Riley.
The problem was that, aside from the occasional weekend river trip, he was living his life as he would in Canada. And that's not why we are in RSA. So, I told him that he should go hang in Zimbabwe for a while. Live a little, you know? Kayak the Zambezi, paddle the Okavango, ride an elephant, take in the Namib, hitchhike the Caprivi strip. That kind of thing. So we set a date - we gave Big E two weeks to sort himself out (pack, deal with mind numbing tooth ache, convince dentist to let him take his Xrays, sort out bus [ha!] ticket, etc).
Two weeks hence, I had Big E, his bag, his kayak, his paddle, his guiding gear and his first aid kit at the Cape Town Bus Station. His InterCape awaited. He got on. I waved. He looked at me.
And that's when I saw it - that look. I am absolutely positive I had that look when I hitchhiked the first time, or shot a rapid for the first time, or got lost in rural Japan by myself, or had my stuff stolen, or packed the Bullet on that day.... I actually have a few I can choose from, but I digress.
It's the look of abject fear. It's when you realize all your planning, all your talk, all your dreams, all your hopes and all your fears are sitting with you, like a monkey on your shoulders, as you travel into a seriously foreign situation all by yourself. And there is no backing down and no way but forward.
Well, off Big E went - to Zim via Namibia on a bus. I put him in charge of one thing to do by himself without me supervising - make sure you have cash for when you get there. Not hard, right? I did ask him before he got on the bus. He - snarkily - informed me that the backpackers had informed him that there was an ATM machine there.
Ok.
I didn't hear from him for four days. Then six. Then eight. Finally I caved and started tracking him down. I starting calling backpackers in Livingstone. Finally, I got hold of one, who laughed when I asked and said "Oh, Big E?!! He's at Jolly Boys."
A backpacker named Jolly Boys? How dodge.
I finally got in touch with Big E, who informed me of the following:
1. There were no ATMs that took his Canadian Bank of Montreal debit card on the way to Zimbabwe.
2. He had neither food nor water.
3. There is a USD 25 visa fee to enter Zimbabwe.
4. The bus patrons had a mini fundraiser to raise the funds so that Big E could obtain his visa.
5. A kind older woman provided him with both food and water.
6. The ATM machine in Livingstone only accepted foreign credit card cash advances.
7. He had no money to pay for the backpacker where he had booked himself.
8. They sent him to Jolly Boys, a camping backpackers down the road.
9. Jolly Boys was letting him stay on the campsite and eat one portuguese roll in the morning and a hot meal at night in exchange for him doing the maid duties.
10. He was fine, he didn't need my help, he didn't need any money, and I could f*ck right off.
You see?! ADVENTURE. That's what it's about! What an awesome story to tell.. He stayed there for six months doing the catch-the-pig thing and finally hitched down (good boy!) through the Kalahari to the Felix base camp on the Orange. Unfortunately he picked up malaria along the way but when he recovered he ended up guiding for another eight months. ADVENTURE.
(PS - for the record, and to prove I am not an absolute devil, I had my dad wire him some money to tide him over for a couple of weeks.)
Tuesday
117 sleeps
Hierdie is Stella. Sy is die oulikste kat in die hele wereld! Ek mis haar baie, maar ek weet sy is gelukkig by my ma.
(shout out to Der for the translation! It had better say what I want it to say!)
Today is South Africa's Day of Reconciliation. I'm celebrating by reviewing contracts at work.
My colleagues, DomTastic and Der, submitted pics of their dogs to an online cute-pet-photo contest to Die Burger, a local Afrikaans daily. I, unfortunately, missed the cut off. So, I have submitted a pic of my cat (who has lived with my mom for 7 years in Canada, so technically my mom's cat maybe?) on this post with a cute little Afrikaans tag line.
Stella was originally Lebowski, until I took him to the vet and found out that he was a she. When she was a kitten she used to curl into my neck at night to sleep. I thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. She'd curl up, I would scratch her neck, she would purr herself asleep. I was told at the time that it would create a bad habit for her if I continued to let her sleep like that. I rubbished that - how can you not let a cute little kitten curl up in your neck and go to sleep?
The habit lives on. She still likes to sleep in a neck. Unfortunately, she's got Norwegian Forest in her which means she is a) built like a truck and b) weighs about 15 lbs. My mother often wakes up, choking and unable to breathe, with 15 lbs of furr unconscious and snoring on top of her. My cute little Stella!
139 sleeps; part 1
Pour yourself a tall glass of awesome and check the photos below: this is Namibia, the country that stole my heart and stopped my travels in their tracks. Quite literally, the first time I saw the Orange, my eyes popped, my jaw dropped and I fell over backwards. I decided right there that I wasn't going back to Tokyo; I was staying in Africa. That was almost 10 years ago.
The first photo is a view from the Guide House where I lived intermittently for 2 years. I spent six months there (June 99 - Jan 00) with my brother Big A. He ran the bar and I took groups down the river on a 3 night, 4 day adventure. The oddest thing about Big A was that he did not tan. At all. He would wake up every morning white as a ghost and when he went to bed at night he was pitch red. There was no in between. When Big A flew back to Toronto in January 00 (on that lovely Ethiopian Airways flight) he was beat red, barefoot and wearing shorts. He swapped his last pair of shoes for some masks for his girlfriend in Canada. What a sweetheart!
When my other brother Big E came I was already up to my ears in legal textbooks so he did the Namibia mission on his own. At one point I put him on a bus to Zimbabwe. He lived on the Zambezi for about 8 months doing sunset cruises and being general dogs body for the cruise, performing such tasks as fetching-the-live-pig-for-the-spit-braai, keeping-the-crocodiles-away-from-the-clients and avoiding-the-hippos.
I think, out of me A and E, E wins on coolest pics, A wins on most awesome hitchhiking story and I win on biggest overall adventure (I haven't even started on Mozambique, Philippines, Trinidad, Tokyo, Singapore....). The bus story and the hitchhiking story will follow. And no, I am not mean for putting my brother on a bus to Zimbabwe.
The first photo is a view from the Guide House where I lived intermittently for 2 years. I spent six months there (June 99 - Jan 00) with my brother Big A. He ran the bar and I took groups down the river on a 3 night, 4 day adventure. The oddest thing about Big A was that he did not tan. At all. He would wake up every morning white as a ghost and when he went to bed at night he was pitch red. There was no in between. When Big A flew back to Toronto in January 00 (on that lovely Ethiopian Airways flight) he was beat red, barefoot and wearing shorts. He swapped his last pair of shoes for some masks for his girlfriend in Canada. What a sweetheart!
When my other brother Big E came I was already up to my ears in legal textbooks so he did the Namibia mission on his own. At one point I put him on a bus to Zimbabwe. He lived on the Zambezi for about 8 months doing sunset cruises and being general dogs body for the cruise, performing such tasks as fetching-the-live-pig-for-the-spit-braai, keeping-the-crocodiles-away-from-the-clients and avoiding-the-hippos.
I think, out of me A and E, E wins on coolest pics, A wins on most awesome hitchhiking story and I win on biggest overall adventure (I haven't even started on Mozambique, Philippines, Trinidad, Tokyo, Singapore....). The bus story and the hitchhiking story will follow. And no, I am not mean for putting my brother on a bus to Zimbabwe.
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