27 sleeps

***MISSING***

Blue Golf CitiGolf 1.6
Last seen outside my flat
Very peppy and nippy
A bit slow in the mornings, doesn't like rain
Answers to TheNotTheBullet

***REWARD IF FOUND***

Ahhhhhhh had my car stolen last night. I staggered out of my flat at 515am and sleep-walked to where she was parked. I almost set off the alarm of the flashy shiny BMW thing that was parked in her place before I noticed that she was gone. Confused, I looked around. Then, it sunk in.

[insert a series of expletives here, shouted from the depths of the diaphram]

I'm going to go listen to Massive Attack and cry into my Jungle Oats.

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.

43 sleeps + 60

I'm having a rare deep-and-meaningful moment.

I had drinks with the Sexy Surfer last night after work (who has a "date" on a Monday night at 11:30? T-Lo does!), who told me about a near death experience and how it altered his perception of his life. And by "near death experience", I mean a real one... not like my "oh-my-god-I-fell-off-my-horse-and-he-ran-home-and-
left-me-on-the-beach-and-I-almost-died" near death experience... it was one of those experiences where you have actually resigned to yourself that This Is It. Hec-tique. Can't say I have genuinely ever had that. Some big scares? Yes. Frustrating moments? Sure. Big injuries? Of course. But not that. I haven't even been in a car accident (unless you count that time I rear-ended a minivan full of retirees while waving at my father, but I digress).

Anyway, he said that as a result of his experience, his perception of life changed and everything he has done has led him to this current moment in his life.

That got me thinking in a brow furrowed, jaw gaping, middle distance glaze way. Does everything we do lead to where we are right now? For example, if I had stayed with that first finance job I got when I was 20 instead of switching to another finance job, would I still be sitting right where I am today? If I chose Thailand instead of the Philippines in 1997, would I still be in South Africa? Generally, if I did X instead of Y on numerous occasions, would I still be sitting here nonetheless?

I have never had one of those brilliant life defining moments (unless you count getting popped by the Little Mouse's right in the first round of a UM4 and getting distracted by all the pretty white stars dancing in front of me, but I digress). I have definitely had periods of my life where the 'flow' was good. And there have been other times where I feel like I am wading through wet cement just to make it through the day. But never anything like the Sexy Surfer experienced. I'm kind of jealous. Where's my life defining moment? Where?

Oops, must go work. My boss is looking at me worriedly. I think the gaping jaw, bit of drool and middle distance glaze is scaring him.

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.)

119 sleeps

Moments with my housemate, theGreek

On the flu

theGreek: Oh, I slept after work and I'm sooo tired.
T-Lo: Could be from the Mumbai thing, or could be cuz you are getting flu.
theGreek: There's a flu going around?!
T-Lo: Yes, throat / tummy / fever thing.
theGreek: Well then I can't go to the Xmas party!
T-Lo: Why not?
theGreek: Cuz I have a fever.
T-Lo: You have a fever?
theGreek: Yes, you just said I have a fever.
T-Lo: I said that there is a flu with a fever going around. Do you have it?
theGreek: I feel flushed.
T-Lo: Put on your shoes, we're going to the Xmas party.

On the fridge

theGreek [calling from his bedroom]: Hey T! There's some superglue in the fridge if you want some!

On my morning runs

[not so much a conversation with words, this]



I came back from my morning run a couple of months ago. It was still winter so the sun was just starting torise.There are four locks that must be unlocked to get into the flat. As I managed to unlock them and open the wooden door, I heard a loud pitter-patter of running footsteps mixed with a battle cry along the lines of "whooooooooooohhhhhaaaaaa"

and all I saw was a 6 iron at eye level.

My first thought was "roundhouse kick to temple" but, knowing my housemate, I instead shouted "What the fuck??!!" theGreek, hair a-skew and eyes a-glaze, realized it was me and me ready to strike, turned on his heel and hightailed it back to his room, golf club in hand. He thought I was trying to burgle the place. I'm sure there was more than one neighbour wondering what in morning hysteria was going on.

On me missing phone calls

I had about 8 missed calls in a 10 minute period a week ago. I called theGreek back to find out wtf was going on.

T-Lo: Hey.
theGreek: OH! My! God! I was about to call the police! Where have you beeeen?
T-Lo: I was away from the phone. What's up?
theGreek: Have you seen my Santa hat?

146 sleeps

I’m trying to book my flight. I need a flight that is cheap, pleasant, and quick on the layover.

I’ve narrowed it down to three, based on the above criteria and in that order: Icelandair, Alitalia and Emirates.

According to recent press releases, Icelandair planes have a ‘new, modern look’. I know what that means. Ethiopian Airways also had a ‘new, modern look’ when I flew them in ’99. It meant that they glued all the little individual ashtrays in each seat shut and put new carpeting on the floor. First obvious question: how old is the plane that it has individual ashtrays in each seat? The plane shuddered down each runway (in New York, in Rome, in Ethiopia, in Tanzania, in Zambia, in Zimbabwe and finally, at long last, in South Africa) and the left wing engine had a cute and playful way of smoking on take-off. I have since learnt from a Virgin Atlantic air stewardess that engine-smoking-on-take-off is Not A Good Thing.

Alitalia has also been all over the press lately, with headlines such as “Alitalia cancels 100 flights a day” and “Alitalia debts soar as flights hit day seven”. Hmmmm. Wasn’t there recently some scandale with Alitalia air stewardesses complaining about the low levels of hygiene in the planes? Or was that another carrier? I have flown them a couple of times. The airplane food is great but... but... I seem to remember something about bouncing down the runway in Toronto in a not quite a straight line fashion, oxygen masks swinging wildly in the air, passengers yelping. It was an exciting moment; one that will be burnt into my brain forever.

Finally, I have the Emirates option. I have never flown them before. Their planes for this particular flight path are the Boeing 777 – 300ER. I am such a Boeing fan. I would take a Boeing over an Airbus any day. And I am particularly fond of seat 46A on this plane. Check number one for Emirates. The layover in Dubai is a sweet, short 4 hours. I remember, coming back from Trinidad, flying (and I get exhausted just writing this) Trinidad-Tobago-Grenada-Barbados on one of those mini propeller island hopper planes that takes, like, 7 passengers. 9 hour layover in Barbados. Barbados-Heathrow. 18 hour layover in Heathrow. Heathrow-Cape Town. I am not a fan of the long layover after that puppy. Check number two for Emirates. Finally, they boast of their ‘world-class in-flight entertainment system’. Now, everyone knows that the most important thing on a flight is the entertainment system, followed closely by the drinks trolley. Video on demand? No problem! 80 channels to choose from? Choose away! Touch screen? Absolutely!

I am sold.

Emirates it is.

150 sleeps

Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to T-Lo!
Happy birthday to you!

Ok, my birthday is only tomorrow, but DomTastic and I are going to celebrate with a toot tonight. Yay!

While traveling in foreign locales is always exciting and amazing, holidays can be incredibly lonely times. It got to a point a couple of years ago where I just stopped even bothering to celebrate my birthday. And I have come to dread Christmas. I usually high tail it up to Namibia for Pops' Orphan Family Christmas on the Orange. Anyway, I digress...

It has become my little tradition on birthdays, christmas, easter, thanksgiving and other similar holidays to buy myself a gift, wrap it up, and leave it on my kist at the end of the bed as a little surprise to myself when I wake up in the morning. Upon waking, I stare at my kist, eyes wide, mouth aghast, mock-shock on my face, at the sparkly present staring back at me from the end of the bed. And then I rip it open like a five year old.

I always buy myself books as presents. Previously, this has included:

1. The Great War for Civilization by Robert Fiske (****)
2. Middlesex by Geoffrey Eugenides (*****)
3. The Shackled Continent by Robert Guest (*****)
4. Lunar Park by Brett Easton Ellis (*****)

I love my books. I really do. It's some obsessive compulsive disorder, this book-purchasing-and-reading-obsession of mine. I am not joking when I say I have 1000 books. I even have two copies of Ovid's Metamorphosis - one translation by a man and one by a woman, just so I could see if there are any nuanced differences in the interpretation of the myths.

Well, I've gone and done it again. I've bought myself a lovely copy of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susannah Clarke, a tome weighing in at 800 pages. I have enough books. And I'll continue to buy books when I'm back. No more books! No! More! Books! That's the new rule. It's the only way I'll stop. I'll give myself something to look forward to when I'm back: one whole day making my way through the stacks at Chapters. Until then: I'll buy myself consumables as gifts, like a nice piece of dark chocolate, or a slab of double cream Camembert, or a bottle of witblitz.