a dog abroad a year

Dear George

2011-09-08T20:03:00.001-07:00

George Clooney
Movie Star
Smokehouse Pictures
Villa Oleandra, Laglio, Lake Como
or Somewhere swanky Hollywood, CA

Dear George;(If possible address your letter to a specific individual)

(State position applied for)
I am a highly motivated (not really) single woman with more than 40 years of practical experience in the field of singledom. In addition to exceptional dating expertise (by exceptional I mean I've been at it an exceptionally long time), I'm acknowledged for being resourceful (taught my dog to ring a bell when she needs to go pee), adaptable (look at me, I'm old and writing a blog – okay, it's not on Tumblr so my adaptive skill do have limits) and self-directed (sometimes I need a strong hand, but we can agree on a safe word before things get too far) with the ability to handle challenging situations (tonight I had to choose between a chilled white wine or a beer to accompany my tacos) as a result of well-developed communication skills (big lungs, wink wink) and organizational capabilities (I never mix up my forks and spoon in the cutlery drawer).

(Sell yourself )
Recognised as a competent old maid who knows how to develop and maintain working relationships with exs, friend's partners (Not to brag, but I have met your friend Richard Kind. He was looking for a book on Steven Sodheim. I helped him find it.), and other dog park attendees, I am also a hands-on manager (I can cure hiccups and hypnotise chickens with the laying of said hands), and critical thinker (not be confused with being critical which I get from my dad, but I'm working on it), who can quickly learn new systems, develop expertise (I can throw the dog's ball across the park and it rarely ever bounces into the bushes) and produce significant contributions (this one is just resume padding, mostly I like to hang out and read books). To that end, I am now seeking to align my experience and my skills with a someone looking for talented spinster that knows how to deliver outstanding beau monde.

My resume is available upon request. Some of the key strengths I offer include:.

tested experience in a variety of settings with the ability to put people at ease (this generally includes alcohol), make them comfortable when they are feeling anxious (perhaps a nice chilled limoncello) and elicit cooperation from people under less than ideal circumstances (I've gone on many holidays with my extended family and I have yet to murder anyone, although this often includes alcohol as well).
the experience (I have up to 15 years more experience than the last person to hold this position) to remain highly focused (as long as I have my contacts in, otherwise things are a bit blurry) and self-possessed (while I don't believe in ghosts and the third eye many people believe… come to think of that's a different possessed, never mind) in a fast paced high stress environment (although I have been know to stress eat…)
exceptional managerial (some would say bossy), interpersonal (not everyone would have noticed the sadness in your eyes as you and your friends Cindy and Rande made your way to the Venice film festival, being a third wheel can be difficult), and communication (my dog speaks Portuguese, Spanish and English and she learned all that from me) skills.
(Request an interview)
I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss my qualifications more extensively in an interview. Of course you may contact me directly at any time. Thank you for your consideration.

Treena (& Kootenay, my dog comes with the package)

Cool Beans

2011-08-21T19:40:00.001-07:00

Sunday mornings spent hanging with my niece. Writing stories, colouring, reading stories, dancing to made up songs, and having pretend tea parties attended by Buzz Lightyear.

Walking the dog on a warm summer evening.

Seeing a motor home pulling a trailer with a giraffe, three black horses and a giant chicken.

Tomato and feta salad with a nice bottle of white wine.

Curry dinners in the park with new friends.

Sunny evening reminders of how beautiful Vancouver can be.

www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com
(for images related to this post)

Get Out Of My Way

2011-08-17T10:03:00.001-07:00

It was sweet.

Their arms were linked together. He was wearing slippers. She was wearing a homemade cardigan, which looked out of place in the 23 degree weather. If you stacked them on top of each other they would barely break seven feet tall.

They were headed to the bus stop.

They were headed very slowly to the bus stop. On the way they slowed down, folded and unfolded a sheet, conferred with each other and sped up their shuffle.

Speed… well I guess I can use that word.

It would have been cute, if they weren't between me and my bus. Knocking them down and leaping over their prone bodies would be the only way I would make the bus. But then I would be the bad guy.

Again they stopped and pulled out their sheet of paper.

Oh. Dear. God.

I gave up any hope of making my connection.

- Can I help you?

-Yes. Yes. Please. Help. Need bus. They pointed to a number on their sheet.

I tried not to sigh out loud. They were looking for my bus. The bus that had just pulled away.

- Just follow me. I smiled and motioned to them.

- Yes. Yes. We follow.

I slowed my steps to match their shuffle. We had ten minutes to cover the forty feet to our destination. I liked our chances.

At least with them following me my desire to yell GET OUT OF MY WAY has subsided.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

I want to be cooler than I am

2011-08-16T14:47:00.001-07:00

We play tag in the traffic and jostle for position in the four-wheeled exodus of city dwellers. The sky blue monte carlo convertible pulls up beside me and then falls behind. We repeat this for an hour.

Someone miles ahead of us has misjudged how much space they needed to change lanes and the resulting fender-bender has slowed traffic to a crawl. We have a lot of time to play this game.

I chose my car because it is practical. Bear's (my fit's) back seats fold up and I can fit a bike or the dog there.

When I bought my TV the sales man wanted me to pay $$'s for delivery. We won't be responsible for damage. You can't lay the TV flat to transport it. He quoted me the price of delivery and repeated his warnings over and over and over. He couldn't fathom that I might have understood him the first time and organized transport with the position limitations in mind. The boys who carried the TV out to the car were amazed when I folded up the seats and the TV slid neatly behind the front seats. "You'll be fine" they said.

Bear also gets great gas mileage and has low emissions, both sound reasons to influence a car purchase. And did I mention the back seats? Not sure why other car manufacturers don't do this.

The blue monte carlo is not practical at all. Sky blue convertible that drinks gas, that car was chosen because it is awesome.

Bear was chosen because she is practical.

Kootenay and his dog play I see you as the cars play tag. His dog is some sort of border collie mix. The pooch looks smarter than I am. It sits there in the passenger seat allowing the wind to give it's hair a perfect Farrah Fawcett blow out. I swear it smiles at us passers-by.

Back and forth we go until the traffic thins and we lose sight of each other.

I want to be cooler than I am.

I drive a practical car. The apartment I live in was chosen for practical reason. It's big, light and they like the dog. But, you could never consider the neighbourhood cool.

I do have a very impractical dream of living in europe near a beach. But practical me gets up every day and heads to work instead of making any earth-shattering changes.

When we pull into the Coquihalla rest stop I see the blue car. The collie and it's owner are off in the field playing frisbee. They each have Sigg's water bottles. The owner pours the collie's in a small stream and the dog laps at the water as it falls to the ground.

Kootenay and tumble from my car. K laps up her water from a bowl I keep in the trunk, rubs her wet beard across my skirts and makes for the open space.

This guy and his dog work with hand signals. As he and I chat he uses the signals to call his dog, put it in a down, release it from a down, and when Kootenay wanders off following who know what, he sends his dog off to find her and herd her back.

It's all a little humiliating. My dog gambols about sniffing at butterflies and chasing clouds. His dog cheerfully catches their frisbee, occasionally taking a break to check on K, making sure she hasn't wandered off.

The owner and I trade dog park niceties. Kootenay, what's yours? Shep, that's a nice name. Nine, and yours? Four, and you've only had him for two years.

Then K and I pack up and are back in the car.

I follow this tumblr account Men And Their Dogs. Shep and his owner would be at home on this site.

And here lies the essential truth. He is tumblr. I am wordpress.

He is arty pictures that cool folks reblog to each other.

I am self-involved ramblings that a few friends read.

For the images associated with this post see

http://adogabroadayear.wordpress.com/2011/08/16/i-want-to-be-cooler-than-i-am/

treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Just when I thought I was out

2011-08-12T14:02:00.001-07:00

When you're "cured" of cancer you spend years hoping it won't come back. Then you spend years pretending that you have stopped worrying that you spend so much time hoping it won't come back. Slowly, you start to believe in tomorrow.

After a few years you stop worrying each time you have an unexplained bruise, feel tired for a few days in row, or feel a mysterious lump, that there is a malevolent cause. You start taking an aspirin when you have a fever. You laugh about how busy you've been when you're tired. Your heart doesn't miss a beat when you raise your arm in the shower and give yourself a breast exam.

You stop pondering the fleetingness of every moment. Your breath comes easier. You start sleeping through the night.

Then a friend dies. Another friend relapses. And a person you only know through the news and his political organizing steps down from his job to fight a new round of cancer.

But, everything is fine.

You say good-bye to one friend, you hope for the other, you wish all the best to the brave stranger and you continue to live your life.

Then your focus shifts.

People start appearing in crowds. You know they aren't the people you once new. You know they aren't ghosts. But, for a moment you when you see them you want to be fooled.

But, everything is fine.

You jump a little when people come quietly into your office.

But, everything is fine.

By the time you walk from the meeting to your office you forget what your task was, and hope you wrote it in your notebook.

But, everything is fine.

You wake up in the morning and struggle with your bed covers. They feel like they're nailed to the floor around your bed. Pushing them aside and rising to start the day seems almost impossible.

But, everything is fine.

You start searching for a greater meaning in what you do. Are you at the right job? Are you following your true path? Is there meaning to this life?

Everything is not fine.

But, you hold on. You try to trick yourself into believing in permanence again.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Under What? Underwear

2011-06-24T10:37:00.001-07:00

It is so disappointing.

I found a new pair of underwear. Try them on. They fit. Their comfy. They don't have holes in them, like the ones I'm wearing at the moment. The waist doesn't come up so high that it shows under everything I wear. (damn i wish the waist on jeans was just a bit higher. not mom jeans high, but just a smidge higher.)

So I buy six pairs, go home and start throwing away all the old pairs that time has been unkind to. Once I start tossing the old ones ID get excited. On the first pass I toss out those with obvious flaws.

Hole in the waist bad. Gone.

Bleach stain. You're out.

Stretched into unrecognizable shape. Toss.

Then the second pass through the drawer and still more go to the bin.

These ones ride up. Bin 'em.

These ones are ugly. Garbage.

These ones are unlucky. Out. Out. Out.

Now morning is here. I shower with anticipation. I'll be clean. New panties. It's going to be a good day.

Then I run for the bus. The waist band start rolling down. The elastic in the seat makes it way into an uncomfortable spot. I think longingly of the old tried and true pairs of underwear I threw away and try to remember if I have thrown that bag of garbage away yet.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Walking the streets is a riot.

2011-06-22T07:39:00.001-07:00

I look at them differently now, those of boys, hanging around on the streets of Vancouver. The ones by the Roundhouse exit aren't wearing jerseys tonight. But, is that because the season is over or did they lose them to fire recently. I casually scan their faces to see if there are any missing eyebrows.

Tonight they are heading to skateboard bud's place to eat pizza. There were ten of them, but as they head towards the skytrain entrance they peel off in twos. The exits are punctuated by handshakes so complicated they make a baseball coach's signals to players feel decodable.

-Fuck yeah. Call the girls. We'll go out. Just not tonight. Bud (pronounced buuuud) says this hoisting his skateboard from arm to arm. As the final three make their way down the stairs to the train.

-But, dude you wife can't come tonight unless she brings a friend. Ha.

I can't decide if he is trying to assure Dude that it's a joke, or if he's trying to convince himself.

Dude is dressed in black, with black high tops, hoodie and pants. His pants are torn and he holds them together with dozens of strategically place safety pins. He accessorizes with matching pins in his ears and bottom lip. I wouldn't have guessed wife. I don't hear Dude's response. I am busy processing the wife comment.

Dude speaks with the unmistakable lilt of a Québécois accent. The two friends laugh at his response, so no offence taken.

I look at their backpacks. I wonder, do they have new laptops in there?

I'm not saying my bus driver is actually Mussolini.

2011-06-21T09:14:00.001-07:00

I'm not saying my bus driver is actually the reincarnation of Mussolini. But Driver is about 60. His english is peppered with little things that let you know he spoke another language before he spoke english. His t's and d's sneak out from between his tongue and the front teeth. And his hand gestures to car drivers is a cross between on opera director and a roman salute.

If your wake involved you hanging upside down in a gas station, would a bus driver on a crowded university run be a quick leap for your soul to take?

Our bus would not truly be considered a police state, but I dare you to ask Driver a question about change.

A young couple visiting us from Asia got on the bus this morning.

Excuse me Mr. Driver. How much for ride?

Driver points to the sticker where the transfer or money go.

-You see my sigh-een?

-Yes. I see. Excuse me Mr. Driver. How much this, please?

As the couple smile nervously Mr. Driver turns to them.

-No change! Off-a my bus.

So, while I am not actually saying Driver is a reincarnation of Mussolini, I always have my transfer ready when I step onto the bus in the morning.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Father's Day

2011-06-18T10:02:00.001-07:00

I see Dad. He pauses outside my hospital room. My eyes are closed but I can hear him outside the room. Our relationship has been tested these past months. I am fourteen. Our interests have been diverging for a while, but cancer has driven us further apart.

Travelling Dad

When I was diagnosed he believed everything would get better. He believed hard enough that I was afraid to not believe.

"She's not asleep. She's counting. It's how she copes." I hear the nurse quietly talking to him.

I draw a firm line between hospital time and my time outside the hospital walls. Dad-time is outside the hospital. He pushes me to dive back into life after each treatment. I worry about him seeing me as sick as I am today. Will he still think I can do anything if he sees me so sick that I don't have the energy to cry?

I can hear him take a moment, before entering, and breathe. He is trying to be present.

"I have a cold. That's why I'm not at work today." He feels the need to explains his presence in my room on a weekday. At thirty-six he's defending his choice to say home from work, as if his child in the room here isn't reason enough. "I was worried about coming in. Germs. How are you counts?"

I hear worry in his voice and wonder if he is looking for a reason to go home? "They're okay. But the nurse can get you a mask. Then we don't have to worry. I had my treatment about an hour ago. I should be feeling sick soon. Company will be nice."

I close my eyes. When I open them dad is sitting in the chair by the window.
The smell of the snack cart going down the hall means that any break in my concentration will mean the start of a cycle of sick. Today will be a victory if I can keep from throwing up more than three times.

"What can I do?" Dad asks.

"You can read to me. I started counting the holes in the ceiling tile, but the sunlight from the window hurts my eyes. I need to get thru the next three hours, then things will settle down. And by things I mean my stomach."

I try to be still while dad reads to me. If I move, the grip I have on the nausea won't be able to hold back the waves of sickness.

His reading is halting at first; the words and rhythms are a big step away from his comfort area. The sound of his voice is my anchor today. He reads me back to the world.

For the images associated with this post see www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Happy Accidents - Good Food and Great Wine

2011-06-15T00:03:00.001-07:00

The best part of travelling is the happy accident, that moment when everything seems to be going wrong, you surrender your control and end up not where you were going, but where you are meant to be. I had one such accident in St. Paul de Vence.

I was on my way from Nice to St. Paul de Vence to meet a work buddy's partner. Unfortunately a rude bus driver, a local trying to scam a free ride, and windy road combined to make me late. I missed my date with Andre.

To drown my sorrows I turned to wine and food. Ahhh. The French life.

I settled down to eat lunch feeling a bit sorry for myself. Luckily I was surrounded by family.

le Vieux Moulin

We sat down in le Vieux Moulin and proceeded to have the best lunch of our month-long trip.

Daube de Boeuf à la Provençale et Polenta crémeuse

The kids and Dad played it safe and ordered hamburgers. These hamburgers didn't come with french fries though. Ironic eh, given we were in France. Instead the accompanying dish was polenta. Two travellers, a few tables away, with a distinctive American accent, complained about the polenta. I didn't actually hear them say freedom fries, but…

Daube de Boeuf à la Provençale et Polenta crémeuse

My sister and I went for the seafood risotto. If I can ever cook rice this well I will die a happy person.

Risotto aux Scampis et calamars, Persillade

The waiter convinced us to have a bottle of rose wine with our lunch. I was a rose snob until that moment. I had never met a rose worth drinking. Now I can't wait for the summer weather here in Vancouver so I have a good reason to try out new ones. If you ever run into a bottle of Rimauresq Cru Classé AOC Côtes de Provence. Buy it and give me a call. I've been practicing my risotto recipes.

So I missed my friend, but ended up eating in this charming place.

Bathroom Stairs

It is an old converted olive press building. Now full of charm. I mean even the stairs to the bathroom are charming. May you have many such happy accidents on your travels.

This post is part of WanderFood Wednesday, a weekly blogging event featuring food from around the world. See more food posts and learn more at host Wanderlust and Lipstick's WanderFood page.

for the links and images that accompany this post please see www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Soup?

2011-06-10T21:46:00.001-07:00

Eating while you travel can be both exciting and terrifying. My family and I sat down for dinner, while travelling through China. I had a touch of the travellers tummy and was late to the table. Everyone was scooping up their soup and looking at one another.

-Psst. Treesa. Have you eaten your soup?

-Nope. Why.

-Look at my bowl.

-What am I seeing?

-I know me too.

-Don't tell anyone. They have already finished theirs.

-But, I'm not seeing things am I? You see it too.

-What do you see?

-Goldfish….

-Me too.

for the images associated with this post see www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Now That's Customer Service

2011-06-08T23:05:00.001-07:00

The French are not known for their great customer service.

This summer, I was in Nice. I was taking a bus to meet a friend in St. Paul de Vence. Even though the bus fare was the same no matter where you were taking it the driver proceeded to yell at me "quelle ville allez-vous!" My response, in bad school girl French was "lentement s'il vous plaît". Which must have translated to please yell at me some more. Finally someone in the bus line intervened and translated for me. Did I mention that no matter where you went on the bus line the price was the same…

When I was in Paris a waiter spilt an entire carafe of red wine down the front of my white sun dress. When he realized what happened he laughed, handed me a napkin and said "dieu merci c'est vendredi". I guess he had the weekend off. There was not a moment in our interaction where he was concerned about my wine splattered body.

Signs. I work in customer service. I understand the annoyance a clerk feels answering the same question over and over again. To make life easier for customers stores put up signs. I can only image how many tourists were yelled at before this sign was put up.

for the image that belongs with this post please see www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Overheard on the Bus - 2

2011-06-06T23:51:00.001-07:00

-yeah. summer courses 'cause then I can be done earlier.

-me too. good thing my dad can help me with tuition. I didn't really want to cash in my investments right now.

-why? tax implications.

-no. some of them lost value during the crash. I've reinvested, but they aren't where I'd like them to be.

-what did you invest in?

-I'm not sure. My dad's guy did it for me.

-I handle my own portfolio. I get some help from my dad, but mostly I make the calls. You should totally look at arms companies and private security firms. My earnings have gone through the roof.

-don't you feel a bit dirty with all that.

-hell no. It was great to see Egypt in trouble this year. Israel freaked out and my stocks soared. And man is Gaddafi good for business. Between that and the whole war thing, by the time I graduation I will have enough cash for a down-payment on a house.

-I'm not sure I could do that. You know. It seems a bit icky.

-are you kidding get in now man. With Greece the way it is, and Spain in so much trouble it's just a matter of time before people start freaking out more. You should put some cash in gold as well.

-Well...

-no really. I'll hook you up with my advisor if you want. After all we're business majors. We need to know how to make money.

-I know, but it just seems weird to be betting on chaos.

-what are you talking about, weird? Somebody going to be making money off it. It might as well be me.
--------------------

These girls hopped on the bus wearing their lulu yoga pants and Canucks jerseys, with their hair up in pony-tails, and freshly scrubbed faces. Then proceeded to casually chat about making money off of global unrest.

And people say today's youth aren't engaged in current events.

Gram

2011-06-04T00:24:00.001-07:00

Yesterday on CBC, Stephen Quinn was talking about headcheese. Ah headcheese. I never ate you but how you remind me of my childhood.

My Grandmother was good prairie stock. She was 4 foot nothing and she towered over people 2 feet taller.

She and my grandfather were a study in contrasts. She grew vegetables. He grew roses. She surrounded herself with family. I was in my teens before I met any of my grandfather's family. She quoted the bible. He chopped wood.

There was a coal and wood stove in her kitchen. The oven on her electric range was used to store bowls she couldn't fit in her cabinets. The fridge was accessorized with a meat shed, and root cellar. In the event of a nuclear catastrophe her's was the house you wanted to find yourself at. She died ten years ago and I think I just ate her last jar of canned beans.

Years after she sold the farm and moved into the "city" I couldn't bring myself to answer her phone on the first ring. The ring on the farm phone was two short rings and one long. The rhythm of that ring stuck with me well into my 30′s.

Fall was butchering season. The menfolk would go down to the barn. They'd shoot the cow, then give the "all clear" signal. Until the "all clear" was given the kids had to stay in the house.

——————

One shot, but no all clear.

Second shot. Still no all clear.

Third shot. No all clear yet.

The kids looked at each other. We looked in the kitchen. Gram was reaching into the drawer that holds the butchering knives. With one hand she pulled out a knife and a sharpening stone. Her other hand grabbed her white butchering apron off a hook. She threw the apron's top loop over her head, and tucked the knife and sharpening stone under one arm so she could use her hands to tie the apron strings around her.

As she left the house she took the knife in one hand, the sharpening stone in the other and punctuated each step with a blade stroke along the stone. The kids followed her out of the house, careful to stay far enough back that it would be an inconvenience to send us back to the house, but close enough that we could see what was going on.

The menfolk were gathered round a cow. Despite the shots we heard, it was refusing to go down. They looked up. Gram strode past them. One hand reached under and lifted the cow's chin up. The other drew the newly sharpened blade along the cow's neck. It went down.

The uncles, and fathers paused to look at each other and then to Gram, then they got to work. They hoisted the cow, started to bleed it out and laughed at themselves. Gram meanwhile, cleaned the knife on her apron, sharpened it and handed it back to my grandfather so he could use it later to skin the cow.

She got it done.

And, that's the type of woman who would think nothing of wrapping a pig's severed head in a plastic grocery bag, hand it to her 12 year-old granddaughter and send me off to drop it at the shoemaker in town so he could make headcheese.

to see the images associated with this post please check out www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Flash ah-ah!

2011-05-30T23:28:00.001-07:00

My dog has become my barometer.

I love my dog. She's a great companion. If it wasn't for her I would never have chucked everything and spent a year travelling. Before she came along I was tied to owning my apartment. It was the first home I had ever bought. I loved it. I pictured myself a blue-haired old lady trudging up the back steps to my apartment with my tin of cat food in my hand, wearing a hair net. But, when my coop board offered me the choice between keeping the dog and staying in my apartment I chose the dog.

At the time, losing my home was terrifying. Later, when I was drinking wine with new friends in Portugal I was thankful for her. After all, besides being the impetus for the move she introduced me to my new friends.

Now, before you panic and think I've had as stroke and become one of those people who imbues their animal with "special powers", I mean this whole barometer thing in a totally concrete way.

I no long have any confidence in my internal thermometer. It could be -12, 12 or even 42 degrees outside, I couldn't tell the difference. Sweating is no longer indicative of hot temperatures.

Lots of people have advice on how to avoid and manage hot flashes.

Avoid caffeine.

No hot drinks.

Don't eat chocolate.

Spicy or hot foods are a no-no.

Worst of all, they tell me no alcohol.

Really, do you even know me? These are all things I love. You can take my uterus, but you can't take my pleasures! Maybe I should call them vices? Either way...

When the dog and I get ready to head out to the park or for a walk I look at her. Is she panting? How far out of her mouth is her tongue hanging? These are clues I use to help with the big decisions. Puffy vest? Wool sweater? Or sweat shirt?

to see the images associated with this post please check out www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Hysterectomy!

2011-05-29T23:06:00.001-07:00

Hysterectomy. Hysterectomy. Hysterectomy.

There. I said it. I have been dancing around the word for the past three months.

Operation.

Surgery.

Medical problem.

Those have all been answers I've given to various questions asked of me.

I am not been a person who keeps secrets. If it has happened to me you usually know about it. I have a few dirty secrets that involve surfers, wine, and foreign men, but generally if you ask I'll tell you. But, then came this surgery and suddenly I found myself dancing around what was happening to me.

My sister and I shuffled about the mall a few days after "the operation". I needed to get out of my apartment for practical reasons, new underwear had to be found as everything I owned rubbed and got caught up on my staples, and I needed a mental health quickie, I couldn't stare at the same four wall one more day without throwing a plate through my apartment window. To avoid a dramatic and costly over-reaction to confinement we headed to a nice covered mall that offered underwear and diversion.

First stop was Starbucks. I was overdue for a London Fog. And Treesa need a Chai latte. We are both much nicer people when we feed our vices. A little popcorn from Kernels helped as well.

Then we made our way to pick up underwear. That was about all the excitement I could imagine surviving on my first outing.

I shuffled along found some suitably ugly but comfortable underwear and then made for the car. Between me and the car was a Mac cosmetic store. The combination of exhaustion and the loss of my uterus that caused an undeniable urge to own a new lipstick. A good lipstick and a nice pair of shoes can always cheer me up. A new handbag can help as well.

Treesa stood by and offered her critique of the various shades of retail therapy.

Too pink.

Too purple.

Too dark.

Makes you look yellow.

I settled on "not bad". It was all I hoped for given the circumstance.

The sales attendant wasn't sure what to make of us. Treesa and I are quite content conversing in sarcasm, but it scares other people.

I don't… But… Well… If you're sure. The clerk uncomfortably responded to our sister patter.

At one point I turned to quickly and laughed too hard. Pain caused what little colour I had drain from my face. Treesa quickly responded with an arm and a chair.

I just had abdominal surgery, I told the worried looking clerk.

Oh. I had my appendix out last year. She smiles.

I thanked her for her help and Treesa got out my bank card and paid for my purchase. It is a comfort to have a sister so close she can use your bank card without asking you for your pin code.

With lipstick, popcorn and underwear in hand, we slowly made our way to the car.

Abdominal surgery? Treesa asks.

I know. I couldn't think of what to say. I shrug.

So now I am practicing saying it. Hysterectomy. Hysterectomy. Hysterectomy.

I do say, all this honesty is giving me the vapours.

Vignette One

2011-05-18T22:53:00.001-07:00

-Ding. Dong.

-Hello I say opening my apartment door to two young men in black suits. Each of them is wearing a small telltale name tag on their left lapels.

-Sister Treena? It's so nice to meet you. Your aunt asked us to visit.

-Hello boys. This would be my auntie Jennie I suppose.

-Why yes.

One replies. But for the fact that only one mouth moves, the two faces are indistinguishable from each other. One could be the other. Although, they are identically unique within our age group. Clear skinned, bright eyed, and joyfully free of any stimulants, these are nice young men.

I can't resist young men on their missions. Our world views are the antithesis of each others. But, it feels like home to have them at my table talking about hockey, books, travel and God. They avoid saying I'm a hell-bound heathen and I avoid saying they are naive and superstitious. For an hour we chat. I drink tea and they sip Ovaltine. I mentioned they are stimulant free didn't I? Then it comes...

-Sister Rivard mentioned, that with the temple so far away, you are finding it difficult to make sunday services.

-She did huh. Distance.

We smile at each other. No hard feelings. They had to ask.

--------------

This friday afternoon she will finally get me to temple. I hope there is no lightening around. A thunderbolt from the sky might challenge my current state of atheism. Although it would be a neat trick and my hat would be off to you Jennie.

www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Jennie

2011-05-17T19:44:00.001-07:00

-Hello

-Hi Treena. We lost her today.

-I'm sorry Andrea. How are you doing?

-I'm okay. She went peacefully. The funeral will be either Friday or Saturday. I'll let you know when things are confirmed.

Jennie introduced me to angel food cake. For two years, once a month my parents and I would drive to Vancouver. I would spend the week in the hospital undergoing chemo. Jennie would make me a congratulations your week of chemo angel food cake with whipped cream and strawberries. She and Norm, her husband would host all the Vancouver family for a heading out of town dinner.

Board games. Badminton. Bar-b-que. Angle food cake.

It was always a celebration. Making it through the month, making it through chemo, and finding ourselves together again, eating laughing and to celebrate living.

Good-bye.

Overheard on the Bus

2011-05-16T23:24:00.001-07:00

-No!

-Really? Come on.

-What?

-No, really?

-Oh. My. God.

-Come on. Like, really?

-hahahahahahahahaha

-Yeah, I know.

-You know I hate that.

-I fuckin' hate when that happens.

-Cheese.

-She said what?

-I would break up with her for that.

-No really. Burger King makes the best burger.

Alentejo Blue

2011-02-20T02:29:00.001-08:00

To see this post with pictures included please see www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Portugal knocked on my door twice recently. Once. A friend guided me to Monica Ali on twitter. A second time friends from Nazare shipped me a bottle of Ginja de Obidos. What a lovely way to be cheered up when you are consigned to your couch for a prolonged period of time.

So, while some friends are off eating and drinking, celebrating birthdays on a Saturday night, I am sitting here, sipping a glass of Ginja re-reading Alentejo Blue. And, remembering how lovely Alentejo was.

Monsaraz in Alentejo

The story awoke my desire is to be a foreigner whose place some locals break into so they can swim in the pool. I know, it's a little bourgeois, but…

At the end of The NY Times review the reviewer wants Ali to let the characters out to interact rather than having them silently stew. I am glad she didn't do that. To me it would have seemed very unportuguese for the characters to act out their lives in public. Maybe it's their history of being invaded, maybe it's that until 1974 they lived under a right-wing dictatorship Estado Novo, maybe it's just the friends I made, but to me silently stewing fit the stories perfectly.

Another part of the book that makes me smile is when she talks about older men sitting on benches watching the world go by chatting to each other. Every morning I walked my dog through the town and smiled to the older guys as they solved the worlds problems amoungst themselves. At least that is what I think they were doing. Hard to tell as I didn't understand a lot of what they said to me. Devagar por favor, or slowly please was the phrase I used the most.

Muhammad Ali Pasha al-Mas'ud ibn Agha (Not the boxer)

2010-09-19T17:53:00.001-07:00

"Hello" they recite in unison. A group of school girls are trying out
their english.

"Hello." Dad replies. "How are you?"

This is met with giggles. They're not sure what he is asking them.

"Mr. Where. Are. You. From." They slowly pronounce each word as they
practiced in class.

"Canada." Dad smiles at his flock of admirers.

"Oh yes. Canada Dry. Nice. Nice." They reply.

This is the first time we have had this response. We will hear it many
more times before we head home.

"We won't get anywhere if he keeps encouraging him." Alice says. We
joined Alice and her daughter Erica along with the guide Essam for our
Egyptian vacation.

Alice talks. I'm not sure how she manages to get oxygen into her
lungs. I have known her for three hours now and I know she is from
California, worked in banking until her bank was taken over by the
Fed., has a troubled relationship with her daughter, lost her father,
loves to travel, has a police officer husband, hates Obama, has Greek
ancestry, had a bad European tour experience, loves Hawaii, and
Mexico, has been to Egypt before, drinks coffee not tea... She is the
embodiment of the "American" tourist, but seems genuine and kind. So,
I swallow my prejudice and try to engage her.

"Shake a leg." Essam calls and holds up his blue clipboard as a beacon
for us to follow.

We head to the entrance of Muhammad Ali's mosque. Essam hands us
tickets. We line up at metal detectors for a cursory inspection of our
bags and persons. Essam heads through first and shakes hands with
everyone he encounters. The same men line up to search our bags.

Father of modern Egypt. Reformed the military. Headed land reform.
Built a central bureaucracy. Essam fills us with more details that we
can possibly hold onto. I start to learn how deep the history of this
country runs. I am reminded of how young Canada is.

Muhammad Ali's Mosque
I love the architectural details in moorish influenced buildings. The
arches, the curved doorways, and window details combine to create an
elegant facade. The details remind me of the buildings in Seville.

The mosque's courtyard houses a few women holding out white modesty
gowns. I dressed with modesty in mind this morning. My skirt covers my
knees. My shirt covers my shoulders. That doesn't stop the man behind
us from pushing women forward and demanding I wrap myself in a gown.
Two women lift my arms and start robing me. In arabic, they firmly
demand something from me. I'm pretty sure it's money they are looking
for.

Essam realizes that Treesa and I have fallen behind the group. He
returns to the entrance looking for us. Short sharp words are
exchanged with the man in charge of the gowns. Then the handshake
where palms never meet occurs. Money was passed between them, and
Essam herds us off to meet up with our group.

"Privatization." he says. "This man has been hired recently to run the
gown rental. It used to be run by the government. He is "stricter" in
his assessment of acceptable dress."

Even religious institutions need to drive a profit these days.

It is beautiful. The court yard's alabaster reflects the sun. The
interior of the mosque is painted in green and gold and hurricane
style lights are suspended from the ceiling. The floors are covered in
persian carpets. We pad about barefoot and learn about Mamluk
architecture, the height of the mihrab and Muhammad's son whose death
inspired the building.

As we leave the mosque we are approached by women who disrobe Treesa
and me. I step into my shoes and out into the sun. Cairo lies at our
feet. I can see why Muhammad came to this mountain.

www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com for images

Breakfast

2010-09-19T17:51:00.001-07:00

My first breakfast in Egypt.

It happens at the ungodly hour of 6am. I hate mornings, but after a
few days here I will come to see the common sense behind starting your
day this early. For now the breakfast buffet will be my solace.

My introduction to Egyptian food starts with black tea. Here, they add
mint to the hot water and then brew the black tea. Awesome!

The hotel we are at must cater to both western and eastern travellers.
The breakfast buffet has a crepe bar and an egg man making any
omlette, over easy, or fried egg thing you can dream up right next to
a felafel maker with fresh hummus. There's also a bean, tomato and
onion spread with pita that people are digging in to, but this seems a
little too heavy for me for the first day.

The baking deserves a special mention. The breads are sweet and
fluffy. Buns are fresh, some are covered in granulated sugar and some
are stuffed with a fig paste or chocolate. So good.

And if you want a little honey on your toast or in your tea there is
always this: www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Rickie

2010-09-19T17:50:00.001-07:00

"Call me Rickie" he tells us. We are finally on the bus that we will
ride to the hotel. "Anything you need, you tell me. Egypt is a great
country. Anything you need, you call me."

We careen through the streets. Four cars squeeze into two lanes, and
horns beep. The horns are not angry horns. Drives use them to say
hello, I'm taking over this lane, and this light is taking too long to
change so I'm coming through. People shrug off the sound. Donkeys and
their passengers move to the side and everyone negotiates their space.
If I hadn't ridden in cabs in China and Thailand the traffic might
have bothered me, but the rush and noise seem quite calm to me.

"Ahh." Rickie says. "We have crazy divers here. Egypt traffic مجنون (Mjnwn)"

"They just make the lanes too wide." Is Jerry's response.

Before I left Canada I read a bunch of books by Egyptian authors. One
of the book, The Yacobian Building involves the intertwined lives of
groups of people who live in a building. Some of the people live on
the roof. While reading it I understood that people lived on top of
the roof, but I never thought of how that would work. As we make our
way to the hotel I start to see it. The tops of some apartments have
rebar sticking out and loosely woven palm that provides shelter to the
people living there.

The official population of the city is 17 million. I can't see how
they could possibly count everyone here. As we were taking overpasses
and winding our way through the city I thought the apartment building
were not that high. Then I looked down and realized that the road we
were driving on was five floors above ground level.

Mosques, army headquarters, army mosque, football field, more mosques
and finally a bridge. My first sight of the Nile. It's almost 2am and
couples are crossing in groups, people are fishing, and crazy.... cars
are parked in the outside lanes. They pull up, stop, and everyone
climbs out and gazes at the water below.

When we finally get to the hotel I can see how security is an issue
here. Our bus pulls up to the parking lot. The driver identifies
himself and Rickie, and the the bus is sniffed at by a dog. Men with
guns eventually lower the steel pillars in the roadway and we drive
into the lot. Now we are just a metal detector and x-ray machine away
from bed. Man am I tired. I can barely appreciate the grounds.

"So. You need AnyThing you call me. I can find anything in this town.
You just tell me." Rickie smiles.

Blah. Blah. Blah. Princess's former castle. Visiting dignitaries.
Blah. Blah. Blah. Egyptian cotton and a feather pillow await.

www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com for images

It's Sunday

2010-09-19T17:49:00.001-07:00

Paris. Notre-Dame. Sunday.

It was amazing how amidst the tourists, the congregation and priest
managed to create a space that they saw as holy.

I came into the church and heard the sounds of hymns. The hymns in a
Catholic church are very different from the ones I grew up with. We
sang things like Jesus Loves Me, and This Little Light of Mine. My
hymns were kinda jr. faith meets new agey worship.

On this Sunday I heard the Psalms being sung in French. They made no
sense, but were comforting. The ritual and structure offered communion
(in the non-Eucharist sense) to those gathered and they shared it with
all of us watching.

Maybe it was comforting because I couldn't understand it...

This way people were joined together in a happiness I could feel, and
my mind didn't jump in and start to punch holes in their theories.

Unfortunately, to see the picture you will have to check out
www.adogabroadayear.wordpress.com

Customs. Check?

2010-09-19T17:47:00.001-07:00

Meeting up with the family in the airport is not that difficult. There
are not that many, looks like they are going to be sunburned in about
a minute, groups milling about. And, they are watching the door for
me. We all think the first five minutes in the country is too early to
lose someone.

Jerry and Dad are in the "line-up" to get our visitors visas. It is
amazing how many people are trying to get paperwork processed at
midnight on a Sunday. Ten minutes of "elbows up" nudging and 15 US
dollars per person and we all now have shiny visa stickers to hand
over to customs.

"Keep moving to the end wall." A familiar voice floats out from a
black cloud. "The line ups move faster."

"Thanks." I smile and herd the family along to the wall. Here is where
you can see money making things easier for some. Small groups move
through customs with such ease I have to believe something other than
love passed between everyone when they were hugging, kissing, and
shaking hands.

There are no stanchions, velvet ropes for guiding, or even a clear
line up, but there are lots of men in white uniforms carrying machine
guns to prod stragglers in the right direction.

Passport control. Check.

Luggage. Check.

"Don't take your hands off your bag. And don't let anyone else touch
it or they will want money from you. Do you need cabs to your hotel?"
Posh spice asks.

"Nope. My sister the travel organizing Goddess has arranged for the
hotel shuttle to pick us up." Which is a relief. I'm not sure after
all the travelling I could handle the cabbie madness and heat I step
into outside the airport. As I dodge "helpful" outstretched hands I
turn to thank my new friend.

"تصبح على خير" she says. "And, wear sunscreen!"
--

You're Not In Canada Anymore!

2010-09-07T21:36:00.001-07:00

After twenty hours of travelling, my plane is touching down in Egypt.

"Please stay in your seats until the plane comes to a complete stop"
the flight attendant calls out over the PA and repeats the request in
Arabic.

Tourists on the plane glance at each other and tug their seat belts to
reassure each other that she's not talking about us. The Locals ignore
the entreaties floating over the PA system and keep pulling out
carry-on bags and passing them back and forth across the aisles.
Travelling companions call out, identifying their suitcases, duty-free
bags, and coats, and wait for the standees to distribute the overhead
compartments holdings.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Please remain in your seats until the plane
comes to a complete stop and the Captain has turned off the seat belt
sign." The attendant repeats this, but seems resigned to the fact that
very few passengers are going to comply with this request.

The plane stops and the rest of us passengers stand and join the
chaos. Tentative smiles, yawns, and anxious glances pass amongst the
new standees. None of us know what to expect outside the plane.

I get closer to the door. The heat surprises me. It's 11.30 at night
and it is warmer than a summer's day in Vancouver. Sweating at
midnight...

This is one of the stop on the tarmac and take a bus to the terminal
landings. Like a polite Canadian I line up and make my way towards the
door. By the time I reach sight of the night sky, I have been
separated from my family. Hesitancy comes with a cost here.

"توقف" (twqf) a gun toting man in a white uniform shouts at me as I am
about to head down the stairs.

A hand reaches out from behind me and tugs on my t-shirt. "He wants us
to stop and wait here" A posh british accent attached to the hand
tells me. I turn to thank the woman translating for me. She sat near
me on the flight from London to Cairo. She was wearing upscale jeans
and t-shirt, but is now covered from head to toe in a black headscarf
and dress.

"I'm here to visit family." She says. "I wear this to please my
grandmother. It is easier than arguing with her." She smiles.

I helped butcher chickens to please my grandmother. I understand
compromising to keep the peace.

"You're going to need to be a little pushier if you're going to
survive in Cairo." She laughs.

Luxor

2010-08-10T10:10:00.003-07:00

Was floating down the Nile today. A maz ing! Palm trees, donkeys,and
camels lined the shore. The crops, mostly corn and sugar cane were
sweating off the night mist and getting ready for the day. A farmer
started up a diesel engine and I thought for a minute that I was in
apocalypse now. The machine gun mounted on the bow of the ship helped
the war time image. It was six in the morning. Jet lag helps me become
an early riser.

Jer's thinks that the reason they once worshipped the sun is 'cause
you can't beat it.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.blogspot.com

Luxor

2010-08-10T10:10:00.001-07:00

Jer's thinks that the reason they once worshipped the sun is 'cause
you can't beat it.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.blogspot.com

We are alive

2010-08-02T01:49:00.001-07:00

The internet is sketchy at best here. have seen amazing things.
pyramids, donkeys, teeming cities, camels, tombs... turns out we are
really in africa.

Jer figures they worship the god Ra of the sun because you can't beat him.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.blogspot.com

Yahooo

2010-07-28T21:58:00.000-07:00

Day one was exciting. Saw some bedazzled burkas, ate some amazing
breads, saw some ruins,and only a few were in museums. I am in love
with this amazing almond and powdered sugar pastry thing. The fruit is
so good. Had papaya, mango and bananas. Turns out a big bottomed white
girl can turn heads here. Had lots of kisses thrown my way.

Saw people fishing off a bridge. They were pulling fish out of the Nile river.

The traffic lines seem to be for decoration and losers.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.blogspot.com

Egypt here I come!

2010-07-25T23:33:00.001-07:00

For those of you keeping track here is the plan.

The first day will filled with the excitement and angst that comes
with travel. I will be checking my ticket once or twice or maybe even
a few thousand times. Oh and the plan is to remember the passport!!! I
will rest my head in Cairo this night.

Then after the first night in Cairo it is time for a coffee in Naguib
Mafouz's cafe and then off the see the city of Cairo. I'll head out to
see the Citadel, which was finished by Mohammed Ali (not the boxer).
His tomb is the next thing i see. And, there is nothing like a stop in
a few museums. Maybe there will be some Pharaonic treasures. Let me
know if you want me to pick up anything for you. King Tutankhamun is
hiding here and i intend to find him. I wonder if he will recognize me
from Expo? There is a light show that happens at the Pyramids. I want
to try and see it this night. It's like the dry grad version of Laser
Pink Floyd.

Now for day three, i am heading to Luxor, which is founded around the
site of Thebes. Look out Karnak the amazing i am coming to i plan to
see your temple. Rameses II 's statue, Hypostyle Hall, a stone
forest, and sphinx are all here. We'll see what i can check off.

Day four is time to hit the Nile. I will visit Dendara built in the
1st century. It honours Hathor the Goddess of maternity, love and
music. I guess i can get behind the music part. Apparently there is
one of the few likeness of Cleoatra and Ceasarian (Julius's kid) here.
The Temple of Luxor is not far from here. We'll see if i can get there
as well.

Next day i am off to see Thebes, which i will get to by floating along
the Nile. I anticipate handsome Egyptian men fanning me with palm
fronds as i journey along. I'll let you know what happens. I
anticipate picture opportunities as the Colossi of Memnon, two giant
seated figures of Amenhotep III is around here. Queen Hatshepsut a
female Pharaoh is also buried along here. There are rumours of camel
rides this day. This is where the hat will really pay off. The day
will end with the boat making its way through the Esna Lock and onto
Edfu. Phew. I am tired already.

Now what to do the next day. Well... the Temple of Horus is at Edfu
and is dedicated to the Falcom God. I guess i will have to see that.
Time to put on the galabea and hit Aswan for dinner. I hope to find a
Galabea party. Waaahoooo.

The next day there is a motor boat ride across the Nile to see the
complex of Isis on the island of Philae. There is a granite quarry,
the High Dam, and obeliks to gaze at. Aswan has some botanical gardens
so i hope to sail through them on a felucca this night.

This day i sail the Nile (just like saying that) to Kom Ombo to see
the Temple. It is dedicated to Horus the Elder and Sobek the Crocodile
headed God, which is amazing 'cause gods in those days did share
anything well, let alone a temple. The temple used to house
crocodiles. Hope we don't see any. There is a mummy on display here as
well. Guess the crocks did like the taste.

Ahhh. A day of rest. Sailing along the Nile i promise to take lots of
photos. And back to Luxor and then onto Cairo again.

On our last day in Cairo i hope to hit Memphis, see the stature of
Rameses II, Skkara to see the Step Pyramid of King Zoser (2700 BC),
see Gisa, Sphinx, and the Pyramids baby!

This day will be a travel day. After a final coffee in Cairo i am off
to Paris. Gay Paris here i come.

Once in Paris i am off the to train station. An overnight trip and I
will wake up in Nice. (That's pronounced niece you anglos).

The next few days are open and flexible. A day at the beach. A day in
Monaco. A day sipping red wine in the cafes. You get the idea.

Then i am on my way home. I will be happy to see everyone, but a bit
sad to be home....

Reader's Block

2010-05-24T21:56:00.001-07:00

They are everything I love in books. They are translations. They offer up the promise of excitement and foreign destinations.

I love the feeling I get when I'm reading a book written originally in another language. Sometimes I can almost hear the echo of the original story.

So I started the trilogy Your Face Tomorrow by Javier Marias. And then I started it again. And again. And again.

I don't understand why they won't work for me.

Senselessness by Horacio Castellanos Moya. Loved it.

Ghosts, An Episode in the Life of A Landscape Painter, and How I Became a Nun by Cesar Aira. Fantastic.

War by Candlelight, and Lost City Radio by Daniel Alarcon. Great.

Roberto Bolano, Jose Saramago, Javier Sierra, Alina Bronsky, Elena Ferrante, Robin Yassin-Kassab, Mohammed Hanif to name a few others.

Books in Translation

2010-03-30T21:22:00.001-07:00

More people need to read books in translation. Recently I recommended The Lost Daughter to a friend. She loved it.

The books is by Elena Farrante. She writes about motherhood and conflicted emotions surrounding children. Her prose is candid and challenging. The main character vacations by herself on the Ionian coast. With her daughters moving to Toronto with her ex-husband it is first time alone in years. She becomes engrossed in drama surrounding Nina, a young mother. Exploring the comfort and complications that come with family she dares you to like the main character despite her human frailties. If you can find it I recommend it.

Elena Farrante also wrote a great piece for the NYT. She tries to explain Naples to us. Enjoy.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/15/opinion/15ferrante.html?_r=1&scp=10&sq=ferrante&st=cse

So Soft

2010-03-30T21:00:00.001-07:00

I love my new robe. It is brown, fuzzy and soft, soft, soft, soft. I think it is the softest thing I have ever owned.

When I first move out on my own I inherited a couch from friends. We called it the snuffaluffagus. It was big and soft and oh so comfy. The new robe makes me miss that couch a little.

But, we all have to grow. So the couch was passed down. My brother and his friends lived with it for many more years. It gave many weary partiers a place to crash, and was eventually retired from service all together.

I think of that couch each time I put on my new robe. The robe only gives one weary folk a comfy place to crash.

That's okay. Because I am the folk.

I love my new robe.

Sick

2010-03-23T21:58:00.001-07:00

God. I've been sick for two weeks now. How much longer can this last. It started with allergies. Then it became a stuffy nose. From there it went into a cough, and then back to a stuffy nose and now it is finishing up with a cold sore and canker sore.

I haven't even had time to plan my dream home. It's odd. I can picture every part of it. The lights over the breakfast bar are so real to me. They are made by hanging three bulbs from the ceiling and then using fishing traps as shades. A little salute to Portugal.

Okay maybe I have invested some time in planning it this week. But, I haven't had time to check my lotto tickets to see if it can be something other than a just a wish.

Take to aspirin and call me in the morning.

2010-03-17T23:28:00.001-07:00

Wow. After the big travel (as I am calling it now), I have come back to experience allergies. I don't understand how people live with them. Itchy eyes, runny nose, and sneezing are all new to me. I feel like a big baby.

To add to the pain, I now have a cold as well. It seems like every month I am catching some new bug. What happened to me while I was away? Perhaps I need to plan on travelling again. Because staying home is killing me.

hummm

2010-03-14T23:02:00.001-07:00

It amazing how quickly time can pass. I have been back in Canada for a year and a half now, and have settled back into a routine that is dangerously close to the one I had before I left town. I get up in the morning, walk the dog, work the day, walk the dog, make dinner, clean up, watch a little tv and go to bed.

Gone are the hours of reading, walking, and writing that I enjoyed on my year off. I have come back to my old life and not made the dramatic life altering changes that I had hoped for.

I have written 70,000 words that could probably be a novel, but the self-doubt I carry about is making it difficult to put the work out into the world. But, if I don't put it out there I will stay exactly where I am.

Outdoor Water

2010-03-12T23:33:00.001-08:00

If it is off the pool I want to have it raised. It would be great a few steps higher than the pool, so it doesn't feel like you are just sitting in the pool. I could turn on the jets, lie back, sip a glass of wine and enjoy the stars. And I wouldn't have to worry about the dog trying to get in with me. She would definitely jump in a pool, but she would never climb a step to get into warm swirly water. But, if it is too open and too far from the bedroom… well no naked tubbing.

But, if it is next to the bedroom, what do I do when I head to bed early and my guests use it. I would be tempted to eavesdrop. That rarely goes well. Don't want to overhear a list of my faults. (short list, but still it might hurt)

When I stayed with Ana and Carlos I loved their outdoor shower. It was not something you use often in Canada. Too cold most of the year. You would end up freezing bits off. A few times I would open my eyes from rinsing the soap from my hair and find the dog sitting inside the shower stall watching me rinse. It startled me at first. You don't often find a giant hairy white dog sitting in the shower stall watching you shower.

So I definitely need an outdoor shower as well as hot tub. Maybe the shower I off the bedroom patio and the hot tub stays down by the pool. Other than Kootenay I can't imagine very many people needing to shower on my patio. K only likes it until you try to shower her. The minute you aim the shower head at her she is off. Although when it is really warm, she like drink from any water you try to wash her with. So I guess while I get to use it, the shower will also be for the dog. I have hear people say "love me love my dog" this time it will be "shower for me shower for my dog".

Guess this all requires a bit more thought.

Warm Daze

2010-03-11T23:10:00.001-08:00

The pool will be nice. I'm a bit concerned about the dog. She loves
water. She will jump in the pool. Whenever we get close to a beach she
runs to the water. She loves to lie in the waves and have the water
wash over her. She will even lie down in a puddle if it is deep
enough. Guess this mean a few hours of training for her and me. She
will need to learn to recognize the stair exit no matter from where
she enters the pool.

I want to have a ramp as well. If Steve comes to visit I want him to
be able to access the pool as well. He will need to be able to get a
wheelchair in and out. It won't be a true zero entry pool, but the
ramp will be wide enough to give him access.

The 25 meter width will be great for keeping in shape. I hope to swim
a number of laps each day before I write. The morning will be a nice
30 minute walk with the pooch, a few laps and then some tea and toast.
Then writing. Then if I am lucky it will be bread guy day. Some warm
rolls, a glass of wine, and a nice salad before tucking into the
latest book.

Amongst the chairs around the pool will be one that lies flat. It will
be where I read on sunny days. The dog will have her own bed beside
it. If she gets up on my chair it won't be long until it stinks of wet
dog so badly I won't want to be on it.

After a few hours of reading I will have to track down some friends to
meet for dinner. I don't want to send too much time alone. It is easy
for me to do. I can slip into a routine of eating, reading and walking
the dog very easily. It's not exactly the more people I meet the more
I love my dog, but….

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.blogspot.com

The Bathroom

2010-03-10T23:21:00.001-08:00

I designed my dream bathroom today while I sat at our woefully underappreciated booth at the UBC Consumption fair. It seemed very few people were interested in the glamorous recycled products we brought. Luckily this gave me lots of time to dream.

It has slate 2X2 tiles on the floor and walls. The shower is a walk-in stall that has a rainfall head. It's a nice big head that showers down on you with a ton of pressure. My current shower has such low water pressure that asking the cream rinse to leave the strands of my hair would be as effective as the spout some days. The shower stall will have a bench and a steam set up as well, I believe. There's nothing like a eucalyptus steam to clean out the nasal passages.

And the tub, how beautiful it will be. Claw foot, with a white enamel finish inside and a Chinese lacquer red outside and it will be deep enough to drown in. None of this shallow can't even get the top of my knees wet crap I have right now. Nope there will be depth and there will be bubbles. A rack will lie across the top. I might put a candle in the rack when I have the night time bath.

Have I mentioned the in floor radiant heat? When I get out of the tub the floor will be warm. And the towel will come off the heated rack all toasty and absorbent, and they will smell of sunshine (the housekeeper will often air my laundry on a line in the sun). She will be a bit crusty, but loveable. This will be handy, because I often absorb people into my life so she will set boundaries for the both of us.

This will be my master en-suite, so I don't envision a door as being necessary. There won't be casual party-goers going it this space. If they end up here it will be by invitation only, and that is another reason for the big deep tub. Hehehe.

The sinks will be bowls that are set on a solid black abutment and the taps will come out of the wall. The small tiled ledge above the taps can hold the incidentals.

The toilet stall will be behind a small pony wall. It will be shaped in much the same way as the shower, but with softer lighting, and maybe a way to play a little music. You know, for the moments when you need a little extra distraction. Oh, and there will be a small trash bin there, with a bag liner in it. I was lectured by a boy one time because the garbage pail in the bathroom didn't have a bag in it and he couldn't decide how to dispose of a used piece of personal protective wear. Really we just had sex and you're going to lecture me on how I line the garbage pail….

The nicest feature of this room will be the fireplace with a flat screen tv mounted above it. This will be viewable from the tub. A woman cannot live with books alone, and damn I love watching movies in the tub.

And that is it. Oh, I will have to have an upholstered chair in there. The dog likes to hang out in the bathroom when I relax in the tub. Tile floor is hard on her old bones. Now, she drags my towel off the rack and lays on it if I forget to bring her bed into the room. And there is no way she is dragging my lovely large dove grey towel down and sleeping on them. Sorry K. I love ya, but I've gotta draw some boundaries.

Dreams

2010-03-08T23:00:00.001-08:00

I love reading Harlequin Romance novels. I love that the couples always work out their troubles. They are completely at odds with what I normally read. Other than romance novels I don't like my fiction to have a happy ending. I like complicated, messy lives entwined by love and lies.

I could be happy if I could spend the rest of my time reading and writing romance novels. In my dream life I would spend six months in my home in Europe and six months in Canada. I would have a home in Vancouver as a base, but I could always spend my time back in Canada hopping from friend to friend. A few months with Treesa. Some time with Michael. Some time with Diane. Some time with Matt and Mel. And I could squeeze in time with Megan & Zach, and Bill and Jen.

I'm sure Kootenay would get used to the flights. She seems happy where ever we end up. Whether we are driving across BC or Alberta in the frozen winter, or flying across the ocean, she always is happy when we get where we are going. Although she is not very fond of the actual travel.

I can picture the house we would build for our European home. I can see the open plan living room, dining room, and kitchen. I can even see the lamps that I would build for over the island. And there would always be extra bedrooms for my friends and family.

I would sit out by the pool and write. I would need to plan on being somewhere the bread van would deliver to. When I stayed with my friends Ana and Carlos. The bread van would come by every other day. He would honk his horn and all the people home in the neighbourhood would come out and buy bread. The back of the truck was insulated so the bread would still be warm when he came by. It was the closest I have come to perfect relationship.

Now I just need a little stake to get this plan underway.

Another Start

2010-03-02T22:41:00.001-08:00

How did I get so old?

I don't mean that in the classic, feel so bad for me I miss my youth, kind of way. To be honest there is not one part of me that wants to go backwards a year let alone a decade.

One day when I was a teen I stopped thinking of myself as ever aging. Maybe I stopped believing I could ever age. Tomorrow seemed so far away that everyday was measured just as another today.

Lately I have started to see that I'm getting older. The eyes don't focus quite as well. The body doesn't keep in shape as easily.

And, I realized that my mother was only six years older than I am now when she died. When I think of my mom I remember her as about thirty five. I can see how she dressed, what she read, and how she laughed. Although the only reason I can remember her laugh is because it is the same as my sister's laugh. If I close my eyes when Treesa laughs I can almost think it is Mom.

Must be getting close to that time of year. Oscar parties and sadness.

A New Cooking Plan

2010-03-01T21:37:00.001-08:00

Eating better. It is not an easy task. This week I started a new routine. I have made up a menu, bought the appropriate groceries and am trying four new recipes.

All my old standbys are boring me. I can make a darn good panko crusted chicken breast. And my oven-roasted potatoes are fantastic.

One of the things I missed while travelling through Portugal was a variety of potato options. There were no baked potatoes with sour cream and chives and no garlic and lemon oven roasted nugget potatoes. Don't misunderstand they can rock the French fry and their olive oil over boiled potatoes was really nice, but I didn't realize how many different ways there are to get your starch in Canada.

So to start the new cooking plan I made chicken cutlets dredged in garlic and panko with a nice spicy honey lemon sauce. Yummy and apparently low in fat.

Tonight I made a grapefruit avocado salsa and served it on broiled herb crusted pork chops with a lovely jasmine rice sidedish.

Guess what I am having for lunch tomorrow. Ah leftovers. They are so much better than sandwiches.

let's test this out

2010-03-01T21:25:00.001-08:00

well i am getting back to blogging. the only problem is that the email
address used for this account has expired. Unfortunately my memory of
my password has also gone. so i will test this note and see if it
comes thru. if it does get ready for some new entries.

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.blogspot.com

Milano

2008-08-01T14:58:00.000-07:00

Things to note about Milano.
- Armani has a whole city block filled with his good. I couldn't even afford the air conditioning.
- La Sacala theatre is closed for renovations. The lobby and the museum are nice though.
- Milanese do not find references to the Da Vinci code very funny. The last supper is pretty amazing even if John looks a lot like a Mary.
- Drinks can cost you 5 eruos, but they come with all the snacks you can eat. The bruchetta was particularly good, but i would not sneeze at the salami, mozzeralla, ham sandwiches, and homemade potato chips, and if you think your drinks are overpriced and you are trying to make up the cost by trying a few of everything then ignore the waitress giving you an angry glare.
- The galleria is amazing. The light comes pouring in the glass ceilings and show off the Prada bags very well. It is too bad they spelt their name wrong on the one I bought, guess that is why it was marked down.
- Cab drivers are cab drives no matter what country you are in. A ten dollar cab ride can for twenty can seem like a good deal if you are standing on the side of a road in a strange city, you have two kids with you, and it is pitch black.

Our last night in Milan was very dramatic. There was a storm that included lightening, thunder, huge pounding rain drops and hail.

They Came They Saw They Conquered

2008-07-30T14:10:00.000-07:00

They made it. The family finally got to see where I have been hiding for the past year. After a long flight from Canada to London the made the hop to Lisbon, rented a van (big enough for all the tourists in Nazare) and drove to see me.
Kootenay and I were walking through the plaza when we saw them. We were both happy to see them. I think my dog may be tired of hanging out with just me.
While they were visiting we swam in the Atlantic, ate fantastic seafood, and heard some great music.
Aisha managed to drink her first legal beer, taste a great sangria, have a mojito, and get kissed by a cute european musician. She did more exciting things in her first two days than I did in my first six months. Look out cute euro-boys i need to catch up.
We hit Obidos a small walled town for an afternoon of tourist pictures and some cheese, bread, olives, and various other tapas. Yummy. The portuguese do a great bread, and their cheese is pretty good as well.
After an amazing dinner at Maria de Mar, which consisted of a cod boullaibasse, shimp in lemon and garlic sauce, sardines (bigger than you would expect), pork alentejana, and wine Aisha, Jerry and myself went to Ta Bar to see a friend play some music. You can google him at Blister music. He is pretty talented. Check him out.
I was reminded how small a town Nazare was, there was long hair, bad hair, dalmatian dad, and Maria who cooked us dinner all in the same room. Maria even sent us over a round of drinks. Aisha can't seem to keep off the beer now. She seems to be channelling her mom.
We are now in Milan, but my internet time is running out so you will have to wait a day or so until you hear about it. Just a sneak peak tough.... it includes amazing pizza, large beers and rude waiters....

2008-07-24T10:13:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of people in town right now. My sleepy little cobblestone village has become a summer resort town. During the winter Kootenay and i wandered the town and the beach leashless hearing very little english. The little that we did hear was usually from friends calling us over to chat.
Last night a boy came up to us and wanted to throw the ball for K. He wandered over and asked in accented english if he could have a turn tossing the ball, and he wanted to know what type of dog Kootenay was.
His mom quickly ran over to interpret for him. She was surprised to find that understood him. She was even more surprised to find that I couldn't understand a word she said in Portuguese.
They are from New York and have family here. The boy had a NY drawl. Not too difficult for a Canadian girl to understand.

Tourist Trolling

2008-07-23T10:38:00.000-07:00

Kootenay and I take our big walk in the evenings now. There are so many people here that night is the only time when we can get anywhere near the beach. This has exposed us to a whole new group of people. Here are a few answers to the questions I have been most consistently asked over the past three weeks.

Sorry. I don’t speak a lot of Portuguese. Falar um pouco de portugues

We are from Canada.

I have seen a bit of Portugal. Alentejo, Comibra, Lisboa, Porto, Tavira, Fatima

I am not really comfortable walking in the forest at night with someone I don’t really know.

Tell your Mom thanks, but I have already eaten dinner.

Honestly we have met a few times already.

Yeah. I am the girl with the dog.

Ahhh. When you asked me if I wanted a little Portuguese I mis-understood. I thought you were talking about dinner.

I don’t really see Canadians as being that culturally repressed.

No. Thank you. It was a flattering proposal.

Really people do that in the tents at night?

Ha. Ha. (uncomfortable interjection)

I understand what puta means…

I said your phone was fancy. Not that you were my fantasy. But….

Luggage? Really?

2008-07-14T09:01:00.000-07:00

I am pro recycling. I think we throw too many things in the garbage that can and should be recycled or reused.
In Nazare recycling can seem like a lot of work. There are lots of places to drop off your garbage, but a limited number of bins for recycling tin, paper, glass etc. The recycling bins nearest to the apartment are by the taxi stand across town. The taxi drivers line the benches along the street waiting for fares and keeping up on the town's comings and goings. At first they looked at me very questioningly as I dragged bags of stuff the bins. Now that it or I has become a regular occurrence they smile at me rather than shaking their heads in confusion.
My only convenient recycling bin is for wine bottles. That has come in handy as I have developed a taste for vinho verde and that has led to a lot of wine bottles for the recycling department.
Friday I landed in Lisbon after a week long visit to meet my new niece Emily. She is beautiful, pink, and has the newborne cone topper. (Jen is a small woman and us Chambers' have big noggins. Some have even been compared to pumpkins.) There I saw evidence of of a re-user that tested the limits of the usefulness of the idea. As luggage started coming off the plane a slightly used sun umbrella came tumbling down along with all the bags. The umbrellas here run from four to ten euro, so I have to question the sense of dragging one from Germany to Lisbon. It would seem the carbon footprint of that umbrella would be rather more than buying one in Portugal and gifting it to some beach family as you leave town.
Then again i just increased my carbon footprint enormously in order to meet my new niece. That umbrella must really be loved.

Happy Birthday!

2008-07-01T03:35:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday Canada.
A new Irish Bar opened in Nazare this weekend. Last night Michael and I went there to have a drink and help support the new establishment. I was almost overcome with joy to see that they had cranberry juice. I have been looking in the supermarkets and corner stores hoping to find some. I've seen mango, papaya, pomegranite, and a variety of orange and apple juices, but no cranberry. That all changed last night.
To celebrate Canada's birthday I will be helping Carlos learn how to shake a Cosmo (martini). Vodka, Cranberry, Lemon/Lime and ice. If only someone would import Hawkins Cheezies i would be in heaven.

2008-06-27T07:53:00.000-07:00

I attract crazy people. Apparently Kootenay does nothing to repel them. We walk the seawall everyday. There we have met lots of nice people. We met Vitor and Spock, Dalmatian Dad, Pete, Daniel, Bruno, Greyhound Guy, and Long Hair just to name a few.
We have also met some odd balls. One guy wanted us to walk in the forest with him. Another wanted us to walk out to the lighthouse with him. One guy, who looked to be about sixty wanted us to come home with him and have dinner with his mother. Common sense and caution have kept me from taking up any of those offers.
Yesterday's odd ball was the best so far. I was sitting at Farol (coffee shop) working on my novel and was wearing earphone listening to Jenny Owen Youngs' new music (Love it). I heard the chair across from me being pulled back from the table. I was expecting Michael and Chris so I looked up and smiled. Sitting there was Joseph. I know this because he introduced himself to me and asked to buy me a drink. I declined the drink and started back at my computer.
"Nice dog" he says.
"Thank you" I respond cautiously. I didn't want to be dismissive, but my crazy-o-meter started to sound.
He is from Fatima, works in the tourism business, lives with his mom, is single, and likes to use his english.
Wow. All that information while I desperately scan the crowd in the Plaza hoping to catch sight of Michael.
Joseph calls over Barbara, my cool Brazilian waitress who graciously allows me to take up an outside table and moves the giant umbrella that keeps my pasty white skin from burning. I like her.
"Men in Portugal always pay for ladies' drinks." He tells me. As I didn't allow him to buy me a new drink he has asked Barbara to bring him my tab for the drinks I had before he got there. I only realize this after Barbara brings him a bill. The fast paced singsong Portuguese he and Barbara shared was more than my little brain could piece together. Lentamente. Slowly. A word I use often. How am I going to extract myself from this? And if a Portuguese guy spends 1.50 euros on you what does he expect?
I figure I won't have to worry about this because I see Michael and his friend Chris making their way to my table.
"We can find a free table" Chris says smiling "If you are busy." There is an implied wink in his gaze.
Luckily Michael is a better judge of what is going on and sits down. Phew!
Joseph quickly realizes that Michael and Chris couldn't fill the role in my life that he sees for himself. (They are gay. In case you weren't aware.)
As we all get settled and Michael and Chris pull out their playing cards I feel something on my toes. My first thought is that my feet are in the way of Michael's. I pull my feet back under my chair to make more room for him. Now i feel something moving up my leg. This isn't incidental contact.
Joseph now knows that it has been some time since I last shaved my legs. What the hell....
A big dog is supposed to save you from things like this. I look around for Kootenay. There she is with her head in the lap of Book Boy. Can't blame her. He is cute. Why isn't it his feet I am wrestling with under the table.

Deep Sighs

2008-06-24T05:31:00.000-07:00

I don't want to go back to work. I am sitting here at Cafe O Farol, sipping cha preto (black tea) and contemplating my future. I thought i would miss working. I don't. If anyone has any suggestions on how I could support myself on the beaches of Portugal i would appreciate any suggestions. I am even wiling to give up good tea to be here. Those of you who know me know that is a big sacrifice. Portugal is a coffee culture. My love of tea is a handicap here. Not as big a handicap as not speaking Portuguese. I think I would have more friends if I could communicate a little more clearly. Hand gestures, charades, and phrase books can only take you so far.
A note of thanks to RcSdC for having an unprotected wireless connection by the cafe. Please don't read this and take away my tenuous connection with the cyberworld.

Who are the People in Your Neighbourhood

2008-06-06T09:31:00.000-07:00

Birds. Singing. Cats. Singing. Waves. Shouting.
Okay it might not be shouting, but from my side of the wall it is difficult to tell the difference. My neighbour is a very boisterous lady. She is the wife and mother of fishers. I can easily see her filling the role of fishmonger. Despite being separated by four rooms and brick walls doesn’t dampen her volume. I hear her every morning.
When I first arrived in Nazare she scared me. She seems tough and, I thought, not very friendly. For Kootenay and I’s first months she alternately ignored us or spoke harshly and gestured in our direction. When I ran into problems hooking my gas tank up, I went to ask her for some help and ended up more frightened of her than of leaking gas.
This all changed a few weeks ago. The city hosted a festival. Portugal seems to have something to celebrate every month. This festival was to pray for a productive and safe fishing season. Fishers from Nazare make their way around the world. I have met people who have fished in France, Spain, England and Canada. The celebration involved various saints being paraded through town and then onto to the fishing boats. There they were loaded onto the boats and then the boats headed out to sea. They circled the bay three times while fireworks were shot off from the bluffs of Sito. When they returned the local priests lead prayers.
My friend Vitor managed to get us a ride on one of the boats for the festivities. Nazare was very appealing with its white washed houses topped with red tile roofs. Looking back on it from the sea added to its charm.
People lined the shores and waved to the boats as they made their way out to sea.
You don’t get seasick do you? This question was asked of me more the a few times as we made our way out of the harbour. I cheerfully said No and hoped that was the truth.
It was a great day. The sun was warm. I didn’t get seasick, and the fishers were gracious enough to share their beer with me.
About a week later my neighbour stopped me as I was returning home from walking Kootenay. She gestured for me to stay where I was and ran back into her house. I waited nervously. I knew that Koot hadn’t done anything wrong, and assumed that I hadn’t either, but my go to emotion is always guilt.
She came back out of the house with an 8X10 picture of one of the boats. There I was sitting on the boat heading out to sea. She had a picture of me. Odd.
Turns out it was her family’s boat. Vitor is a friend of her son. When we hitched the ride on the boat none of us knew that we would all be so closely connected.
Now when I hear her singing/shouting from the place next door I smile. I am pretty sure I haven’t done anything to make her mad at me. I think she might even like me little bit.

From What I Remember

2008-05-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

I have been so busy doing nothing, that I have not put anything interesting up here for weeks. So, I will start with a few tidbits about my time in Spain and try not to be too wordy.

When you are travelling in Sevilla with a dog and you want to take a cab, here is a tip. Don’t wait on the street and flag one down. Despite the messy smelliness of most cabs many of them are reluctant to pick you up if you have giant white dog with you. You need to call the tele cab line and request a cab and specify that you are travelling with a “perro”. If you are lucky you can then spend the next few hours sitting in an outdoor tapas bar with various friends from around the world and a hot Moroccan waiter. While you wait for your cab to finally show up.

You might not appreciate the idiot who forgets to turn off his cell phone in the theatre, but don’t take your anger out on cell phones. They make travelling so much easier. Imagine ten years ago trying to meet up with friends who have been hanging out in Tenerife, in the Plaza de San Francisco in Seville? There would have had to be letters and calls before the vacation, emails and hope during the time and Seville, and who knows if you would have actually met up. A few text messages and Juan from Venezuela, Kim, Di, and me from Canada, Jo from England and Ro from Mexico ended up drinking cervejas on a patio in Seville.

Moroccan waiters never live in singularity. They always have a friend. So whether you want to travel to Morocco or get into a private tent during the Flamenco Feria knowing a Moroccan waiter can be helpful. Just remember to charge your cell phone so that you can call him when you are looking for a flamenco tent in the city center. An address book would never power down when you needed it.

Meeting a friend’s family can be worrisome. Are they going to be as cool as your friend? Are they going to be annoyed by your giant dog who will be endlessly searching for a hand to pet her? If you are lucky they end up being as nice and Roberto’s brother and sister-in-law Juan-Carlos and Jo. Kootenay managed to find two friends, one who would feed her chicherones and one who would pat her anytime she needed lovin’. If she could figure out how to safely swim the English Channel would probably be visiting them right now.

Spanish leather goods and flamenco fans and shawls are overpriced souvenirs, but if you don’t pick up the green leather purse you liked you will probably regret it despite the fact that it is over priced. And the shawl would look great with your black cotton dress.

If you are renting a car and planning to follow friends round Spain it helps you can get cars that aren’t as common as silver and black. When four lanes over Spanish drivers try to fit into two lanes of road it is hard to keep you eye on the lead car if it looks like every other car ahead of you and they just ran a yellow light.

Hello Seville

2008-04-30T10:42:00.000-07:00

There were times when it felt as if Kootenay took Di, Ro and I to Sevilla. The people of Spain loved her. Before we left she had her hair cut. She went from a cut shaggy mess to a fancy poodle wannabe. As we wandered from beautiful sight to beautiful sight we were followed by comments and stares. If I was younger and a few pound lighter I might have thought they were staring at me. Instead of catcalls and whistles the soundtrack to our walks through Sevilla was… Muy elegante, grande perro. And we heard it a lot.

We cruised through town looking at the most amazing scenery. I loved the orange trees that you see everywhere. Taking pictures proved difficult. How do you choose what to take pictures of when it is all so incredible? There is the Seville Cathedral, Torre del Oro, and more plazas than you can imagine. Every few blocks you round a corner and find a park with benches, people and tapas bars. I started to experience beauty overload. Everywhere I looked the architecture seemed to scream to be recorded. Eventually I just put down the camera and enjoyed the sights. In one plaza we came across a museum. Kootenay got to hang out in the park across the street while we looked at all the paintings. It was interesting given the city’s Moorish heritage, how white all the people in the paintings were. And the cherubs had faces that seemed designed to scare people rather than comfort them. There were oddly shaped and shaded adult faces on wee little bodies with wings and arrows. Kootenay missed all this. Instead she hung out in the park and tried to get passerbys to stop and pet her. I am not sure how she made out while we were inside, but when we came out of the gallery she had a gaggle of school kids petting her and feeding her the remains of their lunches. I don’t think she minded being alone out there. I was a bit worried about leaving her there. She is a beautiful dog and while she loves me I don’t think it would take much encouragement for her to wander off with someone. But, when I decided to travel with me dog I had to be prepared to make compromises.

Before I left Nazare I made one of those compromises. Sevilla has some great places to stay in the heart of the city. But, I couldn’t find any of them that accepted dogs. Often places that will take the dog and I if we show up and they see her. She seems to know when she needs to put on her good manners. She does it when we are checking into hotels, in airports, and meeting new people. Once she is comfortable with the people around her she is a maniac, but when she needs to she can pull out the manners. But, I didn’t want to show up in Seville and not have a bed so I made a reservation at an Ibis Hotel that advertised that it accepted pets. So while Di and Ro got to stay in a quaint place in the center of town I stayed in a chain hotel devoid of uniqueness, but with a space for me and the pooch. Luckily the cost of cabs into and out of the town center came to the same about it would have cost me to park the car in the downtown, so I can come and go without resenting Kootenay and second guessing my choice to bring her to Europe with me.

How to Squeeze a Week into Three Days

2008-04-28T10:53:00.000-07:00

Combria. What kind of town has a jail inside its borders and one that is right beside a major university? When you see the jail’s cobblestone roads, turret, and palm trees it is hard to remember that it is a jail. Although, having lived without central heating for a while now the thought of rooms in a stone building have no romance for me. Di, Ro, and I looked like crazy tourists. Here we were taking pictures of a jail. It looked remarkably similar to the crumbling castles and stone churches that are found in every town you stop in Europe.

We had our guidebooks and our town maps to direct our wanderings. We headed through the Botanical Gardens of the University, the University of Coimbra, along the old city wall and the Mondego River bank and then when the day was ending we made our way to the centro commerical. Hello H&M! I have been wearing the same four pair of pants and three skirts all winter. At H&M I added a new skirt, new pair of pants, and four new t-shirts. All for under 50 euros! While we were travelling thru Spain and Portugal our first stop in every town has been the Turismo Information building. They will answer questions in english and provide maps. Just follow the target signs, if you can.

Signs and traffic circles make European driving a challenge. It all seems easy. You look for the town you want, you plot a course on your map and off you go. Then the city you are looking for falls off the signs, the traffic circle confuses you, and the guy behind you is blinking his lights to pass because you are only going 140 km/hr and you are not sure where you put the toll ticket you picked up at the entrance to the highway… But, enough about our drive to Coimbra.

The next day we headed off to Porto, or Oporto as it is known on the map. This is a seriously old city, and I had my guidebook with me to fill Di and Ro in on all sorts of friendly facts. Like the story about the Revolt of the Drunks. There is a revolution to get behind. Our first stop was to be Vila Nova de Gaia. Vila Nova de Gaia and Porto are separated by the Douro River. There, along the riverbank, are all the Port houses. Although this was our destination, we ended up there quite by accident. After half an hour of driving in circles and getting lost in narrow windy streets we decided to head into Porto. We could see the Don Luis Bridge which connects to two cities. It bares more than a passing resemblance to the Effiel Tower. Which is probably because one of Eiffel’s students built it. We just had to figure out how to get onto it. While we were trying to get to the bridge we drove right in front of the port houses and there was a parking spot waiting for us. A shout out to the parking gods! Poor Ro. Our tour of the port house was very touristy. A man in a cape recited the history of Sandeman sherry and port in heavily accented English to us, and 15 of our closest family and friends. There was nothing very local or even Portuguese about it. We got to see the kegs, hear the lecture and watch a movie about the history of Port and the region. The saving grace for Ro was the free port at the end of the tour.

Then we were off to Porto. After we settled into our hotel for the night we headed out to see the town. The center of Porto is odd. There doesn’t seem to be a plan to maintain the fantastic old buildings that line the streets. And at street level it is not uncommon to see the bottom two floors of a building abandoned with crumbling walls. Then when you look up you the top floors of the building will have laundry hanging out and lovely plants climbing down the walls. My old strata council would have a stroke at the sight of some of the balconies. Laundry! And out of control plant growth! You walk through some really abandon streets and the grey stone buildings seem to soak up any light the little streetlights put out. That along with the buckets of rain we experienced made for a ghostly evening.

We wandered past the Sao Bento train station, city hall, the fanciest McDonalds I have ever seen and ended up down on the shores of the Douro river. While we were wandering along the rain started. I rained so hard you could have stayed dryer standing in your shower. So we headed into a restaurant for dinner and to try and warm up. I think the fact that they were playing a football/soccer game on the television swayed the decision making process.

After dinner we had to hike up the wet streets to get back to our hotel. Roberto has a great internal compass. I was lost. But for Ro leading the way, I would have been lost in the bowels of Porto forever. I will confess. I didn’t believe in him, and was ready to hop a cab, but just when I lost all faith we ended up back at our hotel. Tired, damp and full.

The next day was equally busy. We managed to see Torre dos Clerigos, Oporto Cathedral, Lello Bookstore, Igreja dos Clerigos, and Palacio de Cristal. These feet were made for walkin’. All that and then we headed back to Nazare. This time the drive went a little faster. We made it back in time to go out for dinner and drinks with friends. Di and Ro chose to go home at a better hour than I did. I ended up at Abiliu’s café Concerto until way too late listening to the Spanish Guitar and Portuguese singing. Anyone heading to town should check it out. The address is Ru Gil Vicente, 38. Or you can call me and I can meet you there if you want.

And Kootenay missed it all. She stayed home and had a sleep over with her friends Spock, Sofi and Vitor. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be a dog.

A Visit Starts

2008-04-18T08:17:00.000-07:00

I have been loafing around lately. Sorry to all my dedicated readers. But the tale I am about to tell you will give you some idea what I have been up to and why a bit of down time was needed.

Diane (a friend for many years) and Roberto (her devoted manservant) came to visit. They were only here for three weeks, but they packed in the sightseeing. While they were here we went to Porto, Coimbra, Tavira, Obidos, and various other towns that placed themselves between our daily destinations and us.

Di and Ro saw even more of Portugal. They added Evora and few small towns in the Algarve to their schedule. And this was all done before we hit Spain.

In Spain we managed to see Ronda, Gaucin, Sevilla, Malaga, and Jerez. The Spanish weather was challenging. While we were visiting Ronda, the wind blew so hard the rain accompanying it seemed to be coming at you horizontally. The umbrella merchants were pleased because that day umbrellas lasted between five and ten minutes. Then the wind would turn them inside out. There were a lot of garbage tins filled with discarded umbrellas around town.

But, back to Portugal... Di and Ro turned up a few days early and few dollars short. Kootenay and I were doing one of our many nightly walks on the beach, when a head popped out of a car and called her. I turned and there they were, arriving early, and me with a dirty bathroom. Damn. Their first few days on vacation had been challenging. First their luggage was lost, and in the course of getting it back they learned that in Spain not only is the customer not always right, but also the customer can actually be an inconvenience. I shudder at what UBC’s “secret shoppers” would say about interactions with Spanish customer service workers. But,they got their bags back eventually, and headed to Lisboa. They hadn't reserved a place to stay so they came straight to Nazare to regroup. Unfortunately I didn’t realize they were doing this or I would have given them my Portuguese highway tip. Always Always Always get a ticket at the toll center when you enter a highway. Or, you will end up donating to the “Portuguese Road Improvement Fund”. So after lost luggage, toll fines, and some generally crappy weather they unpacked in Nazare and we headed out to have dinner and celebrate Roberto’s birthday.

One of my earliest memories of hanging out with Diane, outside of the UBC Bookstore where we worked, was of going to a Crowded House concert. On Roberto’s birthday we headed down to NBar where Carlos kept our glasses sociably full and there was a band. Almost twenty years after we met Diane and I sat and enjoyed a drink listening to Crowded House songs. These ones were sung with a bit of a Portuguese accent, but that only made the experience better.

And this was just our first day together. Wait until i tell you about trying to follow them through Seville's rush hour traffic in a rented Fiat.

Road to Sevilla

2008-04-04T03:41:00.000-07:00

I am finding myself really torn. Until recently I have always believed that I was a city girl. Yet here I am in rural Portugal and I love the silence. I love the smell of the flowers and I love the sound of the birds. It is beautiful. They have combined rosebushes with rosemary. When I walked up to reception the smell of the roses and rosemary reminded me that I was breathing.

I sit here and watch the new wind turbines rotate, and the solar panels soak up the heat and wonder why I ever believed that the city was the place to be. I guess I will want to be back in the city when I run out of my favorite shampoo or perfume, but right now shopping is the only thing that I miss about the city. It helps that I am staying in a nice hotel with a pool and a beautiful deck. Kootenay could not be happier. She has her summer hair on and is prancing about the property as if she is the queen. The owners of the place are treating her like she is a queen and that is just feeding her ego. They even let her swim in the pool. That is where my feet are soaking right now. Ahhhh.

Driving here was great. I love to drive fast and listen to loud music. While we were on our way here I stopped at a truck stop to get some food, water and walk K. Then I was back in to car heading south to Tavira and Di and Roberto. When I started the car and rolled down the windows I realized that I had the stereo really loud. I was playing a cd of rap song covers by alt-rock / alt-country bands. The four guys getting into the BMW with blacked out windows parked next to me stopped and stared. The sight of a white woman getting into a grey four door fiat with a giant white dog listening to what at first listen seemed like a nice average song only to hear the lyrics from an NWA being harmonized to was too much for them. They all took very long looks at K and I trying to fit us into their understanding of the world. We were obviously entertaining because they caught up to us on the highway and unrolled their windows to wave to us as they zoomed past us.

Waves

2008-03-28T05:25:00.000-07:00

When I ask people around here what their favorite thing about the town is the answer is usually “The Waves”. Watching the ocean trying to steal back the land here is more than a pastime. Older men sit on the seawall benches deliberating the world and their place in it. I see them every morning. They look out to the ocean and carry on conversations that I will never understand. The Nazare way of speaking Portuguese is so fast that I fear I will never understand it.

When I asked Beto (one of the guys who works at the Centro-cultural) what his favorite thing about Nazare was he immediately said the waves. At first I thought he said wives and that he was a little dirty and a little intriguing. But, looking at him I knew he meant waves.

Are you a surfer? I asked.

Yes. He replied smiling.

That made more sense. Although, I kinda liked my first understanding better.

Carlos talked about how amazing the waves were when they came all the way up to the seawall. I heard him talk about them, but I didn’t really believe him. Only now can I understand that I doubted him.

Kootenay and I went for a walk on the seawall at midnight. The waves were enormous and they crawled toward the town. They had to be six meters high. Wow, I thought, this is what Carlos was talking about, then, K and turned around and headed back home.

When I first arrived in Nazare the waves kept me up at night. My family and I travelled through Thailand the winter that the big tsunami hit. We were just getting on the plane as the first bits of information were making their way to the news. When we landed in Hong Kong for a stopover, we were held up while they made sure that our destination, Bangkok, was not going to be affected by any aftershocks. Then, we made our way to Thailand and headed up north. We were quite sheltered by our non-existent Thai from the news. It was only when we headed back down south to Koh Samui that the extent of the devastation become apparent. On our return to the south we landed in the Bangkok airport. The average institutional airport that we left had been turned into what looked like a war zone command center. The institutional beige walls were now covered with missing posters and as you left your flight, embassies lined the hallways asking people to register with them so they could better estimate the missing. We were not directly affected by the wave but I was concerned about the morality of trying to enjoy a vacation in a country so wracked by tragedy.

The Thai people begged us to stay. Good for you. Good for Thailand. These words were used over and over by people talking to us. So we stayed. Loved the country, the people and the food, and returned home with a conflicted feeling about our time away.

Until I arrived in Nazare, I did not realize how deeply the trip had affected me.
My first two weeks here I spent listening to the waves at night with an anxiety that took me days to understand. After a week or so I started to love the sound of the waves at night. They lulled me to sleep.

And so I tucked into bed with the sound of the waves in the background thinking that I understood what Carlos had been talking about. That night walking Kootenay the waves seemed huge.

That all changed in the morning. K and I got up to do our morning walk. As we headed to the beach I noticed that there seemed to be more people than normal on the streets, and fewer cars than I was used to. By the time we were down the hill I could see that the night had changed the sea front of the town. There was sand and water covering the first two blocks. And the reason there were so few cars was that the street was covered with sand and receding water. Storefront windows had been broken and water flowed in and out at will.

And I, with my newfound comfort in the sound of waves had slept through it all.

Alentejo Blue Baby

2008-03-12T10:38:00.000-07:00

I am back from Alentejo. It was great. After reading guidebooks and Monica Ali’s book Alentejo Blue I was prepared to find a depressed area filled with old people that was as flat as the prairies and as dry as Nevada. But instead I found myself riding a horse along a reservoir created by the Alqueva Dam. It was beautiful. There was olive, orange, lemon and cork trees. And the Gaudiana River, which feeds a patchwork of small local farms, excited Kootenay. I had to keep her on a leash or I would have had one very wet dog. I don’t think Vitor would have wanted her dripping all over his nice leather seats.

When Sofi and Vitor offered me the chance to tag along with them to see the area I took them up on it. We piled the three of us, and two dogs into Vitor’s car and headed out. I was prepared for a road trip Canadian style. You get up in the morning and drive all day, with hours of driving separating cities. Here is it a little different. We left Nazare at about 11 and promptly stopped for some breakfast. Then we drove to Evora. This took maybe two and a half hours.

Evora is a beautiful old town with an ancient core that is a UNESCO heritage site. It also houses a very modern university. We strolled through the center of the city had lunch and took in the Diana Temple, which is really the Roman Temple of Evora. Then we were off to our hotel.

The cork trees we passed along the way are really cool. Their bark is harvested about every ten years. The tree is stripped of its bark leaving it with a rusty red trunk. Eventually the bark grows back leaving it ready to be stripped once again. The yummy black pig hangs out underneath and eats the acorns that fall from the tree. So the tree is responsible for the cork in the wine and the yummy dinner that I had with it. You gotta love a tree that committed to my happiness.

We stayed at Horta Da Moura. It is an old family farm that has been transformed into a hotel as part of a rural tourism program in Portugal. On our first night we went into Monsaraz for dinner. The hotel recommended we try O Alcaide. Great suggestion. That is where I first tasted black pork. The pig is black not the meat. Yummy. And the potatoes that we were served were fantastic. They were cut like potato chips and then fried and salted. With a little local red wine to wash it down with I was a happy girl.

The next day we went back to the town for lunch and tried another restaurant. Vitor ordered the meal of the day that day. He had Alentejo pork. It is small cubes of pork served with clams or mussels and a wine and paprika sauce. This time we tired a local wine that was produced for the restaurant. The Portuguese know how to flavour pork and how to make wine. The total bill for two jugs of wine, three lunches, fresh cheese, olives, and bread came to about thirty euros, pretty damn reasonable to me.

Monsaraz is a tiny town/castle that sits on top of a hill keeping on eye on Spain. It is a pre-historic town that has had many occupiers. Right now there are about 60 residents and the day we were there; twice that many tourists. Cobblestone streets, white washed houses with the Alentejo blue trim, and bull fighting rings were the amongst the sites.

Somehow we also managed to find ourselves heading to Spain looking for cheese to go with the local wine we had picked up. Unfortunately for Spain everything was closed. So we took a quick look at another castle and headed back to Portugal. We stopped just across the border and found a local cheese maker and some crackers and made it back to Horta da Moura in time for dinner.

Quite a weekend eh… and I am haven’t even told you about the lunch on the way home (great in case you were wondering) and the fantastic view from the windmill that I now want to buy and live in.

Check out Vitor's website to see the pictures.

Hot Water Anyone?

2008-03-06T09:05:00.000-08:00

From 36 hours to 3.6 minutes.
The hot water tank and stove are run on butane gas. You have to get the tank from a shop down the street. Drag it home. Hook it up. And then light the pilot light for the hot water tank. The stove you light each time you use an element.
A cousin of my friend Isabel showed my how to do this when I first arrived in Nazare. It took me three months to burn through that first tank. In February I had to do the first switch. Unhooking the tank was really easy. Hooking it back up proved to be more problematic. Although I thought I was paying attention to the steps when I first saw them when I tried to repeat them I could not get the gas to flow. I could not figure out how to get the hose attachment secured to the tank. I kept trying over and over again, but I was doing the same steps. So I kept getting the same result. No flame.
After a few hours of this I thought I would get my dictionary out and ask my neighbour for help. My neighbour is a tough old lady. I can hear her yelling at her kids, grandkids, neighbourhood dogs, and neighbours through the walls. She runs a tight ship. I figured she would be able to help me out. I went and knocked on her door with my little Portuguese phrase book. She couldn’t understand a thing that I was saying. She just kept smiling and nodding. I motioned for her to come with me. Then showed her the tank and the hose. AH…. She says. Then she shook her head. No No she says and taps her chest. My Yuri. Then she smiled and walked away. She wasn’t going to be any help.
I decided to leave it unhooked. I figured if I went for a walk, and got a pizza I could look at it with fresh eyes. It took until the next morning for me to realize what I had been doing wrong. All I had to do was turn the lever on the hose the other direction. Thirty-six hours to realize this. I relit the pilot light on the hot water tank and took a shower to celebrate. I had started to smell worse than Kootenay.
Last week I ran out of gas again. This time I managed to unhook the empty tank, hook up the new full one, and relight the hot water heater in under 4 minutes. This old dog learned a new trick

Friends!!

2008-03-05T07:30:00.000-08:00

I have two friends…. Okay. So I have a few friends at home, but here I haven’t made real friends until now. Vitor works at the cultural center and is a great photographer. Sofi is his partner. Sofi and I don’t know each other very well, but she offered to teach me some Portuguese. Hopefully she will still hang out with me when she finds out how hopeless I am at languages.

They are coming over for dinner tonight. Last week they had me over and made a really yummy duck and rice casserole. We drank a few bottles of wine and had a lovely time.

How did she meet them, you may be asking yourself. Well. One night I was walking Kootenay and Vitor was walking Spock, who may be cuter than Kootenay. We stopped to chat and it turns out that we had run into each other at the Cultural Center. It took the dogs to get us to chat long enough to make friends.

So tonight I am going to try and make garlic ginger chicken with rice. Hopefully I can pull it off with my two elements and electric frying pan. I have few bottles of wine and some bread and cheese if the dinner doesn’t turn out.

Life

2008-03-04T10:46:00.000-08:00

You are more emotional now that the Moon is in Aquarius, but you also may feel a bit isolated. You may think you need to show up and do your job, without making a big deal about your unfulfilled needs. You may not be able to solve your current problem on your own, so find an appropriate way to bring your questions out into the open.

This is what Rick Levine has to say about my little aquarian life. It is a bit creepy how much I identify with it right now.

This morning I sat on the beach with Kootenay and contemplated the big questions. You know… Who am I? Where am I going? Where is home? Where do I belong? What do I want my life to be?

When I started the day I had every intention of writing, but instead I watched the sea boil around Pedra do Guilhim. The photo doesn’t do justice to how big the outcropping is. It was amazing to see. Sitting there I realized that I seldom do something without thinking about what is next.

As Rick says that I may not be able to solve my current problems on my own, I am sending these thoughts out into the ether.

Carnaval or for you in Canada Carnival

2008-03-03T10:00:00.000-08:00

Each month Nazare comes up with some reason to celebrate. The biggest celebration was during Carnaval. If you link to the description you will probably come away from reading it almost as confused as was experiencing it.

Apparently, if you want to build a float or be part of the parade you dream up your costume and then send your list of supplies to the local municipality. They have a warehouse space where you can work and store your creation and they will supply you with any materials that you need. There were floats on the back of flatbed trucks, cars with streamers, dogs in costumes, kids dressed as super heroes and bums, and wave after wave of women dressed in matching outfits each group dancing to its own song.

If you ask the people here what makes their Carnaval special they all answer the same thing. It is a local celebration… Not a copy of Brazil’s. Then they will shake their head and name a few Portuguese towns that are too “Brazil”. People who grew up here, people born elsewhere but whose parents were born here, and people who now live here all call themselves local. I don’t know enough Portuguese to understand the politics of these groups and know who truly is local, but during Carnaval they all claim local status.

The soundtrack to Carnaval is local. Even without an understanding of Portuguese you can make out the word Nazare in all the songs. By the end of the celebration I wanted to hunt down every copy of all the songs and erase them from the public domain. Now I kinda miss it.

People dress up and dance in the streets. There is a type of public joy you don’t see in Canada. You see people wearing elaborate costumes and right next to them people wearing long johns with a clown wig. And, each person is genuinely excited about the others costume. There is also a tremendous amount of drinking going on. And there is dance. Dance exists everywhere during this time. My favourite moments were when you would see grown men dancing with young girls. The costumed girls and their dad’s/uncle’s/family friend’s spontaneously dance in the streets.

At the start of carnival I woke up to the sound of drums. There appear to be large groups of drummers who parade down the main street drumming. They all wear uniforms and drum. To an outsider there seems to be very little organization behind who drums and marches and when. I am sure there are rules, but they elude me.

Here are the official Canaval photos. Take a look for yourself.

Centro Cultural

2008-02-26T08:37:00.000-08:00

A few days each week I head down to the Centro Cultural and use their free internet to do research, email friends and family, and be surrounded by people. It is very much like the bookstore and library area where I work in Vancouver. Unlike Vancouver, where our users are usually quiet and reasonably well behaved adults, this place is used predominantly by people under the age of 16. Kids are not usually quiet and very often not well behaved.

There is a group of five girls who seem to travel the town in a pack. I see them on the beach and they come to the center most afternoons. They know maybe four phrases in English and like to try them out on me. My answers seem of little interest to them. They usually come in and sit on a wooden bench about three feet from me and take turns saying hello. Then they all giggle waiting for me to respond. Then I get a chorus of how are you today. After those two phrases they try to come up with something new each day. I think they are taking English in school and I get the “phrase of the day”.

The boys are even louder. They wrestle, talk loudly, throw things at each other and generally have a good time. Then they settle down to using up the bandwidth gaming online.

There are two guys who try to maintain order amidst the chaos. And they make me smile each day. They are gracious as the girls try out their flirting skills, and fun but firm big brothers to all the young boys that come and go. When they deal with me they smile at my badly translated Portuguese and switch to English to help me. Although, when we were trying to hook my computer into their wireless printer system I did get the phrase “well with normal computers we just do…” PC snobs. Apples rule.

When I sit here I try and imagine the reactions to this scene that the Robson Library staff would have. Yani, Michael, Eva, you guys would go crazy. I can’t wait to show Michael.

Obrigadinia!

2008-02-24T08:39:00.000-08:00

I had visitors this week. Three friends from Robson came to town and they dragged with them a friend of theirs from Lisbon. Hopefully he will be a new friend for me as well, when he gets over how disgracefully drunk I got in his presence. These girls are quite a combo. Keenan has a way of making a paper bag fun. Elsa has a grace about her that I quite envy. Laura is starting on her first solo travel experience and I hope it is as fun as she is. Jayme is a friend of Keenan’s and I am really glad to have met him. The four of them shook me out of my routine. We travelled to Fatima, Alcobaca, and Batalha. While we were spared the burden of a vision of Mary, we did see some great sites. There was a true devotee in Fatima who crawled on her knees to the shrine for worship. If only my beliefs were as devote and clear.

We then hit up a local bar and managed to embody the best and worst images of travelling girls. I need to apologize to MVS for the drunk dialing we did. I know how little he cares of it, but we did it anyway. We missed our other Robson folks and wanted to say hi. Elsa managed to captivate a lovely Portuguese flyboy named Carlos and later two cute Italians. Although I understand now that all the email address have gone missing. I guess fate will be in control of the future. Keenan managed to captivate the rest of bar. The owner even started buying us a few free rounds. This was the beginning of my downfall I think. And Laura did not smoke while she was there. I crushed a little on our bar manager Carlos. Who is a lovely guy and I am sure he and his girlfriend will be very happy together. Oh well. Hopefully he will turn into another English speaking friend for me. We helped him close down the bar and then everyone headed back to my place. Why I don’t know. After we got there I remembered that we had drank all the alcohol there before we left. But, that is probably a good thing. I don’t know that I would have had the sense to stop if there had been more. As it was, I spent the next day almost entirely on the sofa. I only got up to walk the dog, shower, drink some water and take Tylenol.

In Portugal waiters will often bring things to your table that you have not ordered. If you eat them you pay for them. This custom drives me a little nuts, because it is not always universally applied. The first night the gang arrived we headed out to dinner. The waiter brought us buns, olives, and cheese before we had even ordered. Luckily they are all so yummy that if you know you are paying for them, you are happy to see them. When poor Carlos (bar manager) brought us a bowl of faba beans to snack on that night we immediately asked… how much. The concern about charges makes it difficult to be gracious. They were free, not particularly tasty, and we ate bowl after bowl.

So, thanks to Keenan, Elsa, Laura, Jayme, and Carlos for such an enjoyable few days.

Now back to work. A novel won’t write itself.

What Up?

2008-02-22T09:57:00.000-08:00

I have a question for the men of Portugal.

What is up with the manshake?

There seems to be a complicated number of hand movements that are required each time you see each other. There is the palm slap, the back of the hand slap, the fist bumping top, bottom and knuckle to knuckle. And, all this is often followed by the lean in chest bump with your arms curling around the back of your friend. This is not quite a hug, but more close contact than I am used to seeing in men or boys.

I asked a new friend about this the other day. He is partially Portuguese and is living in Lisbon right now. He had now idea what it is about, but when I asked him about it he new immediately what I was talking about. He has seen it as well.

I see it everywhere. The guys who come into the Centro Cultural where I spend my afternoons trying to write engage in varying degrees of it. Each pair seems to have a different set of motions they go through. I wonder if the level of intimacy between the shakers sets up the guidelines for what they do.

Casual friends = bank of hand and palm slap
School Chums = do the above and add fist bump
Close Friends = do all of the above and add the chest bump

Jayme has even seen the ticket checkers on the subway doing it. It is everywhere man.

So there is my question.

0h by the way, I love the eyeglasses and shoes you wear.

Mondays

2008-02-18T08:53:00.000-08:00

Kootenay dug a hole today.
This was not the normal bury your tennis ball hole. This was a deep, my owner is not paying attention to me hole. A nice South Carolina couple and I chatted about pets, travel, life and vinho verde. They rescued greyhounds and the husband carried dog treats with him when he travelled so he would not feel far from his pets.
Elderly American tourists are starting to appear with regularity here. When they ask me where I am from and I say Vancouver Canada a surprising number of them have been there. And they often feel the need to tell me how they really liked the city. Despite the homeless and drug (they whisper pot) problems the add. Friends and family would be proud of my restraint. I have, so far, managed to bite back my thoughts about the tulmult their current government has thrust upon the rest of the world.
Kootenay took my inattention as an opportunity to dig a hole big enough to fit a 50-pound dog or an eight year old in. When this couple and I looked up from our conversation all we could see of Koot were her hind legs and tail. The tail was wagging with abandon like a flag on a child’s sandcastle. The joy she personifies when allowed to dig with abandon was palpable. When I called her to us she backed up out of the hole with the remains of her ball in her mouth. What was left of the tennis ball managed to look like someone had painted a bright yellow smile on her furry face.
How will I ever go back to working?

Wine Anyone?

2008-02-16T10:05:00.000-08:00

Portuguese wine rocks. I was going to dinner at a new friend’s house the other night. Wanting to be a good dinner guest I made my way to the wine store to bring an offering. When i say wine store i mean store that has wine. Because, here you can buy wine at the supermarket, at the corner store, at the shoe store….
I went to a store down the street. It specialized in wine and hand woven cotton mats. How these two services found a home together is beyond my grasp of Portuguese. But, they have, and this is where I went to get a bottle of wine. I have been drinking vihno verde. This is a cheap white wine that has a bit of a sparkle to it. I love it. If you can find it go get it. Here it runs about 2.95 euros per bottle.
But, as I was a guest, I thought I should splurge on a nice bottle of red. There were three types of wine over 20 euros. There were a ton of wines for less than 4 euros. It turns out that splurging here is about 7 euros. So I splashed out. I bought an 8 euro bottle of wine and was assured by the man behind the rug counter that my dinner companions would like it. I am used to BC wine prices. I almost felt bad bringing a bottle that seems so cheap.
My hosts were suitable impressed.

Language Barrier

2008-02-12T10:30:00.000-08:00

Kootenay and I had the ultimate inter-cultural experience the other day. We were doing our usual morning beach routine. I had a nice cup of tea in my travel mug and was enjoying it in the sun while Koot ran after her ball.

A bus loaded with tourists pulled up and off loaded fifty or so Japanese tourists. When they walked down the seawall one woman caught sight of Kootenay playing and was overcome with excitement. She stood beside me and laughed and giggled each time Kootenay caught the ball and then applauded when K brought it back to us. After a few minutes of this we ended up with the busload of people standing around us. Then Koot’s original fan started to ask me a question. Despite the language barrier I quickly caught on that she wanted to take her picture with K. Not with me.

The tour guide came up to me to ask me some questions. This is where things got complicated. I had no idea what he was saying. I told him, in my best Portuguese, that I spoke English and was from Canada. Turns out that he could speak a bit of French. So I stretched my high school French and came to understand that all of the women from the bus wanted their pictures taken with K. I asked the guide if they knew that she wasn’t Portuguese. He indicated that they did, but they didn’t care.

So now pictures of Kootenay on a beach in Portugal will be in the holiday albums of about thirty Japanese families.

Missing

2008-02-11T10:45:00.000-08:00

People have been asking me what I miss. Living here has meant that I have had to adjust. Food tastes different here. There is more seafood than I am comfortable with. My hot water tank and stove run off a tank of butane that I must refill. And, lighting the pilot light for the hat water is not easy. It is also difficult when you don’t speak the same language as the people around you. It can make a task like getting a cell phone fixed a real challenge. It took me three weeks of going from store to store until I found a place that both sold my phone and had someone working there who was willing to use their little bit of English, my little bit or Portuguese and sign language to help me fix the problem. Mostly it is family and friends that I miss. But, there are some comforting things I miss…

I miss Hawkins Cheezies. Little crunchy bits of heaven. The junk food here runs mainly to sweets, and I am a savoury girl.

I miss good loose tea. Luckily I brought with me a few bags of Creamy Earl Grey tea with me, but I am running out.

I miss bags for picking up dog poo. I haven’t been here long enough to just leave it where it falls, like the locals do. I went out and bought some cheap sandwich bags that I use, but see through poo bags are a little gross.

Kootenay misses a few things as well.

She misses her Kong, which I forgot at home. Now if I leave the house without her she gets a treat, but it doesn’t last long.

She misses the little orange balls that are usually used by road hockey players. But for her, they are things to run after that don’t fall apart halfway through a good came of fetch. Tennis balls are too easy to crush.

Nightmares

2008-02-01T08:53:00.000-08:00

I don’t have nightmares. Or at least I haven’t had them in many years. The last time I can remember being truly frightened at night was after I watched The Exorcist. I saw that when I was sixteen. Wait. That isn’t entirely true. I did get a little freaked out when I saw Seven. But, neither of those movies gave me nightmares.

Last week I read Irene Nemirovsky’s book Suite Francaise. I was fine if I read it during the day, but when I read it at night I would wake up with nightmares. I have no idea why it bothered me so much. It is not a “scary” book. It takes place during the German invasion of France in WWII, and follows a few characters as they leave Paris prior to its occupation. Then it shifts to depict a number of people in a small town during the German occupation.

The author’s ability to show the best and worst of people under duress gave me nightmares.

Guess I will have to go back to watching scary movies so that I can get some sleep.

And you should look past the ugly cover and read the book.

A Friend for Jer and Ken

2008-01-30T10:45:00.000-08:00

This note is for Jerry and Ken. I have met a man who you would both envy. He’s a semi retired marine engineer. He and his mother have driven down here from England in a big motor home and are living down in the harbour. That is where he keeps his 50 foot retired British Navy boat. He has it out of the water right now and is working on it.

He bumped into me in Modela (supermarket chain). He said sorry. I said no problem and we went on our separate paths. I could tell he wasn’t a local by his clothes. He was wearing royal blue short, an old sweater, white mid-calf sport socks, and beat up runners. No ,one from here would be wearing something that unfashionable.

We met up again in the checkout lineup. That is when it occurred to him that I had answered him in English and that my English did not have a Portuguese accent. Well hello, he said. Where are you from?

I gave him my brief outline. I am here from Canada. Renting a place from a friend in Vancouver. Blah blah blah.

Well have a good day. Hopefully we will run into each other again. He replies as he loads his groceries into bags and heads out to the parking lot.

This was the longest sustained English conversation I have had for a while so I nod and say bye.

I gathered up my groceries and headed out the parking lot to untie the Koot and start to lug our groceries back to the house.

You didn’t bring her from Canada as well did you? I stood up and looked around. There was my English man loading his groceries into a basket on his moped.

I sure did. And I have done it more than once now. I replied and made my way over to his bike. I could tell he wanted to ask me about Kootenay. She is the starter for so many conversations. And this one i will understand.

He plied me with a list of questions… How did she fly? She didn’t fly she’s a dog. Ha Ha. She sat in a crate in a plane that carried us here. Were there problems at the borders? No, despite having done a pile of research, and having the dog micro chipped, inoculated, inspected by the Official Canadian Vet, and all the paperwork to prove these steps have occurred not one person has looked at any of her paperwork. We have flown into Germany twice, Portugal twice and once back to Canada. It is amazing when you think about how we and our luggage are x-rayed, swabbed and wanded down so much that I worry about wearing an underwire bra on flights that no one seems worried about a giant fluffy dog and her enormous crate.

Then he moves onto the fun questions. What kind of dog is that? I have never seen one quite like her. She’s part poodle and part golden retriever I reply.

I have been thinking about getting a dog, he tells me. I was thinking about border collie, but I am worried about it on the boat. Before I get a chance to reply he fills me in on his life. He and his mom are down here. He keeps his boat here and then heads out all over from here. He has been to the Azores. Liked it. Sailed down to the Algarve where is sister lives. Hated it. Too many British he says, and the people in Nazare are nicer. The list goes on… Greece, Turkey, France etc. He wants to head over to Canada and the east coast of the US, but that depends on Mum. I am not sure what he means by that. Is he waiting for her to be well enough or….

His boat is a 50 footer. He bought it from the Royal Navy when it was decommissioned. Now he is researching the history of its’ war years. He keeps his moped on it so that he can explore whatever port he finds himself in. He is semi-retired so he spends six or seven months a year doing this and then heads home for the summer. Sound like a life you could live?

They may be ugly, but...

2008-01-29T08:59:00.000-08:00

Crocs are comfortable. They may be ugly, but they are comfy. I keep hoping they will hurt my feet. If they did I would be able to stop wearing them. I could put them on in the house like slippers and be sure that they didn’t make their way out to streets. But, instead I find myself two blocks from home, and the look on people’s faces tells me that I have bright green, comfy, foam shoes on. In Nazare these shoes stand out. People and, in particular, women dress up. There seems to be no such thing as casual Friday. Even when they are “dressing down” they are fancy folks. My always-practical Birkenstocks and comfy Crocs scream visitor/tourist.

Someone who had travelled to Nazare asked me if I had noticed the unusual number of people on crutches in town. I had noticed it, but had not really given it much thought. Now I have a few theories. First the fancy shoes and cobblestones really don’t mix. If you take high heels, smooth soles and mix in cobblestones it is a recipe for hurt. If you add moisture, navigation becomes a delicate ballet where only the seasoned survive. You are more likely to lose your dignity than maintain it. My rule on rainy days is to wear pants. If you wear a skirt make sure your underwear are clean, because you are likely to be showing them off.

Here people walking the seawall on a Sunday afternoon would look over dressed on Robson Street in Vancouver. Men are wearing dress pants with collared shirts, and if they do dress down with jeans and runner, they have tucked in cotton shirts and gold and silver lame runners. I have not seen a pair of Chucks and 501s anywhere. The women amaze me. They stroll the cobblestone walkways in delicate heels, pointy-toed high heel boots, wearing bedazzled and faux furred jackets and pants. No one seems concerned with comfort. I seem to be the only person who owns Lycra. Unlike in Vancouver, I am the only person wearing Lululemon clothing here. And I am also the only woman wearing comfortable shoes.

The cleaning lady just asked me to move my chair so she could sweep around me. I could tell she was coming up behind me by the clacking of her heeled mules on the stone floor.

Dalmatian Dad

2008-01-28T07:57:00.000-08:00

Your dog is very self-sufficient he said to me today. He has a beautiful Dalmatian that dearly wants to play with Kootenay. I was totally shocked. He spoke to me in perfect English. There was a pause in our conversation while my mind processed the fact that I understood him. Usually I smile nod my head and say fala English while pointing at my self.

She just really loves her ball I end up stuttering out in rely.

No. Even when you don’t have the ball she is just as happy following you down the beach with her nose to the sand. My dog is desperate for another dog to play with him. It is the only time he gets any real exercise. Replies the man who will from now forward be known as Dalmatian Dad.

She is easy to exercise. I reply. Just throw a ball and wait. She brings it back and demands that you do it again. The only drawback is the slobber stains on my shoes. I can’t figure out why I can’t come with something else to say. I seem to have lost any ability to engage in small talk. Have I been out of normal life for too long? I have really enjoyed my days of walking on the beach, reading and even fitting in a little writing. But, could this have all lead to me becoming, gasp, even more socially awkward. And, why is he walking away.

Bye I call out. What I really want to do is scream. She really only plays with dogs she knows. If Dalmatian wants to get to know her she will be happy to run in the waves with him. Then I wonder…. Is this really about K?

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

2008-01-25T10:35:00.000-08:00

I think my boyfriend and I broke up today. Guess I should tell you a little bit about him. Kootenay and I met him on the beach. We stand out in Nazare. People here don’t often play with their dogs. The dogs run around and then check back at their owners a few times during the day. Add the fact that I “play” with my dog and I walk around with her on leash and we stand out….

People along the seawall have become intrigued with my ball chucker.

He came up and tried to ask about it. He wanted to try it. So we stood there and “chatted”. What I mean by chatting is that we exchanged the few words I know in Portuguese and the few that he knew in English, and then we smiled and watched Kootenay run up and down the beach.

We ran into each other at the community center the next day. He started walking me home and then I would get K and we would all trek to the beach for some dog exercise time. It was nice.

But, tonight some young hussy came and took him away. He looked at me gave me a little smile and shrugged his shoulders as he left with her. I guess that is what happens when your boyfriend is 12 and he is more interested in your dog than you.

Have I Become James?

2008-01-25T09:58:00.000-08:00

I am sitting at a small table in the Community Center / Library using there free internet. I have become a regular. It feels a little weird, because it reminds me of home. I have become the weird foreigner that comes in everyday to use the internet. We had a few at work back in Vancouver. And to top it off I don’t even speak the same language, so no one has a clue who I am or why I am here. So people here are free to make up my back-story. Hopefully it is more interesting than the truth. I am sitting here looking at People magazine on line and ichatting with my sister. But I can hear the waves hitting the shore and if I angle my computer just right I can see them as well.

Post Feminist World?

2008-01-24T10:26:00.000-08:00

I miss my MVS, and Matt, and George… They could always be counted on to challenge me and help me hone my opinions. Matt, MVS and I worked together and spent many slow afternoons debating the state of the world. Seems crazy to miss those days when I am sitting with my dog in the sun’s warmth on a beach in a foreign country, but I do. There is no one here with enough English skills to talk to about my most recent rant.

I watched Blood Diamond and thought it was a good film. Then, because I hear so little English, and because it was a DVD and had a directors commentary on it, I watched the show again. The director impressed me at first. He talked about how filming and being in Africa deeply affected him, the crew and the stars.

Then as he was describing a scene that introduced the love interest for the main character he talked about her being a reporter in a post feminist world. He talked about female war reporters who dressed in dresses despite their surroundings and who had relationships with “inappropriate” men and used these as examples of this post feminist world. He seemed to find it odd that despite the circumstances the reporter didn’t want to lose her femininity. It was as if in his mind one must chose between feminism and femininity.

That is when I started to look at the movie a bit differently. At first it was just a buddy movie that turned conventions a little. I was happy that a movie would try to challenge the narrow view of life that Hollywood often brings us.

One point in this movie even moved outside the regular Hollywood path. The female character stepped outside the role of victim and managed to thwart a militia attack. But even this moment was cheapened when a soldier was required to say a line about her reminding him of his wife. In the director’s commentary you find out that she was originally supposed to cling to Leo the antihero, but came up with this idea instead.

The other thing that amazed me about this movie was the implied guilt meted out for women who have, or want a diamond ring. Again the lone female character is forced to defend all women while separating herself from them by declaring that “Not all women want a diamond ring” and “women wouldn’t want a diamond if the new it cost someone their arm”. It turns out that when men treat each other inhumanely, enslave each other to amass vast wealth, and rape and plunder nations it is because of outside pressures….

Okay, it was not that simple an analogy, but it feels that way today.

Where are you guys when I need to talk to you????

Moving...

2008-01-18T09:10:00.000-08:00

My dog changed my life. Before she came into my life I lived a nice, quiet, safe life. I had a good job. It was not my passion, but it paid a living wage and had health benefits. I bought a safe fixer up style of apartment in a nice neighbourhoood and fixed it up. I was average and glad of it. While my friends went about marrying, breaking up, and living overseas I was happy to offer them a bed when they needed it and live my quiet life.

Then came Kootenay. Soon after she came into my home the people in my building decided that she was too big to live in our building and offered me a choice. Either I had to get rid of her or move out of the building. This was a difficult time. I had made friends with many of the people in the building and then had to choose between this dog I had just adopted and the security and friendship of the people in the building I had been living in for four years. I chose the dog. It was my first moment of madness. I am not sure I would have been able to make that choice had my sister not been around. She, in her ever practical and capable way, made the choice of moving because of my new dog an easy one. “Of course you’ll move,” she said. As if selling the home I had lived in for four years for a dog I had for only four weeks was the most normal choice in the world.

So with her help and the support of all my family and friends I put my put my house up for sale and planned a future in a new neighbourhood with my new pet.

Luckily I have a friend who knows almost all of Vancouver. Michael introduced me to Tim, who took on selling my place. It was not an easy task. The strata minutes were messy. We, the building residents, had started down a path of unkindness to each other that would be hard to stop. Neighbour picking on neighbour is a difficult thing when you live in such close quarters and like all negative emotions, once you start focusing on the negative it becomes difficult to stop. As sad as I was at losing the friends I had made in the building moving was the right choice. If a dog could cause so many people to be so unhappy it was better to not live there.

So, I sold the place and started looking for a new one. This time I would have a better idea how to read strata minutes and making sure my dog was welcome would be the top concern.

Beach Time

2007-11-30T08:19:00.000-08:00

I cannot imagine anyone or anything being happier than Kootenay is when she in on the beach. Each morning we get up and walk along the seawall walkway here in Nazare. Kootenay walks beside me with her head turned to the beach for the entire two kilometers of the walk. It is almost as if she is afraid it will disappear if she doesn’t keep her eyes on it.

When we are about halfway home I let her off her leash.

When the leash drops off her neck she looks at me to be sure that she is allowed to be free. Then I give her the all clear. She jumps up in the air and twists in a circle. It looks like somebody electrocuted her tail and she is trying to catch them. Then she leaps off the seawall and barrels down the beach towards the water’s edge.

With her nose down and her tail wagging she chases the waves as they stretch up onto the sand as far as they can reach. She is always surprised when they disappear and gallops down to the water’s new edge to find them.

Her other great joy is joining the kids playing soccer on the beach courts. I have had to buy a small fake soccer ball to carry with us when we go near the kids. It comes with us or I will have to once again wade into a scrum made of giggling boys, a dog and soccer ball and try to separate Kootenay from the ball and the boys from the dog.

Two boys always want her to play goalie for them. My Portuguese is not good enough to explain to them that once she gets the ball she will bite onto it and the chase will be on. I have tired pointing to her teeth and pretending to bite the ball, but I guess my charades are only good for ordering food and finding gas to heat the hot water tank. Either that or the boys just want a laugh when I try to act out the whole ball/teeth/chase scenario. To avoid the acting, we bring the doggie soccer ball. And it has a magic squeaker in it. Now when she tries to launch herself into the soccer game I just have to squeeze her soccer ball. When the squeaker goes off she comes running to me.

Today one of the soccer dad’s came over to “talk” with me. Between my dictionary and his little bit of English we came up with a description for Kootenay at the beach. We decided that she is joy personified. And, that you feel that if watch hard enough you can finally figure out what it takes to be truly happy.

We stood there and watched three 11-year-old boys play keep away with a soccer ball and a dog. The sun was shining and the waves were crashing ashore

Does Sexy Translate?

2007-11-20T08:17:00.000-08:00

North American movie stars engage in endorsements abroad. It is no big secret, but it is surprising when you see the ads. They promote things in other countries that they would never been seen overtly promoting back home. Coffee. Shampoo. Watches. And they sell these things with their “sex appeal.”

George Clooney sells coffee in Europe. In the ad he finds himself amazed as women walk past him to get to a good cuppa and don’t seem to notice him. Brad Pitt was selling watches in China. As we were walking down a street in Chengdu a little girl looked up at a Brad Pitt ad and ran over to stroke my nephew’s hair and point to his blue eyes excitedly. Aiden is only ten and the attention was a little overwhelming. Seeing these ads has made me watch movies a little differently. The next time I see George or Brad in a movie I will be watching to see if these products end up in the movie. Maybe they are advertising stuff back home and we don’t even notice it?

One of my most disconcerting moments with this type of ad occurred in China. Treesa and I watched a grown man in a suit stroke George Clooney’s giant lips. He pressed himself up against a billboard and went up on his toes so that he could stroke a picture of George’s lips. Now don’t get me wrong I understand the desire to touch George’s lips, but if I’m going to do it I hope it is in private. And I hope it doesn’t stop with his lips. But it was bewildering to me that a grown man in what appeared to be an expensive suit, would stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk and take time out to stroke a picture of a “star”. I felt very much a voyeur watching this moment. The other remarkable thing was that my sister and I seemed to be the only people to find the incident peculiar. And like all places in China, there were literally hundreds of people walking by. No one even slowed down.

Tonight a woman at the movie rental store wanted to rent Richard Gere. She brought back a movie that he had starred in pointed to his face and asked the clerk something that my limited Portuguese could not understand. The clerk took her over to the wall and pointed to another Richard Gere title. But, the woman wasn’t happy. She took the box of the movie she had just seen and held it up to the other movie. She pointed to the two faces that were clearly different. In the second movie Richard Gere was playing a role that required him to adopt a character. She didn’t want Richard Gere the actor she wanted Richard Gere. Luckily my immense knowledge of romantic comedies came to the rescue. I pointed out Pretty Woman and Runaway Bride to her and the clerk. The woman happily left with the two movies. The clerk smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders. She watched movies for the movie. I am pretty sure I lost a few coolness points with her for knowing those titles, that and the fact that I went home with a Ryan Reynolds romantic comedy. Oh well. She still in awe that I am from Canada, don’t speak any Portuguese, and have a bonito cachorro.

And now me and my cachorro will go curl up on our sofa and watch our romantic comedy. Hope K feels like snuggling. How’s that for sexy?

Things Are Different Here

2007-11-19T10:41:00.003-08:00

Coffee is a bit of an obsession in Vancouver, but it is nothing compared to here. I saw a few Starbucks in Germany, but now that I am in Portugal, I have yet to see one, although, I have seen coffee shops. Coffee and the pastries that accompany it seem to hold a very important position here. Every afternoon at about 1pm everyone leaves their jobs and goes in search of family, friends and coffee. And they find them. And they sit and talk, connect eat and drink. It may just be coincidence, because I have not seen a lot of the country, but here it seems that who visits which shop depends on where their relatives work. And here I am a tea drinker.

Central heating. Lets make some noise for that convenience. I will never take for granted the ability to turn up the thermostat. The first two days I was here were sunny and beautiful, that all ended last night. A storm steamrolled over the sun and replaced it with grey skies, clouds and thunder. The temperature in the house I am in went from snug to frosty. This morning I searched through the house for heaters to plug in. Everyone who is thinking of visiting me should wait until the spring hits. Cold undies in the AM are not fun.

Dogs here seem to have free run of the town. There seem to be no leash laws and the no dogs allowed signs are reserved for fearful tourist. I am the only person who has here their dog on a leash. When we walk out of our courtyard the dog from up the street runs down to greet us. Then as we head down to the seawall the neighbour dog follows us for a while and turns back home when he loses interest in us. During our walks we are approached by many free roaming pooches, who come up to Kootenay and sniff about us as if to commiserate with her about her lack of freedom. But, honestly she is not the most obedient of dogs. And the sea and beach here would test us too much. I am not ready to be the crazy foreign woman who had to pull off her shoes and run up and down the cold surf trying to get her dog to come back home with her.

Grass. Grass is in short supply here. This is not the west coast, with its ample rain and green grass. There are lovely winding cobblestone roads with little sidewalks. Each street seems to have it’s own bit of “old world” charm. Little stores dot the streets, each with it’s own specialty. There are places that only sell keys, or knives, tools, cheese or meats. The operator of the wine store down the street also sells rugs, but there are separate entrances and cash registers for each side of the store. All very charming for someone visiting from the land of Wal-Mart and Costco, but for a west coast dog it is confusing. How does one find just the right place to pee without grass? And what does a dog do with out a giant park to tromp about in? Kootenay is finding this very difficult. Sure we walk for miles every day, but she does this without finding that relief that comes with finding the just the right spot of grass. Hopefully the stones will one day seem welcoming or we will have some trouble. I am sure that the nieghbour will catch us using his ivy and explaining our situation in Portuguese is way beyond my vocabulary.

Things Are Different Here

2007-11-19T10:41:00.001-08:00

How Did I Get Here

2007-11-19T10:38:00.000-08:00

I am trying to figure out what I am doing here. I was not raised to live an unstructured life. I was raised to get a job, hopefully with good benefits and hold onto it. To go to work everyday doing what I’m told and work until I retire. I’m not exactly sure when I stopped believing in anything else. Maybe I thought that, given the miracle or good luck that had me live through my teenage cancer battle that that was my miracle and to hope for more would be greedy.

When I told my dad that I wanted to travel to Europe with my dog and try and write the storey of my cancer battle he responded by telling me that artist suffer. They get jobs as waitresses or taxi drivers and write. And if they are lucky they produce something other people want to read. I am not sure that was meant to encourage or discourage me.

Of course I heard it as a subtle condemnation of this. I constantly question my decisions and this is no different. Today I had to remind myself that this was only my second day here so trying to measure my accomplishments was premature. That deciding I had failed already, was a trifle self-defeating.

It is not surprising that people live so much of their lives in cafes here. With no central heating it is cold in the houses. Last night I was ready to leave. Then I got up, had some breakfast and Kootenay and walked along the sea edge. We watched the giant waves crash onto the shore and then sat on a bench and watched all of the town walk by us. Families, friends and lovers walked up and down the seawall meeting and greeting each other. If you watched this in a movie it would seem false and scripted.

The women here wear what is called the seven petticoat dress with black wraps that also wrap their heads. Many people mention this and question why they still dress this way. The fishing wife life seems to have been chased away from this village by the Mercedes, Alfas, and Peugeuts that crawl the streets now. I can only say that given the temperature of the stone houses the older people live in I can why. While not stylish the outfit looks like it would keep you warm.

Kootenay is adjusting to having a daily routine, I think she enjoys the fact that we have unpacked. Although, I think she liked the people in Lisbon better than here. In Lisbon people stopped us to pat her and treated her like a movie star. Often people stop and talk to us and while we didn’t understand it all, inevitabily the sentence would include the phrase “Never Ending Story”. And then everyone would smile. She looks like the dog at the end of the movie. Here people are more hesitant, and often shy away from us. After being a star in Germany and Lisbon, Kootenay is finding it odd. Rather than fawning she is treated with a mixture of awe and reserve.

Strolling Lisbon

2007-11-15T08:46:00.000-08:00

After having a little pity party I managed to organize a ride to Nazare tomorrow. Lufthansa makes me crazy. It is soooooo difficult to get around now that I am the owner of an expensive new crate that is as big as a Volkswagen bug. Every time I think about it I get mad. But, in the interest of sanity I must let go of it and trust that everyone who reads this will tell people about the story. Did I mention that I have to jump in the air to see over it when I am pushing it thru airports?

In Lisbon Kootenay and I have been staying at Residencial Florescente. Kootenay is sleeping out on the balcony now. Occasionally she stands up and surveys the street below wags her tail and lies back down. The Fado singer from the concert hall across the street comes out and sings her a song in the morning and a bedtime. At first I thought it was for me, but then we met him on one of our walks and he professed his love to K. At least I think that is what he was saying.

There was a big police bust up down the street this afternoon. We were coming back from walking along the Tejo River and were suddenly in a swarm of polica. They had three wagons and started filling them with people from the street corner and a housing complex. It was all very dramatic. This is when a better understanding of the language would have come in handy. The officer was yelling and waving at me, but I had not a clue what he wanted me to do. Luckily a little old man took pity on me and led me away down an alley. He talked to Kootenay in Portuguese as he led us down the block. I’m not sure what he was saying, but he was happy with Kootenay’s response so I just smiled and nodded.

Smiling and nodding has become my main action. People stop us pet K and tell me all sorts of things sometimes they even pull out pictures of their dogs to share with me, but mostly they stop to pat K. I think the fact that I don’t understand a word people say makes it easier for them to talk to me.

Big dog

2007-11-13T21:00:00.000-08:00

My dog and I both have size issues. People these days seem to want dogs and people to be purse size. We are definitely not purse size, although I do have a weakness for purses. Now that we are travelling our sizes has become an issue. People are very welcoming to small dogs. They look cute and you can put them in your purse and carry them everywhere. Big dogs require a bit more room and a bit more imagination. To have a big dog in your life you have to commit to opening yourself up to their needs. Small dogs can be fit to your life. You can tote them in and out of stores unnoticed, and a five-minute walk can keep them happy. Big dogs can’t be snuck into very many places. Although, I will admit to sneaking her into a few motels, but a great deal of subterfuge was needed. Since Kootenay became part of my life I have had to face the world differently. We no longer go unnoticed by people. When we walk down the street people stop. They say hi; they want to pet her; they want to connect. I never expected this. So here we are travelling and trying to find space for ourselves in another language. We can be persuasive in English, but now we have to get by on our looks and personality.

Today we hit Portugal and had to use all our looks and personality to find a bed for ourselves. Like most people my age we have come to rely on the internet. So in preparation for Lisbon we got on the internet and researched hotels. Who allows pets? What is their policy? All good things to know before you leave. After a great deal of reading we found a place and had our travel agent book it for us and include information about the dog. The motel concept is not strong here, so I wanted to be sure upfront that we would be welcome. They took our deposit along with the pet info yeah!

Imagine my surprise when we get there and they do not accept dogs. Now we are in Lisbon with no place to stay.

Back to the internet. Fatima, the hotel consierge manned the phone and I trolled the internet for places that might take us in. We phoned every place we could find and things looked bleak. I was almost glad for the giant cage the German ground crew forces on us, as I could picture Kootenay and I comfortably sleeping in it. It is almost as big as my apartment back home. Then I pulled out the Rick Steeves guide to Portugal. We would read the guide for hotels that seemed to have personality and then contact would ensue. I would look on the internet for the hotel pet policy and Fatima would phone them. Finally we found a bed. Thank you Residencial Florescente. People on Expeida and Travelocity may complain about the carpets or the smell, but we are happy to put our heads down here. And we actually appreciate the 1800’s character of the building. Our Juliet balcony makes us both very happy

Leaving Frankfurt

2007-11-13T14:30:00.000-08:00

Frankfurt.

When I started to write this note last night it was going to be a love story. The city was friendly and Kootenay and I walked all over it and enjoyed every minute. Then we flew out and that is where the love affair ended abruptly. When we got to the airport the ground crew refused to transport K in her crate. They claimed it was not big enough, and just so handily happened to have a place there where I could purchase a new crate, at a grossly inflated sum. Only then would they put her on the plane. The only crate they would accept was enormous. So despite the fact that my crate was approved for the size and weight of my dog, and the fact that she had just travelled from Canada in it we had to shell out for the new crate. The crate should have cost about 180 dollars, but they wanted 300 euros. So I am warning all people with pets who plan to travel through Frankfurt DO NOT. The city is great, but it is too costly to be at the whim of the airport ground crew.

day one

2007-11-11T04:19:00.001-08:00

Getting on the plane was filled with excitement. When Kootenay and I
got to the airport it turned out that our instructions for getting the
dog to Germany were messed up. She had been booked as cargo, but she
was supposed to go on the plane as checked baggage with me. Luckily
after three or four frantic calls we were able to get her on the
flight with me.

Thank goodness that dad took me to the airport. And thank goodness
for his cell phone.

Travelling with the dog seems so complicated, but it seems to be
easier that one would think. She is kinda like a roomie who eats your
food, doesn't pay her rent, and thinks her personality and love should
be enough for you to keep her around.

So after 8 hours in the air, we landed in Frankfurt. This was where I
thought we would have the biggest problems. I was concerned with the
papers for the dog, and as her microchip had never been scanned I was
nervous about it working. All the potential problems were playing out
in my mind. Included in my concerns were the difficulties of
travelling in a country where you don't know a word of the country's
language.

These concerns turned out to be for nothing. There she was in special
baggage sitting in her crate waiting for me to claim her. The
security supervisor went in search of a Vet to do her inspection.
While he was searching for the Vet I went and got the rest of my
luggage and came back. The supervisor couldn't find a vet so he took
a cursory look at our papers and send us on our way. It was
disturbingly easy. I guess that it was just to give me a break
because the hard work was just about to start.

Now I had the dog, two heavy suitcases, a carryon bag, and my computer
and camera bag, as well as the dog kennel to get to my hotel. The
first two cabs dismissed me with a sneer. There was an odd man smoking
a cigarette offered to take us in some sort of non-cab cab. We
stuffed all my crap in his Golf and he programmed my hotel into his
navigation system and off we went.

When we got to the hotel he evened helped me take everything up to our
hotel room. Kootenay hung out with the hotel staff, behind their
reception desk during this. So in the end I pay 35 euros for a 10
euro cab ride and was happy with the return on the "dollar".
Especially as it was about 4am by my body clock and I had only slept
fitfully on the plane.

Here we were the first leg of the journey completed.

Now we just need to go for a walk, have a nap and find food. How hard
could that be?

--
treena and kootenay
adogabroadayear.blogspot.com

Fun Facts

2007-11-07T21:37:00.000-08:00

Luftansa Airline November 9th... 10:30 for Koot and 3:15 for me...

Time has come for Kootenay and I to leave the country. We (and by we i mean she) has been shot tagged and inspected until no one could find any reason to deny her access to their country. That isn't entirely true, England would still have problems agreeing to let her in, but who need to leave rain and travel to rain? Not us. Our first stop is Frankfurt Germany. For anyone who is concerned we will be staying at the Best Western Plaza.

I have been shocked by the small amout of information out there about Frankfurt. Frommers guide doesn't even mention it. So Koot and I will be exporing the city for three days with photocopied sheets of city information. Weird that so few people write about it when it has one of the biggest airports in Europe. Apprently there is a grocery store at the airport. That is one way to keep people from exploring the city.

From there we are heading to Lisbon. Here we are hoping to stay at Hotel Mirapaque. It is in the center of town which can be expensive, but apprently if you don't mind staying somewhere with wood paneled lounges and simulated brown leather seating they are happy to have you and your dog. We are going to stay here until the 17th of November. Then we are off to Nazare.

My address in Nazare will be:

Rua Dr Jose Caborinho
Marques Da Silveira
Vila Mafra
10 Andar Dto
Letra C
Nazare

Not sure what the postal code is, but i will keep you posted... (get it? posted? ha ha)

Fr

homeward bound

2007-08-19T03:40:00.000-07:00

I don`t seem to be able to type without this keyboard reverting to Japanese so forgive me if the message is brief and messed up. We just left Hangzhou and now are in Japan. Luckily the typhoon was hitting the town a few hours after we left. When we got up this morning it was beautiful sunny and 36 degrees. By the time we left at 10.30 the winds and rains had started. We flew threw some of the storm on our way to Narita.

I am not sure if it was time to leave so i was losing my patience or i was losing my patience so it was time to leave. Yesterday dad and i were sitting enjoying a cup of tea when a "gentleman" beside our table decided to clear both his nostrils and his throat and deposit all the muckus on the carpeted floor beside us. Turned out I was done with my tea at that point. Then this morning it was all i could do not to stand on the table and shout at everyone "That`s right i am white, a little large, and not as stylish as you thought i should be, so please stop staring and just eat your stinkin` breakfast." So probably best if i come home before starting an international incident.

See you all soon.

nobody puts baby in the corner

2007-08-16T01:10:00.001-07:00

We cruised down the yangtze for three days. it was a little like dirty dancing only without the dancing part. we had an odd cruise director named Christof. He came to here from Germany 27 years ago and never left. He is about 5 feet tall and has a nice little mole on his nose. And, he loved Aiden, who got to go meet the captain privately and see the wheel house.

Early morning starts with afternoon naps and mai tais at four make it the most relaxing three days of our journey. Plus they did all our meals for us so we didn't have to try to decipher any menus.

We cruised thru the locks from the Three Gorges Dam. Man, do they need the power. When you see the country you can understand why they are doing the project. Shanghai needs most of the power they generate just to keep their neon working. Got some great shots. Seems like it is daylight in the night there are so many lights. The temperature gauge in the town square didn't dip below 29 for our entire time. We thought it might be broken, because with the humidity it didn't seem hotter than 35 or 37.

Drove the Hangzhoug and found a Starbuck right by our hotel. Must be closer to home. We all gave a little cheer when we noticed it, because they have nice potties as well as great smoothies.

see you all on sunday.

chongqing

2007-08-09T05:27:00.000-07:00

We are off to a new place tomorrow. Kunming was cool, but we did as much in three days as we could. Treesa, Jerry and I went out to buy some toothpaste for Kathy last night and promptly got lost. We ended up walking along a great river bank and had a lot of locals amazed. I don't think white tourists end up at local markets very often.

Today we went to a Minority Village. If you can imagine a bastard child of Epcot and It's A Small World you will be able to picture what we saw. Only we got to see Bai Nazi and a few other local minorities. It was neat to see the dress and find out a bit of the culture, but the "minorities" didn't seem all that happy there today.

One minority that got a lot of looks was the large white family. We had so many people trying to take our pictures and talk to us that our guide finally started to move us on every time he noticed someone noticing us. Jerry figures we will be sold in the night market on DVD tonight. Not many of us make it up here so we stand out especially when we group together.

Saw Diachi(spelling wrong) Lake today. It was a colour that does not occur in nature. I have never seen anything so polluted in my life. As we drove by Aiden asked "who cut the cheese?" very polite. Our pour guide thought he was serious and started to tell us that there was no cheese for lunch. Not all english translates. We will be out of touch for the next four days. We head down the Yangtzee. Looking forward to seeing it.

You cannot believe how many people there are here. It boggles the mind. Every inch of space is used for something. There are either growing something in the land or building something on it.

pandas

2007-08-09T05:16:00.000-07:00

They are so cute. I just want to take one home. Not sure how the government would feel about it. Wanted to wrestle them, but the panda wresting program was closed the day we were there. Either that or our stellar tour guide could not figure out how to translate that and just told me that it was closed.

I think we may have seen a million bikes by now. The road we drove down today was two lanes and we shared it with cars, trucks, bikes, oxen, and people wearing crazy hats carrying goods to market on their backs. From all we have seen i would remind people to buy their fruits and veggies from local suppliers. The corn and pomegranites were grown beside the coal mine. We haven't seen blue sky since we climbed the Great Wall with half a billion chinese folks. Aiden is a rock star here. I think strangers have taken more photos of him than we have.

Saw the worlds largest sitting buddha today. We had to hike down 303 stairs and stares. Felt like we had landed in the wall less people zoo. I was waiting for someone to start throwing popcorn at me.

And let me tell you popcorn would have tasted pretty good. Treesa and I are engaging in vegetable porn. We imagine salads with dressings (and even naked sometimes), fruits that have not been grown on the side of the road and rice from a patty no one has peed in.

Off to kunming tomorrow. New adventures await.

t & t

chengdu

2007-08-09T05:14:00.001-07:00

We are here in Chengdu. It is great. We had the best meal we have eaten here. Turns out one of the dishes we ordered translates to Kung Pou Chicken. Who knew. When we were in Datong we had a soup made by boiling rabbit head. That seems to have caught up with me. I am now on The Pink. Here is hoping that everything slows down a little. We had a great time in the last city. Not sure what it is called now. I will have to follow up with that later. We saw a Chinese Tung Opera and some crazy bamboo flutes and drums. Then we had a dumpling dinner. The dumplings in Vancouver have been better. Although the pumpkin one was great. The city is Xi'an. I liked it a lot, but it was odd having read Confessions before made me more cautions about my opinions.

We saw a rock show in a park today. The band was excited about having tourists there and played a song in english. Dad was confused, because he could understand what they were saying. Then we all went to Starbucks. I hand it to globalization. It may destroy culture, but it brought a great toilet. Treesa went earlier and regretted it. Her experience included no walls, no TP, no dignity... I got my one stall and what could pass as a sitter (Yeah me). Mine was a 6 dressed up as a nine. Treesa's was a 0 dressed up as a 0.

china rocks

2007-08-03T03:39:00.001-07:00

You will have to excues the typos as i am under extreme conditions here. I just finished seeing the terra cotta warriors and then saw how they made silk. There were not children involved, but they did put aiden to work pulling the silk out. Beijing was incredilble. They are not afraid to have their buildings stand out. And the number of people was overwhelming. Treesa got to see a kite being flown in the Square and then we walked and we walked and we walked. Oh yeah, did i mention we walked. Saw so many things don't even know where to start. After we headed up to Datong and visited buddhist caves. They may be a topper, but we will have to see. I just found out that i may be able to wrestle baby pandas. While it is a bit colonialist i think i might have to be done. Treesa is going to get my health paperwork up to date in case they turn on me.

The kids are doing well. Food has been good, but potties leave something to be desired. I will refrain from saying they are crappy....

The Trip....

2007-07-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

Jul 28 – Depart Edmonton/Calgary for Beijing via Vancouver with Japan Air Lines

Jul 29 – Arrive into Beijing in the evening with arrival transfer to the Grand Mercure Xidan Beijing Hotel. No 6 Xuanwumen Nei Ave – Xicheng District – Beijing Tel: 010-66036688 Fax: 010-66031488

Beijing has also been known as Peking and Yanjing. Just west of the city a tooth was been found that dates back 300,000 to 500,000 years, which, is how old I anticipate feeling with the heat and humidity. The fossil has been named the Peking Man.
Many different groups have captured Beijing. It has been ruled over by the Jin, the Mongols, and the Kithan, and soon Olympic tourists.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beijing

Jul 30 – Full day tour of Beijing visiting Tienanmen Square, Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven and Summer Palace.

Tienanmen and the Square (this is not a spelling or grammatical error) translates to Gate of Heavenly Peace and once marked the outer boundaries of the imperial domain. The Emperor would rarely venture past the gate. When the Emperor would travel through the city all the shops and windows along his path would be shuttered and closed so that no commoner would see him. Now, Mao’s tomb lies here so that all the commoners can see. Traditionally this space is political rallies and proclamations occur, but not so much anymore. I will keep my mouth shut here, and hopefully Treesa will be able to accomplish her dream to fly a kite in the square.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tienanmen

The Forbidden City construction began in the early 1400’s and lasted about 14 years. It was easier to build a city in those days. They were able to use over 700,000 “volunteer” labourers and 100,000 artisans. I needed that power when I was getting my place ready to sell. By the way Bill and Tim… have you sold it yet?

I’m excited about seeing the Summer Place. It is almost 3km square and includes Kunming Lake. The Palace was twice looted and ransacked by Franco-Anglo troops. What they couldn’t carry off with them they smashed with abandon. The Empress Dowager tried to rebuild it after the Boxer Rebellion when it was destroyed by the international soldiers. She is often vilified in Western histories. Many use this rebuilding of the Palace as an example saying she did this at the expense of the Chinese Navy. Of course they ignore the fact that she actually had little power at the time as the Manchu court has been hijacked by isolationist princes. The Empress is also rumoured have her eunuchs swim around the Marble Boat, built in the middle of Kunming Lake on the palace grounds, and have them attach fish to her fishing line.

Jul 31 – Full day tour to Great Wall ( Badaling entrance w/ cable car ride ) and Ming Tombs via Sacred Way with lunch. Evening Peking Duck dinner.

The Badaling entrance to the Great Wall is situated amongst small hills and trees. Mao is credited as saying that “there is no great man who has not been to the Great Wall”. I guess we will be coming back to Canada with two great men and one great boy. Who knows what effect it will have on Treesa, Aisha, and I. The wall started as a series of small protective walls built by different states in about 7BC. The Qin emperor, who was the first to unify China, added to the wall until it ran about 10,000km. The Wall wasn’t much of a protection though. Since it was built China was overrun by Mongol Yuan dynasty and the Manchu Ming dynasty. Both came over the wall to establish their rule of China. It is wide enough for five horsemen to ride abreast atop it. So the helicopter I am going to need to get down shouldn’t have a problem. Up until this year there has been a Starbuck at the bottom to “welcome” travellors. They are everywhere those Starbuck’s guys.

The Ming Tombs, know as Shisan ling (Thirteen Tombs) are the tombs for thirteen of the sixteen Ming Emperors. Evil spirits are said to be able to fly only in straight lines. So, the road through the Tombs and gardens is curved to confuse them. The path is lined with carved columns and giant stone animals. By now we will probably all be in evil spirits. Hopefully the curved road won’t through us.

Aug 01 – Flight to Datong. Visit Yungang Buddhist Caves, Nine Dragon Wall. Continue on to Taiyuan visiting the Xuankong Suspended Temple. Overnight at Yuyuan Hotel – 148 Kaijua St. – Taiyuan

Datong is said to be the most polluted city in China and therefore the world. Dad brought us all small respirators, but I may be too vain to use it. I guess I will just blow sooty boogers for a while. Datong was once the center for trade with all of Mongolia and as it is on the border of the traditional Chinese kingdom it has been overrun frequently in its history.

There are nine Dragon Walls in China. The Datong one is the oldest and the biggest. It was originally built to obscure the view of a Ming palace. The palace has since burned down, but the wall still stands.

http://www.worldofstock.com/closeups/ADT4777.php Can you smell photo op?

The Wei, a fervent Buddhist trukic group, started the process of carving out the Cave Temples just outside of the city. There are fifty cave temples and they were carved out the sandstone wall starting some time around 450AD. According to history five Indian monks, who also happened to be accomplished sculptors started the work and it took about 15 years.

The Xuankong Suspended temple was built in the 6C. It contains 40 rooms and caves and houses over 80 Buddha statures from that era. Treesa is going to have a difficult day this day. Vertigo will be everyone’s enemy here.

http://www.china-on-site.com/pages/travel/1424.php take a look.

Aug 02 – Transfer to airport for flight to Xian with arrival transfer to Tianyu Gloria Plaza Hotel - 15 North Yanta Road – Xian – Tel: 029-8786 8855 Fax: 029-876 4577 ( www.gloriahotels.com/gloria_en/plaza/xian.asp ). Afternoon tour of Old Xian

Xi’an translates as Western Peace. It was the capital of China for most of the Han, Sui and Tang dynasties. The ancient city spread far beyond its modern boundries. In 1937 the Communist Party established is headquarters here. The book Confessions starts in this city. It is sad to think of all the history and architecture this area lost during the cultural revolution. Chaing Kai-sheck would often come to stay at the hot springs in the area.

Aug 03 – Full day tour visiting Terra-Cotta exhibits with lunch. Evening Xian Dumpling dinner followed by Tang Dynasty show.

The Buried Army is one of a number in the area. There about 8,000 terra cotta warriors in the first pit. The faces of the warriors are each individually modelled. There are archers, spearmen, infantry men, and chariots. The warriors were outfitted with swords, spears, halberds, axes and crossbows. Taking an army to heaven with you seems a little antithetical to heaven’s mission statement.

Aug 04 – Flight to Chengdu with arrival transfer to Louman Grand Hotel - No 22 Section 2 – Renming Zhong Road – Chengdu 610031 – Tel: 86-28-82929999 (www.lmdjd.com/doce/page1.htm ). This afternoon visit the Wuhou Temple, built in the 6th century followed by visit to famous teahouses in the area.

This is my type of town. It is know for its tea houses and being laidback. The waiters fill your teacup by pouring hot water from large kettles over your shoulder into your teacup on the table. So watch your hands. Often performers gather in the teahouses and you can catch an opera while sipping your tea at your table. While the rest of China seems to be quickly modernizing, Chengdu holds proudly to their reputation as relaxed and sophisticated. The relaxed reputation I will try to uphold, but I’m not sure the sophisticated part will apply.

Aug 05 – Full day tour to Woolong Panda Sanctuary with lunch.

You can see what we are seeing today. Remember that we are 12 hours ahead of you so tune in in the evening. If you see me in the camera, something has gone terribly wrong. They may be cute, but I think they would make a snack out of me.

http://www.oiccam.com/webcams/index.html?/panda/

Oh yeah. And having gone all this way I had better see a stinkin’ panda somewhere other than my meal.

Aug. 06 – Full day tour to Leshan to visit the Leshan Great Buddha, the biggest Buddha statue in the world, over 900 years old, via cruise.

Tonight we will need some pain relievers. The Buddha we are seeing is enormous. The locals have a saying “the mountain is a Buddha and the Buddha is a mountain”. His ears are 7 meters long. The legend has it that the monk who started this project gouged out one or both of his eyes to inspire potential donors. I don’t know if that dedication would inspire me or scare me.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leshan_Giant_Buddha

Aug 07 – Flight to Kunming with arrival transfer to Golden Dragon Hotel – 575 Beijing Road – Kunming – 6000011 – Tel: 86-871-3133015 ( www.gdhotel.com.cn ). This afternoon visit the Flower & Bird market.

Kunming is know as the “Spring City”, and is the capital of the Yunnan province. It has only been “recently” brought into the Chinese empire. It joined China during the Mongol Yuan dynasty (1279 – 1386). The French were the first western power in the area. They built a narrow gauge railway to connect Kunming to Hanoi. If you travel by rail to the area you have to change trains at Kunming because of the different rail gauge.

Aug 08 – Full day tour to the Stone Forest.

The Stone Forest covers an area of more than three hundred square kilometres. Scientists believe that the area was once a seabed and that for some reason the sea drained away leaving an exposed seabed that resembles stone trees and peaks thrusting from the ground. The legend has it that a strong immortal moved the stone forest here with a divine whip. The immortal planed to use the stones to block floods, but the whip failed and the stone stopped in their steps and decided to “live” here. I want a magic whip. Imagine…

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.uh.edu/~jbutler/kunming/stoneforest2.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.uh.edu/~jbutler/kunming/stoneforest.html&h=316&w=470&sz=50&hl=en&start=3&sig2=ZmoFfG8eYUxXY7ExZ104tg&um=1&tbnid=RYm7iuYHRH9feM:&tbnh=87&tbnw=129&ei=J0WkRoCbBaH8gQOti6XaDQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dstone%2Bforest%2Bchina%26svnum%3D10%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dsafari%26rls%3Den%26sa%3DN

Aug 09 – Full day tour visiting Yunnan Minority Village, Grand View Park. Visit Western Hill Park and ride up the chairlift for a panoramic view of Dianchi Lake.

This area has 75% off all China’s minority groups. The Minority Village is a live ‘Small World” scene. I will have to leave my cynicism in my luggage today.

Aug 10 - Flight to Chongqing followed by tour of Chongqing with lunch & dinner. After dinner, transfer to Victoria Cruise ( www.victoriacruises.com ) terminal to begin your Yangtze River Cruise.

Aug 11 – Yangtze River Cruise
Aug 12 – Yangtze River Cruise

We have a number of shore excursions here. This area I have done no research on. It will come as a complete surprise to me. Luckily I have a cabin with a deck, so I will be able to read and watch China float by. And, I hear they teach a fruit carving class on the Lido deck. I’ll be making fancy apples when I get home. Radish roses anyone???

Aug 13 – Morning tour of Three Gorges Dam at Yichang followed by disembarkation. Transfer to airport for flight to Shanghai with arrival transfer to Bund Hotel, No 525 Guang Dong Rd – Huangpu District - Shanghai – Tel 021-63522000 Fax: 021-63522777 (www.bundhotelshanghai.com ).

Aug 14 – Morning half day tour of Shanghai. Evening Acrobat show.

Aug 15 – Free day. Don’t tell anyone, but I am going to try to get them all to go see Zhouzhuang City. It is one of the best preserved examples of “old China” and is the Chinese answer to Venice. Luckily none of my fellow travellor will be reading this. They will be part of my audio tour. I’m sure that won’t get tiresome.

Aug 16 – Transfer via minivan to Hangzhou with enroute stop at Wuzhen, visiting its two-thousand-year history in its ancient stone bridges floating on mild water, its stone pathways between the mottled walls and its delicate wood carvings. Arrive into Hangzhou in the evening with transfer to Zhe Jiang Grand Hotel – 595 Yanan Road – Hangzhou 310006 Tel: 86-571-85056666

In 1860-62 the Taiping rebellion razed this city. Luckily there are a lot of accounts of the city’s past. Marco Polo called it the finest and noblest in the world, and who does trust imperial explorers’ descriptions of places.

Aug 17 – Full day tour around Hangzhou incuding cruise on the West Lake. Vist the Lingyi Temple with lunch.

The city was built with wood and the buildings are very close together. It has reconstructed and deconstructed many times. It was an important port city until the Ming dynasty when the port silted up. Luckily at that time it became an import silk city. There are “tourist” maps that were made from block printers dating back to 1200’s. They show ten and twelve story houses in the city at that time.

Aug 18 – Free day.

Whatever shall we do with a free day.

Aug 19 – Transfer to airport for flights home via Tokyo and Vancouver. Did you miss me???

China Reads

2007-07-23T23:56:00.000-07:00

I am heading to China this week. In my usual, slightly crazy fashion, I took this as an opportunity to read books that could inspire me while I was there. Here is a list of what I have read.

Blue Guide - China
When China Ruled the Seas - Louise Levathes
Confessions - An Innocent Life in Communist China - Kang Zhengguo
Dragon Lady - Sterling Seagrave
The Soong Dynasty - Sterling Seagrave
Private Life of Chairman Mao - Dr Li Zhisui
The Adventures of Marco Polo - John Day
The Wisdom of Confucius - Lin Yutang
War Trash - Ha Jin
Waiting - Ha Jin
Lost Horizon - James Hilton
Journey to War - Christopher Isherwood and Auden
and a biography of Chiang Kai-sheck whose author i have forgotten

I now have a jumbled history of China that I wil try to apply to some of the places I will see. The books have inspired and awed me and made me realize how little I know of or understand the country I am going to see.

Oh yeah, and all the blogs I have read about the public toilet system there scare me a little. I am not a naturally tidy person, but i do like a clean bowl.

So stay tuned for my travel plans and dates.

2007-04-10T23:26:00.000-07:00

What kind of traveler are you? I know what type to traveler I would like to be. I just saw the traveler breeze through check in.

My travel preparations are complicated. First I worry about what to pack. Questions run through my brain like a ticker at the bottom of a cable news channel. How many days am I going to be away? What temperature will it be where I am going? Do I need a “good” outfit? What bag should I pack? I need to remember to take my lip-gloss out of my purse, leave some lights on, and feed and water the cat. Who should I ask to look in on the cat? Does anyone need to look in on him? Will he bite anyone who comes in? Will they sue me if he does? Does he have rabies or is he just that bad tempered? And this is all on the way to the airport.

Now that I am here I add a whole other layer to my worries. Do I have my ticket? What time is 21:10? Is it 8:10 or 9:10? Is today the 4th? What day is my flight for? What about the dog? Is this the time she goes crazy in the airport and runs away? Will she get in her crate? Will the crate make it through security? What about the time the screener found “chemicals” on it? What did that mean? Will they load her on the correct flight?

“Here is your ticket ma-am and the baggage handler is here to get your dog.”

I turn and there he is waiting for me to get the dog crate on the trolley and get the dog in it. This part goes well. I open the door and take off her leash and she climbs up into her crate. The crate door closes and the dog and I part. Now it is my turn to head off through security clearance, with the echo of the dog’s cries following me. Everyone within earshot turns and watches me walk away. They all know that I abandon my pet.

“May I see your boarding pass please?”

The traveler casually smiles at the security guard, puts down her soft leather carry-all, and gracefully juggles her belongings and pulls out her passport and boarding pass. She puts down here carry-on and it snakes its way through the x-ray machine.

“I am sorry ma-am, but you are not allowed to take liquids through this check point”

I would be wracked with guilt, but not the traveler. She reaches into her bag, pulls out the water bottle, opens the bottle, drinks the last of the water and then tosses the bottle into the recycling bin. I think I saw the security guard. The she gathers up her bags smiles at everyone and heads off towards her gate.

“Next”

“Please take off your boots ma-am”.

“Your belt as well.”

“Could you open the button on your pants please.”

“If you have a problem ma-am. We can step aside into a holding room and I can have a female screener come and search you.”

“Thank-you ma-am. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“Now we need to open your bag and do a swab test.”

“Thank-you ma-am. Enjoy your flight”

I can hear my flight being called at gate eighteen. With my boots under my arm, my belt looped around my neck, and my bag over my shoulder I run to the gate in my stocking feet. There is a lounge I pass on my way to my plane. I can see the traveler reading her novel drinking a glass of red wine. She looks up as I run by and I see her smile. There she is the traveler I want to be.

guilty pleasure

2007-03-19T01:39:00.000-07:00

I love Costco! I can’t help my self. I know they put small independent stores out of business, they contribute to urban sprawl, encourage car culture, and ship their goods ungodly distances using up precious fossil fuel. All these things I normally find abhorrent. But, still I love to dive into my $7.99 giant bag of snap peas. And, don’t get me started about the giant bags of Cheezies, and corn chips, and the tub of salsa.

So, when you come to visit me and out of curiosity look into my bathroom cupboard don’t judge me too harshly, be comforted. Because I won’t run out of toilet paper and if you forgot your toothbrush and toothpaste, I will probably have one that you can have. Please don’t offer to replace them. Consider it my penance

2007-02-28T00:46:00.000-08:00

Things I need to accomplish:

1 Renew Passport
2 Get dog to vet for shots / microchip / EU Pet Passport
3 Pack all worldly belongings into boxes (many boxes)
4 Find place to store all worldly belongings
5 Sell apartment (make huge profit to finance this folly)
6 Find place to stay in Portugal
7 Buy airline ticket for myself and the dog
8 Fly away to new adventure
9 Write great Canadian novel (or Harlequin Romance)
10 Have it picked up by Oprah and/or Ellen (book club or life story)
11 Rest on my laurels

Why, when I write this list does it seem so achievable? Yet, when I sit down with the forms to accomplish the first item I can’t seem to finish the task. I can watch a lot of really bad TV in an effort fill my time.

What if I go a whole year without TV and I don’t miss it?

It seems a little like breaking up with that boy. You know, the boy you know you don’t truly love, but he makes you laugh and keeps you company in bed. So. you stay with him because when you make yourself laugh people look at you oddly on the bus, and if you let the dog keep you company in bed you will end up with sand in your sheets.