Travelogue: Cuba (Varadero and Havana)

Last year’s winter, by the time around late February, was so brutal; it was like having three winters’ worth of misery packed into one. With both of us at the time coming to our wits’ end after six weeks of temperatures not rising above -20 Celsius, my girlfriend did something that was both a prudent and lovely gesture. On our designated 1st anniversary date, she gifted me (us) a piggybank for which to start scraping up savings together, to fly away to someplace for a reprieve from another potentially freezing, blizzardy hell for this year of 2020, to some warmer holiday destination. By the end of November, our savings, spare change, loonies, toonies, and bills amounted to a fair enough sum to start the next step of booking something. We were still both clueless though as where to go at this time, but we eventually then settled on Cuba, as we both have never been there before, it would then prove be a mutually novel experience for both of us that we could both share together as a getaway. We just opted for a safer trip for just staying warm on a beach with a drink and relaxing to satisfy our introverted selves. The adventure and intrigue part of it for me is that Cuba wouldn’t be just yet another Latin American country. Given of course its communist system in place, it would certainly be culturally different and unique in ways compared to all the other neighbouring countries in the region. It was something worth exploring anthropologically, given that I have some more special privilege and freedom to do so as a Canadian traveler than some other foreign nationals. It’s now five days since I’ve returned from there. I posted a few of our pictures already on social media. I’m now taking the time to verbally capture and express my impressions of those experiences during that trip.


I must admit that I had some expectations of Cuba, which thankfully have been erased from my

One revolutionary monumental art piece, a notable one

dedicated to Ernesto "Che" Guevara, on the side of a
building facing the Revolutionary Square in Havana.

mental blackboard as groundless imaginings. When I think of communist cultures, my brain automatically leads me to imagine an imposing military regime that’s omnipresent, all Stalin-esque, with uniformed soldiers parading everywhere, with everything around reflective a super-inflated totalitarian esprit de corps, and nothing around indicative of any sort of art/culture scene, or joie de vivre. This would be reflective of a place like North Korea today as an example. If all that same said stuff was indeed there in Cuba, it was all very well hidden. Cuba had little around that depicted anything so overpoweringly Orwellian, in fact the spectrum slid on both scales of esprit de corps and joie de vivre towards the opposite directions. Sure, there were political billboards and monuments with the images, proclamations, and quotes from Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, and others who were their so-called revolutionary heroes all around, but not to the degree at which I initially anticipated. Cuba is honestly quite peaceful compared to some other places around that same latitude. I only saw one person during our Havana excursion, and nowhere else, who was recognizable as a uniformed soldier; he was completely unarmed. Quite unlike the way the super-militant and heavily armed municipal and state police are in Mexico, ever ready for a clash with the drug cartels. I saw less civil police presence in a four-block radius in Havana than I would see in my own city. The only military hardware I saw were purely commemorative museum pieces and were non-functional: like one Russian T-34 tank I saw used this way in Havana. I remind myself that I’ve also seen an old Sherman Tank set up and displayed the same way in downtown Vancouver near their City Hall. Does that mean Canada is a super-militant society? So then, we are neither better, nor worse, nor any different than the Cubans in this respect. The need for them to mark and commemorate various historical conflicts is kind of significant for them. They would have more right to so than most other nations, because ever since this place was discovered more than five centuries ago it has always been marked as a token island to be seized, colonized, and controlled by several competing imperial powers with colonial expeditions with motives for expansion. It was a massive base for which to control the rest of the West Indies and other territories within and ashore of the Caribbean Sea. It was a Mecca for piracy. The British Empire was even in control of it briefly for 11 months during the age of colonialism. It just about became territory/state of The United States were it not the fact that after the Spanish- American War, the prize of Cuba was swapped for Florida with Spain in some diplomatic chess game in ceasing hostilities.


I honestly didn’t get a chance to engage with the Cubans on a deeper social level. I sure shocked a few: me being a person who is the same shade as any of the whitest Northern Europeans, and yet one who readily made some effort to converse with them in Castilian Spanish. As a general observation though, the Cuban people almost looked too relaxed and comfortably socially gregarious to give me any outward hint that they were somehow, or in some way, being oppressed. I would guess, at least for those who have no beef with communism, that they have resigned themselves to the attitude of taking life as it comes, or else they have it engrained in themselves to keeping what is good about their communities and relationships good, even with being taxed and challenged with some limited means to do so. The Latin American predilection of greeting each other with hugs and cheek kisses still holds strong there. Their culture is so lively with music, and there is a great art scene there; at least they have a great respect for the arts given by the large number of museums, parks, and monuments there dedicated to different artists, writers, and musicians from all corners of the world, not just strictly in Cuba. Certainly, there were signs of what we would term as poverty, and sure, many of them have some side hustles going on to help make ends meet. However, at the same time, along with that there seemed to be less people seated in the trappings and stresses of propagating and maintaining materialism, elitism, and classism. I really found myself wondering about what the consensus is in Cuba about thoughts, ideas or perceptions related to meritocracy, given that their doctors make close to the same salary as their bus drivers. Yes, there were people pitching and hocking wares in the street, magnetically attracting themselves to groups of tourists, but at least they were offering goods and services in some form. I only met one person who was actively begging/panhandling for money. In that instant, it was a young man who was afflicted with cerebral palsy, to a degree at which he was just barely ambulatory; not there struggling to nurse some sort of continual addiction. If this system was failing him somehow, or if there is some less enlightened treatment or acceptance of the disabled there, he certainly could have used the spare change.

If these people are poor in material wealth, they more than make up for it in being rich in personal character. I witnessed them being genuinely kind and helpful to each other, as well as to us as visiting foreigners. As I said, I took some initiative to speak Spanish with them (often to their surprise) as often as I could, despite risking some embarrassing errors, in trying to break the ice. I was hoping the effort would at the very least stave off any undue or unhelpful animosity, if there was any was directed at us, although that never seemed to be the case. This may have helped in a small way to smooth things over and open doors in creating some positive first impressions. However, I would like to think that they are just naturally hospitable to begin with, no matter what the state of our fluency was with their language. We never had any unpleasant interactions with any of them, except maybe with one shady-looking character trying to hustle us to buy some counterfeit cigars. After a three-minute engagement, and us repeatedly refusing, he wised up enough to know to stop persisting, and he moved on his way. It was rather benign compared to some other cases I’ve seen elsewhere. The Cubans we met, for the most part, were very down to earth people who did their best to resolve things. Being offered and given hugs by staff who have served you, as like what happened with us, is not a norm in any other country I’m aware of. The common people, the politics aside, are the ones who give this place it’s heart and the better vibe to it, which sadly is being ignored, unrecognized, and under-represented to most of the rest of the globe. It’s kind of the same thing that’s happening to those of the less ignorant, and more thoughtful and socially conscientious ilk of the American population now, who are unfortunately dealing with Trump being at the helm there.


The questions of feelings of personal safety will be put before me. Let me put it this way . . . I felt a lot safer in Cuba than I did in Venezuela, especially in western Venezuela, where the threat of me becoming kidnapped and made a hostage for ransom was an ever-present and very real danger. I would probably feel safer in Cuba than I would ever feel in the streets outside of the resorts in Mexico or other places in Central America, or in any town in the increasingly trigger-happy U.S.A. where the lines seem to be becoming blurred about where the bad-side-of-town actually is. Statistically, even walking by one of their high schools increases your odds sharply in becoming collateral damage from a mass shooting nowadays down there.* Hell, I would probably feel safer in Cuba than in some of the neighbourhoods in my own city at night.

The rest of what made the holiday notable is condensed to the list topics below:


Best Feature about Our Hotel (Varadero): I would say that it was its location relative to the rest of the rooms in the resort. We were assigned a room that was conveniently close to the beach, and far away from the noisier grandstand pavilion where the evening entertainment could have been too loud for us introverted sorts. I do have to recommend though that when searching for a hotel in Cuba, research the power outlet set up in the rooms of the place. You may need to bring an adapter to convert to 110V power if you are a Canadian traveler. We were initially assured that it we would have 110 voltage for our electronics but since the hotel we booked was part of a company from Spain, their power outlet format was actually 220V.  I neglected to be prudent enough to bring a voltage converter, but fortunately, we were accommodated and allowed to charge power supplies and cellphone batteries at the front desk, which luckily was equipped with a 110 V outlet.


Best Thing about Havana: The colonial Baroque architecture in the places surrounding the Capitol building was amazing to me, it all definitely exuded lots of charm and reflected the rich history of the city. The old part of the city of Havana is most definitely a UNESCO site; it probably was the first of the cities of the Americas to be designated as one. The more panoramic view of the city from the fortress of Tres Reyes was a bit occluded by grey skies on the day we toured, but still quite spectacular. If you dig the classic cars before the year 1959, you’ll love checking out the machines putting or roaring around Havana. Our only disappointment was not really getting enough time to stray away from the tour group and to explore the city a little more independently.

A stately looking capitol building . . .

Some old beaters that are chock full of vibrant colours.

Best Cuban Food: I’m a big fan of sausages, and I’m one of those freaky people who finds something like morcilla delightful. That’s the Spanish version of black pudding, or blood sausage. I also enjoyed the grilled chorizo they served as well. The fresh grilled fish they had available was also great. Some basic stuff was also very good, like the local cheese, and if you are lucky enough to get fresh Cuban bread before it rapidly goes stale in the humidity, that was a real treat as well. I will admit and warn others though that Cuban food doesn’t typically have that zesty piquancy and punch that Mexican food has. Cuba isn’t what I would call a culinary paradise if your tastes veer towards the spicy and exotic. It in fact leans a lot toward the bland side. We can say that it was at least safe to eat at the hotel we stayed at. I’ll be forgiving, and reason and speculate that years of shortages for staples and other basics, never mind spices, haven’t done any favours in letting the food scene grow, evolve, and flourish in this nation.


Best Cuban Drinks: The Cristal beer never disappointed. My sweetheart delighted herself with the piña coladas. We were taken on a horse-drawn carriage trip around the streets of Varadero, which pulled along side an outside bar in a park. The gentleman proprietor, obviously in cahoots with the tourist-drawing carriage guy, offered me the “best Mojito in Cuba”. He brought the drink, and I pulled out my money to pay him. “No, no”, he abruptly told me, “You don’t pay me unless you do really think that is the best Mojito in Cuba!” A sampled it, and breathed in its fresh minty aroma . . . I even could not lie for a free drink. It was indeed not just the best mojito in Cuba; it was the best mojito I ever had in my life, and I humbly forked over my money in gratitude.

Similar to the carriage we used; thankfully not an actual

car rental like the sign in the background denotes.

There were also “worst of” moments too about our trip that can’t be ignored; thankfully those were few, circumstantial, not really stemming from Cuba or its people, and can be summarized in singular topics. They go as such:

The Cold Front: Halfway through our stay there was a downturn in weather conditions. Do realize that the resort hotels of Varadero are situated on a peninsula that is jutting out directly into the Atlantic, where the sea water is a few degrees colder than that along the Southern Caribbean shore of Cuba. When the cold front arrived, it became rather cloudy at times, and the wind picked up in speed something nasty, and the surf was far too strong and choppy to swim in. We would have otherwise considered a snorkeling expedition or catamaran tour had that not happened.
  
Some Fellow Canadian Tourists: We are introverted people; we came for a peaceful reprieve from life. When we witness scenes of others of our own nationality becoming way too drunkenly boisterous and rudely loud, and too disinhibited with being disrespectful and obnoxious, always seemingly in a place where the sound carries too well, we absolutely hate it, as the mission for the peace we’ve been seeking vanishes. Not too many examples of this fortunately, but the instances of this happening that did occur were so pathetically outlandish on a singular level that it became something that made us feel ashamed to be from the same country as them. When I travel someplace, I want to tune into what life is like for the typical locals who dwell there: that is at least novel and potentially educational and interesting. I don’t want to know how much of a drunken, gluttonous asshole one of my fellow countrymen can devolve into in an all-inclusive resort.

The nice things that I can say about this lizard we found there: 

it was quiet and considerate enough to stay out of our happy

 place and has nice skin. Some qualities it had over the drunk
 old beeyatch from Toronto who sang loudly in the 
buffet hall on the first night we arrived.

The Russians: These guys are a special topic all on their own. I have met, and do know some Russians, but from only encountering ones who have moved here to Canada though to escape that place. Those ones have kind of settled and adapted to the vibe of our land, and after having had a long spell of living here, some of them have indeed learned to accommodate for a sense of humour and some cheerfulness. However, I have never met any Russians who have come straight fresh from the old motherland, after more than 14 hours of flying. Two or three lingering around together may have been intense enough, judging by the group ahead of us, but we sure as hell weren’t prepared for an onslaught of an entire jet liner full of them arriving at the same time as we did: all crowded and crammed up with us in the arrival terminal at Varadero Airport, waiting to get through passport inspection, which was already very chaotic and disorderly as it was. I don’t like to stereotype, but I couldn’t help but to think that I truly discovered just who the rudest people in the world are regarding queuing etiquette and behaviour. If their butting in line, not quieting down and paying attention to PA announcements (even ones in their own language), and not keeping pace with the flow of the line wasn’t bothersome and irritating enough, just for extra entertainment, a couple of Russian men, one being super-drunk, started actually brawling each other with fisticuffs in that very tightly packed space, totally oblivious to the crowded surroundings. Cuba is probably one of the few places left on the planet where Russians have some freedom to travel as vacationers**, and I got the sense that they don’t even seem to know how to do this very well.  The Russians around our hotel, despite having the wonderful weather to enjoy and the amazing ocean vista, seemed to all have their faces still frozen in some default stony expression of joyless stoic harshness. It was so prevalent that I could instantly identify them as Russians by their look on their faces before they even spoke. I don’t know whether it’s strangely comical, or pathetically sad: to see someone dressed up in a loud Hawaiian shirt and shorts on a tour bus with a look on his face with all the thrill and exuberance of someone next in line waiting for a colonoscopy exam. I gathered no real positive vibe coming from any of them at all; few, if any, made any effort at all to smile. To see a Russian smile. . .  I was convinced that the only way I was going to see a Russian’s smile was totally by accident: and in that case it would be like some instant when his back was turned to me, and his water-logged swimming trunks fell off as he was wading out of the surf. Not exactly jovial people those Russians. We met Germans there, who greeted us genially enough when I spoke to them. I could hear a group of Swedes on the beach, discussing in an almost organized, business-like manner their plans for the rest of the day, being somewhat anal about arranging times and scheduled events for some group consensus as I listened to them discuss all that stuff in Swedish, but at least they still looked relatively content, relaxed and joyful. No one could mistake or accuse the Quebecois folks there that they weren’t having a great time. The Russians though didn’t give me any hint that they were actually there to enjoy the place at all. In fact, they looked like they were quite unwilling to exchange greetings or engage with even their own countrymen/countrywomen. The families and couples there just seemed to stay isolated to themselves. I tried even to use some polite Russian words/phrases I know for greeting and passing around them (good morning, excuse me, please, thank you). All of them just seemed to react with either being taken aback and then becoming as instantly dismissive, or else they trudged right by me with no similar attempt at politeness, like I wasn’t to be acknowledged at all.  We luckily had a great mixture of other company, speaking as two people who weren’t really geared to engage with a lot of people to begin with. However, if we ended up being the only two Canadians planted amidst a resort totally full of nobody but Russians***, it would have been the most depressing tropical vacation I think anyone could possibly ever have.    

I veer back into dwelling on the positives again . . . 


Best Moment of Self-Discovery: One shouldn’t bother traveling unless one is willing to let it change oneself in some way for the better. I was grateful that I was still able to navigate around using Spanish with some competence, and relieved that I did not completely let it rust away in my head. I suppose also that knowing the inconveniences the average Cuban goes through daily, and yet still find it in themselves to have the fortitude be helpful to others gives them an admirable resilience. In knowing that, I’ll have this example to reflect on before I ever go on some tirade of complaints about social injustice and political things in this country, or else be more thankful that I have the freedom to do so if I ever do. It would be embarrassing, after that experience, to complain about any other minor inconvenience I have here and now in this land of freedom and abundance, that are really rather trivial in comparison to some of the things I’m sure which an average Cuban has to cope with frequently. Despite seeing all the snow from a recent blizzard that occurred and passed just before we arrived home, I came back feeling refreshed and thankful to call this place home. I’m very happy I got to spend our 2^nd anniversary together there during this time. 

I had to add this point latently. We should feel especially lucky that we managed to get away and return from this trip before any more inconveniences had arisen due to the Corvid-19 threat, which may hinder and restrict international travel from this point onward.


*None of the cities of Cuba appear on one list I found of the 50 Most Dangerous Cities in the World, most of which are situated in Latin America, in so-called democratic countries. The U.S.A. and its territories have 5 cities with this infamous distinction ranked on this list.


** ”Freedom to travel” doesn’t necessarily mean “being welcomed with open arms”. I was chatting with a guy who originally came from Poland, who was raised there during the Warsaw Pact Years, but now lives in Canada, who frequently holidays in Cuba and keeps his ear to the ground since he understands some Russian and has a good rapport with the Cubans. He has a good idea about how the Cubans and Russians interact. “The Cubans kind of hate and resent the Russians!”, he told me. “They [Russians] come to Cuba with some attitude of superiority and constantly treat the Cubans like some sort of underlings”. I didn’t see any of the Cuban staff actively hugging the Russians; that’s the only truthful input I have about my experience of watching these two peoples interact.

*** Maybe the Russians appeared so strangely dour to me in demeanor because we seem to be a world apart in actually feeling happy. According to the 2019 World Happiness Report, Canada ranks on this index as the 9th happiest nation on Earth, whereas Russia ranks in the much gloomier number 68 spot. The nations with lower rankings than that were usually extremely impoverished, or conflict zones, or both. This same report had neither any ranking, nor any data, for Cuba.   

5Q5A: A Sort of Homecoming

And you hunger for the time

Time to heal, desire, time
And your earth moves beneath
Your own dream landscape …

Lyrics from the song A Sort of Homecoming, from the album The Unforgettable Fire, by U2.

The holiday time that I’m . . . enduring, so far, could be a lot better. It feels like a time where I really need to do some soul-searching. Anger and other anxieties have eating me alive lately, and I’ve noticeably been struggling to keep my composure. Peace has been hard to come by. 

The holiday started well enough, with a return to my old hometown, being amidst the territory I was raised and grew up around. I have not returned to where I spent my boyhood and teen years for a long time, and it was a sobering realization of how long a lapse it has been after a visit there to reunite for a birthday party with my extended family who remain there. I don’t visit there as often as my other brothers, or parents do.

The home where I grew up in is gone, only stuff of dreams and memories remain, and the landscape has morphed in subtly different ways, but still so familiar. It was a shock, and yet a comfort, to know that I’m not completely estranged and alienated from the place, and that in some ways I am still quite bonded to it. Just because I’m from Saskatchewan doesn’t automatically make me a Prairieboy (I’d be rather insulted if you called me one), nor am I a bush dweller. I’m a Parkland boy. The geography of the place is the beltline in between the prairie and the boreal forest. It’s interspersed with sloughs, deciduous groves, pastures, fields, and lakes which are no more than 10 kilometers away from any homestead situated in that region. The place where I grew up was even more unique in that we lived near the coulees. Traveling through them around the south and west of the old farmstead was always soothing to my senses. Trekking through the pasturelands in the coulees, before more bears repopulated the places, was enjoyable too. The rest of this I’ll shorten with 5Q5A . . .

Q1. How tolerable is the Ex this year?

A1. Someone broke into my building and tore open the mailboxes. Mine was untouched, thankfully. That’s the most drastic thing that has happened so far crime-wise. I hope that’s the worse it ever gets. Monday and Tuesday were sleepless, and by Wednesday I was so drained that I fell asleep early, and couldn’t even be stirred awake by the fireworks. The Strumbellas play tonight at the grandstand, and I should at least enjoy that concert from afar here on my balcony.

Q2. Fiction Book?

A2. An old sci-fi classic, Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley. Knowing that Huxley was a respected colleague of his philosophical contemporary, Alan Watts, plus his experimentation with psychedelics and the curiosity as to how it impacted his prose composition was an angle that intrigued me to pick up this book. Feeling like I’ve been stuck in what seems like a dystopic atmosphere is probably another reason I’m giving it a perusal. It’s also to help draw out answers to that question of what my own personal form of ‘soma’ is: that mechanism or pattern I retreat to for coping with the insanity of this world. It's also significant because we've reached this point in history where it is technically possible to custom design people genetically. It’s next best novel to read after 1984 if dystopian philosophical classic science fiction turns one’s crank.

Q3. Non-Fiction Book?

A3. I haven’t gotten there yet. I’m just making it a point to regain some focus, so I’m just doing one thing at a time with intensified concentration. Writing like this is a good exercise for that too. I’m making it a point to avoid all forms of negativity, including watching the news . . . however . . .

Q4. Brad Wall announced his retirement today . . . thoughts on that?

A4. Mixed emotions, one being “Yeah! At long last!” with the reserve and caution of wondering how really buggered up things are going to be coming down the road, which he is tucking tail and running from, in order to distance himself further from whatever that is. It’s pessimistically suspicious, but that is what happens after working in healthcare and care facilities and living under the ridiculous dictates of this government for this long. It might be such that whoever takes over leadership in the Sask party may be even more incompetent, corrupt, and callous than he was. He claims that he has no immediate plans after he steps down. I don’t believe this for a second. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he automatically took an executive position with any one of the crony corporations he invited into this province through his anti-union privatization schemes shortly and soon after he steps down as premier.

Q5.  Next holiday at this time next year?

A5. As nice as homecomings are, I’m definitely getting out of this province. I don’t even care anymore if I have to go into debt to do it. One can’t expect stuff to change or be enlightening by doing the same thing over and over again; staycations apply to this as well. The political madness that might ensue after today might make it worth doing.

A Road Trip to 65 MYA

There should be no way that I should be disliking any of my vacation time; yet I have been. Four days passed into my stretch of time off, and I was finding it all pointless. The weather forecasts since Canada Day have been a 100% chance of cloudy/rainy suck-ass, as well as tornado watches in effect at times. Although I’ve been eating well, one can eat only eat so much, accounting for only a small fraction of a day. Medications disallow me from drinking the necessary volumes of booze that would actually put me in my happy place. I can only drink so much coffee at the coffeehouses that I feel very little need to frequent: just sitting there, watching other people brood about things has no entertainment value. I was becoming angered with getting interference from what are still work related calls over last weekend. I dipped into what is my all-too-massive personal syllabus of reading material (science and non-fiction mostly); I overdid it and consequently suffered too much eye strain from having my nose in too many books.

I spent most of the following Monday feeling wounded, the source of that being from having a dental appointment that morning. I didn’t have the sense to book a time outside of my vacation days. As per usual, the dental hygienist performing the cleaning service managed to poke at each and every special acupressure combination of nerve endings along my gingiva, which made me feel like I was being repeatedly struck in the face with a pick axe throughout the ordeal. A migraine ensued after and stayed with me for rest of the afternoon. More time wasted; not a good vacation day. I suppose it wasn’t enough to already feel like a luckless loser for the day. I went to the casino later in the evening to have it confirmed. I lost most of the small stakes that I thought acceptable to part with, and that time passed quickly. I realized then that I had to do something else with myself than handling kitchen knives, reading/screen-watching, or waving bye-bye to my hard-earned money at the slots and roulette table. I saw that another staycation was going to shove me into a pit of misery. Lunch with my friend on Tuesday gave me a little time to decompress as I examined my situation. I was made to see afterward that I have always been shirking travel off in the guise of being responsible. Another reason is that there isn’t much fun doing it alone anymore; or I’ve been hating my own company enough to the point where I am starting to bore myself: a symptom of something very wrong, I think. Whatever the case, I found myself really having to leave this town, badly.

I packed a few essentials; Ella happily joined me in the car. As I didn’t have any real plan, I chose to visit my folks first. If I got nothing else done, I would have at least spent some time with them. Wherever else I decided to go to, the Battlefords is not too far out of the way as a jump off point: a better one if going north was feasible, and an acceptable loss in highway time if I had to retrace any route back through and past home. I used Wednesday afternoon, watching the news and weather channels, formulating things. The process for narrowing down my destination decision was as such:

1.       The Weather Corridor – Forecasts for rain were for the north and east, and I was getting chased by funnel cloud warnings from the southeast. That left me with west or southwest if I wanted to find someplace without inclemency.

2.       Geographical Variation – the idea of a vacation is going to someplace that doesn’t look like home. Some people are content enough with walking into another room for a change of scenery. Other people, like me, need the entire landscape to change to feel like they’ve gotten away and escaped to someplace. That’s a tough deal when one has been an inhabitant in an area smack dab in the middle of the Canadian parkland/prairie . . . a region that’s so expansive. There is the Boreal forest, but as I said, weather wasn’t making going north an ideal choice, neither was my lack of camping gear. The next closest options for going southwest were: Cyprus Hills (with an elevation as high as that in Banff), or the Badlands. Next factor . . .

3.       My Six Hour Driving Radius – six hours in a crammed in a vehicle in a day seems to be my absolute limit. After that, I start having some adverse psychological effect from it, especially when I’m the one driving. If I have bad company with me as a follow passenger, then it’s triply worse. They risk being punched out and then abandoned in some ditch in the middle of nowhere if they exhibit too many marked signs of stupidity or impudent assholery for each and every minute approaching hour six, crammed in a vehicle with me. Life is short. I travel to see new places and experience new things; so sitting in a metal box (with toxic people), like a goddamned trapped rat, longer than necessary, is wasted time. The trip between Saskatoon and Calgary is an example of the longest one I can endure by car. If longer than that, then I fly; using only three hours or so to take me to places in this country much further away with less overall cost, hassle, and energy needed to attend to driving. I’ll happily spend more money to buy more time to stay off a road. The whole issue of me now being more prone to idiopathic thrombosis and blood-clotting makes the matter of prolonged periods sitting/immobility a more genuinely serious reason to avoid extra long of car rides. Cyprus and the Badlands fall within that six-hour radius from the Battlefords.

4.       An Act of Rebellion Against Ignorance – as I sat with my Dad, switching to the channel with Wheel of Fortune for him to watch (and Jeopardy for me after), I caught the last few minutes of the CBS nightly news which showed a story that disgusted me as a person who appreciates progress and education in science. I watched this story about some guy in Kentucky, who built a supposedly full scale replica of Noah’s Ark for an amusement site. It cost millions to get this thing made. The guy who founded this project is a self-proclaimed Creationist, who truly believes that the Earth is only 6000 years old or so, and that humans and dinosaurs co-existed together. He actually has models of dinosaurs penned up along with other contemporary species in this excessively ridiculous display. He, as an employer, actively discriminates by making the workers there sign some sort of “statement of faith” to prove that they are “Christian” enough to work there. He goes so far as to say that evolution is a “junk science”, and this crazy tacky spectacle is the length he is willing to go to refute and take a stand against it. You may just say “pshaw . . . whatever, it’s just a goofy spectacle”. I would agree too if it weren’t for another crazy issue about this damn stupid boat. The most disturbing issue of it for me was that some of the millions that he used to build this wretched monstrosity actually came directly from the state government of Kentucky itself, i.e. the Kentucky taxpayers were pitching in a fortune to have this idiotic thing built. It’s bad enough seeing that Kentucky is regarded as being one of those have-not states in the USA and suffering for it, with fewer resources for better healthcare, and an adequate education system*. To see this kind of insane amount of money (in the high tens of millions) being squandered away by their state government to sponsor the creation of something that takes away from science education and promotes more ignorance to suit the whim of a lobby of biblical-literalist right wing nut jobs** goes far beyond obscene in my mind. How did this guy manage to con some government official to permit him access to this kind of money for such a moronic endeavour? I admit to having some moments of a fantasy after I saw that story - it was that of Neil Degrasse Tyson himself, going over there to pop a cap in the ass of this ignorant bastard perpetuating this nonsense. Thinking about Richard Dawkins storming over to this ark thing, and then beating seven shades of shit out of this fundamentalist huckster with one of the limbs torn off of the animatronic Noah mannequin was an entertaining visualization too. It helped, in a way, to settle the question as to where I was going to go then for my holiday for my narrowed down options. I chose to take a stand! I’d then make a pilgrimage to the Badlands to use my tourist dollars to support science. So, Drumheller ended up becoming my chosen destination.

I heeded my Mom’s advice. She told that I really needed to take some time for myself. It meant surrendering the dog to her care as I went on this trip: so I had one less thing to tend to, and fewer problems, like finding lodgings that take pets. My car stereo quit working, meaning that I had no tunes, or CBC radio to occupy my mind as I drove for so long. I was a sort of on a true pilgrimage: just me, without my dog, driving for a long time, no distractions, being alone with my own thoughts. Stray thoughts slipped into my mind about those of whom I’d love to have riding shotgun with me on such a venture. I thought about where I would go to in the US if I ever took a spontaneous turn to head to the border (that is, if I hadn’t procrastinated and gotten a valid passport). Given the current political mayhem going on down there, the current currency exchange rate, the obscene amount of (recent) gun violence, and the reflection about the types of mindsets I’d be dealing with, like those who would allow and support something like the bizarro Noah’s ark down in Kentucky, any curiosity about finding anything interesting to do in the states extinguished pretty quickly. Those same reasons I just gave for not heading over the border maybe are the same ones as to why I saw so many vehicles with American license plates around where I was touring.

I went to Drumheller a couple times before in my life: once as a kid who was awestruck with dinosaurs, and again as a twenty-something with university classes in zoology still fresh in my head to make me appreciate the experience even more. Now, with a little more life wisdom and knowledge at this stage of life, and some more conscientiousness of how to put big concepts in a whole new perspective, I thought it would do me well to see the place again before I become a fossil myself. Given the things I said before, what else can a nerd who is travelling alone with limited time really do?

I eventually made it there, and after touring the Royal Tyrrell Museum, and scrambling around the Hoo Doos for a while, I went to the first hotel I could find – more accurately, I went to the first hotel I spotted that didn’t look like it was slapped together with pieces of flotsam from a shipwreck. I passed by three other places that fit such a description. This place was a short walking distance from a place that sold cold off-sale beer - a nice bonus. I managed to claim the last of the vacant rooms there. I was given a whole room with two double queen beds. I guess, to the clerk, I looked like the sort that rolls around a lot. I discover that the day after was an event called the Passion Play of the Badlands, happening the next day: apparently, it is an affair that attracts more fundamentalist types from all over the continent, and such goers to this sort of thing snapped up most of the rooms. Aw Shit! Religious nuts to contend with?! I couldn’t help but to be bewildered by the irony of it all: a place with the richest bed of fossil evidence of dinosaurs in Canada, confirming their existence and extinction 65 million years ago, scientifically proving the workings of evolution; being swarmed by a clique of religious people, many of whom still believing in this myth of creationism, like that knob in Kentucky. They probably show this religious theatrical production here, just because out of all the places in Canada, this one perhaps has what looks most like the natural scenery of Golgotha of ancient Judea.

I couldn’t stay to be bothered by all this to witness how cheesy and tacky it would all be. I thought about proceeding to Calgary, but then realized that the Stampede starts the day after. I wouldn’t have had a hope in hell of finding a hotel room. Just as well, because my time wasn’t going to be used mingling around in a place celebrating country music and cowboy/rodeo culture***. I spent what little time I had left wandering the hills in the early morning, contemplating and meditating: about the massive explosions of both life and death that occurred here, captured in the layers of sandstone throughout this valley that act as chapters of a book capturing the history of all life on Earth in this region for many aeons. I thought about how I wouldn’t even have been here to witness all this if it weren’t for an asteroid wiping out these monstrous creatures 65 million years ago. If that rock was even a small percentage larger, the likelihood of any life existing on this planet today would be zero. The intricacies of cause and effect being quite overwhelming, as I sat on those rocks, thinking about courses of natural selection and what comes about for each beings’ evolution. All this was pondered, plus a great myriad of other things involving the natural catastrophes involving extinction . . . that are a hell of a lot more interesting and rational than some story of a flood and an old dude on a big boat full of animals.

I returned back to the Battlefords after another long drive. I was happily greeted by my own little dinosaur who was missing me: attacked with eager kisses from the Ellabooboosaurus. I stayed long enough for a reprieve from driving, and helped to do some DIY electrical work installing new fixtures in my folks’ home. I returned to my own place later that evening, happy to use my own bed.

More holiday time is due to me in August, and I’m debating whether or not it will be worth booking a flight somewhere east (if there are any cheap enough); it would be a thing I genuinely would like company for though. The places I have in mind are walking and bike tour intensive.

*- I found an infographic recently on Mental Floss, which compared the education level of each state in the USA which similarly corresponded to the level of education with a world nation on the United Nations Development Index. Kentucky's education level was most similar to that of Honduras.

**- I’m not bashing all religious acts. Pray if you like to: if that, or meditation, really gives you a centred mindset for empowering yourself to do better for yourself and others, I’ll even encourage you to do such things. It all costs nothing to do, and it’s harmless while you are sitting there still and silent doing it. However, when huge sums of government money are being used for propagating mythology as fact, instead of fostering true science education, and being diverted away from more socially valuable “Christian” ways of helping people, like for instance, supporting and equipping care homes for the elderly, sick, and disabled, it obviously becomes an evident problem for everyone. I guess there is no such thing as separation of Church and state down in Kentucky.

***- Some people want to relive the bloody Wild West. I believe in living in a progressive, civilized, and educated one, if you haven’t figured that out already.

The Dream Circuits

I awoke this morning to find that a super-rink appeared overnight in front of the building, extending down a couple of blocks. I first guessed that it was a water main break, but seeing the sheer volume, and the evidence of pressure for such coverage and the characteristics of the ice, I'm now figuring that perhaps a fire hydrant line burst open instead. No water restriction notices or advisories have been issued as of yet, so I'm reckoning (and hoping) the main line wasn't actually affected. The large of piles of remaining snow in front of the building from last Saturday's gong show were saturated and now frozen hard. The sidewalks around the front and sides are now slicked up with a sheet of ice that is about eight centimeters thick. I suppose the "blessing" of having the huge dump of snow earlier on Saturday was that it managed to block/dam the water, and the deeper ruts on the street helped to channel the water away from flowing into the lower parkade. The drainage below there wouldn't have been able to handle this type of inundation. If it froze down there in the sub -30 temperatures from last night, there could have been a fresh new hell to deal with.
 
This new glacier around the building adds a greater burden to spirits that are already bogged down enough by this bleak and miserable winter that has long outstayed its welcome. The extra shoveling at work and home, and even just the tension from bracing oneself while cautiously traversing the deep snow and now the ice, has stricken me with some new pains and soreness. This has all dissuaded me from trying out a morning run out there like my original plan was. However, in my mind I was still set and geared for it. Rather than confront this new obstacle and wallowing in disappointment, I turned toward some fantasy thoughts in my richer inner life. I was considering all the international marathon races that I would like to try out. Here is the list of options I made as the ones that I would like to participate in; if not for this year, then maybe I'd be in shape and better able to partake in any one of these (if any are annual) in 2016.

Race: Rock n' Roll Raleigh Marathon - Raleigh, NC, USA
Date: April 12th, 2015
Distance: Half Marathon
Reason/Attraction/Significance: It's simply because anything pitched with Rock n' Roll in the title has to be fun. I would guess the weather in Raleigh in April would be close to the same as what it would be here at the end of May when the Saskatchewan Marathon is, thus endurable. It would be a low-key event I'm sure, and not so competitive. It would be a nice beginner marathon for the year. It would be also great to have the chance see a family member living there. While there, I think I'd like to check out the Pirate Museum which I believe is also there. It would be my international half-marathon that would be closest to home.


Race: The Midnight Sun Run - Iceland
Date: June 23rd, 2015
Distance: Half-Marathon
Reason/Attraction/Significance: Iceland is the closest non-continental nation to home* and it wouldn't be right not to explore it a little more. I believe the registration is closed for this one already; it would be one to consider for 2016. The physical challenge and interest in this one would be to see how well my circadian rhythm and the constitution of my running self would be able to handle a 24 hour period of daylight at that latitude. There is no place in Canada where I would want to be that far north given the lack of some conveniences. Iceland would be more civilized to say the least. There would be a certain sense of satisfaction in proving myself as a tough old bugger if I could compete and keep up with people who are for the most part the direct decedents of Vikings. 
 
Race: The Wellington Marathon - New Zealand
Date: July 5th, 2015
Distance: 10 km
Reason/Attraction/Significance: It would be technically my first "winter" race (it will be in that hemisphere at that time of the year) if I were to do this one. Being that it would be the furthest location from home, jetlag would be the major impedance to performance, so a 10 km race would be long enough. Having an Anglophone culture there is convenient, and as it's a lesser opted for tourist destination, it makes it attractive in being perhaps reasonably unspoiled.

Race: The Stockholm Half Marathon - Sweden
Date: September 12th, 2015
Distance: Half Marathon
Reason/Attraction/Significance: As I said before, Sweden would be the first nation I would probably move to if I couldn't live in Canada anymore. I would consider this a perfect birthday present to myself. However, it would also be the most expensive place to travel to. Running through the beautiful city of Stockholm would probably actually be the cheapest way to tour it. What would I do after this race? Probably have a genuine Swedish massage.

Race: The BMW Berlin Marathon - Germany
Date: September 27th, 2015
Distance: Half Marathon
Reason/Attraction/Significance: If I were still in Europe after Stockholm, I would hope that this would be enough time to recover for this next go around. I would hope that the course there would be such that one could see Berlin on both sides of where the former wall would have been, and see how much change there would have been since then. The perfect post-run treat would be heading out to a good old traditional beer hall.

Race: Tamarindo Beach Marathon - Costa Rica
Date: September 12th, 2015
Distance: 10 km
Reason/Attraction/Significance: Should Stockholm not be an option, a cheaper destination may be here. Being that it's tropical, I would most likely dial it back to only 10 kilometers. The attraction of it is that I have contacts there already who could give me insights on things that are off the beaten path and yet safe to tour.

Race: The Dublin Marathon - Ireland
Date: October 26th, 2015
Distance: Half Marathon
Reason/Attraction/Significance: This is probably the most feasible one to register and attend out of all these I've posted so far. If I have the medical all clear in May, the amount of training time I  would need will coincide perfectly for this one. If I live through it, an intimate tour of the Guinness brewery would be my number one priority to clear off the bucket list.

*- Actually, I just realized that the closest nation to Canada after the US is not Iceland. Technically, it's France, or rather French possessions. The islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon are just off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, and are principalities of the Republic of France. They are within our territorial waters, so then maybe that makes the US actually the second closest national neighbour. Then there is Greenland to consider, which is a possession of Denmark, and is only 50 km or so from Ellesmere Island, and they are actually attached by ice to each other for part of the year. Svalbard Island, belonging to Norway, is close too if you readjust your perspective. I suppose to be more accurate, Iceland is perhaps the second closest landmass that is a fully autonomous self-governing nation neighbouring Canada after the US, but then again, our distance from mainland Russia across the Arctic Ocean is probably a lot closer than we think. Things always get weird when contemplating the geographies of the Polar regions, because we generally hold the Mercator projection in our heads when we think of the world map, which greatly distorts landmass size and distance. Given that, I can easily forgive myself if I'm wrong this time. I imagine that I already opened a can of worms of debate for any of the readers who take this kind of shit seriously. I would consider it a job well done if my question ends up starting a couple of bar fights out there somewhere. Maybe Google Earth will help straighten things out later.

Hacking German/Deutsch Sprachehackung

 It's the first day of August. I can't believe how quickly summer is drifting by. This morning is calm and cool, but I expect 33 degree heat later today, and a thunderstorm by the late afternoon or evening. I hope I'm wrong about that. I have been learning some more German vocabulary and grammar for about 12 consecutive days now, using around 10 to 15 minutes per lesson.

Es ist der erste Tag des August. Ich kann glauben nicht wie schell der Sommer vorbei. An diesem Morgen, die Wetter ist sehr ruhig und stille, aber ich erwarte 33 Grad für Hitze später Heute im Nachmittag oder Abend, mit ein Sturm möglich. Hoffentlich, wird das nicht so sein. Für über zwölf Tagen, ich hatte mehr Deutsch Sprache gelernt. Ich arbeite für nur 10 oder 15 Minuten jede Lektion für mehr Vokabular und Grammatik zu lernen. Das ist genug jetzt. Zu schreiben mehr in Deutsch, muss ich mehr Kaffee (oder Bier) zu trinken.

So, why another language, specifically German? My outlined answers are as follows:

1. The obvious mission – I still want to travel to Europe someday, and it only makes sense to learn that which is most commonly spoken there as the primary and secondary language. Putting that together with my English and the French and Spanish I know, and I should be able navigate around most of Western, Northern, and Central parts of that continent well enough. One could be a hopeless dork and be confined to traveling around with a tour group full of complainers who can't think outside the box (my idea of hell) who wouldn't dare to speak a word of any other language of the visited nation, and not discover anything really different from what could already be found in a guidebook. I prefer doing the total opposite and going rogue: being like a Jason Bourne and heading off the beaten path; operating independently. To do this, knowing at least the bare essentials of more than one locally spoken language is a must.
2. To make learning the "cousin" languages easier – There are the other languages of the other nations I want to visit along Northern Europe (Dutch, Frisian, Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian) in the same Germanic linguistic family that share a lot of the same cognates found in either English or German. Having this other German dataset should (in theory) make learning these additional regional languages easier just as knowing French, a Latin born language, made it easier for me to pick up on Spanish. Learning the complex forms of case articles, three forms of grammatical gender, and different word order would temper me up better if I really wanted to learn something even more complicated in depth like Russian or Ukrainian.
3. Cognitive Improvement – Studies are showing more and more that learning new creative skills, adapting to novelty, and solving puzzles (without too much stress) and testing the working memory are the best things that can be done for stimulating the brain enough to ward off things like dementia and Alzheimer's disease. Learning a foreign language covers all these bases. It's a cheap form of prevention that I can do now that may keep me from suffering hard later. I take the issue of preventing geriatric mental illness a little more seriously than most. It's because I currently don't (and possibly wouldn't) have a trusted life-partner around to take care of me if ever I should become chronically ill, or ever need help to guide me along if ever my mental gears started slipping due to anything age-related in the future. I've worked long enough in health care to see what the real personal and social costs of cognitive impairment are, and how I don't ever want to be rendered into some zombie-like, dementia-stricken elder with no grasp on reality, or left at that the mercy of a system whose only answer to deal with you in such a state is to over-medicate you and shut you away. My inspiration came from hearing about a lady who was in her nineties who was still learning other languages, and she was still very cogent and bright during her interview.
4. It ultimately helps me to speak my own language better (or at least makes me recognize the ways I use it poorly) – when I stepped outside my box to learn Spanish years ago, it struck me as to how badly I use the subjunctive tense in English when I compared the two languages. Learning German now helps me to clearly see the functional difference between accusative and dative cases as it is so much more necessary to be aware of using them precisely when speaking German, which I wouldn't have learned as readily or adequately if it was explained to me in an English lesson.
5. To fit my idea of personal betterment – when I take into account the most interesting people that I've ever met in my life that I had the pleasure to engage in amazing conversations with, they had mostly these characteristics: they were bright, but in a way that had nothing to do with the number of years they spent in University, they were "richer" people, but it had nothing to do with the measure of the material wealth that they had, some were less well off than me. The one overlapping element they all had in common, which I believe made them bright and "rich" with experience, was the fact that they all could speak more than two languages, which effectively made them wiser with a grander world view of things. To learn another language automatically puts you in the place of having to find another way of thinking or perceiving things. I find myself envying those who are able to think and dream in more than one language, I think that's a fantastic mental talent to have. I'm hopelessly inconvenienced with only being able to think and dream in English. To be able to speak another language or two fluently really is hard to do without a reasonable amount of social intelligence: another enviable quality to have, which is probably what made those other people's company so enjoyable. German's distinction in the role of human betterment, despite having a relatively small number of worldwide speakers compared to Chinese, Russian, Hindi, Arabic, and English, is that it's the second most used language for scientific publications. Using time to learn another language is the only time when I feel like my brain is actually growing, unlike other times when I'm just passively absorbing and then regurgitating other trivial stuff.
6. It forces me to become a better listener – something that I wish all people could learn how to do better (myself included).
7. Because learning another language is becoming cheaper and easier to do than ever – thanks to cross-comparing my ability with apps like Google Translate, and Duolingo, I can drill and test myself at my own pace.
8. A 30 day program project - It also all part of a 30 day program to see how much I'm able to learn, and to test my ability to commit to it that long. Learning German is challenging enough to force me to re-think things and to be transformational, and yet harmless enough that if I fail at it the consequences won't be too harsh.
9. I'll learn something that won't go obsolete – the only things that I feel I learned in school that have never escaped me and served me most practically were basic mathematics and the ability to tactfully and correctly use language, which is useful in a highly technical world for. . .
10. Building programming competence and confidence – making an effort to understand something which would ordinarily look and sound like garble to you and then putting into some functional and logical order to get something done is the very essence of computer programming. I strongly believe that you have to have some proficiency with practicing this with human languages first before you can even apply it into controlling something as stupid as a box full of silicon chips.

I'm doubtful that I'll ever learn enough German to be fluent enough to understand the great intellects like Goethe, Thomas Mann, or Einstein; to read their actual thoughts in their own words. That's not my ultimate mission. I just hope to know enough to be understood when I need to make requests, or ask for directions. If I re-translated my little composition above, I'm sure I'll find glaring mistakes. The case articles and genders are the hardest things for me to understand as an Anglophone learning German, but I'm trying. I'll see if and how I'll improve after the 30 days has past. 

Sabbatical Ending/National Holidays/Luggage Flags

Canada Day came and passed rather uneventfully. I worked that day, and I didn't partake in any of the local festivities. I arrived home in time in the evening to watch the dog dash under the furniture with fright once the fireworks stared blasting from close by Diefenbacher Park. The park bustled with a lot more noise and people than usual for the occasion due to the fact that the holiday fell midweek this year, limiting time for most folks to head up to cabin country or camp at the northern lakes. Travel out of town to places south and east of here was made difficult and limited due to the flooding disaster there, so more people were compelled to stay in town and gathered around here. It's Friday today, and I've noticed people packing up their picnic coolers and camping gear to escape the city for the weekend. Since Canada Day is also the official start of the next six months of the year, it's also a day where some reflection and reckoning is done, and a mark to use as a reset point whenever I feel I veered too far away from some ambitions and other things that I had resolved to do back in January.

Fitness climbs back into place as the number one priority. I've been noting that I'm probably at least seven kilograms* heavier than I was at this same time in the season last year. I was also noticing from glancing in the mirror how sickly I'm looking. The rainy month of June has left my legs and torso, which are usually fully tanned by late April or early May, looking too freakishly white, like I was rolling around in flour. The lack of vitamin D for so long would also explain why it has been so hard to bounce back from my lack of resilience lately. So, I decided to end my sabbatical from running. It has been five weeks since I last ran. I probably would have ended it sooner had it not been for the fact that I gibbled up my knee a while ago. Maybe it's still a bit premature to get back into it considering that, but I'm desperate. I picked the wrong day, and time of the day, to hit the trails too. It reached up to a 36 degree humidex reading by the time I got back in from doing it today. I somehow survived the almost 6 km trot. Today's sweaty spell in the heat and humidity maybe did a lot to finally reset my metabolism closer to its normal summertime mode. Today was the first time I actually used the air conditioner in my suite for the year. I'm now indulging in the long lost simple pleasures of listening to music, and of course, writing. I don't have any energy left for much else.
I've also been dwelling on the East Coast weather for the whole continent, as I have a couple of cousins who live in the path of Hurricane Arthur in their respective regions. Between that, and the recent flooding southeast of here, any complaint I have about the humidity earlier today here is trivial in comparison. After following a thread from the one living in North Carolina, who is experiencing the American Fourth of July holiday, her comments about it made me pause for thought about how different each of the cultures are about celebrating nationhood. It's a bit helpful for giving me a base for an explanation to my foreign reader(s) who put forth the question to me as to what I thought were the differences between Americans and Canadians. Since our respective national holidays are so close together, I thought I would entertain the question. I still don't know if I could comment fairly, but I'll try. 

Of all my wishes to travel, the curiosity to go to the states and see what was involved in a Fourth of July celebration has never really been there. I'm very uncomfortable being around and amid rallies where brazen displays of patriotism are everywhere, like the way the Americans seem to prefer to do it. It seems like there is more noise and spectacle involved to try to sell the idea to people that America is such a great place to live in. It's just not done the same way here in Canada, or it is at least not done here to the same degree. Here, you are permitted to just quiet down and be more reflective and appreciative of what you have and who you are for living in this nation. More people here tend to opt for being around someplace peaceful, like a park or around nature for that; not marching around in a noisy parade down Main Street. It's just a general opinion of mine, without an intent to stereotype. There are probably a lot of Americans who do prefer a quieter and more low-key holiday.

Just because I'm not appreciative of the American manner of celebrating nationhood doesn't automatically mean that I'm completely spiteful toward Americans, but it brings to light the whole issue regarding national pride that makes me mindful of the kinds of Americans that I really do dislike, and how they offend me as a Canadian. One example is in regards to "flag abuse". It's when those "proud Americans" who travel abroad**, the kind of really overly-patriotic ones who aggressively and obnoxiously tout how great and wonderful their country is while belittling the other cultures they are visiting, the ones who even go out of their way to do their own bit of Canada-bashing, but yet have no qualms about usurping the Canadian flag to sew and tag on their luggage in hopes to avoid getting swindled, assaulted, insulted, and ignored for service. Goddamned hypocrites! One minute, such people are ready to verbally piss on our heads, and then the next they are willing to use our flag like some sort a get-out-of-jail-free card in Monopoly when shit hits the fan. Sadly, such people usually do inevitably attract a lot of negative attention. When they use our flag, and yet continue to behave boorishly, arrogantly, and ignorantly to other people of other nations, that is a problem for me. It's like a less-criminal, but just as disrespectful, form of identity theft; it's because they actively misrepresent what Canada really is, all because of our flag being on some stupid and rude American's backpack. I'll admit that we as Canadians aren't all 100% polite and worldly people, but we certainly don't need to be giving the rest of the world the impression that we are actively adopting more of these sorts as our own, as if we have some sort of commitment or obligation to fill our national "asshole per capita" quota for the tourism industry. If I ever get on with pursuing any future dreams of traveling abroad, I really hope that I'll arrive at places serving North American tourists that have enough savvy for distinguishing the difference between the real Canadian tourists and the posers. I really wish and hope that I won't need to play the game of having to wear my nation's flag on my gear just to be treated respectfully. It shouldn't have to come down to all of that when you make an effort to behave with civility to begin with.

*- I'm noticing that when I gain weight I tend to use metric, and then switch to pounds when I start shedding it. Probably because the number for the gain is then smaller than that of the pounds lost. One of the more creative ways I choose to delude myself.
** - Again, not to generalize. Not all Americans are "bad" tourists. I feel sorry for the "good" ones who are automatically cast into this stereotype and preyed upon.

Shuffling Around Stuff, B&B Travel Loner Style

Wednesday, December 18^th, 2013

The temperature has been dropping since the moon became full yesterday. I just wandered in from walking the dog after work tonight in the -39 wind chill. What the evening sky lacked in yielding any warmth outside it made up for in shining down beauty. It was worth it to trek around out there to watch the northern lights as they rippled and unfurled overhead; even given the brightness of the moon, they still shone brilliantly. I'm back in now and just relaxing; sipping one of my homebrewed amber ales, and comforting myself with some pre-solstice/yuletide fireside ambience. I have no desire to rot the rest of my mind away watching television. This moment is the first time I've felt close to what I would call comfort in a long time, but I'm still restless enough to do some writing.

Through helping a friend with a home project recently, and with sensing the walls closing in around me, I was spurred on to do my own bit of home space management with rearranging some furniture in my living room. I'm satisfied with it, but since I moved the chesterfield, the dog has been moping around, and giving me the stink eye for eliminating her cozy hiding "burrow" in my living room. My friend's project, my own desperate need for a change in scenery, and the recent need to accommodate a bedroom for my visiting mother prompted me to explore Airbnb* for possible lodging options for my own affordable vacation, which I will hopefully have some day. It seems to be the best option to use when travelling solo, and going off the beaten path, which is what I prefer doing. There is no time left to waste waiting for Ms. Right to come along to share such an adventure with me. I'd have more freedom without a cohort anyway, plus through using this service I'd bypass the ridiculous "double occupancy" stipulations in which stupid travel agencies use in their packages to discriminate against single people by denying them the same discounts, or sometimes even raising the rates for a single occupant. It's like the world unjustly puts sanctions against a person for daring to have enough wits and independence to opt for being solitary. It has become sickening and tiresome for a person like me** being dictated to, judged by, and controlled by a bunch of loner-haters.

If things really were to work out perfectly, I'd get the money to do all this from the other thing I've been trying for each early part of January for the past three years: registering online for the opportunity for making some serious cash with all the free-floating trivia rattling around in my skull; the opportunity to make all this useless information useful. However, I won't hold my breath for that to happen.

Saturday, December 21^st, 2013

Winter Solstice Day. Denial has escaped me, and has been replaced by a dreadful realization that I've done absolutely no Christmas shopping. Also, I'm behind on the commitment of cooking treats for a party I'm to help prepare for, and that I'll have to creep out there amongst the teeming hordes before I head to work. What's really going to scramble shit up is knowing that I'm doing a night shift on Monday, so efficient use of waking hours will be compromised.

*- My friend's mission was to furnish and post a bedroom space for rent for this site. I'm regretting now that neither my own suite's dimensions, nor my condo's regulations can accommodate for a possibility of making a profit through hosting. I would present a photo of my own recent re-arrangement, but for some reason the upload function isn't working.

**- Yes, I classify myself as a loner; I prefer it that way, and I'm not at all ashamed of it. My problem is the attitude of others who won't accept that, or with those who automatically presume that I have the worst traits that they imagine loners having; thus it doesn't make me anymore willing to hang around such people as these. The other reason I keep a blog is to periodically present some sort of 'proof of life' to those who know me well enough, but whom I rarely get a chance to see on a frequent basis. Despite having a job that demands a relatively higher level of interpersonal engagement, my actual reserve of social energy is very limited. By the time I get home, I'm thoroughly drained and 'all peopled out'. If you really want to accurately know why I get along so well with the friends I do have (who are also fellow loners), plus my general attitudes to partnerships, love and sex, travel and leisure, read the book, Party of One: a Loners' Manifesto by Anneli Rufus.

My View on Roadtripping

I attended a family wedding this past weekend. It was a good trip for the most part. Though I was under-prepared for the cooler than seasonal night up there, I managed. It was good to see many of my relatives again; I just wish I was better adapted for this sort of social environment. I don't have a physical problem with my hearing; but I don't know if it is because I'm just getting older, or because I'm too accustomed to a more introverted lifestyle: I find myself having a brain that's more diminished in capability in filtering out multiple conversations; so being in a crowded, noisy community hall is sensory overload for me.

I was also invited to another family member's wedding in Banff in late August of this year. Sadly and regretfully, I won't be able to attend that one. I do like Banff; I've been there three times already, but the last time was there was around 20 years ago. Thinking back for each of those times, it was a miracle that I've made it in and out of there with the less than road-worthy vehicles I had to use at those times. This subject, plus reviewing my last entry, prompted me to think about making road trips within this country, as some more holiday time is coming my way. As like with many Canadians, I am one who has been blissfully ignorant about just how huge our country is in comparison to others, and just how skewed our notions are about what 'big' and 'small', or 'near' and 'far', are in terms of distance and scale in relation to those preconceptions from those of other nations; and what we consider is 'normal' for our needs/challenges to travel around, even just within our respective home provinces.* I was doing this after reviewing the time, distance I covered, and the amount of fuel I used, just to go the destination of this last wedding, which was within the province. I was further sobered up to this fact upon realizing through another conversation that the province of Saskatchewan alone is about 15 times the size of Denmark. I'm imagining that the whole scene of the sparseness of our population, distances between towns, and the expense of some rail and air fares for even trips within this country that are greater than some international flights, must appear so grossly inefficient to someone from someplace within, let's say, western Europe when it comes to the subject of travel.

I'm coming around to really disliking long road trips for the sake vacationing now, especially given that the price of fuel is constantly rising. If I have to do more than six or seven hours of driving just to arrive at one destination then I'd rather just fly. It's the fact that you start off (from here) with having to go a ridiculously long way just to get out of territory and scenery that you are already familiar with. The only advantage of it is that you can drive through it relatively quickly, but it still makes for a long drive. I would dread having to live any further south of here. I'm at an age and a place where I pretty much got the general concept of what prairie looks like, and driving through it more doesn't make it look any more exciting or appealing. To put it in perspective for the benefit of my international readers: from my city, you have to drive through what amounts to half the length of England just to escape prairieland, before you just start touching the closest fringe of what is the decent natural parkland and woodland north of here. It may have been OK to do back in the days of my youth, but for me now, it just sums up to more wasted time on the road. I would probably have a different attitude altogether if I were touring another continent with a sparse population on the road, like Australia, because that would be a totally different place I've never seen before. Then again, I would tire quickly of it if it were desert land I was traversing.

I've come to realize that each day I'm allotted less and less time on this Earth, so when I am lucky enough to get time off, I want to get wherever I want to go as soon as I can, and spend less of that time staring down a highway lane and driving. I have only three days to use of my five days off**, and a drive within my six hour radius/comfort zone doesn't really bring me close to anyplace I really want to explore in depth. A sore knee, neck, and back is making tenting and sleeping on the ground up in the bush country not too appealing, as I am trying to recover again for marathon training. Like with the last stint of time off, I might have to be content with creating an adventure at home.

*- And vice versa . . . I heard more than one story of various people in this province who've had guests arriving (I've heard from Holland, Switzerland, Greece, Australia, Hong Kong, and even the United States) who landed in Toronto or Vancouver, and were expecting their friends or relatives to meet them there in something like a couple hours to greet them. Rule # 1 of travel: LEARN SOME FUCKIN' GEOGRAPHY!

**-Two claimed by other appointments.

Vacation Day 5: Thoughts On Travel

I had a bit of a road trip to the Battlefords, about 135 kilometers northwest of here: to visit my folks yesterday afternoon. I arrived home today, to an alert of a tornado warning for this area. Thankfully, it remained just a warning, which ended mid-afternoon without incident.

As I left my parents' place this morning, I did my Dad a favour, and took a parcel of his of some stuff that he needed to return to a local business here in Saskatoon. My Mom called them earlier to notify them that I was bringing it to them. When I arrived back to my city, I parked my car at home and took the package to downtown on my bike to avoid the lunch hour traffic and parking fees. When I got to the business, I entered wearing my bike helmet and backpack. I then pulled out the package, stating that I brought it to them for my Dad from North Battleford. The receptionist looked at me with astonishment, and then asked me if I actually came all the way from the Battlefords on my bike. For an instant, I didn't know whether to be shocked at her stupidity for making such an assumption, or to be flattered that she thought I really was that physically fit, and had such a superpower of being able to pedal that much distance, within two hours, on a bike.

Getting away for the day was OK, but I really need to be away from here longer, at a totally different environment than what is already familiar to me. But then, that fundamental question strikes me: that being "Why, do I need to travel? I don't know if I have a concise answer for that question, but I found some very poignant commentary surrounding that question in an entry from Tim Ferriss' blog, which makes a lot of sense.

I find it no small coincidence that the English word travel , i.e. 'going from place to place', stems from the same Latin root word that means 'to work' or 'toil', as used in the case of French and Spanish (travail and trabajo, respectively).  Travel can be toil, especially if you have the wrong company. In the past, when forced to travel in groups, I got tired quickly of people who will try to drag me around to places that disinterest me, yet are too bloody lazy, ignorant or stupid to know how to compose a simple four word phrase in another language to order a drink, or give directions to a cabbie . . . that somehow always turned out to be my job. They got to satisfy their agenda, while I was stuck at that spot, deprived of making my own experience worthwhile. I make it a point to travel alone now, however, that still doesn't help things much. In my mind, for me as a single traveler, most travel agencies and tourist services even make it worse by:

• many rates are based on double occupancy, that can get more expensive for single occupants.
• packages are sold for resorts and tourist traps
• tourists are herded into groups and often isolated from the rest of the population
• tour groups are often put through "itinerary overload", hauled around on a bus to see a thousand points of interest in 16 hours

There are even more points of contention to mention, but these ones here alone most strongly dissuade me from touring anywhere. You are discriminated against for being single/independant, price gouged, deprived from interfacing with people who actually live at your destination, following a closed course and little freedom to explore on your own, and led around to follow a schedule that could be more intense than what you left behind at work, and no real way left to just chill out.

I'm certainly not pooh-poohing the whole idea of traveling. The thought of having an unstamped passport makes me quite sad. I make an effort to learn languages with hopes to one day use them practically, and that's for the sake of allowing me to veer off the beaten path. I know that constantly re-visiting what I already know isn't improving me. Book learning is OK, but no substitute for hands on experience.

This recent bike misunderstanding I mentioned had prompted me to think and realize that there are a hell of a lot of countries out there that are smaller than the size of this province, or even smaller than the distance between here and my folks' place in length or breadth; and that it would be perfectly achievable to cycle across or around them in a few days or weeks for doing some low cost/less traffic hassle sightseeing. Such places I thought of off the top of my head were*:

• Ireland (Northern Ireland and Eire)
• Scotland
• Southern Scandinavia, Sweden/Norway
• Denmark
• Luxembourg
• The Netherlands
• Belgium
• Fiji
• Bali
• Tasmania (Australia)
• Bermuda
• Bahamas
• Tuscany (Italy)
• North Island (New Zealand)
• Samoa
• Belize
• Cyprus
• Estonia
• Switzerland
• Singapore
• Costa Rica
• Israel
• Taiwan
• Sint Maartin (St. Martin Island)
• Portugal
• Panama
• Malta
• Catalonia (Spain)
• Britanny & Normandy (France)
• Dutch Antilles (Aruba & Bonaire; I've already been in Curacao)

*-
Too much altitude and tropical heat would limit my movement, in such places with those conditions. In such environs, I'd be limiting myself to visiting places along the coastal roads. I edited this by adding more countries and regions based on the on the formula of (135 km)² x pi to give me an area range of about 58000 sq. km or less to pedal around in. Data from the World Bank statistics and Wikipedia.