Update 27:

Update 27, holy cow. I’ve written a few updates hey! To be 100% honest I’m wondering how long it will take me to write the 28th, if it ever comes. I’ve been making some decisions and opportunities arose, with a pretty dramatic lifestyle change being the result.

Last time I wrote here I was in the process of thinking about going to Haiti. Since then the Olympics came to town, left it’s impression on us, and in some ways I suppose we left our impression on the world :). A small number of volunteers and I were honoured a position driving the celebrities/performers/talent to and from the opening and closing ceremonies.

It started when I got to pick up Donald Sutherland at the airport, take him to what I thought was the best Chinese restaurant in Vancouver, only to pull up in front of the Phnom Penh, a Vietnamese-Cambodian establishment. Apparently, I was the token lumberjack that doesn’t know the difference between a few of the Oriental types of foods. They laughed; I turned red. I also drove a few other awesome celebrities, with the top of the list being Mr. Wayne Gretzky, twice. He was perhaps one of the most down to earth, personable men I have met. I can’t say enough good things about him.

Aside from perhaps confirming the stereotype that many of the rural Canadians have an inability to differentiate cuisine origin, I’d say that the Olympics demonstrated so many of the things that make Canada the country it has evolved into.

I for one had an absolutely fabulous time. I met wonderful people from around the world. I saw firsthand the strength in the Canadian. In many ways I think Canadians showed that it is possible to live without racism, without religious persecution and instead with acceptance. Let us try to not limit this lifestyle to a two week Olympic period.

Post Olympics was when the big decisions were made. I was on track to go to Haiti and then was told there was someone who had more experience than I who would take my place, and could I go to Niger instead and build a hospital in the southern part of the Sahara desert. A week later I was back on track for Haiti and would be leaving in a week. Two weeks later a kidnapping and after the kidnapped nurses returned, activities were to be reduced and I wouldn’t be going to Haiti as I would be one of the non-essential staff, instead would I be willing to head to Niger?

It’s a funny thing how things workout sometimes. Coincidence? I think not. Three days before my flight to Haiti was canceled, I was visiting the engineering company I used to work for before MSF. They said a position had opened up in Nanaimo and should I be interested. At the time, I was focused on the new job in Haiti. Three days later, when the kidnapping occurred, the Nanaimo job looked like a pretty outstanding alternative.

In 10 days I start work again as an engineer, in a new city, in a new apartment, in a new job. Restarting the engineering side of my life. Does it scare me? Yes. Although it sounds goofy “N-day” as I like to call it, the Nanaimo vs. Niger decision wasn’t as simple as it sounds, and just as simple at the same time. This was lifestyle decision time, now with at least two doors open, in perhaps the most disparate directions.

Do I continue on the trail of adventure, of quest, of risk, of excitement or do I hang up the cowboy hat? Forever? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not giving in, or giving up, my life will still be rich in its adventure and excitement, but I’m sure for quite different reasons and in quite a different way. But it won’t be the same as those MSF presented me.

The decision that I have made, is one that I am super happy with. I can’t wait to move to the island, maybe I’ll become an islander :) I can’t wait to be a couple hours from surf. I can’t wait to design again, to engineer! I’m looking forward to living by myself again, with all of my stuff. I’ll miss the roomies and the family though. It’ll be a challenge and a learning curve again. But one that I’ll enjoy tremendously, it’s all in the great plan, and I’m ready :).

Update 26:

Where to start????

I moved back to Vancouver almost 5 months ago. The first month I stayed at my Aunt & Uncles in Coquitlam, 4 months ago I moved to a section of Van’s downtown called Tinseltown. GM Place, home of the Vancouver Canucks, sits just across the tracks of the Skytrain and the street. My room is the smallest one I have ever lived in; a full 4 feet wide by 8 feet long. 32 square feet. My body alone almost fills up the room.

To compensate, there is a 25m pool, a sauna, a hot tub, and a well-equipped gym on the 2nd floor. On top of this, I have two of the best roommates, my cousin (23 years old and has been to more countries than I), and another who is/was? a model. These things make the closet so much more bearable.

I also am working a couple jobs. At one I’m in the ski & marine department of Vancouver’s Mountain Equipment Coop. The other I had when I lived here before is for Mount Seymour (a local ski hill) as one of the snowplow drivers. It’s great. I work Monday thru Wednesday from 5am until 3pm. Unfortunately snow has been in short supply on the local mountains, and because I am trying to balance two jobs, I haven’t been skiing as much as I’d like.

It’s been a very interesting 5 months again. I haven’t written on here for a while. A few people have been wondering what happened. I’ll try to summarize it.:

I drove 3200kms in three days from Montana to Northern Saskatchewan to Vancouver. I met up with great friends from New Brunswick in both Edmonton and Hinton, Alberta on the way back. Was reunited with the Aunt and Uncle, cousins and brother. Got on my motorbike and did a 700km day trip. Went off the road on a corner when I was going too fast, got back on the road, slowed down, went around another corner, slipped on ice, slid 3 feet sideways, re-gained traction, avoided rock-face : Daniel impact, drove slower still, got home and parked motorbike for the winter.

Looked for engineering work, had interviews, no offers, searched more, no nibbles, started dating, a good friend offered me a job, had interview, got job, called old Seymour boss, asked for work, got a job, went to interview, met and dated some really nice girls, got another job, called uncle, asked him what job to take, took job my Uncle told me to take.

Helped two amazing friends renovate their new condo, went to safety training, drove down during lunch, sideways, narrowly avoided two cars (one in the ditch, other one going uphill not slowing down), put winter tires on SUE, dated more girls, started dancing again, went to more trainings, went surfing a lot, went skiing early season (Nov. 11), quit dancing again.

Was offered a couple jobs in the CAR, declined them, worked a lot, dated some more, started slimming the numbers, worked a lot, met a lovely girl electrician, had a lot of fun, worked 90 hrs a week during the two week holiday period, didn’t ski much, didn’t surf much, stopped dancing, got caught up in work, stopped having as much fun, hung out with the electrician more, welcomed the New Year on a Blue Moon in Whistler with great friends, went surfing, went skiing, hung out with brother working on his sled until 4am.

Haiti happened. MSF called, we talked, I wanted to be here for the Olympics, the Olympic people called, they wanted a volunteer driver for the Opening and Closing ceremonies, and parts in-between, called MSF, we talked, about me going to help rebuild post emergency, for probably a year, building a hospital or three, likely in March, pretty stoked, but I’m leaving again, settling down, placing roots once again back-burnered, not dating anyone once more.

Update 25:

More fun at Junior High! I have absolutely no idea where that expression comes from, or why I use it but I do anyway without the foggiest as to it’s meaning.

I’m not a big fan of arguing or having any form of disagreement over a two-way radio. It’s not cool to get berated or berate when the rest of the crew can hear you. I didn’t want to argue with the guy that I got along with the best with everyone else listening in. So when I went to talk to the guy, three seconds in to me opening my mouth, I received the first sucker punch I’ve taken since grade 8. Anthony, buddy thanks for taking that one for me in Gastown a few years back.

It wasn’t a hit worth talking about, no cool scars or broken anythings. Just the actuality of the event is the coolest thing. The last paragraph I mentioned an incident in Gastown, downtown Vancouver. It was my birthday, a bunch of my friends and I were ripping pretty hard all night long at an Irish pub. It was a fun night really, until walking home. An awesome buddy of mine and I (and another guy, won’t mention names here…) were jumped by a bunch of guys. None of us can remember the details. We all remember the after effects. I’ll tell you the full story maybe, later.

Anyway, it was my first fight in which I didn’t even try to fight back. There wasn’t any point, there were probably 6 or so of them, and my buddy was already unconscious in a pool of blood, I was having a hard enough time taking the hits and stay standing (mostly due to it being my birthday). But still I didn’t fight back. The first time in my life! I was pretty proud of myself that night. Well at least until the next morning when I caught heaps of trouble for not taking my concussed friend to the hospital post beatings. Hey, sorry man, I wasn’t in any shape myself.

Well I haven’t been hit since then; I haven’t been in a fight since then. So when I took this last whack to the face I surprised myself by walking away. It made me wonder though. Am I getting too old to brawl? I never even saw it coming, so the answer must be that I just can’t react the way I used to. The Toby Keith country song “Not as good as I once was” seems to relate well to me now. Dammit!

Next item: Friday night roles into town with Saturday bringing nothing but a day off. When I start walking to the bar, I wonder what I would have done if I had known it would end up after hours in a bartenders backyard (that sounds wrong), drinking and smoking with a convicted sexual offender, South Africans and three random girls (wow, reading that again, that sounds terrible). I most probably would still have gone since the night rocked, in between the walk and the after hours party.

It was the second night this summer that I really enjoyed myself. It was awesome. A small town USA bar complete with football paraphernalia, beer girl posters, shuffle board and pool tables. Smoking is still allowed down here, so the bar reeks of beer and stale smoke. There is the typical old guy trying to drown his sorrows at the corner of the bar, uttering profanities indiscriminately. Just as typically, a few larger than life girls are hoping to snare something tonight, and we can’t forget the iconic coolest guy in high school that didn’t go anywhere but this bar on Friday and Saturday nights for the last decade.

And then there was the bartender. Rosanna. From the moment that she served me my first drink I knew that the night was going to be a memory. Rosanna had a Macbook just like mine, she played music from it that definitely was small town USA, hip-hop interspersed with folk and country, almost as eclectic as the mixes you’ll here coming out of my iPod. You know what the best part of being a crush of a cute bartender is? (aside from the obvious being the crush of a cute bartender) Lots and lots of free alcohol and a drinking partner that can keep up like a champion.

Update 24:

I wish that I had my camera with me a couple times in the last few weeks. Put five relatively big guys (for perspective only one other guy weighs less than my 215lbs) in the cab of a pickup. Make sure that these guys have been out in the field all day with no one to talk to, that they have been subject to a deficiency of females for months on end. I know this already sounds like a great combination. But let’s back up a bit.

It would not be a stretch to easily classify theses fellas in the conservative, country lifestyle loving variety who actually on a daily basis check John Deere’s website for the possible unveiling of a new product. So just in case you haven’t yet formed a good picture of these “dudes.” Think 280, 260 and 230 lbs of unharnessed and unrestrained umm… excess.

Think old man worn out cowboy boots with the jeans not tucked in, but not outside the boot either, of wife beaters (by wife beater I mean the type of shirt, since only one guy actually has a wife, let alone a significant other) that haven’t been washed in weeks, shoes that have actually been worn through not only the sides and laces but the soles as well. Add this to a day spent in the fields of dust and dirt and their maybe they did, maybe they didn’t, put deodorant on this morning. Well, hopefully this is enough illumination.

Lets get back to the pickup; it’s midnight or close to it. We’re in a 2009 Dodge ¾ ton crew cab (the smallest cab of the big 3). The guy up front changes the satellite radio to one of the retro stations. To the extreme I rock a mike like a vandal, light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle… Yes. That is correct; Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby is pumping through the speakers. Now back to the “dudes”, these four guys with ages of 54, 36, 29, 28 & 22 all start immaculately rapping the verses. You just can’t paint a picture with this much contrast.

Two days later, today, driving back home early, same guys but in a much more sombre mood, maybe the same radio station but that’s not relevant; 1st batter up: Billy Joel’s Piano Man. Two of the guys start singing, hounding the rest of us to get our “A” game on. Three of us are not “feeling it”; 2nd batter up: Marc Cohn’s Walking in Memphis, 4 out of 5 are bringing our “A” game. I’m not feeling the vibe. The radio station is feeling that I’m not feeling and pulls out I’m as serious as cancer when I say that Rhythm is a Dancer. Snap is the deal closer. Once again all 5 overweight, partial (if not full) rednecks are pretending not to be as white as we are in the safety of full privacy tinted windows. Yeah, my future is so bright I HAVE to wear shades.

Update 23:

America. The United States. What a juxtaposition of people, of attitudes, of beliefs, of scenery and of food.

I have by now probably been in more than 40 of these states, most likely about 39 more than most Americans. It must be interesting to be less than 100kms from the nearby state and never have been there.

It reminds me of growing up in New Brunswick and having neighbours that had never seen a traffic light. Or when in Saint John the mall got the escalator and people actually drove hours to ride on it. Is that normal?

I have to say that I am in the mid-west, an area of the US of A that is well known as having somewhat of a more conservative belief system. It is a far cry from the hippies in North Cali and Oregon, or from the yuppies in the affluent northeast, or from the local yokel rednecks of the deep south.

America cannot, similarly to Canada, be summarized as one unified or united group, people so different from each other yet only miles apart. It’s a beautiful country, full of regular people, great people, not so great people, a country of diversity, and what I have learnt after living here for only two months, a very unhealthy country.

I was at my heaviest weight when I left Vancouver, bound for the prairies. Two months of eating in diners, in all-you-can eat restaurants, eating the only “food” that can be found in a truck stop in Nebraska, or Kansas, or Oklahoma, yields high cholesterol, high fat content, low nutrition value food. Almost every restaurant in Oklahoma and Kansas was an all-you-can eat, something I (and the majority I have seen down here) mistakenly took as a personal challenge. Needless to say, I haven’t weighed myself since Van and am pretty sure I have another 10-15lbs on my dept. weight.

It’s also rather bizarre how financially strapped the population is here. I remember first noticing this on last years motorbike trip, but it’s really hitting home here. I’ve driven through neighbourhoods that would be envious of some developing countries (I’ve also driven through hoods that give West Van a run for her money). The majority though are surprisingly destitute.

Workwise, I’m coming to the end here. Our manager has some issues that he takes out on us, in a lot of ways my conflict with him stems from certain similarities to me, to the way I used to be, from the way I am today. It’s a huge lesson to be learnt, to see how I have managed in the past, how I have grown since then, how much I still have to grow.

Update 22:

I’m not too sure where to start here. There have been a number of reasons why I have chosen not to be writing that much anymore. I won’t discredit being lazy as one of them. Today I’ll talk about one of them that is actually self-imposed.

I put pressure on myself to write these. I don’t want to write about some of the more negative experiences, mostly because I can’t really imagine anyone being interested in coming back to read more posts. Perhaps more importantly I don’t want to write about anything boring. I value my readers; I appreciate the comments, the feedback, and like the thought that you like to read about me since I’m not currently in your neighbourhood.

If I started writing about the less pleasant times, the troublesome times, or the downright boring times, I could easily see my “readership” decreasing. Not that this is about numbers or trying to get the biggest audience. Rather I have over the past 21 posts, received some tremendously humbling comments and emails, and in a way don’t want to disappoint.

Self-pressure comes in when I want to start writing but don’t really believe that what I can write today will be up to the standards that I have put on myself. Yeah, I know, it’s another hang-up and I have to get over. I just wanted to give you a bit of explanation for one of the reasons I haven’t written much.

On to other matters:

Some interesting facts that I forgot to mention about Tisdale, Saskatchewan, not only is it the home of rape and honey. It is the town that Corner Gas is based on. The dude (Brent Butt I think his name is, Buttsy as known locally) is from there. Most of the characters are also based on people that were in the town when Buttsy was growing up. Best portrayal is the lady cop that was based loosely on the actual cop that would, when pulling over young men, would either give them a ticket or force intimate relations. I never speed in Tisdale, just in case.

The other interesting titbit on Tisdale, there was a German reality TV show that was about living in Tisdale (since is it so far from anything Germans can relate to). The show was such a hit, and out of this world (and probably only to a select audience), that there was at least one German family that just had to move there. The guy works on the farm that I work for. All of this information comes from Tisdale natives, and well, could be subject to embellishment, but I like to think not.

I’m in Flagler, Colorado at the moment. We are waiting for the wheat to ripen. We finished the harvests in Oklahoma and Kansas, despite all of the problems we had with our completely brand new equipment. Anyway, some numbers, my combine has harvested about 2500 acres and almost 3 million pounds of wheat in about a month. Cumulatively, between the 4 combines we’ve hacked off about 10,000 acres or 12 million pounds.

Harvesting is pretty fun, I get to listen to audio books, do my Spanish lessons (although driving and reading is pretty hard), and think about my next plans. I never had any idea how big the custom-harvesting scene is. Not many farmers actually own their own combines down here. So when we rolled into Oklahoma a couple days before most of the other harvesters we were greeted by parking lots jammed pack of semi-s, trailers, combines and grain carts. I was quite surprised by how many harvesting companies there were.

Then when the harvests started and the rest of the show came to town I was blown away. Companies with 6o plus combines, 60 plus truck and trailer units, and 20 or so tractor and grain carts, not to mention the trailer parks jammed pack with RV trailers, probably all tallied up the equipment assets alone would be up in the 50 million dollar mark for that one crew. So being on a 4 combine, 4 truck, 1 tractor & grain cart crew that I had thought was a decent size when I started, I realized that in the grand scheme our crew is not so big.

So far no tornado’s despite the broadcasted warnings. When it rains or when we are waiting for the wheat to turn, the crew spends it’s time watching movies, playing video games, playing on the internet looking at the grossest stuff ever. Ahhh, after the all female expat staff in Juba, Sudan, living with 9 other guys is surprisingly very refreshing. Perhaps a bit crude at times, thank God for the tinted windows in the pick-ups, nothing better than 4 or 5 guys rubbernecking for the one girl that was foolish enough to walk downtown while the harvesters are in town.

As I mentioned before I have been thinking about my next steps. So far I have a bunch pretty ok options if I can’t find work. In no particular order;

1. Finish the harvest in November, go do a Masters in Engineering.
2. Find work before the harvest is over and get my P.Eng.
3. Finish the harvest in November, get on a motorbike and head down to Panama and back up in time for the Olympics.
4. Finish the harvest in November, go do another short mission with MSF and be back in time for the Olympics.

Unfortunately internet comes only at hotspots, ie some poor neighbour or house that has unsecured wireless, so looking for work, or at schools for Masters is a bit tricky. Hopefully we’ll find some at our next stop in Montana towards the end of July. That’s all for now folks. I think I should start writing smaller and more frequent posts, judging by the size of this one in particular.

Update 21:

Ever heard of writers block? Well, without trying to claim that I am any kind of writer, I have to admit I have been suffering from either it or lazyness, or perhaps something else. I haven’t wanted to post in a while for a bunch of reasons that I don’t want to get into right now.

Mostly I just want to put up a post saying that I had a great time on a big boat. A cruise actually, that toured the Aegean Sea in somewhat Eastern Europe. It was a cruise masterminded by my Uncle Malcolm who partly wanted to have a family reunion and partly wanted to have a bunch of rowdies help him celebrate his 60th milestone.

So 18 of us, Aunts, Uncles, Brothers, Sisters, Cousins, Ma’s & Pa’s ripped up Costa Serena, complete with the younger generation decked out in black tuxedo t-shirts in the tune of neon green faux shirt and neon pink faux bow tie for the gents, reversed colours for the ladies. I’ll post pic’s & relay some stories later hopefully, but haven’t yet gone thru the 1000’s of photo’s. But don’t worry when we weren’t wandering around lost in Italy, Greece, Turkey or Croatia we were well hydrated.

I am currently in Tisdale, northern Saskatchewan. I drove out here a few days after returning back from the boat & the UK. What can I tell you about it so far? The equipment is gynormous, and more or less newish. We start driving to Oklahoma on Tuesday, something like a 2-3 day drive.

Remember the re-rednecktification that I talked about last time. Well, I can’t imagine a better spot (check out the picture of the sign on the photosite). I am in the heart of Canadian redneckdome. It’s not so bad. I also realized how much I have changed since last time I was on a farm.

I got very upset (internally, not vocally) one night when one of the guys went off on homosexual dudes. I guess I’ve become pretty accepting of just about everything in the past few years. I once probably would have joked along with him, times change. Most of you know that I am not the most kosher, or PC guy out there. Well, I don’t hold a candle in the wind out here.

That’s it for now, I hope you enjoy the photo’s, none of me, sorry or you’re welcome depending on what suits yer fancy. I’ll put a real post out once I have a few things all settled.

Oh Yeah, rape seed is another word for Canola. Just thought it would be an interesting photo. ☺

Update 20:

I woke up thinking about the Tragically Hip song, 38 Years Old. Until a few seconds ago when I turned on my computer I thought that it was 28 Years Old. 28 years old, never kissed a girl. For those of you that read this and aren’t familiar with one of the most popular (within Canada) Canadian bands this reference is lost on you. I apologize for that.

Regardless, I turned 28 years old today; I can’t say that I haven’t kissed a girl. In fact as far as that song goes I have nothing in common with it. My 28th year was a stark opposite, being a whirlwind tour of 3 continents, a pile of countries, close to half a million km’s travelled, friends made, unfriendly’s left behind….

From the way things are looking at this point in time, my life, as a transient will continue. The first month of my 29th year takes me back to Vancouver after being in New Brunswick with family, off to Europe (UK, Italy, Greece, Croatia and Turkey) to help celebrate one of my uncle’s milestone birthdays. Then back to North America for a little while.

I had a completely different idea of how my return to Vancouver would be. I had assumed that I had more than enough skills that would help me find employment even if I couldn’t find something in the engineering domain. I hadn’t counted on this little thing called a recession, hopefully not to become a depression.

After sending out about 40 or 50 job applications to everything from engineering, to driving truck, to operating equipment, to carpentry I had to give up on Vancouver and look for work in another domain, another local. That’s when I decided to go back to “farming,” and back to the prairies.

70-80 years ago Eastern Canadians, many from my community and surrounding areas had to leave home to earn a living to support their families, they headed west to Motown, Detroit City to work in the American motor plants. They headed further west to the prairies to find temp work on the wheat and barley grain threshers. 70-80 years ago.
I don’t think that it is accurate to say that today is anywhere even close to the dirty thirties. I think it is accurate to say that it set off some alarm bells in my head when I couldn’t find work in a once booming economy such as Vancouver. But, I am sure that there could be some similarities made.

Granted I won’t be swinging a pitchfork of barley stems into a thresher, instead I will be sitting in the air conditioned and 6 speaker stereo comfort of one of the most technologically advanced combines yet produced, a 9770 STS John Deere. When I am not harvesting the grains I will be hauling them in an equally luxurious 379 or 378 Peterbuilt semi. No, a comparison between now and then is not accurate at all.

The job is essentially that. I drive to Northern Saskatchewan following my return from Europe. There I will help to finish the spring planting on the farmers 18,000 acre grain farm, then load up a two trailer semi with a combine on the first and a grain trailer behind along with 6 or so other truck-combine combos and head to Oklahoma or Texas.

Basically from June until September I will be combining my way through the Midwest, South to North. Post-Canadian harvest I will be heading back down to South Dakota and Kansas for the corn, with the season ending in November. I will be taking my computer to keep looking for work, with the hope that the recession will be over, with the hope that I can return to an engineering job.

I guess that after spending the last year working for a humanitarian organization I needed to get back some balance in my life, a process that I call re-rednecktifying. I was too hippie and not enough redneck, to still be a rippie. So I’ll redneck it up for a while to restore that fine balance...

I have to admit that I am a bit tired of the transient lifestyle. Meeting awesome people and knowing that we will be saying goodbye shortly is not something that I especially like. And although I have been super fortunate to have met some absolutely fantastic ladies and been able to spend some time getting to know them, the transiency has built a wall between us that I am not yet prepared to scale again.

On the other hand, like I mentioned earlier in this post, I turned 28 years old today. I don’t feel different than I did when I was 27. Other than I am not in the Congo and am with my family for the first time in many years. But I turned 28 years old. It’s not old, but it isn’t exactly too young to be thinking about thinking about settling down a bit, whatever that means...

Update 19:

I’ve been meaning to write this for a couple of weeks. So here goes…

If you can remember Update 11: you’ll know what I am talking about. If you don’t remember, the tabs on the left will help you do so; in short that update talks about the sadness that accompanies leaving a place. So this update is about as polar opposite as I can get.

Leaving Sudan was an interesting experience. Either my experience at leaving locations and people has built up to a point where sadness is no longer an emotion that I feel, or perhaps I have become so callous that my heart is immune to the toils that leaving takes on your soul, or something else.

The worst part of leaving Sudan was that on boarding the flight I felt nothing but elation, relief, pure happiness. I feel quite rotten about saying/thinking/feeling this. It is an absolutely crushing feeling to be so happy to be leaving that place behind.

It sounds appalling, I grant you that. But it pales in comparison to most of what I have written (but not posted) during my time there. I will start by saying that Sudan was a completely unforgettable and wholly worthwhile experience, one that will be cherished for the rest of my life. I want to end by saying that I will not willingly or without serious contemplation ever return.

I am not/do not feel free to explain all of the things that made it such a difficult challenge. I also have not yet decompressed, evaluated, analyzed, absorbed or fully appreciated this period, so to say more than what I have already said is a bit presumptuous. I’ll try and get back to you on this.

On the new notes: I am back in Vancouver. I spent a week in North Germany with a friend that used to work with me in North Van. It was great to hang out with him. To chill out, literally, it was a bit of a shock to the system going from 40 deg to -6 deg, but still lots of fun. I got to meet his family and friends, went to clubs and bars, ate well, saw the North Sea, landmarks and monuments, etc.

I bought a new car a few days ago, well not new, but a car, actually nice little BMW. Without the help of my Uncle Ron this really wouldn’t have been possible, it is absolutely wonderful to have family to spend time with and an added bonus that he’s a great mechanic and has his own shop where I/we can work on the car.

There is no snow, so I haven’t been skiing. I am hoping that will change in the next little bit. I have no real plans though. I don’t really want to be traveling or working abroad for a bit of time. I need to decompress, recuperate, recover and most of all rest.

Update 18:

It has been an interesting week. It was my 11th week here in Sudan. 11 weeks have come and gone out of a 3-month contract. Technically I should be getting in a plane to Geneva in the next few days. In actuality though, I have extended my contract for one month. I will now be leaving South Sudan on the 19th January. 4 months in Sudan!

Next week is Christmas, but to be honest there isn’t the slightest amount of excitement on my part. I can’t really believe that Christmas day is in 4 days. I can’t quite imagine what snow is like anymore, and I certainly can’t fully appreciate Christmas when it’s 40 deg.

I remember the only other Christmas I spent away from New Brunswick, I remember it was even hotter than here. It was 48 deg, a heat wave was again sweeping Sydney, Australia. Wildfires were again threatening the suburbs. Smoke filled the air. Some parallels can be drawn between then and now that’s for sure.

I remember the penthouse in Darling Harbour that I was living in. I remember how much money I was making, selling my soul for a huge credit card company, but nevertheless I was living comfortably. And like right now in Sudan, the week before I had spent only one night sober.

But in Australia it was different, I mean there were things to do and we were doing them. Heading to Manly or Bondi or Coombs or one of the other beaches to soak up the rays, enjoy the topless bathing, barbeques and Bundi&Cola’s. Going to Kings Cross. House parties. Eating good food. Riding a crotch rocket without a helmet the wrong way down the street (they drive on the other side, so turning immediate right at an intersection is a bad idea).

This year though I am Sudan. They drive on either side of the street, depending on how they feel, or if they feel they are in a bigger rush than the oncoming traffic. It’s hotter and dustier than the Dust Bowl. Garbage is strewn everywhere, especially the creeks. It seems to be a well-established pattern of garbage removal throughout much of Africa, put it in the creek for the flash floods to magically make it disappear.

There are some similarities, there are barbeques, there are house parties and there is a pool (but no topless bathing allowed), instead of the beach you can lounge on the bank of the Nile (just keep an eye out for crocodiles the size of a canoe). Yes. A CANOE REFERENCE, I AM CANADIAN. I could get on a motorbike and test my reaction capabilities, but the bikes are bought for $700 brand new and are Chinese made, something breaks before you can even start it. So between their lack of quality and insane driving patterns of the country I stick to the Landcruisers.

The biggest similarity though is missing the family. It sucks to be away from home. To know how well they are eating, to know that my niece and nephew are the center of attention and not me (haha), yet to quantify the thing that I miss the most is impossible. But certainly the company, the family, the walks with or without snowshoes, the arguments, the feeling that you get when you are at home that no matter what; they love you, the snow, the cold, the food, the eggnog, turkey, mashed taters, gravy, enhanced hikes with friends, brothers and sisters, trips to the lookout.

I remember my birthday almost two years ago; I remember how great it was because it was hopefully the most miserable birthday I will have. It was so great because now I value so much company that you love on special days. I expect this Christmas to parallel that day. It sounds funny, but I can’t wait for it, I look forward to this Christmas because in the future I will do my level best not to spend one this far from family. I can only hope to always remember this one so that I will appreciate being home so much more in future times.

I am happy to spend these holidays in Sudan. I will never forget this Christmas, this New Years; it’ll be another interesting experience that lives on in my memory. After all, life is made up from experiences. This will be one of them and I look forward to it, almost as much as I look forward to being back home.

So if it’s possible for you, make sure you can spend this Christmas with someone or at least somewhere you love. Try not to take it for granted that you have the privileged life that you do. Not too many people live the way we do, free from disease, malnourishment, war and insane military and police organisations. When you look at it from a different perspective, the problems that we as Canadians face appear tiny and insignificant. I know, I know one shouldn’t compare ones problems to another’s.

I’ll probably put out another update soon, but if I don’t get one out before Christmas. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Think about a New Years Resolution and aim to fulfill it. Thanks dudes, dudettes, ladies and gentlemen alike.

Update 17:

I wish I could paint this picture with words. Even if most of you might not know what plastic sheeting and shadow nets are, I think you can appreciate it based on what follows.

But imagine parched earth, giant two-inch eggshell pattern cracks in the dirt as far as an eye can see. Think of how a shattered windshield would look to an ant then magnify it to our abilities at perception and you’ll have an idea what I am talking, about well aside from the colour, that is.

Shadow net is exactly what it says, nets tied to poles or trees (if you can find one) that are about 3-5m off the ground, erected to give shadow, to protect us from the unrelenting and scorching sun. Plastic sheeting is essentially just a plastic, rip resistant tarpaulin on a 250m roll. Our compound walls and office roof are made from plastic sheeting and sticks, not the best for any kind of protection but it keeps folks from seeing inside.

I am currently on a field trip. Not like a high school field trip, where alcohol and trouble always ensue (for me, usually in that order). It is more like I am visiting a field project, providing them with support, entertainment, a new face for a week performing (in vain) in all attempts to keep them happy and from dying of heat, boredom, and their seeming frustration that their capital/supervisors (I am unfortunately one of them) don’t seem to understand or respect their problems.

There are the constant pleasant rivalries between the field projects and the capitals (Khartoum and Juba) regarding which is hotter. The closest comparison would be to hockey team rivalries, still friendly but there always exists a bit of animosity.

The temperature competition is a bit closer though, usually 1 or 2 degrees, each location believing it is the hottest. As far as I know it has been between 38 and 42 degrees everyday since my arrival. So one day it’s hotter in Juba, the next it’s hotter in the field. Either way 40 C is hot, that’s 104 F. Even under the shadow net.

But back to the picture: Think of African planes like in the movies, with funny shaped, and very scattered trees. One random tree here one random tree there in a plane of 8ft tall brown grass. Lions; you know they are just lurking in the grass waiting to eat you, no matter what the locals tell you about the army having eaten all of them during the wars. Scorpions. Snakes. Thousands of varieties of insects; and thousands of each variety. Parched earth. Dust. Smoke from people burning the grass (some random annual tradition, or perhaps protection strategy since armies have a hard time concealing themselves in the open).

Think of the not so subtle rumble of diesel generators burning the fossil fuels that are allowing me to write this. Or of having a bunch of Dinka staff that don’t speak English (and I sure don’t speak Dinka) wandering around with their traditional scars on their foreheads, making them resemble skinny Klingons. Wow, a Star Trek reference.

For those of you that know Vernon (lean by our standards) he would be considered well nourished with his 6’3” frame and 160lbs by the Dinka’s standards. The Dinka’s are of a similar height to him and I (6’4”). At my 200lbs, I am called fat. In fact I have since my arrival, been called the white Dinka, the fat Dinka, and the white and fat Dinka.

One day when leaving the field on my last trip and standing in front of the compound waiting for the car to take me to the airstrip, these Dinka’s came running to me as they had been told that there was a white man taller than they were. My resemblance to the Dinka’s is not the biggest stretch, with my once lean frame and buckteeth, I really only have the skin colour that differentiates me.

40kms away is the birthplace and childhood town where Manute Bol grew up, famous Sudanese NBA basketball player, if memory serves me right he used to be the tallest NBA player at a bit over 7’6”. There is also a famous model from Tyra Banks and Naomi Campbell era, named Alek Wek Deng, from this area as well.

To return to the picture: Think of the 8 ready for safari Landcruisers sitting in front of the compound at dusk, with the sun going down over the Intensive Therapeutic Feeding Care clinic in the background. Picture the Doctors and other medical staff sitting fiddling with their short wave radios trying to catch a bit of news from their home countries. Or perhaps of the nationals playing a match of volleyball, donated by either MercyCorps or Shave the Children, as the heat of day subsides and the sun starts to decline into the dust filled sky.

Add to this the men sitting around their shisha/hookah pipes smoking scented tobacco. Always on the alert listening on their HF/two way radios. Are they needed somewhere? Perhaps they can ignore this call? The best parts of the day are mid afternoon where the wind starts blowing a bit, bringing a much-needed cool breeze to the camp.

But, with every good comes bad. The breeze always comes from the East, coincidently so are the latrines. For the new compound currently in construction, the latrines are on the Western wall.

Think of relying on satellite for all communication to the capital and Geneva HQ. Think of talking on a sat phone, knowing you can’t walk and talk, or be inside. Or imagine the frustration when you can’t get through and you need to, or worse when you do and the call drops and you have to repeat the process all over again. Try to dream of living and having your storage in tents, for months. Giant white canvas tents, and even with shadow nets the inside can and usually does reach 50 C.

For me, I love to be in the field, even with the heat, the plastic sheeting and shadow nets. The poor conditions and not exactly gourmet food, the struggle and challenges of it all are the fun parts. The challenges of management that are my day-to-day struggle in Juba are less fun. But to be fair, my attitude has changed. I am more positive, I have to be, I couldn’t last the three-four months here if I didn’t.

Think of all of this, and perhaps you might get to experience a bit of Africa and not have to leave the comfort of home. Ahhh, some days I wish I had done that.

Update 16:

One of the things I don’t have an answer to.

Once upon a time in a land far far but not too far away there was a baby chick trying to get out of its shell. Along came this wonderfully kind and compassionate person who saw the shell starting to crack, vibrating and rocking as the chick was trying to break out.

I will ask you a few questions along the way here.

1st question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do? Please think about this for a second.

Ok. Now this amazingly kind, compassionate person chose to help the chick hatch, (s)he wanted the chick to breath, to grow, to help alleviate what (s)he interpreted as the suffering the chick was experiencing as it fought to escape its womb.

What the person didn’t know at the time were the consequences of his/her actions. For sure it would be hard to place fault in his/her good intentions. After all (s)he had acted in good faith and was only trying to help!

However the chick will tell you a completely different story. It wasn’t suffering at all. It would have told the person, if it was able or knew it, please don’t help me. I am not strong enough to survive outside my shell, my hormones and chemicals are not balanced enough yet. Once they are, I will be strong enough to get out of my shell and will be able to survive in the cold hard world outside.

But the chick couldn’t communicate this to the person, and neither it nor the person knew the effects. In trying to help this chick, (s)he had actually paralysed it since it wasn’t chemically poised enough yet and essentially condemned the chick to an early death.

I suppose we could ignore this story, perhaps we can adopt the philosophy that there are always more chickens laying more eggs. But perhaps there is something more to be thought about.

2nd question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do?

Is acting out of compassion without understanding the consequences acceptable? Perhaps acting out of good faith isn’t good enough anymore, or maybe ignorance is perhaps not that blissful after all? It could be possible that action without knowledge or even thinking about the ramifications could actually worse than acting but with knowledge that the outcome will fall short of desirable.

An Ethiopian man that had seen the effects of many instances of aid told this story to me the other night, I will not take credit for thinking it up, but it well illustrates my confusion and internal conflicts that I have had in my mind for some time.

3rd question. Dudes, what do we do?

Update 15:

There is so much to write about, where to start? I did write update 14 and posted it but did not send an email. Since the last email though, much has happened; I rode Yvonne across Canada and around the perimeter of the USA, one of my favorite friends got married, my sister gave birth to her and her husbands second, my father went under the knife and is busy recuperating, two missions in South Sudan have been proposed and accepted, one canceled, and most recently I have flown back to Geneva, and expect to be in Sudan by Saturday.

Let's start with the figures from the bike ride.

20,070kms, 52 days, 40 days on the road, 26 nights in the tent, both oceans seen, one gulf, countless bays, 9 provinces, 22 states, 2 hurricanes, 4 moose, 2 bears, numerous deer and small critters, 1 snapping turtle, over 1100 L of burnt fuel (my carbon footprint this year is the shits), ran out of fuel twice, 2 bird/Daniel impacts at 90mph, 6 tires, 4 oil changes, 1 drive chain replaced, 3 close calls, 4 Gb's of photo's and videos, too many pounds of muscle turned to flab, 2 encounters with the law (both in the US of A), 0 speeding tickets, 1 warning (get this, for failure to stay in seat), no standing on the pegs in the states, and too many tearful departures, but fun times rain and shine.

First of all a big thank you to the folks that put me up in their homes and fed me along the way, particularly those that sheltered me from the two hurricanes (Hanna and then Ike). I am extremely grateful to all of you that helped me along the way, the best parts of the trip were usually at your houses and meeting you!

Now to the stories:

Driving to Cornwall from the other side of Hartford, Connecticut, I got caught in the rains of the the now tropical storm Hanna. I managed to get temporarily orientated challenged, and while now I think I was on the “right” road, at the time it was definitely the wrong road. While riding at about 20-30 mph in 3-5 inches of standing water on a heavily loaded sports touring bike in a bright orange rain suit I soon noticed that I was the only while fella in the area, there were sirens all around, accidents left and right, and men on all corners.

Now it is a bit funny that I was shaking in my boots there, and yet in the Congo I could have a conversation with a fella in fatigues, an AK-47 and bullets on his chest without batting an eye. However, rain soaked shirts sticking to the skin very clearly revealed the outline of what were supposed to be concealed handguns. The first chance I got I did a U-turn and virtually catwalked me and my bike out of that American Ghetto, only to take an hour to find another way around in the relentless downpour.

An hour or so later, soaked to the bone, and another 30 minutes or so left to my destination, with rains just as heavy, I came around a corner about to cross a hydro-dam. I noticed a guaranteed unseating round rock the size of a turkey plate, and a few inches above the water on the road right in the path of my tires. With only feet to react I scooted around it. As I passed it I stole a quick glance at the object that apparently was not a rock at all as it had the head and tail that are unmistakably those of a snapping turtle. I distinctly remember my right leg lifting up off the peg as I made this realization, even though I was well out of snapping distance.

The next adventure was on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee where I had the opportunity to ride the Dragons Tail (if you have high speed you should YouTube it). 318 curves, 11 miles. The bike was never standing straight for the duration. I had a hoot, even if on a loaded 919. I scuffed up both boots cornering. It was here on these 22 miles, infamous for it's wrecks and a few deaths, that I probably burnt 50% of my brakes and 25% of my rubber. Hard riding is damned hard on the bike and for Yvonne's sake I can easily say that after running it twice, I was not tempted to ride it again.

Eight hours after Hurricane Ike hit Galveston I rode through the wake, I was actually only 100 miles or so North. It would seem that I was chasing the tail tp see if I could grab it and giv'er a good ol'shake. In reality I was pressed for time. If you ever get the chance to chase a hurricane, on a motorbike, and you do catch up and grab her tail, take advice from someone that has done it, let go, stop, slow down, turn around, just don't continue, especially at night. For me it was way after dark and I couldn't find a campground or even high ground. If you have been to Louisiana or South East Texas you know very well what a bayou is. For those who are unfamiliar; a bayou is basically a damned big swamp, combine that with hurricane force winds, driving rain, and a storm swell, it means wet, very wet, and not much high ground.

So riding along, watching for telephone polls that had been snapped in half like matchsticks and more importantly their associated possibly decapitating wires, while worrying about taking a flying branch to the head, I found the first place that looked like I wouldn't get shot at for trespassing (not really a joke in Texas). I pitched my tent 10 meters, fighting off the hungry skeeters, battling the winds, all while trying to keep the tent dry before I can get the shell on. When I camp like this I like to be visible from the road so the cops know where I am, in the hopes that they don't think I am hiding. That being said I had a hard time falling asleep in the high heat and humidity, with every branch moving or scratching the side of my tent making me think someone was out there.

Sure enough a couple of hours later my tent is lit up by some kind of spotlight. I hear a lull in the rain, doors slam, footsteps scramble up the loose gravel hill, downpour returns, hurried footsteps heading away now, doors slam again. This repeats a few time as the rain abates and intensifies over the next 30 minutes before a sufficient lull occurs and they can make it too my tent. "Sheriff's office!" Silence on my part, pretending to have been asleep. "Sheriff's office! Is there someone there?" They ask me what am I doing. Answering I indicated that I was just trying to stay out of the rain, their chuckled response was that they were attempting the same thing. They asked me for my ID, then where Vancouver was, then BC, finally they knew about Canada. The fella doing the talking looked at his buddy and asked him "How d'ya reckon we run this one through our system?" Buddy says "Haven't got a clue!" They chuckle again and tell me not to bother the neighbors or go wandering around and to ride safe. I found it hard to fall asleep again, too much excitement and way too hot and humid.

Feel good/inspirational story of the trip. I dropped in on my junior high bus driver while in Texas. I hadn't seen her for a good 10 years, probably more. Her story goes to show that you can do just about anything. This woman, my bus driver, never even completed grade 10. Not to put a date on her age, but just so you have an idea her kids were my current age when I was 15 or so. However, in the last decade, she obtained her GED just for kicks, then went to university and graduated with a Bachelor's, and since that wasn't enough she then completed her Masters not too long ago, all with a perfect GPA of 4.0. I think just recently she became an accredited psychologist or psychotherapist and currently works with young adults that have already had a rough go of it all. To me that is an absolutely amazing and inspiring path that just goes to show what can be achieved if you make it happen.

New Mexico was super cool, and as their slogan states it is the "Land of Enchantment." They were the most friendly folks along the American way, and one family even paid my dinner before they left. Only word of advice should you travel through there, get gas wherever you can. Half the towns on the map are either deserted or too small to have a store let alone a gas station, on top of that they are separated by hundreds of kms. Man did it ever get cold at night though. Teeth chattering and body shaking when riding kind of cold.

I had by the time I got to Bakersfield, California, been carrying a replacement rear tire since Mobile, Alabama. I figured that I would ride this tire until it was finished completely, which I did. Yvonne was almost limping into Bakersfield, with two unsuitable tires, a worn out chain (word of advice: do not use a de-greaser on o-ring chains), and a oil change way overdue. The rear tire was actually cracking and peeling along sections of it. But in Bakersfield she received some much deserved and overdue lovin'.

That day though, riding into Bakersfield was the longest of the trip. On that one day I checked out the Grand Canyon, got my kicks on what was left of Historic Route 66, walked around and over the Hoover Dam, rode up and down the strip in Las Vegas, and rode into Bakersfield over 1000kms after starting the day with a squawking chain and peeling rear tire.

Not much to say about the Pacific Coast, aside from it's outstanding beauty, it's perfect waves, gorgeous girls, and pleasant ambiance, except for that it has inspired my next trip. Well after Sudan that is.

Update 14:

It’s been some time since I last updated this site, so I figure that now is the last chance I have before heading off again.

I arrived in New Brunswick almost exactly two weeks post departure from Vancouver, after riding 6920kms across Canada. It was an amazingly beautiful ride; with good weather most of the way. It seems too corny to say that I merely enjoyed the beauty and diversity that Canada has to offer, but I can’t think of a better way to describe it other than even while riding in downpours and hailstorms that drove a couple cars to standby on the side of the road I had this huge goofy full tooth smile spreading from ear to ear.

Scorching heat followed me from the desert in southern BC, through Alberta and its badlands, Saskatchewan and all the way to Manitoba. It was too hot and flat for my rear tire in the prairies and I ended up having to get a new one in Thunder Bay after melting most of the middle off of it. I tested the handling capabilities of the bike when loaded in the BC interior, hiked up hills in riding boots and jeans in 35 deg temperatures in wild rose country, outran a couple huge storms covering the living skies in Saskatchewan, and then checked out The Forks and the friendlies in Manitoba.

In Ontario, I experienced highway robbery at the Northern gas pumps at $1.50/L, charging that because they could, so not Canadian. But the majesty of The Great Lakes, the rolling hills and all the scattered lakes in-between was unforgettable, the good pavement even had a curve or two mixed in between muddy construction zones. I made it all the way to Espanola, On before I had to put on the rain suit, and from there to Montreal I basically kept it on.

In Montreal, I got to sample some of that famous Italian Della Valle food, hung out with a few of my favorite people in the world, had some Schwartz’s, walked downtown and then the Main one night during a downpour and smiled throughout, despite the soaked Levi’s and Puma’s. I popped over to Vermont to celebrate and witness the marriage of one of my best dudes and his absolutely amazing wife, and got cut off from the bar. I didn’t know you could get cut off from a bar at a wedding, in fairness though I am really happy they did and it was a really good idea on their behalf.

High winds and low temperatures that chilled me to the bone accompanied me through Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine to New Brunswick. But arriving close to midnight, I was greeted by a fairly worried (and rightly so) mother. I mean whose mother really wants their son to be riding a motorbike across a continent, or working in the sketchiest countries in the world, or doing half the stuff I get up to. So props go to her for her courage, her patience, and attempts at understanding.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank those of you along the way that have helped me, or housed me, or fed me, or spent the time to talk and to listen to me. I met some truly amazing people along the way, and not just on this trip, but there are those of you that have made it all worth while. I kid you not, the world and it sights are physically beautiful, but they pale in comparison to the beauty in the hearts and actions of those that I have met. To you, never give up, enjoy life, be kind, contribute, make the world a better place, not just for you, but for those that you meet, for your friends and family, and if possible your enemies alike. We all need nurturing once in a while, and many of you have done that for me along the way. Thank you.

With that, I leave you to jump back on Yvonne, head to Cape Breton, do the Cabot trail and then head south through the USA along the Eastern seaboard, then west along the Gulf of Mexico (avoiding hurricanes if at all possible), then north up the Pacific coast. Rip it up.

Update 13:

Quick on the heels of Update 12, and likely there will be a 14th fairly soon as well.

Most of you know my immediate plans, at least those of you who have seen me, and those that I have had the fortunate chance to talk to by phone in the last few days. For the rest of you however…

I arrived in Vancouver almost two weeks ago. First thoughts that ran through my brain as I stepped out of the international arrivals at YVR:

1. Wow the air is so clean here, it smells like… trees, and rain, and flowers, and no black diesel fumes. Wow.

2. Why oh why didn’t I grow enough kahuna’s to give that wretched KLM flight attendant my number.

3. That I get to see my friends and family very soon. With Karny and not Fat Todd picking me up at the airport.

Since then I have visited a whole lot of amazing friends. Watched three sets of the Celebration of Light fireworks, played “Pitch’n’putt”, went the old companies company BBQ, got soaked on my bike, biked from N.Van to W. Van to English Bay, to Strathcona, not sober, another bike trip from Main to English Bay and back, again not sober, had many dinners, breakfasts, sushi, and coffee “dates.”

All in all, I am again left questioning why am I leaving again? Yet I know very well the answer, and look forward to the next set of adventures, that start tomorrow.

I have kitted up my motorbike with hard cases, a windscreen and new exhausts so that I can talk a wee road trip across Canada. Luckily for me the two events that I most wanted to be back in Canada are happening around the same time, Mr. G and Ms. S are getting hitched in Vermont in the middle of the month, and my sister is having her second baby towards the latter half of the month.

I figured what better time to hop on Yvonne and go for a ride. So, I have intentions of visiting family in Calgary, Chicago, Southern Ontario, and then Montreal. If you are on the way and want me to swing by, or if you have a friend along the way that has a free lawn that I could camp on for a night, hit me back. I was supposed to leave today but had a few technical difficulties and will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning.

I intend on doing about 600km/day. Roughly two tanks, tomorrow night I should be somewhere in the BC interior, Thursday night Calgary, then somewhere in Saskatchewan for Friday night, Manitoba Saturday. I will try and keep a fairly regular posting along the road, for a few reasons. My Vancouver mobile phone will accompany me should you need to contact me urgently.

The beginning of September I plan on getting back on the bike and heading back to Vancouver via the Eastern USA seaboard, then along the south and finally up the west coast hopefully arriving at the end of September, just in time to do another mission with MSF.

Let me know if you know of any great scenic roads as I am not partial to the TCH for the whole trip.

Update 12:

I really didn’t write much about Uganda, and since I was there for a couple of weeks in total, I feel it only fair to add a little blurb on the little bits of it that I did see.

The flight from Congo to Uganda was largely uneventful, except that the person that took off and landed the Beaver aircraft was not the pilot. He was some dude that had his pilot license and asked the pilot if he could fly the plane for a bit. Sitting right behind the pilot watching the pilot do the cross on the forehead and chest right after he puts what looks like a crash helmet on definitely made me worry for a second or two, or the rest of the flight. All in all though the flight was only moderately wobbly, and I didn’t need a sick bag, so I can’t complain too hard.

Getting into the Entebbe airport I quickly figured out that there was no one to pick me up, calling my responsible dude in the Congo he gave me the number for the taxi company that we are allowed to use. A few minutes later I am in a pretty sweet taxi heading into Kampala, the best touch was the in-dash TV that we could watch when stuck in rush hour traffic.

A quick administrative debriefing in Kampala the next morning, and then off to Jinga to whitewater raft the source of the Nile (touristy I hear you say, well that’s because I was a tourist, duh). Getting to Jinga via one of those oh so iconic symbols of African transportation; the 14 passenger Toyota minibus loaded with more than 14 passengers. Met up with a nice group of people, went down some class 4’s (they said class 5, but I think not). Ate a great BBQ, watched the $45 video they made of us rafting, got drunk, and went to sleep.

In Jinga I met a Memphisian who wanted to go to SIpi falls as well, and since her friends no longer wanted to head that far a distance for such a short time, it turned out that we went with each other to check out the cascading waters. Setting out this time on the back of boda boda’s (125cc Chinese motorbikes) to fetch one of those wretched, made for mini people, mini buses, and finally getting into a 5 passenger Toyota Corolla wagon with 8 folks on board. The minibus ride was cramped, Nutella slept most of the way, I read my book. The station wagon ride was messed up, the woman beside me was very well endowed and her boobs kept bouncing off of my side, not as much fun as it would seem let me assure you.

In Sipi we stayed at this awesome retreat called Sipi River Lodge. The owners are ex-whitewater kayakers, probably skiers, climbers, the kinda people that I tend to associate myself with. They were really cool dudes, they had not even opened to the public yet, so we were some of the first paying guests. Awesome setting at the bottom of the second set of falls, trendy style construction, great food, not uber expensive. We went abseiling off of a perfectly good 100m cliff; I will admit that I did not enjoy walking off of the edge. Hiking in the high heat and humidity also proved to be a fairly sweat inducing activity. If you enjoy the chill side of life plus a bit of hiking then you might want to check these guys out. http://www.sipiriver.com/

The reason that this trip was made possible was Nutella’s research. She had found a magic mystery bus that drove past the resort at 2:30am and would pick us up especially if we called in advance. Now I really don’t like to travel at night. But without taking this bus I would not have been able to go to Sipi, so clambering on this bus in the wee hours of the full moon lit night I found a tiny seat with my and Nutella’s name on it. I couldn’t sit up straight because my head hit the roof, so I would lean forward onto the seats ahead, which made the dude beside me use my back as a place to sleep, soon enough the dude was fast asleep using half my back, and Nutella was sleeping on the other half. A remarkable four or five incident free hours later we arrived in Kampala, said our goodbyes and found our ways back to our respectable houses.

I was lucky to see one of the Bunia staff in Kampala that morning, so we went for lunch at, I kid you not, I feel like Chicken Tonight. She came with me to the airport and we said goodbye, or until next time.

As I went through airport security, the guard told me that I had to open my bag as he needed to see what was at the bottom. I knew right away what he was looking for. What I didn’t know when I bought the hand carved hippo teeth as presents for my family in the Congo was that they are kinda like Ivory and that it is fairly illegal to transport. Anyway, I got on the flight without hassle and without Ivory, sorry family no presents.

Nairobi airport in Kenya was fine, the only cool thing was once a Congolese operated ancient Russian Antanov aircraft went past the windows and shook the heck out of the airport. 747 buzzed by silently and this not so big prop plane shook the fillings out of the old folk’s teeth.
Geneva was nice, I had a few days where I did not have to work, so I toured Geneva, searched for motorbike parts, ate well, went to a few live shows, and played street basketball. The shock of Geneva was how little people smiled, laughed, or visibly enjoyed life. I am sure they do, maybe just not in the way that the African nations that I had gotten accustomed do.

I met a gorgeous flight attendant on the KLM flight from Amsterdam to Vancouver; she kept coming over and talking, asking questions, bringing me milk, and chocolate. I knew that she had more than a day in Vancouver, but I pussed out and didn’t give her my number, I guess that whole world is still quite foreign to me.

Update 11:

I wish that leaving a country, its people and the friends that you made along the way got easier as countries visited multiply. The truth is, when standing on the cold asphalt in front of the Vancouver International Departures Terminal seven months ago, I bawled my eyes out. I had made quality friends, friends you can count on, and I was leaving. They said I'll be back, that I'll see them again. I hope that I will. Today as I sit writing this (on the way home), my eyes start to well with tears. Somehow (for dignities sake) I force myself to control the waterworks, people here would think I am crazy (maybe you do too). I have made some really good friends, shared unforgetables and experienced memories that will last a lifetime. Through this course of becoming a seasoned traveller, I was hoping to graduate to an experienced departer.

I feel however, that everytime I leave a place, I leave a part of me and in turn I take a part of that place with me. It's not a bad thing, it's just the way it is. Experience has learned me that within a few days the sadness disappears, I will have found a new home, or a new activity, or perhaps the pain of saying goodbye lessens as the joy of saying hello overtakes.

At this stage, saying goodbyes and hello's are far from over, they are just getting started. I wonder then, if I do leave a part of me everywhere I go, will there then be a day when I don't have more to give? Will I reach a threshold and have no more to give, a day where I will be unable to say goodbye again? Or is it the other way around, since I take a part of the place with me, my memories increase and experiences accumulate, do I instead grow and therefore have more to give at each situation that I encounter? I have hoping for the latter option.

I can never say for sure if I will again someday see the people that I have met. Chances are not high that I will be able to see each and every one. There is an inherent sadness in saying goodbye and realising that it actually most likely is a goodbye, and not an à la prochaine or a see you soon. I try not to sound fatalistic, and I know the world is a big place, and that throughout the years lived there will be opportunities to see them again, but the odds are not that high that I will have a second chance to see every single person met at a later date.

To that effect, to the MSF Bunia team/family: I humbly thank you. What I learnt most in the past three months was not technical, it was not logistical. What I learnt from you was how to live with people from different cultures, people with whom I had language barriers, people who I ate two to three meals a day with, hung out with after work and those I worked with. I was confronted with strong and independant personalities, challenged by them, by language barriers and personality clashes. Did I fail once in a while? Sure did. Was I the best I could be everyday? Unfortunately not. Did I learn from the lessons? I believe so. Thank you for teaching me, and for having the patience when my eyes and ears didn't see and hear clearly.

I learnt more about MSF as a whole than I expected and less about the technical domain than I had anticipated. I also have the belief that perhaps my technical abilities are actually better than I have given them credit for, and while there is always room for amelioration, I probably am well equiped for MSF's requirements. So it turned out that this mission followed the last couple of years and led me further down the path of personal/internal improvement. COOL.

Sadness in leaving is dissipating, Geneva, Vancouver and Canada await. Life goes on. The world beckons, I hither.

Update 10:

Three months ago I was sitting in this seat in Geneva composing a hurried update to inform you that I would be leaving right away for the DRC, that I was sorry for not getting the chance to say bye for now. Today I am writing this post with the knowledge or at least the intentions of seeing most of you soon.

I am heading back to Vancouver on Wednesday the 23rd, getting in at 16h25. Any takers to pick me up??? It's bad timing for rush hour, so I might just take the bus and skytrain out to Coquitlam.

But the update:

I left three months ago with my usual mentality when I travel. I try not to research too much before heading out. I try not to make expectations or to imagine what I will see, or what I would learn, I like the surprise. Three months later I have an idea about the Congo and the Congolese, about MSF, and more about me. Can I quantify it in one posting? Can I make it interesting or even readable? I haven't yet processed it all, and as my sister wrote me "Sometimes only 1/3rd of what you learn traveling actually occurs during the time spent abroad, it take returning home and and processing the data to learn the remaining 2/3rds" so this posting contains only the highlights of my time in the Heart of Darkness.

- Giving blood to help the Medics save an infants life, twice. I already put a post on this, so I won't elaborate, other than to say that the second time is just as special.

- Watching a cesarean. Those who know me well know that I am fairly squeamish. So why would I subject myself to watching such an intense surgery? I feel as though I have to confront my fears so that they no longer remain a fear. Did it work? Hells no. This was real fear, I starting sweating that awful cold sticky sweat, my mouth dryed up, I couldn't breath, all I wanted to do was rip off the facemask as it was seriously suffocating me, I was too hot, I got dizzy, there was a period of at least two minutes where my eyes were open and yet I saw nothing. I saught solice in the cool of the concrete wall. Cut, cut, stretch, stretch, pull, pull, snip, snip, sew back up and sew back up. 25 minutes later, she was already in the process of recovery, the baby crying and me whimpering. In all fairness it was by far one of the coolest things I have ever seen. I know now though that if someday I find me a wife, and she needs a cesarean, I know which end of the operating gurney I will stay at. Thank you Dr. Claudine and Dr. Claude, I will never ever forget that experience.

- Seeing a baby in an incubator, I think that two of my fingers and my thumb would have had the same mass. Without MSF this baby would never make it.

- The honour of holding hands with another man. Laugh. I did. When I first heard that it is common for African men to hold hands I thought it was so not hetero. It took some time, but when the staff started walking with me and holding my hand, wow, I felt respected, accepted, appreciated, encouraged, and touched. I knew then that I was part of the team, and that I had a friend.

- Learning about MSF, about living within a team, with people with different personalities, with language barriers, with personalities that clash with mine.

- Making friends, leaving an impression of me in the hearts of the people that I met, knowing that my overall effect was positive, being able to have fun, and also being able to work at the same time.

- Spending time on top of the water tower, watching sunsets, reminiscing about the past, listening to my buddy Andrew Hunter's songs about our teenage years, dreaming about the future, loving the present.

Thank You CONGO

Update 9:

Heya chico's, chica's, dude's, dudette's and respectable folk alike. It's almost the middle of June as I write this. That is crazy because it means that I been here for more than half of my contract. I have even received my end of mission form that I am supposed to be sending back to Kampala, Uganda soon. In fact 5 weeks from today I will be hopping on a little prop plane out of here. Wow, so fast.

I am trying to decide what to do after my mission. Right now I plan on taking a week in Uganda and white water rafting the source of the Nile. I mean, why not? After the week in Uganda, I have to head back to Geneva for debriefing, then back to Canada for more debriefings. At this stage I reckon I'll be back in rain city on or around the 25^th of July.

The end of August puts me in Toronto, Montreal, Vermont, New York and New Brunswick for birthdays, weddings, and the birth of my sisters second. The question therefore remains what to do with the three weeks proceeding. I am fearful to write my plans for fear of sabotage by some incredibly caring members of my family, so for now I'll keep it under wraps.

But sushi in Vancouver, steaks with Carruthers in Toronto, dancing with the Vancouver ladies, surfin' with whoever is left of the boyz, meeting up with my bro somewhere, chillin' and celebrating Matt and Jenn's marriage lakeside in Vermont, hopefully meeting someone in New York, swatting mosquito's on the front porch while lazing in the hammock as the sun sets over the woods back home, eating some exquisite Italian food at the Della Valle's in Montreal, livin' it up with my sister in Ottawa, walkin' in the woods with Papa, spending quality time with my sister and her husband before, during and after the arrival of their newest addition, maybe if I am lucky I might even get a prairies harvest in before I head off again. Wow, I LOVE LIFE!!!

I want to thank those folks that wrote to me in response to my "Motorbikes" posting. Truly and honestly thank you for the kind words that you sent to me. You know who you are, and when I get back you can be sure I'll be making a personal visit to ya'll. The best part of that posting for me was actually having the courage to post it. Most of you would probably find it funny that I was afraid to say what was/is on my mind. But for words like those of which I wrote, they are hard to put delicately, and to believe in them enough to entirely open yourself up, to praise, and criticism alike really required a fair amount of courage or faith or possibly even ignorance.

One other thing that I am learning as time goes on, is that others do not need to believe in my beliefs in order for me to maintain my convictions. I have no doubt that there are those of you do not exactly share them. A wonderful part of life and the choice in life is that you don't have to. You can choose. I enjoy discussing opposing beliefs equally as I do my own. These conversations are of personal benefit to me; they give me an opportunity not only to reflect on my beliefs but also to see how others live, think and believe.

I love most of all difference. There is no need for everyone to be the same; difference helps the world go round. For me there is no need to try and change your point of view. I respect you and yours. That being said sometimes I have a hard time understanding where some come from.

On the Congolese front, work has changed a bit. Right now the Hospital Logistician (one of my supervisors) has taken off for two weeks, leaving me responsible for his post as well as mine. This is pretty neat as I get to spend my days at the hospital and seeing the day-to-day operations here. Unfortunately for me my assistant is and has been sick with Meningitis for a couple of weeks and probably won't be back at work for a week or so more, also the assistant of the Hospital Log had a motorcycle accident and will be off work for a month. That means that both of my right hand men are not here, making a bit more work and responsibility for me. But hopefully no more that I can handle, I will let you know in two weeks. hahaha.

I seem to have gained about 5 kilo's since arrival; I hope it ain't all fat. I tend to pass my Friday evenings at the United Nations bar; the best part is the $1 drinks and that it's all military guys who can't dance. Saturday nights are at a party at one of the other ONG's or UN camps. Luckily there are a couple of girls that can dance salsa, so even though I am not a very good dancer, here I am. I even teach salsa classes to MSF expats on Wednesdays after work.

I went to one of the local bars the other night, hadn't been to this one before and I'll probably go back some night but not too soon. Turns out this is the kind of bar that you can get into trouble at. I have never before had a tongue stuck in my ear as a pick-up "line." I hope to never ever have that repeated, after all you can't really do much about the saliva left in your ear, the sanitation in the bathroom is non-existent so you can't wipe it out with your finger and God knows what would happen to your shirt. Turns out the mullet and handlebars don't turn everyone off.

I must add on a sad note, that I have shaved my mullet and handlebars off, and likely the mullet will never return. It was a sad day for me, even if it didn't really flatter my looks I grew quite attached to it, as it had taken quite some time to materialize.

Mattey G, McCormick, WillAYYY, Chris, Kevin, Kara, Dale, Todd, Fat Todd, Brad, your respectable's, and those that I have mistakenly left out, how about a surf trip on the 26^th and 27^th of July?

Update 8:

What's new on the other side of the world? I wonder who is winning in the Stanley Cup playoffs, and if the spring rains have come and gone, and how life is treating you. I guess I have been away for almost 6 months, which neither is nor feels like a long time. It is quite interesting how different life is here from France, from Maroc, Germany, or Canada. And yet life was quite different between each one of those countries as well.

One thing that has maintained a consistency from France then to Uganda and now to the Congo is the damned cold showers that attempt to plague my existence. Sure it's nice and hot here, so the cold shower is much more refreshing than those taken in the tree stunting winds of Southern France, but the first 15 or so seconds still are an unnecessary and needless to say unpleasant shock to the system.

It's been a busy week in terms of celebrities, President Kabila was supposed to show up for some form of session or negotiation or talks on the local abundant petroleum reserves. These reserves are quite close to the border to the more developed and hence more capable (at extracting petroleum) Uganda. There is unease in my mind to this possible problem, I mean if everywhere else in the world wages war over petroleum, is it too big of a stretch to imagine war returning to this conflict ravaged region? These people are just in the first stages of recovery from their last grotesque machete de-limbing guerre here in 2003, and with the prospect (at least in my eyes) of another possible conflict…. Not so trop cool.

But the President didn't show up, yet, as he tends to prefer more surprise oriented visits for reasons of security. Surprise visits make those coup d'etats that are oh so famous in developing countries harder to organise and accomplish for some reason. Celebrity number two; Ben Affleck showed up here at MSF's hospital in Bunia for his new ABC television program depicting a well known American actor posing as a journalist in places where he isn't known. Funny thing is, most if not all of the MSF staff didn't recognise him either, one even gave a tour to Affleck's group and then had to ask which one he was. Apparently he holds less notoriety in Europe. Side note: celebrities are not as rare as one would think with MSF, Angelina Jolie was here in Bunia visiting the hospital shortly after the war in 2003.

On the more cooler side of life. Watching a movie at the Medical staff quarters I was summoned by one of the guardians to return to the non-medical staff quarters, as there was an ongoing disturbance. So I got in one of the faded pink LandCruisers with a chauffeur and bumbled down the road. Greeted at the gate by a very angry Congolese woman, and a scared stiff (rather small) member of the national staff. God knows what he said to her that resulted in such fury, but needless to say he probably won't do it again. 30 minutes later, and with the reinforced steel gates closed, she stopped pounding and hollering so I was able to send the chauffeur and his Cruiser back to base.

Falling asleep less than half an hour later, knocking on the door woke me. The Hospital director, on his way to Manhattan (the bar), had been informed that a little girl needed blood to make it through the night, me being O+, I was the candidate. I suppose whenever we give blood at home we are saving a life somewhere someday, but the realisation was a bit more pronounced for me that Saturday night. For me, trop cool dude. Thanks Mama and Papa for hooking me up with O+.

That concludes the second update from the "Heart of Darkness."