twofunkyhearts

“I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free and there was nothing to break the light of the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures.” -Geronimo

Leaving home always reminds me what a special place I come from. For most of my youth I didn’t appreciate Saskatchewan – flat fields, flat river, flat lakes. It seemed so small, like nothing was happening there. But I realise more and more that this is one of the qualities that make it great. It’s an enormous province, almost twice the size of Germany with about 1/80th the population. It’s a place where there’s not a lot of voices so you have to listen, and where nature doesn’t shock, but unfolds secrets continuously, free to see by anyone wiling to stop and really look.

I haven’t been home in September for years and years. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is to sit in the car, watching combines in the fields, making paths in gold, speeding along a highway that runs in a perfectly straight line, without a bend or hill, for the next 30km. Our license plates call this “Land of the Living Skies”, the most perfect tag line for a place I know of, evidenced by endless blue, puffy white cumulus, rolling grey and magic northern lights when it is cold and dark. There’s not a lot going on, but everything is happening all the time.

Dane (my brother) was returning for the first time from Pakistan and since he and I have been away my parents have both retired, my dad turned 65, and they marked 35 years of marriage. It seemed like a good time to surprise them with all of us being home at once, so a couple weeks before Dane’s return I booked my flight back, unbeknownst to my mom or dad. (Which is also why I  haven’t updated my blog at regular intervals, not wanting them to know I was in North America at Burning Man in case it raised suspicions I may be working my way farther north). It was really great to be together as a family again, and to do something stupid with my brother (this time thankfully it didn’t involve champagne or cell phones, but instead swimming 3.5km across the lake in 7C weather, 18C water temp and splayed, cramped fingers which made totally useless swimming paddles. I feel I’ve learned something about hypothermia).

Being home was special. I even went out to my high school, meeting old teachers and sharing stories of adventures we’ve had in the last 12 years. It was great to revisit memories (like running on the beach in Italy with my gym teacher, and staying after school to learn about the Khmer Rouge and Angkor Wat – which inspired my first trip to Asia). These people were teachers in many ways, and it was cool to learn these times were also important to them.

While this may dash the romanticism, I don’t feel Saskatchewan is my place anymore, but connecting with where I came from and being with family reminds me that special places imprint on you and support you long after you leave. I think we always carry them with us to new places, just with a little extra beauty from where we’ve been.

I’ve learned how fantastic it can be to get yourself lost in a sandstorm (of course it’s fantastic because you know you’re not going to be lost for long, and can instead use the white-out as an excuse to play a fun game of Marco Polo with other cyclists lost in the cloud). It’s also fantastic to discover the great fashion sense innate within you, silently laying in wait for the chance to break out a galaxy-print spandex onesie with bandana and sand goggles that take up 1/2 your face. And you’ve never felt more beautiful.

This was my first year at the burn, and I have both very positive associations and some criticisms, as I’m sure is to be expected of any event where 70,000 people congregate for a week in a completely inhospitable environment. So, here’s my critical side because I want to move on to the awesomeness of it quickly. In short, it’s the plastic. BM is an entirely unsustainable way of living, which I really struggle with because to me the whole idea of BM is to provide inspiration for an ‘ideal’ society. And to me, an ideal society doesn’t require spending hundreds of dollars on Amazon for disposable glow sticks and paper plates. BUT, that said, if you participate, there is no way to get away from it, and you’ll see below photographic evidence of a gorgeous glow stick crown that gifted to me.

Okay, that’s out of my system. So now I can talk about the great things that I was part of, and witness to, in the 8 days of desert living. To me, the experience is about meeting and connecting with a person, with people, with everyone, without the barrier of social norms that usually take months or years of knowing a person to break through. Yes, everyone talks about the sand and the heat and the likelihood of rain, but it’s the filler conversation that gives rest between conversations about a person’s life, if they’re happy, what their parents expect of them, their heartbreaks and what they think about god and the freshwater crisis.

The art is phenomenal, both because the work itself is something special, but it’s impact is exponentially more powerful due to the fact that it is sitting in the middle of the desert. The starkness of the surroundings combined with the knowledge that someone so loved the playa that they gave their only begotten structure of wood…. is pretty inspiring. To watch so much of it burn, and see projects of thousands of man-hours go up in flames and smoke devils, is to realise that all things end, even time on the playa, which feels endless until you find yourself in a 7 hour wait in seventeen lanes of traffic to make it to the exit gates.

The temple is such a special place that I am still shocked that I didn’t know much about before. It’s a beautiful structure, a place where people go to meditate, pray, write love letters on the wall and leave tokens at the altar to remember people who had left their lives by moving on in one way or another. It’s a place where there is no barrier to seeing the suffering that everyone has. There are no curtains or doors – everyone that goes to the temple brings their stuff and sits with it. I know a lot of people reading this will think that this sounds too much – and in normal life, I guess it would be. But the space that people share there allows everyone to just be with whatever they are dealing with and not hide it. I saw people cry, laugh, sing, draw on the walls, and no one asked them to stop or to go somewhere else. I don’t think I’ve ever been to another place remotely like it.

The nights are spectacular, surrounded by art cars, lights and fire. There were nights I would pull my bike over on the side of the road by a camp just to dance with the people outside for a song or two, then hop back on and continue riding. I believe dancing is the greatest cross training and best catharsis, and these nights usually ended with a trip to my friend Inon’s camp, a group of Israelis who made the best pizza this side of the old country (meaning Italy, not Israel…) and were even known to make a girl hot chocolate with a spoonful of nutella at the bottom.

Life on the playa was magical. Bombing around on bikes with Inon at 7am was the best part, as everyone stumbled home from dancing all night, we visited our favourite organic vegetable giver-awayer, who would find the perfect carrot specifically chosen for energy and the best celery stalk to restore health. Everyone had something to give, but the best gift is the simplest – just the warmth, smiles, and hugs, and chats from other dusty, dirty humans.

Burn, burn, burn! (The catacombs)

Chasing sunrises and breakfasts with Inon

Disclaimer: I am not officially diagnosed (what’s the point?), so feel free to disregard my complaining below and write it off as me being a giant wussy blaming my weakness on the little guy – mosquitoes.

I’ve held off writing about this for a while because family are always the first to read it and I didn’t want anyone to worry. Now that I’m sure I’m officially on the mend I’m putting it out there: Dengue bites the big one. For the last ~9 or so days I’ve been feeling pretty terrible. It’s been quite humbling in many ways I don’t want to tell you about, but the worst has been the body aches. My neck, shoulders, spine and lower back constantly hurt. I’ve never been hit by a truck or found myself at the bottom of a tidal wave, but in my mind I think the experiences might be similar. The pain in my eyes never really went away and the elevated body temperature wasn’t exactly comfortable in temperatures of 30+ degrees with humidity hovering around 80%. After this experience I’m not sure if I am pleased or disdainful of the naivety of continuing Buddhist ahimsa practices of not killing mosquitoes.

Good news is that today seems to be a better day! This morning was rough – really rough – but after my Spanish class I finally ate a real meal for the first time in the last 3 days, took a rest, then went out to swim – which is where my story gets exciting.

There’s a little island off the town of Flores and I decided to chuck myself in the water and swim around it. I just google-pedometered it and found that if I swam more or less straight (unlikely), it is just under 1.5km round trip. Not 6km, but an okay start. When I returned to my jump-off point in Flores I had no idea I would be greeted by a welcome party of 15 Guatemalan gentlemen who had been watching my progress. One man, Hector, came up to shake my hand, ask me if I’d been in the Olympics, and take my picture. As I left the dock various people smiled, gave me high fives and waves.  Flattery is cheap, but I lapped it up after feeling more like an elephant in an aquasize class than anything resembling a swimming, living (breathing) human. For the rest of the afternoon those that saw me swimming have  come up to say hello and share little confidences together. It’s Day 2 in Flores and I feel like I’m becoming part of the pueblo.

Yesterday I couldn’t decide what to do with myself. My new friends Cyrill & Vero, a French/Madagascarian couple had left Busintana a couple days before me and the Mamo left for a US tour, so I was all alone except for the security man, his wife, and lovely toddler (who is a rather poor sleeper and pees on my floor). The people of Pueblo Bello were wonderful: abuelas stopping me on the street to help with the muchilla I’m knitting, the Mamo’s daughters helping me practice Spanish, and the 14-year old waitress & mother, Adriana, wanting to chat over pineapple juice. However, despite being busy with these duties of a new resident I felt I needed more focus, especially with learning Spanish, so that I could actually offer these people something when I return in the coming months and years.

After a few minutes of deliberation I booked a cheap plane ticket from Valledupar across the country to Pereira, stopping in Bogota. The plan had been to go to either Manizales or Salento for Spanish school, however when I got to Bogota I completely changed my mind. I mean, I’m used to all this spontaneous (non)planning stuff, but even I am surprised at myself here. In the 45 minute layover at El Dorado International, I cancelled my connection to Pereira, retrieved my luggage, booked a flight to Guatemala, and found several Spanish courses to pick from. Some would people call this indecisiveness. I’ve decided to call it resourcefulness.

For the rest of the day I did errands and had a nice evening in Bogotá visiting an artisan friend (we worked on our muchillas together!). I leave first thing tomorrow for Guatemala City where I plan to take a shuttle straight from the airport to Antigua for the weekend then leave for whichever Spanish school I choose. I am waiting for the one in Flores to get back to me. I’m hoping they have space as it is close to Tikal and has an amazing lake to swim in. I still haven’t been able to run due to the fat ankle, but have my eyes set on a 6km island swim in Italy this October so I need to get training. I’ve never swam 6km, especially not open water, and definitely not after a year+ of sabbatical living. Let’s see how resourceful I am in the Mediterranean with Bergeggi seagull-vultures circling overhead…

(Sorry Mom & Dad that you’re finding this out through my blog. I’m surprised too.)

I just spent the last 10 days in my beloved Busintana. It’s one of those things where you want to share, but you know that if you try you’ll both fail to convey the magic, and you’ll lose some of it by putting it out there. Lao Tzu said something like “He who knows doesn’t speak, and he who speaks doesn’t know.” I’m not saying I know anything, but at the same time I feel I’ve crossed a threshold where I understand I can’t impart what is special by talking about it. Suffice it to say, I’ve renewed my sense of wonderment and connection with life through the Arhuaco people, and plan to return soon… Here are some pictures just to tease a little bit:

An adventure through the jungle worthy of more than my Birkenstocks

A bird nest that had fallen to the ground

Love this leaf – a natural umbrella, with 4ft radius

Sama and I after our trek.

Egbert. Too cute to be mad at for peeing on the floor of my room.

Gala, a hen to inspire Dalí

The river you walk through to get to the garden. I like this concept and think I want a river (or a moat) to access my house.

Another unusual bed partner to compliment my Barichara scorpion

Amor.

“Thinkers prepare the revolution and bandits carry it out.”

I said adios to my once-unloved city, Toronto yesterday. It was so great to spend 2 weeks between Toronto, Waterloo and Ottawa, catching up with friends, meeting other nerds in the medtech space, eating the best roti outside of India (Gandhi on Queen, obviously). I lived in TO for 6 years before moving to Belgium. At the time I never would have called the city home or even said I really liked living there. I always thought I was on my way to somewhere else (I suppose I was), and never really emotionally invested in the place. Maybe a mistake in hindsight.

Being back this time I fell in love with Toronto in a whole new way. Maybe it’s me getting older – something that I haven’t written about much publicly, but which has been on my mind throughout the past year. If I’m honest there’s probably something in me that’s starting to speak up and say that staying in one place for a bit of time isn’t such a bad thing. And seeing people who tell me they’d like to see me more, who make me feel part of a community even though I don’t deserve it as I’ve been away so long. People who have built lives and families and stories together… who graciously include me despite my wandering ways. Plus, Toronto is a cool city on it’s own. Sticking around King/Queen West for most of the time was fun – such a funky area. Further gentrification of the west end caught me off guard and while I harbour sentiment for the former grunge of the place, I must admit it’s got a good mix of people and the shake up of new restaurants, shops, traffic, is fun to look at.

The AFest group was in town for Camp Reset. Such an unexpected surprise to have the old gang in one place again. For the weekend I headed to Blues Fest with old friends Derek and Sydney in Ottawa. Duran Duran played Saturday night – a concert I wasn’t particularly excited about, but Simon won me over pretty quick with No-No-Notorious and a rad lightshow.

Ordinary World. Ish.

Tdot Coffee Expert

Back in the Big Smoke I spent time with Bri & Steve and their little guy, Austin. The last time I saw him he was only 1 month old, and now he’s a little human of 14 months. Like I said in my last post, it really hits home that time is passing by seeing other people’s life changes.

From chilling at 1 mo. (aka: sleeping)…

…to mastering “chillin’ like a villain”

…to walking…

…to being the centre of the social universe

So, does this mean I’m coming back or building a h-h-home in Toronto? No, probably not. Sorry. For the next while I’ve got other plans, but I’ve learned it’s better to never cancel anything out. The universe seems to have many ways of surprising me. At the moment I’m planning to stay in Colombia for the coming weeks – back to Busintana to plant some trees and meditate. Before going back to work soon I need to organise all the lessons I’ve learned from the adventures I’ve had over the last year. That should be an interesting post… (for me, anyways).

Thanks all my amigos in Tdot. Mucho amore.

It’s been wonderful to be home in Saskatchewan again, spending time with my folks. True, it’s been raining everyday for 12 days, and I’m still unable to run or really move using my legs in any form of exercise due to that whole ankle thing in Italy, but nonetheless, it’s been a great visit. Chatting, eating, reading, eating, watching movies, eating. (My mom makes chocolate chip cookies and Saskatoon berry pie so good that I kind of hate them).

As usual, my mom found an excuse to wear funky sunglasses: Canada Day. I must say, we make Dollar Store shades look good:

On one particularly grey day we went back to Saskatoon for a surprise drop-in to my pseudo grandparents, Art & Judy. Judy is the only person in the world I’ll drink a Bacardi Breezer with. Cheers.

My dear friend Mike – or Megan as she’s more commonly known to those outside of softball circles – came up to the lake with her family. It’s funny how you don’t realise time passing in your own life until you see other people’s milestones like them getting promoted, engaged, married, or their kids growing up. Megan’s three girls are the most amazing little people and I just love being around them. I feel like they’re the nieces/daughters/godchildren I don’t yet have (or actually, maybe I am their godparent… shit, I better get more responsible, stat).  We hung out at the cabin and beach, and late in the week I went for a visit out to their farm close to Rosthern. Little people are so much more fun than adults.

The Book With No Pictures. Make someone else read it.

Boat tripping

Like father like daughter.

One of the highlights from my visit home has been the annual Shell Lake Garage Sale. My mom and I walked through it once, returned to the car with a stack of books (3 for a dollar!), when I suddenly pulled out my phone and insisted we go back in so I could document the many treasures of outdated technology (1980s fax machines, rotary telephones) to mens’ underwear. I do all this for you, my faithful readers.

You thought I was joking, didn’t you?

If only I had a house to hang this in!

Mecca.

GOLD.

Quality reading for my time back in Busintana.

See the next picture for a teaser!

I’m not even going to try to say something witty… Seriously, who comes up with this shit?

Story of my life.

Finally, as it came time to leave and head on to the next leg of my trip (Ontario), we headed out for a nice see-you-soon dinner. Check out how handsome my dad is. Not to brag, but I’ve got great genes.

It’s always sad leaving, but that’s only because the visit is so good. And that’s something to be really grateful for.

Last week was a milestone for me. I turned the big 3-0, and decided the best way to spend my birthday week would be in one of my favourite places in the world: the Italian Dolomites.

As usual, the trip was a last-minute affair, with me flying from Brussels to Venice on a Thursday night just before midnight, in time to pick up my $9/day rental car and hit the road. When I landed I messaged Giorgio and Andreas, two Italians I met on New Years Eve in 2013 in Munich. That time I’d also been on a last-minute trip to cross country ski and had been quite disappointed when Austria had a warm weather spurt resulting in crappy conditions. Fortunately I met Giorgio and Andreas who told me that Bolzano was under a huge snowstorm and that I should come ski with them for a few days. I did, and learned many, many important life lessons including how to pair pasta with the appropriate sauce. Hitherto I had been completely ignorant of this art/science, but they quickly saw the error of my ways and gave me lessons in how to perfectly cook pasta and were patient with me when I was too distracted by aperitif and gorgonzola cheese to be much use in the kitchen.

Anyway, when I showed up in Italy and sent them a text message, they said to come straight to their place and we’d go hiking in the morning. So I did. And it was awesome. The next morning, together with their friend Carlo, we went for a hike in freezing temperatures. I cannot express how many times I thought of my down jacket hanging in my parents’ basement that day as Giorgio, the punk, threw snowballs down at me from higher up on the mountain. Hilariously that night at dinner, after 2 1/2 years, I found out that when I met him, Giorgio had not understood what cross country skiing was, and when he invited me to stay with them, he thought I’d be downhilling with them on snowboards. Ironically, there was too much snow to ski that trip, so we went sledding instead. However, I’ve decided it’s time to learn to snowboard, and we’ve made that our project for this winter, along with hiking the GR20 on Corsica and climbing something cool.

After a few days of hiking, running, climbing, and (mostly) eating with Giorgio, Andreas, Carlo, and Mauricio (G&A’s usually absentee roommate), I kicked it to spend my birthday in Milan. Before leaving I ran up to Torre di Pisa, on an absolutely stunning trail from Obereggen, climbing 1100m before snaking around a couple of peaks at the top and descending back down to the ski station. The top was fun: the trail hadn’t been used for a while it seemed and there was a lot of snow. The warm weather that day softened things up, and suddenly made me realise just how deep the snow was when I fell into it chest-deep wearing split shorts and a singlet. It took a bit of effort to extricate myself, but was fun. On the way down, just under the snow line, I started sliding on some loose shale. I’d been doing it quite a lot – surfing the rocks down the slopes, but when I tried to slow myself, I flexed my foot and heard a loud pop in my ankle. I was pretty worried I might be in trouble as the path I was on was a side trail that was not well travelled, and was still quite high up. However, all was well – it took me about 3 times as long to descend as it should have, but fortunately I made it back fine. 12 days later I still have a cankle that resembles a 300lb hypertensive patient, but  it’s still attached and I think it’s improving.

The Dolomites are such an amazing place. I had planned to do the via ferrata on Tre Cime, but due to the ankle and other birthday plans, it didn’t happen this trip. It’s now the 4th future project to come out of this trip.

My birthday was a fantastic day touring around Milan, eating cannoli for breakfast and tiramasu for dessert. I have to say, this decade is off to a good start.

Okay, I’m sorry. Really sorry. But we had a good run, right? One year of consistent, committed blogging isn’t so bad right? Yes, we grew apart in the last month and I left to the Sierra Nevada, then took a 12 day boat trip across the Atlantic before landing in Portugal, stopped in Belgium and now exploring the Dolomites in northern Italy. I know it’s my fault; I neglected you.

But I promise, everything is going to change. I’m going to make up for the last month. I’m going to post updates on what I’ve been up to. I won’t leave you again… At least I’ll try not to.

Updates coming soon!