It's Monday and I'm at home. Weird. Kael is taking his afternoon nap so I am taking advantage of these precious few moments to write a few words about my first day on parental leave. Before making the decision, we debated about whether or not we could afford it as you only receive 55% of your salary – already meager earnings in the expense trap of Vancouver. But then I thought of it this way: how can I afford not to? Kael will only be a baby once so if I can find a way to spend some extra time with him now, while he is soaking it all in, then I've got to do it. Might as well use the sytem. And hey, if there is ever a time to be off work in Canada, it's in the summer.
When I told people at work that I was going to take time off to be with my son, reactions were mixed. Many of the women thought it was a wonderful idea; most of the guys saw it as an extended vacation.
Tell you what fellas, a vacation it is not. It's work. I never fooled myself for a second by thinking it would be cakewalk. Taking care of an 8 month old mini-me is in fact tireless work that never ceases. You can't take breaks when you want or take an extended lunch. Nope, one thing Michele has made abundantly clear is that it's all about the baby's schedule. He's my new boss.
Following a stormy 6 am wake up where only the boob would do, Kael's morning chatter began at 8 am, which was my cue to wake up. I think it translates to something along the lines of, “Hey, I'm up now. Should we get some breakfast? This plastic giraffe just isn't doing it for me anymore. Hey, I'm up now...”, whereas the 6 am screaming was more like, “I'M STARVING MY ASS OFF OVER HERE. I WANT SOME MILK NOW!” I have to say that I much prefer the 8 am Kman's morning show than my alarm going off at 4 am like it did when I was on the early shift. I sang the good morning song while I changed his diaper - weighing the equivalent of a bowling ball following a night of urination - and then brought him into the kitchen for breakfast.
I put on some baby French music, and then got his breakfast ready while he munched on his plastic rings in his highchair, which we have come to dub the “throne”. That then, makes Kael the Lord of the Rings. This is a duty I am comfortable with, by the way, as I have previously prepared his meals on weekends. So far, paternity leave feels like an extension of the weekend. I added water to his brown rice cereal and poured some prunes from a jar into a bowl et voilà, le petit déjeuner est prêt.
Eating is messy business. Perhaps I should have changed his white shirt beforehand... He is good eater, my little bruiser, ingesting all that we offer him in between breaks from chewing on his beloved rings. I noticed that he enjoys the blunt part of the spoon more than the end where we put the food. When the feeding session is over, he starts to get tired. I can tell because he rubs his eyes , without taking into account that his fingers are sticky and slushy from a mixture of pureed prunes and cereal mash, and he is still holding the rings with their serrated edges. That can't feel too good.
When breakfast is done, it's time to wake Mamma up so he can get a little milk before going straight back to bed. It seems odd behaviour for anyone who is not a teenager to sleep all night, wake up, eat and then go right back to sleep. When I questioned the logic, I was told that this is how it's done and that I should read the book baout sleep patterns (ie Sleeping Baby = Happy Mother ) before making any more comments.
So be it. I take advantage of my free time to take the dog out for a walk and enjoy the summer morning, repeating to myself the entire time, "Jeez, this sure does beat sitting at my computer, staring out the window wishing I was outdoors.”
As I enter through the gate leading to the front door after the stroll, I hear the familiar sound of baby crying. These days, it is the sound emanating from my apartment and not some other poor sucker's place like it used to. We are right in the middle of a Kaelstorm. Our wee man is teething and he is not so enthusiastic about it. It takes him an hour before he stops hiccuping from wailing so intensely in protest and calms down enough to fall asleep.
An hour and half later, Lord Kael awakens happy as a clam, as if the torture before slumber had never occurred. It's playtime. We let him roll around on the floor until his troglodyte grunts get very deep, which is his way of telling us to change up the program. I prop him up on his feet. He sways and staggers, reminding me of myself back in my univeristy days.
"Hey, what are you doing?", Michele suddenly yells from the bathroom, "It's lunchtime! We have baby group at 1 PM." Work, work, work. We all know who the real boss is. I tell Kael he is getting the prix fixe menu consisting of: mashed turkey, with mashed potatoes, mashed green beans and for dessert, you guessed it, mashed blueberries. Oops. Forgot to change that white top again before feeding him blueberries.
I get 15 minutes to myself after lunch to shave, shower and eat my own lunch. I guess that's my break.
At baby group, there a host of Moms sitting on mats watching over their fellow mini humans as they crawl clumsily around. Oh look, little Mary just accidentally gave little Ahmed a swift kick to the temple as she zoomed past. This is the cruiser group, that is, 6-12 months. I am the only man there, yet I am comfortable enough with my metrosexuality not to feel awkward. There are babies of all shapes and sizes enjoying each other's company, playing with toys, as new mother's chat away about the various calamities of caring for their respective cruiser. While the mother's converse, so do the babies, only their conversations consists of loud groans, squeals and squawks, something the mother's have all learned to ignore. I find it all very dizzying.
The guest speaker at baby group is a nutritionist here to enlighten us on finger foods. Similar to life, the key to learning how to eat for babies is by play and experimentation. We also learned that all food does not necessarily have to be mashed up into sludge and that giving Kael a third of a banana is fine, too. He acts as the test baby that all the other mothers observe. The nutritionist offers him the banana. which he accepts rather unenthusiastically. He admires its gushiness as he squishes it with his fingers. Then he hastily decides to shove into his mouth rather barbarically. “See”, the nutrtionist proudly exclaims, “he loves it!” Perhaps instead of his beloved rings, we will now start to give him finger foods to gnaw on instead.
By the end of baby group, Kael is overtired and needing of a nap. The rest of the day goes by smoothly, as dinner and bath time are old hat for me. Where did the time go? It's been constant, rewarding work so far. But I'm not doing it completely alone as my wife-to-be has done this entire time. And, the fact that I do not breastfeed makes my new job ten times easier. Kudos to all women who do it. Day 1 has been great. Let's see if I still feel the same way after Day 30.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
amazing feets
“Oh my God, did you see that!? He actually picked it up. He must be the smartest baby in the world...” Michele
They say that love is blind. Based on my short foray into parenthood, I cannot argue. Why, just the other morning, while propping Kael up on his feet like a marionette, he stooped forwards and picked up his beloved peacock, then had to let go of it immediately upon standing erect again to retain balance. Astounding, non? Non? Well, believe it or not, it is to us. Minor and perfectly natural developments such as picking something up off the floor, become minor miracles highlights of the day to a new parent - especially when they are your child's first.
Another, um, more solid example, is pooing. Most of us, if we are lucky, spend several minutes of each day on the porcelain throne getting rid of food previously ingested. But Kael's digestive system, which is not yet running at full capacity, drops the kids off at the pool on a somewhat alarmingly irregular basis. In fact, he sometimes goes almost 12 days without excreting that excess waste festering in his young colon, which Doctor J assures us is not abnormal behaviour for breastfed babies*. Sure, it makes for less stink and mess to clean up, but on other hand, notre petit trésor is obviously uncomfortable during those periods when he's all bunged up. He gets cranky when he hasn't pooed in a while, as do you and I. So when at last I get that text message from Michele announcing “Poop there it is!” or something along those lines, a mix of elation and pride prompts me to involuntarily emit a boisterous “woohoo”. Afterwards, I must of course explain to my curious co-workers that I haven't won the lottery, but that my son has just defecated. Their blank, confused stares hint that they just aren't as impressed as I am.
I'm quickly finding out that parenthood, such as life, is all about the small victories.
Spring arrived early here in BC and the signs of blossoming and joy were everywhere, including our wee man. He is now fully awake and those big, blue eyes of his that even I can't help get lost in, reflect the tremendous growing curiosity he has for his surroundings. Just as Dr Karp had assured us, it took him a full three months to accept that he can't retreat back into the womb and that this outside world is here to stay. Besides, maybe he's starting to realize that his parental units aren't that evil after all...The hair dryer was officially retired in March, though it still sits in the same spot, gathering dust, reminding us of trying times past. But we haven't forgotten its integral contribution to our keeping us somewhat sane. We are even considering encasing and donating it to the museum of colic as a former war hero.
The latest trend continues to be putting anything and everything within grasp into his mouth. (“Kael, be careful, you don't know where Papa's fingers' have been!” warns Michele. She's right of course). And I'm talking anything within range of those chubby little fingers he clearly had the misfortunes of inheriting from Daddy’s genes. He also enjoys chomping on his own feet. It's really quite impressive. He discovered his feet while lounging on the changing table. The insert-into-mouth reflex immediately sprung into action as he instinctively grabbed onto the heel of his foot and proceeded to shove it into his mouth like a Popsicle. His fans, ogling over him, went mad with excitement, egging him on for more, and finally daring him to stick them both in at the same time - which he eventually succeeded in doing thanks to some great persistence. What talent! What a feat! Ah, definitely another perk to being a new Dad is to finally have licence to get away with the dad jokes...
Even though the colicky period is officially done (big sigh of relief), that doesn't stop us from still having a Scorpio to deal with. He knows what he wants and he finds a, shall we say, very direct way to let us know when he doesn't get it. His vocabulary for expressing disgust is quickly evolving, as screeches are longer lasting and higher pitched while grunts grow angrier and deeper resounding; and yet, at the other end of the gamut of emotions, his grins also spread wider and his eyes sparkle with joy. Indeed, for the vast majority of the time, he is a healthy, happy baby. Who would have thunk after the trials of those first three months? You really do think it’s going to last forever. If you know any expecting parents, do be sure to let them know that even if their little bundle of scream doesn't seem to enjoy the outside world in the beginning, to persevere to show love and patience. The transformation will happen eventually, no matter how improbable it seems when he prefers the drone of the dryer over your own kisses.
At six months, he began to wear his own food. I mean, he started eating solid foods. Let's face it, more of it winds up on his face, bib, seat, floor and dog than in his mouth. Just prior to his first feed, he'd been anxiously watching us at the table while we ate dinner as if to say, “Yo, that looks good, hook me up!” So we did, though not exactly with the same shit as we ate. My favourite part is watching his reaction when introducing a new food. It catches him off guard initially so it begins with a look of bewilderment, which is closely followed by a scrunching of the face similar to the look you get when biting into a lemon. Finally, you get his verdict. If the face stays sour and he cries, it means that he's not crazy about this time around but maybe he'll find it more pleasurable next time. And if his regard remains neutral, it means he adores it. He also likes to suck up the water, too, gulping it down as if he had just spent 40 days and nights crossing the Gobi. He often ends up gasping and panting, or more commonly gagging to the point of his face almost turning blue. It's all or nothing with this kid – or, to use Michele's code, he's very intense - which is what I love about him already.
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A little while back, I was waiting outside La Grotta del Fromaggio while Michele went in to purchase some mate and cheese – standard achat n'est-ce pas? - rocking a dozing baby and keeping a jittery Flea out of trouble with other canine and miniature humans alike. A couple with a young baby about half the size of Kael were sitting outside on the patio enjoying a coffee in the spring-like warmth. The Dad, noticing my load, struck up a conversation. We agreed on the miraculous nature of parenthood and learned that our respective offspring were born just four days apart.
- “How is he?” I inquired, expecting to hear of a string of long sleepless nights and intense battles to put him to bed.
- “He's an absolute joy”, the jolly man in the Montreal Canadians cap responded as his boy smiled from ear to ear, “he's been like this from the very beginning.
- “Yeah, fine, but what about the lack of sleep?, I probed, beginning to become suspicious of this new dad's relaxed and much too well-rested vibe.
- “11 hours a night, from the day he was born”, he answered proudly, with a touch of nonchalance – as if it were standard behaviour.
- “Pardon? As in1-1 eleven? As in 7-11? Here's a free a piece of advice that could save you from an evil glare, don’t tell Michele what you just told me when she comes out!” I warned.
Kael does not sleep eleven hours a night. Not even close. In fact, he continues to wake up two or three times a night, out of habit rather than necessity at this stage of the game. Michele faithfully stammers out of bed to take care of his mammary needs. He only wants one thing, and daddy is not equipped to supply it. But that will all change, we hope, when I take my parental leave from work in July. Not the booby part, but him not needing the booby... hey, come to think of it, I could get that contraption De Niro was wearing in Meet the Fockers. Anyways, while I'm on leave it will be my turn to wake up every three or fours - something I haven't done since his colicky days - to soothe him back to sleep and, with any luck, out of the night-time feeding habit.
If you're wondering why it took so long for me to write, it's because I've been busier than a colony of ants that just had their mound knocked over by a clumsy child. In an attempt to make up for the half of the salary I will be lacking, I took an extra part-time job as a soccer coach to make up the amount I won't be getting. In order to pull it off however, it also required me to work the 6-2 shift at my main job for the 2 ½ months I coached. That's a 6 am start incidentally. And a dog to walk before work. And the Vancouver Whitecaps to cover on weekends. And a travel writing course to take. And spending as much time as I can with my son. And hey, why not sprinkle a few dj gigs in there to really ensure maximum busy-ness. One day I did all three: work, coaching then djing. I kept thinking of the In Living Colour skit with the hardest working West Indian family. What? Only 3 job!? Oh, and there's Michele, my bride to be, my spiritual partner, waiting in the wings, wondering when I'd make some time for her. A jack of all trades and master of none, it's long been my vice. I want to do it all NOW. Unfortunately, Michele is often the one who gets put on the backburner and I don't thank her enough for being so patient with me and for being the best thing that ever happened on planet earth.
The thing is: the corporate environment is getting to me. Don't get me wrong, as far as financial company's go, my work is decent. The people are very nice, my bosses are supportive and not in the least bit overbearing, and the company's benefits are excellent. For that I am grateful. It's just that, I don't care for what I'm doing. I go through the motions. I accept my situation, but I can’t bring myself to be enthusiastic about it. They (the royal they) will try to spread the word that you can’t be doing what you love and make money, but there are those who ignore them and do it anyway. I believe I can be one of those, too. Why not? What I do need to bear in mind is that it probably won't happen overnight and that I will have to be more patient. As relaxed and tolerant as I am with most things, I'm not a patient person at all when it comes to me not having things go as I deem they should.
Overall, everything is wonderful as we celebrate one year in Vancouver. Summer took its sweet ass time arriving, but now that its here, it has put the whole city in a good mood. The other day I took Flea out to Mt Seymour to do some hiking while Michele and Kael were away visiting grandma and grandpa on the island. From the time we left our apartment to the time we were frolicking among the giant, moss covered cedars was twenty minutes max. Later this afternoon, we'll be bbqing at the beach. You just can't beat this city – when it's nice.
Coming home after work is still the best part of my day. Flea and her oversized ears, having heard the distinct sound of my bicycle from 2 km away, is there to greet me at the gate. Amazingly, she hasn't lost one ounce of enthusiasm in all the years I've known her. And when I walk in the door, Kael, who is as elated to see me as I am him, never fails to break out into that beautiful smile, showing off his single bottom tooth. And then I get a soft kiss from Michele to top it all off. At this point, all is perfect in the universe, even if for just one fleeting moment, every single day. And while we may not live in the biggest apartment, or have a fancy car, I sure am thankful for what we've got.
Viva espana! Viva Torres!
oj
* This was started a few months back, before things got a bit crazy, which is pretty much ancient history as fast as the Kman's developments go. He has now joined the realm of regulars since he began eating solids.
Final word: George Carlin passed away recently. The man was not only funny and witty, he was able to break down social behaviour with the intelligence of of a Phd. Case and point, check this video out: http://www.jibjab.com/view/87283
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Blowing Hot Air (Feb 08)
Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see
Bluebirds singin' a song
Nothin' but bluebirds all day long
Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly
Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
(Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see)
Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly
Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Life just wouldn't be very derned interesting if there wadn't a little irony tossed in every once in a while to throw you off kilt; you know, to spice it up tobaski style.
During Michele's pregnancy - which lasted a challenging ten days beyond the due date - I held secret, future visions of the perfect little angel (strangely sexless at the time) sleeping peacefully in Daddy's arms or looking around quizically and observantly at the world around him/her, patiently eager to learn all about life outside of the womb. Most of us were expecting that Kael would be a relaxed, calm baby, much like both his parents were as babies and continue to be as adults (so long as there are no “Michele Specials” involved of course). I held visions of a perfect little Buddha; mindful; quietly alert, in harmony with his/her surroundings. What I neglected to consider during these moments of ridiculous fantasizing was another character trait shared by both Mama et Papa : highly sensitive.
“Inconceivable!”. One of my all-time favourite lines from the classic, The Princess Bride, quickly turned into “incosolable!”, around the apartment as every time he seemed on the verge of falling asleep or finally quieting down, Mt. Kael would suddenly re-erupt. I have come to call these outbursts “Kael storms” (difficult to forecast) or a “kalestrom” - depending on the intensity of the wail. So you try every trick in the book and still, the kid is acting as if his fingernails are being ripped out. “Inconsolable!”. Mind you, he's been fed, his diapers changed, he's warm enough – so what else could he possibly need? During those first few weeks, you are tortured by that helpless feeling of being at a loss as to what your screaming child desires. When we mentioned our son's condition to the nurse, who came to visit us at home early on, she kindly said that these uber-sensitive babies are common, and moreover, they are the ones that turn out to be world leaders. How flattering! Come to think, of it, I now recall the mentioning of Gandhi's mother almost losing it on her future saint of a son after his 60th straight day of crying for world peace after his birth. Thankfully, she kept her cool, just as we must with our little spirited angel.
So, while very looking forward to Kael being inaugurated as Prime Minister or awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his groundbreaking work with the Dalai Lama, we must somehow learn to deal with our little fussy-gussy of a baby boy. Enter “the formula”. No, I don't mean the evil, overpriced concoction they warned us of in breastfeeding class. No, I'm talking about the “Cuddle Cure”, invented by a hippie doctor in California. We learned of the method from a book called “The Happiest Baby on the Block”, donated to us generously by friends of ours who have graduated on to “Happiest Toddler on the Block” with their son – and Kael's future partner in play crime - Rhys. Now, I admit to being rather skeptical of the gazillion baby books and theories out there (much to Michele's frustration), but I do recommend this one to new parents. It's a wealth of pertinent non-preachy information, well written, witty, and the theories jibe with the evolution of our species. Without going into too much detail, the jist of it is that babies in modern times actually come out three months earlier than they did during our cave-dwelling days; therefore, in the first three months, it is important to mimic the conditions of the womb as closely as possible. Let's not forget that they've got it good in the womb: fed on demand, no germs, no bad breath for parents etc. And then one day boom, they are released from this den of comfort into a bright, overstimulating world. It is said that birth is the most traumatic experience of our lives – though I name a few of the bathroom experiences in China as close runner's up.
The Cuddle Cure, or the 5 Ss, goes something like this: 1) swaddle, 2) side/stomach, 3) ssshhh, 4) swing and 5) soothe. The swaddle, or creation of a baby straightjacket, creates the snugness inside the womb and prevents senseless overstimulation by unpredictable, flailing arms. The stomach or side relates to how he was positioned in the womb. The ssshhh is the most interesting one to us because it is the most important of the Ss when attempting to tame a Kaelstorm. Shhhh, quiet! Don't disturb the baby...Wrong! Apparently, it's loud, very loud, in the womb. We're talking vacuum cleaner at full blast loud in there, what with the blood rushing up and down tubes, swooshing around to and fro. Sshhing in his ear as suggested in the book, however, has not worked once. So, during desperate times, I attempted to use the hair dryer as an alternative. I plugged it in unconvincingly and brought our screeching ball of joy within range of the blasting sound, more expecting it to at least drown out his crying than soothe him. Lo and behold, he zipped right up instantly, staring blankly into space, as if he had never been upset in his life. Ever since that magical moment, the dryer has become our new best friend and we are never more than a few feet away from it at all times. Some friends are predicting he will be strangely drawn to hair salons in the future, but we are willing to take that risk for a few moments of peace.
Kael's next S is the swing, although it isn't so much a swing that he likes as a jiggle. We've gone through a whole host of different dances and jiggles, but the one in favour currently is the Richard Simmons, an aerobic-inspired back and forth step the man? himself would be proud of – though it can be quite demanding on Mom and Dad in the middle of the night. And when the dryer's drone gets a bit tiresome, oj throws on the funk, latin or whatever other booty-shaking grooves he's got and tries to appease him through dance. It rarely works as well as the Richard Simmons, but at least Papa keeps his sanity.
To say the first 6 weeks were not easy is a gross understatement. However, incorrigeably positive, I am happy to report that, on the doorstep of the 3 month mark, the worst of the collicky period is behind us. The situation did become somewhat more tolerable when we finally accepted that we were not doing anything wrong. Cause I tell ya, when your baby's only waking moments, aside from being silenced by the power of the booby, are spent wailing and screaming (I wish I were exaggerating), you start to wonder what the %^^$ you are doing wrong. My tank of patience, usually a rather large tank, was emptied until I was running on fumes almost daily. Coupled with limited sleep, I was actually on the brink as it were. I am prepared to wager that nothing is as uncomfortable as the sound of your child wailing in agony. The experience has also surfaced a side of me I had yet to see, a side that can easily be pinpointed as learned behaviour from my own father: a strong temper. Strangely, a punch in the face or being chopped down in a soccer game has never made me mad, but piercing screeches eminating from my son's impressive chops have. Go figure.
And yes, a kaelstorm is often what I came home to, sometimes after a long day's work. Ahh, poor baby. No, poor Mom actually. Michele is the one who primarily had to deal with the kaelstorms day and night. Jiggling became so constant and intense that she has developed tendinitis, sporting the splints on each hand respectively. Add that to a case of thresh and a general eating disorder that many of you are already fully aware of. Yet, as with the pregnancy, Michele has been a trooper and has admirably kept her sense of humour throughout- mostly anyways. Sleepless nights and non-stop fussiness will take its toll on even the most dedicated parent and we are no exceptions. But, it is Mom who has bared the brunt of it and I wish to pay homage to her at this time. Men just couldn't do what women do.
And now that I've got my typical whinging out of the way, let me say that it has all been worthwhile, beyond shadow of a doubt. All the cliches of being a parent are entirely true. Just looking down at that cute, handsome face sleeping peacefully comes this indescribable sense of joy that arises from deep within my heart. It is a feeling that remains unparaleled. It's Beauty. It's Love. It's Creation. And this time, it is very, very personal. Do you want me to go on? The ladies do, but the men are like, move on there fruitcake.
A few weekends ago, bless it, we got our first taste of baby sans constant fussiness. Kael actually had a few minutes of quiet awareness – something I'd heard babies' do, though was beginning to suspect only a rumour- where he would stare up at me, eyes wide open with pursed lips soundless. It was amazing. We were really able to enjoy him. The notion of even the remote possibility, at some point in the future, of life with Kael without wail, sent shots of positivity rushing through our veins.
Now at virtually 3 months old, Kael is becoming more and more expressive with each passing day. The best part of each day, by leaps and bounds - provided the skies are clear - is coming home from work, and seeing Kael's face light up when he sees me. Priceless. No matter how elated I've ever felt, whether at the best party or winning a championship, nothing compares to the feeling of my beautiful boy smiling up at me with his huge blues eyes. We usually just stare at each other for awhile, unable, unwilling, to steer our gaze elsewhere.
And yet this angel of a boy remains a “spirited” one, challenging Mom and Dad's patience to the max at times, by refusing to go down (ie sleep) without a fight or fuss. His spiritedness confirms our appropriate choice of names for, as Kael is a Gaelic name meaning mighty warrior. His signals, which initially were as indecipherable as the map of the Tokyo subway system, are slowly starting to make sense as we get to know and trust one another. Patterns emerge, though they are still about as reliable as the weather at this point. We aren't completely out of the woods, but we're close.
And when I recall those first few days at home, when, sleep-deprived and exhausted, you suddenly find yourself home with this helpless, screaming little being - completely dependent on you for survival – and you look at one another with that, “Ok, now what?” expression, it does seem like a long time ago already. You spend the better part of a year preparing for that moment, and then when it arrives, you just don't know what to do. We've already witnessed quite a change in our little guy during that period. He's doubled his birth weight and outgrown his first set of clothes faster than Flea gobbling down a piece of meat.
And, of course, even when his “spirited” phase cools down, we know there awaits an equally challenging next step phase on deck to put us to the test. These stages of his development, I suspect, are precisely what makes parenting so rewarding in the end. To gradually witness and be a part of his evolution until , he reaches adulthood, is a journey worth looking forward to. As natural and common a process as it is, it really is the miracle of life when it happens to you. Or, at least, it is as it is happening to me.
Recently, we had a full week of sunshine here in the rainy city and it has given everyone a little extra skip in their step. The stunning backdrop of scintillating golden, snow-capped peaks, seen from any vantage point around Vancouver, has indeed been an amazing sight to behold. And while walking back from my morning walk with Flea today, I happened to pass by the winter's farmers' market only steps away from our building, where some musicians were swinging to a great rendition of the wonderful classic “Blue Skies”. Yep, no matter happens, with Kael and Michele in my life, there'll be nothin' but blue skies – and blue eyes – from now on.
oj
And speaking of music, I've compiled a top five list of Kael inspires tunes. See if you can guess the real song by replacing the word in italics with a real word.
1) “Booby Nights”
2) “Wrapped like an Egyptian”
3) “Peein' (Over You)”
4) “Jiggling Baby”
5) “Burp It Out (Loud and Clear)"
Can you guess the real song?
Also, if anyone wants to see more pics, check out Michele's Facebook site. Just search for Michele Black.For now anyways...
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
The Final Countdown
"The idea of fatherhood unleashed a swirl of emotions in me. I found it frightening, invigorating, daunting, and exilerating all at the same time"- Khaled Hosseini from the The Kite Runner
Despite having to trudge through the soggy autumn leaves, drained of their vibrant colours due to the dampness from the rains that characterize Vancouver, I am still overjoyed to once again have the privilege of enjoying autumn. We are experiencing our first fall in many years and despite the dominant wet weather that has unsurprisingly plagued Vancouver, the few fine days were so astoundingly gorgeous that the rain hasn't gotten us down; yet. While living abroad all those years, I was conscious that the seasonal cycle was something I was missing out on; something profound that was missing from my life.
And yet nature's irony has not been lost on me either, for just as Her cycle approaches one of death, a cycle of rebirth - a spring - is about to commence in my own life.
That's right, my friends, the countdown is on. Can you hear the theme music? Anyone remember Europa? My devilish goal in writing this letter is not to update you, at length, about what is going in my life, but to make you suffer through your day by planting the seed of one of the worst and catchiest tunes of all time into your heads. Brwahahaha...
You haven't heard from me for a while and the reason for that is that the madness of parenting has already begun. No, baby isn't born yet but the nesting process and the necessary preparations have. There has been furniture to put together, pre-natal classes to attend, weekly doctor's appointments, a fantastic baby shower to reap the benefits of kind friends and foot rubs to administer. Time, something I never felt I had enough of even before the pregnancy, will no longer be controlled by my selfish wants and needs. I am stubbornly and slowly coming to terms with the fact that it's not about me, me, me! anymore. Family comes first and that requires sacrifice on my part. Both my ego and my artist child are throwing little tantrums but they'll get over it.
Every day, a new person asks me the inevitable: are you ready? An equally poignant and silly question when you think about it. It's similar to being asked , "Are you OK?" , after you've broken up with your girlfriend. In both cases, there is no immediate answer. Only time will tell. Am I ready? I reckon there is a little hell yeah, and, god no in the answer. I mean, this isn't exactly an exam. Sure there is lots to read up on but the more I read, the more I realize that this is is going to be a lifelong instinctual experience that can be summed up by different authors and experts, but only actualized by doing it. There, my answer is about as clear as mud. I do know that the only way I could express it was a mix, a to and fro, between excitement and nervousness. Not very creative or expressive. That's why I was happy to come across the quote from the Kite Runner, as it summarizes it much better than I could.
The due date, or D-day as Michele lovingly refers to it, is October 27. A mere week away. Michele is wonderfully large and round in the belly, glowing and beautiful in the late stages of her pregnancy.(and I'm not just saying that for brownie points -although I could use a few...). For the most part, it's been a happy ride for mamma-to-be, lacking in swollen ankles, carpel tunnel syndrome and other such malaises that many pregnant women experience. The only strange craving to record is the sudden desire for Captain Hiliners fish fingers. I mean, that's odd for anyone, of any sex, over the age of say 14 years old. I'm just glad there hasn't been any three o'clock wakings to my throat being grasped by a pair of hands and a psychotic voice demanding nutella and garlic on toast - NOW! Nor have the hormonal changes affected her attitude from minute to the next, up and down as a boat in a storm at sea. A few tears have been shed, and more than a few obscenities have surprisingly escaped from Michele's angelic mouth, but for the most part she has been wonderfully even-keeled for this seemingly interminable 9+ months.
However, that said, there is no such thing as a perfect pregnancy and she has had her fair share of struggles. Morning sickness (I have submit a formal request to the Pregnancy Board to officially change it to any ol' time o' day sickness), sore back and hips, acid reflux from a stomach that is pushed up near the oesophagus, heartburn, as well as sleepless nights due to a future gymnastic gold medalist practicing parallel bar routines in the belly during the hours of 11 PM to 7AM. And the other day, a trip to the shops that should have taken 20 minutes, took her an hour and half thanks to baby presumably grabbing onto to an innerd and twisting with all his/her might for fun, forcing her to stop every steps to wince in pain. Sure sounds like fun doesn't it ladies? There is also the matter of a compressed bladder suddenly propelling peeing into a major concern for any outing. A forgotten trip to the bathroom before leaving can result in a painful car ride or a jittery wait in a line-up somewhere. Imagine being unable to see your feet, let alone put on socks or tie your shoes. Imagine, and this one was way too unfair n my mind, being told by your doctor that you could lose a few pounds. Were he not delivering our child, I'm pretty sure he would have had a knuckle sandwich delivered to his own mouth for a comment like that. I think you'll agree with me that it's just not what you want to hear when you are about ready to burst. All in all, Michele has taken the role on admirably. She has had ample want to complain and yet she has remained positive and cheerful throughout. She is a trooper and I have to say that I am falling more and more in love with her as our partnership and our new roles as parents begin.
However, our new roles as parents have also forced us into new roles either of us had necessarily wanted or planned on before returning to Canada. For Michele, it has been the classic role of housewife by taking on domestic duties such as cleaning, washing and preparing meals. As for me, it is going in to the office as I assume the role of family breadwinner, or better yet - given my salary and high cost of living in "the world's most livable city" - yeast winner. Sometimes I wonder whether we've reverted back to the fifties and no one has bothered to tell me. While all of it - the new roles and the re-adaptation to Canada - being undeniably strange, we've accepted it for now and are rolling along with the punches. The dude and dudette abide. It's not necessarily how we envisioned life when we originally made the decision to come home (before we found out about baby). And though it hasn't been a cakewalk, I am proud at how we have handled these profound and irreversible life changes so far.
I now find myself waking up at dawn, in the dark, so that I can practice qi gong and do some writing before hopping on my bike for the commute to work. On the odd day where it is clear, the Rockies are quite a magnificent setting to behold. Otherwise, it is chilly and often wet, but I enjoy the fresh air and the exercise regardless. Beats a depressing bus ride along East Hastings I tell ya!
The office environment is a surreal place that I am still adjusting to. It's been over two months now and I am still in training. It's that complicated. I am learning details about financial procedures and transactions that are ridiculously complicated for my abstract mind. Sometimes they even have the gall to make me do a little math.* It's a struggle to keep my apt to daydream mind from drifting while Raman tries to drill into me the information I am required to learn. I try to remain positive, tell myself that through osmosis it's all bound to sink in eventually, but I do go through moments of self-doubt. It's not my dream job, but without the bi-weekly paycheque and the benefits, we'd be screwed. And truth be told, sometimes I arrive home drained and dejected. But then I walk in the door, see the belly and all the promise that accompanies it, get mauled with attention from Flea, get a waff of another delicious meal concocted by Michele, I realize what's really important. My mood swings from self-pity to one of feeling blessed. You know, I got it good after all.
For the record, I haven't given up on writing; just as Michele will eventually pursue photography. But the little miracle insider her belly will put these dreams on hold for the both of us indefinitely. We feel that the baby has chosen us as parents at this particular time, for whatever reason.
So, the next email you will receive within a few weeks will hopefully be a picture of a healthy baby that looks just like me! Or, for the baby's sake, maybe it's best that (s)he looks more like Michele. As you should have deciphered, we have kept the sex of the little one a surprise. I love surprises and I cannot think of a bigger or better surprise than this one. Dreams of it being a girl were reported by several women. Last night, however, I dreamed it was a boy. Michele waivers daily between the two. On verra, quoi. We have a girl's name that we have pretty much decided on but a boy's name remains undecided. Feel free to email me any suggestions. Ideally, it is a name that sounds good in either French or English. I am have half a mind that we need to see the little one before naming it. You know, I'll see it come out and think to myself, “Ah, it was Pablo all along!�
Also, sending a few positive vibrations in terms of a safe and healthy delivery for both momma and baby would be appreciated. And while you're at it, might as well throw in some strength for poppa in his supporting role (i.e for him not to faint), wouldn't hurt either...
papa oj
* Recognizing our hopeless math skills, Michele and I have been playing Mozart to the baby in an effort to not have our child suffer the embarrasing math inabilities of its parents. Apparently, Mozart's compositions were mathematical in nature and studies show that playing Mozart to your baby will magically develop the math part of the brain. Hey, it's worth a shot!
Despite having to trudge through the soggy autumn leaves, drained of their vibrant colours due to the dampness from the rains that characterize Vancouver, I am still overjoyed to once again have the privilege of enjoying autumn. We are experiencing our first fall in many years and despite the dominant wet weather that has unsurprisingly plagued Vancouver, the few fine days were so astoundingly gorgeous that the rain hasn't gotten us down; yet. While living abroad all those years, I was conscious that the seasonal cycle was something I was missing out on; something profound that was missing from my life.
And yet nature's irony has not been lost on me either, for just as Her cycle approaches one of death, a cycle of rebirth - a spring - is about to commence in my own life.
That's right, my friends, the countdown is on. Can you hear the theme music? Anyone remember Europa? My devilish goal in writing this letter is not to update you, at length, about what is going in my life, but to make you suffer through your day by planting the seed of one of the worst and catchiest tunes of all time into your heads. Brwahahaha...
You haven't heard from me for a while and the reason for that is that the madness of parenting has already begun. No, baby isn't born yet but the nesting process and the necessary preparations have. There has been furniture to put together, pre-natal classes to attend, weekly doctor's appointments, a fantastic baby shower to reap the benefits of kind friends and foot rubs to administer. Time, something I never felt I had enough of even before the pregnancy, will no longer be controlled by my selfish wants and needs. I am stubbornly and slowly coming to terms with the fact that it's not about me, me, me! anymore. Family comes first and that requires sacrifice on my part. Both my ego and my artist child are throwing little tantrums but they'll get over it.
Every day, a new person asks me the inevitable: are you ready? An equally poignant and silly question when you think about it. It's similar to being asked , "Are you OK?" , after you've broken up with your girlfriend. In both cases, there is no immediate answer. Only time will tell. Am I ready? I reckon there is a little hell yeah, and, god no in the answer. I mean, this isn't exactly an exam. Sure there is lots to read up on but the more I read, the more I realize that this is is going to be a lifelong instinctual experience that can be summed up by different authors and experts, but only actualized by doing it. There, my answer is about as clear as mud. I do know that the only way I could express it was a mix, a to and fro, between excitement and nervousness. Not very creative or expressive. That's why I was happy to come across the quote from the Kite Runner, as it summarizes it much better than I could.
The due date, or D-day as Michele lovingly refers to it, is October 27. A mere week away. Michele is wonderfully large and round in the belly, glowing and beautiful in the late stages of her pregnancy.(and I'm not just saying that for brownie points -although I could use a few...). For the most part, it's been a happy ride for mamma-to-be, lacking in swollen ankles, carpel tunnel syndrome and other such malaises that many pregnant women experience. The only strange craving to record is the sudden desire for Captain Hiliners fish fingers. I mean, that's odd for anyone, of any sex, over the age of say 14 years old. I'm just glad there hasn't been any three o'clock wakings to my throat being grasped by a pair of hands and a psychotic voice demanding nutella and garlic on toast - NOW! Nor have the hormonal changes affected her attitude from minute to the next, up and down as a boat in a storm at sea. A few tears have been shed, and more than a few obscenities have surprisingly escaped from Michele's angelic mouth, but for the most part she has been wonderfully even-keeled for this seemingly interminable 9+ months.
However, that said, there is no such thing as a perfect pregnancy and she has had her fair share of struggles. Morning sickness (I have submit a formal request to the Pregnancy Board to officially change it to any ol' time o' day sickness), sore back and hips, acid reflux from a stomach that is pushed up near the oesophagus, heartburn, as well as sleepless nights due to a future gymnastic gold medalist practicing parallel bar routines in the belly during the hours of 11 PM to 7AM. And the other day, a trip to the shops that should have taken 20 minutes, took her an hour and half thanks to baby presumably grabbing onto to an innerd and twisting with all his/her might for fun, forcing her to stop every steps to wince in pain. Sure sounds like fun doesn't it ladies? There is also the matter of a compressed bladder suddenly propelling peeing into a major concern for any outing. A forgotten trip to the bathroom before leaving can result in a painful car ride or a jittery wait in a line-up somewhere. Imagine being unable to see your feet, let alone put on socks or tie your shoes. Imagine, and this one was way too unfair n my mind, being told by your doctor that you could lose a few pounds. Were he not delivering our child, I'm pretty sure he would have had a knuckle sandwich delivered to his own mouth for a comment like that. I think you'll agree with me that it's just not what you want to hear when you are about ready to burst. All in all, Michele has taken the role on admirably. She has had ample want to complain and yet she has remained positive and cheerful throughout. She is a trooper and I have to say that I am falling more and more in love with her as our partnership and our new roles as parents begin.
However, our new roles as parents have also forced us into new roles either of us had necessarily wanted or planned on before returning to Canada. For Michele, it has been the classic role of housewife by taking on domestic duties such as cleaning, washing and preparing meals. As for me, it is going in to the office as I assume the role of family breadwinner, or better yet - given my salary and high cost of living in "the world's most livable city" - yeast winner. Sometimes I wonder whether we've reverted back to the fifties and no one has bothered to tell me. While all of it - the new roles and the re-adaptation to Canada - being undeniably strange, we've accepted it for now and are rolling along with the punches. The dude and dudette abide. It's not necessarily how we envisioned life when we originally made the decision to come home (before we found out about baby). And though it hasn't been a cakewalk, I am proud at how we have handled these profound and irreversible life changes so far.
I now find myself waking up at dawn, in the dark, so that I can practice qi gong and do some writing before hopping on my bike for the commute to work. On the odd day where it is clear, the Rockies are quite a magnificent setting to behold. Otherwise, it is chilly and often wet, but I enjoy the fresh air and the exercise regardless. Beats a depressing bus ride along East Hastings I tell ya!
The office environment is a surreal place that I am still adjusting to. It's been over two months now and I am still in training. It's that complicated. I am learning details about financial procedures and transactions that are ridiculously complicated for my abstract mind. Sometimes they even have the gall to make me do a little math.* It's a struggle to keep my apt to daydream mind from drifting while Raman tries to drill into me the information I am required to learn. I try to remain positive, tell myself that through osmosis it's all bound to sink in eventually, but I do go through moments of self-doubt. It's not my dream job, but without the bi-weekly paycheque and the benefits, we'd be screwed. And truth be told, sometimes I arrive home drained and dejected. But then I walk in the door, see the belly and all the promise that accompanies it, get mauled with attention from Flea, get a waff of another delicious meal concocted by Michele, I realize what's really important. My mood swings from self-pity to one of feeling blessed. You know, I got it good after all.
For the record, I haven't given up on writing; just as Michele will eventually pursue photography. But the little miracle insider her belly will put these dreams on hold for the both of us indefinitely. We feel that the baby has chosen us as parents at this particular time, for whatever reason.
So, the next email you will receive within a few weeks will hopefully be a picture of a healthy baby that looks just like me! Or, for the baby's sake, maybe it's best that (s)he looks more like Michele. As you should have deciphered, we have kept the sex of the little one a surprise. I love surprises and I cannot think of a bigger or better surprise than this one. Dreams of it being a girl were reported by several women. Last night, however, I dreamed it was a boy. Michele waivers daily between the two. On verra, quoi. We have a girl's name that we have pretty much decided on but a boy's name remains undecided. Feel free to email me any suggestions. Ideally, it is a name that sounds good in either French or English. I am have half a mind that we need to see the little one before naming it. You know, I'll see it come out and think to myself, “Ah, it was Pablo all along!�
Also, sending a few positive vibrations in terms of a safe and healthy delivery for both momma and baby would be appreciated. And while you're at it, might as well throw in some strength for poppa in his supporting role (i.e for him not to faint), wouldn't hurt either...
papa oj
* Recognizing our hopeless math skills, Michele and I have been playing Mozart to the baby in an effort to not have our child suffer the embarrasing math inabilities of its parents. Apparently, Mozart's compositions were mathematical in nature and studies show that playing Mozart to your baby will magically develop the math part of the brain. Hey, it's worth a shot!
Saturday, September 1, 2007
On the Good Foot
The street names rhymes with tabarncac. That was the first sign. But the real omen that sealed it for us was the row of Tibetan prayer flags hanging from the third floor balcony of the house/apartment complex. What better a symbol for us never mind we have since learned that Tibetan prayer flags are trendy in Van). It was both the first and last place we looked at - which is a somewhat of an impressive stat considering the competitive renter's market here. We'd heard too many horror stories of people not taking the first place they looked at, and subsequently losing it, merely because it was just that - the first place they saw. We needed to settle quickly and we did. I think our new landlord Howie Baby (that's my personal little nickname for him which he knows nothing about) took pity on us because of our situation. That sappy intro letter we wrote really worked a miracle - thanks Marie!
Sitting on the front patio of our new cozy abode ("cozy" of course being the code word for "tiny"), I notice cyclists struggle up and skaters cruise down the steep grade of Adanac St.. Flea lays sprawled out in the sun while Michele soaks it in wearing her Little Miss Sunshine t-shirt. Proof that it does occasionally get nice in the rainy city...
Ok, if you want to get technical about it, this was the second place we saw. However, the first one doesn't really count seeing as how when we strolled up at 1:15 - right on time - the landlord was counting a big bundle of cash and the new tenant, presumably with the 1:00 appointment, was already signing papers. "It happens", offered the landlord when he noticed us, not even bothering to look up from his wad. It all happened so quickly that I stood stunned frozen for a second; then I clued in that we had lost out. Oh, it's like THAT now. Such a humbling experience can be both motivational and educational. but it can also instill fear - especially seeing as how 95% of the places advertized for NO PETS in the classifieds. Funny, I see dogs around everywhere. Our friends Sean and Marie chose to offer 50$/month extra on top of the asking price to secure their place in Kits - and they don't even have any pets. So we were a bit concerned until Howie Baby left us a message saying on the same day - when he had previously said he'd get back to us in a few days - saying that it was ours if we wanted it.
Now we had to decide whether or not to take it without the luxury of comparing it to anything else. And so the Tibetan prayer flags and the fact that it rhymes with tabarnac proved to be too strong omens to ignore and we decided to take it and alleviate the stress of finding a place. And now that we've settled in, there is no regret whatsoever. It's clean, new and in a pretty cool part of East Van called Commercial Dr. It reminds me a bit of College St. in T.O. before it got all trendy and uppity. There are bars where South Americans and Italians are watching footy at all hours of the day. I must say that it is refreshing to be back in a multicultural setting after all these years away.
Things are falling into place rather nicely you'd say. Our biggest allies to getting sorted so rapidly have been Michele's parents. They have exceeded their generosity tenfold by supplying us with everything from deluxe bed, bedding, pillows, to kitchen stuff and large towels. All colour co-ordinated mind you. But the real kicker is the almost new, size-efficient, fuel efficient and no-frills efficient, 4 door Pontiac Wave, complete with go faster stripes on the side. It's basic. It's perfect. And it doesn't stop there. They also paid for our first year of insurance to boot, a sizeable amount for new drivers (apparently our combined previous 15 years Canadian driving experience means nothing to insurance folks as they offered us 0% discount- isn't that lovely).
After closing the deal for our July 1st move, we headed back to the little paradise of Gabriola to visit, and gather the rest of our stuff (that includes Flea) where were treated to Alberta beef steaks the size of our plate (sorry veggie freaks but damn are they tasty), roasts and fresh strawberries on ice cream as the hummingbirds whizzed around getting high off nature's nectar. It was tough tearing Flea away from her new home in the country, and her pal Daisy, but we stuffed our little car to the max and headed for the big city. Leaving the relaxed vibe of Gabriola to come back to the city was a little like paradise lost for the three of us.
Now comes the potentially scary part. We're on our own, jobless, and moving into an unfurnished apartment. You know what that means. You need all the little details you normally take for granted like a can opener, scissors or an elastic for instance. If you want to cook, you suddenly realize you need a wooden spoon or spices - all of them. You room needs a bedside table, the living room needs chairs. You even need tupperware for leftovers! Money evaporates as quickly snow in the winter here. When they say that Vancouver is one of the top 5 best places to live in North America, they are obviously talking about it from the point of view of those who have the bread - loaves of it. No matter how much I had mentally prepared myself for the inevitable expense of starting from scratch, there is still an involuntary twitch everytime I take that plastic card out to swipe more money out of my account. Some of the locals might think I'm autistic. From my numerous past moves, I've learned to not even bother converting amounts back into the old, cheaper currency I was used to. It was ok to calculate paying 10,000 NT for a 4 bedroom place with huge kitchen, 2 bathroom and but then to settle for this much smaller (albeit much newer) 2 bedroom for about 32000 NT... Shit, I wasn't supposed to do that!
However, there are always gives and takes with anywhere you live. In my ever-optimistic outlook, I submit that I cannot put a price on the clean air I am breathing in - and even more importantly that the bump as we affectionately call him/her - is breathing in through her/his mother. And I know that it's all still new and all but I am still wowed by the sight of snow-capped mountains as I strut along the avenue. Even better, we had the chance to hike at the foothills of some of those mountains on Canada Day with some friends. And in the winter, we'll be able to go snowshoeing up there!
I've had some nibbles in terms of job prospects but nothing substantial as of yet. I did reel in a small fish that will give me a bit of cash on the side but I need to land that tuna in order to provide for the family. These are some unfamiliar waters and I'm an un-experienced sailor to begin with, so I'm still feeling my way around out there on the sea of employment. I'm pretty patient as far as it goes so I'll just keep throwing the line out there.
Last Saturday, I did get a pretty cool non-paying gig though. I was at the U-20 World Cup sitting in the press box to cover the Scotland vs Costa Rica game for a local online sports magazine. They gave Gaston an official press pass and everything. Sitting there absorbing the match, impressed by those skilled young punks out there on the pitch, I thought to myself that I could definitely get used to that kind of work. And had it not been for an email that went into the Fifa dude's junk mail, I would have been at every first round match. The good news is that there is one 2nd round match still to be played in Vancouver and the teams as luck would have it are Spain vs Brazil. I'll have a sangria in one hand and a samba drum in the other come Wednesday night.
Well, it's evening which means it's getting chilly outside. Hear that Tainan, chilly! Eat your sweaty little hearts out! Now I will return into my pink-carpeted abode (no, we can't really believe we have pink carpets either) to stare blankly at the pale yellow walls until our other shipment of decorating stuff arrives from Taiwan. If you're ever in town, do look us up. It's real easy to find us, just remember the Commercial: Adanac rhymes with tabarnac! Then just look for the Tibetan prayer flags et voila! Or, if you're not the resourceful type come to 1837 Adanac St or give me a call at 778-318-0462.
This is oj just letting you know that Michele, lil' oj, Flea and me are off on the good foot. And like JB (RIP), it's right about time for the splits. Aiiiiiiiiiiii,,,ow. I shouldn't have tried that. A la prochaine!
oj
Sitting on the front patio of our new cozy abode ("cozy" of course being the code word for "tiny"), I notice cyclists struggle up and skaters cruise down the steep grade of Adanac St.. Flea lays sprawled out in the sun while Michele soaks it in wearing her Little Miss Sunshine t-shirt. Proof that it does occasionally get nice in the rainy city...
Ok, if you want to get technical about it, this was the second place we saw. However, the first one doesn't really count seeing as how when we strolled up at 1:15 - right on time - the landlord was counting a big bundle of cash and the new tenant, presumably with the 1:00 appointment, was already signing papers. "It happens", offered the landlord when he noticed us, not even bothering to look up from his wad. It all happened so quickly that I stood stunned frozen for a second; then I clued in that we had lost out. Oh, it's like THAT now. Such a humbling experience can be both motivational and educational. but it can also instill fear - especially seeing as how 95% of the places advertized for NO PETS in the classifieds. Funny, I see dogs around everywhere. Our friends Sean and Marie chose to offer 50$/month extra on top of the asking price to secure their place in Kits - and they don't even have any pets. So we were a bit concerned until Howie Baby left us a message saying on the same day - when he had previously said he'd get back to us in a few days - saying that it was ours if we wanted it.
Now we had to decide whether or not to take it without the luxury of comparing it to anything else. And so the Tibetan prayer flags and the fact that it rhymes with tabarnac proved to be too strong omens to ignore and we decided to take it and alleviate the stress of finding a place. And now that we've settled in, there is no regret whatsoever. It's clean, new and in a pretty cool part of East Van called Commercial Dr. It reminds me a bit of College St. in T.O. before it got all trendy and uppity. There are bars where South Americans and Italians are watching footy at all hours of the day. I must say that it is refreshing to be back in a multicultural setting after all these years away.
Things are falling into place rather nicely you'd say. Our biggest allies to getting sorted so rapidly have been Michele's parents. They have exceeded their generosity tenfold by supplying us with everything from deluxe bed, bedding, pillows, to kitchen stuff and large towels. All colour co-ordinated mind you. But the real kicker is the almost new, size-efficient, fuel efficient and no-frills efficient, 4 door Pontiac Wave, complete with go faster stripes on the side. It's basic. It's perfect. And it doesn't stop there. They also paid for our first year of insurance to boot, a sizeable amount for new drivers (apparently our combined previous 15 years Canadian driving experience means nothing to insurance folks as they offered us 0% discount- isn't that lovely).
After closing the deal for our July 1st move, we headed back to the little paradise of Gabriola to visit, and gather the rest of our stuff (that includes Flea) where were treated to Alberta beef steaks the size of our plate (sorry veggie freaks but damn are they tasty), roasts and fresh strawberries on ice cream as the hummingbirds whizzed around getting high off nature's nectar. It was tough tearing Flea away from her new home in the country, and her pal Daisy, but we stuffed our little car to the max and headed for the big city. Leaving the relaxed vibe of Gabriola to come back to the city was a little like paradise lost for the three of us.
Now comes the potentially scary part. We're on our own, jobless, and moving into an unfurnished apartment. You know what that means. You need all the little details you normally take for granted like a can opener, scissors or an elastic for instance. If you want to cook, you suddenly realize you need a wooden spoon or spices - all of them. You room needs a bedside table, the living room needs chairs. You even need tupperware for leftovers! Money evaporates as quickly snow in the winter here. When they say that Vancouver is one of the top 5 best places to live in North America, they are obviously talking about it from the point of view of those who have the bread - loaves of it. No matter how much I had mentally prepared myself for the inevitable expense of starting from scratch, there is still an involuntary twitch everytime I take that plastic card out to swipe more money out of my account. Some of the locals might think I'm autistic. From my numerous past moves, I've learned to not even bother converting amounts back into the old, cheaper currency I was used to. It was ok to calculate paying 10,000 NT for a 4 bedroom place with huge kitchen, 2 bathroom and but then to settle for this much smaller (albeit much newer) 2 bedroom for about 32000 NT... Shit, I wasn't supposed to do that!
However, there are always gives and takes with anywhere you live. In my ever-optimistic outlook, I submit that I cannot put a price on the clean air I am breathing in - and even more importantly that the bump as we affectionately call him/her - is breathing in through her/his mother. And I know that it's all still new and all but I am still wowed by the sight of snow-capped mountains as I strut along the avenue. Even better, we had the chance to hike at the foothills of some of those mountains on Canada Day with some friends. And in the winter, we'll be able to go snowshoeing up there!
I've had some nibbles in terms of job prospects but nothing substantial as of yet. I did reel in a small fish that will give me a bit of cash on the side but I need to land that tuna in order to provide for the family. These are some unfamiliar waters and I'm an un-experienced sailor to begin with, so I'm still feeling my way around out there on the sea of employment. I'm pretty patient as far as it goes so I'll just keep throwing the line out there.
Last Saturday, I did get a pretty cool non-paying gig though. I was at the U-20 World Cup sitting in the press box to cover the Scotland vs Costa Rica game for a local online sports magazine. They gave Gaston an official press pass and everything. Sitting there absorbing the match, impressed by those skilled young punks out there on the pitch, I thought to myself that I could definitely get used to that kind of work. And had it not been for an email that went into the Fifa dude's junk mail, I would have been at every first round match. The good news is that there is one 2nd round match still to be played in Vancouver and the teams as luck would have it are Spain vs Brazil. I'll have a sangria in one hand and a samba drum in the other come Wednesday night.
Well, it's evening which means it's getting chilly outside. Hear that Tainan, chilly! Eat your sweaty little hearts out! Now I will return into my pink-carpeted abode (no, we can't really believe we have pink carpets either) to stare blankly at the pale yellow walls until our other shipment of decorating stuff arrives from Taiwan. If you're ever in town, do look us up. It's real easy to find us, just remember the Commercial: Adanac rhymes with tabarnac! Then just look for the Tibetan prayer flags et voila! Or, if you're not the resourceful type come to 1837 Adanac St or give me a call at 778-318-0462.
This is oj just letting you know that Michele, lil' oj, Flea and me are off on the good foot. And like JB (RIP), it's right about time for the splits. Aiiiiiiiiiiii,,,ow. I shouldn't have tried that. A la prochaine!
oj
Saturday, February 24, 2007
King of Hill
It is never more evident than during the Chinese New Year how densely populated this little island really is. A population of 25 million people with identical vacation time on an island roughly the size of Vancouver Island, bearing in mind that 70% of the island is covered in mountains and that 95% of the population lives on the west coast. Crunch those numers and you will find that mayhem on the roads at this time is simply unavoidable. Once the token family feasts and required visitations to relatives homes' have been fulfilled, it's time for families chu qu wan (go out to play). Without exception, all of the families whose children I teach privately stayed in Tainan because they fear the insane traffic. Even when taking little side streets or out-of-the-way country roads in an attempt to avoid traffic, has cars and scooters suddenly appearing dangerously out of nowhere. And to make matters worse, the impatient factor is bumped up a notch so people tend to drive even nuttier than normal, making ridiculously dangerous passes around blind corners, needlessly putting the lives of themselves, their families and strangers in danger. 95% of the time they are taking these risks only to be held up by a line of cars not far ahead.
Why then, in my right mind, would I choose to go on a road trip this Chinese New Year? Well,I figure it's a small price to pay to be able to spend several days on the beach, hanging out for perhaps the last time with a select crew of Tainan vets and long-time friends. And besides, there are ways to avoid the main roads when on a motorbike. Whereas the cars are hopelessly stuck in a single lane, the motorcycle or scooter can usually squeeze through on the side. And there is very little in this world that feels as sweet as cruising next to a scene of mountains dotted with rows of gangly betel nut trees on a warm sunny day. The "scenic route" may take a bit longer yet time seems to evaporate as the special "road trip" playlist on my Nano and scenery unfold - that is, until the reality of sitting on the bike for so many hours stings your behind and you suddenly feel an uncontrollable urge to wiggle your butt to make sure it's still attached to your body. Once again, I had my most trusted road trip companion Chris "The Full Knighty" along for yet another classic road trip together. True to his embracing nature, he convinced a couple of friends from the bar who had barely left Tainan to join. Our convoy now included Aaron and Emily and their two dogs Marley and Dixie.
I had the bright idea to leave very early from Tainan in order to avoid the traffic. What was I thinking? We aren't exactly accustomed to functioning at that ungodly time of day and we paid the price by jellying* not once but twice. Pretty big jellies too. The first one, due to my assumption that my slight deviation from the main road in an attempt to catch up to my party would have me join up with them on the 182 turned into a big ordeal that had Chris backtracking all the way to Tainan and Aaron and Emily going the completely wrong direction. One hour wasted! The other jelly occurred later on when I realized that I had lost the tent that had been slovenly bungied up against my backpack, which was itself bungied up to my bike. I was trying this new technique, see... I've got to admit that I am a bit notorious for the shoddy bungeing. Where are you when I need you most Bungee Master? I told the crew to keep going while I u-eed in hope of finding my temporary home. I rewound my mental tape, retraced the route we had taken since I had last seen the tent about 20 minutes ago after filling up for gas. I figured all I had to do was go back on the 185, find that squiggly road we somehow ended up on and, if need be, back onto the 27 to the gas station. Eyes set on tent radar, I was full of confidence that I would find it. However, despite skillfully recognizing the squiggly road, I was frowning by the time I made it back to the Smile gas station. My only hope was that it had fallen into a ditch on the opposite side of the road where it lay hidden from view. As I veered back onto the squiggly road, something caught my eye. It wasn't the tent, but three bent heads, incense clasped reverantly in hands, devotedly praying to a sacred bodhi tree. I slowed down instinctively. I had to appreciate this classic Taiwan moment: prayer, beautiful and serene, right next to a noisy and filthy major road. I just love the contrast! As I took in the scene, something else jumped out at me. Thankfully, it wasn't a stray dog but my beloved tent! There it was, propped up casually against a betel nut stand. Can you say divine intervention?
Hwy 1 is the only way into Kenting - the most popular beach destination in Taiwan. To get to where we were going, we could not avoid the 1 forever. Yet being road trip vets, we chose a route that had us on the 1 for only 45 minutes before it cut back into the mountains on the Capricorn Highway and then joining up with the dainty 199. The 199, though noticeably busier, remains one of my favourite little roads: about 1 & 1/2 car lengths wide (not suitable for the staggering amount of SUVs we encountered; yet there they were, insensitively bullying all other vehicles out of space), spiralling down through low level mountains toward the sea. Occasionally, it provides an opening, revealing stunning shots of the Pacific, until it hooks up with the 26 where it hugs the coast for 20 or so memorable kilometres of crashing waves until we reach our destination.
We stay in a small fishing village called Jiou Peng where friends of ours rent houses to support their recent surfing obsession. Tucked away in a relatively quiet area, away from the major route up the east coast to Taidung, it remains relatively remote and quiet despite its close proximity to Kenting. Pitching our tents near the Jiou Pong beach, in a grassy area previously camped at and respected for its shade, dubbed the Hippie Commune, we spent 4 wonderful days in the Pong. I managed to get in two sunset boogie boards, many keep up sessions, some hiking (the baby macaque shyly spying on me from the tree being the highlight), big cookups at night, hanging out and chatting with friends as time slows down to a standstill (reminiscent of cottage-life in Ontario), music jams at night and waking up each morning and jumping off the pier into the sea as first order of the day. Good living.
We left Jiou Peng on a moody morning where wind and drizzle accompanied an ominous dark sky. Still, the drive along the coast, though chilly, was dramatically beautiful as waves crashed extra mightily into the rocks near the shore. Though I was sure we would encounter rain, somehow we managed to steer clear. Rain combined with cold is the cruelest way to ruin a road trip. And sure enough, once we had wound our way back up the 199, onto the Capricorn highway and back onto the 1, the weather cleared so as to provide us with some sunshine.
Now I had to a decision to make. For those who know me well, decision-making isn't my strongest suit. My tentative plan from the start had been to go to up to Wutai to visit my friend Basel on the way home. But given the weather and mood that morning, I had been leaning towards the coziness of home; yet, now, snacking on a giant piece of bbq'd squid, soaking up the warmth of the sun, the idea of mountain air suddenly became appetizing again. How many more opportunities will I have in my lifetime to go from the beach to the mountains in the same day? I decided to wait until we had reached Shui Men, the nearest town to where the road splits towards Tainan and Wutai, to make my final decision.
We stopped for a rest near Water Gate. I gave Basel a call to make sure it was still ok to come and he gave me the green light. That was probably enough but he also mentioned that he was leaving for Korea the next day so this would likely be the last time I'd see him for awhile and my last chance to go up to Wutai for who knows how long. Chris - who has been with me up to Wutai twice in the past - passed up on the opportunity, preferring to get back to his cat and other city affairs. I did not try too hard to convince him, though I initially had reservations about going alone for some reason. Michele and Flea had already gone home the previous day so I really was on a solo mission. Then I realized it had been some time since I had done just that: gone on a solo mission. And though I love my friends, my girlfriend and my dog, I also have a tremendous passion for adventuring on my own. Decision made, I hastened away from my traveling companions and our lovely chill out spot, making a right turn instead of a left so that I now sped in the direction of the high mountains rather than the plains, trying to make it up there before the fading light disappeared altogether.
I first roll past the touristy town of Sandimen, famous for its aboriginal residents and culture. Another 10 minutes later, I reach the checkpoint gate. Wutai is a protected area and theoretically you need a permit or at the very least a reference from one of its residents to get in. The idea is to protect the Rukai peoples which have thrived there for hundreds of years. While I must support this ideal, I also do not want it to stop me from going to appreciate this gorgeous place. As usual, the gate is half closed, allowing only enough space for one regular-sized car to pass through. I've had horrible experiences at this checkpoint in the past. I recall being given a hard time once even though accompanied by Squirrel, a native of Wutai. Never have the gatekeepers been courteous or friendly whatsoever; preferring always to treat us with suspicion rather than courteousness. But this time I planned to execute the "Act Like You Know" routine exactly as I had done when I came up just this past New Year's. As I approached the gate, I slowed down, gave the guards a friendly grin and a wave and proceeded on through as though I belonged. Once again, it worked like a charm as the guard reacted with a perplexed look. It probably wasn't worth the effort to stop me.
Up, up, and further up I went, taking advantage of the last bit of dwindling sunlight. I made decent time, arriving with about 45 minutes or so before darkness would rapidly envelop the entire valley. Already, I deem trip as worth it; just the sight of these steep, young mountains, driving on the incredibly high roads, and breathing in the fresh air soothes the soul in an indescribeble way. I suddenly couldn't believe I had been even considering otherwise. Once past the village of Wutai itself, I was shocked to hear a man and a woman dueting "Angie" by the Rolling Stones amazingly loudly as I approached Banosaru, the name of Basel's property. It overlooks not only the village but also allows for a panoramic view of the many peaks and valleys surrounding Wutai.
I turned first onto the service road then, keeping left, up the gravel driveway and under the sign reading "BANOSARU", carefully navigating the no-room-for-error, rather gaunt driveway, as it bends around and up to level 1. There are a few motorbikes parked as well as the familiar sight of Basel's Volvo. I unhook the bungees to free up my bag and make my way up to level 2, passing the tool shed and adjacent "tea house" where weekend guests can sit, chat and drink green tea - favourite pastime of the Taiwanese. I salute the Generalissimo when next I pass the fountain where permanently resides a statue of Chiang Kaishek, feet firmly planted two inches below the water. And Basel has the audacity to claim not to be political.
The driveway continues to zig zag as I now climb up to level 2 where two seperate guesthouses reside side by side. In front of the guest houses, there is an open space where people can sit and gaze at the view, eat some food or simply hang out. Today there is a group of people that I assume are Brusan's (Basel's wife) relatives. I recognize only his in-laws from previous visits. Presently, they are wrapping and baggin up a staggering amount of meat off of the grill for each member to take home. Looks like I arrived at the tail-end of a big bbq feast. "Rats", curses my stomach, growling over my poor timing. Brusan's father seems to read my face or my thoughts for he brings over a sausage on a stick for me to snack on. Then Brusan appears, asking me if I have contacted Basel yet. She seems oddly distant and in fact, she doesn't even seem to recognize me even though we have met several times. She tells me to set my things down and that she'll take me to see Basel who is at the KTV. Then it clicks in my turtle-like mind: of course it had to Basel singing Angie as I drove up! The guest house remains familiar from my relatively recent trip up here. Basel's psychedelic paintings are always a pleasure to examine. I decide to also have a quick change of clothes as I feel quite grimy from the drive. Murphy's Law still applies for as soon as I have stripped down to my underwear, someone outside begins calling me urgently. I scramble to get some pants on and peek outside to see who it is. A big burly stern-faced aboriginal is peeking impatiently to see what I'm doing.
I hop back on the Yamaha and follow the large, squat Rukai man down the road no more than 150m to the neighbour's house. Apparently, nobody walks around these parts either. My eyes are immediately attracted to the table where 5 or 6 men are sitting around a table filled with beer, booze and remnants of several hours of feasting. Behind them, Basel and a large woman are reaching the song's crecsendo as they are entranced by the words inscribed on the ever-cheesy KTV video. He is then informed of my arrival and turns around to gaze at me. As ever, I am stunned by the larger than life presence of this man. His long, dreadlocked hair hangs down just about to his ankles of his unusually massive frame, while his eyes remain customarily hidden behind thickset, trendy n' funky glass frames. For such an imposing man, he offers me the most delicate of hugs. We are mutually happy to see each other. He is quiet, perhaps searching for the proper words to show his appreciation.
Then Brusan comes to greet me. The real Brusan, that is. I realize that it wasn't Brusan whom I saw at his house but one of her sisters. No wonder she seemed so distant. They pour me a cup of Taiwan Beer and the toasting begins. Everyone is drunk - and has been for some time. Drinking and feasting in celebrate before a departure is the way of these mountain folk. Toasts are personal and done individually rather than the group toasts we are often accustomed to. Each toast demands the toasting ritual be respected: individuals maintain eye contact with one another, place one hand under the cup as the other hand draws the cup to lips, downing the entire contents of the cup and then making sure to re-establish eye contact before setting the cup down. The very fact that you don't sip but gulp down the booze renders intoxication that much more efficient!
Next they provide me with a platic bowl, some chopsticks and a spoon. Let the feasting begin as my tummy rumbles in anticipation. Basel tells me that he has had a goat, a 150 kg boar (Yes, the Rukai hunt boar a laAsterix and Obelix), and several chickens slaughtered for the goodbye feast. He informs me that the men sitting around the table are his closest friends from the village. One is a famous aboriginal singer/musician, another the clan's top hunter, another is a handyman etc. I try to match the face with the specialized skill for now. It is clear that Basel holds them all in high esteem.
Once the formalities are over with, I get down to the business of eating. After a long drive with only a stop for the BBQ'd squid in Fongshan, I am e si le (Mandarin meaning hungry to death). Mountain pork, a rack of grilled goat ribs, ginger goat hot pot and steamed fish relinquishing huge chunks of juicy meat satisfy my palette - and then some. All the while, my cup is constantly being refilled. "Eat, eat", pleads Basel as if not noticing that I have been mowing down consistently for the past hour. Basel and I catch up as the other men hold animated discussions. During breaks in our own conversation, I listen and observe the Rukai interacting with each other. It is clear that, related or not, they are all brothers, giving off the impression of a familiarity only exhibited by friends who have known each other since childhood. Occasionally, Basel or someone else would get up on a whim to sing a song on the KTV. When the macho hunter steps up to belt out a tune, his voice is surprisingly soft and melodic. The aboriginals really take their music seriously. When he is done, I ask him if he will take me out hunting sometime as I think it fascinating to watch first-hand any experts or masters in any discipline. He gives me a once over and simply shakes his head in refusal, stating confidently that I am too tall. For good measure, he also adds that I am also too slow. I knew the request was a longshot but I didn't expect to be shot down so ruthlessly. He's probably right, though. At last, I cannot eat another bite and we return to Basel's.
That night, rather than go down into the village, Basel makes a 5 star fire and we sit and chat in a way only two likened souls can do. If you were to compare the two of us based solely on personality, you would find two very different people; and yet, I feel there is some sort of inexplicable bond between us. The heart to heart talk which spontaneously arises around the fire, in a natural and vivacious setting devoid of the many distractions of an urban environment, guide us from subject to subject, until several hours have passed and many large bottles of beer are splayed on teh ground. It is rare occasion to see me drinking until I'm drunk these days but tonight it just seems appropriate for some reason. Basel finally passes out after his long drinking bout and I am exhausted from a full day of driving. On my way back down to the guesthouse, I run into Brusan and Liang Liang, recently returned from their party. They cajole me into sharing one last beer with them before I finally hit the pillow, instantly plunging into a fathomless mountain slumber.
I'm woken up the next morning by Basel's voice echoing throughout the valley. It feels neither too early, nor too late. I'm feeling a little rough yet as soon as I step outside into the warm day and cast my eyes upon the lush green of the valley, I already feel much better. I just love it here. I inhale deep quantities of fresh mountain air before going up to see what's cooking. I welcome into my oral cavity some noodles and fresh steamed veggies from the garden Liang Liang has prepared for breakfast. To my surprise, they are already drinking beer. They say the best way to cure a hangover... Fortunately, I do not feel that hungover. I prefer a cup of 6 year old red ginseng tea - highly prized in Korea I'm told - to do the revival trick. Basel then asks me if I would be so kind to go into town to fetch some more beer. I happily oblige. When I return, he asked me if I noticed the large tree in the school yard opposite the shop. I replied that I had. "Did you know that tree was the very same one the Rukai used to hang their enemies on before decapitating them?", he continued. "If you go to Maolin, there is a sacred tree that used to hang the captured Rukai". I had forgotten about the head-hunting nature of the peoples who first inhabited this island and suddenly became intrigued by the subject. This began a series of interesting stories about the savage nature of the history of these people.
After hanging out a bit, I decide to take a drive by myself to the end of the road, which ends at a town called Ali. In all previous visits to Wutai, I have never been passed Basel's property. It is only about 10-15 km but it is a magnificent stretch of road due to all the twists and turns as well as the sheer drop of the cliff. I am still just as shocked that they managed to build roads up here. Aside from the philosophical question of our creations being morally right or wrong, humans are without doubt amazing creatures. Five minutes up the road, I stop and take out my new binoculars and gaze at a kettle of hawks (look it up I dare you) riding the air currents. If I had to pick any activity to do for eternity, effortlessly riding the air currents like the hawks might just be the one I'd choose. I could watch them all day. Finally, in the name of effective time management, I tear myself away and hop back on the bike.
But I make it about 20 m before I feel compelled to stop again. This time I am drawn by another creature which is much closer to the road. At first I think it is a hummingbird but upon closer inspection, when it finally rests on the branch of the tree it has been busily discovering and I am able to pin it down in the binocular lense, I realize it is a type of butterfly which I have never seen. It is exquisitely coloured, mixing a deep black with vibrant red, with slender shapely extensions at the bottom of its wings rather than the usual heart-shaped synchronicity of the standard butterfly. After seeking out the name since the trip, I have learned only that it belongs to the swallowtail family of butterflies.
The town of Ali is as small and quaint as you might expect for a town in the middle of mountains. However, I am in the mood to be in nature and decide to follow an old, unpaved road leading to a water tower of some sort rather than explore the town. The road soon turns into a dirt path. Here I catch glimpses of the birds I often see caged up un the parks in Tainan. It is a hobby for some Taiwanese to bring their caged songbirds to the parks and gather. Sure it's lovely, but I'll never support the concept of cageing up a bird. As comedian Brian Regan says when personifying a parrot: "Thanks alot, I've been blessed with the gift of flight. I really appreciate the environment. Oh, and by the way, I've done reading this page".
The path eventually leads to a dried up river bed. The river must be the source of the village's water supply because I accompanied by a gurgling sound emanating from visible pipes running alongside the path and there are signs of previous human visits in the form of litter. Not a bit surprising for Taiwan unfortunately. I climb up the large boulders of the dried up river bed, which is likely active and much differnt during the rainy season. These giant rocks provide the best jungle gym in the world as they are a cinch to climb. I feel as if I could keep going for days and once again must force myself to hold back a little. Beyond lay acres of relatively untouched wilderness, flora and fauna (barking deer, macaques, wild boar, Asiatic bears etc) that I would love to explore. But alas, I must contain myself. Besides, I've got lots on my mind these days and it seems the perfect place to sit and figure stuff out for myself.
I return to pay my final respects to Basel and Brusan before catching the last few hours of light for the return drive home. As good hosts do, they insist that I leave with a full belly. He searches for some sort of parting gift (Wutai - the board game?) and finds a pendant made from metal and beads made by a local artist to give me. I'm touched. Once again, he cannot help but be emotional when it's time to say goodbye. He has nothing but sadness for my imminent departure from Taiwan and has done little else but shower me with confidence and encouragement, assuring me that Michele and I will thrive in Canada. I feel much the same, but to hear someone else say it with such conviction means more to me than he realizes.
I don't know the next time I will be in Wutai, but I have a feeling that I will be back someday. In fact, I would gladly return to Taiwan with the intention of spending a holiday up there. And the next time I come, Basel will have completed the house up on the fourth level which he has recently begun construction on, leaving this house on the third level to serve as yet another magnificent guest house. It is easy to picture Basel, sometime in the future, looking out of the window of his living room out onto the extensive, lush valley, satisfied that his work is done. At last, he will truly and deservedly feel like the King of the Hill.
* jelly: slang we use around here to describe silly mishaps
Why then, in my right mind, would I choose to go on a road trip this Chinese New Year? Well,I figure it's a small price to pay to be able to spend several days on the beach, hanging out for perhaps the last time with a select crew of Tainan vets and long-time friends. And besides, there are ways to avoid the main roads when on a motorbike. Whereas the cars are hopelessly stuck in a single lane, the motorcycle or scooter can usually squeeze through on the side. And there is very little in this world that feels as sweet as cruising next to a scene of mountains dotted with rows of gangly betel nut trees on a warm sunny day. The "scenic route" may take a bit longer yet time seems to evaporate as the special "road trip" playlist on my Nano and scenery unfold - that is, until the reality of sitting on the bike for so many hours stings your behind and you suddenly feel an uncontrollable urge to wiggle your butt to make sure it's still attached to your body. Once again, I had my most trusted road trip companion Chris "The Full Knighty" along for yet another classic road trip together. True to his embracing nature, he convinced a couple of friends from the bar who had barely left Tainan to join. Our convoy now included Aaron and Emily and their two dogs Marley and Dixie.
I had the bright idea to leave very early from Tainan in order to avoid the traffic. What was I thinking? We aren't exactly accustomed to functioning at that ungodly time of day and we paid the price by jellying* not once but twice. Pretty big jellies too. The first one, due to my assumption that my slight deviation from the main road in an attempt to catch up to my party would have me join up with them on the 182 turned into a big ordeal that had Chris backtracking all the way to Tainan and Aaron and Emily going the completely wrong direction. One hour wasted! The other jelly occurred later on when I realized that I had lost the tent that had been slovenly bungied up against my backpack, which was itself bungied up to my bike. I was trying this new technique, see... I've got to admit that I am a bit notorious for the shoddy bungeing. Where are you when I need you most Bungee Master? I told the crew to keep going while I u-eed in hope of finding my temporary home. I rewound my mental tape, retraced the route we had taken since I had last seen the tent about 20 minutes ago after filling up for gas. I figured all I had to do was go back on the 185, find that squiggly road we somehow ended up on and, if need be, back onto the 27 to the gas station. Eyes set on tent radar, I was full of confidence that I would find it. However, despite skillfully recognizing the squiggly road, I was frowning by the time I made it back to the Smile gas station. My only hope was that it had fallen into a ditch on the opposite side of the road where it lay hidden from view. As I veered back onto the squiggly road, something caught my eye. It wasn't the tent, but three bent heads, incense clasped reverantly in hands, devotedly praying to a sacred bodhi tree. I slowed down instinctively. I had to appreciate this classic Taiwan moment: prayer, beautiful and serene, right next to a noisy and filthy major road. I just love the contrast! As I took in the scene, something else jumped out at me. Thankfully, it wasn't a stray dog but my beloved tent! There it was, propped up casually against a betel nut stand. Can you say divine intervention?
Hwy 1 is the only way into Kenting - the most popular beach destination in Taiwan. To get to where we were going, we could not avoid the 1 forever. Yet being road trip vets, we chose a route that had us on the 1 for only 45 minutes before it cut back into the mountains on the Capricorn Highway and then joining up with the dainty 199. The 199, though noticeably busier, remains one of my favourite little roads: about 1 & 1/2 car lengths wide (not suitable for the staggering amount of SUVs we encountered; yet there they were, insensitively bullying all other vehicles out of space), spiralling down through low level mountains toward the sea. Occasionally, it provides an opening, revealing stunning shots of the Pacific, until it hooks up with the 26 where it hugs the coast for 20 or so memorable kilometres of crashing waves until we reach our destination.
We stay in a small fishing village called Jiou Peng where friends of ours rent houses to support their recent surfing obsession. Tucked away in a relatively quiet area, away from the major route up the east coast to Taidung, it remains relatively remote and quiet despite its close proximity to Kenting. Pitching our tents near the Jiou Pong beach, in a grassy area previously camped at and respected for its shade, dubbed the Hippie Commune, we spent 4 wonderful days in the Pong. I managed to get in two sunset boogie boards, many keep up sessions, some hiking (the baby macaque shyly spying on me from the tree being the highlight), big cookups at night, hanging out and chatting with friends as time slows down to a standstill (reminiscent of cottage-life in Ontario), music jams at night and waking up each morning and jumping off the pier into the sea as first order of the day. Good living.
We left Jiou Peng on a moody morning where wind and drizzle accompanied an ominous dark sky. Still, the drive along the coast, though chilly, was dramatically beautiful as waves crashed extra mightily into the rocks near the shore. Though I was sure we would encounter rain, somehow we managed to steer clear. Rain combined with cold is the cruelest way to ruin a road trip. And sure enough, once we had wound our way back up the 199, onto the Capricorn highway and back onto the 1, the weather cleared so as to provide us with some sunshine.
Now I had to a decision to make. For those who know me well, decision-making isn't my strongest suit. My tentative plan from the start had been to go to up to Wutai to visit my friend Basel on the way home. But given the weather and mood that morning, I had been leaning towards the coziness of home; yet, now, snacking on a giant piece of bbq'd squid, soaking up the warmth of the sun, the idea of mountain air suddenly became appetizing again. How many more opportunities will I have in my lifetime to go from the beach to the mountains in the same day? I decided to wait until we had reached Shui Men, the nearest town to where the road splits towards Tainan and Wutai, to make my final decision.
We stopped for a rest near Water Gate. I gave Basel a call to make sure it was still ok to come and he gave me the green light. That was probably enough but he also mentioned that he was leaving for Korea the next day so this would likely be the last time I'd see him for awhile and my last chance to go up to Wutai for who knows how long. Chris - who has been with me up to Wutai twice in the past - passed up on the opportunity, preferring to get back to his cat and other city affairs. I did not try too hard to convince him, though I initially had reservations about going alone for some reason. Michele and Flea had already gone home the previous day so I really was on a solo mission. Then I realized it had been some time since I had done just that: gone on a solo mission. And though I love my friends, my girlfriend and my dog, I also have a tremendous passion for adventuring on my own. Decision made, I hastened away from my traveling companions and our lovely chill out spot, making a right turn instead of a left so that I now sped in the direction of the high mountains rather than the plains, trying to make it up there before the fading light disappeared altogether.
I first roll past the touristy town of Sandimen, famous for its aboriginal residents and culture. Another 10 minutes later, I reach the checkpoint gate. Wutai is a protected area and theoretically you need a permit or at the very least a reference from one of its residents to get in. The idea is to protect the Rukai peoples which have thrived there for hundreds of years. While I must support this ideal, I also do not want it to stop me from going to appreciate this gorgeous place. As usual, the gate is half closed, allowing only enough space for one regular-sized car to pass through. I've had horrible experiences at this checkpoint in the past. I recall being given a hard time once even though accompanied by Squirrel, a native of Wutai. Never have the gatekeepers been courteous or friendly whatsoever; preferring always to treat us with suspicion rather than courteousness. But this time I planned to execute the "Act Like You Know" routine exactly as I had done when I came up just this past New Year's. As I approached the gate, I slowed down, gave the guards a friendly grin and a wave and proceeded on through as though I belonged. Once again, it worked like a charm as the guard reacted with a perplexed look. It probably wasn't worth the effort to stop me.
Up, up, and further up I went, taking advantage of the last bit of dwindling sunlight. I made decent time, arriving with about 45 minutes or so before darkness would rapidly envelop the entire valley. Already, I deem trip as worth it; just the sight of these steep, young mountains, driving on the incredibly high roads, and breathing in the fresh air soothes the soul in an indescribeble way. I suddenly couldn't believe I had been even considering otherwise. Once past the village of Wutai itself, I was shocked to hear a man and a woman dueting "Angie" by the Rolling Stones amazingly loudly as I approached Banosaru, the name of Basel's property. It overlooks not only the village but also allows for a panoramic view of the many peaks and valleys surrounding Wutai.
I turned first onto the service road then, keeping left, up the gravel driveway and under the sign reading "BANOSARU", carefully navigating the no-room-for-error, rather gaunt driveway, as it bends around and up to level 1. There are a few motorbikes parked as well as the familiar sight of Basel's Volvo. I unhook the bungees to free up my bag and make my way up to level 2, passing the tool shed and adjacent "tea house" where weekend guests can sit, chat and drink green tea - favourite pastime of the Taiwanese. I salute the Generalissimo when next I pass the fountain where permanently resides a statue of Chiang Kaishek, feet firmly planted two inches below the water. And Basel has the audacity to claim not to be political.
The driveway continues to zig zag as I now climb up to level 2 where two seperate guesthouses reside side by side. In front of the guest houses, there is an open space where people can sit and gaze at the view, eat some food or simply hang out. Today there is a group of people that I assume are Brusan's (Basel's wife) relatives. I recognize only his in-laws from previous visits. Presently, they are wrapping and baggin up a staggering amount of meat off of the grill for each member to take home. Looks like I arrived at the tail-end of a big bbq feast. "Rats", curses my stomach, growling over my poor timing. Brusan's father seems to read my face or my thoughts for he brings over a sausage on a stick for me to snack on. Then Brusan appears, asking me if I have contacted Basel yet. She seems oddly distant and in fact, she doesn't even seem to recognize me even though we have met several times. She tells me to set my things down and that she'll take me to see Basel who is at the KTV. Then it clicks in my turtle-like mind: of course it had to Basel singing Angie as I drove up! The guest house remains familiar from my relatively recent trip up here. Basel's psychedelic paintings are always a pleasure to examine. I decide to also have a quick change of clothes as I feel quite grimy from the drive. Murphy's Law still applies for as soon as I have stripped down to my underwear, someone outside begins calling me urgently. I scramble to get some pants on and peek outside to see who it is. A big burly stern-faced aboriginal is peeking impatiently to see what I'm doing.
I hop back on the Yamaha and follow the large, squat Rukai man down the road no more than 150m to the neighbour's house. Apparently, nobody walks around these parts either. My eyes are immediately attracted to the table where 5 or 6 men are sitting around a table filled with beer, booze and remnants of several hours of feasting. Behind them, Basel and a large woman are reaching the song's crecsendo as they are entranced by the words inscribed on the ever-cheesy KTV video. He is then informed of my arrival and turns around to gaze at me. As ever, I am stunned by the larger than life presence of this man. His long, dreadlocked hair hangs down just about to his ankles of his unusually massive frame, while his eyes remain customarily hidden behind thickset, trendy n' funky glass frames. For such an imposing man, he offers me the most delicate of hugs. We are mutually happy to see each other. He is quiet, perhaps searching for the proper words to show his appreciation.
Then Brusan comes to greet me. The real Brusan, that is. I realize that it wasn't Brusan whom I saw at his house but one of her sisters. No wonder she seemed so distant. They pour me a cup of Taiwan Beer and the toasting begins. Everyone is drunk - and has been for some time. Drinking and feasting in celebrate before a departure is the way of these mountain folk. Toasts are personal and done individually rather than the group toasts we are often accustomed to. Each toast demands the toasting ritual be respected: individuals maintain eye contact with one another, place one hand under the cup as the other hand draws the cup to lips, downing the entire contents of the cup and then making sure to re-establish eye contact before setting the cup down. The very fact that you don't sip but gulp down the booze renders intoxication that much more efficient!
Next they provide me with a platic bowl, some chopsticks and a spoon. Let the feasting begin as my tummy rumbles in anticipation. Basel tells me that he has had a goat, a 150 kg boar (Yes, the Rukai hunt boar a laAsterix and Obelix), and several chickens slaughtered for the goodbye feast. He informs me that the men sitting around the table are his closest friends from the village. One is a famous aboriginal singer/musician, another the clan's top hunter, another is a handyman etc. I try to match the face with the specialized skill for now. It is clear that Basel holds them all in high esteem.
Once the formalities are over with, I get down to the business of eating. After a long drive with only a stop for the BBQ'd squid in Fongshan, I am e si le (Mandarin meaning hungry to death). Mountain pork, a rack of grilled goat ribs, ginger goat hot pot and steamed fish relinquishing huge chunks of juicy meat satisfy my palette - and then some. All the while, my cup is constantly being refilled. "Eat, eat", pleads Basel as if not noticing that I have been mowing down consistently for the past hour. Basel and I catch up as the other men hold animated discussions. During breaks in our own conversation, I listen and observe the Rukai interacting with each other. It is clear that, related or not, they are all brothers, giving off the impression of a familiarity only exhibited by friends who have known each other since childhood. Occasionally, Basel or someone else would get up on a whim to sing a song on the KTV. When the macho hunter steps up to belt out a tune, his voice is surprisingly soft and melodic. The aboriginals really take their music seriously. When he is done, I ask him if he will take me out hunting sometime as I think it fascinating to watch first-hand any experts or masters in any discipline. He gives me a once over and simply shakes his head in refusal, stating confidently that I am too tall. For good measure, he also adds that I am also too slow. I knew the request was a longshot but I didn't expect to be shot down so ruthlessly. He's probably right, though. At last, I cannot eat another bite and we return to Basel's.
That night, rather than go down into the village, Basel makes a 5 star fire and we sit and chat in a way only two likened souls can do. If you were to compare the two of us based solely on personality, you would find two very different people; and yet, I feel there is some sort of inexplicable bond between us. The heart to heart talk which spontaneously arises around the fire, in a natural and vivacious setting devoid of the many distractions of an urban environment, guide us from subject to subject, until several hours have passed and many large bottles of beer are splayed on teh ground. It is rare occasion to see me drinking until I'm drunk these days but tonight it just seems appropriate for some reason. Basel finally passes out after his long drinking bout and I am exhausted from a full day of driving. On my way back down to the guesthouse, I run into Brusan and Liang Liang, recently returned from their party. They cajole me into sharing one last beer with them before I finally hit the pillow, instantly plunging into a fathomless mountain slumber.
I'm woken up the next morning by Basel's voice echoing throughout the valley. It feels neither too early, nor too late. I'm feeling a little rough yet as soon as I step outside into the warm day and cast my eyes upon the lush green of the valley, I already feel much better. I just love it here. I inhale deep quantities of fresh mountain air before going up to see what's cooking. I welcome into my oral cavity some noodles and fresh steamed veggies from the garden Liang Liang has prepared for breakfast. To my surprise, they are already drinking beer. They say the best way to cure a hangover... Fortunately, I do not feel that hungover. I prefer a cup of 6 year old red ginseng tea - highly prized in Korea I'm told - to do the revival trick. Basel then asks me if I would be so kind to go into town to fetch some more beer. I happily oblige. When I return, he asked me if I noticed the large tree in the school yard opposite the shop. I replied that I had. "Did you know that tree was the very same one the Rukai used to hang their enemies on before decapitating them?", he continued. "If you go to Maolin, there is a sacred tree that used to hang the captured Rukai". I had forgotten about the head-hunting nature of the peoples who first inhabited this island and suddenly became intrigued by the subject. This began a series of interesting stories about the savage nature of the history of these people.
After hanging out a bit, I decide to take a drive by myself to the end of the road, which ends at a town called Ali. In all previous visits to Wutai, I have never been passed Basel's property. It is only about 10-15 km but it is a magnificent stretch of road due to all the twists and turns as well as the sheer drop of the cliff. I am still just as shocked that they managed to build roads up here. Aside from the philosophical question of our creations being morally right or wrong, humans are without doubt amazing creatures. Five minutes up the road, I stop and take out my new binoculars and gaze at a kettle of hawks (look it up I dare you) riding the air currents. If I had to pick any activity to do for eternity, effortlessly riding the air currents like the hawks might just be the one I'd choose. I could watch them all day. Finally, in the name of effective time management, I tear myself away and hop back on the bike.
But I make it about 20 m before I feel compelled to stop again. This time I am drawn by another creature which is much closer to the road. At first I think it is a hummingbird but upon closer inspection, when it finally rests on the branch of the tree it has been busily discovering and I am able to pin it down in the binocular lense, I realize it is a type of butterfly which I have never seen. It is exquisitely coloured, mixing a deep black with vibrant red, with slender shapely extensions at the bottom of its wings rather than the usual heart-shaped synchronicity of the standard butterfly. After seeking out the name since the trip, I have learned only that it belongs to the swallowtail family of butterflies.
The town of Ali is as small and quaint as you might expect for a town in the middle of mountains. However, I am in the mood to be in nature and decide to follow an old, unpaved road leading to a water tower of some sort rather than explore the town. The road soon turns into a dirt path. Here I catch glimpses of the birds I often see caged up un the parks in Tainan. It is a hobby for some Taiwanese to bring their caged songbirds to the parks and gather. Sure it's lovely, but I'll never support the concept of cageing up a bird. As comedian Brian Regan says when personifying a parrot: "Thanks alot, I've been blessed with the gift of flight. I really appreciate the environment. Oh, and by the way, I've done reading this page".
The path eventually leads to a dried up river bed. The river must be the source of the village's water supply because I accompanied by a gurgling sound emanating from visible pipes running alongside the path and there are signs of previous human visits in the form of litter. Not a bit surprising for Taiwan unfortunately. I climb up the large boulders of the dried up river bed, which is likely active and much differnt during the rainy season. These giant rocks provide the best jungle gym in the world as they are a cinch to climb. I feel as if I could keep going for days and once again must force myself to hold back a little. Beyond lay acres of relatively untouched wilderness, flora and fauna (barking deer, macaques, wild boar, Asiatic bears etc) that I would love to explore. But alas, I must contain myself. Besides, I've got lots on my mind these days and it seems the perfect place to sit and figure stuff out for myself.
I return to pay my final respects to Basel and Brusan before catching the last few hours of light for the return drive home. As good hosts do, they insist that I leave with a full belly. He searches for some sort of parting gift (Wutai - the board game?) and finds a pendant made from metal and beads made by a local artist to give me. I'm touched. Once again, he cannot help but be emotional when it's time to say goodbye. He has nothing but sadness for my imminent departure from Taiwan and has done little else but shower me with confidence and encouragement, assuring me that Michele and I will thrive in Canada. I feel much the same, but to hear someone else say it with such conviction means more to me than he realizes.
I don't know the next time I will be in Wutai, but I have a feeling that I will be back someday. In fact, I would gladly return to Taiwan with the intention of spending a holiday up there. And the next time I come, Basel will have completed the house up on the fourth level which he has recently begun construction on, leaving this house on the third level to serve as yet another magnificent guest house. It is easy to picture Basel, sometime in the future, looking out of the window of his living room out onto the extensive, lush valley, satisfied that his work is done. At last, he will truly and deservedly feel like the King of the Hill.
* jelly: slang we use around here to describe silly mishaps
Monday, July 24, 2006
Don
Tomorrow may never come
For you or me
Life is not promised
Tomorrow may never show up
For you and me
This life is not promised
- Mos Def from "Umi Says"
A cool breeze races through the open window at breakneck speed, whirling by only to smack against the wall beyond me and the computer. This aggressive gust is welcomed as I tap away to the latin rhythms on the second floor of our apt, which feels like an oven pre-heated to a temperature suitable for cooking a roast. Yet despite the intense summer heat (which one never seems to get used to - much like its cousin in Canada the winter cold), strong winds such as these are usually a sign that typhoon is on its way. At the very least, bad weather is on its way. Typhoons, so long as they aren't too destructive, can be a blessing because the winds clear out the smog and the pollutants in the air. It is only after typhoon powered winds that we can see the mountains and the sea from our gargantuan rooftop.
The forecast for my life also indicates that a major typhoon is sure to hit for the entire month of June. Potentially, there will be lots of: attempts to pin down and make stable, things flying through the air that will come out from out of nowhere, as well as some roots being torn out. And of course, what's a typhoon without a bit of flooding.
But first, the sad news.
Dave's father, Don McMaster, passed away in his sleep a few weeks ago. Like Dave, I have known him since I have had any recollection of memory whatsoever. The McMaster's are fellow Don Millions as well, still residing at 102 Cottonwood Drive long after our move out of the ageing community known to most Canadians as Don Mills.
I used to meet up frequently with Mr. McMaster on the sidewalk which ran parallel to Don Mills road. Either I would be returning home and he would be off into the direction of the Mall or the arena ot the other way around. Always the polite boy, as well as an extremely shy one, I used to stop and make small talk with Mr. McMaster. I usually considered small talk with adults a tedious and frightful business but for some reason, it didn't seem like the chore it was with other adults when I encountered Don. He never pressed me or forced me to say what he wanted to hear by asking the loaded questions adults love to ask. Somehow, he always made me feel relaxed, at ease; to a shy person, that sense of security is crucial in order to appease the social fear.
Only really knowing him during the latter stage of his life, I can only remember him as being quite gaunt. I was surprised when Dave told me he had been quite a bit beefier in his younger days. I now wonder what thoughts ran through his mind during my stages of development (wish I could say evolution), from timid boy into awkward man. If he was ever contemplating why my hair was so long and always so annoyingly in my face during high school, or how I didn't notice him until the very last minute because I was lost on my own planet during my solo walks home from elementary school- he never let on. Rather he was consistently kind in character and demeanor. One thing I've learned in this life is that this consistency of character is no ordinary human trait. So I salute Don McMaster - whom I wasn't really close to yet lived in close proximity to - as his soul moves on through the cycle of its evolution.
I feel for Dave because he never got to say goodbye in person. He had been planning to leave in the fall and yet it is the end of May and we have already said our goodbyes. In fact, an email from North American suburbia told me he was wearing a tuque recently! (Hard to say which is the lesser of two evils: profuse sweating in Tainan or resentful shivering in Don Mills. At least it's supposed to be hot here now!) His father actually surpassed all living expectations by an amazing sum. He had been diagnosed with a few months to live - four years ago! I know doctors prefer to be on the cautious side but come on.... The thing is, to be fair to the men in white, there is just no way of telling how the zillions of factors that alter life will conduct themselves. Furthermore, there is no scientific accounting of the will of the spirit. If one's will is strong enough, the logic of science will be defied. Such examples are countless throughout history.
Anyway, news that "the old man" - as Dave coined him most of the time - was sick and in the hospital came while Dan and I were in Japan on a musical shopping spree/holiday. Upon return a few days later, arrangements were made for Dave to fly out on the Sunday. News of his father's passing came on the Thursday before departure, just minutes prior to Dave's going away dinner. He simply texted me "HE"S GONE". I could only stare at the words blankly, thinking of Dave while picturing his Dad as gone. Thankfully, as you always hope when hearing of a death, he went in his sleep. The lull didn't last long though as I was snapped back to reality when Caspar, the precious three year old I teach French, came barging back in the classroom thirsty for attention and play. Caspar's presence was an instant comfort for it symbolized renewal, rebirth and life at its most vibrant and enthusiastic; it reminded of the natural cycle. It is something that is all too easy to forget in the modern age.
A half hour later, at dinner, a classic Tainan feast complete with sashimi, three cups chicken, fish, veggies loaded with sizeable chunks of garlic and more all being washed down with gnarly but forcefully accepted Taiwan Beer (all for under 10$ mind you), Dave confided that he had some time alone before dinner to digest the emotional news. I think the dinner was a welcome distraction (the attached "Codfather" photo is one of them). The sheer number of friends who turned up was a testament to the impact "Jolly Dave" had on the community here.
The nickname Jolly Dave stuck to Dave as quickly as the humidity when he first arrived. He admitted to me that he wasn't crazy for the moniker. I can't blame him. I mean, think of the pressure? "Hey, what the hell does Jolly Dave have up his ass today?" just doesn't ring quite true now does it? He preffered Matteo's nickname for him: Dangerous Dave (as most geezers would, init?). Still, there is reason that Jolly Dave stuck. He possesses a joie de vivre that is infectious when in his presence. His laugh is hearty. He loves people and he likes to talk to them. Alot. He's a jolly bugger who loves life and can make others love it too when he's around them.
Before Dave came to Tainan, I had spent the most time with him during my childhood. He really was like a second big brother to me, coming outside to hang with the sporty little kid next door. I was the perfect subject for his little game strategies. I involuntarily have to chuckle when I mentally rewind back to those days. He loved to use the palm of his hand to design the patterns I should run while playing American football on our shared front yard witht he Hunters. He'd say things like "run to the baby spruce, circle it twice, then run to the road, turn around, fake the catch, then go for the bomb. I'll hit you at the lamp post!" Poor Mark Hunter, awkward and a bit uncoordinated, never had a chance! I'll always be grateful to Dave for volunteering his time to hang out with a couple of little creeps like us. I've never told him how much it meant to me till now. That's why Dave is like family.
Of course, growing up sent us on different paths until they somehow meandered back together in our adult lives. I saw him sporadically because he's friends with Craig and the Lower East Side crew. After graduation, he got me a job at Templeton, helping me confirm in my mind that the office is as far from my ideal working environment as can be. I did enjoy the social aspect though. I am grateful for the experience though as I wouldn't have enjoyed watching The Office tv series half as much (the British version of course).
Then, on a visit to Toronto my first year in Tainan, we met up. He was already having thoughts of living abroad and teaching English. I merely told him that I was really enjoying myself in Tainan without putting any kind of sell whatsoever and next thing I knew I was doubling his sizeable frame on the back of my motorcycle (that was a test of balance I tell ya). I love the way the non-sell often sells the salespeople. Dave has been a part of our exceptional Tainan social fabric for two and half years, half of which we were roommates. Though I still consider him a big brother figure (I mean that in a positive light), after spending so much time with him I now also consider him a close friend as well.
At last Monday night's belotte* session, we joked that someone would have to step in and act as anecdote teller to replace Dave. However, part and parcel with that role would require telling the same story a few times over! (sorry Dave, you couldn't expect me to resist that one). Though long, and sometimes inapprorpiately timed in terms of flow to the game, I declare that I will miss Dave's stories immensely. Tuesday night footy, Friday night hip hop nights at his and Dan's velevety apt and forever the knowlegable resource when we wanted to know the score of the footy game, Dave "McAlmanacmaster" is already missed by many here in Tainan.
It's the first of several goodbyes to come in the near future. Tainan is a transcient place. People come and go. I've now lived in several countries where I have had to make friends knowing full well a future seperation is unavoidable. It's never easy but it does get easier.
You come to a point where you realize fate brought you together in the first place and if
you are meant to cross paths again, it will happen. If not, you have shared a bond and thereby remain part of one another for the length of your existence. I view my friendships as wealth and as cheesy as this sounds, I consider myself a rich man - despite the scoffs of the materialistic and narrow-minded. We certainly don't live in a world that recognizes this type of wealth. In any case, goodbyes are an opportunity to appreciate and to move on. And the more it hurts by the way, the more evidence of camaderie, of spiritual kinship there is.
I alluded to cycles earlier on and nothing exemplifies the natural cycle more than having a dear friend's father pass on while our friends Launa and Jonathan are on the verge of having a baby. We are so attached to these lives we lead, and yet all of it - family, friends, cherished things materialistic or not - will all be gone one day. What is built will be destroyed. I'm still amazed at how well our mental defenses manage to have us avoid
this very real truth. And things can disappear sooner than we realize or when we least
expect, too. And yet we stubbornly go on leading lives, taking our precious time for granted, in denial of our attachment to living.
It wasn't only the news of Dave's father which has spawned all these thoughts within me. Another bit of shocking news greeted me when I returned home, concerning with, funny enough, my home. It looks like we're being tossed out of it like yesterday's leftovers. And no, Michele isn't leaving me for some younger football hunk, but rather the landlord - whom we have never even met - has decided to sell the apt. Michele and I have now been here together living here for a little over a year. Michele has resided here for 6 years. Significantly, she has never lived in any other place for that long. Not surpisingly then, she was slightly traumatized by the news. Ironically, it comes just after hearing from Dan that he will be moving directly across the street. And just hours prior, while waiting for a flight to Tainan in the Taipei airport, Dan and I had been making musical plans and bragging of the convenience of living across the street. Then, all of a sudden, things were turned upside down again only hours later when I saw Michele. I have no qualms about admitting that I have become attached to this apartmnent. It's a macking pad (see Movin' On Up) that is sought after by a few friends. Over the last half year or so we have gutted it out slowly to the point where it has just about reached our vision of how we want it to be. Even the roof top is almost cleared.
After the initial shock that necessarily comes with news of sudden change, I realize this move could a blessing. As mentioned earlier, the forecast for June predicts typhoon. Searching for a new place, then moving, a heavier teaching schedule, the World Cup (come on!) will combine into a whirlwind of a month. However, a sea of calm awaits us in the month of July in the form a return to Tibet for a month. After seeing a decent place last night, though still more expensive and not as nice as this place, we had a bit of a chat with our stern-faced security guard. After a lengthy talk, he convinced us to let him call our landlord so he can convince her to let us stay. Even if they sell it, the new people will already have tenants. I was kind of hoping to stay here, especially considering we are planning a move back to Montreal next April or so. Either way, things will work out fine and it's a good opportunity to downsize (speaking for Michele here as I ain't got shit!)
First priority as requirement for our provisonal new abode is Flea. I disagree with one friend who coined this requirement as constraint. Flea is a daily joy and I revere as much in one of our daily walks as she does. Therefore, it is simply unthinkable that we don't find a place close to a park. Ideally, we will try to stay in this neighbourhood to be able to continue walking around the Sports Park, which also is home to a picturesque temple and the football pitch I often huff and puff at on Sundays.
We also need a place with reasonable rent as we prepare to enter save mode, given our intention to move back to Montreal sometime next spring. Which reminds me, only a year remains for any of you to visit the unique island of Taiwan. Don't worry, we'll sort out accomodation no matter what. Taiwan will not only touch your heart as their tourist slogan goes, but it will touch many other parts of you too.
Tainan is full little steals when it comes to housing so I'm confident we'll find something to our liking. As a last resort, we have the option of moving out to a mansion directly across from the shore of the South China Sea. Things could be worse as the imminent storm drifts nearer and nearer.
oj
P.S. Also, I am skypified so if anyone uses Skype, my user name is chrispady.
For you or me
Life is not promised
Tomorrow may never show up
For you and me
This life is not promised
- Mos Def from "Umi Says"
A cool breeze races through the open window at breakneck speed, whirling by only to smack against the wall beyond me and the computer. This aggressive gust is welcomed as I tap away to the latin rhythms on the second floor of our apt, which feels like an oven pre-heated to a temperature suitable for cooking a roast. Yet despite the intense summer heat (which one never seems to get used to - much like its cousin in Canada the winter cold), strong winds such as these are usually a sign that typhoon is on its way. At the very least, bad weather is on its way. Typhoons, so long as they aren't too destructive, can be a blessing because the winds clear out the smog and the pollutants in the air. It is only after typhoon powered winds that we can see the mountains and the sea from our gargantuan rooftop.
The forecast for my life also indicates that a major typhoon is sure to hit for the entire month of June. Potentially, there will be lots of: attempts to pin down and make stable, things flying through the air that will come out from out of nowhere, as well as some roots being torn out. And of course, what's a typhoon without a bit of flooding.
But first, the sad news.
Dave's father, Don McMaster, passed away in his sleep a few weeks ago. Like Dave, I have known him since I have had any recollection of memory whatsoever. The McMaster's are fellow Don Millions as well, still residing at 102 Cottonwood Drive long after our move out of the ageing community known to most Canadians as Don Mills.
I used to meet up frequently with Mr. McMaster on the sidewalk which ran parallel to Don Mills road. Either I would be returning home and he would be off into the direction of the Mall or the arena ot the other way around. Always the polite boy, as well as an extremely shy one, I used to stop and make small talk with Mr. McMaster. I usually considered small talk with adults a tedious and frightful business but for some reason, it didn't seem like the chore it was with other adults when I encountered Don. He never pressed me or forced me to say what he wanted to hear by asking the loaded questions adults love to ask. Somehow, he always made me feel relaxed, at ease; to a shy person, that sense of security is crucial in order to appease the social fear.
Only really knowing him during the latter stage of his life, I can only remember him as being quite gaunt. I was surprised when Dave told me he had been quite a bit beefier in his younger days. I now wonder what thoughts ran through his mind during my stages of development (wish I could say evolution), from timid boy into awkward man. If he was ever contemplating why my hair was so long and always so annoyingly in my face during high school, or how I didn't notice him until the very last minute because I was lost on my own planet during my solo walks home from elementary school- he never let on. Rather he was consistently kind in character and demeanor. One thing I've learned in this life is that this consistency of character is no ordinary human trait. So I salute Don McMaster - whom I wasn't really close to yet lived in close proximity to - as his soul moves on through the cycle of its evolution.
I feel for Dave because he never got to say goodbye in person. He had been planning to leave in the fall and yet it is the end of May and we have already said our goodbyes. In fact, an email from North American suburbia told me he was wearing a tuque recently! (Hard to say which is the lesser of two evils: profuse sweating in Tainan or resentful shivering in Don Mills. At least it's supposed to be hot here now!) His father actually surpassed all living expectations by an amazing sum. He had been diagnosed with a few months to live - four years ago! I know doctors prefer to be on the cautious side but come on.... The thing is, to be fair to the men in white, there is just no way of telling how the zillions of factors that alter life will conduct themselves. Furthermore, there is no scientific accounting of the will of the spirit. If one's will is strong enough, the logic of science will be defied. Such examples are countless throughout history.
Anyway, news that "the old man" - as Dave coined him most of the time - was sick and in the hospital came while Dan and I were in Japan on a musical shopping spree/holiday. Upon return a few days later, arrangements were made for Dave to fly out on the Sunday. News of his father's passing came on the Thursday before departure, just minutes prior to Dave's going away dinner. He simply texted me "HE"S GONE". I could only stare at the words blankly, thinking of Dave while picturing his Dad as gone. Thankfully, as you always hope when hearing of a death, he went in his sleep. The lull didn't last long though as I was snapped back to reality when Caspar, the precious three year old I teach French, came barging back in the classroom thirsty for attention and play. Caspar's presence was an instant comfort for it symbolized renewal, rebirth and life at its most vibrant and enthusiastic; it reminded of the natural cycle. It is something that is all too easy to forget in the modern age.
A half hour later, at dinner, a classic Tainan feast complete with sashimi, three cups chicken, fish, veggies loaded with sizeable chunks of garlic and more all being washed down with gnarly but forcefully accepted Taiwan Beer (all for under 10$ mind you), Dave confided that he had some time alone before dinner to digest the emotional news. I think the dinner was a welcome distraction (the attached "Codfather" photo is one of them). The sheer number of friends who turned up was a testament to the impact "Jolly Dave" had on the community here.
The nickname Jolly Dave stuck to Dave as quickly as the humidity when he first arrived. He admitted to me that he wasn't crazy for the moniker. I can't blame him. I mean, think of the pressure? "Hey, what the hell does Jolly Dave have up his ass today?" just doesn't ring quite true now does it? He preffered Matteo's nickname for him: Dangerous Dave (as most geezers would, init?). Still, there is reason that Jolly Dave stuck. He possesses a joie de vivre that is infectious when in his presence. His laugh is hearty. He loves people and he likes to talk to them. Alot. He's a jolly bugger who loves life and can make others love it too when he's around them.
Before Dave came to Tainan, I had spent the most time with him during my childhood. He really was like a second big brother to me, coming outside to hang with the sporty little kid next door. I was the perfect subject for his little game strategies. I involuntarily have to chuckle when I mentally rewind back to those days. He loved to use the palm of his hand to design the patterns I should run while playing American football on our shared front yard witht he Hunters. He'd say things like "run to the baby spruce, circle it twice, then run to the road, turn around, fake the catch, then go for the bomb. I'll hit you at the lamp post!" Poor Mark Hunter, awkward and a bit uncoordinated, never had a chance! I'll always be grateful to Dave for volunteering his time to hang out with a couple of little creeps like us. I've never told him how much it meant to me till now. That's why Dave is like family.
Of course, growing up sent us on different paths until they somehow meandered back together in our adult lives. I saw him sporadically because he's friends with Craig and the Lower East Side crew. After graduation, he got me a job at Templeton, helping me confirm in my mind that the office is as far from my ideal working environment as can be. I did enjoy the social aspect though. I am grateful for the experience though as I wouldn't have enjoyed watching The Office tv series half as much (the British version of course).
Then, on a visit to Toronto my first year in Tainan, we met up. He was already having thoughts of living abroad and teaching English. I merely told him that I was really enjoying myself in Tainan without putting any kind of sell whatsoever and next thing I knew I was doubling his sizeable frame on the back of my motorcycle (that was a test of balance I tell ya). I love the way the non-sell often sells the salespeople. Dave has been a part of our exceptional Tainan social fabric for two and half years, half of which we were roommates. Though I still consider him a big brother figure (I mean that in a positive light), after spending so much time with him I now also consider him a close friend as well.
At last Monday night's belotte* session, we joked that someone would have to step in and act as anecdote teller to replace Dave. However, part and parcel with that role would require telling the same story a few times over! (sorry Dave, you couldn't expect me to resist that one). Though long, and sometimes inapprorpiately timed in terms of flow to the game, I declare that I will miss Dave's stories immensely. Tuesday night footy, Friday night hip hop nights at his and Dan's velevety apt and forever the knowlegable resource when we wanted to know the score of the footy game, Dave "McAlmanacmaster" is already missed by many here in Tainan.
It's the first of several goodbyes to come in the near future. Tainan is a transcient place. People come and go. I've now lived in several countries where I have had to make friends knowing full well a future seperation is unavoidable. It's never easy but it does get easier.
You come to a point where you realize fate brought you together in the first place and if
you are meant to cross paths again, it will happen. If not, you have shared a bond and thereby remain part of one another for the length of your existence. I view my friendships as wealth and as cheesy as this sounds, I consider myself a rich man - despite the scoffs of the materialistic and narrow-minded. We certainly don't live in a world that recognizes this type of wealth. In any case, goodbyes are an opportunity to appreciate and to move on. And the more it hurts by the way, the more evidence of camaderie, of spiritual kinship there is.
I alluded to cycles earlier on and nothing exemplifies the natural cycle more than having a dear friend's father pass on while our friends Launa and Jonathan are on the verge of having a baby. We are so attached to these lives we lead, and yet all of it - family, friends, cherished things materialistic or not - will all be gone one day. What is built will be destroyed. I'm still amazed at how well our mental defenses manage to have us avoid
this very real truth. And things can disappear sooner than we realize or when we least
expect, too. And yet we stubbornly go on leading lives, taking our precious time for granted, in denial of our attachment to living.
It wasn't only the news of Dave's father which has spawned all these thoughts within me. Another bit of shocking news greeted me when I returned home, concerning with, funny enough, my home. It looks like we're being tossed out of it like yesterday's leftovers. And no, Michele isn't leaving me for some younger football hunk, but rather the landlord - whom we have never even met - has decided to sell the apt. Michele and I have now been here together living here for a little over a year. Michele has resided here for 6 years. Significantly, she has never lived in any other place for that long. Not surpisingly then, she was slightly traumatized by the news. Ironically, it comes just after hearing from Dan that he will be moving directly across the street. And just hours prior, while waiting for a flight to Tainan in the Taipei airport, Dan and I had been making musical plans and bragging of the convenience of living across the street. Then, all of a sudden, things were turned upside down again only hours later when I saw Michele. I have no qualms about admitting that I have become attached to this apartmnent. It's a macking pad (see Movin' On Up) that is sought after by a few friends. Over the last half year or so we have gutted it out slowly to the point where it has just about reached our vision of how we want it to be. Even the roof top is almost cleared.
After the initial shock that necessarily comes with news of sudden change, I realize this move could a blessing. As mentioned earlier, the forecast for June predicts typhoon. Searching for a new place, then moving, a heavier teaching schedule, the World Cup (come on!) will combine into a whirlwind of a month. However, a sea of calm awaits us in the month of July in the form a return to Tibet for a month. After seeing a decent place last night, though still more expensive and not as nice as this place, we had a bit of a chat with our stern-faced security guard. After a lengthy talk, he convinced us to let him call our landlord so he can convince her to let us stay. Even if they sell it, the new people will already have tenants. I was kind of hoping to stay here, especially considering we are planning a move back to Montreal next April or so. Either way, things will work out fine and it's a good opportunity to downsize (speaking for Michele here as I ain't got shit!)
First priority as requirement for our provisonal new abode is Flea. I disagree with one friend who coined this requirement as constraint. Flea is a daily joy and I revere as much in one of our daily walks as she does. Therefore, it is simply unthinkable that we don't find a place close to a park. Ideally, we will try to stay in this neighbourhood to be able to continue walking around the Sports Park, which also is home to a picturesque temple and the football pitch I often huff and puff at on Sundays.
We also need a place with reasonable rent as we prepare to enter save mode, given our intention to move back to Montreal sometime next spring. Which reminds me, only a year remains for any of you to visit the unique island of Taiwan. Don't worry, we'll sort out accomodation no matter what. Taiwan will not only touch your heart as their tourist slogan goes, but it will touch many other parts of you too.
Tainan is full little steals when it comes to housing so I'm confident we'll find something to our liking. As a last resort, we have the option of moving out to a mansion directly across from the shore of the South China Sea. Things could be worse as the imminent storm drifts nearer and nearer.
oj
P.S. Also, I am skypified so if anyone uses Skype, my user name is chrispady.
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