Luckhounds Travel Site

British Columbia -- Summer 2010

2011-09-01T21:39:00.004-03:00

July in NS is notorious for rain, so we packed up our free-to-fly baby and went west for three weeks to visit friends and family.

We started in Mike's old stomping grounds, the city of Vancouver, where we stayed with the lovely Katie, Geordie and Nicola. From their deck, we picked and ate delicious cherries from a tree. We went to parks, the beach and the very enviable Kitsilano Pool. It's Canada's longest pool and its turquoise waters stretch along the natural waterfront, so it has views of the ocean and the mountains. If we needed a reason to live in Vancouver, that's it.

In our rented Matrix, we ventured into the land of Ogopogo. We stayed in Kelowna with Scott, Claire, Milo and Esme and were visited by Christine. Jackpot! We went boating and swimming in Lake Okanagan and again, explored the local parks, ate great food and sampled the local wines. Chill zone.

The last stop on our BC tour was Vancouver Island, home of Tim, Brandy & Taylor. For the first time, two tiny coastal cousins met : repping the Atlantic, Chloe Mint and on the Pacific side, Taylor Rae. The tots crawled to each other shyly and ambled around various toys. Some syllables were exchanged but only they know the true meanings.

Together we went to Tofino where we rented a cottage near the beach. The water was freezing, but the atmosphere was warm. We strolled along the sand between the ocean waves and the enormous trees. Our babies were pleasant. We barbecued. Kristen left her wallet on the beach, but someone mailed it to NS a few weeks later -- with the money still in it.

I'm predicting the Luckhounds run that trip back in a few years. We l.o.v.e. BC.

Gulf Shore, Montreal, Maine -- Summer 2009

2011-01-16T21:03:00.019-04:00

This was our last little trip before becoming parents, about a month and a half before Chloe was born. Since Kristen was too pregnant to fly, we made it a roadie in our new family hatchback, spending a few days in a cottage on the Gulf Shore, NS and a night in Quebec City.

When we bought the concert tickets, The Beastie Boys were set to headline Osheaga, the annual music festival in Montreal. They had to cancel their performance, but we still got to see The Roots, K'Naan and Coldplay. Dartmouth reps Bridget, Brian and Meghan met us at the concert. Aaron and Leigh met us in the city the next night. Luckhounds strike again.

In no real rush, we took the long way home through creepy Steven King moose-filled Maine, notably spending a night in a hunting cabin down a long dirt road in a town called Jackman. Well, not exactly Jackman...

Having detoured through Quebec and spent the WHOLE day at Ikea, it was dark when we crossed into Maine. What looked like a hop-skip on our map turn out to be quite a stretch. The border guard told us not to drive more than 20. Yikes, and he didn't mean metric. The road was newly paved, no lines painted on it, and it was peak moose mating season. Hitting one would be fatal. We drove at snail-pace, white knuckles, eyes peeled. With our headlights lighting a small path in front of us, we saw a huge owl fly over our car, a red fox cross in front of us and a moose lurking hornily on the side of the road. Around midnight, we rolled into Jackman, Maine, but Jackman's motels had no vacancies, completely booked by bear hunters, getting ready for the season.

Through his office cluttered with enormous stuffed beasts, the most American-looking person I can imagine (6'2, barrel-chest, "God Bless the USA" T-shirt) lent us a hand. He led us to his daughter's cabins in the woods, which frightened us. On the way he said, "When you see a moose's eyes, it's too late." We arrived safely and slept in pine bunks. Super-scary at night, gorgeous in the daytime.

We motored on, crossed in Calais/ St. Stephen and spent the night in St. John with the Taylors. We stayed up late, chatting away.

El Amor en Cuba

2011-01-16T19:24:00.016-04:00

March 2009

We'd been back to work without major travel for almost two years when we set out for Cuba. The occasion -- Tim & Brandy's wedding. The settings -- a beautiful resort on the white sands of Varadero and an overnighter in Havana.

That Friday after work, we practically skipped home, knowing our bags were packed and waiting. A limo-bus pulled up in front of our house and we joined the party already in progress -- bridesmaids, groomsmen and friends, already sippin' in the light of day, headed to the airport.

We spent the first two days at the resort, relaxing on the beach and catching up with friends and family. On the third day we negotiated a cab ride to La Habana for a night, where we had booked a hostel.

Now we've stayed in some dodgy places, but when we got out of the cab... gulp. The old beige buildings along the dusty narrow street seemed to be crumbling before me. The locals hanging on the street were smirking. We rang the doorbell and a little lady stuck her head out of the window above and welcomed us enthusiastically. She ran down and let us into her place, through her living room and down a hall where she rented out four bedrooms. It was clean and full of character, definitely retro, like Havana itself. The mattress sagged, the sheets were pilly, the furniture didn't match, the ceiling fan was precariously low and very loud, and we loved it. We were back to our luckhounds roots.

The entire city of Havana is a UNESCO Heritage site. It is an anomaly. The city is occupied by people who never built it, and cannot maintain it. Multi-generational families occupy the inner labyrinths of the crumbling colonial buildings. A can of fresh paint would go longer here than anywhere.

Flying in from Mexico City, Armando was supposed to meet us at the hostel at 6 and in classic Armando fashion, he was late. Muy muy tarde, like hours. We didn't know what kind of trouble our amigo had gotten himself into. When he finally showed up, after 11 PM, he matter-of-factly explained that his flight's landing had been delayed because of another important arrival, that of Venezuelan presidente, socialist Hugo Chavez. Claro que si.

St. Patrick's Day, the wedding was romantic and picture-perfect. We rocked out, dancing late into the night.

A week in Paradise.

http://www.solmeliacuba.com/cuba-hotels/hotel-paradisus-varadero/

Halifax

2007-06-27T19:52:00.000-03:00

So we're home. That's it for now. The magnificence of the adventure we just had is going to take a while to sink in. Thank-you so much to the people who followed us around the world through this blog. The blog was a presence on our trip and helped us sort through our photos and keep track of what was happening. It's a great souvenir in itself.

Thanks for reading. Peace.

Ireland and England

2007-06-16T08:15:00.000-03:00

The last leg of our trip has been spent with friends and family. Travis and Margaret took us into their home in Ennis, Ireland, a beautiful town in County Clare. Their little ones, Taylor and Saorse charmed us while baby Griffin, twelve days old when we showed up, awakened to the world. We got to see the Irish countryside including the Cliffs of Moher and had a great time at the local pubs. Due to Ireland's ambitious quest to lessen lung cancer and drunk-driving, the pubs may not be as packed as they once were, but they are still Guinness-fuelled musical fun. Mike imbibed a pint or three and I suffered the olfactory curse of the infamous Guinness Gas via Dutch Oven.

In London, Mike's aunt Mary picked us up at the airport in her cool convertible and took us to their home in Beaconsfield, where she has been spoiling us ever since. We have gone to Oxford, Windsor Castle, Stratford-upon-Avon and London, which brings me to my favourite dead Brit, William Shakespeare. We walked through Shakespeare's family home and the adjoining museum and we were starstruck. The house is restored to what it probably looked like when Shakes was a child. We tried to absorb genius vibes. The next day, we went to London and saw Othello, The Moor of Venice at The Globe Theatre. It was a dream come true for English teachers. We stood in the yard with the scrubs and it was a long show but fantastic.

Coming soon... the last blog. We're almost home.

Vive La France

2007-05-31T14:07:00.000-03:00

After Venice, we had planned to stay in Antibes, but since we were the only travellers not arriving by yacht, it wasn't really our scene. After one night, we hopped on a train to Nice, where we spent five relaxing days in the sun on the Cote d'Azure. The water and sky were brilliant shades of blue. The pebbly beach was lined with palm trees.

Continuing through baguette country, we stopped in Avignon for a few days. Our first night, we stumbled upon (and out of) La Festival du Vin et de la Vigne and sampled nice wines from the south of France. This took place in the plaza next to the Palais des Papes, a fortress/palace built in the 14th century for the papal court. Quel backdrop. Of course we also danced a little step on the Pont-St-Bénézet aka "le Pont d'Avignon". We took day trips to Arles and saw the inspiration for several of Vincent Van Gogh's paintings and to Cannes, where the film festival was beginning; we did see the famous red carpet but we got bored of waiting for the stars of "Zodiac" to walk down the stairs and so we left.

In Paris, we met Ryan, Christine and Baby Rowyn and had a blast on a whirlwind tour of the attractions: Musées du Louvre, d'Orsay et Carnavalais, la tour Eiffel, Cimetiere Père LaChaise, Arc de Triomphe, Cathédrale Notre Dame, Basilique Sacre Coeur and Montmarte, Amélie Poulain's neighbourhood. We cracked the codes of the Donatello, Raphael and Michaelangelo, the three remaining Ninja Turles. Take that, D.Brown.

La France est maginifique. Shout-out to our friends in Trosly-Breuil, Cathryn and Jean-Marie.

Venice in Pics

2007-05-20T10:14:00.000-03:00

Roccamorice -- What the heck?

2007-05-13T07:05:00.000-03:00

It's good to plan ahead. With this in mind, we sifted through all the atlases at Borders bookstore to pinpoint Roccamorice. We squinted at the map and ran our little digits all over the area of Abbruzzo, where it should have been, but no Roccamorice. We called Joe, our contact in Rocca, to sort it out. He gave us directions and met us when we arrived from Rome.

Roccamorice is a cliff-top village nestled in the moutains of Abbruzzo. Walkers can hear their footsteps on the cobblestones of the quiet narrow alleys. Strollers sigh in deep breaths of alpine air and daydream across vistas of rolling valleys. Hikers quench their thirst from the glacial water that flows freely from fountains. Trails around the area lead to monasteries carved into the mountainside where visitors can pray in the cool halls or picnic on the surrounding slopes.

We stayed two weeks at the Osteria de Belevedere, a quaint epucurian hotel, and might have stayed longer had time been more ample. Without Joe, our stay in Rocca would have been memorable enough, however, with the friendly 77-year-old's guidance and hospitality, our stay was but a dream. . . merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.

Rome

2007-05-03T14:19:00.000-03:00

Buon giorno!
We arrived in Italy bleary-eyed from a delayed 10-hour flight from Bangkok and were greeted at the airport by Rob from Australia, dressed as Magnum P.I. He introduced us to city of Rome and accompanied us on subway and sardine-can bus to our hostel, kitty-corner with the Vatican. We stayed there the first night and at Rob's place in Trastevere three more.

Italian breakfasts are for sweet-teeth! Capuccino e cornetto meant the tastiest coffee and croissant we've ever had. The sugar blast lasted through our tour of the Vatican, about 5 hours of the most opulent art imaginable. After that, we fueled up on pizza, noting quirky toppings such as potato and buffalo cheese. Italy is not a place for dieting, that's for sure.

Over the next few days we walked around the Coloseum, the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill, the Pantheon, Musei Capitolini, the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps and strolled around Trastevere. It's a beautiful place to be. Everyone is dressed so stylishly and my theory is that they don't want to be overshadowed by their gorgeous city.

Thailand

2007-04-17T04:12:00.000-03:00

After two days in Bangkok, we took a train north to Chiang Mai. It was luxury; we bunked out and nibbled on salty Thai snacks. We arrived during Songkran, the New Year Festival, and since it's the hottest month of the year, the locals celebrate by gently pouring cupfuls of water over Buddha statues and dousing each other with super-soakers and buckets of water from the encircling moat, symbolically washing away the past year's worries.

In addition to waterfighting in the wet streets, we lounged out in the guesthouse pool and read. One day we really got ambitious and took a Thai cooking course. Our instructor was a bit of an eccentric drama-queen. He'd go over the ingredient list and exclaim, "Egg! Of course, everybody's knows egg! Garlic! Of course, everybody knows garlic!!! Right?" He gave Mike a creepy vibe, but it was awesome to make our own spring rolls, pad thai, green curry, fish souffle, coconut custard in steamed pumpkin and our favourite, cashew chicken.

Back in Bangkok, we toured temples, malls and markets and our senses were bombarded by the complete olfactory spectrum. Smells of all sorts -- curry, sewage, sage, spring rolls, exhaust, perfume, cigarette smoke, coconut oil. It's hot as a tea kettle here and noisy too. That's the main reason to go into temples, I suppose. It's been a fun but gritty two weeks. Off to Rome, where all roads lead. Ciao.

Australia

2007-04-02T01:50:00.000-03:00

Within a couple hours of landing in Australia we had already eaten kangaroo meat on the barbi. Tasty. The hamburglin' Rob Daley (Mike's former roomate) and his friends welcomed us to Sydney with a feast. Then Rob took us to his parent's ranch in Kempsey, a small town north of Sydney where beaches nearby are perfect. His parents were kind and welcoming and really spoiled us with delicious meals and big-screen Aussie movies in their living room. We gorged ourselves on so many caramel tarts that our breathing slowed down, labouring under the weight of tart-belly. We coined the term "Kempsey pouch" to describe the distension of stomachs under such heavenly duress. We'll be swimming off the K-pouches for a while.

The Daley hospitality continued in Sydney with Rob's brother Mat, another incredible host. (Mat, we thought of something else for that room -- a Greyhound bus.) We strolled around the city in tourist mode, eating meat pies at the Opera House, didgeridoo lessons on the Harbour Bridge, boomerang tossing in the Botanical Gardens, racing emus on George Street. Regular stuff, mate.

Off to the West Coast on Air Ghetto. Mike picked a great hostel in Northbridge Perth, the surly binge drinking capital of the world. The place was crawling with drunk brawlers. They placed us conveniently in seperate dorm rooms. My roomies were inoccuous but one guy in Mike's room threw up out the window, passed out snoring on a pizza-box pile and another woke him up to pick a fight. Due to the gong show antics, they upgraded us the following night, out of pity.

We took the Greyhound to Monkey Mia. It was supposed to be a 12-hour journey. They managed to stretch it out to 20. The bus was 2 hours late and broke down 4 more times along the way. At midnight, when we were stuck in the cold, dark outback, the driver informed us that the head office had "cancelled our service". No one really knew what this meant, not even the driver. Eventually, a small shuttle bus came to our rescue and took us to Monkey Mia where the dolphins swim up to the beach. We got to feed them a fish each. It was awesome.

Back in Perth, we got to go to the West Coast Blues and Roots Festival, headlined by Ben Harper & the Innocent Criminals. Wooooooohoooooooooo. It was an incredible show. (Thorpe says it's fully sick.) Australia has been great. Thanks again, Daleys. How'd you get alladat in dem jeans?

New Zealand

2007-03-16T06:45:00.000-03:00

We started adventuring in New Zealand with a 3-day hike in the North Island's Tongariro National Park. The trail is marked with signs in case it gets rustic and there are huts along the way where it's first-come, first serve for a bunk. There are active volcanos along the way and some bits of the path are steep and treacherous (Mordor especially!). It's a long incredibly scenic walk where you try to remember scenes from Lord of the Rings because you're on the set. Cozzy jumped into an icy crater lake and played sand jumps with Belgian Sam.

In Wellington we thought we'd treat ourselves to a spring roll at a little fast food shop. The clerk passed us each a big greasy spring roll in a little paper bag. We thought he'd simply forgotten the customary delicious dipping sauce or worse, planned on charging us more for the condiment. When we asked for it, the guy was taken aback at our apparent effrontery. He instanty raised his voice to exclaim that there was no sauce. We persisted. Politely we asked if we could have some sweet and sour sauce as a consolation, having noted several other dishes on the menu that would necessitate such tincture. The guy's left eye started watering and he shouted his previous message -- no sauce. We retreated to our table, puzzled and a little sad, chewing slowly at our savoury snacks, seeking balance. Ever the prononent of reason and debate, Cozzy got up and requested sauce one last time. This time the clerk offered us ketchup packets at $1.50 apiece and loudly accused us of distrust. "Ask him! Ask him! You are in New Zealand now! No sauce for spring roll!" Some guy that ordered a cheeseburger chimed in and said "It's true, mate. You don't get sauce when you order a spring roll in New Zealand, mate." Grrrr.

In the South Island, we rented a Mazda Familia from the early 90's with a tape deck and cruised by massive farmland, lakes, beaches, mountains plus a quick sidetrip to walk close to a glacier. On our way to Milford Sound we drove through a mountain -- a dark 1219 metre tunnel. Quite claustrophobic. We took a boat tour in the fjords out to the Tasman Sea and back. It's stunning.

In Auckland, before we left, we had spring rolls. With sauce. So there.

Raroia

2007-02-14T15:04:00.000-04:00

Before the addition of an airport in April 2006, you could only get to Raroia, an atoll in the Tuamotu archipelago, by sea. Thor Heyerdahl did it by raft in 94 days from Peru in 1947 (see Michael Cosgrove's favourite book, The Kon-Tiki Expedition). We took the cargo boat, Kura Ura III, for 7 days from Papeete and got to see 6 different atolls (Anaa, Faaite, Katiu, Makemo, Taenga, Takume) before we finally stopped at Raroia (population 80). Everywhere we went, people would greet us from their homes calling "Café!," an invitation for breakfast usually consisting of tropical fish, rice, ipo (a steamed hockey puck of heavy bread), crackers and various powdered Nestle beverages, bought the last time the boat was in. Some of these little islands don't have one store and all their commerce is done at the dock. They place an order and the crew goes into the belly of the ship to put it together then bring it ashore on a whaler, whether it's flour, canned goods or a truck. That's how we got ashore too and sometimes it was a challenge staying upright.

At Raroia, we stayed with Inatio, Ruya and their kids, Lani, Tiare, Rahea, Inatio, Gregorie and Tehere. There are no pensions or hostels on Raroia. It was a Friday night when we got there and they kicked off the week with a 2-day party, where various guests came and went, sang, drank and/or played ukelele, guitars, keyboard or spoons until the wee hours of Sunday morning. "Faire la bringue," it's called.The kids were really fun and we had a blast playing bocchi ball, swimming in the lagoon, drawing and watching cartoons with them.

The family took us across the lagoon to their camp for a couple of nights (where I spent my birthday hammocking and swimming in between casse-croute breaks:). We learned 101 uses for the coconut and its tree (I wove a mat but it's too big to pack.), how to harvest copra, and at least 5 ways to fish (Cozzy fought off sharks from the reef.). By the way, coconut crab is delicious!

The purpose of visiting Raroia was to see the motu where the Kon Tiki landed. We finally visited the small island one morning and ambled around, imagining what it must have ben like for the six men on board the raft 60 years ago. Apparently the motu has changed as the sea has risen and claimed some of the land, yet the people of Raroia are the same genuine, hospitable folks that collected the rafters in 1947 and took them into their homes. We will never forget out time there.

Pour préparer le poisson cru

2007-01-27T20:21:00.000-04:00

1- Spend a few summers working at Sea Life and a few years frequently sushi restaurants to acquire a comfort level with raw fish.

2- Make your way to Tahiti, befriend a family that takes you in, gives you shelter, good conversation and a sampler platter of poisson cru a) à la Mayotte, b)à la Tahitienne and c) au Chinois. Take notes while the French lady cooks. Chop and dice what she tells you too. She knows what she's doing.

3- Fly to Hiva Oa, hitchike from the airport to your rental bungalow and orientate yourself with Atuona.

4- Meet le poissionnier ASAP. He's got the big blue truck parked across from Magasin Gauguin in the shade of a mango tree with a cooler in the back full of fresh tuna cut into hunks the size of a Marquesan forearm... ample.

5- Take the fish home. Cut it up into small bits, removing sinews as you see fit. Over the fish, squeeze the juice from 3-4 limes you picked near the beach, add a little salt and stick it in the fridge. Peek in occasionally to marvel at how the juice cooks the fish. Cool.

6- Chop up some cukes, tomatoes, shallots, whatever, and sprinkle over the fish. Back in the fridge.

7- In a little bowl, smush up a clove of garlic and a bit of onion. Mix with soya sauce, brown sugar, coconut milk and more lime juice. Stir it up, little darling. Pour it on your fish and veggies. Back in the fridge.

8- Sip a glass of Hinano beer with lime, write a poem, read or play rummy with Coz.

9- Serve up the poisson cru with a banane fei à la vapeur. Bon appétit!

10- For dessert, why not the fruit salad in the freezer made of papaya, mango and pomelo -- free from the island's trees?

The Marquesas were beautiful. We're off to Raroia until February 12th.
Peace, K/M

Christmas in Rapa Nui

2007-01-02T23:30:00.000-04:00

Rapa Nui is just a mote in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Known for its many moai (the 1000 stone sentinals which bespeckle the island), Rapa Nui is also home to some of the friendliest, most outgoing people in the world. Of course one finds the disenfranchised everywhere, and so even here there are Grinches, albeit few.

Not blessed with the extra space in our budget to rent a car on the island, we ventured to hitchhike around this happy isle and were picked up by two local fisherman, Tete and Tovi. They not only took us to our destination (Anakena Beach), but they gave us a tour of various local sites including Rano Raraku (the infamous moai quarry). However, their chief focus (or obsession) was fishing, a trade which kept them daily fed, and so we were treated to their bounty more than once, dining on beautiful, tropical, fresh, barbecued fish, the best we’ve ever tasted, until our stomachs hurt and we had to offend them by ceasing our consumption. On one occasion we accompanied them, wetsuits on, harpoons in hand, to fish in their vast blue ocean under the gazing moai at Ahu Tongariki and the setting sun. Every time Tete caught a fish, he'd yell, "Not bad!!!" and laugh maniacally.

And so our stay passed quickly in the company of many good people, like those you find at home, and which the world is continually made a better place by. In Tahiti, it is with people like this, whom we only met at the airport, that we stay with now.

Mike and Kristen

!Feliz Navidad!

2006-12-19T19:05:00.000-04:00

We're celebrating an eve of sorts tonight, our last night in continental South America because tomorrow we fly to The Navel of the World, Te Pito o Te Henua otherwise known as Rapa Nui or Easter Island.

These pictures are from Cobquecura, a sleepy little cowboy town on the coast of Chile. We stayed five nights in a little cabin, drank wine at the beach, saw a rodeo, went to a disco and kicked tumbleweeds.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night! Happy New Year too!

Kristen and Mike

Valdivia, Chile

2006-12-11T19:00:00.000-04:00

Valdivia, Chile, for us, will always be remembered as the place where barrel chested, greedy sea lions gorge themselves at the riverside market. These market sea lions are a species to themselves. They have a symbiotic relationship with the fishmongers. They get fed, and the fishmongers get free trash bins - big ones. Of course we are always weary of relationships which place animals in such a dependence upon humans. The denouement of this scenario should be interesting. The question we had, which time did not afford opportunity to answer, was: Can a sea lion ever be full? It seems unlikely.

These gluttons took fish heads to the side of the face without flinching, like André the Giant might receive a punch. Their downfall is their lack of neck mobility. They wore fillet fragments on their manes like war medals until swooping gulls pilfered the phocine pantries. Fish slop has to land pretty much in their mouths to be successfully ingested. And so like a sport, this charade, this spectacle, continues at the Valdivia fish market for any and all to watch.

Bariloche

2006-12-10T23:02:00.000-04:00

Who loves Russian nested dolls (matryoshki!), gourmet chocolate, snow-capped mountains on lakes and fairytale architecture? I DO! They are some of my favourite things and the backbone of a town called Bariloche, our last stop in Argentina. Whilst we were there, we braved a windy cable car ride to the top of a mountain where we hiked with Elli from Austria and Steve from BC. We got to climb a few enormous fallen trees on the trail.

Basically, Bariloche is a yoddler's paradise. You look around and expect to see Billy goats selling Ricola throat drops. If you´ve been to Switzerland, you know this place. The only difference may be the prevalence of taggers who vandalize every edifice in town. Even the town´s gothic chuch is spray painted. Respect?

Next stop is Valdivia, Chile.

Peninsula Valdez

2006-12-05T19:13:00.002-04:00

Sadly our time in South America is coming to an end. We fly from Santiago, Chile to Rapa Nui on December 20th, so we have 2 weeks left.

We recently spent 4 nights camping on the Peninsula Valdez on the coast of Argentina, a 20-hour bus ride South from Buenos Aires. We pitched our little yellow tent about 20 meters from the beach. The old Atlantic wasn't exactly swimmable, but we had a refreshing dip.

The first day we rented a little Chev with a pair of Germans, one of whom didn't trouble himself with the use of deodorant. We drove around the peninsula and saw colonies of elephant seals, hundreds of them, just lying there like milk bags. Occasionally one of them would decide to move a few feet and have to do that Stevie Wonder upper-body sway to locomote. There were a few jumbo sea lions with full furry manes and frisky attitudes. The penguin colony was huge and they were very friendly although they kept pestering us for cigarettes and lights. They made a funny braying sound like donkeys. Another surprising little fellow was the armadillo, who freaked me out because he would freeze for a minute then charge me like a mini-linebacker. He seemed to want to bruise me up. We also saw a bezerker of an animal bolting across the plains that I think is known as a viscacha, a big rabbit-like rodent. As well, a few ostriches and a breed of llama.

Consider that tour the appetizer because the next day was the best part. We hopped on a boat and headed out a half hour to see the southern right whales. This season, reportedly over 300 of them are hanging out in the gulf nursing their calves before they cruise down to Antartica for the colder waters. We saw over a dozen whales and their calves and they came close, at times swimming under our boat. Incredibly, they stay very still and the clean, clear water is quite shallow so they're close to the surface -- very lucky for the viewer. (I only wish we could have had Captain Louis at the wheel.)

After that, we did a little hiking and relaxed on the beach with the Argentines all around sipping their matés, playing soccer and tanning. We saw beautiful sunsets and hung out with two more Germans, one of whom was an engineer. He explained to us how he had changed the entire automobile industry a little bit. Just a little bit. A bit. The entire automobile industry. A bit.

Iguazu Falls

2006-11-25T10:24:00.000-04:00

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water, gravity
jungle falls made us thirsty
pics speak for themselves

(haiku for you)

Salty Dogs

2006-11-15T20:53:00.000-04:00

50 Cent did a show in Tel Aviv and they bartered him down to 40. Ba-dah-bump. It's no secret that Israelis can barter like nobody's business. We met four young Israelis in Uyuni, Bolivia and they got us a 3-day Jeep tour of southern Bolivia's salt flats and other freaky geographical features for 60 bucks US. They also liked the 50 Cent joke. Our guide didn't speak English, and almost fell asleep at the wheel the first day. However, he was named Cristobal, the patron saint of transportation, so it all worked out.

So me, Mike, Cristobal, Elik, Saul, Uri and Gali piled into a Jeep and rolled out of the dusty town, half expecting to see the back of a movie set as we drove off. Uyuni looks like the Wild West (cue tumbleweed and showdown whistle). Almost immediately we were awed by huge herds of llamas, white, black, and brown. It soon became obvious why we were in a 4x4 as we bumped along a barren dirt path, our innards a-jigglin'. Desert stretched from the road on both sides, framed by mountains, framed by blue sky. We lunched in what seemed to be a ghost town and had play shoot-outs on the road where the only traffic consisted of a little boy and his sister sharing the smallest tricycle ever made.

One morning, we had a dip in thermal springs. The air was cool all around and the water was hot and rich in minerals and foreign cooties. An Irish dude sang the whole time. We continued on to the geysers. It's the closest we may get to outerspace. Ultra-surreal. There were several geysers shooting steam high into the air. The air was a moving mist and the land was lumpy with hills and depressions brewing boiling bubbling muck, some copper, some greyish brown. I kept picturing the opening scene of Macbeth... "Double, double, toil and trouble."

The rest of the time we spent checking out flamingo-filled AND llama-lined lagoons of various colours. My favourite was the pink. Mike's was the green. What would yours be?

The last day we hit the salt flats. 2000 square kms of blinding sunny salt. Is Dr. Squint in the house? The salt reacted strangely with our Canadian body chemistry and we shrunk down to miniscule proportions for a while. It had the opposite effect on the islands of giant cacti.

36 hours in the Jeep, 11 hours on the train, 9 hours on the bus, 1 hour on foot and 15 minutes of terror when the bus left without Mike who was off buying the nastiest, greasiest beef-egg sandwich I ever ate... now we're in Argentina.

Peace, Kristen and Mike

Islands of Lake Titicaca

2006-11-06T20:23:00.000-04:00

Islands of Lake Titicaca

Vast sea-green lake with displaced Canadian
trout, let me introduce you
to the floating islands made of grasses
-- snack on the lucid roots
for calcium-white teeth and a diluted celery aftertaste --
the islands' foundations, thick patches of soil connected to support
the tentative, dry, straw-coloured layers
that sink beneath your feet, like the floor
of a bouncy castle, nice
on the knees, Señoras display their art
describing arduous detail
-- we try to knock a few soles off the price, then
take a ride on a plaited boat reminiscent
of dragon-faced Viking ships
-- no whitecaps here, calm rises and falls, off
to another floating craft-fair island
with diminutive basket habitations
-- no one huff or puff.

Back on the boat tour to our
overnight spot, greeted at the dock, a troupe
of tourists march up behind their billets
to the mud-brick homes, each outfitted
with a little room
with a little door
for the big visitors
-- did I drink Alice's Wonderland potion?
or maybe coca mate
on the island of Amantani, a yellow-green-brown mound
of terraced garden plots concealing tiny potatoes.

Stout ladies with little legs sticking
out of their puffy petticoated skirts
remind me of half eaten popsicles but twice
as bright, the pinkest pinks, the reddest reds illuminate
against the sun-baked earth
black shawls and bright white embroidered blouses
belted high with a rainbow cummerbund that barely allows breath
-- shallow gasps at this altitude
and supports the bulk born on backs because everything they have up the hill
was once down the hill, at the dock.

Grey light floats around at shoulder height
in the musty but cozy kitchen,
the matriarch by the hearth with a coca leaf on her ailing eye
Señor Onifacio entertains a few questions after quinoa soup,
and we struggle to salivate through seven salty potatoes each.
Then happily sip fragrant minty muña tea from sprigs
that grow along the steep erratic road, part dirt
part step, part cobble stone mosaic.

In the distance, cottony clouds migrate over mountains
across the lake.

At the top of the hill, teenagers meet,
the boys flaunt their portable radio
sets from the mainland, girls flirt back
with gifts of tuques for when the sun
descends, the air is cool.

Night falls and the locals turn
on the tourists, laugh at the gangle of their long pale limbs
imperfect mannequins in folkloric garb, digital
cameras flash like a lightning storm
to capture these clownish moments, down the hill
to the dance, drinka inka cerveza to loosen up
as much as you can in these tough textile layers and dance
to the sounds of the troubadours who tempt the toes to tap
and twirl around a wholesome hoedown, centuries in the making
-- don’t let the tourists make it trite
-- if irony exists here yet.

We walk down the hill, our sojourn complete, we meet
a little man with sun-creased eyes, hunched
under the weight of a giant bolsa, he zig-zags
uphill, a potted pink flower in hand.

The Inca Trail

2006-10-31T14:17:00.000-04:00

Happy Hallowe'en! My Hallowe'en candy is a Costa Cañonazo chocolate bar and Mike's is a Nestle Sublime. Mmmm. Wierd new candy.

Two days ago we trekked, with our tired, achy feet, to Machu Picchu, the ruins of the Inca Empire on the side of an Andean mountain, rediscovered by Hiram Bingham in 1911 (He took the Inca mummies from the site to Yale University and they´re still there, chillin'.). It was surreal to be up so high surrounded by mountains and clouds, wondering how humans could ever imagine and construct such an elaborate community in such a difficult location, out of stone, no less. The Incas must have had some big biceps.

The hike was a Wonder of the World on its own. Forty-eight kilometres in length and up and down thousands of metres of mountainside for four days. It was sometimes quite hard to catch your breath. Not for the scared-of-heights (Hi Dad!). The guides suggest chewing coca leaves to prevent altitude sickness and give you energy. I chewed the cud for a while and it was fine but Mike claimed they gave him arithymea. Some sections of the hike were nice and warm, some cool and the apex of my misery came on Day 2 when we hiked 6km UP and it was pouring ice-cold rain at the top of the mountain. I thought my fingers were going to fall off. Then we had to hike DOWN a few kilometres of steep, wet, uneven stairs. Nerve-racking, but I made it with Mike´s help. Mike was awesome. He jogged some parts, the little shit.

You have to do the trail with a group. Ours was Andean Life and they took care of the accomodations (tents) and food (all good three-course meals), carried by a few porters, who ran the trail in sandals with huge rice sack filled with anvils on their backs. Our guide was Virgillo, who taught us a lot about the Incas and there were six other travellers: Wolfgang and Marina, a German couple, Mike from Brooklyn, Jeanette from New Zealand and Lina and Natalia from Sweden. Luckily they were all really fun people and we had a blast together. An Aussie couple, Carrie and Brett, joined us at the ruins on the last day. We had beers at Cuzco's Irish pub last night.

We're in Cuzco one more night. It's a beautiful little city with an awesome giant market. There are sections of the market with aisles of people selling the same goods -- fruit, bread, rice, spice, fish, pig heads, bags, hairclips, etc. Product differentiation is rough with so many sellers and it´s tough to decide who to buy from. We had smoothies this morning (strawberry, pineapple and orange juice), 2 for a buck, yum. The meat section was eye-popping -- whole animals with faces hanging around being hacked. One woman had a huge bowl full of live frogs at her feet. (I didn't freak out. I peered into the bowl. I´m pretty sure the giant toad I saw in the jungle has cured me of my frogophobia. So that means Christine has to watch a whole Rod Stewart concert on DVD. Muahahahaha.)

Tomorrow we take a bus to Puno.

Until next time, Kristen and Mike

Welcome to the Jungle

2006-10-21T11:54:00.000-03:00

We arrived in Iquitos on Friday 13th, a great day to fly. We even sat in aisle 13. A shifty Japanese man bailed out of the aisle as soon as the plane took off. He seemed superstitious. Iquitos is the world´s largest city inaccessable by road. It´s a little larger than Halifax and they serve peaches on their Hawaiian pizzas.

After a Coca Cola breakfast we hopped into our vessel with two environmentalists from Lima, and our guide Juan Carlos, for the four hour trip down the Amazon River to the lodge where we would spend the next six days. The Amazon River is big and brown, and goes up and down- depending on the season. Most folks in the villages (pueblos) use dugout canoes and big bottom slapping paddles to cruise the river. Our speedboat waves were a little aggressive. We kind of stuck out like palm trees in the arctic, but there were a few other tourists around, most not so far down river. White folks in the jungle look strange, but what are you gonna do?

There were two German tourists at the lodge when we arrived, and with our neophyte enthusiasm we asked them how long they had been, and how they liked it. They appeared dazed and listless, like people who wanted off a Survivor show. They said they´d been four days, and they described it as "hot." We thought their description lacked imagination, however we lunched with them, and pitied them a little. In the end their description was apt, terse, and accurate. The best way to describe the jungle is "hot." Hot like a summer attic, or a Saturday night at Tribeca, with big Timmy bussin - "Uno, dos, tres, quatro!!"

The lodge had adopted two monkeys, a baby sloth, and two macaws. Poncho, the little capuchin monkey stole the show. His best trick was XXX, so we won´t go into it, however he was adroit at picking termite nests from the palmed roof in our room and smashing the dry clay abodes on our hammocking heads to uncover and dine on the unsuspecting insects cuddling in their combs. Juan Carlos buys animals in Iquitos who have been captured, and brings them to the lodge to freedom. Apparently tourists buy the animals, as well as skins, claws, teeth, bones, etc,. Often people buy these items in jewelery and don´t realize the impact.

Believe it or not, we tented in the jungle one night. Our guides, Paco and Hitler (yes, Hitler, that´s his first name given to him by his godfather -- we suggested changing it to Mitchell or something less controversial) told us the hike to camp would be two or three hours. It was FIVE hours through rough jungle brush, Paco literally clearing the way with a machete. We felt like we were in Nam. We were drenched in sweat within 10 minutes and the heat didn´t let up. Don´t even get me started on the humidity or the mosquitos and biting ants.

Paco and Hitler also took us piranha fishing (our lunch) and caiman catching. To see caiman from the canoe, you shine a flashlight and their eyes glow red. It was eerie and beautiful to be in the little canoe at night. The sky was brightly speckled in foreign constellations and the lake lettuce shone with phosphorescence.

Just when we thought the jungle didn´t have any more surprises, our cook Henri turned out to be the winner of the Miss Jungle Drag Pageant. He even showed us a photo of the contest. The photo was almost ruined by Poncho´s antics... he had gotten into the eggs and broken them on the photo. Maybe he was jealous.

And we´re back, Mike and Kristen

Costa Rica Chillout

2006-10-13T11:45:00.001-03:00

We left Mexico City in a blaze of glory with Armando as our aggressive chauffeur. I think Mexican roads are elastic because there´s always room for some maniac to pass you on the inside. Dios mio.

Our first glimpses of Costa Rica came in the form of in-flight previews with ethereal music, colour-enhanced jungle shots and a creepy voice-over that said ¨Costa Rica Cheelout¨. And chill out we did.

From sketchy San Jose with regrettable Chinese food in our bellies, we hopped onto a crowded sauna-bus for our three-hour ride to Jaco Beach. The interior of Costa Rica is a lush green sponge, a giant green house of peaks and valleys. We saw little towns with pastel bungalows guarded by huskies. (How´d they get there? Aren´t they warm?) A little girl on the bus told me she used to have a pet monkey. Cool.

From Jaco Beach we crammed into a Jeep-cab with 3 surfers from San Diego who tipped us off on the better beach, Playa Hermosa. We stayed at Cabinas Las Arenas (see link). http://www.1costaricalink.com/eng/hotels/hotp/_lasarenas.htm

We swam/got clobbered by big waves, read, ate tuna and marlin and took some Immodium for our issues. All in all, it was uber relaxing and we´ll do our best to upload some photos.

Love, Kristen & Mike

PS: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHRISTINE!

Ciudad de Mexico

2006-10-07T14:58:00.000-03:00

Thursday the population of Mexico City changed from 20 million to 2,000,002. It's such a small town that we're constantly bumping into people we know. ?Que pasa, amigo? Mike's Spanish is rudimentary... so far he's explained to people that he's pregnant, horny and that canadian food consists of books.

We went to two museums yesterday and got accosted by a clown with a Rick James hairstyle.

Fact: In Mexico, you can buy wrestling masks everywhere, shiny ones.
Fact: Air Canada showed the movie Nacho Libre on our way here... coincidence?

Useful Spanish words to know:
el bano -- the bathroom
luchador -- wrestler
peligroso -- danger
taco -- taco
ardilla -- squirrel
deportista -- sportsman
saltamontes -- grasshopper
aguila -- eagle

Speaking of el aguila, the Aztecs founded the city here because they saw an eagle with a snake in its mouth on top of a cactus which was their signal from the gods. Now that scene is depicted on their flag. Which do you like better, that or a maple leaf?

Armando is a great host and his family has been very hospitable. The house is beautiful and our room is cozy with family photos lining the walls: trips to Washington, San Francisco, the Alamo, Honolulu, Cancun, New York, etc.

Last night we went to a wild party. $20 cover but drinks included, Heineken, Jaggermeister and some sort of tequila. Most of the city was there. It was an open-air version of the Liquor Dome, with porta-potties. They were actually bringing sexy back.

Later, {K}/Mike

Party night in Hfx...

2006-10-02T23:18:00.000-03:00

Thanks so much to everyone who came out to the party Saturday night, especially to Kate and Mike W who organized it and Christine who drove me there. :) It was awesome to be in such great company for our last weekend here. You all confirmed my status as a luckhound aka a lucky dawg. I should have taken more pics to get everyone into the collage, but sometimes socializing takes a backseat to photography. Damn, you people made some good food too. I'm still full. Can't wait to see you all again in the summer.

Peace and love, Kristen

PS: Feel free to log in and leave messages, or email at amirok7@hotmail.com.

Tickets! Actual tickets!

2006-08-30T21:09:00.000-03:00

I picked up our tickets from Travel Cuts two days ago and they look like novellas! Some legs of the trip have electronic tickets while others are paper, which means we have to guard these booklets or pay a hundred bucks to re-issue whatever parts we need. That would be annoying. Travel Cuts has provided us each with a sturdy zip-lock bag. Hope for the best.

The trip is now five weeks away and I'm ansy to load up my backpack NOW. I've been analyzing the merits of various items of clothing, considering their potential to be packed itsy bitsy and worn in random conditions and situations. In the real world, I love to change my clothes 3 or 4 times a day... work, gym, fun-time, jammies. Whilst travelling, I predict the whatever's-clean philosophy coming into effect. I succumbed long ago to the despair of having no hairdryer -- at first I was afraid, I was petrified, kept thinking I could never live without [it] by my side... but I've grown strong and I learned how to get along. It's all good. I'll wear a sombrero in Mexico.

My babysitting gig is up in two days. I've got a solid base-tan for the trip. I'll work at the Dal bookstore for a couple of weeks and try to see family and friends as much as I can before I leave.

BIG NEWS! Sister bonding alert. This weekend Shelley and I are going to PEI to see the Black Eyed Peas concert! I'm so excited to be going on a road trip with my little sis, Shelleybean! Three other girls are going, Shell's driving and we're going to have a blast. Hope she's making a kick-ass CD for the drive.

I'm out, {K}

Armando and Rob

2006-07-22T17:26:00.000-03:00

Here's a pic of Armando (right) and Rob (left) in April the day we went to the beach. Rob jumped into the ice cold water and acted like a seal pup in the sand. We'll stay with him in Sydney, Australia next March.

{K}

Luckhounds Activate

2006-07-21T21:50:00.000-03:00

Buenos dias... I'm glad someone's reading this. Gracias.

*Click the current month under "archives" to view new posts.

So we've been planning a bit of an adventure. We first discussed and deliberated the possibility of this trip in Perks on Quinpool Road in April 2005 with a pen and a little notebook, drawing maps and throwing out locations. The itinerary has changed a little over the past year but the details are pretty much worked out and it's hard for me to believe that it's not that far away, just a little over two months.

We'll fly out of Halifax on October 5th to Mexico City, where we'll stay with our friend Armando and his family for 5 days. That will be the perfect Spanish refresher course before we get to South America. Armando has promised to be ruthless and force us to speak Spanish only. Or no cheese for us. Speaking of cheese, the guy is the slowest eater I've ever met, reflecting between small bites. His patience and metabolism are admirable. I can't wait to see him. : )

I have no way of knowing when I'll get to a computer while we're traveling, but I'd like to update this blog every couple of weeks, maybe more, maybe less -- who knows? Maybe Mike will write as well. I hope you post comments too. Oh yeah, just an editing note because it's bugging me: I would usually indent the first line of my paragraphs, but the Tab key won't do it in this program, so I'm adopting a casual attitude about it.

Here's a useful website if you want to learn about Mexico City or other places on this planet of ours:
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/worldguide/destinations/north-america/mexico/mexico-city/

Peace, Kristen