(Couch) Surfin' Safari

I've been wanting to write about this for awhile, but figured I'd wait until I had a little more experience with it under my belt. Well, given the wine I drank last night, I'm feeling pretty lethargic, and quite honestly, I just want to spread the word to those who don't know about it.

About a week before I left, contemplating different options and resources one might have to travel, I finally looked up something that I'd only vaguely heard of before - Couch Surfing. Figuring it was pretty much a simple database of people in different places around the world offering their couch to travelers, I decided to check it out. I set up a profile and dug in. But not terribly deep at first. Originally, as I said, I thought it was just people with couches - but as I explored the site, it turned out to be much more than that. Within the basic structure, there are hundreds of forums and discussion groups. I've only barely scratched the surface, but it seems that practically every country, region, city or even interests has it's own forum, and sub-forums besides. This is a huge community of people, getting together essentially for the benefit and betterment of everyone who cares to join. All (well - mostly) done selflessly and with goodwill.

My practical experience with it so far is still a little slim. After about 2 weeks in Vancouver, (almost having given up on the thing because I was unsuccessful in finding a couch for when I arrived) I decided to look at it a little closer. I joined the Vancouver CS community and arranged to meet with 5 people (a German, an Italian, 2 Japanese, and an American) for a bite to eat before we went to a bar to attend the weekly local "meet" (around 40-or-so others showed up) for some cheap drinks. I also invited my good friend Pat to join us. We had a blast! Lots of local people as well as travelers from all over the globe.

My second, and more lasting experience, was with Ivan - whom I wrote a bit about in my last entry. I won't go into the details of our week and a half adventure together, but it was because I saw his request on the "Canada rideshare" community that I found myself, quite unexpectedly, about 1400 miles south of Vancouver, in San Diego. Recently I saw someone looking for a driving partner to go from here to Chicago. I wrote to him, but haven't heard back yet. I've always wanted to see Chicago. This may seem a little haphazard - but for me, the unexpected is probably the thing I most value in traveling. It keeps things exciting, and, like stretching one's muscles it keeps a person flexible.

Now, an astute observer will notice that I haven't actually slept on anyone's couch. It's true - I haven't had any success, as of yet. Mind you - the only time I tried was when I first went to Vancouver. I sent out approximately 20 requests, with no positive replies. Considering it is best policy to send personalized messages to each prospective host (after all, they generally don't want to be simply a free bed for a night or two - most are looking to actually be a bit of an ambassador to their city and are interested in actually meeting people) , this was very time-consuming. Of course, my first weekend there was during the Van marathon, as well as hockey play-offs - very busy time in the city. Later, when I finally met some locals, one told me that he gets about 100 requests a week! It's not a perfect system, and I haven't attempted to surf again, but will definitely give it another shot. The site also provides an option for people to leave feedback for those that they meet. As one builds feedback, likely their chances of success increase.

The point of this entry, however, is not to relate my experiences with the site, but to encourage everyone to try it for themselves. If you have even the slightest interest in traveling, getting to experience people of other cultures, or even just meeting people in general, this is an incredibly useful (and inspiring) resource. And you don't have to be traveling or have a couch to participate - there is an option to simply be willing to go and have a coffee/drink with someone who is traveling through your town. Who knows, maybe that person will have a place for you to crash if you happen to be on their side of the world.

My profile:

http://www.couchsurfing.org/people/clyfhull/

Untitled (On Luck)

"Of course, I don't believe in witches...but there are witches."
-Argentinian saying

It seems to me that travelers tend to be a bit more superstitious than the average person. I'm not sure why. I haven't put a lot of thought into it, possibly it has something to do with the fact that a traveler's life is far less structured and "luck" or "omens" are a way of fending off chaos and randomness. I myself don't believe in such things, but still can't help but notice certain events and thinking them...interesting.

Ivan, my travel partner, and I arrived in Flagstaff, Arizona a week ago. Here, we met an Australian adventurer named Mick (his real name - no shit!) and, early Saturday morning we drove into the desert to do some exploring. Ivan took us to a little-known sacred mountain (apparently it isn't on any maps) in Navajo territory. He asked if we would like to climb it, but Mick refused, saying that he doesn't climb sacred areas unless invited. Fair enough. As we looked around the road, we noticed little petrified bits of wood that were now pretty much stone - or very hard beef jerky (the ground here is mostly red.) Thinking it looked pretty cool, I put one in my pocket without the others noticing. We left and checked out some some of the other places nearby. On our way back to town, a great dust storm blew up - so thick at times, it was like driving through dense, pink fog. We got back to town and Ivan went to a bar to watch a soccer game. I went to the hostel, excited to take a nap. As soon as I walked in, I was informed that neither Ivan nor I had a bed that night, as we neglected to inform them before we left that morning that we were staying. I looked around for other options (motels) but, it having been Memorial Day Weekend, even the lousiest of motel rooms were near $300. Ivan and I decided that it was time to move on. So we hopped in the truck and took off for the border. 45 miles south of town, we broke down and had to get towed back to Flagstaff. It was a rough night - the two of us sleeping together in the packed truck.

So the next day I started thinking about the previous day's events. I was sitting with Ivan and Mick, and asked if either of them had grabbed one of the rocks from the desert, as I had done. Amusingly, Ivan had, over which Mick laughed heartily and chastised him. "You realize," I said to Ivan "that we fucked ourselves!" Mick laughed harder. Of course, I wasn't entirely serious, but it was a hard thing to not notice.

The next day, Ivan (a very spiritual, superstitious person) asked me what I really thought about the stones, and if we should return them to where we'd gotten them. I had thought about this more myself, and reminded him of a story that he'd told me earlier in the trip. I don't remember exactly how it went, but it was essentially about a kindly old Chinese man who raised horses. One day his horses broke out of the stable and left him. "How unfortunate," said his friends. "Well, the horses have left, it's true. But I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing." Much later, all of the horses that had left, suddenly returned, and with many more besides. "How wonderful," claimed his friends. "Well, it's true - I have many horses, but I don't know if this is a good or bad thing, " said the exhausted man. I had remembered that I don't believe in "good" or "bad" luck. Yes, our plans came to a halt, but as the Chinese man said - I don't know if this was a good or bad thing. If it's not too trite sounding - "good" or "bad" is merely a matter of perspective. Indeed, I know that there are people who are quite ecstatic by these occurrences. Ultimately things just happen. If I want to inject any meaning into them, I don't see the stone as lucky or unlucky Rather, I like to think of it as having brought about the "winds of change" that blew the dust around that day. Neither malevolent, nor beneficent.

After that night in the truck, Ivan and I have been back in the hostel. I am on my way to San Diego today, but Ivan (who is fairly disabled) is stuck here waiting for repairs (given that his truck is a Japanese import, who knows how long that will take? Not to mention how expensive.) This morning, he told me that the hostel can only accommodate him until Friday because they have a 4 night maximum (we've been here a week now.) This, despite that he's somewhat of a regular here. Like the China man's friends - I feel bad for him. An hour ago, I am writing something completely unnecessary on the back of one of my homemade postcards of Halifax to leave for Ivan. Something akin to what I've been writing here. Ivan comes into the room, looks at the floor, says quietly, "So much beauty in this world.............What did I come in for - oh yes, my glasses." He immediately turns around and leaves. It kills me. I can't help but cry.

Fear: Part 2 (or "The World's Gonna End Tomorrow! Wanna Grab a Coffee Next Week?")

So we're facing the end of the world, again. Tomorrow, it seems, is the rapture. I guess this means that we'll never get to find out exactly what is supposed to happen on Dec 21st, 2012. Too bad - I was kinda lookin' forward to that one.

I've only been in Vancouver for a few weeks, but I can't help but notice a bit of anxiety - of a sense of doom. And not just in the city either - it came up on my short trip to the Island as well. I wonder if it's a new phenomenon here. A result of the earthquake in Japan. Or does it pre-date it, like a northern equivalent of the American west coast sliding into the sea along the San Andreas fault?

Obviously doomsaying is nothing new. What I find interesting, however, is that there is a certain degree of desire in some (a lot?) of us for it to be true - that we actually want the world to end. Seriously, how else can one explain the popularity of the qualitatively abysmal films of Roland Emmerich? (Director of "The Day After Tomorrow"and "2012", to name 2.) Perhaps I'm alone, but I think that at least part of the audience is secretly hoping that the heroes fail. I believe it stems from a basic human desire to be historically significant. After all, who wants to be completely forgotten in a hundred years? Of course, not everyone will do great (or even terrible) deeds, but if not as individuals, perhaps we can at least live during significant times. And what is more significant than the end of times?

But there is more to it than that. I've written before about the survival instinct - that for the last 10-12,000 years (beginning of "civilization") and especially the last 100 or so, we (homo sapiens) have been moving further away from, and essentially ignoring, 200,000 years worth of evolution. So much of our efforts were dedicated to simply surviving - shelter, food and defense. Most of us in the developed world no longer need to think about such things, at least not in a direct way (concerns related to working a job and paying a mortgage are not the same.) But on the odd occasion when one of our basic needs is lacking or threatened, so awakens the instinct to fulfill or protect it. And it can be invigorating! Like a dormant sense that has been awoken. Years ago, for some forgotten reason (I think it was my birthday, and I tend to hate birthdays - or I did for awhile) I was in a pretty foul mood. I was by myself and decided I wanted to get drunk. So I went to the bar where I worked and did shot after shot - with no effect (sometimes it seems like a mood can be so severe, no artificial means can alter it.) At closing time I decided to hit one of the late-night places in a slightly seedier part of town. As I turned a corner, some guy gave me a hay-maker right across the nose, completely out of the blue and for no reason. After I regained my senses I looked around, but he was already some ways away, and I didn't see much point in pursuing him. So I went into the bar to clean my bloody nose and have a shot of tequila, then went home. The odd thing was, I was in a great mood the next day. It was as if the guy literally punched some sense into me. The only explanation I could think of for my unexpected reaction was that it must have awoken some sort of primitive instinct in me - something that was long asleep, and now awake. I've had similar reactions upon hearing of various disasters - natural or otherwise. My over-riding reaction isn't grief for the victims, but a profound elation that I survived (the fact that I was never in danger is immaterial. Though, granted, had I been, my reaction might be different. I've never truly been in a life-threatening situation.) I've rarely admitted this to anyone due to the fact that surely some would consider me a sociopath (and perhaps rightly so.) (I must also concede the possibility that these instincts may largely be male-centric.) I believe that the "threat" of a soon-to-be armageddon reawakens those little-used instincts. It presents us with a "fight" - something that at least some of us rarely experience.

Tomorrow also happens to be the day that I am leaving on an adventure down through the States and into Mexico. I don't have a lot of money, I know next to nothing about my travel partner and the news reports of drug-killings on the northern border of Mexico are sensationalistic. I know there are people who think I'm insane (as well as people who would really think nothing of such a thing.) In any case - be it apocalypse or adventure - to quote an obvious song when writing about the end of the world as we know it - I'm "feelin' pretty psyched."

Cliff-Jumping (thoughts on fear, hope and faith)

(A couple of weeks before I left on my latest journey I was thinking a lot about the topics mentioned in the title. I present them in unconnected form because I'm too lazy to try and work them into a single, flowing essay.)

"The Physics of the Quest - A force in nature governed by laws as real as the force of gravity. If you're brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting - which can be everything from your house to bitter old resentments - and set out on a truth-seeking journey (either internally or externally) and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue; if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher; and if you are prepared, most of all, to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then the truth will not be withheld from you."

-From "Eat, Pray, Love" (The movie. This quote is not in the book.)

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On a quest for peace, one must ask what is preventing it in the first place. If I define or characterize peace as "satisfaction" with oneself and their situation. then logically, if one is not at peace, they must be dissatisfied. So what causes dissatisfaction? It seems that the only cause of a sense of dissatisfaction is that one imagines or dreams of a different situation which they imagine is better than their current one. There are two ways to go about dealing with this dissatisfaction - the first, and most obvious, is to work towards actualizing that situation. The problem is, even if one succeeds, the satisfaction derived from it will more than likely be impermanent. Dreams, or rather, hope, can be like a drug, or hunger - you can satiate hunger by feeding it, or realizing your hopes, but chances are, before long you will imagine something else to hope for, just as you will be hungry again in a few hours. Many would argue that this is how it should be - that "striving" is the point - we must have goals towards which we work. If you accept this, fine, but it's not the only way. The second way to deal with dissatisfaction is to confront, not the objective of hope, but the act of hope itself - to realize that hope is a distraction. If one wants to be satisfied here and now, one must distance themselves from the distraction of hope - to "conquer" it. If one is not distracted by what could be, only then can they truly appreciate what is.

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In the comic book series "The Sandman", Morpheus, the King of the Dreaming, ventures into Lucifer's Hell in order to reclaim something that was stolen from him. There, he finds the instrument and wins it back. At the conclusion of the confrontation, just as he was about to leave, Lucifer - surrounded by countless minions - asked Morpheus why he should let him go. Morpheus replies by asking him (paraphrasing) "What is hope, but a dream of something better? And what power has Hell over it's inhabitants without that hope?" Hope itself creates our hell. Fear, and it's despair, are nothing until illuminated by that hope.

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Hope is to fear, as light is to darkness. One cannot exist without the other. To hope for something is to fear its absence. If one is to conquer fear, they must do the same to hope. Hope does not conquer fear - it begets it.

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If we can become enslaved by our fears - so too can we be enslaved by hope.

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Fear for ourselves is a lack of faith in ourselves. As we learn to conquer our fears, our faith in ourselves increases. The final step is absolute confidence that comes without fear or contemplation. From that point we simply are and we do. Failure, of course, may still occur - we are none of us perfect in action or judgement - but it is no longer an impediment.

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A long time ago, my old friend Jane once said that I had no faith. I don't think she was just referring to a god, but in general. Slowly, very slowly over the years, I've been forcing myself to take chances when there is no guarantee of success (I guess that is what taking a chance is) and failure could mean disaster (or, you know, complete humiliation anyway.) I'm learning to jump without seeing a net - hoping it will be there.

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With each step I blindly take into nothing, only for my foot to find some purchase there, my faith increases slightly. Eventually, it would seem, I should come to a point where I would walk without hesitation. Without fear.

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Perhaps the reason I love adrenaline rush type activities is that it involves small jumps of faith. That, despite the seeming danger, I probably won't actually die. Every action done in this way helps to conquer fear by familiarizing yourself with it. We fear what is unfamiliar, and we are reluctant to face our fears - to familiarize ourselves with them. If there is nothing to fear, but fear itself...

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Years ago Frank Miller did a run in the Daredevil comic series. In it, DD's nemesis, the Kingpin, discovered his true identity and proceeded to strip the man of everything that he had and was. The idea being that to destroy the man was to destroy the hero. Then he realized his mistake - "I have shown him, that a man without hope, is a man without fear." When I first read that, I thought it was brilliant. Years later, in my most depressed and hopeless of states, the sentiment seemed a little hollow. After all, without hope, what is there? Now, on this journey and in life (and by slowly conquering my fears) I hope to learn that a man without fear has no need of hope.

Travels, To and Fro (Part 1: "Fro")

Let us wander where we will,
Something kindred greets us still;
Something seen on vale or hill
Falls familiar on the heart;
So, at scent or sound or sight,
Severed souls by day and night
Tremble with the same delight -
Tremble, half the world apart.

-excerpt from Swallows Travel To and Fro by Robert Louis Stevenson

I spent most of my 20's single. In fact, I pretty much went a decade without a girlfriend. I'm not afraid of being alone. I'm tempted to say that I'm not even terribly afraid of being with the "wrong" person - I don't really believe there are right or wrong people. That value judgement is better applied to duration. You see, towards the end of that decade I learned the value of short term relationships. I had pretty much "resigned" (for lack of a better word) myself to the fact that that was what I was probably going to be dealing with for the rest of my life. And I relished it! During my first adventure, in Japan, I met, and had a short but wonderful fling with a woman there. It was then that I - half jokingly - thought that it would be great to travel the world and get to know different countries through their women. "The Littlest Hobo of Love!"

I've never exactly been much of a Don Juan. In fact, on my next adventure, while working in France, I realized that mine is not exactly an immediate charm - more of an acquired taste. I flew to Bergerac and was picked up and brought to the chateau (along with an Australian couple who had also just arrived) by "Claudine", the nanny. I didn't know it at the time, but "Sonya", the woman who we were working for, had it in mind that I might be a bit of a "companion" for the Claudine. (Sonya hadn't previously met me, we'd only talked over the phone.) Anyway, during the ride, we had all been talking. I don't remember what it was I talked about, but it was enough for the nanny to tell Sonya that I wasn't to have the bedroom beside hers after all, to just give it to the Australian couple. Now, I only know all of this because, after having spent some time there, we actually did end up hitting it off. Like I said - an acquired taste. It makes meeting people while traveling a bit of a challenge.

Of course, as soon as you think you've got something figured out in life... Well I met this woman. We'll call her..."Leslie." "I don't want a relationship," she said. "No meeting the families." "Just sex." She knew all the right things to say. (She also said she doesn't cry - pfft! Just throw on "84 Charing Cross Road" to watch the tears fly. Or "Casper" for crying out loud.) Nevertheless - sex we had, relationship we had, families we met... and tears we cried.

Five years, multiple break-ups, a dog and four apartments later... it was finally time to leave. Or rather, I'd prefer to say "go." This journey - if you will - isn't about leaving. It's not Leslie, or the dog, or even Halifax that I'm leaving. Actually, even "go" isn't the right word. I'm not "going" anywhere. I have no destination. I'm on an experiment. I've been accused over the years (mostly by my mother) - as have many who have done the same thing - of "running away." I've never felt that way. It's simply not true. I have nothing from which to run away. Not even myself.

It hit me yesterday, during an exchange of messages with my friend and pseudo traveling partner, Pat. In his blog, he talked about surfing, both literally and metaphorically. The reason I'm on this trip is because some part of me feels that there has to be a better way of living than the one we're all taught. I'm not sure what it is, but that's what I hope to discover. Lately I've been thinking about life as having 2 ways of living it. The first, and the most common, would be a type of surfing. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "Well, I'm gonna be a doctor, have a nice car and a nice family." He'll go to school, do his best to meet someone and ride that wave to the shore. That will be good for him. He'll be happy. We are all told that that is how it's done. For years I've been struggling to do the same. Problem is, I don't see a wave that I'm particularly interested in riding. That's where the second route comes in. For others, instead of getting off at the shore, they ride the currents. They follow them through the oceans, wherever they're led. If they are wise, they know how to stay afloat and not drown. They don't fight the current. They don't try to ride to shore.

Leslie and I are different in many ways. I was telling someone I'd met the other day that, based on my own tastes, chances are I could predict hers. If I like something, she wouldn't, and vice-versa. Does that make for a "wrong" match? Or do opposites attract? Does it matter? Despite having left a few weeks ago, I don't feel like we've broken up. I don't feel "single." One could claim that, because it's only been a few weeks, I'm just feeling withdrawal, but I don't think that's it. There is an anxiety that comes with withdrawal that I simply don't feel.

I wrote to her the other day that I'm not searching for the "who", but the "what." If I've discovered it - if my theory is right, and I'm a drifter while she's a surfer - what does that mean? "Love" isn't the issue. (I'm sorry, but it doesn't conquer all.) Nor is it a question of faithfulness - the thought of meeting another is far from my mind. She has said that she is okay with my traveling. But for what kind of time period? How often, and for how long will the currents bring me around to her shore? Too long?

She lamented that I didn't mention her in either of my posts since I started out. I told her that I couldn't write about her until there was some kind of conclusion. It's funny, I sat down tonight, only to get down a few thoughts, and here I am - this "Hobo of love" - without a conclusion. "Maybe tomorrow..."

Have Hammer, Will Travail (a confession)

"Everybody gets what they want.
I wanted a mission - and for my sins, they gave me one."

- Captain Benjamin L. Willard "Apocalypse Now"

I love this quote, although I generally leave the first line out. I've never really been a big believer in the sentiment. For those that do, however, I'm sure you will appreciate this.

I guess I've been discovering over the past number of years that I'm not exactly the most selfless of individuals. I don't know why that is - I always thought I was a "pretty good person." I guess in the same way that everyone thinks they are - knowing I'm not faultless, but somewhat blind to them none the less. The first time (that I recall) someone actually called me selfish was a young Japanese girl I was dating around 7 years ago. I would have liked to blame it on a communication gap - but since then I've been slowly reconciling myself to the fact, and trying to rectify it.

One of the reasons I decided to try WWOOFing was because I wanted to give something of myself without monetary compensation. I specify "monetary" because I do receive a bed and food. It's not exactly an entirely selfless act, but when you remove money from the exchange, it feels a little more altruistic. My first experience in this was 2 weeks around Oromocto, New Brunswick. It was more or less what I expected - 6 hours a day, 5 days a week. Pretty casual. It was neither demanding, nor overly revelatory. I met some nice people, ate some good food and did a few fun things. (Perhaps it's because I've been in Quebec for the last few days, but I can't help but notice that the french word for "work" - travail - so closely resembles the word "travel.") As I planned, a few days after arriving, I started to contact a few places so I could set up my next stop when I was ready to move on. One person, south of Montreal, contacted me and told me that I'd be welcome there, but to first consider going to the farm of a friend of hers on the Gaspe peninsula. Her friend "Julie" - a woman in her late fifties - who is married and has 7 adopted children (all victims of various forms of abuse), lost her house to a fire back in March (on top of that, I would later learn that one of the children was responsible for accidentally setting the fire and that her father had died unexpectedly just one month ago.) When my contact told me all of this, I was delighted that I would be able to help someone in such a situation. It reminded me of when I was a kid and our family lost our boat shop to fire. Although I don't remember a lot about it anymore, it was pretty devastating. I do, however, remember that in various ways, the community did help us out. This would be perfect. I could give something back. I got what I wanted.

Another of my favourite moments in (a war) film is in the epilogue of "Saving Private Ryan," when the old-man Ryan is at Tom Hanks' grave and, weeping, recalling Hanks' sacrifice for him, he asks his wife to "Tell me I'm a good man." That he "earned" his life. It kills me every time I think about it. In fact, a sure way to get me to weep like a child is to display some kind of self-sacrifice. I discovered this some years ago. I've reached the conclusion that it has this effect on me because it is something I place very highly, and yet lack myself. Speaking to my sister-in-law a couple of months ago, I learned that her yardstick for living was in lengths of selflessness. What's more - she lives by this. I envy her.

As soon as I arrived at the farm I felt the "intensity." That's the best word I can think of to describe the sensation. I'm afraid I can't even give examples to illustrate what I mean. It was simply a feeling. I knew, when I went to bed that night, that the experience would be draining, both physically and mentally. I don't know why. I considered the situation carefully. I have forsaken a "home" in service of some kind of "mission." Exactly what the mission is, I'm not yet sure. The effect is that I don't have a familiar place to go to when I'm exhausted where I can recharge myself. Nor do I yet have the capacity to regenerate the power within myself. In that it takes some to make some, energy is rather like money. So I have to be careful about how I spend my energy ( all forms.) The thing is, despite knowing this, I still opted to stay with the family because they needed help and I wanted to help them. I would simply deal with the consequences later.

The next morning, Julie told me how excited she was, that she told the children that I was a "blessing." I'm not sure anyone has ever said that to me before. It strengthened my resolve. And it helped that when she speaks, she always has a smile and her eyes shine like few others. She is also in incredibly strong woman. I would stay... for two more days. On the third night I laid awake, unable to sleep. I knew that I had to leave. The next morning I lied to Julie and told her that I had to go. She cried, and said it would be okay. "Maybe you will see someone and you will send them here?"

Of course, I must also say that I am, perhaps, being a little over-dramatic. After all, the family does have a warm place to stay (although 9 people in one room isn't exactly ideal.) And it isn't as though it's up to me to "save" them. I just wish I'd had the strength to do more. ("I could have done more." - Oscar Schindler. Just to round out the war film quotes. Although I always found that particular scene somewhat over-done. Perhaps it comes to me now, because when one travels, one feels things more intensely than they normally would. But we're hardly talking about the Holocaust here. Forgive me for over-dramatising again.)

Last night I took the bus to Riviere-du-Loup and am staying in a four star hotel for a couple of nights. I can feel my strength slowly returning, if not my pride. The funny thing is, as I sit here at the computer, it occurs to me that even writing this feels selfish - as if I'm sending this out into cyberspace, (figuratively) asking someone to "tell me I'm a good man." Regardless of the answer, I know for certain that I can be better. As a "rest stop" goes, this one is not without significance. I could just as easily head back to Halifax as go on. But at this point, it isn't really a choice. I have to continue on.

Late last night, after arriving at the hotel, I wrote to a friend (who is living under somewhat similar circumstances) only saying that I'd just had a few intense days. He wrote back that they are all just experiences. It's funny. It's been my motto for years now that there are no "bad" experiences - what's important is that it makes a good story. But (and with all due respect to my friend Pat) it's important to know that they aren't "just" experiences - to varying degrees, they are all trans/formative (but I suspect he knows that anyway.) He also wrote in his blog (and something that has been on my mind since I started out) "If ever your distant goal is more important than a human in front of you that needs your help - you will surely fail." I don't believe in regret. It is a waste of energy. I believe we all do what we must under the given circumstances. But it is with shame that I admit failure. And it is with hope that perhaps I am closer to succeeding when the opportunity next arises.

"I think the children are very lucky to have you for a mother," I said
"I think I am very lucky to have them - they teach me the patience. And hope. Lots and lots of hope," said Julie, laughing.

East Coast Saskatchewan

As with my other adventures, before I left I was pretty eager to do so. Though this one is a little different - in that I have no ultimate destination. Nor even a plan to return from whence I came. There are only a series of steps that are pretty much unknown to me until I am just about to take one.

The loose plan is to travel about 400-600 km with each step. Somewhere within that distance I hope to find a person/people/family that needs some kind of assistance for a few weeks in exchange for a bed and good food to eat. (This, perhaps, isn't as ridiculous as it sounds - if you know about an international organization that goes by the acronym WWOOF, which stands for World Wide Opportunities in Organic Farming - a resource that caters to those who wish to do just as I plan.) Starting out in Nova Scotia, I figure I will continue west for a few months and possibly head south around January, then west until I hit the Pacific. After that - probably Asia, or maybe South America. But that is a long way off, and as anyone who is familiar with me knows - I have a strong tendency to change my plans. That is - I never know what I'm going to do until I do it.

Having left Halifax two weeks ago, my first stop is Waasis, New Brunswick. A country house that backs on to the Oromocto River, fifteen minutes east of Fredericton. I've only ever driven through New Brunswick before. Never visited. When travelling west from Nova Scotia, my overall feeling when in N.B. is to simply get through it. It is a path to a destination, not a destination itself*. Perhaps this is how westerners feel about Saskatchewan, although both times that I've driven across that province I found it quite beautiful and satisfying. In any case, I must confess that the past two weeks have not altered my attitude towards this eastern province. Not that it's been an unpleasant experience. Perhaps it's the fact that it so closely resembles any inland country road in Nova Scotia - I may as well have not bothered to leave home at all! Or that I am anxious to get a little farther afield. Or perhaps I've been swayed by the entries in Stuart McLean's "Welcome Home: Travels in Small Town Canada" (I've not yet made it to the chapter on Sackville .) Whatever the reason, I shall be heading to Quebec soon, and am looking forward to it.

*Of course, according to Eastern thought, this wouldn't automatically imply something negative. Normally I would agree - just, not this time.