Adventures In Oz

Singapore (Singapore)
Adelaide (Australia)
Alice Springs
Townsville
Sydney

All this time I have never known that L. Frank Baum's Dorothy visited Australia with her tiny canine Toto.
Slang for Australian: Aussie.
Slang for Australia: Oz.
My mission: to seek out the wizard. First, we need a magic carpet. So, we sign up for a van that would make James Bond and the Punishers lovechild proud. Bunk-beds, fridge, sink, stove, solar shower, table, couches, CD player, AM/FM radio and even a cheese grater. The thing was truly a missile launcher away from a Transformer.
Only problem: the rental company only stocks vans with manual transmission.
Neither of us can drive one (well, not really. We've both had about half a lesson, driving solely on highways. So we can almost say that TOGETHER we have one full lesson....) Signing on with another company that stocks automatic transmission is out of the question because our non-refundable and sizable deposit is already paid. So, what do we do? Duh. Tell them we can drive one (or, not really bring it up, which I'm telling myself is more honest...)
I mean, I've always believed that obstacles are there to test how bad you really want something--or to tell idiots when to quit, I can't really remember, I keep getting my advice from Dr. Phil and the voices in my cereal mixed up.
We were lucky that they gave us the keys, said 'Have fun' and left, because if they saw how many times we stalled trying to come out of that parking lot...we'd be walking across Australia.
Slowly but surely Andrew got the hang of it ad things were going pretty smoothly.
Until he let me drive.
It was a hot July afternoon as we pushed our van to the side of the highway in the Australian National Park. Smoke billowed from underneath the vehicle. We got back into the van and after a moment of scared silence I heard Andrew swear for the very first time in my life.

There is no place like home, there is no place like home, there is no place like home...click....click.....click......

We're lucky that Australians build their vehicles tourist-tough, and that there was no real harm done.
The next day we were in the van in line for tickets to Ayers Rock. Stop and go traffic. Awesome. Clutch, first gear, gas, brake, neutral, wipe sweat off hands, clutch, first gear.... We arrived at the office, bought our tickets and tried to leave. If I could re-word Murphy's Law it would say: 'Whatever can go wrong, will-only when it MATTERS MOST.'
First gear, gas, ccRAAAAnk, sputter, stall... Clutch, ignition, first gear, gas, CRRRAAAAAAANNNKK!! Stall. Third time, fourth time, fifth time. The line gets longer behind us. Stall. The ticket lady comes out and asks what the problem is.
Thinking: 'Well, I'm sorry Ma'am, this situation is a direct result of my own stupidity.'
Say:'I don't know, something isn't catching properly...'
Then the guy from the car behind us gets out and I swear, this guy looked straight up like Mr. Crocodile Dundee. The ideal outdoors man who makes anyone who has ever stayed inside on a sunny day want to curl up and die. He watches us try and fail again. Then he says in the most perfectly rugged Australian accent: 'Boys, you're letting the clutch out too quick.'
Clutch, ignition, first gear, slow clutch release, gas, clutch, second gear....wheeeee!
If I ever write a book, I might call it 'Crocodile Dundee taught me stick.'
That man just might have been the wizard of oz.
From there it was pretty much smooth sailing. Really smooth. Have you ever driven across Australia? Someone should introduce them to the mountain.

Mountain/-noun/-

1.	a natural elevation of the earth's surface rising more or less abruptly to a summit, and attaining an altitude greater than that of a hill, usually greater than 2000 ft. (610 m).

2.	a large mass of something resembling this, as in shape or size.

Or even a hill. An ant hill.....ANYTHING. As a typical Canadian, I thought driving across Saskatchewan was bad. But at least driving there you have the hope of hitting Alberta or Manitoba at some point...

I remember one evening we made it to a little city and parked outside the tourist information center for the night. After supper, Andrew hit the hay and I was outside the van doing some exercises when nature started calling. Loudly. Number two was knocking at my door. I went to the information center but its doors had long been closed for the day. I walk back out to the road looking for a gas station or a restaurant. Nothing. I start walking down the road to find something. I start RUNNING down the road to find something. Number two is now screaming at my door, and trying to barge in. I can't wait any longer. There is nothing in sight.
Frantically searching for a hiding place, I spot a waist-high fence running along the road that says 'Restricted Access. Authorized Personnel Only.'

"That'll work. No one will bug me there"

Over the fence, I find solace behind a big green electrical box. As I'm there, it dawns on me that in the rush I hadn't brought anything to clean up with... and it was messy....
I'm looking around for leaves, cardboard....a roll of TP that miraculously fell from the sky...ANYTHING.
After a failed plastic bag that spread more than wiped, I figured, 'well, all my boxer shorts are going in the garbage when I get home in two weeks anyways. I guess I can survive with one less pair for the rest of the trip. I'll just use them and them toss them in the trash...'

Off come the pants. And the boxers. Then, as if on cue from a movie script, a car pulls around the corner. I duck further behind the electrical box and peep out to see an Australian police cruiser.
I start trying to come up with a story. Not much can plausibly explain a man, naked where it counts, with a mess on private property.
My heart was running a marathon as the cop slowed down.
I start imagining his conversation in the coffee room the next morning....
The car rolls to a stop. He's on the phone. I'm trying to put pants on. In the dark I can see him writing something down. Then his lights flip on and he peels out of there.
There must have been something more important demanding his attention. Like a triple homicide.
That will probably be the only instance in my life that I was almost grateful for the crimes of someone else.

We arrived on the east coast and snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef to add another check mark to the trip itinerary before heading to Sydney.

World Youth Day.
Both of the ones that I have attended have almost gone by in a blur. I've never been so surrounded by such joy and abundance of life as I am there. Pure joie de vivre. The successor of St. Peter, the gathering of faithful, theology classes, singing pilgrims, loud music, new friends, an international gathering-and it all combines to create one overwhelming event. What a perfect conclusion to a cross-Continent pilgrimage. A gathering of faithful from those same countries. It was almost a glimpse into how the would was intended to be. At the final mass we were surrounded by thousands of pilgrims from all over the world singing their hearts out with the pope himself. As the fireworks exploded and the singing drew to a close, I put my arm around Andrew and said, 'Let's go home.'

Keep Smiling!
Anthony

Lessons From Southeast Asia

Vientiane (Laos)
Prachinburi (Thailand)
Siem Riep (Cambodia)
Bangkok (Thailand)
Koh Samui
Krabi
Ray Lai
Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia)
Singapore (Singapore)


Southeast Asia. A conglomerate of small countries fitting together to to create a tourist haven. Whether you're a traditional beach bum, an archaeological Indy wannabe, an extreme sport lover or a bargain bin guru, Southeast Asia can do nothing but tantalize with its crystal clear beaches, overgrown and movie-worthy ruins, picturesque rocks to scale and enough cheap designer goods to send even the most conservative of packers luggage over the airlines maximum weight limit (trust me).
However, this beauty certainly has her share of gas to pass. I learned some lessons here that no school on earth could ever touch. Let's review this little corner of the world so that I can share some tidbits on life. Sort of a 'Anthony's Beef Stroganoff For the Soul.'

Lesson #1: Don't Underestimate A Straw

Growing up I understood that straws were good for two things. Cold beverages and spitballs.

Oh what an ignorant youth.

Andrew and I crossed the border from Thailand into Cambodia and bargained with a driver to take us in his personal vehicle directly to Siem Riep, a four hour drive. We should have negotiated a lower price after seeing his car--which was in more pieces than a grenade victim.

NOTE: Duct Tape is internationally renowned.

After a few failed attempts and muttered curses from the driver the bolt-bucket was started and had us bumping along down the red, dusty Cambodian pothole paradise.
After a couple hours, our tailbones got a much deserved rest when Thunderbird Zero broke down...
One hour later, the driver is still trying to turn the engine over. He fiddles behind the raised hood, tries, re-fiddles, retries. He has me try to jiggle the key and pump the gas whenever he gives a thumbs up from behind the hood.....
No dice.
The broken air-conditioner made the Cambodian jungle especially memorable.
I had nearly given up and was lacing up my walking shoes when the driver came and opened up my door, reached into the seat pocket in front of me and pulled out an ordinary drinking straw.
He closed my door and disappeared once again behind the hood. Andrew and I exchanged confused glances from the backseat. I said, 'Well, it IS one of those cool bendy ones...'
After two minutes behind the hood the driver returned to his seat, turned the key causing the engine to roar to life...

Don't question, just believe.

Lesson #2: Beaches Are Evil

Imagine the finest white sand stretching as far as the eye can see embraced on one side with lush palm trees stretching to a golden sun while the other side is constantly kissed by the never ending waves of the crystal clear ocean water. Your skin is a perfect cinnamon colour as you lay on the sand with the tropical drink of your choice by your side. *sigh* Is this a glimpse of heaven? Or perhaps, is it a fiery breath of hell? I mean, what is unappealing about sleeping until noon, laying on the beach all afternoon, maybe some beach volleyball, a quick dip, the freshest of seafood for dinner and then meeting with new friends to dance until morning?

The problem: you never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever want to leave.

One of the seven deadly sins is sloth. I think that one of the reasons Jesus himself was perfect is because he lived in the middle of the desert, where the tropical paradise of Thailand was a world away. Good call on his part to come before airplanes.
As you lather on the sunscreen the devil giggles with glee, 'That's right, protect yourself from burning.....for now!!"

Lesson #3: If It's Sunny, Bring An Umbrella

That line belongs in a Hallmark card or something. For emos.
If you don't like the weather in Southeast Asia, wait five minutes. Dangerously blazing heat to flooding streets during the course of a pee-break. This is awesome for when you wake up and its pouring on the morning of your belly dancing limbo contest, but awful when it's gorgeously sunny on the day you promised Bikini Bombshell a volleyball re-match. (God must hate you).
Thank you Andrew for being my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh.

Lesson #4: Fish At Home Is Fake

In Laos when we ordered fish, we got a fish. He looked the same on the plate as he did in the water. Fins, tail, bones and big glossy eyeballs that still had that look of sheer frying-pan panic in them.
You order fish at home... and you get a cube.
Cubed is a sure sign of enhancement, and 'enhancement' is a code word for fake. Sugar has been cubed, potatoes are cubed for fries, water is cubed for ice, even the Nintendo has been cubed!!! Arrrggghhh! Must we destroy everything!?!
You know where cubing comes from? Math. To the power of three. If you see the connection you can also see that math will ultimately be humanity's downfall. Save the trees kids, don't do your homework. My advice: stay away from Life to the power of three...
<sup>I was upset about this fish reality for awhile but was forced to get over it when I realized that our fish are about as real as our women.


Lesson #5: Elephants Are Mans Best Friend

Andrew and I rode an elephant through the jungle to a temple near Angkor Wat. Don't ever believe the Disneyfied, wussy version of what an elephant is in 'Dumbo.' They don't cry. They don't fly, and although they may drink, their size and weight must mean that it would take more than a few trunkfulls for the pink elephants on parade.
These guys are built Ford Tough. They put out the Energizer Bunny in stamina, James Bond in stealth and can out fart and out poop a fat man on a pizza diet (trust me).
The king at Angkor Wat used to watch wild elephants duel to the death on his veranda. Elephants have helped build civilizations, religions, they are a transportation wonder, and EVERY elephant is well-hung.... I'm talking about the trunk you sicko.
Dogs are old news, I want an elephant for a pet.

Lesson #6: Sand Castle Buckets Are Versatile

Bucket drinks.

Alleluia.

The end.

Lesson #7: Don't Dance With The Over-Eager

Full moon party on the beach. The drinks are flowing and the music is blaring. I'm on the dance floor. Being surrounded by guys whose bodies make mine look like a piece of spaghetti, I found it odd that three girls made eye contact with me and made a V-line in my direction, then proceeded to dance around me. The prettiest one takes control with her hands around my neck and starts moving to the music. The other two were shaking it on either side of me. Having been travelling for a while at this point, I'm constantly on guard and having been in this body for 22 years I know that this stuff just does not happen to me. Red flag.
It was soon all crystal clear when I felt the hands of the other two girls skimming along my wallet pocket while the pretty one tried to keep me focused on her.
Tricky. But not sneaky enough. I removed the girls hands from around my neck, thanked them for the dance and told them that my wallet was back in the safe at my hostel. Surrounded by land mines.
Point spaghetti boy.

Lesson #8: Don't Dance With ANYONE

It wasn't long after the three thieves that I was approached by another girl who genuinely seemed to want to dance. As the dance progressed this girl got closer and closer, and, being spoken for I keep stepping back to maintain a friendly distance. As she approaches again a chap dancing beside me leans in and yells over the music in a thick Irish accent, 'Hey mate, my buddy was just dancing with that one, we're pretty sure it's a dude.'

'................................'

I went to get another drink.



The thorns on the Southeast Asian rose. Floods, perfect beaches, thieves and she-males.

NOTE: This is where Andrew gives me a big pat on the back and says, 'It's all a part of the experience right?'

This is where I pour my drink over Andrew and go to bed.

Keep Smiling!
Anthony</sup>

The 7 Wonder Whys....

Kathmandu (Nepal)

Delhi (India)

Beijing (China)

Luang Prabang (Laos)

Vientiane

As you may or may not know, UNESO unveiled last year around this time the seven OFFICIAL wonders of the world. I know you might be thinking: 'Weren't those already established?!' Sort of. Before, it was small mayhem where everyone seemed to have their own list. If you did a Google search for the seven wonders you would get everything from Stonehenge to the Pyramids and the Eiffel Tower to Pamela Anderson's bra. So, to clear up the confusion, UNESCO set out a world wide poll with 21 places in the running (check out http://www.new7wonders.com/classic/en/n7w/results/ for a complete list.)

Recently, Andrew and I visitedt he last of the official seven.

Now, I do not have a problem with the seven that they chose, what cooks my beef are their names. Yes, what it was exactly that we decided to call them.

For example, take the Great Pyramids (which was in the running but apparently isn't wonderful enough for the final list). So, in Kindergarden we learn our shapes and in grade one we learn our adjectives. In other words, a six year old could have named these things. Don't get me wrong, I've seen them and they are pretty great, but is it really the best title they could come up with for ancient tombs for god-kings hidden deep in the desert that are symbolical, practical, mysterious and took dozens of years and thousands of workers to complete; inspiring people around the world for hundreds of years?

They just state the obvious geomertrical shape and then put the word 'great' in front of it in hopes that the word alone will put it a cut above the rest of the worlds pyramids.

Negative seven point for the creativity there boys.

The pyramids weren't the only wonders that seemed to be lacking imagination when it came to their title. Lets go through the seven (we'll go in order that Andrew and I saw them) and rate the originality of each.

1. Chichen-Itza (Mexico) 2.5/5

You have to admit that this sounds like a pretty fitting name for a city that was lost in the jungle. A city built around a pool of water--more of a well really--that was essential to the life of the inhabitants. So why such a low rating? Taking it into context we have to travel back hundreds of years to when it was built. 'Itza' was the name of the local tribe that lived there. 'Chichen' in their language meant 'well.' So in english the place is called 'Well of the Itzas'

Be still my beating heart.

Basically it would be like calling Beijing 'Chinese Tap-Water' or Washington DC 'Yankee Burger.'

Anthony's re-name: 'Magnificredible Kingdom of Ancient Glory.'

2. Machu Picchu (Peru) 2/5

Again, pretty sweet for a forbidden dwelling built by the Incas, hidden high on top of an old mountain right? Like the Mayans though, the Incas must have wasted all their creativity on advanced building techniques, leaving their naming skills as dry as a crumbly pastry. Translation of Machu Picchu into english: 'Old Mountain.'

Whee.

Anthony's re-name: "Strategic Fortress of Ingenuity"

3.Christ Redeemer Statue (Brazil) 3/5

Really there is not much more you can name a massive statue of Jesus. However, like most Wonder-builders so far, out of all the names given to the Saviour, they really must have picked the least original.

Anthony's re-name: 'Adonai'

4. Colosseum (Italy) 4/5

Leave it to the Romans to have a bit of class. The Colosseum in Rome was built to hold a wealth of incredible events from gladiator matches to animal shows and was designed with all sorts of trapdoors and secret passage ways. Everything needed for the ultimate game experiance. The Romans changed the name in the 1800's from 'The Theatre' to 'Colosseum' to reflect both the colossal size of the events held there and the sheer mass of people this stadium could hold. Give to Ceasar what belongs to Ceasar: kudos. Stadiums back home should take notes.

Anthony's re-name: 'Awesome Colossum'

5. Petra (Jordan) 3/5

The word 'Petra' itself almost conjures up images of an old rugged civilization straight out on an Indiana Jones movie, which ironically, this one is. In 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade' it is used as the location for the resting place of the Holy Grail. What better location than an entire city carved out of rock? Alas, it is the translation again that lets us down for this, my personal favorite of the Seven Wonders. Petra in the ancient dialect meant 'The Rock.' Isn't that already taken by a Sean Connery movie? For the movie it's a great name! It's used to describe Alcatraz, a supposedly inescapable prison built on an island off the coast of San Fransisco. But using 'The Rock' to describe....well.....rock, is painfully less imaginative.

Anthony's re-name: 'Whoooooaaaaa.....' ( Which is what everybody says when they make it through the canyon and catch their first glimpse of the Treasury).

6. The Taj Mahal (India) 4.5/5

When the emperors wife whom he loved dearly passed away giving birth to their 14th child, he swore he would build the most beautiful resting place for her, unmatched by any other structure. What did he call this beauty upon completion? The Taj Mahal. Or 'Crown Palace.' Not bad for a graveyard.... with one person. I think that the name of this mausoleum is as pretty as the place itself and as romantic as the story behind it.

Anthony's re-name: 'Aladdin's Crib.'

7. The Great Wall. (China) 1/5

We've been through this. Putting the word 'great' in front of something generic is as creative as a glass of water. I can only think that such a boring name came from a boring leader. Imagine the Chinese Emperor sitting in his courtyard, surrounded by subject drinking green tea when the highest ranking general enters,

General: "Your majesty, we have just completed the largest defense system ever known in history, a true testament to ingenuity and strength. What would your eminence like to call it?"

The emperor stirs his tea and thinks.

Emperor: "The Waaaaall."

Silence.

People exchange unimpressed glances. The right hand man clears his throat loudly.

Emperor: " The GREAT wall!!"

The room cheers and everyone plots silently ways to assassinate their uncreative leader.

Anthony's Re-name: 'The Chinese Indestructable Fortress Of Power"

So, there are the Seven Wonders of the World and their relatively lame names. The truth however is of course that the covers never do justice to the book itself. These ARE all wonders of the world, and deservedly so. The places themselves are mind-blowing, beautiful and inspiring. I've been inspired so much that when I get home I'm renaming my place 'Anthony's Great Apartment.' I'm hoping to cash in on a few of these tourist dollars. If it worked for a wall and some pyramids, the word 'great' must have a draw. I'll be charging admission to see my vast collection of mismatched socks and belly button lint. Come now before the crowds show up in high season.

Keep Smiling!

Anthony

Crash Course in Reality

Igatpuri
Mumbai
Delhi
Calcutta
Delhi
Kathmandu (Nepal)
Whew!

On the last day of our meditation course, we opened our eyes feeling refreshed and enlightened (Anthony only opened his after being pushed. He was concentrating so deeply he was snoring). Fresh from the meditation course, our plan was to skip up to Delhi and dance over to apply for new passports, then traipse off to spend a few weeks doing dandy volunteer work and feeling good about ourselves in Calcutta, afterward whisking back to Delhi to pick up our passports and Chinese visa, with plenty of time afterward for a leisurely trip to Nepal, with a stop at the Taj Mahal thrown in. All of this we optimistically expected to fit into a month.

If we'd known how ambitious this project was, we might have stayed in Africa. With the effort we spent, we could have done some real good for the African people - it'd be easier to go head-to-head with a lion than haggle with some of the auto-rickshaw drivers we met, and Indian bureaucracy would make even President Mugabe shudder. But, at one with nature, feeling nothing but peace and love for our fellow beings, we were ready to take on the world.

The world, maybe. India? No.

All told, we spent two full months in India. It's a testament to the meditation course that we made it out with shreds of our sanity, and to the Missionaries of Charity that we still hold goodwill for humanity. It's no wonder the place has turned out it's share of saintly people - if you can live a day in those crooked streets and love the last person you see the same as the first, God must have a good grip on you. The place is not like 'the world.'

The world is a place where there are traffic rules and plumbing, where people stand in line to get tickets for the train; a place where you meet people who are a little bit good, or a little bit bad, where dogs bark and cats sing... India is none of these things. Or rather, it is all of these things, but in a completely upside-down stretched out sort of way. It's like the world reflected on a spoon: everything is either absolutely huge and overpowering, or small and squished and meant to be much bigger. For example:

There are traffic rules: small cars and motorbikes fit into the spaces between trucks, and you must be sure to follow the signs that say "BLOW HORN" and "KEEP DISTANCE" painted on nearly every vehicle; and if you can't keep distance (which you can't), you must blow your horn much louder and more excitedly to compensate.
There is plumbing: and if you can't find running water IN your home, you'll be sure to find it in the gutter BESIDE your home. Actually, gutter water seems preferable to home plumbing anyways. In India, bathing - not to mention drinking, urinating, washing clothes, pots and pans, and street cleaning - is a team sport. Extra points for the group who can do all of them at once in the same gush of water.
People stand in lines at the ticket counter: but the line is just as likely to spread out the length of the counter as it is to curl backwards on itself and swallow the man in the middle. It is most certainly a man there, and he is most likely to have sharp elbows - so even if he gets swallowed, the line will digest him, and he'll somehow end up in the front.

We were lucky to make it out alive. Somehow, though, despite the mess that it is, I think India has been my favourite stop on this trip. I've tried to describe why a number of times, but have yet to be successful. As my final attempt, I offer this hodgepodge of anecdotes, and if you manage to connect them, maybe you'll see what I mean.

The land of smells: As you walk down the street in any city, you'll catch the sudden and powerful mouth-watering smell of something absolutely fantastic; food, incense, perfume... but before you can think, you'll be three steps ahead and abruptly the magnificent smell is replaced by feces or vomit or garbage. Don't worry, though - something else will assault you in the next five steps so that you won't remember the first two!

The International Youth Hostel: One good example of Indian bureaucracy at its worst. The youth hostel was our first stop in Delhi after finishing the meditation course, so our entrance saw us greeting each other amiably and smiling; our exit, however, saw us at a run, 'escorted' by security. At any given time, there were three to five people behind the reception desk; but it took and incomprehensible amount of time to accomplish anything, and most things didn't get accomplished at all. Two hours to sign in and be assigned a room, two more to ask about making a phone call - only to find out the phone doesn't work. There was always a line, and the simplest question from each person quickly became an issue to be resolved by the manager - who was never available. The favourite line spoken was "Wait please - Can you wait?" We made the mistake of depositing our luggage in a storage room the day we checked out, and we had to commit the inconceivable sin of going behind the desk and retrieving the key ourselves in order to make our train on time. GAAA!

Dal, Curry, Butter Masala, Tamil Food: If you've tried any of them, you know what I mean. If not... you can't possibly know. Sorry.

Nirmal Hriday, the Missionaries of Charity home for the destitute buried deep inside Calcutta: In that home, the language barrier prevented us from talking to most people, but that wouldn't stop one man. He spoke incessantly, whether you understood or spoke back, or not. In fact, if you didn't understand, he would only speak more quickly and louder before giving you a disdainful look and turning away, only to turn back and ask another question. If he wasn't talking, it was because one of the sisters had told him to be quiet... or because he was singing. He loved to sing, and his voice would fill the ward when he did. Once, Anthony asked him to sing, and after a look that said "Hmph. If my public so requests," he let loose with more passion and conviction than Pavarotti. I was often tending the man on the bed beside the singer, and he was not moved at all by the music. I suppose it would be annoying if you had to live with it daily... but still, it was a sad day when the singing man left.

As you can see, there is absolutely no pattern to the stories; only a bunch of pictures that become the schmoz of awesome that is India...

But one day, I came across one image that, in my mind,describes our experience in India perfectly:
There is a woman. She is beautiful, with shining eyes, bronze-brown skin, and charcoal hair. She is wearing a red or purple sari, with gold earrings, nose ring, and bindi. She carries a young child and smiles.
Then she turns and spits a stream of vile brown into the gutter beside a man squatting a number two.

India: You will love it. You will hate it. You will embrace it like a lover then fight it (with teeth and rage) over your last pocketful of rupees. You'll feel every emotion you have a vocabulary for - more powerfully than you ever have before - except for one. You will never be indifferent.

Meditation For Dummies.

Livingstone (Zambia)
Lusaka
New Delhi (India)
Mumbai
Igatpuri


Never in a million years did I think I would ever find myself sitting cross-legged on a pillow in a Buddhist pagoda, high in the mountains at 4:30 AM meditating. Et voila.
See, one day once upon a time on this boat in the Amazon my brother met some girl from France who knew someone whose father's uncle's chiropractor's daughter did this course somewhere in India and is now apparently perfectly harmonious.
So, here I am. Trying to achieve inner peace... with a mosquito doing irritating revolutions around my head.
Rule #17 of the meditation course: "Do not kill any beings." Even mosquitoes.
The only thing I'm getting out of this so far is that I know to never let Andrew talk to girls on boats ever again. In fact when we get back, I'm sending him to a boat-less seminary. Or, maybe I could just leave him here, I'm sure the Buddhists could find room....

The ten-day Vipassana course is designed to help you look at your deep rooted desires through meditation and uproot them. They believe that craving is the source of misery. For the entire ten days you are not allowed to talk (no voicing, gestures, eye contact, SMS, morse code, pigeon messengers, e-mail or telepathy). They also ask you to turn in your cameras, mobile phones, books, writing materials and even your mp3 players (I really don't know just HOW they intend on achieving peace without a little daily Jack Johnson...."Oh, can't you see that it's just raaaiiining, there ain't no need to go outside...." *sigh* Man, I feel peaceful just writing that...)
Needless to say the course demanded a little will-power. Not so much the 'I'm going to stick to my diet today' will power..., I'm talking 'Braveheart' meets 'Passion of the Christ' reckless unrelenting drive. (Whoa, two Mel Gibson flicks... that guy must have been to one of these courses!)
The daily schedule was as follows:

4:00 am		Morning wake-up bell
4:30-6:30 am		Meditate in the hall or in your room
6:30-8:00 am		Breakfast break
8:00-9:00 am		Group meditation in the hall
9:00-11:00 am		Meditate in the hall or in your room according to the teacher's instructions
11:00-12:00 noon		Lunch break
12noon-1:00 pm		Rest and interviews with the teacher
1:00-2:30 pm		Meditate in the hall or in your room
2:30-3:30 pm		Group meditation in the hall
3:30-5:00 pm		Meditate in the hall or in your own room according to the teacher's instructions
5:00-6:00 pm		Tea break
6:00-7:00 pm		Group meditation in the hall
7:00-8:15 pm		Teacher's Discourse in the hall
8:15-9:00 pm		Group meditation in the hall
9:00-9:30 pm		Question time in the hall
9:30 pm		Retire to your own room--Lights out

My personal schedule sort of went more as follows:

4:00 am - Wake up bell. I realize that even the sun is still asleep and consider shooting the bell-man. Decide that it would be very un-Buddhist.

4:30-6:00 am - Meditation--In the form of dreams. After I fell back asleep.

6:00 am - Wake up, meditate on the meaning of my dreams. Specifically why I keep showing up as a Care-Bear.

6:30 - 8:00 am - Line up for gruel. Eat gruel. Try not to crave three strips of bacon with scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice - because cravings are the source of all unhappiness.

8:00 - 9:00 am - Meditate on orange juice.

9:00 - 10:00 am - Listen to the teachers instructions. Along with his chanting.

10:00 - 11:00 am - Meditate on whether the chanting is really necessary. Especially from a teacher who sounds like Darth Vader after swallowing a dying frog with Tuberculosis.

11:00 - 12:00 am - Line up for gruel. Eat gruel. Contemplate that scene from 'The Matrix' where they all have a plate full of human boogers and compare them to 'tasty wheat'.... I realize that I would have betrayed them all too to get back to the matrix.... (hey, I never said I was the hero in this story...)

12:00 - 1:00 pm - Interview with the teacher. I ask him why he wears a black mask and hates the Rebel Alliance.

1:00 pm - Meditate in hall.

1:04 pm - Anthony gets tired of meditating. Starts to contemplate life: 'If caterpillars turn into beautiful butterflies, what do poo-eating earth worms turn into......?
Pigeons.
(Which, by the way, are following me around the world! They just seem to be everywhere!! They also happen to be the one animal I despise. Tricky little vermins. They scare the crap out of me!! Then proceed to consume the crap I have provided! THAT'S why they are following me! It's a disastrous cycle.
In Egypt pigeon in a common item on the menu in most restaurants. Andrew got one while we were there and I giggled throughout the whole meal...'one more down baby,....one more down!')

2:30 - 3:30 pm - During this hour we were to keep our eyes closed, sit up straight and not move for the entire 60 minutes. I started to call it the 'Hour of Power.' After about 45 minutes in, it feels like you're laying on a bed of nails, that also happens to be on fire.

3:30 - 5:00 pm - The Hour of Power usually drained me mentally and physically, so I spent this time translating popular rap songs into French.
Eminem - "Fesse comme ça!"
50 Cent - "Magasin de bonbons!"
Rihanna - "Parapluie"
Snoop Dog - "Comme C'est Chaud!"
JT & 50 Cent - "Et oh! Technologie!"

5:00 - 6:00 pm - Indian Chai and bananas. The best part of Anthony's day. Good thing nobody can talk to him on this break, because he wouldn't listen anyways. He's lost in a world with caramel waterfalls, dancing lollipops and Beach Boys vinyl. This is heaven for him. (Why am I talking about myself in third person?!? And who are the other two people before the third person? I've heard of 'first person,' but who in heaven's name is 'second person?' This is so stupid...) REALLY good chai.

6:00 pm - Meditation in hall.

6:07 pm - Once again my thoughts flutter to which Disney character would win in an all-out fight and should rule Disneyland. Who would win between Aladdin and Tarzan? I got completely stuck when I tried to put Peter Pan up against Mulan. I mean, Mulan is pretty tough, plus she's got bonus Asian points. Peter Pan however, has pixie dust and levitation. Tough call. I think Peter's immaturity might be his downfall and the Chinese army will march through Neverland.

7:00 - 8:15 pm - Story time with the teacher. 'A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...'

8:15 - 9:00 pm - Group meditation. (My conscience got the better of me and I participated.)

9:00 - 9:30 pm - Question time with the instructors. My teacher doesn't think that Peter Pan and Mulan is 'relevant.'

9:30 pm - Set booby trap for morning bellman and fall asleep in 2.00875 seconds. Meditation is hard work.

There ya have it, my experience was something between George Orwell's '1984' and Brad Pitt's 'Seven Years In Tibet.' Both of which not only create something crazy and make it extremely well, but are also quite insightful. The course was hard, but everything difficult usually comes with its share of rewards.
Even though around the seventh day I was seriously debating giving up my moral upbringing for some Tropicana.
I'll also never forget the day that during the Hour of Power we were all on our cushions, eyes closed in the hall, birds chirping outside... Then in the nearby town comes the long, loud drone of an air-raid siren! My only experience with these so far is in the movies. They always sound when something really bad is about to happen. I stayed seated with my eyes closed as I was supposed to, expecting the teacher to tell us to run for cover soon.... Nope.
Nothing.
The siren grew louder and I realized that maintaining a 'peaceful state of mind' was out of the question. Was nobody else hearing this?! I began to sweat. The anticipation strangling me. At the end of my wit--I broke the rules and opened one eye to peek around the room. It was a perfect picture of serenity. All the students sitting on the floor with perfect posture, eyes closed and peaceful. The sun was pouring in through the window.
What do I do?!?! Sit it out like them?! Do they know something I don't? Or do I follow my gut instinct and run out of the pagoda screaming, "The British are coming! The British are coming!!"

I sat.

It was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. I had won the victory over myself. I loved Big Brother.

Keep Smiling!
Anthony

There will not be a Hindi lesson today. If you crave one, you are miserable.

People should stop being boring.

Note: The main character of this story could be you!! But to protect your identity I've changed your name, hair colour, height and favorite flavour of fruit snack. You will be called 'Uranus.' *snicker* Bear with me, there IS a reason. My apologies to everyone I know already named Uranus.

"Once upon a time Uranus was walking casually down the street listening to his i-pod and singing along: 'Hey Hey, you you, I don't like your girlfriend! No way, no way!' (for the sake of this story you are an Avril Lavigne fan. My apologies to everyone I know who IS an Avril fan. Seriously. I'm really sorry for you.)
All of a sudden, Uranus rounds a corner and bumps into Anthony who is jogging.

Anthony: "Hey Uranus, what's up?"

Uranus: "Oh, not much. You? What's on the A-man's mind today?"

Anthony: "Actually, I've been thinking lately about how boring a lot of North Americans are."

Uranus: "Ya man, they be trippin off the hook!..... N'ways I gotta run, my friend lent me their old Nintendo 64 and I'm on level four of Zelda. I want to make it to level five by 4:30 this afternoon when 'Desperate Housewhores' is on...'

Anthony: "......................"

Anthony jumps in the air, does a 360 and drop-kicks Uranus in the throat. When Uranus is on the ground Anthony kicks a near-by pile of dog poo at him. Then he jogs away.
The End.

Now, a lot of people probably aren't very happy with me right now; after slamming Uranus in the jugular and kicking feces at him. But let's look at this with a new perspective: the way I see it, I just did Uranus a favour! *snickers* Judging by his routine activities, I bet what I just did to him would probably be the most interesting thing that will happen to him all week. Maybe all month. Heck, depending on what level of Zelda he gets to-perhaps his whole life!!

The whole problem I see is that the lives and habits of many North Americans are becoming more and more Pathetic (notice the uppercase letter 'P' for emphasis). A place where many citizens know more about the state of Brad and Angelina's relationship than they do about what their government is up to. Or even worse, they care more about the state of that relationship than about political issues. (The two of the are still together right? I haven't been in the country for awhile, I know things can change quickly in the supermarket tabloids at the grocery store checkout. I've been in the countries that Angelina is stealing all her babies from. Duh, she's in a relationship with the most attractive man in the world, isn't that cause to--oh, I don't know--make your own!?!)
A place where our emotions are sung for us on the Top 40 radio stations (thanks Avril), where we do something we hate to earn money to buy something we don't need, where the best selling form of literature is the magazine (man, what in the world did we ever know before magazine quizzes?! The last one I did I scored a 65. That means that I am a 'macho man who eats too much starch and kidney beans. Your soft side and inner child need to be explored and vaporized. You enjoy a good competitive game of hopscotch but occasionally become distressed if you can't hop first. You are timeless, triumphant, ecstatic, stoic and wordless. Try cooking something new tonight....' Thank you Cosmo.) Then at the end of the day we love to watch characters on TV whose lives are more dramatic than our own (which takes about as much effort as a fart). Advertisements tell us who we should be, what we should want, how we should look and what we should believe. Society is fitting everyone into a tiny little box of 'conforming' and convincing them that by being 'the same' somehow expresses their individuality (the box is green and has little purple clouds painted on it.... Just helping with the mental image). No one is allowed to be themselves, and even scarier is that so many people are so lost in this box that they don't even know what 'themselves' is any more (or ever did). What opinions, interests and desires do they really hold that aren't in any way influenced by society and the media? I'm not going to use the cliche line 'think outside the box' here. I'm going to instead suggest that you roll that complacent Burger-King-bred-butt OUT of the box for a breath of fresh air. Then set the box on fire. And cook smores over it. In other words, STOP BEING BORING!! Now, the first step to not being boring is to first realize that indeed you ARE boring. This might be tough to hear, so make sure you have your stress ball, magic bag, punching bag, teddy bear and chainsaw close by (whatever you need to help you cope). I have here some ways to tell if indeed you are lame (since I live the life of the most interesting person I know, and that I am writing this in India where in the last three days I survived a freak sand and wind storm at the Taj Mahal, penetrated into a barbed wire encircled and armed guard protected Chinese embassy to obtain a visa and went into a Hindu temple where I saw a goat being sacrificed makes me automatically NOT boring and therefore qualified to write this. *sticks tongue out*).

Indicators of The Bore

1. Your Facebook page is FULL of applications.

This is almost inversely proportional to your level of lame-ness. If someone has to scroll through What Disney character you most resemble, the Teletubbie quote of the day, Ninja and pirate armies and paintings that could be outdone by most two-year olds in order to write on your wall, I'd think twice about whether you actually deserve something to be written there. Except maybe: "Try some fresh air. You are out of control. Doctor told me to tell you to get off Facebook and try a cup of real life." Or if you want to put it in their language: "Omg, get Urself 2 BRB st8. Lol. Ttyl."
What the magnitude of applications says to me is that you spend more time throwing digital sheep at your friends than you do actually hanging out with them (of course if they are the type of 'friend' that throws sheep right back at you and proceeds to instigate a fake 'lightsaber duel' with you..... they are probably just as boring and I wouldn't want to hang out with them either.) For goodness sake!! Throw a real sheep at them! That would be cool! Anything to stop you from using Facebook as a desperate self-validation!
I once got an invitation nominating me for the 'world's greatest person' award on Facebook. At first I was flattered, until I realized that I didn't even know the person who sent it. My guess is that he sent it to everyone he could in hopes that they would send it back and he could think: 'Wow, all these people think I'm wonderful! Maybe I won't watch three seasons of 'Friends' today! Instead I'll start poking people I never talk to in hopes that they'll recognize my existence!' I wanted to send him the 'Most pathetic' award, but I don't think Facebook has one......yet.

2. Shows like 'The O.C.' tickle your fancy.

Really, I mean any soap opera for teenagers. It's even worse if you've changed plans or turned down an invitation to go out Thursday night because 'The O.C.' was on. Or invite people over for a 'Thursday night O.C. sleep-over.'
I remember watching my first episode of that show. I've had more fun peeing my pants. It was about as intellectually stimulating as picking a wedgie. If the highlight of your week is is finding out if Big-Boob Bombshell is going to get back together with Sweet-But Rugged Surfer Boy, or what dress Perfect Teeth Babe wears to the beach party that night, I'd like to introduce you to this wonderful thing Gutenberg came up with in the 1430's called 'the book.' It'll blow your mind.
If the lives of these fictional yuppies is a) more interesting than your own, or b) dictates your emotions for the week, we have a problem. Luckily I've made some tea, let's sit and talk about it. Help yourself to some banana bread.
These shows heavily distort reality and teach us to be discontented with our own lives. The drama we see on TV excites us and creates and emotional high, so when we see a lack of it in our own lives we unconsciously tend to create drama in our real lives. We blow up smaller issues in order to create the conflict, looking for that same stimulation. This is disastrous for relationships, even more so for trying to live in reality. So, look at those shows objectively. They are designed to play with your emotions. Don't let them affect your intellectual and emotional well-being... You know, the 'OMG Tracy, can you just believe what happened to Silky Hair Sue on Thursday?!? The way Tanned And Ripped Rob just ignored her new stainless white and adorable tank-top!?!? It's, well,...just atrocious!! *sob* You should come over so we can make Kiwi-lime smoothies and re-watch the episode from season 3 where Braindead Beach Babe and Jock Junkie share a mango-icing cupcake on the beach in the moonlight......*sigh*'
The day 'The O.C.' was cancelled I threw a party in my head. Unfortunately weeds always grow back and 'One Tree Hill' sprouted up in it's place...*rolls eyes* *pees pants*

3. You are John Travolta

Sorry man, you just haven't come out with anything good in years.

4. You drown reality with music.

Situation #1
School is out and you are walking to your locker. Walking towards you is Mr. He's-Too-Good-To-Be-True Dreamboat. With extra sails and fair winds today. You two are the only two in the hallway. He is bound to finally look at you after all these years, sink hopelessly into your eyes and drive you to happily-ever-after in his souped up '92 Chrysler. The moment approaches..... your are a few feet away..... suddenly......his cell rings. He answers it and blows by you. That evening he goes to a party on the beach with his supermodel-with-brains girlfriend and you lock yourself in your room and listen to all your Bryan Adams CD's.

Situation #2
Your report card comes in. It is less than colourful. Your parents say maybe you should try harder. You throw your accordion at them and scream 'Don't you get it?! I'm no scholar! I'm an ARTIST!!' Then you run to your room and crank the Simple Plan, singing along with such angst it would make the dude from Dashboard C. proud.

How many times have we been upset or frustrated and throw on our 'angry music' so we can scream along to '3 Days Grace' or 'Evanescence'? This can be said for any emotion, be it joy, infatuation, anger, lust or love. There is a song out there nowadays for every situation and every possible emotion. Putting on themed music that relates to our present state doesn't make the emotion we are feeling any less real, but it could perhaps stifle our ability to both express it uniquely and accurately and get through it productively. It can also impede emotional intelligence and creativity by letting the artist poetically say how we feel for us. Instead of using our own diction, the words are chosen for us and put in our head where we adopt them and make them our own in place of thinking up our own unique and creative expressions. (Note for Christians: This is just as poignant for worship music, where so many worship their deity through the words of popular contemporary Christian artists. Some may even find it difficult to worship without the music, perhaps an indication of how much they rely on the creativity of others.)
Creativity is not so much a gift as it is a skill that can be exercised. Music CAN impede our creative juices by accepting the words and emotions infused in a song instead of analysing how we feel objectively. Emotions are yours! Fight for the right! Screw Avril!! Raise your banner high and chant with me: 'We will NOT be emo! We will NOT be emo!" Now, go cut your hair.

5. Out of 153,000 possible combinations at Starbucks--you always get the same damn thing.
Honestly, maybe that little squirt of butterscotch is what you've been needing all these years....

6. You've ever filled out one of those forward, e-mail or Facebook surveys.

If you have the time or, even worse, feel the need to tell people the colour of your underwear, or if you 'honestly' have a crush on anyone right now, stop. Before you do anything, slap yourself. Think about whether the answer to the question 'who was the last person you texted' makes you a ball of fun. Or, for that matter at all attractive to that particular crush. There's a reason he's dating a girl with a hobby.

7. You've ever read someone else's forward, e-mail or Facebook survey.

Is your life so boring that you have to find out if theirs is too? They filled out the survey you are reading so yes, it is. Hey!, The two of you can exchange surveys until you're both old and living with 687 cats!! Or maybe you could even text each other and have each others names as answers for number 24 (who was the last person you texted?)!! Or see how many answers you can fill out with each others names in it!!! Oh, wait sorry, that would be border-line interesting. Apparently not your style.

There are tons of other indicators of a persons level of boring, but I think the point is clear. Someone who conforms to the entertainment industry and is starved of creativity is about as fun to hang out with as a box of soda crackers. Now, for those of you thinking: 'Gee.....um, am I actually, maybe, sort-of boring?' don't worry. Put down those Bob Marley Cd's and let me give you some constructive suggestions.

How to NOT be boring.

1. Be passionate about something

Interests express individuality, which is both attractive and interesting. Passion instigates drive which gives into ambition. From there the possibilities are endless. The best part is that you can be passionate about anything!! I'd rather have a conversation with someone who was passionate about toothpicks than someone not passionate at all! In fact I only eat passion-fruit now because it's just so dang passionate!! (Actually, I read about a guy once who made a two-meter high model of the Eiffel Tower completely out of toothpicks! I'd love to have conversation over a meal with him! In fact, at the end I'd even give him my toothpick!) As long as you are interested in something and pursue it fearlessly and diligently, that's not boring. However, be careful about pursuing something that is popular over something that you truly enjoy. For example, it might make you a disgraceful Canadian, but if you don't like hockey, don't bloody play it! If synchronized swimming is more your thing, you just became a heck of a lot more interesting. More questionable in your sexual orientation for the guys, but more interesting none-the-less.

2. Be a Transformer.

I know this might be harder to achieve than some of the other things, but if one day after school I missed the bus and you could turn yourself into a silver Ferrari, ....I'd find you pretty interesting.

3. Consume media objectively.

If magazines, music, movies and television tell you what you should pursue, feel, enjoy and look like, and you believe them, (you know, everyone who wants to 'start their own business', have 2.3 kids and shop at IKEA) then they are in control of you rather than visa versa. Look behind the intentions of the creators of each ad, article, and show as to what the creators receive from creating it and what they want you to receive from consuming it Does consuming it make you a more interesting person? If we blindly follow the media we become slaves to consumerism and potentially spiral into unhappiness by never being able to achieve what the media says we should be. There's no pill for that. (Although I know the Flinstone shaped ones might make you feel happier.....it is only a clever ploy by those working down in Bedrock.... Bastards.)

4. Save the world.

With a prune and a benpan. Against popular belief, spandex in not necessary,

5. Watch what you buy.

Does a 52' inch plasma screen TV really make you a more interesting person? I'd love you more if you bought me a popsicle. Money should be spent on experience instead of affluence.

6. READ.

'What?! Real books!? Didn't the Nazi's burn all those when we got TV?!'
Reading exercises the imagination by making it necessary to create the pictures and sort things out ourselves. It strengthens vocabulary, breeds ideas, entertains and educates, sometimes all at once. You really can't go wrong here. If you are currently addicted to the television where the pictures are created for you, head to your local library. 'See Spot Run' is a good series for beginners.

It's not hard to be interesting. So why are there so many people who aren't? Put a little thought into who you are, what you spend you time on, who you want to be and what you want to accomplish. Yeah, yeah, we all want to be 'the best person we can be' and 'live every moment to the fullest...' ... the lack of originality in those Carpe Diem statements makes me gag. Describe them in your own words. Find out what really floats your boat and for goodness sake, set sail! The most interesting person gets distressed at the sheer amount of things they want to experience and learn.
Stop ordering the same thing from Starbucks or Tim Hortons. Find something else to do with your date instead of 'dinner and a movie.' Wear your sexiest pair of underwear to the office. Start a language, sport, dance, music or art class. Travel. Rent a classic. Read a classic. Set a goal for yourself. Grow tomatoes. Eat a hamster. Dress for yourself, not for the magazines. Keep a journal. Colonize Jupiter. Cook a meal that doesn't have 'easy to prepare' on the box. Get off the computer. Call a friend. Turn off the TV and stop being boring. Seriously. Are you the kind of person you would like to hang out with?
Next time I run into Uranus he'd better be on his way to Jujitsu class.... or something.
Keep Smiling!
Anthony

"This is your life, are you who you want to be?"
-Switchfoot.

Lions and Jesus and Floods Oh MY!!

Arusha (Tanzania)
Dar Es Salaam
Lusaka (Zambia)
Livingstone

One of the most vivid images I will return home with from this trip is that of two lions whose faces are completely soaked in blood while ripping the intestines from the side of a dead water buffalo.

(All the girls reading this are thinking: "Ewwwww. Don't be gross!"

Al the guys: "Coooooooooooool!!!!")

Welcome to the Serengeti, Africa's largest wild game park. Home to lions, cheetahs, elephants, zebras, giraffes, hippos, impalas and water buffalo's. (Note: Population slowly decreasing...)

The African Safari was designed for everyone who has ever been to a zoo and wanted to jump inside the cages. (Somebody tell me if that desire isn't universal...)

DAY 1

We piled inside of our safari jeep (which kind of looked as if a military jeep and the Punisher van had a baby...)

(All the girls reading this are thinking: " ............................................"

All the guys: "Cooooooooooool!!!!!")

We met our three new friends from Sweden (who allowed the two of us to tag along on their safari making it $200 cheaper for everyone! This inspired me to come up with a new slogan for them: "Sweden, not just good for chocolate!" Wait.......that's Switzerland isn't it?......um.....how about.......no, that won't work......oh!.............nah...............oh forget it:

"Sweden: It's a good place!")

We were then off to the endless plains of the Serengeti. On our way our guide was telling us of all the animals we would probably see. I was holding out for a triceratops....

It wasn't on the list.

He told us we might see some hippos (I wrote 'hippos' because I don't know the plural for 'hippopotamus....' Hippopotamususes? Hippopotami?). He also told us to be careful because Hippos are the cause of more human casualties than any other animal on the Serengeti.

I asked if he brought a shotgun...just in case.

He said no....

Should have paid that extra $200...

Once in the Serengeti we saw tons of zebra, impala, some giraffe, and family of baboons and a hippo. This guy was even walking around! Have you ever seen a hippo out of the water?! Man, no wonder they're violent! I'd be cranky too if I was that ugly. Imagine a huge, overweight, hairless hamster. This must be why they hide in the water all day.

We drove a few hundred meters from the hippo and our guide stopped the jeep and said "OK, let's pitch the tent for the night!"

..........."'scuse me!? Here!?! That two-ton chunk of death is 300 meters away and you want me to put up a cloth defence? Where's my steel-plated armoured bunker? With barbed wire, guard dogs and trained sniper on the roof?........

............Oh, right.....$200."

PS. Our camera broke on day one. Imagine that feeling you get when you're two years old and the ice cream falls off your cone into the sand. Then your dog eats it. Then your dog dies. Here's hoping that people from Sweden are as good as the place....

DAY 2

In the morning we see the previously mentioned pair of lions feasting on their buffalo-bacon breakfast. My hatred for digital cameras grows.

Then we saw a cheetah. As soon as we saw it I remembered this clip from the Discovery channel of a cheetah flying down the plains and taking down an Impala with the speed and grace of a fighter jet!

This was going to be SO coooooool!

So we sat and watched. He sat. We sat. Waited. Waited. One loooong bloody hour. He only got up once to move two feet forward and lay down again.

I'm SO a 'dog person.'

Still holding out for a triceratops.

DAY 2 NIGHT:

There was something outside of our tent!! I'm not talking '200 hundred yards away so we can watch his silhouette glide across the night in the moonlight from the safety of our bunker....' I mean I was awakened by the sound of breathing inches away from my face on the other side of the fabric!! Andrew suggested I go out and peek around the tent to see what it was.

"Sure man, because I'm sure that it's written on my forehead that 'I want to be breakfast!'"

(At this moment I couldn't shake the image of buffalo intestines from my head....)

My heart slowed down when I heard the sound of grass being ripped up and loud chewing. This very second in time elevated herbivores to a new seat of honor in my mind. In the morning our guide said it was a herd of water buffalo. That was the morning that the bacon for breakfast was particularly good.

DAY 3

We saw some rhinos (rhinoseri?). These guys are pretty powerful. Kind of like a sumo wrestler.... with a machete.....and no loin cloth....

We also saw a herd of elephants. It is said that this animal never forgets. How wonderful! Incredibly useful for remembering names, anniversaries, birthdays, alibis... I can imagine it would equally be a curse, knowing full well that there are just some images you wish you could forget.... like naked machete wielding sumo wrestlers.

The safari ended and we headed back to Arusha. No triceratops.

We spent Easter weekend there and then after a hike to see Mt. Kilimanjaro that failed due to the clouds from this thing they call 'rainy season' in African.... So we returned to Dar Es Salaam where the translation was made clear with the biggest flood the city has ever seen.

Flooded streets, cars 3/4 of the way submerged, three-ton hairless hamsters floating by....(Jumanji 2: In theaters this fall). When the water started creeping up the steps of our hostel, I started making paper boats as a back-up plan. People laughed, shook their heads, called me 'crazy.'

That's exactly what they called Noah.

By the time the water reached the doorway I had a fleet.

Stuck in the hostel that night is where I met Jesus. Actually his name was Brian, but he looked the part so well that we nicknamed him 'The Carpenter.'

After the waters died down (which I attribute to meeting Jesus...) he joined us on our 48 hour train ride into Zambia. If you ever take that trip, bring a book..... Or the Dead Sea Scrolls. The most fun was when you stopped in little villages and people would come up to your window to sell you things. At one stop there was a group of kids that we tried to convince that Jesus had just appeared to them.

They just asked for money.

Brian:"I bring you something far greater than money!"

Kid:"Do you play football?"

NOTE: In Canada and America they call this 'soccor.' The rest of the world however sees the logic in calling it Foot-ball.

Then came one of my favorite quotes of the trip:

Brian: "Jesus does not play football."

I told the kids that Jesus was more of a weight-lifter....

They didn't get it.

The Zambia/Zimbabwe border is home to one of the natural wonders of the world: The Victoria Falls. The only place we've come across where you can experience a water flow of that magnitude without crossing your fingers and praying to whatever god you pray to as your barrel careens down the edge...

Honestly, there's something to be said for the beauty of the untouchable.

Every time I see something of such thundering magnitude I feel like I have to get closer to it to really enjoy it. And closer. Then I want to jump in to see what it really feels like! (I'm alone in this desire too aren't I.....? Random thought: Maybe suicidals are just so in awe of the beauty of the view from on top of the building.....)

At Victoria Falls you can walk on an island directly in front of the face of the falls. Here there is such a massive amount of mist that rises from the falls that it comes down in sheets onto this island. It feels as though it's pouring rain but you can look up to see a cloudless blue sky!

Note: Rain gear is available to rent for people who like to be lame.

Life wish: To experience a massive, majestic waterfall without also experiencing death. I think this is about as close as it comes! Check mark.

Lesson of the day: Do not wear your money belt with all your cash and your passport onto that island....

Unless you as well want a beautiful painting when the ink from all the stamps bleeds together into one multicultural puddle. The way I see it: it's my first step in creating a world without borders.

Keep Smiling!

Anthony

Swahili lesson for the day: "Epesi, epsi, imara.

"Faster, Higher, Stronger."

(Appropriately, the slogan of the Olympics, also happens to be the motto of survival for the African people.)

Mama Afrika, Papa Malaria.

Neweiba
Cairo
Casablanca (Morocco)
Lome (Togo-Andrew)
Dar Es Salaam (Tanzania-Anthony)
Tanga (Both)
Yamba
Arusha

"Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday deeeeaaarrr Anthony!! Happy birthday to me!"
This is my first birthday that I have spent outside of North America. The best thing about it is that I now know how to say 'Happy Birthday' in Arabic:

هبّي بيرثدي

You know when you attempt to blow out the candles on your birthday cake, and after the first try there are still some alight? Some say that the number of remaining candles is how many birthday wishes you get, while others say that it is the number of boyfriend/girlfriends you have.
I had one candle left alight. One girlfriend. One wish. I got both! Booya!
My girlfriend, her mother and her sister came out to Egypt for two weeks to visit--putting myself forever in debt to that wonderful mother. I've been try to think about how I can repay her for granting that one wish, but I'm not exactly sure I can. I thought about offering her my firstborn child, but then I figured that that puts too much pressure on the current relationship I am in with her daughter...
I might offer her my spleen... Where I come from it means gratitude...
PS. Valentines Day in Egypt in an expensive restaurant where nothing on the menu is pronouncible (even the English menu) and your bottle of water is chilled in a champagne bucket should go on your life to-do list. I recommend 'Villa D'Este'.... very posh. (To be honest I just wrote all that so I could use the word 'posh.'......poshposhposhposh heeheeheehee!!!)

NOTE TO SELF: Stop acting like a 5 year old. This is serious!

The ten days with the girls was short but super sweet and as they left Andrew and I were once again left homeless and hungry. (If you are my mother please read the following sentence in lieu of the previous: ...Andrew and I were once again thrust into a world of great adventure completely safe, healthy, happy, potty-trained, and with nothing whatsoever for a mother to worry about.)

**This is the part of the film where a picture of a map appears on the screen and a little animated plane takes off from Cairo heading west and leaving a little red dotted line behind it while a cool upbeat adventure-ish sounding soundtrack plays until the little plane lands in Casablanca.**

The movie lied. .. Best picture indeed... I looked all over the city of Casablanca looking for even ONE refugee..... nada. The closest I could find was my brother. We DID find 'Rick's Cafe American' though. I was a little disappointed to find a warm, beautiful place, with a very Moroccan style, a pleasant atmosphere, a smooth jazz band and employees dressed up for the part.... No trace of anthem singing refugees, gambling policemen, local arrests or a loud piano playing black man...

I drowned my sorrow in a hard drink... Those were EXACTLY like the movie.

Before you could say 'Here's looking at you kid' Andrew was on a plane to Togo to lend his services volunteering and generally working towards the peace, equality, and harmony of mankind while I stayed in Casablanca to drink more.
But before I had a chance to, I ran into a non-french speaking businessman from South Africa and a non-English speaking businessman from Paris who had come to Casablanca to work out a deal together (this is beginning to sound more like the movie...Yessss!)
Thanks to my wonderful parents, I am bilingual.
I felt like the golden ticket to these guys hidden inside a delicious bar of chocolate (I also blame my parents for my good looks). So, I spent the day translating a seventeen thousand dollar business deal. The temptation to screw things up was massive...

FRENCH GUY: "Well, for the equipment, I'm asking $17,529 American dollars and after this deal I'm sure we could discuss a contract for further business"

MY TRANSLATION: "Well, he wants 18 baby white rabbits sent to his house in Paris and then needs you to get on top of this table and trumpet like an elephant while doing jumping jacks and taking your shirt off... he also wants a Kit-Kat.

However, they bought me pizza and beer which kept me happy and honest.

**Cue animated plane and adventure-ish music...**
**Cue little bags of peanuts and airplane sounds: NeeeaaaaRRRRRRRROOooommmm**

NOTE TO SELF: "Keep the 5 year-old sounds INSIDE your head!"

NOTE TO SELF: "Who you callin' five doody head!?"

NOTE TO SELF: "Poopy pants!"

NOTE TO SELF: "I'm telling!! Moooooommm!"

NOTE TO SELF: "Stop bickering and tell them you got to Tanzania alright!"

So, I got to Tanzania alright. I also made it out to Yamba, this itsy-bitsy-teensy-weensy-tiny-winy village on top of a mountain.
This is where 'Village Africa' is stationed and with whom I will be volunteering fro three weeks. It's very beautiful on top of a mountain... It's also very remote. No electricity, no running water, no cable TV, no shops or stores and no Tim Hortons!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After the first emotional disaster I convinced myself that I was pretty gung-ho about his whole 'roughing it' experience. Then I met the other volunteers around the fireplace my first night. Small talk turned into ugly talk. They began comparing diseases they had contracted there like kids comparing Halloween booty.

Emma: "I found a cockroach in my bun this morning! - well, HALF of one..."

Michelle: "Oh yeah!? Well after I pooed in a box today the nurse told me I had WORMS living in my stomach!"

Kelly: "Oh, that's nothing! My toes fell off today after these nasty little jiggers ate right through them!"

Roger: "Small beans! I got Malaria AGAIN today! I threw up twice my body weight!"

I just poked the fire with a stick-and looked for an exit. My options were: Climb a tree, fall down the mountain or jump in the fire... I just listened as they handed out the 'Best Disease Of The Day' trophy...

3 weeks....

Threeeeeee weeks.....

I could go for an Iced Capp.

The days were full of road building, brick making, tree planting, malaria dodging, and teaching the kids how to play rugby.
The kids made up the majority of the village population--each family wanted about 15...(it's a Catholic thing...)
Now, I've never really been one to notice how 'cute' kids are, or particularly care, but ALL of the kids in Yamba are priceless!! The kind of child that just makes you want to pick it up, squeeze it and give it all the gingerbread it wants! I actually don't think I can have kids of my own now-they'll just never measure up on the cute-o-meter to the kids in Yamba.
Maybe I'll just adopt the village...and make all the houses out of gingerbread.

Walking through the village and seeing all the kids LOOKED like one of those 'late night help Africa' commercials, the main difference being that on the commercial, the kids all look depressed. Like someone stole all their gingerbread, but I've never seen more joyful kids than the ones in Yamba. Whenever you pass they stop whatever it is they are doing, stand up, start waving and shouting: "HAllo, hAllo, hAllo, HALLO Antoni!!" They might even run up and take your hand and sing to you all the way down the mountain. Just like a Disney film. Very Zip-a-dee-doo-dah and all that.

Andrew and I even got to teach the kids a geography lesson in school about Canada! We taught them about this strange game where you strap blades to your shoes and hit people with sticks. We wanted to teach them the rules, but had enough trouble getting the idea of 'ice' across to them... a FIELD of ice was even more of a stretch...
So we moved on to a traditional Canadian greeting: "How's it goin' eh?" (As if the kids weren't cute enough already!!) We tried to teach them about Newfoundlanders, but it just got too complicated.
We wrapped up with a maple syrup demonstration.
"A special kind of Canadian tree farmer called a LUMBERJACK drills into the side of a Canadian tree and then puts the tree blood on his pancakes!"
None of them said they wanted to come to Canada.
When we were shopping for supplies in a nearby village, Andrew and I even found some 'Maple Flavoured Syrup' for the kids to try! (Hey, it was all that was available! What would YOU do, milk a palm tree!?)
So we got them all to try some syrup and sent them beautifully sugared up to their next class!
(We're not allowed to teach there anymore...)

Our weekends were off (it was my first weekend that Andrew met up with me) and a fellow volunteer suggested that one weekend we wake up early to watch the sunrise at the lookout; a place where you can look across the border on to the plains of Kenya. Basically it's like walking through the beautiful British Colombian mountains to see Saskatchewan. Whee. Miles of huge amounts of nothing.
She said: "Hey, who's up for a hike up the mountain to watch the sunrise over Kenya?"

I heard: "Hey, who wants to wake up before the sun is still zonked out and get a weeks worth of exercise trudging up a mountain in pitch black through the malaria-infested jungle to see a bunch of flatness!?"

I thought: "Sure! Shall I bathe myself in honey first!? Just in case the mosquitoes can't find me? Oh, and I can't forget to bring my panoramic lens just in case my camera can't capture the huge amounts of nothing!"

I said: "Sure! Sounds great!"

So we did the walk, and I saw that Kenya is really, really flat and that the sun still rises even if you beat it to the punch. And I'd totally do it again. With less honey. And more panorama on my lens.

All the volunteers in Yamba were given a house-girl to cook for you and do things like laundry-which seems lame, but in Yamba, activities like that are a full time job. For instance, to do laundry you have to walk all the way down to the river, grab a bucket of water, carry the bucket on your head all the way back to Yamba, boil the water, wash the clothes, then hang them to dry. (There is no IKEA selling washing machines at the bottom of the mountain....I know. Took me awhile to get over it too.) Then the house-girl goes back down to the river to get a bucket of water to boil for Anthony's bucket shower. Then BACK down to the river to get another bucket of water to boil for Anthony's tea. This frees up the volunteers to do actual building stuff as well as creates employment in the village.
Our house-girls name was Clemencia. She was 100% pure African energy. I swear she was drinking straight battery juice for breakfast. Every morning I would stumble out of my room half-awake to:
"MAMBO CACA ANTONI!!!!!!!!!" (Swahili for "Morning brother Anthony!)

to which I would reply:

"Zaprafidali..." (Anthony-in-the-morning for "Hey, Clemencia, how do I get some of what you're on?")

She had a daughter a few months ago which I'm sure is going to grow up to be the Energizer bunny.

Yamba was incredible. Africa needs your love.

Next time I'll tell you about our African Safari. Or should I say: "To be continued!! Dun Dun Dun!"

Keep Smiling!
Anthony

Swahili Lesson for the day:

"Tiki Tiki Maji"

"Watermelon"

(I just think it is the COOLEST word in Swahili!! And a green pepper is a 'Pili Pili Ho ho!!" Bahahahahahahah!!!! *sniff* whew!)