Month: December 2015

Made the trek from the Passage to Bathurst today. For the number of times I have driven those 478 km, today was the first time I noticed that it is a microcosm of this country in a number of ways. I’ve always been keenly aware of the change in climate of course. I can’t count the times I’ve left a snowless Halifax under clear skies only to watch the clouds gather as I approached Truro. By the time I’d reach the Cobequid Pass it was often snowing, and the roads and landscape would gradually turn to a winter wonderland by the time I’d hit the Bathurst city limits.

Today was different. Yes, I left a green Halifax and arrived in winter but the highway in between was shrouded in thick fog that obliterated familiar landmarks and played scary tricks as oncoming cars and lumbering trucks emerged like ghosts out of the mist.

But back to my discovery. I’m familiar of course with New Brunswick’s sharp divisions when it comes to French and English communities. It’s almost as if the warring forefathers drew literal lines in the topography to claim their territories. It wasn’t until today that I noted the sprinkling of Mi’kmaq names in the mix and how representative this is of Canada as a whole. Love that diversity. Love that Christmas here will be white.

I spent the afternoon at the Syrian refugee donation centre today. After dancing my butt off at the Mic Mac boat club last night to the phenomenal talent of Charlie A’Court, John Campbelljohn, Bill Stevenson and my new favourites – the Mark Greene Band – it seemed like the natural way to balance my energy, the little I had left.

It had been eight days since my last visit. If I was overwhelmed with the amount of stuff that came through the door that first day, I have no words for what has happened since. One of the government guys told me that 3,000 bags of clothing alone have been dropped off this past week. Add to that the furniture, small kitchen appliances, toys, toiletries, and miscellaneous items and, well, you get a lot of items to be sorted, categorized, displayed, etc.

Some volunteers were in the process of installing shelving while others were actually tackling the bags and boxes. For some reason (maybe all the dancing), it took me awhile before I found my niche. Hangers. Boxes and garbage bags and grocery bags and you-name-it bags of hangers. Wooden hangers, big black coat hangers, plastic hangers, pant hangers, padded hangers, hangers covered with Phentex yarn and finally, those #%+£€¥$&@/( wire hangers that seem to engage in orgies whenever two or more of them meet.

At first it seemed impossible. After awhile, a Zenlike quality seemed to settle around me and my life became about bringing order to the chaos…separating the offenders and getting them settled into orderly groups, never again to engage in such debauchery. I tied them up. Some of them probably liked it.

I’m okay with that.

 

 

 

 

 

A little less than a month til my next winter adventure. I can tell it’s getting close because I got the call yesterday about the flight change. This is a critical part of my travels – the burst of adrenaline that comes with the realization of how helpless I am in the face of the airline industry. The flight to Bangkok has been booked for months…five or six at least. And yesterday they informed me of a schedule change by EVA Airways that makes the final leg of the return flight illegal.

In my opinion, the only illegal part about this is how they can make changes to my itinerary a scant four weeks in advance with no consequences. If the situation were reversed, we all know there would be costs involved. Mine. It seems that when they make changes, the costs are also mine.

On the bright side. I am heading for a part of the world that I’ve wanted to see for a long time – Southeast Asia. The sprawling temples of Cambodia’s Angkor Wat, the beaches of Vietnam, the mystery of Laos and finally, ten days or so in Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand. Preparation for this trip has been different from past travels; I have reserved a few rooms at the start and two nights in Phnom Penh but nothing beyond. A little more spontaneity, a lot more potential for spending the night at the bus station.