The Fire Doctor of Taipei has coated my back with a brown paste of herbs, covered me with a towel, and spritzed on some alcohol. After lowering the lights, he tells me to be calm, and then lights up the blowtorch. I hear a sound not unlike that of a gas burner being lit, and catch the reflection of flames off a nearby mirror. It takes a few moments to register that the source of the fire is my back, followed by the sudden rush of intense heat. For over a dozen years, Master Hsieh Ching-long has been using open flame to rid the pain. Master Hsieh (pronounced Shay) created fire therapy a dozen years ago after medical training in Beijing, applying his knowledge of traditional medicine, martial arts, and pyromania to invent a powerful treatment for muscle aches and sports injuries. Photos on display in his small clinic depict the doctor with several dozen local celebrities, and he tells me that business is booming. “Not anybody can heal with flame,” says the Fire Doctor. It requires years of martial arts training, so that you can channel your inner energy and use your hands as iron. I’m not sure what this means exactly, but it sounded comic-book cool, and when he demonstrated the above by ripping an apple in half with his thumbs, I knew I was in good hands. Being set alight was my thrill of choice in Taiwan, the “other” China. The island nation lives in a constant state of tension with its larger Chinese neighbour, with mainland invasion just a few missiles away. Established in 1949 after the communist revolution, Taiwan’s US-supported economy boomed, its democracy flourished, and today it is amongst the sharpest claws of the Asian Tiger economies. With political rhetoric heating up, many look to the success of Hong Kong as a potential future for the peaceful reintegration of Taiwan and China. In the meantime, I had my own heat to deal with. I was hoping Master Hsieh could use his able hands, scarred with burns over time, to untie the thick plane knots in my back. My treatment would come in three stages. Firstly, he would use heated glass cups to realign the energy. Gwyneth Paltrow popularized this treatment a couple years back when she revealed the source of the circular purple welts on her back. It was only during my second treatment, when the blowtorch was fired up, that my nerves began sweating. The herb paste burns for a several seconds before the good doctor douses the flames with a towel, and massages the intense heat into my skin. “Now for the dangerous part,” he says, in which open flame is applied directly to the skin. Photos of other patients on the wall showed grilled skin, lines like steak on a barbecue. I sit upright, and feel the flame rolled down my back on cotton doused in alcohol. It hurts. A lot. I smell the sickly-sweet scent of skin being scorched. Finally, the doctor uses his vice-grip hands for a deep tissue massage, and signals the end of the treatment. My back is bright red, but thankfully free of burn marks. I step out into the heat of Taipei, my adrenaline ablaze; the stiff muscles from yesterday’s long-haul flight slashed, burned, and cast off into oblivion.
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Note: I visited Burning Man twice - in 2010 and 2012 - before the festival exploded in popular culture, having developed a mythical reputation in alternative culture. I wrote the report below for my defunct blog after my first visit. It found its way to Burning Man organizers, who shared it on their social networks as one of the best stories they'd read about the event. It received hundreds of thousands of views. Since then, the festival has grown significantly in numbers and received much media scrutiny , particularly around increasing commercial activity, celebrity attendance and climate challenges. A condensed version of this report was published in my book, The Great Global Bucket List. The full version deserves its place in the sun and on the playa. All photos are my own. Burning Man is so famously impossible to describe, I’m not even going to try. I won’t talk about flying into Vegas to rent an RV for a 10-hour drive to Black Rock City, even if there was an opportunity to play craps with a purple-haired transvestite, but that’s another story. I definitely won’t talk about driving past the massive US military installations in Hawthorne, Nevada, since that, along with nearby Area 51, has severe access restrictions. I could tell you how, upon arriving in Burning Man, us virgins were made to roll around in the white flour dust of the Playa, embracing the dirt that we’d mentally prepared ourselves to combat. It took mere seconds for the dust to cling to our clothes, skin, and psyche. Look, I’ve spent the last five years waiting to get to Burning Man, and was as nervous and apprehensive as anyone. Nothing to buy? No taps, showers, or garbage bins? 50,000 plus people* in a hostile environment, and somehow this is meant to be fun? All these adventures over the years, and just when I think I’ve seen it all, something shows up to smash my head with an experiential baseball bat, letting my brain ooze into the mud. Something like Burning Man. For those unfamiliar: It’s an art festival, showcasing thousands of sculptures and modified cars and creative structures. It’s a music festival, with hundreds of makeshift venues for DJ’s and musicians. It’s a costume festival, with everyone wearing something extraordinary, if they choose to wear something at all. It’s a conference for the mind, offering free lectures and educational seminars from thinkers across the creative-arts-and social science spectrum. It’s a religious festival, steering clear of organized dogma into the realms of free expression, open worship of the universe, and a deep reverence for the beauty of diversity. It’s a love festival, where nudity is accepted, sex is acceptable, and tantric workshops are held. It’s a community of likeminded individuals gathering in a remote place to avoid the confused, ignorant reaction of those who simply don’t get it, and probably never will. It’s a backlash against corporate America, where no brands or advertisements or promotion is allowed. It’s the wildest, most hedonistic party you’ve ever seen. And most of all, Burning Man is none of these things at all. It started with a small group of artists in a hostile desert, challenging their creative limits and engaging in a form of self reliance and personal responsibility – this in a country so drunk on blaming others and passing the buck. Fundamentals evolved:
It’s jarring to read the Survival Guide in an age where long form legal disclaimers are posted on parking lots. There are countless ways to kill yourself at Burning Man, from exposure to extreme weather to getting toasted by a rogue art piece. It’s your responsibility to stay alive, even though just about everyone you meet will gladly help you out (including volunteer rangers and medical staff). You can scream and shout and spit and sue, but in the end, this is a community that lives according to its own rules. The guide sets it straight on the front page: “Above and beyond the provision for individual survival, everyone is requested to help ensure our collective survival by following very basic rules relating to public safety and community well being. Community membership is a privilege. “ If you don’t get it, please don’t come. You’ll hate every second of it. Within hours, every expectation I had about Burning Man was blown out the water. I just didn’t expect the scale of the event to be so huge, the creative energy so vast. Black Rock City emerges almost overnight, shaped like a clock, organized by the hands of the hour and 12 long, circular promenades. Bikes are essential if you want to see a fraction of everything, with the city stretching over 5 miles across. There are hundreds of camps and villages set up along the grid, tribes ranging from a few members to several hundred. Each camp offers something of value to the casual passer by: Free cocktails, hot tamales, engaging conversation. Free massages, games of tennis, bowling, a mechanical bull ride. Free rides, free bad advice, free hugs, free drugs, free kisses, free help. Free beds, free art, free costumes, free decorations for your bike. Everyone seems to bring more than they need and need less than they want. It’s a free for all, and it took a while to recalibrate my capitalistic conditioning so that I stopped asking “what’s the catch?” There isn’t one. “Where am I?” It doesn’t matter. “Who are you?” A burner just like you. “Where are we going?” I don’t know, but there’s no rush, so lets take it slow. I saw things that shocked, surprised, dazzled and delighted me. Moments of beauty, moments of overstimulation, moments of bewilderment. Every time I stopped to ask “how on earth did they get this here?” I was reminded to stop questioning and start accepting. My guides were friends old and new, veteran Burners and virgins like myself. As much as this is a community event, every single Burner develops a unique personal response to the environment. Some thrive in the heavy dust storms that blind and sting. Some thrive in the camps and villages. Some thrive in the scorching hot day, others in the cool, LED-lit night. Drawing it all in together is the Man himself, erected on a wooden platform at 12 o’clock, looking out over the gathering. He started small over a dozen years ago, a couple feet high, burned to the ground on a beach outside San Francisco. The Wicker Man fulfilled a similar role in Europe for centuries, but Burning Man’s founders claim that is a coincidence. This year’s Man stood 104ft tall, regally awaiting the climax of the week-long event, his destined combustion. The Man is Gonna Burn. What does it mean, this Man on Fire? A symbol of passion and drive, signifying anything is possible? A community bringing down “the Man” that traps us with its strangling laws and bureaucracy and tax and corruption? The collective ambition of a nation of pyromaniacs? I hear these and other theories under the sound of fireworks exploding at his feet, driving the massive crowd into a frenzy. Any second now he’s going to be a giant fireball. Sometimes he burns fast, sometimes he burns slow. A huge dust storm sweeps in, blowing fiery ash into the crowd. This is not cause for concern. We are prepared with the right gear and attitude. Only here do the harsh elements become cause for celebration. The called her the Belle of the Ball. Standing on one leg, 40ft tall, skinned in polished steel that lights up at night, Bliss Dance is a staggering creation of beauty. This statue could compete with any major landmark in the world, stealing the spotlight with its immense size and brilliant execution. Is the world ready for such naked beauty, such unabashed appreciation of the female form? No, which is why this privately funded work of art will probably land up somewhere remote, somewhere special, outside the guidebooks but well worth a pilgrimage. It took a year to build. It could be appreciated by many generations.** There’s a Monkey Chant in the Centre Camp. It’s different tribe from the Balinese one featured in the documentary Baraka, hypnotically blending their voices into a cacophony of sound. Hippies and corporate climbers, artists and thinkers, the haves and have nots. Is the guy playing the flaming tuba really one of the producers of the Simpsons? Did the guys at Google donate thousands of community bikes? Are there celebrities in the house? What does it matter? I spent a half hour looking for a friend at Center Camp one afternoon, and realized that even if I walked right past her, I probably wouldn’t recognize her, and she wouldn’t recognize me. I was wearing red underwear with printed eyes on my thighs, blue wings made out of recycled water bottles, a shocking green wig, ski goggles and a white dust mask. Costumes allow anybody to become anyone or anything, and they do. Superheroes or furry animals, desert squid or neon robots. Women can be naked or topless without fear of harassment. Burners just won’t stand for young, drunken fratboys. The community is a self-regulating system, an entropic organism that shakes out the dust and arises. While it might seem like I had a bit part in a Mad Maxian post-apocalyptic world (complete with a Thunderdome), there was order in this chaos. You know that weird friendliness that manifests itself on a hike, when complete strangers say hello to each other even though on the street they wouldn’t look at one another? The Playa dust intensifies that encounter, amps up the positive energy. We’re all going through this together, we’re all brothers and sisters. At least until the Temple burns and the Exodus begins, when you can just make out the sound of a bubble popping. My friend Ian is never shy to initiate a philosophical debate. “Is this the real world, or is the real world out there?” “Perhaps the real world should be more like Burning Man.” “It’s all well and good until the food and water runs out, and then it will quickly turn into Lord of the Flies,” replies Bruce. Making the trek from Canada, hiring an RV, equipping ourselves with food and drinks and costumes and playa gifts, the final tally is not cheap. Everyone appears to have committed an extraordinary amount of time, money and energy to be here, and so everyone is doing their best to enjoy it. It’s a brief trip to Utopia, so far outside our comfort zone we forgot what a shower looked like. That Burning Man only lasts a week is calculated. A sustainable leave-no-trace festival cannot become permanent, even though there is talk of Burning Man owners buying up surrounding land. Applying the lessons of Burning Man is a common theme at many workshops. Taking away the sense of community, of environmental responsibility, of respect for those around you - it can only be a good thing. But it’s hard to hear those messages in the real world, when marketing and advertising and signs and media keep pounding away at you from all sides. You’re not happy unless. You’re nothing until. No wonder Decompression parties are held throughout the year. The Temple is the spiritual soul of Burning Man. There’s so much more to this festival than flame breathing dragon cars, stilt bars and half naked discos. The Temple is a solemn place to say goodbye to loved ones lost, dreams abandoned, or anything that needs to be released. People write on the walls, in the cracks, on the wooden platforms. It’s an outpouring of energy so intense you can feel it throbbing. Life size photos of Burners lost before their time, tears dripping off the face of people in private confessions, their sad waters hit the wooden Temple, like syrup leaking from a bark tree. I could only stand and watch, aware and grateful that this week marked a personal beginning and not an end. It was here, in a camp dome surrounded by my tribe, that I asked Ana to marry me, and it was here, that our lives moved to the next logical step. The Temple can wait for as long as I can help it. On Sunday, with thousands already returned to the real world, the Temple is set aflame, designed to become a raging inferno of emotional relief. We could feel the heat from far away, an unmistakable energy rushing through us, flaming ash soaring into the sky. It was beautiful, it was sad, it was magic. Cherie, our Camp Momma, gave us each a gift. It’s a small vial filled with the ashes of three Temple Burns, attached to a leather-beaded strap. I’m looking at it now. The dust and ashes of the Playa still resonate, even as I wake up each morning, wondering if it was all some weird, hallucinogenic dream. Perhaps it was. I don’t know how to describe Burning Man to those who have not been. Other than to say: If anything you’ve read above intrigues you, then find out more. It can be challenging, but then again, the best experiences in life usually are.
* Attendance is now around 70,000. ** Bliss Dance is now a permanent exhibit outside the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Long in the shadows of its Maritime neighbours, New Brunswick has come into its own as a province packed with family-friendly experiences, gorgeous scenery, delicious seafood and wonderful people. It also tends to be less packed with tourists, which means fewer crowds, better prices, and perfect for family road trips. Canada’s most underrated province overdelivers, if you give it a chance. Here’s my report (and video below) from a multi-generational trip to New Brunswick this summer, visiting the cities of Moncton and Fredericton. Magnetic Moncton |
I’ve always enjoyed making videos, and have made dozens of travel clips in the past. Still, I felt that being a Youtuber requires a different sort of skillset and dedication to that of a writer. Travelling with kids however inspired me to return to editing the short, punchy, montage-music videos I once revelled in. Here are my favourite videos from 2023 (hit full screen to see the magic): | Check out and subscribe to my Youtube channels for |
This year, I also put many hours into a new edition of The Great Western Canada Bucket List, which Dundurn Press will be publishing in May, 2024. We’re revising and updating the Canadian Bucket List series - which continues to sell fantastically well since the last edition in 2017 – with tons of new experiences, and a beautiful new design. The companion blog, canadianbucketlist.com, features new stories every month, like this deeper dive into the Powder Highway, the best places to see cherry blossoms in spring, tips for canoeing the backcountry, how to approach an Indigenous experience, and a fun look at family travel attractions in Winnipeg. Meanwhile, a story I wrote for Great Canadian Trails - a fantastic travel agency that specializes in unique outdoor Canadian experiences - won a first-place award from the Society of American Travel Writers. On the subject of awards, I was one of three nominees for the Canadian Tourism Industry’s prestigious Travel Media Professional of the Year. Can't win 'em all! |
It's been another successful year of sharing the wonders of my bucket list on stage and online too. The highlight was receiving a standing ovation for a keynote about the past, present and future of travel writing from my peers at the Travel Media Association of Canada. It’s a challenging era to be in travel media, and despite what people think, travel writers, PR professionals and bloggers are not on a permanent holiday. It takes a special kind of curious, positive and hard-working personality to work in this meshugana profession, and I’m proud to be part of the community. I also inspired thousands of clients and teams at Scotia Wealth, BMO Nesbitt Burns, Raymond James, National Bank, RBC Wealth, Assante Capital Management, Odlum Brown and CIBC Wood Gundy, working with fantastic advisors who recognize that dreaming big and travelling far is just as important as market returns! I got to speak in national museums, IMAX theatres, country clubs, boardrooms and fancy hotels too. Get in touch if I can inspire your team or clients with insights, stories and bucket list adventures! | Proudly some event feedback in 2023 "The best attended event we’ve had and it received the most positive feedback from our clients." - Scotia Wealth "Feedback from clients has been fantastic and we all really enjoyed hearing your stories, insights and adventures." - BMO Nesbitt Burns "Our clients loved it, and we literally had to push them out the door at the end of the evening." - Assante Capital Management |
What does 2024 have in store? A lot more adventure and discovery. I’ll continue writing my Canadian Geographic column, exploring Canada and the world, working on the third edition of The Great Canadian Bucket List, speaking whenever I get the chance, and sharing stories that I hope find the right person at the right time to have a truly meaningful impact on their lives. One lives in hope (at least, I do). There’s a lot of bad news out there, a lot of uncertainty and stress. We never got the global celebration we deserved for beating the pandemic, just a war in Ukraine, economic chaos, political upheaval, climate disaster, and tragedy in the Middle East too. Yet every time I travel, I’m reminded how humans share the same values: we all want the best possible outcome for our children, and we all want to protect this big, beautiful blue ball we all call home. At least most of us. Don't worry, it’s all going to be fine, because it always is. Congratulations for making it through 2023. No matter what awaits us around the corner, I hope that travel and adventure provide the peace and inspiration you’re looking for. |
It was only a matter of time before some genius applied science to a singular issue for anyone flying long-haul economy: What do I do with my neck when I doze off? Travel pillows come in various shapes and sizes, but typically follow the C-shape format. And while some are inflatable (and about as reliable as a politician’s promise) and some are memory foam (and as convenient to carry as a guilty conscious), at last we have a different approach. The TRTL Pillow wraps around your neck like a scarf, a scarf with an internal support system for “optimal” neck and head support. Unfortunately, nothing is optimal when you fly long-haul economy. While the TRTL Pillow is pricey and takes some getting used to, catching much-needed zzzzs is worth every penny.
The TRTL Neck Pillow
Buy on Amazon
During the hey-day of the pandemic – peak masked-up and locked down 2020 – I remember thinking: if someone invents jeans that look like sweat pants, they’ll make a fortune. Well, the Japanese did, and I’ve been wearing UNIQLO EZY Extra Stretch Jeans ever since. Available in four colours, with an elastic waist and a draw string, they look like real denims except they stealthily have the soft feel of sweats. Smart and casual enough to wear out, frumpy enough to wear while you binge watch Foundation (my underrated series of the year) on the couch, jean sweats are perfect for your everyday slacker ninja.
UNIQLO EZY Extra Stretch Jeans
Maybe it’s the nostalgia of tasting liqueur in chocolates as a kid (it was the 1970s, and there’s not that much liqueur) but this beautifully packaged display of bottle chocs has become our personal dinner party favourite. High quality dark chocolate just works with when matched with whiskey, vodka, cognac, rum and other treats, and it’s not the plonk either. Danish-based Anthon Berg works with brands like Remy Martin, Contreau, Drambui, Mount Gay, Canadian Club, Famous Grouse and Sobieski. Pick your bottle carefully from the stylish choco-bar, unwrap, hold the neck and bite into the goodness. We found a great deal at Costco but they’re also well-priced on Amazon too. As for kids slurping back chocolate bottles filled with rum, I turned out alright. Sometimes.
Anthon Berg Chocolate Liqueurs
Buy on Amazon
Last year I featured the Life Straw as a lifesaving little gadget that allows you to safely drink from any river, lake or stream. This is especially handy if you’re on a hike and need water, or if the zombies attack and the taps stop flowing. The Life Straw does however require some serious suction, which is why the Life Straw Go Series is a gamechanger, making the entire water-cleansing process a lot easier. Simply full up your BPA-free bottle with water, and the membrane filter will remove 99.9% of all bacteria, parasites, microplastics, dirt and sand. It also reduces chlorine and odours, improving the taste. Each filter can get through 4000 litres of water (about 5 years of daily use). It’s a no-brainer for anyone going to any country or destination where you can’t trust the water.
Life Straw Go Series
Buy on Amazon
They say you get what you pay for, except for nightlights, which don’t seem to work no matter how much you pay. Too bright, not bright enough, to white, too orange, too motion sensitive, not motion sensitive enough. I’m too sensitive myself, having gone through a half dozen of these damn things in my attempt to avoid walking into a wall when my kid starts screaming in the middle of the night because of his latest Huggie Wuggie nightmare. Here at last are some nightlights that are fully customizable for brightness and sensitivity. They also have fireproof casing, a feature I truly hope I never have to appreciate.
UVON Plug in Night Light
Buy on Amazon
When did it become mandatory to require a wagon in order carry all the crap you need for the beach? The chairs and blankets, the shade tent, the beach toys, the food, the kids? The Tommy Bahama Backpack Chair is how I’m doing it from now on. Just a chair. On my back. A chair that has pockets for my phone and my ice-cold pilsner. A chair with a neck rest. A chair that is not a wagon. I’m done with wagons. The kids can carry their own lightweight chair too.
Tommy Bahama Backpack Chair
Buy on Amazon
Since we’re all doing our best to travel lightly with only carry-on luggage, consider this washboard in a bag. A cleverly adapted lightweight bag essentially becomes a washing machine, allowing you to easily and conveniently and effectively handwash your clothing in under a minute. The 13-liter Scrubba can clean two shirts, underwear and socks in a wash: just add water, some liquid detergent, massage your clothes, remove, wring and hang up to dry. Particularly handy if you’re hiking, camping, backpacking, or trying to go far with little.
The Scrubba Wash Bag
Buy on Amazon
The Toilet Ottoman The Disco Toilet Light
I truly give a crap about your toilet experience. So much so that I give bidets as wedding presents. A bidet will seriously change your life. Trust me, it just will. That was my choice recommendation two years ago. I was going to suggest a toilet ottoman in this year’s Bucket List Gift Guide (which straightens your colon and aligns your pooper to conduct a healthier, more efficient business), but then I came across a Disco Toilet Light. Exposing your posterior to a regular blast of disco lights has been proven by absolutely nobody to be beneficial to your health. But it is fun. First get a bidet, then a toilet ottoman, then a disco motion sensor toilet light. Throw your bowels a party, and thank me later.
Toilet Ottomans
Toilet Disco Lights
Percussion guns (which is a great name for a band) became all the rage a couple years ago, and I’ve been testing them for 12 months to assess whether they are in fact a) a fad b) a poorly disguised sex toy c) a deeply beneficial therapeutic tool or d) a weapon of mass destruction. With a little imagination, it’s all of those things, but these muscle massage guns work, and they work well. Pop on a head (I usually use the ball, the bullet is for massaging Superman) and awkwardly point the gun on my offending muscle tissue. Better yet, find a partner or kid to work while you lie down skating the line between pain and bliss. These guns pack juice, and the long-lasting battery has a decent charge. Having tried several massage guns on the market, I recommend the Renpho Percussion Massager. Amazon is always having big sales with these things so look out for discounts.
RENPHO Active Muscle Massage Gun
Buy on Amazon
When I slept over at grandmas, she had green blankets that were as heavy as a sack of potatoes. It made me feel warm and safe, and I used to sleep like a sack of potatoes too. Too many decades later, weighted blankets help millions of kids and adults sleep better by reducing stress and anxiety. Weighted with glass beads, ball bearings or plastic, sleep scientists say the equal distribution of weight relaxes the parasympathetic nervous system in preparation for sleep. I don’t know what that means, I just know you’ll sleep better, on the bed or on the couch. While there are a wide range of brands out there (spanning a wider range of quality and price), Toronto-based Simple Sleep offer quality weighted blankets with fantastic value.
https://simplesleep.ca/
Please come in. Mahalo for removing your shoes.
After years running a behemoth of a blog called Modern Gonzo, I've decided to a: publish a book or eight, and b: make my stories more digestible, relevant, and deserving of your battered attention.
Here you will find some of my adventures to over 120 countries, travel tips and advice, rantings, ravings, commentary, observations and ongoing adventures.
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