Thumbs up for the post that sets out to understand the origins of the signs and symbols we use on our hands, and how they might differ from country to country. Inspired by my visit to Portugal, where people wear necklaces telling you to $#% off. Or do they? The Figa I grew up in South Africa, and if anyone ever placed their thumb between their index and middle finger, they were telling you, in no uncertain terms, what you should go do with yourself. It was even worse than the bird (which I’ll get to later). So imagine my surprise to see the figa, or fig, worn around necks, painted on walls, and hanging from walls in Portugal! It turns out that the figa is an ancient Roman symbol used for good luck, and to ward away evil spirits. It’s also, coincidentally, the letter T in American Sign Language. Yet because of its physical appearance, resembling a sexualized vagina, some countries including Indians, Italians, Turks, Russians, and certainly South Africans take it as a definitive insult. So while you may want to wish your Portuguese friends good luck with a figa ornament, you might want to make sure it’s not for those at a South African wedding. The Corna “Hail Satan!” Or perhaps: “Rock on, Dude!” Or maybe just: “Go University of Texas!” A clenched fist with the index and fifth finger pointing skywards, you’ll see the Corna at most heavy metal and hard rock concerts, an almost universal sign to rock! Growing up, I remember a certain taboo with the sign since it definitely had some sort of Satanic connotations, appearing as it does in the Satanic Bible. However in Austin, at the University of Texas, the Corna is known as “hook-em horns”, used to cheer on the Longhorns, resembling their mascot, a longhorn steer. The V Sign V is for Victory! V is for peace, man! Or, if your palm is inwards, V is for something else entirely, depending on where you are, of course. In the UK, or other English speaking countries, the palm inwards is an insult not unlike the bird (which we’ll get too soon enough). Confusion was caused by Winston Churchill, who used both front and back V’s during the war before he was told of their correct and appropriate usage. Stick your nose between the fingers, and Italians will get your point too. Also, expect something to be lost in translation should a Canadian deaf person order two drinks at an English pub. Thumbs Up According to sources, here’s a hand sign that is particularly sensitive to culture and location. We know it as “go for it!” or “awesome!” or “hey buddy, can I grab a ride somewhere?” In the Middle East, Latin America and West Africa however, you’re basically flipping the bird (which I’ll get to I promise). We probably developed its western connotation from pilots during World War II, and surprisingly it appears there is no evidence it was used during gladiator fights in Ancient Rome. But it’s best to avoid using the thumbs up in countries like Afghanistan or Nigeria, where it is used, you guessed it, as a substitute for the middle finger. The Five Finger Scrunch Israelis use it for just about everything, but other cultures along the Med are familiar with it as well. Scrunch your fingers together, turn your palm upwards, and you get a hand signal that means, well, anything you want it to mean. “Wait a minute.” “Hurry up!” “Relax!” There’s an element of frustration in the gesture, but like many of the others mentioned, it manages to transcend language, communicating with fingers what words do not. The Animal Palm down, point four fingers at a Korean, and you get a hand symbol steeped in inter-cultural warfare and hatred. The Japanese were known to use this symbol to regard their Korean enemies as “animals”. No word if Koreans responded with the forearm jerk. The Forearm Jerk Leaving the middle finger closed for a change, this insult simply requires the left hand on the folded right arm, and the right fist extended skywards. Slapping the hand down adds to the insult, which is perfectly understandable the world over, regardless of what language is spoken. The Finger The Bird. The Flip Sign. The Zap. The unholy middle finger! There are various theories as to its origins, but the one I like best dates back to the 100 Year War in Europe. See, archers were quite deadly in those days, using their middle fingers to release arrows from their long bows. If captured, it was practice for the English (or French, depending on who you believe) to chop off the middle finger of the archer, unloading their weapon if you will. Archers that escaped, or just felt cocky, would raise their middle finger to taunt and insult their enemies, and today we follow their lead. There’s also a theory that it evolved form Ancient Greece, relating as it does to the phallus (much like most hand insults). Regardless of its origins, the bird is probably the most universally understood hand sign, although in some Arab and Mediterranean countries the index finger is used instead. The Vulcan Salute OK, this isn’t really a hand sign (for this planet anyway), but its origins are interesting enough. Palm forward, fingers split between the middle and ring fingers, thumb out. Leonard Nimoy, the late actor who played Dr. Spock (RIP), is credited as inventing the Vulcan Salute, although he actually saw it used as a boy one day in his grandfather’s synagogue. It is used by the Jewish priestly class, the Kohanim, the symbolize the Hebrew letter shin in a way that symbolizes the name of God. A good enough reason as any I should think to live long and prosper.
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Like many Vancouverites, I was born and raised on a different continent. I am asked, almost daily, why I choose to live here out of all the cities in the world - especially since I seem to have visited a heck of a lot of them. This post is a great excuse to reveal my personal discoveries behind Canada’s third largest, and easily most fetching, city. The first thing that hits you is the air. It tastes pure. It smells like a glacier. It’s like toothpaste for your lungs. With all the pollution and traffic found in any major city (and the yellow fog that settles over the Fraser Valley is no exception), Vancouverites still get that wonderful fresh onshore breeze, and crisp mountain air. One day they might bottle it, along with our water, which is cleaner and tastier than bottled brands anyway. A lifestyle city means, simply: one doesn't have to earn as much to do as much. By doing, I refer to the beaches in summer, the mountains in winter, and the sea and parks across all seasons. Meanwhile, Vancouver gets a lot of slack for its lack of culture, and yet every week there’s theatre and live music and exhibitions and galleries and festivals and all the things those people who complain about “lack of culture” don’t go see anyway. Yet culture, as anyone who lives in New York can testify, costs a great deal of money. A walk on Stanley Park’s seawall, in the expansive UBC Endowment Lands, on the mountain trails of the North Shore or the paths along the Fraser River, is free of charge. Whatever your age, whatever your budget, with a pair of walking shoes and a love of nature, there’s always something to do. It’s not just the mere diversity of restaurants in Vancouver - where neighbourhood streets can resemble the world’s best Food Court - it’s the overall quality and affordability that makes dining in Vancouver world-class. The offers the world’s best sushi, period. Indian, Thai, Malaysian, Mexican, Turkish, Greek, Italian, Ethiopian, Jamaican, Korean, African, and of course Chinese cuisines are well represented, across budget ranges. West Coast fusion, fine dining - hipsters, yuppies, students and vegetarians are in foodie heaven. My favourite restaurant: Jambo Grill on Kingsway. It might be mid-January, and I’ll be out with friends wearing a thin hoodie on a wet winter night. Some people prefer the freeze to rain. Some people live in the desert. We’re a wet city, but we’re not a cold city, certainly when compared to the rest of Canada. I like not wearing too many layers. I like feeling my nose, and not worrying about my eyes freezing over. I like taking a walk in a forest when it rains, like a Hobbit on a quest for adventure. Constant drizzle occasionally gets annoying, but it comes with warmer temperatures that locals very much appreciate. Our seasons are clearly defined with the passage of time, our sunsets mesmerizing. Vancouverites themselves are like their weather: famously mild. Neither hot headed nor cool tempered, we seem to be very busy, although hardly in a rush. We won’t stop you in the street and ask you for tea, but maybe that’s because it’s raining and nobody wants to get wet. There’s a certain amount of reliability that comes with Vancouverites – their outrage at scandal, their upbeat humour on a sunny day, their time-bomb potential to riot if a rock concert is cancelled (or we lose Game 7 of a Stanley Cup Finals). This is a city that is called both No Fun City and Vansterdam, stuck in its Victorian ways yet wildly progressive. With these extremes, no wonder the city's temperament sits firmly in the middle. I love the views. I love the way the sports teams almost seem to finally make it big before imploding in one way or another. I love the way people who visit me from out of town react when they experience Stanley Park's Seawall for the first time. I love the way everyone seems to come from somewhere else, and yet calls this city home. Come on in, and make yourself at home too.
Over the years, I've found myself in some dark, deep caverns. I'm not talking about the heavily trafficked tourist attractions where a red gel light illuminates some rock that may or may not look like a breastfeeding alligator. No, these are the caves where you truly get a sense of the subterranean world, too dark for a sliver of light, so quiet you can hear the blood rushing past your eardrums. Some caves have been holy, others have been wet, while others somehow host life, like glow worms, bats, and butt-ugly blind scorpion spiders. Here are some of my pics and experiences from Turkey, Malaysia, New Zealand, the Cook Islands, Hungary and beyond. Modern sport is a far more civilized substitute for millennia of constant warfare. The world's major events are not only wild celebrations, they're a chance to discover any destination at its festive best. I enjoy my sport, but although I enjoy the Die Hard movies, I wouldn't consider myself a die-hard fan. Still, here are just some of the sporting events on my bucket list. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/luefkens/ The Tour de France Three weeks and 3500km – think of it as the ultimate European road trip. The world’s most famous bicycle race pushes its competitors to the very edge of endurance (it has been compared to climbing three Everests and running a dozen marathons) but for the travelling circus that follows the riders, it’s just a great excuse to experience beautiful French countryside. It typically starts in a neighbouring country before the pelotan makes its way throughout France, with stops in Barcelona and little-known gems like Andorra. Following the caravan, you can expect to meet outrageous characters and encounter millions of people who line the route. Three weeks and 3500km – think of it as the ultimate European road trip. The world’s most famous bicycle race pushes its competitors to the very edge of endurance (it has been compared to climbing three Everests and running a dozen marathons) but for the travelling circus that follows the riders, it’s just a great excuse to experience beautiful French countryside. It typically starts in a neighbouring country before the pelotan makes its way throughout France, with stops in Barcelona and little-known gems like Andorra. Following the caravan, you can expect to meet outrageous characters and encounter millions of people who line the route. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/georgio/ Tennis The four main events or ATP Grand Slams are held in Melbourne, Paris, London and New York. Each tournament offers something unique for the tennis traveller. Melbourne is a sports-mad city, enjoying scorching temperatures often resulting in heat-breaks for the players. The crowd loves the underdogs, and the shade of their umbrellas. Roland Garros in Paris is played on red clay, with the French always rooting for homegrown players. Join them, and you might find a great improvement in service! Wimbledon is the most traditional of the Slams, suffused with strawberries and cream, champagne, and overnight line-ups. New York is the most daring, with arguably the most vocal crowd, and stadiums packed with celebrities. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/nickwebb/ Formula One Speed, money and power converge in the world’s richest sport, the highest class of auto racing, precision, technology and driving skill. There are between 17 and 20 FIA Grand Prix’s held each year, in destinations as diverse as Malaysia, Hungary, Brazil, and Turkey. For weeks before, cities like Shanghai, Singapore and Abu Dhabi get caught up in the frenzy, wooing massive crowds cheering on their Ferrari, McLaren and Red Bull favourites. Billions of dollars are spent on cars every year, capable of achieving speeds of up to 360 km/hr with an ear shattering roar. My pick is Monte Carlo, home of a famed street circuit lined with stylish crowds, overlooked by the world’s wealthy elite. Indy Car and NASCAR races also deliver their own thrills and atmosphere. Don’t forget to pack a pair of earplugs! FIFA World Cup Every four years, over a four-week period, the best national teams in the world join together to battle for the greatest prize in football. For a sport that crosses the widest of social and economic divides, the World Cup Finals is nothing short of a religious holiday. Business shut, traffic vanishes, and nearly a billion people tune in the most watched sporting event in the world. In 2014, soccer-mad Brazil once again hosts the finals, the biggest sporting event in the world. It’s a unique moment in the country's modern history, where adventurous travellers will be able to experience the best of the country. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/syume/ The Olympics Both the Summer and Winter Olympic Games is a wonderful opportunity to celebrate the world coming together. Host cities spend spend billions on construction and infrastructure upgrades to host what is effectively a non-stop party. Being able to support Team Canada (and Team South Africa) is secondary to the spirit of the event. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyngpao/ The Kentucky Derby It’s billed as the “Most Exhilarating Two Minutes in Sport”, a thoroughbred horserace that has captured the imagination of the world. Inaugurated in 1875, the race is the main draw card for a two-week long Kentucky Derby festival that includes the Great Balloon Race, the Great Steamboat Race, and an assortment of music and cultural events. Writer Hunter S Thompson once used the race to capture the essence of the American south, and visitors might take heed when they read his seminal “The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved”. Whatever you find in Kentucky, soaked in its mint juleps and tradition, chances are it will be a world away from the world’s richest horserace, the Dubai Gold Cup. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/climens/ Golf The four major golf tournaments create a sporting mecca for both players and fans. The US Masters in Augusta, the Open Championship in St Andrews, the US Open and PGA Championship bring the world’s best players together, along with those that would pay good money to see men hit little white balls into little shallow holes. Securing a ticket is expensive, or sometimes not even possible. The Masters only makes tickets available to club patrons, but you can enter a lottery to see Tiger Woods on the practice rounds. If golf is your ticket, it might be easier to attend one of the less prestigious Open tournaments, held in over two-dozen countries annually. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/climens/ Surfing Following the pro-surfing or windsurfing circuit combines two crucial elements for the weary sport traveller: the atmosphere of a major sporting event, with the bonus of being on some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Throw in string bikinis and tanned hunky surfers, and one could do worse than hop on the ASP World Tour, annually visiting top beach towns in Brazil, Tahiti, Australia, South Africa, Spain and France. Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pjmeade/ Cricket I don’t have the space to explain the rules of cricket. Yes, test cricket can last five days without crowning a winner, and yes, there is a position called the Silly Mid-On. Hugely popular in England, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, India, South Africa, Australia and the West Indies, if you ever find yourself in one of those countries with the opportunity to catch a match, do so. As a local explains the rules (which are quite easy once you slow down a bit) you can soak in an electrifying atmosphere of exploding cherry bombs (South Asia), steel drums (West Indies), BBQ’d boerewors (South Africa) or beer swilling songs (Australia). When India meets Pakistan, it’s nothing less than two countries at war, the tension so thick it could bowl you over.
Making friends at Montana's Testicle Festival. Yes, you've seen this, and now you cannot unsee it. Originally Published on Sympatico.ca Take it from me, there’s a lot of weird events out there. Fun stuff, but weird. Many of these festivals below have roots stretching back hundreds of years, which is ample proof that people have always needed an outlet to release their communal energy, or maybe just to leap over screaming babies. Most countries have a festival that belongs on my list, but these are my personal favourites: UNITED KINGDOM Cheese Rolling at Cooper’s Hill Take a wheel of Double Gloucester cheese and roll it down a steep, muddy hill. Fun I know, but the cheese doesn’t have to stop there. Allow 20 guys at a time to chase the wheel to the bottom. By chase, I mean a head over shoulders, slipping, sliding, bone crunching, joint smashing descent into certain physical discomfort. After several rounds of competition, the fastest guy to the bottom wins great honour, and presumably a lot of cheese. Dating back 200 years, this annual event in England’s Cotswold region has become so popular organizers have had to cancel it in 2010 for safety reasons. That’s OK, you can always head over to Whistler, BC, which has started it’s own Canadian Cheese Rolling Festival. World Bog Snorkelling Championship Swimming races are far more interesting when competitors have to navigate a murky peat bog. An annual event held near the small town of Llanwrtyd Wells in Wales, competitors must kick their way forward through a 55m trench, twice, in the fastest time possible. This popular event has expanded into a bog mountain bike race, and even a bog triathlon. I’d tell you more about it, but don’t want to bog you down with the details. World Toe Wrestling Championship There’s no reason to trip over the puns at this unique event, which attracts the feet of competitors from around the world. Opponents toe-off during a toe-down, with the goal to force each other’s feet off the toe-dium. If your little piggies are getting slaughtered, you can forfeit by crying “toe much!” Seriously. Rules are governed by the World Toe Wrestling Organization, and champion Toeminator Paul Beech is, I imagine, someone you do not want to get into a round of footsies with. The event takes place at the Bentley Brooke Inn in Ashbourne, everyone is welcome, and all proceeds go to charity. Toe-tally worth it then. JAPAN The Naked Festival The origins of the Hadaki Matsuri date back to the 7th century, a communal act of ritual cleansing and purification. There are variations around Japan, taking place in summer or winter, but the gist of it is that men get naked (save for optional loin cloth and sandals) and go bananas. The Shinotoko, a highly honoured Naked Man, walks amongst the crowd who, with one touch, can expel your bad energy. The crowd heave their way towards the Shintoko in the hope of touching his skin, while officials throw mud or water to calm and cleanse the masses. Nothing gets rid of bad vibes like being naked with thousands of other guys, all going bezerk. Nothing. Rolling Wood: Onbashira and Danjiri Matsuri are two different festivals with a similar premise. Large wooden objects are rolled, dragged and pushed through crowded streets. Danjiri are decorated wooden carts built by proud carpenters demonstrating their skill, which does not extend to cart pulling, since carts often reach tremendous speeds, topple over, and occasionally kill someone. Onbashira takes place in the Nagano region, as tall trees are cut down and rolled down a mountain to revitalize an ancient shrine. Huge rolling logs, steep hills, large crowds – what could go wrong? USA Testicle Festival Not everyone has the balls to enjoy the Testicle Festival, taking place annually in Montana. After visiting Testy Fest in Missoula, I can confirm that the taste is not unlike liver, which makes sense, since both originate from vital organs. Vital for me, anyway. The Testy Festy seems to attract a lot of drunk bikers, who clearly have what it takes to consume the vast amounts of oysters and “turkey fries” on offer. Given this unsavoury element, visitors might take special care to protect the family jewels. Summer Redneck Games The town of East Dublin Georgia hosts the annual Redneck Games, featuring events such as The Cigarette Flip, the Mud Pit Belly Flop, Hubcap Hurling, Big Hair, and of course, a Wet T shirt contest. Originating in 1996 as a response to a DJ’s comment that rednecks were hosting the Olympics in Atlanta, the Redneck Games now attract thousands of people every year, with all money raised being donated to charity. If your family tree doesn’t branch and you’ve got a natural knack at Bobbin for Pig’s Feet, head on down to Georgia. A legion of fans await. SPAIN & PORTUGAL Never have I been so thankful for the existence of a low wall. Bullfighting on a Rope Think running with bulls is impressive? On the island of Terceira in the Azores, they let their kids run with bulls on the beach! Bulls form the backbone of the annual Festival of St John. I experienced this first hand, including a thrilling bolt down a boxed-in street as a 600kg monster charged ahead in his quest to make mincemeat of anyone standing in his way. Unlike Spain, where bulls are killed in bullfighting, Portuguese bullfighting-on-a-rope spares the creature’s life. Several men hold back the bull from a safe distance connected with a long rope. Kids run safely into the sea, while on the streets, only the bravest men taunt the bull by running up close enough to touch it. Braver men than I, I might add. Baby Jumping In the Spanish village of Castrillo de Mercia, locals celebrate Corpus Christi by taking a running jump. Harmless enough, unless you place half a dozen helpless babies beneath them, which on a list like this, you bet they do. El Colacho, as it is known, dates back to 1620, when people were also known to burn witches at the stake. This tradition continues however, as men dressed like the devil jump over rows of babies, laying bewildered on a mattress. It’s a symbolic attempt to chase away evil, and clear a path for a healthy life. Providing the jumper clears the mattress, of course. La Tomatina 50,000 people. 100 tons of overripe tomatoes. A tradition that encourages throwing tomatoes at everybody and anybody as hard as you can? La Tomatina takes place the final Wednesday of August every year in the Spanish town of Bunul. Travel tip: Goggles help with the acidic tomato juice running into your eyes, and don’t wear an expensive suit. If you’d prefer to change the colour, the Italian festival of Ivrea uses oranges instead of tomatoes. And elsewhere, children go hungry. Just saying…. CANADA The Giant Omelette Seven cities around the world join together annually to make a 5000-egg omelette, harking back to the Napoleonic era. Canada is ably represented by Granby in Quebec, joining towns in France, Belgium, New Caledonia and Argentina. The idea is to create a giant omelette, which is then fed to the community, free of charge. According the official website: “It has also become the symbol of a world-wide fraternity, rich in friendship, tradition and cultural exchange, known as the Confrerie.” Somewhere in the world, there must be a giant toast festival. If we bring in the tomatoes from Spain and pigs from the Rednecks in Georgia, we can start a new festival: Esrock’s Big Breakfast World Championship. Things get pretty weird in a Finnish sauna FINLAND Finland deserves their own entry, because their festivals are so wonderfully bizarre you have to give credit where it’s due. Wife Carrying World Championships Its origins supposedly date back to that marvelously romantic custom of attacking a village and carrying away your future wife. He who runs fastest, or with the best technique (like the Estonian legs around the neck maneuver) presumably outran an enraged father not too far behind. The event takes place every year in Sonkajärvi, as competitors race across a 252m obstacle course. The wife does not have to be your own, but must be at least 17 years old, and weigh a minimum of 49kgs. Every summer, competitors come from all over the world, and the sport has spread to the United States, where apparently it is a lot simpler than dealing with divorce lawyers. Finnish Sauna World Championships If you can’t stand the heat, don’t compete. Sauna is deeply entrenched in Finnish culture, so it makes sense that the country would host the World Championships. Starting off at a cool 110C, water is poured on the rocks every 30 seconds until there is but one person remaining, able to walk out, unassisted. Everyone else presumably melts away. Competitors from 20 countries now attend this annual event in the town of Heinola, although naturally Finns dominate. I once spent two minutes on the top shelf of a public sauna in Helsinki, and saliva started to boil in my mouth. Yes. That is true. World Cell Phone Throwing Championships There’s a fuzzy connection between the country that gave us Nokia, and professional cell phone throwing competitions. But hey, this sport is dialed in. Depending on the event, athletes are given the same phone, and must throw the phone behind their shoulder as far as they can. A freestyle event awards points for creativity (no word if you get extra points for hitting the idiot who can’t explain why your roaming charges tally the GDP of Ghana). The World Championships take place every August in Savonlinna, and millions of people around the world are practicing every day, they just don’t know it. Mosquito Killing World Championships
I’ve seen the mosquitoes in the Finnish summer. They’re more like bloodsucking vultures, hunting in packs. The WKMC takes place annually in the town of Pelkosenniemi. No chemicals or machines allowed. Competitors only have five minutes to extract revenge, even as the mosquitoes extract their blood. There’s also a mosquito swatting event held in Italy, and probably at every lake cottage in Canada during the summer months. 18 cities. 30 days. My second national speaking tour has wrapped, and in the process, my first book - The Great Canadian Bucket List - has become the #1 selling travel guidebook, reference book and trivia book on Amazon.ca. What a remarkable journey! Of course, it always has been. We drove 5834km in our two vehicles, a beautiful new Ford Escape, and a powerful cherry-red Ford Explorer. Driving was always my happy place: baby sleeping in the back, satellite radio playing 80′s alternative tunes, seat customized for comfort, and a seemingly endless road through rainforest, mountains, prairie and boreal forest. In the month, we visited 19 towns and cities, giving my Bucket List presentation in 17 of them. That’s 19 hotels – with an unimpressed 6-month-year old baby, and therefore, in total, about 18 hours of sleep for the month! 15,000 books have been shipped, and incredibly, the orders are such that less than a month since launch, we are into our second printing. We packed the house in Winnipeg and Vancouver. In Sault Ste Marie, I sat like a lonely busker facing a quiet mall promenade, even as my book sat on a table with the likes of John Grisham, Malcolm Gladwell and Ian Rankin. “I don’t know where you get your energy from,” says my exhausted mother. The stories, of course. On the looks on the faces of those I tell them to. Packed house at McNally-Robinson, Winnipeg I also listened to new stories from Canadians bursting with pride, and picked up a few tips for new Bucket List experiences I hope to investigate. We were blown away by the accommodation and hospitality at the Fairmont Hotels in Vancouver, Banff, Lake Louise, Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg, Toronto and Ottawa. We also appreciated the Hampton Court Inn in Sudbury, especially after spending less memorable nights in cheap motels in Regina and Wawa. No offence to the chain restaurants, but I need soul in my food. Our highlights were the Indian meal we had in Dryden (as memorable as the lovely characters who cooked it) Lady on the Lake in Brandon, an Afghani buffet in Regina, a home cooked Brazilian feast in Ottawa. Multicultural Canada, rich on the flavours. Our daughter kept us up all night, every night. Clearly, travelling with children is going to be fraught with challenges. After their initial shock at the pace, my parents slotted into the travel groove. My mother is the best roadie any one could ask for, tearing down the PA and packing everything up while I signed books and listened to your stories. My father showed me where I got my love for driving, and the ants in my pants. Challenges there were many: Forded, a new verb, to describe what happens when a major public official’s drug scandal derails your media plans (and causes terrible confusion for your national sponsor). Robin Esrock driving a Ford is not Rob Ford! Toronto’s stubborn mayor smoked crack, but nothing could stop my crack team sharing the inspiration from one city to the next. I'm elated to have driven safely from Vancouver to Ottawa (and onto Victoria too), a Bucket List experience in itself, and to have brought these wonderful stories to the attention of Canadian media, bookstores, and readers. A bucket list experience is only as special as the people you share it with. Thank you for letting me share it with you! Raquel learns to live out of a suitcase
The float plane took off as I held my cup of piping hot coffee. According to Scott, an editor at Outdoor Canada, that's the typical cliche opening for any remote fishing lodge story, so I thought I'd stick with it. Only there was no piping hot coffee, and I was rocketing a Ford F-150 at 160 km/hr across the flat Manitoban prairies. Through fate and circumstance I was invited to Eagles Nest, a fly-in fishing lodge located on the Winnipeg River. My fishing experience:
Jason, one of the bronze leathered fishing guides, says there are only two things you need to pack when you go fishing: a raincoat and sunglasses. When it rains, water whips across the boat. In the sun, skin quickly sizzles. Rain or shine, mosquitoes and horse flies take their pound of flesh. In the capable hands of fishing guides and far more experienced fishing buddies, it takes no time before I catch my first wall-eye. Sport fishing is strictly catch and release, but we keep the right size wall-eye for the shore lunch. Pike's flesh is not as desirable, so we throw them back, even the ones that can feed a small family. I learn to jig, cast and troll. Demetri Martin is right: fishing should be called tricking and killing. Or tricking and letting go. There's a healthy respect here for the fish: barbs are pinched to minimize damage, the biggest catch is gently handled, and always released to give future anglers a similar thrill. My trophy is a 31-inch pike, and in one session I haul all the species above save for sturgeon, including a healthy sized smallmouth bass. We gather on an island for lunch, the guides making short work filleting the fish, which are rubbed in spice, or dunked in flour and cornflakes, served with deep-fried or fire roasted potatoes. Fish has never tasted better, or fresher. In one of the world's largest flowing rivers (by volume), Winnipeg River boasts abundance. Abundance of water, clean enough for hardier anglers to drink, and warm enough for late afternoon dips. Eagles fly overhead, mink, bear and deer roam the shores. Casting with new friends at sunset, I share Fred's sentiment that fishing is just an activity, something to keep you busy while you ponder life, staring over calm lapping waters under a big prairie sky. Special thanks to Ford Canada and Travel Manitoba for hosting my visit to Eagles Nest.
Originally published on MSN Sympatico My first draft for this love letter began: “Shall I compare thee to a hot summer day? Fireworks erupt and the BBQ steams a sweet sticky scent into the air, both driving my neighbour’s dogs insane.” It went on to praise the 10 provinces and 3 territories, the virtues and industriousness of our people (IMAX, Insulin, Basketball), the extraordinary natural beauty, coast to coast. I had a few lines about our money, our artists, our national temperament, our national sport (watching our teams crash out of the Stanley Cup). Said the letter: We mine over 60 minerals inside the world's 9th largest economy, but have a healthy respect for nature and enjoy the outdoors. Unless it's freezing the carrot off a snowman, in which case, we are known to enjoy underground heated shopping malls. But I knew something was missing, and if you’ll indulge me a few moments more, I’d like to share some vignettes. A 23 year-old Brazilian girl is having a BBQ. She works two jobs, one as a nanny for a family in the suburbs, and they are throwing a celebration because she has just received her permanent residency status. From a poor background, offering little opportunity for education or much else, she has worked her way into Canada at great personal sacrifice, and promises to accomplish much. There is a speech, and she tears up, and in her face I see a tough past and promising future. This is Canada. Auschwitz, Poland, 1942. Condemned prisoners arrive by cattle car carrying the few belongings they haven’t sold for their survival. Immediately, their bags and battered suitcases are confiscated. Family heirlooms, wedding rings, and anything of value stripped away, replaced with a striped uniform and numbered tattoo. The goods are transported to a large warehouse on site, which fills up so quickly, another is needed. To the prisoners, these warehouses represent a wealth of material treasure, cherished memories, and most importantly, hope. They give the warehouses a nickname. They call them Canada. In May 2004, I was sworn in as a Canadian citizen. The day before, a car had run me down at a Vancouver section, breaking my knee, and setting me on the path to travel journalism. I popped a small pill of morphine before I settled in the front row of the courthouse, my leg heavily strapped up. Missing the ceremony would delay the process, and after five years, I had waited enough. My older brother immigrated to Vancouver without once having stepped foot in Canada. I followed him 18 months later in the same manner. What made me leave everything I know behind on the other side of the world (South Africa is literally the opposite side of the globe) to start fresh? Very simply, the answer is Canada. For all the negative news you might read in the newspapers, for all the economic challenges we face, the rising crime, reports of corruption, environmental disaster, it pays to put things in perspective. I moved here, along with so many others, because Canada offers a better life. By my reasoning and research, the best life I could hope to find. I didn’t need UN Reports and various research indexes to tell me that the quality of life in Canada is amongst the best in the world. It would take me a year before I could find a good job, longer still reestablish the kind of friendships I had lost. Through it all, I felt safe, I felt welcomed, and I felt that anything is possible, because the opportunity exists. Ten years later, I have a successful career, a TV show no less, that pays me to travel the world, my dream job. This is Canada. My first love letter lightheartedly identified modern icons of Canada, from yoga-stretching hippies on the West Coast to foot-thumping lobster chompers in the Maritimes. We have wolves and cougars and bears and moose, but our national animal is the beaver: industrious, capable, a bucktooth smile for teamwork. We embrace the outdoors, the big prairie sky, the Albertan Rockies, the Quebecois’ providing tenacious unity in diversity. Sports, science, comedians, writers – for a relatively small nation, we have had a relatively large impact on the world, even if sometimes we feel they don’t exactly notice. My second love letter is a lot more personal. I love that I can drive on a highway for days, meeting friendly people along the way, chewing on eye candy throughout. I love that it’s safe, that politicians are called to task, that our much criticized medical system helps me every time I’m sick. I love conversations with immigrant taxi drivers and nurses and dock workers and computer scientists who work hard and have made great sacrifices to be here. I love drinking tap water. I love the efficiency of our transport system, the police, the phones, the internet. I love that our Canadian teams are always the underdog. I love our beer and wine and fresh seafood and healthy beef. You can criticize everything I love, and sure there’s room for improvement. But compared to just about any other country on the planet, things could not get any better. And that, in the end, is Canada. Happy Canada Day.
The travel industry loves trends, and one of the better ones is the idea of a Mancation, aka Bromance. Resorts, hotels and tour agencies are now reaching out to men with the idea that true bonding can only take place if wives and girlfriends are left at home, no doubt enjoying their own vacation from the hairy beast they share a bed with. I'm currently in Whistler-Blackcomb, North America's best ski resort, on a Bromance. I'll be snowboarding and pub crawling, snowmobiling, bob-sleighing and boozing with six other male journalists I have yet to meet. Bromances are one of a series of deals and packages offered by the resort, great for bachelor parties and corporate getaways - because every woman knows that inside every man there is a little boy who loves to play with his toys. I discuss the rules of a Mancation in this fun clip below, in which my brothers, Dad and I hired an RV and went off to explore the Rockies. We drive, we drink beer, we wear leather chaps, we channel our manliness...while off camera pining like little girls for the lovely ladies who make us the men we are. Time to man up!
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Greetings.
Please come in. Mahalo for removing your shoes. After many 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 100 countries, travel tips and advice, rantings, ravings, commentary, observations and ongoing adventures. Previously...
March 2024
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