Epilogue

We came for 6 months and ended up staying for 7 years! Narrandera sounded like a great place to be - it had a 50 metre pool with a slide, a clinic with a GP Anaethetist/Obstetrician, another GP Obstetritican to share the load and a friendly hospital in which to practice - seemed ideal - and it was! Within a couple of months we had scoped the local real estate scene, found a house with property, had a new child (Cole), traveled up to the Great Barrier Reef for a visit with Mormor and Morfar and started into practice without much ado. The next few years saw us compete in no less than 4 full ironman events (2 each) and at least a half a dozen half ironman competitions. Jen became the Riverina Champion for senior women in the Wagga Marathon and managed to podium in almost every triathlon she entered, bringing home third place in the Laguna Phuket triathlon in Thailand to cap it all off. We had a third child (Piper), became as involved as was timely possible in the community and eventually got the kids off to schools in the area. We were blessed with great friends and colleagues and will fondly remember the many Rides for the Path, NarBug weekly rides and visits to Bright, Sydney and Shepparton for organized events, the Narrandera Swim Club and open water swim, WadeStock and the many gourmet dinners with the table of 10 to 16 or more. It was a chapter in our lives that we will never forget and what better way to cap it all off then to take on the great circumnavigation seemingly so part and partial of the Aussie dream. Although loosely planned (we knew which way we were going to go and when we were going), as serendipity would have it, we couldn't have asked for a better trip. When asked what was the best part, we typically struggle to answer, having had so many varied and incredible experiences. On a top 10 list, in no particular order, we would list these as the highlights: 1) Swimming with the whalesharks in Exmouth, 2) flying over the Kimberleys, 3) hiking into the incredible valleys and rocky outcroppings of Kalibari, 4) Seeing Ulhuru ... from all sides, 5) visiting Cradle Mountain in Tassie and hiking its shores, 6) Sailing the Whitsundays and seeing some incredible beaches (Whitehaven), 7) four-wheel driving around Fraser Island, 8) taking in the Dinosaur Trail in North Queensland, 9) Seeing the staircase to the moon and enjoying Broome (Cable Beach/Cape Leveque), and 10) Hiking into the incredible gorges around Kununurra, WA and swimming in the waterholes at their bases. There are probably more to add but these experiences figure fairly prominently in my memory. Our tour of Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos was pretty spectacular as well, as was the final trek across Canada in the Be Mary with Grandma and Grandpa. In the end we had sufficiently sophonsified our need to travel...at least in the near future, and keenly engaged ourselves in settling down again in a spot we hope to be for many years, Collingwood, Ontario. As in the past, we head into the future with no expectations and without reservations - life is what you make of it - so we're just facing a new canvas. To all those who made our experiences so memorable over the past 7 years, we offer our sincerest thanks and dedicate this book of my blogs to you.

We Did It!!

Whatever happened to the daily blog? Not sure whether time has got the better of me or perhaps I’ve lost my muse now that we’ve ‘settled’ a little bit. I think we left off on the last blog somewhere near Saskatoon en route to Winnipeg and then beyond. Seems my geography was a bit challenged in the previous blog as the ‘1000’ or so kms left to go was more like ‘2000’ or so. We stopped at a place called Pike Lake Provincial Park after dropping my cousin Keegan and his partner Elise at the Airport in Saskatoon. It was a beautifully landscaped summer (and perhaps winter) escape for those in the know, complete with a teaching/play swimming pool and slides, pedal boats, heaps of green-space and a few playgrounds. Unfortunately we didn’t have much time to partake in all it had to offer and have made mental note that it warrants a return and perhaps a few days in the campground to really make it worthwhile. From Pike Lake we managed to make it just over the border into Manitoba, to a place called Roblin. A veritable spec on the map really, with only one campground with which to choose a site, an adjacent lake apparently renowned for trout fishing, and a quaint little main drag reminiscent of a few small Aussie towns we’ve visited in the past. Feeling the need for fitness I managed to kick myself out of bed in the morning and throw on my running shoes to explore the town. It took less than 25 minutes to circumnavigate the town but for this I was grateful as the cogs had started to come off at about the 20 minute mark and I had to coax the legs home. Jen took up the challenge though and suffered the same end, but at least we’d made a start. Our next plod on the great highway of life took us across Manitoba close to where I had been born and spent a few of my early and apparently sickly years. We had meant to cut across the middle of the province and come down through my birthplace, Arborg, and onwards to Gimli (home of the large white viking and Icelandic/ Norwegian heritage) but somehow missed a turn and ended up trekking south to the Trans-Canada highway en route to Portage La Prairie and Winnipeg. We hit Portage around lunchtime and needed a play so managed to find a park and an adjacent pool/slide complex which fit the bill. We’d decided to spend the night at Sandy Hook after a quick visit and ice cream foray to Gimli – a place I later learned was quite near my childhood home in a place rarely documented on maps, called Arnes. The next day we rose reasonably early and made tracks to Upper Fort Garry – a former fur-trading post for the Hudson Bay Company, now on display for historical reference, complete with actors dressed in the typical garb of the day elucidating the many intricacies of life during the fur-trading post’s heyday. We had a ball and became reacquainted to much of the historical basis from which Canada eventually evolved. Onward to Winnipeg proper we went, attempting to replace an internet modem stick for the computer and solve my iPhone ‘locking’ dilemmas so I might have an operable phone here in Canada. I’ve quickly learned that telecos in Canada can be franchised and that one which looks identical to all the others may actually be operated by another company, rendering any questions or service unfeasible unless it is part of the same franchise-company from which the original products were purchased. Yes – very confusing and time consuming. At the end of our probings we ended up across town at a massive box mall but finally able to solve at least one of our telecommunication problems. My iPhone it seems was going to be a much more difficult gadget to sort out. In the end we gave up chase, headed to my Aunt and Uncle’s abode in the centre of Winnipeg and found a parking spot for the ‘beast’ directly behind their house in an ice rink parking lot.



We spent 3 days in Winnipeg, venturing here and there, hitting museums, checking out places such as the Forks and imbibing as much good, proper coffee (something we’d had much trouble finding) as was chemically healthy for our systems. It was a whirlwind few days and we’ve made a pact to return, not only to visit family but also to spend a bit more time at the Manitoba Museum – a massive maze of Canadiana which we ended up rushing through in the end for lack of time in the day.



I had aimed to be in Barrie, Ontario (Jen’s home town) by the 10th of August, so we had 3 days in hand to get there – thing was – I was itching to complete this journey and start on the tasks that will eventually lead us to a more settled existence ie) finding a house, a car and employment. The urge was strong so with a good 20 plus hours ahead of us, we forged onward. The scenery around the Great Lakes was absolutely stunning, bringing back fond memories of canoe trips into Algonquian Park during my uni days. The roads were long though and after 9 or ten hours and a fill up where we nearly took the shingled roof off of the servo with the beast, we found a Visitor Information pull out off the highway to spend the night. Fortunately, it put us within striking distance of our final destination and after another long day of driving, finally pulled into Jen’s parents house, tired, stir-crazy and relieved that we’d finally come to the end of 7 months of traveling. We’ve had an amazing trek and will relish in it for many years to come. Now the tough part starts – re-organizing our lives and trying to make anew in a brand new community and setting.

The Tunnels of Moose Jaw, Batoche, some Canadian History, and Lac La Ronge /Nemeiben

The past week has been a blur, visiting family, seeing the sights and keeping the kids busy. Before leaving Moose Jaw we ventured to its most famous tourist attraction – the tunnels. They are famous for a couple of reasons: 1) during the late 1800s and into the 1900’s Chinese immigrants (predominantly males) made their way across to Canada to find their fortune and 2) Al Capone – the famous mobster from Chicago apparently ran a liquor-running business from Moose Jaw during the years of prohibition and apparently came to visit now and again. A tourist operation runs two separate tours through different sections of the tunnels and touch on the history through a bit of theatre and audience participation. The Chinese Immigrant story is a particularly sad one in Canada’s history books, demonstrating the incredibly racist and discriminatory manner in which they were treated, albeit abused. Our tour guide portrayed the wife of the boiler maker for the local laundry and was in charge of taking in new immigrants and showing them the ropes of the operation which was entirely hidden from the outside world. It wasn’t infrequent that she would get into character and start lambasting us (the Chinese immigrants) as we followed her through the maze of tunnels in which the Chinese labourers lived. Seeking fortune out of poverty in the move from China, the Chinese found themselves essentially enslaved, away from their families with a bleak chance of making it back to China or out of the tunnels. Not only did they have to pay back the landowners in China who had put up the money for their trip to Canada, a veritable impossibility given their wages and corruption, but by the 1920’s they were also forced to pay a head-tax for entry into the country of $500 – equivalent to about $11,000 today. They would earn just over a dollar a week so they were essentially trapped by insurmountable debt. Some eventually made it out of the tunnels, re-acquainted themselves with their families which they likely hadn’t seen for 10 to 15 years and eventually established successful businesses. Of those that did survive, Canada has recognized the incredible injustices perpetrated against them and in 2006 awarded a sizeable sum in compensation to a couple of the remaining immigrants from that era – they were 98 and 99 years of age!

The ‘Al Capone Tunnel Tour’ was also quite intriguing with our guides never out of character and seemingly rushing us from room to room of the operation to avoid the chief of police and the imminent visit of ‘Al’. Cole wasn’t sure whether to wet himself and hide in a corner or make a run for it and I could feel him shaking at times from fear, believing at any moment some gangster might pop up behind us with a Tommy gun and start shooting. His relief at the end when one of our guides announced he was only acting was palpable and he actually congratulated the fellow on his acting ability. Although the ties to history are a bit loose, the fact that Moose Jaw had a direct railroad line to Chicago made it more plausible and remnants of the whiskey-running era have been uncovered giving it a bit more credence.
From the ‘Tunnels’ we made our way back to the motorhome site and then off to my Aunt Debbie and Jim’s place to reacquaint with some Aunts, Uncles and cousins that I haven’t seen for 7 or 8 years or more. They seemed a happy bunch and all were living fairly interesting and different lives. The kids and ‘grandma’ were rapt at the end of the visit as they got to have a quick ride on the back of one cousin’s new motorbike. The next day we were off again. Our aim was to make it up to Lac La Ronge in Northern Saskatchewan over the next two days and catch up with family from my mom’s side. En route we stopped off at a place called Batoche – famous in Canadian History books for a battle between the Metis (half-breeds) lead by the Che Guevara of the age, Louis Riel, and the Canadian army. The Metis felt they were about to lose the lands they had established themselves due to some governing issues back in Ottawa and began to agitate for self-governance. Recruiting the famous Metis revolutionary, Louis Riel, from northern Montana, the Metis battled for 5 days against the army but eventually surrendered. Louis was tried and sentenced to hang for treason later that year. The site is now owned by Parks Canada and you can tour the old buildings and battle sites with supplied golf carts. Although the movie which ties everything together was obviously done on a tight Canadian budget and could put a rabid, maniacal monkey to sleep, the visit was a great re-introduction to some Canadian History I’d shelved since high school. After a night in a run-down excuse for a campsite on the other side of Prince Albert, we finally made our way to Lac La Ronge and the cabin of my Aunt Vicky and Uncle Dean located on a lake just west La Ronge, called Nemeiben Lake. The cabin sits right on the lake and shares waterfrontage with a few neighbouring cabins. The scene is absolutely pristine, with often glass-like shimmering waters, virgin forests for as far as the eye can see and a not-so-infrequent loon or two popping their heads up out of the water. As my Aunt Patti commented to her sister Vicky – “This is paradise!” It didn’t take long before we were out attempting to water-ski or throwing a line in the water to have a go at catching a Pickeral, Jack or Pike for future nibbles. The boys tried in vain to stand up on the junior skis but never quite got the knack for it. Aidan preferred the less complex tubing option and never bored of raising his thumb in the air to get more speed from the boat driver. On our fishing venture, Aidan, as per usual, threw in his line and in seconds had snagged his first Pickeral. Cole and I eventually caught a largish Jack to add to the pile and content with our take we headed back to the cabin for the evening festivities. The occasion was my Aunt’s 60th Birthday and in true Bakkestad (my mom’s maiden name) style, the ‘Hallingdal’ (a Norwegian-thing) Girls put on a show. The ‘Are We There Yet Clan’ (Myself and the kids) roughed out a few songs from the guitar and the kids performed their world-famous bush poetry rendition of ‘Arrow in the Neck’ by Spike Milligan – imagine three kids grasping their necks flayling on the ground. As darkness thickened (around 10:30 pm) we were treated to a firework display complete with audience-added 80’s tunes, capped off by an amazingly patriotic ‘O Canada’ which I’m sure filled the lake’s calm with sound throughout its numerous bays and inlets. It was a magical evening and as the party continued to rage we sought the refuge of our motorhome for a much needed slumber. For our final day at the lake, Aidan and I joined my brother and newest cousin-in-law, Brad for a round of 9 holes of golf and again realized that golf is a game one needs to practice in order to attain any reasonable enjoyment from – fortunately we were playing it ‘Ambrose’ style and I only had to throw my club once! As the kids enjoyed their younger cousin’s company, I ventured out with some previously unknown second-cousins to enjoyably suffer the punishment of a tube-ride at the hands of my Uncle Dean. Intent on knocking us off by any means necessary, we were catapulted in what seemed like a never-ending array of twists and turns, culminating in our eventual mid-air disembarking from the yellow tube and two to three skips over the water. It was epic and not to be forgotten anytime soon. Another feast and sleep later we were packed and back on the road, remiss of Grandma and Grandpa who had taken an earlier ride into Saskatoon, leaving Jen, myself and the kids at the helm of their 31-foot beast, ready to tackle the final 1000 or so kms left in our cross Canada-journey.

Lethbridge, Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump, the Dinosaur Trail at Drumheller, and onward to the ‘Jaw’

One would think idyll time would be of the essence while making a trek across or around a country, but as has been the case since this monstrous adventure began, getting much done in terms of personal tasks – writing, studying, guitar playing, fitness, etc. is often a daunting achievement given the needs of family and inherent jobs of travel. Although relegated to sitting (and eating) for a good portion of everyday while travelling, I’ve struggled to find the time to keep up with our adventures on the blog. So without further ado…

From the mighty (and rather cool in temperature) Rockies, we descended into the plains of Alberta and the homestead of my Aunt Sharon (mother’s sister) in Lethbridge. My cousin Kelsey and his family also live in this neck of the woods – a flatish grid-work of a city with a penchant for traffic lights and big box malls on the outskirts of town. On one entry point leading to our eventual refuge, there was a traffic light for each city block. From one end it appeared almost Christmas-like as the series of lights changed from green to ochre to red. The town is divided almost down the middle by depressions of greenery referred to as the ‘coolies’ – reflective of ancient days when a river likely flowed through the area. Our first day saw us visiting my cousin Kelsey’s emerging bio-fuel plant near the Lethbridge airport. He’s been slaving for the past 4 years on this project, aiming to successfully convert animal talo (refuse from abattoirs) into bio-diesel in the most environmentally-efficient and effective manner possible. Like the typical second-born son, he seems determined to change the world and make it a better place and in 2 months, when the plant is operational, his efforts will hopefully come to fruition. As he was giving us an intro to the plant and business plan behind its design and purpose, an F-18 fighter jet was practicing aerial manoeuvres in preparation for the air show scheduled the next day. Being only a few kilometres or so from the air field and almost in direct line with the runway, the bio-fuel plant’s boardroom was an ideal place from which to observe the jet reach incredible speeds and perform various twists and turns. On its final approach though it seemed to be moving uncannily slow and as my attention drifted to it from the talk at hand, it seemed to gradually float towards the airfield eventually dipping a wing, ejecting its pilot and crashing in one massive fireball and smoke – unbelievable! None of us had witnessed an airplane crash in our lifetimes and it was almost surreal to see it first hand. Needless to say, it gave pause to the bio-fuel plant discussions. We eventually had a tour around the facility and felt rather diminutive in contrast to the achievements of this incredibly complex and sophisticated enterprise my cousin and his cohorts had put together. Our afternoon was spent hitting the most unpopular ‘journals’ and then visiting with second cousins and my cousin-in-law (wife to Kelsey).

Our final morning in Lethbridge involved some touring of the town, visiting the university grounds and other prominent sights before forging onward to a wonderfully named Unesco Heritage sight called ‘Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump’ on the outskirts of Fort Macleod. It is essentially a museum built into a cliff which reflects upon the former glory days of the Blackfoot Indians or first nations that used to inhabit the area. In late fall every year for almost 6000 years they would create a foliage-enhanced human funnel leading to a cliff edge and surreptitiously, through donning pelts of wolves and buffalo calves, fuel up the buffalo herd into a stampede, which would then careen over the cliff. The natives would then skin, gut and butcher the beasts, drying the meat and mixing it with berries to form pemmican, their primary source of sustenance over the ensuing winter months. Over the years the bones of the buffalo would gradually stack up under these cliffs owing to the numbers that would be killed and archaeological digs have proceeded in some of these areas uncovering numerous tools, arrow heads and other remnants of previous Blackfoot tribes. It was a wonderful intro to the aboriginal cultures of Canada and set us in good stead for venturing further afield – next stop - Drumheller and Canada’s dinosaur trail!

On reflection, we were impressed with the Australian Dinosaur Trail when we ventured to and fro around the hinterland of Queensland, but it seemed rather under-funded and miniscule for what it was – perhaps all it needed was a bit of oil-money to give it a makeover and attract the hordes! Alberta is probably the wealthiest province of Canada owing to its oil-resources and it shows. The Royal Tyrell Museum a few kilometres outside of Drumheller (and in the middle of seemingly no-where) is an incredible place, with majestic grounds and a massive museum containing hordes of skeletal dinosaur remains. The layout essentially follows Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, following a path from one prehistoric era to another in a seemless and most impressive maze of installations. Numerous programs are on offer as well allowing hands on ‘palaentology’ out in the field or in the lab making casts of fossils. Owing to the 30 degree plus temps we elected for the inside program and the kids contentedly made plaster casts of claws, bones and other fossils. Before heading further afield into Saskatchewan we stopped in the town of Drumheller – home of the world’s largest model of a dinosaur – a T-Rex. The 20-30 meter tall beast stands adjacent the information centre and as big things go is absolutely massive. A waterpark with wading pools and fountains fronts the information bay and attracts tourists and visitors alike, looking for some respite from the heat during the summer months. There seems to be a naivety or lack of concern for skin cancer here in Canada as bare skin seems to predominate in most aquatic facilities with few if any sporting rashers or suitable head-wear. I’m sure the legacy of such callous regard for UV will eventually catch up – could make my life quite busy if such is the case in Ontario as well. From Drumheller we trekked a short distance to a place just over the border of Saskatchewan called Kindersley, spent the night and then made our way down to the mighty Moose Jaw and more relatives.
I’ve travelled to these parts on numerous occasions with my parents in years gone by but as a passenger never fully paid attention to where I was going or coming from. After 39 years I’m finally getting a sense of where I am in these parts and developing an appreciation for where my parents and much of my extended family owe their heritage. Growing up in the shoulder provinces, one often becomes ignorantly jaded about the ‘prairies’, fearing or gesticulating about their vastness, plainness and apparently flat (and perceived boring) appearance. Nothing could be further from the truth though. The roads although often long and horizons distant, exude an incredibly scenic and inherently beautiful aesthetic with green (and oft yellowish) rolling hills, seemingly strategically placed rolls of hay bales dotting the immense and never-ending fields, and massive skies, sometimes dominated by almost unimaginably large cumulo-nimbus ‘thunder’ clouds. I’ve been nothing but impressed since entering these parts and thankful that I finally get to take the steering wheel – a venture that helps one to actually understand and make sense of the area.

Moose Jaw derives its name from an apparently historical situation in which a family or perhaps a group of families were making their way across the prairies by ox-cart and ran into some difficulty when one of their wheels fell apart. In true MacGyver-style and ingenuity they were able to utilize a moose-jaw that they found in a local waterway to fix the wheel and continue their journey (or so the story goes). Our first day here followed a quick lunch and game of mini-golf at the South Saskatchewan Landing Provincial Park. I’ve likened this day our ‘free-day’ as entry to the park was granted free of charge owing to my father’s age and birth in the province of Saskatchewan. Later in the day we were granted a free entry to the ‘Natatorium’ or swimming complex (complete with 10 and 15 meter diving platforms) owing to the lateness of our arrival (only 40 minutes left in the session) and finally, we inadvertently skipped paying for entry to the indoor water slides and pool harboured in the caravan park – thinking it was a free facility for any residents or visitors in the park - naivety sometimes pays dividends!

Day two was one of re-acquainting and introducing the kids and ourselves to the roots of my side of the family. South-west of Moose Jaw sits the small town of Assiniboia – where my mother was born and raised. My grandfather died a couple years ago and bequeathed the family farm to his four daughters. I have numerous fond memories of visiting the family homestead in times past but never realized how close it was to town or how small 640 acres actually appears in the prairies. The house where my mother grew up is essentially derelict now as are most of the farm buildings on the site. It was like visiting a museum of one’s own family in some ways and the kids were in their element exploring the relics of a former existence. A visit to the local cemetery to pay respects to my grandfather was somewhat of a reminder of our inherent mortality. It was the first time in my life that someone I knew and had spent not an insignificant amount of time with, lay buried before me. It struck me with a relevance I’d previously ignored or been unaware of and seemed to enunciate the precarious division of life and death – a soul-twigging experience to say the least. On the way back to the ‘Jaw’ we had chance to visit my father’s old homestead as well as my paternal grandfather’s grave which sits just outside of the city. I’d never inquired before but now had the need to know how and why it all came to be. My grandfather was the product of a marriage in which my great grandmother became widowed one evening when my great grandfather was lost in a blizzard and couldn’t find his way back to the house. She found work as a house-cleaner with a bachelor farmer outside of Moose Jaw and eventually married her employer, taking her three children (one being my grandfather) with her. Upon the death of my great step-grandfather, my grandfather was given the farm and the rest is history. My grandmother (at a ripe young age of 90-odd years) joined us for dinner and although she is rather stooped from the ravages of osteoporosis, she is sharp as a tack and had Piper tagged as a ‘devil’ child as soon as she met her. I’m not entirely sure this is wholly accurate although there have been times of late….Today we’ll hit the tunnels of Moose Jaw – remnants of the age of prohibition when Al Capone and his cronies made use of the railroad facilities of the area to cart booze across the border into the US. Should be enlightening in a dark, underhanded sort of way.

Oi Canada, a touch of viral meningitis – ouch, and the 'Be Mary' makes tracks

Yes, it’s been a week off – not necessarily because I haven’t had anything to post or that I’ve been particularly slack either. At first, the jet-lag essentially caused all systems to fail come 8 pm in the evening and keeping my eyes open was literally an onerous task – this lasted a good 3 nights! By the time I was able to stay awake to write something I was lacking in muse. It was like I had come back to a place that I already knew so well and saw from an already pre-conceived perspective – so nothing really shone out to peak my creative forces. Lots had changed though and we did pack a few things into a week including a couple of visits to the Emergency at the local hospital, not for the kids, for Jen and then, me (yet another excuse for my dismal blogging). A couple of days after arriving back, Jen began getting this nagging global headache which seemed to sharpen whenever she altered position and resolved – albeit reluctantly, with large doses of Aspirin. She couldn’t seem to get adjusted to the only slightly cooler temperatures (21-25 deg. Celsius) and shivered now and again without any real fever to speak of. Being the tough, child-bearing-without-pain-control Iron Woman that she is, she let it slide for a couple of days until one night when she was literally completely debilitated by the pain. Being a good doctor (or so I like to think) I knew this wasn’t right and trundled her off to the local walk-in clinic for assessment the next day. Two and a half hours wait later (and some coffee, a new phone and some movies) and she finally saw the other good doctor who quickly put her in the too hard box and drafted a note for her to attend the local emergency for a work up. Yet another 3 to 4 hours later she was finally assessed, stabbed by the nurse, given a single dose of Stemetil (an anti-nauseant) and, as they say in French, voila – she was all better but none the wiser as to the cause as our busy emerg doc wasn’t so much interested. That evening as we were enjoying the company of some Swedish friends, I began getting light nagging pains to my head and just the hint of heaviness in the neck. By mid morning the next day it was obvious I had never laboured for 16 hours and pushed a watermelon out my backside, as I was in a sordid heap and not wanting to be there any longer, announced that I was going to the hospital for the magic jab. Whereas Mondays are usually the slowest and busiest days (at least when I was in Narrandera) I seemed to have inadvertently found a day (Tuesday) of usual ease and fluidity in a state of stasis at the local ER and waited what seemed to be an eternity just to make it into an overflow room. The doctor did eventually catch up with me and in seemingly slow motion, had a nurse set up an IV, dose me up on Stemetil – to no avail – and sequester some blood for testing. The infectious disease expert in the big smoke was consulted and all worries of cerebral malaria or Japanese encephalitis were cast aside. Apparently, within the past 2 weeks there had been a spate of viral meningitis and was the most likely explanation for both Jen and I’s demise. A dose of the big guns (Toradol) and the threat of a lumbar puncture/ CT later and I was good to go. I suffered for another day or so much to Jen’s chagrin as it got me out of packing up the beast for our imminent departure across this great land.
It seems appropriate that one great journey should be followed by another, and in that the first was left slightly incomplete, so shall this one. Whereas the iconic trip for Aussies is the circumnavigation of the country/continent, the cross-Canada tour (from Coast to Coast) is the ‘piece de resistance’ for Canadians. Our stead is a 31 foot Ford Econoline powered monster with a side extension, 2 double beds, and two twins – sleeping up to 7 (or 8) people. It has all the amenities – shower, toilet, kitchen, TV/DVD and A/C. Owing to the source of funds used to finance the monster, it has been named in honour of our former and now deceased world-wandering Scottish friend (Mary King) and has been christened the ‘Be Mary’. Although I missed much of the first day of the drive, virtually cemented to the plush mattress at the back of the beast, what I did see at times of manageable head pains was magnificent. Although I’ve driven much of this province in my pre-Aussie days, I had nothing by which to compare it to – nothing to give it contrast and reality. Sweeping canyons, pointed-hat-like mountains jutting out around almost every bend, seemingly painted in virgin forest and unpolluted clear running streams, lakes and rivers bordering the drive. The people have been incredibly kind – nearing Japanese placability – polite, conscientious, etc, etc. I’ve also been impressed by a near integrated consciousness of healthy living with good nutrition and lifestyle virtually oozing from adverts, local restaurants and general populace at local markets. Boston Pizza (a franchise restaurant) even offered whole-wheat pizza crust and steamed veggies for the kids’ meals – it left me agog with surprise and awe. Environmentally, garbage is now divided three-fold – one bin for organic debris, one for solid but recyclable waste such as paper or plastic and one for non-recyclables – all retrieved from the curb once a week! There are also free recycling depots where different sorts of materials can be separated and regurgitated into the system of consumption.
Our drive took us through Nelson, BC, deep in the hinterland of the province in what the natives formerly referred to as the Valley of the Lost Souls – fabled to be a sort of purgatory for those who died and were unable to make it to whatever their cosmology dictated as the promised land. It has now erupted into a sort of hippie/organic/hemp/outdoor adventurer happy go-lucky young family enclave where my best friend from medical school and his family have come to reside. It’s been a few years since our families have met and it was a great, albeit short, reunion – but plans have been loosely set in motion for future reunions and adventures now that we’re back on the north half of the equator. The kids have been taking it all in and aside from some blonde-ambition attention-seeking and the occasional backyard minor brawls (as expected from their kind) we’ve been in auditory/visual overload. We’ve made it through the Rockies (catching glimpses of deer, bears and mountain goats on the way) and are now in a place called Lethbridge to visit some family before trekking further up the road through Canada’s dinosaur territory and onward to northern Saskatchewan for a family reunion. It’s all on the up and up.

Vietnam’s Gold Coast – Nha Trang and Canada Bound!

We were looking forward to our coastal visit to Nha Trang with visions of prisitine beaches, good snorkelling and maybe some R+R at the end of a whirlwind trip. Like every good expectation, it never quite turns out to be exactly as you’d have hoped. We flew in from Hanoi mid-day and met up with our final guide of the trip – Bi. He was an affable fellow…almost too affable and had an annoying tendency of saying “Oh My God” a lot. Nha Trang is the ‘Gold Coast’ of Vietnam and big dollar tourist developments are popping up all over the place amidst areas of moderate to abject poverty. As you drive in from the airport a large Soviet-era like monument within a massive quadrangle states itself profoundly, indicative of the previous and current strong ties Vietnam has with Russia. One of the largest developments is actually (apparently) owned by a Russian Mafioso who is married to a Vietnamese woman. It adds the theme park to the ‘Gold Coast’ equation and sits on an island off Nha Trang connected by the largest land to land over sea Poma lift in the world. Nha Trang’s greatest claim to fame is its hosting of the Miss World Pageant in 2008 – an event that still holds strong in its marketing of itself with various large banners and signs on the outskirts of town announcing its feat.  We’d been booked into the Yasagaki Saigon Hotel along the main strip – a large pink building which was essentially holding onto its former glory as the host hotel to contestants of the Miss World pageant in 2008 but had since fell slowly into disrepair and the contours of age were getting the better of it. Keen on a swim we found the ground floor pool and jumped in, disregarding the fact that the water was generally cloudy. As I walked along the bottom I could feel the occasional wayward rock and then something a little different – something sharp. I reached down to explore my find and found the bottom of a broken glass. Fortunately it had simply grazed my foot and not done any major damage – needless to say we exited the pool fairly quickly and headed to the beach. Each hotel has its own private beach set up complete with bar and ‘adventure’ desk for para-sailing or jet-ski rentals. The beach was scattered with litter and water appeared more greenish brown than turquoise blue. Aidan and Cole were mixing it up with the locals seemingly roughing or getting roughed up while piling into the surf. Jen and I fought off the ‘z’s and after the boys had had enough, trekked up the beach in search of an ice cream shop. One wasn’t far away and in no time we were digging into our respective choices. Jen and I opted for an Affogato and shortly after the first bite realized we’d been scooped, literally and figuratively, as the ice cream within our treat was our evil friend Mr. ‘Onion’ flavour. Imagine a sort of putrid, sour and bitter taste sensation (especially with the coffee in the mix) which has a tendency to linger for hours after the first insult – such is the character of the Mr. Onion – one I hope never to encounter again. Disappointed with our ice cream tasting we ventured further up the beach and found a microbrewery restaurant in which to enjoy some repast. In a great turn of luck – the beer was the best I had tasted whilst travelling around ‘Nam – fresh, lacking in any chemically tasting overtones and very quaffable. We caught a cab back to the hotel and called it a day.

As has been our tendency, we woke early again and managed to get ourselves fed and ready for our 9 AM pick up to do some water-based sight-seeing and snorkelling. It is currently summer holidays in Vietnam so domestic tourists were everywhere clambouring to find a boat and take a day trip to some of the local sights. The boats were predominantly old beaten up wooden structures with row upon row of wooden seats. Like many transport-related activities in Vietnam, finding and embarking on a boat was chaotic, with other crafts essentially edging themselves to the pier to load up passengers then basically bumping and grinding their way out. It was like a smash up derby with boats. We had a full boat to ourselves for a private tour so didn’t have to grapple for seats which was nice. Our first stop was what our guide called the Vietnamese Titanic – a massive concrete model of a pirate ship complete with eerie looking jaws, skeletons and the appearance as though it had been lifted from the depths. Inside there were a number of smallish aquariums and an assortment of fish – mediocre as aquariums go but still appealing given the mass of intricately sculpted concrete. From here we headed to Mun Island for a snorkel around a small reef. The waters were pleasantly warm and reef surprisingly intact with little bleaching or damage from souvenir hunters. By noon our tour was essentially over so we elected to head to the theme park for a play. The mafia-owned establishment is known as Vinpearl Land and when we arrived was uncannily quiet – at first we were wondering if it was open at all. Piper had been complaining the past few days of being sick and at times did feel a bit warm but was acting her normal self so we didn’t pay much attention. As we reached Vinpearl Land though she was heating up again.  We had a bite to eat (the worst fast food ever – had to apologize to my temple profusely) and then ventured to the water park facility a little further on the path. Piper was still up for a couple slides albeit she was shivering every time I hoisted her up the stairs with her uttering “this will be wicked” – so maintaining her go-lucky gleeful self. It didn’t last long though, within an hour she was assuming the fetal position in Jen’s arms and shortly thereafter began to bring up our tasteless lunch. Needless to say our afternoon was cut a bit short but just in time as the rains just started as we jumped on the Poma Lift across the seaway. Back at the hotel we managed to get her medicated and settled so we could head out for dinner at the microbrewery we enjoyed so much the day before.

Our last day in‘Nam began with a lateish breakfast - Piper seemed a bit better but was still febrile. We spent the morning in the upper pools of the hotel as they seemed the clearest and were less likely to have broken glass cluttering their bottoms, then headed out to find a bakery for some lunch. By the time we had made it to the airport, Piper was heating up again but fortunately kept her cookies in check throughout the flight. Seems we’ve developed a penchant for kids vomiting at airports and Jen seems to be the chosen vomit manager. Piper went well up until our arrival in Saigon where we were in transit for a few hours before our flight to Tokyo. She was burning up so we attempted to dose her again with some Panadol which seemed to only make her gag and induce near projectile emesis. Naturally I wasn’t quick enough finding a suitable bag to catch it all and for the next fifteen minutes attempted to clean up the mess that decorated a couple of our bags and the floor of the departure terminal. She perked up though and was hungry for a spot of dinner a little later - overpriced Ramen noodles - which only lasted a few minutes in her gullet. We eventually did get her to Japan without any further event but as we entered the customs area felt we ought to concede to the signs and took her to the clinic for assessment. Surprise, surprise her temp was down so fortunately she didn’t meet the criteria for Quarantine and we hustled out, found a chemist for some more Panadol and then a hotel to bunk up at for the day. Jen had been pining for true Japanese Sushi – from the source –  but alas her wish was not to be fulfilled. Lunch at the Holiday Inn had nothing but Western and cooked Japanese foods and back at the airport, more of the same – it was tragic! We did find some interesting Japanese sweets though and bought a ‘hamper’ box to bring back to share with family. The final leg of our journey was only an 8 hour flight and had the benefit of personal televisions in the seat backs to enjoy any number of movies or games. Piper was on the up and up (finally!) and like myself, Cole and Aidan didn’t bat an eyelid for the whole flight while Jen attempted to find some respite as best she could given the economy-sized seating arrangements. Landing in Vancouver brought a sense of completeness to our 7 year journey – I actually felt like I was coming home and there was a sense of contentedness that overwhelmed me, ready to take on the new challenges which were about to erupt over the next month or so – finding work, getting settled, etc, etc…It was great to see the parents again and share the children – 6 months virtually unseparated from them has its definite ups and downs and some space was desperately needed on both sides of the fence. It was hard to believe we’d finally made it back to the Great White North – now all we had to do was make it across the country on yet the start of a new adventure – I’ll be sure to keep you posted!

Aidan has a Sick Day, An Ice Cold Ho Chi Min, and then…the Whirlwind of Adventure!

Apologies for the recent chaos. We’ve been struggling to get WiFi and due to a minor dropping accident back in Siem Reap, Cambodia – our good camera’s lens has gone kaput, thereby leaving us with our little Panasonic Snapper and no cord with which to attach and download pictures onto my computer. We eventually got it sorted though – hence the 3 blog posts in a row. I’m up to date on the World Cup now as well – Viva L’Espana!! So – from where we left off we had arrived back in Hanoi – the capital of Vietnam and former headquarters of the Viet Cong headed by the enigmatic and obviously impressionable, commie-to-the-core – Ho Chi Min. He is essentially deified in these parts, with signs and monuments dedicated to him virtually everywhere. The story goes (based on my guide’s historical knowledge) he studied in France and then spent about 30 years travelling around the world learning about how different countries functioned. He became enamoured with Marxist and Leninist theories and returned to Vietnam in 1941 to lead a political movement to oust the French colonialists. By 1945 the French were gone but returned again in 1946 which led to the early makings of the Vietnam War. He died in 1969 at the age of 79 (old for a Vietnamese) and although requesting to be cremated was not granted his dying wish. Instead he was embalmed and 5 years later placed in a massive mausoleum in Hanoi which is supposed to look somewhat like a lotus flower reflecting his continued adherence to Buddhism despite his socialist view of the world (remember Marx – “ Religion is the opiate of the masses”). The massive marble structure looks more like a cubic Parthenon than a flower but to this day it is where he resides. Everyday the mausoleum is open for an hour and a half in the morning to receive visitors. The road in front is cordoned off and cameras and phones barred from entry. Literally thousands of Ho Chi Min fans and tourists take the walk through looking upon his greatness in all its dead glory and you know what – he hasn’t aged a bit! Aidan and Jen were amiss from our visit owing to Aidan’s rip roaring temperature – he’d earned a day in bed so we split up the troops. From Ho Chi Min’s current resting place we ventured through his old office buildings and home then onward to Vietnam’s first university dating back to the 10th century AD. It was a monument to the aspiration for knowledge and education with massive statues of some of the initial ideologues of the time such as Confucius and some related Vietnamese Scholars and teachers. The afternoon took Jen, Cole and Piper to the museum of ethnology which provided a hands on view of some of the cultures of Vietnam such as the Hmong while Aidan and I held down the fort, catching up on the blog and dealing with the raging fever which eventually abated. Feeling he was on the up and up, we forced him out of bed and off to the Water Puppet Show a 10 minute walk up the street. He managed alright, albeit with a bit of grumbling and made it right to the end of the show before emptying his stomach contents discretely into a bag out in the foyer – all class. We took one of the rickshaw rides home as he wasn’t up to walking and put him back to bed with a large dose of Ibuprofen. Our treatment seemed to work though and by morning he’d turned the corner and was almost as good as new. It was a good thing as we were off to Ha Long Bay for a night on the South China Sea.

It takes a good 3 to 4 hours to travel 150kms to Ha Long Bay due to the chaotic traffic conditions and speed limit of only 40-80 km/h. We stopped about 2/3rds of the way for a refreshment at a road side Vietnamese Souvenir/tourist shop filled with massive marble sculptures, incredibly intricate needle-point pictures, traditional clothing, jewellery and a café. Most of the artistry is done by victims of land mines, all of whom are missing either a limb or digit here or there – simply amazing. Ha Long Bay is essentially a tourist port with numerous ‘junk’ boats – not really ‘junk’ at all as we found out but beautiful wooden boats with luxurious cabins and decks to motor around the numerous karsts jutting abruptly 100’s of vertical metres out of the sea. We settled into our air conditioned cabins and powered over to a floating village to visit a massive arching cave at the base of one of these karsts. Our tour guides were these tiny Vietnamese women who didn’t speak a word, simply rowed their small reed-woven boats around the village and back to the pier from whence we started. The Victory Star (our ‘junk’) has a couple of dragon boats moored in this area and part of the day’s festivities was to split the tourist squad into two teams for a race. Naturally, Jen and my team conquered with boat lengths to spare – wasn’t difficult with most of these out of shape Europeans! Dinner was 5 courses ie) way too much food but delicious just the same. Bloated and tired from our recent exploits we had one quick attempt to fish for some squid off the back of the boat (without success) then sunk into our beds and slept in until the sun began peaking through our blinds unrelentingly. Our second day on the boat brought us to one of the largest caverns I’ve ever seen. Along with hundreds of other tourists, we ascended the steps and entered the chasm, venturing deeper and deeper into its core, listening to our jovial tour guide point out the different stalactite shapes and their animal or phallic representations. From there we headed back to shore and a drive back to Hanoi to prepare for a night train to Lao Cai and couple day trip to Sapa and surrounds.

Lao Cai is 9 hours by train from Hanoi up in the north-west of the country. The A/C cabin with four bunks fit us snugly and although sleep came quick to the kids and Jen, I tossed and turned, struggling to find comfort on the platform-like beds listening to the constant rattle of the clackity train. We arrived at 5:30 in the morning and were immediately met by our new guide Zung. A sleepy drive up to Sapa gave us a bit of steam to enjoy a buffet breakfast and head out the door to acquire some proper rubber boots for our trekking. It was drizzling when we exited the restaurant so we pulled out our multi-coloured rain ponchos and truly looked the part of the ill-prepared traveller. All but I were able to find appropriately sized footwear – Jen really liked the black tall-boot look. A short jaunt up the road took us to beautifully green terraced valleys spreading out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Finding our path, we ventured down to the valley floor being followed the whole time by Hmong women or young girls wishing to sell us intricately designed handbags, woven bracelets and other trinkets. By mid-afternoon we had finally made it to our homestay residence in a place called Tavan, 3 or so kilometres from the main road. Our hosts we’re some wonderfully accommodating Vietnamese with 4 young children in and around our children’s ages. Although language was an issue we seemed to hit it off quite well and settled into our new surroundings. In the distance we could see a large structure which looked to be almost like the inner framework of a tepee but on closer inspection occasionally had kids swinging on it from a large central platform. Keen to check it out our hosts’ children escorted us down the path and we all had a go. The tiny Hmong girls selling bracelets could get it really moving with little if any fear whatsoever. I had a go and it was laughable – seems it takes a bit of practice. Our guide joined us later to take us to the river for a swim – unfortunately the swimming area was essentially an open area of a rather fast moving water and after some tom-foolery Cole just so happened to slip off the rock upon which we were sitting into a serious rapid, holding on for dear life. As I quickly tried to grab him I accidentally pushed Aidan on top of Cole – so then there were two. It didn’t take long though and I had both out – Aidan with a couple of abrasions but essentially both no worse for wear. Back up at the house, we introduced the host kids to some Uno and began to help out with making dinner. Cole was right into helping prepare the duck while Jen took on the spring rolls. Dinner was a feast of Vietnamese dishes – far beyond any of our capacity and was interrupted by not infrequent “Mo, Hi, Ba, Zo!!” shots of homemade rice wine made by our host. They seemed to like the rice wine and attempted to seduce me into liking it as much – fortunately I pulled through with some reserve insight and resisted further doses ….after the first 5 or 6 of course – one has to be accommodating in these circumstances. Our beds were up in the loft of the house and consisted of thin mattresses, some bed coverings and a mosquito net overhead – only slightly more comfortable than the beds on the train but I did manage to get some sleep. The next day we were treated to a thin pancake or crepe breakfast and then bid our hosts adieu, trekking up the road through the rice paddies, a bamboo forest, past a water fall and back to the main road some 5-6kms from where we had started …and Piper did it all! The track so thin in parts and up and down it would have been impossible to carry her without losing our balance so the little trooper forged on – a little disgruntled but unbowed. Needless to say she was a tad tuckered by the end and had a good snooze as soon as we caught our ride back to town. We had a few hours to poke around before heading back to Lao Cai and another night train back to Hanoi so checked out the Sunday market and hob-knobbed with many a prying yet peaceful Hmong – often wishing us to buy some of their handicrafts. We were able to sell our rubber boots back to the store where we had purchased them and gave our new umbrellas to a poor Hmong woman with a sordid history of maternal woe which she spilled in great detail to Jen as they walked along. The train ride back to Hanoi was as bad as the initial journey, pushing me nearly to delirium with the caustic voice of Axel Rose filtering through my subconscious at times with his rendition of “I’m on a night train…” – echoes of a misspent youth and questionable musical tastes. Fortunately, our program had us set up in a day hotel when we returned from Lao Cai and we were able to shower, catch up on some sleep and become human again before venturing to the airport for a flight to Nha Trang – the last port on our journey.