My blog in a cloud...

Quite lovely really.

Thank you

Too short was your time with me but so grateful I am to have had it. You were kind to everyone you met and gave your love and your affection without condition. Thank you for showing me how to do this too.

If a best friend is someone who is always there with loving support, no matter the situation, or reason, you were my best friend, true and loyal and caring. Thank you for giving me your friendship.

You saw the goodness in people better than most people can and with this knowledge you chose me, were loyal and true to me through my own trials as I was to you through yours. Thank you for allowing me the honour of caring for you and being cared for by one such as you.

You weathered life's trials and unfairness with such strength and such dignity. Thank you, thank you, for teaching me this.

We will meet again, in another life, and we will know each other by the marks of what we have shared. Thank you for sharing your life with me. You are loved and you are missed.

Thank you.
Kate

On endings and beginnings: An abridged version of Our Story

I've struggled with sitting down to write this, this that I want to be the final entry in this chapter of entries. I want to close off and complete the chronicling of my sabbatical. Problem is, somewhat unexpectedly, it hasn't yet ended. Or rather, it's ending has been overshadowed by a beginning that is setting my life on a different path who's destination I'm still unsure of.

So what am I going on about then? Let me start simply then, with the facts and feelings that I will use to tell Our Story. Mike came into my life in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. It was against one of nature's most spectacular backdrops that I found a man and a love that I wasn't expecting. He was the other solo traveller on the week-long horse ride and camping trip I'd been so looking forward to. If I were to pinpoint when exactly this realisation began to dawn on me, it was while we stood staring in amazement at a mountain range after tracking the remains of a mule deer killed by cougars on a river bank. Romantic in it's own unique way.

We spent three more days together in the Rockies, learning more about each other and growing more and more aware of the certainty of a shared future. Then one morning, we parted ways. Mike went west, towards Vancouver and his flight home, and I went east, ever eastward towards the Atlantic. We were both left reeling by the separation. I felt I had found something so fundamental to my own future and contentment. To have it pulled away from me after far to brief a time was just madness. I felt hollowed out, with an empty place just below and to the right of my heart.

Before parting in Lake Louise, we had agreed to meet again in London, at the end of my trip and when I could join Mike on his planned trip to France. And so, my van sold to a couple in Montreal, I flew to London and to Mike. It was there in London, in Hyde Park with the sun beaming down and children running about us that we acknowledged our certainty and I became a future wife to Mike, my future husband. The following week in France felt in some way like a celebration of this intent, of this mutual agreement to a shared life.

So now I am back in Brisbane, awaiting a visa and generally killing time before I can return to that maddeningly immense and immensely expensive city and once more to Mike. My journey of self-discovery, self-reliance, and selfish relaxation may now be over but in making one journey, another has begun in it's stead. This one, however, is one with a shared purpose and with the greatest travel companion I could have ever hoped for.

Back to Brisbane...

"Here my voyages of discovery terminate. Their toils and their dangers, their solicitudes and sufferings, have not been exaggerates in my description. On the contrary, in many instances, language has failed me in the attempt to describe them. I received, however, the reward of my labours, for they were crowned with success." Alexander Makenzie, July 22nd, 1793. Final entry in his journal chronicalling his successful attempt to travel by canoe from Fort Mackay across the Rocky Mountains to Bella Coola on the Pacific.

Another airport *sigh*. This time it's Vancouver and I'm leaving soon for Australia. Home, I suppose, but I've long maintained that home is people, not place. So then where is home if not with him? All will be explained in due course, dear reader, but for now I am allowing myself annonymity, mystery, intregue of sorts. Frustrating tho it might be, you will just have to wait for the full story to emerge.

I was blessed to have on this day of my departure from Canada, a beautiful sunny and clear Vancouver day. I ate ripe blackberries from a vine near Kitsilano Beach and contimplated my learnings at this, my journey's end. Though as cliche as it is, while one journy is ending, another is most definitely beggining.

For now, I can only ask for a flight free of crying babies, for my cat to be well and happy when I return, and for good friends who will welcome me back and listen with interest, even if well-meaningly feigned, to my travel tales. Brisbane, here I come.

Horse riding in France

Written Aug 25

Back from a week's riding in the south of France (the little beach town of Mimezan en Plague to be exact), Mike and I are nursing bruises, scrapes and a variety of sore muscles. The riding was fantastic, if a little wild at times. Gallops along beaches and through forest trails have a whole different element when if a group of 14. Such a completely different experience to the scenic awe and sedate pace of our ride in the Rockies. Instead of swimming in a glacial lake, we swam in the warm surf of the Atlantic Ocean, this time with the horses.

The horses were all Anglo-Arabs, the same breed as my first horse, Zack. Lots of stamina, lots of energy and almost too intelligent for their own good. We rode with a mixed group of French, Italians, Brits, Irish and Swiss and had a great deal of time to ascertain a few national personality quirks. The French members of the group ranged from incredibly warm and friendly to a bit cold and there was one downright rude woman who griped, in French which I am now understanding more and more of, about the amount of English being spoken within the group. She and another woman refused to speak with Mike and the two others on the ride who spoke no French would only speak to me, in slow, deliberate French, when absolutely necessary. In an amusing twist, I had quite a few conversations with another woman with me speaking mostly English and her sticking with French, most of which I could understand. She spoke English just fine and seemed to be understanding it perfectly, but she wouldn't speak it to me unless I really didn't get a word or phrase. While it annoyed me a little at the time, it was actually an excellent way to improve my French.

London Town

Written Aug 15th

For those playing the home game, I'm now in London, staying with Mike, a fellow horse-rider who I met on our ride in Banff. I've been here a week now and it really has flown by. Much to Mike's amusement, wandering the streets of London the first few days, I kept exclaiming, with a little irony and a lot of glee "I'm in London!". It's been an odd sort of thrill to be in a city with such heritage and history, and to see in person so many places and icons that have featured in novels, plays and poems that I've read over the years. Living my life in two former British colonies, It's fascinating to see the roots of my home countries reflected in the architecture and culture of the original. The weather has been weird, even for an English summer and as we left Leicester Square after a massive downpour, we looked back to see a beautiful double rainbow arch over the buildings. Just gorgeous.

We ventured out of London to Henley-on-Thames, as picturesque an English country town as one could hope to find. Beautiful rolling hillsides, tiny cottages with flower-laden gardens, grand estates, and impossibly narrow, tree-tunneled lanes. We walked through forests and meadows and along the Thames itself, and after marveling at the amazing light and coloured clouds overhead, were promptly caught in a thunderstorm.

With the rain settling in the next day, we decided to forgo another walk and drove to Oxford instead. To be in such an important seat of academic history was really quite cool, and the old buildings and colleges really did impress me, especially as they are still for the most part used for their original purpose.

I must admit that the pace (and cost!) of life in London has me a bit overwhelmed after the mellow expanses and laid-back nature of Canada. I can see how living in one of the world's great cities can be exciting and energising, but I can also see that it could be quite draining; emotionally and financially. But I will give it a chance. It's not somewhere that I could ever see myself living long or even medium-term, but I think for a year it would be fun. I'll wait and see what the universe decides to offer up on this one.

On unanswered questions

This evening I will leave for London and then France, and while I'll come back through Vancouver for a few days 2 weeks form now, this is where I'm saying my goodbyes to my cross-continent adventure. I've covered over 6000kms in the past 3 months and have experienced places, people, and emotions that were entirely new to me, although at time vaguely familiar. I know for certain that I am more patient and tolerant now that I was when I left Brisbane at the end of April.

I'm also, much to my surprise, not much closer to completely answering that question that I've carried with me on this trip: What next? What will the next chapter of my life be, especially in terms of career? While the career question is still very much unanswered, it has become far less pressing than it was 4 months ago when I knew without a doubt that I wanted to change careers. To do something completely different. While I haven't answered the question of exactly what that will be, I do now know with absolute certainty that whatever it is, it won't be central to my sense of who I am. I no longer feel the need to be defined by my work and that in itself is so very liberating. So I'll find something that I enjoy, that gives me a lifestyle that I can be comfortable with and that gives me a little of the recognition and feeling of contribution that I need. But my life is so much more than a job title and so I'm comfortable that that question will answer itself soon enough.

Back in Montreal

Written August 4th

Well. I haven't been writing much the past week or so, or at least not much in the way of my journal ramblings. I think it's due to having had company now on the final leg of my cross-Canada trek.

After Jolyon and I left Isle D'Orleans, we continued north along the St Laurence River, the van well-stocked with cheese, produce, bread, and tasty tasty preserves from the farmers on the island. We took the long way round to Parc du Grand Jardins, a national park according to the Quebecquois, but as it's not run by Parks Canada, the group that runs the rest of Canada's national parks, it's technically a provincial park, but calling it a national park fits with Quebec's independent statehood mentality. The separatist movement may have died out after the last referendum, but the spirit is still evident in a lot of small things. I finally got to do a big hike, my earlier efforts having been thwarted by snow, bear warnings, and bad GPS information. Leaving Jolyon to tackle a smaller hike (dig!) I headed out to summit Mount Lac Cygnes, crossing 2 other summits covered in beautiful alpine meadows along the way. The trail was as boulderous as I've yet to come across and so steep that in places I was using hands as well as feet to make my way up. But the views and the sense of accomplishment when I did make the first summit were well worth the effort.

After dropping Jolyon at the airport in Montreal, I've shifted focus to the logistics of leaving Canada. I've found a lovely young family who will be my van's new owners. Jean-Francois and Melanie and their two daughters, Felicie (4) and Emma (1) are so delighted to finally have found the right Westfalia for them, my twinges of sadness about selling what has become my home are tempered by knowing that Clauss is going to a good family who will have many many adventures with him. Strange how sentimental I've become over an object that represent both security and freedom.

Jean-Francois and Melanie have been wonderfully hospitable too. Jean-Francois is a pyrotechnician who works on the annual international fireworks competition in Montreal. He invited me to join him to watch the final show after spending the afternoon with Melanie and Felicie at La Rond, the huge amusement park where the fireworks show is held. I hung out with the rest of his crew and had a very backstage view all the preparations. Such a wonderful way to spend my 26th birthday.

Now I'm staying with Jean-Francois and Melanie at their lovely little townhouse in Little Italy, in Montreal. Clauss is happily tucked in their backyard, snug between Melanie's tiny but productive veggie patch and an assortment of kid's toys. Both my French and my understanding of Quebecois culture are benefiting from my time with them. Yesterday afternoon Jean-Francois and I heading to the enormous market nearby to buy ingredients for a lovely dinner that we made together. I won't even start right now on how amazing the food and produce is here. At least not before I've had breakfast!

On finding the familiar in the foreign

Isle D'Orleans, Quebec

The waves roll gently onto the shifting black sand and rugged boulders. Giant freight ships cruise sedately past, slipping between islands and lines of coast. The silhouette of the far shoreline is punctuated by towering steeples and lights flicker off the water. The view could be BC's coast, but for the lack of the ocean's briny pungency in the air. This is the Saint Lawrence River, trade route and historic life-blood of the eastern provinces.

Isle D'Orleans is a pastoral island in the middle of this vast river, a few kilometres north of Quebec City. It's history as a farming colony is apparent in the beautiful and meticulously maintained manors and farmhouses. Dotted with vineyards, fromageries, cideries, and maple sugar plantations, it's a popular rural retreat for Quebecers.

How strange that I like it mainly because of it's familiarity. It's coastline so much like Hornby Island, off the coast of Vancouver Island, but for the lack of an ocean. It's rolling pastures and quaint villages so much like Montville in Australia's Sunshine Coast hinterlands. Have I really reached the point in my trip where I'm searching out the familiar rather than reveling in the new? I think it may just be a combination of the two. I can very much sense the end of this summer approaching and I'm actually quite eager to return to a more stationary and productive life. I'm keen to put all I've learned over the past months into practice. But not before I've had another month on the road.

Montreal - July 21

I love this city. People are serious about enjoying life, especially when the sun is out. The buildings are just beautiful, the food fantastic and the rent cheap. I've not been writing much these past few days, partly because I have a friend along to share my inner monologue that otherwise ends up as text and partly because I've been alternately busy and tired. Lots of time spent lazing in parks and in our lovely B&B.

I've also been making the arrangements that need to be made in order to finish up my trip. I've arranged to sell my van to a lovely young Quebecois couple with 2 little girls who are keen campers. It was great to see them get as excited about owning my van as I was when I bought it. I'm glad to see that Clauss will be going to a good home, but I am rather sad to be selling him. I only have a week and a half left with my home on wheels.

I've also been invited to join another week-long horse riding trip, this time in Bordeaux in the south of France. Little bit different to the Rockies, but so lovely I just couldn't turn it down. So on August 8, I'll leave Montreal for London then make my way to Bordeaux to meet up with the group. Then it's back to Vancouver for a couple days to say my good byes and then home to Brisbane. I'm feeling very mixed about finishing this trip. I've had some lows and a lot of very wonderful highs over the past 3 months and I'm sure the last month will have both as well. But 4 months is a long time to be on the road and part of me is looking forward to being stationary again. I'll see how long it lasts.

Drivers of Montreal

I arrived in Montreal on Monday, after spending 2 very pleasant nights in Ottawa. Touring the Parliament buildings left me feeling surprisingly patriotic. Actually being on the floors of the House of Representatives and the Senate gave me more of a thrill than I'd expected. Places of power and decision making and such I suppose.

Jolyon has joined me in Montreal now and it's great to have someone to tour, explore and dine with. We've booked an absolutely perfect B&B right near McGill University. It's in a neighbourhood filled with absolutely perfect little row houses, with colourful gardens and external, wrought-iron staircases. The B&B itself is one of these row houses.

Parking on the streets outside is extremely competitive and this morning's amusement was watching half a dozen drivers play cat and mouse with 2 parking officers. Parking isn't allowed on Wednesdays from 9:30 - 10:30 to allow for the street to be sweept. Drivers were actually sitting in their cars, waiting for the parking officers to appear, when they all drove off simultaneously. They then circled back, only to have the officers pop out from a side street where they'd been hiding in wait. Much amusement to watch from our window.

Montreal is terribly French and has a very European feel. A very good warm-up for me and my rusty French before I head to the real France next month.

Obligatory rambling on US/Canadian relations - July 11

I do love this country. I love it's landscapes, it's own style of liberalism, it's people, it's history and heritage. I'm loving getting under it's skin and I will live here again one day.

Yesterday I was in Sault Ste. Marie and stayed at a lovely campsite just outside of town run by a very friendly Austrian family. The place was wonderfully cared and was littered with Parisian playground equipment ("Paris" was stamped on the metal pieces). I had lunch at a restaurant on the Sault river. At one end of a reach of the river was a large bridge. On the other bank was the US. It made me think about something that has come up quite a few times on this trip, and that is how Canada manages to live next to and be to economically interlinked with such an imposing neighbour and not allow it to dilute our own unique culture. I think it just comes down to practice. Having relied on the US as a ready market for Canadian products (something like 80% of all Canadian exports are consumed by the US) for so long I think makes Canada willing to tolerate the quirks and bad habits of our neighbours. It's a bit like having an uncle who's generally a good guy, always brings presents for the kids, but a couple times a year, gets drunk on Jack Daniels and goes around trying to molest your cousins and shooting neighbourhood cats with a .22. We sigh, shake our heads, and hope he doesn't turn the gun on us.

I think it's safe to say that sitting in that restaurant on the banks of that river, looking at Michigan across the way, is the closest I will come to being on US soil. At least until that drunken uncle goes to rehab.

In which my spirits are lifted

After almost a week of some pretty serious driving to make my way east (a couple 800+km days), some absolutely horrid mosquitos that nearly drove me insane, some serious isolation that led to way too much time inside my own head, and 5 days of rain, rain, rain, things have brightened. I'm in Sault Ste Marie (pronounced soo saint marie), a funny little town that has the US-Canadian border running right through it. Half the town is in Ontario, the other half in Michigan. No guesses as to which half I'm in. I'm at a lovely campsite with free wifi, excellent showers, and adorable French playground equipment. And plans are crystalising for me to spend the last 2 weeks of my trip in the UK and in France. I've been invited to join a week-long horse ride through the Burgundy coast. Bliss!

Next it's off to find some lunch on Lake Superior (hopefully) and then an easy drive to Sudbury. Then the weekend in Ottawa (there's a blues fest on) before finally arriving in Montreal. This past week has by far been the most difficult for me, for a variety of reasons, but I've learned from it as well. I think I'll have eggs for breakfast tomorrow.

On Real Wilderness or Pity the Poor Pioneer - July 8

I've made it into Manitoba, and after a brief visit to the very windy Winnipeg, I headed north on a detour to Helca National Park, on the shores of Lake Winnipeg, one of Canada's larger lakes. I took an indirect route to what is already a seriously out of the way place to stop by a series of red garter snake dens. The guidebooks said that it was an interesting place to see great piles of gartner snakes swarming, mating and generally having a good time over the summer. It was in a provincial nature reserve so I'd expected the usual Parks Canada-style do, with an information hut, guides etc. When I did get there, after 80kms, much of which was on unsealed roads, the place was deserted and frankly, spooky. I walked as far as the first snake den and was feeling increasingly uneasy. There wasn't anything obviously wrong with the place, aside from the isolation, but I just needed to get out of there. My heart had started to beat faster and I was getting clammy hands. I found out later from the Helca Park ranger that a little girl's body had been found there in the spring thaw this year, abused, murdered and dumped over the winter. I'm glad I didn't stay long.

So now I'm camped on the banks of Lake Winnipeg. Steel grey, windblown and with giant, glacial boulders lining it's shores, it's making me think about what this area would have felt like to the first settlers who made it home. Today I left the big highways, if you can call them that, and drove through mile after mile of lonely road, dotted at increasingly less frequent intervals with tiny settlements (and can't quite bring myself to call them towns) with even tinier churches. Much of Manitoba and in particular the more far flung regions were settled by hard-done-by eastern Europeans, Mennonites, Acadians, Jews and other groups who society had not been the fairest to. They decided to start new lives out here, in nothingness. But it was nothingness they could own and farm and fairly make a living from, no matter how hard.

As I drove alone today through what to me was enormous and at times somewhat frightening nothingness, plain upon plain of it, I thought of what it must have looked like to those early groups who came the same route. I followed a road and saw occasional cows, dilapidated barns and outbuildings, fences, crops. They would have been confronted by nothing but markers on a map, rivers to cross and marshes to slog through. And when winter closed in, I can't imagine the loneliness and, I'm sure at times, fear of what lay hungry in the snow.

I wanted to see some of Manitoba's lake-studded great north. I'm afraid though, that the southern end of Lake Winnipeg is as far as I will make it on this trip. The wilderness further north is simply too much for me, but it wasn't for those that went before me, without roads to guide them.

The Prairies, in all their glory - July 7

I'd tried to dismiss what everyone had told me about the monotony of the drive across Saskatchewan and Manitoba. "Just burn straight through" they'd said. "Nothing worth stopping for". But I'd said no, I want to experience the open space, the rolling wheat fields and all that. And it has been a lovely drive so far. But only that: a drive.

The motto on Saskatchewan's license plates is "Living Sky" and I'd wondered what it meant. Not "Big Sky" mind, which is what I'd always thought of when I thought of the prairies but "Living Sky". And then I figured out what it meant. I left Saskatoon today in a steady drizzle that had persisted all through the night, kept me so awake in fact that I'd been up at 6:30 and on the road by 9am, a far cry from my usual leisurely starts. In the course of a day and just over 700kms I saw the drizzle gradually lift, turn to mist and eventually, a veritable terrain of clouds. And because of the distance that can be seen over the vast, uninterrupted flatness of the prairies, I was able to see something from the road I'd previously only seen from airplanes: the illusion of the movement of the clouds as I made my way along the highway. Just like the effect of passing at right angles, rows and rows of crops in a field, I saw the varied layers of clouds appear to move as I passed them, made possible only by the distance at which I saw them. I saw how the changing light and changing weather made the view ever-changing and I understood how that sky that hung over the prairies like a ceiling really was alive.

On the road to Montreal - Jasper to Saskatoon

So I left Jasper a day earlier than I'd planned. Basically I was feeling restless and craving the monotony of the prairie-flat highway after the overwhelming hight and splendor of the Rockies. For a variety of reasons, I needed to get moving. So i headed east this morning on the Yellowhead Highway (otherwise known as Hwy 16). Once I cleared Jasper, the scenery changed very dramatically and very quickly. I had thought it would be more of a gradual transition from mountains to prairie but no. The sky suddenly opened up in the space of a few miles, the mountains being replaced by flat-bottomed mountains of fluffy white clouds on a giant blue sky. For a while I drove through rolling hills freckled with so many wildflowers it looked like snow. By the time I'd made it into the florescent yellow canola fields, I was chasing a dark purple storm way out on the horizon. I followed it for most of the afternoon but never quite caught it, although by the time I made it to Edmonton, the roads were wet and the smell of the storm was fantastic.

I'd hoped to camp in Elk Island National Park, just outside of Edmonton and Canada's oldest wildlife preserve (think elk, bear, deer and even moose), but it was full and I hadn't booked ahead. So I pushed on another 150 kms to the rather tiny town of Vermilion, which fortunately has a nice provincial park campsite where I am now. My first powered campsite in 3 weeks! I'm so terribly excited to be able to tap away at my laptop for an evening again.

The beauty of the prairies is more subtle than the Rockies and I'm finding the driving very soothing. But can someone please tell me why on earth there are seagulls this far inland?

Banff Back Country on Horseback - The compiled writings

Back in civilisation now after an amazing week in Banff's back country. This post is the journal entries I wrote while out there, mostly by the camfires at camp in the evenings. Photos to come when I can, but be warned, neither my writings nor any photographs can hope to capture a fraction of the experience. You'll just have to get out here and do it yourself. Enjoy!


June 26

To say I am awestruck by the scenery I've now spent two days riding through would not be doing this place or this experience justice. Right now I'm wishing that my previous travel writings were less prone to hyperbole so that I could give this place the emphasis is deserves.

The group I've joined for this week-long trek on horseback through Banff National Park is small, only 6 of us plus our soft-spoken guide, Kerry, a self-proclaimed mountain-man. There's Anna and Shirley, a mother and her 16-year-old daughter, both dairy farmers from Black Creek in the Comox Valley. There's Rob, a lawyer from Edmonton, and his 13 year old horse-crazy daughter Megan who is brave and enthusiastic and reminds me so much of myself at her age. And there's Mike, a 29 year old visual effects artist/programmer from London who is seeing Canada for the first time. All are keen and capable riders, all are good-natured and friendly and we've bonded already "through joy and adversity" as Shirley and I noted. The joy of the sheer splendor of this place and the adversity of sore legs, backs, and bums from our mode of transport.

The horses too have been well above what I'd expected. Well-muscled, responsive and wonderfully willing. I have been so pleased to see how much of my feared-forgotten horse husbandry, riding skill and general knowledge is still intact. And while my muscles may not quite have the same tone and strength they once did, the do still remember what to do.

In two days, we've ridden just over 60 miles, through alpine meadows still fringed with snow, steep grassy hillsides, peat bogs oozing with the clearest, sweetest water, and rocky valleys following and crossing rivers swollen with spring melt.

The mountains are almost too big and classically formed to seem real. Last night we camped beside Stoney Creek in the shadow of the Vermillion Range. As the light changed from early dawn to midday sun to golden dusk, these mountains continued to look completely surreal. I joked with Mike that they looked like something he could have created for one of his company's films. He offered to drop in a few mountain goats and wolves to complete the effect.


Tomorrow we climb to just under 7000 feet and it can only get colder, although I don't understand how it can possibly get more beautiful despite Kerry's promises that the best is still to come.


June 28

I am loving the sense of freedom, adventure and play that has come over me on this trip. Yesterday we stopped for lunch in a valley under the gaze of the mammoth rock that is Block Mountain, with the Sawback Ridge filling the rest of the skyline. The valley contained the source of the Cascade River, which we had been riding next to most of that day, crossing it numerous times. The sky was the deepest, clearest blue and the river so pure, running deep and cold and I sank to my knees next to it. I knelt in the shadow of that mountain, in that sunlit valley with the river in front of me and I laughed while tears ran down my face. I'd never been so moved by a place, by a sight as I was then. It completely startled me to have such a strong reaction. I just can't remember ever having been this content.

When we got back to camp that night, I went to the icy river, stripped to the waist and wadded in, jeans rolled to my knees. I scooped the frigid water over my head and shoulders and laughed like a maniac to be doing it. What a place is this to bring out such complete happiness in me?


June 29

Today we rode through Flint Park, along a ridge that passed Rainbow Lake and through 40 Mile Pass, a high alpine pass that bisects the Vermillion and Sawback ranges. I swam in the lake where snow still fringed it's edges and a glacier, hidden under crumbled slate, dipped its toes in the water. It was so cold my breath came in quick gasps. And it absolutely delighted me.

On this trip I've become a better rider. I've become a better conservationist for having lived in a travelled through such rare and special country. I've become a better naturalist, more comfortable with the dust and discomfort of the wilderness. I've become more patient, understanding and I have been, quite simply, happier than I can remember.

Banff - June 24: Canadian cheese, you have redeemed yourself

I was all set to write a diatribe bemoaning the state of Canadian cheese. Horrible orange dye aside, even the most simple white cheddar is just horrible. First of all, the texture is just wrong. I bought what should have been a lovely organic white cheddar in the market the other day and it was _sticky and crumbly at the same time_. Wrong, just wrong. Then there's the taste. Slightly bitter with an aftertaste that makes you reach for something to wash it away with. And this has consistently been my experience for the past month and a half. What happened to your cheese Canada? I remember it much better that this. But then maybe my taste has, ahem, improved beyond your merge reaches.

But then, oh then, in one fell swoop you have redeemed yourself entirely. After a lovely late afternoon soak in Banff's hotsprings, chatting with two visiting Torontonians about of all things, French literature and organ musicianship, I decided to continue my indulgence with a drink on a beautiful sunlit patio in downtown Banff. Graham, my wonderful waiter, gently encouraged me to try the house specialty, fondue. He even arranged a half serve for my lonely self (the usual serve is for two or more) and I am so very glad he did. The melted gruyere was absolute bliss with a nice local pinot grigio. Oh, oh, and the dish of roasted garlic cloves that went with it. Oh dear god. While the cheese was Swiss and the wine Californian, somehow, Canada, you have redeemed yourself ever so slightly as far as cheese is concerned.

So loaded with tasty, tasty cheese (dear god, Tim, if you ever make it to Banff, this place has a 4 course fondue dinner!), I am back at my campsite for my last night relative civilisation. I do hope I can get to a net cafe early tomorrow morning to post this before I head off for a week of back-country horse rising. And now I must go pack my bags, bearing in mind that everything I bring has to be carted by a mule. I promise, poor beast of burden, that I will pack light with your well-being foremost in my mind.

On mountain roads

After having a couple days in Vernon with my uncle and aunt (who I'd hadn't seen since I was about 12!), I headed further into the mountains and have made it as far as Banff. It's a funny little mountain town. Much like Rotorua in New Zealand, Banff was founded as a tourist destination, primarily to encourage wealthy Victorians to travel the new railroad. As such, it has no really industry of it's own. It is a destination solely for it's placement among incredible mountains, eerily turquoise lakes and wild forests. So I don't feel too conspicuous as a tourist here seeing as most are. That said, I've been asked for directions four times now so I must look a bit like a local.

The highway alone to get here was just amazing. What a complete feat of engineering, cliche as that sounds. The highways wind around, through and beside incredible cliff faces, running next to rivers and lakes a lot of the time. Truly just incredible. The photo in this post is a bridge that was part of the old highway, now replaced with four lanes of smooth, sweeping road.
I've done a couple good hikes, one amazing one along the ridge of Tunnel Mountain, as well as had two good nights relaxing at my campsite. But this afternoon it's raining, so I'm camped out in a Starbucks (no, no horrid coffee for me; just a nice safe Tazo tea), scamming WiFi and electricity.

Banff is the base for my long-anticipated horseback camping trip. From the little I've been able to see from my less than ambitious hikes, I'm keen to utilise the more robust legs of a good horse to get a bit further into the wilderness around here.

Horsey adventures

I was back on a horse again today, a wonderfully smooth-gaited Tennesse Walking named Thunder, at a property owned by friends of my aunt and uncle. Their daughter, Greeta, took me out for a few hours and we chatted about growing up in rural BC as horsey girls, she in the Okanagan Valley and me on Vancouver Island. Seems the culture was much the same with both of us owning green (read: untrained and therefore cheap) horses which we spent a lot of time and effort training up for the show circuit ourselves. We'd both resented the spoiled girls of wealthy parents who competed against us on their $15,000 professionally trained, 'push-button' horses.

Only a couple years older than me, Greeta has been able to stick with regular riding longer than I could and has built a career of sorts around it. She now teaches kids with disabilities at the local theraputic riding centre and guides trail rides on her dad's property in the summer, mending fences and looking after the horses as well. I can't help but be quite a bit envious.

I drove back to Vernon beside field after field of yellow, purple and white wildflowers that framed a glassy lake (Swan Lake) and the odd delapitated shed or barn. Tonight I'll ease my only slightly sore muscles and butt in my aunt and uncle's hot tub. I think I'll take up Greeta's suggestion of buying a sheepshkin to cushion my saddle with. Otherwise, spending 7 days riding the backcountry in Banff next week will leave me seriously sore.

Manning Park: Pine Beetles and Marmot sentinals

Written June 17th in Manning Park.

I'm at Manning park, choosing to spend a few days here as it was convenient to the route I wanted to take to Vernon and because of it's reputation as a bit of a wilderness paradise. When glaciers covered what is now BC many thousands of years ago, the area that is now Manning park was left exposed. As a result, the biodiversity here is pretty amazing. It's also seriously off the beaten path. Just getting here involved a very long climb up sweeping mountains. I've decided to stay close to my base at Lightning Lake, mostly to conserve gas so that I can comfortable make it to the next town.

Being here I've been able to see a very concrete example of global warming damaging an exquisite space. The forests here are mostly Douglas Fir and Western Red Cedar and are one of the few large-scale virgin forests in BC. That is, they have never, ever been logged. Most of the forests in BC have been logged at least once in the past 300 years. What is referred to as "old-growth forests" have generally not been logged for at least 100 years. The forests here are therefore pretty special, and they are being ravaged by Pine Beetle. They literally peel the bark off the trees from the inside. This pest used to be kept in check by long, cold winters which would kill of most of the population. Those winters have stopped happening and the beetles are systematically stripping the bark from every second pine tree on most of the slopes here. The lake I'm camping next to is surrounded on all sides by towering pines, dropping right to the lakes edge. I can only imagine how much more dramatic they must have been a few years ago when they would have been a wall of green, not checkered with dead brown trunks. I'd been told about how bad the pine beetle problem was and how much of an impact it was having on the forestry industry, but to see whole mountainsides destroyed and to walk amongst so many dead trees has made it really sink in.

I walked the 9km trail that circumnavigates the lake today and came into a pretty green meadow. I was greeted by a dozen curious brown heads, spotted with shiny black eyes, standing meerkat-like staring at me. These are (I believe) some sort of marmot, but smaller than marmots I've seen before. They seemed to think I wasn't much of a threat and went back to their grazing pretty quickly. Then a couple of hikers with a golden lab came into the clearing and right away I heard a high pitched chirping, followed by all the marmots instantly disappearing into their burrows. The chirping continued and I saw that it was coming from a lone sentry marmot, standing up on a hillside at the edge of the clearing. He'd been there all along, keeping watch over the small herd.

I'm loving mountain lakes. Manning Park is about 1400 metres from sea level and feels very much an alpine forest. The lake I'm camped next to is as clear as any tropical bay, brilliant blue under the sun at a distance, and deep turquoise close to the shore. I put my ear to a tree and listened to the tattoo of a woodpecker high above me reverberate down the trunk.

Squirrels

Written June 17th, Manning Park.

In the evening here, loons make their forlorn calls across the lake. In the mornings, squirrels do battle in trees, grunting agressively and chasing each other around and around and around trunks. These are not your tame city park squirrels. These are muslcular, wild squirrels. These are all dark meat.

Manning Park

Written June 16th. - More to come on the amazingness of Manning Park as I have time to type up lots of written notes.

Arriving at my first proper wilderness campsite, I actually felt rather out of my depth. My camping so far has been in serviced campsites on the outskirts of small towns. Tofino, Hornby Island, Squamish, all of them with electricity at every site to plug my van into, hot showers to wash in and gas stations, food store and cafes within a 10 minuite drive. But here, oh here in Manning Provincial Park, here I climbed a serious mountain range in my van just to get here, gears working overtime to make it up the long, straight slopes. Here there is no electricity, just an aqua lake down the steep slope from my campsite. Gravelled and furnished only with a government-issue picnic table and a firepit, its ringed on all sides by firs not by other campers.

Spirit of adventure or no, arriving I was a bit aprehensive, worried that the milk I had carefully bought at the last town, Hope, would go rancide, develop some sort of bacteria that would kill me painfully. Kill me because my meagre half tank of gas wouldn't last me to the next town.

Much effort spent priming, pumping and generally knob fiddling resulted in a tiny glimmer form the pilot light of my propane fridge. I think I may have actually cheered aloud. The sqirrels and marmots may be barking at my campervan door, but i can still feed myself and stave off food poisoning at least until my propane tank runs empty.

In which Kate actually has a plan

I've been able to get myself organised a bit for the next leg of my trip, mostly out of necessity as campsites book up pretty quick in the summer. For the curious and for those keeping track, here is what I'll be up to for the next little while:

June 16 - 18: Manning Provincial Park.
June 19, 20: Vernon. Staying with my uncle and aunt and doing a bit of warm-up horse riding.
June 21 - 24: Banff. Hiking and hopefully swimming if it warms up a bit more.
June 25 - 30: Banff. Back country camping by horseback in the Rockies.
June 30 - July 4: Lake Louise. Doing the backpacker thing and soothing my aching muscles.
July 5 - 7: Jasper. Some proper hiking, if my body has recovered enough.
July 7 - 13: Travel from Jasper to Montreal. Route still to be determined, but I'll have just over 3000 kms to cover.
July 14 - 21: Montreal. Being joined by Jolyon and doing the Juste Pour Rire thing and practicing my French.
July 21 - 30: Touring Quebec. Route still to be determined. More French practice and inevitable failure.
July 30 - Aug 21(Approx): Maritimes, Nova Scotia most likely. Route still to be determined.
Aug 22 - 29: Vancouver/Victoria. Fly back from east after selling van. Fly for Brisbane on the 29th.

Oh, and on the drive back from Whistler yesterday, I clicked over the first 1000 kms in my van. Feeling kinda proud about that.

So now I'm officially off. After a short stop for groceries and gas I'll be on my way east. To adventure and the unknown! And to lots and lots of Tim Horton's coffee in my Mountain Equipment Co-op mug!

Heading out

My last day before I start my journey east. I'm excited as well as nervous as atfer today I won't have a base to return to. I hadn't thought I would spend this much time in BC but I'm really quite glad it worked out this way. I have fallen in love with the energy here. It has actually felt a lot like coming home, which I wasn't expecting. From Australia, BC felt like a bit of a made-up place at times. The island was that place I grew up but I didn't feel any real connection to it. To the landscape in particular. And the memories I had of it were things that had happened to a much younger, very different person. Coming back has let me make new memories and to see this place with adult eyes.

What was once familiar became strange over the years. Not because it changed but because I did.

To the naysayers

I've had mixed reactions when I tell people - friends, relatives, friends of relatives - that I'm traveling alone and that I'm traveling long and far. Some think it's exciting. Some reminisce about the time in their youth that they did something similar. And some look a little askance at me. They think that for a single woman to travel alone she must me running away from something. Some recent trauma that has her all unhinged. To these people I would like to say, loudly and emphatically, I AM NOT BROKEN.

I am not running away from something. I'm having a rest. There is nothing wrong with me that fresh air, long horizons and a lot of good sleep can't repair. So please, keep your disapproval, your tsk-tsks, there theres, and wagging fingers to yourselves. Keep your brows furrowed with concern too because I am not broken.

On economy of space - Written June 3

I'm sitting in my van at by beachfront campsite while a west coast storm rages outside. Rather than feeling claustrophobic and cooped up, I feel comforted and tucked in. I've been developing for a few months now this notion of economy of space. I like the idea of taking up less room on this rather crowded planet and of living in small but well-designed spaces. Of consuming and hoarding less, so that less space is needed to house the hoard. My van, although a little dated, is a great example of this.

In an interior space of about 4 meters long and less than 2 meters wide (exactly the stretch of my arms), I have a loungeroom with seating for 4, a dining room with the potential for excellent views, a complete and functional kitchen, a washbasin that doubles as a laundry tub, a comfortable bed, storage for the minimal objects I'm finding I need, a front porch, electricity, running water and a guest bedroom in the loft. And even 25 years since being built, this space of mine is still a comfortable home. It still works just as it was designed to because it was well-designed. And all this comfort and practicality is mobile.

Allow me to ramble my way to a point for a moment. Twenty-five years is a long time for a design to remain relevant, to remain sought-after. Here on the west coast, I've seen dozens and dozens of VW Westfalias cruising about. Not just camping mind, but in towns and cities as well. It appears that the done thing if you own a Westfalia is to wave at other Westfalia drivers when you pass them on the road. I love this. I don't think though, that Westfalia fans amount to a cult following. Cult followings of products generally involve a love of an image of an object and an overlooking of inherent design and functional flaws. I think that Westfalia owners are followers because of the inherant practicalities of the design.

Think about this for a second as I finally make my way to my point: How many designs remain relevant 25 years on? How many of the objects and products being designed today will have relevance 25 years from now? Will be sought after not for their impractical cult value but for their functionality and the pleasure brought by their use? The problem is that we design for aesthetic and for immediacy more than we design for practicality and longevity. What results are objects that are shiny and new enough to attract our attention, but so semi-functional or just plain awkward to use that their use isn't pleasurable. They don't become part of our routine or part of our identity. As a result, we discard them or store them away in ever-increasing closets and spaces. Consumption of a well-designed, practical but still beautiful object leaves a feeling of satisfaction and of contentment.

Conversely, the brief consumption of an object that is destined not to become part of a routine but part of a storage space leaves a hollow feeling. Almost like having been deceived. And so the cycle continues.

So what does all this mean for me and my van? It means that I am content to occupy and to enjoy my small, enduringly designed space for the duration of my trip. I already feel sad to know that come fall, I will have to sell this space. I've already developed that sense of attachment to this particular object. It has already found its way into my identity. But I'm determined to take this lesson with me back to my life in Brisbane. I will seek out a small, well-designed space in which to live. One with a shared laundry because there really is no point in dedicating an entire laundry space to one person. One with a small courtyard or patio so that I can grow things. One with a minimal of wasted space and with not too many closets. One that is close to the places I need to go on a regular basis so that I will drive less. I realise all this will be difficult to find in Brisbane with its leanings towards big, sprawling, individual spaces. I want an element of communalism.

And I will fill my space only with those objects that I feel an attachment to. I will reconsider and ultimately reduce my consumption, so as to avoid cluttering up my small space with empty objects.

If you've stayed with me this long on my journey to a point, thank you.

Tofino - Written June 2

An only slightly harrowing 5 hr drive from Victoria has found me in Tofino, on Vancouver Island's far west coast. The drive really was just brilliant, especially the leg from Port Hardy to Tofino. The potholed highway hugs rivers, lakes and more than a few mountainsides. Last time I came out here it was mid-winter and pouring rain. Waterfalls fell from the overhanging rocks and onto the road and passing cars. This time, I drove in sunshine and the only flowing water was in the fast-moving creeks that diverted under the road.

Although I'd visited Tofino at least 3 times before, I'd never made it out to the natural hot springs at the creatively named Hot Springs Cove. I set out to fix this today. I joined a charter going out to the island where the springs are and spent the first 2 hours of the day cruising between dozens and dozens of mostly unnamed islands. The wildlife was everywhere and we stopped to gawk at a huge pile of enormous sea lions sunning themselves on the rocks. There were also cormorants, puffins, harbour seals, porpoises, many many bald eagles and even a grey whale made an appearance, waving his tail in the air for effect.

The springs themselves aren't like any other natural hot springs I've been to. First, there's barely a wiff of the sulfur smell that usually accompanies geothermal springs. Second, you'd hardly know the springs were even there if it weren't for the cedar shelter set back in the trees. The hot water come out of the ground and flows down a 20' waterfall into a small crevasse in the rocks. Barely as wide as I am long, the hot water flows straight down into the ocean, slowed into a few pools by armfuls of rocks cum dams. What was really surprising was how close the spring is to the shore. Instead of jumping into a cold-water plunge pool, the pacific is right there and just as cold.

Sailing back to Tofino's harbour, we ducked in and out between islands. I just love the shape of the west coast. Waves of mountains start blue in the distance with each ridge and foothill becoming progressively greener until there's one right in front of you, tumbling into the ocean. Branches hang just above the high-tide mark and make me think of hands and arms reaching out to prevent a fall.

There are still a few slopes in Claquot Sound that have never been logged and the forests that grow on them are something to be seen. It makes no sense to refer to them as trees, they are true forests in every sense of the word. Tangled and interwoven, deep green live trees propping up the silvered dead ones, opportunistic moss and lichen covering every surface sheltered from the winds. They aren't colourful forests - the dominant colour being a ubiquitous blue-grey green - but the abundance of textures make up for it.

I've been a little more active this past week. Between horse-riding, getting out on the water, and a few good hikes, my body is starting to be put to use again. Muscles are sore but happy to be working. I'm liking this outdoors-y thing I think. It's been ages since I've slept as well as I do in my van, with the crashing surf in my ears and nothing but darkness and stars in my eyes. I may have to make a habit of this.

To Tofino

A short note before I leave Victoria and head to Tofino, the west-most point on Vancouver Island. This last week in Victoria has been surprisingly wonderful. I spent a glorious sunny morning riding trails around Thetis Lake. The smell of horse sweat, leather and sun-warmed broom flowers sent me right back to teenage memories. It was great to be back out on a horse, riding windy douglas fir forests, treading on familiar ground with tall scottish broom brushing my knees.

An impromptu meeting with a friendly local afforded me a fantastic hike yesterday along a little-used railway track in the Malahat range complete with two dizzingly-high trestle bridges to cross. I was invited back for a few drinks at home with a great group of people. Smart, funny, quirky, and very welcoming. I tucked into their folds without feeling the twang of the outsider. I had an incredibly relaxing and fun night chatting and watching an Ultimate Fighting match, with the sound muted and Band of Horses, Feist, and a bit of the Beatles replacing the sound. Just brilliant. If this group was representative of Victorian locals, it has only added to my want to live here. I am sad to be leaving.

Now I'm about to pack up the van and head as far west as I will be on this trip. A fitting place to start my cross-country trek in earnest.

A few words on victoria

So I'm spending an extra week in Victoria, officially house-sitting for the newlywed couple off on honeymoon, but more than that, I'm using the extra time to try to get under this city's skin. Partly because it seems to be a city full of wonderful contrasts and partly because I'm beginning to feel quite certain that when the pull from this country eventually grows strong enough to make me lift up roots and move across the pacific again, Victoria is no doubt where I will likely land.

Victoria has a great youth culture, contributed to predominately by the University of Victoria but also it seems by the swaths of 20 somethings from all over the island who migrate south in search of work and of nightlife that just can't be found in, say, Coombs. But Victoria's population also has the largest percentage of retirees in the country. Add to that the constant influx of tourists from all over the world and it becomes a city with a bit of something for everyone with an energy built on relaxation and recreation, in various forms.

Historically, Victoria was the lone British outpost that stopped the newly forming US from taking the wide strip of land that is now British Columbia. After Alaska was bought from the Russians, this particular chunk of Canadian West was sandwiched between two rather large slices of America. It was the settlement in Victoria that formed the base for a resistance that kept BC for the crown and then for Canada. That said, such close proximity to Washington State means that the number of (rather rotund) American tourists loping about downtown does make you wonder how successful the resistance was.

Today is seems that Victoria has a strong counter-culture, based in environmental conservation, a bit of cooperative communalism, and a general political left-wingedness. But this is balanced by the realities of a tourism-driven economy and the subsequent need to keep up appearances. The Empress Hotel, one of the icons of Victoria's Inner Harbour, is slowly sinking into the swamp on which it was built, but of course any suggestion that it should be demolished as the unsafe building it is becoming is met with fierce opposition.

I like Victoria and Victorians. They are a friendly lot, for the most part. And despite the pockets of crime and homelessness, I really could see myself living here at some point. Although, I think I'd better do it soon while I'm young or else I'll have a long wait till retirement.

On weddings and growing up

Weddings are funny things. I've heard people say that crying at a wedding is silly because it's a happy occasion. Of course it is. But there's something bittersweet in it too. Seeing my oldest friend Sara become a married woman yesterday gave me such a mix of emotions I'm not quite sure where to start. Time and distance has meant that Sara and I aren't quite as close as we once were, but when I saw a person who grew up with me and shared so many critical firsts take another momentous first, I felt it some small way like I was being left behind. At the same time, I felt honoured to just be there, sharing the event with her. I felt very much included.

So many contradictions, but at the end of the day, I'd never in all the years of firsts, lasts and other milestones seen Sara look quite as beautiful and quite as happy as she did yesterday. She had been tense and a bit anxious in the morning, but was soon as we stepped her into her dress, she was calm, graceful and full of purpose. She only became more so as the day went on.

I'd first known Sara when we were awkward 12 year olds, pretending and so wanting to be far more grown up than we were. Seeing her transform in that dress and seeing the incredible connection she has with Donal, I think she's got there.

A rant

Okay, so now I'm pissed off. And it's all because of my damn GPS. First it sends me and the maid of honour out into the wilderness instead of to the gardens where the wedding rehearsal is happening. We missed it entirely. Then, while my van is parked in a lot next to the pub where we are having a great rehearsal dinner, some inconsiderate asshole(s) break into it and take not only my GPS, which was to trustily lead me across the country, but also my goddamn glasses. The GPS I can understand. I has value after all, but my GLASSES?!? Come on! What use are they to anyone but me? Yes, my travel insurance will cover both, but the hassle is just infuriating. I'm at a definite low.

Late night ramblings on roots

A thought I had many times in preparing for this trip was that by returning to the places I grew up in and the people who've known me longest, I would gain some insight into where I came from. This would in turn give me some much needed direction on where I'm going next. to have had the opportunity to see my roots according to old friends has been a wonderful thing. They see the strength in me, the confidence, the drive. Some see that these things are weakened now but that they are still there. To know that they can still see and feel these characteristics in me that I've felt so devoid of has given me strength again. Has begun to restore some of my lost confidence and is making me want to be driven again.

I can feel the old Kate, the one they see and know, waking up. Stirring a little. Stretching stiff limbs and testing unused muscles. I want to warm her up. Open the curtains for her and let in a little of the sunshine Ian has left me with. I want her to come blinking back out into the day. I know she is the only one who can give me the strength and the courage to make it through these months and make me come out whole at the other end. She can give me a buzz and a high for life again. Can make me passionate again. Can strip away my accumulated layers of apathy. Can open my eyes again. She is the perfect drug.

Of eagles and friendship - Hornby Island

It's Thursday afternoon, day 4 of my retreat on Hornby Island. I came over to get a break from the bustle of Vancouver and Victoria and to spend some time alone, writing, reading and hiking. Hornby is one of the smaller gulf islands, tucked between Vancouver Island and the mainland, with a resident population of about 800. I have a feeling the people maybe slightly outnumbered by bald and golden eagles. There are almost as many of them as common gulls. They still leave me awestruck though.

Despite my best intentions, I've been writing far less than I had hoped. Today is the first sunny, warm day since I've been here and I spent the first few days weathering the rain and wind in my highly capable and comfortable van. I've needed the rest and solitude I think. For the first time in weeks my morning nausea has finally abated and I feel so truly and completely relaxed. The campsite I'm at is basic but has a beautiful view of the harbour. I've been waking to birdsong and not much else.

Ian has came over yesterday morning and it's been wonderful to reconnect properly with him. So incredible really that after a gap of almost 10 years, we've been able to pick up right where we left off. The time we've had together has been full of good conversation, laughter, and comfortable silences. It's also proved that my van can be a comfortable home for two. Good friendships that can weather the ravages of time and distance and still retain their lustre are rare and I am grateful to have rediscovered a few of them in the past week.

Slightly terrified

So I'm back on the island now. With my plan changes, I was now able to go to Sara's bachelorette party, with was a wonderful positive to come out of it all. A great night was had by all at a chalet on Mt Washington and despite the hangovers, I thoroughly enjoyed the inter-generational partying.

So now the plan is a little more nebulous. I'll spend tomorrow morning kitting out Clauss before heading up island again, this time with Hornby Island being my destination. I'm not entirely sure why I've chosen Hornby, but I feel like I need to spend a good few days in solitude and Hornby is a good enough place as any for this. I've gotten as far as booking a campsite but that's about it. The openness of it both excites me and terrifies me a little. How dependent on the company of others we become. I'm quietly afraid my own company won't be nearly enough to keep me going, but then I suppose that's part of the reason I'm taking this trip.

In search of coffee

So I finally managed to catch up with Lesley. I'd been terribly negligent by not calling her for almost a week after arriving in Vancouver. In my defense, I had been thinking I'd be in Los Angeles this weekend but when those plans fell through, I planned a dinner with Lesley. Lesley's been mostly staying with her boyfriend (an Australian of course) at his place in Yaletown so she suggested we meet there. Trekking back out to my brother's place in Coquitlam late at night after a few drinks would have been a bit tricky so I was invited to stay. Dinner was great. Good food and even better company at Yaletown Brewery. It was great to catch up with Lesley after so long and we had a good night. But the trip home through downtown in the early morning was just bliss.

With Lesley leaving early for work, I left the apartment a bit before 8am to beautiful sun glancing off the glass buildings. I love seeing a city when It's just waking up and because Vancouver's downtown has a mix of high rises and open public spaces, the sunlight actually made it to street level. I walked up Granville, stepping over puddles made the veritable army of street cleaners, pressure-hosing off the detritus left on the sidewalks from the night's homeless and clubbers.

After a late night, I was terribly keen for a good coffee and as much as I tried, couldn't find anything other than the ubiquitous and far below par Starbucks. Seriously. Have they actually licensed the entire downtown area? Aside from the occasional Blenz, the Canadian-own but barely better chain, there just don't seem to be any independent coffee shops left. I just don't remember it being this bad.

So coffee-less, I sat on the steps of the Vancouver Art Gallery, across from UBC Place and watched the city go by for a while. Vancouver really does seem to be a young, active and very casual city. Men and women in suits are the exception, not the norm, in the downtown mid-week landscape. It gives the city a much more friendly feel. It takes away it's teeth.

And the Skytrain transfer at Commercial has a great free-trade coffee cart.

Changed plans and purgatory

My planned trip to Los Angeles to spend a week with my father and defrost a little hit a rather major snag today. Suffice to say, if I had held to my principles and not let shiny-ness and cultural brainwashing tempt me to the other side, I would have saved myself one motherload of anxiety, a wasted day, a 2-zone Translink pass and $75. A long story (to be told over drinks with a few close friends) short, I'm not now, nor will I ever be in the conceivable future, in Los Angeles.

Today's experience has left me with an even greater respect for my own instincts and a stronger desire to follow them more faithfully. But some good has come from the gloom. Now that I'm not going away, I'll be free to go to Sara's bachelorette party this Saturday (that's a Hen's night for my Aussie readers). I can't say more here as I've been sworn to secrecy but I'm really glad I can be there after all.

Aside from that, I'm a little at loose ends till the wedding festivities get underway on the 23rd. I enjoyed being on the island so much last weekend that I'm thinking about packing up Clauss and heading to Hornby Island (a small island off the coast of the main Vancouver Island, pop. 900, former hippie commune). There's some great beaches and hikes there and a meditation centre I can head to for a bit of zen. I need some zen right about now.

Strange to think I'm little over 1 week into my 4 month adventure. It feels like I've been here for an age already.

Island girl

Returning back from 2 days on the island in Victoria, I felt the tension and unease that I'd been carrying with me the past week in Vancouver slip away. I'd gone over to have a too-brief visit with Sara and Donal and to buy the van that will be my home-on-my-back for the summer. The van bought and tucked away in Sara's carport, I heading back on the ferry. The island is so much more home to me than Vancouver is. As an expat in Australia, I generally answer Vancouver to the questions of Where in Canada are you from? This has always been more out of convenience as few people have a clue where the Comox Valley is. This trip back has reinforced just how far off that statement really is. Vancouver isn't where I'm from. The Island really is. It's a different place with a different feel and energy to it. Victoria is a small city, by city standards, with only 400,000 or so people. It doesn't have the overwhelming feeling that Vancouver has, despite Vancouver being a very warm and welcoming city, as far as big cities go. I'm really looking forward to house-sitting for Sara and Donal in Victoria while they go on their honeymoon. I quite like the idea of slipping unnoticed into a local's life as I potter about for a week getting my newly purchased van kitted out for my coming adventures.

So I sat on deck on the ferry ride back to the mainland, watching the sometimes ramshackle, but increasingly beautiful cabins, balanced precariously on the coasts of fir-clad islands and peninsulas slip past. The evening sun was shining down and starting to dip low over craggy rocks and trees that came down steep hillsides to dip their toes in the pacific ocean. A few dolphins cut above the waterline and the tall dorsal fin of an orca whale broke the surface once along the way, much to the delight of those lucky enough to be looking in the right direction. Even the bob and sway of the big BC Ferry felt so familiar and comforting. I was calm, relaxed, happy and at peace as we docked in the Tssawassen harbour, the sun finally dropping below the shipping cranes that stood like giant blue herons along the shoreline. Oh I am very much an island girl.

Auckland - April 24th

It'll be fairly common that I write an entry and post it a few days later, free WiFi being what it is. This is the first such post.

So my journey has officially begun. I left Brisbane this afternoon and this evening find myself in Auckland, New Zealand for a long-weekend layover en route to Vancouver. My hotel, despite being fully booked, is completely empty as I write this at 9:30pm. It would appear that most of the guests are at the Korn concert happening up the road. No doubt I'll be woken later by the returning metalheads. I know, I know. If there's one thing I need to do on this trip, it's relax my need to have everything 'just so'. Shake off the OCD a little.

So, observations on Auckland. It's not very big, very hilly, and very very Asian. Walking back from the Japanese noodle bar where I had my dinner, I think I only saw one or two westerners. I sat for a while first at a lovely coffee house cum bar outside the theatre on Queen St watching the world pass me by. What struck me actually was the resemblance to Vancouver in people's dress, style, and mannerisms. Lots of touques, lots of parkas, and lots and lots of black. Nice. A group sat next to me and proceeded to put eyeliner on one of the guys. One of the others was wearing a pork-pie hat. From the sounds of their overheard conversations, they were going to the theatre later.

An auspicious start to my trip: I'm in room number 42. Maybe this means that on this trip I'll find the answer to life, the universe, everything. Now wouldn't that be nice.

On climbing trees

I've been using a metaphor lately that goes something like this.  When we are children, we are more than willing to scramble up the tallest trees without thought of our own safety or whether or not the tree will hold us.  We just want to climb.  As we get older, we become aware that climbing trees can result, in a small number of cases, in broken bones, concussions, and at the very least torn clothing.  We stop being able to climb trees at all.

I'm afraid I may not be able to climb this particular tree I've put in front of myself.  I leave for my 5 months of traveling in 2 days.  I've farewelled friends, tied up financial loose ends, and with difficulty said goodbye to a new love.  And now I'm terrified of the injuries I might receive on the climb.  It would be so much easier and safer to stay here on the oh-so-familiar ground.

New Learning Commons at Bond University

I went down for a lunch with a few past co-workers today and was absolutely blown away by the new space they're just finishing.  I was involved in putting together some of the architect's brief but this is way beyond what I'd expected.  It's a conversion of what was a really horrid, cold and echo-y void.

New beginnings, old ways

A journey of self-discovery is supposed to be grand.  Full of romantic ideals of what it means to rediscover one's lost self.  It involves mystics and spiritual teachers and time spent in reverent meditation.  It involves sacrifice.  This is what my mind presents to me when I plan in any detail my own journey, which I am now less than one month away from starting.  And what I have planned feels like cheating.  I won't be spending 3 months in silent meditation at a Vipassani ashram.  After long years of working so hard at being someone else, I don't have the energy left in me to build schools in Papua New Guinea.  While I've started re-learning my mostly forgotten high-school French, I lack the passion for and devotion to the language to park myself in a home-stay in Burgundy to properly unpick it's layers.

Instead, my journey of self-discovery means going home.  It means re-accustoming myself to an accent that is my own, but that now sounds foreign to me.  It means spending long hours driving in countryside that I hope will strike a balance of familiarity and newness.  And most importantly, it means unearthing my own roots in the hope that my lost self is tangled amongst them.

In the spirit of returning to roots, I'm reviving this old blog, albeit having given it a slight face-lift.  It will be nice to have something familiar on this unfamiliar journey.