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I spent the better part of February traveling. Starting off in London, I attempted to find Hogwarts, but unfortunately the Victoria line was 1) out of my way and 2) under construction. I spent the majority of my time there commuting to and from two offices at opposite ends of the city. So if you were to ask me, Have you been to London? I can confidently say, I’ve been under London.

The accent was difficult to understand at times, but I found my generic response of saying Harry Potter! in a high-pitched voice and lilting accent, worked out quite well. I ended up spending my birthday on the plane while I returned home. Nothing like a catered meal by Cara; some beef stew TV dinner and a glass of soda (not a full can, mind you) to ring in the 29th year of your existence. Luckily, it happened twice thanks to the time zone difference. Once in London, and then again when I was somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean.

Right away, I flew out to Vancouver for a week of work, and then a few days of vacation. The vacation involved a three day stay up at Whistler, where we snowboarded and snowmobiled up and down Blackcombe and Whistler mountains. The vacation time, though short, afforded me some space and time to evaluate where I am and where I’m going.

For certain, I will be looking more aggressively for my own place in Toronto; I won’t be moving back to Vancouver yet. I briefly flirted with the idea of living in a loft, but then realizing how completely unaffordable they are for me. I’ve taken a more realistic look at what I can afford and where. If only I had a spouse to share the burden of the mortgage.

After spending 30 years living in the land of opulence and enjoying the spoils of Government assistance, my parents, sister, recently inducted brother-in-law and I decided to return to the motherland. In Vietnam, many things have changed since it saw the end of the Vietnam war. I could never imagine what I would see returning home or what wonders fate would present to me there. Of these, I would like to recount with particular fondness, my experiences of finding a working toilet that didn’t require an 18 gallon bucket of water to be carried up 3 flights of stairs.

My family had left one week prior to Vietnam, while I was to meet up in Saigon on my own. I flew out on an early Friday morning before the sun had risen, ready and eager for the 24 hour journey.

While I was stuffed in the plane, I spent the precious hours learning key phrases. It is always a benefit to learn the language of the locals before destroying their habitat, and then taking photos of the destruction in the process.

Going on vacation with your parents leaves for two unfortunate consequences: 1) No binge drinking and 2) no random hooking up with live-in house servants. Though aside from my perfunctory duties as a morally righteous and law-abiding son, I have had opportunity to enjoy a secret beer or two, while winking at the occasional toothless sweetheart.

My parents will insist and swear that the intention of bringing me to Vietnam was not to find me a bride (or even a not-so-distant-cousin that couldn’t find a suitable husband), but in fact, for me to witness the site of my birth. I have yet to find evidence to the contrary. No sooner had I landed in the jungles of ‘Nam that my aunts and uncles were arranging a meet-n-greet with the neighbour’s daughter which they would be more than willing to part for no less than one ox, two dozen chickens and a papaya.

I was not amused by this arrangement, and sought refuge in the kitchen, where I found the kitchen staff preparing dinner. One in particular, a cute Cambodian girl, was busy washing fruit and scrubbing her feet at the same time. I offered to help, to which she looked up at me with an expression I can only describe as chagrin and disdain all at once. I suppose being ridiculed by the help does not inspire heroes’ songs, but for some reason, it fueled my chase.

I barely slept that night, wondering what could possibly go wrong, if I were to sneak off into the maid’s chamber and steal a midnight kiss. Would I be disowned? Or worse, force-fed Hepatitis-carrying ice cubes! I resisted the urge, but stayed awake nonetheless, in case she had the same thoughts and came through those doors either snuggle-ready or ready to serve me tea and crumpets. I surely wasn’t one to turn away crumpets.

My pursuit ended shortly after a few days as we were to continue our journey to my birth site. I left, bade farewell to the help, and made off like gallant Odysseus, on just another ordinary day, on my way to Ithaca. The prospective brides trailed behind hoping to catch me on an off day, when I would be weakest and accept their offer to marry them and bring them to the promise land. Luckily, we were in a mini-van so they gave up chase after a few short miles.

Of things to note, the value of vacationing in an impoverished or third-world country does have its due merits. For one, the price of a beer (like Heineken) is 20,000 VND which translates to about $1.25 CAD. Oh the irony, that I would be in a country where beer was pennies a glass, and yet I could not have a single drop. A bowl of Pho is about 7,000 to 10,000 VND which is about 0.50¢ to 0.75¢. The cost of contracting Typhoid or Hepatitis, however, cannot be measured in any currency — but 0.50 cents a bowl! Obviously, I was willing to take my chances.

Pho is generally eaten in the morning for breakfast. Yes, pho for breakfast! In my early college days, I had always considered myself brilliant for discovering that pho tastes better in the morning after a night of drinking and debauchery, however, it is now clear to me that I must attribute that to my genes; somehow, I always knew when the right time was to eat pho.

The village where I was born is called Gia Ria — a sparsely populated town without the facilities or amenities of which we take for granted. These people have never seen a computer before, so imagine how difficult it was to explain what I do for a living. No, I don’t go fishing at 3 in the morning; no, I don’t sell housewares or dried cuttle fish on the side of the road; yes, I really do brush my teeth every day. What amazes me is the level of sanitation that they can go without.

The streets were narrow and cobble-stoned. There was definitely a lack of any improvements in the town’s infrastructure. I’d always imagined my hometown to be more like Harlem or the Bronx, which would then explain my hard-knock life, but it wasn’t much more than a modest fishing town. The shops and houses lined up against an eroding riverbank where fishing boats would coast up and down to the yawning sea out of the Mekong delta. I was glad to have seen it, but I found I was more emotionally moved when I had gone back to Barrie recently to see the house I grew up in, then to see the house that I was born in.

We left without much fanfare, much the same way that we left 30 years ago, only this time in a mini-van.

With the few remaining days in Vietnam, we spent them touring the South-East coast of Vietnam, ending up at the resort town called Mui Ne in the province of Binh Thuan province. This province is known for its mountain range of sand dunes — white and red sand — throughout the land. Its a beautiful province, and the coastal scenery is breathtaking. Virgin beaches stretch for miles, while an unimaginable oasis called White Lake appears a few miles inland. This area is not known very well at all, and so there is very little tourism here. It is most likely, Vietnam’s best kept secret.

I found out many things about the history of Vietnam and the people that live there. I know the sacrafice my parents made to get us here to Canada, and for that I will forever be indebted to them.

Today, I’ve been designated as the official Hot Girl Spotter. Everyday, I come into work and make my way through the maze of cubicles, where 90% of the occupants are men. I’ll get an IM alert once in a while marked with high priority, indicating that a doe-eyed female has just entered through the door. Oh, now there’s two.

The door chimes and I turn my head. A small parade of flaxen-haired women come through the entrance carrying notebooks, binders and an assortment of brightly colored highlighters. Is this a study group, perhaps? Preparing for something important at the very least. Their leader is a bespeckled brunette with a lilting voice that rises in crescendos and falls to whispers, as if it were just an afterthought. Probably the HR team. Read the rest of this entry »

After driving across Vancouver Island, I found myself on the longest beach ever; Long Beach in fact, and it ran for about 20km. Powder sand and crushing waves, the beach showed testament to a million years in the making.

Driving across the island was picturesque, but I won’t be doing that again anytime. It’s just so much easier to fly. I drove through a The Pacific Rim Nationa Park and went for a hike in the temperate rainforest. It wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined, but it was still impressive. I had hoped to find a 20 foot anaconda or piranhas with giant teeth dripping with blood, but all I saw were a few inquisitive squirrels and bored-looking racoons. I didn’t even see any bears.

I stayed in Ucluelet at the C&N hostel. I’d never stayed at a hostel before, but I always thought it would be similar to a YMCA, complete with bed bugs and yellow-stained pillows. This one however, was particularly clean, and it had familiar sentiments of an old friend’s cottage. Or possibly a camp. There was a campfire in the back, with benches and chairs overlooking the ocean. I sat out there for an hour, having a beer and pretending that I was back at Jewish camp.

Each person staying there carried an oversized backpack, bursting at the seams and looked to be living on twigs and leaves. If you stood in the lobby for a few minutes, you’d see these people walking in the door looking like they just clamored through the jungle. Poorer than dirt, these fellows and girls had been traveling or hitchhiking for weeks, looking to find permanent work in town, or move on to their next destination, like Peru or something. I, on the other hand, was totally loving the $20 a night deal. I wish I knew about these hostels earlier. I decided not to bring in my laptop in case one of them tried to eat it.

Twelve guys in one room, and twelve girls in the other, yet no one seemed to want to speak to each other. I exchanged a few sterile pleasantries, but found it too tiring to have to hold a conversation, let alone tell them that I was in fact, just too cheap to stay at a hotel. I’m certain if they caught wind of the fact that I had a car, I would be driving their freeloading asses all over town!

There was a middle-aged, scruffy, bearded man there that even had a nautical map. That must’ve been a crazy experience, hitchhiking out in the middle of the ocean! I imagine that he hitchhiked his way across the Pacific ocean, hopping from island to island until he landed on this pitiful rock. We said our hellos, and he started munching on trail mix, while I sipped my latte and ate some Alaskan King Crab (take-out left over from my somewhat exhorbant lunch). He asked if I knew the bus schedule for Tofino, and I threw some scallops at him, hoping he’d change the subject.

My surfing experience was very memorable, except for the super tight wet suit I had to wear. I looked more like a Tellytubby than a surfer. I had hoped I could just wear my boarder shorts and a shale necklace, and let my sandy blonde hair fling in the ocean mist while acting out my favorite scene from Blue Crush. But they wouldn’t let me wear my wig, and the water was too cold for any kind of styling. Since we were only beginners, we weren’t allowed to ride the 10 foot waves; instead we could only ride the white wash from the riptide.

So while I stood there in waist deep water, off in the distance a giant 10 foot wave would surge up, peel over and come crashing down with a loud boom! It then started it’s advance towards the shore, shrinking in size as it tumbled along. I stood about 20 feet away but seeing this huge wall of water, drove a surge of adrenlaine through my veins. I jumped up on my board and lay on my stomach, ready for the worst. Another five minutes passed as the wave sullenly approached. I yelled out my war-cry, and paddled as hard as I could!

Finally, the white wash from that wave who’s original ferocity earlier had put fear in the hearts of men, would now be a wee, little murmur in the ocean wake. The white water would then vault me forward nearly 5 feet as I would get up, and put my hands up. We continued to do this for a couple more hours, and I left feeling like I had accomplished something incredible. A feeling comparable to having climbed a mountain over 2 feet high! It was truly amazing. Sure, it might not have looked that impressive on film, but if you were there, if only you were in the water where the action was, you’d know that it was a feat not to be denied.

After a 90 min ferry ride, I drove off the ferry towards Qualicum Beach. The drive was scenic, but it was already getting dark. Vancouver Island is beautiful and its beaches reflect that. Qualicum Beach has miles of gorgeous coastline and reminded me a lot of Cape Breton island in Nova Scotia.

When I arrived at the Qualicum Bay Resort, I was a little disappointed. In fact, it was not a resort, but an RV campground slash motel. I was hoping for something along the lines of Cancun Oasis, or Varadero Cuba, with a pool and swim-up bar. I knew it was a far stretch to ask for topless girls dancing on a bar, but at least give me a pool. However, what I did find was wireless internet! Far from the outposts of civilisation and nuclear energy, this 2-and-a-half star motel, actually had free wireless internet. That in itself, deserves a star.

Actually, I didn’t even know people on the island knew about the internet. I was just hoping I would get reception on my cell phone. After sniffing some packets on the wireless network, it appears that I’m the only one on this internet thing. Either that, or everyone else is out drinking and I’m the only one sitting in my room alone surfing the web. Either way, I totally came out on top, on that one. After checking in and dropping my stuff off, I headed down to the local pub for a bite to eat.

The pub I found was fairly small, but it was the best one out of the 3 pubs open past 9pm. This small town pub, The College Pub, had decent food for less than $15 so I was perfectly happy getting a pint and some food. Since there was no one there (there were some locals but there was one dude there by himself with a buzzed haircut that had undertones of a mullet and I didn’t want to be compared to him), I left after eating and drove back along the now, darkened highway. With no street lights, it was difficult to see and I was paranoid about driving on the island highway, especially after hearing about all the drinking and driving that goes on here. According to the locals I’ve met here, Islanders
are notorious for drinking and driving. Luckily, I found myself trailing behind an ambulance!

Driving behind an ambulance gave me the assurance that if anything happened, I would be immediately rescued. I was being escorted back to my motel, not so unlike the one presidents and dignitaries get to have. It was like a 1-car motorcade! I nearly felt invincible, if not for the promise of excruciating pain that being in a car accident would certainly find.

The entire day was entirely uneventful, and if not for free wireless internet I would undoubtedly have gone venturing out to find sleeping cows to tip over. Tomorrow, I am looking forward to a hike in Cathedral Grove, and my 3-hour surfing lessons in Tofino.