Merry Christmas To All

CHRISTMAS PASTS  

 

CHRISTMAS 2010

The ornaments for this tree were created by a number of nationalities. Canadians, Americans, Chinese, Russians, Japanese, Phillipinos, Iranians and Italians. Match the ornament with the nationality.












CHRISTMAS 2009


This Christmas saw us enjoying a traditional warm and mild Christmas in Vancouver. A sad precursor to the no snow Olympics that required snow to be trucked in and helicoptered onto the hills so the free style competition could be run. 

CHRISTMAS 2008


Our first Christmas in China saw us spending Christmas day at a preschool playing with the kids. The school was extensively decorated with a Christmas theme which included a huge 8 foot Christmas tree in the lobby.

We were still smiling four hours later.

CHRISTMAS PRESENT 2011

Merry Christmas to all and to all, see you in the new year. 

Home Is Where Your Heart Is

They say that "home is where your heart is". We can certainly confirm that but with one caveat. It seems that your heart can live in two places at once. We left our home in Harbin on July 4th and when we did, we left a little bit our heart behind. It was even more difficult to leave this time then the last as we do not know if we will return as we knew we would last time. Saying goodbye if it might be forever is so much more difficult. Our extended Chinese family will be forever part of our lives.

It did not take us long to get back into our Canadian lifestyle. Thanksgiving was celebrated with  family in Victoria. Assorted aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandnieces, grandnephews and the matriarch of the family, Nonie's mom who turned 86 this year.  Nonie and I took a few hours out on Thanksgiving day to run the Victoria 1/2 Marathon. A not so well thought out decision made 6 months before. Nonie finished in 2 hours 15 minutes and I limped across in 2 hours 5 minutes. The run endorphins combined with the turkey's triptophan and a couple of glasses of a cheeky Chablis had me sleeping on the couch while the grandnieces and grandnephews toyed with me.  

Halloween once again saw us donning our finest red dresses for the annual Penticton Pounder's Red Dress Run.    It involved running 5K which is quite a feat if one is wearing a slinky little red number with all the accessories.  Well perhaps, slinky may be an over statement.

Again, due to another not so well thought out decision made 12 months ago I have signed up to compete, delete "compete", make that "attempt" to finish Ironman Canada. Ironman Canada is annual race that has been held in Penticton for the last 30 years. 3,000 athletes swim 3.8 kilometres, bike 180 kilometres and run a full marathon before dinner. I turn 60 next year and so felt the need to do something to mark that special occasion. So this year my motto is "60 and STUPID". Training in Okanagan Lake and missing my swimming buddy branson, I have had to make do with whom ever was in the lake. Meet Ogie or Ogopogo as he is know by the world. He been swimming laps in Lake Okanagan since the ice age. Normally a shy and reticent creature, today he was especially chatty.


A cheap and environmentally clean way to travel or a last desperate cry for my lost youth. Either way, who cares, driving my scoot is a hoot. While driving I can't stop myself from humming Steppenwolf's " Born To Be Wild", sometimes in my outside voice, which can be embarrassing at stop lights.

And it is interesting to see the looks that I receive when I am stopped. If the driver is an older man, I get a gentle nod that says, "Way to go Man". A younger crowd and I get smiles of silent derision that say, " Look at the geezer" and the most hurtful of all, older women. Their looks of disdain says it all, screaming "Sure glad that's not my husband!" but with the occasional "Hey Sexy." when my ego needs a fix.  Well fie on them all, I just hum Steppenwolf and give them all a look of steely eyed determination that says "I am secure in my self and you can all go  +#$!  yourself man!" Oops, sorry, I was channeling my inner Dennis Hopper.

And the adventure continues. It was 38 years ago when we met on a cold Fort Nelly night in November in the local cabaret/bar. Depending on who you listen to, one of us picked up the other. So from a bar pickup, to the mother of my children and the grandmother to my grandchildren and the best of all, my Scooter Bitch once she gets the courage to get on the back.

This catches up the blog. Thanks for your patience. Not sure what life will throw at us but I suspect it will be throwing something. Keep posted.

Are We There Yet

The  week with our grandchildren went far too quickly and before we knew it, it was time to board the train and continue our journey home. Still a few stops to make before we are in Penticton.

We have over time developed a serious fondness for train travel. Over the past three years, we have flown mega air miles,  circling the globe three times and we have come to one single defining conclusion regarding air travel. Flying coach sucks. The seats are small and crowded even for one of average height and weight. The air quality on board the plane  should be considered hazardous to your health and on occasion so can the attendants. Don't get me started on carry on luggage. Trains are so much more civilized. Of course, civility can depend on where you happen to be catching the train. The top picture is the train station in Harbin and the adjacent picture is the train station in Ottawa. Who can spot the differences of train travel between the two countries. E-mail us your answers.

The train ride to Toronto was four hours downtown to downtown. Cost was about the same to fly but with out having to be frisked or your luggage pawed through. The attendants were not surly and even helped take one of our bags on to the train. The seats were enormous, comfortable with leg room that Kobie Bryant could relate to. The beverage and munchies lady was by every hour and with reasonable prices. Everyone lined up nice and politely with no pushing or shoving and our reserved seats were not filled by strangers . Ahh, Canada,  a more gentler and kinder rail travel. Sadly it is only available in Ontario.

A short overnight stay in Smith Falls to visit an Aunt with another overnight stop in Toronto for another Aunt and cousin then landing in Beamsville with Nonie's sister to complete our obligatory family visits in Ontario. No rest for the wicked as I had agreed to install a simple light fixture during our stay. It turned into an ugly, all day job with nothing simple about it. My Crazy Uncle Brett title was reinforced big time with perhaps a little blue language for effect.

. We did have time to make a whirlwind trip to Windsor, Ontario to visit Mr. Doctor J who was currently working as a Visiting Scholar at the University there. He and his wife Mrs. Doctor J were a significant part of our extended family in Harbin.  Spent a lovely sunny day in Windsor, walking along the Detroit River after enjoying a  fabulously home cooked Chinese meal.  Doctor J rooms with three others, one of who can cook up a storm. Nonie and her sister tried to bring some elephants home but they were not cooperating.

One more stop before we land in Penticton. Two days in Vancouver to visit with our youngest son and another Aunt then home to Penticton. I am so looking forward to becoming intimate with my LazeeBoy once again. 

FRISKY BUSINESS

There were no mixed emotions about leaving Nepal. It has been 210 days since we last saw our grandchildren and our grand parenting addictions were screaming for a fix.

Leaving Nepal was not a simple task. It involved four separate and equally invasive hand frisks. The first one came at the entrance to the airport. Not quite in the parking lot but close. Frisked again before entering the secure Departure area. Frisked again, for the last time we thought, as we left the boarding gate to get on the bus that would take us out to our plane. I am willing to swear that the guy who frisked me at the departure gate was the same guy who frisked me out in the parking lot. But no time to dwell on that as to our surprise, we were met on the tarmac by another gang of rubber gloved security Gestapo's who not only frisked us but gleefully pawed through our carry on luggage with impunity before letting us board the plane. I didn't know whether to feel violated or in love but I have certainly never felt safer from hijackers.

 Our original plan was to spend a few days in India but due to time and some silly visa rules we opted to only fly through Delhi to Montreal with a 10 hour layover at the Indira Gandhi International Airport. This decision was a fateful one. Arriving, we were greeted by a very shiny, state of the art airport that had just opened for the 2010 Commonwealth Games. We were changing airlines here so needed to pickup our luggage, go through customs then recheck our luggage with Air Canada.

Leaving the Arrivals area, we were directed outside the airport and told we must enter the airport's Departure area from an outside entrance. We went to the first entrance and were met by two seriously armed soldiers and told that we were not allowed to enter the airport until 3 hours before our next flight. Seems that Delhi had been experiencing some social upheaval so the airport was on some sort of minimal lock down. We attempted to return to the Arrivals area but were told by more soldiers that we could not reenter the Arrivals area.  We were directed to a small glassed in area located within a small corner of the Departure waiting area. There was no food available but it didn't matter as we had no Rupees to buy any. To go to the bathroom, you had to show your passport and the seating had been recycled from a torture chamber. So for the next seven hours we were crammed into to this tiny, sad excuse for a waiting area, staring through a glass security wall at the empty Departures area, tantalizingly close to restaurants, coffee shops, currency exchanges and bathrooms. To add salt to our wounds we forced to stare at this gaudy pink neon sign inviting us to Relax, Enjoy, Unwind and Explore all the services of the new airport. Not a pleasant welcome to |India.

 But the 30 hours of travel time was worth it, because for the next six days we got to have a fabulous fix of our grandchildren while enjoying all the amenities that Mount Tremblant had to offer. Mount Tremblant is a year round playground located about 70 kilometres North of Montreal.  Lakes, trails, fishing, skiing and some great hotels and restaurants.








We had pre-booked a car with driver to deliver us from the airport to the condo that we had rented in the hills above the village of Mount Tremblant.  Much to our pleasure the car turned into a stretch limo. Very civilized. Could get used to that lifestyle. Got lots of stares.

The jet lag and the sucky weather didn't stop us from enjoying our selves. Took a few hours out of our busy schedule and ran in the Mount Tremblant 1/2 Marathon, completing the 10 K race in 55 minutes. 

Where Funerals are a Tourist Attraction

 Another day, another temple. But thankfully with lots of free time to explore the world around the temples.

This lady is proudly showing us tonight's main course. A little soy and lots of ketchup please.

This enterprising street seller is hawking Durian fruit or as we affectionately know it as, "stinky fruit".  Cut into it's thick rind and it releases a smell that will waken those long dormant memories of your child's worse diaper. Taste, well its nothing to write home about if you can get past the smell.

Nonie is getting a few knitting tips from some of the ladies. They are knitting those cool Nepalese wool hats that you will find in any country around the world. A traditional Nepalese export.

Death as we discovered, can be a spectator sport. For a small fee you can enter the Kathmandu crematorium site at Pashupatinath Temple and take part in the multiple cremations that go on 24 hours a day.

The body is prepared  and brought by a procession to the Temple which is located on the banks of the Bagmati River. Hindu custom requires that the body is prepared and cremated within 24 hours of death.

Exactly one cubic metre of wood used to cremate the body.  Sandal is the wood of choice but due to it's high price, many cannot afford it. This tradition is leading to some of the deforestation of Nepal

According to the Nepalese Hindu tradition, the dead body must be dipped three times into the Bagmati river before cremation. The bodies are usually dressed in white and orange as orange is considered a holy colour.


The chief mourner (usually the first son) lights the funeral pyre and must take a holy river-water bath immediately after cremation. Many relatives who join the funeral procession also take a bath in the Bagmati River or sprinkle the holy water on their bodies at the end of cremation. The Bagmati River is considered to purify the people spiritually.The pyre is allowed to burn to embers which can take 3 or 4 hours with a little judicious poking.

Once the cremation has been completed the ashes are pushed into the Bagmati River as it will ultimately flow into the holiest of rivers, the Ganges. The personal effects of the deceased are also packaged up and place into floated down the river to join the dearly departed in to here after.

Holy Men for hire. These colourful holy men are waiting to to carry out a Shradh. The Shradh is practiced one year after the death of the person. This can either be an annual event or a large one-off event. This is the Hindu practice of giving food to the poor in memory of the deceased. A priest will say prayers for the deceased and during this time, usually lasting one month, the family will not buy any new clothes or attend any parties. Sons are responsible for carrying out Shradh.







We are leaving Kathmandu in few days. Our plan it to rest and sleep a lot because we are looking at 30 hours on the ground and in the air before we reach Montreal and some serious grandchildren time. Can't wait.

A View To Die For

Less than 5,000 people have been there and over 200 people have died trying to get there. People are still trying and dieing to get there. It is known as Qomolangmaor in Tibet, Sagarmatha in Nepal and to the rest of the world, Mount Everest, highest mountain in the world, reaching a height of 8,848 meters (29,029 ft for you Americans). Nonie and I were about to make an attempt to join that elite group of adventurers who have challenged and seen the summit.  A belated birthday present or a deranged dream. You decide.

Weather is a key factor if one wants to see the summit.  The weather on Everest can decide if you will live or die in the attempt so as the day of our summit approached, we watched it with a religious fervor.  It is the rainy season and clear days are few and far between. As the sun set on our base camp, we witnessed black, rain filled clouds piling up against Everest's west face. It did not look promising for our summit attempt the next day.
Our wake up call at 5:45 was like a high voltage current running through our bodies. Seeing the summit was not for people who like to sleep in. It can take over 20 hours to accomplish a successful summit attempt. The sun had not risen so it was difficult to see what weather we would face. Our guide tried to arrange a small breakfast for us but could find no one interested in getting up that early. Starting this adventure on a empty stomach. Good idea or bad? Only time would tell.

The night turned to false dawn as we made our way to the primary staging area.  With the light, it became apparent that those black, menacing clouds had only gotten worse through the night. This dangerous weather evoked serious discussion with our guides. "Go, no go?"  The one caveat of weather on Everest, "Don't like the weather then wait five minutes". Everest's weather can change in a instant, clouds can disappear releasing the sun. But just as quickly as the weather improves, it can  become dangerous and unforgiving.  We decided to push on and put off our decision till after we reached the final staging area.
It is here, that the waiting began. Reports coming in, indicated that the clouds were heavy and obscuring the entire summit of Everest. This type of weather situation would make our attempt to see the summit impossible so the waiting game began.  As time passed, the waiting became intolerable. There was little space to move around and we were crowded in by others, also waiting to see their moment in the sun and the summit of Everest. Anger and frustration began to show in everyone faces and voices.

The  next stage would force us to move into the "DEATH ZONE". The "DEATH ZONE" begins at approximately 8,000 metres (26,000 feet for you Americans). At this altitude there is not enough oxygen to sustain human life. Each minute you spend above this altitude without supplementary oxygen will result in deterioration of your bodily functions, loss of consciousness and, ultimately, death. We are adventurous, not crazy, we would be using bottled oxygen.

 

Just as doubt began to creep into our minds that today would not be our day, the radio crackled with the words we wanted to hear. "YOUR ARE CLEARED FOR TAKE OFF."  With those words our Beechcraft, 18 passenger light commercial plane took off for a fly by and hopefully a clear view of the much sought after Everest summit.




The twenty minute wait on the tarmac in the fully loaded plane filled with those 16 other bitching tourists had been worth it, two hours later, we were back at base camp, the 5 star Radisson Hotel in downtown Kathmandu enjoying a late breakfast with the vision of Everest's summit burned forever into our memory.





EDITOR POST SCRIPT.  Shortly after our flight, a plane carrying  16 tourists to view Mount Everest from the airport in Kathmandu, crashed while attempting to land in poor weather, killing all 19 people on board. This blog was intended to poke some fun at our flight.  It was with some trepidation that I posted this as it is in no way meant to make light of the people who died in this horrific accident.



 It does reinforce our thoughts that "life does not come with a lifetime guarantee so just do it before your warranty runs out."   

TOO, TOO MANY TEMPLES, BUT THANK HEAVEN FOR THE MONKEYS

Temples come in several flavours (flavors for you, Americans) in Nepal. The government of Nepal considers the country secular but you may get an argument from Hindu's who form 80% of the population. 11% are Buddhists and 5 percent Muslims.

Arriving back in Kathmandu, we spent a few more days visiting temples as well as many stupas, and squares with temples. The shift  from Buddhist to Hindu temples was a nice change. Many of the temples and holy sites were 500 or more years old wooden structures. I was constantly amazed by the plethora of lit candles and incense that inhabited the structures and not a fire extinguisher in sight.




Hinduism does not limit is self to one supreme deity. If one is good then many must be better. Krishna, Vishnu, Shiva, Ganesha, just to name a few of the more prominent ones.   I quit counting after 100.  Not everyone rates a temple though. 


Nonie got a little too friendly with a mother monkey.  Next thing we knew, mom brought the whole gang for a visit.










Monkeys were a fixture at many of our temple stops. This temple complex called  Swayambhunath is also known as the Monkey Temple. Some of the resident monkeys are considered holy. The back story says that they are holy because Manjushree, the bodhisattva of wisdom and learning was raising the hill which the Swayambhunath Temple stands on. He was supposed to leave his hair short but he made it grow long and head lice grew. It is said that the head lice transformed into these monkeys.


No matter where you went, the third eye of Shiva would follow you around. The third eye is the red circle seen above the eyes. Very spooky.

Meet the Living Goddess of Nepal. They (Not sure who They is?" chose  prepubescent girls on the basis of their 32 attributes of perfection, including color of eyes, shape of teeth and even voice quality. They are then are taken to meet the deities in a dark room, where terrifying tantrik rituals are performed. The real goddess is the one who stays calm and collected throughout these trials. Other Hindu-Buddhist rituals follow to finally determine the real Kumari (Goddess). We were introduced to her at her home in the Hanumandhoka Palace when our guide took us into a tiny, roofed courtyard, perhaps 30' by 30'. Our guide called out her name and surprise of surprises she came to the window and checked us out. She never leaves the palace except once a year during the Indra Jatra festival when she is visited by 1,000's worshippers. Sadly she is evicted from the cushy digs when puberty strikes and a new goddess is selected.  We were not allowed to take pictures so I have used one of her publicity pics.

The ladies were grabbing some shade after spending a long day of worship at Durban Square. A 800 year old square with many Hindu temples and even a stupa ( a mound-like structure containing relics of Buddha)  

Buses and trucks were a visual treat. Each driver personalizing his ride.

Nonie was in her happy place tenaciously bargaining for a piece of fabric. Don't see this catching on at Fabricland.

A 800 year old watering hole.

The local 7-11 franchise. These two entrepreneurs carried  a number of items much sought after by trekkers but best not to look at the Best Before dates.

Happy in his chosen profession. This smiling Hindu's sole 

(no pun intended) responsibility was to guard the shoes removed by the worshippers to the temple of  Kama. Kama was in a position (snicker, snicker) to make a lot of Hindus happy as the God of Love. 

Another contest.  How has  Kami made many Western couples happy?  E-mail your answers to us.

Kathmandu (Thats Pronounced Katmandoo)

As a child of the 60's, Kathmadu (pronounced katmandoo) was a mystical place where hippies dared to dream. It was the end of the "Hippie Trail" where dope was cheap, legal and no hassles' man. Today it is the poster child for the third world. Our entrance into the city from the airport was an eye opener. Far from mystical, it was teeming with people and cars, with bikes, motorcycles and scooters outnumbering the cars 50 to one. Driving through potholed and twisting lanes that veered in all directions with open ditches for storm drains and if my nose was working, sometimes sewage.

This all could have been over whelming for someone coming from the west but as we had just arrived from China, it was a slow day in Beijing for us. Our hotel was located in the old Thamel (pronounced Tamel) district of Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo). Once a mecca to hippies, now home to trekking outfitters, souvenir shops, sketchy hotels and hostels. It is populated with tourists, hikers, trekkers and really old ex-pat hippies. These old hippies could be spotted miles away, with their long, grey and thinning hair worn in scraggly pony tails, wearing tie dyed tee shirts and enough musk oil to keep mosquitoes at bay. Living up to its past, we were often approached by locals whispering "Do you want to buy some ?". The purchase was always left unsaid and if they weren't selling ? then they were selling Tiger Balm, the cure-all for everything including flatulence, if you can believe everything the label says. Rub it on and watch it work. We did however manage to find several healthy crops of ? along the way which would have allowed us to cut out the middle man.   

Only one evening to enjoy the ambiance as we left the next day for a two night, three day trek into the wilder, yet tamer parts of Nepal. It was the rainy season and a ten day trek to Everest sleeping in tents along the way, was not gonna happen so a two day hike with a warm hotel rooms at the end of the day seemed like a good compromise.

So with our guide Raj, we drove about three hours outside Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo) to a temple who's name eludes me.  Way too many temples on this trip. This was to be the start of our hike. The road to the temple was little more than a mud track and we spent more time walking than riding so the under carriage of the car could clear the muddy tracks that made up the road.

For the next three days we were treated to some wonderful as well as exciting moments  On our second day, we had been traveling on a trail for about 2 hours when we found the trail had disappeared in a landslide of about 150 metres.  We had two choices, back track 2 hours and find another route or make our way across the washout to the trail on the other side. This involved a traverse along a steep side hill with only small foot print steps made by the  idiots who came before us to cross over on. In some cases we had to dig out our own steps to make it across as the gap between their steps was too far apart for a safe move.  The ground was wet and slick and there was a small river rushing about 300 metres below us. Needless to say we were scared $hi+le$$ for the entire crossing and arrived to the other side breathless and our knees knocking. Death by laziness is a stupid way to go.

Luck was with us for most of the hike as we were spared having to deal with any torrential downpours. They only came at night when we were safely stowed in our hotels sipping the local beer. Our days were mostly dry or at most. marred by a light drizzle.

Lots of mud though along with some very nice and not so nice bridges.  Nonie was a trooper and attacked each bridge with gusto and false bravado, singing her happy song as she wended her way slowly across to the other side.

Three days later we arrived at a small village where we were picked up and transported back to Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo).  Along with the beautiful memories, I will also carry the scar from a slug who made a pig of himself sucking the little blood I have left. He some how found his way up onto my ankle under my pants and used me as a buffet till bloated, he dropped off somewhere along the way. Ahh, good times.