And you are very old!

News flash, and this should not come as a surprise, but maybe once you hit your 50’s the bottom bunk in a dorm of 20 something backpackers may not be the wisest choice. It is after midnight on a Wednesday and the young guests talk in whispers and quiet giggles as they get to know each other and make a new, and temporary family while they are far from home. It is clean and modern and is not a “party” hostel, at least not tonight but still I cannot sleep. Rob and I have taken the bottom bunks in our 4 person dorm as we are the most likely ones to need a middle of the night trip to the bathroom. Of course we were the first ones to head off for sleep and despite my ear plugs, the snores coming from the bunk above, the oppressive heat and the smell of 4 pairs of sweaty, backpacker shoes (my own included) has kept the sandman away. So here I sit writing. 

I suspect these youngsters do not know what to make of us. “Mom and Dad” ruining the vibe.  We ate lunch at a cafe today and the young waitress who served me noticed we were riding bicycles. She struck up a conversation, as these New Zealanders are likely to do, and the topic of my children came up. She asked how old they were and at my reply said, “No that is crazy, they are my age. That means you are the about the age of my mom… and she is very old”. Touché, my dear, touché. At times like tonight, sleeping in a dorm bed at a backpackers hostel, I feel very old and just a little out of place. I wonder what the hell we are doing, living like gypsies, sleeping with strangers? Tomorrow we will be back in the Hubba Hubba, our cosy tent as we continue our journey down the length of New Zealand and one thing is sure, these crazy Kiwi’s will keep surprising us with their hospitality.

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We have been here about three weeks and have a growing list of contacts in our phones to use “in case you run into trouble, dear”. Random people see the bikes and strike up a conversation which usually ends something like this. “If you happen to find yourself in Gisborne, be sure to come by and stay with me”.  And here’s the crazy thing, they really mean it. If two tired and stinky cyclists happen to turn up on Ruth from Gisborne’s door step, I am sure she would be pleased as punch and pick up the conversation where we last left off! 

A few days ago we took a 6 hour boat charter in order to cross the Hokianga Harbour, part of the Tour Aotearoa route.  We arrived rested and decided to ride into Auckland that night.  A 5:30 start meant we would likely run out of daylight but we hoped to hit the cycle way into the city before dark, allowing us to avoid the morning rush hour traffic which is not a fun experience on New Zealand’s busy highways. The ride took longer than expected and before we knew it we were riding in the pitch black along a secondary highway. About 25 km outside the city limits, a car passed us, slowed down and then pulled over to wait for us to ride by. Despite our lights, we expected to get a good scolding for being out in the dark. The older man who greeted us, asked where we were going at this time of night and then questioned if we had a place to stay lined up in Auckland. After our non-committal response he suggested we follow him home and, if it was up to our “standards”, he had an old caravan in his yard that we were welcome to stay in for the night. Then tonight at dinner, the cafe owner came over and sat down with us and started chatting. The next thing we knew, we were invited to camp in his yard tomorrow night, “no worries mate, I have lots of space, a salt water pool and you can enjoy a beautiful sunset there”. I am not kidding, hasn’t anyone told these people about stranger danger? Why are they so doggone nice?

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It makes me think of a time, not so long ago, in our own country where we were more likely to pick up a stranger by the side of the road, or open our door to a person in need. To take the time to sit and talk with someone and actually listen to them. What has happened to us? Are we too busy, too self involved or just too afraid?  Afraid of them, the mass of humanity out there? Or are we afraid of ourselves and what that mass of humanity may think of us if we step outside our comfort zone and put ourselves out there ripe for rejection?

Food for thought. 

Ear plugs in and now its off to try and find some good dreams. Good night.

Oh the People You’ll Meet!

“It’s about the journey, not the destination”.  What a load of crap. Let’s be honest here, anyone who has done any amount of traveling knows the journey often sucks.  Long lines in crowded airports, missed connections, surly flight attendants and shady taxi drivers make the “journey” something you grit your teeth and endure, in order to enjoy the prize, your “destination”. To me, there is something so patronizing about this little saying. It grates on me. “Well you know dear, its all about the journey now isn’t it”.  Meanwhile, the little voice inside my head is screaming “Really? The journey you say? Now that you mention it, maybe it really is fun to urinate in a claustrophobic cubical spattered with strangers bodily waste. Thanks for helping me see this in a whole new light!” Obviously, I am being sarcastic to make a point. We all travel for different reasons and there is no right or wrong way to travel. Sometimes it is about the journey. Sometimes it is about the destination. And sometimes it is all about you.

It is hard to believe we have been back in Canada for 3 weeks. It feels like I never left.  Did the last 8 months really happen? Or was it all a dream? As I write, I am sitting on the deck of a BC ferry heading home to Rossland after finishing a locum at a 24-hour emergency hospital on Vancouver Island. I am back to work, as a veterinarian, our town is the same, our house is the same and old routines are easy to slip into. While it feels like I never left, it also feels like everything has changed. During the past 8 months, I did not manage to figure out “what I’m going to do with the rest of my life” but I also feel less urgent about having a plan.

It was an amazing 8 months and looking back I realize for me, it is not about the destination or the journey but it is all about the people that I met along the way. Through my blog posts, I have shared stories featuring some of these amazing humans and dogs (see the story of stinky dog) but I also want to share a few more stories about people we met who made our journey so special.

Cycling into Cienfuegos Cuba, hot tired and in need of a beer and a shower, we headed to the central plaza to find some shade, wifi and make a plan. Rolling up we heard a shout from across the square “Hey Canadians, bikers over here!”  Two friendly cyclists were waving at us enthusiastically and we recognized them as the American/German couple we had chatted with roadside near Playa Giron. We pushed our bikes over and were greeted with big smiles, hugs and immediately fell into conversation like old friends. They introduced us to another cyclist, Pierre, riding a bike so fully loaded I was amazed he could peddle it forward. It quickly became apparent that Pierre was a powerhouse of energy and I suspect he willed that bike forward with his positive energy and the enthusiasm he had for life and second chances. We agreed to meet for dinner that evening and headed off to find a bed for the night. On the road, you make friends in an instant and that evening we learned that Nic and Franzi were on a final “fling” before settling down and starting a family.  Pierre had left Quebec to spend an undetermined time cycle touring in Cuba after a diagnosis (and luckily successful treatment) of prostate cancer. It was only one night but we made instant connections and shared our contacts. 

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Following Cuba Nic and Franzi spent an unbearably hot month in Mexico and then inspired by our description of British Columbia, headed to Canada to cycle from Vancouver Island, across the interior of BC and on to Montana. We were thrilled to get an email on our arrival home announcing they were in Canada and wanted to come to Rossland for a visit.

Did you know in certain hostels, you cannot stay if you are over 40 years old? What a stupid rule!  Our favourite hostels were those with travellers representing a wide range of ages, ethnicities and interests. These hostels had the best vibes, best stories and it was at one such hostel that we met Holger, the “German Renaissance man”.  As an extrovert, I  like hostelling and Hostel Polako a little hostel in Trebinje, Bosnia-Herzegovina, was my favorite hostel experience.

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The name Polako means “slow down” and the hostel owners, Lauren (American) and Bartek (Polish) welcome travelers of all ages.  Their friendly, open and laid back attitude seemed to be adopted by the other travellers staying there.  If you are willing to listen, everyone has an interesting story but sometimes, if you are lucky, you meet other travelers and make an instant connection. Holger, a pharmacist by profession, had decided to make a big life change and left his job, made his way south and ended up in Trebinje, Bosnia-Herzegovina. He liked the town and hostel so much he stayed for months. Curious about the world, interested in other people and their stories as well as articulate, intelligent and knowledgeable about a wide range of topics, Holger was so much fun to hang out with during our 3 days in Trebinje. My favorite memory is an afternoon at the local winery learning about the subtleties of wine tasting and enjoying the late afternoon sun and conversation while slowly getting tanked.

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No one used the spit basin because if you stay in hostels you’re probably not the type to waste free wine!

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And finally the Croatian Brothers, whose names I cannot remember but whose hospitality will forever stay in my memory. Battling strong winds and rough seas on the western coast of Solta island, off the coast of Croatia (see Some things are Scary: Kayaking off the Coast of Croatia) we inched our way into a sheltered bay.  Our recommended campsite for the night was still 4 km away but we were tired, stressed and night was quickly approaching. As we paddled into the deep bay to find some shelter and spotted a small beach at the end of the bay. A beach big enough to land two kayaks. We decided to paddle towards it with the hope that we could camp there for the night. As we got closer, our hopes were dashed. I could see first a fishing boat and also a man on the gravel beach, it was private property. As Rob paddled up beside me, I could see he was as tired and dejected as me. 

“Let’s go ask if we could camp on their beach”, I said. “The worst that can happen is they will say no”.

I approached the shore and shouted “Hello, do you speak English?”.

With a shake of the head and a motion to wait there, the old man disappeared only to return shortly with his brother.

“We are very tired. Could we camp on your beach tonight?” I asked.

“Of course, of course. Please come in”, came the reply. 

Before we could get out of our boats we heard a question ring out across the water, “Do you like wine”?

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We pulled our kayaks onto the gravel beach and were met with warm handshakes and a genuine welcome. After introductions, we were led up a stone path and given a tour of tidy gardens, olive trees and an ancient stone cottage which enjoyed a lovely view of the Adriatic. 

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Anxious to get to the wine, our hosts once again invited us to join them on their patio. Darkness would soon arrive, so I said we would love to enjoy a glass of wine but they must allow me to prepare dinner and share it with them. As we sat down to enjoy a Mediterranean salad, cheese, local salami, cookies, and chocolate on their patio, the sun was setting into the Adriatic. Two bottles of wine and many stories later we realized what had started as a long and stressful day was ending in the most unexpected of ways. We rose early the next morning and joined our new friends for coffee before setting out.

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As we loaded our kayaks, they loaded their small fishing boat with supplies and together we paddled out of the sheltered bay to the open ocean. I will forever remember soft morning light framing two old gentlemen as they stood in their little red fishing boat, wishing us safe travels and waving goodbye to two strangers from Canada.

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Love Is

Sleep can be elusive for me. It’s 1 am and I look over at Rob, who slumbers through my restless nocturnal antics and I marvel again at my good fortune. My good fortune to have found this mate and my best friend. His beard has a more liberal sprinkling of salt, as of late and the crinkles I love, by the corners of his eyes, are now there even as he dreams. My own face in the mirror often takes me by surprise and I wonder, where did the years go?

While I still feel like that 24 year old who said “I do” 27 years ago, I know I have changed. And so has he. How amazing it is that we were able to change and grow together, not apart? How, at the young age of 24, did I manage to find a mate who I am so happy to wake beside each morning and with whom I look forward to the years ahead. I have been a wife, longer than I was single, a sobering thought, but for me, one that brings comfort. Like many things in our life, success has been a mix of good planning, hard work and a little bit of luck.

Hollywood would have us believe there is one true “soul mate” waiting for each of us. Cue the sappy music and the couple walking off into the sunset. As much as I enjoy a good “rom com”, I wonder whether the media’s version of love has set us up to be unhappy in our relationships. Humour me for a minute while I bust some “myths” about love.

Love is blind.  Maybe if you’re a naked mole rat or a Labrador retriever. If you’re a human being, you’re fooling yourself. Is it really “cute” that he texts you incessantly and is jealous when you go out with your friends? Better open those eyes, and quick.

Love means never having to say you are sorry.  What a load of crap! Being a good human being means having to say you are sorry and take responsibility for your actions. Why is it any different if you are in love? In fact, love means sometimes having to say you are sorry, even if you aren’t. Don’t worry, eventually you will be sorry.

All you need is love. Well sure, but money might be helpful. And food. Yes food is definitely a good idea. Water? Shelter? Family? Self worth? You get my point.

Love makes the world go around. Well now that is just silly. I am no brainy scientist but I am pretty sure love is NOT what makes the world spin on it’s axis OR rotate around the sun. But then again I could be wrong about this one….hmmm, is it really love? That’s pretty cool if it is! I kinda hope I’m wrong about this one.

Love completes me. I truly hope you can become a complete person on your own. If you need another person to “complete” you, that’s a little weird.  In fact, if you want to be in a healthy relationship, you need to be whole, on your own as well as comfortable in your own skin. If you’re still figuring out who you are or if you are trying to be someone different so he will love you, you are headed down a dangerous path. Someday you are just going to have to be your boring old self again, then what? Just be a human being, flaws and all and complete your own damn self!

Rob likes to test me to see if I can remember our wedding vows. To his dismay, I usually forget at least one of the lines and then I have to cover my inadequacy by firing back “I don’t have to remember the words, I choose to live them instead”. So here goes, lets see if I can remember my promises.

Rob, I promise to be your faithful wife

To laugh with you in joy

To grieve with you in sorrow

To stand by you in trouble

To grow with you in love

To honor you and cherish you, so long as we both shall live.

Crap, I know I’ve forgotten a line.  Laugh, grieve, stand, grow.  What else? No it did NOT involve a vow to obey. Pretty sure there was no clause about dancing (Rob would squash that one) or singing (I can’t remember the words to any song). Oh man, I’m in so much trouble. Maybe it had to do with forgive (let’s hope so). My poor long suffering husband. I love him so.

And yet, despite my flippant remarks, I still believe in love. Sure it hurts sometimes but your heart is an muscle, it needs exercise to stay healthy. If you find love, don’t take it for granted.  Be prepared to work to make it stronger, to make it last a lifetime and make sure the people you love know it.

I once heard an interviewer ask elderly couples what was the secret to a long and happy marriage. One elderly gentleman had the best response. He said, “well, each day I get up, go to the bathroom, and I take a good, long look at myself in the mirror.” Pausing for dramatic effect he continued, “and then I say to myself, well you ain’t no great prize either!”

Advice worth remembering. You ain’t no great prize either.

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