The first weekend back in Belgium, Patrick and I head to his studio on the coast in Oostende where we meet Gerda and Gerriet in a chic black restaurant with fondu on the menu. A good friend of Trike's has lent us her caravan. Patrick's first night at the wheel leads us down a dead-end block behind the casino. Maneuvering a three point turn is difficult. The back bumper is scraped severely and a Renault Twingo is dragged half a foot across the curb. The next morning we set off to South Holland following the A19 to Ghent, the A12 through [View Full Entry]

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I finished my third year on JET (Japanese Exchange Teaching) and had to say goodbye to a number of fun people. Time to return to reality, to actual responsibilties, to unsubsidized housing. Am staying in Japan another year though with a private English company. Most affordable pleasures in japan in the summer months: beach BBQs, yukata parties, late night strolls thru the city when the temp finally cools below thirty, lots of drinking, Marguerita Parties, fireworks. [View Full Entry]

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I returned home for my sister's wedding but since I gave my boss the slip, I thought it best to tack on a few extra days for a road trip with my good friend Marci, coffee with my highschool chum Cathy, a hot date in the West End, a stroll through Stanley Park and a little shopping at Metrotown and Robson Street for my summer wardrobe. I fit XL in Japan but in Canada I'm medium. It's a very nice feeling when you go down two sizes over night. Strange things I felt/saw being home again. 1. First afternoon, riding [View Full Entry]

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[url='/Videos/2880.html' onclick='dialog("/Videos/2880.html?popped=1","tbvideo",600,600);return false;'] Momma can boogy In memory of her late Grandmother and name-sake, Katherine Dodd, my sister, in like fashion married on Victoria Day weekend. As with most weddings, I'm sure, there were a few mishaps. I for one forgot to pack my suit in the car and had to race home and fetch it. At the last minute rain began to fall and the ceremony had to be moved indoors. And when all were gathered and the music started to play, a train passed by outside the pub, drowning the violin player, throwing [View Full Entry]

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Morning comes early. Tai chi is a useless endeavour. My body is aching after three days riding too small a bike, followed by a ten hour journey on a tiny bus seat followed by three days hiking and sleeping in the cold. The Portuguese couple in the bungalow next door share a cab with me to Heho airport. The lobby is no larger than a small town bus station. Three morning flights are delayed due to thick fog on the runway. I'm concerned I'll miss my connection in Yangon and speak with the front desk. "No problem, no problem," I'm assured. [View Full Entry]

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It's late afternoon when I book into my bungalow on the river at Queen Guesthouse with a view across to the boat docks. The room has just been completed. I am the first occupant. The pine smells fresh and the boards on the wall are rough and splintered. I say good-bye to Alex, Keyo and Tutu, offering them each a tip. 'Time is money' does not apply equally in all parts of the world. For his three days work, Alex will earn 23$, a good sum in Myanmar. 'Time is time'. It takes a young woman three to four days to [View Full Entry]

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At five in the morning a half dozen foreigners stand in the guesthouse lobby. Across the street trishaw wallahs sit complacently in the teashop sharing small talk over small cups of tea tasting of dirt and tree roots. Our bus journey departs Bagan before sunrise. I am cramped against the window in seat 12 next to a French Arab, a cook from the Cote d'Azur, who is friendly and opinionated and blind to the fact that I am immersed in my novel. The bus fills with women toting checkered bags full of tins of food and young men chewing cheroot, spitting [View Full Entry]

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Hello. Good morning. How are you? Where you come from? where you staying? first time to Myanmar? How long you stay in Bagan? You buy postcard? wood carving? laquerware? Antique? You buy ruby? emerald? Good price for you. lucky money. Coca cola, lemon, orange, Sprite, water? They catch my attention everytime and with a few questions can deduce how much I'm worth to them. These are all the conversations I've shared in the past couple days. My smile and no thank-you turned to a polite nod to a simple wave of the hand to the point where I answer their hello [View Full Entry]

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It is an awkward night's rest on the top bunk, hopping and rocking the rails from Yangon to the old capital of Mandalay. The monk on the bottom bunk is awake. The doctor lies burrowed under his blanket, snoring. I watch out the window, the sun rise above the Shan mountains. We approach Mandalay three hours behind schedule. The doctor is irate speaking into his mobile, arranging his day and return trip that evening. Taungthaman Lake passes by outside the window. White pagodas rise above the greenery along the far bank where in the distance I can make out the century [View Full Entry]

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I feel like Maria in The Sound of Music as she dances up the lane to her new job with the VonTrapp's, "...it's such a good feeling to know you're alive..." I was one of few Westerners aboard the flight last night from Bangkok. Strange, I thought, watching my neighbour eat his curried prawns with a spoon in one hand and a fork in the other, coming at his food from east and west. I looked around the cabin. Everybody was eating like this. Yangon International is quiet, receiving ten international flights each day from Bangkok, Calcutta or Singapore and ten [View Full Entry]

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