Cazitudes

West Coast mini-break. Ahhhh.

It was another rainy day.  I was beginning to suspect the sun is a mystical tale, a fiction, some wishful thinking on the inhabitants' part of these shorelines on the upper northeast side of Vancouver Island.

Good thing it's beautiful in its misty shades of gray is what I say.

We had been wandering about the downtown core of Campbell River (salmon capital of the world!) in neverending rainy mists and occasinally gale-force winds; it was hard to behold the beauty with raindrops stinging the face, eyes squinted against the winds.  We walked one end to the other, then decided a pitstop and a coffee  was in order (mostly a pitstop, since we couldn't find the public washrooms in our hazy windswept view).

We stopped at Shot In The Dark - fun, funky, great coffee, interesting guests.  We chattered away over our coffee, talking about what we could do that afternoon.  Maybe go for a drive, since the walking was a bit unhospitable for us East Canada Wannabe West Coasters (wusses, we are!).

Our fellow patron beside us, having overhead our hesitations on what to do on a rainy day, piped up and suggested Miracle Beach, Elk Falls, Strathcona, maybe drive right on up to Sayward or Port MacNeil if we were feeling adventurous.  Good hiking up there.  Interesting shorelines.  We started to chat with him in more detail, learn about the Island, the west coast island life.

Happy bloke - a smile was never far from his face.

I asked him if he was from the area.  "Born here," he says.  "Got messed up and headed to East Vancouver for awhile, got really messed up over there, but also got myself sorted out over there, too.  Had to get sorted out before I could move back here."

He told me he'd fallen into hard substance abuse, living on the welfare, hit bottom and decided it was time to get his life turned around.  So he did.  Came back to his home roots, happy to be back.

I asked him what he did for a living.

He looked at me and grinned, "Well," he paused.   "I won't lie to you.  I gotta be honest.   I sell dope."

He grinned big.

I grinned back.  His candor and light approach to it all caught me completely off-guard.

He made no bones about it.  Went on to tell me that he doesn't deal with dirty money at all.  Won't have it.  Only deals with the hard-working, honest-earning folks of the area.

I will admit, my first thought upon hearing his trade was, "uh-huh, I'm in BC."  The back-East stereotype reinforced through the conversation for a split second.  Then I thought, "nah, I've simply met a delightfully quirky middle-aged bloke who loves his smoke and isn't shy about it."

He was refreshing, in a damp and windswept way, quite delightfully entertaining.

As an aside... if you find yourself in Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada (say *that* five times fast), do be sure to head to Shot In The Dark restaurant - supremely good spot to go for a latte, and a sandwich.  Maybe you'll meet up with the dope-loving-selling dude from the area.  He's a friendly, gentle, laid-back, easy-going guy who loves salads and sharing insights on what's awesome about where he lives. 

**********

A five-day mini-break on the other side of the country is precisely what the doctor ordered.  Talk about a fantastic stress-buster.

Having a fantastic set of hosts in a cozy little B&B (Moneypennies, in Campbell River, if you're interested!) on the hill overlooking the straight surely helps; stand-up breakfast meals to get the perpetually autumn rainy days going helps; having not a care for time helps; walking lots helps; great dinner meals in the evening with family helps; coastline driving helps; acutely crisp and fresh air helps; ocean breeze and salty scents helps.  Enjoying it all with a loving partner is the icing on the proverbial cake. 

I'd take the 8 hours of travel to the coast there and 8 hours back to have that five days out on the Island anytime.  Worth. It.

     
     
     

**********

The sun was shining when we woke up Saturday morning in Victoria.  Disappeared behind gray skies shortly after breakfast.  Began to rain on the way up the coastline that morning.

Rained the whole time we were at the Cathedral Grove Forest.

Rained off and on on the drive up to Campbell River.

Rained every day we were in Campbell River.  All day.  Everyday.

We hiked in the rain.  We walked in the rain.  We took a coastline drive in the rain.

Rained relentlessly all the way back to Victoria on our return back in prep for our early morning flight.

Our plane took off rhat final morning in full sunshine...

*sigh*

No matter.  We thoroughly enjoyed our time out there, had some great meals, enjoyed our hikes in the rain, even our blustery buffeting about in downtown Campbell River!  It's a supremely beautiful area of the country.  A hiker's haven, a kayaker's dream coastline.

Appetite for that west coast living has been duly and fully whetted.  We'll be returning in the summer months in the future, to take in that nature, participate in those activities, and head out on a couple of excursions.  Rain or otherwise...

     
     
     

I do believe I am beholden to the magnificent beauty of the country I live in...

09.11.13 - stepping off the merry-go-round for an afternoon of nothing

My year has been one of shifting perspectives, changed notions, different paths, new discoveries, emotional departures and arrivals.  My personal, spiritual, quest has moved to more challenging terrains, which have proven far more satisfying and fulfilling than I first anticipated.

Hard work brings big reward in the land of the soul.  I am inspired to pursue deeper truths and understandings, to grow to fuller potentials.

I sense and see a life-shift in the not-too-distant future.  I welcome it.

********

I find myself of late becoming more introspective, retreating somewhat from the rest of the world, going to the inner space to reflect on the yens and churns of the soul.  Time ticks.  I'm not yet fully stepped into that which I yearn to do and be.

Am certain friends and family find me an enigma of sorts these days, aloof and unaccessible.  Probably a bit miffed with me as well.  In the past, I would feel guilty and compelled to bridge gaps.  Now, I'm tired and have elected to preserve my energies on doing some self-work.  It's time.

It's interesting... this introspective season upon me has me dissecting and analysing my emotional threads and responses to most things.  I see patterns in myself and one by one I'm disentangling myself from the tangled webs of habit and behaviour those patterns have woven into my psyche.  In the ago of life, my overly active sense of responsibility would have me feeling I needed to make sure those miffed with me were duly soothed and all was well in their world.  Cost exacted to me, banked as an emotional overdraft to deal with later.  Lots of triangulation happening.  I don't have the energy anymore for those binding patterns.  Feeding them takes me (or the others in my life) no further down the path of fulfillment and purpose.  I do have a responsibility still, certainly -- there is a need to start with the realignment of emotional foundations that will be rebuilt on healthy and productive contributions to self and others, especially moving forward into that which I desire to take on.  If I'm no good to me, I'm certainly no good to anyone else in my world.  As the sense of time accelerates (at least it's doing so with me) and time shifts from now to then, I feel the urgency to get on with the business of being.

Is why I'm enjoying the transpersonal psychotherapy classes so much.  Manna to the soul.  Making me think and feel my way through all the various things that hold me back from stepping into that which will bring depth and breadth and life to this living I'm doing.

So, yeah.  Things are not always as they seem.

********

One of the things I've been fully challenged to learn and understand these last few years is the truth behind "we judge ourselves by our intentions and everyone else by their actions."  I remember back in the day at a women's retreat where I was one of the keynote speakers that I spoke about this very thing.  And, oohhhhh, in my zealous righteousness I laid it down!  I could cuff that version of myself in the ear now, when I think about it.  But my intention was true and noble and right (oh the irony of that)!

It's one of those fundamental truths of human nature, though:  we thrive on judging self by intent and everyone else by demonstrated act.  We assume all sorts of things - we create, with lightning speed! - stories in our heads that bring life and justification to our assumptions and deductions.  We generate drama where there is none.  We make asses of ourselves in the process.

One of the big ones nowadays is instant messaging, or BBMing, on smartphones.  We expect people to respond to us with immediacy.  We expect the people in our lives to be on-tap 24/7 at our beck and call.  We expect they will indulge at our preference and convenience.  It is unbelievable the sense of entitlement that has been created around a tool for communication!  A tool!  We treat instant messaging like it's an extension of the actual people we're seeking to communicate with.  It leaves me gobsmacked.  While smartphones are a handy-dandy convenience they are also a massive intrusion.

Back to intent and action.  Wanna test yourself on that one?  Instant message someone.  Analyse your expectations and response (both internal and external) when you don't get immediate reply.  You might discover you have a level of entitlement you weren't consciously aware of before. If that's the case, you might wanna step away from your smartphone, unplug from electronica and take a deep breath.  The phones aren't life, after all.  Only tools that mirror illusion.

********

And that's that.  Enough of my extrapolating and pontificating for today.

And life is.

Barbados Part III (28.11.12)

Estoy aprendiendo hablar de espanol.  Entiendo y hablo un poco ahora.  Es dificil a veces... pero me gusta!

Now I need to find a regular outlet to practice in realtime - where I have absolutely no doubt I will trip and tumble and look like a bumbling idiot when trying to have a conversation with a Spanish speaker.  I am prepared to look the fool, though!  How else does one learn but to play the fool, no?  All in the name and honour of language!

*********

A little more to record about the Barbados trip, for mine and my friends' posterity's sake.  Older we get, less memory we have, yo.

Our fourth day on the Island was a lazy one, which was good for me.  I think we all, too, had a boatload of sun the day before (pardon the pun) and all of us landed a good burn.  Susan and I in particular got very burnt - my back was fire-engine red.  [It stayed that way for four days... the night I got home I started to peel something fierce.]  So, a down day was actually welcome.

We ladies decided to head into Bridgetown to walk (or hobble, as was the case for me) around the city, take in the sites and sounds of the Capital. 

We worked up the courage to take one of the public vans.  We waited at the bus stop, saw a white van approaching and tentatively held out our arms in signal.  It came to a screeching halt beside us and a young man whipped open the side door of the van and rustled us into it.  The van was already full, but we managed to squeeze in and sit down... the two back rows had convenient drop-down seats.  We were barely sitting down and the driver wheeled away at breakneck speed.

Once I got over the shock of how fast we were herded in, I had a look around the van.  The interior was painted in an army fatigue pattern, but in bright neon green colours.  The driver had some serious hiphop-reggae fusion music BLARING over the speakers.  I remember the singer rapping on about having sex with beautiful women.  No lie.  A funky beat one can't help but bop to, with lyrics all about this man having his way with the women.  Our fellow passengers didn't seem to notice the music.  But I did.

We hurtled down the main road and into Bridgetown and next thing we knew, we were wheeling into a large parking lot that was full of the vans - we'd hit the main bus station, apparently.  Again, we were wrestled out of the van and left in front of a line of shanty shack vendors.

We soon figured out we were at our destination - downtown Bridgetown.

I will say this about Bridgetown:  it's not a pretty town - not by a long shot - but it's a most interesting one.  There are shops and vendors everywhere.  The people love love love to wear the colour red.  The place is colourful and has a palpable vivacity.  Folks are friendly.  There are "posh" sections and there are obvious slums.  Every corner you turn, there's something interesting to see.

We left the bus conglomeration area and headed towards the city core, or at least what we thought was going to be the city core.  It was a pleasant walk along an estuary.  There were people everywhere.  We stopped to look at some beautiful orange-yellow flowers and a Bajan girl stopped to explain that the flowers were called, "the Pride of Barbados."  It was the national flower.  We wandered on and found the Parliament buildings, and the St Marys Church.  We found sidestreets full of vendors hawking wares and produce.   I stopped into a bakery and bought something called a Rock Cake.  MMMMMMM.

Loads of "fashion" and electronics shops were around, some small rum shops mixed in and convenience stores everywhere.  The city is a cacophony of colour and noise and friendly people.  Every few hundred feet we had cabbies ask if we "needed a lift back to the boat?"  They all assumed we were on a day wander from the docked cruise ships.  I had to stop into the Main Post Office for a gander.  I was wearing open-toed shoes, so didn't ask if I could have a tour of the main mail processing plant.  I found out after I got back home that in all likelihood they would have taken me through the plant anyhow!!  Health & Safety standards are apparently not as strict in Barbados.

While Susan and I wandered around, we stumbled upon an art exhibition, showcasing the multi-media artwork of local Bajans - from age 5 to 95.  It was a wonderful treat to take in.  We saw things like a Spanish aripella tapestry (a quilt that tells one's life story) that had been created by descendents of slaves - very interesting, and moving.  There was an excavator made of cardboard and wire.  Incredible.  It was an adjudicated display, so we knew who the winners were in the different media fields.  Neat stuff.

From there we headed to the Wharf and the Marina Restaurant, where I had the best macaroni pie of the entire trip.  We also ordered an Electric Blue martini, which wasn't so good.  STRONG rum.  I think it was a splash of curacao and a glassful of rum.  Whew.

We had our meal and watched a Bajan paint the back bumper of his yacht.  From there, we headed back the way we came, intending to walk to the bus stop.  I was feeling my leg by now as I'd hobbled about for quite a while and when Whitmore T Gibbons presented himself to us, we decided to take the cab ride back.

We learned lots about what's good on a Friday night in Barbados.  We learned that the Bajans love their karaoke!  And, of course, the Friday Night Fish Fry in Oistins.  He regaled us with stories of the Fry - he made it sound like a great time.  We told him that we were indeed headed to Oistins for the Fry that night, and he seemed quite pleased with that.

Once we got back, we headed to the beach, where I had a long nap on the lounger, then a quick dip in the ocean before the evening's plans.  Once everyone was ready, we headed back out to the public transit stop and waited for the Oistins bus.  Didn't have to wait long - we were on our way in a matter of minutes.  Bajan buses on a Friday evening are VERY FULL buses.  We were jammed in!  And!  The bus drivers in Barbados are kamikazes!  No lie!  They drive like absolute maniacs.  There was more than one occasion that I almost ended up in the laps of startled Bajans!  LOL  It was great fun.

The Fry itself is something that has to be experienced first-hand.  There are fry stands lined up in long rows, about six rows deep, and every fry stand has fish on the grill, some have lobster tails, and ribs and chicken, too.  Some had lamb, also.  It was a BBQ lover's heaven!  All around the perimeter and inbetween the stands there were gobs of picnic tables set up for people to sit and eat.  We decided to wander in and about the stands first, see if we "felt" our particular stand and meal.  Along the way, we got distracted by the vendors selling their wares and it was at this point that Susan's Quest for A Turtle was launched. 

She checked out several stands, went back and forth, and finally decided on a turtle for her grand-daughter, Hannah.  Jon almost bought a Rasta hat.   Charlie refused to be lured by shiny things; there was far too much spillage on display that night to be distracted by baubles!  Ha.

We finally settled on our dining shack and had a seat.  Our server came along and gathered our orders.  We soon discovered that we were perched near the Dominoes Dens - about a dozen dominoes tables were set up and every single one of them had four Bajan men sitting around them playing the game, with great panache.  Every once in awhile, one of them would SLAM down their tile and then much animated discussion would commence.  Was fun to watch them.

Once we were done our meal, we wandered to the Centre court area, where we found some old Bajan men dancing to some reggae music.  It was quite amusing to watch.  Soon after, the crowd grew a little more and some young Bajans began to dance off an on, on the stage area.  Not long after the crowd swelled and we had an impromptu breakdance display by the young'uns, a full on boogie going on by the older ones, and the crowd dancing along with them all below the stage.  Music got so good we found ourselves boogeying where we stood.  One of the Bajans waved me up on stage to dance with him and I thought, "Why not?"  So I went.  Danced to Whitney Houston, had a blast.  He then waved Susan up and she cut a rug, too.  We had fun.

After our impromptu dance on stage, we stayed and watched awhile - it was loud, it was raucus, it was fun.  We then headed back to the hotel by cab, deciding to forego the kamikaze crammed-out bus ride.  We ended up having a great chat with our cabbie, Patrick - he shared much about the island and how the people are.  Interesting stuff.

We shut down our night early, at 11:30 p.m.  We had a 6:00 a.m. start - and a 6-mile hike - awaiting us next day...

 

26.11.12

I've got nothing today.  Feeling silent and introspective, looking at my proverbial self through the lens of reflection...

 

21.11.12

It wasn't the brightest idea to book a trip to the plant facility in Windsor today.

11 hours of travel out from the lower half of the globe, from another time zone, to home and then getting up the next morning and traveling to the southern end of Ontario and back really was a thoughtless bit of planning... nothing like spending 8 hours in a car to and fro first day back from an out-of-country vacation.

I like to keep things complicated, see.

I. am. tired. 

Content but tired.

****************

I have stories.  Some to tell; some to keep.

Soon be told; ever be kept.

20.11.12

Fare thee well, dear Island...

19.11.12

One final sunset on these Caribbean shores, for this visit.  For this visit.

I've fallen in love with this Island, truly.  I now understand why people keep coming back time and again...

14.11.12

Lazy, lovely day today, beachside.  Read, swam, napped.  Jon ended up on a mini adventure on his own... Went squid hunting with some locals.  For serious.

I have many pics already... But no computer to upload the pics.  Am on my handy dandy playbook which I just discovered takes pictures.  Imagine that.

So.  A pic of the spot where I had my very lazy day.  I love this place...

11.11.12

In Remembrance, ever.

07.11.12

Owl sees what you did there.  Just sayin'.