Two Months

Ben is two months old now. Time is just flying by; where did the summer go? I spent the first half of it waiting for a baby to be born, and the second half recovering from his birth.

In my spare time (hahahahahahahaha!) I like to look back at the pictures we've taken since Ben was born. The photos of his birth are my favourites. They bring me back to that day, so vivid and so surreal in my mind. The first few photos remind that, when he was pulled out, blue and silent, I thought to myself, "Make a sound. Please. Please, cry." And then he did, and it was the most beautiful sound ever.

From pictures in Recovery, I remember the moment when my mother and mother-in-law met him for the first time, when they both became grandmothers.

I look at the pictures of him in the Isolette, under UV lights to treat his jaundice. I remember that he cried in there, that he hated it, and I couldn't take him out because he needed the lights, so I stood up most of the night next to him and stroked him so he would, maybe, hopefully, know that I was there.

I look at pictures from his first week and marvel at how small he was; how squishy his face, how round was his head. In these photos I see onesies and outfits that he has outgrown - clothes that I remember washing and hanging on the line in preparation for his arrival earlier this spring. In these photos I see his first moments: his first bath, his first car ride, his first meetings with aunts and uncles and cousins and friends.

When babies are born, people spend so much time looking forward. "Things will be better when he sleeps through the night." "Things will be better when he's nursing." "I can't wait to see what colour his eyes will be." "I can't wait for his first Christmas."

I have spent so much time looking back and looking forward to things; what strikes me most when I look at the photos is to wonder: Did I look at that moment when it was happening? Did I take it all in? Did I enjoy every precious second, or was part of me wishing to be somewhere else? Sadly, it's in my nature to be thinking of several things at once. I certainly did enjoy my son's first bath, but I probably rushed through it so I could put him to bed and then get myself there too.

These days, little Bento is grinning on the change table, cooing and gurgling as we converse on the couch. His eyes are still blue. His hair hasn't fallen out. He's slept through the night on a couple of occasions, both of which made me terrified initially, elated later. I'm on my own with him most days now, a huge responsibility. He's forgiving of my errors, thankfully, and is happy to cuddle down for a nap in the afternoon. He loves to go for walks, and his Dad is teaching him his repertoire of 80s tunes. We're venturing out most days at least once, on a walk to Starbucks, or to the grocery store, or, still, to the breastfeeding clinic. We're starting a program called "Stroller Fit" this week - it will probably be worth blogging about.

There are hard times, of course. The whole "Breastfeeding Saga" still consumes my life, and it's two steps forward and 400 steps back every time we make a breakthrough. I want to quit every single day. I don't know why I haven't yet. Sheer stubbornness, perhaps. I'm looking forward to announcing to the world that Ben's nursing.

In the meantime, I'm looking forward to being present for every moment -- good or bad.

Yum Yum Yum

I was such a jerk before I had a baby. I was an even bigger one before I got pregnant.
This is a post in which I eat my words. Good thing they're tasty.

The Things I Used To Say:

• I'm only going to gain 10 pounds when I'm pregnant (try 35.)
• I'm going to work out every day when I'm pregnant (if napping is a workout, maybe.)
• I'm going to eat healthy (cheese) organic (cake) wholesome (chocolate) nutritious (croissant) foods when I'm pregnant.
  
• I am going to do my hair (ponytail) and wear high heels when I'm pregnant (hahahahahahaha!)
• I won't get stretch marks (wrong again!)
  
• I'm going to try to have my baby without any interventions (had a spinal and an emergency c-section.)
• I'm going to breastfeed (still in progress.)
• I'm going to work out every day as soon as the baby's born (hasn't happened yet.)
• I'm going to be back in my pre-pregnancy jeans very soon after baby's born (not. pretty.)
• This baby isn't going to rule my life (!)
• I will be able to put the baby down so I can get stuff done.
• I can do it without help.
• I can do it all.
• I know exactly what I'm getting into.

Om nom nom nom. I'm like the Cookie Monster over here, stuffing these tasty words down my gullet.

The Countdown Begins

We had a doctor's appointment yesterday, and the first thing she said to me was, "You're what, 22 days from your due date?" And I was all, "We're counting in days now, not weeks???" Then I got home and realized that the expiry date on my yogurt was AFTER my due date of July 14th. People, this is happening.

Things have certainly ramped up around here when it comes to baby preparations. I have awesome friends -- two baby showers and four loads of baby laundry later, I think we have pretty much everything we need for the timely or untimely arrival of our little boy. We have a car seat, a stroller, a bassinet, a crib. We have something in the neighbourhood of 75 baby washcloths. We have a freezer full of pre-made meals. We don't have a name. We don't have hospital bags packed. We don't have a birth plan. We don't have a list of people to call when the BIG MOMENT arrives. As you can see, the focus around these parts has mainly been on shopping and cooking, and not on important necessities. BG keeps claiming that there's a giant bird's nest in the corner (i.e. I'm nesting, haha.)

I have three, only three, days of work left before my maternity leave begins. I want to bake a cheesecake. I want to make red pepper jelly. I want to bake banana muffins. I want to crochet more hats. I want to watch seasons 1 and 2 of True Blood. Oh jeez, I have so much to do.

My days are broken into two portions: I wake up to go to work, and then when I come home I have a nap so I can make it through until bedtime (but first, I need a cold shower because I am always too warm.) I wake up in the night more than a couple of times because I am too warm, and because I need to pee, and because sometimes I have a leg cramp. I have become a walking pregnancy cliche.

Only two weeks ago I was an active, participating member of society. Three weeks ago I single-handedly hauled 6 yards of mulch into our back yard and spread it in the garden. Today, I was short of breath standing in line at the grocery store. What will I be doing in a week? Two weeks? Three? Will I be holding my baby?

Reality Sinks In

Our cats are no longer interested in sitting in my lap -- perhaps because said lap is considerably smaller than it used to be.

I get offered seats on the subway pretty much all the time now. Yesterday a man bolted out of his chair and apologized profusely for not having offered it sooner. I guess I looked like I needed it!

My ankles are frequently so puffy that poking them with my fingers leaves them dented. I gave up wearing my precious wedding set months ago and invested in a ridiculously blingy thing as a surrogate. I've traded in my trademark stilettos and my hips no longer sway side to side when I walk. My flat-footed gait has developed what I refuse to call a "waddle", but is distinctly penguin-like in nature... and I should know. I've nearly grown out of maternity pants that I once held up in disbelief, wondering how I'd ever fill them out.

My belly has taken on a life of its own. It moves of its own accord, rippling and throbbing to its own rhythms. Sometimes it leans to one side. My belly button is indescribable; actually, it's not. It's just not really there anymore.

I've got eleven-ish weeks left of this pregnancy and I'm loving it. The things I describe above aren't making me miserable; the make me laugh and shake my head in disbelief. It's as though this is not happening to me. This is not my body. I am completely and thoroughly not in control of this ride, and I am enjoying every minute of it. These days, women don't get to be pregnant more than a few times throughout their lives. We're on a two-kid family plan, so I might just get to experience all of this one more time. The first time is the most magical, so I'm keeping that in mind and I'm savouring every wiggle and jiggle; I'm smiling at my aching back because I know it's for a good end.

Life is good.

Ethical Travel

Travel, like everyday life, is full of decisions that must be made: where to eat, where to sleep, which bus to take. Along with these relatively easy decisions come the ones that can affect other people, whether locals or fellow travelers. For better or for worse, making the right choices can make a world of difference and can also make a difference in this world.

For starters, the easiest ethical travel choice to make is the one to avoid the sex trade. Prostitution may be the world's oldest profession, but it's also one of the most prevalent. I don't think I need to go into much detail about why it's horrible or why you should just not use, promote, or purchase the services of a prostitute anywhere -- whether at home or away, or in a back alley somewhere or in a glitzy casino. Don't be that creepy guy. As an obvious addendum, especially do not, not, NOT hire the services of a minor, as this act would move you well past the category of creepy guy and into the category of putrid and vehemently repulsive.

Child prostitution is not the only form of abuse that exists, unfortunately. Children all over the world are exploited in many ways. The Oscar-winning movie Slumdog Millionaire illustrates this point vividly in one scene where an orphaned child, a beggar by trade, has his eyes put out with hot acid -- because blind beggars make more money. His "pimp", his owner, chooses to have this done. As much as we'd all like to believe that this scene is an exaggeration, I have to tell you that it is, unfortunately, not. Child beggars are especially appealing to tourists because they're adorable. Their innocence touches that soft spot within us all, and you may find yourself giving over handfuls of change to fill their bowls. After all, it's mere pennies to you, right? It might be, but the pennies collected by hundreds of children are funneled into the pockets of their owner, and the kids are left with nothing. They don't go to school, they don't get jobs, they don't get fed. After all, skinny kids make more money.

Travelers with big hearts often fill their backpacks and suitcases with sweets, toys, and pencils when they travel to less-developed countries, in the hopes of befriending a little person or offering a token in exchange for a photo opportunity. In every town you'll find a budding photographer, shiny new DSLR around the neck, searching for that perfect shot -- the one of the beautiful naive face with the soulful eyes that say so much. Once the photo has been taken, a pocketful of sweets is distributed to the subject and any others in the vicinity.

The problem with the candy bribes is twofold. First, giving sugary candies to children that have often never even seen a toothbrush (or dentist) will lead to cavities, pulled teeth, and years of pain. It hardly seems worth it. We thought about getting around this by giving out sugarless candies. A fellow traveler told us, proudly, that instead of giving just candy, he gave out vitamins that looked like Gummy Bears. Oh, he was so smart. We solved the first problem but not the second -- the one with far more serious consequences.

Children in popular travel destinations quickly learn that tourists = treats. After the first few generous backpackers come through with lollipops and peppermints, the next bus load will find themselves stalked like the Pied Piper, with dozens of children trailing behind. Their hands will be outstretched. In many places, even the youngest of children could say the words, "Chocolate" or "Sweets" in English when they didn't know how to say anything else. These well-meaning travelers have created a generation of beggars who depend on tourists for hand-outs. They learn that it's an acceptable and easy way to make a living. They begin to ask for not just candy, but also other food, for money, for clothes. They ask and ask and ask. I remember vividly once being asked for a drink by a young man while we changed a flat tire in Namibia. He seemed to have been walking awhile, so I gave a Coke. Immediately he put his hand out and asked for a chocolate bar, barely giving his drink a glance. It was frustrating and disappointing, and it left me feeling guilty for having given him anything at all, and even guiltier that I didn't want to give him anything else, all because he asked.

Travelers to developing countries will understand when others speak of being treated like a "walking ATM". They complain, bitterly, that they are being taken advantage of in markets and shops; that they are being asked for handouts; that they are seen as rich tourists with loads of extra money to give away. First, you are being taken advantage of, and the precise reason is that you are a rich tourist with loads of extra money to give away. The fact that you are on a vacation means that you have more disposable income than most people in the world. You have a job that pays you to take time off? You have enough savings to spend some of it on travel for fun? You can afford to fly in an airplane? Dollar signs everywhere, my friend. So bargain for that souvenir in the market, but be fair. Don't try to screw the guy, for god's sakes. It's a game, to be sure, but it's not a fight to the death. On the other hand, don't pay the first price you're quoted (except in Laos. They won't try to screw you in Laos... yet.) It IS a game, and paying the exorbitantly inflated price you're given makes it harder for the next group of travelers wandering through.

How, then, do you find that balance of saving your pocketbook and sharing what you've got? Spend within your means, but shop locally. Eat at the street-food cart and not at McDonald's. Buy your bottled water from the mom and pop shop, not the 7-11. Make friends with kids; share experiences with them, not sweets. Give when your heart tells you to, by all means. Just be aware of what you're doing; usually an act of kindness is simply that. Unfortunately, sometimes an innocent gesture can be twisted into something darker.

I've Got the Ho-Hum Doldrums

It's a beautiful spring day in Toronto. It was bright and sunny and warm, all of those good things. We have survived our first Canadian winter in a couple of years -- it seemed ages long, and yet we only arrived when it was already half over. Long weekends are soon upon us, and we're starting to make plans for weekend getaways over the summer. This is a season of optimism and hope. We should be cheered by the longer days. We should be making the most of them, going out for walks after dinner when it's still bright outside. It's only a matter of days until we start seeing people on patios, and soon I'll be able to wear sandals (but not for long! Work mandates closed toes only.)

People keep asking me: "Does it feel like you never left?" What do I say? Yes, in some ways -- I have slid back into my old life, my old ways, very easily. Nepal and New Zealand are like a distant dream now, an experience I hardly remember. I remember that I felt something when the Himalayas opened up before me, sitting in the back of a tiny hatchback surrounded by goats. I remember that same feeling when we turned the corner and started to walk down the Hooker Track. In both cases it was more than an experience; I can't even say that I was struck by it. I was flat-out walloped by it. I was floored. It was like overload -- the sparkling sunlight, the waving grasses, the dewy mornings. The mountains stretched out so high and yet so wide that I could only take it all in one scene at a time. I wanted to stand still and stare forever, and yet I couldn't help moving forward because I just had to see what was next. And now? I power through my morning routine, sit on the subway. Coffee and breakfast at work. Break. Lunch. Work. Home. Power through dinner, power through my workout. Chores. Litterbox. Shower. Bed. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Life is no longer about experiencing; it's about survival. We're trying to relax more, to keep that chilled-out attitude that we got so GOOD at while we were gone. However, thinking about how we were while we were gone reminds us that we're not gone. We're here. We're home.

What I wouldn't give to be on an airplane right now.

Musing

Every so often the thought, "what was I doing this time a year ago?" pops into my head. It's usually pretty amusing to compare it to what I'm doing right now.

Take today, for instance. A year ago today, give or take, I was in Laos. Maybe we were kayaking on the Mekong River; maybe we were riding through the winding countryside on a rickety bus while our fellow passengers vomited into plastic bags all around us. We were most likely dodging livestock. There was probably a bunch of turnips under my seat.

Today I went grocery shopping and dodged shopping carts, because it's the last Thursday of the month... and that means it's SENIOR'S DAY! Everywhere! The grocery store, the drug store, the bulk food store -- sweet, soft-spoken, deaf little people all over the place, bumping into me and counting their pennies out at the cash.

At least there were still turnips!

This is a Really Bad Metaphor

I am a mess of emotions right now -- a fondue pot of gooey, cheesy joy bubbling excitedly, steeped in booze. Hm, that doesn't sound as good as I thought it would.

It just hit me that we are going home in less than a week. My head has known this for a long time, but my heart just understood it today, a few seconds ago, while I was shelling pistachios. I'm excited to go home -- to hug my mom and sisters, to see my friends, to go back to the lives we put on hold and figure out a way to make it work a little better for us. We're entering an experimental phase, one where we'll finally get to see if we did learn anything, if anything has changed. Our reactions to the environment we are in will be the gauge over the next while, especially since the first few months are bound to be a little hectic.



After much reflection, discussion, and analysis (Excel may or may not have been used) we have decided to return to Toronto. It's true that other cities were definitely on the list of nominees, but in the end, Toronto is home. We're working on the jobs, and we're beginning to look at cars and places to live. In a lot of ways, it looks like we're returning to our lives very much The Way They Were; in our opinion, the outer shell of life may look identical, but the inner workings will change fundamentally. We hope to be able to dig in our heels and not get caught up in the tornado that is city life so that we can spend less time fretting about the things that don't matter and spend more time doing the things that do. We hope to live less selfishly, to take less and to use less. We hope to give more instead, as we've learned how that endless cliche about giving and receiving is actually really true.

Expect to see us outdoors more and at the office less. Expect to see us smiling more, arguing less. Quality over quantity, meaningfulness over convenience. Culture and learning over television, family and friends over mindless surfing. We'll take courses; we'll volunteer. We'll join clubs, read books, babysit; BG may possibly explore the world of yoga. We'll do more things together too -- after all, 15 months of nearly continuous companionship means we'll likely feel kind of lost without each other, at least for a little while.

In the meantime, we have five days left in Switzerland, and there's chocolate to be eaten. See you soon.

This is the Kind of Thing I Hate

It's Friday morning. We're at an internet cafe in Port Louis, and my space bar doesn't work. The techno music is really loud. Also, this morning we drove Catherine to the airport and said good-bye; she's spending the next six months volunteering in northern Limpopo province, South Africa -- near the border of Zimbabwe. She's a spunky one!

Jeez, I thought saying good-bye once was hard enough. Saying it again was harder. We're somehow already at the end of our time in Mauritius -- I remember when we extended our time here and it seemed like it would never end. Suddenly, the end is upon us, and we've spent the last two days saying goodbye to people. Later today we'll board our flight and head for Switzerland, where we'll be greeted by mountains, snow, chocolate, cheese, and really nice practical underwear which lasts forever -- at least, that's what my husband would have me believe.

If only saying hello wasn't always eventually followed by saying good-bye, traveling would be perfect.

Slow Blogs + Love and Chopsticks = TLA

I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy right now, and it's all thanks to Monna at Slow Blogs. Up until a few days ago, I was pretty sure that the only people reading Love and Chopsticks faithfully were the same people that would have come to one of my childhood piano recitals or synchronized swimming competitions (Oh, the shame!) -- family and close friends. I was obviously thrilled when Monna contacted me to let me know she was enjoying "our blog" -- and I was even more excited when she told me she was featuring us on Slow Blogs as a story worth reading.

I'm sending the love back to Monna and am leading you, our faithful readers, to her story at Teacher Meets World. That's right, she has two blogs. I know, crazy. How will you ever keep up? Anyway, she takes the whole travel lifestyle to another level, as she and her boyfriend DP left their home in Ottawa, Canada ten years ago and have been living abroad ever since! Traveling is one thing, but working and living in a different culture is something else entirely, and I bow down to their sense of adventure and bravery.



Thanks, Monna, for making my day.

You Know You're in Africa When

• The taxi runs out of fuel two blocks from your final destination, and it's not a big deal. (At least it wasn't the highway.)
  
• The menu lists ostrich filet, springbok, and kudu steaks with chips.
• The band plays 'Stand by Me', accompanied, fabulously, only by tribal drums.
• It takes two months to receive confirmation of a hotel booking, and you're kind of okay with that.
• Food described as spicy is actually slightly too spicy.
• Planning a trip requires asking questions like, 'Is the ferry for the river border crossing actually big enough for a car?'
• The country you're visiting has eleven official languages.
  
• And the taxi driver can speak six of them.
• People finally know what I'm talking about when I mention Mauritius.
• The mosquitoes are positively nuclear. (Not nucular.)
• People talk about driving over 340m high sand dunes without flinching.
• Campers gripe about the pea-sized sand fleas, adders, and scorpions like we talk about black flies. It's the crocodiles and hippos you have to really worry about!
  
• Everything can be braiied (barbequed.) Everything.
• People own SUVs not for status, but for survival. Land Rovers aren't pretentious, they're practical!
• Chocolate bars have the consistency of candles.
• You're a 12-hour flight from Europe, but in the same time zone as Germany.
• Local wine is divine, and the fruit juice is magical.
• You can wake up and look out to the ocean, and then look the other way to Table Mountain.
• People eat corn porridge for breakfast.
• Tofu is exotic.
• All of the east-flowing rivers in the continent are infested with little tiny snails that become parasitic worms that burrow into your skin and invade your bloodstream. Don't swim in them.
• The people are beautiful, the beaches are to die for, and the air vibrates with exotic culture and energy.
• History is horrific but there's always hope.
  

This is Africa II

Never before have I seen anything like this.

In Fish River Canyon, we stood awestruck at the enormousness of it all, and marvelled at the emptiness. The Grand Canyon might be bigger, but it certainly can’t beat being one of the only four people having breakfast at the viewpoint of Fish River Canyon in southern Namibia.



In Sossusvlei, we watched the sand dunes, red and orange in the blistering heat of midday, change to brown at sunset and again to gold at sunrise. The undulated ridges and waving surface contrasted with the sky, which was purple and pink at one side of the horizon, and orange and red at the other.



In Namib-Naukluft Park, the plains stretched out to the far, far mountains. We were utterly alone except for the zebras, warthogs, and ground squirrels whose home we invaded for the night.

In Walvis Bay and Swakopmund, the sand dunes touch the raging ocean, and the salty mists shroud both sleepy towns in a chilly blanket. North of here, on the Skeleton Coast, rusting shipwrecks rest in their salty, shifting graves before being swallowed by the sea.



Nomadic tribespeople walk through city parks. Baobabs and quiver trees stretch from desert sand to blue sky. A million stars twinkle against inky blackness.

I can't wait to see what else Africa has in store for us.

Thoughts on Poultry

Chickens are weird.

All over the world, chickens and their unhatched babies are a major food source for the human population. In Nepal, our trekking guide asked us what chickens in Canada looked like, and I had to admit that I had no idea. He told me that mountain chickens were tastier than city chickens -- a reasonable thing to say, it seemed. I told him we get our chicken from the grocery store, slaughtered, plucked, skinned, boned, and sealed up in neat little styrofoam packages.

In Hong Kong, I was dared to eat a chicken testicle -- which I did -- but I balked at the feet. I decided the next day to be a vegetarian.

I haven't seen a white egg since we left Canada. All over the world, in all of these countries, eggs are brown. Martha Stewart tells me it's because the chickens' ears are brown. In Cambodia we even saw blue eggs, but they were sitting beside deep-fried hairy tarantulas, so I didn't trust them.

All over the world, New Zealand and Australia included, they don't refrigerate their eggs in the store.

Sometimes, when I crack an egg, I get a spot of blood, or even twinned yolks -- two things that never seem to happen at home. The factory farming of chickens at home precludes this sort of organic reality, it seems.

Back when we climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro in 2006, eggs were a major staple for us because they didn't need refrigeration (see above.) On the way to the trail head, our assistant guide sat in the middle front seat of an old Land Rover with a grocery bag full of eggs in his lap. They were not in a carton. Every time the car went in to the ditch (which happened twice) or a bump (which was all the time) he lifted the bag of eggs off of his lap and held it suspended in midair, so none of them would break.

In Japan, a fried cutlet of chicken and a fried egg on rice are called, "Mother and Child".

A Funny Anniversary.

One year ago today, I found myself at Lester Pearson International Airport in Toronto, the departures lounge, Terminal 3. I was beyond exhausted and petrified. The check-in to the flight to Kathmandu via Delhi went smoothly. We visited Starbucks for our last refreshment stop on Canadian soil, and tried to use up our last few Canadian coins.

Strangely detached, I watched BG say goodbye to his baby sister. They clung together, tried to draw apart, and found that they could not make the break. I found myself dragging him through security -- I who had always said that it would be me that would be unable to take the first step. Catherine turned into her mother's arms for consolation, we saw, as we turned our backs to them and all that we knew.

When we emerged from the safety of the airplane bubble, we found ourselves in the dusty chaos of Kathmandu, and everything changed for us all at once. The cares of our old lives floated away as we cut the strings from the responsibilities we had. We missed our friends and families, met new people, and gradually learned that the two of us were an entity: a two-party system on a single journey. Our cares were now of day-to-day existence and of the possessions on our backs, though we soon found those excessive as well. Gradually we established routines and habits within the ever-changing path we had set ourselves on. Sometimes we couldn't wait to see what the world had in store for us. Sometimes we gobbled it up, hungrily, appreciating and seeing everything all at once. Sometimes we saw nothing and plodded through, our minds full, our bodies exhausted. Sometimes we did nothing and spent hours in a vacuum, despairing of all we had left behind and the idiocy of what we had done.

It hasn't been easy or smooth for us. We thought we knew each other, and we certainly thought we knew ourselves; I can say now that we didn't, and probably still don't, but we know more than we did. People are not static entities. Even today's self is different from yesterday's self. At the same time, there are some parts of a person that don't change and never will. The great Nelson Mandela has said that the hardest thing to do is not change society, but to change ones self. We left home believing that things about ourselves, about each other, and about our relationship would change, and we despaired when these seemingly heinous traits seemed to not only remain, but grow stronger. Learning to accept what we are and who we are has been the hardest challenge.

When I reflect on what we have done I can only marvel at our accomplishments. We have seen much, and we have done much. Not only have we seen the things we set out to see, we have also been challenged, overcome fears, and have learned -- new things, new skills, and things that we knew all along, but ignored.

Today I am very proud of what we have done together, what we have shared so far. We still have three months of traveling and working together through this journey, but today I am happy to give BG back to Catherine, his rock and his closest ally, as she steps off the edge and joins us in Africa.



Happy Anniversary to us.

What's Happening To Me???

Today I found myself making reference to the 'rubbish bin'. Then I paused and actually had to think really, really hard about what I used to call the bin -- the garbage can.

Oh my goodness, I've gone International English. What's next, petrol and car boots and going to the cinema to watch a film after going to the shops? Am I wearing pants underneath my trousers, or did I forget my underwear which I wear under my pants? Did BG crash the rental car or the hire car? Do I have a mobile or a cell phone? Is it dinner at six thirty, or supper at half six? Did I just eat a whole bar of chocolate, or was it a slab? (Let me tell you, the slab of chocolate sounds way worse.) Did my strawberries come in a container or a punnet? Do I have to do the laundry or the washing? There's nothing on TV, or is it the telly?

This reminds me of the time I bought a can of 'tomato sauce' in Australia, and it turned out to be ketchup. First of all, who puts ketchup in a can? Second, ketchup is ketchup and tomato sauce is for pasta or pizza.

Also, it's raining. Again.

This is a First

I have not felt a desire for sushi at all since arriving here two weeks ago.

I wonder why.

A Travelers Companion to Australia

While Australia is an easy country to travel and remarkably similar to home, what with its English signage and familiar foods, there are still enough differences to leave even the most itinerant traveler slightly befuddled – I think it has to do with Oz being upside down.

1. You already know this, Canadians, thanks to the 2000 Sydney Olympics and our team uniforms, but the word “Roots” has very bad connotations here. Don’t wear your Roots T-shirt in Oz. Especially don’t wear sweatpants with “ROOTS” printed across the butt, as hilarity at your expense will ensue.

2. Ladies: Aussies will call you “Darling” and “Love”. Embrace it, especially when the words are uttered by an adorably tanned male barista with adorable eye crinkles, dark curly hair and a sexy smile.

3. Food translations: Chockie = chocolate bar. Sambo/sanger = Sandwich. Pie = pie of meat, not pie of sweet. Be forewarned!

4. Nobody here drinks Fosters beer, which means that Aussies remain utterly unimpressed and un-charmed by our surname.

5. There really are kangaroos, koalas, wombats, cassowaries, and crocodiles running wild here, to say nothing of the snakes and spiders. Eeeeek! Thankfully, we haven’t had our lives threatened by anything creepy and/or crawly… yet.

6. The sun’s UV rays are approximately a hundred million billion (give or take two or three) times stronger here than they are in your northern hemisphere home, so you’ll burn to a crisp in about three milliseconds. Wear sunscreen, and then add some more. And then wear a hat.

7. Food, gas (petrol, sorry), clothes, and mascara (!) are more expensive here than at home too.

8. Aussie men like their shorts short, which can be good, but can also be very bad. Aussie ladies like their shorts even shorter than the short shorts that their male counterparts wear.

9. There are male toilets, female toilets, and disabled toilets here in Australia. Those poor disabled toilets; I wonder what happened to them.

10. Australians are possibly the friendliest people in the world, so don’t be in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything once involved in a conversation with one. If traveling, Australians will want to know where in Australia you’ve been, where you’re going, and how you’ve gotten on so far. They will then ply you with advice about your future destinations. Here’s a hint: take the advice, as they’re always truthful, sometimes painfully so.

In the end, my most important point about traveling Australia is this: COME TO AUSTRALIA!!!!!

p.s. Just for Dawn: Doona = Duvet.

The Best Things About New Zealand

In no particular order...

• No pennies. All prices are rounded up or down to the nearest tenth of a dollar, so the smallest coin you'll ever have in your pocket is a ten-cent piece. Fact: this is awesome.
• All-Blacks. New Zealand's national rugby team is made up of broad-chested, sinewy men in tight shirts and short-shorts, which makes watching rugby a thoroughly absorbing experience. I'm just sayin'.
• Feijoas. They may smell like bathroom deodorizer (or maybe bathroom deodorizer smells like feijoas), but they taste yummy and I like typing f-e-i-j-o-a-s.
• The Kiwi way of saying that something is "Cruisy". I'm not exactly sure what it means, but I think it's good.
• Very clean and very abundant public toilets.
• The fact that, as Canadians, we qualify for free health care in New Zealand in the event of an accident or trauma (the trauma = bad, but the free care = good.)
• Seeing people walking barefoot in the streets and grocery store. Maybe that's more weird than good.
• White-chocolate coated vanilla ice cream bars (BG's input for the day.)
• The fact that one can, if desired, buy possum-fur nipple warmers. Or belly button warmers. Or "willy warmers." Any takers?

Thank you thank you thank you thank you

When on a trip like this, it's difficult to make friends. Every couple of days you leave a place and you leave behind all of the people you met there, often never to cross paths again. I'm beginning to get tired of the conversation we've been having the past nine months... Where are you from? How long are you traveling for? How do you like this place? Yeah, the volunteering was great, we loved it. Thailand was nice. I would go back there again. We're going to Australia next, then South Africa. I know, penguins, weird, but it sounds pretty cool. We'll be home for Christmas. Yes, we do get homesick. Which part of America are we from? The Canadian part.

Anyway, a person you've known for a week becomes an old friend. We have, to be fair, met a number of really great people, some that we've met up with again through our travels, some that have let us crash in their homes on a patch of floor, and some that we plan to travel with in a 4x4 vehicle through the deserts of Africa.

Even better than old friends are family. In the absence of true blood family, then family-of-friends is just fantastic. Here in New Zealand we have been truly lucky to be introduced to certain family members of a certain friend from home, and we have been truly spoiled by these certain family members. We were not only introduced to these wonderful people, but invited into their homes and treated like -- family.

So, a million thanks to the family of this friend (you know who you are!) for making our time in New Zealand a heartwarming and memorable experience. I'm certain that our moms thank you too, for keeping us warm and comfortable in your homes. I hope that we'll see you again soon, perhaps when you decide to come to Canada!

Strange and Beautiful Are the Stars Tonight

Sometimes it takes a song written by a Canadian band to highlight New Zealand's special features.

Strange: Sauntering into the communal kitchen at the campground in Westport to find two men butchering a wild hog they had just shot. Even stranger, they mistook my shocked and horrified deer-in-headlights staring for acute interest, and gave me a big piece of said pig. Me, the recently-turned-for-a-reason vegetarian. Stranger still, watching these men wipe the blood off the kitchen floor with the communal tea towels. (Yet another reason to bring your own.)

Beautiful: Waking up to a frosty morning, snuggled in a warm bed, watching the icy frost turn into a champagne dew as the sun hits the grassy hills, orchards and vineyards of the Nelson area.

Strange: Hissing, steaming thermal vents and bubbling, boiling mud pits in Rotorura. The constant stench of sulphur makes me wonder why anybody would choose to live here, though the abundance of thermal soaking pools does help.

Beautiful: Cruising through the Sound on the ferry from Picton in the South Island to Wellington in the North Island (according to BG, since I didn't look through the window even once -- thanks a lot, motion sickness!)

Strange: Cows drool a lot, a fact which is even more apparent when within 3 feet of their faces. Also, they should carry handkerchiefs for their constantly runny noses.

Beautiful: Crystal-clear lakes surrounded by towering snow-capped mountains in Wanaka, Queenstown, and... all over.

Strange: Zorbing (rolling down a grassy hill strapped into a human-sized plastic hamster ball.) p.s. We didn't do this.

Beautiful: The rugged West Coast highway which follows closely along the crashing ocean path... too bad about the sandflies.

Strange: Being given Elf ears to wear in geeked-out Lord of the Rings photo-ops.

Beautiful: Standing in the same place where Frodo (Elijah Wood) shrieked, "Get off the road!"

Strange, strange, strange: Everything is backwards: driving on the left, maneuvering roundabouts, walking on the left, hot and cold taps reversed, stove controls, the constellations, and how the heck do you order a coffee when the options are long black, short black, and flat white?

Less than a week left in New Zealand and we are so in denial about moving on. We've got this car camping thing down to an almost-exact science, though I still can't read a map to save my life. Next stop: Australia!