I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack

"And do you have a driving license?" the policeman asked my passenger Robyn when I failed to produce mine at a routine roadside checkpoint.  Robyn's was also back at our holiday flat facing the sea.  Facing a stiff 1000 rand fine (or likely lesser bribe) Robyn offered to stay with the policeman while I drove the four blocks back for mine.  We revealed we were going a mere half block up the hill, and, satisfied with the destination, he simply waved us on with a parting, "you should always carry your driving license."  Shaking our heads in disbelief at our good fortune, we simply did, what as travelers we're so accustomed to do, and carried on.

On the other side of another winter away and uncharacteristically looking forward to temporarily resettling in British Columbia's north, these past three months have not clichely "flown by."  There's been sufficient variety in scenery, animals, people, food and culture that's it's a great mystery to me it was ONLY three months.  

From an English wedding in an impossibly gorgeous (and likely haunted) hotel in the countryside to a home-cooked tajine in Morocco's High Atlas Mountains to Zanzibar's perfect beaches to participating in a Malawian dance night to kayaking alongside seals by day and is-this-real? stargazing in Namibia to OMG scuba diving in Sodwana to exploring what's likely Africa's most beautiful city, Cape Town, it has undeniably been an action-packed trip.  

So much so, apparently, that I've neglected posting.  My schedule has been chockers with fun and little sitting-in-an-air-conditioned-internet-cafe downtime to properly process and share interactions, musing, observations and photos. 

In summary, then:

South Africa is a beautiful, puzzling nation where I felt mostly safe.  While the country has made spectacular post-apartheid progress, it is far from finished.  

Namibia, wow.  I hadn't even heard of this safe, English-speaking (mostly), stunning country until I was looking into visiting Africa.  Loaded with watering holes with Africa's enchanting wildlife, outstanding concerts with their own Elemotho, climbing sand dunes for sunrise, a canyon rivaling it's Grand cousin, I struggle to find a day there that wasn't 10/10.  

Eastern Africa: For ease, convenience and safety it's best explored on an organized tour unless you have some handle of the local language(s).  

On sequels

I had mixed emotions of returning to SE Asia and later Bimini’s Sharklab this past winter.  Eight months since I left from Singapore via Manila and I was back in Singapore on my way to Bali.  Like Manila, you aim to leave Bali as soon as possible.  If the bedbugs in Sanur don’t get you, the lying-to-you-face-and-smiling-about-it locals will.  Spectacular diving made up for the Philippines and Indonesia’s lackluster food – compared to Vietnam and Malaysia’s street eats – while men throughout the region with the same leery lineage had me second guessing.

Returning to two areas I’d previously enjoyed, I was reminded of Heraclitus of Ephesus that you can never step into the same river.  Amid my transient lifestyle with supporting tattered, water stained passport and scattering of friends, family and lovers around the globe I was surprised that I’d purposefully chosen to visit the same place twice.  

Feeling SE Asia’s pull through the previous summer coupled with the dissatisfaction I’d neglected significant pieces and places and feeling a homesickness for a place that wasn’t my home, I observed a rare place fidelity.  The diving kept me entertained as I climbed into Robyn’s wetsuit and followed her fin kicks all over Indonesia, the food in Thailand, Malaysia and Vietnam made my tummy smile but I didn’t clichély “return for the people.”  

Quite the opposite.  There were plenty of people who legitimately could have held me in Canada.  A budding relationship with an are-you-real? man; a returning-from-where-I-wanted-to-go cousin; a previously incarcerated brother desperate to fall into a support net; girlfriends getting engaged, having second children, looking to sell their first home; a mother who, like me, cries at each parting.  

Lonely Planet co-founder Tony Wheeler’s “all you've got to do is decide to go and the hardest part is over” bounce through my head as I contemplate where I don’t know I’m going against what, where and who I’ve (temporarily) left behind.  

Attempts to adequately stay in touch are in place but exchanged emails and unreliable postcards home cannot rival the former ease of daily life.  Even if I chose to dive into the time consuming and frustrating Skype, all would continue to be a tease of the former intimacy enjoyed amongst friends and family.
 

Friend and fellow wanderer, Steph, celebrates the advancements in communication currency.  I, too, am pleased that I can chat online and mobile phones (that are financing a civil war in the Democratic Republic of Congo) are more widespread than passable roads but I grieve the loss of travelers congregating in the common room with nothing to do until someone produces a pack of cards or, more likely, a box of wine.  

The wanderlust incest is still alive and evident as I bumped into a lifeguard from Bonnie Doon pool on Koh Pha Ngan the next bungalow over.  “Small world!” we exclaimed.  Boarding plane four of five to the other side of the world months later I’m reminded that the world, is in fact, still a very large place.  

Fifty-four hours from Bali to Calgary – the majority of those legs likely plagued by at least one colicky baby in the cabin.  WestJet’s timely April Fool’s joke of announcing child-free cabins was an outward expression of not only my mile-high and, if online forums are to be believed, many other travelers’ grievances.  My compliments to a girlfriend who drugs her children for air travel.  

While 15 hours of plane travel amounts to a considerable distance, the same cannot be said of non-air travel.  In the same hours required to cross the Pacific, Robyn and I traveled from Sabang, Mindoro to Sugar Beach on Negros and were still in the same country!  We took multiple boats, an airplane, a jeepney, a tricycle and numerous there’s-space-in-the-aisle buses.  

While I’ll likely be back in SE Asia – possibly as soon as this winter – I can’t prematurely predict the same for the Sharklab.  While the cast had changed from my previous stint in 2010, the spectacle had remained the same.  Collectively lured to Bimini by the possibility of a spectacle, the tears on the porch as I bid the stayers-ons farewell, were for the cast that had enriched my life.  I had arrived with the expectation of extraordinary experiences, and more than fulfilled, hummed Colin James’s “Just Came Back to say Goodbye” as I was driven to the airport to begin taking the long way home – where ever that is...

Back Bimini side

I live in a house that uses conch shells as door stops; a self-sufficient and conservation-minded house where our living quarters resemble a generous boat; a house whose back beach, a quick 50 meter stroll from the oft cluttered washing line adjacent to the house, serves as a liquor cabinet, ghost crab catching grounds and a launching pad to several shark-filled pens; a house with a dock where cleaning my teeth in the morning it's not unusual for a turtle to pop up for air. 

After a two year hiatus, I have returned to volunteer at the Bimini Biological Field Station aka Sharklab on Bimini, Bahamas. 

Even with the first half week filled with classes ranging from knot tying to marine radio to boat driving to shark handeling, we managed a half day snorkeling at the Sapona and a shark dive and feed off Triangle Rocks.  More than a dozen reef and black nose sharks popped over for an easy snack as fellow volunteers squeeled with delight through their snorkels. 

 North Bimini

 Morning prize for jetlag

Ahh, Bimini sunrise

On board

Spewingly delivered to Ko Tao on a bucking catamaran, I started my rescue diver course that same day.  A tough three days mastering in water and boat rescues, managing whatever emergencies Lance and Paul dreamed up, babysitting them underwater as they dekitted, turned their masks upside down, over inflated their BCDs, swam with their fins on their hands and climbed on each other while turning off tanks. 

Thoroughtly exhausted but keen to resume fun diving again, I landed in Khao Lak and boarded a three-day liveaboard the following evening headed for the Surins and famed Richelieu Rock.  A chockers dive deck, an IDC course running concurrently and staff who out of the water were more interested in themselves and flirting with each other than their paying customers made for an average boat experience.  My dive buddy - singular - the other customers and the stunning diving made up for the lackluster staff.

Along with two jaw-dropping tanks on Richelieu, night diving in biolumiscent plankton were highlights.  Putting my torch against my wetsuit after ensuring I wouldn't crash into corals, urchins, divers, I flailed about underwater like a panicked diver as the sea sparkled and cometed around me.

A rest, ketchup day in Khao Lak with some beach buds before a downpour escorted us the 30 minute walk home.  Onto Phuket tomorrow to catch a plane to Chiang Mai. 

A wee reward for a 7 am boat 

Throwing assist

 Rescue breathing on Lance

Carrying Paul up the ladder - and it's a tall boat

 Ko Tao from the sea

 En route to a dive site in the Surins

 I'm on a boat!

 Gemma and I during a surface interval

 Setting sun in the Surins

 Gemma, Roger and I back on solid ground

Dear Burma, gimme back my mates

I should have thought through my decision to sit in the front row of an Indonesian fire show a little further.  While I wan't on the receiving end of an on-fire/smoldering coconut husk, my neighbours weren't so lucky.  No obvious injurues or hospital visits required, just a stunned lass. 

Known for its theatre/music performances, I finally attended one on my last night in Ubud, Indonesia after my cocktail swilling flashpacker friends had moved on before I too was Thailand and real friends bound. 

Their pear-shaped visa run put a wee kink in my excited plans to see familiar Canadian faces.  After I hadn't heard from my friends 18 hours after they were due to return from Burma, I resigned that they must be in a bin.  In Burma. 

Rather, they'd moved on to Ko Phi Phi with nary a phone call or email until they were settled on that debacherous island.  I met Linda, a witty, chatty and interesting Brit.  After a quick meal, we stumbled into a jazz music festival for the King's Birthday.  Grabbing take-away noodles, our weight in rum we moseyed back over for a listen.  Both of us may have had boats to catch in the morning, but that didn't stop the rum flowing or the free Changs pouring in from the locals. 

Heavy headed I landed on Phi Phi, met my mates and proceded to do it all over again.  I once again had a boat to catch in the morning.  A dive boat. 

The seas were relentlessly rolly and big which did suprisingly little to quell my seasickness/raging hangover.   The King Cruiser was spectacular, the other two dives were average with the topside scenery taking all the points. 

Processing rice in Bali's abundant terraces

 Crazy big Balinese meal post-cycling/down hill cruising

 Gunung Kawi outside Ubud

 Generally sage advice

This performer alledgedly went into a trance and walked over/kicked around those coconut husks

 Nemo and his mates

 Cuddlefish

 Spanish dancer

 Shit viz, but that hooded figure is me in 27 degree water.  Brr.   

 From viewpoint on Ko Phi Phi

 Around Phi Phi

 View from my window post boys

I have no idea

Labuan Bajo, diving Komodo, new mateys

My first day in Labuan Bajo, Flores, I won the backpacker lottery when I met hilarious Kiwi  honeymooners Simon and Vanessa.  While they kindly shouted my evening meal and beer towers, I was able to freely and fluently speak my mother tongue without butchering my English down to "Me want bed cheap."  Jumping aboard Dive Komodo's boat the next morning heavy headed, I was in for three days of spectacular and challenging diving.  

A manta winged overhead as we were descending on the first dive, we snorkeled with 10 mantas during a surface interval, sharks, octopus, nudibranches and tiny crabs all said hello as Komodo's characteristic currents carried us around.  A pop in to see the Komodo dragons on Rinca Island - which were curiously congregated under the kitchen hut at the Ranger's station - and I was Bali bound after a chance encounter with Simon and Vanessa at the airport.  Keen to spend more beers together, we booked into the same hotel in Sanur. 

 With Simon and Vanessa - note Beer Tower 1

 On the way to a dive site in Komodo National Park

 Labuan Bajo, Flores

 I'm on a boat!

 Snorkeling during our surface intervals

 I spent lots of time and rupiah aboard this boat

 Komodo style.  Curiously the lizards were congregated under the kitchen hut

 In the wild

 Sunset from my bungalow

 Seaweed drying facility next to my bungalow.  eww

Nusa Lembogan dive site

Gili Air

While Bali hasn't been impressing the pants off me, Gili Air, a mere two hour mini-van/boat combo gets you out of the pricey, busy streets of one of Indonesia's very touristy islands.

 A gathering storm over Lombok

 Day 1 sunset with my new Dutch friend, Mikael (ladies, he's gorgeous  and a doctor in training)

 Just add Bintang

 Turtle sanctuary on Meno

 Ahh, lunch spot

 Where I spent lots of time and rupiah...