Road trippin it DIRT BAG Style

Saving Earthworms from Sun Scorched Death, the album!

2012-02-07T22:35:00.000-08:00

So... I've started a new project. I am making my own album. Cheerful, Uke-infused, Indie Folk. There is no guitar on the album as the ukulele is omnipresent. The uke has a sound of its own and sets a bright tone that blends well with the lyrics. Harmonies ring throughout, peppered with an odd sprinkling of piano, bass guitar, trombone and violin in one track or another. I used to listen to a lot of punk rock when I was younger and I still enjoy a heavy dose of Bad Religion or Choke from time to time. Some of these attitudes linger in the lyrics of my music, albeit with a twist of positivity. Within the uke-infused melodies, I tend to insert social commentary. My music is riddled with my observations of human behaviour and the choices we make collectivley as a human populace. If Suzanne Vega, Tracey Bonham, Ani Difranco and I were to have tea, I’m sure some music making would go down. It’s feel good music.

I expect to release it in the beginning of March. The unofficial date is March 10th, my best friend Daphne’s birthday! You can buy singles online at mustachefable.bandcamp.com, or the full meal deal on CD Baby (just search Mustache Fable: Saving Earthworms from Sun Scorched Death)

It all starts with IndieGOGO. IndieGOGO is a fundraising platform to raise money for something you are passionate about. And, as you might guess, I am passionate! About pretty much everything. Espcially climbing, food and music! My lovely friend Wonny Bunny Kim (who just so happens to be a wonderful graphic designer and self professed chocolate lover), will be designing the album cover.

Visit the Campaign HERE.

So, I've been working night and day in the Studio, close beside Geoff Nostrant of Black Swan Audio to mix and master the delicacies of each track. Visit my bandcamp site to hear the first songs released on the album.

And spending so much time on the computer, I have also uploaded samples of each song that will appear on the album. Visit my soundcloud site to hear the almost mixed and mastered previews of the other tracks that will be my Debut full length Album!

Ah... only a few weeks left until the CD release party!!

The test

2011-12-28T06:11:00.000-08:00

So my blog isn't really a blog I guess so much as it is a quarterly update on my life. I need time to pack all the interesting things into one post so I don't keep you bored with the day to day, although some of the best short stories out there focus on little details of a monotonous life and make it seem remarkable - like stories written by Miranda July. I recommend her collection called "No One Belongs Here More Than You"
I have a hard time these days writing about the things that I am doing, because I just want to do them. And then when I do, things happen surely. Like this recent event that has taught me a great deal about the way in which a person can react to a seemingly bad situation. The story goes like this…

The night of Carly’s birthday was just beginning. Us close friends had gathered to share a drink or two and celebrate the life of a beautiful soul. After all, birthdays are a great reason to come together and cherish the friends you have chosen to surround yourself with in this particular moment in your life. And isn’t that an amazing thing – the fact that we can choose our friends. We gathered at Dos Tacos for some Mexican feasting coupled with Tequila shots for the road. We walked along the busy streets crowded with kebab vendors and all-night uni students while once and a while circumnavigating the pools of vomit with bits of half chewed ramien. We lingered a little too long at club FF and then when the dance floor cleared and the lights turned on at 6AM, we noticed our bag missing. Missing or stolen that is. What to do now but call the police and cross our fingers that the ubiquitous Korean CCTV was indeed working its omnipresent magic. For our bad luck, it wasn’t. Long story short, as the long night turned into midday, we went home empty handed. I cancelled credit cards, changed passwords, cried a little then finally slept. The ensuing four days were a bit of a struggle to stay positive. Although, once I accepted that everything was gone, I seemed to be at peace with these inner workings of the universe. Hmmm. I was sure that this Karma had sought its retribution on the wrong lady. I try and live my life with integrity, honesty, patience, compassion and kindness. In fact, it is hard not to. Even though we all slip from time to time, this was my test. Stay cool. Learn from this.
Four days later, sitting in an orientation for the winter camp I was about to dive head first into, my good friend Theresa whispered, mid-lecture, that someone was calling her from my phone. The phone that was stolen. Passing her phone to me, I excused myself in a fervor of possible happiness and stumbled into the hallway to talk to the person on the other end. An older Korean man had been the one that found my bag – and that of my friend Eli. (it was all attached together when it went missing). Oh how grateful I was to learn that he without a doubt had my phone and the rest of the cargo and could meet me that day to return it.
After a long, pointless orientation and a long haul on the subway, I had this old man in an embrace. Oh thank you sir for finding me and returning everything as you found it. Nothing was gone, nothing was stolen. What happened then? Was it a school boy prank – take the foreigner's bag and drop it off 3 blocks away? Did someone get a fright when they saw the police and ditch it in a nearby alleyway? Who knows – but I had passed this test; this test of sticking to my beliefs and not losing control. This test of integrity, honesty, patience, compassion and kindness. When shit hits the fan so to speak, can you summon your will to be the good person you know you are inside?

Spending time with love

2011-10-09T15:42:00.000-07:00

So, I have been spending a lot of time falling in love. Change and growth is inevitable and in the wake of my 30th birthday, I have noticed a plethora of change all around me. It is a shift in consciousness. An opening up of the senses where you, yourself becomes one with the rest of the people, plants and air you breathe. I have been exercising the thought that there is no self - only oneness. This allows me to reflect upon the things that happen to me with awareness and once my ego tricks me into thinking selfishly, I have a better grasp on my reaction than I did in all those years before.

I have been working on my debut album with my good friend Matt Stewart as the producer extrodinaire. He has been impeccably patient and kind with the recording process since it has been over 6 months since we started the first recording. The songs are shaping up and Mustache Fable is getting excited to share her tracks with the world. You can follow live shows and hear previews of the bedroom recordings here.

Last weekend we were awed by the Mask performances in Hahoemaeul Village as part of the Andong Mask Dance Festival. Masks all around, their spirits were lively and a little mischievous. We stayed in a traditional min-bak and played a lot of chess! Check.

I don't feel older, in fact, I feel my childlike spirit celebrating inside of me. It goes on a merry-go-round everyday and plays in the trees. It is happy. I am happy. A simple, yet profound state of being as we examine all that is happening in the world around us. The politics, the protests, the wars and cheating. Most people are searching for this one simple thing. Happiness.

Squamish Love

2011-08-10T10:00:00.000-07:00

On the road again

2011-08-10T09:47:00.000-07:00

Arriving in Vancouver brought me to a place of giddy peace, stoking the contradictory whirlwind of emotion already pulsing through my every vein. Reverse Culture Shock like no other had taken me over in one fell swoop. The fact that I could actually understand the conversations of everyone around me was overwhelming. I was invited into their private lives, forced to listen to their intimate dialogue with the friend or lover by their side. And having a keen sense of hearing doesn't exactly help lessen the invitation. While living in Korea I realized that I spend a lot of time in my own head. There, I could not understand the murmurings of others that surrounded me in crowds and grocery stores and on buses and trains. I am now back home in a land that speaks my language and yes, I can understand.

I was greeted by the burly blond beard of my wonderful brother, Alex. It had been two years since we saw each other last. Too long. We wandered around Stanley park and along the coast. The sun set in a brilliant tropical cocktail fan of purple and orange. We fell asleep on the beach as a small family picnicked to our left. Upon waking we wandered back to his house where I spend my first night in Canada on the floor (the Korean way). Alex and I had a lot to catch up on but I also had to make a quick trip to visit my grandma Pat. She is quite the lady. Funny and still with it. Talking to her and listening to life advice, I became more aware of family dynamic. By default, those connected to us through blood is out of our hands and into the universe. My particular gang is getting better with age, or at least my tolerance to them ;) Truthfully, my family is quite the diverse bunch of fun.

Getting lost for the cause

2011-05-18T04:47:00.000-07:00

Missing trains and buses and getting all hell lost still can't get me down. A lovely Friday night solo art exhibition by my good friend Sven Schelwach at Galley SoSo in the beautifully articulate and artistic Heyri Art Valley where contemporary meets strange and dreamlike. Accompanying me on this gallivant was Jason Mehl, another talented sculptor friend of mine. Surrounded by creativity, I can't help but be in awe of their dedication to their craft. Like dripping bones, these bronze masterpieces remind us of what our innards could look like after a nuclear catastrophe - if there were any remains of course. I remember visiting Jason's apartment last year and his continual fascination to rotate the plants in his house as they reached towards the sun. Growing minute millimetres each day, he manipulated their growth pattern. Clever. This fascination is clearly present in his works of art. But you can read more about that here: http://abstracterosion.com/

The weekend had not even begun. With a unplanned round-a-bout tour of the train station late Friday night, I missed several of my escapes out of the city until finally the train within I sat departed in the right direction. Later after the free wine buzz from the art opening had subsided I found myself in Daegu then in a taxi to Gyeongsan to sleep on the floor of Bryan's cozy family home. He didn't mind my 2 AM arrival as he insisted that indeed he was a night-owl despite his wide eyes caused by the three wild children that were hidden underneath blankets and toys - all in the colour of pink of course.

I awoke earlier than I intended to the sound of cute voices in the hall. Ah,the three munchkins. Bryan's daughter Hana is an amazing being. Oh, to be a child again. To dine at the breakfast table with her and her two friends who had convinced Bryan and his wife Shauna to have a sleepover was truly a remarkable experience. Back to the innocence of unfiltered comments. Ah. to be a child again. I finished off the crusts of peanut butter toast and we were out the door in pursuit of cliff dwelling and anchor replacement!

Munsusan. WOW. How can I speak any other words. Near Ulsan in the South West corner of South Korea, this magnificent park complete with Buddhist temples, burning incense and birthday lanterns, enhanced my every step up the winding path to the crag; a crag which I had never been, but surely will return to shortly (hopefully within the next few weekends). Quality sport routes with shoty, dilapidated anchors were replaced. 19 of them! Those willing can now safely climb and lower with confidence. It was a pleasure and an honour to jug up the dynamic line to remove 20 years of rust. This was a baller workout - one armed pull-ups with the aid of a little foot work. I can only imagine what it will be like on the big walls! Using only two vice grips and my bare hands, I suffered wholeheartedly to pry apart the bolts that sized dangerously corroding wires. Now, in their place, shiny new quick links and chains that should last a lot while longer than their predecessors.

So then the evening fell. When our diligent efforts were satisfied, our trusty mates prepared to leave. I was called back by a lovely lady friend of mine, Theresa Mowat. She is amazing (not only because she had the dame name as my mom) but because she is an real genuine soul. Living in the moment, loving and being true with passion. As I had already left the crag, I had to find my way back on foot, without the expertise of Korean GPS and I really didn't know the way - but I did near voices. Instead of taking the manicured trail, I decided to descend upon the bush and disguised boulders under years of fall leaves. Luckily my experience has granted me the sense of knowing not to step on anything but solid rock, fearing to step into an empty hole and break a leg. This I did not do. Slow and steady, I made my way though the underbrush, over the waterfall/stream to the source of human sound. Theresa and Unio Joubert (whom by the way is a stellar photographer!) had just undertaken a severely sand-bagged climb. I tried it too in the dwindling dusk light only to be forced to question "WHY?", as for the grade, it was quite stiff.

After we packed up and headed out, the first priority was food. Any and all climbers know how hungry we get after a day of cragging - so much so that all else takes the back seat until bellies are full.

Despite the magnificent valley beheld, there seemed to be no place to lay our heads and even throughout intermittent Korean, we found no quarters to rest nearby. Again, the bellies rumbled and as we pulled into a restaurant to ask about a place to stay and she offered us dinner with a side of free sleeping room! WoW!

Heated Korean floors never get old!

RADiO interview!

2011-03-22T05:59:00.000-07:00

Check out my teaches in this recent interview with Chanju Kim at Arirang radio!

Check out the interview here!

Music, Poetry and ART

2011-03-21T07:05:00.000-07:00

I have been rolling in the life of creation these days, months, years. It is hard for me to keep up with myself and all the things I do on a daily basis, let alone write about it here...
so...
Have a look at the other blog...
picklepresspoetry.blogspot.com

Accıdent and Recovery

2011-02-12T02:55:00.000-08:00

I really fucked myself up! So, İ took a 6 metre whıpper and crumbled 5 ribs - 5 severe displaced fractures and sınce bones are so darn sharp, they punctured a lung - just a lıttle prıck! It was enough though to warrant emergency surgery, as my lung had partıally collaped and free aır had fılled my chest cavıty whıle blood collected ın the lung ıtself. Imagıne my surprıse whıle layıng ın terrıble, exrucıatıng paın barely able to breathe that ındeed, "you wıll have to be operated on ımmedıately". After the x-ray's and MRİ's, I was rushed to the operatıng room where the rest becomes blurred. Some tıme later, hours or mınutes I have yet to know, in a comatose state, I awoke. "The surgey was a success". "What, ıt ıs fınıshed?" Tıme ıs relatıve to the hours you are awake and conscıous - the rest dıssapears ınto the folds of someone else's experıence. Lookıng down to my rıght, I notıced a red jar of blood and a tube leadıng to my rıght breast - whıch by the way ıs completely numb as a result of nerve damage. (Anyone want to massage ıt back to health?) The tube stayed there for fıve days ın order to draın the aır and excess fluıd from my lung. Sounds gross, eh? It stayed there and worsened my abılıty to breathe, whıch ıs why I needed to be on artıfıcıal oxygen untıl the doctor came to yank ıt out wıthout anesthetıc. Shortly after thıs happened I broke ınto a cold sweat and passed out - rıghtly so. What happened exactly?

Whıle clımbıng an unknown Tufa of sketchy proportıon on a route called "Aquaduct" ın the Trebena sectıon of Geyıkbayırı, Turkey, I was pumped beyond my lımıt at the anchor and about 3 metres above my last protectıon. Trıed and tested, I just couldn't clıp the anchor, so I opted for the 6 metre whıpper. As I prepared to fall, I neglected to notıce the small traverse from the last clıp (whıch I couldn't see above the tıny ledge I stood on). The rope was ın ın prıme posıtıon to catch my heel as I tumbled mıd-aır. Fallıng through the aır weıghtless and at the expense of gravıty, I felt my body beıng flıpped upsıdedown. Wıth ınstıcts on red alert, I covered my head (good thıng!) and smashed ınto the rock wıth a force to be rekoned wıth! Sang, the Korean born Belgıan, descrıbed the ımpact wıth bone crushıng sıckness. Unable to breathe, he lowered me ımmedıately. Askıng of my condıtıon, I could only reply between gasps, "I dıdn't hıt my head but I can't breathe". Both Sang and Kaırn, my lovely new German frıend, called a recue crew from camp. They came prepared 10 mınutes later. Fırst tryıng to evacuate me by hoemade chaır-stretcher devıce, and near screamıng (not really, I held ıt together pretty well ınspıte), Karın suggested that I try walkıng. And that ıs exactly what I dıd. The ambulance was on the way and I was walkıng out of that place wıth a punctured lung nonetheless.

Hell, i'm stıll alive and after 8 days of sucking back Turkısh morphine and peeing in a bedpan (only once on the fırst day!!), I am back at JoSıTo clımbers camp. The docs and nurses were so great and at least 10 wonderful new climbing friends came to vısıt me ın my blue robed sorry state brıngıng me books and grapefruıt. Stıll on mıld doses of medıcament, the other clımbers are amazed at my recovery. I thınk ıt ıs all ın the attıtude! Posıtıve and happy to be alıve and surrounded by such great energy. The doctors are positive i'll make a full recovery too and thank the Mother Earth i bought insurance for this trip sınce the gospıtal bıll came to $18,000 dollars!!! So, my climbing trip is over- for a while. At least i can focus on some art and music more. Hopefully i'll be able to climb by the summer. Damn! All my hard earned muscles are going to shrink! Amazing how in only a short week a person can form a bond with another. Such is the international climbing community. That is real love! For the hıghs and the lows that seem to last, remember, these too shall pass.

Am I really here?

2011-02-01T12:43:00.000-08:00

After spendıng a beautiful three weeks teaching the most marvoulous kıds ın Korea, I embarked on a journey to Europe. To Vienna, Austria. To visit a friend and a new place. Am i really ın Vıenna? Walkıng ın the cold slush searching for and admırıng the graffiti lıned rıver canal brıngs me back to a lıfe when tıme doesn't matter so much. A slow 2 hour saunter from Freıdensbucke Uban (subway) stop would brıng me to the centre of Vıenna where snow-laden parks and over-consumptıve shoppıng were to wet an appatıte. I declıned as best I could - the shoppıng part anyway. I spent days wanderıng the streets ın brave of the wınter chıll. For those of you who know me best, food and eatıng well ıs hıgh on my lıst of prıorıtıes! The best part about leavıng Asia ıs the SUPERMARKET! YES!! My frıend Jan and i, whom İ met last year while climbing ın Spain, made lots of elaborate meals and dıned on hıs bedroom floor. We also went to the Opera and Ballet. Quıte a difference between the two performances consıderıng actual qualıty and that preceıved by such cultured folk - not to say that refıned taste of one kınd or another doesn't exıst ın all of us already ın accordance wıth beıng the product of our own envıronments. Sımply put, The Ballet was much better than the Opera and the seats were much worse. We had nıce seats for the Opera and I almost fell asleep. I swear, my eyes were only closed for half a second!
The boulderıng gym ın Vıenna was MAD. Wıth 2 floors, complex and elaborate boulder problems you'll be busy for hours, more than your skın and ambıtıon can handle. If you are ın a hurry, you can even pay by the mınute! Wild! It was one of the coolest indoor bouderıng gyms I have ever seen. Vienna and its wonder match my anticipation for lustful unknown antics. İ have been to the river and beyond in light of all there is to see here never fully believing where İ was - where İ am at the moment of travel, all seems a great mystery to me.

Am I really in the mıddle of Germany?
I ındulged ın a surprıse vısıt to Stefan ın the Bavarıan countrysıde and hıs love, also my good frıend, Natalıe helped me wıth the plan of attack. When Stefan thought he was pıckıng up Natalie at the traın statıon ın the little town 10 mınutes from where Stefan grew up, he found me! Theır chıld, Sofıa Luna ıs gettıng so bıg. Walkıng, talkıng and beıng the most curıous happy lıttle thıng.

Am İ really in the Turkısh countryside typing on a computer whıch its keys are all different and I keep hitting the wrong buttons? The littlest things we are conditioned to, such as typing on our familiar keyboards are skewed. İ lıke this about travellıng - cultures and precise subtleties that keep me on my toes. Now everyday I set out to the crag to practıce my love that ıs rock clımbıng! 3 weeks here at JOSITO Camp ın Geyikbayiri near the Medeteranıan sea. It fact, when reaching the anchor on many routes, you can see the sea clearly lıned wıth the costal town of Antalya only 40 kılometres ın the dıstance.

And today I decided upon a rest. My fingers haven't been condıtıoned to the sharp knıfe lıke holds you wıll fınd here. Of course my counterparts are already accustomed to the razorblade crımps and I too have the ambıtıon but tıme ıs of essence. Soon my fıngertıps wıll be calloused and I wıll be clımbıng along sıde the hardcores (I am already but you know what I mean). To the beach we went, Sang and I. A lovely day enjoyıng the sun and wınd ın a fury of energetıc delıght. Espresso on the Mediterranıan and some wet salty toes have ındeed ınspıred my evenıng. We were easıly able to hıtchhıke back to the camp. The Turkısh folk are so very frıendly. As comfortable as I am wıth the unknown, thanks for the rıde.

Basking in Snail Trails

2010-12-19T22:19:00.000-08:00

As winter keeps its watchful eye on the toes snow steppers, I am committed to the outdoor life. Braving the open skies for a weekend in Busan has never left me unsatisfied.

During the vacation period when the classrooms go silent for a few months, the intensive camps begin. Full of activity and English immersion, students are questioned and divided into levels. Teachers are then able to appropriately place students based on their English comprehension and speaking abilities. I had scored a quick job on the other side of the country for a day doing just this type of level testing. The school responsible flew Qasim and I out for the weekend. This was the first and most likely the last in-country flight I would take to the metropolis of the south, Busan, where the weather always tends to be a little warmer.

On Saturday night, we attended an art show at a local studio. Creepy like salad fingers, huge wrinkled heads were painted all over the room. The little creatures drawn so meticulously were cute in their own ugly way. In fact, I got a real sense of childhood nostalgia looking at the awkward fellas. The artist, Laura Heather Hobson, has quite the impressive resume! http://ldoubleh.blogspot.com/

That evening, we let our creative juices flow through our hands to the pen then to the Exacto knife and made stencils to print silk-screened t-shirts of our own designs. My creation was a snail and his trail as a quote I have so aptly identified with recently reminds me to take a little more time and pay attention to the everyday. Which is what more of us should do on a regular basis. (If you look closely, you'll see the blue guy on my purple sweater)

"Like slow snails, we soak up the details".

On Sunday morning, our good friend Robin and his local posse showed us a recently developed crag uphill on a mountain side overlooking swathes of apartment buildings in the rolling valley below. Some nice lines with impressively sticky limestone tickled our chilly fingertips all day long. Even in winter, the rock cannot hide from our slight obsession. It was a great day with great friends. How lucky are we to bask in something so simple yet so wondrous?

a film in 48 hours

2010-11-28T21:10:00.000-08:00

A band of buddies and I took part in the 48 hour Film Project; Seoul Chapter at the beginning of November. In only 48 hours, a team of filmmakers must race to write, direct, act, edit and score a five to seven minute film. With all odds against us, including the loss of half our footage due to 'technical difficulties', the ubiquitous phrase used to blame any and all things associated with inadequacies of computer play, we turned our film in on time. To prove the films were made in the specified 48 hours between seven PM on Friday, November 5th and seven PM on Sunday, November 7th, some specifics needed to be included.
First, the genre was to be drawn out of a hat. Our team chose SILENT FILM.
There was to be a prop. This was the famously delicious KIM, or dried roasted seaweed that runs rampant on every Korean dinner table.
Also, a Character: Her name was to be Lee Hyo Jin, a musician.
And a line of dialogue: "I make my own Luck".
With all these elements combined, teams were sure to relinquish all pre-planned ideas. In fact, although a smart idea, pre-planning was strictly prohibited.

We called our Film, "Chicken Soup for the Post-Apocalyptic Soul". It takes place post-apocalypse (obviously) in a house where strangers, forced to become friends, have learned to cope and are still coping with what could be the end of the world.

When humans are confronted with the dire, our relationships are what have the power to stand the test of time and tragedy.

Last night was the award ceremony. Out of 20 odd teams, our team won two awards! BEST Sound Design and BEST editing went to us. (I can proudly say that my ukulele was one thing that added to the effect of the sound design!)

You can watch R.I.N.S.E Filmworks production of "Chicken Soup for the Post-Apocalyptic Soul" on Facebook.

It may take a while to load... but it is worth the wait.

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1469427777606

"Mustache Fable" ransacks a haunted house

2010-11-07T21:44:00.000-08:00

Just when you thought they were sane, the two lovely ladies of Mustache Fable explore an abandoned haunted house in the wild forest in order to get into the mind set of their upcoming show! Preparing for their on stage soulful sound attack that will go down this Saturday eve, they will teach you what to do "When Bears Attack".

Live in concert at Roofers in the neighbourhood of Itaewon in Seoul, South Korea, Danielle and Hannah will enlighten you and mesmerize you. Within the Seoul Encyclopedia show, their performance is sure to be entertaining!

Founded by Robbie Q. Telfer in Chicago, The Encyclopedia Show has sought to awaken the inner dork in all of us through simultaneously educating and entertaining audiences around the US and Canada. It brings wordsmiths and visual artists together to create a verbal/visual Encyclopedia installment on a given topic. This time around it is "Bears"

This past August, Lauren Bedard, Executive Producer and Curator of The Encyclopedia Show-Seoul, has brought this concept across the ocean to enlighten audiences in South Korea.

The pilot installment, Gravity, was a huge success. Through live painting, short film, performance art, and spoken word, audiences learned about the force that keeps our feet on the ground and the planets in orbit.

To get a taste of what The Encyclopedia Show has to offer, check out streaming audio of the Chicago show at www.encyclopediashow.com. Or better yet, come and see for yourself Saturday, November 13th.

CHECK HERE:

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=163347863685375&index=1

Mountains of my Mind: oh how i love thee!

2010-10-04T18:49:00.000-07:00

After the the eleventh straight hour of moderate to strenuous hiking, with a quick pace at that, aimed towards the highest peak in Korea, my jello legs were looking forward to refuge in the Sesok mountain shelter. With only half an hour left to reach our sanctuary, the rain came in a pitter patter as the dense rolling white engulfed us whole.

Along the trek, small crags of rock tempted our calloused hands to fondle.
While reading "Mountains of the Mind" by Robert Macfarlane, I am overwhelmed by the intense reminder of my human relationship with the landscape I am walking within and upon. The geology I feast my eyes upon when lusting over rock I wish to climb, allows me to ponder a time when "rocks liquified and seas petrified, where granite slopped about like porriage, basalt bubbled like stew, and layers of limestone folded as easily as blankets". In the ineffable age of earth's history, I ponder my own mortality.

Sunny and I took on a 32 kilometre stretch of hiking trails in Jirisan National Park in only a day and a half. Adventurous, outrageous and down right fun, our bodies will be feeling the lingering effects for at least a few days I am sure. A few hours into such an undertaking, our bodies became used to the toil and pure elation took over. Despite the packed rest stops and crowded shelters, we were so lucky to hike the whole trail almost entirely alone.

What a unique experience for Korea. If any of you have ever ventured to Bukhansan National Park on a Saturday, you surely will have experienced the line-up of avid weekend hikers decked out in their name-brand gear glory snaking towards the summit like ants on a picnic. No line-ups here. It feels so great to work so hard to have the opportunity to roll our chilled fingertips over moss covered rocks and decaying tree stumps, to breathe in scents of rotting leaves and dirt and to open our eyes wide in search for indescribable breathtaking views. The rain intensified our appreciation to nature in its raw glory! Kuo Hsi, the eleventh century Chinese painter and essayist once wrote that the "haze and mist and the haunting spirits of the mountains are what human nature seeks".

Not looking at my face for almost 3 days, I was shocked at first glance. Two deep set wrinkles between my eyebrows had carved themselves a new home. My unconscious concentration with each mighty mile had indeed taken its toll on my face. This allowed me to reflect upon age. As my birthday has once past again and I near the 30 years, I realize that the expressions we wear for long periods of time become permanently fixed. The wrinkles on our faces tell the stories of our lives. I hope when I grow really old my smile wrinkles will be the ones most visable!

The day to contemplate everything

2010-09-28T16:24:00.000-07:00

So, once again, this special day arises. The one day out of the 365 cyclical pattern that allows one to contemplate life and their role in it. This particular day is my "golden birthday" - so they say (even though I was once told that you cannot quote "they"). I am 29 on the 29th of the 9th month. I woke up this morning with grey nail polish and my kitten, Soo Bak, cuddling my neck all to hear the testosterone filled grunts of the American Military who so happen to be my neighbours here in Korea. No worries. I have become accustomed to their energy charged relay races at 6:30AM as they are a sure signal that it is indeed morning and time to arise from slumber.
I am quite happy today. Out of the last 13 days, I have climbed 7 days - hard.
After a wonderful mid-semester thanksgiving break, I don't feel so bad eating vegan chocolate zucchini cake for breakfast. Although cooked in the toaster oven, dirt bag style, it is satisfying. (Hey sister Lauren, I think you need to teach me a thing or too about baking!).

We ended the Chu Seok holiday – Korea’s biggest, with a stout bouldering session in Bukhansan National Park. Notice the smallest crimpers in the world! Just like Thanksgiving in America, this holiday deserved thanks - especially for the 9 day reprieve from work. Myself, my kitty cat Soo-Bak and my friend Kris aimed high and climbed hard! While climbing in both Seonunsan and Yongseo Pokpo, I was amazed at the abundance of animalitos running, hoping and flying to and fro. From fireflies to fat assed toads to pin eyed bats and squalls of mosquitoes, we were inundated with nature in its finest. Complete with my humble tent and gourmet pocket stove, we dined in grand style. Each night I had a special set menu wherein the ingredients of veggies and lentils and fruits and nuts weighted down our packs not unlike other camping trips. Never did we go hungry.The rock in Seonunsan, with its overhanging jug festival teased and satisfied me. The abundance of limestone pockets plastered in white chalk confused the onsighter with tricky technical sequences. Pump-a-licious! After 3 days of the 40 minute approach back and forth, we took a day to travel and rest and stalk up on more edible treats (not to mention a few bottles of cheap red wine to rinse our pallets). When we arrived at Yongseo Pokpo – The Dragon Tail’s waterfall – we were greeted only by the distant hum of the intermittent train and a few droplets from the sky. All alone, we set up camp and blazed a fire that roared into the wee hours. Although it rained almost the entire next day, our near alpine start and slightly overhanging wall choice allowed us to climb five routes by one o’clock. Afterwards, the three of us sought refuge in a near abandoned min-bak. Not quite abandoned so much as that the owner wasn’t around. With the doors left unlocked, we took advantage of the opportunity to stay dry and warm. When a group of other friends arrived, we indulged in the sauce and each other’s sparkling company. The only near-death mishap that occurred the whole week was when I predicted the rock fall that scared the shit out of me in its forecasted omen. What I am about to describe, I am sure has happened to you. You know when your thought process happens so fast and links one thought to the next that what you began to think about and what you ended thinking about have little in common, so little that you would have to explain the entire thought process to someone in order for them to understand where the end idea came from in the first place. Well, it goes something like this…

I was just causally admiring the waterfall as we prepared for the day of climbing and wondered what it would take to make the water pour down full force. I realized that if there were fewer obstacles at the mouth of the fall, more water would be able to flow. Then I imagined a rock fall, then I imagined a rock fall on my tent that would squish my cat – I know – morbid, but I am sure that these kinds of thoughts have graced your consciousness too at some point in your life. Anyways, a hour later I heard a distant thud and down plummeted a softball sized rock, headed in a beeline for my tent! Busy belaying, I had to wait and see the damage done. Sure enough, this sinister rock sliced open my tent vestibule, mangled the tent zipper, destroyed Kris’s headlamp and even flattened its batteries! Thank the stars that Soo Bak, the kitty, was nowhere in the vicinity. She is still purring at my feet right now.

And so the reflection goes. My students graciously presented me with a chalk board full of “congratulations” and a dozen yellow roses engulfed in baby’s breath. Congratulations? I guess I have survived yet another year in this hostile world. Although the clouds slowly roll in the sky this chill, crisp day, I couldn’t be happier. I think I am going to stop writing now and go and get myself a corner chug! (how I describe chugging a beer on the street corner!)

The contemplation begins with remembering that I am living in the present and as much as I want this day to last, it too will pass. Finite time. The ever present, ever changing river if you will.

The summer heat draws on.

2010-09-15T02:09:00.000-07:00

Summer in Korea wouldn't be complete without an inundation of torrential rain typical of global climate trends. Our planet is surely at odds with our abuse and is fighting back. The power it has will always supersede our own human capacities no matter how powerful we THINK we are. Nature always wins and leaves in its wake, us dumbfounded.
So, the typical "on we go rain or shine" shall be heeded here. A few weeks ago in Chuncheon, South Korea, a smattering of international climbers amassed for the International Federation of Sports Climbing World Cup. With the likes of those currently headlining rock climbing flicks all over the planet, we endured the downpours together. A tense feeling of competition air was abated after the storms and the party ensued. What a great opportunity to speak Spanish and chat with some of the strongest climbers in the world! An event to be remembered. With the power of a felt pen, I gathered signatures from the usual suspects and will auction off a priceless cloth napkin to give proceeds to www.climbupsokidscangrowup.com. On the day of my mother's birth, September 18th, anywhere you are, climb and dedicate your passion to those who are at times forgotten.

I have branched out into the world of sound and song

2010-08-26T19:12:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered when the Mile High Club was started?
or Why astronauts can't cry in space?

For all of those who like a little education with your entertainment…The Seoul Encyclopedia Show is here! * Inspired by the Chicago based Encyclopedia Show, the purpose of this show is to bring artists of all different backgrounds to create a verbal/visual Encyclopedia installment on a given topic.

Our first installment for this series is Gravity. We have an amazing line up of poets, songwriters, painters and performance artists to create an inspired description of the force that keeps our feet married to the Earth and the planets in orbit.

Indeed I have once again hit the big stage. By exploring other avenues besides rock climbing and working too much, I keep sane. A variety of hobbies and continuous projects on the go is one thing that drives me towards passion. To be able to share the final product of my creative process gives me the opportunity to find others who who have similar inspired imaginations. Thank you to all who take the time to hear me.

Hong Kong's humidity sticks to my thighs

2010-07-29T00:09:00.000-07:00

All sweaty in our glory, we dodged to and from the slight shade provided by city trees while Hong Kong in its humid stealth threatened to suck the energy out of our drenched bodies. After 2 days flirting with the outskirts of a massive concrete jungle, I braved its innards. Luckily a Monday trip to the boulders beyond the high rise structures offered a break from the cancerous carbon monoxide thickness. The intervening monsoons hovered in the distant sky, but our gung-ho passion led us to explore regardless. A short walk from the Tai Koo MTR station, we were transported into the adjoining jungle; a mossy river way, our path. Thanks to June, we were able to have two crash pads, thus saving our delicate bottoms from haphazard landings to follow. The river was a welcome refreshment as the blazing afternoon sun scorched our shoulders pink. (I do however, use sunscreen – thus was saved from pinkdom). The rippling river also served as a free shower and with a scant line-up, locals indulged, fully clothed under the waterfall just beyond our first boulder of choice. Scents of shampoo drifted by as we attempted to man/woman-up with the rock problems in front of our faces. After some successes and near misses, heel hooks and crimps, pockets and lock-offs, V3’s and happy knees, we descended back into the thick sweltering city.

Along the side streets, a ripe, succulent fruit caught my eye, the biggest I have ever seen. This mango was the size of a football – the American style football or perhaps my calf muscle. Its mere scent coerced my mouth to water like a broken sprinkler. Not to mention its slippery syrup consumed in an inhale. (It actually took two days to eat due to its sheer size). Mmm. On to the food. In a smorgasbord of western and other worldly influence, I was bombarded with a plethora of choice. International supermarkets around each corner tickled my nostalgia as I piled the basket high.
<< Side note. If you haven’t noticed already, I tend to exaggerate. This gets me into trouble with my critical wordsmith friends. Justification: It is more fun to exaggerate and keeps my childlike imagination alive. >>

So, to clarify, I casually gathered just a few things for the airplane carry on; Red Thai Curry and Marmite to name a few. Through my many other efforts to save the world, the slight guilty conscience of the import-export game is defended in this example. Considering this multicultural hotpot, I was spoiled by Buddhist veggie stands and ethnic delights including this one particular Organic café with delectable quinoa salads and roasted eggplant tapenades. It inspired my cooking and sharing skills.

Tubing Madness Taking Chances and Drinking wine in the rain.

2010-07-09T23:21:00.000-07:00

Oh how wonderful feelings bubble up from your insides when you and a crew of foreign troublemakers set forth to test the high seas with blackened tire tubes blown up so big, nearly bursting at the seams (good thing we noticed one seam splitter before we submerged it!)

A few weekends ago, my good buddy, Qasim had the grand idea to take advantage of the rainy season and float down the river near my old town, Jucheon. This South Korean nature haven has inspired many a bushwhack during my year and a half stint. Now living in the bustling city, the calm serenity of the country is a welcomed change of pace. Despite the downpour, we raged against the intermittent rapids and indulged in weir sliding – as in the weir totally sucked a few of us in and left us bleeding from several limbs. Hannah seeing me in near turmoil quickly came to my aide but got sucked in herself as I was left clinging to the threshold. My mighty forearms were my saving grace (umm, admittedly cheating as the fact was that I could reach Justin’s hand for help before I was swallowed).

Once a chill set into our bones, I thought of a quick warm-up activity; boulder some of the surrounding bridges. That is exactly what we did – repeatedly. As the night approached, we retreated into the spicy kitchen of my old apartment where Michelle now lives. She also has my old job. With a smorgasbord of ingredients, we took to the bar-be-que and I prepared veggie burgers that fell apart and Terra smoked up some roasted eggplant and zucchini while the others cooked their meat. Plenty bottles of red wine later we moved to Qasim’s old penthouse where the dance party ensued complete with break dancing and Michael Jackson Beat It choreography! We saved the fireworks for last. Sauntering slovenly back to the beach, I “fell asleep” and missed the explosions in the sky. Upon waking, I could barely get my head together and with a grunt, Justin had to carry me home. What are friends for? This was until a burst of energy seized me and I took off running down the road like a black cat in the night. Quite the paradoxical performance.

Rope Goblin Blues.

2010-06-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

Have you ever got your rope so tangled that you just want to throw it off the side of a cliff and begin your soloing career early? This weekend I felt that way except the tangle happened in the comfort of my own rooftop late on a Sunday night after a torrential thunderstorm soaked me, my friends and my rope. Not to mention the dirt splatter from gigantic drops pelting the earth and coating my rope in its squalor. Now drenched, in the dim light of my rooftop atrium I battle the green 70 metre rope goblin until the weight of my eyelids defeat me. Could I perhaps hire a professional rope un-tangler? My poor Petzl nomad, now lies confused while drying slowly. Hour after hour, the water will evaporate as it lays helpless on the bamboo-matted concrete floor. When I wake tomorrow, it will be waiting once again.

How lucky am I to wallow in this trivial despair with sarcasm as my right hand lady?

Happy Teachers Day

2010-05-10T18:50:00.000-07:00

This is not the only day I am reminded why I love my job so much. It is everyday. Two months into my new University job, the life of the professor is quite rewarding - not to mention the 4 day - 12 hour work week, but the renewed maturity from students in their freshman year. When I see the sparkle in my student’s eyes, I know that a small discovery is made. Be that a morsel of the English language or the crumb of a joke – I can tell when the light bulb goes on, even if it is low-watt. These people who listen to be jabber all day feed my passion by their attentiveness and challenge my patience with their squat enthusiasm. On Friday, I arrived to my Airline Services class minutes early to a locked classroom. After a succession of short knocks, one student decked out in her Flight Attendant uniform shyly exited and quickly closed the door behind her. “Teacher! You are so early!” I was in fact right on time. She dragged me down the hall with a mischievous smile that begged guilt. In a quick round about, we returned to the classroom and as we opened the door, the light from the candles on a big coconut cake shimmered as the girls began to sing a ditty in Hangul that was beyond me. Never mind the lack of language skills here – the cake was for me and so were the hundreds of scribbles on the white board – including “Will you marry me?” from this all-girls class. Wow! I was taken aback and had to choke down the tears of thankful joy and surprise. When I watched the video afterwards – I realized how goofy I looked – much like my mother at best! Teachers Day had come a week early because these lovely ladies were about to take a trip to Vietnam and would be absent during the real event to come. For a teacher to be recognized in such a non-obligatory ceremony was too much for words.

Back into Trad! Mureung Valley, Donghae, Korea

2010-05-10T17:55:00.000-07:00

As the spring arrives in late bloom, summer tags along with it. The sweat from my underarms trickle down the side of my body catching on the harness that suspends my fear from taking over while stuck in a damp chimney 20 feet in the air. Back in to the bold trad leads. Bold for me anyway after a near 6 month vacation from granite. My limestone winter hasn’t prepared me quite sufficiently for this day, but my enthusiasm avoids this revelation. My dusted off cams doddle along the holes and fissures intermittently up this serrated bisection seen from the forest floor in Mureung Valley near Donghae, Gangwon-do.

The humidity in the air reminds me of the near approximation from the East Sea. Lucid waterfalls crescendo towards abating torrents in soft declines from where we began our day. The trouble-free approach in this picturesque vale summons our smiles to stretch wider. Fresh and crisp the air in its humble rouse from the frigid months before. My climbing friends and I have induced an agenda of anticipating the saving of lives, one climber at a time. By replacing a few old death triangles, we and all those that will benefit from the change hope to feel a little safer while repelling off our friendly nemeses. On Saturday, we had successfully installed one set of new shiny chains and quick links, Sunday was to be reserved for the second. Sunday came as it does and I decided to jump on this little 5.8 ditty first thing. Well, as trad climbing in Korea goes, it proved to be a little too scary and my Elvis leg got the best of me. After lowering off more than 3/4ths finished, Dusty had his go and persevered like a trooper on the front lines. Unfortunately the rope drag waged war and I volunteered to solo-ascend on a prusick and improvised aid ladder while the dangling weight of the polished chains clanged from my waist belt. For less than 20 bucks each, the trusty metal irons will bring us comfort. This is only one good deed in a list of many to give back to the climbing community in South Korea. While trying to muster a mission statement for some of the initiatives in which we have begun to dabble, this one sticks to me.

"To climb rocks is our simple, yet profound mutual passion inspired by the raw natural environment. As a community that extends beyond borders, our cross-cultural initiatives work to protect, reduce the impact on and live in harmony with nature in its purest form."

Now, as initiatives go, the lone wolf cannot succeed alone. It is indeed the support from the community that will make it happen, when it happens, whatever happens. Keep tabs on our projects on www.koreaontheorcks.com.

Before the CRACKED RIBS!

2010-04-05T20:49:00.001-07:00

One week following a successful climbing trip at a southern South Korea climbing off the beaten track hub hole, I have somehow secured another spot as "bench-warmer-injured girl". A little bouldering gone wrong in my wake of lazy lounging, I have indeed sustained a few cracked a few ribs due to the 140 pound Pakistani man who fell on me from 6 metres above. As I said - my nonchalant lounge session on the soft comforting pads at K2 bouldering gym inebriated my depth perception as Qasim, my friend, launched for a dyno, stuck it, then swung towards me with the momentum of a monkey on the run from pompous poachers. oops. silly girl. I am about to now re-kindle my love for hiking, bicycling, ukulele playing, soft and gentle yoga stretching among other non-rib intensive sports. This is a reminder that I am so lucky to be able to climb the mountains I love and to never take for granted my health - when it is at its optimum level!

Humanity Hype

2010-03-24T05:42:00.000-07:00

Here is a link to my first song written for the Ukulele after 6 months of picking up this wondrous instrument!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UAQhdsAYOo

Humanity Hype is my response to my new living situation. From the quiet country side of rural Korea to the bustling, fast-paced city, I am overwhelmed by the people. There is a disregard for bodies in space, each with their own prerogative, their own path, unaware of those who surround them. Somehow, we still have to share this space, limited though it may be. (as my friend kindly and factually explained to me my error of quoting our world's population at 6 billion - it is more like 7 billion - and as I said - "and growing") With more people, come more opinions. With opinion comes persuasion. With persuasion comes advertising and then we become bombarded by it. How much of what we see is really a choice anymore? Don't believe the hype that threatens to consume your creative soul. Part of it has to do with the staggering amounts of noise pollution and visual pornography. I have realized because I have been away from it. Those who live in the cities are "used to" it. Accustomed to the mediocre when all that really matters in the large grand scheme of life and its meaning is QUALITY. As one response on Robert Pirsig's topic of quality states:

You would say that this is just a matter of preferences, that quality is just another word for what you like. What is the response to this? One response is the death argument: Thoreau's mentions, "I came to the woods.. so that when I die, I would not discover that I had not lived." (Paraphrased; he said it better.) You only live at least once, and the world is so manifestly full of richness; there are qualitative differences between those pleasures which are just "fun" and those pleasures or goods which deeply touch this "marrow" of life. Even humanity can be at its best ingenius, cunning, and beautiful. The richness of human relations - whether attributable in cause to genetic programming or "love" - is phenomenologically beautiful. And what human beings can achieve when they decide to be noble, to do the dharma that they have in front of them honestly and with dedication, is remarkable. This counts for goods regardless of preference. The Good isn't 'what I like' because richness of quality covers anything so long at it makes life worth living. It covers the famous and the obscure; both the Taj Mahal and the son that loves his father are testament to humanity's capability for goodness.

So why do we jam pack ourselves into pigeon-holed consumerists? Why are we satisfied with this blah? This mundane? Why do we let laziness overwhelm our senses so much so that it is convenience which slowly kills us? I tend to live tipping the scales on the side of positivity. What we scrutinize, we ourselves are. But we can be what we want to be as well, at least within our minds. Within our minds we have a power unlike any other. It is a power that can give us hope and keep us heavy on the positive even when we know all about the dark side. I do this to trust and renew my faith in humanity's ability to delve into kindness and The Good. I guess we are all of this and all of that at the same time.

Taiwan and the land of tea.

2010-03-08T19:09:00.000-08:00

A successful arrival and my 11th plane ride in 2010 complete. (Ridiculous – not my personal choice). The humidity is surely near 100% and severely different from Korea. It reminds me of how Malaysia once was 9 years ago. I feel like I could swim in this sticky warm air. The scent is bound for mildew in its most harmless occupancy to which the locals have no doubt become accustomed. I guess it doesn’t help the fact that it is indeed raining outside. I have no idea where I will lay my head to rest tonight, but I am open and ready for the unexpected. I was able to scour through Taiwan’s “Lonely Planet” while en route and I believe I have my fair share of activities planned for the next 4 days, number 1 being my Korean E-2 Visa. With a world so small now and corporations exploiting the indigenous cultures of foreign nations, international travelers can find comfort in a $5 Starbucks latte anywhere in the world, not excluding Taipei.

Fast-forward 2 days:
It wasn’t a quick shot of methamphetamine, it was a pack of Wild Water Buffalo blocking my path. No thirty-foot whipper can even give you that kind of adrenaline. What a feeling to grow a set of balls with breath held and walk past these illusive and unpredictable beasts. 10 minutes later, I am still shaking in the Windward Dwarfed Forest.

And 2 more days later:
In Taiwan I’ve noticed more flats, less heels, less smoking, more scooters and less primping in public. There seems to be a more laid back sense of what life is like here.
I have learned about Taiwan’s tea industry and its history from Cindy at the High Mountain Tea Shop. A 2-hour sipping session revealed the intricacies of traditional tea drinking and its complex preparation processes.
There are 6 types of tea which all come from the same leaf, oolong, green, black, white, red and yellow. It just depends on the fermentation process and the way in which it is roasted or not. The darker the tea, the higher the temperature of water is used. In the tradition of Taiwanese tea drinking, tea is made by hand and each action is important while serving the tea. Taiwan's specialty is oolong tea, a half fermented green tea. High mountain tea can be steeped up to 6 times, as the quality is higher and the leaves are picked by hand. The serving of tea in Taiwan has been celebrated as a performance or "show" in the past. Anywhere you go in Taiwan you can find special tea houses where you can warm your belly and experience this profound tradition of a unique culture.

I won't even tell you what happened.

2010-03-08T18:17:00.000-08:00

I like to write a lot. Writing is important to me... this photo speaks of the pain I have endured... (my own drunk fault)

Spain and all its surprizes

2010-03-08T16:22:00.000-08:00

Reflecting upon adventures of the immediate past I realize I am so lucky to be alive and well, healthy and aware and able to make the choices I choose.

Desperate times call for delicate thoughts.
Decisions ripe for the plucking as virulent options
strike chords of creativity in conscious creation
Like onions, souls search in silent longing
for complex layers among surface scratching
as the rhythm of the rest of the world rushes past
Take it all in. There are spies around every corner with lying eyes.
Analyze, don’t criticize.

This evening I can see the wind turbines on the hill just beyond the valley of sun. The wind blows like the lungs of Louis Armstrong’s first born up on the hillside at the Finca de Campana as the sun sporadically plays hide and seek with whirling clouds painted pink in the dusk of the day. Bees buzz amongst the fragrant almond blossoms. Suena me busca. This afternoon Jan and I indulged in an adventure out of the ordinary. We headed to El Polverin to climb. It was windy when we arrived at the base of the cliff. We decided to scramble up what appeared to be perhaps a 3 (5.6) grade climb. Bad idea. I got stuck halfway – as Jan said – the point of no return. (He also once told me to never walk around naked in Namibia, unless you are of course alone in the outback. I imagine this wisdom was met through personal experience). I had to wait for about 10 minutes and after 5 I started to worry. Trying to force nasty imaginations out of your head while clinging to almost nothing 15 metres above any flat ground can be quite the mental challenge. When the rope finally fell over the side of the apparent top-out above me, I could only tie it around my waist and pray I wouldn’t fall. And if I did fall, it would save me, but do some rope burn damage to the armpits for certain. I didn’t fall after all thanks to the trusty Chacos, but it was one hell of a warm-up!

Aunque escibo poco, las aventuras viene y va casi todos los dias. Para mi, es la unica manera para vivir! Y, por cierto, con una sonrisa y la mente abierta! Ahh, tengo mucha suerte en esta vida compleja.

With only two days left of the two month Spanish holiday, I decide to spend them on the road with a certifiably mad Swiss man who has been hopping around the world his whole life, kind of like me, although he beats me on years – (name hidden in my memory). I have forfeited my plane ticket to Barcelona and now we are deep within the olive groves and extraordinary monoliths spotted along the Southern coast of Spain as we journey northwards. The weather dozes in and out of moody rains and sharp sun. White fluffy cumulus nimbus play polka dot shadows over the carpets of green leaves in the valleys below us. Swiss man tells me stories of loneliness filled with great wisdom all the while engaging in his self-named intestinal yoga. Imagine filling your belly with 2 litres of water or any particular liquid of your choice and forcing it to swish back and forth like a little boat in a vast ocean storm. Although from the passenger seat of his Peugeot I cannot smell the pink flowers of the almond trees in blossom, I can imagine their sweet scent. Swiss man wants to start a Honey Bee factory with 150 hives on public land in Switzerland. I’d like to help him. Perhaps I will.

Now, at the time of writing this, I sit on the Lufthansa airplane towards Seoul somewhere above Russia, above the Ural Mountains so says the green screen in front of me. Consumerism is still alive and kicking 33,000 feet in the air as the Korean man who speaks better German than English buys a bottle of 18year aged Scotch and a diamond necklace from the catalog without much thought. He must be rolling in the dough. It really blows my mind to fly over places I have only heard about in dreams. And now, we fly over Siberia!

2010-01-12T10:37:00.000-08:00

SPAIN: 5 Noteworthy things each day for the next 48 days: Part One

2010-01-12T09:28:00.000-08:00

Day One: Yerba Mate/ the Russian Seaman with a black eye that just got out of a Thai Prison after 3 years for contraband that bought me a beer and kissed me on the cheek and told me he loved me/ the wildfire sunset 35,000 feet above ground like a child's favorite striped t-shirt/ in Germany for the first time/ la gente aqui no parece tan diferente que yo.

Day Two: antique market in Barcelona/ sharing of an apple by the harbour with 2 dudes from L.A/ I remember the shark with the bleeding nose care of the Barcelona Aquarium/ paella/ too much beer.

Day Three: 20 year olds are cool/ a new haircut/ olive, cucumber, avocado baguette/ Gaudi's Park; Park Guell/ Dia de los Reyes Parade.

Day Four: Early morning wake-up to meet Sean at the Metro and head to Monserrat/ conglomerate climbing/ the best Olives EVER!/ home cooked meals en la casa de Nico on wheels/ sleeping in the van - my dream home.

Day Five: morning green tea session/ switching between Spanish, English and French/ impressionante; 2 words/ I couldn't get the last quickdraw/ muddy wet feet and shoes.

Day Six: under the shelter of a curios cave with paint like splattered splashes that decorate our climbs to reach the outermost limits of self/ no pastanada/ EPIC jam session/ tramping in knee deep snow as if we took a trip back to my Saskatchewan childhood/cat and mouse car chase with muddy tires on the misguided carretera.

Day Seven: bouldering with the sun and snow in El Cogul/ la hora es ahora/ gooey chocolate with chocolate at the stinky fish bar/ sopa infused with wild thyme and rosemary from the Spanish countryside/ frio muy intenso with 30 centimetres of snow.

Day Eight: Deberias estar en Tailandia/ the trees here are not designed to withstand the weight of this much snow/ someone is always cooler than you/ another knee deep in snow hike through the Boreal-Narnia-like forest/ eating too much bread and olive oil.

Day Nine: Talking with Silvia and the boys about climbing, I've got to keep the focus - big wall, aid climbing, Yosemite/ cold climbing out the nerves in "Espero Primavera"/ a mighty jaunt up the ancient road to the small village of Siruana/ cauliflower and spicy potatoes, note to self; "don't put more than 3 cayenne peppers and be sure to take them out"/ second shower of the year - real dirt ball living.

Russia. I need to learn more.

2009-12-01T09:09:00.000-08:00

Russia has always been a mystery to me. I need to learn more about Russia. But, for today, during this brief 24 hour period, it will stay a mystery because I am going to Spain. That's right, I said Spain. Two months to crush it in Monserrat and El Chorro. Some of the best climbing in Europe? Can that be said?
I made a hard decision. Quitting a job is never any fun.

A pause in responsibility towards the leisure intensity; I need a little break. This may not be the wisest choice considering monetary issues, but really, if you think about it from a daily perspective, life is short. This seems to tie into the idea of prospective future plans - planning the plan. Guilty as charged with the lure of anticipation. But really, how long should we depend on the existence of life? I am not trying to invite the existentialist inside, I am only trying to illicit the pressure of the fact that life will inevitably change as it does. Do we want to wait out the bullshit with our unrelenting patience or can we appreciate and be thankful for the moments where the sun shines on our faces and tickles our spirits with a blessing of luck and prosperity? Take advantage of the situation so-to-speak. Grab the bull by the horns. As those who know me best, they understand my impulsive decision-making personality. I recognize this within myself and coyly admit that it is not the most admirable trait. Troubles arise once and awhile. It could be admirable and undoubtedly is in some cases I guess, but there are hidden demons within. Well, demons who work for temptation and her beguiling ways; tempting away from the expected. So, in fact, the demons are disguised angels with a little message for us all.

Breathe
Things are as they are
I do not mind what happens
This too will pass…
Que sera sera.

And Carpe Diem Mother F***ers!!!

I await another unknown adventure… which is electrifying!

The Society of the Spectacle and El Gripe Porcina

2009-11-03T22:20:00.000-08:00

Captors of our creative minds live in the waves of boredom that wash upon us when monotony reigns. Boredom can capture a soul and send it to places worse than hell. Recently, I have been sent to tedious mind-numbing habit hell. I needed something to wake my brain from its caustic slumber. I was suggested to read Guy Debord’s SOCIETY OF THE SPECTACLE . We are not unknown to the fact that media bombardment overrides any sense of real individuality that is left on this planet. We have not only been subjugated to the economy, but we have in essence grasped the spectacle and made it our “unreality” which is very real. As Guy Debord puts it so eloquently, “In a world that is really upside down, the true is a moment of the false”. Immunity from the spectacle is impossible.

As I read this book that has indeed furthered my introspectivivity (if that is even a word), I realize that this subjugation is reinforced by the fact that people’s activity becomes less and less active and more and more contemplative.”

Ding Ding Ding, the light bulb goes on. I will bravely admit that although my job is easy for 32 of 40 hours a week where I act as a place holder made of flesh and blood and bone that hopefully has a relatively conscious state of being, most of the time, it is blood curdling boring. It is boredom because everything is so convenient in this western life we live. My brain has now sunk into the depths of contemplation and deliberation, reflection and inspection as my body sinks into this office chair.

This brings me to how the media – being the most obvious “spectacle” - is a colossal component of our conscious mental states. It has become what is happening to us and others in our immediate environments – our society. Now that our dear old friends at the local and international newspapers continue to be contented to share things that shock us into oblivion of worry. Swine Flu; originally bought upon us as “El Gripe Porcina.” As the pandemic’s popularity stabilizes, other worlds of top breaking stories rise to the forefront and poor piggy is left in the trenches. Autumn is in its difficult transition towards the bitter winter and in South Korea the little kiddies are playing on the worries of their spectacle-enchanted parents. Where face masks are the new fashion, students are dropping out of the classroom like flies in the freezer. They’ll be fine once they thaw out – once the excitement passes. Precaution is of utmost importance to the point of warranting a temporary closing of the country high school. Although no virus virulent enough to seize me has entered into the hollows of my immune system, I am told to wear a mask. Of course in the name of precaution.

If you are interested in furthering your conscious self towards the spectacle, read Ken Knabb’s translation of Guy Debord’s SOCIETY OF THE SPECTACLE online at http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/debord/index.htm

Action Direct Audition: The Jangeunbang Ukulele adventure

2009-09-14T00:06:00.000-07:00

Only 3 weeks of playing the ukulele. It is my new toy. More practice needed!
This is a tribute to my Big Wall Jam Band Buddies!
Go on YOU TUBE and search for:
"nationalpickleday" or
"Part (1,2,3) Climbing to the sky in a sea of tyranasaurus teeth"
or
"Action Direct Audition"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVCFMHmgQ_4

Rusty Boats and Jagged mountain peaks

2009-09-13T21:02:00.000-07:00

This time luggin a smaller tote, Alec and I set off to the magnificent Seorak Mountains near the coast of the East Sea in South Korea. The smell of fishing villages and old rusty boats reminds me on Halifax and New Zealand. Good memories. There is something majestic about old rusty fishing boats. They show the multitude of scars and battle wounds from a life out at sea. A rough life, a tough life. They have a history forever etched into the sepia skinned steel that coats their exterior and they gently rock in the swell of natures fondest unknown, the ocean.

A most wondrous multi-pitch of heady trad and sport mixed, I decided to haul my ukulele to the top obliged to audition for ACTION DIRECT, the big wall jam band. This route, called Alpine Crutch/Clutch/Crux however you interpret the Korean pronunciation, gets more difficult the higher you go ending with 2 most brilliant 11a. pitches, courteously and courageously lead by Alec himself. The best part about the last pitch was a little warning squeak as I camed my fingers into the only but sweetest hand hold insight. I had disturbed a teeny tiny brown bat as he took refuge from the heat of the sun. His beady eyes were no bigger than a pin-head and his little nose the size of the polka-dots on your childhood rubber boots. I gingerly adjusted my grip and gazed at the precious wonder of nature hiding 150 metres off the deck. Scared and shaking in its refuge I carefully climbed past and met Alec on the summit. The ukulele was out and the jamming began in the honour of my Belgian friends Nico and Sean. Oh yes, I must mention that I have never played an instrument before and I only picked up the ukulele 3 weeks ago. I am still in the ubiquitous learning curve, but practice makes perfect as the cliché goes. Watch the videos and cross your fingers. I hope I pass the first round of auditions!

"You call this a send fest, I call it a choss pile."

2009-08-31T00:38:00.000-07:00

One month before my 28th birthday I come close to death but cheat it by only seconds and a few feet. At 4:30 on Friday I ran out of the door of the school, across the parking lot, through the soccer field and up the stairs to my modest two bedroom Korean apartment where my jam-packed bag sat patiently waiting. Ready to go, I lugged the dead weight of all my camping-climbing equipment on my back and headed down the rural village road towards the country bus stop. My destination was Muido, an island off the coast on Incheon. It is only a few kilometers from the Incheon airport, the international hub where people from all over the globe meet South Korea for the first time.

I met up with my climbing buddies and we all crammed into their modest two bedroom Korean apartment and cozied up in our sleeping bags on the kitchen floor for a night of dreamless sleep. To get to Muido Island, one must go to the Incheon airport and jump on a local bus there. The reason for our weekend extravaganza was to be the first Wey-gook-in foreigners to climb on Muido’s newly bolted seaside crags (this could be a lie, but to my knowledge, it is completely and utterly true.)

At low tide, the tide is very low and all the crags are accessible by walking along the seabed littered with seashells, oyster remnants and crustaceans of all kinds. As we began the search for climbable rock, we soon feasted our eyes upon the ubiquitous anchors that we have grown to love and trust so much over the years. It looked like some promising sport climbing on orange volcanic rock. The base of some climbs are riddled with white barnacles, enemies to my new evolve shoes. The grades are a rainbow of difficulty to warm us up or shut us down, to both we had been inclined to accept. With no guidebook, we chose the most beautiful lines in sight. My partner and I, Dan chose an easy-ish warm up to get the feeling of this new and foreign rock. New areas tend to be prone to loose rock and a lot of unknowns, so easy does it. I was also treading on new shoes that I had yet to trust fully. After I had on-sighted what seemed to be no more than a 5.9 in difficulty, it was Dan’s turn.

I must now, before the story continues, give credit to all the inspirational climbers that have molded my passion and allowed me to hone my skills as a dedicated lifer of climbing. Dani D Love, Napolean, Tomas, Ana Gabriela, Beckett, Eli, Eva and Wesley among many others. I have learned from some of the best.

Ok, so Dan leads a smooth clean climb and at the top after clipping the anchors, right before I am about to lower him to safety, I look up and see a microwave-sized boulder from the 80’s lean onto his chest in slow motion. In complete disillusionment, he could say nothing, just as he could barely understand what was happening. At this point, I knew it was going to fall straight into the hands of gravity. I scurried to the right, hugging the wall as close as I could and suddenly fell backwards over a barnacle covered rock. While keeping my break hand secure on the rope, I still was able to hold Dan precariously at the sketchy anchors fifteen metres above. Holding my breath, closing my eyes, scrunching my face and praying to the powers that be that the microwave and its deadly pizza pop shrapnel wouldn’t decapitate me.

The loud smash knocked me back into the present moment. In a 10 second fuzz I yelled at Dan. “Are you OK?“Yes. Are you OK?”“Yes.” I reply as I shook my head in disbelief in a dust cloud of rock debris. In less than the minute that followed I surveyed the damage. Inches from my feet lay 4 pieces of fresh rock fall the size of toasters and the microwave itself, larger than first perceived to be, 2 feet to my left.

Despite the helmet if any one of those pieces were to hit me we would have had some serious carnage on our hands and probably 2 dead bodies. Me dead and Dan dead because after I died, I would have let go of my brake hand and dropped him. Just before I was about to lower him, I had to make sure everything really was OK. There was so much more fresh debris than I originally had noticed, At least 5 other stove pot-sized rocks and a bunch of golf balls carpeted the bottom of the climb. “Don’t’ move. Don’t touch anything” I yelled up at Dan. With my instincts in on red alert and having learned so much from the people who raised me up in the climbing world, I knew I had to check the rope. Literally 6 inches below my break hand, the rope was sliced, 3/4‘s through the core. Totally ******. If I was to miss that essential detail and lower Dan, it most certainly would have snapped and sent Dan plummeting. Bogue, another climber friend of ours ran around the corner. He had heard the rock explosion, but had heard no screams. He thought he was about to be witness to the serious bloody aftermath. I asked him to go and fetch another rope. He would have to rescue Dan by leading the route again and rapping down one after the other. Once everybody was safe on the ground, we got the hell outta there. For the first climb of the day, it no less than muddied our mental fortitude.
For the rest of the day, we all climbed with a little unease and doubt in the rock we confronted. We became ballerinas, cautiously dancing up the rock, checking every hold a little more than necessary. On My 3rd lead of the day, I pulled off a teapot sized handhold but somehow managed to keep my barn door balance and not take the whipper that could have been. “Rock” I called and Dan was warned in plenty of time. After rebalancing myself and a couple moves later on a nice little ledge I called down in a mouthful of disbelief, “You call this a send fest, I call it a choss pile”.

All things considered, the day improved, our heads returned to rock warrior mode and we found the sweet potential that was waiting in store for us all along. Lacey was leading up a storm, the first of many to come and Phillipe and Bouge in constant brotherly competition were pushing their limits as always. As we moved along the beach, the rock became solid and the lines were quality. We found ourselves good and pumped as the day came to a close and the tide began to creep back in towards the dry sand. With our tents pitched on the beach, the 5 of us gathered around a fire and retold the story with all the “what if’s” we could imagine. “What if I was 2 feet over? What if I didn’t see Dan holding the Boulder and about to drop it? What if our other friends were standing there? What if I didn’t notice the rope and lowered Dan and it snapped? What if, What if, What if?

The truth is all moments in life are filled with what ifs. What happens, happens and what is done is done and this time we were damned lucky.
A little advice for the newbie climber or just a refresher for you veterans:-Always wear a helmet outdoors, especially in new areas.-Check any suspicious holds with a delicate tap of the hand,-Pay attention to each other. Don’t get distracted by social chat or mind wanderings. Be 100% present.If there is rock fall…-Belayer, move as far to the side as possible out of the line of trajectory.-Climber, yell out “ROCK!”-Check the rope as soon as possible for any weaknesses. (Rock fall can cut a rope just like that.)-Never let go of the break hand, even on auto locking belay devices.-And ****, while remembering safety first, don’t forget to have fun.

www.koreaontherocks.com

Time. Paying attention to the present moment.

2009-08-26T15:47:00.000-07:00

I looked at the clock and it was only 10:58 am. OOF. Time goes slow when you are paying attention to time. I promised myself I would continue to engage my life in the present moment but when you have to sit in a desk for 32 of 40 hours a week with nothing to do in the South Korean country side besides read a lot of great books (which ain’t so bad), the present moment becomes a playground for the imagination of future and past delinquencies. Keeping a blog must mean that from time to time it is to be updated. With nothing much to say than a flutter of experiences experienced, I feel that the explanation of such events would alter their significance or make them more superfluous than they really were. Pictures tell a thousand words, but words construct a picture in the mind that is original to each reader every time. If everyone sees the same picture, there is nothing left to the imagination. Words however make the experience personal. Who really cares about what happens to me anyways. I could tell you that no matter what happens to me, I will continue to live and view life through a positive lens. I could tell you how I missed my flight from Denver to Calgary and that I tried to pass the time with red wine and that we all know what happens next. I could tell you that after that red wine, those little airplane barf bags were my best friend for the following 3 hours as we glided at a cruising altitude of 3000 metres over the Rocky Mountains. I could also tell you that I spent my vacation doused in illegality, indulging in the low-responsibility fix of someone who is fortunate enough to have said vacation paid. And how I was able to meet and revel in the company of old friends, even though said meetings were scheduled by the hour.

Time. A man-made (probably not woman-made) construct that we all are, have been or will be a prisoner to at least once in our lives. From time to time (no pun intended), we are able to escape these boundaries that Time forces upon our experiences. These are the greatest moments of life. Leisurely existing for the purpose only to exist without the question of “what time is it?”. Ahh. That sounds nice. Some people are too bound by time to notice the beauty of simplicity that surrounds them. Listen to the birds and welcome the bugs and insects however pesky they may be. We say we are too busy. We make excuses. Those excuses are a choice. Those excuses are a mentality. I could tell you that no matter what happens to me, I will continue to live and view life through a positive lens and that I am only somewhat bound by time. I have the choice, I have a certain mentality. And I have now updated my blog.

A Summer Consciousness

2009-06-07T21:01:00.001-07:00

Summer approaches like a runner from the bullet of a gun and the garden is an explosion of edible greens. I just finished reading “The Tracker” by Tom Brown Jr – a perfect segue into becoming ever more attentive to the growing things and hatching swallows and croaking frogs as the summer creeps along. I now begin to delve into “A New Earth” by Eckhart Tolle. Fighting within myself to express what I feel deep inside is always a challenge. I do what I know how. I speak and I write in hopes of articulating and thus reflecting upon the “deep down”. I use words (as I am now) and simple sounds produced by the vocal chords I was taught to use when I was young to convey the meandering development of my sense of self.

Tolle asks me, and in turn I ask you if “you believe some combination of such basic sounds could even explain who [we] are or the ultimate purpose of the universe or even what a tree or stone is in its depth?” To say the least, our words, as Tolle puts it, “no matter whether they are vocalized and made into sounds or remain as unspoken thoughts, can cast an almost hypnotic spell upon [us]. [We] easily lose [ourselves] in them and then become hypnotized into implicitly believing that when [we] have attached a word to something, [we] know what it is. The fact is: [we] don’t know what it is, [we] have only covered up the mystery with a label” (pg. 25-27). When two people learn about each other, bull-shit pushed aside, they undoubtedly recognize and experience something superior than words can express. Call it a connection of energy, a synergistic exchange, whatever you call it, in the process of sharing, you will inevitably have to confront your inner self and deal with it how you will. Through habit, through custom, through obligation or through enlightenment, some of us will have a ways to go.

Last weekend, I joined a flock of native English teachers on a beach bound fieldtrip to embrace an awesome display of culture presented in the Dano Festival. I asked our bi-lingual guide “우 리 무 엇 할 거 요 - u-ri mu-eot hal ko-yo?” (in English, “what are we doing?), as I followed a weaving tour in and out of museums and kiosks admiring the display of ancient hair washing, mask dancing and giant swing competitions. In Gangneung, Gangwon-do, not only did I gather a handful of new Korean phrases to express my wit, I also was acquainted with the history of one of Korea’s intangible cultural events as designated by UNESCO in 2005. The festival itself, and not just the budding green trees were in the mood to welcome summer. In the spirit of hoping for favorable farming weather, a whole seaside village prepared its welcoming festivities.

One particular fascinating demonstration of time-honored art was the Pansori. Pansori communicates the tradition of Korean satire and love-stories through the masterpiece of oral story telling in opera form. On stage, there is one signer and one drummer. They engage in an interchange of percussion and vocal acknowledgements that recognizes a story being told. As the singer becomes engulfed in the story itself, her passion and energy are expressed through emotional intensities. The performance I saw in Gangneung was mesmerizing and captivating in its ardor.

The patriotism of the Korean culture is more evident as traditional festivals are celebrated. Koreans are confident being connected to a culture unique from their Asian counterparts. They are proud of their traditions and observe them year after year with celebratory excellence. They are willingly excited to invite the 위 국 - wey-guks (foreigners) into their rituals as a way of showing off their cultural pride. I noticed again, not for the first time the ritualistic symbolism engrained in the hearts and mind of Korean people.

rastas gone, another day dawns

2009-05-11T17:47:00.000-07:00

After 5 years the dreads come off in a fury of scissors and red wine. Only two bottles later and I am staring in the mirror contemplating vanity and a slew of history. Dreadlocks, in pop-culture are most closely associated with the Rastafari movement beginning in the 1930's in Jamaica and Bob Marley himself. They actually have lengthy accounts in different cultural groups throughout world history including ancient Egypt, Greece and India as far back as 2500 BCE with the Dreadlocked Vedic deity Shiva and his followers, from Christianity to Hinduism. Even King Tutankhamun's dreads are still intact to this day.

Old generation Rastafari people take non-violence, non-conformity, communalism and solidarity as a religious way of life. They believe that the late emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie I, later named Ras Tafari as the coming savior destined to lead the Rastasfari (hence the name) to freedom. The word "dreadlock" comes from the word "dread" or fear and horror. They were said to look “dreadful” while disregarding the general narcissism and vanity that infected conventional conservatism of the day and may still.

Somehow through the fashion police and modern day status symbols conjured by dreadlocks, us newbies have lost the true meaning in their representation. Seeing those who have dreads as herb smoking Reggae fanatics is a severe stereotype, albeit true in many cases.

Why me? Ever since a taste of freedom tickled my imagination, the lust for adventure began to cultivate in the folds of my training bra, not yet filled with the flesh of my innocent bosom. I felt a compelling urge to question why; to search for a light in the dark of a controlled suburban existence. My parents supported me unconditionally (and still do) in their hearts yet voiced (and still do) their fervent objections to my fast-paced, impulsive decisions. Still, out of respect, there was (is) no stopping me. Having the dreads in the first place meant for me a shunning of conformity and breaking down the stereotypes of beauty. We, as a western society place too much importance on physical appearance. We live futilely on the surface and miss the allegorical boat of life’s true meaning. 5 years is nothing in the complex yet insignificant history of human kind. But in these 5 years, I have in some small way begun to grow in my search. I do not consider myself to be Rastafari, as stated above, I do enjoy the casual glass (or bottle) of red wine from time to time. I do live in the present and although I tend to shy away from my privileged North American upbringing, I do not deny that I am a product of my surroundings. All the more reason to keep exploring, keep asking questions, keep learning and keep reflecting. Symbolically, the cutting of my dreadlocks signifies a new epoch of my life; an unmistakable feeling that has washed over me. This has not been a journey alone. Many people have influenced my life and thanks to those, I am beginning to see clearly now.

At least I am about 10 pounds lighter so I'll be able to climb stronger.

(This is my warrior making a joke)

Broken toe? What broken toe?

2009-03-31T18:24:00.000-07:00

The injury is in the past and I am feeling stronger than before. Climbing offers residual spirits of passion to awaken conjured by action. Once again I take the sharp end. I was fortunate enough to travel eight hours on busses and trains to the rolling hillside of Korea's south-west corner again to meet and climb with one of the world greatest. Sharma and his equally gifted girlfriend, Daila Ojeda were promoting Evolv's new signature series designed by Sharma himself. Evolv shoes, made from synthetic materials are the most "vegan-friendly" climbing shoe on the market. As a company, they are making strides in sustainable designs paying respect to the environment. (as all companies should. Even if this wave becomes trend, no harm done).

In country life news, I am planting a garden in the highschool greenhouse. Being a little anxious, patience weans on the verge of hasty decision. Zucchini, Squash, Tomato, Snap Peas, Green Beans, Bell Pepper, Hot Pepper, Eggplant, Spinach, Dill, Parsley, Chives and Basil await in slumber beneath the fertile soil in anticipation of pokeing thier little heads towards the sun. Old Man Weather can be a tricky son of bitch. He teases us with sunny days and then takes it back like a spoiled brat.

I have finally updated my poetry blog. No sense mixing business with pleasure. Please, have a look.

www.picklepresspoetry.blogspot.com

Peace out for now.

A Sharma filled weekend

2009-03-30T17:15:00.000-07:00

Thai Offerings

2009-02-04T23:49:00.000-08:00

You know when something makes you so speechless and you fight within yourself and through your limited vocabulary to express the feelings conjured by this something? Well, Thailand and its energy is this something.

Elephant rides in grandious jungles dotted with Rubber trees that emit foul pungent scents; sand-in-hair and jelly fish stings; 1 dollar morning mango-coconut sticky rice from the Chicken Lady (locally doned); early morning beach front yoga sessions; gapped-mouth catfish desperately pileing on top of each other starving for brown-bagged 50 cent fish pellets; top-ropes necessary with one chaco and one shoe, splunking around in the pitch black underground, crawling out of grandiose caves peering upon endless sand 200 metres above the crashing salt water waves; hordes of monkeys playing whistfully in a playground of trees; listening to reggae beats as the orange and yellow setting sun slides down towards the horizon and blinks hiding its head once more. Thailand has only teased me with a corner of the country and is complex culture, I long for more.

The Mecca of Southeastern Asian Climbing. Ton Sai. (and broken toe torture)

2009-01-14T22:12:00.000-08:00

I start my Thailand adventure with a 4 hour wait in the Bangkok airport. As per usual, my taste buds invite me to try some authentic Thai airport food and I opt for the Mushroom Tom Yum soup. The intensity of the spice steals my breath as I inhale the pungent lemongrass and hot-headed chili. I cough under my breath as tears burst out my eyes and run furiously down my face. On lookers gaze and issue a solemn "I've been there" sympathy glance. The lethal flavour teases me and I, with delicate effort, try to enjoy this war on my throat. At least this is the only war I have to personally deal with. Don't we wish it was the same with the rest of the world. In Korea, it is impolite to blow your nose at the table. I wonder if it is the same here?

While sitting in the airport shuttle on the way to Ton Sai peer, I had overheard a woman and her mother discussing the place of interest. Since I assumed they were headed in the same direction as me, seizing the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity, I shared my mutual interest in this mysterious place. Yori, her mother and her small baby boy, Kian, joined forces on the road to climbing paradise.

I sit on the beach because climbing has stuttered to a halt. Why? It seems unfortunate that the young lass has indeed broken her toe while preforming high wire slack line shenanigans. Sober and all, her wild balance, bereft of any fault, had oh-so dangerously snagged a toe on the way down. Yes, I fell off the freeking slack line. Now with not a single pitch climbed, I rest, ice, compress and elevate my foot as the back and blue purple swirls that call themselves bruises change and morph daily. In this climbing paradise, the walls of limestone grandeur taunt me. Their black streaks bleeding down over colossal caves and huecos perfect for a few fingers hurt my heart. Fortunately the crew that manifests itself here on the beach has sympathy, albeit with friendly teasing hand in hand.

I have been forced to hobble along slowly. This allows me to examine a side of nature once lost in rapid foot work. I am seeing the small details within dense jungle foliage and sun bleached white sand beaches. This makes me smile.

here i am, open.

2009-01-06T22:59:00.000-08:00

rush foreward a calamity of adrenaline buzz.

fight backward illogical impulsive detriment.

delve into sentiments brooding on the banquet of niceness.

fire upon midnight hearts racing in anticipation of dreams soon to be realized.

A Foreign Circus Christmas

2008-12-28T23:19:00.000-08:00

This year comes to a close and for many of us, the inevitability of change is the only thing that keeps our eyes on the prize whether that be freedom or some other distant hopeful. Finally the coined team name of "foreign circus" has officially been doted upon us adventure seekers slash English teachers living here in South Korea. After a cold snap that left us longing for nopales and daily avocados had passed, we were able to sneak in a daring mountain excursion. High above the friendly metropolis of Seoul, Suraksan mountain spared our souls and let us frolic upon its giant granite belly for the evening. My Mad-rock soles danced delicately on the 90 foot white washed run-out slab and furious crack fingering followed suit as we chased the shadow of the setting sun. Finally some climbing pictures worth sharing.

Christmas was spent in the company of some sweet folk and food was graciously shared. Although the recipe chosen, "Cashew Bake" called for the oven we just didn't have, our pan fried mock imitation was delicious just the same.

For the Roast:1 cup margarine2 large onions, finely chopped 3 cups unroasted cashews 1 1/2 cups white bread, crusts removed 3 large cloves of garlic 1 cup water or vegetable stock salt and pepper nutmeg 2 Tbsp. lemon juice For the Stuffing: 3 cups bread crumbs 1 cup margarine 2 small onions, grated 1/2 Tsp. each thyme and majoram 3 Tbsp. parsley, chopped

• Preheat oven to 400°F and line a greased 1-lb. loaf pan with a long strip of greased nonstick paper. • Melt margarine in a medium-sized saucepan, add the onion and sauté until tender. Remove from heat.• Grind the cashews in a food processor with the bread and garlic and add to the onion, together with the water or stock, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and lemon juice, to taste.Mix all stuffing ingredients together.• Put half the cashew mixture into the prepared pan, top with the stuffing, then spoon the rest of the nut mixture on top. Dot with margarine.• Stand the pan in another pan to catch drippings and bake for about 30 minutes or until firm and lightly browned (cover the roast with foil if it gets too brown before then).• Cool for a minute or two, then slip a knife around the sides, turn roast out, and strip off the paper. Makes 8 Servings

If you try this recipe with an oven, let me know how it goes...

Epic. Oh, I love that word!

2008-12-08T00:52:00.000-08:00

Climbing this weekend was an epic adventure! Below that good old 0 centigrade line that regulates our freezers and our acute human temperature flexors, we were shocked into survival mode. Frozen puddles and light flurries didn't stop us from pursuing one last pull down on the cusp of the rock/ice climbing season. It is longish hike through Seoraksan park, albeit on primarily flat ground, to the little restaurant that serves as a climbers hostal throughout the year.

The rhythmic gong of a Buddhists' prayer echoed in the valley that surrounded us. It hypnotically called us near. High in a cave in one of the mountains only reached by a series of boulder sized stepping stones and metal staircases could we reach the mysterious hole. The trek was constant and just when our lungs were about to burst from the pulsing aerobic uphill, we reached the source of the chanting. A lone woman sat perched on her stoop over looking the sharp teethed rockies. At peace, she welcomed us with a modest head bow when she was finished. The air was faintly humid from our close proximity to the Sea of Japan (or as any and all Koreans will defend, "The East Sea of Korea". For Alec's sake, I will mention that apparently, Japan doesn't have any seas). As we made our way down, the sun was settling in a orange haze draped over the raucous peaks like a creamsicle in the summer.

Unfortunately when we arrived at the hostal, the kind yet unwavering owners mentioned how they were closed for the season and were by no means going to allow us to sleep there. (closed for the season means closed for one month. The only month when we decide to go... nice research). Oh what would any other hardcore dirtbag do... We weren't about to hike back again with our heavy bags so with no other choice, we decided to sleep outside. We found a nook in between some boulders with no wind. Because it got dark so early, we went to bed at around 7 and I froze until hypothermia shock treatment was necessarily employed.

The next morning after a soft suffered eyelid rest we needed to be stealthy and find ourselves a clandestine rock face to practice our obsession. Considering that the forests look very different in the summer with green leaves and well defined destinations, the fall gave us a run around blinding us and disguising the path ahead with its leaves coating the forest floor. Who doesn't enjoy a little "we are almost lost" hikey-poo jumping river boulders and circumnavigating the approach to the crag! Finally, just as Alec and I we were about to give up and bust open the wine, we heard Wes give a little whistle in the distance. As we met, he had his harness on and was ready to whip! Despite the late start, we each got in two routes (for the whole weekend!) and only Wes had to suffer a mild case of the screaming barfies. It is sad to admit that the outdoor rock climbing season is on hold until next year. Now, we just have to wait for the ice - bring on the mix!

Another mighty Seoul extravaganza!

2008-12-07T23:59:00.000-08:00

As winter invades the evening sky swirling with soft white flakes, the first of the season, my tongue is the only one unabashedly protruding out of my mouth in childlike awe of a nostalgic phenomenon I used to take for granted.

With Hangul heartbeats pumping fiercely through surges of adrenaline that recognize good company, my entourage and I board the underground rip-around. We, the foreign circus, perform tricks of stealth and strength in the labyrinth of Seoul’s subway system. A quaint display of Western gregariousness, our near blistered hands hold on for the last chance pull-up party, makgeolli debauchery. Our Korean audience members steal corner of the eye glances.

Some sit on the heated metal seats, hands folded in obedience. Some smile and cheer on our ego busting one-handed lock-off showdown.

In the largest indoor Ice climbing wall in the world according to Mr. Guinness himself, I swing for my life. Pumped out and barely able to hold on to the leash-less ice axes that assist me up sheer frozen vertical ice slicks, I pray I won’t drop them on the kind belayers below! This giant-sized freezer reminds me of home. After spending almost 3 years in Mexico, I have forgotten the all- encompassing feeling of the snowsuit necessary, nose numbing cold as the moisture from my breath freezes and thaws on my jacket after each inhale and exhale.

I have been an Ice climber in a past life, but am only now just realizing it in this one. A taste of an often feared extreme winter sport has left me thirsty for more in near dehydration. Sorry mom.

Deserving a little downtime, Lila, Daphne and I share stories and coffee (and a bottle of wine for breakfast) on Sunday morning to appreciate that we can. They listen and give their blunt and honest perspective. They have travelled to the ends of the earth with me and make me almost pee my pants with laughter (or have made me...). I am so lucky to have these girls in my life!

Autumn Adventures in the South of Seonunsan

2008-11-19T19:37:00.000-08:00

And so the eight hour bus ride began loaded down once again with rope and draws and camping gear in all its splendour. Oh the self sufficient sacrifices we make to pursue our passion! To the Southern end of the country I ventured for a two day taste of limestone pockets and overhanging jug fests. At the Jecheon terminal, the train’s arrival was precise. Being stared at was the least of my worries as I boarded and squished between the sliding door and rows of cushioned fabric seats uniformly facing forward. A little bit of Mr. Carlos Castaneda nourished my open eyes as I waited for a friend, equally as addicted to climbing, to jump on the train half way along point A to B. When Wes, the Colorado/New Mexican vagabond sat next to me, my book closed and chat commenced. Sooner than later we arrived in Daejeon where we were to meet up with another rock enthusiast who had never actually rock climbed before but was so sure he would love it he bought all his own gear prematurely. Sure enough over the subsequent days, he caught the bug as expected.

Busting out the playing cards and vending machine beer we passed the time playing mindless yet strategic slap down intensity. We hadn’t finished our game when we arrived at out final destination. Only a taxi ride was between us and the campsite calling our names. As my grasp on the Korean language grows and my ability to read Hangeul improves, hiring a taxi wouldn’t be a problem. And it wasn’t. We agreed on a price and so started the last leg of the trip. Half an hour on a dark country road, the driver pulled into a small village lit by candy coloured fluorescent signs. I had only been to Seonunsan Provincial Park once, but as my impeccable visual memory rarely deceives me, I didn’t recognize our surroundings. I asked the cab driver in one word preciseness, “Seonunsan?” He looked at me with a quizzical and disgusted expression. “Aniyo,” he replied. Aniyo means “NO” in Korean. “No?” What could he possibly mean by “no”? Had I been overconfident with my Korean speaking skills and assumed he heard me correctly? YES. There had been a miscommunication. NO. We weren’t in Seonunsan Provincial Park. We had in fact driven half an hour in the opposite direction and we all know that dirt bag climbers don’t have limitless amounts of expendable taxi fare. He wanted $55 to take us back to the place we originally wanted to go. Well, my friends were livid. I tried to keep the peace and negotiate respectfully, but they refused to pay and began to walk into the swallowing forest and camp for the night in attempt to let the buzz of the beer fade and decipher our next plan of action. I persisted to try and come to an agreement with the taxi driver as he ignored me and rambled on his phone. I wasn’t going to travel for 8 hours across the country, sleep who-knows-where and try to find our way to the crag in the morning only to waste half a days’ climbing on incessant pin-the-tail on the provincial park. I thought maybe the driver was trying to explain our situation to a fellow taxi man, but aniyo, he was not.

Soon after he flipped his phone shut I saw flashing red and blue lights turn the corner and approach me. Oh no. The Police. The last thing I needed was to be thrown in a backwoods Korean holding cell in attempts to explain our misunderstanding to deaf ears. My friends returned to support me and luckily the policemen spoke enough English to understand what had happened. In fact, they were upset at the driver for taking us to the wrong place. Now, at 2:00 in the morning, and low on cash, the police decided to do their civil duty and drive us themselves to the Seonunsan. Wow! How courteous. The 40 minute ride to the correct park would have cost us a pretty penny. The police laughed and shared with us their family stories. Mr. Lee and Mr. Kim both had brothers and sisters! When my visual memory had assured me we had indeed arrived at the place of intent, we offered the police a bottle of red wine which they candidly tucked into the cop car console as payment for the out-of-the-way detour.

Our new rock enthusiast, Laine, didn’t have a tent so with a little creativity he busted out an army surplus hammock and a large piece of plastic. Through trial and error, he made himself a quaint little see-through home that we hoped would shield him from the near freezing night air. Wes and I set up our tents and finished our card game with relaxed nerves recounting the baffling scenario that had just passed.

After a 4 hour sleep we were super stoked to hit the rock. I was climbing my hardest in a long time attempting to tip the grade scales! So maybe I couldn’t quite redpoint the overhanging invitations, although in next attempts, I’ll get them. Go hard or go home right. Well, by no means was I ready to make the 8 hour trip back home, so hard was the only option.

On Sunday, “A Beautiful Woman’s Secret” enticed me to grunt and groan. The upside down 11c was sure to be my friend and my nemesis on this particular day. After clipping the 5th bolt, the next move was a right handed dyno to a sharp but solid pocket.

Feeling confident and stronger than ever, I threw…and stuck it!

Then, left hand to a shitty pinch parallel to the pocket, and stuck it…

But unexpectedly as always, I slid off as sweat erupted out of the pores of my fingertips. After a little whipper therapy to get the adrenaline pumping I could go no further. It’s ok. I was still climbing strong and felt satisfied. Suddenly noticing the time, I admitted I had to begin the epic adventure back North.

We hiked down to the campsite breathing in the crisp autumn air and admiring the colour-shifting foliage all around us. The leaves of the maple trees were red like kindergarten finger-paint. The grass was turning yellow like the colour of melted crayola crayons on a car seat in the summer heat. My shoulder started to ache a little, but with this view, joy invaded my every molecule of existence. The beauty of nature never ceases to increase the perma-smile that already lingers on my lips everyday!

After we had packed up our gear and overstuffed our packs for the long haul home, the dull ache in my shoulder was harder to ignore. Luckily my strong-man friends gave me a hand with the overstuffed heavyweight. On the bus home, I couldn’t get comfortable, the dull ache turned into a more throbbing pain. No matter which position I moved into, the pain was unrelenting. During the final stretch of the 8 hour trip back, I needed a double dose of some serious drugs. In the hours that followed, I couldn’t sleep as I grinded my teeth in utter tear inducing pain. What happened? Lucky for http://www.climbinginjuries.com/, I had discovered the only logical reason for my fucked up shoulder was “especially after a particularly traumatic event, such as hitting a dyno, [that I had] strained [my] rotator cuff muscle.” NOOOOOO.

Luckily “help” is available for a minimal cost. In the last three days I have been treated by bio-stimulation lasers and given electro-magnetic energy impulses making my muscles spasm like giggles from pre-pubescent school girls as honeymoon heat lamps induced armpit sweat to pour under the infra-red 300. Quick and painless pinpricks of acupuncture needles sticking out all over me like a play piercing party calmed my nerves as potent Chinese herbal smoke saturated my hair and clothes. After the modern Western and ancient Eastern mish-mash therapy and some serious meds packaged like multi-coloured candy in no-name transparent baggies (all unbelievably cheap here in Korea, it might as well be free, less than $10 for the whole kit and caboodle), I am out for at least 3 weeks at the stretch end of the climbing season. When I heal, let the plastic pull down begin… and on the bright side, snowboarding season is approaching!

How Korea finds itself through my eyes in October

2008-11-03T01:30:00.001-08:00

a poem in reflection of cabin fever closing in.

2008-11-03T00:20:00.000-08:00

A Curiosity Coo

A “coo” comes out. A coo turned sigh turned exasperated yawn-awe.
Don’t shun the brick wall, climb it. Climb it for curiosity.
Curiosity, our motive to question
while living in subservient systems capitalized to provide
as needs cultivate and expand although the irreplaceable capital provided by nature remains the same.
Curiosity, intrinsically overwritten by One Big Head and Two Big Head handing out free manipulation muzzles and witch tricks.

Old trees, old rusty farm equipment even old buildings catch the omniscient eye,
the all encompassing closed circuit security cameras,
old buildings growing vines upon vines of ancient plaster cracking to register wisdom in forms anew
Glue.
Glued to advertising money mongers, witch tricks disguised. Our adult education.
Glued to the thoughts of hard belts behind. No tie, no tie down.
Grubby hands tough to please, touch to please. Touch to see that this way is that way and that way is golden.
Care for the coo. Relish the coo as it pukes gently out, sputtering out of twisted lips of Freudian slips.
Our struggle with trouble is merely liquid flow in due time; a forecast of unspoiled fire crackers; the unadorned truth composed upright.
It is neglected by the people, who in mass hysteria, keep blind eyes upturned and unwavering under ever-growing circles of vultures proud and thirsty.
Pure fantasy relinquishes reality scorned.
Better keep a move on
Better keep a move on

I bring Dionysus in; I dine him and tell him jokes. He lies with me under the red wine covers behind the rum endowed curtains and reminds me not to take things too seriously.
Dionysus laughs, this life, after-life, immortal-life laugh. His laughter enables him to climb the brick wall effortlessly. Never scampering nor scratching. Just laughter itself propels through ineffable undeniable breath.
He reminds me to live in laughter and this will in turn unglue me.
Was I glued? Am I glued?
The coo comes out again.
Not bird like but unmistaken. Not innocent but out of Eden.
A coo of thanks,
A coo for truth revealed, a truth that sets me free.
Those brick walls are clues which form the question of all time. The rainbow of all questions...
And in this question the word “curiosity” lingers with laughter.

Seoul. Small Town Girls meet the Big City.

2008-10-07T00:57:00.000-07:00

Friday morning we whisked ourselves away to the river’s edge. The Han river, boasting scents of fish and whiffs of rotten crotch elevated our sense of smell like a fat slap in the face from some bitch from high school. Shocking and appalling, but you can do anything about it. As soon as we had accepted this reality, a crisp pine needle breeze and fresh baked baguettes would waft past our noses clearing our heads and minds. The mix of city smells never ceases to amaze me. Too bad there is no “scent recorder” to share with all of you. Renting rusty cruiser bicycles from some 1970’s garage sale with bent metal baskets allowed us to discover the action of holiday independence day in motion.

Family Picnickers tapping badminton birdies into the sky, lovers hand in hand on strolls with sun umbrellas to shelter the sear of the September sun, Koreans training for triathlons decked out in full fledged bike attire and carefree drunkards relishing in the extra day away from the office whizzed past as we traversed the grand waterway in style. My sea foam green machine was no less thrilled at the 48 km push as its back tire screamed a whopping “I Quit!”. Flat as flat can be, tube inching out of the rim as I forced my quads to push the pedals harder, my face began to distort as teeny grunts escaped my lips with every revolution. Luckily we secretly switched the antique for a newer shiny red cruiser at the last station before we had to turn around and head all the way back. Needless to say, a long day on a bike seat really pushes the pain tolerance of ones sit bones.

BASEBALL! When is the last time you saw a live hard hitting action packed Pro Baseball game? Well, Saturday night was our game. Vacuum packed like sardines or freeze dried astronaunt food, thousands of screaming, chanting dressed up fanatics squeezed into Korean largest baseball stadium. With friendly faces all around us, and full to the brim with a Hite in each hand (the local Korean lager), we cheered the players on! A lovely time spent catching up on the seasons hits and misses as our new friend Joon gave us a play by play action. Whenever people all around the world indulge in live sports, the fatty snack food accompanies. But, why on earth would you want dehydrated soft squid leg breathing out of the mouths of everyone that surrounds you? Not quite sure. I guess it is like garlic. You eat it then I eat it and when we kiss, no biggie.

Cheap as every dirt-bag is, our search for a scummy motel ended at the front doors to a basement jjimjilbang. For those of you who have never experienced a “public bath” in Korea, I exceedingly recommend such an activity. Basically spa slash sauna slash hot tub slash sleep on the floor in an attic with no blanket hostel can sum it up nicely. Here clothes are less than optional, they are not permitted. Of course, with men and women divided, there is no need to be shy. Young, old and all sized naked bodies freely roam the establishment. You pay a minimal fee and can stay as long as you like. You can also sleep as long as you like in case of needing to nourish a hangover from a little too much Hite from the night before. First you trade your shoes for a locker key, making sure there is no sneaking out.

After given an orange over sized t-shirt and matching shorts your mom might have worn in the 80’s, you head into the “locker room”. For your comfort, the heated floors invite bare feet. A small clothing store and any trial size soap, face mask or beauty remedy you could dream up are available for purchase along with a variety of drinks from the standing-up, sliding-door cooler. With your basic necessities covered, really, why would you ever leave. But, wait, I am getting to the good part. With your choice of massage table and three pools, temperatures selectively adjusted from 25 degrees (the winter shocker), 40 degrees (the social warm up) and 43 degrees (the severe sweat ball), you are golden. Not to mention the searing steam room and sultry sauna. This place was all news to us. In fact, goodies were popping up all over the place. Along with our frantic guessing and bursts of laughter, we were schooled in the jjimjilbang by Korean aficionadas. At one point, Daphne had thought she hit the jackpot! “Oh, what’s this? Free stuff? Face masks, shampoo, pumice stones and wait… a hair ball?!?!” She had excitedly found and with detail, plowed through the bathroom garbage! Sick and so freekin hilarious! This was one definite highlight of our perplexed little white girl syndrome.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jjimjilbang

Saturday provided us with searches for Indian spices and international food medleys in the labyrinth of the Seoul Subway. Surprisingly convenient and straightforward, we never once got lost. (I am currently teaching my students directions, the “I can’t speak Korean and I am lost” theme seems to make them chuckle – imagine it dramatized.) One of the main missions for this big city weekend was to pick up some things that small towns just don’t have. The Foreign Food Mart tickled our lust for lost diversity in the food we Canadians so innocently take for granted. Cardamom, Curry, Pickles and Corn Tortilla Chips filled my basket fast. Being a vegan in Korea forces creativity and even though I cook for myself, with little to no spices, the tastes of picked cabbage, sesame oil and red chili can bore you quickly. (I am creative and I am taking vitamins!)
After spending over the budget, our packs were stuffed like stockings after Santa on Christmas morning. No one likes to carry a big backpack around (this time, not so heavy, just big) so we decided to take advantage of the digitally secure lockers at the subway station. Now with the instructions being in Korean, we needed a little help from the ticket agent. He was so helpful as he patiently waited for us to stuff our foreign splurge inside. “Is everything in the locker” I asked as both Daphne and I double checked. “yes, yes”. After closing the locker, we thanked the agent for his help, however he looked at us surprisingly. In his broken English he pointed towards the floor, “Are you forgetting something?”. To my disbelief, laying in a crumpled ball between the three of us were my thong underwear. Dirty or clean, I can never say. Faster than peeling off a whipper unexpectedly, I snatched up my intimates and Daphne burst into gut busting laughter. Not knowing what to do, both the ticket agent and I headed off in opposite directions. Now, we were one for one. Add this to another symptom of the perplexed little white girl syndrome.

Ps. The naked baby meets balding Buddha was only one example of a gut busting sight seen on a busy street in Itaewon, Seoul.

International TreX Games. Busan 2008

2008-10-01T03:48:00.000-07:00

Another whip whirlwind weekend adventure allowed us to travel south to Busan. This city by the sea is more like an overflowing metropolis strung along by bright lights and race car commuters. I, along with a cluster of climbers slash English teachers had the ultimately unique opportunity to participate in the 2008 International TreX games as sport climbers! The name comes from a blending of Tr from Traditional, e from e-sports and x from extreme sports (that's me!). The event is promoted as a “global community sports festival” only recently adding relatively new sports in addition to culturally traditional sports.

Along with Pro skaters, BMX junkies, inline skate fanatics, we were stuffed into BEXCO waiting to try our callused hands at the colourful plastic oh-so precisely drilled in front of our eyes.
Now, not to divulge how extraordinary we all climbed the puzzling V5 problems, our competition was stiff. Watching Popeye-armed Asian women campus up the 45 degree construction gave me hope in the double X chromosome. Not only the women, but the men as well put us westerners to shame. Regardless of the results, we sure were able to entertain ourselves (especially on the all night pub crawl that followed delivering us to the sunrise). Fun. That word seems to flood out of my mouth at every turn of a corner still.

I have been reminded of two things this weekend. First, always try to find the moments that make you smile in every situation and second, once the competition is over don’t hesitate to let your inner beast unleash. The competition was an incredible, a once in a life time opportunity.

http://english.trex2008.co.kr/

Korean Tourism at its best!

2008-09-17T04:44:00.000-07:00

Cheosak, Seoraksan, Climbing, Camping and Busing

2008-09-17T04:02:00.000-07:00

The days roll by and my English gets progressively s-l-o-w-e-r, due the fact that slower might help make me understood. I have yet to see the benefits of sounding stupid.

I have however taken to my habit of frantic weekend warrior bus rides with hundred pound packs in order to camp and climb surrounded by green trees and laughs from lips of new acquaintances. Sweat and stink are relished comforts and showers seem foreign after the two day pause-from-reality binge. Oh, how could I live without it?

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to grace the green space of jagged peaks like tyrannosaurus teeth in Korea's most famous and often considered most beautiful, Seoraksan National Park. Our Multi-pitch team of 3 girls (Kat, Lindsay and myself) and rope gun Jonathan the German exploited stowed energy from servings of bibimbap (mixed fungus and seaweed rice bowl) to propel us up a trad-slab-crack-chimney 7 pitch heaven. Tough. We all grunted and groaned through our sincere smiles as we pulled on aid slings and hung on hanging belay death triangles!!! (not really deadly - they just appeared that way. Come on, safety first and obviously we survived to tell the story!)

Monday was Cheosak (Thanksgiving), the biggest Korean holiday of the year, deserving no less than a three-day long weekend. On this particular holiday Monday, the punctual local bus swept Daphne, I and our hundred pound packs away as our breath was left in the dust (I have to emphasis the heaviness of our back breaking packs - we need to pack smarter) So close to the rocky beasts that engulf sky and vibe is the beach. The Sea of Japan. It hugs the coast of Sokcho, the hip and salty town in the north of Gangwon-do which gets you pretty close to the infamous border of North Korea. Mind the barbed wire.

Tomatoes?

2008-09-09T19:41:00.000-07:00

I have yet to begin teaching in all its sincerity. Because I am teaching at 4 different schools (yes, 4), I have many people to meet and systems to learn. At least the powers that be are allowing me this time to soak up the whos and whats and hows.

I visited the Principal's office today. Choi Jong-Sung was ever so delighted to try and communicate with me in one word English intermittently broken through a stream of fast fire Korean. In our short but smiled faced visit, I learned and understood little. "Tomatoes" was one word that he kept repeating. I tried to decipher the relevance of "tomatoes" within our discussion, but the reason would soon be answered as he motioned me to follow him.

We walked out of his plush office filled with leather seats for each teacher, through the white sulfur scented halls and down the stairs through the back door of the school, quite a large school I might add for a village of 3000. Out the back of the school, surrounded by rich farm land were two large, well tended greenhouses. "Tomatoes?" I asked. A huge smile reached across his face from ear to ear and a short chuckle escaped his lips. "Yes, my work" he said. I was too smiling in my own right as the connection had been made. There they were, under the humid white umbrellas, vines upon vines of ripe red tomatoes. In my mind, I was quickly transported to the rural prairies of Saskatchewan with a twist. He began combing the vines for the biggest, juiciest red fruits. As he picked them with diligent care, he handed them to me. When his excitement had subsided a little, we added the tomatoes that were spilling from my arms to another box that was already full. Then he gave the box to me and said "Your house".

He had just given me a huge box full of Korean tomatoes, a box I would never eat before they would go bad. The continuous generosity of the Korean people impresses me greatly. It helps with my slap in the face culture shock that I experience daily.

I have since brainstormed on all the wonderful things I can do with these tomatoes. First, the majority, sun-dried tomatoes, just like the sun-dried chili peppers that fill the sidewalks with bursts of red on the corner of every street. Then, the ever missed fresh salsa Mexicana, pasta sauce, tomato juice, etc. If you have any ideas, let me know.

Taking it all in.

2008-09-01T19:12:00.000-07:00

They really through you in the thick of it here in Korea. By taking the bus or any means of transportation, I am forced to rely on my childhood charade skills. Nervous laughter accompanies slow moving mouths, simple one word English (with incessant repetition) and stick man drawings to ensure I am understood. Even if they understand what I am asking, there is still the misunderstanding of why on earth I would want that!?! This is the cultural divide. Basing my other cultural reference point mostly on Mexico, even though you could never really begin to compare two insanely complex cultures as it would be next to impossible, schedules here seem to be more punctual in general. The air carries a fast paced energy and politeness is of utmost importance. People here treat their English teachers with great respect. I feel like royalty. In some small way, they believe we are the key to their country's future.

Being schooled on the many stages of culture shock, I am put in my place. Understanding the logic of the east on paper by no ens leaves me exempt from the stifling effects of the way things are. I can bravely admit that culture shock has me firmly in its clutches at present. The language barrier being at the forefront.

Today is Monday. On Saturday I courageously travelled outside my little village of 3000 to visit Daphne. She lives in Yeoungwol. Now I am headed back home. I am going to school today even though I have a week before I begin teaching. A week to plan, a week to adjust, a week to take it all in.

My first day in RURAL Gangwon-do, South Korea.

2008-09-01T18:55:00.000-07:00

I was wearing little gold satin slippers when I heard a "rap rap rap" at the door. From behind the frosted glass window next to it came a soft voice with a thick Korean accent. "The Vice Principal wants to see you right now"
"He wants to see me now" I thought? I just woke up. I am in my pyjamas. Nonetheless, he couldn't wait until I arrived at the school and was excitedly standing at the front door of my home ready to greet me at 6:30 in the morning on the first day of school.

I arrived in South Korea 4 days ago. After our orientation for new foreign teachers in Seoul, I had felt I could really adapt to this. My long time friend and travel buddy, Daphne and I were with another four hundred other Native English speaking teachers ready to embark on another adventure of our lives. Now, I sit alone in Juncheon. I don't even know where I am and I have never heard of this place. Twelve hours ago, Daphne and I believed we would be teaching close to each other. Not teaching at the same school, but at least close enough to go for an evening stroll and discuss the intensities of being plunged into the unknown without a clue as how to communicate with the people around us. Shortly after this dream was shattered, we were ripped apart with hopeful looks of "will I ever see you again?" emanating from our confused faces as our sweet Korean Co-teachers pulled us into our respective cars and sped off. Apparently we would only be living forty minutes apart by car. By car! Neither of us had a car and in this deeply rural mountainous countryside in the province of Gangwon-do, buses would be much less than frequent.

2008-09-01T18:44:00.000-07:00

In the thick of Korean Madness, I am beginning to become accustomed to not knowing anything at all times. Culture Shock is very real here yet I indulge in it's intensity. I am building a new muscle in my hand, a muscle I never knew I had. These skinny metal chopsticks proove to work the fingers well, good for building hand jamming muscles. Faces down in ceramic bowls of Mag gug seu, slirps and horks accompany the sound of Korean chatter all around me. Suddenly a fellow co-worker on my right says "The most impressive thing about Canada to me is the naked woman dance". I almost choke on my over spiced noodles. As I look at him with his serious facial expression, it takes me a moment to realize he is talking about the strip club, or at least I think. To say the least, the conversation subsequently ended.

2008-08-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

Well. I did it. I bought my first TRAD RACK (regardless of the ridiculas state of debt I am presently in...). In fact, it was more like a double trad rack. Why not... As I head for South Korea and the Mountains of Seoraksan and all over Gangwon-do in South Korea I will need some natural protection! Crack climbing, here I come. Oh I am so very pumped!

I spent a week with my lovely family in Regina, Saskatchewan. Nostalgia ruled the air as I coasted on the flat roads secretly searching for faces from the past. The Regina Folk Festival allowed me an up close and personal concert from The Weakerthans, a prairie indie/folk band with punk rock roots from Winnipeg. Ohh they are good.

So, nine more days and off I go to Korea, accompanied by a beautiful Daphne Macdonald.

An array of memories and reflections

2008-08-02T12:41:00.000-07:00

As I visit with family and old friends, I realize that I am soon about to begin a HUGE adventure! South Korea awaits and I causously make Visa arragements and organize my bags, boxes and thoughts in my home town of Regina, Saskatchewan...

Living in a tent is a precious gift. a good choice. Before I leave this vast country, I will head back to Squamish to give 'er one last pull down. (I hope the highway has been cleared from the landslide that cut the little town off from the rest of civilization - a crisis - or so it appears to be).

The VW is still waiting for a quote in Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua. Yes, not a surprise that they are having difficulty finding parts for the 1972 classic - write it off I say and spare the hassle of having to deal with a van that is on the other side of the world as me. The Jeep is waiting to be imported - I have to drive back to the US border to pay taxes. hmmp - only a short 3 hour gas guzzling drive.

But, in the end, I continue on a vagabond road like the wild wind, always changing on a whim. As I bump and merge, fire and fuse, my smile widens with the freedom to choose.

2008-07-21T14:43:00.000-07:00

A masterpiece dream of climbing and taking whippers infiltrates my head space as a few friends and I boogie till we puke at the Squamish Mountain Festival. I had to indulge in a little offwidth climbing to work the body and test that #6 camalot, just to be sure!

Settling into the Squamish Vibe

2008-07-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

Under the green canopy that lingers below the shadow of The Chief in Squamish, BC, I have a hard time waking up early. My whole body aching from trad climbing, sport climbing and bouldering daily, I grin in my orange sleeping bag as my pooch streched beside me. This is the life. My fingers are raw and my smile is big! This place is a paradise for many. The campsite is chalk full of climbers and dirtbags wandering the planet looking for the most beautiful lines to climb. I am one of those adventurers. Each night as we jam with mandolins and didgeridoos, I sing along in harmony. The vibe is peaceful and perma-smiles float across the lips of the passers by brushing thier teeth in unison with song.

On my last rest day, I went strawberry picking in Pemberton. The strawberry bushes, busting with red berries are a sight to see for the hungry belly. Eating as many as I could, the bucket took a while to fill. When I arrived back at camp, I was strawberried out so I shared my bucket with everyone around. Everyone loves a fresh picked strawberry!

Yesterday I climbed with Marin, a lovely lass from Winnipeg. As she lead the 10a trad crack she joked and said that she had never climbed with someone more prairie than she. She is from Winnipeg and I from Regina, who would have thought that we knew how to rock climb! It is a real pleasure climbing with ladies, they motivate me so much! and tough chicas are quite the bunch!

Sharing my life with people who have the same passion is an incredible feeling. You always feel like you can relate, no matter the race or nationality. Who would have thought that climbing a rock just to come back down again could be so much fun!

Back in Canada...

2008-07-06T15:48:00.000-07:00

Finally we have made it. Many miles, and a few epic adventures behind us, we are now in Vancouver, British Columbia. I guess I will wait to see how long return culture shock takes to settle in. I spent the last two and a half years of my life in Mexico. Returning to a familiar culture can be daunting, especially because I have had to adopt to a whole new way of living and experiencing the world. The eyes of the Mexican culture have become my eyes. Tomorrow we are headed to the oh-so famous, Squamish, BC, home of the Chief. More climbing awaits and my fingers are itching to pull down on some sweet rock.

Arches National Park, UTAH

2008-07-04T10:01:00.000-07:00

WOW. An incredible rarity of nature reveals herself to my eyes today. In something like an alien terrain, red sandstone monoliths protrud through the earths crust defying gravity. Our imaginations take flight for moments of awe as we hike to the Delicate Arch, the most photographed arch in the world near Moab, Utah. The dry desert afternoon is kind to us as well as the small herd of other tourists who have made this journey with us.

The same evening, monster drinks in hand, my buddies decide to drive and drive and drive and we make it past Salt Lake City to a KOA campground only to set up temporary camp at 5 in the morning. In fact, I am not sure exactly where we are, but today is the 4th of July, the celebration of American Independence. All the oversized campers in their oversized campers are decked out in red white and blue, doing belly flops in the chorinated outdoor swimming pool. The barbeque beef and fireworks await this evenings festivities, which no doubt cost millions of dollars for minutes of pleasure. That sounds about right. Dont get me wrong, I enjoy fireworks too, but when you really think about it, the little plastic explosions in the sky are both a tad ridiculous and a marvel of human engenuity all at once.

Next, we drive and drive and drive some more to Vancouver, BC, Canada.

Rifle, Colorado. Steep, Juggy Slopers.

2008-07-02T14:58:00.000-07:00

These last few days climbing in Rifle, Colorado have been trying. The climbing here is steep and the grades steep too. After a month of no climbing, my head is having a hard time getting back into the rhythm of leading, however, I red-pointed a few hard 10's on the first day! Camping here reminds me of the crisp Canadian Wild with all its grandeur. Fresh scents of pines and wild roses waft past our noses as we dig deep into our chalk bags. A little hot olive oil spill on my leg and all over my dog had damped an afternoon charged with relief. Thank the stars that it wasn't on my foot... I would have had a tough time putting on those tiny shoes. I hope to avoid an infection in this dirty lifestyle we are living. We do have a skin numbing burbling creek near our camp sight to keep clean, it sure is a invite for the Kayak! Hmm, I think I will submerge myself this afternoon.

Hueco Tanks, a Boulderer´s Paradise!!!

2008-06-26T22:33:00.000-07:00

After a long drive in a circle (a three hour circle from El Paso back to Sierra Blanca and almost all the way back to El Paso), we finally arrived in our first destination, Hueco Tanks!
Deserted, except for a few rangers, the hot sun beat down on our water deprived bodies. We didn´t care, because, once again, elation had set in! We had a few hours before the park closed for the day to explore and chalk up. This place sure is magical! The mountains of boulders filled with pock marks are a buffet for climbers like us! Not even a little wind storm that almost carried our tent into the dark desert abyss could dampen our spirits! Even though there is no more combi, this was it, pure adventure!

And it´s all over for the combi!

2008-06-26T22:01:00.001-07:00

Our first day on the road we decided to try to get as far as we could. Deciding to take the Columbia border crossing rather than go through Nuevo Laredo was definitely the best choice! The Combi arrived at the small and apparently isolated border crossing safe and smooth late in the afternoon. The scorching sun above welcomed us into the United States of America. Usually border crossings can be stressful and intimidating; however we were met with curiosity and smiles. Our van was sure loaded down and we were awaiting the brunt of “the search”. Here is where the strange part comes in. As we pulled in and presented our passports, Christopher, Daniel, and Rodrigo had to go inside and ask for a permit. There are different regulations for Mexicans than Canadians. I just had to show my passport and wait. No less than 5 minutes later they all came strutting out with papers in hand. We were all waiting for someone to come and search our van, but no one came. In fact, as I chatted with a border guard I realized that they weren’t going to check us at all. Not even a little. They didn´t even ask to see the inside of neither the van nor the papers for Sandia. Nothing. We were free. The least bit of hassle and some friendly smiles. We were all shocked, but pleasantly surprised! Our long haul through the States had begun as we headed straight for San Antonio to stock up on road trip goodies.
After we passed San Antonio it was well past dark. Most of the crew was sleeping and Daniel was driving. I was awoken by the feeling that we were slowing down and Daniel was pulling over to investigate. He was having a really hard time down shifting into any gear. The Clutch was fried! NO… We decided to pull over and take a look under the van. Luckily, Daniel has a Combi of his own and is used to the regular repairs needed. He adjusted the clutch and we were on the road again. We knew it wouldn´t hold long, but if we could just make it 25 more miles to Junction, Texas, we could get it inspected by a professional. Not soon after on this deer infested highway, a small helpless doe decided to run across the road right in front of our van. And yes, we hit it at 100 kilometers an hour. Our mouths dropped and shock set it immediately. The smell of burning rubber caused us to stop. The damages on the 1972 classic were devastating. A smashed front end and a rear wheel cave in that was glued to the brand new BF Goodrich solved the cause of the burning rubber. We couldn’t go any further. My tears began to well up, but I had to make a phone call. We needed a tow truck and with Junction not so far away, we were sure the insurance would cover it. Unfortunately, no signal. I went for a little walk to try to catch something, but nothing. Our only option at 4 in the morning was to try to get some sleep. Three of us crammed in the back of the van which would be the first night for the new futon and Rodrigo set up his tent next to us.
The next morning after some discussing, two of us decided to hitchhike to town to call a tow truck. A nice fellow in a high rider truck with balls picked us up. So far in our experience with Texans, they sure seemed friendly and soon we would see just how nice they really can be. After many phone calls and transfers, we finally were able to get a tow. Ricky from Hill Country Chevy picked us up and took us to for a ride to wait patiently in the well needed air conditioned office and offered us free coffee. Sure it was the weakly brewed office stuff, but it was the thought that counted, right? After about an hour, the poor little Combi rolled in with the others. The next step was to brainstorm (my new favorite phrase in Spanish – lluvia de ideas)
Pulling into the small town of Junction, Texas was about to provide us with more surprises than we could have ever imagined. Many phone calls, enormous amounts of desperation and several laugh until you cry moments were about to be transpire over the following 3 days in this little Jesus praised town.
To put it bluntly, the combi was all over. The poor little deer spared our lives but took that of the Volkswagen classic. Day one and we were stranded in a town of less than 1000 in the middle of now where, Texas. I was faced with a plethora of decisions and a limited amount of patience at this point. Being with an incredible and positive group of people in times of stress really makes a difference. I knew I could count on my buddies to cheer me up and help me through the next days of intensity. Being self sufficient hospitality wise, we headed for the river and set up camp in the park adjacent to it. As night set, a plague of deer watched us from the shadows of majestic Texan trees. Our cozy camp spot would do us good for a few days. At least we weren´t stuck in a polluted big city.
Insurance is a bitch. I think they make it so hard and complicated for you to understand their ridiculous policies on purpose. I am positive shit loads of people just say “up yours” and abandon their vehicles to the wolves. (This thought crossed my mind more than once). The only way to validate the cost of the damages was to get an evaluator to examine the vehicle and assess the costs of reparation. The only way to do this was to send the Combi to the nearest Mexican border crossing. My unnamed insurance company (keeping the name private for their salvation, even though I should expose the hypocrisy), didn´t have evaluators in the States. Do they pay for the towing to ship the vehicle? Well sure, up to $500. However, the tow would cost over $2000. So, what the hell is the point for anyone to send it to have them say, “Yes, you were right, your combi is fucked!!”? Luckily after being in and out of Hill Country Chevy several hundred times over the last three days, Bill, George, Jimmy, Bob, Ricky and the rest of the gang loved us enough to give us an incredible discount (almost 50%) on the cost of the tow to El Paso, Texas.
That is fine and all, but you are probably wondering if our trip was all over, or what we would do next… Well, in this moment, I have to say thank the lord Jesus for credit cards! Love them or hate them, in times of desperation, they can save your life. The next decision I was about to take would probably cost me the next few years of my life, but oh sweet love it was worth it!
Outside the little mechanic shop and car dealership sat a variety of almost new and used cars. Hmmm… we could buy a new car, load it up and drive all the way to Canada! (Of course with our planned climbing spots along the way!). 2005 Dodge Ram V8? NOPE. 1998 Ford Expedition, NOPE. 2002 Jeep Liberty Sport, SURE! Why the hell not! Put it on the credit card!
So, now we are on the road in the navy blue JEEP listening to the Chili Peppers to meet the Combi in El Paso tomorrow morning. Hmm. A new adventure is about to begin!

2008-06-26T21:51:00.000-07:00

Elation, pure elation, what more can I say.
It all began last Friday night. Pablo and I rushed out the house, the combi loaded to the teeth. Pablo was accompanying me from DF to San Luis Potosí to share the driving and accompany me one last time. He just missed his bus in the morning arriving at 5:34 (instead of the scheduled departing time of 4:50. Luckily he was able to catch the next one at 6:00. The short but beautiful goodbye in the florescent bus terminal was emotional. Emotional. A good theme word… I was supposed to meet a friend of Lu´s. (In case you don´t know Lu, he is a friend form San Luis Potosi who married a Quebequois and now lives in Montreal) So I was meeting his friend Hector to pick up Lu´s Kayak and take it all the way to Montreal. I followed Hector to his house across town to sleep a few hours before the next long ride to Saltillo the next morning. (Wait, it already was the next morning, I was only going to sleep for two hours)At 8:30 after my tin foiled smoked tofu sandwich, we loaded the kayak. Hector decided to visit a friend in Saltillo and go climbing in El Canyon de San Lorenzo. Great Idea! (He helped me drive). Another long journey in the chalk full combi. Luckily Hector knew a little about Volkswagens because we had a tiny problem. No gas acceleration! Only the tube had been pinched and after a simple adjustment we were riding smooth again! Yes, I have to mention that by this time, Hector had already complimented the smoothness of the tork of the new motor. I must take this moment to worship Enrique, who in DF, worked the combi´s magic and conditioned her back into sweet shape. When we arrived in Saltillo, we quickly met Christopher, Rodrigo and Daniel who we sometimes like to call Christo, Pop and Cachorro. Cachorro means “puppy” in Spanish. I know, strange. I have friends named Repollo (cabbage), Chicharro (Green pea) and Moko (Snot). Anyways, seeing these guys and all our energy together for the first time was splendid. And like I said before, I was elated. My two-day sleep deprived body was held at bay for the following six hours or so we packed everything, more like smushed everything, all our climbing gear, rucksacks and smiles into the van. Some other friends arrived and bigger smiled filled our faces. That night we partied like it was my last night in Mexico. We went to a club with a live reggae band playing covers of Gondwana, Marley and Tosh. Elation! The night was long. The next day we were about to embark on a trying and testing marathon of road travels and fun!

2008-06-18T15:39:00.000-07:00

Of course I would never give up on the 1972 beauty... It is a classic and little fires here and there are bound to happen. The fire from the brakes was not that serious. A few days in the shop (a little more dinero) and everything was fixed, new brake pads and a wheel alignment.

Xhibit (my friend LALO) has since pimped the interior and I get ready to hit the open roads in two days! WOO HOO! A little delay cannot suppress the excitement pouring from my inner child in the form of bittersweet dark chocolate...

We spent two days in sunny Tepoztlan, Morelia sawing and grinding and cutting and polishing and screwing (not that kind-mmm the filthy mind infiltrates again). Only an hour away from the big city of Mexico and with three energetic dogs watching our every move, magic unfolded. Our inspirations poured out from porros and transpired into a bed with futon slash back seat, a fold away table and another fold away seat facing backwards. Fixing the van has been a great adventure in itself... let the next phase begin!

Even when your car starts on fire for the third time... Don`t Give Up!

2008-06-14T10:50:00.000-07:00

So. What would you do if your car started on fire for the third time and you had no money left, in fact you had no credit left `cause you loaded your credit card with spare parts and new everythings for this same car? Would you give up and sell your car and say "FUCK IT" or would you reach out for a branch of hope and pray that your broken finger could hold on?

I am faced with a conundrum. The road trip has not yet begun, but a whole brake system and wheel alignment is necessary. In these very moments, I am faced with a decision that will change the future indefinately.

The Finishing Touches

2008-06-12T13:01:00.000-07:00

So, repairing a VW in Mexico is much easier in Mexico than anywhere in the States or Canada... after all, since 1964, Volkswagens have been constructed right here in Mexico, in the production plant in Puebla. Up until July 2003, Mexico was the only manufacturer of the VW Sedan in the world. In fact, the design for the newer looking BEETLE or BUG if you will is uniquely 100% Mexican and in January 2008, Volkswagen celebrated 10 years of its production in Mexico. As of now, over a million "new" Beetles have been sold in dealerships all over the world.

So, saying this, it has been quite an adventure finding spare parts to really beautify my ride as you can find them in garages all over the country. The COMBI itself was designed in 1950 in Germany and just twenty two years later, in 1972, the one that I drive was built in Puebla.

In the last few weeks I have been to backyard shops where spare parts are crammed between children`s toys guarded by salivating pooches. I have been to street side hole-in-the-walls with greasy-handed men smiling with beer in hands. I have been in and out of deals and slipped hard cash fast under tables in nice fat envelops hoping for a little discount. A particular "discount" incident was directly related to the "cambio de propietario" - the change in owner... Yes, a little inside string pulling from a rockin´ mechanic that saves my life daily and I legally own this 72 beauty without the paper filling, time consuming red tape. Cut a few corners and I saved over 300 dollars! Oh, the wonders of Mexican Business.

As my COMBI receives its finishing touches, along with the new motor, new tires, disguising curtains, secure integrated lock system, phat futon, pumpin´ stereo, custom roof rack, paint touch up, I pack my bags. The only question now is how to fit my entire life, three Mexican friends and my dog inside...

Soon begins the Dirt bag road trip in the classic VW Combi!

2008-06-02T15:00:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the new BLOG to record the wild imaginations and happenings of my Road trip Dirt Bag Style.
Why Dirt Bag? Well, this is a well known term fondly used by rock climbers everywhere. It basically means "Proud to be dirty and cheap". So, yes, I am also proud. I am proud to say that canned beans will never taste so good. Dirt baggin` it can`t be complete without the company of my lovely pooch, Sandia. For those of you who know this Potrero hound, you will be glad to discover that after an intense battle with cancer, she is as lively as ever and still so well behaved!
So, WE are about to embark on an adventure of sorts with varying company of different nationalities (such as my Mexican homies) in a 1972 VW Combi Bus. Many of you may know the combi for its reputation of breaking down on the side of the highway in the middle of no where... but I have a plan!
The plan is to drive from Mexico to Monterrey to Hueco Tanks to Colorado to The Tetons to Squamish, BC, Canada. This is phase ONE of the adventure which also includes various stops along the way to visit cherished friends! Phase TWO begins with a rotation in passengers and an east bound highway haul taking me all the way to NEW York City! Hmm. Big plans, big plans.

As of this current instant, I am pimping my ride in the lovely capital of Mexico, Mexico DF. The 1972 classic has recently aquired a BRAND NEW Engine! This will help the road worries. Next comes a new stereo, new tires, new roof rack and swave interior along with all the "just in case" tools...

Driving around in this big city looking for spare parts and sincere help (one of the biggest in the world with approxamately 29 million people) has been made possible by the lovely Pablo Serrano and his family.

Even though my calluses from climbing are falling off due to the lack of use from a broken finger, I continue to press on in hopes of coming face to face with the lavish and granduer rock that awaits me and my compadres in this wild adventure north then east.

Keep checking the blog for pictures, links, travel advise and a good ol' adventure story of a girl and her dog!