Once In A Lifetime.

Panorama by Tyson ElderBetween towns and mountain ranges I found the reception to something other than gospel choirs, and preachers. There is are several disadvantages to driving a pickup across British Columbia in the summertime. No A/C, no cruise control, running out of windshield washer fluid, uncomfortable seats, and the worst of all just having an am/fm radio. 

When I leave on these crazy road trips for work I usually have some cds or a tape adapter for my ipod to pass some time, but this time I didn't have those options. I just had to deal with whatever I could pick up on the broken antenna of a rented Chevy. Somewhere south of 100 Mile House, but north of Cache Creek I finally picked up a fuzz rock and roll station. I think it was named after a Canadian progressive rock trio. It played some good tunes for the forty-five minutes I picked them up, but one song caught my attention. 

It was the Talking Head's classic “Once in a Lifetime.” You know the one. It's all “there is water at the bottom of the ocean,” and David Bryne sweats a lot. If you don't know the song we can't be friends, but you can watch the music video by clicking here. 

So here I was driving alone on a highway with nothing, but my thoughts and The Talking Heads. Those of you who know me might know I'm not the happiest camper most of the time. I think it has a lot to do with not quite knowing what I'm doing with my life. Most of the time I feel like I'm doing nothing with it. I soaked in the scenery of decaying barns and churches that I flew by with the radio cranked. 

I've always really enjoyed listening to The Talking Heads, but today was different. I actually listened to “Once in a Lifetime.” I mean listened to the lyrics. All of a sudden they made sense. Well, they made sense to me. I found myself behind the wheel of a large automobile asking myself where that highway leads to. That and a million other questions. Most of them to do with happiness, and life in general. 

As I was shifting across this vast country I came to the conclusion that this song is going to be one of those songs that sticks out in my life. Making me question things, and make me feel a feeling I can't exactly describe. No, it isn't a slight fizzing feeling in my gentleman's area. It's one of those songs about being, and not knowing why. I'm sure it is all part of this mid twenties crisis I've been having for the last year or so. 

Another song I feel similarly about oddly enough is Blink 182's “Dammit.” I tried to write about it a while ago, but it's hard to articulate the feelings I have when listening to it. It's not like being happy, sad, angry, or anything you can really label. The closest I've ever gotten is that it is maybe disappointment in myself with a touch of something else, but that's not it. 

I don't want you think I'm some depressed piece of shit complaining about something. I'm actually far from it right now. There is a little ambition to do somethings that aren't work, and doing 4100km in two days was real fun. I got to see some very cool things on my trip. I just wanted to point out that a song I've known and listened to for my entire life caught me off guard with something more than music. A message or something.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down.  

Rough Draft.

I'm sort of working on something new for Journals Abroad. This is the first part of a couple part journal entry from when I was backpacking. This is sort of the rough draft. I kind of translated it from my chicken scratches in my travel journal. Let me know what you think and stuff. You can check out my photos from Munich here. The formatting is all fucked up on here for some reason. Must have been from 750 words. 

Surviving Oktoberfest or My Slow Descent Into Alcoholism.  

I woke up in last nights clothes. My head is killing me, and the rest of my body feels like it has been hit by a five ton truck. There is a wet spot on my pillow. I quickly scan to see if I puked in my sleep. It's all clear. Thank god! I must have drooled in my sleep, and I probably snored. I'm sure no one will be happy about that unless everyone else got as drunk as I did. They must have. I can't quite remember what happened last night, but I'm sure that will all clear up in a bit with the fog hovering in my brain.

I swing to get out of my bed, and almost collapse. I guess I might still be a little drunk, but mostly hungover. I drag myself to the bathroom bracing myself against the wall. I'm extremely grateful our room in the hostel has it's own bathroom, and shower. I lock the door behind me, and stare at myself in the mirror. I'm sickly white, and look like a bag of shit. Who's idea was it to catch the early train to Prague? I look at the toilet and try to decide whether I need to vomit or take one of those nasty shits that happen after a night of binge drinking. I decide I don't need to do either, brush my teeth, have a cold shower to wake up, and put on the same clothes I've been wearing for three days. 

As I slink out of the bathroom trying to not be that guy who was in the bathroom for twenty minutes. Jess runs to the bathroom, and says something like "you better not have stunk up the place." As she slams the door my body shakes from the vibration. I think she might be throwing up, but I'm not sure. I grab my bag out of the locker and throw it on my bed. I do the mental inventory that you do daily. Visa? Check. Passport? Check. Money? Check. Everything else? Check. Rowan looks like he is about ready to head down to the train station, and Nicole walks back into the room. I guess she stayed the night with Ronnie. Poor Rowan. I think his bed was underneath theirs. Our other roommate never made it back to the room last night. That's probably a good sign after the night we had. I take a another check to make sure I'm not forgetting anything. Nothing seems to missing in the room. It's just a room with three Canadians, and two Australians who look like shit, feel like shit, and survived another night at Oktoberfest.

Ronnie swings off the top bunk with his backpack in tow. He seems like a seasoned pro at the game of drink. He mentions that he's thinking of moving on today too. Rowan and I try to convince him to come with us to Prague, but Ronnie is off to somewhere else in Germany. It seems like he is on an ABC tour (Another Bloody Castle). We say our goodbyes promising to meet up again soon. Ronnie in Amsterdam, and Jess in London before she flies back to Australia.

Rowan and I grab some food, water, and Tylenol at the main train station which is ideally located across the street from the hostel. Not much is said between us while we wait for the train. Traveling with someone can be hard sometimes, but that isn't the reason we aren't talking. It's the hangover. I pull out my camera to see what we did last night. I remember it in bits and pieces, but not the whole thing. I remember that I drank five steins of beer in one of the big brewery tents. I also remember that I got caught trying to steal one of those huge beersteins. A burly looking security guard caught me on my way out to piss with a stein or two in my backpack. The thing I'm having trouble remembering is what happened after we left Oktoberfest, and came back to the hostel.

Everything slowly comes back to me as the train starts to leave the station. We came back to the hostel bar, and made quick friends with everyone in the bar. It isn't hard to make single serving friends when you are traveling. Everyone is lonely, and wants to talk about their trip. Soon a group of us are doing Jagerbombs, and then another, and another, and another. This went on for the rest of the night. No doubt the real reason we feel like shit.

Soon trying to remember who these people we took pictures with, and the events of last night aren't a priority. The gentle rocking of the train isn't helping my stomach. I head to the bathroom hoping not to loose my cookies on my way to the next car. I look in the mirror. I'm that certain shade of green that I shouldn't be, but I can't muster it up. I stand there watching the ground fly by through the hole in the bottom of the toilet. I contemplate getting off at the next stop, and just staying where ever I am. It has to be better than another six hours on this train. Eventually I make my way back to my seat, and pass out with my iPod on. Sleeping seems to be the only thing that will make me feel better. By the time I wake up two hours later to transfer to another train I feel revitalized, and ready to take on the world. That or fall back asleep on the next train to the Czech Republic.

Reverb: Travel.

I feel like I'm on repeat these days. When you don't think you accomplished all that much in the last year you seem to focus on the things you did. The same goes for traveling. This year I didn't do as much traveling as I'd normally have liked, but I still did some.

I drove around this beautiful province for work a few times. I worked a few weeks in Prince George, and other small outposts of western civilization. I ended up in Seattle 3 or 4 times because of concerts or a much needed escape from my head. Road-tripped it out to Quincy, WA for the Sasquatch music festival once again this year. I headed to Kingston, Ont. to visit the newest addition to the family and made the most of my short time in Peru. If you do some digging you can find blogs about all of these somewhere on here.

As for travel I'd like to do in the new year, does going everywhere count? I'm one of those people who dreams of photographing penguins in Antarctica, drinking vodka in Russia, seeing “Air Jaws” on the South African coast, going to Timbuktu and back, getting lost in the wilds of Mongolia, and other grand adventures.

As of this moment those are all pipe dreams, unless I win the lottery. Oh the joys of unemployment. Right now I have one tripped plan for sure. I plan on spending my 25^th birthday at the Sasquatch Music Festival like I've done for the past few years.

Friends, drinks, music, and good times. That is how I'd like to travel in 2011.

Adventures in...

Peru: Part Five.

Coming into Lima's international airport you fly over a sprawling shanty town. There is a clear divide between the rich and poor in this country. I'll tell you it isn't the rich people sitting in those slot machine casinos I'd eventually see everywhere in Lima. Or the children who harassed us trying to sell us gum all night while we sat at the bar. It is a depressing fact you see pretty much almost everywhere across the world.

I collect my luggage and as soon as I'm through the Arrivals gate I'm surrounded by taxi drivers. It has been suggested by co-workers to take the Green Taxi's because they are the most reliable, cleanest cars, and generally honest. As I'm shown to a decent looking Merc by my driver I'm still being harassed and pulled by other drivers from other companies. I guess driving a fat white guy around is big business. The driver makes small talk and plays Spanish pop music while he fights traffic so thick and confusing it would make me crack. I reply as well as I can and just stare out the window at this alien city.

It seems like the Grand Road Works of Peru is women sweeping the sand off the roads. I first noticed it when I arrived in Iquitos in Alfred's moto-taxi and my wandering around the hotel area. It seems now that I'm in Lima these ladies get uniforms and special corn brooms unlike the seemingly isolated people of Lima.

I check into my hotel. I take a shower. I call the company's office in Lima. I meet up with another co-worker and go to the office. We small talk. I do a few things. I make my way back towards the hotel. I explore three blocks around the hotel and realize I haven't eaten since my plane ride from Toronto to Lima just drank beers, water, and Coke.

The hotel restaurant is on the floor above my room. It has a pretty decent view of this area of the city. I order a Coke, some mozzarella sticks and guacamole, and the most amazing veggie sandwich I've ever had in my life. I'm the only person in the restaurant. So I'm the only person who is forced to succumb to the eccentric staff and more terrible Spanish pop.

I explore the neighbourhood a little more but eventually come back to my room to take a nap. When I wake up I turn on the BBC because it seems to be the only channel in English. I'm not complaining it was exactly what I needed to watch. Unaware of what was going on in the world apart from the pictures in the Lima newspaper in my room. Eventually I repack my bags while watching 'Borat' which is in English and call for a taxi to the airport.

This taxi cab driver is fair bit more talkative than my last cab driver. I humour him and he plays english music from the 60's mixed with the crappy pop of the mid 90's. I finally make it to the airport after hearing his life story and him telling me I'm getting to old to be a bachelor. That I should really get married and have children. He seems displeased when I say I don't really want to do those things.

Once checked in, paying a ridiculous airport fee of $30, and going through security. I settle into a seat near my gate. Talk to some Canadian backpackers (one who will be on every one of my flights back to Victoria because she is from Nanaimo). Look at Duty Free and board the plane.

I sit in the emergency exit row back to Toronto and all the stewardesses know me from my trip down two days earlier. They are amazed at my turn around and bring me all sorts of treats throughout the flight just because.

I eventually fall asleep for about 15 minutes somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico. This is the life.

Adventures in...

Peru: Part Four.

Alfred is waiting in the lobby when I finally stroll out of my room to check out. It's just as dark out as it was when I wandered back to the hotel a couple hours ago. The slot machine casino across the street is just as busy and full of stale cigarette smoke as it was yesterday afternoon. I could really use a beer to get rid of this nagging headache. I'm sure it has something to do with all the beers last night and the lack of sleep over the last couple days.

Eventually I throw my backpack in the back of Alfred's moto-taxi and he kicks the engine to life. He's on a mission it seems. We are going as fast as his moto-taxi will take us. At least this morning I'm wearing my glasses to keep the sand from flying in my eyes. The streets of Iquitos are starting to come to life with the rising sun and heat. The fruit vendors are setting up and the stray dogs are already begging for scraps.

When we finally get to the airport I settle my tab with Alfred and wish him the best. Inside the airport I check in and in no time flat befriend some lady German backpackers who assume I'm a backpacker and not working. We drink some Cokes and make the meaningless chit chat you learn when you are backpacking. "Where are you from? How long have you been away?" And other questions you ask to make temporary friends while you are on the road.

Thick cold smoke spills out of the plane. I'm relieved to find out it is only the air conditioning. We taxi down the runway I look out the window at the tarmac, jungle, and the company's helicopters sitting there.

By the time I can see the Amazon river and become mesmerized as I watch the world get further beneath us I've forgotten those German girls names.