tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39687596663504150262024-02-18T18:01:12.733-08:00Là où c'est regnerisch es gibt también un poco of sun, too.Welcome to my oxymoronic public secret diaryDJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-81395078660560824812009-02-01T09:47:00.000-08:002009-03-01T15:09:08.610-08:00Would you like some "T"?<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">"T"</span></strong></div><br /><div>Interestingly enough, this letter seems to have been some kind of a recurrent pattern in my life lately.</div><br /><div><strong>T like Travel.</strong><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuXKcS_H_8ziFFKuosz6wD6y-TZyJXFtTrTDvRHilwrc9W4eXKQDlUwWMOB4-bGCy65CPxQ3YyDgwyX5Z7C6lQwHFHdrKCIULAGpqXfV1oB1P-4vQPVs3KjdAjnCagaQH2pOjpMVrpo8Af/s1600-h/P1060095.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303566032546958162" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuXKcS_H_8ziFFKuosz6wD6y-TZyJXFtTrTDvRHilwrc9W4eXKQDlUwWMOB4-bGCy65CPxQ3YyDgwyX5Z7C6lQwHFHdrKCIULAGpqXfV1oB1P-4vQPVs3KjdAjnCagaQH2pOjpMVrpo8Af/s320/P1060095.JPG" border="0" /></a>I was in Cuba for Christmas. It was warm, sunny and, more importantly, as far as possible from the school-homework-sleep routine that started to stick to my everyday life like snot on a babysitter. Apart from basking in the sun, snorkelling around in warm, turquoise waters and finally finishing Kerouac's "On the Road", my parents and I also ventured to La Havana for a day. As far as a government-owned monopolistic tour operator can get you to see the "real" Cuba, it was overall a sweet excursion. We walked around the old town, admiring the colonial heritage and the very first important European constructions in America. The guide was awesome, explaining many cool details about some apparently unimportant buildings: "This building here was entirely destroyed by a fire in the mid 1800's because an illegal stock of chemical products was stored there and caught on fire. 18 firemen were killed in the accident and their tomb in the Havana Cemetery is the biggest one ever built in town", said Roberto with his well hidden Spanish accent.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjuHaiRaXozkJU0mMT3jqAtGLLFW8GQqZh2jSCr9XW3B1KQzmaecZEqdw1BGX79C-NrsDhViepqlVOY0XZT0Kmi_UVt9Q0SgXzgKGMXA1B3qta1yYFRp1g_E6VL_gXhyphenhyphenWULovp8BtYmFj/s1600-h/P1060216.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303566823107395410" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjuHaiRaXozkJU0mMT3jqAtGLLFW8GQqZh2jSCr9XW3B1KQzmaecZEqdw1BGX79C-NrsDhViepqlVOY0XZT0Kmi_UVt9Q0SgXzgKGMXA1B3qta1yYFRp1g_E6VL_gXhyphenhyphenWULovp8BtYmFj/s320/P1060216.JPG" border="0" /></a>The coolest part of the visit came later on, as we drove around the Miramar. This neighbourhood of La Havana used to be the rich area, where all the casino owners and miscellaneous mobsters got their houses built. When the Cubans rebelled against the Yankees in 1959 and Fidel kicked out all the ones that hadn't already flied out, these residences were redistributed to working class families as a symbol of the Cuban re-appropriation of the Island. Still nowadays, ordinary people live in these mansions. Unfortunately, as it is the case in many other places in Cuba, the lack of money and supplies and frequent hurricanes caused the neigbourhood to look very neglected. A layer of mud and dirt covers the pastel stucco walls of the luxury houses. Window panes are missing. Plants grow out of the cracks. Chickens are running free on front lawns... it's basically as if some incredibly powerful outburst had occurred there and left the whole place to abandonment. And yet you definitely can find tons of people around Miramar. Not only can you find them, but the residents <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yxbKZTPHgXf_6YVqev3pOSg1FQF2T7gzTYiSTjoJCujwOTqHCDrP85NEtIDkJmolTNiNZofjhsAmlylxfsI7pYDdhS6vVMZlCPRv9Gz2JUTskWLr4uTfi4pEwhegG37gOB3D7q5ckmGK/s1600-h/P1060175.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303962427613771298" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yxbKZTPHgXf_6YVqev3pOSg1FQF2T7gzTYiSTjoJCujwOTqHCDrP85NEtIDkJmolTNiNZofjhsAmlylxfsI7pYDdhS6vVMZlCPRv9Gz2JUTskWLr4uTfi4pEwhegG37gOB3D7q5ckmGK/s320/P1060175.JPG" border="0" /></a>are good humoured and smile at each other. It's a little as if the Hurricane Katrina survivors were singing and dancing among their destroyed belongings. A few days before the 50th anniversary of the Cuban revolution, this post-apocalyptic looking neighbourhood really got me thinking. In a way, you can't help imagining how this place looked like in 1956, with all the freshly painted pastel colours, the art deco columns and the neatly maintained gardens. Yet, as beautiful as Miramar must have been back in the days, you also can't avoid thinking of the injustice and rebellion it provoked. It was by far the most complex thing I've ever felt by staring at plaster walls.</div><br /><div><strong>T like Teaching.</strong></div><br /><div>I am doing my practicum III in an elementary school, no big deal. Actually, I finished friday night, after five weeks of running around, story telling, singing along, charades, gestures, laughs, cries, crisis management, forgotten lunches, allergy warnings, crayons, markers, lost scissors, photocopy machines, school buses, ranting at kids for throwing snowballs, exams, memos to parents, union assemblies, zootherapy, surveys, agendas, activity books, complaints about the school reform, meetings with the principal(s), figuring out who walks home and who takes the bus, etc.</div><div> </div><div>I was tired. I wonder why.</div><div> </div><div>Jokes apart, the practicum was neat. I got to teach to lots of different groups, all with their strenghts and weaknesses, to take the kids through a whole unit and to goof around with my crazy backpocket activities. Flashcards were also a big part of my 5 weeks. I am now officially a black belt thrid dan in flashcard lessons. Even if I came back home about half the time wondering how the hell I was going to make it through my entire carreer, the feeling you get from teaching kids such a basic skill as reading, writing and speaking English is incredibly rewarding.</div><div> </div><div><strong>T like Tea</strong></div><div> </div><div>I must be getting old, since every now and then I have tea with buddies on Friday nights. Maybe it means that I'll be bungee jumping when I'm 90, who knows?</div><div> </div><div><strong>T like train.</strong></div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQilFq3UTukwlzBlEsdX_O522Ox1Ogu_i_0Fs7HE-P1oQSJmupLjxL50ycYV0Vbgr06GI3Q196z1kee8FNRb1pdpv-vB0_QtGizgIkzAZZZqhC0_krezMCPbrwc9eIDfpm83a2XFcQT9_M/s1600-h/P1060339.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303568644991851634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQilFq3UTukwlzBlEsdX_O522Ox1Ogu_i_0Fs7HE-P1oQSJmupLjxL50ycYV0Vbgr06GI3Q196z1kee8FNRb1pdpv-vB0_QtGizgIkzAZZZqhC0_krezMCPbrwc9eIDfpm83a2XFcQT9_M/s320/P1060339.JPG" border="0" /></a>I am not quite to the point where I am a railfan, but I really enjoy taking the train. I love just gliding around in the Québec countryside. It must be that "old people" thing again. Anyways, I particularly love the train when it takes me to Montréal to hang out with Catherine. After a late arrival due to mysterious occurrences upon the rail schedule, I finally made it to Cath's flat near Joliette station. She was starting to wonder where the hell I had been and greeted me with a sigh of relief, as her neighbourhood is rather sketchy, especially for someone from a village as tiny as Berthier. The whole point of my expedition to Montréal was to go check out a neat Andy Warhol exhibition at the Musée des Beaux Arts, but this adventure was only planned for the next morning so we decided to drink orange juice and watch girly movies all night. Ahhhh.</div><div> </div><div>Thanks to our great sense of organisation and to Catherine's room mate's spotless knowledge of downtown Montréal, we ended up at the wrong museum and had to walk 40 minutes in order to get to the Beaux Arts. Fortunately, though, we were still early enough to enjoy Warhol without having to wait in a line that extended all the way to the street when we got out. Madness. Warhol reached all my expectations. I love the dude's perception of art and I found his work very inspiring. Needless to say he was a nutcase, though.</div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhUa5_MIWf-qnmSs32TBA995OzeNaFMrn9NVE2d2PFpDSKFJisCjQ0Cr9BEWjz6Pp3VN73YH81QMrLta6tAfTs3f5tqbT2Y_dCkjljeKrPD1PrV4Y9HPcDkhm-jVeAzzti8Q5PhlUwBY_V/s1600-h/P1060323.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303569051799219250" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhUa5_MIWf-qnmSs32TBA995OzeNaFMrn9NVE2d2PFpDSKFJisCjQ0Cr9BEWjz6Pp3VN73YH81QMrLta6tAfTs3f5tqbT2Y_dCkjljeKrPD1PrV4Y9HPcDkhm-jVeAzzti8Q5PhlUwBY_V/s320/P1060323.JPG" border="0" /></a>We spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out with Marie-Andrée around the Plateau Mont-Royal, a relatively fancy neighbourhood of Montréal and had delicious Korean food at a restaurant we ended up in by pure chance. Before heading home, we visited Alpaqa, a store specialised in Alpaga wool products, where the space cadet who sold Marie-Andrée a new pair of gloves seemed to come directly from 1967. After a few attempts to meet with Iain, a buddy of mine from camp, we failed (again) at seeing each other. Next time, maybe. The night went smoothly as we watched a wicked documentary about the Algonquin nation while drinking micro-brewery beer and possibly one of the worst poutines I've ever had in my whole existence. We should have gone to the Banquise.</div><div> </div><div>The finale of the weekend consisted of a scrumptious breakfast with Catherine with lots of fancy bread, fancy coffee, homemade peanut butter and topped with turtles and ti-coq cookies. Auguries of a burn-out for my nutritionnist.</div><div> </div><div><strong>T like training</strong></div><div> </div><div>Because yes, I have a nutritionist. Fancy, eh? After we came back from Amsterdam, my mom decided that she was tired of the entire family being overweight so in a fit of rage she signed us up both for the gym and peer pressured my dad to start swimming laps. Weirdest thing of all, it worked wonderfully. We all lost like 15lbs and are in our greatest shape ever. Neat. The nutritionist wasn't quite as effective, though. I think that our relationship with food was captured in that dialogue between my mom and her sister the other day.</div><div> </div><div>[Mom]: So we decided to see a nutritionist and to put the family on a diet...</div><div>[Auntie]: Great. It's courageous of you to decide to never like eating again.</div><div> </div><div><strong>T like Terrifying obstacle course</strong></div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-wix9zK4r_A0oZ3qffGGxSM9w1faw2B_AHYkK8uZe0_YgMdpNTDToSm7e1jsQ3iOEO9lKOdTx59MhZ4yq4gllqeCSFQRrIu-Hv7zFyxy2dq2Bn3HfCdUQB3RPpF7E9__fPcQaM_hVEq3/s1600-h/P1060348.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303568229952298034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-wix9zK4r_A0oZ3qffGGxSM9w1faw2B_AHYkK8uZe0_YgMdpNTDToSm7e1jsQ3iOEO9lKOdTx59MhZ4yq4gllqeCSFQRrIu-Hv7zFyxy2dq2Bn3HfCdUQB3RPpF7E9__fPcQaM_hVEq3/s320/P1060348.JPG" border="0" /></a>I watched the Red Bull Crashed Ice with Marilyne and an acquaintance of hers who studied Semantics with her when we were in León. Besides the fact that it was -25°C (without the shadow of an exaggeration here, I swear), we had a great time. There is nothing like watching 4 dudes racing down an absurd downhill ramp full of obstacles and smoking their faces against hockey bands for the enjoyment of 200 000 people. Whoever invented this sport should get the Nobel Prize. We watched the final race in a pub near the Ilôt fleuri, and as the night advanced, more and more people joined in, all dressed in their ski suits. Great night.</div><div> </div><div><strong>T like Things in a museum.</strong></div><div> </div><div>Ok, this "T" is a little far fetched, but anyways, I really wanted to mention my latest Wednesday night adventure. So there is this exhibition at the Musée National des Beaux Arts du Québec about modern and conceptual artists who have something to do with Québec City (another sequel event to the 400th anniversairy...). Eager to check it out, I called my friend Sandra and offered her to go. She accepted, and Andréanne and Chrystel also wanted to come. Soon after, Andréannne informed me that her boyfriend Alex, a notorious heavy metal fan and probably the last person you'd ever expect to meet in a museum, also wanted to come. So here we were on a wednesday night, driving in Andréanne's boat-sized car towards the museum. Chrystel was supposed to meet with us there, and since we were a little late and struggled to find a parking spot, Andréanne dropped me in front of the museum so I could find Chrystel and tell her the others were coming. So I enter the museum alone, expecting to find a frustrated Chrystel, and end up face to face with about 300 fancy people listening to an opening speech. Astounded, I look around and try unsuccessfully to find Chrystel. By the time the others joined me, I was just informed that it was the grand opening of a d'Ingres exhibition and I was holding a glass of complimentary wine. The four of us stood awkwardly among the jet setters for awhile, hoping to see Chrystel somewhere, but she never came. The next day, I found out that she had gotten to the wrong museum and had waited for us in the lobby of the musée de la civilisation for half an hour before realising her mistake and heading home. The best part of the story is that because of the opening, the access to the museum was free of charge, so we saved 7 bucks each and had the modern art exhibition almost to ourselves, since everyone else just wanted to check out the new d'Ingres exhibition. We ended the night in a Tim Hortons, eating sandwiches and discussing contemporary art.</div><div> </div><div><strong>T like The End.</strong><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-88285617352062373342008-12-23T12:23:00.000-08:002008-12-23T15:28:46.469-08:00Margaritas and architectural winks<div align="justify"> (Height of Land and second Frontenac Castle Pics are courtesy of Marcus) </div><div align="justify"><div><div><div><br /><div>"Home" is a strange notion that I fail to grasp most of the time.<br /></div><br /><div>I guess that travelling around for so long and then exploring Québec afterwards produced a good deal of contradictory feelings about what home with a capital "H" should be. As a human being, are you abilitated to recognize home when it's sitting obviously in front of you?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEnmseqL42AbsaD5pB2AaIv0hTDENvvEAJU-PtMgcn4265cDstwf18bEOZp6EdtPuNsbWltDE1qivqZJAqJMxvbPkv8s97pVmI6RyMnZTLDANEAZvhXMH31XT7FN4_Lj04LqDR6H4QSPT/s1600-h/P1010079.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283125046783482722" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEnmseqL42AbsaD5pB2AaIv0hTDENvvEAJU-PtMgcn4265cDstwf18bEOZp6EdtPuNsbWltDE1qivqZJAqJMxvbPkv8s97pVmI6RyMnZTLDANEAZvhXMH31XT7FN4_Lj04LqDR6H4QSPT/s320/P1010079.JPG" border="0" /></a>León, Spain, was kind of like home, but not really. I had an apartment of my own, something that I don't dispose of Canada. I had a key set, my own dishware, a chinese paper lamp and some other made in China items to camouflage the rather questionable decoration tastes of my landlord (including, ironically, a frame that said "home sweet home"). Could I call Spain "home", though? I think it would be a little ambitious, given that I wasn't even near being born or raised there and that my grasp on the language is very relative (it took me 3 weeks to figure out that "celeri", even pronounced with a convincing spanish accent, isn't an actual word in Spanish). Nevertheless, there sure was a comfort in having my own things and evolving in an environment that I genuinely felt good in. After the ludicrous journey I made back from Scotland with José (see previous post for more details on that epic adventure), walking back to my flat on Calle San Rafael and knowing that I was about to lie on my bed and be surrounded by my own little familiar universe was a very wholesome, satisfying thought. Yet, I have left almost no trace of my passage in Spain and therefore it's a little depressing to think that it definitely wouldn't be the same if I went back there and looked for my former bearings. If "Home" is a place you can always go back to, I'd rather not think of León as Home, since it would thus make me homeless.</div><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2vmz3zi0o-sI2RjlnsH7dQ3WfNxx06G6cnfnavhku4OMpK3-tTk8QL66BQZXyubumoowqxONz_GCZTOYREcqmEfTMv4hB8FQ1I4Ify7zn494WlTVkVn39_txv22fONkdJcCyIDrIoiwO/s1600-h/P1050985.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283126086314489170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2vmz3zi0o-sI2RjlnsH7dQ3WfNxx06G6cnfnavhku4OMpK3-tTk8QL66BQZXyubumoowqxONz_GCZTOYREcqmEfTMv4hB8FQ1I4Ify7zn494WlTVkVn39_txv22fONkdJcCyIDrIoiwO/s320/P1050985.JPG" border="0" /></a>I was born and raised in Québec, and therefore I guess I can be called a Quebecer. Is my Home the province of Québec at large, then? That would be an interesting concept. I was recently informed that I was not allowed to give blood anymore since I've spent too long abroad (a total of over 6 months). If blood is what ties one to land, then I am fucked. If it's the degree of identification to your fellow inhabitants of the socalled land, considering the last provincial election results, I am also rather screwed. Moreover, the very fact that I write this blog in English can be considered as a kind of high treason to the socalled "French Canadian Heritage", which would also bring me even farther away from home, at least according to whoever is leaving graffitis in our student lounge. As if it wasn't enough, I also encoutered a lot of strange episodes of "foreingness" since I got back.</p><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNVxhyphenhyphenBHp10R8yuo27MwCT6XYs3BxBcfYdAitBphp-tQ1WsopGgjNJj7FquLSBOr5ehp0NJ6CyCadwIuPQvRKeYpN8axgZBXst_9NWVSSQaEV91-H9vLklxfvI7896tzCjwUhU8KG3rTc/s1600-h/DSC04679.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283127340178798418" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNVxhyphenhyphenBHp10R8yuo27MwCT6XYs3BxBcfYdAitBphp-tQ1WsopGgjNJj7FquLSBOr5ehp0NJ6CyCadwIuPQvRKeYpN8axgZBXst_9NWVSSQaEV91-H9vLklxfvI7896tzCjwUhU8KG3rTc/s320/DSC04679.JPG" border="0" /></a>This summer, as we were paddling the headwaters of the Moisie river, we crossed the height of land, which is basically the place where water branches off into two different hydrographic areas. Conveniently enough, the height of land between the Atlantic and the Artic watersheds is also the border of Labrador and Québec. Yes, that same border that premier of Québec Maurice Duplessis gladly peed on some time in the fourties just for the sake of demonstrating how absurd it was to draw a line there in the middle of nowhere and to cut Québec from a huge pool of natural resources. Considering how the province has been treating what it's got resource-wise, it makes one wonder if we actually deserve Labrador at all, but since that's not today's topic, I will spare you a well deserved rant about our environmental policies. Anyways, when crossing this border, especially after being far away after so long, I expected to have some kind of "homey" feeling when I'd reach the border with my own province. But the truth is that Labrador looks just like Québec: lichen, granite, muddy and buggy floating bogs and shitloads of black spruce. As astoundingly wild and beautiful as both sides of the border were, I was disappointed to be unable to tell both apart.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGMTlKEncb7-uKkV5JWHgoRs2fSyPS5c5ODFJxBgOLw1L0jJlz4eTHM_96AtqtStsbjLd3NbVWNySuW1VAcQ6t3kKVAJHmlaKtRz2ETKzHPn50Yhyyw2ucMr6OwhJB_XPLjaxh0G0dWRL/s1600-h/P1060016.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283099387870865986" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGMTlKEncb7-uKkV5JWHgoRs2fSyPS5c5ODFJxBgOLw1L0jJlz4eTHM_96AtqtStsbjLd3NbVWNySuW1VAcQ6t3kKVAJHmlaKtRz2ETKzHPn50Yhyyw2ucMr6OwhJB_XPLjaxh0G0dWRL/s320/P1060016.JPG" border="0" /></a>More recently, we were having dinner at Marilyne's for her birthday. After drinking a (few) margarita(s) to try out the new glasses we had given her for the occasion, Marilyne, Geneviève and I started writing some postcards to some mutual friends abroad. It is genuinely difficult to find a postcard in Québec with a truly representative picture on it. Most of them have sweet, friendly summer shots representing the oldest part of town, which may lead people all over the world to the very erroneous thought that Québec has a bearable climate. Of course, it's hard to tell on a picture, even a winter one, that it's about -30 and that it's the 4th time someone faceplants in the stairs that morning because it's icy all over and the city administration just doesn't give a shit. One of the pictures of the postcards struck us all as possibly the weirdest one of all. It was a summer picture of Frontenac Castle taken at a truly odd angle that made it look about 3 times its actual size. It also showed no sign of snow, wind, rain, badly indicated detours, restoration work, or any other treathening elements whatsoever. We all agreed that it was probably the least representative picture ever taken of Québec City. We still sent it, but spent half the space on the postcard exposing all the missing or erroneous details on the picture to our buddy in Munich.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGl765vF9Ci1iNkLrfSeQr2ZE7oLb46aRhXG2mFcPDiIB6nWiKmkn6kkrN-3BXCoFjPUxMz8lTwkeX7h1gkg2puV8jVg9kM0f4GE_bqZISHW9orDOcl6g0AtsJNJp_mGiS2dN_5evC1ex/s1600-h/P1060031.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283121370451282530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGl765vF9Ci1iNkLrfSeQr2ZE7oLb46aRhXG2mFcPDiIB6nWiKmkn6kkrN-3BXCoFjPUxMz8lTwkeX7h1gkg2puV8jVg9kM0f4GE_bqZISHW9orDOcl6g0AtsJNJp_mGiS2dN_5evC1ex/s320/P1060031.JPG" border="0" /></a>Then, as you may have noticed when I talked about Orléans Island in a previous post (Gee, I'm starting to do self-references... thanks God no one reads this anyways...), some parts of Québec astound me by their beauty and, to a certain extent, exotism. Maybe it's from having been on "trip mode" for so long, but I definitely started looking at things near my home in a very tourist-like manner since I got back. Weird.</div><br /><div>So all that to say: where the hell is Home, then? I mean, if I'm not home abroad, if I can't tell my own province apart from the next one, if even the government doesn't trust me as a healthy citizen and if I'm starting to take pictures of Frontenac Castle and Orléans Island because they're exotic, where the hell am I supposed to feel home? WHAT IS Home, anyways?</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzaxFciH85nV8Iiycu6cA4iJ-6FAI82L6KeOeRQVPsXxmRghh0ugSRwTO0n10qg0bC5hVMmAYqlxV9MCHWFuweuqCrm1_brSOwYC5_7ZfU7BE_pERNq8M39AwY613mFMx-KSo9zc1DlGC/s1600-h/Copie+de+qu%C3%A9bec+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283123073529135506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzaxFciH85nV8Iiycu6cA4iJ-6FAI82L6KeOeRQVPsXxmRghh0ugSRwTO0n10qg0bC5hVMmAYqlxV9MCHWFuweuqCrm1_brSOwYC5_7ZfU7BE_pERNq8M39AwY613mFMx-KSo9zc1DlGC/s320/Copie+de+qu%C3%A9bec+1.jpg" border="0" /></a>I came up with an attempt answer last weekend. It was the first day of really nice weather since the end of the semester and I was finally able to go air out my brain a little. A splendid feeling, needless to say, after an exhausting end of the semester, punctuated by mind-twisting emotional schemes and long hiatuses away from the out-of-doors. If you know me a little, you probably already know that long walks outside in wild or uncommon weather usually spark a few new ideas within my brain. I guess that my synapses work better below zero or something. It was about -25 that afternoon. I was planning and longing to go outside all day, but cleaning up the basement, filling in internship paperwork and other miscellaneous chores of very little interest kept me inside until almost dusk. When I finally got out, the sun was slowly starting to set, but yet I had time to walk about 10km across town until it got truly beautiful. Lévis, as many of my North Shore buddies like to remind me, is nice almost exclusively because it has the best possible viewpoint on Québec City. From the hills of Pointe Lévy, one can see pretty much all the surroundings: from Orléans Island all the way to the Pierre-Laporte Bridge, from the old town to far beyond the first hills of the Laurentians. That's when it hit me. As far as I could see, I was surrounded by familiarity. I could imagine the exact route to go from any point on this landscape to any other. Everywhere was the house or apartment of friends, family or miscellaneous acquaintances. I had hiked or snowshoed all the way up some of the mountains I could see in the back drop. I had crossed the St-Lawrence in any possible weather (and physical) condition. I had listened to a Paul McCartney concert from across the valley, I had drank wine at the ferry station, I had biked the entire shoreline at more occasions that I could count, and I was leaning against the building where I spent most of my teenage years. I WAS home. No matter if I was not able to recognize Québec when I entered it, or if I was spending all my summers away from it, or if pictures of the Castle seemed awfully off... I was home, and there was absolutely no other place in the world where I would feel like I felt at that exact time. That's when it also occured to me that it was freakin' -25 and that I was standing motionless on the edge of a windy hill, no more than mildly bothered by the "slap in the face" ghusting breeze. I was adapted. I knew how not to trip on icy sidewalks. I knew you were an idiot if you weren't wearing a tuque. I was FROM here. I was more than comfortable, more than surviving.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz75Pdpi2H4Ax44QEnPIYPKN7npv14zmurAdrvn9a69MMiW2jnmjxRCUkQSd-jDUUmzOkd73g6rGhS25-UzZnR5tZYOanoqTSUJrF1AprmFYyNdWOO_yrL1vbKWW8ghD4ApH4up3xYvqiM/s1600-h/DSC04594.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283126537930553090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz75Pdpi2H4Ax44QEnPIYPKN7npv14zmurAdrvn9a69MMiW2jnmjxRCUkQSd-jDUUmzOkd73g6rGhS25-UzZnR5tZYOanoqTSUJrF1AprmFYyNdWOO_yrL1vbKWW8ghD4ApH4up3xYvqiM/s320/DSC04594.JPG" border="0" /></a>At this amazing epiphany, the Frontenac Castle itself, the real one, not the weird oversized one from the postcard, lit up as if it was approving my thoughts. As in a "damn straight, you're from here, whether you like it or not". The best part I think is that this precise instant can never be put on any postcard. It was the most gigantic wink I have ever been given in my life.</div><br /><div>That is it for today I believe. Sorry about this unusually rant-like, philosophic entry. As I am going to Cuba on vacation tomorrow, the next post will probably be about beaches, palm trees, piña coladas and miscellaneous vacation adventures, and therefore quite possibly less deep. Stay tuned.</div><div> </div></div></div></div><br /></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-84769233271640581352008-11-23T05:50:00.000-08:002008-11-23T07:40:59.283-08:00Holy shit, where's the camera?Sometimes you wish you had your camera, but you don't.<br /><div><br /><div align="justify">This past Friday, I saw the weirdest fucking thing I've ever witnessed alive. It was about five to seven and I was strolling on the campus on my way from the bus stop to my Literacy and language arts class. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPPhFt3a4I0_gdXj6AAFALumGN6vQlhm-Jn7xaGGyeYz2-aC-yetpCXOpF-SLVKDqhd83HS4tbnUWbWm2la9AxUlrEv9TY6h7iKoBTCDwzD1reeobALTpmSbHz5Bqw45G_pWhIy3Ee7i6/s1600-h/P1050977.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271874539864406882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPPhFt3a4I0_gdXj6AAFALumGN6vQlhm-Jn7xaGGyeYz2-aC-yetpCXOpF-SLVKDqhd83HS4tbnUWbWm2la9AxUlrEv9TY6h7iKoBTCDwzD1reeobALTpmSbHz5Bqw45G_pWhIy3Ee7i6/s320/P1050977.JPG" border="0" /></a>The air was so cold it was hard to breathe and the grass felt like a solid block of ice that emitted just a light cracking sound when I stepped on it. It was one of these morning where you can tell that someone is living their first winter in Québec City from a mile away just by looking at the way they speedwalk from one hall to another with that kind of "holycrapholycrapholycrap" strut.</div><br /><div align="justify">So I'm walking to the DeSève Hall, and there, right in front of the DeKoninck, I see a huge grey squirrel, all fattened up for a winter of nightmarish weather, nibbling on an unidentified piece of food between its front paws. Around it, there's about half a dozen of fierce looking black crowes. These birds get creepy when the cold days come. They were staring a the poor furball with the firm intention of bullying it until it gave away whatever it was eating. So as I keep walking, I watch the birds getting closer and I slightly slow down to see the big scene coming up... But as the biggest crow is winding up to attack the squirrel, the rodent just snaps and charges the bird full speed, literally tackling it to the ground and scratching the fuck out of it. As I am trying to make sense of what I see, feathers are flying into the air and the other birds just back up and stare at the scene, probably as puzzled as I am. As the squirrel is busy beating the shit out of the crow, another bird makes a break for the piece of food it left behind, but the squirrel is quick enough to take it before and books it up a big tree with its food. The birds fly away, and I just stand there like an idiot, realizing that I am the only person to have noticed this whole episode.</div><br /><div align="justify">I have always been opposed to cellphone cameras since they take low quality of usually not-so-relevant stuff. But this time, I actually wished I had one.</div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5nWbCD6pPUiY4TK53XO45Q4SZEmHFPc8nzXq1z5sEbisNXgncPfd_xPuW7DEHf2dh90xsfWUtp-hAqnuQRDr4u-Rh-Au-jyGKmZJV48Qje_3a2VafeuZ7cUVikyeLSwD1lfzJksfU6Nj/s1600-h/P1010351.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271852956832581458" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 305px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5nWbCD6pPUiY4TK53XO45Q4SZEmHFPc8nzXq1z5sEbisNXgncPfd_xPuW7DEHf2dh90xsfWUtp-hAqnuQRDr4u-Rh-Au-jyGKmZJV48Qje_3a2VafeuZ7cUVikyeLSwD1lfzJksfU6Nj/s320/P1010351.JPG" border="0" /></a>At other times, you do have a camera, you take pictures of weird things and you don't really realize how weird they are until a while after the deed.</div><br /><div align="justify">When I was studying abroad in Spain, I made friends with Anne, a girl from Germany. We used to live in the same residence before I moved in my flat and the guy at the hotel was the first to actually notice that we kind of looked like each other. In fact, he didn't really notice... he was absolutely convinced that we were the same person, which led to a few interesting misunderstandings and "Why <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialR3jbSwVfjBpiDnyhOfcUm2vm3cQyH_JYIGBVqRwTHLdmJzzSq5MdxntKMBoDVfDc79PPsa_BmweVEK0GUD0CWr8H-T2UUEwZYLB7WzzWrBJxWWpN9JH_xxnptFacvZy9KvrxeHHjIET/s1600-h/P1010085.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271871087842104514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialR3jbSwVfjBpiDnyhOfcUm2vm3cQyH_JYIGBVqRwTHLdmJzzSq5MdxntKMBoDVfDc79PPsa_BmweVEK0GUD0CWr8H-T2UUEwZYLB7WzzWrBJxWWpN9JH_xxnptFacvZy9KvrxeHHjIET/s320/P1010085.JPG" border="0" /></a>did you do that, I just told you not to like five minutes ago!" mishaps. We eventually moved into our own respective apartments, but we'd still hang out with each other quite a bit since we were in the same faculty at school and had many common friends. All along my stay in Spain, random people would come to me and talk to me in German, thinking I was her, and the other way around. We kind of got to a point where it became an inside joke that we were long lost twins. We even got away several times with introducing ourselves <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271850659685727906" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 309px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 232px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUf8p35uLbTxq1DQzvRwYgLUEuXWyLccAYgK3rnQJARjsAz9Y8s10112a9BHDR_EOBS-f5zDQ-Zc2mUnY2nON1lzhhSxB0MErIQf6YuWFTqY-WhAYDc3yOVrA61IDNMmYBZgHaERfGdxlE/s320/n708125700_1366492_5311.jpg" border="0" />as non-identical twins and got tagged on each other's photos on Facebook all the time. In fact, my own family commented on pictures of her, thinking it was me. I didn't really think about all of this a lot when I came back home, but lately I was skimming through some pictures of Spain during a boring class and it hit me all of a sudden: holy mother of God, do we ever look like each other! Being an only child, I feel like it is even more strange to see someone who looks like you this much. This fall, I also found out that our birthdays were only a few days apart. It's almost like one of those corny Lindsay Lohan movies... I guess you can see for yourselves in these pictures.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEGSI8HCCamliLjK3OdHrfFpiSMmVpd1fJwGtu-nXszzMsin-jJI1adsQb_Q7RF56OjNgo-on-KHNvFiRpm1axdfwnw7MEN8GwUK44rPBh4566Zp0nsE5ntF79by-EKj45OS3l6TBJXxG/s1600-h/P1050972.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271868834679974786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEGSI8HCCamliLjK3OdHrfFpiSMmVpd1fJwGtu-nXszzMsin-jJI1adsQb_Q7RF56OjNgo-on-KHNvFiRpm1axdfwnw7MEN8GwUK44rPBh4566Zp0nsE5ntF79by-EKj45OS3l6TBJXxG/s320/P1050972.JPG" border="0" /></a>Finally, some other times, you do have your camera, and you realise right away that you captured THE moment. Like at our belated student association Halloween party this year. It was election night in the States, so we convinced the owner of the small bar we were partying into to switch from TSN to a news channel so we could see who had won. We found out, just like the rest of the world, that the USA had just elected their first African-American president. History. I took a few pictures of the TV and of us, to remember every detail of the scene and be able to tell my grandchildren that we were there when it happened. The only thing is that it might be a little complicated to explain to my descendance why exactly granny was dressed like Waldo while living history with a capital H. At least I guess I wasn't the first one to look like an idiot during a great moment... someone, somewhere, must have won a milk chugging contest at the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRsu2V_VCGPvSIybyVuMozfVe2-JljIwuwc59ooYhm9H8ZUM1SAuSzqkjNtwmK_qb5oM-qgVwVp1rifS6mpHjLfE9Pfonf_n0c9ta9dGAq2O8ozCZy17QEDa4GuErc67F9aqSmIKeUodV/s1600-h/P1050966.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271868461131296546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRsu2V_VCGPvSIybyVuMozfVe2-JljIwuwc59ooYhm9H8ZUM1SAuSzqkjNtwmK_qb5oM-qgVwVp1rifS6mpHjLfE9Pfonf_n0c9ta9dGAq2O8ozCZy17QEDa4GuErc67F9aqSmIKeUodV/s320/P1050966.JPG" border="0" /></a>exact moment where Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, or has tried to beat the world record of hula hoop when the Hiroshima bomb hit. In any case, that Halloween party was sick-o. It was great to be able to get away from it all for a night, dress like dumbasses, frolick in toilet paper, eat poutine at 3 in the morning and ask the girl at the counter for a glass of water in an irrealistic attempt to be a little less hungover the next morning. I guess I missed Québec.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUf8p35uLbTxq1DQzvRwYgLUEuXWyLccAYgK3rnQJARjsAz9Y8s10112a9BHDR_EOBS-f5zDQ-Zc2mUnY2nON1lzhhSxB0MErIQf6YuWFTqY-WhAYDc3yOVrA61IDNMmYBZgHaERfGdxlE/s1600-h/n708125700_1366492_5311.jpg"></a></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-16507445900905589002008-11-20T18:30:00.001-08:002008-11-20T19:28:06.466-08:00Amsterdam at last.<div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRl7Yr9ZcmRfsIAO9_hPqnWpxM7STZfDufwgFxyi00ssLtHETxieCI3x6OtQhFsFEe3DK9IX6ylOzmXQ8c1cvLiJlN1t7hm8y-vAWX7UDLrstXeS0yWggnZtGQR9XCEHYf5FlKGjDS2D0/s1600-h/P1050708.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270934913445170098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRl7Yr9ZcmRfsIAO9_hPqnWpxM7STZfDufwgFxyi00ssLtHETxieCI3x6OtQhFsFEe3DK9IX6ylOzmXQ8c1cvLiJlN1t7hm8y-vAWX7UDLrstXeS0yWggnZtGQR9XCEHYf5FlKGjDS2D0/s320/P1050708.JPG" border="0" /></a>Me again.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">So last time I wrote an entry on this blog, I promised that I'd write again asap to tell you all about Amsterdam. </div><br /><div align="justify">That was a dirty lie. </div><br /><div align="justify">I kind of wish I had a good excuse for it, but the truth is that I don't even feel sorry about it in the first place. If you had commented and did not let me feel like an idiot writing this blog for no reason at all, none of this would happen. In any case, let's move on to Amsterdam before I am tempted to go back to my pedagogy homework. Ok, that was also a lie, we all know there is no such thing as temptation in the world of pedagogy apart from the temptation to drop the class and never return again, but let's just pretend it could happen.</div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Uol-XPtSqJxk3c2FeIP39X0LCYVC0k3B0BF43iZGKFbihJkCF4UZFfebctfMp41lZoVyotkYbhbMj00C4F-7ELg6x9GZ3P875_wbftTZZtGdaN4kzMr3V6Nulx9iXx3ncHeE0TM1W8zh/s1600-h/P1050672.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270935421404461362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Uol-XPtSqJxk3c2FeIP39X0LCYVC0k3B0BF43iZGKFbihJkCF4UZFfebctfMp41lZoVyotkYbhbMj00C4F-7ELg6x9GZ3P875_wbftTZZtGdaN4kzMr3V6Nulx9iXx3ncHeE0TM1W8zh/s320/P1050672.JPG" border="0" /></a>Amsterdam, then. Amsterdam was green, relaxing, peaceful and yet in full cultural ebullition. I wished I lived there several times while strolling along the canals and gazing in amazement at the 18th century houses slowly sinking into the marshy soil the Dutch capital has been erected on. Among the highlights of the trip was our visit to Madame Tussaud's wax museum, in which we could not resist the temptation of taking corny pictures with the wax statues of our favourite celebrities. I guess human nature can be defined by our number of chromosomes, our use of written communication and our tendency to love corny shit.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQy88-isuv5QlWxsYvmGYfUphIimNCzz-06d44tMkv1Fn-rWLU6CMCfm6y-PAooOLcNKD1vusX8oeMM4nhwZZ-pgEQ9wC6w_Z9r5dth6VbndiKD6SmtBC36HKr3CKlVN4IQ8h9igKuK3S/s1600-h/P1050724.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270936033696708034" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQy88-isuv5QlWxsYvmGYfUphIimNCzz-06d44tMkv1Fn-rWLU6CMCfm6y-PAooOLcNKD1vusX8oeMM4nhwZZ-pgEQ9wC6w_Z9r5dth6VbndiKD6SmtBC36HKr3CKlVN4IQ8h9igKuK3S/s320/P1050724.JPG" border="0" /></a>Don't worry, though, I also did other stuff that was a little bit more culturally enhancing, such as visiting Anne Frank's house and the Van Gogh Museum. Anne Frank's house is a disturbing place. Anne's dad, when he turned the small annex where he hid with the entire family during the war into a museum, asked that they'd leave the place just like it was when he came back from the concentration camp, that is, completely empty. So the visit consists basically of walking along the minuscule empty rooms, usually in silence, and every now and then, noticing a trace that shows that a family hid there, like a postcard glued to a wall, or a height mark in the door frame, or a dent in the wooden floor. In addition to the already strange atmosphere, we visited the house during a huge thunderstorm. Every thunder strike seemed like the sound of a bomb exploding in the surroundings. Surreal. The Van Gogh Museum was also very remarkable, but in a completely different way. It was a very cool feeling to beam at the masterpieces so often seen in textbooks from about 4 inches away from the wall. Van Gogh was afflicted with some mental illness that made him epileptic and had serious behaviour issues. Along the chronology of his most famous paintings, you could almost see which brush stroke he did last and imagine him frantically covering the canvas with an obsessive-compulsive care. I don't think that I've ever felt that close to a famous artist before. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5IW1dD-4vbEAgqPqUV-g7lWiexDMSb_2BkmK2VO_O1kxQWo4kSIFDLNfljI36dkGYnBtWj6i0hKvNKVURW5cHbCqvSuD48C0I2-gCT18baD82dcs7mCI75MBDSxzt5y5OA3EgthXajTN/s1600-h/P1050783.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270934427198974050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5IW1dD-4vbEAgqPqUV-g7lWiexDMSb_2BkmK2VO_O1kxQWo4kSIFDLNfljI36dkGYnBtWj6i0hKvNKVURW5cHbCqvSuD48C0I2-gCT18baD82dcs7mCI75MBDSxzt5y5OA3EgthXajTN/s320/P1050783.JPG" border="0" /></a>On the morning of the last full day, my parents decided to venture on their own into the Red Light District to cheer my dad up after he found out that the Heineken museum was closed for the season, leaving me alone all day. I told myself that it was now or never that I'd have a chance to go check out the Rijks Museum, the equivalent of the Louvre for the Netherlands. Because most of the building was closed for renovations, the administration had conveniently installed all the masterpieces and all the rest of the stuff I really wanted to see in one small hall, which I visited almost alone with a couple of Japanese tourists and two or three dudes that also didn't want to suffer the endless afternoon lines. I always liked Dutch paintings because of the refinement of details and the subtility of the hidden hints within the seemingly austere portraits, but standing in front of Rembrandt's famous Nightwatch was even more intense than I imagined. I literally got shivers. Jeez, the more I grow old the more I become some kind of geeky art-devouring monster...</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">So that was about it for Amsterdam. Of course I did a lot more stuff (as this picture of an empty glass of beer may have already suggested), but recently I've been trying to quit systematically writing everything I do during my trips. Needless to say it's been difficult. Before leaving you for another couple of wonderful hours spent filling ridiculous pedagogy exercises, I'll just ask once more: is anyone reading this? Actually?</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">In any case, I'll stop promising about writing more in this blog because this is actually a little depressing, but hopefully I'll be back for some more adventures some time soon.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-24167723602009666412008-10-22T04:21:00.000-07:002008-10-23T17:58:31.538-07:00Bedtime stories and air hostesses from the sixties...<div><div><div><div align="justify">I am back.<br /></div><div align="justify">Did you miss me, O silent readers whose commentaries are so scarce? Did you even notice I was gone in the first place? Is anyone reading this, anyways? Well, if anyone is, here are a few of my latest adventures... </div><div><br /></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzavvELbZqExpVFW5xtjDamFtIb2Rn6w5e6LpUuNqZ7d6RXcW3eBmyWpg20tX2Xb9pbcWWgAzV_7j43bznX3LDeOcBSaXdOPzyET2tN3wDFgK_ZMQM3bMckqJJJxf3hxr9rrH8_j4mm-H/s1600-h/P1050266.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260392647761163570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzavvELbZqExpVFW5xtjDamFtIb2Rn6w5e6LpUuNqZ7d6RXcW3eBmyWpg20tX2Xb9pbcWWgAzV_7j43bznX3LDeOcBSaXdOPzyET2tN3wDFgK_ZMQM3bMckqJJJxf3hxr9rrH8_j4mm-H/s320/P1050266.JPG" border="0" /></a>Things have been moving pretty swiftly since the last time I wrote on this blog. Babysitting my cousin ended up being quite an exciting adventure. As general common sense should have already thaught me, taking care of a 3-year old is pretty demanding. It was odd to pick him up at the "Petite Grenouille" day-care centre after school, especially since it's the same day-care I attended when I was his age... with the same nice ladies making sure he doesn't throw too much sand in other children's faces as back in 1988. If it was weird for me to meet 55 year-olds that all called me "Mumu" and knew what I was like when I was 4; it must have been even weirder for them to hear I was in university finishing a bacc in education. In any case, having Tom at home made me realize that writing essays and reports becomes more difficult when you have to entertain a child and prevent him from eating marbles or crayons all at the same time. I gained a lot of respect for people who do that full time. Jessie, you are a wonderwoman. Oh, and of course, as I mentioned last time, we also took care of Ginger, my uncle's chocolate labrador. So after reading Thomas his bedtime story about firemen I went for a stroll with her. My uncle got one of those new short leashes for Ginger since she pulls like a freakin' sleigh dog, but it's not particularly efficient... so I decided to just keep walking until either of us would get tired. After going twice across the entire city, I gave up. I really want to get another dog some day. </div><div><br /></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEECDsTl8NKluMVa1mXuCPgMaaRSOJU5iMsM-FN3Ttq_BALyc27AaCGiouo6GiL7jrHV8zY3xeyrO57ypGRVDuO-81JG56z297hwR8w_zmUGCP5-jiR0BdJIJ15mSO1sQHS_IXQLZbfFTk/s1600-h/P1050322.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260514456693004098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEECDsTl8NKluMVa1mXuCPgMaaRSOJU5iMsM-FN3Ttq_BALyc27AaCGiouo6GiL7jrHV8zY3xeyrO57ypGRVDuO-81JG56z297hwR8w_zmUGCP5-jiR0BdJIJ15mSO1sQHS_IXQLZbfFTk/s320/P1050322.JPG" border="0" /></a>The day we were done babysitting Tom was also the day we left for Europe. After my morning class, thanks to my dad's controversed sense of efficiency, my parents came to get me on hwy 132 where the bus had left me 15 minutes earlier. What greater way to start a trip to Amsterdam than being picked up like a prostitute on the side of the road... I smell irony, here. We flew with KLM for the first time to get to the Netherlands. Apart from the fact that the flight attendants might have the most hilarious costume ever designed for a flight company, the trip was pretty uneventful. In KLM transatlantic flights, they installed those individual entertainment devices that allow you to watch the movie you want instead of only the back of the head of the 6-foot tall guy in front of you, which is neat. There was a language learning program, too, so I tried to learn a little dutch on the way. The course was sponsored by Berlitz language schools and, just like Marilyne and I found out in your 1st year research paper, that method is bullshit... anyways, at least I know how to<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNzl9_ckXM9T5-_VjSZnvpiT0HbLkZ9ICnzYm9jSVzBo77y9vZ8tudBr9jiuZEEC3OzZfsvjXeEU93cp2f2NEvpoa5jRWA3phujpbkXgo5baCBFPeZqyzJAMydkuqlr2hODfZjaxhuRlZ/s1600-h/P1050275.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260392310851693970" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNzl9_ckXM9T5-_VjSZnvpiT0HbLkZ9ICnzYm9jSVzBo77y9vZ8tudBr9jiuZEEC3OzZfsvjXeEU93cp2f2NEvpoa5jRWA3phujpbkXgo5baCBFPeZqyzJAMydkuqlr2hODfZjaxhuRlZ/s320/P1050275.JPG" border="0" /></a> say hello and thanks, now. The basic outline of the trip was that we were going to spend a family day in Bruges, then my mom and I were going to visit Brussels while my dad had his meetings and then as soon as he's done we'd take the first train to Amsterdam and hang out there until the end of the week... My first contact with Brussels was walking out of the hotel and strolling around a disorientatingly flat area of the old town to go to Grote Markt (Grand Place) and have a drink. Grote Markt is basically the heart of Brussels. All the houses around it were built by bourgeois corporations that tried to show off to everyone else, and the result is beautiful. </div><div> </div></div><div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj130GI6S0zOkm5mixNjnmWsaqtruhfmHkTBrmvDlhWtvf2wXB3DOxLvIB8Kj2cmOPwjc8leKloE4IHSHyKWHHJ0BAp27W3oaJ-bJ-1-RFb8Xhlh38rQ90t4rFWA1WUtdM9d2fzvfbI3uhS/s1600-h/P1050319.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259939017745085666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj130GI6S0zOkm5mixNjnmWsaqtruhfmHkTBrmvDlhWtvf2wXB3DOxLvIB8Kj2cmOPwjc8leKloE4IHSHyKWHHJ0BAp27W3oaJ-bJ-1-RFb8Xhlh38rQ90t4rFWA1WUtdM9d2fzvfbI3uhS/s320/P1050319.JPG" border="0" /></a>The next morning, still pretty messed up by the jet lag, we booted it to the Centraal Station and took the first northbound train to Bruges, a relatively small town in the Flemish part of Belgium that is well known for its lace, its architecture and its canals. In the train, we met a Alec, a poor dude from Russia who had no idea if he was in the right train or not. We started chatting after being kicked out of the 1st class wagon we both accidentally sat in (told you I don't understand Dutch... fucking Berlitz...) We understood from his rudimentary English that he was an ingeneer in Moscow and he left us a postcard from his hometown. Nice dude. Bruges is a very cool place. Upon our arrival, the morning fog was still thick and therefore the tall church towers and the canals looked somewhat mysterious and eerie. As the sun rose higher, though, the fog dissipated and revealed the city in its entirety. While my mom was busy systematically going into each store to look for lace and pretending she knows what good lace looks like, my dad was trying to hide his exasperation in wandering off and filming whatever was around <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5EECLf7V_L0LD90Hk-_jWqM22husulnad4tHPF6PMth2vfG4vtUAvKnLcLD3wuCa-9IR3l7LDz2xao93TJpB58h9rYFqFEpPVYA6sBkF_doMX0SSWNfmTz_WZHURhPjG3kXkIa0KFWem/s1600-h/P1050345.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260496891699265314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 232px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 312px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5EECLf7V_L0LD90Hk-_jWqM22husulnad4tHPF6PMth2vfG4vtUAvKnLcLD3wuCa-9IR3l7LDz2xao93TJpB58h9rYFqFEpPVYA6sBkF_doMX0SSWNfmTz_WZHURhPjG3kXkIa0KFWem/s320/P1050345.JPG" border="0" /></a>with the camescope we got him for christmas. Amused by my parents' classic family vacation scene, I walked around a little and gazed in amazement at the hundreds of gables and at the old ladies making lace in the back of their little shops. It was a warm and sunny (thus busy) Sunday, but the city was still pretty quiet. The afternoon went by slowly as we looked around for antiques and walked along the canals in which the brightly coloured leaves were reflected. Awesome. Bruges also has an impressive amount of parks considering the size of the city. We made a detour through the Minnewasser, one of them, before heading back to the station. The silence was only broken every now and then by someone ringing on the bell of their bicycle to tell us to get the hell out of their way. That night we went to Chez Léon, back in Brussels, one of Belgium's most famous mussels and french fries place. I ordered a gargantuesque mussels dish with a pint of Léon's house beer (house wine is just not an option in Belgium...). No kidding, even the chocolate smell emanating from the Godiva's shop on Grand Place seemed disgusting after eating so much. </div><div> </div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7W5S91kYTfNql47emP3hRb0s3W4UVQw8dYtzsqA2w_HeNqTLKkbmiD0y0PTWZY7yNyIBIiCytPYh4-wMTJaRdNCVL8_3Yf9p5O8LktW8x31L6QHwAV-t4_tAr-fsva9GmMKosk0qfLX4/s1600-h/P1050404.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259940655464749410" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7W5S91kYTfNql47emP3hRb0s3W4UVQw8dYtzsqA2w_HeNqTLKkbmiD0y0PTWZY7yNyIBIiCytPYh4-wMTJaRdNCVL8_3Yf9p5O8LktW8x31L6QHwAV-t4_tAr-fsva9GmMKosk0qfLX4/s320/P1050404.JPG" border="0" /></a>The next day, my mom and I decided to go check out the famous Atomium. The Atomium is basically a building shaped like a giant iron molecule enlarged I-forget-how-many times. It was Belgium's hall for the universal exhibition of 1958. I've seen quite a few odd-shaped buildings in my life, but I must admit that this enormous molecule is pretty ridiculous. You can visit the inside and take escalators to go from one "boule" to another, and everything inside is arranged like in the 50's. The best part is that it is located near other random weird-looking buildings, such as a Japanese tower, a Chinese house covered in golden dragon sculptures, a park with miniature reproductions of all the<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5DGdSOdNKwbZUqr4TfxbJ_wCphRQXVt_1f9M9b3zu9-Cf5uEHfoisSwdRJb2LSy3dGXzOC_Q0EIxF0_ax9h2_7p0UFkZxLAYfei8d7uE_veZUkyoQEIpEoZ2S3KUCb55RinJ_MobzwAv/s1600-h/P1050572.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260510541966737858" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5DGdSOdNKwbZUqr4TfxbJ_wCphRQXVt_1f9M9b3zu9-Cf5uEHfoisSwdRJb2LSy3dGXzOC_Q0EIxF0_ax9h2_7p0UFkZxLAYfei8d7uE_veZUkyoQEIpEoZ2S3KUCb55RinJ_MobzwAv/s320/P1050572.JPG" border="0" /></a> most famous buildings in Europe, an amphitheatre entirely made out of organic matter and grass, and, last but not least, the royal palace of Belgium. Let's simply say that it is easy to find your way around this part of town. In the afternoon, we checked out a few art nouveau buildings from the beginning of the century downtown and then we walked all the way up to the outrageously big Brussels Justice Hall, in front of which is located probably one of the most moving unknown soldier monuments ever made. Our third and last day in Brussels consisted of walking around a lot, drinking an unhealthy amount of coffee, checking a modern art exhibition about (believe it or not) Jesus and religion in the St-Michel-et-Ste-Gudule cathedral and, more importantly, going back in my childhood days while visiting the Comic Strip Museum of Belgium. Because as you may already know, Belgium is the hometown of most of the best known comic strip characters ever created, at least in the strange world of French speaking people. So I spent a good chunk of the day with my dearest childhood heroes: Tintin, Spirou, the Smurfs, Blake&Mortimer, Gaston L<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGyHDmQyQ4KoY_i1DVAgQ3iZvRO96tG2h9xSlXyH9kC5bk0-JK3sfNy7wmHqSUboF3HDW7wE_BlN9n8xV77nCdeMxnbeph_h5-7sjOQvX-66wuWljaqdI4zaVp2w4cO9tJccyUiaJxRt-1/s1600-h/P1050514.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260509218282582354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGyHDmQyQ4KoY_i1DVAgQ3iZvRO96tG2h9xSlXyH9kC5bk0-JK3sfNy7wmHqSUboF3HDW7wE_BlN9n8xV77nCdeMxnbeph_h5-7sjOQvX-66wuWljaqdI4zaVp2w4cO9tJccyUiaJxRt-1/s320/P1050514.JPG" border="0" /></a>agaffe, Cubitus, Achille Talon, Boule et Bill, and so many more. All of a sudden I realized that the sketches I do are absolute amateur work. "J'ai des croûtes à manger", as we say here. Speaking of which, this week I have to draw key scenes of the novel "The Lord of the Flies" for a project in ESL Literacy and Language Arts. It's fun, I get to experiment with media I hadn't touched for years (watercolours, charcoal, etc.), but on the other hand it's hard to find key scenes that can be represented graphically without having any gory or other traumatizing, inappropriate stuff for teenagers. Anyways, that was about it for Belgium. Whenever I get time to write some more I'll let you know about Amsterdam and its wonders...</div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-2037352811203547652008-10-06T12:16:00.001-07:002008-10-07T18:47:46.566-07:00Here are the hectic harvest hurricanes (and other miscellaneous words starting with an H)...Here I am, back in the "here-and-now-zone" after a whole bunch of entries about what happened back this summer. After 8 months and a bit on the run, I am finally back in Québec, to my great simultaneous pleasure and disenchantement. I have a relationship I struggle to describe with this province, really. The Stéphane Dion syndrome, maybe. In any case, as you may have noticed, I am still writing in English. I picked that up for awhile, we'll see how it goes. I gave up making promises and committing about writing in one specific language or another, as my past experience in trip logging and other blog-like entries proved that I can't freewrite in one language... I guess it's the downside of being trilingual... <div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-8zENHqzPAtT9wztY-ghe4Hg9OR3RXOb7tw__FcGIxfdION6Blt9Yxp0eeyF9J-y3nGsGnxaUsKQNvMqRqWSvY3kSN-dwGCoWROhtzb1bQh5vtZPEUVZZi7W_nORGEZp1S7QU5Aw4sXT/s1600-h/P1050221.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254593422860829474" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-8zENHqzPAtT9wztY-ghe4Hg9OR3RXOb7tw__FcGIxfdION6Blt9Yxp0eeyF9J-y3nGsGnxaUsKQNvMqRqWSvY3kSN-dwGCoWROhtzb1bQh5vtZPEUVZZi7W_nORGEZp1S7QU5Aw4sXT/s320/P1050221.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>So what have I done since I came back to good ol' "Je me souviens"? Enjoying the fall colours, smells and sights would naturally come first on my list since it is by far the most pleasant thing I've done, even if attending class and trying to figure out my M.A. was unfortunately the things I've actually spent the most time doing. This semester might be the apotheosis of the irrelevance of my teaching degree. There is something very frustrating about being an aspiring teacher and spending a good chunk of my studies engaging in long ethical reflexions on the moral component of teaching cross-curricular competencies or quoting texts about ultra-specific teaching methods rather than trying to become better at what I'll do. A lady from the bureau des stages took the time to wake me up early on my sleep-in day last week to let me know that my practicum project in a native community in La Romaine was unilaterally rejected for a stupid bureaucratic technicality. Way to suck the life out of my motivation to remain in my bacc. No worries, though, as I mourn my practicum project I'm already cogitating about what my next odyssey might be... for now I'll just keep going on short journeys and ridiculous adventures until I find something I really want to do...stay tuned.<br /></div><div>My 22nd birthday was ok. Being 22 is far from being exciting, as no particular privilege comes with that specific age except getting dangerously close to paying full prize for my bus pass. Since everyone was busy 22-ing around, the birthday festivities weren't as wild as they used to be. I must be getting old. My birthday week nevertheless included a cool dinner with buddies I did my trip to Spain with and a good night out at the Laval University Pub's patio, both of which were awesome and included some good old fashioned intoxication. Thanks guys.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjDM5MioPqBz4FykCr_1DtsVGQp2KfKyRAf8FspUPj6O5m0AEovSDIHkENGkbnFQ3M7pqFGmcd09fEnk8HU9yJ6bvftM1I57r17UYqJoUeccn5_Uu2nIwW9ivvJu3EvjJQgcybYb72Pob/s1600-h/P1050149.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254592808345378610" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjDM5MioPqBz4FykCr_1DtsVGQp2KfKyRAf8FspUPj6O5m0AEovSDIHkENGkbnFQ3M7pqFGmcd09fEnk8HU9yJ6bvftM1I57r17UYqJoUeccn5_Uu2nIwW9ivvJu3EvjJQgcybYb72Pob/s320/P1050149.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>My enjoyment of the fall colours reached its climax this past Sunday, as Lindsay, Hélène, Merhdad and I went on a classic journey to Orléans Island for some pic-nicking and apple-picking. When Champlain first saw Orléans Island, he named it Bacchus Island since it was benefiting from an incredible micro-climate that made wild vines, fruits and vegetables grow in abundance all over it. That micro-Eden must have been pretty cool to see in the early 1600's, especially after the massive disappointment of figuring out he was nowhere near India, or Europe for that matter. "At least SOME things grow here", he probably thought. Orléans Island still is nowadays Québec City's backyard garden. Apples, berries, potatoes, and all kinds of other produce have been the economic motor of the island for ever, and most of the villages established along the shore of the island kept their original settlement buildings, which gives the wandering outsider a little feeling of going back in the first times of the colony just by crossing a sketchy bridge across half the St-Lawrence river. We stopped at the chocolate factory to pick up some truffles and then stuffed our faces with bread and cheese and paté on the riverside in St-François (because of course, 100% of the villages on the island are called "St-Something"). What else would you expect? The afternoon was highlighted by a visit to an apple cider shop and by making fun of all the people standing by the road dressed up as giant apples or other ridiculous stuff to get us to go into their orchard. No, thanks, giant McIntosh teenager, I am going to Roger and Margot's orchard. Margot's smile as she hands me that white plastic bucket to put my apples in has been highlighting my Indian Summers since I've been in high school. Next year, maybe, big apple. Roger and Margot's apple orchard is full of Orléans' island own McIntosh variety apple, and has a breathtaking view on the Laurentians and Mt.Sainte-Anne. As we admired the firework of autumn colours around us, a faint smell of boiled corn cobs and of fresh bread emerged from Margot's shack. God, I love Orléans Island. Here are a few pictures.</div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EDie8X4T5cPqWLBTpLLrG1v3-IpjGnI2JG0otJbphpMv-Fn0Z0vg9nZ1YAoD44xCnCvpMBDOAsfM9g_0vl-Y-f-HwsHoECJBaOF3CTt7eN9S_VU5tnYbtY4AKSqKPJVEvMdbRcTFT0no/s1600-h/P1050160.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254583803484090162" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EDie8X4T5cPqWLBTpLLrG1v3-IpjGnI2JG0otJbphpMv-Fn0Z0vg9nZ1YAoD44xCnCvpMBDOAsfM9g_0vl-Y-f-HwsHoECJBaOF3CTt7eN9S_VU5tnYbtY4AKSqKPJVEvMdbRcTFT0no/s320/P1050160.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFHGpwn6MopjzY7P15fesmp5Vq-pG0ZAC5yVfRxzU_YVYhnornQlJdT97ly7oBJy0iMvsxfLEMs5H5ZpkP_6_9cd8kNoGW5BMt9zI5C_j_RetEZTbABZOZ0oktBUAU_dHiJ_rxJZ3JFmT/s1600-h/P1050199.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254584335270815554" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFHGpwn6MopjzY7P15fesmp5Vq-pG0ZAC5yVfRxzU_YVYhnornQlJdT97ly7oBJy0iMvsxfLEMs5H5ZpkP_6_9cd8kNoGW5BMt9zI5C_j_RetEZTbABZOZ0oktBUAU_dHiJ_rxJZ3JFmT/s320/P1050199.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZbxONhHhWKBDZB5fvu1-niUf6Uo3pYsLHkl6v0Uakm46cFMQ4UtwH_nW-YLyHY7qfRO1vbY0w8kdVFbM9CD8PNv0__5yFPshp6h71rCO0sStvFjUgp_NHJACk68KRKU9uFmcguVdKHXx/s1600-h/P1050213.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254585039351567618" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZbxONhHhWKBDZB5fvu1-niUf6Uo3pYsLHkl6v0Uakm46cFMQ4UtwH_nW-YLyHY7qfRO1vbY0w8kdVFbM9CD8PNv0__5yFPshp6h71rCO0sStvFjUgp_NHJACk68KRKU9uFmcguVdKHXx/s320/P1050213.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZVxjBR-1QFL7hyphenhyphenrihIFYn1Kst6-QXMHJSehyphenhyphen8f0JgVEyu6Yr6WGfPWfTI6v4qgZ6dGM_KpCEyOr6jIVnes85IA1ZS2fBg0P0awJ6z4_NVojdQNdegHVqKPEoChw0-Oh_AFqAcW7I6R8x/s1600-h/P1050253.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254585858918779202" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZVxjBR-1QFL7hyphenhyphenrihIFYn1Kst6-QXMHJSehyphenhyphen8f0JgVEyu6Yr6WGfPWfTI6v4qgZ6dGM_KpCEyOr6jIVnes85IA1ZS2fBg0P0awJ6z4_NVojdQNdegHVqKPEoChw0-Oh_AFqAcW7I6R8x/s320/P1050253.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Yep, so that's about it for now. This week my mission is to contain hurricane Thomas, a 3 year-old cousin of mine that we volunteered to babysit for a few days, as well as Ginger, Thomas' 70-ish lbs. chocolate labrador. Fun times ahead... then Friday will be our departure for Belgium and Amsterdam for my dad's business trip. I love how we have family business trips, now. Hopefully it will be just as great as it sounds.<br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30nRcetcsBzm2zJ-AMBOGUoU3DyE57kqtlogqk_TC12H-PC4iNSLVoyjv4iEKWC2bm4HvpLvc5yogA4RSa4oK26q_KVTmIj96VIS_Qspp_MGXnmHuf1bcMfCX-RwZ_dsNYDUUa-YS-6Rb/s1600-h/P1050099.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254592308546559570" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30nRcetcsBzm2zJ-AMBOGUoU3DyE57kqtlogqk_TC12H-PC4iNSLVoyjv4iEKWC2bm4HvpLvc5yogA4RSa4oK26q_KVTmIj96VIS_Qspp_MGXnmHuf1bcMfCX-RwZ_dsNYDUUa-YS-6Rb/s320/P1050099.JPG" border="0" /></a></div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-18355277282798933242008-09-28T08:29:00.000-07:002008-09-28T08:49:56.573-07:00Day XXIV - Ends.<div>This morning we found out how it feels to be done with the Moisie.<br /><br />Yesterday’s bonfire was still smoking when we woke up. As I was burning my second batch of scrambled muffin (the first one was spoiled by unpurified water), the kids started a brigade to take down the canoes and our stuff. The tide rose during he night, which made things a little more complicated. At least now it’s going down, which should help us get to Moisie. </div><br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbIw__YqUT2vlp3GuvkdF1gZw3t9wSDrTL0-agP7vWcrwp1gFSgN7GzOMm4iBy00d9Zsj38oWGJs1PhuwNPypaKxoi5Nnk0IG79oWNKbOMybllRMsLWIx_vyJUkkG5S3RI5zf53EcXaQf/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+40.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251095264414993106" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbIw__YqUT2vlp3GuvkdF1gZw3t9wSDrTL0-agP7vWcrwp1gFSgN7GzOMm4iBy00d9Zsj38oWGJs1PhuwNPypaKxoi5Nnk0IG79oWNKbOMybllRMsLWIx_vyJUkkG5S3RI5zf53EcXaQf/s320/trip+journal+sketch+40.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />I had the feeling to move even slower than yesterday. I don’t know if it’s because of accumulated fatigue or if Emily is slacking off, but anyways. I guess we’re all tired. After a few interminable kilometres, we finally made it to… </div><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hIygT9I5Dtvlh06GPO1q_dS4Y4fXShVz_on_0l-laN-4bRzSJ1czbTm9pjklDynqF_EmANcag4hAbZ3v-hzhiUowHmW1CLgsOGGgyr5wYKkvB8vLy5xGvdpdnnbb5MrRLT7D1Wyl4U15/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+41.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251095369905326082" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hIygT9I5Dtvlh06GPO1q_dS4Y4fXShVz_on_0l-laN-4bRzSJ1czbTm9pjklDynqF_EmANcag4hAbZ3v-hzhiUowHmW1CLgsOGGgyr5wYKkvB8vLy5xGvdpdnnbb5MrRLT7D1Wyl4U15/s320/trip+journal+sketch+41.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The Moisie ends here, in the Gulf of the St-Lawrence. All of a sudden, without any foreword or warning, the majestic cliffs flattened out and left room to an infinite stretch of saltwater. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmI3v4qgLLAzfaYpnadpVuajScaTPfbp4elqTzsbJMcnyg3UYGcdD4HxaYOqc8ojfb_JMjZGnI7w54qS90aMVy90ZfnmOpM9fxM4UPC8OWAgYMDmK1jDxMTP0x4TTTRCNIrCQXoqyZzu6/s1600-h/P1040836.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251095736220527394" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmI3v4qgLLAzfaYpnadpVuajScaTPfbp4elqTzsbJMcnyg3UYGcdD4HxaYOqc8ojfb_JMjZGnI7w54qS90aMVy90ZfnmOpM9fxM4UPC8OWAgYMDmK1jDxMTP0x4TTTRCNIrCQXoqyZzu6/s320/P1040836.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>So this is it.<br /><br />A few hundred metres from the shore of Moisie, we recognized the silhouette of our beloved bus driver, Stan the man. He must have missed us, somehow. As he awkwardly dealt with the kids’ demonstrations of affection towards him, we loaded the bus in a hurry and made fun of the absurd quantity of Québec flags floating in the wind at each little house in “Moisie Beach”. We also made fun of the biker-looking guy standing proudly next to a native pride flag and a confederate flag. When everything was loaded, we lingered by the “danger dangerous wharf” sign and then strolled slowly towards the beach to dip our toes in the ocean. </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSET7kzGNKqsoVrERuzJ_UT4RDapWQsODHMrukfJUGECXVSui9S6nbtCQI3jnwHMD1ChyauKa_ZC9Z3N5T_ornnoGVN4Lu_-vhWVfjhia30TmtAjrU6lFnwdcGm3DHSexByBRc-BPCZYHl/s1600-h/P1040840.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251097439191428402" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSET7kzGNKqsoVrERuzJ_UT4RDapWQsODHMrukfJUGECXVSui9S6nbtCQI3jnwHMD1ChyauKa_ZC9Z3N5T_ornnoGVN4Lu_-vhWVfjhia30TmtAjrU6lFnwdcGm3DHSexByBRc-BPCZYHl/s320/P1040840.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIC33rrNenkpoF53VvtltyOi3Ba-TWCTo8NLXkY76-Jkhtak_-I_ArDJ9_N_nbo4dZtadJiKbStbdnM7ldKLBlhqCaGuXkPet8FXX2jwRJVpmKkik9Ac55p8_r8CrLT71zLjtRVI4Kl2Dl/s1600-h/P1040846.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251097042220525090" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIC33rrNenkpoF53VvtltyOi3Ba-TWCTo8NLXkY76-Jkhtak_-I_ArDJ9_N_nbo4dZtadJiKbStbdnM7ldKLBlhqCaGuXkPet8FXX2jwRJVpmKkik9Ac55p8_r8CrLT71zLjtRVI4Kl2Dl/s320/P1040846.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>As Marcus found a crab in his unsuccessful quest for a sand dollar, I strolled on the beach and tried to define the weird mixture of feelings I’m experiencing. I end up telling myself that I don’t really care about defining it and I beam at the now distant Moisie hills and at the storm cell we’ll never be hit by that hovers above them. My toes in the sand, my eyes on the river, I enjoy the very last seconds of the trip.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4eGlz5Agrjg1U-J5ZFJzfD4Tbg6fXsreUyY7NsZ_qXLavBCq6h8HS86g6QbmfOpRzCyK3AdrdvgbPp0-a-0X4_Yz3VBvKJOvpaoXYtI6UUInB2fXFGimEef3a2pIOvexZkIQnYk3C4iB/s1600-h/P1040847.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251096317210179410" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4eGlz5Agrjg1U-J5ZFJzfD4Tbg6fXsreUyY7NsZ_qXLavBCq6h8HS86g6QbmfOpRzCyK3AdrdvgbPp0-a-0X4_Yz3VBvKJOvpaoXYtI6UUInB2fXFGimEef3a2pIOvexZkIQnYk3C4iB/s320/P1040847.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjde3mUSJglIWWZn37zoSafpsvYGdXSbbpTbpcKrg35xAm9asd0GphxezT9SX31AIDmfh_xAq-hWSwTP_HmWhZ_f-EBE9IRewzHXwlLjdzgxnGb2BiCNjlRH-tEHwZYInhN_WvsnHIuJeFh/s1600-h/P1040848.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251096578750817250" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjde3mUSJglIWWZn37zoSafpsvYGdXSbbpTbpcKrg35xAm9asd0GphxezT9SX31AIDmfh_xAq-hWSwTP_HmWhZ_f-EBE9IRewzHXwlLjdzgxnGb2BiCNjlRH-tEHwZYInhN_WvsnHIuJeFh/s320/P1040848.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>And that’s how the story ends.<br /><br />Of course, the trip back to camp was filled with adventures and anecdotes of all kinds, such as:<br /><br />- Luke and his high (in)tolerance to saltwater<br />- The food rampage in the Maxi in Baie-Comeau and the meat sweats in the bus<br />- The Sept-Îles Marathon that we randomly came across<br />- The resurrection of Marcus’ watch after 21 days of absence<br />- Finding out that there is a free Paul McCartney concert in Québec city at a corner store in La Malbaie<br />- Calling home from Baie-St-Paul as a helicopter is taking off next to our bus<br />- The beluga whales on the Fjord during the ferry ride<br />- My first flushable toilet in a month on the ferry<br />- The dude with the “breakfast included” t-shirt casually posing on the ferry<br />- The glorious drive across Basse-Ville and the excitement at the sight of known landscapes<br />- Watching Montmorency Falls (they're still pretty freakin' big, even after the Moisie) as I overhear Marcus’ tales of his trip to India<br />- Our arrival at my house and the priceless stares of my 80 year-old neighbours as we unload the bus<br />- The pool, the barbecue, the chocolate milk<br />- The lady at the grocery store disagreeing with our choice of granola cereal<br />- My dad’s hernia<br />- Finding out about Claude<br />- Needing a hug after finding out about Claude<br />- The empty, freshly painted playroom<br />- Nat checking out my dad’s woodwork in the kitchen<br />- The Chocolats Favoris, at last, after that place being so often part of our daydreams for the past month<br />- Listening to Paul McCartney from across the river and looking at pyrotechnic effects next to Frontenac Castle<br />- Buying and reading Le Soleil and even doing the crosswords. In French.<br />- The boys fighting for the sports section<br />- Nat looking like a hobo with his (beyond) filthy t-shirt and his garbage bag at the gas station<br />- The Motel Madrid and it’s ridiculous dinosaurs and bigfoot trucks</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlvIx8Y2NddEUlYYva_C8iO5-q5kN65UjSdQs1d2lxHvylqRBSitlzfQWQ9CigdMREY3sDd_cAkTb4jOwfmzqOhPsTtkwozHosCJmt2eP9qnF7wJxBP4wLH08yVCW4HxHPDj2T7CSQ0iE/s1600-h/P1040854.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251099687926720994" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlvIx8Y2NddEUlYYva_C8iO5-q5kN65UjSdQs1d2lxHvylqRBSitlzfQWQ9CigdMREY3sDd_cAkTb4jOwfmzqOhPsTtkwozHosCJmt2eP9qnF7wJxBP4wLH08yVCW4HxHPDj2T7CSQ0iE/s320/P1040854.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />- Taking highway 20 instead of highway 40<br />- Marcus’ complicated statistics about trip<br />- The rated and commented burps<br />- The arrival at camp<br /><br />But really, it is when I turned away from the ocean and looked for the last time at he remains of the Moisie cliffs stretching across the horizon line that I knew that it was really over.<br /><br />I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here some day.<br /><br />Maybe I will.</div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-71713428212977873462008-09-28T08:06:00.000-07:002008-09-28T08:29:37.466-07:00Day XXIII - Child's play and universal unintelligible drunken speech<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Today was THE most famous, critical and important day of the trip:</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmSi9ySGi1FnxuU8z31sFd2QEiLY6CC9nWv-BWbZFEk5S1UsZRGZZylmnvEq9ogz35Ew_Of_miq2H0fZ_ZfM8AnVcmGq1cs04XXLBpNaVYU-u6ENMhs2QA3JvbmcMx84xI4vUpN7Krzbo/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+37.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251089172709369554" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmSi9ySGi1FnxuU8z31sFd2QEiLY6CC9nWv-BWbZFEk5S1UsZRGZZylmnvEq9ogz35Ew_Of_miq2H0fZ_ZfM8AnVcmGq1cs04XXLBpNaVYU-u6ENMhs2QA3JvbmcMx84xI4vUpN7Krzbo/s320/trip+journal+sketch+37.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />The day started with me realizing that my "blister" from yesterday was some kind of foreign body inside my foot that had gone so badly infected through the night that I couldn't stand on it. Perfect. Used to the good old bactine-polysporin-excruciating scrubbing leitmotiv, I somewhat fixed myself for the day within a couple of minutes. If temporarily getting rid of infection was a job, I'd be president of the union. We left our campsite at the same time as usual (our intent to get out early being ruined by a temporary tattoo extravaganza) and embarked on one of the longest, most intense and best known series of rapids I’ve ever had a chance to see in real life. 6km of continuous CIII+ boosted with a water level I’m still not even sure about.<br /><br />No one dumped.<br /><br />It took us over 9 hours.<br /><br />It more or less looked like this: </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBhrZZQdO56uOpvmPnCa6YDGNfwC6_9kefP3bsPKv0XOGTQiDsqyQfB2_1nxFG3m2xh7-7aqbLsENoEHuy_AAVUUbEdVKOaMb7TysLurLa5sBP5NXbeSkesNL-lUsJvuyxSP2N5OwQxwd/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+38.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251089302745560466" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBhrZZQdO56uOpvmPnCa6YDGNfwC6_9kefP3bsPKv0XOGTQiDsqyQfB2_1nxFG3m2xh7-7aqbLsENoEHuy_AAVUUbEdVKOaMb7TysLurLa5sBP5NXbeSkesNL-lUsJvuyxSP2N5OwQxwd/s320/trip+journal+sketch+38.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />At least we’re alive. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GXTXGzKPBcq4e4UvBJo1ynxMqnliy1MxVvDh9KkH38nJJQ9bUQhNFvXM-OOrtxEgVzR0Xm_rqkNy2-Ui1CVETSq1pv-lcea019f41BLAQSbukXOlD2fuvnnih-XaQEWbIunZAgcUQv9A/s1600-h/P1040815.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251089858597967698" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GXTXGzKPBcq4e4UvBJo1ynxMqnliy1MxVvDh9KkH38nJJQ9bUQhNFvXM-OOrtxEgVzR0Xm_rqkNy2-Ui1CVETSq1pv-lcea019f41BLAQSbukXOlD2fuvnnih-XaQEWbIunZAgcUQv9A/s320/P1040815.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisL2eQ3u8TnvGYoJoqhtmM5fch91h5qeMdTz5NGCFD8hMco6yav4bw3DqoumhkDQruEF4At1ir9BJ8BJMCfzJ4qMmUZ2p9sDrrY3ke5oLwP5CgFnZ-r7lv_PTA6y5IH3_FvkPKtRKT4cjb/s1600-h/P1040821.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251090454022773250" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisL2eQ3u8TnvGYoJoqhtmM5fch91h5qeMdTz5NGCFD8hMco6yav4bw3DqoumhkDQruEF4At1ir9BJ8BJMCfzJ4qMmUZ2p9sDrrY3ke5oLwP5CgFnZ-r7lv_PTA6y5IH3_FvkPKtRKT4cjb/s320/P1040821.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6Gq5pjBBy9NlqubimRqR6LzBuHmAKOqYHnnVU_7_qxka1yXgPrkzkKW4odexF080Br4VapZgPWz5kNn1J9PCFXUiBz516DcVIveQF4Th_NV-9v2TtvfOm_SuSuJ75txKCM_6OjnObt6Z/s1600-h/P1040825.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251090948638708978" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6Gq5pjBBy9NlqubimRqR6LzBuHmAKOqYHnnVU_7_qxka1yXgPrkzkKW4odexF080Br4VapZgPWz5kNn1J9PCFXUiBz516DcVIveQF4Th_NV-9v2TtvfOm_SuSuJ75txKCM_6OjnObt6Z/s320/P1040825.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />For some reason I thought that our trip would end right after Train Track in a great apotheosis of saltwater and sand dunes. But really, the St-Lawrence river is still some 20km after Train Tracks. Quite anticlimactic, especially after 10 hours of stressful and demanding paddling. It seemed like the river was stretching on purpose before us so we would never actually finish. You big, watery bitch.</div><div> </div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3cP3R0a9BQVayOSni8c0ZG9ivTG-H4FtY87SdmUjFC-TQ1KXwmB3JWGMwWaNko4JPjrr30i7pxvtdLh1PMICZqIDx3ECuHCrtQZYpgJg-306c5SZ-JzF0ZFfNM21w9pukZysPvX_Eljw/s1600-h/P1040827.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251091355092251490" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3cP3R0a9BQVayOSni8c0ZG9ivTG-H4FtY87SdmUjFC-TQ1KXwmB3JWGMwWaNko4JPjrr30i7pxvtdLh1PMICZqIDx3ECuHCrtQZYpgJg-306c5SZ-JzF0ZFfNM21w9pukZysPvX_Eljw/s320/P1040827.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The return to civilisation was sudden and brutal. Our first plan was to camp directly in Moisie, but dusk fell and we had to camp up an absurdly steep sand dune. We set up a brigade and struggled to haul up all our stuff. Once on top, we were interrupted by a fairly intoxicated man in a jeep with his family that asked me in slurry French what the hell we were doing here and where we came from. After a few minutes of monosyllabic answers, he got bored and left. We found a spot that wasn’t too covered with ATV ruts for the canoes and set up our tents against a bunch of small trees, hoping not to get run over at night. As we started cooking dinner, we realised that we were camping a few hundred metres away from a gigantic bonfire that became quickly surrounded by pickup trucks and drunken locals on their ATVs enjoying this nice Saturday night. It was the first time I was aware of the day of the week since we left. Across the river, another bonfire with screaming people was going on. It wasn't exactly the nice, slow-paced, bucolic last evening I had pictured. We cooked gallo pinto (con salsichas) with record-breaking speed (after four times, the kids kind of got the hang of it) and I whipped out my last bag of candy to keep up the morale and the blood sugar at an acceptable level until dinner.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrWqHkM-y6vJWX31mHgFjIR1t3hgwHV7i9Ek2V0Y0gVrsp1rtMoe1SbEs7dLR3mm1_Gmtp_3WOJXK1oYwqnwZLMltH7yzfsRsys3zGR4x56x9haChKhXfHtSaPJ0U3PuGImPrfD5foXm2/s1600-h/P1040830.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251091676335292818" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrWqHkM-y6vJWX31mHgFjIR1t3hgwHV7i9Ek2V0Y0gVrsp1rtMoe1SbEs7dLR3mm1_Gmtp_3WOJXK1oYwqnwZLMltH7yzfsRsys3zGR4x56x9haChKhXfHtSaPJ0U3PuGImPrfD5foXm2/s320/P1040830.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Just before I went to bed, two drunken men drove by on their ATVs and stared at us while uttering universal unintelligible drunken speech. I muttered something back in French and they returned to the bonfire without a word. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97VjgjG8TFLd6YlFMkQhtb-_Uq9xfgtgc_xOYdAtPzjE2zXeuZdn6DBnGhQEB0S6yhCG-wdjocro4bqdDkvEPgjLZbT4Sl86fJieV5jTqBXSHStsr1t-A_l4123rSWPRjlr2RgmOQWqNZ/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+39.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251089457710225266" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97VjgjG8TFLd6YlFMkQhtb-_Uq9xfgtgc_xOYdAtPzjE2zXeuZdn6DBnGhQEB0S6yhCG-wdjocro4bqdDkvEPgjLZbT4Sl86fJieV5jTqBXSHStsr1t-A_l4123rSWPRjlr2RgmOQWqNZ/s320/trip+journal+sketch+39.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />It’s going to be a long night.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-15133006566011608722008-09-28T07:11:00.000-07:002008-09-28T08:05:16.724-07:00Day XXII - "My dad just LOVES the train..."<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Another pit day under the burning hot ☼ of the “southernmost” part of our trip. It’s funny how cardinal points can be relative sometimes.<br /><br />Our lazy morning was particularly enjoyable. As trains rolled by and the sun started turning our tent into an actual outback oven, I rolled around a couple of times and enjoyed every minute of this only morning where 8h15 didn’t mean anything at all. Marcus had, as usual, deprived himself from sight and hearing for the night. For reasons I can’t really put my finger on, I always have the impression that he “turns himself off” for the night. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWHQB5i_CxiBRFRVqcvx_LwG1KhnWwvjY-IjfKvayhTlEvo161cmboko4gvdxN1fDyfQSqNQbhIvy6ulDiM-FLEjSxwJmOGLyjfBSP_LpjImJNkZ5UTAneWlJHsD1Mzvhfjp7JIG7jfMt/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+35.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251075806449893842" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWHQB5i_CxiBRFRVqcvx_LwG1KhnWwvjY-IjfKvayhTlEvo161cmboko4gvdxN1fDyfQSqNQbhIvy6ulDiM-FLEjSxwJmOGLyjfBSP_LpjImJNkZ5UTAneWlJHsD1Mzvhfjp7JIG7jfMt/s320/trip+journal+sketch+35.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Around 13h00 we got the “cliff-hanger’s club” together and decided to venture on a new hiking expedition. This time, our project wasn’t quite as ambitious as the first one: we were going to hike up the hill across the stream from our campsite, hoping to get a good glance at train tracks and the surroundings. What seemed to be a pretty chilled out hike ended up being quite an expedition. From the ascent through a boreal jungle punctuated by improbable crevasses and sphagnum moss-covered boulders, we moved on to a flat-ish, rather uneven arid-looking summit infested (of course) with bugs of all kinds, from which we could admire our island and the minuscule star of human bodies sun tanning on the beach that we had left behind. Now we have a better idea of what the helicopters see when they zip by in the canyon. The descent was somewhat sketchy and perilous. I almost shat my pants when a part what I believed was ground but ended up being unsteady moss and organic matter collapsing under my feet, causing me to drop about 4 and a half feet onto a ledge. We are small, fragile beings on the back of a giant. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rmtEu3m-ePe93A__DyjUDksezeB4qfEhyphenhyphenPIcdBCAz8qgwmPcvRj-_57lrpVJw1o5SRl56Dmh2Dnkd6cbWEHOXpDP7m77lwe_be0lRFBJO1IV8RJlL1bm6fKl58dihHuD0bTSsU4dQROF/s1600-h/P1040787.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251076555934075202" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rmtEu3m-ePe93A__DyjUDksezeB4qfEhyphenhyphenPIcdBCAz8qgwmPcvRj-_57lrpVJw1o5SRl56Dmh2Dnkd6cbWEHOXpDP7m77lwe_be0lRFBJO1IV8RJlL1bm6fKl58dihHuD0bTSsU4dQROF/s320/P1040787.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hiX8KZ9AMR9Pw5fgXYu_nKEu5m8jtvw_GYcKKqvUprMNxSxS4CfY0QAQHweQZ7lhxjCQ1IkXIKpd2XMVCwQLvGtLkxDdzdt2fU_xxWRPz_ZyNK7z0r5b_rWlbypPHuSUSyv6m3GaTjfo/s1600-h/P1040791.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251078943265851922" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hiX8KZ9AMR9Pw5fgXYu_nKEu5m8jtvw_GYcKKqvUprMNxSxS4CfY0QAQHweQZ7lhxjCQ1IkXIKpd2XMVCwQLvGtLkxDdzdt2fU_xxWRPz_ZyNK7z0r5b_rWlbypPHuSUSyv6m3GaTjfo/s320/P1040791.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jqANPH8LfTqwPimzcESnN1pXFO_2hZZsYZn0_YS4LVFgivFu2o7Lzr1etxxuQ4DyBd_YwkyJhQ2OFQbVu29MopnPjgMsWrd21M-hNXVpjA_x0TaO9hpr6Q60BOoPgJMjgU54iJ8CxqjV/s1600-h/P1040792.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251085269879045666" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jqANPH8LfTqwPimzcESnN1pXFO_2hZZsYZn0_YS4LVFgivFu2o7Lzr1etxxuQ4DyBd_YwkyJhQ2OFQbVu29MopnPjgMsWrd21M-hNXVpjA_x0TaO9hpr6Q60BOoPgJMjgU54iJ8CxqjV/s320/P1040792.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Marcus’ beard progressively caught up with his goatie. He boiled his clothes tonight in order to clean them a little. At least I’m not the only one that’s weird, I guess.<br /><br />The bottom of my foot hurts like a bitch. Probably another blister.<br /><br />The afternoon went by slowly as we made unreal burritos and I read a few chapters of the Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt novel I barely touched since the bus ride. I kind of wish I had a somewhat lighter book. Whatever. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRiRkNRJqd2OgumevydTkcbxDAUAco40mVLyOKT-h0iuuAC533MSl-AXnjpKZOzw8AfKEuaKlxdUH2tI6Tbuw4tqFisVGV63GWXWIiQ33udi7A7M8HztA2oFkKcUnVvjCYF3rm1ZqmRm7/s1600-h/P1040804.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251085779847651746" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRiRkNRJqd2OgumevydTkcbxDAUAco40mVLyOKT-h0iuuAC533MSl-AXnjpKZOzw8AfKEuaKlxdUH2tI6Tbuw4tqFisVGV63GWXWIiQ33udi7A7M8HztA2oFkKcUnVvjCYF3rm1ZqmRm7/s320/P1040804.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />We hung out in the sun as Nat told hilarious anectodes about his father and we took turns playing the guitar. Hayley went all the way from the 60’s to nowadays with different arrangements of her clothing.<br /><br />Speaking of clothing, I just found out that Jacqui brought 9 SHIRTS on this trip.<br /><br />I won’t even comment on that.<br /><br />We had a late afternoon adventure as we took Sherman/Doug the inflatable shark for a swim down the C1 next to our campsite. Only Marcus, Nat and I were up for it. Upstream paddling isn’t my forte. The escapade took a premature end when the blunt end of my plastic river knife scabbard punctured the made-in-china skin of poor Sherman. I struggled to keep it at least partially inflated as I drifted towards safety and barely made it through the eddy line. Tragic end for the only pet we managed to keep until the end of this trip. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHT6vWWHNnjqOBqXh34-DIeRTP2r880MRyT9UX3B9jUg9HifF-dwCtOT37QGSQLbO7Qs6V82l0qt08LaM1IofKLoyKP1bcoZZKkyJhbNoHYLfWsL1aFJ_ThZTqJS4_mpO36usrOF0RJxk/s1600-h/P1040806.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251086342213643122" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHT6vWWHNnjqOBqXh34-DIeRTP2r880MRyT9UX3B9jUg9HifF-dwCtOT37QGSQLbO7Qs6V82l0qt08LaM1IofKLoyKP1bcoZZKkyJhbNoHYLfWsL1aFJ_ThZTqJS4_mpO36usrOF0RJxk/s320/P1040806.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Our somewhat dry couscous dinner was highlighted by the usual boys vs. girls drama and by a driving range session of base-rock. Another random skill to develop. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOzMQBOolzVWtc4E6WG3hLC4P7iE7NfgvHDSlF5YsFXEmkZ6bIXlkEMevigflIwh0honRcvXTY3oL6vtVsWHnNx6-MqcDVng7LyUqFgd1C1JLt_mD0ejh8X3nPlUign0zabPXYCLrLFQr/s1600-h/P1040813.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251086665607997682" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOzMQBOolzVWtc4E6WG3hLC4P7iE7NfgvHDSlF5YsFXEmkZ6bIXlkEMevigflIwh0honRcvXTY3oL6vtVsWHnNx6-MqcDVng7LyUqFgd1C1JLt_mD0ejh8X3nPlUign0zabPXYCLrLFQr/s320/P1040813.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />There are weird echo effects around the island. I hear children giggling in the woods. That’s pretty fucked up.<br /><br />We saw people casually strolling on the train tracks. I wonder where they came from and, sobre todo, where they were going.<br /><br />Interesting chat (as usual) with Marcus tonight.<br /><br />Tomorrow we’ll be in Moisie.<br /><br />That’s fucking unreal.<br /><br />I really want to meet Nat’s dad.</div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSln1NhC5S2HL7wVO6GZjax7NfjnRbW_XzEfvvAE-ArDNfHy2BVk_8pt9CJM24ibFRSjvh_wCtkxsMTQctSWw6HQaCftBrLW-TlYUVVx8faCLYNL25Y5DH5yEMOsuQY-Z6Y1mR2r08fxe/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+36.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251076070922563634" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSln1NhC5S2HL7wVO6GZjax7NfjnRbW_XzEfvvAE-ArDNfHy2BVk_8pt9CJM24ibFRSjvh_wCtkxsMTQctSWw6HQaCftBrLW-TlYUVVx8faCLYNL25Y5DH5yEMOsuQY-Z6Y1mR2r08fxe/s320/trip+journal+sketch+36.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-60245097878757660602008-09-18T18:50:00.000-07:002008-09-25T11:12:43.235-07:00Day XXI - Storm cells and assholes.<div><div><div><div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLhRi0wtE_kSgkA7sfyuXE7cPFuC0NIsbnpxvrkrFg7xrx7ruitj6rPMiG3Vss0HydWYX_dXXct6XWAia7dBzPE2bFpQ62YZ_dzgAXX4bSSPpcGA1yhvidMhs84UlkAdXWA0qWss7DUrw/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+31.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249678606563289634" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLhRi0wtE_kSgkA7sfyuXE7cPFuC0NIsbnpxvrkrFg7xrx7ruitj6rPMiG3Vss0HydWYX_dXXct6XWAia7dBzPE2bFpQ62YZ_dzgAXX4bSSPpcGA1yhvidMhs84UlkAdXWA0qWss7DUrw/s320/trip+journal+sketch+31.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Funny day today. Haha. I just wrote “Haha” to emphasize how funny the day was. Maybe it already was clear enough and I didn’t need to explain that, or maybe it was necessary but the additional comment on my hesitation to write the first comment was too much, or…<br /><br />Moving on. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEHJHx_OUzyc20rZ1_rZhnKmMOHbYB1CuatIG6XpVmjP8arA42NbUg_8GiT3nPY_q_owaEA8i9g7zLZzwq8A2n7IbfA3oeI0AmOo0tFwV2UOPJVBhMOV7_fRAxzrtZMM9KoIB-aRpYOzW/s1600-h/P1040773.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249680650731672466" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEHJHx_OUzyc20rZ1_rZhnKmMOHbYB1CuatIG6XpVmjP8arA42NbUg_8GiT3nPY_q_owaEA8i9g7zLZzwq8A2n7IbfA3oeI0AmOo0tFwV2UOPJVBhMOV7_fRAxzrtZMM9KoIB-aRpYOzW/s320/P1040773.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />So our morning started with a conversation in the tent with Marcus about a few topics of interest until the few leftovers of a thunderstorm that occurred earlier in the morning dissipated. Our breakfast was brightened up by a debate on how we should get our revenge on the gros con that owns the pourvoirie and yelled at us yesterday. At lunchtime, Marcus will confess the evil plan he put in place in order to piss off the old fart:<br /><br />“Custard pie for the yeti!!!” </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOrSRcuc0okLbkbivlKo7pLeLY7oCk6xGxmKRM0dYLZ4zqkxZhwDFO9nRGT61MhBcQzYtcv_8r97TrmlGkZvyTlVhQ88cRk6qz5TNj-VIWzjq37MZUbTyDD27QUt2QpXYVy0Y5c7t5dKt/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+32.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249679845479289682" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOrSRcuc0okLbkbivlKo7pLeLY7oCk6xGxmKRM0dYLZ4zqkxZhwDFO9nRGT61MhBcQzYtcv_8r97TrmlGkZvyTlVhQ88cRk6qz5TNj-VIWzjq37MZUbTyDD27QUt2QpXYVy0Y5c7t5dKt/s320/trip+journal+sketch+32.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>My co-tripper is a criminal genius.<br /><br />Other alternatives that came up during the brainstorm included:<br />- Writing “asshole” in giant letters on the cliff with broken parts of his lounge chairs<br />- Hide the chairs on rocks accessible only by canoe or motorless boats<br />- Actually take a dump on his chairs<br /><br />After about 15 km we ended up at the gros cave’s basecamp. One of his clients said hi and asked how the thunder was the night before. As if he cared. <em>Veux-tu ben me dire ce que ça lui câlisse? Ben oui, t’étais en dedans de ta p'tite cabane durant l’orage pis pas nous. Bravo. Tant qu’à ça, farme ta yeule, gros cave.<br /></em><br />Our lunch today was probably a milestone of the trip : train tracks starting to run along the river, cliffs on either side, all the boats perfectly attached to each other, cynical comments and giggles about the girls’ « dirt loaf » (an attempt at making fruit and seed loaf that resulted in an unidentified material that was so dense it didn’t even float), Nick and I lazily steering us away from eddies and the odd occasional rock, the sun shining between storm cells, Marcus playing Santeria, St-Lawrence River and Cover This, everyone else chilling or napping, non-awkward silences, soy nut butter and strawberry-rhubarb jam stains all over our stuff… </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGEWwxbIo-HFVVTuODKSqjIrRFYPR_66iHg4m0ptoYOdcp2bmx9tBc4EsAotWn8UClzJsodZoJjraXczIL3BRMo0FsWmvFNgSuVHXtMBwbMHA7iAbyGByBKqja5winIvFK8HMdwnPb5aw/s1600-h/P1040778.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249684120956108674" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGEWwxbIo-HFVVTuODKSqjIrRFYPR_66iHg4m0ptoYOdcp2bmx9tBc4EsAotWn8UClzJsodZoJjraXczIL3BRMo0FsWmvFNgSuVHXtMBwbMHA7iAbyGByBKqja5winIvFK8HMdwnPb5aw/s320/P1040778.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Perfect.<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwG-xar2Uc84Mlk5iEvBWCJAUUP6tEhDvN2U4eFudOsueUQwb9EXGGzlZEx52K9EWPrne3bmU360MYfvivlNw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />And then of course came the rain and the wind.<br /><br />The rest of the afternoon, we tried to keep moving between each storm cell.<br /><br />Hail? What the…?<br /><br />We remained entertained by a series of comical situations including:<br /><br />- The collective rant about fruit cake (especially my grand-maman’s) and it’s mention later on in Passwort Deutsch I in the tent<br />- The first lightning drill with the rock throwing contest<br />- Pulling over at the last minute for a lightning drill when we noticed our hair was starting to stick out in the air by itself<br />- The apotheosis of the girls vs. guys during the second lightning drill </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvCtGQGOrIj1nMceEyN-KGq3GUb1tkZsG8Pc0n7lxLm4EUOxVYdG06hdS44kRNS8WGguwdAmng2sZ6Ih713sz8OZwdJu5nbIptcUzWtWNGtelArERE590vjZBoJ3NNSncLWW95NcFeVNW/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+33.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249679941937109890" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvCtGQGOrIj1nMceEyN-KGq3GUb1tkZsG8Pc0n7lxLm4EUOxVYdG06hdS44kRNS8WGguwdAmng2sZ6Ih713sz8OZwdJu5nbIptcUzWtWNGtelArERE590vjZBoJ3NNSncLWW95NcFeVNW/s320/trip+journal+sketch+33.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Hilarious. Too bad I don’t catch the last bit with Luke dumping water on Emily and Sarah’s heads with the bailer and them beating him up into the river on video.<br /><br />Nat asked me how it was to be a tripper and if I always knew that I wanted to do that job. It reminded me of a conversation I had with Pope on the last day of my explorer… roles reversed, of course.<br /><br />An aerial view of the campsite we are staying at (such as the one that can be seen from one of the millions of helicopters that fly above our heads since Salmon Ladder) would probably look more or less like that:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilI4UXv0R_HXctW5s9Aiy61hUDhKbfz7gToW58mUi9lX9UQvyQWQrwBQiZgHxLWjkJZxUqzy36mLNGR8kfhgr204BW4IGpgZlClVfaaLQuwxa6AzG-3PYHon-LLG8UpptohP6E0IDeO9WI/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+34.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249680062595857522" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilI4UXv0R_HXctW5s9Aiy61hUDhKbfz7gToW58mUi9lX9UQvyQWQrwBQiZgHxLWjkJZxUqzy36mLNGR8kfhgr204BW4IGpgZlClVfaaLQuwxa6AzG-3PYHon-LLG8UpptohP6E0IDeO9WI/s320/trip+journal+sketch+34.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />At least there is a beach on one side of the shingle bank so it’s not as hard on our backs as yesterday. The bank had no name so I kind of wanted to call it something clever and write it on the map, but all I could come up with was lame shit like “storm cell island” or, even worse, “trip island”. WAY too lame to stay for posterity.<br /><br />I finally popped out the liquorice and jujubes out of my barrel today. Kids couldn’t contain their happiness. “I think I’m in love”, said Nat.<br /><br />My ankle is still décâlisse, but at least my eye and lip are back to their normal size.<br /><br /><em>Je les aime bien, ces jeunes cons.<br /></em><br />Tonight, I fall asleep with the rumbling of freight trains full of iron ore on their way to the distant north or back to Sept-Îles, the giggles of the kids around the fire, the melodies of the guitar, the first set of Train Tracks, and one of the hundreds of waterfalls we’ve come across so far.<br /><br />I don’t wanna be anywhere else right now.</div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-39998665621835624222008-09-18T18:26:00.000-07:002008-09-18T18:45:08.838-07:00Day XX - Dans les petits pots les pires portages...<div><div><div><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3LYGLN0McBaC-8vAOFpqS71lQmX36CJG1MhrVWfo7i7zcUdJHhrnBRWujRkSOlRwGGcZyoJWbYSSZIOL2LRArKRH4ozzyURz0F1S-EpVh3fB6bc8s6Qg6QARNllXwnszQeErDrifDvtp/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+27.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247538371527020034" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3LYGLN0McBaC-8vAOFpqS71lQmX36CJG1MhrVWfo7i7zcUdJHhrnBRWujRkSOlRwGGcZyoJWbYSSZIOL2LRArKRH4ozzyURz0F1S-EpVh3fB6bc8s6Qg6QARNllXwnszQeErDrifDvtp/s320/trip+journal+sketch+27.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div> </div><div>It's nice out!!!</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lqTguhvnmQgHXkP6YZm7YGG5aeIY6haAxsi2K2EbnVVjQEHaOEVse7XRr2nPFlljZP8_LXc9qcmghDc2jjVeXrIY5tH6dXb1i1dkm4snTAxpMf2dRBRE-MjmWgWoywQ_bSPDNVmjaOCD/s1600-h/P1040764.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247539622543067490" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lqTguhvnmQgHXkP6YZm7YGG5aeIY6haAxsi2K2EbnVVjQEHaOEVse7XRr2nPFlljZP8_LXc9qcmghDc2jjVeXrIY5tH6dXb1i1dkm4snTAxpMf2dRBRE-MjmWgWoywQ_bSPDNVmjaOCD/s320/P1040764.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaHg2ZW9uEN-FR8laccWtcFMEWXrKzCYYzeqLdzIav9wE_t9mV8fBTjYenTHeDnE8Cb4cxDICBidXYxcxd2JJBWvuM8htzMCzvEpNmLYMaOYIHnK8FBtowBDL-tlDDcEp64FT2sBc_34b/s1600-h/P1040765.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247540051744409634" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaHg2ZW9uEN-FR8laccWtcFMEWXrKzCYYzeqLdzIav9wE_t9mV8fBTjYenTHeDnE8Cb4cxDICBidXYxcxd2JJBWvuM8htzMCzvEpNmLYMaOYIHnK8FBtowBDL-tlDDcEp64FT2sBc_34b/s320/P1040765.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaPSeVq7JDp5HPvYqXRZlL1lm9LV_lMfxjBq_9v0p-FAsihVstf4k45WzdmFeJ_c_GgkQ7QRLs2TkJ1d-9W0o6MZoT0K7ySZXys6oultzK1ovFmNsWvI7vIk2oAvYSrMFSRSISaSIIFGf/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+28.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247538942624962674" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaPSeVq7JDp5HPvYqXRZlL1lm9LV_lMfxjBq_9v0p-FAsihVstf4k45WzdmFeJ_c_GgkQ7QRLs2TkJ1d-9W0o6MZoT0K7ySZXys6oultzK1ovFmNsWvI7vIk2oAvYSrMFSRSISaSIIFGf/s320/trip+journal+sketch+28.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Emily broke the water pump filter this morning. She was so sorry she couldn’t even speak. She also got burnt with flaming oil because Sam threw a perogie in the pan and she happened to be sitting next to it. It really was her day today. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjV6FO4ayVda19FmCjSgI0BDgdDZNolhQoncwz4n7kb4TcX9QUlSJLB89KOfZ4swUMSmkZjzhCB75_8UUGWv_054F0a02OTxxXqCqe8guo5hk5hIhatcuDSspbJfn7Hp5MmycmfvYFrQyL/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+29.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247539067713431458" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjV6FO4ayVda19FmCjSgI0BDgdDZNolhQoncwz4n7kb4TcX9QUlSJLB89KOfZ4swUMSmkZjzhCB75_8UUGWv_054F0a02OTxxXqCqe8guo5hk5hIhatcuDSspbJfn7Hp5MmycmfvYFrQyL/s320/trip+journal+sketch+29.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />I tried to fish and almost caught something, but then some dude came and yelled at Marcus in French for fishing with a stick and string on his pourvoirie. Asshole (dipshit). So instead of feasting on fish we had perogies made with unpurified water. It tasted pretty good…for giardiasis.<br /><br />I got a Quasimodo eye because I got bitten in the eye by one of the 389 113 427 983 black flies on the campsite. I took Benadryl in a vain attempt to stop the swelling and spent most of the night combating the drug-induced drowsiness.<br /><br />The 50m portage marked on the map sucked balls. It was more or less shaped like so: </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrmRj-vSrKFpEZELGz80f_ymhM8SMTSgoP_nXMD1h42qg7V50wI7NlwP0IX5jdLC_eBPX3syvLixSgaD2XRTktHzjyf0_1uOJg0dhJNSNUw1WwZTvlkOAg9pI8JmVf1kaGqE3AEK0BcbeP/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+30.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247539181109430306" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrmRj-vSrKFpEZELGz80f_ymhM8SMTSgoP_nXMD1h42qg7V50wI7NlwP0IX5jdLC_eBPX3syvLixSgaD2XRTktHzjyf0_1uOJg0dhJNSNUw1WwZTvlkOAg9pI8JmVf1kaGqE3AEK0BcbeP/s320/trip+journal+sketch+30.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />We had a neat floating lunch today. I’d keep on describing it but the Benadryl is really kicking in now…</div><div> </div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjirBv9MYOSB0TEbBm7QGwwdNEuN6CGkZjMxZmjCjkA9EI8ksS-zsKdjlv_S2bRuovjqX5Wc8IUMKej4b4gOh7ioK0Ik5w3MrC7zWJ3Oa-2f7ybsDNTlgtQCshbEyyv7c9vrKTsIQ-4lvtn/s1600-h/P1040768.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247540995560013314" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjirBv9MYOSB0TEbBm7QGwwdNEuN6CGkZjMxZmjCjkA9EI8ksS-zsKdjlv_S2bRuovjqX5Wc8IUMKej4b4gOh7ioK0Ik5w3MrC7zWJ3Oa-2f7ybsDNTlgtQCshbEyyv7c9vrKTsIQ-4lvtn/s320/P1040768.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We had conversations about what the kids want to do for their paddle in the dining hall and about what it will be like when they come back to camp. I can’t believe we’ll be at train tracks tomorrow night…</div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-52075916197001956222008-09-18T17:49:00.000-07:002008-09-18T18:26:02.362-07:00Day XIX - "Nice bannock. Could use a little more concrete, though..."<div><div><div><div><div><em></em> </div><div><em>Faits saillants<br /></em><br />- Sam finding the “Indian Head” on the cliff (at least we think he did)<br />- Being on the water before 11h00 (10h45, but still...)<br />- The water as still as a mirror and the ludicrous cliffs in the morning<br />- Emily and Nick dumping in mysterious circumstances<br />- Having lunch in a derelict fishing lodge and the lunchtime anecdotes that included...</div><div> </div><div>... A bottle of St-Émilion on the table (well, someone’s got taste)<br />...The rock-hard and yet partially raw bannock that met all the expectations I had when I saw it being cooked yesterday and the debate on the distribution of food<br />... The creepy 2nd floor I expected to find a dead body in<br />... The random display case with a statue of the Virgin Mary inside<br />... The surreal decaying boathouse with hundreds of dying butterflies on the porch and strange animal noises inside that alltogether looked like something Dali could have painted that I found on my way to pee.</div><div> </div><div>- The continuous CIs<br />- The “poorly shat (mal chié)” set<br />- Screeing in the dunes in mid afternoon<br />- The clay war between Hayley, Nat and I<br />- The quicksand that greedily swallowed one of my Keens and nearly got away with it<br />- Cool conversations with Nat<br />- The pimped out fishing lodge where we met Liette (and a guy named Jacques and Molly, the small Pomeranian)<br />- Confessing to Liette that we stole chives and rhubarb from her and her telling us that we didn't even need to feel bad about it<br />- The weird heli pad indications (see diagram)... what is DRH supposed to mean? Is this some kind of UFO landing code or something I might get me to be stalked by men in black for the rest of my days?</div><div><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-CiOg0SeqJOwDnAvea8j9JKm2IedHFILDwl_Oht3QwCi_7C4ZzI4KGlt-kyHfcqVciJT3tuVgUuTTds6Qqjqq-uvTwgniCSbkkB53CKOEWiph0nVkt2_hcp_THWN6-X4n3fa-D7Ab851/s1600-h/helipad+design.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247536799503315682" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-CiOg0SeqJOwDnAvea8j9JKm2IedHFILDwl_Oht3QwCi_7C4ZzI4KGlt-kyHfcqVciJT3tuVgUuTTds6Qqjqq-uvTwgniCSbkkB53CKOEWiph0nVkt2_hcp_THWN6-X4n3fa-D7Ab851/s320/helipad+design.bmp" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />- “Lucky” Luke and his injured ankle (THAT IS WHY you don't try to do 360s, as the guy with one arm in Arrested Development would claim)</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMEP3l31hwCslr8TtKDktjrkXfhWp-U3ZcPjDSRFIW08EibefU4M62yrU0NtQcXK-IsFr-RFz6G8t2DTgDvFzcvhgiwHh1UUdZbiHEh2-2RH11E8FAoCb3oehZh0io49y_Kovtwa9MOym0/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+26.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247535637846640034" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMEP3l31hwCslr8TtKDktjrkXfhWp-U3ZcPjDSRFIW08EibefU4M62yrU0NtQcXK-IsFr-RFz6G8t2DTgDvFzcvhgiwHh1UUdZbiHEh2-2RH11E8FAoCb3oehZh0io49y_Kovtwa9MOym0/s320/trip+journal+sketch+26.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />- The glorious return of the black spruces (because of the sand dunes)<br />- The moose and its two calves we surprised along the river in the last kms (or was it the moose that surprised us?)<br />- The awesome, awesome curry... we've come a long way since day 3. Way to go, children.</div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIdh1nbZpcuCzC9LkPcQuG048J0UXNS4_jLon_z-_RKNoZYycd1PTSNHkaVsPZAYFILp31bf0JaaWCHo-IwP4kIGSZKE3mOjk48J0JgoPYNVpYvxig2E2W4cAGAoh2zJ4UzeV1XtttEQY/s1600-h/P1040757.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247536009193517170" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIdh1nbZpcuCzC9LkPcQuG048J0UXNS4_jLon_z-_RKNoZYycd1PTSNHkaVsPZAYFILp31bf0JaaWCHo-IwP4kIGSZKE3mOjk48J0JgoPYNVpYvxig2E2W4cAGAoh2zJ4UzeV1XtttEQY/s320/P1040757.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />- The ghetto campsite with out-of-control bugs<br />- Dinner while watching a breathtaking sunset<br />- Making strawberry-rhubarb jam<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihU8PUFDlsU8MYobk7wBRkN1jMStMIQ9Zs76X_YZmaaZKKB-mk1LowaSZydaWM7mLL0KOQkNonz1Bms0Dcx7ejYNUWhUTTsuQ4m1TyfbCL9rlxfl8TLTzATSHGx3PK7SZAaaWSTopKBPAh/s1600-h/P1040762.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247536612096722562" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihU8PUFDlsU8MYobk7wBRkN1jMStMIQ9Zs76X_YZmaaZKKB-mk1LowaSZydaWM7mLL0KOQkNonz1Bms0Dcx7ejYNUWhUTTsuQ4m1TyfbCL9rlxfl8TLTzATSHGx3PK7SZAaaWSTopKBPAh/s320/P1040762.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /> <br /><div>Random thoughts:<br />Irises and wild leeks… same thing?<br />The useless bag… before I forget how we ironically named it<br />We have two maps left. Almost done!<br />Reznick and his pimped out canoe… yeah sucka! God that kid is ridiculous...<br />The boys making bread for the first time and ending up with chapatti soup I won't even dare to classify in one of the food groups instead of legitimate bread<br />The girls giggling as they are playing "president" in their tent<br />Low on potatoes… how the fuck did that even happen?!?! Marcus must have been secretly shooting them up on his trips to the washroom...</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPC_MHmHKCEFUuWS2ZHpEK9Uo-zBC7FFRrIQJ0hh-WexSyCAFL8ywEARkzHg028LWXNJfxTSkTz_uav_nAosjScXQhHjrcrZgDRC0765wr92JjfNvn3zBWlxU2opGo3jE3wBWl_zgcCGn/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+25.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247535528758206674" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPC_MHmHKCEFUuWS2ZHpEK9Uo-zBC7FFRrIQJ0hh-WexSyCAFL8ywEARkzHg028LWXNJfxTSkTz_uav_nAosjScXQhHjrcrZgDRC0765wr92JjfNvn3zBWlxU2opGo3jE3wBWl_zgcCGn/s320/trip+journal+sketch+25.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-28402899190331550272008-09-16T17:37:00.000-07:002008-09-16T19:31:54.968-07:00Day XVIII - Joyeux Calvaire. Quite literally.<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Another slow but swell start with a good ol’poutine containing more cheese and gravey than potatoes (see comment yesterday on supplies we’re low on).</div><div><br />The view was gorgeous this morning. Cliffs are getting even bigger, just like the waterfalls flowing from them. There are rockslides everywhere. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiobnigUWSUr9wD2BMUak9xELCtClDY6zoe0AarhjcLdp53yEeLL1LS6yzF6i1FvSidc-ScDBQBMBKmHIHTd2B1yUje1qbq96HYyaErnkv11NWlj1Om4I8oqVpAnl6KXOka_RgeDnGB4CnH/s1600-h/P1040729.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246788910161962850" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiobnigUWSUr9wD2BMUak9xELCtClDY6zoe0AarhjcLdp53yEeLL1LS6yzF6i1FvSidc-ScDBQBMBKmHIHTd2B1yUje1qbq96HYyaErnkv11NWlj1Om4I8oqVpAnl6KXOka_RgeDnGB4CnH/s320/P1040729.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />We spent a good chunk of the day on relatively calm water with lots of current, spiced up with a few episodes of headwinds. Around a bend that I wouldn’t remember otherwise, Marcus spotted a porcupine chilling on a gravel bank. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0o9dT2jMgyNvbbLj3MydQUJsBlm0e1FJ13Hx6CXqjiM0jwdlHrE7YMNMulZ-FewTnvhCKWCfujOkgzym55q7IjvRjFXPJhrRq2G_XvsPb2l2j3FfpHTlZYYIvaSpkGd2AR-YPgYcPE1U-/s1600-h/P1040732.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246783888072464306" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0o9dT2jMgyNvbbLj3MydQUJsBlm0e1FJ13Hx6CXqjiM0jwdlHrE7YMNMulZ-FewTnvhCKWCfujOkgzym55q7IjvRjFXPJhrRq2G_XvsPb2l2j3FfpHTlZYYIvaSpkGd2AR-YPgYcPE1U-/s320/P1040732.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />Kids aren’t particularly energetic this morning. Everyone was napping during lunch. I got the UTM wrong for the map and we ended up being farther from the portage than I thought. Damn. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdo-O_30lCWThzO1cmyzG0zASzwEQETRUQd2HlXoYbWb92GOtuYThZI5ccctVE8RcTKgE9rEjF66znCrg3I8GOil5QRNldunQn6s_wFigQmE4ZEUhuz3_s3XvDI7_IvRP5Vdn-A4CSDRC/s1600-h/P1040737.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246785606467899826" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdo-O_30lCWThzO1cmyzG0zASzwEQETRUQd2HlXoYbWb92GOtuYThZI5ccctVE8RcTKgE9rEjF66znCrg3I8GOil5QRNldunQn6s_wFigQmE4ZEUhuz3_s3XvDI7_IvRP5Vdn-A4CSDRC/s320/P1040737.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />Today’s most important milestone definitely was </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6l9XTHXOfADvnrw1X-U-9GGwjsShlv54oA-l6ucRh29F8_esm4vO51yPMZH_rgux3XiIBtw5o1Bk3-koiX-Haa5lNWXe1uW1iQzfadp9_Fq9MXFXM0MEuKtksSYvwvTvGckFrnWU8vsPc/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+23.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246787694212393522" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6l9XTHXOfADvnrw1X-U-9GGwjsShlv54oA-l6ucRh29F8_esm4vO51yPMZH_rgux3XiIBtw5o1Bk3-koiX-Haa5lNWXe1uW1iQzfadp9_Fq9MXFXM0MEuKtksSYvwvTvGckFrnWU8vsPc/s320/trip+journal+sketch+23.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Yes, the goddamned Salmon Ladder, legendary portage for its cool and out of the ordinary aspect, but also for its brutality. In fact, to be honest, I was expecting apocalypse so I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but it still was pretty fucking hard. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HELZr-FQNDkItdvcg_moStEZH7rzfnv5f7ufgSyE0pD3U8h0LY3Qr8NbNlFuESCztLxle89C8hf5OV_jkK4DhCtzabN0GrkYpfMx0eQvasP91lPrHgeH1_DkWbxW2AoUJ5kPY36vbo67/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+24.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246787808892183762" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HELZr-FQNDkItdvcg_moStEZH7rzfnv5f7ufgSyE0pD3U8h0LY3Qr8NbNlFuESCztLxle89C8hf5OV_jkK4DhCtzabN0GrkYpfMx0eQvasP91lPrHgeH1_DkWbxW2AoUJ5kPY36vbo67/s320/trip+journal+sketch+24.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVhZKELesQgRCc_8ALB3yCZqsl0RSsiY8f2VHBmjdOuDksf_ydMkWXCxMCEeQWGUyrrYBIPY0PAhKNr2785NL6Ns0IiIbUlE9zp8cblfnII_N9lZylKeEttYLRwg3L91D9B59Pc0N079a/s1600-h/P1040754.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246787312163325938" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVhZKELesQgRCc_8ALB3yCZqsl0RSsiY8f2VHBmjdOuDksf_ydMkWXCxMCEeQWGUyrrYBIPY0PAhKNr2785NL6Ns0IiIbUlE9zp8cblfnII_N9lZylKeEttYLRwg3L91D9B59Pc0N079a/s320/P1040754.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>It was pretty much an all-inclusive package for hell.<br /><br />A helicopter landed just like I was getting to the salmon counters’ cabin and forced me to drop the canoe that had started to vibrate heavily and was menacing to be blown away. It was doing a food drop for the two counters. All the boys came in running when they heard the helicopter because they thought Marcus was in some kind of death trap and had pressed the “911” button on the Spot. We made fun of them for thinking that:<br />a) Helicopters appear within 3 minutes when you call for help<br />b) Marcus had time to press the Spot as he was dying in a crevasse<br />c) Marcus was carrying the Spot on him while portaging a canoe<br /><br />As the boys vanished back in the woods to get the stuff they had left back there in their panic, Marcus and I sat in the bushes and watched the helicopter take off. Pretty bad ass. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbbtmNbK3HAZHLEV6dQxnyOnyfCUzncoV6zuLX9qC7ryoNwhyphenhyphenmu2_d7e_HQvbgvzk61AT9VtpHm2z7EgI6iAfeGung9sZyGL-NaEafdTXcH_-jo_nUdwfkKnMijuzGVX7-8u7vnlOgaWg3/s1600-h/P1040750.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246786494498867762" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbbtmNbK3HAZHLEV6dQxnyOnyfCUzncoV6zuLX9qC7ryoNwhyphenhyphenmu2_d7e_HQvbgvzk61AT9VtpHm2z7EgI6iAfeGung9sZyGL-NaEafdTXcH_-jo_nUdwfkKnMijuzGVX7-8u7vnlOgaWg3/s320/P1040750.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrG5za0hX5_V6hqz6GPYhqPjSnwxdrj4M1lr2bPxC30iQENE3GZ5a88fDz1SsQuffxO-1wsrChoTNFSV8yWhu3urRJSKwnA3lmB0Da1I-pmd7UCp1MaEl1NzKk84Q8D4s6l8OBpZv8k8xl/s1600-h/P1040743.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246786065531582066" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrG5za0hX5_V6hqz6GPYhqPjSnwxdrj4M1lr2bPxC30iQENE3GZ5a88fDz1SsQuffxO-1wsrChoTNFSV8yWhu3urRJSKwnA3lmB0Da1I-pmd7UCp1MaEl1NzKk84Q8D4s6l8OBpZv8k8xl/s320/P1040743.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxJCKHZhWyWhw8309DWn6O3JdR5LH5IdFxsnZ8P1lXzpO1CWkBqxRogFKDT4hSU3PbJYWKuE32_imL7C50O3w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br />The portage went fairly well considering how hard it was. Bugs and batrachians of all kinds, shapes and colours abounded on the path. When I came back from sweeping the take-out, carrying the bucket, I knocked at the salmon counters’ door and asked them for a little info about the ladder and for the permission to go check it out. Richard and Denis, the two counters (by "counters" I mean that all they do, all day, is count how many salmons go up the ladder), were very generous with their knowledge and told me all kinds of cool facts about salmons. They were scandalized by the fact that we had not brought any fishing gear with us and insisted on giving us some wire and lures. As we went back on the boardwalk to go check out the ladder, Richard showed me how to tie a fishing knot and mentioned a couple of fishing tips and hotspots along the rest of the Moisie. When we came back from the ladder, they handed us a couple of freshly fished trout on a stick that we had for dinner with the pesto. They were delicious. This first encounter with human beings since Labrador City left me full of faith in man’s capacity to be kind and generous with strangers. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAi45xpbXCuNioBODiS80vFy-hLj9X_YUjxdPpwPeHwn-fsjxlMos4F9r8-gbXgUv9T6SdslIeTkKb1hNWvJ6nmHYja8_ButIhOtLPAgHgu9bawt1YI-BBcroq4M8zXjijZW_CWo0cQtu/s1600-h/P1040753.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246786888355868322" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAi45xpbXCuNioBODiS80vFy-hLj9X_YUjxdPpwPeHwn-fsjxlMos4F9r8-gbXgUv9T6SdslIeTkKb1hNWvJ6nmHYja8_ButIhOtLPAgHgu9bawt1YI-BBcroq4M8zXjijZW_CWo0cQtu/s320/P1040753.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />We are sleeping in a deserted fishing lodge tonight. Had there been the owners (Fred and Liette) around, we probably would have turned this in another pit day. They are well known for their kindness and have the reputation of offering food and hospitality to all paddlers that stop by. Despite their absence, they kept up their rep’: they had left a cabin unlocked for us on the otherwise closed down site. Not being particularly warm to the idea of squishing into a small and unnecessarily hot space again, Marcus and I decided to sleep in our tent anyways and to leave the cabin to the kids. Good call. It's like Shanghai at rush hour in there.<br /><br />It took forever to set up the fucking tarp and to chop wood with a very unsatisfyingly sharpened axe. </div><div> </div><div>The bannock will most likely taste like shit tomorrow. On the brighter side, dinner was delicious. Speaking of which; Luke and Nick nearly slept through dinner. They finally showed up after being yelled at several times. Close call, after such a long, demanding day, no dinner wouldn't have been a good thing.<br /><br />I’d write more but I can’t keep my eyes open right now.<br /><br />We stole chives and rhubarb from Fred and Liette’s garden.</div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-12826896546624119312008-09-16T17:26:00.000-07:002008-09-16T17:37:44.438-07:00Day XVII - A barrel in Middle EarthAwesome sunrise this morning. Thank you, bugs, for keeping me awake so I could witness this wonderful display of light and colours… NOT.<br /><br />It’s crazy how quickly one can get used again to the comfort of civilisation…<br /><br />The landscape is getting out of control. Huge valley, terrifying rock slides. The forest is morphing slowly, too. Black spruce progressively disappears and leaves room to balsam fir and birch trees.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzND_hqiXOchOSrZ7_Oc8XbJuiV7JUGAwb_3KjsZmOf7hzbcweXXC6F8ZMGNnmf-14y_YdaJDSlRwJZpZG3hwiaTiH6ZVuACGVhrftxcMvHEDSiLCVKFJ_kmmhe7AGl0ftUS_cEVDj-0p/s1600-h/P1040715.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246781193592919410" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzND_hqiXOchOSrZ7_Oc8XbJuiV7JUGAwb_3KjsZmOf7hzbcweXXC6F8ZMGNnmf-14y_YdaJDSlRwJZpZG3hwiaTiH6ZVuACGVhrftxcMvHEDSiLCVKFJ_kmmhe7AGl0ftUS_cEVDj-0p/s320/P1040715.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was scouting today, therefore I spent most of the day:<br />- working my way through boulders the size of a Kandalore cabin<br />- sliding and scraching various parts of my body on boulders the size of a Kandalore cabin<br />- telling Emily what to do and feeling bad for leaving her by herself sitting in the canoe for extended periods of time<br />- spacing out as I gazed at the ludicrous landscape<br />- cursing and dry heaving repeatedly after hitting my (now even more) infected cut against rocks<br /><br />We found a Kandalore barrel full of decaying food at a bushcrash campsite by some impressive waterfalls. Probably Bill’s. It’s been mauled by some wild animal but the straps are still essentially usable. When I first saw it I was terrified of looking inside… I guess 2 weeks in desolate, desert wilderness sharpen one’s imagination…<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRI5vMH8jF1-koLFEfJ-6DyGpKtAhIogw3VDm5QH8LU7b91KEZUQkZVUPM1uUxEROQzUd8-qnKsgs42zqVmz4ECgR0ulRAJP72oFEP08pkCylDrsUcrAJvZUgKKWeI0ouaHOqqFdO1Gz0/s1600-h/P1040720.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246781805386233010" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRI5vMH8jF1-koLFEfJ-6DyGpKtAhIogw3VDm5QH8LU7b91KEZUQkZVUPM1uUxEROQzUd8-qnKsgs42zqVmz4ECgR0ulRAJP72oFEP08pkCylDrsUcrAJvZUgKKWeI0ouaHOqqFdO1Gz0/s320/P1040720.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The landscape looks like:<br /><br />- A golf green<br />- Middle Earth<br />- Scandinavia<br />- The Saguenay Kingdom<br />- Conan Doyle’s Lost World<br />- Some kind of tropical paradise, palm trees apart<br /><br />There is a moose/caribou carcass lying in ankle-deep water just next to our campsite. We still don’t know why exactly the site is marked as “kooky”. Boys and girls are having a little bit of a fight about daily chores tonight. The conflict seems to have spread after an argument concerning who should be cutting the what's left of the cabbage for tomorrow.<br /><br />We’re down two barrels. Hurray. Well, not really, since we just gained a full one. Hurray anyways.<br /><br />We are low on:<br />Cheese<br />Potatoes<br />Onions<br />Oil (at least we took a little from Berny’s)<br />Snacks (ironically)<br /><br />Miscellaneous facts:<br /><br />The boys threw rocks at the carcass. None made it, so it still lies intact as I am writing these lines... Good thing.<br /><br />Nat cut himself slicing potatoes.<br /><br />The taco salad was good but scarceDJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-50592526062535042792008-09-16T16:00:00.001-07:002008-09-16T17:26:47.786-07:00Day XVI - paths are for sissies<div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>PIT DAAAAYYY!!! </div></div><div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALd-mXNHbawm1q4ozSHOu_Uc0bWSEM1yyO983ptDTxEm7pbiSRKXoxK9QPRr3y9YAVypl4cyJTUlOpRVLQYyuGITes9jhNaGrrZ0EI3kVZPvoL5nh_3B2C_BdOHZK3ho42ieikc4uSxr9/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+22.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246758261631129106" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALd-mXNHbawm1q4ozSHOu_Uc0bWSEM1yyO983ptDTxEm7pbiSRKXoxK9QPRr3y9YAVypl4cyJTUlOpRVLQYyuGITes9jhNaGrrZ0EI3kVZPvoL5nh_3B2C_BdOHZK3ho42ieikc4uSxr9/s320/trip+journal+sketch+22.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Woah, what a treat to sleep in until 11h00!!!<br /><br />I spent most of the first part of the day cooking fruit and seed loaf. We hung out inside for a bit, playing cards and chatting in rocking chairs. It’s a weird feeling to have the choice between being inside and outside again. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlSBz3fso9mR9fUNebsF65br4H-RsjWv0LbKvwZ_CJU2AW93qQT4AhfhAzVvmxW_xHWvd2UgoKpJCYOpsJdM5zxoZTLR_hqM9l5uOmGEWa3dAS8pjtRyMFFoyMXnsij0lHfl_nQ5xN0m_/s1600-h/P1040699.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246760086631917570" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmlSBz3fso9mR9fUNebsF65br4H-RsjWv0LbKvwZ_CJU2AW93qQT4AhfhAzVvmxW_xHWvd2UgoKpJCYOpsJdM5zxoZTLR_hqM9l5uOmGEWa3dAS8pjtRyMFFoyMXnsij0lHfl_nQ5xN0m_/s320/P1040699.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />We called in today. Gill answered. Apparently everything is going well. Bill and Blake lost a pelican case.<br /><br />Nick, Nat, Marcus and I went on an epic hiking trip in late afternoon. 4h of GPS-led bushwhack through steep hills and a few hornet nests that paid off, as we were quite possibly the only human beings to ever attain that specific spot on top of the hill facing Berny’s cabin, across the lake. We took a few pictures and videos for posterity. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYYttlFbGichey2SvW6gfQWgBT3PZs3Yt9u-cITfrSkdFargNbN0PY5zdTUhjbFRoMHPsrqdyOZ2LOsI238O2fnLdshWwwrI5VQJ2NrzcaplZ_ByS0PmGFOm8i01_U_zgamDISiiSNOKf/s1600-h/P1040703.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246779957404650034" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYYttlFbGichey2SvW6gfQWgBT3PZs3Yt9u-cITfrSkdFargNbN0PY5zdTUhjbFRoMHPsrqdyOZ2LOsI238O2fnLdshWwwrI5VQJ2NrzcaplZ_ByS0PmGFOm8i01_U_zgamDISiiSNOKf/s320/P1040703.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />I stuck a twig in one of my blisters this morning, which resulted in excruciating pain for a little bit. I’m seriously considering stopping my track record of injuries, it’s getting depressing and I feel like a sissy for dedicating so much time and ink complaining. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZJPlAoTG2uob6sfFWaRw8a8pLrdeKYv_QakmpLvzGK9J9QUydDgpUyHRB8DhOw2ocUIR3BNftsgAxWsmbU2Y_U0Uy4-mL1sOMJcJUPb06dgoJ66zkw6y37UwnIRc4OT03IQqRFJsfCnm/s1600-h/P1040697.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246758713316259442" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZJPlAoTG2uob6sfFWaRw8a8pLrdeKYv_QakmpLvzGK9J9QUydDgpUyHRB8DhOw2ocUIR3BNftsgAxWsmbU2Y_U0Uy4-mL1sOMJcJUPb06dgoJ66zkw6y37UwnIRc4OT03IQqRFJsfCnm/s320/P1040697.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />My panzarotti wasn’t particularly good, partly because I built too big of a fire. Sarah and Luke, on the other hand, engaged in a professional flash-cooked pizza-making contest that made Marcus proud of his disciples and everyone else salivate with envy.<br /><br />I wrote a message in French to Berny and Diane today. It’s funny how today’s call in and this letter are the closest we’ve been to being in contact with human beings since the float plane pilot. The weirdest part is that I don’t feel lonely or isolated at all.<br /><br />Les OSTI de brûlots (Noseams ?) ont gâché ma nuit de sommeil supposément réparateur.</div><div> </div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-39116314513435049732008-09-16T15:51:00.000-07:002008-09-16T15:59:59.677-07:00Day XV - “For the LOVE OF GOD, Emily, CROSSDRAW!!!!”<div><div><div>Sick day today. We faced a section of the river that I fondly renamed<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDaggUXFTzSqMi6-Ja4_Y92WQV7Uozn2DE1FB3waxml-OLC93zWfCGfLGYttyQ4EQduq9a-Ij8_dQ7TSOKJFJ647vahYZmNH50Kzbf8IUhjjWsqmGKT02fFlKzzAewn6V8yJGkrVLWo2gk/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+20.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246756171908820882" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDaggUXFTzSqMi6-Ja4_Y92WQV7Uozn2DE1FB3waxml-OLC93zWfCGfLGYttyQ4EQduq9a-Ij8_dQ7TSOKJFJ647vahYZmNH50Kzbf8IUhjjWsqmGKT02fFlKzzAewn6V8yJGkrVLWo2gk/s320/trip+journal+sketch+20.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />As always, the perpetual and impossible objective to be on the water before 11h00 is a complete failure. The reasons why everyone dicks around in all kinds of irrelevant and time-consuming crap are still unknown to science.<br /><br />The scenery is ridiculous today. Gigantic steep cliffs surround us and waterfall appear before our eyes as we go around each new bend of the river. I’d describe it in a much more detailed and lyrical way if I had time, talent and energy. The whole area is covered in moose tracks. I can’t help but think of Kawartha Dairies when I see them. We found a moose carcass in an eddy this afternoon. I wonder how the poor thing died.<br /><br />Emily doesn’t listen when I ask her to do something in sets and it drives me insane. The most frustrating thing is that she could if she wanted to. That being said, the kids are pretty impressive paddlers as a whole.<br /><br />The “Madness” consisted of a series of CIII-CIV-CV all lined up, followed by 13 km of heavy current, shallow river until an opening. Portage after portage after lining after carryover, our physical and mental health quickly eroded as dehydration, pain, uncertain weather and misplaced portages on the map made the day seem endless.<br /><br />¡¡¡¡¡¡Ostiaaaaaa putas moscas de mierda me cago en la leche!!!!!! Nunca hubiera pensado que todavía me pusen molestar tanto los mosquitos y las moscas después de tantos años en campamientos…<br /><br />Cuando por fín llegamos al fín del último portaje (que, por razones desconocidas duró 800m y no 400m), hemos decidido que empujaríamos hacia los límites de nuestras fuerzas hasta llegar a un sitio marcado como “Sweet cabin to stay in”. Guiados por la luna casi llena, muriéndonos de hambre y de canso, llegamos a la “cabin” prometida…<br /><br />BERNY’S CABIN!!!<br /><br />This place is just too cool. As we entered in this brand new wooden cabin, we were greeted by a stuffed moosehead beaming blankly at us. Marcus and I “shottied” the upper loft and spent a great deal of time trying to figure out the electrical system and the gas valves. We couldn’t make anything work besides two lamps that we turned on pretty much by accident after countless trials and errors. As we unpacked and Marcus tried to figure out “Santeria” with our guitar, the kids slowly cooked a gigantic pot of egg foo yong that turned (once again, I guess we’ll never learn) the cabin into a sauna. Bad call, especially since we were occupying the upper part of the building… To avoid low blood sugar-induced freakouts, I whipped out one of the boxes of candy that had been sitting in my barrel since we left and handed some to everyone.<br /><br />I rummaged around the cabin, partly to try to figure out the power, but also just for the hell of it, coming across several clues of who that Berny guy might be. He seems to be:<br /><br />a) Big on hunting<br />b) into helicopter business<br />c) the owner of a cute golden retriever, whose picture he framed in a somewhat creepy 3D collage<br /><br />It’s a strange feeling to be exploring someone’s belongings and probably cherished possessions without ever even meeting the guy. I wonder if we’ll ever come across him some day...</div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQld85WkZ_vzD_UTKXZWAlm6tX6R4AMaNLwNt6IUvwUXHHD43XIbuDg6N8EE-ypSuditMnfK_wUlzQY8OB2qPa0FdowCUO4Hyl-ElmIsti_WQYHyfEahvOI-Rax85IjP4t15s7tt6ywS9K/s1600-h/P1040698.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246756701048374002" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQld85WkZ_vzD_UTKXZWAlm6tX6R4AMaNLwNt6IUvwUXHHD43XIbuDg6N8EE-ypSuditMnfK_wUlzQY8OB2qPa0FdowCUO4Hyl-ElmIsti_WQYHyfEahvOI-Rax85IjP4t15s7tt6ywS9K/s320/P1040698.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LlC8dH__e96-sy1mzEQ5T1i8IxYEwAyBpbw4INipdi-AddYMqnVIdgGMVEpc7BAB44Je2oCuyvIP9IoREl1l7MnlAtEyQHG74Va7DBuLqk2AQrQpAbmuYPQsKvElatPS08Kpsjrzfc-I/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+21.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246756296541404034" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LlC8dH__e96-sy1mzEQ5T1i8IxYEwAyBpbw4INipdi-AddYMqnVIdgGMVEpc7BAB44Je2oCuyvIP9IoREl1l7MnlAtEyQHG74Va7DBuLqk2AQrQpAbmuYPQsKvElatPS08Kpsjrzfc-I/s320/trip+journal+sketch+21.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-17358948933543026832008-09-16T15:38:00.000-07:002008-09-16T15:48:06.809-07:00Day XIV - "Is it raining?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYR2NK3NqaAZNvA-KfuwkXrrg44py0-lIVPEH2JvqH_UKmdyTjZ7xdnujbep6c6rE2qdovxLkYQJ-wqs89GH9F1S_xLCWMYN4HY9-4mK2LF3QYjHMU63Jj3-_YOZqcvJBMLeuGxuwDYun/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+17.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246753547866888418" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYR2NK3NqaAZNvA-KfuwkXrrg44py0-lIVPEH2JvqH_UKmdyTjZ7xdnujbep6c6rE2qdovxLkYQJ-wqs89GH9F1S_xLCWMYN4HY9-4mK2LF3QYjHMU63Jj3-_YOZqcvJBMLeuGxuwDYun/s320/trip+journal+sketch+17.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><div>Another wasted potential push day.<br /><br />This morning, I woke up with my feet in a puddle and my back had about this shape:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bez5CJksN4kj3WX6v7j6gY_43BlzVNk_uMsg9fFUGksoIFoU57C6MOJAHAHDa83xjNJqnfo7TfLwl5xeXnSgeTqNjRXDxUkyHE7m9FPx0QyxAF5mbi_GWBdb059dgUD2n9XQY0Axf8Mu/s1600-h/Sans+titre.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246753300988453634" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bez5CJksN4kj3WX6v7j6gY_43BlzVNk_uMsg9fFUGksoIFoU57C6MOJAHAHDa83xjNJqnfo7TfLwl5xeXnSgeTqNjRXDxUkyHE7m9FPx0QyxAF5mbi_GWBdb059dgUD2n9XQY0Axf8Mu/s320/Sans+titre.bmp" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />For a change, we took forever to get out of the campsite. For some reason the girls were a lot more efficient this morning. The kids had decided that because of the shitty tent spots, they’d try to sleep outside last night. Unfortunately (but quite obviously), rain ruined their project and they all had to retreat hurriedly in the boys’ tent early in the morning…<br /><br />The first set of the day was pretty sweet and kind of similar to the one we ran yesterday. Then we ran another set that seemed to be just a big C1 in the distance but that ended up, as we got closer, being a wave train of epic proportions. Hayley and Jacqui dumped. It was the first dump since the pinned boat. </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRQk7t2cbW0fJUet9rICBBqg_XJBE-KS_IY6SXhLn-0f1l0Ne4yp4L-U24k6jyHmIcReuyQ85PIomSPVBycMsWpZjcW8GKUn5Vm5ZnXjNJcBo6M_v5jZSBY9Qk_VnK3zHMsgX8y7u1mEK/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+19.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246753633147227026" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRQk7t2cbW0fJUet9rICBBqg_XJBE-KS_IY6SXhLn-0f1l0Ne4yp4L-U24k6jyHmIcReuyQ85PIomSPVBycMsWpZjcW8GKUn5Vm5ZnXjNJcBo6M_v5jZSBY9Qk_VnK3zHMsgX8y7u1mEK/s320/trip+journal+sketch+19.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div><br />The more time I spend on this river, the more I realise the scale of what’s around.<br /><br />We are fucking ants out here.<br /><br />We had a drifting lunch today, which coincided with the apex of nice weather for the day… but things got shitty pretty fast after that. After eating our 250418th snack with the intention of getting Black Betty somewhat lighter before Salmon Ladder, we started hearing thunder. We then started a time race against the approaching storm front that appeared from the mountains behind us. Quickly enough the wall of rain caught up with us. Ahead was a gigantic cloud shaped like a comic book villain about to punch us in the face…<br /><br />We finally pulled over on what was supposed to be a campsite but was in fact a flat, overgrown area with some kind of a fire pit. While Marcus was working on creating crop circle-like tent spots in the barrens, I put together a pimped out fire pit back in the woods and picked wild leeks that we had with the mac and cheese.<br /><br />Time had come to teach the kids how to use the outback oven and make lunch for the following day, and girls happened to be first. After a laborious effort, they ended up making an ok bannock without setting anything on fire. Good for them.<br /><br />Tonight is the first night where we are going to bed before dusk. Our headlamp batteries are starting to run low. This is a little sad. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTi7zfe8YiWa3yMXAq65T08k80INSw1NONbb3R-wvV4PvtRrsSzhJEOIXTkpO6Jwgc9s46tEL_zqFvwe8tC8M0aexuiI5EyP4uTVRNMhsoAyOu96OfXI_Z6sz51Yn7bNw6JbzczF7hXmAs/s1600-h/P1040693.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246754103118655570" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTi7zfe8YiWa3yMXAq65T08k80INSw1NONbb3R-wvV4PvtRrsSzhJEOIXTkpO6Jwgc9s46tEL_zqFvwe8tC8M0aexuiI5EyP4uTVRNMhsoAyOu96OfXI_Z6sz51Yn7bNw6JbzczF7hXmAs/s320/P1040693.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Health and physical condition update: before going to bed, I scoured the now pretty badly infected cut on my ankle with Bactine, Polysporin and whatever was left of my self-control. Hopefully it heals. Also, my hair is now long enough to braid it into one braid instead of two. Marcus’ hair isn’t, on the other hand.<br /><br />We checked out what’s ahead for the next days on the maps and figured out that we aren’t that late after all. We might even be able to have pit days (at last). If only kids moved faster in the morning, that would help.<br /><br />Slide show tonight. The video of Jacqui and Sarah is just absurd.<br /><br />Emily asked again “Is it raining?” today. Ridiculous.</div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-43588377467857315462008-09-14T10:45:00.000-07:002008-09-14T13:31:36.095-07:00Day XIII - Bublé... I'm sorry I broke your heart<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj-4BYi1yIFFT9c0XCSYAcpA4hJp_q5ITSwTWsopYUtkW9aLCMy6LMQCB0SyZWOmk54j_ZHNOjAq00u0Mr_UTIPKE4ev_MHEP7AVfeZ2Nvw_82PgG4neMqTbMHInDDj3kkwfNLHPHykAl/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+16.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245973071047815506" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj-4BYi1yIFFT9c0XCSYAcpA4hJp_q5ITSwTWsopYUtkW9aLCMy6LMQCB0SyZWOmk54j_ZHNOjAq00u0Mr_UTIPKE4ev_MHEP7AVfeZ2Nvw_82PgG4neMqTbMHInDDj3kkwfNLHPHykAl/s320/trip+journal+sketch+16.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div>Hum, it’s nice out today.<br /><br />What could start off the day better than a good poutine? A good conversation where we make fun of Michael Bublé, Avril Lavigne and Jessica Simpson around the fire, Luke gorging himself with gravy sauce (probably out of spite just for the hell of grossing everyone out), a good layer of coconut-scented Hawaiian Tropics (which I forgot to reapply later on in the day, causing myself a good old burn on my lower back), and here we are, on our way for another fantastic day on the Moisie!<br /><br />I accumulate miscellaneous injuries. I know I’ve been writing a lot about this, but it’s worth enumerating them for posterity: hundreds of scratches, pain in my right heel, cut on my ankle that tends to infection, sunburns, eye swollen by fly bites… me tocó la lotería de la salud.<br /><br />More portages.<br /><br />We ran unreal sets with awesome standing waves. I shot a video of Sarah and Jacqui flying across a set and some cool pictures of Emily and Nick.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwN8YlnJU6Es4gj5r4sxMGezgsIdUCT6Z65qTa-FL-9SJcAYw46Mdqx2dov8DXEiSF3abWSAMaYDJ6tH-B66A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizo5oLwXGhhiH8lCFLIRxuplCuAnGwXFCzwkUDBFk8xKvGd3sIsfDiIG2q58lMpyyH19qLP2quTNXpYDoKfbqMmj8vSi4foQEQj51R0OZPROPM5RWd07sBC3j7bYTx4vWv0fKKr4bzfilY/s1600-h/Action2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245961548286762514" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizo5oLwXGhhiH8lCFLIRxuplCuAnGwXFCzwkUDBFk8xKvGd3sIsfDiIG2q58lMpyyH19qLP2quTNXpYDoKfbqMmj8vSi4foQEQj51R0OZPROPM5RWd07sBC3j7bYTx4vWv0fKKr4bzfilY/s320/Action2.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb60wT3y765vmhQO9DbADTVqxRPsZgY7O0F9DTBwxGT4unXhxFqp_v9IHqVLA0cuHEqn99yAcnZwriNXfTmmdoydqXpqkGFOObi1Y8wXj79arTnTpn6lYJuQlq96nqYWRN7c4OUbLalvEW/s1600-h/P1040662.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245973447970372530" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb60wT3y765vmhQO9DbADTVqxRPsZgY7O0F9DTBwxGT4unXhxFqp_v9IHqVLA0cuHEqn99yAcnZwriNXfTmmdoydqXpqkGFOObi1Y8wXj79arTnTpn6lYJuQlq96nqYWRN7c4OUbLalvEW/s320/P1040662.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>We saw a cool waterfall this morning.<br /><br />2nd portage: war for the Nutella. Bugs drove everyone insane. We talked about baseball and hockey. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkQFu7EiEwXuZe9KehxmJ5p6CVt1T_n1TAOCzJieAsazHsdSpdHBpLIpQWZlBODd5XxLsw5IhJCgT0509fCAZJVFQX_Yzm6oIikMDFbbydVDVghIzTz65hyphenhyphenKVSN5-vvlf-ADbwYOAL8nV/s1600-h/P1040663.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245972856946728914" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkQFu7EiEwXuZe9KehxmJ5p6CVt1T_n1TAOCzJieAsazHsdSpdHBpLIpQWZlBODd5XxLsw5IhJCgT0509fCAZJVFQX_Yzm6oIikMDFbbydVDVghIzTz65hyphenhyphenKVSN5-vvlf-ADbwYOAL8nV/s320/P1040663.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>The Moisie is getting prettier every day. Hills turn into legitimate mountains and eskers are higher and higher. The last few kilometres of the day were swifty and led us to “Pope’s favourite”, a neat campsite with ludicrous granite formations, impressive waterfalls and eerie potholes. I wish we could have a pit day here. It’s a ginormous playground! </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxfmgMrFA5nnMKIEeGAL_PeOuw-xfPXtiEiThYTjgbozyi4ZmvePyyzvsxZFs_kHd_tfW1Yvh_BPckdK3hUnH-4ZUto7eW_L3wA0AqThP0S4OAURuo_aNuvUkzASbrC-fr-w5NnwVNIyp/s1600-h/P1040686.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245975267224319874" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxfmgMrFA5nnMKIEeGAL_PeOuw-xfPXtiEiThYTjgbozyi4ZmvePyyzvsxZFs_kHd_tfW1Yvh_BPckdK3hUnH-4ZUto7eW_L3wA0AqThP0S4OAURuo_aNuvUkzASbrC-fr-w5NnwVNIyp/s320/P1040686.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNI5Xj39Lac-kIYqkINSBRKtN-0wCqxOs7Kh2TbdahJv2FPhmLNz0L3cIgdWl5U1d9cAzSqhBWYppjnr6W-Ud52a5CXFHUKZ-v1K9pLgWYvvRsPxQpFR9vACft7AUC3IzygEF-vRLq83d/s1600-h/P1040688.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245976414845908994" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNI5Xj39Lac-kIYqkINSBRKtN-0wCqxOs7Kh2TbdahJv2FPhmLNz0L3cIgdWl5U1d9cAzSqhBWYppjnr6W-Ud52a5CXFHUKZ-v1K9pLgWYvvRsPxQpFR9vACft7AUC3IzygEF-vRLq83d/s320/P1040688.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPEApIfrYt4E63GrCkUmxTnG0NXjJ9rXceoC6ZvISaALTzTWga4DsStv8xktWU1XIXNwJ1Ot0X6_1Xzd0id4rkZBPra8F5Hp3sSkfU7u1jJ4DJPrcMSKWi7yJNgiJg0H1xRRMFVdW9qG3/s1600-h/P1040691.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245976845508279666" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPEApIfrYt4E63GrCkUmxTnG0NXjJ9rXceoC6ZvISaALTzTWga4DsStv8xktWU1XIXNwJ1Ot0X6_1Xzd0id4rkZBPra8F5Hp3sSkfU7u1jJ4DJPrcMSKWi7yJNgiJg0H1xRRMFVdW9qG3/s320/P1040691.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>The sunset was beautiful: we couldn’t see the sun, but rays of golden light reflecting against the wet rocks turned the whole landscape into a jewel. The only problem about this campsite is the lack of decent tent spots. Our tent, for example, is set up on a rock that has about this shape:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloM9gNA7e4JLGJvBxnzZMbl50IPPAB-ehdDoNozWZkIvUHHM5VKygw7JenNLB_zELJpVAGCRclXHIy1d4s10gt83oACrdrc_wH3VUoHxmIcr4xMEm5Z0iZh3HOuOGH_HwUKQbe1YwngRr/s1600-h/Sans+titre.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245935606387067874" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloM9gNA7e4JLGJvBxnzZMbl50IPPAB-ehdDoNozWZkIvUHHM5VKygw7JenNLB_zELJpVAGCRclXHIy1d4s10gt83oACrdrc_wH3VUoHxmIcr4xMEm5Z0iZh3HOuOGH_HwUKQbe1YwngRr/s320/Sans+titre.bmp" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />We’ll see what kind of sleep I can get from that.<br /><br />It was Jacqui’s birthday today. We let her choose the food we were going to eat and spent a great deal of time making a chocolate cake with an elaborate strawberry-marshmallow filling. I think she was happy about it. We also gave her the present we had bought for her, an inflatable shark she christened Sherman. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WHqKjPZT-pg4LV7V0SdsyjBLHZuIsQY1p4lwtAsjgMvgXqBpZ9yPtFkQnbBEWob4WmK2CK3idupC1Lqne7Lvg0fah2KRHIlhkGafTs2F3z3SZMakkBB_NUSqv6USO1S3cybcUTgg3bAu/s1600-h/P1040674.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245974149016213378" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WHqKjPZT-pg4LV7V0SdsyjBLHZuIsQY1p4lwtAsjgMvgXqBpZ9yPtFkQnbBEWob4WmK2CK3idupC1Lqne7Lvg0fah2KRHIlhkGafTs2F3z3SZMakkBB_NUSqv6USO1S3cybcUTgg3bAu/s320/P1040674.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />Everyone progressively turns into lepers because of their bug bites. Good thing we didn’t see any human being apart from the members of our group since we left.<br /></div><div>Interesting exchange of words:</div><div><br />(Fallis, coming back from scouting the first 2o m of a portage) “This portage is a dick!”<br />(Basen, grinning) “That means she likes it...”<br />(Basen, later on) “Yeah, when I grow up I want to become a struggling comedian…”</div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-85146076157960990462008-09-11T19:25:00.001-07:002008-09-14T13:34:11.440-07:00Day XII -lama-like balsam firs and postcard perfect sunsets<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKV4JW0tRm3a4s5qFXlIh3RKEjHadbit0FN5C2OCI0HfGTjE9dpVhLmOPJqPL5z4mGxK58N0jgFi8jGvXBmYF4DM28iCinAn9Zmsr4oJbVDrdKnFPILWmd43ymJYSqyyK9LiQ0eXDj1k9/s1600-h/sketch+trip+journakl.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245977902015814738" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKV4JW0tRm3a4s5qFXlIh3RKEjHadbit0FN5C2OCI0HfGTjE9dpVhLmOPJqPL5z4mGxK58N0jgFi8jGvXBmYF4DM28iCinAn9Zmsr4oJbVDrdKnFPILWmd43ymJYSqyyK9LiQ0eXDj1k9/s320/sketch+trip+journakl.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Hum, let’s start with the end, today…<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNpZW-7xF7O02nPOukFnrIvKmEYrTY_cQmzVQ2fvixr9l9gCAAHCE6LDn9vvWCtvlJSSAiBhpuNen_8fgQplNYpZVO4K1cIkZhkxomBQfWYoqJbtZgf063AFlFw5rxgrxbwYTvGIJZt2N/s1600-h/P1040645.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244955730803705282" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNpZW-7xF7O02nPOukFnrIvKmEYrTY_cQmzVQ2fvixr9l9gCAAHCE6LDn9vvWCtvlJSSAiBhpuNen_8fgQplNYpZVO4K1cIkZhkxomBQfWYoqJbtZgf063AFlFw5rxgrxbwYTvGIJZt2N/s320/P1040645.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As we were enjoying our very first “early night” of the trip, all happy with our 6km of endless, shitty portages through swamps, black flies, and whatever fucking weird rock formations the glaciers decided to leave there, the Moisie decided to offer us the very first spectacular sunset since we left: the shadow of the narrow valley strained the light of the fading sun, splattering rays of red, pink, yellow and orange light all over the water and the clouds… We all went down by the water and sat on rocks to check out the breathtaking scene. Nobody dared to talk, and with our group that’s really a fucking exploit. It’s always a turning point in long trips when silence isn’t awkward anymore.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_rTWWqNJBDCzqqjPIv4Fky4RLuv__2CXAiSL7ah1lLWika8QtWdZXPWxKi4c31QJuN0h6tN0MnzfI8HfM3G3zcwTxCNmxM412SFm7YnHSe1M27XxTHL8-6CcsvoXmlhAZUXtAaVhhSmYB/s1600-h/P1040650.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244956407688384386" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_rTWWqNJBDCzqqjPIv4Fky4RLuv__2CXAiSL7ah1lLWika8QtWdZXPWxKi4c31QJuN0h6tN0MnzfI8HfM3G3zcwTxCNmxM412SFm7YnHSe1M27XxTHL8-6CcsvoXmlhAZUXtAaVhhSmYB/s320/P1040650.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMceltOk6QLXJNop3gmSFkV5bKC6SRE7OSQWNttecGuVY6vxeRKwDzhymTm9wC5Ux2TPHlEZfkv0ZlXO5yExCYPmyYF-UmVGXrwU9L9TJPxEolB_1X5wvCJJIsDVs77iMXiEwFxcRwXpR1/s1600-h/P1040647.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244957136724618162" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMceltOk6QLXJNop3gmSFkV5bKC6SRE7OSQWNttecGuVY6vxeRKwDzhymTm9wC5Ux2TPHlEZfkv0ZlXO5yExCYPmyYF-UmVGXrwU9L9TJPxEolB_1X5wvCJJIsDVs77iMXiEwFxcRwXpR1/s320/P1040647.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I’d probably still be sitting there right now if it hadn’t been of the bannock menacing to burn.<br /><br />We left the maps to Jacqui today. It’s a little weird at first, kind of like seeing a child’s first steps… but I still can’t tell if it’s Jacqui or the maps themselves I felt insecure about letting go of alone…<br /><br />I have blisters and a pretty impressive assortment of scratches all the way to the sole of my feet. And don’t even get me started on black flies. The comforting part is that everyone is the same. All men are equal in the taiga…<br /><br />There is sand everywhere because of our beach campsite from yesterday.<br /><br />Oh, I got stung by a bee this morning.<br /><br />Cool elements of the landscape today:<br /><br />- The valley getting deeper and deeper<br />- The various tree lines drawn by the shade of the mountains on the opposite shore<br />- “Pride rock” and it’s intimidating silhouette against the sky<br />- Pékans, even if really that was more yesterday<br />- The cottage-sized boulders and rock slide trails<br /><br />Marcus showed me how to use the machete and got spat in the eye by a balsam fir. We had our first fit of the giggles in a while. That’s reassuring, I guess.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR1zEHELmhw9RfZkpkp20JDOenRS7zc9ou4RFCmJBNCrVIeET_w-0NZ8G5vuULRmoyeRVjLBZBKX3YBVkwHoeNL5F5o9BG-yHik4mGK_hlBMD63AektguTFV6v3IIpn0X45_gGaAuruQ3E/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+15.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244957488122133954" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR1zEHELmhw9RfZkpkp20JDOenRS7zc9ou4RFCmJBNCrVIeET_w-0NZ8G5vuULRmoyeRVjLBZBKX3YBVkwHoeNL5F5o9BG-yHik4mGK_hlBMD63AektguTFV6v3IIpn0X45_gGaAuruQ3E/s320/trip+journal+sketch+15.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I put my head in a small waterfall this afternoon and everyone made fun of me since the water probably came from a bog on top of the mountain. Whatever, I can’t really be any dirtier than I already am.<br /><br />Lining is fun.<br /><br />I wish I could write some more but I’m way too tired.DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-83292921287148915982008-09-11T19:14:00.000-07:002008-09-11T19:25:03.538-07:00Day XI - Pékans, at last.<div><div>WE ARE (more or less) BACK ON TRACK<br /><br />After a cumulative of about 3 km of portage, a bunch of sets and the first sunny day without significant rain (yaaaay!), we finally made it to Pékans Falls, at a campsite that has a little something tropical about it (beach, gigantic trees, mosquitoes…) and we caught up with our attempt schedule that kept on being pushed back due to several events such as:<br />- Fucking Opocopa headwinds<br />- The kids’ chronic incapacity to hurry up in the morning<br />- The whole lifejacket episode<br /><br />So right now we’re not ahead of time, but we’re not late anymore. Wonder-awesome. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIxSnnZdCkRkoZ-8-zlBMulCTUn_9W_pixan8w57MJwuvdngVT8iGSwqHs-ImzfSnjvEJ2BGZjyMkUhGqLf4zsuphFCkP9kXJOUfMcqTTPyUNJRnseIVStZq88KUwZR33z9kJYwbI3SSK/s1600-h/P1040631.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244954987585729298" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIxSnnZdCkRkoZ-8-zlBMulCTUn_9W_pixan8w57MJwuvdngVT8iGSwqHs-ImzfSnjvEJ2BGZjyMkUhGqLf4zsuphFCkP9kXJOUfMcqTTPyUNJRnseIVStZq88KUwZR33z9kJYwbI3SSK/s320/P1040631.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Today’s 3 portages and carryover were particularly efficient. It’s both cool and frustrating to see how our kids can be machines when they want to but sometimes just won’t do anything… but in any case, they were awesome today.<br /><br />There was a dead mouse on a rock during the carryover. I wondered if, with our usual luck, anyone would freak out at the sight of it during a particularly critical moment. It didn’t happen, though. Good. We also saw an otter jump in the rapids and a few eagles. None of them reclaimed the feather we found the other day.<br /><br />Nat’s funny. He’s a good paddler but he’s a little zealous in the rapids about spotting rocks. At the sight of the smallest pillow rock he’ll scream “ROOOOOCK” at the top of his voice… considering most of the sets we’re running these days are bump-and-grind style, he screams a lot…<br /><br />Pékans was pretty impressive. Now that this raging waterfall is pumping loads of water into the Moisie, the river will become major league I'm pretty sure. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNje5uiVR_QxnVxCfVBpGeTafPXr5hQyUC8z8TK469NkP25wZ4Kalafk7z0jOl0ptJQ6GgdRLaksvRBj9OcCTMKTJYKXQJaLlC1gQcjaJYmEJU_Ke38LAQ5zsbOdfyD_XxzejhH1b4Qo0/s1600-h/P1040619.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244954457039454162" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNje5uiVR_QxnVxCfVBpGeTafPXr5hQyUC8z8TK469NkP25wZ4Kalafk7z0jOl0ptJQ6GgdRLaksvRBj9OcCTMKTJYKXQJaLlC1gQcjaJYmEJU_Ke38LAQ5zsbOdfyD_XxzejhH1b4Qo0/s320/P1040619.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLfWQTR5UBjlf_b3CoR-zrKtma5c8xeHtsrYKCKM3c089kNXb3gZEp7Oy3catpC8qA6ITIJdUOCzdkE_t4sMUQo2kFNCwJ7bllNpeGvF5QEzqtTQ6uSTYtMlcf5z9cFjAmXiSpA7AnHQ4/s1600-h/P1040627.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244953687007010434" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLfWQTR5UBjlf_b3CoR-zrKtma5c8xeHtsrYKCKM3c089kNXb3gZEp7Oy3catpC8qA6ITIJdUOCzdkE_t4sMUQo2kFNCwJ7bllNpeGvF5QEzqtTQ6uSTYtMlcf5z9cFjAmXiSpA7AnHQ4/s320/P1040627.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>First roasted marshmallows of the summer.<br /><br />The cabbage smells like mould already and the carrots are progressively melting into a smelly goo. Good thing we have lots of curry.<br /><br />My legs look like a battlefield… bushwhacking might finish off the skin that’s left on them if the bugs don’t take care of it before… </div><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244953280375398018" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiMLKz84D_Q9ypcKwz3TN0R2rH619nTXO1mrI6CKPjAN2Gyv4sWjs1TTshWK1NszpR-6K74seSHLVc-vXHoWs9BHMhqRFNnbn5D35xHvcwjTi3cySEzGvP3-B_FyDlN42c2sGgASHLLN1d/s320/trip+journal+sketch+14.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />The kids also seem to have a hard time with portaging and the environment... it doesn't impair their habitual cynsim, though:<br /><br />(Reznick at the end of a portage) “Holy fucking Jesus!!!”<br />(Basen) “Aren’t you Jewish, Sam?”</div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-66954828898120143972008-09-11T19:09:00.001-07:002008-09-11T19:14:49.996-07:00Day X - Capital letters are satisfying on long days.<div><div><div>WE ARE FUCKING SLOW<br />(It took us until 16h00 to finish the fucking portage)<br />WE ARE OFFICIALLY ON THE MOISIE<br />(Finally, cliffs and current)<br />WE LOST MOSES<br />(I already miss that little fuzzball)</div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnNMDNqSXVgrpE7kVQl7eLb8rul33JN3DFVCWcTQMKMH7HvYeY3bEoR4zkq8NpIUwIlfvPOc21E-wFfI4MKl2lGHl-YE5Q9aOq7ROknsll30K9LBtG6kWbS8-ytytV5MXgrpP0kbnTLHx/s1600-h/P1040610.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244951701597837874" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnNMDNqSXVgrpE7kVQl7eLb8rul33JN3DFVCWcTQMKMH7HvYeY3bEoR4zkq8NpIUwIlfvPOc21E-wFfI4MKl2lGHl-YE5Q9aOq7ROknsll30K9LBtG6kWbS8-ytytV5MXgrpP0kbnTLHx/s320/P1040610.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />THERE IS GOAT SHIT EVERYWHERE<br />(My clothes, the tent, Luke, the dishes…)</div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfZ7wE85zExy7R9b3CCTkbB-5zHhIWmFWFH496dipOhjIObMhlXGIEYnO5YIvjKBF1DYGNL9iQrR9vgRwAfp7YBfvmzPSAfhwBQQIsURfkaPOH7HqiNmnVrXyLWNbJQBnaQdpBDivjtHd/s1600-h/P1040614.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244952242393282386" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfZ7wE85zExy7R9b3CCTkbB-5zHhIWmFWFH496dipOhjIObMhlXGIEYnO5YIvjKBF1DYGNL9iQrR9vgRwAfp7YBfvmzPSAfhwBQQIsURfkaPOH7HqiNmnVrXyLWNbJQBnaQdpBDivjtHd/s320/P1040614.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />MY BACK HURTS<br />(and all the rest of my body as well, but whatever)<br />50% OF THE PIZZA BANNOCK WAS OK<br />(The other half wasn’t cooked properly and it needed onions)<br />I SCOUTED MY FIRST SET OF RAPIDS OF THE SEASON<br />(Nobody died)<br />EMILY IS GETTING BETTER AT PADDLING<br />(She's actually good when she pays attention to what we tell her)<br />WE ARE LOW ON COOKING OIL FOR THE PEROGIES<br />(And probably several other essential items)<br />I AM TIRED AND IRRITABLE<br />(Even Flight of the Conchords' hilarious songs get on my nerves today)<br />WE HAD NICE WEATHER FOR MORE THAN 50% OF THE DAY<br />(At last)</div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-52416866133625099562008-09-11T18:45:00.000-07:002008-09-11T19:08:18.689-07:00Day IX - Putain de put-in...In the “<em>Grand n’importe quoi</em>” category, today was a record breaker.<br /><br />How can two 16-year old boys that did a 12-day Coulonge pin a canoe in a C1 comparable to the sets on the Mattawa?!?!?! I barely believed Nat and Nick when they told me that Luke and Reznick had dumped…It took Marcus and I about 20 minutes and a lot of frustration-induced strength to get the fucking canoe out.<br /><br />As we reconvened at the end of the set, Nick realised that he had left his Grey Owl paddle on shore at the site of the pin. He was ready to leave it there when read on our faces that he'd better go get it. <div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZF77zZxQtiKOUo6rRLSuCJ9LyLh3VL5h6eA2Osb0xIy8p4k2mzLw-6-O7WzrcTr_IxVGfV5W3kqMKX0DBhuWFuzuoQ4mHxhKrJ-7cNfaO4FBnWiHCsf9ldVxvn650zsHsBo9Nim0-Sucz/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+11.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244946401067159474" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZF77zZxQtiKOUo6rRLSuCJ9LyLh3VL5h6eA2Osb0xIy8p4k2mzLw-6-O7WzrcTr_IxVGfV5W3kqMKX0DBhuWFuzuoQ4mHxhKrJ-7cNfaO4FBnWiHCsf9ldVxvn650zsHsBo9Nim0-Sucz/s320/trip+journal+sketch+11.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />The real adventure of the day, though, was definitely the 1.2km portage we did around waterfalls explorers, prospectors and government officials didn’t even bother naming. Marcus and I, on our first trip, realised that there was a put it (or "putain", as Oli Brière comically renamed it) about 500m after the take out. We scout the portage in its entirety as the kids portage everything to the first put in. The path was ok but was crossing a bunch of boulder fields that Hayley will later describe quite accurately as “ankle breaking territories”. Marcus goes off to scout the rest of the rapids as we munch on wet trail mix. According to him, it’s runnable if we line and carry over parts of it. We decide to take a chance…<br /><br />Unfortunately, it wasn’t our lucky day. After 200m of sketchy lining and bump-and-grind paddling, Jacqui falling into the water, a broken yoke and a few other <em>échappé-belles</em>, we come to realise that we’ve made a huge mistake, as GOB would say. We definitely can’t keep going, especially since it’s freezing cold, rainy and windy, it’s 16h00 and we got nothing but a handful of soggy peanut-free gorp in our bellies since this morning’s oatmeal and fried fruits. We ain’t got a choice, we have to go back to the put in (sigh).</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBxuFVBYLw5DZ2avW4wf0JdMbwMU7YkQQEwt6sEyX8E7zHqvRZhPmdGBoyUks3Ww-0LWSG0OwNPRzUUJpnvsl85u-g0jQvAh5n9Rjav3yOa93lDx6dDW000RKYO5Qk5ok8mqkME9frziS/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+12.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244946504189710034" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBxuFVBYLw5DZ2avW4wf0JdMbwMU7YkQQEwt6sEyX8E7zHqvRZhPmdGBoyUks3Ww-0LWSG0OwNPRzUUJpnvsl85u-g0jQvAh5n9Rjav3yOa93lDx6dDW000RKYO5Qk5ok8mqkME9frziS/s320/trip+journal+sketch+12.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />(Whoever said that the shortest way between A and B was right. Or at least it’s more efficient than what we did this afternoon…)<br /><br />So after considering several scenarios, we decide to haul the boats back up the rapids in waist-deep water, accumulating bruises, scratches and other miscellaneous small injuries that we can’t feel for the moment because all of our lower body is numb with mild hypothermia. Once everything is taken back to the put in, we start portaging on the path we should have followed in the first place.<br /><br />Now, that’s frustrating.<br /><br />On our last trip to get the frou frou that had been left behind, we made quite a strange discovery…<br /><br />A faint quack-quack attracts Marcus’ attention… as we get closer, we realize that it comes from an abandoned god-knows-what, probably some kind of duckling or gosling, sitting in the bushes, petrified with fear… We joke around about taking it with us and therefore saving it from being eaten by the first predator to come across it, but progressively the joke turns into a real saving intent… as Marcus tries to catch it, the poor thing runs off and falls into a crevasse… Ok so now it’s definitely going to die… </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgRcnFMaJZx3CQIwZbBQCnqq-HScV8M6lybGh5F8gzxRDnN0lc6VY2S0fmGDE2kWasSqs4yCjfla1Bwf_eJZYNk3W-kabqJxWIK9uEbuhzDdeg2yGDHoMJFUmfleTARhgDTvxyLeyGrU5/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+13.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244946621181385330" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgRcnFMaJZx3CQIwZbBQCnqq-HScV8M6lybGh5F8gzxRDnN0lc6VY2S0fmGDE2kWasSqs4yCjfla1Bwf_eJZYNk3W-kabqJxWIK9uEbuhzDdeg2yGDHoMJFUmfleTARhgDTvxyLeyGrU5/s320/trip+journal+sketch+13.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />We try to get it out with paddles first, but our attempts remain vain so we change our tactic in sending me face first into the crevasse to get it. It was the first time I ever took a bird in my hands and I was pretty awkward about it since I was a little scared that it might bite me (stupid idea now that I know that some paperclips pinched my fingers harder than that poor thing), but in the end I got it. After debating for a while (Franklin, Lazarus, etc.), we finally decide to call it Moses, since it somewhat sounds like Moisie and we found the poor thing orphan in the river…<br /><br />At lunchtime (20h30), when we finally had soy nut butter and the rest of grand-maman’s jam on tortillas, the kids get to know Moses. He spent most of his time eating mosquitos (good thing) and shitting all over the place because it was terrified (we need to work on that). Surprisingly, though, it remained very calm as we went down the last sets before our campsite, hiding quietly under my seat, facing the end of the canoe. We had another of those gorgeous rainbows, which helped everyone's morale as we were waiting for Marcus to scout. We set camp at dusk at the middle of a portage. The boys had to go get water and some stuff we left at the beginning of the portage in the dark so Marcus armed them with the GPS set up on "go to" with our campsite coordinates. Losing 3 kids in the woods was the last thing we needed today.<br /><br />Marcus, in a pyromaniac brainfart, built quite possibly the biggest cooking fire I’ve ever seen and went around shouting utterances such as “Burn, mother’ucker!” in a slightly deviant voice. It’s been a long day for everyone, I guess. As I cooked pizza bannock and refamiliarized with my old friend the outback oven, Moses stopped trying to run away and chilled by my feet. The heat radiating from the bonfire slowly turned it back to its original puffy texture, which made him cuter despite the fact that he still shits all over the place (including my clothes). He slept in our tent in a makeshift nest made out of a plastic bag and moss. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEktOpcZmUQKHPO2QzvYGpo8sxx8ZwDm_xibmNrsM1eoqh9Z1H8qLUCYF-juQ4dRoajpdCY-ZiqjaPU5HiWOIorpa3LrFShcema9v8bYEIJiBgUOD7zt4EhAHikMjsCsQgisv4ooUgZRu1/s1600-h/P1040615.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244950683738746866" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEktOpcZmUQKHPO2QzvYGpo8sxx8ZwDm_xibmNrsM1eoqh9Z1H8qLUCYF-juQ4dRoajpdCY-ZiqjaPU5HiWOIorpa3LrFShcema9v8bYEIJiBgUOD7zt4EhAHikMjsCsQgisv4ooUgZRu1/s320/P1040615.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />Oh, before I forget: Marcus’ superwatch ran out of batteries today, which leaves us with my 12 year-old Ironman watch with no alarm and two missing buttons as our only provider of time. Great.</div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-33972311844979215192008-09-11T18:30:00.001-07:002008-09-11T18:43:06.977-07:00Day VIII - Enjoy your lifejacket, you're very rude.<div><div><div><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2cqWu8KDcq7SPWgH4KsSnEvZlA41_xbk_gG-rP543zSflM5tiG4a4Y-AIDfACYXEP9CvOnVecidHmJRFcWVTb9PSsV6QsRZynKWmLOWFzjpzcKv0Bx8bUtGmY-cmCapY9JXLetLH-YC6/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244941330081146450" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2cqWu8KDcq7SPWgH4KsSnEvZlA41_xbk_gG-rP543zSflM5tiG4a4Y-AIDfACYXEP9CvOnVecidHmJRFcWVTb9PSsV6QsRZynKWmLOWFzjpzcKv0Bx8bUtGmY-cmCapY9JXLetLH-YC6/s320/trip+journal+sketch+9.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4b83iEHrOIDBJ7Xvu7Z3LjAub1lHlwO7OhuqfT34zV4EUcbL11X9cqm-dWHySCXEMcshc2usPYG3mu6FZN3azDobs-bF8QJAQIHLuRBbak2apxZNWI3SlzHeUr0ixnka0FoHZmGQKQGtc/s1600-h/n1657350288_30762338_5389.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244941401941616226" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4b83iEHrOIDBJ7Xvu7Z3LjAub1lHlwO7OhuqfT34zV4EUcbL11X9cqm-dWHySCXEMcshc2usPYG3mu6FZN3azDobs-bF8QJAQIHLuRBbak2apxZNWI3SlzHeUr0ixnka0FoHZmGQKQGtc/s320/n1657350288_30762338_5389.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Beurk.<br /><br />Not only do we get attitude when we called back yesterday about the fucking lost lifejacket, but in addition to that the bush pilot (which I imagined with a tremendous angry face, a cigarette at the corner of his mouth and an unshaved beard that makes him look like a convict) literally dumps the new lifejacket in the middle of Opocopa… not that it’s exactly how we lost it in the first place or anything… So here we are, Sarah and I, paddling and trying not to loose sight of a minuscule red dot across this huge body of dreadful, wavy hell. Thanks, asshole. At least it made an epic conclusion to this mishap.<br /><br />Dinner in the cabin yesterday was like cooking in a sauna, since we unwisely used the stove to bring our water (and the rest of the air contained in the cabin while we were at it) to boiling temperature. The cabin progressively heated up and the air separated into various layers that got hotter and hotter as you went up. Marcus, exhausted by his frantic paddle in search of the lifejacket and dodging of storm cells, was about to pass out and land face first in the vegetable stir fry, so he went lying down on the floor, i.e. the only area where the air was anywhere near breathable. I finished cooking dinner in my bathing suit, taking several breaks to go outside cool off in the brisk Northern Québec night. Being overheated made me somewhat cynical:<br /><br />(Reznick) – I really respect Eminem. He’s a real gangster…<br />(Fallis) – No he’s not…<br />(Reznick) – Well, he had a pretty hard life and all, which makes him a real gangster…<br />(Me) - Helen Keller had a hard life too and she’s not a gangster…<br /><br />I’m sick of being sleep deprived.<br /><br />First push day of the trip. I guess we all needed it, both because freakin’ Opocopa devoured our extra time and because kids need to be pushed to the edge a little more right now.<br /><br />I never thought that some day I’d get to the point where I would duel an inanimate object such as a motherfuckin’ big lake. Opocopa was defeated today, or at least we survived it. I kissed a rock at the end of it, I couldn’t think of any other way to express my happiness. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0nhOZ1tArjz_TvH5fycOTLIpkT7AVi1oxvBp34_jJ0wEISlpvpBUye3H1GxGs0u1b7ht4ixkmFaNHMendY-61bJ8VeOAEFxqD6BhsmXvACsPKBP3zTXMfp7jv1dPKLem4vNt5PgMB7ni/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244941855862246482" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0nhOZ1tArjz_TvH5fycOTLIpkT7AVi1oxvBp34_jJ0wEISlpvpBUye3H1GxGs0u1b7ht4ixkmFaNHMendY-61bJ8VeOAEFxqD6BhsmXvACsPKBP3zTXMfp7jv1dPKLem4vNt5PgMB7ni/s320/trip+journal+sketch+10.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wUCBA8Nhn6Yb78SF6zz4BsvTlZVgOFFwmDpGl25yAU7AKqs1fn8wxL-STq8athegOyU_3fnRY0YPBTjkbtyeCdDvPRKASEjuNOmMqOGu1KmVjRmHamInRDPbOSfVThbQ-4g6HotFFtmP/s1600-h/P1040605.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244943097553904898" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wUCBA8Nhn6Yb78SF6zz4BsvTlZVgOFFwmDpGl25yAU7AKqs1fn8wxL-STq8athegOyU_3fnRY0YPBTjkbtyeCdDvPRKASEjuNOmMqOGu1KmVjRmHamInRDPbOSfVThbQ-4g6HotFFtmP/s320/P1040605.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />We checked out an esker today. It was cool, I felt like I was on some kind of a natural via romana. Kids were hanging out in a circle, their backs against the gorgeous landscape, as if they were in a high school yard during recess. Sometimes they discourage me a little. But then they goof around and occasionally do extraordinary shit and it makes me happy. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFNlCi1AtRayzvwFi4GGAoOVWRUOZlW2SDmXP6q_VMr21WAlf1iYgKJU6wpIFRl_tLyVAlV_coUysSfLwR-B_waakaXxryTOrKaIvu9Vc8Mrd0F-kzOY1SeDuDEq1R-MqJZiDST-5U7Pb/s1600-h/P1040596.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244942315092429218" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFNlCi1AtRayzvwFi4GGAoOVWRUOZlW2SDmXP6q_VMr21WAlf1iYgKJU6wpIFRl_tLyVAlV_coUysSfLwR-B_waakaXxryTOrKaIvu9Vc8Mrd0F-kzOY1SeDuDEq1R-MqJZiDST-5U7Pb/s320/P1040596.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SMhxTdSW0joIFG6YGiScsaD7f5TTcth6sMLBS3aBYHzLcE7t7SJ11LRXOJMA1xWt50GXQIt4WaQARn2-jIVnYAx0UJVA2wcqn_aIwUyE2wjlvBHl1r3P5Q1rVqbwFUFslkwfC8cpPh-e/s1600-h/P1040599.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244942705417717810" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SMhxTdSW0joIFG6YGiScsaD7f5TTcth6sMLBS3aBYHzLcE7t7SJ11LRXOJMA1xWt50GXQIt4WaQARn2-jIVnYAx0UJVA2wcqn_aIwUyE2wjlvBHl1r3P5Q1rVqbwFUFslkwfC8cpPh-e/s320/P1040599.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>Marcus just farted.</div></div></div></div></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-5910968901856577382008-09-11T18:23:00.000-07:002008-09-11T18:45:27.928-07:00Day VII - Opocopa you suck.It’s 16h30 TTZ. I’m stitting on a deep layer of emerald-coloured moss, my back against a tree, black flies devouring the 5 square inches of exposed skin I have left, and I am waiting for Luke and Marcus to come back to know if they found the lifejacket that was blown away in the Opocopa wind this morning. Câlisse.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCVfx4jZOmQAerrD6qA2VRI0djlbdcckp8HmnjXokJNa-6SMPTbA2hGqcxt7b9pINtymy2nVW3-DySpED0i5eXz8dYN5iVSPk63njwi9OTfr0YCI1QcRrMCkJ5Usihhvfq2z0ET9UY1ow/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244939959789877362" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCVfx4jZOmQAerrD6qA2VRI0djlbdcckp8HmnjXokJNa-6SMPTbA2hGqcxt7b9pINtymy2nVW3-DySpED0i5eXz8dYN5iVSPk63njwi9OTfr0YCI1QcRrMCkJ5Usihhvfq2z0ET9UY1ow/s320/trip+journal+sketch+7.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Everyone else is spooning in what might be the worst tarp job in modern history. I’ve been knee deep in cold water at the point twice already to see if Marcus and Luke were in sight. Nothing. Time passes by VERY slowly. I had time to extensively clean and bite all my nails, to kill about 387802458 black flies and to call camp. We have to call back at 18h30, said Dave.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XC1Zg_AeRRj6SySYnPp3NJBF1OI6TnNdnYsOQMrBLlYqfC2MG1_dBwvDemR5-T5PJn3gMcCV8AJKqpxgBKXeC7mAIoY8d6duGQ9cK2SLZymuE4tagq6Qy4O9W8nEIWXxzlahkvsrdB7W/s1600-h/P1040556.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244939841847312834" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XC1Zg_AeRRj6SySYnPp3NJBF1OI6TnNdnYsOQMrBLlYqfC2MG1_dBwvDemR5-T5PJn3gMcCV8AJKqpxgBKXeC7mAIoY8d6duGQ9cK2SLZymuE4tagq6Qy4O9W8nEIWXxzlahkvsrdB7W/s320/P1040556.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />As we were saying earlier, it’s better to call because we lost shit than because someone is injured. But the best remains not calling at all.<br /><br /><em>ON VA TU FINIR PAR LE FINIR CE FOUTU LAC-LÀ?<br /></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LVY0m7-_nPbm0A47mMTHQE8RuCO1ii29CifrkU1yaPoDT7fSfV1ViEbBWdVKnRnybykMAyMAaU5X2Onb5Fq71Rx3eOfPfM6Jt-Iu31-Pp89Va5pL8CMfzD6J3T4UVwb4BBRUxppYioge/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+8.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244940075769695746" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LVY0m7-_nPbm0A47mMTHQE8RuCO1ii29CifrkU1yaPoDT7fSfV1ViEbBWdVKnRnybykMAyMAaU5X2Onb5Fq71Rx3eOfPfM6Jt-Iu31-Pp89Va5pL8CMfzD6J3T4UVwb4BBRUxppYioge/s320/trip+journal+sketch+8.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Hace un viento que te cagas desde que llegamos aquí. Marcus tenía razón (como siempre) de decir que cosas raras ocurren al norte del 50º paralelo… No sé todavía a que me refiero, puesto que a parte de la perdida de esta maldita chaqueta salvavidas no hubo nada que se podría describir como “raro”, pero persiste este sentimiento extraño de que estamos en otro planeta, o por lo menos otro país… pero un país desierto, donde hay que deducir por ti mismo porque por razones desconocidas se han marchado todos los habitantes, dejándote abandonado sin el manual de instrucciones para este ambiente surrealista.<br /><br />Black flies are having a fucking party on my lower back right now.<br /><br />I’m starting to understand “Surfacing” at a whole new level right now.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPWz7ZXkuF404guz3yGXzvFB9SujI0exVlHs69FOnaU30gDNt8StRpRC6hO43VNO5YI0aT35TPUbhpDqYZbWTduuLWU4NUcVJJCKnAjVpWFkFnEyPRViwX-pSEKhI42X1lZhiOBPPwwHd/s1600-h/P1040571.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244940503815925522" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPWz7ZXkuF404guz3yGXzvFB9SujI0exVlHs69FOnaU30gDNt8StRpRC6hO43VNO5YI0aT35TPUbhpDqYZbWTduuLWU4NUcVJJCKnAjVpWFkFnEyPRViwX-pSEKhI42X1lZhiOBPPwwHd/s320/P1040571.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnY-JbCCl-kqmLbC8TxensxW4O1UCHivOq7o0rTrKG25ZMyNpVOIn5TvQS7LJsO6YUBmRXYVaKLdj4oq0GIKuV_dnmoqhdc7CH9-Jv0yaAHRyhSG0rkOWz0XRiilwkloRVdHp0t0ekcFd2/s1600-h/P1040581.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244940966338932626" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnY-JbCCl-kqmLbC8TxensxW4O1UCHivOq7o0rTrKG25ZMyNpVOIn5TvQS7LJsO6YUBmRXYVaKLdj4oq0GIKuV_dnmoqhdc7CH9-Jv0yaAHRyhSG0rkOWz0XRiilwkloRVdHp0t0ekcFd2/s320/P1040581.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I’m still debating whether or not I should be writing a bunch of random thoughts and slices of life in this journal or if I should keep a detailed log of all the stuff we do. I guess parts of me want to remember every minute of the trip, while other parts find it more authentic to just write whatever I find relevant at the time. I guess the river will decide for me.DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968759666350415026.post-87149252616585703992008-09-11T09:06:00.000-07:002008-09-11T09:13:46.320-07:00Day VI - Can a bug be prosecuted for a neck rape?FUCKIN’ HEADWINDS!!!<br /><br /><br /><div><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MEuXhlrYbt4ED30dOdSg2StHQ1Pj7Er9VHWh5wsddkhU6mdsJXv0HJQn8gsAkjGUGp8EvSRBqp7v3LL4F0OYLqKnGZtjEQXRf4MEw3tPEAnoO8sCpNGNFUi257rvgnqZiTjuxI6xujal/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244796346381530258" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MEuXhlrYbt4ED30dOdSg2StHQ1Pj7Er9VHWh5wsddkhU6mdsJXv0HJQn8gsAkjGUGp8EvSRBqp7v3LL4F0OYLqKnGZtjEQXRf4MEw3tPEAnoO8sCpNGNFUi257rvgnqZiTjuxI6xujal/s320/trip+journal+sketch+5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>I :( lake Opocopa…<br /><br />Other facts and cool moments<br /><br />- The girls and their endless water pumping session in the morning<br />- Sam lingering in the tent as everyone else is moving and packing</div><div>- Sarah and Luke coming up with "Part time Paraplegic", their own version of a Flight of the Conchords song<br />- Our mad jam session at night including about an hour of non-stop "freestyling" on the chords of "Gone" by Jack Johnson<br />- The Mega-panzarotti shaped like a gramma’s bonnet co-created by Nick and Luke<br />- Emily lily dipping and being made fun of for it<br />- Nat’s explanation of Judaism<br />- The day 3 campsite<br />o Gorging ourselves with cranberries<br />o Lying on the moss<br />o Finding an eagle feather (apparently you’re on the right path when you find one. We’ll keep it in the map case, hopefully the saying is true)<br />- The creepy noise of the waves against shore<br />- The girl’s terrible (and unnecessary) dishwashing job at lunch<br />- Cutting mangoes on the beach and still feeling very far away from the tropics<br />- Struggling with our adaptation to trip time zone<br />- Finding cool pieces of quartz in the water</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkN_WPuu53ShjZQlViWxm0itiWx2dO83QRsnPCEt2ZFuTHy2M5eCP4w9RdM6LsawIOVk1F9NgQN-MQ2F9i5HfCf73vLMVC4VlJ4clJwVXZa31pX71FQq9RSsxSrsugotQmJxTAVukv6O2H/s1600-h/trip+journal+sketch+6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244796484967423490" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkN_WPuu53ShjZQlViWxm0itiWx2dO83QRsnPCEt2ZFuTHy2M5eCP4w9RdM6LsawIOVk1F9NgQN-MQ2F9i5HfCf73vLMVC4VlJ4clJwVXZa31pX71FQq9RSsxSrsugotQmJxTAVukv6O2H/s320/trip+journal+sketch+6.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div>DJ Mumshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09840212325158376824noreply@blogger.com0