The Duncan Fremlin Blog

There's snakes and then there's snakes

Karen and I saw some deadly snakes in Africa.  They seem to grow on trees (or at least hang out there).  But this one takes the cake.  

 

 

Paradise Canada Style

We discovered Tofino British Columbia last week. I had no idea it was so exotic. How else to describe this place?  It matches the wonders of the world in it's alluring potion of history, geography, nature, drama and beauty.  The residents are a big kooky, arising before sunrise to don their wet suits so they can splash around in the ocean and pretend they're surfing.  At least to me it looked like "pretend surfing".  I've heard it's the bohemian lifestyle that attracts them but who knows what they're story is.  

The weather isn't too bad either (occasionally from what the locals tell me). It's pleasant enough to allow palm trees and 1000 year old cedar trees to proliferate.

The community is youthful and exuberant in their enthusiasm for out door activities.  They run and bike and hike and anything else that keeps them moving.

However, I kept the best for last, the food. The seafood we've sampled has been the best I've perhaps ever enjoyed. I can't describe the flavours and freshness of this fare.  I'm not sure I'll be able to enjoy Toronto's 3 or 4 day old mussels, Lin cod, halibut or salmon ever again. Eating freshly caught fish is exquisite, pure and simple.

One more joy to share. We felt the rush of a 30 ton gray whale rising to the surface a few feet from our boat. If I hadn't been so startled, I might have reached out and touched him.  The boat next to us took these photos.

Service Industry, American Style

The world loves to criticize the U.S. for pretty much everything.  I'm certainly not ambivilent about the country or it's politics.  It's people however are a different matter.  

I just returned from a 4 day trip to Nashville and this town left a few impressions.

First of all, they have the best service industry in the world, from the taxi driver to the bell hop.  These people demonstrate an eagerness to please, something I'm not used to here in Canada.  Sometimes it's a bit over the top as in asking "is everything to your satisfaction?" two or three times.  However, better this than a snarly waitress.

Somehow they manage to bridge the gap between being fanatically and outwardly devout and embracing the libertarian idea of "anything goes" in their society at large.   I attended a bluegrass music convention and I sang and played with a lot of people dedicating their songs to Jesus Christ their Lord and Savior.  Yet all around them were cowboys and tourists dedicating their holiday to Budweiser.  They co-exist quite nicely.

I've learned how to co-exist with them also.  It's simple.  I follow the lead of those visitors from the northern states.  I  keep my mouth shut and respect the fact that I'm a guest in their state.  Apparently the civil war is not over.

The generosity within the bluegrass music community is refreshing.  No matter how good the player is, they behave like they're no better than the novice.  I saw professionals jamming with novices, trading licks and songs as though they were equals.  There doesn't seem to be the same kind of distance between the stars and the fans.  Unbelievable and unprecedented in any other style of music.  

One final observation.  Where are the compact cars?  I'm sure there are some in Tennessee because I passed a Kia dealership but I didn't see any on the streets in downtown Nashville.  They like Cadillacs.

 

 

 

Salt Intake not in doubt when travelling on the 401

The city of Toronto renewed the contract for the Boardwalk Cafe the other day and lo and behold, it wasn't a McDonald's or a Harvey's or a Kentucky Fried Chicken Food.  These purveyors of lousy food seem to secure many of these contracts, probably by undercutting the independent operators who don't have the cash to compete.  I salute the Boardwalk Cafe and wish them continued success. 

However, the big food suppliers have prevailed on the major highway service centres.  I just read in The Star that the new "tenants will include Quiznos, Casey’s, East Side Mario’s, Extreme Pita, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Taco Bell, Pizza Pizza, Yogen Fruz, New York Fries, Teriyaki Experience, Starbucks, A & W, Burger King, Brioche Doree, Bento Nouveau and Cold Stone Creamery."

Last time I looked, none of these companies offered anything that can be remotely described as healthy fare.  Come to think of it, my guess is if you ate at these establishments exclusively for most of your life, you'd sacrifice many years of healthy living. 

What they generally do have in common however is dangerously high salt content in pretty much everything they serve.  Good to know.  Next time I need to replenish my daily salt intake, I really must remember to drive to a highway service centre and eat something... ANYTHING!

Banjoitis

I'm scheduling this to appear while I am immersed in a dream world brought on by a fatal disease called banjoitis.  This non viral condition hits one out of every three trillion people and I'm one of it's victims.  The dream world I'm talking about is a banjo camp in Olivet Michigan where hundreds of banjoitis patients will converge and while-away the days thinking breathing, eating and absorbing all things banjo.  Many of the best banjo players in the world will be in Olivet and believe me, they're a fun bunch who really know how to have a good time (I just have to make sure we don't talk politics or religion).. 

I experienced one of these before in Buckystown Maryland many years ago and it changed my life.  How you might ask?  My "pull offs" improved immensely.  This time, I'm hoping to return with better "hammer-ons". 

Therefore, I'd like to advise all friends, family members and music associates that as of next week, they will know a "new" Duncan Fremlin. 

To my friends, if I seem to be drifting away during a conversation and you're feeling like maybe I'm not paying attention to your profound opinions and thoughts, rest assured it has nothing to do with the inane content of your sentences.  I'm simply thinking of something more meaningful.

To my family, if I seem to be exhibiting strange and unusual behavior during simple mundane events like eating and driving, I ask that you "leave me the hell alone.  I'm thinking". 

To my music associates, LOOK OUT!  If you think last week's version of Frankie and Johnny was fast, hey, you ain't seen nothin' yet.  To my guitar player Bob, be warned that your chord chuckin' right hand will fall off before the end of the third chorus and to Howard on harmonica, that hernia you've always wanted will pop out in the first set.

Funny thing.... I asked a few people to come with me but there were no takers.  Go figure.

Romantification of Travel

I've written here before about a middle aged couple who sold there house a couple of years ago for a huge amount of money and hit the road.  I don't know them all  that well but they have included me on their travel emails and I've read each one with great interest.

For the most part, their travels to India, Southeast Asia, the southern United States and now Spain have sounded wonderful.  However, with a bit of "reading between the lines" and a whole lot of "imagining what it must really be like",  I've concluded this nomadic lifestyle is not for everyone.  

They haven't settled in any one place for any length of time.  When they do return to Canada, their emails are pleas for temporary accommodation such as  house-sitting opportunities and the like.   In situations like this, "you gets what you pays for" and I can't imagine these so called opportunities have always been wonderful.

Their many months traveling the back roads of India involved a lot of intestinal discomfort (as in very sick for along time) and if that's someone's idea of a good time, good on them.

Their emails paint each experience in the most positive light but the last one from Spain really does seem wonderful given all the sunshine and fresh food.

"This is our last week in Orgiva. The first two weeks were
very hot summer weather and then the temperatures dropped to a very
comfortable level. It is sunny and warm today, with lots of clouds,
and there is thunder rumbling...this lovely Spanish-style house is
cosy...

We know the village well now. We do the 20-minute walk to town every
few days or so to buy food. Every Thurs is market day with the local
farmers and hippies selling their wares. We combine market day with a
visit to the local thrift shop which is run by a women's group (made
up of mainly foreigners) with all monies going to help battered women.
One of the volunteers is a young woman from Oakville, Ont. Orgiva has
two health food stores. We know where to buy local fruits and
vegetables in the village. There are two small supermarkets that carry
a large amount of British food b/c there are so many Brits living
here.

We have found a favourite inexpensive Spanish red wine. We have been
enjoying some wonderful French cheeses and a local Spanish cheese. We
add local olives to our wine and cheese and (rediscovered & updated to
whole grains) British Ryvita crackers for our late afternoon
'indulgence' as we  sit on the terrace admiring the view of the
orchard/garden and the Sierra Nevada mountains behind.

For dessert, after our mostly vegetarian dinners, we have found an
excellent store-bought flan, and dark chocolate with almonds. I tried
making homemade honey vanilla almond (no sugar) ice cream but it
didn't turn out well. Perhaps it was using goat's milk instead of
cow's milk that made the difference. No one else liked it so I had to
eat it all -- all by myself!

We know how to pick  and dry almonds, when to pick pomegranates, how
to seed them and the best way to eat them, and exactly when the figs
are ready for eating right off the tree. We are still trying to figure
out how to pick the walnuts b/c they are covered in a black ink which
stains everything in sight! We have huge respect for 'water' after
overseeing the weekly acequias water irrigation allotment with
Antonio, the Master of the Water, and his one-eyed dog.

We both enjoyed reading Chris Stewart's "Driving over Lemons" and "A
Parrot in the Pepper Tree" which are all about his life as a Brit
settling and farming outside of Orgiva with his wife and daughter (who
was born here).

We have met several British people who have made a life for themselves
here...We met one fellow and his little 6-year-old daughter, Carlotta,
as we walked to town recently. Carlotta speaks German b/c her mother
is German, French b/c her father is French, English b/c they were
living and working in London, and Spanish b/c she is going to school
in Orgiva for the year. She seems to have very little confusion with
the separate languages. She spoke English to us and French to her
father as we walked along. We also met in town a young woman from
Montreal (very few other nationalities besides Brits have settled
here) who lives in a yurk outside of town with her French partner and
two-year-old son, and no electricity or running water. We talked with
her for quite a while...so interesting the choices people make...

We have explored some of the surrounding small Moorish villages, and
hiked some of the Sierra Nevada mountain ridges and valleys with
English friends (avid 'walkers') who came to stay with us...

This Christian is the "real McCoy"

I've written often about my friend in India, Ravi Kumar.  He continues to impress me with is devotion and hard work..  I received an email from him last week.  Here he is riding his motorcycle with one of the Habitators.

Most loving Greetings

This is to bring to your kind notice that I have shifted my residence from Hyderabad to Khammam which is central location to cover entire Andhra Pradesh. . Khammam is a town and 180 KM distance from Hyderabad (capital of Andhra Pradesh)

Khammam is a small town and backward area , mainly tribal communities are living in and surroundings of the Khammam. I would like to concentrate more on Dalits and Tribals. I hope my presence will help more on interventions to empower Dalits and Tribals. They are lacking awareness on their entitlements in order to tap the resources from the Government. I will be in touch again with more details.

Thanking you for all your kind support Regards Ravi Kumar

I immediately replied and reminisced with him about our time in Khammam a couple of years ago.  We helped with a Habitat for Humanity build there.  He replied yesterday.

Dear Duncan Sir Greetings from India

I am so glad to see your mail. Thank you for your willingness to visit once again. I have been recollecting sweet memories in Khamma with your team particularly how Karen madam suffered with her finger. Good to recollect memories. How is Karen madam . Hope we will meet one day .

I am so busy with Dalit children and youth. Most of the youth are lacking computer skills to work in the offices . Since Dalits have no capacity to pay fees for learning computer course they are missing many employment opportunities. I am planning to establish small computer training center so that Dalit youth will get opportunity to learn computer knowledge as well as employment opportunities. If you have any friends working in social sector, please recommend us to establish computer training center.

Yes! Geetha is living in Khammam. She is fine. My residence address is: T. Ravi Kumar, 5 – 20/B, Ashoknagar, Sitharampuram post, Kothur, Khammam Urban – 507003, Andhra Pradesh, India

Regards Ravi

Ravi is an Indian Christian and you can bet there aren't many of those.  He has to make major sacrifices to maintain his faith.  He lives the life in a way that few can duplicate here in the west. 

  I must walk down to the Western Union office and send him a few dollars for his work. 

Harry Wolfe 1930-2008

Growing up in Algoma District and the Sault Ste. Marie area, we certainly knew of Foster Hewitt on the CBC doing the play-by-play for the Toronto Maple Leafs.  The real hero of the day however was the broadcaster on the local radio station, CKCY.  His name was Harry Wolfe.  He was the voice of the Soo Greyhounds for as long as I lived there.  He died a couple of days ago.

My first and most important memory of Harry was when the Soo had a semi pro team in the old Eastern Professional Hockey League.  He'd bring us the games from Hull-Ottawa, Trois Riviere, Kingston and Kitchener.... places that sounded as exotic as Paris France.  This would be 1959.  On that team were a very young Phil Esposito (local boy) and Gerry Cheevers.

Radio continues to be the medium of choice for me in my adult years and I owe much of that to Harry Wolfe.  The images he helped create are still there and I can recall them to this day as clearly as when I was a boy.

Safari in Botswana

It all began innocently enough with a late afternoon safari. It was of course hot, dusty and as usual, exhilarating. The spottings were endless; aardwolf, wild cat, jackals and many more.
We were returning to camp when we heard on the radio that a pair of cheetahs were spotted. It was rapidly getting dark so we had to move fast. Sefo our guide yelled "hold on" and we began our bouncy ride across the delta. It reminded me of the machines they use to mix paint. Rather jarring.
Just when we thought we had lost the battle with the darkness, Sefo spotted the cats in the distance. He swung the Landrover around just in time to catch a glimpse (and a terrific photo) of these gorgeous creatures.
Our journey back had just resumed when someone yelled "I think I see a fire". Moments later, we came upon a most surreal scene right out of a movie.
A bonfire illuminated a long dining room table, covered with linen, set with finery more likely found at a class hotel than an African field. There were waiters running to and fro, the barbecue pit was going strong and just to the right a few feet behind a parked jeep, our headlights shone on a little toilet set up over a newly dug hole. Good grief. They thought of everything. I was expecting Izzy Sharp to greet us.

No, it wasn't Izzy. Rather it was the entourage of cooks and waiters lining up to welcome us with traditional song and dance. What could possibly happen next? Little did I know.

We're here in rainy season or should I say the insect season. Tonight was a special night in Africa.
This is the one night of the year that millions of termites don wings and leave their nest for an aeriel search of a girlfriend. They're not flying insects by nature so after they land, their wings fall off. Yes, the table cloth was covered with discarded wing material. This is a special night for the villagers also. Apparently, these termites are a delicacy and if dried and fried, I was told they taste a bit like peanut butter.
There were many other varieties of bugs sharing our meal and drink but since it was dark and we were eating by kerosene lamps, they all looked alike to me. That is, they all looked like cockroaches.

And then there were the fist sized, black flying dung beetles that had the annoying habit of dropping from the sky in our soup and scaring the bejesus out of us?

Fortunately, it started to rain and we had to break camp and return to the lodge where we were greeted by swarms of moths.

Ah yes, not a typical Botswana dinner perhaps but a memorable one nonetheless.

Cape Coast Ghana

This is the last leg of our time in Ghana.  We were sure glad to see the bus the day we left the village.  It was time to leave.

The tour company provided the bus and a terrific guide, Kofi.  An obviously learned man in his 50's, he told us many stories of his country and particularly Cape Coast which was our destination.  He was the first of many local guides who were knowledgeable, charming and skilled story tellers.

Our first stop was the English slave castle (fort) built in the mid 1600's.  The castle tour guide also was an engaging story teller with a terrific accent so we were enthralled with his stories.  And what stories they were. 

The horrors that occurred at this place were made only more horrific by the opulent lifestyle of the British Governor who lived above the cavernous holes below.  Adjacent to his apartment was a chapel where he could go to attempt to cleanse his pathetic soul.

We learned a lot about the slave trade and not once was the Ghanaian guide accusatory.  he simply told the story and allowed us to imagine the despair that the dark and cool rooms revealed.  As a group, we were eerily silent that day. 

Of course it wasn't just the British.  Also complicit were the Portuguese, Dutch, Spanish, French and many other so called civilized nations.

The Ghanaians didn't help themselves in that the tribes were pitted against each other.  Each would kidnap the other's healthiest and most valuable citizens and sell them to the slave traders for rum and guns.  Consequently, the villagers could never develop and grow and prosper.  It was always the poor and weak who were left to maintain the culture and the tribe.  As Kofi said, an estimated 60 million Ghanaians died and a much smaller number survived to work in the sugar plantations of Barbados and the cotton fields of Louisiana. 

They would be brought to the dungeons in shackles and left for 6 weeks or more, waiting for the ships to arrive and take away those strong enough to endure the despicable conditions.  There was no sanitation, little food and filthy water and few survived to tell the tale.