Moved to a New Home

I've been going through the process of creating a new web site and in the process have moved my blog to a new location.

You can now find me at http://www.gregdinning.com/. Or, if you're Canadian and feeling particularly patriotic, go to http://www.gregdinning.ca/. Same thing.

I've started blogging again (just), and am in the process of adding new content (like pictures). It's a bit of a work in progress for now, but it'll happen.

Hope you haven't given up on me completely, and that I'll see you there!

Lip Balm, and Goodbye to Kilgore Trout

For some time, I've had a list of things that I would like to do or achieve before I die. Some, I've already accomplished: go to India, learn a foreign language, eat a rodent. Some, like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, I believe I will one day achieve. Others, I don't think I will ever manage. One of the goals I will likely never accomplish is to finish a tube of lip balm. For the last three years, I have been trying my best to meet this lofty goal, but so far, triumph has eluded me. I had spent almost a year on one tube, meticulously keeping track of its location at all times to ensure I didn't lose it. That one went through the laundry. Until recently, I had been working on another tube for well over a year, and based on the uneven weight distribution, I think I was pretty close. I made the mistake of putting it in my pocket in Mexico with two dead batteries which I later threw in the garbage. Later I discovered one of the batteries was actually my lip balm. Once again my dreams were shattered.

Since I was facing a really long, dry flight to Rome, I was forced to buy another one. I made the mistake of buying cherry Labello. Men, be warned: this stuff makes your lips red. It also comes in a lipstick-style tube. Why does this product exist, and why does it have no warnings? I'll tell you one thing though, I would be totally hot in drag.

On a more serious note, one of my favourite authors, Kurt Vonnegut passed away this week. I would like to wish him a fond farewell. The Tralfamadorians know that we will see you later in some previous time, but until then, thanks for the wonderful stories and the inspiration.

Greg's Roman Art Day

I finished class at noon today so, I had a bit of an art day around Rome. I wanted to go and see the Sistene Chapel, but of course, it being another bloody religious holiday, it probably would have been closed. Instead, I went to Santa Maria del Popolo to see the Caravaggios, Fontana de Tritone to see Bernini's triton, and the Basilica di San Pietro in Vincoli to see the tomb of Pope Julius II by Michelangelo. I blended this fine art with my iPod playing the Fratellis which themselves are like a blend of crack and pop-rocks.

First, the metro to Piazza del Popolo. I think this might be my favourite piazza that I saw in Rome. It's big, there are lots of people, but not too crowded, and there's a lovely view in any direction. I first went to see the Caravaggios. Unfortunately they were placed in a little chapel that didn't have very good lighting which is too bad because of the striking light in the Crucifixion of Saint Peter. I found The Conversion of Paul on the Road to Damascus was very difficult to see. While there, I also saw the Assumption of the Virgin Mary by Carracci. I've seen pictures of it before and always thought it looked a little cartoonish for my taste. But, who am I to knock Carracci?

Next, I spent a little more time hanging out in the piazza before moving on. Naturally there was a band of Ecuadorian pan-flute players. Given the choice, I would prefer to be a hammer rather than a nail just as much as the next guy, but enough with the Simon and Garfunkel.

I moved on to Bernini's Triton and my path took me up the Spanish steps. I haven't lost my super-human cardiovascular system recently acquired in Mexico yet, so I was able to scamper up the stairs without even starting to lose my breath. I was like some kind of animal that is half gazelle and half mountain goat being chased by some kind of animal that is half lion and half whatever eats mountain goats.

I stopped on the way for a double espresso pick-me-up. I love how you can just order it at the bar, stand there and drink it, and off you go. No messing about with a table or anything. And god damn these people can make coffee. I got to the triton, which is a lovely fountain, but there's not that much to see, and no place to really sit and enjoy it. There is traffic, a triton, people taking pictures of said triton, and that's about it.

After that, I got lost. Eventually, I found my way to Via Nazionale, which was my destination, via a big tunnel. I wandered around the former Papal Palace with the statues of Castor and Pollux (a.k.a. Castore e Polluce). I walked to see the four fountains at the corner of Via delle Quattro Fontane and XX Settembre. I love those fountains.

Last stop on art day was the Basilica di San Pietro in Vincoli. This basilica holds the chains used to hold Saint Peter when he was imprisoned in Jerusalem (vincoli is chains in Italian). There were also a number of Raffaellos and the tomb of Pope Julius II by Michelangelo. The statue of Moses on the tomb has horns due to a mis-translation between the terms "beams of light" and "horns" in Latin. You have to remember that this statue was made before the invention of fact-checkers. There was also a painting which I could have sworn before was a Caravaggio (although it didn't look like it person). As I was looking at it, I looked down and realised I was standing on Pope Gregory XVI, albeit indirectly, since I was only standing on his tomb.

It was a bit early for dinner, but I went anyway. Pizza at my new Roman pizza spot. After, I headed to the metro at the Colosseum to go back to the hotel. There were tons of people around, but I thought it was just a Friday night in Rome thing. The crowds thickened to the point of it being impossible to move through them. I heard a small group of people speaking French and decided to ask what was going on. I opened my mouth and what came out was a shitty patois mixture of French and Spanish which might have actually been Basque or Portuguese or a shitty patois mixture of Basque and Portuguese. The man looked at me like I was in idiot in the literal sense of the word (having an IQ below 25) and after a moment said slowly in French something about Good Friday (I was too flustered and embarrassed to listen closely to his response). I'm not sure, but I think I saw him fishing in his pocket for some spare change. I turned around and sure enough, there was a cross lit up facing the Colosseum. I was in serious danger of attending Mass. I had to get out of there, and quickly.

As I pushed my way through the crowd towards the entrance of the metro, I paused and considered the fact that some sucker devoted volunteer might be about to lug a giant cross down the street only to let a small crowd haul him up on it. I thought about the "wow... this seemed like such a good idea when I signed up, but this bloody hurts" look on his face. Nope - not worth it. Got to go.

There were bars across the door and police guarding the entrance. Eager to make up for my previous linguistic atrocity, I pulled out my best Italian and put together the most complicated sentence I've ever formulated: "Il metro è chiuso qua?" I don't even know where the words came from. It was beautiful and moving. The woman replied (in English) that it was closed here, but I could walk to either Cavour or Circo Massimo and started to explain where they were. Who did she think she was talking to? I am Greg Dinning, metro-slut.

After a quick calculation I opted for Circo Massimo which I deemed to be closer, but it was almost impossible to move that way through the crowd. I had to take the long way around the Colosseum. Following a small group of like-minded heathens, we skirted through the crowd, climbed up a small wall and went through a park and some ruins. On the other side of the crowd, traffic was blocked off and there were almost no people. From there the speed at which we could move is probably easier to express relative to Mach than in km/h.

Tomorrow, I'm up at 4:30 to catch a 7:20 flight to Toronto via Paris. I hate when I have to get up so early that the person arranging the taxi says "Tonight?" instead of "Tomorrow morning?".

Greg Doesn't Speak Italian

If you've ever seen the movie "Roman Holiday", then read no further because that was pretty much my day. Only without Audrey Hepburn or any other love interest, which admittedly is a large part of the plot. Oh ya - and there was no plot. But given that I share my first name with the actor who played the main character, I was in Rome, and I went to the Colosseum, the similarities are striking and more than a little eerie. Oh yes; most people find me more dashing than Gregory Peck, although some people prefer to use the terms "ravishingly handsome" or simply, "yummy".

Warning: This was a big day, so this is going to be a big post. I spent a lot of time by myself today just thinking about stupid things that I can write about. Better cancel your next meeting.

I hate not being able to speak Italian. I try to say a couple of words, and when they immediately come back to me in English, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I just don't have the vocabulary to insist that I continue to butcher their language. However, of the thirty or so words I do know, I certainly do try to bandy them about. I just love dragging out that penultimate syllable. GRAzie. BuonGIORno. CappuCCIno. What a hoot. And who doesn't love to say, "Ciao"? I've been experimenting and it seems that a little knowledge of Spanish helps a lot. Change the B's to V's (although sometimes to a 'P'), ch to tt, and a couple of other little things and you're getting close. I haven't quite figured out verb conjugation yet (all the usual irregular ones are weird), but initial experiments are promising.

I started off by taking the metro to Circo Massimus where I was able to easily walk to the Colosseum and hopefully get some good views on the way. The Circus Maximus is now little more than a green area, although people walk and jog there. Maybe later in the week I'll do a couple of Ben Hur's around the loop. I'll have to see about fastening spikes to the sides of my running shoes.

I walked to the Colosseum, noshing on a panini with prosciutto (my jaw is still aching). When I got there, there was a long queue to get in, and Homey don't play that, so I didn't see the inside. I've heard that there's not actually that much to see there anyway. I took the obligatory pictures and moved on through the forum.

When it comes to batteries dying, I am like a prophet. As I left this morning, I thought to myself, "I really should have charged my camera batteries". Sure enough, they died while I was right in the middle of the forum far from any place that might sell batteries and surrounded by a million photo opportunities. I had to walk out of the forum, get batteries and walk back. This happens to me every single time I go out to take pictures somewhere interesting. Every. Single. Time.

For any single guys out there... When you travel and you see two cute girls taking pictures of each other, offer to take a picture of them together for them. Language doesn't matter. You're a tourist, they're tourists, all tourists want to meet people, and you're showing what a nice guy you are. If you're really too shy to offer, try to awkwardly take a picture of yourself in front of whatever site you're in front of. They will almost always offer to take your picture for you (and if not, they're probably nasty and you don't want to meet them anyway). It's so easy that it's almost not fair- you have no excuse. This is generally a good way to meet anybody when you travel.

Time for a little lunch. This time another panini and a big beer. The food for the body, and the beer to help prevent my brain from over-developing and making me too smart. I sat near Trajan's column and listened to the ubiquitous Ecuadorian pan flute band kicking out jams by Air Supply and Abba. You may know that Mormons are required to spend a year abroad preaching their faith. Many countries require mandatory military service. In a similar vein, I suspect that Ecuadorians are required to spend a year abroad playing the pan flutes at shopping malls and tourist attractions because man, they are everywhere.

There are quite a few beggars in Rome. A number of them are women who prostrate themselves in front of an icon of the virgin Mary and a small empty Pringles can (the can is present without exception). These women are part of a little-known sect called the Followers of Our Lady of Monosodium Glutemate. I also saw a man sitting in a doorway with the story of how he lost his house and family written on a large sheet of card paper and a can of change, weeping openly. A large crowd had gathered around. My heart was frosty; I've watched enough World Cup Football to know that an Italian man on the ground in anguish means nothing. I'm sure that if someone had shown a yellow card to one of the passersby he would have been fine (I hope none of my students this week read that). Besides; after this happened to him, he had the presence of mind to sit down and think up a plan, go out and buy card paper and a Sharpe, write out his story, get an empty coffee can, and find an empty doorway on a busy thouroughfare. This would have taken me at least two days to organise. After all that, the tears are still streaming down his face. Time to learn how to re-assess your priorities in dealing with major life issues, dude.

I hadn't really thought about it, but I got to knock another country off the list - Vatican City. Yes, it is a country. Yes, this is a cheap one, but it counts. I got a little lost on the way there, but all I had to do was follow the reverse direction of the groups of teenagers shouting, holding palm leaves (it's Palm Sunday today), and waving flags declaring their religion. It's as if they were an invading army. There were tons of these little armies of Euro-teens heading to Saint Peters. One particularly obnoxious group of Spanish kids was yelling and singing and blocking traffic, including a police car. When told to move by the polizia, he said something snippy to the cop (didn't hear what he said). Of course the other little soldiers in his little army thought this was hilarious. So did he until he got hauled off and chucked into the back of the police car. The little soldiers in the little army didn't sing or yell any more after that. Once again, karma at work. In fact, he's lucky that karma acted so quickly. If it hadn't, it might have built up and later in life he would have gotten chlamydia.

It was a longer walk than I expected to get to St. Peter's. It felt like I walked halfway across the country to get there (ha ha - I've been waiting all day to use that). There was a bit of a queue going into St. Peter's but for Michelangelo, I'll make a slight exception. I have to admit that the inside of the church was spectacular. I wandered around a bit and then went to the entrance to the Vatican museum. I, didn't go in since the Sistine Chapel was closed today (once again - Palm Sunday). This is where the Vatican houses many of the treasures purchased with the 2000 years of taxes, tithes and toil paid by my ancestors. The entrance fee was six Euro. I wonder how you say "irony" in Latin.

After leaving Vatican City, I walked along the Tiber River towards the Piazza del Popolo. I took a little side jaunt to see the Mausoleum of Augustus. Back in the day, if you were rich, powerful, good-looking, and cremated, this was the place to be seen. People were dying to get in there, but you really had to urn the privilege (I've been waiting all day to use those too. Sorry about the puns; I'm being a bit of an ash). There wasn't much to see, but I had a bit of a coughing attack while walking around the building. I think I might have inhaled a little Marcus Agrippa.

On to the Popolo; a nice little square with a lovely fountain in the middle. At this point, it was pretty hot and I'd been walking all day in the sun. A bit of a face wash with the cool water was just the thing. On to the Spanish steps. I totally overshot them and had to turn around and backtrack. As luck would have it, I stumbled into the Trevi Fountain. Legend says that if you throw a coin into this fountain, you will one day return to Rome. I was pretty tired by this time, and decided to wait on tossing the coin until I'd made up my mind for sure. By the way, calling it a mere fountain diminishes it in terms of size and grandeur.

I made it to the Spanish steps (which weren't as big as I was expecting) where I plunked my arse down for about an hour and a half and stared into space. There were tons of people there. I talked to a family from Tucson for a bit. I explained how to get to the Trevi fountain. No matter how many times I said the name or pointed to a sign or map that had it written on it, the father insisted on calling it the "Trivia" Fountain. I'm not sure if they ended up going, but I think his wife was keen on meeting Alex Trebec. Good people though.

After that, a bit more wandering (including another pass by Trevi where I chucked in a coin), dinner, wine and a walk back to the metro past the Colosseum. Got some good night shots.

I didn't write a thing about Mexico, so I still owe that one. Probably, you'll see that later this week.

Chapter 58: In which the auther rediscovers the joy of having knees and learns Italian

I can't believe that I haven't posted in a week. I've been so good up until now. I shouldn't complain. It's not even the end of March, and I've already posted more than I did all last year.

I haven't run in a week because my knees hurt so bad that I could barely walk. Silly me just thought that if I worked harder, that somehow I could just "run through the pain". This seemed reasonable to me since it didn't seem that different from my approach to mechanical problems in my car: if you ignore them, they will eventually get better as mechanical problems are wont to do. Anyway, I finally decided to take a week away from it and today was the first day I could walk down stairs without any discomfort. I tested out the new knees today on an easy mile. So far so good, but I think a couple of braces and a proper pair of running shoes might be in order.

I'm in Toronto now, and on Sunday, I leave from here to go Mexico City. I can't wait for some of those deliciously nasty street tacos. Originally, I was supposed to go to Rome the week after, but for about a month, I've been hearing that it wasn't going to happen, so I didn't worry about it much. I got an email yesterday, and it's happening. Because of my schedule and the distances involved, I'm not going to make it home for four weeks. Thank god I don't need a visa. Here's my planned itinerary.

• March 18: Greg drives to Toronto
• March 23: Greg finishes class at noon and goes to Newmarket
• March 25: Greg flies to Mexico City, sleeping on the plane. Spends the afternoon at the Diego Rivera museum looking at lillies and Frida Kahlo's eyebrows
  
• March 28 7:23: Greg goes out looking for street tacos and gets mugged (OK, this might not happen, but I've never been robbed before and I'm probably due). He curses all chilangos everywhere and says lots of bad words
  
• March 30 8:00am: Greg checks out of his hotel, goes to class, and finishes by noon
• March 30 1:00pm: Greg eats tacos, goes to the airport and spends four hours in the afternoon learning to speak absolutely perfect Italian
• March 30 10:30pm: Greg gets on flight to Rome via Paris
• March 31 7:55pm: Greg arrives in Rome and smells really bad. He sleeps for 14 hours
  
• April 1: Greg sees everything there is to see in Rome. He drinks so much espresso that he wets himself and doesn't sleep for three days. Visa puts a hold on his card after buying a metro ticket and wifi access.
  
• April 7: Greg leaves Rome to go back to Toronto. It's Gavin's and Krista's birthdays (hey guys, just because I haven't called in 15 years doesn't mean I forgot)
• April 8: Greg picks up his car in Newmarket, drives to Waterloo and on the way there, realises that he forgot to tell Lara's brother, David, that he is going to spend the week on his couch
• April 12: Home again to Ottawa. The kids announce that "that guy in the picture is back again"
  

Chapter 57: In which the author buys his third iPod and considers the purchase of a pair of ruby slippers

Storms a-comin'. At least that's what I'm told. When I stepped out of the hotel tonight for dinner, it was beginning to rain and the air felt thick and humid. In speaking with my new buddy at the restaurant (which I went to last night as well), I hear there's a good chance of a tornado. I was only hoping for a cracking good thunderstorm, but if we get a twister, maybe I'll have something interesting to write about tomorrow.

I just purchased an iPod shuffle; a tiny, blue clip-on one. I love it. The music it plays is completely random, but it always seems to know exactly what I want to hear. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that I selected the music that went on it. I wasn't sure how it was going to behave with my iPod video. I kept them on separate sides of my laptop until I was sure they would get along. At first, you could see that they were curious about each other by the way they eyed each other across the keyboard, although they didn't quite know what to make of each other. Fortunately, all is well and the two get along fine.

The reason I bought it is that I have a more-or-less permanent ache in my left thumb from clutching my iPod video while I run. The shuffle is weightless and clips on to my shirt. My other thumb is still sore from a ball that jammed it during a dodgeball practice a couple of weeks ago. No need to point out who threw it: they know who they are. I miss having the use of both of my thumbs. It somehow makes me feel less-than-primate.

Oh yeah - I play on a dodgeball team. Well sort of... More on that some other night in some other post.

I had a piece of peanut butter pie after dinner. It had some chocolate sauce. It was really good. Really, really good. Peanut butter and chocolate is my arch-enemy. My nemesis. The Lex Luthor to my Clark Kent. The Zoltar to my G-Force. I know that it's bad for me and I hate it, but despite its rich, creamy depravity, I love it so and know that I can never truly leave it. Such is our kismet.

People I met:
The waiter from the restaurant. He works at State Farm during the day, and as a waiter at night. I asked him why, and he says it's because he's a single dad and has lots of kids. I'm not sure if he works a second job to support them or to get away from them.

I Got the Daylight Savings Blues

Daylight savings really messes me up bad, and I don't understand why. I completely get timezones. I can track seven different people in seven different time zones without messing up, but move the clock by an hour within the same time zone and I'm totally thrown off. It just boggles my mind - it's like calculating the solution to partial differential equations. And to top it off, what really messes me up is trying to figure out what time it is in countries that don't follow daylight savings. Thank god for Google (try "what time is it in ").

What a great feeling on the that first day after the spring time change, when you get the extra hour of light at night. It always makes you feel like spring is just around the corner. Add to that the warm sunny day we had today (it was 8C when I arrived today in Chicago), and you can't help but feel like the winter is coming to an end. It looks like I will fulfill my goal this year of not touching a snow shovel for the entire winter.

I'm back in Bloomington again. There's not much to do or many places to eat, but now that it's light a little bit later, maybe I'll swing by the hotel on Washington St. to see if they still have the room full of lamp shades. If so I'll take a picture and post it here. It's really something. Other than that I have no plans other than to pick up a nice bottle of wine at Friar Tuck's (a really good liquor store in Bloomington with a stellar selection of wines).

I Hate Cyborgs

I hate those stupid bluetooth ear pieces that everyone seems to be wearing nowadays. I can understand putting one on when you have a call coming and you need your hands free for something. But why is it that every third person in every airport and restaurant has one permanently fastened to their head? Do they get calls so important during dinners with their families that they can't spend an extra second clipping it on? Do they think it makes them look cool like the Borg in Star Trek? Do they heat up through overuse and fuse to your skin? I even see people wearing them on planes when you can't even use your cell phone. I hope they're waterproof because I bet these people don't even take them off to shower. I don't get it.

And on that note, I would now like to apologise to any of my readers who use these things regularly.

I was going to go to an Indian restaurant tonight that served a curry made from goats hearts and liver. You know how some cultures believe that if you eat the hearts of your enemies, you will acquire their strength? I was thinking that if I had that stew I would acquire the power of the goat. Then I'd be able to eat leather hats and tin cans.

It's Thursday and nothing has happened yet to me in Kansas City. I'm losing hope.

10km or Bust

Since Christmas, I've been working pretty hard to get back in shape (no it wasn't a New Year's resolution), and started to do a bit of running. To my surprise, I didn't hate it half as much as I remembered and was actually able to run more than a half kilometre without collapsing in a pool of my own sweat and vomit. So, I kept it up. As is often my way, I started talking a lot of smack about how I was going to do a 10km run in the spring. Naturally this was a load of crap since I've never run more than 5km in my life until just a couple of weeks ago.

Just around the time that I decided I should reel in my expectations and maybe just go for a 5km run, my dear friend Rich decided to sign us both up for the 10km run. Although his intentions were good, I know in my heart that one day he will have to answer to a higher power for that. I believe that during the race, I will probably die. For the record, let it be known that I regret nothing.

As a result, I'm in much better shape than I was a couple of months ago. It's really made me think about how you can work so hard at something for years and then lose it very quickly if you're not careful. For example, I had spent almost 15 years grooming myself for the role of Fat Bastard's son in an upcoming Austin Powers movie, and now my dreams have been shattered all because of a couple months of careless diet and exercise.

Still nothing exciting nor interesting has happened to me in Kansas City. Stay tuned though, I have a feeling tomorrow is the day it will all go down.

Greg vs. the Guinea Pig

I'm in Kansas City right now, and nothing interesting has happened to me yet. Also, I'm feeling too lazy to try to write about nothing. To fill the void in my creativity, here’s an entry that I wrote while I was in Ecuador last year that I never got around to posting. At the time of writing, I hadn’t gotten the “traveller’s affliction” yet which I strongly suspect was brought on by the cuy. Looks like the guinea pig won after all. I was sick as a dog, although it was nothing compared to what I got in Delhi. That could have been better described as a “sick as an industrial strength, high-pressured, automatic vomit machine”.

I spent another day just kind of hanging around Quito. First I went to the Plaza de Santa Domingo right outside of my hotel and checked out the church. After that, I just sat in the square and people-watched for about a half hour.

I decided to see if I could find a closer trolley station that headed north. Trolley stations aren’t all that hard to find. Just look for the wires over the street and follow them. My walk took me to the Plaza de Independencia where I probably spent another good hour taking pictures and people watching. From there, I followed the trolley wires, but the station that I took yesterday was closed, so I walked on to the next station. It looks like the station I took before is as close as I’m going to get. For twenty-five cents, I guess I can walk for ten minutes.

I took the trolley a ways up and got off to find a restaurant that served cebollado, a soup made from seafood and a bunch of other stuff that was supposed to be quite good. After a bit of wandering, I found the place. The cebollado that I ate was “mixto” which is Spanish for “contains every animal you might have possibly found on Noah’s ark”. You eat it with some sliced onion, lime juice and spicy sauce. Popcorn is a ubiquitous side-dish in Ecuador which I find interesting, but not objectionable.

One thing to note about the hot sauce is that it’s actually hot. It’s not like in Colombia where they make a tasty sauce, keep it in the same room as a hot pepper for ten minutes and call it “piquante”. It actually is spicy. Lots of water and three bathroom breaks later - lesson learned.

From there, I went to Parque Catalina and went to the Natural Science museum and Botanical Gardens. The gardens were great. I spent hours just wandering around. I stopped for a “mora” juice which is kind like what you would get if a blackberry, raspberry, and a currant had a party in a blender. Love it! Have I mentioned how good the juice is down here? You can’t get half of these fruits at home.

After the museum and the gardens, I still wasn’t hungry, so I took a walk into “Gringolandia” which I’m sure needs no translation. I wouldn’t say it’s quite a backpacker slum, but it’s as close as I’ve seen in Quito. There are tons of western-style restaurants with most of the signs on the street in English. I chose a cool little joint called Café Sutra for a couple of drinks to help me work up an appetite for cuy.

One of the things that I wanted to do while I was down here was try “cuy” which is guinea pig. This is considered an Andean delicacy, so I had to try it. Don’t get me wrong; I liked Hammy Hamster just as much as the next kid, but it had to be done.

On the way into Gringolandia, I had walked past a place called Mama Clorindas which I had heard serves cuy. It was fate. I softened myself up with a shot of aguardiente (local South American firewater) and ordered a whole one. I was quite looking forward to it at this point. When it came, it was about twice the size I was expecting. I told the waiter it was more like a baby goat than a guinea pig. The cuy was breaded and I have to say wasn’t quite as good as I was expecting (nothing to do with how it was prepared). I had heard it was like a cross between rabbit and chicken, but a lot of it is just skin, fat, and bone with not as much meat as one would like. All that aside, I still recommend you try it if you get the chance.

After that, I wandered around to check out what was going on with the Halloween parties; I had heard music and seen a group of people congregating. By the time I got there the music had stopped and everybody seemed to be just waiting for something to happen. I hopped in a cab and came home.

Random people I met:

A couple from Australia who were heading back home tonight. They had spent twenty-five days here, but didn’t speak much Spanish. I helped them order tacos at the snack bar at the botanical gardens.

I had a good chat with the cab driver on the way home. He was trying to learn a bit of English. His wife is Dutch, and is a local tour guide. They spent six months living and working in the Netherlands and then six months in Germany. I learned that Halloween is not a holiday for kids in Quito – it’s more of a party thing.

Paris and Bloomington: Compare and Contrast

I've left the romance, lights and brasseries of Paris for the deep-fried goodness of gravy and process cheese of Bloomington, Illinois. Could two places possibly be more different? Probably, but only if Paris was inhabited by people with monkey heads who walked backwards and said, "goodbye" when they entered a room and "hello" when they left it.

My new laptop just showed up at home today thereby re-asserting my status as alpha-geek in almost any room I step into. Dual core, 2GB RAM, wide screen with a fingerprint scanner. Oh how the yokels in Kansas next week will revere and worship me! Like a god!

My travel schedule is now booked up into May. Being the eternal optimist that I am, I cancelled the US plan on my cell phone. A big mistake was that. Might have to switch that back. I want my free North American roaming and damn the phone bill!

As I stepped out of my Mustang convertible in front of my hotel with my Starbucks decaf Americano in hand (no sugar, black as the day is long), only one thought was going through my head: I am way too cool for Bloomington.

I'm kind of curious as to who is still reading this after my long hiatus. If you're reading, leave a comment! Just click on the "comments" link below.

Attack of the Killer Insects from Cartagena

I spent part of an evening sitting out by the pool last Wednesday when I was in Cartagena and got bitten quite badly by mosquitoes. I don't know if they have a different kind of mosquito in Colombia, but these ones are nasty. It's been over a week and my feet and elbows where I was bitten are still covered in giant red welts that itch like crazy. I'm not sure but I don't think that's normal as I don't usually react to mosquito bites at all. I even went so far as to double-check that this was not an early symptom of malaria. Maybe it wasn't mosquitoes at all and it was spiders biting me and laying eggs. Didn't that happen in that movie The Serpent and the Rainbow? I used to have nightmares about that. Wonderful thought.

Visa put a hold on my card this week. Fair enough as I forgot to call them before I left on this trip. When I called them to get it released, they did the usual verification of the purchases that led to the hold in the first place. The purchases in question were the ten euro I spent for Wifi access, and the 2.70 euro I spent on a train ticket to Paris on Sunday. Apparently, dropping well over a thousand dollars on hotels, meals, and drinks in Colombia wasn't an issue. The big-time thieves are after Wifi and public transportation. Lovely. Good job.

Lara made it to Paris yesterday. She was a bit dragged out from having flown all night and then walking around Paris all day yesterday. We ended up going to a good Moroccan place not far from the hotel in Noisy le Grand. Moroccan food is good. Tonight we'll go to the city before she heads back home in the morning.

A Week in Paris

I just realised today that I have now been in Paris for four days and haven't had a single glass of wine. How pathetic is that? The problem is that I've been too lazy (and too full from lunch) to bother going out for a proper dinner. I'm in the food capital of the world and all I've been eating is donair and turkish food.

Part of the problem is that I'm not actually in Paris itself. I'm staying out in a small town called Noisy le Grand which is where the class is being held. Although it would only take a half hour on the train to get into the centre of the city, I just don't have the energy to do it. By the time I get done class and get back to the hotel and get changed and then think about how much studying I have to do for class the next couple of days, I'm about as likely to go on the next lunar mission as I am to hop on the RER into town.

Lara is coming out tomorrow morning for a couple days (hooray for Aeroplan points!), so I'm sure that I'll be spending the next couple of nights in the city.

I went into the city on Sunday which was an incredible 18C and sunny; a near-perfect day. I spent the day mostly walking around Notre Dame, along the Seine to the Eiffel Tower and then back to the Musée d'Orsay. The Musée d'Orsay is a must see for me anytime I'm in Paris (haven't missed it on a visit yet). The third floor of impressionists and post-impressionists is one of my holy places. Seeing the thickly streaked globs of paint on a Van Gogh self-portrait, or the oranges, reds, and greens of a Cezanne can send shivers up my spine.

I got to class super-late on Monday morning. Who would have thought that any town in its right mind would have two streets with the same name and locate them about a mile apart. I walked for an hour before I found the location (which I found only through luck). I had no cell phone nor phone card so I had no way of getting in touch with anybody. It was surreal wandering through a French suburb with my laptop completely unable to do anything about my situation. Just a helpless man wandering lost and alone through underpasses and efficient yet soul-less 8-unit apartment buildings. How very postmodern.

Bogotá Airport Sucks

I just arrived in my hotel in Paris. Although I say I'm in Paris, I'm not really, at least not quite. I'm out in the suburbs east of the city. Although less than optimal, there is at least an RER station right behind my hotel that will get me into the heart of the city in less than 20 minutes.

Why does travelling half way around the world have to be so difficult? I started my trip by missing my flight from Cartagena to Bogotá. I can't help but feel at least partly responsible for this. I left leaving the hotel until the last minute (enjoying the weather too much), and then ran into almost everyone I knew there one after the other on the way to the front desk. I swear it was planned to be like a curtain call. I also left some shirts in my room and had to go back to get them.

Fortunately, there are a lot of flights to Bogotá and there was another one in an hour. That would leave my three hours in to check in with Air France and do whatever I need to do. That should be lots, right?

Flying international in South America is different than anywhere else in the world. First you have to stand in a line to get a piece of paper. This has something to do with the departure tax of $56 which you have to pay even though you got the piece of paper. Then you stand in the check-in line which is really long and really slow. In the middle of this line you pay your departure tax (I didn't know this the first time I came, and had to leave the big line and go find a bank machine). Then they weigh your bag, tell you it is 1kg overweight, don't let it slide, and you try to stuff approximately 1kg of dirty laundry into your laptop bag. Finally you get to the front of the line, and are told that they can not validate your ticket and that you need to go to the airline office.

Once at the airline office the woman points to the computer screen which indicates that your reservation has been cancelled since no ticket was issued. An argument ensues because a ticket has been issued and in fact the woman is holding it in her hand. After this things are alright again and you jump back to the front of the checkout line. A woman indicates that you should go behind the checkout desk (where the people are working) to talk to the woman that was initially trying to check you in. You confirm that this is really what you're supposed to be doing, and then proceed behind the desk with full expectations of being shot dead by airport security. You are quite promptly told to go back to the other side of the desk where customers typically belong. Finally you are checked in (to coach in a middle seat I might add) and you have a boarding pass.

Next: up the stairs and through emigration. No, that is not a typo. You have to clear emigration when you leave the country much like you have to clear immigration on the way in. Then it's through the usual security check. After that you go through the next line with the military looking people who speak to you using the familiar forms of all their verbs and they pat you down. Then it's to the gate where you have to show your boarding pass again to get into the boarding room. After that, you sit down, wait for 5 more minutes to board, and wonder where the hell your three hour layover went.

Another Day of Not Working

I love this. I come to Cartagena for what I think is going to be a 5-day course compressed into four days. I came two days early to try to melt the chill out of my bones. Then I find out that we don't start until 2pm on Monday. That's alright with me. We're compressing anyway, we'll just have to squeeze a bit more out, and I can spend the morning in bed or at the pool or whatever. So today, it turns out that I'm not going to actually start until tomorrow morning. Wicked. The only downside was that I had to keep showing up for work functions, and then I'd have a couple hours off in between to spend by the pool. Bathing suit - work clothes - bathing suit - work clothes. I changed my clothes today more than the bride at a Chinese wedding.

This is a large event where business partners from all across South America come to take some training. Since the courses I taught in South America last year were sort of the same thing but on a smaller scale, a lot of the people that I met are also here for this event. We had a cocktail meet-and-greet sort of deal this evening on the beach and I got to see some of the people that I know from Bogotá, Medellín, and Lima. I also met a few people from Ecuador who are going to be in my class if it ever starts. I'll be having dinner with them in the old part of Cartagena tomorrow night.

I went out with another instructor from Brazil last night. We went to the old city. Old Cartagena is absolutely beautiful; especially so at night. Lots of old Spanish architecture that's been well maintained and kept quite clean and (seemingly) safe. On the way back, we had the taxi driver take us on a little tour of the city. Lovely.

I'd have to say that Cartagena would be a very good place to come for a little vacation. Everything seems relatively cheap, and you don't get the same sense of getting ripped off that you do in so many places nowadays. There's lots to see and do in the old city, the beaches are lovely, and there are resorts (I'm staying the Hotel las Americas which is quite nice and has good food). If the place I ate last night is any indication there are good, upscale restaurants (Restuarante San Pedro, Centro plaza de San pedro - good food and pretty inexpensive).

I hope that all you winter-dwellers aren't jealous about any of this because it's not as great as it sounds. For example, I was getting sweaty because it was so hot. We all know how horrible that can be. Also I got water in my ear from spending too much time at the pool. Don't you hate that?

Winter Sucks, But Not Here

I woke up this morning to the sound of the tropical birds singing in the coconut tree outside of my balcony. Delicious. I’ve been luckily enough to get the chance to trade the dismal grays of Canadian winter for the tropical blues and greens of Cartagena, Colombia for the week. Sure I have to work, but not until Monday afternoon. Until then, I’ve got a little time to relax.

I didn’t get up until 8am this morning which is a departure from my usual 6 o-clock wake-up, but yesterday was a really long travel day; Cartagena is not the easiest place to get to. I left the house before 6am yesterday and didn’t get to my hotel here until nearly midnight. Part of that had to do with a five-hour layover in Fort Lauderdale.

The hotel (or should I say resort) where the course is taking place this week is located right on the Carribean ocean. In fact, if I turn my head and look past the palm trees and tennis courts, I can see the waves rolling in onto the white sandy beach. I wish more people would have the good sense to schedule courses in places like this.

I don’t mean to sound like I’m gloating… Wait a minute… Yes I do. A little bit anyway. Let’s face it; winter in Canada sucks. Cold sucks. Snow sucks. It really does – admit it. If snow and cold were that great, we’d have tourists coming up in January and February from the Dominican and from Cuba to trudge around our cities in six inches of brownish-gray slush, scraping ice off of their cars, and wishing they could feel their ears and the tips of their fingers and toes.

Wait… what’s that sound? I think it’s waves. Gotta go now – la playa me llama!

Observations on Dallas

I just got back from a short trip to Dallas. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Texas, and there were a few things that kind of jumped out at me.

The men are bigger than normal and I don’t just mean fat, although there is a lot of that. The women, when younger, tend more toward the pretty end of the spectrum, but when they get older, then compensate for their age with boob-jobs, tons of makeup and really big hair that would be the envy of any 80’s heavy metal band.

I probably made more U-turns in Dallas in four days than I will probably make in the rest of the year. Dallas is full of highways and all of them have access roads that run alongside. To navigate, you have to go past your destination in the other direction, get off on the access road and do a U-turn to get to where you want to go. If you undershoot your destination, it means you have to do three U-turns to get there. Similarly, if your destination is on the right-side of the road, you have to get off before it. If you overshoot you have to do two U-turns to get back to it.

People eat a lot of meat (not really a big surprise I suppose). I’m not sure that there’s such a thing as protein toxicity poisoning, but if there is, I suspect I came dangerously close to getting it.

Fogo de Chao is really good, but every time I eat there, I am guaranteed a night of indigestion and waking up every ten minutes as my stomach does another somersault.

Despite its southern location, Dallas is not that warm in the winter. It was hovering around freezing the entire time. That being said, it jumped up to 15C the day after I left. Bad timing.

Despite the fact that it would have been almost an hour drive in both directions, I should have gone to Angelo’s instead of settling for lesser barbecue.

Since I’m planning on doing away with my travel blog, I’m going to repost my Dallas entry here. See below.

Some Restaurants in Dallas

The following is a repost from my travel blog, February 22, 2006... How chincy is that?

I recently had a week in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and got to re-discover a lot of my old haunts. I used to go to Dallas all the time, but haven’t really spent a lot of time there over the last couple of years. I was staying near the airport, so I was relatively central to the area. Although I’ve never in all my years been to downtown Dallas, I did make it into downtown Fort Worth this trip (although very briefly).

When you have a week in Dallas, you have four dinners that you need to cover off. In my mind, four dinners in Dallas means the following (in no particular order): Texas barbecue, steak, Mexican, and Brazilian churrasco at Fogo de Chao. In keeping with tradition that’s exactly what I did. However, I wasn’t leaving Dallas until the Saturday morning, so I got a bonus dinner this trip. Sweet!

Esparza’s - 124 E Worth St., Grapevine, TX

For years, my business partner and I had been hearing rumours about a great Mexican place near the airport. Since we had never really been staying in that area, we didn’t look into it. After asking around, the general consensus was that Esparza’s is probably the place they meant. Esparza’s is a small Mexican restaurant in a little house in Grapevine, just kind of north and west of the airport. The margarita was great, but I’ve got to say that I wasn’t blown away by my dinner. I kind of “went outside the box” on this one and ordered seafood enchiladas (which is not what I would usually get at a Mexican joint). Maybe I should have stuck with one of the old standbys like pork with salsa verde, or carne asada. Don’t get me wrong; it was pretty good, but my expectations were pretty high. I’ll have to give them another chance next time I’m back in DFW.

Angelo’s Barbecue - 2533 White Settlement Rd., Fort Worth, TX

Until I came to Angelo’s, I had never had beef that was so tender I could cut it with a plastic fork. Unbelievable. I’m going to go out on a limb here, and say that Angelo’s has displaced my old favourite barbecue place – Rudy’s in San Antonio. Although I still prefer the sauce at Rudy’s, the meats at Angelo’s are so tender, juicy and smoky, that the sauce barely comes into play anyhow. I still love Rudy’s, but I now dream of Angelo’s. Unfortunately, I am probably ruined for all other barbecue for the rest of my life. Oh ya – the beer comes in big frosty glasses, too. Chalk up one more point for Angelo’s.

The building looks exactly like a good barbecue place should; barn board and pickup trucks with a big stack of wood out back to keep the smokers going. The smell of the smoke hits you as soon as you get near the entrance.

The ambiance is pretty plain, and the décor includes melamine tables and dead animals on the walls (including alligators, turkeys, fish, boar, moose, various antelope-thingy’s, and deer). Probably not a good date spot, unless your date is into melamine, dead animals, or really great barbecue.

As a side note, I came within an inch of losing my wedding ring down the sink. Thanks goodness for all those years I spent training to be a ninja!

The Silver Fox - 1235 William D. Tate Ave., Grapevine, TX

The Silver Fox, also located in Grapevine, is a sister restaurant to Three Forks. The menu is the same, the locale is different. The food and service were all fantastic, but a little on the pricy side. That being said, I also didn’t cut any corners; cocktail, appetizer (the Three Forks Salad has apples and pecans and totally rocks), steak with Oscar sauce, glass of wine, and dessert brought me up to nearly 100 dollars with tip. Still, I’d go back in a second.

Fogo de Chao - 4300 Beltline Rd, Addison, TX

I love Fogo. If you haven’t had Brazilian churrasco before, you really should try it. The idea is this: You have a little card with red on one side and green on the other. If you turn the green side up, flocks of waiters (often wearing traditional Brazilian clothing) with large skewers of different meats flock to your table and offer you different cuts of beef, lamb, pork, sausage, chicken, and sundry other animals. When you turn the card over they leave you alone. On top of this, there’s usually a trip to a salad/vegetable bar and side dishes such as fried polenta and bananas, bread puff things and so on.

I would hazard to say that Fogo’s salad bar alone is worth the visit. It includes things like marinated vegetables, roasted peppers, prosciutto and salamis, and cheeses, as well as just regular old salad. If I ever turned vegetarian, I would go there just for the salad bar.

The big danger with Fogo is that it’s difficult to stop. Unlike a buffet where you have to make an effort to go and get one last plate, there are always skewers of meat wafting past, so it’s too easy to try just one more little bit. Know your limits or you’ll regret it (trust me on this).

Fogo is a little on the expensive side (one person can usually get out for around $70 with a glass of wine), but it’s something you should try at least once: especially if your dinner is being heavily subsidised with a meal limit.

Blue Goose Cantina - 14920 Midway Rd., Addison, TX

Ahhh… The Goose. Since I got a bonus meal this week, I decided to go back to the good old Blue Goose in Addison (right around the block from Fogo). I hadn’t been there in years and wondered how the food would compare to my memory of it. I’ve had a lot of good Mexican food over the years, and hadn’t really been back to The Goose since my early days of travelling. I was happy to see that it stacked up to everything I feel Tex-Mex food should be. The top-shelf margarita was the money and the tacos al carbon totally kicked it (they’re big enough that you definitely don’t need an appetizer with them).

The Blue Goose has made it back in as a permanent part of my four-day Dallas rotation.

Minneapolis Isn't So Bad

I'm teaching a class in Minneapolis this week and as part of my New Year/turn over a new leaf/make yourself a better person thing, I've decided that I have to blog about it...

What to say about Minneapolis... Well in the past I've slagged Minneapolis a bit (okay, I've slagged it a lot), but that was mostly because I was usually stuck out in the boonies. And I'm not talking about the middle of nowhere here; I'm talking about being on the outskirts of the middle of nowhere. My opinion of Minneapolis changed a couple of years ago when I had a class downtown. I'm ready to recant.

The city has a lot of little areas with tons of good ethnic restaurants. This week, I'm with a colleague who is Muslim, so we've been hitting Halal restaurants. Not only is it easier for him than trying to find something filling and vegetarian, but restaurants with Halal food tend to have the kind of food I like to eat anyway. Everybody wins. So far we're two-for-two on picking good spots for dinner. Monday, we went to a Somalian restaurant called Safari. Loved it. If you've never tried Somalian food and you're in the area, I recommend you try it out. We had the roasted goat and steak curry - yu-hum! Last night we went to Marina Grill and Deli. They have a middle-eastern buffet, but we both went for the kebab combo (lamb, beef chicken and kafta). Even without the rice, it's a big meal. The area is a little sketch, but how bad can it be - it's Minneapolis...

Another place I like to frequent when downtown is a good English pub called Brit's Pub. Go in the summer and head to the rooftop for the sunshine and lawn bowling.

In theory, I'm going to be doing a lot more teaching in Ottawa, but so far, a lot of them are getting canceled on me. I have a couple of good trips coming up in February. I'm going to back to Colombia to teach a class in Cartagena (the colonial architecture "gem" of Colombia, apparently), and later in the month, Mexico City. I may have to go to Bloomington, IL instead of Mexico because of a prior commitment, but hopefully it will work out (my god I hope it works out; ever been to Bloomington?) Can't wait to get back to Mexico; I'm craving marginally sanitary street vendor tacos, tortas, and hamburgers already!