A Boring Little Blog With Great Pictures

    Hey, friends, fans, family, and lurkers. I haven’t been updating this blog as much as I should, and while not a great deal of exciting stuff has been happening, I will try to make the boring stuff as interesting as possible.

Still reading? Wow, you people are dedicated.

    I had to make another visa run to Georgia. I hope this is the last one! Not because I don’t like Georgia but doing the 3 x 3 bounce is so old. What is a three by three bounce? This is when I have to fly three hours in one direction to fly back, albeit at a slightly different angle, three hours to Tbilisi. In reality, it is two hours and twenty minutes in one direction and two hours and thirty in the other direction, but that sounds overtly precise and hence boring.

    Georgia was as welcoming as it always is for tourists. I think I am getting used to this sincere and generous welcome past the point of surprise. Not that I am taking it for granted. I would never do that but, I was less surprised when my friend/brother (from another Mother) picked me up at the airport and joined me for a great lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe. We spent the afternoon catching up and enjoying each other's company as if it hadn’t been a week. It had been almost three months.
I returned to the Mais Guest House and settled in for the potential two or three-week process to begin on Monday. While I have found a professional person to do all the filing and paperwork it is always a gamble when it comes to time. I had the weekend to kick back and enjoy some cigars with friends at the Davidoff Cigar Lounge. It was a great reunion, and we all fell back into the comfortable routine cigar smokers have and understand. If you’re not a cigar smoker well, I can’t explain it. We all caught up on current events, and I spent lots of time and effort explaining exactly what is a Donald Trump and how this could have happened in the self-proclaimed greatest democracy in the world. It was very much like watching your high school tough guy get his ass handed to him by a Catholic School Cheerleader Squad for the Georgians. They were kilometers past 'couldn’t believe it' status. I got the impression it shook their faith in the democratic process. To put this into perspective, you have to remember how hard and how many people sacrificed everything to achieve the government they now enjoy. We are not talking distance past events or obscure events referenced in speeches by people they don’t know. No, we are talking individuals who held the very hands of the dying. The ones who lived for months without power, water, and getting bread required a ticket and a trip across town. A city plunged into chaos and lawlessness while staring down the twin barrels of external influencing super powers.
I did as much as I could to explain the electoral college and how that system worked and how the courts would act as a buffer to the more crazy ideas that the Office of POTUS might try to run with. It didn’t go a very long way to reassure, but it did add up to some very good topics to discuss and so the room was lively with the discussion.

   I arrived Monday at the office of my professional paperwork person. I had brought a package of Russian special cigarettes to him as a gift. This is a good thing for foreigners to remember. The act of tipping in North America is standard. But this is not the case in other countries and if you just do the same thing you would do at home you reaffirm the RICH American/Canadian tourist idea. The act of bringing him something from Russia meant I thought of him before I left Russia and carried significantly more impact than just saying “keep the change.” This was my third time filling, or rather watching someone else, complete the paperwork.
    The Russian Consulate is in the Swiss Embassy compound and the line up to get in is a chaotic affair. Line and turns are never as simple as saying they are in London England. When I finally got to the window the lady behind the glass recognized me and smiled and seemed impressed that my Russian had improved as much as it has. She commented my accent is getting better. She then also handed back my paperwork and said I needed to complete it in Russian. I was surprised as the last time she wouldn’t take it completed in Russian.
I returned to my professional, and she was as surprised as I was. So surprised that she pulled out Google Translate to make sure what I was saying was what she understood I was saying. Translation complete we did the paperwork again in Russian and added a photocopy of my last visa to the one containing my identification page of my passport. A new addition to the requirement from last time.
I returned with two sets of applications, one in Russian and one in English. The Russian one was kept, and I was handed back the English one with a sticky note that I could pick up my visa on Friday after six in the evening. I walked out of the office surprised that my visa would be ready in only five days.

    The next week included numerous invitations for supper. Supper in Georgian means a feast. So for tourists, it is important you know that giving time between these invitations is wise. The liver will need at least forty-eight hours of healing. My liver is an Olympic superstar, so I did three of these in a row. Max made a great traditional dinner at his home and brought me home safe and sound. Nodar took me out to a great traditional restaurant and then escorted me back to Mais Guest house. Shalva, Bekka, David, and Zura organized a couple of dinner deliveries to the club, and thankfully the club is a close stumble home. Public Service Notice for Canadians. Georgians may think you can keep up with them when it comes to consumption of Wine and Brandy as a result of my poor judgments. To paraphrase Riddick; “Do not step up if you can’t keep up because you’ll just die.”

I went back to the Embassy on Friday only to find out it was closed.

    I picked up my visa on Monday and booked my return trip to Anapa Russia. Short notice bookings are never cheap, but I was glad I had not booked it ahead of time. The return trip saw Max and his Wife stepping up again and taking me to the airport at one in the morning. Flights from Tbilisi are less than great for connecting to anyplace other than Turkey. So Anapa saw me arrive with zero sleep in twenty-six hours. Home in my bed saw me doing a “just to be safe” two-week detox program. Not that I needed to, or have a problem, but kind of like doing your oil change early because you’ve been doing some hard driving.

    Ever notice how cats are usually sitting alone? They never look lonely. I have this local cat that recognizes me and yet never approaches. In fact, if I talk to him he gives me a look like I just disturbed him from solving Einstein’s issue of gravitational waves. Cats can be like that sometimes, but I do envy their ability just to sit and seemingly enjoy the moment. I love walking in Anapa and routinely walk several kilometers a day. If I try to sit and enjoy a view for longer than nine minutes, I get restless. I need something distracting, like cigar ash falling into my lap or a conversation. This conversation doesn’t have to include anyone else. I am a writer I can talk to myself; it’s on my Writers Guild card. These conversations usually focus on things I need to do, should do, and want to do but can’t. I hate the first and last ones the most. I need to write a blog! Well, we see how effective that one has been.

Today I got to it. The need to do box is at this moment ticked with the proper Government issued pen. The want to do but can’t is still on hold. The center does, after all, hold what the rest can’t.

     I also managed to get my train ticket today to celebrate my Russian Mom’s Birthday. My Anapa friend Lasha was lots of help in this endeavor. If only to confirm it was done right. Luckily he was as the girl messed up my last name. In fairness it is hard. My last name in Russian is spelled KOBE, and so she had dropped the Y and added an E, COVEE. So if you remember your grammar lessons “Drop the Y and add a…” Hardly could blame the girl as in the head it does sound right. Probably would have worked but correctly is better. The trick now will be seeing if the conductor of the train will let me jump ship at the village before Beslan. It isn’t a proper stop, and the train only stops for five minutes for a “mechanical check.” Wish me luck and thanks for reading the boring and mundane.

You want excitement order or download my newest book  Redemption’s Bullet from Amazon!

Georgian Boys Road Trip

   

My time in the Republic of Georgia is quickly coming to an end. I had only seen a small part of this beautiful country and my wife Inga was stuck in Russia. My friend Mamuchar (or Max as he lets me call him) suggested a trip. “A road-trip,”  I replied.

        “Well we could fly, But it would be expensive.”

I explained what a “Road-trip” was, and he liked the idea. Sometimes it is the little literal things in English, which non-native English speakers find confusing. English is such an imprecise language and so culturally connected.

        “Where we go?” Max asked.


        “How the hell should I know this is your country. Let's rent a nice 4x4 and just set off like the Blues Brothers.”

        “Who is Blues Brothers?”

        “I’ll tell you during the trip” Thinking to myself “Man am I stupid or what?”

    Renting a vehicle in Georgia is significantly more straightforward than in the west. Pick the car and skip the big insurance upsell. No deposit required. Don’t worry about the scratches and dents as they won’t be worrying about them when you get back. Agree on the days you need and sign the forms when they drop off the vehicle. In this particular case, it was a big V8 Toyota Sequoia. It was silver, had working air conditioning, and comfy leather seats. It was also dead empty. We took it to the gas station and filled it up with 87 liters of fuel. In Georgia, they call it Benzene to differentiate from Gas. Gas is auto propane or natural gas. It has been a year, and I still haven’t figured out if “Gas”  is LP or CNG as they tend to use the two as the same just one is compressed more. Not really accurate but it may be like asking “what color are your Bunny Rabbits if you don’t have Bunnies. A common issue when trying to determine translation, and what you mean.

    Max dropped me off at my apartment admonishing me to be ready at 0600 military time. The translation being 0600 as zero six hundred is military time. The meaning being I’ll be here at six sharp, be ready to go.

At six Max turned the corner to my apartment, and I could see he was happy to see me standing waiting for him. “Yes, my friend I had understood what you meant.” This day was going to be a long one as we were driving all the way north to Svaneti.

Svaneti is comprised of an upper and lower region. We were headed to the upper region and the town of Mestia, the highest inhabited area of the incredible Caucasus Mountain Range. Four of the ten highest peaks are located in this area. Mount Shkhara at 5201 meters or 17,059 feet, is found in this province. A local villager, herding cows, kindly pointed out Mount Ushba to us as it towered in the distance proudly perched at 4710m or 15453ft.

    Before we arrived in the city, we had a lot of kilometers to drive. Max’s wife Magdelinia had discovered an old Russian sanatorium in Saveneti and suggested we visit. I should point out for Western Readers that when you see sanatorium, and it is connected to Russian the meaning is SPA. Yes, I understand sanatorium is usually translated as Nut House or a place for the mentally ill in polite speak. In the East, it is a Spa. This sanatorium was forty kilometers down a atrocious, 4x4 only road. While not the Rubicon Trail, it’s listed as a road, after all, it took some superior four wheel driving to negotiate this goat track. Max was up to the task and even got my joke when the road finally tamed. I told him. “We need to go back you missed one pothole.”

Laughing, with a comfort only usually found amongst friends of similar cultures, we got out of the truck for lunch. Earlier research had shown a retreat guest house and restaurant near the old sanatorium. It was closed and abandoned. Max talked with the residents of the two houses showing any signs of recent habitation while I walked around the old grounds.

The old Soviet architecture is apparent in two ways. The design is recognizable right away. Massive columns hold sweeping arches with bold right angle blocks. The other is was it was still standing despite being built many years ago and uninhabited for thirty plus years. The ground was soft under the huge trees, and the vegetation had advanced on the building. It reminded me of the old growth forests of home, and I was glad when Max rejoined me. He filled in as many details as he could about the history of the place. It had been a rather famous old spa for the Russian elite. Tennis courts, complete with lights were still standing empty waiting to be played on. Residents could take a horseback ride to an alpine mountain lake reputed to have curative powers. The trip took four days. A local had offered to provide horses if we wanted to make the journey. Max had politely declined, and I was glad as after four days on horse back I would need to find the spring of eternal youth to sooth the aches of that journey.

 

We backtracked to an old suspension bridge we had driven by and stopped to enjoy lunch. Max had stopped earlier and secured fresh Georgian bread and cheese to go with the sausage and packaged cheese I had brought. Before lunch, we took a quick dip in the mountain stream to cool off. The water was fresh and as cold as ice.

    Refreshed and fed we resumed our trip. One of the main things tourists need to know when getting off the main highways in Georgia is that risk is part of the journey. Aggressive driving is the norm and when you mix old CCCP trucks and older cars with modern cars of vastly different horsepower rating chaos is bound to happen. Mix in winding narrow mountain roads, various forms of farm animals grazing where ever they like and crashes are unavoidable. We were lucky enough to avoid a couple of close calls on this trip, and we drove by two ruined vehicles that were not so lucky.

   

After twelve hours on the road, we arrived in the village of Mestia. Max checked with three hotels before getting directions to a guest house that “probably” had rooms available. The road up to the guest house was incredibly steep and narrow, and both of us were wondering if we would be able to turn “the tank” (our vehicle had been so named at some earlier point) around. We arrived at a beautiful house built into and around the areas famous Svanetian towers. We were shown to a room with two beds and a huge deck perfect for cigars. The price was right, and more importantly, it was available, so we took it.

Guest houses consist of a common room or rooms and usually a separate shower room and toilet, with a locking bedroom. The bedroom is yours for the night, and the other room or rooms are shared. We were lucky in that we had no other guests joining us that night, so it was like having a 2000 SQ foot house as your suite.
The guest house had another huge deck off the kitchen and restaurant. Starving Max and I found seats and ordered calf and pork barbecue, fries,  and vodka. Max also ordered Kubdari. Max told me Kubdari is the Svans national, ethnic dish. When it arrived, I said I had tried this. My Russian mother in law made this for me every time I arrived at her home. I had just though it was Ossetian Khachapuri. Khachapuri is a baked bread product that varies by region. Georgian has at least nine different types of Khachapuri, but some arguments occur when coming to any agreement on this. But when your talking about food that has been popular since 500AD, and perhaps before, these things happen. Basically, Khachapuri has to contain bread and cheese in the ingredients to be Khachapuri.

    The sunrise the next day was breathtaking. The trees were hanging onto to clouds refusing to let them go like a jealous lover. The warmth of the sun chasing the chill from the air and turning the clouds to memories. The colors vibrant, unreal, and shifting as the sun slowly chased its arch. Coffee was hot and too large for my friend Max. Georgians are not used to 20 ounces of coffee in the morning. I can't survive without it!

    We left early for Max’s sister's house and another feast that would include Mingrelian Cha Cha. Like the previous discussion about cheese bread each region has their version of this Georgian treat. Be careful as 40 percent is for teenagers. Keeping with traditional expectations I had three and the road was as smooth as silk for the rest of the day. Significantly less scary as well.

    That night found us at Max’s father in laws house and another feast. Georgians see guests as gifts from God and treat them as such. Hospitality doesn’t go far enough to explain how you will be treated in a Georgian's home. A huge table was set, and we ate and drank more Mingrelian delights. I went to bed earlier than Max and his brother in law, but then I am not Georgian, so this is acceptable.

    The next morning was not kind. Max brought me coffee, Canadian size, and said “fucking Mingrelian Cha Cha.”  I nodded and got my feet on the floor. We left early as Max knew a place with a cure-all for a Mingrelian hang over. We arrived at a roadside pullout and walked over to an older looking place with two older women sitting on the front deck. Max ordered a spicy meat stew with bread and some Borjomi mineral water. We ate without appetite, and without many words. Wounded soldiers from the night before.

    The return road trip is almost always lackluster. But, not in this case. Inga had managed to get a ride back to Tbilisi after being stuck in Enhotva for almost three weeks. The main road through the Kazbegi mountain range had been wiped out by a landslide. But she was home, and we were going to pick her, and Max’s wife up and go to Signagi.

Signagi is also called the city of love and is located in the Kakheti region of Georgia. Narrow cobblestone streets contained within the old ramparts of the 18th-century fortress. It was a wonderful reunion and a fitting place to visit with the Love of My Life.

Websites and custom painted jets.

    In my last blog, I talked about writing and doing many things yourself. Making a story a great story is a challenge to both imagination and perseverance. Sometimes it is a struggle between the two to see the winner. Stress is proven to reduce productivity, but I don’t know if anyone has studied how stress reduces creativity. Perhaps this is one such test. I got a little creative with the rollout of the newest website.

If you have been reading, you know my website woes. ScottDcovey dot com got hijacked by a donkey/midget porn site in Belgium. My attempt at resurrecting that site got sidelined and held hostage by an asshole. I refused to pay the ransom. I will run into him one day. So the newest attempt is scheduled to launch later this month. I have high hopes. Dreams even, of this site being everything I need it to be. I am even considering an APP! Free of course to all.

The book is scheduled to launch before Summer. Sorry, this is as close as I can guess. Just when it seems I have all my ducks in the row, someone tells me I am supposed to be herding cats! But I do have some goodies for you. The cover photos are ready in 3D and so is the Logo painted plane’s website launch video.

Short and sweet today as the stress of the previous week is affecting my creativity.

Much Love,
Scott D Covey.

Book. THE END

    It has been a while since I posted anything to my blog as I have been busy getting the book ready. Yes, it officially has an ISBN 9781633237865, for those that like to keep track of such things. So it is officially done and Bob Mayer I can finally type ‘The End’. But, Like he pointed out in his blog a few months ago, rarely is it the end. Now, I have to get an official website back up. I got scammed on my previous site and learned a few lessons. Again, this would be something helpful to new writers to understand and get some insight from professional conferences. A simple understanding of the difference between marketing and advertising is not enough. You have to know your readers and know what they want to see in a graphic representation of your work. Sure it has to be easy for them to order and buy the book but it also has to give them something to do past the obvious. I have been using my blog as such, and it is a poor replacement for a well-designed site. So I have been working to get this accomplished. I have also been working closely with the layout and design of the interior of the book. Past edits, and formatting it has to be easy to read and intelligently laid out with enough gaps in the transitions. Thanks again Jay M. Then the cover and back block has to be done. So you see as wise Mr. Mayer points out ‘The End’ is just the beginning.

    My supportive wife, Inga, has left me with this task and is taking the time to spend time with her parents. This may seem odd to anyone who hasn’t lived with a writer. Too often we creative typing monkeys get frustrated and can unintentionally level this frustration at those closest to us. I like to be as honest as possible here. Perhaps too much so. Three days in my underwear, only remembering to eat when you get dizzy going to the washroom and trying to find a few answers in Vodka, or just

recently, Absinth! While the answers are rarely in a bottle, it does slow the brain or provide it a distraction to move out of the mud it finds miring the process. Absinth is perhaps different. They import the real wormwood stuff here. The magical formula used by many creative types in the past and outlawed in most countries. Yes, I know you can buy Absinth in Canada, and they say it is ‘real.' That real definition is a little interpretive. Real ingredients but… when you live in a country that worries about the rat poo level in your Snickers bar, do you think for a second they would let you drink something previous artists have cut body parts off while under the green fairies influence? No! But, this is Georgia, and here you are free to be you. You also are expected to take responsibility for your actions. Local Cha Cha is available everywhere, and its purity is questionable when you buy it out of repurposed Pepsi bottles. The stuff runs about 60 percent pure alcohol so its clean of anything alive but, chemically it is a little risky. Something few locals care about, past doing a spoon burn check. So the imported Absinth is the real deal. I missed leaving my real Absinth spoon back in Canada. A gift from Mr. Antell it was from Finland and very old and I left it in the care of Dimitri with my watches. I made it work, and the hot clouded liquid bit my tongue with a sharp licorice embrace. It took four such potions till the green fairy revealed herself. Less of a fairy really and more like a cloud specter just on the edge of your vision.  I didn’t understand what it was at first until Commander Scotty’s words echoed in my head. “But, It is green.”

    The inspiration arrived, and I scribbled and sketched the book cover. I took pictures wisely thinking I may not be able to interpret this genius while not gripped by this specter’s tutelage. The room got remarkable hot, and I was glad that my tutor had no problem with my near nudity. I forgot to eat. But in a way, I was feeding on my creativity. It was like tossing a brick on the accelerator of a BMW M5 and trying to steer it through the mountains. The wheels eventually always come off. Knowing this I had locked my door and hid the keys when my conscious self-wasn't really paying attention. The morning light did not come easily. I crawled from it like a newly born vampire. I slowly gained the ability to stand and went back to my desk. The notes had survived. The pictures provided illumination and worked as a sort of a self-discovery I didn’t need. However, the cover was done. I was alive.

    So today as a bit of a treat I went to an outside cafe and told you all about it. I am not airing my liver. Who are we kidding the purity of the air would surely kill it. This is what it is to be a writer. So when you are looking at that book on the shelf, and the price know the author bled to create it. Most certainly differently than me. But we bleed the stories we share with you. To imagine the worlds and characters, we become them. We hurt ourselves and often those that love us. It is this to be a writer of fiction.

    The new book will be released shortly. Redemption’s Bullet is ten times the story Grey Redemption is. It is darker, much darker, and tighter because of those that helped/made me edit it over and over again. I am very proud of this book. It is written in blood only for you as you deserve it. A public thanks to testing readers, coerced editors, friends, fans, and family. This would have never been possible without you! A special thanks to Inga the strongest and most loving person I have been gifted with!

Same Same But Different and Chiang Mai

Writing is a funny process. Notice I didn’t say fun. It is funny in the way stories progress and stall and take the author on as much of a journey as the reader. If you follow my blog and Facebook page, you already know I am doing the sequel in two different ways. I am not writing in the first person perspective exclusively and doing it scene by scene rather than following a linear process. For this reason, my outline needed to be much more detailed and should have been written in crayon. The twists and developments have really allowed me to expand on characters you love, hate, and perhaps hate to love, and much more. The freedom granted by an all knowing master of the world perspective has been very rewarding and I think it will be as rewarding for the fans too. To be honest, it has been fun to write it as well.

Milestones are important and fifty thousand words, after a fourth serious edit, is close to a third of the way there. Spine thickness and Military Fiction is a serious consideration unless you are the late Clancy. We lost a great storyteller and a man who could ignore many of the rules for writing this genre. I broke a few rules with Grey Redemption, perhaps too many, and adapted my preferred style of writing to address those and I think it worked. I really did a Maass style revision on this last edit and tightened the prose with an eye on micro tension and pacing. While I know I am biased, I think it is much tighter. It lost the labored detail-rich environment some of you loved and others hated. But I think it balanced out, to a better read. I lack my own test reader rich environment being overseas but my diligent and awesome usual suspect is on the job and I am waiting for her thoughts. I also shared it with two people here in the country and as they hadn’t read Grey Redemption the advice was great for making sure it stood alone and not just a sequel. So step by step, day by day I am writing. I am not going to give you any projections on completion as so much is currently on my plate, but it is rolling along.

Chiang Mai has been home for almost three months and the time is quickly approaching for the long flight home to BC. I am looking forward to seeing family and friends as this three month trip has stretched into a year and I know my Mom is looking forward to Inga and I coming home for a bit. Just like trips you want to take but never do because the life you want a break from gets in the way of the life you want to live the opposite is true. This grand year of travel, cultural lessons, and experiences, has soared by. The research for the book has been invaluable and allowed me to tighten up the prose without lessening the impact of the writing, or so I believe. The proof will be in the response I get from the test readers and what they think. Personally I believe I have.

So we have to leave this Northern paradise around the middle of the month. Tickets are booked, with an added little stop in Hong Kong. The flight was the best for time and stopovers. However, the HK stop was a little tight and so I decided that a little three-day vacation in the exciting city was a good little vacation. Yes, I know a vacation from the vacation Covey? But in reality I have been working pretty hard on this new MSS and Inga really worked hard at her Massage course.

They had said intensive, but this is Thailand, and that brings a different meaning. Or so I thought. Nope intense it was and she pushed through despite coming home each night tired and sore to crash in bed early. I am very proud of her achievement as most people take a break and stretch the course longer than the month. So three days in Hong Kong is a nice little reward for the two of us.

  We have made many friends in this laid back quite little city and have both been enriched by the experiences here and the little bits of Thai culture we have added to our own. Experiences are what you make of them and take from them and we have both learned a great deal. Past the shifting focus of what is important and needed, to an understanding of what is life and what is noise. We are indeed blessed by learning this at such a young age.

Chiang Mai. The second month and writing progress

      I find that I am writing too much on the sequel to Grey Redemption to make the time to sit down and blog. But today the guilt got the best of me. The current MSS is 39000 words after third edit and I think a third of the way done. We all know I tend to get a little wordy! So while a local friend reads through my second edit printed draft, I get to write for you. Let’s all extend thanks to Chris.

     I am sitting in a garden at a Massage school listening the birds compete with the clack clack clack rhythm of the ancient massage technique called Tok Sen.  Inga is enrolled here as a student and I come along to keep her company every other day. She has been learning the basic forms of traditional Thai massage for the past couple of weeks and will finish in a couple more. I get to be a little more spoiled by this amazing woman. The school is called TTC School of Massage and we discovered it after doing a ton of research that involved talking with actual students. It is out of the central part of Chiang Mai and in a very tranquil and beautiful area. So  our day starts with an 820 Tuk Tuk ride to the school and we get to see the local commute. Many students stay at the school and we meet them for breakfast and a many nationality good morning.

This seems to me to be the style the school was fashioned to represent. An environment of supported self-discovery and learning along with dedicated instruction by very skilled masters. Many Japanese people travel to this school to just learn the Tok Sen technique. It came from this area, is centuries old and works on moving and stimulating energy flow and fixing blockages with a small hammer and stick. I know I didn’t really buy it either. But after seeing it done and having it done twice it is incredible and I can understand why various healthcare types travel to learn it here! Inga has had a toe issue that caused her pain if she wore shoes that put stress to the side of one of her toe joints. She has had it for years, and like many pains we’ve had for years she figured out workarounds for dealing with it. This failed in one of the stretching exercises that makes up Thai Massage and she was in considerable pain. Mark, an Australian gentleman of incredible insight and character put her on the table and did a Tok Sen massage. The pain was gone by the end of the session and the area that had been sensitive for years, fine. There is an energy in this place that even a nihilistic cynic like me has to admit. I can’t write any really violent or aggressive scenes while I am here with Buddha watching, me in the garden. The energy of this school is really that palatable.

   

To celebrate International Women’s Day, I wanted to do something special for Inga. I contacted a very nice tour agent here in Chiang Mai called Na and she suggested a private river trip down the Ping in a Scorpion boat. I left her to arrange all the details after explaining to her what this day meant to people of Russian culture. She knocked it out of the park and created the perfect day for us. Providing the perfect balance of couple alone time and doing the tour guide thing explaining history and the like. The Ping River was the main thoroughfare and transportation route in days gone by and still serves today in a much-diminished capacity. It is not a deep river, only a couple of meters in some places and rarely twice that. This changes a little in the rainy season but only for a few weeks.

 It is a broad river and its brown hued water flows past some of the most beautiful houses in Chiang Mai squished beside little fishing hovels.  It was a great relaxing couple of hours watching locals fish and children swim. Na had made reservations at a restaurant that showed the history of farming and that of the river. It was also the place used in the last Rambo installment when we meet Rambo and his riverboat. Past the Hollywood and the education elements, this restaurant grows or raises everything they cook. The meal the three of us shared was incredible. Herbs, rice, and spices added to the dishes, were grown meters away from where they grew. A new idea of fresh, or perhaps an old way of life perfectly transported to the new tourist world of Chiang Mai.

First week In Chiang Mai

    So one of the things that really inspired me to writing was the idea that I could show others the world as I see it. No guessing “What the writer is trying to say or his motivation for doing the story” like we were all asked in school. I think I have achieved that goal and I think many readers enjoy my view or “take” on the places I tell you about. Robert Dugoni is fond of telling a story where he is sitting poolside and the person he is with suggests he start writing. His response is that he is, plotting twists and turns in his latest book My Sisters Grave. I remembered that story as I came down to the pool this morning carrying my 13 MacBook Pro. It reminded me of a dream I once had; to be secure enough to be able to sit poolside as an author. To toss off the shackles of Starbucks and the leather padded tweed jacket and live the exotic lifestyle of a “paperback writer.”

Just as we need our dreams to drive us forward, we rely on self-sarcasm to keep us grounded and a creative memory as a guide book.

    Never the less today does in truth find me poolside in Chiang Mai Thailand. Living if not cheaply then inexpensively enough to be secure in my dream as an author. It also finds me struggling to balance play time, research time, travel time, husband time, social media time, and writing time! Mr. Dugoni is again motivational today as I think about our conversation last week in which he told me about his guy who takes care of his social web stuff. So now I have a new goal, thanks, Robert. I need to get to the point that responding to fan email and messages is once again a treat and not one of those things on the list of things struggling for attention. Without achieving that dream, I fear the next book is a long way off! This should not be construed in any way to say I don’t enjoy your letters, messages, comments, and critiques.

    So Chiang Mai. There is a ton of stuff written about this city in the North of Thailand. I have read critiques that people say too nice of things about the place. The inference here is that they are not entirely truthful. While it is true the country of Thailand is under Military Law and the Military has stated they are taking this situation and, as such, the interpretation of Military Law very seriously I don’t feel muzzled as a writer. As a foreign guest here and Russia before this I feel like I can comment on my observations. Just as in Russia I can say what it is like to me as a visitor to a new culture and country but to comment past that I think would be irresponsible. I am hardly an expert on either countries, history or culture.  I think one of the things in this world  that create problems are irresponsible “experts” interfering or commenting in other countries affairs.

    This is not to say I haven’t noticed the increased Military presence. But it is unobtrusive and life seems to go on as normal from everything I have seen. The other day Inga and I walked up to one of the big Universities as it looked like graduation was going on. We were right it was and we walked around past hundreds uniformed officers of various decorations. To a person, they all smiled at us and many nodded and I should point out we were the only white people walking about. We stopped to have a drink at one of the many street side cafes in the area and after a time noticed a lack of traffic. Then two uniformed officers very politely approached us and ask we move back off the street table as the Princess was about to go by in a motorcade. They made the request in English and very politely. While obvious they fully expected me to do as asked it was none the less done with Thai friendliness and good  manners. The Royal motorcade went by and the café’s owner and workers came out to see it and you could see the love and adoration they have for her and the entire Royal Family. Being Canadian I am not really a Monarchist but it was very cool to witness this here in Thailand.

I have been in Chiang Mai before so I am having fun being tour guide for Inga and we are doing the typical touristy things people do in this old city.  We have also been doing a ton of walking and all over the city and not just in the safer tourist areas. I have yet to feel even a little uncomfortable and we have traveled into every manner of street and market.

    The other night we decided to take in a Jazz concert held at the famous Ta Pae Gate, Chiang Mai. It was an outdoor event and was free. Jazz de LANNA it was called and we had seen signs advertising it all over Chiang Mai. It started very early at 5:30pm and continued all night long till about 11pm. The event had many sponsors along with the TAT, better known as the Thailand Authority of  Tourism, and it was a well put on show. The military was there, and again they were all very polite and vigilant. It actually made me feel very safe as I witnessed how they scanned the crowd and watched what was tossed into trash bins. They even watched me when I tossed in the remains of the dinner Inga and I had bought at the market/carnival style food venues. The very interesting old/new mix Thailand does so well was once again on display. Night Market food venues with pricing in reach of the locals and fancy hotel sponsored tents selling exotic food at slightly higher prices but still within a small splurge range for locals. The stage was very professionally done and the sound was truly world class. The event headlined Jazz sensations, Howard McCrary, Koh Saxman and Khun. Legendary Jazz Master Howard McCrary has worked with many famous names in the music scene in the US. The backup acts were talented as well and the range in style and delivery really appealed to the very multinational crowd. Plastic chairs allowed many to sit and a VIP section of leather couches must have had some very special guests as I watched an army officer walk up and take a picture of one of the VIPS saluting before and after. Inga and I enjoyed a large part of the show from the ground before retreating to a third-floor terrace patio that was part of a Starbucks to finish the evening. Even from across the street the sound was perfect and the music and message magical. Harry’s voice communicating great respect for the King of Thailand in an individual song and the love of peace in the entire set, finishing the evening with Imagine.

So while we continue to acclimatize ourselves to the warm winter in the Jungle I really have to say Chiang Mai is as nice as it is reported to be. Tuk Tuk drivers are quick to smile and relent when they try to overcharge you for a ride home by 50 Bhat, or about a buck US. The streets are a little dangerous to cross but most car drivers are vigilant, so you just have to watch the scooters. The people are warm and friendly and not just because you’re a “rich tourist”. Things move at a little slower pace but perhaps that is a cultural lesson we could all learn from.

On the topic of foreigners and scooters we met a Russian fellow by the pool the other day who on spotting my tattoo was very happy to talk in his native tongue to Inga and I. He related an experience he had while driving a larger, more powerful, scooter. He was going north to visit a high mountain temple and got hit. His injuries were pretty bad, damaging his left arm significantly. He doesn’t remember the actual event, just being passed by two cars on a corner and then waking up in the hospital. He said the healthcare system was superb and he was pleased with his progress healing. He told us how the driver stopped and two men he didn’t know got him help and to the hospital. Glad to see this Thai kindness extended to my adopted countries nationals as well.

  So to my friends, fans, and now famous Robert Dugoni, good afternoon from poolside in Chiang Mai. I am writing and please take the time to appreciate one another and the beautiful things we all have achieved. Don’t let those achievements rule your life as life is short and for the living. Specifically to my writer-types “this day we write!”

Russian Celebrations and Parties!

Hey Everyone, Ok it has been almost a month since I last wrote.  I have a bunch of good stuff to let you in on, or at least I think it is good stuff that you’ll enjoy reading. I have been posting a fair bit of things on my public Facebook account about trusting the news and stuff that some may construe as a conspiracy theory ideology. I really don’t think that it actually falls into that genre of writing, but I am comfortable with the moniker if people still look at it and make up their own ideas.

I try not to push any ideology or attempt to change minds on this forum. I do a great deal of research and as a result of this study find interesting tidbits of information. Sometimes I share this on Facebook and other times I just keep it for the book. Well, most correctly the current MSS that will one day be shaved down to be a sequel to Grey Redemption. Yes, I am writing! Ok, so to keep this tight I will try to avoid the rambling style of that last two blogs.

Most Russians really like America/Canada culture. They haven’t met too many Canadians and I am trying to maintain that polite reputation we have all over the world. What I find really odd about Russian views on our two countries is that they seem to easily separate our political ideology, and the things we do guided by that ideology, and the people. To be more correct they easily separate our personal culture from our ideological culture. It is quite a feat if you think about it and something we Western cultures fail to be able to do. We lump it all together and racially stereotype the whole by the actions of a few or by the few powerful. Russians don’t and while educated on the west more than we are educated about them, still have odd beliefs.

I will use Rostik, a magnificent friend of mine, as an example. He honestly believes his life would be better in Canada than it is here in Anapa. Anapa is, you know if you read my blog, a resort city on the Black Sea and is truly beautiful. Comprised mostly of Armenians and Russians it is by most Russian standards a very affluent city. There is some dissent among the ethnically different people, but on the whole they get along. If you read the blog, you know Rostik recently married and he and his new wife have a very lovely one bedroom apartment and are miles ahead of any couple I know living in Vancouver. If you add to the equation their jobs and then compare it to life in Vancouver or the surrounding valley, they would be renting for life. They would never be able to own something and raise a family as they are doing here. I am not suggesting they haven’t got good jobs or are in anyway lazy. Quite the contrary actually, they work very hard and save on par with my mother. But we all know if your household income is below a hundred grand a year Vancouver is out of the equation, if you intend on having a stay at home spouse.  Here that goal is easily reached and without the use of credit.

I have been in credit hell as has most North Americans. Some learn right away how to use credit and others, like me, take a little longer to internalize that lesson.  That isn’t something that people do here. Credit is hard to get and for the most part not culturally used.

I explained these things to him and how our taxation system works and he still has this view that Canada would be the place to live. Then I ask him why he thinks I came to Anapa. This is the only thing that causes him to have some doubts.

Don’t read into this that I dislike Canada or that I don’t love living in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I am not suggesting anything like this. I am just pointing out that Canada and life in Canada, is very expensive by any standard. While it is true that Moscow is one of the most expensive cities to live in the comparison isn’t really about house prices. The added costs of utilities and tax-like surcharges add up to severely deplete one's disposable income. The culture of buying new everything and owning a car for each member of the household furthers this personal drain.

Russia has a flat tax, no added sales taxes, and a culture of reduce, reuse, and recycle. It is not uncommon to see a Lada made in the CCCP days rolling down the road. Designer fashion is in, but hey Adidas tracksuits aren’t expensive.  Seriously, see I poke fun at Russians too, fashion is important and people do save to buy the "in" shoes or shirts but you don’t have too. So long as the stuff you are wearing is clean, and taken care of, the requirement to fit in is largely not fashion based. When guests come over they do so to see you, and they ALWAYS bring a sweet, bottle, or something to enjoy with you as they visit. They really are just friends and do not care what they sit on while they share your company.  It is a different way of life from the average Canadian one. I am not saying one is better than the other, which is for you to decide, but it is less expensive.

 December brings the start of the holiday season, running the gambit of religious and cultural observances. For me it also brings an anniversary and birthdays. As this was our first anniversary, we wanted to stay in Russia and celebrate the occasion with Inga’s family. Las Vegas is a long way away for them and so they couldn’t actually make the trip for the wedding so we wanted to have a big party here in Anapa. We also share three birthdays in December and so we decided to roll them all together and toss a huge party instead of heading for the warmth of South East Asia.

It is really very inexpensive to have this type of party in Anapa. Restaurants are used to large gatherings and have set menu pricing that allow you to bring your own drinks. Celebrations are a common thing and everyone gets caught up in the atmosphere of fun. We picked a date and I flew Inga’s sister out for the fun from Moscow after we received word Mom and Dad were on the train from Vladikavkaz.

So with 13 for dinner and toasts flowing, we shared a multimedia show of the wedding and the year from when we met till we arrived in Moscow. It was a blast and everyone had a great time. Another birthday party was going on as well and we all joined together dancing and celebrating. It was only after the party that I was told of a little racism issue.

Russia is vast and has many ethnic, religious, and cultural differences. So big that the USA, Spain, and France could fit in Siberia alone! Despite all coming from Russia, many people still describe themselves regionally. For example, my wife describes herself as Ossetian and chides me when I say she is Russian. But for me it is like saying you’re a BC person and not a Canadian. Canada is huge as well and we all just say we’re Canadians, rarely breaking it down to ethnic regions. Russia is a little different as there are ethnic traditions between the areas. This being said I was oblivious to any real racism, until that night.

The Kavkaz  region includes Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. The Russian areas include Krasnodar Krai, Stavropol Krai, and the autonomous republics of Adygea, Karachay–Cherkessia, Kabardino-Balkaria, North Ossetia, Ingushetia, Chechnya, and Dagestan. Three territories in the region claim independence but are not recognized by any independent states and these are Abkhazia, Nagorno-Karabakh, and South Ossetia.

The owner of the restaurant had initially agreed that, as her live music person was in Moscow, the DJ would play anything we wanted. On
the night of the party she commented that she hated Kavkaz music and wanted to charge100 rubles a song. I only found out about this after the party but what is very odd is this owner grew up in Siberia and the restaurant is in Krasnodar Krai! What makes this more bizarre is the birthday party, which was going on at the same time, was attended by mostly young Chechen boys here to study at the technology college. They joined us on the dance floor and toasted us and ours.   Ossetians, Georgians, Chechens, Armenians, Russians, and Canadians dancing together having a great time despite the painful history some of them share. Then one person from a vast distance away, having no connection to the historical pain and recent immigrant into the Kavkaz area sows old hatred. Hatred and history many, if not most, have moved past for the greater good. Some things remain the same no matter which country you find yourself living in.

Mom, Dad and Liana Stayed with us and together we had a good time. Dad set himself busy fixing little, yet annoying, issues in the apartment and I helped as I could. Reminded me of my own father, never able to sit still and just enjoy a lazy day. Mom made all my favorite Ossetian dishes with Inga and Liana’s help and we enjoyed my birthday on the day, even though I thought we had done the combined thing. My birthday present from Inga was some new ink for my arm and a great wind breaker.

The lull between those celebrations and the upcoming exodus to Thailand seems like a long one, but that’s deceptive. Christmas will be a quiet one with just Inga and I relaxing with each other. Then we have the first New Years to enjoy with friends here on the 31st before traveling to the cold of Moscow to celebrate the Russian New Year in the heart of Russia.  Then it is off to Thailand for three months in the jungle, doing research and lots of writing! Stay tuned for more updates and perhaps a rant or two.

Merry Christmas to those that observe, Happy Holidays to the others, and Best Dead Turkey Day to the rest.

Russian and Canadian differences

I am getting a great deal of feedback from friends and fans that enjoy reading about life in Russia. Looking at my reach statistics it is easy for me to see just what countries people are reading my blog and I am happy to tell you Russians are reading it too. So I thought I would try and summarize some of the stuff into kind of a rambling compare and contrast and attempt to give you a general feel. Perhaps a tall order but painting a detailed picture is my comfort zone so let’s step outside it; shall we?

Before I get going too far let me make some things clear when we are talking about generalizations, we are getting into the area of stereotypes. Stereotypes exist for a reason. To a degree they are true and it is only when we use them to make racist statements do we get into trouble. So I will be making some generalizations but I mean no slight on any culture. So if you find, while reading this, your blood pressure rise try to remember it is written by a guy who embodies many stereotypical cultural stereotypes himself and it’s written with a kind hand in fun.

To get a general handle on any country, you have to spend about a month in the actual country itself. I did a ton of research on Russia before Inga and I moved here and got a small idea about what to expect. While it wasn’t a complete waste of time, it was close to it. I could have just listened to what my good friends Dimitri and Sergei said about the place, along with Inga of course, and would have had the same amount of information. But it still wouldn’t have been real for me. Reality is to a large extent our interpretation of the world we perceive. So this is my reality of Russia and no doubt, should you visit this interesting country yours will be different. So why continue reading?

Because it should be fun,

 We grow up learning almost nothing about the largest country in the world. Even now in its shrunken state it is still vaster than even my home Canada. While I might blame this lack of knowledge on the fact my education was carried out in Surrey {NOTE this is that tongue and cheek stuff I mentioned earlier, so relax teachers union 36} but I cannot. Russia is by far just not talked about in our history. It was only through stories and my military education that I even knew Russia and Germany started the Second World War and Russia fought on the Canada/European side. I don’t mention America here; as they were late to get into the fray, content instead to supply Russia with materials for the war.  Inferior quality materials, missing deadline after deadline but Oliver Stone wrote about this in his most recent book and so I will avoid the situation of plagiarizing him and say if you want to know more look it up.

One of the things I’ve learned is that Russians are slow to trust but when they do, they do so completely. This is much different than home. We Canadians trust in stages. We trust our friends with money, but not our car. Russians and trust translate most correctly for us as “Canadians and brotherhood.” So this is one of the reasons a visitor to the country for a few days may find Russians distant or cold. I can assure you they are not. I have had the pleasure of making several good friends and they are warm, generous people. But they have to get to know you. I am lucky as I have Inga to translate. Being a Canadian and living in Canada for more than half her life, Inga understands how to say what I am meaning and not just what I am saying. This difference is the world in translating as rarely is something based on an idea simple to translate.  An idea is far more elaborate as it is what we mean based on culture and how that crosses over into Russian. We aren’t ordering a beer and an accidental plate of cut fruit as I just did.

Perhaps this is a good example. I am writing in a nice little café called Slavyanka. It is attached to our building, as many businesses are, and we have enjoyed many a night here. Perhaps some of you have seen the pictures on my Facebook account. Anyway they know I am Canadian and can’t really speak Russian yet they assume I understand as much Russian as they understand English. Many Russians know English to a degree, they just don’t speak it as they haven’t heard it spoken much and thus have no idea how to arrange the words.  So I ordered a beer and looked at the menu and tried to figure it out. I saw something like apple and words that appeared to be another fruit and another word that I thought meant layered. Putting this together, I thought I might have found a baked strudel, or better a deep fried fruit wrapped in dough. The waiter took the order and went and wrote down and few words in English and came back to show me. This should have been my first clue he thought this was an odd order. I was happy to see that I had figured out apple and that I was correct it had other fruit, oranges and grapes. I said, “thank you” and “yes that is good” and off he went after pouring my beer. Ten minutes later out came a very nice sliced fruit tray of oranges, apples, and two types of grapes.  Not what I expected and thought I was ordering but probably better for me.  So while I write this I am picking at a healthy fruit platter wishing I knew how to order the dough roll. The waiters reality now is Canadians must eat very healthily. Such is perspective reality and trying to decipher the language of symbols that have little in common with Latin-based languages.  But I am Canadian and so I enjoyed my fruit.

Russians will ask just about anything from how you practice religion to what you think about a certain political situation or ideology. There is no stigma about asking what you paid for something or how much a trip cost, nor commenting about what they think about how much you paid. I’ve been flying a great deal and have had this conversation many times. This is a very odd topic for North Americans as we generally shy away, even with friends, about asking the cost of something. That changes with close friends and in that is the difference. If you’re friends in Russia then, you are by cultural definition “close friends”.

When they want to get to know you, they ask what you believe, or what you think about said conflict. I have had a few conversations as of late as my countries leader Premier Harper made despairing statements in the world press about having to shake President Putin’s hand at the G20 summit. As a polite Canadian, his statement embarrassed me, as it is rude to not shake someone’s hand. Despite the political tension between the two countries, the man is hardly Hitler. While I am certain Harper has shaken hands with far worse during his time in government the simple fact that he was stupid enough to comment knowing that these statements would overshadow anything else he completed as leader of my country and as such hamper foreign investment shows me he is no statesman.

“If he wants to return to a safe and cooperative environment why would he behave this way?” This was a question I was asked. How do you answer that question with limited language skills? I didn’t have Inga to translate the corporate ideology and the actions of a less than smooth leader. So when faced with difficult challenges I find it easier if you break it down to its simplest form. Why did the leader of my country choose to make a statement during a huge economic summit that would take away from the fact Canada’s economy is vibrant and growing and a good place to invest? So I answered truthfully. I said; “he is an accountant out of his league on the world stage and is a Suka to the North American imperialist machine. “ Suka” directly translated into English means bitch.  But that falls short of the meaning of the Russian word Suka (CYKA). It most correctly means prison bitch, the lowest of the prison (or Zone) hierarchy, an untouchable and unmentionable person. Perhaps a little harsher than he deserves but I would have rather seen Justin Trudeau at that summit, if he is anything like his old man, and I have never voted Liberal in my life.

In the West, we have a general language in that it is less specific than Russian. So when the question of why is Russia in the Ukraine and Russia answers that they are not we westerners don’t get it. Crimea is what we mean but using general English. So it starts to sound a great deal like the song There’s a hole in my bucket. Putin was finally asked directly about the Ukraine part called Crimea and he answered unedited on German live television. He compared it to Kosovo and used it to show precedent. This has been widely dismissed by western media saying it was hardly the same. That this annexation of Kosovo came after ethnic cleansing by the Serbian government and so was more right. Really? Do we really want to stand on a moral chair and claim we have to wait till people are being piled into mass graves before we act? Crimea’s outcome would have been the same as the outcome currently happening in Donetsk region. Ethnic cleansing, wrapped in uniform  with insignia resembling that famous designer uniforms created by Hugo Boss in 1937.  The most salient difference for me is that the people for the people annexed Crimea after a vote and Kosovo was annexed by a parliamentary order and decision.

Well, that rambled along into a rather political soapbox but such are conversations in Russia. One has to be prepared to discuss such things and have facts correct. Russians really don’t care if you have a different idea or choice than them so long as you arrived at that position by facts. Recently while I was getting a nice tattoo Inga and the artist began a long discussion about a historical-political situation. Topics forbade from the dinner table and while someone is jamming ink into your skin.

One other thing Russians have to get used to that some Canadians take for granted is the ability to criticize the leaders of our countries for their actions and hold them accountable.

Science fiction often in the past has paved the way for scientific innovation and I find myself wishing for a universal translator that has the ability to convey what I mean and not just what has been spoken. Google is a small start but fails more often than it doesn't. Surely if we as a species want to get along we need some bright MIT type to make one of these devices.

To one of the Dead Cities

    There are still areas in Russia that are forbidden to tourists. But then those areas are pretty much forbidden to locals too. Some areas need special permission permits and paperwork to insure you don’t get lost, hurt, or preyed upon by the wildlife. This is not so different than Canada. We too have areas like this and while the locals at home are pretty much unaware of these restrictions, the people here are not.

So venturing into the mountains close to the disputed border of Georgia along the main roads is fine but taking the path less traveled is a little riskier. Having made the trip into Georgia, and seeing these gorgeous mountains had me doing research into the types and composition. Along the way, I found out that this area was kind of part of the Silk Road in ancient times. The Ossetian leopard and other local furs where coveted the world over by Kings and other royals alike. Access to the Black Sea gave this pass a great deal of traffic along the lowland and much gentler slopes than the ones directly south.

But ancients and armies both adore easy rolling hills and so this specific pass was one of those areas if not forbidden to tourists then to use a Russian saying “not easy."  Yet, I really wanted to see it. Dargavs is one of the most famous or well known but our chances of being questioned and detained was high. The locals shunned the area based on superstitions held as real today as then. However, grave robbers did frequent the area and disturbed the dead and locals alike. Ossetians placed coins; some of them gold, in wells outside of these crypts and so some would be drawn to steal from these dead. Some later crypts contained mothers still with babies in cribs both going into quarantine to protect the village and so you can imagine the locals outrage at the discovery of these being disturbed.

We decided to go to a different area that contained these Nakh towers and crypts. One of our local friends had friends of his own in this village and knew the area well. It is in the same mountain range as Dargavs about three hours from Vladikavkaz. The day was cold and overcast in city and we drove through the mist and fog through small towns and smaller villages. We took an unmarked side road that followed the river and as we drove through the trees silvered with ice, I noticed the outside temperature was rising. It had showed –5 in the city and was now hovering around 0. As the car climbed higher, the rivers path became more spectacular, cutting deep twists and creating tall pillars in the mountainside. Asland our friend and driver pointed out interesting formations with increased frequency and when we turned a corner into the shining sun, I looked at the temperature and saw it was +5 degrees. The man’s name and connection to the famous book The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe only added to my increasing sense of amazement.

Like so much of history in Russia, it is difficult to get a “searchable” three-source answer to things.  Some say these Nakh towers date back to the 16th Century and others 12th. Some maintain the Nakh people built them all and others claim that the Alania-Ossetian people of the time simply copied the design. What is certain is that they were used as burial chambers and as quarantine structures. What had caused many villagers to get sick was also in question but from talking with locals and research the most frequent use was from an outbreak of cholera.

There had been a cholera outbreak and entire families had been moved from the river floor and village site and walled up in sick houses and towers on the surrounding hills. Left to die in quarantine, or survive, as the gods they worshiped dictated. Their friends and family brought food and delivered it via long poles and small windows.  Perhaps a dour reason to wish to see a place on the face of it but let me continue, part of survival as a society and species are making hard choices. This concept is used very well in the popular TV drama The Walking Dead. Our modern society has gotten used to the easy life it has provided us and so these life and death hard choices create massive tension between humanity and societal continuance.

Just like in the TV Drama these early Russians were faced with extinction as they had no idea how to deal or control this event. Cholera today is easily treated yet it still kills in Africa and I have personally witnessed a cholera outbreak and the effects on the village. So I can only imagine what these early people would have thought as they watched their loved ones bowels let go and they starting wasting away. It is easy to draw a connection to the Zombie fiction or the Ebola nonfiction. Families want to care for the sick, and the sick wished to be cared for. If quarantined and gripped with fever and fear they long for comfort and connection returning to homes and villages if they can. Spreading the infection and death as they do. 

The ancient people knew, or learned, this and took steps to survive. Hard steps and harder choices, none were spared, the sick to a person where exiled or went on their own to protect loved ones. Many mothers took their babies in cribs into these stone buildings.

Despite their age, the structures survive in relatively good repair. The site is a sacred one, remembered by the locals. The church and monastery are located on the valley floor and symbols and icons stare in remembrance toward the location of the sick towers. The towers themselves still stand and while certainly in dangerous states of decay they’re a somber sentinel to a strong people.

The towers are four stories high and  stretch in a line up the mountainside with newer stone single story buildings assembled at their base. Cows and sheep now graze peacefully amongst the ruins and the overall place has feeling of serenity.  The view up to the jagged peaks to the south or rolling peaks to the east and west contrast magnificently with the slope to the valley floor and the “village” that is quickly becoming a city.

The temperature inversion that I noticed on the cars dash a common occurrence here and the place is acquiring a name for itself as a healing town. A large Sanatorium is currently being built, with money as no object from the looks of the construction for just this purpose. Locals and visitors alike claim miraculous curative powers in the air and water. Asthma suffers with the ability to move here have done so for years.

It was with one of these new residents that Asland had arranged to host us for lunch. We arrived at a low-slung building with a large gated entrance. Our hosts were waiting for us and quickly ushered us inside and allowed us to look around. The owner had built the entire place by hand and it was truly incredible. In fact, just looking at the property walls made me wonder how many people had labored. Large natural, uncut stones were folded into a wall supported by these same stones broken into perfect halves. The building itself was similarly built and held a red tile roof. Inside the house had a small kitchen to the right of the entrance room and a common room off to the left. A bathroom was directly ahead of the main entrance and it contained a large eight person Russian sauna. This sauna formed the core of the building and actually heated the entire house. Wood was placed into a large enclosed brick fireplace and heated the stones within the sauna and the rest of the building too.

Albert, our host, and his two friends set about getting roasted wild duck and boar ready for us while we did a quick run to purchase three of the local stuffed bread. A tradition this bread comes plain or stuffed three ways. One is stuffed with cheese and potato, another with beets, and the third with ground meat. The table also contained salads and cheese made by locals, and of course three bottles of vodka.  Wine and beer where also offered and a bottle of water placed in front of Asland, our driver.  Drinking and driving have fallen as much out of favour here in the wilds of Russia as it has at home in Vancouver.

Toast were made following the traditional practices and stories told. A meal was shared and new friendships kindled as is also traditional and cultural. The people are very stern and conservative in ways and very welcoming and friendly in others. It is a rich mix of old and new and follows the script of sorts that makes you feel as welcome as family and yet toasted like a king.