It Was A Dark And Stormy Night!

     Anapa has me feeling like I am at home. Not only because Anapa is my new home away from Canada. It rained today, in a very non-typical way for this area of the Black Sea. For those readers in Vancouver, it rained as it does at home. In Anapa, the rainstorms are very tropical in nature or perhaps Russian in culture. I don’t write this meaning to be disrespectful. Russians work hard, play harder, and fight furiously. Just ask anyone that has met them in battle. When it rains here, it rains furiously. Inches, or centimeters, of water, fill the roads in minutes. The sky truly opens up and getting caught means getting soaked to your underwear. 

Today, however, it sprinkled politely, like a Canadian rain, all day. Quietly whispering to go home soon or you’ll get damp. Reminding you politely why they sell umbrellas, from vending machines at our international airport. Russian people have asked me if it is true that Vancouver has stores that sell pot, or marijuana, from vending-style machines. I answer truthfully that we do, and when I add the umbrella machines, they are even more amazed at our strange country. But, they add, strange in a good way. 

     I have mentioned it before that Canadians/Americans and some Europeans have a hard time understanding Russian culture and customs. I was just talking about this with my English speaking waitress. I said to her, and now to you, I believe this is because normally when someone has a drastically different culture, they look different. It is a duck with various markings. The WoodDuck knows the Pintail is a duck, and it knows it will prefer to eat in the middle of the lake instead of the reeds. We humans are the same we perceive visual cues that tell us the person is a different culture and might have different customs or behaviors. It prepares us for it. Russians look just like everybody else. Perhaps the women are a little more stunning, and the men a little larger but on the whole the same. I am trying to walk that very fine line between what is and what I perceive, or think. I don’t want to be called racist or anti-Canadian/American. I do want to accurately describe and paint for you a correct picture. Personally, I believe Russian women to be the most physically beautiful in the world. But that is a bias and an opinion. I am after all married to Russian woman. She will say she isn’t Russian as people from Russia tend to identify themselves by where they came from. So someone from Anapa would say they are Kavkaz and someone from Novosibirsk might say they are Siberian. In Canada we don’t share this regional identity in the same way unless one is from Quebec, or perhaps Surrey. 

The sky has opened up here, complete with thunder and lighting. I am writing this enjoying a coffee and incredible chicken wings at my new favorite bar/lounge. I tweeted about this place and posted on my Facebook page. It is called Timer_Lounge Bar. They may not have the beach view my last year's office had, but they have incredibly good food and a larger selection of drinks. If you’re an English-speaking tourist and looking for a bit of a break from the great traditional food Russia has to offer then look up Timer. They have a New York style of cooking, full of flair, elegance, and something hard to find in New York. Farm fresh, non-GMO ingredients sourced less than fifty kilometers away. If you’re one of my Russian readers, then give the place a try. It may be a little expensive, from a local perspective, but you can taste truly world class cooking and international food without flying anyplace. A New York steak without flying to New York. Just don’t cook the meat to well done, as is cultural here!! Try medium or medium rare… It’s safe. Trust me I am Canadian.

     I went to the Market today. In American and Canada, it would be called The Farmers Market. My sister Carol-Lyn loves these types of things and frequently goes in California. Here they are just a part of life. Not really a thing, like in LA, but a regular, historically normal part of Russian life. Everything is natural, fresh, and grown/raised/harvested locally. The people are proud of their products and if you don’t arrive early you won’t get any. A sell out is usually the norm. It is difficult for me as they don’t put the price of things on the product as the regular stores do. SO I had to revert to apologizing for not speaking the language and holding out a handful of coins and small bills. Letting them take what they needed. Did they know I was a foreigner? Most certainly. Did anyone take advantage, and take more than they should? No! How do I know you’re asking? I watch other peoples purchases and get a feel for how much it should be within a few Rubles and watch body language. It is cultural to be kind and honest with strangers in the Kavkaz region of Russia. Perhaps it is the same in other regions? I don’t know as I haven’t traveled there yet. When I do, I will let you know. 

    The rain is pouring now, lightning is flashing brilliantly overhead, and the thunder sounds like artillery. The deck has a few centimeters of water on it, and I am alone. The locals and staff thinking the Canadian is crazy sitting outside under the umbrellas made really for the sun. It isn’t at all cold, and I do love thunder storms. The great thing about being in Russia is I am free to sit outside if I want. No waitress or manager urging me inside, as it is safer. I could get electrocuted, but it is MY choice. No Nanny Nation state sponsored rules oppressing me. The local saying here is; “My Life My Rules” and it is something those that scream about freedom should take to heart. 

The world media was going on the other day about something President Obama said. He commented on something the Donald had said on Larry King about President Putin’s ratings. He compared President Putin’s popularity with Saddam Hussein, remarking that when you controlled the media, it was easy to have great approval ratings. To say I was confused by this statement would be putting it mildly. I have been here in Russia for over fifteen months in the past three years. I routinely watch Global TV Vancouver while I eat my breakfast and usually watch a little BBC at lunchtime. Something I couldn’t do when I was in Thailand. The difference? Media sources are censored in Thailand, currently under a Military Dictatorship, and are not in Russia. So I found it very odd that the sitting President Of The United States would make such a statement. Does he believe the citizens of the USA are stupid enough to believe that in 2016 Russian citizens can't watch, read, and listen to non-Russian bias reporting? All media is bias, Fox News more Republican-leaning and NBC perhaps less so. CBC more Liberal in Canada than Global News Network. But to suggest Russians are like the people of Iraq? It goes along way to confirm this Russianphobia that seems to be running rampant these days. 

     Perhaps I am biased? This could be true. Many of you that read my blog only know me from my fiction writing, and follow along here to see when the next new book is being released. But, many here are friends and family. The other day I read a quote I liked. “The best part of me is I am who and what I am. It happens to also be the worst part of me”. I speak my mind, and when something is an opinion, I tend to say as much. I don’t whitewash the truth, and I don’t engage in propaganda. My political leanings are Socialist, as are many Canadians, and I tend to call bullshit when I don’t agree with something. I exercise my right to free speech. I even called my previous Prime Minister a bad word right here on this blog. So you can take it as a fact that President Putin’s popularity numbers are pretty damn accurate. Statistics being what they are not withstanding. Not everyone I’ve talked to agrees with everything he is doing or perhaps the way he is doing it but they all agree he knows best and here is the big part. They TRUST HIM. Even if they don’t understand the big picture or the endgame, they trust he has the best interests of the country in his heart. That is something for both Canada and America to pay attention to. America is entering an election with many people saying they have a choice between bad, and worse. Canada has five choices, I almost typed three, as two don’t count, and in the end, we vote out a party rather than voting IN the one we want. 

     I didn’t start off with a political agenda for this blog. It just went that way. I guess when you talk about the differences in people and cultures it is bound to happen. Russians ask what other cultures think about them. They are curious about the world outside of Russia, and they know and remember history. So it is natural for them to raise questions and question motives. For example, I recently got asked this question. 

        “When the USSR put nuclear missiles in Cuba it almost started World War Three. Now America is placing the same type of missiles in many countries surrounding Russia. When we did it, we were called aggressive and engaging in brink politics. Now we are being called aggressive again. It is not us placing weapons of mass destruction in other countries.” 

How would you answer that question? I couldn’t come up with anything on the spot and since the question was asked haven’t found a decent answer. Protecting sovereignty in small countries with a nuclear response is kind of like pissing on your Ice-cream cone, so your sister doesn’t eat it.  

Back inside the comfort of the Russian Federation

So after spending a year in Georgia, Inga and I are back in our place in Anapa. The temptation when spending so much time abroad is to compare home with where you are. In this case, it is tempting to compare Georgia with Russia and Georgians with Russians. A little insider travel trip. No one likes when you do that. Where you were is where you were. Now you’re someplace else, and it is what it is. In your head, you are finding similarities or things you like or dislike about the change. It is human nature after all. But, leave those thoughts where they originate. In your head. 

We are once again doing the residency process. It makes it a great deal easier to travel and come and go as required. This was our third time going through the process, so we were well practiced and knew what to expect. All the necessary paperwork was submitted, and I was sent to a nearby city to have my medical exams performed. Six appointments in five different locations. My driver and facilitator spoke very little English but understood if he kept the Russian to a child level we could communicate. It was a great test of my newly acquired and petite practiced language skills. I think he enjoyed the experience as much as I did. He shuttled me around to different clinics in a very VIP manner, attempting to point out historical and interesting sites along the way.

The city is called; The City Of Heroes. I believe it was one of the Forbidden Cities at a time in recent Russian history. Forbidden in the sense that foreigners at one time needed special paperwork to visit. It was a lovely city with lots of public green spaces welcoming families and couples. Fancy and simple architecture mixed in new and old buildings alike. We moved through the city from one clinic to another, and my driver/guide stopped near the harbor for a coffee. Together we looked out over the parked warships, the sun was high overhead, and I could see my guide thinking. He took a sip of coffee and in a series of simple phrases communicated a question. It took eight sentences and a few clarifications by me for him to ask. “Crimea was Russian first. It became something else. Something else that many residents didn’t like. They had a revolution, like the Arab Spring revolution. No one asked who backed the Arab revolution. The people voted. They voted democratically to return to Mother Russia (Mother Russia is expressed in one word Rodina, but has several specific meanings). Why now are American warships in the Black Sea? Is democracy only democracy if America agrees? Why when Russia put nuclear missiles on its territory in Cuba we almost went to war? America now circles Russia with these same weapons, on US Military bases in other countries,  and says it has to as President Putin is aggressive? Aggressive because he backed a democratically elected government in a territory that is 75% Russian? Why do Americans hate us so much?”

This was not an easy series of questions to answer. The general issue being why does America hate Russia so much. The previous questions adding context and situational proof so one could not only answer “they don’t it is just political.” I find myself explaining American politics a great deal more than I like, or am qualified to do. I am not American, but being neighbors and perceived to be similar I get placed into this role. To be short Russians separate people from politics, something Americans don’t do, and Canadians do to a lesser degree than Russians. So when he said Americans, he means the country and governing government, not the people. It is an essential cultural understanding of language. 

I looked at the aging destroyer parked in the harbor, now a museum to The Great War as it is called here. How to answer the question, hampered by my child-like vocabulary? My guide’s expression was communicating he understood my difficulty and the position his question put me in. I pointed to the ship and asked when did The Great War begin? He answered. An answer shared by Canada, Russia, and England. I said; “not if you ask an American.” For America, it started in December. If you Google search in English, this is history. This is the reality. The reality is shaped by those that control and distribute information. Every person fears the unknown. Things that are different create stress. People don’t like stress. Things we don’t know are different and stressful. It is easier to stay inside a box we know than look outside the box into the unknown. I don’t know how to get all these medical tests done. That is stressful. I have to tell you I don’t know. I have to show weakness. I have to trust you to help me. America is the most powerful country in the world. They can’t show weakness and remain seen as such. This hampers their ability to trust. Americans don’t hate Russians, and America doesn’t understand Russia, so they can not trust. My guide shook his head, nodding his understanding of my answer and raised the last sip of his coffee to the hulking warship. “Mira, Di Bok.” I joined him repeating in English “For God; Peace.” 

We retreated to the air-conditioned Audi and headed back up the hill to the next appointment. The next clinic took a blood sample, and I was handed a cup. The nurse pointed to a door when she gave me plastic drinking cup. I went to the door and opened it. It was a toilet. I was unclear of what she wanted and turned to look back at her. She gestured, in a very manly way, what I was supposed to do and said; “50 degrees.” I understood she wanted a urine sample and that I should fill the cup halfway. The door outside found my guide waiting for me. He pointed to an office across the hall and was smiling. I gave him a questioning look, and his smile broadened. “Trust me Canada it is all good. Go there. Do that what doctor say.”  I walked into the room, and an older man was talking with an even older nurse. He smiled and said hello and gestured for me to drop my trousers. The nurse discretely turned and looked out the window. I dropped my pants and regained his gaze. He nodded and gestured for me to continue. I pulled down my underwear dreading what was coming next. The doctor just looked and nodded and motioned for me to get dressed. I pulled up my cloths, wondering what that test was for. My answer came when I rejoined my guide. He was still smiling and with two thumbs up he said “You officially a boy.” 

My tests all came back good. I don’t have Aids, Hep, or any other social diseases. My blood tests didn’t have traces of drugs. I don’t have TB, and my blood pressure was within the ok margin. Oh!, and I am officially a man with proper man junk. So the dossier complete I read and signed all the forms and sent the pile of to Moscow. I will probably have to leave Russia two more times. A quick hop to Georgia at the end of October to get another three-month visa, and then again before my RVP (as it is called here) is decided on. If the decision is positive then I will be free to come and go to Russia for three years, so long as I am not out of the country for longer than 180 days. 

Perhaps it is the overly polite Canadian culture, but I can honestly say everyone I have had the pleasure of meeting in Russia has gone out of their way and comfort zone to make me feel welcome. Even when I was new and made social mistakes, cultural oops’s, these have been ignored. I would like to believe the same would be true if my Russian or Georgian friends tried to immigrate to Canada. But, I have too many immigrant friends that have told me differently. Perhaps infrequent immigration means Russians still have patience left for foreigners and Canadians don’t? I don’t know the answer. But I do know the feeling. So when you hear or see someone new struggling to order a coffee at Starbucks, or get directions for God’s sake help them if you can. The person is stressed, and feels like he or she is standing there with their junk hanging out! 

Back inside the comfort of the Russian Federation

So after spending a year in Georgia, Inga and I are back in our place in Anapa. The temptation when spending so much time abroad is to compare home with where you are. In this case, it is tempting to compare Georgia with Russia and Georgians with Russians. A little insider travel trip. No one likes when you do that. Where you were is where you were. Now you’re someplace else, and it is what it is. In your head, you are finding similarities or things you like or dislike about the change. It is human nature after all. But, leave those thoughts where they originate. In your head. 

We are once again doing the residency process. It makes it a great deal easier to travel and come and go as required. This was our third time going through the process, so we were well practiced and knew what to expect. All the necessary paperwork was submitted, and I was sent to a nearby city to have my medical exams performed. Six appointments in five different locations. My driver and facilitator spoke very little English but understood if he kept the Russian to a child level we could communicate. It was a great test of my newly acquired and petite practiced language skills. I think he enjoyed the experience as much as I did. He shuttled me around to different clinics in a very VIP manner, attempting to point out historical and interesting sites along the way.

The city is called; The City Of Heroes. I believe it was one of the Forbidden Cities at a time in recent Russian history. Forbidden in the sense that foreigners at one time needed special paperwork to visit. It was a lovely city with lots of public green spaces welcoming families and couples. Fancy and simple architecture mixed in new and old buildings alike. We moved through the city from one clinic to another, and my driver/guide stopped near the harbor for a coffee. Together we looked out over the parked warships, the sun was high overhead, and I could see my guide thinking. He took a sip of coffee and in a series of simple phrases communicated a question. It took eight sentences and a few clarifications by me for him to ask. “Crimea was Russian first. It became something else. Something else that many residents didn’t like. They had a revolution, like the Arab Spring revolution. No one asked who backed the Arab revolution. The people voted. They voted democratically to return to Mother Russia (Mother Russia is expressed in one word Rodina, but has several specific meanings). Why now are American warships in the Black Sea? Is democracy only democracy if America agrees? Why when Russia put nuclear missiles on its territory in Cuba we almost went to war? America now circles Russia with these same weapons, on US Military bases in other countries,  and says it has to as President Putin is aggressive? Aggressive because he backed a democratically elected government in a territory that is 75% Russian? Why do Americans hate us so much?”

This was not an easy series of questions to answer. The general issue being why does America hate Russia so much. The previous questions adding context and situational proof so one could not only answer “they don’t it is just political.” I find myself explaining American politics a great deal more than I like, or am qualified to do. I am not American, but being neighbors and perceived to be similar I get placed into this role. To be short Russians separate people from politics, something Americans don’t do, and Canadians do to a lesser degree than Russians. So when he said Americans, he means the country and governing government, not the people. It is an essential cultural understanding of language. 

I looked at the aging destroyer parked in the harbor, now a museum to The Great War as it is called here. How to answer the question, hampered by my child-like vocabulary? My guide’s expression was communicating he understood my difficulty and the position his question put me in. I pointed to the ship and asked when did The Great War begin? He answered. An answer shared by Canada, Russia, and England. I said; “not if you ask an American.” For America, it started in December. If you Google search in English, this is history. This is the reality. The reality is shaped by those that control and distribute information. Every person fears the unknown. Things that are different create stress. People don’t like stress. Things we don’t know are different and stressful. It is easier to stay inside a box we know than look outside the box into the unknown. I don’t know how to get all these medical tests done. That is stressful. I have to tell you I don’t know. I have to show weakness. I have to trust you to help me. America is the most powerful country in the world. They can’t show weakness and remain seen as such. This hampers their ability to trust. Americans don’t hate Russians, and America doesn’t understand Russia, so they can not trust. My guide shook his head, nodding his understanding of my answer and raised the last sip of his coffee to the hulking warship. “Mira, Di Bok.” I joined him repeating in English “For God; Peace.” 

We retreated to the air-conditioned Audi and headed back up the hill to the next appointment. The next clinic took a blood sample, and I was handed a cup. The nurse pointed to a door when she gave me plastic drinking cup. I went to the door and opened it. It was a toilet. I was unclear of what she wanted and turned to look back at her. She gestured, in a very manly way, what I was supposed to do and said; “50 degrees.” I understood she wanted a urine sample and that I should fill the cup halfway. The door outside found my guide waiting for me. He pointed to an office across the hall and was smiling. I gave him a questioning look, and his smile broadened. “Trust me Canada it is all good. Go there. Do that what doctor say.”  I walked into the room, and an older man was talking with an even older nurse. He smiled and said hello and gestured for me to drop my trousers. The nurse discretely turned and looked out the window. I dropped my pants and regained his gaze. He nodded and gestured for me to continue. I pulled down my underwear dreading what was coming next. The doctor just looked and nodded and motioned for me to get dressed. I pulled up my cloths, wondering what that test was for. My answer came when I rejoined my guide. He was still smiling and with two thumbs up he said “You officially a boy.” 

My tests all came back good. I don’t have Aids, Hep, or any other social diseases. My blood tests didn’t have traces of drugs. I don’t have TB, and my blood pressure was within the ok margin. Oh!, and I am officially a man with proper man junk. So the dossier complete I read and signed all the forms and sent the pile of to Moscow. I will probably have to leave Russia two more times. A quick hop to Georgia at the end of October to get another three-month visa, and then again before my RVP (as it is called here) is decided on. If the decision is positive then I will be free to come and go to Russia for three years, so long as I am not out of the country for longer than 180 days. 

Perhaps it is the overly polite Canadian culture, but I can honestly say everyone I have had the pleasure of meeting in Russia has gone out of their way and comfort zone to make me feel welcome. Even when I was new and made social mistakes, cultural oops’s, these have been ignored. I would like to believe the same would be true if my Russian or Georgian friends tried to immigrate to Canada. But, I have too many immigrant friends that have told me differently. Perhaps infrequent immigration means Russians still have patience left for foreigners and Canadians don’t? I don’t know the answer. But I do know the feeling. So when you hear or see someone new struggling to order a coffee at Starbucks, or get directions for God’s sake help them if you can. The person is stressed, and feels like he or she is standing there with their junk hanging out! 

Spending Time with PTSD

     Time. We all think we have enough time to do all the things we need to do and most of the things we want to do. But do we? I have been busy posting and keeping up with the general buzz Redemption’s Bullet is making. But the recent death of a brother in arms had my mind drifting and looking back in time. To a time, I knew he was happy, and at the top of his game. So what happened? Time is what happened. 

I was doing some other family stuff in the city of Gori. I was in the back seat of the Mercedes and looking at the Beautiful Georgian countryside smear by, in that way vision gets affected by thought. Ray G. was a strong person. An Indo-Canadian man of strength and character made better by his culture and having to fit into our Correctional culture. It wasn’t an easy fit. I was there so save the peaches and ice-cream politically correct rear-view perspective. It is the pap the CSC brass serve the press. We broke everybody's balls equally so it can’t be called racist. But, we as a group forged each other harder. Pete’s big nose, Ray’s brown skin, my questionable friendship with senior managers, nothing was off limits. We used words to desensitize each other so nothing a convict might say could ever reach us. Or so we believed! This Mountain had broke. The image was almost as difficult to accept as my PTSD was. The evidence of broken mountains was just outside my window. Right in front of my face and I was missing it. The flow of water rending the mountains passing my perspective. Time and the substance of tears, destroying mighty mountains. 

Ray is not the first man left behind. I can think of ten more without really trying. Eleven people that could have been saved. Bernie, King, and others that I will not name. PTSD is a time amplifier for the suffering. It is having a greater impact on first responders now than in the past fifty years. I don’t believe this to be because we aren’t as hard as our ancestors. This theory is brokered around in HQ’s across all branches. My old man was a hard man. A loving father to be sure. But he was still as hard as the hammer that drove the nail. I watched him slice off three toes mowing the lawn. He stopped the mower. Picked up his severed digits. Pulling the mower, he returned to the house and called Mom and told her to get him a white towel. Mom asked why he needed a white towel for yard work? It was then I heard the stress of the event enter my father's voice. He just replied. “Edith, get me a goddam white towel!” Then he drove himself to the hospital. A twenty-five-minute trip. I offered to get a friend that could drive. He dismissed my offer saying the car is an automatic. 

Years later this hard man was driven to tears in my home theater. I had designed a great sound system and wanted to show it to Dad. Saving Private Ryan had just been released on video and in 5.1 THX. I put it in and as the opening scene played I saw this hard man disintegrate. Fifty years of time had passed since the D-Day landing. But for my Dad this movie and the realistic sound was too much. My father wasn’t on the beach in Normandy that day. But his comrades were. 

This was around the time I got involved in CISM at work. I was selected as I was the VP of the Union and on the ERT. The idea was driven by a Manager I didn’t get along with, but Nancy W. was the driving force behind the start of the project. I found out later it made her a bit of a pariah with other managers more concerned with budgets and not Hug sessions, as they perceived CISM to be. It wasn’t just managers that marginalized the program. Even Team Leaders held the program in contempt. I perhaps failed at this point and share the responsibility for the program not being adopted as completely as it is now. I failed to clearly show the benefit of the program. I didn’t want to be the nail the stuck out. It took me a few years to be that nail. So to the brothers, I could have helped, had I had the parts to stand up earlier I am truly sorry.
The program as it is now is good. It isn’t perfect as no system so large can be perfect. But it is not the answer. It is a coping device made to save lives and allow people to get help. The problem is the next step. I will use my case as an example. 

Our work is stressful, incredibly at times. But for me, it wasn’t a work incident that set the match. Don’t misunderstand me the PTSD was there from work. But it was a family tragedy in pairs that pushed me into the dark. I lied to myself and said I could handle it. I was my father son. I lived that lie for several months, getting worse. I had the training, skills, and knew the warning signs and yet I tried to swim out of the current myself. Time. Then a fellow CISM person asked me how I was doing. B was a little too perceptive, and sensitive for her own good. But for me it was the question I didn’t want to answer but, needed someone to ask. So after that “Walk and Talk” I decided to reach out. I called the mental health professional recommended. I was told it would be six to eight weeks to get an appointment. When I told them, I had unsupervised access to twenty machine guns, as many handguns, and 243 thousand rounds, a long pause followed. I got my appointment. It was in six days. 

I got the help I needed and got out of that downward spiral. It was my first, but it wouldn’t be my last. I wasn’t able to take sick days and as it wasn’t a condition recognized by WCB I had to work while working through it. But I got there. 

The Federal Government needs to get behind this program in a serious and measurable way. Across all departments and branches. But when a hero like Lt. Gen. Romeo D’Allaire can’t get any traction how can I. Well, I have more Twitter followers so perhaps with this new social media conscious Trudeau we have a chance. I didn’t standup years ago while inside the system. But I learned from that mistake and am standing up now. I am a hard man, and I will use anything in my power to add voice to this invisible killer that is taking our brave men. Prime Minister Trudeau, when I joined the Canadian Armed Forces a timeworn Regimental Sargent Major told the group of recruits that we were writing a blank check to the country of Canada. The amount might be everything, including our lives. When I continued my service with the Government, I didn’t put a hold on that check. Sir, respectfully I get you inherited this problem, but you stood for office. You were elected. Those, like me, that stood on guard for the Canadians that elected you need a blank check in return. 

My newest NonFiction is, in a roundabout way, about PTSD and one person's journey. How it gets written will depend on the progress the Canadian Government makes on this National Issue. Not just at the Federal Level, but the Provincial as well. This was made even more relevant last week. You see Sir, While we were burying our Brother Ray, a BC Ambulance member ended their life as well. Lost heroes, lost in time spent with PTSD. 

Nielsen Book Ratings and Forced Hands

   This month has come with several new revelations. Revelation delivery is usually reserved for angels. It must be a union shop or something. These shipments usually are accompanied by destruction or at the very least several people turning into salt. Thankfully my revelations were delivered by the outsourced delivery service, so it was with slightly less destruction. Not that this was in any way easy and without some serious soul searching, and anger.

    It turns out that all the stuff we writers have learned by attending conferences and learning how to “break” into the publishing world has missed a very significant tool. This tool is called the Nielsen Book Ratings. Yes, the same metric that brought you the Kardashians and petulant screaming Irish chefs is firmly in control of what gets published. In the same breath, Agents and dominant Publishing houses are bemoaning the state of the industry. 

We have all heard, or read, the responses from Literary Agents. "Due to the shrinking reading, demographic traditional publishing houses are less inclined to take risks with new authors or lesser artists." Really? So it rained last year, and the wheat crop failed, so you decide not to plant another one? We creative, typing monkeys are what you people eat. So you’re not going to encourage us to keep writing? If authors are not nurtured why would we they feel any loyalty to stay with a house? It’s business. You made your percentage from my effort and applied the skills you were compensated for, and now I am in the Nielsen Book Rating top one hundred; so piss off. JK Rowling dumped her publisher and while I don’t know the reason for certain it does give me pause to wonder. 

I do know one famous author who has moved to a smaller press for his series books, and the new titles he is publishing. He has mastered his craft and doesn’t need the editorial help. He was on the NYT bestseller list a few times over the years so is name is out there. Why should he choose to subject himself to the influence of companies driven by an accountant metric that brought us such wonderful enriched TV like Bay Watch! 

The huge media giants decide what makes main stream TV. Meanwhile, Show Case tops the charts with “Sons Of Anarchy” and the Sci-Fi channel makes a killing with “The Expanse”. So if these media giants see this with TV based using an outdated and stupid metric why would they apply it to print? More to the point, why has not one single agent or agent representative brought this up as a point during a writers class at one of the many conferences I attended or spoke at? I’ve listened to hours of material about making a killer thirty-second elevator pitch, creating a foundation of readers, and the ‘secret’ bump to get you to the top of the slush pile. ‘I’ve been offered representation and wanted to give… ‘ 

    Perhaps it is because they are close to the fire and know if they let the cat out of the bag that unless your first book is a blockbusting bestseller you’re in and done at one! Faced with this reality it is easy to see why putting in the amount of work to school a new author past all the pitfalls and issues that may come up is daunting. It also explains my disappointment with the last several mainstream titles I bought and read. The Border by Robert McCammon was the only book I enjoyed reading in the previous year. 

I was lucky enough to have an agent that follows me on Twitter point this out a few weeks ago. Now I could point out errors and omissions in the Nielsen system, but, this would just look like sour grapes. It isn’t the reporting system that I have issue with. It is the idea of 'mainstream', and writing to the audience desires. If you have never tried Red Wine how do you know what you like? If all you have been exposed to is the White variety and the rating system only has Whites, does a Red go to market under this system? No, it does not! The profit margin is closely watched by the accounting department and not the creative editorial one. If you need a greater example swipe to your music collection. Is it 'MAINSTREAM'? Is it one or two styles? No it probably is as varied as you and your moods. I have twenty thousand songs, all purchased, from so called 'mainstream' to Jim Carrol and the Dropkick Murphys. How many albums did the Jim Carrol Band sell? Probably not enough ever to make what his book The Basket Ball Diaries made in a week! This preoccupation of some with chasing fancy bits of paper with pictures on it created the Indie music industry and then had to play catch up, buying Indie labels, to stay relevant. These same suits, and those that stupidly play their game are making the same mistakes all over again! 

So while the big houses complain about the industry changing while refusing to see the hand they play in these changes. Fanning the fires of their destruction while the fast moving formats adapt and overcome. The publishing industry will not be the same story arc as the music industry. They say Caesar played the violin as Rome burned. Do we hear the same tune under the incessant whining of those that profit from our arthritic fingers and denied social encounters because we made the decision that; “This Day We Write!” 

So with this scathing blog I have forced myself into a corner. I have let the cat out of the bag for many of you that may be unaware of this system. If you currently have representation you might want to insure it fits with your life path. If your first ride on the bull isn’t incredible you will have to pen name your next attempt! I may have to put my money where my mouth is as well. I promised you a sequel. I have written you a sequel. I have, with help, edited you all a great sequel. One that is far better than the first. I have a multi-country fan base so the traditional method of publishing means that my Russian fans have to pay a days wages to read it. This isn’t progressive or fair. So perhaps I price it out as 2.99 and let everyone who wants to enjoy a good story do just that!! Stay tuned!! 

POSTBLOG (I couldn't find this as a word. Postscript is but this is more accurate! Hey, Chicago Book Of Styles... Decision please?

    My wise mother always said when you write an angry letter you should 'sit on it' for twenty-four hours and then reread it. So I did this with the Blog. I awoke even more pissed off at this situation than when I went to bed. After reading this again I have managed to put this into perspective. While I genuinely feel for those of you struggling to create and imagine wonderful stories it is the world we find ourselves in. So while my decision to adopt the; "Not my circus, not my monkeys" mindset it is my hope that in reading this you are a little more prepared. I also looked over my fan base and what the actual cost would be for many to enjoy my newest effort. Too many of my fans and followers live in areas that are less affluent than America and Canada. I am not in the position that I have to earn money off my writing to eat. But, for some on my FaceBook Author Page that actually may be the decision. So I am going to publish this sequel with Amazon. It will be available as a paperback and eBook sometime before summer. In doing this I know Scott D. Covey will be blacklisted. But, I believe the industry that is forcing my hand is going to burn into obscurity anyway. Finally, I get to keep my promise to give as many people a sequel as I can. 

I have created an author page and it is here: Scott D. Covey

   In closing I want to publicly thank all my test readers. Jason, Shawn, Cathy, Angela, Tim, Dimitri, Sergei, and Elliot (AKA RIZ).

   A very special thanks to a friend with a heart only small when compared to his intelligence. This option was only made possible by his hard hours of editorial work. Jay I am in your debt and know many will read this that wouldn't have been able to at a $9.99 kindle price point! Further all profits will be forwarded to a worthy cause to help education or reading in parts of the world that benefited from the low price point option. 

To: 

Penguin Random House £409.9m (23.4%) ... 

Hachette Livre (UK) £287.9m (16.4%) ... 

HarperCollins £132.3m (7.6%) ... 

Pan Macmillan £57.3m (3.3%) ...  

I send you a very special Vancouver Alex salute..........................

It's a Beautiful Day in the Russian Neighborhood

     “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…” wait this is a Canadian blog written by a Canadian so neighbourhood.   I am getting perhaps a little sensitive to the spelling differences between British, Canadian, and US English for two reasons. One I have many Russians asking questions about it and I recently switched to a new writing platform that has a learning curve. So along with my upcoming Russian test I’ve become a little sensitive!  So today is a break day. No explanations from this guru of English. Now before you toss rocks and say, very correctly, I am most certainly not a pillar of English Grammar let me explain. I am all they have! The wrench you need to change the flat is not half as useful as the one in the trunk, or boot if we were slightly west! So it is on me, and all me. My simple explanation is that the man the created the American dictionary was politically motivated. Mr. Webster perhaps one of the first patriots wanted to set the language slightly apart from the one they had just broken away from. The next line of questioning is why Canada kept some British spelling and not others. Because Canadians are polite is always my answer. This seems to satisfy the inquiring Russian minds. It is true, but I am unsure if it is the truth. But that is another grammatical nightmare.

            One of the issues facing learning all over the world is correct information. While tomes of encyclopedias are most certainly not as easy as Google, they were reviewed by peers. Now I can post something like; Russians are very superstitious people and it will be true because I will hit on Google’s first page. Now in all honesty Russians are a little more superstitious than Canadians, but my own lack of Russian language prevents me from understanding if they actually believe or just culturally observe. My own Mom used to say things like. “Someone close is going to pass away.” When she had a Crow or Raven taping on the window in the morning. Readers of George R.R. Martin will understand the origins of this belief. But she didn’t actually believe it to be a truth.  Similarly, Mr. Rogers was not a Navy SEAL or CIA operator. But some sources on the net say he was. He was a great man and won the Presidential Medal of Freedom, which is the highest award a civilian can receive. See I brought this back around to the start of this tangent. He also worked for a while in Canada and his show was filmed and aired on Canadian television with the incorrect Canadian spelling. I would love to be able to say that my confusion around spelling and grammar was as a result of these inconsistent rules and application but I would be lying. I said as much to a friend David last night when we discussed some stuff around the topic of language. I had to be honest and say I just didn’t pay attention enough in school. So now I get to pay for it by leaning on the Chicago Book of Styles far more often than I should. It slows me down creatively, but then this is what I have this blog for. I get to loosen up a little.

            So today is a break day. While Inga is still helping out friend's children wanting to improve English language skills, I get to hang by the beautiful Black Sea and enjoy the sun. In keeping with the theme; who are the people in my neighbourhood? Let us continue.

   Well to start my day I go to do some writing in the little café under our building. It is a nice little place and quiet. They have free internet, and while it is slow, it is fast enough to check some simple facts before I mislead you all. The waiter is the same guy from last year and we met with a familiarity not uncommon in Russia but would be at home. He asks about my progress on the book and introduces me to his friend a new waiter. This guy is a yoga instructor and comes from the beautiful city of Saint Petersburg. He learned his yoga skills living in a monastery in India and we shared our mutual love of Indian cooking. I told him that we have many people from India living in our area of Vancouver and explained the Sikh immigration to BC.  His English is better than my Russian, but we understand each other enough to make it work.

The walk to the beach finds us going down our usual hill past all the shops that sell everything one might need and could have easily forgotten on the trip to Anapa. At the bottom of the hill is a jovial, fun man with a shiny set of gold teeth who is quick to greet me in the swinging handshake Armenians enjoy. Next door is Irene and the medical post. She is a nurse from the Ural region and makes the eight-day pilgrimage each year to Anapa to protect and take care of the various issues that can happen at the beach. She is a calm and kind woman who is very knowledgeable.

Next to that is the bar that, if you’ve been following my blog for a while you know I like to sit. The owner is another Armenian heritage family that put on an impressive spread of food and cold beer. A little way down the beach finds another café bar that serves hot food and these people are from the Ukraine, although they have been here for years. Inga helps this ladies son with English and I enjoy her cooking.

That is my little neighbourhood. Most of the people I meet can’t speak more than a few words in English and I can only speak a little Russian. But they have made the Canadian feel welcome and take the time to make sure I understand most of what is going on or if not making sure I am included. I may not understand what we are toasting, but all are quick to offer a drink. Russia is an inclusive society that truly revels in understanding a different perspective and culture.

Today I had a guest. David the boy of a Ukrainian family that recently immigrated here joined me in the water. The waves did their best to chase us from the sea with fury and foam. It was a fun afternoon the ended far too quickly for the both of us. Yet, as I sit here in the quiet writing to all of you I feel tired and think I shall need a little Mama’s Cha Cha to ease the pain in the shoulders. No bad days is really more than an idea it is a way of life. If only you are prepared to travel, learn, and leave your bias, behind in the airport parking lot. While it has been many many years since I have seen Mr. Rogers he gave us a truth, perhaps like many things from our youth we have lost or forgotten this truth. The world would be a much better, and safer, place if we all just remembered we are all each others neighbors.

Written by Fred Rogers | © 1967, Fred M. Rogers

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

A beautiful day for a neighbor

Could you be mine?

Would you be mine?

It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood

A neighborly day for a beauty

Could you be mine?

Would you be mine?

I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you

I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you

Let's make the most of this beautiful day

Since we're together, might as well say

Would you be my, could you be my,

Won't you be my neighbor?

Things Are a Little Harder in Russia

     Ok, so I think I have come to the conclusion that everything is harder in Russia because it can be. This is to say I believe a culture in which twelve vowels is standard and each plural adjective has as many options as a birthday card the expectations are just higher. Yet just like a birthday card only the correct plural will be accepted. So how can you tell I am getting into the second part of my Russian education? Inga is a great help, letting me study and keeping me hydrated and full as I devote hours to class trying to get the sticky grey matter to absorb at least a little of what my teachers are patiently showing me. Inga and I are speaking more Russian at home and I am finding that my daily responses are coming first in Russian in some cases. I hope it doesn’t mess with my writing, but I shall leave that for you to decide and tell me. Some things are helping my writing. We tend to take for granted sentence structure and now as I sound out a word, that I may or may not know, I have to find clues as to ‘the what’ based on the structure of the sentence. Thankfully Russian grammar rules are very strict and absolute in most cases, unlike sloppy English.

     So my Saturday finds me down on the beach, doing a little studying, and enjoying beautiful Anapa. It is a gorgeous hot day and like the locals I am enjoying a glass of beer or three and relishing a culture mature enough to allow a casual beer on the beach. No draconian law enforcement, chastising us and treating us like children for enjoying a beer here! It is normal and perhaps one of the reasons this country is not Muslim.  Back when Russia was forming into an actual self-determining country a choice had to be made. The choice was between being Orthodox Christian and Muslim and the ruling King, for lack of a more accurate descriptive, is quoted as saying; “It is the joy of every Russian to enjoy a drink.” Henceforth the Russian people’s official faith was Orthodox Christianity, as it didn’t have rules against casual drinking.  This was called the Byzantine Empire and happened in 988. Let’s think about that for a second, before America had anything resembling an organized society and Canadians of the time were worried about the size of beavers, Russia had an organized society! If we look at these people from within this framework, it is easy to see how they are a little reluctant to accept that the West knows best ideology bantered about with impunity. This country has been built, or perhaps forged is a more correct word, by revolution. We have learned from Marx that only true change comes from violent revolution. Russia has had more than a few of these while America has had, but one and we Canadians have had none. When you have paid for your current society with blood and death, you cannot help but respect it more. To add a little spice, most Russians remember the last revolution clearly while their American counterparts of the same age are digging up relics of their own or reenacting them in costumes.  I guess the difference is like the taste of a cake your Grandfather told you about and the one you ate in New York twelve years ago. One is significantly more real.

     Ok, so what have I learned in my courses? I have learned the alphabet and, for the most part, the different sounds the letters make. I never sounded out words in English. Rather I learned them on sight and I’ve had to change this process in my learning style. Sounding out words is difficult if you are unsure of the word you are attempting.  Add to this the insecurity you have with the new alphabets sound and you get my difficulty. Some of these sounds are entirely different, even alien sounding. Others letters look like English ones yet have different sounds. Multiple syllable words are the norm as well. For example, the word fridge is one syllable in English and in Russian it has five. Russian has 33 letters and believe me they use them, well except for the one letter that has no actual sound of its own. This letter looks like a B and just separates the sound of the letters on either side of it. Plurals are a new horror. If I designed an English test for plural rules and the students added an S to each answer, they would be right about seventy-five percent of the time. But this is Russian and as far as I can tell it seems that they have about sixteen different plural adjectives that depend on masculine, feminine, or neuter. It gets complicated past that as different letters modify different parts of the sentence, not just the noun or verb equally. But this is normal here and no one thinks about it. Just like in Canada when I get asked why I used an emotive adjective in my crash description and I have to think; “Shit ok which is the adjective again?” Here is a good example of some of the sound differences the SHH sound. There are two different yet close sounds to SHH. Borscht is a great example, as well as an excellent traditional soup, The last letter that looks like an upside down w in printed form has a tail and that makes it a hard sign. Like the great sports car Porsche, there is no t or ta sound after the shh sound. With such a challenging language, it is no leap to understand how accepting a little more difficulty in getting things accomplished is normal.

    We went out for a BBQ the other day. This prevented me from doing my homework and so my walk to school was very reminiscent of my high school days when I often walked to school without doing any. The difference being I rarely had to apply myself in school while here, pushing 50, I most certainly do. Luckily for me it was State holiday and the school was closed when I arrived so I was saved by the state and didn’t have to show disrespect to my teachers by not doing my lessons. My friend Vladimir and his wife Irene brought their kids and the newest addition to the family a grandchild. Lova wrestled some time from his very busy life to attend and our friend Natalie came with her brother and his wife and kids. Natalie’s little nephew is ten and has been taking English in school and greeted me in English and then had loads of fun practicing his English. He was jubilant to hear about the ease of plural adjectives in English! The BBQ was held in a little out of the way place that the locals call Snake Lake. I have never seen a snake on the three times I have been there. Drinks and food were plentiful as was catching up and enjoying each other’s company, as is the culture here in Russia. During a swim in this man-made lake, I lost my glasses and while I tried several times to find them, I was unsuccessful. Dejected I gave up and returned to the table to eat and made the statement that it was impossible to find them in the murky water and it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Vladimir’s boy didn’t give up and searched further out and found them for me! This was an impressive demonstration of this polite and attentive culture. A guest lost something and this would not stand until it could be rectified. It also showed the never give up Russian attitude. Meanwhile, Lova was organizing a recovery team that it used to pull bodies from the lake to suit up and come help the stupid Canadian that forgot to take off his glasses! It is just the way things are here! Many people and family ask why I love it here and am working so hard to stay…this is why, friendship and comrade mean so much more. As with anything English, there are exceptions and I have friends like this at home as well and you to a person know who you are. You are in my thoughts when I go to sleep and again when I awake. I long to see you here so you can experience this wonderful Russian lifestyle personally. Russia it is not just sitting on a gorgeous beach with incredible views and cold beer. It is the ethnically diverse culture that shares the ideologies that respect and hospitality are far more than mere ideals. I am typing this and four Kavkaz boys in their late twenties are dancing to traditional Kavkaz music and trying to get their girlfriends to join them. The girls are traditionally a little more conservative and are shyly being lured into the dance. Now to go order another beer from my Armenian bartender and host at my favorite seaside bar and answer questions about the price of cigarettes and booze in Canada and watch his eyes raise in disbelief and then wonder if I understood his question. Yes, my friend I understood and understand Russian pretty well. I long for the day I can express my thoughts to you in Russian. One day I will.

Back in Anapa Russia and going to school.

       So life finds me back in Anapa and back in kindergarten. It also finds me alone. I see it as a vote of confidence that I can make my way in this city without Inga’s help. Well, I have always been a little overconfident. In reality, it is all-good and I get to practice my language skills and when that fails charades and re-enactment sound effects. Inga and I were planning on visiting our parents on our return to Russia. But like all plans things changed. Russia now requires any residency applicant to write, read, and speak Russian. So I had to start school right away as I only really have three months to master this exotic tongue.  This meant I had to stay at home and as much I hated this, I miss my Russian parents as much as Inga, it was unavoidable. Russian is hard as it has an entirely different alphabet and while Russians have had to learn English in school for years, they fail as much as I do in mastery. However, I have great and motivated teachers that are enjoying teaching me as much as learning from me. My history teacher is a Radio personality here in Anapa and used to be on TV. Her degree is in Psychology and my English teacher is even more qualified, or over qualified with Ph.D., as is the case but it makes for a rich and rewarding learning environment. They all are very intelligent and accepting of me as I struggle to learn with encouragement.  This new law came into effect in January and while I totally agree with the requirement, I wish it came with a few months to learn. I hate it when Canadians can’t speak the language, especially when employed in the service industry. I recently had an issue understanding a Canada Customs Officer. She wasn’t speaking French either!! Inga had said I was hard on her when we got loaded on the plane and now…Well, Karma is a bitch! So taking a little time to enjoy the beach while I listen to the phrases over and over learning how they sound and feeling a bit odd about the children’s workbook on my lap. Finger following along as Google reads it.

Yeah, I am heavy rolling prime beef on the beach! But I am learning it and remembering it and at fifty that is an accomplishment in itself. I was going to do a bit of a change in style on this installment and write this in the travel writer style but I am no longer holding out hope for an easy out to this Visa issue by getting a job doing travel writing. So life is a little in the wind and both Inga and I are practicing our Thainess by just accepting the things we can’t change and roll with the punches.

My Russian is actually improving, as the signs that accompany me on my walk to school are slowly starting to catch my attention and I understand them. I have been putting in the effort two or three hours of school and then four or so doing exercises on the computer in the evening. It has been cutting into my writing time to be sure and this blog is evidence of such. When I started it, Inga had just left and tomorrow she comes home. So almost two weeks have passed.

I managed to order a Gyro and understand the spoken amount the other day returning from school. The little Armenian guy who has opened a new shop on the corner was a bit perplexed until I told him I was Canadian. He was patient and together we got it done and paid for. He asked why I moved from a great country to Russia, we have a rep Canucks, and I told him I loved Russia and the sun. He smiled and nodded his agreement and understanding although I think I switched up the genders of the two. Russian has three gender assignments for adverbs and the noun changes the word before and after. It also changes the sounds of both these words as well. They also assign gender to numbers and hierarchy or proper, polite speech. Yeah, it is confusing as hell but I am slowly getting it with the help of my teachers. Inga is back tomorrow so we will get to practice live instead of drool computer speak. Google isn’t as good a translator, for Russian, as Facebook is. I know my Russian fans and friends are enjoying the struggle and proud of my effort.

The other day I was walking down the street and an old women stopped and asked me directions to the post office. She had no doubt noticed my tan and assumed I was a local. I managed to explain I was from Canada and a tourist. Her eyes went wide like she was witnessing a rare animal species. I stumbled through saying I understand Post Office and then gestured and said let’s go in Russian. We walked in silence, slowly as she weighed the cost of getting lost with this strange creature against her energy level. I walked her to the post office and then asked her if this was correct. She smiled and nodded her head and I noticed she had tears in her eyes. She saw the concerned look on my face and took my hand and in very slow Russian said; “Thank You May 9.” May 9th is a holiday in Russia commemorating the Allied victory over Germany. I was confused at first and then got it. The only connection to Canada she had was our help during the Great War as it is called here and while she didn’t look old enough to have personal experience from that time, she must have been. The look in her eyes was the same look my Father used to have on Remembrance Day. I nodded my understanding and said in Russian “your welcome.” I watched her old eyes dart back and her brow creased as she searched for a memory. Finding it with a smile she said in English “welcome to Russia” let go of my hands and shuffled off towards the doors of the post office.

I walked back down the street named after Lenin towards my school and remembered the 22.6 million Russian lives lost in that conflict. My mind making the connection that at home our vets struggle to forget that horror while paying tribute to those that were lost and reminding the community to remember. In Russia the community never forgets and are grateful each day for the sacrifices of the defenders of their Mother. Rodina!

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.