First Impressions of Georgia

So we arrived in Tbilisi late in the afternoon and grabbed a taxi to our new apartment. We met our Cousins near the road our place is located and they guided us the rest of the way and helped drag our luggage up to the eighth floor. To be perfectly honest, I was a little concerned. I am used to Soviet era apartments and the general outside being not as important as the inside. However, as I said even, I was a little concerned. If you are coming from NYC, Florida, or Toronto, it will be quite a shock. But relax, have faith and things should work out for you. Fight the urge to run screaming back to the airport. There is that clear enough for you? We loaded the elevator three times as they are tiny here, and you have to pay for them. We are lucky it is a simple monthly fee in other places you have to drop a coin in a very large, compared to  space, box and this allows you to go up and down. My cousin sensing my urge to bolt opened the apartment when we arrived with the first load and went down for the rest allowing me to look at the place.

It is huge, big rooms, modern kitchen, and lovely views. We have half of the floor with balconies on both sides and big windows all around. It is very nice and not at all representative of the downstairs. Curb appeal has even less influence in Georgia! We were sent on our journey in typical Russian form and had loads of snacks, food, and things one needs for a week despite the trip only taking five hours.

Our cousins welcomed us with typical Georgian hospitality. For North Americans, this means treating you like visiting Royalty. Toasts and the food were enjoyed and then we were delivered back to our home for our first night.

            The next morning brought chores like banking, mobile phone sims, and internet connections. Inga’s cousin’s wife helped out and the whole thing was painless and smooth despite a little drama about the machine eating my card. It didn’t and despite general concerns about exchange rates it is like anyplace else in the world that allows you to take out your money from a machine in the wall. This comes with one caveat. In Tbilisi Georgia, you can withdraw Lari, the local currency, or the United States Dollars directly from the cash machine, or cash point for my European readers. My Russian sister Lianna had said you could do this and I thought something had been lost in translation. I have traveled a bunch and haven’t seen this except perhaps at specialized machines in international airports. After the chores and ensuring everything was working fine we sat down for the evening for another feast and discussion about the upcoming trip to “The Village”.

            “The Village” is the little town were Inga’s two Aunts live. It is about an hour and forty minutes by minibus from the central bus station in Tbilisi. The scenery on the trip out reminded me of the Okanagan and the surrounding area. The Village reminds me of my Uncle Jocks farm near Spy Hill by the Manitoba border in the 1960’s. Except I was never there in the sixties, but I remember him telling a story about getting a “throne” in the house after I was born.  The farmhouse has internal plumbing, and an awesome hot shower large enough to wash a horse in. But, the toilet is outside and it is the squat type that causes my calves and thighs to clench. Clenching calves and painful past ninety degree squats are not conducive to easy morning relief no matter how much coffee I drink.  I contemplated changing the design to a North American one. My hosts were very concerned about the rustic bathroom and my Canadian sensibilities. However, a little research on the internet provided me the information that we are doing it wrong. The past ninety-degree angle aligns everything perfectly and it is simply my inexperience at adopting the position that is the problem.  Russian and Georgian people take this position for resting and having a cigarette in casual situations or waiting for a bus. In exploring my bench with a toilet seat idea further, I had to admit a further flaw that even I was familiar with. The dreaded spider!

I have always hated sitting in outhouses. I mean who really likes it. Even if the outhouse is of the variety called ‘the long drop’ they always smell. Even in –20 they somehow manage to reek. But, the worst for me is the giant hairy Brown Recluse spider. Each time I am forced to use one of these I imagine this large lonely spider, brown hairs protruding from his hairy back. The violin pattern mottling from which it derives its other name a warning to other lesser spiders to stay away. He is sitting quietly getting fat off all the flies and other insects his ripe real estate affords him when his world gets plunged into darkness. A vibration more violent than an insect strike stirs his web. His multiple eyes focus on the source, a large hairy pale body descending into his domain. Forced by nature to defend his territory he raises his front feet and exposes his sharp fangs. The interloping sickly pale, loose skin intruder does not retreat. He has to attack. In a quick motion, he attacks sinking his fangs and injects venom that causes the flesh to rot. It will destroy a quarter size area of skin, more than enough for the average spider. Except this ‘spider’ is not a spider at all. The case of mistaken identity is no cause for concern to our Violin spider as he is deaf to the screams of men and is happy as the brightness returns and the flies once again fly into his banquet web. So with all this in mind I had to admit that the open pit squat was a far better design. I just have to get used to the position.

The people are great and the farmhouse itself is very cool. The family here has welcomed us with open arms and despite language issues have done everything and more to ensure the Canadian guests are happy. Uncle can speak better Russian than me and we struggle along with this common foreign tongue. But he is as easy going as me, so even sharing silence and a short walk is done happily. The children have been overdosing on English with Inga and laughing their collective asses off getting me to say words in Georgian. We had another huge feast last night and met another cousin who invited me to go hunting in the morning. We had shared a few liters of wine and I was pretty tired so I politely declined. A few toasts later and with Inga’s encouragement I agreed. I climbed into bed with the knowledge that in four short hours I would be climbing into an unknown vehicle, with unknown men to go hunting for unknown prey.

            The roosters dream woke me up. The damn bird must have been dreaming as sunrise was hours away. I am not a morning person, less so when I have only slept three hours. I tried to dress in the dark and not wake Inga, but she must have been feeling slightly guilty for talking me into this and got up to make me coffee in the strange dark kitchen. We heard the men gathered on the street as we exited the house and I tried and failed to complete my morning waking ritual. The morning was crisp, the coffee hot, and the clenching yoga position was looming. Things only loom in foreboding. The dark walk was looming, the men were waiting, and Inga was fussing. She was only concerned about my comfort and happiness and I was focused on ensuring my intestinal fortitude for the drive and avoiding having to make gesturing hand signals to communicate; “Stop before I shit myself.” While this might be a little too much information for the casual reader, I am only saying what you all know and don’t admit to anyone. Five armed and unknown men are not nearly as imposing as rumbling lower large intestine in a vehicle you don’t control and with a driver that you can’t communicate with. Coffee worked its magic and I was able to join my hunting party on time and in reasonable shape.

         

The vehicle was a Delica minivan and while it had some off-road attachments it didn’t look up for any serious off-road driving. This is another instance in which I shouldn’t have judged a book by its cover. This little four-wheel drive machine did things I wouldn’t have believed possible if I’d seen a video of a pro driver on a closed course. The darkness was abating as we climbed deep into the Georgian countryside. The thick bush giving way only for a mud covered track containing hills and corners with angles the threatened to flip us over. On one such hill, I was seriously wondering if it were possible to roll backward in a minivan.

We arrived at the spot. I only knew it was the spot because everyone got out and let the dogs out. I had no idea we had dogs inside the van until this point and they obviously didn’t know a Canadian was in the van as they all came over and introduced themselves in the usual dog way. I was even happier for the earlier coffee. My cousin handed me a Turkish made 12-gauge auto shotgun and five rounds. I couldn’t ask about the legality of me carrying a shotgun in Georgia so I just accepted it and loaded it. I noticed a couple of the men were watching to see if I knew my way around firearms and could safely handle it. I passed the test and with everyone relieved and the dogs pulling at leashes we set off in the dark. We walked in silence and the dogs barked ideas and options at one another. I believe they collectively decided on following the white female dog as it was easier for the night-blind humans.

However, the decision was arrived at we found ourselves in a clearing between three mountain valleys. Two men went north and left and two others went right and Inga’s cousin and I were to remain in the middle. In Africa, this would be called the flush point. I still didn’t know what our prey was. In Canada, we hunt birds and clay pigeons with shotguns and while I know the rest of the world does things, differently I was a little concerned as I saw what looked like cat and bear tracks.

The Sun came up behind our position and it was a beautiful thing to see. The mist caught in the trees before being tugged toward the clouds and I fingered my stolen toilet paper and scanned a nice relaxing location to trundle off for a more normal and relaxing Canadian style squat.

We hunted for several hours. The other men hunted with the dogs and we occasionally heard them bray from our dedicated kill zone. It was a good plan. It didn’t work and it was a very enjoyable. The men returned in slow succession in that defeated way hunters do. Happy to have the time to hunt and wishing it had been more successful. I was happy to share the time and culture of this Men Only sport here in Georgia.

            Defeated by chance we returned to the other thing hunters do the world over. We tossed plastic water bottles into the air and blasted them with shotguns. I liked this and in truth was a lot more confident blasting a water bottle than a bear! The hunt completed I was offered the front seat for the drive home and accepted this honor quickly. The drive back was even more beautiful and I shared it with men that only knew my name and family connection. We couldn’t communicate in the usual way, but there were no awkward moments. I pondered this and found it odd. We shared so little past being men and yet we all were comfortable with just that.  The “Village” life is at first glance a little simple, but it does afford people with the gift of time. As we age, we understand time is priceless. While the young people in Georgia move to the big exciting cities of Tbilisi and Batumi to escape the village; many return. Not because they fail in their goal but because they realize the simple fact that sometimes, fast progress and a frenetic life isn’t everything as imagined. Sometimes adopting other designs is just a pain in the balls!

                        In case it is illegal for a Canadian to carry a shotgun in Georgia parts of this story are fictional and only representative of what it would be like actually doing the things portrayed in this fictional account.

Sea Monkeys gave me trust issues. Vancouver to Anapa Russia

   

    I think my trust issues came from Sea Monkey advertising. We all remember the ads in the back of comic books, fun little creatures playing instruments and wearing cool hats. How was this in anyway “truth in advertising”? Targeting the most vulnerable in western society for their hard earned little cash. I remember sending away for them as a kid and getting a yeast-like package. I poured this into a fantastic sea monkey playground and got a few live brine shrimp in a week. I was disappointed. But I learned a lesson far more valuable than the money I spent. I learned that all that is advertised does not show up as advertised! Big corporations could not be trusted to have my best interests at heart and would steal from me if I were stupid enough to believe them. They didn’t take my money they stole the time it took me to earn that money. Back then, a buck to mow the lawn was good money, and it took an hour. Later in life I wouldn’t chase a dollar coin into the gutter, but then…It was perhaps money well invested. I learned the dream of exotic pets cascading in crazy shenanigans was false. I extrapolated that and looked at the Western dream of a white picket fence home.

    You learn to see the fallacy in ads in life and use them to warn you. We have all heard; “If it is too good to be true it probably isn’t”. Could this be the case for the Western Dream? Well, What exactly is two point five kids? Is this one of those warning signs? Is this dream an unattainable reality? It is for many, and I believe many more to come. Does this condemn us to an unhappy life staring at the bowl of bouncing brine shrimp? It doesn’t have to.

 I have a choice to spend my time slaving to pay for that seven hundred thousand dollar mortgage or spend time experiencing life with friends and family. It took me a while to decide to get off the Carousel of stupid and risk everything to live my life and my dream. It took me several tries to find someone bold enough to follow me as well. People advertise what they think you want to have so the created dual delusional non-truth reality is an easy trap to fall into. How many couples divorce after the 2.5 kids have grown up and left? The breakfast table truth that they have spent their time and lives acquiring and paying for a dream designed by the ruling class elite and not one of their own. The new apparent reality as disappointing as dipping a Chocolate Chip cookie into your coffee and realizing it is a Raisin cookie.

Some people like Raisin cookies. I know I love them. My Mom made equally excellent Raisin and Chocolate Chip cookies. She made Raisin more often because they were healthier. So before I took the risk of getting hit with the wooden spoon for stealing one, I always checked. Chocolate Chip was worth getting caught and punished for while Raisin was not. Nothing was more disappointing than getting caught with a mouthful of Raisin cookie when you expected Chocolate and getting a spoon spanking for it!

    Thomas Wolfe said; “You can never go home again.” I loved that book as a teen but until this year never really understood the meaning. I thought I did, like so many other things I thought I knew in my teens. But that topic is a far too long of topic for a blog. I went home, to do one of the two absolutes in life. I am writing this so it wasn’t to die. I needed to do my taxes and like each year I’d left it to the last minute to organize all my receipts. We flew direct from Hong Kong to Vancouver and breaching the gray clouds of the most beautiful city on the coast did not bring the feeling I thought it would.

    Familiarity is a comfortable couch but as in relationships ruined by life and with love lost Vancouver failed to stir my emotions. I landed with relief, both of a long flight home completed, and the city I have known my whole life. I was looking forward to seeing friends, family, and reconnecting with many.  This goal was not adequately achieved, and not for lack of trying on both parts.

Western life is so focused on attaining the Sea Monkey Dream that I found it near impossible to meet everyone that had expressed desire on Facebook to do so. I am not putting anyone at fault for this, rather I am raising it as a check and balance. Is this reality really your Chocolate Chip Cookie? If it is then great, live the dream. If it is not, then change it before that Monday morning breakfast realization!

    We did see and stay with many friends and family and had an incredible time sharing stories, Vodka, food, and emotional connection time that is sadly missing in this digital age. Skype is great, but it is a pale replacement for that beautiful lull in every communication between friends. You know the one the comfortable quiet that occurs when two people, comfortable with each other can just be. Without words or physical contact and feel fine with that moment. I had many of those experiences and feel very blessed to have had so.

    A very rainy two am had us heading back to the airport in Vancouver. We had a six o’clock flight and had to drop off the truck before the airport. Hugs exchanged between friends we were once again traveling, this time to LA and then a few hours later to Russia, and home to Anapa.

We met my nephew Mike in LA and went for an excellent lunch down in Venice Beach. It was the first time he had met Inga and both enjoyed the experience. The long, nearly 13 hour, flight was looming ahead yet I forced myself to relax and be in the moment rather than stress about the flight. I learned this skill in Thailand and was glad for the knowledge. The boarding process was smooth except the US requirement to check boarding passes every thirty-five feet. I am not exaggerating in the least. I think my boarding card was looked at a dozen times and three times in the line to go through security! I could see the confusion on the faces of the Russian travelers around me.

Landing in the afternoon in Moscow was a treat as I usually come in after the sun has vanished for the day. It really is an incredible city and while now familiar didn’t have the comfy couch feel. We made our way to a nearby airport hotel I usually stay at and relaxed and showered. Morning again started early and had us out of bed before sunrise. The process home only a short hop away, and with it the promised Anapa sun.

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.

Vientiane and the Visa run to Laos

     

One can’t spend too much time in Thailand talking with expats or visitors of a longer duration without the topic of Visa runs being raised. Everyone has a tale, a story, or as my friend Riz would say; “porky pies." The difference between the stories being the storyteller’s motivation, to regale, brag or instill fear. A search of forums and the web have all sorts of advice on the cheapest, easiest, best way. The problem a researcher runs into is not just the inaccuracy of the story based on the above, but also the when. South East Asia is a quickly growing and changing place. What was “true” on Friday may be not so true on Monday morning? The original story may be slightly embellished, proving the writer's powers of negotiation, or entirely fabricated. Armed with this knowledge and understanding Inga and I set off to Laos on a Sunday afternoon in February.

            While cheap, easy, best, seem at the start to be definitive in nature they are not. What is cheap depends on your budget and what you place value in. I value time and safety over money so for me cheap was a Nok Air flight from Chiang Mai to Udon Thani near the Laos border. Mini Vans do make the same trip at about a third the cost, but I have heard “tales” of horror. Even if these horror stories are not as true as the telling the mere fact of being stuck in a van for eight hours at the mercy of the driver for bathroom breaks on challenging Thai roads made the decision an easy one.

            Once in Udon Thani the options for a ride to the Friendship Bridge and border are varied. Bus, minibus, or “go now limo” are the most convenient. Apparently a city bus style route exists but without a Thai interpreter that option died on arrival. We opted for the ‘go now limo’ and, for us, it was a good value. During the hour long ride thru the city and out to the border, I witnessed three Minibus incidents ranging from close to stupidly tight how did they not just crash.

            The border itself is run very well on both sides. You hand your filled out departure card and with two stamps and a smile your leave Thailand. You leave the building and then run into a modern day sheep herder. His job is to get you into one of the buses that drive across the bridge. I have read you can walk across, but I don’t know how one would do this as the chaos in this no-mans-land area between the two countries is intense. So he directed me back to immigration and Inga spotted the bus ticket seller just to the right of the immigration door. Tickets purchased we were herded onto a waiting bus for the trip. It isn’t a long trip but considering dusk had just fallen, and our mosquito spray was packed, forty Bhat was cheap and easy. On the other side of the bridge, one fills out the forms and the Immigration Officer conducts an on the spot interview in superb English and polite manner. You hand over your passports with the required cash amount for your country and in three minutes you have a cool looking visa allowing you a month in the Peoples Democratic Republic of Laos.

            We were approached during the process by a young man offering help and smiling I said that my English was pretty good and I could muddle through it. He smiled, understanding, and then offered a ride into town. A short negotiation of how much and what kind of transport and we had our ride into Vientiane. He hovered close and checked how we were doing and politely offered suggestions. The ride into the capital of Laos was comfortable in an air-conditioned minivan with us as the only passengers.

            Arriving at the Lao Golden Hotel had me questioning my decision to book it. I knew it was very close to the Consulate of Thailand and was a three-star hotel. The street appeal of the property is a little lacking. Inside however the staff were excellent and the night manager had enough English to make it all work.  The day personnel and the hotel manager speak perfect English and the three days we stayed were very pleasant. The breakfast included with the stay is good and well executed and the kitchen staff and manager very professional.

            Our helpful driver had told us that Monday would be busy and to arrive at the consulate early.  Inga and I went for a night time walk to find the consulate and enjoyed the cool jungle air. It was only about five minutes by foot and the neighborhood very quiet after Chiang Mai.  We arrived back at the hotel and got an early start on sleep, both of us tired from the travel and wondering how the easier, cheaper routes would have felt.

            The Consulate opened at 830 and we arrived at 7:45 to find a line about fifty meters long. The line stretched along the narrow sidewalk, already crammed with people selling services and food. We were approached by a couple of people politely offering to fill out the forms for us and we declined and then set to watching the spectacle. Many different nationalities surrounded us and most had come on minibusses doing the cheap, easy visa run. They looked tired and happy to be standing in line. We watched one of the service helpers diligently set up his stall. To say the man was detail  orientated would have been wronging thousands with illness. I knew we needed a photocopy of the front page of our visa and had intended to do it at the embassy on the top floor but the price was right and I knew this guy would do it correctly the first time. He offered to look at my paperwork and concluded that we needed photocopies of our Laos visa, and stamps, and I needed a new picture. He also gave us two applications and cut and glued our pictures on them. The price he charged was about 20 Bhat more than if I had done it inside. A great value for a while, you wait service.

            Inside the embassy grounds are beautiful and amazingly so given the enormous amount of human traffic that is seen on a daily basis. A small snack bar provides coffee and treats at a reasonable price and there is even a small smoking area. We stood in line until we reached a covered area to the rear of the compound and then received a number after our documents got a once over from junior staff. Inga and I found a spot and filled out the forms and waited for our number to be called. It is run very efficiently and the staff are very helpful and polite. We left after about two hours total time without passports to explore the city.

       

    Vientiane is very different than Chiang Mai and so are the people. Things are about the same price with the exception of street food being a little cheaper and Tuk Tuks being more expensive. The city itself is charming with the French and Soviet influence very apparent in the buildings and road designs. The people are a little shyer but still pleasant. English is spoken less frequently here and Bhat and Kip used as a single currency. In fact, the speed at which they can do the conversion is pretty impressive. We walked perhaps too far on this day. The weather was sweltering and the humidity very high yet we pushed ourselves to go see That Luang a huge temple complex northeast of the city center.  It was impressive and very different from Thai temples. The return journey found both the temperature and our blood pressure climbing. We relaxed the rest of the day and enjoyed an excellent meal at the hotel.

            The next morning found us again walking, yet this time in the rain. A cloud system had rolled in cutting off the direct sunlight. We enjoyed a long walk to the waterfront and found little shelter points along the way to dodge the greater deluges. This is jungle rain after all and when it comes down it comes down! To be honest both Inga and I remarked how we missed the rainstorms of Vancouver and we found a little café and enjoyed a drink both of us missing BC a little.

            The rain stopped and we took a route down to the Presidential Palace and the Chao Anouvong Park and Monument. We had the entire place to ourselves as everyone had the good sense to stay out of the rain. But to us the rain was warm and the cooler temperature allowed for a longer walk. The morning swept by and soon I had us walking in the direction of the Embassy to pick up our passports and hopefully our sixty-day tourist visas.

         

There wasn’t a lineup when we arrived at the Embassy and we each got a number and waited for them to open the doors to main building. This is the secure side of the Embassy and it is where you paid your fees the day before. The people waiting in the large room were most of the same individuals we had seen the day before. Some looking very worse than they had a short twenty-four hours ago. The system was again smooth and number driven and Inga and I both received the visas we requested.
That good news and stress gone from our day we had a small lunch and recharge before heading once again on foot to the waterfront steps to enjoy a cigar and sunset over the Mekong River before hitting the night market.
 

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.

A Georgian Road Trip

 

      Arriving back in Russia on the twenty-fifth of September was a bad idea as it meant I had to leave on the 24 of December. Now I guess that in itself is not a bad thing as winter is a little harsher in Anapa than Vancouver but as it was our first anniversary and Inga’s parents couldn’t really fly all the way to Vegas for our wedding we had decided to stay this winter. December brings birthdays, our anniversary, and the general festive celebrations shared with many around the world. Russia is no exception, but it does come with some changes.

Traditionally Russians celebrate the Winter season, as a festival, and only recently have started celebrating Christmas like North Americans.  Now like at home they celebrate Christmas each to their own level of Christian belief. They also still celebrate the old festival too, with old man winter and all the traditions that go along with it. Then comes New Years, followed by Russian New Year. All in all, this makes it a very busy time as Russians love to visit and mingle. So we added a little more to this festive season getting married in December. So we have plans for some big parties at home in Anapa and then in Ossetia before going to Moscow to celebrate Russian New Year. After that the warmth of South East Asia beckons, and will be home for a few months.
 
So I once again found myself needing to do a visa run to allow enough time to do this and not have to fly on Christmas Eve. Inga is still waiting for her external visa to be renewed so I didn’t want to go anyplace far without her so we decided to run home to her parents little village outside of Vladikavkaz and her brother Jim and I would go to Georgia for the day.

 
The trip to Georgia is only about an hour from the big city and is a wonderful drive. The road is very modern and reminded me of the Sea to Sky highway of the 80’s but with much more beautiful scenery. Growing up in British Columbia kind of jaded me for beautiful mountains, or so I thought. This area of Russia is truly beautiful, and barring the bloody history and Ministerial warnings I’ve already talked about should really be on a person's bucket list.
 
The white clouds circle the area around the city as the highway snakes out of the Soviet style buildings south towards the border. The wide road is new and shiny black with dew and mist that seems to be a constant blanket over the area. Watching the road and looking up the hills, turned golden with winter's approach, my eyes are drawn to a sharp, jagged cloud. Only then to I realize that the clouds the ring the city stop and are replaced by a majestic crown of white peaks.
 

These peaks seem to float on top of the clouds themselves and it is difficult to see exactly at which point they intersect. The gold of the autumn hill the shiny breastplate of armor on Saint George himself. That would make the black ribbon we were traveling on the Snake or devil depicted in so many paintings and coins of the realm. This road, while wide and for the most part in Russia freshly paved was a true snake of a road and dangerous. The closer we got to Georgia the steeper the elevation and frequency of switchbacks.
 
We arrived at the border proper and it was a relaxed sort of affair. The mountains were very close together here and mixed. By mixed I mean, coastal style hills with interior mountains slammed up against The Rockies, all in the course of five kilometers. It was surreal for me having lived my whole life in the coastal mountain range.
 
The Russian machine was in full swing and moved those of us that could follow lines and directions along in an efficient and quick manner. Many, unable to follow directions, were yelled at by a bear of a man that seemed completely amazed that Russians have challenges with lineups. Having traveled and lined up with Russians, I found this hard to believe as even as a newcomer this challenge was not lost on me.
 
Unlike at home you and your passenger get out of your car and approach the booth on foot under the watchful eyes of border officers. They then check your car as a person in the booth checks your paperwork. I had Jim with me so I didn’t try to interact and just relaxed and played the dumb tourist, and in ten minutes we were on our way.
 
The “no man's land” or border zone between the Georgian and Russian border is vast. I didn’t check the odometer to get an exact number, but it was close to five kilometers. This part of the road was in poor repair and made the going slow along the river. In the hills along the journey I saw large bunkers with obvious camouflage and “scope flashes” from more concealed watchers. This reminded me that tensions between the two countries, that used to be one, were far from relaxed.
 
We arrived at the Georgian border and Jim told me that I had to go inside and pass customs as only drivers were allowed to remain in the car. He smiled, at my obvious nervousness, and remarked that I need not worry they’d speak English.
 
They did not speak any English. They were not as nice as their Russian counterparts either. They had picked up that rather annoying American habit of saying something louder when it was obvious the person speaking with you didn’t understand the language, as if by raising your voice would suddenly make the person fluent in your tongue.  I pulled a Canadian habit, smiled widely and said sorry for not being able to speak Georgian. This was understood and relaxed the situation a bit and the officer asked if I spoke Russian. I smiled wider still and replied that I spoke a little Russian but better hand signals. This actually brought I smile to the officer's face and he said, “back” in Russian while gesturing to a web camera style device on his desk. I stepped back and he moved the camera gesturing me to remain still.
 
Picture took he asked if I had any guns or weapons and these gestures were entertaining the people behind me bemoaning their decision to get in my line. Then he made the international sign of money, fingers rubbed together, and I was a little confused if I was being asked for a bribe so obviously or if the visa on arrival policy had changed and now cost money.  I said I didn’t understand in Russian, and he thought for a second and said; “You how vino buy?” I had told him earlier we had come to Georgia to try their world famous wine. So I pulled out my wallet and from it my black Visa card and his eyes showed surprise and he nodded, stamped my passport and handed it back saying; “Welcome.”
 
I met Jim on the other side of the border and he said his experience was fine and looked surprised when I said they didn’t speak English.  We maneuvered through the throng on people trying to re-board busses and mini vans and I thanked my luck at having a private driver.
 

We drove into a little town with money exchange kiosks and wine huts clustered together on a parking lot overlooking the mountain valley and river. A flood had come through this area recently and the road was a mess and construction was everywhere. The signs apologizing for this were in English and Georgian as were many of the store signs and advertisements.
 
  Jim had discovered that the border closed at four so we didn’t have much time to sightsee as planned, but still made the time to drive through the first town to the countryside to see the view. It was an incredible view and worth the trip, but Gori and the Inga’s birthplace and family village home would have to wait unless we, as Jim suggested, wanted to spend the night. I had been away too much as of late and really wanted to be “back home” in Russia and my beautiful wife so that part of the trip and your story about it will have to wait till August next year.

The Social Media experiment and Thailand.

       I did a little test on my private facebook page and I think sharing it will be culturally illuminating. I posted a message saying Happy Birthday to President Putin and added a funny picture depicting the two presidents in day-to-day activities that called President Obama’s manliness’ into question. I got the idea talking about cultural differences and ideologies. Freedom of speech is an idea but if it stops at just an idea it really isn’t worth the cost it took to entrench it in our culture. In the discussion around this, I was asked to put my money where my mouth was. The general feeling here is people in the West don’t like Russians because of the countries policies.  Sanctions and sound byte rhetoric hasn’t helped this feeling as Russian people have unfettered access to outside news and have a smattering of English language ability. Perhaps not enough to capture the entire message, but enough to get the gist. So in my test I posted this picture and wishes and added something that was both true and an achievement about President Putin. Being polite is a Canadian stereotype.
 
The feeling was that in 24 hours my Facebook page would be inundated with harsh or downright hateful statements. My feeling was one of uncertainty as I really didn’t know what the post response would be. I know I hoped it would be respectful and I wished the brainwashing attempt of the Western media had failed as I like to think my friends and family are intelligent and respect the idea of freedom.
 
So the 24 hours are up and I was right, no hateful messages. What  made this test even more special is the response I got. As it is a private page, I will not add a name, but the one response I did get was from someone who risked his life defending these very same ideologies. A personal hero of mine and a man I deeply respect. He said, “Wow."  So in explaining this to friends here deepened both respect and understanding. They know I have family in the USA and were significantly more than a little surprised they said nothing. To have a Canadian soldier who has had Russian-made hardware fired in anger at him comment so respectfully really raised the bar on respect and understanding. It was obvious on the faces of these very hard men, many soldiers themselves that they understood what freedom of speech meant to us and while they may not agree with the statement “they will die protecting your right to say it.”  

Another less serious part of the test is just the cultural idea of what a man is. In Russia, a man is a provider and protector. Please notice I used “a” and not “the” in that statement. For men, it is important to do things stereotypically seen as manly like hunting, fishing, and engaging in tough activities. Less importance is put on the emotional side of things like connecting with the hosts of The View and sharing. This is not to suggest men are not emotionally connected to their partner. They just have a better understanding of the relationship. Equality has been alive and well in Russia a lot longer than in other cultures around the world so there seems little need to bemoan glass ceilings or gender inequality. People and relationships have in many cases settled on roles based on mutual acceptance, without life coaches and support groups. When men bring flowers, the arrangements are huge, beautiful, and may cost a day or two's salary. They do this past the usual reasons for flowers, they do it as they feel romantic and want to express it.

That was my foray into live Social Media experiments. For the many of you that are both friends and fans on my private page this is what that post was about that you saw and thought your private thoughts. I guess in that is the truest of truths. Our ideas and opinions are exactly that; ours and ours alone.  When an ideology becomes polarized with the added emotional dogma of culture, religion, patriotism, and lacks understanding of a different perspective it becomes explosive. Many of you probably shared the “Wow” sentiment and perhaps wondered and additional “WTF?” as well. Thanks for being my test group, and proving to many here in Russia that our ideologies are not just propaganda and rhetoric. That we do hold these ideas sacred and we “talk the talk and walk the walk.”

      So Mike Tyson probably said it best when he said a plan is only good until the point you get punched in the face. Living full time in Russia would probably be ok if I weren't such a chatterbox and social butterfly. However like Popeye said, “I am what I am.” So while browsing cheap visa run possibilities I saw a hot fair to Thailand. Thailand! I thought, wow visa run and mileage run all in one. So I booked it and hopped on a plane from Anapa to Moscow, and then ten hours south to Asia.
 
I am getting quite used to traveling inside Russia and know the way things go and what to expect so I like playing a game. The game goes something like this. How far can I get speaking only Russian and making the people think I am Russian? All the way to Thailand! I made it from Anapa on the Black Sea to Moscow and to my overnight hotel without having to resort to English or comedic gestures. The trick is not so much understanding the language but the culture of Russia. You need to adopt the walk and the way of interacting with the staff in a bored and relaxed way. I figured the international flight out would be a little more difficult and it was, but the look on the Passport Control Officers face was priceless when I handed my Canadian passport over. Seems like I have relaxed quite well into this culture. I even asked a Police Officer where the lounge was in the departures area, as I couldn’t get a cell signal to search for it. This is not really something a Russian would do. But my poor accent must have been mistaken for extreme frustration as the cop actually gestured and said, “Relax, follow me.”

So twelve hours found me in Bangkok, two in the lounge drinking beer, and then ten hours on the plane sleeping like a baby thanks to the previous two hours of beer drinking. I snore loudly when I drink, I’ve known this for years and have used it quite effectively in the past to get a room all to myself, and the same was true on the flight.  I awoke with the six other passengers moved to new seats. I apologized, its Canadian, and was told it wasn’t a problem. So I arrived in Bangkok refreshed and rested and as it was only 9 had the entire day to visit the city. Before I did that I had to enter the Kingdom.

The Kingdom is currently under Martial Law. When you hear that the thoughts it brings to mind differ depending on where you’re from.  For me, I thought that they would be a little more diligent in the entrance process and hoped they would still give me a thirty-day exempt visa. The process was no different than many other countries and I soon found myself in a huge airport. Bangkok airport, or BKK, is wonderfully laid out and very easy to navigate. The people are friendly and helpful and the whole Martial Law thing quickly slipped from my mind. I called a Uber taxi after getting a mobile phone sim at the airport. The phone sim was cheap and easy and the girls working the kiosk helpful and fast. They set up the phone and made sure it worked and showed me how to refill the minutes. The entire process took perhaps ten minutes. I hit the bank machine on the way out and grabbed my Uber driver using the GPS location sent to my phone.

Uber is more expensive to take from the airport, but the car was better than the regular taxis and the driver's English was good.  He was the one that actually told me he was more expensive. I asked the question and he said if I wasn’t long lined and they went on the meter that the trip would have been about ten dollars cheaper. He went on to explain that was a lot of ifs and that they wouldn’t use the expressway, as its paid, like we were going to do to avoid traffic. I so love Uber!
The hotel was listed as a five star and it was cheap. It was cheap and perhaps a five star a few years ago, I’d give it four, but it was clean and the staff great. I checked in early and set off to see some cultural sites.

As an older western tourist traveling alone, you immediately get sold the “boom boom” options. It took quite a great deal to convince my Tuk Tuk driver that I really did just want to see the statues and cultural stuff. But with effort we finally had an understanding that the kickbacks he’d get taking me to one of these fishbowls or shows wasn’t worth the risk of me getting out of his tuk tuk and walking away. A tuk tuk is a three wheeled motorbike that many use as primary transportation. There are also scooter taxis but riding “bitch” on a scooter that weighed less than me, driver included,  in Bangkok traffic seemed overtly reckless.

We did a few local temples and at each one he waited patiently for me. Then we set off to find a place that sold e-cigarette devices, as I had to replace the tank on my Aspire system. This took a few hours as things are very hard to find in Bangkok even with addresses and pictures. So after about seven hours together we arrived back at the hotel and I asked how much I owed him. We had agreed on a fare to the temple, but I had forgot to get a price for the other. Breaking the rule always agree on a price before getting onto a Tuk Tuk. He did the usual thing and said “whatever you think is fair." So in these cases I default to what was his service worth to me in Canadian dollars.  I handed him 500 baht and he was happy confirming our trip tomorrow to the river trip and floating markets. I confirmed, saying I would see him at ten. I knew he was getting a kickback from this and was totally ok with it.

The next day found us heading to the boat trip. I had slept in and was only able to grab a coffee and a quick bite before rushing down for ten so I asked Ping if he had eaten yet.

He said he had breakfast with the kids when he had sent them off to school, but could eat. So I suggested he pick a place on the way that he had frequented in the past and liked. This brought a look in the mirror and then a full turn around assessment. I continued saying “You pick, I buy, good for me good for you. It’s cultural; Okay?”  For those readers that remember we invited the cab driver up for lunch when we arrived in Anapa Russia. So Ping gave me another look and shrugged his shoulders and continued slipping through the morning Bangkok traffic without killing me. He turned down an alley and I could smell the river, past the other exotic and not so exotic scents. Passing a little cart with three folding camp style chair and tables Ping gestured with his head while swerving to avoid a cat with another in hot pursuit. He gave me a look in the mirror again and I said smells good. A smile crossed his face and we continued toward the river. We parked near the river cruise place and Ping suggested we get tickets first and offered to come with me on the cruise, to translate. I knew this was another way to get a little more out of me, but I liked him and thought he might come in handy, so I agreed. Ping ran off to put the Tuk Tuk in a better place for long storage and use his phone and a Guy walked over to take care of me. Absently I responded to him in Russian and he quickly disappeared, leaving me standing there. A couple where getting tickets and I watched them pay for a private boat on the long trip. It came out to 1800 baht, and they had not been delivered by Tuk Tuk as the guy was pointing out to the lady, while he walked by me to the dock, how it would have been more if they had taken a taxi and paid the kick back. Ping arrived and asked me what length of trip I wanted to do. I said the long trip and together we went to the desk to pay. Ping talked to the lady selling the tickets and confirmed, with me,  I was going to pay for him too and the total was 1500baht. There was a little more conversation between Ping and the sales lady while I paid and by the tone I could tell Ping was being firm. The lady was shaking her head yes as Ping and I left and walked up the alley toward the food cart.  I asked what was up and Ping said that she was trying to book us too early and we would be rushed for the temple and market because of the other bigger tour boats.

We arrived at the food stall and while I wouldn’t call it clean looking it was good smelling. Ping asked what I liked and I smiled and responded with “what do Russians eat for breakfast?” He got it immediately and laughed saying, “Yes yes you have no idea what this stuff is.”  I responded telling Ping I would have what he is having with a beer.  He told me to go sit.

After ordering for the two of us, he returned with a beer and two glasses, one full of ice. He took the ice glass and gave me the other and poured the beer commenting that the ice was tap water so no good for me. We made small talk till the lady delivered our food. It was rice with egg mixed in and then another cooked on top, with onion and other, spices beside chicken in a spicy sauce. When I say, spicy think of peanut sauce added to conceal liquid demon tears.

In Russia, they feed you Vodka to test you fortitude. This was a similar test with spice and I mixed it with my rice and added copious amounts of sugar to my beer when Ping was distracted to help quell the nuclear fission that was occurring behind by third bicuspid! I think I commented twice how spicy it was and Ping simply nodded his response as we both started sweating.

I seemed to pass the test and while I paid 190 baht for our meal Ping grabbed two water and another beer from the fridge and stuffed them into his backpack. “For the boat trip,” He said heading off down the alley gesturing in a Thai, palm down, for me to follow.  I did thinking to myself that a Tuk Tuk driver just bought me a beer.

The river trip was very interesting and after seeing the regular boats crammed with passengers I was happy I got a private boat. I’ve spent a great deal of time on boats so the rolling muddy river didn’t bother me, but I saw people in other boats feeding the fish with the expensive hotel breakfast they had eaten that morning. We saw the market, and the riverfront, temples near and far and Ping did his best to be tour guide in simple English and I could tell by how he said things he was very proud of the city.  It was a great day and I think Ping enjoyed himself as well. We ended the day back at the hotel and Ping said; “Thanks for the boat trip and seeing Bangkok Mr. Scott.”

The next hop was to Chiang Mai in the north of Thailand. I had made the decision that Bangkok was a little too much like Moscow but with Asian drivers and far too busy. I had made a connection with a guy in Chiang Mai on the internet and had decided to stay there for a week. So with money transferred via Paypal I boarded a Thai Airlines flight for the one-hour hop to the second largest city in Thailand.

Richard Katze was waiting for me when I got off the plane putting and end to my thoughts of being stranded in Chiang Mai without a place to stay. He took me to the studio apartment he owns and showed me around and made sure I was settled in. If you are looking for a guy in Chiang Mai, he is a good one to know and one you can trust.   The place was as advertised and perfect for a base to see if Chiang Mai was a city Inga and I could spend part of the year in.

The following day I grabbed a Tuk Tuk and agreed on a price to do a two hour just drive around tour of the city to get my bearings and a general feel for the place. During the trip, the sky opened up and a warm rain drenched everything and when it stopped the sweet florid smell of the jungle brought back memories of Africa and I knew I could make a home here.

The people are very friendly, Thai and Expat alike. English is widely spoken and if not the person is used to visitors and makes it work. I enjoyed the western style mall just up the street from the condo and the relaxed happy attitude of the entire city. I spent seven days walking various neighborhoods and looking at condos for rent and for sale. I ate in little roadside stands full of locals and in one or two fancier western focused places. It was all good to great food and very fresh and organic.

I knew Inga and I would be returning so I didn’t want to do any real touristy things without her, but I had heard of a place called Tiger Kingdom. Tiger Kingdom is a refuge and tourist attraction in one. It is set up to take care of, and allow tourists to closely interact with, tigers.  By close, I mean get inside the cage and pet these amazing creatures. The cats are not drugged or altered in any way.

They have all their teeth and claws and other than getting bathed a little more than tigers enjoy, are regular happy cats. Since the Nanny Nation of North America has made everything far too sterile and safe few people will ever get a chance to touch and feel these magnificent creatures. There is a real danger in doing this and one I thought about and weighed against the incredible opportunity. There are no handlers armed with guns or stun sticks. No easy way out of the cage once you are inside and other than being hand raised by humans these are wild animals.  So into the cages I went.

I reach for words a great deal in my struggles as a writer to tell you a good story. This time I will not try other than to say if you love wildlife and cats this is as close to a spiritual experience as you will ever have. The intelligence and understanding were evident in the eyes of these creatures and anyone who has lived with a housecat knows exactly what I mean.