Portugal

We have been in Portugal for almost three and a half weeks now which means we have a week and a half left. It is crazy how quickly time has gone by but also, looking back at pictures from our first few days here it seems like a million years ago. We have done and seen so much in such a short span of time that our perception of time has been totally skewed.

One of the things we have been doing here in Portugal is called workaway. http://www.Workaway.info is a website that connects travelers who are willing to do some light work for room and board and hosts who are willing to offer rooms and food for people willing to do light work.  So, we set up two of these in Portugal. One of them was for just over a week, the other for just under two weeks. It makes traveling to a different country much more affordable and also offers the traveler a chance to see aspects of local life they would never otherwise get to experience.

We learned how to do Portuguese tiling

It is important to note before I go any further that we have not stayed with any Portuguese people during this experience. In fact, both of our hosts have been Dutch. They have however been living in Portugal for numerous years and have a good understanding of the culture. It has also led us to learn much more about Dutch culture. One interesting fact about the Dutch, their word for corn sounds like mice. So, when a Dutch person tells you they are “boiling the mice for dinner” don’t panic like we might have.

Staying with people who know the area, as I said, has afforded us the chance to do things tourists simply don’t get to do. One of these things was a Sardinia. The Sardinia was part of a week long festival celebrating the harvest and a saint who’s name I am not sure of. Every night for a week, in the center of this very small village everyone gathers and feasts on the nights food for the cost of a donation of your choosing. They also serve free wine out of pop bottles. The night we went the food being served was grilled sardines, bread, tomato salad, and boiled potatoes; it was delicious. The way in which the sardines were grilled was very interesting to me as the volunteers had lit a large fire in the middle of the town, which happened to be a round-about. Once the fire has died down they placed over the coals large racks full of sardines. After flipping them once they were stored in Styrofoam containers until it was time to eat. Once the food and wine began to flow it was a mad rush for food. Everyone was pushing in tighter and honestly it felt like you were in…well it felt like you were in a can of sardines. I think it is important to note that this festival has been going on for hundreds and hundreds of years in the same way it is done today.

There have been many other incredible things that we have been able to do since we have been here but I think for now I will leave it at the Sardinia.
Until next time.

Where to begin?

Okay so, it has been awhile. There is much that has happened since I stopped posting but where do I begin? Well, I’m in Portugal, that’s kind of a big deal. Suze is with me and we are engaged now. I have had two different head chef jobs. We are leaving Nova Scotia when we get back to Canada. That is all just the tip of the iceberg and they are all stories on their own. I think, as I am still in Portugal that that is a good place to start.

So, I am, or rather we are in Portugal. What the hell are we doing in Portugal? Enjoying life. That’s what. Suze and I, as any loyal follower knows moved back to Nova Scotia in December. We had some very good times there but overall felt like we chose the wrong time to move back. While we were away we found ourselves longing for a home that no longer existed. We were unhappy and needed a change. The lease on our apartment was up at the end of August and a friend of ours is getting married in Nova Scotia mid October so we knew we had to be back for that. In our minds it made no sense to sign a new lease on an apartment we didn’t want, in a city we didn’t want to be in only so we could attend our friends wedding. Another option was to move away at the end of August and come back for the wedding but that would mean asking for time off a new job only weeks after we would have begun. The third option and the most obvious to us was to go to Europe for five weeks to kill time between when our lease was up and the wedding. So, after a few short weeks of planning we quit our jobs, put all of our things in storage once more and hopped on an airplane headed for Portugal. The reason we chose Portugal was not based on any childhood dreams of one day visiting a once great empire or anything like that. The choice was simply based on the results of a google search asking about the cheapest places in Europe. So, here we are.

I knew I nothing about Portugal before we decided to come here. Turns out it is a very interesting place with a lot of amazing history. I’m not going to give you the whole history of a nation that has had people in it since Neanderthals first began to roam. But, here is a link that will explain everything…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Portugal
What I will say is that children here play on Roman ruins, drink from Roman fountains and wells, run by ancient Moorish temples and spare no thoughts for the brilliance all around them. That is how abundant history is here, how far back it goes. The ancient monuments here are simply things that have always been and always will be. Generations have drank from the same well, played amongst the same ruins; future generations will continue to do so. There is so much more to say about our trip here and I will. For now I will leave you with some pictures from the earlier parts of our trip.

I’m back….!

It has been a long time since I last wrote a blog post, but you know this. What you don’t know is all that has happened in the time since I last wrote. So, where to begin. The start would be the most logical place I think. But, as I often do I will shy away from logic and start closer to the end…well, not the end. Closer to where I am now. This also brings up an important question, two in fact. Where am I now? Why am I writing again? Let us begin…

I, dear reader am in Portugal. Yeah, it’s pretty bad ass. In all honesty it is incredible beautiful and ancient here. Words can not describe this place, though it is my job to try and use words to do just that.

Why am I writing again? Well, because the adventure has begun again. Yeah, life is an adventure and so the adventure never really stopped. I know this but the real adventure has begun again.

Now, I’m not going to crazy and write a book on my first post back. I just wanted to let you all know to expect some stories and some pictures, some laughs, and some beers…or tears, either way.
Stay tuned for all the awesomely wonderful details!
Until next time!

Back at it.

So, as you know it has been quite a while since I lasted posted. A lot has happened since then. I’m not going to make excuses for my absence from this blog I am just going to say that little time, and other things have gotten in the way. Having said that, I am back. So, let’s see what has been going on.

Since I lasted posted Suze and I went to Nova Scotia, Suze moved to Vancouver, I worked a month straight with only one day off, and I have been studying for my red seal every chance I have, and of course, over a year has passed since I started this blog. In a nut shell that is it. Of course there are details which I am about to get into. I think though, I may keep this post fairly short, I have to ease back into it. Anyway, here we go…

Let’s start with home. Anyone who reads this blog regularly, or who has gone back through my archives will know that in March I lost my mother. Knowing that, you must also realize that going back home for the first time since that happened wasn’t easy. I was actually kind of dreading going home, knowing that my mother wouldn’t be there and not knowing how I would handle that. Thankfully, I have a great family, great friends, and an amazing girlfriend who really made dealing with it all much easier. Of course, it was still pretty difficult, especially being at her house and every once in a while expecting her to walk around the corner, or to hear her laugh from another room. But all in all it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be.

It was good to be back in Nova Scotia again though, it is amazing how quickly a place that I have always called home and a place that I love dearly, becomes less of a home and more of a place to visit. It really didn’t feel like home to me. Maybe because my mom isn’t there anymore, or maybe because I have been away long enough, I don’t know. I just know how it felt and it wasn’t what I expected.

After a visit to Cape Breton to meet Suze’s dad and step-mom, a night out with my friends, a night in with our friends, and visits with all sides of my family, Suze left. She had to get to Vancouver to start school. Three days later I was on a plane heading towards Montreal.

It was a year to the day when I had gotten off a plane in Montreal with nowhere to go, no friends, no job, no place to live. It was much different this time. I knew where I was going, I knew how to get there, and I knew who I was going to see. I was excited, but it was different than the excitement I felt the year before. There was no fear, or terror mixed in with my excitement. I had purpose and direction this time. After a bus ride and a few subway cars later I walked into Bistro Olivieri (my old work) every face was the same, and every face was glad to see me. When I left work in march I left in a hurry. My mom was sick and I needed to get home as fast as I could. I didn’t get to say goodbye to the people I had grown to call friends. This was my chance. I sat at the Bistro from before they opened to way after they closed. Talking, drinking, joking, and eating. I was reconnected with people I honestly never thought I would see again and it was a great feeling. When it all become too much, me, more than a little drunk, I headed up the back stairs to my hotel room, slept the night and flew back to Whitehorse the next day.

Since I have been back I have mostly just worked. I have either been working at the restaurant or studying for my red seal. All this is fine with me. Suze is gone and I need a distraction. I am happy to say though, that she is coming home tomorrow for thanksgiving. I am so excited to see her. It has only been about six weeks since I have seen her but it feels like much, much longer. She is here for four days then goes back to Vancouver. Then, at the end of November I will be joining her. We will be together in Vancouver until the end of the school year and then, we will go where ever the wind takes us.

So, a lot has happened. I went home, went to Montreal, Suze is in Vancouver, a year has passed both since I started writing this blog and since I left Nova Scotia for Montreal. Looking back over the last year of my life it has been a bit of a whirlwind. A year ago I could not have imagined everything that has happened. I would have never guessed that I would be living in Whitehorse. I would have never imagined I would lose my mother.

When I got on the plane in Halifax this year headed to Montreal, I thought about the person who had made the exact same journey the year before. He and I are so different now. I have grown and had so many experiences I never thought I would have. It is incredible the effect one year can have on a person.

Now, what is next? Well, I write and pass my red seal, move to Vancouver for a few months and after that… I guess you, like me, will just have to wait and see.

Thanks everyone for sticking with me over the last year, through happiness, loneliness, loss, and love. Having an outlet like this has meant more to me than any of you could ever understand. I know I have been neglecting it over the past while, but I’m getting back in the saddle.

Until Next Time!

The Dawson City Salmon Crisis ’13

Suzanne and I recently went on a two day trip to Dawson City. It was an interesting trip where we did and saw lots of interesting things. This post is not about those things. I’m not going to tell you about the encounters with two bears, or a moose, or some elk that we had. I’m not going to tell you about Dredge #4. I’m not even going to tell you about the town of Dawson City, old and cool as it may be. What I am going to tell you about is something that I was completely unaware of until my trip across a small part of this fair territory. A problem that not only seems to be plaguing Dawson City, but every small town and community between Dawson and Whitehorse. Now, though this crisis is not only hitting Dawson that is the first place it became apparent to me. And that, dear readers is why is post is called, and why it is about, The Dawson City Salmon Crisis ’13.

Suze and myself were on our second day of camping (sleeping in the back seat/trunk of her car in campgrounds) about to start making our way back to Whitehorse from Dawson City. It is about a seven hour drive with construction and breaks. We had lit a camp fire the night before but due to the absence of forethought we were left without anything to cook over said fire. It was too late to buy anything and myself and Suze were both seriously lacking in the fishing license and even fishing pole departments. Thus our fire was left without having been used to it’s full potential. We went to bed. As Suzanne began to sleep beside me I was stuck on an idea. A burning idea that gnawed at me, relentlessly forbidding me to sleep. An idea so simple, and so beautiful I knew it couldn’t fail. I had obviously forgotten about “The Stew That Saved The Day”. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I know this to be true.

That morning, after the fire, Suze and I awoke. I shared my plan with her and she agreed it was a great idea. The plan in question went as follows;

Go to the grocery store.
Buy fresh salmon.
Begin driving towards Whitehorse.
Stop at some point to camp.
Light campfire.
Let campfireburn down to coals.
Cook salmon over coals.
Eat salmon.
Sleep.
Drive home.

I do not think that sounds overly complicated. Especially, as we were in a town connected to (via the top of the world highway) Fairbanks, Alaska among pretty much the rest of Alaska. Oh yeah, also about four or five rivers all famous for salmon running up them.

I’m sure by now you have figured out that we could not get fresh salmon in Dawson. In fact, we could not get any fresh fish at all. Now, for those of you that have never been to Dawson City it is small. In fact it is no city at all. It is a very, very small town. Look it up if you don’t believe me. Though it is small I will say that it is filled with lots of very nice people. But, no salmon.

So, Dawson is small. There are two stores that supply groceries to the town. One had some frozen fish that looked as though it had been there since the gold rush. When asked, the clerk said that they did not carry fresh fish and that if we wanted fresh fish to get a fishing rod. I believe I responded with mild amusement. The second and final store that may have had fresh fish also did not. Apparently, they would be getting a little bit in the next day but they didn’t usually carry it. Again, we were told that if we wanted fresh fish we should get a fishing rod. My amusement was fading fast.*

We now found ourselves at the local hardware store looking for tape for something completely different. While Suze grazed the tape isle I thought I would inquire about anywhere that may have fresh fish in the area. Again, I was met with get a fishing rod. I met this with a dead stare trying to hide my annoyance I smiled the nicest smile I could, which likely was no smile at all and excused myself. Suze found me starring with malicious wonderment at a barrel full of fishing rods priced between $47 and $79. That was much more than I was willing to pay for a fresh fish. Even if it was salmon. Not one to be easily deterred I allowed Suzanne to remind me that there were other towns between Dawson and Whitehorse. Surly, Dawson was an anomaly in the Yukon. There must be somewhere we could find some fresh salmon.**

As we drove hour after hour, kilometer after kilometer, pee break after pee break, it became painfully obvious that there was something wrong in The Yukon. Everywhere we looked, there was no fish to be found. Every store, town, community was dry. Was this some kind of salmon prohibition? Or, was this some kind of sick, demented joke? I don’t know. What I do know is that it seemed and still seems crazy to me that in The Yukon you cannot get fresh fish anywhere but in Whitehorse. It’s crazy!

We drove all that day hoping beyond hope that around the next bend we would find salvation in the form of a truck form the back of which an older man in a blue jean jacket and blue jeans would be selling fresh, wild, pacific salmon. Or hell, I would settle for charr or mackerel, or perch. Anything at all. Despite our hope and longing there never was a blue jean-ed man around any corner that we took. We were, as they say. S.O.L.

We drove all the way back to Whitehorse that day. Stopping everywhere we could along the way only to be met with disappointment after disappointment. By the time we got back into Whitehorse it was around 9:00pm. We knew that Super Store would have fresh salmon.

Beat down, and down hearten we drove straight to Super Store. We parked. We got out of the car. We walked towards the store and through the automatic sliding glass doors. We walked passed candy, and cans, pop, and chips, fruit, and meat. We walked directly to the back of the store and there it was. With all the other fish. One package with two beautiful, cleaned salmon fillets. It’s fatty pink skin dancing in my vision like a mirage in the dessert. At first I didn’t want to move towards it for fear that it may disappear. Deep down with in me I knew this was really happening. I knew that I had truly found what I was looking for. Fresh, wild, pacific salmon. Except wait!

As I reached towards all my hopes and dreams my eyes caught sight of the label on the package. What was it? Had I been duped? This wasn’t fresh at all. It had been previously frozen. I was in a mood to over look one flaw, two of my criteria were still in play. I read on. Farmed! “Well, you know what” I reasoned with myself. “It is a bit early in the season for wild salmon anyway.” At least it was still pacific salmon not Atlan…wait! I read on. Atlantic salmon!? How could it be possible that I was merely a few hundred kilometers from the pacific, in a territory that is famous for it’s salmon runs, and the only “fresh” salmon I could get came from a fish farm on the entire other side of the country? If I wanted farmed Atlantic salmon I would have stayed in Nova Scotia. Suze and I walked, my head hung low, towards the check out previously frozen, farmed, Atlantic salmon in hand. We paid and left the store.

It may not have been exactly what I wanted and it may have taken us seven and half hours worth of driving to get it but I was determined to cook that stupid fish on a fire that night. Nothing would stop me I thought. I’m an idiot.

There are two main government run campgrounds within twenty minutes of Whitehorse. As it turns out one, Robert Service campground, is much more a hippie commune than a campground. Of course, this neat fact was not discovered until we first drove twenty minutes out of town, in the opposite direction we had just come from, only to discover that the Wolf Creek campground was fully occupied by over sized RV’s despite the multitude of RV parks around Whitehorse all of which were far from capacity.
I know this because we drove around to all of them. As we drove around hopelessly in search of a campground where we could light a fire and cook some salmon a storm moved in.

I have been in Whitehorse since April 5th of this year. I have seen all kinds of different weather since I have been here, but I had not to that point, or since, seen a storm to rival the one that we found ourselves facing that night. Heavy rain, and lots of thunder and lightening. Our plans were completely doomed. We drove home in silence, our heads low. We went to bed with empty stomachs and empty hearts. The universe had spoken and we were not to eat salmon that night. We got home and went to bed defeated.

We both worked the next day. It was a pretty average day. Nothing great happened but also, nothing horrible happened. When the night was over Suze told me about a campground about an hour outside of town in a place called Carcross , home of the worlds smallest desert. She said we could go there. We left work, went home, collected our salmon and some other essentials and hit the road once again. First stopping at the Wolf Creek campground which was once again completely full of oversized RV’s. To Carcross we headed.

By the time we arrived at our destination it was late. Late enough to be getting dark, which in the Yukon, in the summer is very late. Around 1:00am. The campground though slightly run down, was almost empty and did indeed have a fire pit along with cut fire wood. As soon as the car stopped I went about making a fire determined to get that salmon cooking before anything else could go wrong.

After awhile the fire began to die down. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I had the glowing coals I needed to cook my fish. It was at this point that I went about prepping my salmon. It was a very simple preparation. A little salt and pepper, some birch syrup and some butter. The salmon was placed an a tinfoil cookie sheet with holes cut in the bottom and another cookie sheet placed over the top. Once my prep was done I went back to tend the fire.

As I sat in the glow and warmth of the fire, hundreds of stars over head, the woman I love beside me, I felt as though maybe, just maybe everything would be okay. It was in that instant I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. We were deep in the heart of bear country. That is a fact. Another fact is that bears love salmon. With Suze shinning the flash light and the lights of the car turned on we discovered another fact. We were not alone. Luckily, it was not a bear. I was not looking forward to having to use the bear spray anyway. It was in fact a fox. Though he was quite cute, he was way too curious about my salmon. After about twenty minutes of playing cat and mouse, or fox and hound if you will, car lights and flash lights being turned off and on, sticks being banged against trees, we finally were rid of our little pest.

Now, that we were pest free, there was a clear sky above us, and a fire burning before us, I began to cook our salmon. Our salmon that took us seven hours, 532km to find, and three days to cook was finally over a fire. By the time it was done and some asparagus had been grilled along side it, it was about 3:30am. We ate. It was delicious. Was it worth all the annoyance and all the stress, absolutely not. Well, the salmon wasn’t. The company, the journey, and the story however, I would say yes.

So there you have it. Yet another story of heartache and unbelievable adversity all in the search for the meal my heart desires. The things I do for love.

Until Next Time.

 

*I should mention that though this store did not carry fresh fish they did carry Agar Agar. If you don’t know what Agar Agar is look it up. You will understand why this seems so unbelievably odd to me.
**There are places in Whitehorse to get fresh fish. They are fisherman run fish trucks. Unfortunately, by the time we got back to Whitehorse they were both closed down for the night.

The Midnight Sun

Tomorrow, June 21st, marks the summer solstice. That is the longest day of the year. In no other place that I have been has the change in the amount of sunlight in a day been so apparent. Here in the Yukon it has been obvious for the last two months that the days have been getting longer. Now, it seems as though they are almost never-ending. Though, the days seem endless, the perpetual night of winter hangs over the north like a shadowy ghost. Six months from tomorrow is the shortest day of the year and though I have yet to be here for a true Yukon winter, the thought of endless darkness cannot escape my mind. I believe it is due to this shadow of days to come that the people here draw every minute of daylight out of the summer. For they know, that all too soon the sunlight will be a distant memory lost in the darkness.

It is odd having so much sunlight. Getting off work at ten or eleven o’clock and having to wear sunglasses is not something I have ever experienced before. Despite sleep being very difficult it is nice to go outside at two in the morning and having it be dusk. Even though I appreciate all the sunlight and the lush greens that quickly appear due purely to the amount of time they get to spend in the sun everyday, I feel like I don’t truly appreciate it. I feel like I can’t. I feel as though until I have lived through the endless, hopeless, nights of winter I will never understand what all this sun means to the people of the north. I also know that though it seems to me that the days are never-ending here the further north you go the more this becomes true. I know that if I were to fly two hours north there would be literal sunlight, 24 hours a day, for three days straight starting today. I also know that I don’t think I could stand that.

Now, as I have said the people here take full advantage of the sunlight while they have the chance. They don’t fool around. I was told by one local not to waste time watching movies or TV shows but to save that for the winter. “Go out and get your sun while you can” seems to be the theme here and a good theme it is. I do feel though, that I really don’t fully grasp this concept. I don’t get it. I don’t think I possibly can. How does one balance getting the most out of the sun while you have the chance versus not sleeping properly due to the amount of sun. I have been told to sleep in the winter.

Starting the day after tomorrow everything reverses. The days will begin to shorten, the air will begin to become cooler, and before too long the winter will be here. Even now, the day before the longest day of the year there are solemn reminders of winter all around. As you look around the city, a city surrounded by mountains and cliffs made of clay, you see snow on the peaks. The snow refusing to surrender the strong hold it has gained over centuries and centuries, threatening the city and its people everyday. Ideally sitting, and waiting for the moment, not far off, when once again it can reclaim what has been lost to sun and melt. Waiting for a time when once again, everything the eye can see is covered, and lost beneath a thick merciless blanket of snow. Until that day, the people of the north, myself included, will not allow the threat of winter to ruin the presence of summer. Although, the winter is inevitable, and while in it it may seem never-ending, summer is always just right around the corner waiting to once again take back the land and the rivers, and the lakes. To guide the people out of the darkness, and to warm the bodies and souls.

So, on these long summer days and nights when sleep seems impossible, I remind myself that before I know it winter will once again fall upon the north. Until that happens I will bath in the sunlight. I will drink it in like my morning coffee and when winter does come I will remember the summer and the sunlight fondly. I will hold it close to my heart so that I may make it through the darkness and see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Until Next Time.

The Yukon and Alaska

At 3:50pm on Friday April 5, I was picked up outside my grandmothers building in Victoria by a pre-arranged airport shuttle. Destination Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. After a bit of worry based on a late meeting of two airport shuttles I arrived at the Victoria Airport just in the nick of time. Well, it would have been just in the nick of time had my flight not been delayed by an hour. Fortunately, I was due to have a four hour layover in Vancouver before heading towards my final destination. After an hour and a half in the Victoria airport followed by a fourteen minute flight, three hours in the Vancouver airport then a two hour flight, I had arrived in Whitehorse. It was around 12:30am Saturday morning.

Now, as some of you may know from earlier posts or, just from knowing me, my birthday is on April 5. As is my girlfriend Suzanne’s. As it was both our birthdays, Suzanne’s mother, through the help of a hotel employee and friend booked us a hotel room. This I knew. What myself and Suzanne did not know was that the room which had been booked for us was the Presidential Suit. Yup! My first night in Whitehorse was spent in the luxury of the Presidential Suit. I’m talking jacuzzi tub, fireplace, big comfy bed, champagne, the whole nine yards. It was pretty amazing!

After a long late morning soak in the ridiculously large jacuzzi we headed out for breakfast to a little place around the corner called Burnt Toast. Evidently I work there part time now. Breakfast was good. We spent the rest of that day catching up on sleep and seeing the sights in Whitehorse which included a very interesting visit to the Klondike museum.

Sunday was a very special day to me for a few different reasons. First, Suzanne and I spent the whole day driving around which was a lot of fun. Secondly, it marked my first visit to a foreign country. We drove to Alaska. Thirdly, I saw some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen in my life. I have added some pictures just below but I assure they do not do the place justice.

While in Alaska we visited a place just on the other side of the border called Skagway. It is a tiny little town exuding the brilliance and mystery one would expect to find in a small northern. town from the gold rush era. Though, it is still a living, breathing town, most of the buildings are originals. It is really a cool little place. One of the places we visited in Skagway was a tavern called the Red Onion Saloon. This place used to be a brothel which the pictures on the wall have no intent of hiding. Apparently, in the summer they do tours of the upstairs which has been transformed into a whore house museum of sorts. Unfortunately, the museum wasn’t open yet so we satisfied ourselves with a cold beer and internal décor of the place which included amongst the pictures of infamous prostitutes from back in the day, many different types of bedpans and chamber pots strung along where the wall meets the ceiling.

Once we finished our beers we headed out into the wilderness via an ever narrowing dirt road which clung to the side of a mountain like a baby orangutang clinging to it’s mothers back. It was a little nerve racking to say the least but Suzanne handled it expertly. As we drove along the narrow dirt road towards some tidal flats where a town once stood, we were caught by a bit a scenery the likes of which I had never seen before. As the picture below shows, we were looking over the pacific ocean. Mountains in front, beside, and behind us. The turquoise water shimmering in the warm sunlight. As we bathed in the warmth and the beauty, accepting the likely fact that nothing would ever compare to the moment and place we had unknowingly found ourselves in, it some how became better. In that instant, somewhere between bliss and total sensory overload, as we stood looking, taking it all in, less than thirty feet in front of us, set to a postcard-Esq backdrop, a bald eagle flew. Right there, in an instant we had seen the truth behind all the Alaskan tourism commercials and brochures. It was perfection. We sat there, eating smoked sausage, Tillamook cheddar, and bread taking in the pristine beauty that will remain with me for as long as a live.

  

There was much more to that day. Lots of other incredible things seen and done. But, after writing the description that I just wrote I feel it is pointless to say anymore today. Anything else I could possibly tell you about that day will seem mundane and boring. So, I will stop here. I will tell more about that day some other time, or, maybe I won’t I don’t know. What I do know is that I am so incredibly happy to be here in the Yukon, and I am so thankful for the things I have had the opportunity to see and do in the short while I have been here. I look forward to all the things the great white north has to offer me that I have yet to experience. And of course, I look forward to sharing them all with you.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Victoria, B.C.

After eleven hours of waiting and flying, flying and waiting. I arrived from the cold, grey, depressing east coast, to the beautiful, sunny, warm, west coast. I am in Victoria. There are flowers, birds (other than pigeons, crows, and seagulls), the trees are budding, and most importantly, it is warm. Okay, it was warm the first few days I was here. Now, and for the rest of my time here it will be overcast and rainy. It is still much nicer than home. You maybe be saying to yourself, that is if you read my last post, what are you doing in Victoria Ben? I thought you were going to the Yukon dude. What have you been doing man? Yup, those, I’m sure, are the exact thoughts going through your mind right now. Calm down. I’m going to fill you in. I’ll tell you all about it. Okay?

So, Victoria, BC. Why? How? What? Lots and lots of questions. I know you are all on the edge of your seat. I am here, in Victoria, British Columbia, visiting my grandmother. Wow, blew your mind I know. And yes, I am still going to the Yukon. On Friday in fact. Okay, okay, maybe the payoff didn’t warrant the build up but screw you. I’m happy to be here. I haven’t seen my grandmother in a long time and it’s good to be somewhere relatively warm for a while. Especially since I am going to the land of minus twenty in a few days.

What have I been up to in Victoria you ask yourself. Don’t deny it, I know it is driving you crazy. Well, I haven’t been up to too much. The first day I was here my grandmother and I walked around for quite a while. We went to the Oak Bay marina and saw some seals. It was actually quite beautiful. We were sitting on a park bench, looking out over the bay. Seals dancing in the water. Sun shinning. A cool breeze blowing. The mountains in the background. It was really very beautiful. I would have taken a photo but I feared what I was seeing wouldn’t translate. From there, we hopped a bus and headed to downtown Victoria. Again, sun shinning, cool breeze, people in shorts and t-shirts everywhere. My grandmother and I walked around together for a while until she decided she had had enough and left me to wander alone.

I walked down to the Victoria water front which in itself is really quite something. As I walked along the boardwalk I came across a man playing the blues. Well, that is a bit of an understatement. This old guy was simultaneously playing a steel guitar with a slide, a snare drum with one foot, a high hat with the other, and of course a harmonica. This guy was not your average street musician. To say he was good does not do this man justice. He was really, really good. I sat and listened. Watched against the backdrop of the water, boats, sunshine, and people. I sat for a long time and just listened. For the first time in a while, I truly felt like everything was going to be okay.

I have spent a lot of my time here just hanging out with my grandmother. It has been pretty nice. Her mobility isn’t great so there have been some things I have been able to do for here that she hasn’t been able to get done for some time. I also showed her how to use her laptop which hasn’t been turned on for two years which is the last time my mom was here. I showed her how to use the stereo she has for burning records on to CD. I made a big batch of carrot ginger soup and froze it for her so she can thaw it and have it whenever she likes. Today, I am going to make a big batch of chicken and vegetable soup for her. I am pretty excited.

You may be saying to yourself, Ben, you are in a great city, it is sunny and beautiful, there are a lot of new things to discover. Why, oh why, are you just spending all your time inside with your grandmother? Well, honestly, because that is what I want to do. As my grandmother has lived in Victoria for fifteen years, and I, for the most part live in Halifax, I really don’t get to see her very often. So, since I have the opportunity to see her now I am going to make the most of it. Yes, Victoria is a beautiful city and there are a lot of interesting things to see and do. The thing is though, Victoria will always be here. My grandmother won’t be. If the last few months have taught me anything it’s that you shouldn’t take for granted the time you have with people. So, I’m not going to.

I think that’s about it. Oh, of course! The butcher/smoke shop. Actually, I will write a post about that later. Yes, it gets its own post. You will understand why some other day. For now, I am happy with what I have. I am happy to be here with my grandmother, and I am really looking forward to going to the Yukon in a few days.

So, I guess that’s it. That is where I will leave it for today. Have a good one. Until next time.

Love

When I first got here I was determined not to let myself get distracted by anything. I came here to work, learn as much as possible, and move on. That was my plan. Everything was going great until New Years. That was the night I met Suzanne. That was the night all my plans, and all my determination, flew out the window. I am still here to learn as much as possible and move on but, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t currently slightly distracted. I do, however, believe that it is the absolute best kind of distraction.

So, New Years Eve. I was in Halifax at my friend Evan’s house. Though we were supposed to go out that night we decided to stay in as we were still nursing our wounds from the night before. Evan’s wonderful wife Melissa was having some people over so, Evan and I decided that instead of going out we would just stay in with them and make some food as Evan had just gotten a new Molecular Gastronomy starter kit for Christmas. Amongst these friends there was a girl (they were all girls actually but there was one in particular). To be honest I had actually met her briefly the night before after Evan and I had returned from our excursion to my favorite local watering hole where we had met up with some old friends. I wasn’t exactly in fine form at that time though. Thus, I will say we met on New Years. I am not such a hopeless romantic as to say that it was love at first sight but, I will say that I was intrigued by her immediately. The first thing noticed about her was her smile. When I saw it for the first time I knew that there was something special about her as I felt the world light up instantaneously.

As the night progressed and everyone had a little holiday spirit in them we began to talk. Just little flirtations at first then actual conversation. I learned that she worked and lived in the Yukon. That she was an artist and she was from Cape Breton. As the night went on we all had noticed some balloons in a tree behind my friends yard. As I watched her and her friends duct tape a broom, a mop, a child’s hockey stick, and a coat hanger together in an attempt to free the grey and black balloons from the grasp of the tree claiming it was too romantic not to, I became smitten. I tried to tell myself that I was being foolish. In a few days I would go back to Montreal and she would head back to the Yukon but, I just couldn’t shake that feeling. At some point in the night we all started playing a game with poker chips, the rules of which I believe were to toss a chip into a hat or a pocket across the room. Though all of us are full grown adults, this went on for about an hour. Just as the game was winding down we all noticed it was just past midnight. We faked a count down. As I sat in my chair counting down to our fake New Year I couldn’t help but look at her sitting on the couch to my right and thinking about how badly I wanted to kiss her when the count down ended. I did not. I wasn’t sure if the feeling was mutual or not. I did eventually, thanks to a well placed poker chip, get that kiss.

That night we stayed up all night talking. By morning we had resigned ourselves to the fact that we would probably never see each other again and that we should just enjoy the time we had together. We spent the morning in each others arms on Evan and Melissa’s couch watching kids movies and being thankful that we at least had what little time we had. Later that day I went to my sisters house. I had been planning on taking the bus but, she insisted on driving me. I was thrilled! After some hard goodbyes to Evan and Melissa we were on our way. By the time we got to my sisters house I was infatuated. I said nothing. I knew that we were both going our separate ways and it was best not to cause any unnecessary heartache. I left her with a kiss knowing deep down that I would never see her again no matter how badly I wanted to.

We had exchanged numbers as we had decided to be friends as we both felt that the other was some how special. The day after she dropped me off I headed out to my dads. She and I texted back and forth and talked late into the night. A few days later she told me that she wanted to see me one last time before I left. I was elated! Unfortunately, our plans were deterred by a dead car battery. My father, seeing how unhappy I was at missing the opportunity to see her again offered to take us to the beach. Actually, I asked dad to take me to the beach as I wanted a jar of Atlantic ocean water to take back with me. He offered to pick her up and take her with us. Again, I was elated. We spent a few hours wandering around Point Pleasant Park in Halifax and then got back in my dad’s truck drove to where she was staying and said our final goodbyes. The next day I returned to Montreal heavyhearted.

After countless texts, late night phone calls, and her traveling to Boston, she was here. Yeah, I know, it seems like I skipped over a lot, it’s all just conversation and both of us admitting to each other that we needed to see each other again. So, now, she is here. She is not staying forever. Only another week. She has already been here for one. She, like me, has plans. I don’t want to get in the way of hers and she doesn’t want to get in the way of mine. My plans however, are to travel and learn. The great thing about that is it means I can go anywhere. I’m not saying that I am going to follow her around the world or anything but it means that my options are open.

For right now, I am madly in love. I have left a lot out but I will say that she is perfect for me in every way. Yes, I know, we haven’t known each other that long, but there is something. There is something that I cannot put into words, a feeling I get when I look into her eyes. Or when I feel her lips on mine. A feeling stronger and more powerful than anything I have ever felt. It is a feeling that makes me feel like I could take on a whole army if it meant that she would be safe. A feeling that I would do anything for her, anything to make sure that she has every reason to smile and no reason not to. It’s a feeling that makes me run home from work everyday because I know that she is here and I get to see her. A feeling that makes everything that is bad in the world not matter.

I don’t know what the future holds for me or for us. What I do know is that I am in love. I am happy beyond happiness. For right now that is all that matters. I don’t have all the answers. Right now I don’t even have all the questions. What I do have, is her.

As I sit her writing this, watching her draw a very realistic picture of one of my pots on a piece of paper taped to my wall, a quizzical look on her face as she puzzles out the mysteries of the light and shadows, supper cooking on the stove, there is nowhere in the world I would rather be. Though these two weeks maybe be short, and we have only known each other a short time, I know that this girl is not some girl. I know that this girl is special in every way. I am in love.

Until next time.

P.S. Little odd bit of info. Our birthdays are on the same day three years apart. I have never met anyone with the same birthday as me. Also, Melissa and Evan, thank you! You know what you did.

The Goat

Disclaimer: This post deals with subject matter some people may find offensive. If you are squeamish or offended by the thought of butchering animals please do not read any further.

It was five thirty in the morning when my alarm went off today. Having only fallen asleep two and a half hours earlier, I was not happy. I forced myself out of bed blurry eyed, and anything but bushy tailed but, looking forward to what I was about to do. It was something new, something exciting, something different. What I was about to do was clean a whole goat carcass, well, I was going to watch someone clean half and I was going to clean the other half. I had never butchered a goat before, or a whole animal for that matter (other than fish and poultry) so, despite my complete and utter exhaustion, I was excited.

After having been awake for less than twenty minutes I set off for work, I use the word “awake” loosely. It was chilly out, and still completely dark. The moon shone low in the westward sky as I walked towards the metro station. I stopped only briefly to grab a coffee which I hoped would battle my fatigue. It was with pure luck that I remained conscious on the subway. The gentle rocking and the low drone of the engine called me back into my slumber, I resisted with all my might and before I knew it, it was my stop.

I went into work with as much excitement as I could muster, I admit, it wasn’t very much. I immediately downed the last few drops of the coffee I had purchased before getting on the train and began to prepare myself another one. I talked to Nick, the cook who would be showing me what I so eagerly awaited learning, and he and I went about setting up the kitchen in anticipation of the arrival of our mornings project.

After a brief interval, and at least one more coffee it arrived. A delivery man carried it in over his shoulder. He looked rough, but friendly. He spoke to me in french, I didn’t understand. I responded with a confused expression and Nick took over the conversation. After a quick exchange of signatures and invoices the man was gone and the goat was ours.

The goat was headless, skinned, and all the internal organ had been removed. I was told that the organs are usually still inside and what to do if they were. The beast weighed 33kg, and I must admit it was very ugly. I spent most of my childhood on a farm which raised goats but, they were pets. We didn’t eat them and though I had seen many, many goats, I had never saw one in this state. I imagined all the goats from my childhood and immediately felt remorse and guilt. These thoughts were quickly set aside though, for there is no room in cooking for sentiment.

Nick began. The knife moved quickly in his hand. His cuts were sure and true. He explained in great detail as he went along, allowing me to feel the bones and the odd turns the knife had to make. Within minutes the goat was in a few different pieces. He took up one of the shoulders and expertly removed the meat from the bone. He handed me the knife and the other shoulder, it was my turn.

With nervous excitement I began to move the knife along the bone. My exhaustion subsiding temporarily, as my excitement grew. I cut here and there as I had been shown. Before too long, I had done as Nick had, not quite as well, but I had done it. We continued this way, him showing me once, and then me doing it, until the entire beast had been dismantled. We made sure that not a single piece of this animal went to waste. The bones were roasted for stock, the shoulders and end bits will be turned into braises and sausages, the larger pieces and the ribs will be turned into dishes for the ever changing menu. We made sure to honor this animal, to be respectful.

We get a whole goat every second Tuesday. I have gone through the experience once and now, now it is my job. Next time there will be no training wheels, there will be no one guiding my knife. Two weeks from today, I will wake up at five thirty in the morning once again and repeat today’s events. I will make careful and true cuts with my knife, I will have thought about every cut hundreds of times by then as I will replay it over and over in my mind. This is my training, not just here but everywhere. Cooks, or at least the ones I know, live by a “trial by fire” code. In two weeks I will either prove myself, or I will mess up. Those are the only two options. I love it! I just hope that next time, I can sleep the night before.

I want to say really quickly that I am not sure if I will be able to post tomorrow. I am working a double which is from eight in the morning until around ten or eleven at night. I will try my best but I make no promises.