Sunday, bloody Sunday (or not quite)

Sunday started off as most days do, with some cleaning.

We then got our bikes and joined Lou and Deb for a ride around the city, stopping off at the Danforth for brunch and making our way home through the beautiful Rosedale suburb.

We walked the dogs. After about an hour we slowly made our way home.

And ended off the day with cheese and wine on the front porch.

Being neighbourly (sp!)

Keith is on a course this week and anyone who knows me, knows that the way to my heart is directly through my stomach (Stephan - NO FAT COMMENTS! Have a bit of dust). This means that I get a cooked meal every night and on nights that I dont, I buy it ready made. Cooking has never been something I enjoyed nor was I ever good at it. Sure, I can make something; but usually only palatable to me. I have this need to do everything well, I am extremely hard on myself so when I have tried to cook it has always been elaborate and complicated dishes that rarely turn out as Jamie (Oliver) would have wanted. I realised that simple is better. Anyway, there is a great little deli/caterer down the street so on Monday Keith got lamb shank and on Tuesday he got lamb curry and on Wednesday he announced that I had better cook something! So on Wednesday I bought a raw chicken, I really did, and I googled "roast chicken" and watched a YouTube video on how to truss and roast it and I did, I really did. I went for my daily run and when I got back Keith was sitting on the steps of the front porch with our neighbour having a glass of wine and a "kuier". I joined them, and so did our friends two doors down and two hours later we were still chatting and drinking and watching the people and the dogs walk by. Long story short - we ended up sharing and thoroughly enjoying my roast chicken (secret secret recipe) and roast potatoes. And a bottle of white, and two bottles of red and half a bottle of grapa. I have never seen Keith that drunk before, it was very cute.

Today I decided to try my hand at my culenary skills again, this time it was home made fish burgers and fries. Keith got home at 6 and two hours later there were 9 people sitting on the front steps of our house drinking wine, playing with Petra's 11 week old Pug, chatting to people and dogs walking past and eating fish burgers and fries.

I've noticed when I go for my run, or when we walk the dogs that it is pretty commonplace in Cabbagetown for people to sit out on their front porch in the evenings, when the sun is out till 9pm.

It still amazes me and I hope that I never take this for granted.

14 double vodkas drunk

I was supposed to go to a work dinner tonight. It's a monthly meeting and I actually sit on the executive committee. So much for that. I met a new friend for drinks after work at a local watering hole on Yonge and Bloor and 14 double vodkas later I had missed the monthly CRAC meeting. Come on, it's called CRAC for god's sake (Clinical Research Association of Canada).

I had a great time, we drank copious amounts of alcohol and exhanged stories about our lives and our partners. At this point I must pay my sincere thanks to Rolly G without whom I would not have this new drinking buddy and friend. You see David, I remembered, despite my state of inebriation. And I met Zara, and she barked at me.

On the way home I was fortunate enough to be on the same streetcar as Mr Crazy who was telling a story, and balancing on the balance beam. The driver asked him to please sit down and behave like the rest of the passengers but he needed to balance on his balance beam whilst he was telling his story.

It is for these reasons, that I am so in love with the city that I inhabit.

I got home and devoured the rest of the roast chicken in the fridge. Drunk sms'd a few friends in South Africa and it is now, time, for bed.

G'night

Anger, or is it?

Sometimes I feel consumed with anger. At the same time I am filled with contentment. It's a true dichotomy and one that is difficult to explain. When I tell people that I am angry, or miserable they immediately think that I hate being in Canada. I don't. I love it here and that's where the contentment is.

I have always believed that my mother does not take responsibility for her life. Granted, her life has not been easy but no harder than most people I know. No harder than mine. I've blogged before about her "turning a negative into a positive" but those who know her, know that she doesnt believe this to be true. My mother's true belief is "I am a result of circumstance". She claims that it is not her fault that her husband died, that her mother and father died, that her child was morbidly and fataly obese, that she gets and got depressed, that she is always ill, that she has headaches, that she had a brain AVM, that she hasn't been able to work for 12 years (even though she really wishes she could - ja right). It was all circumstance. Yes, circumstances occur and shape our lives. But we also have a responsibility to deal with those circumstances and I have always believed that the way in which we do that, leads to a successful control of our life or lack thereof. My mother's choice has always been to go to bed and mine has always been to get on with it. She has often said that I am cold and unemotional. I call it being practical and realistic. She believe's that she had no choice, because circumstance caused things that made her depressed that forced her to want to lie down for a few months. I believe that lying down was her choice.

Today is two months since my sister passed away and I still don't quite believe that it is real. Her dying changed my life forever in a way that I can't explain, but my choice is not to give up. I am angry though about so many things, but I won't give them credence by putting them in writing.

I am angry about other circumstances that I find myself in but I wont give those credence either. This morning I was working out at the gym and this is my me-time, when I have headphones in my ears, when I think a lot and focus on working out. I thought about all the people that make me angry, and all the circumstances that make me angry and I wondered if my anger is rightly directed or not. Is it circumstance making me angry or am I angry at myself? Am I directing my emotions away so as to avoid taking responsibility? What can I do to change things, because I have a choice whether I like it or not.

This is the difference between me and my mother. I am angry. There are reasons for my anger. Some are caused by people and some by circunstance. But I am in control and I have choices. Just knowing that already makes me feel a little better.

Loopy-Loo

Keith and I have a name for the people that wander around talking to themselves and gesturing. We call them the loopy-loos. The fact is, that it's become a term of affection and we often wonder why it is that we see so many loopy-loos in our neighbourhood. South Africa was full of homeless people and beggers, but they weren't loopy-loos. These guys (and girls) are entertaining and include the guy talking to himself on the streetcar, and telling himself jokes, and laughing at them, the very cute guy standing at the street corner grabbing his crotch and doing karate, the military guy in the park with his pram and white bunny, the jogger that has different coloured shoes, the bag lady on the subway that walked up to people and grabbed their stuff, then offered them food. According to Deb we live in the "corridor" - the inbetween the place where they sleep and the place where they eat. That's why we see them and I wouldnt have it any other way.

At peace

We decided to take the dogs for a walk tonight after supper. It was almost 9pm and because spring is in the air there is a light breeze and the sun is just going down. We closed the door behind us and off we went. We forgot to check that the door was locked (it was). It was quiet and peaceful, there were people all over (with and without dogs) and the best part was walking on the streets past people's houses that have no burglar bars or curtains. We watched people making dinner, drinking wine, we saw them watching TV, some houses were in the dark and some had all the lights on but nobody was home. We walked through a dark alley. We weren't scared at all. We wished that our friends back in South Africa could experience this. We're at peace.

Being happy

Recently I read a blog update that someone wrote on their birthday, summing up the last year in a (pea)nutshell. I thought that I should do that (‘cos I do like to copy other people’s ideas) but then realized that I would rather do something else; something slightly happier than my recent posts. Despite the last month, that has probably been one of the hardest and saddest of my life, there is so much to be happy about. I thought I would jot down 100 things to be happy about but it turns out that it’s not that easy and rather than make up 72 arbitrary things, I would write down those that came to my mind first and post it before I changed my mind. Some of them relate to my current situation, others to things I have done in the past. So in no particular order (as they come to mind):

I am happy because:

• I have Keith. He is the best thing that ever happened to me. He radiates warmth and comfort and everybody loves him.
• I have fur children. Dexter, Jessie and Troy are a close second to Keith although sometimes I think Keith suspects that Dexter comes first. There is nothing better than the love of a dog. Nothing better at all.
• I have the most amazing friends. They are my family and there are no words to describe how important each person is to me. Maybe my next blog will be a tribute to my friends.
• There is nobody that I hate, and that is not an easy feat these days.
• I live in what I think is one of the most fantastic countries in the world. Wait, I know it is. Canada is resource-rich, has vast amounts of space and land, an incredibly liberal and tolerant attitude to people and unlike South Africa (whether you want to admit it or not), is a much safer and happier environment to live in.
• The squirrels are coming out much to Dexter’s joy.
• The birds have returned from their winter get-away.
• I have no regrets.
• I get to say the things I feel without the fear of consequence.
• I have travelled all over the world. Some of it has been for unbelievable holidays and many of them with friends. I love travelling with people. Other travels have been for work, which I would never have done had someone else not been picking up the bill!
• I have worked in Africa, in the middle of a forest, in a field, near a hut, in a hospital. I’ve seen the true beauty of countries untouched by technology and violence. I have marveled at the brilliance of some of the people I have worked with in those countries.
• I have taught.
• I have learnt.
• I’ve taken drugs and never had a bad trip, only bad comedowns.
• I have always done the work that I love, hardly ever hating the fact that I had to work.
• I’ve flown first class.
• I’ve been to the Sydney Mardi Gras, the Vancouver Mardi Gras and the MQCP parties in Cape Town.
• I’ve drunk Vodka in Russia.
• I’ve ridden a Vespa in Italy (and in Parkhurst too).
• I’ve jumped out of an airplane at 12,000m and free fell for over a minute.
• I’m a qualified Rescue Scuba Diver.
• I’ve swum with dolphins.
• I’ve dived with sharks.
• I’ve eaten spleen in a pita and I enjoyed it.
• I’ve fallen in love, and out of love. I’ve had my heart broken, and I’ve loved again.
• I’ve been betrayed.
• I’ve learnt to trust.
• I’ve betrayed.
• I’ve learnt integrity.
• I’ve been able to support my mother.
• I’ve acted in a play.
• I’ve played the piano.
• I’ve studied all the way to PhD. My mother get’s to say “My son is a doctor” (even though I’m not a real doctor).
• I’ve studied Wicca.
• I’ve studied Reiki.
• I stayed in a Bedouin tent in Israel and rode a Camel.
• I learnt to water-ski and I learnt to ski in the snow.
• I’m sure that if I thought enough (and despite what I said at the start) I could write another 100 of these, but I’m happy to quit while I’m ahead, because as much as I can think of the happy things, I can also think of the sad and this blog is not going there today!

I am happy because I am still young, I have plenty to be thankful for and I have so much still to do. I am happy to be able to experience most of what I want to.

I am happy to be able to share this with you.

Facing my own mortality

My sister passed away last week. Deep down I always knew that this would happen and I warned her about it. She was overweight and unhealthy. I tried my best to help her and for a while it worked. But I guess she was happy and didn't really want to change. Did I really have the right to impose my needs on her? I guess all I was imposing, was the wish to have her around for a little longer.

I am totally devastated. I feel empty and numb. I think about her every minute of every day. That's not to say that I didn't before. The difference is that before, when she was alive, I could send her an email or a text and she would reply in her crazy manner, with some mad rant about life and the Russians (you wouldn't understand). We were very close, we loved each other and we told each other that. I have no regrets and nothing was left unsaid. For that, I am grateful. I hope she knew how much she was loved, and how many people are mourning her loss. She has truly left a void in the world.

I don't know how to get past this. I know I will. I know it's too soon but I want the grief to go away because it doesn't feel nice. How do I accept the fact that I will never see her or speak to her again. She will always be young but will I always remember?

My family is broken. It's our destiny and it started when my father passed away. My mother is old and frail, way beyond her 62 years and I have had to put her into a home to be cared for. I always thought that my sister would look after her, like I did when she lived in Israel. But the lesson here, is that it always has been, and always will be my responsibility. I hate that I have left her behind in South Africa. Knowing that it's the right thing to do, and feeling it, are two different things.

Being back in South Africa was good for me. It proved immediately that our choice to leave for Canada was a good one. South Africa is not a healthy place to live in. The hard part, i s leaving behind the people that I love. At the moment I am torn between loving my life in Canada, and wondering if the sacrifice is truly worth it. And at the risk of being somewhat naive, I blame that entirely on a country that has forced families to split up.

I am facing my own mortality once again. I am not part of the societal norm, although that's not to say that there arent plenty of gay couples of couples that do not have children. I guess I look around, and always have, at my friends that are part of a proper family unit and feel sad for the one I didn't have. It's no excuse to run out and get (make) myself a kid but a part of me mourns the fact that I wont grow old, surrounded by children, and cousins and family. I truly am blessed to have the friends and family that I do, and this week was proof of that. I guess at a time like this, it's normal to ponder the future, with a touch of apprehension.

Aparently 144,000 people died in the world today. Somewhere, someone lost a sister. I know how that feels. I can't say goodbye. I miss you CaroLearn. I always will. Life will never be the same.

The Good, the Bad, the Abusively Ugly

Free to a home (note that it doesn't have to be a good home):
a deliquint, sad, demanding, bi-polar, uninterested, selfish, over-medicated mother. Requires little attention and a pharmacy close-by. Offered up by a son that cares more than he would like to but just can't do it anymore.

The Good
I am enjoying my life. I worked in New York City last week; Manhattan to be specific. New York is a great place to visit, but to feel like part of the city is exhilirating. I woke up and walked through Manhattan to work. I felt like I was part of the workforce. I was. I went out for lunch and I went to a meeting. I walked amongst the tourists, the locals and the yellow cabs. I loved every minute of it. The city has an energy that you cant ignore. That night I ate out with friends in Hells Kitchen. We drank cocktails and enjoyed eachothers company and then we cabbed and subway-ed home. To be (relatively) young and be able to experience New York City is amazing.

The weather is good. It's warmer than usual for February in Toronto. When we left South Africa, people asked how we would deal with the weather. When we arrived in Canada people warned us that by February we would be crying out in frustration. We're still wondering what the big deal is. In South Africa you are cold in Winter. The houses are cold, the beds are cold, the toilet seat is cold and your toes burn when they hit the hot water in the shower. You have to wear a sweater indoors and keep the heaters on. In Canada you dont feel it. I wear a tee-shirt inside all day long. I put a jacket on when I go out and if its really bad I wear a beanie and gloves. I dont have a car so I have to wait on the corner for the streetcar, in the snow, in the cold, and it's still not that bad. Spring is almost here. It really isnt as bad as its made out to be. In fact, it's the least of my worries.

We have met some really nice people. In fact, the other day Keith called me to find out if we already had arrangements for Friday night because we had been invited out to dinner. A month ago we had no plans, ever! Now we have two dinners this week. We've met a wonderful couple two doors up who are warm and fun to be with, who drop by when they feel like it , to have a glass of wine and who have made it their mission to invite us over and introduce us to their friends. We have been made to feel incredibly welcome.

I've been driving around Toronto, figuring out where things are and avoiding getting lost. Despite its size, this is an easy city to navigate. South African cities make no sense and are much harder to learn. I love being in the car (on the wrong side of the road) and sitting in traffic and thinking "wow.....I live in Toronto".

The Bad
Emigration is not easy. Leaving friends and family behind is the hardest part. Not having our Saturday lunches makes me sad. I miss getting angry at Parea because someone decided to order for the whole table. I miss Espresso's Village Salad with extra Avo. I miss breakfast with Renzo at Nice. I miss lunch with Carolyn at M&A. I miss coffee with Terri at the Michaelangelo. I miss Simon's braai's. I miss sitting around the kitchen table and bantering with Kenneth. I miss it all.

The Abusively Ugly
My mother has stooped to an alltime low. Before I left South Africa I settled all her bills, paid the humoungous pharmacy account, gave her some money and told her to start acting like an adult and taking responsibility for herself and her finances. I have been suporting her for years. I have paid of hundreds of thousands of rands worth of debt. Keith constantly tells me that she will never learn because she knows that I will always bail her out. He is right. She knows that all she has to do is cry, apologise and promise never to do it again. Inbred Jewish Guilt forces me to make that transfer each time she tells me she needs money even if I dont have it because despite how I feel, I could never take the chance that she is going hungry or without something that she needs. I have never been able to save because every extra cent goes to either supporting her or to pay off some form of debt that she has created, be it a doctors bill, the phone account or her overdraft. Granted, my mother has never taken the money and used it for clothes, holidays or extravagant items that she did not need. And therein lies the problem because its always been things that she needs. I have tried many times to take controld but but she becomes nasty and absuvie and to be honest, I dont have the energy to manage her life. Before I left South Africa I told her that I would give her a monthly allowance that she had to manage and that was it. Naturally she agreed but every two weeks I get the sms or call telling me that she needs more money because the pharmacy bill was high, the phone account was high, the medical aid went up. And I pay up. Turns out, that she has no fucking clue whats happening with the money because about 6 monthys ago she handed her ATM card over to Jonathan, her "who knows what" that lives with her and hasnt bothered to check up on her finances since. Typical behaviour of a victim that isnt happy unless somone else is recsuing her. So not only has Jonathan been receiving free room and board, but he has also no doubt been helping himself to cash whenever he needed it. I didnt mind him living there for free because I liked the fact that she had company but I made it very clear when he moved in that he needed to pay his own way when it came to food and his own living expenses. But things dont always go according to plan and Lawrence, the sucker, now owes the bank a fortune.

My mother is not a mother. She has not done a motherly thing for me in over 20 years. She is the person that gave birth to me. Would I walk away if she were self-sufficient? Possibly. But despite how I feel, she is a sad, lonely, bitter and emotionally ill woman and she is my mother. I have a responsibility to look after her. How do I reconcile that internally? How do I say No. Our relationship is purely one of give and take, I give and she takes. It is not a happy one, nor is it a mutually rewarding relationship. It is based on need. I have long given up the dream that she would be the parent I longed for. All I try for now, is to ensure that when she is gone, that I never regret the things I didnt do. Like she did with her own mother.

Painful karma?

I get these attacks. Last night was by far one of the worst. It’s a weird unexplained thing that I have had since childhood; a mixture between a spastic colon and an abdominal migraine but doesn’t fit the symptoms of either. It only happens at night, does not seem to be related to anything specific and basically my entire abdomen goes into a spasm that it feels like I have knives being pushed into and out of me and that I have acid eating me from the inside out. Sounds dramatic but there is no other way to describe the horribly excruciating pain. It lasts for about 4 or 5 hours and then I literally pass out from the pain. I usually take some kind of anti-migraine and/or pain killer which also helps knock me out but doesn’t seem to take the pain away and I usually take it way too late.

I think the attacks started after my dad died but I cant be sure. At the time it was put down to anxiety and stomach ulcers. When I was in matric my doctor decided that my appendix was causing this and promptly removed it. The attacks continued. In the back of my mind Ive often thought of these attacks as karmic. Like something that my body needs to experience and it happens once every three months or so. Sometimes I feel it coming on and either its mild or I take something to stop it but then it comes back the next night even worse.....as if by preventing it my body is getting me back because its something I need to go through.

I know I know, my mind is disturbed! But when its all over I feel quite energised and almost cleansed. Go figure.....

Seeking out the Same

I flew to New York this weekend to surprise Natalie and her mom. New York City has always been an exotic destination for us South Africans. It’s a city we watch on television and in the movies, and many of us only dream of visiting. Things seem different though when you live an hour away and going to New York was like hopping on a Kulula flight to Durban, made so much easier now that I am permanently resident in Canada and not seen to be any kind of threat as I was when I used to enter the US on a South African Visa.

I arrived at Newark Airport in New Jersey and took the train into Penn Station, which is in downtown Manhattan. I SMS’d Doreen to let her know that I had arrived and she sent me the address of the restaurant where they were having brunch. Ive been fortunate enough to have visited New York enough times to know how to get around and which direction to go in. The surprise was such fun and well worth it. My biological family are scattered around the world and for various reasons we barely communicate, with each other so this family mean the world to me. I’ve been said to liken us to an episode of “Brother’s and Sister’s” and I say that with pride and affection. Watch any episode when you don’t have a big family and it’s all you want. The other day I was on the phone to one member that was SMS’ing another, had a Skype video call going at the same time to another and had Keith shouting in the background. We were all talking about the same thing, to each other! But I digress…

We spent most of Saturday wandering around Manhattan. Natalie and I got dressed later that evening and headed out to a bar in SoHo to meet an old school friend at a birthday party. We arrived early, had no idea whose birthday it actually was, lied ourselves into the private party and headed straight for the bar. A couple of vodkas later we joined the birthday group made up mostly of ex-South Africans now living in the Big Apple. Soon after that the Tequila made an appearance and at 3am I was outside looking for something to lick. Nats and I then made our way to Times Square and after unsuccessfully licking a NYPD cop car (visit We Lick Anything on Facebook for an explanation) we met up with the ex-South Africans again at a diner uptown and had an early breakfast.

I realized something that night. I could never understand why South Africans that emigrated actively seek out other South Africans, forming little South African communities all over the world. I always said that if I left, I would avoid that and integrate myself into the community that I had chosen to emigrate to. But four months into my own emigration I realize now how familiar and safe that group of fellow South Africans feel, the common bond is immediate, the accents are comforting and there are no questions or explanations of why we are here and who we are. I get it. We are human beings that like to seek out the same.

P.S. Read “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time”. What an amazing book.

Catching up

I haven’t written in a while. It’s not that nothing interesting has happened but rather the fact that there are so many other ways for me to tell people what’s going on. I thought that my blog would be a way for me to stay in touch with friends in South Africa and give them an insight into my new life in Canada. Skype, MSN and the cell phone have made that part easy. Then I thought that my blog should become a diary but do you really want everyone to ready your diary? I didn’t think so.

Quite a lot has happened as life in Toronto has fallen into it’s own routine. I got my driver’s license! Canada does not accept my South African license. I was allowed to use an International one for 60 days but after that it became defunct. Ontario has a graduated license programme. First you write an exam on the rules of the road and road signs. It’s computerized and gives you a G1 license, which allows you to drive with a licensed driver for a period of 1 year. After that you get to take a road test and you get your G2 license which allows you to drive but with conditions attached. After another year you take your G2 test which includes highway driving and if you pass you become a fully fledged G license holder which means you can do pretty much whatever you want, however if you break the rules, you lose points. For those people with licenses from other countries, you have the option of skipping through the timelines and going straight to G2 immediately. If you fail however, you start from the beginning. Naturally I got my G1 and decided to pass go and attempt the G2 test. I went for two driving lessons and driving on the “other” side of the road proved to be quite easy for me. The more difficult part was breaking the bad habits and trying to remember to “look left, look right, look left again, check your mirrors and blind spots (chin to shoulder) and keep to the speed limit”. It’s way too much PT for me! Anyway I went for my test on Tuesday. It’s been snowing here and the one thing I vowed not to do was attempt to drive in the snow. I was going to wait until summer and do it on dry roads but those who know me well, know that I can’t resist a challenge. The test took all of 20 minutes. We drove around the streets and I did a 3-point turn and a semi-parallel park. (I call it semi because there was only one car in front of me. Apparently you don’t parallel park in-between two cars in case you hit one!). We then went onto the highway, off the highway and back onto the highway again. Names are confusing here, the highway is the road and the freeway is the highway and the pavement is the street and the sidewalk is the pavement. Then there are express roads and collector lanes and traffic lights, not robots. But I passed, and that’s all that matters. Maybe it seemed easy because I’ve been driving for a long time, but I still think that the South African K53 test is way more difficult. Oh, and I got to take my test on an automatic car and be able to drive either type. Like I said, not as strict as South Africa but the roads are definitely safer, no crazy taxis and Joburg drivers.

We had a good Christmas. It’s the first one that we haven’t been with our friends or family. I miss our “Jewdo”. It’s a tradition that we started about 12 years ago where we all get together on Christmas day for lunch and exchange cheap, silly gifts. Keith and I promised each other we would not buy gifts this year. He wants a new TV so we decided to buy that and it would be the gift to each other. The catch was that we were waiting for the Boxing Day sales to buy the TV. Now there is no way that I was going to allow him to wake up on Christmas morning and not get at least one gift, that’s not fair and certainly not in the spirit of the holiday. But I made a promise. So I kept it, and made sure that the dogs each bought him 2 gifts. And he kept his promise and bought me a Chanukah gift! All in all, we were both sufficiently spoilt. We headed out to the Boxing Day sales yesterday and bought the TV at a ridiculously low price and then hi-tailed it out of there. The 200 long queues outside Abercrombie and Fitch were warning enough.

We definitely weren’t alone for Christmas. We are incredibly fortunate to live on a very sociable street. Our neighbours are a couple that has lived here for 16 years. They are friendly and they know lots of stories. Not only are they happy to finally have good neughbours that also sweep their steps in the morning instead of just doing half, we are happy to have friendly neighbours that also sweep our steps in the mornings instead of just doing half. Our street is short and lined with houses filled with similarly friendly people who greet each other. It is a welcome change from the high walled fortresses we are used to. We spent Christmas Eve with our neighbours, their family and a few people that live on the street. Everyone was so happy to meet us and made us feel very welcome. When they found out that we didn’t have plans for Christmas they immediately invited us back the next night for dinner. We had a great dinner with lots of wine and games on the Wii…. And then at about midnight the neighbours started coming over. A couple that we had never met arrived with gifts in hand for the newcomers. We got home that night feeling very much at home.

I’m looking forward to 2009. I’m looking forward to summer in Toronto although Winter really isn’t bad at all. I’m looking forward to Doreen arriving on Monday. I understand that it’s expensive and far to fly to come visit us. I understand that if you’re going to go on holiday that you’re going to go somewhere fun, especially when you only get a few days off a year. The only reason why I’ve been fortunate enough to visit so many friends that left South Africa is because I get to travel with work. If I was paying for it myself I’m not sure I would have done it as frequently, opting rather for trips to Thailand. Having said that, the best thing about me being able to visit my friends in other countries is that when they call, I can picture the room they are calling from because I’ve been there, I know the street they live on and the store around the corner and it makes me feel closer to them. So it means the world to me that Doreen immediately added Toronto to her USA holiday when she found out that we were moving here and then decided to come earlier. We have lots planned for the week that she is here.

I hope that my friends know that they are always welcome to visit and learn a little about our world in Toronto so that when I call, they will know exactly where I am.

Changing accents

I don't quite understand why some South Africans that move away suddenly develop accepts. I can understand it if you've been here forever and since a kid but come on, the fake "yeah" and saying "last week" instead of "laaast week" just sounds so ridiculous when it doesn't come naturally.

Sometimes the Canadians don't understand what I'm saying, nobody understands it when I say "Reiter", they pronounce it "Rider" instead but all I do is repeat myself. When Keith asks for "ice" for his wine, he means "ice", not "ass". Doesn't mean we have to suddenly develop accents. I'm proud of my accent, in fact many people love hearing it.

Have you ever heard an American or Canadian suddenly start saying "Howzit boet, ja it's good to be in Johburgh"? I didn't think so.

We have a friend that had a friend that went to America for 3 weeks. He came back with a full on accent yet everyone knew that he hadn't lived there for that long. They called him "Miss California".

I'm still going to say "Ja, my name is Lawrence Reiter and I'd like some ice please" and I don't plan on changing that.

In response

I will always be here.
I will always try to pick you up.
I will definitely always kick you up the bum.
I will always turn to you.
Always.

Not quite what now, but almost

We moved into our new house last Friday. It was an exciting day, for me it was exciting because I was going to sleep in my own bed and on my own sheets. I haven't seen my bed since August and boy have I missed it. Keith and I went over to the house at 7:45am and the truck was already there. The amazing thing about Canada (that is not like South Africa) is that people arrive when they say they will....well most of them do. Three hunky guys (I know what the South Africans are thinking) began offloading our stuff into the house. We had paid for a door-to-door service from South Africa that included packing on one side and unpacking on the other. I highly recommend it! The guys put all the furniture where it was meant to be and unpacked everything. Then they loaded all the boxes, paper and plastic into their truck. In Toronto it's a godsend when you don't have a car and don't know where the nearest dump is. Not one piece of furniture was damaged, nothing was missing and nothing was broken...except for the one glass that Keith smashed against the kitchen cupboard. I was a happy camper (house-owner with own bed and linen).

I then got into my ZipCar and drove back and forth fetching things from the apartment and bringing the dogs over. ZipCar is a fantastic system in Toronto. There are cars parked all over the city. When you want one you book it online, walk up to the car and swipe your electronic card, the doors open, you take the key that is hanging next to the ignition (yes seriously, it's hanging next to the ignition) and drive off. When you're done you park it where you found it! Driving on the "wrong" side of the road was a breeze.

We live in a cute neighbourhood called Old Cabbagetown. I think it's one of the first, if not THE first neighbourhood of Toronto. I may be mistaken but I read something like that somewhere. The area is not as trendy as Bloor West where we came from and not as crime-ridden as South Africa. It's up and coming, there are lots of professionals living here and some homeless people. It's a mix and it's fun. I feel totally safe. There is a great park nearby for dogs (more on that later) and a Starbucks is opening one street down (Grande, soy, wet, Splenda-in latte, and tall Americano with room please) to rival the local Jet Fuel that is apparently the best coffee shop in Toronto.

The house was unpacked and sorted in two days and we already feel like we live here, this is home and its familiar and fun. My office is downstairs in the basement and Keith has a study on the top floor. We certainly don't feel isolated because the house has this nifty little system of electronic intercoms and radio which means that you can hear music anywhere you go, and Keith can call me on the intercom when he wants me to do something :-)

The park nearby is especially for dogs. There are two of them, fenced in and they have dog statues indicating that one is for big dogs and the other for smaller ones. They all run around like mad having fun and sniffing each other's nether regions. Our dogs aren't used to this brazen socialising and despite Keiths's warnings I insisted that we take them there and let them loose. The boys were great, friendly, licky, happy. Jessie was, well Bitch is an appropriate term. There was a dog trainer and she insisted that we let Jessie go. And off she went and attacked the smallest dog immediately. I don't want to give up, but next time Jessie stays roped in on her lead!

Yesterday our neighbour and I were standing outside on the front porch being neighbourly, our front doors were open, the glass screen doors were closed and the dogs were snoring in the entrance hall. Dale decided to let his dog out to come over and meet my dogs. Not a good idea when you have two dogs and a bitch on the other side of a glass door. Dexter jumped up and his legs went straight through the glass. I saw it happening and could't stop it. Glass went flying everywhere (in hindleg it could have been worse, one of the dogs could have lost an eye or gotten seriously hurt) and initially I thought they were all ok until I saw blood on the floor. I examined my pooches only to find Dexters one front paw sliced open giving me an excellent view of the muscle and tendons. Consider what it's like to be in a new city, with no car, a bleeding dog and no idea where the closest vet is. I cleaned his leg and bandaged it up. Luckily there is a vet about two blocks down and Dexter didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong to we walked down to have him checked out. Four hours later, one anaesthetic, some sutures, anti-biotics and nearly $500 and my boy is home and snoring at my feet, still oblivious to what has happened. The boy feels no pain.

I'm getting into a routine in Toronto. I take the dogs for a walk in the mornings and then I head off to gym. Marc, if you read this, dammit I miss you (and the free three hours of weekly therapy). And you can't say that this was inevitable because you dumped me first! But I still do the Marc workout and pretend you are next to me (and that Glynnis is there, Ricki is talking absolute crap, Stan is complaining, Eric is training other Mark and Tim is feeling me up). It's a lot of pretending, one wonders that I get any workout done at all. I do, promise.

After gym I go back homo for breakfast, coffee and head downstairs to my office. Here's the hard part. I miss the office and the people. I went from a busy corporate world in 2003 to working from home and slowly building Criterium up to the office it is today so it's not like I haven't done it before, but it's a definite step back and being the type of person that I am, I crave people around me.

And that makes me miss my friends and the familiar things about South Africa. Don't get me wrong. I am happy here, I love this city and I don't regret doing this for one second especially when I am reminded of why I left. AND it's only been two months. But I'm just slightly down because nothing is where I'm used to it being. I have no doubt that this is normal and that in time I will look back at it as part of the journey.

I got a lot of work done today. I Skyped with Cherise while she ate Mi V'ami (throw in a King Steer Burger and a Maxi Chips please) and Robyn (Happy Birthday my lung) and Neil (Wreeeeeee) and Paul (BOY) and Tracey (uh uh, no words) and Louis (my beautifu) and Nats (anosmia - ask Neil, he'll explain it) and I felt so much better. I am so grateful for technology because it makes this all easier. Now I understand why Gerald gave me such a damn hard time about Skype.

It feels like Friday but it's not. I gotta feed the dogs. Tomorrow I'm writing my learners exam for my driving test (at almost fucking 35 I have to take my license again). Wish me luck.

Settling in....

Life in Toronto is starting to take on a routine. Before I left South Africa I was worried that once the excitement of the move was over, that the sadness of leaving would hit me. I pictured going through the move, and then waking up one Saturday morning thinking "what now?". It hasn't happened yet.

Some of the routine is the same as before. I wake up in the morning and take the dogs out for a walk. Then I go to gym. The difference now is that I walk a block to the subway and jump off three stops later at the gym as opposed to driving and sometimes getting stuck in the horrible Parkhurst traffic. I used to live in Parkhurst in Johannesburg. For those that know the area, you wouldn't think that Parkhurst had traffic but it does, and it's not easy getting out of Parkhurst in the mornings. When I get home I have breakfast and start work, instead of going to the office. I miss the office and the people around me, I miss the structure but I'm slowly creating my own structure at home. Once I move (yes.....we bought a house), then I'll make a proper office space for myself. Keith and I often go out during the day, we're still exploring and learning about the city and it's fantastic. So I haven't woken up thinking "what now?" yet, but it may happen.

I've heard that it's been raining a lot in Johannesburg. It's been raining here too but it's not the same. It's wet, and there are leaves everywhere which are slippery and dirty and muddy. We don't have that clean, fresh smell that comes after a good highveld storm. We certainly don't have the amazing electric lightening and thunder.

We bought a house. We found a great place in Cabbagetown and decided to put in an offer. And so the process started for the third time. We reached the inevitable stalemate where we refused to go higher and the seller refused to go lower. We walked away from the table. A day later we got a call saying that the seller had accepted our offer. I guess he realised that the market is not what is was 6 months ago, and that your first offer is usually your best. We move in next Friday and are so excited. I'm excited to see my bed, which I haven't seen since August. I've slept on the floor, on an air mattress, on hotel and other people's beds and I'm tired. I want my bed. And Im gonna get it. I think that having all our things around us will be a major step. I think it will finally concrete that we are here. Maybe then I'll have the "what now?".

OK, it's time to shower and move on. I just wanted to say hi and keep in touch. I'll post pics once the house is unpacked. I was silly, I packed my camera charger in the container and haven't been able to take any pics!

Ranting.....(and stark raving mad)

"Let's turn a negative into a positive".

Jesus Christ but it irritated me every time my mother said that to me. It irritated me because it’s a crap statement; if something is negative, it’s negative. Deal with it, learn from it and move the hell on. It irritated me because she is the last person on this planet that turns anything negative into positive, because then she would have to be happy.

Having said that, there are things that just piss me off (can you read the tone?). I’ve decided to put them down in writing and what the hell, let’s see if I can turn a negative into a positive. For the record, names have been removed to protect the happy.

It makes me angry that you don’t make time for our friendship.
I am happy our friendship has weathered worse.
That’s one….

It drives me crazy how you falsely believe that the world is watching you.
I am happy that it makes you strive for things (even though they are all materialistic).
Hmmm…. Not a very good one

It frustrates me that you are stuck in your comfort zone and even though you say you will, I know you won’t.
I am happy that your comfort zone is one that most people wish they had.
Not bad…

When are you going take responsibility for your fucking life?
Never – someone will always be there to rescue you.
OK….this clearly isn’t working

Maybe the problem is that I am judgmental and full of expectation. I try not to be, but who am I kidding, we all are. I give, I expect back. I watch, I think, I judge.

My company had a Manager’s Meeting a week ago and we locked ourselves in a room for two days and communicated. We were forced to speak in structured sentences that go like this:

“When you …….. what I made about that ……. and that made me feel ……” Jesus, it was pretty difficult. But we had no choice, and soon enough we got it and the words were flowing. What a difference it actually makes.

OK I’m done, I haven’t said much except to make it clear that some people piss me off, as I’m sure I do to them. My friendships are strong enough for me to tell them, and to get over it. Sometimes I get over it before I've told them. Negatives don’t have to be turned into positives, they can be positive on their own.

And one last thing, I love Reisies Pieces.
Nope…not explaining that one. I just do.

Not buying a house

It's interesting how you buy and sell a house here. In South Africa there is one agent, and he or she acts on behalf of both parties. This is obviously not the ideal situation but it has always seemed to work. My latest experience with selling a property in South Africa made it blatantly clear to me that once the deal is done, the agent is not interested (commission is guaranteed), and he or she will always be acting on behalf of the purchaser.

In Canada there is a buyer's agent and a seller's agent and it's strictly regulated as to how the roles function. We started working with our agent (realtor) in Canada months before we even arrived and Keith and I have been looking at houses since the day that Keith arrived. We've seen lots that we like and one that we love. So we decided to put in an offer. And this is how it went.

An appointment is made to present the offer. The buyer's agent takes the offer to the seller and his or her agent, in this case to their home. We waited outside in the car. They talked, and negotiated, and talked some more and then our realtor came out to the car with the counter-offer. We talked, and negotiated, and talked some more and sent him back inside with our counter-offer. They talked, and negotiated, and talked some more and sent him back to us with their counter-offer. And so it went, buy and seller in anonymous positions and buyer's agent and seller's agent in the line of fire.

We finally gave them 12 hours to make a decision on what was our final offer. They rejected us the next day. So we carried on looking but knowing inside that the house we loved, was the house we wanted. So we went back for round two. And an hour before the talk, negotiate and talk some more, the house was taken off the market.

We're not buying a house - not yet anyway.

House-hunting (do I really need windows and doors?)

We’ve rented a furnished apartment for a few months but it’s not perfect for us. We want our furniture, which has arrived and is now sitting in storage and we want a yard for the dogs. We’re staying in a great area called the Annex. Its part of the University of Toronto so there are lots of frat houses around us. We are close to the subway, busses, stylish Yorkville and downtown. But it’s an expensive area. Our South African Rand, after being converted to Canadian Dollars doesn’t mean much so our buying power is slightly limited but we definitely want to get into the property market. It’s certainly safer than leaving your money in the bank these days. We’ve been very fortunate to have secured a mortgage at a ridiculous rate (anything is ridiculous compared to South Africa where the prime lending rate is somewhere around 14% or 15% as opposed to here where it is hovering around 4%).

So Keith and I set off on Sunday to look at houses. We’ve been searching the Internet for about six months. Boy, were we in for a rude awakening. Our price range limits us to houses that made us want to cry. So off we went back to the bank this morning and begged for more, and they gave it to us. It’s interesting to hear the different perceptions that people have here. Toronto is essentially a safe city. The crime rate is low, there was something like 85 murders here last year (my numbers may be totally wrong, I’m just quoting what I’ve read) and when people talk about crime, they are generally referring to burglary and theft from cars. But one incident can make someone refer to an area as “high crime”, and “dangerous”. It’s relative when you come from a place like Johannesburg where you are surrounded on a daily basis with violent crime, hijackings, murder and rape. There are homeless people here, there are prostitutes and crack heads and there are questionable areas. I suspect that to a person who has lived here all their life, and not been exposed to crime like we have, that this is very dangerous. To us, who have become so immune, this is paradise.

So we are looking at three different areas that we like, and one is considered “dangerous” but we went and walked around the area tonight and for the Joburg people, it felt just like Melvillee; slightly grungy but full of life. We walked around for two hours, up and down the streets and I even stopped three people to ask them about the area and if they liked living there. We took the streetcar halfway home and then walked the rest of the way, stopping at Starbucks for the obligatory coffee (Grande, soy, wet, Splenda-in latte, and tall Americano with room please) and constantly amazed by the lone people walking around, lots of girls with headphones in their ears strolling along without a care in the world. It’s unbelievable for people like us, from the world we come from. Keith and I realise how much anger we lived with in South Africa, and how easily forgotten it is here.

So, I’ll take the crack heads, I’ll take the homeless and the projects, I’ll take the prostitutes, I’ll take the house that I can afford in the quiet street in the “dangerous” area and I’ll walk home alone late at night without looking over my shoulder, without fear that someone is going to kill me for my cell phone. I have no doubt that in a year’s time I’ll be able to sell my house in the “dangerous” area and move up. But I’ll take it, for now.

International Dogs

There was no question in my mind that if the dogs couldn’t come with to Canada, I wouldn’t go. Some people laughed at me but most understood, given how much a part of my life they are. A 7-month quarantine is one of the reasons why I would never consider going to live in Australia and I have no regard for anyone that puts their dogs down or gives them away when they leave. Owning a dog is a lifetime commitment; you don’t just give them away. I’m not talking about breakups and times when you just cant afford to keep them, or when you cant provide for them. I’m talking about having the conscious choice to emigrate, take furniture, children and money but leave your dogs behind because you don’t want the hassle, the costs or to have to pay more for a house with a yard. It’s horribly judgmental of me, but I make no apologies for how I feel. I honestly feel that we will be judged on how we treat animals (and our mothers, but that’s an entire blog on its own).

Anyway…I chose to bring all three of my fur children with me. The cost was not prohibitive, especially given the fact that there is no quarantine when coming into Canada. I booked them on the flight and then went through the agonizing process of reading up on the internet and calling the Pet Transport company constantly to ask questions about the containers, their food and water, the plane, the cabin pressure, the heat, the comfort, the delays, the layovers, the aeroplanes, the pilots and the staff. I even went so far as to email a friend, who is a pilot, to insist that they find the person flying the actual KLM planes and inform him exactly what kind of cargo he was about to carry and that if anything happened to them, I would FIND him (or her).

Petwings (who I think are absolutely fantastic) fetched the dogs last Monday afternoon from our soon to be ex-house in Parkhurst. Keith was hysterical. Dexter and Troy went quietly into their wooden crates, tail between the legs and lay down, dejected. Jessie was hysterical, screaming and throwing herself against the sides of the wooden crate. And off they went. Keith was about to fly himself, on a different airline and would be in the air when they landed. He wouldn’t know for about 10 hours if they were here safe or not.

I counted the hours, put a picture of them on my vision board, next to a picture of an aeroplane and tried not to think about it. I bought new collars, leads, food, bowls and treats (spending more on them than I did on the grocery shopping). At 4pm I made my way to the airport and went to KLM cargo. I walked in and announced that I was there to fetch my children just as Animal Services arrived to inspect them. I couldn’t see them, they didn’t know where the dogs were and all I had was a bunch of customs forms stating that 3 live animals needed to be inspected (damn straight they were 3 live animals). I was then told that I couldn’t see them until I went back to the main airport terminal and declared my import and paid my $42 customs duties. That took me an hour in the rush-hour traffic. By the time I got back to cargo the dogs had been inspected and deemed suitable for import and the three wooden crates were in eyes view. They were turned though so the dogs couldn’t see me but I could hear Dexter and Troy barking away, and Jessie chatting happily to anyone that walked past. Another South African family had arrived to fetch their two cats and they were just as anxious as me. Finally, after handing over my stamped forms, and paying another $60 I was allowed into the warehouse and boy did my babies go mad. I opened up the crates and they literally bounced right into the back of the car, lay down and went straight to sleep. We got home about an hour later and I took them for a nice long walk before introducing them to apartment life. All three are fast asleep at my feet. It’s like nothing happened and I would love to know exactly what they experienced on their journey. It’s pretty clear that they were treated exceptionally well, which is what I was promised. They flew for 11 hours from Johannesburg to Amsterdam, stayed at the animal hotel for 4 hours and then flew for 7 hours from Amsterdam to Toronto. They waited in customs for 3,5 hours before they got home. And they don’t seem to have been bothered at all. I have to pinch myself that they are actually here, in Canada. The squirrels fascinate Dexter, and they are all over the place. The other night I saw a raccoon and a skunk. I cant imagine what he would do if he saw that.

I am so privileged. I have International Dogs.

Tatooed

I have a tattoo on my arm that has been a work in progress. I think I had the first one done in about 2002. It was the same symbol that I later used as my company logo when I first went solo. It’s a design I came up with and I called it Jedex, after my two Boxers Jessie and Dexter. I had it infused with Reiki and consider it a good luck symbol. A few years later I decided to expand it slightly and Keith paid for it as a birthday present. We drew around it and filled my arm. I loved it. Last year I decided to do more, this time going up around my shoulder and down my arm so that the point of the tattoo peeks out the sleeve of a tee-shirt. My friends gave me money towards it as my birthday present. Jedex will always be the centre of the tattoo and the rest has been paid for by people I love, which means they are always with me (or on me?). I waited to have the tattoo extended because I knew I was due for a medical examination for Canada and they are strict. I didn’t want there to be any problems. And time passed, and before I knew it, it was time to leave South Africa. I finally went to the tattoo artist ten days before I was leaving, thinking that he could do the extension quickly. How wrong I was!

We drew the extension on a Saturday morning and the tattoo artist did the outline. Saturdays are really busy so he said I would have to come back to finish the rest. I thought that wasn’t a problem and tried to make an appointment for during the week. And then he said it…”you need 1 week for the outline to heal before I can continue”. “Nice”, I thought, “leave it till the very last minute”. I tried to convince him to finish it the following Friday, thinking that one day could not make that much of a difference but he wouldn’t budge. I had a friend’s 30th on the Saturday and I couldn’t miss it so I took the chance and make the appointment for the day before I was due to leave South Africa.

I arrived that morning at 9am and walked into a dark shop, a powerless shop, and one that would not have power for the rest of the day. My heart stopped. The tattoo outline had healed in three days; they could have finished it the previous week. Now I would be flying off to Canada with a tattoo and an outline and who knows when I would be able to have it finished, by someone I trusted. I called Keith in a panic and he suggested that he go down to the local tattoo artist in Parkhurst where we live and see if he could fit me in. The news was good, despite being fully booked for three weeks in advance; he had had a cancellation that morning and could see me at 3pm. I arrived in time, watched the boa constrictor for a while (all tattoo artists have boa’s in their parlours) and within half an hour the pen was happily buzzing against my skin. I was lucky that this artist had no problem finishing someone else’s work.

And then it happened. It happened half an hour into the tattoo, and with only half of the tattoo filled in…. the power went off! I could not believe what was happening to me.

It’s interesting, that the last straw for me in the decision to leave South Africa was the start of load shedding. It was one thing that I just could not handle. It was the thing that made up my mind. And it was the thing that bode me farewell.

We finished the tattoo the next morning and I flew off that night with a freshly tattooed arm, stinging all the way to Toronto.

What do you think?

Being Torontonian

I’m back in Toronto. I arrived on Friday night after a long, but uneventful trip home. I stopped to get something to eat, went to my apartment and crashed. We’ve rented a furnished apartment for a few months until we find something to buy. We’re in an area called The Annex. It’s in the heart of the University of Toronto complex, which forms part of the downtown area and spans hundreds of miles (ok maybe not hundreds, but it’s huge). Our building is small, only 5 apartments, on a leafy street and surrounded by parks and frat houses called “Si Phi Epsilom” and “Delta Omega Something or Other”. We have the entire top floor. There are two subway stations within walking distance, a 24-hour grocery store, dry cleaner and most importantly (according to Lisa), a Starbucks. It is these things that one should consider when determining where to live in Toronto, especially Starbucks (Venti, Extra-shot, Wet, Splenda-In, Cappucino please). We’re also 5 minutes away from the Shi-Shi Yorkville area and Whole Foods, Canada’s equivalent of Woolworths (on steroids). The interesting thing about Toronto is the variety. You can find anything you want, usually within walking distance and fifty options of it. You can have two streets right next to each other (ok I know, you can have that anywhere in the world). However, on one street stands $3mil dollar homes and on the other, low cost housing. The same applies to two sides of the street. It’s eclectic, vibrant and in many areas, gentrifying (a new word I learnt recently that is used to describe any up and coming area). There is a chill in the air as winter approaches and I’m realizing that soon the streets will be covered in snow and ice so the short walk to the subway station, or cabs on Bloor West, the main street a block away, will be welcomed.

I spent most of the weekend exploring. I spent Saturday in the heart of downtown. I could have been at Piccadilly Circus in London or Times Square in New York City. The place was buzzing with people, huge buildings covered with electronic signs that impose themselves upon you, and people walk, shuffle, sing, shout and hand out flyers. I took the subway and held tightly only my backpack, checking constantly that my wallet was still there.

I walked home last night, it was probably a 10km walk and I weaved in and out between the main roads and the smaller side streets. I stopped to get an ice cream a few blocks away from home. I was conscious of the fact that I kept on looking over my shoulder. There is a park near my apartment and as I approached I noticed a young woman, with headphones in her ears strolling through the park. So I though “if she can, so can I” and I made my way through the badly lit park towards home. The streets were quiet and clean. I could see into the houses because there are no fences, walls or gates. And I walked right up to my front door, just like they do on TV.

I spent Sunday on Queen West, a trendy street lined with shops and cafes. I was waiting for the traffic light to change when a lady pulled up next to me on a bicycle. She had her earphones in her ears (standard for Toronto), a helmet and her handbag and shopping were hanging off the back of a hook behind her seat. Anybody could walk up to her, lift the bags off and walk away. She wouldn’t hear a thing. And the great thing is…it probably wouldn’t happen here.

I’m sure it will take a while before I can walk around without looking over my shoulder. I’m sure it will take a while before I stop checking for my wallet, keys and phone every 10 – 15 minutes.

I don’t mind waiting.

Your flight is cancelled

Sometimes I really hate computers. I just wrote a whole new blog only to have it deleted because the hotel internet decided to send me a pop-up message reminding me that I am currently connected to the internet.

Thanks, I know.

Anyway, Im in Mumbai and not in Toronto where I should be. I was supposed to fly at 5:25am this morning and decided not to sleep last night so that I could sleep on the plane and try and get my body back onto Eastern time. I also didn't plan to eat on the plane - part of my avoidance of Indian food and associated Dehli Belly! I stayed up all night watching Heroes Season 2 on my laptop and was taken at 2am to the airport by the hotel driver. When we left the hotel he asked if I was in a hurry and I said no, so he informed me that we would take the relaxing drive. We made the 30km journey in under 15 minutes. I would love to know how long the rush drive takes.

I was the first person to arrive at the airport and was shown to the lounge. By 4am most of the passengers had arrived and at 5am we were told that there was a delay as the inbound aircraft could not land due to fog. The plane had therefore been diverted to Mumbai and would come in as soon as the weather cleared. And the stories went like this:

"The plane is due to arrive at 5:40"

"There is a slight delay, and the plane will come as soon as possible"

"We are waiting for more information"

"The plane has left Mumbai and will land in 20 minutes"

"The plane will leave Mumbai in 20 minutes"

"The flight will be here by 9 and it will take approximately 1 hour to turn it around and take off"

"The crew have exceeded their fly time and the flight has been cancelled"

Interestingly, none of the 36 affected passengers seemed to be too stressed about this. If this had happened in Johannesburg there would have been mayhem. I wasn't that phased, in fact I thought to myself "Hmmmmm, something to blog about". So we were all offered various options and everyone decided to fly to Mumbai as the outbound flights are more regular and there was less chance of this happening again tomorrow. We flew to Mumbai at 11:30 and after collecting our baggage were taken to the Hyatt where we were each given a room and some meal vouchers. By now I had not slept for over 24 hours, not counting the lack of sleep I have been experiencing anyway from all the travelling. So I took a hot shower, ordered a pizza (what are the chances of that making me sick?) and collapsed onto the very comfortable bed.

So I'm awake, slightly refreshed after 6 hours of sleep and a decent meal (the first in 4 days) and I'm waiting for someone to tell me if and when we will go back to the airport. I am booked on a flight at 3am tomorrow and then a connection to Toronto so I could be home by Friday night, only 1 day later than planned.

But who knows what will happen, I'll let you know where I am.

The adventure continues

I arrived at the airport in St. Petersburg on Sunday to be told that my flight to Frankfurt was delayed for three hours. This meant that I would never make my connection to India, and without a visa to get into Germany, also meant a 24 hour stay at the airport. Not a pleasant thought. Luckily I managed to get onto an earlier flight but they wouldn't check me in for my flight to India. We landed 45 minutes prior to my next departure and I rushed through security and from one terminal to the other, arriving at the gate 20 minutes prior and I wasn't turned away. And then I realised that I had left my book on the plane. I'm busy reading Shantaram. It's a fantastic book and gives you an incredible insight into India and every day life.

I arrived in Pune, or Poona, depending on who you ask, at 4am and found myself in a very quiet airport with only a handful of people milling about. This was not the India I expected. I had been warned about pickpockets and hordes of people that would welcome me. The drive to the hotel was uneventful and quiet and the hotel itself is neat. India is not unlike any African country, like Uganda, Kena or Tanzania. And I've spent a lot of time travelling through Africa.

India is magical, it has a charm to it and the people are kind and friendly. The traffic is fantastic, it amazes me how the cars, bikes, scooters and people maneuveur themselves around eachother with a sense of order that can only be understood by those that live here.

I've been a little over the top about the food. In Africa, or Thailand for that matter, I have never worried too much about getting sick but I have heard so many stories about India that I am being overly cautious. I brought a box of snack bars and have only eaten those since I arrived, and have had the sum of two cups of coffee. I keep on wanting to open the bottle of mineral water, or a sprite in the fridge but I'm just not prepared to suffer the consequences, especially with a 20 hour flight home ahead of me. It's a pity because I love spicy Indian food. I think next time I'll be more adventurous.

Unfortunately, as is always true of most of my business trips, I won't get much time to explore. So I think I'll just have to come back.

Total exhaustion

Russia is amazing. The people fascinate me, in the same room you have the most beautifully dressed woman right next to someone that looks like she lives in the 20s. The same holds true for the cars, new, old and "oh my god, that thing still goes?" all on the same street.

The Russians have a fantastic tradition. At dinner you toast, constantly. Each time you do this over a shot of vodka and you have to drink the entire glass. So a meal lasts for hours, and comprises countless toasts to whatever or whomever you like. There are two rules, the third toast is always to the women, and one other, I think the seventh, to people that are not with you; be it friends, colleagues or family.

I'm used to presenting, I do it all the time. What I'm not used to, is presenting to a group of people that don't speak English and require the services of a translator. Part of me felt like I was addressing the security council of the UN. But then I'd need an interesting name like Hanky Cheescake. So I've spent most of the day with earphones on or off my head and a mic clasped in my hand in an attempt to speak very very very s l o w l y, listening at the same time to the interpreters to make sure they are keeping up with me, or me with them.

And now it's time to go to dinner, to drink and toast.

Wish you were here.