the shroud of turin

it's almost over.
some days--weeks--have been an exercise in boredom and little sleep.
at one point i found myself looking for jesus in the back of my eyelids...admittedly (and thankfully) that hasn't been the highlight of this journey.
it's all coming to fruition soon as i have accepted the job of my choice.
i refuse to talk about the recession right now, but i am proud of my persistence in securing a job before i have officially graduated.
now i just have to pass that dang exam.
but not before trekking around turkey with my soulmate.
i can't wait for the days that my days off are actually days off.
until then, i continue to survive on way less sleep than i need.

~
Music to my ears: slow.news.day

the man with the corduroy coat

there he is again.
that man with the practiced smile full of gleaming white teeth.
the starbright twinkle of money on his incisor.
the tan in the dead of winter. (not the tan in a can, but the tan that screams perpetual vacation--somewhere with a golf course--I think they have that setting on the tanning beds at the expensive place.)
the trench coat folded strategically over the left arm, the extra bold tie with the sharp dark suit.
such a contrast to the man with the corduroy coat who smells of old spice and beef brisket stew.

~
Music to my ears: Women in Tragedy

money=health

it's hard to see well-to-do families watch their family members become crippled by old age and extended hospital stays--as if they've never before been devastated by a tragedy.
so far removed from what it's like to have sick family members.
the ability to be healthy comes easier with money.

~
Music for a Sunday morning: talkdemonic - beat romantic

the bacterial resistance

so it's the year 2009 and we have these crazy high rates of infection circa the early 1900s.
and the rates are increasing.
is this the evolution of bacteria or viruses?
half of me wants to say yes, absolutely. those little buggers are mutating and becoming resistant.
but maybe it's more our problem...our fault.
maybe we have become so concerned with mastering the high tech issues to keep people alive longer that we have lapsed in basic infection control.
maybe because hospitals are more open to the public, it's easier for the germs to spread.
(i mean, have you seen hospitals lately? they're like shopping malls.)
MRSA used to be confined to the ICU. then it spread around to other units in hospitals.
now we're finding MRSA out in the community.
just sayin.

~
Music to my ears: Las Venus

a monologue by my nonna

Ah mamma mia.
Death won’t come to me.
I’m ready.
And instead I’m suffering.
Why won’t it come?
I could be with my husband. My mother.
Mamma mia.
It’s not coming my way. It’s not coming for nothing.
Because what I have it doesn’t want. I have nothing for it.
It’s right here and it doesn’t want me.
Mamma mia.
I can’t do it anymore. I’m done.
I’m ready and it goes away.
Ah mamma mia.
When I see my mother again I’m going to get mad at her.
I’m going to say “why didn’t you come for me?”
Mamma mia.
I have to go home. I’ll pay a good price for it not to pass over me again.
Look here (pointing).
It’s here.

(translated into English by me --m.)

~
Music to my ears: Clint Mansell - The Fountain OST

to my sister

happy birthday lil sis.

~
music to my ears after a long day: hum - you'd prefer an astronaut

inauguration history

the winds of change are warm and welcoming...inspiring.

conversations in a hospital #7

yesterday i was called in on a "how fast can you get here?" kinda call.
those ones always worry me, but also intrigue me in some twisted way.
i'm always expecting someone completely off the rails confused, or ripping tubes out of various orifices.
when i got to the floor, the clerk directed me to the pt's room. it was in the step-down unit.
step-down means the step between a critical care unit, like the ICU, and the actual unit they will end up on. usually it is a separate room on the same med/surg unit...but the ratio of RNs to pts is 1:2.
so immediately i thought i was in for a long day. it's very rarely we get called to be constant care for patients who pretty much have constant care from RNs.
this didn't end up being the case.
i spent the day with a wonderfully funny man, who was frustrated and did want to leave, but who wouldn't?
i later found out from his wife that the medication had made him really confused as everything he told me about all the money and land he had was not at all true.
he pulled it off pretty good though, i must say.
i thought he was joking when he kept asking me what other information i needed for the book i was writing on him. but it kept him talking.
and in between the confusion were nuggets of truth, wisdom and hilarity:

on being in a hospital gown:
"be careful in here. let 'em get a hold of your pants and you'll never see 'em again. i took my pants off over a month ago and haven't seen them since!"

speaking of foley catheters:
"you lose a lot in here. all i can do is lie here with a damn tube pullin on my bird"

on love & marriage:
"it's all whistles and bells until you have your first fight--then you're sitting there wondering "what's going on? we don't fight". then 10 mins later it's all forgotten about"

~
Music for a sunday morning: The Twilight Singers

a return to the old...with a new me?

often when i'm standing in front of the sink washing dishes my mind wanders.
i don't know if it's the soothing feel of bubbles, or running water, but it's the only place where when my mind wanders it doesn't automatically wander to thoughts of school and stress and job stuff. it wanders to random thoughts, plucked from somewhere deep within my hippocampus...with some frontal lobe grey matter thrown in to add some emotion to the mix.

today i started to wonder if, as we get older, our parents know less and less about us.
okay, i was wondering about my mother is specifically.
i have not lived with my parents in about a decade or slightly more and i think of how much i feel i have changed during my tumultuous 20s (which is how, when i look back, i will forever fondly remember them as...has a nice ring to it, with a certain truthfulness...)
i mean, i talk to my mother almost on a daily basis, but often i think she's not listening to me...pre-occupied with some other task or thought...i often use the good ol' alien-baby-arm-fell-off trick--and surprisingly, it often works. so maybe she just hasn't been listening to me...i mean, really listening.

but then i think maybe my core hasn't changed so much...and so what if she's not interested in my recent endeavours? i'm just being a child--she's probably one of the only ones (along with my sis) who really knows me...just me.

~
Music to my ears: Baroness - red album

conversations in a hospital #6

i had the pleasure of spending my 12 hr shift today with a wonderfully funny older gentleman, who (sadly) suffers from severe copd and leukemia.
he is waiting for a place in palliative care.

in talking about stay at home moms (his daughter is one) he says:

"i think that's the way it should be. call me old-fashioned or traditional but a child needs their mother...at least for the formative years...every animal learns from its parents. if a baby fox was raised by a wolf, it wouldn't be a fox."

he also gave me one of the nicest compliments i've ever received:

"i wish i was going to be around when you're finally a nurse...you're going to be a great one. i'm sure of it."
(thanks mr. w...you will surely be missed)

random writings on an old bookmark

22 American soldiers in Iraq committed suicide in 2005

Teen in Texas bitten by bat in his sleep, dies of rabies

i don't speak--you don't need to when society speaks for you.
mind-reading is highly overrated.

i talked to a hippie on the streetcar today.
"my that's a good book you're reading", i said.
and he shook his beard in agreement, like a horse's mane, and 3 sparrows flew out to perch on my coffee mug.

pointless thinking is worse than no thinking at all.

happy 2009

best shows* that i saw in 2008:
1. saul williams @ the mod club
2. dub trio @ the el mocambo
3. baroness with bison b.c. @ lee's palace
4. slow.news.day @ rancho relaxo
5. battles @ lee's palace
6. tortoise @ the mod club
7. the reverend horton heat @ the mod club

honourable mentions†:
1. mogwai @ the phoenix
2. the gutter twins @ the mod club
3. the weakerthans @ nathan phillips square

*judged on the ability of the band to make me leave the show and proclaim "holy hell, that was f***ing awesome!" to anyone who would listen.

†bands made the honourable mention spot by either being one of my favourite bands to see live (ie/they always put on a good show it just didn't make me proclaim "holy hell, that was f***ing awesome!" to anyone who would listen) OR by containing musicians that i was super excited to see live (as is the case with the gutter twins' mark lanegan and greg dulli)

conversations in a hospital #5

pt: i feel like pavlov's dog
me: how do you mean? (as i spoon feed him teaspoons of water)
pt: ring the bell, get some water, ring the bell, get some water

conversations in a hospital #4

every time i have a shift at our downtown cancer hospital, my client ends up being put on a dnr order and palliatiave care during my time with them...i was starting to wonder if maybe this wasn't the right profession for me, when i'm like the long, bony hand of death...but then i remembered that it's a cancer hospital, so it's probably more coincidence.
~
- is there a chance to enjoy the time i have left? asked mr. c, slowly, taking deep breaths between each word as the nurse put a finger over the trach hole in his neck.
- how would you want to do that? she asked.
- my daughter to visit, my wife to visit more, my family is going deeper in the hole, in debt.
- what would make you happy?
- to stop putting my family through this devastation. i want to enjoy as much as possible.

my triumphant return to shotokan

oh dear dear karate-do, my how i have missed you.
the soreness you leave in those muscles i forgot existed.
the bruises you imprint on my shins and forearms.
the lactic acid you help build up in my quads after mere minutes of horse stance.
the havoc wreaked on my bare feet, callouses forming under my big toes, bunions bulging.
my brain works hard to pluck the finely choreographed kata sequences from its long term memory storage....but my limbs remember the moves, like an ingrained dance routine.
my expanding waist line and flabby belly are thanking your triumphant return to my body's regimen.
domo arigato.
yame.

my one true friend is a drug addict

i get the 5am wake up call...again.
"who is this?" i grumble in my sleepy stupor...it's been a while since i've gotten this call.
"it's me" * sniff *
i am the one she calls from strangers' beds, in her coke-induced fervor.
i don't see her very often anymore.
recently out of rehab, she confined herself to work and the gym...anything to keep her busy.
but just as she has never judged me, i don't judge her.
"are you ok?"
i always ask. although i know she is as resilient as they come.
"i'm ashamed" * sniff *
"dude, i'm sorry" * sniff *
"i'm just so fucking bored" * sniff *
the string of apologies she always gives me.
i know she's sorry. i know she means it.
"don't be sorry. just get home safe."
"why can't i stop doing this?"
i wish i could answer her. instead i silently cry.
T is the best friend anyone could wish for. i love her to death.
aside from J, she knows me better than anyone else.
i don't have many friends. she's my best.
my one true friend--a drug addict.
and i can't do anything to save her.

the manana procrastinators

To Do:

1. post here daily...scratch that.

To Do (modified):

1. finish this post
2. finish reading this article
3. make another list because it makes me feel better

procrastinators: leaders of tomorrow

conversations in a hospital #3

i still remember my very last cigarette. i can see it exactly.
i was sitting at the dining room table in our last apartment on the danforth, doing a dreaded roy care plan for a patient.
bob had quit a week before me.
i remember taking a drag and saying "this is it. my last cigarette ever."
i can feel the taste of the filter on my lips, the smoke entering my lungs.
and then i stubbed it out. i continued on with my assignment and i left the butt there in the ashtray in front of me, staring it down.
just me and the desire.
then, as i went to bed, i cleaned out the ashtray, threw out the rest of the pack...woke up the next day a new person, never to smoke again.

this picture was slowly fading from my mind but came back with vivid force as i sat helpless by my 85 year old patient while she hacked out a lung.
in between breaths she whispered "i" *cough* "have" *cough* "chronic" *cough* "bronchitis" *cough*
and emphysema. and a gangrenous foot that will have to be amputated from vascular disease related to congestive heart failure.
but she quit smoking a month ago.
pointing to her body she says "i'm not having this outfit again! it's broken".
was she ever a feisty one! so full of life and cackly laughter.
the 85 year old chain smoker you see sitting in the bingo hall or cursing obscenities at a slot machine.
still trying to pick up 25 year old residents.
and i wonder if i never stopped smoking, if i too would have a feisty demeanor, still laughing in the face of adversity.

conversations in a hospital #2: the mudville 9

Mr L was a "vocal musician" until cancer ruined his larynx.
"that's just reality, these things happen"
lying in bed with a blood pressure way beyond the normal limits of any living person, Mr L told me about the few hundred different species of birds he owns at a sanctuary west of barrie.
a diabetic with hardly any teeth, sucking on a hard candy, he begged me to take him outside for a cigarette. he tells me that suffering from bipolar, he shouldn't be in this hospital, he needs to be in a mental institution.
i tell him that he needs to get his physical body better first.
he tells me the body and mind go together and his mental state is not getting any better in a hospital where they neglect his mental illness.
"i'm not a brave person. i've cursed myself many times over"

the power of situation

discussing social influence and conformity in psych class this week i got to thinking about the zimbardo prison study again.
this one never goes away.
i can always go back to this, however unethical, and relate societal pressures and the need for acceptance to the roles we take on.
like the other self.
zimbardo himself even testified at the Abu Graib prisoner abuse scandal.
he argues that even good people can turn evil.
pretty much.
(i'm not at all defending the "soldiers" who tortured prisoners)
in groups it's difficult to go against the grain. to be an individual.
it's easier to obey orders and follow the crowd.
that was what the "soldiers" said. they were just "following orders".
the government said they were bad apples.
the government, passing the blame back to the individual.
in doing so, making the fundamental attribution error that we all are guilty of.
in a society that values personal achievement and individualism, yet is built on the power of conformity, allows us to still blame others when group interactions go wrong.
personal traits vs situations.
there's nothing wrong with the system, it's the people.
this implies nothing needs to change.
it's a fine line between compliance and obedience.
it's easier to obtain compliance when deindividuation occurs.
that uniformity becomes comforting and it becomes easier to change our beliefs than our behaviours.
and it allows society to stip away our individuality and increase our allegiance to the group mentality.
i wore a catholic school uniform growing up.

~
In the background: 2008 Giller Prize

happy birthday

to the love of my life.

for your birthday, on this day when i feel that i am so broke that i can't buy you anything, but know that that feeling is misguided because we both know that money can't buy love and happiness, and yet it still makes me feel bad
(ah, the guilt of our society)

for your birthday, on this day what i wish is that everybody could see how extraordinarily talented and intellgent and just how fantastic you really are.

for your birthday, on this day i want you to know that some day everybody will hear your music, will see your photos, will marvel at your abilities and be awed by you. like i am awed by you.

i am so fortunate to be able to lie in bed each night and wake up every morning next to you.
xo.

ocean 5

so if there wasn't a dominant theory about personality, would half of the people who we define as having mental illness still be considered ill?
i love psychology, but psychologists are always trying to figure us out, you know?
in the '80s, researchers Costa & McCrae came up with yet another psychometric approach to personality that is now a dominant view. they say there are 5 major variables of personality that are replicable across time and across cultures.

Openness (willing to try new things)
Conscientiousness (regard for others)
Extroversion (level of sociability)
Agreeableness (pleasant to interact with)
Neuroticism (guilty, worrisome, anxious)

so this is it. they've boiled us down to 5 traits, or a combination thereof.
by asking their research participants to answer a questionnaire, which they have never published. huh.
so if we can only be these traits, even in any combination, people who exhibit other traits are what? mentally ill? outside of "the norm"? makes you wonder. well, it makes me wonder.
there were others that were quite popular pre Costa & McCrae, like Eysenck who came up with 3 personality prototypes: neuroticism (unstable & introverted, worried, guilty, moody); psychoticism (extroverted but emotionally unstable, seeks out social interactions but volatile and moody); extroverted (lively, social, responsive, good at seeking out harmonious relationships)...this means i'm psychotic.
like Cattell, who said there are 16 factors of personality that are source traits--the root of our behaviour

i'm thinkin i'm a bit of a critic of the trait theories
Walter Mischel is too.
he says behaviour is determined by the situation rather than personality.
situationism. i like that.
maybe if we all wanted to go to parties all the time, we'd all be extroverted and highly sociable.
maybe if we were all confronted with voices in our heads, we'd be introverted and talk out loud to ourselves.
maybe if we weren't confined to fit into 5 personality traits, other traits wouldn't seem so extraordinary.
if we were all the same, nobody's behaviour would be out of the ordinary.
what fun is that?

one answer to cancer: broccoli

lying in bed in the morning, deciding what to do for the day, bob says:
"you can jump my bones if you want to".
"oh really? can i?", i say, laying on the sarcasm pretty thick.
he says,
"you know, you're not doing yourself anything in the favours department"

(manny - 0, bob - 1)

suspicion breeds confidence

i have had many friends that i've lost.

i had a friend who, this past summer, had a bit of a breakdown and landed herself on the mental health unit at the local hospital...and in legal limbo.
i supported her for a while then lost touch with her as she left hospital and moved north to recoup, prepare for endless court battles...and find jesus.

i had a dream last night that i found her and asked her to fill me in on what i'd missed.
she was now getting married, having a baby and leading a "normal life".
the woman i used to know would have shat on the idea of what constitutes a "normal life". she had fought in the face of adversity. she had divorced a husband who was emotionally abusive, quit her job that she was no longer satisfied with, had moved out of the 'burbs, into the city with a wonderful guy she had hooked up with at a party. they got along wonderfully. she was doing art. and playing in a band.
she had endured the black sheep of the family moniker and i had looked up to her for that.

this is my biggest fear working in mental health.
are we just getting people healthy to keep up with the Jones'?
are we trying to fix people to conform to society's norms?
what is this medication we're giving?
take this happy pill and be like everybody else...you don't have to worry about being different anymore.

finally. the last day. not "finally" as in vacation's over. finally, as in, took long enough to post the ending.

(Quidi Vidi fishing stages)

we woke up to another sunny day. sad that we were leaving St. John's.
we splurged on a big breakfast at Bagel Cafe, busy little dark joint that doubles as a bar at night.
wooden booths and japanese paper lanterns didn't disguise the delicious traditional Newfoundland breakfast.
salty fishcakes and eggs. what a fantastic combo.

especially followed by beer at Quidi Vidi brewery.
we saved this wonderful little town and tour of the brewery for our last mini-trip before the airport. the old historic fishing town of Quidi Vidi (pron: kiddy viddy) lies just on the other side of Signal Hill.
we walked off the fishcakes.
a bit of a trek, but not impossible by any means. plus, for 8 buckaroos you're rewarded with samples of every beer they brew, a tour of the place, and then a full bottle of your choice to enjoy on the dock.
we both chose the 1892 but i also really enjoyed Eric's Red, which isn't a red at all, but a smooth-tasting cream ale.
too bad our 2 bottle mix-pack that we tried to smuggle on the plane got confiscated.
at least it made us aware of the one bottle that had busted in bob's bag and left all of our clothes soaking in 1892 goodness.

so in the oldest town in North America exists one of its oldest residential structures.
entering the cottage is like going through a hobbit door.
and the place is crammed, i mean, crammed! full of antiques and junk and local crafts.



the lovely woman who runs the place uses the money from sales to keep the place going...naturally we had to buy something.



i scored a wonderful handmade inuit-style long hooded coat with fur and embroidery made by a woman in Labrador. bob scored an antique Parker pen to add to his collection.



suddenly heading back to town we feared we were running late. big surprise there.
and yet we still made a stop in the arts council to pick up a piece of art by a local artist.
a wonderful lino cut print of a codfish (but of course!) by Janet Davis.

we decided to grab a bite to go for the wait at the airport, assuming we'd have no problems this time getting our oversized luggage on the aircraft.
unbelievably we found another tiny little Indian place with some of the best tasting food to the east of Little India.
on that day, our final day, i could have stayed in Newfoundland forever.
long may yer big jib draw

Day 12 (real time: Day 14) - last full day in St. John's

after our previous evening of great jazz at the Ship Inn, we tired early and checked out to relax at home.
waking up this morning was by our own internal clocks. lying in bed, being lazy, we talked about going to check out The Sprout (St. John's only vegan resto) for dinner that night...reading the menu Bob says:

"this is why people don't like vegans, you know"
me: "why?"
bob: "because they name burgers things like give peas a chance" (note: neither of us tried this burger, but our meals were totally delicious)


(Storm's Island Gold ale)

we spent the morning and afternoon taking apart the bikes and packing them up, along with the rest of our stuff, with the ultimate goal of reducing our checked luggage.
it was frustrating and so by mid-afternoon we went for ice cream at Moo-Moos, the local dairy.
the wind was so incredibly crazy and the sky a wacky mix of grey and blue clouds that i just had to try Newfie Storm (a tasty, tasty, homemade--did i mention tasty?--mix of caramel and chocolate in mocha ice cream)...bob had Orange-Pineapple.


(orange-pineapple)


(newfie storm)

we walked along the steep side streets, admiring the colourful houses and then along Duckworth St...
thankfully it started to rain just as we neared a used book store (clearly we have an addiction)...but Bob found a heavy metal anthology of reviews from the 70s until the late 90s.
definitely a wicked find.

so what better way to top off a wonderful and relaxed and calm veg dinner than with some crazy hardcore music...i'm talking circa 1996...thankfully this still exists in St. John's at Distortion. it was a cd release party for Two Guitars Clash, but after seeing Icebreaker perform, we really didn't need to stay and compare.

*note to self...put on ipod when i get home:
1. sick of it all
2. snapcase - designs for automotion

Day 11 - day trip: St. John's - Witless Bay

the riding's not over yet....and we missed the boat.


(Great Island, Witless Bay)

daily stats
weather: sunny, 22˚
avg speed: 18.8 (m) / 18.4 (b)
max speed: 60.0 (i rule) / 58.0 (b)
total distance: 69.72 kms

GRAND TOTAL: 618.77 kms

so this was it. our last day of riding on the east coast.
even though we got back to St. John's a day early, we still counted this as the last day.
the early homecoming wasn't by choice...it was necessary to get bob's bike fixed up.
there was no way it would have made it up another hill with a welded chain.
and so we decided to go back to Witless Bay to do a whale and bird watching tour.
on a zodiac!
well, we sprinted to Witless Bay, and i mean sprinted up and down those bloody hills and missed the 11:30 boat.
and when i say missed, i mean we sprinted up that last hill to the cafe and dock, panting, lactic acid burning my quads, and watched the zodiac speed away from the dock.
and so we waited.
we had coffee and waited.
it was quite annoying. but relaxing none the less.
hey, we were on vacation after all.
so we finally got out on the high speed zodiac (complete in our padded orange prison suits) and we sped out to Witless Bay Ecological Reserve.


(Gull Island, Witless Bay)

we saw humpback whales! minkes!
and puffins! and gulls! common murres and kitty wakes!
but the whales! oh, the whales.
i have a blurry picture.
it was windy and the waves were big. and, oh yeah, i was in awe.
so i have a blurry picture of a fin. and a splash.
so i tried a video.
they were so close my jaw just dropped, and so did my camera.
so i have a blurry video of my knee in an orange full-size lifesuit and some "ooohs and ahhhs" as background vocals.

so here i insert yet another story of that true newfoundland spirit.
when we got back to the dock, the other tourists sped away in their full-size chevy eldorado rentals and bob and i, after peeling off our lifesuits, decided to eat our packed lunch while sitting in the parking lot with our sea legs and pondering the immense hill we'd have to climb to start our trek back to the city.
we watched a man park his boat down at the dock, and walk up the hill to the cafe.
we share passing hellos.
on his way out, coffee cup in one hand, the irish loop cafe's famous pistachio bar in the other (i'm calling them famous because i had one that morning and they're that good), he starts small talk.
next thing you know, he has convinced us, along with our bikes, to take a ride on his boat, as far as Bay Bulls, the next town over.
because that's where he's heading. and he'd save us the first two out of three major hills back.
and because he'd sure love the company.
so what would have been a gruelling 30 mins of riding, turned into a 2 hr tour of the bay and coves.


(the bikes ride shotgun)

our faithful guide, mr neil parry, hauled our heavy bikes over rocks and into his boat, which used to be a small tour boat he bought off of one of the big tour companies.
mr parry used to be a kayak tour guide.
and he loves tourists with a sense of adventure.
he showed us his wife's favourite rock formation. the only place where wild strawberries grow in the bay.
and he regaled us with stories of the history in the area.
our wish to repay him with a coffee when we docked in Bay Bulls (which he pays $94/year for a prime spot!) was met with a "have to meet my wife and take the kids to lessons" but he advised us to check out the church because there were old wwII cannons for gate posts.
and so we did.


(cannons as part of gate)

inspecting the cannons from the gate, a man driving by in a car stopped to tell us to go into the grounds and check out the freaky statue which the parish priest had made for this brother that fell in the war.


(statue on church grounds)

on the way home we stopped at Bidgood's in Goulds...really just to check out the flipper pie.
we ended up buying 3 big pieces of dried, salted cod (baccala for nonna!).
at roughly 5 bucks a cod, my italian grandma, who would normally spend around $30 for the same piece here in toronto, nearly shit a brick when she saw it.
i'm the favourite granddaughter again. that's right.


(sardonicus the cat smells the salt cod)


(whole salmon for cheap! at Bidgood's)


(the price of wild blueberries at Bidgood's)

Day 10 - sunshine in St John's

(The Battery)

following a wonderful Pakistani lunch at International Flavours (which i found amusing to travel all the way to St. John's from Toronto for some of the best Indian food i've ever had) we made a trip to Signal Hill and then back through the The Battery, via the scenic North Head Trail...all while bob's bike was getting fixed up at Cychotic (see previous post re: broken chain and chain tool).
nestled in a cove in St. John's, on the steep side of Signal Hill, the neighbourhood known as The Battery, once a prosperous fishing village, is a now eclectic mix of artists and tourists who have taken over some of the dilapidated homes and fishing stages.
not much fishing goes on here anymore, but the woman in the pottery shop tells us that the odd iceberg floats in on occasion...as well as the family of otters who live in the bay (which we got to witness squealing and playing hide and seek with eachother).
yup, i could live here.


(St. John's as seen from Signal Hill)


(The North Head Trail)


(something you do not want to do on the North Head Trail, but we actually did see)


(more wild blueberries on the steep side of the hill)


(the trail leading into The Battery)


(The Battery)


(flying ducks for sale in The Battery)

Day 9 - La Manche PP - St. John's....hopefully

"long may your big jib draw"


(the tourists becoming honourary newfoundlanders)

daily stats
weather: rain.wet. fog. rain.
total riding time: 3 hrs 56 mins
avg speed: 15.2 (m) / 14.9 (b)
max *speed wobbles* speed: 58.5 (m) / 56.5 (b)
total distance: 59.22 kms

so...as I write this I'm sitting in the mist under an Ultramar sign in Bay Bulls waiting for Bob.
his chain broke (again) and then his semi-broken tool didn't respond too well to the attempt to straighten it with a hammer from the guy in the station. and so he is currently getting a ride back to Witless Bay from one of the girls who works the ? hut (read: visitor's centre) to see about a guy who fixes chainsaws.
seeing as the girl drove a compact 2 door, i figured it best to just stay with all the gear instead of dismantling it all to try and fit it in.
so if the guy with the chains doesn't pan out i guess we find someone with a pick up and hitch a ride home...

boredom lists...

top 5 things to remember for next bike trip (in no particular order):
1. extra chain and/or links
2. extra chain tool
3. can opener that actually opens cans
4. extra socks & underwear, less outer clothes
5. a cellular telephone with service > 25 kms out of a big city
*tied for 5th: a fire starter (to start fires with wet firewood)

places to see, things to do in St. John's:
1. Quidi Vidi (pron: kitty-viddy)
2. Signal Hill
3. Cape Spear
4. whale watching
5. get screeched in
6. hear live (local?) music

to eat in St. John's:
1. Moo Moo's ice cream
2. The Sprout (NL's only vegan resto)
3. International Flavours (Pakistani resto)
4. 24 hr Celtic pub & restaurant (which I'm assuming will be where we eat tonight when and if we ever make it back)
5. cod cakes at The Duke

so there i was making lists and reading Tsunami when i hear a woman's voice.
"what are you doing sitting out in the rain?"
i look up to see a tiny woman with big sun goggles (the kind you wear after laser eye surgery) and lost inside a hooded rain coat staring at me with a huge smile.
"oh hello. i'm waiting for my husband to return. he's gone off to Witless Bay to see a man about a chain."
"well don't wait outside. come in! i live right here."

Annie invited me in for coffee. a nice and wonderful respite from sitting on a curb in front of the Ultramar.
over instant coffee with evaporated milk and Belgian biscuits we spoke of many things.
she's a poet and a published writer. (as i left her place that day i started to think--hope?--that maybe i had just been in the home of Annie Proulx. later i checked out a photo of the famed novelist, and no, not the same Annie.)
this Annie used to be a cyclist in her younger days in England.
also, she's a truly beautiful person.
thank you Annie!

eventually we did make it back to St. John's.
and we did make it (not necessarily by choice) to that 24 hr celtic pub and restaurant, when nothing else was open and we were famished. but nothing was better than a pint and pub food at that moment.
it was then we decided that we deserved to be honourary newfoundlanders as we'd just cycled the Irish Loop.
and so, following true tourist tradition, we set out for the infamous George St (our one and only foray onto the street during the night hours, as we found it reminiscent of John & Adelaide area of downtown T.O.) to cross off #5 on my "things to do in St. John's" list.
just a note, when you get screeched in at Trapper John's, the cod has been replaced with a puffin's ass.

Day 8 - rest day at La Manche P.P.

rest day...for real this time


(bumble bee)

daily stats
weather: mist, fog, rain, mist, fog (big surprise there)
total riding time: 0 hrs
total daily kms (hiking): about 6 kms

so a definite respite day...well needed, and well deserved i think, but much more about the need. we finally got some quarters and got most of our clothes into the dryer...as well as our water logged shoes.
pretty relaxing morning.


(make shift lean-to)

in the laundry room i met an RV gypsy from the U.S.
the woman was nice enough to lend us a quarter...while the park ranger drove into town to get us some (!! seriously, Newfoundlanders really are that nice)
i had noticed the Texas plates and so i commented on the far drive while the woman was putting her bath mats in the wash.
turns out the Texas plates are really a front...so to speak. after her and her husband decided to sell their home and retire in a home on wheels, they did some research into living on the road...
to have insurance and a mailing address you have to be a resident of one state, and they picked the one with the least amount of sales tax.
and so they have Texas plates and Texan PO box.
and they always have the itch to move claiming they hardly ever spend more than a week in one spot.
except for the annual RV gypsy meeting in the Nevada desert for which they stay two weeks.

that afternoon, tea in hand, we hiked to the old, abandoned settlement of La Manche.
La Manche sits just off the East Coast trail.
the village was about 1.5 kms in from the park.
the trail in was a relatively easy walk and bob and i took our times, drinking our tea, and enjoying the misty air, the spiderwebs stretched across the path covered in raindrops and the diverse flora and fauna.

me (pointing at a wild mushroom and trying to be funny): "that one will make you taller"
bob: "no. that one will make you deader"


(East Coast Trail)

the remains of the building foundations sit (unbelievably) on the side of a mountain, in a large cove. it was no doubt that eventually the village got washed out, but absolutely amazing that it lasted as long as it did.
the settlement was only abandoned in the late '60s.


(East Coast Trailhead)


(suspension bridge)

beside the village was a fantastic new suspension bridge, leading over the cove and onto the East Coast Trail. we decided to hike that for a while, crossing a few gulches and into the Doctor's Cove.
stunning.
probably one of my favourite parts of the province.


(Doctor's Cove)

note to self: come back and hike all of the East Coast Trail...but not before kayaking the southern shore outport towns first.

Day 7 - Chance Cove PP - La Manche PP

Is my back tire flat?


(weather; our recurring view)

daily stats
weather: mist, fog, rain, fog, mist, rain, etc.
total riding time: 6 hrs 08 mins
avg speed: 12.9 (m) / 12.6 (b)
max speed: 50.0 (m) / 52.0 (b) *dammit. he beat me.
total *uphill* distance: 78.58 kms

# of flat tires: 1

just a miserable day all around. it was wet, soggy and all uphill.
a constant uphill.
and we were determined to have chowder for lunch in Ferryland.
even after bob had another flat tire.
so by the time we stopped for lunch at the Colony Cafe we were famished and cranky (okay, maybe the cranky part was just me).
but it was worth the wait. we had the most delicious chowder. it was so filling and warm.
perfect weather for a bowl of chowdah ("shau-dere? shau-dere? it's chowdah. say it right!")
and cod tongues, of course
(even though our server tried to convince us otherwise with her description of the texture of the uncooked gelatinous part of the tongues)


(cod tongues, a newfoundland tradition)

warm chowder and deep fried cod tongues, plus new book purchases (always helps mood) put us in better spirits to continue our journey to La Manche.
but it didn't help to make the wrong turn off the main road and end up going 8 kms out of the way on a muddy road at the end of the day.
when finally to come back we realized that if we had been able to see through the fog and mist, the actual entrance to the park was only about 500 m from where we had turned off the wrong way....
and to only realize that, after getting into the park via a long downhill on a paved road (yay!) the booth was closed and the office was back at the top of the hill...
(we didn't go back up that night)
and then to realize that because we didn't go back up, we had no quarters for the dryer to dry out our clothes...
and then again in the morning to realize that at the end of that wrong turnoff, when we hit the dead end, that was the park boundary and fire road into the campsites (but that was the next day and we were laughing about it by then)...

and so we set up camp in the rainy darkness, then went to use up what little quarters we could scrounge up and trade with from some crazy german camping expedition who arrived at the washrooms and laundry building in a mini van, whereupon 8 or 9 people piled out, in garbage bag ponchos with all 20 of their giant pots and pans to do dishes at the washroom sinks.
wet and dejected, we shared a moment of silence, eating sour cream and onion mini rice cakes for dinner in the laundry room, listening to the hum of the washing machine, and the occasional german conversation.

Day 6 - Mistaken Point - Chance Cove

rest day


(Long Beach)

daily stats
weather: cloudy
riding time: 3 hrs 39 mins
avg speed: 9.8 (m) / 9.7 (b)
max speed: 32.0
total distance: 36.05 kms

# of broken bike chains: 1
# of moose seen: 1
# of caribou seen: herd of 5
# of whale seen: a few
# of puffins and gulls seen: a gazillion or so

this was not a planned rest day per se, but after spending all morning on a hike of Mistaken Point, then part of the afternoon dealing with bob's broken chain and busted chain tool and trying to endure the awful gravel road out of the ecological reserve, we only got in just over 36 kms of riding.

not much, but so worth the 6 km hike.
Julie was our lovely guide (an expat from Ontario who now lives in the beautiful town of Portugal Cove South and works for the provincial government's parks and reserves)
she informed us that Mistaken Point got its name because ships used to mistake this point for the infamous Cape Race and then crash into the massive outcropping of rocks or get stuck in the numerous gulches along the coast.
so the reason a guide was needed: Mistaken Point Ecological Reserve has the world's only area preserved with deep water marine fossils and the oldest fossils in North America of the first multi-cellular organisms


(fossil)

the area is only accessible by guide and most of it is marked off by archeologists who are currently unearthing more fossils. we were able to walk on this (sans shoes, only socks) which was part of the ocean's floor. stunning.


(old ocean floor)

Julie's specialty lies in flora and fauna, so she knew where all the bakeapples were.


(patch of bakeapples)

tasty mid-morning snack. i think we ate at least a pound of these. delicious.
i'm pretty sure, in canada, they only grow in newfoundland & labrador.
but they must also grow elsewhere in the world because the common name for them is cloudberries. only newfies call them bakeapples...but only newfies make them into a wonderful jam.


(bakeapple)

after bob's chain broke going up a hill on the gravel road, we did end up making a stop at the Rookery.
basically the walk to the cliff is only about 500 m, but as you approach you can hear the gulls.
it's a crazy bird sanctuary that is home to a gazillion mating birds.


(the Rookery)

look closely. all those specks of white are birds. while the gulls and other birds take up perches to lay eggs on the sides of the cliffs, the puffins burrow about 3-5 ft into the grassy patches at the top.
now i'm not afraid of heights, but holy crap, there was no barrier to keep you from falling off the edge. and the sound of all those birds. really felt like a hitchcock flick.
the birds were at quite a distance, but luckily for us, the only other person there was a man with a giant telescope who invited us to take a look.
as bob likes to think, nerds like to share because they want you to like nerdy stuff as much as them. the wonderful and eccentric man pointed out all the birds and their latin names, plus gave us a little lesson in history and geography.
i had never seen a puffin in real life. they are the oddest-looking little birds. amazing.

when we finally made it off the road from hell i think i got down and kissed the pavement (and believe me, newfoundland roads aren't that much better)
going through another patch of barrens on our way out to Chance Cove provincial park, we were on the lookout for moose and came across a herd of caribou instead.

(caribou)

neither of us had encountered caribou and didn't really know what to do. at first they were kinda at a distance but then they started to approach the road to cross and ended up in our path.
we stopped and just watched them for a while, unsure of their natural tendencies.
then they spotted us and just stared us down. only a couple had crossed the road and the other three were still on the hill.
truth be told, i got a little frightened as neither us nor they backed down in the staring contest.
we decided not to move and get between the herd.
eventually they decided to go back from where they came.
we started to ride and they followed along side of us for a while.
they're pretty fast.

when we finally made it to the turn off for Chance Cove, i nearly fainted.
another damn gravel road.
having no real choice, we relunctantly started down the road in silence, each of us secretly cursing every little stone and pebble.
out of nowhere (and i mean nowhere as in we hadn't seen a car or other person in what felt like hours), a pick up pulled up next to us.
the passenger rolled down his window and offered us a ride into the camping area. said they'd seen us the day before in Portugal Cove South.
i immediately said yes. no questions asked.
the two men put our bikes in the bed and let us into the cab, which was covered in one of those '80s furry wolf-howling-at-the-moon blankets.
the passenger introduced himself like this:
"my name's Hanlan Coombs and this here's Loyola" (pointing to the driver)
Loyola then said something that sounded to me like Boomhauer from King of the Hill.
seriously.
i looked at bob and he looked back at me with that questionable look.
while Hanlan wasn't too bad to understand (still took some time to process) when Loyola spoke we responded with neutral and minimal responses like "oh" and "uh-huh" and "not sure".
later bob says: "i wanted to ask those lad a few things but i was afraid Loyola would answer and i'd have no idea what the hell he was saying".
what was interesting was it was day 6 of our trip, we still hadn't seen any moose, and sure enough it took us getting into a car to see one.
Loyola pointed one out just as the wooded area began into the camping lot.
good thing we got that ride in too because it was another 8 kms of hilly gravel before the road ended and it was almost dark by the time we were getting the tent up.

the road ended at a parking lot with about a dozen motor homes and RVs. judging by the road in, it had honestly seemed as though there was going to be nobody at this place.
for all i knew, hanlan and loyola were giving us a ride in to rob us and leave us for dead.
but that's just not the vibe you get in newfoundland.
no matter how weird the dudes are.
like Mr. Rice, who was missing all of his front teeth, who offered us a pot full of water when we realized Chance Cove has no running water.