Sounds ridiculous, I know, but it doesn't make it less true. We spent two full days on Mount St. Louis Moonstone, a 1.5 hrs north from Toronto. The plan was to drive there every day of the week and ski ourselves silly. That worked for the first two days, though we didn't plan the exhaustion. Skiing is a serious business, by the end of the day we are drained, sore and good for nothing save the bed.
Today we woke up to the thick snow carpet where you don't want it: on the roads to the ski slopes. Estimated 20 cm and still falling, snow plows can't clean the roads fast enough, accidents on all the highways around the town, including the ones we're supposed to drive on. We had a quick bedroom council and, counting in the soreness and the total exhaustion of the mind and body, we decided to wait out the snowfall at home. That means the whole day. Maggie is still catching up on her active dreaming (it's over 10 hours of sleep since last night and counting). She had an active dream, woke me up with her screams "I can't, I told you I can't!". I'm guessing she was screaming at me for taking too steep a slope in her dream, but she doesn't remember. In real life, she conquered some nice slopes and has nothing to scream about. Except when I try to wake her up.
Well, I better lean on the snow shovel and dig a hole through the fallen snow, so we can get out of the house tomorrow and continue our ski adventures.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Hairy surprise
Today Maggie went to the hair stylist. She doesn't do that often and it's always kind of funny when she returns; there are different variations of the same: her long, dark Asian hair looks, well--Asian. No matter if it's layered, or straight with bangs or not, it doesn't alter her good looks, just adds a detail here and there. Until today.
It took me a moment to recognize the woman who came out of the car parked in our garage. The very short hair with uneven edges spiking freely around her face, Maggie looks like someone else. And, a detail which concerns me a bit--she looks 16. I'll get in trouble for dating an underaged girl!
It took me a moment to recognize the woman who came out of the car parked in our garage. The very short hair with uneven edges spiking freely around her face, Maggie looks like someone else. And, a detail which concerns me a bit--she looks 16. I'll get in trouble for dating an underaged girl!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Obamaguration
Today the history was made. It is a cliche, but it is also true. A black man became the most powerful man on Earth. Barack Obama became the 44th president of the United States. His inauguration was televised and watched around the globe. Here in Canada we're all smitten by him. Judging by the reactions everywhere else, he has awaken hope of global proportions. He spoke of hardship, promised crisis and struggle, and still everybody cheered. In the past I witnessed great demagogic speeches of Yugoslavia's Tito, sheer madness of Milosevic's utterances, I learned of the quiet wisdom of Gandhi's orations. But none of them, except maybe Nelson Mandela, managed to inspire the entire world the way Obama did today. It could be thanks to the fast and wholesome reach of the modern media, but I prefer to think it's because of his message of hope and change we all craved through eight long years of Bush.
Obama is a great speaker. If nothing else, we're up for four years of coherent and well delivered speeches. Although I still think he's a bit hip-hop for a president, now it's up to me to get used to it.
The only thing out of tune during the inaugural ceremony was Aretha Franklin. "The Queen of Soul" she may be, but now that's just an honorary title. She can't carry a tune any more! It was painful listening to her squealing before millions of people. For everybody's sake, and the sake of her reputation, I wish her irrecoverable voice loss.
Obama is a great speaker. If nothing else, we're up for four years of coherent and well delivered speeches. Although I still think he's a bit hip-hop for a president, now it's up to me to get used to it.
The only thing out of tune during the inaugural ceremony was Aretha Franklin. "The Queen of Soul" she may be, but now that's just an honorary title. She can't carry a tune any more! It was painful listening to her squealing before millions of people. For everybody's sake, and the sake of her reputation, I wish her irrecoverable voice loss.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Snow
It's almost like in Orhan Pamuk's dreadful novel "Snow"! We are suffocating in the white stuff. It makes everything muffled and slow, it envelops the mind like cotton and puts it to sleep. There's no space left to shovel the darn thing away. It's piled higher than the fence in the yard, almost higher than I can throw. And, it's still falling! Thinking about going to sleep until April.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Dark Knight
Morning was frozen at -18 C, it turned my face purple during the run. As I thawed, my cheeks swelled into quite a grotesque: parts outside the laugh-lines puffed up, turning the laugh lines into deep crevices and my face into a caricature of itself. I thought the mirror was distorted, but it was my skin reacting to the cold. Snow started in the afternoon. We had no desire to go out to the polar conditions, so we rented a movie.
I admit, we fell for Hollywood's tragically deceased star Heath Ledger and the new Batman movie, "The Dark Knight." Ledger recently won the Golden Globe posthumously, for his role of Joker in the movie. There are also speculations that this role made him unstable enough to swallow the wrong dose of the wrong pills. So we thought when someone literally dies because of a movie, it has to be a good one. But, it wasn't. It was a pretty lame Batman. I guess we saw it all and the Batman franchise is running out of ideas. As for Heath, he is like the rest of the cast and the movie in whole--also lame. Jack Nicholson already gave us a Joker that fits the Batman, and gave the Joker a reason to be the psychotic killer he is. Heath, on the other hand, is just psycho, but gives no reason nor explanation. The whole character is bizarre. It would better fit into a "Friday the 13th" than a Batman. I guess Hollywood wisely exploits his death for the promotion of the movie. Maybe I expected too much of a Batman flick. It's quite disappointing.
I admit, we fell for Hollywood's tragically deceased star Heath Ledger and the new Batman movie, "The Dark Knight." Ledger recently won the Golden Globe posthumously, for his role of Joker in the movie. There are also speculations that this role made him unstable enough to swallow the wrong dose of the wrong pills. So we thought when someone literally dies because of a movie, it has to be a good one. But, it wasn't. It was a pretty lame Batman. I guess we saw it all and the Batman franchise is running out of ideas. As for Heath, he is like the rest of the cast and the movie in whole--also lame. Jack Nicholson already gave us a Joker that fits the Batman, and gave the Joker a reason to be the psychotic killer he is. Heath, on the other hand, is just psycho, but gives no reason nor explanation. The whole character is bizarre. It would better fit into a "Friday the 13th" than a Batman. I guess Hollywood wisely exploits his death for the promotion of the movie. Maybe I expected too much of a Batman flick. It's quite disappointing.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Aging
Ever since I lost weight, my face and the rest of me went out of sync. The skin on my face hangs loose, lines crisscross each other in a fine mosaic. My face looks like a sheet of paper crumpled in anger and straightened hastily. I look every bit 44 I'll be in three months. But only down to my chin. South of there are some new muscles, new tone and shape. I haven't felt this good and this fit in a very long time. Now, if I could only iron the face, blacken the greys and grow some more hair... But then, maybe that's the price of wisdom that comes with age?
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Reading marathon
Maggie and I spent the weekend wedged into the opposite corners of the sofa, hunched over books. We fell into a spontaneous reading frenzy, pausing only to feed; I can't call it eating, we barely noticed what we were taking in. On Friday we took a couple of newly-released books from the library, the ones that can be borrowed for 3 weeks only, no renewals. We started reading right away, joking there's not much time--only 3 weeks, and the books are voluminous! Soon, we were deeply immersed in stories; we were transferred into the fiction world, snapping back to reality only to satisfy the basic needs for food, bathroom breaks and occasionally to glance at each other with an embarrassed smile at our foolishness, only to delve back into the books a moment later. I sometimes lose myself in a book, but this was the first time both of us spent entire weekend doing so. We loved it.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
On the road
I'm reaching the end of Jack Kerouvac's novel and it brings memories from my own past of not so long ago. Most of us had a phase in life when we finally broke the chains of parental supervision and went traveling to discover new places and new things life had to offer. Though I did a lot of travelling through sports in my youth, the most time I spent on the road was during the war of former Yugoslavia which started in 1991. I had my own Dean Moriarty character in the childhood friend Sasha, who also was a photojournalist and was by my side through the many events of the 90's. Like Dean in the novel, Sasha was the half-crazy driver who couldn't drive without speeding and who could pilot a car around--or through--any imaginable obstacle without a scratch.
There was a particular day the book constantly reminds me of. We were sent to relieve our team based in Tuzla, northern Bosnia, but the fighting broke between the Bosnian Croats and Muslims which were allies until yesterday. As a result, all the land routes northward through Bosnia were disrupted, with new front lines and conflicts flaring everywhere. There was no safe route and the four of us--Sasha, the reporter for our agency Thea, her interpreter and a good friend of ours Brane and I--were stuck down south in Croatian port of Split, waiting for situation to clear enough for the trip. A British TV crew arrived from Tuzla one evening and told us which route they took, but also advised that situation is changing each hour and they can't guarantee the same route will be passable the next day. Still, we got the information we needed and headed out to dinner to plan our trip. Carol, a reporter for a big American newspaper and a friend of Thea's, joined the dinner. She asked for the ride to Tuzla and we agreed. In the time of war the competition is usually forgotten and the journalists try to help each other as much as possible. However, with Carol strange things took place. At the dinner she appointed herself the leader of the trip, justifying that with being the oldest among us and the most experienced. No one questioned her journalistic experience, but when it comes to driving through the war ravaged Bosnia, Sasha, Brane and I had years of experience. Hell, we crisscrossed the country when Carol was still learning to find it on the map of Europe!
Since Carol was Thea's buddy, we left Thea to deal with her. But, good sweet Thea is such a non-confrontational person that she just shrugged and let it all be. With that we went to sleep, hoping the things will get straightened up in the morning. But, they didn't!
In the morning we loaded our two Lada Niva all-terrain cars. Sasha and I were in one--Sasha was driving, of course--and Brane took the wheel of the other car, with Carol claiming the front seat and pushing Thea at the back. In a couple of hours we reached the dirt road which led through central Bosnia. There, Carol insisted we turn back and go find the UN base where we can inquire about the situation on the road. Sasha, Brane and I were against wasting time. UN was basically useless, the units from different countries didn't communicate with each other and more often than not they'd ask us journalists for the directions. We voiced our opinion, to which Carol scoffed and turned to Thea.
"These macho boys are irresponsible. The only reasonable thing to do is to find the UN base and get the information. I can't trust my life to the likes of these three." She didn't try to lower her voice. Of course, we were furious, but it seemed that she convinced Thea. So, we went to look for the UN base.
Here starts the part just like from the book "On the Road": we were driving back to town; Brane was ahead, Sasha and I were following. Sasha was muttering under breath bent over the steering wheel. I could discern a few words: "show her macho" and "bitch" being most frequently used, the rest was incessant string of obscenities and grumbling. The road was snaking around the hills and into the town in the valley. There was no other traffic. On a downhill stretch Sasha stepped on the pedal and the Russian car reluctantly gained speed, its engine groaning loudly as we passed the other car. Brane got the clue and pushed his car grinning at us. We were in the lead through a few curves, huge springs and wheels squealing in an effort the car wasn't made for. Finally, Brane gathered enough speed to pull beside us on the passing lane.
"Now she'll see irresponsible," laughed Sasha and kept the car parallel to Brane's. Carol's face was inches from our window. She shook her head with motherly annoyance then stared ahead, ignoring us.
"Grab the wheel," Sasha yelled over the screaming engine and rolled down the window. "Lend me your foot too!"
I threw my leg over the gear stick and stepped on the accelerator pedal holding the wheel and steering from the passenger seat. Sasha was leaning through his window and pounding on the roof of the other car, right above Carol's head. Her lips were moving, but we could not discern what was she saying. Nor did we care. Now Sasha had both of his palms and his face pressed at Carol's window. All the while the cars were going slightly over 100 km/hr, driving parallel on the both lanes of the two-way road. Finally, Sasha had enough fun and slid back inside. We let Brane pass ahead. Thea was shaking her head from the rear seat, but she was laughing.
In town, the UN told us exactly what we expected. They had a day old information and had no clue what was going on at the moment, but advised against us driving north. While Thea, Carol and Brane talked with the UN media relations officer, Sasha stopped a car on the road. The driver told us the road is open to Vitez, which was approximately half the way to where we were going.
"You'll have to ask there for the rest," he said. Sasha and I looked at each other and the decision was made wordlessly.
The other three came from the UN building. Carol bent to Thea, obviously convincing her to cancel the trip. Brane was walking aside from them.
"The UN said the road is closed," Carol told me and Sasha.
"Actually, they don't know that. They just advised against travelling today," said Brane.
"We just spoke to a local man, he said the road is open to Vitez," I said. "From there, we should be able to get through to Tuzla."
"I think we should return to Split and wait a few days," said Carol. She locked her eyes on Thea's. We all knew we'll do as Thea decides. She looked at the three of us, than back at Carol.
"I trust these guys," she said, "if they think we can get through, I'm ready to take chance."
There was a long silence. Carol's eyes drilled through us all.
"Fine, drop me somewhere where I can hire a car to take me back," she said and climbed on her seat. We couldn't resist high-fiving each other and whooped and hooted around the cars, finally climbing in and speeding to the center of the little town. Of course, Sasha and Brane kept racing all along, passing each other, sort of playing tag in cars, swerving around oncoming honking traffic. Just in case Carol thought of changing her mind.
Once the villain was gone, the road was clear. Well, sort of. We went through numerous check points, negotiated passage through areas controlled by different warring factions, bluffed, lied, charmed and bribed. At midnight we stopped on a dirt road high in a mountain. It was pitch black, the forest concealing any light that might have come from the sky. There was a waterfall near by, though we couldn't see it, but we could hear it clearly. Sasha and Brane lit cigarettes, Thea leaned through the window and someone started singing "Lean on Me". We all joined in. That was the most surreal scene of the trip: in the middle of the night in the middle of Bosnian forest in the middle of the war, the three of "irresponsible" "macho" guys were singing a cappella serenade to Thea.
We arrived to Tuzla without further troubles a couple of hours later. When Thea checked with our head office in Vienna the next day, they were relieved. Apparently, Carol alerted them that we undertook an extremely risky trip against her advice.
There was a particular day the book constantly reminds me of. We were sent to relieve our team based in Tuzla, northern Bosnia, but the fighting broke between the Bosnian Croats and Muslims which were allies until yesterday. As a result, all the land routes northward through Bosnia were disrupted, with new front lines and conflicts flaring everywhere. There was no safe route and the four of us--Sasha, the reporter for our agency Thea, her interpreter and a good friend of ours Brane and I--were stuck down south in Croatian port of Split, waiting for situation to clear enough for the trip. A British TV crew arrived from Tuzla one evening and told us which route they took, but also advised that situation is changing each hour and they can't guarantee the same route will be passable the next day. Still, we got the information we needed and headed out to dinner to plan our trip. Carol, a reporter for a big American newspaper and a friend of Thea's, joined the dinner. She asked for the ride to Tuzla and we agreed. In the time of war the competition is usually forgotten and the journalists try to help each other as much as possible. However, with Carol strange things took place. At the dinner she appointed herself the leader of the trip, justifying that with being the oldest among us and the most experienced. No one questioned her journalistic experience, but when it comes to driving through the war ravaged Bosnia, Sasha, Brane and I had years of experience. Hell, we crisscrossed the country when Carol was still learning to find it on the map of Europe!
Since Carol was Thea's buddy, we left Thea to deal with her. But, good sweet Thea is such a non-confrontational person that she just shrugged and let it all be. With that we went to sleep, hoping the things will get straightened up in the morning. But, they didn't!
In the morning we loaded our two Lada Niva all-terrain cars. Sasha and I were in one--Sasha was driving, of course--and Brane took the wheel of the other car, with Carol claiming the front seat and pushing Thea at the back. In a couple of hours we reached the dirt road which led through central Bosnia. There, Carol insisted we turn back and go find the UN base where we can inquire about the situation on the road. Sasha, Brane and I were against wasting time. UN was basically useless, the units from different countries didn't communicate with each other and more often than not they'd ask us journalists for the directions. We voiced our opinion, to which Carol scoffed and turned to Thea.
"These macho boys are irresponsible. The only reasonable thing to do is to find the UN base and get the information. I can't trust my life to the likes of these three." She didn't try to lower her voice. Of course, we were furious, but it seemed that she convinced Thea. So, we went to look for the UN base.
Here starts the part just like from the book "On the Road": we were driving back to town; Brane was ahead, Sasha and I were following. Sasha was muttering under breath bent over the steering wheel. I could discern a few words: "show her macho" and "bitch" being most frequently used, the rest was incessant string of obscenities and grumbling. The road was snaking around the hills and into the town in the valley. There was no other traffic. On a downhill stretch Sasha stepped on the pedal and the Russian car reluctantly gained speed, its engine groaning loudly as we passed the other car. Brane got the clue and pushed his car grinning at us. We were in the lead through a few curves, huge springs and wheels squealing in an effort the car wasn't made for. Finally, Brane gathered enough speed to pull beside us on the passing lane.
"Now she'll see irresponsible," laughed Sasha and kept the car parallel to Brane's. Carol's face was inches from our window. She shook her head with motherly annoyance then stared ahead, ignoring us.
"Grab the wheel," Sasha yelled over the screaming engine and rolled down the window. "Lend me your foot too!"
I threw my leg over the gear stick and stepped on the accelerator pedal holding the wheel and steering from the passenger seat. Sasha was leaning through his window and pounding on the roof of the other car, right above Carol's head. Her lips were moving, but we could not discern what was she saying. Nor did we care. Now Sasha had both of his palms and his face pressed at Carol's window. All the while the cars were going slightly over 100 km/hr, driving parallel on the both lanes of the two-way road. Finally, Sasha had enough fun and slid back inside. We let Brane pass ahead. Thea was shaking her head from the rear seat, but she was laughing.
In town, the UN told us exactly what we expected. They had a day old information and had no clue what was going on at the moment, but advised against us driving north. While Thea, Carol and Brane talked with the UN media relations officer, Sasha stopped a car on the road. The driver told us the road is open to Vitez, which was approximately half the way to where we were going.
"You'll have to ask there for the rest," he said. Sasha and I looked at each other and the decision was made wordlessly.
The other three came from the UN building. Carol bent to Thea, obviously convincing her to cancel the trip. Brane was walking aside from them.
"The UN said the road is closed," Carol told me and Sasha.
"Actually, they don't know that. They just advised against travelling today," said Brane.
"We just spoke to a local man, he said the road is open to Vitez," I said. "From there, we should be able to get through to Tuzla."
"I think we should return to Split and wait a few days," said Carol. She locked her eyes on Thea's. We all knew we'll do as Thea decides. She looked at the three of us, than back at Carol.
"I trust these guys," she said, "if they think we can get through, I'm ready to take chance."
There was a long silence. Carol's eyes drilled through us all.
"Fine, drop me somewhere where I can hire a car to take me back," she said and climbed on her seat. We couldn't resist high-fiving each other and whooped and hooted around the cars, finally climbing in and speeding to the center of the little town. Of course, Sasha and Brane kept racing all along, passing each other, sort of playing tag in cars, swerving around oncoming honking traffic. Just in case Carol thought of changing her mind.
Once the villain was gone, the road was clear. Well, sort of. We went through numerous check points, negotiated passage through areas controlled by different warring factions, bluffed, lied, charmed and bribed. At midnight we stopped on a dirt road high in a mountain. It was pitch black, the forest concealing any light that might have come from the sky. There was a waterfall near by, though we couldn't see it, but we could hear it clearly. Sasha and Brane lit cigarettes, Thea leaned through the window and someone started singing "Lean on Me". We all joined in. That was the most surreal scene of the trip: in the middle of the night in the middle of Bosnian forest in the middle of the war, the three of "irresponsible" "macho" guys were singing a cappella serenade to Thea.
We arrived to Tuzla without further troubles a couple of hours later. When Thea checked with our head office in Vienna the next day, they were relieved. Apparently, Carol alerted them that we undertook an extremely risky trip against her advice.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Someone, stop Israel!
The first blog item of 2009 and I can't avoid the politics! I just can't stop thinking about the news coming from Middle East and feeling deep injustice and revolt.
In short: Palestinian Hamas militants broke the cease-fire on December 19 and launched rocket attacks on Israel. During the last 12 days of sporadic Hamas attacks, four Israelis were killed. FOUR!
In retaliatory attacks, Israel killed around 400 people. In my simple math, that means that each Israeli life is worth 100 Palestinian lives!!!
In a recent air raid, Israel killed a prominent Hamas leader. I'm quoting Reuters news article:
"Nizar Rayyan, a cleric widely regarded as one of Hamas's most hardline political leaders, had called for renewed suicide bombings inside Israel. Medical officials, confirming his death, said two of his four wives and seven of his children were killed in the bombing..."
While no reasonable person would grieve someone who supports suicide bombers, what about the women and especially the CHILDREN? Why did they need to pay with their lives for his sins?
Sitting in the warm comfort of our homes thousands of miles away, it's easy to just shrug it off. The explanation that Israel has the right to defend itself seems all too eagerly accepted, just so we wouldn't be bothered with the silent cries of the innocents! After spending years as a reporter covering the war in Balkans and Chechnya, all I learned is: no one has the right to deprive the children of their future. And no, an Israeli child is not worth more than a Palestinian one. Nor is it worth less, for that matter.
The Vietnam war taught us that guerrilla can't be defeated by military might. That fact has been confirmed by the Russian failed invasion of Afghanistan and by the ongoing failing warfares by NATO in Afghanistan and Iraq. As much as we despise them, the only way to end the war is to bring the terrorists to the negotiating table. Israeli Jews seem utterly incapable of grasping that unwelcome truth. Enraged by the Israeli's attacks and the West's support of it, my New Year's wish is that a force emerges this year, political or military, which will stop the Jews. Once Israel is reined in, it will be easy to start the definite peace process in the Middle East.
In short: Palestinian Hamas militants broke the cease-fire on December 19 and launched rocket attacks on Israel. During the last 12 days of sporadic Hamas attacks, four Israelis were killed. FOUR!
In retaliatory attacks, Israel killed around 400 people. In my simple math, that means that each Israeli life is worth 100 Palestinian lives!!!
In a recent air raid, Israel killed a prominent Hamas leader. I'm quoting Reuters news article:
"Nizar Rayyan, a cleric widely regarded as one of Hamas's most hardline political leaders, had called for renewed suicide bombings inside Israel. Medical officials, confirming his death, said two of his four wives and seven of his children were killed in the bombing..."
While no reasonable person would grieve someone who supports suicide bombers, what about the women and especially the CHILDREN? Why did they need to pay with their lives for his sins?
Sitting in the warm comfort of our homes thousands of miles away, it's easy to just shrug it off. The explanation that Israel has the right to defend itself seems all too eagerly accepted, just so we wouldn't be bothered with the silent cries of the innocents! After spending years as a reporter covering the war in Balkans and Chechnya, all I learned is: no one has the right to deprive the children of their future. And no, an Israeli child is not worth more than a Palestinian one. Nor is it worth less, for that matter.
The Vietnam war taught us that guerrilla can't be defeated by military might. That fact has been confirmed by the Russian failed invasion of Afghanistan and by the ongoing failing warfares by NATO in Afghanistan and Iraq. As much as we despise them, the only way to end the war is to bring the terrorists to the negotiating table. Israeli Jews seem utterly incapable of grasping that unwelcome truth. Enraged by the Israeli's attacks and the West's support of it, my New Year's wish is that a force emerges this year, political or military, which will stop the Jews. Once Israel is reined in, it will be easy to start the definite peace process in the Middle East.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)