Ironic that Florida looks like a gun

Does anyone else find it ironic that the state of Florida looks like a handgun?

While economic and political uncertainty is sweeping across the United States like a swift Santa Ana wind, Americans are seemingly finding certainty in their guns. According to a recent Vancouver Sun article, firearms and ammunition sales are up 10 percent in the US this year. Many are attributing the increase to two factors—concerns about the economy and a fear that President Barack Obama will join with his Democrat colleagues to enact new gun controls.

Apparently, in the "best "country in the world, a worsening economy fuels fear of crime and civil disorder. And when fear strikes might as well grab a gun. Seems easier than trying to rationalize the fear.

One customer at a gun shop in Virginia sees the world this way: “People are preparing for catastrophe right now…it’s [guns] insurance. With the stock market crash and people out of work, and the illegal aliens, the probability of civil disorder is very high.”

This guy probably didn’t hear about the recent study that concluded that when people are unable to deal with uncertainty and chaos in their lives they start developing conspiracy theories.

A gun shop owner in Hagerstown, (now that sounds like tough town) Maryland said of the political and economic situation: “It’s common sense. People are scared.”

In 2005, more than 30,000 Americans died from fire-arm related deaths. That’s 10 times more than died in the 2001 terrorist attacks in New York, and in just two years that number would eclipse the total number of Americans that died in the entire 11 year Vietnam War. And they have memorials for those two significant events in American history, and yet there isn’t a memorial for the tens of thousands of Americans killed each year unnecessarily by guns. While 30,000 Americans will meet their fate at the end of gun barrel, more than 70,000 will be injured because of firearms. And Americans are seemingly okay with this.

More than 3,000 children are killed each year by gunfire. It may not sound like a lot, but imagine for a moment if that was your child. It’s probably not surprising then that in the same section of paper that highlighted increased gun sales, there was an equally disturbing article about an eight year old boy, who died after accidentally shooting himself in the head with an Uzi submachine gun, while at a gun show, and apparently under adult supervision. An eight year old boy belongs at the park, not at a gun show.

The logic, or illogic, is that one carries a gun for protection. I suppose if you whip yourself into a frenzied state of fear, then you anything will seem logical, but I remember Dear Abby writing a column once that suggested that if a criminal wants to use a gun to commit a crime they will use the element of surprise. This means that you will have no time to reach into your purse or glove box, or bedside table for your gun. In fact, you’re more likely to kill some kid going door to door looking for treats as happened to one young boy in Texas on Halloween a few years back.

The notion that it is an American right to carry a gun is utter nonsense. The founders of the United States would be horrified to see what has become of the Second Amendment to the Constitution. One former Chief Justice calls it one of the misinterpretation one the biggest frauds in America. Others have called gun violence in the United States a shameful epidemic.

And while there are many gun control advocates, little will change because guns and firearms have become ingrained in the national psyche of Americans. Not unlike the health care debate in Canada. It’s tough to have objective dialogue about an issue when it becomes wrapped up in one's national identity. A shame really, because more people will continue to lose their lives needlessly.

Nickel and Dimed by the airline industry

I took my first flight on June 30, 1984. I remember it like it was, well, 24 years ago. I was 14 years old and had never been to an airport before. I was a tad anxious, yet excited when I saw that 'big orange' CP-Air DC-10, which would fly me away to Amsterdam.

The fare for that flight was $998 and the tax was a whopping $12.50. This was before the days of airport improvement fees, security fees, fuel surcharges, wheelchair levies, insurance surcharges, administration fees, late-booking fees, credit-card booking charges, and bag fees.

Now let's put this into perspective. Today, that same flight at the same time of year, would cost $1,700, plus $131 in taxes and fees (and you would have to fly the Dutch airlines KLM, as CP-Air, and its successor brand is no longer in business).

Using a cost of living calculator today's base fare is comparatively the same as it was in 1984; however, the tax has increased from 1% of the fare in 1984 to 7% today. While KLM doesn't list the taxes and fees when making a booking query, I don't think many travellers today would begrudge paying an extra $131 on top of the fare. What people don't like is being teased with a fare and then learning that it will really be hundreds of dollars more.

Take for example a recent $49 fare (one-way, of course) from Vancouver to London. Turns out the return fare is $149 plus $513 in taxes and fees, none of which are listed. Oh, and you'll also have to pay a $15 late-booking fee. What nonsense. If you want to charge me $15, add it to the fare. Don't nickel and dime the consumer when they book. It's that kind of behaviour that incenses the public.

While flying on Air Canada, at the same time, doubles the cost of this particular flight, they are at least more transparent about the taxes and fees.

$526 - base fare
$420 - fuel surcharge
$23 - Airport Improvement Fee
$17 - Canadian Air Traveller Security Fee
$39.96 - UK Passenger Service Charge
$1.15 - GST
$81.14 - UK Air Passenger Duty


Total taxes and fees - $585.25 (or 111% of the fare)

This past weekend, Air Transat and Flight Centre both offered a tantalizing $99 fare to London, but with $512.50 in "secretive" taxes and fees, the cost soars to more than $600. Still a good deal, but why the lack of transparency. There's something wrong when more than 80% of the total fare is made up of "taxes and fees". A clever, yet annoying marketing tool I suppose.

My only wish is that there is some accountability for some of the fees and taxes collected. Take for instance the Canadian Air Travel Security Charge (ATSC), which was instituted in 2002. Initially, the government charged $24 for any flight outside Canada and the US. The fee has since been lowered, but when introduced it was the highest security charge in the world.

Further, because there is no direct mechanism that links the ATSC to the security expenditures, there is a concern the fee, which is meant to be used for air security is going into general revenue, and being used for other purposes.

The public doesn't begrudge airlines that strive to make a profit, but don't try to fool us with low fares. If it costs $600 to fly to London just say so. And the government, too needs to be more transparent about the money it collects.

An undecided voter

In a previous post I wrote about the need to get rid of the one-cent coin. A seemingly small issue, yet one I think we should start taking more seriously. Sure it's not the biggest issue affecting the country, but let's look at it as progress and a small win. I also mentioned that I would write to the candidates in my riding asking where they stood on this issue.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, none of the candidates responded to my email (more on that later), although I did receive a read-response from the Liberal candidate. I’m not sure what is worse…reading a message and not responding, or not even reading it all. Not even my young Green candidate bothered replying. I guess he was too busy knocking on doors, or organizing children’s birthday parties.

Because this is the first election where I wasn’t driven by any particular issue, I was going to cast my vote based on the responses from my question. When I didn’t receive a response from any candidate, my first reaction was to not cast a vote for any of them. Instead, I was going to vote for a fringe candidate, such as a Libertarian, or a Communist, or maybe a Marxist-Leninist. Although the latter sounds kind of scary. Makes me think of a Siberian gulag.

My colleague thought that would be a waste of a vote. And she should know about wasted votes, what with her so-called “strategic” voting in previous elections. As it turned out, there were only four candidates in my riding.

I then thought I would vote based on colour. Blue is one of my favourite colours, but then so is red. I also like orange. And green too. So, that didn’t really work. In the end, I was handed a ballot. I felt like that person that gets on a roller coaster, but then at the last minute wants to get off, but it’s too late. I stood for a minute or two staring at the four names and their respective parties. I have never been in this position before, but I knew that I couldn’t stay behind the cardboard booth all night. My wife commented how long I took and then asked what game I played to pick the candidate.

There were no games. In the end I voted Green. While my Green candidate will finish last, I think we need to start taking a closer look at Green ideas, and maybe with more support their voice will be heard.

And if one of the other candidates loses by one vote, won’t they be sorry they didn’t respond to my email.

My Green candidate is a kid

So, I just dashed off a couple emails to the Conservative, Liberal, NDP and Green candidate in my riding, hoping to hear where they stand on ditching the penny. Surprising to some maybe, the NDP had the nicest looking website (I've always had a soft spot for orange, especially that delightful orange suit that my parents dressed me in when I was a kid), followed closely by the conservative candidate's site. The Liberal's website was the weakest, especially in that her email was listed, but I had to re-key it to send her a message. And the Green website, was, well green. In fact, Kermit the Frog would feel at home. Click here for the very green website

What surprised me is that Brian Newbold, the Green candidate, seems very green. Even his last name has the word NEW in it. I know I'm getting older, but he's looks like he's just a kid. In fact, he looks like he should be running for President of the High School Camera Club, rather than as a Member of Parliament. I do think, though, that Brian needs to get out a little more.

“I learned to ride a bike in Fleetwood-Port Kells, attended my first day of school in Fleetwood-Port Kells, graduated high school in Fleetwood-Port Kells, went on my first date in Fleetwood-Port Kells and this is my opportunity to speak out for Fleetwood- Port Kells.”

I don't make this stuff up. It's the first paragraph on his website. I am interested to know where in Fleetwood-Port Kells that he went on his first date.

I'm actually only half-kidding. I have all a lot of respect for everyone that stands for election. There are few jobs where someone must go through a very public, six week interview. Some won't get the job even though they may have been the best candidate.

It's time to ditch the Penny

It’s time to ditch the penny. For years I have wondered why Canada doesn’t retire the one-cent coin. Not surprising, it now costs more than a cent to produce a cent. So why do we keep producing them? Good question.

Every so often someone proposes getting rid of the penny, but nothing happens--probably because the people that could make them go away are too busy meeting and talking about the penny. In fact, The Penny Review Group, made up of representatives from the Bank of Canada, the Finance Department and the Royal Canadian Mint has met a few times since 2007, but has done little.

In 2006, more than one billion--for the more visually inclined that would be 1,000,000,000--pennies were minted in Canada. The reason so many pennies are made is because they are virtually worthless. People routinely toss them away or hoard them, not because of some inherent value, but rather because they are seen as a nuisance.

The latest person to campaign against the useless Cent is Pat Martin, a NDP MP from Winnipeg, who introduced a Private Members’ Bill earlier this year. A great start, but most Private Bills fail.

According to a recent Vancouver Sun article the Conservatives say they have no plans to do anything about the penny, which first came into circulation 100 years ago, the Liberals say more study is needed (like we need more of that), and the NDP is calling for its removal.

The only argument I have heard for keeping the penny, and at best it's irrational and conspiratorial, is that merchants will rip us off by rounding up. I imagine those same people to be the ones who casually toss their pennies away. There is little logic in keeping the one-cent coin.

Progressive countries such as the Netherlands and Finland have a law in which cash transactions are rounded to the nearest five cents to avoid using the two smallest coins. That means if your bill was $10.22, you would pay $10.20.

There are so few issues being discussed during this election campaign that I will gladly cast my vote to the person who publicly advocates ditching the penny. In fact, I am going to email every candidate in my riding to see where each stands on the issue. And I’ll share the responses with you.


A few facts about Canada’s one-cent coin

• More than 31 billion of the tiny coins have been minted in Canada, the first in 1908
  


• Up until 1996, the Penny was mostly made from copper. Today with high copper prices, the coins are made of steel, with a hint of copper-plated zinc
  


• Between 1982 and 1996, the Penny was 12-sided (which I learned is a dodecagon)
  
  

What would $700 billion buy?

In the coming days, the United States Congress will vote on a $700 billion bailout of failed financial institutions in the U.S. That's a seven followed by eleven zeros. Hard to fathom really. So what does $700 billion look like?

For starters you could buy 2,500 Airbus A380s, the world's largest commercial airplane

You could give $100 to every person in the world

You and 3.5 million of your closest friends could travel into space on Virgin Galactic's SpaceShipOne

One could build 162 International Space Stations

You could spend the entire Canadian government's budget, and still have $145 billion in spare change left over

Maybe you would be interested in 155 aircraft carriers

You could vaccinate every African child against malaria 233 times

What's with Vice-President wannabees and thier lack of foreign travel

The world is a book and those who do not travel only read one page - St. Augustine

I heard recently that U.S. Vice-Presidential candidate Sarah Palin has not travelled much outside of the United States. To be fair, I haven't spoken with Ms. Palin recently, but if she was well travelled, no one would be asking the questions. Apparently, Palin had to get a passport in 2007 to visit the Alaska National Guard in Kuwait. And while in Kuwait I doubt her itinerary allowed her to gain much insight into life in this Persian Gulf country. When asked by ABC News, she did offer that she has been to Canada and Mexico.

I can understand that someone washing dishes at the Black Dog restaurant in Wasilla, Alaska may not have the means to travel, but the Governor surely does. The same question was asked of President Bush when he was asking for the keys to the White House. And while it's a myth that he had never left the U.S. before becoming Predident, his foreign travel experience was limited.

What astounds me is that some (okay many) Americans who have achieved significant standing have had little interest in exploring the world. Where is their sense of curiosity? Don't Americans realize that despite convincing themselves that theirs is the greatest nation in the world that there actually is a whole lot of greatness beyond their borders. I guess if you can go to Las Vegas and "see" Paris, Cairo, and Venice, why bother going to the real thing.

So why does all this matter? It matters because those who aspire to influence U.S. foreign policy have had very little exposure to anything foreign except for their local Taco Bell. The United States exudes great influence on world affairs, and yet its leaders haven't a clue what it's like on the other side of the world. Hitting the streets of a foreign city gives one a new perspective and appreciation that can't be gained from reading the newspaper or watching a television program.

While it's difficult to get an exact figure, only 25% of Americans have a passport. And before Canadians get too smug, only about 40% of Canadians have one, and most them use it to travel to all-inclusive resorts in Mexico and the Caribbean. And the only time they leave the comfort of their resort is on an airconditioned bus that takes them to the airport.

What we need to do is start placing a greater emphasis on foreign travel. Travel shouldn't be seen as some frivilous luxury, but rather an important learning opportunity. Employers, too, need to consider one's foreign travel experience, when mulling the merits of a potential employee. Travel takes us out of our comfort zone, and forces us to make decisions in challening circumstances.

As Cesare Pavese (whoever he is) once said, Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance.

Be curious and get out there.

Geography test should be mandatory for all fliers

A friend forwarded me a news story about an Argentinian who had intended to travel to Sydney, Australia, but instead found herself on a flight to Sydney, Nova Scotia.

I have a hard time believing these types of stories, but it's not the first time someone has headed off (usually in the wrong direction) to Nova Scotia, instead of Australia.

It's great that airports have instituted a number of security measures, but maybe it's time they implemented a basic geography test for all passengers. Those not able to score at least 75% would be denied boarding and led to a room with a large map on the wall. They would not be able to leave until they had passed the test.

My sister used to give me a hard time for reading an atlas before going to bed. There's good reason an atlas should be mandatory reading. First of all, it may have prevented this woman, and others before her, from making a fool of herself. But it's also important to have an idea what the world looks like.

I find the fact that she didn't realize anything was wrong until she boarded the 50-seat Dash 8 aircraft in Halifax astounding. The article doesn't state how she travelled from Argentina to Halifax, but I know that no airline offers non-stop or even direct flights between Buenos Aires and the Nova Scotia capital. She either flew to a U.S. destination before flying to Halifax, or maybe even Toronto. In both cases, wouldn't she have known that she was travelling in the wrong direction? And wouldn't she have looked at her itinerary before going to the airport and realized what an idiot she was?

I'm just not so sure that people like this should be allowed to fly.

*********************************************************************


Wrong-way tourist says g'day to Sydney, N.S.
Originally published in the Cape Breton Post: Friday, September 19, 2008

It was the right name but the wrong continent for a sculptor from Argentina.
Monique Rozanes Torres Aguero of Buenos Aires was daydreaming about her vacation in Sydney, Australia, when her Air Canada Jazz flight landed in Sydney, N.S., this week.
"She never thought anything was wrong until she got on the small Dash 8 in Halifax," said Christiane Tanner of Westmount, N.S., who met Aguero on the flight and has since befriended her.

"She was taking pictures out the airplane window and said to herself, 'Something is not right.' "
But rather than get upset, Aguero decided to stay and vacation in the northern Sydney - not the first time an accidental tourist has discovered the charms of Cape Breton.
The same thing happened in August 2002 to Raeoul Sebastian and Emma Nunn, both of London, England.

Sebastian and Nunn also spent their vacation in Cape Breton and became local celebrities, even being presented with the key to the city.

Air Canada Jazz employee Clare MacDougall said Aguero's problems began when she bought her ticket on the Internet.

"She had never heard of Sydney, N.S., or Cape Breton," she said. Andrea Batten, also of Air Canada Jazz, said Aguero was a bit embarrassed about the mistake. Batten told her not to be, explaining that even Sidney, B.C., on Vancouver Island has gotten in on the act.
"We have had people land here from Germany and even recently from Czechoslovakia, when they meant to go to Sidney, B.C.," she said.

Although like the English couple she had never heard of Cape Breton, Aguero believes she was destined to go to there and is looking forward to a nine-day stay.

"When things happen, you let it happen," she said through an interpreter.

$300,000 a night to stay in the White House

As you've probably noticed white man walking has been on a bit of a sabbatical. I blame child rearing on that.

Carrie asked me the other day when our election is? With all the talk of Obama and Pailin, one could easily forget that indeed there is a federal election campaign underway in Canada. For the record, Canada's 40th general election will take place on October 14th. "So, you mean our campaign is just six weeks long, and the U.S. campaign goes on and on and on," she mused. Yes, the Americans campaign for 13 years for a presidential term that lasts just four years. Apologists of course would say that's what democracy is all about. I'm not so sure.

What's even crazier is the amount of money that is raised and spent during the U.S. campaign. Earlier this week, it was reported that Barack Obama raised a record $66 million in the month of August. And since entering the race in early 2007, he raised more than $450 million. One political analyst suggested that Obama and McCain will spend $240 million EACH in the next seven weeks leading up to the election. Let me put this into perspective. The budget of the west African nation of Togo, which I mentioned in a previous post, has annual revenues of $481 million and yearly expenditures of $427 million*.

I suppose for one of them it may be money well spent. But consider for a moment that during the four-year term, the President will be in the White House for 1,460 days. And if Obama becomes President and ends up spending the whole wad he raised, his stay at the White House will have cost more $300,000 per night.

In contrast, he could stay at one of Washington’s most expensive hotels, The Willard, for much less. The Washington Suite for example is priced at $4,000 per night, although I’m sure he'll probably get a long-stay discount.

The Suite comes with an entry foyer, powder room, living room, dining table for eight (I’m sure for State dinners, a ballroom downstairs could be rented), two plasma screen TVs, two cedar closets, hair dryer and ironing board. Wireless Internet is available for an extra charge. Imagine paying $4,000 a night for the room and being charged for Internet access, which is almost as absurd as spending hundreds of millions of dollars on an election campaign. Obama would gain some inspiration as the Suite has a view of the Washington Monument and Pennsylvania Avenue.

Now there is some precedent here, because at least two presidents lived at The Willard for a while -- Lincoln in 1861 because of assassination threats and Calvin Coolidge in 1923 while waiting for Warren Harding's widow to pack up and move out after her husband died in office.

Don't mess with Canadian women

With three medals (one being a gold) Canada has now wrestled its way to 25th place in the medal standings at the Summer Olympics. In doing so, we have past the likes of Tajikistan, Trinidad and Tobago, and Estonia. Don't mess with Canadian women! Two of the medals, including the gold, were in women's wrestling. I guess there's some truth to those inane t-shirts and hats that say, "Canadian girls kick ass!"

After my first post lamenting that the Olympic powerhouse of Togo had more medals than Canada, one person commented that by October no one will remember or care about the Canadian medal count. True enough. But how mediocre. How Canadian.

The message that sends is don't pursue excellence, because no one will remember in a few months time. Imagine if we carried that same attitude in our professional lives. Don't bother working hard at work, because by October no one will remember. Mediocrity rules!

What many people fail to see is that the Olympics is much more than an expensive sporting event. There is nothing like it in the world. More than 200 nations are represented at the Games. That's more than sit at the United Nations.

And if we look beyond the competitions themselves, we have much to learn from the Olympics and Olympians themselves. Discipline. Determination. Effort. Dedication. These are all words that describe what it takes to become an Olympic competitor.

Think for a moment the kind of a society we could create if each of us pursued the same kind of discipline and commitment in our professional and personal lives, as Olympians do in pursuit of sport.

Beaten by the likes of Togo!

The Summer Olympics are five days old, and if they were to end today, Canada would finish with no medals. The Olympics aren’t over today, and we’ve been told that our medal chances come later in the Games, but so far we’ve been trumped by the likes of North Korea, Zimbabwe, Kyrgyzstan, and Togo.

The Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea (note to reader: anytime a country uses the word Democratic in their name, they’re far from democratic) can hardly feed itself yet the country has seven medals. Kyrgyzstan, which means inflammation of the knee joint, fought to win two medals in Greco-Roman wrestling. A funny sight that would be, with toga-wearing men wrestling each other on a sticky mat. Zimbabwe, where inflation hit a staggering 100,000% this past year, put its eggs in one watery basket as swimmer Kirsty Coventry won all three medals for this once prosperous nation. And Togo (no, I didn’t say Toga)? If you’re not from West Africa, raise your hand if you know anything about Togo. Thought so.

At its widest, Togo is a 160 km sliver of a piece-of-pie in West Africa. Wedged next to the equally well-known country of Benin and Ghana, it was once known as Togoland, not to be confused with Legoland, and gained independence in 1960. Not to be outdone by its other African cousins, General Gnassingbé Eyadéma ruled Togo with an iron fist for the better part of four decades.

There are about five million Togolese, whose life expectancy is approximately 60 years. Togo shares one similarity with Canada, as both have made just one appearance at Soccer’s World Cup. For Canada that distinction came in 1986, while Togo qualified in 2006. Although the African country has one up on Canada having at least scored one goal in its three World Cup games.


So, the next time you find yourself at a cocktail party and someone starts talking about Benjamin Boukpeti, the Togolese kayaker that won his country’s first Olympic medal, you can thank me for providing you with all this useful information sure to impress.

A story behind every photograph

originally written in January 2007

The other day I picked up the newspaper, and six of the women allegedly murdered by Robert Pickton stared back at me. Only one was smiling. A hint that there once was something in life worth smiling about. The others looked wan. And old beyond their years. And devoid of spirit, as if their lives had been taken from them long before their horrific deaths. I suppose that’s what a life of drugs and prostitution does to someone.

But what lay behind these haunting faces? Surely their lives weren’t always like this. I was reminded of a similar photo I saw in the newspaper about 15 years ago. It was of a childhood friend, Vicki, who had been murdered. Her body was found in a dumpster in a Vancouver alley. She too had fallen into a miserable life of drugs and prostitution.

When I recall that picture of Vicki, it looked as if someone had stolen her spirit. She looked helpless and pathetic. It would have been easy for people to dismiss her as another drug addicted prostitute. I’m sure many did. But it troubled me that this was the last image the world saw of her. It wasn’t always this way.

I first met Vicki in grade two, where we both grew up in Victoria. I can’t remember how our friendship developed. We both had the same boundless energy, and having three sisters, maybe she saw in me the brother she never had. Whatever the case, we were inseparable. She was a beautiful, precocious girl, with long blondish hair. Vicki spent many evenings at our home for dinner, and it seemed that every summer day we were together--whether swimming at the local pool, or joining our family for camping trips and other vacations. In our backyard was a large tree that towered above our house. We would often climb to the top, where we had an expansive view of the city. I can’t remember what we talked about, but we would stay up there for what seemed like hours.

Vicki was a good student. In fact, I was always envious, when we would compare grades. She enjoyed sports, and excelled at gymnastics and cross-country running. And she swam miles ahead of me in swimming lessons. Mind you, her competitive nature and endless energy often landed her in the Emergency department. Whether a broken arm after falling from a tree, finger fractures, or a bloodied nose after taking a baseball in the face, she was always full of heart and enjoyed everything life had to offer. She took great pride in helping people, and participated in many volunteer activities as a Girl Guide.

After grade seven our lives went separate ways. We went to different high schools, and didn’t keep in touch. I did learn that she became pregnant while still in school. How difficult it must have been to be a mother at such a young age. Knowing her determined character, it wasn’t a surprise when I found out she tried finishing her education at an alternate school. I didn’t hear of her again until the night her mother called to share the tragic news of her death. Some might say that an untimely death was inevitable because of her destructive lifestyle. Maybe so. But despite her shortcomings, Vicki began life full of promise, much like I imagine the six women pictured in the newspaper.

Maybe it’s a good thing that our lives took different paths. That way I have a mind full of wonderful memories to carry with me. Thankfully, childhood innocently protects us from the darkness that exists in this world. What I’m left with are recollections of laughter and two kids being silly together. It makes me smile to think of those days so long ago. I wonder if in her darkest days, Vicki looked back on our young days and smiled too.

I run my hands across the six pictures. Like most people I know nothing of their lives, but if they were anything like my friend, then their lives were more than a single, sad image placed on the front of newspaper. Long before drugs ate away at them, and long before someone so cruelly ended their lives, I hope there was a time of innocence when as a child they laughed and lived life without a care for the future. And I hope someone out there has a mind full of wonderful memories like I do.

My first trip to the spa

Hainan Island sits seductively in the South China Sea. Far from the frenetic pace of Shanghai, or Hong Kong, or Beijing, the island is China’s natural paradise. But it wasn’t always this way. Centuries ago, the island was a penal colony for those who fell out of favour with the country’s rulers. Then, it was known as the doorway to hell.

I stepped off the plane at Sanya’s Phoenix Airport, and was overwhelmed by the fresh, tropical air. The dark of evening had cloaked the beautiful surroundings, as our driver made the 40-minute drive to our hotel at Yalong Bay, the southernmost point in China. With its eight kilometres of golden sand, Yalong Bay is reputed to be Sanya’s best stretch of beach. It is here that one will find some of the island’s best hotels. I was on a press trip and stayed at the newly opened Sanya Marriott Resort and Spa. With its welcoming, open-air lobby, the hotel is beautiful, stunning, and restful. The view didn’t disappoint when I woke the first morning and opened my curtains to the sparkling waters of the South China Sea.

One of the hotel’s managers asked if I would like to try a spa treatment. A spa treatment? It sounded so clinical. I had never been to a spa, but I would be foolish to say no. I was then asked what kind of treatment I would like. I hesitated for a moment. She must have sensed that I was a spa virgin. “Maybe you would like the head to toe treatment?” Maybe I would.

I showed up for my appointment, and was overcome by a sense of serenity the moment I walked into the spa’s reception area. After giving my name, I was asked if I would like the coffee or honey-mango body polish. It was like my dentist asking if I wanted peppermint or wild berry flavoured fluoride. I don’t drink coffee, so I chose the honey-mango. Body polish? Who would have thought?

I was shown to one of the stand-alone pavilions, which house the spa’s16 treatment rooms. Inside, soothing music filled the room. I could hear the trickle of water from a small fountain, while a petite woman was preparing the room. She handed me a plush, white towel, and what looked to me like a thin head covering that a surgeon would wear. I went into the washroom and undressed. Unsure of what this extra garment was, I put it on my head, wrapped the towel around the lower portion of my body, and walked out.

I must have looked foolish, but to her credit, the spa lady didn’t laugh, although I’m sure I saw her suppressing a smile. Her English was about as good as my Chinese, so she gestured that the thing I had put on my head was really disposable underwear. I picked my ego up off the floor, took the underwear off my head and returned to the change room, where I tried to squeeze into something that had been made for small Asian women.

Once everything was in order, I sat in a chair and dipped my feet in a bowl of warm water. But it wasn’t just any bowl of water. I would later learn that my feet were soaking in Qi Water. Apparently, the spa has harnessed the healing forces of water by installing specially designed vivifiers, which revitalize and restructure the water in a natural way. Qi Water is supposed to stimulate detoxification, improve skin disorders, stimulate the immune system, improve blood circulation, and enhance energy levels.

With my feet suitably energized by the fancy water, I climbed up onto the massage table. The woman that had just been entertained by my clothing foible was probably wondering how a bald guy could be so hairy. I often wonder that myself. She started massaging my feet and lower legs. In an instant, 35 years of wear started to rub away. With trained precision, she held the towel in place, as I turned onto my stomach. I closed my eyes and could hear the honey-mango polish being mixed in a small, wooden bowl. The warm, sticky concoction was brushed onto my shoulders and back and legs. And then like my grandmother might have done when making bread, she started kneading my body. Once my pores had absorbed the sweet smelling polish, I returned to the change room and showered it off. Sensing that the underwear didn’t fit well the first time, I wasn’t offered a second pair.

One after another, warm, moist towels were placed on my face. Before my treatment began, I was asked if I would like the anti-aging, or the wrinkle reducing facial. Who wouldn’t want to be young forever? I chose the anti-aging tonic, which was now being liberally applied to my face. Outside, I could hear the palm trees waving in the warmth of the late afternoon. Several times I caught myself falling asleep, and thought that this pleasing experience would surely end soon. But there was more. After the “Thirty-five forever” cream had soaked deep into my face, more warm towels were used. And then again my arms, and torso, and legs were massaged.

Finally my treatment was over. I peeled myself off the table, rubbed my hands across my arms, and was sure that my skin looked and felt a lot better than when I had come in. Feeling refreshed, I walked out of the pavilion and was surprised that the sun had already set. I looked at my watch and was amazed that I had just experienced three hours of pampered bliss.

I still don’t know the difference between a facial flash and a moisture surge facial or a cucumber body mask and a detoxifying body wrap, but I did learn that underwear shouldn’t be worn on one’s head.

Sanya Mariott Resort and Spa

East India is not a country!

Let’s set the record straight…East India is not a country. I mention this seemingly obvious statement, because the way some people talk one would be led to think that there is indeed such a country.

What I’m getting at is our penchant for referring to people from India as East Indians. Every once in a while (last week, in fact) when my wife refers to an East Indian, I humor her and ask if she’s referring to someone living in Calcutta or Chennai, perhaps? She usually shoots back with a, “you know what I mean.” And she’s right I do know what she means, but just because Christopher Columbus was an idiot and didn’t know where he was, isn’t an excuse to continue this absurdity.

I had a discussion with a colleague recently about this very issue, and she appreciated my argument, but she said it’s easier to use East Indian to prevent confusion. Confusion from what? The only people that refer to Aboriginals or First Nations as Indians are Vancouver Sun headline writers (you’ll never see the word Indian used in the body of an article) and the Federal Government, which still has an Indian Act and a Department of Indian Affairs.

What’s ironic is that most of the Indians in Canada actually emigrated from the Punjab, which is in western India, so if anything, shouldn’t people be referring to them as West Indians? If only Columbus would have left home with a good map, or the latest Lonely Planet guidebook.

Let’s start by calling it what it is. Indians are from India. Just as Canadians are from Canada and Egyptians are from Egypt.

By the way I need to go to India!

Why White Man Walking?

After my Around the World in 9 Days blog, I was asked why I don't I start a regular blog. But what would I write about? Call me a reluctant blogger. Then I gave pause and reminded myself that it's rare for me not to have an opinion about something, plus I have a mind full of stories to share from the 34 countries* I have visited.

So, why White Man Walking? Whenever I visit a city I love to hit the street walking. The pulse of a city and the stories of its people can be felt on the streets. I can feel and smell (sometimes not in a pleasant way) the heart and soul of a place. Walking gives one an experience that can't be had by sitting behind the tinted windows of an air conditioned taxi or bus.

It was in the Indonesian capital of Jakarta, where I gave myself the white man walking moniker. I was the only white guy in Jakarta. Well, that's not entirely true, I did see one or two others on the souvenir floor of a big department store, but that doesn't really count.

Jakarta wasn't planned for walking. In fact, there doesn't seem to be a lot of planning when it comes to this city. On the flight, I got talking to a guy that owns a tour company in Jakarta. I asked if it was possible to walk from my hotel to the older part of the city. He laughed and said he wouldn't--it's hot, dusty, and polluted.

On my first morning, I walked out of the hotel lobby, and the concierge asked if I would like a taxi. "No thanks," I replied, "just going for a walk." "You're walking," he asked in a way that suggested I was the first guest who had considered such a thing? The streets around the hotel were surrounded by hole-in-the-wall auto parts stores and car repair shops. At night these industrial shops moonlight as food stands.

Leaving the hotel staff stunned that a white man was walking in Jakarta, I set off in a northerly direction, and soon came to a busy intersection. Cars, buses, trucks, and motorcycles buzzed past, leaving a trail of smoke in their wake. I soon figured that the only way to make it across this busy street was to do what the locals do. Find a hole in the traffic (not easy) and once you commit, keep walking, in the hope that you make it across in once piece. Carrie has said more than once, that I will probably meet my demise in a far away place trying to cross a hot and dusty street while a huge bus or truck turns me into a grill ornament. I made it unscathed this time, and only once did I stop in the middle of the road unsure of the intentions of a guy on a motor bike. We locked eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. He was probably wondering why a white man was walking. After hesitating for a split second, I continued across the street, and he zoomed by.

Wanting to get away from the traffic mayhem, I ambled down a narrow street, that led to little alleyways, which if looked down from above may have looked like a labyrinth. It was here that I came across such warm people. They had beautiful smiles and a kind spirit. Living next to stinking heaps of garbage, and fetid canals filled with crap, these people had little more than their name and a good heart.

After walking for several kilometres in the searing heat, and with a series of blisters starting to form on both feet, I returned to my hotel. The hotel staff acted surprised, because guests usually arrive back to the hotel in a taxi. "Did you have a nice walk," one of them asked?

I went out later in the afternoon for another walkabout. This time the hotel workers didn't mention a taxi, as I wandered into the noisy street?

Maybe I'll see you walking out in the world one day!

* Of the 34 countries I have visited, I include Hong Kong and Macau, which technically aren't countries, but I visited both while still territories of Britain and Portugal respectively.