Signs of the Times.

Trucker convoy seems to have stalled.

Washington, DC — The sky blushes bashfully through a wispy veil as we leave the country for the first time in three years.

It’s an early start that’s reminiscent of our recent drives in Newfoundland.

We had rented a compact car, but have instead been "upgraded" to an eight-seat Toyota 4Runner. What a beast — good thing gas is now $1.74 a litre.

I'm made claustrophobic by the size of the vehicle and the narrow, curving construction lanes, which force me to narrow my eyes in focus. I reflexively try to make myself skinny as we pass 18-wheelers.

Remains of blown tires curl like sheep horns at the side of the road.

The drive is stunning, as it usually is. In Pennsylvania, otherwise beautiful green hills are scarred by trailers scrawled with Trump campaign endorsements. Some look like children have taken crayons to them.

"Guns! Coal! No socialism!" 

Civics teachers everywhere cringe.

Another billboard with a sleeping woman touts: "Sleep well. There is no climate emergency."

I ponder that as I take my customary walk, in 44-degree heat, to ChurchKey, where I have one of the best beers I've ever had. Despite my exhaustion, it's worth the pilgrimage to the city's best beer bar and to have a cheese plate.

As the day closes, I chuckle at the best directions we received from the GPS today: “Turn left at the white building with the pillars.”

Yes, that rather significant white building in DC.

Vitals:

• Time: 11 hours
• Distance: 976.8 kms
• Weather: Fog, giving way to a mix of sun and cloud. Short, light rain.
• Province/States: Ontario, New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Washington D.C.
  
• Wildlife: Deer

The Can Can't.

How hot was it? Hot enough for Nashville Hot Chicken.

Louisville, KY – The first let loose with a crack that shot across the parking lot.
Then, another.

And another.

It's a wonder nobody ducked for cover.

How hot is it? Well, upon opening the trunk in the parking lot of a random Nashville McDonald's, four cans of beer exploded all over me, spinning on the ground in pinwheels of sweet and sticky spray.

We had wondered for several miles about the aluminum clicking sound coming from behind us.

It was as though we had pulled the pins and tossed grenades that soon rolled under the adjacent car. The kid inside must have wondered what was going on.

The car and I reeked like we were on a week-long bender.

Fourth of July fireworks, it seems, had come early.

Vitals:

• Time: 8 hours
• Distance: 641.9 kms
• Weather: Sunny and hot
• States: Tennessee, Kentucky
• Wildlife: None

Not to be Cowed.

Ben & Jerry's: eat your face off.

Waterbury, VT – After days of rain, the sun shone over the white steeple at the main crossroads in Stowe, the melt making it a treacherous walk along the river.

But, even at two degrees, the sun brought out the short sleeves.

We took a short drive to nearby Waterbury, home to Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. It may have been short-sleeve weather, but the frozen treat was a little too reminiscent of the snow still scooped over the hills.

Throughout our brief tour, the guide endlessly cracked one-liners and bad cow puns. “Let’s moove along, now,” was a common quip.

The young woman had obviously led groups more than a few times. And, may have consumed some sugar.

At the end of the tour, she explained staff receives unlimited samples and can, at the end of each shift, take home three pints. Every day.

“As full-time, we also get gym memberships and twice-annual cholesterol checks.”

The crowd chuckled.

For once, she wasn’t joking.

No Words.

Signs of a Road Trip.

Casey Rocks, Big Time.

London, Ontario – Cruising through Illinois, the billboard proclaimed: “If you lived in Greenville, you would be home by now.”

It was, unfortunately, placed directly in front of a prison.

We had awoken early to a cool morning, having spent the night at a converted, centuries-old barn outside St. Louis. The smell of wet peat hung in the air and wispy fog clung to the trees before sinking into the valley. It was a gorgeous day for the route home.

Farther east, signs called for us to stop in Casey, Illinois, which bills itself as being home to “big things in a small town.” True to its word, we soon came upon a 56-foot-tall wooden rocking chair and a functioning 54-foot-tall wind chime. Naturally, we gave it a ring, sending a deep baritone cascading down Main street.

Friendly townspeople appear to take pride in their quirky town, pointing us on to the next “big thing.” It’s home to seven world’s-largest items – including mailbox, wooden shoes and golf tee – which have all been manufactured in Casey. In all, there are 13 ‘big’ attractions to see.

It’s a road trip – when faced with a 10-hour drive through the prairies, how can you not stop to see the world’s-largest anything?

After 3,772.7 kilometres, home.

Vitals:

• Time: 12 hours, 15 minutes
• Distance: 1,124.5 kms
• Weather: Sunny and warm
• States/Province: Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, Ontario
• Wildlife: Deer

Day 12: Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Today is just another (chilly) work day in Kitabi, though it's the first day I've had reliable Internet access (hello, photo upload).

As systems are not as developed as I'm accustomed to, things can take a lot longer to accomplish. Case in point: Jethro had to return to Kigali today just to transfer money from his FRw account to his USD account, which are at the same bank. Yes, that's a three-hour drive away. Not only that, he is going to have cross the street to another bank in order to first exchange the currency, before returning to his bank. Sound complicated? It can be.

People who know me are aware of the small enjoyment I get from signs, products and other forms of marketing that offer some form of double entendre, or a funny inconsistency. In visiting countries where English is not the primary language, these are not uncommon occurrences. Here are a couple I’ve seen thus far.

Throughout the country, you can find several places to get your hair cut on every block. Many Rwandans take their hair pretty seriously and it's a business that seems to have flourished in cities and rural communities alike.

Throughout the country, too, you see signs like the one above and the one to the right, advertising "saloons". It’s a place to get your hair cut, not a place to enjoy intoxicants with your friends. Frankly, if you’re involved in the latter, please keep the scissors away. When I first got here, I had begun to wonder if they had all just used the same sign maker. While many list the traditionally proper "salon", I gather from the prevalence throughout Rwanda that these instead merely reflect a regional morphology of the language. It makes me chuckle just the same.

Given its mountainous topography, Rwanda is not the warmest African nation. That said, it’s certainly not what one would normally refer to as cold – particularly for someone coming from Canada. As such, I found it quite humorous that this Coke ad describes the “Brr Season”. And yes, that is an African Santa Claus. As well as another “Saloon” beneath it.

Last night, I wasn't sure if I should be reassured or alarmed when I discovered that my bottle of "pure" water had a best before date. Of less than a year from now.

While not a sign, I got a particularly good laugh at the expense of a reporter I heard on BBC Africa while driving through Nyungwe. I kid you not, he actually asked his interviewee, as a follow-up question: “So, what’s up with that?”
So?

Yes, I am the Foreigner in the Group, Thanks.

Cyangugu, Rwanda – In anticipation of the start of more formal work at a team retreat that begins tomorrow, we arrived in time to meet with KCCEM staff for dinner at the La Petite Colline Restaurant. 

Located on the border of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Cyangugu is also on the shore of Lake Kivu.

Dinner was composed of chicken, two enormous whole tilapia, rice, peas and chips. There I was, trying to be all polite by removing the tough chicken from the breast bone with my fork and knife. The woman who runs the restaurant came over, reached into the giant platter of chicken and scooped one out for me she figured I could handle: a drumstick.

I immediately started using my hands as everyone around me had been doing.

It’s a Small World, After All.

Kigali, Rwanda – Funny story: so there we are, sitting at the Karibu restaurant in downtown Kigali. 

 

Apparently, it’s an extremely popular spot for lunch among locals and foreigners alike, feeding approximately 1,000 people a day. Think Diners, Drive-ins and Dives, Africa edition.

I’m enjoying the nice buffet with a full plate (in Rwanda, one serving only, please) of fried cauliflower, beef, carrot salad, fried plantains, spaghetti and a few other things, wondering if the clouds that hang over the city are going to bear rain. 

 

And something on the television in the corner of the restaurant catches my attention.

The programme features interviews with researchers speaking about tornadoes, hurricanes and extreme winds. Seems basic enough until I realize it’s a programme I’ve helped BBC and Discovery Channel pull together that includes researchers involved with the “Three Little Pigs” project at The University of Western Ontario. 

 

And that I’m in it.

KL: Day Two.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - Another busy day in Kuala Lumpur, albeit a slower one starting as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and had to pack in order to switch hotels to the Hilton in KL Sentral. Whoa – feeling a bit like a rock star here. What an incredible looking hotel. The room is über- modern (isn’t anything with the word “über” in it?), with wood and tile floors, a deep marble tub and ceiling mounted shower head, sliding frosted glass doors throughout and a wall mounted flat screen television that is about four feet wide. Not that we’ve even had it on, but it seems larger than some of the cars outside.

Shirt striped diagonally under the strap from my bag, I’m pretty sure today was even hotter than yesterday. Yes, another sweaty one. There was also a massive tropical thunderstorm when we got back this afternoon, which made everything instantly white outside, it was raining so hard. Shaking the windows, the thunder sounded like giant church bells. If your head was inside them. We sat and watched it from the little chaise lounge in the bay window. Pip pip, quite posh.

When we got out wandering, we took the train to Masjid Jamek (enjoying a watermelon juice smoothie on the way) and over to Merdeka Square, the National Mosque and the old train station. Merdeka Square, home to the world’s tallest flag pole – at 100 metres – is where independence is celebrated. Because of the time of day, we weren’t able to go into the mosque, which can hold up to 15,000 people at a time. It was also over this stretch I saw some of my favorite architecture of the trip, with several buildings built in the Moorish style. The old and new train stations – across the street from each other – were fun to walk through and take pictures of. The postal building, too, is very neat – tall and white with cut-outs all the way up.

We then made our way over to Central Market, which sells crafts and antiques. To this point, I had thought the prevalence of Santa Claus and Christmas carols in Malaysia was the most anomalous things of the trip. But, no – brace yourself. First, SCS and I chuckled when we came across a store in the market which sold moccasins and other traditionally North American First Nations’ wares. Then, coming into the centre area, we were greeted by a crowd surrounding a Malay man, resplendent in a full headdress. Playing a harpsichord. Playing Celine Dion on the harpsichord. No, really. So discordant. I would have found this disturbing enough back home, but in south-east Malaysia? Way too much to grasp. Heads still swimming, SCS and I got some practice haggling with one of the vendors and I’m sure both sides felt they came out alright.

In Chinatown, one of the shopkeepers made us samples of tea in thimble-sized cups and we stopped into another for a snack and a drink. We also stopped into one of the temples, where coils of incense were burning all around.

For dinner, we met up with one of SCS’s friends and he took us to a Japanese buffet in another of the suburbs. There were more options than I could have possibly imagined. Sushi: check. Sashimi: check. Noodles: check. Shark fin soup: check. Ostrich: check. Wait a second. Check? Because Japan is really known for its ostriches, terrorizing the residents of Tokyo. Ostrich? Really? With how sharks are harvested for their fins and then disposed of, I wasn’t pleased to see the soup, either.

But, we did enjoy copious amounts of sushi, carefully avoiding those with lime green-coloured roe on the top. The thermonuclear colours on some of the sushi was a little off-putting. Pinks and greens and yellows. Children stood by, mesmerized by them, though. No, not really. Still, piles of salmon, octopus, eel and a variety of other fish. And some quail, which – even covered in sauce – looked startlingly like pigeon. But the star of the dinner was the mashed potato machine. Frightening. Absolutely frightening. Press a button and – presto! – liquid pours out from a boy licking his lips. Eventually, it solidifies and you can press another button and – presto again! – gravy. Shudder. As a part of the experience, we actually tried it. And we will never speak of it again.

Oh, and the hotel? Coming back tonight, I went for a quick swim in the pool that weaves its way around the outside of the hotel complex and overlooks the city. A full moon and palm trees, twinkling with white Christmas lights – and the city below. You know, it’s really a rough life sometimes.

Juvenile, yes. Likely even culturally insensitive (much like Mr. Dong saying, "yeah, yeah, I've heard them all before; enough already"). But it was a picture that needed to be taken. I find random coffin shops odd as it is, but the proprietor made it even better. Best of all, though: when SCS read the sign to me, she didn't think anything of it, beyond what the store sold.

Like Giant Steel Asparagus Reaching Into the Sky.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - Just ahead of a thunderstorm this afternoon, we made it out to the Petronas Twin Towers, which was the world's tallest high rise of the twentieth century and remains the tallest set of twin towers. They were also the scene of the crime in the 1999 movie, Entrapment, featuring Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones. It's dizzying to look up at them and, for whatever the reason, they reminded me of giant steel asparagus. Must've been hungry at the moment. Of course, all the glass shards wouldn't be too tasty. There is also a park with fountains underneath, though they were not flowing today. We also missed the time to be able to go up to the bridge which connects the two towers, but will likely do so tomorrow. Oddly (though impressively), it's free to do.

We paused for a coffee inside the Towers at a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and walked around the extremely high-end mall inside. So tony. At its centre: a giant Christmas tree. Again, the prevalence of holiday trappings has really caught me off guard, considering Christians account for approximately five per cent of the population here (Muslims, Buddhists and Hindus predominate). But there was Santa around every corner, grinning and jolly. While looking at the tree, an Indian man decided to come over to ask if I would take a picture of him with SCS. Um, yeah. I declined. Another tried to sell me a 'Rolex'. Again, um, no. Not to be confused with UMNO, the nation's ruling party (and this, not being a democracy...)

Following this, we took the (above-ground) subway out to Bangsar, one of KL's neighbourhoods. My first experience on a packed Asian train -- I was definitely glad to be tall, and decided to be wary of pickpockets as song lyric "One of these things is not like the others" popped into my head. Was pretty glad I didn't smell like I did yesterday after the flight...

The funniest thing (to me) about the subway system are the posters all over which advertise (or loudly exclaim!) the long laundry list of things you must definitely not do on them, including (but not restricted to): chewing gum, carrying durian fruit (they stink) or 'be close' to someone (meaning, hugging or kissing). The last one even has a diagram, in silhouette, of a man and a woman, apparently embracing. Struck out through a big, red circle. Another reminder that I am visiting a different culture.

We poked around in Bangsar for a bit and had Thai food at "the Social". The smell of the thunderstorm hung languidly in the air as we enjoyed a variety of Thai delicacies on the patio.

Day one of KL is under my belt. Apparently, the people at SCS's conference this morning were impressed I had been 'brave enough' to venture out to Petaling Street on my first day. And on my own, no less! It has been a day of heat, a new culture and crazy, broken sidewalks where you're just as likely to find a motorcycle careening your way as anything else. It has also taken an adjustment while crossing the road to remember that the drivers are on the other side here. Check the wrong way and one of them will no doubt pick you off.

Um, okay? Or not.

KL: Day One, Morning.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - A much needed respite after spending the morning trekking solo around KL, particularly considering the heat. It’s currently 32 degrees out, with the humidex pushing that up to 43 degrees. Yeah, it’s warm. Throw some curry on me, I think I’m done.

I had nowhere specific to go this morning as SCS is busy presenting at her conference, but I knew she really wanted to show me around KLCC (Kuala Lumpur City Centre), where the Towers are, so I didn’t head there. How to start the day was a bit of a dilemma considering I was keen to start discovering, but, being ‘on vacation’, I also really had no reason to hurry. So, it was a casual breakfast buffet in the hotel where I got my fill of food spanning a number of cultures.

Then it was off into the tropical heat, headed wherever my feet took me. A battered prison in the middle of the city, the blue-domed mosque and the famed Petaling Street, or China Town. I was also drawn to KL’s sports stadium, which was surrounded by extremely tall, spiked fences and seemed rather austere. The guard let me poke around inside a bit and it seemed nicer, if not very colonial on the inside.

As much as I expected this experience to be a smorgasbord for the senses, there were times they felt a bit overwhelmed. The noise was abundant: horns, people speaking in many languages, Christmas carols (yes, even though this is a predominantly Muslim country, Christmas carols), motorbikes and trains. It even seemed you could hear the heat. Smells of fresh fish, incense, diesel pollution and various foods blended in the nostrils like the mixture of cultures that are so evident here. Strains of Celine Dion, P-Diddy (or whatever he’s calling himself these days) and John Lennon mixed into Christmas carols – with too much bass – and Indian sitar. And then one figure (besides myself) stands out in the sea of dark faces: Santa Claus.

China Town was an experience unlike any other thus far. “Nike”, “Adidas” and “Mont Blanc” pens everywhere, interspersed with clucking chickens who didn’t know the end was nigh. Buckets of left over parts and fish heads hanging, grinning maniacally. A man, sitting on a butcher’s table, getting a deep tissue massage (were they planning to relax him prior to quartering him, I asked myself). A woman asked where I had bought my hat and looked at me incredulously when I replied, 'Canada'. Another man walked three or four blocks with me, telling me how his sister is moving to Toronto in the new year to be a nurse. I became a little skeptical when he later asked if he could meet me in a particular spot this evening.

“…Colonial stone crumbles into glass:
Commerce, the new imperialism.”

I long ago learned to not look as much like a tourist by walking as though I belonged and by not pulling out a map every twelve seconds (that’s my excuse if I get lost, anyway). It’s funny here, because regardless of how much I keep myself from gazing at the tops of buildings or wandering too aimlessly, I still stand out. In a country predominantly populated by Malay, Chinese and Indian, I come across as being pretty pale. And tall. I suppose the camera doesn’t help my cause either.

Mont-rain-al. Day Two.

Mont- réal, Québec - It's wet, it's cold and it's grey. Add to that the fact that SCS and I are both sick (her moreso than I) and that the vertebrae in my back have decided to go all Ralph Macchio on each other, and the first whole day in Montréal hasn't been all sunshine. Did I mention that it's wet?

Actually, it looks like a pretty cool city, and that's not just because I'm seeing most of it refracted several times over in the raindrops plummeting earthward. The spirit of John Bonham using my noggin as a bongo drum.

SCS had her presentation today, so I had a couple of hours to swim through the streets and take in some of the sights for myself. Being that fatty meat products don't do for her what they do for me, it also gave me the chance to gleefully gorge on some Montréal smoked meat at Dunn's. My goal is to make it to Schwartz's -- widely regarded as the best smoked meat in Montréal, if not anywhere outside the Big Apple -- but the hike would have been redundant today considering it's up near where we're staying (and not right downtown, where we were). Still, artery-clogging goodness. Such a boy. Melt-in-your-mouth like chocolate. Okay, not like chocolate, but melt-in-your-mouth, nonetheless. The waitress asked if I wanted the lean meat. Such audacity. Are you kidding? Fries, sure! Swiss cheese? Um, yeah. Coleslaw and a pickle? Is there any other way? (I do need my healthy option, too, you know -- duh!)

Lunch for me was late, and dinner, early, so I wasn't overly hungry when it came time to have a chicken breast, roasted red pepper and brie sandwich on a ciabatta bun at Boccacinos. And yes, more fries. All this after a great breakfast this morning at the B&B, which was comprised of little soufflés, toast with homemade peach preserves and chocolate banana bread. Yeah, it's been a tough day for that stomach of mine.

With the aching back, I had thought a massage might provide some nice relief. I think it was the "body-to-body" part advertised at the place to the right that I thought might get me into a bit of a trouble. Thought the loophole of filling out a job application might help me get away with it, but, well, um, no, apparently not.

The French? Well, it has come back just nicely, thanks. Neat how the human mind works sometimes.

Montréal, Je T'aime. Night One.

Mont- réal, Québec - So, after having spent eight hours painted into a train seat to get here, I finally got my first taste of Montréal tonight. Well, not really a first taste because we had such difficulty deciding where to eat. Not that there weren't plenty of options. No, and they were all full, with line-ups queuing down the street, even at 10:30. It was particularly funny to see people on every corner though, carrying bottles of wine sporting brown paper bag sport coats. In Montréal, you can take your own wine into the restaurants. On our entrée into the city (mmm, entrées), we did see a place called a "Hotdogeria". I'm not kidding. A veritable cornucopia of mystery meats, I am sure. Needless to say, we didn't head there. Also saw a mannequin sporting a sweater with a bump. Had never seen a pregnant mannequin before.

For whatever the reason, I was still surprised to hear just how many people actually converse in French here. With how bilingual the city is, I had somehow expected that there would have been a greater split. Thankfully, mon francais est retournée en force.

Above: If the fact that you sterilize your glasses is your selling point, I think I might just not be visiting your establishment.

Below: However, if you present chocolate you have for sale like this, je retournera d'es que possible.

The buildings here are magnifique. We have a great little B&B and have remarked how neat the architecture of the apartments is around here. Somehow, the facades of each place seems a little different from the one beside, despite them all being attached. Stained glass here, a round porch there. Or a turret. I look forward to getting out to soak in some more of it tomorrow.

More Hullabalooza.

Wake- field, Québec - A number of great signs pointed us, cajoled us, pleaded us and directed us throughout the weekend. This one, in Wakefield, made me chuckle. I also want to "Attain Joyful Fluency". As opposed to the painful bilingualism I grace now. "Master tense situations"? Doesn't matter what language, that's a great skill to have in your back pocket ("I'm a teepee, I'm a wigwam"; "No, you're too tense"). Another sign I found to be quintessentially Quebecois advertised condominiums. In French, it pointed out that Gatineau was only 25 kilometres away. And in English, it blared out that Ottawa was only 30 away. Well, it is always said that you need to "Know your audience". But it was still funny to me. The sign of the weekend, however, must go to the store along the road (alas, no photo) that sells "Second-hand candles". I'm not kidding. Really, are they in bulk? Are they still liquid, or still smoking (somebody might be)? Are the colours all molded together in one gelatinous blob? Are wicks included? Tough to wax poetic about that one. By the way, a quick Google search for "second-hand candles" results in 1,280,000 hits. And strangely, for the Internet, no porn. Or ear candling.

During a peaceful walk gone amok on Saturday, SCS lost her wallet after the reception, but prior to the evening party. A wee panic ensued. Luckily enough, a retired police officer found it and tried to track her down, visiting local restaurants and businesses. He even called her parents. I'm guessing he worded it carefully, rather than say "Hey, I found your daughter's wallet along the railroad tracks beside the lake...but there's no sign of her". Not good. They told him that we had rented a car from Enterprise, which I had happened to park nose first (showing the logo sticker on the back) after heading to the mill in my new role as Sherlock Holmes. As he came to the door at the Bed and Breakfast, his phone rang. SCS had gone into the Pot au Feu restaurant (free plug because of your kindness) and one of the staff passed her a piece of paper. On it, her name and a phone number to call. I'd have been jealous and all, but you know. I am sure it is strange to see your name in a random and unexpected situation like that.

Anyway, it all worked out and we headed to the 'Bal en Blanc', where we were to wear all white, hence the name. A little skeptical at first, but it really worked out. Even after Labour Day. Neat. Even the decor was white, with sheets hung. And I can no longer say I've never had a man sporting a fluffy, black boa jump into my arms. No, I'm not going to post the picture. All in all, a good time, for sure.

Sunday, we had a little more time for relaxing and went hiking in the hills and over to the covered bridge. It was an absolutely spectacular morning, with blue sky and fluffy clouds. Air crisp like a potato chip. It just smelled and tasted good. Tickling the skin and tempting the nose. Along the way, we saw a flash of red fly by and saw a woodpecker take up in one of the trees nearby (above right). I hadn't seen such a big pecker before. Oh, let's re-write that one. Quite a weekend for birds as I had also seen my first wild bald eagle on Friday, flying gracefully over the Thames river.

All in all, it was a really good trip. I love hitting the road and seeing new things and new places. It didn't hurt that we were in a very pretty spot in which I could actually picture myself living if only there were appropriate work there. Oh, that work thing. Details, details. On the way back, we also hit the Hershey's factory in Smith's Falls (what, no damaged peanut butter cups in bulk? Shame, shame!) and Ikea in Burlington. We've kind of been jonesing for Ikea for a while and really, it's tough to come out of there without having bought something. Fall-smelly candles and tea light holder (oooh, that just reeks of manliness, doesn't it!) and some brushed steel tins (that's better) for me. The great book case dilemma for SCS, though she also couldn't resist coming away with some goods. Whoever says money doesn't help obviously doesn't have any. It makes the world go around, unfortunately.

Sunday night was spent in Toronto. A shout-out is in order to Connor, who hosted us (his parents might temper that a bit). He is, afterall, in the vernacular of SCS, "Fresh Human". And an adorable one at that.

1,470 total kms. Yawn.

The ever-so-imporant road trip music: Cat Power: The Greatest;Swing Kids OST; Great Lake Swimmers: Great Lake Swimmers; Sarah Harmer: You are Here; Band of Horses: Everything All the Time; Coldplay: Live 2003; Hayden: Elk Lake Serenade; Midlake: The Trials of Van Occupanther; Emily Haines: Kives Don't Have Your Back; Acid House Kings: Sing Along with the Acid House Kings; Voxtrot: Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives; Sarah McLachlan: Fumbling Toward Ecstacy; Sarah Harmer: I am a Mountain; Kathleen Edwards: Failer; REM: Green; The Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs; REM: Out of Time.

Outtakes.

London, Ontario - I have had a few days back in Ontar-I-O to regain my bearings, as well as to hibernate a bit (though I watched a couple of suns set, and a few stars dance, while learning about blogging in Malaysia). Just in time to return from vacation and face the hordes of weary, post-labour day souls turning up their collars to fend off the small teeth of fall. Self-sharpening like Ginsu in preparation of the w----- to come. I love this time of year. I can smell it, touch it, taste it. And best of all, I can feel it to my core.

A few additional photos from the trip south this past week.

Huntsville, Alabama: Beauty is all around, waiting to be found. A piece of graffiti I found written on a white board that had been affixed to the red brick wall. Just seemed poignant as I poked around alleys in an otherwise empty downtown Huntsville looking at the architecture and details on the buildings.Near the Kentucky/Tennessee border: Did I mention that it rained? Hard? I believe that this storm 'benefited' from the effects of Tropical Storm Ernesto threatening south and east of here. It was wet. Very wet. And this was when the visibility was still relatively good.Tennessee: From the category of signs gone wrong (or "Signs gone Wild!"?), we first have the "Polk Motel", which -- yes -- is named for one of the country's former Presidents. I'd still think they could have named something a bit more prestigious for him. At least a Suites. An Inn, perhaps? With a motel, there are just too many jokes (or pokes!) to be made.Alabama: That said, however, taking the cake are the Alabamans? Alabamians? (Yes, just looked it up; that's the correct offering for you trivialists.). Really, this one writes itself. And it's in the south, no less. Was there no thought put into that one? I can imagine the bank officer sitting there reading the business plan, snickering. With the number of strip joints I had seen advertised along my route, I would have been pretty disappointed to have pulled in here thinking it was somethign else and instead found that it was a 'Restaurant supply' store. At least it wasn't a carpeting depot.
Huntsville, Alabama: The store fronts (which were actually mostly lawyer offices) were really beautifully done with leaded glass and ornate designs. Huntsville, Alabama.
Huntsville, Alabama: A pigeon decided he wanted to be a part of this one. The buildings were so neat that I found myself looking skyward during most of my visit. At least there was nobody around to relieve me of my wallet when I was there because I was doing more craning than, well, a crane. Huntsville, Alabama: Which direction next? A few weeks until the next road trip, this one, however, only inter-province. Will be joined by a co-pilote this time, though!