No Words.

Fail.

Activity at the Kenya-Uganda border, at Busia.

Entebbe, Uganda – I must have seemed illiterate as I presented my immigration documents to officials at the Kenya-Uganda border town of Busia this afternoon.

As I had attempted to fill out the various pieces of paper on the bus, the wavy scrawl of ink had risen and fallen with each pothole etched into the road that carried me from Kisumu. Road crews had mounded entirely insufficient cones of dirt along the road to fill the gaps, but they were of little use just sitting there.

The border featured a slouching metal fence painted in the chipping colours of Kenya’s flag. Buses and trucks alike bunched up as we cleared customs, walked across no-man’s land and into Uganda’s immigration office. Once cleared, we wove between jaggedly parked vehicles to find our bus, navigating through salespeople carrying boxes of beverages and snacks on their heads. Impoverished children slapped at the side of the bus and called up through the open window, making hand gestures that mimicked eating.

Pulling into Uganda, the sky became a watercolour of mottled greys and my nausea increased because of the bus's 1.5-hour late start this morning – and the tight deadline I faced for my plane home. Donning sunglasses, a boxer jogged along the road with taped hands, jabbing at the wind. Each time I checked my watch, I felt as though I had taken one of his punches to my gut.

Farther along, a woman raked the dirt out front of her house with a paint roller that had no sponge. A rural field was speckled with scarecrows whose heads were made from black garbage bags. Clever. In a larger town, a giant billboard featured a man with two women draped over him under the banner, “Be handsome, and fair.” It was for fair skin cream for men. What?

My unanticipated home in Entebbe for more than 24 hours.

It was a pleasant ride I enjoyed with my head hanging out the window at the back of the bus. As we pulled into the hills of Kampala, however, the road was stitched with a knot of traffic. The city has a reputation for slow travel on Friday nights and, true to form, we trudged five kilometres in two hours. At the same time, the hands on my watch seemed to hasten their pace as I twisted my wrist. I still needed to find a taxi to take me the additional 40 kilometres to the airport in Entebbe.

Finally arriving at the bus park, I haggled with the taxi driver out of respect, but hit the road soon thereafter, hoping to eke in under the wire. Naturally, he needed to stop for fuel now that he had a fare. Reaching the airport at Entebbe, heavily armed police pulled us from the vehicle to do a thorough search, and the ill feeling in my stomach rose into my throat.

The city is on edge given recent strikes and violence related to the re-election of President Yoweri Museveni, who was sworn in yesterday. I, too, was on edge – but I had hope.

Unfortunately, that is all I had: I missed check-in by 15 minutes.

Hashtag: Fail.

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!