Crossing the Universe

Eight miles up here above the earth under the diamond studded ebony shroud that constitutes the night sky, I find myself in a good place for healthful introspection. The interior lights have been dimmed, allowing weary passengers to sleep off their journey to another reality. Platinum light from a full moon casts sharp shadows across the silver wing. Six or seven miles below us a cloud deck conceals the world beneath. To our great relief, several days ago the atmosphere shook off its intense fury, dissipating the last of its violent hurricanes for the season. Today the air has been like glass, making a long flying day serene and fertile for thought.

There is much to think about when going from one galaxy to another. In a certain sense I have traversed realities that are perhaps as great as those one might experiencing jumping from one star system to another. In the span of a day it has been possible to leave one of the very poorest regions of our world, one devoid of most of those things many consider necessities and return to a world of nearly unbounded abundance and options. The reality in which I ate my breakfast did not include paved roads, mail service, safe water, TV, parks, theaters, private cars, flush toilets, health care, or a thousand other things considered necessities for those living there. Even from this great height, I can occasionally see cities through breaks in the cloud cover. These cities are brilliant with light; criss-crossed with paved highways dotted with private cars, studded with emerald parks and athletic fields, ablaze with the neon of night life.

I wonder if any of the people below realize that they not only live on the only planet in our solar system capable of supporting life, but also on a very privileged and small part of this sapphire orb that allows them to chase dreams and live out many of their fantasies. A number of people have written me in recent days telling me they could not comprehend or relate to the mountainous tropical reality I was living in. I wonder if they comprehend how truly extraordinary their own reality is – far more so than the one I just left.

It is easy to succumb to the seduction of development work that says solutions can always be had by throwing money at problems. What we have been finding in the mountains of Haiti is that throwing hope and empowerment at problems always yields solutions with long-term consequences. In the darkness of the reality of poverty and oppression that exists in Cange, there is an emerging band of hope on the horizon. Disenfranchised people are finding dignity, the opportunity to learn and do meaningful work, to drink safe water, to learn how to read and discover the worlds within the covers of a book. They are finding spiritual meaning in their lives. They are finding that they don’t have to climb on one of these metallic silver denizens of the sky to chase dreams. They can do it right there in the beautiful mountains of their own land with their own people and their own families. The ultimate measure of our success in Haiti will be when no one living there wants to leave.

I am told of a cowhand that lived on a vast hacienda in South America. He had never been off the spread. He was asked if this bothered him very much. With some surprise, he asked why anyone would want to leave paradise. His land had become paradise for him. Perhaps it will one day be so for those millions Haitians who will never see the inside of one of these turbine-driven catapults. We will tell them of a Kingdom they can live in and experience abundant life that does not require them to buy passage up here. We will also give them a cup of water as part of the deal.

It is time to land.

Highland Dreams

The Sevane, Haiti

The air has turned torrid once again, challenging us with intense humidity and a complete lack of breezes. Our morning was given over to making a survey hike of the Cange Valley. We all were in a state of dehydration by the time we got down to the bottom of the mountain valley. Our goal was to determine the best route for six thousand feet of high pressure waterline. We had several options to consider and we had nearly decided on laying high pressure polyethylene pipe down the valley until we learned that slash and burn agriculture is common here. Fire and polyethylene pipe don’t mix. We are now looking at putting down galvanized pipe some distance from the existing dirt path that the current pipe follows. A national highway is supposed to be put through here in the next eighteen months and its construction is slated to destroy four hundred houses along with our current water line. Engineering issues make for a lot of uncertainties that need to be carefully weighed before we drag twenty tons of pipe into the valley. Fortunately, we have good people working on the logistics. We hope that a pipe routing can be flagged in December and laying of pipe done before the next rainy season starts.

We were astounded to find that a large crew of men has been working two days on the second wall of the dam and has made great progress. There is a profoundly satisfying sense in seeing much concrete and rock work on the dam and knowing that local men are earning good salaries for honest hard work. We had a deep awareness that this was the way development should be done - empowering the local members of the community with meaningful work and a sense of ownership of the infrastructure that will make such a great contribution to the quality of their lives. For me seeing this work was the high point of the week. We then again climbed that epic staircase of 1,500 steps to find our way back to the compound for cold water and a big meal that would replenish strength and electrolytes.

During the afternoon we climbed over 1,200 feet about Cange to a highland savannah known locally as the Sevane. The setting of the high grassland is spectacular and a cool breeze greatly refreshed our wilted beings. The mountain and lake views would easily command $400 a night if there was a good hotel sited here. Alas, the leadership of this struggling country has kept the people from benefitting from their beautiful natural resources.

We are interested in determining the feasibility of getting water to this region. The flat rich soil is quite promising for agriculture, except for the lack of irrigation water. We made a survey of plants that have medicinal value. It was quite inspiring to see just how many plants have been found useful as natural remedies. We found a small number of people living in the highlands. Most migrated down the mountain years ago to live near the water system installed in the mid 1980s. It is this system we are in process of replacing.

On the return I found a fifteen foot flower stalk on a yucca-like plant. It was adorned with intense gold flowers similar in size to sunflowers. I later learned that this rare variety blooms but once a year. It was a magnificent specimen that one would expect to find in the Lost World.

During the evening we returned to the compound where it seemed the United Nations was convening once again. It has been a great joy to have this international exchange.

Valve Replacement

Bas Cange, Haiti

The dense oppressive humid tropical air spawned by Hurricane Paloma has dissipated and late last evening we were blessed with much drier air that actually was moving. Breezes make such a grand difference!

During the night a heavy truck arrived in the compound with the four newly fabricated 700-pound valves needed for the new dam penstocks. These penstocks (short large bore pipes) are like the coronary arteries that give life to the heart. These penstocks and their valves will bring life-giving water to the new pump house and hydraulic turbines working without electricity will carry it up to four storage tanks above the town. Water will then be available at community fountains for 12,000 residents. I’m told those valves had to be hauled across the river by canoe.

As I write, a crew is hauling those 700 pound valves down the 1,500 stairs to the dam site on the valley floor. Those five men will have climbed 12,000 steps, half of them while carrying a 140 pound share of the load. We feel like our mission here has been highly successful with getting the valves made and hauled to the dam site. If a valve can be successfully installed today under the supervision of our engineers, then the other three can be put in during the next several weeks under the supervision of a local engineer.

I managed to avoid doing heavy lifting and was instead hunched over my monitors and computers at 6 AM to record yet another one of the many singing groups here in Cange. It still amazes me that twelve teenage singers and six musicians would be enthusiastic about coming to sing for two hours at 6 AM. I have a break for eight hours and will then record another women’s group. A Haitian fellow just stopped by where I am working and brought me group rosters, music listings with composers and arrangers, and digital files of the groups in their performance garb. How splendid!!

Several of us are doing photo work during the day. A group of pooled our images yesterday and had our resident computer genius enhance them overnight with image processing software. We all look like Ansell Adams now. As we write, our photo directories are uploading by satellite dish to a public access web site. Technology can be grand.

Tonight we party!! The big town party was moved from last night until tonight. We enjoyed a quiet time last evening on a nearby patio with one’s beverage of choice and good company. The moon was quite fine in a clear dry tropical sky.

Touching the Pulse of Community

Bas Cange, Haiti

Several times in my life I have been granted the great opportunity to experience esprit des corps; that wonderful sense of belonging with others joined in doing something that really matters. I never thought that I would get to do this again. This wondrous form of community has come my way once again. There is something important that is forged and refined by the combination of difficult circumstances, challenge and shared purpose.

Today the seven of us did a field survey of the water projects that were laid down twenty six years ago. The journey down to the existing dam and pump house required a descent down into a steep valley. We were stunned to find that since a summer survey in July that some 1,500 concrete steps have been built down the cliffs above the natural spring that feeds the water supply for 12,000 people. These steps were astounding in their scale and quality of construction. We felt like were climbing on one of the engineering wonders of the ancient world. As we descended we collected quite a large entourage of village people, who must have been figuring seven Americans in this remote area must be up to something important.

I would be hard pressed to pull up from memory a more impressive or beautiful view than those we were immersed in on that staircase to a new life for these people. I can’t imagine any all-inclusive resort in Mexico, Southeast Asia, or other tropical setting holding a candle to the emerald realm we found ourselves in. One can only hope that the leadership of this country will one day learn to care for its people and its land.

The last part of the descent required climbing down rocky faces with tree roots. I reached out to grab a tree for balance. As I touched it I felt a strong pulse. The 3.5 inch above-ground galvanized pipe that is the life line for 12,000 people was touching the tree. It was a bit like having an epiphany. Suddenly, I realized that this pulsing metal pipe was the aorta of life for the thousands of people living on the edge of survival in these mountains. I literally was able to feel the pulse of this community. I felt like I was on a open heart team, privileged to be touching someone’s beating heart. Twenty- five years ago men of vision decided to pull these people away from the brink and revascularized the dreams of people who long ago forgot how to dream in their struggles for survival.

We surveyed and photographed the existing dam, pipelines, and pump house. We were most heartened to see the beginning work of a new dam. We are hopeful that tomorrow we can see the beginning of work to install four new valves in the new dam for the vascular system of the several towns and hospitals that depend on it. Like cardiac surgeons, our work will have to take place while the system is in use. People go on bypass during cardiac surgery. This water system will be on bypass as well. A new pump house, hydraulic turbines, high pressure pipes, and public water taps will assure another fifty years of safe drinking water. Women will no longer have to climb down slippery cliff faces and then climb back up with 5 gallon buckets of water in tow. Days long lost to carrying unsafe water will be freed for other life tasks. Safe water will be a few steps from every house.

How grand it is to be working with others to build the infrastructure that so many of us take for granted. I don’t think I will ever view plumbing quite the same again. I think I have gained a greater understanding of the scripture that exhorts us to give a cup of cold water in the name of Jesus. What a privilege.

Night Sounds

Cange, Haiti

I am with the chief of the medical staff of Anmed (our big county hospital), a pharmacist, and two other engineers and their wives. We are a little grass roots effort to re-engineer a water system for a mountain town. There are about 8,000 people living here and the dam here is near failure. None of us are doing our ‘normal’ things in life. The doc is doing hydraulic engineering. The pharmacist is doing computer engineering. I am doing sound engineering. One of the others is doing civil engineering on the dam and lift stations. I think the others are working in the craft center. The hospitals and clinics are doing just fine without us at present. We obtained completed field surveys yesterday and hope to order several miles of high pressure pipe from Mexico and have it here by year’s end. Our goal is to have the dam, pump stations, waterlines, mains, and waste treatment on line in eighteen months.

We are about fifty miles to the east from the La Promesse church school that just collapsed. Sadly, the school had a partial collapse eight years ago and was poorly rebuilt. I don't think people here understand that concrete has infinite compression strength and zero tensile strength, excepting for the re-bar put in it. People living down from the school abandoned their properties years ago for fear of a complete collapse, which came to pass yesterday. At least 75 have been pulled out dead. There were perhaps 500 children and teachers in the building. The building is very much like the three story cement school a hundred feet from where I sit. We can only hope there are not any structural monsters lurking in our buildings here.

There is a category 4 hurricane due west of here that is expected to slam Cuba later today. We had some mild rain bands last night but don’t expect to get anything else here, if it stays on its current projected path. Four nasty hurricanes are more than a fair share for one place to have to endure. A number of towns here are cut off because of major bridge washouts. On Thursday we only made it to an engineering firm after hiring dug out canoes to cross the river and then getting a pickup on the other side. The washouts added nearly a day’s time to our task lists.

I have now had four recording sessions with three different choirs. I think singing is the national sport here. It is simply amazing how large and enthusiastic these choirs are. People here in Haiti consider it a great honor to be admitted to a choir. It is amazing that more than fifty adolescents would show up in a church at 6 AM on Saturday to rehearsal and record for several hours. The last two nights I had recording sessions with an adult chorale consisting of about 55 mixed voices. In the mornings I have worked with a 23 member men’s chorus. These guys are really good! As I write this, there are dozens of adolescents in the church singing lush melodies to fine instrumental accompaniment.

My project for this week and next is to successfully record six choral groups and create a CD for each group. My little portable studio seems to work fine. The whole thing easily fits under an airplane seat. Telling these groups they will have their own CD had the same effect as if I had told them they just won the Powerball lottery. After breakfast with Marion, I went off to do photo work to create artwork for the five 5 CD covers while she went off to do surgery. When I get back state side I will explore the mysteries of cleaning audio wav files - eliminating coughs, barking dogs, thunder claps, torrential rain cement mixers, tropical night bugs, and all the things that show up when recording in live environments with sensitive microphones. I can hardly ask for the compound to shut down so I can record. Recording night bugs may actually be an interesting aspect of this work. I might even try to record some tropical frogs.

I expect a hundred kids this afternoon for three hours of work. I can’t imagine a hundred kids at home wanting to sing on a Saturday afternoon. It is a different world here. A little seven-year old boy just showed up and told me to appear an hour early so that more work can be done. At least that is what I think he told me.

A couple of very high profile rock stars are supposed to be here in the compound tonight for a big party. A Boston physician, who has done development work for decades, is bringing them here as part of an effort to garner millions in donations. The physician will probably be nominated for the Nobel Peace prize before this is all done. He was instrumental in developing the hospitals and clinics here.

We are told the archbishop of Canterbury is showing up next week. This compound is not on the way to anywhere but this remote outpost is like a United Nations gathering place. It is a privilege to be part of such an effort. Perhaps the work here will be my focus for the foreseeable future. It is a good thing I have accumulated a lot of frequent flyer miles.

I may need to make language a priority. I can’t even ask where the bathroom is - knowing no French or Creole. I guess between Habitat houses, play productions, and CDs I need to learn how to talk to other people. Spanish and German are of no help here.

Powerlessness

Miriablais, Haiti

This morning we loaded up a Toyota land cruiser to traverse the treacherous rut that is otherwise known as the national highway and go to another city to check on 24” valves being manufactured for the dam project. After some time on the road I felt like the meals of the last few days wanted to make a violent emergence once again into the light of day. I have not often been car sick but this is not your normal road. An hour and a half down mountain we found the bridge across the river had been washed out by recent hurricanes. A thrombosis of trucks and masses of humanity clogged up the amputated highway on both sides of a river. The fallen piers of the bridge marked the place where the swollen river washed out access to numerous cities. A decision was ultimately made after standing in the tropical sun for an hour or more that the other six in the group would go on across the river in dug-out canoes and then ride in the back of a pickup truck for four hours to check on the valves. I decided to abandon this further journey and return to Cange. I knew I would never be back to the compound in time to do my scheduled sound recording sessions with the choirs. I felt I needed to be about the business I came down here to do. I can do drives at another time when rivers, times, and priorities allow.

I found myself doing that which I had been strongly warned to not do - traveling alone away from the group. I had a local driver take me back up the mountains. I never have felt as powerless as I did being in one of the most notoriously dangerous places on earth, unable to speak a word of the language, being without any money, and without the ability or technology to communicate with anyone at all. I could only hope that the driver would take me where I wanted to go and not to some unscheduled stop on an unmarked part of the world. I have never felt such a full force of powerlessness in my life. I thought of how Mortenson must have felt when in Afghanistan and unable to get free of his captors for eight days. He was powerless. He eventually made it to his destination. I made it to mine. I had the bonus of being able to stop many times and get some really fine photos for documentary work.

Fifty people were waiting for me at the appointed time of our first recording session. The newly calibrated recording studio I brought down on the plane worked perfectly and I was able to create about 45 minutes of good material from working with the Grand Chorale - an adult choir of fifty mixed voices with accompaniment by six musicians. It is quite a challenge to record choral groups when one does not know a syllable of the language and is new to recording anything. The spirit of the group is splendid and these recordings will greatly assist in sharing the miracles that are taking place here in the mountains. I am quite relieved to have my own project successfully launched and underway. Many others here are quite relieved that I am now having success with this. It is apparently a very big deal to many people here that these choral groups be successfully recorded.

Meal time is amazing. About ten of us share opulent dinners late in the evening and a hearty breakfast after devotions. It feels a little bit like a United Nations gathering, with discussions of everything about how to engineer a water system to how to train hospital personnel to maintain diagnostic technologies. It is certainly different than conversations about “who done someone wrong” that seems to capture so much conversation. There is no taking of people’s inventory here. People are spoken of in very positive ways. We are having conversation on federal policy, information engineering, theology, even telling off-color jokes. Meals are grand adventures when shared. Good food is a bonus.

Transitions

Cange, Haiti

Transitions

Yesterday I was outside in a blizzard of gold, orange, and crimson; raking up the leaves of autumn blowing down in cool November breezes. Today I am in the humid closeness of warm tropical evening air. All of my plants are now sheltered the garage and house against the encroaching cold of winter, their blooms long lost. Trees here are verdant green with full canopies. Here vibrant tropical blooms are fresh and full. Winter does not come here.

Morning dawned with brilliant red and crimson, only as it can be seen from nearly eight miles up. The adamantine walls of Florida’s gold coast reached up into the clouds, much liked the fabled city of Chiron. The opulence of the world’s richest country was startling in its image from miles above the morning mists. Even more compelling was the image of another world from twenty feet above the ground. Standing at the top of a stair case on the Port Au Prince tarmac I saw metaphors of failed dreams and ambitions. In my travels to forty one nations I have not often been startled as much by what I saw today. There was a profound sense of barely contained desperation and chaos. I have not before experienced a whole culture in fervent bids for survival. It seems everyone was trying to stay alive. There is not much left for being nice or sharing.

Yet, here in this place I have found profound proof that one or two people can make a huge difference, even in one of the poorest places on earth where nothing makes sense and no one is really in charge. Up here in the mountains at the end of a fifty mile rut, one finds an oasis of hope where people find employment, possibilities, community, and shared dreams. In a short few hours I have met priests, students, engineers, physicians, nurses, laborers, and children trying to build a better world for each other. To be in a place where people are so completely outside of themselves is stunning and rich beyond words or money. Out of nothing but dreams and visions a hospital, schools, libraries, churches, communities, water systems and hope are being created.

Only in Gods’ economy are the greatest riches to be found in one of the poorest places on earth.

Perspectives

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina

It was only this morning that I actually went out and rode my bike at sunrise and s the orange disk of the sun come up into a cerulean sky. It is amazing what a few hours and a few hundred miles can do to change one’s view of the world. I am now in the number four travel destination in North America. It doesn’t normally look like this. A view out the window reveals a blank rectangle of featureless lead gray.

I recently read one of Nicholas Spark’s novels set in Rodanthe, North Carolina during a hurricane. He effectively described the gray misery that comes from being hunkered down inside, waiting for the storm to spend its fury. The last time I got near a hurricane was in 1998 when a category 4 storm chased me around the Caribbean for several weeks. This time the circulation of an ocean storm merely has me cooped up in a hotel while the beach sands rearrange themselves under the detergent action of the agitated surf. The weather is just moving in and sustained winds of 40-50 MPH and driving rain increase my respect for those that go to sea for a living. The weather channel is calling it a ‘disturbance’. I can simply stay on terra firma and wait it out, knowing I really do not have control of things in life. Two days from now it is supposed to be 80 degrees and sunny. I know I am absolutely safe and the worst thing that will happen is I see more of a hotel room that I had planned for.

This gray drear reminds me of how fortunate I was to have seventeen days of pristine clear climate in Canada sans rain and wind. I think I will go get some dinner and be thankful for a tasty meal with good friends, and remember that on the top side of these dense clouds it is still sunny.

Images of Our World

Calgary, Alberta

Technology is an interesting phenomenon. It has unwittingly allowed us to have torrents of data thrown at us that overwhelms us and causes us to over-react to the slightest permutation anywhere else in the universe. We have just seen how fear is transmitted instantly through all the financial markets of the world, wiping out serenity and financial safety for millions. Two days ago I saw years of my savings disappear in the time it took me to take a two-hour bike ride. The past several days I have been able to watch the erosion of my financial future with a real time ticker tape on my wi-fi laptop here in the Canadian Rockies. It is bit surreal how tightly connected technology allows us to be to dynamics and circumstances we would have been oblivious to in the past.

On the other hand technology can allow us to experience magnificent things that are simply astounding and overwhelming, beyond the comprehension of nearly all the generations that have gone before us. Of the more than 100 billion people who have lived on earth, only a very tiny percentage of them ever had a chance of see awe-inspiring glaciers and ice-capped peaks from nearly eight miles up. I was re-admitted into that small club today, having used my wireless laptop to book a ticket onto one of those aluminum rockets that carries people over the Canadian Rockies in a matter of minutes at 38,000 feet. In the random computer allocation of seats I was given a window seat in the second row, well ahead of the leading edge of the wing. I could gawk with an unobstructed view as if it were my first time on a plane rather than my 547th.

Western Canada is cloaked in ice-clad granite massifs that tower above the eastern border of British Columbia, providing a stunning backdrop to Calgary in Western Alberta. A clear cobalt sky in late September afforded a breath-taking view of the dazzling white mantles of ancient ice. In great chasms, igneous walls hold emerald pools of glacial melt. These pristine high-altitude worlds know nothing of the financial chaos down below. Looking down on those knife-edge ridges one is reminded that perhaps there really is much more to life than watching financial markets freeze up. There is nothing like watching your own shadow race across the ice fields at 539 miles an hour. It sure beats using a horse. The last time I was on ice, it took half a day on a horse to cover ten miles.

International airports can be intimidating. There are vast numbers of people in them and people are often in a hurry to get to far away places. One does not think of them as playgrounds. 9/11 took away much of the magic that airports once afforded. Here in the Calgary International Airport about ten feet in front of me I am watching magic take place. A man is on the floor romping with his 3-year-old daughter. He has been doing this for perhaps twenty minutes. The playful shrieking and giggling as he plays hide and seek with her reminds me of the whole point of travel – creating memories of life lived well. This man is teaching his young daughter to live very well; one who will know the emotional security that comes from an attentive loving father.

Behind me four people have laughed non-stopped for more than an hour. The laughter has been infectious and the whole demeanor of the terminal was super-charged with a sense of life being lived well and fully. Norman Cousins would have been so pleased to know how these people were using humor to improve their own lives and unwittingly, the lives of all of us on the nearly fringes. Norman Cousins spent his life proving that humor could liberate people from terminal physical illness and the darkest of emotional angst.

Waves of experience pass through airports. It is now another very different crowd. No outbursts of loud laughter from young professionals but there are suddenly many young mothers with children in strollers. These children are all happily gurgling as they explorer the mysteries of airport fast food. There is a calm serene sensibility present. Happily, it is contagious.

Sunset is really impressive when it starts at 38,000 feet and ends at ground level while doing 530 miles an hour. The whole experience is a fast forward one with intense sensory changes. One can almost watch the sunlight’s color change from platinum to yellow to deep gold to a dim red. The clouds take on myriad shades or red, vermilion, lavender, orange, all set against a darkening cobalt sky. The fast approaching indigo edge of night overtakes the landscape below and suddenly the earth becomes a universe of small luminous galaxies as all the towns and cities turn on their electric suns.

Life is good today. I’ve been to the mountaintop in more ways than one. And I was able to pay for my meals today

Dramatic Illusions

Kelowna, British Columbia

One of my favorite activities when traveling is going to community theaters and seeing how they do things. Kelowna has a magnificent collection of theaters. The Rotary Club built a fine facility that contains artist co-ops, studios, classrooms, public eateries, meeting rooms, and a fine auditorium that seats about 250. The whole of this is set in a splendid botanical context. A Japanese garden is not far away, and a nice lawn spreads out on one side of the building. Kelowna has won a Communities in Bloom award a number of years running and it is easy to see why. There is a 1,000-seat theater a couple of blocks away that serves as a venue for musicals and symphonies. The building looks out over the harbor and yacht club. Behind this find facility is a black box theater that seats 125. I found myself in this venue tonight.

One of the things I have always found fascinating about theater and concert experiences in western Canada is the friendliness of the audiences. I had just taken my seat when the several people around me put out hands and introduced themselves. I was reminded of happy such experiences in Vancouver, Victoria, and even in London. It turns out that tonight I had the happy experience of sitting with the family of one of the lead singers.
Theater going is certainly can be a multi-dimensional experience in other countries.

A happy variety show depicting the railroad history of British Columbia was presented in the first act. This show along with my bike journey on the Kettle Valley rail beds reinforce to me how rich the railroad era was in the province seventy five or a hundred years ago. The second act was a collection of title songs from a number of well-known musicals. Several of these brought back vivid experiences of building these shows in our little South Carolina theater.

It was again one of those days when I felt fully in the stream of life. I didn’t think about the fact that tomorrow I would be in the jet stream eight miles up, returning to reality as I know it. I do have the luxury of having a key to our local theater and can go back in the auditorium and experience new illusions.

Encounters of the Highest Order

In a Museum Gift Shop
Kelowna, British Columbia

There have been those times when traveling that I find myself truly in a state of flow, quite caught up in the sounds, smells, tastes, conversations and feel of a place. So it was today for about three hours. Barbara was suddenly interested in visiting several of the art galleries in the downtown cultural district. I was quite happy to go along for this miniature expedition six blocks to the east.

I was to have a nice little odyssey. Before going into these galleries we made a stop in the small Apple Orchard History Museum that is located in the next block from many of the galleries. Besides providing a most pleasing sense of the history of fruit growers in this valley, I was to experience the great joy of travel - meeting someone that scratches a deep itch of the soul, normally far out of reach. The young blonde blue-eyed curator of this museum engaged me in conversation and with her smile had me wondering if I could immigrate here next week, despite being newly bankrupt in the aftermath of the stock market meltdown.

There have been those moments in life overseas when my life will intersect with that of someone else and for a few moments the result is electric, intoxicating, and fertile ground for the most incredible imaginings. I once wrote a poem called “Intersections” that described these chance encounters. I left that diminutive one-room museum uplifted and validated and feeling like I was dead center in the stream of life. When leaving that museum, each time I looked back, she still was smiling at me with that smile I will remember for years. I recall a similar experience on the London Underground. I met a woman on one of the District Line platforms who shared her conversation and radiant smiles with me. I still remember that encounter as if it was ten minutes ago and not ten years.

Barbara and I went on to several galleries and saw magnificent paintings all priced in 4-5 figure ranges and had splendid conversation with the owners and in one case the very engaging daughter of successful international art dealers. A respite in a tea room between gallery hops afforded exotic African tea, mesmerizing Indian music, inspiring reading, and good conversation, this all in a place smaller than my bedroom. This little tea room felt like some kind of ecumenical epicenter of the world. It was a most grand experience – educating me about music, culture, religion, and being present to the moment.

Yet, I believe the little apple orchard museum will be what I remember with the most affection about my time in the Okanagan Valley. I think I will eat apples with a renewed interest and reverence from here on.

Life on the Hilltop

Somewhere on Lakeshore Drive or Thereabouts
Kelowna, British Columbia

The past weeks have certainly been atypical of the usual tourist fare proffered by online travel brokers. Travel operators are not typically offering opportunities to participate in the electoral process in foreign countries. My hosts are very politically minded and participate greatly in the political process at the provincial and federal levels. So it was I found myself in a privileged circumstance this evening.

The Okanagan Valley has become a worldwide destination for wine connoisseurs by virtue of the dozens of fine wineries that have sprung up here in the past few years. A grand facility known as Cedar Creek Estate Wineries has sprouted on the shores of Okanagan Lake and the fruit of its fields has won it ‘best of show’ for several years at the international level. The physical environment of the estate is everything one could possibly imagine for a winery – perfect climate, magnificent botanical plantings, fine fields with lush grapes, interesting architecture, expansive water views from high promontories, finely presented food, delicate wines, and beautiful people.

I am reminded of the passages in one of the epistles of the Apostle Paul where he states he learned how to be content in all circumstances, whether rich or poor. The meltdown of the US financial markets the past several days have left me decidedly poor and today I was with the decidedly rich. Hosting a political fund-raiser for a Federal Parliamentary candidate was the owner of this grand estate winery, a man who had a larger-than-life story to tell. He spent decades in Ottawa as a respected Federal leader in Parliament. He has large-scale family businesses and connections all over the world. Thursday he heads off to Italy to hob-knob with winery owners there. He is more vibrant at age 75 than most people at age 40. I felt definitely poor among this crowd of industry owners and civic leaders. I tried to figure out what someone from a small rural town in South Carolina was doing at a upscale event like this, besides eating fresh salmon, stuffed grape leaves, hummus, and a dozen other culinary wonders. I felt a bit like an imposter who might get found out.

As it was I had plenty to eat, attempted to discretely take pictures without looking like a gawking tourist, and eventually had good conversation with a number of people there. Like our host, all of the people I spoke with have lived huge lives and continue to see the world as their oyster. They certainly seem to have come up with plenty of pearls. I found myself wondering where they hide average people these days. Perhaps they will use me to create the lower bound of a statistical distribution. Maybe that is the real reason they occasionally let me in with the beautiful people, despite my not having much hair anymore.

The food was really good.

Parallel Universes

The Waterfront
Kelowna, British Columbia


I have often been mesmerized by those 3-D graphics that were popular twenty years ago. One looks at an apparently random array of color splotches and sees nothing specific. After staring for a while and holding one’s mouth right, suddenly the image transforms into a three-dimensional world that is compelling in its depth. One wonders how it was possible to have missed the image in the first place.

So it can be when traveling. Tourists see the world through rosy colored glasses. All-inclusive resorts in the tropics have high walls surrounding them to make sure the three dimensional world of poverty remains invisible. Tour guides have an uncanny ability to take travelers from one oasis to the next without getting sand in their shoes.

My experiences here in Kelowna have been exactly the same as looking at the garish graphic art. I basked in a tourist image of a magnificent city, one devoid of the challenges that plague America cities – homelessness, drugs, poverty, litter, and crime. I have spent days photographing yacht clubs and high rise towers of luxury, gazing at expensive paintings under tensor lights, enjoying the beach at a upscale resort. After staring at these uplifting images here for eleven days, suddenly another world has come into clear focus. It is not one that shows up in the travel brochures.

One afternoon after returning from a happy outing, I was summoned to the front of the house to see what a man out in the front yard was doing. Discrete use of a zoom camera revealed him to be shooting up heroin. Something was starting to clarify in my head and it was not artsy. The next day Barbara came to tell me she had just found a bag of used syringes and needles in the back yard. Suddenly, I understood why there is such a religious discipline given to keeping things locked up around here. Two days ago another couple of guys were seen on the street injecting themselves with certain death.

Today I went out to ride my bike to the top of Knox Mountain. My route takes me through several city parks. On Saturday these same parks were filled with tanned blond people living out happy days in the sun. The annual Dragon boat races were on and thousands of spectators were enjoying the cafes and festivities. Today the parks seemed empty until I started looking closer. In the bushes and trees one could see homeless men beginning to thaw out from the stiffening cold of the night air. They slowly unwrapped themselves from tree roots in a bid to capture the first nascent warmth from the rising sun. I found myself sharing the bike path with old people pushing grocery carts filled with their belongings. Suddenly, the images of tanned beauties on their roller blades and Cannondale bikes were supplanted by images of the disenfranchised living on the frayed edges of dreams that never came to pass. A very different world was in clear focus.

I left the necklace of waterfront parks, heading to Knox Mountain, wondering what a compassionate response should be to what I have seen in this very real shadow world. I simply prayed all the way up the mountain, asking for wisdom to do the next right thing. I sure didn’t feel like taking pictures today.

Transcedence

Mission Creek
Okanagan Lake
Knox Mountain

I started out the day, riding ten miles at sunrise. I didn’t see any teddy bears today but I did pay attention, watching for giant black fur balls that might come out of the bush. The only fur I saw was a nice assortment of the canine variety. It was about 40 degrees and I was quite chilled through at the end of this ride. I was so stiff in my hands I could hardly get my riding gloves off. Thirty minutes in the 104-degree hot tub rectified this problem and the problem of hunger was nicely solved with an opulent breakfast of eggs, ham, raisin toast, juice, and fresh fruit, and tea. It is luxurious to be able to eat with impunity, given the amount of exercise I have been getting.

At midday I walked down to the waterfront to photograph the annual dragon boat races. These oversized racing sculls have 16 rowers, two columns of eight. These colorful boats with their large dragon mastheads made for fine images. There are three days of events with evening concerts. Dozens of arts and crafts kiosks and food vendors and a few thousand people gave a festive sensibility to the splendid waterfront parks. People arrived on bike, board, blade, foot, carriage, and a few even arrived by car. It is a grand transportation system that operates here.

Tonight I almost wish I had been in a car. About 6:00 PM it seemed prudent to launch myself up Knox Mountain on my bike. Last weekend we went up this mountain in a car and it did not seem like it would be too arduous on a bike. Wrong!! A 12% grade feels totally different in a car than it does on a mountain bike. Two years of daily abuse on the stair climber did not prepare me for this! I was panting like a hot dog in August when I arrived at the top. The sun was just setting below the horizon when the summit came into view. Kelowna is in a really majestic mountain setting, well worth the uphill work to see it again. The high-speed coast down the serpentine road reminds me of the incredible descent one gets in Hawaii after a long ride up in a van. In this case I did not cheat and did the uphill work before getting the free ride down. The 40-minute ascent yielded a bracing 6-minute plunge back to the lakeshore.

With a bit of smugness, I went back and had dinner with Dwight and Barbara, inhaling two plates of salmon and halibut along with fresh vegetables. As soon as I upload this entry, I pan to work on some ice cream.

Okanagan Sunrise

Kelowna, Britih Columbia

There must be no better way to start a day than breakfast with a beautiful woman on a balcony of a four hundred year old hotel in the White Alps of Italy, but a twenty-mile ride along Canada’s Riviera must be close behind. Kelowna is one of those magical places where people live their lives outside in public places. Living in such a stunning place would make it difficult to stay inside and merely stare at a plasma screen. The series of natural lakes in the Okanagan Valley are home to well-heeled retirees and oil executives from Alberta who have built second-home palaces here. They have created an amazingly pleasing environment in the city. In minutes one can be on a bike and into the edge of mountain wilderness.

After a nice sleep of seven hours, I awoke to a clear day and within minutes was on my mountain bike riding through a necklace of magnificent city parks strung along the eastern shore of Okanagan Lake. These green oases are speckled with blooms of every possible color. I am reminded of how the cool climate in England is conducive to blooms lasting forever. So it is here.

Between these fine parks is the most amazing assortment of truly splendid architecture. Along the lake is a mosaic of houses ranging from non-descript lake houses built in the 1940s to spectacular 8,000 square foot houses built this year in authentic craftsman style. Everything in between is represented as well. The use of cedar, stone, and glass is truly satisfying. Much like Frank Lloyd Wright did in his work, the architects here let the materials themselves provide the decoration. Notable of most of these houses are the very large windows. Canadians love the outdoors and they like to be in contact with the natural beauty of their land, even when in their houses.

There is certainly something heartening about being out in the midst of people who are so health and fitness oriented. Joggers, cyclists, walkers are out greeting their day, often in the company of their dogs. Today we were in different company. A 400-pound black bear came down out of the mountains at the far end of the trail. A beautiful Italian woman had just come up out of the mountain river with her dog, dripping ice-cold water. She was in animated fashion talking about this bear that she had just seen cross the water while chasing down the spawning salmon. I petted her dog. She and the dog calmed down. We parted. Moments later I saw the bear loping towards me at medium gallop from the nearby roadway. The woman and her dog made post haste one direction. I was on a bike so easily put plenty of space between any potential suitors and me.

The ride back was uneventful and I arrived to find a splendid breakfast of pancakes, fresh fruit, and juice waiting for me. I’m off to the hot tub. Life is good today.

For the Party

Pandosy Street
Kelowna, British Columbia

Moving desks. Installing computers. Putting up shelving. Making a functional office space out of an empty building. Hanging political placards. Not the usual stuff for the making of epic holiday memories but certainly a good way to gain a greater awareness of the political process – even if in another country. The day was given to setting up the campaign office for a Federal candidate for Member of Parliament.

There is something inspiring about seeing young law students, part-time undergraduates, and grandmothers coming together to volunteer their efforts to launch a campaign. So often we think of the political process as being about candidates seeking self-advancement, yet there are always hundreds, if not thousands of other people who give countless hours to make someone else successful. This is inspiring to experience and I really want to be around such people. My view of the political process is much more positive, having now experienced it more fully than just watching it on Fox News while on the stair climber at the Y. Working with a real live candidate and seeing that she really wants to make the country better is a great antidote for the cynicism I have often had about the political process.

The Ultimate Rails to Trails Project

Myra Canyon, British Columbia


For those of us who like to ride bikes a long ways and in spectacular places, the Kettle Valley Railroad project is Heaven. An assortment of 480 miles of abandoned railroad beds in southern British Columbia have been assembled into a public access multi-use gateway in the mountains that is a world-class destination. In the summer of 2003 a vast forest fire burned many of the original wood trestles that carried ore-laden trains out of the mountains a hundred years ago. Highly motivated proponents of outdoor recreation were able to raise about $18 million to have the trestles rebuilt to their former splendor. Just a few weeks ago this magnificent park was re-opened to the public.

In the brilliance of a cerulean afternoon, Dwight, Barbara, and I piled our bikes onto the back of an old jeep and then stuffed ourselves inside for the ascent up a rutted dirt road that would take us to the starting point of a section that contains eighteen trestles traversing mountain canyons. On top, I hopped on my mountain bike and immediately felt like the king of the hill. There are not many places where one is able to ride a bike 800 feet across wood latticework two hundred feet above the canyon floor, while enjoying a view of the lakes 3,000 feet further down. Several tunnels also added to the texture of the experience. Those people in jets overhead had nothing on the experience we were able to enjoy.

En route we enjoyed fine conversation with a Swiss girl working her way across Canada by cleaning rooms and taking care of horses on ranches. On one of the trestles we encountered the retired man who had the original vision for creating a park out of these abandoned rail beds. On our return we had a nice snack of ginger snaps, fruits, and water on our return. We were back down to earth in time for a fine steak dinner.

The Kettle Valley Railroad is certainly an uplifting way to travel, even if the trains don’t run any more.

Night Flow

Kelowna, British Columbia

Life can grant us truly amazing experiences, if we are open to them. Experiences of serendipity don’t usually come with announcements or engraved invitations. In the late afternoon Dwight and I rode our bikes down the Mission Creek Greenway for some twenty kilometers. We enjoyed riding, sharing the trail with a montage of runners, cyclists, and young mothers pushing their baby carriages. This must be a user-friendly part of the world, as I received more smiles in twenty kilometers than I got in four thousand kilometers getting here to Paradise.

Along the way Dwight asked me to stop and look at the river and imagine salmon jumping upstream to spawn. As he finished his sentence, a very real salmon jumped, and then dozens of them made themselves known to us, jumping against strong currents in their bids to give life to the next generation. I was entranced to think of the incredible journey these crimson colored swimmers made from distant Pacific waters up the Columbia River, up several other rivers, and then across a series of lakes to end up in this small streambed before me. I felt like I had been on a journey to the great wilds of Nansen’s Farthest North. I never expected to see salmon spawning when I got up this morning.

My favorite time of day has always been the edge of night that comes at sunset. The cerulean sky darkens, and suddenly it erupts in crimson, lavender, and indigo. We were just passing the public beach when heavenly spectral fireworks detonated above us. Two busloads of children poured out of their yellow carriages and dissipated their pent-up energies, frolicking in the lake waters. Their happy peals of laughter added to the symphony of night sounds. Pleasant snippets of conversation with one of the bus drivers revealed him to be from Paris. He went from an urban paradise to this lakeside heaven here in the Okanogan valley. Lucky man.

On the Greenway and on the beach I had splendid experiences but still was just an observer looking in. On the street I actually became a full participant in the flow of life. We had just left the beach and were riding back towards downtown when suddenly we found ourselves in a cloud of some fifty cyclists, skateboarders, and roller bladers, dressed in wedding gowns, tuxedoes, and other formal dress. Some of these bikes had blue neon lights projecting pools of sapphire onto the ground. Skateboarders were pulling strings of empty cans as newly weds are wont to do. We were invited to join this unlikely apparition of the night, the only requirement for membership being a desire to travel by bike or board or blade. Suddenly, I knew what it was like to be caught up completely in the moment, swimming in the stream of life. Unlike those salmon swimming against the current, we flowed effortlessly with this organic train of life. This crowd swept through neighborhoods, undulating around corners, bifurcating as needed for obstacles, laughing heartily. It was intoxicating to be so caught up in the grandness of living in the now, the worries of the past and fears of the future consigned to darkness beyond the edges of blue neon.

Strangely, I felt underdressed for the first time ever on my bike. We were invited to join the group next Monday for a repeat performance. We marked it on the white board Dwight and Barbara keep to plan their myriad activities. Perhaps I should have brought a tuxedo on the plane with me after all. I do like a good party.

Alpine Images

Apex Mountain, British Columbia

The day turned into an odyssey. We first stopped in Penticton where we encountered a 10 K road race that was just finishing up. An old steam driven paddle ferry and several tugboats added an interesting ambience to the shoreline. Penticton is near the south end of Lake Okanogan and is truly a splendid bucolic sort of place. The boats and a rose garden provided opportunities to take some nice pictures. These towns here in the Okanogan valley are like all the other Canadian cities I have been in – interested in beautifying themselves with fine flowers and landscaping. The aesthetic aspects of living are so much more important here than in many places I have been.

The system of natural lakes here eventually feed into the Columbia River in the US. The outflow of these lakes is controlled by a system of weirs at Okanogan Falls. It proved an interesting place to visit. This we did on the way to a locally known ice cream emporium called Tickleberries. This shop proved a pleasing family sort of business. It is really enjoyable to be in a place that does not have every one of the American fast food franchises.

After large bowls of high fat, high taste ice cream, we doubled back slightly to Summerland for a memorial birthday party for an 87 year old man, Willis Greenaway, who died last week. He was very active in the running community and was apparently one of Canada’s great runners. He ran four marathons when he was 83. He ran up until a year ago. Dwight was once very active in this community and knew a number of the people there at the party. Colorful platters of tasty food were nicely presented and we left well fed.

We departed the party after some pleasant snippets of conversation and drove a short distance to an experimental agricultural research facility that has a really impressive and colorful botanical garden overlooking the lake valley. It was easy to make many grand photos at this garden. My next travelogues on British Columbia will be colorful, if nothing else. Happy picnics and reunions were taking place at different venues in the garden. There was even a working steam train on a trestle across a deep gorge. The gardens have the calm civilized sensibility that I have found in British gardens, and in other Canadian gardens.

A drive of some 40 miles up a winding mountain road took us to the summit of Apex mountain, about 8,000 feet above the research station in altitude. The alpine sensibility is rather pleasing. I found it expansive to be in this pristine environment and to take calendar quality pictures without effort. Apex Mountain is a destination ski resort with the large central resort surrounded by a mixture of houses, condos, and hostels. The most satisfying sound in the world has to be the quiet whistle of wind through the alpine trees. The place felt like a ghost town. Apparently, no one is here except when the place is cloaked in deep winter snows. Dwight and I roamed around the grounds and buildings of the cross-country ski club. This was the venue for part of the 1988 winter Olympics.

We ended up driving down an old logging road from the backside of the mountain. For certain this road would never end up on the grid of any kind of tourist brochure or map. We never saw another vehicle and knew we were out there by ourselves in a totally remote region. We gave back 8,000 feel of elevation on this unmarked dirt road. The brakes overheated and Dwight was profoundly stressed by the experience of getting down off the mountain. We stopped at one point to diagnosis the brakes and were able to determine that fluid loss was on the low-pressure side of the brake system and the brakes could probably be used safely, if very slowly. I was immediately reminded of my experience in 2003 getting down of off Mount Mitchell in a friends van, sans brakes. Barbara was nearly beside herself in fright from the heights on the drop offs. Dwight was greatly relieved to get down to that valley floor and find the brakes coming back to life after the hour-long descent.

Conversely, I found the experience coming down very pleasing and it afforded plenty of unhurried opportunities to make many grand pictures. The valley looked like something out of Switzerland and the descent afforded so many different aspects for grand images. There was even a small ancient church and graveyard far below on the valley floor that made for fine images. Several wild horses made for some spectacular images half way down. These horses did not get spooked and I as able to get fairly close to them.

Changing colors on the walls of the valley provided a nice backdrop to a picnic dinner we had at a picnic area on the shore of Okanogan Lake. We had a fine meal by candlelight and were finally driven back to the car by the chill that came into the edge of night. I found myself staying close to the several little candles we had lit. The torrid heat and humidity of South Carolina was long forgotten. We thawed out back at the house in the grand hot tub that Dwight and Barbara enjoy every day.

Montage

Mt. Knox, British Columbia

The day proved quite a montage of experiences. After a fine breakfast Dwight and I took our bikes out to the Mission Creek Greenway for a ride. This Greenway is the result of a community development project Barbara worked on for several years. The greenway allows one to ride about ten miles along a scenic small river, sometimes under the canopy of a fine forest. We had a fine ride until suddenly stopped by the disappearance of the trail under a steep landslide. We made a detour and hauled our bikes up a steep cliff and continued our ride on the other side. Coming back we made the decision to save a lot of time and arduous climbing by going over the landslide that obliterated the trail and part of the riverbed. We did what probably could be considered reckless behavior and carried our bikes over the unstable fallen rock. We survived intact and finished up a nice bike ride.

We actually got back in time for a really grand luncheon of a rich soup that Barbara had made for us. I ate three bowls of this along with a large quantity of crackers and cheese. Dwight does get to eat very well.

The afternoon was given over to attending a rather fine art festival in Winfield. Hundreds of vendors were present and the quality of the art was amazingly good. A number of musicians were wandering about and the ambience was pleasing. On the way to the festival we picked up a friend. I had e-mailed with her ten years ago and she was lost to me in a darkness of the soul that came over her. It was nice to finally connect with her in person after all these years. She is quite guarded but does seem to be in a much better place in her life than she was years ago. Like so many people I have met in the past couple of years, she has taken refuge in the keeping and caring of animals.

After the art festival closed for the day, we attended a private fund raising reception for the arts organization that operates in Winfield. Fine young women wandered around and passed out hors d’oeuvres while a musician played competently on a harp. The artsy ambience was certainly in great contrast to hiking our bikes over rock falls. We watched the sun settle down on the horizon as the reception wound down. It was a nice experience that was certainly off the tourist grid. I think I will be able to stay off the tourist grid for the most part in the next weeks.

Mt Knox is a promontory next to Kelowna that offers spectacular views the 70-mile Lake Okanogan and the city below. It made for some grand images at the last of sunset. There is something expansive about being on top of high places taking good pictures. It is interesting that the times I feel most engaged with life is when I am capturing it in photographs.

Life in The Slow Lane

Kelowna, British Columbia

Yesterday I spent several hours on the interstate, ten hours in three different jets, moving at about 470 miles per hour, and about eight hours in four different airports. I saw the sun three different times at seven miles altitude. When I went to bed after nineteen hours of travel, I hardly knew where I was.

Today was sublime in its slowness of pace. After a fine sleep of seven hours and leisurely conversation with my good friends Dwight and Barbara, Dwight and I set out to see British Columbia – at eight miles an hour. On two old bikes obtained from yard sales, we set off to see the marshlands and sites around Okanogan Lake here on the edge of Kelowna. We rode around town and I realized that a bike must be the perfect way to see a city for the first time. Kelowna has become a destination city for wealthy retirees. The amenities and recreation opportunities here are incredible. The outdoor recreational ethic here is powerful and I rather basked in the idea of being part of it for a few weeks. What I really basked in was riding around this fine lake nestled in the Canadian Rockies with a good friend for conversation. The ultimate benefit from travel to other countries is meeting new friends and building a lifetime of memories. At one point we made happy conversation with a couple visiting from Dublin, Ireland. There are some really fine interesting people in this world. I am grateful for the opportunity to be out and about again. Life is good.

Transitions

Kelowna, British Columbia

I usually start out my day on my bike, traversing about ten miles of pleasant scenery at the sedate pace of eleven miles per hour. I often see familiar faces and on occasion get invited in for breakfast. With drought this summer, I have enjoyed many fine clear sunrises a mere three feet above ground on my bike seat. Today was very different. I saw the sun from seven miles up three different times.

The first time I saw the high-altitude brilliance of the September sun was above the emerald mounds of the Appalachian Mountains. The radiance of the sun was lost as we descended into the tempestuous remains of hurricane Gustav, which has stalled out over Chicago’s airports. I will leave it to the imagination as to what the ride down through it felt like. I did a whole lot of deep breathing. A consolation is the flight only cost $8. Credit card gimmicks are great for frequent flier miles.

There is always something special about going to a place for the first time. And so it was that in mid-afternoon we climbed back out above the remains of Gustav and headed west to the base of the Canadian Rockies. The afternoon brilliance washed away the darkness of Gustav and happy prospects of grand adventures in the high mountains overwrote impressions of my earlier white-knuckle experience. Calgary is the eastern gateway city to the Canadian Rockies, best known for destinations such as Banff and Jasper with their surreal emerald tinted glacial lakes. Mineral content released from the undersides of glacial flows gives this incredible color to the lakes of western Canada. It is nearly impossible to take a bad picture in this part of the world

In the late afternoon sunlight Calgary was embedded in a cosmic-sized patchwork quilt of russet, orange, yellow, and various other earth tones. The upper North American plains have a unique beauty of their own. Happily, the landscape was exactly as I envisioned it to be, possessed of a familiarity that was comforting to me after fifteen hours of travel.

The last time I saw the sun today was at sunset over the Canadian Rockies. Truly the stuff of calendar pages.