fall.

Fall.

Where I come from, the 'in between' seasons don't have a lot to say 
as summer reaches out her oppressive arms long into autumn and spring. 
There are almost no deciduous trees at all and the landscape remains for the most part unaltered by the rotation of the earth. 
When it does come, the change is subtle 
and you barely get the chance to enjoy the slightly brisk nip in the air before you realise 
it's already winter.

But this is not home.

This is Canada. This is the Eastern Townships. This is Maple country.

Beginning while the daylight still lingers long into the late afternoon and the lady bugs settle on the windows, 
the green of the leaves of a single branch of a tree over here and a tree over there appears to brighten.

The next day a few more trees have followed suit and are faintly yellowing 
while the brightening leaves of the first changing trees are beginning to glow.

Not three days more pass by and already the transformation of the first turning leaves is complete. Some are luminescent lemonade, others are filling with butternut pumpkin orange and gold and still others seduce you with a cherry-bomb ravishing red lipstick burn.

Every day another branch, 
another tree, 
another patch of the forest 
succumbs to the season,
erupts in a blazing chorus of fire until 
Finally
As far as the eye can see
The whole natural world seems to be singing a glorious joyful hymn
"Everything is changing, what has come will go,
But notice it! See it! Sense the change in the world! 
Observe the changing world within you. 
You are part of this world after all"

And so as the days become shorter you spend a little more time in the sun
Delighting in each remaining light filled hour while you can
Picking the last cherry tomatoes and savouring their sweetness with the heightened awareness and appreciation that comes when one senses
that time is running out.

The fall is drama and jazz. 
A middle eight sax solo on vintage vinyl, 
crescendos of rich warm tones over a steady swing,
all smiles closed eyes and "mmmmm". 
Each day building on the beauty of the last
until suddenly one morning
Without any warning
You notice that the most beautiful day has already passed. 
For while your eyes were focussed on the rising, roaring kaleidoscope in the canopies 
You did not see that the decline, the fading of the palate to brown had already begun, 
Some branches are already bare, 
The trails are being hidden in debris
And soon
Everything will fall down.

For Viviane and Pierre who were home for us in the fall. 

Nanny State

London has a definate dark witchcraft feeling about it. From the air, you can see evidence of how ''they'' might control the energy and people through sacred geometric planning - or perhaps its just one big mess. On the ground, it feels like a decaying, defunct empire - yet the sunflowers grow up through cracked concrete and cobblestone. Not literally of course, but through the ribcage of a megalithic super power of dominance, white light shines anew. While trash piles up in the streets, street food vans pop up almost inconviniently at times. It's probably best to ignore what the beast is up to and get in tune with the resiliently optimistic song of the people.

Our time in London was a whirlwind tour. The constant repetition of the name Cockfosters was the our anchor to hilarity, keeping us from insanity on that long ride out of Heathrow. We dropped our bags in with Sarah & Phil and hurried of to Kings Cross for a midnight meeting of chocolate and tea with Jenna  & Jordan. We had been in so many of the same countries in the last 3 months and were only crossing over for 8 hours.

We met up with friends formerly from Australia including Jesse & Cathy, Leonie and her kids + Electra, Tim & Gus. Our trip out to Camden certainly left a lasting impression. You may spot it in photographs from now on, if you pay close attention!

chronicles of the uninhabitable land to the north, part 1.

Daniel: Iceland was destined to be a cornerstone in our travels. Gavin's tales, Sigur Ros and The Secret Life of Walter Middy all portray a depth of beauty that goes unparalleled. In reflection, it seems quite reasonable that CS Lewis and Tolkien drew on tales of the Uninhabitable Land to the North for inspiration for Narnia and Middle Earth. Iceland is expensive, and it was my intention to arrive there with enough money to have a good time. It was a dream to drive around the West Fjords, to hike Landmannalugar and to visit Solheimar Ecovillage. To swim in glaciers, hot springs, view geysers and play with horses. Somehow, Iceland found us in complete flow. Dreams came true.

Lauren: pulling up the shade on my window after my mini movie marathon on route from Helsinki, all I could see was a sea of white clouds. These clouds were coy, playful and lovely but flirtatiously concealing our destination. After a few moments the rouse was up and as the clouds parted I caught my breath escaping. It was love at first sight, from a thousand feet high.

Dstrel: The air was crisp, the wind was biting, the sky was dreary and the atmosphere was excitedly prime. Upon arrival at the BCM bus station, we were presented with The Keys To The City. A man had purchased 2 Rejkavik cards for the weekend and was flying out. This pass gave us access to all the museums and pools, which sounds underwhelming, but we have neglected to mention the fact that the pools are naturally heated and it was only 8 degrees out. An auspicious start.

We were foiled yet again by European efficiency. We told our host that we were arriving at 3. Europeans speak in 24 hour time, so he was out hiking in the rain when we arrived. So we walked briskly past the national staple food (hotdogs) and hit the pools.

El Strel: Recovering from an R-rated introduction to the women of Iceland in the pool's change-rooms (no doors, no cubicles, no curtains - just a lot of nudity from infants to the elderly), we headed back to the bus station for our rendezvous with our host. We found Hugi through the couch surfing website and while he does offer a free bed while you're with him (not just a couch!) he also charges 200 euro per person for a super charged two day tour with him as your driver and guide. We did a little bit of research and it not only seemed, based on the reviews, that this would be the most fun way to see the sites, but we wouldn't have to sell one of our kidneys to afford the trip.

Dinny - it wasn't R-rated, it was normal. Ok so if you want to imagine a man driving off-road while playing harmonica terribly while drinking tang while iceing both his eyeballs with the only thing he drinks besides tang - energy drinks, that's Hugi. We spent a day alone in the care of this mental patient and lived to tell the tale. We spent the morning (11 - 3pm) running amok on the lava fields, exploring ship-wrecks and abandoned houses that were now a long way from the sea. We learnt how Iceland was sucked into the beast through fishing. They were once a self-sustaining farming community and now they labour and toil to export fish and import televisions and hot dogs. In the evening, with the sun high in the sky, we stopped in at the Blue Lagoon.

At the Blue Lagoon, you can pay a lot of money for a face mask. Alternatively, you can pull up at the Geothermal Plant, drop an egg in the sand and collect a big ol' big of silica for yourself.

Lorenzo: The following day, Hugi took Daniel and I along with two other couch surfers Claudia and Daniel, jumped into a hired van and covered a month's worth of tourist spots in 14 hours.

Digby: The power of those waterfalls, the shrinkage from swimming in glacial waters and the eerie nature of a black beach even now feels unfathomable. Hugi was a genius, the giver of gargantuon gifts.

Thousands of words worth of pictures below. 

Daniel swimming in the waterfall

Adventures into Health Sovereignty

In Finland, I wound up in hospital again. This time, it was appendicitis. I am told that acute appendicitis is quite serious, that it should be operated immediately and that if it ruptures there would be shit all over my lumen and that I could become septic and die. However, we waited 7 hours to see a doctor in Pori hospital.

When a short haired young surgeon did attend me, he proudly rattled off a number of epidemiological statistics to me and assured me it was safe and necessary, quick and cheap. When I asked him how he knew for sure that it was appendicitis, he proclaimed "When we remove the appendix, we will see the inflammation!!  In 90% of cases". This seemed absurd to me, but I soon realised that much of the decision making process in hospitals is based on epidemiology and not on what's actually happening for the patient. I had neglected this in my painful perusal of Kumar & Clarke.

Lauren had found some articles online about successful appendicitis treatment with hardcore IV probiotics. I love a good drip anyway, and with extremely concentrated urine, I was convinced that this was the right way to go. So I demanded it. The doctor was quite upset and didn't understand at all. In his mind it was safe, effective, cheap and quick, and I had insurance.

I assured them that 4 days in hospital was no big deal (I needed some rest again anyway) and did not give my consent to surgery. I was contemptuously delivered to a quarantined section in the surgical ward.

I was scared. Of course. Particularly for Lauren, who stood faithfully beside me and bravely held my hand and backed me all the way. I was forced to take a stand, to put some action and faith behind the words that I preach. These words are about my body's natural ability to heal.

But the appendix isn't important - we have been told. I didn't have the full download on the appendix but I knew it was part of my immune system. I'm also aware of how patients can "recover" and live "normally", without ever linking the cascade of health challenged that occur after having an organ removed. I just wasn't convinced that it was necessary.

I had a restless night and just as I found some peace and slipped into some solid as slumber, an Old Nurse stormed in, smacked me in the stomach and told me that they needed to operate. She was an Old Nurse and Finnish Matriarch and had seen it all. I was desperately hanging out for my test results. When they arrived, my CRP inflammation markers had risen from 24 to 71. Normal is 9. My heart began to beat faster, but the young nurse told me that while it was high, it was lower than expected, and they would continue to monitor me.

I got on to my friend, a champion in health sovereignty, Mason Taylor. We worked out that the appendix is a storehouse for beneficial bacteria, plays an important role in pulling out parasites and creates some hormones as well. Mostly, I wanted to know that I wasn't insane. Having Mason available and playing full out for me on Skype was so reassuring. When we take a risk and take responsibility, we put our trust in ourselves, but we don't need to be alone. Thanks brother. We discussed the role medicinal mushrooms Reishi and Chaga and the most powerful anti inflammatory food, tumeric, and Lauren smuggled some into the hospital for me.

I was on a mission to drive the inflammation down. Most of my sugar, wheat and chemical laden food ended up in the bin and the catering staff couldn't work out what to feed me. The nurses didn't seem to understand the benefits of fasting. When my tea came, I'd stuff the bag in the draw and unscrew two reishi capsules and drop them into the hot water. Eventually, the tumeric (curcuma extract 2400mg) tablets replaced the ibuprofen and paracetamol, because it was equally effective.

My friend Holly organised a Body Talk session for me on Skype with a remote healer. Tanja assured me that my appendix wanted to stay, and I explored some deep emotional links to my physical condition. I visualised my bowels being washed in healing water and I had complete peace and trust after this.

I had to step up and take a stand for myself with 4 different doctors, on the last day, 7 people marched into my room first thing in the morning to put the pressure on. My ass was swabbed every morning because I had been in hospital in India and I had to shit on a bucket. When I did, I made sure it was ripe. I was in quarantine. The nurses had to sterilise themselves. They were afraid of ME. I found this quite entertaining.I began making the most of my time in hospital, listening to Nakao Bear & Medicine for the people, taking half hour showers and sun toning / chakra singing, meditation and keeping the positivity high. I became overwhelmed with feelings of love and gratitude for life.

My inflammation came down and I was offered preventative  surgery one more time before I was discharged, with a warning that it WILL come back. The nurse who brought me my papers was speechless.I don't think anyone had stepped into sovereignty in Pori hospital before.

Now it was up to me to make some changes in my life and diet. I stopped eating meat. I agreed with Lauren to take the course of antibiotics prescribed but after 3 days, my tongue was white and I was losing sleep due to a severe fungal rash. I knew that the antibiotics were directly responsible. I read an intriguing Christian book about healing and was praying to God. I got an answer. "You say you are healed, why are you taking antibiotics?" I spoke to Lauren and stopped taking them.

Since then, I have had one flare up. I noticed that it only hurt if I was stressed or afraid. So I stopped worrying, popped a couple of coffee enemas and returned to healing. I'm grateful for the snake medicine for teaching me to trust myself.

Catalan Shit

I started melting down in Barcelona. Life was great but I wasn't enjoying it.

So we left the city and landed on the coast. The moment that we stepped out of the car we felt lighter... happy... on holiday.

Roses is a holiday town. The Mediterranean smells like seafood, not just fish guts. We spent hours on the rocks in the sun, diving into the ocean, watching fish and wind surfers capsizing.

We couch surfed with a school teacher named Quim. His house was a mess, because on the weekends he likes to party. We arrived in the evening as Quim was raving in the forest the night prior. At about midnight he took us and a cyclist from Brittany to a Reggae Bar on the beach in the middle of nowhere where his ex-students were getting high with the parents of his current students. Over dinner of fruit and salted cucumbers, Quim told us all about the Catalan tradition of shitting logs at Christmas and why the Spanish Government are fucking bastards. He also told us to go to Cadecque, so we did.

It was a pebble beach. We nailed some bad coffee which was actually enjoyable and began to come to life. Spanish folk music was in the air at the market and we spent the rest of the day eating apricots and cherries while walking around the peninsula and swimming naked. We absorbed an abundance of prana from the elements - sun, ocean and sand. I did a Rain Drop (usually an oil massage) for Lauren on the beach and the energy was electric.

Our time on the Costa Brava was truly a holiday within a holiday.

Beer, Fries & Chocolate

Beer, Fries and Chocolate? What more could you want? Throw in great coffee, raw food, decadent architecture, quirky customs and the most friendly people on Earth and you've got Belgium (or more accuratley, Ghent).

  Becoming accustomed to www.blablacar.com, we took a carshare on a rainy afternoon from Paris to Brussells where the circles of our travels began repeating on themselves. We made rendezvous with a Taiwanese lady who we met in a canoe on the Lake in Pokara, Nepal. Mai has been living and working as an artist in Brussells for 22 years. It's so strange and wonderful to be seeing an old friend on the other side of the world, albeit another English speaking human who we spent half an hour with for the sake of convenience. Mai gave us a brief tour of one of the most grande squares in Europe before we settled in for a cozy beer in the most ornate room that I've ever worn a t-shirt and shorts in. Lauren and I commented that we immediately felt a sense of ease in Brussells in stark contrast to Paris. We tried some local dishes and felt at home amongst warm stews and absurdly grown white asparagus - something a little more rustic than the refined peasant food of France. Mei took us back to her designer apartment (DIY), and with so much style, took a knife from the draw and proceeded to sharpen it on the bottom of a ceramic mug. We shared stories of India and Nepal over Leffe and cured meat and blew off our early morning ride. It turns out that you can get anywhere in Belgium in under an hour for 7euro by train. We lightened our load, leaving some bags behind and boarded the train to Bruges / Brugge.

Bruges is an astonishing little village, perfectly preserved as an outdoor museum of the 13th Century. The second zone of the city is modern, and that's where we had our most creepy couch surfing experience to date. We stayed with a very strange man indeed. He was harmless, but his house smelled of cheese balls and had pictures of him with famous people or latino women. He had a printed piece of paper on his door which cautioned ''Don't EVER wake me... unless it's for sex or the house is on fire''. We half expected to wake during the night and see the glimmer of his teeth and eyeballs as he watched us sleep. We didn't wake to such a sight and as far as I know, he slept in his room, sans sex with another human. As you can imagine, we got out of there ASAP in the morning, stashed our bags in a locker at the train station before learning the art of frying a chip and making chocolate. It's as underwhelming as it sounds, but Andalusian Sauce (actually from Belgium) is delicious. A side benefit was learning the history behind the term ''French Fries''. Next stop on our whirlwind tour of Belgium became our favourite town in Europe. Ghent. The mediaeval feel of Brugge with the addition of a university creates ambience and a ''lived in'' feeling. Ghent boasts its own 12th century fortified castle which has only been taken twice - once in the 1950's by students who were protesting beer prices. Beer is a way of life in Ghent. On a sunny summers day you will see the city filled with people, drinking out of brew-specific glassware on the canals. On weekends it's common to see a mobile bar powered by men drinking beer careening over the car-free cobblestone. We were witness to many raucous bucks and hens parties (Lauren signed a hairy man's stomach) and we've been told that O-week is brutal. One evening we left our wallet in a cafe. When we ran back with our CS host, Steijn, much to our dismay, the cafe was closed for the long weekend. By chance, the owner arrived, a little tipsy, she let us in, found the wallet with all the money in it and gave us a round of beers to celebrate.

We caught up with Bri and Lilith both in Ghent and Antwerp. Inter-city travel is like suburban travel for Belgians. It was great to drink Belgians best coffee (usually from Caffienation) with friends from home, throw disc again and always eat frites (chips). Our CS host in Antwerp also gave us a full expository of European Gin, which was most welcome on these stormy nights which left Antwerp looking like a warzone. We returned to Brussels only to be exploited by Ryan Air. We will never use a budget airline again.

A perfect day in champagne.

Have you ever had a day that you knew, before it had even begun, would be a day that you would probably always remember? Maybe you could call it anticipatory nostalgia? It's a ''remember that time next week when we had the best day ever?'' kind of feeling. A few weeks ago, a beautiful sunny Sunday was one of those days for us, and as such must be shared, so here it is. A perfect day in Champagne with Tyson.

Tyson and his amazing wife Rachael (and their fantastic boys for that matter) are truly great friends of ours whom we love dearly and when Tyson said he would be in Europe at the same time as us we definitely wanted to arrange a rendezvous. At the end of our time in Spain all we were sure of was that we wanted to go to Germany, and as geography has it, France is right in the way. Sneaky Champagne catch up scheming began!

Two carpooling trips, a night couch-surfing with a Kenyan ex-Olympic athlete, 4 days with a raw-vegan including one nude day, a night in Paris at the festival of music in the city centre with a friend we made doing yoga in India, two early metros, a train and another car pool trip later (other stories for other times...) we arrived in Champagne!

Overwhelmed at the excitement of seeing someone we actually know, my mind raced with dozens of questions all at once and couldn't decide which to send to my lips so I filled my mouth with farm fresh raspberries Tyson had bought on the way instead. He told us he had intended to buy strawberries but, due in part to Mr strawberry-struck-Stelzer's visits in previous days, the farm had run out!

Not one to do anything by halves, Tyson hadn't just sketched out a rough idea of things to do for the afternoon and evening but had carefully scheduled a wonderful day down to the hour, designed to ensure we would have the quintessential champagne experience and have plenty of fun along the way and simultaneously appearing to be making it up as he went along and surprising us every step of the way!

We caught up over lunch, swapping stories from the last few months and enjoying seafood with our first bottle of champagne for the day. Tasting pink peppers for the first time though was the highlight of the meal. I didn't know pink had a flavour!

Following lunch, we didn't need to drive far from the centre of Reims to our next appointment – a private tour and tasting at the most prestigious Taittinger (www.taittinger.com). Each moment at this exemplary Champagne house was saturated with centuries of tradition.


As we (literally) went deeper and deeper into Taittinger, or rather under it,

we learned about the processes and methods of champagne making, took in the history of the region and were swept up in the romance and mystery of the crisp 13th century cellars and below them the 4th century Roman chalk caves. Hundred year old lover’s graffiti, initials in hearts and flowers, short stair cases with overhead step guides for the hands of monks moving through the tunnels in the dark and rough marks of ancient hammers told the stories of the caves over time.

In total contrast, a ride in the elevator to a grand room just two floors above exposed the corporate modernity of the large international exporter in the tiny plastic faces of the French and Brazilian foosball players in the custom made table and the holographic soccer ball/champagne bubble labels of the limited edition bottles for the 2014 World Cup (Taittinger is the official champagne partner). Our experience of Taittinger was made complete with a tasting of the house’s specialty in a private room with our guide, Mathieu, who poured generously. Back in the car, with a bottle each for later on, we drove past the majestic cathedral and continued our adventure.

From the heights of splendour and opulence in the Champagne region, we changed pace for a while and spent a leisurely drive taking in the provincial village streets and charming vineyards of the Montagne de Reims area. We arrived at what Daniel and I thought was going to be a stroll through the forest (and it was at first – with dappled light seeping through high branches down to mossy stones and birds crooning us as somewhere nearby thrill seekers could be heard sailing down flying foxes on the ropes course). Tyson surprised us again though with a booking at the perchingbar which, as the name suggests, is a tree house style champagne bar in the canopy of the forest overlooking the vineyards and small towns of the district. It was the perfect place to watch the fields soak up the bright afternoon sun. If you happen to be in the area, this is worth the visit.

Another enchanting drive brought us to our next surprise, and a truly special place. Tyson had told us about his visits here from previous trips so the reputation preceded it, and we definitely not disappointed by dinner at Anselme Selosse's Les Avises. I can’t even describe how incredible our time at this brilliant biodynamic organic champagne house/restaurant was. We loved everything about it! The champagne was seriously incredible, with different aspects revealed as it befriended and welcomed each of the first 4 courses or so of our meal. And the food! My goodness! The chef creates a new 4-5 course menu every day, as he has done since the restaurant opened. He only uses quality fresh seasonal produce and (I hear) has never repeated an item.

That’s creativity! Everyone who books for dinner eats the same meal so other than selecting your accompanying champagne, you just sit down and enjoy the ride. And what a ride! Though there were many divine flavour combinations that kept us audibly “mmmm”ing as the night went on, the roasted goats cheese stuffed dates stand out for me as a delight. We had shared our table with another party of three. As we all chatted together after dessert we learned that we were sitting with included Jean-Laurent Vacheron (another champagne maker) who was celebrating his birthday. Jean-Laurent invited us to join him and his friend for another bottle before we all left.

At 11.30pm, driving back to our B&B Tyson announced that he had one last surprise that he was very excited about and suspected that we would be too. We pulled up on a quiet residential street in Chouilly and Tyson handed us both bags. Then, with the last light still lingering on the horizon and with the enthusiasm and glee of children, I discarded my shoes and climbed trees as we all picked white cherries! Almost every tree on the footpath of the street was a white cherry tree so there was plenty to go around and no one was awake to catch us in our midnight thievery anyway. The spontaneity and fun of it kept me grinning for days afterwards.

 

Back at Les Barbotines at Paul Clouet in Bouzy, the most darling B&B I can imagine, our champagne had been cooled and the sitting room prepared for us with chocolates and flowers from the garden and we settled in until the wee small hours… And so, sitting in our bathrobes, glass of champagne in hand, handful of cherries in the other, the day ended how it began; with great chats between old friends over fresh fruit.

 Breakfast here deserves a mention. Do you know that seen from The Little Princess when she finds that someone has made a feast of so many wonderful different foods that she can’t even imagine and it’s just so full of joy? Well that’s what awaited us in the dining room; a banquet of freshly baked croissants, brioche, soft breads, seven different types of preserves including mango and passionfruit, champagne jelly (I don’t know if anyone else makes this but it is basically spreadable champagne – if you ever see it BUY IT!), flat white peaches and apricots, yoghurt with strawberry compote, omelettes, cured meats, cheeses, herbal teas, coffee. I honestly felt like it was Christmas.

We have so so so much gratitude to Tyson for what was one of the best days ever.