A big warm Hello all the way from South Africa!!
After a long day of traveling and an
even longer time preparing for this elective, I am finally in Johannesburg! I
have not yet had time to explore the town but I already have plenty to share about
the past thirty six hours so sit back and enjoy, this might be a long one.
Listening suggestion:
I spent my last day in Montreal
trying to complete the to-do’s I had mentioned in my previous entry. Nothing
very exiting at first really: laundry, dishes, garbage, currency exchange,
getting a new digital camera, a headlight, etc… A lot of boring tasks mindnumbingly
following one another sharply contrasted by what would certainly follow in the
upcoming weeks. But this was a necessary evil of course.
The day picked up when I rode
Charlotte to visit my friend Riley in the West Island. He is a fellow adventure
motorcyclist that I originally met through his work with the Awesome Players Off-Road Motorcycle Club posting
videos on internet of his friends and him riding dirt. When Charlotte was born,
being a green sprout in my new world of off-road riding, I sent him an email
inquiring about possible trails I could sample. We exchanged a few back and
forths and eventually went for a ride together towards the end of the summer
along with my good buddy Arnaud. When I knew I was going to rent a motorcycle
in Jo’Burg, I thought a few videos would make a nice memento and asked Riley if
he could lend me his GoPro, the camera version of a tank, though much more
portable. Even if he did not know me all that well, Riley generously obliged
with no collaterals or special conditions. This might seem strange but the
unwritten rules of motorcycle etiquette indicate otherwise.
I had first realized this when I
rode Lucy, my other bike, down to Mexico and back. This uncanny bond bikers
share that unites perfect strangers as if they were long time friends. An almost
unique innocent naiveté that I have come to cherish. There is something very
pure and very liberating about being able make an instant connection, as a
child would on his first day at school, with another human being. And what are
motorcyclists but children with better means?
I ended up staying an hour with
Riley taking about bikes until he had to leave to pick up his kids at school. I
thanked him and drove back home. I finished packing my bags, prepped the house
for the Christmas party I am planning on having the day I come back, and made a
few calls to get a bunch of friends over for a last beer. I might not say it as
often as I should, but my close friends are a second family to me. Some of them
have been around for over twenty years. We have shared laughs, successes,
defeats, and even fights with one another but just like in a family, an invisible attachment
to one another has kept us together for longer than people stay married
nowadays. I was very glad to have Julien, Arnaud, Yoan, Evan, Phil, and Garen
with me that evening.
When it was ultimately time to go,
as I was going to spend the night at my parents’, we shared one last laugh at
my expense (which certainly had nothing
to do with me carrying a huge backpack on a motorcycle) and I drove off into
the night with Yoan as my escorting motorcade.
I parked Charlotte in my parents’
garage next to Lucy – who had been there for a few weeks – and prepared them
for hibernation by disconnecting their batteries and adding stabilizer fluid to
their fuel. I had one last look at my two girls, silently thanked them for yet
another amazing summer, and closed the garage door. They had been particularly
good to me this year.
My parents received me with
champagne and cake despite the late hour following which I hugged my father
goodnight and goodmonth for we both knew very well the impossibility he would
face both trying to wake up early and being conscious enough for a proper early
morning send off. My mom, being the valiant ball of energy she has always been,
would take care of that. Family, second family, motorcycles, medicine, South
Africa… I went to bed thanking whatever fortune saw that I be so blessed.
New listening suggestion:
4:30: the gentle tune from my phone
announces the start of the day. From the bosoms of my bed; a groan, a moan, but
no more.
4:34: my always dependable ball of
energy swoops down to the basement to find her son as awake as his father a
story above him. She wakes me and as fast as she came in, disappears upstairs. I am slow to stir up but I manage to harvest whatever energy
may be to put a foot in front of the other and make my way to the kitchen. The invariable
hot chocolate prepared and some peanut butter toasts at my mercy, I sit down at
the dinning room table and begin to silently read the previous day’s newspaper.
Flashback some fifteen odd years ago, one would have observed the exact same
scene. Although I still could not mumble a single word, it was a sweet reminder
of the daily routine I shared with my mom when I was younger.
On my way to the airport, I had a quick
and pleasant conversation with my sister with promises to follow up on skype
now that we would be on more agreeable time zones. Before passing the US border
(while still in Canada, someone still has to explain that one to me) I kissed
my mother goodbye, turned around only to face nothing but novelty for the next
month. Novelty especially in the American Border Officer who let me pass after
a short questionnaire and a completely unexpected “Have a great trip Big Guy!”
My first of two flights sent me to
New York JFK. Flying over parts of Long Island and seeing capsized boats remaining
from the onslaught of Sandy sent me back momentarily to post-Katrina New
Orleans on the Mexican road trip I just previously mentioned. Not that I am
trying to compare one to the other, but I remember the emotional scars deeply
seeded in the people I had met in Louisiana and could not help but feel a
slight heart pinch at the recent misfortune that had befallen the people in New
England and everywhere else Sandy had hit.
Before embarking on my fourteen hour
flight, I suddenly noticed a lot of tall, blond haired, blue eyed, and not to
mention gorgeous, people around me. It was Holland all over again!
I used to dread airplane travel when
I was a kid. The small leg space, the bad movie selection, or the engine noise
and the resulting lack of sleep all contributed to make my past experiences
uncomfortable and rather annoying. But this time, I was treated to increased
leg room, quiet engines, a personal touch screen for movie-viewing pleasure…
and I even slept!
There was a television channel that
kept our progress up to date and I had a bitter sweet moment as we crossed the
equator. Part of me was exhilarated to enter the southern hemisphere, but
another part was perhaps ashamed that I had done so so very easily. During the
Mexico trip, crossing the Tropic of Cancer felt like a great achievement,
something that was well deserved, whereas the feeling I will keep of my
crossing of the equator will be that of a formality.
Two movies and a lot of reading
later, I touched down in Johannesburg. I had arranged for a private pick up
through the accommodation I would be staying at. The white driver welcomed me
with a big smile and enjoyably chatted at lengths about South Africa and Jo’burg
in general crossing topics such as sports, politics, history, and even botanics.
There was a slight discomfort on my part when he mentioned “the good old days”
but I think he may have been talking more about the moral values of a hard and difficult
farming lifestyle than the segregationist political system that enabled it.
He dropped me off at my house which
I will share with other students. There is a garden partly under the shade of a
lemon tree with a patio area and a braii (BBQ). It spells out relaxation.
Time to go pick up a motorcycle!
Cheers folks,
TF
PS: Good luck Herniated Sticks for the game tonight
PPS: Enjoy the evening MIM
PS: Good luck Herniated Sticks for the game tonight
PPS: Enjoy the evening MIM
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