Noël sur le Mekong

Quand j'ai écrit à ma mère qu'on allait passer Noël sur le Mekong (lien vers les photos), je ne croyais pas si bien dire. On a pris un bateau de Huay Xai à Luang Prabang, deux jours de croisière sur le Mekong avec un arrêt pour dormir à Pak Beng. Attendez... Il fallait voir le bateau, une barque longue et étroite avec des bancs en bois, remplie à capacité. Première journée, six heures de descente, paysages magnifiques. Le 24 au soir, on a très bien mangé à Pak Beng, un petit village tout en longueur. Le matin de Noël, lever à 7 h. A 7 h 30, on est dans un petit resto - en fait une plateforme avec un toit - pour le déjeuner : crêpes, oeufs, pain baguette (les Français ont laissé la recette avec du fromage Vache qui rit et la pétanque - petang en laotien - avant d'accorder l'indépendance au Laos), et ont se fait faire des sandwichs pour la journée qui s'en vient. A 9 h, embarquement. On se met finalement en route à 10 h pour une journée de 9 h de bateau, assis sur une planche. Il y avait moins d'espace que dans un autobus scolaire.
En cours de route, ça n'a pas empeché le capitaine d'arrêter sur la berge de plusieurs villages pour prendre quelques passagers de plus et mettre de grands paniers de bambou remplis de poules, coqs, canards et dindes sur le toit du bateau. Nous supposions qu'ils étaient destinés au souper de Noël de Luang Prabang et qu'ils seraient farcis et grillés dans quelques heures.
Beaux paysages encore, la forêt vierge - ou presque - tout le long du parcours, mais à la fin du deuxième jour on prenait pas mal moins de photos. On commençait à avoir hâte d'arriver parce qu'on avait déjà commencé à avoir faim, les sandwichs étaient mangés depuis longtemps. Et c'est à ce moment que le moteur a lâché. La boite de vitesse si vous voulez tout savoir. Le silence impérieux du moteur était accompagné du silence stupéfait des voyageurs. Le bateau dérivait, emporté par le puissant courant du Mekong, et se dirigeait vers des rochers acérés avec une centaine de personnes à bord et non moins de poules, coqs, dindes et canards sur le toit qui, eux, ne s'étaient aperçus de rien. Heureusement, nos marins d'eau douce ont réagi rapidement et seulement avec le gouvernail et un rame, ils ont réussi à sortir le bateau du courant pour le laisser dériver doucement plus près du rivage. Un pêcheur s'est approché rapidement en canot, on lui a lancé une corde qu'il a attachée à un rocher. Le bateau a glissé tranquillement jusqu'au bord, nous étions sains et sauves.

J'ai aperçu notre capitaine, debout sur les rochers avec son téléphone cellulaire. Il avait enlevé son pantalon pour sauter à l'eau et tirer le bateau. J'ai dit à Patricia "Passe-moi la caméra, notre capitaine est en petites culottes". Spontanément, Julien a levé les bras au ciel et a crié : "Capitaine Bobettes!" Ce qui nous a fait éclater de rire avec quelques Français. Le telepone ne fonctionait pas et le capitaine est parti en canot avec le pecheur, sans rien dire, laissant les passagers pour le moins perplexes. Une anglaise a dit : "Well I guess that's what they mean when they say We're all i the same boat". Un Canadien de Nouvelle-Ecosse s'est exclamé : "I feel like I'm in Survivor!" ce qui a détendu l'atmosphere pour ceux qui ont le sens de l'humour et qui connaissent la série télévisée. Les autres riaient jaune.

Une passagère, une Laotienne chiquement habillée à l'occidentale, a servi d'interprète (elle parlait aussi bien le français et l'anglais que le laotien). Elle a dit qu'il allait chercher un autre bateau à Luang Prabang et qu'il serait de retour dans 1 h 30. Il était 17 h 10. Comme je disais à Julien qu'on devrait faire un feu parce qu'il allait bientôt faire noir (c'est plus facile de ramasser du bois quand il fait clair, surtout quand il faut s'assurer qu'il n'y a pas de scorpion caché sous la branche), j'ai vu que d'autres s'y mettaient déjà, un peu plus loin sur une plage. Nous sommes allés les rejoindre pour donner un coup de mains. L'enthousiasme contagieux de Julien faisait rire toute le monde.
La nuit est tombée a 18 h 15. Quelques-uns ont essayé d'entonner des chansons de Noël mais ça n'a pas pris. Tout le monde était calme, mais on commençait à avoir bien faim. Il y avait de la bière et des chips à vendre à bord, mais j'attendais de voir ce qui se passerait. Certains avaient entendu dire que le bateau arriverait avec de la nourriture. Vers 19 h 30, un petit bateau est arrivé. Nous étions auprès du feu, à environ 50 mètres plus bas sur la grève. Une fille (une Belge flamande) est venue et a annoncé : "On passe la nuit ici, ils ne peuvent pas naviguer dans le noir". On s'en doutait bien, mais personne n'avait osé rien dire. Il n'y a pas d'éclairage sur les bateaux et aucune balise le long du Mekong malgré un fort courant et de nombreux récifs sur une rivière qui serpente. Julien était ravi, les autres se sont résignés.

Pour souper, ils nous ont donné des nouilles instantanées (style Ramen). Julien a eu un paquet pour lui mais Patricia, Evelyne, Noemi et moi avons partager deux paquets avec un couple de Lillois. Sur le coup, on s'est dit que c'etait vraiment "cheap". Mais ils n'auraient pas pu apporter autre chose rapidement. Faire livrer de la pizza à cent personnes à une heure de bateau de Luang Prabang? Même trouver des nouilles pour tout le monde était impossible. Le capitaine avait aussi apporté de la bière, pensant profiter de la situation pour faire un peu d'argent. Il a failli y avoir une mutinerie à bord! Mais, reprenant notre calme, nous nous sommes emparés de la bière sans gêne et sans équivoque et nous nous la somme partagée (il y en avait moins qu'une par personne). Tout le monde parlait de la volaille qui jacassait sur le toit. On pourrait se cotiser et en acheter aux paysans? Mais qui les égorgerait, les plumerait, les evicérerait? Comme on se "mettait a table", Julien a repéré un petit scorpion qui s'amenait tranquilement près du pied de Patricia! Un brave l'a pris avec une branche et l'a jeté au feu.
C'est dans ce contexte que nous nous sommes demandés s'il ne vallait pas mieux dormir sur le bateau. Mais non. Ca avait l'air d'un bateau de refugiés, ça puait, ça jacassait. Nous avons donc sorti nos sacs de couchage et nous avons dormi sur les berges du Mekong, autour du feu de camp.

Le lendemain un bateau est arrivé je ne sais plus à quelle heure. Ils ont attaché les deux bateaux cote à cote et nous avons rembarqué. On a mis deux bonnes heures avant d'arriver, affamés! Priorité numéro un, trouver un resto pour se payer un vrai déjeuner de Noël avec jus de fruit frais, crêpes, salade de fruit et un extraordinaire café laotien.
(Luang Prabang est, en passant, une petite ville absolument ravissante classée au patrimoine mondial de l'UNESCO).

Monks and Mountains

After Kanchanaburi, we took a night train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai (this was part of our comparative night train study: for comfort, Thai trains definitely take the prize, but they don't come anywhere near Indian trains for food and general entertainment!) Chiang Mai is a relatively small, very pleasant town in the north of Thailand, full of temples, surrounded by a square moat and beyond that, mountains. All of these temples means of course many monks, all walking about the town in their bright orange robes, usually in groups, or hanging out at the Wat (temple). What really intrigues me is that they are often very young, in their twenties, but sometimes even as young as 10! So one day, we went to a temple where they had Monk Chat:
J-F went in the morning and the girls and I in the afternoon. We spent at least two hours chatting with a couple of monks who, much to our surprise, had a great sense of humour!
Another highlight of this part of our trip was a three day trek (well the tour agencies all refer to it as trek, it makes you feel adventurous, but you could just call it a hike) an hour outside of Chiang Mai, which included a short elephant ride (kind of like a pony ride but higher up!), whitewater rafting and bamboo rafting. Of course all of these activities were fun, but what I really enjoyed was being in the middle of a bamboo forest, so lush and exotic, and the feeling that we were truly isolated from civilization (even though there was probably a road we couldn't see a few kms away)! We slept in bamboo huts with thatched banana leaf roofs, near a hilltribe village (with a fire literally inside the hut!, I can tell you now that we're back alive), in fact, we froze, it got so darn cold. The hiking was a real challenge, mostly up the first day, mostly down the second, and mostly in pain on the third! Julien hiked the whole way without a single complaint since our guide gave him his handmade slingshot and he happily fired berries at the trees the whole way. In fact, I was quite fascinated by these guides, they could make anything out of bamboo, and hiked way faster than us, with seemingly no effort and no specialized equipment- meanwhile we're all huffing and puffing in our fancy hiking shoes.
We were quite sore when we got back, so of course we "had" to treat ourselves to a massage the next day. A rough way to end 2008!

Bridge Over the River Kwai

After one day in Bangkok, we took a day train to a village called Kanchanaburi, which is on the River Kwai. Now you history buffs should recognize the name, and for the others (like me, who has no memory for history, or much else for that matter – in fact, I'm writing this blog so I can remember what I visited when I come back!) here is a short description: This is the area where the Japanese forced thousands of P.O.W.s to build a train track during the second world war – the terrain between Thailand and Burma is extremely difficult : the prisoners had no equipment and basically had to lay track through the mountainous jungle with their bare hands, and a few chisels. They were mistreated, underfed, disease was rampant and the living conditions were atrocious. Sixteen thousand people died over the span of about three years, and the prisoners themselves built cemeteries all along the railroad. After the war, the remains were repatriated to Kanchanaburi in two large cemeteries, one of which we visited. There is a famous movie called the Bridge Over the River Kwai, and the now famous bridge is also in this village. It was bombed and destroyed by the allies in 1945, but was subsequently rebuilt. We walked over it : it's not such an amazing structure in itself, but this part of history, I will certainly remember!

Sun, Sand, and (no) Snow - sorry, couldn't resist!

As you can see from the photos, we made it to the beach in Thailand (it's all part of a very scientific comparative beach study, although we haven't received any funding yet!) We decided to take a night train from Bangkok since it was cheap and would get us to Ko Phi Phi by noon the next day. It's called a V.I.P. bus. which means that you get (overly excessive) air conditioning and a (somewhat) reclining seat. And other tourists who drink all night and decide to tell their life stories to each other until long after midnight. And what they don't tell you is that at 6 o'clock in the morning you get tossed off the bus on the side of the road (i.e.waiting terminal) where you wait around for two hours until a mini-van takes you to the ferry terminal to get the boat. I vowed I would never take the bus again.
Ko Phi Phi is an absolutely beautiful island off the west coast of southern Thailand. The middle is white sand beaches lined with the requisite palm trees, both ends are rock cliff formations jutting out of the jade coloured water, topped with lush greenery. The water was warm and the weather was fantastic, as it has been basically for the past five months (I've noticed that in these countries, people never talk about the weather, I guess because it's always nice! except when it's the rainy season, and then it rains all the time!) So, back to Ko Phi Phi: we were quite surprised to discover that food and accomadation were so expensive (almost double what we were paying in Bangkok!). And it's very touristy: shops everywhere, bikinis galore, sunglasses, bars, cafes, and an infinite variety of boat tours, diving, snorkelling... all geared towards twenty year olds on winter holidays who want to party!! Now it's not that I don't like to have fun, but it wasn't the quiet beach we had expected. And even Long Beach (for those who have been there before), is completely developed with high end bungalows all along the beach.
Ko Phi Phi was hit by the Tsunami quite badly, and hundreds of people died. In fact there seems to be a lot of rubble around that I suspect are remnants of the disaster. Near the beach there was a small memorial set up by families of the victims, with photos and messages. We also spoke to several residents about their experience, the lady who rented us our rooms told me her sons had moved to their grandmother's village (on the mainland) and were too afraid to move back. Although of couse I had seen it on the news, it seems so much more real you when you are sitting in the exact spot where people were sitting four years ago, when this gigantic wave just suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
We did go snorkeling and it was incredible: many varieties of fish I had never seen before, entire schools of fish, all swimming so close I felt that I could just stretch my had out and touch them! We all loved it, and the backdrop made it all the more beautiful.And after a week on the beach, you guessed it, budget obliging, back on the night bus! This time we took a government bus, which includes a stewardess (can you say that for a bus?) who brings you snacks when you board and coffee in the morning!

Nouvelles photos

Sapin de Noel au centre commercial Central World. Pour voir les premieres photos de la Thailande, cliquez ici.

Le temps s'est arrêté

C'est Noël? Les centres commerciaux de Bangkok ont beau s'être affublés de décorations de Noël dignes de la plus grande fête commerciale au monde, le climat chaud et humide nous fait douter de l'imminence du 25 décembre. Comme c'est l'hiver, la température descend autour de 20 degrés la nuit (+ 20, pas -20), mais elle remonte bien au dessus de 25 des 10h. Difficile de ressentir l'esprit des Fêtes. C'est vrai que bien des Québécois vont dans le sud pour les fêtes, mais ce n'est pas la même chose. Avant de partir, ils ont eu un avant-goût de l'hiver (et quel avant-goût vous avez ces jours-ci!) et ils en prendront plein la gueule au retour. Pour nous, c'est l'été. Depuis cinq mois, le temps s'est arrêté. Le temps s'est déjà arrêté en Afrique, quand j'ai vu ces hommes pousser et tirer des chariots remplis de pierres, pieds nus sur la route brûlante. Le temps s'est arrêté en Inde où, sur les chantiers de construction, des femmes en sari portent des paniers de gravier ou de sable sur la tête. Elles sont des Intouchables, exécutant les besognes les plus dures dans des conditions abominables, sans que personne de sourcille. Elles sont à l'Inde ce que les ânes sont au Kenya. Et encore, à Lamu nous avons vu un centre de soins pour les ânes blessés ou malades. La valeur de ces bêtes est reconnue...Le temps semble avoir recommencé à faire son chemin en Thaïlande où les gens se sont mobilisés ces dernières semaines (ils manifestent en fait depuis plusieurs mois) en faveur de la démocratie. Les images que vous avez pu voir a la télévision sont l'exception. A Bangkok, les manifestants chantaient, scandaient des slogans, distribuaient des tracts dans la plus grande jovialité. Des secouristes distribuaient des bouteilles d'eau et assistaient les gens qui souffraient de la chaleur. Évidemment, ce sont les débordements qui ont été présentés aux informations. Des Suisses, rencontrés ici, se désolaient que dans leur pays les gens ne suivent pas l'exemple thaïlandais. Et pour nous, les Thaïlandais seront-ils une inspiration pour défendre la démocratie?

Au Kenya et en Inde, les difficultés vécues par certains segments de la population m'ont semblées insurmontables parce que tellement profondément encrées dans la réalité que les gens eux-mêmes n'imaginent pas que ça puisse être autrement. En Thaïlande, je retrouve confiance que les gens ont le pouvoir de dénoncer la corruption, le détournement des lois et des traditions, et d'obtenir des changements.

Et Noël? A Noël nous serons au Laos où nous découvrirons un autre peuple, une autre réalité sociale. Si nous sommes chanceux, nous pourrons remplacer la dinde par un canard et nous penserons à vous, quelque part sur les rives du Mekong.

Sawadee Thailand

Our departure from Delhi was late and disorganized. (Typical of India, some might say, but stilll quite suprising for an international airport.) We waited for about two hours to check in, and then got sent to the boarding gate where we waited some more, receiving no further information until we spotted some familiar faces (the couple in front of us at the check-in counter) standing in a line to board the plane!! We joined them and boarded the (correct) plane, and everything went pretty smoothly from there. We finally left around one o'clock in the morning, at which point they came around with drinks and snacks... followed by a complete meal! I know they're trying to placate customers, but in the middle of the night? A taxi from the airport in took us straight to our guesthouse, where we promptly went to bed! Now if you think traffic in Montreal is bad, try Bangkok. Several times we came to a complete standstill, but the drivers don't get annoyed, they just turn the motor off and wait.
We spent about five days staying in an area called Banglamphu. Our guesthouse was on a tiny street lined with traditional two storey homes, with open living spaces on the ground floor, that spill onto the sidewalk. People cook outside, eat outside and the kids play in the street - it feels a bit like you're in a small village, but in the middle of a huge city. We were five minutes from the Chao Phraya River, where you can catch a boat - local, public transportation, about fifty cents per person. This is the best, cheapest and fastest way to get around, and lots of fun in itself as there are many students (all in school uniform, and yes, Villa Girls, perfectly ironed and no buttons missing!) and even a space reserved for monks!
The boat takes you to a sky train, an overground subway, right into the new downtown with huge super modern shopping plazas - quite a contrast from our "village" neighborhood. Here everything is very western, glitzy, and expensive! There are flashy Christmas decorations everywhere now, and hundreds of Thais taking pictures of themselves (especially fashionable teenagers). We did too, of course, although at 30 degrees, it feels nothing like Christmas. There is a walkway underneath the skytrain which is really neat as you have a view from above, and never have to cross the street!
A few sights included an amazing buddhist temple (with a gigantic reclining golden Buddha), the flower market, and the Bangkok Museum (with 1000 year old ceramics, carved ivory, intricate pearl inlay, wood and stone sculptures, etc...no one was getting paid by the hour when they made these things!) One evening, Jean-Francois and I ended up at a royal funeral event for the King's sister who died... a year ago. Apparently she was well appreciated, as there were thousands of people in attendance, and we were the only foreigners!
First impressions of Thailand? It's incredibly quiet... people don't honk here constantly like they do in India. Even people on motorbikes or bicycles say "beep beep" instead of honking. Just that makes it so much more relaxing. And, it's clean. Every morning vendors sweep the street and garbage (collected in wicker baskets!) is removed regularly. Quite amazing for such a densely populated city. And great street food: pad thai, fried rice, fish, seafood, fresh fruit salad, everything is made on the spot, it's cheap and delicious!

India, Then and Now

We are in Thailand now, but I just have to write a few more stories about India, or I won't have a clear conscience!
After Nasik, we took a train to Aurangabad, where we visited one of the most spectacular places I have ever seen. They are called cave-temples, basically huge rooms carved directly into the cliffs by Buddhist, Jain and Hindu monks, between 600 and 1200A.D. There are about thirty-five temples in all, each one decorated with intricate carvings, columns and sculptures, both inside and out. Apparently the monks carved from top to bottom, which allowed them to avoid scaffolding, but someone must have had a master plan, because everything is perfectly symmetrical. And considering the building took place over hundreds of years, the master plan must have been passed on from one generation to the next. (Un vrai travail de moine, comme on dit!) It's all quite mind boggling. And the most incredible part is that everything is still in good condition... they just don't make things the way they used to! While we were there, a group of students were scrupulously taking notes (girls, of course!) while the guide gave them detailed explanations. What an amazing field trip.
From here we took a final train back to Delhi, which brings me to my train story. From Mumbai onwards, we decided that we would try taking non A.C. coaches, (no air conditioning) , i.e. travel like the locals. Well, this was a true adventure. Even if you have a ticket, which we did, our seats always seemed to be occupied when we boarded. People kind of looked at you, shuffled their stuff around, squeezed over, and made room for you. Or disappeared temporarily, leaving you your seat, only to reappear awhile later only to squish onto the bench beside you. The array of vendors was unbelievable, selling everything from socks to salad to popcorn! And non-stop chai (Indian tea), I was starting to become addicted. Which reminds me, what do you do with the paper cup once you've finished? Throw it out the window of course! Needless to say, Miss Reduce-Reduce-Recycle had some problems with this! I couldn't do it, so I would put it on the floor in a corner, but then a train employee would just pick it up and toss it out the window himself!
On our final overnight train, on the sleeper beside us when we boarded were two gurus, wearing
what you might call a toga. One, a rather plump guy with a long grey beard, was dressed in orange, including his turban; the other, a small skinny guy, was all in white. The orange guy was also wearing wooden sandals, and had a copper teapot tied to the windowsill with an orange ribbon! I was half expecting a genie to pop out. This was too much. I was dying to take a picture, but could find no way of doing so discretely, and didn't wan't to insult them. So I just watched them all evening, far better entertainment than any reality T.V. show. At dinner time, they reached into their bags and produced a feast, all in little stainless steel containers, which they spread out between them, and ate cross-legged on the bench. They even offered to share with us, but we had already ordered from the train staff. During the night it got incredibly cold (hard to believe since it was about 30 degrees when we got on - this explains the sock sellers) and the small skinny white guy put on his jacket and offered his blanket to Evelyne! True Indian hospitality.
The night before we flew out of Delhi, we got to stay with a lovely couple at the High Commission of Canada - we feasted on spaghetti and pizza, a taste of home at last! We got to use a washing machine (what a treat after four months of washing all of our clothes by hand!) and had some great coffee! Merci beaucoup Pierre et Heidi!

Sains et saufs, everything is fine

Plusieurs amis et parents nous ont demandé des nouvelles à la suite des attentats de Mumbai et aux manifestations à l'aéroport de Bangkok. Rassurez-vous, nous sommes sains et saufs. Notre dernière dispute portait sur un massage thaïlandais, à savoir si on devait prendre une demi-heure ou une heure... Je ne veux pas faire de blague sur le dos des gens qui sont des victimes des attentats, je ne suis pas indifférent à ces horreurs. Mais soyez sans crainte, nous nous portons très très bien.

Many friends and relatives have asked if we were OK following the bombings in Mumbai and the protests at the Bangkok airport. Rest assured, we are all doing well. Our last argument was regarding a Thai massage, wether we should take half an hour or one hour... I don't mean to make jokes while others have suffered horribly. I'm not indifferent to acts of despicable nature. But don't worry, we are doing very very well.

India Post, an Exercise in Patience

Sorry, I'm backtracking again, for those who read J.F.'s contributions, do not be confused. After our marvelous week of paradise at the beach, we headed back to Mumbai on the train and arrived at six o'clock in the morning. We wandered from the station looking for a hotel (imagine, no reservation!) and found a place about twenty minutes later, but the stroll was quite an eyeopener: street vendors were opening their stalls (I suspect after sleeping on the street beside the cart) and there was hardly any traffic! I thing the locals were quite surprised to see an entire family walking around that early in the morning.

After a late breakfast, I went to the post office while the others set off to do a few errands. Yes, I did buy a few things throughout our travels, the handmade crafts here are just far too beautiful to resist. Sending a parcel is no easy feat: it entails taking your stuff to a "parcel wallah", basically a tailor who sews a parcel out of beige fabric, on three sides only. Then you take this to the post office where you fill out a bunch of forms, they verify the contents of the package, fill out more forms, ask you for your passport, which I didn't have but in the end didn't seem necessary, sew up the remaining side, seal the seams with wax and then stamp them so that no one can open the parcel, more signatures, and finally, weigh the parcels and take your money! I arrived just before lunch, so this whole process was delayed forty five minutes while the employees ate!!
While I was sitting around waiting, I observed the piles of parcels everywhere, no semblance of classification as far as I could tell: I'm not sure my packages will ever make it, but it sure gives me a good story to tell!

The next day, we took another train up to Nasik, a small, normal town, that only has some five hundred year old temples : ) , so tourists don't really go there. This in itself was interesting, as we were the only foreigners in the street, at the market, in the restaurants, and attracted many looks, but what a treat, no one tried to sell us anything! (Contrary to the touristy places, even the beach, where people are constantly trying to sell you anything, be it jewelry, a taxi ride, meals, a tour, basically whatever you're willing to pay for.) Our two days in Nasik was a good experience as it allowed us to really see what it feels like to be to be a visible minority.

Adieu Incredible !ndia

Incredilble !ndia, c'est le slogan publicitaire de l'Inde pour attirer les touristes. Ils n'auraient pas pu mieux trouver. Nous avons tant et tant d'histoires à raconter. En attendant, un gros gros merci à Pierre et Heidi qui ont été nos hotes pour notre dernier 24 heures à Delhi et avec qui on a été aux petits soins. En attendant de lire nos nouvelles aventures, voyez quelques nouvelles photos de l'Inde et notre pyramide sur la plage.

Rien à voir à Nasik

Nasik est une ville ordinaire : pas de forteresse, pas de palais, pas de plage, pas de vie nocturne. C'est une ville de l'Inde profonde et c'est ce qui fait son charme. C'est ici qu'on voit les "vrais" Indiens faire leur petite affaire. Aucun touriste ne vient à Nasik. Les gens sont tellement peu habitués à voir des Blancs qu'on se fait beaucoup regarder par tout le monde et parfois aborder par les jeunes qui veulent savoir d'où l'on vient. Personne n'essaye de nous vendre quoi que ce soit, ni un ballon de plage, ni un collier, ni une chemise.
Nasik est aussi une ville totalement hindoue. C'est ici qu'on retrouve les vaches qui se promènent tranquillement, même au marché. (On les avaient perdues de vue à Goa.) Imaginez un peu le marché Jean-Talon un samedi matin, mais sans les tables. Chaque marchand est installé par terre (littéralement sur la terre), avec ses légumes empilés joliment en pyramides colorées, et des vaches qui déambulent paisiblement au milieu de la foule.
A quelques pas du marché, au coeur de la ville, coule l'une des rivières les plus sacrées de l'Inde. L'eau est noire, visqueuse, et charrie son lot de déchets, de fleurs et de lampions, ces derniers offerts pour obtenir les bonnes grâces des dieux. Et au milieu de tout cela, des femmes, dans l'eau jusqu'au genoux, lavent les vêtements de leur mari et de leurs enfants. Un peu plus loin, des hommes élégants assis sur un tapis vous proposent de lire les lignes de votre main dans le concert des klaxons des rickshaws. Mais, je me répète, pas pour les touristes. Les hindous ont des croyances très anciennes et très profondément ancrées.
Non, il n'y a rien à voir à Nasik sinon les Indiens dans leur univers. C'est un musée ethnologique vivant. C'est une chose de savoir que les vaches sont sacrées en Inde. C'en est une autre de voir les Indiens, qui par ailleurs mettent des satellites en orbite autour de la lune, vivre quotidiennement avec leurs croyances. Mais est-ce si différent que d'allumer un lampion a l'église, de prier Saint-Etienne, de baiser la bague de monseigneur?

Hitting the Beach

Just a brief note about our last stop in Rajasthan: In Jaipur we met up with Jean-Francois' parents who are currently on a tour through India, Nepal and Tibet. Their itinerary was tight so we could only spend one and a half days together. It was a bit strange to see them for such a short time, on the other side of the world, and then for them to disappear just as they had appeared. We did, however, find the time to use the five star swimming pool at their hotel (that was my once in a lifetime chance!) and the "supplies" they brought for us were greatly appreciated: books in French, a frisbee, nutella, and, the biggest hit, home-made brownies!! What a treat. Merci Nicole! Quelle mamie incroyable!
From Jaipur we took two night trains down to Goa, with a day in Mumbai, spent walking around, mostly looking for shade. It was soooo hot! Needless to say, we were thrilled to hit the beach, and we lucked out once again, ending up in super cheap beach shacks just two minutes from the ocean. Our beach is called Benaulim: the sand is soft, the water is incredibly warm (even Jean-Francois admits this, and he's not from Nova Scotia!) and the waves are great. In fact, the only reason to get out of the water is if you've swallowed too much salt water or your feet are getting shrivelled! There are people of all ages (i.e. we are not the oldest or the youngest, and all the women wear bikinis, no matter what shape or size, so I fit right in) The food is also amazing and incredibly inexpensive. There are small restaurants all along the beach, serving just about everything (Indian curry, Goan specialties, fish, seafood, pasta, even beef, very rare in India). I havn't cooked a meal in months now and, to my own surprise, I'm getting quite used to it.
Soon after we arrived, a nice Swedish couple gave us their "boogie board" (you actually can't buy one here, or flip-flops or a bathing suit you'd want to wear) and this has been our main entertainment along with reading, journal writing and home-work! Indeed, one of the great pleasures of this trip is that I actually have time to read (not as much as I thought though). My absolute favourite book so far is The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, which takes place in Africa. If any English teachers are reading this, I would suggest it as a possible sec five novel, especially since it's written from the point of view of five women.
After 3 weeks of moving around, it is great to just be in one spot, although we did spend one day visiting Panjim (the capital of Goa, very interesting architecture with remnants of the Portugese colonial times), several 16th century churches (many people in Goa are Christian) and a Spice Farm where I learned that most spices like pepper, nutmeg and cloves actually grow in trees. Nothing to do with herbs!
So, today is November 12th, and I am finally caught up, since we are still at the beach!!
Spicy kisses to everyone!

Rajasthan in a (Big) Nutshell

Un gros bisou a tous de l'Inde, je pense a vous, mes amis, mes collegues, ma famille... j'espere que vous allez bien. Donnez-nous de vos nouvelles, ca nous fait vraiment plaisir. And let me know if my rambling is comprehensible, J.F. thinks I give too much detail, but I can't help it!

In Delhi, we were picked up by our driver! (probably the first and last time I'll ever have one.) Indeed, it is pretty inexpensive to hire a car with a driver, and besides, you would be risking your life if you ever tried to rent a car and drive yourself. You can take trains but they don't go everywhere and they take much longer. In all, we spent about three weeks travelling around Rajasthan, doing the "tourist circuit", staying only two or three nights in each place. Just in case anyone in interested, in order, we visited Agra (Taj Mahal), Ranthambore National Park (where we were "supposed" to see tigers but saw a leopard instead), Bundi, Udaipur, Ranakpur, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, Kuri (for a short camel expedition into Desert National Park),Pushkar and Jaipur. Here we overloaded on forts, palaces and temples: Rajasthan is all about history and architecture, and truly, they are incredible. Fresques (sp?), mosaics made with imported Belgian ceramic and glass), sculpted marble, fountains, fancy gardens, nothing was too good for the Marharajahs. Yep! They had it pretty good, living the life of luxury, with at least three "official" wives, if not more. All of this in stark contrast to the shacks that most people still live in today. So, without too much detail :), here are the highlights of this whirlwind tour.

First stop, the Taj Mahal (= Crown Palace) built by Emperor Shah Jahan in the mid 17th century as a memorial for his second wife, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child! He must have felt guilty, because it is pretty incredible both outside and even more inside, where the marble-inlay (pietra dura) just boggles your mind - one small flower could have more than 40 semi-precious stone pieces, and the walls and tomb are covered. 20,000 people worked on the building. Believe it or not, we actually got up at 5:30 in the morning to see "the Taj" at sunrise (see, I can get up early when I really want to!)

In Bundi, we met a lovely family when we had supper in a small guesthouse. There were only two tables, so it felt pretty much like we were in their dining room, and the two daughters, 10 and 13 years old, who spoke English very well, chatted with us throughout the whole meal. They even invited us to come back the next day to watch a special ceremony called Karwa Chauth, celebrated by women for the well-being and long life of their husbands! The mother, and several family members and neighbors (only women) went up onto the roof-top terrace, where they gave offerings and prayers to the moon, while we sat quietly in a corner, trying to be discreet. What a treat to be able to witness this private ceremony which you would never see from the street!

In Udaipur, we went on a French tour of the City Palace, and at the end of the tour our guide invited to his house for supper to meet his wife and ten year-old daughter! Once again, we were thrilled to have the chance to meet "real people". He came to pick us up at our hotel with his brother-in-law... on their motorcycles! In typical Indian fashion, the whole family piled onto two motorcycles for the best fifteen minutes of Julien's trip to India. Their house was modest but more spacious than those we has seen in Africa, but of course, the grandfather and a brother were also living with them. When supper was ready (prepared spontaneously by his wife who had no advance notice), they sat us on the floor in the hallway on a folded tablecloth, all in row, served us a wonderful vegetarian meal, and watched us eat! They said they would eat afterwards. It was a bit strange, but what an honour to receive so much attention.
Another night, we ate on a roof-top terrace with beautiful views all over the city, while watching an old James Bond movie called Octopussy, filmed largely in Udaipur. (another hightlight for Julien, and once again, my television principals go out the window if you're watching T.V. outside!!)
Rather than give you more details, we'll try and post some pictures soon, which should give you a pretty good idea of what we saw.
Oh yes, one more detail: our driver. We called him Mr. Bean as he was quite the character, singing non-stop, or blasting his Indian pop music while snapping his fingers (with both hands!), or trying to communicate in very broken English. (Excuse me Madam, camel in your to country?) He was like a big kid, constantly asking Julien for one of the balls we bought to practice juggling on the beach. We didn't give him one, for fear he would play with it while driving!!Although it is funny in retrospect, we are quite happy to be taking the train again.

Gurus, Ganges and Great Fireworks!

In my desire to relate everything chronologically (it's the teacher in me, sorry) I will backtrack back to Dharamsala. After hanging out with the Dalai Lama, we took a night train to Rishikesh, in itself an adventure. We were in a 3AC coach, which means 3rd class sleeper with air conditioning. In this set-up there are six beds in every "cubicle", I wouldn't call it a compartment since there are no curtains or doors. It's pretty much like a moving dormitory: you just never know who will be sleeping beside you! Since this is on the "luxury end" of the options, most of the travellers in these coaches are foreigners, Indian businessmen or well-off families. The average person certainly can't afford the air conditioning, or even a bed, so they mostly travel in seats, squashed like sardines. I think we need to try this at least once.
Rishikesh is on the shores of the Ganges (Ganga in Hindi) and this is where the Beatles hung out for a while in 1968, at Swarg Ashram, closed now, to write many of the songs on The White Album.This is a small town with lots of ashrams, although we didn't stay in one, or do any yoga, since anything under a week is not considered very serious, and we only stayed for three days!Evelyne and I did however climb the thirteen stories of the Swarg Niwas temple (the Lonely Planet describes it as a 'wedding cake temple), each floor lined with dozens of cubicles containing shrines to Hindu deities.We were also lucky enough to arrive the day before a major celebration, Dussehra, which celebrates the victory of the Hindu God Rama over the demon-king Ravana and the triumph of good over evil (taken from Lonely Planet, p.1137, no plagiarism!!).This involved a whole series of fireworks (with teenagers lighting them any which way, no security whatsoever!), we kept our distance, then a re-enactment done by lots of costumed children, and finally the burning of a huge, 10 meter high effigie of Ravana on the beach, with more, very loud fireworks!
The highlight of this portion (if you ask Julien) is most certainly our rafting adventure on the Ganges. Now, I've never been rafting before, so I can't really compare it to anything, but I figure you have to start somewhere, right?The river is generally pretty calm with rapids (up to level? 4) here and there, bumpy enough for me to scream and holler, much to my kid's embarassment!I even jumped into the river off a 15 foot rock, quite the feat for me. And no, we didn't get sick, we were upstream where the water seemed a bit cleaner.
After this, another night train to Delhi, 2AC this time, only 4 bunks to a cubicle, and curtains!
True luxury. In all trains there are employees who circulate selling meals (rice and vegetable curry, of course) and chai (indian spiced tea), starting at 6:30 in the morning. You can get omelets (with peas!) and dry toast for breakfast, or more curry, if you prefer. I loved taking the train, there's no shortage of stuff to watch, both inside and outside, especially as we arrived in Delhi around eight o'clock in the morning. Many people live in shacks a few feet away from the tracks: It's a pretty horrendous thing to see, kids wandering around and garbage everywhere. Every minute of this trip is a reminder of how 'lucky' we are to be witnesses, only having to observe from behind a window.

Plein le cul-ry!

Rien ne sert de demander ce que nous allons manger pour souper. La reponse est toujours la meme: du riz et des lentilles. Je dois dire que meme si la bouffe indienne est delicieuse, j'en ai plutot marre. Manger la meme chose matin, midi et soir, durant 9 semaines est assez ennuyeux. C'est comme ca qu'on apprecie la grande variete que nous avons. Il nous est arrive quelques fois de discuter des repas que nous aimerions manger. Et a chaque fois c'etait: un bon steak frite ou des vols au vent et pour dessert un bon gateau au chocolat avec de la creme glacee, ce qui n'est pas un point fort de l'Inde. La nourriture "Continentale", comme ils appellent, n'est pas tres bonne non plus. Alors profitez du temps qu'il vous reste, car a notre retour on vous met a la diete indienne!

Indian Menu (by Evelyne)

If you ever go to India, you are bound to come across a German bakery, where you can eat Indian, Italian, Chinese, and even Maxican food. But don't look for Germans or German pastries, they are nowhere to be seen. If you're not very hungry, you can order a girlled cheese or a sandwicth. Also available are a plate of mashroom or mess potato. For bigger appetites, there are pizzas with green paper or macroni's with a silce of bread. To drink, why not try a fresh frut juse or a child beer? If you would like some desert, there are always pan cack on the menu. And if you liked it, you may come back for breakfast and have a big bowl of cornflex!

Seriously, we read all of these words and many more in menus all around India, which always give us a good laugh. We've also seen signs for a Panting School and a place where you can rant a motorbike... In India, everything is possible!!

Dingue Inde

L'Inde, c'est vraiment dingue! Le 28 octobre, c'était "diwali", un genre de Noël Indien, une fête joyeuse très importante à l'occasion de laquelle les gens illuminent leurs maisons et leurs commerces de lampions et de bougies, à l'intérieur comme à l'extérieur. Sauf qu'au lieu de s'échanger des cadeaux, tout le monde fait exploser des pétards et lance des feux d'artifice. Les détonations résonnent sur les murs plongeant la ville dans une atmosphère que nous trouvons terrifiante mais que les Indiens trouvent rigolote. En rentrant à l'hôtel, on a même été "pris entre deux feux" de jeunes qui se tiraient littéralement dessus avec des feux d'artifice pour donner encore plus de piquant à leur fête.
Le lendemain, à la clarté du jour, nous nous sommes aperçus que bien des gens sculptent des bouses de vache en forme de bonshommes de pains d'épices qu'ils décorent de fleurs et qu'ils placent devant l'entrée de leur maison avec un lampion! J'avoue que j'ai parfois de la difficulté a comprendre la spiritualité hindoue...

Des nouvelles de l'Inde

Le Times of India n'avait absolument rien sur les élections générales tenues au Canada le 14 octobre. Il n'y a pas eu d'annonce la veille ou le jour même, pas même le résultat le lendemain. Même pas un entrefilet. C'est dire comme le "plus meilleur" pays du monde compte aux yeux de la plus grande démocratie du monde...
Que rapportent donc les médias indiens? Les cinq ou six chaînes de télévision d'information continue ont toutes un bandeau permanent au bas de l'image qui annonce en gros caractères "BREAKING NEWS" et l'image au dessus est invariablement un feu de poubelle, des pneus qui brûlent, un incendie, des gens qui brûlent un drapeau... Il faut croire que la psyché indienne réagit fortement aux images de flammes... Sans blague, que ce soit à la télévision ou dans les journaux, on parle surtout de crimes et de corruption. Mais ce qui fait la une le plus souvent est sans conteste le criquet, des ligues locales aux tournois internationaux.
Pour en remettre sur la conduite en Inde, un éditorial du Times of India du 24 octobre enjoignait le gouvernement d'agir au plus vite pour réduire le nombre d'accidents fatals sur les routes. Que se soit en nombre absolu de décès ou le nombre de décès en pourcentage de la population ou encore le nombre de décès pour 10 000 voitures, l'Inde offre les pires statistiques. Comme le faisait remarquer Noemi : "Quand on monde a 14 dans une auto, ça prend moins d'accidents pour faire beaucoup de victimes!"

Living on the Edge

After the houseboat stay, we took a jeep over the mountains to Dharamsala (McLeod Ganj). O.K. I know I've already ranted about driving, but let me just tell you that getting sick in Inda is the least of your worries. Getting into a car is far more dangerous!! The first two hundred kilometers were over a windy mountain road with no gardrails, which is scary enough, but then everybody tries to pass each other! At first I thought being on the inside (hugging the mountain) was better, but since they speed up to pass on the outside, just inches from the hundred meter drop, in fact, driving on the outside turned out to be slightly less frazzling. Luckily, by nightfall we had reached the relatively flat portion of the journey. The entire trip was about 400 km, scheduled to take about twelve hours (of course we scoffed and figured they completely overestimated) and in fact, it took almost eighteen. Yes, way up on this narrow, windy road, trucks break down, get flat tires, have accidents, which reduces the whole road to one functional lane and then everyone tries to scrape past each other. In several spots we came to a complete halt, in the scorching heat. The drivers took the opportunity for a smoke (all drivers smoke, now I think I know why), and meanwhile, I developed my newfound fascination for TRUCKS! If you check our India photos, you will notice a picture of a highly decorated and colorful truck. Well, they're all like this, only different colors and different motifs, but all beautiful. And all made by a company called Tata. (Our family joke after this trip was that we all thought we should do as the locals do and start believing in reincarnation, seeing as how our life expectancy seemed to be diminishing...)
So, we made it alive to Dharamsala, home of the Dalai Lama and the bouddhist community of Tibetans in exile. And since we always seem to be in the right place at the right time, we just happened to be in town when the Dalai Lama was giving a series of public teachings (which he does very rarely). We attended one of his teachings, and actually got to see him as he entered the temple (where you needed a pass). We sat in the courtyard where his talk was simultaneously broadcast on t.v. and translated into English over the radio. It was especially moving to see how the Tibetans reacted when he arrived, such joy and respect on their faces, a moment I will always remember.
So, McLeod Ganj is a curious mix of Tibetain monks, lots and lots of tourists (Europeans and many Israelis), studying bouddhism or yoga or meditation or cooking or just hanging out, and a few Indians. Honestly, it didn't feel like we were in India (just to give you an idea, you can actually get a good expresso, and Indians don't drink coffee) but we greatly enjoyed our week long stay. It's super easy to hike, the village is on the edge of the mountain so you just step outside and head off in any direction, so we did several hikes, on of which took us to the Tibetan Children's Village, a school for Tibetan refugee children. Some are orphans, many have been sent by their parents who still live in Tibet, and who want them to get an education that incorporates the Tibetan culture and language. A lovely woman showed us all around the school, the library, the classrooms and the dormitories where most of the children sleep two to a bed, up to 38 in one house with a "house mother and father". And since we arrived at lunch time, Julien played with some of the boys in the playground. As our guide told us, these kids have nothing, some have endured extreme hardship just to make it to the school, and yet they are happy, hardworking and appreciative. It's unbelievable.
We also met two guys (renting the room next to ours, long term rental) who teach Thai massage: Sean from England, and Ram, from India. Well after chatting for a few days, I mentioned I wanted to take a cooking class, and Sean said, don't take a class, just ask Ram to show you. So I did, and we spent an evening cooking together(lemon rice with nuts and fruit, dal, and aloo gobi) . And then, we all sat down on the floor in a big circle, and, as is the custom, ate with our hands. Needless to say, Julien loved this part, actually being told to eat with his hands!

P.S. If any of you are reading this and would like a postcard at some point during our trip, please send me your mailing address.

Namaste India!!

Hello India! Yes, we made it to Delhi in the middle of the night and woke up to the sights and sounds of this exciting and absolutely crazy city: cars, rickshaws, bicycles all fly past pedestrians, tooting horns and bells non-stop (so you'll jump out of their way), cows wander through all this commotion and leave traces of their passage as they go, all this mixed with the smell of deep-fried snacks, curry and incense, with an occasional whiff of public urinal. Namaste India!!
Shortly after, we headed up to the mountains, to a small town called Srinagar. We took a one hour flight which afforded us an absolutely spectacular view onto the Himalayas and the terrassed fields surrounding the foothills. It made me think of those pictures by Yann Arthus Bertrand, the guy who takes those amazing arial photographs. The colours and textures were breathtaking: white mountain tops, gray-brown crinkly mountain ranges, and beautiful semi-circular fields in various shades of green and yellow. I discovered a few days later that these fields are in fact rice fields: I had no idea rice grew in northern India, I thought it got way too darn cold there in the winter. Well, apparently there is sufficient water after the monsoon (rainy season), and the summer is hot enough to grow rice. I'm learning... We were there just as they were harvesting, which involves cutting the stalks (which kind of look like wheat from far away), then beating them to extract the grains which they collect on large pieces of cloth, pouring the grains into sacks, and tying the stalks into little bundles which they dry and then feed to animals. All of this work is done by hand, of course, and after you see people doing all of this back-breaking work in the scorching heat, you sure appreciate that bowl of basmati rice!
Here we stayed on a houseboat and got paddled around the lake on a "shikara" by an eighty year old man. Sure made us feel like a bunch of lazy tourists, we should have been paddling him around! One day we went for a hike up to a glacier but didn't get to touch the ice: it always looks much closer than it is. We did however have some tea with goat's milk made for us by a gypsy woman, which we sipped while enjoying the incredible view onto the glacier. We also visited some beautiful Mughal gardens, built in the 16th century (sort of like French gardens, everything very symmetrical, no square shrubs though) and the old town with its many mosques. This town is predominantly muslim, and we just happened to arrive towards the end of Ramadan. So we got to hear the prayers, broadcast over loudspeakers ,which seemed to resonate across the lake right into our houseboat, all through the day, and all night!! Quite an ear-opener, you might say.
(As you may have noticed, I am attempting to keep my entries in chronological order, and fill you in on our itinerary. Jean-Francois and I are not in sync, but I'm sure you'll figure it all out!!)

Rafting sur le Gange

Par une magnifique journée, nous avons fait une sortie de rafting sur le Gange, à la hauteur de Rishikesh. Bien que nous soyons partis une heure plus tard que prévu - ce qui est normal en Inde - la compagnie était "sérieuse" et la descente sécuritaire (gilets de sauvetage, casques, bateaux en bon état et personnel expérimenté). Très étrangement, l'excitation causée par les remous, la vitesse, les vagues et les douches d'eau froide successives m'a semblée un répit des routes indiennes et de ses klaxons, virages brusques, arrêts subits, nids de poule, précipices...

Visa pour l'Inde

Notre voyage en Inde a commencé à Nairobi, où il a fallu obtenir nos visas. Prévoyant, je consulte le site Internet du haut-commissariat de l'Inde à Nairobi pour connaître les heures d'affaires pour les visas. Lorsque je m'y rends le lendemain, ce n'est pas la bonne heure! Soucieux de savoir si les visas seront prêts en 24 h, tel qu'il est écrit sur le site Internet (j'avais des raisons de douter), le type me répond avec une face de vache sacrée qui n'a pas l'habitude de se faire déranger : "Come tomorrow, I tell you tomorrow!" Bien.

Je reviens le lendemain, armé de Patricia qui est meilleure que moi pour faire du charme. Nous avons cinq formulaires, remplis et signés, des photos, de l'argent. Après avoir attendu une heure trente, le type - le même que la veille - nous demande si c'est bien nous sur les photos! Après, il nous fait remplir un nouveau formulaire avec les mêmes questions que le premier (nom, adresse, lieu de naissance, date de naissance, etc.) et nous facture 200 shillings (3.35$, mais quand même, pour avoir les mêmes réponses que sur le premier formulaire qui était gratuit...). Ensuite, il nous dit de revenir dans une semaine. Et le visa, on l'aura? "Come next week, I tell you." Heureusement que le site Internet dit 24 heures! Heureusement, surtout, que nous n'avons pas laissé cette corvée à la dernière minute.

Nous sommes donc retournés une semaine plus tard pour nous faire dire qu'on pouvait payer et que, s'il n'y avait pas de problème (le type ne pouvait rien promettre), on aurait nos visas. Pour payer, c'était à la Bank of India, quatre rues plus loin, et en argent comptant seulement. Nous nous y sommes précipités, ne sachant pas si elle fermait à midi et il était moins cinq. Cette charmante banque, à qui nous versions la somme de 16 500 shillings, nous a facturé 100 shillings pour le service!

Je résume, car l'aventure serait trop longue à raconter ici. Mais vous comprenez que nos trois premières visites n'ont pas été des plus agréables. Quand nous sommes entrés pour la quatrième fois au quatrième étage du haut-commissariat de l'Inde à Nairobi, le type nous a tout de suite repérés de derrière son comptoir vitré et nous a fait signe de nous approcher, comme à de vieux copains. Nous faisant passer devant tout le monde, il nous a remis nos passeports avec les visas et est aller jusqu'à amorcer un sourire lorsqu'il a dit : "Have a nice trip to India."

Photos de l'Inde

Voici un nouvel album avec quelques photos de l'Inde.

Le marketing, vous connaissez?

Au Kenya, le slogan d'une importante compagnie de transport par autobus, Tawakal, est : "Others run, we fly!". Vu l'état des routes, ce n'est pas rassurant!

Autre objet d'inquiétude. Nous avons vu souvent au Kenya des "cases" (comme disent les Français) qui annonçaient "Hotel and butchery". Curieux mélange de commerces. Nous ne trouvions pas l'annonce très invitante. Comme a dit Evelyne, "ça soulève quelques questions lorsqu'on voit saucisse italienne au menu!" Nous avons fini par comprendre que ces hôtels très locaux (même les routards les plus aguerris ne les fréquentent pas) n'ont pas d'électricité et donc pas de réfrigération. Ils égorgent donc les chèvres sur place pour servir les ragoûts les plus frais!

Et l'Inde? Ça fait dix jours que nous y sommes et nous ne savons pas encore par quel bout la prendre! Ce ne sera pas long, on finira bien par vous en parler.

Kwaheri (Good-bye) Kenya

After three visits to the High Commission of India, we finally managed to get our visas. Apparently this is just a taste of things come... We were starting to get a bit worried, since we heard they might not let us on the plane without them!
During our last couple of days in Nairobi, I managed to visit an all-girls highschool just around the corner from where we staying. In my usual fashion, I didn't organize anything in advance, I just waltzed up to the gate, introduced myself, managed to meet the vice-principal, and then a lovely teacher who spent a hour and a half explaining the entire Kenyan school system and showing me around the premises. Surprisingly enough, it is quite similar to Villa Maria, where I work in Montreal, (the curriculum, the students, the schedule, the uniforms) except that it is a boarding school and on the school grounds they have cows, hens, and pigs!! I also got to speak to a few of the teachers who complained about being ... overworked and underpaid!! I guess some things are universal.
A note for my African Dance buddies: one day we got to see an entire show of dances from about fifteen different tribes. Of course, Julien wasn't so thrilled (all the dances looked the same to him) but I thought it was great (who could complain with all those beautiful muscular bodies?) All accompanied by live musicians and occasional singing.
Although five weeks certainly isn't sufficient see everything, I feel we did get a taste of Kenya, especially the people and the way they live.I would certainly look forward to going back some day. (I know I will be saying the same thing about every place we visit) It is a land of extremes: geographically, economically and culturally. Which is indeed what makes it so fascinating.
Next stop...Delhi

Walking Safaris in Lake Naivasha

After Lamu, we got back on the bus (six bumpy hours), and then back on the train from Mombasa to Nairobi for another 15 hour train ride, or so we thought. The train did indeed pull out of the station at 7:00, much to our surprise, and then stopped at 7:01! (for about four hours). Some people were in a panic because they has planes to catch the next day, but we just enjoyed the trip. In fact, looking out the train window is quite an experience, as you realize that many people in rural Kenya still live in basically what looks like a small mud hut, with no running water or electricity. And yet, when you stop at a train station, people seem to appear out of nowhere, and they're all impeccably dressed!
A few days in Nairobi to fill out requests for visas for India, then back on a bus for a week in an region 100 km west of Nairobi called Lake Naivasha. Here we stayed in a small cabin and did all of our cooking on a coal stove called a giko (which is what most locals use, since they don't have electricity): we went to the market every day and started to recognize a few of the vendors! We went to several parks (Hell's Gate, Crater Lake and Crescent Island) where you can walk or ride your bicycle through the park. The animals just walk around you or run away if you get too close. Although there were no lions, I think I really preferred this type of safari to the driving one- it's much more peaceful. We were practically the only people in the park!
We also had a great guide, Marcus, who ended up inviting us to his house for lunch one day (I don't know why we elicit these invitations, but we are so thrilled every time - I think it's the kids) It turns out Marcus' wife is a hairdresser so Noemi finally got her hair braided, in front of many interested bystanders. All of this happens outside of course, and this is a small village that doesn't get many mzungus (tourists). The kids came flocking to see us, yelling the one line they've learned in English : Howayou! Howayou! It's pretty funny. Julien even got invited to play soccer with the local boys and had a great time - proof that even if you can't speak the language, sports are universal!
Finally we went to see Joy Adamson's house, a woman who raised a baby lion called Elsa and managed to set it free back into the wild. She wrote a book about this experience, and there is a movie too, called Born Free. You probably know this already but I did not! Anyhow, they serve amazing afternoon tea at this place, which we all pigged out on, having had nothing which resembles cake for several months now. What a treat!

A Wrinkle in Time

After the beach we headed 6 hours north (another crazy bus ride and then a short boat ride) to a beautiful town called Lamu, a Unesco Heritage Site. 95 % of the population is Muslim, so many men wear long robes called kanzus and kofia caps, and most women are covered from head to toe in a black buibui. There are over 20 mosques, and the calls to prayer can be heard all over town at all hours of the day and night. It is a Swahili town, so the architecture is quite different from elsewhere in Kenya: many of the houses have beautiful courtyards and intricately carved doors.
The town is situated on an island where there are no cars (except the ambulance and the district commissioner's truck), so people either walk or use donkeys for transportation! In fact, the "streets" are so narrow you can touch the houses on both sides when you are standing in the middle. It's great, especially with kids, you never have to worry about traffic (except perhaps the odd donkey wandering about), and you can walk safely any time of day or night. People also use beautiful wooden sailboats, called dhows, for fishing. Except for the fact that everyone has a cell phone, you could quite easily imagine yourself transported back a few hundred years. It's really quite incredible that a place like this still exists.
We found an great place to stay, called Queen House: three floors, two bedrooms, fully equipped kitchen, an incredible terrasse on the roof with a view onto the ocean. Probably the most luxurious accomodations we'll have on the entire trip.
One day we went to Shela, a beautiful beach only 30 min walk from the town. Another day we went fishing with captain "Lemon Squeeze" on a dhow. Just watching the captain and his two mates manoeuvre the boat was fascinating. They barbecued the fish for us at lunch, and I have to admit, it was pretty amazing (Samantha, there's hope for me. I'm learning to like fish!). We also had the chance to have a local guy, Matata, come and make a Swahili meal for us at the house. There was fresh coconut milk in everything: the rice, the fish, the vegetables. Absolutely delicious! It was nice because while he was cooking, we had the chance to talk and learn about life in Lamu. He was lamenting the fact that a few people now had motorcycles, and that Lamu just wasn't the way it used to be. Lamu is finished, he said. We had a good laugh, because for us, staying in Lamu is like travelling back to the Middle Ages. It's all about your point of view, I guess!

Au salon de coiffure

Going Out East

Being from the Maritimes, I, of course, was anxious to see the ocean. So we took an overnight train from Nairobi to Mombasa: normally a 15 hour ride which can take anywhere up to 20 hours depending on circumstances (explanations are nebulous). Considering the distance between these two cities is only about 500 km, that works out to about 35 km an hour. Even Canadian trains are faster than that! But no matter. Taking the train was a goal in itself and turned out to be a highlight: the railway was built at the beginning of the century, and honestly, I don't think it has changed much since then! Time travel at it's best. We took a ticket with bedding and meals included. The dining car was incredible: pressed white table cloths (albeit with a few holes), waiters in black and white (o.k. - a bit frumpy), and authentic fifty year old silverware (with the silver slightly worn off). We had asparagus soup, curried beef, chicken and mixed vegetables, and cake with a custard sauce for dessert. Tea and coffee served from beautiful silver pots. Definitely the best meal I've ever had on a train! Not a triangular saran wrapped sandwich to be seen.

We spent one night in Mombasa, and then headed to Diani beach, about fifty kms south. We found a two bedroom cottage with a kitchen, for under $40 a night, three minutes from the beach. Beautiful white sand, palm trees, warm water, great waves, no jelly fish... and hardly a tourist. What more could we ask for? Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Monkeys swinging from the trees just in front of our verandah, and the occasional baboon. One day we went snorkeling (first time ever for me so I thought it was fabulous - I may still be impressed by the Great Barrier Reef) and one night we went to a trendy restaurant, with tables literally on the beach (where we broke the fussball table by putting the wrong coin in the slot, and played pool instead). But mostly we just relaxed, walked from one end of the beach to the other, built sand castles using our plastic Ikea cups and made our own meals with ingredients from the vendors who came by everyday with fresh fish, fruits and vegetables. Since this was the beginning of September, we decided it was time to start school: a few hours a day, between trips to the beach. Could be worse.
I myself realized on Sunday evening that I was truly on vacation, the "oh no, what am I going to do with my students tomorrow morning?" feeling was a distant memory. (Sorry, I just had to get that in for any of my colleagues who are reading this!)

How the Other Half Lives

In case anyone is wondering, I am way behind with my entries and have not caught up to the present time yet. I'm trying to keep my comments in chronological order, so don't be confused if I am mentioning things J-F spoke about three weeks ago!

So, while the foreigners are off galavanting on their fancy safaris and going to the beach, what are the locals doing? Well, we had the chance to see for ourselves.
The day after we returned from our safari, we were invited to a someone's house for an afternoon visit. In fact, he is the gardener here at the hostel where we're staying. I had been chatting to him about all of the things in the garden, bananas (several types), avocados, oranges, lettuce for the tourists (africains can't understand why we eat this stuff) etc. and I said I hadn't eaten ugali yet (a local specialty, corn meal mush, nothing too amazing) and he spontaneously invited us to his house. This of course thrilled me completely because the point of our trip is to meet locals and see how they live, and it's not always that easy when you're staying in a hostel with a bunch of tourists. So, he took the bus with us, (we were the only white people on the bus, tourists tend to take taxis) and then we walked about 15 minutes through his neighborhood before reaching his house. I wasn't expecting anything fancy bit I figured that since he seemed to have a pretty good steady job, his living conditions would be O.K. Frankly, it was a shock. His entire house is smaller than our kitchen, in other words, about five square meters. On one side of the room there's a bed, on the other side a couch and a charcoal stove in the corner for cooking. He has electricity but no running water. The bathrooms are communal for the entire neighborhood. I don't think there is any shower to speak of. The houses are so close together, basically there are just dirt allyways between them. And garbage everywhere. The smell is overwhelming. You can't get away from it, even when you're inside. And the amazing thing is they don't complain, and they invited us! (We had hot chocolate and sweet potatoes) A very humbling experience. How does he go to work every day, see these rich tourists sitting around in these beautiful gardens, with seemingly endless funds, and not be raging? This is every day life for, not only half, like my title suggests, but probably 90% of Kenyans. Work as they might, it is just not possible to improve their living conditions. Needless to say, Evelyne, Noemi and Julien were equally as impressed as I was. I think they will remember this visit for a very long time.
The next day we went to another family's house, this time in a much wealthier neighborhood. Here we were treated to a typical african meal: beef stew, chicken, several types of vegetables, rice, ugali and chapatis. We could hardly get out of our seats when it was time to go. The house was fairly modest, but this family has a big SUV and his children study in the States. A big contrast from the day before.

Extreme Safari

So, after several days in Nairobi, we finally decided that we couldn't come all the way to Kenya and not go on a safari, which, by the way, is a swahili word which means a voyage. Even if it was going to cost a fortune. (Yes, even budget safaris are expensive) I must confess, I really wasn't sure what to expect: I sort of had visions of sipping wine with lots of English people in their safari outfits at the lodge. Or bumping into Robert Redford. Not quite.
The most dangerous part of the safari was just getting there. The road to the Masai Mara Reserve is so full of potholes, it makes roads in Montreal look good. Some parts are paved, some are not. Now, officially, you drive on the left in Kenya. But I tell you, we spent as much time on the right hand side or off the road completely as we did on the left hand side. Anything to avoid the potholes. At first I was sitting beside the driver but after about two hours I couldn't stand it anymore. It's just better not to see the truck that is heading straight at you. We finally made it to the park after only one flat tire.

So what is a safari? Well you drive around in what looks like a mini-van with a roof that pops up so you can stand up and look out. And you drive and you drive and you drive while scrutinizing the surroundings in the hopes of spotting game. And then you stop. And 5 other vans rush over to see what you have found. And eveyone pulls out their cameras and starts clicking. The only Japanese people I've seen in Kenya were behind two foot zoom lenses standing in their vans.

Now, that said, we absolutely loved it. We saw thousands of animals: zebras, wildebeest, lions, elephants, buffalos, gazelles, impalas, topis, hippos, giraffes, ostriches, hyenas, wart hogs, and, best of all, a cheetah with four cubs. We didn't spot any leopards or rhinocerouses (spelling?): apparently they are difficult to find. It really is amazing to see these animals out in the savannah, seemingly oblivious to all the humans around them.

Our accomodations were very basic: no wine sipping, no Robert Redford. We slept in a canvas tent and drank beer. But, we did get the chance to meet a true Masai. In fact, he was our cook for three days. On the way back to Nairobi, we stopped to visit his village, and truly, I think this fascinated me more than any of the animals we saw. Many Masai still live in a very traditional manner, in mud huts, called manyattas, without electricity or running water. The men are mostly cow herders, and the women collect firewood, cook, and care for the children. They are very proud of their culture and want to live this way: let me tell you, it adds a whole new meaning to simple living.

Two flat tires later, we finally made it back to the city!

First Impressions of Africa

Shortly before leaving Paris, we decided we should probably find a place to stay in Nairobi before arriving. So, about three days before our departure, Jean-Francois found something on the internet and luckily, they offered to send someone to pick us up at the airport. So, what were my first impressions? Firstly, people here are crazy drivers! You definitely never want to rent a car. Even driving with a local is quite an experience. Secondly, there are very few sidewalks in Nairobi. Everyone seems to walk in the dirt along the side of the road. You don't really think about sidewalks until there are none! I guess it's a luxury. In North Americain suburbs they build them even before the house! Thirdly, the garbage. I have to mention this, because none of the guidebooks ever do, and it really jumps out at you. It collects in the ditches, and noone seems to clean it up. Occasionally you see people burning refuse, I guess it's the only way to get rid of it. It makes you realize that Montreal might not be the cleanest city, but really not so bad in comparison. Now, I don't want to be negative, I'm just being honest. But after a few days, you don't really notice anymore and it all becomes normal.

Well, the last minute organization was a success: our first accomodations were AMAZING! As one guest described it, a five star youth hostel. It used to be a private home, belonging to the Kenyatta family (former Prime Minister of Kenya), now converted to an auberge. The garden is exquisite, filled with beautiful flowering trees and bushes and two resident turtles!. I felt like I was in a movie. A true oasis in a big city full of modern buildings. Also, there is a pavillion in the garden with a television, so we actually got to follow the olympics, much to Noemi's content. (Somehow, watching tv outside doesn't seem so bad!)

The first few days in Nairobi included a trip to an Elephant orphanage, where they raise babies who have lost their mothers or whose mothers have died. They are treated almost like humans, bottle fed and watched over 24 hours a day by specially trained caretakers. Then we went to a Giraffe Center, where they breed the Rothschild giraffe, a species that was near extinction. Needless to say, Julien appreciated these excursions much more than the subsequent visit to the ceramic bead workshop, which of course fascinated me!

Europe in a Nutshell

Hello everybody!

I realize we have been gone for a month and a half now and I haven't written a word. So, I am finally sitting down to give you my side of the story!! On request from my Aunt Elizabeth, I have decided to write in English. I also figure in this way our blog will be a true reflection of our family.

So where to begin? As you know, we spent three weeks in Europe, mostly France and Germany with a very brief stop in Switzerland, and managed to mooch free accommodations all the way around!! Good thing, because just renting the car and paying for highway tolls just about used up our budget. Paris was pretty quiet (all the Parisians were away on vacation), believe it or not, it was almost difficult to find a baguette! Germany was postcard perfect (I'm already planning a return bicycle trip!) and Switzerland was… expensive. The only cheap thing is chocolate, so of course we ate lots!

Les mondes paralleles

Nous passons quelques jours a Diani Beach, une plage paradisiaque de sable blanc et de mer turquoise. Ce matin, nous avons fait de l'apne dans les coraux avec des poissons multicolores, avant de faire un peu de mathematiques avec Julien. L'ecole dans ces conditions, c'est pas trop forcant!

Au Kenya, la haute saison touristique s'etire jusqu'a la mi-septembre - au moins. Mais a cause des troubles politiques de l'hiver dernier, la plage est pratiquement deserte. Ainsi, les "beach boys", vendeurs et escrocs de tout acabit, se jettent comme des vautours sur nous, qui pour nous vendre un colier de billes, qui une noix de coco, qui une excursion en mer. Les "beach boys" sont des faucons qui se nourrissent de touristes naifs en pratiquant des prix ahurissants.

Sur la route, des vendeurs plus honnetes offrent fruits, legumes et babioles a des prix legerement gonfles. Mais cet apres-midi, en me rendant au cyber-cafe sous une pluie tropicale, j'ai vu des "artistes" vendre leurs tableaux sous une pluie batante! Mais qui peut les blamer? Les hotels ont mis leur femme ou leur mari a la porte, faute de clientele. Et nous? Nous ne sommes pas venu ici pour consommer, mais pour connaitre et comprendre. De toute facon, nous ne pourrions pas tout acheter!

Veut, veut pas, comme on dit, on se retrouve du cote de ceux qui ont, tandis que la majorite des Kenyans est du cote de ceux qui n'ont pas. Nous vivons dans des mondes parallelles qui ne se rejoingent que tres rarement par de petites et fragiles passerelles.

Le Kenya? C'est un pays fabuleux, plein de ressources, mal organise et gangrené par la corruption. Le lot de bien des pays.

A Nairobi, notre "pied-a-terre" au Kenya, nous avons trouve le Wildebeest Camp, une auberge vraiment super, le haut de gamme du bas de gamme.

Nairobi n'est pas une ville très intéressante, mais elle est incontournable puisque toutes les routes partent d'ici. Hier, nous avons visite le bidonville de Kawangware avec le jardinier de l'auberge, qui y vit avec sa femme et ses deux enfants dans une maison de 4 mètres carres (vous avez bien lu, ce n'est pas une erreur). Pour cuisiner, ils allument un petit feu dans la ruelle qui fait moins d'un mètre de large et qui débouche sur un chemin un peu plus large mais borde d'une rigole dans laquelle les dignes habitants de ce quartier déversent leurs déjections.

Aujourd'hui, nous avons rendu visite a un homme d'affaire qui vend des fournitures médicales aux hôpitaux de Nairobi et qui tire assez bien son épingle du jeu. Pendant qu'il nous faisait la conversation au salon, sa femme préparait un grand repas traditionnel.

Demain, nous prenons le train pour Mombassa, sur la cote de l'Océan Indien. C'est un vieux train du temps de la colonie, qui prend officiellement 15 heures pour parcourir 500 km. Mais on nous dit que ca pourrait être plus long. Ce qui est intéressant, c'est que tout fonctionne comme autrefois. Les repas sont servis sur de la porcelaine et les tables sont recouvertes de nappes blanches.

A travers toutes ces expériences, on essaye tant bien que mal de situer la place qui nous revient sur notre petite planète.-- Jean-Françoishttp://notreaventureautourdumonde.blogspot.com

Pas de panique

Je sais que je n'ai pas mis une tonne de photos sur le blog et que je n'ecris pas trop souvent. À Paris, l'amie qui nous hébergeait s'est fait voler son portable, ce qui nous a un peu limiter. Au Kenya, l'accès à Internet est relativement cher et la vitesse de croisière plutôt lente. D'ailleurs, au Kenya, tout est cher. L'essence et la nourriture coûtent à peu près comme à Montréal, ce qui fait que pour le Kenyan moyen qui n'a pas de travail, ou qui gagne 1$ par jour, c'est la débrouille tout le temps. Pour les touristes, ce n'est pas une destination à rabais! Mais qui peut les blâmer? Le Kenya possède une faune extraordinaire, une richesse unique... qui n'a pas de prix.

Nous avons fait un safari (mot qui veut dire "voyage" en swahili) de trois jours et nous en avons eu plein la vue. J'ai reussi a telecharger quelques photos.

Pyramides autour du monde

Ici et la, parfois dans des sites connus, parfois sur un bout de trottoir, tantot en famille et tantot avec des amis, nous faisons une pyramide. Voici donc les premieres photos et nous continuerons d'en ajouter au cours de nos peregrinations.

Prêts pour le Kenya

Notre court séjour de trois semaines en Europe tire déjà à sa fin. Un grand merci aux cousins et amis qui nous ont si généreusement hébergés : Franz, Fritz et Luise, Petra et Martin, Chantal, Frank et Agnès, et Laurence.

Nous nous sommes gavés de viandes, fromage, bière et vin avant d'entamer la portion equatoriale de notre aventure. En Bavière, nous avons découvert l'architecture du Moyen-Âge, en Suisse, un balade dans Zurich nous a permis de voir des vestiges romains et des bijoux hors de prix, dans les Alpes nous avons fait une randonnée au col de l'Izoard et à Paris Patricia a dansé la salsa sur le quai Saint-Bernard.

Pour ceux qui s'inquiètent, j'ai fait une réservation dans une auberge de Nairobi et quelq'un va venir nous chercher à l'aéroport (vendredi 15 août). J'espère rencontrer des jeunes plus habiles que moi qui pourront m'aider à mettre d'autres photos sur le blog.

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Paris, toujours plus belle

Etonnante Paris. Depuis que nous y avons vecu, de 1991 a 1993, elle a beaucoup change. Il ne s`agit pas de nouveaux monuments, de nouveaux chateaux ou de nouveaux musees. Il s`agit plutot d`un nouvel art de vivre. Et il etait temps que le peuple qui a invente l`art de la table decouvre aussi l`art de vivre en ville.

Ce qui frappe d`abord, c`est de voir tous ces velos, sur les pistes cyclables ou dans la rue. Il y a 15 ans, c`etait impensable de faire du velo a Paris. Aujourd`hui, on les voit traversant la place de la Bastille et enfiler la rue St-Antoine ou descendre le boulevard St-Michel a toute heure. Il y a meme des velos a louer, mais qui sont gratuits pour la premiere demi-heure!

Ensuite, les gens ne fument plus a l`interieur. Plus de fumee dans les cafes! En fait, ca brise tellement l`image des etudiants francais discutant au cafe, cigarette aux doigts, qu`on dirait que les acteurs ont oublie un accessoire.

Enfin, il y a 15 ans, les Parisiens trouvaient tout a fait naturel que leurs chiens laissent leurs traces partout, notamment sur les trottoirs, meme ceux des Champs-Elyses. Aujourd`hui, on peut marcher en regardant les monuments et l`architecture au lieu de regarder ou on met les pieds!

Apres avoir vecu a Brooklyn pendant quatre jours, Paris nous semble un oasis de tranquilite. Il faut dire que de nombreux Parisiens sont en vacances et qu`il semble meme manquer de touristes. (Il n`y avait pas de file d`attente aux Invalides lorsque j`y suis alle avec Julien.) Malgre toutes ces belles ameliorations, les Parisiens ont garde un petit "je ne sais quoi" qui fait qu`ils parlent toujours avec une certaine raideur dans le ton, et qu`on a toujours l`impression de deranger quand on entre dans un commerce. "Excusez-moi, j`aimerais vous acheter 200 gr. de jambon, si ca ne vous derange pas trop", se prend-on a dire au charcutier, de peur de se faire envoyer une tirade. On ne pouvait pas tout changer, il fallait bien garder un peu de ce qui fait que Paris est Paris.

Photos

Vous remarquerez que j'ai modifie la colonne de droite et qu'il y a maintenant un lien vers nos photos.

Aujourd'hui, nous partons pour Paris. Je dis donc un grand merci a Melissa et Darcy d'avoir ete nos hotes a New York, et a Amanda de nous avoir si genereusement offert son appartement.

Alerte a la bombe

Avertissement: J'ecris sur un Mac americain et je ne sais pas comment changer le clavier pour lui donner des accents francais.

Pour un depart, c'est tout un depart! Le train nous a mene de Montreal a New York en pas moins de 13 heures, ce qui lui donne une vitesse moyenne inferieure a 50 km/h. Il faut dire qu'il y a un arret d'une heure aux douanes, mais quand meme. Le train ne file pas sur les rails, il bringuebale. On croirait qu'il y a autant de nids de poules sur les voies ferrees americaines que dans les rues de Montreal. En plus, a la cantine, ils accepent l'argent canadien, mais seulement les billets, pas les pieces. Les Americains sont cabables de grandes choses, mais on dirait qu'ils n'exploitent pas toujours leur plein potentiel...

Ha! oui, la bombe. C'est que rendu a Hastings-upon-Hudson, a environ 40 minutes de New York, on nous a annonce que le train etait immobilise jusqu'a nouvel ordre pour cause de colis suspect un peu plus loin sur la voie. On a donc poireaute une heure sur le quai. Magnanime, Amtrak a distribue des boissons gazeuses. Quelqu'un a demande une biere, mais on lui a refuse. (C'etait pas moi.)

En attendant que le colis suspect soit detruit...

Lecture d'été

Le pont des petites misères, de Benoit Séguin, raconte le passage à l'âge adulte d'un jeune Québécois encore vert parti enseigner en Haïti pendant un an. Son choc culturel ne vient pas seulement de son immersion dans un univers social très éloigné du sien, mais aussi de sa rencontre avec un directeur d'école (un Québécois comme lui) dont les méthodes provoquent d'importants questionnements.

Ce roman, publié chez Pierre Tisseyre et qui a reçu de bonnes critiques, décrit la vie quotidienne dans la petite ville de L'Anse d'Hainault, tissée au fil d'une réalité parfois dure mais adoucie par une riche spiritualité. Le style est à la fois limpide et savoureux, transportant le lecteur au cœur de la culture haïtienne, de ses croyances, de sa langue, de son rapport à l'homme blanc venu du nord, de son courage.

J'ai un parti pris favorable pour ce roman puisque j'ai eu le privilège de me rendre en Haïti avec Benoit en 1987 et que j'ai rencontré plusieurs des personnages du roman, et notamment Ti-Piè (Petit-Pierre) l'un des enfants les plus attachant de L'Anse-d'Hainault. Et je peux vous assurer que, même si tout ce que Benoit écrit ne s'est pas réellement passé, tout est absolument vrai!

Au plus fort la poche

Vous avez sûrement remarqué que, dans le domaine du sport, chaque discipline est divisée en catégories, de pee-wee à junior majeur en passant par féminin double A. Et que, dans chaque catégorie de chaque sport, les règlements sont légèrement différents pour s'adapter aux capacités de chacun.

Prenez le hockey, par exemple. Les règlements sont légèrement différents selon qu'on joue dans la LNH, aux Jeux olympiques ou pour l'équipe pee-wee locale.

Vous êtes-vous déjà demandé pourquoi, dans le domaine du commerce, les pays industrialisés demandent à ce que tout le monde « joue » en suivant les mêmes règles? On met tous les joueurs sur la même glace, même ceux qui patinent sur la bottine, et on les fait jouer. Le résultat c'est que les petits se font rentrer dans la bande pas à peu près en plus de se faire lessiver. Pour les Haïtiens, c'est plus économique d'acheter le riz produit en Floride que celui fait par les producteurs locaux.

Je vois bien que le commerce n'est pas le sport et que créer des « ligues de commerce » n'est pas une solution. Mais on peut-tu se dire qu'on pourrait peut-être faire quelque chose? C'est ce que je vais aller voir. On s'en reparle...

Notre appartement loué!

Enfin! Nous allons héberger une famille de Français qui immigre à Montréal (une autre folle aventure). C'est le dernier gros morceau du casse-tête qui tombe en place, après les billets d'avion, les passeports et les vaccins. Louer l'appartement fait un peu partie de notre financement, mais beaucoup partie de notre « sécurité émotionnelle », si je puis dire. Laisser notre maison inhabitée nous inquiétait beaucoup plus que de la louer à des étrangers. J'ai le sentiment que nous allons partager, la famille française et nous, des expériences semblables même si nos aventures respectives sont bien différentes : le déracinement, l'éloignement de nos familles et de nos amis, le resserrement de nos liens familiaux... Nous allons essayer de nous rencontrer lorsque nous serons en France le mois prochain.

Ni frères, ni cousins, mais quand même...

Hector de Saint-Denys Garneau est né en 1912 à Montréal et Ernesto Guevara, le Che, est né en 1928 en Argentine. Ils n'ont sans doute rien en commun sinon l'intensité du regard et un béret. Étrange ressemblance...

Servas, un petit pas pour rapprocher les gens

Ça y est, nous sommes membre de Servas. Servas? Oui, c'est une association internationale de voyageurs et d'hôtes créée en 1947 par deux Allemands déçus par l'accueil qu'ils recevaient en Europe (deux ans après la fin de la guerre...) avec l'aide d'un ami américain (qui pourrait être déçu aujourd'hui de l'accueil qu'il reçoit dans certains coins du monde...).

L'idée est de permettre aux voyageurs de rencontrer des habitants du pays, simplement. En échange de l'hébergement gratuit pour deux nuits, le voyageur ne s'engage qu'à passer du temps avec son hôte et à faire connaissance. L'organisme espère ainsi que, les gens de cultures différentes construisant des liens d'amitié, le monde ne pourra que s'en porter mieux. Utopie? Il y a aujourd'hui, après 60 ans de bouche à oreille, près de 70 000 membres dans 150 pays!

J'ai bien hâte de rencontrer toutes ces personnes ! ;)

Le tour du monde de la famille Perrault

Chaque fois que je dis "on fait le tour du monde", j'ai des petits frissons ou des papillons dans le ventre. Quelle idée de faire le tour du monde en famille ?

Les amis, les collègues, les cousins à qui on parle de notre projet nous disent souvent que nous sommes « courageux ». Or je ne me perçois pas comme quelqu'un de particulièrement courageux. Le courage est une qualité qu'on voit chez les autres, mais on ne peut pas soi-même s'estimer courageux. Chacun prend ses décisions selon ce qu'il considère être « gérable ». N'empêche, préparer un voyage autour du monde, c'est toute une aventure! J'ai l'impression que ça va être plus facile de le faire que de l'organiser.

Trêve de bavardage! Assez causé de mes états d'âme. Nous partons pour New York le 18 juillet (dans 54 jours)... en train! Drôle de façon de commencer un tour du monde, par la porte à côté! Et pourquoi pas? Les enfants, Noémi et Julien - pas Evelyne bien sûr, pas une enfant - n'ont jamais vu la grosse pomme. Mais c'est surtout l'idée d'entreprendre notre périple d'un an en train qui me plait. Ce mode de transport est tellement peu utilisé en Amérique! Ça va être moins stressant aussi de prendre un taxi pour la gare qu'un taxi pour l'aéroport. On peut arriver quelques minutes à l'avance, pas trois heures.

Tout est en place pour le départ : passeports, vaccins, billets d'avion... Il ne nous reste plus qu'à louer notre appartement. Si vous connaissez quelqu'un...

Modus vivendi

Jeux

Je ne suis pas bien du tout assis sur cette chaise
Et mon pire malaise est un fauteuil où l'on reste
Immanquablement je m'endors et j'y meurs.

Mais laissez-moi traverser le torrent sur les roches
Par bonds quitter cette chose pour celle-là
Je trouve l'équilibre impondérable entre les deux
C'est là sans appui que je me repose.

- Saint-Denys Garneau, poète québécois (1912-1943).

Ma devise

"Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek adventures.
Let the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night overtake thee everywhere at home." Henry David Thoreau, poète américain (1817-1862).

J'ai appris ces vers à l'âge de 11 ans au camp Nominingue et ils m'ont accompagné toute ma vie.

Demain les vaccins!

Après les finances, les assurances, les billets d'avion, les passeports, c'est maintenant les vaccins! Demain soir pour toute la gang! Cinq personnes qui n'ont pas le même âge, qui n'ont pas tous eu les mêmes rappels... Laissons le médecin démêler tout ça. Question santé, on va aussi se payer des cours de premiers soins, histoire d'être le mieux préparés possible. Je ne suis pas de nature inquiète... mais je suis prévoyant. (Hmmm!)

L'itinéraire, en texte

Bon. Comme tout le monde n'aime pas jouer avec une carte (voir plus bas), voici l'itinéraire en mots :

18 juillet 2008 : Montréal/New York, USA (en train)
22 juillet 2008 : New York/Paris, France (possibilité d'aller en Allemagne et en Suisse)
14 août 2008 : Paris/Nairobi, Kenya (possibilité d'aller en Tanzanie)
23 septembre 2008 : Nairobi/Delhi, Inde (possibilité d'aller au Népal)
25 novembre 2008 : Delhi/Bangkok, Thailand (possibilité d'aller au Cambodge et au Laos)
26 janvier 2009 : Bangkok/Sidney, Australie
17 février 2009 : Sidney/Auckland, Nouvelle-Zélande
17 mars 2009 : Aukland/Santiago, Chili (possibilité d'aller en Argentine)
14 avril 2009 : Santiago/Lima, Pérou (possibilité d'aller en Bolivie)
9 juin 2009 : Lima/San Jose, Costa Rica (possibilité d'aller au Nicaragua)
14 juillet 2009 : San Jose/New York, USA
15 juillet 2009: New York/Montréal, Québec

L'achat des billets : la galère

Tout le monde vous le dira, sur le Web ou dans les agences : "Choisissez d'abord vos destinations, on verra ce qu'on peut faire ensuite."

En fait, la plupart des agences ne font pas de tour du monde parce que ça leur demande trop de travail pour ce que ça leur rapporte.

À Montréal, la seule agence qui en fait ne fait qu'appliquer les règles établies par les réseaux One World ou Star Alliance et vous facture un supplément de 250$ par billet pour le service. Or, quand on voyage à cinq, c'est cinq fois le même service. Facturer une seule fois 250$ devrait faire l'affaire... Si vous êtes comme moi et que vous lisez toutes les pages de ces réseaux et que vous essayez de construire votre circuit en respectant leurs règles, vous allez finir par trouver que l'agence de voyage n'a rien de mieux à offrir que ce que vous pouvez trouver vous-même.

Exemple. Nous voulions aller de l'Europe à l'Afrique sub-saharienne puis en Inde. Or c'est impossible en passant par les réseaux. Remarquez que, si vous avez beaucoup d'argent, ça peut s'arranger.

Ce que je n'ai toujours pas compris, c'est pourquoi les tarifs de One World et Star Alliance sont plus élevés pour les Canadiens que pour les Américains (jusqu'à 700$ de plus par billet avec One World!) puisque notre dollar vaut le leur. Il était impossible d'obtenir le tarif américain, même en acceptant de partir de New York.

Une agence française, Les connaisseurs du voyage, offre des prix avantageux, mais à la condition de partir de Paris. Il faut donc ajouter un aller-retour Montréal-Paris ce qui, en plus de faire grimper le prix, ajoute un segment supplémentaire.

Finalement, nous faisons affaire avec Airtreks, une agence américaine basée à San Fransisco. Allez faire un tour sur leur site, il vous fera rêver!