Chain marks and other adventures

Death at A Funeral (Quite possibly the most offensive blog post yet)

2011-09-23T04:17:00.000-07:00

I suppose it all starts with the call. They say that the only certain things in life are death, and that the Leafs will never win the Stanley Cup. I think one should add that, so long as you don't die a premature death yourself, you should probably expect a call. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about: the call to let you know that a loved one has died. In my case, it was my fabulous stepfather, Derek Hall, who was killed in a car accident.
I'm not going to give advice on how to handle "the call," because I don't have any. In this case, I think I made a joke or two that in any other family, would not have gone down well. I think it went like this:

"Even a few of the men were crying... I never knew he was so popular!"
"Of course he was, Mum. You should never undervalue the man who manages your finances."
"Well, he could never manage his wife's!"
"He was only human."

See what I mean? Most people would NOT appreciate that, within an hour of finding out your husband has died, much less roll with it. My mother is radical (also, she hates the term "passed away," so I will not use it. If you read this and happen to talk to her, don't use it. Derek died. He didn't pass away.). Then I got on a plane.
My mother picked me up at Heathrow airport, and we spent the morning just catching up in Eton, a town that's famous for educating British Royalty and pretty much every British Prime Minister. It's actually a beautiful little town, and while we were walking through it, my mum remarked on whether or not I could write a funny blog about this trip.

Well, mother... challenge accepted.

Myself, my mother, and my step-siblings Nathaniel and Sarah stayed with Eileen, Derek's sister, in the village of Marston Moretaine, where Derek grew up. In fact, I only know of one member of Derek's extended family- his nephew, Neil- who no longer lives in Marston (incidentally, he lives in Canmore. Good choice, Neil). I am fairly sure that at least half of the population are somehow related to Derek. In other words, the house was very busy, all the time. I had the pleasure of meeting a number of Derek's relatives and friends, whom I must say were all first-rate people.

I also quickly realized that grieving is a strange process for Westerners. Within 10 days, we were to have a funeral. This meant a lot of back-and-forth over arrangements and seemingly unimportant details such as flowers. I also realized that it's the little things that matter to people in hard times, because focussing on something small can help your mind of the pain of something huge. My mum was on the phone or email most of the time, trying to make arrangements for the funeral in England, and the memorial service to be held later in Canada. After a couple of days, I convinced her to take a day off travel to London for a different kind of distraction.

As any of you may know, there were recently riots across England that put the Canucks riot to shame. Well, both were shameful, but if one could win based on size of riot and damage incurred, Canadians are still too polite to really give'r. Even hockey can't get us THAT riled up. Anyway, the morning we were to leave for London, Mum looks at me and asks. "Are you sure you want to wear that shirt?"
I look down at my attire. I'm wearing a shirt depicting a matchbox propositioning a can of gasoline, asking "Will you be my co-defendant?" There's a flaming heart and everything. I can see how this won't go over well.
So naturally, being the sensitive daughter I am, I reply, "Want to buy me a new shirt?"
Being the intelligent mother she is, she doesn't reply. Or buy me a new shirt.
Well played, mother. Well played.

Later on that day, we're walking around and need directions. Mum stops to ask a homeless guy selling "The Big Issue" (which is the magazine that homeless people sell in the UK). Noting his Glaswegian accent, she asks what part of Glasgow he's from.
"The West End," he replies.
"Where about in the West end?" She enquires. "I used to work there."
"Ah- you look like you worked in the hospital there."
"That's right, I worked on the psych ward." She affirms.
"I ESCAPED the psych ward!" He replies.
Basically after this, they're great friends. He gives her directions, and she buys a copy of the Big Issue. He shows her the vest he has to wear, and she agrees that it's hideous and she wouldn't wear it either. As he's rummaging around, he finds a postcard and gives it to her along with her copy of the Big Issue.

"BONUS FROM THE HOMELESS!" She exclaims in delight.

Seriously. She said that. Just off the top of her head. The bum was stoked- he was absolutely loving it. I mentioned she's awesome, right?

Afterwards, we stopped in the Maple Leaf bar, where they sold cheap Canadian beer (Coors Light, anyone?) and cheap, non-Canadian wine. It was less than fabulous.

The rest of the week passed, and it was the day of the funeral. I understand the point of funerals; I think the words spoken and the traditions are a good thing, because they allow us to end with a better memory of our loved one. The tributes given by Derek's friends and children were beautiful, and I believe that the words spoken go a long way to help the bereaved...not get over, but get THROUGH pain.

That said, somethings about funerals are downright weird. I mean, you sit for an hour or more in front of a casket containing a cadaver. Then you go and stand by a hole in the ground and say some more words. Then you sprinkle some dirt on the casket. I'm not one for tradition. Though I respect it, I don't feel it. Words move me. Tradition does not.

What DID move me (to unfortunately timed laughter) was when my brother Jon went to drop the dirt in the casket. Along with it went his hymn leaflet. Now, in retrospect, no one cares, but at the time, at our first funeral, and definitely feeling that this is supposed to be a somber deal and that any misstep is probably a point towards 'straight to hell', my brothers and I freeze. Jon turns around slowly, and we stare at him with half-shocked, half-reproachful gazes. I don't remember who said it.

"Way to go, Jon."
Without missing a beat, he shrugs. "Hope he likes that hymn."

Now, I'm pretty sure that the graveside (particularly one that's not even been recovered) is NOT the place for laughter. I'm pretty sure I didn't leave a great impression on the other mourners. And it only gets worse.

Afterwards, we go to the reception, where's there's a great slideshow going, courtesy of Malcolm, and lots of food (another thing that kind of messes me up; people seem to be super-into food at funerals). It's a beautiful day, and the boys and I are standing outside and getting some fresh air. The reception was held in a really nice park area, and there were tons of little bunnies around.

"Hey Elspeth, go chase that bunny," Iain suggests.
I'm not sure why I did it. Perhaps I thought the occasion called for something a little more lighthearted, perhaps I thought I could provide some relief from the sadness. Considering my history of chasing bunnies pretty much any time they're around, maybe it was just because I'm driven by a strange desire to chase a bunny any time I see one. I can't help myself. I'd already gotten myself into trouble earlier in the week chasing one into an ultra-thorny blackberry bush, and it wasn't pretty.
I needed no more encouragement. I sprint after it, almost catch it, but it ducks under a fence. It stops, and we're about two feet from one another. It's salivating like crazy, and I think to myself, "Woah, a rabid rabbit."
Normally, this would turn someone off continuing on. However, if you've ever known an addict, you would know that very little turns them away from their goal. I climb the fence (in my dress), and go after it again. I chase it another fifteen metres or so and it stops again, just a few feet away. I'm standing on a wooden platform above it. At this point, it should have occurred to me that it was strange for a rabbit to stop while it's pursuer is only a few feet away. It didn't.
I jumped down beside it, and it bolted into the reeds, and into a shallow little slow-flowing creek. It's bounding across the creek, and I watch it curiously, thinking to myself, "I didn't know rabbits could swim."
Turns out, they can't.
About half way across, it stops moving. I watch it for another thirty seconds, wondering if it's just really bad at hiding. Eventually, I call over my brothers.
"Is it playing dead?" I ask.
"No Elspeth, I think it IS dead," Malcolm replies.
"No it's not!" I exclaim. "Should I go get it?"
"Doubt you can do much for it." Malcolm answers.
Iain adds, "Hey Elspeth. You straight-up Watership-Downed that bunny."

I stare at the motionless bunny in horror. Watership Down was, and will forever remain, the most awful and scarring film I have ever seen in my life. All the bunnies die. Every. Single. One. This is what I have done to this rabbit. I have killed a bunny rabbit. At my stepfather's funeral.

I am officially the worst person alive.

"But I didn't MEAN to kill it!" I whine.
"What did you mean to do with it?"
I am without response. You're not actually supposed catch those fleet-footed creatures, and you're certainly not supposed to kill them, unless you're partial to rabbit stew. You're just supposed to chase them. They like being pursued. Otherwise, why else would they hump like... well, bunnies?

Also, in my single-minded pursuit of the bunny, I have forgotten that the wall of the reception room is made of glass. Every single person at the funeral has watched as I chase a bunny straight to its death. And THAT is the impression I've left on all of Derek's family and friends.

Don't worry. I'll never forget this event. My family will make sure of it.
(As a disclaimer, apparently the bunny was dying of myxomatosis, and that I actually saved it from a slow and painful death. That explains how slow it was and the salivating. If you don't believe me... here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myxomatosis - AND it's in Watership Down!). I saw two other bunnies dead on the walk back from the funeral, further proving my claim.

Because it's the only way I can have closure on another unfortunate event, I've left a eulogy for Fiver (just google watership down. You'll get it).

Death at a Funeral
(An ode to Fiver)

Oh Fiver, you were a survivor.
Why, then, did you become a diver?
Did your clairvoyance not show you me?
Did you give up to that odious disease,
Myxi?
Or did you simply see me,
and decide "I'd rather drown,
than be caught by she!"
Why, oh why did you take to that stream?
Oh filthy water,
forever polluted!
Oh my ego,
forever minuted!
Shall I never again feel the raptures
When little bunnies, I attempt to capture?
Simply because,
apparently,
they perish from shock?
Oh Tragedy of greatest consequence!
Oh my life's greatest joy... spent!

(That was not hyperbolic in the slightest).

Okay, switching gears again.

We travel back to Canada for the second service, which proves to be a little less formal. It's nice to know that Derek made so many friends in Canada, particularly in light of the fact that he moved there when he was 60, having never lived more than 50 miles from the place where he was born. He was far more brave and determined than anyone gave him credit for.
At the service, more words are spoken, and they're still just as meaningful as the first. I suppose this is because you can't expect to have closure after a funeral. Closure, if it comes, only comes with time. Healing only comes with a scar. These are things that I've learned, and learned to accept.

At the funeral, the boys and I were able to present a tribute of our own, as well. I've attached what I can recall of it here, for posterity. (Also, no other bunnies were killed).

For Derek,

There are things you wish you could have said. Words of appreciation, of gratitude, of love.
Simply saying: "I know- I see all that you do, and all that you have done, and you did it well. Thank you."

When you came into our lives, you were met with resistance. It was a long time before we could call you more than "our Mother's husband," and call you "our stepfather." We made that transition as difficult as possible, from our half-day escapes into the woods in a futile attempt to skip Sunday dinner, to our naming you "D-bop" (though we're not really sure if you ever caught on that it was our name for you). There were worse things, as well. Behaviour less easily laughed off as the amusing rebellion of teenagers, and acts that were far more spiteful and angry.

You never put up with bad behaviour, but you never gave up on us, either. You were eternally patient and graceful. Your even temper was astounding. Eventually, you wore down on us, and in you we found a common sense of humour. We shared many laughs, particularly at the expense of our mother.

We found in you a helper and a teacher. You drove us where we needed to go, and when the time came, you (thankfully) took over driving lessons from our mother. You were always practical, and you showed us common sense in financial matters. You were calm, cool, and collected. You exposed us to all these virtues, and we are so grateful. More so, we are grateful that in you, we found a friend.

Most of all, we're grateful for your love for our mother. It was a partnership that worked. She gave you adventure, you gave her solid ground. She gave you- always unsolicited- medical advice, and you gave her - always unheeded- financial advice. You gave one another companionship, help, and love. You did what a good partnership should do: you made one another better. So we cannot be thankful enough.

So we mourn, for your broken body, but we rejoice, for you are new and unblemished.
We mourn, over months of resentment, but we rejoice, over years of friendship.
And we mourn, because you are gone, but we rejoice, because you are home.

I'll miss you Derek. See you later.

A few more photos

2011-07-11T23:47:00.000-07:00

All credits go to Mary-Clair Yelovich... great trip buddy, fantastic photographer, and all-around awesome. Her pictures are worth far more than my thousands of words. Also, not at all in chronological order.

Milford Sound 1

Waterfall in Milford Sound

Waterfall from up close...

Milford sound #378

No Idea where this was... but pretty, right?

Just chillin...

MC liked this mountain... a lot. Had to drag her away in fact.

Enjoying the sunset at Lake Tikapo... right before we realized the car was broken down. So we got to enjoy the sunset for a really long time.

On the road to somewhere. The Souther Alps

On top of the Saddle

Just to prove how dirty the glacier was. Definitely reminded me of a pile of snow in February.

Inside the cow shed.

The coolest cliff face on the way up Mt. Luxmore- looked like a clay pot!

Lichen...

MC super-stoked to have arrived at the top (or what we thought was the top)

A useful reminder

Inside Mt. Luxmore Caves

Kaikoura

Sun setting as we arrive at our hut for the night.

A lot of seals.

Sheep village. Actually, probably more of a sheep metropolis.

A shag is a type of bird... mind out of the gutter!

Lake Tikapo... enjoying the view for longer than we'd intended.

Kaikoura (peninsula walkway)

Should've Been an Elf (Or, New Zealand and Back Again): Part 3

2011-07-10T03:46:00.000-07:00

The Final Chapter: Reprimanded by a seal (and two police officers)

*So, just as an aside, I thought I'd mention that as far south as we were, the sun would swing across the sky, like a low pendulum, rather than ever going directly above our heads. It felt like sunset throughout all the daylight hours. It was cool.

Anyway, where were we? Right... that trek was over. The next day, we helped our new friend Marianne with her 432 bags to get to the bus station. Seriously, I have no idea how she got that luggage anywhere. After coffee and breakfast, we decided to check out the Fjords of Milford Sound. As every single postcard we came across was a photograph of a single peak in the Sound, we figured we should probably see this Mitre Peak. Also, we would be able to sit in a car/on a boat all day, and quite frankly, after the two previous days, we were pretty happy to cease all physical activity for the rest of the week.
We stopped at a cool chasm on the way to test our legs and ensure they were still function (they were... barely). Then we travelled on to Milford Sound for our boat cruise. I won't make any jokes about being on a boat, thought I do recall that MC and I had a very good discussion about the difference between passion and addiction (and anyone who overheard us MIGHT have thought we were ridiculous, which is fine. MC, by the way, is a kick-ass philosopher-type who just gets it. If you have a problem that you need philosophized, you should ask her. I won't discuss further the depths of conversation we reached, because in retrospect, they certainly reached absurdity). Also, here is a photo of Mitre Peak taken from MC's camera, just so we can say we were actually there, and didn't just buy a postcard:

Pretty, no?

The Fjordlands are incredible. The best way I can describe is to say that the sea cuts into the land, rather than the land rolling into the sea. Rather than a gradual descent into a shore and a beach, instead, the fjords cut deeply into practically-vertical slopes and tree-scattered cliffs. Afterwards, we got back into the car and drove up a mountain. It reminded me a bit of driving in the rockies, and of course I decided to relate to MC the issue many British Columbians take with Albertans: they can't drive on windy roads or mountains. They'll CRAWL up switchbacks, but as soon as they hit a flat, WHAM! They're going at 160km/hr in three seconds flat. (This sounds horrible, but keep this hypocritical little anecdote in mind; we'll revisit it shorty).
From the Sound, we made the long drive back to Queenstown. We were going to try to make it to Wanaka that night (see previous entry for reasons why we weren't particularly enthralled by Queenstown), but stop in Queenstown for dinner (because for all of my whining, Queenstown actually has very good restaurants). We ate in a cow shed. Literally. We had bolognese pizza, which was essentially pizza with spaghetti sauce and cheese poured over it. There were no plates, or utensils. I fell asleep at the table. It was classy.

The Cow Shed

Anyway, we strolled along Queenstown and noted that there was a winter festival going on, and kids were kids skating around an ice rink (no, not a real ice rink made in your back yard with the hose). I scoffed inwardly. Then we headed out to Wanaka. It was pitch dark- and I mean completely black. The only time I could see anything was when a car drove by. After some time, MC wondered if I had my lights on. I did not. Then I decided they had been burned out, and that I HATED JUCY rentals. Then I figured how to turn my lights on, and it was okay. Admittedly, I felt like a moron. But not ENOUGH like a moron, apparently.

The road to Wanaka was one of the most dangerous I'd ever encountered (and would have been in daylight, as well). It consisted of a series of the tightest switchbacks I'd ever (not) seen in my life, and I stalled twice going around them. It was embarrassing. MC's life was flashing before her eyes. If my life was flashing before my eyes, then I'll have to ask my brain circuitry to try better next time, because I started recounting my life... out loud... very slowly. Literally. Remember how I said I get chatty when nervous? Here's how the (very one-side) conversation went:

"One time, when I was two years old, I went out in the rain to jump in rain puddles. I was wearing a yellow rain coat, and Welly boots. I think the boots were pink, but they could have been yellow. I may have had an umbrella. I'm not sure... Also, I remember my dad giving me some super-delicious strawberry flavoured medicine once. I'm still looking around for it, cause seriously, that stuff will SELL... Also, there was this time when I was three that I wanted the jungle-patterned paper to colour on, cause it was so rad, but my friend's mother said I had to share it with my friends, and I was NOT happy about that. Man, she was such a -"

Meanwhile, MC is probably close to tears/strangling me.

However! We did make it through the Path to Mordor (too much?) without meeting our dooms (and no, I didn't try to bribe God this time... but I still totally owe a homeless person some fruit). After a slightly less dangerous descent down the other side of the mountain, I was overcome by a rush of ecstatic relief. We were almost to Wanaka! With a joyous shriek (it sounded something like WOOOOO!), I slammed my foot on the accelerator. Our arrival was accompanied by the triumphant sound of trumpets and a rapturous festival of lights... Oh, wait- No, that was just sirens. Oh, and he was pulling me over. Whoops. (see previous anecdote. Hypocrisy? Admittedly, it's certain).

I pull to the side of the road and wind down my window, wondering if I was speeding, but certain I probably was. (Disclaimer: It's not that I don't lie to cops. It's that I CAN'T lie to cops. Remember the fork question and the worst answer ever? Apparently, it's wasn't the worst answer ever:)

Officer: "Do you know how fast you were going?"

Me: "No."

Officer: "118km/hr."

Me: "Oh," (In my head, that's not so bad. At least he didn't catch me this morning was I was really gunning it. Thankfully, I didn't say this out loud)

Officer: "Why were you speeding?"

Me: "I WAS JUST SO EXCITED!"

Officer: actually, he doesn't say anything initially. He just stares at me awkwardly. This is probably strangest response to that question he's ever gotten. Again, thankfully, I didn't mention that I was so excited to have made it through the road of doom, that I felt the need to drive dangerously. So he infers, "Excited to get out of Queenstown? I understand that. Give me your license and registration, and I'll got get you your ticket."

He takes an inordinantly long time getting my ticket, during which MC points out my idiocy and we both start laughing so hard that I'm fairly certain he's going to set up a breathalyzer and take my blood levels for any other drug (ps- since this is on the world-wide web, with approximately 8 people reading it, I'll add that I do not drink or do drugs. I don't even like wine sauces.). Then I give him my most winning smile (and accept my 120$ ticket) and we're off to the hostel for the night.

After very conscientiously paying for the ticket online, I see the stack of board games and have the brilliant idea of playing scrabble. I should mention that I have two goals in life, and both include scrabble: the first is to play the word xylophone; the second is to beat my father. Both are equally unlikely.

My words are thematically consistent: jail, noose, crime, and the like. MC's words are... generally no more than three letters. Though we don't play for points, MC starts to feel upset that she's not "winning."

She gripes, "I don't understand. I used to be so good at this. When I was volunteering at the senior's day center, I was winning all the time!"

I look up at her mischievously. "Are you sure you weren't playing against patients with dementia?"

She places down the word "Ha" (I kid you not... it was actually the word Ha.) and retorts, "It was an Alzheimer's clinic, actually!"

I patted her arm with the dutiful sympathy of the victor (Victor was a word I played). Sucker.

The next day, I am in fact the sucker. We're off to see the glaciers. We were going to try to fit in both, but the first (Fox glacier) was not particularly visible, and I was also trying to fit in 10 hours of driving into 6. I will add that I tried VERY hard not to speed this day. Therefore, my calculations didn't make sense. Anyway, here is Fox Glacier (I believe) from the back.

Actually, to be honest, that might just be a random mountain with snow on it. I have no idea at this point. Also, this is our car (not the initial El Cheapo, but the more demure- and more reliable- El Cheapo Version 2). I have a strong and irrational dislike for hatchbacks that goes back to growing up in Vernon and the number of kids trying to "pimp out" their mothers' Honda Civic hatchbacks with obscene spoilers and bone-crushing sub-woofers and the fact that they were modelled after cars in the Fast and the Furious, which I also have a strong and irrational dislike for (actually, hating the Fast and the Furious is entirely rational). Don't ask me about Hondas, by the way, unless you want a 10-minute rant. Oh look, I just did it, and you didn't even ask!

Anyway, we stopped at what was meant to be the more impressive glacier, Franz-Josef. We were not impressed. It was dirty (the colour reminiscent of piles of road-side snow in Canada in February), and apparently if you got too close to it, you would die. Truly, that's what the signs said.

In fact, it was so lame, that on the way back, we gave it the Pity Clap. But, since the Pity-Clap glacier may be gone in about a decade, I might as well put it up, just to say that I saw it before it died its pitiful, slow death. As we were walking back from the glacier, nature must have heard our mockery and put on a spotlight display in an attempt to persuade us of its glory. It made for a pretty picture. Still convinced it was the lamest glacier ever.

Okay, so after the glaciers, we drove on towards Hamner Springs (Hot Springs). I tried... truly, truly tried to stay under the limit. And when the cop passed me, I was positive that I was going 105km/hr. He was positive I was going 115. I don't argue, because he is probably right. Whatever, Mum, at least I never street-raced my father's car and crashed it. I don't want to talk more about it. I am the trip sucker. At least the ticket was cheaper.

ohhh... still need to pay that.

AH, just paid. by the way, new zealand police, your website sucks. Not that I'm bitter.

Ok, so we did make it to Hamner Springs, and we went straight to the pools. Ah, how good it was to relax in the sulfurous water! Granted, it was a bit... steamy, but fortunately there were lifeguards/security guards roaming around eyeing the misty water for any dubious activities that didn't belong in a kid-friendly pool.

We made it back to our hostel, run by a really great Dutch guy, and... we found Marianne! We were both wondering what either traveller was doing there, but it was generally awesome. A very great coincidence. We ate Tim-tams and chatted and laughed some more with our friend.

The next morning (and our last full day in New Zealand), we made our way to Kaikoura, a seaside town

just north of Christchurch. It was, in a word, beautiful. It was similar to the Isle of Mull, only with bigger mountains in the distance, and an awful lot of seals. First, we went to a great Cafe for Green-Eggs-and-Ham (true story) and coffee (of course). We read a bit, then went and did the Peninsula Walkway, an incredible cliff-top jaunt that gave the most wonderful views of the sea.

See? The Sea

Anyway, being natural-born adventurers (apparently), we then made our way down the cliff to the edge of the waters and past the signs asking us very politely not to go any further. See, here I am, fearlessly adventuring/climbing up a geologically interesting pile of rocks:

Initially, we didn't know why we weren't supposed to go forward Ok, that's a lie. It was something about birds, but there were no birds. We checked very carefully. So carefully, in fact, that we didn't notice the 6000 seals just lying there. In our defence, we initially wondered if the seals were dead. It took me nearly-harassing a seal to get it to actually move. (Disclaimer- as far as I know, I did not actually harass any seals).

See? It moves. Well, it moved its head anyway.

Again... NOT harassing any seals. At all. In fact, pretty sure the seal thought I was very cool.

These brown blobs are in fact seals:

Anyway, we continued along, found a giant stone mosaic pronouncing "Bong Love Forever" and other delights. We were shouted at by seals trying to take naps, and we decided to scramble back up to the top of the cliff. We were done the 3 hour hike in an hour (and feeling pretty radical about it).

That night, we stayed in a hostel where the owners made friends with everyone and all the visitors were sitting around the main room singing and playing guitars and ukuleles. Initially reticent, MC and I sat and pretended to read while we inched our way closer to the singing circle. Finally, MC joined in, then I followed (Ok, I didn't actually sing, because I was trying to be kind to everyone else in the room, but at least I was no longer lurking strangely outside the circle). Although the owner was Kiwi, he sounded EXACTLY like the lead singer from the Barenaked Ladies. We made him sing "If I had 1,000,000 Dollars" and it was awesome.

All right, that pretty much summed up our trip. We weren't entirely sure we would leave (because that Ash cloud from Chile somehow did a second lap of the world between monday and tuesday, returning to settle over the Tasman Sea for another 5 days), but the ash cloud dissipated and let us free (which was good, because we needed to get home in order to board another flight to Sydney the next day- yea, my carbon footprint sucks). MC got some wine, we got back to the airport, and flew home without too much hassle. It was great.

Should've Been an Elf (Or, New Zealand and Back Again): Part 2

2011-07-06T03:58:00.000-07:00

PART II: TRAMPING (not whoring)

The Kepler Track, our beast to be destroyed over the next three days (aka our journey), began at 6am the following morning. It was very dark: in fact, I wasn't entirely sure that we had made it onto the right track. We drove to the entrance, shouldered our packs, and put on our head lights, and were met with the first stroke of luck of our trek: we had indeed reached the correct entrance. So far, so good. (Anyone who knows me knows that this in itself is an achievement worthy of celebration). Step 2: stay on the track in the pitch dark with 15$ headlamps as light sources.
No problem.
We were off, Mary-Clair wondering silently why she'd agreed to this, and myself jabbering on excitedly like a preteen girl within a ten-mile radius of Justin Bieber. I don't think MC used more than a handful of polysyllabic words in the first two hours, and I don't think I shut up for more than three seconds. I should mention that I chatter (a lot) when nervous, and that I could not shake the feeling that at any moment, a bear might decide I would make a tasty breakfast (obviously, there are no predators in New Zealand, but I suppose it's a Canadian reflex). My incessant prattle probably would have attracted a bear (just to shut me up, much less eat me) in Canada, so I think this impulse is probably not Darwinian in nature. Anyway, at some point, the sun began to rise and spirits brightened. We were in a beech forest, and the trees were covered in lichen, like tinsel. It was beautiful. I did not shut up. MC was a good sport. Here is sample conversation:

"I should have been an elf," I decide as I walk through the forest, feeling very "one with nature"- ish.
"Sure," MC replies. Then, after a pause, "No, you're too boisterous."
"No, not a serene, Lord of the Rings elf," I insist. "Maybe a Christmas elf. They were TOTALLY boisterous."
"Oh, one of Santa's elves? I could see that," MC agrees.
"Yea, I could get down with making toys and stuff," I agree excitedly. I've found my calling. Then I think. "But the LOTR elves are taller, and better looking. And they have AWESOME ears." I search frantically for a way to join the superior elves. "I mean, maybe if I'm 1000 years old, I won't be so boisterous anymore."
"Yea, okay, maybe there were boisterous elves in Lord of the Rings, but just no one ever mentioned them," MC concedes.
"Yes!" I am pleased to be one of the elven "extras," as it were.
MC is probably pleased that I'll shut up for five full minutes.

Some time later, I find a hollowed-out tree and insist we take our first photo of the wine bottle. (Why I came up with this idea, I do not know. I don't even drink.)

I should also mention that aside from just talking, I would stop every 15-30 minutes and enforce a water-drinking rule. At the start of the trek, we had seen a sign warning us of diseases if we did not boil the water. We had opted not to purchase/carry a burner, so I was resigned to a severe bout of giardia. MC was not. We each had 1.5 liters of water. I decided for MC that surviving 3 days (and 60km) off of 1.5L of water was infeasible, therefore she WOULD get giardia, or I would be damned. This was met with heavy resistance from her part. After about an hour, I realized that since I was fully prepared for diarrhoeal disease, and would refill at any watering hole, then I could just let her have most of my fresh water, and keep her own for later. I had also decided that if she were to pass out along the path from dehydration, I would probably kick her unconscious body, and then continue on by myself out of sheer frustration, and so in order to 1) not have her pass out and 2) not feel residual guilt for kicking an unconscious person and then leaving them alone in the wild to die (which I was certain I would do), I would force her to drink my water at regular intervals.
MC did not really appreciate this. This is her giving in after I stood, blocking the path, and yelling "You shall not pass... until you've had water!" (I'm not sure if she'd more annoyed with the LOTR reference or just the whole Nazi-water thing...)

Now, as I was pressing on at a somewhat oppressive pace (as Tony likes to call it, "printing") and forcing MC to trudge along at this pace behind me, I had a strange feeling that we would in fact reach the first hut (Luxmore hut)- our designated lunch spot, somewhat earlier than the signs designated. Indeed, we reached the first sign in hours about 2 hours before anticipated. We also found SNOW! So, we celebrated in a very girlish, very shrieking manner than I won't expand on, other than to say that it was joyously exuberant and rather high-pitched. There may have been dancing and leaping involved. This, as we would later find out, was premature.

We reached the hut 45 minutes later, stopping first in a cave, which was probably more exciting than we could see, but we did not have the recommended two light sources. I think the cave was significant for some reason, but as I don't plan on living (or making my living) in caves, I did not maintain this information as vital. Still, the rocks were cool, I guess, if that's your sort of thing. They looked a little gross, actually:

We reached Luxmore Hut and stopped for an early lunch (not that early, if you consider that we'd already hiked 15km straight upwards, and had been going for 4 hours by that time). We were again, quite excited. I was in part excited because we'd hiked 15km uphill on two apples, and in part excited because eating would lighten my pack (I didn't realize until this point in the hike that I was carrying all the food).
As you can see, MC enjoyed her sandwich (the benefit of it being the temperature of a fridge outside, was that we didn't actually need a fridge to keep our food fresh. The downside being the fact that we had to spend the entire day- and night- in a fridge).

It got cold quickly, so we didn't linger (despite the lovely view). I, of course, wanted to continue "printing" as fast as I could. MC wanted to actually appreciate the view (LAME) and take (TONS) of photographs. Every so often, I would look back and see that she was a good few hundred meters behind. I would stalk back angrily, ready to ask what on earth she was taking her six thousandth photograph of the exact same scene for, when I would stop quickly to see what she was shooting. Then I would be too distracted by the view to remember to admonish her for admiring it. Here is a fractional sample of her lovely photos.

If you look closely, you can see that I'm caressing the wine bottle.

I decided this mountain looked like the saw-tooth pattern of atrial flutter... then we had a debate about ECG's... and then decided we were huge geeks

Some Mountains. I probably had an epic classical music soundtrack in my head at this point.

I think sometime around this point we decided we were Merri and Pippen from LOTR... because Sam and Frodo's Journey was too depressing. Did I mention we decided we were geeks?

Wine bottle atop Mt. Luxmore (~5000ft). We considered sending photos into the company as advertisement. Then MC remembered that it was an Australian bottle.

Now, the problem with our previous celebrations was that they came with the thought that it we had gone as far up as we would, and that there was nothing left but down. This was wrong. We had, in fact, only reached the first point of a saddle. We had to descend- then re-ascend, before making the final descent- until we were finally back in the forest. Here is the second reason our celebration was premature: it's funny how muscular pain doesn't actually show up until you start going downhill. I actually think we were actually slower going downhill... until MC had enough and just started running (forcing me to run after her). After an endless stretch of intense pain, we finally reached flat ground, and were beginning to see some clearing in the trees. In desperation, I began to make my bribes with God. I believe I told him that if we were finally at the hut, then I would give a homeless person a pint of strawberries (to be honest, I've done this before, so it wasn't terribly original. It seemed like a good idea at the time.) On that note, I owe a homeless person a pint of strawberries.

We finally reached the Iris Burn hut, after 30km of scaling and descending, and rather than go inside, we just sort of collapsed on the bench outside the hut, as if we tried to enter, it might disappear on us. A few moments later, a girl comes out of the hut and introduces herself as Marianne from France. She wonders where she came from (as she spent the previous night at Luxmore Hut). She doesn't really believe that we did the whole thing today... then she declares us insane. Which we don't deny.

We try to make a fire (in the hut's fireplace), but not one of us can do it, so we give up on the idea. Wilderness survivors we are not.

So we have our dinner of pita bread and hummus, chocolate and carrots and, of course, wine. I'm extremely grateful for Marianne, as now I can pretend to take sips of the wine that I really don't want, and am cursing myself for coming up with the idea to bring along in the first place). Marianne and MC manage to make it through half the bottle (and I'm again grateful that I have to carry half as much liquid tomorrow), and Marianne shares a cup of tea with us (she actually did bring a burner, but she tells us that she's been drinking the water from the huts for the last two days without boiling it and she's been fine- I do an internal "I told you so" dance, while MC remains dubious). That's how dinner goes... passing around a bottle of wine and a single mug of tea. It was almost poetic.

Afterwards, the three of us lay out our sleeping bags in the wide wooden beds (with mats! how luxurious!). It is seriously cold, and it's begun to pour outside. I'm wearing my hoodie, my one shirt, two pairs of tights, leg warmers, and extra socks, and I'm still shaking. MC is lying next to me. Do we spoon? I wish we had- but I dreamt of a lone, tragic palm tree in a snow storm, so I'm going to assume we do not.

Needless to say, we are up and out of the hut in about five minutes flat in the morning, because it's almost as much work shivering and trying to stay warm in the hut as it is to hike the next 30km facing us (oh, by the way, we'd made such good time the day before that we decided to cut our 3-day hike down to 2). Marianne decided to join us for the last leg of the trip, which was great. Fortunately, the rain has stopped. Unfortunately, once we are upright, we are faced with the reality of the toll 30km of hiking with 50lb packs has taken on our bodies. The first half hour is more of a shuffle than a hike. Actually... probably the whole day is like that. I'm not as talkative this morning, which is probably for the best. As we walk through the valley in the dark, the stars are bright overhead and mountains encroach upon us on either side. It felt truly epic... and epically painful. Eventually, we left the marshy valley and entered the rainforest, just as the sun came up. It was really eerie and beautiful, and it looked exactly the same for the next 6 hours. Something like this:

Pretty right? Yep... the whole way. Just lots of green. It was really strange coming out of it and seeing colours again.

Oh, by the way, here's Mary-Clair with Marianne. I was originally in the photo, but it seemed incongruous. Maybe a name thing?

We reached the Moturau hut (our original second-night resting place) and stopped for lunch at 10:30am (give us some slack, we started hiking at 4:30), and I forced MC and Marianne to finish the wine. Marianne loves this idea. I was extremely pleased. We're all very proud of ourselves for making it to the hut two hours prior to the recommended walking time. Furthermore, we had only 15km to go! The Hut was situated on what was I'm sure a very pretty lake. I was in too much pain to care.

After lunch, we had to stand up again (which was the worst), and we began to shuffle slowly towards the trail. I had a feeling we would not be making such good time on the final leg.
To be perfectly honest, all I remember of this leg was trying not to look at my watch every thirty seconds and trying not to focus on the pain. I remember counting steps a lot, as well. We were all pretty much destroyed. There was a river to my right, and I think MC took some photos of it. Oh! That's right. We crossed a bridge. In fact, we crossed two bridges (I actually thought the first was the landmark Rainbow Reach bridge, in which case it had somehow taken us an incredibly short period to reach it. I was bitterly disappointed when we reached the second rainbow ridge, and found that we still had another 2 hours of shuffling pitifully to go).
Nevertheless, finish we did. Was it a glorious sprint, a grand march to the final marker?
No, I'm pretty sure it more resembled a drunken stumble. In fact, I'm positive I fell over more than once. Still, we had the wherewithal to pose proudly in front of the sign.

Me: "Your kidneys hate you!"
MC: "I'm gonna need another one of these if we're hanging out the rest of the week."

It was a long two hundred meters back to the car, so we had to take a break half way. There was a small hut where we sat (and I noticed that my hands had inexplicably swollen to thrice their normal size... so if anyone knows why that might have happened, that would be helpful). We were really proud of ourselves for finishing the 30km in less than 8 hours... until we saw the sign for the Kepler Challenge, and that the fastest guy to complete the entire 60km did it in less than 5 hours.
Whatever, I'll totally beat that next year. Jerk.

Should've Been an Elf (Or, New Zealand and Back Again): Part I

2011-07-05T05:24:00.000-07:00

Here we go again with the yearly post-exam travel blog in which I do enough stupid things in a new location to feel the need to share them with anyone who might be concerned for my safety (or, who might simply want a laugh). This year, New Zealand! I will try to make as few cliched references to Lord of the Rings as possible, but seeing as the title of this post is by no means a good start, please prepare yourselves.
This particular expedition was so full of raucous misadventures that I could fill a novella, therefore it will be completed in multiple parts.

Part I: The Requisite Travel Calamities (Or, How I Know that Random Explosive Tests are Not Random)

Our story begins in Chile- actually, it does not, although I'm sure Chile is very nice, and I would like to visit sometime- but the ash cloud that caused our initial flight to be cancelled was in fact the result of a volcano in Chile, and this particularly resilient cloud then made a lap around the world, settling nicely over the Tasman Sea and causing all flights to be cancelled.
I took the news well, as I was not unhappy to spend the entire post-exam week just sitting in my chair watching television and actively working to numb my brain after weeks of ineffective and inefficient "studying" (read: not really studying at all).
This was not to be, however, and we were re-booked to fly out on Sunday, cutting our trip short, but not out altogether. This allowed me Friday to see the Dalai Lama in Brisbane (on the big screen, because I was too cheap to pay for a ticket to ACTUALLY see him- so no, it was no different to just watching him on television, but I pretended it was) which is probably something I should be quite pleased about, and I probably learned a lot of meaningful things from this revered spiritual leader, but I left a bit early because I was falling asleep. The Dalai Lama... doesn't like to be rushed into anything, particularly not into making his point, shall we say. I think, to have been truly inspired, you were supposed to buy one of the t-shirts they were selling.
Anyway, that was a nice little side trip without every having left Brisbane, and I thought it would be worth mentioning (so that I would remember) that I saw the Dalai Lama, and that he was pretty cool.

So, having an extra 48 hours to pack and prepare for the trip, quite naturally, I left it until 30 minutes before we were due to leave. We (being myself and Mary-Clair) split a cab with George and Kylie (another couple of med students), with whom we would be staying that evening in Christchurch. In the airport in Brisbane, I was confronted by the questions I am asked every trip (do you have a copy of your return ticket? do you have a visa?) and give the answers I give every trip (???). This went as smoothly as ever, and then I was through to bag check. Here is where it gets interesting.

Security Lady: "Do you know what's in your bag?"
Me: "No."
(Worst. Answer. Ever.)
Security Lady: "A fork. In the bottom of your bag."
Me: (Out Loud): "Oh. Sorry." (In my head): "A fork? I don't even remember the last meal I ate with a fork... let's see, there were the last three days in which I ate only pizza and coffee, and the two days before that in which I forgot to eat altogether, and then... I wonder if I should mention that I think that fork it a potential biohazard- oh, she's already touching it. Too late now."
Security Lady: (In her head): "You complete moron." (Out Loud): "Have a nice day!"

I grab my back with a smile and notice a security guard with his eyes trained on me. As I meet up with my friend and pass by him, he stops me. "YOU'VE been selected for our random security test."

As I go over to get my pat-down and bag-swab (which I fail... twice, before he realizes it's the remnants of some scented body lotion setting off the explosive radar), the man asks me casually "So, you've got a British passport, but you don't sound British at all, and you live in Brisbane?"
Me: "Oh, I'm Canadian."
Man: "Ah,"
Apparently this makes complete sense, because he changes his attitude completely, and I'm off through the gate.
Not the MOST interesting travel story, but keep in mind two trends: ash clouds and worst answers ever. We'll revisit them later.

(Insert: that night, I realized I had not packed a single shirt. A fork, but no shirts. It was going to be a smelly week).

The next morning, we were up not-so-early to pick up our vehicle from Jucy Rentals. Naturally, we chose the cheapest vehicle possible (the aptly named El Cheapo). Jucy Rentals is a rental company that proudly hires only "good-looking, sexy, under-25's," which, while making our attendants easy on the eye, does not necessarily translate to mechanical abilities with cars. Our car LOOKED fine enough, and the name EL CHEAPO in huge decal across the side, like a blaring warning, was not enough to deter us from a company that would not charge us double for being under 25 years old.
Moreover, we were not deterred by the fact that as Mary-Clair does not have a license, I would be the sole driver. The latter was reasoned in a three-fold manner: (1) I am afflicted by motion-sickness that is only improved when I'm behind the wheel and (2) I think I am a far better driver than I actually am and (3) I believe that because New Zealand is far smaller than Canada, and we are only going to be seeing one island, there is no way any travel will take more than 2 hours drive anyway. I am wrong on all accounts (even the motion-sickness- I did manage to make myself sick with my own driving).

So, we were off from Christchurch (which we did not scope out, because, according to George it was 'a pile of rubble' and because the town centre was closed anyway) to Queenstown. I noticed immediately that it was a bit difficult to turn the key, but I thought nothing of it- this was El Cheapo, after all: it would have it's glitches. We made it to Lake Tikapo, where we stopped to check out the view of this stunning lake. The stunning lake was also fairly cold, so we made our way back to the car. Unfortunately, the key was no longer difficult to turn; it was impossible. Half an hour (and one expensive phone call later), I am still under the impression that I'm a complete moron that can't figure out a child lock on the ignition, and we are waiting for AA. When AA finally arrives, the mechanic also can't turn the key. This makes me feel much better about myself, but we are still faced with the problem of the car not working, and we are not particularly fond of the idea of being towed the four-hour trip back to Christchurch. So, the fabulous mechanic essentially hot-wired our car for us and told us to book it to Queenstown! That's MY kind of mechanic! Here is our improved El Cheapo:

Queenstown as lauded as "the place to go" in New Zealand. For us, it was "The place to stop overnight." Here was our reasoning:
Me: "Do you want to go bungee-jumping?"
MC: "No... what about horseback riding?"
Me: "So I can sit on a horse at walking pace and go insane with boredom? No. I'm not particularly interested in white-water rafting, either."
MC: "Or any of these highly expensive tourist activities..."
Me: "Good! Let's head off on our own adventure."
MC: "AFTER coffee."

That was the general decision process for the entire trip: Choose our own adventure, nothing too pricey, and after coffee.

The next morning, after picking up our lovely NEW El Cheapo (same price, paradoxically slightly less cheap), we were off to Te Anau to trek the Milford Sound. Of course, being winter (and no one wants to trek the Milford Sound, for fear of measly avalanches), the boat to the start of the trek was no longer running. I suggested swimming. MC vetoed. We settled on another, 4-day, 60km trek, which we would finish in 2 days, instead, the Kepler trek. The rest of the day was spent gathering the necessary materials for this trek (including, at my suggestion and MC's enthusiastic agreement, a bottle of wine). Then we went and saw some glow worms in a cave. It was very cool. I suggest, if you get the chance, to see glow worms. Somewhere. It probably doesn't have to be in Te Anau. And then we were ready for part two of the trek.

Year One, Part One

2010-11-07T00:54:00.000-07:00

After a long hiatus from blogging (not really due to excessive business, rather, due to finding other ways to waste time), I decided to recap the entire year. Or, for the sake of your eyes and minds, perhaps only part of the year. In fact, I'm only going to write about the best part of the year: the summer holidays (or winter holidays, depending on your hemisphere of choice).
Let's pick up in April, post-break. I actually don't remember much between mid-semester break and mid-year break (I've worked very hard to clear my mind of the memory of the build-up to and the writing of first-semester exams). The month of May involved some studying, as I recall, and not much else. I'm was... surprised, to say the least, at the amount of studying that medical school requires (I didn't realize this was in my contract. Apparently, it actually is in a contract of some form). My life now involves tutorials (and they're not even mandatory!), clinical skills practice, library sessions, and excessive and sometimes elaborate procrastination techniques.

In short, there is nothing interesting to say until the end of June. After a somewhat horrifying exam sitting, I flew out for a great break to Switzerland and Scotland (I know, I live a trying life).
We arrived in Munich for a long-overdue visit with my former nanny (or second mother until I was 7), Morag (a good Scottish name if I've ever heard one!), who lives in Munich with a family of her own. It was great to see her, and we had a fantastic time with Morag, Peter, and their three amazing kids (As I recall, her disciplinary skills were always pretty good). Munich is a really cool old city, beautiful buildings filled with tons of history, and even more beer. The Germans are probably among the best in the world in terms of beer tolerance- I'm fairly sure Tony was impressed, if not a little worried by the amount they kept plying him with (I was worried for him, at any rate). Munich was also amazing for it's relative car-free downtown (your car had to obtain an efficiency standard to be allowed downtown), and the big, open streets!

(A view from our highest hike (>2400m) - near St. Niklaus)

We trained from Munich on to Chur, a stopover which could best be described as "meh," and otherwise needs no description. It reminded me of interior BC, maybe Castlegar. If you know Castlegar, you catch my drift. From there, we took the glacier express through the mountains and on to our next stop. The glacier express is what could be best described as a "luxury train," smooth-running and not terribly fast, and Tony and I were at least thirty years younger than the next person aboard, so we garnered a few awkward stares on arrival. Nevertheless, the floor to ceiling windows and stunning vistas of the Swiss landscape made the trip well worth it (and highly recommended). We stopped in St. Niklaus, a small village just outside of Zermatt (the famous swiss city that sits at the base of the Matterhorn). Naturally (in the case of my travels), we didn't actually see the Matterhorn, as it was too cloudy, but frankly, just the hiking in and around St. Niklaus was stunning enough). And intense enough! I learned quickly that I was extremely out of shape, while Tony was not at all.

View of St. Niklaus far, far below (tiny town at bottom left)

Tony in obligatory "I am Man" pose, from St. Niklaus

My next favourite stop was Grindelwald, a tiny resort-town near Interlachen, with even bigger mountains, fabulous glaciers, and ever more clouds. As it turned out, a circle of clouds would loom over Switzerland for our entire stay. Personally, I was enjoying the freezing cold (a nice change from sunny Brisbane). Unfortunately, it didn't make for fabulous mountain-top photos (or visibility, for that matter). (as you can see in the photo below, from the top, we could pretty much only see... the sign that told us we were at the top).

Most visible thing from the top of Mt. Jungen

The rainy days gave us an excuse to skip hiking and travel to bigger cities for day trips, my favourite being Bern, which likes to claim that some famous physicist (hint: Time man of the millennium) did all of his most important research there. The city itself was incredibly designed, with covered sidewalks along every major road. Again, the city was hugely pedestrian-friendly, making it easy to take in and appreciate the city, despite the rain. My one objection were the poor grizzlies, who were kept in an enclosed area by the river for tourists to gawk at (the Bear is Bern's mascot).

Tony emulating some physicist... who also like signing guestbooks, apparently.

From Grindelwald we spent a couple of days in Geneva and Lausanne (another great Swiss city). It make me nostalgic for the last time I was in Lausanne, competing at WUG. This trip, needless to say, was a little more relaxing! We went around the Olympic museum, I got to show Tony the tiny cafe that sold the amazing donairs (which were no longer as appetizing when you weren't training twenty hours a week, and instead just kind of sickening). We roamed up and down the cobble streets and considered the somewhat ridiculous angle they were built at.

After Lausanne, we flew to Glasgow, where we met up with my three wonderful great-aunts, who are exactly the same every time I meet them (in appearance). We spent a day in Glasgow (which I believe Tony described as "ugh," before we settled in with my grandmother in Dunfermline. Dunfermline leaves little to be desired (as Tony commented "If I lived here, I would be so depressed") Needless to say, Tony was initially rather unimpressed with my homeland. Fortunately, the next day, we went to Edinburgh.

Edinburgh is, in my mind, the nicest city in the country. It's modernized while maintaining its heritage, and more importantly, it's kept its buildings clean! My dad will probably kill me for writing this, as he's a true Glaswegian (actually, along with the rest of the McGregor side), but at least I'm not writing something along the lines of "I prefer Celtics to Rangers" (in which case I would be disowned). In Edinburgh, we found Holyrood Hill, our favourite place by far. From the peak of Holyrood (named "Arthur's Seat" for an enormous slab put up there before machines big enough to carry it were around) you could look far past the city boundaries to the sea and surrounding hills and allowed you to grasp the intensity of the green and blue hues of Scotland. From here, you understood really why Burns described the city as scotland's "Darling Seat."

View from Downtown Edinburgh- so green! I do like a well-tended British Garden

A few days later, we made our way on to the Isle of Mull, for Mutti's 90th birthday. Mutti, if you ever meet her, will blow you away. A 90-year old woman with severe kyphosis and arthritis in probably every joint, she still climbs up a ladder every night and picks her way around hundreds of empty jars to sleep in a closet (I'm not kidding... there's a single bed inside a closet) in the attic. Disclaimer: she chooses to sleep in the closet, not of her children actually want her to!

Anyway, Mull was a big family reunion (our family is NOT that big- there were three children, and eight cousins between us, but the reunions only occur about once a decade). Family reunions have a reputation for either being fabulous, or frightful. Fortunately, ours was the former, and there were a number of reasons why:

First, Scotland had, over the two weeks I was there, the best two weeks of weather I've EVER experienced in the country. If you live in Scotland, you know that a day without rain is uncommon, and a week without rain is a fluke, and two weeks without rain is impossible. We didn't have two weeks without rain (like I said, it's impossible), but we came close to it! On the family jaunt (above), you can clearly see that it is NOT raining. It may not be a cloudless day, but in Scotland, this is about as close as you'll get to it! Second reason the trip was so awesome: we stay in a castle. That's right... a castle. You can't get any better than that! (seriously, you can't). There is nothing more awesome than staying in a castle, even if it's small, by castle standards, anyway.

As you can see below, our castle was complete: as long as there are turrets and ramparts, you need nothing else. Furthermore, when Jonny went down to borrow a cup of sugar from the groundskeepers (another reason why it's definitely a castle... there are groundskeepers, and they have scottish accents just like Groundskeeper Willie from the Simpsons), he caught a glimpse of a veritable arms museum, complete with every deadly weapon imaginable, from bows and arrows, to guns, swords, maces... making us absolutely certain that we were staying in a verifiable castle. And equally certain that we'd have to have at least one person on guard overnight to make sure that we weren't murdered in our sleep.

Calgary Castle... a REAL castle!

Third, there was tons to do outside! We went on a huge number of jaunts in the hills surrounding the Castle, as well as a ferry over to Iona, an incredibly beautiful island of rich history (the Abbey is amazing) and tons of "ruinous ruins" for us to check out. Also, there was a never-ending supply of livestock. Fairly sure that the sheep ran the island. I haven't been able to eat lamb since (they are so cute).
Fourth, my family is awesome. There was potential for blow-out, but instead, we just had tons of fun hiking (Uncle Alistair consistently forcing us into "run-up-the-hill-as-fast-as-you-can" competitions, at which he was generally beaten by his eight-year-old son), reading Percy Jackson with the boys (then buying the entire series in the airport under the pretence of continuing to read it to them), to enjoying Auntie Heidi's cooking (yep, she's a long-haired Swiss woman), to chatting with Cat (she knows so much!), and just joking around in a way only possible with the Adams Family (yep, that's actually my mother's maiden name... never been a name so apt).
As a good example: Below, you can see Jonathan experimenting (he's trying to see if it's possible to make a cow full- he did in fact succeed in making the cow gag, but it might have just been because he was feeding him three-foot thick bushels of grass), as cousin David looks on. I think I laughed so hard I got sick.

Jon making friends

View from near the Castle. Jealous? You should be.

The ruinous ruins of Iona (that stack of rocks is probably a thousand years old)

Below:
Probably my favourite photo of the trip: Our star athlete, cousin Cameron (he KILLED all the hikes), gazing out over the bay (hard to believe this is Scotland!).

So that was pretty much the trip... definitely in the top three trips ever, and we definitely have to find an excuse for another family reunion BEFORE Mutti's centenary.

Boston! (and a singular "serious" blog)

2010-04-11T20:17:00.000-07:00

Boston's been a great trip, and I'm very sad to leave. Not too many insane adventures, just lots of fun enjoying the refreshing cold. (I did get a sunburn one day... wasn't expecting that). Spring has sprung, and it is beautiful. Other than that, it was good, and not much more to say.
One thing that I really wanted to share, and admittedly, I've seen before (but it strikes me and inspires me every time I visit). That would be the New England Holocaust Memorial in downtown Boston.
I won't use my own words to describe it, because, frankly, they're not adequate. Instead, I'll leave you with a few quotes from the glass towers (which I strongly suggest you visit for yourselves if you're ever in Boston) and the description given by someone who has a true right to speak on it.

"Look at these towers, passerby, and try to imagine what they really mean - what they symbolize - what they evoke. They evoke an era of incommensurate darkness, an era in history when civilization lost its humanity and humanity its soul . . ."
"We must look at these towers of memory and say to ourselves, No one should ever deprive a human being of his or her right to dignity. No one should ever deprive anyone of his or her right to be a sovereign human being. No one should ever speak again about racial superiority... We cannot give evil another chance."

- Elie Wiesel

Nothing belongs to us anymore.

They have taken away our clothes,

our shoes, even our hair.

If we speak, they will not listen to us,

and if they listen, they will not understand.

They have even taken away our names.

My number is 174517.

I will carry the tattoo on my left arm until I die.

Primo Levi

Holocaust Survivor

In prayer we lay before God,

our suffering,

our rags, our filth, our fatigue,

our exposure, our hunger,

and our misery.

Aime Bonifas

French Resistance Fighter and Holocaust Survivor

Ilse, a childhood friend of mine,

once found a raspberry in the camp,

and carried it in her pocket all day,

to present it to me on a leaf that night.

Imagine a world,

in which your entire possession

is one raspberry,

and you give it to your friend.

Gerda Weissman Klein

Holocaust Survivor

Preparing for travel

2010-04-06T12:23:00.001-07:00

HOW TO TRAVEL IN STYLE

2010-04-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

Above all things, remember the stylish traveller's motto: Be UNprepared for every eventuality. And make every eventuality a reality.

Pack 6 textbooks + sphygmo, stethoscope (so you can show off, not to actually study with), 2 notebooks, computer. DO NOT pack clothing (perhaps underpants and a pair of shorts). Preferably use a backpack and a bright pink, mesh swim equipment bag.

Get excited about wearing your favourite sweater for the first time in months.

Put debit card, student ID, mobile phone through the washing machine the night before. This makes things spicier!

Do not sleep the night before your flight. Extreme fatigue makes everything more fun.

Bring only carry on in 2 backpacks, one broken, one on its way. Roller-bags are for sissies. Combined weight in backpacks? Minimum 70lbs. Anything less is also for sissies.

Have difficulty finding the city's largest public transport station: take taxi instead and pay 3x the price (only after cabbie adds 5$ to the sum at the end of the trip).

Lose favourite sweater in taxi, along with money. Possibly wallet, also (TBA- not checking till I arrive. Can't face it.).

Check-in attempt number one: bring only “ticket number thingy” from online ticket site, scrawled lightly across arm underneath bandaged wrist. Preferable if smudged until unrecognizable. Speak to ESLer (English as a Second Language) check-in lady, because, opposed to what you assumed, there is electronic check-in at BNE (australia's “best” airport). English skills? Passable. English language skills in communicating with Elspeth, who doesn't understand why she has to have a printed version of the ticket? Does the English language even suffice for such an endeavour?

Go to ticket counter to get “paper ticket thingy.” Also, hold up giant line waiting for boyfriend to text destination address. Get kicked out of check-in area, politely, until US address is texted.

Check-in attempt number two: do NOT sign up for some weird “US-visa-waiver thing” that everyone has to do when they want to go to the USA. In fact, don't even KNOW about it.

Go to seat and work on getting internet to gain access to this site that will let you get into the USA. Choose an airport that internet access ranging from sketchy, to non-existent. Sit in the non-existent area. Fiddle for ten minutes, then use (Canadian) iPhone (in Australia) to fill out lengthy application form, and begin the slow, costly road to entry into the USA.

Third time's the charm! Get boarding pass. Because this took you so long, line-up is non-existent (everyone else had checked in), and you are last to check in. As a result, obtain coveted middle seat! Make friends with clerk who apologizes for only having middle seats available; it's not her fault- let's be honest: it's yours.

Pack CO2 cartridges (accidentally). Have over-stuffed bags unpacked for cartridges (which are in side pocket). Make friends with searcher who likes cartridges, and gets to keep them. Re-pack bags. This is where the zipper will begin to break on backpack.

Be chosen for “random” body/bag search. Unpack bags. Again. Make friends with searchers who want to steal boyfriend's Tim Tams. Have fun body search! Repack both bags. Again.

Get called up in the first section to board the plane. See line up: more than 2/3rds of the passengers, somehow, have been placed into the last 1/3 of the plane. Wait till last to board.

Sit between two grumpy women who don't like getting up so you can go to the washroom. Sit behind a huge man who reclines all the way for the entire flight. He also likes to rest his hand over the back of the seat and tap his fingers on your TV screen. He is the one person in the world for whom this position is comfortable, and he sits in front of you. Sit in front of teenage girl who likes to sing the latest pop melodies (badly). Work hard to maintain positive attitude.

Enjoy the service of the world's most unpleasant flight attendant. Watch 4 movies because you cannot sleep in previously described position.

Transfer onto second flight. Listen to life story of possibly slightly insane girl beside you- from her weight battles, to her one-month break with her boyfriend that he just extended, to how she wants to marry him, and wants him to have an office job, not an outdoors job... so much to resist.

Connect in Newark.

Final flight: aisle seat! Sit beside creepy old man who first offers to help you with biochemistry after seeing the textbook you are holding, (his degree was in marketing), then offers you a stick of cinnamon gum (you hate cinnamon gum), then fights with creepy old wife for the remainder of the flight.
Begin to have auditory hallucinations after 48 waking hours (the toddler beside you is talking about health care reform, the arguing couple are discussing terrorist tactics).

Arrive at destination after 50 hours awake. Make sure that iPhone is dead (and other phone is broken), so that you can't call the boyfriend whom you can't find.

Find boyfriend after turning on computer and getting internet access! Text him via internet (this takes mad skills that should be necessary for anyone wanting to travel in style). You made it!

TRICK TO SURVIVING TRAVELLING IN STYLE:

Never get stressed about anything. Ever. That's what boyfriends are for.

Be friendly to every baggage-searcher, flight attendant, check-in person (even the ESLers) that you will inevitably come across. Makes their day better, and yours too. Plus, no obstacle is ever their fault- they're just the messengers. Most of the time, it's YOUR fault: You're the disorganized, absent-minded idiot, not them.

Laugh about everything that comes up. Because, let's be honest, your idiocy is hilarious. It's like watching people fall off bikes, or slip on ice.

Don't get angry about things. Appreciate the humour in things.

Living in the Land Down Under: Weeks 1-2 (or, for a less cliche title: What NOT to do when moving half way across the world to attend medical school)

2010-01-26T01:30:00.000-08:00

A memoir of conversations and (mis)adventures:

Wow, this is long past due.

Where shall I begin? At the acceptance letter that Tony (who also, I'm almost certain, actually sent in my application in the first place) told me about? At the decision two days later to move ten thousand miles away to attend medical school in one months' time? At the decision to leave everything until as late as possible?
I'm not sure. Not beginning is called procrastination, and it's what I'm best at. However, I've already begun this post, and not really got anywhere, which is what I'm second best at (this is called going around in circles).
Anyways, I suppose I'll begin at the airport, where I left in typical Elspeth style: 3 shopping bags (to get around the no carry-on rules... I hate terrorists by the way, for making life so difficult), a 70 pound bike box, and a 70 pound bag. I pay a huge sum for my bike (125$- still cheaper than shipping, and thus, to the tiny part of me that is frugal Scot, when it's most inconvenient, this is a good idea), and then I make it through to the gate by somehow defying the laws of physics and strength-to-weight ratios. I manage this by walking backwards, dragging the bag and bike box with either hand, and by draping my grocery bags over my arms, and carrying my laptop by the oversized sleeved in my mouth. Beauty.

I arrive at the gate, make it onto my first flight smoothly, and arrive with more than enough time to make my next flight (ten minutes). This is no problem, I say, as I look down at the line-up forming as I arrive. I hear, for the first time ever my name being called over the PA. I'm very excited about this, because I'm the first person I know to actually have a reason to go up to the podium before boarding the flight (to those who go up to annoy the stewards with questions about when the flight will board- that's not a real reason, no matter how much you may kid yourselves).

Conversation with the stewardess at the podium:

Stewardess: "Hi there El- Elzebeth... Elizabeth?"

Elspeth: "Elspeth"

Stewardess: "Right, Miss McGregor. We're just having some trouble with identification."

Elspeth: Oh, is this because I'm coming from Canada with a UK passport?

Stewardess: Possibly, where did you apply for your Visa?

Elspeth: (Gulp). My Visa? I didn't realize that I had to apply for my Visa from Canada. I thought I could apply from Brisbane.

Stewardess: How did you think you were going to get off the plane in Sydney?

Elspeth: Oh, well, I didn't think... (begins to whine) but the lady at the university... she told me
(quick thinking elspeth doesn't mention that this is not actually a lady from the university exactly)

Stewardess picks up phone, dials. Elspeth waits a few moments... possibly 30 seconds or so.

Stewardess: So what is your citizenship, again?

Elspeth: Oh, I have three.

Stewardess: (eyebrows raise) Three?

Elspeth: Yes, UK, Canada, and Switzerland. However, because of a long story, I'm reapplying for Canadian citizenship, and I don't have my Swiss passport, because I'm using it to get my Canadian one. Would you like to see my British one?

Stewardess: (eyebrows have met hairline, a feat that impresses elspeth, does not respond, but returns to phone conversation. Elspeth makes friends with the other flight attendants) OK, here's a 3 month student Visa. Please get this renewed before 3 months, because they will deport you otherwise.

Elspeth: Right-O. Straight away. First thing I do. (Elspeth has yet to do this).

So, I get on the flight, feeling, well, close to invincible. Reality strikes as I find my seat (after walking past it). I am in the middle seat for the 15 hour flight, between two large men. The grandaughter of the man on the left stays up all night, turning her grandfather's overhead light on and off... on and off. Some would call this karma. I still call it a kick in the pants and and uncomfortable situation. Whatever.

FInally, I arrive in Brisbane, after a third flight from Sydney. No big deal. I wait around for two hours for my homestay, Joy, to pick me up, and she waits around for two hours to find me. Brisbane is not a big airport. I simply told her the shirt I was wearing was yellow (it's black- whoops).

Brisbane is HOT! I'm wearing jeans. I go shopping on my second day there, pleased as anything to have more than gym shorts to wear.

OK, so I hit the ground running, and the next few days are a blur of boring introductory lectures that no one wants to hear about, and I don't even want to remember. I do manage to come late to my first lab, having lost my timetable and spent 2 hours looking for it. I did find it, after walking into the tail end of a group session (not my group), and embarrassing myself, and then walking past the building I was supposed to be in about 4 times. I get there in time for her last sentence. I find my timetable in my wallet (which I'd opened at least twice that morning) as I head into my next lecture that afternoon.

Anyway, that was all the first week. I got into my usual groove of not really doing any homework, going to most of the lectures, that sort of thing. Apparently, that does NOT happen at med school. Here's a secret: I don't actually know how I got into med school. EVERYONE HERE TRIES!!! I feel like a different species most of the time, but so far, things seem to be going ok. Mid-semester exam is coming up soon. Hopefully I won't be horribly mistaken.

Well, this post has been sitting around, waiting to be added to for about 2 months now. I think it's full enough, so I'm just going to post it now, and add my other findings in another post.

Smack Talk

2009-06-15T23:19:00.000-07:00

Three of my coolest (or, they like to think so) triathlon buddies have been laying down a bit of smack talk... Vince wanted me to edit what they really mean (or really, to stoke the fire), and reveal the truth about what's really going on here...

Erich: "Oh, and Vince tells me I should start smack-talking so here it is: You better not get beat by someone who has sat on their ass for the past 3 months and only started training for the event 10 days before the fact. (I know you're reading this Vince, so same goes to you! And that aint trash talk, that's hard-hittin reality bitches)

Congratulations Erich, you've taken you're training wheels off! I bet your mummy is really proud of you. I see you've posted that you were a triBC member a while back... so you were one of those kids (I guess you were a little older than the rest of them, but, this is OK, because you are a special kid) who learned how to put your head under the water and get on your bike? That IS a big accomplishment! I understand that you can't read very well, or... at all, so you might not realize that you're in way over your head... but, at least you'll know by this weekend. That is, if that red-green "tri bike" of yours doesn't fall apart before the finish... or, before you do. I wish I could be there when that three-spoke wheel of yours splits into six. At least, when you finish, unlike the other guys, there won't be a million excuses why the race wasn't up to your expectations... that's because you won't finish it, unless the ambulance happens to cross the finish line on its way to the ER.

Pat: You've stayed well-clear of the smack talk. Is that because you aren't really planning on racing? Guys, you don't actually need to worry about Pat, he'll be too busy checking heart rate zones and nutritional intake every 15 minutes to notice when Vince passes him... or when Erich goes into cardiac arrest. Don't worry Erich, the "service" he provided for you was to try to make you sit on your ass longer till the race... he really just wanted to make a fool out of you*. That being said, isn't it bad enough for Erich just to be doing the race?

Vince: Nice blog post, "champ." Are you going to try biting Pat's or Erich's ear off in order to beat them? That wouldn't be unlikely guys... he did trip me up once in a race, blaming it on someone else, because he knew the only way he'd beat me is if I had to crawl across the finish. As it was, I still beat him by 3 minutes, even with a broken femur and an exposed carotid artery. Good strategy though, Vince, it might work on lesser beings. By the way Vince... this is for your nightmares this week: Derek will beat you.

The truth is that at this race next year... I'd beat all three of you...BOOM! it's on.

Disclaimer: Whatever Pat said about exercise physiology probably was true. Let me have some artistic reign on this one, please.

The Cross Country Adventure

2009-05-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

It seems a rite of passage that almost every young adult should do a road trip of some sort. A common one for North Americans is the cross continental trip. I personally resisted this, because sitting in a car all day would for me produce nausea and extreme boredom and fidgeting. Nonetheless, a series of circumstances proved it necessary for me to make the trip from Montreal to Vancouver, and I set off with my younger brother (who had forgotten about buying a plane ticket home), and a friend (who, at the last minute, lost her own ride to the West Coast). So, it was us three, 4 spare summer tires ( my usual last-minute planning that forced me to bring them INSIDE the car), 3 large suitcases, and 4 backpacks, all crammed into one very small, very cheerful Volkswagen beetle. That we were all legally stuffed in was a victory over the laws of physics, and a show of ingenuity of which, I must say, I am most proud. Anna, who spend the majority of the trip stuffed in the backseat (on the right) with a tire pressing against her head may not have shared this view.

(Eaton Center in Toronto... it's like a toy Times Square)

Off we went to Toronto on the first night, where we stayed with Jon's friend. We walked around (very briefly), the Eaton Center, and attempted in vain to get a good shot of the CN tower. We then drove to Chicago, which I really want to go back to, because it turned out, surprisingly, to be one of the most beautiful cities I've ever visited. The only thing I knew about it prior to that trip was the the Hawks were beating the Canucks, and that lots of rappers came from Chicago (oh, and the President. I don't even know where the Prime Minister comes from... probably Calgary). If you ever visit a US city... make it Chicago.

Here's a pic of some of the crazy artwork on display in chicago... we spent a while pondering this piece.

Next, we drove a REALLY long way to Wall, South Dakots. This was a fantastic little town of, I would guess, no more than 300. It appears, from our little hike through the Badlands/ (wastelands) that the young people of Wall, all four of them, like smashing beer bottles and shooting old cars. The badlands were really cool to see, but they weren't exactly my idea of a beautiful place to live. The Midwest, I think , is like the Canadian Prairies... some of the friendliest people you'll ever meet, but you'd only seriously consider living there if you're already from there (maybe not even). The picture is from somewhere on the road from South Dakota to Montana... it's one of the most innovative stores I've ever seen... a gas station/casino/Chinese restaurant all in one, complete with fake, multicoloured palm trees. Basically everything you could ever need.

We stopped by Mount Rushmore on our third day, but because it cost 10$ just to park near it, we only got a picture of us driving away from it. If you look really closely at the picture I'll post later, you might be able to make out the faces.

Off we went to Somewhere-In-Montana, I think. Could have been Idaho. We wanted to go to Yellowstone, but it was closed. We wanted to go to Glacier National Park, but it had had a snowstorm the week before, and it was closed to. We stopped in Coeur D'Alene, where I would probably live if I ever lived in the States (because it looks like Canada, and people sound Canadian), and it was unbelievably beautiful. I'm sure I have pictures of that too, but Vernon is just as cool...

Once we got to Vernon, finally, with only one speeding ticket (my speedometer, as it turns out, stops working at 100km per hour, so we really had no idea we were going 100mph, which, fortunately in the US will only cost you $40, whereas in Canada, it may very well cost you your license), we were so happy to be home! We loved the nice roads, the inexpensive gas in the US, the mullets, and the billboards, but, there's nothing quite like home. Also, I think Jon was really happy to have me not accusing him of losing my wallet everytime I lost it (uually, it was in my pocket or backpack). Here he is, really happy to be home... and close to insane from a week spent with me.

Here were some of our favourite billboard signs from the trip: (in the States, we found, people REALLY love billboards, and they're everywhere, with everything possible advertised)

5. PREPARE to meet thy GOD!! (seriously, it said that)

4. Get an Education that will last BEYOND this lifetime- Bethany Bible College
3. Wisconsin's largest adult SUPERstore!!! (really? an adult superstore? I wonder if they have a McDonald's in that one. Anyways, I thought they were preparing to meet their God)

2. Do you have Stinky Credit? http://www.poopycredit.com/ (someone please let me know if this i a real website... I want to know)

1. Are you Ready for.... 16, 500 square feet of SPAM!!! Visit the SPAM museum! 1 mile.

A SPAM museum actually exists... I'm not sure what I should think of humanity.

Back in beautiful Vernon, BC...

2009-04-29T15:05:00.000-07:00

OK, so I have not posted in a long time, because, frankly, I am out-of-shape, out-of-ideas, and slightly embarrassed with my lack of focus.
Fortunately, I will have 10 long days of deciding what the heck I am going to do with myself in my upcoming cross-country road trip!

Anyways, I had such an insane morning yesterday, that I thought it had to become public knowledge, so, without further ado, here is the email I sent my friend from YVR, shortly before boarding my plane to Montreal.

If ever you feel bad about yourself, just think, you could be me!
Reasons I am a huge idiot:
1. Miss flight because I thought sitting down for a little rest 10 minutes before I had to leave was a good idea. Wake up two hours later as dad asks, " when do you leave for your flight?" and I brilliantly reply "oh, whenever." There's no way he can know I missed the flight. I leave immediately, saying nothing more.
2. Dad, in a spirit of goodwill, hands me a cheque on my way out the door. Somewhere between the door of the apartment and the door of the lobby, I lose this cheque (and my method of payment for the new flight). Awesome. Realize this at the airport, where I grudgingly call dad and admit this folly (ONLY the lost-cheque part, not the whole missed-flight thing- THAT would be suicide. The former is simply verbal torture). Brace myself for berating. Listen to berating, heartily agree with my own stupidity, do not get a new cheque. Shucks. The economic situation begins to appear as a problem. I quit my job last week.
3. Neglect that i have 2 full waterbottles and a bag full of coins (conveniently located at the bottom of my giant bag) at security. Fully awesome.
4. Catch a glance at myself in the mirror. Look like death warmed over. Attractive.
5. At least I wasn't the girl who tried to bring stain remover for her handbag on board. That's really stupid. Who carries around stain remover for a handbag?
(Notice that I manage to be spiteful and haughty despite the fact that I am now a broke idiot about to embark on a cross country road trip with my little brother, who is even more broke, if that's possible. Simply amazing.)
6. Why on earth do people line up as soon as they announce preboarding? Why would they want to stand in line, just so they can stan in line some more while people try to stuff too-big bags into tiny overhead compartments? What's the rush in getting onto a cramped, smelly plane that they're going to be trapped in for the next few hours anyways?
7. Shoot, that just called my name on the "final boarding called." ironic, as I'm sitting right next to the counter

(PS- find cheque once I arrive in the Montreal airport. Dad has cancelled the cheque. Shucks even more).
PPS- have not made any sleeping arrangements. awkwardly force younger brother to sleep in the same room as my friend, a complete stranger to him. even more awesome.
PPPS- I have also lost my bag full of coins. This sucks, because I had about 87$ worth of coins in there. I had FINALLY filled up my toonie roll with meager coffee shop tips and searching through my dad's jacket pocket (actually, I didn't do that, that would be wrong).

Exam Do's and Don'ts

2008-12-15T11:44:00.000-08:00

Having just finished my final exam (except that one I deferred for reasons that will become clear shortly. Oh, the irony of the first and only deferral being the last exam before graduation. This is reminiscent of the only swim race I ever missed: in a decade of swimming, I missed only my last ever race. Way to go out, Elspeth.) Anyways, here are some tips from which I hope you will learn from my experience:

Step 1) 1-4 months before hand
Do:
attend class
try to keep up with readings

Don't:
skip every single class after the mid-term (or before it, for that matter)
neglect to complete a single assigned reading

Step 2) 1-2 weeks before exam
Do:
begin studying, or at least make a timeline of your study schedule
know what day your exam is

Don't:
put off studying if you have not attended a single class since the mid-term
begin reading a captivating novel series

Step 3) 0-3 days prior to exam
Do:
Study intensely, using all of your free time to study
Follow study schedule
Ensure that you are legally licensed to drive
Ensure car is in working order

Don't:
Put off studying further to re-read captivating novel series, and watch movies based on captivating novel series.
Decide you don't really need to study for an open-book exam anyways, even if you did miss every class after the midterm.
Realize 2 days before-hand that the exam is a day prior to when you thought it would be.
Not concern yourself when you realize exam is earlier than expected, and continue procrastinating with new, even more interesting novel series.

Step 4: Day of exam
Do:
Remember pen and pencil so you don't have to buy a single pen and single pencil for 6$ each immediately prior exam.
Get a good night's sleep beforehand, knowing you are fully prepared.
Have a good, hearty breakfast, and glass of water.
Go to the bathroom before-hand
Know that an ABS brake system is normal in a car, and know how to use it.

Don't:
Sleep in until 30 minutes before the exam, especially if you live 45 minutes away.
Try to study for 5 minutes before the exam, and "hope for the best"
Forget your student ID
Try to drive a car that seems broken, especially if your license has expired 3 days before-hand.
Drive a car that won't stop at red lights, especially if you have no form of Canadian citizenship to prove your right to renew your license.
Drive a car that will crash into fallen cyclists, especially if you're uninsured.

Well, these may SEEM like easy things to get around, but trust me, they're actually very complicated, and can happen to anyone. So best of luck to you!

10 Facebook Statuses You'd Never See (Unfortunately)

2008-11-24T20:12:00.000-08:00

10. Carolyn Smith- is exited that she get's to be come an englsih majore!
9. Jessica Shur is- really glad that she got fired from that job, rather than having to quite. Now THAT would have been awkward.
8. Jonathan Cooper is- sad that he has finished all of his exams. He was really enjoying his library time.
6. Elizabeth Earhart- absolutely despises all of her birthday presents. Try harder next time, guys.
5. Archie Cranmer is- so annoyed that he has to go to Barbados. I mean really, can't someone else go instead?
4. Cara Cartwright- just skinned a cat... alive.
3. Henry Doodle- hates every one of his facebook friends.
2. Jane Smith- just ate way too many brussel sprouts.
1. James Doe is- amazed by the amount of pus that he cleared out of that blackhead!

Training Update

2008-11-17T14:33:00.000-08:00

Swimming. The better part of my life has been spent looking at the black line at the bottom of the pool, wishing it were actually a bed to fall into.
It's been weeks of swimming, and I have to admit, I haven't seen as much improvement as I would've liked. Then again, we are swimming at 6am, and I've never been good at mornings (in high school, my coach always made sure the first hour was easy, because I was useless initially), and I simply can't bring myself to get going in the mornings. It's not that I'm not trying... I am.. trying not to fall asleep! The only time I feel good is Tuesday nights, our only night practice, and our easiest practice of the week. Still, I'm pleased with the consistency, and sure that once I start going to bed on time (before 1am), and thus getting more than 4 hours sleep in a night, I will start getting back to what I'm capable of. We have a couple of doubles this week. That should be interesting.
On the running front, I got up to 6x4 minutes today! (plus 2!!). Wow, I haven't seen the top of the mountain in AGES! It felt good, except that the cold combined with my serious lack of running fitness made me worry I was on the verge of cardiac arrest. Fortunately, that didn't happen. I'm so pleased... no hip pain still!
I'm still trying to do an elliptical or stair-climb workout (which I HATE, but the physio has recommended it... so you know), whenever I can, but I cannot wait till it really snows so I can get on some skis! I have a feeling I'll have to wait till I'm back in BC for that though. Which is fine, really. East-coast snow sucks, anyways. I'll also be starting weights soon, under the advice of my uncle. It's probably a really good idea actually, to get more power into my muscles! I'm trying to sort out a program that will increase explosive power, so we'll see what I can do.
Anyways, I'll get right to that. ;-)

Running (sort of)!

2008-11-03T10:47:00.000-08:00

Yes, these guys are still finishing while Bolt looks
around and says "What?! I thought we were done.
Oh, this race is 100m? Not 100y?
In that case I'll just jog the last 20m while these fools race
each other. I think I'll break the world record while I'm at it.
My pre-race dance moves would be way less laughable then."

School is puttering along at it's usual post-midterm rate. I have failed to make good on my post-midterm resolution to attend every single one of my classes. Notice lack of worry about this right now. Wait one month. After last week's miserable 30-odd hours in the library working fiendishly at data for a paper that I knew I would eventually throw out (the data, not the paper), and my apoplectic wrath towards Microsoft for rendering me completely unable to work the new version of Excel (and I'd only just caught on to the old one. Why Microsoft, must you constantly update to more complicated, user-UNfriendly programs? Bring back Bill, so he can fix this problem!), and sleeping an average of 4 hours per night until Thursday, I was fit to drop by Friday. And I did. After the paper was finished, of course. I slept in through two practices, and spent the rest of the weekend kicking myself for it (missing practice, not complete lack of academic organization).
Now I should get to class. I was supposed to go to class today, but of course, I started the most honourable quest of reading the entire Harry Potter series instead(I do hope my parents don't read this). I was supposed to write myself a to-do list as well, but I'm writing. Of course. I should probably write a book while I'm at it. I WAS actually thinking about doing that. I think there is so much raw material there.
On the bright side, I am running now, albeit very slowly, and very little. I did 4x2min last week (1mile), then 4x3min, then 4x4min on Saturday with Tony. Tony was loping along at an "easy" 7min mile pace, which I obviously had to keep up with (because I am ludicrously competitive) and I almost had a heart attack. He kept asking if my hip was hurting, and at about the 20th time I retorted that no, my hip does not hurt, but my chest sure does! He didn't clue in, or slow down. Anyways, today is 4x5min, and am I ever excited!!
This is a momentous occasion! As for other momentous occasions, I should point out that a (half)black man was elected president of the United States for the first time in history. Hmm... That sort of overshadows my accomplishment of running 2 miles with 1 minute breaks. It's still pretty cool, though. Also, a woman was nominated as the GOP VP candidate (but that was a bit of an embarrassment for women). Furthermore, another woman was Obama's main candidate for the Democratic nomination, which is ALSO cool (and less embarrassing). And I'm not even American! It was the best voter turnout in a long time for the US, and the worst in a long time for Canada (oh, did you not know there were elections either? That's OK, apparently more than half the country forgot, they had places to go and things to do on Thanksgiving weekend, and exercising democracy was not on the list. I'm not criticizing- I didn't vote either. Because apparently, I'm not a citizen right now... whoops).
Look at the guy... doesn't he look like a president? If nothing else, and unless I'm very much mistaken, he will probably be the best basketball player in the history of the White House. So that's kinda cool.

Anyways, I was thinking about all of the neat things that happened all over the world this year. The Olympics were particularly special to me: Usain Bolt jogging to break the 100m world record, and then the "unbeatable" 200m record; Michael Phelps and his 8 gold medals (7 of which were World Records, I think?- he probably owns or co-owns at least 7 of them); Simon Whitfield clawing his way back to silver; that crazy judo guy that roundhouse kicked the referee- making Chuck Norris proud, and his nation ashamed; the Olympics themselves, the excess, the scandal and lies, and the athletes who took it all in stride.
It's been a cool year!

Training is FUn!!! (especially when it's easy)

2008-10-16T16:23:00.000-07:00

Training is starting to get back into swing. Well, not really "training" per say, but some schedule that roughly resembles is (rather than the "what will I do for the next 2 hours?" schedule I've been recently following). I started back up with Phil and Tri-o-lacs. It's super chill and I'm really relaxed, mainly because now that there's fewer of us (the elephant has left the room, for those of you who know what I'm talking about), it's a much more fun and enjoyable place for me to be!

On the other hand, waking up at 5am to get to practice isn't my absolute favourite thing... but it will do for now. I generally do one other session (bike or elliptical) each day, and a little bit of yoga (I aim for 2x a week). It's not very much right now, but it's on the way back!

On another note, for decisions, I'm really interested in volunteering abroad. I'm coming to realize that maybe I won't be able to do triathlon. Certainly not for now, and maybe that's not the worst thing. I've always wanted to do volunteer work (ask my parents- I wanted to be a missionary first until I was about 12, then a journalist- obviously the faraway kind, then a doctor for DWB, so I'm not just making it up). Recently, I've been really interested in Right to Play, an organization that tries to promote development through sports. How COOL is that?!

Anyways, no decision yet, I still have the triathlon dream, but we'll see.

EMcG

ANY useful suggestions?!

2008-10-15T08:10:00.000-07:00

I am really tired of being asked what I'm going to do when I graduate in December. If you have any useful suggestions... I'm all ears!!!

You can leave a comment below.

As for training, it's picking up! I'm starting to swim (ugh... at 6am) with Phil's group. It's relaxed and fun. I can't complain! I'm off for a bike ride in 50 minutes, so I should stop goofing around on the internet and get some studying done!

COFFEE= GROSS

2008-10-08T13:44:00.000-07:00

First off though, let me say, I don't like coffee. It's gross, I mean absolutely disgusting. I cannot stand the taste. I wish I liked it, because then I could be one of those cool, sophisticated coffee connoisseurs. You know the type, the ones who get up and first thing in the morning, and must have their warm cup of awakeness. My mum is one of those types: the stronger, the better. Before I could drive myself to swim practice, I would steep "a tablesppon" of grind into her morning cup (actually about a quarter cup).
I discovered the use of the bean in third year, when I decided randomly to try a double espresso, and had the best practice of my life. It became a great idea for late-night studying, and an excuse to sleep a little less. Nonetheless, I still HATE the taste of coffee, especially Starbucks. I have no idea how that became one of the largest businesses in North America... it tastes like warm mulch. Actually, I don't generally understand why people like it.
Anyways, so I discovered these little energy shots that they were selling, that have about 180mg of caffeine per serving. I thought this was great! I wouldn't need to drink a whole cup of warm vileness, I could just have a little swallow of it! Perfect! After buying a few in the last couple of weeks (ok, it's midterm season and I went to about 45% of my classes so far, cut me a break), I noticed that I was more than a little shaky, and my heart was beating at about 180bpm just sitting aroung. I bought one today, and had a closer look at the label. Each little bottle is actually 2 shots! Rather than a double espresso, I gave myself a quadruple espresso! I'm still shaking as I type this, 3 hours later. Lesson learned, I guess.

OK

2008-10-03T15:46:00.000-07:00

ok,
Since that post was fairly miserable, I will write a new one, about how things have been going since the last one. They're OK. Wrote the MCAT. I think it was OK, but I missed the application deadline for UBC (too bad, really) so that kind of sucked. It essentially means that I have about a 1 in 100342 chance of making it into any other Canadian med school with my not-so-stellar GPA, but I thought I'd apply anyways, on the basis of having "co-wrote" a paper (hah... data entry and cheering on really fat guys- I'm sorry, morbidly obese individuals on bikes without laughing. I guess that part was hard-ish). And on the basis of being on two varsity teams, and being the 2006 World Aquathlon Championship "silver medallist" (hahaHA).
I got a cortisone shot in my right hip, but it didn't actually make it that much better, sadly. Initially, I thought it had, but I still can't run. However, on the bright side, I CAN WALK (without looking like I have a wooden leg, that is), so I guess it's an improvement.
There haven't been too many adventures of the hiking type recently. I've been trying to get back into training, but dealing with living way the heck out of the city and in a dorm with overexcited, but extremely loveable first-years, mad studying for the MCAT, then catching up with the two weeks of school I missed while studying, and finally a somewhat concerning episode of insomnia, have all gotten in the way.
To put it lightly, I've slept erratically for the past month. To put it more correctly, I've slept probably 70% of the nights that I should be sleeping. That doesn't sound too bad, but try pulling 2-3 all-nighters a week for a month, and see how that affects you. Sometimes the not sleeping is due to stress, I think. Other times, I've missed the last train home, because I'm an idiot, and I have to stay in Burnside overnight.
Homelessness is really not much fun, I've decided. Actually, in timing with not having a bed 50% of nights was the recent "Mum I've run out of money (again), can you bail me out because I'm 400$ in debt?!?!" Mum, I promise, when I grow up, I will make enough money to put you and Derek into a very nice house. I will have to get on that right now, and medicine may not actually be the best way to go (unless I go into plastics, which will mean going against both of our morals).
Anyways, back to the homeless experience: Last time (which was because I did not have 5.25$ to take the train home... so yes, I actually was a bum), I was hanging out in the couches at the SSMU building, and a (fellow?) homeless guy managed to sneak on the campus and into the building to take a nice nap. Good on him, he was probably in need of one. Unfortunately for me, though, he decided to take the couch right next to mine. He took out of his extremely large bottle of swish, taking a nice big swig with complete non-chalance, and began to make himself comfortable. This of course, means taking your shoes off. You can never have a really good nap with shoes on, after all. Unfortunately, being homeless means you don't necessarily have the best shower access either, and soon I was suffocating on the stench of his feet. I mean, imagine I went trumping through a beautiful field filled with freshly-laid manure in your socks, then casually put my shoes back on and went on my merry way, next coming to a stop as I sat down right next to you. That was probably about half as vile as this particular smell. Next, imagine I begin to make the most phlegmy, gutteral, hair-raising noises that can't be called a cough, but certainly can't be called snoring either, and try to feel comfortable. I got up from my lovely couch and went back to the dungeon (Burnside, by the way).

As for training, I'm lucky to swim on the swim team again for now, that's super-nice (and a bit surprising) of Frank. I'm not biking into town so much anymore (it's getting below 10, and that's just not much fun), but I have started the elliptical again, so I try to do that for at least 45 minutes a day. We will see how that goes. I really can't wait till the group starts again and I'll have a schedule!

As for fun stuff, I went down to Boston last weekend (top 3 coolest cities I've been to) and visited Tony. It was really great to see him! I really want to be a paid Harvard student too!! Obviously, I took the absolute longest way to get there (thanks for being the least useful- but most fun- co-pilot in history, Miss Sarah C.), but I enjoyed the drive while Sarah was awake. It was cool to surprise Tony too. I should do it more often ;-) Or he should....

My good friend Vince is doing a 2-week challenge. He is trying to eat 2 servings of vegetables a day for the next 2 weeks (www.vincentramblings.blogspot.com. If you know Vince, you know that this is a challenge. Once, red peppers made him throw up (apparently, he doesn't like the texture).

I think I will do my own 2-week challenge, based on my own weeknesses. For those who know me, I live on the fly, and I like my cookies. So, for the next two weeks:
1. stick to a schedule! (YIKES!)
2. no more than 1 dessert a day. (hey, I'm going down slowly... ok?)

I'll let you know how it goes...

2 things I would give to run again

2008-10-02T16:39:00.000-07:00

1. Anything
2. Everything

No more yoga... lots more books :-(

2008-08-25T06:39:00.000-07:00

OK, so the yoga studio is closed for the week, giving me an excuse to not go and embarrass myself for a little while (that being said- I am getting better!) I have to get cracking on the studies finally. Oh man... can't wait! (that comment was dripping with sarcasm). The problem with summer holidays is that I absolutely cannot see a doctor EVER. They go on holiday too. So I have no idea what's going on with the hip, but I know that the improvement has plateaued and I am seriously annoyed.
Back to the books. One week till school starts.

One Long Day

2008-08-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

Allright, so this is just a perfect example of Elspeth at her best (or at least, at the utmost of typical Elspeth. Yesterday, deciding that I hadn't seen my good friend Catherine in far too long, and always thoroughly enjoying her company, I bypassed the long ride with the tri club (and I was very excited to go for a long ride with someone other than myself for company!- trust me, I am a little boring sometimes, or else utterly bizarre) to go hiking /biking/swimming with her in Tremblant. After all, this is my summer of non-triathlon (essentially), and I've never seen anything in Quebec which might par up to BC beauty.

We meet at 6am (I almost didn't make it- I woke up at 5:45 and the pancakes I promised and was out the door by 6:050- holding a steaming tupperware, a bike, a helmet, sunglasses, a swimsuit, and a backpack. Obviously, nothing was actually in the backpack, rather, mainly just falling out of my arms). Catherine graciously packed my stuff in to the car, taking off my bike wheels and putting things in the bad, while I ran back into the house (obviously, calling Tony first and waking him up to let me in because I had locked myself out of the building) to get my phone, money, and anything else I might consider essentials at 6am on a Sunday... which really could be anything.

We were off! I fell asleep within 30 minutes after trying to be an entertaining co-pilot, and slept the entire way, waking up once we reached the parking lot. Now, what to do next? Obviously, go on the most intense hike possible, despite my chronic hip injury (more on that later) and Catherine's 6-week from broken tibia. Within 20 minutes, Cathering realized a 14km hike with 600m elevation gain was no in the books, and I agreed we should head back. Catherine, still being just wonderful, told me just to go on ahead. After some hesitation, I happily obliged. I am one of those girls who just enjoys hiking.

Lesson #1: NEver, ever just leave a friend like that, even if they insist. Be the better person and stay with them, because otherwise this will come back to bite you in the butt.

So off I go, up, up, tripping over branches (I'm not one for viseo-spacial awareness) and into large mud-piles (it's been a very rainy summer, and my thoughts are: well, if you're going to get dirty, you may as well just go for it, and not delay it). I finally reach the peak after 2 hours of hiking/stumbling, and what the... there's not even a lookout! I'm in a small clearing with a sign saying I'm up 900+meters. And that's it. This is total crap, I think, and off I go to the nearest lookout, which seems to loop right back to the trail I was on. The lookout was definitely better than the clearing, but not necessarily spectacular. I have to crain my neck to see over the trees and look at more trees. I think west-coasties know how to do this a bit better. They have real mountains, after all.

I do a sort-of popsicle-loop back to my old trail, and start heading down. I begin to grow wary as I start crossing bridges, thinking... I DO NOT remember crossing any bridges on my way up. I try to look around for familiar things, but I mean, everything is just trees and forests. It's all the same anyways. I get to a map, and see that I am indeed on trail H, which I wanted to be on, but maybe my trail wasn't trail H. Well, it was probably at least close to trail H, so I'll just keep heading down, and it will probably drop me off on the road near where we were parked, and I'll just follow the road.

Lesson #2: Once you realize you are lost, retrace your steps immediately, because chances are that you won't find them again by trying out a different route. We all know what happens to the guys in movies who take short-cuts. That's not just fairy-tale stuff- that's what really happens.

I finally get to a road (after passing through a weird camp-thing where people are playing on zip lines and I get pretty envious of them) reach the town. Normally this would be great, except that I am not exactly in town, and I didn't even see a town from where we parked. At that rate, I certainly didn't notice the enormous lake either. It seems like every road I walk on just leads to time-shares and empty lots. If nothing else, I got a great scope of the realty in Tremblant. Too bad it's too freaking cold here 6 months of the year for me to even consider living here... and the fact that Quebec mountains suck. Did I say that?

I stop to rest after about half an hour of walking around, realizing I've taken the 3 hours I said I would to complete the hike, and begin to grudgingly concede that I will have to retrace my steps and walk all the way back up the mountain and down to figure out where I came from. Just bleeding fantastic. As I'm sitting the grass, I look to my right and about 2 feet away is a nice yellow-flowered bush... which has about 10 bees flying around. Now, I'm someone who doesn't normally mind bees, and so I'm just sitting there staring at them, when I realize that there are far more than 10 bees buzzing, and that they're not bees- they're hornets. OK, it's time to get out of here. I begin my walk to try to find the trailhead that I came out of as a light rain begins. By the time I have tresspassed about 15 yards, crossed a creek, and climbed up onto the road and entered the forest, I have endured an outright downpour. Fortunately, I'm protected in the trees. Unfortunately, within 5 minutes of me entering the forest the rain has stopped, but I'm walking under still-dripping branches and shade. My clothes and hair remain soaked for the remainder of the hike, and my feet only get muddier and muddier.

Eventually, I climb all the way back up to the stupid peak with no view, and see where I went wrong. Trail H, as I suspected, was NOT the trail on which I began this adventure. My trail was not even marked. Fantastic, I can only hope that I go back the right way. After an hour of descent, I see a chewed mushroom that looks extremely recognizable. Do I really remember only a mushroom from the ascent, and none of the waterfalls to my right? I do vaguely remember thinking the view was for sissies (as well as hiking boots and poles- although the people I've seen with those don't look like they've fallen multiple times in the mud)and that all I cared about was getting up there fast. Maybe that was why I don't remember the view and do remember the 'shroom- my head was down the entire time I was hiking up.

Another hour later, it's nearing 6pm and I think I'm almost back to where we started... 9 hours ago. I stumble to the car, where Catherine is waiting with her head in her hands, wondering how to break the news to my family that I died in the forest. She's pretty happy to see me. I'm pretty happy to see her. We go for a swim, I throw out my shoes, and we head home, with a stop for food on the way there (the only thing I had had since the pancakes was some stream water- which frankly worried me). My feet hurt for the next week.

injury... getting better?!

2008-07-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

hip flexor strain. At least i think that's what it is... should just take some serious icing and advil. Feeling better day by day, though the arms are feeling terrible from all those weights and pull (and getting rather huge I might add). I've started throwing in a little biking, and I am on my way to becoming a yoga jedi! Well, ok, I admit- I skipped today's class. ok- so yoga IS mostly really hard, but sometimes it's also really BORING. and weird. probably cause i don't really believe in all the "center" and "energy" stuff and I still think "ohms" are weird. I just wanted to do elliptical instead. Ah well, I'll do it tomorrow... I promise... it's "hip openers" tomorrow, so I had better do it!
MCAT studying... I think I've read 2-3 chapters in the last week. Way to go Elspeth- you are really far behind. I can't help it! I keep falling asleep. Checking my emails about 4000 times is just way more interesting!

One more month till running maybe???

Injuries = not so fun

2008-07-19T10:43:00.000-07:00

The blog has nothing on it yet, but it will as soon as I can really start training again! Dealing with the 'mystery hip issue.' For now, it's sleeping lots, getting into a routine, and studying (some elliptical thrown in... booooring- kind of like studying for the MCAT)!
So there you go Vince- I'll let you know when my life is more interesting ;-)