This serves two people. As the name implies, better cooking will be achieved in summer. Gather all ingredients over the course of a couple of weeks. If you’re missing a few, don’t sweat it. You’ll sweat later. Mix in well. Watch out, sand gets everywhere. Consume while in the oven. Keep cameras handy. This is, after all, the oldest recipe in the world.

The idea was probably born in my heart decades ago, when I stood in my Montreal apartment examining a map of Australia and making hopeful plans towards a desert-like area in the center that seemed about as remote as the moon. I didn’t make it there but got a much better trip through Southeast Asia, arriving by sea from French Caledonia and barely ricocheting off Cairns before taking on Indonesia.

Much later, having blown a fuse while living on Little Cayman and decided once again that forward escape was the queen of all strategies, I set out for Utah and Arizona with a new camera and my paraglider, a memorable solo trip that will forever remind me of the color red and my love of photography coming to its apogee.

Then last year - on my airborne way to the lovely place I am writing this from on a late afternoon cooled off by rare rain showers, Table Mountain having disappeared above us in a shroud of real clouds and while chickens roast in the oven and Sauvignon Blanc chills in the fridge - I overflew the Sahara Desert and, in awe, instinctively knew that my love affair with reds and sand was only in its infancy.

But it was Marie who initially suggested the Namib trip. She must have gotten a hint from my many involuntary references to the stunning pictures I kept finding on the web of perfect sand dunes calling me, luring me to them. Since then, she will have had ample time to measure the depth of the trouble she got herself into. 

The Namib Desert, said to be the oldest on Earth - and I wonder how they decide such facts without a birth certificate, lies on the desolate southwestern coast of Namibia, South Africa’s northern neighbor on the Atlantic side. At about the same latitude inland but out of reach on our trip, is the Kalahari, straddling Namibia, South Africa and Botswana. Further still to the east are the famous Kruger Park and Mozambique, and then the Indian Ocean.

A desert, by definition, is a hot place. A desert in summertime, hence, is a bloody hot place. However the vacation calendar rules our weather preferences and not the other way around. Our only window was January. We took it. We are now two weeks from departure and have received an impressive array of recommendations, opinions, advice, suggestions and warnings from a rather diverse crowd. From the horrible jumping spiders to one’s feet cracking open in the 40°C-plus heat, via 4x4 dune-edge crashes and triple tire flats, we’ve heard it all. With a grain of salt.

Our various maps are out, Google is roaring, emails and phone calls are flying across the border. We have acquired a hyena-repelling tent for the price of a small yacht. It sleeps four and features side windows to see the desert monsters approach. A semiautomatic setup system requires little more than a couple of moves to erect the tent, in which we can actually stand tall. The valiant 4x4 V6 Lancruiser has once again been kindly placed at our disposal, and a portable fridge should soon complement it. Four bottles of Prosecco were offered to us in order to keep our minds hydrated at night. The bodies will have to use water. Lots of it.

Based on our current information, we are hoping to do the outbound trip in three days. That intentional rush will lead us to the core and from then on, we can adjust. From Cape Town to the Namibian border, a full day of driving on a large paved road, some 700 km. Then another easy day will take us past the Ai-Ais Park to Aus where we will sleep again. The third day should be memorable as we follow some of the most scenic roads in Southern Africa - or so they say. All dirt, some 500 km of it, in full heat. Yay.

We’ll have then arrived in Sesriem, gate to the Sossusvlei sand dune area, major photographic spot and highlight of our trip. After that, it’s all up in the air. 15 days in total of pure bliss in searing heat. Stay tuned. Lots more to come at a later date. Now has someone seen my suntan lotion?

Oh, and Happy New Year, everyone!

Cape Town, on a sunny day after a sunny day and before another.

Rainy Vancouver and chilly New York are now mere memories and South Africa is once again spinning around us her fine web of sunshine, wind, mountains and sea. Life has slowed down to an almost lazy rhythm punctuated by langourous coffees, hearty lunches and candlelight dinners, with the ocean ever-present even if out of sight, in all directions and behind every landmass, in our minds and hearts and ears.

The inbound flights on South African Airways were uneventful; 7:30 hours from New York JFK across the Atlantic to Dakar where we waited aboard the aircraft on the tarmac for almost an hour, a ritual culminating in the fumigation of the cabin, a comical attempt to kill some hypothetical evil spirit that would have boarded under the appearance of a mosquito. It might have missed the mosquito but it sure got us.

Then on to Johannesburg, another 8 hours or so of flight time. Upon arrival, we cleared customs after spending an eternity in line, Africa making a point to brief its visitors thoroughly on the local time and pace changes. We got our luggage back even though it had been tagged all the way to our destination, and checked it back in, double measure meant to ensure double guaranties of success. Everything seemed peachy. The flight to Cape Town took another hour and a half. We landed almost on time, headed for the now familiar Domestic Arrivals hall and waited for our luggage to arrive.

It didn’t.

Almost everybody else’s did, but not ours. After a long and decreasingly patient wait, we had to accept that our three suitcases had gone missing. Our hand luggage contained laptops, cameras and the like. But no clothes, no clothes, no clothes. Sigh. Paperwork was hastily filled and then duly stamped by a representative with doubtful English language skills. And we left at midnight with Marie’s dad who had kindly come to pick us up. We figured we might have a lot of curative shopping to do.

But the next morning, around 11:00 am for the first two and again maybe by 1:00 pm for the last, our lost suitcases arrived, dropped off at home by an airline representative. Mine had been opened and shuffled through. A jacket was missing, either chosen by a stranger for its sheer black beauty and unsurpassed warmth, or left by myself in NYC. I’ll find out in 2 months. Who cares. Clothing is once again a delight we can contemplate with confidence.

Many delicious lunches and dinners have now already happened, the green belt playground has been reopened and beaches are being revisited. Hikes will soon follow. A trip to the Namib is brewing. And this morning I went flying with Marie’s brother François in his microlight (the local name for an ultralight or ULM for the Frenchies), a wonderful flight over the northwest coastline - post and pictures coming soon.

Tot later.

She’s putting up a last fight. Right before I am scheduled to leave her behind, the city of glass is attempting to steal my heart again. After a seemingly endless - but normal - stretch of rain and grey weather, this morning shines like a single jewel on a forgotten crown.

It started as I was leaving home. About to turn right towards the bus stop, I spotted a flock of birds on the beach and a closer look revealed crows harassing a beautiful bald eagle. The bird of prey eventually landed just by the water and the crows having given up, it just sat there, prince of the sand and king of the moment.

I forgot about my bus and hurried to the beach for a closer look. The eagle was the size of four seagulls, perfect white head on an ink-black body. Just as I stared, a harbour seal popped up a mere 15 feet away from the bird, stared at it calmly for a while and then went on with his bouncing morning swim. Up, down, up, down.

A fog bank was receding offshore, revealing the freighters at anchor one after another but still hiding the opposite landmass in a dark menacing shroud. And behind me, to the east, the sun was beginning to sip through the clouds. The mountains were standing out in all their glory and I took a deep breath.

« Nice try, » I said to the city, « but no luck. I love you very much, but no matter what you do to impress me, next week at the same time I will be be visiting your long lost sister Cape Town, a half a world away and a hemisphere across. It will be summer, the table cloth will be clinging to its mountain, the wind might howl and time will take on a new dimension. I will have left beauty behind only to find it again ahead. And more important, I will be whole. »

Mine.

If this were any other time in history, I’d probably be laughing out loud. I can hear the world’s patronizing snort: « Them Canadians are throwing a fit again, eh? Who cares, they never pass 0.5 on the Richter scale anyway. It’s refreshing to be able to watch a political struggle with no consequence to us. It’s like watching a soap opera. »

But. This is now and we are in the midst of an extreme - and global - economic crisis. My sense of humor is running low. Canadian bankruptcies have increased by 20% compared to last year. Meanwhile, a touch south of the border - where all the financial trouble began, spreading across the globe like an unstoppable virus - giants steps are being taken, drastic measures considered and a new leadership has been installed.

This is a wave we, as a neighboring country, cannot afford to miss. We must ride it like crazy or sink. Later will be too late. There might be a false sense of calm while we wobble in the trough but soon the next wave will come and then we’ll drown.

But while the water level drops and the crest approaches fast, gathering momentum and building itself a white dress of foam, our own ridiculous politicians fight amongst themselves, making our country look like a beheaded chicken that manages a few steps before hitting a wall.

The complete lack of character of our leaders reminds me of puppets in the wind. And they fight like girls!^* No direct hits here, no closed fists, no kicks to the head nor karate stance, no balance nor confidence. They thrash at each other feebly with open hands, achieving the mere power of weak slaps, hoping for their nails to bite a lip or destroy the opponent’s make-up, pulling hair as their rings get stuck in it, hissing and spitting, out of control and out of place.

A little back, Dion lost a very humiliating election (it was deserved as he clearly doesn’t have what it takes to run a country.) His party decided to get rid of him fast. But now he is campaigning wildly with the coalition to try and fuck us up some more. We don’t need a country divided, where losers can turn around and claim revenge just like that. When you lose, you lose. Then you stick to fair play. Not that the current puppet is any better. That’s our problem. We need new blood. Fast. Harper just seems like the lesser of two weevils.

In the meantime, our Governor General temporarily halted the frenzy. Kudos to her. The pressure must have been tremendous. Let’s hope Canadians - puppets and puppeteers - will enjoy the holidays, relax and come to their senses.

Yeah, I know, I’m the the world’s worse political analyst. And proud of it, too!

^* No offense to you girls, I’m just referring to the cliché.

Incredible things are happening with technology as we speak. The internet is growing exponentially. I find it almost impossible to stay up to date. And sure enough, once in a while, I find out that I have indeed fallen behind.

It was the case this evening. Having looked up the French town of Anjou on Google Maps while Skyping with Marie earlier, I was left with an open browser and beautiful France smiling at me. I began to zoom in and traveled south. A little orange icon looking like a person attracted my attention on the interface. It looked like the « Street View » icon, a very cool new feature in Google Maps that shows you street level images of a location. But I thought I remembered Street View only being available in select US cities. I checked further, zooming in on Marseilles.

Surprise. Street level views were everywhere. My heart started beating faster. What if? I scrolled, scrolled and scrolled, disoriented at first. I missed la Bonne Mère, found le vieux port, climbed back up the hill and spotted the name I was looking for. I dragged the little icon and held my breath.

And this, is what I got.

I was blown away - that ruelle, boldly labeled an « avenue », is the smallest street one could ever imagine; the hairpin turns below and to the left (once in street view, click and drag to turn around) are so tight and narrow that most small French cars miss and have to back-up once. And yet, there it was, on my screen and out of a decade of dust collecting, duly photographed and archived by others onto the internet. 69 Avenue David Dellepiane. Google sent me tumbling down the memory lane.

How many times had I written that address on an envelope? The squeaky metal gate would open into a small empty terrace, and then the door, to the right, lead via a long corridor inside one of the smallest (and darkest) apartments I had seen before arriving in Vancouver.

There, lived my father. He spent the end of his tumultuous life smoking and drinking himself to oblivion, and he stayed at 69 D. Dellepiane until the end. The sight of this house is an amazingly sad one, filled with the heavy burden of guilt and regrets. But at the same time, I catch myself smiling at the memory of such a colorful man. I chose, long ago, to remember all the extraordinary moments he filled my youth with, rather than the sadness of an unavoidable end.

Isa, if you ever read this, my love to you and everyone around you.

As it was said somewhere else:

...

For those of you who might have wondered where the pictures of old posts had gone recently, well, they were in server la-la land. I had forgotten to update my database table to replace the string of my old domain with the new one in over 300 entries!

It’s now a done deal.

Oops. I’m an idiot. It shouldn’t have made a difference since the files are still there. Haven’t had enough coffee this morning. It would seem that the old site is down. I’ll investigate...

This is the stuff dreams are made off. A road trip from Cape Town to the Namib Desert. One border and 2000 kilometers on African roads in unknown conditions, in the peak of summertime, with no cell phone reception nor wi-fi hotspots, aiming for the oldest desert on Earth and the most incredible landscapes one can imagine.

Of course, the word dream implies many - still - loose ends, including securing the use of said vehicle, swallowing the cost of fuel, leaving loved ones behind when they thought they had finally been granted the luxury of our company, and finding the guts to actually hit the road.

But as with any dream, anything is possible. The three or four cameras invited on the trip would go nuts and ample material would be collected for later publishing.

And most of all, the limits of a daily reality would be stretched yet a little further and deeper than once thought possible. The envelope would be pushed a step closer to the edge and souls would soar a little higher, stoned by freedom, inebriated by raw beauty and hardened by a tougher commitment.

Wishful thinking? Not quite. A lot remains to be evaluated and probed but it’s feasible. It’s actually quite possible. Heck, it’s almost tangible.

To be continued...

5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - Ignition!

Well, so to speak. The fireworks are inner ones. There’s really nothing to brag about but I hope you’ll enjoy the new look and streamlined interface. I certainly have learned a great deal and for that reason alone, it was worth it!

Please post any comments, typos, feedback, bug reports (are you still seeing the blog in blue, Gitte?), constructive criticism and blown away exclamation marks either in here or even better, in the guestbook accessible directly from the main gallery. I’ll be very curious to hear about loading speed, functionality, interface, etc.

There remain kinks to be ironed, of course and bits and pieces to be glued together. But you shouldn’t notice them too much.

Known issues:

• There is a major glitch with gallery centering in Opera, which I just discovered. If you are using Opera, have patience, or consider Firefox or Chrome...
• At this stage, all prior dates of guestbook comments are stamped 1969. Why then? Why not.
• Most photo captions haven’t been written, nor the final sequence of photo albums decided; however neither should matter much because the captions are only turned on manually and definitively aren’t necessary, and since albums play at random by default, again the sequence isn’t quintessential.
• I am still deciding what to do with the full screen mode; improvements may follow.
• Too many pictures remain in the galleries, and some are not yet scaled to fit the screen. I should be removing at least 30% of what’s currently online and will be adjusting sizes when time allows.

And now, I’m going to.... bed!

P.S. Oh yes, how do you get there? With the link above or here. And don’t forget to update your bookmarks!

Updates:

• Blue text and background issues in Safari fixed, thanks to Gitte. CSS was the culprit, I hadn’t linked to a couple of files. I’ll have to centralize all that CSS.
• Centering fixed in Opera, and while I was at it, I reverted to a much more simple CSS centring code; God only knows how I’d ended up using negative margins when I just had to use 2 margin:auto’s and 100% width... Again, CSS issue.

Saturday morning, 1:30 am. 

I wish I had a big black cat here to distract me from the computer and beg for pellets. Or its owner, to distract me from the computer and beg. But writing this post should do the trick and put me to sleep. The redesign is about complete and I should be going live tomorrow, hence today.

I’ve finished transferring files from one domain to the other, and thank god there will be less crap on the new site. The old one had become like a dark basement in which no one dares enter. I’ve gotten rid of my Viper Guestbook after reading that the project had been abandoned due to major security issues, and have installed a new, lighter script; adapting the database was a bit tricky and my old dates still aren’t sorted out but I’m working on it. The blog now resides at the new domain and if you are reading this, you have been redirected silently (look at the URL.) Time to update your bookmarks. All the photo galleries are online and duly managed via the SlideShowPro Director CMS. They still need tweaking and the most time-consuming task of writing captions has yet to be tackled.

But all and all, I’m just about there. I’ll finish adjusting everything once the site is up and running. There will be a lot of SEO left, and some cleaning up, and 301’s, and Google Analytics and Sitemaps, and Woopra. And then there will be time to think about a desert...