tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-97156142024-03-07T03:07:31.617-06:00The Life of IThe official source of Dean-based adventures and musings.Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.comBlogger304125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-47175978114534059562010-08-12T20:55:00.000-06:002010-09-30T21:50:16.913-06:00Around TownIt's not everyday I have visitors much less ones from outside Saskatoon. So after taking my friend, Yann, and his son, Frederic, on a 4-day 2500km loop of Southwestern Saskatchewan we set out to do a few activities here in Saskatoon. At first I admit I was not sure there would be much to show, but with a 9-year old boy in particular, those fears were unfounded. We had arrived around midnight the Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-60713487420106850152010-08-10T23:49:00.000-06:002010-09-30T21:50:01.180-06:00Running Back to SaskatoonI woke up in Alberta a little before Yann and Frederic, my French friend and his son, started stirring. We were in "The Hat" or Medicine Hat which has the unfortunate slogan, "The Gas City". Hopefully not related to bean consumption. After breakfast at the Perkin's down the street we made our first stop: the tallest teepee in the world. I don't think it should count, really - it's made of steel Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-8115891779128942312010-08-09T23:16:00.016-06:002010-09-09T19:40:18.838-06:00West to EastendWe woke up from our Assiniboia hotel rested; for the first time since arriving in Canada, Frederic even slept in. I took that as a good sign that the jet lag was wearing off for my French visitors, Yann and his son Fred. By the time we found somewhere open for breakfast on a Monday and finished, it was almost lunchtime (10:30) but we we didn't race out of Assiniboia in spite of what we had ahead Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-88454815214543085012010-08-08T20:17:00.116-06:002010-09-09T19:40:29.690-06:00Southern Saskatchewan CircuitAs you may or may not know, I run a website (which has been woefully neglected on my travels) about one of the greatest contemporary musicians out there, Mr. Frank Black Francis. Here's a link to the website and the podcast I host with a friend. That weekend, a friend and fellow fan (and one of the French founders of Frank Black site Blackolero) would be coming to see Saskatchewan and Jasper and Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-36962149557758006952010-08-02T15:20:00.153-06:002010-08-22T16:08:53.838-06:00A Farewell to JohnsI was home in Saskatoon on Sunday night after saying goodbye to Fort St. John and my cousins there. After visiting with all of my family that night except Larissa, who is currently working at a resort in Mexico, I hit the old familiar bed too hard to notice how comfortable it was or for that matter that it was a whole new mattress. The first week back was a hubbub of activity, unpacking, sorting,Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-80295915009992858242010-07-25T22:13:00.093-06:002010-08-06T22:49:49.640-06:00Northern NuptualsSo where was I? I believe I had landed in Fort St. John in the northern half of British Colombia for my first stop in Canada after months of traveling Latin America. I was met by my dad, sister Mariah, cousin Jonathan, and Uncle George who were all up from Saskatoon for my cousin Dean's wedding. Ringing any bells yet? We were seated with my uncle/godfather Bill, aunt/godmother Helen, and several Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-14974930060620106122010-07-23T18:43:00.029-06:002010-07-26T18:30:20.942-06:00RioduxMy last bus ride on the Latin American expedition was already the beginning of a return to familiar locations. I was back in Rio for four more days of fun in the sun (and in its absence). I’m not sure if it was the beginning of high season or Brazil is just busier in the winter months than many of its neighbours but I had to resort to booking a hostel online – and most of them were full includingDeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-12735950921308434372010-07-18T12:51:00.001-06:002010-07-24T09:24:00.579-06:00Long Road to RioHer name is Rio and she dances on the sand. This is probably the best line that Duran Duran ever wrote and it captures the feeling of Rio de Janeiro, the Marvellous City, perfectly. When I was booking my flight home, there were doubts at my wisdom in choosing Rio as my final stop on this nine month expedition from Mexico. It was an extra country on a crowded itinerary, I needed a visa, Brazil wasDeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-60573092873445847912010-07-11T18:32:00.003-06:002010-07-20T20:18:31.451-06:00Weekend RetreatCheymus, a fellow Canadian from Victoria, and myself were bound for Campos do Jordao, a mountain city to which Sao Paulo’s residents flock for winter weekends. There’s no snow to be found or anything, but it’s a breath of fresh air from sandwiched Sao Paulo and there must be some Swiss or German influence as all the architecture is quite different from the typical Spanish or Portugese-colonial Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-14786140113414766892010-07-09T15:47:00.002-06:002010-07-14T14:18:26.543-06:00Bem Vindo a Sao PauloIt was a long bus ride from Iguazu Falls on the border of Argentina into Sao Paulo, a city of 11 million and the heart of Brazil’s economic power. I sat in the back of the bus so that my reclining seat could serve as a cabinet of sorts against the back of the bus for my backpack while I dozed. Unfortunately, there was a rather odd guy who kept moving around and for some time sat across from me inDeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-20376127405835082912010-07-05T14:20:00.001-06:002010-07-13T09:42:22.403-06:00Falling for IguazuParaguay glowed pink out my window as the sun was setting on my stay in Argentina. I was on a bus for the final stop in the Spanish speaking countries and my final border crossing before flying home. The destination was one of the main reasons I was in South America to begin with: Iguazu Falls. They lie on the border of Argentina and Brazil, an impressive middleman between the two South American Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-83191226352484774842010-07-03T14:26:00.001-06:002010-07-07T13:02:38.076-06:00Mission to San IgnacioAfter the painless (aside from the price of the taxi!) border crossing from Salto, Uruguay back into Argentina I guess I expected more. More than to be be dumped under an underpass with an encouraging pat on the shoulder and "good luck" at 9 at night to wait for a bus that should come through around 10:30. But that's what happened. There was a police checkstop set up there, though for what Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-20411149270213524692010-07-02T22:14:00.000-06:002010-07-07T11:19:57.557-06:00The Partial Monte Video and Salto InsanityI was in the old district of Montevideo, Uruguay’s capital at a hostel called Che Legarto right in Independence Plaza. I had no idea what to expect of the city and somehow I had a very eastern European feeling almost immediately on the bus in that didn’t lessen with my time there. As one of the guys at the hostel spelled out my options for the evening - tango here, free; salsa there, free; great Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-52590920069371199192010-06-30T16:49:00.002-06:002010-07-07T10:21:21.513-06:00A Tale of Two TownsThe train to Tigre takes about an hour, meaning I arrived at 1:30 with about three hours to wander around this popular weekend suburb before hopping on the ferry to cross to Uruguay. That, on a weekday, is more than I needed it turned out. Most of the things were closed including the fabled Mate (pronounced Mah-teh) museum. Have we discussed mate yet? I can’t remember, but it is a very Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-66097194410488273762010-06-29T11:48:00.007-06:002010-07-01T07:46:08.573-06:00The City of Good Air and Great EverythingAh, Buenos Aires. Capital of Argentina; Birthplace of the tango; Home of dulce de leche; City of statues, city of parks, city of eternal nights; New Paris, New Rome, New New York; where does one start? I’ll tell you. Unless you fly in you probably start at the Retiro train, bus, and “Subte” station (subway) a hustling-bustling mass of vehicles heaving bodies to and fro en masse but only after Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-41871288275286389452010-06-25T13:41:00.006-06:002010-06-25T16:19:56.091-06:00Back to the AtlanticI arrived in Rosario a little later than I’d hoped. It was dark, I was alone, and there were wolves howling in the distance. Alright, alright, so there were no wolves but as I wandered around the perimeter of the bus station trying to find the intersection that would take me to a nearby hostel, I could almost feel their eyes watching me from the orange-cast shadows in sidestreets and alleyways. IDeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-5332265367072924162010-06-23T17:19:00.001-06:002010-06-24T08:22:03.577-06:00East is the New SouthWe didn’t spin a bottle. We were back, yet again, in the Mendoza bus terminal recently arrived from from Uspallata after having been blocked from entry into Chile by endless winter snow. I was hoping to get my skis onto some of that snow in southern Las Leñas, Argentina’s best ski hill, but ironically there was not enough snow for that (and also the hill didn’t open for another 3-4 days). Unable Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-23687014085014126822010-06-18T12:02:00.020-06:002010-06-21T12:37:51.402-06:00You Shall Not PassThe plan was to leave Cordoba at 9 PM and arrive at around 7:30 AM in Mendoza. I had allotted a week to Mendoza for a bit of trekking, skiing, and wine tasting but on the way back from Chile (when there’d be more snow in the mountains). The plan on arriving was to get the 9:30 AM bus directly out of Mendoza heading for Valparaiso, Chile, spend about 10 days over there and then come back for Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-16889150133776633452010-06-13T20:46:00.007-06:002010-06-15T06:49:02.406-06:00Cordoba CrazyI arrived early in the morning (before sunrise) in Cordoba and took a taxi to the Tango hostel nearby. I had no plans but it sounded pretty good from what I read in the Lonely Planet so I just headed straight there. I have to admit, I give that book a lot of grief but whoever recommended this hostel really got it right: staying at Tango was one of the best decisions I've made in Argentina. It's Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-23388650206826602212010-06-11T22:34:00.002-06:002010-06-15T06:33:59.753-06:00Salta and SurroundsThe 2:30 AM train was a long wait after three days travelling around the salt flats of Uyuni but luckily our Argentinian friends let us stay in the office with heat, TV, and music. Some English guys I’d helped buy tickets were already waiting at the station and along with Rutger, the Dutch guy from our Uyuni trip, the four of us loaded our stuff in the baggage car and got aboard. Naturally, Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-77658539236817415542010-06-06T22:22:00.006-06:002010-06-09T07:48:20.883-06:00The Salt Plains of UyuniThe bus left at 8:30 in the morning for the nine (read: ten and a half) hour trip to Uyuni, gateway to Bolivia’s legendary 4200m Salar de Uyuni salt flats. En route we passed through Potosi, the world’s highest city and somewhere that with more time I would have spent a day at to visit the silver mine that almost single-handedly financed Spain’s colonial aspirations. There’s not much silver thereDeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-11152596084641023002010-06-02T10:37:00.001-06:002010-06-02T10:41:30.049-06:00Sucre is SweetMy bus with Cochabamba Lines to Sucre was probably one of the most comfortable bus sleeps I've ever had: maybe I'm just getting used to it? The seats reclined more than any other bus I've been on aside from the first one into Peru, the blanket was warm, and I woke 40 minutes before coming into Sucre feeling refreshed and glad to be arriving in a new place. The first step, as always, is finding a Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-62389871894553710402010-05-27T15:39:00.000-06:002010-05-27T15:39:46.606-06:00Bolivia's Slice of the AmazonWe stepped off the small plane and onto the dirt strip. We stepped from a symbol of a planet tamed to another of the unexplored and untamed. We stepped into adventure; we stepped into the Amazon. Rurrenabaque is the defacto tourist stop for exploring Bolivia’s slice of the Amazon which itself is divided into two sections. First, there is the classic Amazon, a thick rainforest/jungle (called the Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-57379953414416569792010-05-20T15:30:00.021-06:002010-05-26T00:21:41.083-06:00Death Rode to La PazLa Paz, Bolivia’s capital, is also the highest capital city on Earth, weighing in at 3.6 km above the sea. 1.5 million people live here and, as luck would have it, all of them were on the road in front of us as we entered the city limits. Traffic congestion, we would soon discover, does not thin with the air. Eventually, we got to a place that was being called ‘the terminal’ even though it was Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9715614.post-35503585908463886912010-05-16T17:49:00.000-06:002010-05-19T22:54:49.910-06:00Teehee! Lake TiticacaLake Titicaca is often mistakenly called the highest navigable lake in the world and it’s easy to forgive the boast. At 3809m in elevation and ridiculously huge in size (165 km long, 8560 square kilometres, and 274m deep) such exaggerations are performed by your very senses. Puno, the main stop on the Peru side of the lake, was to be our last stop before crossing the border to Bolivia which Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04879162405084467116noreply@blogger.com0