Growing Vegetables in Vancouver: An Urban Farming Census

Today I sat in on my first master's thesis defense. A student in the Faculty of Land and Food Systems at UBC in the Integrated Studies and Land and Food Systems program. The research project, titled "Growing Vegetables in Vancouver: An Urban Farming Cenus", was a two year study that look at the economic viability of Vancouver's urban farms. I will discuss some of the points that were interesting here.

First, what is urban agriculture? The term was identified as the act of growing and processing food within an urban region. Generally important aspects to consider were said to be 1) farm location 2) farm purpose and activities - jobs, education 3) farm scale - size and complexity of organization structure - and 4) farm market orientation - how much is for sale. In Vancouver it was said we see mainly three categories of urban agriculture: 1) urban homesteading 2) community gardens and 3) urban farms.

It was described that urban farmers tend to be growing on land that has been marginalized by communities such as abandoned train tracks or sites that are destined for development in the future. Further, that urban agriculture a response to failing food systems where you will find people talking about problems of food security, a term generally associated with people being able to access and afford nutritionally and culturally appropriate foods, as well as food system sustainability at local, regional, national and even global levels.

It was shared that the average age of farmers in North America is currently 53; it has long been discussed that the aging farmer demographic and lack of interest shown by young people to enter the agricultural sector, especially in production, is a challenge to the sustainability of the current food system. Additionally, though the fear of agricultural knowledge being lossed is often discussed, the idea of the potential for this knowledge to be gained and practiced is not often critically analyzed. In the presentation, it was stated that the number of seasons a farmer has to perfect their art, the art of growing food, which is generally around 40 seasons, is significanltly less time than other professionals have to perfect their art due to the nature of the diverging professions. Essentially, a farmer has 40 chances at learning and improving his growing methods, without taking varying environmental and climatic conditions into consideration.

We then looked at urban farms in Vancouver. In the city urban farms are on average 0.34 acres - very small. Vancouver's urban farmers are mainly men and women (in equal proportion) in 30s and most often without farming experience before joining the urban food production scene. None of the farmers own their own land though some tax cuts are available to the landowners where food is being produced. Some land is leased from the government or other organizations, but such leases often require a non-profit connection by the leasing organization in order for proper tax deductions to be secured.

One of the key aspects of urban agriculture in the financing. It is very difficult to establish a business framework where small-scale producers can actually make a profit - further, there is an interesting dynamic in cities where citizens tend to expect food growers to contribute more heavily to the social fabric of the city and give not only their time but also their products for free for the betterment of society as a whole. The lack of profit being generated by city farmers is evident when you look at the source of farming revenue from 2011 in Vancouver: 170,000 farm revenue; 218,000 grant revenue and 10,000 other revenue. This means that 55%, the majority, of the revenue to allow farms to operate in the city - this number really surprised me as I thought that the proximity of urban farmers to their consumers would facilitate improved farm revenue. Looking at the overall implications of this funding structure, we have to ask ourselves what kind of liability having so much of the revenue for local farmers tied up in grant money has for our local food system?

One of the most interesting comments that was generated at this defense was actually during the question period. One of the reviewers asked the student about a section he had included in his written thesis which focused on the student's empathy toward the research he was conducting. The reviewer then asked, given that the student obviously wanted the farmers and farming organizations to succeed, how critical could he really be in his evaluation and analysis of the data that had been collected? Additionally, how could he defend his work in front of a panel that didn't share his same biases?

The student's response was that the fact that his research showed both successful and failing farmers in the city, that he felt his work was evidently an unbiased account of what is actually happening on the ground; if he showed only successes, promoting his work might be more of challenge.

Regardless of the answer for this student, the question about how do you deal with one's personally biases and interests in a profession that is supposed to be objective. Clearly I am studying agriculture because I am passionate about the subject. I believe that our food choices are the best preventative methods to long and healty lives and consequently promote food production, funtioning food systems and whole food choices wherever possible. Then, however, when I am conducting my research, how will these biases about preferences for rural landscapes, farming landscapes, farming culture, agricultural solutions for long term health of the environment and society affect the objectivity of my work? This is something I still need to decipher in these intial phases of setting up my research, but I am glad that these ideas have been brought to my attention before I was too involved in the work that I could no longer separate myself from the work I am conducting.

Hidden Bench: Agriculture in the Family

People sometimes wonder how I became interested in food systems and agriculture since I grew up in Montreal and then moved to Vancouver - two significant urban centers by Canadian standards.

Well in Quebec my grandparents invested in farmland in the Laurentians many years ago, and so both my father and uncle, and then my brother, cousins and I, spent a significant amount of time at the farm. Somehow, that place has had a strong influence on a number of us. My father now runs that farm passionately, and my uncle is successfully producing wine, cheese and even chickens in the Niagara region of Ontario.

Check out his winery, Hidden Bench, and the fantastic reviews it is receiving.

Report on Science

I have recently returned to school to pursue a Masters in Science in Soil Science from the University of British Columbia. While trying to adjust to a life that is indoors, stationary and of the mind rather than of the body, I have been struggling to understand what it means to be a graduate student and what it means to be a member of the scientific community.

I once did an art project for a class on the history and philosophy of environmental thought, where I compared the way we view western medicine (science) and the way we view Christianity (religion). The point of my project was to challenge viewers to think about, or even possibly concede, that science is as much a belief system as religion - in a way it is our modern day religion. There exists the practice where the majority of the general public put faith in the methods and practices of science in order to facilitate their adherence to the rules and results put forth by the scientific community - much the way people adhered to the Christian faith many years ago. Believing in science requires faith in the practitioners who deal with scientific methodology, processes, subjects and research on a daily basis. However, like all human creations, science is flawed because of its human component. Practitioners are only human, and they make mistakes. This realization is often disheartening for non-practitioners.

This week I learned an interesting fact about scientific publication. Perhaps part of the reason we believe that science is such a majestic entity is because the scientific community is in the habit of only publishing positive results. What this means is that though there are many research projects that turn out to be complete flops, no knowledge, methodology or results are shared from these misguided pursuits of answers. What this also means, is that the same questions can be asked again and again because there is no record that someone else has gone down the same road in another place or another time.

To counter this trend, I have also learned of the Journal of Negative Results. "The primary intention of Journal of Negative Results is to provide an online-medium to publish peer-reviewed, sound scientific work in ecology and evolutionary biology that is scientifically rigorous but does not rely upon arbitrary significance thresholds to support conclusions." (http://www.jnr-eeb.org/index.php/jnr/index Sept. 13, 2012)

The element which most surprises me is that until this moment, I had never thought about what were the biases for publication in scientific journals. Even something as simple as highlighting positive results and omitting negative results is significant.

We must ask then: Do readers prefer reading about success rather than failure even though failure is just as important as success?

Fes by Camera

Essouaira (Pictures to follow)

Adam turns to me and says, “Is it just me or has Morocco started to lose some of its charm?” I agreed that the novelty we felt in the first few days of our visit to Morocco had started to wear thin. We had arrived in Essouaira, a fishing port town on the Atlantic, and were not impressed. It was admittedly nice to be in a new city and one much smaller and with wider streets, which made navigation much easier. Also, since we were on the ocean, the weather was much more bearable – the temperature had dropped from 40 C to 22 C.

The first night we walked the medina in search of food. Unfortunately, my stomach was already queasy from the dinner I had cooked the night before, and after the 7 hour train ride without air conditioning through the dessert, followed by the 2.5 hour bus ride, I was not eager to put up with the sales people of the medina. We thought our search for a restaurant would be short, but we unfortunately went what turned out to be the opposite direction of the main restaurants in our search. Along the way, we passed many vendors and then arrived at a very dodgy gate to the medina where there were homeless begging for what coins they could and hiding in the dark corners making ready for the night. I was put off by the scene at first because of the hassle, but when I saw a man lying on the ground using his open wound on his leg which looked like rotting flesh for money, I was immediately disgusted.  Outside the gates our search for food did not meet much more success, and at this point our nasal cavities were being bombarded with the stench of sewer water in the street. On top of that there was garbage everywhere – pretty much as there has been across the entire country in both urban and rural places. I hate to say it but Essouaira is dirty. My appetite was gone. I was ready to call it a night.

The next day we started afresh. We first had breakfast on the rooftop of our riad followed by a walk under the blue sky to the fishing port. There we visited the fishing market which was full of an equal amount of hustle and bustle as the medina store fronts – one thing both Adam and I will attest to is that Moroccan’s work hard. We then walked through the boat repair port where boats where hulls for big fishing boats were being cut crudely in wood. And last, we continued along the beach which is the main draw for tourists to Essouaira.

The beach was nice and not too crowded swimmer wise, which makes sense in a Muslim country, however, the commerce on the beach was aplenty. You could windsurf, kitesurf, surf, camel ride, horseback ride, ATV tour, get henna tattoos, rent umbrellas and lawn chairs, and find plenty of dining.

We looked into Adam going kitesurfing, but the prices were similar to those in Canada, and I didn’t think he would get as good a service as he would back home. Instead we had a nice lunch, before I was again ill. It was at this time that Adam and I had to concede that maybe Morocco had caught up with us and was possibly kicking our butts.

My travelors gut was not getting better but worse, and he was feeling tired and wanting to get out of the sun too. So we decided since Essouaira didn’t have as much to offer as we hoped, we would take the afternoon off and escape into our hotel. It was a good plan until we ventured out to dinner and the restaurant we chose had bugs crawling everywhere, the food was half cooked, and I again got ill.

Not feeling the draw of the city so many other tourists had also flocked too, we decided it best to leave and start afresh in Marrakesh. Before we left the seaside though, we did make a point of taking a camel ride along the beach and sand dunes. The camels are really impressive creatures. Much larger than I had thought them to be, I think the humour in their character put Adam and I both in good spirits again.

Fes: Part II (Pictures to Follow)

Wednesday and Thursday were spent exploring the medina in Fes. We started off with guided tour from an official guide through our hotel. His name was Khalib. Khalib took us around the Fes medina, a medina that is very narrow and maze-like, to show us important historical buildings as well as culturally interesting markets within the medina walls. We started at a former religious school where Khalib talked to us a little about his religion as well. There are many rules for Muslims and I think the most important advice he gave to Adam and I was not to judge the Islam faith by what other Muslims do, but to always judge the religion by the example given by the prophet Mohammed. All Muslims should lead their life following the Prophets example, but of course no man or woman is as true as Mohammed. No one can love as deeply, be as true, be as humble etc.
 
The different souks, markets, were probably the most interesting. Again it is difficult going anywhere in Morocco without having goods pushed on you, especially if you are being brought there to learn a little about the industry, there is always an expectation for you to pay back the information you have gathered with a purchase – for which your guide, no matter how official, will always receive some sort of commission. We visited food markets where dates, nuts, fresh fruit (oranges, grapes, cactus fruit), butchers, live chickens and rabbits, and olive sellers lined the streets. We visited the tannery section where the smell alerts you that you are in the presence of some intensive chemical transformations. (Adam was keen on getting a closer look than the bird’s eye view we received on our official tour and was able to sneak into the tanneries on two occasions in the next day.) We visited a section of the medina where all the shops are for the wedding ceremony – in Morocco, the bride and groom sit on very large white or gold thrones during the wedding ceremony that can be rented. The clothing is all white and gold too and very beautifully woven. Even the marriage proposal is elaborate. The prospective groom collects a basket of goods – dates, jewellery, scarves, special cakes – and marches them down the street in a procession with music to the house of his desired bride to ask her for her hand in marriage. Beforehand he would have asked the father for permission to do the procession. The reason that everything is so public is so that the neighbours and the neighbourhood know the intentions of boy and girl and do not start talking badly about their relationship because of misinformed.

The jewellery in Morocco is very beautifully crafted. Mainly with silver and stonework, the designs can be very elaborate. I have purchased a couple of pendants to wear, and it is hard not to bring more home with me…that is until I have to engage in a haggling war with the shop owners. (In fact the place that I bought my two pendants is from some young guy with a big African afro who tells you up front and he even has a sign in his store that he does not negotiate on his prices. It was quite a relief to hear a price and either accept the price or walk away without discussion.

When I thought about Morocco, the first thing that came to my mind in the past were bountiful colours in the markets. I was very pleased to discover in Fes that the colours are in fact a very real part of the Berber culture. When we visited a weaving cooperative, it was beautiful to see the many dyed silks, cottons and wools that had been woven into blankets and scarves. Though we knew we would be paying a little bit more to have seen where the pieces were made, Adam and I couldn’t resist and purchased a couple pieces for ourselves.

The excitement and hustle and bustle of the Fes medina markets are definitely worth a visit. Anything you could want is on sale and you will definitely feel very close to Moroccan culture walking through the narrow streets surrounded by the sounds, smells and sights that Morocco has to offer. The only problem is that after a couple of days, not only does the novelty of the place wear off a little, but the fact that you can no longer walk down the street without the vendors remembering your last conversation and asking you if it is indeed now that you will come and ‘just look’ at their goods, or if it is now that you will talk about ‘your best price’ for something in which you had shown a faint interest. Honestly, it all gets a little tiresome. (Or as I would discover toward the end of my trip, the constant selling gets very tiresome.)

Though we were able to pay our guide and escape to a lunch of our own choosing – a full couscous lunch with appetizer olives and bread and a big bottle of water for less than five dollars! It is these prices that make-up for any downsides that we experience .

In the afternoon, we continued to shop a little more and then ventured to the train station to try and get a refund for our train tickets to Casablanca we were no longer going to use. Surprisingly, we did get an 80% refund without too many questions. However, when we tried to book our next ticket for Friday, we were told that we couldn’t because the train master was not sure of the train schedule for that day since it was the day leading up to Ramadan. Ramadan is the holy month for Muslim people where they must fast, both food and all liquids, all day long. Some interesting facts about Ramadan are that for women, if you are pregnant during Ramadan, you don’t need to fast for the sake of your health and the health of the baby, but once you give birth, you must make up the time. Also, the week women have their period during Ramadan, they don’t need to fast, but at the end of the month, they need to make up the week as well.

Not exactly understanding how the start of the religious month would affect the train schedule, we just had to accept that it did, and buy our tickets on Friday when we arrived.

In the evening, Adam got a very cheap and very well groomed haircut, while I got my hands covered in Henna.  Our dinner was on the rooftop of one of the medina buildings. We entered the first restaurant and climbed to the top before Adam saw that there was a higher rooftop across the street. Then once we had been seated on that rooftop, he spotted another higher one, but we stayed where we were….Though that restaurant was one of the first where we started to questions the cleanliness of Moroccan service.

Adam’s nightly adventures included a cute story about him getting involved with a group of children which we have since deemed the ‘ninja kids’. It started off with Adam walking down our alley and coming across some of the local kids. Being a teacher, Adam always says hello to kids and likes to interact with them in an energetic kind of way. At this time, one of the boys has picked up a friend and was about to body slam him onto the ground. Adam told them to be careful and asked if they were ninjas. Well the kids loved the ideas of being ninjas and started kicking and bouncing off the walls and even Adam. When he tried to end the interaction and get the kids to back off, it was too late, they were ninjas. So the group of children chased Adam down the alleys attacking him like ninjas as he tried to convince them the game was over.

On his way home too, he met another little boy that told him, “Sir. I know from your language you must be lost.” He didn’t want to tell the little boy that he has never really been lost.

The last day was like the others, except for our visit to the Hammam and my decision to cook dinner at home in the hopes it would be cleaner than the last places we had visited and we could try some of the flavours and foods we had walked by the days before. Eating in foreign countries there is always a risk to get sick, but I made sure to cook everything to be piping hot before consuming it, still, I think this dinner was the cause of my travellor’s gut in the coming days. I don’t know exactly what it was, but I go progressively more sick in the following days until I couldn’t keep any food down more than 15 minutes after eating. 

I guess after having no problems doing similar meals in central and south America in recent years without issue, I thought it would be fine, but even buying our food wholesale, I knew we were getting ripped off.  Lesson learned.

The Hammam: My experience getting a massage from a topless old woman in Morocco

In Morocco there exist public and private spas in most communities which are called Hammams. Each day, the facilities are open in the morning to men exclusively, the afternoon women exclusively and then later at night men again exclusively. The spas are used as a sort of public bath where men and women have the facilities including cold rooms and hot steam rooms to bathe themselves thoroughly. There are also services offered such as massage and bathing.

Services in developing countries are always very affordable, so Adam and I decided that it would be silly to turn up such an inexpensive ‘massage’ even though we had no idea really what to expect on the inside of the Hammam. I went first in the late afternoon. I walked into the Hammam and was met by a room of Moroccan woman only one of whom spoke a little French. She said the fee would be 120 Dh for the full massage and bath. (This was another situation where I was given the tall white girl fee, but honestly the price was still 5 times less than what I pay in Canada so I couldn’t really complain.) Next I was told to strip down to just my underwear while a very old woman was called down from upstairs. The woman, wearing only a black pair of underwear and a while head towel, came to me and grabbed my hand like a child to lead me into the bathing room. She grabbed a plastic mat for me and laid it down on the tiled floor next to a collection of large green buckets. She rinsed off the mat and floor and told me to sit while she went to get the supplies. (The old lady did not speak any French, so our entire interaction was through hand signals and eye contact for the duration of my experience.) As I sat in the room, I was able to watch some of the other women bathe. Most bring their own supplies and even their daughters which appear to be used as the water collectors filling the bathing room buckets with either hot or cold water from the hot and cold rooms as their mothers demand.

The old lady came back with a small plastic stool, a tub of dark brown balm and a scrubbing glove. She started by having me sit with my back facing her to undo my hair and cover me with water. She then brushed my hair out, then moved into soaping me down, then scrubbing me down for the best exfoliation I’ve probably ever had, and last she had me lay on the tiles for a massage before rinsing me all down again and then braiding my hair into an up-do in the Moroccan style. The whole experience was quite refreshing. It was fun to constantly have someone poor water onto you and to clean your skin so well. (It’s gross, but she even showed me all the skin that she had rubbed off of my body.) It was also neat to be welcomed into the presence of so many Moroccan women who are typically completely covered in such a vulnerable situation.

I enjoyed the experience, but I could definitely see how it might not be so comfortable for other women. You walk into a public institution and are immediately naked with strangers. Then, since we don’t have the custom of bathing one another in Canada, being scrubbed all over your body could feel inappropriate. Plus, the person doing the service is naked (and an old lady too) so the close proximity to another person under such circumstances could also be uncomfortable. Last, the massage is done on the tiled floor which isn’t exactly the cleanest – it’s like laying on your stomach on the floor of a public shower floor to get a massage.

Still I highly recommend the experience for other women travelling to Morocco.

Adam’s experience being bathed by an old Moroccan man

Adam went to the Hammam after I, not sure exactly what to expect for the male version of the experience I had described to him. When he walked in, he was more brave and asked for the Moroccan rate of 60 Dh for his visit though the best they would give him was 70 Dh. He then stripped down to his underwear and an old man that Adam describes as being ‘near death’ approached him. Adam was immediately suspect as to how this old sack of bones was going to be able to provide an adequate massage experience, but was more than surprised with the service he received.

According to Adam, as soon as the two were in the bathing room the old man starting barking commands in Arabic at Adam and pushing him around into contorted positions. The way Adam tells the story he swears the old man must have some sort of specialized training or he is either a former Moroccan wrestler, because the positions into which he was able to force Adam’s body had him both yelling out in pain and drooling in pleasure simultaneously.  After the series of contortions finished, which lasted about 15 minutes, Adam was happy that the man hadn’t dislocated any of his joints, and was able to take full pleasure in the scrub down he received while laying on the tiled floor.

The last part of the male Hammam experience was for Adam to be soaped down and massaged simultaneously. There was some confusion about this last part, because though I was provided with soap during my visit, it is standard for individuals to bring their own soap, and Adam had had difficulty  communicating to the old man that he did indeed have soap. Adam was then rinsed off and dismissed a new man.

Though more painful than he had anticipated, Adam too would highly recommend the Hammam experience for other men travelling to Morocco.

Fes, Morocco: Part I

Tuesday afternoon we took the train from Tangier to Fes. We opted to take first class as it was only three Euro more than the second class rate, but we have quickly learned that the reason there is little price difference is because there is also little difference in the quality of the ride. Air conditioning is something that is definitely a luxury if you are able to locate units that work – we have not been so lucky.

On the train, we sat with a man from Senegal, who was doing a pilgrimage to Fes to a very important mosque for the Muslim people from his country, and a recently married couple and the groom’s sister. Some interesting stories include the Senegal man sharing that he used to spend much more time in Morocco, but so many Moroccan’s insulted him to his face not realizing that he spoke Arabic, that he couldn’t endure the hostility. The married couple were interesting to observe. The bride had her hands and feet covered in Henna, and all three from the wedding party still has sparkles on them. Adam on our train ride had to sew his shorts because they had gotten too big and as he was asking me how he should go about doing the job, the Moroccan man said to his sister and newly wed wife that sewing is the woman’s job not the man’s. They immediately retorted to him that that is what Arabic men think, but it is not the same in other cultures in the world. I said to him that women often do sew as well, but in this case it was a challenge Adam was taking on himself.

Adam also made some friend on the train – friends whose authenticity we would later question. Apparently Adam approached this young guy who spoke English really well and they hit it off. Adam later came to me to say that the guy had offered to show us around Fes for free and he needed our hotel name. I gave it to him, since Adam was our official scammer judge. However, then the guy wanted our address. I gave it to Adam too. Then he wanted to talk to me, which I had no interest in doing, since I am now suspicious of all Moroccan’s and choose to follow’s Adam’s lead – if he wanted to go with the guy I would follow, but I wasn’t going to do any more.

When Adam came back to ask me what he thought, he shared that the guy also has a cousin in Toronto with whom he spoke on the phone. I said honestly, that I did not feel comfortable giving the address to our accomodation to a stranger that we met on a train, but that I did not interact with the guy. If there was one thing I learned in South Africa, is that people use your information to take advantage of you, and now this individual knew where we were staying, and even if he did show us around the following day, what was stopping him from calling his buddies to tell them that all our things would be unattended in this space.

I immediately saw the wheels in Adam’s head spinning. Within a few minutes he had decided that even though his bud had given every impression of being a good guy, it would be better to blow him off. Still the guy was persistent trying to make plans with us for that evening and the following day. His pleas to me were met with denials as I just wanted to rest that night. Adam was clever in saying that we would call him to confirm the plans if they were on, which his buddy didn’t like so much. But then when we got off the train, we did remark it was strange that the buddy didn’t have any luggage.

When we got to the guesthouse where we were staying, it was amazing that the owner told us a story about how two New Zealander guests of his had met a man on the train over the previous week and had agreed to go on a tour with the buddy they met. The buddy even had friend from NZ that were in town (our buddy also had a Canadian friend that was going to come along). They did the tour and long story short were scammed into buying $3000 worth of carpets and switching accommodation only to reveal this to our guesthouse owner once they realized they were in trouble a few days later. Nothing could be done. Adam and I kept our mouths shut about our encounter and were glad we had decided to blow our buddy off.

One of our biggest struggles, especially upon first arriving and especially for Adam, was that there are different prices for foreigners and that there didn’t seem to be a way to get around it as soon as we were seen. On the train he was reading about Fes and started to get upset that I had already booked our accommodation in advance for the rate that I had ($23.33/night/person) because the book said there were much cheaper options. I said that there were indeed other options that were cheaper, but that I had done my homework and this place would be worth the money. It was quite a frustrating argument on both ends because I was unwilling to back down from staying at the guesthouse as it was the one I was most excited about, I had spent a lot of time finding it and making sure it would meet our needs, and I knew that Adam would be really impressed once he saw it. For whatever reason, he was unwilling to concede to me and I was making it worse by telling him that I had arranged for someone to pick us up and take us to our accommodation for five times the taxi rate, which was still only six dollars.

However, as soon as we arrived and started our drive through the complicated city, then had to get out and have our driver walk us through the maze-like alleys to our guesthouse, Adam apologized and said it was better we had had the driver come for us. Then, when we were met by the British owner of the guesthouse in which we were staying, Riad Dar Houdou, a 200-year restored courtyard house in the heart of the medina, and were given our room on the top floor, the only air conditioned room, that opens up to a terrace that overlooks the skyline of the medina, Adam was quickly giving me puppy dog eyes knowing that he was in trouble. He loved the place like I knew he would! So much so that within ten minutes, he had decided it might be nice to skip Casablanca and stay an extra night at Dar Houdou, which we ended up doing in the end to take advantage not only of our great accommodations, but also the expertise of the trustworthy staff at the guesthouse.

 

The walk to our guesthouse had been such a teaser for the plethora of culture that lay beyond the walls of our guestroom that we quickly were out looking for dinner. Our first night, we enjoyed two three course meals at a fabulous restaurant in the medina for less than $20. The prices, even if more than the Moroccan price, are still very reasonable. After we walked for a short while seeing some of the stalls and getting our bearings, before I had to go to bed. Adam then ventured into the night to explore. The door didn’t have a lock, so he had locked me into our room, which was fine by me for the first night, until I realized that Adam hadn’t taken the name of the guesthouse, the map, the book of Morocco or even a phone number with him! I couldn’t sleep convinced that he was going to get lost in the Medina, even though I was trying to convince myself that even if he did have to stay out all night, that wasn’t the worst thing and he would be found tomorrow once everything opened again. Though he did get ‘lost’ in the sense that he was on streets he had not visited before, he found his way home knowing the general direction of where to go.

His adventures on the first night had included visiting a pool hall, making friends with many of the young men that hang out in the street after the markets close, seeing how the medina (old city) changes from a bustling place of commerce when the sun is up to a venue for young men to smoke hashish at night, and as a foreigner, apparently he was constantly receiving offers to partake, which he had to refuse.

Despite venturing the very narrow and dead-end ridden streets in the dark, Adam says that he always felt very safe. The only creature that remained in the streets besides the roaming men were the clusters of feral cats, which Adam quickly learned, despite their skinniness, are integralt o keeping the vermin at bay in the medina.

Tangier, Morocco

Being so close to continental Europe, we figured it would be an interesting experience to travel to Morocco by boat across the Gibraltar Strait. Getting to Morocco in itself is the beginning of a quick adjustment period to a different way of life. The boat on which we embarked, loaded late, sat in the port for an hour and a quarter after the schedule departure and as we rode across the waters, the boat for some reason was very obviously leaning to the right. While I napped on a table Adam explored the boat and said he had determined that our vessel was one that was fixed once problem arose and preventative maintenance was not a common practice. (And many of the fixes were very rudimentary.)

The trip across was interesting more so for observing the family dynamic of the Moroccan’s in the cabin and starting to get a better appreciation of the many ways that women dress.

Once we arrived at our terminal at Tanger Med, we disembarked and went for the shuttle. However, when we got to the police check he informed Adam and I that we were supposed to have had our passports stamped on the boat before getting off! So we had to run back onto the boat and track down the border guard who was already packing everything up and getting ready to leave. All the employees had kept asking us where we had been and why we hadn’t got our passports stamped and we just honestly hadn’t understood the announcements on the boat overhead. Luckily it wasn’t too big of an issue, and we hustled so as not to make the other guests wait too long for us on the shuttle.

We had arrived in Morocco! Our first task was to find the free bus that would get us from the Tanger Med port to Tangier city about 50 km away. It was all a little confusing because there was so little signage, but some nice men pointed us to a unmarked white bus and said that this was the bus we had to take to the city. I confirmed with the driver and got on while Adam loaded our bags. Within five minutes, Adam had not yet boarded the bus and I heard a huge commotion coming from outside. A big black bearded man dressed all in white was yelling in anger at some of the other people beside the bus. In my mind I was convinced that Adam had already got into a fight and we had only been in the country for five minutes. Luckily Adam was just ‘near’ the fight and wasn’t exactly directly involved. It appears that one group of people had been cramming the luggage space full with junk they had brought back from Spain. Apparently loading was the job of the man in white, and he didn’t take too kindly to other people preventing him from getting his Dirham, so a fight ensued. The part I didn’t understand is that when Adam finally came on the bus one of the men in the bout followed him and then came up to me and shook his finger in my face while saying something in Arabic. Adam says that they had been asking him if he was with someone and he thinks if I hadn’t of been there they wouldn’t have let him on the bus since they kept trying to take our luggage off.

Morocco is full of scammers – and mean ones too. I don’t like being harsh with foreigners because I usually travel by myself I tend to prefer to pay the extra for a scam and have someone ‘act’ nicely so that they can get away with what they are trying to pull, then to call them out on it and find myself in a bad situation. When we arrived in Tangier, we didn’t have any orientation to the city, we didn’t have a hotel destination and we didn’t have anyone to help us figure these things out other than a pack of scamming taxi drivers. Really quickly (and I do take full responsibility for this) we were in a cab with a non-English speaking driver and his English speaking ‘tourism approved’ guide. They were taking us to the train station. When we got to the train station, Adam wanted us to take our stuff and end the ride, but apparently that wasn’t cool with the driving pair since they had talked to me about driving us to the train station and then on to our hotel for a rate. Luckily, in a patriarch society it is pretty easy to defer to the man in any sticky situation, so I just kept my mouth shut and when they tried to talk to me I deferred them to Adam. The fight was tough, the insults were flying about and at the end of it I had a little breakdown because I felt so horrible that I had had to break my word even if it was to a scam artist. It was just the first of many such situations in our time in Morocco, so I believe it was a good first hardening.

I said to Adam that the reason I have never been scammed so easily before is because typically when I travel I am either being picked up by a local or I know exactly where I am going. This is the first time where neither of those two circumstances existed, and armed with zero information, it was too easy to get sucked into the scam. I am happy he was understanding and was able to take the brunt of the aggression.

Next we had to find a hotel. Finding a hotel was not a big problem, but one with internet was a little harder. We finally settled on the first hotel we found with wifi, which was the fifth hotel we visited, and unfortunately also the most expensive. After hotel search, we ventured into the streets of Morocco which had come alive with the night. Restaurants were busy, the ocean’s boardwalk was littered with people (the women almost all covered in typical muslim garments), and the shops too were all working. Our first Moroccan dinner was a nice change from the bread, cheese and salami we had been eating for the previous week. I had a chicken and beef couscous with roasted vegetables topped with stewed prunes and toasted peanut. Adam had a beef tagine and a freshly squeezed orange juice.

I was exhausted after visiting Gibraltar all day and then the transit to Morocco, so I was happy to call it a night and unwind. Adam on the other hand was eager to hit the streets and see what was going on. This would become our routine for bulk of our time in Morocco where Adam drops me off at home between 10-11 pm at night and then goes out adventuring until 1-2 am in the morning.  (Luckily he always finds his way home, and the stories he has to share are both entertaining and a strong reminder that I am much happier being at home in bed.)

Gibraltar

We arrived in Algeciras, a city on the Atlantic/Mediterranean coast of Spain, after another five hour train ride from Madrid. The journey over the southern portion of Spain exposed us to a very dry, rocky and hilly landscape – a landscape that was covered in olive trees, sunflower fields and sparsely scattered signs of human settlement over the years. As we got further south, the towns took on a typical Mediterranean feel with their whitewash walls and box like appearance.

As it was Sunday evening when we arrived in Algeciras, pretty much everything was closed. Adam had been in charge of booking our hotel for the evening, but we struggled to find its location in the web of the city. Once we did arrive, our hostel (Lisboa Hostel) was deemed a ‘fail’ by my travel companion because of its squeaky bed, poor facilities and unusable internet connection, for which we were paying almost as much as in Madrid. It goes to show that taking the time to read the reviews from multiple sites about your prospective accommodation often allows you to get better value for your dollar. (I recommend using a travel guide, hostelbookers.com and tripadvisor.com together to make your decision.)

Monday we were going to Morocco, however we did not yet have a plan as to when we would depart, where we were going to go and how we were going to get there. Our three options included 1) taking a ferry to Ceuta, which is one of a handful of Spanish possessions on the coast of Morocco, then crossing into Morocco and taking a bus to Chefchaouen, 2) taking a ferry to Tangier and then taking a bus to Chefchaouen, or 3) visiting Gibraltar, which is a British possession on the coast of Spain, then going to Tangier and skipping Chefchaouen. At times, when there are so many options of interesting places to visit and famous sights to be seen, it is discouraging that there is not more time in the day or days in the week to visit them all. We decided to go to Gibraltar because of its historical importance, its unique political and cultural reality, and the beautiful vistas we could see from the rock.

Arriving in Gibraltar, I hadn’t known that the city was in fact a British possession and that we would need to cross the border to enter. Once we got in, it was eerie how the language immediately changed from Spanish to English, that the Euro was replaced by the Pound, and that signs of Britain’s imperialism became so forthright.

Immediately guided taxi tours were on our case to sell us their sightseeing packages. However, Adam and I chose to take the gondola to the top of the rock and then walk through the nature reserve, the area where the historical buildings, can be visited. We were surprised how few people were visiting the rock when we arrived, until we realized that most tourists were coming later in the day and that most did indeed take the taxi tours. Since Adam and I both like to walk and adventure ‘off the beaten path’, for others who also prefer being more active in their touring, I would strongly encourage you to walk the Gibraltar rock. There are many staircases and paths that are only available on foot which the taxi tours will not access, there are so many taxis that there are often traffic jams on the single lane road, and you are able to spend more or less time in the places you enjoy when you are on your own schedule.

One of the main attractions in Gibraltar, especially on the rock, are the monkeys. Apparently they are part of a relatively rare breed and have a significant part in the history of Gibraltar. Part of their allure is that it is unknown how the monkeys arrived in Gibraltar. The rest of the allure is that monkeys are very entertaining creatures. The ones in the nature reserve are fed and vaccinated. There are warning everywhere though that the monkeys will grab and bite you. In real life, they are in fact quite frightening. The monkeys were Adam’s favourite part of our visit – that is until one tried to grab his camera from his pocket and when he grabbed it back the money jumped at his face. The monkey’s aggression was enough to scare Adam forcing him fall down and get a headache from the whole experience. Unfortunately I was not there to witness the events, but Adam was definitely shaken from the whole experience.

We covered a significant distance walking back and forth down the rock. On the route we visited the old Moorish castle, caves, the monkey den, the siege tunnels and even climbed an old path up to the World War II bunker near the top of the rock. The bunker hike was my favourite part because it was a less travelled path, the history was much more modern, and the location of the bunker allowed for amazing vistas of all sides of the peninsula. Either way, it was very apparent that Gibraltar, from top to bottom, consists of layer upon layer of history, primarily military based. The Spaniards, the African Moors, the British and even the Dutch have had significant stake in this piece of land that acts as the gate to the Mediterranean.

Madrid

We arrived in Madrid on a Friday afternoon. The train from Pamplona was a five hour ride. In Madrid, we were staying at our first airbnb.com apartment on our trip, and neither Adam nor I had ever used the service on our own before. (Airbnb.com is an international accommodation website where people rent out their apartments or rooms in their apartments to guests. Essentially, you can get luxury hotel quality for a fraction of the price by staying in someone’s home.) Our host had given us directions to the subway station near his home, but while we were en route I realized that I didn’t actually have an address for his apartment, just the street name. Embarrassed to be missing such a key piece of information for our arrival destination, I told Adam that I didn’t have the address exactly, but I’m sure we could figure it out. As soon as we got to the exit doors of the metro station and were about to begin our search, a man started waiving at us. Our host had come to the station to wait for us since I had given him our arrival time and knew it would be easier to walk us to the apartment and give us the information in person rather than try and do it all by email. We were both shocked and relieved that he had been so giving of his time to meet us.

The first evening in Madrid we walked to the cathedral, the crypt, the royal palace, through historic Madrid (which is not a shopping district) and down past some of the architectural icons of the city. From the time we arrived Adam couldn’t believe how fashionable the people of Madrid were and became increasingly more self-conscious of his gortex salomon sneakers which are clearly a Vancouver purchase.

The royal cathedral and the royal palace are unbelievable examples of the grandeur of emperial Spain. Both Adam and I were awestruck by the juxtaposition of the heaviness of the building materials and the loftiness of the height of the cathedral. The crypt was very traditional with a much older aesthetic for it's stained glass and mosaics, whereas the cathedral above was surprisingly modern with many abstractions and optical illusions in its space.

The royal palace is in a class of its own. Used up until recently (the last 100 or so years), the Spanish government has done an excellent job of restoring and maintaining the interior and exterior of the buildling. Most of the rooms were restored to the time of Kind Carlos III which is considered the golden age of Spain's rule.

Travelling with a partner allows you to do activities you would never do on your own and challenges you to enjoy parts of a culture you wouldn't otherwise think to enjoy. For example, when we walked into Plaza del Sol I was immediately drawn to the open space and the overwhelming activity and commerce taking place in the street, whereas Adam was drawn to an arcade underneath a scaffolded building. We went in and before I knew it I was putting 20 Euro cent into the slot machine trying to win my prize. Luckily we didn't stay for long, but I will admit we were both having a good time.

Reading a travelbook about Madrid, I learned that the city is the home of Picasso's famous painting Guernica. We had to go to the Reine Sofia Museum to see the famous piece of art. So early on our second day we headed to the museum and ended up spending over three hours enjoying the works of Picasso, Miro, Dali and many other Spanish greats. Picasso's studies in preparation for producing Guernica were likely my favourite. There are a series of abstracted wailing mothers who have lost their children that evoke so much emotion within the piece themselves and within the viewer. Adam's favourite part were the intricate details of Dali's paintings. Being able to get up close and personal with the originals pieces allowed us to appreciate the technique and the minutia of what was really capture or expressed in each piece.

I thoroughly enjoy going to the theatre in foreign countries, especially in Europe. We bought tickets to see a modern opera called Ainadamar at the Teatro Real - the royal theatre. Prior to the show, I expressed that I typically don't like operas that have primarily female vocalists, however Ainadamar has changed my perspective. It was the first opera that I have seen in Spanish, and what a difference language makes! The singing was so melodious (especially compared to the German operas I have seen in recent years) and the orchestra, which is alwasy a highlight for me for any show. l was impressed that the opera had so many Spanish influences including two guitars which I had never seen before. It increased the breath of musical combinations available to the performance. Plus, the show was subtitled in both English and Spanish. I had to stop reading the English translations because they were so poor and were ruining the sophisticated sound of the opera for me, however the fact that they were provided was impressive.

Travelling on a budget, it has been a challenge for Adam to see the many discounts that I get at each of our destinations. Europe is extremely accomodating to students and people under the age of 30 in a financial sense. For example, at the royal palace my entry fee was half Adam's because I was a student. At the Reine Sofia Museum my entry was free whereas Adam had to pay. At the theatre, buying the tickets the same day as the show, I received 90% off any price point in the theatre, whereas Adam had to pay full. I've tried to convince him that we are fortunate that we are saving so much money because of my student status and age, however it is a bit of a blow to him to have to pay full price when he sees me getting such amazing deals.

Sunday morning we had talked about going to the cathedral to enjoy the service and the music of the organ, but then we found out that there was a huge antiques and other market with up to 3600 vendors in the old downtown core, so we changed our plans. (I have always enjoyed markets, and Adam can be described as a deal-finder enthusiast.) One of the perks of staying with airbnb.com accomodation, is that they often offer unique advantages to their guests, and at our place, our host had two bikes available for us to use. We biked up to the market and had a blast. The most impressive streets were those filled with antiques and art. I know a part of Adam was dissapointed that we were unable to make purchases for our apartment and get them home easily. We plan to look into putting a Moroccon care package for ourselves together to send back to Canada in the next wee to make up for what we left behind in Spain.

Pamplona

Leaving Canada behind once again, Adam and I found ourselves in a whirlwind of movement and international travel to get to achieve our first trip goal: Get to Pamplona, Spain to run with the bulls during their San Fermin festival.

We started by flying from Vancouver to London after one day of rest in Vancouver after our hike. In London, we immediately took the underground to get to our accommodation for the first night, Adam’s mother’s house. We will be spending a significant amount of time there at the end of our trip when we plan to explore the London Olympics. 

The next day, we had some time to do some shopping before making our way to continental Europe, so Adam’s mother had suggested that we all go to an antiques auction she knows about. I have never been to an auction, as far as I can recollect, so the prospect of being a part of a bidding war was very enticing. We headed to the auction house early enough to check out the lots which included furniture, art, jewellery, dishware and an assortment of historical items. We paid for a paddle just in case something came up that was irresistible. Well, what was most irresistible to our group was a cheap deal, and Adam and I walked away with two new art pieces for our apartment – pieces that for some reason no one else was willing to bid on, so we won them for bottom dollar. The prize possession of the two is ‘The Colonel’, a piece about which the auction house employee said to Adam, “What prompted you to buy this?” as he handed it over at the end of the event. Tongue-in- cheek apparently, though I think it’s pretty awesome, plus we got to bid at an auction!

Leaving London very quickly behind, we too the Eurostar to Paris for the night. There we met up with my friend Paul with whom I had farmed at Klipper’s Organics in Cawston, BC the previous year. He lives in Paris with his family and goes to the Sorbonne where he studies law. Unfortunately, our meet up was delayed because we had to activate our Eurail pass and make reservations for our train the subsequent morning. For those of you who have never travelled with Eurail, I caution you that this form of travel is not as ‘free’ as is often believed. After an hour in line at Gard du Nord in Paris, we were disappointed to learn that the Eurail seats on the trip we wanted to take were sold out. Our only options were to take five different trains and increase our travel time from 9 hours to 11 hours or to pay for full priced tickets. We opted to buy the tickets at around 110 Euro each.

Given it was our first time travelling together, Adam and I agreed that if we had to eat costs it was something we were willing to do to reduce the stress on ourselves during the trip. Having to pay extra for the train tickets was definitely our first test, but we were able to sort it out together.

Paul came to pick us up at the Gard du Nord. From there we went to have a typical French café-style dinner on one of the streets of Paris, then we headed to meet some of his friends to drink wine beside the Seine. The evening and the ambiance were fabulous. One of the highlights was one of Paul’s friends who is a French rapper rapping over every beat or sound that was made available.

Early the next morning we were off to Pamplona. Neither Adam or I had ever been to Spain before, so we were both eager to see the landscape, meet the people and experience the culture. The challenge on the way to Pamplona was for the first three hours of the train ride, Adam had to stand in the train because we had bought ‘floating’ tickets, and weren’t in fact assigned to any seats. Luckily, after Bordeaux we were able to both sit together for the remainder of the journey.

Pulling into Pamplona, it was very evident that we had arrived at a party. Everyone was wearing red and white, the traditional colours for the San Fermin festival, and the crowd looked like they had just come from a good time. Immediately we went to reserve all the train tickets we required for Spain so as not to end up in a similar situation as we had in France. There was no line-up and all our trains were available! Also, it was the first time Adam has heard me speak and interact in Spanish, and he quickly shared with me that he was very impressed that I can communicate so effectively in a language I refer to as my weakest language. After a night of speaking in French in Paris, Adam also said that he is quite certain my Spanish is stronger than his French.

I guess my languages are one of the reasons I feel so confident travelling on my own. I do prefer to travel to countries where I will be able to converse and exist without too many issues, and thus far, the fact that I have been able to speak the languages I do has been very beneficial to us as we are able to get to places and get the items we want very quickly without having to struggle to express our desires to strangers in a foreign tongue.

We arrived at our hotel, the most expensive one in which we are staying on our trip ($70/night each) primarily because of the festival. The hotel was nice, but unfortunately the room to which we had been assigned was a smoking room. Not being able to bear the overwhelming odour, we were able to have our room changed (and even upgraded) to a non-smoking room with a view of the city and a Jacuzzi tub (which ended up being very well used after our long days walking around Pamplona). We were so easily accommodated because I often have respiratory problems and the air could easily aggravate our health.

In the evening we went to town to find some dinner, though we were quite tire after staying up most of the night in Paris and then travelling all day. We were staying about a 30 minute bus ride out of town, yet the transit was very convenient and I would not consider the distance a deterrent from staying at Hotel Andia again in the future. The fairgrounds took over a significant portion of the city. We decided to eat at an outdoor cafeteria where food vendors were selling unusual combinations of what must be tradition Spanish cuisine. I ate steamed octopus with potatoes covered in olive oil and paprika. Delicious! There were also paellas, barbequed meats of all kinds, cold mushrooms with onions and lots of chorizo too. We then walked through the market area before finding the dessert section of the festival where Adam quickly bought us a bag of churros, which are deep fried batter sticks covered in sugar. If we weren’t walking as much as we are, I am convinced we would be returning to Canada a little more plump than we will be.

Our one full day in Pamplona was game day. We woke up at 5:25 am to take the 5:50 am bus with the other ambitious Hotel Andia guests to get to the running road before 6:30 am so that Adam could be well positioned for the run before the police clear the street at 7.00 am. When we arrived to the downtown core, it would not have been obvious that it was just after 6.00 am, because the streets were littered with people celebrating (read stumbling around in a drunken stupor), cheering and preparing for daylight to arrive. Apparently during San Fermin it is a common practice to go out all night until the bull run happens at 8.00 am and then go home. However, the danger is that many of the individuals who end up being gored in the run are those that go out drinking the night before and at some point in the night decide it would be a fabulous idea to do the run, and then are not in a physical or mental state to stay alert when the bulls are released. It is these people that the police heavily monitor during the run. All of the people Adam met lining up for the run were sober and there to safely experience the world-renowned cultural experience.

I was not running. I made my way to the end of the running route to be sure to get one of the limited spots on the fence to watch the race. Every day the city puts up and tears down this massive wooden fences along the running track. If you are not there right when the fence goes up (usually around 6.30 – 7.00), you will not be getting a seat. So I sat there on the fence and made friends with two Ecuadorians and a Mexican as I waited for Adam to run by. I had zero confidence that I would be able to spot him in a crowd of men all wearing red and white, but you never know right?

In fact, I didn’t see Adam during the run, but I took a video of the first minute of the event and it turns out that I captured Adam in my video! He was one of the lucky few that was far enough ahead of the pack that he made it into the bull ring at the end of the run where he was able to ‘play’ with smaller more docile bulls for an additional 30 minutes in front of a stadium full of people. Unfortunately I had to hear about the second part of his morning second hand because we had had a miscommunication, and I thought we were going to meet right after the run at our meet up spot. When Adam hadn’t shown up 30 minutes after the run was clearly over, I was convinced he was in the hospital, even though I also was convinced Adam was one of those people that never really gets hurt. I didn’t know what was going on! In my mind I had told myself that the run had been too ‘tame’ for Adam and so he had decided to spice it up by slapping the bulls and weaving in front of them at which point he got gored or knocked over….luckily none of these things happened, though he told me I was right about the him being bored by the run.

The morning we enjoyed fresh bread, cheese, cured meat and a coffee sitting together on a side street in the sun coming down from the high of the morning. We then walked around the city to explore the churches and historical parts of the town. There was so much activity, it is impossible not to be entertained during San Fermin. The gorgeous sunny weather didn’t hurt as well.

We definitely took advantage of the Spanish siesta for the afternoon after a busy morning. The evening we were starting with going to our first bull fight. Now prior to coming to Pamplona, I was unaware that the bulls are actually killed during a bull fight. Apparently I had imagined a Sesame Street version of bullfighting up until this point in my life where the bullfighter gets points based on how well he can control the movements of the bull using his red flag. The goal in my imagined bullfighting, was for a bullfighter to get the most points and then win the tournament. So, the real concept of bullfighting was something very new to me when we arrived in Spain.

We got tickets easily and walked into a rowdy stadium. When you buy tickets you buy either in the sun or in the shade. There are two groups of people that come to watch a bullfight – 1) those who are interested in the art or sport of bullfighting and 2) those who want to get rowdy and drink. The first group sits in the shade and the second sits in the sun. We were sitting on the cusp on the sunny side.

Unusual traditions in the crowds during a bullfight were that if it is someone’s birthday (or if someone is accused of having a birthday that day) the crowd covers them in red wine. Other traditions included eating dinner after the first round of fights – each bullfighter gets to fight two bulls.

The bullfight. The bull is released and chases three novice bullfighters around the ring to get tired. Once he is tired, two horsemen come out , who sit atop horses that are covered in a protective blanket, and the bull is stabbed in the back by the horsemen. The bull, not being pleased with the back stabbing, usually attacks the horse trying to gore the horse with its horns, however I was most impressed that the horses stood still and took the beating through their protective layers. The bull is then stabbed with six batons that stay attached to the bull for the remainder of the fight. Adam and I were both disappointed that the bull was bled (literally) of its energy before the real bullfighter came out to taunt it. Having worked with cattle for an extended period this year, I do recognize that anything can happen when working with animals, but the odds of the bull having a chance to challenge the bullfighter are greatly reduced. The bullfighter then leads the bull in a series of moves to exhaust it even further before taking a sword and stabbing it through the back. The bull then collapses to the ground and is dragged off by horses.

Adam was routing for the bulls to win. Sadly, the one time the bull got the better of the bullfighter and rolled him around the ring for a distance Adam was in the bathroom! Adam had left to go find the washroom and soon thereafter the people sitting around me started to tell me that I was never going to see him again. Apparently the bathrooms are difficult to locate in the arena. He had been gone such a long time, I was starting to believe they might be right, but kept trying to assure them that Adam is quite capable when it comes to challenging situations. So when he did return and we all cheered for him it was quite a relief.

The night we drank and celebrated with the rest of Pamplona including enjoying the nightly fireworks before saying goodbye to our first Spanish destination. One we both considered a success.

North Coast Trail: Nels Bight to San Josef

The hike out from Nels Bight was the longest route we had to cover in all our hiking days, but also the easiest. With our packs free of all food weight, our legs just a little stronger, our minds able to better read the forest floor on which we walked, we were able to cover significant ground in a short time. For most of the trip, I refered to myself as the tortoise and the others as the hares, since I was often the one who lagged behind at a somewhat slower pace than the pack, but on the last day, with my long legs and the easy ground, it was joked that the hare in me had kicked into gear. It was fun to push forward at a quicker pace.

The scenery was beautiful. We crossed through a gorgeous field, learned some of the agricultural and settlement history of the land, and even saw the artifacts that remain from some of the original inhabitants.

It took us just under six hours to do the trail before arriving at the parking lot where fresh clothes and a bottle of wine I had packed awaited our arrival. It was very rewarding to drop our bags in the trunks of the cars and pass around the bottle of wine.

One last piece of advice for future hikers - make the effort and take the time to plan your meals. We were extremely spoiled that Christine took such an interest in one of her new cook books that has recipes for dehydrated meals. We ate three meals and at least three snacks a day every day which included a lot of protein, carbs and vegetables too! Your body will need the energy and it will allow you to be at your best every step of the way. That being said, a good portion of our weight that could have been off loaded was our food. I would have said before we left that we packed too much food, yet none of it remained at the end of the trip (other than our emergency food). So, unless you are willing to go to bed hungry, carry the extra weight. (Below is the food carried by Adam and I for the group for the trip.)

As we drove out the San Josef road, we had to make one last stop to conclude our trip. Adam's boots, which had been held together by his hand-crafted 'boot-net', had finally come to their end. Boots who did not survive the trail all share a similar fate in a large boot tree that flanks the road back to Port Hardy. It is here that Adam's boots have been left to die, and a piece of our trip will in a way, forever be a part of that place.