Asia influence

I am sitting in my new most favourite airport ever right now; Singapore’s Changi International airport is the bomb. Oops, poor choice of words, but it really is in a class of its own in comparison to the many other airports I’ve trudged and/or sprinted through.

I'm just over half way through my 2 day hop-scotch flight route, with 6 hours in Tokyo – most of which were spent looking out the train window  –  arrived in Singapore at 3am, and am now off to Kuala Lumpur for another 5 hours before arriving at my final destination of Indonesia!

(now in Kuala Lumpur LCCT airport)

This is my first Asia experience, and I have to say that so far, judging by the inside of airports, it doesn’t really feel much different than any other major international hub, although it is really hard to get a feel for a country from just the airport, that hardly counts. Arriving in Tokyo Natari airport, I immediately determined that 6 1/2 hours in such an airport would be rather tedious (disappointed with Tokyo airport), and a quick visit into the city seemed feasible with that much time, so I decided to go for it.

One part that I kind of forgot about in planning this trip, was Tokyo. I figured it would be fairly obvious for a tourist to figure out where to go, since it is TOKYO after all, the city of King Kong and Godzilla (or is that Hong Kong??), bustling with trendy Japanese and flashy shopping. It wasn’t until I actually exited the Tokyo Central train station in the middle of a boring downtown intersection, that I realized I know absolutely nothing about Tokyo. 

Maybe I had it confused with Hong Kong, or whatever city it is featured as the "major Asian centre” in every apocalyptic Hollywood action flick... In any case, it was not what I had expected. 6 1/2 hours turns into 4 very quickly with little things like customs, security clearance, boarding, etc., so I had exactly 30 minutes to power walk around 8-10 blocks of “downtown" Tokyo, and noted that the shops were all high-end designer stores, similar to Paris shopping in the Champs-Elysées block, not exactly the “Japanese” experience I was hoping for.

This is where I spent 3 of my 4 hours in Tokyo

See, I really am in Tokyo!

About 3 hours into my stay in Tokyo I did thankfully catch on to the driving and walking on the opposite (left) side of the road, avoiding most of the near collisions with fellow pedestrians and bikes. Now I understand why the Banff tourists always seem underfoot, like they purposely walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk just to be difficult, but no they are actually doing what is completely expected and normal in their own country!! Hm... Tokyo was a bust, but I feel that I gleaned at least a bit of enlightenment with the whole pedestrian traffic thing, and also reminded myself why it is important to research each destination on my in itinerary, so that I can make the most of my “Amazing Race”-like city tours and airport layovers.

Singapore airport was like heaven-on-earth to the weary traveler, and I’m convinced it was designed by an experienced female traveler, because they thought of everything!! I tend to judge an airport using the following criteria:

     

        1. Cleanliness –  (also applies to point #4 & 5)

        2. Accessibility (layout, proximity of terminals & city centre via train/shuttle)

        3. Services (variety of food and shopping options, hours of operation, information centres, maps)

        4. Toilets (more on this below)

        5. Comfort (lounge chairs vs hard plastic bucket seats)

I fell in love with the public toilets in Singapore, they even had a vanity mirror section with cushioned stools, like a classy restaurant washroom, so lovely. I gave them my feedback with an extra big smile – see photo from bathroom wall. Changi airport had many other things to make the weary traveler feel welcome and at ease, pictured below; it really was like a little paradise at 3am.

Vanity mirror in Changi airport bathroom.

Kuala Lumpur LCCT (low-cost carrier terminal) was exactly what it promised to be, low-cost and rather grubby in comparison to Changi’s delux comforts. It reminded me of a typical West African airport (similar level of bathroom cleanliness, or lack there of), with many more food service options though, some of the food shops were actually quite tasty (fresh fruit smoothies, hot & spicy wraps, noodle bowls, and KFC & McD’s should you so desire). I found a quiet corner in the Coffee Bean shop for a while to do emails, then wandered as far outside the terminal as I could pushing a luggage cart, to do some stretching and chill in the muggy morning sun.

My little spot of peace for yoga/stretching, with the noisy & polluting buses in the background.

The parade of toilets...

Ah...

No thanks.

I had started to notice a subtle change as I traveled from one airport to another - something which I think speaks volumes about the local culture - and that is the way in which people line up, or form queues. Tokyo was almost military-like in forming queues, and I received a few dirty looks as I strolled ignorantly up to the edge of the train platform, completely missing the orderly line off to the side. Singapore was a bit more relaxed, but it was 5am when we were lining up for the flight, and I think we were all still a bit groggy. Kuala Lumpur  involved lots of line cutting and “queue-jumping”, but it was fairly tame in comparison to some of the other pushy airports I’ve been in (Niamey, Casablanca, Kano, etc.). 

Stay tuned for more airport reviews, as I have another few new stopovers ahead  of me – why take the same route back when there are so many new & exciting airports to discover on this side of the world! 

Hm...

P.S. Road traffic here makes Cotonou and Benin roadways look tame in comparison - and I had a few moments of heart-stopping panic as my sleepy eyes would open to see us flying toward oncoming traffic on the wrong side!! My brother puts the bus drivers in Benin to shame with his rally driving skills; little sister is duly impressed (and somewhat terrified). 

Bastard Bunnies* & Sneaky Squirrels

On a slightly less adventurous note, I've recently taken up gardening, hoping that a few things might grow during Calgary's very short and unpredictable summer. Some might label this latest hobby of mine as part of the "aging process", but I prefer to think of it as "diversifying". I've never really lived anywhere long enough to have a garden, and usually my time is filled with sports & travel, so this really is a first for me.

I built two little garden beds, dug up all the wood chips and liner, filled them with dozens of bags of soil - which I very reluctantly purchased after discovering that it really is hard to find "free dirt" in or around Calgary. What has the world come to that I actually have to pay for dirt?!  I even cruised by a few construction sites, thinking those would be awesome dirt sources, but they put big orange fences around construction sites here, complete with signs about danger, trespassing, etc, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, not impressed. I added my compost (started last year), loads of coffee grounds, and some odorless cow manure (honestly, it really didn't smell, I checked) to the dirt, mixed it all up, and voila, perfect garden soil!

I impatiently waited until June to plant my little seeds, good thing too, because it snowed in May. Once the seeds were in the ground, I went out everyday to just stare at my garden bed, as if I was expecting a shoot to sprout up in front of my eyes, but like a watched kettle, the seeds were so very slow start. Although, the variety of potato I chose to plant seems to be a tree or shrub, I don't remember potato plants being so large on the farm... I don't even eat potatoes very often, yet that's the most successful veggie in my garden thus far.

There are a lot of rabbits and squirrels in my neighborhood. My friends warned me, they said I shouldn't expect much from my garden, because between the rodents (yes, bunnies are rodents) and the temperamental Calgary weather, I'd be lucky if anything survived.

I'm a Saskatchewan girl (by birth), and EVERYTHING grows in Saskatchewan (except tropical fruit of course). We had a massive garden, and everything just grew! We didn't fence it off, or even water it very often, weeding was sparse, but we always had way too many veggies to pick, wash, peel, and can or freeze. So really, how hard can a garden be?

There are no squirrels or rabbits in rural Saskatchewan (farmers shot them all), however metropolitan Calgary has an ABUNDANCE of said rodents, and I think it's against the law to shoot them. However... if they are trespassing and I am merely defending my property, isn't that ok? I don't have a gun, but I think I have a slingshot somewhere, and I used to be a pretty good shot, I think I could pick off a fat city squirrel.

All of you readers not from Calgary, don't be fooled, the squirrels here are not like the cute little brown ones you see in the forest, city squirrels are essentially a rat with a tail. Big, nasty, sunflower-eating rodents. Yes, I believe they are responsible for the destruction of 8 out of my 10 sunflowers. Them or the bastard bunnies, I'm not 100% sure, because they show up while I'm at work, but I now have tooth marks on my two last standing sunflowers, so maybe I'll run a DNA test to determine the species. 

I should probably put a fence around the entire garden bed, especially since the spinach and carrots are coming in nicely, but that would detract from the aesthetic appeal, so I've just fenced off the last standing sunflowers. They still might not survive, both stalks are nibbled halfway through, and I imagine the sneaky squirrels and bastard bunnies* will be slightly upset with my new fence, so who knows what they'll do next. I plan to spend the day on my lawn, laying in wait, to catch or at least scare the nibbles out of whatever sneaky rodent has been decimating my garden.

So, if any of my veggies survive the bunnies, squirrels, spiders, ants, wind, rain, and hail (snow?) of Calgary, you're welcome to come join me for a picnic, sometime around October... Bring your slingshots.


*Bunnies are by definition "bastards", so do not be offended by the label, I use the term in its truest form.

Back at it.

Ok, so it's been awhile, I know. Several couch surfing friends and other adventurous "kindred spirits" in my life have inspired me to attempt to start "living the adventure" and blogging again, so here it goes!

Happy Canada Day! I really kind of forgot about the holiday, was just happy for a 3 day weekend and some sunny weather to go for my first real bike trek of the season. Scanning through the trail book on my way out, I came across a trail I had never attempted, and it promised a "stunning view at the summit" with a "thrilling steep & bumpy return ride", so Junction Mountain it was!

I hit the trail by about noon, and spent the first 15 min headed down the wrong trail, a very gnarly and muddy trail, which was definitely headed in the opposite direction of my mountaintop destination. I finally referred to my trail map, which surprisingly enough I had actually brought with me, and decided that this time I would follow the map directions.

I like maps, I do, but I prefer to use them as a general guide, I don't often follow the little details very well. I'm just happy to be out in the sun, bombing around on my bike, so one trail is just as good as the next as far as I'm concerned. Of course my history of hiking and biking mishaps would prove otherwise, so I'm trying to learn from my mistakes and follow a map. Plus, I'm not 20 anymore (shocking, I know) and it's kind of exhausting getting lost in the wilderness, so maps are looking better with every wrong turn I take.




Now armed with my map and trail book, I head up the correct trail, still feeling pretty good about the day. I finally caught up with the group of horse back riders that I passed earlier (and then turned down the wrong trail), and of course they were surprised to see me again, but I made up some lame excuse about wanting to see the rapids first before heading up the mountain... right. A few kilometers in and the forestry road was still a pretty steady uphill climb, and then I remembered the trail description mentioning something about it being a "grueling climb" requiring "legs of steel". I was feeling pretty good, thinking that I must have underestimated my fitness level, because my legs felt just fine, and I was still pedaling, with butterflies dancing in front of my wheel, it was a lovely ride. 

Forded the creek - and I love creek crossings, seriously, the icy cold water, threatening to sweep you off your feet at down the 20 foot waterfall just metres away; who doesn't love that?? The trail got steadily steeper after the creek crossing, and now just 5 km in, my legs of steel had melted to jelly. I stopped for a few photo ops along the route, wishing that I had packed another pb & jam sandwich in place of the hefty camera I was toting on my back, but otherwise, still enjoying the trail. 

Junction Mountain Fire Lookout

Another 6 km of pushing and riding my bike slowly up the mountain, I finally arrived at the fire lookout and decided that the view was definitely worth the climb. I was met by the fire lookout ranger Sara and her ferocious puppy Josie, and discovered that I was in fact the very first visitor of the year, woohoo! I knew the trail wasn't well traveled, but wow, I didn't expect to be the first one to make to the top, and now I don't feel so bad about all those stretches I was pushing my bike. I enjoyed a nice visit with Sara, she's been doing this for 13 years now, and it was her first time being placed at Junction Mountain, so I shared my maps with her and she shared her water with me.

First one to the top for the 2012 season!

"Whack-a-marmot"

The ride down was fantastic, pretty much a steady descent, with loads of stream crossing and muddy puddles to zig zag or just plow through. As you can see from my pic, I usually just went straight through. :) I made a picnic stop along the way, soaking up the sun and watching the dozens of marmots (who knew,  they look like gophers to me) pop in and out of their holes like whack-a-moles.

Good start to the summer, hoping for more sunny days ahead!

Nothing like a good muddy trail!

A Sunny Day on the Soccer Pitch

So, what exactly does teaching girls’ soccer in Benin look like? Well, to the untrained eye it may appear to be utter mayhem; girls flailing their limbs in attempt to connect with the ball; boys on the sidelines chasing after the wayward balls; the pitch surrounded by dozens of onlookers young and old, all giving a steady commentary on the quality of the practice and coaching techniques; and a single white girl at the centre of the chaos, using a whistle and her astonishingly loud voice to direct traffic.

My sports mornings start at 6:30am; after finishing my cup of coffee, I grab the hockey bag full of soccer balls and pylons, plus the duffel bag with first aid supplies and water, and finally my helmet and sunglasses, and race out the door. This morning I only had one hockey bag of equipment, which is fairly simple to balance over my shoulder on my scooter – it gets tricky with two bags and the 1x1M whiteboard! Unfortunately my scooter’s gas tank was nearly empty and the school is on the outskirts of town, so I decided to make a quick fill up at one of the many “gas ‘n’ go” stops along the way. I have never run out of gas on my scooter, but if I ever do, I don’t think I’ll have to walk far to find fuel because there are little “gas ‘n’ go” stands set up every couple hundred meters along even the most obscure routes. These entrepreneurs purchase the fuel in large barrels, and sell it by the liter, measured into many whisky and coke bottles. I normally fuel up at the pumps, to ensure the quality of fuel being poured into my bike, but on the rare occasion, it is simply more convenient to fill up at the local “gas ‘n’ go”.

Another 2 liters in my gas tank, and I’m on the road again, balancing my oversized bags and dodging the potholes, chickens, and goats along the way. I’m greeted/assaulted (depending on the tone) with the usual calls of “Yovo!” or “Baturi!” (white person) from the many kids and adults that I pass along the way, and every so often I’ll hear the familiar “Coach!” called out by one of the many kids who come out to Saturday soccer, and I try to wave back without endangering the balance of the load on my bike.

I arrive at the soccer field at 7am and park under the “coach’s tree” to wait for the other sports teacher to arrive. This morning I was to be assisting with a small co-ed class (10-15 students) from a nearby private school. The private school uses a section of the public school’s sports field, and earlier in the week I had taught a class of girls in the public school on the same soccer field, so several of the public school students recognized me and came over to greet as they were on their way to class. The sports teacher from the private school showed up shortly after I arrived, and we quickly reviewed the practice we had planned out together the day before.

It is good to make plans, but one must learn not to depend on any such wonderful plans…

I noticed more and more young spectators gathering around the tree as we were talking, and finally the sports teacher turned to the girls gathering and told them to go to class (they were from the public school). The girls replied that they had come for class, soccer class, just as their sports teacher had instructed them to. I asked them where their sports teacher was, because I had talked with him earlier in the week and we had both agreed that soccer would only be once a week with the public school, on Tuesday mornings, not Thursdays. Well, the public school sports teacher was at the stadium with the boys’ soccer team for a tournament, and I now had a dozen barefoot girls, dressed and ready to play soccer.

Change of plans, the private school kids can stay with their teacher, and I’m taking the public school sports class for the morning.

Thankfully I came with a half dozen balls and one set of practice pinnies, because as the girls finished their laps and gathered around me, I discovered that the “dozen girls” had somehow multiplied during the five laps, and I now had 60 girls!

Change is good, change is good, change is GOOD. I am flexible, adaptable and totally ready for anything, even if it involves tearing up my practice plan and tossing it aside.

After introducing myself and explaining why I am teaching soccer for girls, I start off with names to break the ice, tossing the ball to each girl to catch as she calls out her name. Unfortunately the soccer pitch is already occupied by the 10^th grade boys’ class, and they are playing a full soccer game since their sports teacher is absent, so we are relegated to the washed out sidelines. All of the girls are in 6^th grade, but there are some noticeable size and age differences, so I quickly line them up according the age and split the group into 10-13 years and 14-16 year olds. Quite an age range for one grade, but fairly typical as class attendance is low and the pass ratio is poor.

Form two circles with the groups, and demonstrate basic passing in each group; simple, right? It could be, but the area we are using is scattered with broken bits of bricks, dissected by several sandy stream beds, and the term “large circle” does not seem to translate very well for this group. I begin picking up the broken bricks and tossing them to the side, and suddenly the girls jump into action and within seconds the area is cleared of bricks, mango pits, plastic bags, and pebbles. Next, I trace a circle for each of the two groups, indicating precisely how large the circle should be and where they stand. Ok, now to introduce the ball and see if the circle maintains its form… It doesn’t help matters that we are constantly surrounding by a pressing and growing crowd of curious onlookers, mostly young boys who are enviously eying the bag of soccer balls by my feet that I am carefully guarding.

 

After demonstrating the basic passing technique to both groups, I have the girls split into smaller groups so they continue working with the balls. It is now 8am and the school yard is packed with students coming and going, the crowd of boys around our soccer practice has grown substantially, and I need to keep a steady eye on the six balls that are now flying here and there, to make sure that none of the balls suddenly disappear into some lucky kid’s backpack.

In the middle of training I had a surprise visit from the school director, so I quickly excused myself from the chaos and ran over to greet him. He asked me to come see him in his office after the class – brings back memories of my own high school days and the many times I was “invited” to the principal’s office, some things never change…

Ok, 8:30am and the 10^th grade boys have finally relinquished the field, so now to create teams with 60 girls who have never played a soccer game before! I was about to ask the girls to split into teams based on their birthday month, but then realized that might not be very effective because birthdays are not exactly marked or celebrated much, so I divided the girls according their first names and the alphabet (A-G; H-P; Q-Z) – that was more or less effective, except for the girls who weren’t too clear on the alphabet order... Also surprising to find out how many first names begin with the letter Z! Zouwératou, Zoubérnatou, Zouliatou, Zouléhatou, Zoubératou, Zénabou, Zoulfaou… the list goes on! Try calling out that roster, trust me, it’s tricky, and normally results in lots of giggles from the girls as I repeatedly mispronounce and mix up their names!

Most of the girls got to play during the next 45 minutes, only a few incidents with toes kicking shins, and we ended with the always popular shoot-out to break the tie game. Wrap up practice with a cool down lap and stretching, sign up the girls who intend to come next week, quick count to confirm all balls and jerseys are back in the bag, load up my scooter, and off I go!

Ah, 10am back at home for a shower and my long awaited second cup of coffee with breakfast. Next week I’ll be bringing reinforcements, enlisting the assistance of my senior soccer players as junior coaches!

(Sorry the photos are from prior events; no time to take photos when I'm the only coach on the field!!)

Football Féminin au Bénin!

Quick post to link you to the photos on my FB from the recent girls' soccer camp/tournament that we hosted here in Parakou, Bénin.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=188497&id=500044121&l=74b3699abf

http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/album.php?id=500044121&aid=188531

Hopefully more details to follow as time allows, still recovering from the activities and following up with sponsors and media coverage. All in all, event was a success, the purpose was to promote soccer for young women, to build relationships and network with existing female soccer teams, and to generate an interest for girls' sports in the local community.

Stay tuned for more!

Running in the New Year

Happy 2010! I hope you all rang in the New Year with friends & family around the globe.

I celebrated the New Year by participating in a track competition on Jan 2^nd, organized by the local track club. I have said this before, and I’ll say it again, I am not a track athlete. I enjoy jogging up and down forested paths along riversides, going on long wandering runs through the hills and mountains, I run to keep in shape for other team sports; but running for competition has never been my thing. Nevertheless, I am in a country where any form of exercise seems to qualify as a spectator-sport, and so my weekly jogging at the local stadium has earned me the label of an “aspiring track athlete”, or perhaps the label of “silly-white-girl-clearly-delusional-about-her-fitness-and-speed” would be more accurate.

The other people running around the track actually are athletes; members of the local or national track team, premier division soccer players, high school track stars, etc.

The various track coaches and veteran athletes are constantly giving me very helpful tips on my running style (or lack thereof), and I do appreciate it, but I always feel bad because I think they are hoping that my technique will actually improve and that I’ll become faster at some point. I know the truth; that I will never be able to run like a deer or a cheetah, and I’m ok with that.

Back to the January 2^nd track meet; while I do NOT aspire to become the first Canadian member of Benin’s National Track team, I do have many friends here in Parakou who already compete at an international level or are aspiring young athletes hoping to make the National team. Other than premier level men’s soccer, sports in northern Benin do not receive much support or publicity, and it is difficult to organize competitions because of the lack of local interest or support. As a coach of girls’ soccer here in Parakou, I sympathize with the track clubs, and I do my best to participate in and support any efforts to encourage local competition, whether it is in track events, volleyball, soccer, or even rugby. So when my friend, a retired track athlete, invited me to support and participate in this small track meet, I happily signed up, knowing that I would suffer a likely embarrassing defeat as I would be racing against adults and youth who actually TRAIN as runners, not to mention that most of the athletes here seem genetically predisposed to run with the speed and grace of gazelles (and often barefoot)!

I signed up for the women’s 3000 meter race, thinking that over a greater distance my lack of speed would be less obvious. As the race official called out the names of my fellow competitors, it became clear that I would not be able to escape a humiliating loss. There were only three of us participating in the race, and I recognized the other two girls as proper athletes who seem to run without ever breaking a sweat, or breathing for that matter. On the upside, I knew that I was shoe-in for the bronze medal...

3000 meters is not very far, it is 3 kilometers, less than two miles, only 7.5 laps of the track. However, as I tried to match the pace set by my fellow runners, it suddenly felt like an impossibly far distance, especially at 7:30am on a Saturday morning. I finished the race, a full 200 meters behind the other two girls, and while I was more than happy just to still be standing and breathing (or wheezing); I could see that my track coaches were less than impressed with my performance. My goal was to not let the other girls lap me, and in that much, I succeeded, so goal accomplished. J

(Note that I represented Niger in the race.)

Thankfully my race was the first event and then I got to enjoy the rest of the competition, acting as the official photographer.

The competition wrapped up with an official awards ceremony, complete with a podium for the top three runners from each event. I was pleasantly surprised to be awarded with the 3^rd place (bronze) prize, presented in a “Just Say YES” bag promoting a brand of cigarettes. Hm... I can't imagine that a similar campaign would be very popular in your typical sports events in North America. The prizes were very modest and simple (cookies, macaroni noodles, and OMO laundry soap), but they were presented by various local sports officials and celebrities (myself included), complete with official speeches of recognition and so on.

(I represented Calgary, Canada on the podium - and had to explain that no, it is not close to Quebec...)

I don’t expect to be qualifying for any National level track meets this year, but it was still fun to participate in the first track meet of the decade here in Parakou. I hope that this year will include many more photos and stories of similar sports tournaments and competitions, as we gain additional local support and interest. If I continue to choose my races carefully, maybe I'll even win a few more "medals" - trick is to compete in races with three or less participants... ;)