The Travels of the Techno-Freedom-Fighter

after 6 years at TIG Blogs I have decided to move to my own wordpress setup, I hope that you like the changes

so if you are going to ride them you need to know how to fix them

So most of you seem to think that I have been having a wonderful time cursing the back roads of France on a wonderful motorbike, sipping wine, eating great cheese and dam well having a jolly good time of it all. Well I would like to pop that bubble for a second…. Z the 550cc workhorse of a motorbike is a fine machine but you have to lower your expectations when itcomes to cheap 22 year old, $300 euro bikes.

The first major issue that I had with the bike was in Belgium, my first day out, on my first expedition to the llama farm. I had a flat tire just outside Brussels, sure that is not so much a problem for you out there that drive cars, you feel a bit of a loss of steering and you just change the spare over and away you go again. Well on a bike it is different. It is better to have a back wheel go than a front because with the front you are very likely to have a fall. So I was coming around a corner and suddenly I lost all steering in my front wheel. I managed to keep it upright until I got to the side of the road. I jumped off the bike to see that I had lost all pressure in the front tire. Buggar! So I was luckily near a town so I pushed Z (220kg of bike and 50kg of kit with a flat, yeah not a lot of fun) to the nearest corner to see if I could see a petrol station. After asking for directions I found that the nearest station was 3km down the road. So I pushed Z all the way to the petrol station. I was hoping that I didn’t damage the tire at all, being a tubeless tire if the seal on the edge of the tire goes that you are stuffed. Once I had inflated the tire I checked for any puncher marks. I couldn’t find any then with a dab of spit I checked to see if the valve was leaking. Well the valve was leaking like a sieve. So I needed to get valve key to tighten the valve. So there I am out the front of tire repair shop in the middle of Belgium trying to explain in French what a valve key is(yeah try and find that in your pocket oxford dictionary ). Eventually I got it all sorted, one thing that I remember my cousin Ad saying was that I should check the tire once it gets warm for ant leaks… gulp… that’s one I forgot .

So the next major issue is the clutch, ever since I have had the bike the clutch has not been 100%. The trouble is that there is this really weird adjustment mechanism on the Z. First the clutch would not work at all but after fiddling with the adjustment mechanism I got it to work. the clutch would slip at high revs all the time, the smell of burning clutch plate was getting to me eventually so I did something about it. At the Llama farm I decided to redo the clutch adjustment mechanism, bad idea… first rule with old bike … if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Well on the way back to Holland from the llama farm the clutch went again. I spent 2 hours trying to fix it with not the right tools. The problem was that every time I adjusted it I would have to remove all my kit from the bike so that I could get to the tool kit. Eventually after 5 or 6 goes I finally got it into a workable order. Although I still have issues with it now.

On the way from Lyon back to Normandy where I was grape picking I had another interesting problem. Z would just shut down all of a sudden and then it would take me a long time to start her on full choke and then she would not run all that well. After a few 100 kms I had deduced that the old girl was running on 3 cylinders. My #2 piston was not firing or miss firing. The odd backfire was a good clue that this was not working all that well. After half dismantling the bike pulling out all the sparkplugs one by one and cleaning them the problem seemed to go away.

An other self inflicted issue was the oil Cap that I forgot to put back on after filling up with oil in Normandy. Yeah I hate to admit it because it sounds like such a silly mistake, but I had just packed the bike and also I was doing a number of other things that took my attention away from what I should have been doing. So I rode 50km with no oil cap, yep you guessed it my leg was covered in oil like the half of my bike. I only noticed it because I had to fill up with petrol at that time. So after stopping at a super market I got some plastic cups and some gaff tape. I made a temporary repair and kept on going. Well that lasted an other 50km and so I had to bung the hole properly. Designs of champagne corks and all number of things where rushing through my head. While refilling the oil that I had lost I noticed that the cap to the oil can was exactly the right sis the bung the hole. So a bit of Gaff tape for insurance and I was off again. The funny thing is that I mad this repair out the front of a café in the middle of a town square so I had quite a few anguish Frenchmen wonder what a 6’4″ smelly aussie bikie covered in oil was doing trying to fix an oil cap to his bike. I didn’t even bother to try and explain the situation to then.

Not to go into to many details but at the moment I have issues with one of the front break disks, I have fork oil leaking out on the left safe pass the seal. Then there is the oil leak coming out of the head gasket, I loose about 1letre of oil for every 1200km. But look at the bright side, I have done close to 8000kms on the bike and I have just 800 to go to get back to Netherlands. And then we’ll see what I do with the bike. I’ll see if I can get some money for the old girl.

it reaaly does go to your head.

Marcon, France

Well it took me 2 days to get down to my farm that I will be working at. Even though I had checked the website a number of times before I departed I decided to give Application Controlle[the internet company that I had organised my wine picking with] a phone call before I got into town well I am glad that I did because the farm that I was meant to be going to was not starting the harvest until the 10th September(a week later than what I was ment to be). So apcon organized for me to go to another farm. I asked for directions to the farm, they couldn’t give me exact directions, so I asked for a map of the place(you know the ones that you get on the internet, easy to do I would have thought) and they wouldn’t give me that either. The best they could do was to give me a rough address and told me that the farmers name would be on the road side and that it would be easy enough to find.

Well when I got to saint George the town where I was meant to be staying I couldn’t find the address at all. I asked around if anyone knew the address but not even the local baker knew. So I thought that I would start to search the local area for any cars with Dutch number plate, seeing that Apcon is Dutch I thought that this would be a good way to find my farm.

After 45min of searching I finally found the place that I was meant to be. Luck would have it that the first Dutch car that I saw was a future comrade of mine.

I can imagine than it is quite hard to get a regular, dependable and hardworking workforce together for the harvest. Our team was made up of 5 people(2 Dutch[Ferry and Fadore], 1 Englishman[Mitch], 1 Swede[Frederick] and me [which came to be known as the A team]) from the internet placement company. 7 French Ferrals (alternative lifestyle types) that where following the harvest trail north. 3 Chinese students that where studied in Lyon, 1 Black Congolese guy and 9 Gypsies. The most interesting people to observe where the Gypsies. They where a whole family group. Mostly brothers and one sister. Some of which had children as well. So basically there was a whole tribe of them, all living in caravans and converted 3 tone trucks.

From the get go the A team when to work like men possessed. We had heard that if you didn’t work hard then after the first day you where asked to leave, This turned out to be a fallacy. We where spilt up in teams of two to work on one at row at a time. We where given a set of secituiers each and away we went. The general idea is that you snip all the bunches of grapes off the vine. Me I tended to snip the big ones and then use both hands to pick the small ones. Some times you had would slip over the grapes mashing them in to a pulp. After the first day I decided to get myself some gloves as my hands where cut, bruised and stained red by the first day. One the first day when the Ateam had finished a row we usually went on to help some of the slower people finish their row. After the second day we had worked out that the reason that they where going slow was because they where getting paid per day and not per kilo so why go fast. The problem was that once the other people especially the gypsies would not help anyone else. By the second day we had worked out that we should lower the pace and only help other Ateam members.

When people say to you that it is backbreaking work, you tend to think that they mean that it is hard and that once you are use to the work that it will be easier. Well I really do know the meaning of backbreaking work now. Most of the time that you are picking you are bent over the grape vine trying to pick by the 4th day you are over most of the pain but I have never in my life experienced such fatigue in my back. The Chinese choose to relieve this with a special lotion that they had bought from china, it smelt like Tiger Balm so I would guess that it was a fluid Camphor derivative. Mitch the Englishman brought along a tube of deep heat and a tube of ibprophine cream. I don’t really think he understood that a anti-inflammatory was not going to do a mussel fatigue pain much good but I guess the placebo effect can be quite strong. Ferry had bought 2 cases of red bull with him. All I had was a couple of panadols… I guess I just got by.

On the Friday night I was doing some shopping the next town when I stumbled upon a Harvest party. I quickly rode back to the farm and gathered the A team together for an expedition. By the time that we got there, the show was pretty much over, so we sculked around the streets looking for a bar that was open. After not finding a bar, we started heading back to the farm. When we passed a group of feral Chicks. I ordered the car to be stopped and me a Ferry jumped out and started bilateral negotiations with the French Feral Chicks. I am quite surprised how good my French is when it come to chatting up Feral French Chicks. Well they told use to follow them to the bar so we did. Ferry and I both thought that we where going to have so company for the evening and where already laying down territory marks (you know which girl is who’s[very important thing to do as males]) well when we got back into town they showed use where the bar was, asked if we had any Marijuana(must be because we had Dutch plates on the car) and then shot through. So we stumbled into the bar(more like a converted hall with a makeshift bar on a table in the corner) I ordered some red wine and well we got dancing. The place was full of Ferrals, which was good because Ferrals sure do know how to party. It was a good night and we got to bed by 12am as Saturday was a 6 am start.

Saturday night, even though we needed to work on Sunday morning, we (the A team) decide to go into Lyon to go out and see some of the bars. Well we had herd that there was an aussie pub called Ayres rock in Lyon. So that was the objective of the mission. I offered to drive as I knew that Fadore really wanted to drink. The only problem was that I had to use his Car. And Fadore was navigating. It took us almost an hour to get to Lyon and when we go there we got really lost. So you can imagine how it looked Mitch, Ferry and Fred in the back of the car getting half charged(Australian slang for the process of getting half drunk before you go out) on a bottle of whisky. With me driving badly and under stress because the owner of the car(Fadore) didn’t really trust my driving with Fadore navigating badly and stressed out about my driving. There was the useless odd comment from the back seat as we drove around hopelessly lost. After 15min in Lyon I stopped the car made Fadore drive and I too over the navigation. Ha! A true scout is always a go navigator. With in 10 minuets we were where we where meant to be. Once we had parked the car and a few times asking where the bar was we got there. Well to cut a long story short there was a lot of good looking girls and not many real Australian guys so I had a lot of fun. About 1am we pulled Mitch, Ferry and Fred out and headed back to the car. We got back to the farm with in 30min and was in bet at 2am… it was a pity that we had to get up at 6am to work.

Well after the dust had settled, I came to the conclusion that the whole experience was worthwhile but not really all that good. I only earned 457euro although I had to out lay 100euro to the dodge organization. The work was hard the people where nice, but I could have spent my time a little better I think. Seeing that the overall idea of the trip is to learn French I did really get a lot of that in during my stay. Really the only plus for my French was that I spent most of the time translating for the Ateam so that did aid my French a little

Working your way into the french speakers

France – August 2005

Getting back to the issue of learning French and getting on with meeting and knowing real French people, the Subject of cross cultural communication comes up. In a recent email a good friend of mine asked how come I get on with so many people in so many countries (I’ll have to admit that I took this as a bit of a compliment). Anyway this prompted me to analyze my natural assimilation skills and right them down.

1. Don’t make Value judgments. – I am normally in a situation where I don’t really know the social, political environmental and cultural backgrounds of people that I stay with, I mean in a week you don’t really get the chance to find out everything about people. so how can I possible expect to comprehend what people do and why they do it . Thus there in no real point in making value judgments as what do a value the against. This also helps with taking people for face value. Because in the end I hope that that is what the people that meet me do, take me for who I am.

2. Not be afraid to be your self. – this is more along the lines of feeling comfortable with your self and not to be afraid of being who you are. See, always trying to work out what people think of you and the fear that you could be doing something really wrong, really starts to undermine the situation and you tend not to enjoy yourself. My understanding, I guess, is that if people have a problem with you then they should say something about it and if they don’t then their offence to your behavior is their own fault for not saying anything. But you should not be to proud to change your behavior if it is not working.

3. when in Rome… do as the Romans do. It is a good thing to try and copy peoples mannerisms. If people are eating with their hands then you should to. I will have to admit that this is also a bit of a hobby of mine, observing people that is. For example here in France most people eat bread with their main meal in the middle of the day. They tend to cut their meat up in to workable sized chunks and then put the knife down swapping in for a piece of bread, the use the bread like you would a knife to move pieces of food on to your fork. Also every one in France greats each other in the morning with a handshake and the usual ‘BonJour Ca’va’ I have been doing this as well and it really does bring down the barriers.

4. Communicate Everything. Say everything that you think so that people know where you are at. I mean the other side are not really going to say everything that they think, but hey if you do your side then normally the other side will follow your lead.

5. Build a trust relationship quickly. This is a difficult one to talk about I mean you just don’t walk through the door and then suddenly people trust you like a family member. But there are little things that you can do to help the process. For example when some one asks you to do something like clear the table, make sure that they don’t have to ask you again.

I didnt think that it would be this hard

France

One of the main reasons that I am in France is to work on my French. I wrote earlier about how the only way you are going to get to know how to speak the French. So working with French colleges at Jan’s place was great but I need more interaction with French people. Only by leaping in the deep end was I going to get French done… and the chance of the mental meltdown was more likely. (I can see that you are imagining mean slumped in a corner with puss running out of my ears, mumbling ‘fair’es a ka’)

William was quite a hard taskmaster, Gerald had involved William in my quest to speak French and well William was going to get me to speak French. So the Sunday that William came back from Holland we went to another Dutch immigrant farmer for a BBQ. Maria and Jan had immigrated to France in 1994 and had built a small milk farm. After a good afternoon of chatting and telling all the old war stories, they decided that I would have to spend the next week with them, and they will find French people to work with.

The kindness of strangers is something that really gets you, its something that I have not really every understood by I profit from it so often. This is why I always trying to help people where ever I can like stop when someone is broken down on the road, I hope that I am building up some sort of Karma battery so that I will use later when I need to … like now . It seems that when I explain my plans and what I hope to do in the future and what I have done in the past people really connect with me. In someway people tend to pick up on my stories and are entertained by me, I guess that I am better than a discovery channel documentary as I can interact with the people.

I will have to admit that I do expose my self by placing my trust in people that are complete strangers. This is something that I am not all that comfortable with. I know that I seems that I just go everywhere and throw myself on the ground anywhere and get on with everybody. Well I find it quite hard! Actually I feel very awkward when I don’t know people and to take their hospitality in. I really got over this fear first in Japan when I was doing a lot of home stays when I was organizing the Volunteer conferences. But I still feel unease now, I don’t know that I will ever really get over that. Maybe that is a good thing because you tend to be more aware of the impact that you are having on the people around me.

So the second week that I was in Normandy I stayed with Maria and Jan, and worked with other farmers in the area. Arijan was a Sheep farmer that was also Dutch but had moved to France to be with his girl. Unlike the other farmers (Jan and William) he had not come to Holland with capital, he had no farm in Holland to sell. Arijan (even though not from a framing family) wanted to have a farm and he knew a local girl when he came here for his Work Experience for School. So he hired some land and got 300 sheep and 40 cattle he is doing alright the next three days I spent working with a friend of Arijan, Benoit. I spent most of the time cleaning stalls and tagging sheep. On the Friday night we did go out to a party. I didn’t really have enough French to get a conversation going. Ahwell.

So what have I taken away from my 2 weeks in Normandy. Well I will have to say that the worries of the world are a long way away. I have not seen the news for 3 weeks, thus that burning sensations deep in my soul, that I get every time I see something like what is happening in the Sudan, is not happening, and that is good for a short while as long as I remember that the goal is. The last weeks have been great like driving around on tractors, birthing sheep and cattle, digging pits, washing the shit off sheds, feeding cows, rescuing sheep and sitting out on hilltops looking across the land late in the afternoon as the sun goes down.

misunderstanding large animal can be harmful to your heath!

Tarn, France

Well after 270km correction to my travels, I got to Labistide-Rouroux. It was night by the time I got there. Once in town I called base camp Davelaar(my Aunty Wil in Holland), just to let her know that I was ok and that I had finally got to where I was meant to be. Then I called Amanda and got the local directions to where I needed to be. After a short trip up the mountain, I meet up with the welcoming party. Karl, Louise, and the two daughters of Amanda, Thea and Mia. I then ran up the top of the hill and there was the house.

After a quick meal and a glass or two of Pastice (local French aniseed liquor normally mixed with water, very provincial they tell me) I was settled in to the other hose where the volunteers live. In the morning I was taken to feed and meet the llamas.

Well I was well impressed by the town and the Farm that Amanda had set up here in the hills of Tarn. Nestled in the valley. There are lots of trees broken up by the odd bit of pasture. The river valley has been keep fairly free of houses and that is where most of the towns folk have their market gardens. Fine idea if you ask me most of the time in Australia the houses are built on the most fertile ground … Sydney is a great example while working in the garden you do get quite a few of the town folk talking to you and swapping vegetables. One thing that I will have to say about the French is that the agri-lifestye is still strong, France has the highest un urbanized population for a developed country and I think that that is great. The Dutch world volksculture (people’s culture) describes it well. They have a strong scene of what is good for the people. They holiday in their own county because it is a great place to be. They take the 2 hour lunch not because it is convenient but because it is good to eat your big meal in the middle of the day not the night, and you should not scoff it down in 30min. Even when traveling trough the county you will see quite often whole families on the side of the road lunching away in a rest area. I mean it goes so far to say that is why the farmers protest so much in France they are trying to hold on to that marvelous lifestyle. Sure the rationalist tell us the subsidies are bad but in way they are just thing to defend their way of life. Like a few years ago all of the farmers got together and blockade the supermarkets because 2 supermarkets where controlling the wholesale price of vegetables in a race to the bottom. I wish the aussie framers would do something about that as well.

Amanda is a British Expatriate who had come to Tarn, France to seek the alternative lifestyle. Here she (with the help of volunteers and loving significant other known as ‘Fatty’ ) had caved out of scrub and bush a Llama farm. They have 6 llamas 3 girls and 3 boys. As well as an organic vegetable farm about fifth of an hectare. They also have 12 free range chickens that lay eggs. Being vegetarian the chickens have little to worry about.

The general idea about the Llamas is to get enough together to go trekking in the local hills and along the tranz-european trails. They are close to the GRG7, which is one of the major trails. Most of these trails are old pilgrim routes that have been traveled for a good 1000 years. Some even believe that the original stone age inhabitants of Europe used some of these trails as well. Llamas make a good addition to trail walking as it extends your range. On foot with a 20km Pack the longest hikes that you do is around 8 days. You can do more but most people try to get re-supplied along the way. But a llama can carry 40kg, which can give you 16 days range, along with the fact that they are great for steep gradient terrains. Because of there soft feet(i.e. they don’t have a hoof like a horse) they don’t cause erosion. Also the llama is like a goat they eat almost anything.

Most days would revolve around getting the llamas feed and watered (3 times a day). There was the garden to water and then the house that the helpers where staying in was being renovated.

I met Lucie on the internet, she was also looking to learn French and work on a farm. She is from the Czech Republic, speaks German Czech French and great English. We decided to meet up at Armadas farm and see some sights in the local area. Well we did a few trips around the area. Like seeing ruins and churches. It was handy that I had a motorbike so that were able to tour around the place independently. Lucie was pretty cool even though she had never been on the back of a bike before se got into the groove quickly.

The first trip that we did was to an old fortified town that the Cathars built Menerve. If you have read the de Vinci code or you are in to your history the Cathars where that mob that had themselves a small reformation and rejected the catholic church and did their own Christian thing. They had quite a bit of money so they did alright for a while, then well you can imagine what happened. Yes the Pope couldn’t have little upstarts running around undermine the power of the pope, so the cathars got them selves massacred off in 1210 by Phillip II. I am glad that the last lot of Popes have been nice guys. One of the cool things that happens when you are scared for your life is you tend to build some really kick arse fornications. It was funny because we followed all of the road signs to Saint Jean des Menerve. Which ended up being a small ‘normal’ town that produced Muscat. After the tour leader(Lucie) asked for directions we where on our way again. After a short trip we got to the real town of Menerve.

As we passed the sweeping bend and saw the town it was just brilliant. A beautiful town set in a really great defendable position. The town was set at the junction of two gorges, where two rivers met. The peninsula that is formed was long and narrow. The Cathars built a castle in the middle of the peninsula and then spread the town out to the point then encasing it in a 4m high wall on top of a 20m high cliff formed by the gorge. Very nice. We spend an hour or two looking around and then headed back to the llama’s

Another of the day trips that we did was to the Castle of Carcossone. Local count built it as his seat of power. Just your usual fortified castle town thingy… yeah under statement of the year! Great town with lots of great churches and shops and castles. One of the things that you get a lot in France especially the south is the forts, castles, chateaus and abbeys and other forms of feudal oppression. There is not one natural defensive position that has not go something like that on it.

After 2 weeks I had to return to Holland to get some personal administration things done so that I can go grape picking. It only took me 2 days(of 12 hours riding) to get home to my auntie’s place, which is not so bad seeing that it took me 4 days to get down there.

Off to sacrifice some virgins we go!

Chickabal, Guatemala – July 2003

Because you tend to spend a lot of time at school during the week and it gets quite busy especially with homework and extra activities. The weekend is your chance to actually get out and do things outside Xela. One weekend myself and a couple of other people from school decided to go for and a un- guided hike. Close to Xela there is a reserve that is owned by the local indigenous Mayans that has a reasonably large ceremonial signifi

cance to the local inhabitants. Chickabal is a lagoon that is part of a collapsed volcano cone. This must be one of the most breathtaking scenery that I have come across since I left Australia.

time to get back to living life the dutch way

Zaandam, The Netherlands
Well I finally made it to Holland; this is my first step on the way to Costa Rica. It is quite a good feeling to know that things are on their way, I was going to say organized but you know me a lot better than that and it’s not so much that things are organized as a I can’t really do anything about it anymore, in a way its like a one seat Rocket sled trip to go save the world, or something like that.

I always forget how beautiful Holland can be in the summertime, it seems for a few short weeks of the Holland really does go off. I got into Holland early on the morning of the 21st may, of the having quite a rough plane trip. Linda (a very good friend of mine) met me at the airport. She had to work at a day and decided to come early and have a cup of coffee with me. After that we went into ads them for a while and went shopping with her. It was kind of fun to be in all of these posh stores with a huge backpack on, smelling like I had just been pulled out of the local sewer. I got to Bram’s place at about noon, and struggled to stay awake until 7:00 p.m. that night trying to get straight into the local rhythm. I took the next day easy as well and then I had Harold’s wedding the next day.

Harold’s wedding [the main reason why I came to Holland so early] was really fun! We started the day off in the reception center; this is where I met up with all my old friends from Scouting here and Holland. We sat around and had a couple of cups of coffee. I hadn’t told anybody but Bram that I was actually going to be here for the wedding. And Bram had just told everybody that he was bringing a partner. So when Harold and his bride to be turned up to the reception center, in a white convertible VW bug. They were incredibly shocked to see that I was there. A specially Linda (harlots sister) who I had chatted with on the Internet only a day before and talking to her about my trip to Costa Rica, it had not donned on heard that I might swing pass Holland on the way through.

Once we had all drunk a cup of coffee, and had talked for a little while we made our way to Zaandam, where we boarded at a ‘rondvart’ boat. We sailed from Zaandam to Amsterdam, it was all right whether and this gave me a chance to catch up with everybody. We sailed to the hotel ‘the grand’ which is the old town hall of Amsterdam. The funny thing is we had to pass through the red light district on the way. It was one of those lovable contradictions that you get in Holland, a wedding party in a boat heading for the poshest Hotel in Amsterdam, and all around naked women flaunting themselves for money. We went to the old marriage ceremony room, which was decorated in Art Deco art. This is where the ceremony took place. After the ceremony we all moved outside onto the balcony to congratulate the bridal party. To see how old who is a real man’s man started to shed a tear. We then made our way back to Zaandam.

By the time the photos were taken and we were sitting down to eat something it was close to 9:00 p.m. I was sat at the table with the rest of the family, none of which I knew. Harold has a very cool oma, with a wicked sense of humor you see can imagine how well we got on. After a while a band came and started to play some easy listening jazz every dance the night away. I would have to say that I dance with most of the women in the room even Harold’s oma. It was about four in the morning by the time we had actually decided to go home. We left the car behind and walked along the Zaan River back to Bram’s place, only stopping once for the obligatory urination in the river.

The last couple of days I have spent in Amsterdam looking around enjoying all the old site popping into the odd museum and straightening out lost tourists. On Monday Bram and me went down to Noordwik and walked along the beach for fair while grab the beer at a local pub and just enjoyed life a little.

I would have thought that they would accept visacard everywhere

Toronto, Canada
I and finally in Toronto after spending about four weeks hooning through Europe. Bram and Linda had come to the airport to see me off, which was nice for an old TechnoFreedomFighter like me who is more use to being alone at airports. As usual air Canada had over booked the plane (by 40+ people). I had confirmed 1 week earlier so I already had a spot, this was a trick that I learnt from my experiences with September 11 2001. The flight was ok I sat next to Stan and his girlfriend Alice, two Canadian students from Vancouver that had just spent 5 months doing a student exchange to Holland for a business school. We chatted most of the way to Toronto.

When I hit the ground at Toronto that is where the fun started! It took the ground crew 30 minets to get the gate hooked up. The inside of terminal 1 is like some sort of a mental asylum white concrete walls and low roof, with mot much decoration on the walls. you know nice a cosy… at least they cant hear you scream . We got to the baggage retrieval area and waited about 45min to get the bags, then another wait at customs because there was no one there. All of this is kind of ok because they don’t do it much better back home, but then I found out the worst thing. I had no Canadian cash on me at all; in fact I had no money at all as I had dumped all my euros on Bram when I left Amsterdam. I guess that I have been spoiled by the visa card thing. Well all of the ATMs in the airport are only MasterCard, so my visa wouldn’t work in any of them. I tried to get some sense out of the people of the change bureau but they wouldn’t sell me any Canadian currency at all. I also asked if there was an information desk at the airport but ooohhh nooo they don’t have one of those either. After walking around for a while trying to work out what to do I found a little booth in the bottom right in a dark corner that said travellers aid. There was this really cool guy that explained that the airport had signed a sponsorship deal with some company and that is why there was no other ATMs in the building. Although he pointed me to the Sheridan hotel and said that there was one there. So I grabbed the terminal express bus that is mint to go between terminals at the airport but really goes via 3 bus stops out side the airport, and then to terminal 3 and to the Sheridan hotel. Once there I located the supposed VISA ATM and had another crack at getting some money. Nope! after 3 times no luck. Once again thwarted. (This is the point where I am starting to get pissed off with my self for 1, not having and money with me that I cant even change 2, not having a guide book with me, and I am starting to think back to the time in Mexico city mmmm… another story) so I bight the bullet and get in a Taxi cab knowing that this is really going to hurt my wallet.

So walking out side I spot a cab, well several of them. They tended to hang around like vultures when there is a stupid tourist around (i.e. dead carcass ready and waiting to be bled dry). So I jumped in the first cab, the driver was of Indian appearance and had a turban on and as per usual spoke bugger all English. I didn’t know where to go because I had written the address of the hostel on a bit of paper that I had lost (I know that you are sitting there thinking to yourself … yep that sounds like norvan … well ok I admit that organization is not my strong point… ok! … anyway back to the story ->) and the back up was on my laptop that was in my pack in the boot. And I still had no currency so we had for the middle of town… ahhhh…. So we drive in to town get to the CBD along the way I found out that it was a CA$45 flat rate into the city. Ow I could feel my wallet groaning in my back pocket. Anyway we get to the first bank CIBC on young St. I use the ATM and the same it only accepts master card, I am starting to think that it is kind of a conspiracy.mmm… well there is no on at the teller space and so I ask the 4 people sitting at the desk behind the counter. And before I can ask I am hushed and asked to wait. Bugger that… I shoot out the door and the cabbie is still waiting I spot an ATM on the other side of the road and run for it, stupid… as the lights had just changed and i almost get hit by a car. Its funny how you do silly things when you are stressed that is probably why so many crims get caught. Anyway I get $100 out of the ATM and head back to the taxi. Crossing the road neatly this time so the cabdriver decides to pull into a side street and let me out. Now I thought because of all the trouble I’ve given a $5 tip so I handed him three $20 dollar notes and said give me back a $10 note, and this was where things got a little bit too much. Yes you guessed it! just like every single bloody taxi driver in the world they never had any change! And even when you deliver pizzas you has a float on you. But taxi drivers seem to think that they can get away with not having any sort of change. Well I guess it must be smart from their point of view because they get a hell of lot more money this way. So I ducked into the nearest store and pulled out one of those 20′s and ask the storekeeper she could change it for me. Well she couldn’t so I jump back in the cab and the cab driver gives me 8 dollars change. So a half an hour cab trip into Toronto City cost me $52. I really didn’t mind too much because the cab driver had given some change to one of the beggars that were at the stoplights in town. So I guess he was kind of cool, and besides it was my own fault for not being organized.

Anyway this left me with the dilemma of being stuck in the middle of Toronto City with no where to stay. I hadn’t booked a backpack as yet and it was getting dark. I had been about six hours since I hit the ground, and I was starting to get really tired. So I pulled out my laptop and worked out where the nearest backpackers was. Not having a map, I popped into the closest to store I could find and us the storekeeper how to get to widmer street. He laughed and he pulled out a piece of paper and explain exactly how to get their during a map as he went, explaining how his first girl friend had lived on widmer st. so I set off for backpackers. I got in and there is still bed for me. It wasn’t too bad it’s been $25 a night.

I went to go get some KFC, yeah just a little comfort food after a long and annoying day. The thing that struck me was the people that worked there. All 3 where ladies of non-Anglo appearance and where in there 40s this was the same for McDonalds the next day. Now usually fast-food joints tended to employ pimply-faced juveniles, as they are the part of the work force that you can exploit with low wages. They usually don’t mind because it is the only job that they can get and hey its only so that they afford the mobile phone bill at the end of the month its not like it is a career choice. To see people that are in there 40s work there is really quite interesting. I mean ok they might pay better here or some thing but I don’t think so. Also its not like you are going to pick up any tips (un like in a bar here where they use it as justification for low wages). So this leads me to the conclusion that these people serving me must be significantly marginalized to accept this kind of work. Might be an education thing or having to have 2 jobs because the living standard is too high.

As far as Toronto City goes it’s not all that bad, comparative to that taxi ride mean! There is good public transport infrastructure; the streets clean wide in generally safe. One of the things that strikes you about North American cities, I’d first this feeling when I was in Baltimore. And that was the complete lack of city planning. There seems kind of chaotic plan to the city with industrial and commercial and residential areas running through each other and the odd car parking area that normally only takes up one lot in a block. OK I will admit that Canberra is quite planned but even if you look at Sydney there is still more continuity in areas. I still haven’t worked out if this is conducive to good community and quality of life. Because the other thing which you notice is that there are quite a few more people on the streets, in there in groups or alone. And this would say to me that there is quite a good sense of community. I remember back to the stories that my Oma used to tell me, about life in the Jewish quarter of Amsterdam before the war in 1940. People used to always be out on the pavement, singing dancing and going about their business. Said even though they had very little and it was quite a poor area they got on very well with their neighbours. The same observation can be made about Harlem in New York, whenever I see pictures from their there is also quite a bit of street life. You know like what you see on those Sesame Street Montages. Maybe I and just one of those hopeless romantics.

What is the Youth Action Monitoring (YAM) Team:
The YAM team was composed of individuals from the six main areas of Asia Pacific, Africa, Europe, Arab region, North America and South America. The team acted as an advisory committee to IAVE and throughout the conference will be providing extra-curricular activities. The team helped to ensure the smooth running of the conferences as well as providing follow up and information after the conference. The team was originally started by the NOV (Netherlands Volunteering Centre) in 2000 to help with the organisation of the 2001 IAVE World Volunteering Conference. The team was very successful in establishing the pre-Conference Youth Summit. This helped to get youth participation with in the Conference and help to bring Youth Volunteering into the lime light.

Nagano Japan pre youth world volunteering conference
The YAM team was reassembled for the pre youth world volunteering conference in Nagano Japan. The team was bolstered by a few new recruits. The team work closely with the Japanese Facilitators for the conference. During this time we where able to work the establishment of a Youth Statement that we would release later that year that the final world youth volunteering summit in December that year.

Tokyo world youth volunteering summit
Impression from the last conference by Leo Wong YAM Team rep from Canada.
As the International Year of Volunteers wrapped up on December 5th 2001, and communities from around the world helped recognize the achievements of volunteers, I had the fortune of debating the future of volunteerism and participating in declaring a Youth Statement in Tokyo, Japan. Over 500 delegates joined in the World Youth Volunteer Summit, held December 1st – 5th. I was invited to help organize the Summit along with 16 others who formed the Youth Activity Monitoring Team (known as the YAM Team).

Our YAM Team was incredible. Truly an international ensemble of youth volunteer leaders, I found myself surrounded by years of experience that only our youthful faces could deceive. As we grappled with what the future had in store for us, we knew our present contained a rare opportunity, an opportunity where we could voice our thoughts about how the future should unfold. And as the Summit concluded, we declared a Youth Statement that would be our catalyst for working together after the Summit. And as the International Year of Volunteers concluded, we also began to reflect.

What have we accomplished this year? Well, with all the celebratory patting-of-backs and hoorahs, we can assume more people in this world heard about the concept of volunteerism, and possibly considered volunteering themselves. Quite intangible stuff, but that is a reality that we should not ignore. In fact, that is a reality we should embrace and pursue because now the stage is set for more people in this world to support each other and support their communities. And not to disregard all the tangible outcomes like youth volunteering publications and resources, but for those of us who don’t volunteer, the significance of this year is perhaps our awareness has increased.

This might have been the best example in Tokyo, where youth who I met were mostly recent recruits into the volunteerism arena. Some of the youth I met had just heard of the concept of volunteerism and were intrigued by the idea of helping others. A Japanese friend of mine even remarked she felt eager to volunteer more, to learn about how to volunteer and was a bit ashamed that she didn’t do more of it. Her humility was fuel to my belief that we have a ways to go in making this world a better place, but at least we have a way to go.

Aside from seeing the neon lights and giant TV screens, walking through train stations whose transient populations are greater than many communities in Alberta, and saying ‘su-mi-ma-sen’ (Japanese for ‘excuse me’) for every confused turn I took, there was something else about Tokyo that amazed me. That was the people, the culture and the blossoming belief that not only can an economic giant make great
techno-gadgets, but it can also lend a helping hand to strangers and be a leader in bringing other countries along the pathway of volunteerism.

Sure, Australia has a 30% rate of youth volunteerism, but how can we best encourage other youth from around the world to start getting involved? Perhaps by supporting the youth of countries like Japan who are just realizing the tremendous potential volunteerism has.

Perhaps we have forgotten about the human value of volunteering, amidst all the hype about work experience and school credits. Perhaps we need to bring that spirit home, again. And again, and again. There is no greater time to ask yourself how you can contribute than now, because the spirit is high and our convictions are strong, and the world, more than ever, needs our help.