Why is Hate so Popular? Airline Edition

In response to all the noise directed at Delta this weekend, I thought I'd maybe send some praise an airline's way, just to help balance out the universe.

Last fall I booked two tickets, Winnipeg to Madrid return, through KLM who organized the flights for us: Westjet to Montreal, KLM to Amsterdam, and finally, KLM to Madrid. I got such a great deal, I was worried something was going to mess it all up, and since I had several months (six, to be exact) before our flights, I had plenty of time to stew.

A couple days after booking, I got an email from KLM saying they rebooked my return flight to two days later, a Tuesday instead of a Sunday. Since one of us in this two-ticket relationship had to work on Monday morning, this would not work. I was ready to cancel the flight and book a new one, but the cost was about 60% more. Ugh. So I checked out KLM's contact info, and they said to get in touch any time via Twitter. So I did. 

I got a near-immediate response, they had a look at the new flight info, and confirmed to me that two days later might put a crimp in our plans, so they set to work trying to make things right. Half an hour later, they sent me new flight info that involved leaving Madrid at 6:00am instead of 9:40 am, not fun, but arriving home at 4:00 in the afternoon (instead of 11:45 in the evening), giving everyone an opportunity to get a good night's sleep before heading off to work the next morning.

Fantastic. I thanked them enthusiastically for fixing this quickly and to my great satisfaction.

The months passed.

When our departure date arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief that nothing else went awry. Before we left for the airport for our morning flight to Montreal, I decided to check my email one last time.

"Your KLM flight Montreal to Amsterdam has been cancelled."
Well, crap.
"KLM is now looking for an alternative…"
We're heading to the airport in ten minutes!
"…or you can choose a new flight yourself online."
In ten minutes!!
Fortunately, before totally freaking out, I read the next email that came from KLM.
"Dear Reymond, Attached to this email is your ticket to Madrid. Enjoy!"
I scanned the email quickly, reasonably certain that I understood it, and forwarded it to my wife's phone (as I live in the dark ages) so we could read all the remaining details later at the airport so we wouldn't be late for the flight to Montreal.

The long and the short of it ended up as follows: The flight to Montreal went off as planned. KLM booked us on an Air Canada flight from Montreal to Heathrow that left an hour later than our original KLM flight, and then an Iberia flight (which we had to run for, through the bulk of Heathrow, but no bother) to Madrid, that got us there thirty-five minutes later than originally scheduled. As I had planned our train out of Madrid at a time that allowed for delays at the airport, we had plenty of time to eat some lunch and explore the beautiful garden at Atocha Station in downtown Madrid.

It was a little bit of a crazy day, but KLM took care of us. They had a problem, and they made it right, and they did it with a smile on their face. I'm sure they took a significant loss on this, but they respected their obligation to us.
Thanks in large part to the efforts of KLM, we had a wonderful two weeks in Spain.
So thanks, KLM, from me to you.

ps. Other players in the effort to make our Spain travels enjoyable were:
Loco2.com - a great way to book Spain train tickets online, easily and in English for those of us who are not well-versed in the Spanish language.
Veoapartment.com, where we found our accommodations in Seville and Granada, which were both excellent.

Hotel Santa Isabel in Toledo - fantastic rooftop view.

Hertz - rented a car in Seville and dropped it in Madrid; but for a few minor hiccups (someone was training that day so it took a little extra time, and the drop off at Atocha could be better marked or more easily explained when renters are planning to drop a car at Atocha, because Google's directions will take you directly into the taxi area, where the taxi drivers are not easily amused - not that I would know any of this), it was a reasonably streamlined experience.
Alavera de los Baños in Ronda - a fabulous hotel with character and wonderful hosts.

Travelling with Children - A True Story

At what point do you let your child decide he has had enough cantaloupe for breakfast, especially when you want to be sure everyone’s getting enough fruits and vegetables after all those ham sandwiches? Apparently, one piece earlier than I did.

The drive to Matera was a long and winding one. You know the kind, where the road turns sharply to the left and right, uphill and right back down before your stomach has time to realize it’s supposed to be going down with the rest of your body. Usually that sort of thing is kind of fun, but today we got what marketing people might call a “value added bonus” along that scenic drive.

So, that cantaloupe.

Matthew started making some noise about not feeling well, but managed to keep things under control for about fifteen minutes. Eventually though, the roads wore him down, and that cantaloupe needed release.

As soon as Matthew lurched forward, Jonas looked like he was trying to escape a house on fire, using all four limbs to propel himself out of the car, despite the fact that the car was still moving. All I could say was, Yup, pull over. As soon as possible please. And I reached back and put my hand under Matthew’s mouth. I have no idea why or what I hoped to accomplish. As soon as Matthew was done, he took a deep breath, one of those chest-expanding breaths that makes you purse your lips and exhale like Dizzy Gillespie blowing on his trumpet. That feels better, he said.

We pulled into what looked like a cross between a cafe and a repair shop, with two old fellas sitting on lawn chairs out front. Drinking beer. It was 9:30 in the morning. Laura helped Matthew get cleaned up while I stood with my (clean) hand on my chin, pondering what to do next as I looked at the floor of the car. The men rested their beers on their laps, and leaned forward slightly, curious as to what we were up to.

I figured the first thing I needed to do was deal with the sheer volume, pulsating on the floor where there should have been a rubber mat. I knelt down, and used my hand and forearm like a squeegee, pulling a surprisingly large quantity of breakfast over the lip and out the door, which landed on the ground with an impressive splat. At that point, the beer drinkers pretended to be looking nonchalantly in the other direction.
I cleaned my arm off with the remains of a kleenex, and ran across the street to the grocery store to get cleaning supplies. We did our best to clean out the car, and used a half-dozen air fresheners to deal with what remained.

Back in the car and on the road again, Jonas eyed Matthew like a hawk, wary of any suspicious movements or sounds. But with the foul cantaloupe eradicated, Matthew was happy as could be. I told him that when he is a teenager, any time he is annoyed with me, he must remember this precise moment, when he was throwing up in the rental car in Italy, and I was holding out my hand in a way that only a father could at a time like that.
That is love, Laura told him.

Today I Ate Cow Stomach

By Reymond Pagé

A Portrait

Soundgarden first came to my attention at the beginning of my last year of fine arts, back in 1989. It was probably September or so, when I made one of my regular pilgrimages to Musiplex in downtown Winnipeg. I don't recall if they had those groovy, new-fangled listening centres set up yet, but one look at the cover of Loud Love, just sort of a mass of swinging hair, and I figured this was something that I could get into.
Back to my apartment I went, to my stereo, my over-ear Radio Shack headphones, and I sat and listened.
"Money can't give what the truth takes away."
"Trees fall down like dying soldiers."
Hands All Over is still one of my favourite songs.
His voice was just something else, you know, unrestrained power with absolute control, and he was just a kid! Not even two years older than I was.
When Badmotorfinger came along, Room A Thousand Years Wide and Jesus Christ Pose took my breath away. The song-writing was on a whole other level from what I'd normally listen to, but there seemed to be a deeper connection to things that were actually worth thinking about. Although this wasn't so much on my mind back then, ideas like these were among the things that I grew into caring about.
When Superunknown came along, things were changing rapidly for me. I was married, and my wife and I were expecting our first child. I sang Black Hole Sun and Like Suicide until I was hoarse, and then Jonas was born. A lot less loud music and singing.
1996 brought Down on the Upside into the world, and I snapped it up like a metalhead dad looking for something that reminded him of something he wasn't really looking for anyway, but was eager for it nonetheless. And I brought it home and thought, ugh. I might have listened to it a couple times, and then it made its way to the bottom of the cd rack.
1997 gave us another child, more responsibility, and even less time for basketball, painting, and loud singing. But as kids do, they grew up, and as they did, this new life found time for some of the things from the old life, and with effort and practice, it started to happen more and more often. (Of course, a whole lot more happened in the intervening years - we travelled the world with our kids, we watched them grow into magnificent young adults, I did a ton(ne) more drawing, and of course, I recorded a couple pretty awesome metal tunes, but that is for another story.)
Then back in May this year, I woke to the news that Chris Cornell had died. But wasn't he the same age as me?
I posted on Facebook that when I was in my twenties, I wanted to paint like Frank Frazetta, play basketball like Michael Jordan, and sing like "this guy," and I linked to the video for Black Hole Sun.
And then I listened to a whole lot of Soundgarden.
I rediscovered the reasons why I liked them in the first place, found my copy of Down on the Upside, and gave it a listen. And it wasn't nearly as terrible as I remembered it being. In fact, it was pretty good. Really good. Amazingly good. But I remembered why I was disappointed in it. Side by side listenings of Superunknown and Down on the Upside showed, to my ears anyway, a distinct drop in audio quality, even compared to Badmotorfinger from five years earlier. And in my busy life, that was enough for it to get lost in the pile of cd's.
But now I had time to listen, and the number of songs that I really liked numbered nearly as many as there were on the album. Tighter and Tighter I could listen to over and over and over again. And I did. And it reminded me that the things that are worthwhile just take some time. Sometimes they're just a little bit harder. And when you get past all that, it's what feels right, and was right, all along.
And that is how I found myself staring at that eight yard roll of Strathmore that had been sitting in the corner of my studio for a good five years, probably longer, still in cellophane. I cut off a hunk and hung it on the wall. I grabbed some coloured pencils and my General's pencils and did some preliminary sketching, trying to figure out how I would do this thing that I was about to do. I found the method that worked, and I got started on a portrait of Chris Cornell. After investing a dozen hours or so, it wasn't working out. I gave up. I abandoned it for a couple days, erased some of it, then just started fooling around with it, and I forgot that it wasn't working. With time and effort, and a lot of loud music, it got it to this stage where I can say I'm almost done. Some tweaks and tonal adjustments, and it will get there.
Loud music and drawing faces.
Sleep tight.

 

The large drawing on the right, 40 by 60 inches.
Smaller acrylic painting on the left, 36 by 48 inches.

Pencil Sharpeners

Went to Staples a little while ago to get a new pencil sharpener. Turns out Staples did not have any Staedtler sharpeners when I was there, so I was stuck with the four-pack of Staples-brand sharpeners. The pros of the Staples-brand sharpeners are…well, "is" actually because there is only one. The pro is they come in four different colours: Metallic Blue, Metallic Green, Metallic Purple, and Metallic Metal. If they had one that came in Metallic Metallica, I'd have something to write home (or you) about. Alas, this was not to be. But write you I shall, to warn you that if you ever need a pencil sharpener for coloured pencils, steer clear of the Staples-branded sharpeners. 
This is not a word of a lie: after one sharpen, the blade was dull, and was rendered useless for any further pencil sharpening needs. In fact, it is so bad, you are quite literally better off using your teeth for further sharpening. Coloured pencils entering this sharpener are in for a bit of a surprise when they are expecting a mere trim, yet are returned to me looking like they were used to stab a wolverine. I suppose the wolverine was polite enough to return it to me when he was done with it. 
So now I'm working on this drawing hoping that my Chinese made Staedtler will last until I'm done, or I can get to Cre8ive Art Supplies and get a new one. Or ten.
Hundreds of sharpens in the last couple days alone, and still gets my pencils sharp as a pin. 
Okay, so I'm just about to take a picture to show you a sharpening comparison, and what do I see? The Staedtler sharpener device is indeed made in China. But the blade is stamped, "Made in Germany." I stand both corrected and amazed (that a story that I'd thought to be maybe partly true was maybe mostly true).

And further, after all my bluster, I notice the logo on the "Staedtler" sharpener is not the Staedtler logo after all. Does anyone know who made this glorious sharpener?
Never mind, the internet is an amazing thing (depending on your outlook and interest in pencil sharpeners). Google "e with a crown over it pencil sharpener" and you will find this link 
https://bleistift.memm.de/2009/12/eisen-402/
in the number one position.
Eisen.

While I don't own the Eisen 402, I do own an actual Eisen sharpener, which I find both irrelevant and fascinating. If you read from the link, you will learn that Eisen did, in fact, move some of their production to China, but their more expensive sharpeners are still manufactured at their factory in Franconia, a region of Germany. While this may seem, at first blush, rather unremarkable, what IS remarkable is that "nearly all other German manufacturers in the pencil and sharpener industry (e.g. Faber-Castell, Staedtler, Schwan Stabilo, Lyra, KUM or Möbius+Ruppert)" have factories in Franconia. Which is a bit like saying all of the world's greatest artists and performers come from an area of Southern Manitoba that lies between Winnipeg and Brandon, and the 49th parallel (soon to be known as The Wall) and Dauphin. So it's like we're sister regions really! No wonder I have such an affinity for my Eisen. I always knew that our relationship was more than just artist-sharpener.

G.O.A.T.

An overused acronym, I know, but when it fits, it fits.

Greatest guitar solo of all time.
I want to create paintings that make a viewer feel the way I do when I get to the end of this song.
It's killing my ears, though.
The wonder of it all starts at 3:30, but if you can manage it, listen to the whole thing and read the lyrics.
Progandhi for Emperor.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4DORkDtwKQ

A Tool for Artists Everywhere

Ticketmaster is angry that bots and brokers are getting a cut of ticket sales. Ticketmaster wants their monopoly on gouging every band at every venue kept intact.

"The odds are absolutely stacked against the fan," said Joe Berchtold, chief operating officer of Live Nation, the world's largest tour promoter and owner of Ticketmaster, which sold tickets for the Hip's final tour.

http://www.cbc.ca/…/tickets-bots-tragically-hip-marketplace…

Here's a bit of a rebuttal to Ticketmaster's business model, and although it is six years old, I think it still applies.
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/…/ticketmaster-a-new-era-of…

But to me it just seemed like a bunch of guys (and somehow I suspect they were all guys) got together one day and said, "Lots of people go to concerts. How can we get a piece of that?" and then found a way to attach themselves to the ticket buying process. They did it so well, that now they are completely embedded into the process, they are simply a living part of it. But just because you're really good at gouging people, does that mean you should be rewarded?
For instance, say I was a good friend of Joe Berchtold, and I told him that I was a pretty good drawer, and showed him some of my work, and then said, "Hey Joe, what if we include with every ticket a print of a drawing of the performer? We could charge $12 for the mandatory print fee; $5 for the rights to use the image fee; $1 for the sore fingers fee (you don't think artists have it tough?); $2.50 resale fee (in case some chump who actually went to a show and got a print decided he'd try to make some money and resell his print); $20 facility fee (my gold drawing table is NOT going to pay for itself); $5 process-at-home option fee, in case the customer would like to print the print on their home printer; $10 Bad Printer Fee, just in case a customer decides they want to use their very bad printer to print the print at home, in which case my reputation would be tarnished when people see the bad print; $25 delivery fee (we only use high-quality shipping tubes); $6 handling fee (how do you think the prints get into the tubes and down to the post office, you idiot?); 5% GST; 8% PST (I don't care where you live, that's what we pay in Manitoba so suck it!); and finally, 13% HST just for the hell of it.
I'm thinking this is a good idea. I suppose we could revisit the fee structure at a later date, but for the time being, who wouldn't want an awesome drawing of Nikki Sixx (and if I can find it, you will see it here later) on their walls?
So, the next time the Rolling Stones wheel their way into town, you can bet that Joe and I will skim a cool $3,520,000 off the top of all ticket sales (assuming 40,000 tickets sold - shoot, forgot to add the Investor's Group facility fee (the other facility fee was to pay for MY facility, remember - oh well, I'll eat that one).
Now of course, that is a bit over the top. But think of this. Ticketmaster does this for just about every show that happens at every large-ish venue (outside of house concerts and private clubs) in North America, and probably loads of other countries too. I don't think it's too big of a stretch to say that Ticketmaster is making billions of dollars a year.
To skim.

Woodworking and Politics

Pretty much every day I think of something like what you will read below, and pretty much every day I file those thoughts into the "Forever to be Forgotten Folder." Today is somehow different.

One of the irritating things about travel, especially to places that see a lot of tourists, is the number of scams set up to try and set you free from your money in less than legitimate ways. There was the "oops I dropped my shoe shine brush" in Istanbul, the "let me take you to my shop" in Syria, well, all over the Middle East…and India as well, actually. And in Egypt, our favourite was this.

Walking to the Egyptian Museum, you know, the big one with all of Egypt's past (well, most of Egypt's past, that hadn't been looted by other museums around the world) locked inside. The museum that was open every day of the week, and for many hours at a time. A museum that could be open 24 hours a day, and still have hundreds of people inside at all times. As we approached along the other side of busy Meret Basha, a little north of Tahrir Square, a man rushed past us. Then he turned, looked concerned, and ran back. "Are you going to the museum?" Yes we are. "Oh, please be very careful crossing the street." And off he goes. Then stops, then turns back to us. "I forget, the museum is closed to tourists today, until 1:00. But if you like, I can take you to a government shop." Idiot me started to follow him (apprehensively, I might add), but Jonas and Laura started laughing out loud. They showed me the guide book section on Cairo scams, and it was as though this guy was using this section as his teaching tool. Word for word. He was not impressed with our level of preparedness (well, Laura and Jonas's, at any rate), so he walked off in a huff.
We chatted a bit about the nerve of some people as we carried on, looking for a safe place to cross the street, when another fellow sidled up and said, "Not all Egyptians are trying to cheat tourists, you know." Of course not, we said. He was well dressed and well fed, with a comfortable paunch that settled in assuredly under (and a little bit over) the strength of his thick belt, his unbuttoned blazer completing his air of casual authority. He proceeded to chat us up about a couple things before asking us where we were going. "Oh, but the museum is closed for siesta right now. If you like, I can take you to a government bazaar with fixed prices."

I wasn't sure if I should admire his tenacity, or punch him in the nose. We stood there, the four of us, with our mouths wide open for a good two seconds, then we all broke down laughing. Blazer man was not impressed, so he too walked off in a bit of a huff.

Today I am reminded of this story after seeing a web ad on a site I visit regularly. The ad was for shed plans, and since I would like to build a shed but I'm not sure exactly what I want to do, I thought this might be interesting. I click, and am taken to a site advertising Ryan's Shed Plans, 14,000 shed plans for one low price. Now, no one in their right mind needs 14,000 shed plans, especially if they actually want to build a shed. Who has time to look at even 1000 different plans?
Since the site had a certain infomercial flair to it, I thought it best to do what I often do now, check to see reviews or scam alerts. And sure enough, there are many for Ryan's Shed Plans, not least of which says, "Who on earth needs 14,000 shed plans?" After reading google's synopsis of several review sites, I click on one, that seems to do a fairly lengthy take down of Mr. Ryan Shed. They give the product a "very low rating," but offer a link to buy if you're still interested.
What caught my attention though, was the next line: "Instead, I recommend you buy Ted's Woodworking Plans [a link you can click], which includes some decent shed plans (plus much more)."
They show some lovely photos, and then follow them up with this:
"I'll skip to the chase. Ryan's shed plans isn't a very good product. It's not totally useless, because there are some decent plans, but overall it's not great.
In fact, you're MUCH better off buying Ted's Woodworking Plans [a link you can again click] which includes a good number of decent plans."

And guess how many plans you get with Ted?
16,000.
This is beautiful, I thought to myself. It's like the internet's version of the Egyptian museum scam played out right on my computer screen.

After five more minutes of investigation, I found all kinds of youtube videos from all kinds of different people claiming that Ted's Woodworking Plans was a great deal for them, and they all liked it very much. And everyone's video was different in that they all looked and sounded different. Some were kind of polished, looking a bit like a poor man's Bob Vila, while others looked and sounded like nervous telemarketers trying to scam their very first victim, with their instructor (probably Ted himself) looking on. But most remarkable is that everyone's video is also very much alike. A guy sitting at his computer telling you how good something is without actually saying anything at all, like he was reading from a Kazakhstani phrasebook, and hoping he'd be understood, because he really doesn't have any idea what he's saying himself.

Now I'm thinking, this is amazing. It's as if there is this whole industry out there based on the selling of thousands and thousands of shed plans. What's fascinating (to me, at least) in amongst all this other weirdness and trickery, is that what appears to be a real review (woodgears.ca/ted) shows Ted to be full of shit. Most plans are just ripped off from the internet, freely available elsewhere. Apparently, in their package, they also offer "150 premium woodworking videos" that are links to videos on youtube and vimeo, all publicly available, and some of the links are broken.

This all makes me think that there is some kind of seminar people go to, to learn how you can make $10,000 a day from the comfort of your own home. They fork over money to the seminar people, find out they just got shafted, then go out and try and shaft anybody else so that they can make their money back. This is exactly what these videos look like.

And finally it hits me. Donald Trump is Ted. Every part of Trump oozes this kind of nonsense. There is a phoniness to everything he says, even when he is talking about something that people are interested in. Of course I want to be safe. Absolutely I'd like politicians to tell the truth for a change. And sure, if I were completely heartless, I'd love to capitalize on people's needs and make money selling worthless degrees from a phoney university.
And that's what is going on here. Even in the remotest of remote chances that Donald Trump isn't Ted, he is still Ted. He's a guy selling someone else's ideas as his own, but doesn't even bother to check and see if they are actually good ideas. And like any group of 16,000 anything, there is bound to be one or two good whatevers in there. So people who are desperate cling to the two in 16000, and ignore the rest. They ignore the racism, the hatred, the ignorance, the stupidity, and cling to the one thing. "I want to feel safe." Yes, the thing that some people cling to is absurd, as most thinking people know, like, "We will build a wall and keep them out," or, "We won't let anyone from Religion X into our country."
But it doesn't matter. For millions of people, one in 16,000 is good enough. As long as he's on "my team." And if you follow sports at all, we've sort of been conditioned to think this way. Every team has a guy that you hate. Until he gets traded to your team. Then you tolerate his back-stabbing, his cheap shots, his mealy-mouthed excuses, his biting of opponents, his racial taunts, the showboating, the domestic violence, the assault charges, the endless DUIs. It's all part of the society that has been growing up around us. Growing up with us.
It's our team, or their team, and you are either with us or against us. Polarity ensues.
And if that's the way they want it, that's what they will get.
So my fellow living organisms, the choice is clear. Do you want to develop distinctly anterior traits, or distinctly posterior traits? Do we want to look forward, or do we wish to look backward to the glory days of Robber Barons and slavery? Do we want to be inclusive, and share the world and all of our great ideas with everyone, or do we want water wars and chaos, border conflicts and corporate profiteering at the expense of everyone's health? Do we want our lives to be based on love, honesty, and truth (including those pesky facts), or do we want to be ruled by someone else's ideology that commands hatred, fabrication, and rage? An ideology that considers a search for truth to be a liability?
There's a great Cherokee legend that goes like this:
An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Simply put, you cannot fight the posterior with more posterior.That is what is going on today. It's been going on for years, and will continue for many years to come. But we can start to change all that with love, honesty, truth, and reason. And every time we choose those things, we make a change right now. Be the change you want to see in the world, as they say.

The fight between good and evil begins within, not without.

So tell Ted you don't want his plans, no matter how many he has up his sleeve.

Breathless at Termessos, Turkey

Has anything ever left you breathless?
Well…the only problem with Twitter chats is that they are chats on Twitter, and extended chatter requires multiple tweets. Reliving this moment that left me breathless could not be completely covered on Twitter alone (nor could Q1 or Q2, but never mind), so bear with me.

Termessos lies about 35 kilometres north of Antalya, so getting there required that we rent a car from our pansiyon

in Antalya and make it a day trip, combining it with the Karian Cave and Chimaera. Once we got into the hills, things started to get interesting (I mean, we were in Turkey, so it was already interesting, but now we were stepping it up a bit). Here's how I wrote about it.

The drive north of Antalya is simple and beautiful. We’re driving in Turkey. And I’m not sure what we’ve done to deserve yet another sky that is so blue it seems to sparkle. Not far out of town, we begin to make the upward climb into those remarkable hills, where the drive becomes very dramatic, and not just because the road crumbles away from the edge and spills down the hillside. Not the ground beside the road, but the concrete that was once a part of the road. A never-ending stream of mostly-intact hairpin turns takes us in a continuously vertical direction, into Gulluk Dagi National Park, and past the set of outer walls belonging to the ancient city of Termessos.

This is the reason we have come to Antalya. When researching Turkey, I happened upon a photo of the Termessos theatre, and I told Max, We have got to go here. “That is quite a bit off your path,” he said. Then we will need to make changes to the path, I replied. We are not missing this.

I’ve spent more than a few nights lying awake in bed, imagining the four of us exploring this place, and I am thrilled to pull into the parking lot (you do not need to remind me that it is actually Laura that is doing the driving; I’m well aware of that by now) and find that ours is the only car here.

There is not very much information available about Termessos, either online or in the guide books, but what I do know is that this magnificent city existed around the time of Alexander, in the 300’s BC. There is some uncertainty as to whether or not Alexander tried to take control of the city, having recognized its extraordinary defensive power and position. Maybe he received some kind of concessions from those within, or perhaps, as has been told, the Pisidian people living here were so fiercely independent that they repelled any and all attempts to be ruled by an outsider. After a visit to this place, the latter does not seem unlikely.

The air is fresh and clear, and the trees have begun to cloak themselves in their autumn attire. We walk for a good twenty minutes, more or less straight uphill past yet another set of defensive walls, with still another visible further up the hill. This place is Large. Capital L Large.

We come across the remains of an impressive gymnasium along the main street. The boys climb over stones the size of cars, and through doorways made for giants. As I take this all in, I have a tangible feeling of time, centuries of time, walking with us through these ruins, and I swear I can hear the sounds of battle, and a city breathing. Like a cool, icy wind on a warm sunny day. I get goose bumps, my skin a little electric, and when I try to explain the sensation to Jonas, he looks at me like I’ve just bumped my head very hard.

We climb higher still, sarcophogi literally littering the hillside, as we search for the elusive theatre. 

We climb over a wall, through a short tunnel, over a pile of enormous blocks,  and into a clearing - the theatre stage. We walk up the steps into the seating, and turn around.

It takes my breath away.

We have lunch sitting in the seats, and then watch the boys climb the blocks and steps over and over again. There are no chains or ropes, and since we’re 3500 feet up, we remind them regularly to be aware of their surroundings. 

We explore the remains of temples and homes, cisterns, streets, arches, doorways, walls, and gates. 

Termessos disappeared from history after an earthquake, its walls abandoned by the people in search of something better. I can imagine the sense of despair that would make rebuilding a several hundred-year-old city after a such a devastating event an impossibility. We see only a handful of people while we are here, and after almost four hours, we disappear from Termessos as well. 

How does something like this ever get left behind, forgotten but for a few passages here and there in the history books? What will remain of me after I am gone, of the home I have built, the life I have lived? We are all just sentences in books, I suppose, eventually. If that.

After spending some time in the very damp Karain Cave and its less damp museum at the bottom of the hill, we drive along the shores south of Antalya, in and around and through these glorious hills on our way to Chimaera. At the entrance, the gruff gentleman takes our ten lira fee, then points directly at the moon. “Eight hundred metres,” he says. “You have flashlight?” Yes. “Good.” He then goes right back to ignoring his surroundings.

In Greek mythology, a Chimaera is a fire-breathing monster with a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a serpent’s tail. This is what awaits us at the end of our moon expedition. We take a snack break at the four hundred metre mark, then at the top celebrate our victory. And while there isn’t an actual Chimaera here, there is something equally fascinating. Fire that comes out of the ground from about twenty-five or thirty small holes. A strange gas that somehow escapes from the bowels of the Earth and combusts when it comes into contact with the air. You read that right. Fire comes out of the ground.

Anyway, I carry on a little bit more about the rest of our day, but those were my exact words on the blog that night. "It takes my breath away."

Stepping Out, and Into Rome

Rome was the starting point of our family's travels, and as such, it holds a special place in my heart.
Following an overnight flight to Gatwick, we flew to Rome, and took the train from the airport to the main station downtown.
As we stepped out onto the street, the sky was a magnificent and deep shade of blue. As the warmth enveloped our bodies, the whole of what we were about to do settled upon me. Nine months of travel with our ten- and twelve-year-old boys. We paused just outside the doors of the station, and I thought to myself, "We are doing this." The wonder of the world was opening up to us, and the thrill of that sensation left us in awe. What an opportunity. What a time.

The Wonder of India

There really is something about India that gets inside you. It may take a while, as it did for me, but there will be this allure, this pull, that keeps you thinking, keeps you wanting more.
I had to leave India before that feeling took hold. By the end of our three months travelling all over, from Alleppey in the south, Jaisalmer in the west, to Kolkata in the east, I was done. I needed out.
When we descended into Bangkok, I couldn't believe how shiny the airport seemed from the sky. The airport was clean inside and out, the money we got out of the ATM felt like it was right off the press, super crisp and still a bit warm. Our taxi was clean, the roads were clean, and the taxi drivers somehow managed to stay in the proper lane, on their allotted side of the road. No meandering, no drifting.
But after a few days, I began to look back a bit, and think quite fondly of our time in India. The touts and annoying shopkeepers were settling to the back of my mind, and the friendliness of the vast majority of people who wanted nothing more than a photo with us, and a bit of conversation, that is what began to rise to the surface. Two months later, at the end of our trip, both my wife and I thought that if we were to return to any of the eleven countries we visited on our nine-month trip, India would top the list.
The travel posters all say, "Incredible India." The posters speak the truth.

And how about Florence? It is beautiful, the skies are blue, and the town accommodating. They also have lots of cool door knockers.

The Other Pages

The other pages are all on Twitter, so if you feel the need to catch up, just search #TodayIAteCowStomach.
Lots of good stuff, from Rome to Sacrofano and Tuscany, we now find ourselves in Florence.
Have a look.

Forgot Rome

I didn't actually forget Rome, but I did forget to post the next pages of Rome on this blog.
For those of you just tuning in, I'm posting the pages of my first book, Today I Ate Cow Stomach, which is all about our travels through Italy, Greece, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, and Egypt.
Here you go, pages 4 and 5.
Tune in later today and you'll also get 6 and 7.

If I don't forget.