Memorable (and Hated) Sounds

Growing up, there were certain sounds and noises that I couldn't stand. Actually, some of these hatreds have stuck with me until this day, such as the sound of a vacuum cleaner. I absolutely cannot stand that noise and oddly enough, neither can my sister's dog, Stanley. Since as far as I can remember, whenever I was visiting her and she turned on the vacuum, Stanley and I (after barking at and attacking the vacuum cleaner) would escape to the basement or outside, depending on the season. Oddly, we share the same birthday. Anyone one else out there born on April 16 have a hatred of vacuum noise? OK, that's probably just a coincidence, I'll concede that.

Over the past few years, since I flew the coup known as Casa DiPonio for the first time, I've been cooking for myself. As a proud Canadian of Italian heritage, pasta is a staple in my diet. And any good Italian worth his/her salt will not eat store bought sauce, but craft their own unique sauce bred out of tradition (nonna's and mom's) and available ingredients (whatever I can find on my shelf of the cupboard). I can actually remember the first time I made my first batch of sauce.

I was in Amiens, France trying out for a volleyball team. I was staying with a member of the team at the time and thought it would be a good idea to make pasta. The problem was I didn't know how as I had not made fresh sauce ever before. Being a good Italian son, I ate what mamma (or nonna) put in front of me in a spoiled stupor. Yes, I was 26 and making sauce for the first time. I rang my mother to find out exactly how to replicate her fresh pasta sauce. No answer. My phone was running out of pay-as-you-go credit; I had maybe one call left. I chose to call nonna. She was shocked to hear from me and went on and on (in her broken Italian/English) about how nice it was of me to call and was asking question after question - as my credit slowly dwindled. I finally asked her how to make sauce and she explained. We said our goodbyes and I got to work. It was delicious.

Over the years my sauce has evolved. In that time I've used various ways to crush garlic. Lately, I've begun to employ a technique used by my mother that produces, to my ears, a horrifying noise. It is in fact the best way to crush garlic that I've ever used. Mom was right. After peeling the garlic, she'll place the clove between wax paper and crush it by hammering it with the handle of a large knife.

Thinking of the evolution of my garlic crushing technique brought me back to the noises, smells and sights of my childhood. It also showed me the circular patterns in life. We all develop and change and grow. There's a saying that we become our parents. And while that's not necesarily true, we can't help but to inherit certain personality traits from each of them and those that surrounded us as we grew up. I couldn't think of two better people to inherit these traits from.

Thanks mom and dad. And sorry for all that complaining I did growing up. Just the other day I was husking corn and was immediately transported back to summertime at the family cottage. Mom asked me to husk corn. I didn't want to stop whatever all important game or book I was absorbed in. So I complained and then relucantly went about completing the chore. Back then all I saw was me. The book I was reading. The game I was playing. Now I see my mom's point of view. And I wish I didn't complain. But that's what makes humans so unique; contemplation, the ability to think, evaluate and change. To become better. That's all we can do, try to become better in every way each and every day. We look back to go forward. For some reason I find myself looking back more and more lately. Maybe it's the distance from home. Maybe it's the missing of friends and family. Maybe it's the proximity of the number 30.

Or maybe I'm just trying to go forward.

Perspective

We all have moments in our lives where our prespective on any number of things changes. These changes aren't always sudden, have sometimes been a long time coming. Maybe that time you moved to London for Teacher's College was one of those moments; or perhaps it was the day you said yes to a marriage proposal; or the day you walked away from one; or it could have even been the day that simultaneously your first child, a beautiful daughter, was born and you were diagnosed with cancer; or perhaps it was the day you officially beat that cancer down into remission. Assuredly all of these would have changed a person in profound and undeniable ways.

I've been lucky that the truly heart-wrenching, gut-testing, seemingly Earth-shattering events have seemed to have avoided me. Sure, I've had prespective changes but mine have been a little more subtle. I'm sure my time will come to step up to that plate, but for now I can count myself among the fortunate few and I try to never take that for granted, although I'm sure I have and will again.

Recently I had one of these changes of perspective.  Before I continue, let's look at that phrase because it does get tossed around quite often. What does it really mean? Like anything, that answer is different from person to person. To me it means a change in my belief system and values as well as the ability to look at something in a new way, a way we never could have before that particular event happened to change us.

When I look back and think of the things I've learned these past (almost) 30 (yeesh!) years, I realize that we are constantly evolving; everything around us has and does affect us and cause us to be the person we are right now. Much of who I am has been shaped by the people in my life, those that have come and gone, those that have constantly been by my side, and those that are yet to arrive, "always...at the right moment at the place where [we] await them" (from The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo). Some have shown me the way with love, others with their actions, some with their words, many with their encouragement, and every once in a while someone hands me a book.

Recently I read a book, Eating Animals by Jonathon Saffron Foer. I now count this book among the select few in my personal literary canon that have the ability to change a person, well at least this person.

I thought I'd share this list with you, with the hopes that you'll be curious enough to read one or two or maybe all of the titles and also with the hope that you'll share your list with me.

The Deep South

Finally. Here it is, the post about Tal's (my bro-in-law) visit to New Zealand, mostly the south island. There was much fun had, many stories were shared and new stories created to pass on to the next generation and those yet to come. Since I could write several pages about the 9 day adventure, I won't. I'll simply leave you with a few abbreviated stories and several pictorial highlights.

1) Queenstown. Simply an amazing place. We rode a jetboat in a river canyon, went canyoning (do this if you ever get the chance!), and hung out with the who's who of the New Zealand Art and Film scene at Carrick Winery (thanks to Tal and his wine snobbery).

2) The two day hike up Mount Oxford near Christchurch. Tal wore 12 year old hiking boots and lost the left sole during day one (which we MacGyvered back together). We eneds up getting lost initially and were forced to set up camp on the side of the sloping trail. Dinner consisted of dehydrated meals and fine red wine. The morning brought a monsoon-like downpour and a 3 hour hike down the mountain to the car. Tal did sustain a minor injury during this descent (which was expected by all back home) and walked with a limp for a couple days but healed sufficiently for his journey back to Canada.

3) Hiking the Franz Josef glacier was absolutely magical. What a breathtaking experience.

4) The people we met along the way. So many travellers we came across that became instant friends.

5) Many other stories that I'm forgetting, but we'll just get on with the pictures. As usual, click on any of the photos to make 'em large. Enjoy.

Tal's First NZ waterfall

Waiting to board the ferry to the south island...not looking good.

Parking next to trains on the ferry.

Gravol saved me from this fate.

Pancake Rocks.

On the way to the Franz Josef glacier.

Tal jumped into this lake.

Tal's bed for the night, complete with alarm clock. He was a freak among freaks, or as Hunter S. Thompson once said, "a freak in the freak kingdom."

On approach. Tal was in the guide's ear pretty much the entire trip.

Climbing the ice.

Glaciel goodness. Just ask the Waterboy.

Superman's lair?

Not a bad view.

PB and nutella on top of a glacier.

Tal, that almost looks natural...

Strange beach where people stop to make stacked rock and driftwood art...we joined in, and then I jumped in. My first Pacific Ocean swim.

Filing cabinent Stonehenge? That's what we thought for much of our journey, until I approached one and heard the buzzing of bees making honey.

More crappy views.

The Shotover River, where we took our jetboat ride.

The most famous bunjee bridge in NZ. Neither of us jumped, I'm waiting for July.

Tal and the owner of Carrick Winery strollin' and chattin'.

Not a bad backdrop to hit a bucket of balls, eh? Check out Tal's excellent form, not that mine's much better.

We got bored driving so much (3500kms in 7 days) and started taking photos like this one. Good times.

We saw plenty of riders like these. Crazy.

Gracious host and noted NZ artist, Grahame Sydney.

That car is the coolest.

A Christchurch hostel we stayed in, The Jailhouse. Yes, it was once an active prison. Our room was an old prison cell. Very cool.

These signs were everywhere.

On the way to and at the summit of Mount Oxford.

Tal's busted up shoe.

Creepy forest.

Dinner on the hike.

We spent one day in Auckland taking is museums, climbing trees, and...

...catching some international beach volleyball. Germany defeated NZ in the final. Nice, uh, block.

Happy World Nutella Day!

So my Dad, via email, informed me that today, Friday February 5th 2010, is in fact World Nutella Day.

Giant Jar of Deliciousness

If you're thinking what I thought (and you probably are) when I learned of this joyously decadent day, 'how do I give this day it's well deserved props?', then click here to see how you can celebrate proper.

I can't believe this has been going on for 3 years and I didn't even know. I mean Nutella practically raised me. And I often attribute my freaky unDiPonio-like height to it's calciumy goodness.

Thanks Dad.

Why don't you ride on the footpath.

Hello!
Before I get into updating this here page on the past 7 weeks of adventure/travel, I'm going to document this weekend. Why? Well, I have too many photos and videos to sift through and uploading them takes way too long at my flat. I like to do this work at work, which conveniently starts back up again tomorrow (yippee...but no complaints, because yes, I know how good I have it).

This past weekend I was looking for something to do, as is usual for me on weekends. I realized that a band I saw playing (The Dodos) on Letterman while I was back on Canadian soil was touring NZ. Sure enough, this weekend they were playing in Leigh at The Sawmill Cafe, NZ's equivalent to Phog, the greatest place for live shows in the country. I purchased my ticket.

Then the wheels starting turning, as they do every once in a while, and I decided to see how many kms it was to Leigh from my flat. And I found this map...

View Larger Map

...which isn't working how I want it to, but if it was it would indicate, with a highlighted route, that it's about 70km each way (from where it says North Shore to Leigh [top right hand corner]). So I decided to ride there on my Mountain Bike. Why? Well, as Sir Edmund Hillary once said, because it was there. Not that I'm comparing what I did to what he did, mind you, but I gather that the reasons were similar. Next I ran through my list of items to bring with me.
-Messenger bag with CamelBak strapped to it...check.
-Water in CamelBak, but not nearly enough...check.
-No sunscreen in a country that doesn't have an Ozone layer over it...check.
-Novel...check.
-Bike...check.
-Everything required to change a flat, except tubes...check.
-Rock concert type apparel...check.

Obviously I was ready, so I left Saturday morning. Thankfully, no flats either way, but I did experience a classic NZ ride...extreme sun (and sunburn) and heat, rain, wind, and many many hills. I'll spare you the details and give you the good bits. The Dodos were exceptional, as were the opening act, Ruby Suns (a NZ band). Goat Island was also amazing, although for some reason I couldn't be bothered to take any pics during the entire trip. Whatever. Next time.

Two things I learned...
1 - there's a reason people travelling by bike over long(ish) distances don't carry their gear on their backs...extreme lower back pain. Wow. Never again. I am now looking into panniers.
2 - DB's exist all over the world. Sue mentioned in her blog, On The Dirt Side, about a certain DB that buzzed her while riding. Well, I observed many of those over the weekend, and on 80 and 100 km/h roads with sometimes little to no shoulder on top of that. But one in particular stands out. At this point I was travelling through a lovely little beachside town, Orewa, and there was construction so the road was posted at 30km/h. I was probably doing close to that. A white car rolled by me, passenger window rolls down slowly, and a DB says, "Why don't you ride on the footpath." As Sue did, I answered with a few choice words while also trying to explain the idiocy of his statement, which I'm sure you can all see. If not, well we're not friends anymore.

Well that's just about enough of that. Hope your weekend was as good as, but less painful than, mine.
Cheers,
Dante