How long have I been off the road? Actually, scratch that question. Was I ever on the road to begin with?

Dan has directed me to stop worrying about posting blog photos from eight months ago, and get back to what's going on right now, 'cause things are definitely happening.

In many ways the final days of production of SFD and the dissolve back to the city through the cleansing grasslands of the Pikkani and Blood are such a distant and surreal memory. The lessons have sunk in - at least some of them.

But as is often the case after strange experiences in foreign lands, the return home reveals a new layer never noticed before. For the most, the experience has been characterized with a renewed zest for the art form of film... or maybe just the artistic process and the pragmatic elements that facilitate it.

I'm excited about my ability to "act locally and think globally". Toronto is at an important time in it's lifetime and I'm feeling very excited to be around the intelligence and wisdom of the people who live in my building, on my street and in my neighbourhood. And across this city, there are elements of huge potential in the population's ability to create a better community for ourselves, and thereby become an example of the changing values of modern cities.

Why do I say that, you ask? Toronto is a locus for money (provincial to international). It has a drive toward and chance to attain more autonomy over it's affairs. There is a skilled and intelligent citizenry here made up of a diverse array of cultures. AND -- the secret weapon-- Toronto has an arts scene that is vibrant and arguably growing (though embattled). Good things are possible, and I'm not talking about a championship for the professional hockey team (you can't have everything).

Still, the fiscal realities of living in a city and trying to make art on the side have had some low points, even with all this good energy behind it. I was only away for 6 months. Dan was away for more than four years! I respect some of the thoughts that must have been flowing through his mind has he faced the challenge of refocusing in the place he left behind and the work yet to be done to bring this project into it's next phase.

This brings us to the present. Only a month ago, it seemed everything was frozen. This month has revealed that it was the river in winter: frozen only on the surface, all the while moving steadily from the source to the sea. And so, my work in my trade (continuity) has started to pick up, coinciding with the coordination of elements of SFD's post production (carving the captivating sculpture from the amorphous block of footage) as well as our web platform development. The latter is my portfolio. While I we have a concept, we must learn how to practically apply this concept so that it does what we hope: to create something that will create ripples like a stone in a pond. To do this, the platform will make available more of the footage and connect our audience to the network assembled through the process of production, and allow those contacts and the audience to continue to educate, discuss, and build towards the new paradigm. There is hard work ahead, but the benefits are going to be amazing.

And by dealing with these new challenges, Windpath Films will move toward the goal of producing all manner product that can further understanding of the complexity inherent in man-made systems, and the simplicity of the natural forces that surround us.

To me, this goal is epitomized by the HBO TV series, "The Wire". When I first started watching, I thought it was just a shoot-em-up cops and robbers show. Now (nearing end of season 4), I realize that that was just the tasty bate that brought me into something that I never thought I'd be learning from a TV series: the complexity of and amorality behind the North American concept of justice and so-called democratic capitalism. WHAT THE HELL?! Brilliant and beautiful, because instead of numbing the mind and making it complacent, productions like "The Wire" can reawaken our thoughts about the world around us.

The trip is done, but the journey is just beginning.

Hey friends,
Just a friendly reminder.
If you think an image looks cool.
All you have to do,
is click on it.

More photos still to come from this wonderful journey.
Funny thing? I've already arrived, but in the blog I'm still getting here.

May the new year reveal wonders to inspire you!

So, If you've been looking at some of the places Veronica has driven since SFD began, you'll know that she has taken it on the chin more than once (you may remember Dan's collision with a horse among other illustrious near-misses). Certainly, traveling down roads affected by the rainy season in Nicaragua and Costa Rica dealt some hard blows to the undercarriage. One particular rough and tumble ride broke one of the tail pipes on the road to Playa Santa Teresa.

Above, it's hard to see, but the right tail pipe is completely separated from the muffler. It was being held by just a bit of rusty strapping.


We weren't sure where to go, or who to trust in terms of mechanics. So, on the road out of Santa Theresa we passed a construction site where a Tico (do you remember? this word is what Costa Rican people call themsleves. Female would be Tica) was using an arc-welder and we inquired if maybe he could do the job for us. He said no, but that there was a place on the road to Playa Montezuma (where we were heading for the night) where they worked on GMC trucks. Central America is not a place you see many vehicles from the USA, much less mechanics that are used to working on them. So, we took this as a blessing.

We pulled into a yard where several cars and trucks stood; some waiting for repair, others in various states of disrepair obviously being cannibalized for parts. The hydraulic lifts sat under a simple roof enclosed on two sides by concrete block walls and several stacks of used tires.

The mechanics, a cute lookin' Tica and a baby-faced Tico, stood chatting as we approached. We asked if they could have a look at the muffler and they waved us onto the lift.

Above, the welder assess the situation.


Dan communicated as best he could that he didn't want a new muffler, nor did he want the problem completely fixed. "I have very little money and I just want to get back to Canada." They said it could be done for $40 USD. This price being "right" for Dan's purposes, they looked around the yard and found a length of pipe that was the same gauge and made a patch with the old one. They also attached some new metal strapping to keep both mufflers pipes from dragging.

Above, our man sets to work, and in 20 minutes it was done.



The junkyard had a pack of 3 dogs who were not too keen about Moses sniffing around. So, we kept him in the van. Above, Moses is anxious to get down and out of the van.


While buddy's welding torch showered sparks, I took a stroll around the yard. Industrially designed and machined parts have a definite aesthetic beauty especially when they have the distinctive touches brought about by wear, rust, and oil. Another shelter closer to the yard entrance looked like the spot they performed oil and break fluid changes.

Above, the sign reads (loosely) " No credit for anyone: If you bring your car to be repaired, it's because you have money to pay." Fair warning.



Above, various parts... looks like quite a few of them are alternators, with rad fans hanging above. What a lovely array of browns, eh?



Above, the camera lens is "all up in their grills." That's a lil street lingo pun for you cool kids.



With the repairs complete, we thanked the "surgeon" for giving Veronica's muffler a stay of execution and paid the man. Then we rolled on down the road to Montezuma. Now, the only major problem Veronica had, as far as we knew, was that her wheel alignment was aweful. Taking your hands off the wheel meant she would automatically pull into a hard 45 degree trun! This also was affecting the tires which were wearing down quickly on the inner side.

Perhaps this should have been more of a concern to us. But taking steps to repair would cost money that we didn't have. Or would it?

It's funny, but our attitude towards vehicle maintenance is perhaps a good metaphor for the way we interact with many elements of our lives. It's an attitude mixing the old sayings "if it ain't broke don't fix it" and "speak no evil, hear, no evil, see no evil." Maybe something was wrong with the van. Maybe that something was going to cause an accident. Could we find a few hundred dollars to fix such a problem and avoid that potential? Yes, no doubt. Yet we didn't.

And so it goes with many subtle and overlooked elements of our lives from tooth decay to nutrition, and from education to stewardship of the environment. When the right variable falls in the "grand equation," the ultimate result is death.

Heavy.

It's easy to ignore the "maybes" even if their probability is high. I suppose it's just as easy to be paralyzed by the fear of their probability. But taking stock and soberly evaluating things is never easy to do.

We are at a point in history where humans are being presented with many opportunities to evaluate our existence. Whether we are trying to create a better system of government, discussing within our community the system we exploit to grow our economy, or simply bearing witness to awesome natural phenomenons trying to suss if they're a sign from the spirit world, all give reason to pause. Hopefully more of us are choosing to engage these issues. As with many of life's toughest questions, there are no right answers. There is, however, the chance to create the mindset in future generations that will be better at steering the course between willful ignorance and fearsome knowledge.

As for Veronica, let us say we are just taking a calculated risk.

Above, motors and steering wheels and fan belts, oh my!

Costa Rica had a bit of mystique attached to it. Firstly, it was where Dan had come about 10 years ago and the seed for this whole project had begun to grow. And in more recent memory, our first ill-fated run south made it all the more exciting to finally pass over the border (of course, considering all the people and places we saw as a result, was it hardly seems reasonable to call it "ill-fated").

While getting our papers processed at the border, we ran into a couple Canadian girls (Sara and Silke, above) and gave them a ride to the first city: Liberia. We really haven't taken on many hitchers straight from the roadside. With all the gear in the van, it was just a question of being cagey. All the same, I often wonder what stories and experiences we were missing as a result.


After spending the night in Liberia at a hostel, we said buena suerte to our fellow Canadians, and we drove south along the Nicoya Peninsula, on the west coast of Costa.

The highway was in relatively good condition, but it is set inland, and to make your way to the coast one needs to take a secondary road which 95 % of the time is unpaved dirt or clay. And it being the rainy season, this makes for some tricky driving.

Taking what we thought to be the direct route to our destination, Playa Santa Teresa, turned into a very confusing exercise. We kept running into dead ends where swollen rivers prevented us from continuing down the road. After spending 2 or 3 hours doing this and breaking the muffler on the van fording streams, we were given directions by a farmer which would surely get us to our destination. Only problem, was that the first part of this road was a 1km up a hill on a road of wet clay. To those of you unfamiliar with wet clay, it creates two problems: it is slick as ice and so the tires can't track very well, and it clumps and sticks to everything, especially tires.

The first run up the hill, Veronica just ran out of steam and then began to slide back down, and almost right into a deep trench carved by the torrential rain. We tried 2 more times, while a farmer and his young family looked on. It was not happening. Finally, we gave up and parked for the night on the roadside, agreeing that the next day we would backtrack and take what earlier that day had been dismissed as the "long way" on the map. Lesson: appearances can be deceiving!

Above, the van's rear wheels have swung out and momentum for the uphill climb has been halted for the final time.


Above, the next day a sign confirms that we are very close to our destination: the beaches of Mal Pais and Santa Teresa. We pass lush pastures for grazing as small cattle and horse ranches are common in this area.

Something else I would like to draw attention to in the photo above is the fence behind the sign. At first glance you might have just thought they were a row of stubby trees, but looking again you'll notice that there are thin lines of wire running between them. This is actually a phenomenon that we've seen at various times during the course of our trip south, but I keep forgetting to mention it to you all.

The combination of soil, sun, and moisture available mean that planting a fresh-cut branch is the same thing as growing a plant from a cutting. some of the posts we've seen are close to 40 or 50 years old. We've seen fences where the posts have been left untrimmed and so, are tall trees with barbed wire that has been absorbed into the living wood of the tree leaving them permanently entwined. There's something very beautiful about that - perhaps the understanding that the limits that humans try to impose are not ascribed to by nature.


Arriving on the beach we parked the van at the same hostel where Dan spent several weeks almost 10 years ago. It was off season, and the surf was choppy and pretty rough. Still, this is a surf community and people were out getting hammered by the waves.

Now, I'm not a surfer, but I appreciate the combination of courage, brute strength, endurance, and balance that are required surfers. Just getting out past where the waves begin to break is no mean feat.

So on the day that Dan rented the surf board and headed out into the waves I thought it was important that i get a snap shot of him. Above, Dan paddles his board out through the 2 meter swell. Dan is the little black dot centre frame, at the outer limit of the white wash.


Above, almost dusk, and the light reveals a multitude of greys in the sand, surf, and sky.



The tide has often been used as a metaphor for the changes that are inherent in this world. The traces of our existence, the marks we make on the sandy landscape are wiped away without a trace, leaving a blank canvas and an empty plane which can and will be filled again as the waters recede.

As the ocean draws its waters back, many of the little tidal puddles and pools give off sediment. This sediment can create some beautiful and unique patterns in the sand. The design that you see above came from a puddle under a large uprooted tree stump.



Costa Rica's fauna and flora are often touted to encourage tourism. A multitude of birds (especially humming birds), howler monkeys, and butterflies were our constant companions in the trees among which we had parked. Trees like the pochote tree, above. This tree will make you pay if you stumble into it in the dark! These vicious looking thorns are pretty much exactly what they look to be: seriously pointy and STRONG. Apparently these guys can also give off toxic fumes if burned.



After having been on the beach for a couple days, Dan and I loaded up with most of the cameras in our arsenal and set out for a long walk up the beach. We were going to find the rock face that 10 years earlier had struck Dan uncannily as the head of a sleeping dragon. Would it still be there?

Indeed, it was (above). In the time since his last visit, Dan found that the rock had come to stand completely alone. The sand, ocean, and elements had finally separated it from the main rock formation that it was once a part of. The sand had risen up around it too, making it look like the dragon was hunkered down in it's nest.

Thinking back on circling the dragon with our cameras, wading in the high tide that ebbed at it's base, brings me back to the element of this project that deals with the sacredness of space. There we were, completing a "pilgrimage" to a site that had become special to Dan because of a random association. Yes we were in an exotic local where the elements had created this sculpture over thousands of years, but was this place now "sacred"?

Well, maybe not sacred in terms of organized religion. But, if we think more along the lines of the spiritual energy of a place, then yes. I guess you could say that Dan and I had imbued this rock with a spirit of sacredness.

Yet, is this odd? Thinking of some random place as holy? No, quite the opposite, I feel. We give such significance to ordinary places and spaces in our lives all the time. The favourite coffee shop or bar, the secret lookout over our town, the tree of solace in the park are all examples of seemingly ordinary places that become a place of refuge, comfort, and inspiration to us as individuals. And though we think of such locations as "ours" it is unlikely we are alone in feeling so strongly about them.

Here by the face of the sleeping dragon, I feel I realized something very important. It is not only the established temples in our communities, nor simply the far away exotic locals (Mecca, the Himalayas, Machu Pichu, etc...) that are important to our spirits, even if we are religious. Truly, all of creation is sacred. We are blessed to be surrounded by it all the time and where we are privileged to feel such a quality manifest is where it is meaningful.


Above, the sun sets on our time in Santa Teresa.

Making it through Honduras for the third time felt a lot better than the first attempt. Why? Well, for starters we were less on edge about our security and prepared for the reality of bribing cops and general sketchiness. Also, it wasn't pissing rain on us the whole time because of a tropical storm, though several were brewing off the Pacific coast. Our time in Honduras was extended by a couple days as Dan dealt with a stomach bug that laid him out, but the day he felt better we made our move into Nicaragua.

Arriving at the border offices of Nicaragua we parked the van in the exact same place we had parked about a month prior when we had been denied entry because our passport expiry dates were too close (they required at least 6 months). Now, with brand new passports we were assured an easy entry.

Above, a bike "taxi" is parked outside the vehicle registration office of Nicaragua. As you may remember me mentioning before, in Mexico and Central America, the only thing that really complicates your passing between countries is a vehicle - especially if you are a tourist. For this reason, many people hitch or take a bus or a taxi to the border. Then they walk (or take a taxi) to the other side, where they can get on another ride to their destination.

While at the border, we noticed a teal green pick-up with Quebec plates. We were happy to think that people from our native land were here, too. About an hour down the road we pulled into a gas station and the pick-up pulled in beside us. The young couple in it (Pauline and Thomas), as it turned out, were French but we decided we didn't care (haha!). Pauline had been studying in Montreal, Thomas had joined her and they had taken a few months to drive down this way to reunite with his brother who was living in surf town called Popoyo on the Pacific coast. We decided to caravan with them seeing as they were going our way.

On the road we had a little excitement when their truck got a flat tire. The excitement wasn't in the changing of the tire, or the subsequent search for one of the tire repair shacks that pepper any major road from Mexico southward; rather, rather it was the opportunity to use our emergency triangular reflectors. These things we all had been obliged to buy for our vehicles by the Honduran police...to avoid tickets/bribes like those which we paid on our first trip through the country. Above, the glee on the faces of Dan and Pauline is irrepressible!



Nicaragua's highways were quite scenic. Lush green flat lands lay on either side of the road, usually in use as fields for crops or grazing. Off to one side or the other rose impressive humps that were active volcanoes; one was always in view.

The infrastructure was a stark contrast to the area of Honduras through which we had just passed. Homes were in pretty good shape. Roads were decent (except for the old highway that we found ourselves on at one point which basically was pocked by islands of pavement). Buildings seemed structurally sound, too. People seemed in good spirits. And all around were the familiar signs of the benevolent hand of corporate citizens like big oil companies' in the shape of their giant service stations and truck stops. These are the perfect places to park and sleep in safety. Every Nica/Nico (nickname of a Nicaraguan) that we spoke to said that the country is very safe. (Above, behind the curtains, Pauline getting dressed in the morning.) Ah yes, very safe. Ironically, we were told there was some kind of gang brawl in the parking lot by our French friends. Dan, Moses, and I slept like babies.


Above, trottin' down the highway. Nicaragua seems to be a great land for horses. Lots of fields filled with nice looking stock and many people still partnered with a horse for their work herding.



Above, I said the roads are in pretty good shape, this does not mean that they are free of potholes that will break your axles, as evidenced above.



Popoyo is in the south-western end of Nicaragua. Like many spots known for surfing, it is not on the main drag and requires travel down about about 30 or 40 kilometers of dirt roads. These roads were in decent shape though because it is the rainy season, creeks and streams are swolen everywhere and so having one wash over the road is to be expected. That being said, the seasons' rains can also leave some roads completely impassable. As we were finding our way to Popoyo, we did run into a few of these, the photo above shows one.

Looking on the highway map in Canada is usually a good way to predict the kind of roads you can expect; down here a map, if you actually find one, can only tell you where there is supposed to be a road. Hell, sometimes the people don't even know!


A few minutes Before running into this mess, we were asking locals some in their front yards and some on horseback if we could make it through to the road that would take us to Popoyo. And they all seemed to think we'd be fine. And if we were riding horses, we would have been fine. We had forded a few deep streams and skidded down a few sloppy runways, but a 50 foot long puddle, with more than a foot of greasy mud was our match. We made our way back to the main road, and got a second opinion as to how to reach Popoyo.


Arriving in Popoyo in the mid-afternoon we went out to the beach to swim and find Thomas' brother who was catching the afternoon surf. Popoyo, is becoming well known because its gentle, predictable, and beautifully shaped waves. The secret is the off-shore wind that blows all year round Lago Nicaragua to the east. This wind keeps the shape of the wave longer before it collapses in on itself, in turn allowing the surfers a few more seconds of bliss. Or at least this is what I was told.

Nicaragua is open for business and many people have been coming from other countries (U.S., Canada, France, Germany, etc...) to take advantage of the relatively stable political climate to buy cheep land. A surf spot like this will not remain quiet for too long and perhaps is already pulling a much larger number of tourists. Is this good or bad? Who knows at this point? But for Thomas' bro, things seem to be good. After leaving a skateboard shop he started in France he came here. Now, he owns a plot of land close to the ocean, surfs, and bakes French bread every day. Perhaps his tune will change if the beach becomes overrun with surf-tourists. Or maybe that is what he's waiting for? Regardless you get the feeling this is just the start of that wave coming to this country.

Not many photos from this stint in Honduras. If you read my earlier blog about our ill-fated run to Costa Rica, you'll know that our initial impression of the country was not very good because of the experience at the stress of El Salvador-Honduras border and then the corrupt cops. However, this time we were determined to have no problems!
Sadly, this was not the case. As we came close to the border we were surrounded by the usual flocks of people looking to "help" with our paperwork. Dan refused their offers at first, but when a border guard looked at the van's registration and declared it "no good", confiscating it along with Dan's passport, we had no choice.
It took an hour for the dude who was our rep, to convince the young border guard to accept a bribe. Dan had thought about trying to complain to a superior, but then realized that the superior seemed to be completely aware of the situation - maybe he was getting a kick-back. 40 or 50 USD later we were ready to start the paperwork to get into the country.
The young guard who was responsible for our delay let us know that he was being "nice" to us, because if he wanted he could have us impounded for 3 days while they cleared our paperwork. And the kicker is that he's right, we could have easily been subject to that kind of delay. So we swallowed that bitter pill.
In retrospect, Dan's theory was that the guy who was helping us, probably ran ahead to the border guard and told him to hold us up so that they could make some money off us. Wouldn't be surprising.
Above, I sit in the van and wonder, "Where is Dan?" Meanwhile the border's traffic flowed in and out. Truckers, mostly. It looks placid enough, but that belies the stressful situations that can arise at boarders for anyone, but more often those who are foreigners.


Drained from another crappy experience getting into Honduras. Dan and I found a motel in the first town we stopped in, to relax and shower. It was at this place that I tried my first bag of water (above). Good idea for reducing waste, I guess.


In the courtyard of the motel, there happened to be a whole bunch of folks from the United States. We found out that they were missionaries down here to do development work through a local church. As always, many projects revolved around getting people medical attention for simple problems that we have almost forgotten about in Canada and the US. Such problems as diarrhea, can easily spiral into a life threatening ailment.
Anyway, these folks were very friendly, and invited us to their parting dinner at their host's house. We accepted gratefully and piled into a large van that ferried us to his family's home. There we were treated to a wonderful spread of dishes: pork and chicken prepared in a couple ways, salads, and would you believe lobster tails? Seriously! Opulence for a couple van-bound drifters!
Above, the vultures are circling the delicious platters prepared by our host's family.


That night we had some good conversation with some of the group. Above, the following day, early, they set out for the airport to return to their homes in Atlanta.
Looking at the roll played by all development organizations down in Mexico and Central America it is obvious that the process can be a fractured and under-informed response to very serious issues. Meaning, money and the efforts of volunteers like those above can pretty much just go down the drain without making a lasting positive impact. That said, when a group like these good Christians can become connected to a community, they get to know better the needs of a specific region, and maybe can provide more effective help than simply throwing money and capital resources at problems.
Dan and I discussed the negative stigma that we have in our minds when we think of the term "missionary". Likely, this is just a product of our adverse feelings to the kind of religious zeal and paternalism that has been associated with the many Christian sects and missionary activity around the world, in the past. This is an unfair prejudice, because we have seen other world aid groups (secular groups) screw up in the past too.