I arrived last night in
the town Nelson, British Columbia around 400 miles inland from
Vancouver after leaving Seattle on Thursday, heading north to Canada
once more via Greyhound for three action packed days in Vancouver. As
per usual I arrived at night, but for the first time in all my
travels I'd managed to arrange to do a bit of couch surfing – for
the uninitiated this is a website that lets you find people in
different locations around the world who have a spare bed or sofa
they are willing to have guests come and stay on. In my case Rey
Torres who replied to my application as my focus on co-operatives
peaked his interest being an employee of the biggest Credit Union
(co-operative bank) in Canada.
On arrival I was warmly
welcomed by Rey along with his friend Miguel and served my first home
cooked meal of this trip; a rather delicious marinated pork chop and
Chinese vegetables. After dinner we sat down and began to get to know
one another and much to our shared delight we discovered a we were
both burners! Granted Rey is a rather more seasoned burner than I
having attended the last nine in a row but whether its one or nine it
all still counts.
On Friday I got up and
made a trip to downtown Vancouver where I found more helpful people
than a worldwide convention of Samaritans. Whether it was to give
directions, serve me a coffee, or sort out my laundry every single
person I met here was warm, generous and only to happy to go the
extra mile. The city reflects this with clean streets and lots of
smiling faces despite the fog bound conditions that endured for
pretty much my entire stay. Later I met with Roy Symonds and his wife
Roy's an old friend who I haven't seen since we left school which
makes it a cool eighteen years who's been living out here for the
last four or five. He like most round these parts loves the outdoor
life and took me for a hike up the Grouse Grind – a very steep
climb up a mountainside that takes you up to the top of Grouse ski
resort immediately north of the city. It climbs to around 3,500 ft in
no time at all with most of the trail consisting of hefty stone steps
sometimes as much as three foot high a time. Even before we'd started
the climb we'd come high enough to get above the clouds, although no
views were forthcoming until we reached the summit after 90 minutes
of panting (on my part at any rate) and clambering thanks to the pine
trees covering the steeply sloping face of the mountain. When we did
make to the top the views across the cloud covered city to Vancouver
island in the west and south towards the Rockies and in particular
the snowy peak of Mount Baker back in Washington state were
sensational. Appreciation all aided in no small part by the
conveniently located lodge with bar serving up some fine BC beer. In
the night I went to a burner party with Rey and met with my buddy
Adrian who lives and works in Vancouver. He and I have now managed to
meet three times on three separate continents (South Africa, Peru and
now Canada) in the last year and it looks as though we'll meet again
in India come next February!
Saturday morning marked
the start of a conference on the New Economy. For those not in the
know it can best be described as an ecosystem of institutions and
business models that aim to democratise and empower all members of
society, ensuring natural and human resources are deployed and
consumed equitably and sustainably. If that still sounds a little
nebulous, lets just say its there are lots of co-operatives engaged
in this area and its therefore a great place to link up and learn
about some really cool stuff for the book I'm currently researching /
writing. The conference itself was located on Glanville island
sitting under the main bridge that takes you downtown from southern
Vancouver. Until its recent conversion the the island was the
location for most of the fishing industry's processing plants (Much
like Seattle this is a watery city and boats of all sorts be it
container ships or pleasure cruisers line the bays and inlets around
the city). Nowadays the old industrial buildings on the island are
filled with farmers markets, hotels, restaurants and artisanal shops
of all descriptions. Some remnants of its industrial part do remain
intact with a working concrete plant tucked to one side of the
island. I won't go into the details of the conference suffice it to
say I learnt about a heck of a lot of cool and innovative stuff going
on in Vancouver co-operatives and made a half dozen really good
contacts (if you're really interested I've got an article on the
conference I'll be putting up on a new website in the not too
distant).
Saturday night Rey took
me along to see a friend of his Jazz orchestra at SFU in Gastown, the
oldest part of Vancouver. To my delight the band turned out to be
comprised of some the best jazz musicians in Canada and their
performance (a tribute to Kenny Wheeler – Canadian trumpet and
composing jazz legend who lives in London) included a world premiere
of a new Kenny Wheeler piece. The music as it has the potential to do
transported me to a different world with its complex harmonics and
pwerful horn section. And the flugel horn player who took up the lead
more often than not played with a tone and control that was something
you have to see and hear to believe.
Sunday was my last day in
Vancouver and the conference. Rey who'd been so kind right through my
trip and in three days become a good friend threw a little dinner
party in the evening where he served up Lamb shanks, red wine and
good company. And that was the end of my three action packed days in
home of the Canucks. Not sure when I'll be back but I look forward to
spending more time here, its got an easy charm all of its own and I
can understand why everyone seems so damn happy to be there.
Tuesday 22 October 2013
Wednesday 16 October 2013
16th October 2013
I'm writing this blog
sitting in the Twedes diner in North Bend perhaps better known as the
RR diner in Twin Peaks. I guess this is as close to a pilgrimage as
it comes for an atheist like me? While Twedes interior may not be
quite as enchanting as it was on the show nor the waitress quite as
sexy as Shelly Johnson I'm definitely feeling a little tingly. I
travelled here by bus from Seattle this morning and my plan is to
walk around and see the a few of the sites and sounds that are so
familiar to a Twin Peaks fan like me.
Since my last post I've left Eugene behind and arrived in Seattle on route to Vancouver before I finally kiss the Pacific coast goodbye and start my journey across the continent to the bright lights of New York city. I spent my last couple of days in Eugene being a little more social than the earlier part of my stay and sampled a few of the local wares, not least of all the beer. Eugene and more generally the northwest (Oregon and Washington states) enjoy the perfect conditions to grow hops and there are more breweries operating in these parts than anywhere else in the world. Eugene a relatively small city has more than three breweries all offering a vast range of beers. Last Thursday I visited the Ninkasi brewery (apparently she was the Sumerian goddess of beer) where there is a shiny new tasting room attached to the brewery and its full range of regular and one off beers are available.
Eugene not only provided me with delicious beer it also perhaps more surprisingly served up some of the best pizza I've ever eaten in a restaurant called Sizzle Pie. Its located in the heart of downtown just opposite Ken Kessey of The Merry Pranksters fame (see Tom Wolfe's – Electric Kool Aid Acid Test if you're not sure who he or the Pranksters were). They offer slices, salads or entire pizzas who's proportions are on a par with the restaurant's tables. As well as pizza I enjoyed a visit to a Japanese cocktail bar and restaurant who served up great octopus and Japanese mules (not sure what goes into this cocktail but it was spicy, sharp and delicious).
I arrived in Seattle late Sunday night under cover of darkness which appears to be my default mode of entry into nearly every city I visit. Monday revealed a clean and spacious town with far fewer homeless than I'd grown accustomed to in San Francisco and Eugene. My hostel is close to the waterfront in the Belltown district (not saying much in such a watery city where the Puget sound and associated waterways weave between the city street). It feels like an industrious sort of place and is home to some of the biggest names in business, Boeing, Microsoft and Starbucks to name but a few. It also marks the base of operations for the USA's northern Pacific fishing fleet who can be assured of shelter from the stormy winters in the sound. This in turn explain the number of seafood restaurants I've spotted around here and the burly looking guys wearing flannel shirts who an American guy I was speaking with in a nearby dive bar explained were fisherman.
Yesterday I visited the EMP (Experience Music Project) – a huge museum for contemporary music that was paid for by Paul Allen of Microsoft fame (or is that infamy?) designed by Frank Geary (he of the Guggenheim in Bilbao). Its located just beneath the space needle so finding it wasn't a problem. I believe the exhibitions change around a little but happily the four on offer yesterday were all phenomenal. The first order of business was the Jimi Hendrix exhibit. I'd heard thorough the grapevine Allen had originally commissioned the museum to serve as a Hendrix museum but his family who control his estate refused. I'm not sure if this is myth or reality – either way I was happy they had an exhibit official or not. The exhibition basically told the story of Jimi's time in London where he first became a star. It succeeded in transporting me to the Swinging London with its mixture of artefacts (can I call a guitar form 1967 an artefact?) and interactive audio-visual pieces. There were of course the obligatory smashed guitars as well as a few in better repair and standing next to them you do feel a sense of being closer to Jimi. The same goes for Kurt Cobain who's biography was detailed in an even more comprehensive manner in the exhibition on grunge and the Seattle music scene that was in part curated by Chris Novacek formerly of Nirvana. I know both Kurt and Jimi are members of the 27 club but there was something much more somber about Cobain's history. Perhaps its just that stark reality of blowing your brains out with a shotgun as opposed to choking inadvertently on your own vomit? Or maybe its the music each made? I'm really not sure. The two remaining exhibitions – The Hall of Guitars and an area upstairs where you can play guitar, bass, drums and keyboards – scratch DJ or produce a Eurythmics track provided some lighter entertainment. All tolled I spent around four hours in there, a time I think bettered only by the Met in NYC in my history of museum going. And if you ever get to Seattle you have to check it out.
I'm going to have slice of cherry pie now before heading over to the Great Northern hotel and the location of the Twin Peaks title credits vista. Tomorrow its Vancouver where once again I'll arrive in the dark of night, unless of course Bob gets me (TP fans only)...
Since my last post I've left Eugene behind and arrived in Seattle on route to Vancouver before I finally kiss the Pacific coast goodbye and start my journey across the continent to the bright lights of New York city. I spent my last couple of days in Eugene being a little more social than the earlier part of my stay and sampled a few of the local wares, not least of all the beer. Eugene and more generally the northwest (Oregon and Washington states) enjoy the perfect conditions to grow hops and there are more breweries operating in these parts than anywhere else in the world. Eugene a relatively small city has more than three breweries all offering a vast range of beers. Last Thursday I visited the Ninkasi brewery (apparently she was the Sumerian goddess of beer) where there is a shiny new tasting room attached to the brewery and its full range of regular and one off beers are available.
Eugene not only provided me with delicious beer it also perhaps more surprisingly served up some of the best pizza I've ever eaten in a restaurant called Sizzle Pie. Its located in the heart of downtown just opposite Ken Kessey of The Merry Pranksters fame (see Tom Wolfe's – Electric Kool Aid Acid Test if you're not sure who he or the Pranksters were). They offer slices, salads or entire pizzas who's proportions are on a par with the restaurant's tables. As well as pizza I enjoyed a visit to a Japanese cocktail bar and restaurant who served up great octopus and Japanese mules (not sure what goes into this cocktail but it was spicy, sharp and delicious).
I arrived in Seattle late Sunday night under cover of darkness which appears to be my default mode of entry into nearly every city I visit. Monday revealed a clean and spacious town with far fewer homeless than I'd grown accustomed to in San Francisco and Eugene. My hostel is close to the waterfront in the Belltown district (not saying much in such a watery city where the Puget sound and associated waterways weave between the city street). It feels like an industrious sort of place and is home to some of the biggest names in business, Boeing, Microsoft and Starbucks to name but a few. It also marks the base of operations for the USA's northern Pacific fishing fleet who can be assured of shelter from the stormy winters in the sound. This in turn explain the number of seafood restaurants I've spotted around here and the burly looking guys wearing flannel shirts who an American guy I was speaking with in a nearby dive bar explained were fisherman.
Yesterday I visited the EMP (Experience Music Project) – a huge museum for contemporary music that was paid for by Paul Allen of Microsoft fame (or is that infamy?) designed by Frank Geary (he of the Guggenheim in Bilbao). Its located just beneath the space needle so finding it wasn't a problem. I believe the exhibitions change around a little but happily the four on offer yesterday were all phenomenal. The first order of business was the Jimi Hendrix exhibit. I'd heard thorough the grapevine Allen had originally commissioned the museum to serve as a Hendrix museum but his family who control his estate refused. I'm not sure if this is myth or reality – either way I was happy they had an exhibit official or not. The exhibition basically told the story of Jimi's time in London where he first became a star. It succeeded in transporting me to the Swinging London with its mixture of artefacts (can I call a guitar form 1967 an artefact?) and interactive audio-visual pieces. There were of course the obligatory smashed guitars as well as a few in better repair and standing next to them you do feel a sense of being closer to Jimi. The same goes for Kurt Cobain who's biography was detailed in an even more comprehensive manner in the exhibition on grunge and the Seattle music scene that was in part curated by Chris Novacek formerly of Nirvana. I know both Kurt and Jimi are members of the 27 club but there was something much more somber about Cobain's history. Perhaps its just that stark reality of blowing your brains out with a shotgun as opposed to choking inadvertently on your own vomit? Or maybe its the music each made? I'm really not sure. The two remaining exhibitions – The Hall of Guitars and an area upstairs where you can play guitar, bass, drums and keyboards – scratch DJ or produce a Eurythmics track provided some lighter entertainment. All tolled I spent around four hours in there, a time I think bettered only by the Met in NYC in my history of museum going. And if you ever get to Seattle you have to check it out.
I'm going to have slice of cherry pie now before heading over to the Great Northern hotel and the location of the Twin Peaks title credits vista. Tomorrow its Vancouver where once again I'll arrive in the dark of night, unless of course Bob gets me (TP fans only)...
Wednesday 9 October 2013
9th October 2013
I've been in Eugene,
Oregon since leaving San Francisco on Sunday a week later than
planned thanks to a bout of flu that knocked me out for a couple of
days. My original plan on departing San Francisco was to visit
Portland where there are a wealth of co-operatives. But having missed
my original booking I decided it would be better to spend some time
in a more tranquil environment where I could collect the abundance of
thoughts floating around my head from the many interviews I'd
conducted with co-operatives in the Bay area I'd visited, and write
it all up without the distractions of hostel life. To that end I
booked a week in an RV (recreational vehicle, motorhome, Winnebago or
whatever other name you may choose) via the wonderful website that is
AirBnB – if you're not aware of it check it out now
(https://www.airbnb.com/).
The highlight of the last few days I spent in San Francisco following my recovery was The Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival held in Golden Gate Park. I was hoping to hear the thrum of banjos, washboards and pedal steel but sadly our rather late arrival meant we only had time for a bite to eat at our friend Turtle Smasher's food truck: Me So Hungry (http://mesohungrytruck.com/) and a couple of bands. Happily this was ample compensation.
Me So Hungry serves up gourmet sliders (mini burgers for those not in the know). I opted for a couple of Cali sliders which consisted of burger, gorgonzola, balsamic sautéed onions and smoked applewood bacon. Delicious doesn't even begin to describe and the taste sensation and the sweet potato fries with spiced sour cream were on pretty much the same level. Of course it all tastes better when its free and thanks to Turtle Smasher's offer of trading Eva, Audrey and I food for beer our bill amounted to a little over two bucks each, which in my book is pretty close to free!
Once we'd finished with the sliders we headed to the stage Connor Oberst was curating and headlining. He also goes by the name of Bright Eyes and was at some point the latest “new Dylan”, I'm sure they've found someone else to hand that one of now. The stage was set in a beautiful tree lined dell with the stage nestled at the far end. I should quickly mention the festival was entirely free (see previous paragraph for my thoughts on free stuff). There's a pretty longstanding tradition of free music festivals in San Francisco and given the generally bohemian populous, clement weather and vibrant music scene here its easy to understand why. The first band to play were First Aid Kit, a Swedish folk duo who are apparently sisters. Their songs were sweet and pastoral not unlike the Fleet Foxes if a little more stripped back. I haven't been to many festivals where the tempo is quite so slow but on a day like that Friday it seemed entirely appropriate and its pretty great to watch the band lying on the grass without the usual obstructions (i.e. other festival goers jumping around boisterously). Sadly this didn't last as Mr Oberst's arrival on stage triggered what seemed like a couple of thousand young women's arrival, who were almost to the last one stood on tip-toes with tearful expressions on their faces. I resisted the temptation to join in with the waterworks but rose to my feet and enjoyed his brand of emotionally charged contemporary folk music, albeit not quite as much as the rest of the audience. Good times indeed.
I'm looking forward to returning to San Francisco later in November to see some of the friends I've made and hopefully discover a few more of the treasure trove of hidden gems this city has to offer. For now its onwards and northwards...
Eugene, is a smallish city that lies pretty much right in the middle of the Interstate 5 corridor. The road connects California to Portland in the very north of Oregon and is where most of the state's, well at least its more liberal members abide, running northwards, charting a course that runs parallel to the coast around 50 miles inland. The western half of the state is for the most part tree covered, with Sequoias, Douglas firs and all manner of pines covering its hillsides. Eugene keeps this theme going, although it has rather more deciduous trees than the conifers that dominated the landscape on the journey here. My timing weather-wise has been less than perfect (it rained pretty much all day the last two days) but these trees have put on a colourful display with pinks, auburn, gold and green that offer some compensation. Rain or shine each day I've bicycled into the centre of town along the banks of the Williamette river who's banks are lined with trees proudly displaying their colourful canopies. There's a pretty sleepy sort of feel here, although I'm sure if I was to venture towards the part of town where the University of Oregon resides I'd find a little more action. But I'm not, so I won't.
The RV is perfect for my needs, I have gas, electricity, wifi and running water. A comfortable bed and desk to write at and best of all peace and quiet. It really is blissful, especially now I've figured out how to fit in the shower. Perhaps I'll do a little more exploring here before I go but for now the best thing Eugene has to offer is the sanctuary that is my RV.
The highlight of the last few days I spent in San Francisco following my recovery was The Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival held in Golden Gate Park. I was hoping to hear the thrum of banjos, washboards and pedal steel but sadly our rather late arrival meant we only had time for a bite to eat at our friend Turtle Smasher's food truck: Me So Hungry (http://mesohungrytruck.com/) and a couple of bands. Happily this was ample compensation.
Me So Hungry serves up gourmet sliders (mini burgers for those not in the know). I opted for a couple of Cali sliders which consisted of burger, gorgonzola, balsamic sautéed onions and smoked applewood bacon. Delicious doesn't even begin to describe and the taste sensation and the sweet potato fries with spiced sour cream were on pretty much the same level. Of course it all tastes better when its free and thanks to Turtle Smasher's offer of trading Eva, Audrey and I food for beer our bill amounted to a little over two bucks each, which in my book is pretty close to free!
Once we'd finished with the sliders we headed to the stage Connor Oberst was curating and headlining. He also goes by the name of Bright Eyes and was at some point the latest “new Dylan”, I'm sure they've found someone else to hand that one of now. The stage was set in a beautiful tree lined dell with the stage nestled at the far end. I should quickly mention the festival was entirely free (see previous paragraph for my thoughts on free stuff). There's a pretty longstanding tradition of free music festivals in San Francisco and given the generally bohemian populous, clement weather and vibrant music scene here its easy to understand why. The first band to play were First Aid Kit, a Swedish folk duo who are apparently sisters. Their songs were sweet and pastoral not unlike the Fleet Foxes if a little more stripped back. I haven't been to many festivals where the tempo is quite so slow but on a day like that Friday it seemed entirely appropriate and its pretty great to watch the band lying on the grass without the usual obstructions (i.e. other festival goers jumping around boisterously). Sadly this didn't last as Mr Oberst's arrival on stage triggered what seemed like a couple of thousand young women's arrival, who were almost to the last one stood on tip-toes with tearful expressions on their faces. I resisted the temptation to join in with the waterworks but rose to my feet and enjoyed his brand of emotionally charged contemporary folk music, albeit not quite as much as the rest of the audience. Good times indeed.
I'm looking forward to returning to San Francisco later in November to see some of the friends I've made and hopefully discover a few more of the treasure trove of hidden gems this city has to offer. For now its onwards and northwards...
Eugene, is a smallish city that lies pretty much right in the middle of the Interstate 5 corridor. The road connects California to Portland in the very north of Oregon and is where most of the state's, well at least its more liberal members abide, running northwards, charting a course that runs parallel to the coast around 50 miles inland. The western half of the state is for the most part tree covered, with Sequoias, Douglas firs and all manner of pines covering its hillsides. Eugene keeps this theme going, although it has rather more deciduous trees than the conifers that dominated the landscape on the journey here. My timing weather-wise has been less than perfect (it rained pretty much all day the last two days) but these trees have put on a colourful display with pinks, auburn, gold and green that offer some compensation. Rain or shine each day I've bicycled into the centre of town along the banks of the Williamette river who's banks are lined with trees proudly displaying their colourful canopies. There's a pretty sleepy sort of feel here, although I'm sure if I was to venture towards the part of town where the University of Oregon resides I'd find a little more action. But I'm not, so I won't.
The RV is perfect for my needs, I have gas, electricity, wifi and running water. A comfortable bed and desk to write at and best of all peace and quiet. It really is blissful, especially now I've figured out how to fit in the shower. Perhaps I'll do a little more exploring here before I go but for now the best thing Eugene has to offer is the sanctuary that is my RV.
Monday 7 October 2013
7th October 2013
I've finally left the Bay Area, all be it a little later than planned thanks to a bout of sickness and find myself in Eugene, Oregon. I've talked about the stoop by the
hostel I stayed at in San Francisco in earlier blog posts and today's post goes back there...
I met so many people there all with a different story to tell but as I reflect on the goings on I find myself thinking about a young Canadian man I met there from Saskatchewan, “right in the middle [of Canada]” as he so aptly described it. His name was Sterling, I found this out only after mistakenly suggesting he might have Scots or Irish roots (I suspect knowing his name would have done little to shake this misapprehension), it turned out he wasn't and was in fact a little Hungarian and the rest Cree Indian. A quick check on Wikipedia reveals the Cree are one of the largest remaining Native American tribe, at around 200,000 strong which seems like quite a few more than I'd guesstimated... He had strong features and dark auburn hair with freckled skin and noble green eyes. His voice, soft and scratchy was self deprecating and manner, almost old fashioned.
It turns out he's here to skate, not like the other “skaters” I've met on the stoop who are to be found across San Francisco and the state of California. Instead Sterling skates on ice, chasing a puck at breakneck speed in the game of ice hockey. He was visiting San Francisco to try out for a professional team. On hearing this news I naively asked if it was with the NHL (the main ice hockey league in North America). He looked a little embarrassed by my enquiry and named a different league that I hadn't heard of. Scrabbling to move onto more solid ground I suggested a parallel between the league he was joining and AAA baseball (the level beneath the major leagues in baseball), he agreed with this comparison and was assured by everyone around's insistence that this was still a big deal.
It turns out this was Sterling's second try out, coming to San Francisco by way of Miami. I asked how this had gone, to which he replied “pretty good”. Sounds promising thinks I and suggest he'll have less pressure on this time round given this would be his second try out and he'd have a better idea what to expect. He answered “sure, no pressure”. Now I was confused... This young man who seemed so humble just moments ago was equipped with vein filled with liquid nitrogen, “no pressure”? The slow, soothing cadence of Sterling's voice was interspersed with lengthy gaps and it is only now with hindsight I realise the pause that followed this latest uttering was one of them. After what seemed like minutes he went on... “I figured now I've seen Miami and they've offered me a contract I'd come here. The flight was paid so I thought I why not?” The light switched on... he was so understated the offer of a contract only merited “pretty good”!
This humble aspect of Sterling struck me (obviously - I'm writing about it in my blog), I think it reflected a very different perspective on life he has vs. most of the people I met in day to day life – accepting most of its been spent in cities. We talked for quite a while and he described life in northern Saskatchewan within Native American culture. He'd spent sometime working on the tar sands which were the first real employment opportunity that'd been available to him. But life without the tar sands growing up had been tough... He was raised with his siblings by his mum, a challenge in itself but Saskatchewan doesn't have many people, especially up north, the landscape is flat - covered in forests, lakes and tundra the winters are bitter and long. It was listening to this life I realised the reason I was so fascinated wasn't some romanticised notion of life in the wilderness, it was the way he reminded me of my father who's manner so similar. He too choses his words carefully and would wish no ill will on another sole but this quiet nature is underpinned with a steely will. It made sense to me that Saskatchewan, Canada and The Isle of Lewis, Scotland could produce two such similar souls, I suppose they're rare in the western world as there are fewer edges of real wilderness within our environs – perhaps none remain in Scotland? My father may have been the last of his kind, and Sterling for that matter too with the Tar Sands bringing money and people and change may be the last of his kind from Canada too?
Its interesting, the tar sands didn't really seem to trigger even a flicker in Sterling when he mentioned it. This in part might be a function of his own naivety or perhaps its simply the fact that a job that pays good money where opportunities are so scarce trumps everything? Certainly these played some part but the concerted efforts of the Canadian government to censure scientists rights of free speech. Via strict control of all research funding made available by government and private industry the Canadian government cherry picks projects that will support industrial interests (this isn't isolated to the Canadian government – take a look at George Monbiot's article on it http://www.monbiot.com/2013/09/30/age-of-unreason/). Over time the narrow band of opinion expressed by scientists that is broadly supportive of exploitation of the tar sands, arctic drilling, fracking or whatever else it may be seeps into public consciousness via whatever media channels they're plugged into. Its another case in point of how few of our opinions are formed in an unbiased environment. Science is so often reduced to a debating point in public debate hosted by the press that can stand or fall based on opinion as opposed to cold hard analysis of test results that must be comprehensive if they are to support anything pertaining to be science. We just get normalised to some much stuff, and ironically its perhaps most difficult to see in in ourselves...
Sterling's history reminded me of something that John Curl (the godfather of coops in the Bay Area and writer of one of the best books on coops and American history I've read: For All the People). When I asked him about why had the Bay Area had enjoyed a thriving ecosystem of coops in part of his answer (the answer consisting of a number of combinatory factors) he reminded me that the United States was populated with the descendants of pretty intrepid people who've been arriving in this vast nation for more than two hundred years. Only the most fearless members of communities in Europe and Asia travelled to the states and most African Americans had to survive the passage from Africa aboard slaver's vessels. This meant they one and all share some optimistic / survivalist component of their DNA / make-up. California is a microcosm of the US in this context and has over the last hundred or so years seen the arrival of frontiers people ready to work hard and innovate. Be it the gold rush, the summer of love, or silicon valley. Sterling had something of the frontiersman about him. And although his brand was perhaps more authentic I've met many others who like him share that intrepid nature here. Where his grandfather had traded in the deep interior of Canada with Cree Indian, and now he travelling down to San Francisco to play hockey... I'm beginning to understand why Americans don't hold passports. Why would you when a new life and a fresh start lies just one state away and there are 50 to choose from, all speak english and all accept dollars. Its easy, and I'm now here in Eugene, Oregon for my latest fresh start...
I met so many people there all with a different story to tell but as I reflect on the goings on I find myself thinking about a young Canadian man I met there from Saskatchewan, “right in the middle [of Canada]” as he so aptly described it. His name was Sterling, I found this out only after mistakenly suggesting he might have Scots or Irish roots (I suspect knowing his name would have done little to shake this misapprehension), it turned out he wasn't and was in fact a little Hungarian and the rest Cree Indian. A quick check on Wikipedia reveals the Cree are one of the largest remaining Native American tribe, at around 200,000 strong which seems like quite a few more than I'd guesstimated... He had strong features and dark auburn hair with freckled skin and noble green eyes. His voice, soft and scratchy was self deprecating and manner, almost old fashioned.
It turns out he's here to skate, not like the other “skaters” I've met on the stoop who are to be found across San Francisco and the state of California. Instead Sterling skates on ice, chasing a puck at breakneck speed in the game of ice hockey. He was visiting San Francisco to try out for a professional team. On hearing this news I naively asked if it was with the NHL (the main ice hockey league in North America). He looked a little embarrassed by my enquiry and named a different league that I hadn't heard of. Scrabbling to move onto more solid ground I suggested a parallel between the league he was joining and AAA baseball (the level beneath the major leagues in baseball), he agreed with this comparison and was assured by everyone around's insistence that this was still a big deal.
It turns out this was Sterling's second try out, coming to San Francisco by way of Miami. I asked how this had gone, to which he replied “pretty good”. Sounds promising thinks I and suggest he'll have less pressure on this time round given this would be his second try out and he'd have a better idea what to expect. He answered “sure, no pressure”. Now I was confused... This young man who seemed so humble just moments ago was equipped with vein filled with liquid nitrogen, “no pressure”? The slow, soothing cadence of Sterling's voice was interspersed with lengthy gaps and it is only now with hindsight I realise the pause that followed this latest uttering was one of them. After what seemed like minutes he went on... “I figured now I've seen Miami and they've offered me a contract I'd come here. The flight was paid so I thought I why not?” The light switched on... he was so understated the offer of a contract only merited “pretty good”!
This humble aspect of Sterling struck me (obviously - I'm writing about it in my blog), I think it reflected a very different perspective on life he has vs. most of the people I met in day to day life – accepting most of its been spent in cities. We talked for quite a while and he described life in northern Saskatchewan within Native American culture. He'd spent sometime working on the tar sands which were the first real employment opportunity that'd been available to him. But life without the tar sands growing up had been tough... He was raised with his siblings by his mum, a challenge in itself but Saskatchewan doesn't have many people, especially up north, the landscape is flat - covered in forests, lakes and tundra the winters are bitter and long. It was listening to this life I realised the reason I was so fascinated wasn't some romanticised notion of life in the wilderness, it was the way he reminded me of my father who's manner so similar. He too choses his words carefully and would wish no ill will on another sole but this quiet nature is underpinned with a steely will. It made sense to me that Saskatchewan, Canada and The Isle of Lewis, Scotland could produce two such similar souls, I suppose they're rare in the western world as there are fewer edges of real wilderness within our environs – perhaps none remain in Scotland? My father may have been the last of his kind, and Sterling for that matter too with the Tar Sands bringing money and people and change may be the last of his kind from Canada too?
Its interesting, the tar sands didn't really seem to trigger even a flicker in Sterling when he mentioned it. This in part might be a function of his own naivety or perhaps its simply the fact that a job that pays good money where opportunities are so scarce trumps everything? Certainly these played some part but the concerted efforts of the Canadian government to censure scientists rights of free speech. Via strict control of all research funding made available by government and private industry the Canadian government cherry picks projects that will support industrial interests (this isn't isolated to the Canadian government – take a look at George Monbiot's article on it http://www.monbiot.com/2013/09/30/age-of-unreason/). Over time the narrow band of opinion expressed by scientists that is broadly supportive of exploitation of the tar sands, arctic drilling, fracking or whatever else it may be seeps into public consciousness via whatever media channels they're plugged into. Its another case in point of how few of our opinions are formed in an unbiased environment. Science is so often reduced to a debating point in public debate hosted by the press that can stand or fall based on opinion as opposed to cold hard analysis of test results that must be comprehensive if they are to support anything pertaining to be science. We just get normalised to some much stuff, and ironically its perhaps most difficult to see in in ourselves...
Sterling's history reminded me of something that John Curl (the godfather of coops in the Bay Area and writer of one of the best books on coops and American history I've read: For All the People). When I asked him about why had the Bay Area had enjoyed a thriving ecosystem of coops in part of his answer (the answer consisting of a number of combinatory factors) he reminded me that the United States was populated with the descendants of pretty intrepid people who've been arriving in this vast nation for more than two hundred years. Only the most fearless members of communities in Europe and Asia travelled to the states and most African Americans had to survive the passage from Africa aboard slaver's vessels. This meant they one and all share some optimistic / survivalist component of their DNA / make-up. California is a microcosm of the US in this context and has over the last hundred or so years seen the arrival of frontiers people ready to work hard and innovate. Be it the gold rush, the summer of love, or silicon valley. Sterling had something of the frontiersman about him. And although his brand was perhaps more authentic I've met many others who like him share that intrepid nature here. Where his grandfather had traded in the deep interior of Canada with Cree Indian, and now he travelling down to San Francisco to play hockey... I'm beginning to understand why Americans don't hold passports. Why would you when a new life and a fresh start lies just one state away and there are 50 to choose from, all speak english and all accept dollars. Its easy, and I'm now here in Eugene, Oregon for my latest fresh start...
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