What would it take to make Canadians rise up and demonstrate?

I know that much has been written this past week about the hockey riots in Vancouver, and I think that anyone who has paid any attention to them has experienced a range of emotions.

My initial feelings – as I watched the riots live on streaming internet – were of shame and disgust. But by the following day, my disgust was tinged with irony. I’ve wanted to see my fellow Canadians take to the streets, to demonstrate make a stand – for the environment, or against a federal government that protects lying cabinet ministers, for anything that matters.

But when they finally do, it is over a hockey game.

It’s been a year of protest around the world. Demonstrations that began in Greece a year ago are on-going. 2011 began with the Arab Spring, sparked by the street vendor in Tunisia who had had enough of his government’s injustices and corruption. Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation was a catalyst for other Tunisians to launch the demonstrations and riots that ultimately resulted in their president’s resignation.

Tunisia inspired other Arab nations to rise up, too: Algeria, Jordan, Yemen, Egypt, and many others. In Egypt, the mass protests resulted in the resignation of their president as well. Leaders in Sudan and Iraq have announced that they will step down when their current electoral terms end. In Libya, leader Muammar al-Gadaffi has refused to resign, and the protests there have escalated to full-on civil war.

The people in these countries are not only politically engaged; they are politically active. And it is not only in the Middle East that we see this level of engagement and public demonstration.

On my most recent trip to South America, this past January, demonstrators blocked the routes to the Punta Arenas airport on the day I was to fly out; they were protesting against the Chilean government for fuel price hikes they deemed unfair. On my previous South American trip, the year before, I awoke to noisy public demonstrations in the streets of Buenos Aires: thousands of citizens in the streets marching and drumming and parading with signs, for no reason beyond manifesting their support for, or their condemnation of, Argentina’s returning Kirchner government.

And, as I write these words, thousands of high school and university students are protesting in the streets of Santiago, Chile, demanding better quality education and an end to profit-oriented educational institutions.

That is Greece, that is the Middle East. It is Africa, South America. Here in Canada, what is it that brings citizens to the point of acting upon their anger and their frustration in the streets?

A hockey game.

I know that a lot has happened in the week since that night of rioting. I am impressed  that so many Vancouverites and so many Canadians have expressed their outrage about what happened, and are searching for justice through a variety of means (including the social media campaigns). I am impressed that so many Vancouverites went out to volunteer with the clean-up, and I am impressed by the many messages left on the plywood boards.

However, I am still dismayed that the big-picture issues: issues of social justice and transparent government and judicious environmental policies do not inspire Canadians to act. These are the issues that we can influence right now, that will directly influence our own futures and, even more importantly, those of our children.

But it seems too much to hope to move Canadians to active protest or demonstration – these issues barely motivate Canadians to move their sorry butts off their chairs to get out to vote. The official voter turnout in last month’s federal election was estimated at 61.4%. (With the Conservatives getting 39.6% of the popular vote, this means that we Canadians ended up with a majority government that only 24% of us actually voted for).

Where other countries have fought to gain the rights and privileges of a truly democratic society, or are still fighting for those rights, in Canada our peaceful history and high standard of living have made us lazy and complacent. We hole up in our basements pretending to play sports on our Wii, or connecting with our virtual friends on Facebook, or – yes – pouring our attention and energy into a hockey tournament.

There was a moment, during that last federal election campaign, that I did feel a momentary glimmer of hope. Liberal leader Michael Ignatieff gave a stunningly inspirational speech, invoking us to “Rise up, Canada, rise up!” (If you have not heard it, I strongly recommend that you click on that link). Regardless of anyone’s political stripe, that speech inspired me as a call to all Canadians to attention, to paying attention, and to action – but, unfortunately, like a shooting star, it was ephemeral, fleeting. Ignatieff’s fire faded quickly, leaving me wondering: What will it take to get Canadians to rise up?

And then this.

I’ve known Benja and his family for six years, and I’ve just been down visiting them in Punta Arenas, Chile, for a couple of weeks. Benja had already done his Strait swim before I arrived. He trained for this crossing for a year, both in the pool and in the river in Valdivia, where he is studying marine biology. The narrowest part of the strait is in the far north, starting from Punta Delgada on the mainland, about 5 km across to Bahía Azul, on the island of Tierra del Fuego.

Currents are strong throughout the Strait, but especially here at the narrows, so the timing of his crossing was very important: aiming to swim at slack current. But the Patagonia weather is wild! You can predict the tides weeks or even years in advance, but you never know what the weather is going to hand you. Fortunately, his chosen day of January 8th was relatively calm…  so he, accompanied by his trainer and family, set out. And his crossing went perfectly. As Benja explains it, before he knew it Tierra del Fuego was right in front of him. His crossing time was just over an hour (1:01:35, to be exact), a new Chilean record.

I arrived a month later, and met Benja’s friend Bárbara, who did her own crossing of the Strait while Benja and I were out at San Isidro Lighthouse (further south along the Strait) for a week. While we were there, Benja and his friend Jonas plunged into the Strait for a training swim without wetsuits, Benja staggering out of the water clutching his frozen head as soon as they were done, while Jonas lolled around in the shallows like a seal. Then Benja’s friend Carolina came out for a visit, and the two of them went out for a swim. With only one pair of goggles and one swim cap between them, Carolina had to wear a diving mask and Benja did his best to avoid the brain-freeze this time with a plastic bag and piece of cloth wrapped around his head.

Bárbara completed her swim while we were away – second Chilean woman ever to have swum the Strait. Benja and I returned to Punta Arenas to congratulate her. (Bárbara, who is a South American open-water swimming champion, had also just swum across from the mainland to the outer coastal island of Chiloé the week before). She did her Strait swim on February 13th, in a time of 1:24 (the strong current meant she actually swam an extra two km) – second Chilean woman ever to swim Magellan Strait, and the new Chilean female record holder.

Bárbara and and I had several days of overlap in Punta Arenas, staying with Benja and his family, and I sure enjoyed getting to know her. Here is a little video I shot of the two of them on one of their training swims (runs 1 minute 15s):

Later, the three of us went to the local pool together (yes, I will go swimming if the water temperature is acceptable…) They attempted to teach me flip-turns (which I did not master) and how to swim front crawl backwards (which I did master!) among other useful things (such as how to sink and crawl like a crab on the floor of the pool, and how to blow bubble rings from the bottom, two of Benja’s specialties). And, upon leaving Punta Arenas, Bárbara gave me a Chile swimming camp, which I now wear with pride, and which will always make me think of these two: inspiring swimmers and wonderful friends.

I am such a wuss in the cold water. But these cold-water addicts have really motivated me. I have a decent wetsuit, and I live just a 10-minute bike ride from Tonquin Beach. The nearest public swimming pool to do laps in is 125 km away… Of course I should train in the waters at my front door. I don’t really have any excuse, do I?

I am not saying I am going to do it. But I am seriously thinking about it.

Ha! It says that Lima is "the best airport in South America". Ha! I say again.

OK, I thought I’d be fine for my travels back to Canada because I would not pass through Santiago de Chile (airport affected by the recent big earthquake); my routing was Buenos Aires – Lima – LA – Vancouver. Especially after checking in in BA: they gave me my boarding passes right through to LA. All seemed good.

Then I got to Lima where, upon disembarking, the screen showed my 1:05am flight, at Gate 21, to LA (along with a whole bunch of other LAN flights) as “Delayed”. So those of us with the same connection lined up and waited patiently…  I heard the Australians in front of me being told that the flight was now going at 5:40am, but then the agent told them to be at Gate 21 at 12:30am. So the flight is going? Hmm.

Then it was my turn. The agent told me the flight was delayed til 5:40. I told her then I’ll need her to revise my connection to Vancouver. “Connection?” she said. “In that case,  you go on this flight, departing at 1:05am. Be at Gate 21 at 12:30.”

“So my original flight is going, after all?” I asked.

“No, it is a different flight,” she responded. Just with the same flight number, time, and gate. Hmm, very strange.

So we board, and wait. And wait. An hour passes, then close to another. Then the Captain comes on and says that the airport is closed for scheduled maintenance (it is now 2:10am, which is actually 4:10 am for me, Buenos Aires time) and we will now depart at 3:30am. Fortunately there is an empty seat beside me (why were they trying to boot people off this flight then, if there was room? another hmm). At least I am able to doze a bit.

An announcement wakes me. It is the Captain. My watch says 6:22am and we are still on the ground. “We are very sorry, we have exceeded the crew’s legal work time and we must leave you now. This flight is cancelled. Please disembark and follow the ground crew’s instructions.” Looks like I am staying in Peru. I set my watch to local time, 4:22am. And this is where the real fun begins.

The mob at the unmanned immigration booth, 5am.

OK, so we get off. People are already pissed off (we’ve been sitting on the plane for 4 hours now – you’d think they could have seen this coming a bit earlier?). Some are yelling at the LAN

staff, who are simply telling us that we must pass through Peruvian immigration, that they will get us a hotel, and that at 2pm tomorrow they will have information about the flight. 2pm!! There are several hundred of us – it is clear that we are not going to be in any hotel room for hours yet.

I have to decide upon my strategy. Go it on my own and try to rebook my flight (at 4:30am? I don’t think so) or follow instructions. I abandon the crowd, who are stalled at the arrival gate yelling at Claudia, the LAN staff person.

I get to immigration, along with the dozen or so others who elected to follow instructions. But there is only one booth – and no one is at it (the airport is closed, remember? no inbound flights). But we line up politely anyway, and try to keep our spirits light and make jokes about how ridiculous this is (remember, we’re all kind of giddy for having been awake for 24 hrs). I make friends with an American named Mike, who was on the coast in Peru when the tsunami following the Chile quake hit. He’d seen the videos of the Indonesia tsunami, and knew what to do when the bay in front of his beach-house suddenly emptied.

Claudia tries to figure out where to lead us.

So we wait and hope. Eventually the angry crowd joins us, still yelling at Claudia as they approach. And they are not in the mood to make an orderly line-up, so they crowd in front of our straight little line-up, forming a mass mob in front of the one unmanned immigration booth.

Then Claudia shows up and calls in Spanish for anyone who is in transit (people like myself, who boarded in another country and did not visit Peru on this trip) to go with her. I try to help the English-speaking people understand what she is saying, so they know whether to go or stay. I explain to Mike “I have to go with her. You have to stay.” I wave to him above the crowd as I am whisked away “I don’t know which option is better! Maybe I’ll see you again!” and the 16 of us who boarded in Buenos Aires follow Claudia.

OK, now here is where my memory starts getting fuzzy. By now, I am dehydrated (remember, they’d taken my water bottle? which I was going to fill before getting on the flight to nowhere) and just trashed. We wind around corridors and passages and through metal doors and glass doors. Eventually we get to a different, bigger, immigration area.

Trying to convince Customs we're here. 6am.

The customs official cannot deal with us, though. We have no “arrival” flight number for our form. So they argue with Claudia for a while, checking out the computer screens which, according to the customs official, prove that our flight is not here and therefore we cannot be here. We try to convince him of the evidence

before his very eyes (us!). The chief flight attendant shows up and tries to explain that we are really here. The immigration guy finally wraps his head around what has happened – supposedly the LAN people are supposed to fill out some special card when this happens – and eventually he stamps our passports.

So that is immigration – then customs. But no bags. Claudia takes us to international arrivals, where we wait a while at one carousel, then are herded over to another. The Australians are really thirsty, too, and asking for water. Although there are vending machines there, none of us has any Peruvian money.

So, after no bags appear anywhere, Claudia takes us over to national arrivals – I think it is like 6am or so local time by now – where it seems that some of the people who had boarded the flight in Peru have already picked up their bags. And there is Mike! We greet each other like old friends.

We know our bags are in there. 7am.

But alas, the door guards will not let us in, because we are coming through the out-door and not through the in-door (and there is no way we can backtrack through immigration to get around to the in-door). So we all fight and argue, but to no avail – the door guards believe that, since we have come in from Buenos Aires, our baggage can not be in the national section – even as we see other people from our same flight coming out with their baggage. So we yell and argue and threaten to bust through the door (I am quite ready to go through with it by now). The Australians are calling for water – one of them is feeling sick – and Mike needs medication from his bag. The chief flight attendant shows up, and then even the captain. I use my best Spanish: “Please sir, can you help us get our bags? We’ve been awake for 24 hours now, led all over the airport, and no one will help us.”

7 hrs later, some now in wheelchairs.

He smiles sadly. “I am in the same position. Just trying to get my bags, like you.”

The door guards insist that our bags can not be there – even though we knew that is not true. So eventually Claudia leads our group back to customs. An elderly woman who cannot walk any more is put in a wheelchair. I say goodbye

to Mike again, and we go back into international baggage claims, where our bags – of course – are not.

Back in the international area once more, people line up first at one place then another – I’m not sure why, we are just following one another around in a daze by now. The Australians have managed to change some money somewhere, and are slugging down bottles of gatorade. I am so thirsty; I find myself staring at their red gatorade sloshing back and forth in the bottle as they gulp. I am going to fall over. I have to turn away.

Claudia is out in the middle of the empty baggage claim room talking to someone, and my head temporarily clears enough to wonder what we are lining up for – if she isn’t even there. I stagger over to her. “Claudia. Our bags are not here. Better we just go to the hotel, ¿no?”

She agrees. So she herds us all up again – or what is left of us – and here is where the only good news of the tale comes. The hotel is right here at the airport, the Ramada Inn. No waiting for transport. Right next door where we can walk across the driveway and deal with bags, tickets, whatever, all by ourselves in the morning. Oops, I mean afternoon – it is already 7:45 in the morning.

No longer sure why we're lining up. 7:45am.

OK, the story could go on and on (and it has)… it’s now midnight and I’m writing from the Ramada Inn – yup, now over 24 hours in Peru. Almost all of that spent in line-ups at the airport today. I supposedly have a “confirmed” flight out at 3:40am (“confirmed” in the Latin American sense of the word). So I’m sitting in the hotel restaurant, trying to celebrate this unexpected visit to Peru by sipping on their national drink. When life hands you a bowl of lemons… make yourself a pisco sour.
Salud.

Epilogue:
I ran into the captain again on the elevator on the way to catch that “confirmed” flight. He tells me the delays were all on the Lima end. They took so long to load the luggage there that they were not done by the airport’s scheduled 2-3:30am closure (which makes sense why our rescheduled flight was for 3:40am, so as not to risk getting affected by that again).

So we boarded again… sat on the tarmac for another 2 hours again (I watched the luggage loaders sitting around, joking, getting in a fight, then making up and joking around again… but loading very little luggage, for most of those 2 hours). But finally we took off!

Once in LA I found out that the LAN people had mistakenly rescheduled my connection for the following day… so I spent my whole connection time there in a line-up trying to get them to swing my connection (and luggage) on to that day’s flight. And Wednesday night, after 4 days of travelling, I finally made it into Vancouver.

This whole thing is strange, though. Sure, part of it is the problems at Lima’s Jorge Chávez Airport. LAN tells us that the problem is because of the Chile quake, that they don’t have the planes. But that is not right – we had a plane, we were on it for 4 hours. And this issue of saying my 1:05 am flight was not going, then all of a sudden “another” flight with the same number, departure time, and gate was going – and then it didn’t go after all – is all very strange. There is something that they were not being straight with us about, something very strange about the whole affair…

OK, yes, it is the peak of summer, but this is Patagonia. Unfortunately, you can’t tell in the picture how windy it is! Not only is it high-latitude (53-54 degrees where I was, in and south of Punta Arenas – roughly equivalent to the latitude of Haida Gwaii/Queen Charlotte Islands). But in addition, the plate tectonic accident that has placed Antarctica symmetrically over the south pole (for now, anyway) means that, unlike in the northern hemisphere, the winds that swirl around the globe in the latitudes 50s, 60s and 70s are unimpeded by any continental mass here in the south.

The south tip of South America is the first point of land that juts down and intercepts these winds (check it out on a globe – South America’s southern tip is something like 1000 km further south than either Australia or South Africa. Sorry I don’t have a globe on hand to verify my figures, but something like that). That’s why southern Patagonia is so windy, and why the ocean currents are so treacherous.

So, I have been offline for a while. Over the next two weeks I’ll catch y’all up on the interesting places I have been to. I am officially down here to report on an adventure race, Xtremo6000, which is part of the Adventure Racing World Series and which will take place later this week in northern Argentina.

But I decided to take advantage of being flown this close to Patagonia by grasping the opportunity and heading down to visit my dear friends in Chilean Patagonia. I met the Cáceres Murrie family back in 2004 – they run a wilderness lodge at Cabo San Isidro lighthouse, the southernmost inhabited point of the American continent, on the edge of Magellan Strait. The Patagonia Expedition Race finished there a few years back – I was reporting on that race and, while waiting for the teams to come in, we all became friends. In particular, Benjamín and I really hit it off (he was 14 at the time), with our common interests in learning about gathering wild foods and trying to figure out how to make serviceable objects from found items, e.g. making urchin-catching spears (erizeros in Spanish – we don’t have a word for them in English) and weaving baskets out of the native reed junquillo.

Benjamín is now 20, and going into his third year in marine biology. (He’s also an amazing swimmer… more about than in an upcoming post). My visit coincided with his summer break, so we headed out to the lighthouse (or faro) with plans to hike to Cabo Froward: the southermost point on the American continent. Benjamín had some guiding obligations first (tourists who had come to hike and kayak from the faro) so I hung out with him, enjoying the hiking and kayaking and doing some photography.

By the time he had finished up his guiding obligations, Benja had a friend arriving back home in Punta Arenas (another champion swimmer, more about her coming up too). So we did our 4-day hike to Froward in just two days (i.e. 60 km of rough terrain: irregular coastal rock shelves, wet and spongy peat bog, and steep slippery rainforest trails in less than 36 hours!… carrying 4 days of food with us). There were 4 river crossings along the way – and we hit 3 of the 4 at high tide, forcing me to swim (Benja is used to cold water; I am not!). Out backpacks were stuffed into big garbage bags – as heavy as they seem, they still float!. We lucked out with the two sunniest days of my whole visit for the trek, and by the next morning we were back in Punta Arenas. (More on that coming up too… especially the dolphins leaping joyously at the bow of the zodiac).

So I’ll be posting more about the whole trip over the coming weeks – photos and words both. But the summary is…. a few days in Buenos Aires, overcoming the jetlag while taking in the tango scene, then 2nd a half weeks in the far south of the continent, then this coming week at Xtremo6000 adventure race (daily “live” reports coming on SleepMonsters, if you are interested).

It was a sad goodbye to everyone this morning… I’ve shared so many laughs these last few weeks, both with Benja out at the faro, and with the whole family, Pato and Ángela and their sons and all of their many friends. It’s tough when you have such good friends who live so far away… and you just never know if or when you will ever see them again.

OK, please check back over the coming weeks… for more about the faro, about our hike, about some amazing swimmers, about Andean condors, about Buenos Aires tango, about adventure racing…. lots coming.