November hike

 One of the wonderful things about living in Montreal is it's surrounded by a lot of nature. To the east, you have the picturesque of little villages and a wine route in the Eastern Townships, to the north, you have the Laurentians, a stretch of mountains that rise from the shores of the St Laurence River, and towards the south, less than an hour's drive, you have the very green states of Vermont and New York just across the border with the United States.

It's been a long while since I last did anything really outdoors, and I have been longing for it. Living in the city, surrounded by people and noise can sometimes get too much. So with a small group of people from the McGill Outdoors Club, I left in the early hours of the morning while the rest of the city still slept. There was no big plan, but we had with us a group leader who knew many of the trails that criss-cross the Adirondacks. Situated north of the Empire State, this mountainous area is the largest forested  region of the continental US. It is dense with trees, littered with lakes, and occupied by mountains that stand at around 1500m or so-- which makes a hike to the top not so much of a daunting challenge.

Starting from around 10 in the morning, we hiked on a trail that covered both Snow Mountain and Roostercomb Mountain. These two little peaks are conquer-able within a few hours, but offer awarding panoramic views of the majestic valley and higher mountains in the surroundings. The trail zig-zags through the dense coniferous and pine forest. Sometimes, when stopping to catch your breath, wafting through the air is the refreshing scent of fresh evergreens. Little creeks meander through boulders and the brown carpet of fallen leaves, the sound of the running water cheerful and crisp. The middle of November has already brought light snow showers the higher up the mountain you go, which made the hike dangerously slippery at times, yet also all the more adventurous. There are places where the rocky surface is covered with ice, and you had to grab on to the dry bark of trees along the trail to make sure you don't slip and stumble. At times, steep ledges along the way make the journey feel more like a climb than a hike. Once on the summit, the warmth of the sun made it almost feel like it was a lazy afternoon in Summer. There we sat, and hungrily devoured our lunches while we gazed down at the world beneath our tired feet.

We left nothing but imprints of our boots, and perhaps echoes of our lighthearted chatter and laughter. We took nothing but photographs and memories of hiking through the woods together. There is something special about  being out in nature, about being with a group of like-minded and easy-going nature-enthusiasts that makes you feel incredibly alive and energised.

Remember...

I remember once riding through Vlaanderen (Flanders, Belgium) as a boy, and the sense of awe I felt seeing the green hills roll by. I closed my eyes and tried to picture how, merely decades ago,  the very pretty scenery outside the window could be the setting of many brutal battles. I was reminded of what I once read in History class. Even today when the fields are plowed, remnants of bombshells and human remains are still being unearthed.

Quietly, I tread on the path and gazed into the distance. Before me, rows and rows and rows of white  crosses and the occasional Star of David stood in honour of the countless  men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice. Names are all that remain, even though some plaques bear no name. Names, and dates that at times are too close together. Flags fluttered at half-mast, while a flame blew in the strong North Sea wind but never dimmed.

After the bloodshed, the falling bombs,  after the cries from damp trenches filled with rats,  corpses and agony, poppies were the first flowers to bloom. Small and red, they would blossom wildly every Spring by themselves, and cover entire fields like a carpet. Red, almost blood-like,  poppies today are closely associated to the annual Remembrance Day, which officially falls "at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month".

On the field of the lower campus today, a crowd slowly gathered. Soldiers, in pressed uniforms and in kilts, armed with rifles or musical instruments, proudly marched on black, polished boots down Montreal's busy streets. They flowed into neat columns on the field, lined up and stood tall to inspire and awe the people that had gathered all around them. It was a glorious day, and the sun flooded the ceremony with bright light. But it was a sombre event, with poetry recitals and prayers for the  hero(in)es who, despite their invisibility and silence, have shaped, and continue to shape, the fates of nations and peoples. From the "Great" War to the Second World War, from Korea to Vietnam, from the Gulf to Afghanistan, the bravery and commitment of countless military personnel and peace-keepers, past and present, should be remembered and celebrated. 

The firing of the cannon as part of a 21 gun salute made many in the crowd jump. Thick smoke trickled down the hill and blanketed the skyscrapers temporarily. The roar from the low flyby of two military helicopters filled the surroundings with the sound of rotor blades slicing through the air. Faces grimaced in discomfort at the unexpected explosion and resounding din. Luckily, all this is part of the ceremony, but to most who are not used to the deafening sounds and nerve-jittering shocks of war, it was too much to bear.  

I have been fortunate to come from and live in societies that are free from war and conflict. So I can only imagine the destruction and  atrocity of it all from scenes depicted on the printed page and by shaking recordings of "embedded" journalists. Without a doubt, the reality of war is many, many times worse than what you and I can possibly imagine or see. Despite lofty promises to "save succeeding generations from the scourge of war", despite complex laws and customs that actually regulate the conduct of warfare and degree of suffering that can be inflicted, war continues to rage and breakout across the world.

I, like many university students, can loudly protest the insanity and question the (f)utility of war, but throughout history and till this very day war has been a part of history. And as long as there is war or conflict, there will be those who are sent to fight, and who sacrifice themselves in the defence of the very freedoms and rights we hold dear. Sadly, this is a society that worships movie stars in epic war movies more than veterans who have passed away, or returned crippled or scarred by real wars.

 In a corner of the field, stood a group of veterans wearing long black trenchcoats. Poppies adorning their left lapel, close to their hearts, seemed to shine bright red against their dark coats. The wrinkles on their faces, the trickle of their thin white hair, the trickle of tears down some of their eyes bear memories of distant places, of comrades lost long, long ago. With the passing of time, fewer and fewer veterans from wars long ago will be standing there. 

"Thank you," I said, deep down, as the wail of the bagpipe broke the two minute silence. For your courage, for your wounds, for your sacrifices. Lest we one day forget, may we always remember.

Breaking out

For a few days now I've been avoiding people. I go to school and avoid being seen, and then I head home again, and rarely step out the door. Friends invite me to events, but I say I'm too tired or not interested... And that's what I really am... Tired and disinterested...

Sleep has been my refuge... sleep, and eating lots of chocolate and suddenly craving fried bacon with lots of grease. So I stay home, in bed, lie next to my cat, close my eyes and let sleep take over. And it's not difficult to just drift away. Drift away, and let sleep overcome me and my consciousness. Sleep seems to have such a powerful effect on me now, even if I'm not tired. Somehow, it seems to be more interesting than being awake...

And today I woke up, and went out for a long bike ride. It was cold, but the sun was bright. I rode my bike, rode and rode along the river. Just riding I think helped me clear my mind and thoughts, and get rid of the drowsiness and torpor... I felt active, and alive.

 I could spend my days in sleep... or I could spend my days awake and living.