Excuse me, do you have that in organic?

I would be lying if I said I was not a little nervous about my trip to Laos, but not for the reasons you may think. I'm not nervous about getting lost, or injured, or having all my things stolen; I have no where I need to be, I'm tough, and the only thing I am bringing is my bike and the clothes on my back. I'm also not nervous about language issues or bike malfunctions; I know how to point and am going with friends who make my bike mechanic look like a beginner. As an aside, it turns out my bike mechanic is a pretty witty guy. When I dropped my bike off for repairs this week and told him I needed a new part, he pulled out the holy grail of catalogues, pointed to the part that was labeled 'Galaxy', and said, 'We'll get you this one because it will work everywhere.' I stared at him blankly, at which point he said, ' it was a joke', and then I laughed. I could write an entire post on 'how to tell if you're bike mechanic is hitting on you (you can't), and what do to about it (act smarter next time)'.

Being a big supporter of all things to do with food (okay a 'foodie'), what has truly been on my mind this last week is the sort of food system that exists in Laos. Did that chicken live a good life? Was that mango grown without pesticides? Can I eat that and not die? Virtually everyone I have spoken to has told me I will get sick and/or lose 10 pounds the first week I am there. Who doesn't want a smaller ass, but I'm less keen on puking off the side of my bike for 2 days. In Canada we are very lucky (read spoiled) to have supermarkets jammed full with every imaginable fruit, vegetable, dead thing, and corn-derivative-masquerading-as-food on the shelves. Vancouver in particular is blessed with more organic food choices than all other cities combined (don't quote me on that, I made it up).

The key point here is, we have choices, and lots of them. We can choose organic, non-organic, local, pesticide-laden or pesticide-free. Choice over what we put into our bodies feels to me like a fundamental right, but it is one that many people don't have. Much of the world population does not get a choice about what they eat that night for dinner (if they eat at all), where it came from, and how it was grown. This is environmental justice, or a lack of it. Some of us can afford to purchase healthy options, while others are not even given the choice, or if they are they cannot afford it. It is therefore up to us, those of us who have the choice, to make the right one. As demand grows for organic food systems, so to does the supply, so every ethical and sustainable purchase you make is moving us one step closer to a more sustainable agriculture system. Choose food that was grown organically, humanely, and supports local farmers where possible. If you have the choice, exercise it for all those who can't.

getting old, or not

Once a week there are a group of men who gather near my house to play football, or rather, toss a football around. When I first came across them I thought they were practicing some sort of drill in slow motion, but then I realized, 'That's as fast as they run; they're 80.' They appear to be having a lot of fun, though no one is moving faster than a snail, or as one witty friend put it recently, 'like turtles stampeding through peanut butter'. The visual image of that makes me laugh every time.

I like to imagine what sort of lives they have led, and how they arrived at 80, fit and still enjoying life. I have them pegged as part of the 1943 UBC Varsity football team, married to their high school sweethearts. Lucky ladies. I hope my guy (mythical at this stage) is half as virile as them when he's 80. I also think they genuinely get a kick out of running around catching the football (I know I sure do) and enjoy it when others watch them, if only for the security of knowing that someone can call 911 when something fails. They are the 80 yrd old versions of the guys you know today who go to every practice, suck up an injury, and think that all great parties happen in the locker room. These men are dedicated to their passion, even at this late stage, and appear to be committed to staying active doing something they love.

I recently took the greyhound bus to Revelstoke (an eye-opening experience if you're looking for one), and along the way I met a lovely older man who sat behind me and shared stories until Salmon Arm. He was adventurous, loved to travel, had some great and funny stories about his run-ins with the border guards, and had to be pushing 80 years old. He talked about the little community he now lives in, and even though he had only been there for a year (moved from the coast to get away from the dampness; it bothered his breathing) he had an entire network of friends who took care of each other, and a family who live next door with kids who treat him like a grandfather. As he got off the bus in Salmon Arm, the last thing he said to me was 'don't get old'. I smiled and promised him I would not.