The journey begins

I've left my job in Dubai and rammed what was left of my belongings into a 7x7 meter cube now sitting crudely forgotten somewhere in Jebel Ali Port.  Storage is a rip off in Dubai and the well-kept Kiwi who promised "the best price anywhere on Earth" worked on commission and ended up charging me for insurance (which he only added after they had boxed up all my stuff and taken it away) so that I am now paying 4 times the price that he promised.  I miss many things about Dubai but I won't miss the deviation of ethics.  I miss my running group the Dubai Creek Striders and my running buddy Janice. I miss my neighbors, students and colleages.  I miss my language gang and the close friends that I have had there over the years.... oh and I miss my carpet.

It's been wierd coming back to Canada this time around as I have realized how much I have adapted to the Gulf.  I am not used to men smiling at me and being polite.  I'm used to having men try to film me with their cell phones while I go on my morning jog down to Beach Road and making kissy faces and crude comments in some other language.  I thought I would like the new freedom, but the strange part is that I don't.  I know I should.  My western upbringing tells me I should, but I can't. Maybe I am numb. The whole thing just feels different.  It's different from returning from Japan or Germany or other places I have lived.  I can't explain it.  Perhaps it's the difference of having lived somewhere so long.... or perhaps it's just the Gulf.

I've spent the last half of the year studying for the GRE in my parent's basement in a last ditched attempt to get a PhD.  I'm done with the 4 hour long test and now I am prepping to do the Appalacian Trail.  The amount of hours I have spent gleaning the internet for tips on Whiteblaze.net and discount camping websites to find the best price on light weight camping gear has been a job in and of itself. I've made myself a lightweight camp stove out of a cat food can with use of a hole punch, and widdled the base weight of my back pack  down to roughly 12 pounds.  That leaves an additional 18 pounds for food and water. This is a far cry from the 60 pound bag I carried over the West Coast Trail with my buddy Amy several years ago, but it's not as light as I managed in my two treks accross Spain.

 I am paranoid about getting cold.  As the season changes to spring, I am hoping to shed the extra weight in my pack and exchange it for lighter clothing.

Being so far away from the trail head, I feel nervous.  I don't know the weather.  I don't know the people.  And it has been years since I have looked a bear in the face.