Roberto was the official photographer and posted his images to flickr (available only to family, sorry!). Naturally, rIAm couldn’t keep her hands off the camera and then I took over when I arrived with the boys and our photos are also on flickr.

Of course we also hosted a party – Bolts and Busts – to celebrate with Bianca and Colin together, and those photos are on flickr too (and as a slideshow after the jump).

Hard to believe their wedding is only 40 days away!

Happy Thanksgiving!

As I sit and write this, at work, I must admit (shhh!), I don’t find it as weird to be at work on Thanksgiving as I thought I would. But it is definitely not a normal feeling to know that I don’t have a giant pile of ads to look through, a leisurely lounge-y morning ahead of me, and a big dinner with family and/or friends tonight. American (real!) Thanksgiving isn’t really acknowledged here, and although I’m sure there are some groups of Americans who get together, plenty more head south of the border. Even some Canadians have their eyes southward, fixed on tomorrow’s big sales.

Even though we could have joined a group like Democrats Abroad tonight for a traditional turkey meal, we went a different direction. We talked about a couple different options, but renée and I (and to be fair, it was my choice as the American) settled on Silver Spoon. We haven’t been in a while, and the dedication to local, organic and/or seasonal seemed all to appropriate for Thanksgiving. Without my knowledge renée contacted Chef Rocco to see if he could do anything Thanksgiving-y; apparently, a pumpkin tart is on the menu and he’ll see what he can do with an amuse or appetizer. We’re looking forward to the meal quite a bit.

I also must admit that even though I love Thanksgiving more than any other holiday, the Canadians have the time of year a little bit better figured out. Since I still think theirs is too early, I think ours should be moved up a bit. The problem, of course, would be the extended Christmas shopping season, but think of the good fresh stuff available in the northern climes a couple weeks ago versus now. But alas, there’s no point in trying to move mountains – or at least, not this one – and I still love Thanksgiving and all its trappings. I love the long weekend, the kick-off of the holiday season, and even the uniquely American tradition of absurd shopping habits on still overly-stuffed stomachs. It doesn’t hurt that, as one blogger I read puts it, Thanksgiving is “the most adored food holiday in all the land.”

Weirdest of all, of course, is that for the first time in my life – and quite sincerely, I hope the last – I will not be with my parents and sister. Although I will be with my (growing) family, not being with the family I grew up with means it won’t be a perfect holiday. rIAm and I don’t know for sure where life will take us, or you, but we are firm in our conviction that we really want to be stateside for future Thanksgivings. Although it did occur to us that it could be great fun for you to come to us sometime, one day, but that’s just an idea and maybe we’ll think more about it some year.

So on this day of Thanksgiving, I’ll share with you that I am vey thankful for many things. I have all I could need and am particularly grateful that I am confident renée and I can weather the economic storm in the face of bringing our first child into the world, which, of course, is what I’m most thankful for: an expanding family, and one that seems to be as healthy (and active!) as possible. I am surrounded in my life by wonderful family and friends, and indeed, what else could a person want?

Lots of love-
Be well,
jft

But neither them nor me has stopped feeling that ache that sits our chests. I am finding that my vision is no longer blurred by tears, but every day I wake up and the first thing that washes over me is “Oh no, this isn’t all just my imagination. This isn’t just a bad dream.” And when I find I am not distracted or absorbed in something that jft and I are doing like shopping for last minute things before we leave India or haggling with vendors, I am thinking of Mike and how my family is holding up. I used to find hand washing our laundry during our travels rather relaxing, even if it can be a mundane and sometimes arduous task when the clothing pile is enough to fill a laundry machine back home. For the last few days, washing by hand seems to leave me too much time to think about Michal’s absence and to dig up memories of him. The latter though is quite amazing because of how clear some of these memories are, surfacing as I try to scrub out the dust and grime that seem to be a perpetual part of our clothing in India.

I am sorry to be a downer but I think writing it out is helping me heal in some way.

If you haven’t noticed, jft is doing a good job of keeping you posted on travel stories and things inspired by our travels. I really just haven’t felt like digging into the travel stories that I have been planning to tell since I found out Mike was gone.

Both jft and I have been amazed to see just how many people are visiting our web site and our photos of Mike on Flickr. The photos of Mike and his sister seem to have generated the most views, which I personally find touching.

With regards to site statistics, I don’t usually dwell on these things, like how many unique visitors we have and how they find our web site, since really it’s not like we are aiming our web site to be read by the masses. It’s just a place to pursue our inspiration to write and document this life we are living, so family and friends can to tune in if they feel so inclined. It’s always flattering to hear that this circle of people has in turn shared our writing and photos with people they know.

Since I posted my letter to Mike, our numbers aren’t necessarily exploding, but Canada seems to be a bigger factor as a soure of visitors (the US and “Unknown,” a strange enough description, are first and second on our list, respectively, while Canada is third but a larger third place than usual). After the home page, and our post introducing our south Asia trip, my letter to Mike is the third most viewed web page our site. And although more than 80 per cent of people who visit us directly type in our address to get to our blog, perhaps five per cent or more are currently finding us via Facebook, since some memorial groups to Mike have been created there.

People also seem to find our site, whether intentionally or by accident via quite a variety of search terms. Currently, the top search term at 23 per cent is “Michal Juruc,” with “Michael Juruc” (the incorrect spelling of his first name), is at just over nine per cent. After that perhaps three or four key phrases clock in at five per cent or less. The majority of the list of terms that bring people to our site mostly account for less than one per cent each of key phrases used, like “juruc brampton,” “michal juruc what happened,” “pasta with broccoli,” “mexican food in chicago,” “making gingerale flat” and one of the more amusing search terms, “www.pastabroccoli.net”

I am crying and laughing as I review the various search key phrases, so many about Mike, and so many others just words or unrelated ideas that seem to bring up our site as a search result. It’s not important to me how many people visit this site. Certainly elucidating a bit more about our site statistics is by no means intended as way to prop ourselves up. But being able to peer into people’s activities and in this particular case, to see how many people, some I have never met, seeking out more information about Mike is somehow touching and heartening. I should add that whoever is visiting this site is for all purposes anonymous to us. The web site statistics don’t tell me specifics about WHO exactly is visiting our web site, like name and age, although I could use the IP addresses recorded to get a better idea about the physical location of the people visiting our web site.

For people who are still visiting and searching out more on Mike, please do feel free to leave a comment or send me a message. I want to know how you knew Mike, and perhaps you can get involved in keeping his memory alive by helping to organize or attending an event to raise money for the scholarship my family has set up in his name.

Or if you have a Facebook account, or would like to sign up for one, you can join the groups set up as a memorial to Michal Juruc and leave comments there. One group is called “In Loving Memory of MJ “ and the other “R.I.P. M.J…..Forever in our hearts and memories.” I apologize that you can only see these links if you are logged in on Facebook.

You don’t get over losing someone so young and so integral to your family, but after seeing all the activity online, activity that before the Internet would have been impossible to even imagine, it helps me see just how many people Mike affected — how many people we all affect in positive ways — and I have to believe something good can come out of this.

Instead of being here until just before our visa expires on 9 November 2007, we leave here on 15 October 2007.

My cousin Michal’s death is certainly a significant instigator in this new plan, and perhaps this is one of the good things that I can try to take from his passing. Changing our plans will mean that we will be returning home one month earlier than planned, and more important, that we will be present for many family gatherings in Chicago and Toronto in November and December.

And besides the gatherings for celebrations, holidays and admittedly some grieving, our new plan will enable us to see many friends and family sooner rather than later.

Early tomorrow we board a train that will take us on a more than 24-hour journey to cover the vast distance between Delhi and Hyderabad, the former being where we leave India from and the latter where have we have spent yesterday and today as we head north from Kanyakumari via Chennai.

Our original plan to head to France after India has not changed, simply because some of those family and friends we want to connect with are scattered across this delightful country. We already had booked our flights to Paris and figured out the itinerary for our month in France long before Michal passed away. All we did for $50 was change the reservation to take us to Paris next Monday instead of a month from now. Thankfully, our family and friends there have been very accommodating in this rather last minute change in plans.

Believe it or not, I am not sad to leave India earlier than plannedanticipated. As I told jft and my family, I have made my dream to see India come true. Whether or not I see another Hindu temple, visit Kolkata and Varanasi and explore another market bazaar will certainly not make or break me. As much of a beautiful and inspiring experience I’ve had, in particular in the last two months of completing a meditation course and then exploring very green, lush and much more laid-back south India, I am also done with the dirtiness, the traffic congestion, the haggling to get a fair rickshaw price and even some of the Indian food, like vegetables cooked to mush in thick gravies. I am proud of myself for pursuing this dream and making it come true, but I can admit, with much thanks to my cousin Michal for putting some things into perspective, when I need to wake up from the dream and move on.

I’m a little sad that while Michal’s funeral is going on in Toronto, I will be on such a long train ride instead of being able to go somewhere more spiritual or special to grieve, pay my respects and acknowledge the moments my family is passing through. I realized though, that train rides in India can actually be something quite special. The landscapes you race and chug past can often be breathtaking, and you often see village and city, slum and mansion dwellers just living their life as you pass by, from taking care of toilet duties by the side of the track to young and old waving at the train, trainspotting being an integral part of the day. And I can’t overlook the interesting people and things you see on the trains themselves. Whole families and lone travellers unpack whole meals, snore and often share their rich, ghee-filled sweets with us. Life proceeds as usual on the train as much as much as it does in the often anonymous places we pass by rail.

So I will celebrate life as I witness it from the train and on the train while Michal is laid to rest. And I will thank India for showing me a slice of her, even if sometimes I didn’t like what I saw or experienced. Good-bye to the land Gandhi fought for. I cannot say when I will return, but I hope when I do, it will be to reconnect to the many friends I found here.

For now, I am ready to go home.

I am so heart broken to know that you, my dear youngest cousin, are gone. Joshua and I are both so sorry that we are not in Toronto to say a final good bye to you.

I feel especially full of sorrow because I am not there for your dad, my wonderful and irreplaceable Uncle Paul; for your sister, my beautiful cousin Samantha; for your mom Karen and your brothers; for Nonna Anna and Zio Vittorio, and for my parents and sisters and the rest of our amazing family.

Mike, I want you to know that no matter where I am or what I am doing, my family is always in my thoughts and in my heart. This is the case because your parents and mine have all taught us the value of our family. I feel my connection to our family more profoundly right now, even though we are several oceans apart. I know your loss hurts us all so much because we cannot stop thinking you are too young, too full of potential to not be living anymore.

I have some things to tell you, some things I never thought to voice before now and some realizations I had since I learned of your passing.

Mike, I’ve always thought that you had the coolest name: Michal Lee Riptide Juruc. And your dad is the coolest uncle for naming you that, and also for making sure we all got to hang out and have fun together as we grew up.

I know me, my sisters and your sister teased you sometimes for getting out of washing dishes and for getting better gifts from Nonna because you were the only grandson. I hope you know that the teasing was only a silly way to give you our attention and our love. We were grateful that you were you and present in our family, even if it took until you were taller than us to begin washing the dishes.

Perhaps it sounds a little embarrassing for you to hear that since you were little I’ve thought your big doe eyes, crazy long eyelashes and often flushed cheeks made you look like a cherub-faced angel.

In the last couple of years during family gatherings for holidays and my wedding, I noticed that a tall and handsome young man was replacing your cherub-baby face.

I had the great fortune of last seeing you when I was home in July at a birthday party for your dad, our Nonna and you. I was rather startled to see how much more of a man you seemed than a boy. You made such an impression on me that I had to take your photo. You kept ducking my attempts, but I finally caught your full face in a frame, long eyelashes and all. I was quite curious about this man you were becoming.

I was thinking at the party how much I was looking forward to coming back to Toronto after my travels to reconnect with our family. I even said as much when, while washing dishes after the party, I mentioned to my mom and Uncle Paul that I wanted to be part of a family trip to a cottage, the one your dad likes to rent in the summer for a week or so on Sauble Beach. I hope we still get to do this. I think you would have wanted us to continue having fun times like this together even if you can’t be there.

I learned of your passing while I was in a place in India called Kanyakumari. I tell you this because Kanyakumari is a profoundly spiritual place. It is the southern-most point of India, where three bodies of water meet: the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea. People flock to these waters to bless themselves. Even some of Gandhi’s ashes were scattered in the blue waters of Kanyakumari. All this inspired me and Joshua to each toss a flower garland into the sea and light candles at a nearby church to remember you.

The winds and waves in Kanyakumari are tremendous and a sight to behold. I tell you this because as I watched those huge pounding waves, I was overcome with sorrow. You would never see what I was seeing, and I wouldn’t even be able to share my experience with you in person. You are fresh and green; a full life was before you. You are not supposed to go before the rest of us. We are supposed to go first so we can welcome you when it is your time. But as the sun set and those waves began to mesmerize me, I realized that you were not alone when your time came.

You are the namesake of our Nonno Mike, who unfortunately you never met in life. But I knew him and I know his heart was so full of boundless love for all his grandchildren. Whenever I would visit him as a child, which was almost everyday, he would have a couple of squares of Jersey Milk chocolate for me. After he died, our family found a whole drawer full of that chocolate. I think he must have been stashing it for all the grandchildren who he knew were still to come. As the sky became streaked with orange, pink and red at Kanyakumari, I knew for certain that you were with Nonno Mike. And I’ll bet he greeted you with a piece of chocolate when you met him.

This all said, Mike, there is still a hole in all our hearts that can never be filled. Although our family and this world will not be the same without you, I also know that any pain and suffering you may have had in life is over. I truly believe that death is not the end, but a new beginning. It just really sucks that those of us still living can’t still talk to you and hear your voice, and give you a big hug when you’re in this new place.

So my cherub-faced cousin, watch over us, especially your parents and siblings. Say hello to Nonno Mike for me. And perhaps save a little chocolate for the rest of us.

I love you very much.

Your eldest cousin,
renée

******************

For more photos of Mike, which can be viewed as a slideshow, see the Michal Lee Riptide Juruc photo set.

A version of this post will be read at Michal’s funeral on 11 October 2007, in Brampton, Ontario.

With the support of Michal’s father and sister, the Mercuri family are establishing The Michal Juruc Memorial Scholarship, to remember Mike. If you are interested in supporting our efforts and have a few dollars to spare, please contact me or my parents, if you already have their contact info, for details.

I can say this because I am in Toronto. Whoops, did we forget to tell you? We are in North America for a few weeks, the original intention of returning to be here for my dear cugina’s (and maid of honour!) wedding celebration at the beginning of August. But our sojourn home has also turned into a nice excuse to fill our bellies with some home cooking, and of course, reconnect with all our lovely family and friends.

So about Toronto… After over seven months spent immersed in cultures where honking, and masses of people on motorcycles and auto rickshaws following no semblance of traffic rules is the norm; where stray dogs, cows, monkeys and other assorted wild life comb the roads and alleyways; and where roads come in dust-cloud red, pot-holed gray and black, and bumpy brown, Toronto seems like an oasis of (overly) sanitized shiny, happy people with smooth black molasses roads and paper money so clean and brightly hued j. had to ask my mom if the Canadian government had changed the colour of our funny money.

The kicker for me, after visiting countries where pretty much the only hair colour is black, is first, how many different people — every colour, style, size and taste — I have seen, and even more surprisingly, without roaming far from my family’s house in west end Toronto.

The media, schools and everyday people always talk about how multicultural our country, in particular, this city is. We brag about all the different types of food from around the world you can get eat here, which more often than not is an assortment of pretty authentic delights. The Toronto Star reminds me daily of all the festivals and events going on marking all the cultures that live here, from Ukrainian to Sri Lankan. But as much as I know and believe all this, it is particularly striking to come from the south Asian countries I’ve visited and truly SEE and UNDERSTAND how diverse Toronto the Good really is. It’s like finally comprehending that milk doesn’t come from the grocery store, it comes from COWS or that water doesn’t come from the tap, it comes from Lake Ontario.

The politeness and niceness I’ve encountered seems especially poignant after the in-your-faceness of chaotic, contrasting and cow-poop stained India. Every cashier I have encountered, first off, is smiling when I arrive at the register. Then they proceed to make small talk with me that doesn’t include asking me “what country?” And as I turn to go they tell me to have a nice day. I was even more astounded when this happened to me at an adult store where I was shopping for naughty goodies for my cousin’s bachelorette party. The other thing: the cars on the road stay in their lanes and there is parking! between the lines! for handicap people and families!

I think it was my sister who asked what I would do if I came back to Toronto for this relatively short interlude and then decided I didn’t want to return as planned to finish seeing India. I replied that if that was what happened, then there wasn’t much I could do about it, although I am sure the cost of canceling my return ticket would play a factor in my decision. If I did have this sort of reaction though, I would simply see it as giving me some insight into myself and my connection to home, Toronto specifically.

And so far, I love being home. The air smells like fresh cut grass, flowers, trees and not much else. My showers are as hot as the air conditioning is freezing. I am eating homemade peach pie while watching Food Network Canada at any time of day.

But as I look below the surface of these small pleasures (and small mercies!), I am truly looking forward to getting back on the road with j., and continuing to uncover India no matter how dirty or destitute it may seem there sometimes.

For now, though, I’ll happily let Toronto keep whacking me over the head. I can appreciate that it may not be often that I will get to see my home city with fresh eyes and with my Nonna’s homemade gnocchi filling my belly.

We’ve had a marvelous first day exploring Luang Prabang. Our plans for our first day — to follow the guide book walking tour (i.e. see many temples and other local sites) and visit the Royal Palace Museum — did not pan out BUT that is a good thing! We got side tracked by amazing Lao people who showed us around their city and took us to places only the locals frequent and found many nooks and crannies that amazed us and showed us just how different Lao is from Thailand.

Now we have a few moments before we meet our Canadian friends (who we met on the Mekong two-day cruise) for dinner at Restaurant Brasserie L’Elephant, apparently some of the best and cheapest French food we will be able to sample outside of France (Lao was a French colony up until the 1950s). Sorry to make you drool, Barry!

Although many of the French influences, like a love of baguettes and French pastries and the colonial architecture preserved in Luang Prabang, have made our stay in Lao so different from Thailand, it is also the people here that are making it a joyful experience.

Our Lao friend, Somphet (”sum peht”) connected us with a Lao SIM card so we now have a Lao phone number. How cool is that? I am sure some of you will find it equally cool to say you have called Lao, so if you would like to call us on our mobile the number is ###-####. The country code for Lao is 856. We don’t seem to have an area code or other digits before the phone number so we are not sure if there is anything else you might need to dial.

Tomorrow we may or may not sleep in as we moved guesthouses today from a somewhat rundown cramped spot that cost $7/night to a $10/day spot we think is a steal. This is the honeymoon suite I would have wanted if we had taken a “normal” honeymoon (not complaining, just saying). The all reddish wood building, beautifully made bed, fan-cooled room and high ceilings fit the image in my mind of what a grand teak wood Asian mansion would look like. Our photos, to be posted at a later date, will have to show you what we mean if you can’t imagine the same.

After a restful Saturday morning tomorrow, perhaps a toasted baguette or pastry for breakfast, and a Lao coffee for me (yes, i am drinking coffee here – it is made with condensed milk, has a scent similar to espresso, but tastes like the best mochaccino you could imagine), we may head to one of the waterfalls in the area to swim in one of the pools at each of the seven levels of falls. In the evening we may meet up with Somphet for dinner, he recommends BBQ, since Lao people like BBQ as much as Thai, Malaysian, Taiwan, and all of us in North America. We will be trying to persuade our Canadian friends to join us. A call in the early morning or late evening for us should work out just fine on Saturday.

On Sunday and Monday we have signed up for a two-day trek of sorts. I say of sorts because we will be living and working with elephants and mahouts, the people who train and drive elephants, at an elephant park, hiking to a nearby village and then returning to Luang Prabang by two-person kayak. As a result of this grueling schedule, and the fact that we will need both hands to wash the elephants in the river, we may not be able to answer our phones until we get back on Monday afternoon.

So give us a call when it is convenient for you, and if there is no answer please know that we are learning about and hopefully continuing to love a landlocked land that is more than just the most bombed country in history.

lots of love
rIAm and jft