 Tigger and Pike Place, Seattle  Tigger in Dubrovnik, Croatia I miss Tigger. He was my best friend for more than ten years. He was always there for me, no matter what. He had a way of making me laugh with his antics and his expressions. He was a smart cat, too. He knew how to open doors, how to play fetch, how to cuddle when I needed it.
He died four months ago. It was sudden and cruel. I didn’t have time to say goodbye. I didn’t have time to do anything. I just watched him fade away, helpless and heartbroken. I still think of him every day. I still see him in my dreams. I still feel him in my arms. Sometimes I hear his meow or his purr, and I turn around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But he’s not there. He’s gone. But he’s not forgotten. He lives on in my memories, and in my project. A project that I started actually even before he passed away. A project that I call “Tigger’s World Tour”. You see, Tigger loved to travel. But he never had the opportunity to do so. There were so many places that he didn’t get to see. So many places that I wanted to show him. So many places that I wanted to share with him. So I decided to bring him with me, in a way. I made a stack of stickers that look like postage stamps, with his portrait. Whenever I go somewhere new, I stick one of these stickers somewhere visible, somewhere public, somewhere where other people can see it. It’s like leaving a mark of Tigger’s presence, a sign of his spirit, a tribute to his memory. It’s also like sending him a postcard, telling him where I am and what I’m doing, telling him that I miss him and that I love him. Tigger has been to many places since he died. He’s been to the Cape of Good Hope in South Africa. He's also been to Tulum in Mexico, and Santa Monica Pier in the USA. The Hagia Sophia in Turkiye. He’s even been up the Banff Gondola to the Sulphur Mountains. He’s also been to Pike Place Market in Seattle. That's the last spot he visited. Pike Place is a famous market where you can find all kinds of things: fish and flowers and fruits and vegetables and crafts and souvenirs and more. It’s also where you can find a wall covered with stickers and posters and graffiti and art. A wall that represents the diversity and creativity and history of Seattle. A wall that has one of Tigger’s stickers on it. Can you spot it? It’s not easy to find. It’s hidden among hundreds of other stickers, some old and faded, some new and bright. But it’s there. It’s there for anyone who cares to look. It’s there for anyone who wants to say hi to Tigger. It’s there for anyone who wants to join me in celebrating his life. Tigger was more than a cat. He was my companion. He was my partner. He was my world.
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 I am standing at the heart of the Canadian Rockies, at the apex of the Columbia Icefield in Jasper National Park. The air is thin here, crisp and cold, as it mingles with the faint scent of glacial ice. It's a magnificent view, the kind that makes you feel insignificant and infinite all at once. The stark white of the icefield contrasts against the blue of the sky, making the scene look almost surreal.
Yet, as I look around, the grandeur of the scene is marked by an undeniable sense of loss. I can see the rate of retreat etched in the landscape, a harsh reminder of the rapidly changing climate. The Columbia Icefield, a majestic relic of the last Ice Age, is melting. It's another record-breaking heatwave in the region, an unnerving reminder of the extent of global warming. I can feel the sun's intensity on my face, harsher than it should be at this altitude. I hear the occasional thunderous crack of ice breaking away, a disturbing symphony that accompanies the quiet whisper of the wind. I take a moment to sit on a rock and soak in the reality of the situation. I'm here, in this moment, witnessing the slow demise of a natural wonder. It's a strange feeling, knowing that this landscape, so vast and seemingly eternal, is fading. I feel a pang of guilt mixed with sadness. Climate change isn't just a concept or a statistic in a report. It's real and tangible. It's the receding line of the icefield The softening crunch under my shoes The increasing heat at this altitude. This journey has made it clear to me that climate change isn't a distant problem. It's here, now, changing the landscapes we've known and loved. The Columbia Icefield isn't just a tourist spot. It's a symbol, a glaring testament to the urgency of the climate crisis. The Columbia Icefield is a reminder of the fragility of our world. It's a wake-up call to all of us. The question is, will we answer it?  The beauty of the journey is often found not in the destination, but in the journey itself. As I drove through the vast, serene National Forests of Canada, I found myself enveloped in the grandeur of nature, and I found solace and enlightenment within its embrace.
Firstly, I am thankful for having the opportunity to traverse Jasper National Park, Banff National Park, and Yoho National Park. Each one is a jewel in the crown of Canada's natural wonders, each unique, each breathing life into the landscape in its own way. The forests, the mountains, the rivers – they all speak a language as old as time, and yet, it's a language we understand instinctively. The 11km hike up and down Johnston Falls was a challenge, and testing my endurance. Yet, every step brought a new perspective, a fresh vista that filled my heart with awe. The thunderous roar of the falls was both a testament to the power of nature and a soothing lullaby that washed over me, cleansing my spirit. The journey to the Ink Pots was equally mesmerizing. Each pot, with its unique color and bubbling water, was like a mirror reflecting the vast sky overhead. The sight brought to mind the words of Kahlil Gibran: "You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth." I felt an intimate connection with the world around me, and I was reminded once again of the importance of cherishing these moments of communion with nature. Driving through the forests and mountains of Canada, I found that the solitude of the journey gave me time to think. The open road, the infinite horizon, and the rhythm of the wheels on the asphalt became my companions. They offered a quiet comfort, a space for introspection, and a chance to look inward and reflect on my journey – not just through Canada, but through life itself. In these moments of solitude, I was reminded of the importance of gratitude. I am grateful for the privilege to witness such beauty, to breathe the clean air, to listen to the symphony of nature. I am grateful for the strength to hike, to explore, to drive. And I am grateful for the wisdom to appreciate these blessings. Driving through the National Forests of Canada, I learned that each journey we embark on is a reflection of our own life's journey. Each road we take, each mountain we climb, each river we cross, is a metaphor for our own struggles and triumphs, our own joys and sorrows. And in the end, it's not about the destination – it's about the journey, the experiences, the memories, and the lessons we learn along the way. As I write this, I am filled with a sense of tranquility and fulfillment. I look forward to my next journey, my next exploration, my next drive. And I carry with me the echoes of the forest, the roar of the falls, and the wisdom of the open road. Until then, remember: The journey is the destination. Embrace it, cherish it, learn from it. And most importantly, be grateful for it. |
AuthorI am MrWildy and I am trying to journal more about my life and also my travels. Find out more about me here. Categories
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