Fashion

I've always had a face fit for radio.

Hey, don't go blaming my parents. It's not a genetic thing. In fact, I used to be quite dashing.

But sadly, a series of unfortunate incidents that occurred during my childhood (losing teeth while diving into a swimming pool, running head-first into a lamp post, being slashed in the lips by an ice skate) have rendered my once-impeccable visage into the Gonzo-esque mug that you see me sporting today.

In therefore regret to announce that, due to a terminal case of not being excruciatingly attractive, my childhood ambition of becoming a handsome Hollywood superstar will never come to fruition.

On the other hand, my career on the Bollywood screen is well under way. Let me explain.

While loitering on the street in Mumbai the other day, I was approached by a woman who offered me a position as an extra in an Indian film that is currently being shot. Fame and fortune will be yours! she quipped. Well, actually all she promised me was two free meals and a 500 rupee ($12.50) paycheck, but that was enough, so I signed up.

The following day, my new "agent" came to collect me at the hostel, and along with several other token White people, I was shuttled in style (um, on the city bus) to the film studio. There, I was told to remove my t-shirt and replace it with a shockingly gaudy velvet number, complete with turned-up collar and a rather silly floral pattern on the cuffs. I looked a bit like the Fonz, only more gay. Apparently this is how Indian people think we dress in North America.
Once in costume, we went to the set.

A little about the film itself: entitled Fashion, it tells the story of a young girl from Mumbai who dreams of being a supermodel, and eventually succeeds in doing so. But it's not an easy road for our young heroine. On the way up, she must surmount a series of challenges, such as outwitting catty other models, and placating a father who thinks her rise to stardom is inappropriate. I know, I know, just brimming with originality. Anyway, the bright spot for me was that the girl was played by former-Miss-World-and-current-Bollywood-leading-lady Prianka Chopra, whom I got to ogle for most of the day.

The scene we were shooting was set in a cocktail bar, so as extras we spent nearly 14 hours standing around with fake glasses of champagne, pretending to be engaged in conversation while the real actors were being filmed around us. On a few occasions, I got a walk-through role, whereby someone would direct me to stroll nonchalantly through the shot. I would normally be quite pleased with this, inasmuch as there is virtually no way that I wasn't on camera... too bad I looked like a poof in that shirt.

Ever watch a Bollywood film? They're really quite entertaining. Almost always 3 hours in length, they encompass just about every film genre in one go: song, dance, drama, action, comedy and romance, all wrapped together in a visual spectacle that some how winds up being artsy and slightly ridiculous at the same time. Fashion won't be coming to screens in India until 2009, but if you do want a little taste of Bollywood in the meantime ('cause I know you'll all be rushing to cinemas to see me a year from now) then I recommend Kal Ho Naa Ho. Check your local Indian DVD rental store.

Suffice to say that after a full day of pretending to drink at a fake bar, I needed to quaff a few beers in a bona fide establishment that served actual liquor. Glad I had 500 rupees to do just that! As I left the studio, my agent asked if I would like to return again the next day. I politely declined.
It seemed like an odd idea, to wile away on an Indian film set day-in-day-out, hoping that one day you'd be given a line or even a role to play. Funny thing is, there are plenty of foreigners in Mumbai who are actually doing it. I think they've all gone crazy. Take the Russian guy who spent 20 minutes bewildering me with a speech about how the only safe country in the world is Greenland. Or the Iranian girl who asked me "what is your name?" and "what is your country?" before telling me I was beautiful (beautiful??) and asking me to marry her. I told her I think we should see other people.

But hey, maybe if Bollywood doesn't pan out, I can try my luck in the Iranian film industry.

See Mike Hudson starring in Allah Camel al-Tabouleh Jihad, coming to the Tehran Megaplex in 2010.

Ticket to Ride

LADIES and GENTLEMEN,

welcome to the main event.

We ask you to please take your seats, grab a firm hold of your beer, and affix your eyes to the screen. Because tonight, an epic battle will begin.

Let us introduce our opponents.

In the first corner, wearing the extremely dirty shorts and weighing in at a respectable 68kg, representing the City of Edmonton, the Nation of Canada and the Legion of Dudes Who Like to Keep it Real... Miiiiiike Hudson!

[cue ringside announcer]: Mike Hudson! What can we say about this boy other than that he has a penchant for troublemaking on foreign soil? Tonight, he puts his perfect 2-0 record on the line, having already emerged victorious from previous clashes with South America and Africa, though it is worth remembering that the latter nearly KO'd Mike with its double-pronged attack of ebola virus and political turmoil! Have 12 months of traveling turned Mike into the Indomitable Man of Steel, or have his nerves been worn down to the quick? Only time will tell!

And in the other corner, weighing in at a continental 10^22 kilograms, representing a panoply of nations that includes India and East Timor, big enough to see from Space and bad enough to unleash Avian flu, striking fear into the hearts of its opponents from Peshawar to the Pacific Rim... Southeeeeeeeast Asia!

[cue ringside announcer]: Southeast Asia! A place so mystical, so magical, so colossal, so... selcouth? ... that it has been attracting Western opportunists since Magellan was but a wee lad! But don't go thinking that Asia is nothing but ethereal beauty and fresh pineapple, because this bad boy has a real mean streak and a potent supply of weaponry. Volatile Indian curries! Fanatical Burmese military juntas! Third degree Thai sunburns! Bureaucratic Singaporean anti-chewing-gum laws! Yep, it's safe to say that Asia's got enough trials and tribulations to send even the most seasoned backpacker heading for the creature comforts of home. Will Mike be able to tame the Oriental beast? Or will he be left crawling back to Canada, relegated to a life of fast food, the second season of Grey's Anatomy on DVD, and *GASP* a real job?

Buckle your safety harnesses. Mike Hudson and Southeast Asia are on a high-speed collision course. Premiering January 23.

Let's get ready for some rumblination.

sonIC MArigold

Há nada mais para dizer... eu já falei tudo. E o quê eu disse é para você, e você só.


But I will say thank you. I had a great time visiting you and being in your wonderful country again.


Thank your Mom and Dad for all their kind hospitality. I'm sorry that I barely understood what they were saying half the time. =)


Asia beckons. I wish you could come but I know that you cannot.

So that wish won't be granted. But there's one more: I wish that, when Asia is over, there is a Brazilian waiting for me at the end.



And I don't mean the type of Brazilian that comes with hot wax and a lot of pulling.


In this last picture, she's telling me to use more sunblock.

Saudades de você, querida. Eu vou voltar em breve.

Out of Africa

My African sojourn has now drawn to a close. To attempt to summarize it here would be foolhardy.

What I can say is that over the past six months I have felt feelings I didn't know I had, seen things I never thought possible, and compiled enough zany stories to last a lifetime and beyond.

I won't go through the stories. But I will share one of them, simply because it seems to befit the current state of my mentality better than all the rest.

Flash back to Lake Malawi. I was marooned on an island with a few friends and we desperately wanted to return to the mainland to catch the rugby world cup final. The ferry wasn't due for a few days, so we chartered a boat run by a local guy to do the voyage. It was the most un-seaworthy (seaworthless?) craft I'd ever set my eyes on: rotting, leaky, and no place to sit. The leaks were the real issue; from the minute we set off, the hull began to fill with water. But of course, this is Africa, and the local boys had a solution. Using a length of rubber tubing, two rusty iron cylinders, some metal housing, a pair of brass bars, some scrap rubber and two 2x4"s, they managed to fashion a water pump. It was modeled after a stairmaster, so that as the operator pushed down on the 2x4"s in turn, bilge fluid from the hull would be safely sent over the side. The whole contraption maybe cost 10 dollars for materials, nothing more. From an engineer's perspective, I found this to be fabulous. I tried to envision what the situation would be like back home in Canada. In place of a ramshackle pump made from old bits and bobs, someone would have installed a gas-driven sump pump, worth several thousand dollars, in order to keep the water out. Or, they would have had to fix the whole hull. Actually, forget it, the boat probably just would have been scrapped in the first place. Either way, you can be damn sure that no self-respecting Canadian would have climbed in for a ride.

The moral of this tale is that Africa, and its people, do things their own way. And try as we might, Westerners will probably never understand it.

So what truly annoys me here is the omnipresence of what Theroux calls "soldiers of virtue": Westerners who set foot on the continent with the sole intention of 'saving it'. Time and time again, I've had to endure discussions about orphanages being built, English skills being passed on and third world debt being relieved, then forced to answer questions about why I'm not here for the same purpose. But the reality is that very few of these foreign angels believe that progress could involve any of the Africans themselves, and that it's only the West who can deliver the black people from their plight.

Well I disagree. I don't believe that the combined effort of a billion benevolent muzungus could right the African ship. In order for Africans to accept change, they first have to want it, and if they ever do decide that their home country should be the next Sweden or Canada, then they must make the changes themselves: of their own design, and to their own beat.

So does this mean that I'm a heartless bastard? Am I declaring that no one should volunteer their time in projects aimed at improving the lives of the locals? No. By all means, do come and lend a helping hand. But don't go thinking that the work you do will be expediting Africa into the 21st century. That attitude is both self-righteous and arrogant.

Me? Well, I came to Africa to do precisely what I accomplished in the end: to travel 15,000km, by road, using local transportation. Managed to survive it, too (bonus!). That being said, I'd like to give a word of thanks to all the anonymous Africans who helped me out on the way.

And while I'm doling out the gratitude, there are many people at home and abroad who also deserve to be commended for their aid in keeping my boat afloat during this past calendar year. So more thanks go out...

...to my grandmothers, who both must wonder at times if they will outlive me as a result of my actions.

...to my sister, who grabbed the helm of my personal life when I was unable to control it from abroad.

...to all those who have read my written words and put forth their comments in return. My budding romance with the English language has been the vehicle driving this blog, but the measured support of my faithful readers has been the fuel to keep it in motion.

...para voce.

And finally, to my parents, who are not to be held accountable for the recessive genes that cause me to commit acts of stupidity. Despite my occasional disappearing acts, my capricious love affairs and my quixotic adventures into dangerous places, you've always been in my corner, and for that you deserve the biggest thanks of all. Oh, and for the record, I WAS touched when you reported me missing to the Canadian High Commission in Mozambique, even though my first reaction suggested otherwise.

2007 is over.

At the risk of making a horrible pun, I'll venture to say that this year has been a trip. To think that I've the means to feed my insatiable wanderlust for many months to come makes me extremely content, though at this point I can't say when I'll call it quits. No going home yet though. New places continue to beckon.

And so, this blog will continue into 2008. I cordially invite you all to come along for the ride. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that new experiences are easy to come by. The difficult part is condensing them into words so that others can enjoy them with you.

"I've hated the words, and I have loved them. But I hope I've made them right." -From The Book Thief by Markus Zusak