Yes we have been together at this wrestling show ..

The plane arrives at 4pm in Dawson. To late for her to play the tournament...
We stay for a week. Let see what else comes up...

cya soon

I will be working on a multi-post pertaining to my WSOPC deep run in the Super High Roller in Montreal. Given that I want it to be a solid story, the totality might take a month+. I have just about completed the first part (to be posted tonight/this weekend), but the subsequent entries might be punctuated by some travel destinations (going back to Vancouver, then Okanagan Valley followed by the Kootenays in October). Enjoy folks

Peace

Congratulations on the run. Always up for Dubnjoy posts, looking forward to it!

Thx bro After much delay, here is the first instalment of what should be a 5 part series, me thinks... Am presently in Vancouver and should post next week on my destination (most likely Vernon in the Okanagan Valley...), but would like to finish this MTT deep run 5 part hopefully before getting to Europe... Enjoy yall

WSOPC Montreal, Day 1 (AKA the fatigue kicks in…)

The expression "jetlag" fails to fully capture the extent of my emotional and physical distress… The latter constituted of a weird mix of exhaustion, frantic energy, manic vibes, generalized body tension and plain f**king insanity

It all started with a bad night of sleeping in Dawson City, a long ride the next day (in my unreliable-deadbeat-van nonetheless ) to Whitehorse , another restless night spent at the hotel, a sleepless 13h flight the next day (when factoring delays + layover in Vancouver) and a a ton of running around like a headless urban chicken in Montreal to make ends meet ... Et voila!, here I am, Day 1A of the Main Event, a fictional zombie character moreso than a tangible human form And yet, somehow and with some unknown will power infused in me, I still manage to show up with my A+ game yo

But apparently I am not the only one to arrive late on Day 1A of the 1.1k main event ; 15 minutes after I have made my way to the table, the face of poker in Quebec shows up, AKA the fellow that ran purer than gold when he binked the WSOP Vegas Main Event in 2010 (for a non negligible score of 9 million buckaroos) and has since been branded as a legend in these parts and the main reason behind the late poker boom in La Belle Province : lone and behold, Jonathan Duhamel





If the games are dying out in Western Canada - ehhhhh Vancouver has become an embarrassment -, 50 poker tables can be found running on a random Monday afternoon in these parts And a lot of this delayed poker boom is attributed to this fellow Yet, like me, the guy is tired af. Somewhat uninterested. You can tell that his 2 kids back home weigh more emotionally on his soul than this 2 card game, right, as who wants to deliberately throw themselves in the jaws of the ruthless poker world that will eat you up alive and spit you out for the sharks to consume...

You never win the war during the first stages of the battle... The goal is to survive. To manoeuvre slowly but surely your way. To stay aware of your surroundings. To be one with the moment, even if you feel that tension crawling up around your muscles... And above everything else, to stay awake!!!

Even if I splash around a ton in the early levels of the tournament, I fail to manage to accumulate chips ; given that all of my table has (like myself) showed up late for the event - ehhhh, an unexpected delay at the bank in my case -, we find ourselves at a pro-infested table

In the fourth level of the day, I open 67o in the CO (am targeting one of the lone recreational players in the BB), button 3bets me (third time today in exactly the same scenario), so when the action comes back to me, I slowly pick up some extra ammunition and put in the 4bet and hence declare war to any reg that wants to tangle with me yo But alas, apparently he had plans of his own to conquer the world as he takes a mere 10 seconds before declaring “all-in” and stares me down with all the confidence known to mankind Faking a tough decision and using the best acting skills Hollywood has to offer, I sigh, huff and puff before my opponent comes to the rescue by Kindly offering “I will show you if you fold”. These are all the words I need to save face : I happily toss away the 67o in the muck…. only to see villain flip over 23 I can’t help but to crack up in lols to villain’s MIGHTY FRACKING BALLS!!!

The rest of the day is much of the same as I GII on the last level with AKcc < 55 (go big or go home and try again for Day 1B). I bust. And go back home. Kinda of happy that I can finally get some sleep…. But, alas, the poker Gods had other plans as I lie there in bed, restless, visualizing too many ****ing flops, turns and rivers unfold on the 4 walls and the ceiling squeezing me in captivity…. FML

To be continued...

In the Heart of the Valley

Word of mouth is what brought us, 100 or so French punks and hippies, to Oliver, a small agricultural (fruit) town located in the heart of the Okanagan Valley. Of course, we like to pretend that we came here to work - and some of us do, when the absence of finances obliges us to do so - ; but truth be told, the daily menu consists mainly of slacking off all day, getting high in the sun, jumping in the lake, helping ourselves to the lower hanging fruits in a random orchard or indulging in the free food offered at the church when hunger strikes.

On the other side of the spectrum, the locals certainly did not sign up for this shyt…. Like not at f**king all When they first settled in these parts, the calmness of the open valleys is what welcomed them arms wide open... but they alas failed to foresee, at the horizon, the sight of a bunch of French lazy f**king bums getting high all day and speaking of this elusive revolution in that fracking language Hells no!!! Which is pretty much the kryptonite of any hard working Anglo-Saxon redneck, right

Maybe the latter helps explain why this evening, just after we had smoked up and found ourselves laying peacefully in the grass, a savage redneck herd of 20 something kids show up and beat the living crap out of a French punk fellow He was left on the ground barely conscious, his jaw WIDE open with spurts of blood squirting from his teeth ... 20 minutes later, and the lot of us still don't know what the fracking hell happened Part of it is that we are HIGH like f**king kites , the other reason being we have witnessed numerous French-English conflicts in our days, enough to not attribute this act of violence to anything else than this cultivated racism instilled in us since a young age pointing to the OTHER side is being inherently evil ; ohhhhhh what ignorance we collectively dwell in


When I chose Vernon as my next location, it was mainly to meet up with a buddy (we did, but he was in Kelowna for the most part), potentially do an Ayahuascan journey (was not in the right frame of mind) and to shake off this perpetual downswing ; alas, I failed in all these departments

Vernon has this very suburban look about it and even though modern suburbs have diversified themselves somewhat over the past few decades (think a variety of Asian restaurants and…. that’s about it ), you still want to shoot yourself in the face when you see the never ending myriads of gas stations, convenience stores, drug stores and fast food joints




I wanted to spare you folks the colourless pics of a burb, so I put these graffiti pics up instead





Thankfully though, the centre of the town did offer a more serene view with a handfull of Indian and Japanese restaurants








Speaking of this 20k downswing... prior to it, I had only encountered 2 losing weeks in 2018, was riding a 10 week 115k upswing , so all is good in the grand scheme of things I will be in Nelson for the next week.


Run good all

WSOPC Montreal, Day 2 (Weathering the Storm)

Somehow and for some (unknown) reason and despite a mere 3-4h of non-continuous-sleep, I still manage to wake up in a semi-decent-non-fully-zombie-shape Of course, I need to squeeze every single drop of the hot shower to wash away the fatigue and rust that has naturally carved itself into my body…

The experience gained by this game is a deep existential one of self-versus-self : we learn to establish our own limits, to go beyond them or perhaps to stay safely tucked within their boundaries… Whichever our direction, in the end, the journey will ultimately be determined by the confrontation with our own shadows.

The uneventful ride to Kahnawake sees my speedometer oscillating in between (a rebellious) 140km/h and (a more conformist) 120km/h…. The former, negatively conditioned by my recent stint on Vancouver Island of getting hit by numerous traffic fines in 1 day ... the latter infused by a heavy dose of caffeine





My Day 1B table is much softer than yesterday’s affair and outside of a handful of obnoxious yet predictable semi-pros - AKA I-will-not-be-around-in-2-years-wannabees-but-meanwhile-will-annoy-the-living-shyt-out-of-everybody-at-the-table-by-talking-strat/backing deals/swapping/recent scores/reentries little f**ks -, I make this table my own living room yo A place to comfortably settle in, stretch my legs, and feast to my delight Sometime’s, it's simply a picnic Easy game yo, easy game


Hand of Interest : After a 2bbs open from a weak EP player and a call in MP, I elect to defend my button with AJ ; since there is also a (tremendously) weak player in the blinds and that we find ourselves deep enough, I am happily opening up my range quite significantly ; SB (who is the drooler in question), makes it 5bbs to go and we all elect to call the minuscule raise.

Flop (22.5bbs)
A58

SB bets 10bbs and it is on me to act after everyone folds... I do not love life, but my hand remains good often enough here, given how villain has been a maniac thus far…. I make the call.

Turn (42.5bbs)
A58 K

Villain checks pretty fast and I take some time before doing the same.

River (42.5bbs)
A58 K 8

Villain bets 5bbs and I promptly decide to change my hand into a bluff ; after barely 5 seconds, I make it 30bbs to go, essentially committing 1/3 of my stack ; villain slams the table and after 3-4 seconds of moaning and sighing, he folds AQ face-up (no obviously).


Before I know it, I bag 225k, good for 4.5x the starting stack and double the average. It is with a smile of my face that I zoom back home in the van, already grinning at the beautiful snoozzzzzes lying ahead… Of course, Lady Insomnia has plans of her own as she shows up just when I am on the verge of sleeping and keeps me wide awake most of the night... FML

To be continued...

Cool, thread gl.

WSOPC Montreal, Day 3 (AKA The Beast Unleashed)

Of course, as one would expect by now, sleep was sparse and (very) limited, but I nonetheless wake up feeling relatively fresh and positive Bagging in a sizeable stack yesterday has a little something to do with my uplifted spirits and renewed confidence in my game


We might believe that we rid ourselves of our demons along the path, but most of them linger underneath our skin…. It started at a very young age when that familiar nocturn monster would creep underneath our bed, find a comfort zone and nestle in…. Of course we would never actually see it, but none could doubt its flair, its glow, its presence…. It would hunt our dreams in the form of eternal pursuits or nightmarish endings…. Before falling asleep, it would occupy our thoughts…. Nonetheless, just when we thought we would never rid ourselves of it, we finally reach our teenage years and these new found hormones convince us that the boogey man was ahhhhh soooo juvenile and a bad case of infantile imagination…


I manage to show up early for the Super HighRoller 5.3k unlimited reentries only to notice sitting at my table - FML a 1001 times over -, Mike f**king Leah, patiently waiting to draw some blood from SHR noobs like me Mike-fracking-All-Work-No-Play Leah... Mike-The-Robotic-Grinder-That-Final-Tables-Every-Event-He-Enters Leah I mean if it was a delight to share the table with Duhamel who was more about the smiles, conversations and pics involved in being the official ambassador, Mike’s all business/no BS attitude is intimidating af I do get a break from dem poker gods though when, 5 hands into the tournament, a (divine) hand taps me on the shoulder and points me towards my new table







In our teenage years, the booze and the drugs helped suppress the beast in us... Meanwhile it would lay low, tucked underneath our skin, feeding on our fear, waiting for that perfect moment when we would let go of our guard…


Despite the presence of a few pros at my table, I manage to run good and catch great cards, thus becoming the table captain along the way yo Most of my chips come from this Cuban fellow named Jorge, who would go on to reenter 3 times, most of his chippies ending up in my stack


Then came the responsibilities of being an adult and the inflicting pace of the rat’s race : the running around, bewildering stress, unhealthy ambitions…. It would inhabit us in silence through the form of anxiety or depression, feeding upon our ego, growing stronger over the years… It would eventually find a home inside our organs, nestling itself around our tensed muscles, scratching to the surface with its anxiety induced ant-like needles to finally manifest itself in this distinct yet foreign voice in our head.


By the time I show up at Mike Leah's table (final 3 tables out of the original 75 players), I am one of the chip leaders, I have a grin on my face and a titanic amount of confidence yo. All of which would be shattered a couple of blind levels later when Mike would proceed to put my game to shame


Things are going relatively smoothly and I decide to open up my game/use my tight image to my advantage when I raise K10o in MP. Given my perceived image and the fact that the BB only has 16bbs left to his name, I feel I can go for a steal here…. Mike Leah calls from the SB and the BB shoves pretty quickly, which I expected him to do with a wide enough range (he is tilted). I take about 30 seconds to rethink how my hand does vs him and elect to make the call. The problem is, not only did my thought process/weakness transpire through my tanking process (was just too tired to deliberately hide anything), but I obviously exposed myself when I fail to use my position to shove (Mike and I are 50bbs effective). Leah takes no time in shoving as I am left with no choice but to moan and turn around in my seat, swear at the 1001 poker gods that put me in this death-hole of a situation, before helplessly tossing away my hand in a longggg sigh


When we reach our twilight years, the cancer has eating us alive ; from inside out, it has chewed us open, leaving us completely boneless “Why oh why” we cry out, desperately trying to figure out the origin of this foreign entity, failing to realize it has always been within us, resting underneath, crawling around our bones, tissues and muscles…

To be continued…

Valley of Lost Souls

August 1999, 100kms outside of Nelson, lost in the bush at a hippie 10 day gathering. I am high... Like real f**king HIGH. I have done psychedelics about 30-50 times in my life and most of them have been AMAZING journeys, but this time around, my demons have surfaced... To the extent where they are clawing at me and emotionally crippling my outlook on life... Thankfully though, my beautiful gf is there to keep me company.

As we head back to the tent, we come across a mini-rave gathering of 10 peeps jamming/dancing away by the river... The organic-techno sound of the didgeridoo-djembe duo is as magical as can be... As is the gracious groove of the dancers in tune with the river, the rapids, the music echoes and the elegant heartbeat of Gaia... We sit down for an hour... Observing… My gf is as splendid as Mother Nature, radiant like the rising sun, smiling like a liberated soul that has found solace in the moment... While I sit there admiring, certainly, but moreso as a frightened outsider, a distant observer sitting on the other river bank side that is scared of his f**king shadow.. Help


Even in the dawn of my 40s and despite the absence of long hair and a scruffy look (which now has been replaced by geeky glasses, tidy shirts and an overt civil politeness), I am still drawn to hippie towns like Nelson. Or Salt Spring a couple of months back. And Dawson, lest not forget. Which might explain why I prolonged to 18 days my stay here from the initial week

Nelson is a little town of 10k (lost) souls nestled in the Slokane Valley which in turn is tucked in between the Selkirk Mountains and Kootenay Lake. The downtown area has an artsy vibe to it with its restored antique buildings and overall bold philosophy of resisting to the modern advent of colourless franchises, chain stores and strip-malls developments ; of course, a big part of the local economy lies on organic farming and marijuana agriculture




A great colourful combo of historical building and the automn climbing vines





The first time I ended up here, I was coming back from an emotional/spiritual journey in India (where I had done several meditation retreats/a ton of soul seeking) and, long and behold, here I found myself with a bunch of other dreadlock seekers But a lot of stuff changes in the span of 12 years... Most of it occurring inside of me.




I slept underneath that bridge my first night in town after my ride dropped me there




Also spent a few days camping by dem tracks


It is with much delight that I explore this charming little town, testing out its numerous restaurants, indulging in the crafty goods sold in the stores or walking down the riverside like a prior version of Dubnjoy use to do It feels good to be me. A present time version of Dubn. Here. I even paid homage to the legalization of marijuana nationwide in Canada by doing a strong dose of THC gummy bears when me and 40 other peeps caught Jeff Martin jamming away in a cool venue

Up next : 2 days in Calgary before making (hopefully) a deep run in WPT Montreal yo

Thx bro


Peace

WSOPC Day 4, Part 2 (AKA The Final Table)

Once the bubble bursts and we find ourselves guaranteed of a 12k min cash at the final table, nothing else matters Not the serious lack of sleep…. Nor the fact that out of the 9 of us, there is only one non-pro (who happens to be the chip leader)…. Or that Mike Leah is still in it…. Nope. None of it. Nada. Zilch. Now that I have guaranteed myself of a successful trip in La Belle Province, all is gravy from here yo





I engage conversation with a known French Canadian grinder in these parts (cool guy) and start speaking numbers, EV, ROI and hourlies in live MTTs, how to get most of the 30% tax withhold imposed upon Canadians when grinding the WSOP events in Vegas and all subjects that I would never speak of at a poker table full of recreationals, if it were not that we are all pros and are guaranteed of a 5-6 figure payday In fact, I am so engaged in the conversation (and simply enjoying the moment), that before I realize it, we are down to 6 players I start to refocus my attention on the game, live tells (not many being leaked, but always worth exploring) and to squeeze out whatever equity I can, right, as the pay jumps are pretty significant at this point.

It is exhausting being a robot. Going through the motions without giving out a single tell…. Thinking, tanking, pushing the chips across the line and staring down emotionless at the same spot on the table as to not give out any info while villain is staring us down…. Once in the zone, it becomes 2nd nature, yet I can feel this imperturbable robotic state of mind draining the life out of me as I sit there, deliberately fighting against my own instinctive human nature…

I am sitting 4th in chips when this blessing of a hand happens when our UK rec player opens OTB (he has been very active) and SB (chip leader who barely has him covered) shoves for 50bbs effective. Our tilted UK friend snap-calls with 77. A Q on the flop just about seals the deal as our rec player promptly leaves the table, clearly overpowered by his emotions.

5 of us remain after this debacle of a bustout hand, 3 Canadians (the aforementioned pro who is now the overwhelming chip leader and a fellow crusher (a few million in cash) from Ontario), a (French) Belgium happy lad and a robotic Ukranian crusher sitting to my left. My final table ICM game is rusty af and I do have to wing numerous preflop scenario, mainly the SB vs BB battles, but I do make up for it with my post-flop game that differs from these MTT pros. Fortunately though, our Ontarion friend busts-out in a standard flip situation and I now find myself with a 40k guarantee Afterwards, all goes fast. Too fast. My SB vs BB mishaps versus our Ukranian crusher that can smell any inch of equity miles away, and then my bustout hand where I flop 2 pairs with K9s on a KQ9 flop where villain flopped the absolute fracking coconuts with J10, 25bbs effective When I step outside in the sunny summer evening with a gangsta roll of 400x 100$ bills in my inside pocket, a golden smile is naturally painted on my face : I belong yo

To be continued...

WSOPC Montreal Day 5 (AKA Manic Vibes)

I am buzzing... Not like a bee... Or peaking on some sort of psychedelic high... Or a natural high, for that matter... No… I am buzzing like a fracking manic-depressive alien, pretending to be human but falling short in my wannabe otherworldly acting skills...

I show up late for the tournament. Off little sleep - of course -, but with little expectations to answer to now that I have binked that elusive respectable live tourney score

Both my actions and gestures at the table are abrupt and sporadic... I am buzzing like a sleepless and severely caffeinated zombie robbed of the last vestiges of his humanity…

After the button opens to 2bbs and I decide to make the call with 33 in the SB, the BB promptly shoves for 22bbs. Button takes about a minute before folding which gives me plenty of time to put 2 + 2 together and figure out that :

Primo : BB is tilting like an emasculated mama-fracker from that previous hand…

Secondo : I aint going to take no shyt today

…By the time the action comes to me, I snap with 33, turn it over like it is the stone cold nuts and watch the whole table erupt in astonishment as BB sheepishly turns over 22

A few levels later and it is my turn to bust out… I am not sure how it all happens… All is pretty darn hazy and confusing af, yet behind this apparent daze, I can see strings of sunlight… 40k of it, to be precises, shining like mama-fracking gold yo And it feels sweet. F**king sweet Sweeter than a potential 2k min cash would of felt like





[SPOIL]I would go on to bink the ME in Dawson the following weekend for 25k and then cash for 41k in last week’s WPT in Montreal ; what year it has been folks, what a year [SPOIL]

Up next : Unibet Open Dublin in a couple of days.


Peace

What date are we up to here? This is all distant (or not so) events right? And your pgc focuses on the current?

Correct. I update my PG & C on (an almost) daily basis making it indeed current, while this 5 part series was the WSOPC Montreal back in August. I try to post about every new place I go to ITT, which means the upcoming posts will focus (from a travelling angle and perhaps poker perspective...) on Dublin, Prague (and villages in Czech Republic where my buddy is getting married), Spain and then most likely Italy, Portugal, France and Malta during the next 3 months.

Feisty Green Leprechaun

June 1998, Ste-Adele. 30 of us have organized a 3 day gathering by some hidden waterfalls in the bush. The theme is simple : we will be high, naked, swimming all day and camping out by a bonfire in the evening with our dreadlocks flying f**king loose. Why? Because we can The name of the whole ordeal : “into the Queen’s arse” We are French, rebels, living off the open-space that is Queen’s land all in the name of REVOLUTION Yall

I wish I could bring some interesting, knowledgable and insightful conclusion about my understanding of Dublin/Irish culture, but alas, in between being jet lagged af/punctuated with bouts of terrible snoozes, grinding both live and online to the tune of 40h this week (am old folks ) and a failed attempt at going inwards with a pseudo meditation retreat, I do not feel that I have dug deep into Irish culture folks. At all. Of course, there is a ton of Irishmen in Canada and it is not as if Anglo-Saxon culture is foreign to me, but outside of a few inquiries on Gaelic roots, all I can say is that the Irish are friendly. And feisty. And sometimes drunk and obnoxious.





My head was not in the game early on as I misfired 3 bullets into the Highroller and the main event ; alas, something about my fatigue level, manic energy and general run bad would not permit me to advance further





I did bink a side-event though (a 220 euros BI) which saw me capitulate after a 6h run good journey and my A game





I have been convinced to make it to the next Unibet Open come February in Sinaia, Romania, as the ski resort mountaineous location looks absolutely splendid





Am in Prague presently for my buddy's wedding in rural Czechia. TR to come soon...


Peace

Praha (AKA the Land of Resistance)

Montreal, May 1997, 3am. A light snowfall is gently sprinkling the urban streets... 3 of us are standing strong on top of the city, towering Montreal from the summit of the Mount Royal, bottle of wine in hand while scanning the mesmerizing beauty of this historically turbulent streets that lay at our feet... From Henri-Bourassa to Rene-Levesque, the metropole extends north to south, embracing one suburb to another with its urban caress... From Boulvard Saint-Jean Baptiste to Queen Mary Street, the island holds in its premises different ethnicities, cultures and French dreamers... Yet in this moment, at 3 in the fracking morning, it is ALL ours, us, 3 drunken long-haired beatnics with plans to conquer the world and beyond. Revolution yo


Even if Prague was definitely on my list of places to ultimately visit, the trip would of not of occurred if it wasn't for my Czech friend suddenly changing his wedding location (and dates) from the Phillipines to his homeland. It was only a week ago that this was all made official and that the last minute wedding plans materialized themselves.





I mean, Montreal is nice and all, especially when put into a North American context - AKA the nuts in terms of architectural marvel, cultural heritage, night life and artsy scene (music, theatre, cinema etc.) -, but still pales in comparison to Prague's magnificence I was snapping away pic after pic while strolling down the ancient city streets, reminding myself a bit tooooo much to all dem teenage chicks that can't put their phone away But I couldn't help it Prague demands to be photographed. Forever frozen in time. Again. And again. A gazillion times and some, even if this implies that all the Japanese, Chinese, French, English, Slavic and even Greenlanders tourists of the world come vacationing for a day or two while glued to their smart phones





It was also nice to get to visit rural Czech Republic and thus exposed to the local customs of a traditional marriage I did get to meet some great folks, even if Czechs remain a little reserved at first... And who would of thought that ayahuasca is a thing in a rural Czechia and that I would (metaphorically) dive head first in such a discussion with a cute local Speaking of which, some of the women here have these profound deep blue eyes in which a romantic Frenchman can easily get lost at sea in





Next Up, Madrid, Espana, where I will be spending the remainder of my visa. I did have Italy and Malta as possible weekend getaways, but it all depends on the flow of things, obviously, and it might be counter-productive to adventure ourselves to other countries when Spain has SOOOOO much to offer within its boundaries





As far as the winter plans goes, time will tell, but it is a coin flip in between heading east towards Asia for meditation retreats or South-West towards countries like Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina and Brazil where Ayahuasca of course awaits baby


Run good all

En la Búsqueda de los Suenos Impossibles

Somewhere along the Mexican dusty roadside in between Puerto Valluarata and Mexico City, January 2001… A 30 wheeler finally pulls over to offer us a ride. We had been left empty-handed, thumbs up, for the past couple of hours and a little discouraged, tbh. Part of it is being estranged in a foreign country with angry Mexican cars zooming by, a few them going as far as to point fingers at us while yelling obscenities in Espanol ; another untold aspect of our fragile conjugal life, is that we are once again broke af my gf and I, a fact that seems to be compounded underneath the weight of this scorching Mexican Sun… Ooooofff When you are white, young and seemingly from America, you are supposed to be rich. Own a car. Travel by plane. Or in a 1st class coach. Anything, really, but being stranded by the highway begging for a ride But alas, such is our fate.

We have apparently hit the jackpot with this ride : our friendly truck driver is heading to Mexico City , approximately 12h ahead The only problem is that he insists that I speak in Spanish/AKA a language that I can barely mutter 50 words in without sounding like a complete drooling moron I do manage to converse here and there, but mainly get a few chuckles . But ultimately, who cares : we are young, healthy, f**king beautiful and on the road of freedom with the whole fracking world up for grabs yo


I am finally here. In Spain. AKA the promise land which I have been craving for the past year. Think good food. Luscious women. A vivid culture. La Musica. El Baile And yet, a sentiment of apprehension is overwhelming me. Call it mix emotions. This heteroclite blend of excitement and fear. The latter derived moreso from my imminent immersion into a language I still do not master as opposed to forcing myself into the unknown.





Disclaimer : I have not visited many jaw-dropping European cities like Vienna, Berlin, Amsterdam or whichever might make the list, but Madrid is a sweet little city yo One stroll in the downtown area will not only convince a wanderer of the necessity of a longer promenade, but sidewalks actually become this Mecca where lovers kiss, couples walk hand-in-hand or friends stand still to shoot the shyt In fact, la vida in the cafes, restaurants or the one spilling out of the bars and overflooding the pedestrian sidewalks, by far outweighs the car traffic in the streets








Mastering Spanish is still an issue even though I am slowly and deliberately immersing myself into the Spaniard culture... But they have this unhealthy tendency of speaking f**king fast, as if their life depended on it As far as my itinerary goes, I am not exactly sure just yet, but it appears I will be heading down to Malaga, to then come up the East Coast towards Barcelona where I will attend a meditation retreat in mid-January…





Run good all

2019 : A new Statistical Beginning

I have been in the south of Spain for the past few weeks, in La Costa Del Sol, where the weather has been more lenient for this time of the year. This has also been where that fleeting transition in between 2018 and 2019 happened to occur

When I look back on last year, 3 accomplishments instantly come to mind : outstanding poker results (just under 1/4 mil total with both live and online seeing me crack the 6 digits threshold ), improving greatly on my Spanish skills (it is never easy to learn a new language) and pursuing my chosen spiritual path (another magnificent 20 day retreat in Israel and an otherworldly ayahuasca journey). Needless to say, but I am more than content with my achievements yo And will aim for much of the same during the next 12 months.



Poker : Repeating similar results would be amazing. Of course, variance is a wild untameable beast not only with regards to the uncertainty of potential online changes, but especially when it pertains to 5k live MTTs. Speaking of which, my last remaining goal in poker is to final table one of these highstakes events



Health : My buddy and I have booked a weight loss bet where we need to be both need to be underneath the 192lbs threshold by September. We weighed approximately the same a month ago (206lbs) and it will be a wash if we both succeed. Regardless, exercise needs to be emphasized as, if not tennis or walking, I fail to alas be much active



Spiritual : A solid agenda to start off the year with a 10 day retreat in Barcelona, a 20 day in Calgary in March and some Ayahuasca journeys down the road in Bolivia-Peru.

Travels : This will revolve around furthering my Spanish abilities, spiritual goals and eventually find a place to potentially purchase/settle down in. Of course, meeting a gf would sway the momentum in a direction or another.

That's it for now folks, will be back soon with some more Spanish pics/updates, as well as Malta and Romania yo


Run good all

nice content, what format do you play online? sorry if it's been said a lot itt already

Si Es un Toro, Ti Mata

Chaing Mai, Thailand, October 2002. Why are you here... Why are you here? These 3 words on the wall that have been staring me down for the past 10 days, defying me, challenging me to rip out the door and to make a run for it, ffs But I resist ; Despite the crippling depression clawing my soul from inside-out, I resume to pivot my concentration towards my respiration, even if I fail to believe at the task at hand.

All you need to do in order to describe the inexpressible, is individually threw together a series of significantly charged words, right. Like pain. Suffering. Bliss. Compassion. Anger. Resentment. Disgruntlement. Love. And yet, these still fail to concisely grasp the poetical chaos that was the past 2 weeks, as in the end, it always comes down to the battle in between ego and the contemplative non-self







One thing was clear when I got here : I did not want the responsibility of being a manager. Like no f***king way Communicating one-on-one in Spanish is already a tough enough task as it is, that I did not need the added pressure of running a kitchen on top of tampering the collective emotions of a team And yet, I let myself get convinced... Sigh! and a thousand and one times f**king sigh





Of course, all your standard ingredients were in place for the perfect messy and chaotic recipe : a mix of different Spanish/Catalonian/French/Turkish accents, a despot and authoritative arse of a centre manager and - of course - the cutest little Spanish lady to ever walk the earth





Picture this : you are in the midst of the kitchen rush, running around to make (impossible) ends meet, your is racing af, your respiration is pumping air like hell on earth and, to top it off, you have questions thrown your way right and left in your 3rd language which still remains foreign af Needless to say, but things were not going for the best when I was asked to step down from my managerial role on the 2nd day ; wait, what, ehhhh!?!

EGO : So why the f**k ddi you ask me to be the manager if you are just going to pull the plug at the first God given opportunity, ffs Do you f**king know who I am buddy!?!?!?!?!?! Did you know that I ran kitchens from expensive hotels hosting 100s of rooms, ffs. Did you know that I am as elite as it comes in taking a rundown restaurant, tripling its revenue in no time and making it a f**king respectable establishment again like nobody's business!?!?!?!?!? Do you f**king know who I am, booyyy!?!?!?!?!

Rational Self : Now now, take it easy... Sure we were just getting the hang of it, sure we could of turned this thing around, but this is just part of the process. Observe your anger. Transcend this. Take a deep breathe... breathe in, breathe out, and simply let go yo





I have gone through the motions of serving for 10 days 12 times, yet this has been the hardest one. Part of it was the amount of shyt that came out during my meditation/time in the kitchen, and the rest was due to my lackluster Spanish and the conflicts (as minor as they might of seemed) with upper management... But in the end, I came out tremendously lighter and liberated of a ton of shyt yo


Peace

Hey Dubn, congrats on a great year! Best of luck in 2019. Love the Chiang Mai pics. That was probably my favorite place to visit in Thailand.

Division Bells

Montreal, Quebec, October 1995. We have a dream. Call it idealistic, call it juvenile, call it whatever you wish, but our collective mission is to better ourselves. To take control of our destiny. To grow within a democratic-socialist society based on both a shared state and privately owned economy (60-40%) ; to blossom our French roots, European heritage and fulfill our marxist leaning social-justice views Our vision is different than the Canadian Anglo-saxon one or the American one found south of the border… Our optic is unique, belongs to us, and is the one we will push forward politically : Revolution yo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7G_7L9RwJZQ





Being in 2019 and in the midst of numerous political divisions/nationalistic mouvements, I no longer believe in separation. Of course, having my official address listed in the Anglo-Saxon part of Canada combined with seeing the English language becoming an integral part of my life - albeit in relatively equal terms with French and Spanish -, definitely sways the equation in that direction But such is not the case everywhere, right, like in Cantalona which has seen a recent attempt for separation get denied by the Spanish state. But tell me, which country is not subject to its own inner tension in between 2 or several different ethnical groups…





Barcelona has to be on top of the list of the most magnificent cities I have visited (Prague and… darn I have been to so few of them ) and metropolitan areas where I could actually picture myself living in (Montreal would have to #1 given the proximity of friends and family, along with Sydney, Australia, I guess…). It does help that I had some good friends from Barcelona that happily insisted to be tour guides yo





I am forever impressed with how the downtown core area sees little to no vehicle traffic and thus an absence of noise pollution (as opposed to American or Asian cities, you know ), making the life over here that much more peaceful yo




I will probably spew a few rapid posts in the upcoming weeks of places like Granada, Almeria, Sevilla, Rome, Florence and Pisa, as I will be hopping from one to the other backpacker style yo


Thx bro Those were Barcelona pics ; Chiang Mai was part of the flashback narrative (I have no Chiang Mai pics as it was, alas, 16 years ago AKA WAY before smartphones ).


Peace Yall

Alibaba and the 40 Thieves

Granada enables you to step into this seemingly unique - yet heterogenous - cultural experience of ore where bull fighting and flamenco concerts go hand-in-hand with cathedrals and palaces, while in the background are tucked a multitude of Arabic/middle-eastern restaurants into the depth of the alleys…





I will be making the most of my ensuing numerous stops as I split my days in between grinding 4-7h daily in the comfort of my hotel room, while dedicating the rest of my time running around like a headless tourist clicking away pics and visiting… you know, tourist stuff





Time is running out before settling back into a (somewhat) more sedentary lifestyle - sorta of… - in Canada for a meditation retreat and Lima where I might potentially spend months this time around. So anyhow, I do want to knock a few items off the bucket list, like Italy and either (going back and actually spending more time in) Croatia or perhaps moving up towards a Slavic country like Ukraine…





Up next : Cado de Gata, Sevilla, Rome, Florence, Pisa, Sinaia.





Run good all

Thumb's Up in the Fringes

After doing the Granada-Almeria stretch by a combination of train-bus, I hopped in another bus to reach my remote hotel located by the beach in a national park. The problem is, the bus takes an unexpected left turn thus forcing me to jump out 6kms from destination, stranded with a MASSIVE suitcase and a backpack, thumb's up in the air trying to hitch a ride like my 20's all over again The act of hitching does feel a little less appropriate though with my middle-age short hair, neatly trimmed beard, 2500 euros in my pockets and a few thousand $$$ worth of electronics and mainly this absence of REVOLUTION YO mindset as opposed to, you know, back then with long hair, a scruffy beard, a djembe by my side, some juggling balls in my hand, dressed in stinky dirty clothes and no money to my name and no real direction in life





Cabo de Gata is a sweet little Mediteranean seaside town tucked into the haven of a national park on the outskirts of Almeria. Even if it is a mere 20 minutes ride from the city, this place feels like a ghost town with a surreal vibe to it Its colourful vacant streets. The ferocious wind whipping anyone in sight. Its neverending desertic landscape. And that generalized eery vibe





I usually prefer to spend most of my time in rural areas as opposed to urban ones, but this European journey has seem me do exactly the opposite, go figure Of course, when you have places like Sevilla, Granada, Barcelona, Prague etc. of exquisite beauty calling your name, there is no saying no ; nonetheless, it does feel wonderful to visit smaller magical (and somewhat mystical places) like this charming little town





Unfortunately, it was not meant to be for longer than 2 days as my Schengel Area visa is rapidly closing on its expiry date





I think I forgot to answer to this... Check out my PG & C if you want more (daily) details on my pokering, but I play midstakes cash online (mainly NLHE but some PLO as well, combined with live mid-highstakes MTTs which I included in my grind last year).

https://forumserver.twoplustwo.com/1...inues-1604291/

Peace

Tiempos Antiguos

I was not expecting much out of Sevilla outside of a direct flight Sevilla-Roma and the normal conveniences of a sizeable city, so needless to say, but I was completely blown away by its absolute-utter beauty





Like most European cities, the old town is populated with a ton of peeps (mainly tourists) roaming around, smartphone in hand, yet even their presence mattered little as there was enough mesmerizing glitter to go around





Those goosebumps-inducing-sublime-moments are never to taken for granted, even if they remain fleeting af… Not sure to what extent though my poker multi-tabling-highly-caffeinated-system prevents me from being one them though… To what extent does the game of poker snatch us away from indulging in the present, from slowing down, settling in, living… Of course, if it was not poker, then it would just be another line of work, some other (financial) concerns or a different form of fatigue…





Part of me wants to leave the game behind… But then again, would writing be a more fulfilling alternative… Or what if I had stayed back in University eons ago, became a professor completely immersed in the intellectual realm of writing, reading and teaching, how maddening would that thought of "get-me’the-f**k-out-of-here" would have become…





There are always greener pastures elsewhere, right… Except in Sevilla, that is, where is tucked all the magnificence of the world


Peace