Four Homeless Millionaires

Transformed Through Travel

rikleaf — Fri, 11 Sep 2015 03:15:00 GMT

Be Inspired By This Young Girl Transformed Through Travel

Like every parent, I want my kids to have a great life. I hope they discover what they’re passionate about and pursue their dreams and build lives that are filled with love and laughter. And while it’s easy to share these parental hopes with other parents, I’ve discovered that how we as parents, teach our kids about values and beliefs are very different from each other…and we need to be OK with that. In fact we need to celebrate that. This is an inspiring story of how my daughter was transformed through her experiences traveling the world.

In the initial rush of excitement, just days away from hitting the open road for a year with our kids, a fellow parent and professional colleague asked what had brought us to the point where we would willingly destabilize our lives to such a terrible degree. In a million years, I never would have thought anyone would look at it that way. I certainly hadn’t.

It was a light bulb moment for me. We don’t all think the same way about everything. We don’t all learn the same way. We may share certain values…like honesty and integrity, but our beliefs in how we walk those out can be vastly different. My adventure of a lifetime, would be my colleague’s biggest nightmare.

When we started traveling our son Zion was 13 and our daughter Riel was 9 years old. Riel was a quiet and shy homebody. She loved her room, her bed, her stuffies, Barbies and Polly Pockets. She had one friend, just as quiet and shy as she was. It was impossible to imagine how Riel was going to react to a nomadic lifestyle for a year.

I interviewed her recently, and it was so exciting for both of us, to hear her observations as she looked back on her experiences and how they changed her, and empowered her to face the future.

Transformed Through Travel

I interviewed Riel as part of my submission to a World Nomads contest, to travel to Columbia and work with a professional documentary filmmaker. Regardless of the outcome of the submission, I felt like I’d won the lottery as I sat listening to this young woman, describing the way travel had transformed her life.

If you would like to read more, Four Homeless Millionaires How One Family Found Riches By Leaving Everything Behind is available In Stores Now or can be Ordered Online. If you are interested in booking Rik as a speaker or facilitator for your literary event or conference, please contact info@rikleaf.com or call 250-896-2572.

Transformed Through Travel

rikleaf — Wed, 2 Sep 2015 05:56:06 GMT

What I Bring to the Project – Multi Media Storyteller (Music/Writing/Video)
A few years ago my wife and I sold our house and spent a year touring the world with our kids. Using a Flip camera, a digital point and shoot and the laptop in my backpack, I produced a series of travel videos. https://www.youtube.com/user/zionriel
When we got back, I wrote a book called, Four Homeless Millionaires, How One Family Found Riches By Leaving Everything Behind. The publisher incorporated the videos through QR codes to produce a fun, innovative multi media story.
http://goo.gl/6FnLGq

I’m also part of Tribe of One, a performance collective of indigenous artists that features First Nations, Metis, French and English musicians, dancers, painters and slam poets. Exploring the indigenous culture and stories of a Pacific community in Columbia would be a dream! I happily offer my passion, experience and creative energy as an artist, author and storyteller to make this project a success.

What this Opportunity Means - I work with indigenous youth in communities across Canada, particularly in the Arctic, helping them find ways to tell their stories through video. At the same time, I’ve never had the opportunity to be mentored by a professional filmmaker myself. This experience would be absolutely invaluable. I love to learn!

P.S. I interviewed my daughter Riel for my video, because she’s a daily inspiration of the tremendous impact travelling can have to change a life.
Thanks!

Bike the Train Trestles!

rikleaf — Tue, 3 Dec 2013 16:53:00 GMT

Kelowna is located in the Okanagan Valley, about 3 1/2 hours from Vancouver, up and over the Coquihalla Hwy. In the winter people head to Big White for amazing skiing and snowboarding. In ths summer it's all about beaches and time on the lake.

There is an amazing bike & hike up in the mountains on the old train route. The trail is super easy to navigate and takes you over some stunning train trestles 100 feet hight. Directions

We have done the route starting at either end. Personally I liked starting at the Myra Entrance a bit better, but either are fine. The scenery is incredible. The last time we were there, we had the place almost to ourselves. It is rugged, gorgeous and amazing. Everythign Beautiful British Columbia has built its outdoor reputation on.

A total must see and do activity if you are in Kelowna, B.C.

Incredible Stokum Falls

rikleaf — Mon, 2 Dec 2013 18:03:00 GMT

Vancouver Island, Canada. Just outside of the city of Courtney there is a locals only spot known as Stokum Falls.

If you're heading north on the new inner Island Hwy, take Piercy Road exit (the exit after Comox/Courtenay exit). Then take a right onto Forbidden Plateau Road, you'll then take a left onto the logging road that takes you to the bridge access to the falls (it's either called Comox logging road or Duncan Bay Main line road).

The Puntlage River flows over a soft limestone river bed and over the years has created large jacuzzi style holes. There are waterfalls as well and great areas for jumping off the rocks and swimming in the water. If you are anywhere near this area you have to check it out!

Incredible Stokum Falls

rikleaf — Mon, 2 Dec 2013 18:03:00 GMT

Vancouver Island, Canada. Just outside of the city of Courtney there is a locals only spot known as Stokum Falls.

Swarthy Swashbucklers * Phil Collins * Nautical Hazing Rituals

rikleaf — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 12:01:00 GMT

Today I was a millionaire…well at least I lived how I’d live if I were a millionaire.

It all began with a magnificent invitation to join Zara’s uncle aboard his sailboat for a couple days. That was how we found ourselves heading out of Pittman Bay under the beautiful, bright Sydney sun attempting to tackle the challenging world of sailing aboard ‘Sail La Vie,’ Peter’s 37 foot Sea Odyssey.

Initially the experience reminded me of my early days as a theatre stagehand trying to remember which was stage right and stage left or front and back of house. We weren’t even out of the harbour before we were scrambling about the deck like a herd of landlubbers, stumbling over winches and cleats, getting tangled up in ropes and rigging. Peter tried valiantly to teach us some simple nautical terminology like port, starboard, coming about and tacking…but honestly, my affirmative head bobbing and grunts of understanding were really just reflexive ‘learned behavior’ I’d acquired growing up on a farm surrounded by burly, bearded men who wore tool belts and carried wrenches in their pockets. As usual, I had very little idea what was going on around me.

Amid the chaos I amused myself by muttering piratey phrases to Zion in a swarthy brogue every time we past; “why is the rum gone?” and “do we have an accord?” which was all the Pirates of the Caribbean dialogue I had time to channel between stubbing my toes and repeatedly drilling my head into the mast.

We headed out to Broken Bay where the Pittman and Cowan Rivers meet the Pacific Ocean. “Hey Zion and Riel,” I yelled over the sound of flapping sails and swelling waves slapping noisily against the hull, “you might want to wave…just over there on the other side of the world is Canada.”

We headed down the Cowan River as a northerly came steaming toward us; dark eyes and stormy skies intimating her harsh intentions. Oblivious to the impending deluge, I stood slack mouthed and gaping like a swashbuckling idiot savant until Peter nudged me to take the wheel. No sooner had he disappeared into the cabin than the heavens opened up and nature started screaming like a banshee. Wind and water stung my skin and blinded my eyes as I pointed the prow of the boat toward nothing, deciding that under my command I would prefer Sail La Vie run into nothing rather than something.

Just when I was starting to suspect that Peter was engaging in some bizarre nautical hazing ritual, he was back on deck in his rain gear and more than happy to take the wheel from my incapable hands as he guided us expertly into Refuge Bay.

We arrived at low tide and moored as near to the little beach as we could to make going ashore as convenient as possible. Just behind the beach a picturesque waterfall poured over a ridge from 40 feet up.

After securing the lines the adult portion of the crew reclined on the deck to sip chilled wine and dine on mango salad, ripe olives, Brie and crackers. (Only my inability to speak with an exotic accent marred this moment) As the winds died down we found ourselves looking out over the deep, dark water, as still as glass reflecting the billowing clouds overhead.

Back in 1943 Refuge Bay was known to a select few as Camp Z, a top secret training spot for the Australian army. At a time when the Allies were looking for ways to strike at Japanese strongholds in the Pacific, a twenty-something Brit named Ivan Lyon, and a sixty-something Australian named Bill Reynolds hatched a plan to attack Singapore harbour. Reynolds owned a beat up Japanese wooden coastal vessel he had used to smuggle refugees out of Sumatra. Their plan was to use the old ship to sail into Singapore harbour under the cover of darkness carrying commandos who would attach mines to the Japanese shipping vessels. In September /43 the ship headed off carrying a crew of four British and 11 Australians. When they reached Singapore, six men set off in three frail rubber and canvas folboat canoes. They attached limpet mines to a number of vessels and ended up sinking or damaging at least six ships.

I admit none of this was on my mind when Zion and Riel said they wanted to go ashore and explore. Having not quite finished my wine I personally wasn’t prepared to go when they wanted to, but told them to take the dingy and I would join them shortly by swimming to shore.

Soon my salad was consumed, my wine was sipped and I was standing on the back of the boat in my swimmers staring at the water. Refuge Bay suddenly seemed cold and forbidding and anything but a refuge. Movie reels started to spin in my mind, the kind staring sexy, rich kids languishing on yachts much like the one I was on, suddenly being eaten by mammoth or genetically modified sharks. Those movies always started with some dumbass dangling his feet in the ocean, kicking back and forth and basically begging great incisors to chomp them off. As soon as the thought crossed my mind I stopped kicking and quickly pulled my feet out of the water.

I looked at the beach...it seemed to have floated a lot further away than I had initially imagined, it could have been the wine or possibly, some reverse mirage or miscalculation in the space-time continuum. Whatever the case, the kids where already pulling the Zodiac up on the shore and starting to scamper around.

I thought of diving off the side of the boat and gaining some forward motion toward the shore, but the thought immediately seemed ill advised…I might as well ring a doorbell if I wanted to alert all the sharks in Refuge Bay to my presence.

I thought it would be better if I just ‘slipped’ into the shark-infested waters quietly and didn’t make a big deal about my presence. I was pretty sure that Planet Earth said sharks could smell fear, so I tried to exude a strong aquatic ‘no-shark-bitches-better-fuck-with-me-’ persona as I crept down to the water. Which was right about the time my foot slipped and I fell unceremoniously ass first into the bay, committing the classic horror movie blunder by broadcasting my presence to all the available killers.

‘Ah shit,’ I muttered and thought I should get the hell out of the water, right frigging now! Only that seemed like such a pussy thing to do. What would I say to Zara? What would I say to the kids? “Sorry guys, I just didn’t want to be the victim in the imaginary horror flick playing on the screen behind my eyes.”

So…I started to swim…with all my heart and soul. I kept my eyes forward on the beach before me…it might be a bloody long way off, and things might get really bloody and foamy and horrific before I got there, but I was going to stroke purposefully toward the beach until the Devil or a Great White Horror prevented me.

It didn’t take very long until everything went horribly wrong. The movies have it all wrong, there is no ‘duh, da, duh da, duh da’ sound track, there is no dorsal fin slicing the water from 40 feet away, these creatures come from below, fast and furious without warning, they don’t break the surface until they arrive in a cascade of teeth and fury…

‘Oh dear god…’ I whispered as I felt the currents swirl, something was definitely moving under me.

As I swam I started to pray ‘oh god…oh shit…oh god…oh shit.’ My heart was pounding like a jackhammer as my body and soul fell into the penitent rhythm only a sinner such as myself can truly know. I tried to continue my purposeful stroke all the way to shore only…I never really swim. I don’t have a strong stroke to call upon in times of mortal peril, be it front crawl, breast-stroke or frantic-flail…too late I realized, that when I’m in the water, I’m just…bait.

I tried to push myself harder and faster but as I drew shallow, ragged breaths I realized I had put myself in an even more vulnerable position. The greatest predator in the ocean was about to go postal on my ass and in my weakened condition I wouldn’t have the strength for even token resistance.

I turned over on my back to change the pace and give myself a chance to catch my breath. ‘Maybe,’ I thought, ‘this is even a better position; maybe it will be harder to grab me somehow if I’m not facing down.’ I realized I was swimming past a cabin cruiser and looked up right into the eyes of a guy…The Guy…the guy who later that night was going to be on the evening news. The guy that saw IT happen. It will be the story he’ll tell friends for the rest of his life.

“It was unbelievable,” he’ll exclaim, “I was just standing on the back of my boat as he swam by and the BHAM! that fucking shark came out of no where…it was FAR OUT!”

“What a dick” I thought as his eyes slide off mine, “to use ‘far out’ as the adjective to describe the death of another human being.” Oprah will probably have him on…shit with the right publicist he’ll make the entire circuit…Conan, Letterman, Regis and Kathy Lee.

“What an asshole… he’s going to make a killing off my killing and the guy is so busy standing there drinking beer he can’t even create a descent distraction. As I swam off to my imminent demise I hummed Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight and let my voice drift out across the water, “if you told me you were drowning, I would not lend a hand…”

I pictured Phil hearing the story and coming out of retirement to be the musical guest on Oprah the day this jerk is on just so he could sing the song to him.

Then it hit me! What the crap am I doing! I’m floating in shark-infested waters singing Phil Collins! Disgusted with myself I flipped over and started swimming like a man possessed. Zion and Riel saw me from the shore and started to wave.

‘Oh god no!’ I thought, ‘not in front of my kids…don’t let me be devoured in front of my kids!’

Instinctively I started to pray again, matching each breath with each stroke I channeled the Little Engine that Could, ‘oh god…oh shit…oh god…oh shit…’ I prayed and pulled in unison. Glimpsing a shadow in the corner of my eye I went faster, ‘oh god oh shit oh god oh shit’ - a definite swirling of currents under me and I went even faster, ‘ohgodohshitohgodohshit!’

I screamed with surprise and relief as my flailing arms and legs suddenly made contact with the sand. Zion and Riel waded into the water and start pulling on my swimmers, eager to show me the waterfall as tears of relief and inexpressible joy flowed through me…I was alive! Thank God above…I was alive! With wine scented breath I kissed my children and looked around at the world I’d never really seen. The air smelled fresher, the water felt cooler, the sky seemed brighter as I strode purposefully from the water…I was a man walking unscathed from the jaws of an over active imagination.

I spared one backward glance and the breath to whisper, ‘na, na, na, na boo, boo, you didn’t catch me,’ oblivious for the moment to the return journey I would have to make a few minutes later through the same waters…this time on an inflatable raft with my kids.

Photos: World Tour

rikleaf — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 05:54:00 GMT

FOUR HOMELESS MILLIONAIRE$ - One Family's Odyssey of Adventure & Discovery

My Travel Writing Scholarship 2011 entry - My Big Adventure

rikleaf — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 05:48:00 GMT

Carpe Diem Connoisseurs

For our little family this has been the Year of the Snail, as we have Quasimotoed our way around the world with our home on our backs. My wife, Zara and I, sold our house in Canada to spend a year traveling with our son Zion, (13) and our daughter Riel. (9) For 12 months we’ve been sashaying our way around the globe like four homeless millionaires, investing in dreams and memories that will last a lifetime. Somewhere along the way we’ve become badass Carpe Diem Connoisseurs, embracing the palette of possibilities and the art of making, ‘no where’ special.

From the roadside fruit stand on Oahu’s north shore, where a group of Hawaiian G’mas with sparkling eyes and laugh lines drawn like road maps across sun-dried faces, introduced us to delicious deep-fried bananas called lumpia and fresh pineapple sprinkled with li hing mui. To the Australian outback, where we were greeted by a mob of kangaroos racing pell-mell alongside our vehicle, until the curvature of their scimitar-like tails disappeared in a cloud of red dust and our exuberant cheers.

We ate second breakfasts and elevenses as we trekked and tramped our way across New Zealand, our kids whistling the Lord of the Rings theme song as we explored Middle Earth. We collected paua shells as we watched blue eyed penguins waddle ashore outside Dunedin, and dug holes in the sand at low tide on Hot Water Beach in the Coromandel, where underground lava fields fill homemade hot tubs with scalding water.

We spent months navigating remote regions of Europe and Scandinavia without the use of English. To survive we became burgeoning thespians in the theatre of life, drawing on an elaborate fusion of physical contortions, full-body charades, hand gestures and animated facial expressions to communicate. Cut off from the rest of the world we were blissfully unaware Eyjafjallajoekull had erupted, as we scrambled over the crumbling brick and mortar of Cathar Castles in the Languedoc region in France, digging deep into the stories of sieges and horrors visited upon innocents in the name of God and the holy Church. In Rome, we skulked through an awesome creepfest beneath the Capuchin Church of Immaculate Conception. Bones of over 4,000 individual monks are nailed to the walls and ceilings of this crypt in a variety of floral patterns, forming arches and crosses as a chandelier of vertebra dangles overhead. That was the day our kids added the word macabre, to their vocabulary. In the Kingdom of Crystal, an area five hours south of Stockholm, painted lines on weathered concrete floors were the only thing separating us from the fires and flames as we toured the work floors and studios of world-renowned Scandinavian glassblowers.

We became connoisseurs of creating and consuming the finest moments every day, and in the process, discovered how to live deep and travel light. Selling everything we had let us experience the world…and we did it together.