That is the sound of the last two months going by. Once you've been to so many cities and X amount of museums and Y amount of art galleries and Z amount of top-of-the-world best-panoramic-view-ever places, they start to blur into one a little bit. Memory becomes a flip-book. Each image on its own makes no sense, but as part of a swift-moving whole they are imperative to the overall effect. Though separated by a bus journey or a series of roadsigns, each city, museum, tall place visited forms part of one big multi-coloured moving drawing. Once you return home, you get asked How Was The Trip, challenged to describe the last couple of months in a few choice words. I still can't do it. I sat in a sweat lodge for four hours with scantily-clad strangers, I've climbed mountains and weeded vegetable patches and pulled all-nighters in New York and New Orleans, I've made pancakes with the natives and taken a bike around Stanley Park. Been at the top of the CN Tower a