Below is a small selection of original photos (all available in hi-resolution) and sample lead paragraphs from recent trips. Please contact Jason to commission articles or purchase images.
There are three kinds of tables you need to know about when visiting South Africa. The most obvious - and certainly the most photographed - is the eponymous Mountain, veiled by the cascading afternoon clouds that local Capetonians dub the 'tablecloth'. The second is that which offers nourishment with the freshest and most exotic fruits and vegetables - available, it seems, in every colour of the nation's new flag. The third table, that of the vast South African tableland, is where herds of wild elephant rumble through the night long after you are seduced by the elegance of a safari tent that redefines luxury.
"We don't worry about the future," whispered the riverboat's hardworking skipper, his eyes darting around to ensure no government informers would overhear our conversation. "We only worry about the present," he continued, "that keeps us busy enough."
His words, spoken in the excellent English that remains a legacy of the country's colonial past, belie a gentle smile and immediate warmth common among those living in one of the most impoverished - and misunderstood - corners of southeast Asia. Beyond Myanmar's visa applications, the lack of credit card facilities and an internet system blatantly censored by a military regime that has only recently started to loosen its controlling grip is a land with some of southeast Asia's most memorable and least visited treasures.
The give-away spout of an exhaling whale formed a mini rainbow above the twelve-metre-long female that was heading towards us. Then another, smaller blow immediately next to her – she was the proud mother of a young baby, perhaps no more than a week or two old. Already bigger than our small boat, he was clearly very interested in this strange object filled with even stranger creatures that had come to play. With his mother keeping a constant close eye on him he approached and rubbed his already barnacled skin up against the boat, delighting in the sensation of his new plaything. Rolling over, one of his large dark-brown eyes regarded all on board trustingly, inviting us to reach out and touch him.
And reach out I did. As I placed my hand on the baby's elongated head, the soft velvet of the newborn's skin pulsed with warmth and vitality. It was smooth, sleek and curiously rubbery - quite unlike anything I had encountered before. As the baby breathed out, a million condensed water droplets fell on me, but it felt more like an intimate baptism than a drenching.
The give-away spout of an exhaling whale formed a mini rainbow above the twelve-metre-long female that was heading towards us. Then another, smaller blow immediately next to her – she was the proud mother of a young baby, perhaps no more than a week or two old. Already bigger than our small boat, and growing at a phenomenal rate thanks to the high fat content of his mother's milk, he was clearly very interested in this strange object filled with even stranger creatures that had come to play. With his mother keeping a constant close eye on him he approached the boat, rubbing his already barnacled skin up against it, delighting in the sensation of his new plaything. He rolled over and a big dark brown eye regarded us all trustingly. See also Jason's consulting website for information about his motivational workshops and seminars on critical topics in today's workplace: anger management, stress reduction, emotional intelligence and team-building.
Everybody keeps asking the same thing: "Where are you from?" But this is no tourist gimmick, no insincere one-liner designed to lure me into their brother's carpet shop or uncle's coffee house. Behind the question lies a genuine interest, fuelled by a centuries-old tradition throughout the Middle East to look upon a guest as a gift from god.
"Canada," I answer, followed by the immediate reply,"You are welcome in Syria." Each time the words are accompanied by the gentle raising of the hand to a heart, the kind smile across a face weathered by desert storms and the bowing of a head in gratitude to anyone who has ignored the political rhetoric about a land considered by some regimes as the epitome of Muslim extremism and all-round evil. Finishing the morning's fourth cup of tea offered by a shopkeeper apparently more interested in friendship than finances, I notice both Christians and Muslims saunter by with a nonchalance borne out of a mutual tolerance and respect. I emerge from Aleppo's three-thousand year old souq with a sense of complete personal safety that I could never assume in most western cities.
