Thoughts on travelling across Canada by train

The satirical group, "The Arrogant Worms" have a song entitled "Canada is Really Big". And that comes to mind first when thinking about this country from the cabin of the VIA train on its way to Vancouver. As I write this, we are just pulling out of Hornepayne, a town of about a thousand folks living here because...well, because there is a railway. While jobs are now at least as dependent on the logging and wood pulp industries, railroads were the reason for its initial development. It is half-way between Toronto and Winnipeg, and they needed to have people there for the railroad to work as it should.

But from my point of view, it's nineteen hours out of Toronto, and there' a lot of not very much along the way. It seems impossible to imagine that Canada would ever run out of wood or water, when you see these lands go by on the other side of the window. It engenders tremendous respect for those peoples, native and otherwise, who first came to this land. They had a hell of a job ahead of them, and they kept at it. This is so much not Southern Ontario. It's amazing that there is electricity here, but they also have running water, Internet and a Home Hardware store. The closest city is the Soo, which is six hours by car (Hornepayne has a road, unlike some of the other towns we have gone through).

And then we go through the night. An entire night of waiting for freights to pass, then speeding to make up time: why do the long (up to two miles long!) freights always have to have priority? The tracks are infrastructure and should be public property, not private.

Just before we leave Ontario, after thirty hours of travel, we pass what was a derailment two days ago. The crews are still cleaning it up, but there is a silence which comes with this. No one was hurt, but it reminds you that these long metal machines can go wrong, terribly. In this case, all the damage was limited to steel coils, trees and tracks. And it was all contained in about 200 metres. Our train staff knew enough to be wary. They knew that the speed we had been travelling up to then was an omen of things to come. Freight had been held up by the derailment. So once past it, we waited again for the freight to go past. And we waited so much our on-time train arrived in Winnipeg two hours late.

Winnipeg just opened the Museum of Human Rights, a public-private venture funded to help the Conservatives win in Manitoba, and give Izzy Asper a tax write off. I have to hurry, though, 'cause it opens at ten and my train boards at 11:30. I'm encouraged to learn that, if I take the ramp up and down, the total distance is two kilometers. So I do that, walking fast up the ramp, then coming down more slowly to at least get a sense of the place. It is a beautiful building and the exhibits show enormous thought and creativity. A certain irony that it is in Winnipeg, the city where they killed Louis Riel and where they now have a severe native "problem"—both of these human rights issues.

One of the things that the train teaches you is patience. You get put on a siding while freight trains up to two miles long go past; you have to deal with an under-funded train system which relies on sixty year old cars; and, in Winnipeg, you sit on the train in the station for six hours while they work to get a replacement locomotive for the one you have with the cracked wheel. Patience...!

But then you are on the Prairies. Not the dull landscape one is led to believe it is. Ice fog, hoar frost, hills and sloughs. Isolated farms (how difficult that must be in the winter). Signs of wildlife, but none seen, except the birds.





And then Edmonton, now running eight hours late. Out of the train for a while, enjoying the walking and the cold air (icy for the South African family on board, who left a home where it was 37 degrees). So we went through the Rockies in the dark: got to Jasper about 9:30 and left about midnight. Still a pretty town. The moon was full last night, so we could see some of it, but I was tired and went to bed. So being used to and living with disappointment is part of the lesson of this trip.

Waking this morning to a grey day in Kamloops, still dark. Breakfast and a stint in the observation car to watch the Thompson River where I had bicycled some years ago. It reminds you one again of the diversity of this country. This part of BC is almost desert. Sparse growth, few trees. Some eagles on dead trees (those that remain) and the typical mountain river, wide and shallow and fast.

And now we are doing what Stan Rogers talks about, "racing the roaring Fraser to the sea". After following the black waters of the Thompson, we joined the green waters of the Fraser, and are on our way to Hell's Gate and then to Vancouver. So one of the rewards of our patience is to see these things in daylight (usually the train goes through here at night).

Fascinating to watch the same-but-different vistas across the country, and the habitations and human interventions that have happened in the same-but-different ways to live in the various places.

We pass through the town of Hope. A strange name, perhaps you can have hope as you travel upriver and head into the mountains. But from this town down to Vancouver is all dirty urban and strip malls and Trans-Canada: not very hopeful as we see it.

And then Vancouver. Hard to believe that it's the same country as what we have passed through. Verdant, moist, bustling, urban-chic. Compare this to the upper Thompson, or mid-Prairie, or Northern Ontario, and you get stuck in a cognitive dissonance. And, even better for me, VIA has given us all a fifty per cent discount on our next trip, since they were more than four hours late (even though it wasn't their fault).
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Another beautiful day...sigh!

As our time here winds down, it also slows down. Yesterday, like the day before, was a Calvin and Hobbes day: just packed! We were so busy, between reading, eating, sleeping, and some shopping, that we had to go to bed by 9:00.

Yesterday we both got up for sunrise (here that happens at just before 6 AM, so I hope you're impressed). We walked along the Malecon from our place, near its north end, to the central isthmus of the island. Then we turned back onto the road to walk back home. Late breakfast at the Mogagua, where we bought some coffee for home, as well as a t-shirt for Darlene. And we had bought already a wonderful Mayan-style mask, at some cost, a bit further along the street.

(As an aside, the art of bargaining is not so easy. While in Valladolid,at the market there, we got a wooden carving of the Mayan calendar for about 60% of the asking price. This was with the help of our B&B host, who bargained in Spanish. Here, we got the mask for 75% of the asking price, using our English and being ready to walk away. We might have got it for less, but it seemed a fair price. The wooden mask was carved in Valladolid, transported to Isla and bought by us there. But we are happy, and I think the seller was happy. You don't want to be taken as a mark, but you also don't want to deprive the seller of money he needs for living: a balance.)

We also discovered a new power of Darlene's. There are a lot of dogs during the day and early evening in the town. Some have collars, many do not. By late evening, they are replaced by cats, but for much of the day, the dogs rule (in my opinion, that's how it should be). So when we were out for dinner, and Darlene had pork chops, she saved the bones to give to the dogs. Somehow, this had the effect of making the dogs disappear. We have hardly seen any dogs since she got the bones. Don't know how she does it, but it's a powerful skill.

An afternoon nap after our hard morning, then off to a swim in the ocean, then watched the sunset (which happens here about 5:00),








followed by supper at Lola Valentina's Restaurant. Ceviche for me, yum.

And today, Darlene got up earlier than I and went up on the roof of the hotel to catch the sunrise. We were then on a mission to walk out to Barlito's, a restaurant which is known for its breakfast meals, used to be downtown, and is now a ways out. The island along the way decreases in width to about 100 yards, and most of that width is taken up by an airstrip. I got a nice shot along the way:


Those are fishing boats, mostly (one yacht). Isla Mujeres still has a real fishing culture. When we were on the dock watching the sun go down last night, three Mexicans were there throwing their nets to try and catch fish.

We had planned to walk to the far northern tip of the island after our leisurely breakfast, but we got back into town (about a kilometer), and the heat got to us. Decision was made to stop by the market, where a little "abuela" who appears to be over ninety peels oranges and makes the best juice. We bought a large bottle and came back to the hotel.

Darlene had booked a Mayan Massage today, and has just come back as I write this. She is floating about six inches above the ground, wants to go back tomorrow for a touch-up before we get on the plane. We'll see if we have time. We will need some reinforcement to go from the warm, sunny skies of Mexico to the cold, dark skies of Hamilton.

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Location:Avenida Rueda Medina,Isla Mujeres,Mexico

...And Back Home

The last several days have brought us back to Isla, which now feels a bit like "home".

But first, a catch-up. The Sunday night dance was wonderful. It's put on by the city, they close the street in front of City Hall and hire a large Mexican band to play for the crowd. And, since this is across from the square, there are vendors also in the square, selling real (i.e., locally made) crafts. Many people just watching, but some wonderful dancing going on.

But we felt it was time to move on. We had done a lot of the town, and wanted to get back to the ocean. So we packed, said our good-bye's and began our trip back, this time via Tulum, to see another part of the peninsula. It had a Mayan ruin there as well - the only one on the ocean - but was also supposed to be s kind of sleepy town-by-the-sea that appealed to us.

First, and urgent matter. Darlene had run out of reading materials. Turns out there is an English library in town, run by one of the 14 permanent anglophones, a woman named Harriet. She talks a lot and has a real interest in her project, so this was not an easy task. But it was rewarding, and we were on our way well-stocked.

Driving here is always an adventure. The roads sometimes don't have lane markings, and people drive kind of in the right place, most of the time. Buses and tourist vans drive like they are sport cars. There are bicycles and scooters on the roads. And every once in a while, there will be a "tope" - a speed bump of varying height, width, and degree of danger. Usually these are around towns, but not always. Usually, they are marked with signs, but not always. Occasionally, there are even police at the bumps. But, aside from that, the roads are in good shape, straight and even.

Tulum does have archeological ruins.





And a wonderful beach.





But it is not as we suspected. It is a long strip of cheek-by-jowl hotels along the beach. Many are self-labelled "eco-hotels", and many others have taken advantage of the yoga/zen/buddhist/meditation/spa thing to build expensive places and deal with rich people. I found it disheartening.

We stayed at another B&B, this time owned by a Hungarian couple, the wife of which had only just had her first child.

Only one night, and that was enough. Although we did get for an early swim in the warm, turquoise Caribbean before hitting the road in the morning, for the 2-hour drive back to the car rental place. The GPS got us there, and they car rental place was pleasant enough to drive us to the ferry dock (for a fee, of course), and then we were back on Isla. It felt like coming home. Aided by the meeting on the street of Jerry, the owner of the hotel, who greeted us warmly and asked how our trip had been.

Settling in was easy, and we headed right down to the cafe for a real coffee, and some food. Those people, at the Cafe Mogagua, are wonderful - friendly and helpful. Later that evening, after unsuccessfully trying to buy some wine glasses at the local grocery store and various other stores, Darlene had the thought to ask these folks if we could borrow/rent some glasses for the next few days. We asked, the server thought about it, took two glasses and carefully wrapped them in paper, and placed them into a plastic bag. When we asked how much for the glasses (we had thought we would pay no more than 20 pesos for them), he waved us off and said no cost. The cafe has a saying from the Dalai Lama on the wall: Be kind whenever possible; it is always possible. And these folks live up to it. A wonderful re-introduction to the island.

Later, we did a walk on the beach and went back to the hotel for a supper of bread and cheese and bubbly, on the balcony, before turning in at nine o'clock. The end of a good day.





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Location:Calle Vicente Guerrero,Isla Mujeres,Mexico

Valladolid

This was to be our entry into the Classical Mayan culture, and has turned out to be that and more. It is a city of some 60,000, and I am told has seven universities, having become the centre of learning for the entire Yucatan.

Some thoughts about the city. A strange (to us Canadians) mix of old and new, of rich and poor. You will be walking along a street, pass a large Hacienda with gates, one or two fancy cars in the driveway, and elaborate house facades. Right next door is a small house, right on the street, with door open to reveal a dishevelled interior full of old furniture and things in some state of repair. Some are painted in bright colours, some are plain stucco. Some vacant lots,


The picture is of the Calzada de los Frailes (Boulevard of the Friars), one of the historic, restored, streets in the Sisal area of the city. In this area, the houses all seem to be well-kept.

And then there are the churches, some of which date to the mid-sixteenth century.


This one is in the main square, and from the sixteenth century, revised somewhat from the original after it was "desecrated" by revolutionaries in one of the wars of liberation. It faces an amazing public square, which is always busy as far as we can tell, with people old and young, romantic and familial, traditional and modern. There are some sellers in the park, but mostly it is filled with people enjoying themselves.

Today is Sunday, and one of our hopes is to go to this square in the evening. Apparently, after the evening mass is finished, people come to the square for dancing and general jollity. I can hardly wait.

But first, we have had a wonderful breakfast at a restaurant call Yerba Buena de Sisal, visited the local Convent of San Bernardino of Sisal, again dating to the sixteenth century and still used for mass (although much of it is now a museum).


We had intended to go to a Hacienda and cenote for lunch and swim after this, but when we got there, we found we were not that hungry, and just didn't think we could do it justice. So we left for the town of Uayma, and another church (surprise!)


But we also saw a town which still operated in much the same way that it had for centuries. There were houses made of wood stems and thatched roofs. Turkeys and chickens in the streets. And stray dogs everywhere.








We felt we were into one more town, and headed towards the town of Xocen. And on the way, we saw a sign for a cenote (Xla'kaj), and decided on the spur of the moment to go in. What a great choice that turned out to be. We were alone, which allowed me to go swimming without a suit (Darlene was shocked, and wore her suit). And there were little fish which nibbled at our toes as we stood to get in. But it was magical: light shining down, followed by a slight shower; trees at the top with roots drooping down the sixty feet to the water; stalactites formed on the overhanging stone, with ferns growing on them; palms on the side of the wall; and turquoise, unbelievably turquoise, water.









Our day was pretty complete, but we still had a further item on the agenda: the dancing in the square. We are taking our host out for supper and then going to the dance. Could be a late night!

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Location:Calle 54A,Valladolid,Mexico

Ek' Balam

This will be, and deserves to be, a separate entry. Ek' Balam is Mayan for "Black Jaguar", a revered animal of the jungle of the area.

One of the reasons I wanted to come to the town of Vallodalid, in the interior of the Yucatan, was to see some of the Mayan ruins. The Mayans, as you may know, had a quite advanced civilisation between roughly 600 BC and 1400 AD. They went through several stages, we now know, as they expanded their influence from the Pacific Coast of southern Mexico, east and north into the Yucatan, into south-central Mexico, and into what are now neighbouring countries. They practised advanced astronomy, mathematics, and writing well before most European countries could do this. And their cities, often by the Classical Period, numbered over ten thousand people at their peak. The had an advanced social structure in many ways, yet they engaged in human sacrifice, and ritual blood-letting (as did Europeans of the day). And for all their scientific knowledge, they never figured out the true arch in architecture. And they never learned to use carts with wheels (both because there was no material hard enough for a proper axle, and there were no animals which could be used to pull these things).

For unknown reasons, it was abandoned as a town in the twelfth century, and became overgrown by the jungle. "Discovered" by the French in the late nineteenth century, it was then forgotten again until the late twentieth century, when some Americans began to look at it. Uncovering it began in 1990 and continues as money becomes available. One of the pluses for us is that it is less developed than some of the other sites. So there are fewer "touts" pushing stuff on you. And you can explore all the ruins, something not available at the better-developed sites.

First, the Entrance Arch (not an arch as we know it), used for ceremony, and connected to one of the five "sacbe" or "white roads" built on top of the red soil to connect this city to the others in the area.


Then the observatory and worship area (remember, the art of astronomy was very developed).


This is one of the few rounded structures in the city.

There are several other areas in the plaza, including an outdoor steam bath for people to cleanse themselves before entering the temples, and the giant main building, now called the "Acropolis", which served as the home for the royal family and his court. I will include pictures of some of the sculptures found, as well as view of the flat country around this area.

















It's a very impressive building overall.

A final picture of the site from the top of the acropolis. And remember, this is only the part that has been excavated. The entire site is twelve kilometers square.


A final word, as well. The ordinary working people lived outside the plaza and formal structures, and of course little is known about them.

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Location:Calle 27,Valladolid,Mexico

Around the Island in 80 Minutes

We slept in past six this morning, so missed the sunrise. And we had to decide whether this was the day to rent the golf cart. This island is special partly because there are few cars or trucks. Most people get around on bikes, scooters, or golf carts. these latter are everywhere. They are gas, not electric like those up north, and are covered against the tropical rain showers that are common. There is a booming rental business in them here, and we had wanted to see the island. As I mentioned, it is a small island (8km by 1 km). So why not bikes? Because there are only two main roads that go the length of the island, and they are busy with motorized traffic. So we rented a cart. It is noisy, smelly, difficult to control, and has all the power of a soufflé. But it got us around.

First, breakfast at the Café Mogagua, a funky little coffee and food place that is a relief for me, but also a sign of the gentrification I was complaining about. It was a good breakfast, and we were well-satisfied. The morning rains pushed us to reconsider our plans, but we decided to keep to them after all.

So off we went, heading for the south of the island (the main town is at the far north), where there is a light house and an old temple ruins. Scenery was spectacular, as expected.


We felt it was warm enough to justify a beer, and there was a restaurant right there, so why not. And the view wasn't bad, either.


Then off to see one of the island sights: a turtle farm. This area is known for its sea turtles, but their numbers have dropped significantly due to poaching and the hunt for turtle eggs by humans and other predators. In 1980 or so, one man set about to change this and set up a sanctuary to help preserve them. It was successful, and now they have many which are released yearly into the wild, after they have passed the dangerous period of their lives. We saw many wonderful turtles small and large.








More travels around the island followed by a stop for some late lunch, then back to the town area for another early night. As I sit here, there is a full moon above me, the sound of surf crashing off to my right side, and my bed beckoning me on the left side. Not too shabby.

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Location:Calle Abasolo,Isla Mujeres,Mexico

Isla thoughts

Today was one of those wonderful Caribbean days we dream about: not too hot, mostly. Not too sunny, mostly, Not too humid. So what is there to think about? Good question, and one I asked myself as well. Being on vacation allws you to spend time not thinking, just being.

Last night Darlene paid the price of eating Mexican food, with a night forming a close relationship with the toilet. But a good night's sleep (and her constitution) allowed her to be fine this morning, albeit dehydrated and a bit weak. I wish I had been so lucky in Cuba a few years back. So one of the thoughts is being grateful for the public health system that we enjoy back home.

Another, and recurring, set of thoughts has to do with the ways we mistreat this planet, and the cultures that live on it. On Isla Mujeres, there was, and still is, a village of fisherfolk and their families. They are Mexican (Mayan really), and they work hard to get by. They have benefitted from the tourist trade, and continue to have good-paying jobs (I think) through that trade. And this is in no way like Cancun, with its massive and very lavish hotels which seem to serve the North American clientele by isolating them from anything truly Mexican. But even Darlene will admit that there is a growth of the expensive, gentrified, white culture coming to this little island and starting to change it. There are now expensive condos, and fancy hotels - more so than when she was last here. We ate tonight at a small, hole-in-the-wall family-owned restaurant (Abuelos) which served excellent food including fish caught today (likely by someone in the family). We ate it while some of the family watched the evening telly. These places still exist and do good business, but you are now seeing fancier places than Darlene remembers from before.

And the scenery....ah, the scenery.

















It's spectacular, to say the least. This little bit of land, 8km by less than 1km, has an eastern side which is rocky and hit by crashing waves, and a western shore which is calm and sandy and warm.

And if you look closely, there are bits of garbage everywhere: plastic bottles, beer bottles, foam from who-knows-what, old rope and buoys and construction materials. Not a lot of it, but it is there all the same. There is a recycling program for plastic bottles, and yet there are a lot of them around. The intrusion of human-made detritus into the natural environment doesn't spoil it, but it saddens me. And reinforces my cynicism.

So there are questions in paradise. More to come, probably.

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Location:Calle José María Morelos,Isla Mujeres,Mexico

Buenos Dias de Mexico

There is, of course, a story to tell about how we got here. To begin with the preamble:

i try (and so, we try) to do something in late October/early November to ward off the seasonal depression that starts for me abut this time of year. November is far worse for me than February, and I want to get through it. So we looked at going to San Francisco, or Santa Fe, where we had been before. Santa Fe was booked where we wanted to go. And San Francisco didn't appeal a lot to Darlene at this time. So we looked, and the flights out of Hamilton to Cancun began November 1. Perhaps go to Isla Mujeres, where Darlene had been previously and I had never been? Sounded intriguing, and when we looked further, quite inviting. So we booked and began to explore a trip for two weeks on the Yucatan. We settled on two weeks, with a trip into the main part of the peninsula to explore the Mayan culture (for me), and a lot of time by the ocean (for Darlene).

And the flight from Hamilton left in the afternoon, which made it much more civilized leaving home.

Unfortunately, in spite of our best intentions, we got to the airport too late for the plane. Suffice it to say that a combination of slow traffic (where did all those cars come from, anyways!), and Bob's pig-headed belief that it only took fifteen minutes to get from Dundas to Mount Hope, conspired to make us too late, not for us but for our bags. And they won't let us on without our bags.

So we put the cases back in the car, drove home again with our heads down (but eyes on the road), and spent another night in our own beds. We were now to take off from Toronto the next morning. And this turned out to be a predictable experience: airport not bad, lines terrible, with a thirty-minute line to get through security.

Then, on arrival, we had arranged from Canada to have transport to the ferry. Another long wait while they got together a full taxi and then a drive to the ferry docks through the hotel strip of Cancun. And that was an experience. A way to be in Mexico without experiencing it, seems to me.

The vacation began when we got to the ferry docks. Lovely mix of Mexican and gringo folks, all going to the island. Wind in our hair, ocean nearby, friendly people helping out, and music on the boat. Quite a different experience from my ferry trip in Cuba, and quite lovely as we approached the island after a twenty-minute ride. We walked with our bags the six blocks to the hotel, and were greeted by name at the Hotel Francis Arlene, and shown to our basic but very appealing room.


This is the view from our window looking east. By the time we were settled, it was late afternoon. We went right out and explored. And one of the places we wanted to go to was the Cemetery (Panteon in Spanish). November 1st and 2nd in Mexico are the days of the Dead, a celebration of those who have died before us. They believe that their spirits are with us again on these days, and use the time for family and celebration, and for attending to the graves. We wanted to see it, and had missed the all-night celebration of the previous night. But we still had some the days left. This photo is of the Panteon:


Most graves were cleaned and there was a candle or two burning in the small "house" on the top of the grave. It was quite magical.

And after that, a walk by the beach and a supper at the Sunset Grill, all very pleasant. But the travel day had had its effect: both DArlene and I were in bed before 8PM and sound asleep.

This morning, we woke early, of course, and were on the streets just after sunrise. Walked the Malecon, and through the streets now quiet and cleaned after last night's activity. Not much was open, and we wanted to eat at Lola Valentina, so waited until eight for them to open. There is a lot of new development on the island from when Darlene was here some years ago. Fancy condos and new hotels and homes. Still a flavour of the old fishing village, and not the stink of Cancun's resorts, but some movement towards gentrification. Pity!

A lovely breakfast at a place we will go back to. Some shopping, for more money, for some food, and for some wine. And now back to the hotel. People here are talking about how nice it is to be cool; for us, the temperature of 28 degrees is not so cool, but they have had a very hot and humid summer.

More soon.


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Location:Calle Vicente Guerrero,Isla Mujeres,Mexico

L'Affaire est Ketchup

I wasn't going to write a blog on this trip (to Québec City), but we had a meal tonight which spurred me to write it down for memory's sake. We are here because of my birthday, as I leave the middle third of my century. We have visited and admired the city of Québec before, and wanted to visit it again. Arriving three days ago, our time here has been varied. Weather up and down, but more sun than not; meals up and down, but more up than not: let me fill in the background.

We took the train, on points, from Aldershot (and that's another story: the parking lot was so full that we almost missed the train, and I had to park illegally), all the way to Québec. A long trip, but because it was the train we could get up and move about. And we travel to the centre of the city. Got in at 9:30 at night, the station almost deserted. A lovely young lady at a car rental booth gave us directions to the hotel, and it turned out to be easy walking distance. The neighbourhood is Saint Roch.

Since then, we have walked the three kilometres to the Lower Town and back a few times. This always involves hills, Québec having a Lower and an Upper Town. There are stairs to climb, occasionally ameliorated by an elevator. So our legs are tired when the day is done.

The meals, you say? We have had grilled cheese for breakfast which turned out to be quite wonderful. I tried a poutine, and lived to tell the tale. We had a disgusting meal last night at the hotel, because we didn't wish to go out in the pouring rain. So tonight was going to be a pleasant surprise, we hoped. The restaurant, called "L'Affaire est Ketchup" was well reviewed, and nearby. And we scored a reservation, not too shabby for a small place with only twenty seats.

Today turned out to be sunny, so we walked again downtown.

















We saw that there was a market by the port, and we went in to see what was there. Breakfast was in the end from there—a pain au chocolat, a croissant, an apple, some chocolate-covered cranberries, and some cheese curds. It was great, and reminiscent of what we used to get in Montréal.

Then we took a sight-seeing cruise on the river for a few hours, before coming back to the hotel for a quick shower and walk to the restaurant.

The meal was worth every penny and more. This place reminds you of being in someone's house. The guy doing the cooking was wearing a fedora, black t-shirt and shorts, singing with the music, and managing eight electric burners on two stoves, all by himself. He was even washing his own pots. The only other staff was serving, setting up tables, explaining the menu (written on a chalkboard) in either English or French, and generally keeping on top of things. Tastes were magnificent, portions were good, service was terrific, and the atmosphere was amazing. While not cheap, it was exceptional value. Hard to believe the chef was only about 28 years old! We immediately asked if we could come back tomorrow, but they are sadly closed. So we don't know how we will cope. And the name? It is a Québecois expression meaning "it's all good"—and that's about right.

Sigh. Maybe we have peaked too soon.




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Location:Rue de la Pointe-aux-Lièvres,Quebec City,Canada

The Norway Experience

I was tempted to title this "pining for the fjords", but I thought that was a bit obvious. And we haven't actually seen any fjords just yet. We will in a few days when we go to a smaller town. But now we are in Bergen, a city of about a quarter million, still with a large fishing industry, but having lost it's ship-building to more "efficient" places.

The trip here, through Copenhagen, was short, and aside from almost missing my flight out of Dusseldorf, uneventful. The entry into the area was through rain clouds, and it has rained almost daily until today. I am told that the Bergen folk start to complain if there is more than four days of sun in a row, and think it is getting too dry. I have also heard that you only call it "rain" when the you can see the fish swimming in the air (the rest is just mist). It's a moist climate.

We were placed in a modern, new hotel; in fact, it had opened a few days before we got here. Apparently, Bergen is so popular with tourists in the summer that hotels are booked a year in advance. The city's hope was that building a hotel with another 350 rooms would solve this. But we learned that, by the time we left there yesterday, it was booked solid for the next year. And we learned why, in part: there are over 300 scheduled visits by cruise ships this summer. As you can see from the photos, it is a spectacular city for scenery.








the last picture is of the park near us, a park dedicated to the arts. Nearby are the Grieg Hall (Edvard Grieg was born here), two art galleries, the opera house, and a row of public gardens to join them all together.

and further along is the Bryggen and the Fish Market. these pictures are of streets along the way, and give you an idea of the slope of the streets and the wide spaces available for people to walk. It is hard to imagine that anyone ever gets obese in this geography.





But of course we are here to do some work on Nursing Homes. The one we are in belongs to the Red Cross, and is among the largest in Norway at 174 beds (this is medium-sized for Canada). But look at the view from the windows of this place: it's enough to make you want to move here.





One of the interesting things here is that Norway still allow for the hunting of whales. I was in a restaurant last night, and there was whale steak on the menu (they didn't have any at this time, but it's available when they have a hunt). I would be interested in tasting whale, but would prefer a ban on the hunting of whales. So my reaction was, to say the least, mixed.

We will have had two Norwegian holidays during our stay here: on May 9, they celebrate the liberation towards the end of WW2; and on May 17th there is the celebration of (this year) the 200th anniversary of independence from Denmark. So there have been marching bands going by the hotel, as well as people in silly costumes riding on bikes, tooting their horns and ringing their bells.

And, speaking of costumes, people here still wear the traditional costumes, and it is not a show for tourists. They come, with children in their traditional dress, to restaurants, and walk along the streets. It is fascinating to see these kids, in olden-days dress, walking along looking at their iPhones.

Bergen is bike-friendly, with separate bike trails going to many parts of the city. And walking is done all over, even in the rain. Our host says that he rides his bike all year to the university - he has snow tires for the bike, and it doesn't get that cold here, apparently. I've also noticed more electric cars here than I have seen anywhere else, including several Tesla sedans. Many parking areas have charging stations for cars. (And, to remind you all, this is in a country that gets much of its revenue from oil!)

An impressive place overall. We were told last night that the current government, just elected about six months ago, is pretty conservative. Why they got in when the economy is doing so well (3% unemployment, books balanced, and so on), but there they are, for another three years. Hopefully they are not as destructive as Harper has been.

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Location:Kong Oscars gate,Bergen,Norway

P.S.: Differences, German style

When I was in Germany, there were some things which I found interesting cultural differences. So I thought I would do a little posting about those.

You can't get tap water at a restaurant as far as we could tell. If you ask for it, you get mineral water. If you insist, they will give you non-bubbly mineral water. If you insist you want just tap water, they look at you as if you said something very crazy, and bring you mineral water. Amazing that they don't all have hypertension with all that salt.

Cash is king. Many places don't accept credit cards, because of the charges the companies put onto the merchants. So we needed more cash than we thought we would. And, when they did accept cards, they preferred MasterCard over VISA, again the opposite of what we would expect.

I forgot that European countries don't have washcloths. So there was none to be found....do they not wash their faces? if so, how?

The rooms have no irons or ironing boards in them (standard equipment in Canada). I was counting on this for keeping my shirts looking good. But, oh well.

Windows in hotels actually open. Any modern hotel in Canada worth it's salt has hermetically sealed windows with overactive heating or air conditioning. Here you get to hear the birds sing. Remarkable!

Breakfast seems to be a big meal. In Germany, you got the usual cereals and eggs, bacon, etc. But also cold cuts, cheeses, fruits, breads (four different varieties), salads, cucumbers. You could fill up for the day, just at breakfast.

When the sun is out, you are out. On the sunny days, there were lots of people out in cafés. Even though the temperature was cool, they were there, with blankets provided by the café.

Asparagus is always white. You can't get (I was told) the kind we have in Canada. And it's an important crop, at least in Germany.


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Location:Vestre Strømkaien,Bergen,Norway

Kultur Klash

As I write this, I am almost at the end of my time in Germany. This trip actually began in the UK, hosted by my son and his girlfriend, Katy, at their flat in London. They got to see me at my worst: tired from the flight, time-shifted, and anxious about my time to come in Germany.

Nonetheless, they were very good to me. After what seemed like a very long taxi ride from Heathrow (itself following a 45-minute stand in line to get through immigration, England not seeming to be very welcoming to visitors!), Katy, Dan and I said brief greetings, Katy fed me well, and I tumbled onto my fancy air bed for a sound sleep.






The next day, I'm afraid, was not too coherent. I read, Katy and I watched a cooking show on TV, Dan and I went shopping for some food, and we (or I, at least) generally took it easy. All three of us actually ventured out to the local commercial area and had a tapas lunch in a Spanish cafe: very pleasant. The following day involved the trip to a play downtown: "Handbaggers", a play about the time of Maggie Thatcher with Queen Elizabeth, and their relationship, sort of. I loved its politics, and the audience clearly was having fun. Dan had more trouble, since he did not know the history. And Katy was with me on having a good time with it.

Followed by a pub supper where we all met up with the rest of Katy's family - her parents, and their dog (a Katy replacement, perhaps?). My hearing was difficult, so I didn't follow all the conversation, but in general, I really enjoyed the outing.

On the Sunday, Dan and I went for a longer walk across the Tower Bridge and around that part of London and the South and North Banks of the Thames. Weather actually cooperated. Rain was called for, but didn't arrive. And in the evening, Dan and Katy had organised a get-together of friends at their place, and again were great at making me feel welcome.

Monday was a travel day. My anxiety manifested by denying me a lot of sleep, so I was already doing well when I got up. Katy had left for work (her first time there in a month) and Dan woke me to say good-bye before he left on his bike for work as well. The long trip to the airport was begun, and fortunately uneventful. And the flight was fine. Getting from the airpot to the town was another thing. And so begins the Kultur Klash!

I had to ask for directions to the train station from the airport. Turned out to be pretty easy, made of course more difficult by my bag being the last off the plane, so time was not on my side. I knew which platform I was to leave from, but I couldn't find that platform. So I went down one which seemed okay, heard some people talking a bit of English, and asked them. They didn't know where the platform was either, but they said I could get a ride from this station to the central station, which was what I needed. However, the platform I was on had trains going in the opposite direction, so I hauled the bag up the stairs and down another platform, got on, and tried to slow my breathing on the train, keeping fingers crossed I would get there in time for my connecting train. Of course, the platform I needed in the Hbf (Central Station) was at the other end of the station from where I arrived, so speed became important. I made it to the needed platform....just in time to see my train pull out! Damn!

So ask directions again, this time of a police officer, and was told there was another train in about forty minutes from the same platform. Okay, so I wait.

German trains are generally very exact in their timing: if it is supposed to arrive at 1704, it pulls in, loads, and leaves very close to that time. So when the police officer told me the time, and the time it would arrive in Hückelhoven, I was set, or so I thought. The train did arrive on time, I got on, and I checked my time to be sure I got off in the right place. There was supposed to be a taxi waiting for me at the station. But then, the time the officer gave me came and went, and I was not near any station, much less the one I was needing. I almost got off, then felt I would give it one more station, and it turned out to be Hückelhoven. Phew! Haul my bag down the thirty steps, and the taxi was there. I was in good hands, even though I could not talk to the drive in any words he could understand.

The next four days are a bit of a blur. We were put up in a hotel which has "theme rooms". Mine, for instance, is a Buddhist theme.





But we were not relaxing here. We started our days by leaving the hotel at either 7:30 or 8:30 to travel to the home, usually arriving back at the hotel between 6 and 8 in the evening. A de-briefing session (with snacks and wine) followed, in turn followed by dinner, then bed. Repeat times three.

Fortunately, the home we went to was wonderful.





When we met after the days, we would check to see if anyone had found the major flaw that had to be there. But it didn't show up. Our time at the home was busy: interviews with various workers or administrators; observing the home in action; walking around. We were here over their May Day, a much larger celebration of Spring and workers than it is in Canada. The trees are filled with streamers, all residents were invited to a party where the punch was decidedly alcoholic, and a general good time was had. It-the home-is a wonderful example of what can be done, and a place I would not mind residing in myself (as far as we could tell).

Yesterday was a tourist day. The weather finally cleared, and although it was cool, we were happy. Headed off to Koln (Cologne) for the day, by train. Their Hbf is right beside the Dom (Cathedral), so you come out of the station to see this magnificent structure from the thirteenth century.





Well, in fact it's not all the thirteenth century, since it too until the mid-nineteenth century to finish it. And there are some interesting facts about its finish. The workers who finished it were actually Protestant, working on a Catholic cathedral. Which may explain why the newer part is not as ornate as the older part. And the final part was done by a series of donations from Germans who felt it was their patriotic duty to support the Germanic church architecture - which they did, mistakenly thinking that the style was German in origin, when in fact it was French. So it's kind of interesting that it actually came together, after six hundred years, to make a very impressive place.

The rest of our day in Koln included a boat ride on the Rhine, dinner in a brauhaus, and some walking around. I was terrific, even if we didn't get to visit the Roman-German Museum.

Today, we went into Aachen, the seat of power for Charlemagne back 1200 years ago. We visited the church that was built in his time, saw his throne, and walked the town where he lived. it was magical, in a different, but also wonderful way, from what we had seen in Koln.








This trip has been good for my prejudices: I have seen Germany in its better light, and have a better understanding for what it can be and has been. I am much more sympathetic, and I hope, understanding, of the people who live in this quite unusual and pretty country.

Now let's see what Norway has to offer....

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Location:Brassertstraße,Hückelhoven,Germany