Grey Cup Festival Day Two (November 21)

Quick highlights:

- There are some activities downtown, including the Calgary Pancake Breakfast (a GC Fest must because, well, free pancakes!) and the 'Mosaic Underground' tent. Surprisingly, the tent is not underground; the name is meant to allude to the mining that Mosaic does underground. In any event, it was raining in the tent yesterday. As the heat from the heaters rose, it generated condensation on the aluminium supports, which was dripping throughout the enclosure. Indoor rain is a first for me.

- The bulk of the team parties are being held at Evraz Place, a combination conference/sports complex (I think ...). Three of those started up today: the Atlantic Schooners Kitchen Party, Tiger Town and the Double Blue Bash. They were basically spill-over for Green people who could not get into Riderville, which is being held in the Riders' cavernous indoor practice facility. Despite this, there was still a line-up to get in and the three other parties were taken over by Green-clad Rider fans. There was green everywhere.

- It really is a dry cold.
Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

We're Famous! (Part II)

@FanPhotoTeam: #101festphotos,#novascotia http://pic.twitter.com/UgOoWvpIey


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

We're Famous! (Part I)

@FanPhotoTeam: #101festphotos,#novascotia http://pic.twitter.com/6hBjWSQndj


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Grey Cup Fest Day One (November 20th)

A quick recap:

- We hit Riderville for a few Pil and lo and behold, we managed to completely avoid 'Green is the Colour'. An auspicious beginning.

- We then ended up at a great downtown Regina pub called Beer Bros. It features twenty-five or so craft beer taps from across Canada (I had a pale ale from Shawinigan's Trou du Diable) and an extensive list of bottled beers, as well as very tasty food. We also had our first celebrity sighting, as a number of sportswriters were doing what I am led to believe newspaper writers do in their spare time (quaff ales). I spotted Steve Simmons, Bruce Arthur, Terry Jones (I think) and a couple others I could not quite place.

- I am writing this on Thursday morning: it is minus fucken 26, minus fucken 37 with the windchill.

- Woodrow's unofficial Oska-wi-wi count: 6.


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Regina! Experience Regina!

Try to imagine how annoying I will be this week drunkenly singing this...

Still, it is better than 'Green is the Colour' ...

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=74B5kMLNd5Q&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D74B5kMLNd5Q

Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

And We're Off: Grey Cup 101!

And, of course, by 'we', I mean 'me'.

This will be the 10th consecutive Grey Cup I attend, going back to 2004 in Ottawa, and the first for me in Regina. In fact, it will be my first time visiting Regina, the last remaining provincial capital to which I have not been. Taylor Field (or Mosaic or whatever it is called) is also the last remaining CFL stadium I have not sat in (discounting Guelph; I was hoping to go, but the summer and fall turned out to be busy).

I will, of course, be meeting Woodrow; I cannot begin to imagine how Oska-wee-wee annoying he will be. Guess I will may to get his back given the Green Tide that will surround us.

In any event, I will try to blog the shareable highlights. And if the planets align, I am still hoping that the buffoon Rob Ford shows up, even though that might be unseemly at best.

The trip is off to a smashing start as one of the albums in Air Canada's playlist is 'Meat is Murder' by The Smiths.


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Day 35 (November 13), Last Night of the Trip: London UK

I am pseudo live-blogging my last night of the trip. Comments will however appear first to last, because, well, pseudo...

17:42: At this time tomorrow (Podunk time), I should be in an Podunk bar having a pint, rather than a London pub. It is a move down.

18:42: I'm eating octopus. With capers!
I also suspect my waiter hails from Barcelona; it is taking all my strength not to channel my inner Basil Fawlty.

19:24: I just ordered olorosso sherry. I'm all in now!

19:52: I still have not clued in that they do not identify Underground lines by colour (despite the colour-coded map) which sends me, yet again, scurrying for my tourist guide as I walk into the tube station (Tottenham Court) and realise I do not really know which one is the dark blue line.

20:09: I made it to the Electric Ballroom in Camden. Woo hoo!

20:29: I just caught the end of Lost Alone's opening gig. They are a trio, two guitars and drums: not punk or metal, but loud rock. They were not bad. If they ever make it, I can say I saw them in London.

20:42: Yeah, it just hit me (again): I'm at a (large) club gig in London. This is fuucken cool.

21:02: The Darkness are on stage!

21:08: I'm sorry. 'The Fucking Darkness' are on stage, according to the lead singer, who can still hit the high notes.

21:24: The tight spandex body suit. It's gotta be the tight spandex body suit that's making him hit the high notes.

21:38. Ok, there's an over-voice now introducing the album 'Permission to Land'. Hee hee. (1,4K sales in the UK is impressive though.). And introducing the band.

21:40. It's a red spandex suit now.

21:43: Sorry. Pink. It's a pink spandex suit.

22:24. Lead singer just called the guitar roadie (roadey?) back on stage to get a kiss on the mouth, just like they practised during sound check.

22:35: I love how saying someone's a cunt over here is like saying's someone's a dick back home.

23:19. A Whopper's 4 pounds?!?

23:34+. Ok. I may have figured it out, now that I have seen them live. I bought The Darkness's first CD 'Permission to Land' when it came out ten years ago. It was a fun disc, with some classic sounding harder rock tunes tinged with pop, but I could not quite work out whether it was meant to be a parody of hair bands, an homage or a straight disc. Seeing them live, performing Permission to Land on its tenth anniversary and other songs (evidently, they either have had hits in the UK in the subsequent decade or have a decent enough following that know their songs, as the crowd recognised and sang along to most of their numbers), it occurred to me that while it is nearly impossible to take their songs seriously (lyrics like 'I want to kiss you every moment of every day' kind of ensure that), The Darkness is not parodying metal rock, it recognises and incorporates by design the theatrical elements of hair rock (such as falsetto high notes, spandex body suits open to the navel and, well, hair) as part of their act. While it makes them sometimes appear like a West End musical version of a band, it is well in line with a particular UK comprehension of rock as theatre, going back to Queen and Bowie.

Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Day 31 (November 9): Dublin, Ireland

Here is how I spent my last full day in the motherland:

- I took a train from Galway to Dublin. I know I have mentioned this before, but to cross a country from coast to coast in three and a half hours or so, well, that is still just weird.

- I picked up some cod 'n chips from Leo Burdock's. One of my most pleasant memories from my previous trip to Ireland 12 years ago was Leo Burdock's fish 'n chips. It was the best meal I had over a four-week period in Ireland and redefined for me what fish 'n chips should be. Present-day reality lived up to the standards of memory. The fish was perfectly and uniformly battered, crispy, not soggy. The chips were also quite good: perfectly golden-fried.

- I attended an international rugby match between Ireland and Samoa, won by the Irish side 40-9. I was not entirely sure what I was watching at times, but it was great fun. Of note, the Dropkick Murphy's Shipping Up to Boston is on heavy rotation at Aviva Stadium.

- Aviva Stadium is maybe a 45-minute walk or so from where I was staying, the Harding Hotel, to the West of Temple Bar. Now I suppose I could have tried to stop for a pint at every pub on the way back but that, I fear, might have led to a drunken stupor. So I only stopped at four, until making it back to the hotel bar, Darkey Kelley's, in part because they advertised live music. Well, the live music was a couple singing hits of the 60's and 70's (there was a lot of Abba) to pre-recorded music to a very full and hopping, rather large bar where I was one of the youngest people.

Yup, that is the way my Ireland sojourn ended...


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Where Was I: Aviva Stadium, Dublin, Ireland

Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Days 26-29 (November 4-7): Inis Mor, Co. Galway, Ireland

Inis Mor is the largest of the three Aran Islands, located west of Galway, bordering Galway Bay and the Atlantic Ocean proper. It is calm, peaceful (especially at this time of year, way past peak tourist season), quiet, windy and wet.

Many more pictures than I usually post:

Rocky NW shore of Inis Mor. (November 4).

Example of the rock walls that delineate fields where livestock feed.  These walls extensively criss-cross the island. (November 4)

To illustrate the above point: cows! (November 4).

As opposed to the north side, the south coast of the Island juts above the sea, which pounds gorgeous cliff sides. (November 5)

A small bay on the south side of the Island. where the cliffs were eroded by the sea.  Note Dun Ducathair on top of the cliff to the left. (November 5).

The ground leading to those cliffs... (November 5)

Yet, cows still graze there... (November 5)

The 'Black Fort' (Dun Ducathair), a rock fort that dates back at least 1500 years.  (November 5)

Kilronan, the largest village in Inis Mor. (November 7)

The north-east end of the island offers yet another terrain: a wide grassy field. (November 7)

Waves crashing on the eastern coast of the island., Part I. (November 7)

Waves crashing on the eastern coast of the island, Part II. (November 7)

The surf crashing on the cliff sides of Inis Man, the smaller island to the east of Inis Mor. (November 7).

And, because I haven't posted a bird picture in a while, what I am guessing is a pheasant of some sort. (November 4).

I Missed This by a Day!

At The Scholars' Rest pub in Galway...

Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Day 29 (November 7): Eastern End of Inis Mór

Just me and the sea...

Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Days 17-24 (October 26-November 2): County Kerry, Ireland.

I spent roughly a week in County Kerry on the West Coast of Ireland, first in Tralee then in Dingle, accomplishing what I set out to do, which was next to nothing. I read (I am on my sixth book; the luggage is getting heavier), hung out in cafés, took some walks in the countryside, (of course) went to a number of pubs, listened to traditional music sessions, and, oh yeah, watched the Red Sox win the World Series.

Some quick comments:

- (I hate the expression but...) Dingle Peninsula is god's country.  (Or gods' country, depending on your views.  Or logic's country.  All right, now you know why I hate the expression.)  It is gorgeous: pastoral, very green farmlands jutting out into a very blue sea, which hammers some rocky coasts below, usually with some rocky islands in the background.

- I had my best non-World Series Championship night of the trip so far on the Friday night (November 1), hanging out until all hours in the hotel bar with some locals, some Americans (including a group of four guys from New England with whom I repeatedly celebrated the Red Sox WS win), an Irish group of lads who were commemorating the second anniversary of a buddy's passing and others.  Many songs were sang (not by me, of course), beers were quaffed, rounds were bought well into the night.  Just a lovely evening.

- The pamphlets and literature on the hikes that one can take in the Dingle peninsula contain many warnings and recommendations on making sure people had the proper footwear and clothing, maps, and compass, as well as to be aware of the ever-changing weather.  Reading these, the only thing that stuck was 'No bear warnings?  Ha! How dangerous can this be...'

- And for those of you who are wondering, I was able to stream the Fox feed of the World Series on my laptop (the best $4.99 I ever spent prior to leaving), as I was considered an International viewer.  I watched the Red Sox clinch in my hotel room at Benner's Inn in Dingle.  It really helped that clocks were turned back here a week before North America; watching a game from midnight to 4 AM is a lot more easier than watching a game from 1 to 5 AM.

- I love saying 'Dingle'.

Some pictures:

Farming on the south side of Tralee Bay (October 28)

Tralee Bay in the background; ubiquitous Irish sheep in the foreground. (October 28)

Dingle.

Dingle Peninsula, south coast. (October 31)

Cliffs on the south coast of the Dingle Peninsula.  (October 31)

Dingle Peninsula, west coast.  (October 31)

Finally, Irish traffic tend to be more illustrative...

Lou Reed

I was not planning to write anything about Lou Reed, but 72 hours later, I am still surprised at how visceral and emotional my reaction was upon reading of his death (on twitter, of course, an hour or so after it was first announced).

I am not even sure I would have put Lou Reed on my list of favourite artists (The Stones, Geldof/The Boomtown Rats, Maria McKee and Billy Bragg are charter members, with others floating in and out), even if two of his albums (New York and Transformer, more on those below) are amongst my favourite and are both brilliant. But here I was, in my Tralee hotel room on Sunday night, stomach-punched by the news of his death. I then spent three hours listening to youtube clips by and reading articles about him that were being posted to twitter.

I have since then been trying to figure out why and I think it is because I am currently re-discovering him.  I have been buying some of his work from the 70's and moving from being a life-long casual fan to getting to know his work more in-depth. It started with buying Transformer about 18 months ago, and being completely flabbergasted at the strength and the imagery of every track. I also realised that the Greatest Hits collection I owned must have included at least six tracks from that album. Transformer has been on my playlist since.

Building on that, one of my favourite moments in London was finding a copy of Metal Machine Music, the post-industrial ode to noise that he put out post-Transformer.

A friend lent me New York in university around the time it first came out (1988); I promptly bought it myself and listened to it over and over. It is a perfect reflection of the times, with songs about the AIDS blight, inner city decay, the results of eight year of Reagan, etc. Again, as for Transformer, each song is brilliantly written, telling a self-contained story that builds upon the album's themes, with lyrics that are often times caustic ('Give me your hungry, your tired, your poor I'll piss on them/That's what the Statue of Bigotry says') yet precise and to the point.

I have read interviews (see, in particular, Neil Gaiman's [and yes, my geeky head almost explodes at the thought that Gaiman interviewed Reed]) where Reed describes his work as writing a novel. I tend to scoff at songwriters who make such claims (Pete Townsend is a perfect example); they generally come off as self-aggrandisement from ageing rock stars who feel the need to justify their artistic output (i.e., pop ditties) by linking it to or re-interpreting as a 'respected', more highbrow art form. In Reed's case, however, I may see his point. Both Transformer and New York feel like chapters in a book describing where the author stood at that particular time in his life and, in both these cases, how he saw, understood and interacted with NYC.

Whether he crafted a novel, or simply a string of highly acclaimed and influential albums, Lou Reed’s legacy will carry on, most probably as one of the more regarded auteurs in his medium. Rest well, Mr. Reed, you have deserved it.

Day 17 (October 26): Riding Irish Rail

I just left Dublin (at 1 PM local time; the train left precisely on time) and should be in Tralee in roughly 3.5 hours.

It is still intellectually challenging to accept that I am crossing the country, coast to coast, in an afternoon, a short afternoon at that.

That is a bloody National Park back home.


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

London, UK: Random, Departing Observations

- I got carried away with my Johnny Marr post, so I did not mention the other fun thing I did on Friday (October 18): I attended the inaugural London Salon du Chocolat. Think of it as a (smaller) Food and Wine Show, but for chocolate. Yes, it is possible to have too many free samples of high end chocolate. (And fleur-de-sel caramels. And nougat. Fresh nougat is awfully good, BTW. ). About a third of the exhibitioners were from France, mostly from Bretagne; speaking to them en français was fun. I dropped £41 on caramels, chocolates and pineapple confiture. Other than the jam, I am guessing not much of that is coming back to Canada.

- There is a wonderful anarchy to English pubs.

- Some pubs of note that I visited:

¤ The Ten Bells in Spitalfields, which was on the way from Liverpool St station to where I was staying. One of Jack the Ripper's victims was last seen alive in front of the pub.

¤ The Black Friars, near Black Friars Station in the City. Described as a 'art nouveau' Victorian pub, it is simply gorgeous, with reliefs of monks adorning the wall above the bar and a ceramic domed ceiling above the dining area.

¤ The Old Cheshire Cheese off Fleet Street in The City. A 400+-year-old establishment, the pub has evidently hosted Daniel Johnston, Dickens, countless tired and emotional journalists and Polly the Parrot, now deceased, no more, a former parrot, etc.

- I left London with 20p left on my Oyster card (transit card), which I am attributing to phenomenal planning on my part.

- Some metrics: 2 operas; 1 requiem; 1 bitching rock show; 3 museums; 3 galleries; 4 'London Walks'; 1 chocolate show; 10 pubs; 1 zapped computer power chord.

- London is cool.


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Day 9 (October 18): Camden, UK

Johnny Marr, man.

I saw Johnny Fucken Marr!  In Camden, no less.

Those of you who know me, or who have been paying attention, will know that Morrissey was on my yet-to-see/must-see concert list until he (again) cancelled (along with many others) the Nashville gig I was supposed to see (and used as an excuse to go to Nashville back in March) due to 'illness'.

Well, fuck Moz. I saw Johnny Marr.

(BTW, if you are under 70 and you have no idea what I am going on about, well, first, fuck you, because you have no soul.  Second, look up The Smiths on the youtube.)

There are moments when things come together, when planets align or whatnot, and one's brain just goes electric.  I had one of those moments when, as his second track, Marr started to sing The Smiths' 'Panic'. Hearing the familiar opening line 'Panic in the streets of London' and realising I am actually listening to this live in London, well, that was it for me.  The show could have ended there and I would have been satisfied.  The song may then have become a self-fulfilling prophecy, but what the heck, I would have been just happily trying to get to the tube through the panicking throng.

But that was not the only Smiths flashback to earlier, simpler times from 25+ years ago that Marr unleashed on the 3000 in attendance. He also played 'Bigmouth Strikes Again' and ended his hour-long set with 'How Soon is Now'.  There is such a complete and near-mystifying incongruity that songs about paralysing shyness and bludgeoning one's love in her sleep can evoke such a joyful reaction in audience members, even if that reaction was mostly resulting from a recall of their youthful days.  (Man, I used to dance back then.  And not entirely ungracefully, might I add.  Plus, I still had hope...  Wait, no I didn't.  I did dance, though.)

Marr himself alluded to that dichotomy between the subject matter of The Smiths' songs and the response they evoke by prefacing the last song of his 20-minute encore by telling the audience that sometimes it is not what the lyrics say that make a song great.  He then launched into 'There is a Light That Never Goes Out', which became a massive sing-along as the crowd joined in and repeated the chorus with Marr a good half-dozen times.  (OK, I will spare you looking it up:

‘If a double-decker bus crashes into us

To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten-ton truck kills the both of us

To die by your side… Well, the pleasure- the privilege is mine.’)

Here is some pretty bad video evidence, keeping in mind it was taken with the three-year old 'berry, from a way's away:

That dichotomy/incongruity, which permeates The Smiths' catalogue, is a direct result of Marr's music and guitar work.  He turns Moz's dark visions of depression, shyness and potential suicide, through lyrics that sometimes can come dangerously close to being campy, into happy music.  And that is Marr's (and by extension The Smiths') brilliance.  If not brilliance, then certainly his significant contribution to a band which dominated what was then called alternative rock (and college radio and campuses) in the mid-80's.  That is not a bad legacy.

Writing this review makes me realize that I have now basically turned into the MIDDLE-AGED people that would go see The Beach Boys 25 years ago, hoping to hear a live version of a hit they had danced to 20 years or more prior.  There is one substantial difference: Marr played mostly his solo stuff, including material from The Messenger, released earlier this year to critical acclaim.  That material holds up; it certainly does not carry or cause the electricity that The Smiths' biggest hits do, but it is strong in and by itself.

Random observations:

- The Roundhouse is a mid-19^th century, steam engine repair facility transformed into a large concert venue.  It has a gigantic floor area (easily 90 per cent of the crowd was on the floor), with a balcony of 5 or 6 rows of seats encircling the venue.  I was somewhat annoyed at first that the view from the seats was slightly obstructed by a row of steel pillars and, more specifically, that this was not mentioned at all when I bought the ticket on-line.  The annoyance disappeared soon after Marr took the stage.

- Ironically, Moz's autobiography was finally released in the UK yesterday, after a brief, Moz-inspired delay.

- This site is worth checking out if you are a fan of The Smiths and/or The Peanurs; it is effen brilliant: thischarmingcharlie.tumblr.com.

Day 8 (October 17): London, UK

I attended Les vêpres siciliennes, by Verdi, at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. I had been there once before, twelve years ago, but was still surprised at how small of a house it is, just a pillbox of a venue. The stage must be about half the width of the stage in the National Arts Centre's Opera (now known as Southam Hall), if that. The production took advantage of every square inch of stage space (an extremely deep stage, it would appear), as it included ballet dancers, a military regiment, scores of both peasants and masked ball attendees. Physically, several moveable backdrops folded back inwards and outwards to expand or contract the stage depending on whether the action was set inside or out.

One of the backdrops was meant to represent a wall of the Paris opera, with balconies and loges, where Les Vêpres was first produced. The synopsis in the program alluded to the production being not only about the opera's story of a struggle between the French and the Sicilians, but that it was meant to represent a battle over art 'ownership'. In keeping with this premise, the seats in the balconies and loges were occupied by some of the performers, quote often, the French soldiers. During the fifth act, those seated performers were reacting to the action going before them (and us) as though they were in fact attending the performance. The opera ends with Sicilian revolutionaries bursting in and shooting the French; the production ended with the Sicilians shooting towards the audience. The roles had now been completely reversed; we were now part of the opera and part of the company was now the audience.

Yeah, I do not get it either.

What I did get was how near-overwhelming the over-all quality of the production, décors, technical work and, of course, the singing and orchestra was. To state the obvious, the ROH is one of the top opera companies in the world and did it ever show. The production and performances were far, far ahead of what the English National Opera (ENO) put on Monday night with Madam Butterfly, and that was, I thought, an excellent performance (black-clad ninjas and scary child puppet notwithstanding). This is clearly not meant as a slight in the least on the ENO, but just to illustrate how the ROH plays in another, much more restricted, league.

Other observations, of the random variety:

- I recognized one of the performers: Michael Volle sang the role of Governor Montfort. I have seen in some of the Metropolitan Opera's broadcasts.

- The crowd's reaction was loud and very enthusiastic, but few people stood as they kept showering the performers with applause. Standing ovations are perhaps unique to North America? I do not know.

- The opera is sung in French. I always had thought that all of Verdi's operas were in Italian.

- Interval ice cream is clearly a thing here, as they were selling it both tonight and at the ENO production on Monday.

- This being the opening performance, it was the very first time Les Vêpres has been performed at the Royal Opera. Yeah, history!

Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Day 6 (October 15): Cambridge, UK

I took a day trip to Cambridge and, lo and behold, did not get murdered. (If I learned anything from watching 'Inspector Lewis', it is that there is a shockingly high murder rate in Cambridge.)

Highlights/things that made me geek out (you will have surely noticed by now that they are one and the same):

1.- Visiting the Fitzwilliam. This is best described as Cambridge University's 'Humanities' Museum, drawn from the University's extensive and expansive collections of ancient artefacts, pottery, fine china, furniture, artwork, etc. There was one room featuring XIXth and XXth century French paintings (Pissaro, Renoir, Seurat, etc.), which included several works (of Impressionists!) from good ole' John Maynard Keynes' personal collection, on loan (of course) from King's College.

2.- Browsing in the Cambridge University Press bookstore. That, unfortunately, made me feel dumb. Very, very dumb.

3.- Listening to the last few minutes of a choral mass at Clare College Chapel. Pure beauty, in a very English/white/Western way.

4.- Seeing a swan fly down the river. I had never seen a swan flying before.

5.- Having dinner at the Cambridge Chophouse. The meal itself (roast leg of lamb) was good, if a bit over-priced, and was finished off with some surprisingly good English cheeses. However, the highlight was that they pumped the audio track of Blackadder episodes in the men's washroom for no reason other than, according to the manager, 'it's fun'. And it was.


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Day 5 (October 14): London, UK

A couple cultural tidbits:

1.- The Courtauld Institute, in Somerset House on Strand, has a lovely, lovely little gallery. It features 20 or so rooms over two floors, highlighted by an impressive collection of works by Impressionists, including some very recognisable masterpieces by Renoir ('La Loge'), Manet ('A Bar at Les Folies Bergères', almost picture-like in its attention to detail) and Van Gogh ('Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear'). Simply enjoyable.

2.- Around 5 PM, I scored a 30£ ticket (face value: 84£) at the Leicester Square tkts booth for the English National Opera (ENO)'s showing of Madam Butterfly. What I did not know was that the ENO's policy is to present English-language versions of operas.

Despite that, the singing was as near-perfect as it can get. The production, a reprise of the 2003 Anthony Minghella one, presented by the ENO and the Met, relied on roughly 20 performers clad in black ninja-styled body suits to bring in props, move some of the scenery (mostly sliding Japanese doors), do a bit of a modern dance to introduce the third act and animate a rather disturbing puppet that played Butterfly's child. Beyond the clear link with the ninja costumes, I am certain this was meant to evoke further something Japanese. I felt it intruded on the performance; it even felt 'cheesy': when laying out props for the main characters, it was never clear whether the ninja-clad extras were meant to play servants or to exist outside of the reality portrayed on the stage. It made me again, six months later, realize how amazing, and quite possibly revolutionary, Robert Lepage's production of The Ring Cycle was.

After the performance, when the players were taking their bows, a portion of the crowd ended up (after first applauding him) booing the singer who played Pinkerton. The singer, realising that response was aimed at the character, played along with it, shrugging his shoulders and sheepishly grinning. And the booing (of the character) was richly deserved, as Pinkerton is such a right fucken bastard. There are not that many fictional characters that inspire strong feelings in me; Pinkerton definitely does. He is an unredeemable arsehole.

Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Days 1-2 (October 10-11): London, UK

Well, this is weird.

Damned weird.

Almost peculiar.

As I got off my flight at Heathrow, I picked up a little visitor's guide to London. You know the type: a pocket-sized, 5-inch by 3-inch, 24-page, glossy little tourist guide that usually features half-assed maps; brilliant recommendations like 'You should visit the Tower of London', 'Big Ben is very pretty' and 'There are pubs in London; you should go to one and have a beer.'; a coupon for £5 off an open-top, Grey Line city bus tour; and a couple recommendations for the finest fish 'n chips joints in town.

Well, this booklet has a 6-page section devoted to restaurants and, as silly as it sounds, I sought out two of them. And, lo and behold, they were really good. A bit trendy/busy, but really, really good.

Ten-On-Greek in Soho (located at 10 Greek Street; get it? Get it?), which is very unassuming and probably only seats 50 or so, serves nice, higher-end 'culinary' plates while featuring a nice selection of wines by the glass. Dishoon's Bombay Café, nearby in Covent Gardens, offers a nice variety of Indian dishes; the two I had (Pan Bhaji, a tomato-based vegetable curry, served with dinner rolls [evidently, it is a Bombay thing], and the lamb biryani) were spicy, but nor overwhelmingly so. They even offer a house IPA, much different from the American IPAs that I enjoyed over the summer, in that it was almost sweet with no discernible hoppiness.

That I managed to find two such places from a tourist booklet and, moreso, that I was actually impressed by them, well,
it is... It is...

It is damned peculiar.



Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Where Will I Be?

I am currently sitting in the Ottawa Airport waiting to board a flight to London, UK. I should be spending roughly ten days there (provided I can book a hotel room in the morning...) after which I will head to Ireland for three weeks or so.

Provided something interesting and noteworthy happens, I should be doing some blogging, but probably not as extensively as over the summer.

My first random observation: I am travelling so much lighter than over the summer, especially towards the end of the trip. I would not be surprised if I am carrying close to 25 lbs less.

There you go, thrilling, innit?


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Day 131 (September 10): Back to Podunk....

Sub 'four months' for 'a month'...

Day 130 (September 9): Saint-John's, Newfoundland and Labrador.

How I spent my last day on the road:

1) Spent the morning and early afternoon on a van trip visiting a number of communities outside of St-John's (Harbour Grace, Cupids, Brigus, Conception Bay).

Brigus, NL

2) Had some beers with a friend at The Duke of Duckworth, a neat little pub off Duckworth Street.

3) Browsed through Fred's, a great CD store on Duckworth Street, that (as one would imagine) has a fairly broad selection of Newfoundland music.  Of note, I bought a couple of CDs by Amelia Curran, one of which was playing in the store whilst I was there. She sounds like another great Canadian folk singer.

4) Had dinner at Blue on Water, located on Water Street, a very nice, upper-scale restaurant, which had been recommended to me.  It did not disappoint.  I had cod tongues as an appetizer, because it appears to be a local favourite, being on the menu of just about every restaurant and well, cod tongues! They were served battered and deep-fried, so they tasted like something battered and deep-fried. My entrée was seared tuna, served with vegetables, which was excellent.  Between the Club and Blue on Water, I am coming away surprised and impressed at how well I ate in St-John's.

5) Had a few beers at the Yellowbelly, and closed the place at midnight.

6) Finished the final evening of my trip at O'Reilly's Pub on George Street, yes, you guessed it, drinking with bar staff (a [very] young barmaid from Yellowbelly)!

Days 124, 127-129 (September 3, 6-8): Saint-John's, Newfoundland and Labrador

Well, I've done it... Coast to coast, all 10 provinces, all provincial capitals, save one (Regina, which is not on the Via train line). And Saint-John's is a great place to conclude this little trip.  It is my first time visiting:  what an interesting city.  Along with Québec City, this is the most distinctive Canadian city, very much with its own look and feel and where the history of the city is palpable.  Some pictorial illustration:

The Saint-John's harbour entrance, as seen from my hotel room.

Victoria Street, from Queens Road, provides an example of the colourful architecture in downtown St-John's.

Taken from Signal Hill, this would give a great view of downtown St-John's, had the most amazing fog not rolled in.

I took a couple of van tours which took me to some coastal areas outside St-John's:

Flat Rock, NL.

Petit Harbour, NL

I also walked around the campus of Memorial University, and happened upon this:

A few additional comments:

- The tourism industry in St-John's is, well, let's say, 'quaint', as opposed to, say, unprofessional.  There are about a half-dozen tour companies operating out of St-John's advertising a fair number of full-day and half-day tours. Granted I was not visiting during peak season (and I appreciate that), but none of the tour companies I contacted were actually offering the full-day tours (or even some of the half-days) they were advertising whilst I was there. (I did work something out with one of the tour operators on one of the free days I had; while it was not the tour which I wanted, it was still a plus.)  Both tour operators I used operate solely on a cash (or cheque!) basis, which just sends tax evasion shivers up my back. In addition, there seems to be a habit of operators, shuttle bus companies and the like answering phone calls with a simple 'hullo', which just inspires so much confidence.  Add it all together, and it just seems, well, very 'quaint', which after four months of travelling, left much to be desired.  (As a basis for comparison, I did not encounter those elements in Saint-Pierre.)

- So, yeah, George Street.  It came exactly as described: bar after pub after club after bar.  Sitting in a pub until 2 AM listening to live music on a Tuesday night is definitely different (and appreciated); paying a cover charge pretty much everywhere in downtown St-John's on the week-end seems a bit much.  Hopefully, the bands see some of that cash.  As far as the entertainment, they were mostly cover acts, and mostly Celtic/folk, as you might imagine; there was a mix of talent, the best playing at the Shamrock (on Water Street) and O'Reilly's (on the afore-mentioned George Street).  Oh yeah, there is a strip joint on George Street in a 150+-year-old building that was, in the late 1800s/early 1900s, a Catholic school for girls, of course.

- A couple of other notable establishments, that I enjoyed:

1) The Club, a restaurant that opened last November on Duckworth Street.  The décor is brick and hardwood; the food is a mix of seafood (including a raw bar) and a higher-end take on comfort food. I had a baked potato soup with bacon and cheddar and 'Stewed Cod à la Spanish Bay', basically cod stew with chorizo, mussels and other goodies.  Both were really hearty and tasty.  They also serve products from both of the area's craft brewers.  Service was a bit slow, no doubt on account of a table of 20 that were seated a bit before me.  I was very pleasantly surprised at the atmosphere and the approach to and quality of the food.

2) The Yellowbelly Brewery and Public House. While I was a little disappointed at the wood-burning oven pizza I had (good, but bland), the Yellowbelly brews four flavours, a stout that tastes like Murphy's, a Pale Ale, which tastes a bit like a weakly-hopped IPA and is quite drinkable, and a Red Ale and a Wheat beer, which were both OK but unremarkable.

Jours 125 à 127 (du 4 au 6 septembre); Saint-Pierre (et Miquelon), France

Quand j’étais enfant, j’étudiais la carte du Canada affichée sur mon mur de chambre à coucher et je me demandais qu’est-ce que faisaient ces îles françaises sur la côte de la Terre-neuve que j’espérais un jour visiter.  C’est un rêve d’enfance qui se réalise lors de ces quelques jours…

Saint-Pierre est une commune de 6 000 habitants (sur l’Île de Saint-Pierre), tandis que Miquelon (sur l’Île de Miquelon) compte 600 âmes.  L’archipel est complété par Langlade, presqu’île rattachée à Miquelon par un étroit isthme sablonneux, qui compte des demeures saisonnières, essentiellement une terre d’escapade pour les Saint-Pierrois.  Et visiter l’archipel, c’est bel et bien visiter la France :

- l’accent est français-de-France, comme on dit.

- la devise est l’euro (même si le dollar canadien est accepté un peu partout).

- l’électricité est au 220 volts.  Sans adaptateur, je n’ai pu renflouer le berry ou l’ordinateur.  (J’ai visité un magasin général, qui vendait bien des adaptateurs de voyage, mais de 220 volts à 120 volts, pour les voyages à l’extérieur de Saint-Pierre…).

- la bouffe dans les restos est vraiment française.

- à Saint-Pierre, il y a autant de boulangeries que de bistros, boulangeries qui font des croissants qui fondent à la bouche.

Le jeudi 5, j’ai fait une visite de Langlade/Miquelon, offerte par Janot, (de ‘Chez Janot’).  Pour se rendre de Saint-Pierre à Langlade, on prend un zodiac, une expérience nouvelle pour moi de sauter les vagues dans un petit bateau, pas nécessairement au large, mais sans voir aucune côte (en partie à cause de la brume.  En passant, la brume a couvert l’archipel le 4 et le 5 jusqu’au soir; c’est supposément rare à ce temps-ci de l’année que d’être si embrumé.) Quelques photos :

La côte de Langlade.

L'Église de Miquelon, pour vous donner un example de la brume.  La photo est prise à une demie-intersection de l'église...

Plage, près de l'Anse du Gouvernement, sur Langlade. 

Cabestans, sur Langlade.

Le 6, journée ensoleillée à Saint-Pierre, qui m’a permis de prendre quelques photos qui donnent un aperçu de l'île :

Savoyard, ancien village pêcheur.

La côte, île de Saint-Pierre.

Ïle-aux-Pêcheurs, maintenant préservée comme site touristique.

Commentaire aléatoire :

- J’ai entendu chanter La Marseillaise!  Un groupe d’Acadiens visitaient Miquelon lorsque j’y étais pour rencontrer un groupe de Miquelonais, pour conjointement commémorer le Grand Déplacement.  À l’intérieur des cérémonies, les Miquelonais ont entonné leur hymne national.  J’ai dû résister à l’envie de scander fortement mes deux lignes préférées, ‘Allons enfants de la patrie…’ et ‘Aux armes, citoyens!’

Days 122-123 (September 1-2): Sydney, Nova Scotia

- What to do in Sydney, but go to the Tar Ponds... 'Open Hearth Park' opened this week-end, a large and multi-purpose green space over the Tar Ponds, one of the worst urban toxic waste sites in the country... The Park still needs a bit of work, but is quite expansive:

The part of the Park that is over what used to be the cooling pond, where waste water from the plant was processed.

Hopefully, nothing bubbles up to the surface...

- Why, pray tell, other than to see the Tar Ponds, was I in Sydney? It was an overnight stay in order to take the Monday 5 PM ferry from North Sydney to Argentia, Newfoundland, an overnight trip that would get me to NL around 10 the next morning, local time.

- There is a local beer!  Big Spruce Brewing operates out of Nyanza, near Baddeck, not far from Sydney. The pub where I had lunch (The Governor's) had two of their products on tap: an oatmeal stout and a 'Kitchen Party' Pale Ale.  They are both drinkable; of note, they are organic.

Days 119-122 (August 29-September 1): Halifax, Nova Scotia

I did not spend all that much time in Halifax itself, as a friend drove me out to the countryside over two days to give me a tour of Lunenberg, Peggy's Cove, Grand Pré (maudits anglais) and those areas.

The Halifax Urban Folk Festival was on over the week-end. I am not entirely sure what 'urban folk' is and whether Halifax is an 'urban folk' hotbed, but in any event, there were a few headlining acts (Tom Wilson, Alejandro Escovedo, Robyn Hitchcock) and gigs at about a half-dozen bars. I originally headed to the Seahorse Tavern for a triple bill; I lasted all of two songs by The Almighty Rhombus, most probably the worst live band I have had the misfortune of seeing. The band is composed of six twenty-something lads. Beyond the formulaic rock pablum they were playing, beyond the abject lack of interplay or connection between the members, beyond the band not being ‘tight’ as an outfit, they clearly were not taking their gig (and the paying audience) seriously. The keyboard player kept giggling throughout; it was hard to tell whether this was a joke to him or he was high as a kite. The lead singer seemed quite proud to announce that they were on a nine gig tour and that they had played in Sackville the night before. Well, guess what, you lazy, heartless, little shit, your musical career peaked with Sackville. (On top of this abomination of an act, the house draft at the Seahorse, brewed for them by Propeller Breweries, the ugly stepsister of Halifax craft breweries, is undrinkably bad.)

All was not lost though, as Tom Wilson in his Lee Harvey Osmond persona (i.e., playing solo and acoustic), was appearing at the Rockbottom Brew Pub.  He played a solid hour-long (professional!) set, interspersed with a quite funny ongoing story about his doctor prescribing him this new drug called marijuana.  As for the Rockbottom, located on Spring Garden Road and not affiliated with the American chain, it brews roughly a half-dozen different beers; I had, of course, their IPA, which was good enough that I regret not having the time to check out their other brews.

Unfortunately, I did not get the chance to see Robyn Hitchcock.

Random observations:

- Garrison Breweries, located near the Farmers’ Market (and Pier 21, for that matter) is one of my favourite Canadian craft brewers.  They consistently brew good, original beers.  It really is too bad we cannot get more of their products in Ontario.

- The Heart & Thistle is a self-proclaimed gastropub in the Historic Properties, which offers some self-brewed beers. In particular, they offer an India Red Ale (an I.R.A.) called the Kneecapper. You know, just in case you thought 'Irish Car Bomb' was too mellow a name for a drink...

- An indication of how long I have been travelling: I visited Woodrow at his Bedford home, roughly a month after visiting him at what at the time was his home in Manitoba.

- Another indication: the train ride in from Moncton was my 20th train trip during this trek.

- Comped drink count: n+4.  The barmaid at the Heart & Thistle comped me a pint of the stout they were going to start serving the next day.

Day 118 (August 28): Moncton, NB

Another travel interlude (that is a lovely way to say 'pit stop', innit?) in Moncton, as I arrived on the Maritime Bus from Charlottetown and will leave for Halifax on Via Rail on the next day.

I managed to miss the tidal bore. (For the uninitiated, the tidal bore is a 4-inch or so high wave that flows up the Petitcodiac River, which courses through Moncton, when the tide comes in on the Bay of Fundy. You now know as much about this as I do.) I was out walking by the River in late afternoon, around the time the bore was predicted to hit town and either the prediction was off or the wave failed to catch my attention (maybe it was a smaller bore this time?). In any event, while I did notice some sort of a current flowing, I missed the bore.

I once again spent the evening at the Pump House where I did this time have their signature blueberry beer. Despite the berries they add to the beer, the taste of blueberry is fairly subtle. I can now say that I have tried it.


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

Days 115-117 (August 25-27): Charlottetown, PEI

Charlottetown is very quaint. It is actually much quainter than I expected: coming in. I thought its population was a robust 80,000 or so; it turns out it is only 38,000, which explains (at least to me) why it was a lot smaller than I thought it would be.  The Island itself only has 140,000 inhabitants.  (This is a province?  Really?  Oi.)  How small is Charlottetown?  I randomly ran into the one person I know in town and it only took a day and a half. Now, mind you, this was the one thing I had set out to accomplish and I did not have to resort to stalking, so this was, on the whole, probably good.

The tourism infrastructure is clearly not set up to deal with the likes of me (solo traveller who, gasp, does not drive). There seems to be one company that provides mini-bus trips from Charlottetown to the countryside. Their half-day trip was sold out (all 24 spaces) for the day at which I was looking. (The key elements of the trip [Anne of Green Gables farmhouse and a preserve factory] were not exactly in my wheelhouse, but it was in the countryside.) There was a culinary walking tour which looked interesting, but it was not running on that same day because it was 'cruise day' and the people running it were too busy.

So I basically ambled around. And did laundry.

And I ate fairly well:

- I went to Tower Street Fish 'n Chips twice (haddock, then cod). It was possibly the second best fish 'n chips I have had: fresh, not overly battered or greasy and still flakey. Heck, the chips were darn good. (Leo Burdock's in Dublin, seeing as you are asking...)

- The Pilot House brews their own beer and offers an upper scale menu, mostly centred around seafood and PEI products. I opened with oysters, which seems like the thing to do in PEI, and had the PEI pork and scallops as an entrée. I am not entirely sure why pulled pork and scallops should be served together, but both were cooked perfectly and quite good. The restaurant itself is quite nice, almost with a traditional steak house feel to the decor (lots of wood), albeit with too much Montréal Canadiens memorabilia behind the bar.

- There is a brew pub, Gahan House. Their beers are drinkable.

Finally, I listened to a duo (fiddle and guitar) play some nice traditional Celtic Folk at the Aulde Triangle. Of note, they sell glasses at the bar. No, not that kind of glasses, this kind of glasses:

Random observations:

- The duelling Anne of Green Gables musicals across the street from another... Well, that just says it all, doesn't it?

- On the same day I ran into my friend, I also ran into three former colleagues on Queen Street (Charlottetown's main drag).  To top it off, after having dinner in a Georgetown restaurant by the water (with said friend), I ran into my MP. (The Liberal caucus was having a retreat in PEI.). A very random day.