A Tale of Two Cultures

Nicholas Hoare Bookstore, Toronto

Culture Two

Toronto, a city of high buildings and the CN tower. It is a different city from Montreal, but with its own charm. Our train was delayed by a major fire beside the track. There was high excitement when the driver switched the electric off one side of the train, causing the tilting mechanism to shut down and the carriage to lurch to one side. She had been instructed to teeter past the fire site, a scrap yard with burning tyres and propane canister. But despite the delay chaos at the Central Station ,the information lady found us a decent hotel in minutes of our arrival.

One of the Toronto highlights was visiting three city centre bookstores.
1) World's Biggest Bookstore, who live up to their name. They stock a huge selection of Canadian and American literary magazines. I bought two, I couldn’t help myself.
2) Nicholas Hoare. I can honestly say is the best bookstore I have visited in my life. The interior is lined with tall wooden shelves bordered with green wrought iron detail. All books are classified to perfection and every book I saw on display I wanted to read. It is a class act. I could have browsed and lingered all day.
3) Indigo. I spotted from the eight floor café of the Hudson Bay Company. The curved glass street front window looked inviting; unfortunately I had to battle through Saturday afternoon shoppers in a mall to reach the entrance. It was not a good experience. The store is similar to the large bookstore in the UK. Popular fiction, cookery and self help books piled up for the masses.
Lucky Toronto, their bookstores cater for all taste.

French Bliss - DVD Cyrano de Bergerac (Gérard Depardieu)

My DVD rental was one of my all time favourite films this week. Cyrano de Bergerac, stars Gérard Depardieu as the French poet and soldier, expert swordsman and popular leader. His one distinguishing feature is his huge (in fact it is massive!) nose, Pinocchio without the strings.

Because Cyrano believes he is ugly, the love he harbour for his cousin, the stunning Roxanne, falls undeclared. Roxanne, who admires Cyrano is blind to his devotion and when the handsome guy she fancies joins Cyrano’s unit she asks her cousin to look out for him. He does more than this; he helps the tongue-tied youth win Roxanne’s love by composing exquisite love letters, so full of passion and soul they make her swoon. She marries the youth but becomes a young widow when he is killed in battle. Roxanne wastes the rest of her life mourning the lie and is content to live with the paternal company of her ugly cousin.

The film is heartbreaking because it allows the viewer to witness Cyrano's painful unrequited love until his death scene, when Roxanne realises the soul she adores belongs to her selfless cousin. It is then she tell him she love him. Too late!

One thing that is interesting about this film is that the personality of Cyrano is so strong his big nose become almost invisible. As my granny would say, ‘handsome is as handsome does.’

If a heart breaker is your pleasure, this is a must.

Winter is on the way

Today I spotted the first V of geese this season. I look forward to watching my friends from the frozen North make their morning and late afternoon flypast over the house.

Eco Rant

Scotland's shame

Last week one of my friends commented that recycling was the ‘new middle class obsession’. He wound me up after my passionate plea to use less packaged supermarket food and buy locally. I was horrified when others in the group joined him, saying that they had no trust in local governments and believed recycling was a big con because all the recycled items end up in the landfill anyway.

I once heard an influential broadcaster state on TV that she will begin to separate her cans and paper from the rubbish when China and India does something about their pollution.

It was reported last week in a Sunday paper that Scotland is one of Europe’s worst recyclers with 71% of our rubbish going to landfill. No wonder with attitudes like these from intelligent professional people.

Ten years ago I worked in Sweden and Denmark. There were no individual bins in the office. All rubbish was separated into recycling bins. When Swedes and Danes moved to work in Glasgow a few months later they could be found wandering the office floor with empty cans and plastic bottles wondering where to deposit them, they were mystified at our lax attitude towards the environment. 4% of Sweden and Denmark’s rubbish ends up in land fill.

Does no-one care! My efforts might be small but at least I am taking control of things I can contribute to saving our world. I can do little to change China, or India. If I could I would.

Check out the waste aware website to make a difference







Tale of two cultures


Biosphere, Montreal


Culture One

Even though I love the mountains, I also love cities. I love the buzz, the hotch-potch of smells wafting from competing restaurants, the clatter and honk of the traffic, the sirens and the expressions on people’s face as they go about their business. So it was a treat for me to end my holiday in Canada with a drop into two cities listed high on my ‘must visit’ wish list.

After we parted company from our trusty camper-van, we took The Ocean to Montreal. This is a sleeper train that leaves Halifax daily at midday and travels down the St Lawrence River to arrive in Montreal at 8.00am next morning. Unfortunately Canada is thick with trees, meaning the views in daylight are restricted and by the time the train reaches the St Lawrence night has descended. Never mind, the food in the dining car is adequate for a galley kitchen and the bunks are comfortable. Sleep came late however because the train rattles along at a hell of a speed and lurches like a fairground ride.

Montreal
We spilled, disorientated, into streets filled with commuters. One lady stopped and pointed ‘you are here’ on our map and directed us to the best place to catch an early coffee.
In the café, above our heads, a TV blared morning news read in French. The waitress greeted us with ‘bonjour’. We soon discovered, back on the street, that French is the dominant language and culture. I fell in love with Montreal within minutes of arriving. The restaurant menus, the street signs, the toilet signs, all French. If it weren’t for the big trucks trundling along the roads I would have believed I was in France.

We headed for Old Montreal, by the river and found a boutique hotel, Auberge Bonsecours run by a very French matriarch, who dresses impeccably from head to foot in red and apricot. The bedrooms are furnished in red and apricot, even her dog is an apricot French poodle. And the breakfast she serves is a splendid feast of pate, spreads, cheese, ham and six or seven different varieties of bread (not forgetting the strawberry and apricot jams). What a wonderful way to start the day.

On our first evening we traipsed round the rejuvenate harbour area, dodging the ambush of restaurant staff trying to grab the trickle of custom in the dying days of the season. We settled for a French Restaurant 'Forget', which sat opposite our Auberge. The service was attentive and the caribou I ordered was lean and uncluttered.

The highlight of our second Montreal day was the Biosphere, a remnant of the ’67 Expo exhibition. Here we attended a passionate lecture on wind farms, geothermal energy and natural water treatment, all deliver by Veronique, who oozed zeal but was regrettably tinged with a little cynicism after all the knock back this kind of work receives. Keep up the good work Veronique, we will win in the end.

A film set or two

Loch Ossian on a good day
(photo Colin Baird)


A film set or two

Twice in a month I find myself stumbling into the set of a major feature film.


Film One

The first was in Toronto. It was our last day in Canada and having eaten mounds of wholesome Canadian food for two weeks the seams of my jeans were beginning to fray. We bought fresh peaches and bananas in St Lawrence Market and relaxed on a nearby park bench to slurp our fruit and watch Toronto at play. The park was busy. Young lads slept on blankets next to some electrical equipment, there was a table strewn with the wreckage of a picnic lunch. Two well made up ladies lounged in director’s chairs. Nothing too unusual. Our bench faced the street, the one of the occupants of a parked black sedan jumped out and made way for two dark haired men wearing black overcoat – an odd choice of garb considering it was 27C. A couple of police officers stood in the road to hold traffic, people with headsets buzzed around us. They began to build a metal frame at our feet on which they erected an expensive looking movie camera. I asked one of the techies should we move, no it was OK – we were not in their ‘wedge’, we moved anyway, to the next bench. From there we watched a company of about thirty bodies labour for over an hour to rehearse and execute what looked like twenty seconds of dialogue taking place in the black sedan. The film, we were told, was a feature called Target.


Better than a flask of tea













Film Two

This film set was less unusual considering where I was. On Saturday morning I met twenty odd hearty mountaineers from The Ochil Mountaineering Club for the auspicious occasion of Mhari’s Munro Compleation. It is traditional among hill walkers to invite a large party of friends and family to join you complete a round of all 284 Munros (mountains in Scotland over three thousand feet high). Mhari had chosen Ben na Lap as the finale to her round.

The happy rabble invaded the West Highland Line train at Crianlarich and travelled through mist and rain to alight at the remotest station in Britain, Corrour. This is the station that made a cameo appearance in the film Trainspotting. The station is situated about half a mile from Loch Ossian Youth Hostel, on the west bank of Loch Ossian. The loch is ringed by ribs of high mountains, including our hit for the day. At the eastern end of the loch, past the impressive lodge built for the Tetra Pak heiress Ms Rausling, is the gateway to another stunning range of mountains. This place is my favourite place in the whole wide world. There are no public roads. The only access to this unique setting is by railway, foot or land rover track.

Our party was cheery despite the rain, but I felt vexed for the number of folks who were new to the area and could not experience the full wonder that lay behind the murk. We were accompanied throughout the day by the sound of a helicopter.

The summit was bagged in record slow time which is also traditional for this hill because our train back was not until evening. Champagne corks popped into the mist, paper cups fizzed with bubbly and whisky, and hasty sandwiches were scoffed before the damp and cold drove us back downhill. Fine views and the mystery of the helicopter were revealed below the clag. Puffing down the track was the steam train we had spotted earlier at Rannoch Station, The Hogwarts Express.

The word at the station was that the train was being filmed for the next Harry Potter film and the passengers for the four or five trips this train made up and down the line were the children from Lochaber’s schools. We received a fine wave from them as they made their final chug past on the way back to Fort William

This remote station is lucky to have a tea room to soothe the weary traveller during his wait for the homebound train, unfortunately the lady who runs this establishment does not appear to enjoy the custom. When I entered the cosy wee tearoom intent on buying a beer, this scary lady looked at me as if I were a bailiff come to clear the land. Her gruff manner increased with each subsequent arrival and I took pleasure informing the crabbit hostess that more custom was on the way.

It is a pity the welcome is not friendly; the tearoom must have few visitors for trains are few and hill walkers must be the primary trade. With almost an hour to kill before the train I took my drink outside and ate the food left in my rucksack.

Hogwarts Express and Holly (the dog)

Our Pick Up Truck

Canadian Dream - Revisited

We thought we'd try something new. Nova Scotia is a big province and to make the most of our time there we decided to hire, what Brits call a camper van and North Americans call a RV. This is our little baby, a skip chained to a Ford pick-up truck, but it was great fun.

We trundled up to Cape Breton to experience the famous Cabot Trail. We found our first well positioned and well equipped camping spot at MacLeod's, situated between Inverness and Dunvegan. Cape Breton was weird for us because all the place names are identical to those in Scotland and all the road signs are in Gaelic, as they are in the Highlands here.

The highlights of Cape Breton were;

The freedom of the camper van. It was fantastic to pull off the road to admire stunning views of crashing waves and snaking roads, put the kettle on and grab a ring side seat for lunch.

Meat Cove; This neat little community sits on the Northern tip of Cape Breton. The road is windy, steep and rough in places, and at times our trusty pick-up lurched and groaned, but despite the protests we made it.

Four Mile Beach, begins at SugarLoaf, Cabot's Landing, where John Cabot landed and discovered North America. This thin stretch of land forms a pristine beach, embracing the calmer East Coast Atlantic waves.

Hideaway Campsite, Dingwall. Along side MacLeod's this was one of the best campsites we stopped at. As the name suggests this site is sheltered within a wood, but its raised position awarded us spectacular views toward the Atlantic. As with all the sites we visited the facilities are clean and adequate.

The National Park. Cape Breton National Park maintains the environment around the Cape Breton Highlands. Like Kejimkujik Park, they have designated walks for tourists to tramp.

At the visitor centre we were warned of the high moose population. We thought, like the red deer in Scotland, the moose may be observed from a safe distance. Not so. In the park we had four encounters with moose on the Skyline Trail. One moose, having a grand feed on the trial, refused to move at our approach. We tried to skirt round her, but she began to look agitated, so we make a swift retreat. These beasts are huge and not to be messed with.

One night there was a fierce storm and our wee home morphed into a rollicking boat. Although it was a surreal experience I felt secure chained down to the sturdy truck.

Introducing...



From pick-up to classic

My brother Mike loves everything American. The music , the country, the people. Unlike me he has no need to pour over an atlas to find his holiday destination, the US is large enough for a lifetime of holidays.

His over-riding love is American cars. Ever since I was a wee lassie with skint knees and a pony-tail I have been aware of Mike's obsession. Now being in need of big toys he can indulge himself.

He recently sent me this rare shot of his current car and his previous car separated by the yellow car. They are all General Motors F-bodies: his old Chevrolet Camaro 3rd generation ‘80s, the yellow Pontiac Transam 2nd generation ‘70s and his current Pontiac Firebird 4th generation ‘90s. His ambition now is to become a real redneck.

Mike has agreed to become a guest blogger on this site, so look out for more 'Redneck News'

PS. Look out for ET in this photo!

Back on Scottish soil

Sorry for the Absence

Well it just didn’t happen. I had hoped to blog some of my holiday experiences on the way round but the truth is I didn’t want to spend time indoors, away from the glorious Canadian sunshine, to write this blog.

Canadian dream – revisited

Glasgow, Scotland to Halifax, Nova Scotia in less than five and a half hours is pretty good going and the time difference is only four hours. I walked out of Halifax airport into a welcome 27C into a sunshine I hadn’t felt for years.
But even though Nova Scotia experienced an Indian Summer over the last few weeks, their tourist industry closed on September 2nd.

The highlights

Peggy’s Cove - This neat little fishing village, with its granite rock formations scattered around timber fishing houses, form the backdrop for some stunning photo opportunities. A tall lighthouse perched on massive rocks give the tourist something to aim for. Peggy’s Cove gave me my first encounter with a ‘Fifth Wheel’, a motor home the size of a Double Decker bus, strapped to a truck. These monsters are trundled back and forth across this vast country. Why do folks find the need to carry their entire homes with them?

Caledonia and The Kejimkujik National Park - On the map Caledonia looks to be a significant town, in reality it is one street with a supermarket, a hardware store, a junk shop and a diner. It does however have one great little bed and breakfast.

Aunt Nettie’s is run by Cindy and dominated by Abby, the mad Jack Russell terrier who ensures that the premises is kept squirrel free by terrorizing the garden tree. As soon as the front door opens Abby tears across the lawn to her tree yapping like a raging… Jack Russell.

A few miles up the road from Caledonia is the Kejimkujik National Park. The walks presented by the rangers vary through high forests of old hemlock to loch side rambles. I am sure the best way to see this park is by canoe, but being a land lover I opted to chance meeting a black bear on the trail.

After a hard day on the trail Colin and I ate at the nearby diner M & W’s. This busy dinner is run by the wily Marilyn who tempted me with the mouth watering pastry of her home made blueberry pie. She worked the diner, May through to October from 8.00 in the morning till 9.00 at night as well as looking out for customers to her store next door. But even after closing and leaving for home, if a hungry body turns up at her door she will feed them.

One such hungry body I met was a biologist who had trailed through the park. He was studying the decline of loons, the result of mercury in the water and their food. It seems that even in protected areas pollution still creeps in by way of rain fall. The poor guy had been eating trail food for five days; all he wanted was a plate full of grease and a big piece of pie.

Tip - make the most of everything

When I go on holiday I always try to leave the house clean and tidy. I don't go mad with the cleaning, just enough to make a difference.

When I arrived home yesterday it was wonderful to walk through the door into a sweet smelling, bright, shiny house.

I then proceeded to erupt my rucksack all over the floor and make a complete mess of the place, but that was OK.