Wake to overcast sky and rough sea, although the wind is a fairly warm one. Mumbai hostage taking continues (we listen to a remarkably controlled mobile phone report from a man barricaded in his hotel room without food, much water or tv as a news source. And in Bqngkok protestors have occupied the other airport as well.
Good drying weather for the wash - the clothes dance wildly above the balcony. Go for a walk in the mild wind. The café round the corner has a number of men drinking coffee and smoking water pipes (sheeskas), including one of the German men from our hotel, answering in one case the question of where the others go and what they do when it's not sunny by the pool. Past the drugstore where we first bought bottled water. Nothing would look less like a drugstore. The local pharmacies are European drugstores with pharmaceuticals, skin creams and such, mostly behind the counter. This 'drugstore' however is a grubby cubbyhole about 6 by 8 feet, with dusty cardboard boxes and grimy jars, looking more like a disused toolshed - the proprietor pleasant enough but the last person one would think to consult on a medical problem.
Discover the local covered market, a lively place full of fruit and vegetables - heaps of oranges, pomegranates, bananas, purple-black aubergines, cauliflowers, lettuces, courgettes. The central area is a huge square composed of tables covered with fish, whole fish of a variety of shapes and sizes. We must look impressedas a man tries to sell us some. There are also alcoves selling eggs, cheese, and meat, some with carcasses hanging above the counter. Next to small carcasses of lamb or kid, there hangs the full unskinned head of a cow, facing into the market, a baby's dummy pacifier in its mouth.
JAWORSKI TRAVELS
We live our lives forever taking leave - Rilke
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Friday, 28 November 2008
Wednesday, November 26/2008
We've been here a week and a high proportion of our fellow guests are no longer the same as at the beginning of our stay. I'm now writing the journal aware that the keyboard for which it is destined is different; the most difficult letter to get right is the 'w', placed in the usual spot for the 'z'. (There are 5 w's in the last sentence). Will I begin to write like a stutterer, choosing phrases that avoid problems? A little inattention and witty becomes zitty.
Temperature still about 35 in the morning sun but 22 in the morning shade with enough breeze that the sunbathers look for sheltered spots. We sit mostly on our balcony, having a large fourth floor one overlooking the sea.
Both BBC and French television have scenes of Bangkok airport, taken over by protestors and effectively closed to flights. Usually both sides in Thailand knoz the value of tourism but isùs a good time to be planning to fly from Tunis rather than Bangkok.Then in the evening Bangkok is knocked off the news by live coverage of violence in Mumbai, with more than 80 dead and guests held hostage in luxury hotels.
Temperature still about 35 in the morning sun but 22 in the morning shade with enough breeze that the sunbathers look for sheltered spots. We sit mostly on our balcony, having a large fourth floor one overlooking the sea.
Both BBC and French television have scenes of Bangkok airport, taken over by protestors and effectively closed to flights. Usually both sides in Thailand knoz the value of tourism but isùs a good time to be planning to fly from Tunis rather than Bangkok.Then in the evening Bangkok is knocked off the news by live coverage of violence in Mumbai, with more than 80 dead and guests held hostage in luxury hotels.
Tuesday, November 25/2008
Our regular wander includes a search for the railway station, which we find after a couple of false starts and debates with a minimum of acrimony. Astonishing how remembered maps and the reality on the ground can fail to match up in one brain let alone two. The man we ask appears to be explaining in Arabic that he doesn't speak French, but points in response to "la gare?" Monastir is on a spur line, but there are several trains a day to Sousse, and several a day from Sousse to Tunis.
Through the medina on the way back. Fast food prices don't seem expensive but goods aimed at Tunisians are not cheap. A small and quite basic microwave, for example is about a hundred dollars (£48 UK). We are passed by a calèche, a horse-drawn carriage for tourists, decorated with artificial flowers. Most horses we have seen here are small working animals pulling carts with sacks of goods. Sometimes donkeys do the same, competing with vehicular traffic on the less busy streets.
Through the medina on the way back. Fast food prices don't seem expensive but goods aimed at Tunisians are not cheap. A small and quite basic microwave, for example is about a hundred dollars (£48 UK). We are passed by a calèche, a horse-drawn carriage for tourists, decorated with artificial flowers. Most horses we have seen here are small working animals pulling carts with sacks of goods. Sometimes donkeys do the same, competing with vehicular traffic on the less busy streets.
Monday, November 24/2008
It's rained in the night and there's enough mist to obscure the usual clear line between light blue sky and dark blue sea. By the time we finish breakfast it's burned off and the balcony floor is dry. Quite a windy day, though warm enough in sheltered spots.
Two minarets are visible from our window and from the nearer we can hear the call to prayer five times a day. Monastir has not always been Moslem of course. It was originally a Phoenician trading centre and in Roman times was Julius Caesar's headquarters when he defeated Pompey who was based at nearby Sousse, after which Monastir became the Roman town of Ruspina.
Two minarets are visible from our window and from the nearer we can hear the call to prayer five times a day. Monastir has not always been Moslem of course. It was originally a Phoenician trading centre and in Roman times was Julius Caesar's headquarters when he defeated Pompey who was based at nearby Sousse, after which Monastir became the Roman town of Ruspina.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Sunday, November 23/2008
Say goodbye to Sandra and John after breafast - S not looking forward to Edinburgh's temperatures after Monastir's. Wander about the town. The central area isn't large but the streets are all curves and angles so it's easy to get confused. Mostly overcast but still warm. On the way back we follow the sea and then turn in toward our hotel. See man with a dozen or so sheep grazing by the side of the street. A curious mixture of urban and rural; roosters crowing and grazing sheep in a residential area blocks away from the university hospital and the banks.
Saturday, November 22/2008
Discovery - the key to getting wholemeal bread rather thn baguettes is to get up a little earlier before the German contingent has made sandwixches to be smuggled out for later.
A walk in the non-tourist streets to the south-west of our hotel. They're much more interesting than the touristy medina. It's a residential area with small shops and other businesses, such as a bakery (identifiable by loaves of brfead painted on the outside s well as, one presumes, by the Arabic writing beside the door). It's a windy day and there's plenty of loose rubbish blowing about but there are quite attractive houses, many with shapely pillars and arches, decorative wrought iron work and pretty Islamic tiles. The area doesn't look rich by any means, but there are new buildings under construction as well as those being renovated and extended. A sheet of paper taped to a shop wall is advertising for a 3rd girl to share a furnished flqt with 2 others (and it's a desirable area near the university medical faculty) but at the same time we see a small number of sheep disappearing round the corner near the closest of the mosques that we can see from our window. Later we pass a man with 2 sheep on q long rope. He's letting them graze on a vacant lot full of rubbish and bits of scrub growth - admittedly a better source of vegetation than many of the hills of Israel and Jordan. There is a girl wearing a hijab with an armful of bqguettes, two young men playing football, children coming home from school with their books. Not a great deal of vehicular traffic though. Laundry hangs from the windows and carpets are airing.
We stop at a couple of small shops as I look to buy a comb, mine having unaccountably disappeared in transit leaving us one b etween us. No luck though, although the shops do carry shampoo, styling gel, and even hairbrushes and I have remembered the French for comb. Interestingly there are large bottles (2 litre perhaps) of various colognes filled to varying levels, from which it appears possible to buy 100 ml portions.
Then J back to the hotel and I to the internet. A somewhat frustrating experience for a touch typist as the keyboard is quite different - for example the a and q are reversed, as are the m and the comma. Some characters, such as double quotation marks, I never do find. Sky overcast when I leave, and the sea, which had been green streaked with indigo in the shallows, is now dqrk grey with whitecaps. Huge local interest in a televised football match for an African regional cup. The locals support the team from Sfax, down the coast, rather than the nearby city of Sousse - perhaps too local a rival for their allegiance. Victory greeted with much shouting, singing in the streets, car horns and - we note from our balcony young bloods hanging Sfax's colours from the roof of a tall neighbouring building.
After dinner a farewell drink with John and Sandra, who leave tomorrow. I go back to our room for a pen to give them our email address (John has a card featuring his Zimbabwe wildlife charity). Searching for the pen, I leave the door to the corridor open and then remember our reading of last night. In Journey to Khiva, author Philip Glazebrook recounts his experience stying t the National, a major Moscow Hotel. He had left the window of his room open and lso the door to the corridor in order to get some fresh air. A man armed with a knife rushed into the room and attacked him violently, holdintg a chloroform pad as well as the knife. Glazebrook, who had quite a bit of money with him by Russian standards (in 1990) fought for his life. Suddenly the assailant left, perhaps having heard someone coming. When the author attempted to complain to authorities, both hotel and police, he zas met with incredulity that anyone could have been stupid enough to have left the door of his hotel room open to the corridor.
A walk in the non-tourist streets to the south-west of our hotel. They're much more interesting than the touristy medina. It's a residential area with small shops and other businesses, such as a bakery (identifiable by loaves of brfead painted on the outside s well as, one presumes, by the Arabic writing beside the door). It's a windy day and there's plenty of loose rubbish blowing about but there are quite attractive houses, many with shapely pillars and arches, decorative wrought iron work and pretty Islamic tiles. The area doesn't look rich by any means, but there are new buildings under construction as well as those being renovated and extended. A sheet of paper taped to a shop wall is advertising for a 3rd girl to share a furnished flqt with 2 others (and it's a desirable area near the university medical faculty) but at the same time we see a small number of sheep disappearing round the corner near the closest of the mosques that we can see from our window. Later we pass a man with 2 sheep on q long rope. He's letting them graze on a vacant lot full of rubbish and bits of scrub growth - admittedly a better source of vegetation than many of the hills of Israel and Jordan. There is a girl wearing a hijab with an armful of bqguettes, two young men playing football, children coming home from school with their books. Not a great deal of vehicular traffic though. Laundry hangs from the windows and carpets are airing.
We stop at a couple of small shops as I look to buy a comb, mine having unaccountably disappeared in transit leaving us one b etween us. No luck though, although the shops do carry shampoo, styling gel, and even hairbrushes and I have remembered the French for comb. Interestingly there are large bottles (2 litre perhaps) of various colognes filled to varying levels, from which it appears possible to buy 100 ml portions.
Then J back to the hotel and I to the internet. A somewhat frustrating experience for a touch typist as the keyboard is quite different - for example the a and q are reversed, as are the m and the comma. Some characters, such as double quotation marks, I never do find. Sky overcast when I leave, and the sea, which had been green streaked with indigo in the shallows, is now dqrk grey with whitecaps. Huge local interest in a televised football match for an African regional cup. The locals support the team from Sfax, down the coast, rather than the nearby city of Sousse - perhaps too local a rival for their allegiance. Victory greeted with much shouting, singing in the streets, car horns and - we note from our balcony young bloods hanging Sfax's colours from the roof of a tall neighbouring building.
After dinner a farewell drink with John and Sandra, who leave tomorrow. I go back to our room for a pen to give them our email address (John has a card featuring his Zimbabwe wildlife charity). Searching for the pen, I leave the door to the corridor open and then remember our reading of last night. In Journey to Khiva, author Philip Glazebrook recounts his experience stying t the National, a major Moscow Hotel. He had left the window of his room open and lso the door to the corridor in order to get some fresh air. A man armed with a knife rushed into the room and attacked him violently, holdintg a chloroform pad as well as the knife. Glazebrook, who had quite a bit of money with him by Russian standards (in 1990) fought for his life. Suddenly the assailant left, perhaps having heard someone coming. When the author attempted to complain to authorities, both hotel and police, he zas met with incredulity that anyone could have been stupid enough to have left the door of his hotel room open to the corridor.
Friday, November 21/2008
Take our coffee to the lounge at the end of breakfast and sit overlooking the pool. A woman with a cane gets up to shut the door against the breeze and we meet Sandra from Edinburgh. A lucky meeting as we might well have assumed that she and her husband were German and not have opened a conversation. They're here for 2 weeks but unfortunately will leave on Sunday. An interesting conversation with her husband as well. He's sunning himself by the pool and chats with us for a half hour. He lived in Rhodesia at one point and they still go back regularly to Zimbabwe to holiday and because he is involved with a charity tht supports an enormous game reserve there entirely run by volunteers.
Further explorations in the midday which is very warm in the sun but with a bit of breeze from the sea. We're even closer to the centre of things than we realised yesterday. We're within 500 metres of the ribat (a ribat is a fortified monastery). This one dates back to the end of the 8th C and has a giant fairy tale sandcastle look. The complex has appealed to others as well, as it was used in the filming of Monty Python's Life of Brian and Zefferelli's Life of Christ. We'll definitely go in another day. We're a similar distance from the tozn centre and well under a km from the train and bus stations. We stop at the Monoprix Supermarket. It's not especially cheap by our standards, although most of the people shopping there are local. Prices at the little restaurant cum café we pass on the way back are pretty reasonable though - espresso at about 55 cents a cup (25 p) and crèpe suzette at a dollar thirty-five CAD or 65 p UK.
After dinner have a drink in the lounge with Sandra and John. Hebuys the first round when we have the local Celtia beer, a pleasant enough light lager, so we have no idea what beer costs. However the bottle of Tunisian red wine that J buys for us to share is 15 dinars - about 13.60 CAD of £6.50 UK. Admittedly less than one would pay in Canada or the UK in a bar, but a pretty fair mark-up locally for a wine that was nothing like as good as home made, despite its being one the AA Tunisia guide refers to as drinkable and despite its 2003 vintage - not enough people over the past 5 years have cared to drink it? Good conversation, though. And John points out that Johnnie Walker in the supermarket is £80!
Further explorations in the midday which is very warm in the sun but with a bit of breeze from the sea. We're even closer to the centre of things than we realised yesterday. We're within 500 metres of the ribat (a ribat is a fortified monastery). This one dates back to the end of the 8th C and has a giant fairy tale sandcastle look. The complex has appealed to others as well, as it was used in the filming of Monty Python's Life of Brian and Zefferelli's Life of Christ. We'll definitely go in another day. We're a similar distance from the tozn centre and well under a km from the train and bus stations. We stop at the Monoprix Supermarket. It's not especially cheap by our standards, although most of the people shopping there are local. Prices at the little restaurant cum café we pass on the way back are pretty reasonable though - espresso at about 55 cents a cup (25 p) and crèpe suzette at a dollar thirty-five CAD or 65 p UK.
After dinner have a drink in the lounge with Sandra and John. Hebuys the first round when we have the local Celtia beer, a pleasant enough light lager, so we have no idea what beer costs. However the bottle of Tunisian red wine that J buys for us to share is 15 dinars - about 13.60 CAD of £6.50 UK. Admittedly less than one would pay in Canada or the UK in a bar, but a pretty fair mark-up locally for a wine that was nothing like as good as home made, despite its being one the AA Tunisia guide refers to as drinkable and despite its 2003 vintage - not enough people over the past 5 years have cared to drink it? Good conversation, though. And John points out that Johnnie Walker in the supermarket is £80!
Thursday, November 20!2008
A long night's sleep and we wake to the dark blue Mediterranean (why aren't other seas that colour?) and the repeated crow of a rooster somewhere to the west. Two of the German women outside by the pool are already, stereotypically putting markers on their sun loungers to reserve them for later. Breakfast buffet is quite good and coffee very welcome.
A day of quiet settling in. Exploratory walk along the corniche by the seafront and the streets near the hotel. Some shops seem closed for the season and we don't pass other tourists (most of those at Monastir Centre are turning toast coloured around the pool). We pass the university hospital, a small internet cafe, pizza places, little greengrocers and magasins alimentaires. We buy 2 1.5 litre bottles of water for a Tunisian dinar (88 cents CAD or just over 40 p UK) to take back to the room. Also wash a few clothes and hang them out on our balcony to dry. Make tea using our immersion coil and sample each of 3 books we've brought with us. Two of them, Monica Furlong's biography of Thomas Merton and The Number One Ladies' Detective Agency, are divided into 20 or 21 chapters - exactly right for our 3 week stay. The other, Philip Glazebrook's Journey to Khiva, is an intelligent and sometimes humorous account of a trip to Uzbekistan via Moscow in 1990, shortly before our own trip to Moscow and Leningrad. It looks very interesting.
Not quite as many people at dinner and no overlap with the contents of last night's dinner except for the Tunisian soup. The chef will fry a small fish as you wait. Quite delicious. Not much selection for dessert but what there is is quite good, though the oranges are underripe.
A day of quiet settling in. Exploratory walk along the corniche by the seafront and the streets near the hotel. Some shops seem closed for the season and we don't pass other tourists (most of those at Monastir Centre are turning toast coloured around the pool). We pass the university hospital, a small internet cafe, pizza places, little greengrocers and magasins alimentaires. We buy 2 1.5 litre bottles of water for a Tunisian dinar (88 cents CAD or just over 40 p UK) to take back to the room. Also wash a few clothes and hang them out on our balcony to dry. Make tea using our immersion coil and sample each of 3 books we've brought with us. Two of them, Monica Furlong's biography of Thomas Merton and The Number One Ladies' Detective Agency, are divided into 20 or 21 chapters - exactly right for our 3 week stay. The other, Philip Glazebrook's Journey to Khiva, is an intelligent and sometimes humorous account of a trip to Uzbekistan via Moscow in 1990, shortly before our own trip to Moscow and Leningrad. It looks very interesting.
Not quite as many people at dinner and no overlap with the contents of last night's dinner except for the Tunisian soup. The chef will fry a small fish as you wait. Quite delicious. Not much selection for dessert but what there is is quite good, though the oranges are underripe.
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Wednesday, November 19/2008
Up at 4:15. We've set the alarms on both mobile phones and J's watch, just to be sure. And they all go off. Pretty well everything done last night. Take sandwiches and leftover salmon cakes for breakfast at Gatwick. Also remaining blue cheese. Leave 3 onions, a banana and a pint of vanilla yoghurt for the cleaner.
Just make the 5:16 underground train but it's a quick and peaceful time of day to be travelling. No problem catching the 5:50 train to Gatwick and ze're there at 6:20 - having allowed for all public transit contingencies we're much earlier than necessary.
Plane not full and the middle seat remains unoccupied. Allows for some manoeuvering room as party ahead - two very loud German men with a quiet Asian woman - is quite exhuberant. The girl is attached to a man with a hangdog face and a large moustache sitting in the window seat ahead of J while the tall man in the seat ahead of me looks quite a lot like Boris Karloff. They're not bad really - just very loud - and each time Boris Karloff throws himself into the seat my tray shakes and the wine wobbles. But we've learned one of the lessons at Monday's lecture on happiness - think of the alternative possibilities. Yes, we might have had quiet and considerate people ahead, but then again the 3rd seat in our bank might have been taken by a large person with a bad head cold instead of remaining vacant, so we're doing well.
As with Air Canada on our way to London, there are no newspapers - and British Air used to provide a choice. There is wine though, and a pleasant cabin crew, though lunch is a rather skinny sandwich. Across the aisle from us is a father with a lively, inquisitive 6 year old boy interested in everything after "we blast off."
Flight a little less than 3 hours and there's an hour's time change. We're met by a rep from A2B, the independent transfer company we booked online - 30 pounds return for the two of us, and it's about 150 km each way, so it's pretty good value, not much more than a return trip by taxi fro, home to the train station be. Knowing that it's cheap by western standards they've put a collection plate at the door as we board: "English money no problem." There are several of us, including the bright little boy and his father, but the others all get dropped off at hotels in Hammamet, a beach tourist resort town 63 km south of Tunis.
We're at the Monastir Centre Hotel, advertised as being central but not far from the beach as I googled for central. Actually some of the beach hotels are about as central, as we're only about two blocks from the beach. We had just feared being stranded on an isolated strip of tourist beach hotels outside the city. Fortunately these people also recognise our voucher, booked with a different firm online. We're on the fourth floor (out of 5) and in an end room with stunning views in 3 directions. The balcony doors are on the east, looking out over the Mediterranean, as dark blue as only the Mediterranean can be, and from the large balcony (15x15 feet) there is also a view to the south. On the other side of the room the window looks west, over the swimming pool and sun loungers to the city proper with apartments and the minaret of a mosque. As we enter the room the sun is poised as a red ball on the horizon, just about to set an hour later than it would have done in England.
The room itself is irregularly-shaped but big, with bunk beds tucked in a corner for the children we didn't bring. The shower is in the middle of a long bath and has surprisingly good water pressure for the fourth floor as well as plenty of hot water. Most tv channels are French, Arabic or German, but we do have BBC World, so we're in touch with English news.
Dinner (we've opted for half board) is from 6:30 to 8:30. Most of the other guests appear to be German. J, harking back to Yugoslavia 30 years ago, has always said that the Germans had a good eye for a bargain. Dinner is a varied buffet - fish, chicken, lamb, coscous, salads, soups (including a Tunisian one flavoured with a fairly ,ild harissa, or chili paste), salads, oranges, pears (a little underripe) and dates still on the stalk, as well as sweet biscuits and a pudding with a flavour we can't quite pin down which J remembers eating as a small child in Germany. Dishes are somewhat uncertainly labelled in three languages, and include chiken, lamm and fische.
We've been up since quarter past four so it doesn't take us long to fall asleep.
Just make the 5:16 underground train but it's a quick and peaceful time of day to be travelling. No problem catching the 5:50 train to Gatwick and ze're there at 6:20 - having allowed for all public transit contingencies we're much earlier than necessary.
Plane not full and the middle seat remains unoccupied. Allows for some manoeuvering room as party ahead - two very loud German men with a quiet Asian woman - is quite exhuberant. The girl is attached to a man with a hangdog face and a large moustache sitting in the window seat ahead of J while the tall man in the seat ahead of me looks quite a lot like Boris Karloff. They're not bad really - just very loud - and each time Boris Karloff throws himself into the seat my tray shakes and the wine wobbles. But we've learned one of the lessons at Monday's lecture on happiness - think of the alternative possibilities. Yes, we might have had quiet and considerate people ahead, but then again the 3rd seat in our bank might have been taken by a large person with a bad head cold instead of remaining vacant, so we're doing well.
As with Air Canada on our way to London, there are no newspapers - and British Air used to provide a choice. There is wine though, and a pleasant cabin crew, though lunch is a rather skinny sandwich. Across the aisle from us is a father with a lively, inquisitive 6 year old boy interested in everything after "we blast off."
Flight a little less than 3 hours and there's an hour's time change. We're met by a rep from A2B, the independent transfer company we booked online - 30 pounds return for the two of us, and it's about 150 km each way, so it's pretty good value, not much more than a return trip by taxi fro, home to the train station be. Knowing that it's cheap by western standards they've put a collection plate at the door as we board: "English money no problem." There are several of us, including the bright little boy and his father, but the others all get dropped off at hotels in Hammamet, a beach tourist resort town 63 km south of Tunis.
We're at the Monastir Centre Hotel, advertised as being central but not far from the beach as I googled for central. Actually some of the beach hotels are about as central, as we're only about two blocks from the beach. We had just feared being stranded on an isolated strip of tourist beach hotels outside the city. Fortunately these people also recognise our voucher, booked with a different firm online. We're on the fourth floor (out of 5) and in an end room with stunning views in 3 directions. The balcony doors are on the east, looking out over the Mediterranean, as dark blue as only the Mediterranean can be, and from the large balcony (15x15 feet) there is also a view to the south. On the other side of the room the window looks west, over the swimming pool and sun loungers to the city proper with apartments and the minaret of a mosque. As we enter the room the sun is poised as a red ball on the horizon, just about to set an hour later than it would have done in England.
The room itself is irregularly-shaped but big, with bunk beds tucked in a corner for the children we didn't bring. The shower is in the middle of a long bath and has surprisingly good water pressure for the fourth floor as well as plenty of hot water. Most tv channels are French, Arabic or German, but we do have BBC World, so we're in touch with English news.
Dinner (we've opted for half board) is from 6:30 to 8:30. Most of the other guests appear to be German. J, harking back to Yugoslavia 30 years ago, has always said that the Germans had a good eye for a bargain. Dinner is a varied buffet - fish, chicken, lamb, coscous, salads, soups (including a Tunisian one flavoured with a fairly ,ild harissa, or chili paste), salads, oranges, pears (a little underripe) and dates still on the stalk, as well as sweet biscuits and a pudding with a flavour we can't quite pin down which J remembers eating as a small child in Germany. Dishes are somewhat uncertainly labelled in three languages, and include chiken, lamm and fische.
We've been up since quarter past four so it doesn't take us long to fall asleep.
Tuesday, November 18/2008
Last day. Over to the Barbican to choose seats on tomorrow's flight. They're in banks of three on either side of the aisle so we ga,ble and opt for the aisle and window seats. Either no one will choose the middle or one of us will offer to trade. Check out the ti,ing on tomorrow's underground trip too. First train from Swiss Cottage leaves at 5:16 and takes about 20 minutes to reach London Bridge Station. Should give us plenty of time.
Trafalgar Square to post office - long queues as always - and Canada House to print boarding passes. And back to Trafalgar after dusk (and sunset is about 4:10 this time of year) to see the interactive art project of a Mexican Canadian. A nu,ber of projectors project film images of people, more or less full size, from a cache of hundreds onto the pavement at the north end of Trafalgar Square. Intriguingly the images are activated by the shadows cast by the observors: They seem to come alive, struggling to sit up. It's temting to offer a hand so that they can emerge from the pavement and become fully real. Meanwhile the images make eye contact and even the security people seem quite taken with them.
The evening spent packing. How will it all fit back into our little suitcases? The saddest is throwing out all those lovely newspapers - many of which have excellent bits that there hasn't been time to read - with English language reading on our winters it's always feast or famine.
Trafalgar Square to post office - long queues as always - and Canada House to print boarding passes. And back to Trafalgar after dusk (and sunset is about 4:10 this time of year) to see the interactive art project of a Mexican Canadian. A nu,ber of projectors project film images of people, more or less full size, from a cache of hundreds onto the pavement at the north end of Trafalgar Square. Intriguingly the images are activated by the shadows cast by the observors: They seem to come alive, struggling to sit up. It's temting to offer a hand so that they can emerge from the pavement and become fully real. Meanwhile the images make eye contact and even the security people seem quite taken with them.
The evening spent packing. How will it all fit back into our little suitcases? The saddest is throwing out all those lovely newspapers - many of which have excellent bits that there hasn't been time to read - with English language reading on our winters it's always feast or famine.
Monday, November 17/2008
Note: Entries now being made on Tunisian keyboard. Some characters impossible to find!
Barbican library internet and check the terminal for the Cyprus flight - terminal 5. The Tunis flight is fro, Gatwick. Leaves us just time to get to Hanover Square for the Gresham College free lecture. This is the church that Shelley got married in, a pretty sqare church with balconies on three sides. Paul and Jill are there already and we join them. The lecture is on what makes people happy and is given by a visiting professor of psychiatry. It is interesting, informative, and quite witty. Gresham College in the Inns of Court has a wonderful and varied series of free public lectures zhich Jill and Paul put us on to: A tradition of lectures that goes back over 400 years.
Then we realise that we are quite near Farm Street. Farm Street is often ,entioned in literary biographies as a Catholic centre and I am curious. Turns out to be a lovely little neo-Gothic church with beautiful vaulting and stained glass. It is officially the Church of the Immaculate Conception, run by the Jesuits and familiarly known as Farm Street - a treasure tucked azay in a quiet corner of Mayfair.
By bus to Trafalgar to pick up our new debit cards at Charing Cross. On the way to the bus stop we pass, within a block, the former home of Florence Nightingale and the former abode of Skittles, apparently the most famous courtesan of Victorian London. Then up Charing Cross Road where we find a small French dictionary at Blackwells - unaccountably half price. By now it is raining so umbrellas out and home.
Last of the spaghetti for dinner. Jenny calls to chat. She is to be off work for another two weeks and has decided to go to Cumbria to visit Jane.
Barbican library internet and check the terminal for the Cyprus flight - terminal 5. The Tunis flight is fro, Gatwick. Leaves us just time to get to Hanover Square for the Gresham College free lecture. This is the church that Shelley got married in, a pretty sqare church with balconies on three sides. Paul and Jill are there already and we join them. The lecture is on what makes people happy and is given by a visiting professor of psychiatry. It is interesting, informative, and quite witty. Gresham College in the Inns of Court has a wonderful and varied series of free public lectures zhich Jill and Paul put us on to: A tradition of lectures that goes back over 400 years.
Then we realise that we are quite near Farm Street. Farm Street is often ,entioned in literary biographies as a Catholic centre and I am curious. Turns out to be a lovely little neo-Gothic church with beautiful vaulting and stained glass. It is officially the Church of the Immaculate Conception, run by the Jesuits and familiarly known as Farm Street - a treasure tucked azay in a quiet corner of Mayfair.
By bus to Trafalgar to pick up our new debit cards at Charing Cross. On the way to the bus stop we pass, within a block, the former home of Florence Nightingale and the former abode of Skittles, apparently the most famous courtesan of Victorian London. Then up Charing Cross Road where we find a small French dictionary at Blackwells - unaccountably half price. By now it is raining so umbrellas out and home.
Last of the spaghetti for dinner. Jenny calls to chat. She is to be off work for another two weeks and has decided to go to Cumbria to visit Jane.
Tuesday, 18 November 2008
Monday, November 17/2008
Barbican Library internet and check the terminal for the Cyprus flight - terminal 5. The Tunis flight is from Gatwick. Leaves us just time to get to Hanover Square for the Gresham College free lecture. This is the church that Shelley got married in, a pretty square church with balconies on three sides. Paul and Jill are there already and we join them. The lecture is on what makes people happy and is given by a visiting professor of psychiatry. It's interesting, informative and quite witty. Gresham College in the Inns of Court has a wonderful and varied series of free public lectures which Jill and Paul put us on to. A tradition of free public lectures that goes back over 400 years.
Then we realise we're quite near Farm Street. Farm Street is often mentioned in literary biographies as a Catholic centre and I'm curious. Turns out to be a lovely little neo-Gothic church with beautiful vaulting and stained glass. It's officially the Church of the Immaculate Conception, run by the Jesuits and familiarly known as Farm Street - a treasure tucked away in a quiet corner of Mayfair.
By bus to Trafalgar to pick up our new debit cards. Then up Charing Cross Road where we find a small French dictionary at Blackwell's - unaccountably but happily half price (£2.25). By now it's raining so umbrellas out and home.
Last of the spaghetti for dinner. Jenny calls to chat. She is to take two more weeks off work and has decided to go to Cumbria and visit Jane.
Then we realise we're quite near Farm Street. Farm Street is often mentioned in literary biographies as a Catholic centre and I'm curious. Turns out to be a lovely little neo-Gothic church with beautiful vaulting and stained glass. It's officially the Church of the Immaculate Conception, run by the Jesuits and familiarly known as Farm Street - a treasure tucked away in a quiet corner of Mayfair.
By bus to Trafalgar to pick up our new debit cards. Then up Charing Cross Road where we find a small French dictionary at Blackwell's - unaccountably but happily half price (£2.25). By now it's raining so umbrellas out and home.
Last of the spaghetti for dinner. Jenny calls to chat. She is to take two more weeks off work and has decided to go to Cumbria and visit Jane.
Monday, 17 November 2008
Sunday, November 16/2008
Go out to the newsagent's for the Sunday Times and find that there is a fine rain, one step beyond mist. So we take our umbrellas with us to Finchley Road tube station and off to Jean's. STill mild. THere are leaves all over the pavements, mostly from the plane trees. They have leaves that look like giant maple leaves, the largest of them about a foot across.
There's a bird bath in the back garden at Jean's and J watches the birds enjoying a bath. Jean says that she spotted a dead rat there earlier. She called the council who say that they charge to remove a corpse from private property, though not from the street - from whence it probably came. Their advice is to wrap it in paper and put it in the rubbish bin. She does, and says the bin is due to be emptied tomorrow, but if it happens again she'll put it in the gutter and then call. They say that in London one is never more than ten feet from a rat, though it seems (and one hopes is) unlikely. We have seen them by - and in - the bins in Belsize Park though.
Shanthi joins us after a weekend visiting relatives in Surrey. Lots of lively chat. We discuss David Hare's Gethsemane. Predictably given a good review in the Guardian and a poor one in this morning's Times. The characters are, of course, scarcely disguised at all, and one recognises Tony Blair, Lord Levy, and - by dilemma at least - Tessa Jowell. Now, apparently, rumour has it that Blair isn't putting much energy into doing his new job; he's too caught up in the world of well paid speaking engagements. Shanthi has friends in the court system who say that the current economic situation has seen a surge of City wives from the world of finance filing for divorce beofre there is an end to the huge payout bonuses as companies fail and banks lay off executives. Meanwhile Shanthi's concern is for families losing their homes in record numbers as the banks repossess.
Fragrant rice and curries for dinner. Little pavlovas with fresh strawberries for dessert. A lovely treat. Jean and Shanthi reminisce about Singapore, arranged marriages, family. Jean's grandfather was born in London in the 1820's and lived as a bookseller in the London in which Dickens was writing. Quite amazing.
There's a bird bath in the back garden at Jean's and J watches the birds enjoying a bath. Jean says that she spotted a dead rat there earlier. She called the council who say that they charge to remove a corpse from private property, though not from the street - from whence it probably came. Their advice is to wrap it in paper and put it in the rubbish bin. She does, and says the bin is due to be emptied tomorrow, but if it happens again she'll put it in the gutter and then call. They say that in London one is never more than ten feet from a rat, though it seems (and one hopes is) unlikely. We have seen them by - and in - the bins in Belsize Park though.
Shanthi joins us after a weekend visiting relatives in Surrey. Lots of lively chat. We discuss David Hare's Gethsemane. Predictably given a good review in the Guardian and a poor one in this morning's Times. The characters are, of course, scarcely disguised at all, and one recognises Tony Blair, Lord Levy, and - by dilemma at least - Tessa Jowell. Now, apparently, rumour has it that Blair isn't putting much energy into doing his new job; he's too caught up in the world of well paid speaking engagements. Shanthi has friends in the court system who say that the current economic situation has seen a surge of City wives from the world of finance filing for divorce beofre there is an end to the huge payout bonuses as companies fail and banks lay off executives. Meanwhile Shanthi's concern is for families losing their homes in record numbers as the banks repossess.
Fragrant rice and curries for dinner. Little pavlovas with fresh strawberries for dessert. A lovely treat. Jean and Shanthi reminisce about Singapore, arranged marriages, family. Jean's grandfather was born in London in the 1820's and lived as a bookseller in the London in which Dickens was writing. Quite amazing.
Saturday, November 15/2008
Paul arrives with a bag of brochures, etc. just as we're leaving. Take the Northern line tube. Two women (mother and duaghter?) sit opposite in animated sign language conversation, laughing as they talk.
We do a bit of theatre checking and then wander down to Covent Garden. There are open air performers to admire, including a pearly king and queen collecting for charity, their black clothing studded with pearl buttons in traditional Cockney style. Check for Christmas cards at St. Paul's Covent Garden, the actors' church. The garden behind the church is a little oasis full of memorial benches. A lovely spot to have a snack, though unfortunately others seem to have thought so as well and left their rubbish, despite the bins provided.
Tube out to Shepherd's Bush to check out the new Westfield Mall, supposed to be the largest in Europe. Pretty upscale - forty restaurants but no plasticland, chandeliers much in evidence. Home via Camden Town. Check for a French dictionary but the shop where I got the last one seems to have disappeared.
We do a bit of theatre checking and then wander down to Covent Garden. There are open air performers to admire, including a pearly king and queen collecting for charity, their black clothing studded with pearl buttons in traditional Cockney style. Check for Christmas cards at St. Paul's Covent Garden, the actors' church. The garden behind the church is a little oasis full of memorial benches. A lovely spot to have a snack, though unfortunately others seem to have thought so as well and left their rubbish, despite the bins provided.
Tube out to Shepherd's Bush to check out the new Westfield Mall, supposed to be the largest in Europe. Pretty upscale - forty restaurants but no plasticland, chandeliers much in evidence. Home via Camden Town. Check for a French dictionary but the shop where I got the last one seems to have disappeared.
Friday, November 14/2008
Sort out the best method of getting to Gatwick on Wednewday. Settle on train from London Bridge Station and buy the tickets. It means we can get the tube from Swiss Cottage without changing and has the advantage of no stairs at the other end. Pamphlets at the station explain the "fall leaf" timetaboles. Autumn leaves on the track are mulched into a slippery coating that forces the trains to slow slightly for safety. The same problem occurs (as the leaflet points out) in North America, but I'm quite sure Canadian trains don't adjust the timetable. They just unapologetically arrive late.
From Southwark we walk over to the Imperial War Museum. There's an exhibit on the Great War in honour of the 90th anniversary, complete with photographs of the three surviving British veterans, now aged 108, 110, and 112. It's a very moving exhibit - letters from the front, photographs, newspaper clippings. A letter fragment reads "I doo not want to die...If it be that I am to go, I am ready. But the thought that I may never see you or our darling bby again turns my bowels to water." There is a photograph of the little family and a note to say that the soldier, Captain Charlie May, did not survive. There are paintings too, including a large one by Stanley Spencer and a Roualt. There are letters and paintings representing the German side as well and a German bread ration book next to a photograph of malnourished children. Also the reminiscences of a soldier who said that, to the dismay of the officers, soldiers from both Allied and German forces joined in games of football on Christmas Day, between the trenches.
Meet with the other Canadians staying in a Welby bedsit for a drink. Their first choice pub is too full, but we find a quiet if unatmospheric hotel nearby. They're leaving London on the same day we are but already making plans for next time. We exchange experiences, tips and email addresses and Paul promises to give us his stash of brochures and leaflets for museums, free events, lectures, etc. It's too late to use most of them now, but the website addresses will be handy in the future.
From Southwark we walk over to the Imperial War Museum. There's an exhibit on the Great War in honour of the 90th anniversary, complete with photographs of the three surviving British veterans, now aged 108, 110, and 112. It's a very moving exhibit - letters from the front, photographs, newspaper clippings. A letter fragment reads "I doo not want to die...If it be that I am to go, I am ready. But the thought that I may never see you or our darling bby again turns my bowels to water." There is a photograph of the little family and a note to say that the soldier, Captain Charlie May, did not survive. There are paintings too, including a large one by Stanley Spencer and a Roualt. There are letters and paintings representing the German side as well and a German bread ration book next to a photograph of malnourished children. Also the reminiscences of a soldier who said that, to the dismay of the officers, soldiers from both Allied and German forces joined in games of football on Christmas Day, between the trenches.
Meet with the other Canadians staying in a Welby bedsit for a drink. Their first choice pub is too full, but we find a quiet if unatmospheric hotel nearby. They're leaving London on the same day we are but already making plans for next time. We exchange experiences, tips and email addresses and Paul promises to give us his stash of brochures and leaflets for museums, free events, lectures, etc. It's too late to use most of them now, but the website addresses will be handy in the future.
Thursday, November 13/2008
Barbican in the morning. Booksale still on and get a Lonely Planet Tunisia, as well as a biography of Thomas Merton - both hardcover, unfortunately.
Thursday, 13 November 2008
Wednesday, November 12/08
Theatre day. Concession prices at the Vaudeville Theatre on the Strand for a matinee performance of Piaf - as rough and crude and energetic as Piaf herself, with Elena Roger's powerful voice sounding uncannily like Piaf.
Across the Blackfriar's Bridge to the Tate Modern to inspect the new installation in the Turbine Hall, a sort of giant spider thing with matressless double bunks and film in the background - must be explanatory material that we've missed. Then walk along the south bank to the National Theatre to see Gethsemane, a clever play by David Hare about party funding and political compromise - pretty close to the bone.
Across the Blackfriar's Bridge to the Tate Modern to inspect the new installation in the Turbine Hall, a sort of giant spider thing with matressless double bunks and film in the background - must be explanatory material that we've missed. Then walk along the south bank to the National Theatre to see Gethsemane, a clever play by David Hare about party funding and political compromise - pretty close to the bone.
Tuesday, November 11/2008
By tube to Jean's in West Harrow. Far more than our share of Bombay mix as we sip Merlot and talk in the sitting room. Jean warms herself by the radiator and I can see Siva there in a sarong, glass of wine in hand, watching his quiz parogram on television. It's different without him. Shanti and Antony are to join us for curry but that falls through unfortunately. They miss a great meal with fragrant seasoned rice, mutton cury, and all kinds of vegetable dishes. We've come early in order to leave early, but that's not what happens - 11:16 train home.
Monday, November 10/08
Jenny would have liked a walk in Bushey Park (she's off work this week) but it's wet and windy, so we settle for a cooked breakfast and a chat. J goes with Doug to see and admire the flat that Doug has been doing up for sale with his usual perfectionism, despite the unfortunate timing of the credit crunch. Train back from Surbiton.
Sunday, November 9/2008
By train from Waterloo to Thames Ditton where Jenny has invited us for Sunday lunch. It's a lovely traditional lunch with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and Jenny's mother is there as well as daughter Emma (now expecting) and her husband Giles and Doug's sister Kathleen and her husband. Good to see them all again. We stay the night.
Saturday, November 8/2008
Visits to St. Paul's Cathedral are free today in honour of the new Lord Mayor of London's installation. As it is usually £10, we take advantage of the opportunity and head down early. The architecture is beautiful, with the dome the second larget in the world, after St. Peter's in Rome. There is to be a dramatised reading of the Dick Whittington story, accompanied by organ music, in the afternoon, but we have the benefit of the rehearsal in the morning. The script is witty and the cat particularly well played. We take some time to explore the crypt, an interestingly secular and military place, final resting spot of such famous military men as Nelson and the Duke of Wellington. Then we walk up to the whispering gallery. The circular gallery has holes opening in the wall through which whispers travel in a circular pipe. It also has an impressive view of the floor below. Another set of steps (making 448? in all) leads to the stone gallery. We look down on the Lord Mayor's parade but it's raining quite hard by now. Once we leave the rain stops, and we do get a glimpse of the gilded carriage as the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress stop at the steps of the cathedral for a blessing, complete with boys' choir.
Back to the south bank at 5 for fireworks above the Thames to finish the day's celebrations. They're quite good and there's a big crowd. The trees along the south bank are covered with blue and white fairy lights and by 5 it's quite dark.
Back to the south bank at 5 for fireworks above the Thames to finish the day's celebrations. They're quite good and there's a big crowd. The trees along the south bank are covered with blue and white fairy lights and by 5 it's quite dark.
Friday, November 7/2008
Down to the Barbican for email, and in J's case magazines. They're having a book sale as well, and we, naturally, cannot resist and end up buying a travel book and a biography of Thomas Merton - unfortunately hardcover.
Docklands light railway to the ASDA at Crossharbour where we acquire an ASDA UK sim card. Texts 4p and calls 8p, which is better than bouncing everything through Cyprus - although not as good as Cypriot rates. The sim card is free. The lady at the electronics counter is very kind - they're sold out but she finds a card without a package and eventually comes up with a package to scan for the price.
Docklands light railway to the ASDA at Crossharbour where we acquire an ASDA UK sim card. Texts 4p and calls 8p, which is better than bouncing everything through Cyprus - although not as good as Cypriot rates. The sim card is free. The lady at the electronics counter is very kind - they're sold out but she finds a card without a package and eventually comes up with a package to scan for the price.
Friday, 7 November 2008
Thursday, November 6/2008
Pass Paul and Jill on our way down to the tube. They're on their way out for a Burmese lunch. Then down to Earl's Court to visit the mobile shop J found last spring with the cheap sim cards and friendly proprietor. It's gone, as is the big, cheap internet. There's a new Philippine bank though. So we try a few more places, acquire a fair bit of misinformation, and rediscover the area, which seems more Asian and less Australian than it used to.
Trafalgar Square for Charing Cross bank and the event info from the Portrait Gallery. Email check at the Canadian Consulate and a bit more shopping in Camden Town. Try phoning Jean but not much luck with the phone boxes and a puzzling "restricted access" message when I try using the mobile.
Trafalgar Square for Charing Cross bank and the event info from the Portrait Gallery. Email check at the Canadian Consulate and a bit more shopping in Camden Town. Try phoning Jean but not much luck with the phone boxes and a puzzling "restricted access" message when I try using the mobile.
Wednesday, November 5/2008
Short night as they turn on the cabin lights at 5 a.m. GMT, which is only 11 p.m. in Winnipeg. There is news, though: the unofficial results of the American election show an overwhelming Obama victory. And we sit, a planeload of self-contained Canadians and Brits, all interested in the outcome and not a murmur aloud in response.
In London the newspapers are picking up the excitement as well: the transit system's Metro headlines read @History in the Making@ as we get on the underground at Heathrow, but a stop or two later people are boarding with an unusual second edition saying "Good Morning Mr. President" in enormous letters. We reach the Welby long before it opens and, taking the advice of a cheerful middle-aged resident with a Canadian (or American?) accent, go round the corner to the little coffee shop with the outside tables. A pleasant place to wake from jetlag in a little alcove of Belsize Village. Deliverymen for the pharmacy and the restaurant, mums and prams with toddlers hanging on, a steady stream of customers at the bakery. At ten we pick up the keys for the bedsit and at the gate we run into our Canadian friend of the coffee advice with his wife, Paul and Jill they are, and from B.C> They're finishing six months here and are enthusiastic, especially about their great discovery of high quality free public lectures at the London School of Economics, St. Paul's, the Inns of Court and other places. We tentatively agree to meet for a drink at some point.
The afternoon is for supplies - stocking up from the 99p store on Camden High St. and Sainsbury's. Veggies and grapes from Inverness St. market. The market vegetables are half the price they'd be at the supermarket and lovely.
It's Guy Fawkes night and the sound of firecrackers in the dark streets. Lambeth Council has arranged fireworks on Clapham Common and two other parks, so we head off, along with half of London it seems. The tube is jam packed with people, most of them younger than our children. Someone says they've closed Clapham Common Station because of crowds, but we only get as far as Kennington when we're told to evacuate the station "due to a reported emergency." So up in a crowded lift and onto the street. We follow the crowd and eventually work our way to Clapham Common Station - then notice the crowd thinning and falling away to pubs as we walk. We've followed Clapham High St. instead of cutting across to the common. But we've had our night's excitement and a taste of fireworks. A long day, and we're ready for home.
In London the newspapers are picking up the excitement as well: the transit system's Metro headlines read @History in the Making@ as we get on the underground at Heathrow, but a stop or two later people are boarding with an unusual second edition saying "Good Morning Mr. President" in enormous letters. We reach the Welby long before it opens and, taking the advice of a cheerful middle-aged resident with a Canadian (or American?) accent, go round the corner to the little coffee shop with the outside tables. A pleasant place to wake from jetlag in a little alcove of Belsize Village. Deliverymen for the pharmacy and the restaurant, mums and prams with toddlers hanging on, a steady stream of customers at the bakery. At ten we pick up the keys for the bedsit and at the gate we run into our Canadian friend of the coffee advice with his wife, Paul and Jill they are, and from B.C> They're finishing six months here and are enthusiastic, especially about their great discovery of high quality free public lectures at the London School of Economics, St. Paul's, the Inns of Court and other places. We tentatively agree to meet for a drink at some point.
The afternoon is for supplies - stocking up from the 99p store on Camden High St. and Sainsbury's. Veggies and grapes from Inverness St. market. The market vegetables are half the price they'd be at the supermarket and lovely.
It's Guy Fawkes night and the sound of firecrackers in the dark streets. Lambeth Council has arranged fireworks on Clapham Common and two other parks, so we head off, along with half of London it seems. The tube is jam packed with people, most of them younger than our children. Someone says they've closed Clapham Common Station because of crowds, but we only get as far as Kennington when we're told to evacuate the station "due to a reported emergency." So up in a crowded lift and onto the street. We follow the crowd and eventually work our way to Clapham Common Station - then notice the crowd thinning and falling away to pubs as we walk. We've followed Clapham High St. instead of cutting across to the common. But we've had our night's excitement and a taste of fireworks. A long day, and we're ready for home.
Tuesday, November 4/2008
Our D-Day - and American election day. Bus to the airport, Winnipeg being one of the few Canadian cities where the airport is on the local bus route. Then up over the patchwork of prairie on our way to Toronto, where we have a very short wait for the trans-Atlantic flight.
Newspapers seem to have disappeared in the general economy measures Air Canada is practising, along with vegetables and hot breakfasts, but the wine is not bad and we brought our own Globe and Mail.
Newspapers seem to have disappeared in the general economy measures Air Canada is practising, along with vegetables and hot breakfasts, but the wine is not bad and we brought our own Globe and Mail.
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Monday, November 3/2008
Errand day. And off to see Mum at the nursing home, taking the customary bag of sweets. Winnipeg buses are some of the politest in the world. The drivers are helpful and a fair proportion of the passengers say thank you as they get off. A stunning day - it reaches nearly 19, with a pleasant warm breeze. And we note the exchange rate on the pound is the best it's been in years - about $1.87. Hard luck for the British, of course, but good for us in the next couple of weeks.
Monday, 3 November 2008
Sunday, November 2/2008
All Souls Day. And D-Day for us, as we leave for the winter. Fortunately, it's also time change day, so we manage to get up in time for the last minute tasks - draining the water, putting the anti-freeze in the plumbing, packing the lunch, etc. There's a very plump partridge in the driveway when I take the water pots out to empty them. And the bluejays and whiskeyjacks show considerable interest in the final scraps of food from the fridge. Shirley kindly takes us to the train and we're off.
Plenty of the room on the train and we settle back as the alpha rhythms begin. Quite good coffee which we take up to the observation car. It's mild and sunny and many of the cottages still have boats in the water. A number of people from other countries enjoying the wilderness and spotting the eagles. The woman behind us is from Ohio, and very interested, asking questions. The man across the aisle, hailing from Saskatchewan, is a mine of misinformation on everything. We're early, which allows us to pick up the return ticket at the wicket, as we're travelling with an electronic voucher.
Ian and Susan pick us up at the station and Janet and Dave, Judy and Dino, and Jennifer and Brian join us at Ian and Susan's for Chinese food. Good to see everyone and get caught up. Susan's niece Kristin and Trevor are there too.
Plenty of the room on the train and we settle back as the alpha rhythms begin. Quite good coffee which we take up to the observation car. It's mild and sunny and many of the cottages still have boats in the water. A number of people from other countries enjoying the wilderness and spotting the eagles. The woman behind us is from Ohio, and very interested, asking questions. The man across the aisle, hailing from Saskatchewan, is a mine of misinformation on everything. We're early, which allows us to pick up the return ticket at the wicket, as we're travelling with an electronic voucher.
Ian and Susan pick us up at the station and Janet and Dave, Judy and Dino, and Jennifer and Brian join us at Ian and Susan's for Chinese food. Good to see everyone and get caught up. Susan's niece Kristin and Trevor are there too.
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