Once upon a time in Canada - the end of the journey

And so we get to my last day in Canada. As I said earlier on in this tale, last days in places, and on that train, can be an odd mix of packing ready to go, regretting needing to go, not sure what to do between checking out of your temporary home that was the hotel and actually leaving, as well as preparing yourself for the onward journey, makes for a variety of feelings. For my last short day in Halifax I had gone off for a quick visit to the graveyard containing some of those who had died when the Titanic sank. Leaving in the morning from Montreal there was no effective spare time to do anything, while leaving Toronto I had experienced that delightfully magic moment in the restaurant and then the complete chaos of getting the train. Leaving Canada after such a month long adventure, with the thought that I am unlikely to ever get back, also adds to an emotional time. So imagine the magic answer to all of that, having the lovely couple Jim and Kew suggest that they pick me up from the hotel, take me on some final adventures before dropping me off at the airport in good time to catch my flight. It was a rainy day but that did not stop us from going to the quiet out of town place where Jim sometimes goes fishing and then on to the fishing community of Steveston. There we had a delicious Halibut fish and chip lunch from a kitchen on a pontoon on the water before talking to the people selling the fish direct off their boats, followed by a cup of tea in a local café. Again we talked and talked and they made that last day yet another fascinating and enjoyable day. At the airport we said our farewells and Jim gave me some keep sakes to bring back with me. The flight back from such a distant place is going to take a long time and I had a window seat so had hoped to see the north of Canada and Greenland from way up there, especially as the route would take us over Hudson Bay, unfortunately it was cloud nearly all the way.

So that is it, this is my last posting of my Canadian tale and I hope you all have got something out of it as I have greatly enjoyed writing it and reliving those magic days. So what other incidents, points of surprise and delights from this trip I have not already mentioned. Well way too many to mention here but there are a few I would like to flag up before I stop this story. There is the Canadian traffic protocol of drivers being able to turn left through a red light and through a pedestrian crossing approval light if, and only if, there is a space with no pedestrians in the way. Although I came across it very many times I just did not feel confident at a pedestrian crossing when there was a car apparently itching to turn past me. There is also the rule/expectation that cars will stop to let you cross at crossroads where there are no controls and no rights of preference. Again a matter of confidence testing for the pedestrian. Then there was the delightful man from central Wales, a Welsh speaker, named Meirion after Portmeirion and my fake Welsh accent. As our conversation started I apologised in advance if I were to stray into my fake accent. I explained why I had developed one and that led to a lovely long conversation. He had gone over to Toronto with a group from his part of Wales but he said it was his habit to do that to take advantage of the travel and hotel arrangements but then do his own thing whilst staying at the location. His main aim for this trip was to explore Toronto and get to Niagara Falls. The lady in the community garden in Vancouver, as well as telling me about it, also talked about how she had come over from Scotland when she was younger and established herself in the area. There was also my surprise and challenge in the café in the main museum in Toronto, the Museum of Ontario, when I decided to have a roast beef sandwich. I was asked what sort of roast beef and, when I asked what he meant, the man behind the counter lifted three different looking joints of hot meat to show me, telling me one was joint, one brisket, and one corned beef. The corned beef looked nothing like the corned beef I grew up knowing, much more like just a pale joint of meat. I went for the first option and then faced the challenge of eating a sandwich where the slices of meat were layered up to be just over an inch thick. I managed it but did not need a big meal again for the rest of the day.

I know most of you will already have read this next bit about the laundromat lady whose grandfather escaped the fire squad but, as part of the overall story, it should be included here. This lady's grandfather emigrated from the UK to Canada in 1901/2 and settled I assume somewhere in eastern Canada. Then in 1914 when the First World War took hold he and his younger brother volunteered to join the army and were signed up into a Montreal regiment as they believed they ought to support and fight for their mother country. They were shipped out to France, the younger brother being killed in one of those terrible battles. But the lady's grandfather survived. He and his commanding officer were the only two UK born men in the regiment. Then in the days immediately after the armistice the grandfather clearly decided enough was enough of all the discipline etc and one morning just stayed in bed instead of getting up and going on parade. The senior officer came into his barracks and ordered him up. The grandfather said that as the war was over he was not going to. The officer then told him, "you are an instrument of war in his majesties armed forces and you will obey." The grandfather refused telling the officer to piss off. He was of course arrested for desertion of duty, taken to court martial, convicted, and sentenced to be shot. On the due day he was marched outside and stood ready to be executed. The officer in charge asked the firing squad if they were ready and they confirmed they were. He then asked them if they were ready to shot the prisoner and they confirmed they were. They then added they would shoot the prisoner but the first shot was for the officer. She said nothing of what happened after that but clearly he was not shot.

One further element of this man somewhat surprising story is about an episode, I presume during the war and before the above episode. He was stationed for a while in southern France, possibly on relief from the front, and was apparently a gambling man, money wise as well. He decided he would march to Monte Carlo to play the tables. Others of his colleagues asked him to take some of their money with him and gamble for them. This he did and gambled separately for each pot of money each man had given him, as well as gambling with his own money. Whatever he won went into a separate pocket for each man and on his return he gave each man his winnings. The family still has a 500 Franc note that he kept back from his winnings as a keepsake.

There are dark sides to Canada, like everywhere else, and I certainly saw the sadly so often repeated realities of people living on the streets. In Toronto I witnessed racial abuse and fighting over possessions and doorways added to that mix of rough sleepers. Also in Toronto there seemed to be a substantial number of rough sleepers who had bikes and rode around rummaging in bins to collect anything recyclable, mainly water and fizzy drink bottles and cans. In Montreal it seemed that the music festival and fringe activities associated with the Grand Prix brought out the chancers and posers and those on the fringes who might get something out of you, like money or just being noticed and commented on, or just stared at. There was one man in Vancouver who was not sleeping on his pitch on the pavement but had a seemingly perpetual task of chalking positive messages about life on the full pavement width in front of two shops. As the messages and words were worn off by us walking over them or washed off by the rain he would be renewing them almost constantly. Another extraordinary sight in Vancouver was the pavement either side of one main road for one or two blocks which is Vancouver’s ‘skid row.’ It looked just like some sort of busy jumble sale or mass eviction along the pavements on either side.

Coming to the end of this venture and noting how sore my feet were staying as well as protesting checked the little pedometer I always wear these days. Comparing the figure it said as I arrived in Halifax, with what it said as I sat on the plane home I had walked just over 230 kilometres in just over four weeks. Looking at the notes in my diary of what I was doing on any particular day I could also see the sorts of distances I was clocking up for those days. The first day in Montreal I managed just over 22,000 steps, on the days on the train only around 2000, but generally a day’s walking would be 10000 to 15000 steps, but I had crossed Canada, all be it the trains doing most of the work for me.

I think, this being my last posting about my Canada adventure, I ought to make some acknowledgements to those who have made it such a great adventure for me. First and last needs to come the country itself, Canada, so thank you for being there and providing me with such an interesting and fulfilling time. Then next must come Jerry Wilson, that Canadian teacher at my secondary school way back in the late 50’s and early 60’s, thank you Jerry. In the photograph, 1961 vintage, on the end of the following web page link, you will find Jerry on the far left, he was a self-confessed communist after all, of the row of teachers http://pitmans-ealing.com/School%20Photo%201961%205.htm  For comparisons and contextual sake I appear in the following image sitting next to the elderly lady who was the school secretary http://www.pitmans-ealing.com/School%20Photo%201961%206.htm I think I look somewhat intimidated and introspective. That may be because I was at the time the president of the students council, all very democratically voted in by the other students, much to my own amazement and challenge, but that was also the time when I started brewing the idea in my head of going to visit this Canada that erry had told us so much about. Thanks need to go Charlotte of Flight Centre for understanding my needs and sorting out all the bookings and ticketing as well as doing her best as a side issue to find that coin operated laundry in Vancouver. So Canada as described by Jerry Wilson was my inspiration for this long awaited adventure, but that is just the background. It was the people I met along the way who were delightful enough to share some of their time and thoughts with me that made it as good as it was. I would like to thank each and every one of them but of course I got the names of only a small fraction of those I talked to and swapped contact details with even fewer. The contacts ranged from snatched short conversations with people like the one with a man sitting on a seat part way up Mont Royal in Montreal, he there for a conference, through small occasional but enjoyable chats to people like Stefan in Toronto, to the great times and complex conversations I had with Joan, Leland, Kew and Jim. Thank you all, named and unnamed, for creating such an adventure and so many great memories. Given half a chance I would do it all again, but I think the family would have something to say about that.

Once upon a time in Canada - nearing the end

You will recall my earlier comment about what and where I thought Vancouver Island was, and the trip to it proved without any doubt how far away it really is. The coach became crowded as we picked up people from various hotels and I shared a pair of seats with a quiet Australian, I would guess he was in his 30’s and on the drive to the ferry port, in itself a very long drive, we just exchanged pleasantries. I did wonder if he was a little reticent about having a chatterbox like me sitting next to him. I think we both immersed ourselves in taking in great swaths of this dramatic landscape whilst trying to absorb the information our guide/driver was providing. The ferry crossing was just like one across the English Channel with everyone diving in to get a seat and/or food from stepping out of the coach on the roll on roll off lorry/coach deck of the ship. We had been tutored about making sure we knew which stairway we were near, what deck, and most strictly, when we had to be back on the coach to leave. Weaving our ways between such large vehicles several rows deep did not help in trying to remember where our coach was or where the right stairs might be, but we did get to the stairs and up to the main decks by a kind of osmosis. After a wide sea passage and what almost felt like a wandering and ‘just scrapping past’ route between scenic islands and headlands we landed on Vancouver Island, feeling more like a mainland, and another long drive to Victoria. Two and a half hours to explore a small capital city is not a lot when washrooms and lunch have to be sought out and achieved. Out in front of the Parliament buildings there were two re-enactors one being the very young Queen Victoria the other, I assume, Prince Albert. By the way Queen Victoria is a hero to Canadians as they credit her with granting them their independence. She apparently started the process but the process went through various stages and took some time. I did feel bold enough to go up to the Queen and introduce myself as one of her subjects from the old country and gently teased her about that while she fought to stay and speak in character. Apparently she was a drama student and this was her holiday job. Again there was a busy and attractive waterfront with folk music and local craft stalls all of which I visited and chatted to before re-boarding the coach for the journey to the main focus of the day, the gardens. More travels through a heavily tree covered world with small hamlets passed by. At the Butchart Gardens we were again unleashed and I enjoyed just wandering through yet another world renowned gardens. Although I had heard a bit about the place and seen some pictures I was not prepared for how three dimensional the setting was. Essentially the gardens were developed in a worked out mine which had left multiple levels, steep sided pits and isolated stacks where the desired rock had been mined out and that not wanted left untouched. The gardens had a chequered life of development, being treasured, being abandoned as no-one seemed interested, then rediscovered and lovingly restored to its current grandeur, and grand it is. That was where I had an all too brief minute or two watching a humming bird drinking nectar from some flowers right next to me. I still find it extraordinary that hummingbirds get that far north and even visit Alaska in the summer months. A chat with two Americans from southern California about the humming birds that visit their garden, and comparing notes on what had bought each of us to that place and it was back on the coach, ship and coach. By then the Australian and I had got to know each other better, especially about the types of trips we were on and perceptions of Canada, he also helped me get my phone working more efficiently, I quickly noted that for my next upgrade I need to ensure I get a good core memory, and by the time we got back to downtown Vancouver we both felt a bit regretful at parting. 

My time in Canada was slipping away way too fast despite trying hard to live in the moment, maybe it was brought on by feeling the longer I stayed there the longer I wanted to stay. But my feet wanted other things, like no longer to be walking a lot each day, and there was one day that really rammed home that message. I had decided to walk down towards Stanley Park getting a feel for that more quietly residential part of town before walking into Stanley Park itself. On a previous walk to that area I had come across a small and intense strip of a community garden and spoken to the lady there who was tending and watering it. While we had chatted about how it was set up and tended, each active member had their own small patch with their own selection of plants, but no fruit or veg allowed and in State plants encouraged, I saw something small and dark dart across the narrow path we were standing on and between her feet. I mentioned it to her and she said it likely was a Henderson’s vole. Now that may not mean much to most of you but my wife’s maiden name was Henderson, so a little enjoyable link to back home. On that day I had gone on further to walk alongside a lake, the Lost Lagoon, in the park and seen a rich selection of the wildlife of the area, another unexpected bonus. But this subsequent day I walked on towards the Aquarium that is deep in the Park intending to visit it. Finding a queue to get to the ticket office, people getting enraged trying to use the remote ticket machines, and what I thought was a high entry price, it also being a beautifully sunny and fresh day, I decided I would prefer to be outside enjoying the day, so walked on along a path that headed off into the densely wooded surroundings. One of my quiet pleasures is being amongst trees and so it was good to walk through them and pause occasional at significant ones like some Giant Redwoods, one of my favourites. I emerged by a low key sports area and then onto the road that skirts the park and follows the shore line. Looking out across, what I now knew was an inlet, to the opposite shore I decided to go down to the sandy beach and take it easy for a bit, finding a long washed up log to sit on. Then, inspired by Jim’s previous challenge, took my shoes and socks off and let my feet enjoy the warm dry sand. Sometime later I knew I needed to move on, walked along the beach as far as I could, mounted steps up the path above, and started following the shoreline back towards town. The thing was, as anyone from Vancouver could have told me, that route is a meandering one that seems and feels like it goes on forever twisting this way and that but feeling like you not getting any closer to the visible downtown waterfront and towers behind. Eventually, and very sore feet later, I did arrive on familiar ground, sat down and relaxed before sorting myself out at the hotel and going back out for yet another delicious evening meal. By contrast, and just to show the wide variety and scope of experiences I was having on the this Canadian adventure, just round the corner from my hotel, was a small museum illustrating the domestic world of a pioneer Vancouver family of the early 20^th century, showing their domestic world. It has been returned to its prime and the fascinating detail of its original inhabitants. The Roedde House Museum had been recommended to me by Joan during our chats on our marathon train adventure, and it was as enjoyable as she had suggested especially as I was lucky enough to get a one to one guided tour. I have to admit that volunteering at Milton Keynes Museum, and talking about the Victorian characteristics of the main house and its contents, has softened me up for such subjects, hence why I had risen to the challenge of talking to the young Queen Victoria in Victoria. By the way, as I said before, Queen Victoria is a bigger character to Canadians than us because she is seen as responsible for starting the process of them gaining their independence hence, as well as them having a Canada day on the 1^st July they also observe a public holiday on Victoria Day. Victoria Day is a federal Canadian public holiday celebrated on the last Monday preceding May 25, in honour of Queen Victoria's birthday. It is the Monday between the 18th to the 24th inclusive, and thus is always the penultimate Monday of May. Now there is a intricate bit of knowledge I never expected to stumble over.

Once upon a time in Canada - getting to know you

On previous trips to places I did not know I had often taken advantage of the hop-on hop-off buses to get an idea of the layout of the city and what it has to offer, but for a variety of reasons on this trip I had not used them. In Halifax I had used the ordinary buses and the hop-on hop-off option was only available when the cruise ships were in town and really only seemingly accessible by them. Montreal it was the music festival and all the stuff around the GP that obscured its use, in fact I do not remember see one at all. Toronto I did not feel I needed it as I could to wherever I wanted to by walking or using the underground. In Vancouver it was different as there seemed multiple companies offering their own versions in different types of vehicles and seemed to be picking people up from hotels to order rather than from designated bus stops. But Vancouver is a very big place spread out in ways I found confusing as land masses, large areas of water and inlets, which means bridges and restrictions to access, all meaning building a mind map of the place a bigger challenge than usual. When Jim, Kew and I had chatted way back in Montreal we had exchanged contact information and they had encouraged me to contact them when in Vancouver to see if we could meet up whilst I was there. Although I felt it a bit cheeky of me they seemed so welcoming that I sent them an email, they responded and we arranged to meet up. They were not just a lovely couple but so supportive and indulgent towards me and we spent nearly all of three days together despite them having plenty of other commitments to deal with. For me the time they spent and the places they took me was magic and way beyond anything I could have imagined. It gave me insights into the place no city tour bus could ever provide. On all three days they drove me round all sorts of interesting and enjoyable places in and around Vancouver starting with the shoreline, holiday hot spots and beaches of Vancouver ending in Queen Elizabeth Park, a beautiful park where we saw it in its full glory in the afternoon and stayed to watch the sun go down over Vancouver. As they started their lives in Singapore they wanted to introduce me to, and did, Asian styles of food especially when I told them that, although I had occasional eaten Chinese food, I had rarely if ever had food from all those differing origins and styles of food that part of the world has to offer. Another day we went to, amongst other places, Granville Island, a very busy mix of food and craft markets as well as entertainment. It is an island and is certainly looks and feels like a distinct place with edges but, with a massive road bridge passing at very high level over it and connecting roads linking into it, it does not feel like an island surrounded by water despite its distinct identity. Being with Jim and Kew was quickly becoming a delight as we explored each other’s perceptions, interests, and senses of humour and concern. As I have said before, I so enjoy going to botanical gardens, any big ‘look at what we have growing’ gardens, and so Jim and Kew took me to VanDusen Botanical Gardens where we spent a good slice of time exploring its various micro environments, plants, trees, and whatever took our eye and interest. Right at the start of our visit there Jim demonstrated his sense of fun that so chimed in with me. They are members of the gardens and, as I got my entry ticket, Jim had time to have a little fun. He went to one of the reception staff saying he had just seen a ghost outside, adding that it was Miss Willmott's ghost. The first person he spoke to was nonplussed and I wondered where he was going with what sounded like the intro to a joke. The second person rose to the debate as she knew the name, because there is a plant with the common name of Miss Willmott’s ghost and, on leaving, Jim pointed out the specimen of the plant incorporated in a day display feature by the entrance. As we walked round the gardens Kew and I swapped reactions to plants we knew and liked while Jim was taking photos and thinking up adventures. At one point he told me he had a challenge for me, it involved taking off my shoes and socks. He and I did so and then he took me on a short stroll across the lush grass so that we could both experience getting back in touch with the outside world through the sensation of that grass and that ground on the soles of our feet. What can you say about people who, just a few days ago, were completely unknown to me and had now delightfully invited and welcomed me into their world. 

Being driven around I took the opportunity to try and understand the housing market and values there and, of all the information Jim and Kew provided, the things that most stick in my mind are the rules/standards of plot size and development ratios, two things you rarely if even come across in the UK. The more sobering aspect was price, they rarely mentioned a price under $1m no matter where the house/flat unit was. Apparently, if I have got it right, it is the land, plot size, development ratio where the value is, not what is on it. That was one of the things that struck me most constantly about Vancouver, apart from the realization that at no part of my life could I have afforded to live there, but that it seemed an almost ideal place to live. The setting is idyllic, the climate that I experienced whilst there, comfortable, the air clear and fresh and, despite its size and complexity, a delightful mix of city and open spaces where no ‘get away from it all’ space was more than a short walk away, and dramatic scenery and the chance for adventure its offers, a short car, train, coach ride away. So yes, and you are right, I appear to have fallen in love with the place. Sadly it is a long way away and so not the sort of place I can just pop over to as though it were Oxford, London or other day trip location to enjoy. I was there for 9 days and although Jim and Kew helped me see, experience and understand far more than I would have without them, I barely touched what the place clearly has to offer. I had thought/expected to go on a whale watching trip but, being there, seeing the small rubber boats they take you out in, and understanding how far you have to go to get a decent chance but no guarantee of seeing whales, I decided against that option, I am not a natural or comfortable sailor. Yes the companies that take you out on the whale watching trips do offer a guarantee, that if none are sighted they will take you on another such trip for free. But hey that would be one heck of a long return flight and no small cost to me, to hold them to that offer. I did get out on the water though, and in a sturdy ship that would not bounce me about as the rubber boat would have done, I booked a day long (14 hours) trip to Vancouver Island to see the provinces capital Victoria and to go to the famous Butchart Gardens.