The Travel Pit

As a complete aside...

Fri, 22 Jun 2007 18:33:44 GMT

This is much less related to travel or anything I am doing in Canada (sorry) and more to do with a recurring theme in this semi-regular blog.

I always look up where the place name comes from when I travel, and had accepted the notion that Vancouver is named after the explorer George Vancouver. I just found an article which went a little deeper, and asked where did George get HIS name from.

The study of names is onomastics. Anthroponomastics is the study of human names, while toponomastics or Toponymy is the study of Place names. These things cross in lots of places given a moniker after a person.

So George's ancestors came from a small town in the Northeast of Holland called Coevorden. So his family was Van Coevorden, which gets anglicised and corrupted to Vancouver. So that the Anthroponomy of Vancouver's surname. But whats the Toponymy of Coevorden then? Cow Ford is a direct translation.

So Vancouver (and the island) is named after a man who came from a town named after a place to drive cows across the river.

(original info from here: http://www.library.ubc.ca/jones/vanety.html)

I left my sense of timing in San Francisco

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 03:48:28 GMT

I flew down to San Francisco for work reasons a four weeks back. The flight over from Victoria to Seattle is on a small twin turbo-prop plane that barely gets up before it goes down again. Time for the flight attendant to throw everyone a packet of savoury nibbles and a thimble full of drink.

Once at Seattle it was the rush to change planes. Collect bag. Line up. Get on inter-terminal train. Immigrate into the US. Justify your existence for the last three years and what exactly you'll be doing in the next three, right down to the number of bowel movements that are planned to be taken while on US soil.

The return your bag, and go through security. I've probably banged on about this in some other post. One day I'll remember not to wear my tightest trainers, loose trousers and metal studded cod piece (1) when flying through the States.

I arrived eventually in San Francisco at midnight (after including the long wait for the baggage to come out of where ever it was being kicked around), and flopped on my bed.

The offices of the company I work for are in Burlingame, which is a satellite town/city of San Francisco, about 30 minutes south on the freeway. It sits on the bay, but other is only notable for the large international airport (SF international). Least that's all I noted, apart from the funky 1950's cinema (closed).

The weather was sunny and clear. Pleasant enough to walk the 5 blocks or so to work. I was instantly told that this was unseasonable and unusual weather, and it should be foggy, damp and cold. I've seen the movies, and it's not like that on TV. It's probably a lie told to visitors to keep all the good stuff to themselves.

The San Francisco Bay is big. Okay, I knew it had to be large as it sits two major cities (Oakland and SF) on either side. But I hadn't appreciated how big it is. Like a lot of things in North America there's more space than in jolly old England, so distances are stretched compared to what I think of in the UK. The Bay itself north to south is the same distance as from Welwyn Garden City to somewhere near Gatwick... bigger than the North to South distance of the M25. Side to side it's only about Hammersmith to Shoreditch. But this is an appreciable chunk of real estate.

A colleague was kind enough to drive me around the SF peninsula, where the Pacific is split from the bay itself by a rocky headland. We headed past the vast expanse of nothing that is the Pacific (next stop Japan) up to the Golden Gate Park. Set on much the same lines as Central Park, New York (or so my guide tells me... I wouldn't know), it's a big chunk of green within spitting distance of the downtown core.

The passage which is the Golden Gate was once heavily militarised by the US, worried about invasion (from whom, I'm not sure). The Gate is a steep sided, but wide passage that leads into the Bay, and is crossed by the famous Golden Gate Bridge. I can confirm that the suspension bridge does bounce very slightly while cars cross it. Standing next to the rail just above the water did wonders for my vertigo...

It's a impressive structure with a great view one way into the Pacific and the green headlands, and the other into the Bay, the sparkling Union tower, Alcatraz, rather large freight ships, and all the other teeming things that make up the Bay Area.

We then headed down into the core, past Fisherman's wharf (end or start of Out Run the arcade game as I recall) and San Fran pier's which are mostly now trendy wine bars, ethnic clothing and whole foods. There's also dirty great overpasses built on reclaimed land created from trash, infill dirt and rubble. Not only are they architecturally displeasing, building wavering concrete roads on shifting dirt in an earthquake zone strikes me (and several Californians I spoke to) as less than clever.

The downtown centre reminded me of two parts Manchester's posh boutique area, one part Glasgow's steep narrow streets and one part movie theatre set. If you've seen Steve McQueen's 'Bullitt' or 101 other SF car chases movies, you'll know of the steep roads with flat terraces at intersections. It's all there, along with trolley buses, street cars (none named Desire), wallowing yellow taxi's and pedestrians making suicidal crossings.

We stopped for an all-American burger in an all-American dinner (lovely malts, passable burger) called Miss Louie's (I think, I should go check) complete for a Ford Edsel parked next to our red-leather booth. I was offered a plethora of other places to eat (great Thai! great Indian! great Sushi!) but I can get all those in Canada. I haven't had for a long while the all-American diner experience, in America. It's like eating Sushi in Kawasaki train station, or cod and chips on Skegness sea front.

Refreshed with the finest in trad American dining, we toured down Concorde Street, famed as the crookedest street in the USA. I'd always thought that was Wall Street (ba-dum!). It's a multi switch back of a street, with lovingly tended hedges and flower beds, that gets around 90% of it's traffic from tourists (like me) being driven down it. It's just a city block long (200 yards or so) and drops about 50 feet in that time via about 6 zigzag crossing from side to another in the width of about 3 lanes of traffic.

My lightning tour of San Francisco was complete and we sped back south on the freeway to Burlingame and I was dropped at my hotel. I'd certainly like to head back again, and I'm condering another long rail journey down the coast to see it, Portland, Eugene and LA.

Mad cows and Englishmen

Thu, 03 May 2007 05:24:42 GMT

BSE has been confirmed here in British Columbia. This case follow another one a year ago, also in BC.

I expect the French and US ban on beef products momentarily...

Otherwise, I have been reading about Canadian History. Like most history, it's a fascinating blend of heroes, villains and conflict. Armed, political and cultural conflicts. The various movements uniting and splitting people. And as much of history where the Europeans powers come along, various tramping over the local inhabitants.

That said, there's a compare and contrast between the US and Canada. Canada tended to make deals for land with the First Nations before entering territories. The US tended to just enter. (Though the residential school scandal (still rumbling) is a huge black mark against any progressive views Canada may have had.)

There's also parallels between the Quebec separatist movement and the Scottish Independence movement. Much like the UK, there's a large body of Quebecois in power in the Federal government. Some in Quebec want independence, claiming it is a separate nation (within or without Canada, no-one can decide). While French Canadiens and English Canadians are different cultures, these don't seem to be based exactly along province lines.

In the last referendum for seperation (or some such, no-one seems to be able to understand exactly what it asked for), 50.6% of Quebec voted to stay as a part of the federation of Canada. However, in the North of the Province, which is also the source of much of Quebec Hydroelectric power (a source of Quebecois pride) the local population voted overwhelming for staying part of Canada (95%+). Possibly as the area is mostly Cree and Inuit. Elsewhere, New Brunswick is around 33% French Canadien (and the only bilingual province) and has no separatist movement (that I am aware of, the Canadian experts might be able to explain better) but do support the notions that Canada is a union of many different nations. Which it is, I guess.

And if we drift even further east, we come to Newfoundland, an independent British Protectorate until 1949, which still is not quite sure of it's identity within Canada, by all accounts. Over here on the left coast (both left by direction and politics) there seems to be a disconnect been British Columbia and Ottawa. Alberta has it's current oil boom, and the new territory of Nunavet contains just 30,000-odd people. And so on.

Anyways, Canada seems to be having the same issues about it's identity and it's constituent parts that the UK has. There's a lot of bits that have there own parts, both along provincial boundaries, cultural and ethnic grounds. That said, they all seem to identify as Canadian. Whereas in the UK we tend to identify as 'English' or 'Scots' or even 'Londoner' or 'Lancastrian' more than 'British'.

Possibly.

Nickel and Dime

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 05:44:55 GMT

Getting use to the financial world in Canada is taking me some getting use to. When I was a visitor, money was much easier. £1 was $2 (give or take) and I could get a good idea of the value of what I was getting.

Psychologically, $20 still seems like 'not cheap' and '20' means a twenty pound note. Where as 20 isn't a lot for a book, or a decent meal. It's just a number, but these things are part of our conciousness. Like looking left-right-left when crossing a road. You probably don't even think about it. But over here, you have to think about crossing roads. And think about thinking about it. It looks like a road. So your head kicks in and says 'this is how we cross roads', and you start to do it automatically.

I haven't yet been hit by a car. I just have to stop and think. Same with money.

What makes it harder is the little things and the ways in which the enterprising will make you part with more. The first (or last when it comes to the till) is PST and GST. GST is 6% and the Canadian equivalent of VAT, and raised by Canadian Government. PST is the Provincial Sales tax, and levied by the British Columbian government. Both are added to the shelf price. This is infuriating, when you pick up a $10 CD and get charged $11.30. Or even better in a restaurant, where a $20 meal gets another $2.50 in tax and another $3 for a reasonable tip. That $20 meal will cost you $25.

The next step to liberate my money is the banks. Very few of the banks have free banking the UK. There's a few of the credit unions that offer 'free' banking, but it's a limited service or may restrict the number of transaction you can make per month. Instead, most of them charge between $10 and $15 a month for most of the trimmings that come as standard in the UK. I was hoping that this was followed up with a decent rate of interest. I think 0.05% pa is some financier's idea of a good joke.

They do offer free services if you maintain a big enough bank balance. If I had that big of a bank balance, I wouldn't mind spending a few dollars a month for what is admittedly a very friendly personal service. But them's the rules, that's the country.

The final catch (well final in the last to catch me) is the package that isn't. My $30 mobile (cellphone to translate into North American) plan costs me $53 a month. First you have the plan. Plus to actually have a useful phone, there's a few extra dollars for voicemail. And wait! You can get caller number display for $5 a month. It's a -selling- point to give people the ability to see what number people are calling from, a service on a mobile in the UK for years. Then there's a $1 a month to pay for the 911 service. But there's a 'service access charge' on top of that. This was the point my sense of humour failed and I walked away from the price (oh they wanted $50 deposit as well). Oh, then there was the ever present hidden tax twins.

If you advertise a $30 plan, it seems a bit rich that they wanted to charge me to access the network as well. Especially as while the plan price is locked in, the system access charge isn't, and can (and I bet will) increase. It's sharp practice. But everyone does it. So what can you do?

I have a phone, I have a bank account, and I'm trying to avoid being nickel and dimed.

----
I'd like to point out that my father certainly did know about 300 the film. Humble pie is tasty though. And the peanut gallery may like to note my Grandmother will be reading this journal.

House!

Sat, 31 Mar 2007 17:39:09 GMT

Someone said yesterday that I reminded them a bit of the British actor who plays a doctor on TV. They meant Stephen Fry's bit part in Bones, not Hugh Laurie in House. Which I suppose makes a lot more sense, but is vaguely disappointing. I'd much prefer to be Hugh Laurie than Stephen Fry.

But it's all just as well I am not compared to Al Swearengen (aka Ian MacShane, aka Lovejoy) from Deadwood. Now I have an address, I can get post. Now I can get post, I can get DVD subscription. And now I can get DVD subscription, I can catch up on all the TV series and films I've missed over the last few months. Or years. Like Deadwood.

I do also have 75 TV channels. But nothing on. Or at least if it is, I can't find it. I think paying for cable just to watch Chef Tony's infomercial and KVCS adverts for Seattle car show rooms is a little much.

I got into the house two weeks ago. The landlord (after a bit of a timing mix up on both our parts) helped me move in a bed, two chairs and small kitchen table. Coupled with two bags, that was all I had. 900 square foot with that much is Spartan enough to get a part in 300 (1).

With great expense and some effort, I filled one half of one cupboard with some plates, pans and kitchen utensils from Zellers. I can make toast and I can make tea as well. I've resisted Chef Tony's crockpot offer ($99.99 in three easy payments of $33.33, with a special measure jug if I order in the next twenty minutes), a turbo grill or a coffee machine. Having your own coffee machine in Victoria is like buying a dog and barking yourself. Not only is it more effort, your barking doesn't scare of the postmen nearly as well.

I got the TV at London Drugs (still a name that makes me smile for no good reason (3)), and had the hassle of getting 27 inches of TV home. The Taxi cab ordered had a driver singularly unable to grasp the fact that TV that size I didn't want to carry across the car park when there was perfectly good taxi bay in front of me. And thought it was the height of rudeness for me to ask him if placing a TV into the open boot of his saloon with no tie down was safe. if in Victoria, don't use Bluebird cabs, that's all I can say about that.

But TV got home safe and cabled up courtesy of Shaw. Who also provide me with Internet. At some very high speed that is perfectly suitable for downloading vast files and streaming music.

I went onto craigslist and found someone moving out of an apartment not too far away and brought up another few bits of furniture, including a bedside lamp (how annoying is it to have to get out of bed to turn the light off after reading for thirty minutes and getting real comfortable), a glider chair (like a rocking chair, but more forward and backward than rocking) and sundry other bits.

Including a table to put my TV on. With it's 75 channels. And nothing on.

(1) A recreation of the battle of Thermopylae (2) for those not up on their popular culture references. Hi Mum and Dad.

(2) 300 Spartans took on the might of the Persian army at the pass of Thermopylae and stopped further expansion of Persia into the Greek city states. For those not up on their classical references.

(3) I have no doubt Canadians find 'Boots the Chemist' an odd name as well.

---

I know my many fans have asked for more pictures. I am working on that. Finding it hard to get the distance mountaisn to look as impressive as they do in real life. They loom out as a vague shape on the horizon, which is more dramatic than being right in front of you (see HP Lovecraft or any good thriller movie).

Moving, moving, stop.

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 18:05:39 GMT

On getting myself into Canada, I spent one night in Vancouver and then trundled to the coach stop for the island. The coach arrived on time, and almost empty. Hardly the modern air conditioned coach advertised on Pacific Coach Lines, but everything was good.

A short trip down the expressway and we arrived at Tsawwassen ferry port. Tsawwassen dock is on the end of a long causeway about as far south as you can get without crossing over into US waters. At the dock we were asked to move onto another coach. This was also empty, and was probably built in 1950's.... it smelt like it anyways.

We got onto the ferry, and off again for the 90 minute crossing. Which I spent in the Pacific Buffet having breakfast and long stare out of the window. As mentioned previously (I think) the ferry takes a route between two islands no more than 200 metres wide with two tight right angles. The islands forested cliffs tower either side, and it's an amazing view as you break through the passage into the Gulf Islands and the little villages and seaside villas.

I was pleasantly surprised to see the coach hadn't been replaced with a pony and trap for the last leg of the journey. I was less happy about the bow doors being opened for most of the docking procedure while the coach was at the front of the queue of vehicles ready to roll off. A hundred yards of water before dry land is not what I want to see. Dry land, and dry land only please.

I got down town, dumped my bags at hotel and ambled down to the Canadian equivalent of the DHSS (which is probably no longer called the DHSS in the UK either). In less time than it took me to amble across downtown (and Victoria hasn't got that big city centre. There's provincial town centres in the UK that are probably bigger) I had been awarded by Social Security Number. Armed with which I got a bank account with some very nice people at the Canadian Western Bank.

They had to be nice to me. In Canada, it seems that most banks charge a monthly fee for their services. And if you use more than x cheques (where x is single digit number) or make more than y ATM withdrawals (where y is a very small number that I'd normally cover in a week), they charge you 25p a transaction. Of course, I said, you therefore pay a top rate of interest?

Nope. I'd get more interest watching Steve Davis watching cornflakes go soggy. But that's the game here, so I've got to play it.

I then walked into work, was taken for a pint with the boss, chatted about the job and then retired to my room to catch up on some sleep.

My first attempt at flat hunting the next day was a big zero. Most of the realtors (estate agents) were closed on Saturdays. The rest referred me directly to their building managers or the small ads. The ones I did phone had either gone, or were showing the room only between 6.15am and 6.18am on Sunday to people who had pre-registered interest last April with the branch agency in Toronto.

I gave up until I could get onto the Internet a bit more permanently and use craigslist. I retired back to the hotel to read the paper, drink nice beer and free nuts in Big Bad John's Bar. A Bar that was about the first place in Victoria to serve beer after the end of city-wide prohibition (1950's I think), and they've not swept the floor since. A proud of it. It's a bit of theme bar in reality, part of the five stuffed into the Strathcona hotel.

The next day I dragged my baggage down to the backpackers hostel, (The Ocean Island Backpackers Inn, recommended for a cheap stay in the city), hooked my PC up to their wireless and checked the listings.

Perfect, a 2-bed basement flat had just been posted. 30 minutes walk and 10 minutes bus ride away from work. Phone owner, who was pleasant and headed straight over. I realise now there's a joke about living in basements, but this was a rental agreement, and not my parents flat. The guy showed me around, offered me a few bits of furniture to tide me over, and was thoroughly pleasant. I liked the space, and the layout and the extra bedroom for guests/office (I hope for the former, I expect the latter will be a more common use). But I couldn't take the first place I saw.

So I left with positive noises and walked back into town. Seeing three 'vacancy available' signs on the way back, I called the building managers and looked at two apartments.

Smaller, same price and sharing with tens or hundreds of old-age pensioners. No chance. And no power shower. Or walk in closet. Or bed. Minimum one year leases. No chance at all.

I called the landlord back. Three others had been to see it in the time it had taken me. But i was first to say yes, and provided the bank and work references checked out, I was in.

So in three days, I'd managed to get into the country, into my job, into the social security, into a bank account, and one foot into a place to live.

That's close to being efficient.

Still to come - shopping, rain, and shopping in the rain.

Back to BC.

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 18:19:44 GMT

I've now been back in Canada for a little over 36 hours. It all moved a little fast once the paperwork came through. The Canadian government sent the lawyers a positive Labour market Opinion, saying that the job could be taken by a foreign national. The lawyers with the HR department of the company put together a pack of paperwork supporting my entry in Canada. I booked a flight on March 1st, packed up, sent boxes, said goodbye to friends and family and flew out on the 8th.

I was a rather nervous. Though I had everything I needed to apply for a work permit on landing in Vancouver, they was still a worry that something was wrong.

I got to Heathrow very early, and the check in supervisor tried to get me bumped up. Having the word 'Doctor on my ticket seemed to help, but unfortunately, all the 'Prestige' class travellers arrived. I went through security (remove belt, bags, money) only to then have another security check on my shoes. The entry to departure then forced me through duty free and the world of perfume. And people who stop in front of you. And screaming children. I found tranquillity in my iPod and sat down to read until boarding.

The flight was fine. Air Canada at least have a reasonable amount of leg room. But, as ever, I was sat behind a leaner, who had his seat back for the entire flight. Not content with that, he would try and force it even further back every hour or so. Behind I had a shuffler, who seemed to have a nervous leg twitch while asleep, booting me in the back every so often.

I hate flying with other people.

I also question Air Canada's choice of "The Guardian" as appropriate film. Not because it has at least one air crash in it, but because Kevin Costner and Aaron Kutchener are excessively annoying and could cause air rage.

On landing, unlike my normal process of sitting until everyone gets off and then meeting them all waiting in baggae claim, I got off quickly. I managed to get to immigration towards the head of the line, and sent to the special office for workers. After a short wait, I was seen, and despite my huge sheaf of papers, she checked just the passport, the job offer title and the number given by the Canadian government.

One hour after landing, I was legally allowed to work in Canada, had my bags and in a taxi to the hotel.

Why was I nervous?

(Readers note and self-promotion: TheTravelPit blog is active again, I hope to make updates every week or two as things happen. I appreciate any and all feed back. If not subscribed, there's a range of options to get this automatically sent to you, the simplest being to click on the 'subscribe' link on the right hand side of this page to get updates emailed to you. If you are on LiveJournal, or know about RSS and Feeds Reader that's also an option. If you are already subscribed, Thanks. It helps to know that other people are reading my ramble).

A Tale of Three Cities.

Tue, 02 Jan 2007 11:43:47 GMT

I flew into Glasgow on the 10th November. A comfortable enough trip, the most memorable bit was flying over the Pennines and thinking they looked rather small. A few days in a wind swept and rainy Innerleithen with my family before the trip back south to London. I spent roughly 2 hours in Edinburgh station waiting for my train, not due to lateness, but my earliness. So that was one capital. I had a quick walk onto Princes Street, goggled at the castle and the gorge that the station is buried in and scuttled back inside again.

The train south was as enjoyable as the one north, but with different emotions. Just a few weeks earlier I had zoomed north in First Class drinking tea and looking ahead to all things I would see. On my way back I was sitting in Cattle Class drink Pepsi Max and reflecting on what I done, where I'd been and whether it was worth it.

Of course it was, and by the time I reach Sheffield I was quietly smiling to myself. I'd seen part of the world, had some great experiences and was heading back to wait for the next phase. I was tired of the long travels and wanted some stability, but not for too long. Just a different base.

I was met at Kings Cross by the redoubtable Dealer (see Las Vegas) who shepherded me into a Taxi, Muswell Hill and a bar. The first taste of good old fashioned British Ale was worth the huge cost I paid for it. I then retired to my friends house for a catch up and sleep.

My first trip on the tube into Central London was a shock. It was busy, dirty and noisy. Forcing my way through the hordes of shouting school kids, men in suits and tourists was so different from the relative calm of Victoria, or the less rushed Vancouver. Even brashy Las Vegas seemed far more gentle than the assault on my sense of Tottenham Court Road at 4pm on a Friday.

But eventually, I get back in to the London Life, commuting of the tube, the lights, the fog (rare but there was some around Christmas) and the regal splendour of the Thames when it's lit up at night. Plus there's a few nice bars and a lot of good friends. Still, I am still looking forward to living in Victoria, where it's quieter, and there's more scenery.

Cardiff was the last of the three capital cities I visited. Once too see my new born nephew, and once for the Christmas festivities. The first trip was interrupted just outside Didcot Parkway when the train I was on hit someone, either at the station or just after. The brief rumble as the train went through did seem odd at the time, and even odder once the guard announced that it was a fatal accident. I thus got to Cardiff quite late and only saw a little of it while I was there. Which was a duck pond, the station and diverse members of my family.

I came back for Christmas, and thus saw even less of the city and more of my family. Though a brief seashore walk out of the city at Southern Downs was enjoyable, and seeing nature made sense.

Apart from a side trip on the road to Oxford over new year to visit Muswell Hill (Buckinghamshire) and the Duck Decoy Centre (Closed), that's my update on travel.

Going home, you're going home...

Thu, 09 Nov 2006 19:44:04 GMT

Or not as the case may be. I am packed and will be on my way to the airport in 30 minutes. My 3 month holiday is now over. My travels aren't. I'll be heading to Glasgow, and then down south to London for a while. After London, depending on time, I'll be in Cardiff to see my sister's new child (when it arrives), and then back to British Columbia to start work. The exact timetable is unknown, and I intend to keep this journal updated with more thoughts and witterings on travelling. I expect to see fair amount of the Pacific North West while I work over here, so expect updates, just maybe even less frequently.

My recent trip to Victoria was mostly uneventful. I took the coach and ferry over, booked into a cheap, but clean and warm hostel, and then set off around Victoria to try and work out what sort of place it would be to live in. I spent most of Tuesday on foot, and crossed the peninsula that Victoria sits on, found a huge mall with great bookshop, a nice bar, a couple of short golf course and some wonderful wooded scenery overlooking the strait.

Victoria has to it's south the Olympic Mountains and to the East the Cascades. The Olympics loom on quiet threateningly, all dark and mystic. It's strange to see mountains across water. The Cascades are further away, and already some had snow on, and you could see them glittering purple on the horizon. Between there and the edge of Vancouver island is the scattering of San Juan Islands at the mouth of Puget Sound, and you see them here and there. I imagined myself being here with no clue what lay beyond, just these shapes I could see on the shoreline, all that unknown. And then I went and had a beer and Buffalo Burger...

The rest of the week in Victoria it rained. Solid, solid rain. BC has had 4-6 inches of rain the last week. This is solid, your going to get wet rain. Rain that fills the gutters, pools on the road in dirty great puddles, and sweeps the roofs clean of any autumn leaves. Rain that moves earth, as there's been a few land slides around the edges of Vancouver. This was the rain I had been warned about, after days and days of pleasant, mild sunshine in August and September.

So I didn't see much more except downtown Victoria. Where I found another nice bar, a great games store (and met the woner and some of his friends for a board games evening, so that was good too), and not much else of interest. Just the same random assortment of shops that you find in any big town.

Though this is another pleasant thing about Victoria and Vancouver. While the shops are pretty much the same, there is tendency for a lot more single/small chains in BC compared to the UK. Okay, there's the big chains like Starbucks, the Church of Tim Hortons, London Drugs (same as Boots in the UK), and so on, there's still plenty of shops like Bolen Books, The Cafe Vieux Montreal, Jimmy's Vinyl and the like. It might be that it's all new names to me, and these are still large chains, but it seems smaller, more friendly. Perhaps the staff are just more welcoming?

Perhaps Canada is just more friendly than London over all. The communities are smaller, and I'm much more on the periphery than in Muswell Hill. The world happens elsewhere, and news about a dead teenager or a local scandal in the hospital is much more likely to make front page of the locally printed newspapers. The TV station caters for a million people, not sixty million. This must increase some sense of local community, and given the distances between communities, they are more inward looking at times.

Thats it from me. Catch you all on the other side of the world!

Halloweenies

Mon, 30 Oct 2006 22:58:15 GMT

Vancouver (and the rest of North America, I guess) is a bit keen on Hallowe'en. A bit keen is bit like saying I'm 'a bit keen' on beer. I went to a (Canadian) football match on Saturday. Half the stadium that weren't in their BC Lions football shirts were in some sort of fancy dress. Though the BC Lions playing in Orange and Black meant some people might have been dressing as mutant Goth pumpkins, I guess.

Hallowe'en is party time. It's cobwebs on every door, pumpkins in half the shop windows and fake blood a go-go. It was also a chance for me to go back to Vancouver's Pacific National Exhibition grounds and their 'Fright Night'. SIX haunted houses! Rides! Displays! A haunted Maze! All operated by students more worried about mid-terms and rent!

It was cheese-tastic, but fun. A wet. Very very wet. Apparently it rains plenty in Vancouver this time of year. They call it a 'monsoon'. next time it rains for more than an hour in the UK, I shall call it a monsoon as well. But the rain does seem to last. So I got thoroughly wet while waiting in the (short) cues and sitting on damp rides.

I discovered I really didn't like the Pirate Ship (or Pilates Ship) as swinging back and forward at great height wasn't exciting but more a way of staring down at the small tire used to brake and control the ride while protected by a small aluminum bar. Luckily the controller got bored after five minutes and let us off. I was getting bored being mortally scared.

The haunted houses themselves were dark and also cheese tastic, with the occasional fright or good effect (like the bright spotty room with someone disguised against a wall dressed in the bright spots). The Haunted Maze had all it's monsters of for a cigarette break. The mini donuts were good, as was the display with a TV set showing the reactions of people in one haunted house.

Biggest disappointment? The Dodg'ems were closed.

Back in downtown Vancouver, the football game ended up in another win for the mighty BC Lions, who are now two games away from the Grey Cup (almost equivalent to the FA Cup, but more like winning the Championship playoffs in global sporting importance and attendance). Canadian Football is pretty low key, and hasn't got half the razz, pomp or circumstance of the NFL product. This means no-one takes it quite as seriously in BC (unlike ice hockey) and good times are had by all. Ice Hockey, it seems, can create a lot more animosity when two fans of opposing teams run into each other.

I like Vancouver. It's a city, all right, but it's small enough to be accessible, and nothings too big or busy for you not to find a hole for yourself. There's always something going on, and unlike London, you probably can get there easily, and join in. There's a vague edge of independence in the shops and bars, where there's still a lot of sole traders or small chains. The big chains seem shunned, or grudgingly accepted as necessary, but folks still seem to prefer Chan's Burgers to McDonalds. The Doghaus to Red Robin. Unless your Tim Horton's, the coffee and donut giant. Which is a religion, according to my friends.

This might be more of a feeling based on being the outsider and not realising these are still big province-wide faceless companies, but everyone does seem a bit more friendly, to the point I often feel rude for only say hello and thank you when getting my groceries.

I'm now back in Victoria. The exciting news is I have found a job over here, and I am waiting for a lawyer to file the paperwork necessary for work permits, and residency cards and the like. I've one week here, a few days back in BC then I am flying home to see parents, friends in London and sort out things be shipped over. When I start I don't know. So expect more, even if it's more focussed on a small part of British Columbia.

Losing Las Vegas

Fri, 20 Oct 2006 07:56:28 GMT

Okay, I've actually been back for almost a fortnight, but time for an update on the last stage of my trip out of Vancouver. They do say what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but as the great Lewis Black says "you sleep with a goat in Vegas, that kinda of thing stays with you." Actually he doesn't quite say it like that, but I'm sure you don't want the expletive filled version before the watershed. We saw Lewis at the MGM Grand, and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. He's an angry political satirist who plays along the more observational lines as well as the sheer outrage against the government (any government, though he admits Bush is easy pickings). Laugh? I almost stop drinking...

Rolling back a day or two, I meet up with 'the Dealer' Ian outside the Imperial Palace shortly after landing from Portland, found a room and we went on the roam to see what Vegas was offering. Much the same as the last two times I'd been there, and free booze was found and drunk, Star Wars slots played briefly, the monorail seen, the cocktail girls drooled at, money lost at Craps, money won on blackjack, football and so on. All good fun.

On the Saturday we headed off strip to about the point the desert wins back from suburbia and saw the UNLV Rebels play the Reno Wolfpack in a college football game. One way traffic game, with the Rebels well stomped by their local rivals from Reno. Local in American terms, other end of the country in UK terms. Still, 30,000 people turned up (lots of drunk college students, many, many locals and two lost-looking Brits), shouted and then departed during the 4th quarter when it was obvious this game was over. Good fun, but not the high quality product I saw in Seattle the week before.

The next day we settled ourselves in the Rio, watching the NFL. One huge burger for breakfast, and then great seats at the bar in front of 4 screens and the afternoon was well wasted (in many senses). Plus an assortment of good tunes on the barman's jukebox, and our own half time show as the Rio does it's hanging carnival even. Then heading back to the Imperial Palace to watch the Seahawks get beaten by the Bears. Sigh, there was still cheap/free booze.

The day after we headed south to Laughlin for some golf and a change of scene. The road to Laughlin is mostly straight. 40 miles of straight at one point, which seems excessive. Lots of sky, rocks and scrub. Most of southern Nevada reminds me of the kids sandpit that's been ignored and the weeds have started to grow.

Laughlin lies on the Colorado River, and is purely there because Don Laughlin wanted to build a casino close by the growing city of Bullhead and catch the people who would otherwise take two hours further up the road to Vegas. He wasn't quote so egocentric to call it after himself... the US Postal Service wouldn't let him call it 'Jackpot'. The river splits Laughlin from Arizona's Bullhead City, which is in a different time zone. Which must make it easy to get confused... your shift in the casino starts at 8am, so you leave work at 8.30am to get there for 7.45am.

There is about 8 casinos in the non-incorporated township, and they tend to cater for either RV-ers, coach tours or the blue rinse crowd. less manic than Las Vegas, and cheaper golf. And much hotter. 100+F, while back in Vegas it was a parky 88F. The sun hit you like a beam. An angry beam charring my skin. The steak house we ate in on last night didn't need a stove to cook my medium rare prime rib. Just a couple of mirrors and 10 minutes outside would have done. It was so, so tasty as well. Unlike Vegas, the casino's have windows overlooking the river, and you can catch a river taxi between them. Just a bit more civilised.

Playing poker there was incredibly juicy. Which I'd spent more time playing poker against elderly rich Americans who think a a pair of fours might just beat my full house. Plan for next trip: more poker, more golf, more sitting by the pool, less craps, less blackjack, about the same amount of (American) football and booze.

In the odd finds section, we spent a quick hour in the local outlet centre. I wish I'd had a bit more room to fit in some more jeans ($20 for a pair of Levis...). But in the book shop, I found on the 2.99 shelf a copy of Chumbawamba's little known 2002 album 'Readymades'. Yes I brought it. I have no idea what a record released by a bunch of Leeds anarchists was doing in the closing down sale ("No returns sir", "I think I can cope with that") of a cheap book shop in southern Nevada. Stand out tracks 'Salt Fare, North Sea' and 'Without Rhyme or Reason (the Killing of Harry Stanley)'. Cue ex-housemate rant on that little event.

Anyways, that was Laughlin, and the drive back was uneventful, mainly by Ian's choice of not driving over Christmas Tree Pass. I tried to convince him that it'd be fine, but he seemed to think we'd need a proper 4WD drive to get over the large ditch we could see. No sense of adventure!

One day left in Vegas, and I finally, finally got four of a kind on video poker. 3 years of going, more money into them I've drunk in free booze (possibly, I might be about break even) and I finally get four of a kind. With a bonus. 4 sweet 7's. I think I shall never play the stupid things again.

Back in Vancouver now. Still a couple of trips to go on and report on. Honest!

Portland smells.

Wed, 27 Sep 2006 21:16:50 GMT

Literally, not figuratively, Portland smells funny. As I descended the train, my nose was hit by a sweet chemical smell. Later on, downtown, there was a funny marker pen haze in the sky. Near the paper mill it was bleach mixed with wood pulp (go figure), and strange vanilla scent near the bookshop.

I got to Portland via train from Seattle. Seattle station has around 8 trains a day, one to Vancouver, one from Vancouver, one from Chicago, one to Chicago and the rest south towards Portland, Eugene and California. Boarding took place at one of three doors, all of which led to the same platform. Though platform implies a raised surface, and this was stepping up onto the train with the help of a portable step. Still, the less rushed pace of the boarding and the train itself meant this is the way to travel. Travel, as in to go, not travel as in to get somewhere.

The train barely topped 60 mph n the way, and I had plenty of time to stare out of the window at various small towns, rivers, mountains and fields. We passed the (in)famous Tacoma Narrows Bridge (rebuilt, naturally), the end of the Puget Sound, through the Cascade mountains and across the mighty Columbia into Portland.

Portland is a Port City, even though it's 100 miles from the see. It lies just off the confluence of the Columbia and Willamette rivers. The Columbia was named after the boat that discovered it. The first settlement in the area on the north bank was called (confusingly) Vancouver. Portland was named after Portland, Maine, after the two founders flipped a coin for the honour. The other founder didn't have any brighter ideas, as he wanted to name it after his home town of Boston. As an aside, Seattle, I've discovered is not named after some explorer, his boat or favourite dog, but Chief Seathl, the most important Indian Chief in the area at the time of founding.

Portland has an odd assortment of bridges along the Willamette that divides it in two. There's a drawbridge, two high bridges and two bridges that have a section that raises. The Steel bridge (imaginative name, huh) concertina's with the lower deck (for rail) sliding up into the upper road level. I got a good view of the bridges from the jet boat tour.

The jet boat runs at around 50 mph, and bounces merrily across the surface of the water. Unless the pilot decides to stop it, when it drops suddenly and creates a huge wave to soak the occupants. Or spins it to a halt to make sure the water gets everyone in back as well as the front. The pilot liked his spins and repeated them every 5 minutes, before talking us through a few of the local highlights. I was sitting at the front, which meant I got wet and had a view of the full bow wave coming up around us as we halted.

The cruise took us first down river towards the grain ports where two huge ships were being filled with Oregon grain. I discovered my vertigo works in reverse as well, and didn't much like being close to these hulking, rusty metal brutes. But then a quick zip back up stream and we were along side the marina with much nicer looking yachts and pleasure boats. Most of the trip was like this... ugly industrial edifices next to very pretty, idyllic scenery of river living.

We bounced along looking at the $2.5 million condo's, the old water works (closed after a cholera outbreak due to the local abattoir chucking all the dead cow parts in the river upstream), the country club and the Oregon City Paper mills. These, as mentioned, smelt. And dropped scum across the water. Apparently the Willamette was once the most polluted river in North America, and is slowly cleaning up it's act. Which was nice considering the amount I'd had sprayed across me. The mills themselves flank the Willamette Falls. Which are a large U-shaped falls across the river, about 3 stories high. They used to be a salmon fishing spot used by the local Indian tribe, but with the pollution and the damming of the river for hydro-electric, this stopped in the later 19th century.

Once I got back on dry land, and dried off, I went out to Powell's City of Books. Claiming to be the countries biggest book shop, it has 68,000 square feet of books, covering one city block. There's 8 big big rooms filled with new and secondhand books, all nestled together. I know some of my friends and relations would happily decamp there. I could have spent all my Vegas money on cheap books. The thought of the weight kept me sane and I just grabbed a couple of out of print gambling books to add to my collection when I get back.

The other thing that is great about Portland is the amount of free WiFi spots. I spent one night in a bar watching the football while on the Internet. Another place I grabbed coffee and made some phone calls with my Skype. And now I'm waiting for a delayed flight to Vegas on Portland Airport's free WiFi connection.

Sleeping in Seattle

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 00:27:53 GMT

Seattle. Famous for Coffee, Fraiser and Rain. It didn't rain, Kelsey Grammer doesn't move in the same circles as I do, and I had one cup of coffee. Made in my room. By me.

Stunning failure there to be stereotypical. What I did do is sleep lots in a very comfortable bed. It had a memory foam mattress and an Ikea of pillows. Shame my window looked out onto the side of Seattle Public Library. Which as municipal buildings go, isn't the ugliest in the world, but not up there with the Grand Canyon as great vista's of our time.

After sleeping, I got up and walked through the main shopping area to the Monorail station. Which was closed, as I'd expected. The monorail was built for the World Fair in 1962 and recently has had two accidents. A crash and a semi-derailment. When you have two cars on separate lines, and one rail, these are not good things to happen. So I followed the one mile route on foot up to the exhibition centre and the space needle.

The expo centre had two attractions I wanted to see. The 'Experience Music Project' and the Science Fiction Hall of Fame,

The former had an interesting story of music in the Pacific North West, including (obviously) the story of Grunge, and the story of Louie Louie. The latter was released by both the Raiders and the Kingsmen at the same time and the 'Battle of the Bands' was hyped as much as 'Oasis vs. Blur 1996'. The song was also investigated by the FBI for indecent lyrics. Which you could only hear when the record was played at 33 and a third. The copy of the FBI report on display failed to state what those immoral lyrics were supposed to be, which was disappointing. As the world needs a cover version with those lyrics. In the end, the FBI could find no evidence that the Kingsmen were trying to corrupt the youth of the nation and the case was closed.

Elsewhere, they also had bits on the history of Reggae, hip-hop and Hendrix, accompanied with searchable databases of the music. For an extra $5 entrance fee, I could have hired a 'MEG' to take notes and listen to even more. And for another $15 I could have entered the double take exhibition that put some Old Masters and various sound tracks together. And for yet another $10 I could have recorded my own CD track of 'Louie Louie'.

I done none of those things (you'll be glad to know about the latter), and I did grump a bit about all these 'extras', especially the 'bonus' exhibition. I want to pay one fee to see everything you've got, please, and not have to pick and mix what I get to see. Esepcially not after walking in the door.

Still, the hands on sound labs was fun, and I got to learn the chords for (you guessed it) 'Louie Louie', a bash on a electronic drum kit and try to scratch mix. I'll be sticking to my day job. Except I don't have one.

The Science Fiction Museum was an extra section built in the last couple of years, by Paul Allen. Paul Allen, founder of Microsoft, seems to have a finger in every major public work in Seattle. The museum had a selection of exhibits that fandom-geeks would love, including Star Trek costumes, Captain Kirk's chair, original manuscripts of several different SF writers and the like. It also had some rather smart computer driven displays comparing and contrasting different ideas in Science Fiction. What are aliens like? What would space travel be like? What's a ray-gun based on? It was interesting to see different takes (across film, TV and books) on the same ideas compared.

After that, I went past the Space Needle, decided the queue for the DUCK tour was too long and too full of small children and walked back to my hotel. Where I promptly fell asleep on the glorious bed.

I was refreshed though for the next day when I trotted the other way down to Qwest Field to watch the Seattle Seahawks play the NY Giants. American Football, for those not sure. I sat in one bar to catch the first half of the Detroit Lions game, and after not getting served after 30 minutes of action (so, in real terms, about 90 minutes), I left, only to be asked to pay the $7 cover charge. I told the door man he had to be kidding me. And seeing as I was on the outside now, he had a queue of customers waiting to get in, I walked off. I wasn't chased down, and still have the use of my legs.

I instead got into the exhibition centre next to the stadium, brought coffee and a cookie (less than $7) and watched the next quarter, before giving up in frustration at the awfulness of the Lions.

The game I was there for was a different matter. I had a cheap seat with the hardcore Seahawks fans above the endzone. Great sight lines, and being so high the field wasn't compressed due perspective. The barracking of the visiting fans and team was pretty intense, though just this side of good natured. Mixed seating, beer available and rivalries with no punch ups. Something to be learnt there.

Seattle lead 21-0 by the end of the first quarter, which is known as a 'tonking', and by the half the Seahawks had run away with it 42-3. I hoping for a half century or more, but intensity faded a little and the final score was 42-30, making the last two minutes a bit of a tense one. Teams have thrown away leads 12 point leads in 2 minutes before. Just not today.

Something about watching live American Football makes me tired, but I was awake enough to head to Vons. Last time I was in Seattle I ate there and had a gorgeous piece of prime rib. They smoke and slow roast their food for a good long while, and it can be really flavoursome. However, today, not so good. The chicken was good, not great, and the greens and stuffing okay too, but the mashed potatoes tasted like they'd come from a packet not from real tubers, and the scratch gravy was probably frozen before being reheated and served.

And so the end to a couple of days in Seattle. Next stop, Portland by train.

(Sea) Lions and Tigers(fish) and (Spirit) Bears, Oh My!

Sun, 24 Sep 2006 06:58:36 GMT

Okay, okay, more bad puns. I think it's the 3rd clause of the fourth amendment of the Canadian Bill of Rights that gives everyone in Canada the right to wield puns in a built up area. And I'm going to use if it I can. Try and stop me, bubba, while I'm sipping cocktails on the shores of the Pacific.

Actually, I'm balanced on a seat behind a recliner on the coach from Vancouver to Seattle. I should have been on the train, but it had sold out by the time I got to the station to buy a ticket. This happens when you run one service a day.

So the coach it is, and I have a leaner in front me. Every loves a leaner. My favourite type of companion on long journeys. The person who decides as soon as they get on a reclining seat they are bound by some law of nature to push it as far back as possible and place their head in the lap of the person behind. While I'd quite happily have some people's head in my lap, 55 year olds with a twin set and pearls, American ladies are not on that list.

But we survive, and get back to the plot. The forthcoming plan is to see Seattle, Portland before reaching Las Vegas on Wednesday. I'm catching the Seahawks/Giants match on Sunday. I have no idea what's in Portland. Ports, I hope. And land.

Last week, continuing the discovering the surroundings and learning theme from the art gallery, I visited Vancouver Aquarium. The highlight of the aquarium is the white sided Pacific Dolphins. These two were rescued after being trapped in fishing nets and rehabilitated in the safety of the aquarium. They put on their show, diving and waving and squeaking away. And impressive with all the leaps, splashes and sitting on the side begging for fishes. At one point they get the dolphins to vocalise to show how they communicate via their blow holes. I just wonder what they say?

"'ere, Spinnaker, these bloody humans are doing my head in today"
"Ssssh Lauren, they'll not feed us any more mackerel"
"Mmmmmm, Mackerel".

One disgraced themselves by 'having stage fright' during the show. Too much mackerel, I reckon. Also, did you know that Dolphins have to constantly think about breathing? This means they can't sleep by shutting down like we do, and instead they sleep half a brain at a time.

In another smaller tank they had three seals and a Stellar Sea Lion. This fellow (Teg) was the size of a small family car, and weighed in at around 560lbs. That was his late summer weight now he'd been slimming down after impressing the ladies with his bulk. He'd be up to 850lbs earlier in the year. Not that he has many ladies in his tank. Just seals. And handlers. But no Stellar Sea Lionesses. All that eating for nothing.

I started feeling sorry for the animals at this point. None of the pools seemed big enough, and after seeing four beluga whales (sans tins of caviar) in something smaller than an Olympic swimming pool, I felt that this didn't seem fair to all concerned. It's balancing that science, spectacle and being fair to the animals. Without getting up close, you've no understanding of why these animals are interesting and worth knowing about. And it's hard to take it as read when all you see is some pictures in a text book. Perhaps they should find the naughty sea mammals and put them in the pools, like some sort of Aqua-Prison.

Still, the smaller fish in the inside aquariums seemed to have more space. There was a mock of the waters and fish found just of Stanley point, plenty of different local sea and fresh water animals, and hunt the octopus. Hunt the octopus was supposed to be an demonstration of the powers of disguise and camouflage an octopus has. The ability to hide in the rocks, and merge into the sand and plants. Very good. This octopus was trying to merge into the front wall of the tank and mate with it.

There was also a Amazon rain forest section. There they had the fruit and nut eating catfish. They didn't record if they insist on milk or dark chocolate. These fish feed on the trees bounty when the Amazon floods and the water level rises enough. Which impressed me.

So that was VanAqua.

All across British Columbia there are fibreglass statues in the form of Kermode or Spirit Bears. These are the national animal of BC, I believe, and on some level of the endangered species list. The fibre glass statues however aren't, populating every street corner, square or empty plaza in every town and city in the region. Each has been modified by an artist. or shop. Or a passing teenager with ADD and a pot of paint. There's a very naturalistic bear on Burrard, and bear dressed as Ice Hockey player a few blocks further up, a Barrister bear near the law courts and a fully modified Darth Bear outside HMV on Robson.

I've taken snaps of around 52 of them, and my album can be found here. Having discovered there's about 220 of them in all sorts of far out places, I doubt I'll get the set. There due to be auctioned later next month for a variety of worthy causes. But I doubt I'll be sending home Zombear.

See, I said it's perfectly legal to pun in built up areas in Canada...

On the social history of the region

Thu, 21 Sep 2006 05:00:08 GMT

Last week was definitely 'lets discover'. I went to the 'Raven Travelling' exhibition at the Vancouver Art Gallery. It's now finished, so if I was reviewing for great places to go while here, I'd be a bit late. Luckily, I'm not.

The Raven Travelling was a collection of Haida art. The Haida people originate from Haida Gwaii (Queen Charlotte islands) of the coast of British Columbia, and were one of the many bands that made up the Coastal Salish People, or First Nations. Vancouver's Stanley park was an important site for gatherings and winter homes, and the First nations were pretty well spread across the land before Captain Vancouver, Quadra et al came along with their size nines and a couple of national flags.

I may have this wrong, but I believe the stories, legends and histories of the people are similar, but if wrong, I apologise. I'm just going from what I've read and understood.

The Haida people had two main tribes. The Raven and the Eagle. Families traced lineage through their mothers, and you were considered to be the tribe of your mother. People always intra-married, an Eagle to a Raven. Legends and stories were an important part of the familial bonding, knowledge passing and cultural renewal. The art used in the tribal artifacts was not just for show, but had to be taken in context with it surroundings and the stories.

What's I find fascinating about the art is the rules. The art has a series of unwritten rules that have been 'discovered' in the last century or so. I'll get back to the reason behind discovery in a minute. The rules have been named the 'formline', and break down roughly as this:

1. There's two basic shapes, the ovoid and the U-form. The ovoid is a sort of squashy box shape, and the U-form a U shaped curve.

2. Main lines were drawn in black. Secondary detail was in red. Tertiary detail, if any, was in blue-green, or by hollowing out when carving.

Depictions were of natural creatures or stylised humans, and could become quite abstract to fit the confines of the object or canvas on which the art was on. The art was carved on boxes, goat horn spoons, on the totem poles outside the shared family homes, the masks used in the gatherings, pretty much everything.

The Raven is a common theme, and turns up often in stories as a trickster, creator and wanderer, helping the First Nations. I don't have much recall of the stories, and couldn't find any written resources in the museum library, so no knowledge share there. The most impressive of the older carved pieces are the bent boxes. These are made from a single plank of wood, scored in the relevant places, steamed and bent into a box, fasten at the one remaining corner with wooden pins. The boxes were then carved,even when just as functional items.

The history of the Haida is tied into their art as well. It goes in four rough stages:

3000BC-1750's - Minding their own business, hunting salmon and the rest up and down the coast.

1750-1850 - Being interrupted by the British and Spanish, and setting up trading of the food, furs and art.

1850-1950 - The silent years. Coupled with devastating losses of life due to western diseases, the British imposed many restrictions on their cultural life. The traditional potlatch was banned. The potlatch was a way of the tribe binding and sharing resources. The Brits decided this spread too much disease and was a waste of resources. It also promoted the "pagan" rituals. They banned the carving of graven images, also as being against god, and starting forcing the children into missions to be raised as good Christian kids.

The art was still allowed, but only for sale. The art was mainly for trade, and the stories, which were so much part of the objects and the culture, started to fade. The authorities started insisting that they could only use silver and a type of dark soapstone. Subjects of the pieces drifted away from the traditional natural forms, as demand for more western images gained.

1950 - present. The Canadian government finally grew the heck up, and stopped banning the cultural heritage of the people who occupied the land well before colonies were though off. However, the loss of the cultural knowledge, the spread of the First nations away from their homeland by forced migration and general dispersion meant that those discovering their roots have had a long hard struggle. The art is being reformed and recreated and taken forward, adopting new medium, and new images. Debate on the more contemporary themes (including the silent years) has started, as to whether work which doesn't follow the strict formline rules is still Haida art or not.

I love the simplicity or the formline, even when it is twisted slightly. The way simple geometric shapes and bold colours can be used to represent natural and manmade forms catches my eye.

Links to example of Haida Art:

Vancouver Art Gallery
Bill Reid Tribute (note the carving he's sitting on also features on the $20 note).
Natural Forms. The info on this site is questionale, but it does show examples of the subject matter really well

Whales and Dolphin(-eating whale)s

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 06:26:45 GMT

So, I'm not very good at this keeping blogs up to date lark. Even if I have very little do, I seem to let it slide.

Last Thursday, as mentioned, I took the boat back from Victoria to Vancouver. This is about 2 and half hours on a fast boat. However, I took the whale watching tour which spent about 90 minutes in the water around Victoria, the Gulf Islands and San Juan islands spotting whales. It's called 'The Prince of Whales' but don't hold that bad pun against them. The trip made me forgive that, and more. In fact, they can make a few more poor puns if they want, free of charge. Though I'm not sure what porpoise that would serve.

The boat was the size of a decent power cruiser, powered by some sort of water jet (from the huge spray of water it left when at full speed). It crept out of the harbour, then accelerated up the coast to where a hump back whale had been spotted early in the day. A flotilla of little Zodiacs (open topped, semi-inflatable boats) were around the area, and after about ten minutes we saw the whale come up.

The marine biologist onboard told us about the humpbacks habits and how it swam. Two to three surfacings, then move along for 8-20 minutes out of sight. We were lucky that it wasn't playing the hold the breath game, and saw it rise three or four times, twice diving deep, and flicking it's tail up in the air. I don't have a telephoto lens, so no photo's that are much more than a blur on some water, but from my vantage point on the top deck, it was awesome. Also they way they feed is interesting. They can create a bubble net by blowing a vortex of bubbles around some tasty fish to herd them together, and then swallow the column of fishy, planktony water whole, filter out the sea water and swallow the rest.

But the best was to come.

There was supposed to be a pod of itinerant orcas in the area. Apparently orcas come in two flavours. There's fish eating killer whales, that swim in reasonably big groups of 10-40, and eat salmon. They tend to stay in one area (where area is still a pretty large place). They consume 200 pounds of fish a day. Pretty sure they don't go for Sainsbury's Jamie Oliver approved, Taste the Difference Oak-smoked salmon, as I'm not sure they could afford that sort of life style.

Itinerant Orca's roam far and wide in a pod of 3-4. They tend to stay with their mothers for most of the lives, and are the true 'killers', eating harbour seals, porpoises and whales. They've been known to also take out bears and dogs that have come into the shallows. There's even footage of one annoyed orca matriarch taking down a great white.

The two groups don't mix. They are the same species, but apparently genetically distinct. The fish eaters stay away from the itinerants, who only tend to come into the former's waters when they are off the other end of it chasing tasty salmon. Some of the orcas they've tracked for 50-60 years, so they've got pretty long life spans as well, but no trace of interbreeding.

The group had been spotted close into shore and we tracked them up along the shoreline of Victoria. All the millionaire houses were maybe 100 yards from this pod who looked to be chasing some tasty seal snacks into shore. They can't have been more than 10 foot from the shoreline at one point as the dove inside some rocks and then came dashing out. The pilot was hoping for some blood, as he'd only seen orca's take down a seal once in seven years.

This type of killer whale aren't as playful or as noisy as the fish eaters, so we weren't treated to any displays (apparently they will jump around naturally and without some human waving fish and hoops around), but seeing these huge beasts rise up a so close to me was impressive. We could see their black backs and white eye patches clearly, and the differences between the male (huge dorsal fins) and the females (smaller fins, stayed up for longer, and took the lead).

Once we left the orcas to head for home we cut up through the gulf island that I'd flown over two days before, and was treated to a great sun set over the channel between two of the islands, before heading across the Georgia Strait to enter the Burrard Strait and into Vancouver harbour. It was a long stretch home, but again the views and the wind in my hair was worth it. I walked home from the harbour tired, saltblown, but exhilarated.

Victoria

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 21:04:21 GMT

Victoria is the capital city of British Columbia, and lies on a natural harbour at the southern end of Vancouver Island. Vancouver Island is big. 288 miles long, 60 miles wide, with a bunch of smaller islands lying of it's eastern and southern sides. It mass protects Vancouver and the rest of the Lower BC mainland from the expanse of the Pacific. Greater Victoria is home to 335,000 people. Scale of places in North America still confuses me. I keep thinking the island is small, because islands are small (Isle of Man, Isle of Wight), but it's not much smaller than England or Scotland.

Vancouver Island was found by Captain James Cooke in 1778. Well, not so much found, as first landed upon by westerners. I suspect the Mowachaht people knew where it was all along. Captain George Vancouver (British navy) and Captain Bodega y Quadra (Spanish Navy) met up here in 1792, and debated the sovereignty of the island, circumnavigating it and mapping the land. Again I suspect Chief Maquinna was pretty sure who had sovereignty of the island, but was probably less concerned about such strange issues as too who 'owned' it. The island was then called Vancouver and Quadra's island for a long time, until the land rights were settled and it became a British Colony. Fort Victoria was founded in 1850, and has pretty much been a head quarters of the various naval forces ever since. Eventually the colony of Vancouver's Island and British Columbia were joined together, and became part of Canada in 1871. With Victoria remaining as the capital, as Vancouver (the city) was pretty much still a few shacks and a pub run by Gassy Jack. I know the people incorporating the city decided to name it after the island, but why when it was days sailing away. I guess 'Gastown' wasn't sexy enough.

So the Captain George Vancouver gets his name immortalised in a city and an Island. Captain Quadra gets a street. Queen Victoria got the city named after her, and she never even went here. Chief Maquinna got bugger all, as far as I can tell. More evidence that the British are the greatest thieves of all time.

I'm sitting in Victoria's inner harbour, in the sun, sipping a can of Nestea iced tea, watching the boats go in and out and the floatplanes land, the world go by, and catching a bit of sun. In a couple of hours I'm due on the Prince of Whales (sic and indeed groan) Whale watching tour that heads out of here, up the coast, through the Gulf Islands and back into port in Vancouver, where I took of from a few days ago.

Once I got here, I grabbed a coffee at french-style cafe, checked the tourist guides and then went up to Craigdarroch Castle. The Castle was built in 1890 as the home for the Dunsmuir family. The Dunsmuir came from Ayrshire as miners, struck a huge coal seam, got incredibly rich and decided to build there own manor on the highest point above Victoria. Unfortunately, James Dunsmuir died before he could move in, but his family lived there for 18 years, before inheritance issues forced it be sold.

The Dunsmuir's not only made it big with coal, they built the first railroad across the island, for which they were given 750,000 pounds and land rights to around a quarter of the island. For building a railway. Not bad work if you can get it. Sons of the family went on to become Governors and Lieutenant's of British Columbia, and various high society notaries.

The Castle then became an army hospital, a music school, a normal school and the offices of the Victoria school board, until it was taken back over by a group of enthusiasts to preserve and revert it back to it's Victorian heritage. It's got a lot of wood. Wood every where, paneled on the walls, the staircases, around the fireplaces, in the window frames, the seats. It's like the theme. The architect must have owned some pretty large tracts of timber land. It's also got many impressive stained glass windows, giving it an almost church like air.

I walked out of there, back into the city proper (I keep thinking town, but it's a city, sense of scale and all that), had a tour of the old buildings (The Empress Hotel could quite easily sit on Brighton's sea front, and the Parliament buildings are typical British Colonial, all arches, big chunks of stone and domed tours). I then took a look around Miniature World. Which was indeed pretty small. The history of the Trans-Canada railway was interesting, but the rest was merely small stuff. Except the Miniature, working, scale model of a lumbermill. Which was switched off due to it being a fire hazard.

I had dinner in the Sticky Wicket Pub, which is one of five restaurants in the Strathcona hotel, and not really that pub-like. But the food was excellent, with plenty of garlic in the garlic mash and a cracking piece of meatloaf. A couple of pints, but no cricket on the TV's. Just Baseball.

The next day, I headed up to Cardova Bay. This looks out across the Georgia Strait to the Gulf Islands and the North-West corner of the USA. The views were wonderful, the sea being that picture postcard shade of blue, the sky holiday blue, the grass golf-course green. The last helped being as I was on a golf course. A little, 9 hole, par 3 course. I hacked around twice in 40 over. I believe that's not good. But it was worth it for the views, and the sixth hole. This has tee off point 20 foot above a artificial pond, across which lies the green. I put four balls in the water, naturally. But that was the fun part. It reminded me of the episode of Seinfeld where Karmer goes golfing on the beach, just to hit balls into the sea and see them splash. No whales were harmed in my attempts.

I had a spot of lunch (a BLT wrap) there as well, and a go on the crazy golf course nearby. Just for my inner child, of course, and headed back quite tired and full of fresh air. I decided to take a trip ut to the casino for tea. Bad idea. The food was the worst I've had. Something called a Gambler's Reuben Salt beef, nasty cheese and onions in a toasted rye sandwich. Least I won a mini-jackpot on the Starwars game with my first go, so came out up.

This morning I had the second worst meal I've had since I've been out here, in the breakfast bar at the hotel. I like big fluffy pancakes and sausage or bacon. But somehow they'd managed to remove the flavour from it all and left a plate of greasy, carby mess. So don't eat in the Howard Johnson on Gorge, Victoria, or the Royal View Casino. That's your top secret tourist tip for today.

Done a tour of the shops this morning, finding 4 comic shops and three board game shops in the space of about 4 blocks. I spent nothing. I am impressed with myself. And now just thinking about a coffee. And more sunscreen.

Always wear sunscreen. I learned that from Baz Luhrmann.

Is it a Plane? Is it a Boat? Er, yes....

Tue, 29 Aug 2006 19:57:15 GMT

I caught a short flight from Vancouver to Victoria this morning from Harbour Air. Harbour Air fly from Coal Harbour, Downtown Vancouver to Victoria harbour every 30 minutes in 12 seater seaplanes. Actually 13 seater, as I discovered. The floatplaneport (is that a word?) is a collection of small buildings, completely unlike Heathrow. I checked in 45 minutes before my flight and was offered a seat on the next plane leaving in 15 minutes. On boarding, the pilot stowed my bag and asked if I wanted the co-pilot's seat. Smelling a wind up, I went to sit down next to an elderly gent, who kindly informed me the co-pilot seat was upfront, and he wasn't joking. He then did the safety briefing (the escape is here, and well, here only really).

Thus I got a front-eye view of the whole flight. Which was well worth the sixty pounds it cost. Take off took about 200 yards, it seemed, and we bumped our way up towards the cloud base to cruise a 2500 feet above the Georgia Strait. I got a excellent view of Vancouver, the Lions Gate Bridge, and the airport (which we flew directly over, which seemed odd until I realised it was the only place that planes wouldn't be at around 2500 feet).

The plane dash over the water to the smear of islands off the coast of Vancouver Island. They all looked like they've been teased out of the rock, like pieces of plasticine discarded by an ADD toddler, leaving long narrow bays and inlets in the terrain.

The plane bounced over Cowichan Bay and then dipped into Victoria. We followed the harbour inlet south towards the sea and then started to descend sharply into the town. We seemed to be aiming for the main street but at around 200 feet we swung to aim for the Royal Canadian Bank and then onto the waterfront itself to settle on the water not too long after it appeared under my feet. A short cruise back, and it was done. The pilot offloaded our bags, and I was in Victoria, capital of British Columbia.

Pacific North Exhibition

Tue, 29 Aug 2006 02:04:25 GMT

I did promise to update more often. But that would have involved a busy week, and last week wasn't really that busy. I played some more golf (still bad, but slightly better), some poker (still not losing money), did some more gym stuff (still unfit, and still not slim and lithe) and some general wandering around, shopping and that kind of thing.

My lovely host here is letting me stay for a while longer (cheers Althalee) which I like to think is because of my silky smooth cookery skills, wit charm and repartee. Answers on a postcard.

Saturday was a visit to The Fair at the PNE. The PNE is a big show ground in the suburbs of Vancouver that hosts various events and bands and things. It also has a semi-permanent fair ground. The Fair is Lower Mainland (read bottom half of British Columbia that isn't the island) tradition, from what the spin says. It's a variety of shows, a farm show (quite small), lots of rides, food and shopping. The shopping, however, is not your high street type. Nope. Imagine if you took QVC and the infomercial channels got exploded, and scattered over a wide area. You can buy the V-slicer, the Magic Grill, nail art fashion, the CleanSweep(TM) brush, delinters, the OnlyPansYou'llEverNeed (copyright pending) and everything else.

I could have had my colour aura read, my leather boots polished, my family coat of arms printed and my phone modified to be on a bungee cord. I could have, but I resisted temptation. My felllow Fair-goers brought the grill (actually really good, after trying it out on chicken and cheese toasties today), the nail care kit, the tortilla chips (really really good salsa) and all sorts of other gumph. I could easily have shelled out $2,500 on a superb set of pans, but decided I couldn't fit them in my luggage.

Elsewhere in the PNE we saw the superdogs! These are well trained rescue dogs doing running and jumping and walking on hind legs. The dogs seem to love it, and they all types, from whippets to Picardy retrievers. Apparently you can't take them home though, however cute they are.

I avoided Nearly Neil, the Neil Diamond cover band, and instead did the rides. Or one ride, the Slingshot. I would have done more but it seemed expensive when I can get a weekday pass for less. The Slingshot was awesome (to borrow a phrase). It's a round cage that starts on the ground, and gets bungee'd upwards. It hated the first three bounces, but after that it was okay, the adrenaline kicked in and I was buzzing. Not having queue up and having someone dragging me on made me avoid getting the 'fear of heights' kicking in. Plus starting on the ground helped.

We then wandered around the fair, and people played the silly knock down jars game to win tat. Like a stuffed Crazy Frog. Or a stuffed Stewie (Family Guy), or a cheap felt hat. I got everyone on the Dodge Ems (not the bumper cars, it's more fun to try and avoid being hit that ramming your friends, in my book). A very tired Chris made it home, thoroughly worn out, but it was a great day out at the fair.

Tomorrow I fly to Vancouver Island, so stay tuned.

Lions and Flyers, Lions and Flyers

Mon, 21 Aug 2006 19:17:19 GMT

On Friday, I went to the BC Dome to watch the BC Lions play the Edmonton Eskimos. The Lions are Vancouver's Canadian Football Team. Canadian Football is an odd sport. No-one outside Canada plays it (there was a couple of aborted attempts to expand into America franchises, but these failed due to lack of TV money and fan support). It's almost exactly like American Football in the rules, but in many ways the games quite tactically different due to those differences.

Game day though is much the same, just on a less grand scale than going to an NFL game. Still for a sport that is not Ice Hockey, the dome has 33,000 spectators (what Sheffield Wednesday would do for that sort of crowd), the action was good and lots of cheering. All led by two men.

Crazy P had a drum and the letter D and a fence. Crazy P marched everywhere drumming up support and acting like the official loon of the British Columbia Lions. Whatever he was taking, it must have been good. Along with Crazy P was a little man with a microphone with a line in heavy enunciation of words. "Lets make sommmmmmeeee NOOOIIIISSSSEEEEEE". "Lets Fill this stadium wiiTHHHHHH SOUND!". "The players deserve you CHEEERRRRSSS! Come on, one more time, BRIINNNNGGGGG IT!". "This is the LOUDDDESST stadium on EARRRRRRTH!" It seemed to work as the Lions scraped home a 30-28 win after Edmonton fluffed an easy field goal in the dying seconds by dropping the ball.

Saturday was Canada's first Redbull Flugtag. This involved various nutjobs pushing large objects off a 20 foot high platform into False Creek. There was a vague hope that they'd fly, but only one came close to this aim. The rest did a variety of version of plummeting into the water, normally preceded by a dance or skit. Ice Hockeyh is big here. We had three teams with some sort of Hockey related 'flyer', including a cardboard Zamboni machine. Which plummeted nicely. And a flying ice hockey boot, that fell at a slower rate than the wheels it was on.

There was also a 'flying' moustache, a 99B Bus, a stereo, a replica of the Science World Dome (that fell like a rock and made no forward progress), some Quebecois with Flying Poutain and a couple of serious entries. These were proper looking gliders, one which was doing okay until it's tail hit the launch platform and pitched down into the drink. The other actually glided for about 100 foot. And duly won. If winning is what a FlugTag is about. All good, in lovely summer weather and I didn't burn myself. A result.

I have a few pictures up.

Sore bottomed boys.

Sat, 19 Aug 2006 19:41:43 GMT

I'm not going to do a huge update, even though I've got plenty to write. I must get in the habit of just jotting down a few paragraphs when they occur to me. I have moved again down to my friend Alt's downtown apartment, on the main shopping/restaurant street of Vancouver. I'm a walk from anywhere in central Vancouver and short cycle from everywhere.

Cycling? I have brought a bike. A battered, second-hand red bike for $50. Or less than 25 pounds. It goes, it gets me around and is in great condition. The downside was that the cycling helmet and lock cost me more than the bike. But best to keep myself intacto, and with a bike, rather than with a large skull fracture or a missing bike when five miles away from home.

Vancouver's pretty friendly for cycling. Not flat enough for my liking, but that's another story. The first thing tat helps is wide, wide roads. All the main streets are 4-6 lanes wide, and often have a cycling lane. The side roads are often designated cycle routes and 3-4 lanes wide. Meaning no arguments with traffic. People stop for bikes. And when you come to a major cross roads/intersection, the cycle routes have a button to press that stops the traffic for you to cross. Stopping 6 lanes of speeding trucks, coupes and SUV's just for me to cross over? Priceless.

The down side to cycling when your not used to it is the sore bum. I'll get used to it, I'm sure, but right now, after a few reasonably long rides my cocix is giving me right gyp.

But for now, I'm off again to watch idiots throw themselves of a pier trying to 'fly'. More on that, football and other stories later.

Lazy sunny afternoons...

Sun, 13 Aug 2006 03:32:59 GMT

It's Saturday, the sun is out, the sky is blue, and I'm watching cricket. The Brockton Oval was describe by Donald Bradman as the most scenic cricket ground in the world. It's on the headland of Stanley park and has sea on two sides, and woodland on the other two. You can see the slope of the mountains to the north, below which lies North Vancouver's tower blocks and urban sprawl. Next to this is a dock with huge piles of bright yellow powder and blue cranes.

On the south side, the sea leads over to downtown Vancouver. There's a huge cruise ship docked at Canada Place, bound for Alaska. Canada Place is roofed with sail like domes, and tiered levels, intended to make it look like the cruise ships it serves. Beyond this you can see the high rise, glass and steel office blocks of Vancouver that make the city so popular for the film industry. More American than America really is.

Oops, missed a wicket.

Behind me is the rugby ground, on which there's a softball game being played. Softball seems like slow form of Baseball. Which is like comparing a sloth to a tortoise. But the locals seemed into it, and by the occasional cheers, someone's winning.

Stanley Park is busy today, which isn't surprising during the middle of Summer, on a Saturday and the weather is glorious. But even for a busy tourist spot, there's a that slightly relaxed atmosphere that I love about Canada. It's not the Manana of Spain, or the deathly slow pace of the village in rural England. But more a 'we'll get where we are going, just as long as it takes'.

I spent Thursday walking around False Creek, which is the water on the south side of the main downtown area. It's a lot further than I thought, but a stop off at Telus Science World, sushi bar and casino broke it up.

Science World was packed with kids. Which is the target market, not a 31 year-old childless male. Still, there loads of hands on exhibits and demonstrations to play with. If you can barge the ankle biters out of the way. The highlight was the film in the OMNIMax cinema. Built in the mid 80's as part of Expo 86, it's housed in a geodesic dome (or buckyball). Not dissimilar to the IMAX in central London, but seems to 'wrap' above you more. I watched a film about the "Tour de France". Which was worth it for the sweeping camera shots rather than the explanation of the central nervous system. Riding above and around the tour was worth the $10 admission, especially with the sense of vertigo as the camera pans over another mountain face to show the race below.

Oops another one out.

Sushi was average, but very cheap. The casino was very average and dull. But I suppose I'm spoilt by Las Vegas. Not much to report apart from very achey legs by the time I got back home. So no wild night out there then.

190-4 off 36 overs. I have no idea whose playing, though I think one side might be the Bengali Bears B team.

In fact no wild nights out to report yet at all. Sorry to disappoint!

I would walk 500 miles...

Fri, 11 Aug 2006 16:40:45 GMT

So, I'm here. Entries are a bit lagged behind real time right now, so please bare with me while I catch up!

Monday
Here currently being the sofa/bed in my friend's front room where I am staying for the next few days. The first three days where spent in the Victorian Hotel, which is a cheap, but good Vancouver Hotel I've used a few times before. Just to orientate yourself, if you so desire, there's a map of Vancouver centre and the environs here.

Once I landed, I met my friends and got driven to the hotel. All good, all easy, spent the afternoon and evening catching up, having a small beer at the Steamworks bar (beer with lemon in it, I know I'm in Canada then), and then sleeping. I had hoped to kill the jet lag by staying up till gone 10, but by 4.30am I was wide awake again.

So a pages of my book and working out the Internet in the room later, I eventually got up around midday, had a proper sized American breakfast (hash browns, bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, coffee by the gallon) at a local diner and faced the day.

First order of business was a mobile phone. Or more specifically a mobile phone SIM card on pay as you go. There's the normal range of suppliers in Canada, but one thing I couldn't fathom was that all incoming calls to my phone would be charged. The charge for picking up the phone! Go figure.

Eventually, the nice lady at Fido sorted me through the maze of options (Caller ID is a benefit they will sell you, as is the ability to send texts and get voice mails), got a SIM card, unlocked my phone and I'm away. Fido are cute. Their top up cards have dogs on them. Ahhhh.

Monday here was a bank holiday, so the shopping area was quiet but the main street Robson was heaving. I had a dinner plan and we just got the last seats in the Chinese restaurant before the queue (line up) started. Hon's was fabulous. It cost us about 6 pounds each (for three) for which we got a huge bowl of soup, 3 main courses, rice, rice and rice, and dessert. Fresh veg, lightly cooked in great sauces with flavoursome meat. No MSG. And huge portions. We just about defeated them. Just.

Then it was time to hit London Drugs (the same as Boots, I guess, but with slightly more food, and about as an amusing as name), for drinks, sun tan lotion and shampoo. I had been confused in the UK why my shampoo wasn't lathering up sufficiently well. I thought it was something to do with the water. Except it's soft in Scotland. Like my head. Conditioner isn't well known for working up into a big soapy mess.

Ahem.

Shopping down, we settled down for a night of bad TV, Gordon Ramsay (boy, he's big here) and a board game "Power Grid". Which I embarrassingly won on my first playing.

Tuesday

Tuesday I awoke slightly later (5.30am). The good news was that my shampoo lathered. Marvellous. I walked from my hotel down to Coal Harbour (which is the boat plane port and one of the pricier areas of town) and gazed at the seaplanes and huge yachts. There's also a sculpture trail, which started with a small church positioned upside down. And went more abstract from there. Photos to follow.

I walked around the harbour, and up into Stanley Park around the Lost Lagoon (I found it, I found it! Where's my reward?) and across to the other side of the headland which over looks English Bay. And also houses Stanley Park Golf Course. I had a go on the par 3, pitch and putt. I got around in 54.

54 Minutes. And 33 over par. Room for some improvement, I feel. It started to rain just as I finished, so I walked the rest of the way back into town, stopping for a Tea in Blenz (like Starbucks, but with free wi-fi). By the time I got back to the hotel, I was pretty shattered, and decided to skip the art gallery. Something for another day.

Wednesday

Wednesday was moving day. I departed the hotel in Jenn's Snowy Marmot (aka a white pseudo sportscar, best described as a hairdresser's car) and arrived at the very desirable 12th and Oak, and Jenn's Houseshare. For the benefit of my more sensistive readers, I'll leave a veil over what over half the shelves are stocked with her. Suffice to say, Jenn runs her own online business. If yu want to know, email me, I can get you a discount. The sofa's comfortable enough, so that's all that matters. We then headed down to her place of work, had a coffee, and I set off for Granville Island to do the shopping.

Granville island isn't really an island anymore. It's small area of land between two of the high level road bridges on the waterfront of False Creek. It's surrounded by Marina's and very nice waterfront apartments. The island itself is home to arts and crafts stores (I'll come back to the First Nations art another day, as it needs a lot of describing), boat supplies, scuba lessons, a model railway musuem, artisan bakers, a lovely seaside bar that does great Martini's and a market.

The market is food porn. Rows of quality vegetables. Fresh seafood laid out on ice just so. Fresh cuts of meat, sausages and bacon (both false, American bacon and proper British Cuts). Fresh Pasta with all the necessary parts for any sauce you can imagine. Fudge being made live in front of you. Vietnamese herb stores selling Thai Basil and Betel. Feta cheese made by Rocky Mountain Goats.

It's all placed out with care, lined up and squared up. The clerks know their produce (the butcher introduced my to prime rib of cow #2534 from Chilliwack), how it can be prepared and best served. It's a little more expensive, but worth it. jenn made fresh pesto with fresh pasta, chicken and salad and it was perfect. All the fresh flavours that Ramsay, Oliver et al bang on about.

So that evening we ate like kings and queens, talked about insurance and then watched Pirates of the Carribbean. One of the few films I'll watch multiple times. Good, low key evening. And then to bed...

Come fly with me..

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 20:23:15 GMT

Air travel is exceptionally dull. You queue up to check in. Then you queue up to be x-rayed and frisked. Then you queue up to get on the plane. Twice. Once for the boarding card, once to be seated. Then you wait to take off. Then you wait for the plane to land on the first leg. And you then wait to take off again. Then you wait for the first movie. And then wait to be fed. And then, well you get the idea. It's a series of waits. Long tedious dull waits.

When I got on the Zoom Air flight, I was confused why the first row of seats seemed to be so close. I thought it was some sort of special row for kids. Then I realised EVERY row was like that. I did fit in though, and certainly didn't regret my choice of aisle seat. Only one person to squeeze past, and the views once over Northern Canada were excellent.

I took some Nytol and wore ear plugs and slept (fitfully) for the first three hours out of Manchester. Then had shepherds pie (ugh, why did I bother?) and read. The lady sitting next to me sat for the entire 9 hour flight doing nothing. She didn't sleep, she didn't read. She didn't watch a movie. Just stared at the windows every so often. I however finished most of Clive Barker's 'Weaveworld' and watched the earth slip by.

You can see ice bergs, and glaciers calving. Then the glacier on mountains, looking like dirty great tongue rolling down the slopes of mountains. Then it suddenly turned into patchy brown earth, which then turned into scrub, and the scrub into farmland with the big square's of yellow and green, carved by the river. You could see the plateau of farm land fall away into the river gorge's, and the river's combine and get larger. You never know quite where you are when you see these little villages surrounded for miles by farmland and woods.

The fields then turned into the mountains, and the snow untouched and looking just ripe for a snowball fight. Except it'd be far too cold and far to far to hike just to make Mr Frosty and some snow angels. The peaks all poked out of the white snow a crisp, clear brown, and the upper reaches have the odd ultra-blue mountain pool. The plane slowly descends over the edge of the Rockies into the coast line north of Vancouver. You can see the island looming just over the straight, and suddenly population exists. There's towns, and boats, and cars. And then the vast sprawl of Vancouver, the docks, and the huge log rafts, and the grid-iron of the suburbs, and airport, and then your down, and in the gate, off the plane.

And the waiting begins again. Except, it's not so bad, as you've arrived. Finally.

(NOTE: I backdated the previous entry, and if your on the subscription you may not have gotten it. It's here if you're keen: The Last Flight Out... )

Scotland's for me

Thu, 03 Aug 2006 21:28:36 GMT

I am now safely ensconced in my parents house in Innerleithen. The Scottish borders is rolling hills, wide valleys full of corn, and green. They've had rain up here, which has kept everything fecund. It is a good change from the parched earth, dusty tarmac, sweat sodden streets of London.

I have taken a bit of time looking around the towns and villages my parents live near. And just generally getting into the swing of being my own master. Except, I'm being catered for here, don't have to pay the rent, or think too hard. Well, one step at a time.

Galashiels.

Gala (as it's known locally) is a pretty uninspiring town. I have seen its Aldi though. And Aldi has sells some very nice crisps. I also did banking things there. Savings and the like. I also did telephone insurance things, which involved me mumbling about the price of insurance and hanging up on Halifax as quick as possible once I discovered the price. I am now travel insured, not as much as I'd like for my possessions. I'll take the 5-1 shot they were effectively offering me NOT to lose everything I own. I like those odds. I've been on holiday loads of times and never lost 500 quids worth of 'valuables'.

Innerleithen.

I went to the butchers in Innerleithen and brought haggis. Rather my mother did. Haggis makes a wonderful supper. If you try and forget the ingredients, you'll do fine. Don't try and remmber it's heart, lungs and kidney, minced with oatmeal and cooked in a stomach. That may put you RIGHT off it.

The butchers was also selling warm scotch pies, black pudding and other scots delicacies. I resisted them all. Scotch Pies can wait till tomorrow. This was a proper butcher, not your Sainsburies meat counter. He'll cut you up anything. He probably knows the name of the cow that's in the mince today. He even probably sold 'special' sausages a la "The League of Gentlemen", but I'm not local enough to ask.

Instead you could settle for pork sausages, beef sausages or Lorne sausage. No sage, dried tomato with fettuccine Pork chipolata's here. Meat or meat. Lorne square sausage has this lovely symmetry about it. The idea you can fry it up in a pan, and it'll fit perfectly into white sliced to make a sandwich [1]. The concept is all good, and if we could also have the square egg to go on top of it, we'd be away. However, this great idea fails in one important point. Lorne sausage tastes nasty. It's fatty, it's scraggy, it's made from tag ends of beef and the lack of a skin means the juices don't stay inside. And it's the way a sausage cooks in its own juices that makes it worth eating, that keeps the flavour in. Don't prick them! Don't! That's why sausage patties on planes are nasty, that's why MacDonald's sausage is better of used to feed the dog, and that's why Lorne sausage is best avoided. No juices.

Innerleithen is also home to Robert Smail's print works. It's a National Trust property, but also still working on a small scale. My parents are employed there part-time doing archiving and tours. What's interesting is that they've got 150+ years of paperwork kept there. The old owners never threw anythign away. This makes it an amazing social history resource. Not just the sales invoices, but samples of everything printed; the local paper, invoices for local firms, notices and the like. And they've got big hulking printers.

I know one or two people would be happy to watch these in action. There's cogs and rollers and gizmo's cranking away. Paper goes in, get thrown around and comes out with big squiggles on it. Big bits of machinery, some of which that have been in use for 100+ years to do printing work, and used to be water powered too. That said, I prefer the print button on a PC then the hassle of type setting. Took me two attempts to write my name using the metal stamps. Sod laying up a newspaper over 13 hours of work!

Peebles.

I went with my mother to do the 'messages'. 'Messages' means shopping and things. It may involve dropping of a a letter, or seeing a couple of folk in the shops. But it means shopping. In Peebles, all the shops bar about three are local shops. This means they sell anything the owner feels like. The DIY shop extended into an old flint stone courtyard, which was covered over. Just as if the collection of random screws, non-drip paint, bird nuts, copper nameplates and PSPs (with 1, 2 or 3 games) had bust out a few years ago, and the owner had taken one look at it and decided just to extend the shop over the resulting pile up in his backyard.

The bakers sold all sorts of bread (duh), and potato scones. These are another Scottish Delicacy, but much, much nicer than Lorne Sausage. Sort of like a fluffy pancake made from potato, so quite savoury. But nice toasted with butter. They didn't sell any cheese scones, so I did my Gordon Ramsay bit at home, through flour around and made my own. Not too bad, but I've got a long way to go to do as well as my Great-Grandmother in the baking stakes.

Cardrona.

Cardrona Hotel, Golf and Country Club (tagline “The St. Andrew's of the Borders”) is a horrible white monolith in the middle of the Tweed valley. It could be a nice building if they'd put some trees around it, or got someone with a feel for the area involved. However, it does have a golf course around it, and I was there to play golf. Well learn how to get club on ball and hit it.

I intend to play a bit in Vancouver and possibly in other places to, as a way to see a bit of scenery but not feel like I'm on a pointless hike. The opposite of Twain's "Golf is a good walk wasted". More the reason for the walk itself. I had an hours coaching. I can now hit the ball (mostly) straight. If noit very far. Was fun, except I have very sore thumb now. Something I can see myself enjoying on occasions. If I can tame the inverted snob in me.

Traquair.

Traquair is a small village on the other side of the tweed, and is only really notable for Traquair House. This is the oldest, continaully inhabitated house in Scotland. It's also where Bonnie Prince Charlie set of from in 1745, and the Bear gates leading up to it will not be opened again until a Stuart again sits on the Scottish Throne.

More importantly, they brew some very good, strong beer there. Which I've found as far afield as Seattle. And my Dad's beer supply. So this has been brought to you by Jacobite ale. 8%. Yum.

There would be a few pictures, but I've managed to do something stupid and delete all of them but the one of Cardrona (see the user icon). So maybe tomorrow.

[1] I'm learning Canadian, and apparently they wouldn't understand 'sarnie'.