By Popular Demand - More Photos of life in Lesotho

Patty holds a pair of shoes left by a child at the Centre one day (and then reclaimed the next). A lot of playing and general walking is done in bare feet - mostly by necessity rather than choice.

Local girls running to the water tap - with bucket in anticipation of some water for a change.

Raphoka Primary School boys traditional Basutho dance group - in full flight on "Youth Against HIV/AIDS" Day at Pitseng Youth Centre (December 6, 2008)

Patty at "Storytime" in the "lapa" (Rondoval) at the Youth Centre

The view from our front porch - Raphoka Primary School and the Maloti Mountains

A friendly , local troubadour serenading us on our 7:00 a.m. walk in the hills.

Christmas in Umhlanga Rocks (does it ever!)

We are spending Christmas and New Year's at Umhlanga Rocks just up the Indian ocean coast from Durban. Yesterday, I celebrated Christmas with a warm and refreshing dip in the pounding surf of the Indian ocean. The beaches here are spectacular if not a bit crowded - especially so in the designated "swimming areas" which are not only protected by lifeguards but, more importantly, shark nets. Given that they caught a 850kg Great White off these waters last year, I guess a little caution is in order.


As much as we love Lesotho, it is certainly nice to be "out of town" for a while and hard to imagine a more stark contrast in Africa than this. On Sunday, when we left Pitseng, our village truly and finally seemed to have run out of water. We watched women (always women!) lining up at several community taps filling their their dirty old jerry can water containers as the water literally drip, drip, dripped out of the taps. Not only would it take an hour to fill the containers this way but the water has developed, shall we say, a rather earthy hue and texture which, I suspect, we alone notice under the circumstances. To add to our own liquidity crisis, we cannot buy bottled water in the local commercial centre, the highly-inappropriately named "London" aka Pitseng Centre. As a result, we have to buy water in Hlotse - 2 hours back and forth up the road on the ever-colourful and crowded mini-bus taxis.

I initially thought the lack of electricity in the village would be our major problem but have quickly learned that this pales in comparison to being without dependable drinking water. A large portion of Lesotho's fresh water seems to be dammed up high in the Maloti mountains and then piped into South Africa through one of these proverbial "great feats of global engineering" water diversion projects. Clearly, the country could use this water but most locals believe that the country can better use the billions of South African rands that it receives for the water every year - accounting for a whopping 25% of total government revenues. (Does anyone hear the disturbing rumblings of a possible parallel story in Canada's future viz our neighbours to the south?) I dare say taxing beer might be a good fiscal solution as well. Foreigners and tourists, at least, would not notice an increase in the astounding $1.00 per bottle price of cold Heineken in Hloste's best hotel bar. I suspect this tax grab may not be as popular with the locals - but, to paraphrase Marie Antoinette, "Let them drink Scotch!" In a selfless gesture, I will undertake to draft such a policy for the local authorities - to take effect in February 2009 which would be, coincidentally, just after our departure.

We've decided to follow the water-flow tradition ourselves and whisked ourselves off to South Africa. A few days after watching the dripping taps and cranking open another can of something for a "pasta again!" dinner, we found ourselves enjoying sushi and cold beer in a gargantuan 300-store mall complex on the way to see a movie at the mall's 16 theatre cinema. A tropical Christmas and New Year's will certainly be a change for us - especially given the weather in Victoria which we gather has taken an uncharacteristic frosty turn.

As we reflect at Christmas on all that we have and should be thankful for, please think of those that have less than a little - indeed, nothing - in places like Lesotho. We have been supporters of Help Lesotho for four years now and our experience on the ground has certainly demonstrated that a few dollars can go a long, long way to make a real difference in lives here - whether they be those of the many orphans struggling without parents to support and guide them or the heroic grandmothers who pick up the burden of care when the parents die. I know that at home everyone is pre-occupied with recession, fiscal crises, economic meltdowns, the need for a new Bretton Woods etc. etc.. While I would not argue against the merits of these concerns, I see a situation in Lesotho that is so desperate that these issues are pushed so far from the radar screen as to be irrelevant. While you are all in the gift-giving spirit, please consider this - less than $50.00 a month (the price of four movie tickets - even without popcorn!) will keep a child in school and off the streets; half of this amount will help a grandmother supporting orphans (as in the grandmother with 4 orphans below). I invite you to check out Help Lesotho's website for more details on how you can make a donation at: http://www.helplesotho.ca/.

With our best wishes for a happy, healthy New year

Life is Short Brutish and Nasty

Life that is Short, Brutish and Nasty - so said Hobbes?, the Bard ? or some other frequently quoted notable - a phrase that is, sadly, very relevenat to life in 21st century Lesotho.

It has been a tough week in Pitseng that certainly bears reflection as we get ready to celebrate Christmas. Last Friday, one of the workers at Sister Celestine’s bakery was robbed and murdered during a roadside run-in with thugs on a country road about 10km from here. He was carrying a load of bread and about 1500 Rand ($180.00). We were heard this news from the local Catholic priest (and one of my French students) as we walked to the bakery on Monday morning. We were met by the eerie spectacle of two nuns scrubbing the back of the truck to remove the bloodstains. As tragic the circumstance – strangely, the mood was a bit somber but very much business as usual. In a country where death is a very frequent visitor and the national life expectancy is low and falling, death is very much part of daily life however it arrives.

The next day we had some very sad news that one of our teenage friends, Mohapo, had been dispatched from her home in Pitseng village to live with her grandmother. Mohapo is part of a very tight threesome of teenage girls we call the “Puzzling Girls” because of their fascination with tireless repetition of the three jigsaw puzzles that we bought for the centre. Mohapo has been a “double orphan” (without mother or father) since she was twelve. She had lived with her aunt and uncle in Pitseng for the past five years trying her best to remake her life and friendships in a new place and circumstance. On one of our classic thunder and lightning storm nights last week, Mohapo apparently forgot to do her job and shelter the family firewood from the storm. This might have been a single occurrence or the “last straw”, we don’t know – in any event, one week before Christmas she was summarily dispatched to live with her grandmother some 80km away in the mountains where she will, I’m sure, try her best to rebuild her life, friendships and school networks once again. Such is the fate and fleeting attachment to love and security endured by thousands of orphans in Lesotho day after day. We will miss Mohapo’s cheery laugh and broad-faced grin very much.

On a brighter note, school has ended for the summer holidays here and the centre is teeming with children and youth, many of whom are attracted to our newly installed volleyball court – our own gift to the youth of Pitseng. On the final day of classes at our neighbouring Raphoka Primary, Patty and I went to the “final assembly” - basically 150 kids crammed into a battered and beaten classroom- and sang them “Jingle Bells”. Being a nation of profoundly talented singers, the children caught onto the catch chorus very quickly – no matter how Patty and tortured this tune in our delivery. Two weeks later, we often here children yelling their greetings over the fields and singing the chorus back to us. Unfortunately, something was definitively lost in the delivery or translation as what we often hear the chorus delivered to us as – “Jungle bells, jungle bells, jungle all the way … “.

With best wishes to all for a merry Christmas and a happy, healthy New Year. May you join us in some of the lessons we’ve learned in our experience in Lesotho – namely, being greatly thankful for what we have and being a whole lot less inclined to complain about what we have not.

A Day in the Life at Pitseng Centre

I thought it might be time to fill you in on a typical day in the life at our mountain post in Pitseng ah Raphoka, Lesotho. Pitseng is actually a collection of small villages ranging over about 20 square kilometres split by mountains and magnificent gorge valleys. Where we are located is in an area called Pitseng ah Raphoka, a rural village with many small farm holdings and, strangely enough, 3 primary schools and a high school.

The typical day begins with Peter, our nightwatchman, rapping his farewell on our window at about 5:00 a.m. On most days, we've already been stirred at sunrise by a symphony of cacaphonious animal calls beginning, stereotypically, with roosters, followed by barking dogs and then by the pathetic braying of several local donkeys (what kind of mean trick was the creator playing on these poor animals when he gave them their voice). On the odd day when the local tap is running, we also hear wheelbarrows hauling water buckets up our lane starting about 6:00 a.m. The sun rises hot in Lesotho and the sweltering outlines of the day is already in place by 8:00 a.m. We recharge our water supplies from the two 2500 litre rain barrels at the house which, at least once a week have been filled to overflowing during the night by a bombardment of rain in the wake of one of the fantastic thunder and lightning storms that we've been treated to here. (Although, it must here be noted, that Lesotho has one of the highest death by lightning rates in the world). I try and get out every morning by 7:00 for a walk to take in the magnificent scenery. The mountains here remind me of the approach to the Rockies outside of Canmore, Alberta except that we enjoy a ring of mountains rather than a wall . Getting out of the centre involves a lot of unlocking of security grates, doors, fence gates until we are "free". Often our walk will take us to the Sisters of Charity of Ottawa bakery - a trailer beside the local convent - where we can buy a fresh loaf of Sister Celestina's bread and maybe some cupcakes if on offer. This is also a place where we can charge our phone, iPOD and other sundry electrical devices.

Not long after our return, children begin appearing at the gate, calling out for Patty, tennis balls, footballs and puzzles. These scruffy characters are among the most endearing people I have seen. Such joy in their smiles and laughs and amazement in their eyes contrast sharply with such poverty in their health and clothing. It is a sad but true that Patty and I are beginning to remember several of these children by their clothes - a feature that never changes day after day except, perhaps, by getting progressively dirtier. Things that we take for granted in Canada are fantastically popular in the Centre. We have bought 3 jig saw puzzles - each of which must have been completed at least a hundred times by now often by groups of children. A deck of cards can hold children fascinated for a long time. For two avid readers, we find ourselves blessed with a well-stocked 400 book library whose unusual collection features many African and Canadian titles alongside unusual treats like a biography of the Grateful Dead. I feel we are are the terminus of the international book recycling chain. We get several Lesotho and South African papers in every week which I comb through in bewilderment trying to sort through the complex state of affairs in South African politics or football both of which feature equal coverage.

Each week there is usually some special event going on at the Centre. My favourite is the monthly "Grandmother's Day" when Help Lesotho brings in 50 grandmothers from the villages for a day of socializing, group support and , importantly, food. My heart goes out to these strong and over-burdened women. I met one grandmother in a rural village tending for 5 orphans - some as young as two - not the way they had envisioned their golden years I'm sure. The grandmothers arrive on foot - singing and dancing as the enter the centre's gates. Lots of joyous ulultaing, hand waving and the broadest of smiles - an enchanting and colourful gathering. Patty and I love dancing with the grandmothers and are learning some unusual if not useful dance steps for home. Grandmother's day always features a pappa lunch - the Lesotho staple of cornmeal porridge accompanied by the widest range of chicken parts and shredded cabbage. When lunch is over, a flock of chickens and the odd stray dog enter the compound to perform the clean-up operation. .

Meals are a challenge us. After three weeks in France enjoying groaning cheese trays, we're giving the can opener a better work out than I've experienced for years. Our local tin shack food shops are not well endowed. We went into one the other day that had sum total of 3 onions, two apples and two bottles of cooking oil. For most essentials like bottled water and juice, we have to travel into Hlotse about 25km by rocking taxi-van from our place. We've even taken a necessary shining to instant coffee which I have observed is much improved from the last time I tasted a century ago (or is this just deprivation speaking). Eggs, however, are plentiful and cheap and very fresh - free-range being a necessity rather than a choice on the impoverished farms. Other local favourites include "Simbas" (potato chips), long tube sacks of cheesies and, of course, the staple food - pappa.

While these small local food stores are not doing well, others are, regrettably, flourishing. Lesotho Funeral Services is by far the wealthiest commercial operation we have seen in the country - always too busy and very evident in the community through the sponsorship of local football teams, community events and the like. One would also do well to invest in the barbed wire business in southern Africa which is apparently growing mile after mile.

Night-time falls early as the sun disappears behind the mountains around 7:00 pm. We are enjoying many, many candlelight dinners unencumbered as we are by electricity. We have also become huge fans of our Mountain Equipment LED micro headlamps which allow us to read into the night.

Lesotho Innovation Awards

I was reading the Lesotho "Public Eye" last week - a highly questionable contribution to the world of informed journalsim but news nonetheless. The Lesotho government is sponsoring an Innovation awards competition. Here is what I'm propsoing to submit under the category of "Water Resource Management"

The Pitseng Hot Water Shower

Don't despair if the continuing absence of electricity and running water appears to create an insurmountable obstacle to having a hot shower. Here is a handy and enjoyable "work around" that may serve the purpose - just pursue the following steps.

1. Aquire a 5 litre "bag in a box" container of South African wine - to your taste
2. Empty the contents (NB - This is my favourite step in the procedure and I think one that should stand me in good position to win the award);
3. Fill the empty aluminum foil "bladder" with cold water from the rain cisterns and close tap;
4. Leave the bladder out in the blistering Lesotho mountain sunshine for an afternoon (no shortage of this particular resource);
5. Re-insert bladder into the box;
6. Mount box to the bathroom ceiling;
7. Open wine tap and enjoy a hot shower

It should be noted that this technique has only been tested on Cabernet Sauvignon to date but it is not expected that the results will vary by type or vintage. However, more experimentation on this front is planned by the innovation team at the Pitseng centre.

Respectfully submitted;

Stuart

Lesotho's Third Official Language (and the real one)

Greetings once again from the mountain kingdom where we toil away in
30 degree heat sheltered from any evidence that Christmas is upon us.

The tour books on Lesotho speak about its two official languages -
Sesotho (in which we are, shall we say, struggling) and English (of
which we have a somewhat better command). But after a month here it is
clear to me that there is a third language in Lesotho that is as
importnat as the official languages and that is music.

I have visited a lot of countries that boast strong musical traditions
and cultures. But I've never been anywhere where music is such a
heartbeat in the land. We awake most mornings to a local troubadour
walking the hills playing an accordion. School children sing morning
songs before class and then march into theirs classrooms in song. We
had the good fortune of being invited to a party at our neighbours
place on Saturday to celebrate the graduation of two family members
from college. This was a most impressive and colourful gathering to
honour a worthy achievement with the many, many speeches punctuated by
spontaneous outbreaks of song prompted by one person and soon engaging
everyone. Patty and I have had people sing songs to us in the middle
of private conversation. A wandering minstrel sang us a song the other day, accompanied on a guitar-type object made from a 4 litre oil can and some tennis-racket webbing as strings. The choir at the local Catholic church is so
good that I'm considering converting! Lush, multi-layered harmonies
effortlessly delivered often accompanied by the rather unusual sight
of a nun on a drum between her knees - which always sends the choir
and most of the congregation into a shuffling rumba. And finally, the
taxi buses, which are a kaleidoscopic experience unto themselves,
always serve up full throttle mbaqanga music at just enough decibels
to drown out many disturbing thumps and squeals in the highly suspect
motor train. Sometimes the taxis play vapid American fake-soul pop
which is made tolerable by listening to school girl passengers
layering African harmonies onto the tines as they sing along.

Two prominent musical styles are South African based - mpanqanga or
"township jive" made popular by groups such as Mahlathini and the
Mahotella Queens (who gave an unforgettable performance during
Victoria's 1994 Commonwealth games) and featured on Paul Simon's
"Graceland". To me, this music has a trance luke quality with
descending bass lines and solid drum beats set against the back beat of
accordion melodies - all of which is overridden with a growling chant-
like vocal line. The other style is the beautiful capella style mbube
choral music made famous by Ladysmith Black Mambazo - much more
peaceful to the ear but evidently not as useful as full-blare mbaqanga
in luring customers into market stalls and stores.

One Billion Without Water + Two

Greetings from Pitseng high in the Maluti mountains of Lesotho. We arrived here at the beginning of November - our home for the next three months. Help Lesotho has built a wonderful youth centre here in this remote village - a fantastic testimony to the hard work of our dear friend Peg Herbeet and her colleagues at HL. It is already proving to be a valuable asset for Pitseng and environs, a 16,000 "village" (actually composed of several hamlets a few km apart) which, oddly enough, hosts 5 schools. We are the first occupants of the volunteer quarters at the centre since it opened in June.

The centre is a lovely new building though, at the moment, it lacks some of the creature comforts that we have grown accustomed to in Canada - notably electricity and dependable running water. Electricity should be on its way "any day now" but ... TIA ("this is Africa) and we really don't expect that the lights will in fact turn on before we leave at the ens of January The water supply is, at best, intermittent. Every morning we are awoken at 6 am to the sound of women (always women) rolling plastic jerry cans to the tap outside the centre compound - hopeful that there will be water today. Most days there is little or none - in fact we've been without running water for two weeks now. We're fortunate to have a backup in the form of two 2500 litre rain barrels. However, in a country deep in the throes of a 5 year drought, one wonders how long these will be of service. We're grateful that we've done a lot of camping in the past as we have definitely reverted to that mode and are rediscovering the charms of gas stoves, freezer packs (when we can freeze them!), candles and the wonders of our new LED micro-head lamps.

As we suffer our "depravations", we are reminded many times every day that even in our current state we have so much more than our neighbours. Despite their suffering and heart-wrenching poverty, you would never know that they are not the happiest people on earth - always quick with a laugh and the broadest of smiles when we fumble our way through our elementary Sesotho greetings. A billion people in the world lack access to dependable drinking water. Make that a billion and two.

We have returned to Hlotse (aka Leribe) for the weekend shacking up with the Sisters at the guest house at the Convent of the Holy Name. Here we have access to glorious hot water showers and a refrigerator. We are also 100 yards away from the Leribe Hotel which, in this remote country, manages to serve cold Pilsner Urquell for just over $1.00 a bottle (glorious too!). While I'm on to this theme, how is it exactly that one can buy a 750ml bottle of Famous Grouse for just over $10.00 a bottle. Not that I'm complaining, but I find it extraordinary given the trasnportation and distribution challenges on the short road from Scotland to Lesotho. Perhaps I've discovered my substitute for water while the shortage continues. Talking about bottles, we invite one and all to try and balance on your heads 12 bottles in a plastic bottle crate as we have seen here in the daily, Olympian display of women's transportation techniques (again, always women). Once you've done this, please feel free to move on to 15kg sacks of flour and baskets. Let us know how you make out.

Did I really see that?

We are now into our third week in this lovely but forgotten African
country. Every day I see something that I take in at the instance and
then later snap back with the question - Did I really see that? Here
is a selection. Did I really see:

- a child herd boy barefoot and wrapped in a blanket leading several
bony-ribbed cattle through the baked dry fields.

- Patty and I actually pay to get into a taxi van that would seat 7 in
Canada but transported 15 to the local village. Patty had to sit a
child on her knees so we could all make the voyage. The van not only
lacked seatbelts but floor bolts to keep the seats in place and a
secure means of fastening the flapping, sliding door - all driven
under questionable license authority by a 15 year old.

- a farmer ploughing and planting his field with an iron plough pulled
by two cattle braced by a hand-made wooden yoke? I have seen such
contraptions at several Canadian pioneers museums but not in action.
(Incidentally, if any Canadian museums need to replenish their plough
collection they can be bought both new and used at the Hlotse market.)

- a primary school teacher wearing the same tattered, ripped clothing
for a couple of days straight. I have already grown to expect this
condition in the children, but the teachers?!?

- evidence of multinational company exploitation of Lesotho workers at
a paltry few dollars a day salary? Yes -
a textile plant in Maputsoe. The multinational exploited? A Chinese
company!

Last week I celebrated my birthday in the grandest style with a
beautiful multi-layered cake prepared by Sister Celestina at the
convent bakery in Pitseng. She was so joyously enthusiastic at the
prospect of baking this cake and so proud of the offering - all of
which outshone the tasting of the result. I shared the cake with our
fantastic Help Lesotho Youth Corps colleagues who clearly had never
seen anything like it I also offered a quarter of the cake to the
local chief and his family. They were all so delighted that I expected
the honourary membership to the clan to be soon forthcoming. Indeed
Chief Joseph did pay us a visit the following day. However, his
purpose was not as I suspected. Instead, he was seeking our
assistance in solving a problem with his daughter's cell phone!
Strangely enough, in a country with extraordinarily limited internet
access, there is no shortage of cell phones with even the smallest tin
shack store selling cell time cards.

One of my projects this week will be the launching, in response to
popular demand, of conversational French lessons at the Centre under
the tutelage of le professeur Culbertson. Already enrolled are two of
the Youth corps, some local primary school teachers and the very
enthusiastic local Catholic priest and some of his friends.
Fortunately for me, I had as ample an opportunity to practice my
French last month in France as I did my wine tasting competency. My
students will soon be heard impressing their friends with words like
"Guy Lafleur" and "le Pocket Rocket" throughout northern Lesotho

A bientot!

Different Hemispheres and Parallel Universes

In Grade 4, I first found Cape Town in my atlas. I was attracted to any extremity of the world and here was a pretty good one. The Atlantic Ocean on one side meets the Indian Ocean on the other with surely deadly shoals and currents confronting sailors trying to traverse the two. A night sky that lights up differently. Sinks drain in a different direction. Not to mention the lions and all.

And a few decades later (ouch!), here I am. What I find is a different, hemisphere indeed. One is conditioned to listening to birds and seeing animals in a North American mindset. Is that a mallard? – No, it’s an African plover. Was that a dog lurking at the side of the road? No, it is, in fact a baboon. I haven’t even looked at the stars yet – as we will have 3 months a mile high in Lesotho to explore these differences.

Cape Town is a city of stunning contrast. The city is protected within a cradle of mountains. Table Mountain soars dramatically like a monolith - a kilometre above the flatlands of the wild oceans that mark the city shoreline. From the top, where Patty and I enjoyed an apparently rare, windless and clear day yesterday, it is hard to compare with anything I have ever seen. And just in case we were lulling ourselves into too much comfort picnicking on the top, we were confronted with a full range of strange risks – cobras, puff adders, poisonous blister bushed to remind us that this is not Beacon Hill Park in Victoria.

The physical contrasts, however, seem to pale in comparison with the other contrast that is so evident in this city – the parallel universes in which its wealthy white and majority black populations live. Almost 15 years since the end of apartheid with the election to power of Nelson Mandela and the African national Congress, one gets the sense that the racial divide once legislated in apartheid has now been replaced by walled communities, barbed wire and 10 foot high property walls. Security companies appear to be big business in Cape Town with “Armed response” seems to be a popular logo). The tables have reversed and a self-selected segregation behind security walls and grim warning posters is evident. As a Canadian who takes much for granted in this world, the tension and fear in the transition zones between these universes is unsettling to say the least. When was the last time I really had to worry about walking out at night? Yet, here, a few blocks from the South Africa parliament in the heart of the city, we’re cautioned to take cabs backs to our hotel any time after sunset.

I will confess I have not seen it all. I would like to see more of the multi-cultural melting pot of blacks, whites and Asians which is rendering Nelson Mandela’s “rainbow nation” into life in the new South Africa. But I have seen enough to know that the next 15 years in South Africa will be decisive for this country and this continent. Will the parallel universes diverge further a part or a new unity be forged? Will the cultural mountains divide or shelter?

p.s. – on the lighter side, how nice is to be in a country where one benefits from a 20% crash in value of the local currency against the Canadian dollar. Not much reporting about the global financial crisis here. It is a crisis that I suspect is brutally irrelevant to most.

The Lugubrious Loire and Leonardo

Our travelling road show has now washed up in the delightful town of Amboise on the banks of the lugubrious Loire River. I’m not entirely sure about the use of “lugubrious” here. However, if that over-flowery word conjures up images of a river with semi-clad nymphs bathing beside in verdant forests surrounded by overflowing baskets of fruit and wine (a leading theme in French pastoral paintings of the 16th to 18th century, I have observed) - then I might just have found the right word.

On the edge of Amboise, at the Chateau due Clos-Lucé, Leonardo da Vinci spent the last three years of his life between 1516 and 1519. Apparently, Leonardo along with some of his sidekicks, was invited here by a great benefactor, King Francois I, to paint, scheme and dream as he saw fit – all fully sponsored by the good king. To quote George and Ira Gershwin - “Nice work if you can get it”. And scheme and dream he did, producing an impressive workbook of doodles which sketched concepts for a great array of future inventions. The museum exhibit presented scale model constructions of a dozen or so models of what they thought Leonardo might have been doodling about, producing produced objects that were clearly forerunners of more modern inventions such as the helicopter, the automobile and an astounding array of weaponry including the machine gun and the tank. (Weapons design was, evidently, a pretty big business in the early 16th century as well). The museum is peppered with pithy, if sometimes contradictory, aphorisms from the great man himself. For example “I believe that great happiness awaits those men who are born where good wines are to be found” is juxtaposed with disturbing insights such as “May sobriety, healthy food and good sleep keep you in good health” (much of which seems to be in short supply in modern France). In any event, an impressive display from a true genius working well ahead of his time and well ahead of the curve.

We have had spectacular weather on our trip so far and I took advantage of it today by – finally! – getting out on a bike. Powered by brilliant sunshine and “degustations” of crisp, Vouvray wine, I coursed through 50km of vineyards and valleys between Amboise and Tours - my exercise intensified by the fact that my bike managed to lose its high gear en route.

Observation: When France next hosts the Olympics, surely it should propose, as a demonstration sport, the serving of the cheese platter at the end of a meal. This is done with such enthusiasm here over an absolutely bewildering array of cheese that I cannot imagine any one beating France to the top of the podium in this contest. Then again, France could surprise us again and choose one of its many banal TV game shows as an Olympic event.

Our Fearless Navigator - Spunky

For my neice and nephew Jessica and Mark who graciuously provided us with a world travelling companion who has never been outside of Calgary (China maybe ?!?) - Spunky the monkey turns out to be great navigator and got us all the way to Mont St. Michelle in no time flat!!! Stay tuned to this site for more Spunky adventures!

Once there were borders

I’ve been to Europe several times since the formation and expansion of the EU and each time the scene at international borders in Europe fascinates me. As we worry in Canada about increasing border security rules and requirements when crossing back and forth to the USA, the Europeans evidently enjoy fewer and fewer border restrictions at all.

This past weekend we crossed the French-Spanish border from St. Jean de Luz, France en route 30km up the road to San Sebastian, Spain. (In Victoria terms, this is our distance from the city to the ferry.) There were no border control posts or guards, no line ups – indeed, no indication whatsoever that we were crossing or had crossed an international border. An EU blue-starred circle might have indicated our arrival in Spain - but for the fact that the word “Espania” had been blacked out (this is the heart of Basque country after all!). The first clue was the language on billboards. On the road back to France, a building that might have once been a customs post has now been rented out to a motorcycle dealership.

While the border was for all intents and purposes invisible, the differences between France and Spain became quickly apparent in the stunning seaside city of San Sebastian. Dinner starts at 9:30 – roughly 2 hours later than the other side of the border. The great Spanish contribution to international cuisine – tapas – tides folks over to dinner with a fantastic array of noshes and temptations. We visited the Basque town of Zarautz just west of San Sebastian (where we are scouting a residence for a month or two in the spring). We found the town to be in full flight – some festival or celebration that we couldn’t decipher (if you don’t read Spanish, try not being able to read Basque – a unique language whose origins are unknown and whose similarities to other languages are undetectable). We were told that one of the highlights of the festivities would be a free concert by a notable Basque rock band starting “after dinner” at 11:30! On Saturday night, the town was heaving – showing a distinct and delightful lack of reserve such as one might expect way on over in St. Jean de Luz.

In Spian, balconies are draped with laundry where they would be decked with flowers in France. And, all of a sudden, people exercising – jogging, playing hand ball and tennis - and even sweating something that certainly seems to be neither desirable nor tolerated in France.

The freedom at borders is one of many, many European advantages. Now if they can only figure out how to install decent elevators in their hotels.

Conquering the Food and Wine of Bordeaux

I am grateful that I spent the last month or so in Canada in training for a major assault on French wine. My strict regimen of a glass a day (increasing towards the end) left me well equipped to tackle the wines of northern France. Bordeaux, however, is an Olympian challenge and not for the faint of heart. Today, after three days of site training to adjust to the altitudes and attitudes of the epicenter of the world wine industry, I girded my taste buds and ventured forth to the Chateau Belingard in the upper benches of Bergerac. With my trust companions, Matts and Elisabeth, we withstood the blows of a wave of whites and a rampage of reds with 10 very liberal tastings of some spectacular Bordeaux wines. The photo sequence here shows us in full battle – fending off a series of popping corks and refreshed glasses until we stumbled victorious from the tasting room. With the valuable assistance of “Doris”, our English-speaking GPS guide, we managed to maneuver our car through the vineyard-banked roads and trails back to our pied a terre in Pineuilth. France conquered (yet again!).

I should also add, with great pride, that I have also been able to conquer another standard in France – the two hour lunch. We all tracked well two days ago in St. Emilion at an hour and a half for three courses and coffee. Yesterday, the fabled two hour barrier was breached at a fine bistro in Merles – with all participants plied with just enough wine to allow us to cross the bar at 2 hours and 15 minutes. Not easy to do, but happily done.

My New Pied a Terre

Two weeks into our trip. I have made two dramatic and life-changing decisions: First and foremost, I have decided to wear a scarf like a vrai hommme francais. Secondly, I have decidied to sell the house and all of our belongings (sorry Liz and Ian) and open a winery just outside of Bergerac in the haut Bourdeaux. First production looks very promising - to be served with pear and foei de gras.

The Lord of the Chateau Fongrenier-Stuart

On Connecting with Canada and "La Liberte" (Part Deux)

Where on earth does one find the richest and deepest connections to Canada? As a young country without imperial traditions or aspirations, Canada does not have the international reach or presence that we often ascribe to it. However, in a 200 square kilometers stretch of northern France – in the coastal regions of Normandy and Brittany– two events separated by four centuries have written very significant chapters in Canada’s history. From the magnificent walled port city of St. Malo in eastern Brittany, Jacques Cartier sailed on his voyage of discovery in 1534 to give birth to “New France” on the shores of the St. Lawrence River. This is commemorated by a bold statue of Cartier thrust out into sea on the ramparts of the walled city. A hundred or so kilometers east, just outside the beautiful mediaeval city of Bayeux, many of the descendants of the early settlers of New France returned to liberate France in 1944 in the WWII D-day landings at Juno Beach. The Canadian war museum at Juno Beach has a display featuring 12 Canadian soldiers who participated in the D-Day landings who can trace their roots back to New France settlers in the early 1600’s – families that arrived with Champlain and his successors to settle Quebec. Bayeux, the first French town liberated in WWI, flutters with Canadian flags and commemoratives. The immaculately kept Canadian war cemetery near Colombiers sur Seuelles speaks to the respect paid to Canadians from across our country who gave their lives in the liberation of France. Come to this part of northern France and you will connect immediately to Canada.

On “liberty” Part Deux – I am impressed by how much is left to interpretation in French rules and regulations. We drove on a stretch of highway which posted two speed limits: one at 130 km/hr for normal conditions and one at 110 km/hr if it is raining. I can imagine the court battles ensuing about whether or not it was actually raining to determine the validity of a speeding ticket. However, it is, once again, in the dominion of dogs that we find much to be open to interpretation (By the way, why is France’s symbol an over-achieving chicken and not a small dog – the animal that actually rules the country?) I have seen signs in stores restricting dog presence to “Small dogs only” or “Dogs must be carried”. I’m waiting to see a Frenchman in the full dangling embrace of a Great Dane stumbling through a store under his own interpretation of this rule and in defence of his liberty to make this judgment.

Paris when it sizzles

A dispatch from the city of Light and Magic (which, as has been widely reported, turns out to be much nicer than Edmonton).

What makes this place sizzle and spark? It is not so much the setting but what has been done with it. The Seine appears a pretty pedestrian river by Canadian standards. The very occasional hill gives way to a vast expanse of flat that would make someone from Saskatchewan feel at home. I believe the French have it right in their national motto: Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. “Liberty” means you can do what you want in the city when you want – witness the extensive public wine drinking and romancing in the evenings (although be careful if you want to munch a baguette on the lawns of the Tuilleries within sight of the constabulary). Liberty also means taking liberty with traffic rules. One wonders whether the French actually stop for pedestrians at crosswalks because they are obeying the rules or they want to avoid denting their hoods with any bodies they might hit. “Equality” is a tougher stretch although quite apparent in a very cosmopolitan city and its evident gender equality (or notable inequality if looking at the ratio of women’s: men’s clothing stores). Similarly, “fraternity” speaks to the strong sense of national community – changing as it is but bound tightly by higher and deeper philosophical principles. I have not seen in Canada anywhere near the same level of philosophical ponderings on public displays in monuments and public inscriptions (such as the declaration of the rights of man carved into the pavement of the Trocadero Palace near our hotel). It has been said that the French often ponder the question: “Well, while that works in practice, does it work in theory?” – and I believe it. And the monuments to a rich if sometimes “overstated” history (Did the French really liberate Paris by themselves in WWII?!?). And the celebration of art – encouraged by the fact that that the world’s greatest art museum is free on Sundays – apparently welcoming swarms of Mona seekers and da Vinci code tourists. And the profound feeling that this is, in fact, the best city in the world by any measure with those contesting for second place lagging a considerable distance behind. All delivered with confidence, gusto and an equal respect for history and innovation (witness the amazing transformation of Paris into a cycling city with a public commitment to reduce vehicle traffic in the core by 50% by 2010).

Our best event so far (after 4 days in Paris) – the Fat Tire 3 hour night guided cycle of the city followed by a one hour cruise on the Seine with as much wine flowing above deck as water flowing below. A highly energetic and enjoyable tour (thank you Janet for the suggestion).

A bientot!

Packing for the Future - Instructions

Packing for the Future - Instructions (by Lorna Crozier)
Take the thickest socks
Wherever you are going you'll have to walk
There may be water ~ there may be stones
There might be high places
You cannot go without the hope socks bring you
The way they hold you to the earth
At least one pair must be new, must be blue as you wish
Hand-knit by your mother in her sleep

Take a leather stachel, a velvet bag
And an old tin box - a salamander painted on the lid
This is to carry that small thing you cannot leave
Perhaps the key you've kept ~ though it doesn't fit any lock you know
The photograph that keeps you sane
A ball of string to lead you out though you can't walk back into that light
In your bag, leave room for sadness, leave room for another language
There may be doors nailed shut ~ there may be painted windows
There may be signs to warn you to be gone
Take the dream you've been having since you were a child
The one with the open fields and the wind sounding
Mistrust no one who offers you water from a well, a songbird's feather
Something that's been mended twice
Always travel lighter than the heart