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. TableMountain 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 HillPark 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and the African national Congress, one gets the sense that the racial divide once legislated in apartheid has now been replaced by walled communities, barbed wire and 10 foot high property walls.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.
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.
For myneice and nephewJessica and Mark whograciuouslyprovided us with a world travelling companionwhohasneverbeenoutsideofCalgary (China maybe ?!?) - Spunkythemonkeyturns out tobegreatnavigator and got us allthewayto Mont St. Michelle in no timeflat!!! Staytunedtothis site for more Spunkyadventures!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
Posts
