Greetings faithful blogistas. We find ourselves adjusting to yet another country on the "If not now, when" tour de monde and this time it is our own. Still viewing the world through a traveller's eye, Canada immediately conjures up some unforgettable images for these weary wanderers.
Our first real re-entry to Canada began a week before we left when I found myself unexpectedly in the Canadian embassy in Rome one business day before we were due to leave for Toronto from Paris. This particular rendez-vous with representatives of my home and native land was occasioned by an incident the day before in Pisa when I was relieved of my passport courtesy some crafty pickpockets at the Pisa airport. Having your passport stolen along with various bank cards, traveller's cheques and cash is not something I would wish on anyone - especially if you are on the verge of leaving for home. However, I must say that the process for a replacement passport, although a multi-Euro blowout, was commendably smooth and efficient. Our consular staff abroad has been taking some heat recently - particularly in the highly bizarre case of Suaad Mohamud in Kenya. However, the experience of this Canadian was entirely different. I filled out my first forms at 9:30 in the morning and had a temporary passport in my hands by 3:00 that afternoon.
After adding yet again to our carbon footprint by flying from Rome to Paris, we spent a delightful day in the city of light and magic - mostly flaked out like many others in the Jardin du Luxembourg. The next day we flew to Toronto.
Some of the differences I observed on returning to Canada were evident immediately. Unlike many airports in the world where the corridors streaming out towards the international arrivals hall are decked with dramatic photos and assorted tourist eye candy, none of this is on display in the grey and sterile halls snaking through the new international terminal at Toronto's Pearson airport. Indeed - godstruth!!! - we actually saw a Tim Horton's outlet before we saw the "Welcome to Canada" sign as we approached the customs and immigration hall. Being the famously egalitarian nation that we are, all aspiring entrants to Canada are herded in common towards the immigration booths. In most other countries we have entered, special lines are reserved for the country's nationals.
Once we got out and about the following day, one of the first things we observed was the enormous number of chain stores that present themselves in even the smallest of strip malls. Welcome to Maltropolitan Toronto. We effortlessly hit three of them within the first half-hour of a small shopping expedition to restock our supplies. With the exception of the UK (which, for the record, is not half as bad as Canada in this respect), we had spent all of our trip shopping in small stores and boutiques in countries which appear to have successfully kept the invasion of the chains at bay.
A more sobering observation was run-down state of large swaths of the Toronto area with its cracking road infrastructure and a plethora of "For Lease"-posted and weeded-up warehouses and industrial plants - visible evidence of the economic downturn in Canada's rust-belt surrounding Toronto. This does not, however, appear to stop the steady march of new, ticky-tacky suburbs leap-frogging over suburbs and swarming the land. A five day sojourn in Ottawa took us through some wonderful open spaces and landscapes that were a balm for the eye after many months of enduring crowded, garbage-strewn places where nature is ravaged. Yet among this splendid scenery we saw several beat up, rusted-out trailers and work sheds scattered around the roadsides as if they had been tossed there by a super-human litterbug. The vastness of the space can, I suppose, accommodate the odd blight. And in the midst of this vastness I was happily reminded that there is really nothing in the world more refreshing and restorative than a summer dip in a fresh Canadian shield lake.
This week we start our homeward journey - with a first stop in Winnipeg where we will be reunited with our wonderful daughter as well as Mad Max, our trusty Nissan Maxima. Mad Max will be our steed for our road journey westward which will hopefully present more observations to harvest. Westward ho!!!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Moveable Feast Returns to the beginning
Greetings all - the Moveable Feast has returned to from whence it began - Paris. For those who dont know, "The Moveable Feast" is the title of Ernest Hemingway's memoir of life in Paris in the 1920s which I consider to be his best book. It is a captivating piece of travel writing that well captures both time and place for those of us - like me - who wish we had been there alongside Papa H and his exotic menagerie of friends. It seemed to me a good title for this blog for a trip where we have feasted on the scents, sites and sounds of many parts of the world that I would have scarely imagined I would visit even a few years ago. I am not signing off yet as we still have a North American part of this adventure ahead and I look forward to compiling my often acerbic and twisted reportage on the trail back home.
My one resounding piece of advice to all - if you can take a year off to travel or do whatever you want for that matter, do it! - and do it while you are still lucky enough to have the good health and energy to make the best of it. Patty and I are indeed fortunqte to be in this coveted state and to have had this opportunity - no matter how often we were reminded that we were no longer backpackers in our early 20s.
Naturally, we are a wee bit travel weary at this point (some 85 beds into the trip) and are looking forward to our return to Canadian soil. During our last few weeks in Croatia and Italy, we have been hit by the dual sledgehammers of a heat wave and a full-frontal tourist blitz throughout the sites and cafes of these places. The latter has been worse in many respects but we have enjoyed soem of its sideline benefits - for example, overhearing the most remarkable conversations between distinctly unworldly tourists and, in internet and telephone cafes, their colourful phone calls back to their Moms trying to extract extra cash because their hostel is a mess. We can just hear their Moms thinking that it could not possibly be worse than the state of thir bedrooms at home.
After travelling gracefully incident-free for ten months, our luck finally ran out this week at the Pisa airport where I was relieved of my passport and other valuables by a pick pocket. All of a sudden we were not lazing around Pisa enjoying its famously tilting sites, we were bulleting to Rome to get to the Canadian embassy on the last business day before a long weeken to get an emergency passport. The Embassy was able to perform magnificently under the circumstances in a multi-multi Euro transaction. The consular staff also let me know that it has one of the highest incident rates in the world for stolen passports confirming that Italian operators are not only deft with their hands in carving marble and painting ceilings.
I am spending today researching the big differences between Paris and Rome - two frontline contenders for the classiest cities in Europe. Early observations in Paris suggest far fewer sunglasses deployed and far more smlall dogs relieving themselves on the streets. Nor have we seen any police women in high heels yet. In Italy, unlike at home, I noted that the highway authorities do not dare tell Italians to take off their sunglasses when entering tunnels. Anyone who has driven in Italy will recall how prodigous are the Italians in tunnel building. Rather than asking that sunglasses be removed, they simply light up these immense tunnels so vision through Raybans is comfortable.
Au revoir
My one resounding piece of advice to all - if you can take a year off to travel or do whatever you want for that matter, do it! - and do it while you are still lucky enough to have the good health and energy to make the best of it. Patty and I are indeed fortunqte to be in this coveted state and to have had this opportunity - no matter how often we were reminded that we were no longer backpackers in our early 20s.
Naturally, we are a wee bit travel weary at this point (some 85 beds into the trip) and are looking forward to our return to Canadian soil. During our last few weeks in Croatia and Italy, we have been hit by the dual sledgehammers of a heat wave and a full-frontal tourist blitz throughout the sites and cafes of these places. The latter has been worse in many respects but we have enjoyed soem of its sideline benefits - for example, overhearing the most remarkable conversations between distinctly unworldly tourists and, in internet and telephone cafes, their colourful phone calls back to their Moms trying to extract extra cash because their hostel is a mess. We can just hear their Moms thinking that it could not possibly be worse than the state of thir bedrooms at home.
After travelling gracefully incident-free for ten months, our luck finally ran out this week at the Pisa airport where I was relieved of my passport and other valuables by a pick pocket. All of a sudden we were not lazing around Pisa enjoying its famously tilting sites, we were bulleting to Rome to get to the Canadian embassy on the last business day before a long weeken to get an emergency passport. The Embassy was able to perform magnificently under the circumstances in a multi-multi Euro transaction. The consular staff also let me know that it has one of the highest incident rates in the world for stolen passports confirming that Italian operators are not only deft with their hands in carving marble and painting ceilings.
I am spending today researching the big differences between Paris and Rome - two frontline contenders for the classiest cities in Europe. Early observations in Paris suggest far fewer sunglasses deployed and far more smlall dogs relieving themselves on the streets. Nor have we seen any police women in high heels yet. In Italy, unlike at home, I noted that the highway authorities do not dare tell Italians to take off their sunglasses when entering tunnels. Anyone who has driven in Italy will recall how prodigous are the Italians in tunnel building. Rather than asking that sunglasses be removed, they simply light up these immense tunnels so vision through Raybans is comfortable.
Au revoir
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