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Holiday

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Oldest friend and his good lady live in a part of rural England that is perhaps the epitome of all that is considered to be the most English of Englishness.

They did not always do so of course. When we were growing up we all lived in a small town by the river Thames in Surrey that the locals to this day (or at least until not that long ago) insist on calling (without irony) ‘the village’.

We have each now disappeared in our own directions – us to western Canada – they to the borderlands of Worcestershire and Herefordshire. Naturally I made the pilgrimage to the heart of the country to get a look at our friends’ new home (the which I had previously only glimpsed briefly in estate agents particulars online) and to re-connect with them. A thoroughly lovely couple of days in the countryside ensued.

These images give a general impression of the area – and if you can hear strains of Elgar playing somewhere in your subconscious as you view them I would not be in the least surprised.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Readers from ‘the old country’ – and in particular those from the south east thereof – will doubtless already know of the delights of Painshill Park. This post is really for others who do not (yet!) but who will no doubt be happy to be introduced thereto.

Painshill was established in the mid-18th century by the Hon Charles Hamilton (MP) and was one of the early examples of the fashion for creating ‘natural’ landscapes adorned with Gothic follies such as ‘ruined’ abbeys, grottos and hermitages. Those familiar with Tom Stoppard’s ‘Arcadia’ will know whereof I speak.

The reason for this post is that the old and dear friends with whom I have been staying for the first phase of our UK adventure live in part of the Georgian mansion that adjoins the park. A visit was thus in order.

Here be photos:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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…surprised me on my arrival back in the UK for the first time since leaving the country for British Columbia nearly four years ago…

The first was that on landing, coming through customs and leaving the airport I had the strangest sensation that I was entering a foreign country. I can’t quite put my finger on what it was that made it feel that way, but it undoubtedly did so.

Now – a day and a half later – the feeling has diminished somewhat but I still find myself experiencing the sensation of being a little disconnected from everything I see about me.

The second oddity is quite the opposite. I had been rather concerned that, having driven only in Canada for the past four years, I would find it difficult to deal with a right hand drive car on the ‘wrong’ side of the road. This would have been made worse by the fact that I had hired a manual (stick) vehicle as opposed to the automatics that I have been driving for the past four years. That I had immediately to set out on that bear-pit of a road – the M25 ( the London orbital motorway) did not help at all.

In the event – and for reasons I need not go into here – the vehicle was upgraded to a better model, one with a hybrid transmission (to all intents and purposes an automatic).

Further – and to my surprise – it felt as though I had never been away and driving on the left felt entirely natural. In the last couple of days I have driven into London twice but not yet felt out of my depth once. Fingers crossed (and wood touched) that this state of affairs continues.

The visit is already massively busy – but at the same time really rather lovely (with the sorry exception of badly missing The Girl!) and everyone is being most kind and massively generous.

My heartfelt gratitude to all…

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Photo by The Lazy Artist Gallery from Pexels“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”

Jack Kerouac

The Kickass Canada Girl and I have been most fortunate in that during our time together (not far short of a decade and a half now) we have been able to travel both widely and well. We might not have ventured to quite such far-off and exotic places as have other friends of ours, but we have derived nonetheless a great deal of pleasure – joy even – from our joint excursions.

It probably goes without saying that foremost amongst those trips were our Atlantic crossings to Canada. We visited in 2006 (my introduction to both the country and to British Columbia) and 2008. We were back in the summer of 2010 to get married (whoopee!) and again in the spring of 2011 for less happy reasons. Those who have followed this blog throughout will recall that The Girl came to Victoria early in 2012 for a job. In the ten months that she was here and I was still in England we both traversed the ocean several times to see each other before her return to the UK in the November of that year.

Finally we visited at Christmas time in 2013 with the additional pleasure of celebrating my sixtieth birthday at the Wickanninish Inn on Chesterman Beach outside Tofino.

I say ‘finally’, but of course our real final crossing – to date – was in July of 2015 when we moved with all of our goods and chattels from the UK to Vancouver Island.

In the nearly four years since that momentous event we have not ventured in the direction of the United Kingdom or Europe… until now! (For those who have not been following these scribblings – I leave for the UK in two days time).

A dear friend here in BC asked me the other day how I felt about going back to the country of my birth. I told him the truth: I am really not at all sure how I feel about it. I am certainly looking forward to seeing family, friends and acquaintances and it will be good to visit some of the old haunts again. Beyond that I currently feel somewhat ambivalent – a feeling most likely re-enforced by the current political chaos there. I will just have to be prepared for any eventuality and I will – of course – document the experience in full in this journal.

Even more pertinently, perhaps, the friend asked me how I thought I would feel when – after nearly a month away – I returned to Victoria in June. I told him what I expected to feel. We will just have to wait to see how accurate is that expectation.

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“I’m a jacket man. And if I’m without one, I am kind of seriously disabled. I don’t know how to operate in shirt sleeves.”

Bill Nighy

I have mentioned several times now in previous posts our forthcoming trip to the UK, but I am conscious of the fact that I have not really gone into much detail. Needless to say a great deal of planning has already been done, involving multiple lists, spreadsheets and a wide and extensive variety of transatlantic communications.

The most important detail at this point is that I leave for the UK in about a week and a half’s time. I say ‘I’ because The Girl is following in my footsteps a week later. I am now outwith my teaching contracts and thus free as a bird, whereas she is still bound by the strictures imposed by her employment with regard to leave entitlement. Since I intend making a number of visits to those with whom it was I who was primarily connected this seemed to be the optimal solution.

Once she has joined me in the UK we will spend a further week and a half being splendidly and lavishly entertained by family and friends, before flying to Athens for the even more indulgent part of the trip.

This latter – which features a seven day cruise in the Greek islands – caused an unexpected addition to our pre-trip preparations.

When I started visiting this neck of the woods nearly a decade and a half ago (well before even considering that I might one day end up here) I brought with me a jacket – the which I wore on the outward and return journeys to save having to pack same. On each successive trip I followed the same practice but I cannot now recall a single occasion on which I actually wore the jacket whilst in Canada. On one trip I even left the thing in the closet at the friends’ home with whom we were staying without noticing that I had done so.

This is the west coast” – I was told. “No-one wears a jacket here“.

When I ‘retired’ from the world of work and we packed up our lives to head west I naturally pruned my (meagre!) collection of garments to remove items for which I would likely have little use in BC. That (for the reasons outlined above) included practically every jacket that I then owned.

Thus far the maxim has held (with the exception of the odd formal occasion, for which I am still equipped) and though the forthcoming trip to the UK should itself cause no problems the cruise is a different matter. Even on an informal voyage such as this there are a couple of ‘dressing up’ occasions. Practicality dictates that one meet the differing requirements of these events with but a single garment which, given my now clearly precipitate purge, meant that I would needs must go out and purchase a jacket to suit all eventualities.

As you might imagine – given the Victorians’ general eschewal of such apparel – finding a suitable item took some doing. When I finally did so – courtesy of the estimable Kane Straith Clothing (who have been in business hereabouts since the gold rush!) it weren’t cheap!

It is – however – ‘suitably’ splendid!

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Here in Canada the weekend that has passed was Thanksgiving  – and thus a holiday or long weekend.

There are – in British Columbia – five national and five provincial statutory holidays, plus Easter Monday – which is a bank holiday (statutory for government employees only) and Boxing Day (which is not actually a stat holiday but is widely observed).

By comparison public holidays in the UK vary from eight (for England) to eleven (for Northern Ireland).

One fact that is indisputable is that public holidays here in BC are more evenly distributed throughout the year than are the UK equivalents – and certainly the English ones (two holidays in May – nothing until the end of August!)

One other seemingly inescapable ‘fact’ is that if there is to be bank holiday in the UK it is probably also going to rain. Now – statistically this probably isn’t actually the case, though it is true that the English weather stats do demonstrate that the end of August is a particularly poor choice of time for a day off, given that the rainfall then is often greater than it is during equivalent periods in the winter months.

However, one need only feed Google the inquiry “Does it always rain on bank holidays?” to be left in no doubt at all that as far as the English are concerned the answer is resoundingly in the affirmative.

It hardly need be said – I feel – that though the weather here has been reasonably good of late and the sun is shining once again as I write – over the holiday weekend itself the clouds scudded in and it rained steadily and determinedly throughout.

This expat felt right at home!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidA few final thoughts on our rapidly receding trip to Montreal and Vancouver…

Ask anyone with what they most associate the city of Montreal and you will get a variety of answers – the French – the culture (jazz, comedy) – the Olympics – the Canadiens! One thing on which all would doubtless agree – however – is the food. One simply cannot go to Montreal and not take advantage of the city’s French heritage in matters of cuisine.

Montreal – of course – famously gave Canada (and thus the world) both Poutine and the Montreal Smoked Meat Sandwich… the which latter should (when in town) be purchased from the legendary ‘Schwartz’s Deli‘.

Well – we sampled neither – and nor did we make it to Schwartz’s. There is just too much good food to be had and – pining for the delights of a springtime visit to ‘Gay Paree’ – we determined to get our fill of fine French fare instead.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidFor one particularly special evening out we chose a visit to ‘Le Club Chasse et Pêche‘ (for the non French-linguists out there that means “Huntin’ and Fishin‘”). The dinner entrées commence with the wonderfully titled ‘Oysters with Charisma‘ but one should eschew such delights and head straight for the epic ‘Braised Piglet Risotto with Fois Gras Shavings‘. I will describe no further the goodies on offer on this lavish menu to protect the gentle readers sensibilities and for fear of provoking extreme fits of jealousy.

I will – however – just mention how wonderful it was too find a truly extensive (not to mention expensive) French wine list this side of the pond – and to encounter a young Sommelier who knows his stuff. The Chambolle-Musigny was his recommendation and he was not wrong!

After dinner we strolled through the old town to the Champs de Mars. Much of Vieux Montreal is illuminated at night with projections illustrating the city’s history. This extended Son et Lumière is titledCité Mémoire’ and was established in 2016 as part of the city’s 375 anniversary celebrations. It will remain in place for a further couple of years and is worth seeing for the fascinating eventide atmosphere that it engenders.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidI just liked this chap. Seemed to capture Montreal quite well for me!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAll too soon it was time to head back to Vancouver Island. When one sees Mount Baker aglow on the port side when flying into Vancouver one knows one is nearly home. What a place we lucky souls inhabit…

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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“He looks around, around
He sees angels in the architecture
Spinning in infinity
He says, ‘Amen!’ and ‘Hallelujah!'”

Paul Simon – “You can call me Al”

The west coast of Canada – in ‘architectural’ terms – is jejune. The British settlement in Victoria – for example – dates only from 1843 and Victoria is one of the oldest cities in the Pacific Northwest. ‘Heritage’ houses are thus mostly (and appropriately) Victorian.

Montreal is considerably older – though still youthful in European terms – with buildings dating all the way back to 1671! The old town is a fascinating mixture of architectural styles. Wikipedia tells us:

“The architecture of Montreal is characterized by the juxtaposition of the old and the new and a wide variety of architectural styles, the legacy of two successive colonisations by the French and the British. Much like Quebec, the city of Montreal had fortifications but they were destroyed between 1804 and 1817.

For over a century and a half, Montreal was the industrial and financial centre of Canada. The variety of buildings included factories, warehouses, mills and refineries which today provide a legacy of historic and architectural interest, especially in the downtown area and in Old Montreal. Many historical buildings in Old Montreal retain their original form, notably the impressive 19th century headquarters of all of the major Canadian banks.”

Leaving aside for now the abundance of modern architecture on display, these images give a good idea of the variety of styles – ranging from nineteenth century European to early twentieth century North American – that may be found in Vieux-Montréal:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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It has taken a few days since returning from our trip to Montreal and Vancouver to upload and to organise the photographic images which it has become my habit to capture when traveling – particularly to places that are new to me. Naturally I am now keen to share same with any gentle reader imbued with a sufficiency of patience and indulgence.

This batch of images are of the Notre-Dame Basilica in the old town of Montreal. This impressive edifice – construction of which started in 1824 on the site of a considerably older place of worship – can accommodate 8000 souls! What I like about it – particularly by comparison with many Roman churches in Paris and elsewhere – is that instead of the interior being gloomy and oppressive (with an atmosphere reeking of sin!) it is instead full of light and colour. Apparently the model in this case was that of the Parisian exception to the rule – Sainte-Chapelle.

Less guilt – more gilt!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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Photo by Andy Dawson Reid“In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.”

Mark Twain – The Innocents Abroad

Let it be said at once that in Montreal there is no need at all to try to make anyone understand their own language. The locals will – in a nanosecond – detect that French is not your native tongue, from which point on they simply abjure its use – effortlessly showing up your linguistic shortcomings and contriving so to do without effecting the distainful air that one so often encounters in Paris.

Should you, like us, have transported your existence to the paradise that is the west coast of Canada (some five and a half thousand miles distant from the European continent) but still on occasion find yourself assailed by yearnings for the sophistication and epicurean delights of the French capital… then Montreal is the perfect halfway house in which just such a fix may be obtained.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThis is specifically so of the old town, in which we are currently staying in a perfectly decent Air-B’n’B apartment. Unlike much else in Canada Vieux Montreal is properly old and has a strong European heritage. On our first day here we ventured forth looking for a suitable bistro. In the ‘Modavie’ we found one that was so French that we might easily have been in the backstreets of Paris itself.

The fare was excellent French bistro cooking, with a truly authentic Soupe a l’Oignon followed by a lamb burger made with pulled lamb for me and sea bass (really hard to find on the west coast) for The Girl. We wrapped up with a Pouding Chômeur which reminded The Girl of her childhood.

The evening was made, however, by the wonderful hospitality of our server – Caroline – and the larger than life maître d’ – Lorenzo Baldassarre – who went out of his way to make the occasion memorable.

Now – Canadians (and those who have visited) will need no convincing of the ‘Frenchness’ of Montreal. To others, have a look at the photos in this (and subsequent) posts and see what you think.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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