Food, drink - and travels with a guy and his guitar

The NYC Seeger Pilgrimage continues...

2009-05-03T11:27:00.002-04:00

...and what an adventure it was.

Why did it take me so long to write about it, you ask? Well, I've been busy. Two years of busy, you say? Yes, damn it. Do you want to know about the trip or not?

So, Peter dropped us at our hotel and we settled in. Small room - pretty much as expected.

First order of business: dinner. All that footling around with the darn trailer had made us late - we were ravenous. We wandered over to 8th Avenue and found ourselves at the Brazil Grill. Within minutes we were enjoying Capirinhas and Picanha Na Chapa. Yum.

After dinner we wandered.

The next day we wandered some more. In fact, we wandered so much that we practically crippled ourselves. But oh, we had fun.

Washington Square Squirrel!

Wisteria!

Battery Park hoarding

That night was the show. People talk about New York City being a village, and I'd always kind of bought into that idea an a hippy-dippy kind of way...but, man. That night, that show - Madison Square Garden was someone's backyard and we were all there sitting around the campfire singing along. I've never felt so welcome and so much a part of a big crowd - like we were all old friends. And I swear, I cried through the entire show (me and everyone else in the room). You can order a gorgeous DVD of the show from the good folks at Clearwater here. It's totally worth the $35. Unforgettable night.

Of course, after the show we were hungry. Footsore, emotionally exhausted and HUNGRY.

Fortunately, there was a Korean Grill House across the street from our hotel.

New York City - without the Guitar!

2009-05-01T21:21:00.002-04:00

Pete was turning 90. As soon as I heard, I knew we had to go to New York.

We bought our tickets, booked a hotel and hitched a ride to NYC with our friend Peter, who was heading down for the 5 Borough Bike T0ur and Central Park Moonlight Ride.

We'd never travelled with Peter, so when he showed up on Friday morning, and buzzed that he was downstairs, we weren't quite sure what to expect in terms of a vehicle. We trundled downstairs with our luggage (1 suitcase, 1 laptop, 1 camera bag, 1 cooler bag with ice packs in case of emergency artisinal cheese or charcuterie purchases) and found Peter standing in front of an enormous navy blue Dodge Ram pickup truck, to which was attached a two-wheeled trailer - the kind of thing you'd tow a small car with. In the back of the pickup were two of Peter's bicycles. We stowed our gear in the back seat, my Man hopped in the front and I hopped in the back - and we were off!

Turns out the trailer was for a car that Peter needed to pick up in Marlboro, NY and transport back to a garage in Niagara Falls, on the US side. See, Peter's company converts vehicles that run on gasoline to run on propane - and the vehicle we would be transporting was a test vehicle that they didn't have the papers to bring back across the border yet.

In any case, we didn't have to worry about any of this until we were heading home again, so we settled down for the drive. We'd decided to head out via the Thousand Islands Bridge, circling back through Niagara on the way home.

Crossing through the Thousand Islands meant we'd be passing through Kingston - just in time for a take-out lunch at our favourite Kingston food haunt, Pan Chancho. We picked up a few sandwiches (chicken-avocado for me, smoked turkey for Peter, roast beef for Jowi) and a little tub of mackerel pate for starters.

A couple of coffees from Coffee & Company and we were back on the road.

We had a fairly uneventful trip down, but needed to find a place to dump the trailer before hitting the City. (There was no way Peter would be able to find parking in Manhattan for the enormous truck AND the enormous trailer.) We pulled off the interstate in Totowa, NY and inquired first at Ronnie's Music City. Ronnie was worried about the insurance ramifications, so we kept looking. Just over the bridge, beside the Gold's Gym, we found a little auto body shop, and the extremely amiable gentlemen on duty had none of Ronnie's qualms, so we unhitched our millstone and headed on to New York!

It had been overcast for much of our drive, and by the time we hit New York it was drizzling. Traffic was heavy by the Lincoln Tunnel, but the view of the skyline was magical.

Ottawa Folk Festival

2008-08-20T21:53:00.002-04:00

Here we are in Ottawa once again, this time for the 15th annual Ottawa Folk Festival. There are some big names on the mainstage this year (Broken Social Scene, Sarah Harmer, Rufus Wainwright), but I expect that, as always, it's the bands you discover over the course of the weekend workshops that really make the festival special.

My man and the Francophone drove out ahead of us on Wednesday evening in order to make a couple of public presentations at the Museum of Civilization on Thursday and Friday, so the Photographer and I flew out together Friday evening - on Porter Airlines! My first flight from the island airport - I was so excited to be able to walk there from work. Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised to see protesters just outside the terminal building - but the airport is so much a part of my everyday life that I forget there are folks who still object to it. I can see it from our office window, and I don't find the noise of the jet engines any more or less noticeable than the streetcars that rattle along Queens Quay day all day long. And the planes are so beautiful - elegant and sleek, their flight fascinates me in the same way it did when I was small - there is something so splendid about seeing them that close, whooshing across your line of vision.

Sadly, my first Porter flight was not as smooth as it could have been. Bad weather wherever our plane flew in from, combined with bad weather here in Toronto, meant our 7pm flight didn't leave until 8pm. And once we'd boarded, there was a further half an hour delay with a checked bag missing a passenger. But at last we were up in the air! A glass of wine and a boxed snack later, we were in Ottawa. Fantastic!

Euan from the Festival office was on hand to pick us up, and we grabbed our bags and hit the road - it's a half our drive to the hotel. Five minutes down the highway, Euan's cell phone rang to ask if we could go back to the airport and pick up one more passenger - so back we went. Fifteen minutes later, we were back in the car with our addition - Dallas Good of the Sadies, fresh from the Havelock County Jamboree.

We arrived at the festival hotel, the Brookstreet, in Kanata, by 11pm, and found my Man and the Francophone drinking wine in our room. We shared couple of glasses and a Caesar salad from room service, and then off to bed.

Saturday morning we met at 8am for breakfast in the hotel's restaurant before heading over to the festival site at Britannia Park. The boys all had the enormous but delicious-looking breakfast buffet - but I had the Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon - and I'm glad I did! They were perfect, and there was no way I could have done justice to the buffet.

Arriving at the site, we discovered the organizers had put us in the Dance Tent - a huge big-top style tent with a full stage and elaborate lighting rig, in front of which was laid an enormous sprung plywood dance floor. As you'd guess, the music programmed in this tent was chosen with dancing in mind - everything from Cajun to bluegrass to samba, rock and country. Some of these choices were less successful than others, but it was a brilliant idea, and the audience seemed to love it - especially the children.

Because we had the Francophone with us, my help wasn't required to run the photo booth (it's a three man job), so I was free to watch the bands performing in the tent, and to wander the site and catch some of the music being made elsewhere. Musical highlights of the weekend - for me - were Donna the Buffalo, and a fantastic workshop with members of D-Rangers, Wil and Lonesome Paul. Lyn Miles was also wonderful - as usual.

Knowing we had a long day ahead of us on Sunday, we opted to eat in the hotel that evening. My man had been raving about a wonderful appetizer he'd had the night they arrived, and so we checked out the restaurant menu before heading upstairs to shower and change. The most intriguing option was the prix fixe menu, comprised of four courses for $50 - except between 8pm and 9pm, when you could choose three of the four courses for only $30. Sign us up! We convened in the lobby at 8:30pm and were sipping aperitifs by 8:45pm.

We all started with a cocktail: Pernod for my Man and the Photographer, a dry gin martini with extra olives for the Francophone and I.

All of us ended up choosing exactly the same options from the menu: a tartlet of pulled pork and chanterelle mushrooms to start, followed by "foie gras3"

foie gras sorbet, foie gras foamed and layered in a shot glass, and foie gras in rounds over toast.

Wild boar was the main.

Aside from the boar, which was ever so slightly overdone and didn't really taste "boar-y", the foood was some of the most entertaining, creative and delicious I've had in ages. I should also mention the wine list, which was extensive and exciting - and clearly visible, in the form of five enormous, softly-lit and climate-controlled glass displays forming a pillar - and focal point - in the centre of the restaurant. The service was attentive and professional, and the wait staff were very knowledgeable and eager to talk about the food and drink they were serving. All in all, a very successful evening! And how nice not to have to drive home, but to simply be able to roll oneself gently in the direction of the elevator and bed.

Happy and replete!

Sunday was a scorcher. The tent was stuffy and close by midday, but outside the breeze blew cool from the river, and enormous willows provided welcome shade. Close friends who live in Ottawa came by to visit with their adorable offspring, and we spent a very pleasant afternoon lying in the shade and catching up.

I haven't yet mentioned the festival hospitality because frankly it was not a highlight. Some festivals put a lot of thought and effort into providing varied and healthy backstage hospitality and green room space (Calgary springs to mind immediately), but Ottawa seemed to struggle a bit with its food and drink (I'd imagine it's often a budget issue), and provided mainly variations on the theme of burgers, fries and corn over the two days. All prepared and served by their incredibly pleasant and friendly volunteers, of course!

By the end of the day we were all spent, and only had energy enough for a light meal in the hotel bar. The Photographer and I had the fish and chips (disappointing chips but absolutely exquisite fish), the Francophone had a spinach and goat cheese pizza, and my Man (who felt a cold coming on) had the Thai soup. All accompanied by more of the hotel's delicious wine.

My Man and I had a dish of their beautiful sorbet "to go" and took it back up to our room to enjoy in bed.

Monday we headed home - with the obligatory stop at Pan Chancho in Kingston for pate de campagne, Quebec cheese, take-out sandwiches, and something new - a frozen Tunisian lamb pie. It is still in our freezer, waiting to be consumed…

Ottawa Dragonboat Race Festival: Day One

2008-06-20T09:54:00.003-04:00

Rideau Canal

This is our 2nd year at the Ottawa Dragonboat Festival - we spent a very busy weekend there last year (it's not a music festival, so we weren't sure how it would go), and they called us a couple of weeks before the festival this year, saying they'd received word that a grant they'd applied for to fund our return visit had just been approved so could we please come again? My Man was hesitant to accept, since it was my birthday weekend, but the Photographer's wife (the Designer) was free to come along and spend some time playing with me while the two of them worked the festival - so, voilà! A road trip!

We drove up Friday morning, and had reservations at a new Ottawa restaurant for dinner that night. Murray Street: Kitchen | Charcuterie | Wine Bar (are there sweeter words in the English language than charcuterie and wine bar?) had opened its doors just that Monday, and we were looking forward to our visit very much. We were not disappointed!

The menu was double-sided, with one side listing charcuterie and cheese, and the other side featuring the appetizers, salads and main courses. We started with a selection of meat and cheese from the charcuterie page, which came prettily arranged on a large board, accompanied by some pickles and home-made melba toast. We also ordered a wonderful cocktail of watermelon and cucumber juice with vodka. Most refreshing!

The Designer and I, post-cocktail..

We then all shared the Murray Street's interpretation of poutine, made with spaetzle instead of french fries, and topped with duck gravy and local cheese curds. The portion size was just right - not overwhelmingly large - even between the four of us, all you really wanted was just enough to get a feel for the taste of it (which was delightful - the duck gravy is a stroke of genius)!

For our mains, the Designer and my Man decided on the pork, while the Photographer and I each ordered the fish and "chip" - three kinds of fish (pickerel, halibut and tuna) served over a long, rectangular potato pancake. The tuna was slightly overdone, but otherwise the dish was delicious - again, the portion size was perfect.

For dessert, I returned to the cheese menu - a lovely wedge of 7 yr old cheddar which made the inside of my mouth go all tingly.

The others split a deconstructed lemon meringue pie - and seemed to enjoy it very much!

We rolled ourselves back to the hotel, which was only a short walk away, through the quiet downtown Ottawa streets. As we walked, we noticed the setups on Spark Street for Ribfest, also taking place that weekend.....more on that anon.

Festival des guitares du monde

2008-05-31T21:59:00.013-04:00

...also known as the International Guitar Festival. It's held annually in Rouyn-Noranda, northern Quebec.

We arrived here Friday morning at around 10:30AM, after driving two hours from the cottage in Cobalt. The drive from Toronto to Rouyn-Noranda takes seven hours, so we broke our journey at the cottage on the way up, and plan to spend Sunday night there on our way home.

This is the furthest north I've ever been (the cottage was my former record), and it's an exciting experience. Rouyn is fairly remote, and the people who live here speak only French - unlike Montreal, where most of the folks I encountered tended to be amicably bilingual. It's also interesting to see such a high ratio of Quebecois artists on the performance roster. There are a number of Big Names (Johnny Winter, America, Bruce Cockburn) but the majority of the performers present are best known within the province.

The festival has booked us rooms at the Hotel Noranda, a surprisingly boutique-y little place connected to the convention centre where the majority of the programming is held. The menu is intriguing, particularly the room service:

It's late May, so still cool up here (plus, it's blackfly season), so the Festival is held largely indoors. We're assigned a space in the convention centre, in a room across the hall from two performance spaces, with a third upstairs, so we are in prime position to attract the attention of audiences as they arrive and depart. We have two laptops with us, and the whole building is wireless, so we use one for registration, and put the other on a little table outside our door, playing a slideshow from our Flickr page. This intrigues people - and they poke their heads into our room curiously, wondering what the fuss is about.

Having the Francophone is in his element here - we truly couldn't manage without him, as my Man and I realize how sadly inadequate our long-ago high school French is. We keep at it, though, and by the end of the weekend my Man is able to describe many of the guitar's elements in language that people are at least pretending to understand.

Being in Quebec with the guitar is different than being in any other province so far. The only one I can compare it to is Newfoundland - there is a similar sense of pride of place here, a fierce possessiveness - of ownership - that you certainly don't see back home. It's more than a little moving.

There are certain obvious elements of the guitar that resonate here: the seat from the Montreal forum, the Richard ring. Also the northern mining elements - silver from Cobalt and nickel from Sudbury. But the children are interested in all the stories; they crowd around the Francophone, reaching out with shy hands to stroke the guitar gently, asking questions in rapid French, and eyeing Doug with interest, as he attempts to place them against the backdrop in his own broken French.

The festival director is Alain Vezina, and he runs the show seeming to subsist on nothing but on coffee and granola bars - but with the help of dozens of volunteers, many of whom are members of his family. His sisters, his son, his parents - all of them are present at the festival, dashing about in their FGMAT t-shirts helping artists, patrons, volunteers - Louise even manages to find time to source some freshly caught lake fish for us (we are on the shores of Lac Dufaut here) as well a basket of assorted local cheeses.

This is a photo of the board of the festival, with Alain in the centre holding the guitar, and Louise to the right of him.

Our assigned volunteer was formerly the principal of the town's sole English school. She knows everyone who walks in the door, and tells them all about the guitar with great enthusiasm. In spite of her claims to be computer illiterate, she soon masters our database, and helps people with the registration.

The Photographer takes advantage of a lull in portrait sessions to connect with the family back home. How did we manage before the internet??

Aside from the cheese and my ever-increasing cretons addiction, there is not much of note on the menu in Rouyn - though we did have one spectacular breakfast at the St Honoré Boulangerie, whicih had the most gorgeous selection of breads and pastries, and where the Photographer and I each bought a very exciting-looking Tarte d'Alsace to take home with us.

On our way out of town on Sunday, we stopped at the mine (the economic centre of town) to take a few photos.

Life in a northern town.

Montreal

2008-05-24T20:21:00.016-04:00

We'd been attempting to find a meeting date with the folks at the head office of a major Canadian airline (which shall remain nameless until they actually GIVE us the sponsorship deal we really need, at which point I shall promote them faithfully in every post), and finally managed to set one up for the afternoon of Friday May 23. We'd also been trying to find a way to spend some time with our very good and much-missed friends the Runner and the Best Friend, who live in Ottawa with their wee one, Peter Parker (PP for short), so we decided to spend Friday night in Montreal, drive to Ottawa on Saturday to spend the night with them, and then drive back home Sunday afternoon in time to have dinner with my Man's mother. I've never visited Montreal and have spent very little time in Ottawa, so the weekend promised to be full of interest and adventure - and it was!

Our meeting was at 2pm and the airline's head office was out by the airport, so we rose at 5:30AM in order to be out of the house by 7:00AM. Traffic was light that early in the day, and we were soon cruising sunnily eastward along the 401. We reached Montreal by noon, and navigated the maze of expressways with the aid of a GoogleMap, reaching our destination by 12:30PM. The traffic in Montreal was heavy, and it was too risky for my Man to try to drop me off at the hotel before the meeting - we needed to find somewhere nearby we could have a snack and a coffee while we waited for 2PM to roll around. We followed the directions of the receptionist in the lobby, who told us there were a couple of restaurants a five-minute drive back the way we'd come.

Unfortunately, these instructions were too simple for us. In four minutes were back in that same maze of expressways, completely disoriented and with no restaurants in sight. We did, however, see an IKEA! Spurred by the thought of fifty-cent hot dogs, we hit the off-ramp and navigated the warren of back-streets to the IKEA parking lot. I don't know what it is about the IKEA hot dogs...perhaps it's the Swedish mustard...they are so good!

Thus fortified, we managed to find our way back to our starting point with very little foul language and only two panic attacks, and my Man headed in for his meeting while I napped in the parked car. The sun was warm, our rental car had a sun roof - and I'd been up since the crack of dawn. An hour and a half went by swiftly.

By 3:30PM my Man was out of his meeting and back in the car. The meeting was profitable - though not quite as profitable as we had hoped it would be - and he'd been promised a message outlining the actual support he would be offered the following week. Nothing to do but wait and see. It was a sunny afternoon and we were in Montreal - time to forget about work and have some fun!

A few months back, our friend the Francophone had invited us for dinner, and had shown us a beautiful cookbook from a Montreal restaurant called Au Pied de Cochon. As the title indicates, the focus of the book is MEAT, particularly pork - with an equal emphasis on foie gras. We ordered a copy of the book for ourselves, and have been dreaming about eating there for months. Two weeks before our visit, my Man phoned for a reservation, and managed to get the last available table for the Friday we'd be in town - at 5:30PM.

Searching for a place to stay online, I looked for a small hotel that would be walking distance from the restaurant, and through TripAdvisor.com stumbled upon the Kutuma. It was a small boutique hotel, three stories tall, next door to an Ethiopian restaurant called The Blue Nile, and run by the same owners. It is cosy and charming and the staff took wonderful care of us, upgrading our room to a junior suite with a kitchenette, helping us up the stairs with our bags, and showing us how to work the remarkably complicated shower.

Being in the room was like being on safari. There was leopard-print carpeting on the floors, leopard-print sheets on the bed, as well as a furry leopard-print throw....zebra-printed cushions on the sofa...leopard-printed plates in the cupboard. It was all slightly kitsch and very comfortable - and the king-sized bed was heavenly.

We only had a few minutes to unpack and have a quick wash before it was time to walk to the restaurant. After a couple of wrong turns down some very pretty side streets we managed to orient ourselves - though we had to duck into a couple of doorways along the way, due to sudden and inexplicable rain showers falling from the almost cloudless sky.

This particular part of Montreal is so pretty - two or three-storey walk-ups line the well-treed streets, and people sit on theirs stoops chatting and reading and smoking...it's like Paris crossed with SoHo.

The restaurant was everything we had hoped it would be. Though it was only 5:30PM, it was already filling up with a clientele that ranged from thirtysomething trendies to twentysomething punks to sixtysomething retired folk. The place had a casual, comfortable vibe, menus in two languages, incredibly knowledgeable (and gorgeous) wait staff - and delicious martinis.

What can I say about our meal? My only criticism is that the portions were too generous.

We started with the Assiette de cochonnailles: a plate of three different kinds of pate - cretons, pâté de campagne, and rillettes, along with some of the chef's home-made ketchup and an exquisite little square of jellied braising liquid.

This was followed by our vegetable course: a tomato tartlet and a delicious apple, endive, blue cheese and walnut salad.

For our main, we shared the bison tartare and the tarte boudin.

The tartare was perfection - salty with capers and mustard and crunchy with finely chopped onion. It came with the restaurant's special french fries, cooked in duck fat - but we were so full by this point we couldn't really do them justice.

Boudin is a kind of blood sausage, and it came on a bed of flaky pastry, lined with thinly sliced potatoes, finished with foie gras. Completely decadent - a heart attack on a plate. We ate only a third of it between us.

We couldn't leave without sampling a dessert. Our waiter recommended the pouding chômeur, a sponge-toffee concoction with a lovely texture that was slightly chewy and yet somehow melty all at the same time.

After dinner, we rolled ourselves out to the street and staggered up and down Rue St Denis for a couple of hours, watching the city come to life in the May dusk. The light was lovely and golden, and the streets were still wet with rain, gleaming as the sun set.

We'd hoped to find a place to have one last drink, to sit and do a little people-watching before turning in, but eventually we found ourselves back at the hotel - where the adjacent restaurant was packed with chattering Montrealers consuming injera and kitfo at an astonishing rate.

By 10:00PM, our early morning and enormous dinner had combined to create a sort of paralysis.

We slept.

St John's - Postscript

2008-04-16T21:45:00.007-04:00

Back to work for both of us today. It feels a bit odd to return to our routine. How can I sit at a desk all day when there are stormy, rocky cliffs and lonely, lovely seaside vistas to be contemplated to the accompaniment of bird calls and the sound of the wind - all just a short flight away?

We walk to work this morning in an attempt to counteract the culture shock. We take the lake route.

It's all very calm and serene....there are joggers and cyclists, and we say good morning to everyone, like good little Newfoundlanders. The sun is warm and the lake is serenely blue, and the seabirds who winter on our lake have not yet flown north. They bob and dive shyly, and when we peer into the water, we see them swimming below the surface.

And there are swans, swimming hopefully up and eyeing us beadily with a view to breadcrumbs.

So...it may not be wild and mysterious and atmospheric and full of ferociously gregarious Newfoundlanders - but it's home and I did miss it.

For dinner tonight we ate the Potter's moose sausages. They were divine.

So that's it for now! The summer is coming, and with it some road trips and adventures, we hope.

Thanks for sharing this journey with us, gentle readers.

xo

St John's - Heading Home

2008-04-15T21:12:00.003-04:00

My man and Karen - breakfast-maker extraordinaire.

So today we say goodbye to new friends and fly home to old ones.

I'm not sad to leave the weather (there is hail this morning), but I wish we'd had more time to explore the island. And to see more live local music. And to visit the antique shops - I didn't make it into a single one! And to have lunch at the little Afghani place on Duckworth...and buy fish from the Fish Depot...and to get to Belbin's...and - well, I think I may have to get back to St John's sometime very soon!

We had a couple of errands to run before we left town - a visit to the Newfoundland Weavery to buy one of their fabulous larch cutting boards, and a stop at the Craft Council for a few gifty things to bring home.

The Potter kindly offered to drive us to the airport; she picked us up at 10:30am sharp, bearing a parting gift of frozen moose sausage made by some friends who hunt, securely wrapped in layers of plastic and tin foil. We stashed it deep in our luggage, hoping it wouldn't defrost too quickly.

The Professor stopped by for a quick goodbye, and after hugs all round we were off. Half an hour later, we were hugging the Potter goodbye and heading into the airport.

Our flight home had a high ratio of children to adults aboard, which worried us a bit - especially when we found ourselves sitting across the aisle from a rosy-cheeked and smiling cherub of about six months of age, whose two year-old brother was roaring lustily in his seat, in protest against some (I'm sure entirely valid) injustice. They soon quieted down, however, and my Man spent a large portion of the flight picking up toys that were dropped in the aisle and turning picture book pages, much to the delight of the cherub.

The highlight of our flight was consuming our leftover steak and cheesy bread from our meal at Christopher's the previous evening. No airline traveller ever had it so good.

Our flight landed in Toronto at a quarter past three, and by four-thirty we were strolling down Roncesvalles in the sunshine, without our scarves, hats, gloves or boots.

It's good to be home.

St John's - Last Night

2008-04-15T10:00:00.008-04:00

I can safely say that there is one thing I won't miss about St John's and that is the mercurial weather. Changeable doesn't begin to cover it.

Tonight it was WINDY. The kind of windy that pushes you sideways, like it's in a bigger hurry than you are. We bundle up and head out.

Earlier in the week, we'd noticed a sign outside of the local Mexicali Rosa's indicating 2 for 1 margaritas on Mondays. This was our first stop. Mmmm. Just as good as Hernando's back home, once we convinced them to rim the glasses with coarse instead of table salt.

A couple of stools away, a little further down the bar, were a couple of guys who were also enjoying the 2 for 1 margaritas - two at a time! They had two rounds of two each while we were there, followed by a Corona each. When we left, they were attempting drunken come-ons to the trio of very pert, very young, very pretty bartenders.

We'd been craving steak, so we went to Christopher's for our last meal in St John's. It was a good choice! Christopher's is run by two friends - one is the chef, the other is the maitre d'. The maitre d' also provides table service - Christopher's is small enough not to warrant any other staff - and he was sweetly attentive, clearly proud of his restaurant and his food.

After a starter of scallops for my Man and a Gazpacho salad for me, we each ordered the 6oz "Sissy" cut steak - cooked rare. It came to the table on a bed of beautifully nutty linguine, tossed in olive oil with perfectly cooked fresh vegetables, and dressed with the chef's special wild game demi-glace. Perfection.

We couldn't finish the steaks, they were so enormous, so we asked if we could have our leftovers wrapped up, along with some of their special cheesy bread. These makeshift sandwiches are sitting in my carry-on bag right now, ready to be consumed once we're in the air.

After dinner we met the Actress at the bar in the Fairmont Newfoundland, which is just across the street from our B&B. The decor in Fairmont bars, in my limited experience, seems to be always violently outdated, and this one was no exception. Nothing matched or was coordinated; the carpet, the chairs, the upholstery, the tables, the bar all looked like all they had been purchased and installed at different stages in the hotel's history, each at least a decade apart. Which can work if everything is comfortable, well-made and well-designed, but can be disastrous if not. The Fairmont Newfoundland has none of St John's charm, romance or humour- it's a faceless, anonymous nonentity that could be in any city in any part of the world. Disappointing.

It was our last night in St John's, though, so after a nice communal rant about the decor we focused on more interesting subjects and enjoyed a couple of drinks before it was time for my Man and I to turn in. The Actress had a rehearsal the next day, so she wasn't up for a late night either.

We'd considered a little "pre-packing" that night, but between the margaritas, the wine at dinner, and the wine at the Fairmont...well, lying down became really the only option.

The bar at the Fairmont.

St John's - Last Day!

2008-04-15T07:28:00.008-04:00

It suddenly occurred to me that I've written nothing about breakfasts! The second B in B&B has been an important part of our stay - mostly because of Karen. I'm not going to give her an alias, because if you come to stay here at The Roses, you will meet her and love her as we do.

She is also a darn fine cook. We've eaten her French toast, her pancakes with partridgeberries, her omelettes, and her delightful grilled-cheese-with-fried-egg-on-top (our personal favourite).

Yesterday morning over breakfast, we were discussing the merits of the various fish and chip shops in town. My man expressed a partiality for Ches's. Karen said she preferred Leo's (the fish pieces are thicker). Her mother always liked Kavanagh's. I absorbed this information in silence, but did a little googling when I was back in our room to see where all these places were located.

My man had a school visit today, at a private school called St Bonaventure's. He spoke to a group of Grade 4 students, and afterward Sherry Ryan and Andrea Munro played the guitar for them.

He was due home after twelve-thirty, so I embarked on my quest for fish and chips around eleven-thirty. It was a fair hike up to the area where both Leo's and Ches's were located. I had hoped to try Leo's, since neither of us had had it before, but sadly I had forgotten to go to the bank machine, and Leo's only takes cash. Such a shame - it was very greasy spoonish, with one of those traditional menu boards where you stick the little plastic letters into white grooved backlit plastic. The food they were serving looked very good, particularly the plates featuring mountains of fries smothered in dark gravy. Also, I had read online that they fry in lard, which does make for a very crispy finish.

Ches's was an altogether more polished establishment. Very clean and white and orderly, with printed menus and two dining areas. I ordered a two-piece meal and a side of onion rings, as well as a small coleslaw. Stocked up on their special malt vinegar and some tartar sauce from the condiment stand. My meal came in a large brown bag, the warmth of which I could feel right through my coat as I carried it home.

When I unlocked the door of our room, my Man was back. He looked at my brown bag inquiringly...and then a gleam appeared in his eyes. "Is that...?" His eyebrows shot up.

I smiled.

Delicious.

After lunch, he headed back to the Professor's house to wrap up a few things, and I headed across the street to the Fairmont Newfoundland for a little indulgence at their spa. Waiting for my session to begin, I observed two gentlemen being shown in for their pedicures. Big burly men, with large bellies, boots, and bomber jackets - manly men, who looked like they'd come off one of the tankers. As I was shown into my own treatment room, the two girls assigned to take care of them were helping them into their pedicure chairs and providing them with soothing neck wraps....

St John's - Eighth Night

2008-04-14T07:27:00.007-04:00

You would not believe how hard it is to find an open pharmacy in St John's on a Sunday!

First we tried the Water Street Pharmacy.

Closed.

The pleasant young man doing a crossword at the counter of the menswear shop next door told us that there was another pharmacy on Long's Hill.

We hoof it up to Long's Hill.

Closed.

Long's Hill is halfway to the big Sobey's, where I'm sure the pharmacy is open, so we hike up there (this is all uphill from Water Street, I should mention - and in St John's, hills are HILLS).

Success!! The Sobey's pharmacy is open!

We have our prescription filled, and pick up a few necessities. My man forgot his razor, so has become a bit grizzly over the week. He has a school visit with the guitar tomorrow, so we figured a shave was probably a good idea. Don't want to scare the children.

In our wanderings, we pass a little restaurant called Nautical Nellie's, with a sandwich board outside promising $3.50 Caesars. We look at each other. Twelve seconds later, we're seated at the bar. The Caesars are delicious! So is the Codaroni we order to share. (Think mac and cheese, but with delicious morsels of cod.) An hour later we leave Nellie's, revitalized.

We have a show at the Ship in tonight - a local landmark, and musical hub of the city. My Man is going to give a talk and a Power Point presentation to start things off, and then a great group of local musicians will play the guitar. The staff at the local Craft Council have kindly arranged to lend us their multi-media projector, so we pop in to their office on the way home to pick it up.

It's huge!! When we get it back to the B&B and hook it up it doesn't want to work with our laptop. I try to download the manual online - and discover the projector is twelve years old!

Sadly, we never are able to get it to work, so there will be no multi-media presentation for the good folks at the Ship.

We arrive at the Ship around 7:30pm and meet the bartender, Tim. There's some gear on stage, but they don't have a house tech, so my Man and I set up two vocal mics, an instrument mic, and a DI box, plug it all into the PA system and power it up. Amazingly, it works! (I knew that theatre tech degree would come in handy.)
People start trickling in. The Potter and her cousin. Our friend, the Actress, whom my Man and the Photographer met here one boozy night at the folk festival last August, when she was attempting intimacy with a giant inflatable beer can. The Professor - but not the Musician, who had choir practice. The musicians who will play tonight: Dan Rubin, Amelia Curran, Tom Power, Jeik Loksa, Sandy Morris, Jenny Gear, Peter Narvaez, Jill Porter, Sherry Ryan, Joanne Wareham and Duane Andrews.

I've heard my Man speak about the guitar many, many times, but this evening he was in particularly fine form - he was eloquent, passionate, and sincere - he moved us all to tears. The projector was not missed!

And then there was the music. The room was busy for a Sunday night, and yet you could have heard a pin drop. Absolutely wonderful music from a great community of artists. A very memorable event.

The Potter and I.

St John's - Day Eight

2008-04-13T12:09:00.006-04:00

So far, today has been a bit of a bomb.

My Man didn't sleep well last night. What began as a twinge in his shoulder as we went to bed, escalated through the night to the point where even lying still was agony. I thought maybe our double bed was just too small for the pair of us, so moved into the twin spare bed around 3am, but the extra room didn't seem to help him - by 4:30am he was in the shower, hoping heat would help relieve the pain - and by 6:30am we were hailing a cab on the street, heading to the local emergency room.

The thought of a St John's emergency room on a Sunday morning after a Saturday night was daunting - but when we arrived there wasn't another soul in the place. This is my Man, gazing in dismay at the waiting room television, which is blaring CNN at a very un-Sundaymorningish volume.

We only waited about ten minutes for a check-in session, and then another fifteen or so to see the doctor - who couldn't find anything wrong.

He gave my Man an injection, and then a prescription for some muscle relaxants and that was that. Unfortunately, there was no pharmacy in the hospital - and at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning, no local pharmacies are open - so we staggered out into the morning and wandered vaguely in the direction of our B&B.

There was not a taxi to be found, and it didn't seem that we were too far from home....but then it started to hail...and then we realized we were kind of hungry....but what's open on a Sunday morning before 8am? The local Tim Hortons! We headed in that direction, thoughts of eggy breakfast sandwiches spurring our steps.

On our way, we passed a 24-hour restaurant - so we took the chance and went in. We should have held out for Tim Hortons. Nothing on the menu appealed to my Man, but we'd committed so we had to order something. I won't tell you what we ate (I'm too embarrassed), but it was revolting. Pretty much what you'd expect from what was basically a pub that stays open 24 hours.

Back on the street, the hail had turned to rain. We started passing all manner of lovely, cozy-looking restaurants, just open at 8am on a Sunday morning.

Fifteen minutes later, soaked and tired, we were back home and back in bed.

It's now 2pm and the sun is out.

We are off to the pharmacy.

St John's - Seventh Night

2008-04-13T11:46:00.008-04:00

On our own tonight, which was very pleasant indeed!

After a some fairly extensive internet restaurant research, we decided to go with a recommendation of the Potter's, and have dinner at Bianca's. Unsure how busy things were in downtown St John's on a Saturday night, we called ahead to book a table for seven o'clock.

When we arrived, there was one other couple there.

That was no reflection on either the food, the wine or the service, however. Bianca's was our most delightful dining experience to date. There were a number of local and seasonal items on the menu, and the wine list was extensive - and life-sized! No written wine list for Bianca's - instead custom shelving lines one of the restaurant's walls, displaying the current inventory of wine, sorted by region and grape. Fantastic display - but I think it took us longer to decide than if we had been reading a wine list. You get so distracted by the visuals...

This is what we went with, and it was delish:

We'd heard that the scallops and the halibut are particularly good right now, so whenever we've seen these items on the menu, we've leaped at them. My Man's appetizer was a delicious concoction of caramelized scallops on a fennel puree - it was gorgeous!

My own appetizer was a less spectacular but very tasty salad of cucumber, tomato, roasted pepper and eggplant, topped with a squidgy mound of soft Bulgarian feta. We've been terrible about eating vegetables here - I really needed the salad. I felt healthier after three bites.

Choosing our main course was a challenge. Everything sounded so good - and there were a number of specials that were very tempting. In the end, my Man went with the duck breast and I chose the panko-crusted salmon topped with a snow crab ravioli.

The duck was rare and juicy - and the salmon was the most perfectly cooked piece of fish I have ever eaten. The service was friendly and knowledgeable, and allowed us ample time to linger over our wine after the plates were cleared.

After dinner we went for a stroll downtown, wandering along George Street - the party street - where it was too early for much to be going on yet. (It was only 9pm.) Back on Water Street we decided on one last glass of wine at the Gypsy Tea Room before heading home.

This picture is of a poster on the door of an office on Water Street, where they promote and distribute a line of clothing from Iceland. I can't imagine what made them think that this image would inspire people to buy their clothing - this is the scariest family I have ever seen!

St John's - Day Seven

2008-04-12T15:00:00.009-04:00

Today is the Italian's last day. He flies home at 5pm. So we planned a snacky lunch of cheese, bread, olives, salad, sardines and smoked salmon - very nice! The bread, made locally, was especially good - we tore into it like wolves! The Italian found a lovely selection of cheeses at Auntie Crae's, including a delicious goat Gouda, some Double Gloucester, and a delicious stinky French one I can't remember the name of...

After lunch, we walked down to the water to take a few photos of the three collaborators:

Before the colleagues headed back to work, my Man, the Italian and I took a walk further out along the Outer Battery Road, to the trail that winds eventually up to Signal Hill.

Here they are posing for their album cover:

It was windy and the sun kept popping in and out from behind the clouds, so it was kind of chilly - but the view was spectacular, and the trail is a delight. Well-maintained, kind of rocky - you can see how it would be completely hazardous in the winter - in fact, there is a sign at the entrance that says it's closed from October through the end of March, and there was snow in parts that made the going a little tricky.

In this photo, you can see the a section of the path where you have to hold on to chains strung along the rock face:

The point furthest away is where we were yesterday - Cape Spear:

I do like to be beside the seaside...

My Man and I are on our own tonight (I think the Professor and the Musican are glad of a break! But we'll see them tomorrow night at the Ship...), and I'm not sure what we're doing for dinner yet....I'm hoping to find time for my daily nap, however. Not sure how I'm going to function once I'm back to my regular routine. Mid-afternoon is a very hard time of day to stay awake through!

St John's - Sixth Night

2008-04-11T23:08:00.004-04:00

Dinner tonight was at Restaurant 21.

My Man, the Italian and I all had the caribou medallions on truffled potatoes, with sourdough toutons dressed in a salt meat and white bean stew.

Nuff said.

It was our last dinner together, since the Italian has to head back out to BC tomorrow. The three colleagues have been immersed in their work, it's difficult for them to talk about anything else - but the Musican and I don't mind. The show is going to be great, if our dinner table conversations are any indication.

After dinner we went down to George Street, which is the all-night party street of St John's, to Club One, where we saw Buck 65 do his thing for very appreciative Friday night crowd. Sadly, we were too late for the opening act, Cadence Weapon, whom my Man had interviewed earlier in the day for the new show, but Cadence (AKA Roland Pemberton) came by to say hello before leaping on stage for a dynamic encore with Buck.

After the show, my Man and I headed back to the B&B - but the Italian needed to let off a little steam (his hard drive had literally combusted earlier that day, losing a week's worth of work), so he went off to Water Street in search of House music. He did a little dancing, made a few new friends, heard some good tunes and got home at 3:30AM!

St John's - Day Six

2008-04-11T14:42:00.012-04:00

Another cloudy, drizzly day today - the perfect day to take a drive out to Cape Spear, the easternmost point of North America! The Potter met me in the coffee shop next door to the B&B at noon, and we drove south about six miles to the Cape.

Signal Hill in the sunshine is one face of the coast; Cape Spear on a foggy, rainy day is quite another. There are signs everywhere warning of sudden large waves, and the walkways and fencing keep you well away from the rocks close to the water. All you can hear is the occasional seabird's cry, the sound of the sea crashing on the rocks and cliffs, and the foghorn sounding once each minute.

To the north we could see Signal Hill, and pulling out to sea was a tanker that had been in the harbour since we arrived here on Sunday.

There are two lighthouses on the Cape: the older one set back from the water (this is the one shown in the link above), and the newer lighthouse closer to the edge, below. It's all run by computers these days, so no lighthouse keeper resides on Cape Spear any longer.

We stopped in Deadman's Harbour on the way back to watch a flock of seabirds gathering offshore. We couldn't figure out what they were doing....

Back in St John's we stopped for lunch at International Flavours - a wee Indian restaurant disguised as a house where your choices are merely "chicken or vegetable". Off goes the owner, Talat, into the kitchen, and ten minutes later a boy emerges with a plate of the most incredible food....chick peas, dal, chicken, two kinds of curried mixed vegetables, rice, lime pickle and a little yogurt with a dab of green chile in it. No menu, just whatever she happens to have cooked that day. Divine.

After lunch we had time for a quick trip up the road to Quidi Vidi, a wee fishing village that is part of St John's proper, tucked away on a little bay the other side of Signal Hill.

Back at the B&B, I think it may be time for my mid-day nap. We are going to see Buck 65 tonight at Club 21, so I should rest up!

St John's - Fifth Night

2008-04-11T00:20:00.006-04:00

Another late working night for the men, so I aimed to be at the Professor's for eight-thirty. It was full dark by eight-thirty, and though the road to the Battery is reasonably well-lit and the houses are so close to the road that a cry for help would bring half a dozen people in a hearbeat, signs like the one above make me very nervous. Especially when walking the short stretch of cliff road where the only way through is either straight ahead or over the rail into the sea. I can imagine that in a thick fog, there is a definite otherworldliness about this road to nowhere...

But on to more important subjects: dinner.

What could possibly top last night's halibut, is a question that I'm sure has been on your mind all day. The answer is - moose.

The Professor cooked it bourgignon-style in a slow oven all afternoon, and we ate it with roasted new potatoes, asparagus and incredible bread from a local baker. Meltingly good.

Here is the dog who lives with the Professor and the Musician. Her name is Kitty, and she is a very sweet girl. She likes to help clean the dishes after the meal...and does a wonderful job!

St John's - Day Five

2008-04-10T17:09:00.010-04:00

Today the sun came out, and it was glorious!

I had been saving my first walk up Signal Hill for a sunny day, and so today was the day! Let me tell you, it is quite a hike! I'm told there is a trail off the Outer Battery Road, but I was a bit nervous about getting lost, so I took the Signal Hill road up the hill.

This is Signal Hill from the bottom:

It was clear from the amount of cars that passed me on the way up - and from the number of other walkers I saw - that the idea of Signal Hill on a clear and warm day was appealing to many people! The walk was brutal, but when I reached the top....what a sight.

The view sort of sneaks up on you - you stagger up the last stretch of steep roadway, panting, and see a low stone wall ahead of you. "That looks good to sit on," you think. As you step closer, the grade of the hill levels out and you can suddenly see over the wall - the sea.

It was heartbreakingly lovely. I am glad I was alone to see it for the first time. An unforgettable experience. Blue and beautiful, it fills your vision...and all you've been learning and hearing about the history of this place - the ships and armies of the British and the French, the generations of fisherman, whalers and sealers, the follies of men and politicians - not to mention the simple and immediate power of the water, the wind, and the weather....all this runs through your mind as you stand looking out to sea as hundreds of people have done for hundreds of years before you stood on this spot.

Perhaps I'm projecting, having heard so much on the subject over the last few days - and I hope it's not presumptuous to write about it, being from "away", but it seemed to me, as I stood there, that behind the sound of the waves and the wind, there is a lament, keening like the cry of the guillemot, a lament for the cod, and all that was lost with it.

St John's - Fourth Night

2008-04-09T23:20:00.009-04:00

Tonight everyone worked late, so I wandered over to the house around eight o'clock with my groceries. I hadn't been to the Outer Battery on my own yet, nor in twilight. The light was lovely, and the sky was my favourite shade of blue, deepening slowly to darkness. It's warmer tonight, just warm enough to smell the sea, and the sound of snowmelt rushing down the cliffs fills the night.

The Professor had a line on some halibut for dinner, and pulled the fish out of the fridge to oohs and ahs of appreciation from the rest of us. It was quite the most enormous piece of fish I have ever seen.

The Italian was in charge of fish prep. He poked slivers of garlic and ginger into the flesh, before dredging it in more garlic and ginger, as well as shallots, parsley, thyme, salt, pepper and Marsala wine. Then he massaged it.

Here he is, ready to pop his masterpiece in the oven:

And here are the three collaborators enjoying a well-earned pre-dinner drink:

My Man was on risotto detail, so we had a delicious saffrony pseudo-milanese risotto, with a few mussels steamed open on top at the last minute.

My contribution was a herb salad with shallots and pears in a lemony vinaigrette. But I forgot to take a picture of it! Suffice to say, it was all very good to eat!

St John's - Day Four

2008-04-09T17:21:00.006-04:00

Last week I'd noticed on the fence of the Anglican Cathedral of St John's that there were free organ concerts on Wednesdays from 1:15 to 1:45, so today that's what I did. But not alone! An old friend of my Man's lives here (let's call her the Potter), so she and I hooked up outside the church at one o'clock and went to hear the concert.

It was great! The church is beautiful and has the most gorgeous stained glass windows. The organ is a Great Casavant and sounds divine, and the organist was accompanied by a local soprano who sang Panis Angelicus and Pie Jesu. The whole experience was one of those unexpected and slightly secret delights that can make a holiday so memorable.

After lunch we walked over to The Sprout, a local vegetarian place which was a nice combination of Earth Mother and kitsch. The food was plentiful and very good and so was the conversation. The Potter was doing some family genealogy research up at The Rooms that afternoon, so she kindly dropped me at the Sobey's so I could do a little grocery shopping for our dinner tonight.

Walking back from Sobey's, laden with groceries and clinking with booze, I found myself cursing for the umpteenth time the piles of impacted snow and ice that still cover the sidewalks. For some reason which no one can explain, the city does not clear the sidewalks - and there is no legislation for homeowners to clear their walks either. As a result, you end up walking in the road - which can be hazardous, to say the least!

There seems to be no legislation about dog poop either, unfortunately....

St John's - Third Night

2008-04-08T23:59:00.010-04:00

The Professor and the Musician had an engagement this evening, and the Italian wanted to work late, so we decided we'd have a late dinner and arranged to rendezvous at eight-thirty at Basho. In the meantime, my Man and I headed over to the Duke of Duckworth for a pint.

The poor old Duke seems to have fallen on hard times. The CBC Radio headquarters used to occupy a huge art deco building across the street - but has since moved out of the downtown core, taking a huge part of the Duke's revenue with it. Though the beer was good and the service was friendly, we were the only customers in the place when we left at eight-thirty.

Basho, however, was so busy that they had run out of sushi! Actually, they were short-staffed, having lost a chef unexpectedly, and so were unable to fill as many orders as usual. We ordered a variety of delicious appetizers instead - the tuna tartare, in particular, was heavenly...and the wine was delicious, too!

Our mealtime conversations are always interesting; I've enjoyed listening to the Professor talk about Newfoundland's cultural identity, Confederation, offshore oil, the fishing industry, politics, and just generally how things have changed in St John's over the years - not necessarily for the better.

So interesting the pride of place here. You can't imagine feeling as passionate about Ontario as Newfoundlanders do about their province - though, of course, to them it will never be simply "a province". But what strikes me, walking the streets of St John's, is the sense of a place whose time has passed. Everyone talks about the cod...how there is nothing without the cod - and I try to imagine these hilly streets crowded with sailors from all over the world instead of with tourists, and I think what a crime it is that it should have come to this.

ODE TO NEWFOUNDLAND

When sun rays crown thy pine clad hills,
And summer spreads her hand,
When silvern voices tune thy rills,
We love thee, smiling land.

REFRAIN:
We love thee, we love thee,
We love thee, smiling land.

When spreads thy cloak of shimm'ring white,
At Winter's stern command,
Thro' shortened day and starlit night,
We love thee, frozen land,

REFRAIN:
We love thee, we love thee,
We love thee, frozen land.

When blinding storm gusts fret thy shore,
And wild waves lash thy strand,
Thro' sprindrift swirl and tempest roar,
We love thee, wind-swept land,

REFRAIN:
We love thee, we love thee,
We love thee, wind-swept land.

As loved our fathers, so we love,
Where once they stood, we stand;
Their prayer we raise to Heaven above,
God guard thee, Newfoundland

REFRAIN:
God guard thee, God guard thee,
God guard thee, Newfoundland

Words by: Charles Cavendish Boyle
Music by: C. Hubert H. Parry
In use: 1907-1949 (as provincial song since 1980)

St John's - Day Three

2008-04-08T19:44:00.008-04:00

The view from our window this morning. Foggy.

At least it was warmer today - and not drizzling. I walked up to The Rooms today, passing the Basilica on the way. The Basilica is the building that we saw from the Battery the other night, lit up on the hill across the bay - and The Rooms is the building next to it. It's an interesting parallel - the spiritual centre of the city, which would formerly have been the sole occupant of this prominent position on the skyline - now sharing the spotlight with the cultural centre of the city.

The Rooms is a wonderful facility. Its design mirrors the "fishing rooms" where a Newfoundland family would have come together to process their catch, and so three main "rooms" combine to form the building on many levels: the museum, the archives and the art gallery. They are connected by broad staircases and encased in glass, with huge windows and skylights everywhere - and the most spectacular views of the city.

I ate lunch on the fourth floor, where there is a little cafe overlooking a view of the Narrows. The menu was extensive and reasonably priced, though it didn't seem to offer a lot that was local, but on the very friendly waitress's suggestion I ordered the seafood bake. I am glad I did!! It was delicious.

The other diners seemed to be mostly retired folk (I keep forgetting not everyone is on holiday like me!) and a couple of businessmen. The place wasn't very busy, and it was so relaxing to linger over my second glass of wine, reading my book and looking out at the view.

The gift shop was a bit of a disappointment, unfortunately. I never understand why they sell so much that is really nothing more than landfill and so little that really speaks to either the city or to the content of what the curators are doing in the museum itself. But I suppose people must buy the landfill, otherwise they would stop stocking it....in any case, I managed to find a few nice postcardy bits and pieces - though I haven't yet been able to find a post office!

Had a nice leisurely walk back to the B&B and noticed a sign on the fence around the Anglican cathedral downtown, indicating they have a weekly organ concert tomorrow afternoon. Exciting!

St John's - Second Night

2008-04-07T23:45:00.004-04:00

A low-key evening tonight.

The Italian and my Man returned about six-thirty and we headed out for a meal. Down on Duckworth Street we found The Indian Gate (a gateway to fine Indian cuisine in the heart of St John's), where we had a very aromatic and delicious dinner. So funny to be served Indian food by Newfoundlanders, but the chef must have been from India - the flavours and presentation were very authentic. As a nod to local palates, however, there was not a lot in the way of "heat".

Back in our room by ten o'clock and asleep by eleven, after a quick dip into the Book of Knowledge - an elderly and encyclopediac volume that sits mouldily on our bookshelf, containing bits of arcane lore under such headings as "The Peoples of the Great White North", "Why Does Boiling Make Potatoes Soft and Eggs Hard?", "The Canadian Habitant", and (my personal favourite) "Alcohol, The Enemy of Life". I quote:

The effect of alcohol upon a developing brain is as bad as it can be, and no young person who hopes to make a name in the world should touch it in any form.

So this is where we have gone wrong!! I only hope it is not too late for my Man and I.

Walking back to the B&B.

The Italian.

Full of Indian food and tranquility.

St John's - Day Two

2008-04-07T15:03:00.008-04:00

The view from our window today.

The weather can only be described as vile. It's damp and cold and kind of windy, and the stuff falling from the sky isn't sure whether it wants to be rain or snow.

Still, it's lovely here, and I didn't let the weather stop me from taking a three hour walk around the harbour and downtown area.

This is the view of the Battery and the Narrows, leading out to sea. When you click on the picture to enlarge it, you'll be able to see a little building on top of the hill - the hill is Signal Hill, and the building is where Marconi received the first wireless signal in 1901.

I found a great children's bookstore where I bought Nick Hornby's Slam, and had a nice chat with the owner. She told me the last independent bookstore in St John's went out of business a month ago, as a result of the Chapters which has opened up in the suburbs (near the relocated liquor store...). So now you can't buy a book anywhere in downtown St John's. (Well, that's not entirely true - there is a second hand bookshop...but it's not a terribly good one...)

St John's - First Night

2008-04-07T01:00:00.001-04:00

Last night we had dinner at the Professor's house. He lives in this wonderful three-story wooden house that literally clings to the side of the cliff - it's the most remarkable place. It overlooks the Narrows, and as we were sipping our pre-dinner prosecco, a huge tanker glided silently by on its way out to sea.

The Professor lives with his partner, the Musician - she had choir practice until nine o'clock, so while we waited for her to get home, we drank delicious Chilean wine and nibbled on baguette and sopressata, made by the Italian's great uncle and flavoured with anise and chili, which he'd brought with him from Toronto. Delicious! The Professor's beautiful German shepherd, Kitty, was very interested in the sopressata and watched us consume the entire salami with hopeful eyes and pricked up ears. We did not share.

The Professor's house is a twenty minute walk from our B&B, and the view of the harbour from the opposite side of the bay is lovely. I'm not sure if you'll be able to make out from the photograph the cathedral on the hill, and then just to the left of it another large building, which is the new museum/gallery/public archive building, The Rooms. A friend of my Man's said to him, "There's the cathedral - and there's the box it came in," which becomes a very funny joke when you see them side by side on the hill like that.
'

Dinner was the most incredible meal of fresh halibut, caught yesterday. The Professor cooked it in onion and cumin and garlic, with spinach wilted on top, and it was divine. He tells us the scallops are particularly good right now - we shall have to investigate this further!

Today, the Professor, the Italian and my Man are working hard on the show. It was fascinating to hear them talk last night - three so very different men: the Professor, tall and lanky, with soft white hair, a neatly trimmed moustache, and one incongruous gold earring - erudite and scholarly, but with a sort of immediacy uncommon to most scholars - like a rather academic and slightly piratical Peter Fonda; the Italian, passionate and absorbed, a storyteller, enthusiastic and intelligent - a bit of a boy genius; and then my Man, a catalyst and a dreamer, a writer, the voice - interested in the connections, excited by the interviews, quick to laugh, very happy to be working on a project with these two colleagues.

I am so interested to see how The Nerve develops. These are smart, interesting, thoughtful and skilled broadcasters and listening to them talk about their work makes me wish there was unlimited funding for the production of the kind of inspired radio they are creating.

St John's - Day One

2008-04-06T17:28:00.008-04:00

Up at 4:30AM today, to be on time for our 7:30AM flight to St John's. It was dark when we left the house but by the time we boarded the plane the sun was up, and we flew into the sun the whole way. It's now 7:00PM and the sun is stil shining on the hills opposite our B&B.

The Italian was on our flight as well, having flown in from Vancouver earlier in the week to visit with family (he's from Toronto originally). He and my Man had seats together, and I was wedged in a few rows back beside a very tired and very round lady, who made it clear she was not moving to let me out again once I'd squeezed into my window seat. Fortunately the flight was under three hours long, so it wasn't too much of an issue!

We landed just before noon, and a short taxi ride later were at The Roses. The Italian is up on the third floor, but my Man and I have a cozy little room on the second floor which seems to be bright and sunny all the time. Our room is very sweet - it has TWO beds - a smallish double and a very high single that you need to take a bit of a running leap at - and the bathroom runs off a corner of the the room at an angle, and down two steps. (My Man, with more accuracy than elegance, has dubbed it the Poo Pit.) Oddly, there is a pigeon outside our window who makes exactly the same noises as the pigeon outside our window of our loft, so we feel right at home.

We took some time to unpack and wash and then wandered off with the Italian in search of lunch. We ended up at Velma's Place, where the Italian and my Man had Fish and Brewis and I had Fishcakes and Eggs and a bottle of Quidi Viddi.

After lunch we headed off in search of the local liquor store, which my Man was disappointed to discover was not where it used to be. They've replaced the lovely old cave of a shop, which had a huge selection of vintages, with an infinitely smaller and less atmospheric shop that only sells their 50 top items. The balance of the selection has moved out to the suburbs. Apparently it made better business sense, in light of the tourist trade. Sad. Still, we managed to stock up on a few essentials and, more heavily laden now, trekked home for a nap.

We've just woken up, and are going to freshen up and head over to the Battery, where the Professor lives, with his partner. (The Professor, the Italian, and my Man are here in St John's to work on a new radio series called The Nerve, a follow-up to their very successful and award-winning series, The Wire.)

Homeward Bound

2008-02-19T18:15:00.007-05:00

This morning I tagged along with my Man and the Francophone to the St Boniface Museum, where they were speaking to a couple of school groups about the guitar. St Boniface is the oldest building in Winnipeg, the largest oak structure in North America, and was built to house the order of the Grey Nuns, in whose hands it was a school, hospice, and mission. It is where Louis Riel went to school, and it is from spalted oak that was part of this building that the guitar's back and sides are made.

I think the class enjoyed the presentation - they certainly were attentive, and they had a bunch of questions afterward. They really all just wanted to get close to it and touch all the pieces for themselves. This one kid who sat in the corner away from everyone else and looked bored through the whole presentation came up afterward and asked to play the guitar - which he did really well! So that was kind of inspiring.

After the school visit, the lovely Phil drove my Man and I up to the Winnipeg Trading Post so I could loo0k at mukluks. Sadly, they didn't have any in my size. But while I was looking at mukluks, my Man was picking up lunch next door at Kelekis, a Winnipeg landmark, which sells hamburgers, hot dogs and fantastic shoestring french fries. The cheese dogs are diner classics - two per bun, sliced down the middle, smothered in cheese and onions that make your hands stink for hours. The perfect final meal to have in this great town.

My Man had one more school visit, so I headed back to the hotel to pack, and to visit the two other Winnipeg landmarks I'd been told were of note. I bundled up against the - 44 degree wind chill and headed up the road to Reiss Fur Company to feed my new fur obsession. Run by the original family, Reiss is closing its doors this year, when Harry Reiss retires. Mr Reiss very kindly opened up his showroom and gave me a tour of his beautiful coats. Mink, fox, lynx, beaver - they were gorgeous - and at at least a third off their regular prices, a great bargain. Sadly, even at a third off, $2500 is out of my league...and while a fur coat is appropriate for - 44 Winnipeg, I can hardly see myself on a Toronto streetcar in floor-length mink. But it was good fun to stroke all the coats and fantasize.

After Reiss, it was a short walk down to Toad Hall Toys, a sprawling jumble of a place carrying everything from model trains and planes to books and board games. I'm told the staff travel the world to source toys from across the globe - and I could easily have spent hours browsing their crowded shelves.

Back to the hotel for a last drink with the Francophone before hitting the road with Jacques to pick up my Man from the CBC where he'd been conducting an interview for The Nerve with an American general about the use of music in prisoner interrogation. They drove me to the airport, and here I am in the Maple Leaf Lounge, drinking a glass of wine and looking at the Winnipeg sunset across the tarmac.

Winnipeg has been a great adventure. The people we met were charming (and very French!) and the city has a sad sort of charm - I would like to come back when it was better weather for walking, in order to really get a feel for the place.

But I am glad to be going home.

Louis Riel Day

2008-02-18T09:29:00.006-05:00

The third Monday in February is a new stat holiday here in Manitoba, and instead of the insipid "Family Day" chosen by Ontario, they've gone with Louis Riel Day. It's a perfect fit for the Festival, and the site is positively hopping - crowds everywhere, and a special ceremony by the Riel snow sculpture on-site.

We're busy with photos again - we make a lot of friends today - and we have the delightful Louane as our volunteer once more. Sadly, we have to close down before the end of the Day as there is only one flight back to Toronto tonight, and the Photographer has to be on it. So at four o'clock we start the tear-down and in half an hour we are ready to go.

This early finish - though disappointing - is a bit of a bonus, as we're all exhausted and looking forward to a nap before our evening event. Once back at the hotel, my Man and I don our bathrobes and swimsuits and head up to the hot tub, which is one floor above our room - on the 21st floor. Twenty minutes in the hot tub and we're relaxed and sleepy. We toddle back down to our room, enjoy a G&T from the minbar, and sleep for an hour.

Our gig tonight is at the King's Head Pub. Run by the delightfully Irish and extremely frenetic Francis (who embraces us when we leave), the King's Head has a huge selection of beer and a great menu with a whole page of curries! (My Man, the Francophone and I have the Lamb Madras, the Butter Chicken, and the Lamb Vindaloo respectively.) The Francophone's sister and husband join us once again, and we all enjoy our delicious food while waiting for the music to start. We were joined by a number of new friends and some old ones - our table was crammed all the way around by the time our meal was over.

Tonight's band is Les Voyous, and their music is a highlight of the festival for me. These musicians could not have been more than twenty-five years old at most - but they were tight, professional and clearly having a rockin' good time up there. The lead guitarist, in particular, is an incredible talent, completely without attitude but clearly enjoying himself. A really great finish to the festival weekend.

Le Festival Continues....

2008-02-17T09:06:00.002-05:00

More portraits today - and our volunteers were a mother and son team, Noreen & Steven. Steven was only 13 and bilingual - which is fantastic, as almost all of the festival-goers are Francophones. We're busy, but not as busy as Saturday. It's a long day, though - we start at noon and hardly stop for breath until 6:30pm. Tonight we have to strike our setup at the end of the day; there's a sponsor VIP reception in La maison this evening so they need the room clear. Melissa and Lynn (who seem to run the festival almost single-handed) stop by to help - we're packed up in no time.

The Francophone's sister has been so good to us - today she came by with two canvas bags full of food and drink, including her home-made tourtiere and a local pork pate called cretons. We took it all back to the hotel and the four of us had a small feast in our room. It was delicious.

The band playing the guitar tonight are called Pushing Daisies - dramatic and passionate power rockers who sing in French and English. They play the guitar for a couple of songs off the top, so we stick around for a song or two after that and then head over to the tent next door where the ice bar is for shots of Caribou all round. Still bloody cold out, but the Caribou warms us up from the inside out, and we trundle off to wait for our shuttle back to the hotel.

It's still early by the time we get back, so we share a bottle of wine in the Fairmont lounge bar before turning in.

Vive le Festival!

2008-02-16T10:23:00.004-05:00

Another wonderful day at the Festival du Voyageur. The enthusiasm and good cheer of the Festival's staff and volunteers is infectious - we are having a blast.

It's Saturday today, so all the shops that are usually open in the underground concourse are shut - which means there's nowhere cheap to buy breakfast. Our only option is the hotel's restaurant - which is kind of pricey - but the menu looks great, so down we go. We stroll in only to find the Francophone breakfasting alone, so we join him. Here he is enjoying his Ukrainian Eggs Benedict - poached eggs on top of shaved ham on top of a potato latke - all covered in hollandaise sauce). Delicious.

Today was our first day running the portrait studio. We've been placed in La maison du bourgeois - a gorgeous re-creation of the original building that would have been in the heart of this fort. (A re-creation with heat, hot water and toilets, I am happy to report - the rest of the festival-goers have to use the porto-potties - not a fun thing to do in minus forty degree weather!). La maison is huge - we're on the main floor which is a big open room with a huge fireplace at one end and a number of pelts hanging from pegs on the wall. I've never been able to touch so much fur before - there's badger, raccoon, beaver, wolverine, deer, coyote, white, silver and red fox - they are lovely to look at, very soft and so tactile, and I feel a sudden longing for a fur coat. The trimmed beaver pelt, in particular, is so soft it hardly feels real.

On the second floor there are a number of folks in traditional costume demonstrating period crafts like finger-weaving - which is how the ceintures are made, and one of the weavers tells us the "arrowhead" pattern used is unique to North America - something of a coup in the weaving world. Because of this second floor activity, a lot of people who don't know we're here or what we're about are drawn to the building, so we benefit from their traffic.

The room we're in is huge and warm and we took more pictures in the first half hour we were up and running than we ever had before. Public response to the guitar has been very warm - people love the idea of having a memento of the Festival - and we had lineups almost all day long. Our two volunteers, Luaune and Mona, tell us that tomorrow should be even busier...can't wait!

A highlight of the day was meeting the Francophone's sister and brother-in-law (Winnipeg is the Francophone's home town). We arranged to meet them for dinner at their favourite Italian restaurant, Casa Grande, later that evening - and boy, were we glad we did! We had some of the best pizza we have ever eaten! The crust was a miracle - perfect crumb, and light as a feather - and the toppings were generous and well-distributed. My Man had the Calabrese (heavy on sausage and capicollo), the Francophone had the Carne (more meat than I have ever seen in one place), and I had the Napolenata (basically a salt pizza with kalamata olives, capers and anchovies - yum!). Washed down with carafes of house red wine, our tummies were full and warm by the end of the too-short meal, when we had to head back to the festival site for that night's performance. The Francophone's Sister insisted on picking up our bill - yet another example of Manitoban hospitality. Merci!!

The band who were to play the guitar that night were called Venus Murphy - another local band who play a kind of Celtic pub rock with incredible enthusiasm. The crowd loved them. They were very vocal about how thrilled they were to play the guitar - and almost all the band members took a turn on it throughout their set - which thrilled us as well!

First full day in Winnipeg

2008-02-15T09:05:00.000-05:00

And what a full day it was! With the aid of two drivers - Henri on the way out and Phil on the way back - I managed to get our two big boxes of t-shirts to the festival site and consigned to the care of Elise in the Souvenir Tent (making a quick stop at the bison jerky vendor on the way...).

My Man and the Francophone spent the day doing school visits, but were back mid-afternoon, when we hooked up with the Photographer and went down to the concourse to find a new winter coat for me. Thankfully, our shopping trip was successful - I am newly coated, and a good thing, too, as last night was fucking freezing. (I'm afraid there's no way to describe the temperature without using an expletive - fucking is the only adjective that can adequately express how cold it was.) In the picture you can see the Francophone's breath!

When we got back to the room we had a call from our good friend the Filmmaker, who lives in Calgary but happens to also be in Winnipeg this weekend working on her show. She stopped by for half an hour with her friend Cameron, to drink some fizz, talk about the Festival and give us a quick tune on the guitar.

We'd hoped to venture out into the city for dinner, but our time was limited by the concert schedule that evening, so we ended up dining in the Fairmont's lounge bar. Their specialty is a creamy soup of locally-sourced wild rice and field mushrooms - delicious.

We spent last night at the Festival site - it's built around Fort Gibraltar, with wooden palisades and heated tents and 40 sculptors from around the world all working on enormous snow sculptures in various roped-off areas. We'll be right inside the fort tomorrow with our photo setup, but tonight was all about music.

The bands play in a couple of different tents - all huge and heated with long tables and benches and food and caribou wine (a mixture of homemade today - the menu last night featured tourtiere, beans, pancakes, maple syrup, ragout....positively drool-making.

The first band to play the guitar w wine and whisky or rum)! (Delicious but deadly.) We can't wait to eat at the siteere the D-Rangers - a fantastic bluegrass band from Winnipeg - they used it for the first couple of songs in their 90-minute set, which was held in the Cabane a sucre (Sugar Shack), where you can also buy maple syrup that has been poured onto snow and twirled onto a popsicle stick. Over at the Trading Post we met the second band of the night - Eagle and Hawk - another incredible local band who rocked the house! We're told they rarely play lived, so their presence at the festival was a special occasion. Their opening act featured a native hoop dancer - and some incredible singing and guitar playing.

We were glad to be back at the hotel by 11pm - it was so cold out by the time we left the site that all anyone wanted to do was go straight to bed.

2008-02-14T22:13:00.000-05:00

Winnipeg Airport was small and easy to navigate, and I was met at the gate by some of the Festival's awesome transportation volunteers. Mark (who has been with the Festival since it found its home in Whittier Park in 1977!) drove an Argentinean sculptor named Liliana and myself from the airport to our hotel, the Fairmont Winnipeg. He wore a fabulous red toque - traditional festival wear and symbols of the original voyageurs, along with the woven ceinture.

The Fairmont is located at the infamous intersection of Portage & Main, right in the heart of Winnipeg. The hotel itself is not the most striking building, but the view from up here on the 20th floor is remarkable. Winnipeg has some beautiful buildings, from what I can see from here - it's a shame it's so cold, as it makes walking around the city challenging. Below the hotel there is an underground concourse - like the one downtown at home - which then turns into a path that connects a number of shops and buildings a few stories above the street - like the one in Calgary. The Photographer and I spent a couple of hours wandering this maze. He picked up tickets to tomorrow night's hockey game and I picked up shampoo and conditioner (the dry weather sucks all the moisture out of your hair - hotel shampoo simply won't do!).

Back at the hotel, my Man and I drank a little Valentine's Day fizz before heading out to Oui - a new French bistro located in the Exchange neighbourhood - ten minutes' walk from our hotel. And ten minutes was enough! It is bloody freezing out there - especially at night - so cold it instantly freeze all the hairs in your nose.

We had the most fantastic meal at Oui - my Man had the Boeuf Bourguignon and I had the Cassoulet - French white beans, the restaurant's own garlic sausage, and duck….delicious. And wonderful wine, too.

We were so cold by the time we got back to the hotel (the zip on my winter coat is gone - today I shop for a new one!) that we put our bathing suits and robes on and went up to the hot tub in the hotel's health club. Fifteen minutes in the hot tub and we were nodding off - back to the room, and bed for us.

2008-02-14T14:07:00.001-05:00

We're high over Lake Superior as I type this. The Lake looks strange from up here - darkest blue, striated with ice and patches of snow - it looks like the clouds have fallen straight out of the sky and landed flat on the surface of the water below. I've only every flown over it in the summer before - it's vastness never fails to surprise me.

This is a solo flight for me - my Man, his Guitar, and the Franco- phone left yesterday, the Photographer followed last night - and I am the last to arrive - on a flight that should have left at eight-fifteen but which sat on the tarmac until ten o'clock. (I had been thinking, as I sat in the Maple Leaf Lounge waiting for the gate to open, that I had never encountered a significantly delayed flight, in all the traveling we've done with the Guitar over the last two years. I should have known better - I jinxed myself.)

I've been joking all week that some people go to the Caribbean in February - my Man and I go to Winnipeg (Romance Capital of the Canadian Midwest) where last night the temperature with wind-chill reached an inconceivable -50C. The purpose of our visit to Winnipeg on Valentine's Day is the Festival du Voyageur - Canada's second largest winter festival, after Quebec's Carnival.

There should be a shuttle waiting for me at the airport - so odd to be on the other side of the festival service machine - I'm used to being one of the folks who provides the service. We're in Winnipeg as guests of the festival; the Guitar will be officially nicknamed (there's an oxymoron!) - at a press conference this morning, and is the focus of several events over the weekend. We'll have the portrait studio up and running as well - so between taking pictures and participating in the musical events, it promises to be a very busy few days.

We're flying over land, now, and the open spaces of Manitoba lie below, huge swathes of white, squiggles that must be rivers and the occasional straight line of a road. The snow looks lovely - like someone blew hard into a huge pile of flour - enormous white feathery brush strokes drift across the ground below. There's a railway line running straight as an arrow westward. One two-lane highway intersects with another and inscribes a perfect cloverleaf in the otherwise deserted landscape.

As we near our destination and fly lower over houses, I see a deserted ice rink behind what must be a school or community centre. It's perfect, the two blue lines and one red one, the iconic shape - so symbolic of our country - reminding me that I'm travelling toward an experience that will give me another piece to slot into the puzzle that is Canada. This is my first visit to Winnipeg - to Manitoba - and it's exciting to be part of a festival that speaks so directly to the culture and the history of the place.

I can't wait to see everyone, to meet new friends and hear some good music, eat some local food and discover some new favourite haunts. We're nearing the airport - time to shut the laptop and return my seat to its upright position!