Having fun.
Wish you were here.
Riding the Rideau Canal
Thu, 5 Aug 2010, 10:02 PM (-06:00)
Our plan was to rent a couple bikes and ride up the Rideau Canal and back and around the city a bit.
We didn’t find the rental place where we expected it to be. And we didn’t find it down the block or up. And we didn’t find it on the next street. Finally, we asked a woman in a haunted tours booth, and she pointed us up the street, down some stairs to a place under a bridge where there were racks and racks of bikes just waiting to be rented.
In no time, we were off...
We rode away from Parliament Hill. On the bike trail. Beside the canal. Under bridges.
Past joggers and walkers and boats coming thru some upstream locks while the wardens cranked the doors shut.
We crossed the canal at the locks and rested on the other side in the shade. Then we continued thru the Experimental Farm, where we took a wrong turn and found ourselves in a traffic jam. But when we got back on the trail, we found a farmers’ market where we bought some raspberries and a tavern with an outdoor patio where we ate the berries and waited for pizza and a sandwich.
The day got away from us, and in the end it was a sprint back along the Ottawa River and into downtown to return to the rental place under the bridge before they closed. In fact, we were in such a rush that we ended up carrying our bikes up the stairs of a bridge and down the other side in order to get back on the right side of the canal. We were (or at least I was) huffing and puffing at the end.
When we rolled back into the rental place, all the bikes had been put away, and the box of helmets was nowhere to be seen. They were getting ready to leave. We were just in time.
Son et Lumière at Parliament Hill
Wed, 4 Aug 2010, 10:15 PM (-06:00)
In Ottawa every night in the summer, they have a sound and light show at Parliament Hill. In the evening after the day of our train adventure, Trudy and I took the #12 bus down Montreal Road and Rideau Street into town to see it…
The sky was dark and threatened rain which came and caused us and the few other early-comers to flee to the porticos of nearby buildings. However the rain was short-lived, failing to even dampen the grass. So everyone eventually returned to their chosen places in the bleachers or on the grass.
There was a tiny fuzzy dog on a leash made of string that was a kid magnet. There was a family with many children, each with his or her own kid-sized folding chair. And there was a policeman who wandered thru the growing crowd joking with people and at one point asking (in French) if this one kid-sized chair was his, which caused a little girl to dash out from behind her mother shouting “Non! Non!” and sit down in her almost-taken spot.
At 9:30 sharp, the show started.
This wasn’t your father’s sound and light show with some dim colored lights shining on the building while a narrator told a story. No, this was something the likes of which I have never seen—certainly the likes of which I had not expected.
The whole of the parliament building was a screen for this show in which animated mountains and forests and plains were drawn in front of us. Where herds of deer ran and fields of grain were swept by the wind. They showed Canada from west to east, from long ago to today. They told the story of its natural history. And of its peoples. Of first nations. Of horrible wars. Of railroads. Of cities springing up.
The music surrounded us and filled the air. And the images drawn on the side of the building made our jaws drop. The windows and walls came alive with faces of Canadians talking about their land. The cornices and arches were etched in light. Parts of the building seemed to pop out at you in sync with the music. Snowflakes and rain drops fell from the tower. Flowers grew and blossomed and morphed into butterflies that flew off while mosquitos buzzed nearby. Red Maple leaves adorned the walls. Music blared.
The images accelerated, the music crescendoed. And we sat there in the grass stunned. By the end, I had tears streaming down my cheeks.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Train à Vapeur to Wakefield #3
Sat, 31 Jul 2010, 09:36 AM (-06:00)
Ok, let’s finish this steam train story.
The four of us enjoyed the train ride in our little coach room with a light breakfast served as the woods and river rolled by outside the large window.
(Apologies to Khadija for capturing her out of focus.)
And after about and hour and a half we arrived in Wakefield. We had another hour and a half to walk around town, the explained and told us that as the designated hour approached, the train would blow its whistle to warn us that is was about to leave and then blow again a while later and then again just before they left.
“It is very important that you be back on the train by then, because if you are not, then we hope that you have a nice overnight stay in Wakefield,” they said.
So with that caution in mind, we set out on foot. Dad and Khadija went to find the covered bridge. Trudy and I walked in the direction of town, which was a set of restaurants and shops and other buildings strung out along the road that ran parallel to the train track along the river.
When we reached was seemed like the far limits of town and a timely time to turn back, Trudy and I picked out a pre-made sandwich in a bakery in the back of one of the buildings.
The whistle of the train blew once. The couple in the line in front of us had a pile of things they were buying and were contemplating each item and whether or not they really wanted it. Trudy and I looked at each other and, well what could we do?
We waited. And we waited. We stood there in line as the woman ahead of us asked what the various things were that she had selected. I began to break out in a sweat and had a glistening face and arms. Trudy had a concerned look on her face. (We didn’t want to spend the night in Wakefield.)
Finally the couple ahead of us paid for their purchases and bagged them all up (very neatly with care while they stood at the cash register and the rest of us there, including the girl behind the counter, waited for them to leave). We paid quickly and promptly walked briskly back down the long street to where the train was blowing the second whistle.
Now, the train tickets came with a coupon for free fudge at the shop across the turning yard, but we were pretty focused on catching the train, so we walked past the candy store without climbing the stairs. And by the time we realized we actually had plenty of time, we no longer had plenty of time. So we lost out on free fudge that day. On the other had, we did make it back to the train on time!
As trips often go, the ride back seemed to go faster than the ride up to Wakefield. We had the same great views of woods and water out our window, but before we knew it, the train was passing homes and people waving and then streets with cars waiting for us to pass and then the fire station on the corner. And then we arrived back at the station.
It was a wonderful way to spend a day.
Train à Vapeur to Wakefield #2
Fri, 30 Jul 2010, 09:13 AM (-06:00)
Ok, I’m falling behind. Let’s pick up where we were last time. Maybe we can catch up.
The four of us were sitting around a table in our coach room with a big window looking out on the woods and the Gatineau River. The trees were green. The sky was blue. The wild flowers were blooming along the route. We snacked on croissants and (real) butter and juice. We waved to people standing by the tracks as we made our way to Wakefield.
After about an hour and a half we arrived.
When we got off the train, we stopped to watch them turn the engine around to get it ready for the return trip.
Oh for heaven’s sake! The shower just stopped, so I know Trudy’s about to poke her head around the corner and tell me it’s time to go. We’ve got big plans for today, and time’s a-wasting. That’s what she’ll say.
Too little time. I have too little time. But I gotta go!
To be continued…
Train à Vapeur to Wakefield #1
Tue, 27 Jul 2010, 09:11 PM (-06:00)
One morning we left Ottawa after breakfast for Québec across the Ottawa River for Gatineau. We had a reservation for the steam train to Wakefield. As I have been doing (thus far to no complaints), I took my camera.
We bought tickets at a small building surrounded by gardens of blooming flowers while the engine was being prepared at the head of the train.
Our reservations where for a small four-person cabin in the coach Club Riviera.
As we got underway, the city quickly gave way to Birches and Aspen and White Pines and Red Pines and grass and blooming wildflowers and the Gatineau River running alongside the tracks.
To be continued…
Finally Leaving Work Behind
Mon, 26 Jul 2010, 07:04 AM (-06:00)
I had a dream last night—about work. Here we are in summertime Ontario, and I had a dream about work.
It wasn’t a particularly happy dream. I was getting left behind. Meetings were being called, and I wasn’t invited and had to show up myself. A summer student was getting assigned work that I was supposed to do, a doubly stressful event because of the reassignment of my work but also because of the unspoken implication that the work I was doing was student-level work.
Today there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The view is spectacular from the balcony of Dad and Khadija’s condominium. Parliament Hill is peeking out from behind downtown Ottawa, and the forested hills of Quebec are visible across the river in the distance.
We are about to leave for a few days in Montreal. So I choose to interpret those dreams last night as my head finally leaving work behind. And so perhaps now the vacation starts in earnest.
A Detour on the Road to Ottawa
Mon, 26 Jul 2010, 05:06 AM (-06:00)
We took a detour on the road to Ottawa, leaving the 401 for Prince Edward County (not to be confused with Prince Edward Island, which of course is of far, far away).
Our detour took us down a two-lane road running thru farmland with apple trees and grape vines and corn and amber waves of grain. It took us thru small towns with old buildings: Wellington, Bloomfield, Picton.
Lake Ontario was just beyond the produce stand by the side of the road, where we bought corn, carrots, peaches and two whole pies (apple and strawberry-rhubarb).
And it was also just beyond the end of the streets in Wellingon.
Slicker’s ice cream shop sold hand-made, hand-packed ice cream made from now-in-season blackberries, and the girl behind the counter probably thought us crazy tourists for the size of the tip we left.
It was rush hour in Picton just as we rolled into town.
We saw horses and barns and Canadian flags flapping in the breeze.
And we saw Union Jacks. (This was, after all, the Loyalist Parkway.)
And we caught the ferry to get back to the “mainland” and continue our drive east.
Highway 4 took us back to the 401.
And the 401 put us back on the road to Ottawa, where my Dad and Khadija awaited our years-overdue arrival.
Thus ended our detour on the road to Ottawa.
Shawarma
Sun, 25 Jul 2010, 08:04 PM (-06:00)
He waved us in from behind the window, motioned for us to come in and held out a plate with salad and potatoes and round bread filled with meat.
“Today’s special! You get this and a drink,” he said.
The place was tiny, the back half of what obviously used to be a single restaurant, the other half now a burger joint facing the street. We hadn’t noticed it until we drove into the parking lot.
We both ordered the special, and couple that owned the place set about preparing our food while their three year old son wandered around the tiny space and his sister sat in a stroller with a bottle of water in her mouth.
We sat at one of the two tables, and I started smiling at the boy. He had long, dark curly hair and round brown eyes with long eye lashes.
“What’s his name?” I asked his mother, watching him run around.
“Leon,” she said. “It means lion in French.”
He walked up beside her and looked up at us from behind the counter.
“Hi Leon,” I said and winked.
He squinted both eyes, trying out a wink on his own.
“Almost,” I said. “One eye at a time. Like this.” And I winked an exaggerated one-eyed wink.
He winked back.
“That’s it!” I said. “Now try the other eye.” And I showed him.
He squinted and blinked both eyes, his facial muscles contorting and his lower lip sticking out from the effort.
Our shawarma arrived. It was hot and delicious and almost too much food to eat. But, you know, somehow we managed. And the store got very busy. And the little girl sat in her stroller, letting with water running down her front. And Leon ran back and forth, trying out a wink each time he passed our table.
When we finished, we got up to wash our hands in the sink behind a curtain against the back wall and then thanked the owners for the meal and said goodbye.
“Goodbye!” Leon said from behind his mother, and he peered out and winked a perfect wink.
“There he goes again. Where does he get that.”
“Get what?”
“That winking. Where did he learn that winking?”
“Don’t you remember that man and his wife last summer? They came from Texas and talked to Leon and taught him to wink.”
“Ah yes. That man and his wife last summer. He has never been the same.”
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