You may know that I just returned from a week in Quebec and I'm compelled to reiterate what I've pummeled home on Instagram: it was a magically restorative event. There are so many fascinating (to me) tales to relate, and I'm sure they'll come out in time, but one stands out this morning...
On Friday, we returned to Quebec City from Baie St Paul, on a train that goes so slowly that we like to joke that both cyclists and boats both beat it to town in an imaginary race. From there we took a navette from the Chutes Montmorency to the main train station and then we walked 10 minutes to the hotel. This is Scott's annual opportunity to bitch about the cobbled streets (he wheels the cases) while declining, 7 times, to take a cab because who wants to get into another vehicle when you can have some exercise.
Usually, at this point I am very out of sorts. I've been on a zillion forms of transport over 3 hours, my bizarre form of competitiveness has long since set in and I become freakishly determined to "win": I will be first in line (despite that I have assigned seats - cuz who hasn't seen oversold seats?!), I will find the navette's new waiting zone before the little old ladies from the back of the train, I will get the last "bottle" of wine in the cart (though there's a full fridge of them at the back, I suspect). It's tiring. Moreover, of recent years, I am generally also managing some sort of discomfort, if not flat-out pain.
Look, I know myself, which is why I book this vacation down to the very last detail. I know which rooms I will be sleeping in, the minutiae of their views, what the beds feel like. I know the restaurants I'll visit for dinner. I know the routes to all of the fun things, the best way to trespass in all of the places I like to trespass (cuz I am a badass that way). I know the freakin' servers by name at this point.
In case you think this is the most boring form of travel ever (and then you'd be in good company), you should be me for a few weeks. Not only do I loathe excessive stimulus of the type I feel I cannot control (and that's technically most of it), but my day-to-day life is like something out of a film set in insert big city here, all about the chaos of urban mid-life - endless meetings one really shouldn't fuck up, decisions one also shouldn't fuck up, constant activity, stealth parenting, expenditure of every sort, regularly shitty weather. It's like the inverse of a movie set in rural England where the peeps live in a bucolic home, with a trail of fireplace smoke coming from the chimney, looking at their sheep graze the well-tended grounds at sunset.
I'd like to clarify - things are getting much better (and I banked on it that they would - I'm nothing if not calculated about risk). They are changing. I am changing. My home - the backbone of this lifestyle - has changed and continues to do so. I know this is a moment in time, if one that feels never-ending. I also realize that I'm creating a framework that will sustain me, hopefully exceedingly competently, for the rest of my life. Carving out one's reality is a bitch sometimes. I get it. The reason so few people realize their potential, however they define it, is because it takes super-human effort and it's much more palatable to do less now and worry later. I don't want to worry later.
But I digress excessively...
We arrived at the hotel. The room was available. We freshened up, snacked at our local, and started the adventure.
Two things: Walking in a town where you know a lot of things, but not everything, is very adventurous. Everything that deviates from the norm is utterly exciting. Every subtly distinct view. Secondly, my lunch consisted of shucked oysters and good Cava, two things that seriously moderate how I feel like nothing else. When I eat oysters I feel the life of the creature descending within me. It's sacred. I say thank you to each oyster as I ingest because it gives its life to me palpably.
Here's where it gets good: The weather was actually perfect. I have been in the most mercifully low-pain moment over the last couple of weeks (ameliorated still more by my new fave thing, more to come in another post!). Honestly, I felt relaxed and at ease in my body - like I remembered it, before it became so clamorous for attention.
We started to walk up the cobble-stoned streets, up and up and up interminably (as it goes), and I just felt better and better and better. Lord. I felt like Jason Bourne mixed with a superhero whose fingers grow long and sticky to scale buildings. My reflexes became insanely sharp. I was able, as in days of yore, to slice my way through insane crowds without even trying. My spatial reasoning was amazing. I felt totally strong and secure in my body. At no moment was I out of breath and I was bounding up a freakin' hill in a crowd in full sun.
I turned around and Scott, with whom I'm paced well in general, was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't keep up. It was magic! What followed was an hour of walking amidst perfect beauty, qualifying every detail of the profound, almost hallucinogenic, experience I was having. FWIW, Scott did not resist. It was infinitely more enjoyable than listening to me dwell on the nature of pain and existence.
What's amazing about this is that it actually upended my récit de la décennie: that I'm exhausted beyond measure, stressed, over-worked, traumatized and rickety.
I know that, if I experienced this, I can experience it again. It is not beyond the realm of my current corporeal state. Sometimes, when one lives with a lot of pain, it's challenging to remember that one is not broken. It just feels that way.
I don't know who to thank for this amazing moment in time but my gratitude is excessive. I could dwell on the factors that produced the outcome: raw nutrients, a week of quiet, the end of two years of torment, elements of the heat spa, some complement of my 8000 methods for managing discrete styles of pain, 5 of which are always in some form of play. There's a universe (though I don't know how, given the number of potatoes I ate hourly) in which my walking high might have been an outcome of fat-adapted exercise. I've read numerous accounts of this phenomenon and it's always seemed like a suspect state of ecstasy to me but, hey, if that's what was happening, then fat-adaptedness for the win!
I don't really care right now. Cuz when I look back on this trip, I'm going to remember the joyful embodiment of my elegance and strength. And I'm probably going to eat more oysters, natch, cuz one must experiment!
Showing posts with label Vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vacation. Show all posts
Sunday, August 26, 2018
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Vacation, Part 2
So I managed to pull it back from the edge, btw, which you could not help to notice if you follow me on Instagram.
Baie St. Paul is in that class of "most gorgeous places in the world". I cannot begin to explain how it lifted my spirits:
I realize that my hipster/hobby farm experience at La Ferme would put me in that dubious class of bourgeoisie that every so often gets its head chopped off, but don't let that drab website fool you. It's a paradise here. It's actually hard not to laugh every time one looks right, at a piglet, only to look left at an outdoor bath-spa. Allow me to clarify - it's amusing and entirely ok with me.
This is by no means the first time I've been to this town. Scott's grandmother comes from the area. But is is the first time I've stayed - largely cuz this is the only time in a long time that I found the will to drive and, concurrently, La Ferme was in operation. I'm not one of those small-town B&B-goers. Bad decor ruins my mood. (Yeah, I know, another of those off-with-her-head sentiments but really, I become suicidal at the sight of rain. I'm a bit of a Bronte character at this point, non?) At any rate, the eco-chic/minimal shit going down was just my scene (if they did take it a bit far) and I could easily see myself staying at this place for a week or two.
Our goal, going forward, is to use BSP as a new experience of Quebec, the province. Alas, the city, for me, is done. Don't get me wrong, if you've never gone there, go! Not this year, though. This year they're having a weak moment. But I've seen it adequately and I'm really getting into the country lifestyle. (OK, the country with manicured lawns and restaurants, admittedly, but every transition in its time.
After we headed back to QC, to grab the train, we ended up, for one more night, in Mtl:
The city really pulled it out for us last night, even if we did crash (in one of our many food comas) at 9:30 pm. Some peeps were playing a Robert Lepage-esque film on the wall diagonally across from ours. It was very cool.
The Gault hotel is very special, inasmuch as one doesn't go there often, but I've been throwing money at things these days. Sometimes you need sanity more than prudence, you know?
I'm on the train right now, drinking some sketch red wine, waiting for dinner. There's been a total chaos here. They oversold the car. Every stop it gets more complicated. And then there's the idiot playing loud music through the headphones two seats away. I know - at least I've got a seat - but honestly, they tell you to turn down your fucking headphones when you board for a reason.
Tomorrow begins phase 2 of this fortnight-long vacation. It's the phase when lots of cold-pressed vegetable juices come to my door at @5am. When I eat brown rice with chicken broth and celery. Don't misunderstand - I'm not on a fast! But I've eaten and drunk SO much in the last 8 days (including one, life-memorable 9 course tasting menu at L'Initiale which I couldn't begin to describe) that my kidneys are sore. I need to tone it down. Yeah, I may eat out, I may have a glass of wine - but it will be very regular-fare. I've also got some appointments to deal with my back. I really don't know what's up. It's possible I may have pinched a nerve. It's very odd... And I've got some myofascial and yoga practices planned, around sewing.
In truth, if I don't feel like sewing, I won't. I suspect I'm going to want to, though. I mean, I'm having a moment. But this next week is about introversion. I'm going to do what I will.
BTW - if you're wondering about M, she is feeling much better. I do think that her blood test will show mono, but she's most definitely not as bad off as she was mid-week. Throughout the last week, Bill, Nicole, Sandra and Hilary have all kept her company, made sure she was eating healthy food and spent time with her. I feel incredibly grateful to them all.
Soon we'll see if she's maintained (or reconstructed) my expectation of a Kristin-clean house. I am a dreamer, after all... Stay tuned.
Baie St. Paul is in that class of "most gorgeous places in the world". I cannot begin to explain how it lifted my spirits:
 |
| The view from le Mouton Noir |
 |
| Someone's side garden... |
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| Someone's else's side garden. Not joking. |
 |
| Flood plain at high-tide |
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| Is this not the bad-assest cow on the planet?? |
This is by no means the first time I've been to this town. Scott's grandmother comes from the area. But is is the first time I've stayed - largely cuz this is the only time in a long time that I found the will to drive and, concurrently, La Ferme was in operation. I'm not one of those small-town B&B-goers. Bad decor ruins my mood. (Yeah, I know, another of those off-with-her-head sentiments but really, I become suicidal at the sight of rain. I'm a bit of a Bronte character at this point, non?) At any rate, the eco-chic/minimal shit going down was just my scene (if they did take it a bit far) and I could easily see myself staying at this place for a week or two.
Our goal, going forward, is to use BSP as a new experience of Quebec, the province. Alas, the city, for me, is done. Don't get me wrong, if you've never gone there, go! Not this year, though. This year they're having a weak moment. But I've seen it adequately and I'm really getting into the country lifestyle. (OK, the country with manicured lawns and restaurants, admittedly, but every transition in its time.
After we headed back to QC, to grab the train, we ended up, for one more night, in Mtl:
 |
| The view from one of our window banks. It really is a spectacular room... |
 |
| Huitres from Salle a Manger |
 |
| Mtl iconography |
The city really pulled it out for us last night, even if we did crash (in one of our many food comas) at 9:30 pm. Some peeps were playing a Robert Lepage-esque film on the wall diagonally across from ours. It was very cool.
The Gault hotel is very special, inasmuch as one doesn't go there often, but I've been throwing money at things these days. Sometimes you need sanity more than prudence, you know?
I'm on the train right now, drinking some sketch red wine, waiting for dinner. There's been a total chaos here. They oversold the car. Every stop it gets more complicated. And then there's the idiot playing loud music through the headphones two seats away. I know - at least I've got a seat - but honestly, they tell you to turn down your fucking headphones when you board for a reason.
Tomorrow begins phase 2 of this fortnight-long vacation. It's the phase when lots of cold-pressed vegetable juices come to my door at @5am. When I eat brown rice with chicken broth and celery. Don't misunderstand - I'm not on a fast! But I've eaten and drunk SO much in the last 8 days (including one, life-memorable 9 course tasting menu at L'Initiale which I couldn't begin to describe) that my kidneys are sore. I need to tone it down. Yeah, I may eat out, I may have a glass of wine - but it will be very regular-fare. I've also got some appointments to deal with my back. I really don't know what's up. It's possible I may have pinched a nerve. It's very odd... And I've got some myofascial and yoga practices planned, around sewing.
In truth, if I don't feel like sewing, I won't. I suspect I'm going to want to, though. I mean, I'm having a moment. But this next week is about introversion. I'm going to do what I will.
BTW - if you're wondering about M, she is feeling much better. I do think that her blood test will show mono, but she's most definitely not as bad off as she was mid-week. Throughout the last week, Bill, Nicole, Sandra and Hilary have all kept her company, made sure she was eating healthy food and spent time with her. I feel incredibly grateful to them all.
Soon we'll see if she's maintained (or reconstructed) my expectation of a Kristin-clean house. I am a dreamer, after all... Stay tuned.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Limbo
For a moment, I forgot that truism: Wherever you go, there you are. But this vacation really is bringing it home for me, as mediocre-to-horrid weather converges with omnipresent construction, phone conversations with convalescing parents and now, a sick kid.
Yeah, first time I've ever left her alone and, 3 days later, she's flat out. Probably mono. Note: This is a kid who rarely gets any bugs, not even a cold. I spent much of the day yesterday on the phone with the doctor's office. I have a fantastic group of friends, all of whom are on a roster of check in, and they've been amazing. Sandra opted to work from home yesterday aft and brought Miranda lots of soft, healthy food. Hilary, a pediatrician, has been chatting, check-in texting with her and looking at photos of her throat. Of course, M's best friend and boyfriend are omnipresent. But I'm really far away. As are my parents. And Scott's parents are in no shape to assist, not that they've ever been involved in that way. I've been in constant contact with Hilly to ensure that I needn't end this trip altogether. She's convinced, even if the outcome is mono (and she suspects it is), that M will be fine for 4 more days without constant mother-intervention, however, this is a sort of damned if you do or damned if you don't kind of scenario.
What I haven't mentioned sooner - because it's so par for the course - is that I've been in pretty significant pain since just before we left. New spot, though! I may have subluxated my tailbone, though I can't imagine how - or it's just a novel place for myofascial pain referral. I've got a bunch of chiro and osteopath appts when I get back, but sitting isn't working out so well. Mercifully, I can perch for meals, but not comfortably, which is likely undercutting enjoyment of my fave activity - eating.
And, not to harp on stupid inconvenience, but I come to this place because it's gorgeous - and gotta say, there's SO much significant construction going on right now (like right outside my window and everywhere else) that it's impossible to walk around, much less to enjoy the architecture. Furthermore, it's like QC blew its brains out on the 400th celebration and, frankly, it's looking tired. What I've always loved about this place is that the Disney Village component is well-tempered by great food and beautiful vistas. This time, the meal scene has been fairly pedestrian - I actually had to send a meal back at one of my long-time favourite restaurants. This shocks me because, honestly, the food in Quebec is impeccable. Not to mention, it's gone from whimsical here to tourist-centrale. Not my thing.
I do get that outdoor summer construction is how we sidestep decay. I'm really sensitive to it right now because Toronto is in a bizarre conflation of construction projects which basically makes any sort of transit near-impossible. (Even walking to work on the side-streets is a traffic jam and it's wall-to-wall chaos everywhere.) I didn't realize to what extent I was counting on a quiet and ease.
To mitigate my (let's just call it) disappointment, we opted to do something totally spur of the moment: We're going to the bucolic Baie St. Paul tomorrow - for an overnight stay at La Ferme. Lord, I hope the weather improves (as they've promised it will) because that's a long time in a car for rain. Also, I'm going to be driving for the first time in 5 years so I'd do well with the best of conditions. Scott and I have talked frequently about renting a place in the Charlevoix, in future, in lieu of this QC pilgrimage. This will give us a chance to explore some options because I don't think we'll be back to QC any time soon.
One very exciting potentiality, once we get to the Baie, is a take a tour of the food garden with the chef. The hotel is in a pristine river delta and the eluvial soil makes for awesome produce in spectacular environs. I would LOVE to tour a working farm with the guy making the food.
As today is destined to be gloomy, I sense we'll hang in the hotel (not that I'm looking for extra time to brood or feel anxious) and then go to the Musee (literally across the road). Tonight, we have plans at L'Initiale - perhaps the only QC food destination I've never been to because, utterly bizarrely, it has been closed for one reason or another, every single time I've ever been here. As you can tell, my mood isn't stellar, and my food-to-date experiences haven't wowed me (though most have been more than adequate). I don't want to get my hopes up because that's the path of dissatisfaction, but I would love a crazy-awesome dinner-experience, replete with amazing food and wine, perfect service and beautiful ambiance.
On a final note, I find it interesting how blogs diverge from Instagram, that wonderful, just-in-time repository of fine moments. My Instagram feed has been as honest as this post - capturing the intensity of my feelings at any given time. And yet, Instagram evades the totality, the complexity. Maybe that's why it's so popular. One doesn't have to engage with the mood of the post-er. One has no thought of the turn round the corner or the next 12 shots that don't express instantaneous perfection.
I'm a complex person going through a complicated phase. My complications would seem petty to those who struggle infinitely more, but they are real to me and I must work actively to vanquish them. I wonder if there's any way to pull this vacay back from the edge - to find the solitude and total detachment from what I've left behind. If I can't do it here, then where can I? Which takes me full circle: Wherever I go, there am I.
If only I could be everywhere at once.
Yeah, first time I've ever left her alone and, 3 days later, she's flat out. Probably mono. Note: This is a kid who rarely gets any bugs, not even a cold. I spent much of the day yesterday on the phone with the doctor's office. I have a fantastic group of friends, all of whom are on a roster of check in, and they've been amazing. Sandra opted to work from home yesterday aft and brought Miranda lots of soft, healthy food. Hilary, a pediatrician, has been chatting, check-in texting with her and looking at photos of her throat. Of course, M's best friend and boyfriend are omnipresent. But I'm really far away. As are my parents. And Scott's parents are in no shape to assist, not that they've ever been involved in that way. I've been in constant contact with Hilly to ensure that I needn't end this trip altogether. She's convinced, even if the outcome is mono (and she suspects it is), that M will be fine for 4 more days without constant mother-intervention, however, this is a sort of damned if you do or damned if you don't kind of scenario.
What I haven't mentioned sooner - because it's so par for the course - is that I've been in pretty significant pain since just before we left. New spot, though! I may have subluxated my tailbone, though I can't imagine how - or it's just a novel place for myofascial pain referral. I've got a bunch of chiro and osteopath appts when I get back, but sitting isn't working out so well. Mercifully, I can perch for meals, but not comfortably, which is likely undercutting enjoyment of my fave activity - eating.
And, not to harp on stupid inconvenience, but I come to this place because it's gorgeous - and gotta say, there's SO much significant construction going on right now (like right outside my window and everywhere else) that it's impossible to walk around, much less to enjoy the architecture. Furthermore, it's like QC blew its brains out on the 400th celebration and, frankly, it's looking tired. What I've always loved about this place is that the Disney Village component is well-tempered by great food and beautiful vistas. This time, the meal scene has been fairly pedestrian - I actually had to send a meal back at one of my long-time favourite restaurants. This shocks me because, honestly, the food in Quebec is impeccable. Not to mention, it's gone from whimsical here to tourist-centrale. Not my thing.
I do get that outdoor summer construction is how we sidestep decay. I'm really sensitive to it right now because Toronto is in a bizarre conflation of construction projects which basically makes any sort of transit near-impossible. (Even walking to work on the side-streets is a traffic jam and it's wall-to-wall chaos everywhere.) I didn't realize to what extent I was counting on a quiet and ease.
To mitigate my (let's just call it) disappointment, we opted to do something totally spur of the moment: We're going to the bucolic Baie St. Paul tomorrow - for an overnight stay at La Ferme. Lord, I hope the weather improves (as they've promised it will) because that's a long time in a car for rain. Also, I'm going to be driving for the first time in 5 years so I'd do well with the best of conditions. Scott and I have talked frequently about renting a place in the Charlevoix, in future, in lieu of this QC pilgrimage. This will give us a chance to explore some options because I don't think we'll be back to QC any time soon.
One very exciting potentiality, once we get to the Baie, is a take a tour of the food garden with the chef. The hotel is in a pristine river delta and the eluvial soil makes for awesome produce in spectacular environs. I would LOVE to tour a working farm with the guy making the food.
As today is destined to be gloomy, I sense we'll hang in the hotel (not that I'm looking for extra time to brood or feel anxious) and then go to the Musee (literally across the road). Tonight, we have plans at L'Initiale - perhaps the only QC food destination I've never been to because, utterly bizarrely, it has been closed for one reason or another, every single time I've ever been here. As you can tell, my mood isn't stellar, and my food-to-date experiences haven't wowed me (though most have been more than adequate). I don't want to get my hopes up because that's the path of dissatisfaction, but I would love a crazy-awesome dinner-experience, replete with amazing food and wine, perfect service and beautiful ambiance.
On a final note, I find it interesting how blogs diverge from Instagram, that wonderful, just-in-time repository of fine moments. My Instagram feed has been as honest as this post - capturing the intensity of my feelings at any given time. And yet, Instagram evades the totality, the complexity. Maybe that's why it's so popular. One doesn't have to engage with the mood of the post-er. One has no thought of the turn round the corner or the next 12 shots that don't express instantaneous perfection.
I'm a complex person going through a complicated phase. My complications would seem petty to those who struggle infinitely more, but they are real to me and I must work actively to vanquish them. I wonder if there's any way to pull this vacay back from the edge - to find the solitude and total detachment from what I've left behind. If I can't do it here, then where can I? Which takes me full circle: Wherever I go, there am I.
If only I could be everywhere at once.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Up and Down
I don't mind telling you, my life is totally chaotic right now. Obligatory disclaimer: I realize that chaos is person-specific and that there's always someone more objectively chaotic than oneself.
My husband's parents aren't doing so well at the moment, health-wise. Scott's older than me, and the younger child in his family, so his parents are older than mine (in their mid 80s). He's never been particularly close to them, though they are close-by, so it's causing some novel family dynamics and a certain amount of personal revelation. I mean, the situation is complex.
On the opposite, my kid is not exactly a ray of sunshine. If I never have to ground her again, it will be too soon. Lord, I'm so sick of the attitude, the thoughtlessness. This phase is not unexpected, in the scheme of child development, but I want to flee! I have no aptitude as a parent. I don't judge myself for it - it is what it is. I'm a natural at many things, but not this. I have no passion for the activity. And I'm beaten down by 16 years of standing my ground. Really, I'm tired.
Work has calmed down for the moment but it's a sputtering volcano. I'm less burned out than I was last month, yet I'm still so far from normal - it's like I'm in free-fall.
To add to the fun, I have no idea of what's going on with my fucking renovation. We have a new project manager who's got to do his own due diligence on the basis of newly-completed architectural plans. I won't know till mid June whether he can commit to being finished by December (not that I'll believe him even if he does). Of course, I haven't gone through Committee of Adjustments yet (thanks, new by-law) so I can't permit till I've gained that approval. If I start this reno this year, it won't be till August 1. If I don't, I'll have to live in this house as-is, ever more haggard - the place I mean - till April. FYI, I moved out of this house, mentally, about a year ago.
Every day I come home and see my front garden, the metaphor of my current psyche. It's weedy - so weedy, that my weed-prone next-door neighbours, who finally put in a garden last year, currently have a cleaner front garden than mine. They have no weeds at all anymore (except the hipster kind) and I'm the one who gets judge-y side-eye from the woman 5 houses down.
I'm not even going get started on the liminal backyard.
Then I have to deal with a very administrative task (alluded to previously) which involves assets and citizenship and I'm SO put off by it. I'm struggling with apathy (the result of anger and the utter stupidity of the task).
Everything is creaky and leaky and many of the things that need tending to will not be fixed in the near term.
What can I say? I'm a capable whiner.
On the flipside, I'm also a capable crafter. My creative mind, while not as sharp as usual, hasn't exactly jumped ship. I'm exceedingly grateful for this. Furthermore, physical pain is not a consideration of late. I'm also exceedingly grateful for this.
Yesterday I booked a pretty decadent trip to Montreal and Quebec City at the end of June. Scott and I are going alone. No, the kid doesn't know about it as yet. Don't tell her. She has a new (first) job and a boyfriend and she wouldn't want to join, what with us being there, but that's not the point.
I need to get away. I need to retreat with my husband and the trip we know best involves getting on a train in downtown TO and travelling VIA 1 to downtown Mtl. We'll check into the Gault. Walk to Mile End, then the Plateau. Have dinner at Quartier General with the floor-to-ceiling windows open, saturated in the humid night breeze.
Next day we'll get on the train again and spend 3 hours looking out the window. The view is bucolic defined. If you want to meet Quebec for the first time, ride that corridor. I've booked the seats with the best view. I'll knit - I do that on the train. Scott will listen to music. We'll drink silly little bottles of wine and eat food in squat ceramic plates with tall sides to inhibit spills.
Coming into QC Gare du Palais is truly strange. It''s all kinds of industrial-meets-French-Canadian residential. Graffiti. Grain silos. And then, as you debark into the station, everything changes and becomes chic and clean, much of it crazily old. We can walk to our hotel (the 71) from the station, along cobbled streets of the Old Town. I love that I can make this entire trip without ever setting foot in a car.
I can't tell you how grateful I am to know where to dine. To know that food will be gorgeous. Walking in Quebec is joy. Sitting on a patio, as the sun fades and the streets enliven, is a stunning pleasure. No one knows the summer like the northerners. I suspect my last thought will be of an elegant, cloistered terrace, the air at body temperature, the night-scent of flowers competing with the boozy smell of wine. I'll be eating something sweet and speaking slightly too emphatically about the meaning of the world, truly besotted with my husband, who gives great conversation at the worst of times.
After many days of this, we'll be back on our way to my favourite city. We'll hit the tail end of the day in Old Montreal. We'll try a new restaurant, probably in St. Henri.
In they way it takes thousands of sewing sessions to really understand the craft, it takes many visits to the same destination, to tell the story of a life well-lived. This is why we're getting our asses there as soon as possible. Please stay tuned.
My husband's parents aren't doing so well at the moment, health-wise. Scott's older than me, and the younger child in his family, so his parents are older than mine (in their mid 80s). He's never been particularly close to them, though they are close-by, so it's causing some novel family dynamics and a certain amount of personal revelation. I mean, the situation is complex.
On the opposite, my kid is not exactly a ray of sunshine. If I never have to ground her again, it will be too soon. Lord, I'm so sick of the attitude, the thoughtlessness. This phase is not unexpected, in the scheme of child development, but I want to flee! I have no aptitude as a parent. I don't judge myself for it - it is what it is. I'm a natural at many things, but not this. I have no passion for the activity. And I'm beaten down by 16 years of standing my ground. Really, I'm tired.
Work has calmed down for the moment but it's a sputtering volcano. I'm less burned out than I was last month, yet I'm still so far from normal - it's like I'm in free-fall.
To add to the fun, I have no idea of what's going on with my fucking renovation. We have a new project manager who's got to do his own due diligence on the basis of newly-completed architectural plans. I won't know till mid June whether he can commit to being finished by December (not that I'll believe him even if he does). Of course, I haven't gone through Committee of Adjustments yet (thanks, new by-law) so I can't permit till I've gained that approval. If I start this reno this year, it won't be till August 1. If I don't, I'll have to live in this house as-is, ever more haggard - the place I mean - till April. FYI, I moved out of this house, mentally, about a year ago.
Every day I come home and see my front garden, the metaphor of my current psyche. It's weedy - so weedy, that my weed-prone next-door neighbours, who finally put in a garden last year, currently have a cleaner front garden than mine. They have no weeds at all anymore (except the hipster kind) and I'm the one who gets judge-y side-eye from the woman 5 houses down.
I'm not even going get started on the liminal backyard.
Then I have to deal with a very administrative task (alluded to previously) which involves assets and citizenship and I'm SO put off by it. I'm struggling with apathy (the result of anger and the utter stupidity of the task).
Everything is creaky and leaky and many of the things that need tending to will not be fixed in the near term.
What can I say? I'm a capable whiner.
On the flipside, I'm also a capable crafter. My creative mind, while not as sharp as usual, hasn't exactly jumped ship. I'm exceedingly grateful for this. Furthermore, physical pain is not a consideration of late. I'm also exceedingly grateful for this.
Yesterday I booked a pretty decadent trip to Montreal and Quebec City at the end of June. Scott and I are going alone. No, the kid doesn't know about it as yet. Don't tell her. She has a new (first) job and a boyfriend and she wouldn't want to join, what with us being there, but that's not the point.
I need to get away. I need to retreat with my husband and the trip we know best involves getting on a train in downtown TO and travelling VIA 1 to downtown Mtl. We'll check into the Gault. Walk to Mile End, then the Plateau. Have dinner at Quartier General with the floor-to-ceiling windows open, saturated in the humid night breeze.
Next day we'll get on the train again and spend 3 hours looking out the window. The view is bucolic defined. If you want to meet Quebec for the first time, ride that corridor. I've booked the seats with the best view. I'll knit - I do that on the train. Scott will listen to music. We'll drink silly little bottles of wine and eat food in squat ceramic plates with tall sides to inhibit spills.
Coming into QC Gare du Palais is truly strange. It''s all kinds of industrial-meets-French-Canadian residential. Graffiti. Grain silos. And then, as you debark into the station, everything changes and becomes chic and clean, much of it crazily old. We can walk to our hotel (the 71) from the station, along cobbled streets of the Old Town. I love that I can make this entire trip without ever setting foot in a car.
I can't tell you how grateful I am to know where to dine. To know that food will be gorgeous. Walking in Quebec is joy. Sitting on a patio, as the sun fades and the streets enliven, is a stunning pleasure. No one knows the summer like the northerners. I suspect my last thought will be of an elegant, cloistered terrace, the air at body temperature, the night-scent of flowers competing with the boozy smell of wine. I'll be eating something sweet and speaking slightly too emphatically about the meaning of the world, truly besotted with my husband, who gives great conversation at the worst of times.
After many days of this, we'll be back on our way to my favourite city. We'll hit the tail end of the day in Old Montreal. We'll try a new restaurant, probably in St. Henri.
In they way it takes thousands of sewing sessions to really understand the craft, it takes many visits to the same destination, to tell the story of a life well-lived. This is why we're getting our asses there as soon as possible. Please stay tuned.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Luck of the Irish
I'm sitting at the Wagamama at Heathrow, waiting for my next flight (now delayed 20 minutes). I'll be in transit for 14 hours so I'm shoring up my energy, not that there's much of it left at this point. If you thought I'd fallen off the face of the earth, you're not far off. Sad to say, peeps, this is not a vacation I'll be recounting.
Between a horrendously stressful departure from Montreal (via Philidelphia to Ireland), truly wretched weather (sorry Irish friends, you win when it comes to the crappy weather lottery - at least in July), lackluster accommodations, 9 days spent in a car, a hemorrhagic period (arriving out of schedule), an inability to avail myself of the excellent Dublin food and significant traveling companion incompatibility, this was no fun.
No question, the Irish people are gregarious and much of the scenery is stunning but, alas, it isn't a place that resonates with me.
On the topic of gorgeous scenery:
Just need to get home, throw everything in the laundry, drink a couple of bottles of wine and I'll be back in fighting form. Next up - a bra review!
Between a horrendously stressful departure from Montreal (via Philidelphia to Ireland), truly wretched weather (sorry Irish friends, you win when it comes to the crappy weather lottery - at least in July), lackluster accommodations, 9 days spent in a car, a hemorrhagic period (arriving out of schedule), an inability to avail myself of the excellent Dublin food and significant traveling companion incompatibility, this was no fun.
No question, the Irish people are gregarious and much of the scenery is stunning but, alas, it isn't a place that resonates with me.
On the topic of gorgeous scenery:
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| This was the nicest weather we saw - and it lasted for an hour. |
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Weather Notwithstanding...
Greetings from the land of wet and cold. My only consolation (well, aside from being on vacation and all) is that it's even wetter and colder in TO. And I'm not there! To quell my weather-related malaise, I'm eating a phenomenal chocolate pot de creme with salty chocolate crumb topping from the patisserie up the road. Got me an espresso by my side and some wild strawberries from Jean Talon. Scott's trying to convince me to have a hard boiled egg (usual breakfast fare) but it ain't happening.
They are very pretty eggs though:
Happily we made the most of gorgeous, sunny yesterday. We went up the mountain for our usual lunch at Pavillion. I swear, that place has to be some kind of front. I've never seen more than 5 tables full and I've gone there multiple times. And the food is good! I mean, it's not Zagat rated or anything, but everything is fresh and the desserts are awesome and you look over this:
I don't know about you, but I'd take mediocre food for this patio experience. The server, who's always there (they only need one - I mean there are 5 occupied tables in the whole place), is not the friendliest guy. This time, Nicole, M and Scott had a bet to see if we could win him over and, no joke, by the end of the meal, he came up to tell me that we were a delightful table the likes of which he rarely serves. Note: We are always delightful - manners being utterly relevant. And really, the subtext of his comment was that we were delightful for anglophones. So I don't know how much politesse we can accord to him. :-)
After that, M and Nicole went to the botanical gardens and Scott and I went walking on Laurier east, which is about 10 minutes from our place. The architecture is phenomenal, as everyone will tell you:
In case you don't already know this, the rationale for external staircases was to allow for more square footage inside some very tiny early 20th century flats. These days, some of the apartment duplexes (including the one where we're staying) have been converted to two story dwellings so the staircase has been moved, natch, to the inside. But you still see a lot of second floor doors and interesting features that weren't removed during remodel.
Got to love a modern infill:
On our journey, we bought some tonic and cider and brought it back to chill while we embarked on our third adventure du jour, Parc La Fontaine. This is about 10 minutes in the other direction:
I told Scott not to photograph me (Lord, photographs of me, these days, are hard to look at), but he pretended not to and then did - which is why I'm at the very side of this beautiful view. Parc La Fontaine, named not for its fountain but for a former Chief Justice (like in the 1800s), is a total gem in the middle of everything.
I have spent a lot of time in the Plateau over the last 25 years so I can say with certainty that it really is amongst my optimal neighbourhoods. It is strangely like where I live in TO, from a convenience perspective and given its proximity to the downtown core. It's also a true residential space within an urban backdrop (if less urban that the tall/dense/pointiness of Toronto) - a quality I love about city-living. The laneways are better-groomed, and more treed than ours at home. There's less graffiti and much less tagging. The architecture is as distinctive as Toronto's though, in general, much more appealing (think NYC mixed with rural Quebec). The high-streets are replete with stores that sell the necessities and many fun spots (restaurants, bars, retail shops etc.). What it has in spades, over Toronto, is green space.
In my home-town they just love to chop down the trees. The minute greenery approaches the phone wires (and why the fuck aren't those wires buried at this point, as in the upscale areas??), say bye-bye. It makes for a rather so-so landscape, especially on the streets where the houses aren't so hot. Note: You'll still spend a million bucks on that ugly house.
In Mtl, numerous structural challenges are minimized by beautiful, urban landscaping. When you amble by, you can peer into "white-painted" houses that are inches from the sidewalks (not to mention that it's hot here in the summer so lots o' peeps keep their front doors wedged). The result is a pretty clear view straight through some gorgeous homes - tall ceilings, elegant plaster walls, updated kitchens and bright, well-maintained, tiny back gardens. Note: Just about all of the front-facing windows are covered with curtains or translucent film, so these very publicly-situated homes are still very private. But yeah, I'm one of those peeps who will peer beneath your curtains if there's a little view to be had. To my credit, I'd expect no less of you if you walked by my house (which is much more open to view, if set back much farther from the street and somewhat elevated from the road) on your vacation.
I have always wanted to live in this 'hood and, in my sweet vacation property, I'm once again having the experience. This is so much better than hotelling, my friends. Sure, hotels have their purpose but I am so done with them, in general. I love living like the locals.
Montrealers (or fellow visitors): What's your fave place in this city? Do you share my perspective on the Plateau? Let's talk!
They are very pretty eggs though:
 |
| This was the scene for many tables. There was no type of egg you couldn't find. |
I don't know about you, but I'd take mediocre food for this patio experience. The server, who's always there (they only need one - I mean there are 5 occupied tables in the whole place), is not the friendliest guy. This time, Nicole, M and Scott had a bet to see if we could win him over and, no joke, by the end of the meal, he came up to tell me that we were a delightful table the likes of which he rarely serves. Note: We are always delightful - manners being utterly relevant. And really, the subtext of his comment was that we were delightful for anglophones. So I don't know how much politesse we can accord to him. :-)
After that, M and Nicole went to the botanical gardens and Scott and I went walking on Laurier east, which is about 10 minutes from our place. The architecture is phenomenal, as everyone will tell you:
In case you don't already know this, the rationale for external staircases was to allow for more square footage inside some very tiny early 20th century flats. These days, some of the apartment duplexes (including the one where we're staying) have been converted to two story dwellings so the staircase has been moved, natch, to the inside. But you still see a lot of second floor doors and interesting features that weren't removed during remodel.
Got to love a modern infill:
 |
| The courtyard beyond this front gate was a secret garden. We didn't take pics because the front door was at the far side and we didn't want to be intrusive. |
I told Scott not to photograph me (Lord, photographs of me, these days, are hard to look at), but he pretended not to and then did - which is why I'm at the very side of this beautiful view. Parc La Fontaine, named not for its fountain but for a former Chief Justice (like in the 1800s), is a total gem in the middle of everything.
I have spent a lot of time in the Plateau over the last 25 years so I can say with certainty that it really is amongst my optimal neighbourhoods. It is strangely like where I live in TO, from a convenience perspective and given its proximity to the downtown core. It's also a true residential space within an urban backdrop (if less urban that the tall/dense/pointiness of Toronto) - a quality I love about city-living. The laneways are better-groomed, and more treed than ours at home. There's less graffiti and much less tagging. The architecture is as distinctive as Toronto's though, in general, much more appealing (think NYC mixed with rural Quebec). The high-streets are replete with stores that sell the necessities and many fun spots (restaurants, bars, retail shops etc.). What it has in spades, over Toronto, is green space.
In my home-town they just love to chop down the trees. The minute greenery approaches the phone wires (and why the fuck aren't those wires buried at this point, as in the upscale areas??), say bye-bye. It makes for a rather so-so landscape, especially on the streets where the houses aren't so hot. Note: You'll still spend a million bucks on that ugly house.
In Mtl, numerous structural challenges are minimized by beautiful, urban landscaping. When you amble by, you can peer into "white-painted" houses that are inches from the sidewalks (not to mention that it's hot here in the summer so lots o' peeps keep their front doors wedged). The result is a pretty clear view straight through some gorgeous homes - tall ceilings, elegant plaster walls, updated kitchens and bright, well-maintained, tiny back gardens. Note: Just about all of the front-facing windows are covered with curtains or translucent film, so these very publicly-situated homes are still very private. But yeah, I'm one of those peeps who will peer beneath your curtains if there's a little view to be had. To my credit, I'd expect no less of you if you walked by my house (which is much more open to view, if set back much farther from the street and somewhat elevated from the road) on your vacation.
I have always wanted to live in this 'hood and, in my sweet vacation property, I'm once again having the experience. This is so much better than hotelling, my friends. Sure, hotels have their purpose but I am so done with them, in general. I love living like the locals.
Montrealers (or fellow visitors): What's your fave place in this city? Do you share my perspective on the Plateau? Let's talk!
Friday, June 26, 2015
Peaking in the Plateau
Scott likes to call this vacation: Toronto in Montreal. I'm disinclined, as the whole reason I've left Toronto is to find the otherness of Montreal. He has also been warning me, like, for years, that sleeping in a house, 2 inches from the edge of the road, in the Plateau in the summer, would be more noisy than I can handle (note my legendary noise sensitivity). Um, it was so quiet that I couldn't sleep. It was like the freakin' country.
We're situated slightly north of Mont Royal. As one approaches our residential intersection from the south, the hum of voices from the patios and restaurants with floor to ceiling windows, buzzes increasingly, like a hive. As one moves through it towards our pied a terre, it fades. There is no bass thud. Idiots aren't revving their cars nor speeding by. There is no drunken stupidity and disrespect.
What I love about Montreal is the cultural predilection to find and claim joy. This winter climate is amongst the harshest - harsher than most will encounter. It lasts, more or less, from December to May. Wandering the streets in late June, watching women with their babies in carriers and toddlers in tow (Lord, there are a lot of children in this 'hood), you can feel the vibrancy, the gift of ease. Everyone is eating ice cream. All the time.
Ain't nowhere nicer than Montreal when the weather's good:
We're off to Jean Talon market today - not that we haven't already stocked up on the most fun of foods and wine - or to mention that we've got lunch plans at Quartier General and dinner at Salle a Manger. Friends of ours arrive today and tomorrow and we'll be having a little barbeque or two in our back garden away from home:
Yeah, it really is that nice.
We're situated slightly north of Mont Royal. As one approaches our residential intersection from the south, the hum of voices from the patios and restaurants with floor to ceiling windows, buzzes increasingly, like a hive. As one moves through it towards our pied a terre, it fades. There is no bass thud. Idiots aren't revving their cars nor speeding by. There is no drunken stupidity and disrespect.
What I love about Montreal is the cultural predilection to find and claim joy. This winter climate is amongst the harshest - harsher than most will encounter. It lasts, more or less, from December to May. Wandering the streets in late June, watching women with their babies in carriers and toddlers in tow (Lord, there are a lot of children in this 'hood), you can feel the vibrancy, the gift of ease. Everyone is eating ice cream. All the time.
Ain't nowhere nicer than Montreal when the weather's good:
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| These sidewalk gardens are ubiquitous... |
 |
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| One of those rare moments when my child is smiling (and I'm around)... |
Yeah, it really is that nice.
Saturday, June 20, 2015
I'm On Vacation and I'm Seriously Happy About It
So much to say... I've been getting myself organized for the holiday extravaganza that has (mercifully) just begun. Today's Scott's birthday. Soon we're off to Mtl (no surprise this year). What is a surprise is that my mother is taking my sister and me to Dublin and the Ring of Kerry!! So, like some crazy world traveler, I'll be leaving from Montreal, second year running, to go to Europe. I sense I should make this a habit. :-)
The net result is that I'm going to be away from work for 3 full weeks (and weekends, natch). Other than when I was half-dead from pertussis, I've not taken this much time, all at once, away from work. I'mvaguely giddy. Honestly, I'm burned out and I need a chance to work on my own schedule, to eat and drink on patios, to pursue creative things, to do some yoga, unfettered by other responsibilities.
So question 1 is for the peeps with knowledge of Ireland. I've had some awesome feedback about restaurants not to be missed (a coworker is married to a guy from Dublin and his brother is a chef there. They spend about a month a year in Ireland. Not a bad advisor, huh??). But I'm looking for lunch suggestions and bra boutique suggestions and other cool store suggestions and great things to see suggestions (we're happy to go to castles, churches and creepy places). Are there any foods not to be missed?
I'm sad to say that I am not a beer drinker. At all. Like, of all the booze it's the only kind I can't get with. It's like bread soda. But natch, I'm going to drink a Guinness. Perhaps in its homeland, it will appeal to me. To clarify, our trio of gluten-sensitivity (I'm a newbie in this camp, but the other two are hardcore) will share one, I suspect.
I do intend to post while traveling, as long as the mood strikes. It usually does though, so I expect you'll hear as much from me as always - only in better locales!
The first few days of this hol will be spent here. I've decided to do some sewing, not that I need anything in particular. I just feel like updating some pieces (and revising fit, in a couple of instances, to suit those small, but notable changes in shape). Not to dwell, cuz it gets boring, but I'm struggling with body image right now, not something I tolerate well in others. So I'm smacking myself up the side of the head and reminding myself that a) I am able b) stylish c) a competent sewist and, more to the point, fitter d) able to discern the changes for what they are and to manage them e) more than simply a body and f) unremittingly hot as far as my husband is concerned. I'm also a hormonal mess who continues to function, pretty fucking well, with a number of mid-life health concerns. So I'm going to take this moment in time for what it is and make pretty things that fit me beautifully and bamboozle everyone into thinking I've still got that figure - or maybe even determine that the figure I have right now is just as attractive, albeit different.
Brief side note: I have no idea of how celebrity women actors deal with this shit. Sure, many of them are well-off, but to lose one's livelihood when one's body changes (and for 80 per cent of us, it's going to change, at least somewhat), when one's hormones are at their most intense. It's so unfair. Not to mention that we gain confidence and perspective in age - two things that are likely to improve an actor's ability exponentially. Um, I have no idea how I got off on this tangent but I also feel outrageously bad for the animals in the zoo and the unloved gardens. I'm having a sensitive moment.
OK, back to sewing plans. My goal is to:
The net result is that I'm going to be away from work for 3 full weeks (and weekends, natch). Other than when I was half-dead from pertussis, I've not taken this much time, all at once, away from work. I'm
So question 1 is for the peeps with knowledge of Ireland. I've had some awesome feedback about restaurants not to be missed (a coworker is married to a guy from Dublin and his brother is a chef there. They spend about a month a year in Ireland. Not a bad advisor, huh??). But I'm looking for lunch suggestions and bra boutique suggestions and other cool store suggestions and great things to see suggestions (we're happy to go to castles, churches and creepy places). Are there any foods not to be missed?
I'm sad to say that I am not a beer drinker. At all. Like, of all the booze it's the only kind I can't get with. It's like bread soda. But natch, I'm going to drink a Guinness. Perhaps in its homeland, it will appeal to me. To clarify, our trio of gluten-sensitivity (I'm a newbie in this camp, but the other two are hardcore) will share one, I suspect.
I do intend to post while traveling, as long as the mood strikes. It usually does though, so I expect you'll hear as much from me as always - only in better locales!
The first few days of this hol will be spent here. I've decided to do some sewing, not that I need anything in particular. I just feel like updating some pieces (and revising fit, in a couple of instances, to suit those small, but notable changes in shape). Not to dwell, cuz it gets boring, but I'm struggling with body image right now, not something I tolerate well in others. So I'm smacking myself up the side of the head and reminding myself that a) I am able b) stylish c) a competent sewist and, more to the point, fitter d) able to discern the changes for what they are and to manage them e) more than simply a body and f) unremittingly hot as far as my husband is concerned. I'm also a hormonal mess who continues to function, pretty fucking well, with a number of mid-life health concerns. So I'm going to take this moment in time for what it is and make pretty things that fit me beautifully and bamboozle everyone into thinking I've still got that figure - or maybe even determine that the figure I have right now is just as attractive, albeit different.
Brief side note: I have no idea of how celebrity women actors deal with this shit. Sure, many of them are well-off, but to lose one's livelihood when one's body changes (and for 80 per cent of us, it's going to change, at least somewhat), when one's hormones are at their most intense. It's so unfair. Not to mention that we gain confidence and perspective in age - two things that are likely to improve an actor's ability exponentially. Um, I have no idea how I got off on this tangent but I also feel outrageously bad for the animals in the zoo and the unloved gardens. I'm having a sensitive moment.
OK, back to sewing plans. My goal is to:
- Make things I've made before. Why? Cuz I know how to fit them with minimal insanity and I also know they'll be worn.
- Use stash fabrics. I'm not buying more stuff. I have enough. It's just a matter of aligning what I want to make with the fabrics I have available. Gotta say, I'm glad I've started buying 2 yard minimums. Broadens my options, even as it may leave me with unusable scraps.
- Get a little bit fun (but not insanely). I'm going to use some new-to-me fabric combos. It's a risk, and I may end up with wadders. Or it could be genius success!!
- Hilariously, I'm likely to make pretty well the same shit I make every time I do a spring-summer capsule collection: denim skirt, a couple of dresses, a top and a destructured jersey jacket (I am going to Ireland after all). Here's a link to my prep document, in case you're interested in seeing what I've considered. It also shows how insanely process-oriented I am. I spent all night researching the stash and aligning it with patterns in the inventory and rereading my posts on the items and looking at other fitting reviews. In some ways, I find this as enjoyable as sewing.
- Every fabric I will use has some stretch. Even the denims. Even the Japanese dot. I've come to realize that I don't like the restriction of woven fabrics with no give, even when they fit. And if you're not seriously toned in all the places, a bit of stretch (even 10 per cent) can make a huge difference in drape and fall. You can still make very structured garments with fabric that stretches. And it will go a long way to skim over the areas that you'd prefer to play down. I'd argue that the best structured garments have 10% stretch. That allows for some containment without being restrictive.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
S'attendre à l'inattendu
I find myself in a strange scenario, sitting in the rather modern, third floor lounge in someone's 17th century second home I've rented. I'm awake, as I have been for what seems like days, staring out a large stone cutaway window with a rounded edge that just allows me to trace the blackness of the night, distinct from the sloped, ceramic roofs of the block of houses across a narrow road.
I'm in Arles for Scott's 50th birthday experience. It started last Friday in Montreal with good friends and awesome weather, in a great town. It proceeded (just for we two) to a car to a plane to a (n admittedly momentary) shuttle to a regional train to a walk to a home the likes of which I've never stayed. On the way, strangers came out of the ether to save us from unnecessary detours we might have taken in our fatigued delirium. After weeks of near misses, we were guided from the unfamiliar by a truly friendly hand.
Last year, the lesson of my holiday was very gentle - and it preceded a rough year: When you are easy, life is never hard. A world-worn, but cheerful woman in Baie St. Paul told me this. Who knew I'd have so much practice applying this aphorism, not overly successfully, in truth.
This year's lesson, I can see it already: What you expect, will not be met. It may be gleefully circumvented, side-swiped, exceeded. But it will not be what I anticipate. So unnatural for a woman whose hallmark is clearly-defined expectation...
I don't know why I'm surprised. I left my comfort-zone with this trip. I am not staying in a chic, boutique hotel (the cost of which is the GDP of a small nation). I've rented real homes in real places the ages of which are writ large on their gritty yellow bricks and shutters. This ancient house has one or two rooms per floor. The bathroom on the ground, the bedroom perched atop a staircase that one would be wise to treat like a ladder. The kitchen is a love-letter to food and the French art of dining.
There are no screens in the windows - and yet, everyone has warned us about the mosquitoes which travel nightly from the river delta. There is no filter - no manicured courtyard to insulate me from the noise of the people, living their lives in ways you might imagine - so not the ways we are noisy in Toronto - and yet so occupying.
Scott is sleeping. His sleeping means that I am not sleeping. Usually, this torments me and really, given the degree of my fatigue, I should be very worried about tomorrow and the likely persistence of jet lag. But somehow it seems small to begrudge insomnia that shows me a view of the world I've never seen before. How many women have sat in front of this very window, over hundreds of years, listening to greasy drops of rain fall on the cobblestones? What kept them awake?
My goal, this moment, is to expect the unexpected and to find gratitude in what I will not control. Because really, there is so much potential in the unknown.
I'm in Arles for Scott's 50th birthday experience. It started last Friday in Montreal with good friends and awesome weather, in a great town. It proceeded (just for we two) to a car to a plane to a (n admittedly momentary) shuttle to a regional train to a walk to a home the likes of which I've never stayed. On the way, strangers came out of the ether to save us from unnecessary detours we might have taken in our fatigued delirium. After weeks of near misses, we were guided from the unfamiliar by a truly friendly hand.
Last year, the lesson of my holiday was very gentle - and it preceded a rough year: When you are easy, life is never hard. A world-worn, but cheerful woman in Baie St. Paul told me this. Who knew I'd have so much practice applying this aphorism, not overly successfully, in truth.
This year's lesson, I can see it already: What you expect, will not be met. It may be gleefully circumvented, side-swiped, exceeded. But it will not be what I anticipate. So unnatural for a woman whose hallmark is clearly-defined expectation...
I don't know why I'm surprised. I left my comfort-zone with this trip. I am not staying in a chic, boutique hotel (the cost of which is the GDP of a small nation). I've rented real homes in real places the ages of which are writ large on their gritty yellow bricks and shutters. This ancient house has one or two rooms per floor. The bathroom on the ground, the bedroom perched atop a staircase that one would be wise to treat like a ladder. The kitchen is a love-letter to food and the French art of dining.
There are no screens in the windows - and yet, everyone has warned us about the mosquitoes which travel nightly from the river delta. There is no filter - no manicured courtyard to insulate me from the noise of the people, living their lives in ways you might imagine - so not the ways we are noisy in Toronto - and yet so occupying.
Scott is sleeping. His sleeping means that I am not sleeping. Usually, this torments me and really, given the degree of my fatigue, I should be very worried about tomorrow and the likely persistence of jet lag. But somehow it seems small to begrudge insomnia that shows me a view of the world I've never seen before. How many women have sat in front of this very window, over hundreds of years, listening to greasy drops of rain fall on the cobblestones? What kept them awake?
My goal, this moment, is to expect the unexpected and to find gratitude in what I will not control. Because really, there is so much potential in the unknown.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Life Lessons
I sense that I'm one of 10 people in the world who got into a canoe accident this weekend. Seriously. Have you ever seen how slowly those things go? Nonetheless my husband managed to steer me into a hanging branch, and not a small one. (In his defense, we were at a wind-y place and he hasn't been in a canoe for a couple of years. There was a little bit too much velocity happening as he executed the turn. Also, I suppose, I could have ducked. Or so they tell me.)
My extremely pricey (IMO) sunglasses, which I treat with such care, were flung from my head, along with my hat (but into the boat rather than the water, thankfully) after being scratched to shit by said branch. I'm of the opinion that the glasses saved my eye. Others think I may have merely saved myself a scratched cornea. Either way, that would not have been a good scene. The branch bounced of the glasses, while it tossed them, and grazed the side of my face instead.
Oh, and then the heavens opened and I spent an hour canoeing in the relentless, pouring, miserable, cold, disgusting rain from which I could not flee. I was fit to be tied.
At any rate, this is my second canoe experience this summer (after a hiatus of many years, and I'm no "girl with a canoe") and I can't figure out which one was worse. In NC, I went on the New River, apparently the second oldest river in the world, and a 4-hour trip ended up taking 6 hours as the water was 6 inches deep in most spots and littered with jutting rocks. Also, extreme natural beauty aside, we had to somehow get around the water-hogs in inner-tubes who were drinking beer and very rudely staying in the middle of everything, despite not really needing water just to sit there and get drunk. That was the trip where I learned about how exercise can truly be an act of desperation. I knew I was never going to get out of that fucking river if I didn't paddle.
This weekend's experience taught me something concrete about my nature: I am very attached to my things. Sure, not all things. (Lord knows, I give away sweaters like they're growing on trees.) And, sure, I cling to some things more than others. But I was so angry about the destruction of my glasses. The combo of my love of beautiful objets (that also manage to be entirely practical and useful) with my hatred of disorder and waste, well, it brought out my less-than-endearing side. Of course, my friends worked to calm me, weirdly, by suggesting that I need a frame, slightly more a la mode. Smart. That's about the only thing that stopped me from complete anger-wallow. The option to self-improve.
So I'm off to Spectacle to buy a new pair. (Re: Light sensitivity these days, I cannot be without my wrecked up current glasses until new glasses are ready, whereupon I'll get the current ones fixed so as never to be in this situation again.) If only this weren't about to cost a boat load of money... (hahahaha, get it?)
My extremely pricey (IMO) sunglasses, which I treat with such care, were flung from my head, along with my hat (but into the boat rather than the water, thankfully) after being scratched to shit by said branch. I'm of the opinion that the glasses saved my eye. Others think I may have merely saved myself a scratched cornea. Either way, that would not have been a good scene. The branch bounced of the glasses, while it tossed them, and grazed the side of my face instead.
Oh, and then the heavens opened and I spent an hour canoeing in the relentless, pouring, miserable, cold, disgusting rain from which I could not flee. I was fit to be tied.
At any rate, this is my second canoe experience this summer (after a hiatus of many years, and I'm no "girl with a canoe") and I can't figure out which one was worse. In NC, I went on the New River, apparently the second oldest river in the world, and a 4-hour trip ended up taking 6 hours as the water was 6 inches deep in most spots and littered with jutting rocks. Also, extreme natural beauty aside, we had to somehow get around the water-hogs in inner-tubes who were drinking beer and very rudely staying in the middle of everything, despite not really needing water just to sit there and get drunk. That was the trip where I learned about how exercise can truly be an act of desperation. I knew I was never going to get out of that fucking river if I didn't paddle.
This weekend's experience taught me something concrete about my nature: I am very attached to my things. Sure, not all things. (Lord knows, I give away sweaters like they're growing on trees.) And, sure, I cling to some things more than others. But I was so angry about the destruction of my glasses. The combo of my love of beautiful objets (that also manage to be entirely practical and useful) with my hatred of disorder and waste, well, it brought out my less-than-endearing side. Of course, my friends worked to calm me, weirdly, by suggesting that I need a frame, slightly more a la mode. Smart. That's about the only thing that stopped me from complete anger-wallow. The option to self-improve.
So I'm off to Spectacle to buy a new pair. (Re: Light sensitivity these days, I cannot be without my wrecked up current glasses until new glasses are ready, whereupon I'll get the current ones fixed so as never to be in this situation again.) If only this weren't about to cost a boat load of money... (hahahaha, get it?)
Sunday, August 14, 2011
EuroLoot: Silk Scarf (Handmade by Artist) - Paris
Reports of the end of Euro posts have been greatly exaggerated.
So I lied. Are you really going to hold it against me when you see the goodies??
To give you context for the EuroLoot series, this is where, over the next week or so, I'll show photos of my purchases in Amsterdam and Paris.
Some of these were bought by me, some by my husband as memorable and generous gifts.
You should be aware that, contrary to my usual philosophy (buy great things, but on sale) and my recent practice (make most garments by hand), I did not limit myself. Natch, some things were totally out of the realm of financial feasibility, but to the best of my ability, if I saw it and loved it (and it could fit in the one, carry-on suitcase I brought with me to Europe), I took the plunge.
For starters, here's a handmade scarf I found at an artist's market on the Left Bank:
Lucky that the as-yet unfinished wrap dress, still on the form, matches in colour-tone, yes?
Note the signature on the edge of the fabric...
So I lied. Are you really going to hold it against me when you see the goodies??
To give you context for the EuroLoot series, this is where, over the next week or so, I'll show photos of my purchases in Amsterdam and Paris.
Some of these were bought by me, some by my husband as memorable and generous gifts.
You should be aware that, contrary to my usual philosophy (buy great things, but on sale) and my recent practice (make most garments by hand), I did not limit myself. Natch, some things were totally out of the realm of financial feasibility, but to the best of my ability, if I saw it and loved it (and it could fit in the one, carry-on suitcase I brought with me to Europe), I took the plunge.
For starters, here's a handmade scarf I found at an artist's market on the Left Bank:
Lucky that the as-yet unfinished wrap dress, still on the form, matches in colour-tone, yes?
Note the signature on the edge of the fabric...
The silk is of beautiful quality and the screening is superb. I love its geometric nod. It's like an earth-tone Mondrian with a few circles thrown in.
I could tell that the artist was thrilled when I tried it on and tied it in a number of different (blog-learned) ways. Not only did she enjoy seeing her work in action, but it does suit my blond pallor well. I love that it's the only one of its kind.
I could tell that the artist was thrilled when I tried it on and tied it in a number of different (blog-learned) ways. Not only did she enjoy seeing her work in action, but it does suit my blond pallor well. I love that it's the only one of its kind.
Monday, August 8, 2011
A Thousand Words
This city is the most gorgeous place imaginable. Read some Hemingway, if you want a second opinion. And look at this view of Notre Dame from the edge of our island, taken at sunset this evening:
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Just A Few Things...
I'm writing on a very uncooperative iPad so I'll cut to the chase...
- When in Paris, go see the Montparnasse cemetary. It manages, somehow, to be chic and poignant simultaneously. And Sartre and Serge Gainsbourg are there. It's a place of elegant repose, where, unlike in Pere Lachaise, the residents have no fear of potential deportation.
- It rains constantly and unpredictably here - and hard enough to wreck your expensive shoes, so beware. It's actually shocking how the weather patterns work. Sun is followed by massive downpours in a moment. Note: Not like Florida showers at all.
- You know you're a woman of a certain age and stage when you actually return a main at a Paris restaurant because it's just not good enough. The follow up plate was much less mediocre and I'm almost sure that no one spit in it :-)
- I rapidly approach food fatigue though, tonight, I did opt to sample three brands of ice cream back-to-back. After a Sauterne. I sort of hate myself right now and I feel like a pig - not the cute kind.
- Velib rental bikes are not well-maintained so rent with caution. We had to return two for problems like bad seats and tires with low air. And the payment system is like something out of the dark ages - I mean, early middle ages.
- I have a zillion photos queued for the next post (Scott has taken some awesome shots, really) but it's very challenging to work without a reliable computer. Those of you who aren't totally bored by such things, please stay tuned. This city is outrageously beautiful.
- At this point I'm willing to say that, while Paris wins for clothes shopping (OMG), Amsterdam gets my vote for food. Not that both countries don't do each of these very adequately...
- If you want to see the Catacombs, get thee to the guichet at 9 a.m. or call it a loss. We arrived (stupidly, and knowingly so) at noon, and the line was longer than the venues open hours. Damn. I do love the creepy stuff...
- When in Paris, go see the Montparnasse cemetary. It manages, somehow, to be chic and poignant simultaneously. And Sartre and Serge Gainsbourg are there. It's a place of elegant repose, where, unlike in Pere Lachaise, the residents have no fear of potential deportation.
- It rains constantly and unpredictably here - and hard enough to wreck your expensive shoes, so beware. It's actually shocking how the weather patterns work. Sun is followed by massive downpours in a moment. Note: Not like Florida showers at all.
- You know you're a woman of a certain age and stage when you actually return a main at a Paris restaurant because it's just not good enough. The follow up plate was much less mediocre and I'm almost sure that no one spit in it :-)
- I rapidly approach food fatigue though, tonight, I did opt to sample three brands of ice cream back-to-back. After a Sauterne. I sort of hate myself right now and I feel like a pig - not the cute kind.
- Velib rental bikes are not well-maintained so rent with caution. We had to return two for problems like bad seats and tires with low air. And the payment system is like something out of the dark ages - I mean, early middle ages.
- I have a zillion photos queued for the next post (Scott has taken some awesome shots, really) but it's very challenging to work without a reliable computer. Those of you who aren't totally bored by such things, please stay tuned. This city is outrageously beautiful.
- At this point I'm willing to say that, while Paris wins for clothes shopping (OMG), Amsterdam gets my vote for food. Not that both countries don't do each of these very adequately...
- If you want to see the Catacombs, get thee to the guichet at 9 a.m. or call it a loss. We arrived (stupidly, and knowingly so) at noon, and the line was longer than the venues open hours. Damn. I do love the creepy stuff...
Saturday, August 6, 2011
C'est La Vie
Paris is just as you'd imagine it, except grander. Lord, it's fancy here. And historic. And the shopping is fucking epic. (Note: I have done some serious damage.) The food is delicious - though, so far, no better than that in Amsterdam, IMO. The pastry is fairly awesome but it's the ice cream that's blowing me away. Have you ever heard of Berthillon?
I think we can all agree that I know a thing or two about ice cream. I mean, I make my own. I eat it in all the towns of the world in which I find myself. I live in Toronto's gelato-centrale. And this may actually be the best ice cream I've ever had the pleasure to stuff in my mouth, scoop-by-scoop at a time.
It happens I'm staying on Ile St. Louis - 5 seconds from the Berthillon shop. (Scott just read this sentence over my shoulder and is scandalized that I didn't first tell you we are 5 minutes away, and a bridge, from Notre Dame - the bells of which we are listening to as I type.) I don't know how I will continue to fit into the absurdly expensive, chic clothing I appear to be buying at approximately the same pace.
Zut alors!
Let me say that the French people are delightful - very correct, formal, honest and humourous. No, they're not warm. Nothing about this town is warm. The sky is foreboding, the architecture slabbish and extreme. The Seine is beautiful, and grey. I've been wearing jeans and sweaters. Yesterday we were caught in, I believe, the worst storm of my life. Transit had to reroute the buses because the streets had flooded 4 feet. Scott and I were caught in it. 5 seconds into the deluge, with clothing incoherently glued, I was like a drowned poodle, unable even, to see through my glasses - and I was under an awning?! A woman who took shelter in a covered bus stop with us wore a white blouse. She might as well have been naked. Happily for her, she was insouciantly francaise.
We have spoken French most of the time and the natives respond to us in kind. Today, I had a charming, but honest, experience while chatting with the concierge. At one point, it became apparent that I misunderstood part of our conversation (when Scott corrected me) and she said - surprised - "Oh, your husband's French is better than yours...", whereupon she confirmed my accent was superior. Look, Scott is from Quebec. Duh, his French is better, though his accent is definitely dubious. But I sense the concierge was thinking regrettably out loud! Note: She followed this comment quickly with a "your French is excellent too" proviso. Hmmm...
Our hotel is amazing. It's built from the bones of the last indoor tennis court in Paris. Seriously, it's a place of such merit that groups of people stop in front of it, with their tour guides, to learn more about its abundant history. Proviso: So is just about every other building in the 'hood, by the looks of it.
You could walk for days - we've put in about 16 hours over 2 days, so far - and see relatively little. We did go - and I would totally recommend it - to the Le cimetière du Père-Lachaise, the cemetary wherein so many notable historic figures (and Jim Morrison) have been interred. Do you know, you don't get your plot there in perpetuity? Once it becomes gungy (cuz there's no one left to take care of it), you are at risk of being dug up, respectfully cremated, and scattered by one of the larger memorials. FYI, Mr. Morrison's grave, by far the most popular, was in no way spectacular.
The French common areas and parks are horticulturally splendid and beautifully maintained but I'm vaguely dismayed to advise that they torment half of their trees by turning them into topiaries!?! All of these lovely, lofty plants groomed into oblivion... Somehow, though, I just drink more Bordeaux and it's all ok.
A few pics for your viewing pleasure:
Shot of the bathroom in the hotel...
Me, after having ingested something...
Et avec du cafe... (After pastry) Gotta say, coffee here isn't rocking my world... I'm beginning to suspect the best coffee is in TO - which seems rather counterintuitive.
Seriously spooky grave (of which there are thousands at the Pere Lachaise)...
Somehow, in Pere Lachaise, it looked like autumn from every vantage point. The minute one leaves the cemetary, it turns back into summer (of sorts).
I think we can all agree that I know a thing or two about ice cream. I mean, I make my own. I eat it in all the towns of the world in which I find myself. I live in Toronto's gelato-centrale. And this may actually be the best ice cream I've ever had the pleasure to stuff in my mouth, scoop-by-scoop at a time.
It happens I'm staying on Ile St. Louis - 5 seconds from the Berthillon shop. (Scott just read this sentence over my shoulder and is scandalized that I didn't first tell you we are 5 minutes away, and a bridge, from Notre Dame - the bells of which we are listening to as I type.) I don't know how I will continue to fit into the absurdly expensive, chic clothing I appear to be buying at approximately the same pace.
Zut alors!
Let me say that the French people are delightful - very correct, formal, honest and humourous. No, they're not warm. Nothing about this town is warm. The sky is foreboding, the architecture slabbish and extreme. The Seine is beautiful, and grey. I've been wearing jeans and sweaters. Yesterday we were caught in, I believe, the worst storm of my life. Transit had to reroute the buses because the streets had flooded 4 feet. Scott and I were caught in it. 5 seconds into the deluge, with clothing incoherently glued, I was like a drowned poodle, unable even, to see through my glasses - and I was under an awning?! A woman who took shelter in a covered bus stop with us wore a white blouse. She might as well have been naked. Happily for her, she was insouciantly francaise.
We have spoken French most of the time and the natives respond to us in kind. Today, I had a charming, but honest, experience while chatting with the concierge. At one point, it became apparent that I misunderstood part of our conversation (when Scott corrected me) and she said - surprised - "Oh, your husband's French is better than yours...", whereupon she confirmed my accent was superior. Look, Scott is from Quebec. Duh, his French is better, though his accent is definitely dubious. But I sense the concierge was thinking regrettably out loud! Note: She followed this comment quickly with a "your French is excellent too" proviso. Hmmm...
Our hotel is amazing. It's built from the bones of the last indoor tennis court in Paris. Seriously, it's a place of such merit that groups of people stop in front of it, with their tour guides, to learn more about its abundant history. Proviso: So is just about every other building in the 'hood, by the looks of it.
You could walk for days - we've put in about 16 hours over 2 days, so far - and see relatively little. We did go - and I would totally recommend it - to the Le cimetière du Père-Lachaise, the cemetary wherein so many notable historic figures (and Jim Morrison) have been interred. Do you know, you don't get your plot there in perpetuity? Once it becomes gungy (cuz there's no one left to take care of it), you are at risk of being dug up, respectfully cremated, and scattered by one of the larger memorials. FYI, Mr. Morrison's grave, by far the most popular, was in no way spectacular.
The French common areas and parks are horticulturally splendid and beautifully maintained but I'm vaguely dismayed to advise that they torment half of their trees by turning them into topiaries!?! All of these lovely, lofty plants groomed into oblivion... Somehow, though, I just drink more Bordeaux and it's all ok.
A few pics for your viewing pleasure:
Shot of the bathroom in the hotel...
Me, after having ingested something...
Et avec du cafe... (After pastry) Gotta say, coffee here isn't rocking my world... I'm beginning to suspect the best coffee is in TO - which seems rather counterintuitive.
Seriously spooky grave (of which there are thousands at the Pere Lachaise)...
Somehow, in Pere Lachaise, it looked like autumn from every vantage point. The minute one leaves the cemetary, it turns back into summer (of sorts).Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Rain and Shine
We had an amazing time yesterday, cycling around. As you may know, Scott uses a bicycle as his main form of transportation in TO. I hadn't been on one for 20 years, but the old saying is totally true! Apparently, many tourists find cycling trecherous here - kind of like driving in Rome. We loved it, but then S has familiarity going for him and I'm a crazy badass. The key is confidence. I mean, they're not agressive. Totally the opposite. They don't even wear helmets - which, in Toronto the Good will land you a ticket - and the open judgement of every observer. I admit to being scandalized by the ommission of safety gear on infants. Especially as parents drive 2 or 3 to a bike...
In TO, everyone criticized Scott for riding M on the rack at the back of his bike for the first 10 years of her life. (What? You ever tried to get a whining kid to school on time on a January morning??) Seriously, people took the opportunity to malign him at stoplights. Here, the practice is commonplace. Note: it also has the benefit of developing an excellent centre of balance!
We had the bikes booked again today but the weather has not cooperated, and I don't have one of those hideous rain slickers people wear and I'm not going to spend the day wet for the pleasure of riding around. Sorry, Scott.
I'm loathe to tell you more about the food - which continues to rock my world - cuz I'm worried you may think I have a disorder. I will say that I spent an enjoyable 30 minutes at a grocery store; I love to see how other people eat. The store is half the size of one in North America. In Canada, we have 200 kinds of cookies. Here they have 20 - and they all look kind of similar. The produce is very expensive, but lovely. The dairy section kicks ass. People, the Activia yogurt comes in glass jars! They have wacky dairy desserts, the likes of which I find very appealing. Everything is caramel - nature's perfect flavour. The chips come in brands we would recognize, but in super fun flavours, like Paprika.
I've learned something new about myself: I'm a hotel breakfast eater. I don't know if this will come as a shock to anyone - as I love eating in hotels, even in my home city - but it has finally crystalized that I cannot bear to wander around in search of food while my blood sugar plummets. I am overwhelmed by breakfast, in general. I can't eat before I drink coffee. I can't eat till I've been awake for at least an hour. I must have 2 fried eggs, 3 slices of bacon and an espresso, without having to work at it. (To the amusement of my workmates, this is what I eat at my desk everyday at approximately 10:00 am.) All of this bread and sweets before lunchtime freaks me out. Pancakes symbolize the worst of it! I can't stand the thought of syrup on bread.
On this psychologically ambiguous note, it is time for me to brave the rain. Lunch awaits, after all. And you may be relieved to note: for that meal, all bets are off.
In TO, everyone criticized Scott for riding M on the rack at the back of his bike for the first 10 years of her life. (What? You ever tried to get a whining kid to school on time on a January morning??) Seriously, people took the opportunity to malign him at stoplights. Here, the practice is commonplace. Note: it also has the benefit of developing an excellent centre of balance!
We had the bikes booked again today but the weather has not cooperated, and I don't have one of those hideous rain slickers people wear and I'm not going to spend the day wet for the pleasure of riding around. Sorry, Scott.
I'm loathe to tell you more about the food - which continues to rock my world - cuz I'm worried you may think I have a disorder. I will say that I spent an enjoyable 30 minutes at a grocery store; I love to see how other people eat. The store is half the size of one in North America. In Canada, we have 200 kinds of cookies. Here they have 20 - and they all look kind of similar. The produce is very expensive, but lovely. The dairy section kicks ass. People, the Activia yogurt comes in glass jars! They have wacky dairy desserts, the likes of which I find very appealing. Everything is caramel - nature's perfect flavour. The chips come in brands we would recognize, but in super fun flavours, like Paprika.
I've learned something new about myself: I'm a hotel breakfast eater. I don't know if this will come as a shock to anyone - as I love eating in hotels, even in my home city - but it has finally crystalized that I cannot bear to wander around in search of food while my blood sugar plummets. I am overwhelmed by breakfast, in general. I can't eat before I drink coffee. I can't eat till I've been awake for at least an hour. I must have 2 fried eggs, 3 slices of bacon and an espresso, without having to work at it. (To the amusement of my workmates, this is what I eat at my desk everyday at approximately 10:00 am.) All of this bread and sweets before lunchtime freaks me out. Pancakes symbolize the worst of it! I can't stand the thought of syrup on bread.
On this psychologically ambiguous note, it is time for me to brave the rain. Lunch awaits, after all. And you may be relieved to note: for that meal, all bets are off.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Summertime
Oh, the fall is here, not that I begrudge autumn. It is my fave season though, alas, it fades into winter, which will utterly suck about 5 months from now.
Let's look at a few, gorgeous photos from my summer hols in Quebec. These were taken in Baie St. Paul, a spot whose claim to fame is Cirque de Soleil...
Don't you love that track? It seems to go nowhere and everywhere all at once...
We had one of our loveliest meals here. In fact, it was the scene of the best glass of California zinfandel EVAH. It was chilled within an inch of its life, which seems an impossibility given how freakishly hot it was in BSP when we were there. Honestly, that wine was life-altering, especially as I sipped it under a shade umbrella beside a tributary leading straight to the St. Lawrence. The relaxation almost did me in.
During this road trip we also decided to check out les Sept Chutes. After much traveling and anticipation, we eventually crawled down the penultimate scenic, gravel road for about a thousand miles, our crap-car air conditioner diminishing in efficacy with each revolution. My, we were excited by the anticipation of viewing this natural wonder.
When finally we arrived at the end of the path, we found an unexpected booth, in which an overheated, less-than-cheerful ticket taker once-overed us and said (with nary a second glance): "Trente-deux dollars."
We each of us (Scott, Nicole and I) took a long look at each other as if to validate what we had heard. I mean, we're anglo. No doubt we merely thought she said thirty-two dollars, but we must have been wrong. Those French people speak fast sometimes.
And in a moment out of some kind of low rent comedy, we all said simultaneously (mostly in English): No freakin' way. You want to charge us 32 bucks to see this thing and you didn't even have the decency to pave the road??* At which point Scott took out his PDA and crowed: Look here, I'm checking out the falls for free online! (Torrents of giggles ensued, from the car only.)
The woman was incredulous. I doubt anyone had ever traveled hours in a car to turn around at the gates over a $32.00 surcharge. And the wild thing is, if you know Scott, Nicole and I - and our holiday spendthrift ways - you'd be shocked to find that we'd all agreed categorically to walk away. (Or should I say amble in a compact car with practically no air circulation when traveling under 80 km/hr.) I mean, really, I've been known to pay 32 bucks for a glass of wine.
So the closest I've got to the seven falls is photos on the web. Apparently, I've heard, it looks just like them.
*If you happen to be Canadian, from some locale other than Toronto, I suspect, on reading this, you are thinking something like: OMG, those people from Toronto are so classless. They're as bad as everybody says! Rest assured, it is merely we who are classless. And hell bent on mod cons for fees.
Let's look at a few, gorgeous photos from my summer hols in Quebec. These were taken in Baie St. Paul, a spot whose claim to fame is Cirque de Soleil...
Don't you love that track? It seems to go nowhere and everywhere all at once...We had one of our loveliest meals here. In fact, it was the scene of the best glass of California zinfandel EVAH. It was chilled within an inch of its life, which seems an impossibility given how freakishly hot it was in BSP when we were there. Honestly, that wine was life-altering, especially as I sipped it under a shade umbrella beside a tributary leading straight to the St. Lawrence. The relaxation almost did me in.
During this road trip we also decided to check out les Sept Chutes. After much traveling and anticipation, we eventually crawled down the penultimate scenic, gravel road for about a thousand miles, our crap-car air conditioner diminishing in efficacy with each revolution. My, we were excited by the anticipation of viewing this natural wonder.
When finally we arrived at the end of the path, we found an unexpected booth, in which an overheated, less-than-cheerful ticket taker once-overed us and said (with nary a second glance): "Trente-deux dollars."
We each of us (Scott, Nicole and I) took a long look at each other as if to validate what we had heard. I mean, we're anglo. No doubt we merely thought she said thirty-two dollars, but we must have been wrong. Those French people speak fast sometimes.
And in a moment out of some kind of low rent comedy, we all said simultaneously (mostly in English): No freakin' way. You want to charge us 32 bucks to see this thing and you didn't even have the decency to pave the road??* At which point Scott took out his PDA and crowed: Look here, I'm checking out the falls for free online! (Torrents of giggles ensued, from the car only.)
The woman was incredulous. I doubt anyone had ever traveled hours in a car to turn around at the gates over a $32.00 surcharge. And the wild thing is, if you know Scott, Nicole and I - and our holiday spendthrift ways - you'd be shocked to find that we'd all agreed categorically to walk away. (Or should I say amble in a compact car with practically no air circulation when traveling under 80 km/hr.) I mean, really, I've been known to pay 32 bucks for a glass of wine.
So the closest I've got to the seven falls is photos on the web. Apparently, I've heard, it looks just like them.
*If you happen to be Canadian, from some locale other than Toronto, I suspect, on reading this, you are thinking something like: OMG, those people from Toronto are so classless. They're as bad as everybody says! Rest assured, it is merely we who are classless. And hell bent on mod cons for fees.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Time Stands Still
This post is brought to you by the Happy Vacationers Society:
Can you see the pool overlooking the St. Lawrence at its narrowest point?? Isn't it awesome?
This homeowner just happens to have a little bench outside of the front door... Technically, we may have been trespassing. S and Nicole rested for a moment. You can't tell here, but they are, um, glowing...
Once upon a time, that cliff was a fortification. Now it's the garden for a B&B. Tourists...
All of these photos were taken on a journey (hellishly hot, I might add) around the outside of the basse-ville (lower town) towards a scary staircase of great views leading to the Plains of Abraham. The photo of the pool (barely visible) was taken in a moment of great courage, though I actually turned around and tried to focus a camera when really I wanted to suck myself to the rickety wooden railing for dear life.
Let me say, it was a gorgeous time.
Can you see the pool overlooking the St. Lawrence at its narrowest point?? Isn't it awesome?
This homeowner just happens to have a little bench outside of the front door... Technically, we may have been trespassing. S and Nicole rested for a moment. You can't tell here, but they are, um, glowing...
Once upon a time, that cliff was a fortification. Now it's the garden for a B&B. Tourists...
All of these photos were taken on a journey (hellishly hot, I might add) around the outside of the basse-ville (lower town) towards a scary staircase of great views leading to the Plains of Abraham. The photo of the pool (barely visible) was taken in a moment of great courage, though I actually turned around and tried to focus a camera when really I wanted to suck myself to the rickety wooden railing for dear life.
Let me say, it was a gorgeous time.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Fun Times...
Quebec City, overlooking Levis and Ile D'Orleans over the St. LawrenceBTW, I made that cowl top out of rayon jersey fabric that was $3.50 a yard. Whole thing cost, like, 5 bucks and I've worn it a bunch of times. I tried to do a full bust adjustment on it (there's an empire seam you can't see) - talk about overkill! I added 3 inches but it put the seam at my navel! :-) Nonetheless, due to the busy-ness of the pattern, it can't easily be seen, it so all is well. I have made it twice - very easy, very good pattern - and will do a sweater version with the 3/4 sleeve for fall. Totally recommend it.
PS: I realize that the fabric is on the cusp of hideous. But I was experimenting and the colour-scheme really does work fabulously.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Post Holiday Holiday
Just got back from a delightful - and rather hideously acquisitive - vacation. First thing I did was check with my neighbour on the long-awaited Figleaves parcel and, thankfully, it arrived while I was gone. As did a batch of We Live Like This product, which I bought while away and which the Auberge St. Antoine offered to deliver free of charge.
Talk about sublime. Nothing like coming home to a bunch of gorgeous lingerie and fancy product. And it's already paid for (unlike about 8000 other things :-))!
Oh, and the pièce de résistance: Every freakin' item fits parfaitement!! Seriously, it's like I had it all custom made - particularly the body suit (which I'm going to wear ad nauseum as soon as the weather turns). How unlikely is that, I ask you?
Not that I'm complaining...
I have so much to tell you, but I'm practically comatose with post-vacation info overload and holiday-brain. I'm sure the snippets are going to come at you for a long while to come though...
So, to kick things off, has anyone here bought from Figleaves or from another online lingerie vendor? If yes, what? Thoughts or feelings?
Talk about sublime. Nothing like coming home to a bunch of gorgeous lingerie and fancy product. And it's already paid for (unlike about 8000 other things :-))!
Oh, and the pièce de résistance: Every freakin' item fits parfaitement!! Seriously, it's like I had it all custom made - particularly the body suit (which I'm going to wear ad nauseum as soon as the weather turns). How unlikely is that, I ask you?
Not that I'm complaining...
I have so much to tell you, but I'm practically comatose with post-vacation info overload and holiday-brain. I'm sure the snippets are going to come at you for a long while to come though...
So, to kick things off, has anyone here bought from Figleaves or from another online lingerie vendor? If yes, what? Thoughts or feelings?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Bonjour!
Still on vacay peeps, and enjoying my ass off. Of course, I'm building it back up with croissants...
This is just a quick post to say I miss you - and to urge you not to buy an iPad for it's blogging usability.
It's also chance to complain about the eco-ravaged planet and sun that's so hardcore my face is red and boo-booed despite heavy and regular application of my L'Occitane sunblock 40, the stuff I've used for years that works beautifully most of the time and costs 70 bucks a bottle. Did I also mention I'm wearing a hat?
When I tell you I'm sun-sensitive, I am not joking. I'm a little traumatized by how bad it looks, but I'm forging ahead. How did I end up on a walking holiday during the craziest heatwave ever?
Despite that, the atmosphere here is amazing and it's all tres calme. I've made friends with many new bottles of wine and cute servers.
I've got some great new loot including a nautical cashmere sweater, aubergine harem pants, a long drapey sweater and the sexiest dress. Everything has been on sale! Of course, posts with details will follow over the next few days when I get back. xoxo
This is just a quick post to say I miss you - and to urge you not to buy an iPad for it's blogging usability.
It's also chance to complain about the eco-ravaged planet and sun that's so hardcore my face is red and boo-booed despite heavy and regular application of my L'Occitane sunblock 40, the stuff I've used for years that works beautifully most of the time and costs 70 bucks a bottle. Did I also mention I'm wearing a hat?
When I tell you I'm sun-sensitive, I am not joking. I'm a little traumatized by how bad it looks, but I'm forging ahead. How did I end up on a walking holiday during the craziest heatwave ever?
Despite that, the atmosphere here is amazing and it's all tres calme. I've made friends with many new bottles of wine and cute servers.
I've got some great new loot including a nautical cashmere sweater, aubergine harem pants, a long drapey sweater and the sexiest dress. Everything has been on sale! Of course, posts with details will follow over the next few days when I get back. xoxo
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