Category Archives: Around the World in 60 Days

RTW 49. Chateau Frontenac

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Sunday, 20 June 2010

Quebec City, Canada

Glad to leave Montreal. Not one of my favourite places. Feels grubby.

Am in need of a bit of cleanliness.

So after three and half hours travelling by train to Quebec City you can imagine my delight as I check in to the Fairmont Chateau Frontenac Hotel (https://www.fairmont.com/frontenac-quebec/).

Quebec’s most luxurious. And possibly the world’s most photographed hotel.

Architecturally stunning. Built like a chateau in 1893 as part of the Canadian Pacific Railway hotels built across Canada as part of an expanding rail network. To attract high end tourism and increase the use of the railways by the public. Its tower was later added in the 1920s.

Stunning views of the citadel and the old town of Quebec City.

Yes.

This will do for a few days, dear reader.

This will do.

RTW 48. Drowned Rat

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Saturday, 19 June 2010

Montreal, Canada

My view of Montreal being grungy doesn’t improve as I walk down Rue St Denis in the Latin Quarter and pass through some grungy looking hippie hangout under some concrete walkways strewn with tents and sleeping bags.

But then.

It improves slightly as I enter the old city. A complete change in atmosphere and scenery makes for an enjoyable stroll through the back streets. Though not a great deal to see.

Have to wait briefly for a table at lunch whilst it’s cleared. Order a drink at the bar and when table is ready start to take my glass with me. Stunningly beautiful barmaid says, “I’ll take it for you.”. Being completely capable of holding a glass in my hand, and for which I am fully practised, reply with, “It’s OK thank you.”

She retorts with, “It’s my job.”

Oh. OK then.

And she follows me to table. With my glass on her tray.

Am served by another stunningly beautiful young girl. Montreal is beginning to redeem itself.

By now the bright blue sky has given way to thick cloud. Humidity is sky high. Thunderstorm feels like it’s in the air.

It’s getting sticky, dear reader. Seriously sticky.

Not wanting to walk about getting all hot and sweaty investigate an open top bus tour at the Tourist Info office. Asked in English. Told in French. Here we go. Have to prompt her to speak English. Told the buses are finished for the day. It being only early afternoon. More French influence obviously.

Ask the girl I’ve just enquired with what the quickest way is to the top of Mont Royal lookout. Told I have to take a ticket and queue for an adviser.

WHAT?!?

You’ve just answered my question on the bus query. You can surely answer that quick question. There’s going to be a rumpus, dear reader.

She’s not having it.

Ask her if she knows the answer and she repeats that I have to take a ticket and queue for an adviser.

She knows the answer.

Far be it for me to say that there’s one thing worse than the French. The French Canadian. Like the Inbetweeners (Belgians, Luxembourgers, Swiss) they’re not sure what they are. French today. German tomorrow. Something else the day after.

Deary me.

Grab a ticket.

And queue.

Finally.

An answer to an easy question takes ten seconds of someone’s time.

It’s a 20-25 minute walk up the footpath.

That’s the quickest way. That’s all I wanted to know.

What they didn’t say was that it was up a bloody steep path. What they didn’t say was that with this humidity you will get drenched in sweat. What they didn’t say was that there were hundreds of sodding steps to climb.

Jeez.

Bloody hard work, dear reader.

Keep telling myself it will be worth it for the mesmerising views of Montreal from Mont Royal. From which Montreal takes its name. A volcanic hill which in this heat and humidity might as well be Mount Everest.

No gain without pain. I keep telling myself.

Huffing, puffing and perspiring as I wend my way.

Just as I approach the lookout point at the top. A spot of rain. And then another. And another.

Fortunately. I am under cover of some trees.

Ho ho ho.

And then it starts raining.

Not the usual rain us Englanders are used to.

No.

This is like being in a drench shower.

For which tree cover is insufficient.

Quick dash 50 yards for the cover of the Belvedere. And get a little bit wet in doing so.

It’s after an hour of solid heavy rain that I’m glad I made the quick dash to the Belvedere. At least I am now dry. Unlike others who have been caught out. There’s going to be some stiff competition for the Drowned Rat Awards. Smugly sitting in the dry with a wry smirk on my face as I see how drenched some folk are.

The view is dismal. Can see as far as the balustrade a few feet away and then it’s just rain cloud. Oh yes. Well worth the climb.

After well over an hour sitting in the dry and waiting for the rain to subside it peters out to a bit of a spit. I’ll have to make a run for it. The trees lining the path will provide sufficient cover for this little spit of rain.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

How wrong I can be.

The slight ease in the rain was a precursor to a further torrent.

I.

Get.

Drenched.

And I mean drenched. Everything I am wearing is soaked through. Right down to underwear.

Have a soggy bottom, dear reader.

Wetter than wet can be.

I would be drier sitting in a bath full of water.

At the bottom of the hill. Have to find a taxi. On this very wet day. At rush hour. Just as a football match has finished.

Yep. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t get any wetter.

Eventually. An empty taxi.

Driver is amused. Very amused. At the drowned rat who looks like he has won the wet t-shirt competition. With soaking wet jeans clinging to my legs I have all the flexibility of someone in a plaster cast as I creak and groan into the taxi.

Where I sit steaming in the warmth of the taxi.

RTW 47. Bonjour

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Friday, 18 June 2010

Montreal, Canada

Some thought has gone into the timing of the rail journey between Ottawa and Montreal. Coincides with the kick off time of the England v Algeria World Cup football match.

Cunning plan to pass the two hour rail journey watching a live stream of the match. Find a live stream on the internet which comes from a Pakistan provider. You can guess how this is going to work out can’t you.

The stream plays perfectly for five seconds then buffers for ten seconds. Yep. That’ll make for a long game. A dreadful game that ends with a 0-0 draw. Wishing I hadn’t sent my two Algerian colleagues, whom I’d been working with in Qatar a few months ago, a cheeky email saying I’d have a beer for them to celebrate England’s win.

Arrive in Montreal and greeted with a ‘Bonjour’ by the surly taxi driver.

And so it begins.

Despite failing O level French, rather surprise myself with the outpouring of words that surprisingly form a coherent sentence in French. And we surprisingly arrive at the place I wanted to go to. The Hotel Le Relais Lyonnais (http://lerelaislyonnais.com/en/). Located on Rue St Denis right in the centre of a vibrant street lined with restaurants and shops. There’s a good buzz this Friday evening but thankful for a quiet courtyard room. Suspect it’s going to get noisy later.

The area is getting ready for the Montreal Jazz festival in a few weeks with sound stages being rigged. For the moment though it’s the Franco Festival. All things French. Jolly good.

Everything is in French. Signage. Menus. No English. Very annoying being greeted in French. Hard to believe that Montreal is in the same country as Vancouver.

Lots of weird types and beggars about. And an awful lot of sex shops and girlie bars in the mainstream areas.

It’s all a bit grungy, dear reader.

RTW 46. Emilie

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Thursday, 17 June 2010

Ottawa, Canada

It’s 0545hrs. Three taxi drivers are arguing the toss over who should take me to the railway station. A few blocks away. None want to take me. No. They want to do an airport run. An expensive fare rather than my paltry CA$6.

Security measures are in place for next week’s G20 summit. So have to be dropped off away from the main entrance to the station. Train is manky. Even in First Class. Canada hasn’t really grasped the concept of train travel. Unlike Europe with its plush high speed trains.

Four and a half hour journey time hampered by having to give way to goods trains. Goods trains take priority on the rails. They’re used to transport goods and sea containers from the west coast to the east coast. And vice versa. Quicker and cheaper than sailing through the Panama Canal. Apparently.

For the first time in Canada the scenery is much like England. Undulating countryside. Fields. Cows. And did those feet…

The VIA Rail station is 7km from the city of Ottawa and now heading towards French speaking territory. Taxi driver has to radio the controller to find out where my hotel is. So well known then. But the Hotel Indigo (now https://www.themetcalfehotel.com/) is on Metcalfe Street. The main shopping street of Ottawa and five minutes from Parliament Hill.

Akin to the British Houses of Parliament complete with a Big Ben looking tower they Parliament Hill consists of three buildings that look like they’ve been airlifted out of London. Green copper roof and intricate stonework. Its front lawn has a group of Falun Gong supporters/protesters making themselves known. A 40 minute guided tour of the Parliament necessitates an hour’s security queue. Sod that. So walk around the buildings until I find another entrance and some more security people. Discovering there’s no security queue now take the opportunity to enter the Parliament. The queue has migrated to the lift to the top of the tower. Don’t do queuing. So pass on that and make my way to the Memorial Hall. Small room at the base of the tower. Houses Memorial books from World War 1 and World War 2 listing all the names of Canadians who died in the wars. The World War 1 book is enclosed in a glass case with brass angels at each corner on a stone altar in the centre of the room. A page is displayed showing various names and is turned to the next page each day.

Now that the lift queue has subsided enjoy the view of Ottawa from the top of the tower. Still so flat. Can see for miles on this gloriously sunny, blue sky day. Downside is it’s chuffing hot.

As I leave have to pause to see the procession of the ceremonial mace to open the day’s parliamentary session. Needless to say. It’s the same style as the British Parliament’s mace.

Continuing a theme of trying to travel on as many types of transport test the amphibious tour bus. You know the ones. They have a tendency to sink. Forty minute tour of the city on the roads feels like a duck out of water. Final twenty minutes begins with a slow and tentative drive down a steep and bumpy slipway into the Ottawa River. Crossing from Ontario into Quebec as we do. Ensuring I know where the life jackets are. Ensuring the window is open for a quick escape. Oh yes. An enjoyable twenty minutes.

Back on dry land find that many parts of Ottawa are like London. Bytown Market has that Covent Garden feel. Victorian era houses line the side streets.

Notre Dame Cathedral has that grey stone look but with sunlight glinting off its brightly shining spires which almost look silver. Inside is ornate and sit down for a few moments. Not to pray, dear reader. No. A brief respite from the sun and to cool down from the heat outside.

Passing under a 20ft spider next to the Art Museum pay the CA$15 entrance fee merely to take advantage of some air-conditioning. Fantastic atrium with incline ramp up to the first floor and the Pop Life exhibition. Pop art from the 1960s onwards. Andy Warhol. Jeff Koons.

One of the installations is called ‘The Twins’.

Two young twin girls in their twenties sit on chairs either side of a glass table.

Real live human beings. Just sitting there. Doing nothing.

So that’s art is it?

Discuss.

Dead horse impaled with a placard bearing ‘INRI’.

So that’s art is it?

Cobblers if you ask me.

But then I’m a science sort of person.

It’s all a bit poor, dear reader.

In one darkened room lit by UV light they invite you to scribble on a black wall with UV pens.

The inner kid in me can’t resist the temptation to write in bold letters as high up as possible where no one else can reach ‘Touring Taurean’s World Tour 17-Jun-10’. I know. It amuses me anyway.

Such is the warmth of the summer evening decide on dinner al fresco. And where better than the terrace of the Fairmont Hotel overlooking the Rideau Canal. A feat of engineering comprising 47 locks over its 126 mile length and built in 1832 to connect Ottawa to Lake Ontario and the Saint Lawrence River.

Perfect location to watch the golden sunset. This must be the best location in town. But surprisingly not busy.

Busy writing diary as I soak up the remains of the day over a decent pint and excellent food.

My waitress takes an interest in what I’m writing about.

Explain the trip.

Asked if I’ll write a book. One day, dear lady. One day.

Promise to mention her in it. If I do.

So.

Emilie.

This is for you.

RTW 45. Massage

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Wednesday, 16 June 2010

Toronto, Canada

Up on the 23rd floor the hotel is shrouded in rain. And the view is of the inside of a cloud. Tipping it down. Am struggling to walk, dear reader. My left foot. Is knackered.

Decide it needs seeing to. A massage is required.

Chinatown will definitely have massage places.

Upon arrival it’s not strictly Chinatown. More everything that’s not Canadian town. Tibet. Nepal. Jamaica. West Indies. Most of Asia really.

Quite a hippy and run down area.

Pick a random one that looks half decent and clean. Greeted by a bunch of Chinese girls. And explain requirements.

It’s CA$45 for an hour’s massage. This is not a euphemism for something else, dear reader. This is a genuine foot massage!

Feet are soaked in tea. For some time. All part of the service.

Young Chinese girl takes me to a massage room. She soon realises I’m too long to fit on the table. So relocate to a chair in the corridor.

And then she begins. Even I can tell how bad it is. Very stiff muscles and tendons. All that weight of the rucksack probably hasn’t helped. Plenty of clicking of joints. The sort of clicking that goes right through you.

And then she finishes.

Oh. My.

Now feels like I’m walking on air. Rather than being in constant pain.

Oh yes.

This is good.

RTW 44. CN Tower

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Tuesday, 15 June 2010

Toronto, Canada

Arrive Toronto station an hour and a half late. And you moan about a few minutes on your daily commute.

The first impression on approach is the CN Tower. It. Is. Tall. Toronto reminds me of New York. Same style skyscrapers. Same architecture. Same shadows in high summer caused by the tall buildings.

After 36hrs on the train am ponging and in need of a proper wash. Given there’s a G20 meeting next week accommodation availability is minimal. So have to make do with a suite at the Sheraton (https://www.marriott.com/hotels/travel/yyztc-sheraton-centre-toronto-hotel/). Well you know. Hobson’s Choice. Ahem.

Opened in 1976, as a communications tower, the CN Tower is named after ‘Canada National’, the railway company that built it. Was the world’s tallest tower at about 553m (1,815ft) until it was usurped by the Burj Khalifa in Dubai in 2007. Which itself was usurped by the Chinese Canton Tower two years later.

Security scanner to enter the CN Tower blows a burst of compressed air over you. Sniffing for bombs and explosives.

Glass fronted panoramic lift zooms up the side of the tower to 1,200ft. View is spectacular.

And then remember I’ve paid extra to go higher still to the SkyPod.

At 1,465ft up.

View is even more spectacular.

Can see for miles. But too hazy to see Niagra Falls about forty miles away. On a good clear day visibility is up to 100 miles.

The railway station is below the tower and a goods train starts to trundle by 1,465ft below. Snaking all the way back for what is about a 2km long train. Astonishing to see in its entirety.

Now for the best bit.

The glass floor.

Fortunately quite good with heights but you still get that little frisson of nerves as you make the first step on to the glass floor and look straight down to earth 1,122ft below. Wow. Impressive.

Such a gorgeous warm night and still, clear air that I can sit out for dinner. With a view of the illuminated CN Tower. It entices me back to see the night time view.

Another puff of compressed air later and I’m at the top again. Glad I came again. Night time gives you a different perspective on the city.

And.

Can now make out Niagra Falls across the lake.

One of the platforms gives access to the elements outside.

It was a nice calm evening at ground level with no wind whatsoever.

But at 1,465ft up it’s like stepping into a wind tunnel.

Jeez.

The wind speed is staggering.

Can physically lean forward without falling over such is the force of the wind.

And like a big kid. Just have to play with seeing how far I can lean forward.

Until I fall over.

RTW 43. Bear!

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Monday, 14 June 2010

Toronto transit, Canada

After an emotional evening, left Winnipeg behind on the train departing at 2330hrs last night. For a 34hr rail journey to Toronto. On a real high last night after a memorable weekend in Winnipeg.

Train trundling across the prairies. Landscape has morphed into rock and boreal forest as we cross into Ontario. Part of the Precambrian shield.

Lazy day on the rails interspersed with a platform stop at Hornepayne. A Godforsaken town. Not sure of its purpose. Or how far from civilisation it is. Middle of nowhere. Literally. Fifty minutes to pass by. Five minutes is a drag.

Enjoyable dinner with a girl from Vancouver and a French woman. The whole carriage sees a moose swimming across one of the rivers. Everyone gets excited.

Dare the girl to shout “Bear!”. She laughs. But refrains.

Reminds me of the time parents were on a cruise around Iceland. Not many seats available to sit down so Dad jokingly shouts out “whale” and points to a random piece of ocean. At which point the whole bar get up from their seats to look for a non-existent whale. And a number of seats become free.

RTW 42. Distinguished Flying Cross

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Sunday, 13 June 2010

Winnipeg, Canada

Assiniboine Park houses an art gallery. Notable, dear reader, as it has the only known oil painting of Winnie the Pooh.

Winnie the Pooh being named after Winnipeg. Enroute to join the Canadian Army Veterinary Corp at the start of World War 1, Harry Colebourn purchased a bear cub. And named it Winnie after his hometown Winnipeg. He took it to England and left it with London Zoo before leaving for France.

It was whilst Winnie was at London Zoo that AA Milne’s son Christopher Robin became a fan and so AA Milne called the bear in his stories Winnie the Pooh.

The stuff you learn in this blog, dear reader.

Invited for a farewell BBQ at Maurice’s.

And more interesting tales.

Upon the death of his best friend Ron Bradford, his widow gave Maurice all of his papers. Which we are given the opportunity of looking through. What a fascinating history.

Included in one newspaper article is the fact that Maurice and Ron were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. Mr Manitoba mentions this to Maurice.

“Oh yeah” is the nonchalant reply.

“Would it embarrass you to see the DFC?”

He’d previously explained that he and Ron had undertaken a 23hr 35min air-sea rescue from Ceylon and past the Andaman Islands during WW2 to rescue 10 aircrew but had never mentioned the DFC. At the time, it was the longest air-sea rescue mission of the war.

Further papers appear. One of which is a copy letter from the MOD to my Great Aunt telling her she’s due £38 in salvage fees due to my Great Uncle and crew finding a wreckage in 1943. The letter is dated 1948.

And then.

A small black box appears.

With three embossed letters.

D.F.C.

He opens it and picks it up making some quip about it needing a polish.

It’s placed in my hand.

Feeling incredibly humbled to be in his and its presence.

It’s all getting a little bit emotional, dear reader.

The stories.

The memories.

The things these brave men and women went through so people like you and I can enjoy our freedoms today.

The time sadly comes when we must leave as I have a train to catch. It’s an emotional goodbye to people I’ve only just met but have formed a close bond with arising out of a common link.

My Great Uncle.

And a reminder that 67 years ago on this day and date, Sunday, 13 June 1943, he and his crew were shot down and killed over the Bay of Biscay fighting for the freedoms you all enjoy today.

He died the day before his second wedding anniversary.

My Great Aunt never remarried.

‘For your tomorrow, we gave our today.’

RIP:

Flying Officer Leonard Bertrand Lee

Flying Officer Desmond Fairfax Hill

Pilot Officer George Lough

Flying Officer Alfred Keith McDougall RCAF

Flying Officer Robert Jasper Agur RCAF

Sergeant Vincent Murray Goldstone RCAF

Sergeant Robert Alexander Shaw RCAF

Sergeant Richard Evelyn Joseph Smith

Sergeant James Watt Fraser

Sergeant Andrew Carmichael

Sergeant Dewi Davies

RTW 41. Golden Boy

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Saturday, 12 June 2010

Winnipeg, Canada

Continue the weekend theme of all things World War 2 at the Western Canadian Air Museum. Small display tucked away in a corner dedicated to Coastal Command shows a Sunderland Flying boat and its dimensions. Its only now that I realise how big and bulky the Sunderland Flying boat is. Consequence of which is that U-boats could see them coming. And couldn’t fail to miss. Which made for an easy target. And a dangerous flight by those brave men.

Once inside the Legislative Building greeted by two enormous bison guarding the entrance. Bison being the official emblem of Manitoba. Manitoba being derived from the First Nation Assiniboine language of ‘Mini tobow’ meaning ‘Lake on the prairie’. Amazing acoustics under the main entrance dome designed to amplify your voice. Atop the dome outside stands the ‘Golden Boy’. A 17ft gilded bronze statue.

Golden and glinting in the late afternoon sun.

Bistro Dansk for dinner. Waitress just loves my English accent.

She tells me I’m like Hugh Grant.

I know. Can’t believe it myself.

Stop laughing.

Having run out of Jameson’s nip across to the ‘Liqor Store’ opposite the hotel to buy a bottle. It’s shut. So. Nip across to the local Safeway. To discover they’re not allowed to sell alcohol. Flipping nonsense.

Back to hotel bar. For a glass of Jameson’s.

All hell lets loose when I wander off. Glass in hand. Away from the bar.

No. Sir. You’re not allowed to do that.

Oh for God’s sake.

And so begins an introduction to Canada’s stupid alcohol laws.

Glass has to be covered.

With clingfilm.

So I can take it to my room.

Bloody nonsense.

RTW 40. U-boat 564

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Friday, 11 June 2010

Winnipeg, Canada

Introduced to Tim Horton’s by Mr & Mrs Manitoba. Canada’s answer to Starbucks. Breakfast for the three of us costs CA$ 7!!! About £4. Three coffees and bagels. Bloody hell. That’s cheap. Costs about £4 for a coffee alone in the UK.

We’re to meet Maurice Shnider. A small modest man with combed back white hair and a neat white moustache. Who is 87. And his girlfriend. Who is 80. Both look sprightly and twenty years younger than they are. Maurice is still a practising doctor.

Maurice never met my Great Uncle but heard all about him from his best friend Ron Bradford, my Great Uncle’s second officer. Maurice recalls the time that Great Uncle and Ron were so hungover one morning that Ron had to take off and then scramble back in the aircraft to do the navigating. Love all these little anecdotes.

Maurice trained in Prince Edward Island and Winnipeg and being a navigator also undertook Bomber and Air Gunner training before being transferred to Lough Erne in Northern Island and then Bowmore on the Isle of Islay and Oban, in Scotland.

Great Uncle trained at Carberry, near Brandon, Manitoba, then Prince Edward Island. Before also being based in Lough Erne and Bowmore before being finally transferred to Pembroke Docks and 228 Squadron Coastal Command.

Maurice has researched the U-boat that shot down my Great Uncle and his crew whilst it was itself being attacked by them. As a result, U-564 was badly damaged. Commanded by Hans Fiedler it was eventually destroyed the following day by the RAF. In the intervening hours it required escorting back to base. The U-boat Commander that escorted the stricken U-564 was August Maus (Commander U-185) and Maurice had researched him and managed to contact his family in Hamburg. Who had no idea whatsoever of their father’s role and that he was in fact a famous U-boat commander awarded the Knight’s Cross by Hitler. He had shot down a number of aircraft and ships but was eventually taken prisoner of war by the US Navy. They had no idea until Maurice rang them up decades later. Google him.

I mean. Can you imagine it. Some foreigner rings you up and tells you your father was a famous U-boat commander. And your father never said anything about it.

Absolutely mesmerising listening to this really interesting chap.

And a connection to my Great Uncle.