Category Archives: Around the World in 60 Days

RTW 39. In memory of those brave men

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Thursday, 10 June 2010

Winnipeg, Canada

 

Whole day on the rails trundling through flat as a pancake landscape. Having left the mountainous Canadian Rockies behind now crossing the Canadian Prairies.

God. It’s flat.

Am to spend the weekend in Winnipeg.

To meet people I’ve never met before.

But.

We have a connection.

My Great Uncle, Flying Officer Leonard Lee, was the pilot of a Sunderland Flying Boat DV967 during World War 2 as part of 228 Squadron Coastal Command. Attacking German U-boats. He trained at Carberry, near Brandon, in Manitoba, Canada. He and his ten crew were shot down and killed over the Bay of Biscay whilst attacking a German U-boat.

When he died, my Great Aunt kept in touch with his crew’s family. One of his crew was Sergeant Vincent Goldstone and Great Aunt kept in touch with Vincent Goldstone’s mother after the war. When Vincent Goldstone’s mother died, Great Aunt kept in touch with her other son, and brother of Vincent Goldstone. When my Great Aunt died, my father continued corresponding with Vincent’s brother. Vincent also had a sister who made a donation to the Carberry Museum in memory of her brother.

Now. This is where a strange quirk of fate happens.

My Great Uncle’s second officer was Ron Bradford. He left the crew to become captain of his own crew, at the age of 20! Ron Bradford’s best friend was Maurice Shnider. Both Ron and Maurice came from Winnipeg. Ron died in 2004 and in memory of his great friend, Maurice began to research the crew of Great Uncle Leonard Lee’s flight. Quite by chance, someone passed Maurice the Carberry Museum booklet (where they all trained) which had Vincent Goldstone’s name in and a donation by his sister. Maurice then contacted Vincent’s sister but as by now she was elderly and infirm, her daughter (Vincent’s niece) responded to Maurice’s request for any further information.

Which then led to Vincent’s niece ringing my father out of the blue in 2004 to explain the situation. And have been in touch ever since.

So.

That’s why I’m here in Winnipeg.

To meet both the niece and best friend of my Great Uncle’s flight crew.

Met at the station by the niece and her husband. Mr & Mrs Manitoba. We’ll meet Maurice tomorrow. It’s only as we sit in the hotel bar getting to know each other that we realise that the date on which they were all killed was.

Sunday. 13 June 1943.

This weekend will be the anniversary.

Pure coincidence that we’re meeting on this weekend.

It was meant to be.

It sends a shiver down my spine.

 

So this weekend is in memory of these brave men:

Flying Officer Bertrand Leonard 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 38. Jobsworth

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Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Jasper, Canada

Quick excursion up the Jasper Tramway. Don’t know why they call it a tramway. What they actually mean is a cable car. Whisks you up to 7,500ft for magnificent views back down into the valley and Jasper town below.

Of course, the higher the altitude, the colder it is. +2C to be precise. Brrrr. Quick walkabout at the top. Would have gone further but the ‘Beware of the Bear’ sign puts me off. There’s one roaming about apparently and not wanting to be gobbled up retreat back down to town. Where I have 2hrs to kill before the shuttle bus returns to the hotel on the outskirts.

After five minutes in Jasper you realise that 2hrs is too long and that five minutes is just about right. Assuming you don’t want to visit the local museum’s current exhibition.

A History of Aprons.

I kid you not, dear reader.

Killing time, check out the rail station and check in for my afternoon departure. Jobsworth tells me that I’ll have to check my bag in if it exceeds 23kg.

It does.

I won’t be doing that jobsworth.

Argue that it’s been OK on every train from Nottingham to Jasper.

He’s not having it.

I am.

Jobsworth insists it’s health and safety. Tosser.

An argument ensues.

And I don’t even have my rucksack with me. It’s still back at the hotel. I’m just doing a recce.

And so begins my introduction to Canadian health and safety. We’ll have an introduction to Canadian nonsense drinking laws in due course, dear reader.

Not wanting to part with rucksack and all the faff that that entails rearrange all the heavy books in my coat pockets [and writing ‘heavy books’ reminds me that this was in the days before Kindle e-readers]. Bottle of wine from Hornby Island goes in poacher’s pocket of coat. Feel like Inspector Gadget. Other heavy stuff goes in the daysack which unzips from the main rucksack to split the load.

Having sorted rucksack out it’s time to return to the station for the afternoon departure and overnight rail journey to Winnipeg. Find a seat away from jobsworth. Can see he’s taking heavy bags off other people to put in the storage car.

After a bit of observing, realise that I can bypass jobsworth and his stupid rules by going outside through another door on to the platform. And am soon in my cabin with all my possessions waving goodbye to Jobsworth of Jasper.

Told there’s some champagne on offer in the glazed Skydome car make my way and find a seat. To find everyone drinking champagne. Everyone being a group of old ladies. Sitting there expecting the steward, of the same vintage as the old ladies, to offer me a glass too. Sadly, he’s too busy talking/chatting up/charming the little old ladies. Ignoring the thirsty young Taurean. He’s far too busy to deal with me. No. He’s telling them about his hernia operation. Oh for God’s sake. Half an hour passes. Listening to him waffle and drone on. This is taking the whatsit. A little prompt is in order, dear reader. Cheeky sod replies with a stern, ‘Just a minute.’ Whoa.

The usual wash and brush up before dinner. In the coffin sized ensuite toilet. I’m quite broad. The toilet cubicle is quite narrow. I’m knocking the sides of the walls because of the motion of the train clickety clacking along the rails.

There’s a frantic knock on my cabin door.

“Is everything OK sir?”

Yeah why?

Ah I see.

Have been accidentally persistently pushing the emergency attendant call button.

Located at shoulder height.

RTW 37. Corrosive properties of DEET

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Tuesday, 8 June 2010

Jasper, Canada

Day trip down the Icefield Parkway to the Columbia Icefield. Having paid for the trip last night, discover I’m not on the bus driver’s passenger list. So not going. Two others from the hotel are not on the list either. Despite having paid. Driver discovers the error of his ways. He’s picked up yesterday’s passenger list. Which means a detour to pick up today’s list. To pick up other passengers from other hotels in Jasper.

Driving down the Icefield Parkway, bursts of sporadic sunshine pepper the snow capped mountains either side of this U-shaped glacial valley. Remember your geography lessons, dear reader?

Brief stop at the Marmot Ski Basin. To see the bears. Told to walk in the woods and we may see bears. What?!?! Yeah right. Not wanting to be gobbled up by a bear today, stick by the bus. Can see enough woods from here thank you. But no bears.

Interesting rock formations walking down to the Athabasca Falls. Small canyon forming whirlpools and water falls.

But the day’s highlight belongs to the Columbia Icefield and the Athabasca Glacier. Jumbo shuttle bus, the Snowcoach, with jumbo sized fat tyres drives at snail’s pace to the edge of the glacier by driving down the side moraine a few hundred feet up from the glacier. Bloody cold now as we descend on to the glacier which is rapidly disappearing before our eyes in a swirl of thick cloud. Drop down what is apparently the steepest gradient road for public vehicles in North America. Top speed is about 3mph. So. It. Takes. Some. Time. To. Get. There.

No sooner have we driven on to the glacier and jumped out to have a walk about it starts snowing. It’s the middle of June. It’s summer. It’s snowing.

Which rather alarmingly rapidly transforms into blizzard conditions in a matter of seconds. To the extent I struggle to work out where the bus is even though I’m only about 100ft from it. And it’s flipping freezing. Jeez, where did this come from. Amazing to see how quickly the weather turned.

And then.

As quick as the blizzard started. It finishes. And bright blue sky and a blazing hot sun appears as if God has clicked his fingers. Just like that.

Unbelievable. Never experienced anything like it. Not even in England.

Glacier at this point is thicker than the height of the Eiffel Tower. And smaller glaciers tumble down into the Athabasca Glacier. Which in itself originates from a massive snow capped glacial plateau further up the mountain range which feeds the various tongues of glaciers in every direction.

Black and white film from the 1920s in the exhibition shows an expedition out on to the glacier. Horses tethered together by tying the head of horses to the tails of horses in front together. So they don’t get lost. Not only that but the visitor centre’s claim to fame is that it is in the Guinness Book of Records for having the largest number of female toilets in North America with 68 cubicles. So. There you are, dear reader. The stuff you learn on this blog.

Back at the hotel my laundry has returned. Well most of it. They’re not my knickers. But they are my socks and shirts. Something has gone horribly wrong, dear reader. Don’t worry though. A quick phone call to housekeeping rectifies the situation. Reminds me of the time working in Jordan with Tokyo Al. I got his undies and he got my undies in the laundry return. All nicely pressed though.

Now time to re-pack my bag in preparation for my onward travel tomorrow.

It’s when I discover the true extent of the leaking mosquito repellent bottle. Oh. Dear. God. It’s everywhere. I have DEET all over the inside of my rucksack.

It has physically melted away my glasses case.

It has corroded the inside coating of my rucksack.

Extensive cleaning operation with soap and water.

Jeez.

This is powerful stuff.

And we put it on our skin to repel mosquitoes?!

RTW 36. Forty year old for a forty year old

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Monday, 7 June 2010

Jasper, Canada

I’d love to tell you what a brilliant night’s sleep I had, dear reader. I really would. But. You know. Carriages creaking and bumping along the tracks. Makes for a noisy night. That not even Jameson’s can resolve.

Following the Fraser River through the Canadian Rockies would be a really scenic trip. Were it not for the rain. And low cloud.

Arrive Jasper sooner than expected as we go through a time zone change. Now on Mountain Time. As opposed to Pacific Time.

Check in to the Fairmont Jasper Park Lodge (https://www.fairmont.com/jasper/). All rather nice, dear reader. Back to quiet countryside rather than the clickety clack of the train. Room with a view of the lake.

Excellent dinner in the Edith Cavell restaurant. Overlooking the lake. And snow capped mountains. Am getting used to having dinner with such views.

Have a really good French waiter who realises I appreciate good wine. The Blasted Church Pinot Gris, from the Okanagan Valley in British Columbia, is superb and a fine accompaniment to the Tuna Tataki and Sable fish.

And to finish off.

Cheese and biscuits.

Would Sir like a glass of port with that?

Sir would.

So.

A forty year old for a forty year old.

Oh yes. Life is good, dear reader.

WHA WHO.

RTW 35. Au revoir Vancouver

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Sunday, 6 June 2010

Vancouver, Canada

Disturbed to discover my credit cards are not working. Necessitates a discussion with a call centre in India. On a dodgy line. You can guess how it went. It’s a fraud check having picked up credit card activity in Korea on the same day as card activity in Vancouver. All cards have been stopped. No. I don’t know my sodding telephone banking PIN number. No. I don’t know the exact amount of the past three direct debit transactions. No. I don’t know the exact amount of a recent transaction in Seoul in Sterling converted from Korean Wong. Moron. Half an hour later. It’s resolved.

Cards now working can book a hotel in Jasper for tomorrow night. Miss Vancouver recommends the Fairmont Park Lodge Resort on the lake and find a rate on the internet. Miss Vancouver rings a friend’s sister. Who fortuitously works for Fairmont. Who very generously allows me to take advantage of her ‘Friends & Family’ staff freebie discounted rate. 30% discount. Thank you very much.

After a fabulous lunch with Mr & Mrs Vancouver at the Fairmont, meet up with Chuffy. So called because he used to have sideburns not dissimilar to Mr Chuffy in the BBC adaptation of Martin Chuzzlewit in the 1990s. The name has stuck ever since. An old colleague I used to work with in Nottingham. Not seen each other for 13 years since he emigrated. It’s as though we only met last week and an enjoyable few pints reminiscing about the good old days. As you do.

Arrive at the VIA Rail station for the overnight departure to Jasper. And the start of crossing Canada by rail. All the way to Halifax. On the east coast.

Au revoir Miss Vancouver. Thank you. It’s been a blast. We’ll meet again in Seattle in 2019 on my Antarctica to Alaska trip. For further fun on Hornby Island. And more often in the UK.

Evoking the golden age of rail travel, saxophonist serenades us travellers down the platform. The Trans-Canadian train consists of the original 1950s stainless steel carriages with the rear carriage being bullet shaped with large windows. To see all those trees.

Cabin is small. Oh dear God. It is small. Having quite broad shoulders and a rucksack prevents me from going through the narrow door smoothly. Bit of contortion required. And a heave ho.

Skydome car is double decker with an observation lounge on the upper deck with glazed roof that pops up above the general roofline of the rest of the train set with a 360 degree view. Imagine it’s what a WW2 Lancaster bomber gunner in his bubble might have experienced.

Champagne and canapes as we pull out of Vancouver.

All very civilised.

Retire to my cabin. Swing. And cat. There’s an ensuite toilet. Coffin sized. No shower. Hand basin in the cabin inset into a recess. So. This is how they used to travel in the 1950s.

A leaflet shows a 1950s family in their cabin. The mother, in a long dress, is combing the young daughter’s hair. Father is in bed relaxing and reading.

Ah yes.

The good old days.

RTW 34. Life is good…WHA WHO

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Saturday, 5 June 2010

Vancouver, Canada

Miss Vancouver is a morning person.

I. On the other hand. Am not.

You all know the drill by now. Do. Not. Disturb. The. Grumpy. Ogre. Who. Is. Asleep.

Woken from a deep sleep at 0530hrs by that well known phrase, “Get your sorry ass off that pillow and come and look at the sunrise.”

Call an ambulance.

There’s been a murder.

Eventually emerge from my jet lagged hibernation. At a reasonable time. Not the middle of the night. For that all important brew. Sitting on the deck for the final time. Admiring the view of sea and snow capped mountains. Eagles soaring overhead. Tide is out revealing rock formations forming the local oyster beds. Further up the beach is evidence of First Nation fishing pools dating back hundreds of years.

After an amazing and blissful few days, we’re to catch the ferry to Denman Island at 1000hrs. Leave the cabins at 0945hrs. It’s a 2 mile drive to the ferry landing. All of four minutes. Were it not for the fact that we have to drop a sack of accumulated recyclable waste off at the Free-Cycle Centre in the other direction. You bring your waste here and it’s either recycled, such as plastics and tin cans or it can be left to be picked up for free by someone else, such as clothing, books, equipment and other detritus.

Arrive at ferry terminal literally as ferry is departing. Having missed the ferry, an hour to kill. Which means a brew and sticky bun at the coffee shop. Naughty but nice. Which means a later ferry than anticipated from Denman Island back to Buckley Bay on Vancouver Island. Which means racing down Vancouver Island to Departure Bay at Nanaimo to catch the 1245hrs ferry back to Horseshoe Bay on the mainland. Miss Vancouver’s elder sister was a successful motor racing driver. Miss Vancouver has been taking tips.

Bloody hell.

I know I can drive fast. But this. Not a nervous passenger at all. Nope. Not at all. They’re not my white knuckles.

No time for a lunch stop now so end up making lunch on a small chopping board on my lap. Feeding Miss Vancouver as we drive at high speed. Overtaking everything in our way. We’re on a mission. Wacky Races like.

The pace only slackens when we realise that, despite best efforts, the 1245hrs sailing is going to be missed. Plans changed to a more relaxing 1500hrs sailing from the other ferry terminal at Nanaimo, Duke Point. Which actually works in our favour. A 2hr sailing that takes us in to Tsawassen on the southern side of Vancouver closer to where we want to be. Rather than Horseshoe Bay on the northern side.

Incredibly sad to have left Hornby Island.

It really has been the most perfect few days. Thank you Miss Vancouver!

Approaching the mainland the sky is blue and the snow capped mountains overlooking Vancouver are clearly visible. No wonder Vancouver consistently tops the charts of best cities to live.

Driving off the ferry see an SUV which just sums it all up.

The spare wheel cover on the rear door has ‘Life is good’ imprinted on it.

Registration plate is simply ‘WHA WHO’.

Yes.

Life is good!!

WHA WHO!!!

Return to Richmond. I first came here in 1995 to visit Miss Vancouver. Warned there has been an influx of Chinese to this suburb. Bloody hell. Not kidding. Since Hong Kong was handed over in 1997, Chinese immigration to Vancouver has increased. The southern suburb of Richmond in particular. Truly is like Chinatown now. Massive pagoda structure is a place of worship. Shop signage with only Chinese writing. [Return to visit on my Antarctica to Alaska trip in May 2019 and the Chinese takeover of Richmond has increased exponentially. Quite startling to see the transformation in nine years.]

Dinner with Mr & Mrs Vancouver. Family friends and formerly residents of the village I live in, Mr Vancouver travelled here on business in the mid 1970s. Loved it so much the whole family emigrated. And been here ever since.

Mrs Vancouver asks if I’m still jetlagged. No. I’m Miss Vancouver lagged. Fun and full on few days.

Drive the coast road around the headland of the University of British Columbia. West of the city. To Jericho Beach. To see the superb spectacle across the sea and snow capped mountains of the sun setting. A real buzz. Plenty of people partying on the beach. Sitting around small fires. Chatting. Joking. Drinking.

At the planetarium, having seen sunset, stop to see Saturn circling the sun majestically in the night sky through a large telescope. Rings clearly visible.

Life is good!

WHA WHO!!

RTW 33. Driftwood fire on the beach

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Friday, 4 June 2010

Hornby Island, British Columbia, Canada

Fulfil one of life’s ambitions this morning.

Making a driftwood fire on the beach and cooking breakfast on it.

Oh yes.

This. Is. The. Life.

The beach a few steps away from the cabins.

Collect kindle and larger bits of dry driftwood from the shoreline.

Am in my element.

Bright blue sky. Eagles soaring above me. Not a breath of wind. Tranquil is the word.

A view to die for.

Snow capped mountains. Blue sea melting into the horizon. The beach.

Miss Vancouver does all the usual prepping. All I have to do is put the skillet with bacon and eggs on the fire. Easy life this.

Could get used to this.

Sit on a driftwood log enjoying a brew and breakfast. The wood smoke smell. The bacon smell. This is heaven, dear reader.

There is nowhere better in the world right now.

This is absolute bliss.

And for the first time on the trip, a leisurely day.

Pottering.

Wine tasting at the local vineyard, Carbrea. You may be surprised to read that there are vineyards in this neck of the woods. Well, it ain’t half bad. Buy a wacky little wine I’d not heard of before. Agria. Red wine. It will be consumed at some point over the next few weeks.

Jazz night at the local pub, The Thatch. So called ‘cos of its thatched roof.

Cracking night meeting the locals and listening to some easy jazz. It’s 2155hrs. The pianist packs up and scurries off. Has someone upset her?

No.

She’s gone to catch the 2200hrs final ferry to Denman Island. The ferry landing being right next to the pub. The other three musicians obviously live on Hornby as they continue playing.

Twilight nightcaps back at the cabins on the deck it’s still so warm at this late hour.

Another driftwood fire. Soon crackling away. Flames illuminating the garden.

Stars come out to play again. Much clearer than last night.

Stars shine bright like a diamond as we sit on the beach, whisky in hand, looking up to the heavens.

No.

This is heaven.

Here.

At this moment.

I’m so lucky.

RTW 32. Hornby Island

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Thursday, 3 June 2010

Hornby Island, British Columbia, Canada

Regular readers of the blog, and those that know me, will know that I don’t do mornings. So you can imagine the grumpy ogre that has to wake up at 0415hrs to catch the ferry to Hornby Island.

There is only one 4.15 in my day, dear reader. And yes, you guessed it. This. Isn’t. It.

Have only had about 6hrs sleep in the past 48hrs. As I said. Grumpy. Little. Ogre.

Fresh overcast morning as we zoom through the eerily quiet streets of downtown Vancouver. Sun rises over the city as we drive through Stanley Park and over the Lions Gate Bridge. Mountains are shrouded in mist on the mainland but as we arrive at Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal can see the snow capped mountains on Vancouver Island. Our first destination. Spot of island hopping today. Three islands. Arriving at Nanaimo on Vancouver Island it’s about an hour’s drive north up the coast road to Fanny Bay. And another ferry to Denman Island. There’s a lot of racing today. Our early start and ferry times have been coordinated so as to get three ferries in quick succession.

Arrive at Fanny Bay with minutes to spare before the ferry departs. I have to nip into the Fanny Bay Oyster Shop to buy some prawns and candied smoked salmon with maple syrup (actually quite nice) for the weekend.

Woman behind the counter starts asking awkward questions like, “How much do you want?”.

Erm.

Shrug my shoulders not knowing to which she replies with, “Ah ha, someone’s obviously been given a shopping list!”

Yep.

Whilst I’m faffing with this, Miss Vancouver is sorting ferry tickets at the ferry terminal a short distance away. Shop assistant realises I’m on the ferry that is literally about to leave so suddenly goes into overdrive and packs up my order pronto.

Miss Vancouver has now driven on to the ferry which is clearly now waiting for me to jump on. Have to run, dear reader. Don’t do running. It’s bad for you. Pass the ferry ticket office and the woman shouts, “She’s paid for you!”. Jolly good.

Jump on the ferry and gates are closed behind me. It’s that tight. I’m delaying them.

Only a ten minute crossing to Denman Island. Quick drive across Denman Island. Which takes all of ten minutes. To the next ferry. To Hornby Island.

After all that racing about, discover that the next ferry to Hornby is a ‘Dangerous Cargo’ crossing and so no other vehicles apart from the propane gas lorries. Sod it. Now have to wait over an hour. After all that rushing. On Denman Island. Those of you that know Denman Island will know that there’s not much to do. Apart from drive around it.

Ferry finally floats off to Hornby.

And to Miss Vancouver’s humble abode. A set of cabins. A few yards back from the beach. Amazing views out to sea. Oh wow.

Life on Hornby has that slow, relaxed feel that everyone is in a permanent state of being on holiday. Or retired. Apparently, during the Vietnam War lots of Americans came here to escape the draft. And have stayed ever since. Slight hippyish feel to the place. Just don’t mention the drugs.

The petrol station is called a ‘gas bar’. Old bloke with long grey ponytail is filling up his 1987 Camino. It’s that sort of place.

Driving along see a young girl hitchhiking. Stop to give her a lift. It’s that sort of place.

Local store sells all sorts. Marmite. HP Sauce. Patak’s Curry Sauce. Elderflower cordial. It’s that sort of place.

Pass roadside signs advertising various arts and crafts for sale in people’s homes. Glassware. Jewellery. Paintings. It’s that sort of place.

In need of a walk, drive to the other side of the island to Helliwell National Park. Turning right at The Big Tree Junction. So called as it has a big tall tree stuck in the middle of the road. It’s that sort of place.

Meant to be a quarter mile walk to the headland on a 3 mile circular route through dense woodland and open headland.

Path promptly peters out. Seems like we have missed the main trail. It’s OK though. Miss Vancouver knows the way. Knows a shortcut back to the shoreline.

Ahem.

Now in dense woodland come across a house set amongst the woods. Everything is made of driftwood. Outdoor shower. Driftwood. Outdoor toilet. Driftwood. Actually quite a palatial toilet. Proper toilet seat. Paper. Lime. Sawdust. Outdoor dining table. Driftwood. It’s that sort of place.

Assured that the trail is just through what is now dense jungle type woodland, follow Miss Vancouver. Deeper and deeper into the forest. After five minutes it’s clear that we’re not going to pick up the trail like this so retrace our steps. It’s at this point that we realise how easy it is to get lost in such conditions. One tree looks exactly like the other.

And then it rains.

Not spitting rain.

Full on hard rain.

Good job we were both in the Scouts, Guides and D of E. Miss Vancouver being awarded Gold D of E by HRH D of E no less. We are prepared, dear reader.

Bald eagles. Tick. Woodpecker. Tick.

Finally find the footpath.

After all that exertion it’s back to the cabins.

Champagne and canapes on the deck terrace. Overlooking Denman Island, the Strait of Georgia and the snow capped mountains of Vancouver Island.

One word.

Awesome.

Fillet steaks fry on the heaviest skillet known to man on the open fire. Made from driftwood. Miss Vancouver does everything else. Miss Vancouver is one of the few women I know who knows how to properly cook and entertain. Am being treated like a King. It’s all rather marvellous. Bottle of Mexican wine is superb.

Simply idyllic sitting with this view. Eagles soaring overhead. Herons fishing off the rocks in front of us. Listening to the tide lapping on the shore. Fire crackling ahead of us as we, quite frankly, watch one of the most simply stunning sunsets sinking over the scenery. Have never witnessed a sunset like it.

Post prandial stroll along the beach. Pure silence. Apart from nature. Twilight now. Sensational views.

God. This is awesome.

Miss Vancouver continues to excel in the wining and dining department when I’m offered a 35 year old single malt.

Stars come out to play and twinkle light years away.

Feels like we’re light years away from civilisation.

Both agree that we are incredibly lucky in life.

This is just awesome.

RTW 31. Thought you were going to kiss me!

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Wednesday, 2 June 2010

Vancouver, Canada

Another day. Another time zone. Another country. Another continent.

Could’ve taken the bus to the airport but instead opt for a taxi. Mad Mary flies through the traffic and halves the time it would take the bus. Your life in their hands.

Well, dear reader. It’s about 10hrs of flying from Seoul to my next destination.

Vancouver.

And the start of the next leg of my Around the World Trip. Crossing Canada. By rail.

Settle in to my seat with a glass of champagne. Obviously. Might as well keep things in the manner to which I am very much accustomed. Business Class is set in a herringbone fashion which I don’t like. Not much foot space and struggle to stretch out. First world problems I know.

Last time I flew over the Pacific was in 1995 from Vancouver to Hong Kong. 13hrs of extreme turbulence with the aircraft literally dropping out of the sky at one point. Scary stuff, dear reader. Thankfully, it’s reasonably calm this trip.

Disembarking the aircraft upon arrival in Vancouver, the stewardess puts her arms up to me and pulls me to her. I very nearly embarrass myself, dear reader. Due to the odd alcoholic drink enroute and jetlag, for some inexplicable reason I think she’s going to kiss me goodbye so start stretching my arms out to reciprocate. In that split second when I’m thinking this she says, “I didn’t want you to bang your head.”

Ah. I see.

Retort with, “I though you were going to kiss me goodbye!”

Everyone laughs. Including her.

Fortunately.

Have a sentimental attachment to Vancouver.

It’s where it all began.

In May 1995.

A Friday morning.

The young trainee Quantity Surveyor, Touring Taurean, is sitting in a site hut in Loughborough. His boss’s phone rings. Boss is on holiday so he picks it up. His boss’s boss is reading this laughing.

It’s Dave from the head office in Nottingham. He’s just got back from a business trip to Hong Kong working on a brewery project in China.

The young Touring Taurean, making polite conversation, asks how Hong Kong was. It was brilliant, says Dave.

Touring Taurean unwittingly replies, “Ah I’d love to go there.”

Dave replies, “Would you?”

Oh yes, say I. I’d go tomorrow.

“Can you go Monday?”, says Dave.

WHAT?!?!?

“Can you go Monday? Well actually, you’ve got to fly to Vancouver first, to spend a couple of weeks with the mechanical engineers and then fly from Vancouver to Hong Kong to assist with the materials procurement. It’ll be Business Class flights and five star hotels. Is that alright?”

WHAT?!?!?!

I’m 25 years old.

What an opportunity.

And so began my international career.

In Vancouver.

Hence a sentimental attachment to Vancouver.

Never looked back. And had a very nice life out of it. Thank you very much.

Grilled by Immigration for some nonsense and then out on to Canadian soil.

To meet Miss Vancouver.

For a weekend of fun and frolics.

RTW 30. Suicide

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Tuesday, 1 June 2010

Seoul, South Korea

Breakfast on the 19th floor of the Ibis hotel with window seat enjoying my brew looking out over the other tall buildings adjacent the hotel. Spot a young man in a suit and tie walk out of a door on to the roof of the building opposite me. Assume it’s a maintenance manager or someone having a crafty fag. He walks along the flat roof past the mechanical equipment. A wide parapet wall a few feet high and wide runs around the perimeter. Young man climbs on to parapet. There are no safety barriers. Just a vertical drop of about 18 floors.

It’s at this point I stop enjoying my brew. He’s not there for maintenance or for a crafty fag.

No.

It looks like he’s about to jump.

Crap.

Can’t do a thing about it.

He walks along the parapet to the corner of the building and stands right at the edge.

Teetering on the brink.

Contemplating jumping.

Head down.

In thought.

Hands in pockets.

Has the look of being fed up.

Will he.

Won’t he.

Keep watching.

He just stands there for a few minutes.

I’m holding my breath. Wondering what is about to unfold before me.

A few more minutes pass.

He’s staring down at the traffic below. People looking like small ants on the pavement 18 floors below.

A few more minutes pass.

And then.

He.

Steps.

Backwards.

He’s not going to commit suicide. Not right now.

And I can start breathing again.

He’s now about 3 feet from the edge.

Still pondering.

And then.

He turns.

And slopes off back the way he came and off the roof.

And I continue with my brew.

On approach to the DMZ, about an hour away from Seoul, see what looks like concrete bridges over the motorway but which are actually a mass concrete slab that slams shut to act as a blockade against tanks should the North Korean army invade.

The DMZ (De-Militarised Zone) is the 250km long, 4km wide, border between North Korea (DPRK) and South Korea. Running from the Yellow Sea in the west to the Sea of Japan in the east. Established following the Korean War armistice in 1953, after three years of war between the communist north and the democratic south. Within this DMZ is a meeting point where the two nations negotiated the armistice. This meeting point is called the Joint Security Area.

The Joint Security Area is at Panmunjon. You can visit the JSA as a tourist from both the DPRK side and the South Korean side. Within the JSA is an assortment of buildings including a row of blue huts called the ‘Conference Rooms’ in which the actual border runs straight through the middle. My visit to the JSA when touring North Korea in 2017 can be found on this blog post: https://touringtaurean.com/2020/04/02/nk-7-help-screamed-the-girl/

Due to current tensions with the North, no visits are allowed inside the JSA from the South. Only to the Southern Civilian Limit which is 5km from the DMZ line which in itself is 2km from UN agreed border in the JSA.

Plenty of barbed wire as we have to change buses and go through security checks. A nonchalant and cursory look at a passport by some disenfranchised soldier.

Once inside the Southern Civilian Limit we go to the brand new Dorasan Railway Station which hopes to form part of the great Eurasian rail network and provide a rail link between the North and the South. A huge map on the station wall shows that it may be one day possible to travel by train from Scotland to Seoul. Standing there looking at it makes me realise just how far I have come on this my 30th day of travel.

The Southern Civilian Limit is as far as we can go and the Dorasan Observatory provides the only point that we can observe North Korea 7km away. For some inexplicable reason, there are very strict photography rules to try and prevent you taking photos of North Korea. Only able to take photographs from behind a yellow line 5m from the parapet wall which means that ordinary people can’t take a photo over the wall of North Korea.

However.

I am not ordinary.

With my arms stretched upwards I’m approaching nearly 3m. And at that angle I can grab a photo overlooking the parapet and towards North Korea. Under strict instructions not to take photos over the yellow line otherwise the guards will take the camera off you and delete the photos. I can see there’s absolutely no reason for this. It’s just a stupid rule.

And as we all know, dear reader.

Rules are for fools.

Always up for a challenge, endeavour to take a photo across the yellow line at the parapet wall. Try and do it surreptitiously under cover of my large hands hiding my small compact camera.

However.

I am spotted. And instructed by the guard to hand camera over. But he’s called away for something more important. Hurriedly switch camera off and put in pocket. As he’s walked away think I’ve got away with it so amble off.

But.

Am collared by another sodding guard and have to hand over camera.

Far too quickly he masters the settings and immediately deletes the photo from the memory card.

North and South are currently preparing for war according the media. Minor issue of the North torpedoing a South Korean warship recently. Doesn’t feel like it here though.

Having enjoyed the view above ground head off underground.

All Womble like.

To the Third Infiltration Tunnel. One of four discovered in the 1970s, North Korea tunnelled under the DMZ for a mile to try and invade South Korea. The tunnel was designed to take 30,000 men in an hour. Obviously not 6’5” men. More 5’6” men. Passing through a minefield to enter the tunnel, have to wear hard hats and soon realise why. Bumping along as I do.

It’s a steep incline 300m down to the end of the North Korean tunnel. Once in the horizontal tunnel it’s another 270m along a low tunnel carved in the rock to the Third Blockade. The actual border is a few more metres along at the First Blockade. A concrete wall now blocks the tunnel. Between the First Blockade and the Second Blockade is a tank of water set to explode and drown potential infiltrators. Blockade 3 which is the limit of our foray into the tunnel has a door with a CCTV camera trained on it to also check for North Korean infiltrators.

Fascinating insight into the North and South politics and at the time of my visit in 2010, little did I know that in 2017 I would be standing in the North looking out to the South.

Returning to Seoul have a brief stop at the Imperial Palaces at Changgyeong. Typical Korean style buildings most of which are empty of furniture apart from the Throne Room which has ornate chandeliers. The Secret Garden is not so secret as it is well signposted. A large glasshouse looks like a Victorian structure that wouldn’t be out of place in Kew Gardens.

My whistle stop tour is in need of something to wet my whistle. Where better than Seoul Tower. The Namsam cable car whisks you up to the tower. A high speed lift whisks you to the observation deck 200m up. Lift doors open out onto an awesome panoramic view.

WOW.

Complete 360 degree view of Seoul and the surrounding mountains.

A cold beer.

Whilst watching the sun slowly simmer and set over Seoul.