Countdown to Paris

First off, I want to wish everyone a happy, happy Canadian Thanksgiving!!! I had a chat with most of the family last night as they gathered for turkey and the trimmings at my niece Kate's place in Windsor, Ontario. I miss Thanksgiving and all that it stands for and believe Europe and the U.K. would do well to adopt this celebration. I am sad that, except for perhaps Octoberfest in Germany, I am not aware of any longstanding similar celebrations over here -- and Octoberfest seems to be more of a beer fest than a gratitude for the blessings in our lives.

On that note, after my group coach trip to Paris, set to leave October 19, was unexpectedly cancelled last weekend, sending me into an emotional tailspin, I am glad to report that I have been able to put together something at the last minute and that Paris is on the horizon.

After the cancellation, I was determined to spend time in Amsterdam or Paris and not waste my holiday sitting at home, but of course found that with my days off only weeks away, both cities were fully booked and if there were availabilities they were not in my cost range. But, after four straight afternoons online at the library, I have been able to sort out a plan and am now booked for two nights and a day and a bit in Paris!

I had to change my plan from the weekend to the Monday through Wednesday, but that was no big deal. I was looking forward to the coach trip because I would be travelling with and meeting new people, but I was not looking forward to what would probably be two interminably long bus rides. I'll be travelling on my own now, which doesn't prohibit meeting people, and I'm sure the coach time is cut to a quarter. I've also learned a lot about some of the options available out there.

So, on Monday, October 22 I will be catching a very cheap Megabus from Cardiff to London where I will then take the Eurostar train to Paris, arriving in the belle ville early evening. I have booked a single room at a hostel not far from the Eurostar station in the Paris neighbourhood of Montmartre. I know shockingly little of Paris, except for the standard tourist destinations of the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, the Louvre and Notre Dame. I will have all day Tuesday to explore the city and will be praying it doesn't rain!

Montmartre seems to be a good choice, being an old part of Paris and the site of the Moulin Rouge (home of the cancan), the Sacre Coeur Cathedral, and the famous cemetery where so many illustrious people have their last earthly resting place. Now, I just need to scour the charity stores for used travel books on Paris and a handy French-English dictionary.

the paralympics

Tomorrow night the London 2012 Paralympics close. I will miss them. More than the Olympics.

The Paralympics and Paralympians are more accessible than the elitism of the 'boring' Games as The Last Leg's Adam Hills called the Olympics. Everyone has limitations in some way and watching people with obvious, or not-so-obvious, limitations push themselves and excel beyond expectation is memorable and inspirational. It makes going to work with that sore shoulder or bad head more achievable.

I, with other Canadians, became aware of the Paralympics when the amazing achievements of Chantal Petitclerc were broadcast on the CBC, though not until she had already been competing for years. (I just found out she is coaching for the Brits these Games.) Media coverage has been the key to people finding out about Paralympians and their dedication. Media coverage and these Games will advance the perception of the 'disabled' in a profound way.

Besides the athletes and coaches, I have also been very impressed with the great care taken in establishing so many categories of competition, going to great lengths to equalize playing fields, in what is often, science aside, a subjective measurement.

And nods of respect to the Brits, who have presented these Paralympics with great style and equanimity and never taken the honours due them for being the first home of the Paralympics. I would say, that even now, at the end of these Games, very few people realize the Paralympic movement began in England at a hospital for war veterans. A fine drama, The Best of Men, presented on TV between the Olympics and Paralympics, told the remarkable story of German refugee Dr. Ludwig Guttmann and his work with disabled war veterans at Stoke Mandeville hospital, but it was subtly downplayed for no apparent reason.

I will especially miss, and here you can hear an audible moan, the nightly hijinks of Adam Hills' The Last Leg, an end-of-night politically incorrect (and correct) roundup of the days events, which takes so many of those questions we all have about previously taboo subjects and, with laughter, dissolves the taboos. No wonder the Paralympians (American wheelchair rugby team in particular) break their curfews to watch it. So funny, and I am sad to see it come to an end.

Shine on, Paralympics!

summer wanderings



Olympic viewing in the Hayes, Cardiff city centre



Rail trip to Llanwrtyd Wells -- too late for the Games events though

Kite statue, Llanwrtyd Wells

Part of the Heart of Wales train loop

Alexandra Gardens in Cardiff on a lovely summer day in August

Paralympic insignia in front of Cardiff City Hall

Walk alongside Boulevard de Nantes

Nereid, daughter of Greek seagod, dancing with fish and birds

A balancing act



The Great Western pub in Cardiff City Centre



Working hands

The British Fish Craft Championships at Cardiff's Harbour Festival -- last weekend in August

Fish fight

X-treme Sailing in Cardiff Bay during Harbour Festival

'the fight for Canada!'

The Bicentenary of the War of 1812 -- at Cardiff Castle

On a sunny weekend at the end of August, 'The Fight for Canada!' came to Cardiff Castle, with re-enactors portraying the Battle of Fort Detroit. This hit home for me -- literally, as I am from the Windsor/Detroit area -- on an emotional level I wasn't expecting.

Growing up, the War of 1812 was always a hazy war -- a war that seemed to have been a series of skirmishes fought in apple orchards so long ago. Who won? who lost? It was always described as a kind of draw -- though the Americans originally attacked and it could have been said that they lost -- were we, as Canadians, too reluctant to lay claim to the fact that we did, in fact, defend our borders?

I was rather stunned to see this battle being depicted here in Cardiff, and then surprised again to find out that the 41st Regiment from Britain that was sent to Canada and fought at River Canard and Detroit is the predecessor of the Welsh Regiment. Though the regiment really had no specific ties to Wales until 1831, the surrendered colours of Fort Detroit hang today, a dark and faded eagle, in the Firing Line museum at Cardiff Castle.



The camp of the 41st Regiment

 

Meal time at the British camp -- being the wife of a soldier circa 1812
was not a pleasant prospect. Only six wives and their children,
out of a possible 100 in a company, were allowed
to accompany their husbands overseas, chosen via a lottery.
If their husbands were killed, they often remained, remarrying to another soldier.



Fort Detroit (minus the Detroit River)




The American camp

The renactment of the actual battle in August, 1812 was told from the viewpoint of one of the soldiers of the 41st, John Dean, who enlisted in Britain and made the 9-week journey to fight in Canada. He was one of the two soldiers who held off the British at River Canard and was the first prisoner of the War of 1812, being rescued when the British and Tecumseh's warriors later took Fort Detroit. Actors portrayed the American General Hull and his daughter, who made the journey with her father to Fort Detroit, recording her remembrances; the British General Isaac Brock and the great Aboriginal leader Tecumseh, prerecorded voices booming over the grounds.

I had never even heard of this battle before. And it was important -- very important. And, it was a rather masterful battle of minds more so than of blood. Though Hull and the Americans outnumbered the British and Aboriginal forces, they ended up surrendering the fort after a relatively short time, being deceived into believing the allied forces were greater in number than they were. Brock and Tecumseh deceptively had their men circle back through the woods and go through food lines more than once to make their camp appear larger.

General Hull was vilified in the U.S. for the surrender, court-martialled and sentenced to death, though he received a pardon because of his successes during the American Revolution. By the time he was put in charge of Fort Detroit he seemed a man tired of war.

Brock and Tecumseh were dead within a year and a half -- Brock in Queenston Heights in October, and Tecumseh in October, 1813 at the Battle of the Thames.

I had never appreciated this fight for Canada before. It really defined North America as it is today. I also never fully appreciated the role of Tecumseh and his Aboriginal forces, though his name is everywhere in the Windsor area. I think it is safe to assume the British would not have done as well without Tecumseh's leadership and his supporters. It is also true that though Canada and the United States ended the war in 1815 with their boundaries intact, Tecumseh's death and the War of 1812 was the last stand for a true self-determination by eastern Aboriginals.

The Battle for Fort Detroit

The camp doctor details the realities of battlefield amputations




'Tecumseh' -- not too sure he would have worn an ostrich feather

on the ground

Whoa, I've missed the whole month of July! I'm sorry -- for any of you still out there.

I do have reasons: I was in Canada and the United States, as mentioned in my last posting, until July 10th, visiting family and friends. Upon returning, since mid-July, my job has been engulfed by the 2012 London Olympics, as played out here in Cardiff. The hotel in which I work has been host to several football teams. Beyond that, I am sworn to secrecy. Let's just say that when the Games end in a few days it will be good to get back to normal.

I was able to visit with lots of friends and family on my trip home and it was so good to see them. I spent about a day and a half in Mississauga with Judy. Our moms had been best friends in Windsor and after they died and we found both of ourselves in the Toronto area, we hooked up and have become good friends ourselves. It means a lot to have someone with that connection. We spent a whole day at the YMCA where Judy volunteers and it was just what the doctor ordered after the long flight the day before.

From Mississauga I took city transit to head into the heart of Toronto to stay with good friends Cathy and Glenn, from LaSalle Rowing Club days. The people from the LRC are my tribe. We are scattered far and wide but the connection is deep and true. Cathy and Glenn were in the T.O. area the seven years (ouch!) I was there and have an amazing new place on a quiet street in the heart of the city, where they put me up over the long holiday weekend. They, like I did, have found themselves on the edge of the 'gaybourhood' -- though most of central Toronto is pretty well the gaybourhood. This proved fortuitous as the Pride Parade was on July 1st, Canada Day and the preparatory route went down their street, giving us front row porch seats to the parade. You can't beat that. The only previous time I ventured out to watch the parade I stood for four hours in blistering heat.

Sailor boys in Toronto's Pride Parade on July 1st, Canada Day

The Trojen Men (and women)

Footloose and proud

While in Toronto I was also very fortunate to meet up with two of my three lady friends from Ryerson journalism school, whom, before I came here to Wales, I used to join every few months for a lunch/dinner date. Lunch with the ladies Em and Sharon, missing Angela who was up at the cottage. So, so, so good to see them and catch up in person instead of just by email and the Internet. Though thank God for email and the world-wide web, without which I would never have ventured to this side of the pond.

Last and certainly not least, time with my brothers and sisters-in-laws and my nieces and nephews in the Windsor and Detroit areas. On the Canadian side I was able to catch up with Deb, another LRC alumna, and Maureen, who has been my friend since we were 10 years of age, as well as having the opportunity to meet up with the all-grown-up brother of my best friend RoseAnne in high school who is now hockey coach to my 9-yr-old nephew (the brother is coach, not RoseAnne). At my brother Kelly's birthday/July 4th bash held on the 7th this year, I was able, finally, to see my stepmom Flo up from Florida and family from her side I hadn't seen in the two years since I came to Wales, as well as a host of other family and friends who annually make it to the lake party. Good, good times.

It was difficult leaving the hot 87 degree F. sunshine of home and landing in Amsterdam to a chilly 57 degrees and pouring rain. And we weren't even in the U.K. yet! Unbelievably the weather was warmer and sunny in Wales upon reaching Cardiff, but it's been back to dressing in layers and carrying my umbrella with me at all times, and basking in the sun whenever the clouds let it through.

The day after returning I went and got my hair cut and styled -- long overdue. The next week, knowing the Olympian month we were facing at work, I booked a four-day visit to Paris in October. Well, it is really Saturday and Sunday in Paris sandwiched between two days of a coach ride -- but, it is PARIS -- with a possible side trip to Versailles.

Tres magnifique!

in the air

I am heading off very, very early tomorrow morning for two weeks in Canada and the U.S. to visit with friends and family.

I am very, very ready.

coasteering with kin

Kelly and Wendy on path between Langland and Caswell Bays on the Gower

Mid-afternoon on Thursday, May 10 my brother Kelly and his wife Wendy arrived at my front door in Cardiff, having found their way there on their own from the airport in Birmingham; no small feat, as streets in Cardiff are poorly signed and I happen to live on one with no exit.

It was so, so good to see them, the first of family to visit since I have arrived here. They came and brought the sun with them -- also no small feat -- as until Thursday midday we had been having a continuation of the rainiest April in 100 years.

They added the journey to Wales onto the tail end of a German business trip which they had turned into a European vacation, my sister-in-law joining Kelly in Germany from where they travelled to Prague in the Czech Republic. After three days at my place in Cardiff they returned to Germany to spend a few days exploring the Rhine with a neighbour from back home in Michigan.

So, with the sun shining, and Wales in all its green-grassed, blue-skied glory, we explored the Welsh coast in their rented car -- the Gower Peninsula near Swansea on Friday and Pembrokeshire on Saturday. It was our own version of coasteering.

The beaches are endless and stunning. I have been to Rhossili Bay before, but never walked to the coast guard station at Worm's Head. We walked to that point, stopping to photograph the ponies along the way, and afterwards Kelly and I walked almost the complete length of Rhossili Bay and back (while Wendy opted for some relaxing book time).


Horses at Worm's Head, Rhossili Bay



Worm's Head at Low Tide

Kelly and Rhossili Bay

Horses and their balancing act at the cliffs of Rhossili beach

That night we spent a delightful evening at a small Italian restaurant in my neighbourhood which I had always wanted to try, but is rarely open. We found the owner, Mario, a short, round restaurateur in his 70s, who is officially 'retired' but opens this place, the Amalfi, on weekends. He played the organ between greeting guests and writing up the bills. His friend, Spanish-born, also a septuagenarian former restaurateur, helped him serve, and Mario's wife, whom we never saw, cooked the honest, homestyle food in the back.

I love to eat out and would, if not for financial realities, probably eat out every night of the week, trying different restaurants and cuisines. As it is, I treat myself to one meal out a week, usually at a favourite cafe down the street, and two to three outings for a coffee, pot of tea, or half a pint. Cardiff has an excellent array of ethnic restaurants, which unfortunately I am unable to explore as I would like -- otherwise this blog would probably be called A Canadian Eats Her Way Through Cardiff. But on Kelly and Wendy's visit we ate out three nights in a row, as well as two breakfasts. On the Thursday evening of their arrival, after a walk to show them part of Cardiff's city centre, we went down to an unusually subdued Cardiff Bay where they treated me to a birthday dinner, also Italian, at Signor Valentino's.

On Saturday, we headed to Tenby on the Pembrokeshire coast, where I had been once a couple of years ago on a day trip. On much of the way we were sharing the roads with cyclists. I don't know how my brother did it -- driving on the 'wrong' side of the road, driving stick which he doesn't normally do, and passing cyclists on narrow roads with oncoming traffic. It made me nervous and I was a passive passenger. The cyclists were part of the Carten 100, which I have since found out is an abbreviation of Cardiff and Tenby and that they were travelling the same 100 miles we were. Apparently there were more than 600 riders this year.

On the way to Tenby Wendy spotted a sign for a castle in the town of Laugharne. Wales' beauty is never-ceasing: one beach more beautiful than the last, one town more picturesque than the previous one. Laugharne served up a double treat as it was the last home of the Welsh bard Dylan Thomas. Situated on a quiet estuary, Laugharne is graceful and restful and a new favourite place.

Laugharne Castle

An accident in town brought an emergency helicopter landing

The writing shed of Dylan Thomas (with a bit of reflected glass)
-- the views from this shed would inspire anyone

Our coasteering made a long day and Kelly and Wendy had a longer day yet as they faced the two-hour drive to Birmingham Saturday night. A quick meal at my local Chinese cafe, where previously I had only ordered medicinal hot-and-sour soup as a takeaway, and they were on their way to further adventures along the Rhine.

St. Catherine's Island at Tenby

Tenby's North Beach and the old Coast Guard station, now a private home, at bottom of picture

As usual, I could have used an extra day to recover from the holidays, but it was back to work on Sunday, totally and utterly and joyously exhausted.