TLC Lied to You

That is, if you're spending time in Iceland.

We've spent the last two days chasing waterfalls, or at least that is what it has felt like as Hugi has driven us and our intrepid band of heroes around his neighbourhood, and it seems like an excellent decision. Note that I use the term neighbourhood rather loosely.

The six of us spent Thursday hiking up Glymer, and then Friday we added two more to our party - Tom and Marcy - a couple originally from Minnesota who were returning from three years with the Peace Corp in Uganda. Tom worked in areas relating to economic development, and Mary is a nurse who spent her time helping to educate young nurses within the hospital setting. Not easy work, but listening to them, good work to be doing.

Like I said though, first was Thursday and hiking around Glymer. Pictures likely say it best.

First of course we had to get there, which meant:

Passing the mountain where Santa Claus lives.

Yes, Iceland also takes credit for being the true home of that jolly old elf, though apparently this story is not as popular as it once was.  Or at least that is what Hugi told us as w drove along.

Next was crossing a salmon river.

And then a look at the remains of what would have been old sheep pens.

No, that waterfall is not the one at Glymer. But it was certainly still worth exploring.

And exploring.

And posing? That's actually a different waterfall behind. And no, not Glymur. Some estimate the number of waterfalls, when you consider all shapes and sizes, rising into the thousands. Not surprising considering all the glacier run-off.

Getting to Glymur required a hike, first through the forested area leading up to it, including crossing the river created by the waterfall. Crossing was along several rocks in the rapids and a walk along a log, helped of course by a hand-dandy cable-line that has been installed to help hikers. Getting a bit past this allowed for our first views of the Glymur waterfall.

 As we continued the hike up we took occasional breaks, primarily to look around, but more so so that I could catch my breath. I am reminded of a time portaging with Marc and the boys in Algonquin, where, after we took several portages straight through, Marc and I had the sudden realization that we could actually stop and rest along the way. I'm not always the swiftest, but I do learn. So this time we took breaks.

Noah is looking out to the fjord that was formed by the same glacier that is responsible for this waterfall as it retreated further inland. We had driven around part of this fjord on our drive here.  Iceland has many bays and fjords. All seem to be referred to as fjords, but, as Noah's research discoverd, there is a difference. Fjords are created by retreating glaciers, and are generally quite long and slim. Bays, well, they're just bays, and don't have the same pedigree. And yes, for those of you who missed it, the boys do a little research now and again on the stuff we're seeing. The neat thing about this particular fjord is that it has a tunnel running underneath it for traffic. Yes, this is a modern tunnel that caused a bit of a controversy when first suggested. Apparently though Icelanders are just as prone to selecting convenience over scenic drives as the rest of us.

The funny little dots are sheep. They are far better climbers than we, and we saw these curious fellows on the other side of the gorge around the falls. Sheep get to roam free in Iceland, and apparently at the end of each month everyone is sent out to scour the land for them, and then bring them all together. The sheep have chips in their ears so are easily identifiable. Just a guess on my part, but it strikes me the next step would be to include GPS locators in the chips and then they could have an app for that.

Anyway, we eventually made it not to the top.

The top was a much longer way off, and we needed to start heading back. It actually looked like you could do it as a loop, up one side, across, and then down the other, as we could see people walking down the other side. We were not those people.

A few years ago I was out in BC visiting my friend Maureen in Vancouver. One fine sunny day she, I, and her friend Claudio decided to go to Grouse Mountain. Now, if you know Grouse Mountain, then you likely know of the Grouse Grind. If you don't, simply put, the Grouse Grind is a 2.9km "hike" up this mountain in the middle of Vancouver. Apparently there are good reasons to go west young man. Here are its stats if you are interested. The key one is that you go up about 800 metres or so.

Now, Maureen is in shape, and I mean, in shape. She trains, does triathalons, and that sort of thing. Claudio? Well I seem to recall Maureen mentioning that Claudio at one time was a professional kayaker. Yes, professional. Me? Ya, um... no.

Here's a tip for all you 40-somethings. When hiking up a mountain, don't let the triathelete and professional athelete set the pace. It's a big mistake. My right knee has been paying the price ever since. Up, not a problem. Down - serious limp, lots of pain. Not fun. Lasted for a few days. Never fully recovered despite exercises and the such.

Now, I thought that maybe I HAD fully recovered. Nope. Glymur has pointed out to me that I have not. Bring on the limp. It's already improving though, so please do not shed a tear on my behalf.

You know, I really was hoping to finish up writing about Iceland before heading to London, but as you'll see soon enough you cover alot of ground in two days when you're chasing waterfalls in Iceland, and we've a plane to catch for London now, and I need to finish my Skyr (it's yoghurt, but not) and porter before we board.

Yes, Icelandic porter. You didn't expect me not to mention the local beer, did you?

One Small Step...

Title credit goes to Sherri - thanks for your email. Whether intentional or not (and I'm guessing it was) it is rather apropros.

In 1967 Neil Armstrong and other astronauts came to Iceland to train for their moon landing. Having not been to the moon before I'll have to defer to the folk who made that decision on its appropriateness, but I will say, I am a bit curious if, after stepping out onto the surface, Mr. Armstrong went "Oh ya, I can see it."

If yesterday, our first day in Iceland, was to be considered Noah, Jake and my training for our first steps onto the moon, then the moon better be where Barbarella went and opened a spa after having saved the universe from Durand Durand (though, given the 80's - did she?, I ask you), else we will find it lacking, to the extreme.

Okay, I lie. It's the moon. Saying we would find it lacking is an amazingly dumbass thing to say. I say dumbass things. Many people will attest to that.

The word I uttered most yesterday was "wild". I haven't come up with a better word yet. Hopefully the people I'm with won't mind. Right, the people. We're with people.

We're couchsurfing in Reykjavik. I know I've mentioned this group before, so go look it up if you don't know who I'm talking about. We're staying with Hugi, a fun gentleman with an interesting history - his story to tell - and a flair for playing the harmonica overtop classic rock tunes. He's nailed Piano Man. Aside from the boys and I Hugi has two other guests staying with him right now: Barbara, a teacher from NYC, and Kareem, a primary school teacher from Paris. Everyone is on their own different adventure this summer, but here we all are, at Hugi's, getting to know each other and exploring this amazing country together with Hugi as our guide. Yes, aside from providing a place to sleep and wailing harmonica solos, Hugi is a tour guide, and he's showing us around. (He's the fella in yella if you followed that link.) Convenient eh? For all of us.

The kids and I arrived early yesterday morning, and took a bus from the airport into Reykjavik where Hugi picked us up. Barbara was already in the car. First stop was our new home for the nexy few days, and then it was off to the grocery store to pick up some food. After dropping off the food we then headed to pick up Kareem and now that we were six, it was time to start exploring Reykjavik.

Our first stop was Hallgrimskirkja, a Lutheran church named after the poet/clergyman Hallgrimur Peturssun, it was built between 1945 and 1986, and is just super darn cool.

After spending a bit of time there we then began a walk through the city, Hugi as our guide. It became quite apparent in a short period of time, that while the boys and I had the desire to be taking this walk, we were in fact quickly becoming zombies. This is fair given we didn't really sleep on the plane and we'd been up more than 24 hours by now. So Hugi took us home for a nap and then continued showing Barbara and Kareem about. I do not have pictures of either of those events.

We awoke three hours later, magically restored, and had a quick bite to eat (yay for having bought food). Hugi and the others arrived while we were doing that, and then we all headed out to The Blue Lagoon. And no, not a Brooke Shields marathon at a revival theatre. Something more like this:

And this:

The Blue Lagoon is, as Hugi's tells us, a bit of an accident. Behind it steams away one of Icelands many geothermal power plants. Iceland's use of fossil fuels by the way is a woppingly low 1% of their overall energy consumption needs. Everything else is renewable -either geothermal, or hydroelectric. Pretty neat. For it's complete origin story you can go here, but the very short version is that waste water from the geothermal plant started pooling outside of the plant, and that people, I assume hoping they would soon gain superpowers, started bathing in it. While no one started flying or smashing things, they did seem to get better skin. And voila, Blue Lagoon was born.

It's a pretty cool place, and also kinda expensive - which I understand is somewhat the norm for Iceland. But what do you expect, we're on a small island in the middle of the North Atlantic, that is attempting to join the EU, with tourism as it's number two industry and rising. Things are going to cost.

Wafting along through the warm, milky blue waters. Standing under a hot waterfall as the water pounds the tension out of your shoulders. Sitting in a sauna trying to remember how to breathe?

Totally worth it.

After a few relaxing hours there Hugi took the scenic route home. The "scenic route" is a secondary road that loops around back into Reykjavik. It was very expensive to build, and does not see alot of traffic, and we are all thankful to the tax payers of Iceland for their efforts.

Along the way we went to Seltun Krysuvik, a park that provides access to the geothermal field there and it's mud pots and hot springs.

The smell takes a bit of getting used to, but not much. Certainly easier than the pigs in Charlevoix, and the higher up you go (and we got up reasonably high) the fresher the air.

And you can get quite the view.

Oh, and there are horses frollicking in the field across from this "park".

These are the famous Icelandic horses. They are a shorter, heartier breed. And given their stature it may explain why we think the vikings were all giants. I've never actually seen horses at play before. But there they were, rolling around in the dirt, chasing each other. Maybe Icelandic horses are just more laid back than North America horses. Maybe this is true for the people too. More data required. Unfortunately though more data on the horses will not be immediately forthcoming, for, while there is ample opportunity to ride said horses, there is also a cost, and I am quickly realizing that if we do everything that looks cool and we are interested in doing, then we will be home by November.

Choices. Alway choices.

We then headed on by way of vista after gorgoues vista, each turn providing something else amazing to look at. If I were to include all the pictures the group of us took, the page  wouldn't load. If Hugi had stopped the car each time one of us thought it might be a good idea, we would still be out there. Life is about balance though, and I think we're doing pretty good with it so far. One nice thing I will say for travelling in a small group though is that it does afford the luxury of stopping alot more than if we were with a coach group.

And how many tours will take you to see the drying remains of fish carcasses? Ya? Ya? That's what WE did. And honestly, pretty cool. Just outside one of the towns we passed where there is a large fish freezing plant, there is an area where there are racks and racks of fish carcasses drying. Essentially once the fish is filleted the remains are hung to dry, and these, once prepared are sold various places around the world to be used in soups, as the bones are still rich in nutrients. So ya, pretty cool.

We eventually got home. Now the neat thing about couch surfing AND touring with Hugi, is that, to begin with, we're all similarly like-minded people, as we chose to join the network and try and see parts of the world through hanging out with the strangers who are just the friends we haven't met yet. So once we got home we all got busy making dinner, while Hugi got the tunes going, and pulled out his harmonica and played along. Soon enough some of us are singing along, and eventually we're sitting around the table, talking about the day, talking about the next day, sharing our personal stories, playing games, becoming friends.

Honestly, as amazing as Iceland is, the best part of yesterday was meeting Hugi, Kareem, and Barbara. I can only hope that this year continues the way our first day off the continent did.

Now we're off to hike up a waterfall.

Three Days!

That's for you Charles.

We're back in Toronto now. The kids are with their mom, Kate, and I am at my mom's. Have I mentioned my mom is awesome? Well, she is. For those of you who know her you know I am understating how great my mom is when I say she is awesome - especially if you're thinking about the actual eptomology of that word. Actually, I just looked it up again, and we're okay.

Right, this was meant to be a shorter post.

Let's try again.

We're back. We got up the next day in Truro, hopped in the car and drove to Rockport Maine, spent the night, got up, drove to Montreal, spent the night, got up, wandered around Montreal, drove, got to Toronto, dropped the boys off at their mom's, came to mine, did lots of laundry, slept.

There.  That was short.

But if I were to add a little flavour to that poorly constructed sentence...

From Truro we headed off to Rockport Maine. When first figuring out routes for the trip we  had decided to travel through the US a bit to get back rather, than essentially retracing our steps, and while we didn't know much about Rockport, it had two qualities we felt important. 1) It was about the right distance for a day of travel, and 2) it had, or was near, good food.  But I get ahead of myself.

The drive from Truro to Rockport had us travelling through New Brunswick and then into Maine. We could have taken the ferry from Nova Scotia to Maine, but honestly the cost and timing didn't seem worth it for us. It's great though that the ferry is back, as I understand that it had not run for a few years. Welcome back ferry. Maybe next time.

Sherri has, what I call anyway, "hunter eye". And that is hunTER eye, which is not to be confused with HuntLEY eye - that evangelical glint that has you picking up your phone and sending in the dollars. Late at night, driving along the road at some ridiculous speed, Sherri can spot a turtle along the roadside. Seriously.  Hunter eye. Ask her to tell you the story some time. Anyway, for someone with that level of skill spotting a sign that read "Unesco World Heritage Site" while driving the merry roads of Nova Scotia is mere childs play, and fortunately for us, that is the sign that Sherri spotted.

Goodie, world heritage site! These are cool. Whatever they may be. These are the places on our planet that the United Nations has basically decided are part of our collective heritage and require preserving. They may be natural sites, like the one I'm about to show you pictures of, or they may be human built places of some significance. Parts of Quebec City are designated a Unesco World Heritage Site for example. So yay us for getting two in on this trip.

A quick aside.

When figuring out this coming year and thinking about places we would go and things we would like to see, amazingly enough, I spent alot of time online. Okay, spent is incorrect. The tense is all screwed up. I spend alot of time online, as I'm constantly researching whatever is coming up next.

Aside from Google and of course Google Maps, the sites that I use the most are:

Lonely Planet - It's great to get an overview and "Top 10" lists for practically anywhere medium to biggish
Trip Advisor - When you want to double check with anyone who has done it that what you're thinking of doing is actually a decent idea
Rome2Rio - A great way to figure out how to get from pretty much any Point A to any Point B
Atlas Obscura - Just check it out, this site is so cool. If you're looking for things that are fascinating but don't make it onto the typical Top 10 list, then this is for you. Abadoned theme parks, crypts, odd little museums, you name it.
Unesco World Heritage Site - for reasons already stated

I figure between that lot I've got my bases covered. Yes, the first two are pretty common, and common is good for some things. I'm not sure how familiar you are with Rome2Rio, but honestly, check it out if not. Just for the user experience if nothing else. The last two - these ones are I think the two sites that will introduce us to many of most interesting places we will go in the coming year.

Okay, that wasn't so quick I guess.

I had not actually been doing my homework, so although it is a Unesco designated place I had no idea that the Joggins Fossil Cliffs existed, or that we were near them. Again, let's hear it for Hunter Eye.

You should follow the link I so considerately provided, but if you haven't (yet) then the short version is that the Joggins Fossil Cliffs are a massive palaeontological site that host a gazillion fossils from the Carboniferous period or "Age of Coal" Dahm! Dahm! Dahahahahahahaahahahahammmmm! See, told you. Follow the link.

These should explain it better.

That's the view. The park extends around that point. As this coast is part of the Fundy basin (or so I have been told) the tide along here drops about 11 metres between low and high tide. We got there about 11am. A sign had said the beach was closed at 9am, and the next tour was at 1pm, so we assumed we were well into the tide going out, but not at the ideal time. Unfortunately we could not wait for the tour, so while we walked about for an hour or so the water continued its retreat. I'd like to think we intimidated it, but I think it may have something to do with the moon.

Anyway, what all this meant is that we couldn't walk as far as we could have later in the day, but we did get along a fair way. Note though that if I turned around and took another picture, you'd see it stretching off to another point that the park extends beyond. It's big. Go read about it.

This is one of the gazillion fossils on display. And by "on display" I mean: Imaginge yourself playing Where's Waldo in the Uffizi Gallery, or perhaps a game of hide and seek with all of the art in the Louvre. The fossils are everywhere, and I mean everywhere. You feel guilty walking as you know that each little crunch of rock beneath your feet may spell doom for something that has been dead for over 300 million years. Oh, the guilt. So ya, they're everywhere, but it's up to you to look for them.

That's a tree sticking out of the rock. People here are pretty excited about this tree as it was discovered a couple of days prior to our arrival. Remember Arthur? Well, folk at Joggins like hurricanes as they tend to uncover new stuff. This tree was one of the things that Arthur uncovered for us. I don't how much of a silver lining that is mind you, but it's something.

That? That's just pretty.

Having had our fill of fossils we got on our merry way to Rockport. Why merry you may ask? Well, remember the whole satellite radio thing? Turns out they have a Broadway station, so we were now travelling on the wings of musical theatre. You think the 80's was chipper? It ain't got nothin' on show tunes. Unless of course that show tune is from Sweeney Todd. Dark? Very much so. Fun? Absolutely!

We got to Rockport and checked into our motel, and then headed back to Camden, which we had just passed through, to go for dinner and a bit of a walk about. Note that I'm not sure about where the lines get drawn between what is Rockport and what is Camden. Also note that there is a Rockland Maine as well, and I am constantly flipping the names, so my apologies for any confusion. Booking.com tells me the motel is in Rockport, so that's where we slept. The sign outside the town five minutes away said Camden, so that's where we walked and ate. Simple enough.

This is a view of the harbour from near The Atlantica, where we had dinner.

This is a view of the beer I had before dinner.

Both are exquisite in their own right.

Dinner was incredible. There are a couple of pictures of it that Marc took. I don't have them yet. Yes, I said email me your pictures when you get home, but somehow I think he decided to go to bed instead. And who can blame him? I will refrain from answering that.

Dinner was a bit of a splurge. Sure, the five of us all like good food. It's primarily how we socialize. When the boys and I are at Marc's in Kitchener, Sherri is quite often over, and much of the time is spent either in the kitchen preparing food, at the table devouring food, or in the kitchen cleaning up the disaster that resulted in making food. It's a vicious, or perhaps virtuous, circle. You decide.

The Atlantica was good food. And yes, we ate seafood. Oysters, scallops, wild shrimp, clams, and of course lobster - the king bug of the sea. Yes, on the east coast in the 40's and prior, and even today in some parts, kids would rather have bologne for their school lunch then a lobster roll, but for the rest of us - bring on the sea bug! Chalk it up to supply and demand. Anyway, dinner was magnificent.

The next day saw us bidding farewell to Camden/Rockport/Rockdale, or wherever we actually were, and heading north, up through Maine, into New Hampshire, and on to Canada, la belle province, and Montreal.

Now, in this particular case I had done some homework via Atlas Obscura, and had come across the Musical Wonder House in Wiscasset, Maine. Sadly it was closed, and had been since March 2014, according to the paper taped to its door. Lesson Learned: While discovering the existence of new places through secondary sources online, it is best to check with the primary source directly before going there. It wasn't much of a detour for us though, so not a biggy froma travel time loss perspective, but disappointing as it had looked real neat.

Driving up through Maine and into New Hampshire had us driving through Grafton Notch park, which afforded us the opportunity, to get out, take a bit of a walk to marked places like Moose Cave, and generally enjoy a, beautiful neck of the woods, both literarly and figuratively speaking.

See?

See??

See!?!

We eventually got ourselves back in the car and off to Montreal.

Now, the five of us have all been to Montreal at one time or another, and the evening there, and the next morning, were spent primarily walking around the old city, which we all much enjoy. Dinner was at a favourite restaurant of mine, Modavie, and was, as always, wonderful. Especially as it meant I got to see my friend Catherine, who works there, for the first time in a couple of years.

The next morning saw us, as I have already noted on Facebook, playing with science that the Science Centre by the water in Montreal.

There are some cool shots with full body bubbles, but Marc needs to wake up and send those to me first. The centre is very interactive, as can be seen by Marc building an arch and showing the true value of the keystone. He built a couple more of these as the morning progressed. Marc likes science. A lot.

After having a great deal of fun without endangering the nearby little children we piled into the car to make our way home, and fuelled by sugar in its many wonderful forms, including might I add musical theatre, we safely arrived in Toronto, which brings us back to the end of the second full paragraph of this entry.

Second last word goes to the science centre -  Stay tuned for:

See you in Reykjavik.

Kites, Coasts, and Coal

I think Philip said it best, when on Tuesday he commented "Well, we've broke the seal on Cape Breton".

Animal activists will be pleased to note that he was not referring to the animal, and, we did not come crack a little red disk of wax on some old document, forever breaking confederation in this country - lords knows it doesn't need any help. What Philip meant was that they'd now been living in Nova Scotia for nearly five years and in that time they had not come to Cape Breton. Heather's people, and in fact Heather herself are from Nova Scotia, and she came here many times growing up, but it's been awhile for either of them.

I would have to agree with them. The past couple of days has felt like a laid-back, high-speed (how's that for a cognitive dissonance) tour of, not what I would necessarily call the highlights of Cape Breton, but more of just the stuff we saw along the way.

When last we spoke our intrepid heroes had gotten as far as Mabou. It's now Thursday morning and we are in Truro, which is back on mainland Nova Scotia. In those two days we cut inland from Mabou to get to Baddeck, which is along the north shore of the Bras D'or lake, cutting the island nicely in two. It is both the beginning and end of the Cabot Trail, a very, very popular, must do scenic trail that takes you up and around one side of the island, through the provincial park. We did not take the Cabot trail.

Okay, now, before I start getting notes from folk who know this area that start with "WTF!?! Whadda ya mean you didn't do the trail!?!" I'd like to take a moment and go back to a previous blog entry about not being able to do everything, and how to enjoy the things that do happen as opposed to lament the things that do not.

This is one of those times.

For me too.

So we travelled.

We travelled into Baddeck and visited the Alexander Graham Bell Museum. I will not pause long to babble on about all that we learned here. According to a voice mail from my father my blogs are too long. This didn't stop him being pleased about him being mentioned a couple of times mind you. Okay, that said, maybe this is one of those times he would argue could be edited out. Ah well. That would require that I edit.

Right, Bell. Or should we say A.G. Bell, so as to distinguish them from a company that has no doubt given many of us no end of grief. Nope, we'll just stick with Bell.

If you want to know about Bell, his work, the museum, their work, then, as I repeatedly tell Noah and Jake, go look it up. There is too much. Way too much. Super cool things I learned though include Bell's lifelong work with the deaf and his attempts to provide them with better support and tools so that they could integrate better with the rest of society. Did you know that Helen Kellar visited him in his home, Beinn Bhreagh, Baddeck? Did you even know that the inventor of the telephone had a home in Cape Breton? Or that he invited Marconi, or "Mr. Radio" as I now like to call him, to come and continue his experiments in Cape Breton? Okay, I only just called him Mr. Radio now as it was a quick way to address the whole trans-atlantic radio signal for the first time thingy.

How about hydrofoils? How about planes? And kites. So many kites.

That's Noah and Jake flying kites at the museum. Yes, you get to fly kites if you want. And it's an excellent location for it.

Did you know Bell tried, as part of efforts to save him, to eletrically try and find the bullet lodged in James Garfield's body when he was assassinated? He wasn't successful, but still, to my mind anyway, fascinating.

I'll stop about Bell now. Just go.

We then headed for Sydney, by way of St Anns.

We stopped in Syndey long enough to check our luggage in at our hotel, and then continued our travels up and along the coast through Waterford, Dominion, and Glace Bay.

Along the way to Waterford is Fort Petrie, one of the forts built during the First World War to protect Sydney harbour, and then enhanced in WW II. I'm not sure how the museum works, if it is just open air come as you are and look around, or if there are actual tours of some kind. There didn't seem to be anyone official there at the time so we just looked about.

Now the funny thing about looking about by yourself is where you end up.

That is the entrance to the bunkers at Fort Petrie. See the long grey thing at the top of the picture? That's the door. Its on rails and slides across the opening. It was closed. Mind you, it wasn't locked, so we opened it and explored a little. This was an excellent reminder to next time bring my daypack and include the mini flashlight. Cellphone flashlights just don't seem to be enough. Funny that, something a phone doesn't do well yet.

Below we found this level.

And below that we found this level.

From here we went on to Dominion by way of Waterford. We didn't stop in either of these towns; this was a simple drive-through. We did however stop at Dominion beach for a bit of play in the waves.

Here's the five of us. I don't think there has been a picture of me in the blog yet, so here you go. I'm the one in the middle. I'm sure you recognize the others by now though. An no, Marc does not have ears like Shrek, he is wearing a hat.

From Dominion we headed on to Glace Bay. Now, this is where it gets exciting, for me at least anyway.

See, of all the places in Nova Scotia that I have wanted to visit, Glace Bay is by and far the number one destination. Why, you might ask? What's that old town got that any other mining town in Nova Scotia doesn't have? Does it have to do with that Mr. Radio fella mentioned earlier, because he sent his first trans-atlantic signal from Table Head?

As you can see its gorgeous, but no, nothing to do with Marconi. I had no idea about that till the day prior when I was looking some stuff up on Trip Advisor.

Is it the Miner's Museum? Nope, but loads more on that later.

It's because of Margaret's Museum, a film starring Helena Bonham Carter and Clive Russell that I saw when it came out in 1995 and immediately fell in love with. It is based upon a novel by Sheldon Currie titled The Glace Bay Miner's Museum, which you guessed it, takes place in Glace Bay. I've read this book many, many times. I've read the stage play by Wendy Lill a number of times as well, and equally love it, though I haven't had the good fortune to see a production yet. In 1996 I actually tried getting my hands on a copy of the screen play. I mean, I love this story.

I won't explain the story here; that's why I provided you all with the link to IMDB. I will say though that the story is exactly the type of story that I like the best, and that the music in the film, as done by the Rankin family, (you may recall them being mentioned re: The Red Shoe Pub) can be heart-wrenching at times. So, my kind of music.

It left an impression.

Anyway, we drove around Glace Bay for a bit, myself getting excited when we saw the old "company houses". These are houses built by the mining companies for the miners to live in. You would think that was just grand. Well, in a way. But it also meant you lived in house owned by your boss. See how that could get complicated?

We then headed back to Sydney for dinner and a quiet evening.

The next day we were up and back out to Glace Bay again to visit The Cape Breton Miners' Museum. This, unlike The Glace Bay Miner's Museum, is an actual place that first opened, in part to mark Canada's centennial, in 1967. We knew about the museum before coming. Spending whatever time was necessary here was pretty much part of the plan since deciding to come out east.

The museum is great. It tells the story, as you would expect, of the history of mining in Cape Breton. From the first discoveries of coal over 250 years ago, to the Nova Scotia government giving a 99 year on all coal mining to The Dominion Coal company, and all the terribleness that that wrought, to the mines being expropriated by the Canadian government in 1967, to the last coal mine closing in Cape Breton in 2001. It tells the story about the miners of Cape Breton. It tells the story well.

Aside from the exhibit, and the outdoor "town" where you can visit a recreation of a "company store" amongst other things, the museum features a film that I'm pretty sure dates back to the seventies, that tells the history of coal mining and its people, and interviews several of the older, retired miners, at the time. Yes, from time to time you'll wish the film came with sub-titles, but what-the-heck.

The other thing that is featured is a tour of the mine. There is a mine beneath the museum. It was never a working mine, as it was actually built as part of the museum in 1967. So you get to walk down about 80 meters, not 800. And you get to stay "on land" (or at least under it) as opposed to most of the mines extracting coal from the Sydney coal fields which stretch out under the water out to Newfoundland/Labrador.

Totally authentic? Pretty much. Totally awesomely cool? Yes.

Here's the entrance.

The mine is a traditional room and pillar mine. The ceiling height starts at about 6' 5", and then gets lower, eventually to about four foot nothin'.

Our guide through the above was Abbie, a retired coal miner, and a great story teller. True stories. Some are the history of mining, some are the basics of coal. Mostly though, the stories are of the miners and their families. Of what it was to live that life. Of the hardship of the work, and the working conditions, and of the hardship of the living conditions that Cape Breton miners lived under because of the well below poverty level wages forced upon them by the Dominion Coal Company, BESCO, and those that came after.

I knew much of this history coming into it. It's a totally different hearing it from Abbie. Abbie is 76. He lived much of this story, and his father, grandfather, and six uncles lived it too. I won't even attempt to tell it. I will say though that I have no idea what "work" really is, or what "hardship" really means. I've been very fortunate to have lived comfortably my entire life. And I get to use my head for work, so it's essentially play-time, as I like using my head. Have there been things that I've wanted that I couldn't get? For sure. Have there been things that I actually need to live that I haven't had? Never. That this was the case for people living in Cape Breton through easily the first half of the 20th century I find phenomenally wrong. I have a difficult time comprehending it. Perhaps I am naive.

This museum tells a story that really, really matters.  Go.

After the museum we continued our journey with the next stop being Louisburg Fort, just for a quick looksee.

Along the way another beach, which provided the opportunity for Noah to beat me in a foot race. We've not raced in a long time, and I, having being putting it off in order to not lose my alpha-male dominance of the pack status, realized it was time to get on with it. (Note that those are not us in the distance, but those tracks are ours.)

Now, Jake will be nice and say that it was pretty close for awhile. I will be honest and say that Noah had me from the start. That guy can run. I've not seen him run as fast as this, ever. Maybe he was spurred on by the opportunity to kick his Dad's butt. All I I know is that it was fantastic to watch him go and clean my clock. I am just grateful that he did not strike a Usain Bolt pose at the end of it all.

We got to the fort. It was closing. Ah well, not the only time this sort of thing will happen on this trip I am sure. Another reason to come back again, as if we actually need a reason.

It was at this point though that we said farewell to Heather and Meara, Philip having left earlier in the day to catch a flight to Montreal for work.

We drove.

We drove back through Cape Breton to the causeway onto mainland Nova Scotia; the same bridge we had crossed to come onto the island, but now with a chance to get a shot of this, which I couldn't do the first time because I cannot rotate my head like Linda Blair. Nor can I walk upside down like a spider, but that is besides the point. See, right besides it in fact.

We drove on through into the evening and arrived in Truro, our end point for the day, and our launch pad for heading back home to Toronto.

Thank you Cape Breton, I'll be seeing you again soon.

A Quick Lesson

Actually, yesterday had a few lessons for me; and there were likely a few I missed along the road.

The first lesson happened shortly after finishing yesterday's blog entry, you know, the one where I started off saying how things are going to change with the blogging, worried with the stretching, and all that stuff.

Shortly after finishing the blog I found myself sitting on the couch waiting for others to be ready to go, and considering playing a bit of Candy Crush. Yes, Candy Crush. We all know it, and we likely all have mixed feelings about the thing. I play it from time to time, and this was looking to be one of those times. Then I asked myself: If you have time to play a game, why don't you have time to stretch? Well, I said, because... Because... Well, because...

Ya, exactly. So I stretched. Which wasn't actually as easy as it sounds. Once my head had told me that I didn't have time for it then I no longer wanted to do it. Frankly, I never want to do it. So to discover that there is time, and actually use it well, actually took some effort given what I had convinced myself of.

Turns out I had more time to blog too. Ah well.

The next lesson was one on the history of Cape Breton music, or, as Donna-Marie at the Celtic Music Interpretive Centre in Judique, Cape Breton refers to it, Scots music.

Right, we're in Cape Breton now. Much of the day was spent driving. Man this country is gorgeous.

At the Celtic Centre Donna-Marie gave our group of five (Philip, Heather and Meara being still on the road as they had had to make a detour) a history lesson on scots music. Sitting in this cozy office, Donna-Marie sat with her fiddle and played us through the various types of fiddle tunes such as marches, strathspeys, reels, jigs, and the list continues. She explained the differences in meter between them, how the first three I listed are often grouped together when performed at a Ceilidh, how the fiddle music originated from attempting to play music that had, until then, been being played on the bagpipes - hence the second string drone you hear from time to time with the fiddle music. We learned some of the history of Cape Breton with the Scots coming over in the 18th century having been essentially forced off their land so the English could raise sheep. It was a great 20 minutes. Yes, all of that in 20 minutes.

The next lesson was one I had already learned years ago. I love Cape Breton. No, I have never been here, and honestly don't know a lot about it, but for some reason, I have always loved the place and have wanted to be here. And so far, so good.

We checked in to our rooms at the Mabou River Inn. It's a nice place, and conveniently located a short walk, or even shorter drive if you're not sure where precisely you going before you set out, from The Red Shoe Pub in Mabou.

The Red Shoe Pub is owned by the Rankin family. Look them up if you don't know them. Fantastic family of musicians. Though I think that pretty much sums up Cape Breton. Between the MacIsaac's, the MacMasters, the Barra MacNeils. This list goes on. Again, look it up. The amount of musical talent coming from this little island per capita puts the rest of us to shame. You might think it's in the water, but it's in the kitchen. Music here for many people is part of growing up. It's engrained in how they socialize with their family and friends.

Anyway, we got a taste of this and a whole lot more at The Red Shoe Pub. Why? Well, because, this is where we spent the next five or so hours, eating good food, enjoying good beer, and listening first to Maggie Beaton and friends play:

 and then watching the Monday night jam session unfold:

Watching them all play together was amazing. Not everyone knew all the tunes being played, but you could see them watching and listening intently and figuring it out, and you could see whoever started the tune staring intently at the ones learning, almost willing them to know the music, as if they could just push it into the other players brains and fingers.

Much of this comes about from learning by rote. As I learned from Margaree (hope I'm spelling that right), one of the fiddlers/pianists (yep many people play them both really well), many of the fiddlers do not read music, in fact, many of the composers of Cape Breton music do not read music. You see it in some, and they're seeing it in the younger musicians, but it is mostly an aural tradition.

This is actually how I taught myself how to play the piano. First, at a very young age sitting beside my Dad on the piano bench tinkling (playing not peeing) away on the upper octaves as he played Scott Joplin, Fats Domino, and other ragtime greats; and then as a young teen, sitting at a piano in the auditorium at my school for countless hours every day (yes, skipping class) with headphones on listening to my favourite songs of the day and trying to piece them out on the keyboard, and then finally making up my own tunes.

And then this, my latest piano lesson, last night with Margaree at The Red Shoe Pub.

Like I said, I love this place.

Last Day in Lunenburg

I've been pretty good at writing every day, and I find that, while I intend to get my writing done in under and hour, that this doesn't happen. I'm probably clocking close to 90 minutes, and rising. Almost everyone here has now asked me over the past couple of days "Do you think you'll keep this up?" The answer is of course no. There are going to be points along the way in this coming year that daily writing of any kind, let alone for an hour, is going to prove to be challenging.

My fear is of course, stopping. It's a fear because this is a new thing that I am trying to make as a habit and to do so requires a certain amount of discipline and committment that I tend to lack as I am not an overly intrinsically motivated individual in many respects. Give me a deadline damnit! Make me responsible to someone other than myself for this, whatever "this" happens to be. I'm totally good at that. This self-motivated one though, quite a bit tougher.

It's kinda like the gym. But whatever.

And the same is true for the morning stretching, which is also something I want to keep going.

Well today we are heading off for Cape Breton for a few days, and with eight of us in the house and wanting to leave by 9am, and stuff to be done, I broke with my carefully crafted and natient routine, and instead of stretching went straight for the shower, and am now writing what I hope to be a quick blog.

So I am nervous. I'm also busy justifying my choice, which is likely the sign of me feeling guilty about it. I'm also telling myself I can stretch tonight at the hotel, or in little ways along the way during the day. Again, we'll see how it goes.

Anyway, the point to all of this is that we'll see how the blogging goes when we actually get busy with stuff. And I'm guessing the next three days are going to be a test of that. I'm also curious about how this changes how Facebook and Twitter get used. I have a FB account which I kinda use. I made a Twitter account expressly for this trip, but aside from following (and ignoring) Neil Gaiman and Christopher Moore, I haven't done boo with it. Guess we'll see.

Now, if we were to ignore the above then the entry about yesterday would go something like this: (starting my timer)

Yesterday was a fun, if quiet day. It started quite late, which may have something to do with us all going to bed shortly before 3am earlier that morning. Breakfast ended up being around 2pm at a restaurant whose name I unfortunately do not remember (and know one is around right now to ask) with everyone except Philip and Meara present. The lot of breakfasting folk then headed off to Mahone Bay for a looksee and walk-about.

Mahone Bay is about 15 minutes away from Lunenburg and is quite lovely, though the word I would use to describe it would be quiet. In some ways too quiet. Good things happened though, including ice cream, where Meara and Philip happened to appear - nice timing by the way, and a pint at the Mug & Anchor - yes I can remember names of pubs. We then headed off to find a park to play some frisbee in. This was perfect as we were all feeling a little sluggish I think, and the tossing of the disc about was better for us then the nap we really felt we wanted. I'm using "we" alot, and it's not fair to put us all in the same mindset, as we weren't. Heather and Philip actually headed back to the house to get stuff done and for Heather to get a quick nap in as she has, on top of all this, been rather busy with work. So my apologies for the "we" and for generalizing the group dynamic. Consider it a casualty of trying to write quicker. That said that bit starting with "I'm using..." was just added in an edit as I spell and grammar check myself. Now back to the original draft.

Then it was off to celebrate Heather's birthday at Rime in Lunenburg. Did I mention that is was Heather's birthday? Dinner was wonderful. And my Dad should get a kick out of that name. Sorry Dad, no albatross present, and we did drink a great deal of water. Post dinner was a trip down to sit on the dock as Heather was very much wanting to. Another fine moment of peace, sitting on a bench, looking out over bay and listening to wind and the water. Then home for cake and getting the house in order for us all to head off to Cape Breton. A fine day in all.

Time.

So there we have it, there's me writing a little bit about yesterday. Feels kinda like a list. Gotta work on that.

The Origins of Orange

 Um...

Arthur?

Helloooooo?

Arthur?

Alright, so I can't speak for the rest of the province, nor the events leading up to Arthur visiting Lunenburg. What I can say though is that, by the time Arthur meandered on in to the home of the Bluenose, he had become the driest hurricane imaginable. No rain. Loads of wind, but no rain, or such little rain that you hardly noticed. And the wind had abated and was a mild 40-60 km/hr as opposed to Arthur's raging 120 km/hr gusts. Guess he was getting tired. It's been a long few days for the fellow. Perhaps he was no longer a hurricane. I'm not sure. What I was sure of though, as was everyone else in the house, was that we would not be spending the day crouching low in the house playing, as I had predicted, 10 matches of Apples to Apples, or Philip had suggested, having a crockinole tournament. We had certainly prepared for such an event. We had even gotten chips. Well, chips can be eaten in a car.

It was time to go and meet Arthur.

We all, but Heather who had to work, piled in to the two cars and set off. I with Philip and Meara taking the lead, and the boys with Marc and Sherri following close behind. Philip was to be our guide for the day, taking us along the coast to various beaches so that we could see, not only the holy splendour that is the coastal regions of the province of Nova Scotia in and around the Lunenburg area, but also Arthur playing in the ocean waves. Sure, there may be no rain, and the winds may have cut back a tad, but the waves, they were a' crashin' and we were off to see them.

First stop was Hirtles Beach.

As you can see, or maybe not as its just a picture and not video, the waves were fantastic. Arthur had certainly got them going. And I had the opportunity to learn what the signs at Peggy's Cove were referring to when they said that the black rocks were unsafe because of the danger of "sudden waves". We were all just standing there, watching them (the waves) come at us in, well, waves. All seemed fine. All seemed normal. And then all of a sudden we're running for higher ground to keep the water from getting up to our ankles. Philip had been the one closest and the water got up as high as his waist. Philip is a pretty tall guy. All the previous waves hadn't even come close to his toes. Philip was now quite wet. So yes, lesson for all you kids out there, and more importantly to people who think that these signs posted in Peggy's Cove and elsewhere aren't meant for them, or that you'll somehow be able to see it coming and get out of the way. You won't. Each year a few people get swept out to sea at Peggy's Cove because they choose to ignore these warnings. Darwin Award contender or not, don't be one of these people.

But lets hear it for towels, strong winds, and heated seats, as Philip was dry again in short order.

By the way, here is a selfie the boys did at the beach. They were going for The Joshua Tree look. Nice eye eh?

Our drive carried us along the coast of the LaHave river. LaHave is actually where Champlain first landed when arriving in the new world. While there he took the time to survey the area including Hirtles Beach where we had just been. Champlain soon upped and moved to what is now Quebec but LaHave, for a short time anyway, was the capital of New France. Apparently though they don't make a big deal of it. I wonder why?

What is made a big deal of in LaHave however is the LaHave Bakery.  And rightfully so.

It's a wonderfully charming place, with a simple and very tasty menu, and yummy bread and baked goods. And it smells great. What, I ask you, compares to the smell of a good bakery?

In the same building is a shop supporting local artists and artisans, so we took a look around it for a short while. I believe the find of the day was made by Philip and then purchased by Jake.

As I may have mentioned previously the boys are going to be doing school online during our travels. One of the course Jake is taking is visual art, which requires, amongst other things, a sketchbook in which you, yes, you guessed it, sketch stuff. We've already purchased a sketchbook for Jake from the local stationary and art supply shop near our home in Toronto. It's good, but it's your typical sketchbook. What we found at this lovely shop in LaHave however, well, this is a sketchbook that is worthy of travelling around the world and capturing one's images of said world. It's exquisite. It's also a bit bulky, and not necessarily the most practical sketchbook to bring along when you're trying to pack right. But it'll be totally worth it.

I play the piano. Kinda okay. Never studied it really, so self-taught with all the bad habits that come along with that. I also own a piano. And I like my piano. When I went shopping for what turned out to be it about 10 years ago I played about 40 different pianos within the price range I was looking for, until I found the one that  "fit". Every so often though I like to go into Remenyi's or some other piano place in Toronto and play some of the high-end concert grands they have kicking about. And you know what, I play better. I totally step up and am such a better player, and also become better at improvisation. It all flows in a different way. I can't possibly play at the level worthy of the instrument, but man dancing my fingers across those keys elevates me to a level my humble little piano couldn't do. I think this sketchbook could be like that. It's really nice. (No pressure dude.)

We decided to start heading back home along a different route.

Now, it's amazing what happens when you ask the right question. For example, at breakfast yesterday morning Noah asked the question "What came first? The colour orange, or the fruit orange?"

It turns out that the fruit came first. While entering into use in middle english via the old french "orenge", it finds it's roots in the sanskrit "naranga", meaning orange tree, and then up through the Persian "naranj" and well, you can see how it would happen. The place name Orange is actually named after a roman-celtic settlement Arausio, but don't ask me how that one happened. Importantly though, or perhaps not, the House of Orange, presumably in this place, adopted the colour of oranges in the 16th century, which eventually lead to it being associated with Protestantism. And somehow this explains why the Dutch modified carrots and why they all have such brightly coloured heads at the World Cup. Important stuff here people!

Philip looked it up while we were eating and filled us all in, but I admit to sneaking a peak at Wikipedia this morning to read through it a bit more.

Well, Noah was on a roll yesterday because the other question he asked was: "What happens when you throw a frisbee in a hurricane?" The answer it turns out is this:

Yep, along the way home we found a field and played frisbee with Arthur for a little bit. Arthur is not the best to play with. He tries to steal the frisbee a lot, and worse, his aim is lousy; but heck, he's a dry, quieting down hurricane, what do you want? What I will say though, is that it was much, much fun. So it's important to ask questions, and it's even more important to go and find the answers to them.

Frisbee, or it's non-trademarked equivalent, will be one of those things we'll be doing along the way as we travel. Both boys have played Ultimate at one point or another, and I have always wanted to be in a beach party movie from the 50's, so it should work out pretty well. Besides, they're flat, so pack easily. Why wouldn't you take one?

Home for dinner, a failed attempt at bowling (as their power went out just as I was about to toss my first ball), and back home for a couple of family-friendly rounds of Apples to Apples and a non-family-friendly mega-round of Cards Against Humanity.

I think I may need to caveat my comment about the importance of asking questions.