Ottowatic for the People

The day we arrive in Ottowa coincides with a visit from a certain English beat combo who seem to occupy a rather moist spot in the hearts and trousers of many Canadians. And dagnabit, my new favourite t-shirt makes me look like a fan.



This was taken near a convoy of trailers where everyone was expecting a Stone or two to turn up sometime.

The train ride from Montreal was an opportunity to enjoy some of the countryside at its finest – out there…on the other side of the window….flying past at 120 kph.

Gem, being a city girl at heart, didn’t quite share my enthusiasm for the view – despite George’s best efforts.

Upon arrival and divestment of the Household We Call Luggage, we took a walk into town and visited the Byward Market, one of Canada’s oldest and largest public markets where sellers sell, buyers buy and the rest of us just pose and take pictures.

Our lunch for the day included two items that we wish, no wait - demand, to be served in all self-respecting Perth eateries.

They call this an Italian wedding soup. The only problem with this dish is that I would end up marrying it and Gemma would be left alone at the altar.

Then again, I’m sure she’d find something to fill the void – like, say, a deep-fried Mars Bar ice-cream treat. That’s right, say those words out loud and feel your arteries ossify.

So on a night when the Big Red Tongue Express rolls into town, what else can a poor boy and girl do (other than sing for a rock & roll band)? Yep - we stay home and let the grown-ups have their fun.

Sadly tonight’s attempt at doing our evening cheap and home style was well short of a winner. Our present digs are at the Laurier Guest House, located on the East side of town. For all its, um, rustic charm, it would have been nice to have a little less rusticity in basic kitchen appliances like the oven, crockery and clean spoons.

Combine that with a poor selection for the evening’s main course – so-called “teriyaki chicken wings” – which must be some local code for “meat-sticks smothered in molasses” and potato wedges with the taste and texture of the box they came in – it was hello and welcome to the House of Suck.

No doubt, across town, a bunch of rich old men are singing, “You can’t always get what you want.”

Bastards.

So the next day we thought if anything would turn these frowns upside down, it would be a morning spent making fun of Ottowa’s many public monuments. And whaddaya know, in no time at all, we were all Smiley McSmiles again.

It also helped that today happened to be Ottowa’s Annual “Wear a Stupid Hat Day”.*

Of course in amongst all this malarkey, we did take the time to admire some of this town’s magnificent architecture and along the way, we accomplished Canadian Mission #2: find ourselves a real-live Mountie. (if you missed it, you can read aboot Mission #1 here.)

Incidentally, we came across this sign at the National Arts Centre. I think we need to have a word with our travel agent.

If this post has been a long time coming for our regular visitors, it’s because Ottawa’s WiFi services seem to be a little harder to come by than in other cities.

As you can see, this has been a long-standing problem for Ottowans, so we may not get another opportunity to update the blog until we return to Montreal and its sweet, sweet, free Internet on Thursday.

Until then, we’ll see if we can get into the Stones hospitality trailer by posing as Mick’s kids.

It’s a gas, gas, gas.

* No it wasn't. Did we mention how much we needed cheering up?

Going Underground (where the brass bands play and feet start to pound)

Ok no brass bands here but did them feet go pound! pound! pound! as we attempted to cover as much of Underground city as we could tolerate. Purportedly the longest subterranean pedestrian network in the world, we found our eyes glazing over past store after store selling stuff we could neither afford nor lug across other continents. Going free, however, were some pretty spots to hang around.



Next stop - La Place Des Arts (which roughly translates as "The Place of Arts" - oh how my French has improved in two short days).



Not only is this Montreal's nexus of the sort of culture that inhabits the upper echelons of white people's nostrils, but it's also a great sunning spot by the shimmery blue waters of its fountain pool.



We strolled around La Musee d'art contemporain du Montreal where we gorged ourselves on a visual feast of artworks that were amusing, challenging, bizarre, impenetrable and like Rodgers and Hart's funny valentine - unphotographable. To make up for it, here's a couple of shots from the brochure:

This is one of several other works by an artist who creates these awesome pieces using souvenir jigsaw puzzles sold at art gallery shops.



This is Tim Lee and the title of this one is Untitled (James Osterberg 1970) - one for Iggy fans.



Afterwards, we skirted along the edge of Old Montreal, promising ourselves a closer inspection later but for now, knackeredness prevailed. On the way home we found the same spot where the punkfest was held.



They may be unruly and quite loud but they do clean up after themselves alright. Tonight we shall treat ourselves to some proper dining type food as opposed to this stuff:



I don't know why but after having one of these, I really REALLY want another one.

Bon Appetit! (ok, - now I'm just showing off)

Childhood TV Myths Debunked no. 643:

Contrary to old saucy British sitcoms, speaking English in an Inspector Clouseau –type French accent is NOT considered a native tongue here in Montreal or in any other French-speaking territory.

Which leaves me no other recourse but to delve deeply into that folder in the old brain-puter labelled “Stuff I Learnt at School That I’m Never Gonna Need to Use… Ever” where some French words other than “Oowee-Oo-Ooh Ca plane pour moi!” reside. However, the people of Montreal are first and foremost Canadians and are therefore cool even if you don’t quite get the language right.

We arrived in the morning by train and were all ready to sleep off what the train wouldn’t allow. However, when we got to the hotel, situated in the leafy bohemian Latin Quarter end of Rue St Denis, we were told by our friendly host, Hector, to kill a few hours until our room was ready. Later, we would find the room worth the wait. Hello again Salubriosity!!

Our first foray out on the streets took us to Rue St Laurent where we sat in a small park and let our jangled nerves be soothed by a string trio playing nearby.

As it turns out, this was where the 100^th annual “La Frenesie de la Main”*, which translates roughly into “The Craziness of Main Street,” was kicking off.

For about a kilometre along this street that literally bisects this island city, the whole place explodes every year in a three-day festive orgy of food, music, art and stalls selling everything that could be legally sold on the street. (The “unofficial” Paris Hilton DVDs were probably a bit close to the line.) If we didn’t know better, we’da thunk this town threw a giant shindig for our arrival.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a helluva bienvenue, on our way back, we stumbled upon an AIDS benefit punkfest a little further along the same street as our today-home.

So in another small park – we sat and let our nerves be re-jangled by “Bludgeoned”, a death-metal quintet whose repetoire couldn’t be more opposite to this morning’s park fiddlers.

It appears that as summer bleeds into fall, this city is determined to party away every last bit of heat left around. Might also have something to do with the impending end of school holidays.

A bientot!!

* With due apologies to readers familiar with the French as she is written, I’m too slack to bother with the various appendages located above or below certain French letters (tee-hee – I said “French letters”)

Imagine taking a million bathtubs full of water and tipping the lot over the side of a cliff – every minute. Or to put it in terms our ocker-bloody-bewdy-mate friends might better understand - imagine taking 60,000 bottles of beer and tipping it over the cliff per second (shortly followed by the sound of plummeting Aussies going "nooooooooooo!!") Thankfully, Mother Nature has taken it upon herself to do all the hard work and we get to sit back and enjoy the view.

Our transportation there took the form of something called a Magic Bus, named as such, so the driver tells us, by the proprietor who was, ahem, under the influence of Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters who ran similar bus tours in the 60s.

Back then, all you needed to get on the bus was a chemically-altered state of mind and the onboard entertainment could be found on the back of your hand.

These days we get free samples at a vineyard along the way – so thank you very much, baby boomers – way to bogart the 60s.

Farther on down the road was a little town called Niagara on the Lake which was all chocolate box pretty with its fastidiously maintained ye olde English charm as if the sun had never set on the Empire.

George was chuffed to find a fort named after him. That is, until he found out that we’d have to pay to get in.

Outraged by what he considered a personal affront, George had to be dissuaded from attempting to gain ingress by means

covert....

subterranean...

... and downright stupid.

Meanwhile, we went for a wander down the main street where Gemma found a fudge shop. Honestly, she was like a kid in a store that sold stuff that kids really like.

Next was a brief stop at Brock’s monument, which from what we can gather, was built after winning some fight with the Americans.

They say it was set at such a height as to be visible from the US side which would make it pretty much the equivalent of flipping a big fat finger towards their erstwhile foes across the river

Then finally - Niagara Falls. We took the Maid-on-the-Mist which brought us as close as possible to the Falls without killing tourists – because that would be, y'know, bad for business.

And, my God, what business there is. We hadn’t expected the Vegas side of things and we were probably quite fortunate that our time here was limited to a few hours.

Most of which were spent with Jos and Tausha, a local couple Gem’s folks had befriended in a swimming pool in Bali some time ago. Over dinner at one of the many kitsch palaces that blight the non-watery part of this place, they happily shared stories and tips from their experiences and encounters as seasoned travellers.

However as I’m typing this up on the Magic Bus, maybe I’ve absorbed some residual 60s vibe trapped within the upholstery but I’ve forgotten most of all that good advice. Except for that one about deciding what part of a country to visit by pointing at the middle of the map and saying “let’s go there”. I think Jos said not to do so.

And so that, folks, was our Niagara adventure. Next up, one more day in Tronno and a midnight train to Montreal (woot-woot!!)

Remember when Abbott and Costello used to be funny?

Incidentally, whilst we may be a fair distance from home, the Internet Genie still lets us keep up with stuff going on back home. Having read this and this* in today's news, we really have to ask WHAT.THE.F-WORD.IS.GOING.ON.BACK.HOME??? (Should the links expire before you read this, as news links tend to do, the first is about Tony Abbott pulling out of a university debate for fear of angry students, using the language of "goodies" and "baddies", while the second is about Peter Costello accusing teachers of anti-US bias which apparently stems from "left-wing ideological baggage from the 70s")

Are these clowns really only one skipped heartbeat away from being our PM and sidekick? The entire Howard administration is beginning to look like some bizarre, twisted form of revenge for not being popular at uni back in their day. It's not our fault, Johnny-boy, if you weren't invited to join in on anything - maybe it was because you still lived with Mummy and Daddy till you were in your 30s.

Oh and by the way there are about 163 reasons (and counting) why anyone would bear any ill-will towards the US. Just ask any Canadian.

Ok, rant over.

*Whoops just remembered, the news links require (free) registration - so if that's a problem for anyone, get out and read a paper - it'll do you good.

On to T.O. Ontario

And just like that - we crossed the country. Though to be honest, "just like that" is our 3-word precis for "nearly got stuck on a bus bound for Seattle, bending our minds around the self-check-in console, 2 hours of Will Ferrell, followed by one and a bit of J-Lo vs J-Fo, circling the Toronto sky waiting for the airport to get its act together, getting to see someone's onboard meal not once but twice (we'll let you guess whose)".

But nevertheless, here we are in Toronto, otherwise known as "T.O", "Tronno" and "The Rolling Stones' Rehearsal Room". Upon first sight, it's a lot bigger and hence less intimate city, compared to our last two stops. It's taken us a while to adjust ourselves to the transition from being dwarfed by mountains to being dwarfed by skyscrapers.



As some of you may know, TO has its own Tall Pointy Thing but George seems to be over that now, the seasoned scaler of TPTs that he is.



On our first day proper, we took a rectangular stroll around the streets that frame downtown, figuring that if we stuck to a familiar geometric shape, we wouldn't get too lost. Thankfully, the town planners in their wisdom took the same approach many, many years ago so the grid-like street scape worked to our advantage.

We found that while Toronto is a much bigger city, there's actually less to do and more to see. So we managed to find time to:


catch up on the news....


play a game....


...and get some sewing done.

The next day we went down to the Harbourfront where, everyone and their dog's uncle were out on their Sunday frolic around the park and markets. Now is as good a time as any to ensure everyone that Gem's dietary needs are being well looked after. As y'all can see, she's getting enough:


fruit


sugary treats


and, um, hair.

So, that's all for now. We've been told that there's a bit of a water feature near here that we should check out so that'll be our Tuesday.

Abyssinia, folks.

We (heart) Vancouver

We spent a whack of our last day here at the museum cos it's the kind of thing you do when you fall in love with someone, y'know? You want to find out as much as you can about them, their past, their little idiosyncracies, the things that make them tick.

So here's a partial list of the things we love about this town:

soup, dog-lovers, skaters, queer-friendliness, funky footwear, soup, vintage clothing stores, giant pizza slices, cuban cigar stores, organic food and vegan stores, soup, art at every corner, poetry on the trains, stoner beggars who are honest enough to say what they need money for, their adamant refusal to be anything like America, soup, summer days that don't get dark til after 8pm, tourists like us, the sense of humour, soup, their flag that doesn't continue to suck on the teat of Mother England, their colour-blind immigration policy which was in effect while we Aussies were still doing "White Australians Only" aaaaaaaaaand we really like the soup.

So, Vancouver, if we weren't gonna be marrying each other, you'd be next on the list.

We're back in Vancity now for another couple of days and quite frankly, we're a little pooped out with the sightseeing and placegoing. We're back at the hostel we'd stayed in before only now we have a room to ourselves. Yes, finally - a mess to call our own!



Today was a nice quiet one when we finally decided to take on the local railway system.



Once again, we worked on the recommendation of some random guy in our new favourite Japanese restaurant (Kadoya on Davie St where the salmon wings go all melty in your mouth - trust us when we say "mmmmmmmm") and took a stroll down Commercial Rd which was pleasantly "ethnic" (whitey-speak for stuff not owned and run by white folks).

Along the way we found a replacement for my favourite "George Bush: international terrorist" badge which had disappeared a few days ago. It'll do for now.



Hopefully tomorrow we'll find the wind beneath our wings to make the most of our last full day here.

Be right back.

Mission Accomplished

She asked for snow and lo and behold - here it is. Of course, we did have to climb a whole bloody mountain to get there - Whistler's Mountain - home of the 2010 Winter Olympics, so they keep telling us. I guess there's some justification for their pride as getting hold of the Olympics appears to have been this town's raison d'etre since 1960.

The village itself is a folksy, quasi-Disney type place with its Bavarian architecture and a tourist-to-local population ratio of 5 to 1.


The point of it all, however, is to get up that mountain, and so we did. Although most of the hard yards were done by these cable-car thingies they call gondolas (minus the stripey-shirted singing rower), we did, in keeping with our overseas-induced insanity, go for a 2km hike around the peak, where we found enough patches of the cold white fluffy stuff to make Gemma go giggly.



As always, George was with us and even he had to stop and take in the breathtaking vista that none of our photos can do justice to.



Later that evening we went out to a club called Tommy Africa's where it was 80s night. I for one enjoyed the opportunity to relive my high school prom with better skin - and a date.

Anway, high times all round and it's back to the city tomorrow.

Excelsior!

Rockin in the FREE World

Life at the hostel is a bit like a being on a field trip, only with the teachers kept bound, gagged and locked in the storeroom. But the cool thing about this town is that there’s a bunch of other people who are always happy to tell us where to go (especially if you refuse to give them money.)

So upon recommendation from new German pal Eva, we headed out to Stanley Park, which occupies 1000 acres of lush green forest smack bang against the coastline, and in a most un-caryandgemma-like fashion, went on a 10 kilometre hike in the woods. It occurred to us that Nature, like babies, is best appreciated and enjoyed when it belongs to someone else.

Out of the blue, we stumbled upon this scene:

Turned out to be a corporate-sponsored family barbecue where, and I believe this is the crucial point, the food and drink were FREE!!!

Afterwards we crossed the oval to watch a play called "Vasily the Luckless". Excellent show involving the whole audience trekking through the forest while actors bungee in and out of the trees. Our favourite part came at the beginning when we put our names down for tickets and it was FREE!! Read this review to get a vague sense of what it was like.

The following day we set off for Whistler. Although our destination was only a two-hour drive from town, the tour itself took four hours as our moose-hatted guide Dez stopped at various sites along the way for piccies and with his easy going banter, made the nine of us on the bus feel a bit more like family. The barbecue and card games at the end of the day sealed the deal.

By the way, this update is coming to you from the balcony deck of our chalet where, as it turns out, there’s a WiFi hotspot. That’s right, my friends – FREE internet!!

Anyway, like Marti DiBergi said, enough of our yakking – whaddaya say, let’s boogie!

Vancouverin' on...

And so it was with a heavy heart and just a slight hint of moisture welling in our eyes that we bade farewell to our own private bedroom, bathroom, TV, maid, drink machine etc.

Sure we could have stayed for longer but then we’d be home next week and would have to pretend we’re still out of town.

The hostel we’ve moved into is pokey but comfortable. I’m writing the draft for this post in a lounge room where two Aussies, an Englishman and a Montrealite (there is no punchline) are watching TV.

We arrived here in the morning but were told that our room wouldn’t be ready for another couple of hours. We sat down wondering what to do with our time…

It didn’t take long for us to get bored with the old “Let’s Impersonate Classic Works of Art in Public” game so we decided to check out the real deal at the Vancouver Art Gallery.

3 ½ hours later, we re-emerged with bleary eyes and weary minds swollen from gorging on SO. MUCH. ART. The Rodin stuff was obviously their crowd-puller du jour but there were other exhibitions by conceptual and contemporary artists based around similar themes of the body as both physical form and representation of identity. Obviously we weren’t allowed to take pictures so here’s a work or art we made later on:

Note the interplay between symmetrical composition and neo-Fauvist use of colour. The subtle juxtaposition of the sleek modernity of parallel lines with the earthy insinuation of nature’s chaos hints at an inner tension that makes this an ideal piece for display in any contemporary gallery or, if one prefers, the bedroom ceiling.

We’re sharing our room with Steve (Happy Birthday, man!), from Cleveland, Ohio, which as a certain Hoople known as Mott once remarked, rocks. And some other dude we’ve only seen at 4 in the morning.

Later that evening we found yet another true mark of advanced civilisation – the weekend night market.

It warms the heart to know that wherever you go, you’ll see the same useless junk being peddled in the street (until one remembers that in some sweatshop somewhere in someone’s getting paid 4 cents a month to insert fake poop into novelty rubber mooses)

Back at the hostel we also found that wherever you go, you’ll always come across a bunch of Aussie yahoos having a good time. This too warms the heart until you’re trying to get to sleep at 4 in the morning. Location Location’s all very well for some, but living just above a nightclub on a Friday night in a town that never sleeps does not a happy Gemma make. (write like Yoda I can too!)

Be right back.

Hello Vancouver!

It'll do your head in if you think about it too hard, but on the face of it, we left NZ at 7:45 pm and about 20 hours later, arrived at Vancouver at 8:30 pm – quite possibly the longest 45 minutes…ever!

Not sure what to make of this, but our first two encounters with random Vancouvrians on the street were with folks asking for money. Turns out to be quite the thing in this town as we will discover later.

Our first couple of days will be spent here:

...before we move on to somewhat less salubrious digs.

As per what’s beginning to comprise our normal routine, we slept in adjusted our body clocks before flinging ourselves into the wide-open arms of this town. Not that this town actually has arms of its own, cos you know, it’s a bit like a literary device or a metaphor, knoworrimean? Oh heck, it’s like this:

Anyway, our first lick of the place found us strolling through historical locations like Gastown, with its cobbled streets and grand old buildings.

Along the way, we found a place that’d make Matt and Grug squeal like schoolgirls.

As with most un-Asian cities, Vancouver has its own Chinatown, otherwise known as the ersatz Bronx in which Jackie Chan once famously rumbled. Nestled in between the herbal dispensaries and roast duck restaurants was this picturesque (meaning like a picture) spot – the Sun Yat-Sen Memorial Park…

Where we, like punctuationally-challenged pandas do, ate, shot and left.

The next day we started the day booking our room at the aforementioned less salubrious digs, called the SameSun Hostel. They offer clean sheets.

Took a walk along the south side of Vancouver where we came upon some of the local hoodlums:

“Take that!!”

“and that!!”

“and take…uh-oh…tourists taking our picture!”

“Be cool, man…coo-cool!!”

Not wanting to hang around a rough neighbourhood, we caught a ferry out to Granville Island, but not before showing George how NOT to catch a ferry.

With its plethora of arts, crafts, buskers and a HUGE fresh food market where every variety of meat, fruit, vegetable and American tourist came freakishly super-sized and plentiful, Granville Island is an excellent way to fritter away the sunshine hours – which, I might add, extend to aboot 9 o’clock at night during the summer. It’s the only place where one can wear sunglasses at night without looking like a pretentious prat.

Tonight will be our last night at the hotel so we’re going to enjoy our own bathroom while we can.

Abyssinia, folks.

Auckland (part deux)

We’ve missed a couple of days so here’s a mega-post. All you have to do is cast your minds way, way back to Monday when we learnt some valuable lessons:

Staying up late to watch a crappy horror film will make you miss your complimentary breakfast the following morning.

Riding on buses beats walking in the rain. (We really wish we’d learnt this yesterday.)

In any case, the rain will stop if you enter an indoor or undercover area.

If you are away from home long enough, someone will eventually turn your house into a franchise coffee shop. (Zoë – don’t even think about it.)

If you thought “Batman Begins” rocked, you should see the Japanese version. (Click on the second image for a larger, easier-to-read picture of the back of the toy Gemma is holding)

Auckland on a Monday night is very much like our refrigerator the way we left it – the door is open, the lights are on but there’s nothing happening inside.

By the way, we’re sorry if yesterday’s post exceeded the boundaries of taste and work-safe viewing – you should have seen what else they had on sale.

Our next and last day in Auckland had us killing time on K Road which has more antique and vintage clothing stores than you can shake a finely-carved gilt-embroidered genuine Victorian walking stick at. It’s also like much of Auckland-else, a place that bleeds art and assorted aesthetica

This managed to consume most of our day thus leaving us no time to get this and yesterday’s post online.

Also the weather decided to behave today so we thought we’d return the favour and finally brave the dizzy heights of the aforementioned Tall Pointy Thing. I really wish there was more to say about this but essentially the whole experience amounts to “Hey, we’re all the way up here and not plummeting to our grisly deaths! Woot!” Here’s George and me making the most of it:

And so on to the Americas…

…and some LAXative reflections along the way….

Well it’s still Tuesday as we find ourselves imprisoned within the departure lounge of Los Angeles International Airport – and as the title suggests, it really is giving us the poopies.

This is our first face-to-face encounter with post 9/11 Fortress USA. The level of security is unlike any other we’ve come across so far. The multiple checkpoints, the interrogation, fingerprinting, and photos at the border security counter, the constant PA exhortations of vigilance and bag-minding all contribute to a heightened state of tension that even makes me wary of what I’m typing right here and now. Mom will be pleased to know that my favourite “International Terrorist” badge is safely tucked away in my bag.

We have another 3 hours to kill in this place before boarding for Vancouver. Thank God we’re not staying here for it truly is the suckiest of the sucks.

Vancouver, on the other hand, is quite beautiful at first sight….even through these tired, jet-lagged eyes peering out the bus window at night.

Be right back

Auckland! Gateway to the Land of the Long White Cloud!

Only today that cloud was not so much long and white as fat, grey and very wet…but I guess The Land of The Sopping Elephant wouldn’t have the same tourist appeal.

Day 1 was spent resetting body clocks before venturing bravely into both the CBD and its ineluctable raininess. We found our way to the Victoria Park Markets where if one so chose, one could go home in the company of this comely, augmented lass (and perhaps her hygienically conscious man friend as well.)

On the way back we took in the famous Sky City, Auckland’s very own Tall Pointy Thing (really a true mark of advanced civilisation – where’s YOUR Tall Pointy Thing, Perth?*)

This is our travel pal George wishing he had Peter Jackson’s phone number.

We decided against going up to the top on account of poor visibility and a reluctance to pay lots of money just to feel that vertigo-induced retraction of one’s testicles. (Oddly and only slightly disturbingly, Gemma agreed.) Inside the city itself is a casino, which has the same sounds of buzzing, ringing and baleful moaning that you hear in other similar establishments.

Well that’s plenty for now. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to sustain posting this much every day but we’ll give it our half-assed best.

Thanks to alla you who came to see us off last night. We miss you all already and this is what we look like doing so….

Be right back!!

*Bell tower schmell tower – Dick’s Giant Shaft may aptly sum up the Court government of the 90s but it’s no match for a CITY. In the SKY, no less.

Very well. Through the lips, over the gums. Look out world, here we come!*

Enough with the counting down, the checking, the double-checking, the answering of "are you excited yet?" and let the games begin.....

From here on in, we hope to post reasonably regular reports/pictures/pleas for cash etc so pop by often, will ya?

First stop: Auckland.

And to that lovely lady from Jetset Kardinya who organised alla this for us.... thanks.

* pinched and parsed from our new favourite TV show Family Guy- thanks Grug, your dvds are coming home!!

** yes, it was funnier when it was "testicles" instead of "world"