So here I am once more to deliver the result of many pages of scribbled down notes, cross referenced scraps of paper and fragments of memory to bring to you this unimaginatively named but eagerly anticipated Part 4. May its words fall like glitter through the light of your lives.
As promised at the end of part 3 this issue will be detailing my continental crossing from west to east. Before I begin however I should perhaps explain that Canada from the perspective of the meandering traveller is a country of two halves. The west you already know about and the east will be examined in due course but between these two borderless regions there lies an expanse. This colossal area occasionally referred to as ‘The Prairies’ covers the whole of Saskatchewan, Manitoba and much of north western Ontario and is considered by many to contain nothing – or nothing of interest anyway. I had been told by locals and travellers alike that this whole area was something to be traversed at the greatest possible speed and should I be foolish enough to allow my foot to fall upon its land would surely wish I hadn’t. This of course presented me with a problem because I did believe that they were probably right and my guide book (whilst putting a sunny sheen to it) said the same thing. Unfortunately I had come to Canada to explore Canada and I wouldn’t be much of an explorer if I ‘took someone else’s word for it’. I had to see it for myself so I filed away all this advice under ‘nay sayers’ and set off to do what I had come here to do.
Before reaching the boarder of Saskatchewan though there were a couple of places in southern BC that I had to visit, places that I had missed out on when returning from the Rockies. So I boarded a bus on a very rainy day to the heart of fruit country to a town sometimes called Peach City that is officially titled Penticton. This place aside from the fruit farming makes most of its income from tourism for the simple reason that it gets more hours of summer sunshine than Honolulu, with a summer daily average of ten hours. I had arrived in summer but rather than a warm and sunny welcome I stepped off of the bus in to a downpour. Luckily my hostel was very close to the bus station for a change but unluckily I discovered when I arrived that my pack had got soaking wet while stowed in the bottom of the bus and I had to unpack everything and dry it out. It was a bit of a bad start but not being put off by a bit of rain I set about exploring the place to find out what there was to do, which didn’t turn out to be a right lot. I can only assume that they normally have no cause to cater for wet days. I found the info centre and after a nice chat with the girl behind the counter who was more interested in asking about England than telling me about Penticton, I left with a leaflet detailing some walks in the area. I returned to the hostel to sit out the storm which as it happened lasted the whole of the next day – so much for being the sunniest place in Canada. On my final day in Penticton I woke to find the rain had stopped with only patchy clouds which now sailed higher in the sky. It still looked risky but fortune favours the brave and so I strode boldly through town to the start of the Kettle Valley Trail. This trail followed the path of what was once the Kettle Valley Steam Railway but now forms a picturesque, easy going trail along a valley slope that runs down to the huge Okenagan Lake. I hadn’t been walking long before the clouds burned off and for fear of doing the same had to stop and put on sunscreen and my unfashionable sunhat. In a matter of minutes it had transformed in to a beautiful and very hot day. So I plodded along contentedly absorbing the scenery, first of apple orchards then of vineyards and later as the path rose further up the hillside, the vast lake below. Every so often I would stop and gaze down over the waters of the lake, straining my eyes in the hope of a glimpse of the lakes monster, known these days as Ogopogo. The legend of the monster goes back to a time before the white colonists arrived as the then locals feared a lake demon called N’ha-a-itk. There are apparently numerous sightings of the spirit beast each year but unlike sightings of the Loch Ness Monster these are surely fantasy – after all where are the photos? Needless to say I didn’t spot it.
The trail is many miles long and there was no hope that I would get around it all, so at some point I would have to turn around and retrace my steps. By the time I made this decision I had been happily wandering for about 2.5 hours and by this stage it was easily 30C in the shade. Fearing I might soon run out of water I turned and begun the return journey but little did I know I should have been fearing something quite different. The trail had been quiet with only a few walkers and cyclists disturbing my peace and the peace of the local wildlife. Consequently when I was about to land yet another foot upon the sandy track and I saw it move I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was surprised as I had very nearly stepped on a rattle snake basking in the sun. In that instant I think its fair to say that neither one of us was pleased to see the other. For a moment there was a standoff. I slowly moved back from the defensive creature until I was at a distance sufficient for it to feel it was safe to escape. Taking its chance it slithered off in to the brittle underbrush and was again invisible. With this encounter now over I was suddenly rather delighted, after all I hadn’t seen a ‘rattler’ before, pity I didn’t get a picture but that might have been asking a bit much.
That pretty much wraps up Penticton, a place that’s nice when the sun shines which I suppose must make it nice most of the time. I wasn’t too sorry to be leaving the hostel behind as it had an unusually high percentage of weirdo’s – some of them had definitely been there way too long. Anyway I settled in to a 6 hour bus ride to Nelson. I arrived there fairly late and by the time I had found the hostel and had dinner it was pretty much time for bed. Its just a pity that no one else in my dorm thought this as they seemed to be in and out of the room every ten minutes for most of the night. So after a poor nights rest I set out to explore the place. Nelson had been described to me as firstly an elegant town, one of the nicest of the ‘interior’ (i.e. not coastal) towns secondly as an artsy craftsy place full of hippy hangers on and dreadlocked corner loiterers. This description conjured up in my mind a rather different scene to the one I found as I wandered around. The town was a nice place and had some pretty little stone buildings and a scattering of organic café’s and home made tat shops but it was a far more ordinary place than I had expected. I suppose I’d thought it would have a different atmosphere. Anyway there was more to Nelson than the town and as it was a gorgeous sunny day I headed down to the Lakeside Park on the sore of Kootenay Lake. A rather pretty area which rather surprisingly had a lovely sandy beach too which was being made good use of by those who like to lounge and bake. Not being a sun worshiper myself I wandered through the shade of the trees where I discovered a curious sculpture of a humanoid figure with huge hands, feet and head and titled ‘The Young Giant’ no further explanation was given so I just looked it up and down once more and continued on my way. As I returned from the park in the general direction of town I had a slightly odd encounter. A chap passing me on his bike turned as he did so and said “Hi, how are ya” (a typical Canadian greeting). This isn’t all that strange as in my experience so far Canadians are pretty friendly and liable to talk to strangers as a matter of course. It was the next bit that was odd. Looking up to see who had spoken, I replied with a stock response so as not to be unfriendly. This it seems was his queue to cycle along side me for a chat. Noticing my accent he enquired about what I was up to in Canada etc, the usual stuff. Then completely out of nowhere he asked me about the finer points of making Yorkshire Puddings. Apparently he rather liked them but couldn’t get them quite right. So I offered him some pointers and he went on his way. It’s a funny old world.
My final day in Nelson was almost as interesting. The bus out of town was late in the evening so I had to check out of the hostel and hand around a lot. In the morning I witnessed an odd bit of road rage which exploded on the main street in heavy traffic. It really was quite bizarre and attracted quite a crowd until the police turned up. After this the weather turned from sun to cloud to rain to thunderous downpours. Having returned to the hostel to sot and read the day away and listen to some of the loudest thunder I have ever heard I learned something about Nelson that the guide books don’t mention. It was during a lull in the storm that a curious odour quite unlike any other I have smelled started to permeate the room. This smell intensified and once it had reached the nostrils of one of the hostel staff she immediately rushed around closing all the windows, later explaining that the town has a booming skunk population. Apparently they patrol and mark their territory with some regularity.
The storm came and went and came back again all day so when I spotted another lull I made a dash for the bus station so as to get wet rather than drenched. This fairly long bus ride all the way to Regina would take me right across Alberta and the majority of Saskatchewan. The crossing of the void had begun and once we had passing in to the bland region our bus was like a ship sailing across a rolling ocean of grass that stretched to every horizon. Regina I felt sure must have something to offer the passing traveller, after all it is the capital of Saskatchewan and has a population of over 200,000. You could also reason that a city being so much like a tiny island in a grassy ocean might have its own cultural quirks or vibe. Well all of that just goes to show you what an active imagination can do for you. I could only stay there for one night due to the hostel being booked out (another church group) so I may not have dome Regina justice but in the time I had I only found a bunch of shopping malls and a lot of underground car parks, I didn’t even pass a McDonalds. Anyway next morning it was back on the good ship Greyhound to sail out of Regina and out of Saskatchewan to the capital of Manitoba (that shares its name with a famous bear) Winnipeg. Once again I had high hopes that this place would have some life and character. The city seemed to appear from nowhere, one minute everything was grassy, next minute the skyline was interrupted with man made structures and all backed by a pink evening glow. It was a grand entrance, perhaps too grand as it was going to struggle to follow it. So, I got settled in to the hot cramped hostel and prepared to get out there the next day to find something (anything) of interest.
Heading to the city centre I soon came across the rather grand Legislative Buildings and associated parks and fountain. More interesting though were a number of colourfully painted polar bear statues. They were all painted in different styles and many struck unique poses. There was one wearing a Victorian bathing costume and holding a parasol. Another was painted like a sandscape, and one like a gallery of childrens drawings. From here I tried to walk the river path to an area called ‘The Forks’ where the Assiniboine and Red rivers join. Well I found the river but there was no path. A little confused took the road there and then discovered that the path wasn’t missing it was submerged due to the river being swollen by all the recent storms. It must have been much worse a day or two before as most of the riverside structures (jetties etc) were either broken or washed away altogether. Fortunately the rest of The Forks was much farther above the river level and I had definitely arrived at the right time as it was bustling with activity. It was a recently ‘done up’ with trendy cafes and restaurants with patios so that customers could people watch whilst being seen. Passing a rather odd street performer in a straight jacket I found one of the most curious bits of park sculpture/landscaping (type of thing) I have ever seen. It was like a circular amphitheatre about 20m across and bowl shaped. Its perimeter was marked by a number of large red brick blocks each carved with different symbolica (such as an Aztec calendar stone for example) attached to each was a towering, curving, rusty iron horn that tapered at the skyward end. I rather liked it. Continuing along the path I was repeatedly passed by a straggly bunch of joggers that were apparently taking part in a 24hour relay race. There was also a fete going of with music and events etc. All this activity was rather refreshing but I carried on beyond it to the odd looking (and very new) ‘Esplanade Reil’ foot bridge with its huge white central needle from which a fan of cables extended to regular points along its length. On the other side of this I fond the old ruined facia of the St Boniface Cathedral which was apparently popular for wedding photos, making it hard to get a picture without some random bride and groom getting in the shot.
So far I had been pretty impressed by Winnipeg, it may not be a place you would go out of your way to visit but it’s a nice stop over whilst crossing the country. Back on the other side of the bridge I discovered that the river path emerged from the muddy waters and so I follower it along. The whole edge of the river was in the process of being transformed in to a pleasant picnicking park which brings me on to a more general point. Many of the towns and cities I have visited in Canada have either recently undertaken or are in the process of regeneration. This countrywide ‘tarting up’ is in my opinion a very positive thing and not just for the tourists either. I just hope they don’t use too much concrete. Anyway having skirted the city it was time to see what the built up bit was like. The main shopping area was functional, unremarkable and curiously quiet with a conspicuous number of bargain basement type shops. Leaving this behind I found the area called the ‘Exchange District’ which is regarded as the historic part of Winnipeg. It was a pleasant afternoon wander and I could see why it was labelled historic (for Canada) but it wasn’t all that big or magnificent. Adjoining the Exchange District it the disappointingly bland and concretey China Town, which pretty much completed my exploration of the city. So next day it was back on the bus. I had problems arranging accommodation in Thunder Bay and so skipped it and headed instead to Sault-Ste-Marie.
This place known locally as ‘soo’ is situated both on the shore of Lake Superior and right on the US border. It is a place that I enjoyed so little that I am not even going to describe it to you. All I will say is that no traveller should ever stop there, the hostel is horrible and the towns best feature is the shopping centre – principally because it is air conditioned. It was also whilst in soo that the humidity started to get to the uncomfortable level. The further east I got the more hot and humid it got and it was about to get much worse as I continued east to the nations capital, Ottawa. My arrival in Ottawa was a smidgin poorly timed as I hadn’t discovered until the day before that I would be turning up on a public holiday and not just any public holiday either as this was Canada Day. To make things even better as wandered across town to the old jail that I would be staying in the heavens opened and I got absolutely soaking. Arriving at the jail dripping wet I checked in and found my cell. I tried to dry off so as to set off out to absorb some of the Canada Day vibe. Dryness, due to the oppressive humidity, was unachievable so I set off just trying to be pleased that at the very least it had stopped raining. The whole of Ottawa was awash with people covered in red and white. There were Canadian flags, and then there was just about every type of clothing printed more flags and red maple leaves. T-shirts, shorts, socks, hats and assorted accessories. Add to this folk with their faces painted as flags and others with tattoos of flags and you start to get an idea of the scene. There was already live music playing at a number of locations around the city but the whole of the swarming crowd was heading to the main stage in front of the parliament buildings. The evening had a lively atmosphere and as ever was terminated by excessive fireworks.
Having arrived to all this without even the chance to get my bearings for the city the next day I set out to explore afresh, camera in hand t do the sights. It has to be said that there are a fair few to do. I returned to see the parliament buildings in the day and all the associated statues of Queens and statesmen. Far less expectedly I found an enclosure containing the ‘stray cats of the hill’, a charity funded cat sanctuary just behind parliament. They had plush little wooden cat houses and everything. I walked down passed the lochs, a feature that seems to be of undue fascination to Canadians (perhaps they don’t have many) and along the edge of the Ottawa river to Portage bridge. Crossing this I left Ottawa and entered Gatineau, I had also left Ontario and entered Quebec. Canada as many of you will already know has two official western languages; English and French. English id the primary language in all the provinces except for Quebec where French comes first. Throughout Canada signs are written in both English and French however I noticed as I crossed the river that on the Ontario side the English comes first but halfway across the bridge this changes and the French comes first. The idea that some committee had probably deliberated over this in the past amused me slightly. Anyway I walked back down the Quebec side of the river and returned to Ontario via the interprovincial bridge to find myself in front of two very different metallic spectacles. One was the Notre Dame Basilica with its shining silver spires and opposite this outside the art gallery towered an enormous bronze spider.
After a spot of lunch I fought my way through the thick crowds that saturated the Byward Market with its swish street cafes, bars, restaurants and stalls selling tourist junk and vegetables in a roughly fifty fifty split. Having managed to cross this seething mass of uncoordinated stall browsers I took a walk away from the main centre to find the rather man made looking Rideau Falls and near to this the prime ministers house. I have to sy that I rather liked Ottawa, as capital cities go its only small but at least that means you can walk around it all. I may even have decided to stay a little longer but the unrelenting humidity was enough to persuade me otherwise. I had planned from here to go to Montreal but hadn’t realised that the jazz festival was in full swing and so there wasn’t a spare bed in the whole city . Instead I decided to head to Toronto, a place I hadn’t intended to visit until much later as it is from there that I will eventually fly out of Canada. On account of this I had though I would stay in Toronto for as little time as I could and move on to Montreal at the first possible opportunity. What I hadn’t counted on was my old friend Fate meddling with my plans. I would get to Montreal and far beyond, just in a less timely fashion than I had expected. As ever my readers, I must ask you to be patient once more as the events that unfolded next are not yet chronicled. Fear not though for all will be revealed (and much more besides) in Part 5.
David