Halifax: Fish City

I'm back from Halifax, where I just spent a great week in the company of Queenie, whose hospitality during a very stressful time was just heroic. The undisputed highlight of the week was the whale watching. Queenie drove us down to Long Island where a friend of hers runs a zodiac tour. I so want to own a zodiac now that I've been in one. It's basically a rubber dinghy with a huge outboard motor so you go flying over the waves: bompa-bompa-bomp. First we went to the seal island, where the seals looked at us and we looked back.

Bompa-bompa-bompa. We came across a pod of 7/8 humpbacked whales, including a mother and calf. Because a zodiac is only about a foot and a half above the water, the whales were unstressed. They rolled around waving their fins in the air, slapped their tails to get rid of barnacles, dived and blew from their spouts. The latter was something of a mixed blessing since it looked impressive, but reeked of sulphur and rotten fish. The calf was extremely curious and swam around us again and again, diving beneath the zodiac and surfacing right next to us so that we found ourselves staring into its melon-sized eye. "It's ugly", whined one of the irritating girls on the tour with us. "Why is it so ugly?"
"It thinks you're ugly too", I said.

After well over 90 minutes of hanging out with the whales we were on our way - bompa-bompa-bompa - while a pod of dolphins, complete with a baby dolphine kept pace beside us. It was just a magical experience. And I would have had spectacular photos except that my camera died on me during the tour which is why you are looking at a photo of a shoe.

But look at these shoes. I got them on my first day in Halifax. Are these not a superlative pair of 'do not fuck with me, buddy' stilettos? It gets better. When I got them back to Queenie's place and look at the box I see that it says 'Carlos by Carlos Santana'. Yes, Santana has gone from guitar hero to shoe designer. I guess you get more babes that way.

These were my wild holiday purchase. Most of the rest of my shopping was confined to long, leisurely trawls through Halifax's secondhand book stores which are well stocked with interesting material (the joys of a town with multiple universities). Combining this with my books, Queenie's own books and a glorious lack of pressing commitments I read my way through:

Madame Chiang Kaishek and her China edited by Samuel C. Chu
A selection of essays, some better than others.

Madame Chiang Kai-Shek: China's Eternal First Lady by Laura Tyson Li
I have not yet finished this, but I recommend it as a gripping tale of power, sex and politics. And all true.

The Secret Life of Lobsters by Trevor Corson
I skipped over the bits that had to do with people. It's the lobsters who are the stars here: aggressive, randy beasts. They communicate by peeing at each others heads.

Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood
I first read this in 1989 after The Handmaid's Tale and found it disturbingly remote and somehow incomprehensible. Now that I live near Toronto, I have a clearer understanding of the cultural/gender baggage that Atwood was writing about. I still like The Edible Woman best.

Bodily Harm by Margaret Atwood
I'd never heard of this one and reading it, I could see why. It's a bit of a mess and lacks an identifiable center. If I had my critical hat on I could talk about Atwood's interest in sparagmos and the dissolution of identity but I didn't like it, so I won't.

The Years with Ross by James Thurber
I *heart* Thurber, whose My Life and Hard Times never fails to cheer me up, reminding me as it does of conversations with my grandmother. Thurber's account of the early days of the New Yorker: the drunks, lech's, neurotics and geniuses who wrote for it are bound together by the promethian figure of Harold "God, how I pity me" Ross. If you haven't read it yet, give it a try. It's a gem.

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
For some reason I have never read any of Gaiman's novels. I think I was put off by the difference in quality between his work on Sandman and Good Omens (co-authored with Terry Pratchett). I guess 'co-authored' was the problem since Neverwhere is a highly entertaining romp through Faerie (aka th London Underground).

Bankgok Haunts by James Burdett
More murders for Sonchai Jitpleecheep to solve. If you've read Bangkok 8 and Bangkok Tattoo you'll know what to expect: beautiful prostitutes, crystal meth, state corruption, transexuals, clash between eastern and western mindsets and Buddhism. This one adds hotel porn, a succubus and elephants. Proper holiday reading, and full of black humour.

So there we are. One much needed vacation. Thank you Queenie!

A Very Long Day On The Train

I love to travel by train. Not only is it environmentally friendly, it's quiet, comfortable and I can spend the time reading, writing and catching up with administration. Driving is fun, but time-consuming. Flying is faster, but rarely as productive and never as restful.

One of the great advantages of St Catharines is that there is 10 am train to New York Penn Station every day. It's a long journey -- I've never arrived before 10 pm -- but if you plan it well you can have a very fulfilling day.

Of course, lately it's been hard booking a seat at short notice. I asked a conductor in the cafe car how the gas prices were affecting Amtrak and he said it was crazy, every train was booked solid. Which is good for Amtrak, I just hope it has a corollary effect on the way the system is being run. Because it needs work, especially where a border crossing is concerned.

Take my latest trip back from NY. Torrential rains hit the city the night before and there was chaos at Penn Station as thousands of commuters were stranded by electricity outages on the tracks. Flash flood warnings were out. By the time my 7 am train was up to Yonkers, the Hudson was very high, brown and turbulent, but the worst was over and everything was running smoothly.

And then there was a CRKGRNCH noise. "Uh Oh, that's not good", I thought. Seconds later there was the most almighty wallop and a noise like KGRUDKCRRNCHRRGRUCKRRNNNCHK as pieces of kindling flew past my window and the smell of the brakes grew hotter and hotter.

We had hit a tree.

The train had been passing through a steep cutting and there must have been a sudden landslide. The first crunch must have been a sapling or branch. The second must have been a much larger tree. Nobody was hurt and no windows were broken, but the engine had taken damage and there was wood pulp stuffed into the rubber seals of the windows, pulling them apart.

So we limped into Albany, where we were taken off our car and waited on the platform for replacement stock. After an hour a car was found, the engine was recoupled and we were loaded back on. Unfortunately, because of the delay we had lost our time slot. This meant that whenever another train approached we had to stop and allow it to pass because there's not enough track for two trains going in the same direction, so our one hour delay stretched into two.

Then just outside Niagara Falls, Canada we were delayed another hour because there was already a train in the station. Yep, only one train allowed in the station.

Then there was the usual hour while the customs guys went to each person and quizzed them on why they were entering the country, where were they staying etc. One guy asked all the questions, the other just stood there silently. I think they did the whole train. Two guys.

So I finally got into St C. three and a half hours late. It had been a long, long day and while the rail people were great, I was glad to finally get off the train.
All afternoon people had bitched and moaned. Many were travelling by train for the first time and swore never again, which is a shame because when it works it's a superb way to get from A to B. There will always be unexpected setbacks, but there needs to be more investment in tracks and rolling stock if Amtrak want to capitalize on their sudden windfall in customers.

Oh, and maybe someone can look into streamlining the customs process. Having more than two customs officers per train might be a good place to start.

Isn't it Romantic? (Niagara part 1)

Despite it's cheap and tacky side (part Picadilly Circus, part Funderland) you can see why Niagara Falls is such a honeymoon hotspot. When the moon came up over the falls it was just breathtaking. For future reference the Horseshoe Falls (Canadian Falls) are the more spectacular falls to see by daylight but the American Falls look better by moonlight. You can have dinner in one of the nearby Casino's while you wait for dusk to fall (more on that anon).

Fear and Loathing at Saranac Lake

Majestic mountains, heartbreakingly romatic lakes, a remote and mysterious wilderness, are these the memories we take with us as we leave Adirondack National Park?

Is it buggery.

Welcome to the worst meal I have ever eaten in my life. So bad that even JB felt complaints were justified. “This is as bad as Warsaw in 1990, and actually that was better.”

It started innocuously enough. We arrived at the famously picturesque Lake Saranac after a long day of driving. Although it was a holiday resort, it had less in way of eateries than one would expect. I guess people mostly rent houses and barbecue, with the occasional pizza night thrown in. We didn’t fancy pizza and the retaurant at Hotel Saranc had an empty and sad feeling. But just across the road Il Corvo looked cheery and had people in it.

The first bad sign was the filthy carpet. But being down at heel doesn’t necessarily mean terrible food. After all, we were in a national park. Buisiness is seasonal and small restaurants can’t always renovate when they want to.

I’ll pass over indifferent bread and watery salad. Problems started, appropriately anough, with the starters. Mine was a portobello mushroom sodden with Balsamic vinegar. I had one bite and then gave it to JB and asked him what he thought. ‘Hmm…Vinegary’.
‘How’s your soup?’
‘Insipid.’
‘Shall we cut our losses and send just go?’
‘No. We’re tired and want to eat now. Send the mushroom back and move on. They can’t do much to eggplant and pasta.’

Little did we know. The proscuitto billed in my eggplant rollini was, when excavated from the thick layer of Ragu covering the entire plate, thick slices of leathery, surgical pink ham. After one bite I pulled the rest out and pushed it to the side of my plate. Some pork products are not worth taking the risk on. I contemplated the slimy mess that was left with distaste. Across the table, JB’s was dubiosly cutting into some evil-smelling meatballs that turned out to be cold in the middle. That’s it, we thought, we’re out of here. We sent back our plates, from which only one bite had been taken and asked for the bill. ‘We’ll pay for the beers and the soup,’ I told the supremely uninvolved waiter. ‘But nothing else has been edible.’ We waited and waited. When the bill finally arrived it was 28 dollars. I took it to the bar to sort it out. Our waiter ignored us and finally a subdued waitress took the bill and disappeared with it.

Out from the kitchen came a short, mean-faced, East-European woman with straw-coloured hair. She immediately launched into an attack:
“12 years I run restaurant and you first that ever complain! What’s wrong with meal?”
We explained that the meal was inedible.
“Eat whole meal and then say not edible!”
No, we had one bite and sent 3 of four dishes back to the kitchen. We will pay for the 2 beers and the soup but nothing else. At that point, she began to shout at us, accusing us of trying to cheat her and demanding payment of the bill.
“You eat meal and cannot pay! I phone the police.”
Go right ahead, phone the police.
“I’m phoning the police now, but first leave restaurant! You’re distubing my customers!”
No, we’re waiting right here. You’re the one screaming and making and scene.
At this point, she made a great palaver of asking all her waitpeople to gather around her and asking for the number of the police station. Realising we weren’t about to meekly leave the premises she changed her tactics.
“You’re so mean and petty you cannot pay $20 bill? You fight over tiny bill?
Weren’t you going to phone the police?
“You so poor, you’ve never eaten at a fancy restaurant! You don’t know what good food is! Get out of my place now!”
This is not a fancy restaurant, it is not good food, we did not eat the food, and we are not going to pay for it. Call the police if you want.
What then followed was a farrago of threats and insults screamed at the top of her lungs. We were poor, we were Canadians, we were cons and finally, to JB: “I feel sorry for you, you spend all your life with her!”
And then to me: “I have good looking husband! You want, he will sleep with you!”

Then she crumpled up the bill and we left. The original plan had been to make our leisurely way through the Adirondack Park but after that experience I drove through as fast as I could. The next night we left stayed in a motel off the highway and went to a truckstop place. The food was excellent.