Christmas in Canada

Christmas is a good time for reflection, both on the year past and the times to come; perhaps more so than at New Year's eve. This Christmas is extremely special to me; difficult to grasp perhaps for someone who has grown up all their life being able to celebrate the season in some form or another, while for me, this is my first real Christmas! In 2008, I was able to receive presents, to go to my brother's house for Christmas dinner, and to write and receive Christmas cards; this year the occasion is far more important to me, as so much has happened in the interim and the festival has real meaning.

The 25th of December is a time when family can be reunited, people can show the spirit of giving and the excitement of receiving, and past ills can be forgiven and forgotten. In December 2008, I was struggling financially to even find enough to eat, 3200 miles seperated me from my beloved wife, and I was newly introduced to the outside world and all that went on within it. One year on, I have far more to be thankful for! I am reunited with my soulmate, and all our time at home is spent alone together; we live in a place of our own, which, while not a palace, is comfortable and more than adequate; we both have jobs, sufficient to pay the bills and have a few small luxuries; and I no longer have to live a lie, complying with a rigid code of conduct and a quasi religious order that interferes with one's relationship with God.

Of course, everyday life brings with it negative or difficult situations; after a muddly training for four weeks, I have been released "on the floor" at my call centre job, where I deal with customer service calls and attempt to boost the poor wage by making the occasional sale. The experience, as with my previous job, gives me an interesting insight into the Canadian people, as I speak to those from almost every level of society and creed on a daily basis. Through this, as when I have previously worked in customer service, I have proven that I have good communication skills, and wish to develop these further. Being unhappy with the job and regarding it as strictly temporary, means I am considering anything that may be an option. I would like to be freelance, to run my own business, but do not believe that I have the basic wherewithal to see that through. I do not know also what my trade could be, as I have worked in so many fields. This loss of direction is bad, and I hope, temporary. The necessity for working full time to maintain our household and apartment, means that I cannot study full time as originally planned, and this precludes most careers in medicine; my lack of French skills also makes things difficult, as there are so many jobs I am excluded from because of not being fully bilingual.

Winter here is a whole new experience for me, and I am pleased to say that it is mostly a positive experience! The first proper snowstorm happened just a week ago, with eight inches falling overnight, and carpeting everywhere with a yuletide frosting. I found it very exciting to watch the process of deneigement commencing, a process which is taken extremely seriously here! Miniature snowploughs scraped the pavements clear, leaving large ruts of snow on the road; these were followed by tractors belonging to local farmers, with snow blowers attached, ploughing and clearing the car parks adjoining the shops opposite our apartment. Finally, at 3 a.m. a series of snowploughs and trucks moved in and scraped the street clear of snow, while the trucks carted the snow away like any other form of garbage. Accepted, there is probably no better time than 3 a.m. to perform this activity, but it does result in many broken nights for those who sleep light; it seems there is no way to perform this activity quietly either, so I will have to endure it!

Most of my commute to my new job is by bus and Metro, and I am thankful that our public transport is relatively efficient. In the words of one local, the buses "plough through anything" including people! My bus into Montreal takes me along the South Bank of the river, and it is fascinating to watch the film of ice on the mighty St Lawrence progressively turn into a sheet, a blanket and finally a thick crust of ice. Mount Royal stands out very clearly with its dusting of snow, and the town of Longueuil looks attractive in places.

When shopping in Ste Catherine, in the heart of downtown, I was treated to a less than pleasant experience which is helping me to understand why the "underground city" is so popular for shopping. I was hurrying to a store to obtain Sylvie's birthday gift, when I heard a crash on the pavement immediately behind me. Around ten feet behind me, and directly in my route, was a chunk of ice the size of a football, only partly shattered after its fall from one of the tower blocks. I was shocked that there seemed nothing but luck preventing a similar fall of ice from killing someone; Ste Catherine was not particularly crowded that afternoon, otherwise there would almost certainly have been a death or serious injury. That incident, and reports that many of the large structures' facades may be crumbling, makes me venture downtown with slightly more trepidation.

My new workplace is in a very Montrealais part of the Plateau de Mont Royal, and there are a good many Anglophones there, which makes me feel a little less isolated. The older buildings sit well with the dressing of snow, and were it not for the over-zealous parking attendants and sidewalk snow ploughs, it has a distinct urban charm. Finding a job with a large proportion of Anglophone workers has encouraged me to perhaps persist in finding a better career in a similar environment, as the wage seems very poor in proportion to comparable companies in the region. I have had many things suggested as potential careers, but I normally find a stumbling block to many avenues; I would love to be a doctor, but this would mean 7 years of university, years in which I would want to be raising a family rather than going to classes or studying at home; I would love to be a photographer, but almost everyone has equipment which would produce comparable results, and do not wish for a professional service; I am interested in two promising careers, which I am investigating in more detail: teaching English as a second language, as this does not require a great knowlege of the language of origin for the student; also, voice over and voice services: people inform me that my voice is very easy on the ears, and within Canada and North America, and English "accent" is a useful passport to being accepted by people! There are many applications for voice over, such as announcements, audiobooks, even public speaking. These two are very distinct avenues for a freelance career, and I will have to carefully look at the fiscal possibilities of such a job. I am learning not to be negative or dismissing of these ideas, as I could be missing out on earning more with my strengths.

It is almost time to go to work; with my current job, holidays are almost non-existent, as I am fresh from probation training; this extends to working Christmas Eve until 8pm, and presents a problem getting home in good time! At least I have the comfort of a warm apartment complete with two cats, Christmas decorations and presents, a wonderful wife, and the prospect of a Christmas in a place I can truly call my home. Great things to look forward to!

Let me sign off this post, which may be my last of 2009, wishing all my readers a Merry Christmas and the best of all that 2010 brings to you!

Moving on!

It finally happened! Six months after my arrival in Canada, we now have a place we can call our own. For some weeks past we had found living in a house with others and having the use of only one room to be quite a challenge, and a nerve straining experience. When the pressure was applied, we searched for an appartment in a hurry, and found a spacious and quite pleasant one within shooting distance of our current abode. It fits the bill in many respects, with most of our costs included in the rent; right opposite are butcher, baker, fishmonger, dentist and chocolatier; for more urgent occasions, there is a dépanneur (off-licence in the UK!) just across the road; it is convenient for our buses, and for almost all the regular shops; not only this, but being on the top floor means that we will not be disturbed by people trampling overhead, and we will benefit from the heat of the appartments below.

This week we have been moving in our new stuff, and tomorrow things start happening in earnest when we begin redecorating.

More updates will follow as and when we have time!

Go East, young man!

I know that nobody could boast of having seen all that there is to see in a lifetime in such a vast place as Canada- but I do at least feel that I have seen much more now than the flat lands around Montréal and the Monteregie! Our trip to Prince Edward Island gave me a nice holiday and a different outlook on life here, and provided much food for thought, new experiences and a welcome break from "routine", whatever that is supposed to mean!

My last entry was shortly before we left, so I should pick up from there. I appreciate that many of my readers are unlikely to be interested in the whole of this blog, therefore I will break it down so it is not a travelogue- hopefully there will be something for everyone in each soundbite!

Saturday 27th June:

I even had time to make a reasonable blog entry, in the waiting time before we could collect our hire car and load all our huge expedition's equipment (going camping here seems to entail something similar to a National Geographic film expedition, in scale!) When I went with Sarah (Sylvie's cousin) and her boyfriend Rodrigo to collect the hire car, I was pleased to note that it was no longer a Jeep Grand Cherokee, as I could imagine very few less economical and practical vehicles for a motorway trip. Instead, we had a cheaply made, but capacious and practical Dodge Grand Caravan. With the two rear seats folded, there was ample room for four people, a huge cooler, two tents and a thousand other items not necessary to mention here. We packed up very quickly once the last minute shopping had been done, but still left Boucherville much later than intended, around 7:30 pm! I took the first shift, through some rather boring countryside. In fact, partly because it was dark presently, there was nothing beyond the road to indicate what kind of country we were passing through. We made Québec city in good time, then Riviere du Loup, finally changing drivers when I had driven the very bucolic road from Edmundston, about 7 hours in total. We had frequent stops, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I could retain concentration so long (acknowledgements to RedBull!).

The truck stops were welcome diversions, though I found that as we travelled further East, the mosquitoes had an ever greater afinity for me, and flocked to me every time I stepped out of the vehicle.

The sunrise was unspectacular, but revealed some impressive scenery as we travelled on into Sunday morning. The road seemed very lonely, and it didn't do too much good to reflect on the distance from any hospital or help! Especially winceworthy were the huge sets of tyre marks slewing across then off the road, indicating a truck driver who had dozed off at the wheel. We saw no trace of the animals of which we were warned, moose, deer, etc, and it was something of a relief to see the sunrise as we drove into New Brunswick. We missed the whole of the Appalachian mountain drive, as we passed it in the night, but that was in store for the return journey!

Sunday 29 June: Across to the Island!


The scenery had (that which we had seen) was not especially awe inspiring, but the sight of the Confederation Bridge's sleek 12km crossing the waters took my breath away. By this time I had switched back to driving, and found it to be quite adrenaline fuelling, driving between two very solid concrete walls many metres above the waters. The tense silence from the passengers informed me that I was not the only one to find it quite an "experience"!

After the bridge came the Gateway Village, a rather kitsch and uninspiring set of shops and houses, with the ever-prevalent Tim Hortons providing their usual good bathroom facilities. We were pleasantly surprised at the price of petrol on the island, one of many positive aspects to touring so far from home in a thirsty car.

The drive to Charlottetown was a little hairy, through some pastoral and very archetypal scenery, but we arrived without incident, and discovered our overnight motel. Once we had checked in our baggage, a little early, we set off into Charlottetown to explore a little and get some essentials, mostly food.

Monday 30th June:

The Islanders were friendly, but not exceptionally good at giving directions, but eventually we found Stanhope National Park camp ground, and drove around to select a plot in the pouring rain.

It was extremely damp, but not actually raining when we set up camp, and we looked nervously at the tents, wondering if they could really hold out the deluges that were expected in the coming week. A walk along the beach in the rain was not ideal, yet it served to remind me of England.


We were pleased to discover a shelter for campers who were finding it impossible to light fires outside, and even more pleased to discover that it had a working stove. We enquired about the firewood which was on sale from the entrance station, and were told it had been uncovered all day, therefore was too wet to use, but we were welcome to try it for free.
We took an armful of logs each, and managed to get a rather nice blaze going in the little stove. A family of mice decided that things were getting too hot for them in their ash-pan home, and we assisted them in their exodus, sheltering them in a corner and giving them a few nibbles.

It was not exceptionally comfortable, sleeping in damp tents, especially as we had no heater overnight, but the fireside cooking and warmth had greatly helped before bed. It was a great adventure for me to wake, as I had so often read of, to the sun shining on the tent walls and the birds singing all round. If anything, it was a rather sanitised and modernised camp that I awoke to, with a propane stove to cook the percolated coffee, and cold produce from a cooler big enough to swallow a man! Presumably I had been expecting something more on the lines of Arthur Ransome's books, sleeping rough on the boards of a boat, or under a tent strung between two trees. A tame jackrabbit or hare was grazing peacefully in the next plot when I awoke, and I enjoyed watching him nibbling while the breakfast eggs were cooking.

The camp proved to have an enthusiastic population of mosquitoes, who instantly homed in on their favourite food source- me. Therefore most of the time in camp was spent covered in a foul smelling and dangerous tasting but effective insect repellant. I was extremely glad of the hot showers provided at no great distance from the camp, but less than enthusiastic at having to take a shower in flipflops to keep off the filthy floor!

Tuesday 1st July:

On Tuesday, we began to explore, as there was little sense in heading for the beach for a day basking in the pouring rain. We enquired at the camp entrance about the nearest stores for grocery, and I found it vaguely disconcerting that the staff had to have quite a consultation before they agreed that a fuel station about 6km away was the best nearby source.

Our drive took us down by the coast, and I was very poignantly reminded of Norfolk as we passed sand dunes, pines, a small lighthouse and a little harbour at Brackley. Heading further inland, we discovered a very interesting and idiosyncratic store called "The Great Canadian Soap Co". The owners produce soap from organic goats milk, grown right beside the factory. It looked a high quality product, and of course had all the essential words in its description that make it irresistible to women: "organic, home produced, all-natural, essential oils"...! The goats were very tame, as was the dog on duty in the parking lot, who seemed much more interested in the cars than their conductors! After lightening the budget somewhat with essential products, we drove further on into the interior, finding "our" fuel station. It had most of the grocery we needed, at a not unreasonable price, so we stocked up and returned to camp.

Sylvie and I decided to explore a little further while Rodrigo and Sarah took a longer walk; we dropped them near the lighthouse, around a 4km walk, and drove further into the countryside to find a source of meat for supper. The service station was unable to provide us with anything remotely useful in this department, so we turned right onto the highway #6, out towards the coast again.

Discovery number one was a lucky one, a roadside stall selling wonderful local potatoes and strawberries; we were not aware of how wonderful the potatoes were at this stage, but they looked extremely good. The lady who sold us our fresh grocery advised us to travel a little further up route 6, to Rustico, where there was a better general store selling fresh island-grown meat. The recommendation proved to be a very good one, as the store not only sold very high quality coffee, but supplied all our other wants. We obtained some good steaks, retrospectively very good value indeed.

A little further up the road, we found the rather quaint town of North Rustico, with a vintage harbour and very up to date liquor store, where prices were much better than in our home province. We purchased some beers (which campfire would be complete without?) and a nice bottle of wine also, taking advantage of the island's lower prices; next door at Home Hardware, we purchased some very cheap but absolutely essential items, a poncho for me (I had no rain wear!) and some instant firelighters. (The previous evening's fire lighting had been performed with large numbers of island tourist brochures...!)

Everywhere that is anywhere on Prince Edward Island seems to have a signboard, probably a feature to benefit the huge tourist industry; one which fascinated us on passing it a couple of times, was the "The Cheese Lady, Gouda Cheese". One of my culinary passions is for cheese, and we had plenty of time to explore, so we took the short diversion. The place turned out to be a farmhouse store, selling Gouda in around 15 varieties. The lady owner was just closing up for the day, but she let us in to purchase a couple of delicious pieces, one a mature gouda with chilli, another with onions and spices.

Some inspiration made me suggest a potato salad to utilise the island potatoes, and with the steaks, the meal was an enormous success. We cooked again in the shelter, as the weather was too fickle to safely permit us to cook at our firepit. The only time we were disturbed, was the occasion when a ranger politely informed us that we were not supposed to be drinking alcohol in the public shelter, which was more of an oversight on our part than anything. He seemed more concerned that the bottles were visible, than that we were drinking, as people were free to drink in the camping places.



We had not yet fulfilled many of our wants for the island, namely kayaking, fishing, horse riding and touring. Therefore, when the camp was finally all active and dressed (not far short of midday!) we set off again for route 6, to see if we could attain some of our objectives. Luckily we did not have to tour far before we discovered a place with a large collection of horses set up for trail riding. I was a little apprehensive, not so much with trusting myself on a creature's back, as worrying about smashing my kneecaps on a gate post or hurting the horse's mouth with the bit. In any case, I was soon given a horse called Miss Muffett, whose only vice appeared to be stopping to eat the flowers on the trail. I remembered the advice given by my father, and which I had read, about controlling the horse with the reins and my legs, and staying upright in the saddle. Apart from the fact one of my stirrups was badly adjusted, I loved the whole experience, though the 45 minute gentle amble through the trails was a little "tame". Horse riding is an experience I could quickly become addicted to.

Wednesday 2nd July:

As the weather had yet to improve, we wished to see some more of the island, in particular the Cavendish village, which was home for some time to Lucy Maude Montgomery, author of "Anne of Green Gables" and other similar books. The rain mercifully held off and gave us a pleasant afternoon's walk in the countryside. We viewed the ruins of the farmhouse where LMM grew up with her grandparents, also the post office in which she worked (I took this opportunity to buy some postcards, and for once, to post them from the place in which they were purchased!)

The day was full of many nice experiences, in particular the walk to, and tour around, "Green Gables", which had been furnished in period style, albeit untypically for the original tenants. The gardens were very beautiful, and I introduced Sylvie to the properties of Snapdragon flowers. The garden had a very English look, with Snapdragons, peonies, pansies and rose bushes. The only problem I have with this kind of experience, is that it is excessively nostalgic, rather like the preserved steam railways, and in this case it was "more English than the English". It was very amusing to see the kids being inducted into a game of "what's the time, Mr Wolf?" on the green lawns at the front of the house.

We wished to have a lobster supper after our walk and touristy afternoon, and drove to a couple of locations, searching for a suitable outlet. The most famous one, in New Glasgow, had prices that sent us straight out of the door again, especially as most other restaurants had lobster on sale at market price. In the end, we returned to Cavendish, to a very pleasant restaurant named Chez Yvonne. The nice meal, resonably priced, set the seal on a very pleasant day in less than ideal weather.

Thursday 3rd July:

The week seemed to have passed far too quickly, and we had still to tick off all the activities on our "must do" list, so we decided to tour a little more. We took a drive to a place called Greenwich, further North in the Island. Barring roadworks and very temperamental weather, it was an interesting drive. Greenwich point turned out to be a pleasant but exposed spot on the coast, with a high observation tower that swayed alarmingly in the wind. We took a walk on the beach also, but found it much too cold to venture into the water. The nature reserve on either side of the boardwalk was fascinating, and again reminded me of trips to the Norfolk coast, back in the old country.

Friday 4th July

The only day (with Murphy's law, it had to be our last on the campsite!) on which the sun shone with any power! We had anxiously watched the forecast all week, and badly wanted to enjoy the beach for at least one day, after all, the sand and sea was one of the chief reasons we had come to this place! The day dawned a little threatening of storms, but otherwise quite bearable, and we decided to drive to the Island's most recommended beach, Cavendish.

It was not a novel experience for me, being on a windy and not extremely sunny beach, but I greatly enjoyed the time, and the same went for all of our party. We built a large sandcastle, which was the envy of many around, though the wind dissolved it in a matter of minutes. I went into the water not as much out of bravado, as simply wanting to bathe in the ocean; it was cold, but certainly not too cold for me, and I was quite surprised to note that I and maybe four or five others were the only ones who ventured into the water. It was great to feel the waves lift me again, the sand between the toes, and the taste of the ocean reminded me of trips out of season to the Lincolnshire and Norfolk coastlines- and made me nostalgic for fish and chips served with Lincolnshire pork sausage!

Later in the evening, when we had washed a little and removed most of the sand from our bodies, we purchased some cooked lobster from the Brackley bay area fishery; we were originally intending to purchase live lobster and cook it ourselves, but nowhere could we find a suitable pan for sale; not only that, but I was not looking forward to murdering eight or ten innocent lobsters by boiling them alive or smashing their heads in! As not all of our party was happy to eat lobster cold, we eventually compromised by removing all the meat back in camp, frying it in butter and seasoning, then serving it with rice. I do not recommend hand picking lobster flesh while tempers are short and kitchen facilities are limited to nutcrackers and camping cutlery! Next time, we shall have to take along a more or less complete kitchen, or else simplify our diet.

While we were cooking in the shelter, an enormous storm passed over very closely, perhaps the flip side of the sunshine we had enjoyed in the day. We were a little disconcerted to see that an event would be held in "our" shelter, should the weather be inclement, but by 8pm, we had the place to ourselves as the storm had passed over. It was very dramatic, witnessing a full scale thunderstorm in an open-fronted shed, an exciting send off to our last night in camp! As we had purchased a heater during the day, going to bed in the tent was not quite as damp an experience; here endeth the lesson!

Saturday 5th July:

Of course, we wished to stay on for longer when the departure day dawned, but truly it was time we moved, with extremely poor weather forecast for the next few days. During the night, our camp was raided by foxes, and I was awoken at 5am by the sound of polystyrene plates being munched noisily and our garbage bag being dragged behind the tents and ravaged. The foxes evidently approved of our PEI potato salad, as they had enjoyed a fair sampling from the bowl left out overnight. Our friend the rabbit had deserted the campsite as we had neighbours next door. At least we felt vindicated in our choice of Cavendish beach the previous afternoon, as our new neighbours informed us that it had rained almost nonstop on the Friday back in Stanhope.

We packed away reasonably quickly, as we did not wish to be held up on the return journey, which would prove to be another experience itself. Rodrigo took first driving shift, out of the island, while Sylvie and I tried to sleep. I gave it up as a bad job, being a nervous passenger most of the time, and wishing to write to my parents on the way home.

It was interesting to see in daylight, the amazing scenery of New Brunswick which we had passed in the dark on our outbound journey. In particular, crossing the Appalachians in torrential rainstorms proved to be an amazing experience, especially when the road-level clouds and fog parted to give us a glimpse of river valleys and beautiful mountains. We switched drivers in the middle of nowhere, and as on the outbound journey, I was driving as we crossed the border into Québec.

The night took on quite a surreal quality, especially stopping at a MacDonalds just outside Québec City at around 11pm. Again, the experience of crossing a time zone seemed very strange when travelling in a car, but judging by the number of Ontario licence plates we saw in the East, many others have the same experience.

We finally rolled into Boucherville at exactly 1am, and unloaded the equipment as quietly as possible, with one thought uppermost in my mind- bed! It felt extremely good to curl up between clean sheets, in a dry room, despite my fancy that I like to live life "in the rough" sometimes.

Sunday, perversely, was warm and sunny, but it did at least allow us to set up the tent and dry out our damp equipment, for a (hopefully) drier camp next time. We are talking more about hiring a small cabin next time, though it is much more expensive than tent camping of course. Ideally, a bed and breakfast would be best, or on a more serious note, moving permanently to the island. It is something which Sylvie and I are pursuing as a possibility, with property being so cheap in the Island, and her employer's head office being situated in Charlottetown. More on that later, now I am off to enjoy what is left of this Sunday, one week on.

A more permanent resident!

I have been tardy in my blog posts lately, as I have become even more of a resident of Canada, in that I now have a job! It is only a filler to earn some extra cash towards our own place, with the added advantage that it provides an intensive "immersion" experience to help with learning the vernacular. After a week's training, I began work for Tim Horton's coffee house in Montréal. The official occupation is "patissier" on my paycheck, and the task involves heating food such as pastries, doughnuts, and buscuits from the freezer to keep the shop stocked. It can be especially challenging with the language difference, as the branch in which I work is staffed mostly by Francophones. The fact that the products are bilingually labelled greatly helps, and the actual tasks are very simple, makes a very hectic job much easier.

It was a steep learning curve at first, but I am enjoying gradually becoming more adept at interacting in French, and sometimes even surprise myself! While I don't want to make a career out of reheating food for hungry commuters, I am glad to be working and not mooning about the house! Also it has taught me the real reasoning behind the tip culture; when on a minimum wage, the tip helps to pay for transportation costs, lunches and other minor expenses. I am also having to get used to using public transport, which is somewhat difficult after having the freedom of my own car for 14 working years. It is interesting for a people watcher like myself, to travel with the ordinary people, and I have not had to make many sacrifices to undertake this kind of travel!

Since my last post, we both met up in the downtown with my penfriend from Brisbane, who was travelling to North America with his wife. After work, Sylvie and I met up with Nathan and Josie downtown, and enjoyed a meal and a walk in the old Port area of Montréal. It has been more than a year since I explored that area, and on a beautiful summer evening, it was a very pleasant experience to wander around, wine and dine and discuss our varied cultures! Our only regret was that Nathan and Josie were not in Montréal for more than a couple of days, and they also had serious jet lag. They had travelled to New York and then caught the overnight bus to Montréal, having found the Big Apple not too much to their taste. Though I myself have only been in one city in the USA (Boston) I would have to agree that Montréal is a much preferable city, with an entirely different outlook. Perhaps that is my imperial instincts surfacing!

Now I should abandon the blog for about a week, as once we return from Prince Edward Island, there will be plenty more material for the blog! We wish to forget about the internet for the duration of our holiday, and enjoy the time warp while we visit Green Gables and camp out by the ocean in the Gentle Island. We start at 5pm today and drive through the night, staying sunday night in Charlottetown. That will give us the chance to explore tomorrow, and enjoy the experience of driving over the impressive Confederation Bridge.

Further developments, or would-be developments

There is always a modicum of caution when talking about things that are in the planning stage or the pipeline! I know all too well from experience, that it is all very well sitting down and planning anything if one does not eventually action at least some of the plans! During the past week, I have spent a lot of time with Maxime, Sylvie's cousin from two doors away; between us we have a great deal of enthusiasm to work in construction, as there are plenty of jobs in general renovation and house work. I don't think my future career lies in that direction, although three of my four brothers have worked as artisans before. Maxime is one of those people who have boundless enthusiasm at the planning stage, but who struggle to keep on with things once they have begun, once the grit starts to bite. I don't want to sound judgmental, but this is also the opinion of those near to the guy!

Anyhow, the long and the short of it is, we have at least taken more positive action towards possible employment for me. Not only do I have a complete and more positive résumé for any jobs I wish to apply for, I also am witnessing the beginnings of a business plan. It may well never take off, but we have researched online and in the libraries, the necessary steps to be taken to register as licenced "entrepreneurs". I don't yet have it confirmed in my mind whether I should embark on an Inc company, but that seems to be the safest option. We shall have to formulate a proper business plan first, but having the licences will mean we can tackle anything- new bathrooms, kitchens, exteriors, windows, electrics. For myself, I'm keen to have something to study, and at least give a career direction, even if only temporary. I think the biggest bugbear we have to face, will be the setting up, until we have tackled some jobs. True, there are enterprise grants, but they may not be available for our level of experience, and no doubt there will be many conditions we have to fulfil.

So at least my life has smoothened into a series of targets, so that I can have some semblance of an organised day. I am searching for jobs, true, but I need to seriously address my French skills for oral and writing, maybe also obtain more information on French for business. I ordered a book last evening which deals with timber framed house construction, this (in French at least) is more or less a constructors bible, detailing all the formulas and "magic" secrets of the trade! I will enjoy studying it for a start, and it will help to understand general house maintenance for when we have our own place.

I am hoping that it will not be long before we have our own place, whatever it is. My in-laws are a very accommodating couple, but my wife and I both feel the strain occasionally, especially living with other people with very strong personalities. At our age, it would be much better if we are living our own lives and shaping the future for ourselves.

More novel experiences

Although I am an impatient person, I am finding that with persistence, most things can eventually be achieved, when there is not a restrictive curb on ambition and personal achievement. Gradually I am discovering what it is to have a true mind of my own, to make my thoughts heard, and to be able to reap the rewards of my own work. Not yet being in employment is frustrating, and I am finding life in the house to be rather restricting and stultifying, so the more memorable experiences are those I experience outside of the house. In particular, the visits to downtown Montréal are the most memorable, mini adventures that perhaps make more cynical souls smile to read of. So be it, this blog is a record of my thoughts, feelings and experiences as seen through my eyes.

Finally, last weekend, Sylvie and I managed to get to a multiplex that showed Star Trek in the original English! It was a first for me; I had often gone to the cinema in company with friends, and even more so on my own, but never taken a girl to the movies. I hope Sylvie excuses me for describing her so, but it was a pleasant experience to watch a movie with her, then drive home on the quiet highways (we had to travel a few km to find an English showing cinema) before picking up a takeaway, the wonderfully filling poutine, this time with chicken in! I am discovering the best variants and the best sources of this very indigenous dish, which is a wonderful hunger solver. Thankfully our most local source (excepting McDonalds) serves the best poutine for some distance around.

We also got the lawn seeded over the last weekend, as the weather was imperfect to say the least, but with a holiday on Victoria Day, we had more time to throw at the rather hotchpotch project. We hired a tiller the first day, which merely scratched the hardened turf on top to slivers, and almost broke our backs. Rain stopped play, as the machine was simply digging itself into the sludgy, heavy soil. The next day, Sunday, we had better luck, as the hire firm had a more professional rototiller, with blades that contra-rotated with a drive wheel, to make it less back-breaking. The machine did a fairly good job, although I viewed it with some trepidation, as it was committing most of the sins of such machines: merely slicing up weeds and not burying them, leaving a track between the blades, and polishing the bottom of the cut, making a water barrier under the tilled earth. I am no expert gardener, but the old advice from my father appears to have soaked in during the days in which we kept an allotment and a large garden. After this effort, on a thankfully much drier day, we hired a roller to attempt (rather unsuccessfully) to take the bumps and ridges out of the lawn. It was somewhat of a lost cause, as the rotovator had missed a good proportion of the weeds, and not turned the soil at all. We raked as level as we could the next day, and also raked out some of the few weeds that had been turned, but the soil still looked immensely piebald. I decided to sow in any case, and solve the smaller bumps when once the turf had germinated and made a start.

The weather and the work meant I was past my best for Monday, in fact the first time I felt really ill since I arrived. We had indulged in takeaway rather a lot the previous week, and the delayed action results on my whole metabolism were making themselves apparent. Add to this holding back an enthusiastic rototiller, and rolling the lawn with a water-filled garden roller, almost without assistance... not a big achievement, but with a garden of our size, one needs more self propelled machinery!



On Thursday came a welcome interlude, as I decided to finally take the bull by the horns and have a haircut. I stood a better chance of an English-speaking barber if I went downtown, so I travelled in with Sylvie and her dad. After some wandering around I decided to go to the barber in the Central Station, right opposite Sylvie's workplace. After all, if the hairdresser assigned to me needed a specification in French, I could always get Sylvie to paint a word picture via my cellphone! Thankfully the man who cut my hair turned out to be a Sicilian, who had not only learned French and English to stay in the country for 40 years, but who had been living in Germany in his late teens. He gave me some very fatherly advice on settling in, some of which I stored for later. More importantly, he produced a tolerable haircut: my first haircut in another country!

Bored in Boucherville

Well, not strictly true; there is plenty to do, but I shall be spending more time online today, as the weather is a little less than favourable for painting or gardening. I have also discovered my mother in law's collection of James Bond, so I have plenty to avoid vegetating! The weather has been extremely pleasant for the beginning of the week, and today it reminds me very much of March in the UK, with sweeping winds and bright sun in between the fleeting clouds.

After the anniversary of our first month as a married couple (discounting the times on our honeymoon or my visit last September, I am very encouraged that the love and affection between myself and my essential other half is growing, and in ways that we had not expected. This experience, this whole new life is about discovering myself as well as discovering a complete way of life that I am unfamiliar with. I have discovered that I have a love of animals in my nature, that perhaps is not entirely due to my upbringing. Sylvie is constantly amazed at how well I have bonded with our two "girls" and how they follow me around the house like dogs: even shy Bébitte curls up between my feet beneath the bed clothes if I take a snooze in the day. We do not allow the cats to sleep with us at night, for obvious reasons, and to prevent Sylvie's allergies taking hold too aggressively.

This week we have started on a different schedule, that of walking Mao, mother in law's dog, and also Jack, a Husky/ Alsatian cross that belongs to Sylvie's uncle, and which does not normally get exercised. It means that in addition to getting valuable exercise, Sylvie and I get out of the house; we can share some time with just the two of us, talk over the day's events; in addition, little Mao gets exercise and Jack gets the company and attention he is rather devoid of at home. In retrospect, I never imagined myself walking a couple of dogs, much less using a poop bag or watering the animals halfway through the walk. I am pleasantly surprised that I find it very agreeable!

As new developments go, we had a MacDonalds last night, and I surprised myself; I normally find it distasteful: I was obviously basing my taste on the experience and trauma of UK service and quality. Here in Canada, having sampled a poutine, Big Mac and 1/4 pounder last evening, I can say that I have been pleasantly surprised! We do not normally resort to takeaway here, except on the odd occasion when we are all exhausted and not up to lengthy prep of a meal. I am hoping soon to have the chance to play chef to the whole family, at the present I am playing a peripheral role in the kitchen.

My cousin by marriage, Maxim, has purchased a lathe from the US, and he wants me to help him offload it today and install it; I was horrified yesterday as he described it:
"yes, and it weighs... 1,520... pounds!" The pause was no doubt to find the correct English, and it served to panic me, with the prospect of four men trying to lift a tonne and a half of metal into a basement workshop!

On an entirely different note, we applied for my language courses yesterday, and hope to hear back soon so that I can commence integrating a little better. Sylvie informs me that she generated a lot of laughs at work yesterday, when she unconsciously assumed an English accent on some of her words. Maybe some good is rubbing off on her! I am feeling more confident by the day with my comprehension, and that is further helped by listening in on my near relatives talking in the vernacular. I watched the BBC news this morning, and experienced a small pang of homesickness, that has been resurfacing when I am surrounded by people talking in "strange" accents. Last week, the homesickness hit rather hard, and it is emphasised this week by learning that my next oldest brother is poorly and in hospital. He had a rough deal in life, and it seems that he realised that he reached the end of the line and needed specialised care. He has been in and out of hospital quite frequently of late, and I have experienced some pain from the fact I am no longer able to pop across and visit him as I could have done while living in Stamford. My oldest brother is keeping me updated via Facebook, though we have not yet managed to connect on Skype.

I don't think I mentioned before in any detail; on our foray last Friday to the Downtown area, we called at an art store known as Omer DeSerres; I was extremely pleased to discover that they stock a good range of materials, and at a reasonable price, so that updating my materials and equipment will not break the bank. I could not find the manufacturer of my familiar Chromacolour, but there were plenty of brands of Acrylic with which I am familiar, and supports are even better catered for in this province, it seems! I had to tactfully steer my wife away from the painting sets, as she was going overboard for the presentation: in my humble experience, these sets would only give me one or two colours I could actually use, and a plethora of cheap equipment to pad out the package. In the end I managed to explain to her that purchasing fine art materials was rather like make-up: find a brand that really works for you, and stick with it, with occasional experiments to keep life interesting! I sincerely hope that I will be able to make some use of my artistic abilities, to reward the confidence others have in me, and to achieve something positive from my previous experience. Talking of what colours to buy, made me think of a Christmas wish list... early days indeed, but my list is already full. I am determined to not fill my life with gadgets, yet the insidious marketing of the iPhone fills my day, as does the green envy when one of Sylvie's friends shows off theirs! She, thankfully, is not a gadget maniac, and could not care less what her cellphone is, as long as she can make around one call a month on it!

We have booked our vacation for the first two weeks of July; an extremely good package deal for four people at the national camping ground on Prince Edward Island. I am not over-familiar with the legendary Anne of Green Gables, but we intend to call on the village, and also to spend plenty of time on the beach; Sarah (Sylvie's cousin) and her boyfriend Rodrigo will be accompanying us, as we shall be driving Sarah's car. It sounds exciting, a 15 hour drive eastwards, five hour stint each for myself, Rodrigo and Sarah. It will be my first real, properly planned vacation, with the exception of our honeymoon and last September, and the first time I have ever slept out under canvas other than in my own back garden! I am very excited, and intend to make my cameras and camcorder earn their keep.

I think that should complete this post, as it seems mostly unexciting words and very little in the way of pictures, but hopefully carrying my camera is going to change that as the weeks go by! Thanks for those still with me, your mouse wheels must be tiring!

An evening in downtown Montréal

Although we didn't get to achieve everything planned for last evening, we had a pleasant time yesterday in the city. We caught the bus at around 4:00pm and the Metro into the city. Most of all this was a shopping trip to get hold of some essentials. First on the list was a pair of sandals: sounds simple, but not so much when one is searching for Merrell, which my wife confidently informs me are the Rollers of casual shoes. Indeed, I can substantiate this, as the pair of trainers I bought from the same manufacturer are excellent.

None of the sports shops around Ste Catherine stocked a style I wanted, only Gogones (flipflops) so we proceeded to Sylvie's favourite store to get her some essentials. We then took a trip to Simons, where my wardrobe was updated further with more shorts and a couple of muscle tops, something I haven't worn before in my life, and look rather strange in, having missed rowing for more than a year now. We also browsed in La Baie, not my favourite store, although it gives the parched North Americans a taste of European decadence!

After a partially successful shopping trip, we walked to St Denis, in the hopes of finding a drink and a meal. After a long hike up the hill, we discovered a sports shop in which we tracked down and bagged the elusive lesser spotted Merrell sandals and a water bottle carrier for when we go hiking. We grew tired of trying to find a suitable restaurant, so caught a taxi to the Old Port, being diverted on the way around a protest to do with the situation in Sri Lanka. One of my Montréal friends tells me that he loves coming into the city every day, as there is always something new to see or experience; that certainly has been my experience thus far.

Instead of going to the restaurant called Le Vieaux Port, as we did last April, we found a slightly busier but no less pleasant restaurant called the Keg, a traditional steak house. We dined here to absolute repletion, and caught a taxi all the way to Boucherville, surprisingly cheaply.

So ended a very pleasant day in town, and a happy experience; we did not manage to see our movie (Star Trek was showing in French subtitles near St Denis, but this appealed to neither of us) We also did not manage to get our DVD player or my organiser, but these are obtainable locally. Ah well, the joys of a more laid back way of life! I did not obtain any interesting photographs to insert here, so this will have to be a very perfunctory entry, for which I hope to compensate soon.

And to balance...

The last entry has taken quite a few days to compose in my free time. Now today has dawned wet and cold, so I am taking advantage of the weather to update a little more the dissertation that encompasses almost my entire first month as a Canadian!

Last night I had a little more driving experience. Sylvie has been ill again this week with resurfacing and devastating allergies and sinus trouble, so I agreed to drive her to a prebooked appointment with the doctor in Varennes. He was their family doctor for most of her life, and when he relocated to the small township just Northeast of Boucherville, the family continued to consult with him. I was looking forward to driving on my "new" licence, and felt a little more comfortable with the truck this time. I didn't have any narrow squeaks to shatter Sylvie's already fraught nerves, and we arrived at the rather provincial looking town of Varennes in around fifteen minutes.

It seemed rather surreal going into a doctor's surgery on the top floor of what looked like a run down industrial unit, and still more surreal for an 8:30pm appointment; this doctor likes to work late, evidently! I don't tend to talk much out loud with my wife in these circumstances, but we were incredibly bored, and had to wait until nearly 10pm for Sylvie's turn. It seems that in Québec one can turn up at least an hour late for an appointment with impunity!

The drive home felt no less surreal, it seemed hard to grasp that here was one of my dreams being enacted, driving down a Canadian highway with my soulmate at my side, music playing softly and everything feeling right with the world! As well as a prescription, we collected a McDonalds, but as I had eaten already, my choice was limited to a Coke. It was comforting that dear Ronald rips off his customers in this country just as much as in the UK, by overdosing on ice in the drinks! It felt very freaky visiting the drive thru on the wrong side, especially in an oversized pickup truck, and we caused some amusement to the staff when Sylvie spoke the order into the remote mic, and yet a man was driving when we pulled up to the collection window! In more provincial Québec, I am discovering that I am turning into a strong silent type whenever the conversation gets more involved! Oh to be bilingual!

I am not so well myself today, and only managed to grunt a goodbye to Sylvie, let alone get her coffee this morning. In recompense, I fed the girls at 8am, and then enjoyed a couple of hours bed rest with a wonderful footwarmer: Bebitte! She is amazing her owner and those who lived with her, as normally she is a very nervous cat. Either I have some of Sylvie's natural scent on me all the time, or Bebitte has seen me in close proximity; or else, perhaps the kitty can detect that I am really fond of her. She paid the ultimate compliment of snuggling into our bed and sleeping between my legs yesterday and this morning, so it would seem that dad is firmly adopted! Little blue-eyes (Doudonne) is friendly on and off with me, though a much more independant cat. She vocalises a lot, apparently a character trait of Himalayans. Whatever, my introduction to keeping cats has been a great pleasure so far.

Sylvie is not a great deal better, with a horrendous cough, that is most likely due to her going on the patch this week, and being very good with giving up smoking. I hope she is well enough to enjoy our treat tomorrow: shopping and dining in the city, followed by a movie in the evening.

As well as catching up on all my internet work, I have been reading a lot more, though Sylvie's selection of books is not entirely my choice of literature: I purchased "Angels and Demons" as the film looks set to be an entertaining watch soon. I read "The DaVinci Code" following that book, and found them to be a very entertaining read, challenging my prejudices about contemporary literature.

I am off now to rustle up some lunch, and cudgel my brain for ways to help my wife with her allergies. Perhaps with some luck I'll find some inspiration in the afternoon's TV: not very likely!

Grand update!

This entry will be longer than normal, as I wish to update the blog from the day I arrived until the present. Much of this entry will have been in previous postings on the Canada Ahoy blog, so I apologise to regular approved readers of same.

I do not normally place sub headers within my blog, but it seems simplest to do so in this case, until I have brought the blog up to speed in all areas.

Arrival in Canada
It would not be fair to describe my arrival as an anticlimax; suffice to say, the pessimist in me was a little disappointed that the whole process of becoming a Canadian resident was a lot simpler than my apprehensions had led me to believe. It seems that the alarming volume of paperwork and dire warnings from the government were simply to encourage potential immigrants to cross the t's and dot the i's on their applications. Anyhow, I digress!

I felt nervously excited as I entered the Pierre Trudeau airport for the third time within one year; this time I was accompanied by all of my earthly possessions and starting out on a completely new life. The flight had been unremarkable, although I was a little bored with the choice of movies. The passport control was extremely simple, routine in fact, and I was speedily diverted to immigration. The whole process of becoming a permanent resident involved a ten minute wait, handing over some papers and listening to some declarations. From then I had to proceed to collect my baggage, as per normal!

With my usual luck, I chanced on the most broken down trolley in the airport, which staggered beneath the weight of my luggage; I had to adopt an almost horizontal stance while pushing this trolley through to the customs check. Even worse, when I was diverted through the declaration channel, the waiting area was huge, and I sweated profusely every time I had to move up the queue. Amazingly, the friendly young lady who dealt with my mountain of luggage simply scanned my declaration form, and did not even request me to open my bags. By contrast, a Canadian at the next counter had his sports bag stripped, and confiscated because it contained dirty sports clothing...!

As a consequence of the speedy check in process, I groaned my trolley into the arrivals centre much earlier than expected: my wife and her father had not even arrived yet, and my cellphone could not reach them, so I placed a quick call to mother in law, then hid behind the mound of luggage. I felt more than a little self conscious, and extremely dehydrated, sweating profusely with the effort of moving 150 kilos of luggage on three wheels! All my negative feeling dissolved when I saw the familiar face of my beloved wife moving through the waiting people though! I was not prepared for the huge beard my father in law had cultivated, but as it was effectively 2am in my unadjusted UK time, I was rather past caring.

In a short time we were driving in the familiar pickup truck, out of the airport and bound for home- real home.

My arrival date had been brought forward to coincide with the Easter weekend, so that my wife would have two more days at home with me just after my arrival. I sorted out the luggage on Friday, and sent most of the items off to Sylvie's storage, as she had little room at this house to accommodate the "bottom drawer" items I had managed to bring from the UK. My baggage also included such unusual items as two bags of flour (it could only be one specific type for my perfectionist mother in law, obtainable in England only according to my research!) and several boxes of tea. The tea was for some of Sylvie's work colleagues, and though the same brand was available in Canada, I had taken advantage of the special offers in the UK and used up some shopping vouchers.

It felt wonderful that my wife had devoted so much time and effort to making a space for me, and I dropped into that space effortlessly; for this very reason, I don't believe homesickness is likely to be a very strong factor, though one month is hardly long enough to tell.

The Cabane

The weather was great in the first weekend, and we very quickly found something to do; a prosaic walk in Boucherville was replaced with a trip to a Cabane de Sucre; this is a very Canadian, and very Québecois tradition and has parallels with the "sugaring off" dance made known through the writings of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Sylvie's cousin Maxim drove us to the Cabane, on the north west of Montréal. Before going to the location, we were launched into the middle of a very French Canadian family (second cousins of Sylvie) and though I felt a little out of place with so few speaking English, I really enjoyed picking up the dialect and experiencing real redneck small town Québec! The stop was to permit the whole family to get together, and we made a large party, around 40 people I believe. Once we were all assembled and had enjoyed a few drinks, we drove to the actual cabane.

This really epitomised an aspect of Canada for me; the long, low cabin, built in traditional style, in a wooded clearing. Steam rose from the boiler house, where the maple syrup was being boiled, and around the clearing, several tapped trees stood with buckets collecting their sap. The biting north wind and small remnant snowdrifts acted as a powerful reminder that the spring had not properly got underway. Inside the cabine, a long queue led to the main hall, which was brightly and warmly lit, and filled with loaded tables and hundreds of place settings. It was neither rustic nor palatial, but homely and welcoming.

On the tables, there were already selections of relishes and pickles, warm bread rolls and little plates of what looked like paté, which turned out to be a pork product known as cretons. When spread over a bread roll, this paste was absolutely delicious and made an instant hit with me. First on the menu, when we were seated and had paid the absurdly low one off fee, was a delicious pea soup. It was then followed by a very maple syrup-themed meal, of pork, pancakes, and many other delicious things. It was most definitely a meal that one would only indulge in once or twice a year. After the meal , there was dancing and a DJ, or for the many who braved the bitter wind, the delightful experience of candy poured over snow and scooped up with a stick. I felt well and truly ingested into the Canadian culture once we started on our homebound journey!

Practical stuff

Though the week following the bank holiday was good, it was mostly concerned with practical matters; on the Tuesday, I concentrated on getting all the possible paperwork sorted to process my becoming a resident. After a short trip around Sylvie's office, during which I met some of her colleagues and disbursed the tea, I set out into the now more familiar downtown. I soon got to grips with the Metro instead of walking, and having spent the whole morning in queues, I had obtained my SIN national insurance number and applied for my medical care card. The weather was good, but not perfect, and I was glad that my clothes covered the transition to the pre-spring cold.

The week was also used to start converting the lawn to an English bowling green; as I could not obtain systemic selective weedkiller, my mother in law asked me to kill off everything, and decided we should start over with the grass. I was a little sceptical of this, as she liked immediate results, which I would be unable to obtain without some product such as agent orange! I had my first experience of driving on the right in Canada (There was no trouble in France, in the short time I hired a car there) and though I found the large Ford F150 pickup rather unwieldy, I managed to negotiate it without incident around the locality. I wanted to exchange my UK driving licence for the Canadian equivalent, and booked an appointment to do this during the following week. The only thing I had to beware of in driving in Canada, was the tendency to go down the wrong side when making a left turn, and also the potential to miss stop signs, a very serious offence in this roundabout-free country! (Actually, there is a roundabout less than 1/4 mile from our house here, but it seems to be the only one in the whole of Montréal. They seem to prefer the often-confusing arrangement of "Arret" signs and lines, and hope everyone has their wits about them! It amuses me to see the roundabout rookies squealing their tyres and often stopping dead on the roundabout, being unfamiliar with this kind of obstacle!)


Going to exchange my licence turned out to be surprisingly straightforward, and the buses proved to be a great deal more logical than in dear old London. I had to queue for a long time in the SAAQ (the Québec equivalent of the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency) but it was worthwhile to get prompt service by an excellent English speaker. I was amused and sympathetic while waiting, to listen in to a woman who had moved to Montréal from New York, and who was told in front of everybody that she could not register her car until she paid five outstanding tickets from the USA! I also saw an excellent cross-section of Montréal people, from Lebanese immigrants to Hell's Angels bikers, from very Gallic local couples to African Americans dressed in “traditional” gear. The office was also the centre for driving tests, and I felt a certain empathy that one experiences in dentist's waiting rooms, for the unfortunate and nervous souls waiting to be called.

The following day was the last of the appointments to sort out the mundane aspects of life. I had previously decided to open an account with Bank of Montréal, and it was a rather more involved proceeding than I had been used to in the UK, in fact I felt rather infantile; such is the price of being an immigrant, even in today's seamless world of technology. The lady who conducted my interview had great English skills; when I mentioned that I wanted to take integration classes and to study and speak French a lot better, she smiled and said that her brother in law had not improved in 50 years of living in Québec- a rather gloomy prognosis! Maybe if I set myself to it early enough, I can catch up, though becoming bilingual is not very likely. I certainly won't lose my accent, I can see that!

The following weekend promised to be very warm, in fact unseasonably so. I wondered whether we would find enough to do, as I am still acclimatising myself to living in a house with keen TV watchers, but as is turned out, we were more than catered for.

A trip to the mountains

Sylvie's cousin, Sarah drove up while we were debating in the garden, and as I had not yet said hi to her since arriving in the country, I stepped over for a word. Sarah's Venezuelan boyfriend, Rodrigo, was also in the trim little car, and I made his acquaintance. It turned out that the whole of the family (Sylvie's uncle, aunt, cousin Maxim, his girlfriend, and Sarah and Rodrigo) were going out for a family picnic to one of Montréal's nearest tourist spots, Mont Ste Hilaire. They invited us to go, an invitation we were more than glad to take advantage of.

After purchasing a picnic and donning more appropriate attire (though I glanced anxiously at Sylvie's rather inadequate walking sandals) we waited in the sunny street with a couple of bottles of beer, then set off for the park. It was a beautiful day, and made even the very indifferent countryside to the north East of the city look quite attractive. Although it was spring, the leaves had barely burst through their buds, and the country looked a little gaunt. When we neared our destination, one of three small hills that stick up from the Monteregie floodplain, the countryside resembled that of my home country, near Wisbech, with the fruit trees, spacious rural houses, and atrocious roads. The destination reminded me of the wonderful time my wife and I enjoyed nearby last September, picking apples in the heavenly sunshine and tucking into a hog roast later in the day.

The park's car park was full to brimming, as it seemed all of Montréal had headed out to walk in the attractive surroundings, and we had to park in a small overflow garden that a friendly local provided at reduced rate. We still had to pay an admission fee to the park itself, which seemed very reasonable taking into account the high standard of maintenance. We climbed a short way to the side of a beautiful lake; the sunshine was fierce, despite the partial shade of the leafless trees, and we were glad of the cooling breeze that was not entirely blocked by the mountainside.

The picnic was a big success, and Sylvie and I ate very healthily, mostly vegetables and fruit, looking rather longingly at uncle Louis' spread; I always admire his skill of being able to produce culinary miracles in the open air! I was extremely glad that we had not eaten anything really heavy, as the going got extremely tough for poor Sylvie, unused to a lot of climbing. We stopped frequently on the way up, for which I was thankful, as it was very close and hot, and we had inadequate water supplies despite the large amount we'd packed.

We stopped at a vantage point some three quarters of the way to the top, and surveyed the lake now far below. The wildlife, about which Uncle Louis was knowledgeable, was very attractive, particularly a cloud of hawks that were soaring on the afternoon thermals from between the peaks. I was disappointed not to meet a skunk, chipmunk or possum, though no doubt they will show themselves sooner or later.

After a supreme effort, we reached the glossy rock of the top of “pain de sucre” or sugarloaf hill and surveyed a massive expanse of landscape. The wind threatened to blow away the less well ballasted members of our crew, and it was quite cool, but very refreshing. The mountain was one of only three bumps in a huge plain, one of which was Mount Royal, the spikes of the city's skyscrapers nestling against it at this distance. To the right we could see the glow of the silvery St Lawrence, and the unmistakable Olympic stadium. Below us spread a small township on a river bank, and the hawks (or buzzards?) circled below us waiting for an incautious sightseer to step too near the brink.

The way down was a great deal smoother, and we had fun watching the people toiling uphill. On arrival back at base camp my fears proved well-founded, as Sylvie's toe had blistered in the inappropriate sandals, then the cut had opened to admit a healthy dose of trail dust. All the same, it was a very refreshing experience, and we slept extremely well that night, after a celebratory barbecue.

More Everyday life

After the trip, we settled back to a more “normal” routine. Sylvie of course, had to work during the day, and that meant I was more of a homebody to help with the daily tasks. I enjoyed the contemplative start to the day, sitting out in the morning sunshine and experiencing the sights and sounds of the garden while imbibing very good coffee! I managed to persuade my wife that I could make coffee equally as well as any other family member, and felt privileged to make her the first lifesaver of the day. She would grab the lunch, coffee and other necessaries, put on her facials, then catch the dad-wagon to work. I could then spend perhaps half an hour chilling with mother in law, listening to the familiar and the unfamiliar birds. Starlings, sparrows and the noisy crows threw me back to days in the UK, particularly the starling's metallic screech; on the other hand, the amazing plumage and calls of blue jays and cardinals was far removed from anything I grew up with, and added a splash of the exotic.

I progressed slowly with the door, which I had stripped down for repainting. I felt practically emasculated or perhaps I should say infantised by the lack of my familiar tools to use, and my complete knowledge blank about which brands worked and could be trusted. In the circumstances, and with an extremely perfectionist mother in law overseeing every second of the process, I think I have finally achieved a tolerable job! Maxim was very helpful, loaning tools and advice, as was his dad, although I would have preferred not to have uncle Louis and his sister as spectators while I painted and sanded, it was akin for me, to having someone standing very close behind while using a urinal: distracting!

The diet is amazingly good, and most days my mother in law makes at least one homemade loaf. We have many tastes in kindred; while Sylvie and her father prefer white bread, we prefer wholegrain and seeds in bread. This meant that she could justify making full size loaves, though the religious adherence to the recipes sometimes made me smile wryly when I recall my own cooking methods! They take extremely good care of me here, and once they learn of a particular favourite of mine, it appears in the grocery shopping or jumps out of the fridge at me; examples include Shreddies, cretons, cheese bread, Havarti cheese and orange punch (high quality sqaush back in the UK). I wish with a passion that Branston Pickle and Bovril were both available in this country from regular outlets, along with the organic bread flour that we can only seem to order over the internet from England. I find it hard to believe that in the country purported to be the breadbasket of the world, high quality flour is virtually unobtainable. It confirms my preconcieved view that the North Americans have a prediliction for dough foods- donuts, bagels, soft white bread, huge glutious burger buns... ah me!

A trip Downtown

My wife and I had an invitation from one of her friends to have an evening meal in the centre of Montréal last Friday (I am progressively catching up!) so I cleared up the painting things early and caught the bus to the town in the mid afternoon. We went shopping on Ste Catherine (Montréal's Regent Street) for some essentials for myself, then had a drink at a bar on Rue Peel. The day had begun very sunny, but now an incredible wind was whipping up the street straight off the mountain, and almost lifting the shoppers off their feet. We killed some time before rendezvous in a bookshop, then made our way to the Italian Restaurant. Sylvie's friend, Genevieve and her ex-Romanian husband Dragos were thankfully conversant in English, and very sweet in their praise of my clumsy French. I understood most of their French discussions too, which afforded me some quiet amusement! We stuffed ourselves on some very good food before exploring Ste Catherine on foot.

Ste Catherine at night always shows a slightly darker side of this city, with huddled tramps on the church steps and very interesting individuals accosting one on the sidewalks. We had a starbucks and then were ferried home by Sylvie's helpful friends, who lived not far away in the city. Over dinner we had discussed a trip out, and planned for this coming saturday to go back to Parc Ste Hilaire for another walk. This will be very beneficial for Sylvie, getting her breathing back to something approaching normal, and I can always walk on with Dragos if the ladies prefer to take it easy! I am just hoping that this weekend the weather will improve, as it has rained much more this week than the early sun led me to expect!


And more routines...

I have also incorporated myself into more routines such as feeding the girls (Doudonne and Bébitte, our gorgeous cats), routine cleaning, making tea after the evening meal, and such trivial things. I am looking into web publishing as a potential money maker, as my father in law has good knowledge of this and is a natural with computers, something which could alienate myself from my wife if I let it!

So to summarise: I am fitting well into daily life, encouraged that it has not been too much of a struggle. I am looking forward to other promising things, such as being able to establish a vegetable garden out back, and in the more immediate future, I shall be in town again tomorrow evening, as it is Sylvie's day off. We want to watch a movie together, have a meal out, and enjoy shopping for some more essentials. Simple things, but full of pleasure for being done in one another's company. This is what life is really about.