Renaissance, etc...

Spring is supposed to inspire a feeling of rebirth; I would have to agree with the great poets, as spring has coincided for me with the opening of new worlds and opportunities. Outwardly, the spring in Canada has been little different from that which I experienced in England, shortly before leaving the country of my birth. The picture above was taken during the penultimate walk with my "actives" walking group, a collection of people with whom I would spend every winter and spring Sunday, discovering the joys of being in the open air, appreciating the countryside and history of our region, and getting to know some great people. I feel nostalgic for these times, when I could temporarily forget the stress of trying to sell my house, plan emigration, and generally spend some time out of doors.

I feel nostalgic too, for the sight of spring lambs which are, for me, the greatest manifestation that a long winter is finally over. This wistfulness is not enough to be termed "regret", as it would be completely untruthful to pretend that I regret my move to Canada. With the move came opportunity, fulfilment of a dream, and the pleasure of meeting yet more people with a different outlook on life; rather, the nostalgia is a type of bittersweet pride, a desire to share the country of my birth with others now that I appreciate it more for being an expatriot.

I recently completed a self-set exercise in which I made up a "balance sheet" with four headings, namely:

The things I miss most about England
The things I was glad to leave behind
What I love about Canada, one year on
Which things I dislike about living here.

It could not be said that the balance was heavier in any one heading. Going through my brainstorm list, I was surprised how many things I could miss from England, many of them interrelated. I was also surprised that I could not find a larger list of things to like about Canada, until I reasoned that I have not as yet tried many things here! True, I accomplished more in the last year than I ever expected to, adding up to an intensive experience... a great road trip to an entirely different part of this vast country:

plus finding and working at two jobs, spending a lot of time getting to know the way of life here, working out how to do all the things which I had been denied in previous life, but some of which I was glad to be shielded from. I have a large bucket list, yet some of the things need a great deal more money than we have to dispose of at this juncture! We are still establishing our own place, not having many basics such as a microwave or dish washer, not to mention an air conditioning unit which will shortly be needed! The lists of key words which I came up with are very thought provoking, and I felt helped to define who I was, how I related to life both here and in England, and helped to give me a close look at what changes I should be making.

Life is a constant process of evaluation and re-evaluation. I never again want to become stuck in the rut that is believing "I can't change things so they will have to stay as they are until they change of their own accord". Some people are mortally afraid of change, and stay unhappy until they either learn to accept change with open hands, or shelter in some absurdly restrictive bubble, cut off from the outside world, from all that could help them to be a more complete person. It is this bubble protection which I believe is so hard for ex members of closed religious groups to burst, mostly through fear of change. They believe that they are changing or attempting to change the infalliable "word of God" from whichever dogmatic text they are taught, and that to question, alter or adjust this word is the greatest heresy... how hypocritical then, that these very religious organisations have to change perhaps not the "word" itself, but their official interpretation of it to survive in the current world! This very fact makes me believe that religion is like a very weak but addictive drug. As with an alcohol addiction, ringing the changes and drinking for example, whisky instead of beer, making the addict feel for a moment that he is not drinking the "same thing"- so is religion, in my opinion. Many churches believe that they are the only true church, many cult leaders believe that their personal vision is the only one which will bring salvation to the world... but taken abstractly, all the views add up to the same thing: a need to belong, to be a part of something.

Perhaps I am one of a breed of lone wolves, but how can this be true? I love people. I love helping people, getting to know people, understanding their thoughts, their dreams, their experiences and their problems. I could understand, if I was a true misanthrope, why I could leave a religious group without a qualm and very quickly adjust to the outside world, by simply distrusting everyone. Instead, I find that the more I discover about people, the more I want to learn. I am so relieved that my experiences do not appear to make me feel cynical about life. Yes, I like to complain, to the point where my wife draws indubitable parallels between myself and Victor Meldrew; yes, I like to occasionally "bash" something or other, such as the public transport system, youth's inability to stand in orderly queues, the wastage of food in this country; yes, I do like to admit there is a dark side to life, some of which is best not investigated; but by and large I am a happy person who likes to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. This came out in the balance sheet exercise: although I had more negative dislikes, the things I liked were weighted with far more significance than the things which I could do without. It was great fun to do the exercise, as it offered me a good comparison of life in the two countries, and also helped me to evaluate my own situation at this point.


1)What do I miss about England/Britain/Europe?

Cathedrals and churches * Cider * Scenic train trips Lightweight sports cars * affordable cheddar cheese * Country roads with hedgerows and dry stone walls * Sweets * the local pub * debit cards accepted everywhere * local Post Office * badgers * the Geordie accent * affordable real ale * Morrisons * Irish jokes, and people who understand them * Devonshire cream * Attractive postage stamps * Branston pickle * Hedgehogs * lamb curry * Cockneys * 240 Volt power tools * Lambs in the spring fields * Derby Sage cheese at Christmas * Sunday walking group * Bovril sold in a jar as a spread * Wilkinsons * Burghley house * Zoos * Stiles and cattle grids * Roman roads * Monster Munch * Heritage steam railways * Car boot sales * Second hand book stores * Chocolate without vanilla * free personal banking * Affordable cell phones and contracts * Cycle paths and traffic management


2)What do I NOT miss from the old country?

Racial segregation * London taxis * Greasy spoon/rat burger layby cafes * Terrible quality chicken * Fruit from the other side of the world * Caravans * Poor healthcare * High fuel prices * the M25 * over priced takeaways * employment agencies * council tax * frequent rain * dirty streets in the cities * high priced new technology * being on an island * crowded cities * senior schools * Gatso speed cameras * demise of photographic film * Boy racers * filthy trains * expensive booze * corrupt local governments * ancient public toilets * insularity of the people * late release of music and films * football hooligans * public drinking * roundabouts


3) What do I love about Montreal/ Canada?

Chez Cora breakfast restaurants- sans pareil! * Clear divisions between the seasons... winter IS winter! * Clean streets * Powerful sunshine * Cultural integration, not appeasement * Snow * Tim Hortons coffee houses * grain fed pork and chicken * Friendly population * Affordable and reliable public transport * excellent education and opportunity * Huge domestic appliances * Camping in serene and wild places * Raccoons * The tip culture * Choice of TV channels * Snails * cheap vehicles * positive outlook on life * choice of recreation activities * The Underground City, (shopping, eating... and just keeping warm!) * The metro system * Amazing national parks * responsible pet owners * Government that cares for citizens and new arrivals * the European accent on life style * chipmunks * Film still available for cameras * Cheap electronic consumer goods * excellent service in stores * Rona DIY centres * self effacing but proud people * financial stability and employment * absence of personal surveillance and respect of privacy * cities laid out in planned blocks * big, wide roads * courtesy and priority for pedestrians


4)What do I dislike about life here?

Huge, uneconomical vehicles * proximity to the USA * occasional reluctance to break down the language barrier * Huge distances between places * too much processed food products * Automatic cars * bureaucracy and complex paperwork * Debit card technology behind- cards not accepted in many places, even online * High salt and fat in the traditional diet * snow ploughing and blowing at 3am in winter * Banking charges * lack of cycle paths and facilities... rapidly improving * Pet stores selling puppy/kitten mill-raised animals * hideous tastes in music * availability of quality stationery and art materials * being told I have a cute “accent” * cost of cellphones and poor coverage * destruction of nature * casual attitude to food wastage * uninspiring architecture * being told I sound Australian * people who don't know what England is (football team, province, island in the Caribbean...?) * Obsession with hockey * high priced wine * laid back attitude to time keeping * Poor choice of clothing * distance from the beach * absence of motor sports * arrogant cops * antiquated deposit scheme for cans and bottles * casual attitude to drink driving and speeding * stop lines and strange priority rules on the road


I hope these words and comments will provoke comments from my readers! Life is full of variety, and yet there are not enough hours for all that there is to discover... nor are there enough hours in each day to discuss all those discoveries!

On a positive note...

I am always reluctant to use a blog as a place on which to post my negative feelings; in this world, there is already sufficient negativity for several milennia, and nobody likes to hear people raving about wholly negative subjects unless of course, they read the tabloids!

My most positive news is that I have finally started on the career path which I chose before coming to Canada. True, I have had to downgrade some of the ambitions; to become a nurse or nurse practitioner rather than a full MD is of necessity a reduction of my ambition. One has to go through life prepared to make these changes to plans, otherwise nothing would ever be achieved. There is nothing wrong with aiming higher than reality permits on occasion, because this way one can sometimes be surprised by what can be achieved!

The change to plan “A” was brought about by my being laid off from the call centre at which I was working. Having worked for over 900 hours and contributed to the employment insurance pool, I am able to draw on this rather than being totally dependant on my wife's salary, which is a huge relief. In the free time since the end of March, I have been able to prepare for advancing my grades to a level which will permit me to take a bachelor's degree in nursing and perhaps specialise still further while working. It is a long term plan, and one which I feel very confident I can stick with.

So what does this career choice mean in the shorter term? Basically my grades from my English schooling are fine, these can be converted by the immigration department here. The requirements for the nursing college, however demand that I sit my sciences again, as the grade has to be credited in the last five years, and my grades are more than 14 years old. We managed to locate a school nearby enough for me to travel by regular bus without crossing the river, and I duly registered for the term which started last week. It is a wonderful feeling to finally be a) doing something genuinely useful towards my career and learning again, and b) to be at school through choice and not because of state demands or conventionality.

I am of course, not familiar with the North American, Canadian or Quebec scholastic environment, so it was with some trepidation that I attended my first class last week. As the Access education centre is specifically a “continued” or adult education centre, it is thankfully free of many of the problems associated with a mainstream school. People in general are there to learn, some of them at their own expense, and are respectful of others. This was the impression I received at the first session, which was individualised learning of Chemistry; everyone had their own books, and worked through at different paces and stages, with recourse to a teacher where necessary. The session was deathly quiet without a teacher lecturing or explaining, and I greatly enjoyed it. Physical Science was a shared class, and here I experienced a great deal more deja vu back to my school days. The class ranged quite widely in age, and was taken by a teacher some 8 years my junior, who was in fact qualified in Gym instruction! Although the other students by and large respect the teacher, it is a very noisy class, hard to concentrate, and some of the pupils are in class merely because it is financially beneficial to them. That means that I experience a lot more frustration, as I have paid out of pocket for the books and materials, and hate my class time being wasted. I ended up taking the first session myself, as the tutor was coming down with bronchitis and could not talk, but I enjoyed the experience! Yet another strata of Canadian society revealed to me!

The school is in a nice suburb of the South Shore, which most people regard as strictly outside of Montréal. As I only have 18-20 hours' study per week, or classes rather, the commute is much more relaxed than while I was employed. I like the experience of meeting many more people, as the school is everything I missed out on while at high school myself; I am free to take part in the school board, debates, have my lunch with fellow students and to discuss careers with like-minded people, all of whom speak English well. I am discovering yet again that the “British accent”, that strange and elusive thing which I cannot myself observe, is a passport to people's interest. Some students are flabbergasted that I left England, which they regard as the acme of opportunity, to move to a colonial place such as Canada. It is long and complicated to go into my reasons, so I always bring up my main motive, that of love!

As I have no pictures of the school available, this entry will be strictly text, my photographic skills are somewhat on the back burner whilst I am trying to concentrate on getting the best possible grades. When I have these, I can then seek work, as the induction for the nursing college's autumn term begins next February, and I will have more than a year's gap in which to study French also. It is available at the Access centre, but I have to wait until September to take “new arrivals” integration French as a second language. It is an exciting prospect, and will help me no end to integrate and feel yet more of a part of this country.

On a quick note...

I am often asked by people to explain my background, and with little time to sit down and explain the ins and outs of my upbringing, what I have left behind, and why I am more comfortable living as I am now, I believe the best thing is to enclose some links to currently viewable documentaries. I may of course eventually add my own video blog, when my home computer technology permits; for now, links seem to work best for the majority of people, so here are some which save me going into many details, some of them painful to recall:

http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?mkt=en-au&brand=ninemsn&from=truveo&vid=dbe19b55-8a15-445c-94ab-b285291052a1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ui9W2IsNYg8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43kH91vHfKo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1_vRjycrb4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skV3nwIsIq8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eF5QOK8If6M

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCbnLx24mcw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUA2MS1doJY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZygrhNHGIUY&feature=related

Hopefully these will give the picture to those who have expressed interest!

New Year, New Decade, New Life

and though much has yet to change, reviewing the year of 2009, I have come a long way already!

As soon as one leaves a closed, high demand group such as I was born into, the process of re-education begins; some children or adults may have been better educated in life skills, the tools necessary to survive independantly without all their direction coming from notes and directives which masquerade as an individual "conscience"; others, such as myself, are undergoing a long, upward learning curve on the route to "normalcy", that desirable, yet unnatainable state! Since 2008, when I was officially excommunicated, this learning process has been ongoing- and though it has at times been difficult, it has at least been far from dull! I have always looked on my surrounding environment with a naive wonder, indeed when I was born, my father commented how enthralled I was with the lights and sensations of the hospital; this fascination with my surroundings has been extended enormously through my reading, and often prompted me to consider a career in, if not a fascination with, journalism. Blogging may not be the best way to begin a career in journalism, but it does at least provide a forum for my thoughts, on which people can comment if they wish. I am always cautious that this could become very egocentric, or rambling.

My aspirations must have been relatively conventional; though I desire strongly to travel, to write of my experiences and to have challenging experiences, I greatly enjoy simpler things in a typical family unit: shopping with my wife, cooking, cleaning our apartment and caring for the cats. I love the seasonal traditions of giving and receiving gifts, entertaining people in our home, and writing to the folks back home. Maybe my life is happier lived quietly, after all.

I am writing this after a period of introspection, especially about my past upbringing. I have been reading of others who left the religious group of which I was once a member, and who are now becoming almost militant, talking of flag waving, wearing tee shirts and ribbons, protesting at public conferences. There are many people out here in the real world who have had their lives ripped apart by the EB's, who have family and friends on both sides of the "Wall of Seperation", and who have horrific stories to tell; these people need a voice, but to react in the way some are, is going to merely further the interests of the reclusive but outwardly "friendly" group, who wish to discredit these people as disturbed, imbalanced and unsuitable for communal worship in the first place. My personal take is that I have more family on the "outside" of the group, and thus do not have any right to take an activist stance against them, merely to document my experiences while on the inside. I do not bear especial personal animosity against any individual, nor against the group as a whole; I learned many valuable life lessons whilst with them, and had some reasonably close friends too; also, I do not wish to be perceived as a victim, just to be permitted to get on with normal life outside of their direction. I will, however, be following with interest the cultic studies conference at which both ex and current members of the group will be present.

To return to normal life- whatever "normal" may be- work is very much easier now that I have a relatively conventional schedule of 9-5, Monday to Friday. I can choose between over twenty buses each morning, and have started forming friendships with more established faces within the company. I also have whispers that I could be promoted, which is a surprise after so short a time there. Selling is not proving to be my strong point, but at this stage I have just begun to find my feet, and it is not the highest of my priorities.

The temperature is very low outside, and I am learning that my skin reacts very badly to the cold, leaving raw patches around my face. Now that the temperature drops below -15C almost daily, wrapping up to leave the apartment is an important factor in my morning time budget. Amazingly, I have not yet slipped and had a serious fall on the frozen snow or black ice that covers most of the sidewalks. The shovelling operations still occur in the wee hours of the morning, but I am almost blasé to this now. The city looks very unattractive with a heavy layer of slush, frozen into jagged ruts almost covering every minor road. For the time being, I am glad we do not own a car! The sunlight is amazingly bright and clear on this continent, and it is very beautiful on the untouched banks of snow nearby; after the haze, fog and heavy humidity of Britain, I am surprised that this area has so little rain. The weather makes every day life that little degree more exciting, because of the challenges.

There is not any significant news since my last posting; Christmas was a pleasant but quiet time, and as our holiday was so limited, Sylvie's birthday was not held until last Sunday. Being on a limited budget and a postponed date meant that it was not the most romantic of occasions, and we had a mutual friend over from Longueuil, an ex-Parisien who works in the same call centre as myself, and who provided a lovely mocha birthday cake for Sylvie and gave her a nice candle holder as a surprise bonus gift! Now that we have two-day weekends every five days, we are able to relax a lot more and spend more time together, something that was important to both of us.

More to follow, as it occurs!

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.