Sprout Returns to Deep River

Ever since I was wee Deep River has been in my conciousness as this slightly mystical far-away place where I was born. I visited in 1992 at the age of 12 and at that kind of age you're not really taking huge amounts in. I've wanted to visit again for years so when we decided to do this trip, I was adamant that we should include a big North American leg partly in order for me to do that. There's also a host of names that are familiar that I wanted to find out about so my mission in Deep River was to renew as many contacts as possible. Oddly enough, I was a little nervous as after all these years of thinking about Deep River, what if I didn't like it?

We were met off the bus by Alistair and Margaret Miller. Like most people in Deep River, Alistair (originally from Broxburn) worked (and still does although much more informally) at the AECL plant in Chalk River just down the road but it was really though the Deep River Community Church that he and Margaret knew my parents. We'd managed to renew contact with them mainly due to the fact that Alistair is a very keen emailler. They have a lovely house in Darwin - many of the streets in Deep River are named after scientists as it was purpose built to house the Chalk River workers who would all be scientists. The streets that are not named after scientists seem to be mostly named after trees. They gave us lunch and we identified a common interest in baking through the fact that they served us little home made roll-type buns which we took a great liking to. Like many of the other foods we've sampled on this trip, you can find them in the recipes section. Charlotte had been suffering from a cold for the last few days and the bus ride from Ottawa had made her feel particularly rough so she decided to take a nap. I was keen to get out and have a look around so I wandered off with a map and a couple of addresses I wanted to look up.

The first thing that struck me was how pretty it is - when I last visited I guess I wasn't really into appreciating nice houses and landscapes. It's surprising that it is a nice looking place, as if you think of other purpose-built towns (Linvingston, Glenrothes, Milton Keynes), 'pretty' is certainly not a word you'd tend to use. Looks like the Deep River planners got it right. It's not hard to see how, mind, as it's right on the banks of the Ottawa River (the "Deep River" in question) so the location really is lovely. It wasn't long before I found my parents' old house (35, Hillcrest), their church (the Community Church in Deep River Road), the centennial plaque by the river (recently done up) and the founding plaque where I'd had my photo taken in 1992. Given that I was on my own, I just took a couple of photos there and made plans to come back with Charlotte so the 1992 photo could be replicated.

It was all a bit like a dream - literally as I had dreamt so many times about coming back. It all seemed oddly familiar as well, partly through visiting in 1992 but mainly through the number of photos I've seen. I was on a mission though - in 1992 we stayed with Maurice and Marlene Cole. They had become very close friends of my parents when they lived in Deep River and particularly when I was born. A new mother often looks to her own mother for the initial help and advise bringing up the baby and given that all my grandparents were 1000s of miles away when I was born, Glynis had looked to Marlene (and to some extent to her 16 year old daughter, Margaret) to fulfil that role. They visited us in Scotland in 1984 but since our visit in 1992, contact had somehow been lost. We knew that they still lived at the same place so I went out to find them.

When I arrived at their house they were out so I went on my wanders round the town, along the river and got back to Maurice and Marlene's after it was dark. I went round the back of the house and just as I was about to cut my losses until the next day, they drove up. It was undoubtedly them as I recognised Maurice's beard through the car window. I decided to give them a few minutes to get in and settled before making my approach and when I did knock, I was met first by Bentley (their Corgi) and then by Maurice who looked a bit confused by my presence.

"Hi there Maurice, I'm a bit of a blast from your past", I said. Maurice still looked confused but invited me in in and as I entered I said, "yeah, I'm Paul Murray". Maurice nodded and smiled and Marlene appeared in the doorway with a look of surprise on her face. It was a really lovely moment when they invited me in and it wasn't long before the memories started to flow. I was reminded in particular how I was nicknamed "sprout" or "sprout-a-saurus" in 1980. The story was that while she was pregnant, Glynis had kicked a sprout she found on the ground under a tree outside their house on the way home. The snows came and buried it but in March when the snows melted , it re-appeared, at the same time that I emerged hence "sprout" (or "sproot" when pronounced by folk from the Ottawa Valley!). We made arrangements to have supper the next day when Charlotte would be there, along with Margaret and her family. By this point I was a bit late for dinner so I legged it back across town were Charlotte had emerged feeling a wee bit better. The evening was spent with Charlotte playing scrabble with Margaret (Margaret and Alistair are amazing Scrabble players) and me emailing my parents with the story of my Deep River adventures so far.

Cross-country skiing is a major part of life in Deep River and with the snows yet to arrive, the skiing trails were the perfect place to poke around. It was the end of autumn but the area was still lovely and it was one of those cold, crisp days with crunchy leaves and pine-cones underfoot. After all the months of summer weather we were in our element. Alistair toured us round giving us a commentary on the maze of ski trails we were following. The area is called "Silver Spoon" and I remember that my parents used to compete in the Silver Spoon race. We emerged from the woods to see the Deep River hospital at which point I said "oh, that's where I was born". I don't usually pose for photos but given that we were in Deep River, all bets were off. After lunch (and more of the fabby buns!) Charlotte and I headed into town. I'd been around enough the day before to sound relatively knowledgeable and we went up to the founding plaque (more photos were taken with you can all see on Flickr. You can also compare the 2010 plaque photograph with the 1992 version!).

While we were walking by the river there were two folk walking towards us. It was only when one of them said "oh, Paul" when I realised that one of them was Margaret, who by coincidence had just started relating my story to her friend. She also reminded me of the sprout story and also how Alan had once threatened to "throw me out with the sprout" one day when I wouldn't stop crying. She also told us how she'd babysat me as a baby one weekend that my parents went away for some time-out.

That evening we had dinner with Maurice, Marlene, Margaret, Margaret's husband Jay and their two kids Tailor and Charlee. Memories from 1980, 1984 and 1992 were dredged up and it was as if 30 years had never passed and I'd just always been there. We also met Maurice and Marlene's son Malcolm (notice the recurring "M" theme!) who I also remember from 1992. The meal was a full-on roast with home-made pickles and beets followed by home-made apple pie - ultimately North American. We left having exchanged emails and promises never to lose contact again. It was an amazing evening.

Breakfast the next morning was some waffles and home-made maple syrup. I'd never thought it possible but Alistair and Margaret just tap the Red Maples in the garden, boil it down and hey presto! It was really something and definitely and uniquely Canadian experience.

I'd realised on the way home the night before that we'd forgotten to take photos so I called Marlene the next day to make arrangements to drop by and take some. Before heading to theirs, we walked up to the Laurentian Dairy on the highway to repeat another incident from 1992. I remembered eating hot fudge sundae there and I'm very please to report that it was just as good 18 years later. It was a particularly impressive range of flavours.

By the time we met Marlene again, I'd hatched a plan. I'd been speaking to Alan and Glynis a lot on Skype relating the stories of all the people I'd met and made arrangements for them to leave the computer on that afternoon. I knew that Maurice and Marlene had hi-speed internet so I knew that it wouldn't be a big difficulty to hook up the wee laptop at their house. That done, my parents appeared on the wee screen and they were able to chat to their surrogate mum for the first time in 18 years - a really nice moment. Afterwards we headed to the church and met Maurice who was putting together the church's float for the Santa Claus parade. He used to teach "shop" (what we call "Craft and Design") and is a fantastic handyman. We took our photos after a tour of the church. Dinner was a home-made curry and a cherry pie with Margaret and Alistair followed by the inevitable teaching of the Inca Trail South African's card game (which you can fine in the books and pastimes section). That evening Chris MacCready dropped round. He'd stayed with us in Penicuik a couple of times, most notably when he was cycling round the world. He reminded me that I'd cycled with him up to a ruined castle near Penicuik (probably Uttershill Castle) and I reminded him that he'd given me a fly-view eyeglass, which I still have. He'd seemed so young then but he'd actually been 33 - three years older than I am now. If he identifies how he keeps himself looking quite so young he should bottle and sell it.

Unusually, amongst its many attractions Deep River has a Clock Museum. It's run by Allan Symons and was originally just a hobby for him. He has the most amazing collection and was an expert at explaining not only the history of the various clocks but also the mechanisms. They are incredibly intricate and it's amazing how they were engineered at a time that all parts were hand made. It was bizarre being there with all the clocks ticking away, and then noisily singing in midday. Interestingly for me he also had a 78 record player and a cylinder player which were all in full working order. I always love meeting people who are really into their subject - their enthusiasm and passion is always a joy.

In the afternoon we visited Margaret who introduced us to her menagerie of cats and birds and donated us new hats with ear covers to see us in the cold weather further west. Charlee took us to the "Whistle-Stop", the local second hand store where we stocked up on more winter clothes. She seemed to have been inspired to do some travelling of her own around Europe so I sincerely hope that happens and we can host her in Scotland soon.

We had the final of our meet and greets that night round the house of Bill Buyers and his wife Marilyn. Bill was Alan's boss at Chalk river and also the conductor of the Cantando Singers of which both Alan and Glynis were members. Bill had invited Malcolm and Pat Harvey, Peter Janzen and Jinty Smith (my "Scottish Aunty Jinty" who had also looked after me as a baby). They had managed to dig out a newspaper photo of a concert from 2nd Feb. 1980, about a month before I was born. Alan looked like Benny Andersson from ABBA and my mum was clearly very heavily pregnant so in a way, I was in the photo as well. As if that wasn't enough, they also had the programme (cover designed by Alan and very obviously his style) and a recording, including my parents' "solo" spots with them singing Ralph McTell's "Streets of London" and Gordon Lightfoot's "Pussywillow Cat-Tails". It was a voice from the past and was impressive how little their voices had changed. Even listening to the Cantandos singing together I could pick out their voices really clearly. It was a lovely evening, so many more memories were shared and I really began to get an impression of how much my parents had become part of the community in Deep River.

All too soon it had come time for us to leave. Our bus wasn't until the afternoon so we managed to get another wander around the ski trails - now dusted with snow. I felt like I was seeing Deep River through the seasons. I'd seen summer in 1992 and now I'd seen late-autumn and winter. Alistair and Margaret loaded us up with food for the bus and drove us up to the highway. Just as we were waiting, another car drove up and Maurice and Marlene emerged having decided to surprise us by seeing us off before our 30 h bus trip to Winnipeg.

The whole experience was amazing and we need to say a huge thanks to all the Deep River folk who hosted us, fed us but most of all shared their memories from my parents' time there. We even felt like we learnt a whole lot about them that we didn't already know! I hope sincerely that contact is not lost again and that we also see some of the Deep Riverites back in Scotland soon - they'd all be given a right royal welcome. So to paraphrase Maurice's grace before dinner, "We thank you for old friends, new friends and pray that friendships will endure and grow". Amen to that.

Heading for Deep River, a Post from Alan and Glynis

Where Mr Paul was born ...

Rewind to 1978 – (Professor) Roger Cowley suggested to Alan that he should, as an aspiring Physics academic, spend some time either at Grenoble, Brookhaven National Laboratory (New York on Long Island) or … Deep River, Ontario. Rather to Alan’s surprise, Glynis thought this was a good idea and chose Deep River as the destination.

We were to be mentored by Bill Buyers, a canny Aberdonian, who fixed up an office, apartment and etc. while Alan sorted out grant funding to pay for the cornflakes. In the Autumn of 1978, Glynis took her first ever flight (on a Jumbo Jet) to Toronto, then her second, on a DC3 (yes, the WW2 thingie – with door chains that clanked noisily all the way from Toronto to Pembroke!). Bill collected us from Pembroke “airport” and deposited us with breakfast supplies, in 35 Hillcrest, Deep River.

Within 24 hours, Alan was at work and with a further 24, we had been “nobbled” by Community Church, Deep River. There we met the Coles, who adopted us, the Sivernses, who did likewise and many other people who became close friends and supporters during our 2 happy years in Deep River. We joined choirs (church, town and “Cantandos”). We canoed, skied (cross-country, Ontario is pretty damn flat!), sang and lived as happy “Canadians”. During 1980, Paul happened along (we now know what caused him) and curtailed Glynis’s 79-80 skiing rather dramatically. That’s how he comes to have two passports. At the end of the two years, we came home as we promised we would and promptly decided that (a) Scotland was boring and (b) there were no jobs in Physics. We would go back to the job “offered” in Deep River and become proper Canucks. Sadly, or happily (as many things would have been different had it been otherwise) the Deep River opportunity had disappeared as the Canadian government began to favour Canadians for permanent jobs. So – Alan moved to Electronics and we settled back into Corstorphine then Penicuik.

We clearly forgot what had caused Paul, as Sooz happened along in 1985 and Canadian memories began to fade into a rosy glow.

Fast forward to 1992. Time to take Mr. Paul back to his birthplace. So – Glynis had to brave the sky again (not a DC3 this time, tho, sadly). All our friends were still there, and it was a very nostalgic trip for A and G. We visited Ottawa, James lakes, Toronto, Niagara, Lake Superior – and mostly Deep River and all the lovely people who had looked after the startled young couple that had arrived on their doorstep in1978. Marlene and Maurice looked after us, Jinty and Don entertained us and lent a canoe (again!). Alan learned how to install drywall with Maurice (plasterboard to you Brits!) and it was like the 12 years hadn’t passed.

Now – a further 18 years on, Paul’s heading back to his birthplace with Charlotte. He’ll certainly see the Millers (Alistair and Margaret … dear friends and unique people). We hope he’ll find Maurice, Marlene, Margaret, Bill … possibly even Jinty. Don Smith , sadly, died not so long ago – a lovely man and a good friend to have. He will be sadly missed. Hopefully the rest of the DeepRiverites are doing what we are trying to do – grow old without growing up. Love to them all.

The Quebecois are not French

Our couchsurf host in Montreal was a folk-loving metal-head French Canadian named Patrick, who lived with a ferret named... ferret. He gets the prize for the weirdest pet so far! The ferret would scamper round the flat, investigating everything, demanding attention, and frequently titilating Paul. Patrick was unemployed and going through interviews for chemistry jobs, so kindly spent Wednesday showing us round Montreal. We experienced the omnipresent Tim Horton's (I suppose like Dunkin' Donuts for Canadians) and discovered the mysterious 'poutine'. It was a heart attack in a paper tray - chips, rich gravy, and lumps of some strange curd cheddar. Really good. So we spent the day walking round Montreal - went up a big hill for a great view, saw the old town and the big shopping area, admired the commissioned graffiti which seemed to be everywhere, and appreciated a square full of brightly-painted old houses. We even found the Old Brewery Mission - where Rob (the minister who married us) used to be situated. We ended up in a bar relaxing with some local beers chatting about philosophies on life.

That night Patrick drove us up to a look-out point with a view over the city, which was pretty spectacular. Slightly disturbing, though, were the dozens of monster-fat raccons who swarmed the visitors as they fed them on no end of crap. Yuck.

Thursday Patrick had an interview, so Paul and I went for an explore on our own. We found a giant cememtery with graves from all cultures and religions, and a couple of impressive mausoleums. After that we visited an equally impressive oratory, before embarking upon our next food pilgrimage. The family Friedrich had unanimously recommended sandwiches at the Rubens Deli/Restaurant - specifically the Rubens Sandwich - so we did just that. It was among the more upmarket of places we've eaten at on the trip so far, and well worth it. The sandwiches were monstrous in size and came with a load of chips (we resisted 'upgrading them to poutine') and coleslaw. Well recommended if you're ever in Montreal! The desserts also looked great, although we didn't have space for them.

That evening Patrick took us out for drinks with his friends in an English-themed bar which didn't seem remotely English, but was showing an ice hockey game. His friends were French French from France (more on this later) - in fact Patrick is the only French Canadian we've actually met, as every person he introduced us to ended up being from France. I find the whole Quebec thing really fascinating. To me it's a very rare thing to have a predominately Anglophone country where people in a large area are so comfortably bilingual. Anglophones are not naturally inclined to learn other languages. I don't think Paul was expecting it to be as French as it was, but even though the default language was French, there was no problem getting by in English. I wasn't sure the world was ready for a repeat of the kind of French I tried to pull off in Paraty, though (if you haven't read that post, read that as 'very bad French'). One of the French people (Julie) was very disappointed we hadn't brought fiddles to the bar, so we headed back to Patrick's for a few tunes. It was good craic.

Friday afternoon we bid farewell to our generous host and boarded the Greyhound to Ottawa. Christine (another overseas folksoc friend) and her dad picked us up and took us back to her parents' house, where her university housemates (Helene and Exotic Christine) were cooking dinner. They were exchange students from France and Belgium respecitvely (where are all these French people coming from all of a sudden? Up till this point everyone was German!) and were also visiting Ottawa for the first time (Christine is at uni in a town 2 hours away). Very excitingly Christine had got hold of tickets to see a hockey game that evening. Admittedly it was a junior team, but that was the only way we would have been able to afford to go!

It was such a surreal experience. As we arrived the home team (Ottawa 67s) were just being announced and individual players' triumphs recounted. The stadium was filled with parents, kids, fast food, and teen cheerleaders. The opposing team seemed to be taking on the role of 'Team Evil' - they had a small handful of supporters, were booed every time they came onto the rink, and generally sidelined. There was a huge celebration if the home team scored, and a grudging ackownledgement if the Baddies did. I've never seen such a biased approach to sport! Even the commentators were partisan. Well, everyone was - they were the Baddies and the home team (as this was their stadium) were the Goodies. Anyway, it was very funny, and everyso often some random 20 seconds of music would play and the cheerleaders would get up and do a self-conscious dance. There was also someone dressed as a chicken (and I don't think it was a mascot) - I was never sure about the role of the chicken.

The playing was suitably violent, as expected, and sometimes obligatory fights would break out for the amusement of the crowd. It was clear they were still learning to do that properly - practising for the big boys' league. True to type, the Team Evil players spent significant time in the sin bin. At the first interval a miniature team of tinies came on and had a game. It was the cutest thing I've ever seen. They were all about 6, and would skate around a bit, fall over, skate, then a whole clump of them would all fall at once. It was a big thing whenever they managed to score.

It was a close match, but in the end the Ottawa 67s managed to overcome the Baddies 3-2. It was a very bizzare sporting experience, but a helluvalot of fun.

Afterwards we headed into town to experience 'beaver tails'. This seems to be something specific to Ottawa (I think 1 guy holds the copyright) - and very tasty. It's essentially a deep fried batter (in the shape of a beaver tail) with stuff on top. I had cream cheese and chocolatey things, Paul had Maple butter, but I believe the classic is to have cinnamon, sugar and lemon. In the winter the canal freezes over and beaver tail stalls appear all along the sides - the perfect snack after some skating. In fact, you can use the canal to skate to work or school, which I think is very cool.

At the beaver tail place we picked up another French girl, Carol. When I asked her if she was French Canadian or French French from France she got very annoyed. You cannot call the Quebecois 'French'. They're not French. There's nothing French about them. They're not French Canadian - they're not citizens of France and Canada, they're just Canadians who speak French. End of story. That's us told then! (I suppose I get just as irate when people use 'England' and 'Britain' as synonyms.)

We took a walk around the central part of the city, and admired the eternal flame outside the Parliament. Turned out to be not so eternal as it was switched off during the daytime. We were lucky to see it when we did!

The next morning Christine and Helene cooked Canadian pancakes and crepes. So good. Then we went sightseeing (by this time there were 6 of us). Carol left us to go look at a museum, while we went for a tour of the Parliament. This is one of the most beautiful parliament buildings I've seen - both inside and out. Free tours are great! For the rest of the day we walked about the market and eventually said goodbye to Exotic Christine (called that as opposed to Local Christine). That evening Christine's dad cooked some amazing tandoori chicken and biryani (Christine's mum is a diplomat so they've lived in India as well a number of other places) and we drank hot apple cider, ate apple crisp (a bit like a crumble), and entertained Christine's friend who turned up out of nowhere with some Creme de Menthe.

On Sunday we were down to 4 - me, Paul, Christine, and her dad. We drove out to Gatineau (formerly Hull), which is on the Quebec side of Ottawa, to go for a hike in the woods. There were more of these roller-skiers around (first encountered in NY, then Montreal) - it looks very odd, but seems to be pretty fashionable. Christine found a strange plastic thing on the ground, which seemed to be some kind of transforming toy (we gave it to Paul to figure out as he had once been an 8-year-old boy), and then further down the road found another similar one in red. They were most puzzling, and seemed to magnetically fit together. We hoped we'd find more, and maybe they'd form some kind of alien summoning device or something. But no. We were at a loss. A mystery. When we got back we converted Christine to Due South. It had to be done. Hopefully her life is now better.

Waiting for our bus to leave Ottawa the next morning (to go to Deep River - exciting for Paul!) we met a retired military guy who is now a bounty hunter. He told us about hardcore outdoors things we could do in Canada, and a story about wrestling a stag. Greyhound does introduce you to some interesting people! I spent a long time looking at his oddly shaped kit-bag, wondering if there were weapons inside. My only understanding of bounty-hunters comes from Due South, oddly enough!

Boston Cream Pie and other Fatty treats

We left a wet and rainy New York and arrived in an equally soggy Boston to be met by Ian, one of our friends from Folksoc. He took us back to Johanna's (his girlfriend and another Folksoc friend) flat which we were to be staying in. It was in the district of Cambrige, in the shadow of the famous Harvard University - it felt a bit like Marchmont in Edinburgh with the amount of students kicking around. In a dramatic move of hospitality and self-sacrifice, Johanna had us stay in her room while she and Ian indoor-camped on the living room floor. Ian went out to work so we chilled out at the flat for a bit before Johanna came home and we headed out for Mexican food at a new place that had just opened up round the corner. There were some discussions of plans to go out but these were abandoned due to our laziness and the soggy weather so we went to the supermarket instead in preparation for the next day.

The weather hadn't really let up the next morning but we headed out to explore Boston anyhow. It's a very different city to New York, much smaller in terms of geographical size but also in terms of height as the number of ridiculously high skyscrapers really plummeted. It also felt very English (this was New England after all) as many of the buildings date from colonial times. Boston is kind of where the USA started and a number of important events happened here (including the famous "Boston Tea Party" which was a big statement against UK imperialism in the yet-to-be-formed USA). Conveniently, the local tourist board have laid out a "Freedom Trail" along the pavement - it's a line of red stones you can follow which takes you past various sites. It turned out to be quite a good way to see some bits of the city so we followed it, admiring the (albeit damp) buildings as we went. We passed the graveyard where Samuel Adams (important revolutionary and now face of lager) was buried which struck me as everyone's picture of a graveyard with low, tombstone haped... tombstones buried in the ground. It reminded me of the "Thriller" video. Along the way we veered off when we saw interesting streets and stumbled across the original "Cheers" bar (where everyone knows your name), the very atmospheric (and steamy) holocaust memorial and a legendary local pastry place "Mike's Pastries" where we stopped for a cuppa and a slice of Boston Cream Pie. It's a calorific chocolate/vanilla cream/sponge treat which we gulped down. On the way back to Johanna's we visited the Goodwill Store (a USA charity shop) where we stocked up on books and winter clothes - the temperature had dropped a lot since we left North Carolina.

That evening Johanna had arranged a session so after a classic UK meal of baked tatties and prawn cocktail (made by us - a meal we've been fantasising about since Cuba) the place was invaded by the local Scottish folk scene. They were lovely folk and great musicians so we all had a smashing evening of tunes, songs, scones, brownies, purple corn chips and a couple of pumkin ales. Good times.

We didn't quite start as early as we'd planned the next day but we were early enough to take a 2h drive out to the Sugar Loaf mountain which we duly climbed. Is was a bit of a hardcore climb to start with but the autumn colours were stunning and the view from the top was outstanding. There's a far higher concentration of deciduous trees in this part of the USA which is why it's quite so famous for autumn colours and rightly so. We came back to Boston to go to "Mr. Bartley's Burgers" - a bit of a local legend (in the same way as Kebab Mahal in Edinburgh) for gourmet burgers. They had a massive hotplate which they slapped on lumps of minced beef which were then cooked to your burger specifications (medium, rare etc.). It was a crazy place and very popular - we had to queue outside but we got in when they had free seats at the counter which was the best place to observe the kitchen action. All the burgers have names which you can see on their website. Johanna and I had a the Joe Biden (this guy is scary), Charlotte had the BP (oh look Britain messed up another former colony) and Ian had the Mitt Romney (2012 or bust). They really were fabulous burgers and reminded me that I really need to work on making that kind of BBQ sauce that you get in the USA. We then went for ice cream at "JP Licks" another local legendary place. I had the very seasonal flavours of pumpkin spice and carrot cake and both were amazing. On the way back to Johanna's we dropped in by a local deli/grocery which sold loads of British items (presumably catering for UK students studying at Harvard). You wouldn't wan to buy anything mind as the Scott's Porridge Oats were $10.99 a box and the Walker's mince pies were $26.99 for six (you do the maths, it's about $1.50/£1). Cha ching! We headed back to the flat devoid of UK produce and collapsed in front of a DVD of "V for Vendetta", feeling very 5th November-ish.

Coincidently, we went from one Harvard to another the next day as we bid our farewells to Ian and Johanna (to whom more thanks - I really can't believe the hospitality of the people we've been staying with here). Harvard is also a little village west of Boston where Steve and Harriet Freidrich live along with their two youngest kids, Katherine and Charlie. Sophia, their oldest, was at primary school in Bath with Charlotte and is one of her longest-standing friends. Steve and Harriet took us to their lovely house where we installed ourselves in Sophia's room before heading for Brunch at Mike's diner. I've been wanting to visit a real old-time USA diner for ages and this was definitely my kind of place. There were stuffed bears, moose heads and various other dead animals mounted around the walls and the waitresses were loving mine and Charlotte's accents.

The pancakes we had were to die for (and we fully expected to after eating them) along with the sides of corned beef hash, bacon and "home fries" - a local speciality similar to what my primary school used to serve as "sautéed potatoes". Steve was particularly keen to make sure we had real maple syrup (as opposed to maple flavour syrup) which came in wee bottles like whisky miniatures. If I wasn't worried about carrying them around I'd have kept the bottles. We accompanied Steve, Harriet and Charlie to church later that evening (Katharine was at hockey practise) before sitting down to Harriet's home-cooked ham with potatoes dauphinois and brussels sprouts. Oddly enough, the Friedrichs and I share a common love to this much maligned green vegetable. We spent ages that evening quizzing Steve about his job. He flies Boeing 737s (and other aircraft) for private individuals and has flown Tony Blair, Elton John and Michael Caine amongst others. It's odd to think of Charlotte and I travelling on a low and tight budget when there's folk out there who have a plane to lend to the likes of Elton John.

Harriet works at local Fruitlands museum where we were treated to an outstanding lunch served by a very enthusiastic waitress who quizzed us on our travels. The museum is a mixture of art and local history and was started by the parents of Louisa May Alcott who wrote "Little Women". I was particularly interested in the exhibitions about Shakers. They were (and are although there's only three left!) a religious sect kind of connected to Quakers who were into communal living. When you joined the Shakers you had to dissolve your marriage as the members were celibate and lived as brothers and sisters. Any children were raised by the community rather than their parents. Their name comes from the shaky dancing they do during worship and their best known as the origin of the tune for "Lord of the Dance". They've kind of diminished now - you can imagine that any religion that encourages celibacy of its members is unlikely to last. That evening we were supposed to be going to Katherine's hockey match but it was cancelled due to the weather. Instead we spent a very pleasant evening playing our hosts a few tunes and teaching them the card game we learnt from the South Africans on the Inca Trail. They seemed to enjoy the skulduggery that could be applied to fellow players.

We bid Harriet and Steve a fond farewell the next day just as their upstairs was turning into a work-site with a bunch of guys laying a new floor. It looked like life was about to become pretty noisy (it already was when we left) but we were very grateful that they hosted us despite the upheavals!

Our bus for Montreal left the next afternoon - it was a fairly uneventful journey but when we arrived at the border I was very excited to be finally using my Canadian passport. As we entered into Canada I considered the legion of Canadian celebrities; Mike Myers, Joni Mitchell, Alanis Morissette, Keanu Reeves, Shania Twain, Hayden Christensen, Jim Carrey, Pamela Anderson and.....me.

We headed north.

Apples of various sizes

The way from Washington to New York was studded with trees of all colours. They were truly spectacular. And in fact, when we arrived the unusually warm weather we had encountered in Washington persisted. The bus pulled into a station which spat us out in the heart of Manhattan - it was like being suddenly clobbered over the head by the big city. Giant skyscrapers, mile-high advertising screens, people everywhere. We made our way to the New York Public Library where Zarya (uni flatmate of mine)'s dad John was waiting for us. He's a librarian there and managed to get us and our snail-shells of baggage past the 'no luggage' signs, before giving us a little tour. It's such a stunning library - probably one of my favourite parts of New York - and (compared to the National Library of Scotland) so convenient and accessible to the public.

Paul and I spent the afternoon there, before going home with John when he finished work. Chez Rathé is another thing I love about New York. The flat is a kind of elegant chaos, stuffed with books, beautiful furniture, and sculptures all over the place. Judy and John welcomed us with some New York pizza and apple cider (not alcoholic) - it's apple season after all!

The next day we ventured onto the Subway and into Manhattan (Z's family live in the Bronx - the posh bit, mind). We had a wander around Times Square and Broadway, being dazzled by the bright lights and mental M&Ms shop, before meeting Neil Pearlman, who'd been at Edinburgh for a semester. He took us round some of the sights, and indulged Paul's desire to find as many Ghostbuster movie sites as possible. We had lunch at a place which came highly recommended by Z's sister Anuta - Shake Shack. It was well worth it - the burgers were amazing and the shakes were pretty good too! Look it up if you're ever in New York.

We went through Central Park and saw teams setting up for Saturday's Hallowe'en extravaganza. It was Friday and Hallowe'en was 2 days away, but there were still people just casually walking around town in costume. I suppose if you've got yourself a costume you might as well wear it for as long as possible, right? Neil also took us to have a look at his university, and as he left us, pointed us in the direction of what he described as a 'cool cathedral'. It was pretty cool, actually. We went in to find the place decked out with giant creepy Hallowe'en decorations (which I'd never expect to find in a church) - big ghost, and a puppet ghoul being controlled to sinister organ music. They were preparing for a concert that evening. At the edges were pieces of modern art, and in one of the side chapels, an art installation from Bristol involving a table with a dinner party projected onto it.

Saturday Paul and I went to have a look at Greenwich Village (where Paul was thrilled to find the Friends apartment building) and took a stroll through China Town and Little Italy. (We also 'accidentally stumbled across' the Ghostbusters fire station.) We went on a long bagel pilgrimage to where we were told we could find New York's best bagels (H&H Bagels, if you're interested). I never knew the main cooking method for bagels was boiling them. I always wondered why they tasted different from bread rolls! We drifted into Central Park where the Hallowe'en madness had really set in. Everywhere was swamped with families - parents dressing up their kids and household pets to spend the day at the 'Pumpkin Festival'. The best costume I saw was this poor little dog blissfully ignorant of the irony of its hot-dog costume. The dogs' costumes were often just as elaborate as the children's ones.

It looked like a great event - I was particularly envious of not being able to go to the haunted house (I know that sentence doesn't make grammatical sense but I can't be bothered to change it). Americans don't do Hallowe'en by halves! We made a last tourist trip into Zabar's, which has been described a like grocery shopping in Harrods. It was good for free samples, and had one of the best cheese selections I've seen in a while! Later Paul settled down to carving his pumpkin, and it joined John's to scare the trick-or-treaters the next day.

On Sunday John had the day off, so he took us on a drive into the countryside around New York. The freakish warm weather was long gone by this point and it was properly autumn in every way. We drove up a hill for a view of the whole area, and round picturesque New England towns. That afternoon Judy had arranged with a friend for Paul to play in an Irish session happening at An Beál Bocht Café nearby. The bar itself was completely taken over for Hallowe'en and there were small children and their parents in costumes everywhere. Judy and John got individually stolen by one particularly assertive little girl at various points. The atmosphere was great, and at one point a whole group of tinies gathered round the musicians to bounce up and down. (Toddlers the world over seem to have developed the same dance.)

After the session, it was back on the subway to Greenwich Village for the Hallowe'en parade. As soon as we got on the subway, the most fantastic costumes began popping up. Many were shop-bought ready-mades, but my favourites were the ones imaginatively compiled. The closer we got to the Village, the more stuffed the train got until we got to our chosen station to find it jam-packed with people - costumed and otherwise. We'd already seen the kids all trick-or-treating round the Rathé house - the adults were something else. The crowds were a little bit terrifying, especially as we emerged above-ground and found ourselves trapped behind a barrier. The crowd pressed on slowly, and it felt like we were never going to escape the barrier - especially as the parade was just starting.

Finally we found a spot (though we couldn't see much). Luckily a lot of the first processors were carrying huge puppets which floated above them so all could get a look. It had a real Mardi Gras feel to it, the atmosphere electric. It felt like the whole of New York had turned out to have fun. The parade seemed never-ending, and as people at the front got bored and moved on, we managed to get a good view. Loads of fun to watch costume after costume - some better than others, some exactly the same as others. The inevitable Thriller dance too. We got back to the flat to find Judy, Anuta, and her boyfriend Alejandro devouring trick-or-treat spoils and watching the pilot of a zombie series. We joined in. So many different variations of Reeses peanut butter sweets to try!

John had another day off on Monday, so he took us downtown to see the Statue of Liberty. We queued for what felt like the whole morning, before going through some airport-style security and getting on the boat. The wind was fierce and it was bitterly cold. But there she was, emerging ahead of us. The boat landed at Liberty Island, but we didn't get off. No point going up the statue (climbing in a huge queue 1 step at a time) when you can get the same view from the boat! We went on to Ellis Island, where the immigrants of old were processed before they could arrive properly. The museum was really good and gave a good picture of a century or so of immigration. When we got back to Manhattan we visited Ground Zero to see how the new World Trade Centre was progressing (not very far it seemed) and had a look at Wall Street. We had a pint (proving once again that Americans do actually know how to make ale) by the shore and returned home.

Tuesday (also election day, incidentally), was one of these beautiful crisp blue-skied autumn days which make all cities look amazing. We walked through the mansion bit of Riverdale (Rathé's part of the Bronx) to meet Judy at the school she teaches music at. We were going to subject some of her students to a Scottish fiddle workshop. The first class seemed mortified, especially when an art class turned up to sketch them. But they soon settled into it. Paul led a crash course in Strathspey, getting everyone to learn a bit of stepdancing before they even began to learn the tune. The second group involved all the band kids too - I don't think we were quite prepared for all the noisy brass, but we adapted! Then a nice calm group of older students who picked up the tune pretty well. All in all, I think it went down well!

After that we headed into town to get us some skyscraper. We'd been debating whether to go up the Empire State Building, or follow local advice and try 'the Top of the Rock' at the Rockefeller Centre. Local advice won out in the end -they were both about the same price, and while the Empire State is higher, the queues are astronomical and you get a view of the Empire State from the Top of the Rock. There was almost no queue at all at the Rockefeller Centre, and as a result we made it to the top just as the sun was setting (incidentally, the lift on the way up had a clear ceiling and shone with coloured lights and projected film - very cool). It was a perfect clear evening - sunset got ever more orange, the view was breathtaking, it was all entirely beautiful. We stayed up until it was dark to appreciate the full range of light, then headed back down for some NY street food we'd seen so much of. Our poison of choice was lamb gyro, which was kebab-style stuff wrapped in a soft flatbread (the gyro). So yummy. So welcome. Then we found doughtnuts. Oh yes. Fat us.

Wednesday was a similarly beautiful day. We went and did another workshop for Judy, which was loads of fun, and then met John at the library for lunch. We were an hour early so we wandered round an exhibition there of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. It showed that they're basically all the same religion with a few disagreements over prophets and messiahs. Some lovely old books (works of art) and it was all well displayed and explained. Perhaps exhibitions like that will do their part to help solve these religious conflicts a bit. Maybe. Maybe not.

John took us to my new favourite pub in New York - The Ginger Man (if you're going, it's off 5th Avenue not far from the Library. Go at lunch time - in the evening you won't be able to move). The back of the bar was entirely made up of different beer taps. Forget how many now - over 70 different beers on tap or something? They have a whole selection of bottled beers too - many of these really fantastic ales. John ordered us 2 flights with 8 different ales to try (a flight is 4 small taster glasses - the only way to cope with this kind of selection really) and we also got Ginger Man hot dogs - cheese, bacon, sauce, and beef sausage (they're the default here, not pork). We spent lunch chatting about ales and whiskies. A perfect afternoon. Afterwards he took us to the 7th(?) Avenue Liquor store - which had some pretty pricey whiskies. Luckily John has some good ones of his own he was good enough to share with us.

To finish up our final day in New York, Paul and I visited the toy shop with the giant piano (as seen in the film Big). Thanks for that suggestion, Fiona! Even more exciting was that you could get your own muppet made, for the reduced bargain price of $99.99. Oo err. In the evening John and Judy enlisted our skills in helping their neighbours plan a trip to Scotland - I'm beginning to wonder if we should be getting commission from the Scottish tourist board!

It was really sad to say goodbye to clan Rathé this morning, and I'm gutted that Zarya's is yet another wedding we're being forced to miss (having been absent already for Carmen and Andrei's, and Eilidh and Iain's). We've had a fantastic time with them and really hope we'll catch up with them again soon! Spending a whole week in New York was really good, and Paul says this is the place he's felt most at home so far. It looks like (along with Tromso) it may be appearing on our list of places we hope to live one day.