Chillin' in Van

We crossed the Rockies on the way to Vancouver which made the journey one of the most spectacular that we've done in North America. In addition, the snow increased as we travelled higher, at one point resulting in a whiteout that left me wondering how the driver was dealing with it (and how sheer the drop at the side of the road was). I decided to put it out of my mind and went back to my playlist of podcasts and Christmas carols.

Our hosts in Vancouver were to be Ted and Betty Siverns. Ted was the minister of the Community Church in Deep River when my parents lived there and, along with a number of other "Revs" we've encountered over the years (one of whom being my Grandfather) was quite a big influence on my family's theology and faith. They met us at the bus station in Langley (one of the suburbs of Vancouver) and we enjoyed an evening chatting about all sorts of stuff and eating some fantastic meatballs (which can be found in the recipes section).

Ted and Betty had a few things to do the next day so we decided to make it our day exploring downtown Vancouver. Most of the North American cities we'd been to so far had had Chinatowns but I'd been tipped off that Vancouver's was one of the best. We had decided that it would be the one we ate in so like the intrepid explorers we are, we ventured into it. My tip-off turned out to be accurate and logical when I thought about it. We were now on the Pacific Coast of North America (8 h ahead of the UK) and if anyone from east Asia heads west, the first place they would find. There was a baffling array of shops selling rice, dried shrimp, mushrooms and a myriad of other unidentifiable things that you could scoop out of boxes and buy by the kilo should you so desire. Finding somewhere to eat was tricky given the number of places available but we selected one that looked OK and went in (the Gain Wah). It was a great place and the staff very friendly, particularly when we were looking confused at the selection on the menus and specials lists and recommended some dishes for us which we duly ordered. They were fantastic so we left a nice big tip for the staff. Incidently, tipping is something that we're really trying to get to grips with here as it seems there's a bizarre system whereby the non-compulsory tip is actually more than compulsory. In fact, many of the businesses here get away with paying their staff a lower-than-minimum wage on the assumption that they'll get tips. If I remember back a few businesses in the UK tried that as well and were nailed up for it. It's not a practice I like.

Anyhow, downtown Vancouver is nice, particularly the area called "Gastown" which is an area which would probably be described as "bohemian" with a far higher concentration of non-chain stores than I've seen just about anywhere. A particularly nice sight is the steam clock which we came across quite by accident. The only down side of the area was the slightly distressing number of homeless folk. At one point a guy came up on the pretext of just being friendly and interested in us but inevitably it lead to "would you happen to have a dollar or a quarter so I could buy a burger". We have a policy of not giving to beggars as we don't think it actually does them any good so we politely declined. It harped back to memories of Cuba though - it's such a shame when no-one really does just want a friendly chat.

The next day Ted and Betty drove us to Steveston which is a fishing port close to Vancouver. It was a great opportunity to sample fish and chips - something I've been missing a bit but was surprised to see advertised all over the area (as opposed to "fish and fries"). I was a bit dubious as to whether the Canadians could replicate this British classic but I wasn't disappointed. It was pretty similar to what you would be presented with in a UK pub.

The whole of the coastline where Steveston is situated used to be awash with canneries, the main industry of the area being salmon fishing. All of the canneries have closed now the fish stocks are depleted but one has opened up as a museum. You wouldn't think that a museum about fish canning would be any could but this one was a particularly interesting history not only of the industry but also of social attitudes over the last 100 years. There were various jobs dished out at the cannery including butchering, cleaning and canning and the nicer jobs (canning and labelling) were always given out to the white folk of European descent. The butchery was given over to the Chinese men and the particularly unpleasant (and cold) job of cleaning was given to the Chinese women and the Native Americans. What was also interesting was the terminology used. All Canadians now refer to "Native Americans" as "First Nations" which is their self-chosen term. On the way home we stopped in by the Aberdeen shopping mall which is in Richmond, now known locally as "New Chinatown". It was a really interesting mix of stores and had one of the most spectacular fountains I've ever seen which was synched in with music which played every hour. I managed to catch it on video so along with whole load of other "Cool things in Canadia-eh?" is in our Canada video.

As well as being an important site for fishing, Vancouver was also important in the fur trade as we saw the next day in Fort Langley. The town itself is very pretty with a number of wee stores and was a great opportunity to get into the festive spirit with all the Christmas goods in the shops. We also took a look at the Fort Langley living museum where we saw a First Nations woman demonstrating blacksmithery (or whatever you might call it!) by making a coathook from scratch. She then gave it to one of the members of the audience by having them guess numbers - the right answer being the year that BC was founded. It was probably just as well we got it wrong as we'd never have got it through airport/Greyhound security. We did buy something to take through Greyhound security at the wine shop we visited afterwards. It specialised in fruit wines (as do Charlotte and myself) and the enthusastic staff allowed us to sample their red AND white mulled wine, both of which were really warming and Christmassy. We plumped for a bottle of the blueberry wine which was the mulled red base to share with Ted and Betty and a bottle of their strawberry wine to take to Portland.

At the Sunday service the next morning Betty had asked if I would contribute something to the music. After some discussion with the music leader (who'd forgotten that she'd already arranged this with Betty) it was decided that I would do a song at the beginning and some music for the second half of communion. I couldn't think of a Christmassy religious song that I fancied teaching them so I opted for my classic - "There Are No Lights on our Christmas Tree" which while not being overtly religious has a pretty good message. It seemed to go down well and I also played "O Come O Come Emmanuel" during communion. It was really nice to take part as given how involved I was at St. James Penicuik, attending a church service but not being part of the guts of it always feels slightly disconcerting. There was an ecumenical service that evening in the Unitarian church which we also attended and ended up at one the house of one of the younger folk from Ted and Betty's congregation. Charlotte and I were quizzed on our adventures over spiced cranberry juice and various edibles - just like being at a church gathering at home.

Part of the beauty of Vancouver is its location in the mountains. You can take a cable car up one of the mountains (Grouse Mountain) and we did this the next day to take in the view over Vancouver. The view from the top was lovely and it was funny how we were back in snow territory again having ascended a couple of hundred metres. In fact, this seemed to be Vancouver's premier winter sports site and we were surrounded by loads of crazy snowboarders and skiiers while we tottered around on the slippery packed snow trying not to become a cropper. Betty was hoping we would see the twinkly lights of the city as the sun set but unfortunately the mists and rain over the city prevented that. It did lift just as we were heading back down so we did get to see it through the car windows. It was an awesome site. At the bottom we found that they had closed the second cable car line and there was a police car and a couple of TV cameras attending to some sort of "police incident" where they were "trying to assist an individual". We never found out the full details at the time but it looks like this was the incident in question - exciting stuff!

Betty and Ted dropped us off at the end of the pier where we caught the boat and then the Skytrain to meet Leo, one of our friends from Edinburgh who's spending some time in Vancouver. He'd arranged to meet us at the Cafe Deux Soleils - a cafe/bar type place for that evening's "Nerd Poetry Slam" which is a competition for poets to prevent a three minute poem on a Nerdy subject. It turned out to be great fun and quite reminiscent of the movie "So I Married an Axe Murderer". We ended up judging but like the mean Scots we are, we made sure we were mean with our points. The main act of the night was "The Klute" who was totally amazing.

It turned out that one of my schoolfriends (from way back in Cuiken Primary School days), Linda Shedden was now living in Vancouver so we arranged to meet up on our last day there. It was a bit rainy and grey (which I believe is typical for Vancouver!) but she managed to tour us round a couple of the Olympic sites including a giant Orca that looked like it was made out of Lego. We the caught up with some old memories and gossip of old "Penicuikians" over a couple of pints and some yam fries. It was really great to see her - a major blast from the past!

Back at the house, Betty had made us a Lebanese feast from some of the recipes she'd learnt while her and Ted lived in Beirut in the late 80s. It was a fantastic meal and was at least as good as the Lebanese food we'd had at restaurants in the UK. You can find her recipes in the recipes section along with the butter tart recipe that we'd made that morning - a real Canadian classic.

As with all of our hosts in North America, I was gobsmacked at the hospitality we received in Vancouver - Ted and Betty even waited in the Greyhound station with us when the bus was an hour and a half late! They were talking about visiting Bath at some point so I really hope that comes to pass.

We were a bit nervous about the bus journey back into the US as we'd be crossing the border with a few food items (mainly our lunch), our contribution to Christmas in San Jose (more later) and a bottle of Strawberry wine from the wine place in Fort Langley. The border crossing was surprisingly easy going and the border guard even chatted (no, reallly!) about how he'd learnt violin as a youngster. When our bags went through the X-ray the two folk manning it were too busy chatting spend any time looking at the picture so if we were carrying anything we weren't supposed to be it wasn't detected. Before long we were met again by our bus driver and headed back into the good ol' US of A!

There's no business like snow business!

30 hours is definitely the longest on a bus we've done so far. Makes those epic 10-hour jobs in South America seem like quick local trips. Anyway, our bus was late into Arctic Winnipeg, but our next couchsurf host, The Angel Rachel, was waiting for us there with her car. It had been a long trip, full of sleep deprivation and Mennonite people being picked up by horse and trap in the middle of the night. It's on journeys like this that the bus begins to feel like a home.

Winnipeg was quite a contrast to Deep River, where the snow had been but a dusting, and temperatures were above 0 °C - tropical by comparison. This was proper winter, at -13 °Cand snow up to your shins. Rachel spirited us away back to her house, where a veritable gaggle of students were cooking home-made pizza. It was quite a party, and so welcome after an eternity on the bus. I must mention Rachel's pillow room which we were originally going to sleep in. It was just that - a room filled with pillows. Nice. Every house should have one.

After pizza and booze the locals went out clubbing, leaving us to catch up on the sleep the Greyhound wouldn't let us have. Next morning Rachel seemed pretty hungover, but nonetheless bounced down the stairs declaring it time for morning snow angels. It had been snowing all night and everything was white and fluffy. She leant me a garish puce snow-suit which looked like an 80s relic, and we made a couple of welcoming snow angels on the front lawn. Then her housemate Anna emerged and the two of them cooked a supreme breakfast of potatoes, eggs, mushrooms and cucumber with dill and chilli sauce.

On plan that day was to meet up with a former colleague of Paul's dad, Dean. He picked us up that afternoon with his small son Calyan, and we went to a 'Human Nature' park to have a walk and look at bison. We also had a peek round the visitors' centre which had a gallery of stuffed (dead) animals which you were encouraged to stroke. It was a fab idea - in most places I've been to you'd never be allowed to do that, and it must be great for kids.

We then went back to Dean's house for Sunday dinner (a tasty roast chicken) and met his wife Michelle and baby Shanti (I hope I've spelled the children's names right). Michelle has started up a chocolate business and gave us a supremely tasty bar to take away with us (see http://starlightwhisper.ca/ for more details!).

We were due to take the bus to Calgary at 11.30 the next evening, so we had another free day in Winnipeg. This was a windy and bitterly cold day, but we nonetheless decided to make an 1 1/2 hour walking pilgrimage for breakfast (Canadian pancakes, bacon, eggs and maple syrup) and Harry Potter. When we reached the bus station later we were treated to the most polite and friendly security check I've ever experienced. So they are possible! A lot of the Canadian stations have adopted the US-style security checks because a couple of years ago someone got their head chopped off by a psycho on a Canadian Greyhound. Blimey!

The journey to Calgary was a piddling 20 hours. Gah! That's a jolly jape to us! We were told Calgary was at -30 °C and currently the 2nd coldest place on the planet after Antarctica. Well that was good to know! We don't have any proper winter clothes (aside from the hats, scarves and gloves kindly donated to us along the way) so we've simply been wearing ALL of our clothes at once. It sort of works, although Paul does look funny wearing two pairs of trousers.

Jared, a comrade from the Inca Trail, picked us up and took us to drop our stuff at John (also of the Trail)'s condo - which he'd kindly leant to us. What a star! Then we trundled along to the local ice rink where Jared was playing in a hockey game. There were kids practising figure skating when were got there, which was pretty impressive. Jared's game wasn't quite the same style as the one we'd seen in Ottawa, but it was good craic. I couldn't believe how cold it was when we got outside, though. -25 or something. We hadn't even had those kind of temperatures in Norway!

We had no actual plans or expectations of Calgary, and as all our friends had to work, Paul and I just took a wander. I was surprised at how quiet the streets were, and couldn't put my finger on the reason, until we sat down on a bench in a shopping mall and found a map. A whole load of the buildings in the downtown area are connected by a network of walkways - so you can get to a good number of places without having to go outside. That's why the streets seemed so deserted! We walked around outside for a bit longer, found Chinatown, and then decided it was too cold so hurried home. That evening we went for beers with the Inca Trail folks - Jared, John and Heather. It was good craic, and great to see them all again.

On Thursday we'd arranged to meet Brandee, who we'd met in North Carolina. Her flat is basically a music studio for her husband Pedro, who is a Chilean musician. We had a good time talking about music, before heading for a late lunch in the Sunterra market downtown. This was a great place as you could pick up free samples of yummy things all over the place. Then upstairs was a classy cafeteria-style arrangement where we chose something tasty out of a choice of bubbling cauldrons.

After that we headed to the Cantos music museum which is a great little place that most Calgary locals don't know exists. As a result of that we got a private tour ($10 each) with a couple of knowledgeable young ladies who showed us every type of keyboard instrument conceivable, and a few others besides. There were a lot of amazing instruments to see, and visitors are allowed to play quite a lot of them upon request. Pedro was over the moon. The collection is also home to Elton John's piano and the Rolling Stones' mobile recording studio. It was all really good fun.

Next was Vernon, and our bus took us through the Rockies and other snowy landscapes. We were met by Jill and Bryn (Jill is my Mum's first cousin and godmother) who welcomed us with much needed soup.

Our first day was action-packed. It was the first day of the ski season, so we headed up a mountain and hired cross-country skis. Paul and I had ski-ed once before in Norway, but we had mostly forgotten how to do it and were like Bambi when he's first learning to walk. It was quite terrifying, but we got the hang of it in the end (after face-planting several times). Bryn and Jill went off for a ski of their own and left us to practise with a hill. They were good teachers, though, and so after an hour we were quite comfortable with a wobbly and tentative snowplough.

After all that hard work we'd certainly earned some calories, and Jill provided them in the form of some fantastic brownies that we spent our whole stay eating (see the recipes page). That evening was another excitement - we had tickets for a production of 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' in the local community theatre. It was the baby of Camille Martens, a former Olympic rhythmic floor gymnast and featured what seemed like her entire gymnastics school - 92 incredibly bendy kids, anyway! It was an interpretation of the story I'd never seen before and a great idea to showcase their talents whilst drawing a big audience. The theatre was packed.

Sunday some more of my extended family came round - Jonathan, Sarah, and their kids Alexander, Thomas, and baby Maren. Calculations told me Jonathan is my second cousin (whilst Jill is my first cousin once removed - anyone who's spent time with my mum's side of the family knows that the game 'working out how we're related to one another' is a popular pass-time at family reunions. It's a big family). We took the boys out sledging in a nearby playpark (thus 'breaking the ice' over their shyness, so to speak). Paul was in 'dad' training, it seemed.

After dinner later, Paul gave them a bit of a fiddle and Gay Gordons lesson. The evening was loads of fun - so nice to meet this part of the family. We saw them again the next day, going over for dinner after a long walk in the snow. Paul got his second session of Dad training. When w arrived we found out that the boys had already decided that he would be taking them sledging!

Earlier in the day we'd spent a while looking round the mall for a non-chocolate advent calendar for Paul. This was not easy. In fact, not possible at all.

Paul is not a fan of the uber-commercial chocolate jobs, but sadly the simple window-with-pictures-behind ones are turning into a thing of the past (I have fond memories of recycling our calendars every year, the game being to bash all the windows down with little wooden mallets shouting 'whack attack!', and continuing to bash them every time they popped up again).Not to be deterred from his Christmas ambitions, Paul decided to make his own, with surprising success! Earlier he'd fixed Bryn's new printer, so he got to be the first to use it. The pattern that he made for his calendar can be found at...

Back, A4

Front, A4

Back, Letter

Front, Letter

Our final day in Vernon was spent up the mountain on the skis again. I'd had rather a lot of coffee in the morning and was jittery as could be - but I think it gave me the energy to complete the 10km we calculated we did! Paul and I are now cross-country pros.

It being St. Andrews day, we spent that evening rather appropriately at a Scottish country dancing club. It was pure coincidence that it was on that day, but nice for us I suppose! I haven't done much actual country dancing (what we're used to is ceilidh, which is much simpler and much wilder) so we learnt quite a few new dances, as well as teaching a few of our own.

All in all we spent a fantastic few days with Jill and Bryn - and hopefully we'll see them again on whichever side of the Atlantic that may be. In the Greyhound station waiting for our bus to Vancouver, we witnessed a mildly dramatic police arrest of a seedy subject in flip-flops. (We knew he was seedy immediately - who wears flip-flops in this weather?) It was quite calm - the policeman waited around, then spotted the guy and walked up to him. Come with me, he says to the guy. Why? Says the guy. For the possession of stolen property. The guy doesn't protest and goes outside where he's cuffed. Then there are many discussions, the guy's led in politely and the policeman picks up some suitcases which are under suspicion, and they leave. Most people didn't realise anything was going on!

Anyway, Vancouver, last stop in Canadia, is next.

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!