Month: September 2015

September 27: Last Sunday morning I went for a run along the Seine. It was not really very beneficial to my health because the cobblestones made for lousy footing so I ran slowly, and the cross-streets meant that I had to stop frequently. But I got in a few kilometers and I have another memory of that wonderful city.

And I do love Paris. The aging, decrepit city planner in me understands what makes it so great: the wide sidewalks with a coherent plan for street trees, benches and bus shelters; an integrated and extensive transit system; block after block of mid-rise buildings packed with people and cafes and shops and offices spilling out onto the street; public spaces with fountains or really great public art and vistas along the main streets tying them together; the intensity and congestion of the streets. Public buildings and heritage that isn’t an after-thought. I have a particular fondness for old churches ….

The last night I was there, I went for a walk and tried to savour some of that for the last time. It was bittersweet for me since I knew I didn’t really want to come home. It’s been a wonderful adventure with new places and experiences virtually every day for two months. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew that there were things waiting for me at home that will be equally wonderful and challenging – like becoming a grandfather to twin girls….

 

 

 

 

 

This morning I went for a run in Mount Pleasant Cemetery. The pavement was smooth and there was no traffic, so I have no excuse for a slow performance. The contrast with Paris could not have been more extreme, and I found myself thinking about the lessons I’ve learned from being away for so long….

September 20: Who knew a tuna sandwich could do 300 km/h ? I sure didn’t until yesterday when I had lunch on the high-speed TGV train between Avignon and Paris. There was really no sensation the sandwich was moving that fast. Things were going by the window pretty quickly but I would have thought we were doing something like 180 km/h. It’s amazing technology, and it allowed us to cover the 700 km distance in just over 3 hours.

So now I’m in Paris. I had dinner last night with my friend Harlene who was also at Le Beaucet. She left this morning for Toronto and I’m forced to wander the streets alone. Such a hardship. The hotel is about 3 blocks from Notre Dame on the Left Bank. After spending 2 months virtually alone and out in the country, coming into the heart of a large city is pretty intense.

This little square is at the end of the street. It’s remarkable that a few trees and a bit of grass can make such a difference to the character of the street. The space feels cooler and more relaxed, and the fountain splashes just enough to drown out some of the traffic noise. I spent some time people-watching at the café over a glass of  Tavel rose. The complimentary dish of spiced olives disappeared a lot more slowly than the 300 km/h tuna sandwich.

September 17: Last Saturday I arrived at Le Beaucet, a pretty little town not far from Avignon. I’m sharing the house with 10 others including the bhoys, their wives or partners, and some new friends. The village is really just a collection of homes, 2 restaurants, and a very old church and chateau. Our home is on the pilgrimage route of St. Gens about 200 metres from the edge of town.

The house itself sits on the edge of a small ravine. There are 4 large bedrooms on the main floor and 2 on the lower level. . Each has a bathroom and the remainder of the main floor is the living / dining area and kitchen. I have a smaller bedroom on the main floor which is unique because it has no window and an “Italian shower” which means I have to squeegee the bathroom floor every morning. There’s a pool in the back which is unheated, and the weather hasn’t been great for swimming, so it hasn’t seen a lot of use. Overall, we’re really impressed with the high quality of the house, the furnishings and the location.

We have been off exploring Provence. There was a convoy to Chateauneuf du Pape and a second to the Ardeche gorges.  Although it threatened rain and was unbelievably windy, we went to St. Remy and Les Baux de Provence yesterday. There are plans for the Cotes du  Rhone wineries and Mt. Ventoux if the weather co-operates.

I have often daydreamed about living in France. Having been here for an extended time I feel that I’ve adapted in some measure to the lifestyle. But there’s an obvious and real difference between “holidaying” and “living” in a place. As my Sister pointed out yesterday, the first couple of days going to town for a baguette can be fun, but when you have to do it everyday it can become tedious.

My trip has been a success because I have had the time to do as I please. Staying in a new home for a longer time would take that to the next level, and it’s something that really appeals to me. Worth considering…

https://www.airbnb.ca/rooms/2188271

September 9: No, not a typo. Many years ago, I learned from my friends David and Ed that “the bhoys” is a nickname given to followers of the Glasgow Celtic Football Club. They co-founded the Etobicoke Bhoys Club for Planning Department staff. Membership required a good deal of beer drinking and male bonding – although many women ultimately joined as well, something I attribute to the kindness, charm and good humour of both those fine men.

I’ve been thinking a good deal about male bonding for the last few days since my cousin James, brother-in-law Joe, and long-time friend Chris have joined me for a week of motorcycling. To say that expectations were high might be an understatement; I’ve been imagining what this part of the trip could be like for many months, and of course, it has been completely different from the outset. It’s been difficult for me to let go of the preconceptions I had of what I thought could happen, and allow the trip to unfold in it’s own way. I wanted everyone to have a great time, and saw it as my responsibility to make it happen.

We are now 5 days into the adventure and it hasn’t been perfect but it sure has been fun. Today we climbed Col du Lautaret, Col du Galibier, Col de Telegraphe and the Lacets de Pontamafrey, all in about 100 km. Other days haven’t been as vertically challenging, but they have all been an adventure in one form or another. Discussion over dinner is inevitably scatological and hilarious, since Chris is an expert story-teller and all-round kibitzer. Joe has overcome his fear of hairpins and continues to try and convince us that Our Glorious Leader deserves another term in office, while James has been busy organizing routes, expensive wine and hotel rooms for us all. We have all contributed something special and essential as the days unfold. With good food, good wine and good friends in equal measure; how could I go wrong ?

I am sure that my friends David and Ed could offer many insights to male bonding. They were experts. Leaving aside for a moment the many wonderful women I am privileged to have as friends, this part of my little adventure has reminded me that I am indeed fortunate to have so many fine bhoys in my life; men of humour and strength and character and insight. Men that help me to be a better man. Thanks bhoys.

 

September 2: And by “the French” I really mean “Europeans” because of course, these are things you see pretty much everywhere.

I was riding in the Pyrenees when I found a tiny col that connected to a road I wanted to follow. A short distance up the road I found this little village – really just a few houses and a church. The house in front of the church was tended by a man and wife – perhaps a retired farming couple – and they had a beautiful garden along the little river’s edge. The French plant gardens everywhere. The church bells were just chiming noon as I arrived. A lovely little vignette.

It seems that the French – and Europeans generally – live more of their life in public spaces. There are markets and shops, and of course the cafes. I stayed for a couple of days in Castellane. There are 4 or 5 cafes along the north edge of the main square and they are busy from noon until well into the evening. If you look closely, you can see Notre Dame du Roc keeping an eye on things from 600 metres up. It makes me wonder why it’s such a struggle for us to create really high-quality public spaces of our own when Europeans do it so consistently.

Similarly, the French are known for their food. Street vendors are part of the scene in every market and every town. You can eat pretty well with a bit of hunting around. In Toronto we just about killed off the street food sector with unworkable and expensive standards. Having just suffered through a bout of traveller’s malaise, I’m totally supportive of good public health standards., but somehow we manage to come down on the side of bland and mediocre. Imagine cooking several kilos of escargots at Bloor and Yonge like this guy in Puy en Velay…..

In Germany I was totally impressed with the network of local trains and busses. It seemed that every town had a train station and a little 2-car shuttle that departed 3 or 4 times a day. Picture Bracebridge connected to Orillia and Huntsville, Barrie and Toronto…Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have the population and the money to make it work for us?

And finally, one thing they do that drives me wild: smoking. It seems that smoking is still fairly popular in France, and it is allowed on patios, in cafes and other public spaces. Having gotten used to being without cigarette smoke in Toronto, it is surprising -shocking, even – to find it so widely accepted here.