Back in the UK!

My journey home went incredibly smoothly, in complete contrast to the outward leg. At least, it was smooth right up to the last half hour or so of our descent through the cloud layer into Glasgow. I enjoyed the bumpy ride although I'm not sure that many of my fellow passengers shared my sentiments! Grey, wet and windy... anything else just wouldn't have felt like arriving in Glasgow. Despite disapproval from the more sensible souls around me I'm heading off in a few minutes to chat to a man about a postdoc. (Yes, my paid for gallivanting is now at an end and in order to fund future escapades I really am going to have to get a job!) Hence the reason for blogging right now - I'm studiously avoiding reading any guides on how to succeed at interview. I suspect that getting a good night's sleep the night before is fairly high on the priority list. How many hours ago did I last sleep? I really have no idea! Hopefully I'll be updating, uploading and finally signing off from this blog in the next few days. Thank you Winston Churchill for a marvelous adventure... www.wcmt.org.uk ... applications close at the end of October, so you've got lots of time to dream up a project!

Canadian culture - hockey and hortons

So this is my last night in Newfoundland. Well, to be perfectly honest it is a half night. For some reason flights to and from the airport of Deer Lake are scheduled in the wee hours. I arrived here at ten to one in the morning. I'm leaving at twenty past 6....am. Which means that the "limo" is coming to collect me from my B&B at twenty past four. It's called the "limo service" none of that prosaic "airport shuttle" malarky. I am curious. Will it really be a stretch limo? I find that hard to believe. Probably I'm doomed to disappointment - it's bound to be a people carrier or something equally unremarkable. Right now I'm just praying that the weather gods are on my side. I've seen (and experienced!) far too many cancelled/delayed flights on this trip. It's not just the flight that concerns me - what about the drive to the airport? I was assured by my taxi driver yesterday that the "limo always gets through". Yep, they know how to drive in snow here! This point was forcibly illustrated last night after a hockey game in Deer Lake. No need to put the word "ice" in front of "hockey"... in Canada there is only the one sort of hockey! It was a semi-final playoff between the local Deer Lake Red Wings and another Newfoundland team - the Cataracts. We hadn't realised that it was such a serious match and were lucky to get tickets. Only the front row was left (and the guys at the ticket office were quite apologetic about selling them to us) as these are the less desirable seats - the ones that everyone walks past to get to the toilets and refreshments. In fact - front row seats are the perfect place to become acquainted with the ritualised violence that is Canadian hockey. Crack - we wince as the puck ricochetes off the clear plastic shield mere feet from our faces. Thud - the shield shudders as two hockey players collide and crash. One shakes off his gloves onto the ice. This is the signal for a fight... there's quite a lot of fighting in hockey it seems. Definitely after every goal and quite often in between. The action happened so fast I could barely keep up. The puck flys from end to end of the arena within seconds, and the players skate faster than I could believe possible. One moment "lawtons' drugs ... got milk" is defending his own goal... the next moment he's at the opposite end of the arena battling with "moose and crown pub". The Cataracts sponsors' names were printed relatively small, whereas the Deer Lake businesses definitely got their moneys worth. "DL HIRE... WEED FREE LAWN... JJs CHILDCARE". I strongly approved of the emblazoning of sponsors across the back of their shirts... it was so much more entertaining to think about "Dormodies Financial Services" doing battle with "Pizza Delight" than to think about number 4 jersey tackling number 22. There are only five players plus a goalie for each team allowed on at any one time, but there are continual substitutions. Players skate up and through a swing door into the sub box, while their waiting teammates vault over the side of the box and wade into the fray. The referees wear black and white vertically striped shirts which are, possibly unfortunately, very distinctive. Whether their brightly patterned shirts caused them to look like targets or not, the referees appeared to come in for far more than their fair share of injuries! When we left the game snow was falling and my friends were glad that they had booked into my B&B in Corner Brook rather than face driving back to Norris Point through the South East Hills. Once in the car we began to wonder if we were even going to get out of Deer Lake. I don't know how Mark managed to drive. Not only was snow falling, but it was blowing... great powdery swirling updrafts that reflected the headlights and made it impossible to see. Where was the road? Which side of it were we on? It was a slow, slow drive but finally we made it to Corner Brook. More than ever I was thankful that I hadn't rented a car! Canada is definitely a car based culture. It's very difficult, if not impossible, to get around without one. There isn't even a bus service for the ten minute journey between Corner Brook and the ski hill which seems ridiculous...but then again, everyone (apart from me!) has a car! At times it has been a pain not having my own set of wheels and I've felt quite bad about imposing on people for lifts. On the other hand, it has been lovely meeting so many new and generous people...most of whom I would never have got to know if I had independent transport. So yet again, thank goodness that I ran out of credit at the crucial moment! Who would have guessed that my lack of good money management skills could have been so fortuitous? Not only have I saved quite a lot of cash (spot the Scottish streak coming out!) but I've made lots of new friends because of it - perfect! Well, I thought I'd got to the end of this post, but I still had to think of a title for it and a nice bit of alliteration sprang to mind "hockey and hortons". As in "Tim Hortons" - a coffee and donut fast food cafe which seems to be deeply embedded in the Canadian psyche. There is a connection between those two "h"s. Tim Horton was a famous hockey player, and to this day the company sponsrs junior hockey and summer camps for kids. I think one has to actually be Canadian to understand the significance of Tim Hortons - I'm not even going to pretend that I appreciate its true importance! I'll restrict myself to the far less mentally challenging task of appreciating the donuts (not doughnuts) and coffee.

Newfoundland reminds me more and more of home

Today it is raining. I'm in Canada, in the winter - and it is raining. What's going on? I could have stayed in Scotland! I arrived in Newfoundland at ten to one on a Monday morning after being up since 6:30am on Sunday and skiing nearly 50km. Then my credit card was refused - entirely due to my own mismanagement of bank transfers - so instead of hiring a car I ended up being a passenger and driven first to a B&B and then the following morning to Norris Point, in the heart of Newfoundland's Gros Morne National Park. The photo below is of Norris Point, while the one at the top of this post is a view of Gros Morne mountain itself.

To be perfectly honest I was quite happy not to be driving after seeing the condition of the roads! Especially as I was only offered all season rather than proper winter tyres. On my first afternoon I met up with Shane Fleming who is the marketing manager for Gros Morne Gatherings - an organisation that is trying to extend the tourism season for Western Newfoundland businesses by promoting corporate functions. He is also involved with the Gros Morne Institute for Sustainable Tourism who run courses in innovation and sustainability for tourism employees. Over the last few days I've met up with other people involved in tourism here. Sue and Bob started Gros Morne Adventures (www.grosmorneadventures.com/ )in 1990 and are very well respected guides. Their names had been mentioned by other people I've met on this trip so it was wonderful to finally meet them in person. Peter Ollerhead of CycleSolutions (www.cyclesolutions.ca/) in Corner Brook only started his business 6 years ago but it has grown exponentially so it was great for him and Colin to take time to share their experiences with me over a coffee. The coffee was from the very nice coffee shop that Peter opened last year next door to his bike shop... there's an interconnecting door so he and his customers can take advantage of freshly brewed coffee at any time of day. What a great idea! Yesterday was an absolutely glorious day. I was out of the house at 7am, just as the sky was lightening, to take advantage of a lift down to Corner Brook. We drove past Gros Morne mountain as it was bathed in early morning sun. The hills here with their rounded tops and craggy sides remind me of the Cairngorms. In the afternoon I was taken for a snowmachine ride out to the back of Gros Morne. This is a truly beautiful place and well deserving of being a National Park and UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Canadian Ski Marathon

This morning I took my ski boots out of my bag... and remembered that I'd broken one of the eyelets on the Ski with the Cree trip. Considering I've rented skis and poles for this marathon would it have been so hard to rent a pair of boots as well? No. So why did my memory not inform me of my slightly damaged boots while I was in the gear shop? Reminds me of last summer when I put my yeti gaiters onto my boots while my dad was driving me to the airport, just as I was putting them on I remembered that the zip was completely knackered. Still, the gaiters lasted the summer... and today my boots carried me through 52km of ski marathon. The Canadian Ski Marathon is cunningly designed so that one can do as much or as little as one desires. Today there were 5 sections. The ladies I was with decided to miss out the first section and planned to do the middle three. So we were conveyed to our starting checkpoint by one of those quintessentially North American yellow school buses. The scenery was some of the prettiest I've seen thus far in Canada. We weaved through trees, leafless, rimed in frost, some with shrivelled leaves from last autumn still clinging to their boughs. Maybe I preferred it because finally Canada showed me some topology. We skied in valleys through rounded hills, past lakes, through undulating farmland. One section found us in single file through a tunnel of conifers, their dark branches laden with snow. "Isn't this amazing! Straight out of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe!" cried a loud voice from behind me. The checkpoints were a hive of activity. I heard, rather than saw, the first one. "God only knows... God only knows how you feel about me" blaring through the trees alerted me to the prospect of food and drink. Bits of flapjack, cookies, banana, chocolate covered peanuts... honey water (which I wasn't very keen on) and a luminous liquid known as Gatorade... pass me the plain hot water please! The third section was long. By this time I had pretty much figured out how to cross country ski properly... but was getting to the point of being too tired to try! I was slightly irritated to find that I reached the checkpoint 20 minutes too late to carry on to the fourth and final section. If only I hadn't dillied and dallied at previous checkpoints! If only I'd pushed myself that little bit harder. As I disconsolately stood in the food queue and munched my peanuts I noticed that the volunteer behind the table was getting overwhelmed by the number of incoming hands snatching every morsel... almost before she had them on the table. "Can I help?" Moments later I was on the other side, breaking up flapjack, snapping cookies and chatting away happily to the lovely lady volunteer who, it turned out, had been on Baffin Island quite recently. She'd had an opportunity to go up there to do a survey of people's health in that region. Not great apparently... as I know from my own experience. So we had quite a good time, until the torrent of people ebbed into a trickle, at which point I went off to get another school bus back to Le Chateau. I have to confess, I really am staying in the lap of luxury here. I'm told it's the largest log constructed chalet in the world... and I can well believe it! Tomorrow... more skiing!


The second day of the ski marathon involved rather more uphill! The trail twisted and turned its way through some lovely countryside and by this time I had finally figured out how to ski. Although I ended up skiing alone most of the time I did have quite a fun race down to one of the checkpoints following another guy who seemed to be going at a similar pace to myself. Without speaking we somehow reached a tacit agreement to up the speed and gradually went faster and faster, passing other skiers and swooped down the final hill to the checkpoint with a flourish! The last section also involved quite a lot of downhill with plenty of opportunity for calamity. Fortunately luck was on my side and I made it to the finish on my feet!

Temagami - Ottawa - Montreal - North Hatley

The last few days have taken me rather a long way from a region labelled by its inhabitants Northern Ontario (despite the fact that geographically it is well south of the halfway point!) to southern Quebec. Romeo (his real name) picked me up in his taxi at Smoothwater and drove me to the gas station where I waited for the bus. It arrived on time, I hopped aboard and we arrived at the terminus in North Bay a couple of hours later. Compared to Britain, public transport here (where it exists!) seems to be cheaper and much less hassle. I couldn't just turn up at a bus or train station in Britain and buy a ticket to travel several hundred miles for less than 40 quid! After changing onto the Ottawa bus I spent a pleasant journey dozing and gazing out of the window at the changing scenery. To my eyes the shop fronts and advertising look old fashioned, like something out of an 80s American movie. Although I thought exactly the same when I visited New York last year so it isn't that Canada is behind the times! Arriving in Ottawa just before 9pm I was lazy and took a cab to the hostel, Ottawa Backpackers. I had deliberately chosen an independent hostel rather than Hostelling International and in the morning I quizzed the owner, Martin, about how he had got started. It turned out that his parents run the independent hostel in Thunder Bay so he grew up in the business. At first they ran the HI hostel, then there were some political shenanigans and they got chucked out of the organisation. So they decided to start up independently. Martin's father put an advert in national papers asking if there was anyone else out there who wanted to run an independent hostel. The response was phenomenal and so Canada's independent hostel network was born. Martin reckons that HI must have come to regret falling out with his parents...there are now twice as many independents as HI hostels in Canada! Yesterday morning (Wednesday 6th) I borrowed some ice skates from the hostel and went skating (slowly and not very gracefully) on the frozen Rideau canal - the longest ice rink in the world. In the afternoon I took a bus to Montreal Trudeau airport where I met up with the friends I'm now staying with in North Hatley. I also bought flights to Deer Lake, Newfoundland. I thought of going there a long time ago, during one of the many iterations of planning this trip. Now it seems that it is going to happen! The plan is to fly there on Sunday evening and hire a car. Over the weekend I'm taking part in the Canadian Ski Marathon... whether this is a good idea remains to be seen...I haven't been doing much exercise this trip so I'm more than a little bit apprehensive. It will be an experience!

Temagami - Smoothwater Ecolodge

I was collected from the train station by Francis and we drove for about quarter of an hour along the highway before turning into the Smoothwater drive. The scenery here is dramatically different to further north. Gradually on my journey south the landscape changed from a seemingly endless flatness of pines to meandering frozen lakes coralled by rolling wooded hills. Deciduous and conifers all muddled up together and, in this season, all festooned in fluffy white snow. We stopped first at a two storey building, the upper floor of which was to be my home for the next short while. Three small bedrooms, a living area and a bathroom. Next stop was to meet Caryn at the main lodge. This is also their family home - quite an amazing place centred around a large room with a high pitched ceiling and enormous picture windows looking out onto the lake and a wooded island. There was also an accommodation block with several rooms ranging from dorms to double beds, a sauna, and the Gathering Hall - yet another opportunity for picture windows! There was to be a yoga retreat over the weekend and so guests began to arrive on the Friday. First came a couple of sisters who were snowshoeing out to spend a couple of nights in one of the cabins on the trail system. Then a group of four ladies who were coming for a girls weekend away. They planned to stay in the accommodation block, partake of Caryn's delicious meals and try to work off that calorific intake by skiing during the day. The yoga instructor arrived and was installed in one of the other bedrooms in the staff house. During the day she works for a bank and on top of that she teaches yoga in the evenings and does a few weekends away like this. She turned out to be a marvellous instructor. I've taken a few yoga classes before and, to be perfectly honest, never really thought of it as something I'd like to pursue. I joined in with the classes at Smoothwater purely because it would be foolish not to take advantage of such an opportunity and was very impressed by the excellence of her instruction. (http://carasutrayoga.com/) It was a small class as two of the participants had been deterred from driving by a Toronto snowstorm. A mother and daughter (actually there were really three generations in attendence as the daughter was 7 weeks pregnant), both teachers from North Bay, arrived just in time for the first yoga class on Friday afternoon. So over the weekend there were nine of us for breakfast and dinner. Caryn likes to offer additional activities so that first evening we all had what she calls "great, great grandmother facials". This involves using natural ingredients...just like those our forebears might have used. Caryn works with the seasons - in summer she might have used a fruit puree to dab onto the skin. This time we mixed a concoction of natural yoghurt, honey, almond oil and apple cider vinegar. This we dabbed onto our faces using cotton wool. Then wiped our skin clean with a flannel dipped in balsalm infused hot water. Steaming over the same bowl of scented water was a great feeling. Then we dabbed honey onto our faces, patting and patting as it became sticker and sticker... the ladies called this a gomage (I have undoubtedly spelt that wrong!) Finally, we washed this off and wiped our faces with a cool slice of cucumber peel. My skin did feel rather good afterwards. What a contrast in experiences: one day I'm tree cutting and sled hauling with the Cree menfolk, almost the next I am in an exclusively female environment doing yoga and having facials! Other activities Caryn offered over the weekend included a cross country ski lesson, breadmaking (I had no idea one could cut up pine needles and make pine scented bread!) and watercolour painting. It's this range of activities and interests that makes Smoothwater special I think. Caryn is an artist, a self taught chef, a wonderfully creative person and she manages to combine and communicate her enthusiasm for all these different things to her guests. She cooks the way she paints, using colour and flavour in vibrant and exciting combinations just as an artist mixes and contrasts pigments on a canvas. In addition to helping around the lodge and participating in yoga classes and all the other activities I found a bit of time to explore a few of the trails. During the winter Caryn and Francis keep these groomed for skiers and I had lots of fun borrowing skis and heading off by myself or with Cara, the yoga instructor. The trails twist their way through narrow wooded tunnels, past expanses of frozen lake, on the edge of small patches of open flowing streams. Snow softly fell for much of my time there and so the trees were draped in white flakes that had settled lightly on their dark branches. It is a very beautiful place. Must be quite different in the summer time though when the lodge is busy with canoe trippers!

... with the Cree (minus the ski bit)

Saturday 26th January
I was walking along the snowy street during a wander round the southern point of Moose Factory Island when a big four wheel drive pulled up next to me. Philip motioned me into the passenger seat, told me that we'd get me and my bags checked out of the ecolodge and go to his camp, returning on Monday in time for him to take me to my train. Ungrateful girl that I am, my immediate reaction was "but I wanted to learn more about the ecolodge and that schedule doesn't give me any time there at all!" So I postponed my departure for yet another day, to give me a little bit more time to learn about the particular brand of tourism represented by the Cree Village Eco Lodge. Phil drove me back to his house where I met his wife Frances and the rest of his family. Then I was driven back to the ecolodge, my laundry rescued from the depths of the building (mmm, clean clothes!) and me and my bags piled back into the car and back to Phil's. They were busy loading up a sled. Without giving me any opportunity to question the rapidity of the events I was given a thick parka (my own down jacket had obviously been deemed unsuitable) a thick pair of gloves (again, my own were apparently not substantial enough) and then, walking outside, "there's your snowmachine". I was shocked! Me, drive my own snowmachine? Frances was already putting on her helmet and without time to do anything other than comply I was aboard that snowmachine, revving the engine and carefully - but with a certain lack of control - manoevreing round the back of the house and out onto the road. After a brief stop at the gas station we were off again, down the road and then, scarily for me, down a (not very) steep embankment onto the Moose River. We followed the same route as I'd skied earlier in the week. The same expanse of flat white ice, fringed with a dark trim of trees. But this time I was going at speed! I tried to remember the brief snowmachine instructions I'd been given the week before by Jeff during my first ever attempt at driving one of these beasts. Let it run in the tracks, don't try to fight it... The surface was lumpy and at various points I started to feel sea sick. But I couldn't afford to let Frances get too far ahead. The camp was not nearly as far by skidoo as by ski! Frances drove confidently up the steep embankment and through the narrow gap between the trees to get into the camp. I was much less confident - especially as there were two little girls standing right at the top on either side of the gap. If I got it wrong - the consequences just didn't bear thinking about. I squeezed the throttle, the engine roared and up I went. Naturally, it wasn't just a case of holding the thing straight. It was essential to make a sharp turn to the right just as one came over the sharp brow of the hill in order to avoid some looming trees. Feeling slightly shaky I switched off the engine. And everything was quiet...no more roaring machines. Just the crackling of the campfire and the excited voices of the children as they unpacked their bags from the sled and ran to grab the best bunk beds.

Wehad all gone to bed when outside we heard a raw voice screaming "Frances!" I was sleeping in the cabin with Phil's daughter, her boyfriend and their two daughters. The children didn't wake but the three of us adults roused and looked at each other. Richard got up, went outside and came back, pulling on his thick trousers and parka. The man from the next cabin had gone out for a snowmachine ride and was now overdue. He'd left about 4 and it was now nearly 10pm, long after dark. His wife had walked, run, stumbled and fallen to reach us on a narrow twisty trail through the dark woods from her cabin half an hour's walk away. She hadn't known what to do. Should she wait. Or go to fetch help. What had happened to him. Her imagination was conjuring up all sorts of disasters. Phil, his daughter and her boyfriend each took a snowmachine and roared off in search. I sat by the fire with Frances, not knowing what I could possibly say to Shirley that wouldn't sound trivial and trite. Luckily we didn't have to wait long before engines were heard and the snowmachines roared back into camp. There he was - the cause of all this upset. Turned out he'd got his machine stuck on a snowcovered tree. Singlehandedly he'd been unable to move the heavy vehicle, so, tired out, he had simply fallen asleep. Phil said it gave him quite a fright to glimpse the reflective flashes on the man's parka in the glow of his headlights, and then, on coming closer, to see him slumped on the seat of the machine. Thankfully he was perfectly alright and all ended happily!

Sunday 27th January

Being out at the camp with Phil and his family was quite different to being there with Ski with the Cree. Before, a couple of curious whicky jacks (which look similar to British jays) visited, but didn't linger. This time, they were an almost constant presence, softly chattering in the trees and darting down when crumbs were thrown for them. They were fearless- one landed on my knee- but very quick...I tried and tried to get a decent photo but to no avail. Tiny red squirrels scurried around the woodpile and picked up the crumbs we scattered around our feet. The family had given them all names. The one we saw most of was called Roger - he was content to sit and pose, nibbling a crumb, while I fussed with my camera and finally got a good picture. I spent my time there sitting by the fire, just being able to sit happily outside was such a wonderful and relaxing feeling. Or I would try to help Phil and Richard gather wood, rolling cut sections of tree trunk down a snowy slope, trying to lift the logs into the sled. I was just amazed at the size and weight of the logs that they were able to shift. My helpfulness was pretty much limited to being a snowmachine driver. They would load up my sled and I would drive it back to camp. Even then I managed to lose a couple on the way due to going too fast over a bumpy section!

Monday 28th January
Staying out at Phil's camp was wonderful. But I did start feeling a little bit guilty - after all, the purpose of my time in Canada is to learn as much as I can about different sorts of tourism - not to wander around in the bush, sit by fires and cut down trees, pleasant as that might be. So on Monday I took myself in to Clarence Trapper's office and asked the poor, patient guy questions for most of the morning. There are two First nation communities in the Moose Factory Area. Moose River First Nation, to which Clarence, Philip and the other guides belong, and MoCreebec, which is the community that has built the Ecolodge. Cree Village Eco Lodge was built because the MoCreebec council realised that they either needed to fully embrace tourism or reject it altogether. Having decided to embrace it they identified a need for accommodation in the area. They wanted this accommodation to be in tune with their traditional values and hence the idea of the idea of the ecolodge was born. Greg told me that there was a long process of distilling down and expressing previously inarticulated feelings, values and traditional concepts. The simple phrase they eventually found which captures the essentials of what their culture and the ecolodge hopes to represent is "living lightly on the earth". Call it what you will, a motto, a mission statement, a creed... it expresses the Cree way of life. They speak of harvesting rather than hunting, gathering rather than picking. I was surprised by how few animals the people I met had killed during their lives rather than by how many. Cree Village Eco Lodge has been built beautifully, with great attention to detail. Organic linens, environmentally friendly paint, beautiful hickory furniture from a sustainable forest in the US. I liked the raw cedar panelling in the rooms - apparently all they do is spray it with water every so often and it releases fresh cedar scent into the room. Much the same as I will do with my tamarack goose when it loses its scent. Clarence said simply to soak it in water, and as it dries out the scent will be invigorated. I can't wait.

Tuesday 29th January
I finally left Moose Factory. What a wonderful place, what wonderful people. I feel humbled by their generosity and the magnitude of their welcome to this foolish visitor from Scotland. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why my stay affected me so deeply, but it's an experience I'm going to remember with happiness for a long time to come. Maybe I'll go back, one never knows, but somehow I doubt it. Maybe someday I'll be able to show some of my new Cree friends my home country and repay their hospitality. Maybe that will never happen and I'll repay their hospitality by giving hospitality to others...what goes around comes around.

I spent Tuesday night in Cochrane at the Station Hotel. In the morning I chatted with the manager, James Pereira, who is absolutely lovely and I thoroughly recommend staying there just because he's such a friendly, chatty guy. Then I caught another train to Temagami. Travelling on these Canadian trains is how I imagine travel in Britain would have been long before I was born. The carriages are incredibly spacious and not crowded at all. The conductor was really attentive. He marked our destination with a card above our seats and about ten minutes before arrival came along the coach to personally inform each of us that our stop was coming up. I helped a man with his disabled wife. Not only was I profusely thanked by the lady in question and by her husband, but later the conductor came along the carriage to proffer his thanks as well! All a bit unecessary for a small bit of aid that no-one could have refused to give! But that experience just about sums up the extraordinary niceness (there's no other word for it) of northern Canadians.