Apologetically, my most retarded* blog yet, authored at Montreal Trudeau Airport - where we await check-in with a jug of Sangria...
(*delayed. A lingering Quebec influence dictates the use of French synonyms where possible.)
Good job, Bob
Montpellier (a town and municipality an hours drive north of Ottawa, with a population of 986 - and Massie family history dating back as far as it's creation) was a welcome (if a little fly infested) and stark contrast to the hectic, blurry venture across 2,839 miles of US Highways. Cause for immediate celebration, as we pulled up outside Guillaume's decaying but familiar chalet in the woods, was that our cheap old little Neon had survived the journey. Relief and contentment were tainted only slightly, by an undeniable sense of self-congratulation - a big fat dollop of smug - $1,500 we paid for that car two years ago. We packed our life's belongings into it, crammed it to the max, and it got us from one end of North America to the other. Previous adventures for our Chrysler included the (admittedly accidental) ascension of a small mountain near Nelson, British Columbia - a steep and stony dirt road only attempted by others in red-blooded 4x4's that may as well be hairy. More fool you SUV drivers with your $400 a month multi-year commitment... More. Fool. You. Our now personified Neon (Bob) will remain at Montpellier, and probably still work in a year or two when we optimistically turn the key again...
With no means of communicating with the outside world, or any way for the outside world to communicate with us, with a broken hot water tank and in the midst of an ongoing river-pump nightmare (which we will only allude to in this paragraph - but may elaborate on later) we decided our two weeks in the wilderness would be best spent building a new bed frame out of interesting-looking logs. Guillaume took charge of chopping and measuring. Sanding and varnishing was my job. My Uncle-in-law (sure - mother-in-law, brother-in-law, cousin-in-law, whatever - it all works) had constructed a deck a few years ago, at the back of the chalet, overlooking the fall. This is where we drank beer and built stuff. We dug a new fire pit too, which involved collecting large boulders from the river (we enlisted the help of Bob for that too). We later discovered these were left-over rocks from a damn once built there by Guillaume's grandfather.
Struck by lightning
A storm last July had brought down enormous trees in the area, including three along the driveway leading to the chalet. Guillaume hacked them up as if he were Thor (except with an axe instead of a hammer. - Cooler.), and under the stars we drank by firelight. On one occasion, as a spectacular show of raging electrical discharge lit up the sky for a few hours, we got through 24 shock-tops and a bottle of red. With iTunes on the laptop we still had hours of music to listen, dance and get emotionally reflective to - leading me part way to a conclusion I drunkenly drew a few weeks later, that you can live happily anywhere in the world, as long as you have good booze and really good music... The atmospheric rumblings of thunder (which miraculously produced no rain) were a reminder of our insignificance in the larger world and that "la vie est courte". All the more reason to love it while you can. Guillaume's great-grandfather had died in Montpellier, the other side of the road from where we sat, when he was struck by lightning in the early 1900's.
We weren't completely alone in this isolated suburb of a tiny town. The closest house on the right, a 5 or 6 minute walk away, was occupied by Gilles Massie and his girlfriend Huguette. The house beyond that belongs to Andre Massie and his ever growing family of cats. To the other side of us, at a distance, was the newest Massie dwelling belonging to Guillaume's elder cousin Pascal and his young son Francis. All of the aforementioned homes, each one beautiful and elaborate in it's own way, were built by their respective owners in the land they now share surrounding the original Massie holiday home - the old chalet now owned by Guillaume's mother, in which we were staying. We dream of one day building similar, or renovating what exists.
To help African women give birth...
Quality time with family is inevitable when in a place such as Montpellier. And the Massie's are an affectionate, intelligent collective, who love to laugh and be hospitable. Andre, who had just returned from winter time in Florida, emphasized how happy he was to see us, saying; "because you're like birds." With Gilles and Huguette, we ate good food, watched the hockey and decided not to take them up on their offer of a small TV and DVD Player when Huguette told us "I don't have any English movies apart from Panic Room, so you can have that -- and the rest is sex", as she dropped three porn films into a plastic bag... A few kinds of awkward...
Life is full of little coincidences that sometimes leave you wondering if there's a pre-weaved web of some kind... Talking of my loved ones in England, I told Gilles how my younger sister Rachel (17 next month) is planning to be a midwife and going to Tanzania for 6 weeks next summer to help African women give birth. Naturally, Gilles (now 75) responded that he had lived in Tanzania for 15 years, and produced three photo albums of visual evidence. Not totally news to us of course. Guillaume knew his Uncle had lived in Africa - he has two black cousins. Further still to this story, Gilles was responsible for erecting many important buildings in Tanzania, mainly schools and hospitals. We are still waiting to know if Rachel might work in something he built...
After a week of filling buckets in the river to flush the loo, heating water on the stove to have a wash, and lathering one another in citron-stinking insect-repellent, we needed a little break. We drove an hour to Gatineau to see Seb and his wife Jasmine for the weekend. Seb and Guillaume have been best friends since they were five years old. Seb is a Senior Advisor for the Department of Foreign Affairs in Ottawa. Consequently we were prive to a tour of the government buildings during our visit, including the crisis room - which at that time focused its clock's on Kiev and Moscow.
Delayed at Procrastination Station...
Let's not pretend that it's not the 23rd July right now, and I have procrastinated the completion of this post since I boarded the plane in Montreal on 2nd June... Perhaps this is a good indicator that my bloggy ramblings are too lengthy to sustain. There's a lot to catch up on, so I shall pace promptly through the reminiscences of our Quebec jaunt before moving on to tales of the Wight side, which is where I am presently - sweating buckets.
For your 'reassurance' though, I would suggest the blog as composed on 2nd June is not entirely dated, and that crisis rooms within many governments are probably still keeping a close eye on the activities occurring in the Ukraine. See, I am as of-the-moment as the BBC itself.
Anyway, yes, back in Montpellier after some Ottawan luxuries... I was going to tell you about the 200 year old water pump and the 100 year old man who gave it to us, but it's all kinds of old news now...
Quebec City is honestly one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to. From the moment I first went there in 2010, I fell head over heels in love with it. For us, it's not just about the stunning historical architecture - so beautifully preserved, or the cultural ambiance oozing from sophisticated restaurant terraces, characterful bars and seemingly continental cafes, or the way it's just so much more 'real' than the cities in the West of Canada... more than all of that wonderful stuff, it's about the people. Guillaume's Mum and Sister live in the city, his sister in Old Quebec - overlooking the port, and his Mum alongside the lusciously green and vast les Plaines d'Abraham - close to the river.
(*delayed. A lingering Quebec influence dictates the use of French synonyms where possible.)
Good job, Bob
Montpellier (a town and municipality an hours drive north of Ottawa, with a population of 986 - and Massie family history dating back as far as it's creation) was a welcome (if a little fly infested) and stark contrast to the hectic, blurry venture across 2,839 miles of US Highways. Cause for immediate celebration, as we pulled up outside Guillaume's decaying but familiar chalet in the woods, was that our cheap old little Neon had survived the journey. Relief and contentment were tainted only slightly, by an undeniable sense of self-congratulation - a big fat dollop of smug - $1,500 we paid for that car two years ago. We packed our life's belongings into it, crammed it to the max, and it got us from one end of North America to the other. Previous adventures for our Chrysler included the (admittedly accidental) ascension of a small mountain near Nelson, British Columbia - a steep and stony dirt road only attempted by others in red-blooded 4x4's that may as well be hairy. More fool you SUV drivers with your $400 a month multi-year commitment... More. Fool. You. Our now personified Neon (Bob) will remain at Montpellier, and probably still work in a year or two when we optimistically turn the key again...
With no means of communicating with the outside world, or any way for the outside world to communicate with us, with a broken hot water tank and in the midst of an ongoing river-pump nightmare (which we will only allude to in this paragraph - but may elaborate on later) we decided our two weeks in the wilderness would be best spent building a new bed frame out of interesting-looking logs. Guillaume took charge of chopping and measuring. Sanding and varnishing was my job. My Uncle-in-law (sure - mother-in-law, brother-in-law, cousin-in-law, whatever - it all works) had constructed a deck a few years ago, at the back of the chalet, overlooking the fall. This is where we drank beer and built stuff. We dug a new fire pit too, which involved collecting large boulders from the river (we enlisted the help of Bob for that too). We later discovered these were left-over rocks from a damn once built there by Guillaume's grandfather.
Struck by lightning
A storm last July had brought down enormous trees in the area, including three along the driveway leading to the chalet. Guillaume hacked them up as if he were Thor (except with an axe instead of a hammer. - Cooler.), and under the stars we drank by firelight. On one occasion, as a spectacular show of raging electrical discharge lit up the sky for a few hours, we got through 24 shock-tops and a bottle of red. With iTunes on the laptop we still had hours of music to listen, dance and get emotionally reflective to - leading me part way to a conclusion I drunkenly drew a few weeks later, that you can live happily anywhere in the world, as long as you have good booze and really good music... The atmospheric rumblings of thunder (which miraculously produced no rain) were a reminder of our insignificance in the larger world and that "la vie est courte". All the more reason to love it while you can. Guillaume's great-grandfather had died in Montpellier, the other side of the road from where we sat, when he was struck by lightning in the early 1900's.
We weren't completely alone in this isolated suburb of a tiny town. The closest house on the right, a 5 or 6 minute walk away, was occupied by Gilles Massie and his girlfriend Huguette. The house beyond that belongs to Andre Massie and his ever growing family of cats. To the other side of us, at a distance, was the newest Massie dwelling belonging to Guillaume's elder cousin Pascal and his young son Francis. All of the aforementioned homes, each one beautiful and elaborate in it's own way, were built by their respective owners in the land they now share surrounding the original Massie holiday home - the old chalet now owned by Guillaume's mother, in which we were staying. We dream of one day building similar, or renovating what exists.
To help African women give birth...
Quality time with family is inevitable when in a place such as Montpellier. And the Massie's are an affectionate, intelligent collective, who love to laugh and be hospitable. Andre, who had just returned from winter time in Florida, emphasized how happy he was to see us, saying; "because you're like birds." With Gilles and Huguette, we ate good food, watched the hockey and decided not to take them up on their offer of a small TV and DVD Player when Huguette told us "I don't have any English movies apart from Panic Room, so you can have that -- and the rest is sex", as she dropped three porn films into a plastic bag... A few kinds of awkward...
Life is full of little coincidences that sometimes leave you wondering if there's a pre-weaved web of some kind... Talking of my loved ones in England, I told Gilles how my younger sister Rachel (17 next month) is planning to be a midwife and going to Tanzania for 6 weeks next summer to help African women give birth. Naturally, Gilles (now 75) responded that he had lived in Tanzania for 15 years, and produced three photo albums of visual evidence. Not totally news to us of course. Guillaume knew his Uncle had lived in Africa - he has two black cousins. Further still to this story, Gilles was responsible for erecting many important buildings in Tanzania, mainly schools and hospitals. We are still waiting to know if Rachel might work in something he built...
After a week of filling buckets in the river to flush the loo, heating water on the stove to have a wash, and lathering one another in citron-stinking insect-repellent, we needed a little break. We drove an hour to Gatineau to see Seb and his wife Jasmine for the weekend. Seb and Guillaume have been best friends since they were five years old. Seb is a Senior Advisor for the Department of Foreign Affairs in Ottawa. Consequently we were prive to a tour of the government buildings during our visit, including the crisis room - which at that time focused its clock's on Kiev and Moscow.
Delayed at Procrastination Station...
Let's not pretend that it's not the 23rd July right now, and I have procrastinated the completion of this post since I boarded the plane in Montreal on 2nd June... Perhaps this is a good indicator that my bloggy ramblings are too lengthy to sustain. There's a lot to catch up on, so I shall pace promptly through the reminiscences of our Quebec jaunt before moving on to tales of the Wight side, which is where I am presently - sweating buckets.
For your 'reassurance' though, I would suggest the blog as composed on 2nd June is not entirely dated, and that crisis rooms within many governments are probably still keeping a close eye on the activities occurring in the Ukraine. See, I am as of-the-moment as the BBC itself.
Anyway, yes, back in Montpellier after some Ottawan luxuries... I was going to tell you about the 200 year old water pump and the 100 year old man who gave it to us, but it's all kinds of old news now...
Quebec City is honestly one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to. From the moment I first went there in 2010, I fell head over heels in love with it. For us, it's not just about the stunning historical architecture - so beautifully preserved, or the cultural ambiance oozing from sophisticated restaurant terraces, characterful bars and seemingly continental cafes, or the way it's just so much more 'real' than the cities in the West of Canada... more than all of that wonderful stuff, it's about the people. Guillaume's Mum and Sister live in the city, his sister in Old Quebec - overlooking the port, and his Mum alongside the lusciously green and vast les Plaines d'Abraham - close to the river.