Tonquin Valley

Last week several of my friends and I headed to the Tonquin Valley in Jasper National Park for a five-day hiking trip in the backcountry. Our last multi-day foray into the wilderness was two years ago in Killarney Provincial Park in Ontario, a far cry from the spectacular Rocky Mountains. While Killarney had its own particular charm, partly due to its proximity to my place of birth, the Tonquin Valley is without a doubt in a league of its own.

On our first night we stayed at the Edith Cavell hostel underneath the mammoth Edith Cavell peak. This gave us a small taste of things to come. The hostel was well-maintained and the price was right. A great option for anyone needing a place to stay before heading out to the Tonquin.

The Tonquin Valley trailhead begins at the parking lot just outside the hostel, an ideal location to start a day-long hike. On our second day we set out on the trail to our final destination, the Wates-Gibson Memorial Hut, operated by the Alpine Club of Canada. The trail wanders along the Astoria River until it veers south towards Chrome Lake and the Eremite Valley. It is a moderate-difficult trail, nearly 18kms to the hut. I'd say pack as light as possible and expect rain, lots of it. The trail is often wet and muddy in most spots.

Once we arrived at the hut, we made a quick dinner and went to bed early to prepare for our next four days of day hikes through the Tonquin and Eremite Valleys. The most stunning landscape around the area was the marvelous Amethyst Lake, surrounded by the Ramparts to the west, Clitheroe Mountain to the east and the impressive Raptor Meadows on the lakeshore.



The other major highlight was our last day hike up to the Fraser Glacier, home to BC's Fraser River. Climbing up to the Continental Divide in the driving wind and stinging snow was well worth the privilege of playing underneath the glacier at nearly 2,500 metres.



The one major disappointment of our trip was that I didn't get to see the elusive grizzly bear. We did spot a large caribou, a moose and some elk on our trip, along with a number of circling birds of prey. I'd recommend the Tonquin Valley to anyone who wants relatively easy access to glaciers with little human traffic and good chances to view the endangered woodland caribou. Stay at the ACC hut if you have the money, the valley is rainy and cold almost all the time, though the three Parks Canada campgrounds around Amethyst Lake are nice and comfortable, and the warden cabin is just above the lake on the main trail in case of emergencies.

Similkameen Valley

There's a place nestled deep in BC's southern interior that is dear to me, a magical place where I once lived and worked, the type of place everyone must live in at least once in their life. The Similkameen Valley, and particularly the small towns of Cawston and Keremeos, are gems full of ranchers, organic farmers, wine makers, artists, and an array of eccentric characters who never cease to amaze me. But, beyond the people, the valley, unique for its dry, desert-like climate, is an ecological wonder. The wild sage along Highway 3 south of Cawston is mystifying, though it's faced with being replaced by row after row of vineyards. I don't drink wine, but if I did I might just stop after seeing so many grapes replace hectares of my beloved sagebrush.



If you have a chance, visit this valley. Veer off the highway anywhere past Keremeos going towards Osoyoos, and visit any number of organic farms. The Similkameen has the largest concentration of organic farms in North America according to my reliable sources, and they're happy to welcome visitors. I went down to Mariposa Farms off Sumac Road near the Washington State border at Nighthawk and picked my own peaches, plums and apricots earlier today, and it was heavenly. And did I mention cheap too. I even bought some low-impact, organic wine from Forbidden Fruit Winery, another valley star. Grab some fruit, and maybe some wine, all organic and fresh, and sit under the searing sun down by the Similkameen River near Kobau Park in Cawston or even in downtown Keremeos. The views of the mountains combined with the fruit juice dripping from your chin are well worth the ride.

Howe Sound Crest Trail

My good friends Eloginy, James and I braved the unusually hot coastal weather last week and climbed the Howe Sound Crest Trail. Starting at Cypress Mountain, we set out along the trail in probably the three hottest and driest days the BC coast has ever seen. Low to mid-30s for three straight days, it was glorious.

The 27.6 km trail was very well marked throughout the Coast Mountain range, leading us up and down a number of summits, through mountain meadows, down rock slides, and around amethyst-coloured lakes. If you've gone 10m without seeing one of the orange markers-- whether trail tape hanging from a tree, trail diamonds nailed to trees or paint on a rock-- you've probably gone too far.

The toughest section of the trail was by far the approach to The Lions. Famous for their daunting presence over the East Vancouver landscape, The Lions are two towering rock monuments that act as beacons throughout most of the trail. From our campsite on St-Marks' summit, we wound our way up Unnecessary Mountain, and back down and then up towards the Lions. Once you find yourself at the bottom of the West Lion, satisfied with the stunning view, don't rest on your laurels. Coming down from here, there are several technical sections, including going across a slide at the southern end of the base of the West Lion and then making your way up over the Lion cub, a smaller peak between the East and West Lion. We found a site to camp two summits over from the Cub, after crossing a steep traverse with a rope and chain, giving us a sense of being in some low-budget S&M melodrama--> Ropes & Chains: The Lions Roar.



One important thing to consider is that there are few water supplies up in this section of the trail. We were lucky to find some piles of snow in the higher up sections, a bit late for mid-August, but given the hot weather, it was possible to find snow melt. However, by the end of this second day, we had one litre left in our bottles when we set up camp on top of the summit, with 2 hours to go before the next water source.



The best part of the trail was the very rewarding traverse of Brunswick Mountain. After walking by the newly-rebuilt Magnesia Meadow emergency hut, the trail veers west towards Howe Sound, and then north as it hugs the middle section of Brunswick. The wildflower meadows were marvelous walking through here. Purples, oranges, yellows, reds, I counted at least 5 different flowers growing directly below the Brunswick summit-- the smell was intoxicating.

The highlight of the trip in my book was the descent from the ridge between Brunswick and Hand Mountains to the chain of lakes running behind the Brunswick summit. When I reached the first of three lakes, I dropped my 50 lb pack, stripped off my sweaty clothes, and dove into the glacial water. And then I finally unleashed my fly rod and caught some pretty mountain trout.



Later that night we made it to Deeks Lake, where we camped for the third night before descending to HWY 99 at the newly- built Porteau Rd. exit. It's a tough spot to catch a ride, so I'd suggest walking the 2 kms to the Porteau Cove PP rest stop to find a ride or to park a car.

Overall, I'd say this trail is well worth tackling, but only if you have mountain experience and are a competent map reader. Some of the sections are awe-inspiring, but could also bring on some serious fears, considering the steep drops and sheer skill required to complete the trail. And don't forget to fill your water bottles as often as possible.

Québec's 400th

I returned from the 400 year celebrations in Québec City recently, holding onto my sanity ever so tenuously. I had traveled into the belly of the nationalist beast and been bombarded for almost two weeks with the quatercentenary celebrations. Museum exhibits, art exhibits, street festivals, films, concerts, rallies, monuments, books and other displays of Québec's long and distinguished history. It was all the eye could see. Stretches of tourists, myself included, taking in the story about Champlain's fateful landing 400 years ago. I had been expecting more debate, more controversy, at least from the so-called Québec sovereigntists, but there was only a whisper among a deafening current of pride and exhilaration.

Luckily I found a few people who wanted to highlight the madness of commemorating the origins of French colonialism. Pace the photo at the top of this entry, courtesy of the anti-colonial contingent at the march I attended with some friends July 3rd.

Spring Time in Boston

I decided to attend the Association of American Geographers' (AAG) mega-conference with my friend Le canadien errant, a geographer and critical scholar, in Boston this past week.

We scored a lovely apartment in Back Bay, a literal stone's throw away from the infamous Cheers pub. Besides the fact that nobody seems to know my name, the most notable aspect of this historical neighbourhood are the hundreds of runners zig-zagging their way along the sidewalks and in the ample green spaces. Boston Common, the venerable urban park, is around the corner, and it seems like so many wannabe marathoners are using its sleek contours to practice for this weekend's Boston Marathon. Here's a word-to-the-wise - if you're in Boston during race week, just walk around wearing a pair of jogging shorts and shoes and a little sweat on your brow, and you'll be treated, well, like a neighbour might treat you when you arrive home after a long sojourn away - with a warm smile and nod of recognition.

CE and I went to Cambridge today, Harvard Square more precisely. It's across the Charles River from our lovely apartment, which I do highly recommend if you're planning a short-term stay in Boston. We have a nice, sunny 1 bedroom apartment with a pull-out couch and cot, quite suitable for three people, for $100 per night. But I digress, I was on Cambridge. Crossing the river on the red line is a lot like entering into another world. The area around Harvard feels a little like I imagine a conservative college town in California might feel like - starbucks, sushi, books and music, and lots of well-dressed 20 year olds on their cells. It wasn't exactly what I'd call progressive, but it beat the areas of Boston I've been spending time in up until now.

I stopped into two great bookstores. One came recommended by my new friends Patrick and Vanessa. Raven Books, on JFK Street had a good selection of post-colonial theory and social theory, and is well worth exploring. The prices were very decent as well. My best find in Cambridge though, was The Million Year Picnic, a cute basement comic bookstore that had a good selection of graphic novels. The one that caught my eye was Joann Sfar The Rabbi's Cat 2, the sequel to Part I that was just released. I realize that I haven't written a review of The Rabbi's Cat yet, but when I do get around to reading part II, I'll do a double review.

And that is quite possibly all I have to say about Boston. Nice architecture, fully gentrified, expensive rents, staid folks, sunny springs. I'm generalizing, but it's all I have to go on right now.

Edisto Beach State Park

I was among a group of three intrepid residents of Ottawa who decided enough was enough- this year's record snowfall was no laughing matter. We took the reins and planned a road trip to the sun. In this case, our final destination was Savannah, the legendary city in Georgia that has inspired many writers and travelers alike.

However, on the way we made several show-stopping discoveries, not in the Columbus sense, I'd never be bold enough to make such extravagant claims, but nice new places to return to in the future.

Besides the Outer Banks of North Carolina (Kitty Hawk, Cape Hatteras, Ocracoke Island), the most glorious spot on the map that we played at was Edisto Island, South Carolina. In fact, we camped for two nights in Edisto Beach State Park, a wonderful place to spend a few nights. If I had had the time, I think my entire week would've been spent in Edisto camping among the Palmettos and warm spring Atlantic wind.

The park itself has two separate campsites. One is down by the beach, but be prepared to book spots way ahead of time here. The other is only a couple of kilometres away, adjacent to a salt marsh. We stayed at the latter, and explored the 5 kilometres of trails in and around the large marsh. The one downside about our site were the over-excitable mockingbirds, which in my opinion, should pipe up only when spoken to.

While the camping and beach were great, my stay in Edisto, and perhaps in the South more generally, seemed haunted by the silences. It seems everywhere I went in Edisto- the general store, local pub/restaurant, state park, etc- I was served by African-Americans, even though to my admittedly un-trained eyes it seemed like none lived near the beach, a place reserved mostly for wealthy landowners and vacationers. This area of South Carolina was once world-renowned for its Sea Island cotton, and the large plantation-style houses speckle the drive along Highway 174 onto the island.

My next trip to Edisto will include an extended discussion or two with local residents about this particular history, and the contemporary segregation that exists in the area. The unsettling feeling nibbling at my mind demands such future inquiry.

Eating Vegan in Harlem

There we were, just arrived in Harlem, and we were headed down to the local vegan restaurant- Uptown Juice Bar (54 West 125th Street just east of Malcolm X).

What a treat, amazing vegan soul food and fresh-squeezed juices in the heart of Harlem, only blocks away from the busy Malcolm X corridor. My favourite was the faux BBQ chicken drumsticks, perfectly seasoned, like no BBQ sauce I've ever had before. Another favourite was the fake fried chicken stir fry mixed in with plantain, well-suited to my vegan palate.

In addition to the succulent spin on southern home-cooking, the Uptown has a well-stocked juice bar with well over 30 separate varieties of fresh juices. I chose the papaya & pineapple hypertension mix, which was sweetly refreshing.

Uptown Juice Bar is a popular spot for a good reason. Check it out the next time you're in Harlem. Large plates with four food options cost $9, while a large juice goes for about $4.

Illuminaris Festival in Vancouver

Saturday night I walked over to Commercial and Broadway with my good friend Jenny from Victoria and met some other friends at a restaurant before heading out to the Illuminaris Festival at Trout Lake (12th Ave. & Commercial).

Illuminaris is widely known in Vancouver as a festival of lanterns, where a procession of artists circle the lake with their handmade lighting devices. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw & heard.

It all began for me with a phalanx of boys dancing to the pulsating beats of a percussion orchestra, all the while twirling batons of fire, much to the impressively large crowd's delight. Once I met back up with my friends, I had temporarily lost them in the smoky haze, we ambled around the park appreciating the workmanship that went into so many of the lanterns.

There were ballerinas, dragons, submarines, planes, ladybugs, rabbits, and all manner of regularly-shaped lanterns with exquisite lines and designs. At one point, my friend looked over at me and asked, somewhat incredulously, "How can people be so creative?" This from an architect/interior designer.

That pretty much summed up the evening. I was constantly awed by the commitment to art that so many people demonstrated through their work. For many long time supporters though, the festival itself has become a bit too big and commercialized, as evidenced by the need for concession stands and a tiny village of porta-potties. But, for a first-time reveler, it was a rare treat to enjoy such fantastic artwork outdoors and I sure didn't mind pressing against the thousands of people pushing their way around the lake. It definitely beats the drunken throngs watching the fireworks at Kits Beach or English Bay.

Rainbow Lake Trail- Whistler, BC

A friend and I headed out to Whistler earlier today from the comfortable summer confines of Vancouver. The traffic along the Sea-to-Sky Highway is absurd right now with all the construction in preparation for the 2010 Olympics. If you were looking for another reason to question the entire Olympic industry (i.e., rampant consumerism, commodification of excellence, xenophobic nationalism), then a gentle drive down highway 99 from Vancouver to Whistler will perhaps fulfill that promise. Or maybe the push to evict people from the Downtown Eastside will. Either way, I digress.

The Rainbow Lake Trail, which one can access on Alta Lake Road at Twenty One Mile Creek, is a wonderful way to spend an afternoon hiking. From the parking lot on the road, it's a 850m elevation and 8km hike up to Rainbow Lake, the Town of Whistler's source for drinking water.

The hike is a meander through a forest of majestic hemlock tress and giant red cedars, quaint mountain meadows and mossy bogs; all leading up to Rainbow Lake, at an elevation of 1470m. Before arriving, you must cross a generous amount of creeks, perhaps as many as 30, with some very impressive bridges spanning their lengths. How do they construct these structures in such isolated areas?


On this lucky day, July 26th, 2007, the lake was fully surrounded by snow, and mostly covered in ice. This made the final push to get to the top treacherous at times, but the 8km hike up took us more or less 3 hours, with a generous amount of time for photo breaks.

There are a number of great vistas, most notably near km 7, where there's a clear view of Whistler Mountain and the ski slopes. Without a doubt, the best part of the hike was arriving at Rainbow Lake, where we pulled out our lunches and enjoyed our snowy surroundings. Never before had hummus and rice crackers tasted quite so divine.

If you're looking for a good day hike near Vancouver, then this trail may be for you. But plan some extra time to get to the trailhead now that the construction on the highway is going full force. The time to get to Whistler has doubled from the last time I went 5 years ago.

Last thing, use the outhouses provided along the way, this is Whistler's watershed. But if you forget and accidentally pee beside the lake, it doesn't make you a bad person, does it?

Fun in the Kawarthas

The Kawarthas, an area north of Peterborough, Ontario, is renowned for its series of lakes and its countless chains of cottages, built by hungry southern Ontario (think Toronto, Oshawa, Hamilton, Burlington, Markham, Thornhill) urbanites looking to escape the toxic fog that envelops their city homes during the short summer months. Or perhaps it is peace and tranquility that city-dwellers search for amongst the pines and dark ochre-tinged waterways.

Regardless, I was lucky enough to be invited to one of these impressive country homes on the Trent Severn Waterway last weekend, near Stony Lake. While the setting was quite lovely, it was to my dear friends that my attention turned, thankfully, because the buzz of powerboats and the sound of house boat revelers was never far away.

Here is a collection of photos from my brief sojourn, the most memorable moments being the impromptu dance party (thank you Shout Out Out Out Out), the surreal star light show Saturday night, and the opportunity to break bread with three of my favourite people.


AM seems to have captured me in mid-flight on my perilous fall from grace.

Having ever so gracefully (!) hit the water, I disappear amongst the crustaceans and the plentiful smallmouth bass.

Weather Permitting: Adventures in Algonquin Park

I once traveled to a far-away place, a wilderness park of sorts, to get away from the city. My friends and I do this occasionally, we buy expensive gear, drive oil-guzzling vehicles hundreds of kilometres, and meet up somewhere in the middle of the forest, usually at the end of a road that leads just where we're going. Then we hug each other wildly, precisely like friends who haven't seen each other for a long time should, and talk about how nice it is to be out of the city. Every time it's a heart-wrenching scene to all those fellow city-dwellers escaping the smog-infested confines of their urban(e) existence, in this case, usually Toronto, Ottawa, or Montreal.

This one time, last weekend actually, we traveled to this faraway place, and after our excited hellos, we packed our gear into our canoes, climbed in, and paddled into the sunset. Literally. And then just as the sun was about to say goodbye for good, it rained. And rained. Cleared up. And rained. Cleared up. And rained. You get the picture. For three days, we saw blue sky for no more than 30 minutes at a time, rain for no more than 30 minutes at a time, and threatening grey clouds for no more than 30 minutes at a time. Through this, the wind swirled in every possible direction, just batty enough that when you thought you finally had it figured out, it changed directions again at the drop of a hat, making your perfectly laid out plan to paddle east for the day seem absolutely mad. It was that kind of a weekend. The kind where you can almost say I should've stayed in the city. Almost.

But this faraway place is so magical, even in the miserably incontinent weather, that none of that even matters. This came home to me when my friend, who has spent much of his life in other countries, commented on the sheer beauty of this magical place. Full stop. I looked around, with the light drizzle dusting my drying clothes for at least the 10th time, and nodded my head. Was it the giant snapping turtle that visited our campsite every night? Or the moose we saw one late afternoon? Perhaps it was the endearing red squirrels stealing our food? Or better yet, the shining full moon cresting over the hilltop, showering us with its luminosity?

No, it was none of that really. It was sharing all of that with friends, new & old. Hearing how excited James was about the morning muesli, or Ronny upon finding out about the firestarting properties of birch-bark. Or maybe Spike, whose enthusiasm for paddling under the full moonlight was truly contagious. Yes, it was all of that combined with the natural beauty of the place that made it such a wonderful weekend. That, and the fact that I'd never spend 3 days with the same 7 people doing anything in the city. We'd get bored, and move on. But you can't do that in this place, so instead, you get to know people and your surroundings, and find a number of interesting things to do with wood and water. And food and bodily functions. And that's why it beats a weekend in a city. That's also why you wouldn't want to do it very often.

On that, enjoy your faraway place(s), they won't be around forever.

Ottawa-Winnipeg overland

There I was, on a hazy Ottawa day, about to embark on a road trip I had covered many times before, this time with my good friend Tara. There’s something about the feeling I get when I’m about to leave for a roadtrip, the quickening of my heart beat, the surge of adrenaline, that is comparable to the lead up to sex. Of course, the acts are considerably different, but the bodily sensations are eerily similar. It's the anticipation.

But here I am now in Winnipeg, a rainy, damp, and cold Winnipeg, fully 26 degrees colder than when I left Ottawa. Ahh, Winterpeg, I think I’m in love. My infatuation could merely be due to the fact that I can get out of the car for more than 30 minutes, or it could be the lovely house I’m staying in, but who cares why really, this little patch of the Earth strikes me as nearly perfect right now. The leafy streets of Wolseley are dripping, and yet I can feel the Prairie sunshine on the horizon. I didn’t see any blowing wheat or canola, it’s a bit early for that, but the big sky welcomed us as we sped into the city earlier this afternoon. That moment when the boreal forest morphs into the prairie somewhere just east of Winnipeg is magical. In the blink of an eye, the forests open up and the fields pour forth, not quite as far as the eye can see, at least not in that spot, but far enough that I was left humbled.

But, what might you ask, of the trip between Ottawa & Winnipeg?

Lake Superior. There’s very little else one can say after over 20 hours of driving through long stretches of marshland and bogs, except for those two magnificent words. Anyone who has been on the stretches of road between Sault-Ste-Marie & Wawa, and then again from Terrace Bay to Thunder Bay, will get it instinctively.

The shores of Lake Superior, in all of their ruggedness, are nothing like what one expects. It seems there’s a surprise at every turn. Drive up over one crest, pass by a slow-moving transport trailer, glide back down around a tight corner, come to another hilltop, and there it is, laid out majestically before you, bay after bay, inlet after inlet, stream after stream of landscape that almost quite literally stops you in your tracks, and probably would if it weren’t for the army of trucks descending upon you from every direction. Reknowned as a moose-maze, this piece of blacktop is more like a big-rig obstacle course with stunning scenery thrown in as an added distraction. Keep your eyes on the road, and stop as often as you can, whether to walk a beach, smell the sweet pine forest air, take in a commanding vista, or just to bask in the sunlight and wonder why life doesn’t always feel this full.

There are three places you must stop at that are easily accessible from Highway 17. The first is Pancake Bay Provincial Park, just west of Sault Ste-Marie. Pull into the park and head straight to the beach, or better yet, pitch your tent near the lake and listen to the soothing sounds of the crashing waves as you dream of lakes to come. The second is the Old Woman picnic grounds in Lake Superior Provincial Park, a short distance before Wawa. The view of the peninsula jutting out from the shore is seared into my memory, as is the feel of the bitter cold breeze blowing off the lake. The third is the lookout point between Wawa and White River, with a stunning view of a large bay of turquoise water framed by gigantic cliffs. This is perhaps one of the greatest vistas I have ever seen, and it’s just waiting for you along your way.

This was the tenth time I’ve gone on this route, and while I wasn’t much looking forward to it before leaving, I’ve been reminded of what exactly makes it such a memorable journey. And if you can score a place to stay in Winnipeg after your hard work, as I’ve had the lucky fortune to accomplish on this trip, then I’d have to say that life doesn’t get much better.

Un séjour a Montréal- Rosemont

À chaque fois que je viens a Montréal, peut être une dizaine de fois dans deux ans, je découvre un petit coin de quartier qui me plaît un peu plus que le dernier. Cette fois-ci, c’était le quartier où je restais chez mon frère, Rosemont.

Il y a plein de verdure dans les alentours, plusieurs parcs et sentiers de cyclisme. En plus, on retrouve le Parc Maisonneuve, un gros parc vouté de pistes, de zones paysagées, d’arbres majestueux, et bien sûr, d’endroits pour jouer. On dirait un terrain de golfe, avec ses petites collines incontournables et ses obstacles bien placés. Très joli.

En plus de ses bijoux verts, il y a de nombreux boulangeries ancestrales et de petits restaurants locaux. Ce n’est pas Mile End avec ses cafés chics, ou le Plateau avec ses divers restaurants. Non, c’est un quartier de classe ouvrière, où les gens ne mettent pas d’air.

Le seul gros désanvantage de cette région, en termes du paysage urbain, c’est le Stade Olympique. Coudons, qui a eu l’idée pour le design de cette monstrosité ? C’est affreux. Et pour penser que Vancouver est maintenant entrain de construire une infrastructure semblable pour les Olympiques de 2010. Si vous pensez encore que les Olympiques sont une bonne idée, allez à Rosemont visiter le Stade, un exemple d’architecture moderne qui reste vide quasiment à l’année longue. Est-ce possible de penser à des Olympiques sans nation, des petits jeux qui rassemblent du monde d’un peu partout pour célébrer ensemble, sans gros projets qui nous laissent des édifices délaissés et déverse de l’argent qu’on pourrait dépenser sur des régimes sociaux?

Bon, je reviens à Rosemont, un quartier de Montréal mal connu qui vaut la peine de visiter. Prenez le métro, ligne bleu, dans la direction de Honoré-Beaugrand, et débarquez a Pie-IX. Demandez des directions pour le Parc Maisonneuve, et passez l’après-midi dans le parc, à picniquer, à se promener, à s’amuser dehors.

Views of Dublin

The Spire of Dublin, the world's tallest sculpture, was commissioned to celebrate the millenium, but wasn't unveiled until 2003. It is also known by local Dubliners as the 'Spike,' the 'Spire in the Mire' (referring to O'Connell Street's unsavoury reputation), the 'Stiffy by the Liffey' (it is within sight of the River Liffey), and the 'Nail in the Pale' (the 'English Pale' was a 20 mile area around Dublin that the English fortified to keep out Gael incursions), among many others.

This street performer is at it every day in Temple Bar, a trendy area of Dublin frequented mostly by European tourists and an absurd amount of people getting trashed in Dublin with their closest friends before they get married.

A footbridge over the River Liffey leading from Temple to the north side of the city. Even today the river demarcates the poorer districts of the city from the wealthier.


With the River Liffey in the foreground, we can see the monument to Daniel O'Connell at the head of O'Connell Street in central Dublin. O'Connell was an early 19th century nationalist who championed non-violent resistance to Engligh occupation. He is known as the 'Liberator' or the 'Emancipator'.

Goodbye Ireland

I wouldn't say I went out with a bang, but I did have a splendid day out in the Irish sun along the coast north of Dublin. The sweet smell of the Irish Sea gently embraced me as I walked around a few small towns in the area. I always forget how seducing the salt-water smell can be, until I find myself within its spell.

My time in Ireland is coming to an end. The conference on the weekend was a great experience, one I will no doubt remember fondly. The rest of my time has been relatively uneventful. My friends in London were right, I chose perhaps the only city in Europe that is more expensive than London. The verdict is out on whether this is true or not, but I have continuously been both amazed and dismayed by the Celtic Tiger. This is not exactly the Dublin I thought I was visiting. My Irish highlight was visiting the countryside last week, and again today. Interestingly, the crashing waves of the Irish Sea reminded me of the lilting green valleys out in County Meath. Seeing both shining in the sunlight was a treasure.

County Meath, north of Dublin

It was a lovely, sunny day today in Ireland. I took a trip to the County Meath, north of Dublin, to visit the NewGrange passage tomb, a 3,400 year old neolithic tomb in the countryside. It was a great day, I learned lots about the history of Ireland, from the Celts to the Vikings to the Anglo-Normans, all very richly embodied in this sweet little county.

The NewGrange Passage Tomb, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Archealogists believe it took anywhere from 5-50 years to build. It housed the ashes of only the most important leaders of those people living in Ireland at the time. It was discovered by a local farmer in 1699, and restored from 1962-75. Just above the entrance there is a roofbox that lets the sun in on the winter solstice, the only time the passageway and inner tomb would ever see any light. It's a testament to the builders, engineers, designers and workers that the roof has never leaked, so that the inner tomb hasn't seen water for 3,400 years.

A view of some grave markers around the tomb.

A building just below the main tomb. Notice the stone fence in the background.

Kilmainham Gaol

Yesterday I went to Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin, an old jail that is now a historical museum. It was a phenomenal lesson in history, especially that of Irish resistance to British rule, and the terrible treatment of the Irish poor over the decades. I've decided to let the photos mostly speak for themselves (I couldn't resist short captions).

The view of the inside of a cell. At times of great social turmoil (e.g. the potato famine) and/or political unrest (e.g. the many Irish rebellions), prisoners were often 4-5 to a cell, 22-24 hours a day.

Behind this door 14 leaders of the Irish rebellion of 1916 were executed by the British. This turned public opinion around to the side of the rebels, paving the way for Irish independence 5 years later.

The courtyard beyond the doors was where child prisoners went out to spend their 1-2 hours of outdoor time a day in silence. Prisoners as young as 7 spent time at Kilmainhaim, often for petty theft.

Cheap Flights, Pack Light

I learned some valuable lessons this afternoon. There’s a reason those intra-Europe flights are so cheap. I thought I had it all figured out, I packed all my weighty stuff in my carry-on, wore my heaviest pair of boots and jacket, all with the expectation to smooth through the check-in. I even asked my pal John for his opinion on the weight of my bag back in Notting Hill before leaving. We both agreed, it was close to the 15 kilo limit, but still below.

When I checked my bag at the Ryanair check-in and it weighed 22 kilos, a full 7 kilos over the allotted limit, I was a tad surprised to say the least. Instead of paying $85 just for the privilege of checking in my bag, I proceeded to get rid of as much stuff as I could. Boxer shorts, an old pair of running shoes, socks, penned-up journal articles (I made sure to keep track of those I discarded), a couple tees and a sweater, an old bag, it all ended up in a pile along with other traveler gear. I swear, if you’re ever at Gatwick, come with empty bags, there’s bound to be a bunch of cool gear for the taking.

After my fourth attempt at bringing my weight down, I thought it might be kind to give the ticket agent a small gift. I presented her with a bar of soap my Mom made, and sure enough, she ignored the fact that I was nearly 2 kilos over weight, or the equivalent of $25. Lesson one: Ryanair is serious about their weight limitations, but the ticket agent does have some wiggle room.

Lesson two was a lot less eventful. The friendly voice that chimes in over the intercom at Gatwick every five minutes “There is a one bag limit on carry-on baggage. A woman’s handbag counts towards this limit” is also very serious. I thought I’d chance bringing my camera and my computer bags, but of course, I was nabbed at the security gate, where an army of fluorescent-dressed folks look you up and down to decide whether you have one bag or more. Somehow I managed to fit my camera bag into my computer bag, but not before I took out my laptop, which if carried on its own, doesn’t count as a bag. Where can I read the rulebook for all of this? It really is quite fascinating, if not a bit annoying.

Here I am now sitting at Gate 10 of Gatwick waiting for my flight to Dublin. Lots of suits, it must be a right fashionable flight with the business class. I’d really like to play guitar with my friends right now, right here, and just liven the place up a bit.

There’s the chime, the race has now begun. I guess if you purchase a pre-board, you get to go on first. There doesn’t seem to be any assigned seats. I’m just going to wait until the end to get on, I hate these seat battles, people jockeying for position is just so ‘high school’. But I guess we never really grow up, do we? Some of us just wear suits and ties, carry briefcases and walk with purpose.

Off to Dublin with Mixed Emotions

I’m leaving for Dublin later today, at 1730 to be exact. I’m not sure why this is, but I feel loneliness where I wish I felt only excitement. I suppose that’s the way with emotions, you never really get what you want, and it can be a struggle to want what you get.

I think I have the loneliness figured out though. I was talking with a friend back home earlier, and it came to me. Even before I left to come to London, I felt lonely, which seems odd, given my enthusiasm for the place. But there’s something about leaving that tugs at my heartstrings in a way I’d rather avoid. Is it leaving what I have come to know and appreciate behind? Is it the unknown of where I’m going? Is it not feeling completely settled in any one place?

Whatever it is, leaving one place for another is both exciting, e.g., I can’t wait to see the Irish countryside and to present my paper at the conference, and also a bit daunting, e.g., leaving places and people behind, so that any expectation I have of feeling just one set of emotions is unrealistic. Does anyone else ever feel like this?

The great thing about my time in London has been the hospitality I’ve felt at my hosts’ place, meeting a bunch of new Londoners (C., L., H., M., H., N., S., and crew), spending time with some people from back home, and wandering the city and digging my own company. Also not to be forgotten are the everyday Londoners who filled my days with meaningful exchanges. John at John’s Hair Fashions trimmed me Monday in Shepherd’s Bush and regaled me with stories of the English Premier League; Emre at Portobello Market asked me some pointed questions about Canada, and sold me a nice hoodie on Thursday; Anabella at Camden Market enlightened me on the Spanish art scene on Saturday; Adrian taught me a lot about the offshore diving industry on Friday; and many others came to shine a light on my London life, each in their own small way.

Overall, I feel like I unlocked a few doors that remained under key last time I was here. After 8 days, I’m under no illusions: London is a great world city, full of life and colour. It’s also a place where many people live and struggle to survive. No contradiction, just want to keep my sometimes-unbridled enthusiasm in check. Representing London otherwise feels like a disservice to the thousands, or more likely millions, who experience this place differently than I do. In this moment I’m reminded of the man who was violently thrown about right next to my friends and I on a sidewalk pub 5 nights ago for selling a newspaper. When my friend spoke with him afterwards, he said, pointedly: “This place, England, is shit. Get out of here as soon as possible.”

While I don’t feel quite as strongly as he did, nor am I suggesting that London/England is prone to violent acts, I do feel like it’s time to go. I’ve decided I could live in London, in fact, I might just want to one day, but I’d need a compelling job both to make an income that could sustain living here, and also to keep me occupied, because wandering a city can get old pretty quick. When I finally write a novel sometime in the future, I’ll come write part of it here in the spring, I’ll just expect a bit more rain than I got on this visit. Fifty drops yesterday equals fifty in a week. Thank you London for sharing.

Favourite Photos from my Day in the East End

Kick-ass performance on Brick Lane, feat. a tap dancer doing some hip-hop stylings, a group of percussionists, and a stand-up bass player.


A trashy view of the Sunday Up Market, between Spitalfields Market and Brick Lane.


Clever political commentary, using some familiar symbols to pull us in. Haven't I seen that somewhere before?