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| Looking forward to this weekend's kayaking adventure. We're planning to do 20km of paddling and a 10km hike around the island. Fingers crossed for good weather! |
Friday, July 20, 2012
What's in my backpack (well, kayak). All set for Portland Island!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
My Favourite Places on Vancouver Island: Roche Cove and Matheson Lake
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| Matheson Lake |
In my books, Vancouver Island takes the cake when it comes to Canadian hiking experiences for 3 reasons, gorgeous landscapes, an abundance of hiking destinations and, last but not least, a welcome lack of mosquitoes. Until we moved out here I'd never dream of spending extended amounts of time in the outdoors without a healthy supply of Deet, but I soon learned to save some weight and leave the stuff at home. It was one habit I was very happy to break.
Hiking options on the Island include the world-class West Coast Trail, the scenic Juan da Fuca and the technically challenging North Coast Trail (my favourite long distance trail on the Island). Many day hikes are easily accessible within a short drive of the Island's main centres. One of our favourite go-to short hikes is a just a five-minute drive down the street from our place.
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| Matheson Creek |
As an added bonus - the kicker that makes this one of my favourite spots on the Island - when you're ready to take a break you can scope out a nice, quiet swimming spot as you make your way around the Matheson Lake loop. Great for cooling off on a hot summer day!
If you still have some energy after the hike, you might want to drive the short distance to close-by Aylard Farm at the trailhead to the East Sooke Coastal Trail and do a little beachcombing before heading home. It's gotta be said that Roche Cove and Matheson Lake's close proximity to East Sooke is the main reason we haven't visited this trail sooner. I won't say anything further about it here, but you can read more about the East Sooke Coastal Trail in this post.
Trip Info
Roche Cove Trailhead on Google Maps
Route: Cedar Grove to Galloping Goose to Matheson Lake Loop Trail, return via Galloping Goose
Hike length: Approximately 8km
Hike duration: 2-3 hours, 4 hours with a swim at Matheson Lake
Roche Cove website
Matheson Lake website
Read more about my favourite places on Vancouver Island.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Never met a bowl of soup I didn't like
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| We stopped at a restaurant in Chinatown on a rainy afternoon to dry off and have a some soup. Delicious! |
The Other London, Part 7: The best things in life are free
Getting picked up by a roadie who could drive us in through the Roskilde festival 'stage door' was a boon a half at the end of our hitchhiking journey. Not only did it mean we would save the 70 pound entrance fee, it also afforded us the luxury of being able to kick back and relax for the last few hundred km of the journey.
Oddly, I discovered these are not, in fact the types of incidents one looks forward to sharing with friends. They just end up seeming too far into the incredible category to sound real. At least they do in my estimation, which is why I often leave out this particular recollection when reminiscing with friends around the campfire on summer nights….but you and I are not sitting around the campfire, are we?
Now, I'd played in bands throughout most of my adolescence, and had debatably spent an above average amount of time hanging out with music industry folk, but this was my first experience, albeit an indirect one, with a group that was actually doing well enough not to have to drive their own shit around. Yes, the situation was a bit of an anomaly on many levels. I surveyed the interior of the vehicle with marked curiosity. There was a second empty bench seat, spotlessly empty, I might add, and beyond that a cargo area piled with neatly stacked almost new looking cases. There didn't seem to be one stray piece of garbage, cigarette butt or miscellaneous unmentionable in sight. It was unlike any touring van I'd ever seen. I wondered what the band thought of it…
I stretched out on the empty bench and fell asleep…
…but not for long. Within the next half hour, Brit had picked up 3 additional hitchhikers - a pair of girls and a boy who was hitchhiking solo, all from Denmark.It seemed the plan was to arrive at the festival with a full house. So much for travelling in rock 'n' roll luxury. As the Scandinavians now outnumbered the, well, non-Scandinavians in attendance, the conversation switched from clipped English to lovely sing-song Danish, which John spoke, it seemed, fairly fluently and I had obviously never encountered before. This left Brit and I to develop that odd add-liquid-and-mix familiarity one experiences when one is on the road and in the company of someone you really share nothing in common with other than the fact that you both happen to be from the same, very large, continent.
I came to like Brit very much in a big brother kind of way over our short journey together. He has a fun-loving roadie with a big laugh who obviously was always looking for a party - a real dark horse. In the afternoon we stopped for lunch in the downtown area of some pedestrian area of a Danish city whose name I've forgotten. There were buskers playing by the side of the cobblestone street and I stopped to listen to one as we passed. Realizing I had not yet had the opportunity to visit a money exchange and therefore had no money to give, I asked Brit for some change. He quickly handed me the contents of his pocket which I threw into the busker's empty case. A few blocks down the street, Brit asked me what I'd done with the rest of the money.
"What money?" I asked, "I gave it all to that guy"
"All of it?" Brit asked pausing ever so slightly in his gait.
"Yes, all of it," I confirmed.
"That was the equivalent of $40!" We came to a halt staring at each other. This revelation came as a total shock to me as the highest denomination coin we had in Canada at the time was the one dollar loony. It seemed unfathomable to me that a small handful of coins could be so valuable. Brit shrugged. "How generous of you," he remarked with a smile and then continued on his way.
Yes, I for the 5-6 hours of my life in which I knew Brit, I liked him very much.
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a ’67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something ‘new’ called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Oddly, I discovered these are not, in fact the types of incidents one looks forward to sharing with friends. They just end up seeming too far into the incredible category to sound real. At least they do in my estimation, which is why I often leave out this particular recollection when reminiscing with friends around the campfire on summer nights….but you and I are not sitting around the campfire, are we?
Now, I'd played in bands throughout most of my adolescence, and had debatably spent an above average amount of time hanging out with music industry folk, but this was my first experience, albeit an indirect one, with a group that was actually doing well enough not to have to drive their own shit around. Yes, the situation was a bit of an anomaly on many levels. I surveyed the interior of the vehicle with marked curiosity. There was a second empty bench seat, spotlessly empty, I might add, and beyond that a cargo area piled with neatly stacked almost new looking cases. There didn't seem to be one stray piece of garbage, cigarette butt or miscellaneous unmentionable in sight. It was unlike any touring van I'd ever seen. I wondered what the band thought of it…
I stretched out on the empty bench and fell asleep…
…but not for long. Within the next half hour, Brit had picked up 3 additional hitchhikers - a pair of girls and a boy who was hitchhiking solo, all from Denmark.It seemed the plan was to arrive at the festival with a full house. So much for travelling in rock 'n' roll luxury. As the Scandinavians now outnumbered the, well, non-Scandinavians in attendance, the conversation switched from clipped English to lovely sing-song Danish, which John spoke, it seemed, fairly fluently and I had obviously never encountered before. This left Brit and I to develop that odd add-liquid-and-mix familiarity one experiences when one is on the road and in the company of someone you really share nothing in common with other than the fact that you both happen to be from the same, very large, continent.
I came to like Brit very much in a big brother kind of way over our short journey together. He has a fun-loving roadie with a big laugh who obviously was always looking for a party - a real dark horse. In the afternoon we stopped for lunch in the downtown area of some pedestrian area of a Danish city whose name I've forgotten. There were buskers playing by the side of the cobblestone street and I stopped to listen to one as we passed. Realizing I had not yet had the opportunity to visit a money exchange and therefore had no money to give, I asked Brit for some change. He quickly handed me the contents of his pocket which I threw into the busker's empty case. A few blocks down the street, Brit asked me what I'd done with the rest of the money.
"What money?" I asked, "I gave it all to that guy"
"All of it?" Brit asked pausing ever so slightly in his gait.
"Yes, all of it," I confirmed.
"That was the equivalent of $40!" We came to a halt staring at each other. This revelation came as a total shock to me as the highest denomination coin we had in Canada at the time was the one dollar loony. It seemed unfathomable to me that a small handful of coins could be so valuable. Brit shrugged. "How generous of you," he remarked with a smile and then continued on his way.
Yes, I for the 5-6 hours of my life in which I knew Brit, I liked him very much.
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a ’67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something ‘new’ called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Friday, July 13, 2012
At the summit of Mount Tolmie watching the storms roll in along withhalf the population of Victoria
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| At the summit of Mount Tolmie watching the storms roll in along with half the population of Victoria |
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
The Other London, Part 6: Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream
"Now, I'd already accepted that in agreeing to hitchhike in a foreign locale with a relative stranger, I'd acquiesced to practicing a higher than average level of tolerance for getting myself into potentially risky situations, but in this case, my instincts got the better of me."
Do you have any idea how far down the road you'd have to travel to safely pull over on a straight stretch of a busy European highway? Let me tell you, it's pretty damn far. So far, in fact John and I almost didn't notice we snagged a ride on that particular leg of our hitchhiking odyssey across Holland and Denmark.
"I think we got a ride", John yelled over his shoulder as he took off down the highway his knapsack bouncing in a rather uncomfortable looking way from his shoulder.
Despite John's apparent sense of urgency I hesitated, not registering that we had actually managed to flag down one of the vehicles that had been zooming past us at autobahn speed and greater for the past 20 minutes. I squinted into the distance.
"Wait! Where?!" I managed to scream back before he was out of earshot.
John screeched to a halt, "Down there!" he waved ambiguously and with some measure of impatience into the distance before taking off again as fast as his haphazardly hoisted baggage would allow.
I kept my spot and squinted into the sunlight. A good kilometre, maybe closer to two kilometres, down the highway I noticed what appeared to be a speck of a conspicuous looking windowless black van. Now, I'd already accepted that in agreeing to hitchhike in a foreign locale with a relative stranger, I'd acquiesced to practicing a higher than average level of tolerance for getting myself into potentially risky situations, but in this case, my instincts got the better of me. Something told me there was something terrifically out-of-the ordinary with this arrangement. Meh.
A short second later I was running after John with my own backpack bouncing irritatingly from side to side at my back - those things just aren't designed for running. And yes, it turned out we had managed to secure a ride. By the time I arrived at the parked van, panting and out of breath having sprinted three kilometres with 30 lbs of weight on my back, John was already perched in the passenger seat with a huge, 'I told you so' grin on his face. More than that, it was somewhat of an 'you're-not-going-to-believe-our-dumb-luck' grin.
Our benefactor, Brit, was on-route to the festival with the Lemonheads' gear in tow and offered to not only drive us to the festival, but also to get us in for free. Seriously. I kid you not.
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a ’67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something ‘new’ called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Do you have any idea how far down the road you'd have to travel to safely pull over on a straight stretch of a busy European highway? Let me tell you, it's pretty damn far. So far, in fact John and I almost didn't notice we snagged a ride on that particular leg of our hitchhiking odyssey across Holland and Denmark.
"I think we got a ride", John yelled over his shoulder as he took off down the highway his knapsack bouncing in a rather uncomfortable looking way from his shoulder.
Despite John's apparent sense of urgency I hesitated, not registering that we had actually managed to flag down one of the vehicles that had been zooming past us at autobahn speed and greater for the past 20 minutes. I squinted into the distance.
"Wait! Where?!" I managed to scream back before he was out of earshot.
John screeched to a halt, "Down there!" he waved ambiguously and with some measure of impatience into the distance before taking off again as fast as his haphazardly hoisted baggage would allow.
I kept my spot and squinted into the sunlight. A good kilometre, maybe closer to two kilometres, down the highway I noticed what appeared to be a speck of a conspicuous looking windowless black van. Now, I'd already accepted that in agreeing to hitchhike in a foreign locale with a relative stranger, I'd acquiesced to practicing a higher than average level of tolerance for getting myself into potentially risky situations, but in this case, my instincts got the better of me. Something told me there was something terrifically out-of-the ordinary with this arrangement. Meh.
A short second later I was running after John with my own backpack bouncing irritatingly from side to side at my back - those things just aren't designed for running. And yes, it turned out we had managed to secure a ride. By the time I arrived at the parked van, panting and out of breath having sprinted three kilometres with 30 lbs of weight on my back, John was already perched in the passenger seat with a huge, 'I told you so' grin on his face. More than that, it was somewhat of an 'you're-not-going-to-believe-our-dumb-luck' grin.
Our benefactor, Brit, was on-route to the festival with the Lemonheads' gear in tow and offered to not only drive us to the festival, but also to get us in for free. Seriously. I kid you not.
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| Our ride to Roskilde |
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a ’67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something ‘new’ called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Sunday, July 08, 2012
The Other London Part 5: Tomorrow never knows
The last 100km leading up to the festival grounds were the toughest going. Competition was fierce at the off ramps. Yes, hitchhiking may have been falling out of fashion in those days, but I suppose when you have 93,000 people camping at a music festival, a small percentage choosing to travel via the romance of the open road - just for sentimental kicks - could easily cause the amount of congestion we encountered. In the early afternoon, the day before the festival, John and I found ourselves standing in a lineup of about 10 people waiting for a ride. And most of our companions appeared to have been waiting for quite a while.
After about an hour of fruitless waiting, John turned to me and asked what I thought about trying our luck on the highway. Earlier on in our journey, the idea of flagging down a ride with with vehicles whizzing past at speeds in excess of 150km/hour+ might have seemed intimidating. At this point, anything seemed all right as long as we didn't have to actually cross the highway (I never got used to that craziness). In full knowledge that we were about to commit a hitchhiking faux pas and jump the line in securing the next available ride on that particular stretch of highway, we hightailed it out of there as inconspicuously as we could manage.
And a ride did pick us up within a few short moments on the highway. One that drove us all the way up to the gates of the festival - through the backstage entrance nonetheless. Of course, I jump ahead of myself, but had I known that upon our arrival at the festival grounds - my first introduction to the European music festival experience, or really any music festival of similar scope - that John and I would be accidentally separated and I would find myself in a cattle run of 93,000 strangers with no tent and therefore, no place to stay for 3 days, I might have tried a different approach. One that at least entailed a stop at the nearest camping store or better yet, sussed out hostel accommodations in the vicinity. Lucky for me, however, I had no idea how things were about to unfold.
I'm not sure exactly, but I believe this was the song I played to land an invitation to hitchhike to Roskilde.
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a ’67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something ‘new’ called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Saturday, July 07, 2012
Wednesday, July 04, 2012
Wednesday evening workout, heading up to the summit
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| View from the trail leading to the summit of Mount Douglas |
The Other London, Part 4: You say goodbye and I say hello
We said goodbye to the German punks who had driven us across the border just outside the customs area and walked down to the on ramp which was only a few hundred metres away. As luck would have it, we were picked up after a relatively short wait - and a relatively short wait on that particular journey meant about an hour. We were offered a ride by a German hippie sort named Karl with long straight hair, wearing sandals and Birkenstocks. He had an immaculately clean Volvo and had always dreamed of going to Canada. His interest in hearing about Canadian landscapes was insatiable.
Having completed a trip across the country on the Trans-Canada the year before, I had plenty of material to contribute to our discussion. After our first stop John and I switched spots so I could break our usual routine and take the front seat. We easily chatted away the 100 km Karl originally offered to drive us, which lengthened into the next major city and by the end of the afternoon became an offer to drive us all the way to Flensburg, on the German/Danish border.
Part way through the journey, Karl shared his sandwiches with us and at dinner time, he paid for our dinners. When we approached Flensburg he pulled over to call his girlfriend and consulted with her before inviting us to spend the night at her place. In the morning, he mentioned, his girlfriend's brother would be driving into Denmark and could give us a ride as far as Kolding.
I grew to very much like Karl and his girlfriend Marlene during that part of the trip. They were a bit older, but not by much, and I imagined that given the opportunity, we could easily become friends. They were both very keen to visit Canada and mentioned they would look me up if they ever happened to travel across the ocean to visit.
But those days were different. I don't think I knew what an email address was at that point. Facebook and Twitter were over a decade away and, as I was traveling, I had no phone number and no fixed address to pass on. The short of it was, I had no contact info to give them, other than to let them know that I was from London (the other one, in Ontario, Canada) and that they should try to find me in the phone book if they ever happened to pass that way. Hopefully I'd be there...
As I had come to understand on previous trips - realistically there was next to no chance that any semblance of an ongoing relationship would come out of our meeting. I think that's a big difference between then and now. When you traveled people would come in and out of your life for a short span of time and when you said goodbye, it was almost a given that you were saying goodbye forever. Sometimes that was a great, and sometimes not so much.
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a ’67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something ‘new’ called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Having completed a trip across the country on the Trans-Canada the year before, I had plenty of material to contribute to our discussion. After our first stop John and I switched spots so I could break our usual routine and take the front seat. We easily chatted away the 100 km Karl originally offered to drive us, which lengthened into the next major city and by the end of the afternoon became an offer to drive us all the way to Flensburg, on the German/Danish border.
Part way through the journey, Karl shared his sandwiches with us and at dinner time, he paid for our dinners. When we approached Flensburg he pulled over to call his girlfriend and consulted with her before inviting us to spend the night at her place. In the morning, he mentioned, his girlfriend's brother would be driving into Denmark and could give us a ride as far as Kolding.
I grew to very much like Karl and his girlfriend Marlene during that part of the trip. They were a bit older, but not by much, and I imagined that given the opportunity, we could easily become friends. They were both very keen to visit Canada and mentioned they would look me up if they ever happened to travel across the ocean to visit.
But those days were different. I don't think I knew what an email address was at that point. Facebook and Twitter were over a decade away and, as I was traveling, I had no phone number and no fixed address to pass on. The short of it was, I had no contact info to give them, other than to let them know that I was from London (the other one, in Ontario, Canada) and that they should try to find me in the phone book if they ever happened to pass that way. Hopefully I'd be there...
As I had come to understand on previous trips - realistically there was next to no chance that any semblance of an ongoing relationship would come out of our meeting. I think that's a big difference between then and now. When you traveled people would come in and out of your life for a short span of time and when you said goodbye, it was almost a given that you were saying goodbye forever. Sometimes that was a great, and sometimes not so much.
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a ’67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something ‘new’ called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The Other London, Part 2: Roll up, roll up for the Mystery Tour
John had estimated the distance from Amsterdam to the Roskilde Festival in Denmark to be about 800km. A distance he felt would be coverable within a 3 day time span which, in my uninitiated estimation, seemed overly generous. Having only been in Europe for a few days, I was still in full-fledged, ignorant tourist mode, and gauging the undertaking by North American standards, I thought it more reasonable to expect the journey would take us a couple of days. One day if we were lucky.
I quickly realized the difference between hitching rides in North America and hitching rides in Europe was that hitching rides in Europe was a bit of a dog-and-pony-show/milk-run where you had to be prepared to stop at every village - and I do mean every village - along the way between point A and point B. To be fair, things were the same in North America, but with major epicenters spread out a reasonable distance, at least you'd feel like you're getting somewhere with each ride. In Europe, most folks seemed only to be traveling to the next village which, if you were lucky, might be a good 10km away. Sigh.
Here's some useful European hitching how-to from back in the day, in case you're interested:
Our last ride of the day was kind enough to drive us all the way to the nearest hostel in Arnhem which happened to be a Christian youth hostel. In my experience these establishments are dependably very clean, very efficiently run and, most notably, very not fun. Well, we really only needed a place to shower and crash before hitting the road early the next day. The hostel staff were at least open-minded enough to allow us to stay in the co-ed dorm though we were not a married couple. We were given bunks beside an elderly grandma and grandpa (or should I say, oma and opa) -like German couple who folded their socks neatly on top of the sandals at the foot of their beds.
As we were crawling into our bunks at the early hour of 10, it was already past 'lights out' time. The dorm was in semi-darkness and filled with the sounds of snoring travellers. John, who had maintained a respectable we-hardly-know-each-other distance throughout the day, stepped up to the upper bunk where I was already snuggled into my sleeping bag to whisper good night. His gorgeous eyes shimmered silver in the dim light. And he kissed me. Swoon. I mean, ew (well, not really).
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a '67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something 'new' called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
I quickly realized the difference between hitching rides in North America and hitching rides in Europe was that hitching rides in Europe was a bit of a dog-and-pony-show/milk-run where you had to be prepared to stop at every village - and I do mean every village - along the way between point A and point B. To be fair, things were the same in North America, but with major epicenters spread out a reasonable distance, at least you'd feel like you're getting somewhere with each ride. In Europe, most folks seemed only to be traveling to the next village which, if you were lucky, might be a good 10km away. Sigh.
Likewise, it took us one full day - over 10 hours on the road - to get from Amsterdam to Arnhem, Holland, a paltry 100km away. Our tedious progress encompassed 8 rides including: a business man who drove us to the outskirts of Amsterdam where his car promptly overheated, a minibus of high school kids on a band trip, a farmer who let us ride in the back of her produce van, and other assorted fun.
Here's some useful European hitching how-to from back in the day, in case you're interested:
- Make sure you have a big pad of paper with you and a thick black marker so you can display the name of the next village to passing vehicles. It's inadvisable to write down the name of your final destination as anything further than 20km away will likely overwhelm your audience if they bother to look.
- It is, or was, illegal to hitch on the open highway in most countries in Europe. The acceptable spot to wait for rides is at the top of an on ramp. Where major highways intersect, this of course means that when you are dropped off at an off ramp, you will need to cross the intersecting highway on foot to get to the next on ramp. A side note here, once you've made it half way across the highway, you'll likely find those concrete barriers are actually much higher than you might expect. Also, the smooth sides make them very difficult to climb over with a 30 lb backpack on your back. Good luck!
- As hitchhiking partners go, you'll have an easier time finding rides if you travel with a girl. Lone males or two males will receive less offers. And as far as numbers go, the maximum size of your travelling party should be limited to two.
- It is expected that you will be open to engaging in idle chitchat throughout the duration of your ride. Remember, your driver is a person who has invited a couple of strangers to share their confined space for a period of time. They are overtly social creatures and there are no 'free rides' to be had. Even the fact that you don't speak a common language won't get you off the hook. You can expect to answer questions like 'Where are you going?", "What do you think about [insert current country/closet village]?" and "What is [insert name of your home country] like?" over and over and over again. And then some.
Our last ride of the day was kind enough to drive us all the way to the nearest hostel in Arnhem which happened to be a Christian youth hostel. In my experience these establishments are dependably very clean, very efficiently run and, most notably, very not fun. Well, we really only needed a place to shower and crash before hitting the road early the next day. The hostel staff were at least open-minded enough to allow us to stay in the co-ed dorm though we were not a married couple. We were given bunks beside an elderly grandma and grandpa (or should I say, oma and opa) -like German couple who folded their socks neatly on top of the sandals at the foot of their beds.
As we were crawling into our bunks at the early hour of 10, it was already past 'lights out' time. The dorm was in semi-darkness and filled with the sounds of snoring travellers. John, who had maintained a respectable we-hardly-know-each-other distance throughout the day, stepped up to the upper bunk where I was already snuggled into my sleeping bag to whisper good night. His gorgeous eyes shimmered silver in the dim light. And he kissed me. Swoon. I mean, ew (well, not really).
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a '67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something 'new' called the Internet. You can find the first post here.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
The Other London
A few friends have asked me to write about how I came to use the name, theotherlondon, so here it is: a collection of stories from June 1993 to October 1994 that include my experiences working in Switzerland and the UK; my engagement to a German blacksmith in Paris; our road trip across North America in a '67 Volvo with an Australian footballer, and oh yes, my introduction to something 'new' called the Internet.
Part 1: She's got a ticket to ride
On June 24, 1993, I flew to Amsterdam on a one day ticket with vague ideas that I hoped to spend the summer, or at least a month or so of it visiting Italy, Spain, Greece and if my money lasted, Egypt or Israel. You'll eventually notice that I visited none of those places, and ended up in a bunch of countries I never dreamed I would ever set foot in. Funny how those things can happen when you don't have a set plan.
I enjoy traveling alone. It can be lonely and maybe a bit precarious at times - like when you pull into a train station in a seedy part of town at 3am in the morning with no idea where you're going to stay - but it also has its benefits. The perk I appreciate the most is that you get invited on all sorts of adventures with groups of people who are looking for some fresh company but can only make room for one. And most groups can usually make room for one.
I'd like to mention that I in no way intend to suggest that it's a good idea for young girls to go traveling alone to any part of the world. I've been lucky to have never ended up in any truly dangerous situations, but I've heard reports of others who have. Frankly, amongst the other young girls I crossed paths with who were also traveling alone, I never encountered any of these unfortunate damsels. But who's to say.
My first few days in Amsterdam I got invited to join in on a few promising outings:
Option 1
A couple invited me along to Turkey, a country they had recently returned from. They had traveled back to Amsterdam to pick up belongings they had left behind and where excited to get back to what they described as the most beautiful landscapes they had ever seen.
Option 2
I met a fun and friendly group of students from Bath who were coming to the end of a three-week summer road trip on the continent asked if I might be interested in catching a ride with them to visit their home turf where they promised bustling student nightlife and interesting architecture.
Option 3
Most temptingly some fellow Canadians who had rented a VDub bus for the summer and were heading to Spain asked if I might like to join them. Well, Spain was on my 'itinerary'...
Option 4
On my second morning in the hostel - Bob's Youth Hostel, which had been highly recommended by a number of friends and didn't disappoint - I was <mumble> playing guitar in the hostel cafeteria </mumble> when a gorgeous Norwegian with amazing blue eyes asked if I might like to go see Neil Young in concert. I happened to be playing a Neil Young song at the time.
[caption id="attachment_197" align="alignnone" width="300"]
Screenshot from theotherlondon blog circa 1993[/caption]
"But isn't Neil Young touring North America?" I asked/responded wishing I'd showered before heading down to grab breakfast, or at least brushed my hair. "I have some friends who were just caught one of his shows back home."
"Maybe he was there," the Norwegian answered in that slightly American sounding accent I discovered most young Scandinavians have when they speak English. I later learned that many of the American films and televisions shows they have access to aren't dubbed into their native tongue but are shown in their original format, thus their dependably excellent English.
"He's here now," the Norwegian continued. "He's playing at a music festival in Denmark in three days. If you'd like to see him, you can come with me. If you'd like." He flashed a drop dead gorgeous smile.
"How are you getting there?"
"I was planning to hitchhike. It shouldn't take any longer than 2 or maybe 3 days to get there."
Hitching through Europe to a music festival? It seemed a no-brainer that this was the way to go. Oh, did I mention he had amazing blue eyes?
Part 1: She's got a ticket to ride
On June 24, 1993, I flew to Amsterdam on a one day ticket with vague ideas that I hoped to spend the summer, or at least a month or so of it visiting Italy, Spain, Greece and if my money lasted, Egypt or Israel. You'll eventually notice that I visited none of those places, and ended up in a bunch of countries I never dreamed I would ever set foot in. Funny how those things can happen when you don't have a set plan.
I enjoy traveling alone. It can be lonely and maybe a bit precarious at times - like when you pull into a train station in a seedy part of town at 3am in the morning with no idea where you're going to stay - but it also has its benefits. The perk I appreciate the most is that you get invited on all sorts of adventures with groups of people who are looking for some fresh company but can only make room for one. And most groups can usually make room for one.
I'd like to mention that I in no way intend to suggest that it's a good idea for young girls to go traveling alone to any part of the world. I've been lucky to have never ended up in any truly dangerous situations, but I've heard reports of others who have. Frankly, amongst the other young girls I crossed paths with who were also traveling alone, I never encountered any of these unfortunate damsels. But who's to say.
My first few days in Amsterdam I got invited to join in on a few promising outings:
Option 1
A couple invited me along to Turkey, a country they had recently returned from. They had traveled back to Amsterdam to pick up belongings they had left behind and where excited to get back to what they described as the most beautiful landscapes they had ever seen.
Option 2
I met a fun and friendly group of students from Bath who were coming to the end of a three-week summer road trip on the continent asked if I might be interested in catching a ride with them to visit their home turf where they promised bustling student nightlife and interesting architecture.
Option 3
Most temptingly some fellow Canadians who had rented a VDub bus for the summer and were heading to Spain asked if I might like to join them. Well, Spain was on my 'itinerary'...
Option 4
On my second morning in the hostel - Bob's Youth Hostel, which had been highly recommended by a number of friends and didn't disappoint - I was <mumble> playing guitar in the hostel cafeteria </mumble> when a gorgeous Norwegian with amazing blue eyes asked if I might like to go see Neil Young in concert. I happened to be playing a Neil Young song at the time.
[caption id="attachment_197" align="alignnone" width="300"]
Screenshot from theotherlondon blog circa 1993[/caption]"But isn't Neil Young touring North America?" I asked/responded wishing I'd showered before heading down to grab breakfast, or at least brushed my hair. "I have some friends who were just caught one of his shows back home."
"Maybe he was there," the Norwegian answered in that slightly American sounding accent I discovered most young Scandinavians have when they speak English. I later learned that many of the American films and televisions shows they have access to aren't dubbed into their native tongue but are shown in their original format, thus their dependably excellent English.
"He's here now," the Norwegian continued. "He's playing at a music festival in Denmark in three days. If you'd like to see him, you can come with me. If you'd like." He flashed a drop dead gorgeous smile.
"How are you getting there?"
"I was planning to hitchhike. It shouldn't take any longer than 2 or maybe 3 days to get there."
Hitching through Europe to a music festival? It seemed a no-brainer that this was the way to go. Oh, did I mention he had amazing blue eyes?
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
What I'm Looking Forward to at Sasquatch 2012
[caption id="attachment_129" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Crowd shot on the terrace at Sasquatch 2010"]
[/caption]
Every year I faithfully do up a schedule for Sasquatch and every year I end up with an experience completely unlike what I'd planned. Nevetheless, here I am, doing it again…
I've provided links to the sites for the acts I've included in my highlights. If you're interested in checking out any of the other bands, visit the Sasquatch site for info and links.
Saturday
Reptar (Bigfoot) 12-12:45
I Break Horses (Bigfoot) 1- 1:45
Said The Whale (Yeti) 1:20-2:05
Blitzen Trapper (Sasquatch) 2:10-2:55
The Civil Wars (Sasquatch) 3:15-4
Kurt Vile and the Violators (Bigfoot) 4:05-4:50
Dum Dum Girls (Bigfoot) 5:10-5:55
Metric (Sasquatch) 6:40-7:40
tUnE-yArDs (Bigfoot) 7:30-8:30
The Shins (Sasquatch) 8:10-9:25
St Vincent (Bigfoot) 9-10
Jack White (Sasquatch) 10-11:30
The Roots (Bigfoot) 11:30 -1pm
Highlights for Saturday
Though I Break Horses is a little outside what I usually listen to, quite a bit of their dreamy electronic goodness has been on frequent rotation on my iPod for the past few months. I seem to have a soft spot for Swedish bands as of late. Civil Wars is another must see as Barton Hollow made my list of top ten releases last year. Love their rich, acoustic melodies and sweet harmonies. The overlapping Metric and tUnE-yArDs concerts is a bit of a dilemma, but we'll deal with that later…
Sunday
Hey Marseilles (Sasquatch) 12-12:45
Greylag (Yeti) 12:15-1:00
Reignwolf (Yeti) 1:20-2:05
Trampled By Turtles (Sasquatch) 2:10-2:55
Blind Pilot (Sasquatch) 3:15-4:00
Hey Rosetta! (Yeti) 4:35-5:20
M. Ward (Sasquatch) 5:25-6:10
The Head & The Heart (Sasquatch) 6:40-7:40
Zola Jesus (Yeti) 7:50-8:50
Beirut (Sasqutach) 8:10-9:25
Bon Iver (Sassquatch) 10-11:30
Highlights for Sunday
Though I'm of course looking forward to the heavy-weights, The Head & The Heart (who put on an amazing show at Sasquatch last year), Beirut and Bon Iver, I'm very keen to catch Greylag and Reignwolf on the Yeti stage earlier in the day. My favourite shows in past years at Sasqutach have consistently played the Yeti stage and I'm guessing it's one of these two bands that will deliver my favourite performance of the festival. Either that or M. Ward might take the cake.
Monday
The Sheepdogs (Sasquatch) 12-12:45
Grouplove (Sasquatch) 1:05-1:50
Ben Howard (Bigfoot) 1:45-2:30
Damien Jurado (Bigfoot) 2:45-3:20
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (Sasquatch) 3:15-4
The Joy Formidable (Sasquatch) 4:15-5
Feist (Sasquatch) 5:30-6:30
The Cave Singers (Bigfoot) 6:50-7:35
Tenacious D (Sasquatch) 8:30-9:30
Beck (Sasquatch) 10-11:30
Highlights for Monday
Hands down the act I'm most looking forward to at Sasquatch 2012 is Damien Jurado. I usually try to steer clear of bands I've already seen in hopes of discovering new favourites, but in this case and a few others, there's no resisting. Though I can't say I'd ever go out of my way to see Tenacious D in concert, I am expecting the show will be a welcome break from the norm in the closing hours of the festival. Last but hardly least, I've got 20 years worth of reasons to look forward to catching Beck in concert.
By the way, if you're looking for packing tips for the festival, you could check out a post I uploaded last year.
See you there!
[/caption]Every year I faithfully do up a schedule for Sasquatch and every year I end up with an experience completely unlike what I'd planned. Nevetheless, here I am, doing it again…
I've provided links to the sites for the acts I've included in my highlights. If you're interested in checking out any of the other bands, visit the Sasquatch site for info and links.
Saturday
Reptar (Bigfoot) 12-12:45
I Break Horses (Bigfoot) 1- 1:45
Said The Whale (Yeti) 1:20-2:05
Blitzen Trapper (Sasquatch) 2:10-2:55
The Civil Wars (Sasquatch) 3:15-4
Kurt Vile and the Violators (Bigfoot) 4:05-4:50
Dum Dum Girls (Bigfoot) 5:10-5:55
Metric (Sasquatch) 6:40-7:40
tUnE-yArDs (Bigfoot) 7:30-8:30
The Shins (Sasquatch) 8:10-9:25
St Vincent (Bigfoot) 9-10
Jack White (Sasquatch) 10-11:30
The Roots (Bigfoot) 11:30 -1pm
Highlights for Saturday
Though I Break Horses is a little outside what I usually listen to, quite a bit of their dreamy electronic goodness has been on frequent rotation on my iPod for the past few months. I seem to have a soft spot for Swedish bands as of late. Civil Wars is another must see as Barton Hollow made my list of top ten releases last year. Love their rich, acoustic melodies and sweet harmonies. The overlapping Metric and tUnE-yArDs concerts is a bit of a dilemma, but we'll deal with that later…
Sunday
Hey Marseilles (Sasquatch) 12-12:45
Greylag (Yeti) 12:15-1:00
Reignwolf (Yeti) 1:20-2:05
Trampled By Turtles (Sasquatch) 2:10-2:55
Blind Pilot (Sasquatch) 3:15-4:00
Hey Rosetta! (Yeti) 4:35-5:20
M. Ward (Sasquatch) 5:25-6:10
The Head & The Heart (Sasquatch) 6:40-7:40
Zola Jesus (Yeti) 7:50-8:50
Beirut (Sasqutach) 8:10-9:25
Bon Iver (Sassquatch) 10-11:30
Highlights for Sunday
Though I'm of course looking forward to the heavy-weights, The Head & The Heart (who put on an amazing show at Sasquatch last year), Beirut and Bon Iver, I'm very keen to catch Greylag and Reignwolf on the Yeti stage earlier in the day. My favourite shows in past years at Sasqutach have consistently played the Yeti stage and I'm guessing it's one of these two bands that will deliver my favourite performance of the festival. Either that or M. Ward might take the cake.
Monday
The Sheepdogs (Sasquatch) 12-12:45
Grouplove (Sasquatch) 1:05-1:50
Ben Howard (Bigfoot) 1:45-2:30
Damien Jurado (Bigfoot) 2:45-3:20
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (Sasquatch) 3:15-4
The Joy Formidable (Sasquatch) 4:15-5
Feist (Sasquatch) 5:30-6:30
The Cave Singers (Bigfoot) 6:50-7:35
Tenacious D (Sasquatch) 8:30-9:30
Beck (Sasquatch) 10-11:30
Highlights for Monday
Hands down the act I'm most looking forward to at Sasquatch 2012 is Damien Jurado. I usually try to steer clear of bands I've already seen in hopes of discovering new favourites, but in this case and a few others, there's no resisting. Though I can't say I'd ever go out of my way to see Tenacious D in concert, I am expecting the show will be a welcome break from the norm in the closing hours of the festival. Last but hardly least, I've got 20 years worth of reasons to look forward to catching Beck in concert.
By the way, if you're looking for packing tips for the festival, you could check out a post I uploaded last year.
See you there!
Friday, December 09, 2011
Jon Middleton House Concert
[caption id="attachment_95" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Jon Middleton playing a house concert in Victoria BC, Saturday December 3"]
[/caption]
[/caption]
Saturday, October 29, 2011
November music releases I'm looking forward to via @Storify
I decided to spend the afternoon checking out the new updates to Storify and simultaneously drafting up my Christmas wish list ;)
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
My Favourite Places on Vancouver Island: Mount Finlayson, Goldstream Provincial Park
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| The summit of Mount Finlayson |
Hike length: Approximately 4km
Hike duration: 2-3 hours
If you like your outdoor experiences to include an blood pumping workout, then this trail should be right up your alley.
The hike up Mount Finlayson in Goldstream Provincial Park just outside Victoria was one of the first trails we hiked after moving to Victoria. It's among the select must-do day hikes locals dependably recommend to newcomers - a collection of world-class gems that includes East Sooke Regional Park's Coastal trail, for it's gorgeous vistas, and Botanical Beach at Juan De Fuca Provincial Park, for marine life viewing.
The Mount Finlayson trail can be accessed a short distance from the parking lot at Goldstream's main entrance on Highway 1, just west of Victoria (map). From the main entrance, follow the side road from the parking lot across the bridge and into the park to the trailhead. Just past the bridge, look for a large sign and an intimidating-at-first-glance flight of stairs. If stairs aren't your thing, or if you're looking to ease into the hike, take the alternate, slightly less steep trail to your left. The two routes meet a short way up the mountain.
After the two trails merge, the path continues climbing through beautiful, mossy, green forest until levelling out for a short stretch near the Bear Mountain subdivision.
The trees change from soaring pines to scraggly arbutus, then disappear all together as the trail turns into a steeper scramble up the remaining distance to the rocky summit. I believe most hikers familiar with this trail see this as being the fun part of the hike, though I have had a handful of hiking companions suggest this section can challenge the reserve of anyone with a fear of heights.
The summit is a nice spot to enjoy a meal or snack before you make your way back down the mountain. From the top you can enjoy views of the Olympic Mountains and the Straight of Juan De Fuca.
Planning tips:
- Sections of this trail are a bit technically challenging. Wear shoes with good support and rubber soles that will grip rocky surfaces, especially important in slippery, wet weather.
- It's also possible to approach or descend from the summit of Mount Finlayson via the north side of the mountain from an access point a little over a kilometre down Finlayson Arm Road from Goldstream's main entrance. This is a gentler route that doubles the distance of the hike.
- As an added bonus, if you head out to Goldstream over the next month or so (mid-October to early December) you should also be able to catch the park's yearly salmon run.
Thursday, October 06, 2011
How to make a pumpkin pie
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| My first (successful) pumpkin pie |
What you'll need:
4 large eggs
3 cups fresh pumpkin puree
3/4 cup evaporated milk
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 teaspoons pumpkin spice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 unbaked, 9 inch pie shell
To prepare the pumpkin, remove the seeds, cut into chunks and remove the skin. Boil, roast or steam the pumpkin until tender then puree. Cool to room temperature and drain off any standing liquid that forms.
Mix the pumpkin puree with the remaining ingredients until well blended and pour into an unbaked pie shell. When it comes to pie shells, I usually use whatever pastry recipe comes on the box of the shortening I've bought. Read my blog post, Things I’ve learned about making pies, for more on how to make pie pastry.
Bake the pie at 350 degrees for 55-65 minutes. The top of the pie will be slightly browned and the middle of the pie will still look slightly wet when it's done.
More tips:
- Use a small pumpkin. I chose one that was a little bit smaller than a basketball and ended up with enough pumpkin puree to make two pies.
- If you don't have pumpkin pie spice, you can also use a mix of spices (1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon, 1 teaspoon cloves, and 1/2 teaspoon ginger).
- This is the kind of pie that needs to bake a while for the filling to cook. If your pie crust starts to darken too quickly around the edges, cover the rim of your pie with a strip of tin foil (shiny side out).
- Save the seeds and roast them in a pan with a little oil and a sprinkling of salt. Yum!
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| While your pumpkin is stewing you can roast the seeds in a pan with a little oil and salt. |
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Aidan Knight and Snailhouse, live and in concert! ...in my neighbour's living room
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| Aidan Knight and some of his Friendly Friends performing at a house concert in Victoria, BC. |
The Aidan Knight concert I recently attended was no exception. Opening act, Snailhouse (Mike Feuerstack of the Wooden Stars) started off the night with a short - sadly, I felt, a little too short - set of emotion packed songs. After a quick break, Knight took to the stage/living room floor while some of his backing musicians, the Friendly Friends, wandered through the rest of the house playing their instruments. From the introspective and melancholy, Lambics, to the feel-good, Jasper, it was a captivating experience made all the more personal and charming in a home setting. Knight's music is a carefully tuned harmony of contrasts (despite all the trouble he experienced with a faulty tuner during his performance). Familiar sounding melodies with unusual orchestration; sometimes dynamic and filled with texture, sometimes sparse; and lyrics that reflect his youthful perspective balanced with just the right amount of world-weary wisdom.
From time to time I get asked how to find out about scheduled house concerts. As these shows are usually organized by home owners, promotional marketing is commonly limited to grassroots channels. If you live in Victoria, BC, my best recommendation is simply to sign up for the Victoria House Concert B Facebook Group. If you live anywhere else, I'd suggest searching the web, or you can try asking friends who might be connected to your local music scene if they know of any upcoming shows.
Video shot by Dfinlan.
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