|Approaching Peterborough airport|
|Cliffs of the Bon Echo Provincial Park|
Peterborough airport has had a thorough and expensive face lift since our last visit, acquiring several new hangars, workshops, parking for Bombardier jets and a stylish terminal building that includes a bistro serving remarkably good food (freshly battered fish 'n' chips with coleslaw, in our case). Outside it, various small aircraft were parked, including a Wilga 80 with tundra wheels that was attracting attention. During lunch we watched it take off, using hardly any of the runway to get airborne.
We asked the Esso people to fuel PTN and parked her on the apron for the night without ropes, having forgotten to bring any. This made us realise that we needed to buy some new ones that don't freeze in the winter when wet. We did so at Boater's World the following morning.
|Peterborough City Hall, George Street|
Seven of us had supper on George Street too, at the Olde Stone Brewpub, where I talked to the girl about her studies and later at some length to Chris about this too, because she didn't seem to have been as excited by Racine, Baudelaire, Flaubert, Camus and company as I'd been, when I was a student of French. Walking back to the hotel in the dark, fortified by the food and distracted by my thoughts on the subject, the distance didn't seem half so long as before.
Talking of the French literature in which I have wallowed, I saw the new film of Mauriac's novel Thérèse Desqueroux in Ottawa last night, starring Audrey Tautou––formidable!––I had better make that the subject of a different blogpost.