Jessica and friends in the mud

Twice this year, in August and November, we saw our teenager friend Jessica in Ottawa, who's now in her last year of high school, exploring a variety of hairstyles and ideas for her future. She cares greatly about animal welfare, but Art and Maths interest her too; it will be interesting to see what path she chooses next. On both visits Chris took her flying, on the second occasion with her cousin Roland. Some passengers like taking control of the aircraft, some do not; Jessica does!

The weekend she stayed at our house was a good occasion for getting in touch with the German family she got to know in 2018, so I invited them to a Zoom meeting at breakfast time / mid-afternoon, and the two girls, Jessica and Toni (whose English after a year living in New Zealand is now flawless) spent a good hour happily catching up with one another's news. I found that very rewarding to witness, since Chris, I, and Jessica's aunt Carol, had introduced the girls to one another back in 2017, a long time ago from their perspective, when they were 12 / 13 years old.

  

Sunday November 21 was a wet, grey, and muddy day, as we discovered when I had the silly idea of taking Jessica for a walk in the Chelsea woods, with Carol, Elva and Laurie along. Jessica called this walk "a team-building exercise" because the trail was so slippery and steep. Setting off from the parking lot opposite St. Stephen's Church we meandered through the new housing development to the banks of Chelsea Creek and then across a series of hurdles on the trail through the woods, crossing bridges and climbing up and down flights of steps, having to hang on to fences, trees and helpfully proffered hands and dead branches on the way, to avoid falling into the mud. Nobody actually sat in the mud, but it was close, and our boots took an hour to clean, that evening. We finished the walk in the sombre old cemetery, where the dates of death at a young age, carved on the gravestones rising from the turf, imply hardship for Chelsea's 19th century settlers.

At the beginning and end of the weekend Jessica took the Toronto-Ottawa-Toronto train.

Lunch out with cardamom-flavoured coffee

It was a strangely unfamiliar experience to wear smart shoes and go out to lunch, especially when lunch was at the reception hall of the Embassy of the United Arab Emirates. A few of our Diplomatic Hospitality group had been invited there as a treat. 

 

We were coaxed into sampling a whole range of Middle East and North African specialities personally prepared by members of the embassies that took part (the UAE, Yemen, Jordan, Egypt, Tunisia, Iraq, Sudan, Lebanon) with such delicious flavours in the ingredients!— Mediterranean herbs and spices in the savoury dishes, rose water in the desserts. It was healthy food too; it's rare that I consume so much without suffering any indigestion afterwards. To drink, Yemeni coffee or Iraqi tea, Rarkadeh, lemonade or chai was served, no wine of course. 

The cheerful atmosphere was intoxicating enough without alcohol. A musician played dance music on a Syrian lute and the Ambassadors' wives who were our hostesses moved gracefully around the room in their national clothes, greeting everyone and encouraging us to dance.

The Humanics Institute

A walk in the woods in October, just east of Cumberland, took six of us by surprise. It had been my idea to come here. We knew that sculptures had been installed, but we hadn't anticipated how many of them there would be and of what good quality. 

The installation is seasonal (i.e. not viewable in the winter months) and is a project of the Humanics Institute that aims to teach people, without being too dogmatic about it, that the religions of this world have striking similarities. I agree with the implication that one of the things we should all be searching for, in this life, is the vision we have in common:

• [W]hile acknowledging that differences exist, we believe that the commonalities in our religious beliefs, spirituality, race, ethnicity, culture and nationality ultimately unite us. 

• [W]hile celebrating diversity, we strive to advance the awareness that we are not fundamentally different from one another.

The elderly gentleman who created this "Sanctuary and Sculpture Park", is Ranjit Perera, President of the Humanics Institute, who's originally from Sri Lanka where some of the sculpture comes from. I assume his upbringing was Hindu. Many of the other pieces are modern imports from Zimbabwe. The site is still under construction with more to come, so the owners hope. The walk around the site, up and down slopes and crossing a stream in a steep valley a couple of times, which we did in the rain with our umbrellas up, encourages a pause at each station where sculptures are placed, and meditation on the three principles common to all religions:

1. The Oneness of Reality ... interpreted [variously] as Brahma, or Yahweh, or Buddha the Enlightened One, or God or Allah, or the Great Spirit 
2. Equality -- All humans are responsible beings, born free and equal in dignity and rights
3. Interconnection -- There is an intrinsic relationship between human beings individually and collectively, and the natural and the cosmic environment around them

The phrase I underlined above is frequently repeated on the explanatory boards. 

Some of the three-dimensional artworks appear in groups, like the animals (horse, giraffe, elephant, etc.) made from pieces of metal near the driveway, and there are areas where people can gather for a wedding or to learn about the institute under a canvas awning. They had some fruit juice to hand out but to Elva's chagrin on that damp and chilly morning, no coffee. That would have been a touch too secular, perhaps.

We all came away thinking deep thoughts, but also hungry for lunch, so we stopped at a restaurant of good repute in the village of Cumberland with the peculiar name of Maker Feed Co. (it's a former farming supplies store) and were lucky to be seated on very fancy chairs at the only table available, for a posher-than-average brunch. 

That place, too, was a worthwhile discovery, rather pricey, but special, in an old stone house with white-painted verandas and balconies. The chef uses locally farmed products in his dishes.

Melting ice

Philip Porter, son of a friend of mine from the 1980s, has 30 years’ experience of studying why and how glaciers melt. He is shocked by the recent acceleration of this phenomenon, leading to a rise in sea levels and increased sediment in rivers, lakes and oceans. Nutrient delivery to nearby ecosystems is also affected by changing levels of salinity in the water. Around the globe, currents and energy systems are changing, as rainfall and warmer summers in the Arctic melt more ice. 

 This summer Phil was at a research station on Spitzbergen island in the Barentz Sea, at a latitude of >78° North, where the early 20th century Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen once stopped on his expedition to the North Pole in the ship called Fram (which I saw at its resting place in Oslo). 

On October 18th I hosted a meeting for my Environment Action group and guests at which Phil as the invited speaker told us how hydrologists monitor the flow of water through the Spitzbergen glaciers. 

 A fluorometer is used to detect the channels through which (purposely dyed) water flows underground and disperses overground. He described abseiling down a 60 metre deep “moulin” through a crevasse in the ice, a laser scanner helping his team to observe the formation of these underground channels — a terrifying but awe-inspiring experience! 

Phil has observed glaciers in the Arctic, the Hindu Kush, the Andes and the Alps. He explained how the phenomenon of glaciers surging forward is linked to the passage of water at their base. It does not mean that they are growing; many are drying up. It is sobering to think that, in the far east, a fifth of the world’s population directly relies on the water from ice-melt being predictable. Our imports of food and energy also depend on the reliability of these water sources. 

Rapidly melting glaciers are an indicator of “the biggest crisis humanity has ever had to face.” However, we should not be fatalistic and despairing. Education is essential; the best means of education is word of mouth. And the “first and quickest solution” to global warming is for each of us to reduce our consumption of unnecessary things. Phil said we should lobby our elected representatives more vigorously, as well. He finished his presentation by reminding us of the Serenity Prayer, adding a phrase of his own: “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage and the energy to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” This is a message we could all relate to.

An escape to Kingston

We contrived to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with our friends Elva and Laurie. We had told them we'd be flying to Kingston on the Holiday Weekend in the hope they'd come along, and they did. We took the plane through IFR conditions; and they came by car, setting off before breakfast so that they could meet us when we landed and drive us into the town.

Setting off from Rockcliffe we climbed above the lower cloud layer over a "solid undercast" of white cloud, Chris flying on the instruments. Once we had reached our designated altitude, we could see that the sky looked brighter to the south and after about 20 minutes' flying the clouds became thinner and more broken; we started to see the landscape through holes in the thin cloud. On our descent to Kingston, we penetrated some misty, wispy cloud, below which the wind was gusty. 

 

As soon as we were outside the airport we all walked across the field to the shore of Lake Ontario, where waves were breaking in bright sunshine. On the horizon we could see the windfarm on Amherst Island, and there's another on Wolfe Island. 

 

In the afternoon we sailed to the island, having watched the ferry coming and going. At the docks new infrastructure is being installed in anticipation of the larger, all-electric ferries that will replace the old ones next Spring. They come from Romania (arrived in pieces on board a freighter ship) and are being stored for the winter in Picton while their future crews learn how to steer them. On this weekend all kinds of vehicles, carrying canoes, bikes, ladders, took the old Wolfe Island ferry, free of charge to everyone. It must have been particularly low in the water for the return trip, people returning in their vehicles to the mainland after a drive round the island. 

 

To avoid the challenge of finding a restaurant with tables available for a traditional Thanksgiving supper, the four of us ate an Indian meal at Namaste on Ontario Street before wandering back to our respective hotels via the central harbour, under the moon. 

Next morning, another waterside walk and more sitting on benches. We walked past St. George's Cathedral, a fine old building next to a fine old maple tree in its autumn glory. 

On our return flight to Ottawa we had a favourable tailwind of 25 knots, and the views of the coloured landscape were splendid.

 

The benefits of staying put

 ... at Sainte-Flavie.

On the Wednesday of our flying trip, after some consideration, we decided not to fly. The weather was fine. We could have returned to our plane and taken off up the coast to Ste-Anne-des-Monts, or across the peninsula to Bonaventure, or for a short hop to Rimouski, to walk around one of those places, but we were both feeling either too lazy or too content that day to make such an effort. The option of spending a whole day just relaxing by the immediate shore was more appealing.

Rest and simplicity is often the best choice to make, so I find. Are we getting old?

So we walked along the shore in one direction in the morning, dabbling in the rockpools, gazing at the watery blue horizon from the benches, and in the other direction in the afternoon. Back and forth again in the evening. We bought lunch from the fish 'n chips van and supper at the restaurant at M. Gagnon's Centre d'Art. 

 

I read the information boards on the waterfront telling of the grandes marées of 2010, the high tides in a December storm that destroyed several houses near the shore, and visited the Galérie d'Art du Vieux Presbytère, next to the church that included an exhibition of posters by an artist of international repute, Sébastien Thibault who lives further up the coast in Matane. One symbolic image was for a series of concerts at the Pierre-Boulez Saal in Berlin:

 

 

 

At the end of the day we sat on the pier with the local anglers and the francophone tourists (francophone in all but two cases), watching the sun go down. 

 

That easy programme did us the world of good.

Seen under shallow water

On the pier at Ste.-Flavie

On each evening that we spent in Sainte-Flavie we observed the villagers of our generation coming out to socialize at sunset. Here are some of them sitting together at the village end of the pier, a really happy bunch of friends. They burst into song a few moments after I took this photo.

At Mont Joli without a car

Visiting the Gaspésie requires planning ahead. We booked the accommodation, got that right, but should have checked that its facilities were as advertised. On Tuesday morning we discovered that the promising on-site restaurant at Mon Joli Motel is actually closed this summer, because the management can't find enough staff. No matter, the restaurant at Le Gaspésiana, competently managed by Mme. Geneviève Raîche and upgraded in recent years from a mere motel to the status of a proper hotel offering une panoplie de services pour votre plus grand confort, was open and accessible a short walk away, so we breakfasted there for the duration of our stay. The restaurant has been thoroughly renovated, with panels in place to keep guests socially distanced. Here's a picture of us sitting at a window table there on our last morning in Ste.-Flavie:

We made a slow start to the Tuesday, strolling down the road to the Gagnons' Centre d'Art to see Le Grand Rassemblement once more, which includes some wooden rafts. 

My insides were slightly upset that morning, so I spent an hour or so lying down in our room, not eager to search for any lunch yet. Eventually I was ready to walk back up the hill to the airport with Chris so that we could pick up the car I'd booked online, and start exploring La Mitis, the local region. Unfortunately again, the car was not forthcoming: nobody was at the rental office and we hadn't received a message from the rental company either, although they swore they'd sent one. They're based in Rimouski, half an hour's drive away, so we couldn't walk there and complain. We had a none-too-productive phone conversation with their rep during which he asked for a photo of Chris' credit card to be sent. Chris was not willing to do that! He sent a message of complaint.

Well, this is not a bad place to be stuck, we decided. Mont Joli might be worth seeing too. We could get there on foot.

We could avoid traffic on Rte 132 by following the Rte de l'Aéroport and the Blvd Jacques-Cartier in a straight line towards the the imposing church on the hilltop, Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes. By this time I was beginning to recover my appetite for lunch, but there wasn't a restaurant to be found — sadly the places that used to be there have all gone out of business — and just past the Avenue du Sanatorium, when we were about to give up and go back to a Tim Horton's we'd caught sight of in the distance, I thought of asking for help from a shopkeeper. I went into an artists' supply store also selling pottery, Céramiques de la Mitis, where a nice lady recommended we either call a taxi (she kindly gave us the phone number) or walk for 20 minutes (it actually took us five minutes — drivers rarely estimate a walking distance correctly) down the Av. du Sanatorium towards a pub on Blvd Gaboury, called Le Frédérike. Chris used the Maps app on his phone for reinforcement. It was too late for lunch, too early for supper; we lingered there for a satisfying mid-afternoon meal; I ordered spaghetti with meat sauce from a menu with plenty of choice. The meat sauce had a good quantity of chopped carrots, onions and herbs in it, which I appreciated. The Olympic Games were showing on the TV screens, few people sat at other tables and a heavy rain storm went through while we ate.

A la croisée des chemins

The once lively town of Mont Joli now looks run-down. It seems to offer multiple car maintenance services but not a lot for tourists, apart from its murals, collectively called Les Murmures de la Ville, which are wonderful. The Ville de Mont-Joli lists 36 stopping points at which you can admire its works of art or heritage buildings.

Mont-Joli vous propose d'explorer ses rues, de rencontrer ses citoyens, de découvrir les richesses de son patrimoine, d'admirer les couleurs qui habillent ses murs ...

We didn't encounter many citoyens, but I took pictures of some of the captivating artwork. The painting below is by Marcel Gagnon's son, Guillaume Gagnon.

Le Château, phare de Mont-Joli

L'evolution des communications à travers les âges

La médecine de campagne

Hommage à nos héros d'hier et d'aujourd'hui

Then we walked the 4.4 km back to Sainte-Flavie and for future reference we note that there's no grocery store here, although we picked up some small snacks (they sell packaged drinks and locally-made nougat, baguettes, honey products, nuts, salad veg, sauces, soaps, T-shirts) at the Épicerie & Boutique annexed to Le Ketch. The rain storm cleared the air, giving way to a lovely evening and another limpid sunset across the water.