Montreal musings

Sheesh.
Montreal was ages ago. And a long way from this poky little internet cafe in Alegria, El Salvador. Things are great here - people are really friendly, it`s warm, it`s cheap.
In a bizarre turn of events Jess and I were interviewed by Salvadorian national TV news today as there`s a big tourism event and we seem to be the only gringos in town. So, tonight we`ll be tuning in to watch ourselves wrestle with the Spanish language in front of a national tv audience. We kept it fairly simple ("it`s beautiful! people are very friendly! this lake is beautiful! we like El Salvador!") as we didn`t want to embark on an ambitious sentence then half way through realise we didnt have the neccessary vocab to finish the job. Or call everything by the wrong gender, or baffle everyone with impossible verb endings and tenses. It will be interesting to see.

But we will finish this Canada blog eventually, and Montreal is up.
The Fridge covered a lot of prairie as we rushed to get to Montreal on time following his Winnipeg breakdown. It`s a little quicker to head south onto the US highway and we rolled through a clutch of states in a hurry. I can`t really remember which ones they were (Illinois, Minneapolis, Indiana, and some others I think...) and the only memories that seem to stick from that time are the 2 and a half hour traffic jam in Chicago, the huge Mexican dinner in a sketchy part of Detroit, a fat Canadian border guard who, we`re pretty sure, could smell the aforementioned Mexican dinner and was pissed at us for not saving him some, and lots of Great Lakes Swimmers on the iPod.

In Montreal we met Ma and Pa Price, who came from NYC and surrounds, for about 2 weeks. Together we sublet an apartment for a week on the Plateau (Fitroyish) from a lovely lady Pascale. Also in Montreal were Aussie `couve crew Josh and Carly and `couve crew Dan, Mir and Kel. The Plateau flat hosted a dinner party for all: plenty of duty free alcohol and Portugese chicken were consumed, the banjo was played, fun was had.

It was excellent to see everyone one last time (until Aus) while making use of Montreal`s endless funky nightspots and restaurants, quality cafes, shady and musical parks, and seriously ridiculous amount of free entertainment. I don`t know if such a thing is possible - but I think maybe Montreal has too many festivals in summer. Every afternoon we would gather together the pile of pamphlets and try to decide what to do that night. There were always four or more options. Mostly the events were free. Admittedly, it is a nice problem to have.
During the two weeks we were there Montreal hosted: Just for Laughs comedy fest, Francofolies (biggest French language music fest in da world), an African music fest, a fireworks competition every Sat night, a gay/bi/curious fest, Elektronic Piknik (djs in the park every Sun), Osheaga (Coldplay, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, girltalk), and more I forget. Streets are closed across the city and everyone gets amongst it. It must be exhausting to do a whole summer in Montreal and work...
I love the idea of closing streets and handing them over to the people. It acknowledges that cities are for something more than shopping and working and efficiency. More street closures in Australia, I say! At least until I get a car.

For the street party to close the comedy fest thousands of people filled the streets watching buskers, drinking on terraces, getting surprises... At one stage we were surrounded by a troupe of performers in ornate white costumes on stilts. They came up from behind us quickly, so that one minute we were walking down the middle of a fogettable street, and the next there were twenty white figures, with plumes and horns and ghostly makeup, looming all around and peering freakily down on us. On long stilts, some of them were twice our height. Others were on springs and went bounding and jumping ahead. The herd trotted along while one guy wheeled a soundsystem playing suitably freaky music.
It was like we were suddenly among a herd of exotic animals - giraffes, but bizarrer. An exciting feeling, and hard to articulate.
Other Montreal highlights were a Fleet Foxes gig with Ma n Pa (they sweet talked their way into the best seats in the house), dancing in the mud at Elektronic Piknik during an evening thunderstorm, and damn fine coffee and bagels in Mile End.

After our week on the Plateau, Fridgey took us for a look at Quebec City - which is charming and historical and oh so French. It really does feel European. That Quebec City and the Yukon and Calgary are all the same country is amazing. (And we haven`t got to Newfoundland yet...) Canada can sure do diverse.
Quebec City is the centre of Quebecois culture, so our French was given a work out. In Montreal, most people speak both languages, but in the city many people don`t, or don`t want to, speak the English. Which is cool by moi.
A grand old castle/hotel stands at the top of the town and cobblestone lanes wind their way past colourful terraces and under fortified town walls. The city has a happening creative scene and we spent a few hours in galleries pretending we could afford bold works of modern art. Cirque du Soleil put on a free outside performance which was a highlight, and there was a really innovative show nightly - historical pictures and footage of the city projected onto huge silos and set to music. It was brilliant, better than it sounds.
There really is a whole lot of government money going to public entertainment in Quebec. Pretty clearly, it`s an attempt to keep the people happy to weaken the independence movement. In a 1995 referendum, the Province voted against seceding from Canada by only 1 %. Younger Quebecois we talked to didn`t seem too bothered about independence, so maybe the moment has passed, but the Federal government keeps pumping the money in just in case. Whatever, in Quebec the money is really well spent, and summer is a fun time to be around.

After 3 days in Quebec City, we headed back to Montreal and to a place in Ouestmont for a week. The place belongs to an old work mate of Ma`s and her husband and they kindly let us housesit while away. Ouestmont is the upper crust part of Montreal and the streets were noticeably different to the Plateau. They were quieter, more refined, there was more ivy on the facades, each house was a little larger, there were three ex Prime Ministers living up the road, and there was a lot more English spoken. In keeping with all of this, our place was beautiful. Very swanky indeed. It was a lot of fun to play at being wealthy types for a while and we had some beautiful dinners with the folks.
After Ma and Pa flew home, sadly early, Jess and I pottered around our Ouestmont mansion, occasionally stirring to go and fetch a cafe and pan du chocolat. We caught up on the blog, caught up with Kel at her new place, and took it easy for a bit before heading on.

Montreal was kind to us. It`s an amazing city - the best of France and North America all shaken up together. The locals are unnervingly attractive, it`s one of the best cities for bikes in the world, the music scene rocks and the rent is cheap. All summer they seem to have four festivals going at once. What`s not to like? If we could speak French we would have lived there for sure.
Vancouver, much as we liked the place, just does not have the energy of Montreal. Then again, not many places do.
Hope everyone is well. Sorry for the large style delay on this post. Write us some news!!
OK, I`m going to watch us speak bad spanish on TV. Adios!

Blog 7: Manitoba and the kindness of strangers

We left the Rockies on a tight deadline... six days to make it to Montreal to meet Nic's parents and live in an apartment rather than a tent or car for a couple of weeks.  With the mountains retreating in our rear view mirror, we headed into the flat, green prairies. Canadians always say this is the most boring part of the drive, but I don't know, I quite like it. Flat land, big sky. Kind of like home. (Apologies for the photos. This is the only one we got before the camera went dead!)

So you can picture it. Us and the fridge, out on the open road, not a care in the world. Then... out of nowhere, tragedy struck. Well, it wasn't quite so sudden. But I rounded a bend into the Alberta town of Drumheller (home of some of the best dinosaur fossils in the world as it happens) and it was like forcing the steering wheel through gravel to make the turn. Luckily this happened outside a servo so we hopped out and had a look. As the budding mechanics among you may have already guessed, we were out of power steering fluid. So we filled that up (the cashier told me they'd only got bottles of the stuff in last week! What luck!) and all seemed to be going well, except for the fact neither of us knew why Fridgey had suddenly aborted his whole supply of power steering fluid. Then... we saw it. 

Drip... drip... drip. 

It was slow, but steady. And it was 7pm on a Friday night, in a place where mechanics don't work weekends. We spoke to some friendly locals who knew stuff about stuff, and they told us as long as we kept filling Fridgey up with he power steering juice and never let him run dry, we could keep driving. Armed with about 10 litres of the stuff, we headed into the night. 

After sleeping in what we thought was remote farmland, we woke up to find we were practically parked in the driveway of the only house for miles. With the music from Deliverance ringing in our ears, we left early trying to make it to Saskatoon before midday before the mechanics shut up shop for the weekend. So... at this stage we were stopping about every 40 minutes to fill our child up with steering fluid. He was guzzling the stuff down... but it was manageable. After stumbling upon a food festival in Saskatoon, we shelved the mechanics idea and fed out faces, and decided to push to Winnipeg before we sought out help. We went all afternoon, and surely but steadily, Fridgey's - and our - endurance began to wane. We were freakin' tired, had the sticky goo of power steering fluid everywhere, had pieces of dirt and gravel all through the funnel we were using to get the stuff where it needed to go... and at about 10pm as we were huddled under our lantern trying to find the spot the stuff needed to go while fighting off the most mosquitos I've ever seen, we determined we couldn't go on like this. We were now stopping every 20 minutes... for about 5 minutes to refill the fluid. It was probably going to take us an extra day to get to Montreal at this rate. After a horrific Super 8 experience in Portage la Prairie, which we treated ourselves to after not showering or having slept in a bed for a while, we rolled into Winnipeg and to the truth of our situation. $800 was the verdict from the mechanic. Leaking rack and pinion that couldn't be plugged. We needed a new one. And to find a part. If only everyone liked Volvo's as much as we did we wouldn't have such a problem (I'm such a Volvo groupie now. It's sick).

We went to have lunch in the park to mull over this revelation. You know that sick feeling you get down in your guts when you learn you have to shell out a whole whack of money. Well, we had that. And, we didn't know how long we'd be in Winnipeg. Yes, Winnipeg. For all you Australians, Winnipeg is like the Adelaide of Canada. It's bloody freezing in winter (think -30), in the middle of nowhere, and is the butt of all jokes. But Canadians, I have news for you. You're all wrong.

Winnipeg freakin' rocks! We loved this city. We soon forgot our worries in their beautiful city park, where we stumbled upon a sculpture garden where we lay in the grass listening to live jazz. We rounded another corner, and there was a game of cricket in full swing!  We went into the city next and stumbled on an awesome Fringe Festival and the old financial district of Canada, where all the country's trade used to be based. Beautiful old buildings, and cool cafe and bars. And then all these wicked plays and music sets to see for free. 

 

Now I should tell you, you know how all places have that little catch phrase on their number plates? Well in Manitoba, it's "Friendly Manitoba." Kind of lame, I thought when we first crossed the Saskatchewan border. But it turns out it's true! Probably the most true of all the little province's catch phrases me thinks. Up until this point we'd had a guy stop to help after he saw us with our hood up on the side of the road, a man pull up alongside us when we were trying to find a park downtown to tell us his business was round the corner and to just park there in the "private parking" section, the mechanic had given us a free quote and a 20 minute diagnosis of fridgey for free on a Sunday.... and the Winnipeg friendliness was about to hit us again that night, when we were waiting in line to see a play at the Fringe Festival. We got talking to the people in front of us.. and after watching the show (a traveller relaying his adventures through Africa and the meaning he'd garnered from them. Awesome stuff) they told us to ditch the idea of sleeping in the car, and come stay with them for the night.

We drove back to Ruth and Fort's place and arrived around 11pm. Despite Ruth having to work early the next morning, she fixed us snacks and drinks and we sat around talking. We learned they'd lived in South America working as missionaries for a couple of years, which they loved. They also took street kids in sometimes to stay... in other words, they were all round top people! Good Christians minus the preachy crap, which is just good really. 

We had a great night's sleep, a great breakfast, and quickly started ringing anyone who declared to be a "Volvo specialist" in the Winnipeg Yellow Pages. Finally, we came upon the Adam's Brothers. We liked the sound of them on the phone, so headed downtown to take Fridgey in.

I can't really put my finger on it, but it was kind of like walking into the set of Happy Days. There was the number's man Fred at the front desk. Then there was "the fonz": Dick , who was the fifty something year old gold chain wearing owner, who kind of just walked around the place milling with customers and reassuring everyone their volvo was beautiful and was going to be okay, throwing in the odd entertaining story as well free of charge. There were old retro Volvo posters all over the walls, and everyone told us how beautiful and amazing our Fridgey was. (West coast cars are cherished across the rest of the country, because it doesn't snow out there. No snow = no salt on the roads = no rust). While we were bursting with pride for our child, they told us not to worry about him and that Dr Mike was on the case. Five minutes later, a short thin man with greying hair walked in, wearing a set of professional blue work overalls with a Volvo logo on one side and a "Dr Mike" badge sewn on the other. 

"Oh yeah, it's the rack and pinion. But we'll just take it from this other '87 sedan we've got, it'll be out by end of today."

Then Fred took over, furiously tapping at the computer.

"So with that, plus labour... plus the new blah blah, here's what your looking at."

The quote was about $100 less than what anyone gave us over the phone.... about $700. So with Fridgey in good hands, we spent the day sightseeing. We returned in the afternoon to find him sparkling clean and leakless. We mentioned the problem of him not going into fourth gear and Dr Mike fixed that too. 

So Winnipeg: pretty cool place! We left that afternoon and floored it through North Dakota where Nic left his sunnies (again) at a roadside diner, through Minnesota, then Wisconsin where we camped for the night, Illinois and Chicago where we got stuck in a three hour traffic jam, Detroit for an awesome Mexican meal in a questionable neighbourhood, southern Ontario where we slept in the car at a highway rest stop... and then dodged trucks and terrible rain to make it to Montreal on schedule! And that chapter everyone, will have to wait 'til next time.

Blog 6: In which we traverse the Rockies

It took us three days to get to our next destination after the Yukon: The famed Rocky Mountains. As soon as we rolled into Jasper we were in awe, but also a bit tense. We had just 5 days to see everything, as we were meeting Nic’s Mum and Dad in 10 days in Montreal, some 4000 km away. And I’m not sure what it is, but as soon as I see hordes of tourists and combined with tourist paraphernalia telling me “you must do this before you die or your life will not be worth living”... I start to get stressed. It becomes a competition. Like I have to see everything I can and BETTER things than the other 10 million people here, therefore making my experience more worthwhile.  It was with these thoughts that Nic and I pondered over brochures and travel books on our first night, while camped under towering  Mt Robson, the highest peak in the Rockies.

What we did learn about while reading all this stuff though – was Lake O’Hara. Nestled in Yoho National Park, just next door to Lake Louise, it has a quota system that only allows about 30 people a day to camp there. You can’t drive there... you can only hike in or take a shuttle bus. And you have to book six months in advance to get a camping/day pass because the place is so damn beautiful (and sensitive hence limiting the number of people.) So the next day I rang up and asked. And there was nothing. So I asked again, in a different, more persistent manner, and we were in! One night’s camping later that week. We were so excited.So the next few days we explored Jasper and Banff National Parks... trying to beat the crowds, sometimes successfully, sometimes unsuccessfully. 

There’s no doubt about it, the scenery around was some of the best I’ve ever seen. The first day we went to Mt Edith Cavall... one of the tallest in the range and one with a few massive glaciers.

So we climbed up and up and up over the meadows next to the mountain until it was just us and a few others. We thought we’d reached the walk’s end  until we saw them continuing up. So we followed. Up...

And up (at this point I said “Nic I’m tired, can we just go home”)

And to the summit.

These photos don’t really do it justice (it was a bit hazy) but the view from the top was amazing. One of those views that makes you do a few fist pumps and scream “woo hoo!” and “yeah!!” and giggle like school girls. From the top we could see the Rocky mountains continuing south to the horizon. We could see the rivers winding their way on the valley bottoms and the summit of Edith Cavall next to us on our left. And to the North, we could see the town of Jasper nestled in the mountains in the distance. 

We made our way south to the Columbia Icefield... I think one of the biggest icefields in North America... where we did a hike... then south to Banff. We set up camp in the afternoon as the weather was setting in. But just after dinner, it started to clear and the sky turned a lovely pink for the sunset... that kind that only seems to happen when there’re clouds around. We looked at each other and knew what had to be done. We jumped in the car and drove off to find adventure! (ok... I believe we did actually talk about it as well. Nic and I aren’t that in love that we can always communicate without words. Makes for a better story though...). The drive was beautiful, with nobody on the road, and we eventually found ourselves at Lake Peyto. Just a few hours before when we’d attempted to see it the place was seething with people (we left immediately without seeing it.) Now, the car park was empty. We walked the ten minutes to get there, and when we rounded the corner, there was one of the most amazing sights I’ve ever seen, which gave me the same rush as when we’d see the whale in the Queen Charlottes.

This amazing, glowing lake, coming from the runoff from a glacier high on a mountain to our left, while to the right of the lake you could see down the rocky range. And we were there, all by ourselves.

We stayed until dark, soaking it in, and on the way home hatched plans to get up at 5:30 am to see Lake Louise and have another life altering experience. Except it rained. But not to miss out on a life altering experience, we went anyway.

It actually looks pretty nice in the photos, a bit nicer than I remember. At the time I was more excited about the Fairmont next door, and wandering round it’s halls like I was staying there...

The next day, we arrived at Lake O’Hara, I think, the MOST beautiful place I’ve ever been.

We hooked up with an Italian climber, Lorenzo, who had a heart of gold and was an all round top bloke. On our hike up Mt Oderay we met so many great people. The family that runs the Lodge at Lake O’Hara (which books out a few years in advance), to a nice Calgary couple that showed us some rare mountain goats through their binoculars, to the lovely Texan farming couple who seemed to embody that old southern hospitality we've heard so much about. That night at the campground, everyone gathered round the fire and exchanged stories. Lake O’Hara was like one big family! 

Coupled with the scenery, I had the feeling that life would be better if we could always live close to nature and be kind to each other. Nic wandered off himself that evening and had some sort of transcendental  experience, where he could see the interconnectedness of everything from the tiny leaves to the massive mountains, to the lake to the dreaded mosquitoes (I took him to the psyche ward the next day...)

After a huge hike the next day, we said goodbye to the Lake, and I vowed to come back one day, with more money so I could stay at the lodge and sit down to High tea everyday between hikes. You can take the girl out of Sydney but you can't take the...

Be well :)

Blog 5: The Yuke

Ah, we've gotten behind. And our time in the Yukon was about six weeks ago now... Fortunately it left some strong memories. 

The Yukon is about as wild as you can find in the western world. It shares a border with Alaska and its north breaches the Arctic Circle. It's 30 per cent bigger than Germany - but with only around 35,000 people. And plenty of wildlife - 300,000 caribou (!), 55,000 moose, 17,000 bears, 5,000 wolves, etc. 

We spent most of our time in and around Dawson City where a friend of ours from Vancouver, Ange, works summers. It's a seasonal sort of town as tourists and employees flock in summer's endless days, but there is a mass exodus for winter - understandable as the sun barely rises and it's -40. Nearly everyone leaves. A local told me that Dawson has the highest per capita rate of suicide and STDs in Canada. Sunshine: it's important.

Dawson has character. It's Jack London country, Gold Rush country, and the frontier flavour is still strong. Weathered wooden houses that line the dusty streets often tilt precariously - the town is built on permafrost and fireplaces melt this unevenly. Gerties, the casino, has can can girls and cabaret, and at the Downtown pub they put a human toe in your shot. 

Something about the frontier vibe got in us and we decided that we were intrepid folk. The type of people that would canoe 160 km down the Yukon River to Alaska. We rented a canoe, loaded our gear and pushed off from Dawson. On the way to Eagle, Alaska (just over the border), the river winds through some pretty impressive scenery: a ghost town - abandoned since the gold rush, the wreck of a steamer, a few native reserves, some starkly beautiful wilderness and plenty of little islands. These islands made good spots for camping and we cooked by campfire. In two and a half days we paddled into Eagle, and from there got a boat back to Dawson. 

It was a real trip highlight. Our bear fear has been downgraded from infinite to moderate, but we were still a little worried about grizzlies while camping. However, the only wildlife problem we had were two seagulls which swooped the canoe and tried to shit on us for about 10 minutes for getting too close to the nest. It was funny for a while, but by the end we were thinking about batting them out of the sky with the paddles. On our last day we rose at dawn and, drifting down in the still morning, we floated past a moose on the bank. Puzzled, she looked at us for a bit and then crashed back into the forest. The hazy light and our hazy minds made it seem dreamlike.

While paddling 160 km to Alaska sounds pretty hardcore, the reality was a little different. Eagle is downstream and the Yukon flows quickly. You can get there in about 20 hours on the water without lifting a paddle. So Jess and I spent most of our time drifting down sideways or backwards, lying back in the sun, taking photos, talking rubbish, occasionally reading. It got even cushier on my birthday when Jess surprised me and produced a bottle of red and some tasty cheeses. The next two hours were not hard. But even as we sipped our red, got a little tipsy, blissed out in the sun, we were sliding under some impressive cliffs and making good time to Eagle.

Pushing off from Dawson

Doing it tough

Eagle, Alaska.

Jess also got older in Dawson and we celebrated her birthday by watching a local funk band at the Midnight Sun hotel. The band was good, and the hotel well named, because as we were dancing at 2am there was still light streaming through an open door just to the right of the stage. The light thing was pretty bizarre. We saw sunsets at 12.30am and it never really got dark - just dusky. The light, and the knowledge that winter will be there again soon, gives Dawsoners extra energy. They really make summer count - it's kinda manic. After a summer in the Yukon, the winter must almost come as a relief. Almost. 

 Sunset at 12.30 am

We talked to a few Yukoners about surviving the winter and many of them say they like it. Some intense bonds are built when you're going through the ordeal with friends, and for people with a project it can be a good time to focus. But one friend who works summers said he would never do a winter, because friends of his had never quite been the same since.

It was brilliant to catch up with Ange and meet her lovely bunch of friends. We had some fun nights out, and afternoons spent in a canoe with beers or doing walks around the town. It was a little sad to leave.

Ange, Nic, Pitcher.

Keeper of the toe kindly rubs it on my face...

then makes sure I drink the toe-shot.

Not far from Dawson City is the Tombstone National Park. The landscape is stunning - everywhere mountains, part frozen lakes and rolling low green tundra. We did a two day hike to Grizzly Lake which mostly ran along a lofty ridge with valley walls falling steeply on either side. The clear lake sat quite high, and right underneath a number of jagged black peaks. It was another great hike, and it's something we want to do more of back home.

On the trail we met a lone walker named Berwyn, who works as a part time ranger. We were initially sceptical of his name and his Crocodile Hunter t-shirt, but he was fascinating. He lives in the Yukon year round, and for spring he spends a month in a bush camp working on his birch syrup venture (it's like maple syrup, but comes from the birch). When we saw him he was trying to get photos of two rare plants for a book on the local flora, and he and his young family usually live in a cabin he built near Tombstone. He was a very relaxed guy, and seemed completely happy to wander by himself or with us. In fact he seemed to be completely happy just about all the time, even in a Yukon winter. He seemed to be one of the more 'enlightened' people I've met. While monks aim for enlightenment through sitting and not doing anything, Berwyn seemed to be enlightened through doing stuff. He was always working on a new project, or walking in the wilderness, or doing something positive. He was doing a lot of things right I reckon.

The Dempster Highway starts near Tombstone and heads north into the Actic. It's ridiculously beautiful. One ranger described it to us as "hallucinatory" and it is amazing how many remarkable and completely different sights you pass in an hour on the Dempster. Parts of it are like the moon, and then you turn a corner and it's an idyllic river or lake scene, and then mountain sheep are dotted all over some crazy red cliff. The highway is not paved, but The Fridge was heroic again and didn't get a flat like many others. We also passed a car that had run off the road down a big ditch and was smashed up pretty bad. It was nerve racking as we went to help - we didnt know if we were the first on the scene of a bad accident with bad injuries - but the car was empty. We made it as far as the Arctic Circle, which was unsurprisingly a little chilly, then turned around and headed back to Dawson.

Friends of a friend live in Whitehorse, the Yukon's capital, and Jill and Paul were lovely to us. They served a dinner of bison (Paul goes bison hunting by snowmobile in winter) and recently caught trout. Both were delicious and we had a fun night drinking and hearing their stories from the Yukon and travels in Africa, Asia, etc. Neither of them are from the Yukon, but love their life there where hiking, hunting, fishing, cycling, and other adventure plays a central role.

We liked Whitehorse a lot. It was more cosmopolitan than we had expected, with some cool cafes, restaurants, and music shops. We got Fridgey's oil changed, because we like him.

Our lifestyle has changed from the time we spent WWOOFing. Obviously we're not staying in one place or working anymore, and we now live a budget nomad existence. We sleep in the back of the car or in the tent, cook by campfire, hike often and shower less. We are often indecently stinky.

I love cooking by campfire. There's something primal about making a fire and sitting around it. It just feels right.

But this camping lifestyle has put us at the mercy of the many many many mosquitos that Canada's summer brings out. I thought Australia had bugs, but some places we've been have been insane. One morning we woke up in the back of the car, and you could see the little bastards queueing up outside. They were all excited, banging up against the windows, and as soon as Jess opened the boot a squadron of about 50 swarmed in to stick us.

We've become mosquito assassins. With all this enforced training we've mastered the one-handed grab out of the air. Whenever we stop for a break from driving they sneak in, and when we start again the driver drives and the passenger kills. We must have killed hundreds - their tiny corpses are piling up in the car.

Another thing there is no shortage of is RVs (motorhomes). So many American retirees make the trip up from the northwest to Alaska, all in various forms of slightly unnecessary RVs. Some of them are huge bus-things. Some of them are pulled by semi-trailer cabs. They're out of control. 

Driving to Whitehorse we accidentally fell into an RV convoy for about an hour and a half. There were four of them and The Fridge. We drove second from last, between Carri-Lite and Senator. It all went so well for a while, like they all forgot that we weren't retired and we didn't have a toilet in our vehicle, but then suddenly they pulled over as one, and waved us through. 

Our last adventure in the area was to drive from the Yukon into Alaska, via the Top of the World Highway, and then back into Kluane National Park in the Yukon. All of this drive is renowned for its natural beauty but we saw very little of it because of thick smoke from four nearby forest fires. 

It was one of those summer days where it feels like the rest of the world is burning. The air was dry, hot and reeked of smoke. The sun was reduced to a dull gleam, like a coin, and barely registered - the light that did penetrate was a sickly yellow. Running atop lofty ridges, the Top of the World highway usually reveals expansive views below. They were completely hidden. In Kluane, which apparently rivals the Rockies, the huge peaks were just silhouettes. It was dissappointing, but the weather has been very kind to us otherwise...

Be well!

Nic.

August 7, 2009.

Blog four: In which we travel the Queen Charlottes and become Tomato Merchants

This is going to be hard. Hard because I'm trying to cast my mind back to three weeks ago and remember clearly how awesome the Queen Charlotte islands were. It doesn't sound like long but three weeks is a long time when you're travelling. It's like a whole year in normal working life! Sorry to rub it in.....

We spent most of our time WWOOFing at a place called Moresby Explorers (Morex). They run boat tours into the big national park that makes up about half of the islands. About 10 people live in the house, mostly the tour guides, then the owners and the office staff. Laura and Heron own the business which is fairly wicked cause they're both under thirty... and there's a lot of stuff that needs looking after! Big expensive boats, half-dozen vehicles, a whole workshop with mechanical equipment, food to feed guests and staff... it's quite an operation. 

The Queen Charlottes, or Haida Gwaii, is like this fabled place for many Canadians. There's only about 5000 people on the islands, 100km from the mainland. And they're beautiful. The place is bursting with life. Bald eagles everywhere, amazing tidal pools filled with starfish and anemones...  everything you can think of, and can't. The Haida are the native people from the island and they're tough fuckers. Absolute warriors, who got decimated by smallpox when white man came... the population went from 20,000 to around 500! They somewhat recovered, and the islands are now partly governed by the Haida and everyone seems to coexist really well. The people are really friendly, outdoor, adventure types... or are here because of the logging industry that's recently taken a bit of a dive. You can hitch anywhere pretty easy and everyone's up for a chat.. or something similar. One day while we were waiting for a ferry Nic and a burly, harmonica-playing ESSO fuel truck driver had a blues jam session, just cause life is sweet. That's the kind of place it is.

One of the first people we got to know well on the islands was Luke, an amazing fella who grew up in rural BC and has just been to Australia, cycling round the place. He moved to the Charlottes about a month before we arrived with his girlfriend, and was doing some WWOOFing at Morex. Being a practical Canadian type like we've been telling you about he was building a little cabin out the back there. We helped him on our first day there and it was great! I used a nail gun! Although petrified at first, I got in the swing of things. And it was cool to see how a little house actually comes together, Nic and I really loved it. We managed to get a ride with Luke up to the northern tip of the islands the following day, and that was great fun. We picked up his girlfriend's friend Nancy and cruised around seeing the beautiful big beaches... then went back to his house and had burgers and met his lovely girlfriend Chandel. Again, we were in the company of amazing people who would do anything to make us feel at home. 

 

So we worked a bit more, then we got to go on a tour! It was two days into the park, which was just beautiful. It was us and just two other people - a father and his 40 year old daughter from California who were lots of fun and of course our fearless tour leader Max. 

We saw lots of Haida villages and the old totem poles, some beautiful hot springs... and the most exciting: Whales!! We stumbled upon a mother and calf in this big bay and watched them for a while, just swimming along not really doing much. Then they disappeared for a bit so we decided to motor around the other side of where they'd been. A bit after we'd taken off, the calf came barrelling out of the water like a torpedo. Pecheeeeeeew---- SPLASH!!! It was amazing, I can't explain that feeling when you see something like that... you feel so little. And it just kept doing it. Its whole body got out of the water twice... we could see its tail and all while we whooped and cheered for more. We did get one photo in amongst the excitement but it's out of focus and looks more like a salmon than a whale. But trust us, it was really cool.

We went back to Morex headquarters and worked some more after that, getting to know all the characters in the house a bit better. Oh, and of course, how could I forget, looking after Bob. Bob is a gull we rescued while we were out on our tour (well, Max spearheaded the effort) and we brought back to Morex to recover. He walked everywhere around the place, shat everywhere and was generally very freaked out and tried to bite us. He really liked going in the bath though. Hopefully his wing is better now and he can go back to where he's happier. 

One night we went camping out on the west coast of the north island, where we met up with Luke and Chandel and their friends. It was a great night, playing "dirty" charades. We learnt a lot that night. Nic also spent half an hour trying to portray a "vaginal fort" which he had no idea about - nor did we. Turns out it was "vaginal fart". He just read it wrong. The next day of exploring was great... then we returned to do a couple more days of work before we left.

On our final night at Morex we were joined by Laura and Viv's parents. Laura part owns the company, and Viv her sister is a guide. They grew up on a tiny private island on the Charlottes where they could run amok and be one with nature. Their parents, George and Cecile, are quite an amazing couple. George came to the Charlottes as a doctor but ended up quitting to lead a more organic, stress free life. When they had the kids they sent them to the local school, but it wasn't that great, so instead of whinging, they started their own school with some friends. Some 15 years on it still continues, although they no longer teach. Cecile now runs the natural food store on the islands, while George grows tomatoes. His babies grow in three largish green houses on his island. They spout from seed in the dead of winter by the fire and as they grow they're moved outside where they're on a computerized watering hook up. George supplies much of the Charlottes with these glorious tasting treats. Actual REAL tomatoes. So red they look spray painted... and the taste! Sweet, juicy, fresh. Seems a crime to call what we normally get from the supermarkets tomatoes really...

So we got chatting to George the night before we left, and told him we were heading to Smithers on Friday night, an overnight ferry and four hours drive from the Charlottes.

 

"Smithers hey? So today's Wednesday... Thursday, Friday... that means you'll be there on Saturday morning?"

"Yeah, I guess it does" we said.

"Mm.. for the farmers market. That's very interesting, How about you guys take some tomatoes for me and sell them in Smithers?"

"Oh? Wow... I guess we could..."

"I take two-thirds, you take the rest of the money"

" Well sure! That sounds great!"

Hence began Nic and my life as tomato merchants. The next day we met Cecile in town and boated out to their island. The operation is just amazing. The island is just amazing! They have geese and are growing their own wheat which they're using to make bread. There's a decent sized vegetable garden, then the big tomato green houses... and a beautiful little cabin for guests. 

It was a great afternoon. Nic chopping some wood, me making up tomato boxes while George carefully shined up each one and placed it lovingly in the box. Over tea and halva we asked George and Cecile a million questions about their amazing lives out here. Later that night after dinner George took us back into town, where we got his truck and picked up the tomatoes that we would be selling. Whoa. There were twelve big boxes, about 250 pounds. We drove to the ferry and loaded up our goodies, some plastic bags and some old kitchen scales with "not to be used for commercial purposes" on written clearly on the side. We said good bye to George ... and I've got to say I was very sad to leave him. Funny how you can become attached to people and places so quickly. 

The next day we drove out to Smithers and hooked up everything for the farmers market the next day. We knew where we had to be, what time, etc. But I was nervous! I always get a bit nervous before I start a new job and this was the same. We had about $1000 worth of tomatoes in our car which had about a week before they fell apart, what happened if we didn't sell them? I tried to console myself with George's parting words to us : "If you don't sell them, just remember: they're only tomatoes. Why do you think I got out of medicine!"  

The next morning we got out to the market. People had tents and tables and fancy signs. We had the boot of The Fridge open, and the boxes stacked in front with a little make shift sign created by Nic.

We were a little worried. At $4 a pound they weren't cheap. Would people want them?? Bloody oath they did. 

At times we had big lines, people exclaiming in shock "oh my god, they just look amazing." We met so many people that morning - from the German baker in the tent next to us, to an Aussie who lived in Smithers now, to the locals that ran the show. It was brilliant, and all of them gave us good tips about where to head on our way north.

By the end of the market... we'd sold all 250 pounds. A woman who'd come first thing in the morning even came back again because the she'd had some for lunch and nearly peed her pants they tasted so good.  It was great. We went and had a coffee to celebrate only to be asked by the guy at the table next to us "Hey, aren't you the tomato people??" Yes, yes we are. 

That afternoon we headed 10km west of Smithers to a beautiful little town named Telkwa, so we could drop the empty tomato boxes at George and Cecile's friends house. In true west coast fashion, Pete, Linda and their daughter Jenn invited us for dinner, which again was awesome. They gave us a great tip about a walk to do in Smithers so the next day before we rolled out of town.

That's right. Life isn't too bad, is it??

Be well.

Jess