A for Amsterdam

Goedemorgen from Amsterdam, time delayed after an internet-free two weeks.

Lorne and I were on a Netherlands cycle trip, but before and after we spent time in Amsterdam, and here are some of our memories of that time...

Amsterdam is named after the Amstel River in the 13th century. 200 years ago Amsterdam became the capital of the Netherlands.

We flew KLM Montreal-Amsterdam direct, with a KLM bus to take us each way from the Ottawa train station to Montreal. The KLM flights, food, service, were excellent (except for Kung Foo Panda as the in-flight movie).

We were waiting at the Ottawa train station with a tall older Dutch woman from Arnprior. When she saw us again at the airport, she beckoned for us to join her for the cart ride through the terminal to the departure gate. Wheeee.
Waiting for the flight, I hesitated at the snack bar over what kind of tea to order. The well-pierced teenage server with a ring in his lip told me, “Green tea. It’s the healthiest. Lots of antioxidants.”
At the Montreal airport there were footstools on some of the seats in the waiting area, making it easier to actually rest.
Aug. 26
With a headwind, we arrive a half hour early and are at the Ibis hotel by 7 a.m. Amsterdam time. It’s a very, very tiny room, but a short walk from the train station and handy to everything. The hotel is across from a two-storey bike parking lot with thousands of bikes, and because we’re near the train station, there are thousands more bikes for blocks around.
Weather is typical Amsterdam, cool, cloudy, drizzly.
Grazing walk around for snack bar meals including falafel and sushi (Louise) and herring sandwich, cheese sandwich and two Heinekins (Lorne).
Argentinian steak restaurants and shawarma places exceed all others.
Aug. 27

Take a city tour. Wait for the lift bridge to go down near the site of new central library built two years ago, and the Tower of Tears from centuries ago where women and children cried as men went to sea.
More cyclists than cars wait at the bridge, riders on spray painted bikes, wearing high heels, suits, dressed for work. Bike lanes, bike parking everywhere. New architecture as interesting as old, plus new uses for old shipping warehouses. There are more than 1300 bridges, many dating from the 1600s. It’s like Venice, only Amsterdam has moved on into the 21st century.

17th century botanic garden... “Skinny Bridge” built by two sisters living across canal from each other in 1670 and didn’t want to boat in... Floating flower market...

The bus tour includes a visit to a “Diamond Museum” which is like Amway. You get in there, and they lock the door of the room for 20 minutes while they try to sell you diamonds.


Touring the Diamond Museum we were the only English speakers (rest were Spanish) and on the canal boat,all but us were Russian.

In the afternoon we went to the Rijks Museum to see masterpieces by Vermeer, Rembrandt etc from the Dutch Golden Age, the 1600s, and the took a canal boat cruise. There are ferries that go back and forth every 12 minutes, for pedestrians and cyclists only, and they are free. Saw houseboats, tall ships, all kinds of boats.

There are 2,500 houseboats in the city, many illegal. They live year-round on the boats, paying the city a fee. Many have flower boxes and plants along the deck. One had a sign “See what a houseboat looks like inside” and they made some money.

The railings along the canals are there to prevent cars from going into the water, but there is still a special dredge unit only to get cars out of the canal.The railings are owned by the insurance companies, not by the municipal government.

The boat guide said there are 725,000 people in Amsterdam, 42 per cent of non-Dutch ancestry, and 50 per cent one-person families.

Walking back from the boat, we stopped for pannenkoeken (pancakes). Lorne had Appel (apple) and I had Kaas (cheese). My second choice would have been Citroen (lemon.)

Still no sun. It feels like Whitehorse in November to wake up in the almost dark and to continue that dullness all day. People dress in black and gray.The only splashes of color are the spray-painted pink and fluorescent orange bikes which stand out among the racks of black bikes, some dotted with leis or fake leaves for identification.

Aug. 28
Take the bus to Brussels an Antwerp. Just tell me why the “Manneken Pis”, the peeing boy fountain, is so popular there are crowds around it all the time. Hundreds of ‘boy’ souvenirs from chocolate suckers to bells and statues for your garden.
Had lunch of moules et frites (mussels) at a cafe overlooking Brussels’ beautiful main square.
Bus got caught in a traffic jam on the way to Antwerp because of a tunnel accident, and we sat still in traffic for hours, coloring our impression of Antwerp. Some old buildings, a long waterfront, and a McDonald’s handy as always when you need a bathroom.

Aug. 29
Spent the morning visiting the rosebush lined village of Watergang outside Amsterdam, home for 50 years to our friend Puck’s mother.
It’s a tiny, Thomas Hardy-like hamlet with sheep, ducks, roosters and a canal. She took us for a walk along the cobblestones by the water and we had lunch at the De Wetgmijzer restaurant beside the street. She says the small red clay roofed houses in Watergang now go for over $1 million because it’s so serene and yet 10 minutes by frequent bus from Amsterdam. She didn’t like the village back when her husband chose it, but she’s happy at 90 to be there now.

We leave Amsterdam for our bike trip and continue our exploration a week later...

Sept. 5
We visit the Jewish Historical Museum, part of a complex of four restored synagogues including the Portuguese Synagogue from the 1600s. (In 1492 Spain expelled its Jewish population. Many fled to Portugal but were forcibly baptized. More than 100 years later, descendants of those victims of the Inquisition who wanted to live as Jews began to arrive in Amsterdam. Since the Dutch Republic was at war with Spain, they called themselves “Portuguese Jews” to avoid being identified with the Spanish enemy.

Letting everyone in to the country in the 1600s was for economic reasons, but it set the precident for Dutch liberalness in future.

The synagogue was undamaged even in the 2nd World War and is an amazing building with giant brass chandeliers that hold 1,000 candles, the only lighting in the unheated building.

The historical exhibit includes moving paintings and drawings of the early days by artists of the time. There is an excellent oil painting of a poor, sad old Jewish man sitting on the stoop of his shop. It was so popular that prints were made, but the commentary said the Jewish community was upset and asked why a young, attractive, well-off Jewish person couldn’t have been portrayed instead.
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We have also of course gawked curiously at the “dark” Amsterdam nightly information tours offered by a former prostitute. The sailors are gone; the area is safe, the pamphlet says. We walked past the street level windows illuminated by dark fluorescent light where women wearing little beckon men on the street. We saw several go in the adjoining door to be led to the back.

There are also lots of “coffee houses” which are marijuana cafes, where people sit on cushions in the windows and smoke from hookahs, and weed and seed shops selling cannabis lollipops, starter kits for plant growing etc.

Sept. 6
We walked the city all day, spending time in The Rembrandt House where he lived 1639-1656, until he went bankrupt.There was a list of his possessions and all has been re-created with furniture from the time, including the short box cabinet bed - because people sat up to sleep so the blood wouldn’t leave their heads.

The most impressive thing again about Saturday night in Amsterdam is that once again the sidewalks are full, the cafes are packed, the bike lanes are busy and there are almost no cars on the streets, just a few taxis.

Sept. 7

Sunday morning and rain and wind again, ignored by the many walkers and cyclists. We walk for the last time down the Bloedstraat Red Light District, with only a few lights on and windows occupied - an( unreciprocated) hopeful wave and smile to Lorne; down the Chinatown streets with notices in Dutch not to lean your bike on the windows, past the flea market stalls, with mostly African textiles, carvings and jewelry, and all the while the church bells chime across the city.

We walk from our hotel to the train station for our train ride to the airport, the end of two weeks without entering a car.

Tot Ziens (Goodbye) and Proost! (Cheers!)

Go-go-go!: How a herd of cats became a peloton

Thursday night in Amsterdam, a few blocks from the Red Light District, a dozen cycle tourists are joking round in an Italian restaurant and presenting each other with mock awards...

There’s the Gold Tulip Grease Monkey Award to Paula, wife of group leader Manny Agulnik, who managed to adorn her calves with black tracks daily; there’s the the True Grit Award to Rick Day for wiping out and still smiling, the Fashion Victim Award to Barry Wishart for his orange cycling jacket purchased in Delft, and assorted Bad Hair Day, Most Improved Cyclist and other awards to the rest of the gang, age range early 40s to late 60s who had just completed a six-day cycle excursion before which most of us were strangers to each other.

Participants Barb and Barry Wishart of Scotchtown, New Brunswick, are the sister-in-law and brother of Heather and Byron Landry of Ottawa, where the rest of us originated.

This is the fourth year for Manny Agulnik’s guided leisure cycling tours of the Netherlands. The Ottawa cycling proponent was so enamored by this cycle-friendly country that he wanted to share it with others. He puts together packages including rental bikes and hotels and his leadership; we get to Amsterdam by our own means.
Next year he’s adding a cycle tour in Denmark to his offerings.

Here’s a round-up summary of our adventure at the end of August 2008:

Day 1
The 12 of us tram to Mac Bike, the bike rental location, with our luggage and then spread out on the ground to fill our panniers. We leave the rest of our stuff in the Mac Bike back room, and practice going around the building on our bikes with loaded panniers. Some adjustments, some tipovers, and our line is heading through the city on our way out to Utrecht.

When the bike signal is green, we push forward to cries of “Go, Go, Go!”, but the light is short, and the back end is usually caught on the red and we have to wait.

A few minutes into the ride, we all stop again because Rick’s handlebars are too loose, and he can’t control his bike. We wait in the park while he and Byron use the Allan key and then we’re on our way, on a beautiful hot day, the first anyone in Amsterdam can remember for the whole summer. We gain confidence as we exit the city onto country paths.

We arrive in Utrecht, leave our bikes at the hotel and walk to the outdoor market - the usual flea market knickknacks, plus giant cheeses and roasting cashews. The old cobblestone pedestrian streets are incongruously dotted with U.S. chains like Footlocker and The Body Shop.

We have dinner beside the canal where the two levels of restaurants and outdoor cafes are packed with sun worshippers. It’s Saturday night, and there are bikes parked and being ridden everywhere, with not a car on the street.

Sunday morning we leave Utrecht for Gouda, stopping on the way for tea in Oudwater, where they used to judge witches. Some of the women obtain their witch certificates from the Witches Museum, attesting to their witchiness. For the rest of the day, we attribute misfortunes like Lorne’s mislaying his bike lock key and Barb’s flat tire to witchcraft.

For the first time we see cyclists in bike gear and good bikes out for a fast ride, a complete contrast to the clunker bikes and street clothes through the week.

Occasionally we have to stop as a pannier goes flying onto the street, or someone wants to photograph a bridge or windmill.

It’s so wonderful that every urban street, every country road, has a bike lane and bike traffic lights. Instead of legislating helmets so cars don’t kill people, the Dutch are proactive and make the country so cycling friendly that no one but Canadian tourists like us need to wear helmets.

We have become proficient at cheese sandwich-making from the hotel breakfast buffets, so that we have food en route and don’t need to delay at restaurants.

The route to Gouda is along a dike, busy with Sunday tourers enjoying the good weather. It consists of beautifully landscaped houses, with corn, goats, sheep, horses and apple and pear trees in the fields. There are bus stops all along the road.

When we were attending to Barb’s flat, at least three tall men stopped to help. One tried his small pump, and when that didn’t work, went home for a large pump. Turned out the problem was a leaky valve which he fixed, and then was off again on his large bike.

At the Inn in Gouda around 3 p.m., we once again locked all our bikes together like a giant molecule and climbed the floors to our rooms for a brief rest before meeting up to walk to the esteemed Gouda cathedral. We become very proficient at locking and unlocking our tangle of bikes and heading out unphased by rain or wind.

The town square in Gouda has very fashionable jewelry and lingerie shops, not the tacky souvenir shops you see elsewhere.

In the evenings, the 12 of us go to restaurants, and some work out better than others for our large number. In Gouda the Italian restaurant required a too long wait for our food for tired people. We translated our orders with my Holland Phrase Book, but unfortunately, Lorne ordered Italian Onion Soup when he wanted Italian Wedding Soup. Uien sounded like ‘wedding’ (union) not onion.

As usual, at the end of the meal, one bill comes for 12, and we spend a lot of time initialing each couple’s meals, putting the amount on a post-it and attaching the post-it to a charge card. Then the pile of six post-ited charge cards is given to the server who comes back with each bill to sign.

Gouda is a pretty town with the largest “markt” square in Holland, dating from its success in the medieval cloth trade. In the middle of the square is a 1450 Gothic building fringed with statues.

Monday, with heavy winds, was the hardest day as we cycled from Gouda to Rotterdam, much of it along the dikes into the wind. We were happy to have a break as we crossed on the ferry, and stopped to visit inside a World Heritage windmill site. We ate our lunch assembled earlier from a grocery store en route. (Because our Gouda accommodation was a small family owned inn, we didn’t scarf extra food at breakfast.)

Rotterdam is filled with beautiful post World War II architecture along the harbour.

Today we wore our jackets. I think we’re all amazed that we’re actually loving for almost a week out of two bike panniers.

Excellent dinner at Bazar, an Arabic restaurant we’d faxed our order to a few days earlier. Our order arrived perfectly, shortly after our 7 p.m.reservation. Decorated in ornate blue patterned tiles and heavy stained glass red and gold chandeliers, the large restaurant was almost full on a Monday night.

We leave Rotterdam earlier than usual in the morning, to have more museum time in The Hague, our next destination. On the way to The Hague we stop in the square at Delft where all that blue and white china comes from, and then on to The Hague in the drizzle. Manny had said this wouldn’t be as interesting a ride, but it still went past canals with water birds, horse farms and the usual cows.

Our group of Paula/Manny, Barb/Barry, Heather/Byron, Cathy/Marv, Pat/Rick and Lorne and me have meshed into a fine and thoughtful bunch. Lorne was the most wary at the beginning of the trip, and has been praised for his ability to stay near the front of the pack and manage well on the trip. Yesterday he gave Manny the highest praise possible: “I have no complaints,” Lorne told him.

Once in Den Haag we asked about taking a city tour but were told that’s only Thursdays. Population 500,000 The Hague is the second largest city in the Netherlands.

We walk in the rain through the historic downtown to the Escher Museum in a former palace. Escher is that Dutch graphic artist who did those creepy detailed meticulous perspective drawings, which consumed his whole life. The short film in the museum had nothing on his personal life except his daily schedule - work, eat, rest. In a perspective distorted room, we had our photo taken showing Lorne tiny and Louise large.

Walking along the cobblestones near the palaces, we saw a black limo exiting where the security barrier had been withdrawn. A large group of school children ran after the car waving and shrieking as if for a rock star. We asked their leader, and she said it was the Dutch premier they were excited to see.

Wednesday the gang sang happy birthday to Lorne at breakfast, and then we followed a wooded bike path and then a bike trail up to a beach on the North Sea. There were German pillbox emplacements built into the cliffs from the occupation.
Stopping for tea, we once again encountered Dutch groups in cycling jerseys doing holiday biking.

Spent the afternoon and evening in the university city of Leiden, birthplace of Rembrandt and where botanist Clusius grew the first Dutch tulips 400 years ago. Once again a square, canals and markets. Couldn’t resist the smell of Dutch waffle cookies (stroopwafel biscuits) with syrup spread between them, made fresh to order at a market booth.

Mothers and fathers outdoing the shopping, with a child in front on the bike, another behind, an older child on a small bike beside, and the purchases overflowing in the panniers.

Dinner was a massive Indonesian Rijstafels in the tiny, busy, Surakarta Restaurant, a 15 minute walk from our hotel. It is such a pleasure to be in all these Dutch cities and towns where a walk means broad cobblestone sidewalks beside the canals, sidewalk cafes, small shops and pedestrian streets closed to cars, and bikes and bike parking everywhere.

Thursday

Back to Amsterdam, the forecast is heavy rain, but we manage to avoid it. Our humid ride through tree-lined roads, past flower fields, horse paddocks and waterways is enhanced by a tail wind all the way. The last few kilometres are through Vendelpark, and then we’re back at Mac Bike once again.
We meet up one last time for dinner in Amsterdam, and this time we just split the bill six ways.

Paris in a week: Magnifique

Paris is soooo Paris. The grapefruit-pink blossoms have just come out on the trees, the gold trim glitters on the palaces and churches, and little dogs strut the streets and peek from the bags and armpits of their stylish owners.

Baguettes, cheese and wine are the three daily food groups.

On a Paris morning, a chill mist covers the newly washed streets; every morning water pumps out the drains to clean the gutters.

The smell of coffee wafts from the cafes. You also notice perfume so strong in some stores that your allergies send you packing, and the sweet scent of the multi-colored flowers from the parks and squares. (Plantings on the Champs Elysee are changed six times a year and never the same design twice. Paris spends the most per capita on parks and gardens per year than any city in the world, and the money comes mostly from the hotel tax. Tourism is their number one industry.)

Naomi and I entered that magic world for just one magnifique week on a flight/hotel package from Travac Tours. I could go on and on, but I’ve made some quick notes about some of it which I share with you...

Leaving Toronto for Paris, we took the airport limo which was the same price as the bus from the Royal York. Got there from Front Street in half an hour, and had no lineups at check-in or security so had hours to spend eating our dried tart cherries (which have melatonin and are supposed to prevent jet lag.)
“We should write a letter, to the woman who wrote about the tart cherries,” said Naomi. “They didn’t work.”

The Zoom airlines flight actually arrived in Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport a half hour early, about 45 minutes from Hotel Malte Opera on Rue de Richelieu. The small hotel is just as you would picture - thick drapery, historic-looking oil paintings, tall, narrow shuttered windows opening on the courtyard.

Neither of us slept a moment on the plane, so when we hit the beds in the afternoon we totally conked out. An hour later, heads spinning, we forced ourselves to rise and see the city. By the time we returned to the room our heads had cleared and we were Parisiennes, sitting on the same bed after our dinner and evening stroll, but this time drinking from our bottle of Bordeaux 2006 bought from the convenience store down the street where there was a huge and inexpensive selection of wines amidst the vegetables and the pastry. We complemented the wine with fabulous meringues and baguettes from “the oldest bakery in Paris - 1810”, a few doors down. We were instantly addicted and returned every day.

We’d had a light supper at Exki, a Belgian-based organic, mostly vegetarian cafe with wonderful lentil soups, quinoa salad and pastry. We went there several times; you can’t eat heavy French food all the time.

Sometimes for dinner we pooled our purchased food and spread it out on the table in the hotel lobby with others from our group and shared wine, cheese, bread and fruit, and stories from our day.

As is Paris, stores and even postcard stands shuttered early so workers could leave. The sidewalks and cafes were full of smartly dressed, black-clad men and women, all wearing perfectly knotted scarves, relaxing at the end of their work day. Many travelled in business clothes on bicycles and scooters.

(Two million people live in Paris, and about 10 million with the suburbs. There are 60 million in all of France.)

The every present beige rental bikes are used mainly by locals; foreign credit cards don’t work in them. The bikes are free for the first half hour and the price goes up each consecutive half hour to encourage turn-over.

The traffic lights and walk signals are so unobtrusive you can hardly find them, and traffic zips around in a frightening spaghetti pattern.

There was a Japanese restaurant and a hair salon on every block, not connected, but both busy. Also eyewear stores on every corner, which I started to notice after I needed my glasses fixed, and it was done cheerfully and for free.

I have the impression of so many people doing their jobs - more in the shops than we’re accustomed to, and so many special tasks at the museums, department stores, city workers with green brooms, police everywhere. The city core is the most dense in Europe and yet in the early 1900s there were 50 per cent more people living in downtown Paris than there are now.

Our Versailles tour guide told us she spent years looking for a suitable apartment. About 60 per cent of Parisians own apartments, 40 per cent rent. Prices are high but not as high as London. Most live in very small apartments - about 260 sq. ft., the size of a bedroom in North America. The least desirable neighborhoods sell for about $200,000 Canadian up, to over $1 million for the same tiny apartment in a better neighborhood. St. Germain is the most desirable, and there’s nothing less than $1 million.

The earning curve in Paris is very flat - someone with a basic job and no degree doesn’t earn much less than someone with several degrees, but people take a lot of holidays and have free health care.

Leaves had popped out on most of the 100,000 (according to the city tour) trees in Paris, and park gardens were filled with blooming tulips and spring floral, but it was freezing cold all the time we were there. Spring apparently had come in January when it was 14 degrees.

Friday morning as we did each morning, we had croissants, baguettes, cheese, jam, warm hard-boiled eggs in the hotel. There was also yogurt, and granola cereal with pieces of chocolate in it.

Afterward, we walked to the National Opera House with another mother/daughter couple from our group, Helene from Ottawa and her daughter Kathe from Vancouver. The Paris Opera was founded by Louis XIV in 1669 and the latest location (1860), a vision in red and gold, was filled with crystal chandeliers, marble mosaics and paintings and sculpture.

In the evening we took a Seine boat cruise, under all the bridges. There were recorded commentaries for those who didn’t speak French. The young host spoke excellent French and Spanish and incomprehensible English. Nobody bought the 6 euro booklet he was selling about what we’d seen. It would have gone with Naomi’s 6 euro can of iced tea she bought from a stand at the Eiffel Tower when she was thirsty. Wine really is cheaper than soft drinks in Paris.

Gray clouds, gray choppy water and gray buildings, but somehow still filled with color. Instead of taking the subway back from the cruise we walked with some of our friendly, well-travelled group. In one of the many parks we encountered the original giant spider Maman whose duplicate is in front of the National Gallery of Canada.
Saturday morning was the Course du petit dejeuner 2008 UNESCO friendship run a day before the Paris Marathon. It was so much fun to run with people from dozens of countries, one from each who carried a big flag of their country. I went with Sandy, who was on our tour, and works at the Orleans Running Room. We met the first day when our Travac Tours rep made introductions and she exclaimed that she had read my book. I told her about the upcoming run, and she was game to do it - to Naomi’s delight to be let off the hook.

In the afternoon Naomi and I walked to St. Germain and the Latin Quarter, and had cappuccino and salade nicoise shivering outdoors at Cafe de Flore, sandwiched between smokers at the little outdoor tables. It’s more expensive at the cafes to sit on a chair outside the restaurant than to eat inside. And it’s more to eat inside than to take away. Coffee in a cafe outside Paris is much cheaper. In Paris you pay for the space and the view.

Washrooms are unisex.

In the evening we attended a French play at Palais-Royal called Toc Toc, about “les troubles obsessionnels compulsifs”. It was very funny, and I could follow the body language even though I had trouble catching some of the specific French words.
At the theatre, you tip the usher who brings you to your seat, and there’s no free program; the usher will sell you one for 6 euros.

Most Paris shops are closed Sundays ( and whenever they feel like it) and so that was the day we chose to spend in the Jewish quarter, around Rue des Rosiers, with kosher bakeries and butchers, synagogues and falafel restaurants, packed with customers. We visited the Musee d’Art et d’Histoire du Judaisme which had very moving coverage of the deportation of 75,000 French Jews during the Holocaust.

Monday was our day at the Louvre. (It became the largest museum in the world in 1793, after being a palace. Louis XIV thought it was too small, so he built Versailles. It would take four months to look at each piece of art.) We were at the Louvre the minute it opened and straight to the Mona Lisa to get it over with. Then we moved slowly around looking at as much as we could until our lower backs could take no more. On a chill Monday morning the immense building was packed with tourists, art students painting in each salon, junior students in red baseball caps, and large Japanese tour groups. Everyone was taking photos of their companions in front of each work of art. There were flashes flashing constantly. I had left the camera in the hotel; I couldn’t imagine photography being permitted, and so we had a different perspective without thinking about posing all the time.

(And then in the evening at Moulin Rouge (the oldest night club in Paris, built the same year as the Eiffel Tower which was built for the World’s Fair) I brought the camera and then was compelled to check it.) The show is a story in itself - topless can can dancer numbers interspersed with such Ed Sullivan-type variety acts as a woman who swims in a tank of snakes, a ventriloquist and a balance act like Cirque de Soleil.

We were inside the Louvre oblivious when the Olympic Torch Relay protests were going on less than a block away. When the verdict came in on Princess Diana’s inquest we were outside the Paris Ritz Hotel she had left from, and we went under the tunnel where she was killed.

The subway in Paris, dating from 1900, is very complicated with 14 lines in all directions, but it’s very safe. Even on a Monday night at midnight coming back from Moulin Rouge the subway cars were bright and full. The latest line opened seven years ago and is automatic with no drivers. The union made them hire a driver anyway and he sits in the station and reads a book.

Wednesday we climbed the 400 plus steps up to the top of Notre Dame Cathedral (1365) for a beautiful view of the city. We also went to the Holocaust Memorial (Memorial des Martyrs de la Deportation) just behind the church, on Ile de la Cite. It’s a long corridor lined with 200,000 quartz pebbles and a small light flickering for each person who failed to return.

Then we marched confidently in the wrong direction looking for the fancy shopping district and ended up in the red light district instead. The prostitutes seem to keep longer hours than the shop keepers; they were hard at work selling their wares at 2:30 in the afternoon.

Even the fanciest department stores like Galeries Lafayette don’t have night shopping. They do have a champagne bar in among the designer fashions.

The day before we left, we were among the six million people who visit Versailles every year. Versailles itself is a rich suburb of 100,000 people. Versailles palace has 2,000 rooms, and took 36,000 workers and 8,000 horses and 49 years to build it. Louis XIV burned the bills near the end of his life so no one would know what it cost.
It was absolutely fascinating to learn about life at the times and I could fill this e-mail with just that. Just one item...Italian mirror makers were brought in from Murano Italy to work on Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors. The French ‘apprentices’ working with them were actually experts, and once they learned the secrets, they sent the glass makers home where they died in mysterious circumstances. That’s because the Italians were mad that their secrets had been revealed. We saw the same problem in Murano when we visited Venice. The Chinese are copying the glass and undercutting sales.

Nothing changes.

We also visited the village of Giverny to have lunch and walk around Claude Monet’s beautiful house and gardens. The cold temperatures kept the crowds away, and so we could see the flowers and water lilies more peacefully. I painted a quick postcard in the water lily garden; me and my buddy Monet, we have something in common.

The last morning just before boarding the bus for the airport, we walked to Monoprix and bought some jams, which I thoughtlessly put in a carry-on bag. Naomi did the same with her pricey Phyto French hair products. We were both stopped at customs and threatened with confiscation, but given the option of returning to the airport check-in desk and checking them in separately. The “police de frontier” were getting tired of seeing us go back and forth, but were very pleasant.

The trip was an enchanting melange of history, architecture and a different life.
Naomi says she appreciated my perspective of history and appreciation of beauty. I was grateful for her sense of direction and fluency so good that locals took her for one of them. We were both sorry to leave so soon.

A Poem a Day

I resolved last November to write a poem a day for at least the next month.
Here in reverse order are those poems, which reflect my job in Advertising Features, my running and my life:


At the Ichiban, the Last Sushi

Joshi kept the little sushi,
didn’t care if it got mushy.
He wrapped it up
and took it home,
so sushi wouldn’t
be alone.

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Politics

New Year’s Eve in Rochester
at “Charlie Wilson’s War”.
Full house and disbelief.
Woman, seat behind:
“We haven’t heard
of that before.”
$3.5 billion to help Afghans,
mujahideen and Pakistan,
That’s what covert operations
are for.

--

My Mother likes Jos. Louis

My mother likes Jos. Louis,
carrot cake and Twinkies too.
She smiles as she eats
her ice-cream
and offers some to you.
Six months ago
in hospital
she couldn’t even move.
The doctor scheduled surgery
to put in a feeding tube.
No, we said, let’s wait,
we’ll see
and now we are amazed.
She’s happy, stronger,
speaking more,
and turns 89 in seven days.

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I Remember Benazir Bhutto

When I heard her speak,
beautiful, well dressed,
so poised and smart,
I was impressed.
‘You can do it all’
was what she said.
‘You can do anything.’
Unless you’re dead.

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Before New Year’s

At the office
on a quiet day
we pounce on work
that comes our way.
An e-mail, yes!
A chore to wake us
from our sleep.
We’re here;
we want to
earn our keep.
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Boxing Day Shopping List

Pickles, toothpaste
Mushrooms and more
Pot and tea ball
from the kitchen store.
Peppers and tortillas
for the quesadillas.
Also, there’s a need
for different kinds
of grated cheese.
Pasta (gluten)
and non-gluten.
And three cans
of salmon or tuna.
And if there’s time
for that:
Small or medium yoga pants
and two small saucers
for the plants.

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Boxing Day Boo Boo

Run ahead to Bulk Barn
While Naomi waits
in Tim Horton’s line.
Get the cinnamon,
granola, dried blueberries
and salsa
and think that all is fine.
Settle down later
and read the bill,
I’m as bad as Conrad Black.
Bulk Barn charged me
for currants instead
and I didn’t turn around
and go back.

--------
Next time ask

We each picked a dish
- so I picked fish.
When it came,
we said ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s pork,’ the server replied.
‘Of course, the fish and bean curd dish
has lots of pork inside.’

---------

Christmas Day

Children sledding
on Mooney’s Bay Hill.
Sand bags tied around
all trees bases.
Helmets frame
the happy faces.

A propos, Naomi comments,
‘old-fashioned sledders
on Tim Horton’s cups
are now wearing helmets.’

-----------

Bus of Life

Christmas Eve bus to work
and I’m back on the bus
to Saffer Advertising
up Bathurst to Wilson,
the end of Toronto,
at 21 the beginning
of my working life.
Can’t see out the window
Can’t see the path ahead
Until I’m back on the bus
at 60 plus.
------

Little Tin Soldiers

Party small talk on the couch.
He’s in Marketing
for an engineering company.
Used to be in sales.

Question following ‘what do you do?’
is ‘what do you like?’
His eyes light up.
He has hundreds of
little tin soldiers
and books on Napoleon.
-------

No Poem for You

In lieu of
the cost of
paper and ink
for this poem
I’ve made a
donation instead
to a charity of
my choice.
Hope you like it.

---------

4 P.M. In the News Room

A paper plate
with a piece of cake.
15 Citizen umbrellas.
This is the date.
It’s buy-out time,
good-bye and thanks
for all you’ve done
from all your friends.
Some things begin
and some things end.

--------

Snow Again

He headed out for home
Running very far.
We had the same route to go
‘though we were in the car.
The traffic was so bad
our drive was a horrid strain.
Next time we’ll stop
for supper first.
We won’t do that again.
The runner was
the one who’s smart,
the one with half a brain.
He got home first,
with an energy burst.
It’s driving that’s insane.

------------

Advertising Department Potluck

Ribs and shrimp
and salsa dip.
Salads of rice
and everything nice.
So much food
you go back twice.
Then the desserts you consume
‘til it hurts -
cookies and mincemeat pie.
A fountain of chocolate
for marshmallows and fruit,
with eggnog standing by.
And the surprise
of the times is this -
men did the cooking of recipes more
than the women
who guiltlessly
went to the store.

-----------

Night skiing at Terry Fox

Nature’s magical miniature
A souvenir snow globe
surrounded by traffic.
A fortress of solitude.
Unique and irreplaceable,
so the City will close it.

----------

Blizzard of 07

Climbers stay in the tent
until the weather clears.
No matter how long it takes.
Be patient.
--------

Bachelor of Arts on a Bus

‘B.As - Bugger All,’
the bus rider scoffed.
‘They aren’t worth a dime.
‘These days you need a Master’s
to do anything, any time.’
‘Ha, ha, that’s right,’
her seatmate agreed.
Quick to concede.
Hiding the trauma
of her Basic-level high school diploma.
Aching to be part
of the world
of the smart.

---------

Partners in misery

It’s easy to feel dumb
Packing clothes, coat and boots
for the 30-minute run.
As I run along Iris
I question why
then laden down
for the change room,
I loudly sigh.
But talking to another
who does this feat
Makes me feel a lot better.
Birds of a feather
flock together.

---------

Pinecrest Creek Ducks

They swim beak to beak
in the unfrozen creek,
While I run by,
cold hands,
cold feet.
If I gave them some food,
they’d just want to stay,
C’mon ducks,
it’s December 13th -
fly away!

------------
Commitment

Dashing through the snow
on a warm but snowy day.
Sidewalks are not plowed,
City doesn’t want to pay.
Run on the street instead,
Dodging cars and spray.
Oh what fun it is
to run
30 minutes every day.
Ho ho ho...

---------

Touting Teamwork

Morning:
Publisher’s Town Hall
talks about ‘teamwork’,
‘ideas over the fence’
between Advertising
and News.
Afternoon:
Al in Printing
gets a fruit basket
from Gilmour.
Gives it to staff
in Desktop Advertising
‘Couldn’t do it
without them.’
----

The Book Sale

Thousands of books
piled high.
Thousands of authors
seeking Citizen reviews.
Ways to happiness.
Ways to weight loss.
All by
Suzanne Sommers.

--------
VIA Sunday 8:51 p.m.

Painted on the concrete wall:
‘greatplacetolive.com’
Cars lined up, headlights on,
exhausts exhaling.
Strings of Christmas lights
dancing in the darkness.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,
welcome to Bellville.’
Beside me, the policeman
from Mississauga
- ‘actually a detective,’ -
finishes his beer,
closes his Securities textbook
and texts on his cellphone.
He’s retiring next year,
staying tonight at the police college
where he’s taking a course.
‘Tough for police departments these days.
‘Minorities have degrees,
and don’t want to join them.
‘So they’re all white,
and criticized for it.’
He’s never been on a train before.

--------------
Slow Motion

The train starts slowly,
like a treadmill warming up.
Ten minutes later,
the concrete pillars of
the Gardiner Expressway
still loom outside the window.
Unlike the morning train,
no children shriek or sing.
We try to sleep
as cellphones ring.
‘This is she. I’m on the train to Ottawa...’
By Napanee, we pick up speed
through the darkness,
then stop to let of
Nap-a-nee-ers.
Fortunately, not many.
------

Who’s Selling the Ads?

How many ad reps
does it take
to run a big newspaper?
Enough to fill
the Empire Grill
with some at Baxter Road
for later.
---------

Is Spelling Like Shopping?

‘Shop in Canada’
our section blares.
Reader calls
to say he cares.
‘You made me laugh,’
he phoned to say,
‘by spelling ‘neighbour’
the American way.’
--------
Ottawa in Bosnia

Eppo’s in Ethics
but avoids that word
outside, day to day.
‘I’m in ‘conflict of interest’.
They don’t get as excited
that way.’
‘That’s ‘ethics cleansing’,’ I say.

----------

Motivation


100 runs
in 100 days
Yes, I’ll do it.
Commitment pays.
December 1st is
starting time.
So I’m already
two days behind.

--------

Dim sum.
So much fun.

---------

Charles Dickens
Leonard Cohen
Bob Dylan
Paul Simon
Thank you.

-----

Get it right

Weather forecast
full of gloom.
Stay indoors,
ice pellets loom.
Later on
into the night.
A wasted day,
no pellets in sight.

-------

Instant gas fireplace.
James Patterson novel.
White crocheted blanket.
The perfect workout
for minus 26.
Pass the teapot.

------

Trivia Party Game

What’s your secret...
‘At my first race,
I came in last...’
‘There’s a criminal record
in my past...’
‘My favorite color
is chrysanthemum pink...’
My secret is this:
I’m not what you think.

-----------

Stroke Improvement

Hips high
Body roll
Reach forward
Don’t make bubbles.
Why’s it so easy
for a fish with no brain
when learning to swim
drives me insane.

----

Just Show Up

Frozen fingers
Frozen toes
Wind chilled forehead
When it blows.
Snow and ice like
mille-feuilles pastry.
Why I do this
is a mystery.

-----

Winter clothesline

Hall be-decked
with loads of laundry
Towels and tee-shirts
hanging smartly.
Big brown tablecloth
blocks the rail
Swimsuit dripping
on the stair.
On the rack,
some socks by pair
Adding moisture
to the air.

-----------

End of day

Whales up for breath,
my knees rise and fall
circled by lacy continents
of bubble bath
in a lukewarm ocean.
David Suzuki on CBC radio
says ‘don’t give up,
think local.’
My toes wiggle to the surface,
worm-like sea monsters
on the cloud gray tub wall.

-------------