April. Glad to see the back of it

And the rest is silence.

Day 45 of squawking seagulls.  If I’d wanted to experience the seaside, I would have taken a hike along the local pier. Nine relentless hours of gulls crying over food spoils; clearly Winter wasn’t keen enough to kill off their numbers.

The crocuses came and went without a full bloom however the bloody dandelions were out by week one. 

April was a bleak month as we saw 16 dead in Humboldt, Saskatchewan. And this was followed by an investigation that seemed to take an extraordinary amount of time to determine cause and effect. One of the more profound images was that of a billet family’s memorial of three simple candles; unfortunately, one death was misidentified. The crash made international front pages and generated a multi-event support campaign. Token gestures of financial support? No, just over 15 million at last count.  Freelancer, Nora Lareto, questioned whether this support only came because the dead were white, male hockey players.  Quite frankly, I think she has a point.  We’d never see this kind of monetary support for other groups. Canada believes it is operating in a realm different to that of the US but we should not be so smug. Remember, too, the Paris terrorist attacks, the attack on Belgium.  Where were these people when Africa was under siege? Nowhere. I was pleased to see a surge in organ donation registration.  I only signed my card this past Winter and of course now I, will all due smugness, go around lecturing people on why they should sign their cards.

Further to Loreto's comments was a statement from Macleans which clearly illustrated that people were tip-toeing around the subject of both the crash victims and Indigenous issues.

We’d like to clarify that, contrary to misinformation being spread on social media, Nora Loreto has never been an employee of Maclean’s. She is a freelance writer who published one article on our website a few months ago. We had nothing to do with her extraordinarily inappropriate tweet regarding the Humboldt tragedy. We will have nothing else to say on this matter at the current time because we do not wish to distract from the tributes and grief being expressed on behalf of the victims of the accident, nor do we wish to feed into the torrent of abuse that Ms. Loreto has been subjected to since publishing her tweet.

Followed by a call for freedom of speech.  Murky depths.

YOU AND ME BOTH, ROBIN.

Gale-force winds and the threat of 30mm of rain marked the first part of the month . It is Spring only on paper. Hunkering down with hot drinks and a movie was the order of the day.  Started with AbFab, Season 3—with Idris Elba, of all people.  Elba meant nothing to me back in 1995 but put him in contention as the next Bond and it’s ‘remember when?’ time. And Season 3 marked another chance for a Will Self reference.

Hibernation featured a long list of movies including Bridget Jones’s Baby where we ask ourselves, has she had work done? Yes and we’ve fortunately forgotten about it. Zellweger once stated she would never have work done but has every right to change her mind. Imagine achieving the kind of recognition where the likes of People magazine book an interview and all they want to do is talk about plastic surgery.  Couldn’t remember if this was the third installment as the last time I watched a Bridget Jones, I nodded off thanks to a full day in the sun.  I was in company at the time and remember it being a complete bore.  Time has been kinder and as far as sequels go, this one worked.   And the next day, the latest Walrus arrived—Childless by Choice.  Ha!

Also opted for Alien IV with Fassbender and I was pleasantly surprised.  Good creep-out and ‘Oh. My. God.’ factors.  Avoid the dvd commentary. Ridley Scott offers plot points and not much else.

One of the better movie podcasts is Someone Else’s Movies hosted by Norm Wilner.  This month, I revisited Truly, Madly, Deeply—which Wilner could not bring himself to watch after the death of Alan Rickman—and Terry Gilliam’s Brazil.  I sat through Brazil looking for the bellows.  Pro-tip, they’re found in Ida’s funeral scene. From the podcast I learned that Gilliam released a “happily ever after” edit whereby Sam and his girlfriend live in perfect bliss which sounds like an abomination.

BRAZIL

TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLY

Re: the rest is silence.  Stratford actor, Rodrigo Beilfus recently had a lightning-bolt moment over Hamlet when he realized that rest means death and not everything else.

That is terribly profound and reminded me of the ending in Truly, Madly, Deeply where Rickman’s character says, “I think so”, in response to the ghosts. It took years to figure out that he was talking about Nina moving on.

Finally,The Piano was unearthed which lead straight into An Angel At My Table. Jane Campion is a genius.  Much attention paid during the podcast that Campion is back on her game.  Was she ever really off it? Harvey Keitel didn’t seem as over the top which was probably a sign of my aging and not having seen the film for ages.

THE PIANO
         

                                     

It was a truncated GritLit festival, this year—thanks to Mother N and a two-day ice storm.  GritLit 2018 was mired in controversy as it had originally scheduled a panel entitled, “Is CanLit a Raging Dumpster Fire?”, which was essentially the white, privileged person’s take on “Can Lit is a Raging Dumpster Fire” by Alicia Elliott; the piece based in part on the Steven Galloway controversy at UBC where –if I can encapsulate the fiasco—white, privileged writers came to Galloway’s defense—even in light of sexual harassment and assault allegations. Thus leading to a series of articles from Jonathan Kay, Christie Blatchford, and Elliot on cultural appropriation, white priviledge, rape culture, and so on. A sample of the articles from Elliot, Kay, and others, below.

DUMPSTER FIRE

IS THERE ROOM IN DIVERSITY FOR WHITE PEOPLE?

JONATHAN KAY ON CULTURAL APPROPRATION

WRITERS UNION--STATEMENT--Winning the Appropriation Prize

QUILLETTE--HOUNDING OF ANGIE ABDOU

It is indeed a murky pit.

The GritLit faux pas arose when two white authors were invited to discuss whether the Dumpster Fire was actually a thing—a most egregious error—in the words of artistic director, Jennifer Gilles, who appeared nervous--and I would say intimidated--by this formidable panel of Jael Richardson—artistic director of The FOLD—the Festival of Literary Diversity, Carrianne Leung—author and former Writer’s Union of Canada member, and Alicia Elliot herself—who looked like a 15 year old that had been dragged, kicking and screaming, to the event by an overzealous parent; who afterwards said she had not wanted to participate and would not participate in a panel of this kind for some time.  She blamed her depression and I would argue that if one is depressed, one should not be on a literary panel attempting to explain white privilege to a room full of white people.

Scan of my previous book purchased show 100% white authors; 2018 selection shows 43% white.

I headed out to catch Tanya Talaga speak about her book, Seven Fallen Feathers, which won the RBC Taylor Prize for Non-Fiction and tells the stories of seven indigenous high schoolers who died from misadventure.  Apart from supporting the book, fifty-percent of the session’s proceeds were going to charitable causes.  Talaga has donated a portion of her prize money--$1000 to each of the seven families for giving her their story and $4000 to Dennis Franklin Cromarty High School in Thunder Bay which goes to support students coming in from remote regions of Ontario—because the only high school is in Thunder Bay—and to help them survive the transition to high school in what seems to be yet another racist community.  I missed Thunder Bay—twice—on my cross-country run and caught only a gas station and Wendy’s heading West and the downtown-by-twilight on my return trip. The evening was an opportunity to learn more about the Treaty nations of northern Ontario and hear some perspectives of the lives of those living in remote regions. Looking forward to the read.

Questions were taken; the usual suspect was there—who comes to support only indigenous writers—even the pre-festival events—and he asked how it was possible to raise over 10 million dollars for the Humboldt bus-crash victims yet we still don’t have drinking water in Treaty territories.  The same gentleman appeared at the next CanLit event—the Dumpster panel—and asked the same question of the guests who refused to answer him.  In fact, the audience had been instructed to only ask questions.  Comments were not welcome and when one white woman did speak up to say she was seeing change and “Wasn’t this panel going to be called something else?” she was crucified on the spot.  However, Kerri Sakamoto (fellow presenter) had a few things to say—that were not in the form of a question—and the panel did not interject to ask, “What is your question?” as they had done previously and as I was tempted to do.

I never saw the lighter side of GritLit as an ice storm brewed late Saturday afternoon and by dinner hour the car was encased in ice. Andrea Bain was presenting Single Girl Problems, arguing being single is not something women have to defend.  At least we seem to be moving past 1958. I was hoping the book was going to be a comic take on a serious subject with plenty of clinical, evidence-based backup.  It is not. Turns out Bain is a day-time talk show host and seeing that she was on the same panel as Judy Rebick, I had an entirely other idea about Bain.

And I missed Jamie Tennant interviewing Ron Sexsmith and Tom Wilson.  I was relieved that Tennant was conducting the interview as he has the maturity and humour to do it justice.  Grit Lit is led by volunteers and previous hosts have been far too quiet and lacking in confidence to conduct a panel. All very nice people but when authors are doing international book promotion, I think they’d like to feel justified in taking time out to drive into Hamilton—and that there’s more than a tote-bag and a mug waiting for them at the other end. See Elyse Friedman and Heather O’Neil and that unfortunate, sparsely attended evening.

Not thrilled with Hamilton Plaza--the new permanent festival site. Compared with the Art Gallery of Hamilton, it is a sterile, beige, cubicle-like environment.

The ice-storm raged and we were left with a nightmare cleanup just in time for the morning commute.  Ploughs and graders—absent during the peak of the storm—appeared in tandem to fill driveways with two feet of wet, dense slush which froze solid in moments. I left mine so my neighbour wouldn’t be tempted to leave.  I don’t think anyone was psychologically prepared to once more don winter gear and drag ice picks and shovels to the curb.

Various people lamented the lack of spring-like weather but this is precisely what spring weather is: four seasons in one day.

To soothe the soul, I perused THE FRENCH LIFE, a French cooling blog who posted a photo of the most bizarre-looking Madelaines I’ve ever seen. Also recommending SO GOOD MAGAZINE for fabulous French pastry images.

Cheers to all independent bookshops. April 28 marked independent bookstore day and a reminder to think outside the Indigo box. Sadly, Nicholas Hoare and Bryan Prince bookshops are no longer with us.

Overdue for a return visit to both Parry Sound and Orillia.

Presently reading, Curry, by Nathan Rubnum.  

Marketing:  biggest god of all.

Spring Tide brought to Hamilton the one and only, Dougie Ford. Ford insists on channeling his late brother, Rob. Ford bowed out of various early debates and guest spots, insisting that Ford Nation loves him (and his brother) and that he has “nothing to worry about”. One less candidate to have to consider, but the frightening thing is, it could happen. Municipally, candidates are announcing their intention to run and I have only one thing to say:  term limits.

Coal Mine theatre concluded its fourth season with Category E, the blackest of comedies.  Coal Mine is once again proving it can do no wrong.  The play is at once deeply disturbing and funny with a fabulous cast that includes Robert Persichini who has a lovely speaking voice and strikes just the right tone when delivering his lines--whether in moments of joy or rage. I’m told I missed a hell of a Christmas concert with the note for note performance of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. And for the first time, I ventured to the back of the theatre to use the one wc.  I was pleasantly surprised.

Note to all patrons:  please reconsider that hair bun. Ask yourself if piling hair on top of your head—thus making  you a foot taller—is really appropriate in a theatre setting. Consider those around you, please. I think my seat could have been classified obstructed seating. 

Critical these days is where to get coffee now that we are supposed to be boycotting both Horton’s and Starbucks.  Reasons can be found here STARBUCKS BOYCOTT and here FAIR WAGES + TIM HORTONS.

Two minutes! That’s the amount of time the two gentlemen were in Starbuck’s before the clerk called the cops. I opted for Balzac’s and people-watched for half an hour.  It is challenging getting a table in Balzac’s as there is usually one person to a table feverishly keying a laptop, nursing that one cup of coffee, cell phone firmly grasped in the other hand.

Carnage again with ten pedestrians mowed down in Toronto while out for a stroll on a brilliant afternoon.  This time the coroner took their time identifying everyone so as not to repeat the Humboldt mis-identification. People were only too relieved to find out that the murderer was a white, Christian male.  Various right-wing media outlets dispatched their reporters to add fuel to the fire by speculating on political and religious views. Katie Hopkins—dubbed by the UK as the ‘biggest bitch in Britain’--and now with Rebel Media—could be found on the streets spewing racist venom. Go away, please.

Admin Day passed unobserved. I take two approaches. 

One:

Two:

One colleague sent around a cheery, albeit late 'Celebrate!' at 16:30 but otherwise it was heads down.  Same reaction on Women's Day--zero response from any female. Well that's that.

April concluded with some good news:  Polish women made progress marching again for their human rights. And when the Polish RALLY, they rally. And FORCILLO was heading back to jail. Next time look to the bus driver, who calmly got everyone off the bus, calmly spoke with Yatim, and then got himself off the bus. Next time, try de-escalation tactics.

Banff, more French food & young love gone awry. Day 7.




Destination:  Cochrane, Morleyville & Banff

Book:  DH Lawrence~Women In Love

Films:  The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover, Sid & Nancy, Nil By Mouth

Daily km:  555

Caffeine, sugar & alcohol units:  7

Soundtrack:  Gloria Mass for 4 voices

Foodie #7:  Home Quarter Mercantile & Pie Shoppe

Foodie #8:  Afternoon Tea at the Banff Springs Hotel

Foodie #9:  Cassis Bistro

After another restless night with the industrial press going full bore across the parking lot, I took comfort with the leftover pizza at breakfast.  Press conference on the G20; the constant analysis of what your country achieved, if anything.

Toured the Widget Maker facilities in the early morning and met a few more people. I welcomed the opportunity to have a look 'round. Questions were not expected but I did nod in all the right places.  It seems there had been many visits to Hamilton at one time or another but all anyone remembered was the industrial skyline from the Skyway Bridge.  There have been some changes and there are better, more picturesque ways to get into the city.

Snook up the 1A and pit stopped in Cochrane.  The steady drops of rain tapped out a little morse-code to my bladder; I had to stop and take refreshment. Cochrane looks like a theme park with its facades, mercantile, art studios, restaurants and the ubiquitous kitchen store.  I had tea at Home Quarter which is part tea room and part vendor of all things Western.  The leather and suede contrast nicely with the floral walls, chairs and prints.  Excellent scratch soups and sandwiches.  Decided against the chaps, for many reasons.

Toured Just Imajan and had a chat with artist Janet Armstrong.  I’ll let her website speak for itself.

Off to Morleyville, site of a 19^th century mission led by George McDougall.  As I approached the site, the Gloria Mass kicked into high gear and I took a moment to enjoy it.  The church is situated on an open, wind-swept parcel of land just up from the Bow River. McDougall was out walking in the depths of winter when he got lost in a snowstorm and succumbed to the elements; he’s buried on site.  Going forty miles out of your way would be easy enough to do; I looked around and there is nothing for miles.   The history of the site is well documented along with the early archaeology. It takes about half an hour to do a full tour.

Downtown Banff is a Western version of Niagara on the Lake; one shop after another with a restaurant thrown in every half block.  Not being a keen shopper and as it was raining, I headed for the Banff Springs hotel.

Dating back to 1888, the Springs offers just about everything tourists could want.  It's a cross between Scottish Baronial and Von Trapp.  We had the Swiss look at Lake Louise, here your hosts have a touch of Bavaria in the costumes. There is vast network of cavernous rooms, ante rooms, hidden alcoves, terraces, restaurants and lounges. 

The two-flights-of-stairs climb from the Rundle Lounge was a damn site more manageable than the Tea House at Lake Louise.  Went with Afternoon Tea but declined the optional DOM at sixty-five dollars a glass.  Started with a palate cleanser of berries followed by sandwiches of avocado cream cheese & cucumber, prosciutto w/fig, smoked salmon crostini & egg on croissant. Desserts were scone, chocolate cake, éclair and chai crème brulee. 

Here’s a very dark picture of my view; pity about the heavy cloud cover.  Pity I don’t play golf, either. It was a very civilized afternoon.

The hotel is a veritable warren and you could spend the day wandering its corridors and taking refreshment at the many restaurants and lounges.  I was reminded of Women In Love where the men take after-dinner wrestling in front of a great hearth; true Greco-Roman wrestling, not this silly modern business.  Love the movie.

It was Royal Mail back in the day.

Still raining as I pit stopped along the Bow.  Looked to be a very busy weekend ahead for the town and good luck to anyone trying to find a parking spot. Thought the car had been towed at one point.  I came back down a different road and the No Parking signs had gone up for tomorrow (unbeknownst to me).  Where the hell was the car?  My feet were drenched from the rain and I was in no mood to deal with a potential parking violation.

Drove back to town through a monsoon. I did mention how civilized drivers were on the Trans Canada however on this stretch of #1 it seems it is customary to do at least 140kmh during white-out rain conditions.  Slowing down is indeed frowned upon.

I had a reservation booked for dinner at CASSIS, but it took all my willpower to put myself together.  To dry off only to return to the down pour?  After driving through a stretch of restaurants, I reached what seemed like no man’s land. Had I gone wrong again? No. Much to my surprise.

I heard Cassis before seeing it as the front door was wide open giving the little space some much needed ventilation. There were a lot of people and owing to miscommunication, my seat was at the bar. It’s not quite sardine-like atmosphere; I suppose some would call it cozy.  A bar seat is OK if you’ve got something to look at, but, this is a very small bar and also serves as the coffee station.  All you’ve really got is a wall and the occasional flash of barkeep.  A silent French film loops on the far wall of the restaurant.  I was looking forward to this meal all day and I was a little taken aback by the talking, the music, the movie, the cold air drifting in through the open door not to mention that bar stool where my toes only just reached the foot rest.  That aside, the food was very good.  And the courses were nicely paced.  Cassis has a loyal following and it's easy to see why.

“It’s poisson.”  Peter Greenaway’s The Cook… presents a different kind of French table where dishes are served to a discerning clientele.  The exception being Albert and his cronies.  Albert is not to be crossed.

What else but a Pimms Cup to start? And at last, steak tartare complete with egg yolk.  Delicious. Cassis is run by two brothers who are South France ex-pats.  They are going for simple food in the classic French tradition mixed with a little local flair.  The go-to dish is duck breast and it’s served with scalloped potatoes served in their own little pot.  I don’t like mash or scallops served in a blob on the plate.  Since there is always room for dessert, chocolate mousseline it was; a cross between mousse and crème caramel. Lovely.  Another two and a half hours well spent.

Required reading...

Back to the hotel and time to start loading the car for the off.  Made a couple of trips and was distressed to find Sid & Nancy in the parking lot;  such anger and rage.  He threatened to blow his brains out; she screamed at him to stop saying that.  They both erupted in tears, ruing the day they met. He threatened to put a gun to his teeth, she begged him not to.  It was endless.  What do you do in a situation like this?  Hardly the night cap I was looking for.  Things went quiet and there they were walking calmly into the hotel.  I thought they’d just pulled in to the lot to have a fight.  No, they were guests.  What kind of place am I staying in??  But that’s a situation that’s going to stay with you the rest of your life because like the movies above, the violence is cyclical.  By the conclusion of Nil By Mouth, it’s all happy families even though he put her in the hospital.  There they were admiring the new decor with the bruises a distant memory.  What is to become of our young heroes? 

Until next time.  Saskatoon bound.

Up The Ogden Road, Calgary.

After much ado with technical difficulties, the long awaited Day 6...

Destination:  Inglewood, Calgary Central

Book:  Russell Smith’s Young Men
Film:  Gosford Park, Peter’s Friends & other Big House movies.
Daily km:  30
Caffeine, sugar & alcohol units:  4 (not bad, considering)
Foodie #4:  Rouge Restaurant
Foodie #5:  Wilde Grainz Bakery
Foodie #6:  Coco Brooks Pizza


Snow fell in the country this week with 20 cm in some parts.  Like THIS IS ROCK SALT, I have managed to stretch the holidays out and roast the days as needed. Up the Old Ogden Road. Not a British protest song, but a highly efficient means of getting into Inglewood and downtown Calgary. Never mind the highway, the Ogden is the way to go.

Day six was intended as R & R.  After that trek up the side of the mountain, I received a memo from my lungs imploring me to have a bit of down time.  The memo read: a two and a half hour lunch is a perfectly respectable start to the afternoon. The burnout was coming and this was the day to take it easy. Enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with the BBC and the Globe & Mail; I do like finding the newspaper outside the door every morning. It’s been years since we took the G & M on a regular basis.  It’s the Arts section I miss. Tried to fool the coffee pot into thinking it was a kettle and flooded out the counter.  You can only drink so much bad coffee but the bagged tea isn’t any better. Found some kind of growth on the inside of my travel mug and decided to let the experiment continue a while longer. 

 

Started the day with a trip into Inglewood, a well-groomed suburb of Calgary.  I had selected Rouge which is billed as modern French fine dining. Took a very smooth drive through a quiet residential neighbourhood and secured a parking spot without the usual challenges of driving around the block for an eternity. ROUGE  is a converted Victorian house offering individual dining rooms or a large terrace overlooking the garden.  I think I’ve been very clear on the importance of not rushing a meal.  Rouge understands cocktail hour; I had the best martini of my life.  There was time to savour the drink while perusing the menu and taking in the garden and surrounds. Young Men is a collection of short stories exploring the lives of Torontonians who spend a great deal of time in bars quaffing martinis. In one scene, a character asks why we're all getting excited about what is essentially cold vodka (and perhaps an olive). Wine and other spirits figure prominently. 

What’s your take on vermouth? Is it worth the effort? A spoiler? Do you burn your glass or splash a few drops on the cubes? Are you a gin person?

A little dish of olive oil and house-made vinegar was brought to the table along with a warm, fresh roll that was served with tongues.  Bread rolls are tricky business and most restaurants offer up chewy rolls or dried slices of baguette which are carefully concealed underneath a napkin in the hopes that the linen will help retain some of the freshness.  I let my martini work its magic; was that a double?

First course was horseradish & citrus cured tuna with poke vinaigrette.  I had been on a tartare trend of late and was still striving for the classic beef.  This was very nicely done.  Second course was an enormous piece of elk paillard with fingerling potatoes and carrot. 

I get quite giddy with Big House dinners.  Always enjoy watching those late evening dinners roll effortlessly out (at least as far as the dinner guests are concerned).  Seven is a good course number.  We have a couple of local restaurants that would be ideal for a soup to nuts dinner.  Lord Darlington put on a fine spread and we had the bonus dinner in Gosford Park.  Peter’s Friends showed us a traditional English-heavy on the butter and cream.  And do you remember the Duchess of Duke Street?  The machinery at work for such an enterprise! 

Finished off with a green salad (including lots of nasturtium leaves from the garden) roast apricots, maple & white balsamic and local ricotta from Fairwinds farm; very creamy cheese.  Some restaurants have stopped sourcing locally.  When I spoke with the manager at Buchanan’s he said that they’ve abandoned local farms for their meats as their relationships hadn’t worked out and that their vegetables come from hot houses.  I had not heard great things about Alberta produce and winter was a time of scarcity. We were on carrot and potato here so you cannot go too wrong with that.

And finally, a hot cappuccino.  Like the bread roll, not all restaurants can pull off a hot coffee and it makes all the difference.  Like serving tepid soup, it must be fear of a lawsuit. Always eat your dessert then order coffee.  If it’s a large party, the coffees are lined up like soldiers until the dessert is ready and by the time it’s reached you, the heat is gone. Always wonder if the food ever arrived hot at Big House tables.  It’s a long way from the kitchen and by the time it was plated-all those shallow soup bowls with a single ladle of broth-there can’t have had much heat in it. I was quite comfortable and didn’t want to leave but I had an appointment with the Widget Maker for a little meet & greet and I wanted to stretch my legs first. 

With great reluctance, I made my way to town.  In good company with a deli and fine foods shop at one end and a kitchen supply at the other. I was very restrained in the kitchen store. Found another restaurant that came highly recommended-Jacqueline & Suzanne’s; put it in your back pocket as they do mostly scratch cooking. Across the street is WILDEGRAINZ bakery.  Breads, pastry and delicious shortbread-white chocolate and cranberry-what else? Nice stretch of well-maintained buildings and good reuse of older properties.

After ten years, it was time to scale the Widget Maker fortifications and put a few more faces to names.  Key thing when talking to new people: don't talk about yourself.  Try to pick something on the wall, their desk, their snacks and make that your go-to.  Only problem is when you've done this many times over you it seems like you’re nosy rather than interested.  And there is the question of how much people remember about you in the two minutes you spend with them.  Sometimes, despite being in regular contact throughout the year, if you’re out of sight you go right back to being "Who's this?" on the phone or "To Whom It May Concern" in an email.

We took dinner at Coco Brooks, purveyors of salads and pizza. Chose a delicious Spinach Grande pizza with lots of olives, cheese and red onions.  Coco Brooks has three locations with a slight lean to the religious right as indicated on the menu.  But don’t worry, the religion does not get in the way of the food.  (Unless you believe in divine intervention.) I didn’t know what I was getting myself in for as earlier in the day the restaurant had been described as a “pizza joint in an industrial estate”.  The food rises above its location.

Time to explore the downtown and with about two hours of daylight left, managed a few pictures.  Would recommend the slideshow at this point.  Pictures always lose a little clarity after the upload.  I've seen a lot of dark, fuzzy pictures appearing on blogs of late. Don’t be afraid to put on a light. Started in the West end and came across an independent bookstore, Shelf Life Books.  I was on the prowl for MFK Fisher; they had everything but.  The War Memorial park is a spit away and there were lots of people taking in the evening.  I was given the name of a very good French restaurant for Friday night and wanted to do a little reconnaissance.  We do not want a repeat of Wednesday. I found that I was walking in the opposite direction to what I wanted.  Came across the Lindt store along the route; I may have indulged in a truffle or two.  They carry a better selection than your basic department store which stocks only the red, blue, black and brown bags. And what happened to the Lindt Easter six pack eggs? Couldn’t find any back in the Spring.

Lots of wall art throughout the downtown. 

 

Pedestrian zones amongst some well-preserved buildings.

On my Foodie list was Manuel Latruwe.  Unfortunately, at the time of writing, they are still piecing themselves back together after the June floods.  I missed the quiches, pastry and house smoked salmon. One other place to mention is The Fine Diner.  Breakfast and lunch with house cured bacon, local eggs and coffee and homemade yogurt. So little time.

Knox United.  Big fan of old style churches; particularly the doors. Modern church design is rather uninteresting. 

Art installations throughout the city. Dollars were up for grabs a few years back through a downtown revitalization project.  Hmm, think I know where that could be used.

I’d taken coffee earlier and thought to write down the intersection.  And just as well; where was the car?  Lots of parking lots and they all looked alike.  I skirted the block twice over and after doubling back found what appeared to be my vehicle. 

Looks like I would be missing the Food Truck Rally on the weekend.  Not surprisingly, there are a lot of beef trucks.

Uneventful drive back to the hotel which made a change.

Settled down and the ghosts of industry past appeared at midnight. And once again, the I-Beam worked its way across the parking lot.

Until next time.  The mountains, afternoon tea and more French food!