Ottawa to Halifax

The problem with moving to a new city, is that you have to take most of your belongings with you. The trouble with taking most of your belongings with you, is that you need to take many suitcases. The problem with taking many suitcases, is that when you're kicked out of your hostel at 11:00 AM, and your bus to Montreal doesn't leave until 2:00 PM, you have to find something to do with all of those bags and yourself for three hours. Finding myself in this exact situation this morning, I decided go to the bank, and then walk 45 minutes to the bus depot to eat up some time.

Before I left though, I took a minute to take stock of my hostel dorm. Some time ago, or possibly in my Scotland blog, you might have remembered me saying that every hostel will have a Canadian and an Australian (and also a German). In my room alone, there were four Australians and myself (I'm sure the German was in the hostel too somewhere).

Along the way I met a homeless hitchhiker named Dave, who was originally from Nova Scotia. He was excited to hear I was heading to Nova Scotia myself, and started telling me all about shark fining and trying to sell me on the importance of ocean conservation. I had already seen Sharkwater though. In fact, I owned Sharkwater, so he was preaching to the choir.

At the bus depot I noticed there were many people buying tickets for a 1:00 trip to Montreal. Since I had a 15 day open ticket, and I figured it would be more comfortable to wait at the train station in Montreal than the bus depot in...well, anywhere, I jumped in line and boarded the earlier bus instead.

My seatmate for the 1:00 "Express", Lisanne, was from just outside Gatineau, Quebec, the city attached to Ottawa. She was on her way to Montreal to visit her boyfriend, or more accurately to use his place to study while he was away. With Lisanne being a bilingual Quebecois, I thought it prudent to take advantage of the opportunity to brush up on my grade three French which was better than I thought, but still quite pathetic, by getting her to teach me how to count to 100. As Lisanne told me later though, "it's nice that you're making an effort, but you won't get very far just walking around pointing at your head and saying 'chapeau'." It's alright though, because I can now also say "fish" and "fat".

When we got to Montreal, Lisanne stayed with me and helped me buy a ticket for the metro and also find the right platform. I'm very thankful for her help, because all of the signs in the Montreal metro are only in French. There is also more than one train station, so I would have had to know that VIA Rail leaves from Gare Central in order to board my train without her help.

* * * * *

When I bought my train ticket online originally, I remember it being the most complicated process in the world. First I gave all of my credit card data and entered my dates and destinations. Then I was sent an e-mail that said my order would only be reserved for two days, and that I needed to phone the office to order my tickets officially. When I phoned the office, I gave my reservation number, and the employee spent ten minutes going back into the the website to find my order. When she found it, she had me resubmit all of my personal/credit information.

That brings us to now, where it appears as though in the three months since I purchased the tickets, the prices/policy had changed and it took a half-hour to straighten out the problem. Thankfully it was decided that I could have my tickets at the original price. In hindsight, it was a good thing I took that 1:00 bus.

* * * * *

The train station in Montreal provides wireless Internet, at a fee. However, the volcano ash from Iceland apparently produced a slight "service disruption", and so to make up for it Gare Central made the Wi-Fi within the station free until everything cleared up. I hardly call it "making up" for the inconvenience that volcano caused me on my Scotland trip, but it's nice to finally be benefiting from it instead of suffering.

It's also pleasant to vacation in Ottawa, because as a city of government workers, there is a sophistication and base level of intelligence and class generally lacking in the northern Alberta communities around my home, or in which I have lived. The Montreal train station is where all the "other" Canadians come to soil that class and sophistication.

Case in point: the twelve year old girl behind me in the boarding line who thought it a good time to sing out loud and dance to the music on her iPod. While annoying in its own right, this disturbing breach of good "line etiquette" was exacerbated by the fact that she couldn't sing or dance, and only knew some of the words.

It's time now then, for more Words of Wisdom from David. One: If you're a pre-teen/middle school girl who thinks she can sing/dance, but really can't (all of you), and you get the urge to sing or dance to pop songs on your iPod in public, don't. Two: If you just can't help it, and you absolutely must be annoying, don't do it in public. Rather, find an abandoned, condemned mineshaft; gather as many of your annoying friends as possible; and hold your dance party there, at the bottom. That's not unreasonable, is it?

While the government of Alberta seems to think passenger train travel is a Bolshevik plot, down East, attitudes are a bit more civilized, and so my #14 Ocean train was sold out and full. It was no concern to me though, for unlike the Greyhound, Economy class VIA Rail seats are large and comfy. I even found a seat on the right side of the car, which was a single seat row, so I had both a window and an aisle seat all in one (complete with my own electrical socket).

Unfortunately, there is no Wi-Fi on The Ocean, or even The Canadian (only The Corridor between Montreal and Toronto). Lucky for me though, I forgot to delete a number of videos from my hard drive after transferring them to my XHD before the trip, and so I filled the long boring hours, when I wasn't reading, watching my favourite show, Sasuke.

(A Quebec grain elevator. Part of it, at least.)

At 7:00 AM, as we crossed into New Brunswick, the dining car opened up for breakfast, and I was afforded a rare opportunity to leave Loser Class and mingle with passengers from Old People Class, er... First Class. The prices of the plates even seemed downright reasonable for the diners essentially being the equivalent of sitting ducks, but after I received my order it became obvious why it was so "reasonably priced". If anyone is looking to lose weight, I can now say "ride the train". Before the end of the trip you'll either be skinny, or broke, or both since it costs so much to ride the train in the first place.

* * * * *

One of the down sides of being a passenger on a train in Canada, is that you're travelling with a company that makes virtually no money. That means you're so far down the pecking order of trains, that you have to stop or slow down every time a freight train comes towards you on another/same track; it reminds me of driving in Scotland. Although in Scotland. this only happens when you travel in remote areas, not on the major route to a metropolitan city with a train popular enough to be sold out.

(Ha ha! That's right CN train; you wait for us this time.)

(Finally getting off the train in Halifax.)

(Yes, the train was painted green. I'm not sure it that point needed to be written on the side of the engine though.)

We did eventually make it to Halifax, and despite the aforementioned delays we managed to roll into the station at precisely the scheduled time. After picking up my luggage, I set out for what I assumed would be another long walk, but was surprised to find the hostel just 200 metres from the train station's front door, right around the corner. There was even a Superstore next to the train station, meaning I'll be able to stock up on fruits and snacks for the long trip back to Montreal on Sunday.

As I've mentioned in probably every post now, there is always an Aussie and a German at every hostel, and at the excellent HI-Halifax hostel the two staff members behind the desk were from Australia and Germany; so I was able to complete my regular Aussie/German search before even paying the bill.

Speaking of bills, I had booked each of my hostels online through the popular Hostelworld website. When customers book online at Hostelworld, they pay a booking fee of 10%, and are then supposed to pay the remainder of the bill when they check in. However, I realized today that HI-Halifax was the first hostel along my trip to actually notice that I had booked online and give me my discount. This explains the current deficit in my "hostel budget", and I will need to pay closer attention to what I'm charged on the way to Vancouver next week.

When I had finished paying, I turned to head to my room, when I was met by a screaming six year old kid, who was chucking a ball around and generally annoying everyone. Honestly, who brings a six year old to a hostel? And more importantly, why was he left alone to run around and yell in the hallways? As I've said before: if you have kids, you don't also get to have fun and adventure; you pick one or the other. At the very least, you don't get to go to sleep while the staff members at the hostel baby sit your kid, because you can't be bothered to do it yourself.

After unpacking and taking a much needed shower, I headed across the street to a pub I saw on the walk from the train station (everything is close to everything else in Halifax). It was full though, because it was University graduation weekend, so I sat at the bar and talked to Adam the bartender.

While waiting for my lamb and beef meatloaf, I found an excellent independent street newspaper lying on the bar, called The Coast. On page three I read that my threat to write a letter to my MP in a few weeks must have scared Prime Minister Harper, because he was planning on turning Sable Island into a National Park. This supposedly puts an end to all this clubbing of baby seals, but I'll probably still throw paint on some lady's fur coat when I get back.

Ottawa: Full Day #2

Due to an odd scheduling conflict, I had a choice between spending a day/night in Montreal before heading to Halifax, or spending a third night in Ottawa before heading to Montreal to head to Halifax. Since I was already scheduled to stay two nights in Montreal on my way to Vancouver, I decided to add one more night in Ottawa but in a different hostel - the HI-Ottawa Jail Hostel.

(The lavish interior at the hostel. Those are the cell blocks, er... rooms on the left.)

(The original suicide bars welded on the stairs to prevent inmates from either a) jumping over the railings and falling through the gap, or b) throwing a guard over the railing.)

Ottawa's Carleton County Gaol was a "model prison" when it was made in 1862. After 110 years without much upgrade though, it became one of the worst prisons in Canada, and was closed down in 1972. One year later it was turned into a hostel, and is now said to be haunted by some of the spirits of the prisoners executed there including Patrick Whelan: the supposed assassin of Thomas D'Arcy - one of the Fathers of Confederation - and the last criminal hanged publicly in Canada.

(The original gallows. I actually saw this from the outside, and it's just an overhanging balcony. The prisoner stands on the trap door, and when the foot pedal on the left is pressed, the gate opens. The prisoner dangles in the air outside, much to the delight or chagrin of the crowd gathered below.)

Because check-out at my other hostel was at 11:00 AM, but check-in at the Jail Hostel was not until 1:00 PM, I had some time to kill, but also two full suitcases to drag around with me. Fortunately though, the hostel allowed me to check my suitcases so I could enjoy the rest of Ottawa in a less encumbered fashion.

First up on my itinerary for the day was to visit Parliament Hill and take one of its free tours. The Parliament Buildings were built over a period of seven years between 1859 and 1966, after Ottawa was declared the capital of Canada in 1857. Unfortunately, most of the original Centre Block was destroyed in a fire in 1916, when a cigar butt left in a trash can caused a fire that burnt down everything but the library. The library was saved because a quick thinking librarian ran back to close the fire-proof iron doors, making the score Librarians - 1, Smokers - the biggest threat to Canadian democracy ever.

Unfortunately, a number of parents decided to bring their children along for the tour, and naturally these babies/toddlers started making loud, incoherent babblings and crying. I'm not sure why parents think that they get to have a life once they have kids. I know you really wanted to see the Parliament Buildings, and go on that tour. "Guess what?" though. So did everyone else; and they can't hear anything because of your screaming kid.

(Grown men/women have been fighting like children here for over a century. No, it's not a MMA ring, it's the House of Commons.)

(The Senate chambers, where your non-elected Senators "debate" proposed bills from the Lower House, or even propose their own bills. There are three thrones at the back. The lower throne is for the Speaker of The Senate, while the larger throne above, on the left, is for the Governor General, and the smaller throne on the right is for his/her spouse ("consort"). The gallery above the thrones at the back are for the public to sit and observe any discussion or questioning period.)

* * * * *

After the tour I saw a lone PETA activist protesting the baby seal massacre on Sable Island. I might have walked by him in Saskatchewan, but because I caught "The Hippie" in Winnipeg I found it impossible this time, so I took some information from him.

It turns out Sable Island is in Nova Scotia, and so if I "write my MP" it might actually do some good. Apparently MPs consider each letter or phone call to represent the opinions of 1000 people; so get off your butts and get phoning. I think when I get to Halifax I'll even throw some red paint on some one's fur coat...

* * * * *

Upon leaving Parliament Hill I noticed it was still early in the morning, so I walked up Laurier St. to building of The Supreme Court of Canada. It was only 12:35 at this point, and the next tour would not start until 1:00 PM, so I went walking around downtown looking for something to eat.

I couldn't find any restaurants, but I did find a number of hot dog vendors (Canadian "street food"?). As I ate my spicy Italian sausage on some steps and watched the Ottawans go about their business in the afternoon sun, I felt a strange feeling but could not put my finger on it.

As I walked back to start my tour it dawned on me that the "problem" with Ottawa is that there are no fat people. For certain there are people who can "pinch an inch", but it's nearly impossible to find a morbidly obese person, or four people even close to obese in a given day of walking around. To be fair (to the rest of Canada?) I was in the business district, and I may find the poorer sections of Ottawa full of obese people, not to mention the drivers in their cars I couldn't see, but I noticed a similar trend towards being people being lean in Toronto's downtown area as well. Consequently, it would appear as though there is some correlation between the planners of a city making it convenient to walk/ride a bicycle on the streets, and the BMI of said city's population.

* * * * *

(The Supreme Courtroom. The nine chairs at the back are for the judges. Can you believe at one time we only had six judges on The Supreme Court? The thirty-odd chairs with laptops in front are for the lawyers.)

My Supreme Court tour was quite short, as the Supreme Court only contains two rooms: those for the Supreme Court and The Federal Court of Appeals. I stayed around afterwards though and had a very pleasant conversation with a retired American couple from Maine, who owned a used motor home and made a habit of living for five to six months in Maine during the summer, and then travelling around the U.S. and Canada for the other six to seven months of the year. If the other people in Maine are even one-tenth as friendly as this couple, I may have to lift my ban on travelling to America and visit sometime.

At this point I was quite tired from walking around Toronto and Ottawa for four of the last five days, and so I decided to go home and rest for the night. However, on the way I noticed a sign for the famous locks of Rideau Canal - the oldest continually operating canal in North America, the best preserved example of a "slack water" canal in the world, and a UNESCO World Heritage Site - designed to create a continuous waterway from the Ottawa River to Kingston, Ontario.

The Canal itself was built to provide secure supplies for the British Army, in the event the Americans blocked the St. Lawrence River. It is 202 km long, containing 45 locks, and at the time of construction it was the largest public works project in the world.

(The locks of the Rideau Canal. In the distance is the Ottawa River. The building on the left is the oldest building in Ottawa, the old Commissariat.)

Whilst taking pictures of the locks, I noticed the building on the left in the picture above, and decided to walk over and investigate.

The building in question is the old Commissariat, built in 1827; the oldest building in Ottawa. It was built to store store the gunpowder, liquor, money, etc. for the soldiers and workers, and its walls were built 0.76 metres thick to protect its valuable supply against cannon ball fire in event of an attack. Today it is one of the most interesting museums I've ever seen, if only for its excellent audio guide. Furthermore, because today was National Museum Day, I got in free.

* * * * *

From the names of the streets, it is obvious that Ottawa has a strong Scottish heritage, so for supper I decided to check out The Highlander Pub, downtown on Rideau Street. Although this pub is independently owned, I actually remember there being many Scottish Highlander Pubs in Scotland, and seeing this pub brought back fond memories of my vacation there in my youth (and by youth I mean two weeks ago). Either that, or the pub used the same lettering for its sign as every souvenir shop along The Royal Mile... yes, that must be it.

(My first opportunity to dine in the open air, on the patio of The Highlander Pub. The weather during my stay in Ottawa could not have been more pleasant.)

Oddly enough, there was no haggis at the "authentic" Scottish Highlander, but I suppose there isn't much of a market for pig's heart/lungs in Canada. I contented myself with a Shepherd's Pie, which I wolfed down, before finishing up with what looked like a double portion of apple crumble. After settling the bill, I waddled home a happy man with a stomach ache and went to bed.

(Random picture of a fire escape leading to nowhere.)

Ottawa: Full Day #1

When I had arrived from Toronto the night before, the weather was very warm. I still had memories of being sun burnt my first day in Toronto though, and so I stayed inside my dorm all night. That meant today was my first day out and about in Ottawa.

No sooner had I walked one block, when some sketchy guy on an old mountain bike tried to sell me a "new shirt" and an mp3 player for $10. I thanked him politely for his offer, but told him I wasn't in the market, and then went on my way.

A little later on down the street I came across a small, family owned bicycle store on Murray Street called Peccos. I had been doing some research on road bikes in Toronto, so that I could buy one for transportation when I got to Halifax, and to participate in a three day bicycle tour around the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton in September. I decided to pop my head in and take a small peak at the cost of bicycles here, to see how they compared with those in Toronto.

One of the sales staff who greeted me, Audrey, was a fast talking woman from the other side of the river (the French side). She made me pick up and try all of her favourite bicycles in the store. Within the hour I had been sized up, fitted, and "accessorised" with my own custom-made road cycle. It was the best fitting bicycle I had ever tried, and I put $600 down to have them keep the frame colour and ship it to me in Halifax in a month.

The whole bike, including component upgrades cost me about $1500, but in every other store in Canada a bike of that calibre would retail for $1700 or more. Audrey was so happy with my purchase, she threw in a bunch of her favourite colour coordinated accessories for free, and the owners gave me a 10% discount on shoes and SPD pedals for the bike. Unfortunately, this meant I had to walk around all day with a bag full of new shoes trying not to lose them, and also figure out how to get them to Halifax with me (the pedals were to be shipped with the bike).

As I walked along Murray Street, eventually I got to the end (well, technically the start) where I found the National Galleries of Canada. As I explained in my blog about Scotland, "Royal" galleries and museums feature art/artefacts from all over the world, whereas "National" galleries tend to focus on items from that country (Canada in this case).

(The National Art Gallery. Look a little closer at what's in front of the building though...)

(That's right, a giant metal spider. This is the same metal spider that was on the roof of the Leeum Modern Art Gallery in Seoul, South Korea.)

Growing up, I only heard one thing about Canadian art: The Group of Seven. It seemed that all Canadian art started and ended with this group of artists (if you count Tom Thompson, The Group of Seven's mentor, there were eight all together). Of course, this is not the case as one might imagine, and this gallery proves. That said, the highlight of the visit for me was still seeing the original works by Tom Thompson and The Group of Seven, in all their full size. Particularly fun was looking at the original wood board paintings the artists would have done out in the wilderness, and then trying to find the corresponding full-sized studio version on the walls.

When I finished viewing all of the paintings it was only 2:45 PM, so I thought I might as well walk across the Ottawa River to visit The National Museum of Civilization. Perhaps I should have done a bit more research though, because I was not aware at the time that the Ottawa River also marks the border between Ontario and Quebec; meaning I was literally walking from an English speaking city to a French speaking one (Hull).

(Looking back at Parliament Hill, in Ottawa, Ontario.)

(The National Museum of Civilization on the other side of the river in Hull, Quebec.)

Normally this would not have been an issue, since I knew the Museum would still be able to service me. However, I had not eaten since the previous afternoon, and so I was very worried I would have to order lunch in French.

The first restaurant I saw said it served "fine French Cuisine". I looked at the waiter in his suit, and the customers looking very business-casual. Then I looked at my T-shirt, and my old running shoes with "extra ventilation", and I decided to keep looking. Eventually I came across a small deli and ordered a sandwich by holding up two fingers for the #2 option on the menu.

The National Museum of Civilization was very large, and had an impressive selection of artefacts from Canada's history. There were so many exhibits in fact, that I wasn't able to finish them all before the museum closed.

Much of the museum seemed to be set up to tell the history of Canada, which is of course important. However, unless you managed to sleep through every class of grade eight Canadian history, there probably isn't a lot of information for the average Canadian to glean.

Speaking of grade eight, it seems that every grade eight class in the country decided to hold its graduation field trip in Ottawa, on the same day. It didn't matter where I went today, there was always some group of annoying junior high school students there disrupting my peace and quiet.

This came to a head when some lazy teacher let her (I know it was a her) students run all throughout the Canadian Museum of Civilization, with no supervision whatsoever. It was a nightmare. Every time I thought, "oh, I'll just wait until they pass," another group came along right behind them. It almost makes me not want to be a teacher.

It wasn't a total loss though, for it just so happened that the IMAX theatre in The Museum was showing a 3D viewing of Jean-Michel Cousteau's documentary "Sharks". Jean-Michel is Jacques-Yves Cousteau's first son, and like his father he is also an environmentalist, conservationist, and film maker.

While I more or less knew everything in the film already, the 50 or so aforementioned Junior High students also in attendance did not. They also all seemed very interested in the film, which is a positive sign. It means that even if these punks never stop annoying me, hopefully they learn that sharks are important and need to be saved. If they can do that, it will have been worth it.

Toronto to Ottawa: 386 km, 5.5 Hours

I really enjoyed my time in Toronto, and I also really enjoyed my time at the HI-Toronto hostel. The hostel was a pretty standard HI hostel, but I had the same room mates for all three nights, and so it started to feel like home before I had to leave. When it was time to leave, one of my room mates even walked with me and wheeled one of my suitcases the 1.5 km to the bus depot.

Despite getting to the bus depot relatively early, there was already a very long line-up waiting for the 11:30 AM Express bus to Ottawa. As more and more people boarded the bus, I started to think there might not be enough seats to hold everyone since the line behind me had also grown in this time. With about eight people in front of me I saw the bus driver start counting passengers in line, and tell the person in front of me that she was the "last one". This did not suit my plans though, so I looked around for some possible explanation and noticed a second bus waiting some distance back, which turned out to be for us.

While this new bus may not have been nice and new, like the other bus with a Texas licence plate, but with only 12 passengers, it was virtually empty and I thought perhaps I would be able to spread out for the 5 hour trip. My hopes were soon dashed though, for fifteen minutes later we stopped at a small station on the way out of Toronto and some twenty people were waiting to board the bus, some of whom had been turned away from the 9:30 AM bus, which was also full.

The two high-school aged boys in front of me were part of a small group carrying instruments, and so I asked them where they were going? They said they were heading to Ottawa for a music festival. At the time I thought nothing of it, but little did I know it would soon affect my stay in Ottawa too.