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I have never really accepted the implied criticism in the statement that so and so “can’t see the forest for the trees.” Something about that comment has always bothered me. But after a recent early morning golf game at Markham Green golf course, it dawned on me that it isn’t really a question of not seeing the forest for trees – being oblivious to the essential message because of a deluge of details – it is instead a question of being the kind of mindful person who sees the forest and the trees.

Sustainable golf

As concerns over such daunting issues as climate change, air pollution, and excessive urban growth come more to the forefront, travellers are also becoming more environmentally conscious in terms of how and where they travel.

More and more consumers of travel are also implementing green tourism practises as part of their own personal travel ethos. These “transferrable skills are quite naturally applied to travel — a significant part of our lives and lifestyles.

Golf and the travel and tourism market

According to recent statistics from the Travel Industry Association “one in eight U.S. travelers (12%) played golf while on a trip of 100 miles or more, one-way, away from home in the past year. This translates into 17.3 million U.S. adults…. Golfing travelers averaged 2.6 trips (mean) over the past year, with 10 percent golfing on six or more trips. Nearly one-half of golfing travelers did so on only one trip in the past year (46%). One-third went on either two or three golfing trips in the past year (34%). Sixteen percent of travelers who played golf said that golf was the most important reason for taking the trip. Over one-half of golfing travelers (55%) said that on their most recent golf trip, golfing was not a primary or secondary reason, but rather just an activity on the trip.

And according to The (U.S.) Travel Institute, the percentage of golfers who travel in order to golf are the following: over 50 years old, 43%; under 50 years old, 28%. Moreover, the Institute points out that in the United States golfers spend in access of $26 billion a year on golf travel.

This is not a market that is going to go away.

However, when travelling more and more (discerning) golfers are also looking for environmentally friendly golf courses that do not conflict with their sustainable tourism attitudes.

For many years, golf courses have been criticized by environmentalists as a wasteful and destructive use of land. However to be fair, the golf industry has come a long way in terms of recognizing the issues and devising innovative strategies to deal with them.

Some conservationists still claim that environmentally-friendly golf courses are an oxymoron because such lands are not part of the natural landscape. Golf course owners who practise “green golf” methods, counter than golf courses are actually appropriate buffer zones between urban environments and true wilderness areas. They say that when urban areas abut wilderness areas, the effect of human activity penetrates much farther into the wilderness areas than first thought.

The Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary Program for Golf Courses

This education and certification program is designed to encourage and help golf courses maintain and protect natural areas and wildlife habitats within their overall footprint. This involves implementing new strategies that emphasize key environmental management practices.

For more information on the program, click here.

Markham Green Golf Club: a role model for sustainability

A Rouge primer

Markham Green golf course is a stunning and challenging nine-hole golf course located in the heart of Rouge Valley country. If you are also relatively new to the Rouge Valley itself — or perhaps like me, you’ve not been fully cognizant of the beauty, diversity, and vulnerability of the Rouge — you might want to consider the following.

The Rouge Valley is an enormous watershed that will become the largest park ever created within an urban area in North America (over 12,000 acres). It is home to a myriad of indigenous and transplanted fauna and flora that provide ample proof of the “Wild in the City!” rallying cry of Rouge Alliance members. As such, it is an oasis of tranquillity in the cacophony of urban sprawl, and a living symbol of community and environmental activism. The subsequent governmental legislation that resulted from this activism affirmed the principles and practices of good land use and resource management. The Rouge is also an immense system of natural “corridors” stretching from the Oak Ridges Moraine to Lake Ontario.

The Rouge is more than “a good idea”; it is a complex concept that embodies wisdom, vision, science, prediction, pragmatism, enormous planning structures, and contemporary social values that are the underpinnings of the concept itself. A precious natural asset that has been recognized by the World Wildlife Fund as “a nationally important wildlife treasure,” the Rouge Valley System has also been an endangered natural milieu. But through the unflagging efforts of thousands of ordinary citizens who collectively were able to “think it through” and thus understand the full implications, ramifications, and rewards of preserving this watershed area, the concept has been actualized. But like all concepts with universal implications — like art, justice, and liberty — the Rouge is a concept that is constantly in progress. Emulating life cycles, the Rouge is a process, not an event.

Experiential Rouge

The overwhelming majority of Canadians live in urban centres, and the Greater Toronto Area is Canada’s largest. The simple math and the basic tenets of urban studies make it perfectly clear that in this area finding natural green spaces in which to decompress is becoming a greater and greater challenge; so much so that it becomes all too easy to miss the obvious even though prophets of all kinds warn us of what might still happen.

I am reminded of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi:

Don’t it always seem to go

That you don’t know what you’ve got

Till it’s gone

They paved paradise

And put up a parking lot.

Think of the Rouge Valley as a large template for the non-parking lot. Along the Rouge there are many easy public access points to this reserve: Toogood Pond, Milne Park, Bruce’s Mill, to mention a few well-known local ones, but also non-park resources such as the Toronto Zoo, the Glen Rouge Campground, and the Markham Green golf course.

And this is where the concept of contiguity comes into play. Some problematic concerns about the realization of this environmental dream need to be considered. Can parks, zoos, and golf courses really be integrated or blended with natural spaces like the Rouge? Are urban areas and farmland really compatible with authentic natural environments? Are they not in fact contradictions? How do you achieve a healthy interplay of the natural world and that which is fabricated by humans? Are conservation areas fabrications themselves? Is it really possible to achieve the principles of integration, interconnectedness, and inter-relationships, or is this just a nice idea? Is the real challenge the juxtaposition of fundamentally different spheres – side by side, and yet separate and different? If so, where is the fine line between the two? Where is the demarcation point? How is it even possible?

Playing through the Rouge

You arrive at the first tee of Markham Green after a short preamble along an asphalted path through a hardwood forest that has been left in its natural state. Abundant, elegant ferns softly illuminated by the filtered sunlight proliferate among the trees.

As you tee up at the first hole, you just might notice on your left a pile of twigs, branches, logs and other detritus from a tree that has been removed in order to permit sunlight to fall on the tee box. This minor management has been necessary, as it is elsewhere on the course, because all plant life requires sufficient light suited to its specific biological purpose. This includes bent grass, that fine-textured turf that is commonly used on golf course tees, fairways, and greens. However, the pile of debris that I have passed a number of times and never really noticed is actually a “critter house.” Instead of being cleared up and carted away it has been left where it is as a mini-environment for insects, small animals, butterflies, and birds.

And those other large trees behind us that have been partially removed, leaving only tall trunks with flat tops, will soon support bird and bat houses. With West Nile Virus now in our midst, this is a good example of natural pest control given that they will attract purple martins and bats — both voracious mosquito-eaters. The diseased elm in the wooded area to the left of the fairway, about a hundred yards from the tee (where my ball too frequently ends up) has been cut down and left as it is because this too is part of the eons-old process of a truly natural habitat. It is also a magnet for woodpeckers. Playing Markham Green is also a collateral experience. Both the course and the river follow the same natural path; on this golf course you are constantly crossing the free-flowing Rouge. The Rouge is in fact the course; it defines it, shapes it, and requires that those who come to golf well alongside its banks do so with precision, control, and careful consideration — equivalent skills to those required in maintaining this course which emulates so successfully the topography created by the last ice age.

The challenge of the Rouge

But unlike other courses, water is not so much a hazard at Markham Green as a corollary element in the kind of golf that emphasizes a collaborative relationship as opposed to triumphal displays of prowess. And there is a lot of rough on the Markham Green course where a minimum of mowing takes place. Tall waving grasses, a profusion of insect and bird-attracting wildflowers, and diverse species of low bushes are a botanist’s dream as well as secondary habitats on the course. They can also be the hiding places of errant golf balls.

In a kind of natural diplomacy, Markham Green acts as a buffer of relatively light and passive recreation between the Rouge and nearby residential areas; not to mention being a David to the Goliath of the 407 that thunders by to the north. Like a park, the course preserves permeable surfaces; the kind of water-conserving terrain that quickly disappears when housing and commercial development overtakes non-urban space. In recognition of its achievements of minimal use of pesticides, of bio-engineering that uses natural methods and natural materials to maintain the course design, in 2002 Markham Green was awarded the Rouge River Keeper Award for outstanding Environmental Stewardship and Best Practices implementation. It is also an Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary certifed course. The latter acknowledgment denotes a high level of competence in five key areas: integrated pest management, outreach and education, water conservation, water quality management, and wildlife habitat management. The success of the course is due in no small part to Don Crymble, Markham Green’s property manager. Don is in many ways a self-taught and self-motivated environmentalist and has been with Markham Green for 14 years.

A skilled and pragmatic person, he is an excellent resource person to have along during a round of golf. His knowledge of the environmental issues of the course is impressive, although when golfing with Don it can be a bit difficult concentrating on the game while absorbing the nature lessons he offers as you proceed throughout the course. Like all those who understand and appreciate the importance of good land use practices in the Rouge Valley, Don is deeply committed to protecting the integrity of this particular area of the Rouge. In his quiet manner he is very adept at raising awareness of the relationships of organisms to one another in these unique physical surroundings.

What you should look for at Markham Green

Note the core 10-acre hardwood lot that is continuous throughout the course as well as the seven-acre cedar corridor on the south perimeter. Both receive minimal maintenance and thus provide a natural habitat for those species of plants and animals that thrive in them. In many cases deciduous trees overhang the river providing important shade areas that are beneficial to the fish populations in the Rouge, especially the salmon and trout that make their way north from Lake Ontario.

Water of course is the central theme of Markham Green and what the Rouge is all about. As you play through the course note the buffer zones of non-mowed vegetation between the fairways and the river. Note especially the aerated storm water pond near the fourth hole and the clubhouse, which is also protected by a natural buffer zone.

The buffer zones receive minimal maintenance and are subjected to minimal human intervention in general. Leaving these areas undisturbed increases exponentially the diversity of species present. While looking for that ball that has ended up in the water, don’t overlook the turtles, frogs, and toads you may encounter; they are true indicators of the health of the terrain you are sharing. Turtles lay their eggs in sand and therefore sometimes in sandtraps. In September when the eggs hatch, these areas are posted so that golfers can avoid them. (Perhaps as a general rule you could just avoid the bunkers.) And in the spring there is nothing more emblematic of the indigenous Ontario hardwood forest than the trilliums in the woods at Markham Green.

The property is home to many mammals including deer, fox, and beaver. Note the beaver lodge on the edge of the river on the fairway of the second hole. Near the yellow tee you will also see an oak and an ash that have been partially gnawed by a beaver and beside it another ash with a wire cage around the base protecting it from the beaver. Beavers usually chew softwood trees like poplars and willows. Markham Green is protecting the hardwood trees by actually planting or promoting in some other way the growth of softwood trees as food for beavers. The course is also home to many chipmunks who have been displaced by the more aggressive squirrel populations in nearby suburban areas.

Despite the desire to keep the environment as “natural” as possible, some extra human intervention is necessary here and there. Nature will take its own course, and sometimes this will be at odds with areas of the Rouge designed for the kind of human activity that is as non-invasive as possible. Needless to say, to intervene or not to intervene is the conundrum.

Using the Rouge Valley list of indigenous plant species, the staff of Markham Green has recently planted and is continuing to cultivate such species as alternate leafed and redosier dogwood, american elder, and river bank grape. When you are teeing up on the second hole, notice the abundance of mullein around the blue and white tees. Although not native to the area, the growth of this biannual (also know by a variety of names including Adams’ Flannel, Beggar’s Blanket, and Candlewick Plant) is encouraged at Markham Green as a food source for birds and is growing throughout the course. In its second year of growth the tall stalks are loaded with seed, a favourite of goldfinches especially.

Not all species in this part of the Rouge, however, are indigenous nor particularly beneficial. Notice the Norway maples, an alien species that provide excessive shade thus reducing the ability for lower plant forms to flourish. The impressive and rugged sugar maples you see, however, provide the right kind of filtered light to encourage multiple plant forms to thrive. Although species like the Norway are not removed, Markham Green does carefully monitor the growth areas around these interlopers and measures are taken to assure that any hindrance to growth of other species is minimized. Another plant species that is posing concerns and being carefully monitored is the deceptive-sounding purple-stemmed angelica atropurpurea which occurs along moist streambanks.

Pest control

Markham Green is also committed to an Integrated Pest Management (IPM) program in which pesticides are used only as required, and the course’s fertilizer program is based on regular soil tests. Phosphorous which is often used by golf courses as a fertilizer is not “mobile” in the soil (it does not leach out of the soil) and can be a contaminant in surface water causing algae growth in water bodies. When phosphorous was required on some of the grass at Markham Green a couple of years ago, care was taken that it was not applied near any surface water. In addition, when the soil tests indicated that the phosphorous levels were adequate, applications were discontinued.

Moderate management

It is important to note, however, that in a management plan that emphasizes moderation in all things, reasonable co-existence, and a comprehensive approach, Markham Green incorporates fundamental environmental practices that are also time-consuming, labour-intensive, and costly. (Undesirable weeds such as ragweed are removed by hand.) However, part of the Rouge concept is the principle of long-term thinking for long-term gain. As we now know, a natural environment can be degraded and reduced very quickly as a result of short-term thinking. But it is long-term thinking that in the end is cost-effective. A diverse and healthy eco-system, like a well-managed golf course, does indeed enhance lifestyle — this is the essence of the beauty of playing golf at Markham Green — and the real, long-term value is in its sustainable development. This is a principle that also is inherent in socially responsible, long-term marketing strategies.

Environmental integrity is a fundamental principle of the Rouge Alliance and as every golf aficionado knows, integrity is also at the heart of the game. Golf also is about the interplay of natural forces. It has a long and diverse history and has been played in some of the wildest and most beautiful environments on this planet. Although less manicured and fabricated than some golf courses, Markham Green is a beautiful place to golf; it is a very successful blend of a walk through the Rouge Valley and a challenging round of golf. And because beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder, to appreciate the true merits of Markham Green and the other areas of the Rouge where humans play, you need to be able to see the forest and the trees.

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For more information, visit the following websites:

Markham Green Golf Club

The Rouge Park: Wild in the City

Toronto and Region: Conservation for The Living City

The Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary Program for Golf Courses

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Why golf is a philosophical sport…

Golfing by the Book: A Philosophical, Anthropological, and Literary Look at the Game

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A green-friendly blog that focuses on sustainable golf

Turfhugger

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... A podcast with Physiotherapist Jordan Katz

To listen to this podcast, click on the link below:

Chatting with Jordan

The science and art of physiotherapy

As a distinct form of healthcare, the diversity of the practice of physiotherapy may not be well understood by the general public. Physiotherapists are indeed primary health care professionals whose focus is not just on the treatment of disease but also on preventive health care.

Physiotherapists also work in a multiple specialized fields such as the corollary disciplines of Cardiovascular and Pulmonary; Geriatric Care; and Sports Medicine — to mention just three.

And as you will hear us discuss in this podcast, Jordan Katz has played many roles including that of Sports Physiotherapist. This specialized field of physiotherapy deals with athletic injuries, treatment, rehabilitation, but also education.

And as a primary healthcare educator (not all teachers are in classrooms), Jordan’s approach is always to educate his patients in order to prevent loss of mobility (and numerous other physical conditons) before they occur. And he does this by emphasizing fitness, raising patients’ awareness of anatomy and physiology in ways appropriate to them, and by maximizing an individual’s range of movement and functional ability regardless of their age or stage in life.

And physiotherapists like Jordan have as a priority habilitation — and this includes rehabilitation when necessary. The end goal is always to optimize quality of life. And very successful physiotherapists do this by interacting with and educating their patients as to their bodies and their distinct personal histories.

As a healthcare science, physiotherapy has far-reaching effects including physical, emotional, psychological, and social well-being. This is fundamental to the principle of interconnectedness and interdependence of the science.

As you can see from the human evolution image at the bottom of this page, and our discussion in this podcast, human beings evolved in a unique way which was the best of times and the worst of times (to borrow a phrase from Dickens). When we stood up — and became Homo erectus — everything changed. Our vision and brains changed; we experienced new horizons and new opportunities. But our new “postures” put inevitable strains and stresses on our anatomy; a classic example of no pain, no gain.

This transitional turning point for our species was especially significant because we then began to migrate — in fact to travel. And there was no turning back. But nonetheless we have never ceased to imagine.

“The human race is governed by its imagination.”  — Napoléon Bonaparte

In the 21st century however, our bodies are susceptible to new stresses that would have been difficult to predict a hundred years ago. The fact, for example, that many of us are far less mobile in our professional lives than in previous times — especially when so many of us are seated in front of computers all day long — has led to conditions such as repetitive stress injury. And because our bodies were not “designed” to sit for long periods of time, this has also led to other conditions such as back and neck pain.

For very experienced physiotherapists, their profession is also an art in that through the experiential practice of physiotherapy they acquire an intuitive sense. And although physiotherapy is always based on the Scientific Method, the experiential knowledge that many physiotherapists accumulate can play an important role in diagnosis.

The management plan

If you have incurred an injury, your physiotherapist becomes a a critical member of your healthcare team. However, as I have suggested, the proverbial “ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure” principle (and the common sense it implies) is part and parcel to lifelong healthcare management — from birth to old age.

And developing a carefully planned and individualized management plan and strategies for each patient is also fundamental to the science and art of physiotherapy.

The TENS machine

Some members of the team

Jordan and a student of physiotherapy

Onward and upward

Jordan’s sense of humour

Resources

1. The Canadian Physiotherapy Association

2. The Physiosite.com

3. College of Physiotherapists of Ontario (of which Jordan is a member)

4. Australian and Western Physiotherapy Association (of which Jordan is a member)

5. Curtin University in Australia where Jordan studied

 

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Migration

There is little doubt that human beings are a migratory species.

However, even though most of us moved beyond the transient stage in our evolution and “settled down” in permanent communities – in which our diverse cultures soon began to take root – many of us continued, of necessity, to migrate throughout the world.

There are of course many historical, economic, and sociological reasons why human culture (in its various hues and shades) continued to spread far from and beyond the initial “borders” in which it developed; but history shows how these migrations also contributed to the mosaic of other indigenous cultures, and to human culture in general.

It is worthwhile attempting to get an overview of the enormous contributions that Chinese culture has made to global culture – and to many of our individual national cultures.

The numbers speak for themselves

Worldwide, there are an estimated 40,000,000 “Overseas Chinese.” These are people of Chinese birth or descent; and we must not forget the additional numbers of individuals of partial Chinese ancestry who may also consider themselves as belonging to the Chinese diaspora.

The latter term, by the way, is from the Greek and means dispersion. It also has connotations of forced exile, and a collective migration out of the traditional homeland. Also implied in the term is the immigrant experience of living as a minority in a majority culture.

In many nations around the world, this minority cultural experience has often been the norm for Overseas Chinese, and a significant hardship.

In Canada for example, where I live, people of Chinese descent are the largest non-European ethnic origin in our nation today; and the fifth largest of any ethnic origin in Canada other than English or French.

Most were also born outside Canada. In fact, when you include all Chinese dialects and the two principal languages of Mandarin and Cantonese, Chinese is the third largest mother tongue in Canada after English and French.

But we have a number of skeletons in the Canadian historical closet, one of them being the Chinese Head Tax.

Although Chinese workers (male primarily) were the main immigrant group that built our transcontinental railway – the “national dream” that united Canada east to west and was one of the most important factors in our becoming an independent nation – the head tax was first imposed when the Canadian Government passed the Chinese Immigration Act of 1885 whose purpose was to discourage Chinese from entering Canada once the railway was completed.

A blatant example of discrimination, it took until June 22, 2006 for the Canadian government to issue a formal apology (via our current Prime Minister Steven Harper) to the Chinese Canadian community for the prejudicial use of a head tax and the exclusion of Chinese immigrants to Canada. In his speech to Parliament he said, “… we fully accept the moral responsibility to acknowledge these shameful polices of our past.”

And although people of Chinese descent are the communicators of one of the world’s greatest cultures, many have experienced similar negative experiences elsewhere on the planet.

For reasons that are of course complex but nonetheless problematic, Chinese culture – which is often highly misunderstood in terms of its extraordinary diversity – the cultural “gifts” that the Chinese people collectively have contributed to human society may be unparalleled.

Integration and heritage preservation

The Chinese people have always been a migratory culture. As early as the Ming Dynasty they were exploring trade opportunities in the South China Sea and the Indian Ocean.

Different waves of emigration (and subsequently immigration) followed to regions as diverse as North America, Oceania, the Caribbean, Latin America, South Africa, Russia, and Southeast Asia.

In the 19th century, the age of colonialism was at its height and the many multinational colonies far from their cultural homelands required labourers, and China often supplied a pool of such workers.

These people of course were most often economic refugees and frequently they worked in backbreaking and dangerous jobs such as the building of railroads and mining. This, as I have indicated, was how Canada’s transcontinental railways completed the east-west natural flow of which the St. Lawrence River and the Great Lakes were the first stage in the longest freshwater waterway to the interior of the North American continent.

As economic refugees, these migrant Chinese struggled long and hard to improve their lives and to successfully integrate into the “host” nation. This was not always easy as racism and other forms of discrimination often relegated them to the status of second class citizens. However, as difficult as their lives were overseas (often living isolated existences; for example along the route of the aptly named Canadian Pacific Railway where even today you can find small Chinese businesses in the smallest of communities) what they did manage to do was to hang on to their culture.

And as we all know, language is the core of any culture. In many ways the Chinese who emigrated throughout the world became role models for preserving thousands of years of history and art, while at the same time contributing to infrastructure-building far from “home.” And they continued to speak Chinese.

Subsequent historic events both slowed and precipitated further emgiration. Following challenges posed by emigration regulations in the 1950s, the first steps to the transformation of Hong Kong from a British colony to a Chinese territory began in 1984. New waves of emigration began again but slowed by 1997 when China reclaimed sovereignty over the colony.

And as we now know, China has emerged (along with India) as one of the most important “business partners” in the global marketplace, especially in certain countries of Africa where development is the highest priority.

The entry (or re-entry) of China as a major player in the global economy has also led to a renewed interest in all things Chinese, especially in the field of the arts. However, as is the case with any national group that leaves its cultural homeland, the Chinese have assimilated to a lesser or greater extent into the mainstream culture of the host nation. But assimilation can be a two-way street.

While assimilating and accommodating themselves to their overseas adopted nations, the Chinese also contribute to the overall “persona” of the host nation’s culture.

And as we travel journalists know full well, human culture is not a static entity; it is dynamic and constantly evolving.

What is interesting however, and this would appear to be global phenomenon, is that cultural diversity, multiculturalism, and the transcending of borders (both geographical, cultural, and conceptual) is becoming the new mainstream.

This is especially true, for example, in Toronto which many people consider to be the the most multicultural city on the North American continent.

A question of identity

In my belief, one of the strongest attributes of travel journalists is our ability to identify with “the other.”

Like all skills, this ability to relate comes with practice; with frequently “getting up close and personal” with the subject matter. In our business, that subject matter is human culture. And at this point I would like to leave the last word to Margaret Mead, the well-known American anthropolgist who said:

“If we are to achieve a richer culture, rich in contrasting values, we must recognize the whole gamut of human potentialities, and so weave a less arbitrary social fabric, one in which each diverse gift will find a fitting place.”

Other China stories from The Philosophical Traveller

An Evening of Traditional Chinese Music — and Eldership

China Then China Now

Three Interesting and Related Resources

Chinatown Europe: An Exploration of Chinese Identity in the 1990s
The Chinese Cultural Centre of Greater Toronto
World Tourism Day

…

The annual World Congress of the World Federation of Journalists and Travel Writers (FIJET) took place in Shanghai, China.

FIJET (Fédération Internationale des Journalistes et Écrivains du Tourisme/World Federation of Journalists and Travel Writers) is an official member of the United Nations World Tourism Organization (UNWTO).

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Travel book clubs

From time to time it has occurred to me that travel journalists are also contributors to a global, collective, and virtual book club whose members enjoy the real thing, or even enriched armchair travel.

Book clubs, of course, vary in their composition and rules of behaviour. Some are highly organized and formal entities at which a book is “presented,” and, one assumes, is recommended. Not being a book club member myself, I imagine that in such a group it would require considerable intellectual courage and the ability to do what professional literary reviewers do for a living – daunting to say the least.

What if they don’t like my book? And then, I imagine there are the kind of laid back book clubs of devoted and conscientious readers who just like to get together, loll about, gab, and let the literary times roll.

So why don’t we start a virtual book club devoted to travel writing? Who wants to organize it? Who wants to start? All right. All right. I’ll start.

The book I have chosen today is not recent; in fact it was published in 2002. But, this is a book that has really stood the test of time. It’s also one of my all-time favourite books because it takes a highly conceptual approach to travel.

The book is The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton. It’s a book that explores in a very psychological and philosophical manner the very nature of travel as a distinct form of human behaviour.

Has anyone read it already? Well you should.

In the book de Botton has defined travel as an art form. There is a lot I could say about The Art of Travel – and I’m more than willing to answer any questions afterwards during our tea and cookies time – but basically it seems to me that you will like this book because de Botton asks some very fundamental questions, like why we travel; and how we can travel artfully and in an enlightened fashion.

But permit me if I digress for a moment…..

The Art of Travel also confirms what we have known for a very long time; that travel is the most experiential form of learning. It is also a multi-factored human behaviour that since the beginning of human civilization has been manifested in many ways and for many reasons. To Homo sapiens sapiens, travel has meant survival: a search for ideals; an escape from one reality to another; simple pleasure (some call it “fun”); a physical, psychological, and spiritual process – and much more.

It seems to me that travel has defined us as a species.

And then there are those who not only travel, but write about it. Now there’s a synergistic combination of behaviours if there ever was one.

The other “oldest” profession in the world

My reference is not totally tongue-in-cheek given how hard most of us – members of The Travel Writers Virtual Book Club – work at “getting there.” And part of our challenge, or dare I say even struggle, is to avoid selling out to the highest bidder and having to slavishly follow “writers’ guidelines” that do not always reflect changing realities – or qualitative considerations.

But let’s not forget that what we do as travel writers is as old as the hills.

Travel writing, travel journalism, or travel literature (a mosaic medium or stories on a continuum – take your choice) have always taken many forms. Travel writers are essentially storytellers, and this key function/role/tradition in the “tribe” goes back many centuries. The human stories, lessons inherent in them, and how they are told are as diverse as the tales themselves. And that is why travel and narrative skills are inextricably linked.

And given the advent of the electronic literary age when almost anyone who has been somewhere stimulating – which may be just around the corner by the way – can tell his or her story to the world, it is important to take a closer look at the multidimensional craft of travel writing, and indeed the nature of travel itself.

And this is what Alain de Botton does in The Art of Travel.

In the book he explores many of these issues; and what in essence he does is redefine the nature of travel – and our perceptions of it.

No stranger to travel, especially given that he comes from a Sephardic Jewish family that left what today is Spain in 1492 and settled in Egypt, de Botton seems to have inherited an innate sense of what it really means to travel.

I should warn you that The Art of Travel is not a travel guide, at least not in the traditional or conventional sense of the term. Like other iconoclastic travel “writers” (Jan Morris, Bruce Chatwin, Cleo Paskal, Paul Theroux … any others you want to mention?) de Botton transcends conceptual borders by emphasizing the philosophy, the psychology, and the hyper-sensory nature of travel, which, if the traveller allows herself or himself to make this transition, will also allow her or him to go much deeper into the destination. This book is a “travel guide” only in as much as it creates a new kind of literary resonance, making the mundane in the world of travel fresh and new.

Shift happens

Why would any sane person these days (especially a travel writer) spend time sitting in a parking lot at Heathrow watching planes take off.

Duh…

And yet, that is how the book begins. But even watching planes take off gives de Botton (and us) some initial insight. He explains it this way:

“There is psychological pleasure in this take off too, for the swiftness of the plane’s ascent is an exemplary symbol of transformation…. the display of power can inspire us to imagine analogous decisive shifts in our own lives, to imagine that we too might one day surge above much that now looms over us.”

The ritual of watching planes take off recalls (for those of us who remember or who actually flew on the early propeller-driven planes), was what we often used to do, and which I understand a lot of folks still do.

And this is where I would like to pick up on a key theme that de Botton doesn’t actually say outright, but it’s inherent in his thesis.

It is in the imagining of others travelling (arriving or departing) to and from what used to be, but are no more, far distant places, which is at the heart of his own initial travel experience in this book. And although expanding one’s mind through the medium of travel has become a cliché, de Botton manages to demonstrate that it (even the vicarious variety) is a personal growth and transformational experience.

Now I must admit that, as in all his books, he can tend to get a bit carried away with his wordplay, and become even a touch … um … obfuscating.

For example, I’m still trying to think through the following:

“A storyteller who provided us with such a profusion of details would rapidly grow maddening. Unfortunately, life itself often subscribes to this mode of storytelling, wearing us out with repetition, misleading emphases and inconsequential plot lines. It insists on showing us Bardak Electronics, the safety handle in the car, a stray dog, a Christmas card and a fly that lands first on the rim and then in the centre of the ashtray.

Which explains how the curious phenomenon whereby valuable elements may be easier to experience in art and in anticipation than in reality. The anticipatory and artistic imaginations omit and compress; they cut away the periods of boredom and direct our attention to critical moments, and thus, without either lying or embellishing, they lend to life a vividness and a coherence that it may lack in the distracting wooliness of the present.”

Wooliness?

Nonetheless, The Art of Travel, is like a refresher course in travel journalism; if you are sufficiently sensitized to where you are, whether the destination is some well-known travel destination or just a service station or a cheap motel, de Botton shows us how we can do what he likes doing. He calls it wordpainting. And boy does he love to wordpaint:

“Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than a moving plane, ship or train. There is an almost quaint correlation between what is in front of our eyes and the thoughts we are able to have in our heads: large thoughts requiring large views, new thoughts, new places. Introspective reflections which are liable to stall are helped along by the flow of the landscape.”

The Art of Travel is now available on Kindle.

Kindle?

What the hell is that?

Other recommended travel-related books by Alain de Botton

I also found his book The Architecture of Happiness very travel-integrated because so much of what we experience when we travel is the man-made physical setting.

“It is in dialogue with pain that many beautiful things acquire their value. Acquaintance with grief turns out to be one of the more unusual prerequisites of architectural appreciation. We might, quite aside from all other requirements, need to be a little sad before buildings can properly touch us.”

And his exploration of the role of literature in human society in his book How Proust Can Change Your Life has implications for travel especially given the growing niche market of literary travel.

“Sometimes in the afternoon sky a white moon would creep up like a little cloud, furtive, without display, suggesting an actress who does not have to ‘come on’ for a while, and so goes ‘in front’ in her ordinary clothes to watch the rest of the company for a moment, but keeps in the background, not wishing to attract attention to herself.” – Marcel Proust, from Remembrance of Things Past

Alain de Botton

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With Howard Coutts, Curator of the Bowes Museum

… To listen to this podcast, click here.

An encounter at the Bowes Museum

Travel can be very rewarding when you discover — through research or through some serendipitous event — a destination or attraction that is a narrative unto itself.

Travel journalism, in my view, is all about storytelling: setting, characters, characterization, dramatic action, themes, metaphors, and universal lessons. Above all, it is about the nature of human beings, their cultures, their strengths, their foibles, and their passions.

A visit to the Bowes Museum in North East England is not just “a day at the museum,” it is very much a behind-the-scenes encounter with two amazing individuals and a very special time and place in which their lives were played out.

John and Joséphine Bowes are the lead characters in this fascinating story; brilliant in their collaborative vocations, enigmatic in some ways, but without a doubt artistically and intellectually courageous. Theirs is a story that is ripe for the kind of multilayered drama (or docudrama — life imitating art or vice versa) which has been produced by enlightened film companies. So if any innovative production houses out there are looking for a great story, let’s talk.

Eccentric, whimsical, or idiosyncratic Bowes?

Well, all of the above actually. And these not-to-be-taken-for-granted qualities are in part what makes this destination within a destination so fascinating and so enriching. The Bowes Museum is, I suppose, the central character in this narrative but it is difficult to differentiate between the personality of the “house” itself and those two individuals who inhabited it and therein left their “character codes.”

In addition to being one of the most unique and coherent art collections I have ever seen, the Bowes is also grand theatre. Born in 1811 to a commoner mother who in all respects — except for that crucial legal and social recognition — was the wife of the 10th Earl of Strathmore, John Bowes was certainly a child of circumstances.

The fact that he was the son of an earl — a lesson in choosing your ancestors well — did not compensate for his being illegitimate. And in the Victorian era with all its layers and undertones of social class, proper behaviour, airs and graces, and double standards, it would appear that John simply had to work harder.

But as the progeny of the upper echelons of English society, he also had the education (Eton, Cambridge) — and without a doubt other economic and networking advantages — all of which would have allowed him to pursue a very adventurous lifestyle. Ironically, it may have been the semi hush-hush circumstances of his birth that set him on a course of alternative thinking. At least, that’s how I would write the screenplay.

John’s story is one of the most content-rich I’ve heard in a long time, and it also has a great deathbed scene. His father married his mother just 16 hours before he died! This was followed by a lot of legal wrangling that eventually resulted in John being recognized as the rightful heir to his father’s extensive Durham estates, but not to the Strathmore title. It’s always that last little slap in the face that can be so infuriating.

And so, although he may have had the ways and means, he was denied full social acceptance. Now this is the stuff of dramatic conflict. What’s a bastard to do? Would the son rage against his fate as a victim of social circumstances, and waste his life in “acting out” the injustice, or would he rise above the whole affair?

Well, John certainly did not become a wastrel. Instead, he became a very successful businessman (coal mines), horse breeder (who better to assess good breeding stock), and a politician-reformer (Liberal Member of Parliament for the constituency of South Durham). Oh, and he also served as Sheriff for County Durham in 1854.

The stage, as they say, was set.

Enter Joséphine

I will venture to say that John Bowes’s greatest accomplishment may have been wooing and winning a certain French actress of some reknown named Joséphine Coffin-Chevallier. A watchmaker’s daughter (it appears she too had self-determination bred in the bone), Joséphine was working as a comedy actress under the stage name of Madame Delorme in the Théatre des Variétés in Paris (a theatre co-owned by John) when the two first met.

Like John, Joséphine was no fool. She had many talents: she was herself a talented amateur painter and had a deep interest in many art forms including paintings, ceramics, furniture, and textiles. She also was “there” in the very early years of the Impressionist movement, and highly supportive of the artists. Theatre and life are all about timing.

Although both John and Joséphine were from very different backgrounds and cultures, they were both free spirits in an artistic sense especially, and shared not only a love of the arts but a conviction that art was something that should be made accessible to everyone, as much as possible.

When they married in 1852, John’s gift to his bride was the château du Barry at Louveciennes, in France. Not an insubstantial property by any means, (Louis XV had previously given it to his mistress, the Comtesse du Barry), it was a first “studio workshop” for the combined talents of these two extraordinary people. They renovated it and restored it to its former glory, and in so doing embarked on their own path to artistic glory.

While they lived the full life of the French Second Empire (1852-1870), they also devoted themselves to the arts and welcomed into their château home European artists and cognoscente from a wide variety of “venues.” However, when the post-French Revolution storm clouds continued to suggest, through subsequent historical events, that there would be a predictable but indeterminate number of years of turmoil in France, John and Joséphine began to make plans. John would eventually sell his interest in the theatre, Joséphine would sell the château and they would move to England with a new, ambitious, grand plan; to create a home for the huge number of works of art they had acquired. But it would not be just any home; it had to be as much a treasure as the objects it would shelter.

And it was, and is.

As I meandered through the Bowes Museum, I tried to imagine exactly why these two people did what they did. Obviously they had disposable income, time, status (finally), and privilege. But there had to be other reasons, deeper motivations. A nagging thought in my head made me want to draw comparisons between John and Joséphine Bowes and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. However, I learned quickly enough that John and Joséphine had none of the empty time on their hands, pathos, and folly of the anemic Duke and Duchess. Any such comparisons were just not on. In fact, John and Joséphine’s legacy is an artistic and public triumph, substantial and enduring. And you can actually visit it in the English market town of Barnard Castle.

Social History and the Bowes Museum

This entire museum is a period piece in that its contents celebrate multiple centuries and schools of art. Initially it also seems quite incongruous — a neo-classical French chateau in an historic market town in North East England — but when you visit the museum and gradually follow the story throughout this magnificent building, it makes a lot of sense — and sensibility. You come to understand why John would have wanted this museum to be built here and why Joséphine, his partner in life and art, also shared his vision.

The museum was conceived and designed by John and Joséphine as precisely that — a museum, not really a home. Once the cornerstone was laid, John and Joséphine’s “project” was alive. The building grew along with the couple’s collection of 15,000 objects acquired between 1862 and 1874. Today the museum and its collections fill three floors of this magnificent building.

And where to begin? Where to end? This was probably the key challenge of John and Joséphine’s passion. For the visitor, however, it is a museum that is extremely well-organized and aficionado-friendly. You never feel rushed, however you will easily lose track of time; the Bowes is a timeless treasure.

As you visit it, you will also find yourself being taken unawares. You may suddenly find yourself standing in front of a piece of art and murmuring, “My goodness. How did that get here?” I had this reaction when El Greco’s deeply moving “The Tears of St. Peter” drifted into my field of vision.

If I had to choose one object that perhaps sums up the continuing presence of John and Joséphine at the Bowes Museum, it would have to be the Silver Swan, a perennial favourite of visitors. This 230-year-old English silver automaton came to the Bowes in 1872. It is a life size model, is still in perfect working order, and is simply delightful. But for me, it seemed to epitomize the gentle art of John and Joséphine, just the kind of collector’s item that would have been acquired, because of its beauty of course, but also because it is quietly and graciously entertaining.

To watch a video of the Silver Swan, click here.

Having called in a (timeless) period piece, I must also draw your attention the Bowes as a very contemporary and interactive arts venue in which all kinds of exhibits continue the visionary purpose that John and Joséphine conceived. The recent “Luxury Goods and the Slave Trade” which commemorated the bicentenary of the British Parliament’s abolition of the transatlantic slave trade is an example of the issue-oriented ethos of the museum. The Museum’s “Exhibitions & Events” link on its website is also ample evidence of why this museum is very much in the mainstream. I suspect John and Joséphine would be pleased.

Not a perfect world

But art does imitate life; and life does not always end well. Sadly John and Joséphine were not to see the full fruition of their dream. Josephine died in 1874. John gave up collecting for the most part and then he too died in 1885 before the Museum was fully completed.

However, they had done their homework well because what they had started all those years ago became, as it turns out, a self-perpetuating artistic phenomenon; their Museum continued to operate as planned under the leadership of the Trustees of the Bowes Museum. The museum opened on June 10, 1892. In the first year of operation almost 63,000 visitors shared in the vision of John and Joséphine Bowes.

And like the Silver Swan, The Bowes Museum continues to delight and enlighten its visitors.

Recommend Resources

Visit the Bowes Museum’s excellent website by clicking here.

I highly recommend The Road to Impressionism: Josephine Bowes and Painting in the Nineteenth Century, by Howard Coutts. The book is available from the Bowes Museum online shop.

The Bowes Museum and Barnard Castle are a very pleasant and short drive from the great cathedral city of Durham. Durham is one of the best travel focal points in the UK.

See also:

Barnard Castle

Visit Teesdale

Tim Marlow on … The Bowes Museum

The above excellent DVD is produced and available for purchase from Seventh Art Productions, or from the Bowes Museum shop. In it, art historian Tim Marlow takes viewers on an in-depth journey into the Bowes Museum.

The Silver Swan on Youtube

SEE ALSO…

The photographic images in this segment are courtesy of the Bowes Museum.

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When I arrive early in the morning at the Peace Park in Hiroshima, there are few visitors. A fine drizzle drifts like a veil over the city, and a feeling of absence hangs over the park. Blurring the scene, the moisture-laden morning air also mutes the sounds of the city. Although I have been awaiting this moment with some concern for several days, I feel strangely detached and separate. Crossing the street, however, I begin to feel propelled by a subtle pressure.

Under a large spreading tree of indeterminate species, a small group of green-uniformed city workers are methodically sweeping the night’s minor debris into compact containers. Refocusing my sight lines, I look past these silent workers and see the skeleton of a medium-sized domed building. Known simply as the A-Bomb Dome, this charred and denuded structure — now a world heritage site — was once the city’s Industrial Promotion Hall, a three-storeyed brick structure. Today it is perhaps the simplest and most evocative monument to a moment in time that changed the course of human history and our awareness of our species’ potential to destroy and obliterate.

At 8:15 in the morning on August 6, 1945 the first atomic bomb ever used against humans — military and civilian alike — unleashed its force several hundred metres from this spot. The entire city, with the exception of this solitary structure, was levelled. The fission of uranium and plutonium generated an explosive power unlike anything experienced in wartime before. Three metres long and weighing almost 3629 kilograms, “Little Boy” was the equivalent of 13,610 tonnes of high-performance explosive. The initial shock wave of the blast provided 50 per cent of its deadly force. Detonated approximately 580 metres above the city, it crushed nearly all buildings within two kilometres of the hypocentre and generated a diabolical wind that — when it reached the surrounding mountains — was reflected, turning its fury on the city a second time. Flames whipped up by the wind rushed through the city. Later, a black rain would fall on those running about searching for an escape route from the destruction. The intense heat rays that seared Hiroshima made up another 35 per cent of the explosion; the temperature at the centre exceeded a million degrees Celsius. In addition an initial release of lethal radiation made up five per cent of the event while residual radiation of 10 per cent would cause widespread cancers, deformities, and death for years to come. On that day 78,150 people died in Hiroshima. By the following December 140 000 people were dead as a direct result of the bomb. The cumulative deaths accounted for by the bomb is estimated to be 200,000. For all intents and purposes, in a few seconds Hiroshima ceased to exist. And the nuclear age had begun.

The Dome is perhaps the essence of incongruity in this extensive, formal park that today embodies a terrible beauty and haunting images. Crossing the river on the Aioibashi bridge, I turn to look at it one more time. Despite its gutting by the blast there is a solidity to it that suggests endurance and, at the same time, an ephemeral quality. With modern Hiroshima rising behind it and the calm Motoyasugawa river flowing by, the Dome appears timeless. This will be the first time I will experience a sense of timelessness and of being out of time as I walk through the park.

I pause on the bridge to get my bearings before proceeding. From my guidebook I am surprised and disconcerted to learn that the bridge on which I am standing once had a distinctive T-shape, a perfect target for a bomber. And the original bridge was indeed what the pilots of the U.S. plane carrying the A-Bomb used to direct their payload. When the bomb exploded, the bridge, built in 1932, was subjected to a blast pressure of over six tonnes per square metre. It thrashed about like a leaf in a violent wind and its slab floor rose and fell violently. But it did not collapse and lasted for another 35 years when it was replaced by a new one.

From this bridge one enters the northern tip of the Peace Park, a triangular piece of land created by the junction of two rivers leading to the port of Hiroshima. Although the park has been meticulously planned and arranged and one can proceed through it in a systematic fashion, I find myself walking aimlessly, unable to decide which monument, which site, which viewpoint should take precedence. Later I will realize that this is the principal challenge in visiting Hiroshima; the event that occurred here makes a rational, cognitive appraisal almost impossible, even pointless. Although the historical facts are carefully documented throughout the park, it is feeling that is evoked primarily. And it occurs to me that this is why historical sites, such as holocaust museums or battlefields, must convey extremes of human emotion.

I pass the Peace Clock Tower, an oddly-shaped structure. At 8:15 every morning — at the “mortal moment” — it chimes “its prayer for perpetual peace,” a ritual that appeals daily to the people of the world to grant its wish. Nearby is an enormous bronze bell. This Bell of Peace also is an instrument for sounding a wish that “all nuclear arms and wars be gone.” Like so many before me, I am invited to “step forward and toll this bell for peace.” Somewhat hesitant, I mount the steps. With both hands I pull the log-like clapper back and release it. Its considerable weight propels it against the solid bell from which a low-pitched resonance emerges in waves that continue for almost a minute. The sound seems to come from all around me. I feel as if I am at the centre of all sound. The waves are almost tactile; I feel them spreading outward like ripples on a still pond into which a heavy stone has been dropped. At the base of the bell is a small water garden in which float lily pads with pink blossoms. The drizzle has turned to rain and the blossoms seem to extend their petals to catch the droplets.

As I approach the Children’s Peace Monument, I see the first group of the morning. An elementary school class has gathered in front of the memorial to Sasaki Sadako-san. Their brightly-coloured umbrellas, white shoes and socks, and navy-blue uniforms are visual relief in the increasing grayness of the day. Their teacher is telling them once again a story that millions of children in Japan and around the world know. Sadako-san was only two years old when she was exposed to radiation from the bomb. By age 12, she had developed acute leukemia. Following the Japanese custom of folding paper cranes — senbazuru, symbols of good fortune and longevity — Sadako-san persisted daily in folding cranes, hoping to reach 1000 when a person’s dream is believed to come true. But she died after nine months of struggle. Her friends, however, established the Hiroshima Children’s Association For Peace which has raised funds world-wide and made the paper crane a symbol of the anti-nuclear campaign. Paper cranes in the thousands are sent to Hiroshima every year, especially on May 5th, Children’s Day. Standing quietly on the glistening paving stones before the monument, these children embody the wish fulfilment of a young victim of the bomb.

At the centre of the park, the Cenotaph for the Atomic Bomb Victims is a visual and symbolic focal point. The memorial, designed by architect Kenzo Tange, is built in the style of the A-frame thatch-roofed Japanese house that protected Japan’s earliest inhabitants from the elements. In the stone coffin beneath are books in which are inscribed the names of all those who perished as a result of the bomb. They are now sheltered from the rain in perpetuity. Looking through the arch-like cenotaph, I see the Flame of Peace that burns above a reflecting pond. The flame will be extinguished only when all atomic weapons are banished from the planet. The view is also like looking back in time. In the distance, perfectly aligned with the Cenotaph, is the Dome. As I contemplate this poetic alignment, a young man approaches the coffin, bows, claps his hands twice in Shinto fashion to summon the spirits, and then bows again. I turn and make my way to the last — and in many ways the most disturbing — stop on my visit to the park.

The Peace Memorial Building is a modern, two-storeyed concrete building with solid, clean lines. Sturdy columns raise it above ground level. Its north side is made of glass and looks out over the park, giving the visitor a slightly elevated and wider perspective of the memorials. It is a simple, elegant structure that is somewhat at odds with its contents. Inside the museum, I feel a stillness that is unlike the respectful silence usually encountered in other such archival storehouses The exhibits, the artifacts, the scale models, the film clips, the scientific information, and the historical timelines do indeed explain what occurred in Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, but it is the remnants of individual human lives that are entombed in glass cases, embodying the dreadful truth.

It is difficult to say which tangible detail is the most compelling: actual paper cranes folded by Sadako-san; Shin-ichi’s tricycle that was buried together with him and his friend Kimiko in the family garden after the explosion and only rediscovered 40 years later when the families moved them to a more formal grave; a simple, slightly battered watch stopped forever at 8:15; stone steps on which someone had been sitting less than a kilometre from the centre of the explosion and on which his or her shadow can still be seen because the intense heat changed the surface of the stones around them while the body absorbed the heat; a female student’s torn and burned summer school uniform.

I proceed from exhibit to exhibit. I don’t think about what I see; I experience it on some level that I still don’t quite understand. Around me elementary students on a school field trip move quickly among the exhibits, staring, whispering. The exhibits engage them. Looking through one glass case in which some artifact is preserved — perhaps it was the charred lunch box — I see the small round face of one of the students watching me.

As I exit the main exhibition hall, the floor-to-ceiling windows are on my left. On my right is a display of artwork by survivors of the bomb. Each of these simple drawings and watercolours tells the same story in muted tones of horror. I am drawn to one in particular. It is a drawing in which naked bodies have fallen in grotesque attitudes of death. In the background the orange-red conflagration continues. In confusion, blackened figures rush about in panic. Half-hidden in the flames is the Dome. In the lower right-hand corner one naked figure attempts to rise. On the left a standing figure attempts to cover his nakedness.

I turn and look out the window. It is raining heavily now; the water is streaming down the windows. A group of school children is approaching the museum. Looking down from above, I cannot see their faces; they are sheltered by their bright yellow or blue umbrellas, and are proceeding in an orderly fashion. Despite the overcast sky, their bodies cast shadows on the rain-soaked pavement.

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Engagé

Making dreams come true — for example operating a self-catering vacation home in sublime Languedoc in the south of France — requires self-determination, communications skills, and an enhanced appreciation for human needs and culture.

Oh, and vision too. So what’s so difficult about that?

For the visitor to the dream, of course, it looks easy and seamless. That’s the nature of the art. But for the dream makers, it can be a long road of hard work and a constant commitment to ideals.

At the end of one of those roads, I found Susan and Tim — again.

Hither and yon

Now right off the bat, I need to let you know that Susan, Tim, and I are old friends; actually Susan and I have known each other since we were six years old, and we have been down some bumpy roads together.

We’ve been hither and yon, in many senses of the word, and over a half century, our lives have crisscrossed in some very interesting ways — a story I’ll leave for another time.

But then, we lost each other for about six years. Furthermore, Canada Post almost erased our long relationship when a letter Susan sent to me at my last known address was returned in error with the curt message “No longer at this address.” But thanks to Mr. Google and Susan’s obstinacy — and a little bit of concern that she offended me somehow — she tracked me down, and as they say, “Voilà!” There we were, together once again in Oupia — retracing our tracks.

Oupia? A blissful French village in the ancient region of Languedoc, and the ultimate escape from the hurly burly of the current century.

Layers of history in Languedoc

Where to begin? That is the delightful dilemma not only in Oupia but in the much larger context in which this little community is so ideally located. You may wish to begin by looking at France via the terrific Via Michelin website.

Zoom in on the south of the country (also called Le Midi.) Look to your left, west of Provence and the Côte d’Azur (which many people erroneously call The Riviera.) Zoom in a bit further until you see the eclectic cultural centres of Toulouse, Montpellier (Paris without the pressure), and Perpignan to the south.

Note the mountain range to the north (la Montagne Noire), part of the Massif Central, the high plain in the middle of the country. Note also the strategic mountain range to the south, the elegant Pyrénées which form the natural boundary and defence mechanism that has kept France and Spain separate and distinct since the beginning of European civilization.

With a little more digital dexterity, you can also find the Canal du Midi, an engineering marvel that solves the problem of “How are we going to get our stuff from the Atlantic by boat to the Mediterranean without going through the straits of Gilbraltar?” (It’s also a UNESCO World Heritage Site.) Note also the ancient medieval walled city of Carcassonne, one of those once-in-a-lifetime-if-you’re-lucky places to visit. See how close you are to the sea? A little more zooming and you will see the long stretches of beaches, sand dunes, and marshes. Unfortunately at this point in time Via Michélin doesn’t let you see the flocks of flamingos that gather on the coastline like a chorus of pink ballerinas; but I’m sure they’re working on it.

Now look a bit to the right of Carcassonne and there just off the autoroute is tiny Oupia minding its own business.

Now consider this: where could you go within the space of a couple of hours and be home in time for an apéritif? Get my point?

And now some more geographical stuff. Languedoc is one of the former traditional provinces of the kingdom of France. They weren’t officially provinces, just administrative units with no political structures; territories defined by custom and tradition and of course local dialects. The language of Languedoc was Occitan. Langue means language. Get it? Langue d’Oc.

Oh, and oc means “yes.”

Being such loosely organized regions, it wasn’t all that difficult therefore for the King of France to eventually bring them under his royal wing. Today the general area is classified under a broad category as the Languedoc-Roussillon region. And… Oupia is also located in L’Hérault (capital city Montpellier), one of the original 83 départements created on March 4, 1790 during the French Revolution when the whole nation was being transformed and royal heads were going to Heaven or Hell in hand baskets. And to expand further on the geographic fine points, Oupia is also in the tourist region of Le Minervois (named after the very important city of Minerve). Le Minervois is a terre de contrastes, daring to straddle the two départements of L’Hérault and L’Aude.

And like the whole of Languedoc-Roussillon, Le Minervois is an enormously complex area historically and culturally. Topographically, it may initially look a bit like Provence, but on closer examination you will see that it has a much more subtle Mediterranean look and feel. Wild and wooly in places, calm and pastoral in others, Le Minervois is the focal point for the the entire area; a fact borne out by its connections to the rest of France via the Autoroute des Deux Mers (of the two seas) and the TGV (train de grande vitesse). And whether you are visiting Languedoc-L’Hérault-Le Minervois by automobile, bicycle, on foot, or even by houseboat, Oupia is just over there.

In modern times, the coastal Mediterranean area that is still referred to as Languedoc has been somewhat overlooked from the point of view of tourism, but it is no stranger to visitors. The area was settled and occupied by Greeks, Phoenicians, and Romans. I’ll leave it to you to imagine what archeological treasures and cultural influences you will still see here. And Languedoc was also rudely invaded by the Alamanni, Vandals, Visigoths, and Saracens. In the 12th century, it became the centre of the “heretical” (at least in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church) Cathar religious movement. You will learn more about them and the genocide that they suffered, during what was known as the Albigensian Crusade, when you visit the ancient and very poignant Cathar capital of Minerve. More lessons in history repeating itself; atrocities perpetrated in the good name of religion.

The Cathars believed that a divine light existed within the core of humanity but that it had been held captive by a corrupt material world created by a lesser deity. This lesser deity they claimed was the god that most people of the time worshipped, in essence an imposter. The real divine light or true creativity — the real human essence — was trapped in the flawed physical realm and overruled by corrupt minions. Well you can imagine what the powers that be, ecclesiastical and regal, thought of that. Believing also that reincarnation was a distinct possibility, the Cathars also believed that their struggle for ultimate spiritual freedom would be an ongoing one that would not end in their current mortal incarnation. With an emphasis therefore on the individual’s having some control over his or her eternal destiny, Catharism started to gain ground. It was becoming a popular new understanding of the meaning of life, and consequently a major threat to the more hierarchical church. It was about choices. And it eventually was about silencing the heretics.

Today Languedoc still has a quiet spirit of self-determination. It is also one of the least-discovered areas of France where life is placid, the people benevolent, the landscape unspoiled, and the cuisine exquisite. And this is what Susan and Tim discovered.

Nuclear energy in Oupia

Don’t get excited; it’s not what you think. What Susan and Tim have rediscovered is the quiet, subtle energy that lies at the heart of the village — the real nucleus of human society. How many times have we heard aphorisms such as “The only real change occurs in the village,” or “It takes a village to raise a child, ” or even the oft-repeated references to “the global village”? Such clichéd expressions enter our consciousness (and perhaps suffer from verbal overexposure) but it is because there is inherent truth in them. They communicate in very simple language very simple concepts — but also common sense and ideals. As I too rediscovered, the “simple life” in Oupia does not mean a simplistic existence, nor is it a one-dimensional experience. Au contraire mon cher.

Like the pearl in the oyster, life in Oupia (not to mention other similar towns in southern France I have visited) is a process, not an event, and the result of unseen subtle forces that require time and privacy to make magic. And in this tiny medieval village, there is a distinct timelessness experienced not through cognitive powers but through the senses — like inhaling the permeating scent of wildflowers in the fields around the town.

And on a hill just outside Oupia stand tall, elegant, and pure white structures, their arms turning slowly in great powerful arcs in unison with natural forces. Yes folks; we’re talking wind power! What a metaphor, and how appropriate to this unspoiled area of France. These great machines are definitely not to be tilted with; it would be a contradiction of terms. I’m sure Quixote would have found them quite landscape-friendy. I did, however, get the impression that the locals took them for granted — some even objected to their presence — but each time I ventured out of Oupia to discover some new gem, I would look forward to coming “home” to Oupia and being welcomed by the gentle giants. Maybe that’s just my urban reverie and stress-sensitive psyche talking. Or maybe not.

Popping down to the local château for a Minervois Blanc

As small as it is, the village of Oupia has several focal points: the tiny town square, the cemetery overlooking the vineyards that surround the town, and the Château d’Oupia.

Also dating from the 12th century, Oupia’s château was the property of the seigneurs of Oupia and has been a family business since 1860. The current occupant of the château and proprietor of the business is a very gentle man by the name of André Iché. With his small team of employees and other family members, he produces wines that you will want to import, let alone savour with a delightful Minervois déjeuner sur l’herbe of local cheeses, pâtés, and other delicacies. The château’s 59 hectares (35 devoted to the A.O.C. appellation Minervois and 24 to vin de table et pays) produce award-winning and delicate wines at excellent prices. What is especially delightful is dropping by the chateau, as I did, for a chat with Monsieur Iché and his rather shy wife, and picking up something nice to go with the cheeses and other goodies Susan spends so much time choosing on market day.

And in Oupia, as it is in most of France, market day is a village affair, a ritual, an aesthetic adventure, and for the visitor, a chance to become even more acclimatized to Oupia, and the vaguely remembered way of life it offers the visitor.

Market day and other rituals

Susan takes me to Market Day in Olonzac. I carry one of the shopping containers and juggle my camera and micro recorder while following her around (at least initially) like a young kid on his first big trip “downtown.” Before long however, I find myself engaged in conversation with customers and vendors alike, a free-flowing communication that has none of the perfunctory “Have a nice day” tone or lack of substance I try to avoid in the marketplace back home. This village market — like all “farmer’s markets” around the world — especially in rural France, is a microcosm of human society and of the idealized global village.

It is a weekly reconnecting mechanism for the locals, a comfortable ritual of unhurried chatter, bisous hello and goodbye (the very French light kiss on both cheeks), street theatre in which the players, sets, setting, and roles are so closely intermingled that everyone is fully engaged in the “play.” It is an eons-old social event that creates cohesion and trust, and gets the business at hand done. And the fact that it is all about food and neighbourly nurturing gives the play its theme — the reaffirmation of human civilization.

When we evolved from the hunter gatherer stage and settled primarily into an agricultural lifestyle, the next natural step was to establish the communal marketplace where human commerce began through bartering this for that. The people in this village market still live with and from the land, exchanging what they have once a week, and making a good living. And they talk about their produce, their cheeses, olives,organic bread, and whatever else has or has not happened in the last week. Food and language.

And oh the food! Real food! You buy the honey from the man who keeps the bees. The vegetable seller offers her produce as if she were asking you to admire her children. The chèvre probably comes from a nanny goat you have cycled past in the field. Being a suddenly sensitized urbanite, I don’t want to know about the veal or the pâtés.

Now this may sound like a bit of a stretch, but stay with me. In a recent speech I heard, a guru of travel trends outline in very clear and logical language (with appropriate stats), how and why the travel industry has been revolutionized, thanks to a great extent by the Internet. He defined specific ways in which the consumers have taken back control of the products and services they buy. The number one issue is the “personalized travel experience.”

Travel consumers today, like all consumers, are designing their own travel itineraries to fit their particular needs, for the most part online. And they choose travel products and services that are personalized to their tastes. And guess who in the very problematic airline industry is getting the business from these folks? The low-cost carriers, especially those who have re-created a culture of personalization and a return to a real dialogue with the customer. Well I’ll be darned.

Isn’t that just like the village market in Olonzac!

Lunch à la minervoise in Cathar country

Lunch in Minerve at the Relais Chantovent (Windsong Inn) on one of the town’s narrow winding streets was once again a taste of a culture that values food as an art form. And contiguous to that art form are the arts of décor and history. It is of course ironic, if not incongruous, that we should be dining so well in the town that witnessed a massacre and a genocide. However, one of the redeeming features of tragic history may be that some of the most beautiful and spectacular settings where turbulent events occurred are preserved and enhanced for the living; lest we forget. Walking the streets of this medieval town perched on a high rocky outcrop sculpted by millennial forces and the river in the gorge below, it is obvious why Minerve became the capital of the Cathars and their final retreat. It isn’t just the views of Minerve from across the valley as well as outward from the heart of the town that create a profound perspective, it is the sense of timelessness in the place.

For more information on this special place click here.

For more on the Relais Chantovent. click here

Recycling in Oupia

OK, I know I’m playing word games again here, but try to follow my thought process. Susan and Tim are avid cyclists and have been for quite a few years. Like yours truly, they are a couple d’un certain âge, but the passage of time, while not insignificant, is not a big deal. They both have the long lean look of passionate cyclists, those physical role models you see bent into the wind as they move silently and with grace along the side of the road. And they brought their cycling values with them when they moved to France; to what has to be one of the most cyclist-friendly areas of the world.

And if you come to stay, you will be offered one of their “breakaway” bikes hanging patiently in the garage, which is actually an old wine-pressing workshop (pressoir). But don’t worry; they won’t force them upon you nor make you feel slothful if all you really want to do — as I did — is amble about the narrow lanes and alleyways of Oupia enjoying the délices of the town. Susan and Tim are passionate about cycling, but they’re not fanatical.

My point here is that in Oupia and the Minerve, you have choices, other modes of locomotion that will allow you to get up close and personal with the landscape and the people. And you will find that you will have little difficulty re-adjusting your rhythms to Oupia time and Oupia space.

Susan and Tim’s passions are quiet ones, unobtrusive, almost imperceptible. Susan has a flair for hospitality and the decorative arts: the careful décor she has achieved in Lou Récantou and L’Ancien Pressoir demonstrates her Minervois feng shui and emphasizes the harmony and balance reflected in the landscape of Languedoc.

In a quiet chat one evening, Tim and I reflected on our educational and professional careers and how each ultimately proved quite secondary to the real vocations we eventually found. When it comes to the art and craft of design and renovation, Tim is the quintessential homme à tout faire. Quiet spoken but forthright (deeds speak) he also has a common sense vision and understanding of what really should go where and how to go about doing it. The evidence of course is the entire property which has structurally been transformed to the highest standards but has also remained faithful to the local architectural culture.

But if you are a cyclist, Tim and Susan are prepared for you. If you are an ambler or a rambler, they will also help you plan your serene activities on foot through the countryside.

Along the Canal du Midi

It may surprise you, as it did me, how much European history is within easy reach of Oupia. The Canal du Midi, tangible evidence of Mediterranean empire-building, is today a delightful day’s outing. Or if you are a lazy barger (no offense), you may wish to turn the outing into a multi-day excursion.

For more information on the Canal du Midi, click here .

If boating or barging on the canal strikes your fancy, click here or here.

As if it were yesterday

As we have done for more than half a century, Susan and I sat down to chat — about life in Oupia. Some things never change, thank goodness. The time and the context can vary but the fundamental issues and values remain. And as the clock that Susan has carried with her through all her peregrinations chimed softly in the background during our chat — resonance of time and space — it was a a gentle reminder of time well-spent.

To listen to our chat about the nearby Mediterranean city of Montpellier, click on the link below.

How to find Susan and Tim

Visit their website at Lou Récantou and L’Ancien Pressoir .

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Sweet market sounds

Market day in Olonzac is a multi-sensory experience. For anyone who loves France, there probably is no more Proustian sound than an accordion being played in the street. I met and spoke with Marek, a expat from Flanders who lives and plays in marketplaces and other venues in the south of France where he came for “le soleil” — the sun.

To hear a bit of Marek’s music click on the link below.

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Recommended excursions from Oupia

There are so many, but these are a few of my favourites, all within easy driving distance of Oupia.

(a) Minerve

(b) Carcassonne

(c) Narbonne

(d) Montpelier

(e) The Pyrénées

(f) Toulouse

(g) Nîmes

(h) Arles

(i) And if you like horses and wish to see Languedoc under saddle, I heartily recommend Pont de Calmel, about 20 minutes from Oupia.

For more images of Oupia and environs click on the link below

“Once Upon a Gîte in Languedoc”

Recommended websites

For additional information on the area, consult Découvrir L’Hérault

For more information on the extensive network of gîtes in France, see Gïtes de France.

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Musing in Ottawa

Whenever I get the opportunity to stroll through Ottawa — along the tidy Rideau Canal; past the imposing Parliament Buildings where the affairs of state are duly conducted (often vociferously); close to official residences and embassies; across abundant green spaces; next to familiar effigies, monuments, and other buildings of national, international, and constitutional significance; through gaggles of students on awesome field trips; in and out of public spectacles flush with pomp and pageantry (or orderly but nonetheless passionate demonstrations) on “The Hill”; or along the banks of the vigorous Ottawa River with the dreamy Gatineau hills beyond — I find myself thinking about the nature of the state.

Oh don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to suggest that I am immersed in the deep thoughts of a social scientist, poli-sci student, or political philosopher who is ruminating about that broad and elusive notion called “the state” — it’s usually too nice a day for that.

However, the composed and decorous ambiance of this capital city does elicit deeper thoughts than “Where shall I have lunch?” The sights, sounds, and sensations of Ottawa do indeed get one thinking: “What is this country all about? Who are Canadians as a people? What are Canadian values, principles, and attitudes? Do we as Canadians really behave differently from anyone else?”

I must admit that as I take it all in again, I also wonder from time to time what non-Canadians must think when they visit our nation’s capital.

Imagine Ottawa: the why and the wherefore

As you too stroll about the city of Ottawa and in the towns and countryside of the Capital Region, the geography and strategic location of Ottawa will provide a clear context for understanding this very distinct national capital.

The name Ottawa — or in French Outaouais — is presumed to come from the native people of the same name for whom the river was the principal fur-trading highway to the east, especially to the great centre of Montréal. More than 1200 kilometres in length, this formidable river drains an area of more than 140,000 square kilometres, and is the second longest in Canada (after the St. Lawrence) to flow to the Atlantic. It is also the river that gave birth to the ancient Algonquin First Nations people who lived and thrived along its banks. So when you walk along the Ottawa’s banks you are also following ancient footpaths and portage trails. If you take a pleasure cruise on the river, try to visualize a profusion of birchbark canoes coming and going with rich furs for rich European traders.

Although the Algonquin were the principal inhabitants of the Ottawa Valley, it was the Ottawa who became the main traders on this watery route when the French — led of course by the “Father of New France” Samuel de Champlain — followed the river upstream and to the west. Still searching for that elusive route to the Orient, Champlain and company did discover with the help of the aboriginal people a route (from the Ottawa through Lake Nipissing, in what today is northern Ontario, and the French River) to Lake Huron. Thus, they penetrated even further into the heart of the continent thanks to the lordly Ottawa river that the Algonquins called Kitchesippi (the Great River). And eventually they completed a loop, a great circular trade route from the Ottawa Valley to the Great Lakes and back eastward again to Montréal and ultimately to Europe. This was the primary ways and means of the commercial empire the French built; an empire over which the two major European powers would struggle for dominance. And what we know today as the city of Ottawa was at the epicentre of this empire.

Industry

Initially the empire was all about furs but eventually — once England wrested control of Canada from France — it would also be about the timber trade. New empires and lumber barons in the 19th century would use the Kitchesippi as the chief artery of their trade, shipping timber to Britain.

So today as you sail, kayak, or cruise your way along this beautiful river, imagine the industry it gave birth to. Picture the countless flotillas of logs assembled in massive rafts that were then floated down these fast-moving waters, disassembled and reformed in order to be transported over and around rapids; log rafts so big that the drivers and lumberjacks actually lived on them. And this early North American forestry industry led to some of the largest milling operations in the world, expedited by the Ottawa’s many rushing tributaries, falls, and rapids. Today the latter entertain and inspire residents and visitors to the area; creating a different kind of energy.

The threat from the south

What we know today as the city of Ottawa was a byproduct of the War of 1812, the only time that foreign troops occupied Canadian territory.

Please bear in mind however that this was not a conflict between Canada and the U.S.; the struggle was between the U.S. and Britain. Because Canada was still a colony, it got caught in the middle. And when that war ended, Britain saw the need to create new defensive structures. Therefore in 1826 the Royal Engineers, under the leadership of Lieutenant-Colonel John By, established a construction camp where Ottawa now stands (Bytown) in order to build the 202-kilometre long Rideau Canal,, which links the Ottawa River to Lake Ontario.

This canal was conceived as an alternative route between Kingston (Loyalist country precariously close to the U.S. border) and Montréal — in the event of renewed hostilities. A tremendous feat of civil engineering, the canal was never used for direct military purposes and as time passed, it even became less and less viable as an inland shipping route. Today the Rideau Canal is one of the most beautiful man-made inland waterways in the world. And among the other amenities it offers, the Rideau Canal is also the longest skating rink in the world (in winter only of course).

Grandmama’s choice

With the building of the Grand Trunk Railway in the mid-19th century (and links to U.S. railways), Ottawa became a serious candidate for capital city of the new Dominion of Canada which would come into existence on July 1, 1867. But other burgeoning municipalities in Upper Canada were in serious contention for the honour. And it was Queen Victoria (the “Grandmother of Europe” who was busy creating progeny to marry off to European royal families) who, as Monarch,was called upon to make the choice. Her colonial advisors and officials pressed the case for Ottawa and on December 31, 1857, she gave the nod to Ottawa as the capital-to-be of her North American colony.

(As a “central character” in the Canadian historical narrative, Ottawa embodies Canada in many ways. For a brief overview of this nation’s history, you may wish to read The Grand Theatre of Canadian History.)

Tangible traditions and the stuff of state

Canadians travel to Ottawa to have a good time, and to learn about themselves. It is certainly one of the best cities in Canada for “experiential learning”; and for foreign visitors it is especially well-equipped and laid out for these purposes. All the major attractions are either within walking distance or accessible by safe and secure public transit. Ottawa is the perfect example of a “lifelong learning” destination, an increasing priority among travellers today — especially the baby boom generation who are having a second conceptual look at life.

If you wish to get a greater understanding of the political and social history of Canada, Ottawa is the perfect field trip — for any age.

For example:

(a) If you want to learn about the Canadian Parliament, take a tour.

(b) If you want to know why the Governor-General is the representative of the Head of State, check out the Rideau Hall website and be sure to include this in your walking tour. (By the way the Canadian Head of State is the Monarch who currently is Queen Elizabeth of Canada. As titular head of the British Commonwealth (an international organization that still has considerable social, economic, and political advantages) she is Queen of the various Commonwealth countries quite separately — royal multi-tasking.

(c) The official residence of the Prime Minister (the Head of Government) is 24 Sussex Drive.

(d) The Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) was a key force in opening Canada’s west and today is the national law enforcement agency with an important history. The Mounties musical ride is always a delightful show.

(e)The Supreme Court of Canada is of course a fundamental institution in Canada. It rules on questions that have a great impact on the Canadian way of life. For example, as Canadian provinces continued to legitimize same-sex marriages, the federal government passed legislation to change the definition of marriage to include the unions of same-sex couples but also asked the Supreme Court to rule on the constitutionality of the proposed legislation. The Supreme Court building itself is an example of the classic, elegant architecture to be found in Ottawa. Public tours are available.

For more suggestions consult the National Capital Commission’s Attractions webpage.

National sentiments

Like most national capitals, Ottawa is the principal stage for celebrating nation-building historic events and for honouring all those who have made great contributions to Canada — or great sacrifices.

For Canadians, Ottawa signifies the unifying (although frequently contentious) seat of power where momentous legislation and decisions are made, where national promises and aspirations are enacted, where our cultural values are enshrined. It is the venue for the playing out of great national events as well as the formal commemoration of some of the most poignant and significant moments in the life of this nation.

Wars, unfortunately, have frequently defined the character of this nation even though Canada is known as a peacekeeping nation. It was our Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson who as Canada’s Minister of External Affairs conceived of the UN Peacekeeping Force. When the Suez Crisis threatened to destabilize that critical area and possibly result in another world war, Pearson proposed a United Nations Emergency Force to counterbalance the threat; he also offered Canadian troops to serve. Pearson succeeded in getting the UN to adopt his bold proposal which restored order to the region and established a new role for the UN. For his efforts, he received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1957.

Coming of age

The First World War is regarded as a watershed moment for Canada during which it became a full member in its own right of the international community. This war especially transformed our nation, culture, economy, and identity. In Canada, Vimy Ridge has the same national resonance as Gallipoli does for Australia and New Zealand.

One of the most dramatic sites in Ottawa, especially on Remembrance Day (November 11), is the National War Memorial — just a few steps from Parliament Hill. And the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, inaugurated in recent years thus completing the memorial, makes a universal statement.

The article “An Unknown Soldier” was written after a visit to Ottawa in search of a family member who was killed in the First World War.

A world-class arts capital

As a national capital, Ottawa is an archive unto itself. Museums, art galleries, theatre, music, architectural centrepieces (of all kinds and eras) are to be found within the core of the city, most within walking distance.

• The Ottawa Symphony;
• The National Gallery of Canada;
• The Bytown Museum;
• The Canadian Museum of Contemporary Photography;
• The Canadian Museum of Civilization;
• The National Arts Centre;
• The Canadian War Museum.

And the above are just a few examples.

A festival city

Ottawa is also a city of festivals including: Canada Dance Festival, Canadian Tulip Festival, Central Canada, Exhibition Association, Cisco Systems Ottawa Bluesfest, Hellenic Community of Ottawa-Greekfest, National Capital Race Weekend, Ottawa Chamber Music Festival, Ottawa Festival Network, Ottawa International Jazz Festival, Winterlude.

However, two of my favourite cultural institutions are the National Gallery of Canada (stupendous architecture and a collection that is of international importance) and the Canadian Museum of Civilization. The latter is actually in Gatineau on the Québec side of the Ottawa River (more evidence of Ottawa’s strategic location). The former hosts travelling exhibitions that are often seen only in a few cities on this continent.

Both of these institutions are inherently Canadiana.

Generic experiences

The Canadian Museum of Civilization is a unique institution that is also one of the finest examples of the new world of interactive museums dedicated to exploring the diversity and commonality of human civilization. The article “Out of the Bogs at the Canadian Museum of Civilization” was written after a visit to this museum. The exhibit was an example of the universal and human significance of such travelling exhibits.

Special times in Ottawa

Ottawa is a city for all seasons.

The following are especially noteworthy and enjoyable events in Canada’s capital city.

Tulip Festival; Winterlude; Ottawa Doors Open; The Canada War Museum; Canada Day; Changing of the Guard on Parliament Hill; Sound and Light Show on Parliament Hill; Ottawa Fringe Festival; Ottawa International Chamber Music Festival; Bytown Days.

Out and about from Ottawa

Ottawa is also a “hub city.” There are many excursions that can be planned using Ottawa as your home base.

And each of the recommended secondary destinations listed below (within driving distance of Ottawa) will give you an even broader perspective on the state of affairs in Canada.

The Outaouais region and the Gatineau Hills; The Laurentians; Montréal; Kingston; Upper Canada Village.

Those in the know

Local residents are often the best resource for a destination. Here’s what friends in Ottawa have to say about the city.

“We really like to do the antique shows and think they have great appeal to Americans because the prices are so great.”

“There is a popular Ottawa painter who has painted many Ottawa sites. His name is Ben Babelowsky. He’s worth checking out.”

“We have always said that the one of best things about Ottawa is its proximity to Montreal.”

“We re-discovered the Hill this summer when our son was visiting with his girlfriend. We spent the whole day there … many things to do … the Famous Five is a great photo op. [Known as the "Famous Five," they were a group of women who won the right for women to be recognized as "persons" under the law when Canada's Supreme Court said women couldn't sit in the Senate because constitutionally, they weren't considered people. They took their fight all the way to the British government and on Oct. 18, 1929, they won. Their achievement is commemorated with a bronze monument on Parliament Hill.]

“The best things about Ottawa are the cordon bleu restaurant La Signature and the wonderful scenery. And if you cross over the bridge, there is of course the Lac Leamy Casino with its excellent restaurant.”

“The Chamber Music Festival in July … the excellent skiing facilities in the winter … the tulip festival in the spring and the great bicycle paths…”

“The most unique experiences in the Ottawa area would be a hike in the Gatineau Hills in mid-October when the leaves are at their most spectacular, a trip to Winterlude in February (bundle up!) to see ice sculptures, skaters and other events on the Rideau Canal, the world’s longest natural skating rink, or a visit to the Tulip Festival in May. Visitors should also see the Museum of Civilization, the National Gallery, the Parliament Buildings and the Byward Market area, and take in a play or concert at the National Arts Centre.”

“There are many beautiful and interesting churches in Ottawa. One almost unknown “gem” is the Chapel of the Bruyère Convent, 25, rue Bruyère (attached to the Bruyère Hospital). It’s actually very large … holds 950 people … is much bigger than what we usually think of as a “chapel”. It was built in 1935-36 in French Gothic style. Ask at the reception desk at 9, rue Bruyère for hours when it is open. It would be worth going to a Saturday or Sunday mass just to see the place … or attend one of the concerts presented there occasionally.”

“As a university student here, what I like about Ottawa is Ottawa at night, when it doesn’t pay you any mind. It is a quiet city. And when I walk home from work at eleven o’clock at night, all is shut down on the Hill. I walk past the silent monuments and empty buildings still looming large. For me their symbolic value in daylight is totally altered by the fall of darkness; they become a mythical landscape. I feel free. At this time of night I don’t reflect on any broader historical or social perspective of the place where I am, but instead I reinvent it, project onto the path a personal sense of wonder, an intimate encounter with the sublime in the still quiet of downtown Ottawa at night. This is not the feeling in other cities I have known where there is always something to scan, to be aware off, to be on guard against. This is the environment I think that The Haunted Walk of Ottawa draws on, which by the way, is an excellent way to experience Ottawa at night. A lantern-bearing guide takes you around downtown Ottawa to various sites reputed to be haunted. The stories are factual and based on actual testimonies. There is no attempt to spook the spectator, only to explore local myths in Ottawa.”

Essential links to get you going … to Ottawa

I recommend the following:

Ottawa Tourism

Frommer’s Ottawa

Where Ottawa

Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to mention the Château Laurier.

You do not want to miss this.

The Château is as centrepiece of Canada’s national capital. As part of the Fairmont Hotels and Resorts chain (formerly Canadian Pacific Railway hotels) it is an elegant structure that manages to communicate opulence, dignity, charm, history, and continuity without appearing self-indulgent or excessive.

Like so many in the Fairmont chain, it is in many ways a public venue where guests, locals, and tourists mingle. At the same time, it is where visiting royalty, celebrities, heads of state, and high-ranking politicians stay and work. There are many stories in the Château Laurier. If you can find it, the book Meet Me At the Château by Joan Rankin is a terrific read. The book tells the inside story of a hotel in which Canadian political and social history are part of the amenities.

Often referred to as “the gateway to the nation’s capital,” the Château is at the heart of this elegant capital city and within walking distance of Parliament, key historical sites, and some of the most important art galleries and museums in Canada.

Meet you in Ottawa. Shall we rendezvous at the Château?

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Spatial sense and sensibility

“As far as the eye can see” is one of the most apt descriptors for Saskatchewan. However it is also through the mind’s eye that you absorb the full and personal perspective of this rich landscape. This is a prairie outlook; it liberates by integrating a unique topographical space with a private sense of space. Saskatchewan engages visitors in such a way that they experience a transcendance of time and space.

The heart and soul of this spectacular part of Canada is omnipresent in the land; in the people, their values, their traditions, and their relationship with the prairie.

That relationship is one of cooperation and collaboration — in the best of times and the worst of times — and is the embodiment of common sense and empathy. And these communal traits flow from a keen mindfulness of land and landscape.

“It is exile that interests me. We of the colonizing European races on the Great Plains have passed through a succession of exiles; most recently, from the farms and towns of our childhood; before that, from the homestead-subsistence lives of our immigrant grandparents; before that, from the landscape and culture of the old country. Predating these displacements is the deeper, older exile that set us onto a trail of looking for the next fertile valley, a better home, a richer life … we are yearning, not so much for ‘home,’ whatever that may be, as for the time when we were still on speaking terms with our landscapes.” — From Trevor Herriot’s River in A Dry Land: A Prairie Passage.

As my Air Canada flight from Toronto takes me from east to west, I look down on the geographical context in which the course of history was played out in this vast land called Canada. We pass over the Great Lakes, part of the most extensive inland waterway on the planet, and then over the remnants of old and craggy mountains we call the Canadian Shield.

But soon the aircraft enters a new kind of space as it drifts over flat prairie land, an indefinite and unending terrain. The early summer patchwork prairie is luxuriant; it has been a wet spring and the greens, golds, and rich earth tones of the land seem to extend forever, disappearing into a misty horizon.

There is a softness to the prairie; a promise of ease, abundance, and a gentle welcome.

The Queen City

Regina, the capital of the province of Saskatchewan, gets my vote for most contextual and most successfully integrated urban setting and design. This very lovely city, named after Queen Victoria (the “Grandmother of Europe”), is also a good example of what, for me, becomes a constant theme in Saskatchewan: anticipate everything; be surprised by nothing. And this theme works in concert with Saskatchewan’s motto “From many peoples strength.”

Founded in 1882 as an offshoot of the building of Canada’s transcontinental railway (the “National Dream” that completed the uniting of this country from east to west), Regina is today a lovely contemporary city that is a shady oasis on the prairie. It is very much an urban environment that manages to be the best of both worlds. Its shady streets are made so because of the non-indigenous trees that have been transplanted to the prairie — over 350,000 and each hand-planted over many generations. And like its central Market Square and downtown business area, Regina is a city that creates a cohesive and integrated municipality but one that also blends into the prairie milieu.

When the railway determined that Regina should be built on the banks of the Wascana Creek (also known as the Pile O’ Bones Creek), the town became a focal point for westward expansion and as a key access point to Canada’s prairie “breadbasket.” Surrounded by the great wheat-growing plains (almost 20 million acres in the province), Regina became the headquarters for the Saskatchewan Wheat Pool and also was chosen as the headquarters of the North-West Mounted Police who would eventually be known as the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

It is also today a major stopping point on “Canada’s Main Street” — The TransCanada Highway “Canada’s Main Street” — the Trans-Canada Highway, which in many ways parallels the mandate of the railway, both of which have direct links to the original First Nations and fur-trading routes across this vast area of Western Canada.

Like most communities in Saskatchewan that I visited, there is in Regina a geographical integrity that underscores the beauty and the openness of the prairie. Regina is especially noted for Wascana Centre, an enormous green space of over 2000 acres in the centre of the city that surrounds the serene man-made Lake Wascana. Referred to as the “crown jewel of the Queen City,” Wascana Lake was constructed in 1897 and has recently undergone a revitalization program that is in itself a model of environmental integrity. And Wascana Centre is the kind of green urban space that reflects and enhances the fertility of the prairie lands that in turn surround the city. Wascana Centre is also a web of vital human spaces and amenities: parks, hiking paths, art galleries, museums, restaurants, and quiet, shady neighbourhoods of elegant homes. Regina is a model of town planning in the way in which it blends cityscape and landscape.

What to see in Regina

Saskatchewan Legislative Assembly

When it comes to provincial legislatures, Canada is known for its stunning classical architecture. Saskatchewan’s Legislative Assembly is no exception. It’s location overlooking Wascana Lake is breathtaking.

And my visit there was also an opportunity to quietly pay homage to T.C. (Tommy) Douglas, a man whom Canadians chose recently, through a poll conducted by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, as “The Greatest Canadian.”

Douglas and Saskatchewan’s government of the time are primarily responsible for the system of universal health care that Canadians enjoy today. This is another reflection of this province’s heritage of communal and cooperative life that was so important to its agricultural base as one of the world’s largest “grain belts” (especially given the boom and bust times it has experienced).

And Canadian educators today who want to make sure that their students appreciate this achievement (time passes, historical facts can become distant memories) only have to put on their quizzes “Who was Kiefer Sutherland’s grandfather?” (Kiefer, son of actor and social activist Shirley Douglas and actor Donald Sutherland continues to support the work of his grandfather through an organization called Friends of Medicare.)

Click here.

Hotel Saskatchewan

Another of Canada’s great railway hotels, this historic landmark is a period piece worthy of a movie set, which I have no doubt it has been. Elegant, atmospheric, and refined, it is also an example of the hotel as social institution and heritage property. At the very least, do a walk through.

Click here.

RCMP Heritage Centre and Museum

With its wonderful collection of memorabilia and its tribute the “Mounties” who played a pivotal role in the opening of Canada’s West, this evocative and visually delightful resource should not be missed. It shares the same property as the RCMP’s training academy and a highlight are the parade ground spectacles performed by staff and cadets. The sunset ceremony is especially impressive.

Click here.

MacKenzie Art Gallery

Canada is a country of regions and regional culture. The MacKenzie Art Gallery is a wonderful example of this, both architecturally and in terms of its exhibits. It is another good example of how the land is always an underlying theme in Saskatchewan life.

Click here.

Royal Saskatchewan Museum

If Regina is your first stop, which it often is for first-time visitors, this beautiful building and collection will give you an overview of the province and will also add a very useful “focus for viewing” to your itinerary. This is a delightful place in which you can become equipped to immerse yourself in Saskatchewan history and culture. I especially recommend The First Nations Gallery.

Click here.

The Qu’Appelle Valley: Who Calls?

If you drive northeast from Regina on Highway 10, and this is your first visit to Saskatchewan, you will start to get your first up close and personal view of prairie land. If it is spring, you will see immense fields of brilliant gold canola, every shade of green in nature’s palette, and soft lavender fields of flax. And all of this will be punctuated by the deep blue of sloughs (pronounced slews) here and there; natural and man-made shallow bodies of water that store the winter run-off and spring rains to irrigate the prairie so that by summer’s end the land will produce the golden waving wheat fields we are accustomed to seeing as quintessential Saskatchewan. The sky will be the kind of intense blue that is rarely seen anymore in smog-bound urban centres.

Imagine now the last continental glacier of the Quaternary period that dragged itself across the land as it retreated to the north, transforming the land, leaving rich sediment that is the fundament of the Great Plains and their grasslands; shallow lakes; and a 267-mile long trench that traverses the southern part of the province.

And as you approach this singular geological interruption in the prairie landscape, you will meet for the first time the Qu’Appelle River Valley where it widens and gives birth to a series of tranquil lakes. You will also start to see the undulating hills that were also forged by the glacier. The Qu’Appelle Valley accentuates the interplay of geology, culture, history, agriculture, and recreation.

In this exceptional natural setting, you can imagine the time before the incursion of the European newcomers when boundless herds of bison moved across the land followed by aboriginal people who lived beside them — and from them. During a spring visit, you will also see the prairie and the hills abloom with wildflowers. If you are a birder, you will be in your element. And time may just stand still a little for you so that you can re-acclimatize your senses to a prairie reality.

“If a true valley is a lowland between ranges of hills or mountains that protrude above the surrounding elevation, the Qu’Appelle is less a valley than a great groove set into the level plain. To geologists it is a classical post-glacial melt water channel — an alluvial trench one mile wide and from 100 to 450 feet deep, running roughly west to east 250 miles across Saskatchewan from its origins just east of the Elbow of the South Saskatchewan River. To the First peoples, it is God’s country… The Qu’Appelle country brackets the northeastern limits of North America’s Great Plains, the high and dry lands stretching across the rain-shadowed interior. Wherever annual evaporation exceeds annual precipitation in this region, prairie holds sway…. The valley itself, a relatively moist corridor of prairie aspiring to be woodland, is a refuge from the arid domain above, a hiding place from the unceasing wind. It appears to the traveller as a wandering line of returnings, a shelter you leave and rejoin and leave again.” — River in A Dry Land: A Prairie Passage

And sitting in your own little prairie space by the edge of one of these modest lakes, you might, as I did, read passages from Trevor Herriot’s book, pause, look around, and just let the cognitive side of your brain go on hold. You may also read about the romantic Cree legend that gave it’s name to the Valley.

You may also get a visit from a songbird, or other prairie residents.

In the Qu’Appelle Valley you will also start to appreciate the grasslands-based culture of First Nations and Métis people, the personal sense of privacy that this type of interconnected time-space permits, and why the opening of new frontiers can be a mixed blessing.

In a park beside a sandy beach, I talk with Memory Pelletier, who lives on a reserve in the Qu’Appelle Valley (also known as “the oasis of the Prairies”) with her husband and three children. Memory is both of First Nations and Métis heritage and is also a recent graduate in radio and television arts.

The Louis Riel Trail

In an interview with Memory Pellieter, a young mother and Métis, she mentions that “everyone has heard about him” (Louis Riel), and for Canadians it is true that the name resonates deeply, even though the details of this man’s life may remain sketchy.

“Louis Riel” does however evoke events, imagery, and historical concepts that are part of the collective Canadian psyche. And even though most Canadians (yours truly included) are generally aware of the significance of his role in a critical and enduring moment in Canadian history, the layers of understanding that such history merits begin to unveil themselves when you visit the land and landscapes that were integral to that history.

And so I head north from Regina on Highway 11 (the Louis Riel Trail) sensing that I will eventually experience a part of Saskatchewan that cannot be known in the abstract alone. And although my journey has a bit of a hiatus here — interconnectedness is as fluid and current a theme in Saskatchewan history as is the Qu’Appelle River and Valley that I will encounter several more times en route — I will encounter the full reality of Riel later on the land where he fought for the rights of his people.

The road is picture postcard perfect, and Saskatchewan as I have always envisioned it. There are many moments when I see in front of me a band of asphalt that plays the optical trick of narrowing and disappearing into itself, merging with the horizon. Straight lines are illusory. The sometimes totally flat, sometimes gently rolling land on either side of the road seems to act like buffers that gently apply pressure to the road giving it momentum but not a sense of urgency. Arrival is inevitable; even visible — although a long way off. Saskatchewan has the longest roads per capita in Canada and the distances they cover teach patience and introspection.

I am now definitely in “as far as the eye can see” country and visualize First Nations people moving slowly and deliberately across the land, or Métis people in their Red River carts. Highway 11 is a no nonsense road that will get you from here to there in good time, and in a pragmatic and imperturbable fashion. But it is also the kind of highway that goes somewhere, in a deeper sense.

The road is also a non stop photo op, but I do stop, frequently, getting out of the car and standing by the side of the road where I indulge myself in the panoramas which are quite liberating. Between the sporadic roar of passing vehicles, there is a profound silence, except for a gentle prairie breeze that whiffles the grasses by the roadside and whispers in my ear.

In the real time geodesic sky the elements play. The sun bathes random parts of the tableau in generous light, constantly reshaping cumulus clouds rise to great heights, and in the distance an electrical storm is occurring. I can actually trace consecutive bolts of lightning from rain cloud to earth, and if I have my wits about me, can anticipate when that weather system and I will meet.

The highway is a connector of prairie meeting places. At regular intervals, I pass small farming towns that initially are just glimpses on the horizon and then seem to grow as if they are coming to meet me. And the focal point of many such towns is the now iconic prairie grain elevator, a distinct architectural form — the traditional wooden ones anyway — and which are threatened with extinction as modern ones replace them.

I stop in Craik for lunch because it’s grain elevator is one of the most photogenic I have seen. At the gas station, the owner says, “So you like our grain elevator? I saw you taking pictures of it.” I rhapsodize briefly about it’s beauty and she replies, “Yeah, they really fixed it up nice before they closed it down.” I get back into the car and press on for Saskatoon.

A personal recommendation on the Louis Riel Trail

The Craik Sustainable Living Project and Eco-centre: It bears repeating: in Saskatchewan, anticipate everything; be surprised by nothing. Click here to visit the website.

“When a well-drawn map serves as my entry into a place, this kind of geographical alchemy will sometimes take me, through contour lines and the tracings of human enterprise, into the layer of history and myth overlying a landscape.” — River in A Dry Land: A Prairie Passage

Fluent Saskatoon

Saskatchewan is a landlocked province but it is not without waterways that have in the past — as they do today — created a flow of human culture. In fact, the name of the province is an anglicized version of a Cree word that means “swiftly flowing river.” From the time of the earliest aboriginal inhabitants of 10,000 years ago, through the period of fur trade exploration in the 17th century, to the arrival of early homesteaders and later immigrants from the U.K. and Europe, the province has always been in motion.

As the largest city in the province, Saskatoon is a regional centre culturally and economically. Advanced technology industries have discovered that this is a good place to set up shop. Numerous well-known Canadian writers have called Saskatoon home at one time or another. (Joni Mitchell grew up here; a good place in which to grow up if eventually you want to indeed have “looked at life from both sides now.”)

When I arrive in Saskatoon in the early afternoon, there is already a party going on, down by the river. Now this is not an ordinary river; this is the South Saskatchewan River (spanned by seven bridges) that flows northward through the city and gives it the kind of urban coherence and self-control that only a river can. There is no sprawl in Saskatoon. The party is called “A Taste of Saskatoon” and it is happening along the banks of the river. Locals and visitors are sampling foods from the city’s many eclectic restaurants and listening to numerous local bands. It is a family affair, a lot like Saskatoon itself.

Like many cities built on rivers, the culture of Saskatoon takes its cue from the waterway that was of course one of the most important early fur trading routes, later to become part of the steamboat age. And although the city is relatively far from its sister urban centres, it is closely connected to the whole province because that is the nature of how this land evolved.

Historically, people have always stuck together in Saskatchewan no matter the distance between them. The success of the Co-operative Movement in Saskatchewan (businesses and industries owned and operated by and for their members) for which the province is so well known (having a significant impact on human and natural resources, medicare, progressive labour legislation, an emphasis on civil rights, and agricultural innovation), is at the core of the Saskatchewan ethic. And in Saskatoon, it is almost tangible. So I join the party.

And Saskatoon will also surprise you in other ways. For example, as you walk along the main street you will pass by a corner where there is a statue of Mahatma Gandhi. It was placed there by the Indian Council for Cultural Relations of the Government of India “On behalf of the people of Indian Heritage of Saskatchewan.”

The Castle on the River

During my stay in Saskatoon I stay at the castle — the “Castle on the River” as it is known locally. Today it is the Delta Bessborough hotel but it is also one of the great château-style hotels built by the Canadian Pacific Railway in 1926, and sister hotel to many others like it across Canada. (See “Châteaux in Canada: the Great Railway Hotels.“ )

The Bessborough is elegance, style, grand, quirky, adorned with gargoyles and grotesques, and a landmark. Like its counterparts in cities like Ottawa, Toronto, and Québec City it is the social and geographic centre of the city. It is also location, location, location. Its period style and art deco décor add to its status as a heritage hotel. But it is also very much a community family hotel where the chicken pot pie is much loved. And if you look at the copper roof (still copper in colour) you will be able to deduce the excellent quality of air in Saskatoon; no pollutants have caused it to oxidize.

Personal recommendations in Saskatoon

Just walk the banks of the river, or for some really good views of the city and to get a feel for this historic river, take a Saskatoon Princess Shearwater Boat Tour on the river. Click here.

The Mendel Art Gallery and Civic Conservatory

An innovative, community-centred art gallery this galleryalso knows how to create a sense of space. Click here.

John’s Prime Rib

When I’m in the West, I like a good beef dinner, some peace and quiet, and a restaurant where the staff actually converses with me. If that’s what you like too, I’ll meet you at John’s. This family-owned and operated restaurant (31 years) is almost a heritage site itself in Saskatoon thanks to the Chrones family who established it when they immigrated to Saskatoon from Greece. Be sure to notice Mary Lou’s beautiful impressionistic paintings on the walls. She’s been known to sell one every now and then but prefers that customers just look at them. Oh, and notice that the land is the central theme in her work. Click here.

Batoche

After an evening of mild, sensible, prairie revelry, I bid goodby to the castle and head north again on the Louis Riel Trail. My destination today is one of the most important — and as I shall discover — poignant historical sites in Canada.

“Why should we be concerned about the proportion of our European or Indian blood since we have some of both. Gratitude and filial love command us to say, ‘We are Métis.’” — Louis Riel

“When looking at the Métis culture and history, we see the development of one of the last new races of people on the planet. They have their own language, their own culture, their own history, their own song, their own dance. Everything is unique to them in the formation of this new people.” — Mark Calette

“The trail leading back to the place where we parted company with this holy land is not hard to follow; everywhere we see the spoor: ecosystems, plants, and animals in rapid decline; landscapes and treaties broken in the name of the economy; atrocities at Indian residential schools; the events at Batoche and Wounded Knee… I wonder if grief has taken us as far as it can, if it is time now to move on. As a culture, we have come this distance on a narrative of regret that qualifies our greed, mops up some of the mess we make in choosing grain quotas over buffalo and prairie, industrial agriculture over people, power generation over plovers, and hydro dams over the mythic and the holy. We have been looking to the land for sustenance, comfort, wealth, and pleasure, while dreaming of archeology and a settler innocence that never really existed…. Narratives that reconcile us are coming from the science of fostering biodiversity and hope, the natural history of a burrowing owl or a market garden, and the consecrating gestures required to restore a prairie stream or unclog wild tributaries within culture.” — River in A Dry Land: A Prairie Passage

On my way to Batoche, I decide to take a brief detour on a lonely country road; it is as if I need to prepare myself in some way for this last visit on my itinerary. At a crossroads that seems to arise out of nowhere, I come across an Eastern Orthodox church. I stop to take a picture because the setting, light, and natural composition is a photographer’s dream. It is also more physical evidence of the diversity of this land – human diversity. I walk around the building and wonder about the members of the congregation, where in Eastern Europe their ancestors might have come from, and what their long journey must have been like to get to this place. I am sure the members of the church would have many stories to tell.

If there is one thing that my visit to Saskatchewan has confirmed for me is that all travel is narrative. And my itinerary has been the tool I have used to follow the connected events that make up the story I am now telling. But it is not my story — at least in its “first telling” — and I realize that the narrative techniques we borrow when we travel have been present throughout my visit to Saskatchewan: character, characterization, imagery, drama, conflict, the playing out of a story line, and resolution or dénouement. And what emerges from the storytelling is an increased awareness of the human experience.

It is a beautiful Saskatchewan day when I arrive at Batoche. The setting of this National Historic Site is stunning. I quite understand why this particular location has such a special place in the hearts of the Métis people. The land is obviously very fertile and located next to the South Saskatchewan River, it is at a key transfer point on the prairie map.

In Canadian history, the expression “Battle of Batoche” is more than a definition of a pivotal event in the Canadian story; it is almost a mnemonic device that evokes what is universal in this story. Batoche is about the conflict of cultures that so frequently occurs when land is the medium for self-determination — or worse, becomes the core of a struggle for power and dominance.

Batoche was also the last stand for the Métis during what came to be known as the Riel Rebellion, led by Louis Riel and Gabriel Dumont and their Provisional Government which they had set up in defiance of the Canadian government. Batoche was also a four-day battle during which 900 men led by Major-General Frederick Middleton attacked 300 Métis who had retreated here. During those four days 25 men would die on what up until then had been peaceful prairie land.

And like so many such events, it was a terrible, cultural misunderstanding.

And like many battlefields — many years after the fact — on the day I visit the site Batoche is a serene and beautiful place.

Additional resources

Tourism Saskatchewan

The Province of Saskatchewan’s official website

Tourism Regina

Tourism Saskatoon

From the Atlas of Canada:

An outline map of Saskatchewan showing place names, and major lakes and rivers

A topographical relief map of Saskatchewan

Literature

The Qu’Appelle Valley

The Virtual Museum of Métis History and Culture

More on River in A Dry Land: A Prairie Passage

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How landscape shapes culture

The Frederick Varley Art Gallery on the historic Main Street of Unionville is a one-of-a-kind gallery with a very Canadian sense of place.The artist to whom it is dedicated, Frederick Varley, was a member of the celebrated Group of Seven. And as a gallery dedicated to perpetuating an awareness of one of Canada’s greatest artists, it is also one of Markham’s most important social institutions.

But the many admirers of the work of Frederick Varley, may not be aware of a darker side of his work.

It was the press baron, Max Aitken (Lord Beaverbrook) who first commissioned Varley as an “official war artist” in the early years of the 20^th century. What Beaverbrook, a prominent figure in the “British Empire,” saw in the paintings of Varley obviously had a profound effect on him.

In the First World War, Frederick Varley saw “action” beginning in January 1918 when he accompanied Canadian troops from Amiens, France to Mons, Belgium. The effect of “the war to end all wars” also had an intense and enduring metaphysical effect on him.

Varley was quoted as saying, “We’d be healthier to forget [the war], and that we never can. We are forever tainted with its abortiveness and its cruel drama.”

What he saw during his war experiences also influenced his later art. Some art critics see a subsequent reflection of Varley’s war experience in the works that depict the often harsh cruelty of nature in the Canadian wilderness.

Varley’s first-hand experiences in the First World War are echoed in his World War II painting “Liberation” (below) which he completed in 1943. It too is an allegory.

Varley the iconoclast

Like many artists, Varley also saw beyond the usual perceptual borders. Early in life, he also unconsciously transcended conventional “borders” and behaviour patterns.

His life and relationships with others were complicated; and he suffered from depression and alcoholism for many years. As an iconoclast, Varley had no choice but to go where angels fear to tread.

This is often the fate of visionaries like Varley.

His need to express his vision of an indeterminate worldview was a constant challenge to him; and his art often suggests the mystical with innate metaphysical qualities.

As an artist, Frederick Varley’s sense of place was especially intensified when he visited the High Arctic on R.M.S Nascopie, a celebrated and historic ship with close connections to the Hudson’s Bay Company.

One can only imagine how his sensory awareness was heightened and deepened by this journey; especially given his childhood roots in the industrial city of Sheffield, England.

Other images of the art of Frederick Varley

Images courtesy of and copyright of the Varley Art Gallery