13/07/2024 – Back Home 1

We crossed into Canada on July 9th, James the duck safely ensconced on the dashboard with Horus-destroyer-of-worlds. Bigus Duckus was left in Calgary, given his tendency to fly off with every bump.

Our first stop was Niagara Falls. Like the rest of the town, our hotel is a glitzy-but-dated 1970s throwback: an over-carpeted, over-chandeliered, casino-steakhouse-gift-shop complex. The town is an odd, but jolly, mix of Victorian gardens and military/administrative buildings and vivid carnival brands, facades festooned with cartoon characters: Madame Tussaud’s; a giant Rainforest Café; a tiny Hard Rock Café; a high-rise go-carting track; various lurid-and-local haunted houses, halls of mirrors, candy stores, diners, bars (Irish, English, Sports). It is pulsatingly illuminated, noisy, a place for family fun. Oh, and there’s some waterfalls…

Our hotel room overlooked the American falls, across the Duty-Free carpark. They illuminate them red, white and blue at night (of course). On the Canadian side, there is a short-but-impactful nightly firework display. It is harmless, patriotic fun.

I am super-glad I saw them, definitely a “bucket list” item. But, in Iceland, we got up close, unsupervised, to some of the most thunderous falls in the world, and for a nominal entrance fee. So, we skipped the pricey “Maid of the Mist” tour and enjoyed watching the boats from the promenade.

After 4 months abroad, I got mugged in Kingston, Ontario. Okay, it was by a seagull, but it was a premeditated, precision attack. We stopped for a lunch of Timmy’s donuts. Innocently, I strolled out with my first in my hand. I was dive-bombed from behind, the donut knocked to the tarmac. The gull landed like a harrier jump-jet, daring me to retrieve it with its cold, beady eye. We’d bought a box of six. I let him have it.

We arrived in Montréal on July 12th, having been overtaken by the remains of Hurricane Beryl. She blew herself out yesterday, gifting us a sunny day today. Since we returned state-side, we have been largely car- and house-bound. We both wanted a walk.

Our hotel is close to Mount Royal, which is managed as a fantastic public park: a mix of wild forest criss-crossed with cinder paths, and broad picnic-cum-playing fields. There is even a bandstand, and a monument to a local worthy raised by public subscription à la London. The park abuts McGill University campus, evidenced by the sportingly/scantily-clad, student-aged squads or friendship-groups powering up the hill. In our daywear, comfy hiking sandals, we struck much less athletic figures, but still covered a respectable 11km. It felt good to stretch our legs on marked paths again, sunlight filtering through the leaves, flowers in the verge. We even had as our destination a cross, le Croix du Mont-Royal, which overlooks the city

I also went to pray at the Catholic Cathedral. It’s beautiful, but also decorated with a series of murals: the history of Canada from a Catholic perspective. Sincere and unremarked, they made me appreciate how much Reconciliation work remains.