Aiports north of sixty

Photo: Whitehorse Airport by explorenorth.com

Canada is an enormous territory bordered by three oceans. The Canadian Arctic includes some of the world's largest and most thinly populated islands. Obviously, air travel is essential for a country this size, and the nation has hundreds of airports. Many of these are "north of sixty," that is, the sixtieth parallel of latitude, also known as the Arctic Circle.

Whitehorse, capital of the Yukon, lies at 60.7161 degrees North latitude. The capital of the Northwest Territories, Yellowknife, is at 62 degrees North.

Freddie Carmichael Airport in Aklavik, on the huge delta of the Mackenzie River, and Gjoa Haven Airport in Nunavut lie at 68 degrees North. Roald Amundsen stopped here with his ship the Gjoa on his journey of discovery of the Northwest Passage, Visitors to Gjoa Haven can stay at the Amundsen Hotel.

Photo right wikimedia commons: Yellowknife Airport, with its polar bear and inukshuk, reflects the geography and culture of the Far North. 

Green glades of fancy

A glimpse down a path draws the eye and the mind. These green paths are old friends I've been visiting for nearly forty years. all suggest mystery and narrative. Each has a slightly different character; all are alluring.


Why are they there? I've seen nothing similar to these in other parts of the city, or anywhere else. They lie between homes on the University Endowment Lands, overlooking sea and mountains.

The Cat's Table, by Michael Ondaatje

Cover image from McLelland.com

The Cat's Table (McClelland & Stewart, 2011), portrays a journey taken by an 11-year-old from Sri Lanka (then Ceylon) to England by ship in the early 1950s. With a motley crew of others, Michael, Cassius and Ramadhin dine at the table farthest from where the Captain presides. Widely divergent characters, the boys spend the voyage together, determined to do "one forbidden thing" each day.

Cassius, the iconoclast who grows up to be a painter, relishes being "one of the insignificants at the Cat's table." The quiet Ramadhin, with his weak heart, smuggles a puppy on board the ship in Aden, and is devastated by the ensuing disaster. Michael recognizes in his fellow passenger Mr. Fonseka the "serenity and certainty...only seen in those who have the armour of books close by."

Michael Ondaatje is a poet; like his other books, this novel is full of living imagery, from the "slow-moving aunts...joined at the hip by gossip and status" to the "already evaporating footsteps" of the young Australian rollerskater who bathes fully dressed in the outdoor shower after her morning workouts.

The novel moves slowly, images piling on one another. Miss Lasqueti angrily flings unfinished novels into the sea and carries pigeons in the cushioned pockets of a specially designed jacket; the silent tailor turns out to be an undercover policeman. Mr. Daniels, the gardener, serves a dinner below decks where the guests are "gently misted" along with the plants. The hot, humid engine room fosters the growth of curare and other toxic growth, "enough to poison a dictator."

A prisoner who is exercised on deck late every night is said to have killed a judge. The Baron seeks out a thin, athletic boy, and uses this child to help him break into other people's cabins and steal things, then leaves the ship at first landfall with his loot.

"Like any experienced dog," the boys absorb the world around them. They watch different pilots bring the ship through the Suez canal and Gibraltar and up the Thames estuary. By the end of the voyage, the three friends have lost much of their innocence, and shared an experience that has uniquely changed each of them.

Flyovers, Roundabouts and more

Photo: Austin-Healey at Ottawa show 2010, wikipedia

British road terms are fun. Roundabouts and flyovers. In Canada, we have only overpasses and traffic circles, terms that fail to evoke the thrilling feel of speed. Imagine being at the wheel of an Austen-Healey 3000 in a roundabout, hair flying, outer wheels off the ground. I'd hardly drive one round a flyover, lest it take to the air.

Zebra crossings? Vancouver has no "pajama-wearing donkeys." But Canada geese, our local livestock, do cross the Stanley Park Causeway.

In England, each town has a high street, a term I had often wondered about. On a recent visit, I learned that this is a reference to Roman roads, which were cambered in the middle to allow water to wash down the sides.

As for the humped crossing, in some circles, such talk would be considered crude.

Photo: Zebra crossing by jkroadmarkings

Cornish Pasties internationalize

Photo: Cornish culture

A contemporary version of the Cornish pasty contains chicken and chorizo. According to the ads, it's "baked with authentic Spanish spices (no bull)" and advertised as a "limited edition." On his website, gourmet chef Jamie Oliver showcases a Montana version, the Cornish Cowboy pasty, which involves cornmeal or polenta in the pastry, and butternut squash in the dough.

The West Cornwall Pasty Co. has shops all over the UK, including the big railway stations. More traditional wares include Steak and Ale, Steak and Stilton, Lamb and Mint, Pork and Apple.

In recent years, though, pasties have expanded well beyond these options, and past the predictable Cheese and Mushroom or Cheese and Onion. How about Chicken Balti, with a curry flavour, Vegetable Provencal or Salmon? Hungry yet?

The very best traditional Cornish pasty I ever ate came from a small local stand in Bristol Temple Meads station. If you want the original, go to the source -- or closer to the source, in this case.

I've enjoyed some great variations in London too. A memorable version came from a shop near Victoria Station. While the traffic was stopped, waiting for the Queen to pass (yes, truly), I decided to lunch on a quick asparagus and chicken pastry envelope. It was fresh, hot and delectable. So was the tea.

Indeed, the Cornish pasty has come a long way, and it's lighter and fluffier than ever. The original pastry was made stodgy on purpose. The miners, who had no way to wash their hands at lunchtime, used one thick corner of the pastry as a handle to grasp their pies. They needed food that would to stick to the ribs and get a man through a long day of labour. The traditional pasty was hearty; the thick crust held onion, potato, chunks of steak, and swede (yellow turnip).

Recently I bought a pasty baked on site by a native speaker of Russian. I devoured it hot in the vast chilly cavern of St. Pancras Station, with the train platforms behind me, the new glass wall in front, decked with its antique clock, Olympic logo and, near the far wall, the Paul Day sculpture (below).

Photo: Old St. Pancras overlaid by new, with Paul Day statue visible at bottom CT 2012

Missing Air Street, Bear Street, and Rotten Row

I've been home a few days now, but the street names of London still echo in my mind. Air Street and Bear Street. Druid Street, Fleet Street, Chancery Lane.

Photo: Bear Street, London WC 2. CT 2012

Poultry Street and Bread Street were named for the goods sold there in their early days as part of a market organized by product types. On the other hand, Temple Bar is neither a temple nor a bar. It was once a gate to the walled City of London, also known as The Square Mile. According to the City of London, the word temple was related to the adjacent law courts, and the bar may originally have been a chain barring the gate. It was definitely not somewhere to go for a drink.

But how did Bear Street get its name? Or for that matter, Air Street?

 

Photo left: Air Street is appropriately labelled in an archway that soars into the air. 

Above right: Illustration with history of the area decorates Hyde Park Underground Station. 

No discussion of strange London street names would be complete without a mention of Rotten Row. This became the first road in London, and indeed in England, to get street lights, when in the late seventeenth century, William III had 300 oil lamps installed to enhance safety through illumination. During the Victorian age, to be seen dressed in one's best and riding a beautiful horse along Rotten Row along the edge of Hyde Park was the height of fashion.

This name is a corruption of the French Route du Roi, the King's road.

City neighbourhoods: Fraser Street and Commercial Drive

Photo: Frank enjoys Italian coffee at the Calabria on Commercial

My friend who is working overseas is in town for a few days. Yesterday we walked along Fraser Street -- first time in years.

Though the street has changed, the source of silks is still on the corner: Rokko Sarees and Fabrics,  I recognize a bank building that was once important, but little else. We pass a cafe that serves pulled-pork sandwiches, and another on the same block selling Halal meats.

"This is the new Commercial Drive," comments my friend. She always seems to have her finger on Vancouver's pulse, no matter how much time she spends away. Possibly it is that perspective of elsewhere that makes her see our beloved home city so clearly.

What she says about Commercial Drive takes me back. When first I began to frequent this street in the early seventies, it was still an Italian neighbourhood. Settled after the war, its homes had well-established gardens full of tomatoes, peppers and fig trees. And Italian coffee shops.

Joe's, with its Portuguese proprietor, took the prize for best lattes -- still does, according to my friend. Then the Drive was the only place for Italian ice cream, lemon gelato being the fave.

The cake taker for atmosphere has always been the Calabria. It was smaller then, and located on the north side of First Avenue.  From a high basket chairs at one of the two round marble window tables that flanked the door, I loved to sip cappucinos and watch the world go by. I lived in the neighbourhood then, and would walk or bike over.

Off the main street in summer, neat garden patches groaned with tomatoes and peppers; well-kept trees were weighed down with black and green figs and Italian prune plums.

The area is different now -- more multicultural. And the Calabria, which moved years and years ago to a bigger building on the south side of First, is a different place, though still charming.

Frank's sons carry on the great tradition of playing Italian opera as they grind and make the coffee. A bit retro now, the Calabria is still the definitive set piece of Commercial Drive.

A few blocks away, along Fraser between 41st and 49th, India Town continues to grow. The fabric stores carry every possible kind of material, including a variety of bright and alluring silks.