Category: Travel

Flying from Ottawa to Portland: My Travel Experience


July 3, 2024

Although some people are used to flying and to the hurly-burly of moving through airports, I found it a pain in the butt flying from Ottawa, ON, to Vancouver, BC, and then to Portland, OR, and back. The entire experience, especially clearing security, which I found a bracing experience, only reinforced my dislike for flying.

Preparations for our flight started a few days before departure. I set the alarm clock for four a.m. to get used to an early start. I wanted to make sure the alarm clock worked, and it did. Such an early morning start is not my typical schedule.

I reserved a taxi to take us to the airport the night before but was worried about what would happen if it did not come. In that case, I thought of taking our car to the long-term parking lot and hauling our suitcases a mile to the airport. But the taxi came and messaged me fifteen minutes before the reserved time that it was on the way and again when parked on our driveway. Impressive.

Leaving our house involves shutting off the water main in case of a leak that may flood the basement and installing the alarm system. Since I did not want to carry my heavy keychain on the trip, I left a key hidden in the garage but also put a house key in my wallet in case the electricity would be off coming home, making the garage door inoperable, in which case I would use the key in my wallet to open the front door of the house. I think of all the situations that could go wrong; maybe I am paranoid.

Arriving at the departure lounge, I showed the airline attendant our boarding passes, printed at home, and asked what we needed to do next. She asked if we wanted to use the self-serve kiosks or talk to someone to get our luggage tags. I found her question strange: why would she not just help us? She seemed as if she did not want to be bothered by passengers before six am. However, hearing our conversation, a colleague quickly came forward and offered help with a smile.

After this rude welcome, though, the airline attendants were excellent during the rest of the trip, including subsequent legs with the same airline. For example, when paying for a sandwich on the plane, the stewardess noticed my Aeroplan card in my wallet and recorded the card number for the purchase, adding points to my account.

Next came the security check. I hate putting my wallet and passport on the long conveyor belt, afraid of losing or someone stealing them, which could happen when they pat me down looking for the metal in my body. I usually point to my hips, where I had joint replacements, to help security staff locate the metal. I know there is no need to do that since they use a wand to pat down my entire body, but I feel better by trying to help them. I walked through the x-ray machine, and an agent patted me down with a wand for fifteen minutes. Then, he asked me to lean against the wall and lift my shoes’ soles for visual inspection.

In contrast, the security check was more detailed on the trip’s second leg from Vancouver to Portland. The inspectors opened my carry-on suitcase, and my “Kindle” enjoyed a second trip through the X-ray machine. I always place my laptop in a basket, but they told me at the Ottawa airport that I did not have to take out my Kindle and put it in a basket since it only has a virtual keyboard! Then, they also removed my toiletry case, extracted a Swiss knife and a brand-new shaving foam container, and confiscated both items; I should have known not to carry them in the carry-on. They also asked me to remove my shoes and belt.

Instead of the walk-through X-ray machine at the Vancouver airport, I stepped into a surround X-ray machine that showed all the metal inside me to security so the inspectors did not pat me down. That saved over fifteen minutes. The only uncomfortable feeling I had was my pants were sliding off without the belt; I had to pull them up every few minutes.

The two experiences made me consider whether the security procedure is the same at every airport. I would bet that it is a standard procedure, except that its administration was different: the security was sloppy in Ottawa.

Do not get me wrong; I understand the need for security, but how it is delivered seems to invade your privacy. The inspectors see your meds and toiletries, which I may not want to share with anyone. It also takes time, and I am nervous about having my wallet and passport on the conveyor belt for a considerable amount of time while they x-ray me.

Having gone through security, we walked into the waiting room, the next phase of air travel that often brings unpleasant surprises, such as an announcement of a delay on one of our flights on our return trip. The uncertainty and waiting can be frustrating, adding to my dislike of flying.

On arrival, we had to find the baggage claim area. For some reason, the baggage claim area was the farthest from the landing gates at both the Vancouver and Portland airports.

Reflecting on our recent experience of how long it takes to get to the airport, go through security, experience delayed departures, wait for baggage pickup at the destination, and then grab a cab to where we stay, I would rather drive for shorter trips. The convenience and control of driving often outweigh the hassles of flying unless it is a cross-country trip.

Exploring North Carolina: Vineyards, Memories, and Family


May 15, 2024

Sitting in the sun, shaded partly by an umbrella at Shelton’s vineyard in North Carolina, was hugely relaxing. Helping the relaxation was the Cabernet Sauvignon that we sipped. The food was average: pulled pork on an open sandwich base, or perhaps it was a pizza. I am not sure, but it tasted like pub food, appropriate in the setting.

Driving away from the lush meadows of the Yadkin Valley where Shelton’s grows its grapes, my thoughts turned towards the many times we visited North Carolina over the last few decades, and my memory lane took me back to the first time I drove to Chapel Hill, NC.

That was when the Dean of the Graduate School of City Planning welcomed me with an open smile; Jack Parker welcomed each planning student. His intimate reception touched me, and he generated a feeling that I’d succeed in my studies. It was a competitive program, but I have known no one who failed. The UNC Planning School admitted me for the January session; I applied to many other Ivy League schools, but UNC took me mid-year, and I accepted the offer, not waiting for the other schools to respond. But let me explain how I decided to attend planning school.

After graduating from the School of Architecture at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, Canada, I worked with a small architectural firm in Vancouver. I lasted six months before getting bored with mundane designs of lobbies for high-rise buildings put up by developers. Another job with an even smaller firm was more interesting: designing a recreation center for a specific location in Vancouver. This project came about as a request for proposals for a competition our firm did not win.

After my brief experience with two architectural firms, I decided that I did not fit the mold of an architect. Architecture envisions plenty of attractive and well-appointed living spaces unavailable for most people worldwide. Architecture is irrelevant to people who have no choice but to tolerate less attractive environments. So, that was the impetus for me to search for a new field of endeavor. City planning appeared to be a related field, so I started applying to graduate planning schools in the fall, which is how I ended up in Chapel Hill in January.

When I arrived, I felt I was in paradise, experiencing southern hospitality and the positive energy generated by, and friendships made with, the planning students. Living at a campus-type university was another positive for me; UBC was a city university where moststudents lived off-campus. In contrast, campus life at UNC was rich with lectures and performances I could attend. For example, at the annual Jubilee Music Festival in the spring, I listened to Johnny Cash while sitting with thousands of students on the ground of the quadrangle. It was a memorable concert. 

Another primary reason North Carolina holds deep memories is that I spent considerable time with my future wife during our second year there. Although we met in Washington, DC, where we both had summer jobs, upon returning to UNC for our second year, we saw each other daily, starting with breakfast in thestudent dining room,Lenoir Hall, when it cost forty cents. And we spent many evenings talking late into the night at the Rathskeller, a student pub in Chapel Hill. We married at year’s end at the Anglican Church on the campus with family and all my classmates in attendance. The audience had a big laugh when the newlyweds left in the car with a colossal ruckus created by the rocks my friends put into the hubcaps of our vehicle.

A career launch and meeting my lifelong partner provide deep roots in North Carolina. But there is more to it. Our three children applied to US universities after finishing high school in Ontario. Although they did get into Canadian universities, they thought going to American schools would be more adventurous, perhaps influenced by their parent’s experience there. The upshot of their leaving Canada was that Tony and David attended UNC in Chapel Hill, while Megan graduated from Duke University in Durham.

They married after graduating from university; the two boys married North Carolina girls and settled in Charlotte and Durham. Further, Kathy’s brother, Huw, retired from Washington, DC to Winston-Salem, near where his wife had grown up. Our recent visits to North Carolina span from Charlotte to Winston-Salem to Durham, all of these locations along Interstate 40, within three hours of driving time.

Innumerable opportunities have existed to visit our children and their growing families in North Carolina, share a vacation, help them move, or see them. Over the years, I wore out several car tires along Interstate 81, driving from Ottawa to North Carolina. However, the visits have also provided opportunities to see the state and enjoy what it offers.

Huw and Judy introduced us to vineyards while driving around Wiinston-Salem. With the decay of the tobacco industry, growing grapes had taken over the rich agricultural soil. My attraction to visiting vineyards goes beyond sipping wines; they happen in areas with lush vegetation on rolling hills, with a lake and a fountain facing the tasting room.

Having visited Shelton’s vineyard, where the wine was tasty, but the food was not the best, we decided to visit Shadow Springs Vineyards with Huw and Judy on our last visit before returning to Ottawa. They do not have a restaurant, and since we do not sip wine without some food at lunchtime, we stopped at the Shiloh General Store in Hammondville to pick up a sandwich.

Amish people run the store, and the owner, Phil Graber, was on cash. I learned from him that the area has over fifty Amish families. Phil and his wife Mary established the store in the early 2000s and expanded it to over thirty-five hundred square feet. The store sells homemade products with fresh ingredients, such as pickled vegetables, dry soup mixes, Amish noodles, pretzels, and crackers.

They made a tasty sandwich for us. I found their order-taking fascinating. You choose on a piece of paper the type of bread, meat, spread, vegetables, and sides you want and place it in a window. Then, they prepare the sandwich and call your name. There was no limit on what you could ask for, and I thought, why not order pulled pork and chicken under meats? And low and behold, my sandwich had both meats!

Armed with our sandwich, we entered Shadow Springs’ tasting room. Judy selected a 2022 Seyval Blancand a2022 Chardonnay while we settled at a table on the lakefront, cranking up the umbrella to provide shade from the sun’s heat at midday. The chatty hostess in the tasting room described how Chuck Johnson, the owner, decided to retire from his corporate job to his home state and look for another career opportunity after missing too many of his son’s ball games. Chuck and his wife Mary went winetasting upon their return to NC and decided that winemaking might be an excellent opportunity for starting a new life. They looked at dozens of farms for sale until they found this piece of land with the proper orientation and soil qualities to make wine. They started making wine in 2005.

And we were not disappointed with their wines. We spent the two-hour lunch sipping wine in sunny weather, sitting outside with a huge fountain making a bubbling sound in the middle of the lake next to us. What a way to spend our last day in North Carolina before returning to Ottawa, where the trees were getting leafy.  

Family Spring Break Adventures in North Carolina


May 1, 2024

Our April spring break, a time for family and adventure, began at 5 p.m. on a Thursday in Ottawa. We embarked on a journey that would take us fifteen hours to North Carolina, with a stopover in Courtland, NY. This annual tradition of ours, filled with shared experiences, is one of many times we see our far-flung family annually.

The Red Roof Inn in Courtland had its own unique character. Despite the room being refurbished, there was no breakfast provided, not even a simple muffin or toast. This was a departure from the norm even in economy-priced hotels. However, this unexpected change had its benefits. It allowed us to start our day early, without any unnecessary morning delays.

Our spring break is also an excuse to leave Ottawa, which has snow and cold weather. Mind you, this year’s winter was the mildest in my memory, and getting away was not like escaping cabin fever; the first year we moved to Ottawa, the temperature never came above zero Fahrenheit in January, and going south in March was a treat.

Our first full day in North Carolina was filled with cultural and sporting activities. We attended a Jazz Musical Appreciation Adjudication event, where twenty-five high schools showcased their talent. Our granddaughter, Zinnia, plays the trombone with the Jazz Combo of the Jordan High School, her school participated in the event.

Millbrook High School, a magnet school in Raleigh hosted the event. I entered the building, and the music room immediately impressed me with all the electronic gear. Further in, a large, designed-for-acoustics auditorium sloped towards the stage where the bands played. I cannot recall this level of educational resources at the high schools our children attended.

Listening to the bands performing songs by Charlie Parker, Neal Hefti, Hoagy Carmicheal, and Bobby Timmons brought back memories of the music I listened to in the ’60s. Another classic one band played was Duke Ellington’s Satin Doll.

After the three songs Zinnia’s jazz combo played, it was time for the adjudicators to comment on their performance. In addition to an overview critique, they took the time to discuss the players’ techniques and delivery, offering valuable insights. One adjudicator, in particular, stood out. He had brought his trumpet along and demonstrated what some songs should sound like. The combo members listened intently and demonstrated their understanding by playing their instruments in the style recommended by the adjudicator.

We were in Raleigh for the event, although Dave lives in Durham; the entire area is part of what is called the Research Triangle Park (RTP) of North Carolina. It is interconnected by interstate highways 40 and 85. It boasts many well-known educational, recreational, and cultural facilities (such as Duke University, UNC, NC State University, Duke Gardens, and NC Botanical Garden). The area also boasts a professional hockey team, the Hurricanes, who play out of Raleigh, and top-notch college basketball teams – think of the perennial rival Duke and UNC teams.

A few decades ago, the RTP had a well-developed high-tech sector. Nortel was a significant employer in communications, along with Newbridge Networks, where I worked. I remember management telling us to be careful working on our computers on flights from Ottawa to Raleigh and not to reveal technical secrets should an employee of Nortel sit next to us. Those days, there were daily flights between Ottawa and Raleigh. Since then, Nortel has gone bankrupt, and Alcatel, the global communications company, bought up Newbridge.

My memories lingered until our grandson Zane, ten years of age, invited us to watch his ball team play in the afternoon. Preceding the game was a “slugfest” at Herndon Park. To participate in the slugfest, the boys on the ball team had to fundraise $200 each for the team, which entitled them to “hit” balls from a pitching machine a dozen times.

Curious parents wanted to know who I was and welcomed me enthusiastically, another body cheering for the boys. There might have been more family members enjoying the weather, the outdoors, and watching the slugfest than players. Everybody carried water bottles, and folding chairs sprang up to watch the boys slug it out. A highlight of the slugfest was picture-taking, with each player posing with a bat ready for action and team photos following.

A game followed the slugfest that unfortunately ended in a loss for our team. It did not matter for the cheering parents and siblings who kept up with loud encouragements of “good eye” and “you can do it.” One of the rules for this age group that I learned is that the umpire does not allow a new inning to start after an hour and forty-five minutes of play. I am not a baseball fan, but this rule is good because the rule limits the duration of the game. Although the parents were disappointed in the outcome, the boys were too tired to dwell on the loss and ended up with a smoothie.

Our activities in Durham were far from over. The next day, we stumbled upon the ‘American Tobacco Trail’ (ATT), a hidden gem in the city. Despite the drizzle, we were eager to experience this outdoor activity. The section of the ATT we walked on was a tree-lined corridor, where the tree canopy provided a cozy shelter from the rain. Our ball-player grandson, always full of energy, circled around us on roller skates while the rest of us enjoyed a leisurely walk. It was a delightful discovery, adding a new dimension to our trip.

The ATT is a rails-to-trails right-of-way for walkers, cyclists, and equestrians. The level and mostly straight twenty-two-mile trail has a ten-foot-wide paved surface. The trail’s history goes back to J.B. Duke, who founded the American Tobacco Company in 1890 and built railroads to serve tobacco facilities and plants in the area. The trucking industry superseded railroads, and the rail lines fell into disuse. 1980, the Triangle Rails to Trails Conservancy was formed to preserve the right-of-way for recreational uses. I found it a pretty trail, even in the rain.

Returning to Dave’s house, we changed out of our wet clothing and commented on the many attractions families can visit to enjoy the Research Triangle Park. It is not only the ATT that attracts walkers but also the North Carolina Botanical Gardens, situated next to the University of North Carolina campus, with lovely walking trails and endangered plant species on display. Our granddaughter Zinnia, familiar with the Gardens, guided us around the trails there. Families can also visit the Science Museum in Raleigh, where we took the grandchildren to see the Van Gogh traveling exhibit last year.

We met up with two of our granddaughters in Cary, located part way between Raleigh and Durham, for dinner; Caroline works in Raleigh and Mary Kate attends North Carolina State University in Raleigh.  While there we enjoyed the renovated center of Cary.   With young children, a visit to the park in the renovated center of Cary is a must; it has the most creative modern play structures I have ever seen. Although we spent only a few days in the Durham and Raleigh areas, the rich fabric of recreational and cultural facilities could keep a family busy for days.

Exploring the Art and Wine at Chateau La Coste


November 1, 2023

A jazz trio played forties tunes on the deck of a vineyard, where we sat down after a tiring bicycle ride in the finger-lakes area of New York State. We relaxed by sampling the wine and listening to the music. It was a fall afternoon with the sun going down, illuminating the vinifera below us. Before leaving, we bought some wine for the night to enjoy at our hotel. These are the type of situations my lasting memories are made of.

The first such memory was when I finished university and helped my younger brother learn to drive when he turned sixteen. When he passed the driving test, I convinced him to drive with me from Vancouver to California. I explained to him that he’d do the driving for practice, and I’d do some wine-tasting on the way. He did not need much convincing. And it was a memorable trip.

More recent memories were at vineyards in North Carolina, where after a warm welcome, the hosts offered lunch in addition to the tasting session. What I liked about these visits were driving into an attractive estate with lush vinifera surrounding us, entering an ornate Italianate building or a large historic mansion where the winemaking took place, and partaking in a guided tour of winemaking before sitting down for the tasting session.

So, when we visited Provence in France a month ago and discovered that Chateau La Coste, a well-known vineyard was on our route, I jumped at the opportunity to visit it and bought entry tickets. Chateau La Coste is famous for art, architecture, and wine. The owner, Paddy McKillen, an Irishman, who bought the estate in 2001, commissioned artists to create artwork in the garden and hired world-famous architects to design the buildings (Frank Gehry, Oscar Niemeyer, and others). So my expectations were high only to be disappointed after the visit. Let me explain.

We approached the Chateau driving through fields of vinifera only to arrive at a large, open, unpaved parking lot, with recently planted trees. By talking to other tourists and asking questions, we found our way to the building where our tour started. Nobody welcomed us, nobody provided directions. It was not a promising beginning.

Our group of eleven people was taken on a guided tour of the wine-making plant. Well, production took place in a building that looked like half a barrel on its side, with interesting finishes, mostly aluminum, but nothing else (designed by Jean Nouvel). To me, it looked like any commercial building, like a Quonset hut, huge, but still only a simple shape, a half-barrel sitting on its side. Is this good architecture? The shape conjured up winemaking barrels, was that the idea?

We pondered the front of the building, listening to the guide, standing on a gravelly field, next to a massive excavation, which, I gathered, was going to be the location for a hotel. The surrounding for the hotel and the plant was not what I expected to be a campus-like atmosphere with attractive landscaping.

Once inside the half-barrel, though, the guide gave a detailed tour of the wine-making process and equipment. Surprising to me were the huge metal barrels holding the fermenting wine; I had seen wooden barrels in other vineyards previously (although, admittedly, the other vineyards were smaller than this one).

Wine tasting, the event we all looked forward to, was next and we entered a small nondescript building. We gathered around a U-shaped table, sitting on bar stools. At the open end of the U was the guide and at the bottom of the U were six bottles of the Chateaus brand.

Talking about the qualities of the first bottle, the guide poured a couple of ounces of wine into a wine glass placed in front of each of us. If you did not like it, you could pour it into a tumbler sitting next to the wine glass. The purpose of the tumbler became more obvious as we tasted the next few wines and became a bit tipsy. I began to pour half of my samples into the tumbler, I wanted to walk out at the end, although I did not drive, Kathy drove in Provence.

The two young Australian couples facing us across the U loved their wine and peppered the guide with questions. The three Israeli tourists next to us enjoyed their wine quietly. The two young women from New  York City talked to each other about the wines. Kathy and I practiced our wine-tasting skills by swirling the wine around the glass, smelling it, and observing the prominence of legs in the samples indicating alcoholic content.

During our discussion with the guide, we learned that Le Chateau produces excellent roses because of the soil in the area. And the wines are not scored for sweetness like we do in Canada. We also found out that of the million liters of wine produced annually, a third goes to North America, a third to Europe, and a third is sold domestically. The guide even mentioned some of the best years for each sample we tasted, should we decide to purchase some.

When we discovered, after sampling all six wines, that the fourth was the most expensive, many of us looked ruefully into the tumbler into which we poured some of it; we were all becoming a bit mellow after tasting four samples. But the sampling was a success indicated by how our conversation had become loud and animated, and as a result, in the end, we all tipped the guide. On the way out I bought a bottle of wine that we liked during the tasting, to enjoy at night at the hotel.

By now it was getting late in the afternoon, and we had to drive to Aix-en-Provence for our accommodation that night. We felt it prudent to eat before driving after consuming so much wine and tried one of the restaurants, set in a lovely garden. We were not disappointed with the quality of the food.

On leaving, we went by the gardens and noticed some of the artwork in the distance. When we tried to walk closer, a guard snapped at us and asked for our tickets. We did not know that we had to pay, we saw nothing indicating that on the way in and assumed that our wine-tasting ticket covered the whole vineyard. It was too late to go back to the entrance to buy tickets, so we left without seeing all the artwork. I understood it would take a few hours to see the artwork and the buildings designed by renowned architects, spread across the large estate. I was disappointed; we had seen parts of the vineyard, much of it under development but missed some of the finished areas with the work of famous artists and architects. Next time we come by, I’ll make sure we have sufficient time to fully explore Chateau La Coste.

Exploring Corsica’s Abandoned Homes and Ghost Towns


October 24, 2023

The Alfa Romeo climbed the winding road effortlessly. Kathy drove and I admired the landscape, occasionally grabbing the door handle when rounding a 180-degree turn with a drop into a valley on my side. But I kept my mouth shut. I spoke up only when Kathy stopped at a viewpoint, the front of the car facing a huge drop into a valley in front of us, pressing only the brake instead of putting the gearshift into park.

The GPS in the car showed the curves in the road ahead. Driving was slow because of the turns every few hundred feet, the narrowness of the road, and the traffic punctuated by numerous cyclists going almost at our speed. Turnouts helped us to stop and let faster drivers go by us. Overall, the drivers showed restraint; we could not go faster than fifty kilometers per hour.

We rented the Alfa at Figari Airport and drove to Porto Vecchio to shop for supplies to last us four days in the mountains where our daughter and son-in-law rented a house. The mountains began just when we left Porto Vecchio. Although we drove only just over sixty kilometers, it took us two hours to reach our destination. The scenery along the trip got my iPhone camera busy; the jagged mountains were stunning, reminding me of the Rockies. We drove through small towns like Levie, Zonza, and Quenza to reach Sorbonella, a town of 68 people, where our house was; the speed limit through the towns was thirty kilometers.

It surprised me to see all the boarded-up houses in the towns; shutters covered windows and doors. Where were the inhabitants? People sitting in street cafes were tourists, many had bikes leaning against their chairs. I decided to walk around Quenza the next day to check out the boarded-up houses. And what I saw confirmed what I had seen, most of the homes, even along the main street were tightly shut; the gardens were unkempt, and gates shut tight with a chain and lock on them. So, what gives?

I searched the internet and found one answer: there were 613 houses in Quenza (population of 235), of which 110 were occupied; 494 were secondary units (this is the expression used by the local statistical agency) and 9 vacant units, in 2007 (I discovered the French government keeps detailed statistics). The secondary units were mostly owned by native Corsicans who left for career or other reasons and kept their family home, according to some people I talked with in Quenza.

The next day we drove to Aulene (population 179), where we found houses boarded up similar to those in Quenza. According to French statistics, there were 421 houses in 2007, of which 81 were occupied; 333 were secondary units, and 7 were vacant. After a short walk around town, we settled into a small café for the traditional café allonge, next to tourists.

Holiday homes owned by people living in France and foreigners represent forty percent of all real estate in Corsica, according to local authorities. And, according to INSEE, the French statistics collection agency, there were 7000 holiday homes in Corsica in 1968, ratcheting up to over 71,000 holiday homes in 2007. Looking at holiday homes for sales ads in Corsica indicated that the desirable units are along the ocean, where, I assume, the foreigners bought. In the mountains, where we were, I assume that most of the boarded-up homes were owned by Corsicans.

The Mediterranean climate has attracted people to buy real estate in Corsica thereby elevating real estate prices. That made purchasing property by local people difficult. In response, the local government brought in legislation in 2014 to require five years of residency in Corsica for outside purchasers except for native Corsicans living abroad.

Talking with some French people from outside Corsica, we understood that the French people are not welcome to buy Corsican real estate, except when they are tourists and spend money locally. Corsicans are proud people and consider themselves different from the French people; their feelings towards the French have been demonstrated by setting fire to French-owned holiday homes. But the island remains a popular destination for vacationers.

Seasonal homes are shut down most of the time and there was an overabundance of them in the small towns driving through the mountains. With their shutters, they gave me a feeling of abandoned places, like ghost towns (similar to abandoned mining towns in British Columbia, Canada). It was a bit eery. Not only were there the shuttered homes but also the abandoned gardens and very few people on the streets except for cycling tourists. But we enjoyed the serenity of the quiet streets, punctuated by the occasional cafe along the sidewalk. The one grocery store in Quenza, one room, shut down between the hours of 12:30 to 4 p.m. There was no other commercial establishment here, we had to look up where the nearest gas station was seven kilometers away.