Oh? Canada!

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Despite our best intentions and careful notes, the blogging thing obviously didn't work - too much going on to find time, not to mention internet connections, to record our random observations. Here comes the last installment in our collection of observations about our experiences abroad:

In a nutshell: after Santorini we went to Rome for four days; down to Sorrento and Capri for two; a day in Pompeii then on to Tivoli, with stops in Naples and Florence, culminating in a blissfully restful five days on a farm in rural Tuscany. We did all the requisite touristy things, ate cheese and pasta, looked for the Pope. Paul and Josh even managed to comandeer a Vespa to weave through the heavy Roman traffic. We then headed to Venice where Adrianne had the time of her life speaking and generally being Italian. We stayed in the apartment of a friend of a woman we met in Rome. That sounds unnecessarily convoluted - we stayed in a lovely private home newly renovated in the Jewish section of the city, getting a native's taste of the Venetian life. No blinds, Jurg, just because I know you'll ask.

After Italy we went on to Sweden, first stop Stockholm where we got reaquainted with cousins, many of whom I hadn't seen in thirty years. A few days playing with their tall, blond kids and exchanging stories (all in English - they were amazingly multilingual) then up north to Falun to check out an ancient copper mine. That place was wild. We went down about a kilometer into shafts set up in the sixth century. One of the coolest things about this mine was the fact that a naturally occuring substance called vitriol preserved organic matter, including a Christmas tree and an unfortunate miner who fell down the shaft the night before his wedding but wasn't discovered for many decades. His jilted bride was the one who ultimately identified him, apparently relieved that he hadn't run away from her as had been the conjecture since his disappearance. We didn't see his body, he was finally buried after many years of serving as an amusing attraction for visitors to the mine.

Having satisfied our curiousity about copper and waxy substances that spontanously preserve dead folk, we made our way further north to Ostersund where my father was a boy, spending a few days with more Sjodins. Still in Sweden, we went even higher up to Gaddede, quite close to the Arctic Circle. We stayed with my aunt and uncle and their lovely four year old granddaughter, who could speak more English than we could Swedish. We had a great time and were loathe to leave the warm hospitality and the cold, cold snow.

On to Norway with stops in Trondheim to see even more cousins, then down to Oslo where we had to rent an apartment at exhorbitant rates simply to manage our mountain of laundry. They don't seem to have laundromats in Scandinavia, or if they do, they come with expensive two bedroom apartments attached to them. Back to Stockholm for more Swedishness, including a magical day at the local zoo where we saw reindeer and wolverines and a huge bear who scratched and lolled just like a guy watching the superbowl. We were thrilled by that beast.

The next stop was Paris, where friend Monica met us for a frenzied week of activities francais, with emphasis on the vin, bien sur. Even though we were all enthralled by the Louvre and enjoyed the private French cooking class, the highlight of this leg of the trip was a four hour city tour, seeing the main landmarks on Segways. It took about five minutes to get confident on the machines then we were all bombing around the Eiffel Tower like maniacs. We were not nearly as conspicuous as some other tourists, though. Not surprisingly, you couldn't swing un chat without being urged to do a DaVinci Code tour. People were on foot, bikes and busses, very determinedly referring to their intimidating-looking itineraries, nodding like they were in on a secret. In hindsight, maybe they were all looking for the Segway rental place.

The next week we spent in Normandy, staying in Arromanches where we could see the remains of the harbour created to offload the troops for the D-Day invasion. We went to a number of war museums but of course the favourite was the one on Juno Beach where Paul posed with the plaque commemorating his father on pylon 12, 4th face, row 14. That was nice - John would be proud.

We said goodbye to Monica who had a harrowing return back to North America then headed on to Calais. A comfortable ride through the Chunnel got us to London an hour before we left France. We took the timewarp track. A few days in London hanging with the Queen, the Pope, and of course the Pitts (at M. Tusaud's) then up to my mom's hometown of Beauly, just outside Inverness. We stayed with the Scottish family for a few days, on their farm complete with pet goats, chickens and sheep which delighted the kids and made us wax nostalgic for life in New Zealand. We had a particularly fun night at a local man's retirement party where we dabbled in Scottish dancing. They graciously tried to teach us how to strip the willow (Aileen - can you do that?) which is much, much harder than it looks and turns out not to share any of the steps with the Macarena, which is the only dance that I can do with confidence. It was a fun night, but we didn't impress anyone with our sense of rhythm. We had to leave too soon, dragging the children away reluctantly despite promises of a few leisurely days in Amsterdam.

A night in Edinburgh, with a lovely dinner at a friend's then we headed home. Our trip was truncated, we were supposed to stay a week in Amsterdam, but were ready to resume real life so Paul found cheap tickets directly to Toronto. We didn't tell the kids of the sudden change in plans. They figured it out for themselves. In the plane. It was a joyful flight back to Toronto where we were met by my family and a wall of heat. I had forgotten about the Toronto heat. Maybe not forgotten; repressed. The other thing I had forgotten about was how nice Ontario smells. It's a comforting, green smell that I didn't notice anywhere else on our travels. A quick stop by our house confirmed that the place was still not fit to be lived in, then on to the cottage where we hid from the misquitoes and luxuriated in the familiar surroundings for two weeks.

We're now back in our home, despite the fact that it's still a construction site. In the meantime we're opening boxes filled with things we didn't know we ever had. It's like a long, long Christmas morning. Christmas morning after a remarkably realistic dream full of adventure and wonder that has been our reality for the last year and a half. Maybe tomorrow we'll burn our suitcases.

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Comments

[junior]

Welcome back
I disagree with your assessment of the success of your blog. From my perspective, it served me well. Amazing adventure, and use of learned words. Maybe a series? DVD box set? Somewhat sad it's over. On to the next adventure(s). I wonder if there is a fat lady singing somewhere. I'm sure there is. jr