Road trip!

This past Sunday, Hubby and I were driving through Upper State New York, down the I-85, on our way to Philadelphia to see Pearl Jam play back-to-back shows at the Wells-Fargo Centre.

I know that you are surprised that I travel to concerts that don't feature the E-Street band. But I do it for love. Hubby is a HUGE PJ fan. It is his all time favourite band. Which explains all those awful law school pictures of him with long, scraggly hair, Doc Martins, and plaid shirts... And since Hubby followed me all the way to Europe to see Bruce, I figured it was only fair that I tag along for this ride. Besides, Eddie Vedder's got some serious cred with me. He and the Boss are tight! He gave this moving tribute to Springsteen when the latter was inducted into the Kennedy Centre. Plus he performed a few songs with Bruce at the Wrigley show in 2012 (I was there - I saw it with my very own eyes!). If he is good enough for Bruce, he is good enough for me!

And he is good enough for Bruce, who left the swamps of Jersey to come to the concert. See:

Confirmed sighting of Springsteen at the Philly Pearl Jam concert on October 22, 2013
Photo credit: @PJ_Updates (Twitter)

(I went weak in the knees just knowing that the Boss and I were in the same building, watching the same concert.)

Anyway, I'd never been to Philly, so this road trip seemed like a doubly good idea. Make Hubby happy by seeing his beloved Pearl Jam (once from the Pit and once from the nose-bleed section), and add another push pin to my map of visited U.S. cities. Win-win!

Yes, we were that close - First night from the Pit,
second row behind the rail. Eddie still looks good.

A different view on the second night...

With two of our evenings eaten up by hanging out with 20,000-or-so plaid-clad grungers, there was not a lot of opportunity to explore the Philadelphia night life or food scene. But our days were free to wander around and add to our knowledge about this city.

Here's what I knew about Philly before this week:

• there's a movie featuring a Bruce Springsteen song (you knew I was going to work that in somehow);
• the Fresh Prince of Bel Air and Rocky are from Philly;
• the Philly cheese steak is the city's most famous dish; 
• there's a big ole bell.

Thanks to our trip, I now know a few more things. For instance:

Philadelphians love their Rocky: Or at least they love that tourists love their Rocky. From postcards to tee-shirts to desk-sized bronze statues to books about how the famous Rocky steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art have inspired millions to believe in their ability to do anything they put their minds to (including kitchily running the stairs), there is no shortage of Rocky in Philly.

And frankly, who am I to argue with a decades-old tradition of visiting the museum and running the stairs:

(There's a video of me doing it too, but Hubby wouldn't sing the theme song while I did it, so it's not as entertaining. He can be a jerk like that. At least he snapped some pictures of me jumping up and down victoriously after I smoked him all the way to the top.)

I still have no idea what a Philly cheese steak tastes like: I couldn't bring myself to eat one. Something about that gooey, processed cheese makes my stomach threaten outright rebellion. Instead, Hubby and I made our way to Reading Terminal Market, which we were told is the oldest covered farmer's market in the U.S., and got ourselves a roasted pork and provolone sandwich from DiNics. It was incredible. And the best part is that after running the Rocky steps, I had absolutely no guilt for having consumed all those delicious calories!

Love Park at JFK Plaza

Philadelphia literally means "brotherly love": I always knew that Philly was called the City of Brotherly Love, but I had no idea why. Are Philadelphians a particularly friendly lot? Is the city full of good Samaritans? It's true that I found everyone I met to be quite friendly and helpful. But it turns out that the word "Philadelphia" is derived from two Greek words - "philos" (love) and "adelphos" (brotherly). Thank you to the kind gentleman running around the Old City dressed like a colonial town crier for giving me the answer to this trivia question! And Sir, I hope you were an actual tour guide of some kind. Otherwise, you were just a touch creepy.

It is an incredibly charming city: Maybe it is because we stayed in the Old City, where narrow cobblestone streets are lined with beautiful old brown-stones. Maybe it's because of the history - Philly being the cradle of the American revolution - that seeps out of its every pore. Maybe it's because not one, but two rivers run through it. Maybe it's because of the multitude of universities. Or maybe it's because the city has taken great care to preserve its greatest relics and buildings. Whatever the reason, Philly stands out in my mind as the most charming American city I've been to thus far. (Sorry Boston. You had that title right up until this week. At least your baseball team is in the World Series.)

Nestled in among a block of skyscrapers

Residential street in the Old City

The tomb of many unknown soldiers - British and American - from the War of American Independence

The big 'ole bell has a big 'ole crack in it: Why? Apparently, because it was shoddily made. The crack rendered it unusable. Still, millions flock to stand before it and revel in its emanating aura of freedom. Having stood in front of the remnants of the Berlin Wall, Hubby wonders if perhaps the Liberty Bell's hype is exaggerated. Especially since, at the time that it rang through the streets of Philadelphia, the Founding Fathers all kept slaves. Nonetheless, the Liberty Bell - crack and all - remains an enduring symbol of independence and freedom, and an important part of the American psyche.

Like my Yuengling moustache?

Good American beer does exist: Canadians are known for being beer snobs. For good reason. We make good beer. While our American friends make that 4%-alcohol-crap that tastes vaguely like water. So yes, we enjoy haughtily making fun of Budweiser and Coors while we sip on our vast selection of microbrews and the like.

But it turns out that there is some pretty good beer local to Philadelphia. Like that from the hipster-iffic Nodding Head Brew House. Or Yuengling, from the oldest brewery in the United States. And unlike Budweiser, these beers are good. Like really good. I know because I had a few pints. A girl gets thirsty for a good lager when wandering the streets of Philadelphia.

I'm sure that I could have tried a few more local lagers at any number of breweries or Irish Pubs. And I would have liked to make it over to University City to explore the University of Pennsylvania campus (because I like to make myself feel old by hanging out with college kids). And there is a vibrant museum scene that would have been pretty cool to check out. And it would have been truly awesome to see a football game in Philly. But alas, Hubby and I only had a couple of days off before we had to make the 720km trek back to our everyday lives. And so it could be but a short road trip.

But we're already looking for our next concert destination. Any ideas?

Singing autumnal praises

I love Thanksgiving. Mostly because I love turkey, that glorious and tasty fowl that takes centre stage during the harvest season. And pumpkin. I love pumpkin, probably because it gets made into things like pumpkin pie, and pumpkin cheese cake, and pumpkin loaf, and my absolute favourite, pumpkin ice cream.

Sneaking the last of the pumpkin ice cream at Thanksgiving dinner

But mostly, I love Thanksgiving because it falls right smack dab in the middle of my favourite time of year. Fall. 

Some people fear Fall as a sign of what is to come - a long, cold and harsh Canadian winter. But to me, the Fall is a time of beauty. Cool, crisp mornings followed by sunny, brilliant afternoons, wrapped up with evenings lit up with harvest moons. It is a stunning time of year.

But don't take my word for it. Feast your eyes instead on these beautiful photos of my favourite time of year - Fall.

Sunrise over Ottawa - early Fall

Parliament Hill shrouded in mist on an early morning run 

What is more autumnal than football?

It might be fall, but it's still warm enough for a swim in the New Edinburgh Pond

Running through the leaves at the Arboretum

Leaves, leaves, and more leaves

The turning of the leaves in the Arboretum

Taking a stroll down an autumn path

Fall at Dow's Lake

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Swiss wine does not suck... And other neat things about Geneva

When I say "old world wine", what comes to mind? France? Italy? Spain? Perhaps even Germany, if you're into Riesling?

I am most certain that Switzerland does not come to mind. I mean, have you ever seen a bottle of Swiss wine at the LCBO (or "dep", if you're on the Quebec side)? Certainly, I haven't. And I spend a LOT of time in the LCBO. Hiccup!

No, the Swiss are not known for their wine. Neutrality, yes. Watchmaking, certainly. International financing, absolutely. Chocolate, without a doubt. And of course, yodelling. 

So when I learned that I was being sent to Geneva for a business trip, my first wine-related thought was "Woohoo!! I will have access to French wine at reasonable prices!" 

But then, during the long plane ride over, seated next to a man who could not stop snoring and who could not stop creeping over into my seat space (eeewwwww), I could not sleep at all. To fill the time, I read up on Geneva. And I discovered that the city is surrounded by picturesque countryside, some of which is occupied by vineyards. 

Admittedly, I was skeptical. Because, as noted above, I have never in my whole life seen one bottle of Swiss wine. It can't be that good if they don't even bother exporting it, can it? But then one of my travel guides assured me that the reason you could not get Swiss wine outside of Swiss borders is because it is so good that the Swiss keep it for themselves. Sarcasm, I wondered? I guess I would just have to find out. 

And so, I found myself drinking a glass (or four - hiccup) of Swiss wine each night during my stay. And it was delicious!

A glass of Swiss wine in my hotel bar. This was taken at 6:30 pm. I guess the concept of the "5 à 7" has not caught on in Geneva...

One of the few bars open on a Sunday, near City Hall in Old Town, where I took a moment to study my map and plan my touristy activities.

Now I do not have my husband's sophisticated sommelier palette. But I found every glass that I had to be wonderfully balanced, with a lot of fruit. My kind of wine! I liked it so much that I searched high and low for a wine store so that I could bring back two fantastic bottles to Hubby. (All I could find in the grocery store was a Swiss Gamay, and wine-snobby Hubby is not fond of Gamay. I assure you, though, that the Gamay was perfectly lovely, and paired quite nicely with the Pringles I took from the mini-bar... hiccup...). So now, we have two bottles of Stéphane Dupraz, a Gamaret (red grape exclusive to Switzerland) and a Scheurebe (white grape found in parts of Germany but that I've never seen before), purchased from a lovely shop in downtown Geneva called le Boulevard du vin. Which also doubles as a wine bar. Where I sat down and had a glass of Swiss Sauvignon Blanc. Hiccup.

Some other interesting facts about Geneva for the non-winos among you:

- Geneva is French-speaking, probably because it is a stone's-throw away from France. Literally. Depending on which side of the Geneva airport your plane comes in on, you are either going through French customs or Swiss customs. The Swiss side of this border is called "la Suisse romande." I learned this from the bartender at the Boulevard du vin (hiccup). When I asked why this and not "la Suisse française," he didn't know. But he did tell me that the nicest people in Switzerland come from the French-speaking region. "Sans doute!" I answered! 

- Also taught to me by this kind bartender, there are four national languages in Switzerland: French, German, Italian and Romansh. Never heard of that last one? Neither had I. It appears to be an old language, dating back to Roman times. It is spoken by very few Swiss today (less than 1% according to Wikipedia), but still considered a national language.  

Courtesy of www.wikepedia.org

- Geneva is an expensive city. Outrageously expensive. Someone told me today that it is four times more expensive to shop here than in neighbouring France. I can only assume that it is because Geneva is an international hub of bureaucracy. Although United Nations headquarters are now in New York, most UN agencies have retained a large presence here: the International Labour Office, the High Commission on Human Rights, UNAIDS, the World Health Organization. Geneva is therefore seething with foreign dignitaries. Who bring with them foreign money. And they have to stay somewhere. And eat too. So why not jack up the prices for everything?

- Despite the relocation of UN headquarters to New York City, UN history is deeply entrenched in this city. The above-mentioned agencies remain in Geneva. There is a hotel on the lakefront named after President Wilson, the tireless post-WWI defender of the UN's forerunner, the League of Nations (and yes, I am showing off my history degree). He could not muster support for the league back home in the US, but its legacy is alive and well in Geneva. There are monuments to peace-keeping and other human atrocities, such as land mines, throughout the city. The United Nations inspires pride in this city, and its role is highlighted on every tour of the city. If you are not a believer in the validity of this international organization, do yourself a favour and stay away.

A UN building waving the UN flag

A monument to the Bosnian conflict, and to the massacre of more that 8,000 Bosnian Muslim boys and men at Srebrenica

The Broken Chair, a memorial to the victims of land mines. Note that the chair is missing a leg

The President Wilson Hotel, named after the architect of the United Nations

A view from the University of Geneva campus of three flags: Geneva on the left, Switzerland on the right, and the United Nations in the middle. Just because.

- Being infamous for their neutrality, I would not have considered any Swiss city a hotbed of political or social activism. Yet some of the most controversial (for their time) thinkers are from Geneva, or have spent a considerable amount of time in Geneva. John Calvin, key player in the Protestant Reformation and architect of predestination - the doctrine that all events have been willed by God (yes, I am showing off again) - is from here. The greatest Enlightenment thinkers - Rousseau and Voltaire - called Geneva home. Even the trouble-making wife of Napoleon Bonaparte himself, the one and only Josephine, lived in Geneva for a time. I had no idea. But for a history buff like me, and one who has long admired Rousseau's Social Contract, discovering the intellectual prowess of this city has been fascinating indeed.

Monsieur Rousseau - the most famous Genevan thinker

The International Monument to the Reformation, or Reformation Wall, featuring the leaders of the Protestant Reformation. Figures adorn the entire wall. These four are: Theodore Beza, John Calvin, William Farel, and John Knox

The University of Geneva, founded by John Calvin

- I arrived in Geneva on a Sunday, and although I had been warned, I was still struck by how few businesses were open. No grocery stores, no shopping, and very few restaurants. The concierge at the hotel told me that it is because the city is "très catholique". Which means, I suppose, that Mr. Calvin's reforms, while historical, were not as widespread throughout the city as he would have hoped. Nonetheless, he did succeed in converting Saint-Pierre Cathedral to the Protestant cause. I know this because a plaque says so.  But I also know this because the pews have no kneelers, and no Catholic church would be without kneelers. Saint-Pierre is no Saint Stephen's of Vienna, that is for sure. It is a rather unadorned cathedral, making it (and I apologize to Genevans and to all the Protestants I know, including my husband), my least favourite European cathedral thus far. What can I say. The Catholic in me cries out for some adornment. 

Saint-Pierre Cathedral

The plaque commemorating the adoption of the Reformist doctrine by the people of Geneva

The front of Saint-Pierre Cathedral

A sure sign of Protestantism - no kneelers!

The pulpit at Saint-Pierre

The altar at Saint-Pierre

The stunning pipe organ at Saint-Pierre

- If you are interested in the history of the Protestant Reformation, there is a rather interesting museum, the International Museum of the Reformation, that is well worth the visit. 

- All the above said about the lack of wow factor in Saint-Pierre cathedral, Notre Dame Basilica, the heart of Catholic Geneva, is not all that much more stunning either. Maybe the Swiss just don't like grandeur? Still, the presence of kneelers, holy water, and a crucifix above the altar did make me feel more at home inside this cathedral than inside of Saint-Pierre. 

Notre Dame Basilica, right next door to the central train station. Hence all the cables.

Inside Notre Dame, with the pulpit on the right

Stained glass inside of Notre Dame

Kneelers. Even more Catholic is the fact that they are very uncomfortable

A close up of the pulpit in Notre Dame

The altar at Notre Dame

The pipe organ at Notre Dame. Not as imposing as that at Saint Pierre.

- Being from Manitoba, a province known for its abundance of lakes, I have a soft spot for a large body of fresh water. And Geneva is built along the tip of a rather large lake, Lac Lėmac. I thoroughly enjoyed running along the boardwalk to start out my every day - despite the quantity of rain that fell on me during said runs. These runs also offered a perfect view of "la Rade," a 140 meter jet stream of water that has become the unofficial symbol of Geneva, and to which tourists flock. If you enjoyed running through the sprinkler when you were a kid, you may consider taking a boat cruise of the lake and sitting on the top deck, where you are sure to be sprayed. A little advance warning would have been nice, boat captain. I'm just sayin'...

La Rade - taken from the boardwalk, with Old Town in the background 

La Rade from the upper deck of the boat, right before I get sprayed

My chariot for a cruise around Lac Lémac

A view of the shore form the upper deck of the boat

Homes on the shore of Lac Lémac. Not a shabby view from the living room...

Lac Lémac at sunrise. Gorgeous. 

Just a couple of other fun facts, I promise.

- There are doggie-poop bag dispensers every 3rd block or so. Despite this, there is dog poop on every sidewalk.  It is disgusting. And it made my runs more obstacle-course-like...

- Switzerland may be in the very centre of Europe, but it is not a part of the European Union. Why does this matter, you ask? Because they have maintained their own currency. The Swiss franc. You will thank me for this piece of news. You will not find yourself in the embarrassing situation in which I found myself, trying to pay my cab driver in Euros. Luckily for me, this particular cab driver lived in France, where cost-of-living is much cheaper, and therefore was only too happy to accept Euros. I, nonetheless, felt like an ignorant North American...

- There is some pretty good local beer brewed in Geneva. I highly recommend the pub called "Les Brasseurs", down near the train station. The burgers aren't bad either. 

Nice patio to grab a burger...

...ainsi qu'une bière blonde

- There is such a thing as a cycling race called the Tour of Britain. This has nothing to do with Geneva, I know. But I now know that such a cycling race exists because it was playing on the television when I went to the best pizza place in Geneva, Club Espresso. Where I had a pizza. And more wine... (Hiccup).

Now I know what you are thinking. "Jay, weren't you in Geneva for work? Seems to us like you had an awful lot of fun for someone travelling on business..." And yes, I promise that I was there for work. I spent two and a half very. long. days. in this building:

The World Health Organization (WHO)

With jet lag. I know. I'm a martyr.

But the nice thing about Geneva is that it is small enough, that two afternoons and a couple of evenings was more than enough time to discover the treasures that the town has to offer. So my advice to worldwide travellers everywhere - Geneva is more of a bureaucrat town than a tourist destination, but it is still worth dropping in. Probably a good one-day-one-night kind of a stop. The lake is splendid, and whether one is Catholic or Protestant, the rich religious history of the city makes it worthy of a visit. 

And then, of course, there is the wine...

Santé! (hiccup)

Helpless in Geneva

There I was, sitting on a patio at a Geneva brewery, typing away at a funny blog post about my Swiss adventures, when a CBC alert flashed across my iPhone screen. "Breaking: OC Transpo bus and VIA Rail passenger train collide."

WTF?!?

I went directly to my CBC app to find out what had happened. But the story was so very breaking, that there was no additional info. Just a red banner streaming the same line over and over across the top of the screen. 

(I have since learned that 5 people died on scene, 1 more in hospital, and 30 people are injured, 11 quite seriously. Holy. Shit.)

I knew right away that Hubby had to be safe. He doesn't take the bus to work, and even if he did, he would not take a bus anywhere near the VIA line. Yet I was in shock. So much so that I didn't even think to go to Twitter or Facebook to see if there were any from-the-ground updates, as there always are in this day and age of social media. Instead, I sat there helplessly staring at the breaking news banner, trying to figure out what to do next. As though there is anything that I actually could do...

The only thing I kept thinking - and am thinking still - was an utterly selfish thought. "God, please tell me that I don't know anyone on that bus." 

Followed by, "How could I not know someone on that damn bus! This is Ottawa!"

Followed by, "I want to be home right now!"

Like I could do a damn thing if I were home right now...

Obviously, I could not do anything particularly useful if I were in Ottawa instead of here. I'm not a first responder. I don't work for VIA or OC Transpo. I'm not an elected official who needs to put on a brave face and give news to the community. 

But here's what I could do if I were home. I could throw my arms around my husband and squeeze him tight, knowing that he was safe and sound. I could tune in to press conferences to know what is going on. I could be there for my staff, many of whom commute to work by bus and who are probably shaken to the very core by what has occurred. 

But most importantly, I could be there with my fellow community members. To grieve with them. To pray with them. To support them. To be strong with them. To draw strength from them.

To love them. 

Instead, I am an ocean away. Trying to get the full picture by following Twitter. Feeling utterly helpless and entirely alone. And missing my family and my community like crazy. 

In the nineteen years that I have been in Ottawa, I have never experienced a tragedy like this one. It is wrenching my gut. And breaking my heart. And making me realize how very much I love my community. What a deep and abiding part of me it has become.

And so, I did the only thing that I could do. I summoned the waiter and paid my bill. Then I walked across the street to the Notre Dame Basilica, which I had planned to visit anyway. I walked down the aisle to the front. I genuflected in front of the alter, bowed to Jesus, and knelt down in the pew. And then I prayed. 

"Angel of God,

My guardian dear.

To whom God's love

Entrust me near.

Ever this day,

Be at my side,

To light and guard,

To rule and guide.

- Amen"

I will be home as soon as I can, Ottawa. In the meantime, my guardian angel agreed that she will give you strength.