Travel Archives - Page 17 of 41

Europe Scotland United Kingdom

Glasgow & Paisley

On our final day in Scotland we decided to take a day trip from Edinburgh to Glasgow. Neither of us had an overwhelming desire to go, but it was right there, of course we had to check it out. My mother does not share my love of aimless walking, so I decided we would do a self-guided walking tour around Glasgow to see their street art. That way we would have a purpose but also get to check out the city. It really was a perfect idea, in theory.

There is a website that lists all of the major murals around the city, so we decided to follow that route from the train station, where we arrived from Edinburgh. It started off well enough; there were a few murals in close proximity just in the alleys off of a main pedestrian street. There was a race on, bagpipe buskers, people out…it felt festive.

The 2^nd or 3^rd mural we saw ended up being my favourite, which was a cool one of a black British taxicab hoisted by colourful heilum balloons.

From there it was all downhill. That is not to say that anything bad happened – we just didn’t like Glasgow. We found the city just dull. It wasn’t beautiful, it wasn’t interesting, it wasn’t intriguingly seedy, it was just mediocre.

I feel bad saying that and I’m sure that there are many people who live in Glasgow or spent more than a few hours there who love it and know about all sorts of hidden gems, but all I am saying is that for a city to spend a day strolling around in, it did nothing for us.

I am aware that there are excellent galleries and museums in Glasgow, but my mum doesn’t relish museums or galleries and I also wanted to be out and about.

Sadly, not only did we not enjoy what we saw of Glasgow the city, we also didn’t like the murals. They were well executed, but we didn’t find them terribly interesting or edgy.

We could have stuck with the plan, but neither or us were really digging it, so we decided to get a coffee and reconsider. As it turned out, finding a good independent café in downtown Glasgow was also a bit of a struggle (so many chains) but we finally found one: Laboratorio Espresso. It was a tiny place with excellent coffee and cakes. We pondered over a few espressos and macchiatos and decided that flexibility was the best course of action. We walked to the train station and hopped a train to Paisley.

Why Paisley? It was close by and had some historical significance. Paisley was a textile town at one time and it apparently the place that invented the paisley pattern, which is named after the town. Also, I realized when I was there, it is the home of the famous “Paisley Snail” case that every common-law law student learns in first year. (A woman bought a bottle of ginger beer and it had a snail in it. She sued. It’s about negligence. If you are a lawyer/law student you know it and if you aren’t you probably don’t care.) The law dork part of me was pretty excited about that.

Paisley is a nice little town and was pleasant for a stroll, though apart from a lovely church, it doesn’t have much in the way of sights.

We walked around a bit, had a coffee, and returned to Edinburgh, as we had to get up at 2am for a flight home.

The last day of our trip didn’t turn out as planned, but was enjoyable, largely due to our willingness to admit we weren’t enjoying ourselves and change plans. And what’s better than being able to just hop a train at the last minute to another city? Coming from a country with almost no train travel, it is pretty great.

And so ended our mother/daughter trip to Scotland. Thankful for a chance to spend time together and explore Scotland a bit, which was actually pretty great.

Europe Scotland United Kingdom

Dean Village

From Sterling, we returned to Edinburgh. As we had already seen the main sights of the city, we decided to stay in Dean Village, an area just outside the centre, tucked away along the Water of Leith, which looks like something out of a fairy tale.

We got off the train at Haymarket Station and from there Dean Village was not a far walk, down Palmerston Place, past Mary’s Cathedral, then down hill. For the first time in my entire life I found Google maps to be of more assistance than my paper maps, which only marked Dean Village in a general sort of way.

We descended until we hit the river (the Water of Leith) and saw the view that had convinced me to stay in Dean Village in the first place…

Seriously, it is stunning. Quaint. Picturesque. I know it is Scotland and not France, but I felt like walking down the cobblestone streets, singing the opening number from Beauty and the Beast.

Dean Village, previously known as Water of Leith Village, was at one time its own village before it became part of Edinburgh in the mid 1800s. It was established in the 1100s and for about 800 years was the site of multiple mills, powered by the river. Now it is a largely residential enclave of historic charm.

Our accommodations were easy to find, as it was the historically significant Well Court, dating back to the 1800s and built as housing for mill workers. In the pictures it is the large, brick, castle-y looking building.

We had an Air bnb booked and it exceeded my expectations. It was so cozy and in this tiny two bedroom apartment, it somehow had at least six different wallpapers.

Staying in Dean Village was great. Peaceful and nice for walks. The part with the cute buildings is very small but there is also a lovely walk on a path along the river under a tree canopy. There are no shops and only one eatery in the immediate vicinity, but it isn’t a long walk to the high street, which we did for dinner.

I also took a pleasant walk to Dean Cemetery, which was very pretty, especially the areas where the trees had dropped pink blossoms amongst the headstones. It was a teeny bit spooky as I saw only one other person and the cemetery was about to close. I started imagining that I would be locked in and forced to spend the night. That did not happen, however, as I walked out the back gate onto the lawn of the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art. It had just closed and I never did get back there (which is a shame – next time), but I enjoyed walking the lawns of the two large buildings where sculptures and installations were on display.

In the distance, I saw a man with a large ring of keys walking towards the gate. Realizing I was about to be locked in to the grounds, I ran up to him and exited just as he locked the gate. In my mind, I did this Indian Jones style, barely sliding through and then reaching back for my hat. Truthfully, I kind of wish I had been locked in, because then I would have a cool story of having to climb the walls to escape the gallery grounds, but instead I just had a pleasant walk back into Dean Village to our Air bnb.

The next day would be our last in Scotland and we would do a day trip to Glasgow and Paisley.

Europe Scotland United Kingdom

Wigtown, Scotland

Wigtown, Scotland is the book capital of Scotland due to an abundance of bookshops set in a small, quaint town. Each fall it has a book festival. It is on the south coast of Scotland and is home to just under 1000 people, most of whom seemed surprised to see us there as travelers.

My mum, Luba, picked Wigtown because we both love books and bookstores and she had read a book by the owner of one of the bookstores, which was all about the town and his bookshop. A small town full of bookstores and characters sounded good for me, so we made the trip south from Edinburgh. (For a detailed account of the trains and buses required to reach Wigtown, see this post here.)

We stayed at Hillcrest House, a charming bed & breakfast in an old house a short walk from both the town and the sea and run by a lovely couple from England.

The town was delightful. It is tiny. You could see everything twice in an afternoon and still get to bed early. We spent two nights and 1.5 days, which was perfect. We got to go to all of the bookstores that were open (some of them randomly close on certain weekdays), have leisurely teas and strolls. Very pleasant.

The most famous of the bookstores is The Bookshop, known for being the book store of the aforementioned book, for being Scotland’s largest secondhand bookstore, and for its cluttered and creative interior.

We browsed there for quite a while and first edition Alfred Dunhill pipe book. (I collect cigar, pipe, and tobacco books.) Sadly, the owner was away for on a buying trip at the time.

We twice went for shopping and tea at Beltie Books, which we loved due to the proprietor, who had a demeanor that was to our liking and made excellent cakes.

We loved all of the bookstores and walking to visit all of them. There is a website for Wigtown’s booksellers, but it does not include all of them. There are good maps and brochures that have better listings available at most of the shops (but certainly found at Beltie’s). The shops do keep some odd hours, so if visiting all of them is your goal, do some planning ahead of time. We were winging it, and missed some.

There are a number of cafes and eateries, including one that is all vegan and vegetarian.

I have no idea how the town functions outside of the book festival, business-wise. It is utterly charming, but everyone we spoke to seemed so surprised that we were visiting on holiday. It is quiet and certainly not overrun with tourists. We loved it though. All the locals were so friendly and…colorful. It felt somewhat like being in a BBC show set in a small town. Who knows, maybe a show set in the town is forthcoming.

We also took walks on some of the trails around the town. One led to the sea, past fields of sheep.

Another led to a martyrs execution site where the ‘Wigtown Martyrs” were tied to stakes and drowned in the 17^th C for, effectively, being staunch Catholics and refusing to take an oath to denounce a guy who had denounced the King.

That’s basically it for Wigtown. Books, tea, strolls, and martyrs. It was a lovely and relaxing stop and we both liked seeing a bit of small town Scotland, as well as the journey there and back.

With our books (Luba bought quite a few) we made the journey back north, this time to Stirling.

Europe Scotland United Kingdom

To Wigtown, Scotland by Train and Bus

In southern Scotland is a town called Wigtown. If you are reading this, you likely know why Wigtown is a destination, but if not, people go to Wigtown because it is the ‘book capital of Scotland’, boasting maybe a dozen bookstores in a quaint town of about 900 people. Each fall they have a book festival. My mother had read a book about the town written by one of the bookstore owners and we are both keen readers and book hoarders so we decided to go. The issue was how to get to Wigtown by train and bus.

Scotland is not very big so the most sensible way to get to Wigtown is to drive, but I never learned how and my mother did not want the stress of driving in a foreign country so transit it had to be. There are no direct routes from Edinburgh or Glasgow to Wigtown and there was no useful information I could find to tell me which trains and buses to take, so I figured it out, which took a bit of effort, so here you are: how to get to Wigtown from Edinburgh or Glasgow without driving.

We started in Edinburgh but the first leg of the journey necessitated going to Glasgow, so this works for departures from either city.

We left Edinburgh (Waverley Station) on a morning train for Glasgow. All trains can be booked ahead of time on the ScotRail website https://www.scotrail.co.uk. As far as I could tell there is no need to book in advance, but I did anyway and then picked up the tickets at the train station in Edinburgh from a machine.

The train from Edinburgh to Glasgow takes anywhere from 44 minutes to about an hour and 15 depending on the train. They cost the same. We took the shorter one and arrived at Glasgow Queen Street Station.

From there we had to change not only trains, but train stations – from Glasgow Queen Street to Glasgow Central. The stations are a five-minute walk apart, but leave yourself a bit longer to get there and find your next train. 15 minutes was fine for us.

From Glasgow Central we took a train to the town of Barrhill. This leg of the journey takes around two hours, depending on the train.

This is where things got interesting. Barrhill is a town of maybe 400 people. You may see none of them. The station is unmanned, so you basically get off the train next to a building that will be closed, surrounded by fields of sheep. You cannot pick up or buy tickets there. There is no phone and are no taxis.

The sheep that will greet you in Barrhill

From Barrhill Station there is a road to Barrhill town, which is walk able. It took us 20 minutes. It is an odd walk because it really is just a country road with little or no traffic.

You leave the station on the only road and soon will hit a fork. Turn left heading downhill slightly.

Follow that road through fields and past a cemetery on your left.

Barrhill Cemetery – maybe more populous than the town

At some point you will see a sign welcoming you to Barrhill.

You will then reach a part of the road with houses and signs and your second fork in the road.

Turn right towards the town. The town is a couple blocks of mostly houses, but there is a hotel (closed when we were there) and a general store where you can buy snacks and water and whatnot.

So, you’ve turned right and about one block down on the left hand side of the street is an unassuming bus stop just before a little bridge.

Wait there for the #359 bus to Newtown Stewart. Don’t worry, it will come.

You can check the timetables for buses here www.stagecoachbus.com.

There are a couple of buses in the morning and a couple in the afternoon. We caught the 1:20pm bus, which was on time. This is like a regular city bus. The website suggests that you may be able to buy tickets in advance close to the date, but there is no reason for that. Just buy the tickets on the bus, but check the fares ahead of time, and bring exact change or at last small bills. You cannot pay with credit cards and I did not see an ATM in Barrhill (and you don’t want to get stuck there). If you did get stuck in Barrhill you could call a taxi from Newton Stewart, about 40 minutes away, from www.mcleanstaxis.com but I have no idea what that would cost. Barrhill does not have taxis.

The bus from Barrhill to Newtown Stewart takes about 40 minutes.

Tell the driver you want to get off at Dashwood Square. Newtown Stewart is a metropolis of about 3,500 people and has more than one bus stop. Dashwood Square is the main bus loop, just in front of city hall (where you can totally pop in and use the washroom).

City Hall at Dashwood Square, Newton Stewart

From Dashwood Square catch the #415 bus from Stance 1 to Wigtown. It will take only about 15 minutes and that bus leave frequently (every 15-30 minutes throughout the day).

On arrival in Wigtown, you will be dropped off in the town centre, with a square in the middle and book stores all around, walking distance to everything.

I loved Wigtown, but I loved the journey there just as much as being there. It was like a fun mini adventure and was a great way to see some small towns and countryside in southern Scotland.

A final note, to return to Edinburgh or Glasgow (to to go to Stirling, as we did) you just reverse the direction of this trip, however be sure to buy your train tickets out of Barrhill in advance, as there is no place to buy them in Barrhill.

Europe Scotland United Kingdom

Edinburgh, Scotland

Any misgivings I had about going to Scotland were dissipated upon arrival in Edinburgh. Luba and I took the train from the airport, past green fields and hopping bunnies, and arrived at the Princes Street station just in time to see a fabulous sunset and catch a glimpse of the city before total darkness descended. We both just said “wow.”

It really is a beautiful city. The hills give it a wonderful tiered quality so you can see the castle, rows of pretty stone buildings, statues, and parks all at once. But it was late and we still had to find our way to our Air bnb. We walked from the tram stop up and then down again to reach Grassmarket. Once the fav spot for public executions, then a neighbourhood for poor people, now a cool area with pubs and cafes and our lodgings. (Note to self for future non-fiction history book: “From Murder to Micro Brews: The Gentrification of Grassmarket”.) On reflection, this area was the perfect place to stay. Central and with lots of food and amenities nearby, a hilly walk to both the train station and tram stops.

We checked out our flat and I went for a quick stroll before bed. After all, there was a lot of sight seeing to come.

We woke up (to an alarm – yes I set alarms on holiday, much to my mother’s consternation) and had a coffee on Grassmarket before walking up and down picture perfect Victoria Street. It’s easy to see why it is in pretty much every Google search I did about travel in Edinburgh.

Victoria Street, Edinburgh (from the other end)

We went for breakfast on a patio overlooking Victoria Street. The sun was shining and would continue to do so. I had not been looking forward to the food in Scotland. I expected few vegetarian options other than falafel stands and salads. As it turned out, everywhere we went in Scotland there was an abundance of vegetarian and vegan options. Organic, gluten free, et cetera. I ordered a vegan Scottish breakfast, which came with vegan haggis, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, spinach, and toast. It was pretty good and now I can say I’ve had haggis (sort of).

From there we walked down part of the ‘Royal Mile’ to Edinburgh Castle, one of the two main sights in the city.

This is not the castle; it is just a fine, pointy black church

We opted not to take a guided tour, so I didn’t learn much, but we enjoyed wandering. The oldest of the existing buildings are late 16^th C but there has been a fortress of some sort on the site since at least the 12^th C. As with most of the sites in Edinburgh, it was quite busy with tourists, but there were no queues to speak of and I didn’t find the crowds bothersome, but I didn’t have the patience for a historical tour.

From there we walked more of the Royal Mile just to see what there was. As it turns out: loads and loads of touristy tartan shops. After a few days in the country even I started to get sucked in, thinking, “Perhaps I do need a tartan tam and shawl.” Thankfully, I had the sense to know that there would be no way I would wear or want such things once I was back home. Instead I bought a cigar at one of the many tobacconists in the city.

Another picture of Victoria Street.
They do have more streets here but this one is just so colourful.

We then walked back to near the Princes Street tram stop, where we parted ways. Luba went to do her own thing, and I continued to wander around. I had visions of finding a sunny patio and having a cigar, but I never did find quite the right spot. (Smoking is 100% banned inside in Edinburgh, but smoking outside, including on patios is fine; in fact, it seems to be encouraged.) I did enjoy my walk, aimlessly checking out the side streets and squares of the City Centre.

Looking back to the Old City, Edinburgh. This is not the weather I was expecting.

view of Edinburgh Castle from the City Centre

On my way back to Grassmarket, I decided to take the long way round and ended up pleasantly strolling in a cemetery and around the University of Edinburgh.

I reconnected with Luba and we went for dinner at Maison Bleue, a French restaurant on Victoria. It was a bit fancier than we were used to but it had a nice bohemian vibe.

“food first, then morals”
Maison Bleue on Victoria Street

If that has been our only day in Edinburgh, that would have been pretty satisfying, but the next day we had more planned. We walked to the Palace of Holyroodhouse: the home of the Queen of England when in Scotland and royal residence dating back to the 16^th C.

It was quite impressive. The rooms were fairly lavish and it was pretty neat to see where the Queen still has her dinners and get together when she is in town. I’m no monarchist, but I am Canadian and there is a certain interest or awareness of the Queen that is ingrained.

It was especially interesting to see Mary Queen of Scots’ bed chamber where the pregnant queen was forced to watch as her husband killed her secretary/secret lover. Historical drama! Tiny Beds!

We visited the remains of the abbey.

The grounds of the palace were especially lovely.

From there we went for a much slower stroll, stopping to check out lanes and views, and finally, to stop for a proper tea.

Fueled with caffeine and scones, we walked up Calton Hill for views over the city. The views were somewhat marred by the unfortunate angle of the sun at that time of day (morning would have been better), but the walk up was great and we chatted with a local man in his 70s who walks up the hill daily and had choice words for both Donald Trump and Theresa May.

We spent a while on the hill just enjoying the breeze and shade with a cigar and a couple of books.

After that we just ambled slowly and in a round about way back to our home, stopping to visit the Greyfriars Kirkyard and Kirk that I saw the day before and the café where J.K. Rowling apparently wrote much of Harry Potter. (Harry Potter has become a real claim to fame for Scotland. Take that, Robert Burns!)

There is so much more to do in Edinburgh, but we just wanted to be a bit more relaxed in our pace and decided we could skip museums and galleries.

What we couldn’t skip was browsing around Armstrong & Son’s vintage clothing shop, which itself has been in business since about 1840. It was a delight, though we both walked away empty handed.

We packed in it early that night as the next day we had an early train to catch heading south. I loved Edinburgh, could easily see myself living there, and looked forward to returning at the end of our jaunt.

England Europe Scotland United Kingdom

An Afternoon in London, Or ‘How Solo Travel Has Made Me A Bit Of A Jerk’

Scotland wasn’t on my travel list. It looked lovely, but these days I crave destinations that are more far-flung and a little dangerous maybe. I can’t stand it when I tell people where I am going and they have their own suggestions. “Oh you must go to this restaurant.” Et cetera. Scotland was one of those destinations. Plus, as of writing, it isn’t an independent country, so I don’t even get the satisfaction of going to a new country. Not that that is the reason I travel, but I do like lists.

So when I said to my mother, “Would you like to take another international trip with me?” and she said “Scotland” I was fine with it, but not excited. I stifled the urge to say something like, “What about Algeria? Or Bangladesh?” Instead I got to planning.

Scotland actually has a lot of charming places, green walks, and oodles of castles. It is historic and picturesque. Choosing the right places for a 9 day trip was tough. In the end we didn’t want to spend too much time traveling all over the country, so I just picked a few destinations: a day’s layover in London, a few days in Edinburgh, a day or two in Wigtown, to Stirling, and a day trip to Glasgow.

My mum and I hadn’t traveled together since we went to Peru about 4 years prior and I hadn’t traveled with anyone since. I’m not going to lie: traveling with someone is more difficult for me than traveling solo. There are discussions. Constant discussions. Discussions about where and when to eat, where to walk, when to stop, which train to take, et cetera. Mercifully, my mother pretty much defers to what I want to do, but out of the need to be (or to appear to be) considerate, there are discussions that must be had.

The first of those discussions happened when we had our layover in London. I’ve been to London. I lived there. But Luba (my mother) had not, so I was excited to show her around the places I used to work and hang out.

I planned a walk around some of the main sights. We got a bit into the walk, though St. James Park, past Buckingham Palace, down the Mall, through Trafalgar Square, to Covent Garden and Soho, and there were plans for more, but we ran out of steam. She hadn’t slept on the plane (a red eye flight from Vancouver) and, while I had, I was tired and cranky. Then it started to rain.

Weirdly happy to see these phone box sex adverts are still a thing.
I remember them from the 90s – back when people still used pay phones

We went to a cute little patisserie in Soho, unable to agree where to go next. If I were alone, I would have kept walking, ceaselessly, until it was time to go to the airport, but Luba wasn’t up for that. Neither of us wanted to go back to the airport early, and the rain didn’t want us to sit in a park or on a patio. Day one and we were on the verge of a quarrel. This does not happen when you travel alone.

But then the perfect solution struck me. What is my solace and comfort? My favorite way to pass a quiet and contemplative time? Cigars. I said, “Well, we could walk over to St. James Street and go to the Dunhill cigar lounge. I could smoke and you could read.” Success! We were both happy. As we walked there the clouds parted. I had an extraordinary limited edition Bolivar and Luba read her book.

Both restored, we went for a bit of a circuitous stroll before going back to the airport.

In the end, we didn’t stick to my plan and cover all of the ground in London that I would have had I been alone, but I got to show my mother a bit of London and we ended up having a nice afternoon.

Solo travel has taught me a lot: how to be strong and self-reliant, how to be content with my own company, how to meet people, and how to constantly step out of my comfort zone. But solo travel has also made me a bit selfish, resistant to compromise, and bossy. I want to do what I want to do. I’m not proud of those things, but I am pleased that I can set them aside (more or less) to still enjoy traveling with my mum.

We went back to the airport and took a short and sleepy flight to Edinburgh.

Canada North America

Bonjour, Montréal! Three days in Québec

I’ve seen little of Canada. I am from and live in British Columbia but had seen only that and Alberta. Why fly to see other parts of Canada when it is cheaper and more interesting to travel abroad? (So I often say.) So when I had to travel to Montréal for work, staying for a couple of extra days seemed like the perfect opportunity.

In short, I had to appear in Federal Court (I’m a lawyer, not a litigant) and at the near last moment, it was set down in Montréal, meaning that I had to fly on a Wednesday to appear in Court on Thursday and fly home on Friday. Each flight was the better part of a day. Canada is big. But then I thought…wait a minute, why not stay the weekend and actually see something of the City. And just like that, a travel plan was in motion.

I got in late on Wednesday and took a taxi to my hotel, which was on the border of the old city and Chinatown. I was exhausted and stressed but I wanted to know for the next morning how to get to the courthouse and how long it would take, so I went for a walk. It was maybe 11:00 at night, but people were out; in restaurants, in bars, on the street. (It’s not like that in Vancouver mid-week.) I walked through part of the old city, past the impressive Notre Dame Cathedral, to the courthouse, and back again. I didn’t have time to do anything, but I could see that the part of the city I was in was old and it was really pretty. It really did feel a bit like I was in France.

I saw a young man speaking French, wearing a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette, and peeing on the side of a 200-year-old building and I thought, “Wow! This is like Europe!”

The next day Court finished a bit early and I was exhausted, but not too exhausted to go out for a while.

I walked around the old city and downtown for a bit, just exploring. It has a great feel. Parts of it, certain streets, feel just like being in France – maybe not Paris, but some other smaller city.

Most parts, don’t feel like Europe at all, but do feel like a cool, mid-sized city. It feels much bigger than Vancouver, which I like.

There is a lot of public art and so many nice squares, and inviting cafes and restaurants.

But I had my sights set on a cigar. Montréal, unlike Vancouver, still allows cigar smoking in lounges (Four, that I found) and I was not going to let that opportunity pass me by. I walked to Blatter & Blatter, a 100-year-old tobacconist and bought a rare Quai D’Orsay robusto.

a very cold me on the streets of Montreal

I smoked it while walking to a cigar bar called Stogies, which was packed with after work business guys. I got a table, lit a new cigar (a Cohiba), and drank a martini while reflecting on the day in Court. It was my first time in Federal Court, my first time in Court in Montréal, and my first time appearing in Court where the submissions were in French. An occasion worth marking before it fades to memory. I ended up chatting with a couple of local lawyers and regaled them with my stories of the day.

It wasn’t late, but stress of the day and the three hours’ sleep I had were catching up to me so I walked back to my hotel, spent an hour or so watching Law & Order, and fell asleep early.

The next day I started with a working breakfast with a Montréal staple – a bagel and coffee – before going out for more looking around.

I went inside the Notre Dame cathedral, which was surprisingly beautiful inside with rich, twinkling blues and stained glass depicting, amongst other things, the indigenous peoples of the area.

I found the cutest café / general store ever (Le Petit Dep) on a street that is right out of a French movie and had a coffee, not that I needed it, but because I just wanted to soak up the charming atmosphere.

I walked ceaselessly, then took the subway to a different area to go to La Casa Del Habano (Cuban cigar store and lounge), where I had a couple of exquisite cigars and read my book. The place was busy but was embroiled in an intense Hockey conversation that weaved back and forth between English and French.

I walked back to my hotel and saw this great mural of Leonard Cohen.

On my final full day I took the advice of a local and walked to the Plateau district (Le Plateau). I had planned to explore Mont Royal (sort of a forresty park on a hill) but the trees were barren and it was so cold, windy , and rainy that staying in the city seemed preferable. That was one thing that was very different – in Vancouver it was warm springtime; everything was green and flowering. In Montréal it was bitterly cold and I saw nothing green. This is the Canadian weather I hear other people complaining about.

The walk to and around the Plateau was great. A ton of cafes, book and record stores, vintage shops, Portugese markets, French patisseries, heritage buildings, and lots and lots of street murals.

The murals were a real highlight. I snaked my way all around the side streets and alleys to see what I could find. I won’t put pictures of all of them, but there are so many and they’re great.

From there I walked to a French restaurant called Chez Alexandre, which has a cigar lounge on the second floor. I settled in with a cigar and martini and had an engaging conversation with a high school English teacher from New York, who was also traveling solo.

I had plans to go to the fourth cigar lounge in the City (the Whisky Café) but I was tired and cold and didn’t want to have to deal with a taxi, so I walked in a winding way back to my hotel. On the way, taking time to enjoy a coffee at Cafe Olimpico and catch a few last glimpses of the city.

The next day I flew home.

I really enjoyed my time in Montréal, bad weather and work stresses notwithstanding. It was much more appealing and interesting that I expected. And there is so much more to see there. I get why people speak so highly of it. That said, I still wouldn’t recommend it as a holiday destination unless you live close by or have a deal. It is really nice, but it’s not Europe. I think Europe is better. But I liked Montréal and here is the thing that I really didn’t anticipate: It made me feel more Canadian. I am not nationalistic. Canada is fine, but so are a lot of other places and I don’t feel particularly proud to be Canadian. It’s just where I was born. But being in Montréal – this cool city with beautiful old buildings and art and culture, where people speak French – made me feel happy that Canada has this unique place. And now I hope I’ll have an excuse to go back.

Asia China Hong Kong

Hong Kong Layover (I didn’t like it, but it’s not Hong Kong’s fault)

I was excited when I found that I could schedule a day layover in Hong Kong on my flight back from Myanmar. I had never been to Hong Kong and never really had much desire, so it seemed like a great opportunity to get a taste and decide if I want to go back for more in the future. Now that I have been…I think I’m good. I would be happy to go back for another layover, but I won’t be planning to travel there as an endpoint. But let me be clear, there is nothing wrong with Hong Kong; it’s all me. And weather. (But mostly me.)

What was wrong with Hong Kong? Nothing really, it just didn’t impress, excite or intrigue me. I have traveled enough for this to not be a surprise. I was also failed to be excited by Shanghai, Taipei, and Seoul. All nice cities, but I prefer New Delhi, Istanbul, Bogota, and Tbilisi. Plus, and this is in no way Hong Kong’s fault, the weather was awful. It poured rain biblically. I was caught in it for a good hour before I found a shop selling umbrellas and I don’t think I recovered. The skies were grey and although the rain did not put a stop to my planned wandering, it did make it less pleasant. The final thing that was wrong – and is all my fault – is that I was tired. It was the final day of my travels and I had slept for maybe 2 hours. So factor all of that in.

It was cool to arrive in Hong Kong. This place that in my lifetime was a sovereign country, and then wasn’t. It is the namesake of one of my favourite Siouxsie and the Banshees songs. It seems like it could be opulent and seedy. I was excited to check it out.

The train from the airport was quick and serviceable and from there I transferred to a subway and began my planned strolls in what is the financial / business district. Cuff-links and suits. Tall buildings. Orderly streets. Dull looking cafes. (I already mentioned the rain.) I walked around around a bit. It was nice, but nothing really captured my attention.

I walked into a hilly, green park, which was objectively lovely and it was pleasant that it was so close to the financial hub, but the rain made anything other than a brief pass through unappealing.

I decided it was time to check out the other side of Victoria Harbour. I took the Star Ferry across. That I liked. Buying a thick, well worn, plastic token and riding the vintage boat to the other side of the harbour. The goal was in part to get a view of that classic Hong Kong skyline, which I did, obscured though it was by cloud and rain.

I walked for a while on the other side, on the boardwalk, which must be lovely on a sunny day, but I was deterred after an hour and took the boat back across, catching the first glimpses of blue sky.

I really liked the boat and the boardwalk. I have to say though that reminded me a lot of Vancouver on a larger scale.

From there I walked through other parts of the city. The rain eased up. I walked through very fancy shopping districts that, honestly, could have been in any major metropolis. I was on the hunt for an interesting neighbourhood. Something with character; maybe a market or some murals.

Maybe I just didn’t pick my route well, but I ended up walking through areas that were more interesting, with big ugly/appealing high rises and older streets that felt more seedy, but they also felt a bit like Chinatown districts in other cities. They were fine, but not captivating.

One bonus though was stumbling across a street presentation of Chinese dragons and drums.

I hunkered down in an appealing dive that advertised vegetarian noodle soup. I pointed at the sign with a smile and enjoyed a steaming bowl of tasty broth, veggies, tofu, and noodles. I was half way through my bowl when the waitress brought a side plate of 4 chicken wings. Had i been able to speak more words in Cantonese than thank you and hello (as I was only going to be there for a day I made no effort to learn more) I might have said, “Oh, i’m sorry, I didn’t order these.” But I couldn’t say that so I just ignored the plate of meat. When I paid for my meal and got up to leave, the server yelled at me, gesturing towards the wings. I have no idea why. I said “I’m sorry” and held my hands out, palms up, in that way that universally is supposed to suggest ‘I have nothing else to offer’ or something and left. Not a great interaction, but the soup was good.

After that I walked around more, but I didn’t see much of interest and eventually I just accepted that I was tired and wet and went back to the airport.

So my day in Hong Kong wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t that interesting. I know I could have planned an activity or gone to a major attraction like Tian Tan Buddha or gone to a museum or gallery, but I usually prefer to explore a city the first day by just walking the streets. I read up on the city ahead of time and planned a route, but maybe it just wasn’t the right one for me. I would definitely like to to back for another layover and see another area (ideally on more sleep and a sunny day), but for now, my takeaway is that Hong Kong seems like it would be a great place to live, but, for me, was not an exciting place to visit.
(Sorry.)

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

Saying Goodbye to Yangon

I returned to Yangon from Bagan, my trip nearly at an end. I had one and a half remaining days in Yangon before flying to Hong Kong. I had already seen everything I wanted to see in Yangon, so I figured I would just hang out and relax a little before the very long journey home and harsh transition from airport directly to office. I was happy to be back in Yangon. Bagan was magical and Mandalay was fine, but I really like Yangon. I find it so pleasant just to be there.

I stayed at the Backpacker Bed & Breakfast, which was a nice hostel in the centre. It was exactly what I wanted: Lots of travellers to chat with on a pleasant rooftop and very inexpensive. I met people both leaving and about the enter month long meditation retreats, which only reaffirmed my lack of desire to try such a thing. I met solo travelers and duos of all ages. Mostly women. All really nice. I shared my dorm with three pleasant French girls who spoke very little English but were clean and quiet. All good.

After hanging around for a while I went for a walk through Chinatown. I liked the walk particularly because in Yangon the streets are so enjoyable – full of food vendors, pretty buildings, color, and life – but Chinatown as a destination is sort of underwhelming.

But I did stumble across some good street markets and enjoyed the walk.

I stopped for a bowl of soup from a street vendor. I love the street soup in Myanmar. It is fantastic. I had already ordered soup from street vendors there a number of times, so I felt pretty confident. I knew how and what to order, I knew how it would be served (broth and noodles and spices all separate), and I knew roughly what it should cost (about 70c). I sat there, I smiled at the people sitting next to me, I felt superior to tourists who walked by with the obvious look of curiosity and intimidation on their faces about how to order from these unmarked stalls where English was not spoken (intimidation I had felt a week prior). I loaded my soup up with chili sauce and powder and began to eat. I was slurping up the delicious broth and noodles when I slurped too hard apparently because spicy hot broth forced itself into my nasal passages and out my nose. Suddenly my nose was on fire, my eyes watered uncontrollably and slammed shut. I was blind and my face was on fire. I fumbled for one of the rolls of toilet paper they had on the counter to use for napkins but dropped it and it rolled down the hill. I fumbled for another, but dropped it in my soup, which it promptly absorbed. I finally had to blow my nose and wipe my face in my scarf. I tried be cool, even as my face still burned from my nasal soup ingestion, but, had I been able to see, I’m sure everyone at the booth was snickering at me as I walked away. Once the pain subsided, I did think it was hilarious. I was still hungry though so I went to another small street stall a safe distance away and, successfully (and more humbly), had a whole bowl of incident-free shan noodle soup.

I headed back to the big market near the train station, browsed for a bit and then tried a Bumese cigar (not a cheroot, but an actual cigar). It was black and moist and not bad tasting but full of things that I am not sure were tobacco. It had a weird screaming eagle band on it. I didn’t mind it but didn’t bother to bring any back. I smoked it sitting at the ‘No. Coffee in Myanmar’ stand in the market, which did indeed have great coffee as well as a fan. It was a perfect place to avoid the heat and watch market activities.

After that, a bit more walking, and back to my hostel.

One thing that I think is amazing here, and really speaks to the kindness of people, is that most businesses have water pitchers and vessels outside with a tin cup. The purpose? To provide water to people because it is hot and water is vital. No one should have to pay to drink water or suffer from thirst, so they just provide it. I availed myself of this offering many times and was thankful for it.

Back at the hostel I reconnected with a guy I had met earlier in the day; a young fellow from South Africa traveling solo. We decided to check out a rooftop bar that promised to be sort of a club. It had the appropriate setting, music, lights, pricey cover charge, etc, but there was almost no one there. So we just sat and chatted and I had a cigar. Not the party he was hoping for, but I was totally fine with it, not being that keen on clubs to begin with.

The next day was more walking then I decided to see a movie. There was an American horror movie playing called Prodigy and there was air conditioning, so that was good enough for me. Interestingly, they played the national anthem before the movie started and everyone was required to stand in the tiny (maybe 30 seat) theatre. The movie was decent. The popcorn was appalling.

After my movie, I met up with my South African friend and we went to see the world’s largest Buddha, which, as it turns out is not the world’s largest (that is in Myanmar but not Yangon), but it was really big. We then meandered our way to the Shwedagon Pagoda as my friend wanted to watch the sunset and meditate at the pagoda. We didn’t make it there for the sunset, but we watched that from a pretty park next to a lake and ate ice cream.

When we got to the pagoda, I said my goodbye – I had been before and wasn’t interested in meditating, plus, I had a 1am flight to Hong Kong to pack for. I took a taxi back to the hostel.

Myanmar was pretty great. I liked it more than the other countries I have seen in South East Asia. It just had such an easy, friendly vibe, the travel was hassle free, and it was full of beautiful sights. I would even return. But the moment I had little time to reflect because I was on to a day in Hong Kong.

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

Bagan on Two Wheels

I had spent my first day in Bagan seeing the main temples on a tuk tuk. That was a perfect introduction. I basically saw everything I needed to see, complete with sunrise. Had that been my only day seeing Bagan it would have been fine. But a second day was perfect. For my second day I decided to strike out solo on an ebike.

I knew prior to going to Bagan that ebikes were a common way to see the temples, but I couldn’t find any concrete evidence of what an ebike in Myanmar was. Most people told me it would be a regular bicycle but with a motor that you could turn on to help go up hills. That sounded ok. I ride a bicycle. But they were wrong. This is what an ebike is in Bagan:

It is an electric scooter – like an electric Vespa. It is nothing like a bicycle and everything like a motorcycle or motor scooter. This may not seem like a big deal, but for me it was. I don’t drive. I’ve never tried it. Never had a license. Never experienced control of a motorized vehicle. I’d never used a key to start anything. I was in a wheelchair briefly after a bad accident and even that was manual and not electric. So the idea of controlling a key operated, electric vehicle on two wheels was crazy.

Of course I tried it.

The guy at my hotel spent an agonizing 10 minutes trying to explain to me how to operate it. It was hard to get a handle on the speed and turns, but I got it eventually, and rented a scooter for the day, which cost the equivalent of about $5 Canadian. Helmets not provided.

The scooter was…amazing. It went quite fast; up to 80 km/hour, though I stayed at around half that. The experience was one of the greatest I have had. I felt so free. I went so fast, zipping along the paved road with cars and other vehicles (ok, they were going faster). I could cover so much ground and go wherever I wanted. I felt like I finally understood all of those 1950s rock songs about cars. I had found the open road and it felt like home. I started to fantasize about returning to Canada and getting my motorcycle license, joining a gang, and getting a tough nickname…at that point I nearly wiped out, so I decided to focus on the task at hand.

I went up and down the two main roads, stopping where I liked. Whenever I saw a temple in the distance that I wanted to check out, I simply left the road and bounced along the sand or a rocky path. This allowed me to see a lot of smaller temples, many of which were free of visitors. I also visited a small market and some paths around villages.

I went to one temple cluster and a man there was sweeping, which was, at it turns out, his job. Sweeping sand off of temples that sat in the middle of an expanse of sand. He spoke a little English and showed me a flight of narrow stairs up to the top of one of the temples. I climbed up and sat in the shade of the stupa, smoking a Burmese cheroot.

The man came to join me and we chatted a bit. He asked me about Christmas. His daughter was born on Christmas but he didn’t know much about it. I tried to explain about Santa, which sounds so crazy when you really think about it.

I stopped for lunch at a restaurant that was really just a collection of plastic tables and chairs and a bunch of portable cooking equipment. Great food. Unbelievably inexpensive.

I went back to one of the bigger temples I had seen the day before as it had a bunch of stalls selling crafts and textiles. I bought a scarf and watched a woman with multiple neck-elongating brass rings around her neck weaving fabric.

Eventually I was exhausted and went back to my room for a rest before meeting the Italian man I had met on the boat from Mandalay. He picked my up on his ebike and we went to New Bagan for dinner but only after finding the perfect temple from which to watch the sunset. He knew there was one perfect spot and we drove around asking people until he found it – it was the same one I had stood on the previous morning to watch the sunrise. I suppose there is some balance to that.

I finished the evening back at my hotel, sitting along the Irrawaddy River, enjoying a cigar until I began to doze.

The next morning I caught a super early flight to Yangon and began slowly making my way home.

Wandering North

Tag: Travel

Glasgow & Paisley

Dean Village

Wigtown, Scotland

To Wigtown, Scotland by Train and Bus

Edinburgh, Scotland

An Afternoon in London, Or ‘How Solo Travel Has Made Me A Bit Of A Jerk’

Bonjour, Montréal! Three days in Québec

Hong Kong Layover (I didn’t like it, but it’s not Hong Kong’s fault)

Saying Goodbye to Yangon

Bagan on Two Wheels