Sunday, May 30, 2004
May 30, 2004
If it's Sunday, this must be Charlottetown
...but is it Sunday? Days have blurred together for...days, now.
There's a steady drizzle falling here in Charlottetown. I'm holed up in the Delta hotel, getting a little work done and hoping the rain will dissipate before I have to go out and find some Islanders to interview. We arrived here last night...it took us all day to get out of Halifax. We had to lay in some supplies, and by the time we were done shopping, we'd worked up an appetite, so we stopped for lunch and finally got back on the road around 4 or 5pm. We stopped in Oxford, Nova Scotia, for a coffee and to snap a photo with the giant blueberry there (it's the blueberry capital of Canada, after all).
Let's see...before that, I spent an excellent couple of days at home in Halifax. So nice, after a week on the road, to slide into my own bed for two nights.
Before Halifax, we were in Sydney, Cape Breton. Saw the Tar Ponds...depressing and smelly. People I talked to there were concerned about credibility...nobody really buys the recent tar ponds clean-up funding announcement as anything more than a cynical vote-grab. A nice cab driver gave me a Sydney legion pin and told me to start a collection. Maybe I'll do just that.
Before Sydney was Port-Aux-Basques, Newfoundland. I loved Newfoundland, and will have to go back there soon. PAB is a small town of about 5,000 probably most famous for having a ferry out of there. I met a great couple, Barb and Albert, at the Tim Hortons, who drove me around town and showed me the sights. Lovely waterfront, incredible landscape. It's a town of brightly coloured houses perched on these huge rock cliffs that roar out of the sea. Nothing to do there, though, no work, so everyone's leaving. It's the story of Newfoundland, and very sad indeed.
We took the ferry from PAB to Nova Scotia. The Clara and Joey Smallwood. I did a live interview with the CBC Radio morning show in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland while we were waiting in the bus to board the ferry. Been doing lots of those lives, and they're going well. Also while we were waiting to board the ferry, a minivan-load of Christian youth ministry workers came aboard. They were very excited to meet us. The first one on, a guy maybe 20 years old, came right up to me, stuck out his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Ernest." I choked back the obvious jokes: you sure are; you're telling me; yes, I've been accused of that too; hi, I'm sarcastic...and shook his hand and said, Hi, I'm Stephanie. Ah, lost opportunity...
Looks like I won't get to stop in New Brunswick and see the many family members who have been clamouring for a visit. We'll drive through tomorrow on our way to Quebec...our satellite vehicle went ahead to NB to do a story from the Miramichi. It's a big country, and sometimes scheduling adjustments are inevitable.
I'm looking forward to Quebec City...I've never been there before. And then by the weekend, I'll be in Toronto for a quick visit with the folks and the fourth annual Chris Domet Memorial Hockey Game. I'm hoping to be named MVP this year...I hear there are prizes.
If it's Sunday, this must be Charlottetown
...but is it Sunday? Days have blurred together for...days, now.
There's a steady drizzle falling here in Charlottetown. I'm holed up in the Delta hotel, getting a little work done and hoping the rain will dissipate before I have to go out and find some Islanders to interview. We arrived here last night...it took us all day to get out of Halifax. We had to lay in some supplies, and by the time we were done shopping, we'd worked up an appetite, so we stopped for lunch and finally got back on the road around 4 or 5pm. We stopped in Oxford, Nova Scotia, for a coffee and to snap a photo with the giant blueberry there (it's the blueberry capital of Canada, after all).
Let's see...before that, I spent an excellent couple of days at home in Halifax. So nice, after a week on the road, to slide into my own bed for two nights.
Before Halifax, we were in Sydney, Cape Breton. Saw the Tar Ponds...depressing and smelly. People I talked to there were concerned about credibility...nobody really buys the recent tar ponds clean-up funding announcement as anything more than a cynical vote-grab. A nice cab driver gave me a Sydney legion pin and told me to start a collection. Maybe I'll do just that.
Before Sydney was Port-Aux-Basques, Newfoundland. I loved Newfoundland, and will have to go back there soon. PAB is a small town of about 5,000 probably most famous for having a ferry out of there. I met a great couple, Barb and Albert, at the Tim Hortons, who drove me around town and showed me the sights. Lovely waterfront, incredible landscape. It's a town of brightly coloured houses perched on these huge rock cliffs that roar out of the sea. Nothing to do there, though, no work, so everyone's leaving. It's the story of Newfoundland, and very sad indeed.
We took the ferry from PAB to Nova Scotia. The Clara and Joey Smallwood. I did a live interview with the CBC Radio morning show in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland while we were waiting in the bus to board the ferry. Been doing lots of those lives, and they're going well. Also while we were waiting to board the ferry, a minivan-load of Christian youth ministry workers came aboard. They were very excited to meet us. The first one on, a guy maybe 20 years old, came right up to me, stuck out his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Ernest." I choked back the obvious jokes: you sure are; you're telling me; yes, I've been accused of that too; hi, I'm sarcastic...and shook his hand and said, Hi, I'm Stephanie. Ah, lost opportunity...
Looks like I won't get to stop in New Brunswick and see the many family members who have been clamouring for a visit. We'll drive through tomorrow on our way to Quebec...our satellite vehicle went ahead to NB to do a story from the Miramichi. It's a big country, and sometimes scheduling adjustments are inevitable.
I'm looking forward to Quebec City...I've never been there before. And then by the weekend, I'll be in Toronto for a quick visit with the folks and the fourth annual Chris Domet Memorial Hockey Game. I'm hoping to be named MVP this year...I hear there are prizes.
may 25, 2004
Rattle and hum along the highway
Boy, this bus has a rattle to it. I’m aboard right now, tapping away on my laptop. It’s a helluva thing to be cruising through rural Newfoundland…big beautiful lake just appeared out the right side window, mountains everywhere, trees for days….in a giant RV equipped with the very latest in communication technology. Satellite dish, cellphones galore, this laptop with its WiFi card…unfortunately, rural Newfoundland has other plans for us. Cellphone reception is spotty at best…no story meeting for me this morning! And the wireless connection between the onboard device and my computer is classified as “excellent,” but I still can’t check my email. No network to grab onto in the big wild world, I guess. And so I revert to an old-world task. I knit to pass the time.
Last night we stayed at the Comfort Inn in Gander. It was a little like a minimum security prison, but the Mars bar in the vending machine was fresh as fresh can be. Guess they go through a lot of them here. In terms of local cuisine, my busmates (Sat, a cameraman with a dry, dark sense of humour; Paul, a cameraman who keeps mainly to himself, but who is patiently helpful with tech troubles; Catherine, a TV producer with a raucous laugh and the best shoes in Newfoundland [and, I’m willing to bet, pretty much every province we’ll visit] and Bonnie, a videojournalist who looks sweet but is sharp as a pointy thing {Mark left us yesterday to fly back to Toronto for his mother’s funeral, poor bastard. He’ll join up with us again in North Sydney tomorrow night}) and I decided last night that we’d better not put it off any further. We were at Lilly’s Landing, reputed to be the best restaurant in town, so we figured no time like the present to try the fried cod tongues. Or froyd cad tangues, in the local accent. Anyhow, we ordered up a batch to share. Sat had half of one and put down his knife and fork decisively. The rest of us ate them up. Sure, they’re a little gelatinous, but if you don’t think about the fact that you’re eating a fish’s tongue, they’re pretty tasty. Of course, you could dip just about anything in batter and deep fry it and it’d be ok, I imagine. That seems to be the prevailing culinary attitude round these parts, anyhow.
Haven’t talked to many ordinary Canadians lately. Mostly, we’ve been on the bus. Tried to go to the Atlantic Kingfisher in St John’s yesterday to say hey to cousin Terry and maybe grab a little tape of the oilmen on board, but damned if that ship wasn’t behind some kind of serious security fence. No way in I could see, and no one hanging around the outside for me to yell to: Hey, is Terry-the-cook on board? It’s his cousin. So no tape, no visit, no tour for me.
And today will mainly be taken up with driving. We’re bound for Port-Aux-Basques, many many kilometres away…seven hundred from where we started this morning. We’ll bunk there tonight and then get the ferry at 8 tomorrow morning to Nova Scotia. On the way there, I’ll do a quick interview with the morning show in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland, let them know how it’s going so far, what we’re up to, what we hope to find.
Meantime, I’ll wait for cellphone service so I can check in at the office, and for email capability so I can send this off. And I’ll knit. And look out the window at this big old country as it goes by.
Rattle and hum along the highway
Boy, this bus has a rattle to it. I’m aboard right now, tapping away on my laptop. It’s a helluva thing to be cruising through rural Newfoundland…big beautiful lake just appeared out the right side window, mountains everywhere, trees for days….in a giant RV equipped with the very latest in communication technology. Satellite dish, cellphones galore, this laptop with its WiFi card…unfortunately, rural Newfoundland has other plans for us. Cellphone reception is spotty at best…no story meeting for me this morning! And the wireless connection between the onboard device and my computer is classified as “excellent,” but I still can’t check my email. No network to grab onto in the big wild world, I guess. And so I revert to an old-world task. I knit to pass the time.
Last night we stayed at the Comfort Inn in Gander. It was a little like a minimum security prison, but the Mars bar in the vending machine was fresh as fresh can be. Guess they go through a lot of them here. In terms of local cuisine, my busmates (Sat, a cameraman with a dry, dark sense of humour; Paul, a cameraman who keeps mainly to himself, but who is patiently helpful with tech troubles; Catherine, a TV producer with a raucous laugh and the best shoes in Newfoundland [and, I’m willing to bet, pretty much every province we’ll visit] and Bonnie, a videojournalist who looks sweet but is sharp as a pointy thing {Mark left us yesterday to fly back to Toronto for his mother’s funeral, poor bastard. He’ll join up with us again in North Sydney tomorrow night}) and I decided last night that we’d better not put it off any further. We were at Lilly’s Landing, reputed to be the best restaurant in town, so we figured no time like the present to try the fried cod tongues. Or froyd cad tangues, in the local accent. Anyhow, we ordered up a batch to share. Sat had half of one and put down his knife and fork decisively. The rest of us ate them up. Sure, they’re a little gelatinous, but if you don’t think about the fact that you’re eating a fish’s tongue, they’re pretty tasty. Of course, you could dip just about anything in batter and deep fry it and it’d be ok, I imagine. That seems to be the prevailing culinary attitude round these parts, anyhow.
Haven’t talked to many ordinary Canadians lately. Mostly, we’ve been on the bus. Tried to go to the Atlantic Kingfisher in St John’s yesterday to say hey to cousin Terry and maybe grab a little tape of the oilmen on board, but damned if that ship wasn’t behind some kind of serious security fence. No way in I could see, and no one hanging around the outside for me to yell to: Hey, is Terry-the-cook on board? It’s his cousin. So no tape, no visit, no tour for me.
And today will mainly be taken up with driving. We’re bound for Port-Aux-Basques, many many kilometres away…seven hundred from where we started this morning. We’ll bunk there tonight and then get the ferry at 8 tomorrow morning to Nova Scotia. On the way there, I’ll do a quick interview with the morning show in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland, let them know how it’s going so far, what we’re up to, what we hope to find.
Meantime, I’ll wait for cellphone service so I can check in at the office, and for email capability so I can send this off. And I’ll knit. And look out the window at this big old country as it goes by.
May 22, 2004
There's a reason they call it the Rock
It's Saturday night and I'm in St John's, Newfoundland and the antibiotics I took today mean no drinking for me a for a few days...plus, a missed flight meant (I think) my bus-riding colleagues gave up on me and went into town. I'm sure I'll hear stories (and see hangovers) tomorrow, so it's probably just as well that I got in a few hours later than expected.
At any rate, here I am, eating pretty substandard room service fare and looking out my tenth floor window over hugely hilly St John's. The sky is blanketed with quick-moving dark grey clouds, and the hills make my calves ache just looking at them. A nice cab driver gave me a quick tour of the place -- the harbour is incredible. The houses downtown are close together and brightly coloured. All in all, exactly as beautiful as I expected. Beautiful too the view while coming in for a landing, sheer rock faces rising out of the sea. I am entirely too excited about being here. Hope I'll be able to focus on the work I came to do.
Ah yes, the work. For those who don't know, I'm on the road for the next three weeks riding (and sometimes, to my chagrin, driving) A Bus Called Democracy. It's an RV all tricked out in CBC logos, and it's travelling across the country over the next five or so weeks, throughout the election campaign. I'm on board for a new, short-run radio show called Spin Off, airing 11:45am Tuesdays and Thursdays on CBC Radio One and repeating at 8pm on those nights, with another episode on Saturdays around 6:15 or so... the last 10 minutes, roughly, of The World This Weekend. I'll ride the bus as far as about Thunder Bay, debarking around June 11, blinking and stunned, I'm sure. Our first episode airs Thursday, May 28, and features a piece by me, starring my Dad. All about how I got started on my search for democracy.
Other than that, there's not much to tell yet. We get started tomorrow...hit the open road in the bus, searching for regular Canadians who won't mind having a microphone shoved in their faces while I ask personal and impudent questions about why they vote or don't, what they think of the election campaign so far (please, please call it tomorrow...) and where they stand on democracy these days.
I'll write again as I can. And I'd love to hear from you, too. I'll be busy, that's true, but boy, there'll be some long ugly stretches of New Brunswick to get through, so do write when you can. And please forward this to anyone you think might be interested. The more the merrier.
There's a reason they call it the Rock
It's Saturday night and I'm in St John's, Newfoundland and the antibiotics I took today mean no drinking for me a for a few days...plus, a missed flight meant (I think) my bus-riding colleagues gave up on me and went into town. I'm sure I'll hear stories (and see hangovers) tomorrow, so it's probably just as well that I got in a few hours later than expected.
At any rate, here I am, eating pretty substandard room service fare and looking out my tenth floor window over hugely hilly St John's. The sky is blanketed with quick-moving dark grey clouds, and the hills make my calves ache just looking at them. A nice cab driver gave me a quick tour of the place -- the harbour is incredible. The houses downtown are close together and brightly coloured. All in all, exactly as beautiful as I expected. Beautiful too the view while coming in for a landing, sheer rock faces rising out of the sea. I am entirely too excited about being here. Hope I'll be able to focus on the work I came to do.
Ah yes, the work. For those who don't know, I'm on the road for the next three weeks riding (and sometimes, to my chagrin, driving) A Bus Called Democracy. It's an RV all tricked out in CBC logos, and it's travelling across the country over the next five or so weeks, throughout the election campaign. I'm on board for a new, short-run radio show called Spin Off, airing 11:45am Tuesdays and Thursdays on CBC Radio One and repeating at 8pm on those nights, with another episode on Saturdays around 6:15 or so... the last 10 minutes, roughly, of The World This Weekend. I'll ride the bus as far as about Thunder Bay, debarking around June 11, blinking and stunned, I'm sure. Our first episode airs Thursday, May 28, and features a piece by me, starring my Dad. All about how I got started on my search for democracy.
Other than that, there's not much to tell yet. We get started tomorrow...hit the open road in the bus, searching for regular Canadians who won't mind having a microphone shoved in their faces while I ask personal and impudent questions about why they vote or don't, what they think of the election campaign so far (please, please call it tomorrow...) and where they stand on democracy these days.
I'll write again as I can. And I'd love to hear from you, too. I'll be busy, that's true, but boy, there'll be some long ugly stretches of New Brunswick to get through, so do write when you can. And please forward this to anyone you think might be interested. The more the merrier.
May 23, 2004
They call me Butterpot
Ok, they don't really. Butterpot Provincial Park is the name of the place the Bus Called Democracy made its first official stop at. Oh dear, there's some very bad grammar indeed in that sentence. Well, it's very late and I've been up and at em for hours now. I've given myself a foot massage with peppermint foot cream (how can it be that simply riding a bus all day kind of makes one's feet hurt? I mean, it's not like I had to run along beside it or anything...)
Anyhow, we started around eight this morning. Beautiful, beautiful morning in St John's. Bright blue sky, tonnes of sun, open road. We hauled out to...well, Tim Horton's first, of course. And THEN to Butterpot, where everyone who's anyone in St John's goes the May long weekend to kick off the summer season. Strolled through the park looking for Newfoundlanders to chat with. Tough going at first. I found a likely looking group of university aged kids, but they claimed to be too hungover-slash-shy-slash-uninformed-slash-downright stupid to speak with me. No joke. Later, my TV counterpart Mark Kelley gave me a good tip...don't ask, just start rolling. They can always tell you to turn it off, but if you give them a choice in the matter, they're most likely to shut you out. Thanks, Mark!
His first piece aired on the National tonight, by the way. If you happened to see it, I was in the passenger seat of the bus when it rolled past the guard house at Butterpot. But you couldn't see me. Couldn't see Mark, either, for that matter.
Tomorrow we'll leave St John's around noon. Rumour has it my cousin Terry is in town on a ship called Northern Princess...if I get a chance, I'll hop down to the lovely lovely harbour to say hey to him before we get on the road to Gander in the afternoon.
Oh, almost forgot! Went up Signal Hill to shoot some bus exteriors (yeah, I've been hanging out with and even helping my TV compadres...I drove the minivan nice and slow while cameraman Paul hung out the back shooting ht bus as it cruised past. I'm still not ready to pilot the big rig, I have to say. But walkie talkies are fun, and I use one every chance I get!) anyhow, Signal Hill! So amazing! Awfully high, if you've never been there. Open ocean on one side, the city spread out beneath on the other side. An earlier visit by Bonnie (videojournalist) and Paul resulted in whale sitings, but none frolicked for me when we were there later in the day. Ah well. Lots of ocean-side days left on this trip.
Can't believe it's only really been one day. Twenty more to go. I suspect I'll feel like someone entirely different when all this is done. Possibly that someone different will never want to hear another word about democracy...or maybe I'll run for office. Hmmm. We'll see.
Wave to the bus as it goes by...
They call me Butterpot
Ok, they don't really. Butterpot Provincial Park is the name of the place the Bus Called Democracy made its first official stop at. Oh dear, there's some very bad grammar indeed in that sentence. Well, it's very late and I've been up and at em for hours now. I've given myself a foot massage with peppermint foot cream (how can it be that simply riding a bus all day kind of makes one's feet hurt? I mean, it's not like I had to run along beside it or anything...)
Anyhow, we started around eight this morning. Beautiful, beautiful morning in St John's. Bright blue sky, tonnes of sun, open road. We hauled out to...well, Tim Horton's first, of course. And THEN to Butterpot, where everyone who's anyone in St John's goes the May long weekend to kick off the summer season. Strolled through the park looking for Newfoundlanders to chat with. Tough going at first. I found a likely looking group of university aged kids, but they claimed to be too hungover-slash-shy-slash-uninformed-slash-downright stupid to speak with me. No joke. Later, my TV counterpart Mark Kelley gave me a good tip...don't ask, just start rolling. They can always tell you to turn it off, but if you give them a choice in the matter, they're most likely to shut you out. Thanks, Mark!
His first piece aired on the National tonight, by the way. If you happened to see it, I was in the passenger seat of the bus when it rolled past the guard house at Butterpot. But you couldn't see me. Couldn't see Mark, either, for that matter.
Tomorrow we'll leave St John's around noon. Rumour has it my cousin Terry is in town on a ship called Northern Princess...if I get a chance, I'll hop down to the lovely lovely harbour to say hey to him before we get on the road to Gander in the afternoon.
Oh, almost forgot! Went up Signal Hill to shoot some bus exteriors (yeah, I've been hanging out with and even helping my TV compadres...I drove the minivan nice and slow while cameraman Paul hung out the back shooting ht bus as it cruised past. I'm still not ready to pilot the big rig, I have to say. But walkie talkies are fun, and I use one every chance I get!) anyhow, Signal Hill! So amazing! Awfully high, if you've never been there. Open ocean on one side, the city spread out beneath on the other side. An earlier visit by Bonnie (videojournalist) and Paul resulted in whale sitings, but none frolicked for me when we were there later in the day. Ah well. Lots of ocean-side days left on this trip.
Can't believe it's only really been one day. Twenty more to go. I suspect I'll feel like someone entirely different when all this is done. Possibly that someone different will never want to hear another word about democracy...or maybe I'll run for office. Hmmm. We'll see.
Wave to the bus as it goes by...
