Way, WAY up North...

I just returned late yesterday from one of the most wonderful roadtrips I've ever taken. Up to Ottawa, north of the border and east almost to the dangerous territory of the fearsome Francophones. Once again the car rental company I dealt with before came through with a reasonable rate (so, once again, fie on these folks!), and, thanks to the exchange rate between US and Canadian dollars, the rate I was charged for a couple of nights' hotel accomodation felt like a bargain.

Once there, I was privileged to meet up with the one, the only, the incomparable "Fiend", who had agreed to act as tour guide and cultural interpreter for this clueless USian. Despite www.weather.ca's dour predictions of clouds and a 20% chance of rain, we had a beautiful day in which to walk around and see some of the sights of the Parliament Hill area. The changing of the red-clad guards is an impressive spectacle, and I couldn't help but notice that the relatively open layout of the Canadian Parliament buildings, with their traditionally English/European architecture, seems much more friendly and less oppressive than the pumped-up faux Imperial Roman pretentiousness of the US Capitol building. And their location on a bluff overlooking the Ottawa River surely makes them one of the most photogenic capitol locations anywhere in the world.

Of equal importance: the "Cat House" is no longer a mystery to me.

The National Gallery and the Museum of Civilization turned out to be well worth the time spent to tour them, and I can favorably recommend both the Bangkok Thai Garden Restaurant and the Sweetgrass Aboriginal Bistro. At the former, a rather motherly waitress insisted on adjusting our napkins properly before bringing us some a lunch that was fairly mild by the typical standards of Thai restaurants. (Fiend informs me that I could have specified a fierier blend). The Sweetwater allows the curious to sample modern culinary interpretations of various foods that were available to native/aboriginal Americans, such as rabbit sausage, buffalo steaks, and various kinds of fish found in north American waters. (Vegetarians will find the pickings rather slim, unfortunately). It's a small place, and didn't seem too heavily patronized on a Saturday evening, but it's worth exploring for those with any degree of culinary curiosity. To his credit, the waiter was knowledgeable about the various spiritual effects attributed to the herbal teas on the menu, but didn't insist that customers believe in them.

Then off to see M. Night Shyamalan's latest effort, The Village, about which I'll write a bit more later.

The trip back was uneventful, except for one minor problem. I had failed to remember that the Ambassador Bridge between Windsor and Detroit is a toll bridge, and as I had managed to rid myself of practically all my cash currency before returning, I didn't have the wherewithall to get through the US-side tollbooth without resorting to a credit card. Nope, no credit-cards accepted. Cash only. The rude and foul-mouthed toll attendant directed me to the "cops" (i.e., customs officials) at the side of the toll area. They, in turn, directed me to the nearby duty-free shop and its ATM. Unfortunately, I have never bothered to establish a PIN number for ATM withdrawals using a credit card, and the credit-card service rep was rather vague about how long it would take to activate one for a cash withdrawal.

At this point, I began to wonder whether I would have to spend the rest of my life as a ward of the toll authority, sleeping in my imprisoned rental car and begging passersby for handouts until I could muster up the $2.75 in cash that I needed to buy my freedom.

The credit-card person had said that they could only authorize creating a PIN number for the card if I called from my home telephone number. Fortunately, my home phone number is my cell phone, which was at that moment plugged into the car dashboard to charge up. So I headed back to the car to get it. However, when the guys at customs saw me go to my car and then back toward the duty-free store, they intervened and told me to just head out through a specified toll gate where, said they, the toll-taker would make "other arrangements". I attribute this to their wish to clear my car out of their rather cramped parking area, rather than to unalloyed charity, but I still appreciate it.

All this for a measly $2.75.

And so back home, where the cats had made only minor messes in my absence, and, later this afternoon, back to work. But with some wonderful memories of a wonderful weekend.

(Note to Limes, W.Y., "Nonsense", and any other Ottawans who might have been interested in meeting up for lunch and conversation: sorry the scheduling didn't work out, but I wouldn't mind meeting you'all on some future trip, should the opportunity arise.)