

Canada - When The Lights Go Out

By Davina Penny

Copyright Davina Powell 2011

Published at Smashwords

Smashwords License Statement   
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

## Chapter 1 - Monday 4th August

Picture the scene. Steve has decided that it is best to weigh the luggage in advance. My view? Won't make any difference (not to me anyway). Come hell or high water my bag is packed, everything inside is coming with us, and I am NOT going to take anything out. Everything inside is vital to my survival on this trip to Canada. All women know that it is important to have at least two shades of lipstick. One for pre-tan skin, and one for the bronzed glow we are aspiring to. Well, it follows reason that if you have two shades of lipstick, you will need at least two different sets of eye shadow. How guys cannot follow this logic is beyond me. And it also follows, that if the make-up is to look good, the skin must be in good condition also. Thus the facemask, exfoliator, nose peel, eye contour cream etc. Very important stuff. Obviously there are other vital products but I think you get the picture by now. I won't even mention the hair products which are packed, but it is fair to say it does not stop at shampoo and conditioner only.

I never used to be like this though. I am 38 years old, and for the first 37 years of my life, soap and water followed by a rub with a towel was sufficient. Thanks to QVC, I have now become suitably paranoid that if I do not do some urgent repair work NOW, my face will look like my Nan's by this time next week. No doubt about it. Steve will no longer love me, and I will be offered tickets to grab a granny night each time I pass the nightclubs. Heck I remember as a kid, my mum sometimes used to use washing up liquid on our hair if we had run out of the shampoo. (That awful medicated type that used to blind us for three hours each Sunday night when we had our hair washed. Heck kids get taken into care for less these days). Now? I have two leading stylists products lined up on my bathroom shelf in order of application – shampoo, conditioner, volumizer, colour enhancer, shine enhancer, anti-frizz serum etc. You name it, I have got it (somewhere anyway, and probably as yet unused, but you never know – it is going to be needed one day at least).

Of course clothes are important too. At least 8 pairs of knickers are shoved inside shoes to save room. (I am a dab hand at washing them through or getting them cleaned somehow. Besides which, I have only got eight pairs which have not lost their colour, or elastic properties). I swear if anyone were to search the case, it would cross their mind that I am hiding something – who else shoves underwear far down inside shoes like that? And that is another good reason to only pack the decent ones. You may have your case searched, and your private garments aired for everyone else on your flight to see. Funny if it happens to someone else, but a different story if it happens to you.

Courtesy of the local License discount shop in Peterborough, I have packed an entire new wardrobe too. Each item was a fiver or less which had my name written on it, as soon as I saw what was on display as I passed the open doorway. For the first time ever, I am actually going to be dressed the part on holiday. Yes ladies and gentlemen, the three quarter length cotton trousers are there. They hang somewhat lower on my hips than I wanted, but I intent being hip for the first time in my life, builders bum or not.

All of this, along with two puzzle books, two novels and three decks of tarot cards are either shoved inside the suitcase or are inside my handbag, which is large enough to be considered a rucksack. All of this had been packed three days earlier. I had my list of what to take, and had methodically ticked it all off as it was ceremoniously folded and placed inside the required space. Yes, I know packing three days before hand is a bit ludicrous, but I like to be prepared, with none of the last minute flapping around that usually accompanies holiday preparations. And forget the argument about the creases. By the time a case is packed, been lugged to a car, driven to an airport, been thrown onto the conveyor belt at check in (where you really hope and pray the scales are out), and then thrown into the plane hold with a dozen other cases, ALL clothes are going to be creased anyway. My little crease caused by the early packing is going to be totally irrelevant when the case is opened for the first time at the other end.

Steve has packed his own case. Fine by me. I ironed his stuff, and that is where my responsibility ended. If one thing was forgotten, then I would not be able to get the blame. He had also been shopping for new outfits. His case was hosting 6 new pairs of drawers (boxers only – he is definitely not a Y front man), new socks, and thank goodness, a new pair of swimming trunks that actually nearly reach his knees. I would have died if he had taken the old pair with him, following an unintentional flashing of his meat and two veg at a recent BBQ we had attended. I spent ages trying to find a way of telling him that his tackle was showing, but without arousing the attention of those who had not already noticed. In the end I just blurted it out, but he took it in good part. Either the ladies had not noticed, or were too polite to say anything. He is not that small, so I am guessing it was the latter.

We are now in the bedroom with the bathroom scales sitting ceremoniously in the middle of the floor. I am lounging on the bed watching with some amusement at the process that unfolds, not sure whether to carry on reading or observe Steve as he tried to be serious whilst weighing the cases.

Steve starts off by weighing himself. He then picks up his suitcase, and again stands on the scales.

"There you go – eighteen kilograms. No problem."

I watched him getting off the scales, which I swear sighed in relief.

"Try it again though – you know how they change quite often."

The process is dutifully repeated.

"Err, eighteen and a half." He actually sounded surprised but I did not batter an eyelid. I have used these scales many times, and have seen my weight go up by over a kilogram in the space of five minutes before. This goes on for some time, and each time the reading is different.

"Do you want to try mine now?" I enquired. I just knew it was going to be heavier, but as I have already said, I was not going to do anything about it.

"Yep, yours is heavier. You've got nineteen kilo's. Hang on, better weigh the rucksack."

With this, Steve got off, weighed himself sans luggage (again), saw that he had a change in weight (again) and picked up the rucksack. We are allowed five kilos of hand luggage per person. Courtesy of his laptop (which has sat on his lap more times than I have in the last five months) the bag weighed around nine kilograms. I was almost smirking at this stage, because my handbag weighed less than three. And that was including a kilogram of sweets I had packed for the journey. Well, it is an eight-hour flight at the end of the day, and the food is normally cak that they serve you with. I would have had two kilos of chocolate packed in the case too, but decided to take it out at the last minute. We were on a touring holiday, and chocolate in a suitcase inside a car with temperatures at approximately 80 degrees did not seem such a hot idea in the end.

"I should get away with it," he retorted. I am allowed a laptop as extra luggage, so it won't count towards the weight."

Another example of man being classed as a superior species. How the heck can they get away with having such a perk given to them? Since when has a laptop become vital? These were my thoughts now, but believe me, later into the holiday I was almost prepared to marry the damn thing it was that useful to us. In fact, on occasions, if someone had said I had to choose between Steve and that piece of metal, there would have been no contest. You could have happily called me Mrs. Fuhitso, or whatever it is called.

"Look Steve, I think we are going to have to go. It won't matter too much. Besides, Leonard said that they don't charge much for excess baggage. We'll be fine."

I had to put a stop to this, because I knew if Steve had to decide to take something out, we would be late for the plane which was leaving in 20 hours time. Whether to take out a pair of socks, or a pair of boxers would be too much of a decision for him to make without analysing the pros and cons involved. To do the process justice, a flip chart would need to be involved. I wonder if all electronics engineers are as indecisive?

With that, we did a final check of the house, gave Sugar the rabbit a last fuss, and loaded the car. He was being looked after one of his mates, and I had no worries about leaving him like this. He had been cleaned out, food left, and a kitchen cupboard full of treats. Heck he was being more pampered than ever, so would not miss us one little bit. (I know what you are thinking here – how could anyone call a male rabbit Sugar, but it was not my doing okay? He has not had an identity crisis about it, so no need to call the RSPCA or anything – he is a very well balanced and chilled out rabbit).

We made it to the car, and sat looking at each over.

"You ready?" Steve asked as he put on his sunglasses, big grin on his face.

You bet I was. This trip had been booked for two weeks, and I was more than ready. We were both thinking pretty much the same thing: "CANADA HERE WE COME!!"

Top tips:

1) Let your partner pack his or her own case. This will undoubtedly prevent a possible domestic later in the holiday should an item be missing. You can honestly answer the questions at the airport too, if it is packed independently.

2) Throw away the bathroom scales. (Particularly if they are digital). If you are underweight there is no problem, and to be honest if you are horrendously over the allowed weight, you will know it soon enough when you try to lift the damn thing into the car. I really do believe that you will only fill the space you have. If you take a reasonable size case to start with, you will only take what will go in it. Stands to reason? Thus if you insist on buying one of the biggest on the market, you will sub-consciously think you have to fill it. Believe me, you will. And will then be surprised when you are charged for it at the airport. This happened to a friend of mine who I was travelling with on one occasion, and she honestly thought she could take out some of the stuff and put it into her hand luggage. Alas, she got charged for that instead.

3) Try to take the stress out of the drive to the airport, by either leaving during the night (certainly the case if the M25 is involved), or better still, by leaving the night before and staying at a nearby hotel. The last thing you want, is a stressful domestic due to the fact that you have been caught up in the traffic jam from hell, with only an hour to spare before you have to board. Because if it is going to happen, you can guarantee it will happen to YOU. It will be nobody's fault, but you will still end up arguing about it. Not the best start to the holiday though is it?

## Chapter 2 – Later that evening

We were now on the road south, with Steve driving us toward our overnight stopping hotel, just outside of Gatwick. We were heading towards Peterborough, with me being dwarfed by the open road map. I knew where we were heading, and did not really need it, but it is a kind of habit I have. I just love looking as though I was experienced at this sort of thing. It is also a hoot finding as many place names as you can, that sound utterly ridiculous, and if they had not been in the map would have been cited as being made up names. Anything with 'bottom' in it elicits a snigger or two.

"What do you reckon?" he asked, "M11 or A1?"

Oh heck, he was asking me to make a decision again. He is perfectly capable of deciding himself, but throws most things at me that have a choice attached. I just hate it when he does that. If I ask him to decide, he spends ages going to and from the options, with the hopeful look in his eyes that I will take over and opt for one of them. And I hate doing it! I used to always jump in spontaneously and make the decision each time, but I have learned over the months to be patient and let him come to a decision. I found that if I made the decision, and for some reason it turned out not to be the best one, I would feel very inferior and insecure. Especially if he said those immortal words of "we should have.....".

The amount of times I have stopped myself shouting out "well, why the bloody hell didn't you then!".

On this occasion I stayed quiet for as long as I could, burying myself further and further into the open map. I was doing my best to be intensely interested in Reading.

"What do you reckon?" he said, looking over at me. "Which is going to be quicker?"

I looked at the clock on the dashboard and registered the time of 4.00pm.

"Don't know that it makes any difference," I replied vaguely as I hid my face in the map. "All the traffic is going to be heading out of London anyway so the M25 is going to be a nightmare no matter where we join it."

"Which joins nearer Gatwick though?"

I had a quick scan. "The M11 does by the looks of it. Cuts a fair bit off."

That was it. Decision made, and I had a sneaky feeling he had somehow turned it around so that it was my decision. Guys can be so devious and clever at doing that at times – and they think we are the more devious of the human species. Mind you, I was quite chuffed – I had sussed out the route WITHOUT THE NEED FOR TURNING THE MAP UPSIDE DOWN! One point allocated to girl power for that one I reckon. I have never had to move the map around if we turned a corner etc, and am quite impressed with my map reading abilities. Men just love it when we get it wrong, even if it is just by a small margin. They sort of have that smug expression of "Told you – women just cannot map read like we can." Steve has never been able to do that with me, and to be honest, I don't think he would dare. He knows if he did, all decisions after that would have to be his, and that just does not bear thinking about.

Now the decision had been made (not sure who by, but if it went wrong I would do the gallant thing and take responsibility for it), I could sit back and relax a bit. The traffic on the A1 was pretty light, and stayed amazingly light as we pulled onto the A14 heading towards Cambridge. I should apologise at this stage if I come across as a bit "wooden" in my description of the journey. I used to be a policewoman, and for many years was used to the police jargon of "I was proceeding in a northerly direction", and other similar crap. It is amazing how brainwashed you can become when you have used the same phrases and terminology for eighteen years. Magistrates who have to listen to that drivel all the time must get well and truly brassed off with it. I promise to try and avoid using it here though.

After about three miles, I saw the usual ominous sight ahead of us on the dual carriageway – brake lights, and lots of them. This was followed by all the traffic ahead of us slowing down until it came to a complete standstill. Traffic the other way was sailing merrily past us.

It was at this stage, Steve decided to put the traffic announcement system on, which would override the radio with any local horror stories of black spots. Shortly after this, we were rewarded with a cheerful voice from some far away studio telling us that there had been an accident on the A14 somewhere near the M11, closing that side of the road down. Naturally it was our side of the road, and naturally, it had occurred miles ahead where we were trying to join the M11. This equated to a bloody long traffic jam.

We were both relieved that we had decided to travel down that night instead of some unearthly hour the next morning. If that had happened with a few hours to go before our flight was due to depart, you would have been digging my fingernails out of the dashboard for some time to come. Which would have been a real shame because I had spent ages the previous night airbrushing a design onto them.

Therefore Steve was forced into making a decision. He turned round at the next junction, and drove back to the A1. In total we had lost only about 20 minutes, but he still muttered those immortal words "if only we had......"

The A1 must be up there as one of the most boring roads in the country, but to give it credit I have never yet been held up on it. Most people opt for the neighbouring M1, which does leave it relatively free. And it was taking us the right way which was another bonus.

Two hours later, we pulled into the services at South Mimms and had a welcome break from the heat in the car. The summer was really warming up, and we were relieved to be heading away from what was being muted as the hottest summer for decades. The weather forecast had predicted temperatures hitting 100 degrees the following week, which is way too hot for comfort. It felt that it had already started, and as I got out of the car, I had to do the unlady like thing of unsticking my trousers from my backside. Thank goodness his Peugeot did not have leather seats. As we headed towards the main doors, I discreetly pulled my knickers out also, hoping that no-one had noticed.

After relieving ourselves we had to then decide on what to eat, but that was made instantly by Steve, after only a nanosecond of thought – KFC.

Why? Because he is addicted to them. I swear if I had the recipe on how to make their Zinger towers he would have proposed on our first date. We knew from a previous holiday in America that they don't really make them in the same way, so he was going to have one last meal here, and enjoy it, as it was likely to be the last for over two weeks. A sort of condemned man's last supper if you like. By now, we were only about an hour from Gatwick, and a welcome bed.

The flight was due to leave at noon, so we had to be at the airport by 10.00am to check in. Driving down that same morning just did not bear thinking about. We had done some checks on the Internet, and had telephoned around, trying to get quotes for airport parking. Amazingly the cheapest we could get was £109. Yep, we had been caught in the trap of flying during the peak period. Everyone with children knows what I am talking about, as do others who have no choice but to fly during the school holidays. We had flown to America the previous December, and the parking fee was a fraction of what we had just been quoted for this trip.

However, there is an alternative, which is what we had opted for. Steve had been told by one of his mates that it might be cheaper to actually stay at a nearby hotel, which also offers to park your car for you, for the duration of the holiday. I had not been aware that such places existed, but true to form, we found hundreds of such establishments were scattered around all the major airports. Looking at some of the pictures, most of them also looked quite nice, and different to the fleapit I had imagined would be willing to offer rooms that would only get used for the one night only. This is where it now gets crazy. Remember – the price we had been quoted for parking the car at the airport was £109. The price for 15 nights parking, and an overnight stay in a hotel for the two of us? £85. Yep, nearly £25 cheaper. Go figure that one out. So, we decided to take up that option, and had booked the room in advance on the Internet. I hate computers at the best of times, and have often badmouthed the Internet as being the downward spiral to people not talking to each other face to face anymore. I reckon that is why we will eventually find that Martian beings have no mouths. It will be because they haven't talked to each other for years, and chat via Yahoo or something instead. They probably have silly user names to go with it as well. I have to begrudgingly admit though, that it does have its uses, and this was an example of one of them.

We had decided to stay at a place called Russ Hill, which according to the map and directions was only about eight miles from the south terminal. We had printed the map out, and I had been charged with giving directions once we had passed the south terminal turn off.

At about 8.00pm we were on the A23 heading past the airport. According to the map, the hotel should be no more than a few miles away, but I was not going to take that for gospel. However, we were pleasantly surprised to see that in fact it was spot on with regards to accuracy, and that the hotel was set in some lovely grounds at a village called Charlwood. We had the feeling though that we were not exactly going to be welcomed with open arms by the villagers. Every few yards we saw placards at the road sign all with the same message "We say no to another Gatwick runway," or something similar. (I can't quite recall the exact words, but the message was pretty clear). I had to have some sympathy with them to be honest. The village was really pretty and quiet. Another runway nearby was going to be devastating for them, let alone the extra traffic it was going to bring, with others like us trying to tip toe to the hotels, attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible. I guess only time will tell if they do win the fight on the issue, but it would be a shame for sure if the landscape were to be spoiled.

As we pulled into the car parking area (the hotel had been very well signposted all the way which had been a bonus), we were met with a sight we were not expecting. The hotel was to our right and looked splendid with its white walls and lawned gardens. Very impressive indeed, and exactly as depicted in the literature on the Internet. To the left we were met with the sight of what appeared to be a supermarket car park on a Bank holiday. There were rows upon rows of cars parked, each of them without about an inch of space either side of them to park in. You could not have got any more cars in there without first putting them through a crusher. We both looked at each other and had identical thoughts: "How the heck are we going to find a space in there?" The rows went on for what appeared to be miles, confirming that we were not the only people who had decided to stick two fingers up at the car parking prices at the airport.

Steve hesitated for a few seconds before deciding to try the left hand turning.

"Good luck", I murmured and settled down for the evening's entertainment.

We drove the whole length of the car park, came round the other side and were then stuck at a T-junction.

"Which way do you reckon?" he asked, looking both ways for some divine inspiration.

"Not sure", I said. "Try that way", as I vaguely waved to a small track to my right. He took this route, and we found ourselves back to where we started. Not a good start. We had seen a couple of spaces in the car park on the first circuit, but did not hold much hope that they were going to be big enough. With resignation, we repeated the journey, taking it a little slower on this occasion in the hope that we may have missed one on the first lap. Half way up, we saw a gap that was sort of big enough for his Peugeot, but it was going to be a tight squeeze getting into it. I breathed in as much as I could in order to create a vacuum, and thus shrink the car, closed my eyes and silently wished him all the best. Seconds later, he had turned off the engine, and was getting his stuff ready. We had made it! I did not even want to think of how the hotel staff were going to move it to take it to the car park, but heck, it was not my car so I wasn't too bothered.

A few minutes later we were standing in the queue at the check in desk, suitcases pushed to one side. It was obvious by the presence of other such stuffed luggage that this hotel was a very popular choice with the holiday crowds.

Steve dutifully completed the paperwork, which included the purchase of tickets for the courtesy bus ride to the airport the next morning. The transport left every hour which was very handy indeed. We then toddled off to the room we had been allocated. Thankfully it was on the ground floor so we would not need to run the gauntlet of stairs or temperamental lifts.

"Well, we're here now," said Steve as he put the key in the door. "The holiday has now started."

I was grinning with agreement as he opened the door and I poured in through it, suitcase closely following behind. At which point the grin disappeared when I saw what was on the other side of the door.

"Oh my God," I breathed. "It's awful."

All I could do was stop and stare.

"We have a partition as a main wall," I said in disbelief, eyeing the dark green, heavily marked sliding partition to the right of me. Steve pushed pass me and gave the surroundings the once over.

"Looks like it is really a family room split into two," he mused. "You can see how they fold it back when it's not being used. Very clever." Only an engineer could see the mechanics involved instead of the squalor that was surrounding us.

"And look!" I shouted. "The window backs onto the car park!" I was at this stage hoping beyond hope that the air conditioning worked, because it would not be practical to have the window open all night, for the chance of any non-present cool breeze. With the heat wave we had suffered for days, you would have had more chance of knitting with fog than of having a night-time breeze come wafting through.

"It's up to you," he said, flopping onto the bed. "We can upgrade the room if you like. You did say at the time of the booking you would be happy with the cheaper one."

Yes, once again I had made a decision, and boy had I got it wrong. The upgraded room was only about £10 more expensive, but I always see that as being £10 we could spend on something whilst on holiday. Look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves etc. Besides, on the Internet site the hotel looked so nice, I imagined that even the economy rooms would be better than most I had stayed in. I rationalised everything in the space of about one second and declared, "No – this will be fine. It is only for one night and I am sure I can handle it for just one night. We'll stay."

"Okay. Will be back in a tick. Got to go and sort the car out."

With that he leapt off the bed, and went back outside, leaving me to figure out how the TV set worked. It was one of those old portable ones with a turning dial on the front, instead of the infrared remote control I had gotten used to since being with Steve. I tentatively pressed a button on the front, had a bit of a twiddle and found BBC 1. In black, white and a sort of green. I was pretty sure that there was a colour contrast button somewhere, but reasoned that probably every other guest had tried that, so didn't even bother trying to find it. Phil Mitchell would just have to stay green looking. It was just as well we were not going to be watching snooker that evening.

I was just getting settled when Steve came back. Only he did not look quite as happy as when he had left.

"What's up?"

"I have just written over my insurance to someone who will be driving my car" he said, looking the most serious I had seen him since we had left home.

"How do you mean?"

"It means that they do not have fully comp insurance to move my car. If they have an accident, they are not covered for any damage to my car."

This was pretty serious, as his Peugeot is his pride and joy. The thought of someone else driving it was bad enough, but the fact they would not be covered for any damage was fairly worrying.

"With any luck they won't be able to start it, so it will have to stay there," he muttered, more in hope than anything. In fact there was a good chance of this happening, because he has a bit under the bonnet that gets stuck regularly, causing the car not to start. It is usually rectified by a great whack with a hammer, but any hotel employee would not know this. I saw it as caught between a rock and a hard place though. If it stayed where it was for two weeks there must be a chance of having the doors hit by neighbouring cars. Poor Steve. I knew he would be worrying now about the car, but there was not a lot we could do at this late stage of events. As he was deep in thought, he glanced over at the television set.

"It's green," he said, stating the obvious.

"The red ray tube has gone."

This meant diddly squat to me, and did not even go anywhere near to explaining why the picture was green, and I did not even dare ask. However, he is a guy, and this did not stop him having a fiddle to see if he could improve the picture. It was never going to happen though, so Phil continued to look green, albeit a slightly different, more fetching shade. I should have guessed that a green television set was going to be like a red rag to a bull to an electronics engineer. Show them anything that is not working, and they can't resist having a play with it.

About an hour later, we were both in bed, hoping that the early night would help us the next day with any jet lag we may feel. Although Canada only has a five-hour time difference, the flight was going to be a long one that would mean us being awake for around twenty hours or so. I had taken a Nytol with the aim being, a good period of eight hours uninterrupted sleep.

Steve could fall asleep on a clothesline if necessary and it was not long before he was gently snoring, unaided by any drugs.

I glanced over at him lying there next to me, looking all angelic and cute. I knew once again, that I was the luckiest woman on the planet, and was about to go on holiday with the person I loved more than I could ever describe. This was going to be our second proper holiday together, and I couldn't wait. I was really looking forward to the idea of spending fourteen days with the love of my life. With that, I gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead so as not to wake him, and settled in myself.

Top tips:

1) Look around for deals regarding airport parking, using sources such as the Internet and holiday shops. You may find that the hotels offering an overnight stay may be a better option. (Particularly if you want to avoid an overnight drive ahead of the flight). This could definitely prove to be a better option during peak travel times.

2) Take note of the small print on the hotel literature. If they are

offering an economy room, make sure that you are happy with what that will entail before accepting it. Remember – the pictures shown on advertising sites will show the best features of the hotel, not the small back rooms that have been converted from something else in order to accommodate the numbers of visitors/guests.

3) If you have concerns about leaving your car in the care of

hotel employees, make sure you are aware of, and are happy with the insurance cover in place at the time. Also, check where the car will be parked whilst you are on holiday, as it may well be the case that it will be moved to a different location to where you originally left it.

## Chapter 3 – Tuesday 5th August

I sat bolt upright, wide awake. Steve was still asleep next to me, snoring like a pneumatic drill as I checked the clock behind me. 1.30am, and it was still pretty dark outside. Bloody marvellous. I had taken the Nytol in the hope of a really good night's sleep, only to be woken up by what sounded like a large party in the room next door. The partition was offering next to no soundproofing, and I could hear pretty much all of what was being said, although I couldn't understand any of it. The family who had moved in were of Asian origin, and were not speaking English. Rather than appear ignorant and insulting, I would not even dare an attempt at identifying the dialect. Suffice to say, the woman of the house was the loudest by far, and it appeared from the tone of voice, that she was exceedingly brassed off with something. (Probably the fact that the room had a partition, and that the TV set was not working).

The longer the conversation went on, the louder she became.

There were occasional mutterings from the more subservient members of the room, which on their own would have been okay. I did my best to get back to sleep, but it was near on impossible. I was as wide-awake as I could be, with still at least five hours until daybreak.

I resigned myself to the situation, and lay back, alternating my attention between Steve's snores, and the tirade in the next room. At one stage, Steve did wake up. The snore turned into a sort of snort, as he opened his eyes and looked at me with the groggy 'I've just woken up' look.

"You okay darl?" he mumbled.

"Yep – just been woken up by the noise next door."

"Okay," he replied. "Try to get some sleep."

With that he closed his eyes, and within two seconds was back in the land of nod. All I could do was stare at him astounded, partly with jealousy and partly with admiration.

How do guys do that? Why is it that they can sleep through all hell breaking loose around them, and we wake up as soon as a floorboard creaks? It is one of life's mysteries, but believe me I would sell my soul for their secret to this phenomenon. In fact I would do a swap; our secret for being able to smell out bullshit from 100 yards away, for their ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Seems a fair exchange to me.

Eventually I must have fallen asleep because I was woken by the sound of a clock alarm at 6.00am. The problem was, it was not mine – it belonged to the owner the other side of the partition. Mine was not due to go off until 8.00am.

Soon after the ringing had been stopped, I heard the voices again. But, it was somewhat confusing. The voices were distinctly English, and the male/female input was fairly equal.

What the heck had happened? I am absolutely certain the earlier voices had not been of English descent, but these were obviously Yorkshire or similar. Had I had a bad dream, induced by the drug I had taken? Had the earlier KFC repeated on me? Or had the room had a very fast turnaround of clientele? Was it one of those hotels that rents rooms by the hour or something?

I would never know the answer, but it was certainly going through my mind as I listened to the couple talking about the forthcoming flight.

The female was on her mobile phone at one stage, and it was from this conversation that I learned they were bound for Mexico that morning. That had been my choice of holiday destination, but was dismissed when I realised that it would be way too hot for comfort over there at this time of year. A Christmas visit had been planned (Steve will do anything to avoid spending Christmas day with his mother), but that was also dismissed as a plan, when we saw that we would need to sell our house and bodies to pay for it at that time of year.

The couple next door were up and about very quickly, as it transpired that their flight left before ours. At 7.00am I was left with a welcome silence as I mentally prepared for the holiday ahead of us. Canada was going to be an unknown quantity to us both, but I was really looking forward to the whole experience. We had no real plans in fact. Once we collected the car at the other end, we were going to find somewhere to hole up for the night and would then take each day as it came, spending the night in different locations, depending on where we were at the time.

I reached behind me and turned my alarm clock off, safe in the knowledge that I was now awake until such time we had to get up.

Our suitcases were packed ready, with our travel clothes available on the back of the chair. I am used to immediately unpacking when the destination is reached, but due to the fact we would be literally living out of the suitcase I was getting some practise in of only taking out what was needed for that immediate few hours time period.

At 8.20am we were both busying ourselves getting ready. We were both pretty excited by the whole idea, but were still in that 'I have not yet woken up' frame of mind, so we didn't really say that much to each other as we dressed.

Steve dutifully did the checking out, as I looked at the TV screen above the desk. Rather thoughtfully the hotel had installed a screen showing the details of the arrivals and departures at the airport. The one for Canada was going to be in a few pages time, so we didn't bother waiting to see the details.

Once we had checked out, we joined the small group of people outside the hotel, all waiting for the courtesy coach to take them to their relevant terminal. It was quite interesting looking at all the labels on the suitcase handles as I tried to discreetly see where everyone was heading. The sizes of the cases always amuse me. It is always easy to see the people who have packed absolutely everything they can – they seem to have the floral print material styled cases. The youths are also easy to find – they are the ones with just a small holdall and rucksack to their name. I have to admire the way that they can breeze through a holiday with just the bare essentials, with no more than two pairs of clean underwear as spares.

The day was really starting to feel warm, even though it was only 9.00am. I just knew that we were going to appreciate the cooler weather in Canada, as England had been forecast for temperatures of 100 degrees – warmer than what it was in Mexico at the time, which was rather ironic.

A few minutes later, a small red minibus turned into the forecourt.

"Anyone for south terminal?" the driver bellowed as he opened the side door for the luggage. A few of us bustled forward and handed over the bags, which were handled very carefully and considerately. We then queued up by the door, waiting to board.

"Tickets please," he shouted as he opened the door forward. Steve had already got them ready.

"Return tickets too – I want them as well."

"You sure?" asked Steve, a bit taken aback by this.

"Yeah, they never ask for them on the return leg, so we take them now."

Bit strange, but we were not in the position to question the logic, so both tickets were handed over.

The bus was delightfully cool as we meandered our way through the country lanes to the terminals. It was at this stage that we were reminded of how narrow the village lanes were. The sight of this bus thundering down every hour, must have really rubbed salt into the wounds for them, that they were within a stone's throw of one of the biggest and busiest airports in the country.

Eventually we pulled into the drop off area outside of the departures lounge, and it finally hit me that I was actually now on holiday. It had been many years since I had travelled from Gatwick, and I had forgotten how big the place was. I used to watch Airport regularly on television, and laughed when the personnel claimed that they had a twenty minute walk or more, to get from one place to another. Surely no airport terminal is that big. If you allow for an average speed, it would mean that the building would be over a mile long. However, I started to believe their claims as we hunted for our check in desk around area J. Now I understand why you are advised to arrive two hours prior to departure time – it is to allow plenty of time to find your way to the check in area.

After a short hunt, we found it next to some American airlines, which appeared to have about 20 check in desks. Our Air Transaat check in area had only three or four desks open, and the queue was fairly short. From my inexperienced viewpoint, it appeared to be a very small company. We were about tenth in line, when I was aware of a couple of women join the queue behind us. I heard them before I saw them, or rather I heard one woman in particular. When I turned round, I saw a very young petite woman, standing next to Godzilla in a dress. The younger girl was almost giving me an apologetic look, and I felt a little sorry for her. I was not sure if the older woman was her mother, but she was certainly talking to her as if she was a child. Unfortunately, half the airport must have been able to hear her also. I gave the younger woman a smile that I hoped appeared sympathetic, and turned my attention back to the queue that had shuffled forward a few feet. I moved forward to fill in the gap, but was immediately bellowed at from behind.

"Is that your case?"

I turned round and saw that I had moved forward okay, but had left my case behind. It was approximately five feet behind me. I mumbled an apology, reached behind and pulled it forward. Easily done, and I am sure I am not the first person to be caught in the world of day dreaming at a check in queue.

"That could be a security alert you know, hello!" the whale sized apparition shouted after me. I glanced over at Steve who had winced at this, and stared straight ahead. I was sending out private pleas that she be somewhere near the middle of the plane (for stability to the aircraft), but far enough away from us so as not to be annoying for the duration of the trip.

Now, I do not mean to come across as being intolerant of larger sized people. In fact it is the opposite. It was her larger than life voice that was the problem. It just seemed to me that her more than ample size had given her a good-sized pair of lungs with which to vocalise.

She was also approached by a smartly dressed man working on behalf of Air Transaat. He had also spoken to us a short while earlier, so I knew what was coming, but had no choice but to tune in.

"Hello ladies, are you travelling to Toronto?"

"Yes, why? What has it got to do with you?" was the short reply sent back.

I could see that this had really taken him aback somewhat.

"We are just making sure that you are in the correct queue for your flight, and not queuing unnecessarily," he whimpered, realising he was now confronting the scariest female he had ever encountered. No amount of training would have prepared him for this sort of aggression in response to a courtesy type question.

"Well, of course we are in the right queue," she shouted." What has this got to do with you?"

The poor man did reply, but he was backing off at the same time so I did not hear all of what had been said. By now, I was starting to really feel sorry for the poor personnel actually working as check in clerks. I had visions of about four fingers all hovering over the emergency alarm buttons hidden under the desks, as they prayed not to be the unlucky one tasked with checking her baggage in.

About ten minutes later we had reached the front of the queue and were asked to put our bags on the scales, hand luggage first.

True to form, Steve's was well over weight, but he had a triumphant smug look as he produced the laptop, as a magician would produce a rabbit from a hat. Mine was only two and a half kilos, which was pretty cool considering at least one kilo was down to the bag of sweets I had packed for the holiday.

The main luggage was well within the weight limit, and we were just about to move away when the guy behind the desk uttered those immortal words – the words that send dread into the heart of every traveller by air:

"There is a slight delay to your flight. Due to a problem with the passengers in Canada, you will not now be leaving until 3.00pm." I just looked at the guy in shocked silence, but he would not make eye contact. Naturally they are trained in how to deal with this situation, and this is a coping tactic they adopt: don't make eye contact, and hopefully the passenger won't ask a load of stupid questions.

We both did a very quick mental calculation and realised that we were going to face a three-hour delay. This meant that we now had five and half hours to kill. Bloody marvellous.

We moved off, and then formed a plan of action.

"Breakfast?" Steve suggested.

Sounded a good idea to me, so we set off on the trail of a good restaurant on the next floor. We split up, looked at menus and then re-grouped to decide.

The winner was Frankie and Benny's which had a really good looking full English breakfast menu. We knew we were going to eat a load of crap and junk food on this holiday, so it was not the time to be sanctimonious and eat half crisp bread with orange juice. Besides which, the aircraft food was going to be an unknown quantity so it made sense to fill up before hand.

The service at the restaurant was absolutely first class. The place was extremely busy, but the waiters and waitresses were exceedingly fast and efficient. In addition the food was superb, and also reasonably priced by airport standards. We both ate slowly, in the vain hope that it would take up a large proportion of the time we had left to kill before boarding. However, there is only so slow you can go before the staff decide to add you to the rent book as a resident guest, so after half an hour we moved off to look in the various shops. None of them really had caught my eye, and after a quick visit to the bookshop, I realised that I was not likely to be buying anything.

It sort of makes a mockery of the booking in system though. When you arrive, your bags are weighed to within the nearest tenth of a kilogram. Woe betide anyone who is over the required limit. You are then free to wander around all the shops, spend until you have run out of money, and double your baggage weight, with no danger of it being weighed again. How does that work?

With about three hours to go before the flight, we decided to walk on through to the departure lounge area. Security is always going to be in issue for us, due to Steve's insistence on taking as many legal gadgets as he can fit into his bag and on his belt. I have been with him for two and half years now, and know him to be the sweetest guy around. Seriously, he would not hurt a fly which is one of the things I love him for. Stop him on the streets and conduct a random search, and you would be forgiven for thinking that he was out to assassinate someone. As a minimum he will have three knives, and two Swiss army type gadgets somewhere in his camera bag. (The small scissors come in handy when I have broken a nail though). This is in addition to three torches, two of which could blind you from a distance of about a hundred yards.

In lieu of this, I thought it would be a good idea to go first so as not to appear as though I was with him should they decide on a full body cavity search.

True to form, my bags went through safely, and I walked through the metal detector without activating it, even though I was wearing a fairly chunky neck chain and pendant.

As I turned around, I heard a woman saying, "Can I look in your bags please?"

I just knew without actually looking, that she was talking to Steve. Sure enough she was. I watched with some amusement as he methodically emptied his rucksack, showing her the gadgets housed within. After a few minutes of being told about the properties of the camera, laptop etc, she waved him through. To be honest, I was not sure if it was because she was happy in the knowledge that he was not a terrorist, or whether it was due to sheer boredom.

I glanced behind him and saw that he had been the cause of the increase in queue length. I resigned myself to the fact that there would no doubt be more occasions where he would be searched due to the contents of his baggage. That was even taking into account he had left the knives at home.

"What do we do now?" he asked, looking around at the half empty hall of seats, surrounded by yet more of the same shops and restaurants we had seen the other side of the security passport area.

"Dunno," I responded.

"We could do what we usually do – take it in turns to look in the shops whilst one of us watches the bags."

Steve went first, whilst I found a row of four unoccupied seats that I converted into a makeshift bed. I was feeling a little dozy, and it was not long before I was catnapping, with the sounds of the people around me becoming more and more muted. I'm not too sure when I woke up, but it was to the sun streaming through the glass windows in the ceiling above, hitting my face full on.

Once the initial glare had gone, I saw that Steve had done his shopping and had come back to relieve me.

Feeling a bit groggy, I sat up, handed over the reins of control to him, (I had been guarding his rucksack all the time) and wombled off for a tour of the duty free area.

This invariably only ever takes me about ten minutes because I rarely drink, and don't smoke at all. I am still using the perfume I had bought the previous Christmas whilst in America, so that ruled that section out too. This was shaping up to be an all time record for me – until I saw the make-up and cosmetics section. It sort of kept calling me, caressing my name as it drew me towards the colourful rows of lipsticks and eye shadows. There was no way I could resist, so I succumbed gracefully. I just knew at the back of my mind that I needed more lipstick like I needed a hole in the head, but the lure was too great.

I must have looked like a kid caught with a free rein in a sweet shop as I compared shades and brands.

However, ten minutes later, I was dead proud of myself as I left the store – I had resisted all urges and bought absolutely nothing! This was all followed by whistle stop tour of the Body Shop before returning to where Steve was sitting, and hopefully another catnap prior to the flight.

The sun had moved round considerably so I talked Steve into moving to a different area where once again I could stretch out for a while. This time though, sleep was being elusive so I gave up the ghost and half-heartedly worked on one of the puzzle books.

At exactly 2.00pm we decided to wander down to the departure gate itself, having exhausted all the possible entertainment facilities and shops in the main hall area.

Again, the size of the airport was confirmed to me when we saw where we were headed. The information sign was advising us to leave fifteen minutes for the journey! Heck, what county were we heading to?

When we arrived, we saw that a sizeable crowd had already gathered around the gate. Previous experience led me to believe that we would be boarding at around 2.40pm.

At 2.45pm no call had been made.

At 3.00pm there was still no movement at the desk. By this stage, I was starting to get a bit twitchy. Our departure time had come and gone, and we were still all staring out at our plane that was so tantalisingly close.

"Calm down," Steve whispered after I had checked his watch for the umpteenth time.

"We will get there don't worry."

"I know," I whispered. "But this is bloody stupid. Why can't someone just tell us what is going on?"

"They will, and there is nothing you can do about it, so chill out."

Thus spoke the voice of reason. I continued to grumble inside my own head, as time seemed to stand still. I am not a moaner at all, but I knew that sleep deprivation was starting to tell. I knew once the holiday started, I would be my usual cheerful self, but for the present, was content to be the biggest grouch going.

We eventually boarded at around 4.00pm, and it was a delight to see that we had seats at the front of the economy class section, giving us extra leg room. We were in a row of three seats, and I saw that a young blonde haired woman already occupied the window seat. I gallantly let Steve have the outside aisle seat so that he could make use of the gap for even more leg room.

I absolutely love flying (the takeoff and landing experiences are indescribable), but could easily do away with the eight hours or so in the middle. It was going to be tough going on this particular flight, because the seats were the narrowest I have ever sat in. Steve must have been in agreement, because he made no joke about the size of my thighs being the main issue.

I immediately clipped the seat belt into place, and sat back with a book at the ready for when we were airborne.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this Air Transaat flight to Toronto. I would like to apologise for the delay, which was due to a problem with passengers in Canada."

At this stage I think everyone of us had a different vision of what the problem could have been, depending on the vividness of their imaginations.

"In addition, I need to inform you that we have been advised that there is a wait of approximately forty five minutes before we can take our slot for take-off."

This was immediately followed by the nearest thing to a mutiny I have seen.

"No bloody way," was the loudest response I heard, and in fairness it was probably also the politest. It was not aimed personally at the pilot, as it was not his fault we were delayed. However, everyone had just about reached the end of the line where patience was concerned. Forty-five minutes on top of the four hours already we had to bear, was just too much. Especially when it was going to be spent crammed in a seat barely big enough for both arse cheeks.

A few seconds after the verbal abuse had been thrown, the same pilot came back through the intercom, only this time his confidence level was a lot lower. I reckon we had scared him half to death. His voice definitely had taken on a slight tremor.

"Err, I have just been in contact with the controllers, and it seems we may be able to find a slot in the next ten minutes. Naturally I will be trying for that, and will keep you informed."

With that, he signed off, and no doubt barricaded the doors behind him. Even the stewards were starting to look a little nervous and were starting to huddle in a group, no doubt thinking there would be safety in numbers.

After a few minutes, the aircraft started its trundle towards the runway, and the whole plane sighed with relief. The stewards began to relax, and let go of their defensive postures. It appeared as though the pilot had won the day, and had pushed us up the queue for takeoff. Who knows what bribery had been used, but to be honest none of us really cared.

I just love that initial feeling, and to anyone who has never flown before I would strongly advise that you try for a window seat on your first outing. The feeling of having your life totally in the hands and control of the pilot is both a terrifying and exhilarating feeling. As you are pushed back into your seat, you cannot help but feel the excitement build, and as you see the ground move away from you, it is difficult not to be awed by the whole experience. I will never, ever understand how such a beast of such weight can stay in the air, but that is the wonder of modern day technology.

The couple behind me seemed to be having a whale of a time. He was obviously English, and the lady was Canadian. They had hit it off the moment they had sat in their seats, and were chatting away as if they were old friends instead of new acquaintances. She was nervous though, and the guy was trying his best to lighten her concerns.

"Is this the stage where you hold my hand, and huddle up to me then?" he asked.

This was followed by a very coy and girlish giggle.

"Looks like he has pulled," I whispered to Steve.

I tried to turn around to have a look at them, but it is so difficult to do this subtly, so gave up. No doubt I would be able to have a nose at the set up on my first trip to the loo. (Of which there are normally a few – the excuse being I need to get up and move around before I end up climbing the walls).

We hadn't made conversation with the passenger seated next to me yet, and I was not too sure whether to make the first move or not. For all I knew, she may want to spend the whole trip in silence and with her own thoughts. It would be unfair on her if she had someone prattling in her ear for the next few hours, so I decided to leave it to her to initiate contact. I guess only the British would be so reserved in such a situation.

Shortly after saying goodbye to Gatwick from the air, we were heading north over Manchester towards Ireland. Approximately seven hours were left before we arrived in Toronto and I was already feeling a little antsy. However, the film choice looked as though it was going to be fun, and that would help me through at least ninety minutes. I sneaked a peak at the passenger next to me, who was also sneaking a peak at me. Must be a female thing there, because Steve had shown no interest whatsoever. She was quite pretty with incredibly blonde hair. The only thing that ruined it was the fact that it had not been combed (or washed by the looks of it), for at least a year and was in knots and tangles all over her head. She also had the discerning habit of scratching it regularly, at roughly sixty second intervals. I tried to move discreetly closer to Steve, but could not get any closer without actually sitting on his lap. I suppose the younger generation would just look at me, tut and say that I was just being.. well... old really, and that this was 'fashionable' now. I just dreaded to think what was actually living in the depths of the mess, but had a good idea of what the main inhabitant was likely to be. Believe me, I had no intention of making head to head contact which is just as well, because I always react to insect bites badly. (It is the only allergy I have).

However, she was by now smiling at me, so the ice had been broken between us.

"Hi there," I opened.

"You on holiday or going home?"

"Home for me," was the reply.

"I've just finished touring for the last three months."

"Wow," I said, immediately interested.

"Where have you been then?"

She reeled off half of Europe including Switzerland and Austria.

"Blimey, that sounds great. So which has been your favourite so far?"

"Got to be Switzerland," she said without hesitating.

Not good old England then," I remarked with more than a little humour.

"England is okay," was the reply with equal amount of humour.

"Did you get the chance to do any of Scotland, Wales or Ireland?"

I always think that people have a different perspective if they have ventured outside of England itself. I really do believe that the world does not begin and end within the M25 area, and that there is so much to appreciate elsewhere within these Isles.

"I did some of Wales which was great, but not anywhere else."

"You have got to do Ireland" I enthused. "The scenery is great and the people are so friendly. It is a safe place too for females who holiday alone."

I had to admire her for her guts to do what she did. Not everywhere is going to be safe, let alone for a female who is going solo.

"Cool – I will think about it for the next one."

Wow. Not only had she done a trip of a lifetime, but was going to do another. I really was starting to admire her. I was also hoping that she did get the opportunity to visit the Emerald Isle. I have been to the north and South of Ireland, and love both parts equally as well as the people. My dream is to be able to tour the whole coastline with Steve, in a quaint wee camper van big enough for the two of us. One day, who knows.......

We carried on chatting for a while longer, before she settled into updating her journal, and I got out one of the novels I had bought with me for the duration of the holiday. I read for England, and knew that two novels and two puzzle books would just about be enough. Steve could take the in-flight safety instruction booklet, and still have enough left to read for the next holiday.

There is not really that much I could add about the flight, because as most of us know, the actual flight itself is tediously boring. I had kept an eye open for the dragon slayer who we had encountered at the airport, and was content in the fact that there were at least twenty rows between us. The movie was funny, but there again, Steve Martin films usually produce the goods. The in-flight meal was also quite good. I am always amused at how the meal tray resembles a tardis. (For those of us old enough to remember Dr. Who). The whole thing is no more than a few square centimetres, but they still manage to cram in a starter, a bread roll, the main meal, a pudding and the container for the hot beverage. Pretty amazing really.

I did try to have a nap on the plane, but gave up on that idea pretty quickly. The highlight of the day came approximately six hours into the flight.

"Ladies and gentleman, we are now flying over the south tip of Greenland at a height of approximately thirty nine thousand feet. For those of you on the right hand side of the plane, if you look out of your window you will see the landmass below."

I looked over past the passenger (getting dangerously close to her hair in the process), and gasped when I saw the sight below. It was one of the most amazing scenes I have ever seen, and no words here will even begin to do it justice. The grey/brown land mass was interspaced with snow peaks, and ice valleys, meandering their way into the sparkling ocean. There was absolutely no sign that man had inhabited the area. In fact it looked totally devoid of any life forms at all. Absolutely breathtaking. I nudged Steve awake and told him to take a look.

"My God" he breathed.

"Amazing isn't it?"

This was the cue for the passengers on the left side of the plane to join us, and after a few seconds we were in danger of tipping sideways as it appeared as if the whole plane had crammed into the window seats along our side. I couldn't blame them though – it was spectacular. If there was any good time to visit the loos this was it, because everyone had their noses glued to the windows.

As I watched the scene move away from us, I felt myself relax. I am involved with alternative therapies, and I could only think that the feeling of awe had actually burrowed itself deep into my consciousness, leaving a very significant mark behind.

I just had a feeling that from this point onwards the holiday was going to be pretty damn special.

Top tips:

1) If possible, try and book a seat with extra leg room. I don't think there is a surcharge for this on this particular airline.

2) Try and book a seat on the right hand side of the plane. It is going to be worth it for the sight of Greenland in all her splendid glory.

3) Find out before leaving your accommodation if there are any delays on the flight. This may save you the frustration of having to kick your heels for hours in the lounges. Alternatively, if the wait is horrendously long, check in then get on the underground and go to London or somewhere nearby for a couple of hours.

## Chapter 4 – Wednesday 6th August. First impressions of Canada

I won't go into too much detail of the airport experience, as once again, it is pretty tedious. We had been told countless times that Canada is a really friendly country, people will welcome you etc. I am sure that is the case, but believe me it can never extend to staff who work on the customs side of airports. To be honest, they cannot really be classed as being members of the human species, as they appear to be completely devoid of any emotion. Come on, hands up anyone who has encountered a customs officer who: a) has actually smiled or b) made you feel anything more than a common criminal who is intruding on their soil?

I was only intending to visit for sixteen days and certainly was not intending to work during the stay. (I have enough of that over the rest of the year thank you very much). Yet still, when asked whether I am visiting for business or pleasure, I feel as guilty as hell with whatever answer is given. How do they do it? Invariably they are not monstrous looking, and are not physical ogres with giant sized heads or anything. They are always the same size as you and me, but twice as intimidating.

The only difference with the Canadian customs officer we were dealing with, was the fact she did smile as we left. A sort of 'knowing' smile if that makes sense. The type of grimace that makes you want to confess to everything, including the kidnapping of Shergar. I wonder what they make of the English customs staff?

The drive out of the airport was also uneventful. We quickly found the Avis rental desk, picked up the keys, and within five minutes were driving in a strange country, on the wrong side of the road, in a place we knew nothing about. However, Steve is a real star and I had total confidence in his ability to get us to our first stop off point of Mississauga. He had driven in America the previous Christmas and had taken to the challenge like a natural. I had my driving licence also, and could drive if necessary but that was only ever likely to happen in the case of an emergency. Instead, I had nominated myself to the role of map-reader via the laptop and GPS mapping system we had bought with us. Speaking of America, there are similarities between the two countries, and their car sizing is a prime example. We had booked our car in the UK over the Internet, and had opted for a medium sized car. The definition of their small was a Metro. Tiny for sure, and way too small for two large suitcases. Thus the next option was chosen which was a Malibu. Don't ask me what one of those looks like – remember I am a female.

Anyway, it turns out to be absolutely massive. Bloody huge in fact, and I was hoping against hope that I would never have to drive it. The metro would have probably been about the size of a Cavalier. The one advantage of the Malibu though, was the fact that we could get both of the suitcases in the boot, or trunk depending on which side of the Atlantic you reside. It was a bit of a squeeze but we were happy in the knowledge that we would be able to park up anywhere, and not have our luggage on show. I am sure in Canada we would have been fairly safe, but my experiences are based on some areas of the UK, where any property in plain view is going to be nabbed before you've probably locked the driver's door. I have read some pretty scary accounts of people who have had their car stolen, WHILST THEY ARE FILLING IT WITH PETROL! I just can't even begin to understand what goes through the minds of some people, or the lengths they will go to.

Gettting back to the story here, before I lose the thread totally. As we pulled out of the underground car park into the sunshine, Steve was doing a sterling job driving the monstrosity, whilst I was doing my best to establish where the Travel Lodge was situated in Mississauga. (Seriously, the car was that big it should have had a guy walking in front of it with a red flag). We had both come to an agreement that the best course of action that first night was to hole up, get some sleep, and start afresh in the morning. We knew that Mississauga was only about five miles away, thus reducing the opportunity for getting lost. In fact, I was so proud of the fact that I navigated us to the front door without so much of a hitch. Traffic was pretty light even on the main roads which gave Steve the chance to really get to grips with the car, the road systems and the non-existent warning signs, of which I will talk more about later on.

The guy on the desk at the Travel Lodge was extremely helpful, and whilst Steve was booking us in, I made my way over to the leaflet display stand. I was met with a sea of colour and opportunity, so grabbed one of everything to read at leisure once we were settled in the room. We knew we were going to do the CN tower the next day, but we still had another fourteen days to fill. Naturally Niagara Falls was on the agenda, but I knew from speaking to others who had visited, this part of Canada had loads to offer.

The room itself was comfortable and, even more importantly, had a quiet air conditioning system. We were both absolutely knackered, so after a leisurely bath I hit the pillows and fell asleep pretty quickly. Steve must have followed fairly soon after because I did not even recall the television being turned on. It is like a magnet to most of us when we book into a hotel, particularly one abroad. It is as if the holiday is not really beginning until we have had a flick of every channel they can offer. I remember in America it was the weather channel that we watched the most, because it was so incredibly entertaining. They really hedge their bets over there you know. Instead of putting clouds on the map to give you an idea of what has been forecast they tell you instead. Our lads and lasses will stick their neck on the line, and occasionally get it wrong. However, it is all good-natured and they take the leg pulling that results with good humour. Not so in America where mistakes would not be as easily tolerated.

"Well folks, we can say that tomorrow there is a 50% chance of precipitation." Of course there is. It's either going to rain or it's not for goodness sake, but I guess in a country which sues at the drop of a hat, it is not worth making a mistake, just in case. You can picture the scene can't you – everyone suing for a new outfit because it got wet (dry clean only naturally), and that nasty weatherman said it was going to be sunny all day.

It was the other forecast indexes though that caused the most hilarity. We saw quite a few including, pollen index, aches and pains index, and incredibly, a flu index. They were showing the map of the whole of the states, and in one corner, pinprick in size was a green dot. Apparently there had been some cases of flu there. No kidding eh? It was December at the time. I had visions of an army cordon being placed around the area, with no-one being allowed to leave just in case it was going to spread. Heaven forbid that something that occurs virtually every winter should actually spread. I know it is off topic here, but the weather channel is definitely worth watching if you are ever in America. I guess it's because they would have so many different types of weather in one country. We were in Florida, and spent most of our days in swimwear at Wet 'n' Wild. The same day, New York had apparently received twenty-three inches of snow. Incredible. It is only through watching this sort of coverage that you really appreciate the size of the United States.

We both awoke around 7.30am the next morning, ready and raring to go. The breakfast actually offered was comprised of doughnuts and coffee. As we had not really eaten anything since the flight we were both ready to eat anything. We made our way down to the end of the corridor where there was small seating area overlooking the reception. One or two other couples were already there and were silently eating whilst reading the complimentary newspapers that had been thoughtfully provided for us. I'm not a coffee person but there was plenty by way of alternative. Steve cannot survive without tea every hour on the hour, so whilst I settled with a freshly squeezed orange juice and piece of bread, he homed in on the tea. Whilst waiting for him to sort his breakfast out, I began to read the newspaper, hoping to learn a little about the city of Toronto, only to be interrupted by a very loud voice.

"Hello."

I looked up and saw a young boy, around the age of ten or eleven, hanging over the banister.

I looked round to see if anyone was going to reply, or even take ownership of the lad. Instead everyone was looking at their newspapers even more intently, as if to avoid making eye contact.

"Hello," I ventured back.

"You English?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Thought so . Could tell by your accent."

This did not seem to warrant any further comment so I turned my attention back to the paper.

"Do you know where I'm from?" he asked. Obviously he had established a point of contact, and was not willing to let it go. All around me, people were almost climbing into the newspapers in order to make themselves appear invisible.

"Er, no not really," I replied, hoping against hope that Steve would step in and take over. I looked up to find him grinning at me instead.

"I'm from Texas you know."

"Really, that's nice," I murmured hoping that he would find someone else to home in on. You just know when the conversation is taking a wrong turn, or if you are dealing with someone who does not follow the normal rules of engagement shall we say. My radar was going like crazy, but I felt I had no escape route I could use. As this lad was between me and the stairs, it only left going straight over the top of the banisters. Steve, quite sensibly had no intention of rescuing me, and I couldn't really blame him. If it had been the other way round I am sure I would have done the same given the circumstances.

"You know what a black widow is?"

"Yes, I think so."

"They got 'em around here you know. They are poisonous. One bite and you will die. You will be dead. It will kill you."

This was starting to throw me big time, and I was beginning to question the choice of reading material he had been allowed. I just did not know what to say in response, and didn't want to say something that would actually risk stretching the conversation. However, whilst I was trying to think of something appropriate I was saved by the appearance of a woman I took to be his mother.

She hurriedly shuffled him off, obviously embarrassed by her son's exploits.

"Wow," I said. "Close shave there for sure."

The sigh of relief was audible from everyone. People began to re-emerge from their papers and give me looks of sympathy.

From that point onwards, I was able to read the paper without interruption and came across a terrific story. The only thing was, it had nothing to do with Canada, but was the sort of story I love.

Basically there was an area of Austria where the accident rate on this particular stretch of road was really high. Regularly, year in year out there were people killed in their dozens. The authorities had tried everything in their power to reduce this. They had changed the surface of the road, put up warning signs, the whole works, but nothing had worked. They were at their wits end when someone came up with an amazing suggestion, which in most areas of power would have led them to be being removed by men in white coats. The suggestion was to call in the local Druids and ask them to have a look at the area. They came along as requested, did a bit of dowsing and established that the accidents were caused by the fact the river was running in the wrong direction. This was all the fault of mankind who had caused it to reverse its normal course, and this in turn had led to a lot of negative energy. Now, believe me I am not pooh-poohing this at all, because I sort of understand where they are coming from. However, I could not speak for the population of Toronto, but I was absolutely mesmerised by the story.

The article ended on a real high note. The druids erected quartz structures either side of the road, and in the two years that had followed there had not been one fatal accident.

I just had to point this out to Steve, because he is one of the biggest cynics I know when it comes to claims like this. He knows I am involved in crystal healing therapy, and does tolerate a lot of what I talk about, but I know as an engineer he thinks a lot of it is a load of tosh. I could not see though how he was going to be able to talk his way out of this one. The facts were there, loud and clear.

"Here listen to this," I started eagerly, and read to him the whole story.

"What to do you reckon to that then?" I said triumphantly.

"Not a lot really."

I just stared back at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he replied, in an almost patronising voice, "I think the reason there are no accidents now is because people have slowed down to have a look at the quartz things which means they are not having the accidents."

"You are kidding," I replied, somewhat deflated by this.

"No. I don't think it is the energy from the quartz thing which is what is being claimed, but if there are no accidents now, that is the main thing. I don't think it really matters what the reason is do you. It is all in the mind don't you think?"

I just stared at him. There was no way he was going to be convinced otherwise, so I did not see the point of even trying. Having read the article, I had been totally impressed. The accident rate had gone to zero. It had not been reduced, or cut in half – it had stopped entirely. I mentally took my hat off to the Druids, and also to the authorities for having the guts to actually consider a different approach. Heck knows what Ken Livingstone would have said if someone suggested the same for the North Orbital Road.

I then proceeded to sulk for about half an hour whilst Steve checked us out. However, I cannot stay in a strop for long, and he was quickly forgiven as we made our way towards Toronto. Once again I was map reading via the laptop and directed him to where a car park was indicated on the corner of Spadina and West King Street. Once again the journey had gone without a hitch, and I had to give credit to Steve for getting us there in one piece. They just don't seem to believe in single carriageway roads over there, and it was quite intimidating to find yourself on the roads where lane discipline appeared to be none existent. I just knew it was going to take me a while to get used to the fact that all lanes are fair game for any vehicle, at any speed. The car park we opted for was placed very well on the outskirts of the city, with the CN tower being just a few minutes' walk away. I had heard about the building, and seen it on English TV a few times, but it had not really registered with regards to its importance within the world.

"What is the CNN tower then exactly?" I asked as we walked through a quite pathway towards it.

"Eh?" Steve said, looking at me strangely.

"What is the tower?" I repeated. "What's it used for?"

"Oh Right. I take it you actually mean The CN tower, not the CNN?"

"Yeah. That's what I said."

"No, you said CNN tower."

I was now starting to feel a little stupid, but nothing new there really.

"Yeah, whatever," I said vaguely. "What is it used for?"

"Nothing."

"Well, it must be used for something."

"Nope. It is just a tall building, and happens to be the tallest freestanding structure in the entire world. In fact it is one of mankind's biggest achievements."

I gave this some deep thought before showing my confusion. "What, you mean it doesn't do anything?"

Steve just shook his head and carried on walking. From an engineer's point of view, it was an amazing feat of design and architecture. Thus it was the first item on his 'must see' list.

From my point of view, (which I will admit is totally borne out of ignorance), it kind of seemed a waste of time. Why build something that big, and that expensive just for the sake of it. It just didn't seem to make sense to me. I was aware that I was probably insulting a whole nation by being so simplistic in my view, and I did try to look at the entire project in a different way. When we arrived at the base of the tower, I was astounded at how narrow an area it took up. I expected the tower to have a huge base in order to support the structure. Instead, I would say it was probably narrower than most office blocks you see in London. That in itself was pretty impressive. We walked up to the display board and saw that there were different options available. We learned that there are in fact two different observation areas for visiting, with a restaurant available at the lower observation area. Steve was the more excited about this visit, so I was prepared to do anything he wanted. I have no problem with heights so had no qualms about going as high as we could.

Once inside, we were surprised at the fact there were no queues. Over here in the UK you have to camp outside for a week in order to get into Madam Tussauds (a slight exaggeration, but you get my point I am sure). There were areas taking you to an arcade type area, but we were only interested in the tower, and the sights it had to offer. Even the restaurant held no interest, although I felt the menu looked interesting, albeit on the expensive side.

On the walkway to the tower itself, there was a lot of very well laid out information explaining the history and the making of the tower.

I have condensed a few details here that may be of interest:

The CN tower was built in 1976 in Front Street, by Canadian National to demonstrate the strength of Canadian industry.

In the 1960's, the high-rise buildings in the city were causing interference problems with communications. The solution was to build a structure with microwave receptors high enough to be sent over the top of the buildings, thus improving reception all round. This has resulted in Toronto having the clearest reception in the north of America.

The tower has receptors at 338m and 553.33m.

The height of the tower itself is 553.33m, or 1,815 ft in imperial height.

It cost 57,000,000 dollars to build.

The foundations are 50 feet deep.

The tower can take a wind tolerance of 260 mph, which is way above what is ever actually experienced by the tower.

On average, it receives 75 lightening strikes a year.

In recent years, the 2579 steps have been moved into the middle of the tower, and lifts are now used by visitors. However, one person holds the record for carrying a piano up the steps.

The restaurant stocks 500 different wines.

The highest public viewing deck anywhere is found at the tower, at a height of 447m. (Known as the 'Skypod')

At 342m there is an outdoor viewing area, and a glass floor.

There were a few more facts and figures available, but I have chosen the most important or most interesting ones. I just had to feel so sorry for the lift attendants. All the information is available to the public to see, but they still get asked the same questions, which they all answer with the same smile frozen on their faces.

I thought the one about the lightening strike was one of the most interesting facts listed. It is an average of six strikes a month, or at least one a week. It must be pretty amazing to be near the top when that happens. I am surprised they don't sell spare underwear in the gift shop as well to be honest. I know I would be running for it, if I were there when it happened.

We had chosen to do the two observation decks, and the glass floor.

The first view was from the inside observation deck at 346m. The view was absolutely spectacular, and we were both ruing the fact that we had chosen a slightly misty/overcast day for the visit. The literature reckoned that on a clear day you could see as far as Niagara Falls. We could see the whole of Toronto, and had an amazing view of the Lake below us. Lake Ontario is massive. There are no other words to actually describe the size of it. You look out over the water, and you cannot see land the other side. For all you know, you are looking at an ocean, it is that big. When you see it from the tower, it is even more impressive, and it was quaint seeing the small dots of white on the water where sailing boats were moving so slowly, we could not tell they were moving at all. At night, the whole scene would have been just as spectacular, but for different reasons. Toronto is heavily marked by high skylines, and at night the whole place would look like coloured stars on a black velvet cloth. Steve was already vowing to come back for a further visit, but this time at nightfall.

We also visited the Skypod, which is even higher still. We were awed by the fact that we were standing in the highest observation point in the world, and once you looked down, it was easy to believe. People walking on the pavements below were no bigger than ants. The taxis caused some laughter between us. If you thought the yellow cabs in parts of America were garish you have not seen anything yet. These ones were two tone, with the roofs being one colour and the body work another. They seriously looked as though someone had gone rooting around a scrap yard for parts, and took the nearest match they could find, and a bad one at that.

Having exhausted the views from the observation points, we made a visit to the glass floor, which I was really looking forward to. I had a vision beforehand, of a 360-degree all surround glass floor. Alas, when we arrived I was somewhat disappointed. The area of floor was only about four metres or so. (The guides give the dimensions as being 256 square feet). I guess you have to admire the technology and vision involved in the engineering of the floor, but I really wanted it to be something REALLY spectacular. Steve was the first to stand on it, and initially he was a little bit cautious, but I can't say I blame him, because it was a bloody long way down should something go wrong. Once he was orientated, there was no stopping him. He took up a variety of poses including sitting down, lying down, face down – you name it he tried it, with the widest grin possible spread over his face. Just as well he is not into yoga or we would have still been there. Much as I adore looking at Steve, it was the faces of the young children that I really enjoyed watching. They know absolutely no fear at all, and all of them had faces lit up like beacons as they played on the surface. It was the parents who looked worried, but they needn't have been. The floor can apparently take the weight of fourteen hippos. (Large ones at that). Heck I would have loved to have seen that being put to the test – it would give the guy something different to try carrying up the stairs instead of a piano.

I had a go after Steve, and immediately resorted to being like a five year old again. I struck the stupidest poses I could, and insisted he photographed me. I was hoping that they would show me suspended in air, but unfortunately the photos were not that good because the glass was not totally sheer. Still, it was good fun and certainly an experience. If there was any flood therapy that would be able to sort out a fear of heights, that would have definitely been it. A 'kill or cure' experience in the extreme. Although I had been initially disappointed, I guess the overall experience had been worthwhile. After all, the chances of doing that anywhere else were pretty remote.

Once we had seen all that we had come to see, we made our way back down the tower, out into the open air, which had slowly begun to clear. Looking up from the base of the tower, it was difficult to really appreciate how tall it really was. For anyone who has any thoughts about going, I would say this: don't just look at it from below – go up and see the tower from its true perspective. It is expensive, but heck you are only likely to do it once in a lifetime so it's worth it.

We then found ourselves with a half day left to spare, and were not too sure what to do with it. The Sky Dome was right next door to the tower, and is another of Toronto's top tourist attractions. My dad had taken the tour of the place, and had also gone to a baseball game there. He absolutely raved about it all, but it was not something that really appealed to either of us, so we decided to give it a miss. However, it does boast a few interesting facts, of which the below really tickled me. (All shown on their website).

There are a total of 88 washrooms throughout SkyDome including 43 Women's, and 39 Men's for a total of 1280 toilets. In fact, women's toilets in washrooms outnumber men's by 4 to 1.

Hallelujah! At long bloody last there is a designer on this planet who has actually appreciated the fact that women are fed up with having to queue for toilets, and the reasons behind it. Not only has he realised this, but has also done something about it. This is the first unisex public building I have been aware of, whereby the correct balance has been attempted. I don't know who was responsible, or what they look like, but I want to marry him. Having said that, it was probably a woman in charge – it just seems too much of a sensible decision for it to be a normal guy if that makes sense. Sorry if this statement hurts any guys, but you really have to be female to understand the frustrations we feel at most public venues when it comes to answering the call of nature. It is so bad in the UK, there was a recent news item whereby the Government are considering producing legislation ordering new public buildings to double the amount of ladies loo's at the time of construction. Not sure what the punishment would be if they failed to comply though. I would just make them queue in the same line whenever they wanted to spend a penny. I reckon that would be the best way to make sure they rectified the situation, and would save public money being wasted on a court hearing.

The Sky Dome has many claims including the following:

All seats are a generous size with 32 to 33 inches between the seat back and the chair ahead.

Shame they did not think of using the same designer when they made the seats for the Air Transaat flights. (Or most flights for that matter).

SkyDome is the only facility in the world to wash 37,000 seats in addition to all areas of the stadium after each event. It takes 14 people 8 hours to complete.

What a refreshing change! I should think most football followers know only too well the feeling of sitting on a half eaten hot dog, that has been left sitting on the seat since the last home game, two weeks previously. I have to take my hat off to the organisers at the SkyDome. Customer satisfaction obviously features very highly on their agenda, and I would imagine it is very well appreciated by all and sundry who visit.

There are other facts and figures, but these were the ones that caught my eye. Yes, the website does tell you about the dimensions, how long it takes to open the roof etc, but us girlies want to know the important things – where is the nearest bar, and how long do I have to queue for the loo's.

We decided to head into town, and have a nose around the shops. We were intrigued to find that not many shopping areas are actually above ground, in the format we recognise. There were some small mall size areas, but the main one we visited, called Marchants, was actually underground. My Uncle later explained the reason behind it. In the winter, it is not easy trudging around streets with inches of snow sloshing over your boots. However, people still need to shop as normal, so to make things easy, and keep things warm, the main areas will usually be found in semi-underground malls. There is not really a lot I can say about the one we visited, other than the fact it was very similar to what we are used to in the UK. One striking feature was the fact that the clientele were very multi cultural. In the UK you will still find areas that are very 'White British' dominated. I am sure that this is one reason why we have the intolerance that still exists, and the horrendous examples of racism that make me sometimes ashamed to be classed as English. It appeared that Toronto had a very healthy mix of cultures and races, which was evident in the people, the shops and the cuisine. Canada is always mentioned as being one of the friendliest countries you can visit, and I was left wondering if one of the reasons is because it has so readily embraced the differences within humanity. Who knows? Either way, I had a great time people watching as we made our way through the mall, and felt totally comfortable and at ease even though I had only been in this environment for less than twenty-four hours.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in the area of Queens Park. We had been advised to check out the Parliament buildings. These, we were told, were very similar to the ones in London.

As we approached the building, I was drawn to the flame burning outside, near to which were some oriental people holding what appeared to be a protest. I can't walk past these sorts of things without first finding out what they are bringing to our notice. I may not agree with it once I have found out, but it is a woman's inquisitiveness that takes over. Steve walked straight past showing no interest at all, but I stopped to read the placards. A lone male was handing out leaflets, and I took one, intending to read it later. At face value, it appeared that there was a bit of an outcry in China, where it was being alleged that innocent people were being imprisoned, tortured or murdered for practising a form of meditation. It may well have been propaganda, but they obviously felt strongly enough to risk further harm by protesting openly – albeit in a foreign country. The least I could do was show some courtesy and read the leaflet before forming any opinion.

We then walked up the path towards the foremost building – the Ontario Provincial Legislature. And what an amazing building it was! It was a wonderful dark pink in colour (unlike our dirty smoke covered buildings at Westminster), made out of granite and sandstone. I don't know who designed the building, but it was really beautiful. The brickwork was unique, and I could only describe it as resembling blamanche in appearance.

We were also pleased to hear that free tours were offered, albeit we had an hour's wait until the next one was due. However, in the meantime we were free to amble around the huge entrance hall, where my attention was immediately drawn to one of the display cases. Ontario has three items that are its emblem, and one of them is the amethyst. I have a few pieces of my own that I think are impressive, but I could have happily ram raided the display cabinet for the specimen they had on show. I made a secret pact with myself to try and find where it was mined naturally. (Heck knows how I would have got it back to the UK, but that was irrelevant at this time).

Another emblem is the loon. This is rather a cute duck that can be found on all the waterways in the area. Thankfully we were warned that the term loonie is used to describe one of their bank notes. Could certainly save an embarrassing situation at a later stage, now that we had that awareness behind us.

Even if you take the guided tour aside, (which by the way was very interesting and entertaining), the show items in the foyer were worth seeing in their own right. Taking pride of place, in its very own display area was the original provincial mace. The Government is based on our own in principle, and a lot of their customs and habits are the same. The mace has a vital role in as much if it is not there, the parliament cannot sit. This must have cause a monumental headache in 1812 when it was taken by the Americans. (Why they wanted it is anyone's guess but at the time the neighbouring countries were not exactly on each other's Christmas card lists). It is not the sort of thing you can nip down to Woolworth's and replace at the drop of a hat, nor would it be made overnight. When it became obvious that the Americans were not going to return it, another one was made. It was not until 1934, when the two countries were on friendlier terms that it was returned to its original owners. However, it was now surplus to requirements and was relegated to the role of show item for visitors. It would have caused an absolute outcry at the time, and was vitally important, but I could not help but think it was rather tatty to be honest. They certainly knew how to go to pomp and flashiness with the replacements. Having said that, if I had been around for nearly 200 years I guess I wouldn't be looking at my best either.

Top tips:

1) Choose the correct day for you, for any trip to the CN tower. If you are adamant that the photographs will be important, then be aware of time of day/weather conditions in order to get the best out of the trip.

2) Be prepared to have the equivalent of bread and jam for breakfast if staying in smaller hotels/inns. You may even find that some do not serve food at all.

3) Public transport is different. Trams are the order of the day above ground, and a very efficient underground service caters for the whole city. The subway is operated by tokens, which you purchase at vending machines, then drop in the basket at the exit gates. The fares are cheap compared to London.

4) The area is not in the same league as London for shopping, so be prepared to go outside of Toronto if that is what you are looking for. (Places such as Square One approximately twenty minutes drive away).

## Chapter 5 – Niagara Falls

We spent the second night at the same Travel Lodge, only this time without the early morning entertainment courtesy of wandering children.

The guy at the desk recognised us, and gave us the same room with a slight discount. (Steve can drive a hard bargain at times).

We had been advised that Niagara Falls were an approximate one and half hour drive away, heading around Lake Ontario in an easterly direction.

As we had already got into the holiday frame of mind, we resisted the urge to bolt over there at 7.00am just to 'avoid the crowds'. The falls were massive, and had been there for goodness knows how many years, and would still be there no doubt when we arrived around mid morning.

The road out of Toronto was fairly straight forward, but a particular theme was emerging – they do not believe in wee country roads anywhere. Dundas Street was a four lane carriageway, and that was quite small by their standards. We headed east on the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way), which took us almost into the district of Niagara. This was even wider still, but everything was fairly well signposted, so I did not really need the laptop and GPS navigation system. However, I was still intrigued by it, and wanted to test it out, so that in a real emergency I would be competent. I do like our small, narrow roads, where sometimes you may be the only car for miles. Over in Canada, the roads are wide, there are vehicles everywhere, and you need to have your wits about you the whole time. As for roundabouts – forget it. The roads are similar to those in America, and are governed by traffic lights every five inches or so. (Slight exaggeration I admit, but you get the picture though). I reckon that is one reason why the cars are mainly automatic. The clutch would be burned out after about a month with all the gear changing and stopping you have to do, because believe me, no matter which direction you approach from, the lights will be red.

Anyway, getting back to the journey in hand.

There was not really that much to see on the road by way of interest. The area just outside of Niagara is very much geared towards the winemaking industry, and we made a mental note to stop at one of them, where tasting or tours were offered. (Which was most of them in actual fact). Steve had been recommended one in particular by his boss at work, the most notable fact being that the tasting was completely free! To be honest, I have never really come across Canadian wine before, and I was wondering what it would be like, taking into account their climate changes. It is an amazing country, which can hit 30 degrees Celsius in the summer, only to plummet 60 degrees in the winter. I can't believe there are that many countries in the world that have such a vast range over just a few months. They have more opportunities for tattle about the weather than we do, and that is saying something.

However, we both decided a vineyard had to be visited on our way back to Toronto. I did feel a wee bit guilty at the fact that Steve was driving and could not have more than a sniff, but there you go – such is life. I would drink his share for him instead, which is a very big sacrifice on my part. I normally only like red wine, but on this occasion I would make the effort, and give the white a go also.

If anyone was in any doubt as to the importance of Niagara Falls to the Canadians, that doubt would be erased when you first catch sight of it. As we approached the area, from a distance of about two miles, the roadside is teeming with people, all walking purposefully in the same direction. The car parking area also starts a long way back, indicating the popularity of this natural wonder. We should have realised this, and just parked up (especially taking into account the fact that we had left later than we should have done), but Steve was willing to see if we could park nearer to the falls. We drove at a painstakingly slow speed for about two miles, but it did give us the opportunity to see what we were letting ourselves in for. One of the first sights you come across is of a large, rusty vessel stuck on some rocks near to where the falls start to build up with power and bubbling water. It was later on that we heard the story behind its presence.

What appeared to be a heap of iron held together by rust had been a dumping scow in 1918. It had originally been towed by a tug when it broke loose, complete with a two-man crew. Faced with a free fall over the falls, the two men had the sense of mind to open the bottom dumping doors, which caused it ground on a rocky ledge. They were then rescued, and the scow has stayed in position ever since, acting as an additional tourist attraction for visitors to the area. However, the rescue did not go smoothly. They were marooned for 29 hours before being thrown a buoy that had been connected to a line shot from the roof of the nearby Toronto Power Generating station. Definitely a change of underwear job there I reckon. That would have been the longest 29 hours of their life, and I would imagine they would have had doubts as to whether they could be successfully rescued.

The wreck made for an impressive sight as you drove past it, and you could only wonder at the fact it had been sitting there for all these years. Surely at some stage, it was going to break free of the rocks and go tumbling over the falls? I just pitied the people in the boats at the bottom when it happened.

The nearer we got to the actual falls, the more assured I became that we were not going to find a parking space anywhere nearby. I think there was more chance of us juggling soot than there was of finding a parking space within a radius of about a mile. Steve has always been optimistic though, and he was going to give it a go anyway.

I just sat back and enjoyed the scenery, which seemed to be made up of people in rather fetching yellow or blue see-through, one size fits all raincoats.

Steve eventually called it quits, and turned round as we drove past the falls. If we had carried on, there would have been a chance we would have ended up in America, which although appealing was not where we wanted to be. I find it amazing that just by driving or walking over a bridge, you can go from one huge country to another. Nowhere else on the planet would it be possible to that, without the hassle of border controls etc.

About half an hour later, we had retraced our steps and parked up in a car park quite a way from the falls. However, there was a courtesy bus laid on, and it was not long before we were back to where we had started – outside the sales kiosk selling tickets for the behind the falls tour.

Once we had disembarked, you could not see Steve for dust. He was off, camera at the ready, and was heading towards the barrier overlooking the Horseshoe Falls. The pavement on the approach had started off dry, but was getting wetter and wetter as we neared the wall. There was a continuous fine mist in the air, as though it was raining in just that small area. It was a steaming hot day, so the coolness was very welcome.

"Look at that!" he marvelled, as I caught up with him, panting very slightly. (When he is on a mission he finds a gear I don't have).

"Oh my God," I whispered. "This is amazing."

Words then failed the both of us. The sight of Niagara Falls is breathtaking. The sound of the water as it crashes over the cliff is awesome, and the feeling in the air is incredibly powerful. Here was Mother Nature at her very best, and I for one, was totally in awe of her offering. I don't care how much technology is available, nor do I care about some of man's achievements in this age – nothing, and I mean NOTHING, would ever be close to matching the majesty of what we were looking at. I am as guilty as the next person at taking water for granted. After all, you turn the tap on and there it is – at whatever temperature is desired. Seeing the same compound in its natural habitat was overwhelming. I tried my best to impregnate the vision on my brain, because I wanted to be able to recall all of this in years to come. It would be something to describe to my nieces and nephews when I was in my rocking chair reminiscing about my life.

There are also some amazing facts relating to the Falls. It is believed that 600,000 gallons of water flow over the width of the crest line of the Horseshoe Falls, each second! How the heck do they know that? I cast my mind back to when I was at school and we had a play at measuring rainfall etc. That was fun, and it was easy. You would get an old cake tin, mark it off in centimetres, and leave it outside for a set period of time. Great fun for any ten year old. How do you measure the volume of water that is moving at 20mph over a crest, with a drop of approximately 173 feet ahead of you? You can hardly send a victim/volunteer out there with a Pyrex flask to collect as much as they can in on second can you? In addition, the width of the Falls around the crest is 2,200 feet, and is still growing as the cliff face is constantly eroded back.

"Steve, how do they know how much water is going over at any one time?"

Steve is a clever bugger, and knows more than most people I know. He knows what I am like for wanting useless information, and quite often indulges me.

On this occasion he gave me that 'patient' look as if to say, "well, it is easy of course."

"They know how wide it is, they know how deep it is, and they know how fast it is moving. It can be calculated from that."

I let this sink in for a minute, gave it some thought and then asked again.

"Yes, but how do they know that?"

He just shook his head and carried on taking photographs, which was a non-event because he was also trying to shield his camera from the rain.

It may have made sense to him, but I am female, and well, females usually want to know exactly how. (Unless the topic in question is the workings of an average car. In that case all we need to know is where to fill it with petrol, and how to lift the bonnet up, in addition to how the mirror can be adjusted for make-up touch ups). Did they send some poor sod out on a line to the very edge of the crest to measure the depth and speed? It was this sort of stuff I wanted to know, but alas no literature I saw gave the information I was desperate for. Steve was getting a bit irate with the lack of photo opportunity so I didn't push the point any further. I am still wondering though, even as I am writing this book.

"So what do you want to do now?" I asked, when it was obvious he had taken all the photos he was likely to take at this stage.

"Dunno, what do you want to do?" he replied.

Bless him, he was back to normal, and I was going to have to make a decision. We had just walked past the kiosk so I suggested going inside to see what tours were on offer. After all, there had to be a very good reason why a lot of people were cellophane wrapped along the roadside.

As I looked at the board, I braced myself for half hour of decision-making – there were at least four options, all of which looked pretty good. In addition you could make up a schedule with some of the excursions instead of taking them individually. This was sheer cruelty to someone like Steve, because it threw another variable into the equation.

I gave him two minutes of make-your-mind-up time, then put him on the spot. I love Steve to bits, but he would be a nightmare on any game show.

"What do you reckon then?"

I had already decided which two I wanted to try, but was flexible, and to be honest there were none that looked boring or horrendous.

"Maid of the Mist for sure. The photos will be spectacular."

A decision made on that one for sure, because it had also been on my list.

"Any others?" I asked.

"What do you want to do?"

"Hey, I am easy," I replied. "What do YOU want to do?" I was not going to be coaxed into choosing one that he did not really want to do. I had done that with a rock concert, and felt guilty for months afterwards. I should have realised that Alice Cooper may be a smidgen too much for a virgin concert goer, even if they are heavily into rock music. He still wakes up in a cold sweat occasionally, 12 months later. As for me, I just wondered how he managed to get his guillotine and swords through customs each time. Mere mortals would have a nail file taken off them, but this guy is armed to the teeth for his stage show.

As Steve thought about the options, I listened to what the kiosk operator was saying. It appeared that most of the tours were booked by time. We had arrived quite late, so all of the time slots had been taken up for the afternoon, which cut our options quite drastically. We could have stayed into the evening, but we were still not sure where else we wanted to go that day.

I asked what time slots were left for the Maid of the Mist and Behind the Falls tours. We had to wait an hour and half for the Behind the Falls tour, which would give us time to walk nearly a mile up-road to do the Maid of the Mist.

Both looked spectacular, (as would anything where the Niagara Falls were concerned) so a decision was made.

The walk to the Maid of the Mist boats gave us the chance to pass another aspect of the Falls that is not often mentioned – the American Falls.

Size wise, it was tiny in comparison to the Horseshoe Falls, but nevertheless, it was still spectacular in its own right. We were lucky being in Canada – we had the best view, because the falls were on the American side. The visitors on that side of the river had to walk along a broken down bridge in order to see the water. They would have been nearer to the action and the spray, but the view would not have been as comprehensive as ours was.

This particular water feature is a lot smaller than the Horseshoe Falls (a mere 150,000 gallons per second but heck who is counting), but still beautiful. We would really appreciate it whilst on the Maid of the Mist boat trip, because it took visitors past it en route to the Horseshoe.

After a brisk walk (walk for Steve, trot for me), we arrived at the boarding area for the tour. It has been running since 1846, so it must be a good one to have survived for so long. The queue was fairly long, but was moving all the time so there was no time to get bored or stiff knee joints. It's a shame it is not the same way for some of the rides at Disney world etc. I think two hours was our record for queuing there.

As we neared the front of the queue, we saw the source of the shrink-wrapped tourists we had seen earlier. Everyone was being issued with a pale blue transparent raincoat for the trip.

We had already had a giggle at people who had been wearing them, but were we going to be like sheep and follow suit?

"Are you wearing yours?" I asked.

"Yeah, but not yet." Steve was trying to look nonchalant about it, but he knew he was going to look like a prized berk anyway. I could see him weighing up the options.

"Go on, put it on – you know you want to." I teased.

This was promptly ignored, but as we neared the boat, he gave in to peer pressure and donned the said garment. Bless him. It was about 80 degrees outside, bright sunshine, and it took a matter of seconds for him to start sweating. They were 'one size fits all', but even so, you were going to sweat wherever the plastic touched you – which was pretty much everywhere as it had a way of sticking to the skin like a magnet.

"Well, you do look daft, but I still loves you," I teased and gave him a quick kiss so as not to hurt his feelings.

"Yeah, well I won't be the only one when you get yours on," he joked back. The joke was on me though because he was the one waving the camera at me menacingly. Damn.

We were lucky enough to be one of the first on the boat, so we joined the rush for the upper deck where you were guaranteed the best views along with a soaking.

I just could not bring myself to put my coat on, but was also aware that I didn't want to get wet either. I tried a half way effort of draping the coat across my shoulders.

The tour is only around half an hour in duration, but is well worth it.

As you draw nearer to the Horseshoe Falls, the spray of water is amazingly refreshing and cooling. The power just builds and builds, until you feel that if you get any nearer, you will be drawn into the cascade of water hurtling over the edge. The boat really does fight to get close, but once again, Mother Nature wins the day, and we have to admit defeat before turning round and heading back to the dock. Bless these wee boats, but they really do work hard on these trips. There were not many people taking photographs, (it would have been sheer madness unless you had a waterproof camera), so we made do with the memory of the visit instead. I dumped the raincoat for recycling, whilst Steve kept his as a souvenir.

We then repeated the trot back to our starting point ready for the next tour, which we made with just a few minutes to spare.

The Journey Behind the Falls was one I was looking forward to, but it did turn out to be a bid of a drag for one reason only – the queues to get in and out.

Again, you are given a fetching raincoat (in yellow this time), but to be honest, you could get away without wearing it. There is a long snaking queue down to the elevators which take you down to the observation areas behind the falls. There are two which take you right behind the water fall itself, and these were amazing to see. There is a metal barrier stopping you getting too close, but you are still within 10 feet of the cascade of water. The sound was loud but soothing, and the swirling patterns in the water were incredibly hypnotic.

I defy anyone not to be in awe of the sheer power of the water as it tumbles out of your sight. Steve spent ages at these two observation points, taking photographs and videoing the spectacle. Even though the water was opaque as it came past us, the grey/white patterns were mesmerising. The outside observation area let you stand right next to the falls, and again was spectacular, but it could not beat the view from directly behind. I felt totally safe, but you couldn't help but notice the obvious signs of erosion, and it was always at the back of the mind that the rock face is continuing to erode at a steady pace each year. (I can't remember exactly but I think it is something like a metre each year). I mentally wondered how long it would be before the observation points behind the Falls were worn away, and unsafe for public use?

The queue back though was even worse than the one coming down to the observation areas. The tour is self-guided so it is easy for a bottleneck to develop. The queue to get back to the elevators was horrendous, and had doubled in the time we had been in the tunnels. I did get a little tetchy due to the fact my legs and feet were aching after all the standing and walking we had done, but was determined not to moan about it. Moaning would have been pointless because it would not have made the journey go any quicker, but I was suffering in silence the whole time. I would certainly say to anyone who is remotely claustrophobic to carefully consider this tour, for this reason only. You are waiting in long dark, and damp tunnels for up to an hour at a time in order to be taken back to ground level.

Once outside, we did a final walk-by of the Horseshoe Falls, and headed wearily back to the car park.

There was no doubt that the experience had been special, and I was already thankful that I had been given the opportunity of a lifetime. It had given a young lad the opportunity of a lifetime too, when he actually went over the falls. Unfortunately, the incident was not one with a totally happy ending.

The below details are taken from www.niagarafrontier.com.

**July 9th 1960** \- a seven year old boy named Roger Woodward became the first person to survive a plunge over the Falls without a barrel. Woodward and his 17 year old sister Deanne, both of Niagara Falls, New York set out that day on a harmless boat ride on the upper Niagara River with family friend James Honeycutt.

Honeycutt , age 40 years, of Raleigh, North Carolina, was a contractor at the Niagara Parks Commission hydro project. He had often taken the Woodward children out for a boat ride on his fourteen-foot long aluminium boat with a seven and a half horsepower outboard motor. Mr. & Mrs. Frank Woodward trusted Honeycutt completely.

Honeycutt and the Woodward children began the boat ride about five miles upstream of the Falls where Honeycutt was living in a house trailer at the Lynch Trailer camp along the American shoreline. Approximately one mile upstream of the Horseshoe Falls, Honeycutt began to turn the boat in the opposite direction when the boat motor malfunctioned and quit running. On examining the engine, Honeycutt discovered that the propeller pin had sheared off. Honeycutt began rowing frantically towards the shore but the current was carrying the boat ever so quickly towards the Falls. Honeycutt ordered the Woodward children to put on their life-preservers. Honeycutt was too busy rowing to have time to put his life-preserver on.

Near the Falls the waves capsized the boat separating Deanne from her brother Roger and Mr. Honeycutt. Deanne held onto the side of the boat until a wave forced her under water. When she surfaced, she saw two men standing on the shore. John Hayes, age 44 years, a truck driver from Voxhall, New Jersey was visiting Terrapin Point on Goat Island when he saw Deanne in the water. Hayes grabbed Deanne by her fingers and called for help. John Quattrochi, age 39 years, a tourist from Pennsgrove, New Jersey came to help Hayes. Both men successfully pulled Deanne from the water. Roger Woodward was in Honeycutt's arms as they approached the Horseshoe Falls. The raging water pulled them apart as they rode over the crest of the Falls. Roger Woodward was wearing swimming trunks and a pair of running shoes. The shoes were ripped from his feet on his way down the cascade. Woodward was forced into the 180-foot deep water at the base of the Falls but was quickly freed where he floated to the surface. It was 12:55 p.m., when the crew of the Maid of the Mist spotted tiny Roger Woodward bobbing up and down in the water. Captain Clifford Keech was at the wheel of the 270 foot long Maid of the Mist II. After eight minutes and three approaches to rescue Roger Woodward by using a life ring, Roger Woodward was taken to the Greater Niagara General Hospital in Niagara Falls, Ontario. He sustained only minor cuts and bruises. Deanne Woodward was taken to Memorial Hospital in Niagara Falls, New York suffering from nothing more than shock.

James Honeycutt was battered and drowned.

The survival stories are few and far between, but this one was famous, probably due to the age of the lad involved. It was even portrayed pictorially at the site, but was certainly not a recommendation for anyone who wanted to chance their luck. This was Mother Nature at her fiercest, and she was definitely showing how big her muscles were if she decided to flex them.

We spent that night in the town area of Niagara Falls, and the contrast was incredible. If you can picture something that is a cross between International Drive in Orlando America, and the seaside front of Blackpool or Brighton, you will be somewhere near to what it was like. It was incredibly commercial with arcades, cheap entertainment shops and food outlets, alongside mini tourist attractions. It was about as touristy as you can get, and we had to remind ourselves that we were in fact in Canada and not Florida. Although we had a walk down the main street that evening, we did not really feel comfortable with the experience, and headed back to the hotel without having visited any of the establishments. There was even an airbrush tattooist on the pavement outside one shop, but unfortunately, he did not know anything about the product he was using. I felt a bit sorry for him, (he was obviously just standing in for the true owner), but it may have accounted for his distinct lack of custom. I knew where his stencils came from, and I was interested to see that it was obviously popular enough to warrant such a prestigious street side pitch. All in all though, we felt a little disappointed that someone had seen fit to make the town resemble a tacky seaside resort. The only things that were missing were the 'kiss me quick' hats and candyfloss.

Once back at the hotel, we both collapsed around the same time, and aimed for an early night. We still had one more day planned in the Niagara area, before heading north.

Top tips:

1) Get to the falls early if you can. This will mean easier parking, and more choice with regards to the time slots for some of the attractions.

2) Do not stay in any of the overnight establishments near to the falls. They are incredibly expensive, and for the sake of a half-mile drive, you will find more choice, at a reasonable price.

3) If you really want some action type photographs of the falls, invest in a waterproof camera. Our shots were limited because of the potential of water damage to Steve's very expensive digital camera.

4) Wear clothing that is going to be easy to dry out if it gets wet. Avoid cotton because this does tend to stay damp longer. (Believe me, you are going to get damp at the very least!)

## Chapter 6 – Marine Land and the vineyard.

We had passed the signs for Marine Land on the way to the Falls, and had made a mental note to consider a visit if there was space in our schedule (which was planned on a day to day basis).

We had both visited Florida's Sea World the previous Christmas, and were totally enchanted by the wildlife. I had been before, but this had been Steve's first visit to anything like this, and he was mesmerised by animals that I was taking for granted. I was hoping that this experience was going to be as special for him. Part of the fun for me, is knowing that my partner is getting equal enjoyment from the events.

We had started the day with good intentions of arriving early, but true to form, we dawdled around for ages, ate a hearty breakfast in the quaint restaurant across the road from the hotel, and set off at around 10.30ish. We had certainly learned after just a few days, that the smaller hotels tend not to serve breakfast, so it is worthwhile trying to find establishments that either do serve food, or ones that are nearby to outlets that can provide sustenance.

Marine Land is situated on Portage Road, and I had to chuckle at the claim on the back of the tourist booklet:

'Marine Land is easily accessible from anywhere. We are located only one mile from the Horseshoe Falls in Niagara at 7657 Portage Road.'

Yeah right. We drove past it on the way to the Falls the previous day, fair enough, but finding it from the town was a nightmare. I could see exactly where it was on the GPS system, and I could see where we were also in relation to the place. However, it did not stop us sailing past it twice, and then frantically trying to find somewhere we could just do a U turn. However, such spots do not exist in Canada, so we had to do three right turns to get back to where we wanted to be, which in itself caused us to get lost time and time again. Spaghetti Junction in Birmingham would be a breeze after this trip. It does not help with Steve's reluctance to pull over, or pull into a side road when it is obvious I have messed up and given duff directions. We continually sail past what appear to me, to be ideal turn around points, with Steve saying continually, "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, turn around somewhere?"

"Where?"

"Try the next turn off, do a right and right again."

By then we are nearly a province away from the damn place.

By the time we pulled into the car park it was nearly midday, and the car park was very full. We had to park so far back from the entrance, you would have needed a survival pack just to keep you going before you arrived at the gates.

Although we had arrived late, the plus side is the fact that there was no huge queue at the gate, so we were able to get in very quickly.

It did not look as big as Sea World, but even so, the layout was just as good, and each attraction was close to the next, and very well signposted. (Shame the roads are not, but that is another story – and has nothing to do with females and map reading). You are given a very helpful map once inside, which was easy to follow. (Which does prove that females can map read, if they are given a halfway decent one to start with).

Problem was, we were given a choice of going anti-clockwise or clockwise around the site. I distracted Steve from this agonising decision making process and headed for the nearest attraction – the beluga whales.

Neither of us had seen any creature like this before, and we were mesmerised by their unusual colouring and body shaping. There were quite a few in a large pool, where people were queuing up to feed them (at a cost of course). I wanted to join them, but I have pangs of unease when I see this. These animals are very dignified, and I felt that they were being treated like a circus act by being encouraged to come up to people in exchange for food. I have no doubt that they are treated very well by the staff, and every care is taken over their well-being, but this aspect I could not, and would not take part in. I had only ever once stroked a dolphin, and that had been at Sea World in Florida. Afterwards, I felt very bad about it. There had been at least 20 of them in this very tiny pool, and they were willing to be prodded and poked about by all and sundry in exchange for morsels of fish. The pool was in no way big enough for them to swim around in at the speeds they are renowned for. They deserve a lot more respect than that, and I vowed that I would never try to stroke one again, unless it was in the open sea, and was there voluntarily.

The beluga whale display area had an underground viewing chamber, where their antics could be observed through very thick Perspex.

I immediately headed for this area, as I knew from previous experience that it was the only way to see the glorious animals in their entirety. It is also the only way you can appreciate their grace and beauty.

Steve followed good-naturedly – he has gotten used to my impatience at such attractions.

The whales are incredibly beautiful when looked at in their entirety. The older ones were almost pure white, whilst the younger ones had a greyish tinge to them. I was delighted to see that there were two youngsters also, being closely guarded by mum the whole time. It was noticeable that she did not bring them close the glass area, and I couldn't blame her. Steve had his camera to the ready, and snapped off loads of pictures. After a few minutes I heard him giggling like a little schoolboy.

"What have you seen?" I enquired, looking around. No obvious signs of the cause were apparent.

"Look at that sign," he said, pointing to a small plaque to one side of us.

I had to laugh also when I read it. If someone were claustrophobic, this would be enough to send them off in a panic for sure:

"Any leaks you see are not a safety concern as they will eventually seal on their own"

Yeah right. Try and tell the whales that – it's their house that would be seeping away. I am not a paranoid person by any means, but I still had a wee subtle look around, just in case.

There is something about the American continent and laughable signs. I reckon it is because of their " we are going to sue for anything" culture that has developed. We saw a corking one at Wet 'n' Wild the previous winter. The main pool area had a very gentle slope, which led to a depth of over 6 feet.

There was a sign at the very start of the shallow end, where there was absolutely no water saying: " 0 feet 0 metres no diving"

I kid you not. It made for one of the best photographs of the holiday. I just could not believe that they really felt it necessary to put that sign up, just on the off chance that someone may try a fetching swallow dive into... solid concrete. I stubbed my toe coming out of the water, which was painful for a few days. Must have been worth a few grand I reckon, going by their current rates.

Getting back to the main attraction, both Steve and myself spent a very long time, just gazing at the gentle movements of these gentle giants. I am normally in a rush to get anywhere, but there was something about them that made me want to just set up camp, and stare. Time could have stood still at that moment, and I would not have noticed. I could see why their singing is used so often in meditation music. One in particular held our attention for ages. It was a young teenager, who took great delight in just playing. He had somehow mastered the art of creating rings of air in the water. As they floated to the surface, they grew in size, and he would then swim through them before starting the process all over again. (I assume it was a he – there was nothing to indicate the gender, but it just looked like a he. Hard to explain why though).

Steve managed to capture one of the rings on camera, which was a lovely reminder of the fun he had, and the fun he gave us watching him. Although they are sea animals, I could not help but compare them to humans with some of the behaviour displayed. They are not so far removed from us after all.

The pool next door housed the killer whales. Again, these are fantastic creatures, and I could have spent another half hour or so, just watching them moving slowly through the water. However, we had plenty more to see, and little time left, so with some reluctance we moved on. I was hoping to see them shortly in one of the many shows laid on for the visitors to the site.

Our next stop was the bear pit. Again, my heart went out to them. There were quite a few of them inside an enclosure, below ground level. Around the rough ground was a moat of muddy water. Most of the bears were sitting by the water, in an almost human way, whilst others were inside or perched on rocks, begging for food. I suppose in a way, it is the humans that have been conditioned here, because there were many people responding to the waved paws and throwing food to them. It didn't stop me from feeling uncomfortable though. Here we saw both brown and black bears, all looking very cuddly and very cute. I had to remind myself that with just one swipe of a paw, I would be ripped open, should they be desired to have a go.

"Amazing aren't they?" murmured Steve. He did not quite understand why I felt uncomfortable sometimes. He just saw the good that was being done from the conservation aspect, and did not really see my point of view.

"Would kill you if they had a chance though."

We then spent a few minutes watching, and holding our breath as two of them started what appeared to be a handbag fight. It was not a full-blown scrap thank goodness – that would not have been something I would have willingly watched. I suppose the exchange was something similar to what is witnessed in nightclubs up and down the country most weekends. I think the experts call it 'male displaying'. I just think it is 'male immaturity', but then again, I haven't spent three years on a degree course studying body language.

"I can't believe that you are advised to stand still," I mused.

Steve just looked at me. Once again, he could not follow my thought process that had preceded the statement.

"You know – when you are being chased by one. You're supposed to stand still instead of running away. Apparently you have more chance of surviving."

"Go on, why is that?" he asked, although I knew that he knew exactly why. I think he wanted to see if I explained it correctly, or gave the wrong reason.

"Well, if you run, they see that as a sort of 'game on' and are more likely to bring you down. If you stand still, they might lose interest."

"Correct," he said.

"Come on though be honest. Would you run though?" I asked. Yet another hypothetical question, which I know he hates.

"I would not get myself in that situation to start with."

"Yes but if you did, what would you do?" I insisted.

There was no way he was going to answer, but I was just curious. Me? I would be legging it as quickly as I could. The advice was that they MAY lose interest if you stood still. Sorry, but I want better odds than that, and at least 5 testimonies from people who have done that successfully. Otherwise I would be freaking out as much as the next person. Do bears climb trees? Sounds daft I know, but I have only ever seen the cutie koalas in trees. That would be another option I would consider, hoping that I had got it right. I made a mental note to pay more attention next time they were featured on a wild life programme – you never know when it might come in handy.

By now the weather had really warmed up and we were in need of cooling down. I am astounded that this country has such a dramatic contrast in temperatures. One month could be +30 degrees Celsius, and six months later could be -30 degrees Celsius. I cannot believe that there are that many places on the planet that can boast such a range.

We made our way to the deer park and bought an ice cream each – my first of the holiday. Now this was more like it. Cute wee cuddly creatures that you can stroke. Hardly any teeth and definitely no claws. How conned can you be. They turned out to be totally ruthless with a very intense pack instinct. Basically they scared the heck out of me. We had seen people buying tubs of pellet for them, which apparently was their staple diet. (Unlike the bears that were happy to receive ice cream cones).

I did not feel the guilt pangs about this, and decided that I would also join in and give Steve the photo opportunity he was looking for. We both stood in line at the kiosk, and were given a cone full of pellets. Immediately, in the space of a nanosecond I was surrounded by around twenty of the deer, and penned in against the kiosk. I could not move an inch. One immediately jumped up at me, and knocked the cone flying. Being the wuss I am, I just screamed, much to the amusement of a group of five year olds who were totally unfazed by the creatures, even though they dwarfed them.

"Go away, go on, get the hell out of here and leave me alone!" I managed to squeak.

The kiosk attendant took pity on me, and gave me a refill. Deep down though, I reckon she was hoping for a repeat performance. So far the deer were in the driving seat, and I would imagine anything that was going to break the tedium of their day had to be worth a freebie. An English woman dressed rather dodgily in cut off trousers, screaming her head off would have probably been the highlight of her day so far.

It was at that stage I could have quite happily decked Steve, except for the fact I could not move. What I needed at that time was rescuing. Instead he decided to do what most guys do, and that was give what he thought to be, helpful advice.

"Just lift your cone in the air," he said, trying not to make it obvious that he was laughing. That was easy for him to say. He was surrounded by two or three well-behaved bambis, daintily taking the pellets out of his hand. They were so well behaved, they were almost queuing for the pellets. I could almost hear them saying, "you first, no after you, I insist," whilst I had around twenty of the biggest ones around jostling me for position. I reckon they had sussed me out the minute I had walked through the gate, and that word had got around that I was going to be the soft touch.

"Okay guys, here we have one. The blue shirt and dodgy trousers. All make your way over to the kiosk now!"

Obviously they can't talk, but I bet they had worked out a signal system, only known to them.

One even had the nerve to take a bite at my £5 shirt. Eventually Steve took pity on me, and acted as a decoy. As he hurtled across the centre of the enclosure, I regained my composure and looked for some small ones to practise on. Believe me, I was still shaking. Eventually I got the hang of it, and ended up enjoying myself. They are not stupid though. If you have food they will be happy to come up to you and be your best buddy. The second the food has gone, so are they. Loyalty factor of zero. You can pretend you have got something in your hand, but believe me, they are not falling for that one. I had to admire them in the end. They knew exactly what they were doing, and had total control of what was going on.

Steve did eventually get his photo opportunity. And yes, I was holding my cone in the air! The downside? By stretching, my stomach was on show, and believe me, it was not a pretty sight.

After a while of chasing, and being chased we made our way back to the gates. Believe me when I say this, but I reckon my lookout theory for the stooge was correct. There was a deer by the door eyeing up each visitor as they came through. We even got a picture of it as proof.

Our next stop off point was the sea lion show. It gave us the welcome opportunity of sitting down for a while, in the shade. Steve had only seen his first show at Florida, and loved it. Hopefully this would also give us some fun. It never ceases to amaze me how some animals that are normally considered to be dumb, can be so intelligent. The relationship between the trainers and the animals is very special, and for a short period of time, I try and imagine what it would be like to work with them every day. Each and every day must be so rewarding. As usual, there was a very basic story, with lots of ad-libbing, lots of laughter, and lots of people in the front few rows getting very wet.

The dolphins set the scene, with some amazing acrobatics. My guilty conscience kicked in again though throughout the show. It was apparent that the animals were having as good a time as we were, but I could not help but think that they would relish the chance to escape the pools which were their homes, and really let rip in the open seas.

The sea lions and walruses then took the stage, and wooed everyone with their antics. How the heck they get the walrus to do the routine is beyond me. You just have the feeling that if they wanted to throw their toys out of the pram, they could do so in spectacular style.

The finale was the killer whale, which we had seen in adjacent tank swimming around lazily. Every now and then it perked up when it caught sight of a sea lion on the edge of the pool, taking part in scenes from the play. Poor bugger. Its natural instinct was telling it that lunch was so invitingly close, but it could do absolutely nothing about it. I am sure I saw the sea lion flick it the finger (or fin) as if to say, "come on then big boy, bring it on," before diving into safety and out of sight of the orca.

Marine Land in comparison to Sea World is quite small, so we did not really lose out by leaving it so late in the day to visit. There are a few rides and roller coasters for the children, but none were really aimed at adults. This is where the attraction could make an improvement if it wants to appeal to adults and children alike. I defy any grown up to admit that when on holiday, they would love the chance to turn the clock back a few years, and do some rides they never had the opportunity to do. (Mainly because they had not been built back then!)

We settled with another final visit to the beluga and killer whales before heading off to our next stop off. There was a lone baby killer whale in one of the large pools, and the story behind it was quite interesting. He was about five years old, and had been with mum for a very long time. However, after a few years of putting up with "mum, can I have..." she decided that enough was enough and literally leapt out of the pool into the neighbouring empty one. No amount of encouragement would make her go back. That is putting your foot down in a big way for sure. I reckon some parents should try that next time their offspring try the same trick in Tesco's. If they legged it for the car, leaving them there, the tears would dry up very quickly.

It was around 4pm when we left, so we had a little time in which to consider another stop off before finding somewhere to get our heads down for the night. We knew we were in Vineyard country, so a trip to a winery seemed a good idea. One of Steve's colleagues had visited when he was last in Canada, and we knew we were in the area for the one he recommended. Apparently it offered free tasting and a tour.

Free wine should never be turned down, so we set off, laptop and GPS mapping system at the ready.

By comparison, the minor roads were quite scenic and almost unused. I think I could have counted on one hand the amount of traffic we passed as we drove past vineyard after vineyard. The ground looked so dusty and arid, I had a hard job imagining anything of worth could grow in the area. Also, the winters I imagined would have been bitterly cold, killing off anything that tried to thrive. However, due to the numbers in the area, the very opposite must be the case. This had to be Canada's version of Burgundy. Even so, I cannot ever recall seeing Canadian wine in the local supermarket, so the consumption must be very localised. Either that, or it was as rough as sandpaper. Either way if it was free, I was willing to do my bit for Queen and country, and give it a try.

After about half an hour we came across the one that Steve had been looking for – 'Chateau des Charmes'. It looked so picturesque from the driveway, and very English in its architecture.

We made our way inside, noting the calm stillness in the air. It almost resembled a library, and any raised voices would have been looked on with disdain. Certainly not the place to bring a bubbly toddler.

We were disappointed to see that the tours were only held twice daily, and that we had missed both of them. Oh well, it just meant that I would have to go straight to the wine tasting instead. My heart went out to Steve a little, because he was driving, and would not be able to do anything more than sniff the bottles. He would never ever consider having a drink and driving, and I totally respect him for this. It does mean that he can go out with his mates in the evening, and I can go to sleep knowing that he won't be putting himself or anyone else in danger. I was never able to do this when I had been married, and it was comforting to know that I could trust him every time. ( My previous marriage had ended approximately 10 years prior to meeting Steve).

We made our way through the marble and white corridors into a circular room. To the left was an alcove with bottle upon bottle of wine. I have never seen as much wine in one place before. To the right was a counter, with some bottle lined up, and a smartly dressed wine waiter pampering to the customers queuing up to sample the wares. I know bugger all about wine other than the fact you can get it in red, white, and pink. However, this guy did not know me from Adam, so I intended to have a bit of a play. They must know that people do this all the time, and invariably the more rubbish they spout, the more likely it is that they will not buy anything. However, he was still the ultimate professional, and treated me like I was a visiting VIP.

"Good afternoon madam, how can I help you?"

I made a serious attempt at studying the wine list, nodding sagely occasionally as if I knew what I looking at. There were some very strange letters and numbers after the names, and I don't just mean the year of harvesting. I tuned in to the conversation next to my right, where luckily for me, someone had admitted they knew nothing and were having the descriptions explained to them.

"Basically the number to the extreme right indicates the amount of sugar," he explained patiently. The wines nearer the bottom of the list as you can see have a higher number, and are very sweet and syrupy."

That ruled those ones out then. I wanted a wine I could swill around a bit without rotting three teeth in the process. They also looked as though you could stand a spoon up in them.

"What do you reckon darling, white or red?" I asked Steve.

"Whatever you like, I can't have any." He did not seem at all put out by this, and I was reminding myself that I was lucky to be with such an easy going guy. He hates red with a vengeance, which means all the wine purchased from the supermarket is white. I think this tells you something about my expertise in wine. I have never bought a bottle from a 'proper' wine seller. And yes, I do go for the quirky labels too. Old Git is not bad, and goes down well with a good take-away curry.

"What do you recommend?" I asked the guy behind the bar.

"I want to try something that is fairly light, not too dry, and without too much of an after taste."

Steve just looked at me. He was not fooled in the slightest, but the guy behind the bar maintained his professionalism.

"Well Madam, I could recommend the St David's Savagnin."

He then went into an explanation, whereby I just nodded at what I thought were the right places.

He then poured a small amount into a glass (no full glasses here for the tasting obviously), and it was at that moment that I burst the bubble. I knocked it back before sniffing it. My cover was blown, and all and sundry now knew that I was a total novice after all. Having said that, the wine was not half bad. Now that I did not need to maintain the bluff I made an attempt at trying two or three of the reds, and a couple more of the white. Although I'm novice, I did manage to distinguish between them, which even took me by surprise. After a few mouthfuls, I was starting to feel a bit tipsy, and reluctantly called it a day. We really did have every intention of buying a bottle to take to my Uncle when we met up with him, but unfortunately it would have not lasted the remainder of the trip. We knew we were going to be on the road for many days to come, and I did not even want to think what the heat would do to the wine. It would probably start fermenting again, and could lead to an explosion.

This has occurred before and believe me, you jump out of your skin when it happens. When I was around 13 years old, my Mum somehow came across a recipe for homemade cider. It was the best I have ever tasted. It seemed that all sorts of weird and wonderful ingredients were thrown in, but it was so successful she used the bath on one occasion to make gallons of the stuff. It was transferred to those funny looking bottles (demi johns I think they are called but don't quote me on that), and then put them behind the settee for the next stage of the brewing process. Not a good place for an explosion, particularly when you are sitting on it at the time. That was her last attempt at home brewing, and unfortunately the recipe was lost many years ago. Shame, because I would have loved to have had another go myself, only this time using a purpose built bunker for part of the brewing process.

With some reluctance we left, intending to head towards Niagara again to find somewhere to stay for the night. However, Steve had one other stop off he wanted to make. He had been told that the canal lock was something to behold at St Catharine's. I have seen many locks, particularly where I used to live in Leighton Buzzard, so I was not as excited. However, even I had to hold my breath when I saw the size of the thing. The standing joke is that Americans do everything bigger than we do, and believe me, they were not bragging on this occasion.

When we pulled up, there was already a sizeable crowd on the observation gantry overlooking the middle part of the lock. We made our way up to join them and gasped.

"My God, look at that," I think we both said at the same time. The centre part of the lock was at least 200 feet long, and seemed to go on forever. I swear one end of it must have been in a different province, it was that long.

Even more spectacular was the fact that a ruddy great tanker was in this middle section, and was slowly being dropped. And even MORE impressive was the fact that it only just fit too! From where we were standing, there appeared to be a few inches both ends, and a few inches either side of leeway. Very, very impressive. I would not have wanted to have been tasked with steering the beast into that gap. In order to avoid hitting the front gates, you would have to know exactly when to pull back on the throttle. Reverse parking a car in front of a whole load of men would be a piece of cake in comparison. This explained why there was a metal arm lowered in front of the vessel. It had acted as an emergency brake, preventing the front gates being battered by mistake.

Steve was in his element, and immediately trundled off with camera at the ready. He went to the front gate where he set up camp ready to take the photographs as the beast came through. I was more than happy to stay on the gantry where I could see the tanker slowly sinking as the water flooded out through the front gate. After what seemed like an age, the process was complete, and the gates slowly opened.

With a splutter, her engines were started, and she slowly made her way forward, and out towards the open water. This was met with a cheer and wave from everyone on board, and from all of us watching in admiration. The part of the process which we had seen, had taken half an hour. This had not taken into account the time it had taken to get INTO the lock in the first place. Bless 'em all – there were 7 locks they had to negotiate, which would write off virtually a whole day. It was difficult to be anything other than impressed.

I actually did a bit of digging around when I returned home, because I had I feeling I had seen something that was fairly special.

I learned that I had dramatically underestimated the entire experience, and I just hoped that I was never called on to try and guess the length of something.

Where we had stood, it was lock number 3. In total, the section was 730 feet in length! The width was 80 feet, but this had been very deceiving, possibly because of the fact that we were looking at it from an acute angle. When the water rises, there can be a lift of 48 feet.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see that there was in fact some information about the tanker on the Internet, along with some spectacular photographs. The ship was called the Gordon C Leitch of St Catharine's. Unbelievably she was 222m long, and by my calculations and conversion to imperial, meant she only just fit into the middle section. In fact the literature on the Internet backed this up – nothing bigger would be able to get through.

No wonder there was such a crowd there. I would imagine that they had found out in advance when she was due through, and had made a special trip down to see this. I realised how lucky we had been. We had no idea what to expect, but by sheer chance, we had chosen the best moment possible. I have no idea how often the Gordon C Leitch makes this momentous journey, but I would imagine that it would not be that often. We had been blessed with one of the most memorable sights of the entire holiday. It was an example of one of man's amazing engineering feats, teamed up with one of Nature's own resources. A simple idea of negotiating differences in water levels had been transferred into an amazing achievement of engineering on a very grand scale.

On the way out from the centre, we played at being tourists again, and took a few photos of the milestone post near to the entrance. London was 3393 away. I had no idea if that was miles or kilometres, and too be honest; my brain was too tired to be bothered even figuring out which was the more likely of the two.

It was now moving on to 6.30pm and we still had not decided where we were going to hole up for the night. It made sense to stay in the St Catherine's area, and decided to put the mapping system to the test.

With a flurry of finger activity, Steve had typed a few commands into the machine and voila! – Up popped all the hotels, motels, and B & B's in the area. We had already stayed at hotels up until now, which had seemed occasionally expensive. I suggested that we give a B & B a try. We always seem to do well with the ones back at home, so nothing ventured nothing gained. There appeared to be a couple on a small estate a mile or so away, so we headed in that direction. The first one was easy to find, once we had mastered the one-way road system. (Yes, they do get everywhere).

Eventually the tiny computer image of the car indicated that we were right outside the premises. I looked up, and sure enough there it was. However, it looked as far from being a B & B as you could get. Forget the words 'quaint' and 'welcoming'. This was basically a wooden shack that looked like it had been assembled by drunken carpenters wearing blindfolds. If there was ever an example of a flat pack being put together, without referring to the instructions this was it. As for the paintwork, it was pretty damn hard to even put a name to the colour that was peeling off the window frames. In comparison, even magnolia would be described as colourful.

"Go on then", Steve said. "Go and see if they have any rooms".

He was not joking either.

"Why don't you go?" I asked.

"Because you will have more luck being female".

The logic in this defied me, but I decided not to get into a debate of how he arrived at this conclusion and got out of the car.

"Good luck", he said before turning his attention back to his beloved laptop. I think he was just checking that I had not actually broken it. Either that or he had complete confidence in my ability to sweet talk a total stranger into letting me stay the night. I was starting to feel one step up from a prostitute, but as the alternative may have been to sleep in the car, I braced myself and walked up the weed-infested path.

With some reluctance I approached the front door, a little nervous of actually getting a reply. For some reason the place looked really scary, and to be honest very out of place. The neighbouring houses were beautiful, and very twee. Most of them were single storey houses with some delightful colours on the woodwork.

Taking a deep breath I mustered up the courage and knocked on the door, albeit not as loudly as I could have done. This was partly because I did not really want it opened, and partially because I was unsure that it could actually take anything heavier.

I gave it about three seconds before declaring that there was no answer, and ran back to the car.

Thankfully Steve did not ask me to try again.

"Is there another one near here?" I asked.

"Yep".

The laptop was then passed back to me, and off we trundled.

The second one we tried was fairly close by, and a total contrast. It was a huge brick built house, on its own plot of land with some well-landscaped gardens. It was called Heritage House, and I immediately had a nice feeling about it.

"Let me guess – you want me to try again?"

"Got it in one. Believe me, you will have more chance of talking them into letting us have a room".

I knocked at the door, which was immediately opened by an elderly gentleman with a very pleasant looking face.

"I wonder if you can help me," I asked in my sweetest voice. "We've been visiting around this area, and having desperate problems in finding somewhere to stay. I wonder if you have any rooms available?"

This was only a half lie, as we had tried a hotel also en route to the area, but they had been fully booked.

"How many of you are there?" he asked.

"Just the two of us."

He thought for a minute, and I just knew that he was going to say no. In that time he had looked me over, and decided that I looked like vagabond intent on stealing away in the night with his cutlery. Definitely not worth the risk. I widened my smile, and all but fluttered my eyelashes at him. I was very close to being at the 'desperate' stage, and was hoping against hope that this would work. The thought of having to go to the next step of showing a little cleavage did not bear thinking about. Besides which there is no cleavage to show. (When breasts were being given out, I was bypassed and they went to my two sisters).

"Well, we do have a room, but it is the overspill room. I don't normally let it out because I am only allowed to let three rooms for tax reasons. If you want it you can have it for $100 if that is not too much. It is a non smoking room though. We don't allow children either."

$100 did seem a lot of money for a room for the night, but we were running out of options.

"Would you like to see it before deciding?"

He really did seem such a nice guy, so I agreed to have a peek at the room.

The house looked beautifully kept, but in the style of years gone by if that makes sense. The staircase was wide, and grand, and beautifully carpeted. Obviously a well-loved and cared for house. I was still wearing the clothes I had worn all day, and felt totally scruffy in comparison.

As we made our way to the room, the host kept up a chirpy one-sided conversation.

"This house was built in the 1860's. The rooms are a nice size, and I hope you will like the way we have decorated them. The rooms are en suite except for the overspill room I'm afraid. But you do have use of your own private bathroom right next door. Breakfast is usually at 8am. We will bring up newspapers and tea and coffee for you to use before breakfast. That will be left outside on the cabinet here. Do you have any preferences of any type of tea?"

I was amazed. It looked as though this was going to be a very pleasant experience, if I was able to talk Steve into actually staying here.

"Er, no. Any tea will be fine."

"Okay. You will be joining the others for breakfast, and we must tell you that we are famous for our breakfast."

He had a glint in his eye, and I could not fail but to be caught up in his enthusiasm. It also appeared to be genuine, unlike some of his American cousins who can sometimes come across as a little false with their customer service.

"My wife cooks fresh each day. You will have two or three different types of fruit bread, with a hot serving of quiche."

This mixture sounded absolutely disgusting, but I was prepared to give it a try.

He then opened the door to the room, and I just caught my breath.

"I am sorry it is a little small."

He was almost apologising but there was no need to; the room was beautiful, and I felt that I had been thrown back to the turn of the 20th Century. The walls were decorated in a deep burgundy floral pattern, and the bed had a matching spread. As with most old houses, there were picture rails around the top of the walls, and lovely high skirting boards. If there had been a four-poster bed, the scene would have been complete, but I was not complaining.

The bathroom next door was just as stunning, and I was chuffed to see that it had a corner spa bath. Believe me, I had every intention of staying once I had seen that. I felt a luxurious self-pampering session coming on, to which Steve would be invited if he behaved himself. (In other words, no farting in the bath or making silly animal images with the bubbles).

"It is so lovely," I gushed. "If it's okay with you, we'll take it."

That is nice," he beamed. "But wouldn't you rather let your partner see this as well, just in case?"

There was the voice of reason, and to be honest he did have a point.

I rushed down the stairs, and opened the door to see Steve almost on the doorstep. I had not realised I had been gone that long, and he had become a little concerned.

"Steve, it's lovely. There is a room free and I said we would take it!"

This obviously took him aback, as it was not often I would accept a room that cost over £50 in our currency. He was obviously curious as to what it was about the place that caused me to throw caution to the wind for a change.

Steve was then given the same guided tour, with the same enthusiastic speech, and was in total agreement.

The host then introduced himself to us as John, and gave us a fuller tour of the house. The living room was a sight to behold, and actually had a baby grand piano in one corner. Steve had been trying to learn the keyboards for some time, and gravitated towards it.

"If you play, you will like it," John told him. "It dates back to the 19th century."

A little different to the Casio keyboard Steve had been bashing away on as he desperately tried to recreate the keyboard scene from 'Clocks' by Coldplay.

It would have been sacrilege to have tried that on this masterpiece.

However, once John had left us to settle in, he had a tentative press of the keys. Unfortunately, some of the notes were duff, and produced no sound. I was secretly breathing a sigh of relief; we had all been spared the sound of 'clocks' being crucified on an awesome instrument.

It did not take us long to get settled, and the first thing I did was run a bath with some of the foam bath that had been left for us. I had only ever had one spa bath before, and that had been at my sister's house. It was sheer bliss. I had been warned to only use a thimble full of the foam bath, as the water jets tended to cause it foam much more than usual. I had of course ignored that advice thinking that my sister was just being stingy. The end result was quite comical, with suds pouring over the side of the bath. You would have seen less foam at a themed nightclub. A lesson learned, and I had no intention of ruining John's floor here.

Once the required level had been reached, I lay back and steadied myself for the experience of a lifetime. Imagine my disappointment when I found that the jets had been switched off! I was gutted. Steve saw the funny side though, and joined me for a soak. The bath was easily big enough for the both of us, and there was none of the usual negotiating for the non-tap end. Now that we had found somewhere for the night, I could relax and enjoy a leisurely soak in relaxing and comfortable surroundings.

Even though we had only been in Canada for a few days, I was already falling in love with both the Country and its inhabitants. Although their accents were American sounding, their attitude and down to earth friendliness was more English. This combination proved to be very endearing.

At that moment in time, England seemed a million miles away, and for the first time in a long while, I really felt totally at ease and fully relaxed. I have never used illegal drugs in my life, but I would imagine that no amount of cannabis or anything similar would have created the same inner tranquillity that I was feeling. My Uncle had emigrated here a few years previously, and had said that he would never return to England. I was beginning to understand why.

Top tips:

1) If you do visit the St Catherine's area, allow enough time to make the most of the facilities on offer. We managed to visit three very different places in the one day.

2) If you wish to visit the lock at Welland Canal, try to find out in advance the times of some of the vessels passing though. You may be lucky enough to time your visit for some of the larger ones.

3) Definitely consider an overnight stop at the Heritage House in St Catherine's. It will make a welcome break from the formal atmospheres of hotels, and is without a doubt one of the best B & B's I have ever stayed at.

## Chapter 7 – The trip north

We awoke the next morning at around 7.30am, having slept the best I had all holiday. The bed had to be the most comfortable I had ever had the fortune to sleep in. The downside was the fact that we had missed the early morning tea, but that was not much of a sacrifice really.

We made our way downstairs for breakfast, and were intrigued to see that we were not alone. I was aware that there were other guests staying that night, which had accounted for our stay in the overspill room. However, we had not heard any movement at all the previous night. They sure knew how to build solid thick houses all those years ago. Soundproofing at its best.

The table had been laid in the dining room area, and waiting for us were fresh fruit cocktails. I knew Steve wouldn't like the initial course, but would gallantly try his best to force it down. That is the one thing that puzzles me about him. Anything that is remotely good for you, or vegetable matter he does not eat. (The exception being tinned peas or carrots, which I would question, are as nutritious as fresh, but at least it is something I guess). How he manages to stay healthy is beyond me, but I have learned in my time with him, not to try and sneak things on his plate. I have never been good at disguising, and at the end of the day, broccoli is always going to look like, well, broccoli really.

There were three other couples who had joined us, all American. Two of the couples were in their 40's or 50's whilst the remaining couple was made up of two brothers, both in their 20's. It was not long before the conversation started, and immediately I took a liking to the older couples. Both of the men were civil aviation pilots, and were very interesting and funny to listen to. Naturally both Steve and myself were looked at with some curiosity due to the fact that we were English. However the conversation was relaxed and continuous throughout the meal. I have never really got on with American humour before, but these guys even had a laugh at themselves, which was refreshing to see.

"Yeah well, you know we went and bought London Bridge," one of them chuckled.

"You really had us on that one."

Yeah, I know. But we do kind of have loads of the things on the river."

I was not sure how this was going to pan out, so sort of played it cool to start with.

"I can't believe they bought it over and built it brick by brick again," he mused.

"Can you picture his face, when he did it? I mean, how pissed would you be if after days and days of slogging away, you found there was one brick missing?" I replied.

This bought about howls of laughter.

"Yeah, and then he found that the key stone would cost extra if he wanted it!"

If the ice had not been broken by now, it certainly was with this exchange of banter.

The only ones who did not take part were the two brothers, who were extremely quiet throughout the meal. One in particular looked very tense, and I did feel a little uncomfortable about him. In fairness it may have been the fact that he was shy around strange company, but I could not help but think that his brother was being somewhat protective of him. Whenever the conversation turned to them, it was he who replied most of the time. I found this a little strange, but respected the fact that they were unwilling to talk about themselves in great detail.

Now for the food itself. The hospitality had proved to be top notch so far. The accommodation was out of this world. The company at the breakfast table had proved to be entertaining and interesting. How on earth was the food going to match that? Well, believe me it did! To start with we had fresh fruit cocktail, and it was not your tinned apple and orange with a wee fancy unknown fruit on top, to make it appear to be 'exotic'. This was so fresh, you could actually taste the flavours as they should be savoured. I could feel myself being filled with vitamins, and other good stuff with each mouthful I took. I was a little unsure what Steve was going to make of it, (don't forget – he is a connoisseur of tinned peas and carrots) but he did pick a few bits off. We then had tomato and pepper quiche; something I would have never had even given a thought to serving for breakfast. However, it was also freshly cooked by the hostess and tasted absolutely wonderful. I had a feeling that this breakfast was going to see us through the remainder of the day. Not only was it tasty, but also it was also very filling. If that was not enough, we then had two or three different types of bread served up, each having been baked the previous day. I had to admire the way the owners of the establishment really went out of their way to make our stay as pleasurable as possible. We had only stayed the one night, but they did this every day of the week, whenever they had guests. A lot of work for just two or four people, but it really made all the difference. I would have had no hesitation in recommending the house to anyone, and would definitely pre-book should I ever find myself back in St Catherine's. As long as you are prepared to ignore any diet you may be on at the time, because it would be a shame to miss out on the fare offered for breakfast.

The conversation over breakfast was very leisurely. Although we knew we had a long drive ahead of us, we did not really want to rush the experience, and the combination of good food and good company led us to spend nearly two hours over the meal. In other establishments you would have been surreptitiously hurried out after about an hour, but the husband and wife team seemed to enjoy the general chitchat. Genuinely nice hosts, the likes of which I have never seen anywhere else I have stayed. In addition we were given a doggy bag of the biscuit style cakes to take with us! Of course we made out that we would be fine, but we did allow our arms to be twisted, so half a dozen buns also ended up in the car as well as the suitcases.

It was with a little sadness we said our goodbyes, and started on the long journey ahead of us. We wanted to move further north, towards where the white-water rafting experience was shown to be. I estimated that we had a minimum 6-hour drive ahead of us, which would take us back through the outskirts of Toronto. The route did look fairly straightforward, but I was not going to take anything for granted. I had a slight disliking of the roads already, and we would be travelling on totally new ones, some of which would be minor roads. The major ones were not signposted to my liking, so I was somewhat dreading the minor ones in that respect. The trip back to Toronto was fairly uneventful, the main highlight being the sight of the CN tower as we skirted pass the harbour. We then did something that was quite a brave move for us – we decided to take the toll road. This really was quite confusing because there was another road running parallel virtually the whole way. In total I think I was seeing 14 lanes of traffic in both directions. If we were on the wrong road, we were pretty much stuffed, because the exits were not that well signposted. If you were in lane 7, and wanted to be in lane 1 half a mile ahead, you had next to no chance. There would have been more chance of juggling with soot, because I have sussed out that Canadians are lovely people, but put them behind the wheel of the car in a busy city area, and they grow horns. Any thoughts of consideration etc go out of the window. They make our London cab drivers look like Miss Marple behind a wheel. Trust me. Your best bet is to stay in the right hand lane throughout the journey, just in case you may want to take a slip road at some stage. Yes, you may be only travelling at 50mph but it will save you hours of trying to find a turn off later on.

As usual, I was given the task of finding a route towards a place called Pembroke, which looked like it was going to be a decent place to stop for the night. The white-water area was approximately 20 miles from there. Having looked at the map, there was an obvious route to take. One of the roads took us through Peterborough. We live down the road from Peterborough back in the UK, so the tourist part of us saw the funny side in having a picture taken with a signpost behind us declaring where we were. We knew absolutely nothing about the town, but it was on the way, so we decided to head for it.

We actually pulled into the town around lunchtime, and were pleasantly surprised to see that it was quite a large town. We found a parking spot by the side of the road, put the dollar into the meter and walked towards the centre of the town. One thing is somewhat unsettling about the place, and that is the amount of alternative or complimentary therapy centres there were. We must have passed half a dozen offering massage, chiropractors, reiki, and a few other weird and wonderful therapies. It did get me thinking what might be going on though.

Either the residents were:

a) Very unhealthy.

b) Did not have any conventional medical facilities.

c) Did not have faith in their medical facilities.

d) Suckers for parting with money with people who did things like walk on their backs, or stick pins on them.

I am a great believer in these therapies, and am a qualified therapist at two methods. However, I do become a little wary at some claims by others in this particular field, as there are some who will take advantage of the suffering of others. Having said that, all of the ones I saw did not make any way out claims, and did seem to be genuine facilities. There just seemed to be so many of them!

We did manage to get a couple of pictures showing the name Peterborough, and then thought about making a move on to the next stop. The town itself was fairly ordinary and boasted a shopping mall and cinema complex at the far end to where we had entered. We managed to find an Internet kiosk at the mall, and I took the opportunity to check my e-mails. Usually I get about 50 a day, of which approximately 40 are junk. I was however, expecting an important one from work, telling me if I had got the job I had applied for in a different department. You just know from the subject line that it is not good news when it says, "We regret to say". However, I had to read further, and it was the usual blurb of how well I had done, and how unfortunate I had been. I still felt lousy though, and this bad news did affect my mood as we walked back to the car. I had made out to Steve that it was no big deal, and that I could always apply again, but I had really wanted that particular job. I would not even be able to find out the reasons why for another two weeks, and I knew that would eat away at me in the meantime. I am a Scorpio female, who just hates personal failure. I knew I was going to mentally beat myself up for a minimum of two days.

We bade a fond farewell to Peterborough and continued on our way north. The weather was still very warm, and the drive did take a little out of Steve. We found that we needed more and more breaks from this point on, so I was forever scanning the side of the road for anything that would afford us a few minutes. I had seen the signs for a trading post and thought that might be a good one to aim for. The fact it was advertised every few miles made me think that it must be worth a visit. Heck this had been better signposted than most of the roads we had been on in Toronto. However, I forgot to take into account that distance means nothing to people who live in three different time zones. I think it was about an hour between the first marker and the place itself, during which time Steve's legs had become more and more crossed. I just knew that once he parked the car, he would be breaking the record for the 10-yard dash to the toilets.

The trading post itself was very touristy, but quaint. It really did go for the stereotype look of the old wild west in part of the USA. Some of the posters on the walls made for an interesting read, even though you knew they had to have been made up – not even the cowboys could have been that dumb surely?

For example this was credited as being the slogan for an undertaker:

"Why walk around half dead when we can bury you".

Another poster gave the cost of teeth pulling. If you thought that the 'buy two get one free' offers are a recent supermarket phenomenon, you would be wrong. These guys were doing it years ago, and you could certainly drive for a good bargain with regards how many teeth you had to pay for. The tooth fairy would have certainly had her work cut out back in those days.

The trading post didn't really offer much more than a few interesting posters, and a very well stocked shop. I have a Native American Indian who I am proud to class as a good friend of mine. Through my contact with him, I have seen genuine native American artefacts, and some of the products sold at this particularly trading post, were extremely well made. I would have spent a fortune in there if it had not been for the fact that the holiday itself was going to be very expensive by the time we added up all the expenses. I have heard and read about many fireside type stories, and could listen to my friend all day. Who could not be mesmerised by the way they could orate? Or tell wonderful stories about the Great Spirit? In my opinion, the native tribal chiefs have historically been the best public speakers, and a lot of the current politicians could do worse than to take note of some of what they said. Whereas our leaders are very good at using 500 words, and still not answering the original question, some of the short quotes used in those days could get you pondering for weeks. A very proud race of people who offered so much, but were so ignored. I could go on forever, as I really do feel quite strongly about their treatment, but I am also aware that the Canadian people perhaps showed more respect than their American cousins, if the historical literature is anything to go by. Unfortunately, we cannot go backwards in time. I just hope that these events can be learned from, so as to create a better future for all.

After a short break we headed back out on route 7, which would have taken us all the way to Ottawa should we have not diverted onto route 41. The roads had been very straight and very quiet for some time, and I made a tentative proposal to take over the driving. I was hoping that Steve would decline the offer, but did feel duty bound to actually offer my services. He had driven each day so far, and really did deserve the break. However, I was dreading the time that I would be required to drive. I had become quite used to the view and feel of things from the passenger seat. If the car had been a right hand drive, I reckon I would have been fine. However, everything was the wrong way round once you switched sides, and to throw another spanner in the works as far as I was concerned, the car was an automatic. Steve had adapted within a few minutes, but I knew I would struggle. I think he knew this, and being the gentleman he is, offered to continue driving.

The scenery on route 41 became more colourful the further north we found ourselves. Less and less traffic passed us, as the road gave way to wonderful forestland and lakes either side of us. Although most of the lakes were quite large, some of them were small by Canadian standards, and did not merit a mention on the road map we had purchased back in England.

Approximately 6 hours after leaving St Catherine's we found ourselves in a small national park named Bon Echo Provincial Park. We had timed our arrival perfectly, as the low sun cast some beautiful shadows across the water as it broke through the intermittent clouds that had started to gather. Ominously for us, they were starting to display a grey shade, and it was not going to be long before the rain decided to pay us a visit. Rather dishearteningly we were still a good 60 miles from Pembroke, which due to the terrain was going to be approximately 2 hours away. We were both hungry by now, but there was a distinct lack of any obvious signs of human life in the form of shops or bars. If we waited any longer though, Steve was going to have to try his trapping skills.

"Is there anywhere near here we can stop?" Steve asked, with a slight air of desperation in his voice. I know when he talks like that, he will need to eat sooner rather than later. Unfortunately I was as clueless as he was.

"Not really," I replied. "We are in the middle of nowhere at the moment."

"Can you just keep your eyes peeled then? I need to stop soon."

With that, I abandoned the map and scanned the scenery, looking for anything that may yield a cup of tea at the very least.

After a short period of time, our wishes were granted. We saw the edge of a very large lake to our right, and just in front of it, almost at the roadside was the most welcome four-letter word I had seen all trip – 'CAFÉ'

"Stop now!" I yelled, craning my neck to try and see whether it was open or not.

"What? Where?" he asked.

I think Steve almost wet himself with fright when I screamed in his ear to stop. He must have thought he had hit someone he braked so hard, but unfortunately not fast enough. We sailed past the entrance but Steve had also seen the sign, and immediately did the classic U turn back to the car park area. Normally we would have driven past such a place, but we were desperate. I had eaten all of the biscuits and cake from breakfast, and Steve was already starting to work out how much of a meal a chipmunk would provide. The café was actually a small wooden shack, but the type that looked as though it had been made by a group of year 5 students, practising with their new building set. It made the greasy spoon roadside cafes look like the Café Royal. You could almost see the sticky tape holding the roof on. The steps looked so rickety, the safest course of action was to walk as near to the handrail as possible, so that you had something to hold onto should the woodworm decide to collapse the whole thing. I just hoped that they didn't have strong winds in this area, otherwise the café would have to undergo various stages of re-building. Even a sneeze inside would have registered on the Richter scale. I was apprehensive as we went in, but I soon learned not to judge too quickly. My stepfather had been a lorry driver, and I had realised that the worst looking places usually served up the best fare, and offered the best hospitality.

This was certainly the case here. We both made our way to the toilets first, which made a very fair request for a donation for their use.

"Look," said Steve. "They have even put one by specially for my mum!"

Wondering what the heck he was talking about, I looked at the sign over the door. The men's restroom was labelled 'moose' and in case you were unsure, the head of a moose was positioned over the entrance.

"She'd go mental if she heard you say that," I laughed. Ever since I have known him, that has been his nickname for her. It is said affectionately, and she does know this. However, if she actually saw what a moose looked like, she may not take it so good-naturedly. Not that I am saying they are ugly or anything... just different I guess. Come to think of it, that sort of sums up Steve's mum. She is certainly not as conventional as most mums seem to be.

There were one or two people sitting at the polished wooden dining tables, in quiet conversation. I really felt that both Steve and myself stood out like sore thumbs, and were obvious tourists. However, the welcome was warm, and within minutes we were sat by the window overlooking the lake, which was lined with various shades of green. The menu was basic, but the sort of food that both of us eat far too much of. Whilst we waited to order, our attention was drawn to the wildlife outside of the window. Chipmunks were dashing around at lightning speed, looking for ready food. They were the first ones we had seen since we had arrived, and I thought they were incredibly fascinating. They moved at a frantic 'stop and start' type pace, and were totally aware of their surroundings. Their hearing was so acute and they reacted to the slightest sound that was out of our range. If there had been any doubt as to our tourist status, this was quelled by our squeals of delight. Steve was instantly at the ready with the camera and took a few pictures whenever they came into sight. We then saw the bird feeder outside the window, and were again caught in raptures of delight. Talk about being easily entertained. However, in our defence, these were not normal birds. For a start, they had colours to them. The real coup was the sighting of the humming birds that paid brief visits. I had seen them before at a bird sanctuary, but this was the first time Steve had ever encountered them.

After giving us time to get over the excitement of seeing the birds, the proprietor came to take our order.

If there was ever a stereotypical Canadian outback kind of guy, he fitted the description perfectly. He was pretty solidly built, wearing the lumberjack type shirt. His beard was straggly, but his eyes really twinkled when he smiled. He appeared to be so laid back, he was almost horizontal.

We both ordered the chicken burger, fries and coleslaw which turned out to be the best coleslaw I had ever tasted.

Whilst we waited, the owner came back to have a chat with us.

"Where are you guys from?" he asked.

This question always throws me, because I have always considered our accents to be obviously English. However, quite often Americans mix us up with Australian, which I would imagine makes most of the Aussies cringe.

"About 80 miles north of London," replied Steve. "Sort of in the middle."

We tend not to say the town name, because it means diddlysquat to anyone outside of the UK. However, most people know where London is, so we tend to use that as a reference point. One day someone will say, "Gee, I know that place really well. Do you still have those stupid little roundabouts there?" and totally throw me for a reply.

Once the usual question was out in the open, I then launched into the 20-question type game. I was in a place that looked too interesting to ignore, and I wanted to learn as much as possible about the area.

"What sort of birds are they outside?" I asked.

"Well, depends on which ones you mean. The bright yellow ones are American Finches."

"But you get humming birds as well!" I enthused.

This made his eyes twinkle even more, as he realised that I was like a little kiddie seeing Santa Claus for the very first time.

"Oh yeah, we get all sorts around here."

"Go on then, what other wildlife do you get?"

Steve was also curious, but he was a little more reticent in coming forward with questions. I'm female, so can get away with it I guess. I could tell though, that I was asking what he was also thinking about. I was the one with the guts to risk looking an idiot by asking though.

"Well, we got moose of course. And there are a few black bears around, and wolves too."

Well, that was it. I was caught hook, line and sinker.

"Do you see the wolves very often?" I asked, more out of hope really. I have had a loving for these quiet, misunderstood animals for a long time, and the thought that I may actually be able to see one in the wild was almost too much for me.

I might as well have had "naïve pomie tourist" tattooed on my forehead.

"Well, I have only ever seen three my whole life, they are really shy you know."

This made me feel like a kiddie feels the first time they are told that Santa Claus doesn't really exist. From that point onwards, they tend to have an idea that the tooth fairy isn't going to visit any more either. Bit of a deflator when you know the truth. If he had seen just the three, I had next to no chance.

"What about bears?" I asked hopefully.

"Sure you see a few of them, but mainly around the rubbish dumps."

At last a window of opportunity! However, I knew that Steve would not be wanting to set up camp next to a modern day midden, so again I resigned myself to the fact that I probably wouldn't see any bears either.

We took our time over the meal, not really wanting to leave the park, but aware that we still had a long way to go. The weather looked like it was starting to close in, and we did not really want to be driving in the rain if we could avoid it.

Once the table had been cleared, the proprietor came back over to us.

"So you guys are interested in getting some pictures of birds then?"

Steve immediately perked up at this.

We were then led back out to the steps we had used earlier.

"Take a look up there," he whispered. There are a few cuties for you. Baby swifts. Mum will be around somewhere."

Sure enough, under the eaves of the canopy was a tiny nest with four heads poking out over the edge. Steve immediately started snapping away, and really had to restrain himself from getting too close. Apparently the birds nested there or thereabouts at the café every year. What a lovely surprise for the owners. No matter how often he saw this sight, the owner still got a buzz out of the event. I just hoped that I would be like him and never take anything like this for granted.

It was with some reluctance that we paid the bill and then left. I was a little annoyed with Steve though – but only a little. After all the hospitality we had been shown, he had forgotten to leave a tip. I knew it was a genuine omission on his part, but I vowed if we ever found ourselves back there, we would more than leave double next time. I did wonder what they thought of us after all that. Hopefully they realised that it was an oversight. I still felt bad about it though, and was in two minds to go back and rectify our mistake.

Our concerns about the weather were founded though, and it was not long before the heavens opened. The storm was torrential and driving was a nightmare for Steve. Quite often we found ourselves aquaplaning on the surface, and were amazed at the amount of vehicles that overtook us at speed. I guess over there the storm was considered as just a minor inconvenience.

After what seemed like an eternity we pulled into Pembroke where we hoped to spend the night. However, by now it was quite late, and I was concerned that we may not get a room with ease, although there did seem to be quite a few establishments available. At the first stop we pulled in behind three bikers who had arrived a few seconds earlier. There appeared to be less than six chalets available, so it was always going to be touch and go, taking into account the lateness of the hour. Steve went to ask, whilst I made a beeline for the bikes which were being guarded by a stereotypical biker – beard, beer belly, tattoos and arms that could rip you open in a nanosecond if he took a fancy too. The bike was a Harley Davidson (what else) and was sporting a wonderfully airbrushed picture of a wolf in a moonlit setting.

"Wow, that is amazing art work!" I enthused.

The guy just looked at me. I started to feel as though I had made a big mistake, but I was not going to be deterred. After all, I was just a weedy female tourist who was obviously stark raving mad. I guess they are not used to being spoken to in such a friendly manner by people who obviously don't know any better.

"Did you do that yourself?"

He started to relax at this, and I could see that he was proud of the artwork, and would be happy to talk about it.

"I sure did."

"How long did it take in total?"

"Well, just the artwork took me over two weeks."

I would have loved to have chatted more, but I was interrupted by Steve rushing down the steps, virtually in tandem with the guy's co-riders.

"They have just let the last room," he said rushing to the car. What then followed was almost like a scene from a Keystone Cops film. The bikers saddled up, and we all headed off up the road, hoping to be the first to arrive at the next establishment. I was sort of hoping that we did not win the race. We were outnumbered here, and I really did not relish the idea of being used as a 'biker bitch' by way of punishment. Steve's potential punishment was not even going to enter my head as an image, believe me. Naturally it was no contest, (they roared up the road first) but it didn't matter too much anyway. Thankfully for all concerned there was a handy Travel Lodge with plenty of room for all. Just as well really. If it came down to a fight for the last rooms, I think we would not have come close to being even a close second.

After a hard day on the road, we could at last relax and prepare ourselves for what was going to turn out to be one of the best days of my life – WHITE WATER RAFTING!

Top Tips:

Don't underestimate the size of the country and the amount of travelling you may need to do in one day. The map scale will not give you a true idea, so be prepared, and add maybe an extra two hours to allow for comfort breaks and adverse weather.

Don't be shy about going off the main roads if you get the chance. Some of the best scenery will be in places away from the main roads.

If you know where you want to spend the night, consider calling ahead to book a room. We cut it a bit fine on this leg of our trip and were lucky to find a large hotel in such a small town.

## Chapter 8 – White water rafting

I am not sure how to explain this, but I sort of had a strange dream that there had been a thunderstorm somewhere inside my head. When we awoke the next morning (at the crack of dawn I might add because we had to be at the centre for 8.30am) we realised that in fact the area had been hit by a humdinger of a storm. The air smelled fresh and cool and the roads were glistening with the covering of water that remained. Unfortunately for us, the hotel did not serve breakfast so with eyes only half open we made our way to the McDonalds across the road from the hotel. I am not a big eater of breakfast in the morning, but we knew that it might be in our interest to get some energy providing fodder inside us, ready for the hard day ahead. We were both unfit and knew that we would need all the help we could get. Thus we both ordered the only cooked breakfast on the menu, and tried our best to enjoy it. I am not knocking McDonalds, as they do make some good value fast food type meals. I have not been averse to knocking back a value meal if the mood takes me. However in my opinion breakfast is not exactly their forte. They seem to have mastered the art in making scrambled egg so thick, you are in danger of giving yourself a black eye if your fork bounces off the surface. I really did try hard, but had to concede defeat and realised I would have to rely on chocolate as being my main energy provider.

Steve had obtained details the previous night on the best route to the centre. Even though we had been assured that 'you can't miss it,' we gave ourselves an hour in which to drive the 20 miles. As soon as someone says it is easy, you are guaranteed at least three wrong turnings on the way. However, the map did confirm that the route was fairly straightforward for the first 15 miles or so, and we were confident that it was bound to be signposted from that point onwards. Being ever cautious though, we still wanted to give ourselves plenty of time. Being late is a bugbear of mine, and I hate it just as much in myself as other people.

We turned right outside our hotel, aware that it was a straight road taking us to within a few miles of the centre. However, things started to go wrong very quickly, as they usually do if you know that you have time against you. We had driven less than a mile up the road when we saw an amazing sight. To our right was a car park in front of some shops or similar. At the front of the car park was a pickup truck, half submerged in water. And it was a very large pickup truck at that. Not only had the heavens opened during the night, but also they had flooded the area. If the town was flooded, it made me wonder what the river was going to be like. I had never been white water rafting before, and I was apprehensive enough as it was, without the additional worry of being placed on a raging torrent, enhanced by a storm force. Well, the situation then got worse. A few yards further up, the road surface was slippery with wet mud. The rain had run down one side of the road, taking the mud and silt with it to the other side of the road. The car was a little skittish and I began to feel that both Steve and myself were in danger of turning into Torville and Dean, but without the Russian judge being there to give us marks for technical merit. Again to our right, there was a house which was at a guess, about 2-3 metres higher up. The tarmac drive leading to house had just collapsed in on itself. It looked like a photograph you see of earthquake areas. I had to feel so sorry for the owner who was outside looking dumbstruck. Not only had he lost access to his house, but also his car was the wrong side of the subsidence! Talk about a double whammy! And it was a Sunday too, so he had little or no chance of finding anywhere open in the area, in order to sort out an urgent repair.

This was an awesome sight to behold. Therefore we could not be too surprised when we saw a sign ahead saying that the road was closed. We immediately pulled into a car park (one to the left of us I hasten to add), and got out the GPS mapping system and laptop. Thank goodness we had the foresight to bring it with us. I know I made a bit of a show at the customs desk when Steve was searched, but I was prepared to kiss his feet at this stage. If he hadn't been such a gadget freak we would have been in serious trouble, and may not have made our check in time at the centre. We eventually established that we needed to re-trace our steps and take the route we had used getting to Pembroke the previous night. This was going to add about 20 minutes to our journey so we did not have any leeway left for getting lost at a later stage. The pressure was certainly on us now. We had no idea if any of the other roads were going to be closed, but we had to give it a go and find out.

Well, I had to give credit to Steve for getting us there in one piece, and also within time. I was responsible for the one wrong turning we had taken, but it had not really added too much time to the journey. (Naturally I blamed the GPS system). He always stays cool in this sort of situation, and is a great contrast to my frantic antics, as I check the time on the car clock every other minute.

We pulled into the car park and made our way to the pine wood effect office immediately in front of us. On the grass area to one side were many domed tents on platforms, and small wooden chalets. It was a shame that we didn't have any tent bedding with us - staying overnight looked like it could have been fun. At least the rain had not hit this area too hard, because the tents all looked pretty much intact.

Once inside we were greeted warmly by the counter staff.

"How can we help you?"

"We've booked on the rafting today, and were told to be here for 8.30am," Steve replied.

"Okay, all you need to do at the moment is fill in these disclaimer forms, then return them to me."

We took one card each and then made our way over to a counter where there was a supply of pens. As I looked round, I could see that the office also doubled up as a shop and sold everything you may need for an experience on water. Some of the photographs looked breathtaking, and I was immediately drawn to the video that was playing in one corner. It showed a large raft with about 12 people, being soaked, but having great fun at the same time. Each member had a smile on their face, and one or two looked positively orgasmic. This did make me a little suspicious though, and my first thought that it was a set up, and that all of the rafters were 'ringers'. In other words, people who are so at home on the water, they are either qualified instructors, or were born with webbed feet. Where are the images of those showing sheer terror? Or those of people being thrown out of the raft and being swept away downstream? Okay, I don't want to see someone drowning, but I did want to know exactly what I was letting myself in for. If this was the sort of experience that made you smile all the way down the river, where was the white-knuckle ride in all of this? I wanted to see screams, and fear, not smiles! Why else would anyone want to go white water rafting? If I wanted to see gentle waves, I would fidget in the bath each time. It sorted of reminded me of the video we were shown in the Biology lesson at school, of a woman giving birth. I kid you not, but the woman had make up on, was not sweating, and there was not a scream in sight! She was only one step away from talking with the nurses about her holiday that year. It turned out that this was her fourth child, and she had been shelling them like peas. And they wonder why the teenage pregnancy rate is so high! Of course it's high, and the reason is so damn obvious! If you give the impression that giving birth is easy and pain free, of course young girls are going to be willing to give it a try. If they had shown the true images, I am sure the story would have been very different. If I had seen a woman in pain, screaming her head off, blood and gore everywhere, I would have kept my knees closed for the rest of my life. So what if it had led to students passing out – I am sure it would have prevented a whole generation of teenage mums. And as an aside, I would have also shown it to the boys as well – just so that they can see what we go through in order to keep the species going. They would never complain of razor cuts again believe me.

"Are you going to fill this out then or what?" asked Steve, ever impatient to get going.

I took a look at my copy, quickly scanning the essential questions.

"Have you seen this!" I demanded.

"They have a disclaimer that we will not sue them, even in the case of negligence. How the heck can they get away with that one?"

It was true. In black and white, we were expected to almost sign our lives away should there be an incident not of our doing. Even though it was a strange clause to include, we had no hesitation in signing up for the adventure. After all we had driven for almost 9 hours to do this, and we were not going to change our minds now. I was prepared to trust the raft guide 100%.

Once we completed the paperwork, we made our way to the briefing area, which was a roofed-only type wooden marquee. In the centre, a log fire was burning and I immediately made a beeline for it. The day was still cloudy with intermittent drizzle. I knew I was going to be wearing just a pair of shorts and a waterproof, so made the most of the brief chance to de-ice myself. There were about 20 or so of us waiting, and the conversation was very hushed. Either it was through expectation, or the fact it was still so early in the morning. We seemed to come from all around the world for the experience, and I took heart in the fact that it must be good, otherwise it would have just been locals making up the numbers. After a while, a chirpy looking guy bounced up onto the stage. He had enough energy by the looks of it for all of us. Either that, or too many e-numbers.

"Okay, can any of you who are on the 9.00am start gather round for the briefing."

We all made our way to the front of the stage and sat in the white patio chairs, facing him, all with expectant expressions painted on our faces. I think we must have all resembled five year olds just before midnight on Christmas Eve.

"Who's been before then?" was the opening question. I glanced round to see that only two or three people had their hands up. This meant he was going to have to give the full briefing.

"Okay, let's go through the equipment first."

He then proceeded to explain to us the importance of the helmets, and how to tighten them. They looked as though one size fitted all, so the strap to tighten them was going to be important. We then had the two choices of wetsuit explained to us: all in one covering legs and chest, or just the jacket with waterproof sleeves.

The next item looked the scariest. The life jacket.

"Okay, this is the one where you get your buddies to help you." He then showed how to do up the main buckles and straps, of which there appeared to be hundreds but in reality only number four or five.

"The main one to remember is the happy strap. If you fall out, you will be dragged in by your shoulder straps. The happy strap stops the jacket coming off over your head if that happens. Guys, you will find out why it is called the happy strap, so make sure it is not too tight when you wear it!"

My eyes were watering on their behalf at this stage. A few had subconsciously crossed their legs upon hearing that particular warning.

The briefing lasted only about 15 minutes, and covered all the basics of what to wear, and not to wear (apparently cotton is a no-no due to the fact when it gets wet it also gets cold), and what to do and not do. We learned that the briefing had been conducted by a guy called Dan who was actually going to be one of the raft guides. He seemed good fun, and I was hoping he would be taking our boat. It was not to be, and when we had our names called out, we were given the name of Simon.

Once the briefing was over we had around half an hour in which to collect our equipment for the day. Both Steve and myself had opted for the full wet suits, but I was very aware that I had never worn one in my life before. The guy in the kiosk gave me a quick once over, and decided that I was a "woman". I was therefore given a smallish sized wetsuit, which I took to the ladies changing room area. It did look a little on the small size and I just knew it was not going to be viable. However, I was prepared to give it a go, and hopefully be pleasantly surprised. I stepped into the neck of the object, and gamefully tried to pull it upward without putting my fingernails through the material. It got as far as my knees, and then refused to budge any further. I jumped up and down, sat on the bench, and did everything bar lie on the floor with my legs in the air. There was no way I was going to be able to get into the damn thing, so with an air of resignation I traipsed back to the kiosk.

"This is too small I," I said meekly.

"Oh right, no worries." With that he went further back along the rack and came out with a second one. "This should do ya," he said cheerfully. I took it, glancing at the label as I re-traced my steps. It was shown as being a "large woman's". This was starting to get very annoying. I appreciate that I am not exactly Kate Moss like in stature, but nor do I resemble the back end of the bus. At a push I will admit that my hips may be classed as 'child bearing' in dimensions, but I am not large. Okay, a size 14 is now average for me, but hey it is for most women these days. As a species we are a size larger than we were 50 years ago, so I AM NOT ABNORMAL.

Once inside the changing room I went through the whole process again. This time, I got the wetsuit as far as my thighs before it ground to a halt. By now I was really getting narked. Another rafter saw my problem, and smiled in sympathy. Naturally hers had gone on at the first attempt.

"They should give you a pot of talcum powder with these things," I grumbled as I put my shorts back on.

The guy at the kiosk could not believe it when I bought this one back also.

"What is that one too small as well?" he asked, taking a second look at my rear end just to make sure that he had not misjudged it the first time round.

"No, it does not fit." I said. "Can I change my mind please, and just have one of the jackets instead."

"We can find one for you I am sure," he said. With that he started walking down the line of men's wetsuits.

"No, that's fine," I grimaced. "I will take the jacket instead."

I was given one instantly, and saw that it was a normal sized woman's. That is the thing that I really hate at times. My chest area is so small, I can still fit in trainer bras, (no VAT to pay though!) but my hips are that of a small rhino. Genes certainly got shaken up when I came along.

Steve was outside waiting for me, and looked somewhat impatient. I explained the lengthy process I had undergone, and listened to his advice of where I had gone wrong etc. I let it go in one ear and out the other, but nodded in the right places. I have learned it is always best to let a guy think he knows better, as otherwise their egos take a massive dent.

We all got on the yellow bus that looked as though it was a school bus at some stage. The atmosphere was terrific, and although we did not know each other, within a few seconds we were grinning to each other like Cheshire cats. A guy with a video camera got on the bus and got us doing silly things for the videoing process. He had his head screwed on well, because when we saw the finished product it looked really cool. We saw a fair bit of him during the outing, and like Dan he had a terrific sense of humour.

Once at the waterside we met up with our rafts, the rest of our crew, and our guides for the day. Our boat only had 7 of us aboard. Apparently there had been a group of people who had signed up for the two days of rafting and had stayed over at the centre for the night. Unfortunately for them, they had one beer too many the previous night, and were unfit to take part with us. That had certainly turned out to be a very expensive pint! A quick calculation in my head costed it at around £50.00.

As we introduced ourselves to Simon, he turned to Steve. In a broad Australian accent he had me in fits of laughter.

"Well guys, it is good to see you all. And you can always guarantee that one person will decide to put their wetsuit on inside out. Good on you Steve!"

We were all rolling with laughter, and I have to give credit to him, Steve was also laughing. However, I was also holding my legs together because I had totally lost control of myself. I had tears rolling down my face, and was in danger of having water rolling down another part of my anatomy.

"You have no idea how you have made my day," I managed to wheeze to Simon as we got into the raft.

"He prides himself on always being right, and I am the one who stuffs up with great regularity."

However, I could not be cruel to Steve, but this really had made my day. For about 10 minutes I could not look at him without laughing. Everyone else was wearing the dark grey/black wetsuits, whilst Steve's was a really fetching blue colour. How he had not realised I don't know, but there was nothing he could do about it. Getting it off and back on again would have been a nightmare. He had no choice but to carry on. He was assured that it would still be effective though.

Simon turned out to be a real star during the rafting experience. Although he looked as though a strong breeze would blow him over, he was as strong as an ox, and knew exactly where to put the raft at each of the rapids for the maximum benefit. I really don't know if I could have done his job to be honest. Here he was, for the next 6 hours with a bunch of total strangers from all around the globe. Not only did he have to steer us, but he also had to answer our questions, and entertain us in between the rapids. He did all of this with ease, and I still have fond memories of both him, and his colleagues who were guiding the other boats. Thanks to these guys, the experience was one of the best I have ever had, and I still smile when I think about some of the funny things that happened.

I also had a little bit of envy for his lifestyle, whilst appreciating that I could never take the life course he had. He basically had no home base, but white water rafted in the summer months, and was a ski-instructor during the winter months. This was his second season at the Owl centre on the Ottawa river. He had previously worked over at British Vancouver. His home for this summer was nothing short of a large tent. Whilst I envied his freedom, and simple lifestyle, I knew I would neither have a) the courage to just find work somewhere in the world for 6 months or b) the willingness to go with just basic provisions. This one experience showed how people could be worlds apart in their requirements for happiness. Who had the right idea? I am not sure on that one, but he and the others, still have my admiration. As I write, he will be somewhere in Europe on the ski-slopes, possibly not being sure where he would be in the summer months. The main thing is, he doesn't really care either. What a way to look at life.

We learned about the river as we made our way to the first rapid. There were four rafts in our party, and we all stayed very close to each other. There was definitely the feeling of being safe with so many of us on hand should there be an accident. We had learned that there are three basic commands:

"Paddle" meaning paddle forwards, "dig in" meaning paddle like crazy, and "relax" meaning, stop paddling. There were other commands that related to what we should do in the eventuality that we were thrown out of the raft, but as luck would have it, we did not need to implement them. Although I am a good swimmer, I had no intention of putting them to the test, and it was a relief to see that we did not lose one rafter throughout the day.

As we headed for our first rapid, I could feel my adrenalin start to pump. I could hear the water as it neared, and paddled with the others, not really daring to look up. Eventually, the noise became deafening, and we heard Simon shout at us to "dig in!"

I paddled as hard as I could, but at times there was no water below me. We were being thrown around so much, sometimes the side of the boat was right out of the water. After just a few short seconds, the ride was over, and we were on the other side of the rapid. I had done next to nothing that was of value, but had loved every single second of it, emerging the other side totally soaked through.

What a buzz!

I looked over to Steve, and saw that he had the biggest grin I had ever seen. We had both enjoyed the experience, and could not wait for the next rapid. No one had been thrown out of the boat, and we were given a few minutes to relax whilst Simon steered us towards the next one. This was certainly different to what I thought it would be. For some reason, I imagined that we would be fighting a torrid river, of the likes seen on some of the Extreme Sports programmes. In other words, one long rapid. This trip was going to be for around five hours, so I should have realised that was not going to be the case. However, I was still enjoying myself, and took great delight at the scenery as we poodled down stream.

In the first two hours I believe we had negotiated around four or five rapids, before we pulled over to an island at the side of the river, for a well earned break. (Well Simon deserved the break, as he had done most of the work up to that point).

We were served with cool drinks, and packets of dried fruit and nuts. After a few minutes, Dan came over to speak to us.

"You have a while here to snack up," he said. There are plenty of toilets around if you want them, and you can't miss them. They are sort of long brown looking things with green bits on top. Just go and choose one." With that, he ran off, obviously in search of something to stand behind. This caused a few giggles once we had realised what he had been talking about.

This was all well and good for the guys, but what were the ladies supposed to do? The tree trunks were fairly broad so they had plenty of cover, but suitable bushes appeared to be lacking.

I have always found it hard to just drop trousers and squat when in need of relief, particularly if there is a potential audience in the vicinity. This is a throwback to my police days. On my first ever fox hunting duty we were out in the fields, in the middle of nowhere. It was early November, and there was not a leaf in sight anywhere. A colleague helpfully pointed me in the direction of a nearby derelict hangar. I went round the corner, had a quick check, and dropped everything. Within seconds the pack of hounds went past me, closely followed by all the riders and horses. There was absolutely nothing I could have done about it, but I knew I had been set up. They were in fits of laughter at seeing my cold pink backside waving in the air, and the ground steaming underneath me. I had been well and truly stitched up by my so-called mates.

This was at the back of my mind as I looked round for inspiration. Then it hit me. I casually made my way over to a rock which was approximately 6 inches underwater, and sat on it. To anyone around me, it would have appeared that I was just chilling out and watching the world go by. Naturally I let Steve into my little secret, who actually saw the funny side of this. We were all soaked anyway, so a damp patch on my shorts was not going to be giving anything away.

Before long we were back on the water heading for the biggest rapid – 'The Colisseum'. Just the name of it had us all tingling with anticipation mixed in with a little fear. The river had swollen considerably during the night, courtesy of the heavy downpour, and all of the rapids were that little bit bigger and quicker because of it. We were told that this one was the fifth biggest in Canada that is used commercially. Because of the rain, it had been promoted a little in the league table. We were not allowed to paddle at this one. Instead, we had to hold on to the rope knot at the base of the inflated seats. In addition, we had to take on board some other crew members to stabilize the raft. Otherwise, if half full we had a better than even chance of being flipped over. Even more worrying was the sight of some rescue kayaks and speedboats a few yards downstream of the rapid. Apparently there was another one almost immediately after the Colisseum, and if people were not rescued quickly, they ran the risk of taking what is fondly described as the 'economy trip'. In other words, no raft! Being bounced around rocks and boulders at a fair rate of knots was not something any of us relished, so the sight of the rescue crew was a very welcome one.

We were the second raft to negotiate the monstrosity, and we did not need to be told twice to hang on. There was no way in a million years I was going to even try to paddle. I could not see, and the sound of the water was just short of deafening.

Believe me, my hand and that rope became one. I am sure I was holding on so tightly, we must have exchanged some DNA in the process. When we actually hit the rapid, it was like nothing I have ever experienced, and I honestly thought we were going to all end up body surfing at some stage. I felt myself being actually lifted out of the boat, to the extent I was holding onto the rope, upside down. After what seemed like an eternity, but would have only been a few seconds, I landed back inside, but my paddle had unfortunately wrapped itself around the head of the poor Finnish guy sitting behind me. He was one of the extra crew, so I bet he was pretty relieved to be able to transfer back to his normal craft once this rapid had been passed. I have actually got the video of the trip, and I still wince on his behalf whenever this particular rapid is shown. The whole thing looked bloody impressive to anyone watching though.

Due to the fact we were one of the first ones to go through the rapid, we had the opportunity to see some of a rival company's rafters follow us. Their rafts were not as large, nor as stable as ours, and every single one of them either threw out the crew, or flipped over on them. When this happened, the cleanup operation was very impressive to witness. As one, each of the speedboats and kayaks headed in different directions to pick up the body surfers as they hurtled downstream. All you could see were the coloured helmets flashing past the rocks in the water. I was just glad that we had not been part of that experience. I wanted to ride the rapids as they should be ridden, not body surf them, and certainly not at that speed. Heck, I don't think I have even run that fast. We are all told what to do in the case of being thrown overboard, but to be honest it would be very difficult to take the correct position at this particular rapid. The water rules the roost on this particular rapid, and it made sure it reminded us of this fact as regularly as possible.

We rode a few more as the afternoon wound to a close, but none matched the Coliseum for sheer intensity. The afternoon was rounded off by half an hour of body surfing as the river took us towards the lunch pontoon. I stayed in the boat, as I really wanted to appreciate the spectacular scenery that was all around us. (Also hoping to see a glimpse of a bear, knowing there was more chance of knitting fog, but I lived in hope). Steve was up for it, and it made my day to see his eyes sparkle as he talked to fellow travellers in the water. This day had been very special for both of us, and I made a silent vow to repeat the experience somewhere else in the world.

As I looked around at the greenery, and listened to the gentle fall of the rain, I really did want time to stand still forever. Work and the normal every day hassles of my life seemed a million miles away. I decided that this was the nearest thing to bliss I had ever experienced, and I really had to admire the guys who chose to guide the boats for a living. No wonder they all seemed genuinely happy and at ease with their jobs. To be able to do this every day must be totally rewarding for them.

It was therefore quite a shame that the day had to end, and end it did on a high note. A pontoon was moored at one point on the river, and we all piled on to be met by a wonderful barbeque washed down with ice-cold lager. I had two bottles, which is very rare for me, and I don't think they even touched the sides as they went down my gullet. The whole day had cost us around £50 each, which was in my opinion, incredibly good value. I also was given the opportunity not to feel too bad about peeing into the river earlier that day. One of the raft guides decided that mother nature couldn't be ignored any longer, and called for the others to take their positions around him whilst he let go from the back of the boat. I don't think they realised though that both Steve and myself had prime seats for this, with Steve being given a particularly good view of it all.

Although we were all still feeling high from the experience, it was not long before tiredness set in, so we didn't have any energy when we got back to base. Once we had changed into dry and warm clothing, we all regrouped to watch the video of the day. The proceedings were kicked off with an award ceremony, which took us all by surprise. Apparently, each raft guide had a sticker to present to one person from his or her particular raft. I squealed with delight when Steve's name was called out, and he accepted the award with good grace and humour. Apparently his inside out wet suit had caused ripples of laughter throughout the party.

We then settled down for the highlight of the evening – the video play back. I have actually made a video before, and it took me 6 weeks to film, and edit down to a 20-minute safety film. These guys had taken an hour in which to edit the same amount of footage, and place background music over each segment! I was suitably impressed, especially in lieu of the fact that the quality had not been sacrificed. As we watched in amazement I could only be proud of myself, and what I had achieved. Although the rapids were fairly fierce at the time of riding them, they seemed even more awesome when you saw them from an outsider's perspective. I just had to feel sorry for any friends and family that were likely to visit once we got home. They would be forced to endure the experience before being allowed to leave. It would have to be the equivalent of showing holiday snaps to all and sundry, but this would not be as boring. The only thing I did regret, was wearing bright blue shorts. My hips are fairly wide anyway, but this just drew attention to them each time the camera was pointed our way. And yes it is true what they say – the camera does make you look bigger. There was no way my hips were really THAT big.

Top tips:

1) Make sure that you ask around regarding the rafting trips available. There are many companies operating on that stretch of the river. We had been recommended the one we used, and were glad we followed the advice.

2) If it is something you have looked forward to, consider doing it over the two days, camping at the site overnight. I really regretted only being able to do it the once, but we had already decided to move on through the Monday.

3) If you have room in your luggage, take some bedding so that you can stay overnight. It is ridiculously cheap, and would make for a great atmosphere, rounding off the whole experience.

4) If you have stayed elsewhere, make sure that you give yourself plenty of travelling time in which to arrive. They are strict with their start times, and if you are late you run the risk of having your particular trip cancelled.

5) Make sure that you have the right clothing for the trip. Cotton is a no-no and I would not recommend anything other than decent deck shoes.

6) Invest in a waterproof camera. We hadn't and regretted it..... almost.

## Chapter 9 – Ottawa.

Once we had finished or raft outing, we decided to head towards Ottawa, hoping to find a decent stop off point on the way. Steve was incredibly tired, and I was also finding it hard to keep my eyes open. The combination of fresh air, and low levels of fitness had had taken its toll on both of us, and we were both ready to sleep for England given half a chance. Again, I was very grateful that Steve took on the role of driver.

However, the drive stretched us both to our limits, and it was with some relief when we came across a hotel on the outskirts of Ottawa. The Embassy West was very welcoming, and offered a restaurant as well as a bed for the night. This was very much appreciated, as neither of us relished the thought of having to drive around to find somewhere to eat. We were so tired, the thought of having to hunt for food would have been the equivalent of a waking nightmare.

It was nice to be able to unwind at the end of the day, and have a read of the local newspaper. In the main, the stories are similar to ours, but occasionally you do come across a corker that could only ever happen in the Americas. However, the one that caught my eye was about a Russian cosmonaut who got married. Nothing unusual in that, except for the fact he was on the International Space station at the time, and his bride was on terra firma at the Johnson Space centre in Texas. Amazingly, it is legal in Texas to get married whereby one person is not actually present at the ceremony. The entire ceremony was conducted using a video link. It really made me realise how friendly the two giant nations had become. Twenty years ago, this would have been unheard of as a concept, and even if it had, I would not imagine that America would have willingly played host. It also showed how far behind we are in the UK in allowing unusual marriage venues to be considered. It is still illegal to be wed out in the open air in England, yet it is possible to be married in a massive blow up bouncy castle equivalent of a synthetic church. If you look at it with that perspective, the USA is not so strange after all. It is possible that we may get married sometime, but it would not be at the place I would like, because of our silly rules – at Tintagel Castle in Cornwall. I have even come across a stranger place than that though. When we were in South Wales we visited some caves in the Brecon Beacons. The stalagmites etc were awesome, and the carvings on the stonework caused by the water movement were breathtaking. Right at the back of one of the longest caves, a table and 6 chairs had been set up. The area had been sanctified for wedding ceremonies.

Anyway, getting back to the newspaper articles.

The story underneath this one detailed the temperatures back in the UK. I could still recall the summer of 1976, but this was a real humdinger, and people were struggling to deal with the extremes in heat. Apparently the record had been broken, and the mercury had hit an astounding 38.1 degrees. I was just so relieved to be away from it, but I was starting to worry how my rabbit was going to cope. And please, no jokes about bunny boiling – he is a real cutie. A wee ball of brown fluff with those floppy ears that make you go 'aaahhh' every time he cleans them.

We both fell asleep very early that night, and awoke totally refreshed for our visit to Ottawa. We had heard a lot about the city, most of the reviews being very positive. Those who had experiences of both Ottawa and Toronto unanimously agreed that Ottawa was the better of the two options. Most cited it as being peaceful, unhurried, and less crowded.

However, we needed to eat first, and made the most of the 'eat all you can' buffet that was offered for breakfast. I don't normally bother with breakfast other than cereal, but whenever faced with one of these offers I tend to do a good impression of a pig and a trough. I think I had two helpings of the cooked breakfast followed by the cereal and some cookies. If it is put in front of you like this, it is so difficult to resist. Anyone watching would have thought I was in training for the challenge at Fatty Arbuckle's, where you get a T shirt (large of course) for eating a 24oz steak with trimmings washed down with 2 litres of ice cream. Once we had filled right up, we decided to hit the road, aware that there was potentially another full day ahead of us. For the first twenty minutes or so, I had to loosen the seatbelt across my stomach. I really had overdone the buffet, by a small margin. Mentally I was hoping there were going to be plenty of public conveniences because there was going to come a time where what went in was going to have to come out again.

It didn't take us too long to reach the town, and we parked at a central underground car park. The most noticeable point was the absence of bustling crowds and high storey buildings. This may well have been Canada's capital, but it had a very twee and cosy feel to it. It was nice to see that they had not given a free rein to the architects, and it made for a very pleasant tour of the central area. It was still possible to see sunlight from anywhere you stood, instead of the glass and steel we had gotten used to in Toronto. First impressions were favourable, and it appeared all the advice we had been given had in fact been spot on.

The shopping area was a really pretty open-air mall, lined with some very nice jewellery shops. We did have a nose around one of them, but soon figured out that we would not be buying anything. We had to be let into the shop, as it had been locked from the inside. Once we had made our way to the first display cabinet, one of the assistants was never any more than three feet away from us. The quality was very high, and the cut of the gemstones looked very pure, even to my untrained eye. I have learned over the years, that the rings with no prices are the ones that you need to sell your Granny for, in order to afford them. This accounted for around 80% of the stock on show. We stayed for a while though, whilst I made the 'ooh' and 'aah' sounds every time I saw one that I fell in love with. Eventually Steve coaxed me towards the door, and breathed with relief when we made it outside with his credit card still intact. Even as the door closed I could feel the eyes of the assistant boring into my back. They must be so used to all and sundry coming in, and have probably honed the art of gauging who the genuine buyers are going to be. Running down the centre of the strip of shops were small café's and bars. The atmosphere was so relaxed I imagined that the city must be a very nice place to work. No one gave the impression of being stressed, or in a hurry. You could not have had any more of a contrast when comparing it to London, where everyone always seems to be in a hurry. I half expected to see a couple of Tai Chi sessions on the grassed areas, it was that relaxed.

We made our way to the Parliament buildings, and were amazed at how similar they were to the monument in London, going as far as having a clock tower, almost the dead ringer (excuse the pun) for our very own Big Ben! We knew that they arranged tours of the building so we obtained a ticket for the next tour at 1.00pm.

In the meantime we took a slow amble around the grounds, Steve taking photographs of whatever caught his eye. We had to sympathise with the guy on horseback dressed in the red livery of the Royal Mounted Police. Ironically he looked just like the guy from the TV series 'Due South'. This had to be a coincidence surely? I'm not sure if he was the genuine article, or was just dressed up and put there to appease tourists, and in fairness did not really want to ask him. He already was in the process of answering a stream of questions from some Americans. Either way he was slowly cooking inside the thick jacket and boots, and his smile was beginning to melt down his face like an ice cream left out in the sun. However, he gamefully posed with families and children for photographs. I have no idea what he was being paid, but whatever it was, it would not have been enough. That poor guy would need hosing down the minute he stepped out of the clothing, which in itself would need to be wrung out before being thrown in the washing machine. Even the poor horse underneath him looked as though it was about to buckle at the knees.

At one side of the building were some statues lined up ceremoniously. The one nearest the entrance was of a guy called Cartier. We did not see who the others depicted, but Steve snapped away with his camera anyway. (Subsequent research showed them to be George Brown and Alexander McKenzie. I appreciate this is going to show me as being somewhat ignorant, and I really apologise now for any offence caused, but I have absolutely no idea who they are). The reason became apparent when he had downloaded the photographs. Perched on each head was a seagull. It does not sound particularly funny, but at the time was hysterical. It is sort of on par with some of the stuff you tend to bring back from European holidays. At the time, you just have to have the stuffed donkey. And the floppy sombrero hat is given pride of place in the suitcase. That is whilst you are in the country of origin. The second you step off the plane, these items just look plain stupid and are resigned to the back of the cupboard under the stairs, or somewhere similar. At the very least they are palmed off as 'presents' to members of the family who usually only warrant a card at Christmas. They are normally so bad, you haven't even got a hope in hell's chance of giving them away on e-bay. I guess this was the case with the pictures of seagulls. A great idea at the time, but did not really translate into much when looked at three months later. However, this did not stop Steve taking at least three shots of them. Even the Japanese tourists, who usually take photographs of anything that moves, or doesn't move as the case may be, were looking a little bemused.

When the allotted time arrived, we joined the queue for the tour of the building. Security was understandably tight, and it took us quite a while to go through the search process. I just knew Steve was going to be the cause of some of the delay, and I gritted my teeth ready for the usual ordeal. Surprisingly his particular search was carried out in less than half an hour, and we moved through to the waiting area. Our tour guide, Julie then took us over, and did a grand job in showing us around the spectacular building. The only complaint I had was the tour was somewhat 'hurried' and we didn't really have time to savour any of the views or rooms. The building had been built over a 20-year period, being completed in 1877. Queen Victoria had chosen this site, as it was a fair distance from the USA, who had tendencies to invade from time to time. (Remember the stolen mace from Toronto?)

The building had been ravaged by fire early in the 20th century, and some of the scorched beams are on display under a glass casing leading to one of the chambers. Unfortunately we could not see the magnificent library, as it is in the process of undergoing a three-year renovation scheme. However, we did see video footage of the chamber, and it was an amazing sight, rounded off by superb glass designs in the domed ceiling. The chamber itself had been modelled on the reading room from the British Museum. It was surprising how much of the architecture we had seen at both of the Parliament buildings had been modelled on examples found in London. It would have been really cool if they had designed them differently, but it did show how much of an influence the United Kingdom had, way back when we headed the empire.

Whilst on the subject of ceilings, we were told of a quirky story surrounding one of them. All of the ones we were shown were intricately decorated with lead surrounded stained glass. One in particular looked very impressive and appeared to carry the coats of arms of certain dignitaries. Apparently this was the ceiling dedicated to speakers of the house. Each speaker had a window created in their honour, until a very vital flaw was discovered – they had run out of room. Someone them came up with a brainwave. The very last window was dedicated to all of the speakers who followed, and had inscribed the Latin term or similar, for "everyone else". That way, all speakers of the house would feel that they had been immortalised in the ceiling. I am not sure that I would have been suckered into that one, but the idea had been taken up, and was now immortalised forever. I just couldn't see that going down too well in this country, but the Canadians are a chilled out bunch of people, and I would imagine that they wouldn't feel particularly affronted by this. As a concept though I really thought it was a daft idea, but still haven't come up with one any better, so at the end of the day, who am I to judge?

The tour took around 45 minutes in total, and it was time well spent. I would recommend that anyone who visits Ottawa shouldn't leave before taking the tour for themselves. It's free, and certainly not lacking on the entertainment front. The architecture is very ornate and decorative, and very different in the two wings that were visited.

It was also quite quaint to see that there is a sort of invisible dividing line in the main hallway for when the Prime Minister addressed the media. They are not allowed over a certain line, and the Prime Minister is able to address them from a gentlemanly distance. I am not sure how that would work with the British press, who often resemble a hungry pack of hyenas. Would they show the same level of decorum for such ceremony? Somehow I doubt it.

After exhausting the Parliament Hill area, we decided to head over the river into what could very well be foreign territory: Quebec.

The signs in Ottawa had been in the dual languages of French and English, and almost everyone we encountered spoke fluently in both dialects. We knew that Quebec was the French part of Canada, and I was very conscious of the fact that my skills in French were almost non-existent. When I had completed my 'O' levels at school, (yes I am that old) languages were optional as opposed to compulsory. I didn't even glance in that options box when deciding, and plumped for History instead, giving the whole decision making at least a nanosecond of thought. I had done French for about 2 years by then, and decided that I had enough of the basics behind me to get through the necessities if required. Boy, how wrong is it possible to be. The last time I had to speak French, and been around 1979, and approximately 85 percent of it had been lost in the memory banks forever. This had all the hallmarks of being a real struggle, but I was up for the challenge. I had a feeling Steve was not going to fare much better, as he had done Latin at school. (Believe me, you haven't lived until you have had sweet nothings whispered to you in that language).

What struck me was the total contrast we faced as we crossed the river. The distance was only a few yards, and the Parliament buildings were easily visible from the other side of the water. However, we may as well have been transported to another planet where no one spoke English. All the signs were in French. To top it all, we knew where we wanted to go, but were not too sure how to get there.

This was not going to be fun, and we both became very frustrated as we drove around the same block two or three times, trying to find the road we required to take us to the National animal park. I realised that my ignorance was going to be a handicap, and I rued the fact that I had been so arrogant back in my school days, as to think that French was totally irrelevant to me. Borders have come down since then, we now have a tunnel linking the two countries, and I knew that my narrow-minded attitude towards anything on the other side of the English Channel had been very, very wrong. However, there was nothing I could do about that now. It was going to be the case of just try your best, and be patient. And of course be prepared to throw in the towel and head back to the comfort of Ontario.

We eventually found the 148 that took us to Montebello. We had initially had good intentions of visiting Montreal, but that was now looking less likely. I just did not want to think about how we would get around such a cosmopolitan city with the language being a possible barrier. In addition, we did seem to be running short of time, as we knew we would have to head back to Toronto in the not too distant future. I had an Uncle living in the area, whom I had not seen for 30 years, and was looking forward to meeting up with him. Although we had not seen each other in that time period, we had recently re-kindled contact through e-mails, and were both looking forward to seeing how the other had changed. The last time we met, I had been 7 years old, and he had been 15 or 16. It would be a miracle if we even recognised each other to be honest, but that was going to be half the fun.

After about half an hour of driving in a daze, Steve decided to stop for fuel.

We found a tiny roadside filling station and pulled in.

Steve seemed to spend forever at the pump before going into the shop itself.

Again, he seemed to take ages so I started to doze in the car assuming he was having a look around the shop itself.

"You will never believe the trouble I have just had!" he said, waking me from my slumber.

"Why, what's happened?" I mumbled, re-adjusting myself in the seat.

"I couldn't explain to her what I wanted."

"Why not?"

"Because, she did not speak English, and all the variations on the pumps were in French. I didn't know what to ask for!"

Heck, this was fairly serious. I assumed that most of the French speakers would be able to also speak English, particularly in lieu of the fact that we were still close to the Ontario border. Again, this showed my arrogance and ignorance. Steve had eventually got some sort of fuel in the car, and I just hoped it was the right type. The thought that we may have to call a break down vehicle just did not bear thinking about. Time would soon tell though. If we started kangarooing down the road, it would certainly indicate a mistake had been made in the selection process, albeit a genuine one. Luckily for us, he had chosen wisely and we were able to resume the journey. About an hour up the road, we pulled over yet again, but this time to re-fuel ourselves. It had been ages since we had eaten and my stomach was now thinking that my throat must have been cut. If I felt like this, it would mean that Steve was on the verge of eating the steering wheel. I know I must have eaten my recommended intake for the day at breakfast time, but somehow my stomach had developed amnesia and had decided to forget this fact.

Once inside we immediately scanned the menus and felt our hearts sink when we saw that they were totally in French. There were a few photographs of things like chicken nuggets and burgers, but there was no title to go with the pictures.

We were addressed in French with what I assumed was, "Yes please, what can I get you folks?"

Steve replied in English and managed to order the burger with the tomato. I think he managed this by pointing to the photograph. However, being the awkward female that I am, I wanted something different, and tried to order the chicken burger. Eventually I succeeded without having the embarrassment of miming the movements of a chicken. Believe me though, it was very tempting, but I had always been lousy at charades too.

Things became even more confusing when it came to ordering the drink, and I ended up with an iced tea. It was not what I really wanted, but I had lost the will to live, or to explain any further. As it turned out, it was a rather pleasant drink.

So far we had been in Quebec for over an hour, and had yet to find anyone who spoke a word of English. I was feeling very self-conscious, and had taken to talking to Steve in half whispers.

I have discussed this since with an Internet pal of mine who comes from Montreal. We have known each other for at least three years, and his English is perfect. I tried to explain to him the frustration we had felt. He believed that we had been unlucky, and that the people we had encountered may have mistaken us for Americans. Apparently, there is no love lost between these people and those from the USA, and they may purposefully avoid speaking in English if they believe you are American. This astounded me on two accounts. I was amazed that there could be so much bad feeling between two neighbouring countries, but I was also amazed that people would mistake our obvious English accent for American. Again, I could not have been more naïve. I have difficulty in differentiating between New Zealand and Australia, so I did have to have some sympathy with the natives of Quebec. It certainly changed my opinion somewhat, but this revelation came too late to help me with this trip. I vowed afterwards that if I were to be given another chance, I would make a more concerted effort to reach Quebec. Armed with a phrase book of course, and a few weeks of a home learning course in French.

Eventually we arrived at the Wildlife reserve at Montebello with about three hours left in which to tour the area. We were given a route planner for the park, and dutifully headed for area one. The park was surprising empty, but it did give us the opportunity to pull over at regular intervals so that Steve could take his photographs.

At the first area, we had the opportunity to get out of the car and walk along a high-rise walkway over the moose compound. Bearing in mind the moose is a national animal for Canada, we expected to see hundreds of these huge beasts. Inside the enclosure were two - a male and a female. We were horrified to see the state of the rear end of the male moose. He appeared to have sores all over his hindquarters, and I immediately started to mumble to myself about the state they had been left in. Again, ignorance was showing through, and it was a few days later that I learned about the tic infestations they suffer. They are very strange looking creatures, and almost look too heavy for their spindly legs. In addition the legs also appear to be around 6 inches too long. If there had ever been an argument for creation versus evolution this had to be it. If they had been created, then God was having a bit of a laugh at the time, or had been hitting the vino a little too hard at the time.

The next area took us over the cattle grid, into deer country. The deer were roaming freely around, and Steve had to drive slowly in order to avoid hitting them. Occasionally a stubborn one would stand right in front of the car and refuse to move. This though, I reckon was a subtle plan in order to gain food. Whilst our attention was drawn to the one in front of us, another would approach the passenger side of the car, and look at you with those big soulful eyes. If they could talk they would be saying something like, "please feed me. I am here against my will with all of my family, and we are at risk of starving. Please could you find a way to spare a carrot?" It's a cunning ploy, which has been worked out with military precision over the years, and perfected. Unfortunately we had no food which to give to them. This is where their loyalty then ends. Rather than hang around for a photograph, they move away in search of the next sucker, and the routine is repeated. Believe me, they have the same attitude as their cousins over in Marine Land. I reckon the youngsters are trained in this as soon as they can walk. A bit like our burglars who I came across in the police service. The youngest I was aware of was a three year old who had been involved in a burglary at my grandmother's place of work. He was the only one caught by the police, because his brothers had removed the rope from the skylight when the burglar alarm had been activated. They had legged it to safety, leaving the three year old to face the police.

Our initial thoughts of Quebec were disappearing as we continued around the park. Steve was totally captivated by the deer, and took photographs of any that came in range. The one of the deer's arse in front of us was taking it a little far though, and I was somewhat relieved when we came across the wart hogs instead. These guys were so damn cute. They had little areas put by for them, covered in mud and hay. In one area we saw a wart hog asleep, but could make out the flicker of tiny ears behind it. They were the piglets, and I was dying to get out of the car to take a closer look. However this is banned in the park, so I had to make do with just the glimpse of the ears. Now I understood where the term 'happy as a pig in mud' came from. This was a great depiction of contentment. I reckon the piglets were the happiest though. Not only did they have some lovely mud in which to wallow but also had milk on hand courtesy of mum. What a life eh?

We then came across a large white expanse of rock, and saw our first racoon. Although we had been in Canada for a week, we had not yet seen one of these little cuties.

They were on my side of the car, so Steve had no choice but to entrust to me his beloved camera.

I am used to the point and click disposable ones that cost about £8.00. This was a £400 digital contraption with a zillion pixel things on it. In other words, more that you needed to do to take a photo, and more that could go wrong in an instant.

"You're moving each time," he complained after I had got a shot of a raccoon tail as it disappeared over the edge of the rock.

"No I'm not," I argued. "The car's moving."

"Well, wait until it is on top of the rock then," he said.

Made sense to me but these wee creatures do not really stop and pose when you want them to. Eventually I got a few good ones of the racoon, along with the deer that was perched at the summit. In addition there were about 10 crap shots, but at least they could be deleted another time. I thought I had done quite well considering, but Steve was quietly mumbling away to himself next to me. I think he forgot these were holiday snaps, and not intended for the pages of a top magazine.

We made our way further round, Steve taking more photographs of the deer. Some were very brave and came right up to the car. They knew that if a window was half down, there was a chance they could get their head inside to sniff out any available tucker. I still had memories of my experiences with the deer at Marine Land, so was therefore somewhat wary. Particularly as these ones were three times the size, and looked ten times as mean. Forget about cute little bambi's – these resembled natural born killers, and for some reason always made a beeline for my side of the car. If we had been in my wee Suzuki instead of the hire car, I would have feared for its survival. Much as I love it to bits to drive, it has the crumple ability of a paper bag, and probably hadn't been safety tested in the vicinity of hungry mammals.

Further round we came across an animal I have always had a soft spot for – the wolf. I always seem to have a connection with the animals that have been screwed the most by humans, and one of them is without a doubt the wolf. These were the large grey timber wolves, and were half hidden behind a wire fence. Their enclosure was very large, and very well filled with trees and bushes for privacy, unlike some of the enclosures I have seen at zoos in the UK. They had tried very hard to make the area as close as possible to being like their natural habitat. We only saw the one wolf near to the fence and it was near impossible to get a decent photograph of it. I could not be other than impressed with its size and grace though. There is talk of them being reintroduced in parts of Scotland, and I really do hope that this goes ahead. We have learned a lot more about these shy creatures over the years, and hopefully they don't hold the same fear that led to their extinction from this part of Europe. In addition, I think as a species humans could learn a lot from watching a pack of wolves in action. The dad plays quite a major role in looking after the offspring, and could be classed as modern day parents. Something most mums would be in favour of I'm sure.

The coyotes were also in an enclosure, and were quite comical looking animals. They were a lot smaller than the wolf, and did not have the same grace or dignity. Nor did they resemble the cartoon portrayal in the Roadrunner series. They were also in packs, but seemed to be more selfish in their fight over the food scraps left for them. It certainly looked a case of each coyote for himself, and I did not warm to them in the same way that I had the wolves. Even so, I appreciated the fact that I may never have the opportunity to see these creatures again, and spent a few minutes observing their behaviour.

My breath was taking away by yet another of these delightful creatures, when we came across the enclosure of arctic wolves. They were smaller than their grey cousins, but were beautifully adorned in what appeared to be pure white fur. I could not help but feel sorry for them though. I appreciate that animals are the masters of adapting to their surroundings, but this was so far removed from their normal habitat surely? We had arrived in Canada late in the summer, but even so the temperatures had been in the mid 70's. How did this wonderful animal cope? I had never seen this particular species before, and made a mental note to learn something about them when the opportunity arose. I had to keep reminding myself that our domestic dogs are apparently 90% DNA of a wolf, with the exception of the husky which is 91%. They look so very different, but still have the same pack instinct if allowed to socialise with other dogs.

"Beautiful aren't they darling," murmured Steve as he quietly manoeuvred the car close to the wire enclosure.

"The sure are," I replied, not wanting to take my eyes away from them. Even Steve had been taken in by their beauty and grace. It was with reluctance we moved on, but we knew that we still had much more to see in the short time we had left to us.

Then came the really big beasts, and I mean REALLY big. The sort that can crush your car to the size of a soup can with the flick of just one eyelash. You have seen pictures of these animals no doubt on the naff 1950's Cowboy and Indian films, but nothing can prepare you for the time when you meet one face to face, and in person.

The mighty buffalo. It is the only animal I can recall seeing which has a head disproportionately larger than its body, with a total lack of neck area. Think of how Mike Tyson looks when he enters a boxing ring, psyched and ready, then multiply that by a hundred. They exude sheer power, and boy do they know it. They know that if they stand in the middle of the road, they have just made claim to it. If you try to carefully go round them, they adjust their stance accordingly, looking you straight in the eye the whole time. It is almost as if they are daring you to even think about an attempt at a pass. They have mastered the art of subtle intimidation, and I was close to breaking out in a cold sweat. I swear if one started to paw the ground, I was ready to clamber over Steve into the driver's seat, ready to put the car into reverse. Normally, the calves of most animals look really cute and cuddly. Not these ones. Oh no. They were just smaller versions of the parents. The dad's looked awesome, and I just hoped that the females never ever got PMT. That would make them totally unapproachable. As I looked at them, I saw immediately why they have never been depicted on any animated film or Walt Disney production: the footage would have to carry an 18 certification. They may be furry, but that is where the cuteness ends.

Luckily for us, there did not appear to be too many of them, and they were in the process of chilling out. The day had been a hot one, so hopefully they had been sapped of energy, and were ready for a siesta.

Whilst I was cowering in my seat, Steve was frantically trying to get his camera ready. This lad really knew no fear.

"Go on, get some photos quick," he ordered handing me the camera.

There was on individual heading for my side of the car. If he thought he was going to be fed he had another think coming. My hand was going nowhere near those teeth. As he neared the car, the sky grew darker as the body mass blocked out the sunlight.

"Don't forget to only press it half way before you press all the way," Steve advised.

"Okay, okay I will try," I grumbled. With all the technology thrown into his beloved gadget, you would have thought they would have taken total novices into account.

"Bloody hell he is huge," I shouted, trying to move another inch away from the window.

It was at this stage the car moved. I honestly felt like I was in that scene from Jurassic Park where they are being approached by one of the dinosaurs.

Question: "What does a full sized buffalo do when it has got an itch around its eye?"

Answer: "Rubs it against the wing mirror of the nearest car, totally destroying it."

And believe me, it was a bloody big eye too. I was so close to it, I could see the veins around the white eyeball area. I swear it stared at me the whole time. To prove it, I got the photograph. The wool of its mane was so close to me, I could almost knit with it.

And then I did something stupid, of which to this day I cannot figure out why.

I started to open the window.

"Bloody hell, don't open the window!" Steve shouted at me, as he rescued his camera from my grasp.

"I was only opening it a little bit to take the photo," I pouted, ever defensive as usual. It made perfect sense to me at the time, but he did have a point. If one of these monstrosities took it upon himself to put his head through the window, there was a better than evens chat of it becoming stuck. Add to the fact that they also have horns, you can sort of understand why Steve had lost it slightly at this stage.

Due to the fact I had made a hash of the camera work, he took over, winding the window back up in the process. However, one of the buffalo had decided enough was enough and was moving towards us with a very determined gait. If there was ever a cue to move on, and out of the area, this was it. In defiance Steve took one further photograph before hitting the accelerator. As we pulled away, I sneaked a look at the beast and saw that its head was down and it was in the charge position. Timing had been everything, and I reckon we had been a second or two away from being turned into an oxo cube sized piece of metal.

Time was in fact turning against us, as we realised we were going to be in danger of running late. The gates closed in around half an hour's time, but we still had a lot to see.

"We are going to have to move a bit here now Steve," I advised.

"We'll be fine. I'm more worried that the batteries will run out in the camera."

I had no idea how many shots he had taken to date, but it must have been in the hundreds by now. Hours were going to be spent at some stage, sifting through them to get rid of the rubbish ones. (No doubt most of them coming from my attempts at imitating David Bailey).

"Wow, take a look at that!" he enthused, his eyes lighting up in an instant. To the left of us, and on his side of the car for a change, were the black bears. Whereas the buffalo had looked terrifying, these resembled cute little fur balls just waiting to be stroked. I had never seen a black bear before, and expected them to be quite large. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised to see that they appeared to be no more than around five feet in height. It was a little difficult to tell because they were not standing upright, but they certainly looked as though they didn't warrant being kept behind a wire. How harmful could they be? I decided not much actually. This was due to the fact a family of five racoons were sharing this particular rock with the bears, and were also foraging their food. How civilised is that? No, they could not possibly be a danger to anyone surely. In addition they appeared to be eating berries or seeds, not raw flesh. As each second passed, my instinct to give them a cuddle increased. Their mouths looked so tiny, so there could not be that many teeth inside either.

Nope, my mind had been made up. These were so cute, and did not need to be encaged. It turned out that they were in fact there to protect themselves from some of the other animals as well as humans. Oh well. I would have to make do with one of the souvenirs sold at the shop instead.

We did feel under pressure with regards the time, and covered the remainder of the park in just a few minutes. We had obviously seen the main parts by now, and were happy that we had enough photographs to take away as a lasting memory.

We had one stop to make though – the otters. The enclosure for these fur balls was quite small, but had a lot of features for entertainment including a water slide. I have had the pleasure of seeing one of these wonderful creatures in the river near to where I lived in Bedford. It had swum alongside my dog and myself for ages before detouring round an island. It had not been phased at all by our presence, and seemed quite curious. They are surprisingly large animals, with the most expressive of faces. They also rate very highly on the cute and cuddly scale.

The only body part we saw of these two alas were their backsides. Both were asleep in a log hollow, and no amount of silent encouragement was going to wake them up. They looked totally jammed in there, and would probably emerge at the speed of champagne corks, as and when they decided to face the world. A comical sight, that again made for a good photo opportunity. Sadly, it seemed they were not going to emerge in the very near future so with reluctance we left the park. It had not been highly featured in the literature for the area, but had been worth a visit.

We were now left with a tough decision. We were getting to the stage whereby we had to find a place to hole up for the night, or risk fighting the otters for some bed space. We were in effect in a foreign country, and did not relish the idea of having to converse in pigden French. We both decided to head back over the border into Ontario whereby we would be able to converse with ease. Another long drive ahead of us, but this time the weather was on our side. In fact, we had the added bonus of heading west whilst the sun was setting. Initially it did cause problems for Steve, because it was still fairly strong. However, this gave way to a spectacular sun set, and thus more photographs. These ones were never going to be any good, because I was taking them through a car windscreen. It still proved to be a good reminder of the trip though. For most of the journey we appeared to be the only car on the road, and that in itself felt strange. I sort of felt that we were the only people left in Canada if that makes sense. Even at the park I think we had only seen four or five other vehicles in total.

Eventually we came across a bridge across the river, and sighed with relief when we found ourselves back in familiar territory. We were around half an hour away from Pembroke, and decided to head back to the Travel Lodge, and even more familiar surroundings. It had been a long and exhausting day, with loads packed into it. We both knew we were going to be unwakeable for a good 8 hours or so once our heads touched the pillows, and that indeed was the case. Our day in Quebec had been short, but not short of interest or frustration in equal measures.

Top tips:

1) If you plan on visiting Quebec, brush up on your French. It will get you out of tight spots, and will make for a pleasanter visit.

Not knowing even the basic French will lessen your enjoyment of the visit, which would be a shame bearing in mind there is so much to see in Quebec.

2) If you visit Ottawa, don't plan on being able to fill your day in the same way you would in London. There are lots of small museums and galleries, but they will not be on the same scale.

It is designed to be a lazy day, so don't try and stick to any rigid itinerary – this leg of the trip should be totally relaxed and unhurried.

3) If you do go to Ottawa, a 'must see' will be the Parliament buildings. It is only an hour or less to be shown round, but it is a good opportunity to learn more about their Government systems, and how they compare to those in the UK.

## Chapter 10 – Trip to Algonquin

We hadn't really made any set plans for the following day, but knew we would have to start heading back to Toronto. We had enjoyed the trip through Bon Echo Provincial Park, and decided that the much larger Algonquin Park may be worth a visit. It was slightly off the route wanted to take, but would then have a direct road down into Toronto.

With map and GPS system at the ready, the journey to the south started around mid morning, without a care in the world. We had only been in Canada for a week at this stage, but already both of us felt totally relaxed and at ease with the surroundings and the people. Steve had driven enough to know the road systems by now, but it was a pleasant surprise to find ourselves away from the bustle of the multi lane systems that seem to rule in the Toronto area. I would describe these roads as being akin to the ones running through the Lake or Peak district. It was a pleasant change to find they also had a few bends instead of the straight runways we had become used to in Toronto.

Route 41 took us towards route 65, and the Provincial park area. On the way we passed some beautiful lakes including Golden Lake that seemed to go on for miles. Even more impressive was the fact that the area was totally undeveloped. I really had to remind myself of what I had been told years previously: that 95% of the population lives on 5% of the land in Canada. I am not sure how true this actually was, but I did know that vast areas were uninhabited, or were uninhabitable. We did drive through the occasional town, but they would have been classed as small villages back in the UK.

It did make me wonder how people managed to live there in the winter, with amenities being in short supply within the immediate area. Also, what did people do for a living? How did they earn enough money to get by? There just didn't seem to that many employment opportunities in the area. With the winters being quite bad in this country, I had a hard job picturing the drive to work that many would have to do on a regular basis.

As we passed Golden Lake, a sign regarding an Indian Reservation caught my eye.

Steve almost read my mind as I asked the question.

"Can we take a look darl?"

"Of course you can," he replied, already in the process of eyeing up a suitable turning point.

He has absolutely no interest in the culture or history of the Native American race, but knew it was something I had been intrigued by for some time.

"How do you reckon they live then?" he asked.

"Not sure. I know they won't be in tents or tepees if that's what you mean."

"No, I guessed that. I'm not sure if they will sort of be living like we do."

It was a fairly valid question. I understand that there is still bad feeling amongst the American Indians in the USA who live on reservations, and I know there is a historical reason behind this. Sadly there is a lot of alcohol and drug abuse in these areas, along with low employment rates. However, the Canadian Indians had not been treated as badly, so I was also intrigued as to how the area would look.

As we turned into the reservation, you would have been forgiven for thinking that you were in another small town anywhere in this area. The houses were identical, with the occasional static caravan here and there. The area was immaculate, and the gardens well tended. Unfortunately we did not see anyone in the area. I was led to believe that there was a museum very close by, but I was not sure exactly where. I would have loved to have stopped by, but as we did not see anyone to ask directions, we turned round and headed back to the main road. The only indication you would have had that you were in fact on a reservation were some of the names of roads on the signposts. They definitely had a different sounding name, and I had no intention of showing my ignorance by trying to pronounce any of them. It was something that I could tell my friend Mike about though. He may even know a little of the history of the Indians from that region. Although I had learned nothing, and seen no-one I would be able to claim that I had actually visited a reservation.

After a while, we decided that lunch was a priority, and stopped in a wonderful town called Barry's Bay. It was the largest town we had seen since leaving Pembroke, which was now 50 miles behind us. I had a massive corn growing on the underside of one foot, and was desperate to find some plasters for them. No detail is necessary here, other than the fact it had caused me a lot of discomfort whilst walking. The foot and food were sorted out fairly quickly, so we then decided to take a leisurely stroll down the main street, visiting any interesting looking shops on the way. There were one or two that caught my eye, but cursory inspections showed them to be the usual souvenir type places you see at every coastal resort in the UK. The foot by now was feeling okay, so I was going to be up for anything at this stage.

On the way back, we decided to cross the road, and came across an estate agent. It was quite small in size, and was situated slightly back from the main road. It was only the fact the window displayed a few small adverts we could identify the type of premises. There was none of the over-the-top advertising you see in the English estate agents, where they are normally trying to display louder and bolder than their neighbouring competitors. From the outside, this little shop was very understated, and almost apologetic in its appearance.

"Do you want to take a look?" I asked.

By now I was already scanning the cards in the window, and was gob smacked at how cheap the properties all seemed in comparison to those in the UK. The exchange rate was just over two dollars to the pound, so any conversion was done easily.

"Might as well," Steve answered.

He had also scanned a few, and was not going to leave the area without taking a closer look at what was available.

As we entered the tiny office area, we were warmly greeted by a homely looking lady. She looked like everyone's favourite grandmother, and I was tempted to see if there was any knitting on the go hidden behind her desk.

"Hello there, how may we help you?"

"We are passing through to Algonquin, but just wondered what the property values and types were in the area."

"Well, feel free to have a look around and if there is anything you want to know about in particular we can get you details."

This was a wonderful response indeed. She knew that we couldn't possibly be buying anything, but had not tried to give us the cold shoulder. If we were given such a warm reception, I would imagine genuine buyers would be close be given the red carpet treatment.

Both of the main walls were covered in advertising literature comprising of photographs and detailed descriptions. The third wall was covered by a large-scale map of the area leading to Algonquin Park. By large scale, I mean LARGE scale - it was around six feet in length, spanning the entire wall.

"My God!" Steve whispered. "Have you seen how cheap they are!"

"Bloody hell," I whispered back. "We could afford to live here you know!"

And it was true. They had separated the properties into lakeside residencies, and non-lakeside residencies. We were the only people in the office at this time, and were aware that anything we said was going to be heard. We did not want to come across as star struck, but it was very difficult to conceal our excitement. Our eyes were sparkling so much with enthusiasm, the light levels in the room doubled in the space of a few seconds. One property in particular had caught my eye, although all of them looked pretty amazing really.

Description was as follows:

Three bedrooms, (all huge) two bathrooms, fitted out kitchen with appliances, office area and a partly fitted out basement area. The house was on one storey only, but looked huge in the photograph. It was up for sale at $129,500 which at the time equated to approximately £63,000. I had that in savings and could have bought it outright. The current owner was a nail technician and was working from home. According to the estate agent, she was the only nail technician for miles around, so everyone came to her. I already airbrush nails, but would have been willing to learn the other stuff believe me. I don't think it is possible to buy a two bed roomed flat for that my area of the UK. And as an additional bonus, it was classed as a lakeside property. These ones are a little more expensive, and it's also reflected in the cost of their equivalent of our council tax.

However, things got even better still. We saw another property that appeared to be a giveaway. We saw a 199 acre farm with pond, gravel pit, 3 underground springs (!), 30 foot by 16 foot shed, another similar sized timber building, another similar sized workshop and a stable. It had four bedrooms inside the main house. This property was up for sale at $289,000 or in our money, £135.240. Unbelievable really.

Each property we saw was similar in price, and before long Steve's mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were in danger of popping out of his head. He looked like the proverbial kid in a sweetshop with all his birthday money to spend.

The rates were similar to what we pay in council tax, but if you have bought the property for that sort of price, you don't care so much about that. In any case, you would be guaranteed that the roads would at least be gritted each winter, unlike in the UK. As long as the towns have pretty Christmas tree lights each year from November onwards, does it matter that cars are in danger of coming off the road and killing the occupants? I would argue that we haven't really sussed out the art of prioritising, but that's another argument for another day.

We spent a very long time in the office, and eventually left with printouts of the two properties we had particularly fallen in love with. The agent had been incredibly helpful and had answered all our questions with good humour. She occasionally had English visitors calling in, and had become used to our response. Interestingly though, there are a lot of Germans moving to Canada. Again, it is purely because of the cost of property, which apparently is sky high at the moment in Germany. She also told us a little about the Park we were heading for, and I was now really looking forward to it. The main advice had been to stop for a couple of days and resist the urge to just drive through.

Steve was quiet for some time after this visit, and I left him with his thoughts. He had been thinking the same as I had though – would it be viable if we did ever decide to leave the UK? I would be fine for working from home, or at any educational establishment, but Steve's line of work is a lot more specialised. It would require a lot of thought on his part, as he would end up taking the bigger risk. However, the cost of property had given him something to consider.

We continued with our journey noticing that the terrain and scenery had subtly changed with each mile. The roadside had become more ragged with rock formations, and the trees had become denser. We guessed we couldn't be that far away from the Park, and after an hour's drive we came across a gateway over the road, declaring that we were now entering Algonquin National Park. The atlas I had purchased in the UK showed the Park to be absolutely huge, of which we would only see the bottom segment. We followed the road for about 12 km before seeing a sign for the Information Centre.

This seemed the sensible place to stop, so we pulled onto the track leading to the pinewood building adjacent to a very large and very full car park. We had no real idea of where we wanted to stay, but guessed that they must have some bed and breakfast or hotel type establishments along the main road. However, we were going to be in for a big shock. Tent or trailer sites numbered twelve, whilst the hard brick lodges numbered just two. It was now around 4.00pm, and any hope of finding a decent bed for the night was fading fast.

"What do you want to do?" Steve asked. "Stay here or look elsewhere?"

"Well, we're here now so we might as well stay and have a look round."

"Fair enough," he answered, before obtaining a map of the area. Initial reading showed the area to be quite compact with a lot to offer. In addition to the campsites there were numerous trails for walking, all varying in size. There were also some lakes which offered the chance of canoeing. In all, it seemed we would not be at a loss for anything to do.

On the spur of the moment I made a decision, one which totally took Steve by surprise.

"Let's camp here instead."

He looked at me totally floored by this.

"Are you sure? I thought you never ever wanted to go camping with me."

"Yeah, I know but this is different. We might see some wildlife."

He was more than up for this, and acted swiftly before I changed my mind. I have always resisted the idea of camping before. I like my creature comforts too much, and I don't mean the type that invariably ends up invading your personal space. I had only ever camped once before, and that had been in Snowdonia at the age of 17 years. It had been a total disaster. The tent A frame had snapped so we had all tied it together with all of our bootlaces. Our socks had become soaked from the rain, (it was the middle of September at the time), and we had left them hanging outside the tent to dry. That night temperatures had fallen to below freezing, so the end result was socks so frozen they stood up by themselves. That was my one and only attempt at camping and I vowed never to repeat the experience. However, I was now prepared to go back on that personal promise, and try the wilds of Ontario. It transpired that we would have to go to the actual campsite we wanted to stay at, in order to book a plot. However, we did have an additional factor to take into account – we had absolutely no camping gear whatsoever. This was overcome instantly. Apparently there were two centres, one either end of the park that hired out all the equipment you would need, in addition to a shop that would sell the vital items.

Once back in the car, we scanned the list of sites that were available. A board behind the desk at the visitors centre had shown that most of the pitches had been taken at the smaller sites, so we really had to decide quickly. Poor Steve – this is not something he is used to doing, so I steered him in the direction I thought would be best.

"Okay what do you want from the site?" I asked.

"Showers and a toilet."

I scanned down the table to see that only three of the available sites had toilets or shower facilities.

"What about it being secluded?" I asked.

Some of the sites were labelled as being good for seclusion, whilst one or two were classed as low. I would guess at the latter sites you could shake hands with your neighbours without even having to leave your tent.

Looking at the remaining sites, only one fitted both descriptions – the wonderfully named Pog Lake. It had over 200 pitches so wasn't tiny by any stretch of the imagination, but it had secluded pitches and was not a million miles away. Hopefully we would have enough time to get there and book a pitch before someone else had the same idea.

A few minutes later we walked into the office at the campsite, only to find that we were in fact too late. Apparently the computer system that connects all sites and speaks to each other, had decided to throw a moody and refuse to connect. This meant that the data back at the information centre was in fact about two hours out of date. At this rate, we would be lucky to find as much as a spare tent site within the 65 kilometre site. However, we were offered a pitch at the very nearby Kearney Lake.

I quickly read up on the amenities and saw that it was okay for seclusion, and also offered showers and toilets. Amazingly it also had a beach. We didn't even go over the pros and cons, and both said 'yes' at the same time. At this late stage, we knew that we could not afford to turn down any offer. It was getting late, and we still hadn't got any equipment or tent. The added bonus was the fact that someone came in to cancel a prime site whilst we were in the process of going through the booking procedure. Apparently she couldn't get her camper van and a tent into the spot, and wanted to cancel. Lucky for us, because it was dead opposite the shower block, and within walking distance of the beach. We were immediately offered this site instead of the original one, and decided to go for it. I knew I was going to have to visit the ladies during the night at some stage, and the less tents I had to walk past in my nightdress, the better.

Ten minutes later, we were armed with an important piece of paper which had to be pinned to the post at the pitch entrance. This laid claim to the area for us. We did this first before heading off to the Opengo store to stock up on tent and bedding. This was ten kilometres back towards the east gate. In the space of four hours we were to cover this stretch of road four times in total. I had no idea of what sort of tent to go for, but Steve had the advantage of having camped many times before, and said that we were best getting a four man dome tent. Apparently they are easier to erect. I bowed to his better judgement on this. The hire costs were very reasonable, but it is surprising how much you do actually need. In addition to the actual tent we needed a foam roll mat for a mattress, inner sheet and a sleeping bag. The sleeping bag roll was to be converted into a pillow, with folded (or generally rolled clothes) passing as the stuffing for the pillow. At this stage I was starting to have second thoughts. It had been a good idea at the time, but I was now wondering if we should have tried for a Lodge somewhere instead. The tent looked decidedly worn, and the bedding smelled awful. I just knew I was going to end up sleeping fully clothed to prevent as much as possible of the offending fabric coming into contact with my skin. Rather stupidly I also had the idea of sleeping on top of the sleeping bag, due to the fact it was still so warm. Boy, how naïve is it possible to be. The temperatures dropped to almost zero during the night, and that idea soon bit the dust.

Once we had hired the tents for the two-night stay, Steve then drove to the Two Rivers store. This was approximately five kilometres past our campsite, so we again drove the stretch of the road that we had become so familiar with. Heaven knows what he wanted to buy, but he already had a glint in his eye. This could only mean one thing – loads of gadgets. Some would be useful, but some would be something that he might possibly use, but no guarantee of that. He was in his element with this camping trip already. I was well out of my depth and was more than happy to just sit back and let him take charge. This was akin to us being back in the Stone Age with Steve being able to play at the role of hunter-gatherer. At long last he would be able to use more than the nail scissors on his 20-item Swiss Army knife. And that is another thing that has amazed me. If it is associated with the Swiss Army as a genuine article of theirs, why the heck do they need a nail file or a corkscrew? And if it is THAT useful, why doesn't our Army use it? I wasn't going to burst his bubble by asking any of this. He was revelling in the opportunity to take charge, and I wanted him to enjoy himself. I was just glad that we had a café down the road – no cooking over a fire in a pit for me.

The store is one of those amazing places that resemble a Tardis from Dr. Who. They look small from the outside, and you would imagine that they sold just the absolute basics. Once inside though, they seem to expand forever, and sell everything you could ever imagine. I made my way to the food aisles whilst Steve made a beeline for the camping accessories. He almost ran to them, he was that keen. Honestly if there had been people in the way, he would have been throwing them over his shoulder in order to get to the shelves that bit quicker.

Half an hour later, he had bought out the shop and struggled to the car with his goodies. I just left him to it inside the store and stocked up on the essentials – bottled water, biscuits and crisps, along with the strongest looking insect bite repellent I could find. I'm allergic to just the one thing that I am aware of, and that is insect bites. The smallest midges can cause the most enormous welt on my leg, so I was not going to risk a bite from a mosquito. Steve had also purchased a candle to be burned outside the tent, which meant we were doubling the protection factor. We must have had 'tourist' written all over us by this stage. Most of the guys in the store were wearing the customary lumberjack shirts, and looked as though they could carry a log under each arm with ease. I was teetering around in sandals, trying not to break a fingernail.

Once back at camp, Steve took over, and I enjoyed watching him in action. He just loves playing at being an action guy, and immediately took the tent to task. It had come without instructions, but this didn't really matter. Most guys dispense with them anyway, so they probably gave up trying to replace them each time. I did my bit of holding pegs and such like, but he knew exactly what he was doing and had the tent up in no time. The only disappointment was the fact it was not a dome tent at all, but a normal 'A' frame type instead. There was still plenty of room inside, but the smell was somewhat off putting. This tent had been well used, and probably didn't have much of a shelf life left. No rolling around inside it for us then by the looks of things. The stitching looked as though it couldn't take too much strain before giving up entirely.

"What do you reckon then?" he asked, stepping back to admire his work.

"Looks good."

"Sure you want to camp out still?" he asked, knowing full well it was way too late for me to change my mind.

"Yep, I will give it a go."

"Right, now for the fire," he mused and immediately started to look for some kindling. The forest floor was littered with pinecones and needles, all of which looked bone dry from the long Canadian summer.

He used some of the needles to light the fire and the candle. Once it had burned for a couple of minutes, he put it out with some water. To be honest I thought it had been slightly pointless because we knew we were not going to be using it for anything. I was not going to cook over it, and it was not needed for the warmth factor. However, he loved tinkering so I left him to it. All he wanted to do, was to light it without using matches. Once he had succeeded the task was over, so the fire was no longer needed. And they say that women do things that have no point to them!

"Fancy a swim then?" I asked.

"What, now?"

"Yeah why not. We can let the clothes dry overnight and pack them when we go."

We had absolutely no idea what this beach was going to be like, but it couldn't amount to much being on the bank of a fairly small lake. (By Canadian standards that is).

"Yeah I'm up for it if you are."

With that we both huddled inside the tent and changed into swimwear. It was bloody difficult to do, because we had no manoeuvring room whatsoever.

Eventually we emerged, somewhat out of breath from trying to change in such a confined space. Anyone seeing us would have assumed that we had been at it like rabbits, but they would not have been further from the truth. I felt a right idiot dressed in a one-piece swimsuit with a towel wrapped around my midriff. Everyone else had fires burning and were in the process of cooking tea as we walked past them towards the water's edge. No one else we saw were dressed in anything even remotely resembling swimwear. We were given one or two strange looks, but I didn't dare look anyone in the eye. I knew I looked a sight, and didn't really want to have anyone offer this as an observation. Nor did I want to field the question of, "Off for a swim then are you?"

Having meandered in and out of the trees and tents, we came to an opening. True enough there was a beach. That is if you can call artificial sand stretching for about 10 metres, a beach. At a push you may have been able to cram in about 6 people with beach towels, but that would have been at a push. It was comforting to see that there were two other people in the water, so we didn't hesitate in taking our shoes off, and dumping the towels etc on a nearby wooden bench. (The only one in the immediate area).

I was the first to test the temperature, and found it to be amazingly warm. In fact, it was as warm as most people would have in their bath. It was so warm in fact, I was surprised not to see steam hovering over the surface.

I walked out further, and turned to look at Steve who was still perched at the water's edge.

"Come on darl, it is so warm," I shouted before diving under totally.

When I looked up, Steve had braved it also, and was swimming towards me with a face splitting grin.

"This is lovely," he gasped.

We both swam further away from the edge, and decided to tread water for a while.

Bad move.

The water had been incredibly warm, but that only extended as far as the initial three or four feet of water. Once we stretched our legs downwards, the cold hit us around our knees and feet. The strange thing was, it wasn't gradual either. One second we were feeling at one with the warmth of the water, the next we were pulling our legs back up to our bodies with the shock of the cold. (I would imagine Steve would have pulled up something more than his legs but I wasn't about to ask him). It really did seem a strange phenomenon. I am a dab hand at just floating on my back, so took to doing this instead of treading water. I don't know if it is just a natural talent, or is linked to body fat, but I can do it for ages at a time without even as much as a splash to stay afloat. I have even tried an experiment of reading whilst doing this, and can actually do so. It really brasses Steve off, because he does not have this natural buoyancy, and does get a little frustrated each time I mention it. I honestly don't mean to gloat – I just can't understand why he can't do it I guess.

Occasionally I did join Steve for a swim, but I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Too often I felt something slither past my legs. My mind went into overdrive each time as I tried to imagine what it could be. It was only when we swum back to shore, I saw the fish swimming around near the bottom of the lake's edge. They were not exactly Jaws size, but they were not minnows either. That was enough for me, and I decided to call it a day. I love being 'at one' with nature, but only to a certain extent. If something wants to caress me I don't mind, as long as it has fur and I can see it. Fish do not fit into this category. We made our way back to camp, and decided to call it a night. We had a full day behind us, and once again were prepared to sleep for England. I tried to sort my sleeping bag out into a semblance of order whilst Steve lit the insect repelling candle outside the tent flap. The insect repellent was then used liberally before huddling fully clothed inside my sleeping bag lining. I really did not want any flesh touching the sleeping bag itself, and virtually ended up tying myself in knots in the process.

However, sleep came surprisingly easy despite the fact the mattress was hard, and my pillow was even harder. It had been packed solid with a towel, and a pair of trousers. Perhaps I could take to this camping lark after all. Initially I had every intention of staying awake for as long as I could, with the remote hope of hearing or seeing a bear or two. A bonus would have been a pack of wolves, but that would have really been living in hope. However, it was not to be and I ended up sleeping right through to the morning. If any bears had decided to do the tango outside the tent flap, I would have known absolutely nothing about it.

Top tips:

1) If you think there is a chance you may go camping, consider taking the basics for bedding. You will feel more comfortable in your own personal sleeping bag. Alternatively consider buying a sleeping bag once you have arrived. They can be purchased fairly cheaply, and you may actually spend less buying than hiring if you use it for more than three days or so. If we had done this, we could have also stayed over at the rafting centre instead of having to pay for a hotel room.

2) If you do decide to stay at Algonquin Park, arrive early in the day so that you have more choice of campsites available to you. Most pitches are booked by around 2.00pm. It also gives you most of the day to enjoy some of the trails or lakes in the area.

## Chapter 11 – Second day at Algonquin

The following morning we woke up incredibly early to the sound of birdsong. When you're at home behind double or triple glazing, it is usually the harsh sound of an alarm that brings you out of a slumber. It was therefore rather a refreshing change to be woken up by the sounds of nature, even it if was somewhere close to the crack of dawn. I was going to be able to catch up with a full night of sleep later in the holiday, so didn't even feel remotely tetchy about this. As usual though, I had beaten Steve by a few minutes, so I spent this moment of solitude munching biscuits whilst pouring over a novel. He had somehow burrowed right down into the sleeping bag, and had just his eyes on show. This is another bloke thing I know: the ability to sleep anywhere at any time. He did look damn cute though, and I was toying with the idea of trying to find his camera for a quick photograph.

Neither of us really had an idea what we wanted to today, so decided to have breakfast before heading to the visitors centre. Hopefully we would be hit with some inspiration there.

The centre was surprisingly big, and very well equipped. The actual shop part was well stocked with interesting looking books and other paraphernalia pertaining to the park. Each of the trails was apparently themed, and was supported by a neat little information booklet. The booklets were no more than around 20 pages long, and detailed the features within that particular trail. The illustrations were well drawn and the booklet would have appealed to both children and adults alike. They were also reasonably priced at around 50p each. The books about wolves were also a draw to me, but I resisted the urge to splash out with my credit card at this stage. That could wait until tomorrow.

Neither Steve nor myself are big on walking, so the shorter trails were the only consideration. Luckily for us they ranged in distance from 1km to 35km, and the terrain varied from easy to difficult. I love it when decisions are made for us in this way. It is also chuffing to be with a guy who does not feel the urge to become all macho, and try something that is going to be unrealistic, with the sole intention of impressing his mate.

With the whole day ahead of us, I took the decision of doing two trails before lunch, and dutifully stocked up on the relevant booklets.

Steve can be so trusting at times, but he knew I wouldn't go for anything too difficult. One of my feet is weak following torn ligaments a few years previously, and one of his knees is weak from a childhood accident. Between us we would probably struggle by the end of the day, but were up for the challenge.

The Peck Lake trail was a shoreline trail looking at lakeside ecology. I knew next to nothing about this subject, so any experience was going to increase my ecological knowledge.

It was one of the shorter trails at just under 2km, and we were surprised to see that the booklets were available at the start of the trail on a 'borrow and return' basis. How trusting can you get? In the UK this would not have ever been considered, mainly because not many people would have returned them. Naturally I am not including the genuine ramblers etc in this sweeping statement, but the general population. And what do I base this fact on? Personal experiences. For example, an experiment was carried out in Cambridge whereby people could borrow bicycles when visiting the area. Surprise, surprise after just a short period of time, the entire stock had gone. It is a sad fact that anything relying on the good nature of people will be taken advantage of.

There were 12 marker posts dotted around the lake, and at each point there was a reference in the booklet, describing an aspect of the ecology of that part of the lake.

I think I must have bored the living daylights out of Steve, because I insisted on pausing at each post, and reading out the relevant details from the booklet. He soon wised up to this, and would continue walking if it looked like he was about to receive a lengthy biology lesson. It was interesting to read how the temperature of the lake varied depending on the depth and time of year. In the Spring and Autumn, the universal temperature could be around 4 degrees Celsius. In the Summer though, the temperature could be 22 degrees Celsius near the surface, but drop to around 6 degrees at a depth of 8 metres. I won't go into detail here as to what happens, but the booklet went a long way to explaining the phenomenon. Already I was feeling a lot more learned than I had been the previous day.

As we continued along the lakeside, we both became a little hotter and a little tired. Neither of us is in the peak of our fitness, but even so, the 'easy' terrain was testing us. It was so embarrassing each time a couple of elderly pensioners ambled past us whilst we paused to catch our breath. They appeared to resemble Duracell bunnies – they just seemed to go on without as much as breaking into a sweat. Naturally each time we made out we were just pausing to appreciate the scenery, but in reality we needed the break to avoid the risk of collapse. At a guess I would say that they hadn't exactly been fooled either. These old folk had really showed us up, and I made a half-hearted promise to myself to sort out my fitness levels upon my return to the UK. No doubt amnesia would set in the minute the plane landed back at home, and this half hearted promise would be forgotten about.

Half way round the loop, we came across a small wooden bridge crossing over a brook breaking off of the lake. Halfway across, I froze in my tracks.

There in front of me was what appeared to be a wolf.

Steve froze also. Neither of us felt scared, but at the same time were unsure what to do. As I looked a little closer, I became a little puzzled.

It certainly looked like a wolf, was the same size of a wolf, and was as furry as a wolf, but something was not quite right. Eventually the reason dawned on me. Its eyes were a bright blue. Now, I know next to nothing about these creatures, but all of the ones depicted on wildlife programmes or photographs had brown eyes.

At that moment, a young woman appeared from behind the wolf like creature, and called it by a name. It immediately responded with a wag of the tail, and immediately looked less intimidating.

"Hi there," she said amiably as she approached us.

"Hi," I gave in response.

"This made me jump a bit. I thought it was a wolf for a second,"

"No, not a wolf," she answered.

"It's a cross between an Alsatian and a huskie."

"Really? Honestly, it did throw me there for a minute."

"Yeah, a lot of people make that assumption when they first see her."

We chatted a few minutes longer and parted company, each going in different directions. I was aware that my heart had missed a few beats, and it took a while to settle down again. If I had reacted like this when coming across a crossbred dog, how would I have reacted if it had actually been a wolf? The answer to that will never be known, because the opportunity was not to present itself for the remainder of the holiday.

The tour of this particular lake took us well over an hour, which was a combination of many factors: our fitness levels, the terrain being a little unforgiving, (yes I am wuss), and the fact we stopped regularly to appreciate the scenery. However, it had been a really enjoyable experience, and we were both looking forward to the next trail – after a break for a cuppa of course.

Following the refreshment break, we both felt totally revitalised, and ready to undertake a further challenge. Rather boldly we decided to up the level of exercise and try for a moderate trail over a distance of 3.5km. That isn't too far really, and the Hemlock Bluff seemed to promise so much.

One of the sections of the booklet even talked about the local wolf population, and that in itself was a good enough reason to brave the area.

Once again, we were offered the opportunity of borrowing one of the booklets, but I was already armed with my own personally bought copy. The scenery itself was magnificent, but it was the smaller less conspicuous sights that made for the best photographs. I really had to make the effort to take in all the sights, because so much would have been missed otherwise. The fungi growing along the pathway were mesmerising with their colours and markings. As a child, it would be wonderful to weave a story around them of fairy rings and other mythical creatures. Even the trees made for surprising formations. Quite a few had either fallen over, or had been cut down by intrepid beavers. Some of the roots from these trees were what actually formed some of the steps on the lakeside bank. If they had not been there, the trail would have been nearly impossible to negotiate. It was as if nature had purposefully given us mere humans a helping hand by building the steps for us. We were witnessing the area at the tail end of the Summer season whereby the trees were still displaying their full regalia of foliage. I would have loved to have been in the same area five or six weeks later, when the Autumn colours were in evidence. There were so many different tree varieties the colours would reflect so many shades of red and gold. I reckon it would be possible to visit Algonquin Park every month of the year, and see something different each time. This was certainly reflected in the calendar subsequently purchased at the gift shop.

One of the weirdest sights we encountered from the entire holiday was on this particular trail.

Steve had taken the lead approximately half way round. I had been looking at the ground so as not to lose my footing. (Remember the terrain had been classed as 'moderate' in the literature, and believe me, they had not been exaggerating).

"Bloody hell," he said. "Look at that."

I caught up with him, and stopped dead in my tracks, looking in the general direction of the bush immediately in front of us.

"What the heck is it?"

"I don't know, but there are things alive inside it."

With that he started taking photographs, not daring to get too close.

Adjacent to the path was a small bush, with something 'growing' in the branches, approximately level with our heads. This formation loosely resembled a spider's web, and I do mean very loosely. It looked as though it had originated from something that had web-making capabilities. However, it was tightly woven as if it was made from spun silk, and was 3 dimensional. It must have measured approximately two feet in all directions. Inside we could see some creatures crawling around, most of them looking like large caterpillars. There were hundreds of them.

This was like nothing I had ever seen before, and I found myself cautiously looking around just in case the owner of the web happened to be nearby. If the caterpillars were its offspring, this was going to be a fair sized creature, and I wanted to make its acquaintance on my terms. However, the cause of the web could not be seen so we continued along the path, giving it as wide a berth as was possible. To this day, we have not found out what had created it. Steve had been scared of ever bumping into a wolf or bear. At least with them you knew what you were letting yourself in for. This web made me more apprehensive than bear was likely to. I still shudder at the thought of that sticking to my face with things crawling through my hair.

The two trails took us longer than we expected, and it not until around 3.00pm that we found ourselves free for the afternoon. Both had been beautiful in different ways, and had been well worth the visit.

"What do you want to do now?" Steve asked.

I really was not sure how to answer. My feet were killing me, and I just wanted to sit down somewhere. However, the afternoon was still young and it would have been criminal to waste the time.

"Dunno. What have you got in mind?"

"We could always go canoeing."

"Have we got time?"

"Yeah I would think so. It might be fun."

Steve really was keen to have a go at canoeing, so I went along with the idea. I was not too fussed either way, but he really had a hopeful ring to his voice. The hire centre was not too far away, so we were able to get there and hire the relevant equipment within half an hour.

The first impressions of the canoe were not good. It basically resembled a hand hammered tin can with wooden planks across the centre for seating. The rivets looked secure enough, but I was not really convinced that the thing would not fill with water by the time we reached the centre of the lake. A woman built like an Amazon warrior tucked it under one arm, and lowered it into the water. We were given a map, a bail kit, and sent on our merry way. Honestly – I was half expecting to see some signs that this piece of metal once houses baked beans or similar.

Steve absolutely loved the experience. This was another chance for him to play at being the 'hunter gatherer' and he relished the opportunity. There were three lakes connected to each other, so the overall area stretched to over 20 km. A large enough area in which to get lost, so the map was a welcome asset. After paddling with my oar for about 20 minutes, my right shoulder started to protest. Without thinking, I changed sides and started paddling with my left hand.

"What are you doing?" Steve shouted from his position at the back of the canoe.

"I need to rest that arm," I replied.

"Yeah well, can you warn me next time? Otherwise we will end up turning round. If you change sides, I need to change what I am doing."

"Okay, okay," I mumbled.

Another five minutes later, my left arm started to hurt.

"Changing sides," I yelled and reverted back to the right side of the canoe.

This pattern was repeated time and time again, until Steve got fed up with it.

"Look, if you need a rest, just rest okay? I can do this myself, but I need you just to let me know first."

Fair enough. If he wanted to steer the damn thing, and propel us, he was more than welcome. I was actually enjoying the trip, but felt a little uncomfortable with the fact that we were in a huge expanse of water in a glorified tin can. Steve occasionally got a little over-confident and took us into areas I felt were too much for the canoe to cope with.

At the end of the day we were in an extra large baked bean tin – nothing more and nothing less. We could not afford to bump into anything more robust than an amoeba, otherwise there was a risk of taking in water. Although we had a bail kit, we were still a long way from civilisation. I hadn't really taken much notice of the bail kit at the time it was thrown in with us, but I was seriously thinking about opening it and having a proper look at the contents.

"I don't think we should really go into those reeds," I voiced with grave doubts.

"Nah, we'll be fine," and with that he steered us into a small inlet off of the main water way. There hadn't been any obvious signs of anything interesting, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

The further in we rowed, the thicker the weeds and reeds became. I was so worried that we would become stuck, and was also aware that if we did, we were not likely to be rescued. The weeds looked too thick to even consider diving into should the canoe decide to throw the towel in. I had heard of people drowning because their legs became entangled, and I was more worried than I was letting on to Steve.

Eventually he'd decided he had seen everything he had wanted to see and steered us back into open water – and straight into a tree log.

There had been so many hidden under water, and each one had been pointed out to him, with advice on which way to steer in order to avoid it.

On this particular occasion he became very blasé, and decided to really put some speed on. The end result was a collision, but luckily for us it didn't cause any damage. We hit the log at the front end of the canoe, and although I could see it coming there was nothing I could do to avoid it. We were going way too fast, and had no chance of turning out of its path in time. However, he was a little more cautious after this incident, and we managed to complete the trip without further incident. I'm sure he thought I was just being a typical female and nagging him, but I really didn't want to take risks on a lake we had no knowledge of, whilst rowing in a vessel we had no knowledge of.

The remainder of the trip was extremely pleasant. The offshore breeze really cooled everything down, and we didn't have to struggle with the heat. The national bird of Canada gave us no end of entertaining moments. They are amazing divers and could dive for food for anything up to a minute before having to resurface. We played our own private game of trying to second guess where they were likely to re-appear, losing each time to the Loons.

The entire boating trip took around three hours to complete, and we had only covered around one fifth of the area. There were many wood or log built houses, both on the lakeside and on the many islands, but it had not been possible to get a closer look at them. They were privately owned which meant that we could not dock at any of the locations. There had been obvious signs of life at most of them, but we had decided to allow them their privacy by giving them a wide berth. They would have been idyllic in the summer months, but would have been virtually cut off and unapproachable during the winter months.

The day's events had really taken their toll on us, but it had been worth every minute of it. In total we had probably walked 6 or 7 miles and had canoed for about 5 miles, witnessing some amazing scenery in the process. The day was concluded with a visit to the outdoor theatre where we watched a presentation on the moose population. They are truly amazing animals, but are prone to a disease which affects their brain. I guess it is similar in its effects to our Mad Cow Disease. They have caught it due to the rise in population of the deer in the park. However, the deer also catch the same brain worm, but for some reason it has no detrimental effect on them, unlike the moose. Ironically there are thousands of these strange animals in the park, but we were to see none throughout the visit. Warning were given to drive at less than the speed limit during the twilight hours, as many had been injured or killed on the road running through the park. Apparently this was the most likely place to see moose but we didn't even have as much as a sniff of one.

Back at camp, we were both too exhausted to even consider another swim. I decided to have a quick shower before hitting the sleeping bag, and dutifully joined the queue. There would have been approximately 200+ of us at the site, but there were only four showers. Therefore they were in almost continuous use, with this being the most popular time for taking a shower.

I was in front of an American lady with three boys in identical prams. All three boys were identical also.

However, that did not stop me asking the obvious question as a ruse for making what I thought was polite conversation.

"Are they triplets?"

"Yes they are."

"How old are they?"

"Two years old."

That was it. I had run out of questions. Anyone with any maternal instinct would have continued and got into a decent conversation. However, my mind had gone totally blank, so I just stared at the boys looking for divine inspiration. I have no idea what my face was portraying, but the owner of the boys became very uncomfortable. She discreetly pulled the pram backwards, and moved in front of me to shield me from the boys, glaring at me the whole time. Either she was very protective of the brood, or I was giving off the aura of being a baby snatcher. Either way we were both relieved when the shower cubicle became free, and I moved forward to take residence. She had probably gotten used to women fawning over the boys, but I just can't do that, particularly if they belong to someone else.

Steve joined me immediately and we did our bit for the conservation of water by showering together. I reckon he only did it because it meant he could legally jump the queue.

Once back at camp, the insect repellent was used liberally once again. On this occasion Steve decided not to light the candle outside. It proved to be a bad move, but that did not become evident until the next day.

Top tips:

1) If you are only likely to be in the Park for two or three days, plan what you want to do. There is so much available, which would take a week or more if you wanted to do it all.

2) In order to really appreciate the trails etc, try to ensure that your fitness levels are reasonable beforehand. It is not a requirement to be super fit, but a reasonable level is required.

3) If you are susceptible to insect bites, take every precaution with repellents and candles etc. They do come out en mass at night, and will bite any flesh that is exposed.

4) Take advantage of any of the talks or presentations that are on offer. These are advertised in advance in the Park newsletter, and are informative and entertaining for age groups.

## Chapter 12 – The day of the blackout

This was to be our last day at Algonquin Park. We awoke the following morning fully refreshed having slept through the night. Once again I had every intention of staying awake with the hope of seeing a bear or two, but had to settle for sightings of the local chipmunks instead. They are so cute though so wasn't too disappointed.

Once outside of the sleeping bag, the feasting of the mosquitoes was there to be seen. Steve was virtually blemish free, whilst my lower legs were covered in huge red welts where they had dined during the night. I counted at least fifteen and was totally befuddled as to how they had managed it. My lower legs had been inside the sleeping bag the whole time. How the heck had they managed to find their way inside? Surely my arms would have been more accessible? And what is so damn special about me? Surely there would have been others at the site with more to feed off of than what I had to offer?

And why just me? I know Steve has really hairy legs, but surely they would have found a little bit of flesh to tuck into?

I had spent a fortune (around £7.00) on the insect repellent two days earlier, and it had proved to be near ineffective. I was guessing that the best deterrent had been the candle, and vowed to invest in loads of them should I ever find myself back at the Park. The bites itched like crazy but I had no intention of letting them ruin the rest of the holiday. Steve was still going to love me to bits, even if I did look as though I had contracted leprosy. A subsequent visit to my local Doctor back in the UK showed that I had taken the wrong approach. Apparently prevention is the best policy where insects are concerned, and I should have done everything to stop them biting in the first place. Hindsight sure is a wonderful thing, but this advice wasn't forthcoming until long after the holiday.

The tent was taken down in record time and returned to the hire centre. Ironically there were many sleeping bags and tents for sale at the centre, and in hindsight (yep there it is again), it would have been as cost effective to buy the sleeping bags for the two-night stay. There is no guarantee that they would have been clean, but on first inspection they did look a little more hygienic than the ones we had rented.

It was still fairly early in the day, and neither of us really wanted to just leave the park without first exploring some of the other trails. We managed to fit in two more, both offering slightly different views and ecology. Again, due to our fitness levels being less than ideal we chose the shorter ones to close our visit with.

The Whisky Rapids trail was 2.1 kilometres in length and was close to Algonquin Park's West Gate. This trail took us along the Oxtongue River, where Steve delighted in seeing some youngsters' body surfing downstream near to the shallows. These kids really built up a speed and went some distance too. Secretly he wanted to turn the clock back and have a go himself. Their laughter could be heard from quite a distance, and I was in no doubt they were having an experience of a lifetime. The trail was classed as easy to moderate and was very educational regarding the river ecology. The trail earned its name courtesy of some loggers who got a wee bit drunk one night, and lost the whiskey keg to the rapids, only for it to be never seen again. It was also on this river that we saw our one and only beaver dam. True to form the area was populated with these strange and comical creatures, but you've guessed it – we didn't even catch as much as a glimpse of one. They had my total admiration though. They had created an amazing example of engineering using just their teeth and paws. It must have taken them ages to complete, but what an accomplishment though. However, this did get me wondering somewhat. In all the time we had been at the park we had seen just chipmunks. One of us had to be jinxed, and I would take bets that it was probably myself. We knew that the larger creatures such as bear and moose had been sighted because patrons had recorded details on a white board in the visitors centre. A whole wolf pack had been seen at the campsite we had originally requested, and moose had been sighted almost everywhere on the main road. I made a silent vow that I would re-visit the park should I ever find myself in that part of Canada in the future, but would time the visit so that the chances of seeing the natural inhabitants would be maximised. Much as the chipmunks had tugged at my heart, I really did want to see the larger mammals in the area. There was still so much left to be seen, but we had to say a reluctant goodbye as we still had so much left to do with such a short time in which to do it in. Little did we know that we would have been better off staying over for an extra night, as Ontario was about to be hit by a disaster that made every news broadcast in the world.

We decided to head south once we left the park, and make our way back towards Toronto and the surrounding area. I had an uncle living nearby I was looking forward to meeting up with. He was my dad's brother, and we had not met for almost 30 years. We had spoken on the phone early on in the holiday, and it had been as if we had never been apart. I think we must have chatted for over two hours, and the conversation was very relaxed and easy flowing. I just knew that when we did meet up, we were going to enjoy reminiscing and catching up on what had happened to us both in that interim period. You've probably gathered through reading this saga that I am never short of anything to talk about, so it was just as well that I had left five days in which to catch up on what had happened in a 30-year period. I had to feel a little sorry for Steve because he was going to hear nonstop family stories, about people he had never met in his life, and was unlikely to ever meet. This was particularly true of the ones who had died years previously. The living ones were scattered across the United States, so again, not much chance of meeting them in person.

Once outside of Algonquin Park, the scenery rapidly changed and it was not many miles down the road before we found the terrain had been flattened out, and the roads were becoming a little busier.

It was on this particular leg of the journey that we found ourselves laughing at one of the announcements on the radio station. Local stations in the UK are fairly bland, bless them, but these ones came out with some absolute howlers.

"Well folks, John Smith died this day last week. His funeral is being held at 3.00pm today at the church, with a wake afterwards at his home address in Riverside Road. If you want to say goodbye, head down that way where you will be made very welcome."

I have not entered the correct name or road here in deference to his family, but you get the idea. And this was not the only one broadcast! It seems it is the done thing in this small community to advertise forthcoming funerals and invite all and sundry to the event. It would have been unheard of in this country. You can guarantee the minute the funeral is being held, some lousy low life who heard the details on the radio, would be at the address stealing anything they could before the mourners returned. Heck, it has been known for this to happen whereby they have read the details in locally printed obituaries. This was another example of how communities in Ontario live together in harmony, with total trust for their neighbours and strangers alike. I reckon if we had turned up in answer to the broadcast we would have had a drink put in our hands, and would have been introduced to Aunty Flo in a matter of minutes, along with a request to "make yourselves right at home."

I wondered if they did the same sort of thing for weddings also. That would soon screw up the seating arrangements.

After a hundred mile drive, we decided to stop and find somewhere to eat followed by a place to spend the night. Barrie looked like it was a fair sized town offering a few choices on both fronts so we pulled into the car park in the town centre, having first filled the car with fuel. This one small act later turned out to be the most important event of the holiday. Even the act of re-fuelling was something to remember. Steve went inside to pay, whilst I sat reading in the car. Suddenly, the sun was blocked out, and as I looked up I was met with the sight of a young lad cleaning my windows for me. He smiled and said hi, before finishing the task. This is offered as a complimentary service at this particular fuel stop, and is no doubt welcomed by every motorist. It is astounding how many flies etc commit suicide at 60mph on your windscreen on any given journey.

It was around 4.00pm when we found ourselves walking down the main high street of Barrie. I was intrigued to see that this particular town seemed to have more than its fair share of tattoo parlours and nail bars offering airbrushing services. I can do both so it wasn't long before I hypothetically began to suss out what employment prospects there would be, should we decide to emigrate to this area. A real bonus was the presence of a crystal shop offering both crystal healing therapy, along with crystals and gemstones for sale. That was it. I had to go in and have a look round, as this was the first shop of its kind I had come across since arriving on the Continent. Steve was a little reluctant because he was getting more than a little hungry, but he knew how much this meant to me, and humoured me for a little longer. The shop was fairly dark inside, and was edged with bookshelves selling the type of books I can lose myself in for weeks at a time. Most of my collection was printed and written in America, and some are just not available at all within the UK. In lieu of this the shelves were quickly scanned for any useful looking titles. I was finding myself being drawn to the tarot cards, but really resisted the temptation to examine them in detail. I already have five decks of these beautiful and wondrous cards, and needed another pack like I needed a hole in the head. I was in danger of acting like the proverbial kiddie in a sweetshop and knew it. Before long the proprietor approached me, and a discussion then ensued regarding the therapies offered. It seemed that there are many alternative therapies on offer in this part of Canada, but crystal healing therapy was still an up and coming technique, not really known of by the masses. In that respect, it seemed that there was not that much difference in the two countries after all. I was offered a leaflet to read, and instantly kicked myself for not having any of my business cards with me, but promised to send one to her upon my return to England. The literature I had been given was interesting to read and was in the same layout as my own. In addition her prices were on a par with those I charged, along with a description of how the therapy works. However, I was not given the chance to read the leaflet in detail. Without warning, the lights went out in the shop. The woman initially seemed unperturbed by this, but after a few minutes began to show some signs of concern.

"This is not common you know," she said almost reassuring herself in the process.

"How long is the power normally down for when it does happen?"

"Not long, probably no longer than 20 minutes or so."

It was still early afternoon so I was not too bothered by this.

"Have you got anyone in the back room being treated at the moment?"

"Yes, but that will be fine. My colleague has got a load of candles burning."

The joy of working in such an establishment. There will normally be enough candles to illuminate Blackpool tower should the need arise. A few minutes later, and the owner was looking decidedly skittish.

"Has it ever been off this long before?"

"No, not really."

"Oh." There wasn't really anything further I could say. Conversation died between us, as I watched her become more and more concerned.

At that moment Steve decided to make an entrance.

"The powers off," he declared, stating the obvious.

"Yeah we know." I answered, and then gave him the low down based on the information I had been given.

This was not looking good. If the power was down, it would mean hot food would be hard to come by, and Steve was already close to considering cannibalism. I just hoped we didn't chance a meeting with any stray animals in the street either, because they would have been classed as a starter for him in his current state of hunger.

Whilst we were pondering about the next cause of action the door opened and a breathless woman entered.

"You will not believe this!" she shouted.

"The power is also down in the next town. My mother has also called me and the power is out getting down to Toronto. It will be out for about two hours or so."

"Heck, what do we do now?" we both said at the same time.

Food had to be the priority, so we said our goodbyes and headed out into the main street. There were no obvious signs that there was a power problem, other than the fact that some of the pub signs were no longer illuminated. However, we would be able to buy a sandwich or something surely?

We headed back towards the car park and a nearby Sub establishment.

Luckily they were still open, and a lone blonde haired female staffed the counter.

"Hi, could we have two chicken subs please?" Steve asked.

"Sorry, no. I can't sell any food without power. We are not allowed to by law."

She was genuinely apologetic by this, but I couldn't blame her reluctance to break the law. This was so frustrating, because on show were different cuts of meat and other fillings, along with mile long French sticks.

"Okay, have you got any biscuits or potato chips we could buy instead?"

"Sorry but they're off too. I can't use the till, and if I can't open it I won't be able to take any money."

With this Steve offered her the equivalent of our house and car back home, but she wouldn't budge. I was just glad that his desperation didn't stretch to exchanging me for a ham and cheese toasty.

This was not looking good. We soon cottoned on to the fact that traffic was going to be a nightmare. We already had problems coping with the difficulties driving in a foreign country had presented to us. Now we were going to have to cope with this plus the fact that all traffic signals were likely to be down. Not a thought I wanted to dwell on for too long believe me.

"What do we do now?" Steve asked, as we hit the highway and joined a horrendous queue of traffic. Word had travelled fast, and everyone was in the process of heading to familiar homes and safety.

"Right the main thing is to get off this damn road and fast," I answered.

I checked the GPS system and saw that we were literally yards away from a Travel Lodge. Hopefully my sense of direction would not let me down at this crucial time. I did not want to have to drive around hopelessly, bearing in mind the fact that each car driver was driving for himself at each junction. It was like Tottenham Court road at its worst and I did not fancy our chances too much at this stage.

When we needed luck to be on our side, I spotted the Travel Lodge outside the window on the left.

"There it is!" I yelled. At this moment in time the heavy flow of traffic went in our favour. Steve was able to indicate his intentions in plenty of time, and the driver behind let him through.

We made our way to the desk where Steve asked for a room for the night.

"We have just two rooms left Sir, which are smoking rooms. Will this be okay?"

Will it be okay! Heck I didn't care if the bed was invisible due to the smoke haze; we had no option other than to take it.

Already a queue had formed behind us, and it was obvious that only one other person was going to be lucky in getting a room for the night. Others had similar ideas to our own, and I guessed that all the other hotels in the area would be sporting similar queues as people tried to find somewhere to stay. It was only later that evening that the true extent of the problem became obvious. We had filled our tank with petrol and could have easily travelled to Toronto if we felt the need. However, many people were running low, but couldn't do anything about it, because the power shortage had also affected the petrol pumps. Steve took a photograph later that evening of the queues at the petrol station across the road from the hotel. What an awful catch 22 situation to be in. They couldn't go anywhere because they would run out of petrol. However, they couldn't even put as much as one drop in the cars, so had spend the night parked on the garage forecourts. This was a desperate situation, only helped by the fact that it had happened during the summer months where the night-time temperatures were still bearable.

We took our bags down to the dungeon area where the smoker's rooms are located, and collapsed onto the bed. We had succeeded in one mission, but still had to find some food.

Steve went back to the reception area to find what was on offer. True to form they had no restaurant, which left vending machines. And true to form yet again, they were not working in the absence of electricity. It must have been sheer torture for him. All that food available on show behind a glass display, and it was totally untouchable. It must have resembled one of the Soho peep shows where you peer through the slots at the entertainment on the other side, knowing that it can't be touched. (Naturally I have never been to one, but have heard about them). I really had to feel sorry for him because I know how his body reacts when it needs providing with fuel. I can go a couple of days without having to eat, but Steve would be in a bad way if he had to do the same.

Whilst at the reception desk, the news about the blackout was spreading fast. Apparently it had extended throughout Ontario, and we were hearing reports that it had also spread in the northern parts of the USA as far afield as New York. Now that was one place I definitely would not want to be in the case of any power shortage. The road systems there would be a nightmare for anyone to negotiate, let alone a poor tourist. I had not really wanted to go to New York, and was now thankful that we had decided on Algonquin Park instead. I have total faith in Steve's driving ability, but that would have been a challenge too far, even for him.

We went out to the car to listen to the reports on the news channel, and true enough, it was a problem of gigantic proportions. Every channel was covering the incident, and it had pushed aside every other news item. This was one serious black out, even by Canadian standards. The tentative guess was that it would be midnight at the earliest before normal service was resumed. That gave us another 7 hours in which to try and find some normality in the unusual conditions. Already the theories were circulating on what had happened, and who had been to blame. The Americans had decided that it had been the Canadians who had been at fault, and that the likely source had been Niagara Falls.

Naturally the Canadians refuted this, and New York was put forward as being to blame. It really got out of hand with each side blaming the other. In the end, it did turn out to have started in the USA, but even so I would not have been quick to throw fault around. At the end of the day, it had been an accident: nothing more and nothing less. It wasn't as if someone had decided to throw the switch on purpose with the intention of causing chaos in two countries. However, the squabbles continued which struck me as rather pathetic. One contributing factor is that the electricity is shared between the two areas on a ring type system. Therefore if there is a problem at one station, this overloads the next station. This could cause that one to go down, thus putting even more stress and strain on the next station, and so on until you get a total shut down. This is what had in fact happened. Whereby we have a grid system, theirs is very different. If this had occurred in the UK, other stations in the grid would have shared the power, so that no one was ever overloaded. The thing that impressed me was the speed with which it all occurred. From the time the first station went down, to the time of the total black out was literally a matter of minutes. In hindsight the Americans and Canadians both realised that this made them vulnerable to any terrorist attack. It only needed a remote station to be hit, and the end result could be disastrous, as had already been seen. It was only after our return to the UK the true size of the incident struck me. I tried to gauge the size of the black out on the world map. If you can picture an area four times the size of England, Scotland and Wales, you are close to understanding the size of the area affected. Four times the size of England, Scotland and Wales! Bloody hell. If you were right in the middle of that, you had a problem on your hands. Barrie was not far off being slap in the middle. (Or so it felt anyway, but at that stage we could be forgiven for feeling a little sorry for ourselves). It really made our infrequent power cuts look nothing more than a blown light bulb. I know the Americans like to do most things on a grand scale, but this was taking it a bit too far, wouldn't you agree?

Ironically if we had stayed at Algonquin there is a fair chance we wouldn't have really noticed that there had been a problem. Sure the lights would not have been on in the toilet and shower blocks, but what about the sites where they didn't have the luxuries mentioned? I bet it was hours before they were made aware.

Anyway, we now had an idea of the scale involved. I managed to rustle up a half eaten packet of crisps and gave them to Steve. I really wasn't feeling particularly hungry, and was happy to live off of water until the next morning.

As night fell, we actually came to appreciate what real darkness was like. It was dark. I mean really dark. Not a light in sight. Even the emergency exit signs that give off an ambient glow were invisible to us. This was really eerie, and it was no wonder that many of the guests had rounded up some cars in the parking area, and were using the headlights to move by. One or two had come with barbeques in the cars, and these were roaring away outside. Everyone seemed really cheerful and totally unfazed by what had happened. They had all started off as being strangers to each other, but the enforced emergency situation had bought them close together, and they were already acting like a small community of lifelong friends. By the time Steve mustered up the courage to go and ask for food, there wasn't a great deal left, but some kindly donor offered him the crumbs of what was left – cheese crackers and peanut butter.

The thought of that particular combination would make me want to heave, but Steve was in his element. He savoured every mouthful, but strangely enough I haven't seen him eat either of those since.

By about 7.30pm the outside entertainment was in full swing, but we didn't really want to intrude. We had a fully charged laptop and chose to do something totally surreal instead, bearing in mind the circumstances. We watched the film 'Analyse That' from our hotel room. It was the only source of light we could find, and also had the added bonus of an entertaining film thrown in for good measure. Whenever I see either Robert De Niro or Billy Crystal, I automatically have a flash back to the Travel Lodge in Barrie each time. By the same token I also felt a little guilty. We had used the car battery to charge the laptop in the first place. Whereby some people were stranded because they had no fuel, we were wasting it charging up a computer in order to watch a film. In hindsight I would not do the same again, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. I still feel bad about it even now, but there is no turning the clock back. I have learned from the experience though, and if the same situation arose I would try to help others instead of being so selfish. All I can say in my defence is at the time we were wasting the fuel, we really had no idea how big the problem was, or how long it was to last for.

Although we had no lighting I was still intent on having a bath. For two days I had been camping at Algonquin, and really wanted to have a good soak. The water was still hot, so I stripped down and enjoyed the warmth of the water. I soon realised this was not the time or place to lose the soap in the water. Negotiating the bathroom was not fun either, and a couple of times I really experienced the hazards totally blind people have to face every minute of their lives. Hopefully I would never have to go through that again, but I did have a new respect for those who are sightless. It was only during this time in the bathroom I really appreciated what they have to contend with on a daily basis.

Ironically we both slept well that night, and awoke in the morning to a bright and sunny day. Had the power been restored?

We were soon to find out.

Top Tips:

1) If you know you are affected by any type of insect bite, stock up on the best products you can find. They may be expensive but the cost is offset by not having your legs on fire for the next three days.

2) Also stock up with water and food for the car journeys. In an emergency these will get you through the night.

3) Always ensure that you have a tank full of fuel. Petrol stations can sometimes be scarce in the more remote regions of Ontario, and running out on a back road somewhere does not bear thinking about.

4) Ensure that you have a form of navigation, or a really good street map of all the areas you visit. If we hadn't had the GPS system etc, we would have been in dire straits in normal situations. During the back out, we would have been a liability to other road users.

5) Make sure you understand what happens at junctions in the case of emergencies. Unlike the UK, where it is everyone for themselves, the Canadians have a set procedure, which ensures traffic is kept moving, albeit at a snail's pace.

## Chapter 13 – Journey back south

It was apparent the following morning that normal service was far from being resumed. The power had not been restored at midnight, as had been forecast. Nor was it likely to return in the near future. This presented us with a dilemma. We could stay another night in Barry and re-book the hotel room, or we could make our way down to Mississauga where my Uncle lived. We assumed the power was also down in that area, but at least we would have the chance of booking back into the hotel we had stayed at on our first night. Decisions, decisions. We were really caught between a rock and a hard place.

Due to the fact that we had a fullish tank of fuel, we decided to head south, and see if we could find a place to stay, whilst giving us the opportunity of touching base with Leonard.

The road south was incredibly busy, with other travellers having the same plan of action. I just hoped that they would be able to safely reach their intended destinations. At each of the main junctions, police officers were directing traffic. This must be the most thankless task they do, but they were doing this with smiles on their faces, and offers of water for drivers who were desperate for refreshment.

Then something amazing happened.

About twenty minutes outside of Barrie, the traffic lights came on. At long last we would be able to drive with normal conditions prevailing. Up to this point, all the radio stations had advised motorists to treat junctions as "four way stops." What the heck were they anyway? We had no idea, but somehow Steve had negotiated each junction without either hitting something, or being hit. He really is a star bless him. If it had been myself driving throughout the blackout, I would have reverted to being a real 'girlie'. This would have involved temper tantrums, tears, and finally, the car being stopped in the middle of the highway with me refusing to go any further. Steve had remained calm throughout, and had got us out of some pretty tricky situations.

At lunchtime we came across a hotel on the outskirts of Mississauga. We needed to find something to eat and drink, and hoped that they would be able to point us in the right direction.

There were water jugs on a table in the reception area, which we were welcome to use. The hotel was full, and it was apparent that the same situation prevailed in hotels in the surrounding area. This was the first thing we had been told that was starting to cause me to panic. The possibility of spending the night in the car was a real one at this stage. It wouldn't be the end of the world, but the true scale of the problem was now hitting us between the eyes. In the last 24 hours, Steve had eaten a few crackers and peanut butter. I hadn't eaten anything. If shelter was going to be hard to find, food was also going to be scarce. The hotel receptionist took pity on us, and allowed me the use of the phone to contact my Uncle. I really hadn't wanted to intrude by asking to stay with him, because it is not the done thing to do. After all, we hadn't known each other for many years and I had no intention of abusing any of his goodwill or hospitality. However, I was a little desperate and this must have come across in my voice when I eventually got through to him on his mobile phone.

"Hi Len, how are you?" I asked. "Have you got problems your end too?"

"Yeah, we were down here but the power is back now. Looks like we might be the only area though. Where are you?"

"We're at a hotel just outside of Mississauga. They let us use their phone and toilet. We stayed in Barrie last night and thought it best to head down towards where you are."

"Where are you going to stay tonight?" he asked.

"That I don't know," I confessed. "It seems that all hotels are booked up because of what has happened. We really don't know what to do."

"Well, you're only a few minutes from my house. Go there, and Luigi will look after you until I can get back. He should be on his way to the airport to bring me some petrol as I don't have enough to get home."

I was almost prepared to cry with relief at this offer. I really had prepared myself for a night huddled round a gear stick and hand brake.

"If you need fuel, we could help if you like. We have a full tank with us."

"No that's fine, he should be on his way now. I'll see you later. It has been a nightmare here, and there is loads I need to do."

As I put the phone down, Steve immediately wanted to know what was happening.

"We've got to go to their house. He will meet us there."

The receptionist was thanked, another bottle of water collected, and we made our way back out onto the highway. Steve had already marked their house on the mapping system with a pin. It was going to be my job to direct us there, and I wasn't looking forward to the role. I had no idea which way we were facing, and it took forever to actually find our position on the mapping system. I sort of knew where I wanted to go, but in order to see exactly which road to take, I had to zoom in on the map. This then meant that I had lost the view of where I was heading. Ideally the screen would have been three feet square so that I could see both at the same time, but I had to contend myself with zooming in and out every few seconds. Suffice to say, this did Steve's head in because I was forever changing my mind, or not giving him enough notice for when we had to turn off somewhere. What should have been a 15 minute journey took us nearly 45 minutes, and it was all my fault. Our nerves had become a little frayed over the last few hours, and it showed on that particular journey. Luckily for both of us, we couldn't sulk with each other, so it wasn't long before the conversation became relaxed once again. This was such a refreshing change to what I had to put up with when I had been married to my previous husband. We are still on friendly terms, and have been since the day we separated. However, he could sulk for England if he felt like it. On a trip to Orlando in America, I had missed a turn off on the main turnpike. All that was required, was either a U turn, or taking the next one available. It wasn't the end of the world, and no one had died. Instead he threw a major strop, and decided he was going to drive in a straight line until he ran out of fuel. I humoured him, because there was no alterative when he was in this frame of mind. However, half an hour further down the road, I realised he was not joking, and really let rip at him for being such a pathetic and immature over grown kid. I can't remember what it was I said that really hit home, but he eventually decided that this particular course of action was pretty pointless after all. We ended up re tracing our steps, but the cold-shoulder silence that ensued lasted around three days. That wasn't the record though. One of them lasted all of five days. The only reason he decided to start talking again was because he wanted a roll in the hay, but not by himself if you get my meaning.

The area where my Uncle lived was in a different part of Mississauga that we had seen during the first part of the holiday. The two areas were totally different, and I had to adjust my opinion of the area now that I had seen a different side of it. This area of Mississauga looked cleaner and fresher, the road being lined by small shops and stores. The main road running through was parallel to the lake shore, and also housed a beautifully quaint little marina. We knew we would have the chance of a proper exploration another time, and contented ourselves with finding the road where my Uncle lived. It was easy to find, and within seconds we found ourselves with yet another change of scenery. This stretch resembled all of those you see on American films depicting any suburban scene. It was a quiet tree adorned road, with large detached houses hidden behind well kept gardens and shrubs. The colours of the flowers were wonderful, and we had to remind ourselves that only a few seconds earlier we had been amongst fairly heavy traffic. Even the air was quiet and still, which was strangely soothing. The only neighbourhood that had come close to this had been in the St Catherine's area, and already that was becoming just another memory for us, as so much had happened since then. In just a few short days we had stayed in a variety of establishments ranging from hotels, bed and breakfasts, tents and chalets. It was going to be a welcome change to be able to sleep in something resembling normality again.

With more than a little apprehension, we found ourselves outside the relevant house. The gardens were flowing with abundant flowers and shrubs, and our first impressions were that the house was huge. I knocked at the door, bracing myself for my first glimpse of my long lost relative.

No reply.

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or saddened. I had really worked myself into a little bit of a state the closer we got to this moment, and my heart racing away with the anticipation of it all.

Scrabbling around inside my handbag I found a scrap of paper and pen. The traffic outside was very busy, and there was a fair chance that it would take them some time to get back from the airport. I wrote what I thought was a light-hearted note, and left it inside the doorframe for them to see upon their return.

We sat out on the porch for a few minutes just in case, but it was obvious they were otherwise delayed. I didn't want to over stay our welcome, because to any passing resident we would probably resemble would be burglars. I don't know if they have Neighbourhood Watch schemes in Ontario, but I wasn't too keen on putting this theory to the test. My legs were itching like crazy, and it seemed a good time to go back to the main road in order to find a pharmacy.

The heat was absolutely blistering by the time we found a suitable parking space. First stop had to be the pharmacy, because my legs were driving me mad with the constant itching. Trying to ignore the sensation is nearly impossible, even though I knew that each time I scratched the area, the histamine was spreading even further, causing even more itching.

The shelf items were given a cursory glance as I made my way to the counter. Over the counter products hadn't prevented them in the first place so it was unlikely products readily available were going to be that effective in treating them either. I was given some seriously heavy-duty cream, which they begrudgingly sold, to me. Apparently it was only ever used in extreme cases. One flash of a calf showed them how extreme a case I actually was, and I had barely left the store before I was tearing the packet open to reach the soothing gel inside. Any passing pedestrian would no doubt have had me labelled as an addict, armed with their latest prescription. No wonder Steve walked a few yards behind me. I must have embarrassed him a little, but desperate situations call for desperate actions, and believe me I was as desperate as I had ever been in my life. Little did I know this was just the prelude to some serious problems later in the holiday.

Food was the next item on the agenda, and this an easy one to resolve. We had already passed a pizza restaurant on the way to my Uncle's house and made a beeline for it. This was going to be our first proper meal in a while and for once we intended to really pig out regardless of how many calories were going to be consumed. If we thought the outside air was hot, it had nothing on the interior of the restaurant. Yes, power had been restored but everywhere had been told to turn off the air conditioning. Whatever weight had been gained through eating the pizza was negated by the amount of weight we must have lost in sweat. The Canadians must have been so grateful that the incident had occurred in September instead of January or February. If this had been the case, the disaster would have taken a much worse turn with people dying from the cold. The TV was on in the back of the restaurant, and we found that we just couldn't pull ourselves away from the story as it unfolded. I had also bought a newspaper from a vending machine, and it became very obvious that this was a story of which the likes had not been before, anywhere in the world.

The Canadian Premier, Ernie Eves had actually declared a state of emergency in the province of Ontario. People had been advised not to go to work unless it was absolutely necessary. Even though it made for serious reading, there were some lovely stories of people rallying around helping each other. A gallery owner in the city centre decided to help sort out the mess at Yonge and Charles Street, by directing traffic, bringing everyone to a stand still for two emergency vehicles. On almost every downtown corner, citizens either directed traffic or helped parking officers and regular police officers. Before long police officers were armed with water, and were handing it out to motorists stuck in traffic. This seemed a stark contrast to the response in New York, and understandably so. Residents were thrown into a state of panic, and immediately had thoughts of what had happened in the 9/11 disaster. It must have been very, very frightening for them, and I could only offer mental thoughts of support for them.

We even heard of a British couple that had been stranded at the airport. They had been due to fly home, and had a grand total of $5 to their name. The flight was cancelled indefinitely. Their plight was put out on local radio and within minutes they had been inundated with offers to stay with local residents as their guests. Unbelievable. The most heartening aspect was the fact that there had been no-one taking advantage of the situation. I have a sneaky feeling if this had occurred in a main city within the UK, there would have been looting within minutes. We only heard of the occasional incident and these had happened in the Ottawa area.

As each day passed, I was falling more and more in love with this country, and all that it stood for. We had found ourselves in the middle of a state of emergency, but not once had our safety or well being been jeopardized. The good humour was evident throughout, alongside the willingness to help each other. To say I was feeling a little humbled would have been an understatement.

Fully satisfied with food and drink we made our way back to my Uncle's house to find that there were now two vehicles in their porch area. They were home. Steve stood back and let me knock on the door first. I really was shaking with nerves. The door opened and I was met by a fairly solidly built guy, looking well bronzed muscled. I had no idea what to say, but luckily this hesitation was a blessing in disguise. If I had gone ahead and thrown myself into his arms, babbling about 'long time no see', I would have made a total prat of myself.

It wasn't my Uncle.

"Hello, you must be Davina. I'm Luigi. And you must be Steve," he beamed at us, shaking us both by the hand. He had a very broad Italian accent, and a lovely warm smile that made his eyes twinkle.

We were ushered in, and it was at that point I met Len for the first time in 30 years.

"Hello you two. See you got here okay then."

Although he had changed in that time period, my first thought was the fact that he really did look and sound like my Dad. If they had been standing next to each other, it would have been obvious to all and sundry that they were related. They were about the same height, and had the same stance and build. Initially I had been unsure what to say, but within seconds we were all chatting away as if we had known each other for years. Whereby we have the weather as an ice-breaking topic of conversation, fate had provided us with a real corker in the form of the black out. They must have been totally bored of it by now, but we had a great story to tell people on our return. For ever and a day, people were going to be regaled with the story of "When I was in Canada...."

The welcome we were given was incredible, and within minutes we had been shown around the house, introduced to Cica, the cutest dog ever, and ensconced in the basement flat area of the house. This was one aspect of Canadian property we really liked. Not only did you have the main body of the house, but invariably the basement area was also converted into rooms. In the case of Len and Luigi's pad, this comprised of a huge dining room area, living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. In effect it was a whole new house, and area wise was probably bigger than most I had ever lived in. We had the run of this entire area, which was a real contrast to the accommodation we had become used to. No matter what I did, nothing would be enough by way of thanks for this hospitality.

Cica was an amazing dog. She idolised Luigi and followed him absolutely everywhere. Apparently she had been a little wild in her youth with many escape attempts. However, they had persevered with her, and the patience had paid off. I also fell in love with their vacuuming system. Whereby we have to wrestle with monstrous contraptions and Hoover bags that just don't obey when it comes to changing them, they have a totally different system. The Hoover is sort of plugged into a wall, and the waste from the carpet is sucked up into the wall itself! This totally floored me. Apparently it adds to insulation, but when it is full it just works its way round to the boiler room area and is deposited into a bag. I am sure I have got half of this wrong, but I think you get the general gist of how it works. It does go into the wall cavity, and it does end up in a bag in the boiler room area. What a cool idea! Len was really clued up on gadgety type things so I knew that him and Steve would get on like a house on fire. Particularly as he drove a Subaru Impreza WRX. To me, that is a car with lots of letters after the name. It has four wheels, a roof and a couple of doors. Therefore it is not dissimilar to my Suzuki Swift. Apparently I am wrong on that account. It is the car of all cars. It is the car you take to bed with you. It is the car you sell your soul for. It is the car you dream about over and above Brittany Spears. Nothing against the car, but to me it looked like a go-cart with a decent spray job. But hey, I am female so what do I know.

Throughout the holiday, we were treated incredibly well, and I will always be in their debt for helping us out when we were in a tight spot. Luigi cooked up a barbeque that night, which was followed by a night down the local pub with their friends. The two nights camping couldn't have been any further away in my thoughts at that time.

## Chapter 14 – The Final weekend

We had been busy over the first 10 days of the holiday, and both Steve and myself were now looking forward to a slower pace for the remaining three days. Toronto Zoo was on the agenda for the final day of the holiday, along with a real treat for us organised by Luigi and Len – jet skiing at Lake Scugog.

Len had wanted to show us Niagara on the Lake, and we were more than happy to go on this particular outing. Although we had visited Niagara, we had not ventured any further than the Falls.

In fairness to Steve, I let him sit in the front seat with Len. This would give them the chance to chat man to man, and would also give Steve the opportunity of salivating over the car controls, of which there were enough to launch a NASA space expedition.

Listening to men talk is fascinating, and I would advise any woman to make a short study of this. They chatted for the whole of the journey, (around 90 minutes) but didn't actually converse much if that makes sense. This is unique to the male species, but it might be better to explain in a little more detail. It is in no way a criticism, but merely an observation. I'm sure some of the authors of those books such as 'Men Are From Mars, Women from Venus' would have an explanation for it. Nevertheless, I find it fascinating.

Below is how a female conversation would flow, and we will use the car as the subject matter. Cars were the main topic of conversation, thus the comparison.

"Wow, cool car. Bet she goes well."

"Yep she does. And it is so easy to park."

"I know what you mean. They always make the parking spaces too small don't they?"

"Always. They never take into account the fact that cars are bigger these days."

"What's it like for fuel economy?"

"Really good actually. On a run I'll get around 40 to the gallon."

"Not bad. Bit better than the usual there."

"What about yours? Has it improved since the service?"

Basically an intertwined conversation with questions and answers. A guy's conversation between two people will quite often run on parallel lines. They are chatting away, but they don't really overlap.

Here's the example based on the above:

"Really nice car. I've always fancied one of these."

"It does well. The wheels have to be changed in the winter because of the salt on the roads."

"I've got alloys on my car."

"This has got 262 brake horse power."

"That is power. Mine has got only 180."

"This does 0 – 60 in five seconds."

"Mine does it in 8 seconds."

So there you have it. A common method of conversing between guys. They are talking about the same thing, but on parallel lines. It is so different to how women chat, and can be entertaining to witness. I would guess it is a form of displaying, but in a really subtle way. As I said there is no criticism here, it is merely an observation. They got on really well, and to this day still chat via e-mail. I just can't imagine women chatting without asking questions and actually taking part in each other's tales etc.

After a while we were on a road we knew from our previous visit to Niagara Falls. Once again, the road was packed solid, and we crawled past the main Falls at almost a walking pace. This gave us another opportunity to see the Falls, and amazingly, they appeared to be different. It took me a while to suss out why this was the case. It was still as sunny as the day we had made a full visit to the area, and the flow of pedestrians was also the same. It was the actual flow of water had changed. It was very apparent that there was less water flowing over the American Falls. I hadn't realised that the difference over a few days would be quite as noticeable, but was secretly pleased that we visited at the time we had. The higher level of water made for very spectacular photographs.

Len had tried to describe Niagara on the Lake to us whilst on the journey.

"It is really quaint and old worldly if you can picture that. If the Americans ever had a quintessential view of how the English gentry live, this would be it. They sell any product that you can buy at home. Fancy some jam? It will be here. English Mustard? No problem."

My imagination went into overdrive as to how it was going to be. However, nothing could have prepared me for the reality of the small community.

The main avenue was spotlessly clean, with grass verges running down one side. There were even a couple of horse drawn carriages at the roadside, the drivers robed in splendid livery reminiscent of the early 1900's. Right down to the hats they wore. Surely I had been transported back through time, and dumped in a high-class area of London? It really made me think of a particular scene from the film musical Oliver whereby Mark Lester was looking out of a window at the flower sellers below. Reality was bought back to me by the sight of all of the other visitors to the area, and by the displays of modern clothing in some of the shop windows. The area was beautiful, but also incredibly busy, so parking was somewhat of a nightmare. Another reminder of the fact that I was well and truly in the 21st century, was the presence of parking meters along the kerbside. However, finding an empty space was difficult to say the least. I don't know if Len was aware of this from previous experience, but the area was regularly patrolled by the equivalent of our traffic wardens. Therefore it was not going to be worth our while just dumping the car anywhere we fancied.

Eventually we found one space a short hop from a nearby horse drawn carriage. It was close to the shopping area, and almost appeared too good to be true. It was the only one this side of America, so we had every intention of laying claim to it.

We soon found out why it had not been taken.

A previous motorist with a two-dollar coin had jammed the meter. We had a few options here:

Drive somewhere else, and try for a space there. This might mean a fair walk back to the shopping area though, and we had to be back at a certain time for the meal being cooked by Luigi.

Try to unjam the meter so that we could get it working, and thus park legally.

Just leave the car there and hope that any passing traffic warden would show pity on us.

Steve saw this as a challenge, and no intention of letting the opportunity pass whereby he couldn't try out one or two of his gadgets. If he had bought all of what he normally carries, we would have been banned from flying. One Swiss Army knife is not enough. Oh no. He has a large one, a small one, two small torch lights, knives galore and a few other contraptions I couldn't even guess the use of.

He immediately dived into his bag and retrieved some tweezers.

"These should do it," he murmured before proceeding to attempt an entry into the slot of the meter.

He jiggled this way, and he jiggled that way without any luck. The two dollar coin poked it's tongue out at him, and remained tantalisingly in sight, whilst at the same time, refusing to budge.

Len also had a go, but gave up immediately. He could see it was a hopeless task, but Steve game fully continued in his attempts. One or two other contraptions were tried, all with the same amount of success. A couple of times the coin played with us a little, by giving the impression it was nearly there, only to drop back in again when we got too excited. If coins could laugh, this one would have had tears in its eyes by now. The spectacle caused no end of amusement to the guy driving the horse. He knew what we were doing and why, but any passing motorist would have pegged us as trying to break into the meter. I somehow doubt though, that an owner of a Subaru type car would need to stoop as low as to try and steal 2 dollars from a meter.

Len had given up within about two minutes, but Steve was still at it 5 minutes later.

At this time we were approached by an elderly American lady. You have never seen such a well mannered, polite, grandmother type lady in your life. It was therefore a real shock when we discovered she was actually armed to teeth with even more gadgets than Steve has. I bet her grandchildren back at home in the States thought she was the coolest thing on the block. Looking at her, you would have pinned has as being totally harmless with knitting and cake baking as her main hobbies. And that her handbag would contain handkerchiefs and pictures of the grandchildren. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The bag had the same properties as a TARDIS from Dr Who: it was basically bottomless, and homed at least a dozen gadgets.

"Are you having a few problems there young man?" she addressed Steve.

Naturally he responded.

"Yeah, just trying to shift this coin that is wedged in the slot. Otherwise this thing is broken."

"Oh dear. Perhaps I can help," and with that she pulled out of the bag something with a sharp hook on the end.

"Give that a try."

Steve did the appropriate wiggling about, without any success.

"Not to worry," she said. "Try this instead."

Another contraption was pulled from the bag, this one looking a little meaner than the first. Neither Len nor myself wanted to ask what it was, but we were mesmerised by it. I was half way to asking if she had ever been a magician because she was producing items like a magician would a rabbit from a hat. I was wondering at what stage she was going to pull out the endless handkerchief they seem to use as their finale.

Again, Steve wrestled away, but the coin was not going to budge.

Len wanted to call it a day at this stage, but the little old lady was far from finished.

"Oh well, I have this if you want to try it," and sure enough another metallic pointed object was produced. Steve had to be impressed, whilst Len and myself found ourselves with a case of the giggles.

"What else have you got in there?" he asked good-naturedly.

"You sure you are not filming on a Bond film at the moment or something?"

This tickled the old lady, and they both continued with the banter, whilst Steve started to show some minor signs of frustration with the meter. I think it is fair to say that she had no fear of being stopped and searched. Either that, or the police powers to do so are very different where she comes from.

The meter was obviously going to keep it's teddy well and truly thrown in the corner, but he was so determined to succeed. Eventually time ran out against us, and he had to concede defeat. The lady was thanked most profusely by the two gentlemen who had developed a little bit of a soft spot for her. I reckon it was a mutual thing though. Either that or she had just taken a shine to their English accents. Talk about feeling a gooseberry though. I had kept half an eye on her throughout the time spent at the meter, and I swear she was half flirting with Len. She certainly walked away with a twinkle in her eye anyhow. I bet she told the story of "those strange English boys at Niagara on the Lake" for weeks to come.

The antics had really entertained the carriage driver, who promised us faithfully that he would explain the situation to any passing traffic warden.

He also let slip that it had been broken for ages, and that they already knew about it! A fact he had decided very early on to keep to himself, but I couldn't really blame him. This was probably the only real entertainment he had seen for days in this sleepy little town. And it was provided by two Englishmen at that.

I couldn't help but feel a little frustrated though. We knew we had a short amount of time here, and I would have preferred to have spent these extra minutes looking around the shops as opposed to staring at a parking meter.

Eventually we headed back towards the main shopping area. Len instinctively knew which ones we would be interested in, and took us to two in particular which sold chocolate. I had started to develop a few withdrawal symptoms whilst on this trip, having realised it had been nearly two weeks since I had tasted good old home produced chocolate. I have nothing against the American brands, other than on the whole they tastes bloody awful. Once inside the shop I made a beeline for the chocolate display and chose a large box of smarties, resisting the urge to act like a ram raider by grabbing everything in sight. We were going to have to need to take out a second mortgage just to pay for the smarties, as they were more than just a little expensive. Steve was a lot more reserved settling for a smaller bar of chocolate. Walking back to the tills our attention was drawn to the videos on sale. They were all old English classics of either films from the 1950's or old sitcoms. Want to see the entire series of Steptoe and Son? It was there ready for purchase. Fancy a roll around with laughter at the thought of watching every single Benny Hill programme made? There they were. The list went on and on, with all of the old style comedy hits being available for purchase. Unbelievable. This town really did have the old time view of England. I reckon the town founder must have visited the UK back in the 60's and 70's and based the town on that vision. It certainly bore no resemblance to the modern day England that I have come to love and hate in equal measures. I just wondered what the natives thought if they ever did get to see what we were really like. It would have burst their bubble without a doubt. Mind you, they would still be watching the same old programmes on TV though, with maybe the exception of Benny Hill.

Eventually time overtook us, and with reluctance we had to return to Mississauga. I made sure that I saw as much as possible from the car window, as there was so much more to see once the main road was left behind. For Len and Luigi it is just a quick trek down the road. An hour and half in England takes you a very long way indeed. (Unless you happen to be on the M25, in which case you would have probably travelled all of 250 yards). This was another reminder of the fact that we were in a large country, whereby the residents will think nothing of driving for two or three hours in order to visit a few shops. However, there was one aspect that made me a little sad. We had visited the area twice now, and still hadn't made the memorable trip over the bridge into America. So many people had told us that it was an experience not to be missed, and we had done exactly that on two occasions now. Oh well – at least it was an excuse to re-visit Ontario sometime in the future.

A second memorable day was spent at Lake Scugog.

My Uncle had been settled in Canada for three years now, and had been joined by an ex business partner of his from England. They lived quite close to each other, and often joined up to take part in a weekend activity. Our visit coincided with his ex partner being visited by his sister and their family. They had no intention of letting this pass, so in total 6 adults and 6 children made up the party for the trip to the Lake.

The morning was beautiful, with the weather promising to hold for the remainder of the day.

A pontoon had been booked for 12.00 noon, but the two men wanted to get some toys to take with us. Len and Luigi already owned a 1200cc jet ski, which was already hooked up to the truck, ready to go. It was an awesome beast and I had a hard time accepting the fact that the engine was only a little smaller than the one in my car. This little baby was going to cream everything in sight once the throttle was opened in free water. I had no real idea of how G-force felt on the face, but had a feeling I was going to be finding that out pretty soon. Steve was already salivating at the thought of having a drive of it for himself. Apparently it made the ones he had previously driven look like pedal cars bought for five year olds.

I stayed with Luigi whilst Steve went with Len to the big boys toyshop. It was at this stage I learned how bad my Uncle is at time keeping, and in that respect he is so different to his brother, my Dad.

"What time are we meeting the others?" I asked.

"Well, it should be 11 o'clock."

This wasn't looking promising. They had only just left to go to the store for the toys.

"What have they gone for?" I asked.

"They need a hook up for the trailer, and I think they are also getting some water skis."

Excellent. I had never tried that before, so was already making a mental note to have a go should the opportunity arise. However, there were 12 of us on the trip so it was not going to be a certainty. Although totally devoid of any maternal instinct, my thought was that the children should have first pickings at the water sports available.

Around 10.40pm the guys returned. Not only did they have water skis but also a massive blow up donut for the children to use. Apparently the plan was to tow it with the jet ski. Another item of fun I was going to have a go at should the chance arise. Then the problem became apparent. The gadget they had bought for the trailer didn't fit. This required a repeat visit to the store, and by now Luigi was getting a little concerned. Luckily the other group had not left yet, but they were packed and ready to go.

It was quite amusing to see how Luigi and Len have different views on time keeping. Len is very laid back in this respect, and if it is not time critical, he will get there within an hour or two of the agreed time. To him, this is acceptable and he doesn't lose any sleep about the issue. Luigi on the other hand is a little like me: he will clock watch. Even though this was a leisure day, the fact that the pontoon had been booked, and that a rendezvous time had been agreed was vitally important. It would not be possible to get two more opposite traits in a partnership, and I would guess on occasions they would have locked horns over the issue.

Eventually the correct gadget was purchased and fitted, and we were ready to roll.

Len was driving, whilst Steve and myself were in the back of the truck with Cica the dog. She was an amazing animal, and was as excited as we were about the forthcoming frolics. If anything, she was even better prepared. Luigi had rigged a drinking cup across the back of the passenger seat so that she could have water whenever the need took her. This was dutifully ignored due to the fact the passing traffic and scenery proved to be much more interesting to her wee doggy eyes. Luigi kept in regular contact with the advance party, and it was agreed that we would try to meet up for around 1.30pm. However, it was now lunchtime, and we were all a little peckish. This was the cue for a stopover at a suitable venue. The two guys knew the area a lot better than either myself or Steve, so we left it to them to chose somewhere where we could refuel before the activities started. This in itself provided quite a bit of entertainment.

"What about the sandwich place?" Luigi suggested.

"Yeah, that will be a good one. They do good snack stuff."

Len then turned into a car park at the next junction we arrived at. The problem was, not only did we have a very long pickup truck, but we also had a very long trailer attached to the very long pickup truck. Suffice to say the car park was very small, and very busy. This was going to be difficult for Len, or impossible. However, I have to take my hat off to the guy. He is an optimist for sure, and was willing to give it a try, even if it meant a 300-point turn in the process. His optimism couldn't really be questioned. It was either that or just plain stubbornness. There is no way I would have ever attempted to drive such a monstrosity. I have driven four-wheel drive pick-ups before, and they are not the easiest things to manoeuvre at the best of times. It must have been worse for Len because he had more than the usual amount of people to act as an audience. Fair play to the guy, because he didn't let this affect him at all. Being female I would have fallen to bits if I had to park any vehicle in the presence of a male.

The car park was not going to be possible, so he drove around the corner into a neighbouring yard area used by a car service centre.

"This should do it," he mused before proceeding to reverse the trailer towards the windows.

There was a hushed silence in the back, but Luigi was not having any of it.

"It won't fit Len."

"Yes it will, just be patient."

"I am telling you Len, it won't go.

This was like a red rag to a bull, and Len was adamant that the trailer and truck were going in that space, even if it meant moving the entire building. Even Steve had become a little unsure at this stage and was tentatively voicing his concerns in support of Luigi.

I don't think it is going to go in there Len," he said very quietly.

Me? I said nothing, and hugged Cica instead. She was totally unbothered by the whole thing, and was probably oblivious to what was actually going on.

Eventually the two-piece vehicle was manoeuvred into a position that was one step away from a stale mate. If we became stuck it would take twice as long to actually extract ourselves, and Len eventually had to admit defeat. He was not a happy teddy though, and to be honest, I couldn't blame him. He decided to find a space in the main car park, at which point the rest of us decided to head inside for sustenance. The food was quick, and was tasty so it wasn't long before we were hitting the road once again. This is where Len displayed a great character trait, similar to my Dad. Although he had been under pressure a few minutes earlier, and had become a little frustrated, that was all forgotten in a matter of minutes. There was no bad feeling inside that pick up, and the conversation was again good-natured. My Dad is exactly the same, and I have never ever known him hold a grudge or be upset for more than a few minutes.

Eventually we found ourselves in the car park at the lakeside, a fact that was not lost on Cica. Bless her wee white paws, but she was busting for a toilet stop. This definitely must be a female trait, because that was also my first port of call, albeit I preferred the ladies toilet to a nearby expanse of grass. There was a mutual understanding though I'm sure.

The other group had already arrived and had started to unpack their gear onto the pontoon. Luigi and Len were obviously dab hands at unloading the jet ski, so that task only took a matter of minutes. The most challenging task was how to inflate the blow up donut. Each male member took a turn at giving it a few puffs before admitting defeat and handing it to the next volunteer. They in turn had turned some very fetching shades of red, as the oxygen levels played havoc with their skin tones. It also made for some very funny photographs, and some quick comments about blowjobs. Eventually someone had the idea of actually trying the compressor that had been sitting in the back of the pickup. This proved to be totally ineffective, so it was back to deep breaths and beetroot faces.

Half an hour later, it was all systems go, and we all piled onto the pontoon, whilst Luigi took off on the jet ski. His first passenger had to be Cica. Apparently the others are used to the sight of a dog sitting in front of him, flying across the water with its ears pinned against the back of its head due to the force of the breeze. However, both Steve and myself were absolutely stunned by the whole scenario. Cica was not coerced in any way into doing this. She jumped up onto the seat at the earliest opportunity, and I felt sorry for anyone who was going to try and jump the queue in order to be the first one given a ride. She absolutely loved it, and would have stayed there for hours if she had been given the chance. Her love for Luigi was in no doubt, and I had to admire the close bond between the driver and animal at this moment in time. She had total trust and faith in him, and it was a very heart warming sight indeed.

Once she had finished with her trip around Scugog Lake, she took up her position with the rest of us on the pontoon. However, she never took her eyes off of Luigi, no matter where he was on the lake. I had hold of her lead for most of the trip, in order to stop her leaping over the side. No one would ever be able to question the loyalty she had for her master. Len is her co-owner, but the bond was definitely stronger with Luigi.

Once we had made our way to the relative safety at the centre of the lake, Luigi took people out in turn on the jet ski. Steve was the first volunteer, and had a whale of a time. The machine moved across the waves at around 60 – 70mph and could turn on a sixpence. Steve had been given the option of holding onto Luigi (a technique the rest of us used), but decided instead to hold on to the rear rail. How he managed to stay on using this method was beyond all of us. His arm muscles were locked in position the whole time, and it was quite funny to see the grimace on his face become more cemented as Luigi took him through more than a few tight manoeuvres at high speed. He couldn't have changed position without falling rear over face, so had to maintain his grip the whole time. He certainly had my admiration at the end of it all.

The donut proved to be popular with the children in the group, but it was a logistical problem using it safely. The Canadian rules dictate that a craft can only be towed if there is someone on the jet ski facing backwards as a safety precaution, in case a rescue is required. In addition there has to be a seat on the craft for the rescued person, a facility only the larger jet ski's would have. Steve acted as rear guard for a lot of the outings, and had a bird's eye view of the expressions on the children's faces as they were hurtled through the water, their backsides skimming the surface with just the rubber of the blow-up preventing them from receiving a 40mph enema. Suffice to say no adults volunteered for this particular escapade.

At one stage, Luigi decided to put a little extra speed on.

Within seconds, we were shouting at him.

"Slow down!"

He looked up at us, puzzled.

"Steve, tell him to slow down!"

"He is going under! Stop the damned jet ski!"

Steve was also trying to get across to him that he needed to ease up on the accelerator, but he was a little confused by the mixture of voices he was hearing.

At the same time, young Paul who was on the blow-up was slowly being dragged under water. The increase in speed had caused the donut to dip at the front, and he was gradually being pulled under at an acute angle. Unfortunately he was frozen with fear, and hadn't considered bailing out, which would have been the safest option. After a few moments of hesitation, Luigi understood the situation and eased up, to the relief of his parents. It was quite funny to watch, but the potential for disaster was fairly evident. I am sure he would have bobbed back up though because we were all adorned in life jackets etc.

Although the blow up donut looked like it was fun, I had my eye on the water skis. No one had yet shown interest in trying them out, which was a real shame because they had been purchased specifically for this trip. I have never water skied in my life before, and had no idea what to do. The skis were for beginners so surely it couldn't be that difficult?

I was about to get the rudest awakening I have had in my life to date.

The donut was unhooked from the jet ski, to be replaced by the rope for the water skis. It took two guys to help me into the rubber footholds, and to then manoeuvre me towards the rear of the pontoon. With some trepidation I lowered myself into the water. The ski's were as heavy as lead weights, and had the surface area of barn doors. There was absolutely no way I could hold my legs together in preparation for the forthcoming launch, a fact I am sure was not lost on Steve who had the best view of my delicate situation. Everyone was offering advice as to how to go about this, and it only dawned on me after the attempt that they had no idea of what they were talking about.

"What you do is hold your arms out straight, and then stand up."

"Don't bend your knees, but swivel upwards using your hips."

"Let the rope pull you up."

Again, I think this is a male thing. No end of times I have been given advice by a member of the species (with good intentions I may add), when it is obvious they know absolutely nothing about the subject matter. Whereas a woman will do the opposite. If a woman knows bugger all about something, invariably she will say bugger all. Or, at a push, admit she knows bugger all.

However, on this occasion I took all the advice on board, because even with no knowledge, they knew a smidgen more than I did. I braced myself, held onto the rope for dear life, and gave the cue to Steve.

Luigi pulled away very slowly, and I watched with bated breath as the rope became taut.

A split second later I was pulled off the side of the pontoon, with skis going in every direction bar forwards. Somehow I had managed to launch myself in a sideways action, which meant I had no chance of actually standing up.

The rope pulled me through the water for a few yards before I decided that it would be in my interests to let go. I think the main factor in this decision making process was the fact that I had approximately half a pint of water work its way up my nose, at an average speed of 20mph. An entirely unpleasant experience, even if the water was rather warm. The life jacket held me afloat, and it wasn't long before Luigi drove back to check on my status. Bless his wee cotton socks, but he really was quite concerned. Because he had been driving, he hadn't seen how the launch had gone, but was aware that I had failed. I was fine, with the only injury being my pride, but I was determined to give it another go, with a few changes to the technique. After all, they were only beginner skis, so they couldn't be that difficult to master surely?

I swam back to the pontoon, dragging the skis with me. One of the guys helped me back up onto the deck, where I sat for a couple of minutes re-grouping and getting my breath back.

"Well done, you nearly did it," I heard behind me.

"Just make sure next time you lock your knees a bit more."

Yeah right.

For my first attempt I had started from in the water, and it had proved to be too difficult. It had been near on impossible holding the two ski's steady whilst lifting myself up by 90 degrees.

For the second attempt I decided to start by sitting on the edge of the pontoon deck, thus decreasing the angle of lift I would have to make.

I would also have a better view of where the rope was in relation to the jet ski, and would be able to brace myself for the launch.

The second attempt was worse than the first in as much as I didn't manage to get up, but the entertainment factor had apparently been tripled.

Mentally I was ready. Physically I knew I wasn't but I hoped the mind over matter process would work. Once I was up, it was only a matter of then holding onto the rope.

As the rope became taut, I braced myself. As the rope jerked in my hand, I was suddenly jerked forward. The skis lifted up from behind, launching me over the top of them, whereby feet popped out. I then did a Superman impression by flying through the air for a few feet before landing belly down in the water. The skis just plopped down behind me landing in their original position. I was then dragged through the water, my body resembling a bumpy surfboard. I found this scenario so funny I began to laugh. However, the water was still going up my nose, but I was laughing so much it took ages for the brain to register the fact I should really, really let go of the rope. By the time I did let go, I was quite a distance from the boat and had a fair swim back. Even so, the others were still crying with laughter when I got back. Apparently the spectacle from behind had been priceless to see. People get £250 for the video footage of these incidents, but alas no one had recorded it. Shame that. I would have happily gone halves with them by way of appearance fee.

John then bravely offered to have a go himself. He had never ski'ed before either, and having seen how difficult it was, I thought he was being quite gutsy. However, after six attempts he also gave up the ghost. This was helped by the fact that on his final attempt he had done the French splits, rather unintentionally, and had badly damaged a groin muscle. I would like to take a bet that the skis have never been used since that trip.

Having made a total berk of myself, I decided to spend the remainder of the trip sunning myself on board the pontoon. The only other forage I had in the water, was behind Luigi on the jet ski. I had never ever had the opportunity to try one before, so told him to really floor it for me. This was then followed by one of the scariest and thrilling rides of my life, rivalling anything at Disney World or Alton Towers. I think it went from zero to 60mph in about three seconds flat. The wind against my face was so strong my eyes felt like they were being sucked out of the back of my head. Although they were watering, I could still see perfectly well, and began to enjoy the ride. A few times he did some tight turns, and donut rings, which were a little hairy to say the least. On these occasions I held on for dear life, and my knees gripped the sides so hard, I thought I was going to crack the sides of the craft. The thought of being flung off at high speed did not bear thinking about. Having water flung up my nose at 20mph was going to be nothing compared to having a 60mph enema. How Steve had managed to do this whilst holding onto the back of the jet ski was nothing short of amazing. I was holding onto Luigi's chest so hard, I bet he still has my fingernail marks imbedded in his skin.

Even more amazing was the way that Cica has stayed on board. She had just sat in front of him, tongue lolling out without a care in the world. Her sense of balance far outshone mine.

I did go out for another ride with Steve acting as pilot, but I knew deep down he really wanted to have a go on his own. He is a real gentleman in many ways, and didn't use full throttle whilst I was on board. I had caught a piece of grit in my eye, and used that as the excuse for getting off, leaving him to have a go on his own. I was a little apprehensive, because he has never used something is powerful before. If he drove it like he drives his car, he had a real chance of coming unstuck. However, he acted very sensibly and didn't try anything that was beyond his capabilities. In fact some of his donut manoeuvres were pretty impressive and even matched those of Luigi.

This did show though that even Canada can have its quirky rules that don't make sense.

Len and Luigi have been in Canada for over three years. Luigi went on a course and can use the jet ski wherever permission is granted. Apparently if you are in Canada for more than 45 days, you cannot drive one unless you have successfully completed the course. However, visitors to the country for less than 45 days can use them. This created a really weird situation whereby Steve could go out on the jet ski unaccompanied, even though he had never used one this powerful before, whereas my Uncle couldn't because he had been in the country for longer than 45 days.

Mmmm.... Not sure of the logic in that one myself, but there you go – America does not have the monopoly on quirkiness.

All in all the day was an incredible experience. I had been in the company of some terrific people, and had seen a dog jet ski and canoe. (She had also been out with a couple of the lasses for a paddle).

In addition I had tried out some water sports that I have only ever seen other people do, and felt totally exhilarated by the whole experience. I had a slight pang of envy towards Len and Luigi. They could do this every weekend in the summer if they wanted. Back in the UK we don't have the same facilities, or the same size lakes to allow such sports. I was starting to understand why they would never consider a return to England. In comparison to Lake Ontario, Scugog is tiny. Even so, it is still so huge, you can drive a jet-ski at 60mph across the surface, without any real danger of hitting other lake users. I am not sure that we have comparable facilities in my part of the UK.

Top Tips:

1) Consider visiting some of the smaller and lesser known lakes. It appears that most of them will offer water sports, with equipment to hire.

2) Be prepared to give anything a go if presented with the opportunity. It would be a shame to return home with the words "what if" ringing around inside your head.

3) Try and get reasonably fit so that you can try all of the facilities on offer. (Not including water-ski'ing where you need legs like a Russian shot putter.

## Chapter 15 – Toronto Zoo

It hadn't seemed like yesterday that we were landing at Toronto airport, yet here we were on our last full day of the trip. It was as if we had blinked, and fifteen days had shot by without being noticed. Quite often with holidays abroad, after about 10 days or so you are looking forward to heading back home. Not this time. I wanted to freeze time so that I could relish the whole trip for as long as possible. Both Steve and myself had fallen in love with Canada and we were both reluctant to leave. If Steve had been offered a job in the electronics engineering field, he would have had his resignation typed and sent before the ink was dry on the offer.

We had only covered a tiny fraction of this vast country, and had already had 15 action packed days. However, we still wanted to cover other aspects of Toronto, and decided to go to the Zoo for the last day of the holiday. All the advertising literature we had seen in the UK had suggested that it be on everyone's "must do" list, so it was dutifully added to ours. We chose to drive along the coast road, so that we could see the CN tower in all its majesty. The day was bright and clear, and the tower stood proud and tall against the bright blue sky line. It was one of those days whereby visitors would probably be able to see as far afield as Niagara from the observation deck. I could see Steve twitching at the wheel; he was dying to pull over and have another look but was admirably restraining himself.

It was a refreshing change to actually get to a destination without actually getting lost first. The zoo was aptly sign posted, which made for another refreshing change. After 14 days of yelling and screaming at each other and the laptop, we finally found somewhere that was adequately marked for the poor tourists.

True to form a queue had formed leading to the payment kiosk, but the day was bright, and the laughter from the children seemed to make the time pass quickly. I had to sympathise with the escorting adults though. Each had approximately four or five kiddies in their care. Keeping them under control was going to be a task and half. Steve was bad enough when he got excited and took off, having four of them do the same, and in different directions didn't bear thinking about. Dogs can be conditioned to obey, even if a tempting morsel is put right in front of their highly sensitive noses. I'm not sure that a four year old can be conditioned at all. Ever in fact.

Once inside, we were presented with a comprehensive magazine containing the statutory map of the park. Everything looked cosily close to each other, but I was far from fooled. This was Canada after all. In all likelihood the roads would lead to nowhere, or to a toilet block. Signs would point the wrong way. If we found the areas we were searching for, it would be by pure luck. I was proved to be half right. Some of the signs started off with good intentions, but then just disappeared, usually when you were at a crunch cross roads or fork in the road.

"Right which way first?" Steve asked whilst studying the map.

"Which way do you want to go?"

"I don't mind, you choose."

Heck it was the last day of the holiday, so I decided on the spot. My main focus was going to be the tigers, and the first one was appeared to be not far away from us going clockwise.

The Indomalaya display hinted at some sort of primate. The animals were marked on the map in silhouette so it was potluck what it could be really. However, once inside we were both instantly mesmerised and were prepared to spend the rest of our visit in this one area. I can't recall ever seeing orang-utans before, but these guys instantly went to the top of my list of all time favourites. The enclosure contained what appeared to be a nucleus family of Dad (a big bugger asleep in one corner), Mum (a slightly smaller and less hairy version of dad) asleep in another corner, a teenager (running riot around the enclosure), and a baby (who we all wanted to take home with us).

Chimpanzees are always accepted as being intelligent and playful, but they had nothing on these guys. I have never seen an animal as inquisitive and playful as these two were. The rapport and relationship between them was heartening to see, and I defy anyone to say that they didn't have a wee tear in their eyes at any stage. A keeper was on hand the whole time, studying their behaviour and making copious notes. At one stage a dress was introduced to the enclosure. This was immediately pounced on as being a new source of fun and games. Amazingly, the teenager knew exactly what to do, and within minutes was wearing the garment, albeit with arms through the wrong holes. How on earth do they know what to do? Have they looked at us humans every day, and imitated us, including on how to wear a garment of clothing?

I guess no one will ever know the real response to that, but either way, it was an amazing experience. We must have spent close to an hour in this area during this first visit. In that time the two youngsters gave everyone good value by way of entertainment, which made the entrance fee very worthwhile indeed. Even a bowl of water proved too much for them, and it wasn't long before the baby climbed into it, head first. Meanwhile the other live wire was hurling himself around the enclosure demonstrating the most amazing agility. I had to remind myself that even Mum and Dad could do that if they had a mind to. Both adults were huge animals, and would weigh a hefty amount. Even so, you just knew that they had amazing agility if needed. However, they both had pressing engagements with the land of sleep, and I couldn't really blame them. I bet most human Mums would love to be able to just have a nap whenever they needed to, regardless of what Junior might be up to. These adults knew that they youngsters were in no danger and were making the most of it.

Although we still had the remainder of the zoo to see, we both knew we were going to end up back at this spot before heading off home.

The Sumatran tiger display was next to the orang-utans, both coming from the island of Sumatra. I had seen these magnificent cats before in the UK, and had marvelled at their luxurious deep orange coats. They are the smallest of the 7 breeds of tiger, but I reckon they are the best coloured. True to form they were lazing at the back of their enclosure in the shaded areas, sleeping through the heat of the midday sun. Some of the tourists appeared to be disappointed at this, but what did they really expect? Performing acts, ready to jump to attention whenever the demand was made? Heck if I had any sense, I would have joined them to be honest. The sun was really beating down at this stage, and it was very energy sapping with it. Steve was starting to flag already which meant he was nearly ready for some food.

There were plenty of restaurants and cafes dotted around the park, so it wouldn't be long before we could have a welcome break.

The elephants were given a cursory visit. They were the African variety, but even these guys were flagging with the heat. Most were huddled under the giant umbrellas provided for them. I had always had trouble remembering the difference between the two species, but there was no mistaking these guys. Their ears were huge.

Mentally sending some thoughts of sympathy we carried on pass the elephants taking in a few baboons on the way. Steve was immediately at the ready with his faithful camera, and caught a lovely photograph of a baboon's arse in its full glory. Unfortunately, it was rather too detailed. If that had been a human photograph I would have slapped him hard for being a pervert. Believe me, everything was on show. You could even take a guess at the sex of the baboon, it was that obvious. Detailed photographs of human rear ends are unacceptable. However, this was an animal, which somehow makes it acceptable. I have never got my head around that. If any human couples were shown on TV humping away for real there would be an outcry. Even if it were aired at 3.00am the outrage would last for months. Yet at 7.00pm you could be eating your tea and be presented with the sight of a variety of animals coupling in graphic detail. I watched a programme recently that showed the mating of two leopards. Not only was it in graphic detail, but they cameraman had no qualms about showing the male's meat and two veg if you understand my meaning. This was at 7.00pm!! They should have warned me! I might have had my little niece or nephew staying, and could have been put in the awkward position of having to explain things to them. I bet he wouldn't have filmed it if it had been bigger than his own though. Oh no – that part would have definitely been left on the cutting room floor. I know men are particular about the size of their tackle, and the sight of anything bigger sends them into a spiralling descent of self-despair.

Women don't go around comparing themselves to each other, so it does mystify us somewhat that men seem to have these hang ups. (Or downs, whichever is appropriate).

Moving on to the subject of the zoo again, it was at this point we decided to visit the gorilla area. Again, I have seen these animals before, but was aware it was going to be a first for Steve. I know I have just promoted the orang-utan to my favourites list, but it is fair to say that the gorilla has always been there. These gentle giants have so much of an aura about them, and I can't put my finger on what it is. Once again, these animals are hugely misunderstood by the masses, even though their family and hierarchy structure is just as complex as our own. Maybe it is because they exude such incredible power. Yes, they are big and heavy, but no one could really understand their potential of pure strength, unless it is witnessed firsthand. I just hope that one day I can win a few million on the lottery. I swear I would do something to try and help the mountain gorillas before it is too late for them. It is saddening to think that they could lose their habitat, and become extinct, all during my life time.

Inside the enclosure were two gorillas. I can't remember exactly but I am pretty sure they were lowland gorillas. Both appeared to be adult sized, and once again were lazing around in the shaded areas. Occasionally the female would look over to us with a whimsical expression on her face. I would have loved to have read her thoughts at that stage. We must appear to be strange creatures indeed. My heart went out to them both though. They had a fair sized area in which to live, but they really did deserve to be in the wild along with others of their type. These are the rulers of the jungle in my opinion, and deserved to given total respect by humans. Instead we are cutting down their habitat at an alarming rate, and trapping them in their hundreds. Will people rue their actions when it is too late and the last one has been eradicated? Somehow, I don't think those responsible will even bat an eyelid.

In that respect, zoos such as this one may be their only chance of long term survival as a species, but what an existence. Once again I sent out mental thoughts of sympathy to them, as we made our way to the open air. It was noticeable that there was more of a hushed silence by the visitors, than there had been with the orang-utans. Maybe others were having the same thoughts as myself.

By this stage, Steve was starting to feel unwell so we immediately headed for the nearest eatery overlooking the rhino's. Throughout the meal he was unusually quiet, a sure sign that he was not feeling 100%. The heat was draining, and I could see that he was suffering in silence. There was still a lot to see at this zoo, but I was more than prepared to cut it short in order to get Steve home safely.

Once we had eaten, we whizzed past the lion enclosure, (seeing just one male in the process) before heading round to the area boasting a baby polar bear. By doing this we had totally cut out the Canadian domain, which housed the grizzly bear. I was dying to see one of these just so that I could compare it to the cute and cuddly black bears, but Steve was not up to walking that far. He was so lethargic, he didn't even take any photographs of the baby polar bear, which was a sure sign that all was not well.

He assured me that he was just tired and would be okay after a sleep.

I was still fairly excited about the place, so a decision was reached whereby I would leave him sleeping at one of the picnic tables (well shaded obviously) whilst I would have a wander around a couple of nearby areas. I was torn about this to be honest. Part of me wanted to stay with him just to make sure he was going to be okay, whilst another part of me wanted to take in the rest of the zoo as quickly as possible.

I decided to visit the areas close to the picnic table, and immediately formulated a plan of action.

The Siberian tiger was nearby, and that had to be on my agenda. The fact this zoo had two of the seven breeds was remarkable.

With map at the ready I set off at a brisk pace in the right direction. The map showed the one fork in the road, with the tiger being off to the right. However, after this point all signs seem to mysteriously disappear as the road took on an unfamiliar hue. Tracks began to appear shooting off in all different directions, each one of them being unmarked. I decided to follow my own rule of 'if in doubt just go straight on', hoping that it would work. Luckily it did, and I sighed with relief when I came across the enclosure. Not many people had ventured this far, and for a while I was the only person in the area. The tiger was asleep only a few feet from the edge of the enclosure. It was truly majestic. The colouring was not as vibrant as that of the Sumatran tiger, but this was made up for by its sheer size and bulk. The fur looked as though it had been spun from the purest silk, and I was aching to just reach out and touch it. The paws were as big as house bricks; it's tail swishing around at the flies as it gently snored away in the shade. Steve was missing out on seeing a truly awesome animal for sure. In the space of two short weeks I had seen virtually all of the animals on my favourites list. However, it would not have been possible to put them in any order. The dolphins and Beluga whales had a quality of hidden intelligence and playfulness.

The tigers have always exuded the aura of majesty and beauty.

The orang-utans had shown me an amazing capability for strength, agility and hidden intelligence.

My mind was reeling from all of these thoughts and feelings as I gazed at the sleeping tiger, which was just a few feet away from me. I know that lions are always put forward as being the kings of the safari lands, but they don't seem to have the same majesty about them. The male of the species does look splendid when displaying a full mane, but they don't seem to do it for me for some reason. The tiger lives as a solitary animal, fending for itself. It answers to no other beast, only itself. It lives in extremes of climate, yet still manages to survive. It has a grace and dignity about it that is unmatched in any other living creature, with maybe the gorilla coming a close second. Maybe that was one of the attractions, but whatever it is, they can carry this over from real life into photographs and film footage. Every time I catch sight of one looking straight into the camera, I catch my breath. No human has ever had the same effect on me. Not even Brad Pitt when he was riding across the plains in Legends of the Fall. (Okay, okay I lied at that bit – I was positively salivating in the cinema at the time).

With some reluctance I made my way back to where Steve was slumbering, stopping off at the Australasian pavilion on the way. This turned out to be the most bemusing experience of the trip.

Inside were the nocturnal mammals. You have to admit, Australia does have some really cute wee mammals, not seen anywhere else in the world. Who has never fallen in love with a koala or a possum? In order for visitors to see them in their normal habitat, the clocks had been reversed. Therefore everything was in total darkness inside, so that the animals would think it was night-time, and therefore come out to play. The problem was it was literally as black as tar inside, and I couldn't see a damn thing. My eyes had gone from bright sunlight to total darkness in the space of a few seconds, and my irises were not too sure what to do about it. I reckon they must chosen to just close down as a safe option, because I could not see anything – not even the displays. If I put my fingers an inch in front of my nose, I wouldn't have seen them. I spent five minute with my hands out in front of my trying to find something solid as a reference point, taking tiny steps each time. Eventually I found a wall, and just nursed my way along it until I was once again outside. If there had been animals inside the pavilion, I hadn't seen a single thing. They could have been flipping me the finger or mooning at me the whole time, it wouldn't have made any difference. No wonder I had been the only person inside. I was the only sucker willing to attempt the walk of darkness. This is where I should have bought Steve – he could have slept for as long as he wanted in there, no one would have been any the wiser.

Steve was still asleep when I returned to the picnic area. The sun had moved round a little and he was now unshaded. In total he had been asleep for around half an hour, which wasn't really that long so I decided to leave him be for a while longer. He was stretched out across the table, eyes closed snoring like a baby. Goodness knows what the other visitors had thought of this, but no one had prodded him to see if he was okay which surprised me. In the UK someone may have tried to steal his camera bag within a few seconds, but even this had been untouched.

After about an hour or so, I decided to rouse him ready for the trip home. He felt a lot better having had the sleep so we decided to make one more visit to the orang-utans.

Mum was now sleeping against the Perspex wall, which gave Steve the perfect photo opportunity. Dad did occasionally rouse himself, but only when one of the youngsters pestered him. Even then, he just put in a quick arse scratch before returning to the land of slumber. Typical male for sure.

The keeper who I had seen on the previous visit was still there making notes.

I was intrigued by what had happened and went up to her to ask a few questions.

"How old is the baby?"

"He is 7 months old now."

I tried to see what she was writing, but couldn't quite make out the text.

"Is that his brother over there?" I asked, pointing to the teenager.

"No, they are not actually related."

This astounded me. They had been playing together so well, I had assumed that they must be at the least, brothers.

We chatted only briefly after this, as it was apparent that she was trying to concentrate on the events inside. It appeared that the keepers took turns in spending time with the orang-utans, making notes of any behaviour they witnessed. She had been particularly interested in the way that they had used the dress, before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. I would have gladly volunteered to a stint at this, as would most of the visitors.

As we left the park, I took with me many memories along with a sense of disappointment that we had not seen all of what had been offered. Yet another reason for re-visiting this part of the world.

Top tips:

1) Visit the zoo early in the day. There is so much to see, you would need a whole day in which to experience it all. In addition some of the animals may be a little more energised during the morning if it is cooler.

2) Make sure that you have a good camera with plenty of film. Some of the shots we wanted we couldn't get with the camera we had. (A zoom lens will be a bonus in some cases).

3) Use the map and guide to find your way around. Otherwise there is a danger you miss an exhibit or entire section which is not clearly marked on the trails.

4) Read the magazine for extra tit bits of information. We didn't realise that throughout the day there are opportunities to meet many of the keepers, along with various bird and animal shows.

5) If you are into camping, consider camping overnight within the zoo grounds. (Bookings available). Falling asleep to the sound of elephants etc would be an amazing experience.

6) Adopt an animal facilities are also available at this zoo.

## Chapter 16 – The trip home

I had promised to cook Luigi and Len a meal on the last night, as a thank you for putting us up for the previous five nights. I knew Luigi was a fine cook so it was going to have to be something special to even get anywhere near to matching his wares. Luckily, I had been married to a chef in my early years, and he had taught me how to make one very useful Italian dish: cannelloni.

On our way home from the zoo we visited a local Italian supermarket to stock up. I had never seen anything like this place before. It was the size of a small warehouse, and the smell inside was wonderful. I knew there was no danger of not being able to find what I wanted, but did get the feeling the other danger was that of being spoiled for choice instead. Bless his cotton little socks, Steve would have still been there today if it had been left to him to choose. The salad bar was the first thing we came across, and my mouth watered immediately when I saw it. I could either make up my own salad, or buy one ready prepared, with different sizes of packaging on offer.

Half an hour later, and $37 lighter we emerged, carrier bags billowing everywhere. There was no way we were going to go hungry tonight.

I had to feel a little sorry for Luigi though. Making cannelloni is incredibly messy, and it wasn't long before his pristine kitchen resembled a bombsite. I wanted to do the right thing and wash up as I went along, but I just couldn't do this. As it was, I was trying to do an impression of an octopus by doing at least three tasks simultaneously. Before long the sides were filled with chopped onions, mushrooms and grated cheese. Poor Luigi. He popped his head around the door occasionally before making a hasty exit. I'm sure part of him wanted to reclaim his kitchen, whilst another part wanted to run screaming down the road. However, I have to give him credit – he did not once ask if he could help or take over, and I have total respect for him for doing this. If this had been my kitchen I would have immediately stopped everything, and thrown everyone out of the way. He continued to leave me in charge, busying himself on the patio instead. Every stage of the cooking needed my attention, so I did the next best thing instead and tasked Steve with the stuffing of cannelloni shells. This left me in charge of the white sauce that had to be cooked just right otherwise it would come out lumpy. I had been a little over zealous at the supermarket, and had cooked enough to feed half of Ontario. It also took a little longer than I expected, so we didn't actually sit down to eat until around 8.30pm.

Suffice to say I was now feeling a little nervous. What if they didn't like it? What if it was inedible? What if the sauce had curdled and was now a big glob in the middle of the dish? What if I hadn't cooked it long enough and the pasta was still hard?

Cannelloni tastes wonderful when home cooked, but can go horribly wrong at the drop of a hat, and for no apparent reason. I'm not exactly competition for any TV chef, so this was a risk taken on quite a grand scale.

As I walked outside with two steaming plates in my hand, the guys were already seated at the table in anticipation.

Our hosts were served first, as I dashed back inside to gather the remaining plates.

"Okay, there is no pressure here to eat it if you don't like it," I offered trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. Who was I kidding? If just one of them said they couldn't eat it, that would be grounds enough for me to throw myself over the balcony. If more than one said the same, I would never be able to return to Canada.

Not having a clue what the guys had been discussing, I let them carry on the conversation as I glanced round each of them in turn as they took their first mouthfuls.

No reaction whatsoever.

They carried on chatting as though they were scoffing a pizza in front of the TV. Could they not tell that I needed reassurance or that I needed to hear their humble opinions as a matter of urgency?

Obviously not, by their reactions.

In the end I couldn't contain myself any longer.

"Is everything okay?" I simpered.

"Yes, this is really nice," Steve offered. I'm not sure if this was out of sympathy or not, but he had eaten the same dish before, so there was a fair chance he was being genuine.

"Well, I'm Italian, and can say this is very good," was the second offering, this time from Luigi.

At last I could relax and enjoy my own meal.

Some lanterns had been lit around us in order to detract the mosquitoes from us whilst we dined. However, these are not normal mosquitoes. Oh no. These are super mozzies, of the silent and deadly type. The ones who have developed a natural intelligence for survival. Whilst we were complimenting the lanterns and the fact that we hadn't seen any in the area of the veranda, they were busy feeding off us below knee level where there were no flames in sight. Or rather, they were feeding off of me. I had been up to my elbows in garlic at one stage in the kitchen, which must have smelled like a top branded aftershave to the insects. I felt the odd itch but just put it down to the fact I had not long shaved my legs, and assumed it had just been a stubble itch. Certainly the guys were not complaining so I put it down to the fact it must be my developing hairs causing the discomfort. The true damage was not going to present itself until the next morning.

Half way through the meal I was paid the ultimate compliment.

"Davina, you are going to have to give me the recipe for this you know."

An Italian was asking me for the recipe for one of their dishes! My ex husband had his faults, but right now I could have kissed his feet. This was the only thing he had taken the time to teach me how to cook, and I was eternally grateful for that fact. Right now I could forgiven him for every misdemeanour he had committed.

The resulting grin was tattooed on my face for the rest of the evening after hearing that, believe me. Gordon Ramsey eat your heart out.

Len had been quiet throughout the meal, but ate every bit of it, leaving his compliments until the end.

"That was really nice," he said.

I just simpered something back along the lines of, "Oh there's nothing to it really. It's quite simple to do."

Steve just looked at me grinning. He knew damn well I had been an emotional wreck for about four days leading up to this moment.

The evening was finished off over a couple of bottles of wine, and I was the most relaxed I had been in a very long time. We were both aware that this was our last evening in Canada, and made the most of the moment. As the sun set over the river, I gazed out across the reflection on the water, wondering how the scene would look in the cold grip of winter. This had been the best holiday I had ever had by far, and I really did not want to go home. Len and Luigi had fallen in love with Canada three years earlier, and I could understand why. If I could replace their road system with ours, and make everyone drive on the left side of the road, you would have a habitat approaching something close to perfection.

These two wonderful people had taken both of us in when we were in the middle of a state of emergency and had looked after us. We were both strangers to them at the time, but this had taken nothing from the hospitality shown. As far as I'm concerned the term 'diamond geezer' applies to both of them. I was actually feeling proud of the fact that one of them was my Uncle. I was going to make sure that we did not lose contact with each other once I was back in the UK.

The following morning came round too quickly. Our flight was scheduled for around 7.00pm with a stopover in Quebec. I was hoping that we would be allowed off the aircraft for that hour, otherwise it would mean even more time confined to the small space.

Len had kindly offered to come to the airport with us, whereby he would take us off to a nearby hostelry once the bags had been checked in.

"You don't have to be inside the departure area until half hour before your flight," he advised.

This caused me to go into a little bit of an internal panic for two reasons:

The ticket said we had to be there an hour before hand.

His time keeping leaves a lot to be desired.

I reckon Steve was thinking the same at this stage, but neither of us said a word. We were prepared to play things by ear and see what happened.

"So what are you both going to do on the last morning then?" he asked.

I looked at Steve for inspiration.

"We could stay in this part of Mississauga?" I asked.

"How about doing the marina?"

We had only seen it from a distance at night, so that seemed like a really good idea.

"You will think you are looking out to sea you know," we were told.

"I don't think anyone really appreciates how big Lake Ontario is until they see it from the air."

With sagging hearts, we finished the packing and made our way out to the main street.

"I am really going to miss this place," Steve said as we crossed the main road.

"Yeah, I will too darl," I answered. Neither of us were really in a talking mood, as we mulled over our own private thoughts. I kept turning around to capture the beauty of the flowers and plants adorning all of the driveways. I was hoping that if I kept looking, it would be easier to impregnate on my brain, ready for recalling in the future as one of the many memories of this holiday.

The marina was packed solid with different vessels of different sizes. How anyone would get any out without having to shuffle the whole pack around was beyond me. The water lapped gently against each of the craft, causing them to move in gentle waves towards and away from each other. Just watching it made me feel quite sleepy.

Steve was intent on going around the marina head in order to see out across the expanse of water. I had really lost my sparkle by now, and this was compounded by the fact that I had bites everywhere on my legs from the knees downwards, including a nasty one on the sole of one foot. How the heck the mosquito had managed that feat I have no idea, but I hoped I had squashed the bastard in the process.

They were itching like crazy, and had grown to massive proportions. The one on the sole of the foot was particularly irritating, and each step bought a new feeling of misery. The bites at Algonquin had been bad, but these appeared worse for some reason. I had covered the area in the cream purchased a few days earlier, but alas there was no relief in the offering.

I conceded defeat and let Steve go ahead whilst I sat under a tree on the grass nearby. I could still see across the water, which did in fact resemble an ocean or sea. There was no sight of any land on the horizon. The scene was broken up by the rays of the sun spreading across the surface, with the odd boat in the distance to break the line of view. I made mental note to try and find out a little more about the lake once back in the UK. I had no idea what the dimensions were, or where it stood in the hierarchy of great lakes.

Whilst Steve soaked in the atmosphere, I entertained myself by counting the bites. I had over 30 from both legs, with each one swelling and reddening to an overall size of around 18mm. Wearing jeans would be torture, so the decision was taken to wear a short skirt for the flight home, whereby the area would not be irritated by any material rubbing against it.

Following a final meal of pizza we loaded the car up with the luggage and said our goodbye to Luigi and Cica. I can't speak for Steve, but I was feeling a little choked at this stage, this being hidden by a false smile as we hugged each other.

"You can come back any time you know," he offered with total sincerity.

"Don't say that," I joked. "Steve will be back this Christmas to see how it looks with snow."

The drive back to the rental area of the airport took around 20 minutes. As we handed over the car keys, reality hit in – we had now ended the holiday. It was almost a transitional moment. The bags were checked in just as quickly. We had around an hour and half to kill before we had to go through customers into the departures area. A quick phone call was made, and within minutes Len pulled up in front of the doors, ready to whisk us off to a nearby hostelry. He knew the area like the back of his hand, having worked at the airport for some time now. Obviously the lack of road signs doesn't bother him at all. Having said that, he is so laid back, I would hazard a guess they never bothered him to start with.

The pub had a slight resemblance to the country and western ones you sometimes see on some of the B rated movies. Even the hostess who took our order was dressed the part, including three layers of sky blue eye shadow, finished off with inch long sharpened eyelashes. One blink would blind a man for life. Luigi was not far behind in arriving, and we spent the last hour laughing and joking over a pint of ice-cold lager and a plate of nachos.

However, I still had one task I had to complete before we left them behind – I wanted a photograph of just the two of us: myself and my Uncle.

I have no idea what the patrons of the establishment thought when they saw us lining up outside for the statutory mug shot. I had a couple taken with both Len and Luigi by way of a final memory of the holiday. If you ever see the pictures, you will notice that they have relaxed smiles on their faces. Mine is drooping at the edges.

Then came the subject of when to leave.

Steve was the one who broached the subject by looking at his watch.

"We're going to have to go now guys," he said.

"We have to be there an hour before the flight."

Luckily, Len didn't wave this off, but instead offered to take us back right there and then.

At that stage, Len said something that had never occurred to me.

"You know that they might not let you fly once they see how bad your legs are."

"You are kidding me?"

"No. They do look quite bad you know. You'll probably be okay, but just bear that in mind."

Too right I would. I had every intention of whipping the whole skirt off in that case. If it meant staying a few more days on medical grounds, I would have done a pole dance in the middle of the floor if necessary.

However, I knew deep down that it was not going to happen.

I was aware that I had been a little quiet over the last two hours, and I hoped that they didn't think I was being moody or anything. I just really did not know what to say. I had so many emotions churning away inside me, none of them really making sense. I had only known these two guys for five days, and already they were best friends. I had only been in the country for 15 days, but already I felt at home. This was a totally alien feeling to me, and I didn't know how to deal with it.

Gatwick just was not going to have the same emotional attachment, but I knew I had to face it, before hitting the M11 once again.

We left Ontario an hour later, with my final image being that of the CN tower below us as we soared over it on our way towards Quebec. Everyone below us was hustling around doing what he or she did on a day-to-day basis. As for myself, I felt as though I was going through a time warp, but in slow motion.

What was Quebec like? I have no idea. When we landed, it was already dark. And no, we were not allowed off the aircraft. Our second visit to the State, and we were still none the wiser as to what it was like. The irony of this was not lost on me.

Once we took off, I closed the shutter over the window.

A curtain had finally been drawn over our holiday. Next time it was to be opened, it would be to welcome Gatwick in through the windows. Something I was not looking forward to. I took Steve's hand and settled in for the remainder of the flight, wondering how long it would be before I was to repeat the experience. Canada had captured a small piece of my heart in a way no other holiday had ever done before. The world is a big place, with many things to do and see, but I had made a silent vow – I had to go back to this wonderful country again, either for another visit or for a permanent stay.

