Category Archives: √√

I like it – might not be awesome – but it was a good value for what I paid. You won’t be sorry.

Gentrification in London – Surrey Quays in particular


We all know about Gentrification – when old neighborhoods become cool places to live – and people with money arrive and take over buildings, renovating them to make them acceptable living quarters – by their standards of course. I’ve read all about – but now that I’m staying ‘long term’ with my daughter – my perspective has changed.

Living in the area near Surrey Quays in London is about living in an area undergoing Gentrification while you watch. The old neighborhoods are still holding on – but just barely. There are betting storefronts, restaurants that have clearly seen better times, and a wonderful brick building with a huge plaque stating that this model low-cost housing was built in 1916 by the good will of William Richard Sutton. In 1984, he left 1,500,000 pounds – a fortune at that time – for the establishment of low-cost housing for the poor of London, one of which is located right where my daughter has just bought a brand new flat.

So one of the issues – do you tear these down to make more of the much more modern flats like my daughter lives in – or do you recognize the heritage value of these old fashioned – but extremely well-built buildings and leave them standing? They have survived two world wars – it seems wrong to trash them because they have no elevators, the flats are small, and the layout hardly the modern style that today’s kids require.

But then – I’ve read that in the 50’s average houses were under 1000 sq feet – today they are over 2000! (don’t believe – check it out here: http://stephencolley.com/trends-since-1950/)

So while the Sutton flats are hardly palaces – should they be replaced just because someone could make more money? Tis of course a question that I’m not going to answer. Interesting one though.

Back to the neighborhood – there’s a ‘high street’ – that’s a main shopping street – and parts of it are quite nice, a lovely fish and chips shop, a coffee shop, two DIY shops that never have what I need, and a local pub. But there is also an area of big box stores – a huge grocery store, a sporting goods store that runs on for several thousand square feet – and of course the requiste huge parking lots. I think it’s the parking lots that seem wrong somehow. Flat expanses of what was once grass – now paved and mostly empty.

Her area is also home to Canada Waters – an extremely upscale section of the city that is built over the tube stop. Now there they have elevators. And surprisingly – or I guess actually not surprisingly – we are hard by the Thames. My daughter took me into the Mayflower – an absolutely lovely pub with great beer – that is actually on the Thames! It overlooks the location of the wharf from where the Mayflower was launched.

Best of all – the Simplicity Cafe and Restaurant – http://www.simplicityrestaurants.com

We’ve eaten there twice – and it’s a wonderful example of a tiny destination restaurant in a crazy location. You aren’t going to wander in off the street – you either have read about it – or you don’t go. My daughter had walked by many times, and since they were open on Monday night – when many restaurants are closed – decided to take me there on my first night in London. It was perfect. Maybe 40 seats total – the chef behind the helm of the ship – and portions so large that even though we’d ordered one to share – we thought they had brought us two!

Again – Gentrification at work. This isn’t a restaurant for the working class – as Londoner’s would define that term. They serve fabulously fussy food – hardly what a guy looking for a quick dinner of peri-peri chicken or fish and chips would enjoy – but the increasing amount of Gentrification in the area means that there are more and more DINKS (Double Income No Kids) family – and they can definitely afford the splurge.

Speaking of kids – I’ve never seen so many fabulously fancy carriages in my life as I have since I arrived in London. Not just in the Surrey Quays area either – in fact I think I’ve seen fewer there. But at some of the markets – the in thing is to take your 2 kids in a huge stroller – one standing in back, the other sitting in front – or in one alternative – one sitting in front and the infant hidden from view tucked into the back basket – for a market stroll.

My daughter is conflicted about the Gentrification. On one hand – she loves areas that have already been gentrified, lots of nicer restaurants, cute shops, cobblestone streets and big sidwalks. On the other hand – gentrification means the loss of the lower cost options – no DIY shops, no inexpensive fast food options, no Thai Box take-aways with one chef and his wife as cashier. You win some and lose some with Gentrification.

My wonder – I wonder where the people who are displaced by people like my daughter go to live? Will they sell, take their money and run to the country? Will they move further away from the city – trading commuting time for living costs? Or will they move in with their friends – creating even more crowded conditions in tiny flats that are valued at far more than they can afford in taxes.

At the heart of my daughter’s area is the real prize – the huge park called “Southwark”. It’s huge – and her daily walking commute to the Arch of Crown & Queue (www.curedmeat.london) takes her (and me) straight thru it. I love that part of my “commute”. I get to enjoy a deep refreshing breathe of green grass and old trees between sidewalks and street crossings.

How do I feel about all this?

I’m glad my daughter lives in a place she loves, and I’m really really glad she has an elevator in her building. And I’m very pleased that they carefully bought a flat that has a guarenteed view. And her location couldn’t be better – there’s a smallish, but well stocked, grocery store about 50 feet from her front door, a tube stop a 10 minute walk away – and the park is under a 10 minute walk as well. I love walking her current ‘high street’ – I find the mix of classes fun to see.

But will this last?

The presence of the big box stores with their huge parking lots is an eyesore – and I’m sorry they are there. And the loss of the ‘working class’ will change the feeling of the area.

Signing off to take a walk in Sutton Courtenay. I hear the area near the Thames is awesome.

The Soup Lady

There are foxes living in London


And almost no stray cats. Think these might be related? I certainly do!

Every morning for the last 14 days, I’ve been walking from my daughter’s flat to the Arch where Crown & Queue is based – and almost every morning I’ve seen at least one fox.

And these aren’t the shy, hard to spot foxes that I’m used to seeing in Vermont. These very smart, very fast, very agile animals think they rule their spaces – and they show off their ownership of their domain by running directly across the road right in front of my eyes.

A quick google search reveals that I’m not alone in noticing the foxes – according to a British Research Group at the University of Bristol – the Mammal Research Unit – there are about 35,000 foxes that call London home. Also according to them – these foxes leave a brief but exciting life – their only enemies are cars of course – but cars and trucks definitely shorten their average life span.

But how did London become a city of foxes?

My guess is that as the city expanded – the outlying areas that had been fox habitat became part of the city – and the foxes adapted to their new neighbors – much the way raccoons have become part of the landscape in Canadian cities.

In any case – there are few stray cats – and lots of foxes.

I did find an article on the topic if you’d like to read more –
http://www.latimes.com/world/europe/la-fg-britain-london-foxes-20141121-story.html
but the point of this blog is just to say – early morning walks in London are perfect for fox spotting – just walk quietly – and keep your eyes open.

Signing off
The Soup Lady

There are Witches and Wizards in London


Yes – I’m sure of this. I’ve seen them. They look just like they are described in “Harry Potter”. They were seriously odd looking clothing, and seem to be on missions that don’t make a lot of sense to the rest of us.

Most of them seem to live around the Alexander Palace area – where my daughter Adrienne has one of her markets. One actually came over to taste our sausages. Her felt hat – a bright orange – was pulled down over her grey hair, and her dress was in odd layers – some higher and some parts longer – not in the cool way of hip dressers – but in a “I think this works” but in fact it doesn’t – kind of way.

And the tiny alleys like that of Diagon Alley are here as well. Easy for everyone to see – and not even as wide as a tiny car – they snake thru sections of the city as if the city planners just couldn’t figure out how to tell the owners that having a ‘road’ that a car can’t drive down is just not a great idea.

Staying in London for over two weeks – and spending every day walking for almost 2 hours – in addition to the 7 to 8 hours spend in the market stalls – give me a very unique perspective on the entire wizarding thing. You don’t spot them often in downtown, and they aren’t big on riding the buses or the tube – it’s just walking around that they will suddenly surprise you by appearing quickly – and just as quickly disappearing.

And they aren’t keen on saying hi when you greet them in the morning. For that matter – no one says hi when I smile and greet them. Is it my foreign accent? Is it that I noticed them walking early in the morning? I’m not sure – but it’s gotten to be a bit of a challenge to me. I greet everyone I pass while walking – in hopes of getting at least one smile in return.

Strange thought – maybe they think I’m the Witch?

Another curiously British observation: it is illegal to put a light switch INSIDE a bathroom. How anyone decided that was safer is beyond me, but my hosts assure me that it is the case. But imagine how awkward this turns out to be for the ignorant foreigner – like me. I’ve walked into countless bathrooms – shut the door – and been left standing in the dark. I have to open the door – and look around the outside wall to spot the light switch. And no one seems to have thought about how easy it would be to watch someone go into the toilet, wait a few seconds – then shut off the light! I’m sure Agatha Christie could make a murder mystery out of that.

Another perculiarly British thing – they seem to have confused up and down. And push and pull. Doors at home open out for easy exit during a fire. But outer door here open in. How dangerous is that? Imagine getting trapped in a burning building with some foreigner in front trying despartely to push open the pull front door.

As for up and down – To me – one flips a light ON by pushing the switch down. But not here – pushing UP is on – pushing DOWN is off.

And the Brits have gone soft metric. In Canada – we are hard metric – all measurements are metric – distance, height, etc. The only non-metric measures are weight – we still use pounds not kg for human weight – although all food sold by weight is general shown in both $/kg and $/pound measures. But in Britian things are very confused. They measure distance in miles, height in meters. So 10 miles away is a bridge with a height restriction of 5 meters. How odd. Volume is not metric – so gallons and pints. And weight is in stone they tell me – although my daughter’s bahroom scale is in kg. Food is uniformly sold by the 100g – so that’s easy enough – but I do find myself often questioning to distances from place to place. Apparently this is confusing even to the Brits – but I’m thinking any visitor would quickly be scratching their heads in bemusement.

Ok – just one more observation and I’m done for today. Doors in modern buildings have buttons you must find and push in order to open the door. And these buttons are not located near the doors. They are located 4 to 5 feet away – and while they are obvious once you find them – I’ve spent quite a bit of time searching for them when first faced with having to exit a driveway, a doorway – or a gate. On the other hand – at least in the flat my kids own – there is a web cam hooked up to the key pad at the front door. So if you buz their flat – they can see exactly who is standing at the pad – and who is behind them. The camera view is amazingly clear – and good for at least 20 feet out. No sneaking in on them.

Signing off to figure out if she’s gained or lost weight… (silly scale)

The Soup Lady

Exploring the byways of Sutton Courtenay


The village of barely 3500 souls that my daughter’s in-laws call home is a place with a very ancient history. Today we ate lunch at a pub that traces it’s history back to the 18th century – and it was built on a bridge over the river Thames that dates from the 1600’s!

According to Craig – this bridge was a source of much conflict – and at one point the Abbey in Sutton Courtenay errected a Toll Bridge. The villagers retailiated by diverting the river, and building another bridge. I’m thinking “Pillars of the Earth” meets “Harry Potter”.

Speaking of meeting Harry Potter – it turns out that Bellatrix Lestrange has a house in Sutton Courtenay. At least the actress that plays her in the movies does. Her (great?) grandfather was the First Earl of Oxford – and at one point he owned a good part of the village. She still owns – and occasionally stays in – one of the larger homes bordering right on the Thames.

There are other exciting sites to see in Sutton Courtenay – it’s not just about the Thames. There’s the Medieval Abbey, the WWII pill box – built as a defense position against the Germans, the Norman period church where we sang Christmas Carols, the homes built with lumber from ships that fought in the Spanish Armada and were defeated, the old prision in process of gentrification (they are building condos – surprise, surprise) – and there are 3 pubs. Those are seriously the hightlight of the village – I loved the look of the gastro-pub called “The Fish”, but when it came to lunch we left the village and headed to the next town for lunch at “The Nag’s Head”. I opted for fish and chips – when in England – do as the English do I say! I wanted to get a beer – but picking one from the over a dozen on tap proved daunting. The first one they drew – “Goldie” was too bitter for me – as were the next 5, including a cider. I finally tried the “Tiger” – which my hosts refered to as “not a beer” – but I was happy.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. After a quick – everyone grab what they want – breakfast, Craig, Charlotte, Adrienne and I opted to take the village walk. This was a wonderful public path that leads over bridges and past bits and pieces of the Thames in a loop. There were Swans and ducks in the ponds we strolled past – and a solid collection of different dogs.

We eventually wandered our way past the remains of an old mill, past a series of adorable shop fronts that are now private homes (Gentrification at work), and both the Norman Church and the Medieval Abbey. Neighbors greeted neighbors, some young girls rode by on horseback, and we saw several MG Sprites. All together it was a very British walk, in a very British village. Totally Charming.

On call for tonight is a cold dinner of left-overs (finally), a board game – and fireworks. Turns out that fireworks are only legal in Great Britian on Guy Fawes Day – and Christmas. Guess the 4th of July isn’t much of a holiday here – win some, lose some.
Signing off for now

The Soup Lady – reporting from Sutton Courtenay (If you can spell it – you can find it on a map!)

Getting Fit – Bit that is!


I have joined the FitBit generation

I did not buy the thing – I didn’t steal it either – so those of naughty minds – you may breathe.

I inherited the thing from my husband – source of all new and highly rated technology. He found the one he had purchased several months ago too small for his large wrist. Besides – the screen was too small for him to read the time – and he couldn’t use it as a watch.

So he took advantage of Black Friday sales (on Saturday – but never mind) to purchase a newer, larger – with more screen space – version. And I have inherited his older one.

Good thing its decided small on him – otherwise I’d be swimming in it – but it’s actually not a bad size. And since I had thrown away my last watch (well – donated it to the VON – but you know what I mean), I definitely wanted a watch that wasn’t complicated, didn’t need to be loosened all the time – and was black.

I like black watches – they never clash with what I’m wearing. They might not actually go with what I’m wearing – but I’m much more concerned with clashing.

Back to my FitBit – man – this is complicated. I had to go to FitBit.com – set-up a new user, bond my fit bit to my ID – which set back the data file – a good thing, who wants to be saddled forever with someone else’s work out data. I used the very convenient help option to figure out how to control my dashboard – and was even able to Sync the thing to my computer. I can’t sync the thing to my iphone – my OS is too old, and apparently my ipad is also over the hill – technically speaking. So computer it is.

First day results – over 10,000 steps thank you very much! They even gave me a badge.

Question – what’s with that? Am I so needy that my Fit Bit has to congratulate me for walking? How pitiful is that.

But apparently the FitBit folks are smarter than I am – I had a friend rave about how she loved getting badges – and actually took the thing off when she traveled because she couldn’t see her badges and lost interest. Ok – guess I might rethink the badge thing…

But as per the Fit Bit – I rock.

Will monitoring my sleep help me sleep better? Will I walk further knowing that someone (even if it’s just my own computer for goodness sakes) is monitoring my results? The jury is still out – 3 days is simply insufficient data to draw a conclusion.

I will admit that knowing I’m sleeping at 90% efficiency is re-assuring – I was worried I was up too often, too early – guess I’m ok there.

But meanwhile – wave at me when I walk by – when I get to doing 10,000 with regularity – the next goal is 20,000!

Signing off to walk… The Soup Lady

Black Friday and Cyber Monday – You have to be kidding me


Mutters on a Black Friday

I’m not much of a shopper – and I know there are some of you out there chuckling manically at this admission. I suppose in the world of complete honesty – I’d have to admit to not being a shopper at all. In fact – shopping to me is probably up there with banging toes against a dresser in the middle of the night for things to avoid at all costs.

So – Black Friday. What do I care?

I am completely bemused, amazed, and intrigued by the amount of advertising that is being done by retailers from large to small in the name of ‘Black Friday’. But that’s hardly new. What set my fingers to typing today is what I can only see as a new, and thoroughly hideous development.

There are retailers who have decided that Black Friday should start on Thursday. 3:00 PM to be exact. What does that mean for their staff? What in theory is supposed to be a day filled with turkey and giving thanks in family based gathering in all corners of the US is truncated by Dad or Mom or Sister or Brother saying – oops – got to go to work.

And worse – folks were actually fighting over the bargains – I know that because You-Tube posted a video of at least one fight – and my nephews were extremely thrilled to share it around. So folks got up from their dinning room tables, turned aside from their turkey dinners – to go fight for a TV. Really?

It wasn’t bad enough that Black Friday sales started at midnight on Thursday – there’s some logic in a contorted sense to that (Ok Kids, finish dinner, go to bed – Dad, Mom, Sister or Brother is headed to work or to shop) – but at least the day is yours. 3:00 PM defies logic and sense.

Worse – it leaves the retailers who stick to their guns and are holding off for FRIDAY a step behind the game.

I have to admit that I didn’t really notice that Best Buy was suffering when I was dragged unwilling in to check out a new Fit Bit for my husband. They seemed well stocked and well staffed – and it was Black Saturday. Maybe I just don’t know what the hot new – and unavailable thing actually happens to be this year. Color me out of the loop apparently.

Interestingly – The marketing brains for some retailers have decreed that their stores will not open on Thursday or Friday – giving their employees two days off. Nice – but so clearly a marketing stunt. How do I know – they are advertising the fact! Cue the cute pictures of a nuclear family enjoying Thanksgiving.

But before I end this rant – and honestly – this is what this is – a rant – I don’t think I’m going to get folks to rethink the wisdom of having a big sale to drag in customers to ensure that they come to you and not your competitors in this pre-pre-run up to Christmas, I do want to ask one question.

Do you know the reason we call the day after Thanksgiving – Black Friday?

Ah – historically – this was the day that retailers finally got into the Black!

Signing off to do anything but shop – The Soup Lady.

Dawn breaks early in the Old Guard Bivouac


Historically the Old Guard did not have tents at this point and place in time, but fortunately for me – M. le Docteur Jean Vivant de Clairmont, the organizers have bent the cardinal rule – ‘It must be correct for the period’ – enough to let us use tents.

And what is inside a tent is private – no peeking by tourists. Thus we can stow in the tents all our non-period correct items – from plastic bottles of water, to food stuffs, sacks of bread, and in the case of our unit of Old Guard – rotten carrots. I’m not sure what the point of the carrots actually was – but rotten they were, and throwing them away was really the only solution.

In our tents you will also find things like sleeping bags and foam air mattresses – but the hardier among us use bags filled with Straw (called Paillaise), sheepskin pads, and wooden furniture. Those tents are left open for tourists to check out – the simple rule – if the tent is open, you can look – if the tent is closed – no looking please!

After what can only be described as a seriously disappointing breakfast – they opened packages of waffle looking things (can you say sugar high), and there was some coffee looking stuff involved – but the lack of milk is a serious problem for me, as is the lack of a chair. I need to sit to eat – and sitting is not an option when there are 40 soliders, 12 chairs – and one Doctor. Despite this – I try to find a seat – and get the hairy eyeball. Hey – that’s my chair – you didn’t even ask to share.

Thanks. Next time I fly – I fly with a chair.

Ah – but creature comforts aren’t what this is about – so I stand tall – and join the army. They are not at all sure what to do with me. The only people I’ve marched with before is Gilles – the Major who does most of the leading of the troops, and Pierre – who as the Collonel is the senior officer, but serves mostly as overview. It’s Gilles who tells the troops to let me alone – and begrudingly they ceed space. But you can tell they aren’t too happy about a woman who is wearing an officier’s uniform (all medical staff are officers).

I’m extremely serious about drill – so I gather my water bottles, hidden in my doctor’s bag, and march just behind the 3rd division. That puts about 70 men in front of me, another 30 behind – as the Docteur, it’s pretty important I be protected – but again with the hairy eyeball. The nerve I have…

A quick word about my doctor’s bag – I don’t just have water inside, I have bandages – both real for emergencies, and ‘fake’ large clothes with blood stains for covering the real bandages. I also have stuff for other kinds of emergencies – medical, and not so medical. I’m a gal of many tricks – all hidden behind my lovely Doctor’s uniform!

I ignore the questioning looks – seen this before – and decide to march closely behind the men. At each repose – I make sure everyone has water. At first most of the men politely decline – but as the drill goes on and the sun comes out – I have more and more ‘Thank You’s’ to my questions – “L’Eau? Water?”

We practice forming and reforming the Square. This formation is specifically against calvary – and our captain clearly fears their effectiveness. We get it down to 8 seconds – from his call to form a square – to a clear square with room inside for the flag and flag bearers, the other officers – and of course the Doctor.

My view from inside the square isn’t great – the spaeurs on the corners are the shortest of the soliders – and they are huge! But that isn’t the point of a square – it’s all about protecting the flag and the eagle on the top.

We break for lunch (sliced sauage (Thanks Crown and Queue), cheese, and bread. After lunch I perform the other part of my job – translator for the re-enactors from the US who speak no french. One of our guys has purchased a musket that will not fire – and I’m going to go with him to the sutllers who have set up shop back near the battle field. Guess I’m doing that 5K walk again!

We manage to buy him a used musket, and head back to camp – just in time to march out for the Friday night battle. This time there’s no cheating by taking a bus or hitch-hiking – it’s march the 5 Km in full kit with backpacks or else. I’m carrying 2 liters of water – and I’ve hidden another 6 liters of water in the backpacks of the stronger soldiers. I’ll refill my ‘period’ bottle as I run low during the fighting.

We drop one man on the walk – he just stumbled – but the result was a bloodly knee that needed my quick attention. My job during the next 4 hours is to be sure the men have plenty of liquid, provide bandages and help with mis-firing muskets as needed, and stay out of danger. I’m the Doctor. At the end of the battle – I need to signal the medical core to come and get the injured worth saving off the field. But this is getting ahead of my story – first we might fight.

The French plan, as I understand it, is to simply run the Brits off the field. After all – we trounced the Prussians just 5 days ago – the Brits are far less experienced. And things go well at first – we form our squares pretty well – and the Allied Calvary fails to break thru.

At one point – to my horror – the allied calvary gets behind our lines – and is riding free – swinging their sabors. Along with Adrien, our adjutant – I defend the back of our men with my epee! It’s like theatening a dinosaur with a needle – the sabors of the calvary would make mince-meat of my attempt at defence – but at least the line realizes the issue, and does an about face. Now I’m in front of the line – and they are preparing to fire!

Do I fall? Do I flee?

Fortunately, the Major recognizes the issue – and calls – form Square! Whew – somewhere for me to run and hide!

Never been so glad to see a square in my life!

But the Scotish infantry have different plans. Instead of just pretending to shoot at the square – they mount bayonets and Charge!

The Square stays as strong as it can – but eventually the Scotish – despite their officer giving other commands – forces some of the elderly Sapeurs aside and attempts to grab our flag. My husband, as Guardian of the Flag, levels his musket and forces 3 Scots back. An actual fight breaks out – complete with bloody noses – until the offciers can get the Scots to back off. I continue to swing (ok – pretty harmlessly) my epee – and while it’s not very scary, the Scots do keep away from me. Is it the Epee? Or is it the Doctor’s Uniform?

The Scots retreat – the battle is over.

We form up, and march off the field. The plan is to continue the battle from this point tomorrow!

I ask permission from the officers to hitch rides for soliders that are too tired or too sore to march the 5 Km back to the camp.

Then it’s Frites and Beer and Bed!

Signing off – M. le Docteur Jean Vivant de Clairemont

Re-enacting isn’t easy, People!


1 Historic Battle (broken into 2 parts), 4 days in the Bivouac, 300 horses, 100 cannon and 5000-6000 participants are needed to entertain the 200,000 spectators that have paid good money to watch us march, form squares, repel horseman slashing at us with sabres – and scream “Vive l’Empereur” at every opportunity. Oh – and learn a bit of history in the process.

It’s huge fun – and really hard work!

Day 1 – we must find the Bivouac of the Old Guard. I do wish that was as easy done as said – but we are running late, and can not just drive into the space. Already in uniform – Victor tosses me out onto the road with bags full of wine, sausauge, and other Bivouac necessities. His directions – find our tent in the Old guard camp. This would be a lot easier if I wasn’t weighed down with bottles of wine – and if there was only one Old Guard camp. Turns out there are 2 – and of course I first find the wrong one.

Fortunately – Victor is extremely well known – and by extension – so am I. It doesn’t take long for someone to realize I’m completely lost – and direct me (smattering of English, some French – bit of Russian) to the right camp.

Now – I just need to find our tent. I ask – and get sent in the wrong direction. The camp has grown significantly since Victor set up the tent 2 days ago – and it now huge. There are probably over 100 tents in the space – and finding our tent is not trival.

Just not a good start.

The Old Guard Bivouac is on a relatively hilly piece of ground, making finding a level spot to pitch a tent an issue – the good news – Victor was here early enough to score one of the flattest spots! Yeah, Victor.

There are the mandatory row of Port-o-Potties – plus a wonderful surprise – boy’s and girl’s hot showers! There’s even a portable Pissoir – with a sign indicating – only for guys! (It’s a sign with both a woman and a man, but the woman has a red ‘X’ through her!) There is also a ‘canteen’ of sorts – the organizers have promised a meal a day – and this is where we’ll be picking up our cans of peas and carrots, Ravoli, and spaggetti. Grand dining – I think not! I’m really happy that we brought some sausages from Crown and Queue and on my mental list is fruit – should I spot a salesperson.

There is one lonely water faucet – for the entire encampment. To deal with this lack, the organizers have seriously stocked up on .5 litre plastic water bottles. Knowing that 100 men will go thru 10 to 12 liters of water – per drill and per battle – I immediately stock up. I hate the waste of little bottles – but if that’s all that’s on offer – I’ll deal.

The Bivouac is open to the public – which means tourists snapping picture after picture of us trying to eat, trying to relax, trying to build a fire, trying to cook. One unmounted calvary man is sharing our space – and he has his Cuirass and saddle on display. The entire world marvels at it – I’ll bet it’s going to be featured in at least 100 home movies!

Things aren’t all rough however, just a short 1 minute walk away are a frite truck that sells bratwurst – and a waffle wagon. That plus the omni-present beer tent – and it’s camping – re-enactment style!

Our plans for the evening get changed drastially when we find out that Cirque d’Soleil has planned a sound and light show called “Inferno“. The price per ticket is huge – but in our uniforms – we’re free. That’s a great price – so a group of us gather to figure out two major things – how to get TO the show, and how to get HOME!

None of this is trivial – the organizers have a bus service of sorts that goes to the battle field (we’re 5 Km away – keep that in mind), but it stops at 5:00 – and the show starts at 10:00 PM. Humm. My new best friend Sophie suggests we hitch hike- and we all agree – why not!

It’s surprisingly easy to catch a lift – or 4 as it turns out we need. Who wouldn’t stop to pick up a guy (or gal) in uniform. We’re not even armed.

Once there – we settle in for what turns out to be the fireworks show to end all fireworks shows!

The theme is of course the battle of Waterloo – and from the opening notes of ‘The Hanging Tree’ from the Hunger Games series – you know this isn’t going to be pro-war!

In addition to limitless fireworks – all coordinated to music, there’s the opening ‘Duchess of Richmond’s’ Ball – there’s a memorial act to the thousands of horses that died on this field in the form of gigantic horse puppets – lite from within, and there are real Calvary on real horses racing around the field. My favorite – the fire throwers.

Performers in skin tight outfits come out onto the walkway that seperates us from the field, and proceed to pour fire around and around them. Then they shovel up whatever they were pouring – throwing it up and over their heads. It explodes there into a huge fireballs – and pours fire onto their heads. They do that over and over again. It’s awesome!

Further from us, there are performers with fire head-dresses, and of course the huge lion mouth at the center of the stage shoots fireballs from the top – over and around the spectators.

I can’t help but think that in comparison the battle will be a sad sack event!

Fireworks finally over, we leave and walk 1 km to where they are allowing cars to travel. We again resolve to hitch our ways back to the Bivouc, and eventually we are all tucked into our tents.

Tomorrow is our first battle!

Signing off to get some much needed rest – The Soup Lady – aka M. le Docteur Jean Vivant de Clairemont

The Duchess of Richmond’s Ball


200 years ago – with troops massing all thru Europe, and Napoleon fighting for the life of France – the Duchess of Richmond decided to have a ball in Brussels.

According to our informed source – so many people wanted to attend the ball – it was held in a barn!

Fast forward 200 years – and with re-enactors massing all around Brussels – the ‘Duchess’ is holding her ball again – and of course we must attend.

Word has gone out that French uniforms will not be acceptable – and gentlemen and their ladies must dress properly. The Ball will include a lovely sit-down dinner, hosted by the ‘Duchess’ and her consort – and of course ‘Wellington’ and his officers will be in attendance.

We are booked into the ‘Salve’ BnB – with in easy walking distance of the Chateau where the Ball will be held. Our friend – the Saper – is joining us – we shall be attending the ball together.

We dress for the occasion – and I must admit – we look quite fine! My seamtress has done a wonderful job on my gown, and my escorts look dashing in their top hats, canes, and dancing shoes. We look so good that one of our hostess’s neighbors comes over to see what is happening and insists on taking pictures. Our hostess even provides us with a carriage ride for the short distance – and we make our proper entrance to the Ball. The company is fine and beautifully dressed. And the Chateau is magnificant.

Properly dressed waiters in period wigs serve everyone champagne and hors d’oeuvres – and we gossip and chat till Wellington arrives. He invites us to join him on the veranda for a fife and drum concert, performed splendidly by a troop from the loyal Colonies.

They march in, perform to the attention and applause of all, and then we mount the stairs for a splendid dinner.

Our dinner companions are Dance Masters from the Colonies, a wonderful couple from the Prussian Allies, the ‘Saper’, and a Spanish Couple who enterain us all with tales of the problems Spain is having with both Louie Boneparte and their herditary King. To their minds, neither is worth the uniform they wear!

After dinner, it is time for the ball proper to begin. While my dance card is hardly full – I do have the first few dances claimed – and I hope to find partners for them all.

We begin with a traditional Polonaise – which gives us all the opportunity to check out the other dancers, and to admire the gowns of the other ladies. There are some stunning gowns, and to be honest, I suffer a bit from gown envy. Where do they find such lovely materials to work with – I shall definitely have to have a word with my two seamstresses – The Regency version of keeping up with “The Jones’s ”

The dances roughly alternate between Long line dances and Quadrilles. I of course try to dance them all – but it is a challenge to hear the Dance Master over the hubub in the room. Several times – in several languages – he asks for people not interested in dancing to retire to the sitting areas – or to make use of the terrace, but I suspect that watching the dancing is simply too much fun!

Suddenly the dancing is interrupted by a young man in uniform accompanied by two Prussian officers in muddy traveling cloaks. They run into the room – calling for the attention of Wellington! He hands him a message – and Wellington reads the note to himself and then informs us that Napoleon has ‘humbug’d’ him – and is even now approaching the city! Women gasp white the officers in attendance grab their hats and swords and promptly follow Wellington out of the room.

The remaining dancers finish the dance, but clearly the mood is no longer one of gaiety and laughter – war has come too quickly upon us.

We make our way to the cloakroom – and head back to our lodging. Tomorrow we are off to the Bivouac.

Signing off to put on her uniform and prepare for battle – The Soup Lady.

Things I couldn’t say until I’d left Russia behind


I’m currently in Brussels – we left St. Pete’s behind us – an overall uneventful trip via Estonia. But now that’s I’m comfortably at a distance from Russia – here’s some parting observations I didn’t feel good about sharing earlier. Enjoy the read.

Russia – aka St. Petersburg – is exciting, interesting, spooky, uncomfortable, awkward, unfeeling, unsmiling, quiet, clean, oppresive, sad, and worth a visit.

Maybe this is a totally personal perspective, but both the Intrepid Traveller and I agreed that there is something – well – odd about being in Russia. Maybe it’s just us and our memories of the Cold War, of the injustices of Stalin’s regime – but maybe it’s more than just that. In any case – here are things that bothered and/or intrigued me about being in Russia.

Awkward 1 – There are a lot of police and military around. All the time. Everywhere. In cars, in armored vehicles, just walking the streets. Sometimes they sport machine guns, sometimes it’s just hand guns. But it’s a lot. A whole lot.

Awkward 2 – The insignia of the miliary guys are velcro’d to their uniforms. That means they can quickly ditch any indication of who exactly they are. I find that very uncomfortable. We tried to ask about it – but were politely told – none of our business.

Awkward 3 – We saw at least 2 groups of people stopped by the police and/or military and questioned. We were warned to carry photo-copies of our passports around, not the real thing – and to never give our passports to anyone in the police and/or military. We were told by fellow tourists we met outside of Russia that they had been hasseled while in Russia – As members of a visual minority – they were targeted and money demanded to make the issue go away. This is not a good thing if you want tourists to come to your country.

Awkward 4 – MacDonald’s in an airport doesn’t make me forget that buried deep inside are individual booths used to control both incoming and outgoing travelers. We’d seen the booths in a museum on the Cold War in Berlin. Imagine our shock to see that Russia is still using the same booths today. You line up at the border station, divided by passport type. Each booth has a door in, and a door out that closes and opens under the control of the guards. Travellers are requested to enter as individuals (Yes – even kids go in alone). There is a mirror over your head so that the unsmiling border guard can see behind you as well as in front of you. The desk of the guard is high, and protected so that at least I could not see what they were doing while they had my passport. There is plate glass between us – stretching all the way up to the ceiling. When they finish doing whatever they are doing – the door in front opens automatically. There is no – have a nice trip, welcome to Russia – nothing at all is said. Just hard eyes, unsmiling faces, and papers. Yes – it’s spooky, macabre, uncomfortable, spine tingling, and not the way to encourage visitors. I almost turned around to get back on the plane right then.

Awkward 5 – Kids – even little kids – don’t smile. I am 67 years old, 5’4″ high, and a grannie. I smile at kids. In every country I’ve ever visited before Russia – the kids eventually smiled back. Not here. Not once. In other countries – parents have encouraged their kids to speak to me – to practice their English – to wave. Not here. Not once.

Awkward 6 – The metro and buses are silent. People don’t chat, they don’t greet friends, they don’t smile. The corners of their mouths tend to go down – not up. This was really obvious when we rode the metro in Brussels – we immediately were innodated with the sounds of people using the time on the metro to share news, greet each other – whatever. This just didn’t happen in Russia. Even in restuarants and museums things were hushed. I laughed loudly at a funny video segment – and not only shocked the locals – I embarrased the Interpid Traveler. There’s a constraint, a – don’t look at me – I’m not really here – feeling that even as tourists, we were well aware of.

Awkward 7 – We were warned by our host to not drink the water from the tap. That’s not unusual – I’ve been in tons of places where tap water is not entirely safe for our delicate stomachs – but this was awkward in Russia because we would buy water only to see it being used by other people. I don’t mind sharing – but water is heavy! And the supermarket was a distance from the hostel – far enough that for us – carrying the water was an issue. If you are going to use someone else’s water – at least buy some yourself to share too! I had to ask our host to supply us with some water – which he did. But I had to ask. You can understand that this is awkward.

Awkward 8 – Constant security just doesn’t feel safe. There were ‘administors’ whose job it was to sit up all night at the reception desk – keeping us safe. Since we had only a shared bathroom – that meant getting up in the middle of the night and walking past the guard to get to the toilet. He would smile and wave – but while it did feel safer knowing that there was someone between me and whatever – the smile and wave with me in my PJ’s was odd. But that’s not the only example. To get into our hostel – we had to enter one code at the gate, then ring another code at the door to the building. They would have to pick up the phone – then buzz us in. Once in the hall way – they would open the door to the hostel, visually checking to be sure we were who they were expecting. At the MIR hostel – the final inspection was via video – at the two smaller hostels – the administrator had to get up and physically open the door for us. I don’t know about you – but it felt weird to me.

Awkward 9 – There are no thrift stores and no flea markets. So what do Russians do with their old stuff? I’m guessing that the no flea markets has to do with people being able to sell stuff on their own – and unsuperised by the government – free enterprise is bad afterall – but no thrift stores. Really? Maybe they just don’t want me to know about them?

Awkward 10 – we were told by the Hostel folks, and it’s implied on the Canadian Consulate website that bringing things to the attention to the Russian Police is not a good idea. Why is this awkward – my wallet was stolen, and the credit card folks – to cover their bums – want to know if I have a police report – and I don’t. Apparently – a phone call telling them to block the cards wasn’t quite good enough. Go figure.

Pro Russia 1 – It’s clean. Really clean. Yes we did see a bum pee into a bush once, but in general, the streets were spotless. One morning we were even up early enough to see them vaccuming the streets. It was a huge vaccum cleaner – it towered over the head of the operator, and it was on wheels. He moved around the cobblestone square – cleaning as he went.

Pro Russia 2 – There’s no dog poop. Anywhere. Ever. Dog’s yes – plenty of them, including a completely charming pair of pugs – but no dog poop. I have no idea where they put it. And despite the huge number of horse drawn carriages – no horse poop either.

Pro Russia 3 – Still on the clean issue – the public garbage cans were always mostly empty. Here in Brussels we’ve seen them overflowing – that was never ever the case in Russia – even in our courtyard the public bins were emptied at least twice a week – and maybe even more often.

Pro Russia 4 – there is a massive coffee cult! Roadside Expresso stands were the norm – my personal issue with them – they only opened in the afternoon – and I won’t drink coffee after lunch – too much caffine for my system. But they sure looked good.

Pro Russia 5 – The food truck is in. They had bakery food trucks, they had cheese food trucks, they had sauage food trucks and food stands. There was at least once food stand a block, and in more popular (aka touristy ) areas – there might be 3 or 4 of them. Surprising to me – given the temperature – the two products most on offer – outside of sausages – were corn on the cob and ice cream. Eventually I had to try an ice cream. It was ok – but Italy needn’t worry.

Pro Russia 6 – Outdoor cafes have blankets! Isn’t that the smartest thing ever. In addition to heaters (less common) – there are blankets available – perfect for enjoying outdoor seating – and staying warm.

Neutral Russia 1 – There were no homeless people to be seen. Now given the weather in winter in St. Petersburg – that might be related – but we were in St. Petersburg during the White Nights, and the weather was outstanding every single day. Surely there must be some homeless folks somewhere. But they sure weren’t visible – something that can not be said about Brussels – or Montreal for that matter.

Neutral Russia 2 – Begging takes a different form. Several times we’d get off the beaten trail enough to see rows of elder women selling tiny bunches of flowers or herbs that they had clearly picked up. It’s not really begging per se – they just were sitting rather lifeless on the curb – in a solid row of about 20 of them. But it was clear that this was how they could earn a few ruples. The Intrepid Traveler says she read that the widows of Veterans were often forced to earn a living this way, since the pensions for soliders were non-existant – but I don’t know for sure. I would have loved to take a photo – but there was something forbidding about them. So – no pictures please.

Neutral Russia 3 – The lines. Ok – it’s a cultural thing – I get it. But I wanted to scream at them – don’t they look at books on queueing theory? It’s nuts. So inefficient, so time wasting, so everywhere!

Neutral Russia 4 – There is a museum guard per room in the museums – and the larger museums using time tracking systems to control who is where when. The guards either walk around or sit – but they are omni-present. And often there are multiple guards – like in front of the Diamond Room. There we counted 4 control points – a ‘guard’ who sat at a guard station, and 3 ladies that were responsible for taking tickets, telling you to sit and wait for your tour to start – and carefully explaining to tourist after tourist that you couldn’t buy tickets there but had to exit the museum in order to get a ticket – and you would have to buy an additional admission ticket to get back in.

Neutral Russia 5 – There are prices for Russians, and prices for non-Russians. It’s not always obvious – but with only a few exceptions, we could tell that prices went up when it became clear we were hardly locals. The few exceptions were extremely welcome however – these were some of our favorite meals and favorite events.

End of the day – Leaving Russia was a relief. Like taking off a heavy back-pack you forgot you were carrying. There was always a feeling that someone was watching, that you were being observed, overheard, criticized, evalutated, measured. It wasn’t always obvious, and we are hardly visible minorities in Russia – but it was still there. I wouldn’t want to be a visible minority in Russia. I felt awkward enough being the loud, boiterous, always smiling person that I am.

I’ve had people read this blog and suggest that I didn’t enjoy my trip to St. Petersburg, or that I wouldn’t go back. And that’s not true. I did enjoy my trip – and I would highly recommend visiting St. Petersburg. The Russians I’ve met re-enacting have all been wonderful fun people – a pleasure to be with. So why are the Russians in St. Petersburg so different. I really can’t answer that question. There were amazingly positive interactions – people helped us with our luggage without question, they got up so we could sit down all the time, and in private they were more than willing to share their stories. It was in public that one could sense the restraint and concern.

Signing off to rest easier – The Soup Lady and her sidekick – the Intrepid Traveler.