Category: Trips

Fête

Dan DickinsonLeave a comment

PROLOGUE

So, my 40th birthday was last week. I’m not one to particularly care about birthdays, even milestone birthdays, but I was excited about this one. Nellie had something planned to celebrate my birthday, and I had no idea what it was. It was a complete secret. Well, almost complete — the night before we left, from my desk as I tried desperately to wrap up work before taking two days off, I saw her waving around a Porter boarding pass. That narrowed the field somewhat.

I’m writing this five days after the birthday festivities ended, in part because work insanity resumed immediately, and in part because it’s taken me that long to recover. Here’s what happened:

THURSDAY

We got to the island airport, excited to use the new tunnel. Sadly the tunnel wouldn’t open until that afternoon, so the ferry it was. While waiting in line for the ferry I was surprised to see Kaylea & Matt appear. For a second it seemed like a coincidence, and I thought, “Where are they going?”. Then it clicked — they were coming to wherever my birthday weekend was happening! Traveling companions! Amazing!

Once we checked in and got through security Nellie revealed where we were going: a tour of Quebec breweries, starting in Quebec City and ending in Montreal. Badass! We boarded a little late and took off for Quebec City.

After a wait for our bags and a slight snafu with the rental car (which worked in our favour — we were given a much bigger car for the same rate) we piled in and drove downtown, listening to an awful 80s/90s mix on french radio.

Nellie and I haven’t been to Quebec City since our honeymoon, but Matt & Kaylea knew their way around, so we dropped them at their hotel, checked in ourselves, and walked back to meet them near the Chateau Frontenac. We saw Matt walk around a corner just ahead of us, and when we caught up…boom, there were Jeff & Steph! (Talking to a cop for some reason.) Jeff gave me a full-on bear hug and we all went to find some lunch.

Kaylea knew this place called L’Inox where they make their own beer, so that’s where the adventure started. We sat on the sweltering patio and drank tasty beers and tried to get a little food down our necks before our limo (more on that later) arrived. As we sat there, another surprise: CBJ+M arrived. What the? Deceit! Skullduggery! What great friends. I have great friends.

It started to pour, so we ducked inside, finished up, and then got into the stretch limo Nellie had rented. We were headed north to Baie-Saint-Paul to visit Microbrasserie Charlevoix, but first we had a stop to make. On the way out of town our driver Felix (who was 12) stopped at an SAQ, dropped Nellie and Kaylea, and executed an 8-point turn in tighter quarters than I could even imagine a limo being able to fit. Bubbles aboard, we took off north.

We drank Veuve Clicquot, passing Montmorency Falls and Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré, eventually arriving in Baie-Saint-Paul and the Charlevoix bottle shop. The cashier confirmed that we were the first limo ever to pull into their parking lot. There’s no tasting room, but we loaded up bottles, including a bunch of Vache Folle milk stout. Jeff insisted on buying an expired bottle of rye pale ale from a display out front.

To sample their beers we drove into town to Le Saint Pub for dinner. Or late lunch. Or something. I didn’t eat enough, but did drink another 9% milk stout. We left there, and admired the pretty little town while Felix fetched the limo.

Felix drove us down to the St. Lawrence, where the Rivière du Gouffre empties into the bay which gives the town its name, and we took in the view before jumping back into the limo home.

Back to Quebec City we drove, drinking Charlevoix beer as we went (the expired ryePA? Delicious.) and checked into our respective hotels. Frankly, the rest of the evening is a blur for me. I’d had too much to drink, and not nearly enough to eat. I remember meeting everyone in the bar at the Hotel Clarendon. I remember grabbing cabs to get to Le Projet, which seemed like a really cool place for the few seconds I was there. And I remember the day getting completely away from me, if you know what I mean, and needing to go home immediately. Nellie and I managed to get ourselves into an Uber and I conked out. Way to ruin your birthday, Dan.

FRIDAY

The next morning was a rough one, but I got some coffee and a bagel in me, and we got on the road. It was raining when we left QC, but the clouds soon broke and the sun appeared and we drove through the beautiful Quebec countryside. Nellie needed some fluids and I needed some grease, so we stopped in a little town called Donnacona and she got a vitamin water and I got McDonald’s drive-through fries. Those fries saved my life, yo.

Not long after we pulled off the highway at Fromagerie des Grondines for some cheese, then got back on the highway and continued on to Shawinigan. The plan was to visit Trou du Diable, another brewing favourite. Again, no tasting room per se, but WHAT a cool shop: an almost overwhelming selection of bottles available, and great swag. Nearly everyone bought a tshirt or a hat — I’m wearing mine as I type this. We could have stayed there all day if we didn’t have places to be. I still had no firm idea of where those places were, mind you; I was just along for the ride.

Oh yeah, and I got another surprise when we pulled into the TdD parking lot: brother #2 and his wife, who flew in from Nova Scotia the night before. Incroyable! I didn’t see that one coming. I got a little choked up. Had to wait a second before getting out of the car.

So now we were ten, and loaded up on beer, and — after a grocery stop in Trois-Rivières — on our way to a town called Sorel-Tracy on the Richelieu River. We arrived around 4, at a house called Le Maison Relaxio, and I promise that I am NOT making that up. Once we walked through we understood the name. It’s a beautiful, modern five-bedroom house with a big indoor pool, a games area, outdoor patios with decks and grills and stoves, a sauna, a hot tub, an enormous kitchen, a home theatre in the basement…it felt like we were in Beverly Hills. And it was ours for the night.

We snacked on an enormous charcuterie board and cracked craft beers and blasted hip-hop. We went for swims, and swung in hammocks, and battled at air hockey. We sat on docks, played pool, sipped wine. Matt and Jeff did every activity station in the place, like they were at camp. Before long Matt and his line chefs began preparing dinner: burgers made of beef and pork, stuffed with confit goose, and topped with local cheddar. Also: potato salad and grilled corn, and (obviously) wine and beer.

There was much more swimming after dinner. Nellie made friends with a plastic dolphin. Kaylea and I drank expired milk stout straight from bottles. Jeff swam around with the pink umbrella. Steph crashed early as she is wont to do. No one wanted to leave or let the day end, but eventually we all crashed. We needed three more days here at least.

SATURDAY

Today it was back to Montreal, so everyone fueled up on a giant pork-ridden breakfast. I drove in a leftover burger for good measure and THAT GOOSE my god almighty god. Anyway, it was a short drive, but no one really had the wherewithal to tackle either Unibroue or a long drive to Brasserie Dunham. We just wanted to get to Montreal. We dropped CBJ+M at their hotel, and drove a few more blocks to our own: the Hotel Place d’Armes.

Unfortunately our room wasn’t ready yet, so we left our bags and went out in search of coffee. I found an espresso at Café Différance, and we found fresh local beer at Les Souers Grises, a brewpub on the site of an old nunnery.

We walked back toward our hotel along the Promenade du Vieux-Port, stopping for some tacos (me: chorizo; she: lobster) at Taco Box.

We walked in the hot sun to our hotel, where our room…still wasn’t ready. So off we went to the hotel bar to cool down with wine and gin, until suddenly…CBGB showed up! Nellie told me the surprises were over! Tricksy! False! We had a drink with them, but only one, as we all needed to clean up and now our room was ready. And what a room it was: a two level loft suite. Nellie had gone all-out, no doubt. We put on some tunes, showered, changed, and were ready for a drink when Andrew & Denise popped over.

We walked up the flight of outdoor stairs to the rooftop patio. Well, the lower one; the upper one was full and featured no shade, which is no place for two Dickinson men. We took over the corner couch, ordered a bottle of Möet et Chandon, and enjoyed the views.

We needed a drink locale to rally prior to dinner in the plateau, so we picked Gorge Rouge, a fairly hipster hangout a block from our restaurant. My French isn’t quite up to the task of a complex drinks list, but we muddled through, and got another surprise when two more friends showed up: MLK! In fact, they’d driven to Montreal just for this dinner. What a pair of beauties.

When it was nearly time for our dinner we walked the block to La Salle À Manger, and filled a table for 14. No, wait, make that 16: JP+Sue had just arrived. NOW, Nellie promised, there were no more surprises. This was it: the finale, the apex, the ne plus ultra. So we tucked in to dinner. And oh my. Dinner.

There were oysters. There was house-made charcuterie. There was seared tuna. There was some sort of enormous concoction of shrimp and salad and tomatoes and onion rings piled on a single huge loaf of bread. There was boudin noir. There were probably things I’ve forgotten now one week on. And finally, there was an entire suckling pig, including the head (which I held up Lord Of The Flies style, and which JP ate). Through it all there was a never-ending supply of goddamn outstanding wine, hand-picked by Kaylea. The Loire cab franc she ordered nearly stopped my heart. She gets me.

We bought a shot for the kitchen staff — they came out of the kitchen to thank us — and then we killed the lemon dessert which signaled the end. What a meal. What an event.

The adventure ended here for a few people: MLK, CBJ+M, and Andrew & Denise who had to leave early the next morning. For our part, we didn’t have much left in us either. We hailed an UberX and sped home.

One friend who knows me well (too well?) whispered an instruction to me that night: to look around the table and never again doubt that people love me. My insecure brain will never fully believe it, but there they all were. Those words glowed in my head as I drifted off to sleep.

SUNDAY

Sunday we slept in, because of course we did. We ordered a big greasy room-service breakfast and headed back up to the Plateau, because it was time for church: a visit to the Dieu du Ciel brewpub. I had somehow, criminally, never been to this place, the home of Canada’s best brewery and maker of my favourite beer, Péché Mortel. The intrepid ten left over from dinner the night before were all here, and we enjoyed a tour with one of the brewmasters  (who actually sat with us for hours and talked beer…such a great guy) followed by a tasting flight. Then we basically just killed the rest of the board. I’d started feeling ill while in the brewing room (humid, no air moving, not enough food in my stomach, etc.) and had a bit of a slow start, but the chai beer seemed to save me. I sampled three or four more, and was starting to rally.

CBGB departed for their train, and three of the remaining little piggies went to market (Marché Jean-Talon, that is) to fetch dinner for the evening. The rest of us went around the corner to Dépanneur As to buy some beer. There was so much Quebec beer there I’d never heard of that I didn’t know where to start. Jeff, JP, and I each loaded up a box, waited forever for a cab, suffered through said cabbie’s ridiculous roundabout route, and arrived at Matt & Kaylea’s Airbnb rental.

Their place had a beautiful (and dinosaur-ridden) back patio, so we drank cold beer and wine, and put Ben Harper and Nina Simone and NoFX and Bob Marley records on the turntable (!), and ate another Matt-feast: shrimp, oysters, duck bacon & goat cheese, scallops & chanterelle mushrooms, seared yellowfin tuna, a maelstrom of king crab, and (since we were in Quebec) a tarte au sucre. That was it. I could eat no more. We hugged it out and caught our last Uber of the trip.

MONDAY

The fairy tale was over. Time to go home. We collected our steed, dropped our beer off in the trunk of JP’s car, drove to the airport in the most clusterfuck-y manner possible, and checked in to our flight. Not that we were in a time crunch, but it’s still nice to sail through that Nexus line at security.

Our flight home barely even seemed like a thing, it was like a thought. We arrived back in Toronto barely 100 hours after we’d left, but it felt like we’d been gone for weeks. We walked through the island airport tunnel for the first time, and a few minutes later were home, suddenly feeling very lonely.

EPILOGUE

Of course, I needed that alone time. Not that I’d have traded it for anything, but the constant social interaction and being the ostensible reason for the festivities was just as exhausting for me as the rich food, heavy drink, and lack of sleep. Much like our other epic adventures with friends, I needed a vacation after our vacation.

But like all great adventures, they turn more brilliant as a day or two passes. Only today, after an especially intense week at work, do I really feel like I’m able to see the arc of the thing. During the weekend itself I was so busy being shuttled around, and then so overwhelmed by everyone’s arrival and attention, that I was barely reacting or getting excited. It took almost a week for the emotions to hit me. Gratitude. Appreciation. Joy, outright joy.

I can’t, and certainly didn’t, thank anyone enough for coming all the way from Toronto and Barrie and Ottawa and Nova Scotia. I’m bad at things like that, but I think they know that about me by now. I think they also know I love them whether I say it or not.

I also didn’t (and almost never do) thank my wife enough. The sheer logistics of what went into this trip was incredible, let alone the care and thoughtfulness. I might have guessed the destination, but never could have expected the company. I could never have anticipated the memories I now have.

I am so lucky. And what else could a man want on any day of his life?

Cover photo by James Marvin Phelps, used under Creative Commons license

Where it lands…

Dan DickinsonLeave a comment

Right now I am packing for a trip. I do not know where I am going. Nellie has long been planning something for my birthday, and has managed not to accidentally tell me where we’re going or what we’re doing. I’ve just been told what I need to bring, half of which may be misdirection.

So, this time tomorrow I’ll be…somewhere. Doing…something.

See you Monday?

.:.

Cover photo by James Marvin Phelps, used under Creative Commons license

Istanbul

Dan DickinsonLeave a comment

For the second time in as many weeks I was invited to speak at a conference in Europe, so I braced my body clock for another impact and got on a flight. A Turkish Airlines flight, to be exact, since I was headed to Istanbul. I managed to sleep for a few hours at least this time. I landed nearly 11 hours later, and we (two other guys were travelling with me) caught an Uber to the conference hotel: the Hilton Bomonti.

Pretty badass, no? The hotel was a Y-shape, so people in fancier rooms than mine had a view of the Bosphorus Strait, but still…can’t complain about that sight.

I ordered a little room service (Turkey makes pretty good Carignan…who knew?) before heading downstairs to meet some others for a quick cruise on the Bosphorus. We stayed close to the Europe side of the city (the other side of the Bosphorus is Asia) and saw some beautiful buildings like Çırağan Palace…

Ortaköy Mosque…

Rumelihisari Castle…

and Sait Halim Pasa, where we disembarked to join the main conference reception.

We ended the night back at the hotel’s rooftop bar, drinking a glass of surprisingly-affordable Johnny Walker Blue. Or, as we dubbed it: Istanblue.

The next day was wall-to-wall conference stuff, then a dinner. A few of us decided to visit Asia, so we jumped in another Uber, drove across the strait, and checked out Kadife Sk. It’s one long street full of bars and clubs. We sat on a patio, drank some Efes Dark, and discovered there’s already something called Istanblue.

It was late by this point, and we were hungry, so we went to a busy place at the top of the street called Reks Kokoreç. They were grilling meat outside that smelled really good, so we each bought a sandwich that the locals also seemed to be putting away with abandon. It was so good that four of us decided to get a second one while we waited for our Uber to take us back to the hotel. Only when we got home did we realize what kokoreç is: “a dish of the Balkans and Anatolia consisting mainly of lamb or goat intestines, often wrapping seasoned offal, including sweetbreads, hearts, lungs, or kidneys.”

Whatever. It was delicious.

The next morning I attended a few hours of the conference but had to leave early to catch my flight. Then, according to an email from TripIt, my flight was delayed by 3 hours, so I relaxed and stuck around…and then suddenly my flight wasn’t delayed after all. I ran around like an idiot, getting checked out and into a taxi.

It’s too bad I was in and out of Istanbul in barely 48 hours. I didn’t get to see Taksim Square, or Topkapi Palace, or the Hagia Sophia, or the Basilica Cistern, or the Blue Mosque, or the Grand Bazaar. I didn’t really see Istanbul. But I wasn’t there to sightsee, I was there to work. I’ll get back there someday, with Nellie in tow.

As it turns out, my flight was delayed after all, so instead of spending three hours at the conference, or even seeing some of the afore-mentioned sights, I sat in an airport lounge. Thank goodness for Priority Pass.

My flight back was an 11-hour non-stop, and would have been intolerable but for noise-cancelling headphones — there were a LOT of screaming kids in my section. But I watched Unbroken (meh) and Monuments Men (big meh) and Enough Said (pretty good) and re-watched No Country For Old Men and part of Godfather II. Soon enough we were taxiing into Pearson, and I blasted past the idiots on my flight and through customs and into a cab, and was home by 10pm. It was a long day.

I went to work the next day, which turned out to be even longer: I got to work at 9am and left at 11pm. Not surprisingly I’ve spent a good deal of this weekend sleeping and relaxing.

Sorry I had to eat and run, Istanbul. I’ll be back some day.

Cover photo by Allan, used under Creative Commons license

In which I use a brief interlude between flights to contemplate subtle changes in how we use our spare time

Dan DickinsonLeave a comment

Spring is usually a pretty predictable time for us. The sun comes out and so do we: we drive down to Niagara once or twice, we buy a Hot Docs festival pass and invade the patio at the Victory, we clean off our balcony, etc. But this spring? There’s been nothing predictable about this spring.

We were supposed to go to Miami, but we bailed on that when last week’s trip to Berlin and next week’s trip to Turkey came up. We had to abandon an almost-planned trip to Halifax this weekend for the Nova Scotia craft beer festival. We didn’t even buy a Hot Docs pass, marking the first time in…I don’t know, maybe a dozen years that we haven’t seen at least one documentary. We haven’t been to Niagara at all. Our balcony still looks winterized (though, in truth, winter practically just ended) as we haven’t had time to set it up, even on weekends.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I like being busy, and I’ve been lucky that travel and change has found its way into our lives these days, but I do rather miss a few of these things.

Perhaps I should go sit on the balcony now rather than write a blog post.

[UPDATE: shortly after this we walked to Bier Markt, drank some wheat beer, then ate some gelato and sat in St. James Park. So that’s more like it.]

.:.

Cover photo by Allan, used under Creative Commons license

90 hours in Berlin

Dan DickinsonLeave a comment

OK, I’m very tired and very behind on a number of other things, so this Berlin trip summary is going to be a brief one.

TUESDAY

We left home at decent time, but an accident on the Gardiner screwed us over. Everything slowed to crawl, and taking this one back road for half mile took half an hour. We finally got to airport at 5:25 and ran up to check in at 5:30. They told us flight had closed at 5:20. Nellie nearly burst into tears.

The agent called and got them to re-open it, but told us we’d have to run. So run we did. We ran all the way to the end of Terminal 1, then through security, then almost all the way down the giant walkway. I thought we might actually make it, when I suddenly realized I was missing my boarding pass. I sent Nellie on to the gate and ran all the way back to security, saw my pass sitting there (thank goodness!), and then ran all the way back to the gates. I’d probably covered about 2km in all by this point. I ran up to the gate, exhausted and sweaty, and found out…that it was delayed. So we/I just ran everywhere like chumps for nothing.

To cool/calm down we went to a nearby bar for a drink. It took a while for Nellie’s sparkling and my Keg-sized Sauvignon Blanc to arrive, and when it did I all but chugged mine. We soon boarded, but there was another delay while we waited for the second pilot to arrive. However, waiting in a business class seat with a Globe and Mail and a couple of drinks was a pretty decent way to do it. Eventually we got underway. I listened to a Joel Plaskett podcast about his favourite places to eat in Halifax, then watched two movies: Top Five and Rosewater. After that I knew I had to try to get some sleep.

Even with the lie flat bed I had a hard time getting more than an hour of sleep. In retrospect I should have used the mask and earplugs provided, because the couple next to me searching for her glasses with a flashlight for half an hour were hard to ignore.

WEDNESDAY

The sun woke me up as we flew over the UK, and I re-watched Mockingjay Part I while eating breakfast. I watched green, rolling hills get closer and closer. Switzerland looked lovely already. We landed in Zurich where we knew we’d already missed our connecting flight to Berlin. A gate agent let us know that they’d just rebooked us on a noon-ish flight, which was no problem as we just hung out in the SWISS lounge. Our flight to Berlin only took an hour and we both drifted in and out of fitful naps the entire time.

We checked into Ritz-Carlton, where my conference was being held. Since it was right on Postdamer Platz we took the easy route and went to the huge tourist trap Sony Centre next door for a beer at Lindenbrau. There we bumped into some colleagues, drank weissbeer and dunkel, and ate white Bavarian sausages and pretzels. Germany!

That night a small group (the conference speakers, actually) gathered at FACIL, a nearby two-Michelin-starred restaurant. The space was stunning, and the food was pretty stellar as well:

  • 2011 Scharzhofberg, Riesling Sekt Brut (Bischofliche Weinguter, Saar)
  • Langoustino w/ lettuce and kalamata olives
  • Eggplant “rosa bianca” w/ ras-el-hanout, harissa, and goat yoghurt
  • Char w/ leek and cidre
    • Previous three courses served with 2010 Grassnitzberg Sauvignon Blanc (Weingut Tement, Southern Styria)
  • Shoulder of poulting lamb w/ purple carrots and green cardamom
    • 2008 Corbieres “Cuvee Etoile” (Pradines D’Amont, Roussillon)
  • Dessert of dulcey-chocolate w/ kumquat and mandarine

And so ended our first (I think?) Michelin-starred-restaurant experience.

THURSDAY

On Thursday I attended the conference while Nellie went on a tour around Berlin, first on a bus, then on a boat.

That night the conference attendees put on their finery and went to a dinner at an interesting venue: Tempelhof Airport. Tempelhof has an interesting history: it’s named after early colonization of the area by the Knights Templar in the 13th century. The airport was (nearly) built by the Nazis, and it housed the only concentration camp in Berlin. The Russians occupied it when they took Berlin, then handed it over to the Americans, who used it a few years later for the Berlin Airlift. Commercial air traffic peaked in 1971 but diminished over time as jets grew in prominence. It officially closed down in 2008, and is now a multipurpose and event space. On this evening, the event was dinner in the main hall, with a 1940s flight attendant decor & band. Yup.

Unfortunately I accidentally deleted the pictures of this trip from my phone, and my phone was the only one with us (since it was black tie and Nellie had no pockets), so you’ll have to trust me on this one.

FRIDAY

On Friday we wrapped up the conference, including my bit. Nellie slept in.

We left the Ritz and took a cab to our second hotel, which was called The Dude. That’s right: The Dude. We expected to see a giant likeness of Jeff Bridges when we walked in, but alas. It’s a small, boutique-y kind of place with real character, away from the main tourist zones but still within a decent walk of everything we wanted to see.

We spent the last dwindling hours of Friday exploring the main Berlin sights: walking across the Spree to the Nikolaikircheplatz, past the Berliner Fernsehturm, then back across the Spree and past the Berliner Dom and Lustgarten. We walked along Unter den Linden to the Brandenburg Gate, then up to the Reichstag. We didn’t bother going inside because of how long the line was. Instead we cut through the corner of the Tiergarten to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. There is an underground information centre, but what we saw — what most people see — is the field of 2,700 stelae. The way people sat on them, ran around them, hid behind them…either people didn’t know what the memorial was, or it was meant to be this open and interactive and unlike any traditional memorial. The holocaust was, after all, unlike any disaster before it.

After that we made the long walk down to Checkpoint Charlie, which wasn’t really worth it. It’s an unremarkable site, made remarkable only by what once happened there, which can’t be replicated. We left there and walked up to the Gendarmenmarkt on our way to dinner.

Das Meisterstück was actually on my list because of it’s beer rating, but they also happened to specialize in sausage and other grilled meats, so…score. The beer (made in-house) was damned tasty, our my duck sausage was outstanding, and Nellie even enjoyed hers. We were able to sit outside for most of it too, going inside only once the sun went down.

We’d walked all the hell over Berlin and we were full of beer & meat, so we walked back to our room The Dude and crashed.

SATURDAY

With the touristy stuff done we decided to see more of some Berlin neighbourhoods…Kreuzberg, mostly. We took our time getting up and out of the hotel The Dude, then headed east. Pretty much immediately we saw the difference in architecture…some old, Soviet-style buildings were definitely in evidence. We walked through a (slightly dodgy) park to the Oranienplatz, where we had breakfast at a new café called Ora. We left there and walked along the Oranienstrasse, sensing we were on a frontier of gentrification…there were coffee places and funky shops, but also run-down storefronts. We cut north through the Mariannenplatz and across the Spree to see the open-air East Side Gallery, a 1.3-km series of murals painted on the remnants of the Berlin Wall.

We walked along the wall, then along the Spree, then crossed back over to the south side of the river. Our intent was to have lunch at Hopfenreich, the top-rated beer place (within striking distance) in Berlin. It didn’t open until 4:00, sadly, so we thought maybe we’d check out the next nearest place: Heidenpeters. We knew nothing about it, including that it was inside Markethalle Neun, which was like a smaller St. Lawrence Market but with fewer merchants and more food stands. Heidenpeters was a brewery tucked into the back corner of the market, and for €2.50 you could sample any of their four beers. Their pale was especially delicious. We each got lunch (me: Berlin beef balls and potato salad; she: focaccia and prosciutto) and brought it back to the bar, revelling in what a lucky find this was.

We still had some more time to kill, so we walked back down to Orenienstrasse to the Museum der Dinge, a tiny museum of…well, things. I can’t possibly explain the place, so I’ll let their website do it:

The Werkbundarchiv – Museum der Dinge (Werkbund Archive – Museum of Things) chronicles the product culture of the 20th and 21st centuries, a culture marked by mass production and industrial manufacturing. At the core of our institution is the archive of the Deutsche Werkbund (DWB). Founded in 1907, this group of German artists, designers, and manufacturers was one of the leading organizations pushing for a cultural utopia achieved through design and way-of-life reforms at the beginning of the 20th century. The DWB aimed to counter the increasing feeling of estrangement by advocating for a reformed, modern and objective product design and architecture. It endeavored to forge a new understanding between product designers, manufacturers, suppliers, and consumers by establishing “ethically pure” design principles such as quality, material honesty, functionality and sustainability. Above all, it worked to determine an aesthetic ideal and to promote this ideal by exercising their influence on the design and production of modern German commodities.

The Werkbundarchiv – Museum der Dinge is as an autonomous organization, aware of and stemming from this Werkbund tradition. Our goal is twofold: to preserve and document material associated with and advocated by the Werkbund, and to foster contemporary interpretation and reflection thereupon.

So there you go. I swear it was more entertaining than it sounds.

We walked all the way back up to Hopfenreich but it wasn’t quite 4:00 yet, so I wandered around looking for — and finally finding — 19 Grams. The espresso they made me was superb. And much-needed, as I was already pooped.

We finally walked into Hopfenreich, and we were not disappointed. First: it was empty, so we had our run of the place. Second: our bartender (once she warmed to us a bit) was awesome, and cursed like a sailor. Third: the taps had been built into an old drill press, a lathe, and a ventilation duct. Fourth: they had a terrific beer list. We drank exclusively from Germany; they had lots of US craft but it seemed silly to order that. We drank the following:

  • Dan: Bier Fabrik Berlin Lemon Ale, Camba Bavaria Nelson Weisse, BrauKunstKeller Moll, Hanscraft & Co Black Nizza
  • Nellie: Von Freude Ale Primeur, Häffner Bräu Hopfenstopfer Incredible Pale Ale, Kompaan 20 Bondgenoot, Schneider Meine Hopfenweisse

It was a long walk home after that, but we weren’t done yet. We’d passed a winebar and grill the night before on the walk home and wanted to try it for dinner, and so we did. It was called the Rotisserie Weingrün, and it was packed. We took one of the few remaining spots at the bar table, and ordered WAY too much food. Seriously, we thought European portion sizes were supposed to be small. We should have known when our appetizers (smoked ham, asparagus salad) were huge, but we truly expected the two meat trios (chicken, pork ribs, pork belly) to be one small plate each…not half a chicken, an enormous rib, and pork belly the size of three small pork chops stacked on top of one another. Our eyes bugged out. Our server laughed. We ate half and took half home. We drank our wine (Germany makes decent Sauv Blanc and Chardonnay, and at least one really good Pinot Noir…who knew?) and chatted with the Dutch father and son next to us, and pretty much rolled home.

It was late, and we were tired and dreading the 4:00 alarm and a little drunk, so we packed and watched the BBC and I sat on the floor and ate (with my bare hands) the meat I couldn’t bear to leave behind.

Germany!

SUNDAY

Yeah, that’s right, we were up at 4. I was so tired I wanted to punch the universe in the face. We checked out and got a cab to the airport, weaving around the Berlin kids on their way home from raves.

We had a quick flight to Frankfurt surrounded by obnoxious, snoring people, then a connection in Frankfurt held up by very long passport control lines, then a long flight home. I got an hour or two of fitful sleep and then re-watched Guardians of the Galaxy and Interstellar and a few episodes of New Girl.

We arrived in Toronto, which had just been hit by a humidity bomb. We breezed through customs but waited 40 minutes for our bags. Thanks for those priority stickers, Lufthansa. Anyway, we finally got out, and got home, and got changed.

In the 30 or so hours that we had we felt like we had done the hell out of Berlin, and had the blisters and extra pounds to show for it.

Thanks Deutschland.

Courir de Mardi Gras

Dan DickinsonLeave a comment

Last November our friend CBJ asked us if we wanted to go to New Orleans to help celebrate his birthday. Of course we said yes. Through a series of misunderstandings we ended up not even being there at the same time, but we were still determined to enjoy the hell out of our return to NoLa.

Sunday

It was freezing cold when we left for the airport. Like, -39 with the wind chill — that kind of cold. Despite tiny hiccups with my Global Entry status, a food order, our take-off time, and a gate change, we were soon aboard and en route. I watched Fury (imdb | rotten tomatoes) and part of This Is Where I Leave You (imdb | rotten tomatoes) and then, boom: Louisiana.

We got into a cab, but because the parades had already begun we had a long, slow slog to the downtown core, creeping through the already-large crowds of people in the French Quarter. We had to walk the last few blocks to our hotel since there was just no way to cross Canal Street.

We finally got to Loft523, dropped our bags with the front desk, adjusted to being called y’all all the time, and walked to Barcadia for some lunch. Since it was about 18 degrees their front windows were open and, as luck would have it, facing onto the current parade route on Tchoupitoulas. Our first parade! We had amazing burgers and cold, local craft beer, and revelled in being on vacation.

Full, we walked back to the room to check in and clean up, then went back down to Tchoupitoulas to see more of the parade. At this point I believe we were watching the Krewe of Mid-City. We had fun watching the floats, marching bands, dance troupes, and musical acts rolls by, and realized how easy it was to accumulate beads. You kind of have to pay attention or they’ll smack you in the face. And no, no one flashes for them. Not outside of Bourbon Street, anyway.

We knew the Krewe of Thoth would be rolling soon, so we walked over to Canal Street for a better vantage point. We stood there for a few hours, yelling for beads and other throws, throwing little foam footballs back and forth with some guys across Canal Street, and so on. It wasn’t just tourists either — there were plenty of locals who came out to watch these parades, cheering on the kids in the marching bands, high-fiving the chaperones who walk with them, etc.

After getting changed back in our room we skipped back across Canal to the French Quarter for dinner, stopping first for a drink at Saint Lawrence — which pretty much instantly became our new favourite place in the Quarter. We had a couple of killer beers (like my Belgian Dubbel from Texas made with Japanese hops!) then walked the few minutes to Sylvain, where we’d made dinner reservations. It had gotten a bit chilly by local standards so most people sat inside, but we opted for a courtyard table. And why not? It was a good 50 degrees warmer than Toronto at that moment. We shared a “southern antipasti” plate, then Nellie had the pappardelle bolognese while I had the pork Milanese. We shared a chocolate pôt de crème for dessert too.

We couldn’t bring ourselves to go home before midnight, so we walked over to Canal to see a little bit of Bacchus (including what appeared to be a very hammered Gary Busey yelling into a microphone?) and went back to our new favourite place Saint Lawrence for one more beer.

New Orleans!

Monday

I let Nellie sleep in while I walked to Merchant for some coffee and breakfast, and then we geared up for Lundi Gras. We walked out to the French Quarter, to Royal Street, and just strolled around a bit. I looked for a hat. Nellie looked at bags. We picked out masks to buy later so we wouldn’t be the only ones without costumes.

We decided to have lunch at Café Amelie. Once again, we sat outside — they have a huge courtyard. Actor John C. Reilly, this year’s Bacchus parade marshal, showed up for lunch with friends. I had a beet salad and this amazing shrimp penne with corn and cajun spice; Nellie had cajun poutine. We didn’t even mind the few drops of rain.

We walked back to Pirate Alley and bought the masks, then stopped in at the Old Absinthe House to try…well, absinthe. I didn’t love it, to be honest, but it seemed like the thing to do. I also grabbed some coffee from Spitfire, which was awesome.

Our plan for watching the Lundi Gras parades was to head over to the Avenue Pub, our favourite spot from our last trip to NoLa. The St. Charles streetcar wasn’t running because of all the parades, so we walked there, and were actually a little schvitzy by the time we arrived. We grabbed a beer and chatted with the staff about the time I mailed the tip from Canada three years ago. At 4:00 they let us onto the 2nd-floor balcony overlooking the parade route, the perfect place to see the Krewes of Proteus and Orpheus as they rolled down St. Charles. And to sample some amazing beers, obviously.

At some point in the evening it began to pour down rain, but we stuck it out. Most people ducked back inside to wait out the rain, but we didn’t come to New Orleans to be put off by a little rain. Okay, a lot of rain, but we were prepared with jackets. We made friends with local couple Jim & Pam (seriously), and briefly with a woman from Manitoba. Poor Manitoba had had way too much to drink and ended up passing out by the bathroom, ultimately requiring paramedics to come and give her IV fluids. I’d like to think we salvaged the reputation of all Canadians through our good behaviour and general awesomeness. Still, at least one guy shook his head and muttered “Yankees!” under his breath. We settled up (we remembered!) and walked back to the hotel in what was now a very cold evening, past the strewn cups and beads and throws.

We’d hoped Cochon Butcher would be open, but it was locked up tight. We walked home along Tchoupitoulas, seeing a bit of the parade I’d missed while in the bathroom at the Avenue. We got home, dried off, took stock of all the beads and throws we’d caught, and changed into something dry before heading back out. Lundi Gras wasn’t over yet.

We stopped at Saint Lawrence once again for dinner & beers. Nellie’s wings were good but my fried chicken was out-goddamn-standing. After licking our fingers clean we walked to Frenchmen Street for some live music: Little Freddie King at d.b.a.. When we arrived he was playing “Baby Please Don’t Go” and I was in bluesy heaven. A perfect end to a perfect Lundi Gras!

Tuesday

Things got started early on Mardi Gras: Zulu started rolling around 8am, so we got up and walked up to St. Charles to see them go past.

By now it was freaking freezing. Okay, not Canada-freezing, but it was -3 with the wind chill, and we weren’t expecting that. We didn’t last long on the parade route, and anyway we were still tired from the night before. We walked over to the Quarter and had a terrific breakfast at the Café Fleur de Lis. Even though it was only about 10am we were starting to see lots of costumes now, and intricate ones at that.

We just couldn’t get warm though, so we walked back to the hotel. Nellie had a hot bath and felt better. I had a tiny nap, but really didn’t feel well. We went out for lunch at Ole Saint, but the jambalaya didn’t help. I kept feeling worse. I even had an espresso at Spitfire, but I still felt like cold ass. We kept walking around the Quarter to see more of the Mardi Gras festivities, like mini-parades along Royal and Chartres.

We finally stopped in at Industry, which I really liked last time we went to New Orleans, but…I just couldn’t. I didn’t have a pint in me, and the place was nuts anyway. Nellie got one to go and we walked back to the hotel. Mardi Gras was defeating me.

When we got home I had a bath, and it made all the difference. Turns out I just couldn’t get warm outside, and I’d forgotten what cold humid air felt like. Anyway, the bath saved me. We got dressed and went back out, cold be damned. A beer at Saint Lawrence fixed me up, and Nellie had her traditional King Cake in cocktail form.

We decided to see how Bourbon Street was faring, and it didn’t disappoint. The fact that it was so cold probably kept the crowds smaller and made it a bit more sane. We still got pelted by beads, and saw a chick kick a dent in a car right in front of a cop though, so there’s that.

Stay classy, Bourbon Street.

We returned home again, warmed up (again!), and got changed for dinner. We did the quick walk up to Borgne in the Hyatt Regency and had an excellent meal: jalapeño duck poppers and warm bread to start; oyster spaghetti for Nellie and black drum with crab meat for me, a bottle of Chenin Blanc, and apple cake for dessert. On our way out we heard that Young Jeezy was throwing a party upstairs, much to the bafflement of some of the Hyatt Regency patrons. We flagged a cab and swung back over to d.b.a. for some more live music.

Frenchmen Street was a zoo this time, but we still got in to d.b.a. to see the Treme Brass Band. We caught the last half of their set, which was tremendous fun to jump and sing and yell along to, especially when they had to teach everyone the words to “Li’l Liza Jane”.

With their warning — “Stay out of the Quarter, y’all…you come on vacation, but you’ll leave on probation!” — fresh in our ears we walked home along the edge of the Quarter to our hotel, as the cops cleared the streets at midnight. We crashed super-hard. Happy Mardi Gras!

Wednesday

No early morning parades today, but we still got up around 8am to head back to Merchant for coffee and breakfast. Nellie’s crepe was really good, as was my prosciutto, egg, and cheese croissant.

We’d arranged to be picked up that morning for an airboat tour of the Louisiana swamps. Our driver’s name was Big Joe, because of course it was. He drove us and about twenty other people down to Lafitte, and we got in a boat with a weird couple from New York and two friends from England. Our guide’s name was Jay, and he was full-blown Cajun. His family had come from Nova Scotia, just like mine.

Even with a sweater and a jacket, when he opened up that boat to full speed, it nearly froze us solid. We actually got windburn! We drove through wide channels and narrow, shallow bayous. We saw cranes and other big birds. We saw two young-ish alligators sticking their noses and eyes out the water, which was surprising at those temperatures. We even got to hold a 14-month-old alligator, which was pretty awesome.

Big Joe drove us back into the city, and we walked to Cochon Butcher for a late lunch. The sun had come out, and we sat outside eating pulled pork sandwiches and hot dogs and drinking cold IPAs. Finally New Orleans was warming to us.

We still had time to kill, so we walked to Café du Monde just to get a token beignet, but the line was a mile long, so we bailed. We walked up to Spitfire for proper coffee instead, then back through the (much calmer) Quarter to inspect the aftermath. By this point, my feet were a bit sore, and Nellie was knackered, so we didn’t last long. Back home she had a nap while I read a bit, and luckily we didn’t have far to go for dinner.

Luke was just around the corner, a NoLa-infused brasserie. I had my first Sazerac ever. We had a plate of HUGE oysters and a bowl of delicious (!) brussels sprouts. There was a mixup with our order but we somehow ended up with a surplus of crab, some of which made it into my pasta. Nellie invented a new dish which she called New Orleans poutine: fries covered with crab meat and hot sauce. We thought we had room for some bread pudding, but we left a bunch behind. We were done. Done done done. No live music on our final night — just relaxing, packing, sorting of beads, and sleep.

Thursday

I let Nellie sleep in a bit and went back to Merchant for one more coffee & croissant. I was hoping it had warmed up overnight so I’d have a nice walk there and back. It hadn’t, and I didn’t. Alas.

Our taxi got us to the airport where we used the new TSA Pre-Check line (so much faster!), and had one last beer and spicy sandwich before boarding. The flight home whizzed by; I finished watching This Is Where I Leave You and watched part of The Equalizer (imdb | rotten tomatoes) and then whammo: polar vortex.

We came home feeling like we’d really done the shit out of New Orleans. We’d seen Thoth and Orpheus and Zulu on St. Charles and Canal and Tchoupitoulas. We’d eaten amazing food in beautiful restaurants, and tried new beers in cool bars. We’d toured swamps, sung blues, caught beads, and walked Bourbon. I guess I regret not seeing any Indians, but by all reports it’s not an easy thing for two tourists to manage. Someday.

We love you, New Orleans. And, since it turns out next year Nellie’s 40th birthday falls on Mardi Gras next year, there’s a non-zero chance we’ll be seeing you again real soon.

Navy strength

Dan Dickinson1 Comment

On Wednesday Nellie and I rushed out of work (early; it was New Year’s Eve, after all) to come home, pick up our stuff, collect a couple of friends, and start driving north. We had all been invited to spend New Year’s Eve with our friends Kaylea & Matt at their Bat Lake cottage.

We worried about the forecast, but with little reason: we made the drive with almost no issues save the usual traffic slowdowns on the DVP and 401, and a few minor snow squalls along the way. After a stop or two we arrived just in time to watch the second half of the Canada/USA World Junior game. Canada won. Of course.

There were ten of us in total, and we were the last four to arrive. On top of what we’d brought, the place was already full of food and drink (including a 30L keg of beer). We hugged our hellos, poured a drink, snacked on meats and cheeses, and settled in. After a while the chef (Matt) and sous (Nellie) began preparing dinner. Though, Matt had been preparing some of it all day, smoking a brined chicken and a lamb shoulder. There was also beef (not sure where that came from, actually) and Nellie made scalloped potatoes with chorizo sausage, and we all plowed into it. We’d also been drinking some tremendous wines brought along by Kaylea’s friend Jordin, including an Italian style I’d never heard of (and can’t remember, dammit), a beautiful Barbaresco, and this amazing Barossa F.U. Shiraz (seriously) that was massive (17.5%!) and complex and puzzling. I can’t imagine I’ll ever get to try it again.

We played some Cards Against Humanity (I won; I am depraved) and then got bundled up so we could go out to where Matt had set up a fire. We stood around it, enjoying the warmth, and eventually sliding around for a bit on the lake itself, as the ice was plenty thick.

By midnight we were back inside, ready to drink a Magnum of another stunning wine: a 1998 Nicolas Feuillatte Palmes D’Or. It was Out. Goddamn. Standing. It was a fitting way to pay tribute to 2014, and welcome 2015.

We’d all had busy days, and had all been eating and drinking since 5pm (or earlier), so everyone crashed around 1:30. The next morning we slowly stirred ourselves, did a token clean up, had coffee from Fahrenheit, ate bacon and cranberry french toast, and drank breakfast Caesars.

Most people went out for a winter walk, but I stayed behind with downstairs Jeff (it’d take too long to explain the moniker; just go with it) to help clean up and then relax. The crew had taken warm cider with them; I poured myself a cup (with a little Navy Strength gin thrown in for good measure), sat by the window, and nerded out with Matt’s copy of The World Of Ice & Fire.

Eventually everyone came back from their trek…some got cold and came in to warm up, while others tried to light another fire. I waited until it was going strong (I’m a sissy, and no longer of any use with outdoor things) before joining them.

We drank Winter Ale and Okanagan wine by the fire, taking shelter from the snow and wind amongst the trees, and felt about as Canadian as we could feel.

Eventually we too got cold, and went back inside for more food, and a Cards Against Humanity speed round (Steph won; she is depraved). For dinner Matt had made chili, and it was the most amazingly delicious chili I had ever eaten. It was sweet and spicy and the perfect consistency. I went back for seconds. I had to talk myself out of thirds. As it was I just kept taking great heaping spoonfuls of it from the pot and shoving them in my gob.

We weren’t done with the outdoors; a few of us wrapped up again and went back to the lake. It was so dark, and so snowy, that you couldn’t see the other side of the lake. Just a faint outline of the tops of trees amidst a Hoth-like blank spot on the earth. I’ve lived in the city for so long I’d forgotten how quickly winter can create this sense of distance and danger, even when you’re only a few hundred feet from a warm house.

Back at the cottage everyone was starting to wind down, or already napping. We were full of food and drink and tired from the cold. My body began rejecting everything…any more food, any more drink, being awake at all. Nellie began folding laundry. Began, never finished. We were all wiped, apart from upstairs Jeff who watched George Carlin’s classic Seven Words sketch on late-night TV. As one does.

I woke up Friday morning worrying about how I would get our rental car up a snowy driveway, but then the local Mr. Plow showed up and saved the day. We cleaned the place as best we could, scarfed down some scrambled eggs and toast, packed up, and jumped in the car with our charges to head home. Nellie and I had to get back to the city for a 3:00 puck drop in the first World Jr. semifinal. Fortunately it got less snowy as we drove south, and we had no problems on the way home (extreme nausea and over-full bladders excepted) and we hit Toronto by 2:15. We offloaded our stuff, put our travel companions in an Uber limo, dropped the rental car, and made it to the ACC just in time for the game.

It was a weekend of celebration: the new year, superb people, the Canadian outdoors, and plenty of amazing food and drink:

For the record, that’s 8 bottles plus 1 magnum of champagne, 5 bottles plus 2 magnums of red wine, 3 bottles of white wine, 1 bottle of port, 6 large bottles of (strong) beer, and the better part of the rum, scotch, gin, and vodka. Plus about 2/3 of the keg in the background and a while bunch of tallboys we didn’t even bother to count.

Night, 2014. Morning, 2015!