The flight from was remarkably uneventful. Once aloft and at a cruising height of some 37000 feet, we were served our supper, which was, on enquiry, a choice of chicken or beef. Having chosen chicken (as did Audrey) I worked my way through the meal mechanically, barely tasting what I was eating, so when Audrey exclaimed, "They could have told it was spicy!", it came as a surprise. I hadn't really noticed, but I guess it was some form of chicken curry. I polished off the tiny bottle of Bordeaux, alternating with swigs of Bottled eau.
At first I read more of "Tulerosa", but then reverted to my favourite method of losing myself, possibly to sleep, taking out my trusty Archos Jukebox from my pocket and plugging in the headphones. Anyone who has seen my headphones will have noticed that the over-ear element each has a different colour. The red one goes on my left ear, the black one on my right red for the port side, as it were. I don't know about you, but I have enough problems untangling the blooming things without having to decipher the tiny letter which signify on which side of the head they are to be worn
.
Switch on, Music - French Music - Luce Dufault (you weren't expecting anything else were you?) - Des Milliards de choses - play. Close eyes. Listen. Relax. Drift .......Anna, les hivers sont moins froid.......les chiens ne sont plus la..........Anna je t'aime, ne m'oublis pas..................tous les mots que je cris...............une blessure d'amour.....je m'appelle solitude, c'est un prenom, pas un habitude....aime moi, aime moi comme si tu m;avais inventee, comme si tu m'avais dessinee............ "Is he alright?" " I think he'll be OK" I was roused from my state of relaxation by these words which somehow intruded upon my consciousness, to find a huddle of three flight attendants beside me. Fortunately they had their backs to me, so it wasn't me they were talking about. As the moved slightly my eyes focussed upon an elderly gentleman who was sitting on the seat reserved for a crew member, just beside the emergency exit. Clutching a small plastic tumbler containing several tablets in one hand, and a glass or water in the other, he looked rather confused.. "I think we can move him back to his seat now." Carefully helping the gentleman from the seat, two of the attendants led him forward, through the curtain separating our section in the aircraft from the next.
Once again Luce had worked her magic, and I had missed all of the drama. Shortly afterwards, the batteries of my MP3 player failed, so I was left to try and sleep. I must have had some luck, because the next time I stirred it was about 04.00, Montreal time - 9.00 in London . Over five hours gone, just over one to go. Not long afterwards we were provided with a breakfast snack, but I'm blowed if I can remember what it was. There was coffee, and oh yes, orange juice, and there might have been a small muffin. The captain confirmed that we would be arriving one hour late, and hoped that this would not incovenience our onward journey too much. That's exactly what we were hoping!
Having landed we seemed to take an age to taxi around to a "parking place" - the proper name escapes me, but it wasn't next to the terminal. We had to be transferred to Terminal 4 by bus, and then, having gone through passport control we followed the signs for Flight connections, and specifically Terminal 5. It's almost scary typing the words 'Terminal 5', because there have been so many horror stories attached to it since it commenced operations. Anyway, we had o get there yet! Another lengthy walk and a couple of escalators later and we were at the shuttle point. The bus quickly filled and we were off on the seemingly endless journey from 4 to 5 - hanging on for grim death as the bus sped around corners, through tunnels and up ramps.
We arrived at T5, and the found our way to the security check. This time it was Audrey's turn to have her hand-baggage scrutinised after a suspicious item was identified by the x-ray machine. It turned out to be an old glass bowl which she was bringing back home from Peter's. The security chap had a terrible job fastening her bag afterwards, having to enlist her aid to fasten the zip, It was then on to Gate A1, which, of course, was down another escalator and right at the end of the row of domestic flight gates. We arrived at the Gate with only ten minutes to spare - checking in online at 12.15 am early on Saturday morning was definitely a good thing!
How on earth would they get the baggage from the BA Flight 94 aircraft, and across to T5 in such a short time. It's amazing what they can do these days! Actually it turned out to be slightly less than amazing, because they didn't quite get them there in such a short time!
The flight to Newcastle was short and quite sweet. It was good to hear folk speaking with the Geordie accent again, but one of our fellow passengers rather let the side down when he asked if he could "jist pop back in to the Torminal to gerra newspaper".
"I'm sorry sir, that is not possiblle. The doors have now been closed, and we are awaiting take-off"
"Orr, howayman, aa'll be geet quick like. Ah forgot to gerrit afore ah gorron."
"As I've said sir, that is not possible. Now please return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt."
"Ah divven't knaa!" (This to fellow passengers) "Aal ah wanted was a bloody paper."
"Whey, the mingy bast""d," sympathised one of the aforementioned fellow passengers. "Never mind kidda, ye can have ths one. Aam finished with it."
Having queued for our turn to take off, we were soon in the air, and having eaten our tasty sandwich snack, it was just about time to commence the descent. As we got closer, I was able to pick out landmarks below, the first being Durham's cricket ground at the Riverside. From there it was easy to follow the River Wear, and there was the Stadium of Light, and not long afterwards my own house, before we crossed the Leas (daily dog-walking by the sea) and cliffs and moved out over the North Sea before curving left back over Whitley Bay and descending over very green, very damp fields, before touching down at Newcastle Airport. It wasn't long after we reached the baggage reclamation poiny that we heard our names being called over the tannoy. Guess what - the bags had not made it and would come up on the next flight. They would then be delivered to our home addresses. We arranged for them to be delivered to my address, and then walked out into the foyer of the airport. Hmm...no one there to meet us, it seemed. The miserable lot! Just then we heard one voice shouting "Dad" and another shouting "Grandpa". We turned and there were daughter No.2 Julia and grand-daughter Lucy. We had walked straight past them, and Julia had not see us. It was Lucy who had, and when Julia wondered where we were, said, "They're walking away over there."
I had a lovely long cuddle from my little Lucy, and having greeted Julia, we found the car and drove home.
Our luggage arrived at 7.45 pm. - not bad, considering it wouldn't have landed until after 6.00!
Home!!
More to come, if you're interested!
I . eIs he alright
After leaving the concert hall, feet firmly floating above the ground, we returned to the car park and set off on the drive back to the city. We talked about the possibility of paying a return visit, and what we would do if any one of us won some money on the lottery. Suffice it to say that if such an eventuality occurred, we would be booking flights from Volgograd as well as the UK! I have since suggested to Luce that she should come to play at The Sage in Gateshead, and she has confirmed that she would love to perform in England. Now there's a challenge!!
As we drove closer to the city Sylvain pointed out the Olympic Stadium in the distance, and was kind enough to detour off the main road to let us have a closer look at this spectacular building. It was interesting to note that the citizens of Montreal are still paying for the stadium, erected for 1976 Summer Olympics!
We then drove into the 'downtown' area of pubs, bars and night-clubs - it looked so familiar! Just like South Shields or Newcastle on a Friday night, with young females only slightly less scantily clad than on Tyneside! And then it was on to Sherbrooke, and soon we were outside the hotel. We said farewell and au revoir to Louise and Sylvain, and soon the white Dodge van with the 'Habs' flag fluttering in the breeze disappeared in the traffic. I do hope we meet again, whether it is in Quebec or the UK. I know for certain that we have made good friends.
Entering the hotel lobby, I checked with the chap on duty whether it was OK to use the computer in the breakfast room (with a printer attached) at this time of night (about 12.20 a.m.) "Of course. Help yourself," was his cheery reply. Returning with the correct code I was able to let myself into the breakfast room, log on to t'internet and sign in to the British Airways site to check in, select seats and print out boarding cards for both the journey to London Heathrow and that from Heathrow to Newcastle. This proved to be a good thing. Then upstairs, or rather up on the ascenseur, special edition blog and a swift email to Daria (it turned out that she had been waiting up to hear news of the concert!)
Saturday dawned...destined, it seemed, to be an anti-climax. As we sat in the breakfast room, gazing out at the good citizens walking to their destinations through heavy rain, we munched our way through our sultana bran, with added sliced banana, and planned our last day on this side of the Atlantic. Because of the weather we decided to return to the vieux cité, to visit the Basilica de Notre Dame, and then return underground to explore the reseau. By the time we had everything packed and moved downstairs to the storage room where it would stay until we returned to collect it later in the day, it was check-out time - 12 noon. We ordered a taxi to collect us from the hotel at 7.00 p.m. so that we would be at the airport in good time, hoping to avoid the masses moving to the nearby Bell Stadium where the Canadiens were playing the Philadelphia Flyers in the semi-final series of the Stanley Cup. It was to be a make-or-break game - defeat was unthinkable for the Habs.
As we left the hotel the rain had stopped, and we decided to use our highly-developed natural navigation skills to walk down to the old city, We walked through an area which had lots of establishments merchandising 'fourrures' in all shapes, sizes and guises. Canada is famed for its furs, and you can understand why such good use was made of furs to protect against the bitter winters. We also passed a strange restaurant, with a haunted house theme - bodies hanging out of windows, and various ghouls strategically placed around the building. looked like a fun night out. No, some people might like it.
Further on we recognised varuious street names and actually found our way quite easily to Notre Dame. Paying the $5 entry fee we went in to this beautifully decorated building, witha huge apse behind the high altar and reredos. We sat down near the back of the nave, to gaze around, (and rest the old feet). Whilst we were sitting there, there was an upsetting incident behind us. The young lady who was taking the entry fees and issuing tickets was making sure that anyone who claimed to be visiting the chapel at the rear of the basilica to pray or light a candle did so. It appeared that it was possible to enter without paying, if your sole intention was to visit the chapel. Apparently one lady on her way to the chapel, had paused to point out something to one of her companions, and therefore was asked to pay the admission charge. She objected strongly, but the official was in no mood to back down or be conciliatory. "You can go to the chapel. but you mustn't stop and point out things. I saw you pointing out things, so you must pay!"
"So now it's a business!", said the visitor, by now in tears
"Ok, you can go now."
"Oh, so I can go now."
I think it could have been handled better.
Having paid our $5 we were allowed to wander around this beautiful building. I was surprised that it was so 'new' - built as it was in the Gothic style in the late 19th Century.
Leaving the Basilica we walked on to Square Jacques Cartier, which is surrounded by restaurants of various types. By now it was mid afternoon, and we thought that if we ate now, we wouldn't need anything else before getting on the flight home. We turned right into rue St Paul, walking past the Kashmir, where we had lunched on Thursday. A little further down the street was an establishment called "Les Trois Brasseurs" (The Three Brewers). It seemed that there was a micro-brewery on site, and this proved to too much of an attraction. We entered and were shown to a table by the young lady acting as receptionist. The menu was fascinating, and I finally decided upon a "Flammkeuchen" - a thin oven-baked flatbread with onions, lardons and cheese spread on it like a pizza. Audrey chose a steak sandwich with frites. To accompany the food we selected from the beer section of the menu. I chose the dark brew, with hints of caramel and chocolate , whilst A. selected the amber ale. Food good. Beer good. The place was crowded and quite noisy, and I guess many of those there were preparing for the match, and had been doing so for quite a while, it seemed.
We then decided to make for the entrance to the underground network in Square Victoria, but on arriving there it seemed that this section of the underground city closed down early on Saturday - at about 3.00 p.m. We walked on, past the Berlin Wall (beside The Inter-Continental Hotel) and through the Palais de Congress, on to the Place des Arts, where we found the shops and cafes still open. By now the feet and legs were beginning to feel the pace, and by the time we made it back to the hotel, we were ready to sink into the armchairs in the lobby for a rest. By then it was about 5.00. As we sat there watching the world go by, it dawned on us that it might be better toget a taxi a little earlier, so that we would not get caught up in the ice-hockey match traffic. I approached the desk, asked if they could change the time of the taxi from 7.00 p.m to 6.00 p.m. No problem. No sooner had I wheeled the trolley containing our luggage into the lobby than the doors swung open, and a cheery taxi-driver swept in. "You go airport? You go now?"
This was startlingly swift service, a mere two minutes after the call was made, and it was just 5.30! We glanced at each other and nodded in agreement. At which point our taxi-driver leaped forward to wheel the luggage trolley out of the doors, and unloaded as much as would fit into his boot (trunk). The rest went into the car with us. What a contrast! On our arrival the taxi-driver had barely grunted at us, and spent most of his time talking into his bluetooth hands-free set. Our new driver was the total opposite,. pointing out things of interest.
" See here, this is very good street. There are very good hotels here - very good quality. You want nice shops? There is very good shop with nice things, very expensive, like Christine Dior and other peoples like that."
I asked him about the match traffic.
"Oh yes, lots of peoples is coming early for the game. It is big game, very important. For you, I drive past the Bell, where is the match taking place. You see this man, waving the orange flag at side of road - he is showing parking, and saying, come and park here. That;s why he waves flag. You see there is Bell, where Celine Dion appears, and the Canadiens playing tonight. Very important game. You have football in England, yes? Manchester United, Arsynal"
He didn't seem to recognise Sunderland, but had heard of Newcastle.
Ah, yes, yes, Newcastle. "
As we drove further out into the suburbs he explained that this would be his last job of the evening, because he lived out by the airport, and after dropping us off he would be going home to watch the match on tele. This enthusiastic guide to all things interesting then pointed out some very large heaps of something by the road.
"You see, you see! That is snow, yes it is snow, which they are digging out from the city and putting here, out of way."
The snow piles were dirty and looked more like slag heaps, but we took his word for it.
On arriving at the airport our Tunisian driver leapt out, unloaded all of the luggage on to two trolleys, making sure that "the lady has the smallest". I paid him the regulation $35, plus a good tip. He smiled broadly, shook my hand, shook Audrey's hand, wished us a good journey, turned and came back to me, shook my hand again, saying his farewells like a long-lost brother. And drove off, still turning and waving until he was out of sight. He was worth the tip, every cent!
We went into the airport, dropped off our bags at the Fast Bag Drop Off Point and made our way through passport control and security. There was something they didn't like about my hand-baggage, so they put it through twice, and swabbed it for explosives. All was eventually OK, and we made our way to the departure lounge, which was to be our home for the next four hours, as a display announced that BA Flight 94 to London Heathrow was now due to take off at 10.00, rather than 9.40.
Time passed slowly, and my attempt to purchase a bottle of Crown Royale whisky at the Duty Free were thwarted at the last moment, when the lady behind the counter asked to where I was flying. If I was simply flying to Heathrow, no problem, but because we were flying on to Newcastle there was no duty free for us. I guess it's logical - no liquids more than 100 ml allowed on in carry-on bags, but we lose out again. Never mind, we had two drinks from the bar near the gate, which cleared out the last of the Canadian dollars, particularly when the bar-tender looked knowingly at the change when he put it down in front of me.
The BA aircraft finally arrived at 20.40, but unlike the Air Canada flight from Las Vegas, which turned round in just on 45 minutes, the 777 required considerably more time, and we didn't start boarding until almost 10.00. By that time the match was nearly over, but the last score I had heard was 2-1 to the Habs. Sadly for Montreal, they were unable to retain the lead, and finally succumbed 2-4. Out of the cup - disaster! Commiserations to Sylvain and all of the other Habs fans, We Sunderland supporters know all about such disappointment.
And so, with the sun set, and the game lost, BA Flight 94 lifted off into the night sky some 60 minutes late, cutting into the time we needed to transfer from Terminal 4 to Termnal 5 at Heathrow. Would we make it? Would our luggage make it? What would we be served for supper? For the answers and more see the next posting!
The lights dimmed, an expectant hush fell upon the audience. On the stage, figures moved carefully in the darkness, musicians taking their places beside their instruments. The lights went up, revealing a band of four musicians ( guitar, keyboards, drums and double bass), and in the centre, Luce Dufault.
I was recently at a concert in Newcastle City Hall featuring the wonderful singer, guitarist and song-writer Chris Rea. He performed for a good two hours, moving from one song to another with barely a word to the audience. That didn't bother me, as it did some of the audience, who commented afterwards that he didn't have very good communication with his audience. My answer to that would have been that he had spent two hours communicating with his audience, through his songs and artistry on his instruments. Why do I mention this? Well, on Friday I saw an artiste who not only communicated beautifully with her audience through her voice and songs, but also had them rolling in the aisles with laughter as she regaled them with self-deprecating tales, interspersed and often interrupted by her own infectious laughter. I think I understood some of them, but I am reluctant to repeat them in case I got hold of the wrong end of the stick! I need to work on my Quebecoise French!
Time passed so quickly, as favourite after favourite was performed perfectly. One in particular made me think of someone several thousand miles east of Montreal. Another MySpace friendship brought about by a mutual regard for Luce's music. I knew that in Volgograd, in Russia, Daria would be thinking about us at the concert, and wishing she was there. Daria is a super-fan with a website devoted to Luce, and she has chosen the title of one of Luce's songs as her MySpace name: Belle-ancolie. It also one of my favourite songs.
The interval came all too quickly, and we met up with Louise and Sylvain in the foyer of the theatre - all smiles! We agreed that Luce had come across exactly as Louise had described her - a lovely, talented and very funny person, with a wonderful rapport with her audience.
It wasn't long before we were given the two-minute warning to retake our seats, and we needed no encouragement. As before time flew, songs were sung, tales were told, giggles giggled, and then, as she returned to the stage for her first encore, Luce made time suddenly stand still for me for a few moments, as she dedicated Joni Mitchell's "Clouds" to two friends who would both be close-by tonight - Jean and Robin ......... . I have always loved that song, and now it will always assume a new importance, as I remember that moment .. and so much more. I got the impression that as she sang the song, she might have been looking for us, and it seemed she was.
After the final encore and the farewells, the stage was empty. It was over.....but not quite. We rendezvou'd with Louise and Sylvain, who approached one of theatre employees, and waved for us to follow. We went back through into the corridor leading to the stalls, but instead of turning right into the auditorium we approached a double door which led in to the backstage area. The lady who had guided us there knocked on the door, poked her head around it, and then waved us forward. As we entered Luce stepped forward to greet Audrey - "You must be Robin's sister!" she said, and greeted her with an embrace and kiss. It was then the turn of this bumbling stuttering author. I won't provide any further details, but suffice it to say that when we left a little while later, having been put totally at ease by this lovely lady, she had posed for pictures with us and had written a lovely message for Daria on the T-shirt I had made for her, as well as another on the T-shirt which Sylvain had made for me, and another on the cover of the Bleu album which I had purchased just before the concert. The latter reads: Dear Robin, It's a great feeling to know that you are listening to my music! Luce. Luce, it's a great feeling listening to your music! As we left she was wearing the little pendant which I had brought for her, made by a silversmith who often visits Bede's World in Jarrow
On Friday May 2nd 2008, two of my favourite performers stepped on to stage. One was in an arena about 190 miles from my home, in Manchester. The other was in a theatre on the other side of the Atlantic. I think I made the right choice. Sorry Celine! Thank you Luce!
It is now 11.00 p.m. on Sunday 4th May - and we're home. I am determined to write this posting before I lose consciousness, difficult though it may be!! We continue from where I left off on Friday, and this posting is dedicated to the wonderful people who made it such a special day for Audrey and me.
At about lunch time the telephone in the hotel room rang, and picking it up , I enunciated my best possible 'Allo?' I think I might fooled Louise for just a moment, as she had to check it was me! She was calling to let us know that she and Sylvain would be setting off from home at 2.30 and would hopefully pick us up from the hotel at about 3.30 so that we could attempt to escape the city before the Friday afternoon rush-hour was fully under way. The stomach muscles tightened just a bit more - pity the same can't be said for the belt around the stomach! We had a light lunch of raw vegetables, crackers and dips, and then I tried to upload more photographs to Photobucket, so that I could transfer them to the blog. Time went so slowly, but as Louise had reminded me when she called, it would go much more quickly later in the day, and that I had to make sure that I enjoyed every second of all of it. Good advice. She had also said that she would ring as she and Sylvain approached more closely, so that we could be ready to hop straight in to the car, as parking is difficult in Sherbrooke, which is a very busy street.
At one point I began to gather my bits and pieces together, and Audrey asked me what I was doing - it was only 1.30 p.m. Curses! I did some more work on the transfer of pictures, read a little bit more of 'Tulerosa' a detective novel set in and around the White Sands area of New Mexico. At last the phone rang an Louise told us that they would be with us in about 15 minutes. I asked how we would recognise their car, and she told me it was a white van (MPV) with a Canadian flag flying at the front, and that that she wouldn't have any problems in recognising us!
A few moments later we were outside, eyes peeled for a white MPV flying the Maple Leaf. It suddenly dawned on me that I might have misunderstood Louise about the flag. Most Canadians live and breathe ice-hockey, and are born with a hockey stick in their hands. I choose not to elaborate on that point, but it had dawned on me that because of the up and coming match on Saturday, it was more than likely that it would be a Canadiens flag. Sure enough, not long afterwards, up pulled a Dodge MPV, with the red, white and blue colours of the Habs flying from the front passenger window. Louise emerged, and with hugs and kisses and hand-shaking all round we climbed into the van and set off for St.Hyacinthe, the venue for the concert.
For those who may be wondering why the nickname for the Canadiens is Habs, have just lifted the following from a Canadian website:
Habs is an abbreviation of "les habitants," the informal name given to the original settlers of New France, dating back to the 17th Century. So it's a natural fit for the The Montreal Canadiens, established in 1909 and marketed as a French-Canadian hockey team.
Having said that, the nickname might have been the result of an
error. According to NHL.com, the first man to refer to the team as "the
Habs" was Tex Rickard, owner of Madison Square Garden, in 1924. Rickard
apparently told a reporter that the "H" on the Canadiens' sweaters was
for "Habitants." Not true. The distinctive C-wrapped-around-H logo
stands for "Club de Hockey Canadien."
http://proicehockey.about.com/od/history/f/canadiens_habs.htm
Anyway, back to the important bit! From the moment we got into the van, I was, and I'm sure Audrey was too, immediately at ease with Louise and Sylvain - it was if we had known them both for years. As we drove out of the city, across the Jacques Cartier Bridge they pointed out lots of interesting features, and we talked about our families, and about Luce Dufault, who was the reason that we had come to Canada. At this point I would like to say that the Internet, and MySpace and other social-networking sites get some stick, but without it, I most certainly would not have been in Montreal, talking with two new friends, and without the internet I would probably never have heard Luce's unique and beautiful voice.
Ste.Hyacinthe is about an hour's drive north-east of the city of Montreal, and it was interesting to note the differences between our stopping places in the US and suburban Quebec. There were familiar brand names - including the ubiquitous McDonalds and Subway, and also IKEA.
On finally reaching our destination - the municipal theatre in St.Hyacinthe, we parked, and Sylvain, reaching down behind the front seats, came up with a plastic bag in his hand, and announced that he had a small gift for me. At which point I reached down and lifted up a plastic bag, and announced that I had a small gift for him. Guess what - we had both made T-shirts for each other! Sylvain had very skilfully used an airbrush to 'paint' a picture of Luce on a black T-shirt with silver paint - excellent! For my part I had made him a T-shirt with a 'poster' for that night's concert emblazoned on the front! I also presented Louise with a small item of jewellery, made by Les How, a local craftsman in Durham.
Leaving the car we went to the theatre to collect our tickets, which Luce had very kindly reserved and provided for Audrey and I. As we walked up to the entrance, we saw the real poster for the concert, which was based upon the cover for Luce's latest album 'Demi-Jour'.
Having collected the tickets, we went for a stroll around the nearby streets and market place looking for somewhere to have a pre-concert meal. There was an amazing choice of restaurants, bars and bistros, and as we paused at one point, we were amazed to hear Luce's voice in the air. At first we thought it was coming from someone's car, but no, it was being 'broadcast' by speakers attached to some of the lamp posts in the streets. As we walked past through the market square, past the indoor market hall with it's covered outside area surrounding it, we noticed the one stall which was still open, although the younger of the two ladies present was beginning to pack away some of the goods. The goods in question were products based upon maple syrup. The elder of the two ladies, who she proudly announced was 84 years old, described the various offerings on display, which included a variety of sweets, spreads and the syrup itself. We were invited to test the differing grades of pure maple syrup from tiny paper cups. I must admit that I was a bit worried about this, because on the few occasions which I have tasted maple syrup before(on waffles), I had not enjoyed it very much. I need not have worried - it was beautiful. I bought some sweets, and we moved on, thanking the ladies very much for their kindness.
Eventually we decided upon a Mediterranean themed restaurant which was just across the road from the theatre, and as we waited for our food to arrive, Louise suddenly cried out, "Look, there is Luce!" We quickly turned, and sure enough, Luce was walking past the restaurant on her way to the venue. We resisted the urge to run out after her screaming. As she walked past she was laughing, and no doubt it was the amazingly infectious laugh that we would be hearing a little later in the evening. So the evening had started well - her voice floating around the streets, seeing her walking past, and a very pleasant meal with good company. Just after 7.40 we went across to the theatre, and I managed to buy a copy of Luce's album 'Bleu', completing my set! Louise and Sylvain had seats on the balcony, we were in the stalls = parterre, impair, where all of the odd numbers were on one side of the auditorium.
We arranged to meet during the interval and went to find our seats. It wasn't long before the lights went down on a full house, and anticipation went into overdrive.
It's now almost 01.00, and I've been awake for the best part of 36 hours (it took me about five minutes to work that out) - more tomorrow, or, as it is already tomorrow here, later today.
Just got back to the hotel, having spent an excellent time with Louise and Sylvain, and a very special concert,
More soon!
As dawn spread her fingers over my counterpane, filling my room with her gentle light, I turned over, went back to sleep and so didn't really see her. Some two or three hours later I awoke, or at least I opened my eyes and began to move about
Having showered and dressed, it was time for a swift breakfast, before the 9.30 closing time. Cereal and fruit, croissant and strawberry jam , accompanied by apple juice and coffee. For Audrey the same, except for the croissant substitute toast and marmalade. Having finished le petit-dejeuner we were ready to venture into the city of subtitles, where almost every notice in French is duplicated by another in English. Having decided to visit the vieux port, we walked to the nearest metro station (McGill) and tried to find somewhere to buy a ticket. Not having any luck in this, we approached the lady at what looked like a barrier/ticket machine. When we asked her where we could buy a ticket, she replied that it was our lucky day, as they were not able to sell tickets at that time. So we went through the barriers and down on to the platform, where we caught the first Metro train, changing at Beri UQAM and going on to Place Victoria. Leaving the underground station we found ourselves wandering through what looked like an underground city, with shops and restaurants of every kind. We had stumbled accidentally on to one of Montreal's famous features. It is indeed an underground city, and you can understand why it is so useful, when you consider the winter that its inhabitants have just been through. Moving through the city in the winter must be very difficult, not only because of heavy snowfall, but also temperatures well below freezing. (We actually came across a large pile of frozen snow, the remains of an even larger pile, I guess, lying in the shadows of the tall buildings surrounding it). It is possible to move around a large section of the actual city of Montreal using the underground walkways and streets.
We eventually emerged into Victoria Square through the Bourse Building, and with the help of a young lady at the reception desk, set off to find the old port. As we moved towards it, we remembered that I had instructions to find the Bear Factory, to find a little T-shirt emblazoned with the maple leaf emblem of Canada. By amazing chance, in the rack of info in the hotel, we had found a little card referring us to L'Univers de Toutou - the Canadian version of The Bear Factory. We asked a passing postman for directions to the Place des Armes and it wasn't long before we were standing in front of the Notre Dame Basilica, with, just beside it, L'Univers de Toutou. Approaching the shop, it looked to be open - lights on, someone at the counter, but try as we could we couldn't open the door, which was a very heavy metal and glass construction. It wasn't completely shut, but it just wouldn't open. We had most reached the point of giving up, but , summoning up all the reserves of inner strength provided by a bowlful of raisin bran flakes and a banana, I used the techniques used by all good detectives in crime novels - no I didn't shoot out the lock - slamming against the door with my shoulder. With a groan, the door opened, and I almost fell into the lobby. Purchases were swiftly made, and as we left I closed the door firmly - no more customers for them that day, unless they possessed superhuman strength.
We then walked down the rue St.Sulpice to the river, and walked alongside the old quays. There were advertisements for river cruises, so we walked further to the Quai Jacques Cartier, from whence they were scheduled to depart. Unfortunately, when we got there all the kiosks were closed - we were a couple of weeks too early. The inner basins in front of the Market de Bonsecours were empty, with teams of workers cleaning up the detritus of the previous summer and winter. We took photos of the buildings constructed for the 1967 Expo, including a geodome and what looked like a huge funfair. Then we ventured in to the Market de Bonsecours, 'the tourist and cultural heart of old Montreal', where there are a number of boutiques, art galleries and restaurants. We went into one or two boutiques, and succumbing to very different sales techniques, made some purchases. In the first boutique, the owner informed us of the number of craftsmen who supplied his shop, the techniques used, and attempted to be humorous - he failed. In the second a young lady of Chinese descent, 24 years old, was a very talented sales-person, and attempted to sell us the entire contents of the store, one at a time. We complimented the store owner on his assistant, and made our way out of the shop, slightly more heavily-laden than when we went in.
It was almost time for lunch, and as we walked along the street, the early-warning olfactory sense detected a distinctive aroma in the air.
Could it be?
Yes it could!
Somethin's coming,
something good!
Our first sighting of an Indian restaurant since we arrived on the North American continent. An hour later we left the Kashmir, replete, after consuming a Beef Methi( R) and Chicken Korma (A) , basmati rice and nan bread (both shared). Energy levels retored we headed back to Square Victoria, to enter the subterranean city once more.
As we headed in a roughly northward direction, we happened upon a happy juxtaposition - a coffee shop placed just across the 'street' from a coiffeure/coiffeuse. Whether it has been the heat, I don't know, but my beard has grown considerably over the last couple of weeks, and was in need of a good trim. Approaching the receptionist, who was the spitting double of Natasha Kaplinsky (TV news anchor in UK), I was prepared to use my best French to enquire about the possibility of a trim. Once again I must have forgotten to wash off the 'English' label from my forehead, because she spoke immediately in English. If I could wait until four they could fit me in, because the lady who would tidy up my face wasn't back from lunch until then. Anticipating any questions about long lunch hours, she explained that the lady in question always took her break late. We moved back to the coffee shop and relaxed in a comfortable chair, consuming a nice cafe du jour (R) and a cranberry tea (A). At one minute to four I returned to the hairdresser's and about 15 minutes later emerged beautifully shorn. La coiffeuse a parlée en francais, mais j'ai compris tous. Bon. I was able to answer her questions and reply appropriately. At the till she hit a few keys and I saw that the total bill came to $5CAN. I must have looked startled, as she began to look a little worried. £2.50 for a hair-cut ( she had tidied up the rest of my hair too) - C'est trop... trop...'cheap' she added helpfully. Oui, trop cheap! I left her with an extra $5 - otherwise I would have felt that I had personally robbed her. She smiled beautifully and complimented me on my French - it was OK until I forgot 'cheap'.
We then moved on, having determined that we would try to get as close to our hotel as possible without emerging from this far from unpleasant underworld. Passing the Berlin Wall....no, we hadn't taken a wrong turning, we moved further north. (Just in case you're wondering, there's a section of the Berlin Wall here which was a gift from the City of Berlin to the City of Montreal.) We have photographic proof of this, but for the last few days I have been unable to upload any photos - some problem with the server at PhotoBucket, or maybe the high-speed access in hotels doesn't like you to do more than download info.
Further north, and further north, past La Place des Arts towards the University and China Town. Emerging finally from the underground system at the Boulevarde Rene-Levesque we were able to use our built in navigation systems to find our way back to the hotel, stopping off to buy some food to accompany last night's leftovers.
I then spent most of the evening blogging - almost three days top catch up on, and also watched some TV.
Just before switching off the laptop I dashed off a swift email to Dasha (Daria) in Volgograd, (another Luce Dufault fan), who will be with us in spirit at the concert later today. Yes, today!!! Logging on this morning there was a reply from her - I think she is almost as excited as I am. I'm hoping to ask Luce to autograph the T-shirt I made ( decorated) for Daria, so that I can send it off to Russia for her.
It is now 11.30 a.m. on Friday, and we are having a restful morning, after yesterday's exertions. I have already got butterflies in my stomach about tonight. I have a feeling that it will be very emotional, so I hope I can keep it together!!
As the clock struck 8.00, there was a polite knock at the door. Right on cue, the bell-boy/bell-man had arrived to collect our luggage, so that we could make it to the lobby unencumbered. Having checked out and paid the bill using the interactive TV system, we made our way through the casino, where there were a number of people already at the machines and tables (perhaps they had been there all night long!). Out through the Chihuly enhanced lobby and out to the bell-desk. Hand over the ticket to Greg - "Hi, how are you doing today. I'm Greg, and I will be your bell-man today". We were made our way to the shuttle stop and waited for Greg and our baggage. Not long after he left us with the six items of luggage on the pavement, a shuttle bus arrived and the driver emerged from the front. It was difficult, initially to determine the gender of the driver, who ridiculed us for not knowing which Shuttle Service had been ordered for us by the Bellagio. This seems to be the norm - take the p out of the passengers before becoming nice and helpful just before the destination is reached. Once the passengers from the Bellagio were on board the shuttle left, and began to follow a mysterious route through back alleys and underpasses to pick up passengers from a further two hotels. As we made our way down one of these narrow alley ways, we came upon a very large articulated truck which was trying to reverse into a hotel loading bay. He continued to try for a further ten minutes, and our nerves began to become a little frayed, particularly when we read a notice in the bus which stated that airlines suggested that passengers should arrive at the airport three hours before the flight was due to depart. Our flight time was 11.10, and it was now 08.45.
Eventually someone guided the truck-driver in to the loading bay, and we managed to get past. Actually, once we had left the back-street route we made good time, and were able to go through the check in process quite swiftly. It was then just a question of waiting in the departure lounge, watching aircraft taking off and landing, until the Air Canada Airbus 319 arrived from Toronto at 10.40. Just over 30 minutes later we were in the air - an amazing turnaround, which included a delay with some official paperwork. The flight was good. The entertainment system was very sophisticated offering film, audio, TV (satellite). The food was good, but was not complimentary.
We landed in Canada, or more precisely, Montreal, Quebec at precisely 7.05, exactly on schedule, and made our way to immigration/passport control. The officer who perused my documentation asked what we would be doing in our three days in Montreal, and when I told him we were going to see Luce Dufault in concert on Friday, he smiled and said "Man, she's a really good singer, but that seems an awfully long way to come."
Having cleared control and collected our baggage we made our way out to the taxi rank and were soon heading into the City. About 15 minutes and $35 CAN later we were outside our hotel in Sherbrooke Ouest. A few minutes later we were up in our suite. I rang Louise, who is largely responsible for me being here in Montreal, and we had a good chat and made arrangements for Friday, when she and her husband Sylvain will come and collect us and take us out of the city to St.Hyacinthe, for the Luce concert. She told me that Luce had emailed her just the day before to confirm that our tickets will be ready for us, in her name, and that we will be able to visit her backstage after the concert. As it gets nearer, it become even more unbelievable.
Having freshened up we went across the road to the Ace Bar and Grill, which is part of the Marriott Hotel there. Audrey had lasagne, I had swordfish. I finished mine, A didn't so we got a take-out box.
Returning to our hotel it wasn't long before we retired, and although it was only 9.30 Las Vegas time, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........
Breakfast at the Bellagio is a bit like ....., well it's almost like.............actually it's like nothing I've ever encountered before. There are, of course many breakfasting options - The Buffet, Snax, Fix, coffee at your slot-machine etc etc. We chose The Buffet, and arrived at about 10.30, to find a fifty yard queue line up at the entrance. As always there was the VIP queue and the invited guests' queue, and then the hoi-polloi queue. You can guess which one we were in. We had commented on how civilised it was to have breakfast available until 11.00, but as we approached the head of the queue, so did 11.00. One or two parties, having been spoken to by the young lady supervising the head of the queue, turned and stormed away, faces like thunder. When we reached the entrance we were told that because it was so close to 11.00, the staff were beginning to change the food so that lunch could be served starting at 11.00! She was very apologetic, but at the same time you could tell that she was thinking "You should have been here earlier!"
Nevertheless we did manage to track down some cereal and fresh fruit, and I even succeeded in whisking a sausage and some bacon before the tray was removed for ever.I'm not sure whether some people just stayed to continue with lunch straight after finishing breakfast. We did have a look around to see what was available, and it was very inviting, but so was our net mission - to explore The Strip. As we left the air-conditioned micro-climate of The Bellagio, emerging into the 'fresh' air we were hit by a wall of heat. By this time it was almost noon, and it was clear that more than mad dogs and Englishmen were out and about. The temperature in the shade was 34C, which translates to 100F, and so you can imagine how hot it was in the sun. I had quite deliberately left my new hat behind, because I thought it might be too hot for it. By the time I had walked two hundred metres I was beginning to regret it. Next door to the Bellagio there is a new development taking shape, and quite a large shape it will be. As per usual, this (CityCenter) will be the biggest yet complex in Las Vegas, and will have more bedrooms than Los Angeles or San Francisco or both put together - I can't remember - I was out in the midday heat!!
As you walk along the Strip there are a number of good citizens obviously concerned that your hotel room service is lacking, and offer illustrated cards featuring nubile young ladies who are prepared to come to you room within 20 minutes to provide a number of services - probably extra dusting, polishing the ice bucket or helping to unpack. Not only do these concerned citizens stand by the edge of the sidewalk trying to thrust the cards into your hand, they also drive large mobile advertising vehicles advertising similar services. It would be interesting to ring from Huddersfield, and if they didn't turn up in 20 minutes, SUE!!
Anyway, back to our perambulation along The Strip: having covered the aforementioned 200 metres, I was beginning to singe around the ears, so we went into a pharmacy and bought some water and some cream for my feet, which are beginning to develop cracks in the heel only slightly smaller than the Grand Canyon. Hmm, that's an idea, I could lie down on the Leas and open restaurants and souvenir shops near my feet - let's face it, I would make my fortune much quicker doing that than in the casinos of Las Vegas ( but more of that later). We walked on a bit further, past Monte Carlo, and then almost bumped in to the Brooklyn Bridge - you sure get to see the world in Vegas! Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour we entered New York - New York. Yes we did. Yes we did. As we walked through the narrow streets of shops and restaurants, recreating parts of the Big Apple, we passed a bar/cafe called America, and glanced up casually at the television screens above the bar. "Hello!", I said to myself, and anybody else within a six foot radius, "That's football, I mean soccer...no I mean football."
Approaching the bar casually, we realised that it was the second-leg of the Man.Utd v Barcelona European Champions League Semi-final, and it was live! As we sidled up a little closer, the cheery voice called out from the reception desk - "Will you be dining with us today, sir?" with particular emphasis oin the words 'dining' and 'sir'. A swift vote was taken, the response coming at lightning speed: "No ma'am, but our throats is as dry as a rattler's rattle, an we sure enuf would like to whet our whistles with a jug of Jack Daniels best liquor and the hottest jalapenos you can sling on the counter." Actually, I said, "No, just a drink please, miss!
So an unexpected stop-off, and a welcome glass of iced water....oh, did I forget to mention the Newcastle Brown Ale and the Bloody Mary? We sat at the bar watching the match, and it wasn't long before we realised that the two young guys next to us were rabid Chelsea fans, as they bemoaned every Barcelona miss, and cursed every goal effort of United. Being a proud Englishman, who had just been out in the midday sun, I showed my support for Manchester United, but very quietly. The match won, we drained our glasses, left the bar and walked on through New York, New York, and went back out on to the sizzling sidewalk, and went back out on to the sizzling sidewalk. Along the length of the Strip are a number of footbridges, accessed by stairs, or if you're lucky, escalators. There was one nearby which would allow us to cross the road at a very busy crossroads where Tropicana crosses The Strip. We crossed, and entered Excalibur, the 'medieval (sorry about the 'ie', couldn't find the 'æ' .....ah, there it is), mediæval castle thing resembling the one in DisneyLand. Wandering through we found the same serried rows of slot-machines, and bars and restaurants. Getting totally lost we eventually emerged and found our way to the free tram service which runs between the Excalibur, thru the Luxor to Mandalay Bay. So we left Disneyland and made our way to the Far East, walking back through Middle Egypt, past King Tutankhamun's Tomb and the Valley of the BurgerKings (actually, I just made the last one up.) The route then led us back through the Excalibur, which I had assumed would be more child-friendly because of its fairy tale castle appearance, but The Cat House and Dick's Last Stand cast some doubt, unless they referred to a pet shop and King Richard's efforts in the Crusades.
Emerging from Excalibur, for the second time, again we made use of elevators and escalators to cross two vehicular transportation facilitators (roads) via non-vehicular pedestrianised over-vehicular transportation facilitator perambulation facilities.(footbridges). We were back on the Strip, but on the other side, beside the MGM-Grand. From there we moved on, ever more slowly, as the heat increased, the crowds increased, and those kindly folk offering extra room-service seemed to be positioned every ten yards along the sidewalk. By now we had set our target - to make it to Paris. More specifically, to make it to the restaurant "Mon Ami Gabi" (in the Paris Hotel/Casino) which has an open terrace, facing the Bellagio and its renowned fountains. Swigging once-chilled water, now reaching a temperature which would have been quite acceptable for poaching an egg, we made our way closer to Paris, venturing into one or two merchandising facilities, more to escape the sun than make any purchases. One such shop was devoted entirely to merchandising items with the theme of M&Ms. Everything you could imagine - clothes, hats, bags, sun-glasses, key-rings, pens, magnets, posters, soft toys, hard toys, purses, wallets - I'll leave the rest of the imagining to you. The one thing that seemed to be missing were M&Ms. They must have been there somewhere, but there were so many clothes, hats, bags, sun-glasses, key-rings, pens, magnets, posters, soft toys, hard toys, purses, wallets, and anything else you've imagined that you couldn't find them. One can just imagine the scene - an M&M addict sees the shop and thinks he has died and gone to heaven. He enters...and exits thirty minutes later, sweat pouring from every pore, shaking uncontrollably, screaming, " Hey guys, where's the *!!***$* M&Ms at?"
Tempted by a small, elderly Chinese lady, advertising a foot massage, we decided to forego the pleasure, more for her sake than ours, and crawled on our hands and knees for the last quarter of a mile, until we at last entered the air-conditioned iciness of Paris. Entering the restaurant we immediately asked for a table outside sur le terrasse, back in the sun. Well, we are English, and we had been out in the midday sun.
Perhaps I have forgotten to mention that the wind was blowing quite gustily in Las Vegas on Tuesday 29th April. It was strong enough to whip up dust from the building sites, and cause mini dust-storms - very inconvenient for the posers carrying large alcoholic drinks in even larger glasses, some shaped like the Eiffel Tower. We sat eating our 'tunch' ( lunch and tea) and watched and waited. We watched the myriads of folk strolling past, and waited for the Bellagio Fountains to begin their spectacularly choreographed dance, synchronised with classic music of a wide variety of genres. By the time we had eaten about half of our respective meals, chopped salad avec poulet pour moi, and roast boeuf sandweech pour A, almost an hour has passed, but there had not been as much as a sprinkle. As the waitress, resplendent in the Parisian black dress with crisp white apron, approached, she called out, "How are you guys doin' ?"
"Just fine, honey. How you doin?" You may suspect that this wasn't quite our response, and you'd be right. "Where's the !********! fountains at?" No, we didn't say that either, but did politely enquire about the next scheduled appearance of the famed fountains.
"Oh no guys! It's the wind. When it's windy, the water would just go aaall over the place, so it won't be happening today. I'm so sorry guys. Can't you come back tomorrow? No? Oh gee, that's tough. Maybe next year? Maybe the wind will stop ... you never know. Have a wonderful evening!"
Tut, tut, we thought, what a bummer!
Returning to The Bellagio we spent some time with feet in a cool bathful of water, and then having applied liberally the foot-cream designed to ease the development of the aforementioned cracks on the left heel, I went down to ask the concierge if they could help us by printing out boarding tickets for the flight to Montreal. Initially I mistook Tracey for the first female papal legate, as she had the crossed keys of St Peter in gold on the lapels of her smartly tailored suit jacket, But as she asked if she could assist me in any way, I read her designation beneath her name on the gold Bellagio ID badge pinned to the same suit jacket - "Chef Concierge" it read. Whooa - the big cheese! She was excellent, but the United Airlines automated voice recognition system wasn't. Before she confided in me, with hand clasped over the telephone, that it was a voice-recognition system, I was beginning to think that the person with whom she was conversing was lacking in some way, as at least fifteen times, Tracey repeated:
"I do not know that", with extreme politeness and clarity. Eventually, when a human was accessed, she confirmed that the booking was good, but that we would have to check in at the airport, rather than online, because the flight was being undertaken by Air Canada. Ah well, good try, and full marks for Chef Concierge for her efforts.
Having eaten at Mon Ami Gabi, we decided that the planned blow-out in The Buffet at The Bellagio was out of the question, so later we went down to the Casino, and in to the Fontana Room, where Dian Diaz was performing with her band. A lively mixture of classic disco hits by bands such as Chic, Earth Wind and Fire , and the Rose person who did "Car Wash". It was during the latter song that we noticed a sudden movement to the windows and outer doors of the Fontana Room - which open on to a terrace overlooking the lake from which rise the fountains! Yes! The wind had dropped and the fountains rose and fell, swirled and twisted to the classic music of..."Carwash". I don't think it was meant to be "Carwash" but Dian Diaz and her band drowned out the scheduled accompaniment.
After this, every 30 minutes, the fountains performed - worth seeing.
We then explored more of th hotel's ground floor, including the floral displays which combined with Chihuly glass to form a spectacular sight Then it was back to Snax, for a snack, before venturing on to the gaming floor. The time had come to gamble. Making the choice of which gaming machine to use was not easy. First I set my ceiling. Peeling off billnotes from my money roll, I inserted the first into the slot. Ten minutes later, all was gone. All lost!! A momentary gain had raised optimism. The guy in front of us in the breakfast queue had boast to a group of young ladies that he had been up three grand on his first day, but had blown it all. And now I had done the same. Won and then lost it all!
Yes, at one point I had almost doubled my money, but then, slowly and surely, it slipped away, and the whole ten dollars was gone. And so, the losses too hard to take, we left the casino.......
When the shuttle pulled up outside our hotel, The Bellagio,
the first thing that I noticed, apart from the size of the place, was the line of bell boys lined up in a queue waiting for guests to arrive. Normally it's the other way round, but here it was like a military operation. It wasn't long before Bryan, (I'll be your bell-boy for today) popped our seven items of luggage on to a trolley and disappeared with them. Before he left us, he labelled the fragile cases, and told us to ring the Bell Desk once we had checked in and been given a room. Entering the huge hotel lobby brought a very poignant moment for me, as an amazing decorative ' ceiling' hung above us, made of beautifully coloured sculpted/formed glass.
Having checked in and been given our Room Number - 14075, on the fourteenth floor, we made our way through a cacophony of sound and a miasma of flashing lights. I don't know how many slot-machines there are in the building, my only surprise is that they don't have them in the bathrooms. It took us about ten minutes to get from the lobby to the room, which is very nice, very well appointed.
We knew that the Cirque de Soleil ( originally from Quebec - thanks Louise) were performing several shows in the city, and had been encouraged by Wasan and Dalya to see 'O', which, cleverly playing on the French word 'eau' is performed in, above and under water. Unfortunately the Tuesday night performance was sold out, and there was to be no further performance until Thursday. We made enquiries about 'Love' - the show based upon The Beatles album of the same name, which was released recently. There were very few seats left, and these were either singles, restricted view, or both. We were advised to walk up to the box office at the Mirage for 7.30, and add our names to the stand-by list for the 10.00 performance. We did so, having found our way through heaving sidewalks and still very warm conditions ( about 90 deg F).
Rather than repeating this process twice, we decided to stay at the Mirage for something to eat, and went to thre hotel/casino buffet restaurant, which rejoices in the name "Cravings". We explored, chose and consumed a variety of goodies, opting for a healthy salad, followed by a Chinese based option and finishing, on my part with bread and butter pudding with vanilla and coffee ice-cream. I know, I know, a diet is very much on the cards on my return.
It was by then just about time to return to th box office to stand by in the ......stand by queue. We were number 6 in the queue, and after a tense fifteen minutes, only alleviated by the powerful and very high quality loudspeaker system belting out Beatles hits, to which most people sang along. Well, I did, anyway. The young lady in charge of the stand by queue came across and read out the numbers of those who had been successful, and we were among them.
So we climbed the stairs into the auditorium, and after a short wait were treated to a feast for the senses. the show traces the story of the Beatles, using the soundtrack of the album, with some additional spoken recordings of the Fab four. It was just stupendous. Acrobats, trapeze artists, dancers showed off their superlative skills, and the production made full use of every device you could think of, in typical Cirque du Soleil style. This was the first live performance I've seen having seen little snippets of other shows on TV and watching the Dragone production of Celine Dion's Vegas show on DVD (available at all good record stores, and a few bad ones).
After the performance we made our way back to the Bellagio. It was still amazingly warm, and by the time we made it back to the hotel we had worked up quite a thirst. So we made past the serried rows of gaming machines and gambling tables to the small bar just outside The Fontana Room, where a live band were performing, and performing very well. Even the bar counter had video-gaming, or should I say, gambling, systems, operating on a touch-screen system, so you need not lose a second of your holiday gamble whilst you sipped your preferred libation. A glass of iced- water later, oh.. did I forget the two Fat Tire Amber Ales and it was time to retire. Very comfortable beds and pillows.
........ Zzzzzzzz
That title might have attracted one or two extra readers!
On Monday 28th April we left Williams after another hearty and fairly healthy breakfast at Max and Thelma's. Sara Sat-Nav calculated that we had a 213 mile drive to Las Vegas, and so we pulled on to the I40 and headed west. It was strange that we were in no hurry to take photos (Audrey being the photographer, you understand) for quite a while. It wasn't that the scenery we were passing was not photogenic, but that it paled into insignificance when compared with what we saw on Sunday. We had decided, before we left Williams, that an extra suitcase was a necessity, to be able to carry back all the free samples of coffee, sugar and bathroom soaps, hair nets and sewing kits, not to mention our free spurs and one or two other goodies - I need one just for my hat(s). So we decided to break our journey at Kingman, where we were to leave Route 66 and head north to Las Vegas. We managed to find a retail park that had both a Subway and lots of other shops including Staples and Ross. We managed to find a really cheap and garish holdall which would stand out on the carousels at the airports - cerise with large white spots. Really quite horrendous, and not quite up to Bellagio standards. Have shared a 12 inch veggie delite subway sandwich, washed down with coke/lemonade we were on our way. Sara helped us to navigate back to the highway, inviting us to make a U-turn as soon as it was legal, as we emerged from the Retail park onto a dual carriageway with a central reservation, sorry , with a median. Having negotiated a nifty manoeuvre in and out of a hospital emergency entrance/exit off we went.
On the next part of the journey, ...sounds like that song by America - The horse with no name - I think it was, we crossed mile after mile of desert, with lots of joshua trees and flowering plants by the road side. Bikers on the inevitable H-Ds cruised past on the 65 mph limit road. One guy, in T-shirt and bandana, sailed past us twice in the outside lane - he must have stopped off at Rosie's cantina, and refused to more back in to the inside lane, despite a long line of cars, SUVs and pick-up trucks driving impatiently, and very closely, behind him. The road was straight, very straight, and a bend after 50 miles was almost a cause for celebration.
Eventually we began climbing quite steeply, and the road became a single carriageway. Passing through a police checkpoint, at which the officer, hand on holstered gun, peered into the front, and then the back of the car, before waving us through with a cheery, "now you all have a nice day".
.
As we descended from the mountains, passing the huge and impossibly blue Lake Meade,
Photos later.
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