scotchneat.ca

Though I didn’t intend to be quite so participaction, I’ve logged quite a few kilometers since Tuesday. Tuesday night I walked to the library. Wednesday night I walked to Melle’s, then over to Barleyworks, then back to Melle’s and then back home. On Thursday, Melle and I walked to Victoria Park, and then that night Melle, Andrew and I walked about 20 minutes each way for fireworks. Then today, Melle and I drove out to Cambridge to walk a trail by the Grand River.

In summary:

- Tuesday: 5.6 km

- Wednesday: 8.5 km

- Thursday: 12 km

- Friday: 12 km

That’s 38km+ in 4 days. Tomorrow, my feet shall rest.

For the last leg of our tour, we went to the seaside – West Coast. Ayr is a cute little town that is great if you like to golf and if the weather is nice. Unfortunately for us, neither of us likes to golf and the first day we were there was miserable.

From the train station, we found our B&B after getting turned around a few times and a bird shit on my arm–one thing you should know about Ayr is that they aren’t very imaginative in their urban planning, what with Beresford Street, Beresford Road, Beresford Crescent and Bellevue Lane, Bellevue Street, Bellevue Place and Carrick Road where we stayed had 5 different names, so have a map and don’t get too drunk. Chalmers B&B was lovely and our room was spic and span with crown moldings to die for. It was my turn for the little bed. Even though it was windy as hell and a bit rainy, we headed out to find the Tourist Info and seaside.

Had lunch at a funky place in the downtown area called The Treehouse, and it poured while we were in there. We were the only people except for a crazy dog-walker that ventured on to the promenade in the afternoon and all we got for our troubles was a sand facial. I was envisioning a nice walk on the beach and maybe some lounging but it was not to be.

No one but us, the wind, the sand, and a crazy dog-walker

So in the end this day was a bit of a bust and if I had to do it over again, I’m thinking we would have booked elsewhere. Dinner was a pleasant surprise though – quite authentic Italian at a seaside hotel – the Ariabiata sauce was fresh and the olive oil was thick enough to run a luxury car. After dinner we had a yen for dessert and whisky and found the Beresford Wine Bar & Art Gallery which was marvelous in the way that only fabulous gay owners can muster: really interesting art on the walls, gorgeous cufflinks on the owners and sprite of a waiter who had a quick wit and a firm grasp on the nature of whisky and sweets. A real gem.

We caught the local bus the next morning out to Culzean Castle and Park. This was a very different castle experience, in that a) the castle is intact and b) it’s set up as it was in the 18th Century, which is pretty damned recent in castle time. The 500-acre estate includes a deer park, swan pond, walled gardens, walking trails in woods and across fields, as well as a stretch of beach. The castle has been in the Kennedy family since the middle ages (not those Irish Kennedys, one of the guides was quick to point out). But in the time-honoured way, some gambling, some drinking and all around profligacy left the clan in a situation: taxes owed were more than worth of estate. Ergo, now it’s a “national trust treasure”.

The castle approach - nice pile

A Kennedy helped Mary Queen of Scots off her husband Lord Darnley in 1567, and it was another one who was arrested for drunk driving and go over 20 mph in the 1920’s.

The castle itself was redesigned and extended in the 18th Century by Robert Adam in the grand neoclassical style and it’s this phase of its life that has been preserved. We couldn’t take pictures inside (again) but the furnishings and design were quite something–gave me additional fodder for my imagination the next time I read some late 18thC parlour lit.

The grounds were gorgeous – we walked many kilometers I’m sure, through the gardens and to the pond and then I also found some crazy path through the woods to the steps down to the sea. The day was gorgeous as well -sunny and mid-20s, so it was quite a nice wander. By the end of the day, however, I think we were feeling it in our feet after a week of “hills go up”.

Walking down into the formal garden at the castle

The end of the walk down to the beach

For our last dinner in Scotland, we went to the Carrick Inn up the street from our B&B. Dinner was good – and I had Cullen Skink as my appetizer, which is the very Scots version of chowder I guess, with smoked haddock (very good) and potatoes in a cream base. Definitely the kind of thing that would warm your innards on a cold and wet night. When it came time for my whisky though, our waiter, who was all of 16 (and looked 14), was at a loss on recommendations. I asked if they had any Caol Ila so he went off to check with the bartender. Came back and asked me if I meant “Kahlua” to which I replied, “what kind of Scot are you? Kahlua?” In the end, I had to walk over to the bar myself to find a suitable selection. I mean, really.

And that was it, pretty much. Our next morning was a leisurely breakfast before heading off to the airport (where I did find my Caol Ila, and a big bottle of it at that).

All in all, a wonderful week away.

Full photo album for Ayr & Culzean

I was much anticipating our nutters tour – also known as The Da Vinci Borders Tour. My priorities being a) to see Rosslyn Chapel and b) to make fun of said nutters I was hoping would be on the bus with their tattered copies of the tripe disguised as a novel by Dan Brown, trying to give each other secret handshakes and muttering about Albinos.

If you want to read something interesting with conspiracy and Rosslyn Chapel, do yourself a favour and pick up Foucault’s Pendulum instead. But I digress.

Unfortunately, instead of enjoyable nutters, we got stuck with a touring group from Denver comprised of a gaggle of teens and their cougar escorts who did nothing to dispel the stereotype of American females for those who know them only from episodes of Wives of… and slasher films. The ersatz leader insisted that the tour guide read the oeuvre of Diana Gabaldon because she’s awesome! and her books are awesome! and historically accurate!

The only other people on the bus were a lovely couple from Cornwall who were equally horrified.

Also unfortunately, Rosslyn has been under construction/renos for quite a long time now so the outside was fully obscured by scaffolding, and once inside we weren’t allowed to take photographs AND the barrel ceiling was all covered up.

But back to the beginning. Our tour guide was a bit of a sprite with a nice lilt and the gift of gab, when he wasn’t giving us tmi on the troubles with his cousins on his father’s side.

We drove out into the lowlands and down to the borders first to take in Scott’s View over the Tweed Valley – reported to be one of his favourites. From there, we stopped on some back country road and followed a path through a small wood (trespassing on some poor farmer’s land, I’m sure) to “the original Wallace monument”, which our guide introduced as “Homer Simpson in a skirt and an abomination”. He certainly is a shambles: his kilt’s on backwards and it’s about as short as a Denver cheerleader’s, and he’s got a bit of a paunch.

Reminds me of a little of a lake outside Dublin owned by the Guiness family

Mostly Simpson, but maybe a bit of the Iliad in there as well.

We then headed into Melrose for some time to visit the Abbey there and have lunch. I quite liked Melrose Abbey – known to be the resting place of the heart of Robert the Bruce (only his heart, after it was taken on a grand tour to Spain on a botched pilgrimage to the Holy Land), and also boasts the only known gargoyle of a pig playing the bagpipes. I took a lot of pictures at the abbey, since it had much that I like – ruins in a peaceful setting, a graveyard, some dead knights, and remnants of medieval tile that are to die for.

Open air beauty

can't get these at the Home Depot

While eating lunch in a little town square, we were visited by some rooks – like a bucolic cousin to the urban pigeon – who were pretty sure they were fooling us about their interest in our dessert.

Keeping with the templar theme of the day, we went to a small templar chapel outside of Rosslyn. In fact, I think it was called the Temple Chapel. Chapel is a ruin, but it was one of the most interesting graveyards I’ve seen in a while – wonderful folk art on the headstones. It was also in this little village where the guide related a story that there was a bell that chimed all of the time, but the villagers stopped it up with a rope once the famous “templar treasure” was found beneath the chapel. Heard later on the way back to the bus, “so they really tied up the bell? who found the treasure?” Sigh.

These are his kids (hopefully)

Finally, we made it to Rosslyn. It did not disappoint despite the tarps and scaffolding. I got to see the Apprentice Pillar! And the maize! And the green men! As well as the light spot on the wall where the Da Vinci hollywood types put some well-meaning props. I spent a lot of time reading through the plaques that highlighted some of the many wondrous things in the chapel. They are hard at work removing the grey slurry that was put all over the original golden sandstone in a misguided attempt at preservation – and it will be something to see in the sunlight once the original facade is restored. There is a scrolling picture tour at the official site if you want to see more.

We made it back to Edinburgh early afternoon and later headed over to The Grain Store – a mid-priced restaurant on Victoria Street off of the George IV bridge (which you wouldn’t know was a bridge unless someone told you, since it’s elevated and completely full of buildings – very cool). It specializes in local foods, and I thoroughly enjoyed the meal: awesome scallions with fresh peas and bacon, followed by a lamb ratatouille & potatoes.

On the way home, we stopped at The Malt Shovel–great name for a pub–for some scotch. Excellent thistle stained glass while we were enjoying our whisky.

My conclusion on this day? I could live here. No problem.

Photo album for Nutters Day

We started off fairly early on the train to get up to Stonehaven which is a few hours up the coast. We got to go over the Firth of Forth (still best name for a body of water, evar), and the Firth of Tay, and then past a whole lot of rapeseed (canola to North Americans) and sea paths and the like.

It’s a quaint harbour town, with a beach that faces the North Sea – though it wasn’t too bad wind or weather-wise when we were there. Apparently, Stonehaven is tagged with being the first place to deep fry a Mars bar, thus further cementing our broad understanding of Scottish cuisine. Also, it should be said that it seems to be requisite that one owns a dog if one lives on the North Sea. I’m not sure we saw anyone without one on the boardwalk.

Looking out to sea, Billy

In any case, after a quick tour there and through the marina, we began the path ascent toward Dunnottar Castle. The path started off well enough through some fields and up toward what turned out to be a portal, or a war memorial, if you don’t have an imagination. It was beautifully situated in the middle of nowhere, overlooking the sea and the town below.

Faeries dancing the middle - it could happen

We paused for a few photos and lookout, and then continued another kilometer or so toward Dunnottar Castle, only this part of the path is what I fondly refer to as the “path of doom”. For someone with Meniere’s, vertigo is a problem, especially when you are walking on a path wide enough for one person, with no railings, and only a foot or so of ground between you and a cliff and the North Sea. I approached this challenge by planning how many feet I had to go and then walking straight ahead with no stops and no looking to the side until I reached the next “landing” where the ground afforded a safer, less twirly-in-the-head view of the site. Melle, meanwhile was sauntering and looking out and taking pictures–generally doing things that would have made me nauseous if I could see her, but thankfully she was behind me most of the time.

Path of Doom, Melle, Castle

Happily I prevailed over the path of doom and made it to the Castle approach, but it was down a cliff and then up a cliff and the handrail was on only one side, so I chose this as a good time to have a zen moment, and sat in a nice patch of grass well back from the precipice while Melle ventured on to the Castle proper.

Dunnottar Castle has a long history. Its origins are in the dark ages, William Wallace won a battle there, and they hid the Scottish Honours here for a while when Cromwell came looking – he eventually tried to burn it out, but some ladies escaped in a boat with the honours and saved them. These days, it’s a little ruined, but the seabirds have settled in quite nicely. You can see from the pictures why it would have been a great place to lay in, in its day. And it’s in the current rotation of Windows 7 screen savers, so natch. Also, it was used by Gibson in his “Wallace” movie (a source of constant amusement to actual Scottish people).

Dunnottar Castle - home of guano and a staircase to nowhere

We walked past some rather disinterested cows on the way out toward the car park, intending to take a forest path back to town, but then we realized that if we booted it, we might make the next train instead of waiting for an hour, so we headed back along the main route, partly closed down due to a little mudslide – must have been some wet weather in the Spring.

So there we were, speed-walking through town, round past the grammar school, up past the B&Bs, chugging toward the station and had our toes in the parking lot when we heard the train whistle signalling that it had just left the station. We missed the damn train, literally, by about 2 minutes. So, we had a somewhat cold and windy hour break at the station, not wanting to chance missing the next one.

Got back to Edinburgh with some time, so went over to the Knox House. An authentic house first built in 1490 and then added to over the years. It’s preserved now in its 16th Century incarnation. Even though it’s known as Knox House, they’re not really sure if he ever really stayed there (besides the fact that he was a bit of an arsehole). The most impressive room is the wood room – original panels and engravings and they’ve outlined what would have been vividly painted scenes on the ceiling, including the Tahitian girl…

This in a house of pious folks, who knew?

So then it was a bit more shopping before finding a pub over on Rose Street, on the other side of Waverly. In keeping with my native tastes, I had some chicken thing stuffed with haggis. Melle in the meanwhile, was excited to have found the first genuinely free wifi since our arrival, and was lost to the Interwebs with glee.

By this point, we were well walked and tired of things that go up, especially things that we have to walk on, so we were happy to head back to the hotel.

Photo album for Stonehaven & Dunnottar

The train from Glasgow to Edinburgh was straight  forward and our lodgings in the city were in a spectacular location – right by Waverly Station, with Chalmers Close connecting it to the High Street from the back. I totally recommend Jury’s Inn Edinburgh for that reason alone.

View from the Tourist Centre toward our hotel

This time, we couldn’t get an early check-in, but at least we were able to dump our packs there before heading out for some sightseeing. As in Glasgow, we opted for the hop-on/hop-off tour to get us oriented. I must say that Edinburgh runs strong against Dublin, Ireland as one of my favourites. The architecture is sublime, and there are enough bridges, crazy walks, closes and easily walkable districts to keep one content for a long time.

The other cool thing about where our hotel is located is that it was like being in the thick of a personal Ian Rankin what’s where – we were right by the Caledonian, Fleshmarket Close, Mary King’s Close (more on that later), High Street, Princes Street, and so on. Though we didn’t make it to the Ox.

Anyway, we elected to stay on the bus for the whole route, and that worked out well, since we could take in all of the info and spend the afternoon doing our own thing (plus we were on the top deck for a change and didn’t want to give up our seats). At lunch, we got into our room to freshen up, and then it was off to the Castle.

On the way, we did a decent amount of shopping – if you are looking for jewelery, kilts or even kitsch, you’ll find it here. Oh yes, and whisky too.

Edinburgh Castle is a ghastly £13 to get in, but it was worth it. Some awesome-looking guards were out front with great spats. The Castle is built on an extinct volcano, and there are records of there being a fortress there as early as 600 AD. By 1130, some of the buildings that are still there were already built, including Margaret’s Chapel – which I would have loved to have seen the inside of, but it wasn’t open (apparently you can rent it for small weddings – that would be gorgeous).

Beautiful - and you can see how it's situated on the rock

In the 1300’s the Castle changed hands between Scotland and England several times due to its strategic and symbolic significance. David did some work in the 1400’s and then James IV built the Great Hall in 1511. The “Honours” are also assembled during this timeframe, and we got to see them as well (they spent some time in other castles during various seiges – like at Dunnottar, which we also visited, to keep them away from the filthy hands of Cromwell in the mid-17th Century). James VI was born in the Castle to Mary, Queen of Scots, and of course he went on to become James 1 of England.

The Scottish War Memorial – in the former St Mary’s Church –  is one of the most impressive buildings I’ve ever seen of that type. No pictures allowed inside, unfortunately. It was very quiet and respectful in there, though you could hear people turning pages in the books of the dead – just looking at names, or looking for relatives, I suppose.

James’ Great Hall was great. Also rentable for weddings and parties. The hammerbeam roof is original and amazing – puts that new fangled one at Stirling to shame. Though the rest of the room is pretty much a reno from Victoria’s reign.

That's some aged wood

Fortuitously, on the way back down to our hotel, we found the Real Mary King’s Close, which is something that was on my “want” list. This is one of the only ways you get to see the “old” streets from 17th Century Edinburgh, preserved underneath the modern construction. Back in the day, the Close was a group of very narrow streets with tenements up to 7 stories shadowing the bottom. The were all oriented from the main street down toward Nor Loch, and that’s where all of the sewage ran to as well – so you can imagine how clean the air was.

On the tour, the in-character guide tells you a lot about the plague and about the ghosts that supposedly haunt the Close. Mary King herself was fairly prosperous – earning a whopping £100/year, though the dentist was earning double that. There was one man still living there in the 19th Century who didn’t want to move out. He also had the only flush toilet, which he positioned in the front room where he could show it off by using it with the front door open. They did eventually get him out, and it was amazing to still see some of the Victorian wallpaper in his old townhouse.

After a bit more shopping, we headed back to the hotel to offload and get ready for dinner. We wandered over the bridge to Rose Street area. As we were crossing a street, there was a young couple with a scrawny baby in the carriage and he was carrying on to high heaven about something. So Dad pulled him out and Mom placed on his head a jaunty tam o’shanter that was bit too big, but it was the magic hat, man. Little guy was giggling and happy to see the world after that. So if you are ever down in the doldrums, put on your jaunty cap and you’ll be fine.

I had a real craving for pizza, and we found a decent Italian restaurant. I had some great crumble for dessert – not so scottish, maybe, but very yummy.

It was amazing that it stays light so late at the northern latitude. We were wondering around close to 10pm with twilight barely setting in.

Photo album for Edinburgh

We booked a 1-day tour out of Glasgow to give us a taste of the highlands, and of whisky via Rabbie’s Tours. They max out at 16 people, which ensures you get some attention, except for when your group also includes two incredibly loud, rude Portuguese women and a group of Italians who have more interest in smoking than in national trust buildings.

Stirling Castle is much photographed and frequently visited. It’s  the historical navel of the country, so to speak. James VI really spiffed up the place, though his first wife never got to see the final result. Being a good planner, he was sure to situate the mistress quarters well by the King’s and at the far end from the Queen’s.

Find the Mistress' Quarters

Mary, Queen of Scots was crowned there (though Mary of Guise her mother ruled on her behalf for 17 years). The chapel is pretty intact with original paintings and trompe-l’oeil. There’s also a cool project underway right now to create reproduction tapestries showing a parable of Christ’s life – and as in medieval times, the weavers are using the faces of real people who work at the castle in their work.

My father would well appreciate the ceiling in the banquet hall which has also been restored recently. It’s comprised of about 350 oak trees without any nails. And then there’s Douglas garden, a “peaceful” place so named because a poor fellow named Douglas was chucked out the window after the King murdered him. Good fertilizer and all that, I suppose.

We spent a good few hours at the castle, along with eleventy hundred other people. Wallace is a big hero here – close by Stirling is where is supposedly weakened a bridge, allowing half of the English force to get across before it collapsed, effectively splitting the attack force in half. And Robert the Bruce is also a superhero, and it’s his statue that gazes out over the hills at the entrance to the castle. Bannockburn isn’t that far away.

Aberfoyle, where we stopped for lunch, reminded me a lot of Lunenburg, NS, a town where the houses are quaint and the only business is tourism, thanks to Scott’sThe Lady of the Lake. We had some fish & chips, sadly without newspaper, but it was piping hot and sufficiently salty and vinegary to satisfy the craving. At the tourist center they had sheep-herding demonstrations as well as birds of prey on display – owls are unnerving – heads shouldn’t be able to do that.

From there, our little bus wound around little roads going higher into the hills around Loch Lomand. Our guide Juliette was doing her best at this point to shush/ignore the Portos who were loudly talking on their cell phone for Pete’s Sake. It was hot and sunny, and there were campers at every lookout where we stopped. We also saw some Highland Coos!

Ach

By the time we got to Loch Lomand, it was mid-afternoon, and with the sunny weather and tour bus trade, the place was packed. Some foolhardies were even trying to swim, though I imagine the water was still at March temperatures. The loch itself is Scotland’s biggest in size (not volume – that’s Loch Ness), and its many islands contain everything from summer cottages, to wallabies, to a nudist colony. We did a fairly steep hike with the guide up to the top of one of the hills, along with a few others from the group. Very nice view of the loch, and then around the lochfront on the way back to the pub, where Melle drank a pint in about 90 seconds flat before we had to board the bus again.

Not the nudist colony

And then we were off to the whisky :) The distillery tour was at Glengoyne, which produces a non-peated whisky. I wasn’t sure if I would like it, since I like my peats, but the 17-year in particular had a nice finish. The distilling process was interesting, and I tried the 10-year, 17-year and 21-year, but no certificate! You’ll have to take my word for it that I’m a certified whisky-taster in 2 countries now.

After I had my fill of tasters, it was back to Glasgow. Dinner was at The Dhabba, an Indian restaurant also in the Merchant District – the hot dishes weren’t so hot by Canadian standards, but the ingredients were genuine and the server was very pleased that we knew the dishes and the fact that it was Northern cuisine.

Photo album for Stirling, Loch Lomand…

If you were wondering where the hell I’ve been, I’ve been to Scotland! And in addition to that I’ve been going through the process of interviews and accepting a new job, and then getting back into the swing of things here at home – result being that I’ve not posted in a while.

Things I learned in Scotland:

1. Hills go up
2. My scotch cabinet has pretty much the same selection as your average pub in Scotland.
3. Anything can be made better with a jaunty tam o-shanter.
4. The length of Wallace’s sword increases each day.
5. People can spell my name in Scotland.
6. It’s not “cow”, it’s “coo”.

===

Before we even got on the plane, we had our first entertainment. Going through security at Pearson, the lady in front of us got stopped for carry-on inspection. The reason became clear when the inspector pulled out the family-size fruit salad in tupperware, the side salad, the can of sprite, and a full bottle of ranch dressing. I’ll go out a limb and guess that she doesn’t get out much. Most surprising of all though, was that she got to keep the salads.

We landed at around 8:30 in the morning Glasgow time and it was pretty easy to find a bus to take us downtown to where our hotel was. Conveniently located not too far from George Square and the train station, so that worked out well. There was a big bed and a little bed in the room, so I took the little bed for this part of the trip. They did well to get us a room that early, and we were much relieved to be able to freshen ourselves up a bit before assaulting the city. Even though we didn’t sleep much on the plane, we like to hit the ground running and go all day to get on schedule as soon as possible.

Weather was already heating up for what would eventually be a 27 degree day – enough to send the natives into paroxysms of glee, rip off most of their clothes to reveal milky white skin and lounge about the commons.

Up at George Square, we got to see Wellington in his Glasgow hat – always some version of a traffic pylon, and currently a sporty orange stripe number with a green base. We speculated if the colour choice was on purpose, since we were there on the actual day of an Orange walk in the city. As far as we can tell, the modern incarnation involves a bunch of buddies getting together and singing defamatory songs, drinking lots, arguing about footie, and then buggering off back home on Sunday. Not a lot of people wearing green that day, in any case.

We caught the hop-on/hop-off tour from George Square as a way of getting around the city. You’d never know that it wasn’t high season yet – it was a struggle to get to the top deck and we had to wait a few times at the stops to get back on the bus. One of our stops was the cathedral, necropolis and infirmary.

The cathedral, also known as St Mungo’s (which, best Saint name evar), was one of the few to survive the dismantling of the reformation. True to form, some belligerent of the faith surrounded the cathedral when the reformists came a calling and threatened to do in kind if they touched a stone. The cathedral has some interesting features, and a whole white chapel in the basement, as well as a “Blackadder” walk. It’s also where I took the megacool shot that ought to be on a book cover.

I was not worthy to lift it

We wondered up into the necropolis, which is still very much in use. Gorgeous place to go for a walk if you don’t mind crypts and headstones. We got accosted by an old amateur historian (who was possibly a history professor from nearby Strathclyde Uni), who told us all about the Deacon/President of Strathclyde who got to meet Queen Victoria twice when she visited.

Sunny day of the dead

The infirmary is famous for being one of the foremost medical training facilities in the UK and beyond.

From there, we caught a bus over to Glasgow Uni – very nice campus, and home to the Macintosh House Museum – they basically packed up the house and moved it into the building. Unfortunately, we couldn’t take pictures inside, so I have one shot of the door and that’s about it. You can see some of the contents at the museum site. The dining room was pure noms.

By this point, our inertia was fading in the sun and we went back to the hotel for a bit of relaxation before heading out for dinner. We ended up at City Merchant in the Merchant District, who specialize in fish. I had Pollach with blood sausage mash. They like to put blood sausage and haggis in everything – mash, meat, breakfast, lunch… It was quite good, and I paired it with a Chilean merlot that worked out quite well. Dessert was Scottishy scots – I went for sticky toffee pudding and a whisky I’ve never had before – Caol Ila. Think a clod of peat dipped in oil, dragged across some Islay dirt and distilled with some mineral water. That’s the stuff, man.

In the end, I grabbed a bottle of it from the duty free on the way home, which was a good choice, since it’s available in very limited locations here in Canada.

By this time it was 9:30 and we were tired and anxious to get our sleeping schedule fixed, so it was back to the hotel.

Photo album for Glasgow

What were you doing last night? Me? I was at a book reading/signing with Christopher Moore!

First, the venue was a church. And he spoke from the pulpit. And if that was delicious irony enough, he was mad with the quips about securing himself with the sash thingy in case of sudden rapture.

The reading wasn’t so much reading as some very funny stories about life on a book tour (the last time he spoke in a church, a young earnest man mistook his Ambien-induced brain fart for an epiphany), being Canada after a long time (though he finds the man being threatened by a boat full of monkeys on the back of our $20 to be a bit odd) and the awesomeness of his neuticals.

My BB camera sucks and it ran out of memory before I could get a picture with the man himself, but we got a great shot of Melle. And check this out:

The altar says "Do in remembrance of me" heh.

The absolute beauty of that. Really.

Except for the torch malfunction at the end, an awful version of the national anthem sung by an annoying tween, some really bad Vancouver French and whatever the hell Nelly Furtado and Brian Adams sang, the Olympic opening ceremonies were pretty damn good.

There were a few of us tweeting away – as Melle pointed out – the newest version of our frantic BlackBerry texting in ‘02 (and for most of Buffy, but that’s another story).

I’ll try to reconstruct my impressions as the ceremonies unfolded from the tweets:

“sugared peaks”? I miss the CBC already. Yeah. Even if Donald Sutherland is narrating. Though looking back on it now, maybe they really weren’t referring to the mountains in the distance…

Mounties! You’re in Canada now… but sadly, they are not on horses. The sadness due primarily to the fact that of what a horse can do for you (Ed. note: this commercial is from the Superbowl and not the Olympics but it is very important).

Crap, the “I Believe” chick is singing the anthem. Badly. The national anthem is not a tween pop song, people. And she has awkwardly long arms that were very distracting. This was really bad.

Somewhere around here we were welcomed by four different First Nations peoples, which was lovely and all, but then they raised up these totems with their arms stretched out like Fright Night mummies or something. And then began the parade of athletes…

Austria’s in suits. What’s up with that? They need some kind of wool product. There seemed to be two camps on the athlete costume front: winter cool or formal chic – Italy has some wonderful tailored coats, and Bahamas went for their full formal wear – including the shorts.

Kazakhstan rocks the head gear. Flying nun means exotic bling. I highly recommend that you stop and appreciate. Far more creative than the team baseball caps that many were wearing.

Native dancers now exhausted. Should collapse in heap around scary totems shortly. The big thing to explain here is that the dancers were dancing the entire time that the athletes were coming into the stadium. And there were other dancers who danced for the whole ceremony (mostly doing variations on the white man shuffle and the wedding sway) – that’s a pretty long dance, people.

Now I get all smiley and shit. Stupid national pride. When the Canadians were walking up the small ramp into the stadium, it was like a wall of red coming through the mist, and pretty fucking cool. Suits weren’t all that imaginative, but the plaid scarves were a nice touch. Clara Hughes was a good choice for flag bearer.

It’s a bear. They made a bear! (thank you, Spike)/okay. the whales are cool. In fact, much of the special effects were cool. Big LED bear and the whole audience had their LED lights as well. The whales were truly beautiful.

My first clap out loud. I need a scotch. and some spoons. Awesome. Hundreds of fiddlers dressed kind of goth-plaid cum bordello voyageur, with tappers and celtic dancers. They did a bit of a fiddle-off, then Ashley MacIsaac showed up and blew the roof off.

Spin around, ninja, spin around… Snowboarders and skiers suspended in the air twirling around the “mountain” (the jellyfish chandelier) put in my mind of the best literal video evar. Melle noticed the ninja-ness first, though. This part was okay.

Yeah, zed! Slam poet Shane Koyczan from Penticton gave us a little “I am Canadian” of his own – biggest cheers for “Please and thank you” (we’re so predictable”), but overall it was exuberant and a little cheeky and he rocked the Amish beard.

oon eekipp? Can’t tell if that’s Inuit or French :) While I appreciate that all of the officials tried to do their French bits, the Western guys really struggled. Then Jacques Rogge does his speech and it’s actually understandable in both official languages.

Canadian quotient reached! kd Lang does Leonard Cohen…/And, I should say, butch looking good in a men’s suit singing a song about getting tied up in the kitchen. Booyah. Far and away the best performance of the night. I think everyone agrees this rendition of Hallelujah was even better than the one she did at the Junos. And no, we don’t give a shit if it had anything to do with athletes or doing your best, it was powerful.

Mom! The Olympic flag was carried out by Bobby Orr, Ann Murray (my Mom’s doppelganger), Jacques Villeneuve , Betty Fox, Donald Sutherland himself, Barbara Ann Scott, Romeo Dallaire, and Julie Payette – kind of like that they mixed up athletes with luminaries.

No swearing, Hayley. I did find it rather amusing that Hayley Wickenheiser read the athlete’s pledge. Totally believed her on the no drugs, but not so sure on the sportsmanship.

It’s a torch standoff. I think everyone was not at all shocked that the Great One got the torch. Rick Hansen was a natural as well. Steve Nash? A bit of a surprise but what the hell. How very Canadian to have all of them light the cauldron together, and everyone has heard of the cauldron malfunction by now. And yes, it looked like giant penii. Seeing Gretzky afterward, riding through downtown in a pickup was the kind of moment that every small town everywhere could get into.

And then it was pretty much done. hash is #van2010 if you want to contribute or catch up.

Last night, Melle and I went to a public lecture at the UW Pharmacy School. This one was about Anaphylaxis with Dr Mark Greenwald.

Greenwald pulled about 150 slides in 70 minutes (well over the promised 45), and slid right through the stuff I think most of the people wanted to learn about–how allergens engender the development of t-cell receptors and white blood cells, why anaphylaxis is hard to predict, hard to analyse and hard to manage, and so on. Since he said several times that he was presenting to “pharmacists”, and only one person in the room was a pharmacist, that might explain it.

He presented a few case studies, which had the potential to be good learning tools if they weren’t so rushed. In one case, he presented a young boy who’d never had peanuts, but whose older brother had a severe allergy to them. Question was: should he have an epi-pen? How do you know if he’s at risk for anaphylaxis? As Melle and I turned to each other and muttered give the kid a peanut, Dr G joked that a double-blind study with a peanut is what should be done. But then he said something ethically you can’t do it. I still think it’s a good idea. Whatever.

I did learn a few things:

• For venom allergies (like bees & hornets), the best thing to do for a child is immunotherapy (i.e. allergy shots)
• Many anaphylaxis events are dual – the person has a reaction, then nothing and then something comes back, and sometimes it’s much worse. Problem is that the “downtime” is most often longer than how long patients are kept under observation in a hospital.
• You can outgrow some allergies, but not others.
• There’s a high concordance of poorly managed asthma and chance of a strong anaphylaxis reaction to food or other allergens.
• In many cases, epi-pen doesn’t work: the needle isn’t long enough (hello rampant obesity), no one knows how to use them properly, and it must be in the muscle, not just the skin, and even more than that, apparently the thigh is the only sweet spot (the arm isn’t good).

The question period devolved into some older lady telling us about her visits to the allergist, and stopping just short of her sharing about her poops (as Melle so aptly described the exchange).

—-

Being a big fan of the PI public lectures and these, I have to say that there is a big difference in the attendee profiles. Physics nutters are loveable. They ramble a lot, and some of them think that the laws of physics include aliens and tinfoil hats, but pharmacy nutters are hypochondriac know-it-alls. Instead of it being fun, it’ s really a race to the door before they start telling everyone about aliments and why xy medication should/should not be taken in higher/lower doses.

Not sure I’ll be attending in person again. It was just that painful.