RaconteursMetropolis Montreal QC2006-09-30

Thunder cracks! at 4 am Saturday. Happy b'day Cece. The cat scurries out of the room in fear and I spend the next hour wondering how long the rain will delay our trip to Montreal. Circumstances alter cases and we're on the road at 6 am instead of our scheduled 7 am departure time. No matter as the storm was moving south to north and we were driving west to east. Arrived in Montreal at noon to meet a fellow fan from Toronto, Dave Caley, in the parking lot opposite our hotel. Most of us are staying at the Hotel Villa De France, a bit of a risk, not like staying at the Holiday Inn. It's directly adjacent to the venue, a definite plus. The hotel used to have clientele who rented rooms by the hour but has recently undergone a change of ownership and some refurbishing. A small 20 room hotel, you have to be careful when you book if you like a private bathroom. Very European. No phone in your room. Not a not in 'extras'. The venue, and hotel, are located in the 'red light' district, a few blocks stretching beyond the Place Des Arts, a mere 15 minute walk from the heart of the entertainment district. It's not that threatening at all. Actually, it's colorful. Rooms are reasonably priced. Think I'll stay here next time I'm in the city.

This is just a quick hit into the city to catch a show from one of the premiere performing artists alive today, Jack White. Not enough time for any real sight-seeing but we are smack dab in the middle of some interesting Canadian literature birthing grounds. Our hotel is only a couple blocks from Moredecai Richler's St Urbain. Leonard Cohen's Westmount, where our host lives, is only about 15 minutes from where we are located. A world away in some respects but if you had a few hours you could take a decent tour.

Our friend Ryan is coming in from Ottawa with a posse of his friends, most special among them, his much-better half, Teri. They surprise us by getting here before their scheduled ETA, if only by a bit. Aaron and Janine are along and they still have 6 more friends stashed at another hotel. We crack the jack and green early and get in our hello's before we take off for our respective meets.

Cece and I have made our way to Brutopia on Crescent Street to hook up with a long time cyber-friend, David Hanley. We're through our first round when David shows up in time to pick up the second. The menu is not as substantial as I'd hoped so we make our way out onto St Catherines to land at a cafe with some meaty open faced sandwiches. With that detail out of the way we're back to jack 'n green at the hotel. The kids had been out shopping and Ryan drops by for 'hello's' and a round. Sooner than you'd think it was time to head into the venue. The rather lengthy lineup that formed outside the door to our hotel has been inside for a good half hour already but there's still plenty of room in front of the soundboard.

David and Cece take up residence at a table just behind the soundboard and I get ready to tape Dr Dog. I know nothing about this band, just their reviews at the Little Room messageboard where most Stripes fans think they are boring. Ryan mentioned earlier they'd opend for Clap Your Hands And Say Heee Hawww! (or some such band). That didn't lift them up any in my estimation. I thought Dr Dog was one black guy with a beat box. Turns out it's a handful of scruffy lookin' white kids playing a handful of nondescript tunes. I'll give them a more detailed listen when I transfer the recording but until then I'll wait for them to team up with Skinny Puppy and Snoop Dog for the "Three Dog Night Tour".

Another round in between sets and with little delay and less fanfare the Raconteurs are onstage.

I'm still not getting Intimate Secretary. It's fine as a 'wall of sound' warmup but it doesn't have much definition onstage. Memorable only for the audience response when Jack utters his first syllables. Cacaphony describes it well. For me the show starts with the 'call and respond' on Level, which we get in the second slot.

I've spent the better part of the afternoon describing the neat trick the Raconteurs are doing this tour. They open with the musical 'outro' to Hands and generally close the set with the full version. If you loop the tape it's a concert without a beginning or an end. So tonight we get Hands in the third slot, which is good because it's out of the way, blowing that 'loop' theory out of the water.

There's a running joke tonight that is focussed on what city is the capital of Asia. It's likely this started during some late night drinking session but it's carried over to the stage. It's not making much sense to us because we weren't in on the "you had to be there" part. Brendan guesses "Dallas" during the band intro. Jack laughs. We scratch our heads. We're informed that each of the Raconteurs has a mother and Jack closes the band introductions with: "And I'll be Jack White tonight if you want me to."

Into Brendan's homage to Pink Floyd (if you ask my wife that's any song he sings), Yellow Sun. During the most important verse, or at least my favorite verse, Brendan uses the stage to continue the Asian schtick: "We wrote our names down on the sidewalk/ Jack, is the capital of Asia...is it...Bangkok?" Good rhyme with 'sidewalk' for an impromptu interjection. Of course Jack's got nothing to rhyme his "what we meant" to, and he doesn't try to match Brendan's improv, he just plays it straight.

And that, my friends, is the 'suck-ass' portion of the show because things start to get interesting right about now.

We're into the face-smashing 5 on the 5. Got no idea where this song comes from, only have about a quarter of the lyrics down as yet. It's a substantial change in tempo that catapults Jack into the middle of the show at his 'screamo' best. A brief respite as Brendan performs It Ain't Easy, a great cover popular before most of this audience was born.

There's no 'keyboard' Jack tonight. He's impinging on Brendan's space periodically but making no move to push Fertiti of the ivories. Store Bought Bones opens with a modified introduction, not the 'spirit in the sky'version, just some funky guitar improvisations before they do the Bane rendition and explode into the main song. Rather lenghty version tonight. Jack's found some breathing room on most of the songs, they've all come a long way in the 6 months since they took this baby on the road. Especially the blues-based rockers, not so much the wussy pop stuff.

The understated lead-in to Bang Bang does little to gain the attention of the primarily francophone crowd standing near me. Normally this would be bothersome but there is no more beautiful sound than a girl talking French, so it was tolerable. This song is clocking in at near 10 minutes now and it's become the passion queen of the show. It starts, it stops, it starts, it stops...the breaks are getting longer, the transitions are getting even louder and that doesn't even include losing Jack to some extended solo's.

There's no pacing involved in the rocket-blast that is Broken Boy Soldiers. A runaway train into the encore break. Have I mentioned Patrick Keeler yet? He's a dynamo. Fast becoming my favorite rock drummer currently on the road.

Seems we're at the encore early but time flies when you're having fun. A little more of an extended break, maybe two, three minutes as the band probably takes a saline IV or at least chugs a pitcher of Perrier.

Headin' for the Texas Border picks up where BBS left off...a hundred miles an hour and out of control. Just like it's supposed to be. This song suits the persona of the Raconteurs so well. Always runnin' from the law. Snakes on a stage. Beaten, nay, broken boy soldiers. Even "Bang Bang" fits this motif as it's a story about unrequited play fighting. Always with the games and the fightin'. Boys (and men) and boys, again. Even "A House is Not A Motel" is filled with travellin' and singin' and blood.

Fan fodder next, Steady As She Goes will be fresh in the minds of the crowd as they mill about outside. That is if they didn't slip into a coma during Yellow Sun.

Show closes with the epic Blue Veins, another 10 minute jack-stravaganza. Along with Big 3 Killed My Baby and Ball and Biscuit this is the third song that will appear on Jack's career restrospective at the Smithsonian. It's that good.

We spill out onto St Catharines for a post-show meet-and-greet while the crowd moves away from our hotel. I pass on hitting any bars with the youngun's and we close the night with the show playing on the computer speakers and 'wind down' chat in the hotel room.

Breakfast plans are scuttled when real rain threatens to slow down the ride home. Cece and I are on the highway by 10 am as the kids rise from their slumber. We'll see them down the road sometime, I'm sure.

Jonny Lang at Hampton Beach NH 2006-08-12 John Fogerty/Willie Nelson at Darien Lake NY2006-08-13

You bounce around the blues long enough and you get religion. Happens to the best of them, you can only hope they grow out of it. Jonny Lang, now 24 years old, is 10 years into his recording/performing career and 5 years into his marriage and NOW he's looking for a reason to believe. I jest. Sorta.

Cece has been a big fan of Jonny Lang since the clean-shaven youngster first burst onto the national scene with his superb second album Lie To Me. He's up to #5 now as Turn Around is slated for release in September. The novelty of his youth has worn off so it will be interesting to see if he's developed into a captivating performer.

Initially this weekend was going to be filled with friends and food and booze, to go along with the music. It's been pared down somewhat as a couple friends who'd planned to attend months ago, found they had other committments more recently. A Sunday 'day trip' into Boston for lunch and walking was put aside when a series of events converged to make alternate plans more appealing: big chunks of the Boston tunnel system either failed or were suspect, throwing area traffic into a tizzy; John Fogerty showed up at a venue halfway home; the past few weekends on the road have taken their toll and i'm waking up to the alarm clock way too often.

We're on the road at mid-day, hoping to miss both rush-hour and border traffic, aiming for the nondescript town of Utica, NY. In what is becoming a ritual as we cross this section of NYState, we stop in at Delmonico's for dinner and a couple of Ole Blue Eyes martini's. Cece is with the pasta dish again as I take my one opportunity a week to consume some beef, ordering the filet mignon. But it's the warm martini that keeps me coming back.

On Saturday we elect to veer off the Interstate at Albany. The I90 dips south to near Boston before coming back north towards our destination in New Hampshire. It adds a few miles and takes less time but offers not much chance to stop and stare. The freeways are soul-sucking. There used to be a time they were liberating. Before the commute to work...before the donuts in the cities...back when we were still living in the garden and fuel was cheap. Ahhh, the 50's, anybody else miss them? Now they are simply clogged arteries feeding the major centers. To see America, you gotta take the road less traveled.

Which in this area is Route 7 East to the tiny artists community of Bennington VT, which is where we stopped for a rest and a cappucino at a South St. cafe. Funky little town that gets it's winter revenue from skiers and summer revenue from hippies revisiting their youth.


Further on down the road, we're on Route 9 driving through the Green Mountain range of Vermont. Lots of terrific scenery in these hills as Cece and I stop at the top of Hogback Mountain for a lookout before heading down the other side and a lunch stop in Peterborough, NH. Yet another artists community. Everything that isn't a city in these areas is a Woodstock-knockoff. Not like that's a bad thing. Had a great turkey/guacamole sandwich here at the award winning Harlow's Pub. This little hamlet is crawling with eateries and bars. It looks like a 'good time' town for sure.

We arrive at our modest digs in mid-afternoon. Time for a drink and a one hour drive into the vacation community of Hampton Beach. Originally we were booked to stay in town for two nights. Circumstances alter cases and we found ourselves with a new schedule and only one night to spend in NH. We abrogated the "two night minimum" rule which is why we're in Mancherster. Except for missing out on meeting some friends it turned out to be a fortuitous change.

This is a whole different culture, the American 'beach' town, than anything we have in Canada. We have these communities, a few, spotted around our vast land, but we don't have the 'culture' associated with the lifestyle. No Pallisades Park, no Atlantic City, no Coney Island, no Rockaway Beach...these are American signposts. And if they're all like Hampton Beach, it's a pretty vacant landscape. The beach is lovely, if crowded beyond enjoyment. It's a bit late in the day right now so there is some space but given the unending line of traffice on the 1/4 mile main strip, I'd guess they were packed in like sardines at noon. The town itself is like a carnival. It smells like a carnival anyway, all taffy and popcorn and franks. Kinda tacky. But the beach is right there. And the majestic blue ocean. And the tight-skinned girls in bikini's, so it's not all bad. And it ain't all to be had, either, not by far. I take a minute to walk out and dip my hand in the cool water. Get repaid with a shoeful of wet sand. Even trade.


Plenty of time until doors at the Hampton Beach Casino. It's not a real 'casino'. That's just an Indian word for 'big wooden barn near water'. We' duck into the Sea Ketch for an early dinner.

See, catch the pun? That should have been a sign like the episode of Cheers where Cliff Claven takes the boys out to a place that serves 'roast bif'.

Cece, ever the smart one, opts for some pasta again. I'm thinking that fish 'n chips is safe. Well I've had worse meals. Make that A worse meal. I ordered a hamburger in Glasgow once and got a battered-deep-fried-beef-puck with some dicey spices. No bun. No mustard. Didn't really resemble anything I'd come to know as a 'hamburger'. The fries were excellent though, so it was half a meal. Here the fries were frozen only a few minutes before serving. As for the fish, I can live with the demise of the noble halibut, either haddock or cod will do in a pinch, but what is this???? The batter is soggy and tasteless. That's why they put the 'beer' in beer batter! I think they were previously frozen as well. What a horrific meal.

Oh, well, time for some drinks and music. Metal detectors at the door are once again foiled and we have time to imbibe a bit before the main act. Jonny Lang is letting his second-guitarist open with a half hour solo set. He looks like the geek from Sloan, plays a few neat riffs, but preaches way too much. Even sucks us into listening to a Christian song by promising some 'rock n roll' about 15 minutes into the set. Had me focussed for a bit. He does close with a crowd-pleaser, a very enjoyable version of Hey Jude, which is saying a ton 'cause I hate that song.

Not very good seating arrangements in this barn. Cafeteria seating. Loud metal chairs and tightly packed tables. Fearing the worse when the show comes on, a constant scraping of the floor as people move about, I choose to stand under the speaker banks where I'm joined by an assortment of drunks, debutantes and dilettantes. I mean that pejoratively. Pre-show entertainment is provided by a post-pubescent, slightly inebriated, blonde who is showing her girlfriends the fine art of oral sex using a beer bottle to demonstrate. Mr & Miss Prissy, a 30-something couple from Hoboken, NJ take offence and voice it. Other girl in the party, the brunette with a smile like a magnet, screams back: "Wait'll you see my boobies!" Yup, think I've found my spot for the show.


Without much ado Jonny Lang is onstage with a paired down ensemble. Himself, a drummer and a bass player. Three songs in I still haven't heard anything familiar and I'm mostly thinking about the facial expressions lead guitarists make and how they have little place in the art of performing music. OK, Hendrix was whacked on acid and probably didn't even know his guitar was on fire, so there's an excuse for his expressions. BB King is freakin' 80 years old so we'll give him that scrunched-up-prune-face thing just out respect for his longevity. Everybody else runs the risk of looking either crazed or constipated. Plus, I seriously believe Jonny could be lounging on his couch in his ninja turtles jammies, with his Star Troopers puffy-slippers, guitar sitting in his lap, and burn of a riff that'll strip the eyelids off your face. No need for the affectations on stage. Sometimes I let observations like this ruin entire concerts for me...but not tonight. That'll be taken care of from the stage.

Finally, a flicker of recognition as the band launches into a hot version of A Quitter Never Wins. The trio has been joined onstage by another guitarist and a keyboardist to fill out the band.

Jonny's guitar playing is very impressive, even if his song selection leaves something to be desired. He's right up there with Jack White and Charlie Sexton when it comes to my own exposure to the position. He changes guitars for every song, which might be a little precocious, but I guess the virtuouso's get like that.

After that brief respite we're back into the no-mans-land of unknown songs. I know Cece is a little better versed in his catalogue but we're still getting a healthy dose of the yet to be released album with the Christian themes. I'm not feelin' very Christian these days as I see the philosophy has been hijacked and put to bad use. (OK, pop quiz: What "days" is the author talking about? 313 AD? 787AD? the 1300's? the 1500's? during the Jesuit onslaught of the post-discovery years? those friendly slave-ownin'/witch huntin' Christians of colonial America? the Reagan years? or Dubya's more recent crusade? See? It's not easy being nice if these guys can't do it.)

Stepping down from soapbox.

Jonny shoulda played more familiar tunes. He could have dropped a few covers into the set. Or a few more covers, as his take on Stevie Wonder's Living In the City was a highlight of the evening. If he wasn't inclined to do that, at least a couple more songs from his breakthrough, and to date the album that marks the apex of his career, Lie To Me.

We did get the title song in the encore and a soulful version of When I Come To You but sadly missed Hit the Ground Running or Rack Em Up. I also missed the brunettes boobies if they made an appearance as I had to move about 12 feet to avoid the Moron Tabernac Choir that started singing along. Overall I give the show a 5/10. The drummer was excellent. Hard pounding, light on the bass, heavy on the skins and cymbals. Jonny's playing and singing was as advertised, excellent and improving. Worth another show in a venue more conducive to listening, perhaps.

Long ride on Sunday to reach Darien Lake NY for tonights show. All Interstate, no fun at all. Last time here we saw Dylan and the Dead, and as always, the DeadHeads brought their two-hour traffic jam with 'em. None this time, clear sailing right into the non-preferred, takes-two-hours-to-exit, far lot. No metal detectors here and I didn't even offer up my bag for inspection. Nor did I get stopped. Hope these guys never get a job at the airport. Cece is tasting a margarita while I quaff a cold beer and watch the crowd.

Excellent seats tonight, dead center, just to the right of the soundboard. Willie's onstage 5 minutes early. Doesn't have the sons with him this tour, just the same raggedy collection of 2nd cousins and that Mickey Raphael guy on harmonica. Willie's crowd is loud and proud and not very attentive. Cece and I are bracketed by two couples who are at their first concert since the kids got out of diapers. The kids have kids now. Both of them talked right through the songs and then applauded or whistled loudly. That's incongruous to me. Either you care enough to shut-the-fuck-up during the songs or you don't. If you don't, then there's no need for the applause. Am I missing something here? It's our good fortune that neither of them return for Fogerty's set.

Willie's just willie. Harmless fluff. Got no idea how he got the reputation he has as an American Legend. I mean, I like his politics, I even like his tunes, but c'mon, he treats every song with a casual disdain for the heart and soul of the lyrics. Clap-a-long, sing-a-long...arrrrgggggghhhhh, I can do that at home. The guy on my right probably would have sung the songs for me for free ... actually, he did, which didn't make it more enjoyable. He almost connected a couple times, most notably on the songs that contained the word "Buffalo" (nearby major American city). So that's a cheap score at best. Still, he's still movin', and that's smile inducing. We did get a more engaged version of the new song, Superman, that he wrote while recovering from being old. And all the hits to boot, as always, 'cause it's the same show I've caught 8 previous times with little change. I cring when I have to note I've seen Willie more often than any other band except for Bob Dylan and Jack White, but it doesn't hurt that much. Of course 8 of those times were opening for Bob and the 9th is tonight so it's not like the needles' just stuck or something.


John Fogerty! #641 on my list of things-to-do-before-i-die. Loved CCR, right from the swamp to that acid stuff in the early '70's. Never got the chance to see them live. This evening was a suitable replacement. Now here's a guy who knows how to treat his fans. The wait between sets was a little long, almost 50 minutes, which means, had i closed my eyes at the beginning of the Willie set I could have had a two-hour nap. After lights go down we waste no time getting to the good stuff and the torrent of music does not abate until the closing chords of Proud Mary.

John opens fast and furious with the raucous Travellin' Band. This was one of the first CCR songs I took to that was released after I became aware of them. The early, cajun music, I took a while to cotton too. This rock stuff struck a chord the first time out.

Making sure we understand where the night is going he follows that with that muddy paeon to youth and Huck Finn, Green River. If "barefoot girls dancin' in the moonlight" doesn't do it for you then just "pick up a flat rock and skip it across the Green River". Two songs and he's already summed up Creedence Clearwater's entire oeuvre. Almost.

A little nod out to the hippies with a Woodstock story. John takes the time out to clarify he didn't play this song at the Fair, he wrote it about the Fair. Not sure why that was necessary unless memory loss is a by-product of living in the '60's. Any excuse for Who'll Stop the Rain is ok in my book.

Bang, smash, into major treat #1 for the evening, a rocking, rolling, version (is there any other?) of It Came Out Of The Sky. A slam at greed of all kinds and what happens when there's only one of something. Don't matter, feels good to hear it. Hope Jodi holds out for the 17 million.

Willie Nelson comes back on to duet on a very passable Jambalaya. Fogerty, straight up, would have made this major treat #2 but that'll have to wait a bit.

More swamp music from the master in Born On the Bayou, followed by a wall-of-sound attack on Commotion. The tempo stays at breakneck speed with Rambunctious Boy before we get that aforementioned treat #2.

Lookin' Out My Backdoor has to be one of the all-time great summer drive feel good songs. Right up there with Mungo Jerry's In the Summertime. A mind-altering, mood-altering romp through time and space. Crazy shit, so enjoyable it should be illegal.

Fogerty's delivered a lot already and points to a stuffed, scarecrow that was part of the Jack Daniel's tent, saying: "Look at that guy, he's not moving at all." Then asking, "what do i got to do?!?!!??" Workin' the audience like we're sitting in his living room.

Some newer, or less known, or post-CCR, tunes; Hot Rod Heart, Bootleg and Deja Vu, wrap themselves around a couple great funky tunes in an extended Ramble Tamble and the smile inducing, I Heard It Through The Grapevine.

John introduces the featured guitarist as Billy Burnette. Qu'elle surprise. He'd had a brief and forgetable stint in Bob Dylan's road band back in the spring of 2003. It was his misfortune to replace Charlie Sexton at the helm. A hard act to follow even if you're given the time to develop. As it was he got a dozen or so shows in Australia and was replaced by the bluesy Frenchman, Freddy Koela. He's much more in his element here, able to display his rockabilly heart and chops.

Family talk about his 4 year old blonde, blue eyed daughter, who has been featured on the screens at side stage all night, and his not much older, blonde blue eyed wife before he launches into the totally unrelated Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

Some talk through the show about the Vietnam War and how the past seems to be repeating itself, received moderately well by the audience but there's not much melodrama tonight as Keep On Chooglin' and Rock and Rolls Girls gets our mind back to the matter at hand.

The show closes strong with hit after hit as Fogerty unveils Down on The Corner, and you can just see raggedy Willie blowin' harp for your nickels. All of the CCR catalogue is prone to 'mondegreens' but I've misheard : "doubles on kazoo" as "devil's on the loose" for years. Still prefer my version. Superb guitar in this song, instantly recognizable riff just sends shivers of joy through your body. Fogerty's a very active 61 year old, seems to be having the time of his life.

Centerfield, with the 'baseball bat' guitar is slightly marred by some fumbled lyrics to open and an extended break when Fogerty makes a foray into the audience to fetch some flowers from a fawning female fan. Fortunate Son shock-rocks us back to the real world and in the encore, Proud Mary promises that the wheels will keep on turnin'.

Not much absent from this set. Energy to spare, good times , old times and time to get to the vehicle before the large mass of the crowd. We exit the grounds in a record 15 minutes!

A lot of miles, some hits and misses but always a joy to be able...

Next up: Robert Gordon (w/ Chris Spedding) in Toronto

A Vacation on the Fundy Coast

For the first time since the Fall of 2001 my wife and I took an extended holiday that was not focussed on chasing Bob Dylan in different places around the world. We're just getting past the 1st Step of Recovery...admitting we had a problem. 2006 will mark the first year in 5 where the number of times we've seen Dylan is in the single-digits. Lowest total # of Dylan shows in the same 5 years.
And I will probably see another band more often that Dylan. It's like the new millenium is just beginning, I'm feeling good about the progress.

Of course this trip wasn't music free, that would be like going cold turkey. The weekend starts in Ottawa with a day at the Bluesfest. The holiday gets underway when we're on the road to Riviere Du Loup in northern Quebec, a waystation between Ontario and the Fundy Coast of New Brunswick.
If you look on a map of this area of Canada you'll see it's pretty well half-way between nowhere and no place. If you're looking to bed down for the night, it'd best be here or it won't be THIS night. With that kind of logic firmly in place we choose to stop at the first familiar name we see...a Days Inn for the bargain price of around $150 Cdn. Hmmmmmm. Paid that much for TWO nights in our nations capital and there were other things to do there. But I've passed the 'last outpost' before (that's Albany NY on the I90 East) and I didn't feel like driving another few hours. Besides the room has a lovely view of a red-night sky over the majestic St. Lawrence River. I'll take photo's in the morning.

We wake up to a blanket of fog covering the whole Gaspe peninsula down to Kingston ON. I could just as well take a close-up picture of the white walls of our hotel than capture the haze over the St. Lawrence. Oh well, we're not weather-dependent today as we're just covering some miles to Moncton where we'll meet a friend for dinner.

On the road we pass a couple sites of moderate interest, stopping for a rest at Grand Falls, the waterfall with the highest volume in NB, for what it's worth. A quick lunch at the County Line Restaurant and we're off to find, and drive through, the Heartland Covered Bridge. Longest covered bridge in the world. They can say that, I didn't measure the other ones.


The change in time zone prevented us from being too early but we did pull into town in time to go check out one of the biggest scams going...the Magnetic Hill of Moncton. OK, it doesn't cost anything, so maybe scam is a little harsh. It's a slight misdirection though as there is no magnet in the hill that pulls your car. I mean think about it. That would be dangerous. What if you had a plate in your head and had to tie your shoe? What if you had piercings in sensitive places? The irony is it attracts people to the general vicinity where there's a waterpark, a small railroad and other family-type happenings. Oh, and there's a little hill where you put your car in reverse and it 'climbs', we didn't find that part.
Cool looking entrance though.



With our minimalist schedule of site-seeing for the area well out of the way we make contact with our friend Beth. We met her through the Dylanpool back in the days when goodwill led to good times.(ie. early-2003) One of the gifts that place will always keep on giving long after it's imminent demise. Nothing fancy, dinner at St Hubert's (a chicken house), drinks and lolli's at the room, then we head over to Beth's to meet 'n greet with her parents. And imbibe some more. Until the late hours of the night, instead of the early hours of the morn, 'cause it is a school day after all.

The morning drive south to St. George affords us a few much more remarkable sites along the way. The first stop is at the world-famous Hopewell Rocks The Bay of Fundy is all about the tides...highest in the world, constantly in motion. They've done there work in this cozy little alcove, years of pressure carving out the Flowerpot rocks that are as instantly recognizable as Niagara Falls. At least to those who enjoy natural beauties that don't charge per hour to view them online.

If you're here at the right time, 3 hours on either side of low-tide, you can actually walk on the ocean floor that is covered by meters of water during high-tide. As fate would have it, we were there at exactly that moment. It's a slippery walk down the steel steps, covered with sea-slime of some sort. Cece sought to suck out of the sojourn but I steadfastly demurred. No 'she selling sea shells by the seashore' needed here. I digress. I did convince Cece to carefully navigate the steps so we could look for remnants of Atlantis and hum Donovan tunes while walking the beach. Getting back up the steps is not as much fun.

The area has a couple of well-placed lookouts where you can spy the ocean and the tides moving one way or the other but the Flowerpot rocks are the money shot.

And don't miss the Hopewell Floats at the cafeteria, for the more spiritualist, than naturalist, amongst you.

From here we venture further south, in search of covered bridges (we started making this a subtheme during a recent NE U.S. trip) and lighthouses, which can be found on either side of the continent and the Great Lakes. But you can go a long way before you find a lighthouse like the one at Cape Enrage. The most photographed lighthouse in the world! (Does no one ever question the veracity of these tourist trap claims? I mean this is not measurable.



They had a terrific little cafe onsite where you could have a light lunch or dessert. We opted for the dessert, a wonderful local specialty, similar to poor-man's pudding, it consists of a light biscuit smothered in local blueberries (the best in the world!) and covered with ice cream or whipped cream. To die for. More on the repurcussions later.

Cape Enrage has been awarded the "Best View in Canada" by the travel guru's, Frommers. It's nice alright, but I haven't been to the Mounties yet and it seems they may not have been either. Best view in NB I could buy.



Our trek to St George has us meandering through the wonderful Fundy National Park, climbing the Appalachians to a height of 366 metres above sea level before we begin following the meandering St John River towards the shore. While stopped for lunch a couple who were driving the Fundy Coast trail in the opposite direction suggested we get off the main road and take a 'river route'. It added a little time to the travel but also provided a more diverse scenic drive.

We back out of seeing the 'reversing falls' in St John, not being sure of the tide schedule and having already been bitten by the 'magnetic hill' gambit. It's basically the tide retreating over rocks, creating an upstream rapids, from what we can gather out of the tourist pamphlets. Instead we stop by a local farm for some blueberries...'cause they don't get any better than those that grow here.

We pull into Gorgeous St George (is that a monkey joke on the part of the town) in time to wander their streets, tramp through their cemetery to get a bit of the history of the town and settle down for dinner and drinks. Most of the long driving is behind us for a couple days as this well-located town, a half hour from the main tourist region at this tip of New Brunswick, offers us some moderately priced shelter from the crowds. The town doesn't have much but we did find The Chicken Coop, a local hang-out for the hot-rod driving kids and a menu to suit all tastes. The younger kids in town, the skaters, hung out by the Ice Cream Parlour where they compared rolling skills, both on the board and off.

Wednesday morning rolls around and we're up for breakfast, another local delicacy, eggs, homefries and toast with fried bologna instead of sausage, bacon or ham. My mom, recently deceased, came from these parts. Driving the province and reading the signposts has reminded my of her start in life all week. That biscuit in the blueberry pudding and this piece of fried bologna triggering the most vivid memories, funny as that may seem.

We head straight into the two main tourist towns, first St Andrew, where our whale watching tour will depart later today, then down to St Stephen, the Chocolate Town. That's a recently adopted nickname as they've converted the old Ganong Chocolate Factory into a museum.
Frommers voted this the "Best Indoor" attraction in New Brunswick, so we're knockin' em off the list fast. Interesting story of the growth and success of a small family business. They are the last repository of the art of making bon bons in Canada. And I didn't even know it was an art until a few minutes ago.

The piece de resistance was an almost lifesize chocolate sculpture of Acadian folk-heroine, Evangeline. Now technically Acadia was in Nova Scotia but this whole geographic region shares in the diaspora occasioned by the desire of the English to populate a colony with Scots until the indigineous people are in a minority. It wasn't going well, so they switched to the deportation plan. Evangeline or her persona) was immortalized by the American poet Longfellow, who'd never visited Nova Scotia but grew up in nearby Portland ME. And the Band did a nice tune as well. Of mild interest as my mother's family are Acadians. Mixed with Scots. Her mother's maiden name was Ferguson. Which means we're also mixed with Irish as the chief of the Ferguson Clan was an Irishmen who was purported to have brought the Stone of Destiny to Scotland. What goes around comes around I guess, which is how I ended up marrying a McNamara.

Back on the street I realize that all that local food, especially the blueberries, may have been too much for my 'citified' digestive system as I find myself doing the Acadian Two-Step all the way back to the tourist center where I locate an empty cubicle not a moment to soon. The thing about the Maritimes is if the rolling seas don't get you at one end, the fresh fruit will get you at the other. Everybody purges sometime.

I have just one quick question for the tourist people, we're looking for something called the "kissing bridges". Don't know if they're covered but we saw them advertised on a restaurant place mat and don't need more reason than that. I'm second in line. This shouldn't take long. Until the chick in front of me starts planning her Maritime vacation with the only available clerk. Do they not have the Internet where you come from lady? I'd have been less perturbed if the conversation didn't start with: "We want to be in Campbleton by nightfall, what can we see along the way?" Short answer: A gas station and a McDonalds. You're nine hours away from your destination so you don't have to worry about the tide schedule. It'll be where it is when you get there. This helpful information did not dissuade her from reading through 5 or 6 pamplets. Fortunately for us another clerk has just returned from lunch. Unfortunately, she has no idea about any 'kissing bridges'. Should have picked up the placemat.

Time to see some whales. Or, as it turns out, time to see some whale. The dock where we leave to find our way out into the Bay of Fundy is about 40 feet down another grimy metal staircase as we head out at lowtide. It'll be up about 15 feet by the time we return in a few hours. Now I've mentioned the tide but until you see the churning water as nature plays with itself, you might not comprehend the power of this natural phenomena. Most tidal regions see about a meter or two of water rising on the their beaches. Because of something called the Minas Basin the tides in the Bay of Fundy vary by about 12 to 16 meters. When it comes in, the beach is gone. The end result is not as interesting as the constant churning of the waters, whirpools form all around you, parts of the open Bay appear to be rapids, the water is moving so quickly.

We are blessed with fairly calm waters and very warm temperatures today, both a rarity. Unfortunately we're about 6 weeks too early for the peak whale migration season. We do happen upon one finback whale that was feeding in the area. He came up on four different occasions before our captain decided we'd best see some other wildlife. I tried my best to capture the mammal on film, while keeping one eye open to actually see it in the ocean. The 2.54 seconds I do have him on camera will have to do. We move around the Bay, seeing Harbour Seals (one white pup, a rarity at this time of year), fish farms and all sorts of birds. The most majestic site was a bald-eagle perched proudly, high above us all, at the top of his massive nest. That, and the constantly churning water.

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Next day finds us trying out the ferry routes to Campobello Island. First stop is Deer Island, a free trip, it's part of the NB provincial highway system, technically, without the road. This ferry runs once an hour and takes about 24 vehicles. Which is the first time it occured to me you might not always have room. With an hour between trips if you're car #25 it wouldn't certainly suck big time.

People live on Deer Island, and deers to I believe, but there ain't much else. We drive the one road to the other end just in time to get on an even smaller ferry to Campobello Island. This one costs. $17, each way. If you live on this island you don't want to go into town for milk.

FDR probably didn't worry much about the cost of milk. At least not in the 1920's when he was spending his summers on the island. He worried a little more about it in the '30's. And this was the purpose of our visit, to see the FDR summer home. He was the last great American President. Nice digs. One slight surprise...but not really. There were designer matchbooks FDR had made up to hand out. Seems a little vain. But the rich are not like us. He contracted polio while vactioning here, so it's not all roses.


The island also afforded us a chance to snap a photo of another lighthouse. We could have crossed more slimy, metal staircases if the tide had been just a little lower. Oh, well, no big loss, it looked like a dicey climb down, then back up, in any case.


Our ferry back to Deer Island was not too crowded but after a rally race across the islet to the docks (i took an alternate route in order to make up time and end up in front of the family camper that got off the Campobello ferry ahead of us, blocking our way on the one-lane road). Which we did. Only to end up the third car from the front when the ferry was filled. At least this is the 1/2 wait, a little more tolerable. Didn't seem to bother much of the vacationers or locals in line who just took the time to get acquainted with each other.

Last day has us making our way to Bangor ME. An unwanted border crossing but we just couldn't stand coming all the way out here and not dropping in to see Stephen King's hometown. It's the least I can do for Cece, who's a big fan. So as I approach the border I'm thinkin' to myself...should I say we're staying one night in Bangor, or two? Why would they care? How could they check? Matters not 'cause now I've got some retro '80's tune going through my head and I inform the Customs Guard we are on our way to Bangkok...ummmm, never mind.

If you ever come here just go to Betts Bookstore. They'll point the way to King's house and even give you a map of all the area locales that appear in different King books. Mostly to do with the movie IT, which was filmed nearby. We did all the requisite dorky stuff...saw the Standpipe, the bird bath, the canal, the field from one movie and the airport where Langoliers was filmed. OH, and Stephen King's house.


We were befriended outside by an elderly neighbour who was happy to chat us up with all the "King history" he could muster. A pleasant stop in a sleepy, but very upscale, town.

Our trip back home had us crossing into Canada at the smallest border crossing I've ever seen. We actually ran over a gas-station bell hose to let them know we were there.

And that wraps it up for this week.

Off to see the Raconteurs in Ann Arbor and Cleveland with a sidetrip to the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame!

Back at you next week.