Waves, Spirals and the Face of God

I wasn’t home a week from my American book tour when the family motored north to do some boating along the British Columbia coast to our usual haunts: Cortes Island and Desolation Sound. Named so by Captain George Vancouver in 1792 due to some bad luck, poor weather and its remoteness, Desolation Sound is far from desolate. During the summer, it offers one of the best cruising grounds in the world, drawing boaters from all over the planet to its clear and warm waters, exceptional scenery and a kayaker’s paradise at the northern tip of the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia.

Despite years of practice with my husband and his family, I’m not a very good boater. As much as dark clouds and thunderstorms draw me on land, they send me cowering in the hold on water. Waves and I just don’t get along. You guessed it: we had wind and we had waves. I’ve said before that I usually don’t dream. Well, I dreamt that night.

Car Trouble in Butte, Montana—“Tap ‘er light!”

Known as "Big Sky Country" for obvious reasons, Montana offers 147,000 square miles of terrain and about 69,000 miles of public highways and roads to explore, including some of the most breathtaking scenery in North America (e.g., Beartooth Highway, Glacial National Park and Going to the Sun Road: West Glacier to Saint Mary's Lake, West Yellowstone, Madison River Country, the Bitteroot Valley, just to name a few).

Well, my delay in Montana had less to do with the weather than with my own neglect (I let the oil dwindle to nothing); although the heat may have conspired in my longer than intended stay in Montana. After lingering longer than I should have in Bozeman, I stopped in Butte for the night.
Butte was once considered the “richest hill on Earth”; it came into existence because of gold and is still an active mining community of copper, manganese and zinc as well as gold and silver. “You can see it in the smooth, worn streets, and the billboard images ghosted on brick hotels,” says the town’s visitor’s guide. The people who live and work in this worn-down but friendly town are proud of their mining history and culture. As a result of its mining heritage, Butte has even developed its own unique vernacular: mine-speak, which Kevin Shannon and Jim Edwards have documented in their book, Memories of a Mining Camp. For instance, instead of saying, “Take it easy” they say “Tap ‘er light,”, an old expression that goes back to hand drilling the holes for the dynamite in the mines. One guy would hold the steel and turn it while the other would pound it to bore the hole. The guy holding the steel would constantly worry about getting his hand whacked. Ouch!

The following morning, Chelsea, my trusty 1988 Plymouth Acclaim—after serving me for close to 9,000 km (5,592 miles) across America—refused to start.

From Cooking South Dakota to Storming Wyoming

As I drove the wind-swept plains of South Dakota that rolled gently into the sweltering heat of the open plateau, I recalled telling my friend in Kentucky on the phone earlier that there wasn’t a speck of shade to be had—whereupon she’d laughed and reminded me that she’d warned me of just that very thing: east of Rapid City and the Black Hills there is no shade to be found. The next day, as I adjusted my Armstrong Air-Conditioning (e.g., I opened all the windows of the car), I had to laugh out loud when I spotted a sign on the interstate that advertized trees and shade. It was so hot that even the chocolate biscuit of my ice cream sandwich melted! When I checked later I found that the temperature had been in the mid nineties (34 degrees Centigrade), which is nothing compared to the record temperature for that time period of 109 degrees F (and that was just last year!).

As I entered Wyoming I almost immediately got into some "weather". I was barely past the welcome sign when I spotted a weather-advisory sign and remembered that I wasn’t far from “Tornado Alley” in eastern Wyoming. No sooner had I seen the sign when the wind picked up and dark clouds swept in toward me. Lightning struck several times. It began to rain. Then it pelted.

Lightning Bugs & More Lightning in Kentucky

Nicknamed the "Bluegrass State" for its prevalent bluegrass, Kentucky is also known for its horses, with possibly more per capita than anywhere else in the world, according to my Kentucky friends. And there is no better representation than the Kentucky Derby, called “the most exciting two minutes in sports.” But, my best memories of Kentucky don’t lie with its bucolic scenes of pastures and horses; rather with its wildlife and natural phenomena.

One of my favorite experiences in Kentucky was being lulled to sleep by the swelling rhythm of cicada “chatter”. Their synchronous lullaby sang me to sleep every night.

America, You’re Beautiful!—Part 4: Bozeman, MT, and The Leaf & Bean Coffee House

The look on the street is Carrie Bradshaw in country boots. No need to pack a blow-dryer; the Keep it Wild philosophy extends from nature to hair, which is also left untamed—Travel & Leisure Online

The visitor’s guide describes Bozeman, Montana, as “a charming town. In a John Wayne—Norman Rockwell—Bob Marley sort of way.” No where is this more apparent than in the heart of Bozeman’s historic downtown, along Main Street, near its intersection with Wilson Avenue. This area features a relaxed funky atmosphere, an exciting commingling of southern wild west and northern yuppy vogue.

A cross between Louisville’s bohemian Bardstown Road and Victoria’s attractive Government Street, Main Street of downtown Bozeman is a memorable walk. Lamps adorned with colorful bouquets of local flowers line the downtown street. Most of the buildings are heritage-style brick facades with original signage. Among the galleries (like the Beatnik), antique stores and movie theatre, I spotted several music shops, like Cactus Records, which sells international and local music and equipment. Main Street is an attractive retail corridor that houses more than 100 shops and restaurants, including those selling sporting goods, clothing, furniture, kitchen equipment, and technology. Remember, Montana has no sales tax.

Nina’s American Book Tour: Bozeman, Montana

The Barnes & Noble book store in Bozeman, Montana, is located on Main Street, a hip and funky street that gets downright interesting by the time you hit 10th Avenue (more on that in a later post). I signed several copies of Darwin’s Paradox last week at the store and must thank Jeni, Karen and Louise (hope your ankle is better, Louise!) for their help in setting everything up on such short notice. If you live in or near or are simply passing through this cool city in the Montana mountains and gateway to Yellowstone National Park and Glacier National Park, drop in to Barnes & Noble and pick up a signed copy. Last I heard there were still some left.

Bozeman itself is a colorful and attractive city with cultural diversity and a level of “coolness” that comes from being a university town set amidst lofty mountains with a western flavor. Bozeman is located in the Gallatin Valley, surrounded by magnificent mountain ranges. North of the city, the Bridger Mountains attract thousands of skiers each winter. The Gallatin Range and the Madison Range, south of Bozeman, rise more than 10,000 feet and have peaks covered with snow much of the year. Montana State University is located in Bozeman, with a very attractive campus and programs that range from agricultural sciences, engineering to the fine arts. I spent some time there, particularly in the student union building, where the bookstore and the pub were. I would so enjoy teaching here; I just might…My son wouldn't mind it too much either. According to PubClub.com: "this is place to go if you love to be outdoors and ski...ski bums are all over the campus and so are the hippies...its a true party college." The Museum of the Rockies, located on campus, features many wonderful paleontology exhibits. Jack Horner, the world's top dinosaur hunter and an adviser to the movie "Jurassic Park," works at the Museum. Occasionally, Museum visitors see Professor Horner inspecting the Museum's latest exhibits.

The visitor’s guide describes Bozeman as “a charming town. In a John Wayne—Norman Rockwell—Bob Marley sort of way.” The town’s history goes back to the time when Gallatin Valley (where Bozeman lies) was used by Indian tribes, including the Flathead, Sioux, Shoshone, Nez Perce, and Blackfeet, who all hunted for game and edible plants. According to tribal lore, Indians agreed not to fight in the Gallatin Valley, instead conceding to share the area’s beauty and resources with one another. European fur traders came in the 1700s, with Lewis and Clark leading a historic expedition to the Three Forks of the Missouri in 1805. Mountain men roamed through the area trapping beaver and acting as guides.

The town is named after John Bozeman, a Georgian who’d left his family to find fortune in the West. The town was named in his honor in 1864, shortly before he was killed near Yellowstone under mysterious circumstances.

Yellowstone National Park, just south of Bozeman, was created in 1872 and is the first and oldest national park in the world. Bozeman is often referred to as the “Yellowstone Connection”. After an unsuccessful bid to become the state capital, Bozeman was chosen as the site for the new agricultural college, which became Montana State University, home of the fighting Bobcats.

Bozeman currently supports a population of 30,000 interesting "urban cowboys" from young to old and funky to intellectual. From appearance, dress, comportment and speech I was treated to an attractive and exciting commingling of southern wild west and northern yuppy vogue. Travel & Leisure Online wrote: “The look on the street is Carrie Bradshaw in cowboy boots. No need to pack a blow-dryer; the Keep it Wild philosophy extends from nature to hair, which is also left untamed.” I felt at home.

America, You’re Beautiful!—Part 3: Murdo, SD

Fresh from the funk and culture of Louisville, KY, I continued my search for “genuine America” as I headed back west along the Interstate 90—and found it in the lazy town of Murdo in South Dakota. Located 173 miles east of Rapid City and Sturgis, the site of an annual motorcycle rally (August 4-10, 2008) that draws participants from all over the world, Murdo is nothing to look at, really, but I desperately needed to stop and rest for the night. The bright yellow sign of the Super 8 Motel beckoned and I decided to try it. Not only was the Super 8 too expensive for my now slim pocket book but I decided that the place lacked character, like all the handy chain hotels along the interstates. The receptionist politely directed me down the town’s business road and I encountered the charming Sioux Motel, with its original sign that featured a Sioux Indian with full headdress. Now, this was more like it…

America, You’re Beautiful!—Part 2: Louisville, KY

During my stay in Louisville, I drove into the Highlands—an area near downtown Louisville marked by a ridge of land between the middle and south forks of Beargrass Creek—and found myself walking the eclectic commercial stretch of Bardstown Road from Market Street near what’s known as the Cherokee Triangle to Taylorsville Road.
Bardstown Road is one of the most unique shopping districts in Jefferson Country, and features some of Louisville's finest dining establishments, along with the best antique shopping and people watching in the country. Known variously as “punk street” and “Restaurant Row” for its copious nightclubs, pubs and eateries, Bardstown Road is a mixture of artistic, organic, punk and yuppie influences. I saw nothing ordinary here.

Falling for Paris

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast

—Ernest Hemingway

It’s been a week since I left Paris and came home. My heart aches like a lost lover. You could call it jet lag, but I prefer to believe that I’ve fallen head-over-heels in love: dazed with haunting visions of a city that opened me like a bracing wind sweeps open the shutters of a window to light my soul with wonder.

To fall in love is to open oneself completely and be changed. Paris changed me.

When I returned home, several people asked me what struck me the most about Paris. I was challenged to provide a single highlight and realized that everything coalesced into a larger phenomenon that encompassed the attractive people, neo-classical architecture, quaint cobble streets, complex fragrances and ambience that is Paris.

Paris is a beautiful, complex city that cannot be described or defined without giving oneself totally away.

Shakespeare & Company in Paris

In the current historical fantasy I'm writing (which brought me to Paris to do some research) my two main characters, Vivianne and François, pass a rather famous bookstore located in the heart of Paris on Rue de la Bucherie, on the Left Bank just opposite Notre Dame Cathedral: Shakespeare and Company.

Shakespeare & Company is situated in the Latin Quarter, which for centuries has been the centre of bohemian Parisian creativity and intelligentsia. For over fifty years, the bookshop has housed numerous writers and hosted readings by published and unpublished authors. Run by Sylvia Whitman, daughter of the legendary George Whitman, the bookstore looks like something in a Harry Potter movie, with stacks upon stacks of all sorts of literature.

Upon entering, you'll find yourself in a place Henry Miller described as "A wonderland of books".

Shakespeare and Company is open evey day from 10:00 to 23:00. If you're touring Paris go check it out. The selection of English books is impeccable, with many by local writers. If you're a young traveling writer looking for a place to crash, Sylvia might put you up too!

Nina Munteanu is an ecologist and internationally published author of novels, short stories and essays. She coaches writers and teaches writing at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. For more about Nina’s coaching & workshops visit www.ninamunteanu.me. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for more about her writing.

Getting Lost in Paris

On my third day in Paris, I got lost. I didn’t mean to; it just happened.

I’d started early and joined the morning crowd at the Musée d’Orsay. After a breathtaking journey through the visions of French Impressionists, I ventured by bus to the Champ du Mars and climbed the Eiffel Tower to see Paris from the perspective of the Gods: a wheeled mosaic of art, magic and scene. Then I decided to walk home from there. I thought my adventure was over; in truth, it had just begun…

As I wound my way down a tree-lined street, the flower blossoms rained down with the fragrant breeze, painting the cobblestones in pale shades of diaphanous pink. A young couple sat wrapped around each other on a bench, kissing.

It suddenly struck me that I was in Paris in the springtime; and I was alone.

It was just an observation. It didn’t make me sad or uncomfortable; I’ve traveled a great deal on my own and have enjoyed the edgy play on my mind and soul that solitude in a strange place brings.

Philosopher Mark Kingwell wrote, “travel is a drug, and not just because it can be addictive. More because it alters consciousness, dilates the mind and maybe even rewires the cerebral cortex…going somewhere different from home [is] the best way to challenge your habitual ways of thinking.”

I’d come to Paris to research the current book I was writing—ironically about a young girl who can alter history. Why ironically? Because, somehow, I firmly believe that my experience in this beautiful and evocatively artistic city has altered my “history”. Certainly my perspective. Paris, with its Neo-Classical architecture, quaint cobble streets, and stylish Parisians, lends itself to a wandering eye and finally to introspection. For Kingwell, “somewhere beyond the contrived, comfortable cityscapes, we’ll encounter a potentially more profound version of ourselves.” Paris, like the Parisians, is a seductive dance. It is so attractive to view. But ultimately one must participate to fully experience it.

I don’t know when I finally noticed that I had no idea where I was. It just happened. Along one of Paris’s charming narrow cobble streets as the Hausmann-style buildings blushed in the sunset, I found myself utterly lost.

The sky’s light shades of peach gave way to a deeper shade of ochre as I walked on, feeling more and more a stranger and more and more self-conscious that I was. I wasn’t dressed fashionably. Oh, I had the obligatory scarf and stylish leather jacket; but I lacked the finesse of these Parisians who glided confidently along the darkening streets that were familiar to them. The sounds, sights and smells of this foreign city heightened in a frisson of increasing tension. I refused to let the darkness take me, though, and let my feet lead me on, confident that I would find something. This was Paris, after all…

“Not to find one’s way in a city may well be uninteresting and banal,” wrote Walter Benjamin. “It requires ignorance—nothing more. But to lose oneself in a city—as one loses oneself in a forest—that calls for quite a different schooling.” A school for questions, not answers, says Kingwell. I’d come to Paris with questions, many questions; some of which I would not answer. Perhaps the most important ones. I’d come with the hubristic ambition of defining Paris. But I humbly discovered that to define Paris is to define life…and oneself.

Paris unfolds like an impressionist canvas, to be interpreted through experience. She is an aria, both exquisite and haunting, like the lingering aftertaste in the back of my throat of a complex bitter-sweet Bordeaux. I lost myself willingly to her mystery. “Real travel,” says Kingwell, “means we must surrender expectations and submit to chance, to challenge our desires, not merely satisfy existing ones…Leaving home ought to be, above all…that plunge into otherness. Becoming strange to ourselves is the gateway to seeing how dependent on strangers we are for our identities…Getting lost to yourself might be the best way to find out who you are.”

Mark Kingwell’s latest book is Concrete Reveries: Consciousness and the City.

Nina Munteanu is an ecologist and internationally published author of novels, short stories and essays. She coaches writers and teaches writing at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. For more about Nina’s coaching & workshops visit www.ninamunteanu.me. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for more about her writing.

Paris Tour--Part 2

It was already on my second day in Paris that I'd discovered my "outside office": a café on la Place Saint-Michel, presided over by an impressive fountain of Saint Michael slaying the Devil.

Located on the Rive Gauche off the Pont Saint-Michel to Ile de la Cité, the square has a perfect view of Notre Dame and the spire of Saint-Chapelle behind the Palais de Justice. Place Saint-Michel is a crossroads for several major boulevards and colourful narrow alleys which spill a constant flow of tourists, pilgrims and locals into the open square.

By the third day, I'd already acquired my obligatory scarf (90% of Parisiennes wear them, along with gorgeous shoes, being stylish dressers) and was getting very comfortable in this beautiful city. I had settled in my corner of the café with a pastis (an anise-flavoured liqueur) and café creme and was reading le Monde when a gaggle of tourists from Rhode Island swept into the café. As one bumped up against my chair, she excused herself in broken French. I had a revellation: they thought I was a local! I responded in English, which ended in a wonderful conversation and this picture of me, where I confess I have done some of my best work... (that pastis was very nice!).

Paris Tour—Part 1

Bonjours de Paris, La Ville-lumière. I’ve dropped by momentarily to give you a little report of my research progress on my current book, a historical fantasy about a girl, Vivianne, from medieval Prussia, and a boy, François, from modern-day Paris (see my previous post).

Toulouse and I settled in very nicely in a little apartment on Rue Princesse, just off Boulevard Saint Germain in the 6ieme arrondissement. Once the hangout for bohemians and intellectuals, this neighbourhood underwent gentrification and is now newly chic, with upscale boutiques, art galleries, and restaurants.

Paris: City of Light--Friday Feature

Today’s Friday Feature is Paris, the City of Light. I’m heading there with my friend, Toulouse (napping on my shoulder in the photo below). He isn’t too excited because he’s, well, French. But it’s my first visit to this splendid city and I have to admit to you that I am randy round the bend ecstatic. Paris is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world, with over 30 million foreign visitors per year. And for good reason.

Paris has been a beacon of culture and art for centuries, long considered a world capital of art, fashion, food, literature and ideas. Paris is a symbol of all the fine things human civilization can offer. Says Rick Steves, “Come prepared to celebrate, rather than judge, the cultural differences, and you’ll capture the romance and joie de vivre that Paris exudes.” He adds, “Paris offers sweeping boulevards, chatty crepe stands, chic boutiques, and world-class art galleries. Sip decaf with deconstructionists at a sidewalk café, then step into an Impressionist painting in a tree-lined park. Climb Notre-Dame and rub shoulders with gargoyles. Cruise the Seine, zip up the Eiffel Tower, and saunter down the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.”

Paris is known as the "The City of Light" (La Ville-lumière), from its fame as a centre of education and ideas and its early adoption of street lighting. "Modern" Paris is the result of a vast mid-19th century urban remodelling. For centuries the city had been a labyrinth of narrow streets and half-timber houses, but beginning in 1852, the Baron Haussmann's vast urbanisation levelled entire quarters to make way for wide avenues lined with neo-classical stone buildings of bourgeoise standing; most of this 'new' Paris is the Paris we see today.

I’m actually going to Paris to research my latest book, a historical fantasy, about a young girl from medieval Prussia who learns that she can alter history (which is partly why she ends up in slightly future alternate Paris). The day is June 14th, 1411. It’s Vivianne’s 14th birthday and she’s been promised to this nasty foreign dude 30 years older than her and who she’s never met; the day is also the eve of one of medieval time’s greatest battles, “The Battle of Grunwald”. (This battle between the arrogant Teutonic warrior monks and the peasant Lithuanian and Polish armies should have been an easy victory for the Teutonic knights, who were far superior in weaponry, tactics and ambition than the peasant rag-tag armies. It wasn’t; they were all but wiped out. But, what if they hadn’t been?…)

It’s still the eve of the battle and, after being hunted as a witch for being “different”, young Vivianne flees through a time-space tear into an alternate future Paris…one in which—you guessed it—the Nazis currently rule (because they had the chance to evolve sooner, thanks to the survival of the Teutonic Order in a world where intervention—involving Vivianne—allowed them to prevail and see-in an early Germanic Nazi regime).

So, here I am… heading to Paris to see what Vivianne sees. Oh, and to drink and eat too! Ah, the wine… the cheese… the bread… You know what the French say: “Du pain, du vin, du Boursin…”
I’m not sure if we’ll have time to post. So I will leave you with a short story. But either Toulouse or I may come on with an update of our rigorous research. Otherwise, see you in two weeks! Come back tomorrow to read my short story.

Nina Munteanu is an ecologist and internationally published author of novels, short stories and essays. She coaches writers and teaches writing at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. For more about Nina’s coaching & workshops visit www.ninamunteanu.me. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for more about her writing.