Jack Ryan And The Roman-Fleuve

Actually not just the roman-fleuve but also film-fleuve, if that is actually a thing - I think you know what I mean. Tom Clancy's techno/military novel sequence is not (bear with me here) without literary merit. If nothing else it is a wonder of sustained pacy story-telling and consistent characterisation and, in the dreadful age of Trump, it gives us in Jack Ryan a leading character of almost super-human quality.

Jack Ryan as a movie/television character has had a chameleon life, being played by a handful of actors and leaping around in time. So far as I can tell the filmic and/or televisual Ryan has not yet ascended (as he does in the books) to the Oval Office but one can almost hope that he does - he would be the best fictional President since the saintly Jed Bartlett. Clancy was a Reaganite (which this blog has never used as an insult) and heaven knows what he would have made of an arch-coward like Trump. I hope he would have detested him.  

RWC19.6

I have let the excitement of the weekend dissipate. It ill behoves an Englishman to be seen as boastful - just take a look (if you can stand it) at the semi-literate bile that dominates the message boards on BBC Sport. Calm down lads and lasses (more, many more of the former than the latter I fear) England haven't won anything yet. I say this as a warning both to proud Englishmen and to the inveterate haters of all things English. For heaven's sake chaps I even heard a radio debate today about where the victory parade should be held. Hubris lads - look it up.

I will keep it to this - I have been watching England matches man and boy for fifty years and I have never seen a better performance than that which dismantled New Zealand on Saturday. All of which is rather splendid but means nothing when you are facing a Springbok team revelling in underdog status. It has the potential to be a compelling and brutal final.

As for Wales and the match that eliminated them, well, both sides were pretty lamentable. Which, again, means nothing in the context of the final. I will admit to some guilty relief at the outcome - I have long held that an England/Wales final would fall to the Welsh. 

Quebec.7

Been back for a couple of weeks now and there has been time for some sober reflection. Considered opinion: Quebec is ace; Canada is ace.

Montreal would not be on my shortlist for best city in the world (its west coast cousin, Vancouver, would be) but that doesn't mean it's not nice - plus you can even get a decent pint of bitter, another international sign of the rise of the craft breweries. But once we proceeded out of the city the scenery and the wildlife (principally those whales) took over and, put simply, soothed this savage beast. All of which natural bounty can mask an important fact, namely that Canada is an intensely civilised nation. I picked up a free copy of the Globe and Mail (still a broadsheet) at the airport on the way home and two items summed this civility up for me. First consider this sane and impartial editorial on the topic of their then imminent election (Trudeau and his hair have since narrowly prevailed):

It wouldn't be much of an election if the leaders confessed the truth - that it won't in fact be the end of the world, and that Canada won't stop going forward and you won't stop getting ahead, just because another party wins the election ... Keep calm, give thanks for the country we have and don't let the cynics get to you. The election matters. Your vote matters. And the country we share won't end if your side doesn't win.

This speaks of the solid moderation that marks Canada. I have just been watching our parliament debating whether or not there is to be a general election and the quality of the debate tells us that here the cynics already rule. And what is more whereas a national paper in Canada can eulogise that blessed moderation, we live in a far more dangerous place where there is the real prospect of a ruinous government. I really do despair.

And on page B 14 of the same paper there is a moving death notice paid for by the friends of David Stewart Fushtey:

A true renaissance man, Dave was a landscape architect, sculptor and multi-talented lawyer. He loved music, art and beauty. Law was everything Dave believed in - discipline, justice and consideration of others without compromising his values.

I would like to have met Dave.

 

RWC19.5

After the various phony wars we have moved on this weekend to the proper stuff - knock-out rugby - you really can't beat it. Yesterday the All Blacks eviscerated an anaemic Irish XV. England dispatched Australia by a similarly convincing margin but that scoreline masked an altogether closer match. Nevertheless we should not devalue England's sheer spirit and professionalism - the marriage of those two things is at the heart of success in contact sport.

From this distance the easy conclusion to be drawn is that the New Zealand v England semi-final will produce the overall winner but, and this is the beauty of sport, it is never as simple as that.

As an Englishman, albeit one with a Welsh grandfather, this worries me about the Welsh - of the three other teams left in the competition I think Wales are best equipped emotionally and technically to beat England. I would back New Zealand (quite confidently) to down the Welsh and South Africa (less so) to do the same. But that hwyl fanned by a self-righteous sense of persecution defenestrates cold logic when it comes to an England v Wales fixture. I have serious foreboding about the prospect of such a final. Apart from anything else one would never hear the end of it. Still, I could always fall back on my Celtic ancestry.

South Africa brutalised Japan's brave Blossoms and the possibility of the Springboks facing off against England's almost equally mountainous pack is interesting. Having said all of this, I am back where I started back in September ie. betting on a New Zealand v South Africa final.

One other technical observation from Dr Pig the rugby guru. Has ever such a good player had so bad a haircut as Jack Goodhue?

go faster hair

 

Quebec.6

So begins the task of getting home. We are ensconced in relative luxury in the Hotel Place D'Armes in Montreal acting out the last throes of the holiday. Ahead of us lies the flight home and the decision whether to get some sleep or to watch some films. The sane traveller (a la Groupie) will opt for the former; the Pig will find it difficult to resist the in-flight entertainment and the free food and booze. He never learns.

It has been a magical couple of weeks in this wondrous country with my soul mate. Best of all, a close call, was the whale watching in Tadoussac. The cable car to the top of Mont Tremblant comes a very proximate second, and Tremblant as a whole was fascinating, in particular the Resort which is contrived and commercial but manages to work (at least to this philistine eye) with the natural splendour in which it sits.

Final thought from Canada- surely Justin Trudeau (shortly up for re-election) dyes his hair. You only get the serious stuff on this blog. Back to Boris and our own mess of a democracy tomorrow. Despite it all, it will be good to be home.

Quebec.5

Since my last report we have moved on a couple of times. We departed Tadoussac (about which I can't speak highly enough) and took the lengthy drive to Bromont, a sleepy skiing town East of Montreal. The accommodation there was the best we have experienced but the area itself was not really set up for even the most cerebral tourist. Canada is pretty damned marvellous but a minor complaint would be that too often the natural beauty flashes past your car window without an opportunity to pull over and savour it. Not enough paths (particularly at lakeside, though that is probably because foreshore is privately owned here) and a lack of comprehensible signage.

Tremblant Resort

After two days we moved on again and we are in the Mont Tremblant region. This place is definitely not sleepy. In particular the Tremblant Resort is thick with tourists. You really have to visit the Resort to appreciate it. It sits at the foot of the South facing ski runs and is a Tyrolean styled modern confection of accommodation, eateries and boutiques, all expensive but artfully carried off. In my postcard home to Mum and Dad I described it as Portmeirion meets Disney.

the only way to travel

The best views of the resort and of the surrounding lakes and mountains are to be had from the peak of Mont Tremblant - a very stiff walk or, as we did it, a brilliant cable car ride away from the Resort. Beautiful.

Today we have a last full day in Mont Tremblant and will be heading into the wilder parts of the nearby national park. Tomorrow it is back to Montreal, drop off the car (we have covered just shy of 2000 kilometres) and one final night before we fly home. We shall miss Quebec.

I'm The Urban Spaceman Baby

I've been turning this particular little essay over and over in my mind, rather fearing that it will expose me as the half-wit thicko I really am. Yes, yes, I can hear you at the back, sniggering and asserting that no new proof is needed. But here goes anyway.

I have in mind three films about space travel  - it's not all they are about but it pulls them together nicely. First Man is the most recent and, despite it being about arguably the defining technological achievement of the twentieth century (I know that's a big claim but we can argue about that next time we meet - over a pint) it is the simplest in plot and cinematic method. Ryan Gosling plays Neil Armstrong, an understated and thereby commanding performance. Liked it, 7.5/10.

First Man put me in mind of the earlier and sprawlier (is that even a word?) The Right Stuff. This epic concentrates on the early American astronauts, whose number of course included Armstrong. The show is stolen by an actor who embodies my notion of cool - Sam Shepard. Shepard was cooler even than Johnny Depp and only a special few people know how dangerously close I come to a man crush on Depp - before his recent uber-weirdness of course. But enough of my predilections, what about The Right Stuff, is it any good? Decidedly so. 8/10. My favourite critic Roger Ebert (like Shepard sadly no longer with us but his acolytes continue the good work of his website) rated it possibly more highly than this and I would never go out of my way to disagree with Ebert. Which will make the next paragraph all the harder.

2001: A Space Odyssey has always had the Overgraduate puzzled. Put bluntly he has tried on several occasions but failed to find where the fascination lies. So on the plane on the way over to Canada, in the comfort of his business class pod, he decided to give it another go. The screen on Air Canada is huge and the earphones are good so the viewing is pretty immersive. I cannot blame the circumstances or the locus for my reaction. That reaction is a mile away from Roger Ebert's which places it as one of the greatest movies of all time, hence my hesitation. But when all is said and done I think this is dangerously close to pretentious tosh (the film not my review). Yes I see certain huge merits: the realisation of life in space still stands up these fifty years after the film was made; the opening ape scenes are visceral and compelling; the classical score is masterful. But, I'm sorry, the final act is a psychedelic mess and a bit of a philosophical cop-out. Do I hear a machine in the background intoning - I'm sorry Dave I don't think I can let you say that. 6.5/10. 

Quebec.4

The Pig has lost his magic touch: no more whale sightings to report although the Groupie did spy a beluga from the viewpoint at the Tadoussac Dunes.

We've taken to the open road for our last two days here in Tadoussac. Saturday saw us heading north alongside the Saint Lawrence, stopping at intervals to take in the scenery. This is a magical part of the world. Today we headed inland to the Saguenay Valley, being particularly taken with the fjord at Sainte Rose du Nord.

Sainte Rose du Nord

More fine dining to report, this time at Le Cafe Boheme here in Tadoussac. Ambitious cooking carried off with aplomb in a cheerful bistro setting. The ambition can be seen from the Pig's choices - home-made black pudding as a starter and halibut cheek served with seaweed risotto and caper croutons, for the main. It all worked beautifully. They even serve decent local craft beers. Recommended, as is Tadoussac in general. Lonely Planet may be sniffy about it but to my mind it does tourism rather acceptably. I could imagine living here, particularly now I've found an English language sports channel. Only joking, if the Pig did settle here he would naturellement learn la langue, even better than he deja speaks it

Quebec.3

The caravan has moved on to Tadoussac, whale watching capital of Canada. A quaint town of clapboard houses set up to receive tourists and to deliver them onto the seas in search of the massive mammals. It's a great place.

We were lucky with the clear skies and calm seas yesterday when Pig and Groupie set out on the pride of the AML fleet, Le Grand Fleuve. This is a far cry from the Zodiac boats which jet out from the quay to get very close to the whales but your intrepid duo are rather more into luxury and had therefore opted for the VIP package on the big ship. Expensive, yes a little, but  a decided success. You get a private lounge with panoramic views and a private deck so that you don't have to charge from side to side of the ship when the beasts are sighted. You also get as much food and drink as you might be tempted to take. Worth the extra. We saw beluga, fin and minke whales and some grey seal. Astounding.

And that was not the end to the day's delights. After a brief rest we walked around the headland by the quay and the usually unobservant Pig spied a fin whale close in to the shore. A free bonus. All of this followed by an excellent dinner at La Bolee where classic French style cuisine meets Canadian standards of service. Again, outstanding. The Pig had beetroot soup, venison and maple syrup ice cream washed down by a very acceptable local Riesling. Today we are heading further up the North Shore for some more coastal delights and some leaf peeping.

An interesting diversion - I have been watching some playoff baseball with French commentary. Tres interessant.

Quebec.2 - Let's Parler Franglais

Le Pig etait en son prime quand il got 'O' Level grade A en le sujet de French. Depuis longtemps it has all been downhill. C'est la vie je suppose.

Anyway mes amis, le plus Nord on va en Quebec, le plus il faut parler Francais. Aujourd'hui nous sommes allee au supermarche et just about got away with it. Nous avons achete du pain, du pate, du fromage etc. Oh et aussi, naturalement, deaux bouteilles de vin. Le weak pound has un lot to answer for parce que le shopping n'est plus cheap ici en Canada.

Un success notable - je filled up le voiture avec petrol et conducte l'entire transaction en Francais. Bien Fait Le Pig. Aujourd'hui Baie St Paul, demain le monde. Au revoir.

RWC19.4 And Quebec.1

Following the Rugby World Cup from Canada is not the easiest - the matches are in the middle of the night and there is not exactly wall to wall coverage. However the interweb thing comes to the rescue of the Pig and he need only report that it is nice to see Australia coach Michael Cheika having a good old fashioned whinge after his side's defeat to Wales. Poor baby. I thought it was supposed to be the English who behaved that way.

Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal

We're now at our second stop on our tour of Quebec - first was Montreal and second is Baie St Paul. The former was good. We attended mass en Francais (but with a written English translation of the gospel readings - a nice touch) at the magnificent Basilique Notre Dame and ate out well - poutine is a must. Poutine or chips and gravy as Northerners might put it.

The Big Owe

Pig and Groupie were impressed by the Montreal Botanical Gardens though to the tutored eye (not) of the Pig the rose beds needed weeding. The Gardens are alongside the Olympic Park. The main stadium itself has a vaguely neglected look to it (it has no permanent tenant these days) but retains a seventies brutalist magnificence. Caustic locals have dubbed it the 'the Big Owe', referencing both its shape and the municipal near bankruptcy which staging the Games inflicted on the city.

The Pig survived the drive from Montreal out to Baie St Paul in the hired Fiesta without any undue incident. It's always vexing when you first drive on the wrong side of the road but we got here in one piece.