2015 ADVENTURE – PART 3

The more you travel, the more you learn.  There are certainly other ways to improve one’s knowledge, but seeing the world teaches so many things at once: history, geography, economics, politics, religion, etc.  All you need is an open mind.  Books, lectures and the internet all add to the picture but there’s no substitute for being there.

On this voyage we continue to ‘learn how to travel’.  This means making the most of the time we have in port and on board ship, and keeping to our budget.  Holland America offers excursions at each port.  On our first cruise in the fall of 2013, we pre-booked several, thinking they’d offer experienced guides and interesting itineraries.  While we can’t say we were disappointed, we learned from more experienced travellers that there are alternatives.

If the city we’re visiting is close to the ship and has interesting things on offer, we find a way to visit on our own.  We’ve been to six port cities so far on this trip - Lisbon, Tangier, Malaga, Valletta, Piraeus and Muscat.  We’ve walked all six cities and saw everything we wanted to see and more.

In Lisbon, we took public transportation to get to a site outside the city, and it only cost $9 for the two of us, return!  In several ports, we were able to return to the ship for lunch.  Bottom line, instead of spending $200 per day for Holland America excursions, we get by on $50.  And we’ve gotten lots of exercise and fresh air.

Our next port of call was Piraeus, Greece.  We knew we were in for a short day: only 6 hours.  What to do?  Not enough time to go into Athens.  Besides, museums are closed on Mondays.  So, we picked up a really bad city map at the information kiosk and set out on foot.  Elva had done a bit of preliminary research and noticed that there was a marina about a kilometre away.  It turned out to be a beautiful setting, with yachts rivaling those we saw in Monte Carlo.  We spent an hour or so walking around the gorgeous inner  harbour.

From there, we followed our noses and visited several beautiful Greek Orthodox churches in the downtown area.  Next, quite by accident, we came upon what we first thought was a parade.  It turned out to be a religious procession marking the Feast of the Epiphany.  We learned that this holy day is celebrated on January 19, according to the old religious calendar.  People were decked out in costumes; there were two marching bands; priests and bishops waved to the crowd and stopped to let people kiss the icons they were holding.  It was great!  And all because we didn’t have a plan.

As for life on board ship, the sea days fly by, even when it’s a little rough.  The food is great; the library is well-stocked; there are interesting lectures; we can choose from movies and live entertainment every day; there are courses on how to use the latest computer software: all free!  We only have a few news channels to choose from on TV, no internet, and no newspapers.  Who cares?  With the biggest news back home being the impending closure of the Target store, we’re not missing a hell of a lot anyway.  Besides, it’s -30 degrees C there…  For one habitually attuned to the latest happenings, I’m content in this little artificial world that is the Rotterdam.

One of the highlights of this part of the cruise was the transit through the Suez Canal.  The present Canal was opened in 1869.  But it wasn’t the first to link the Mediterranean Sea and the Red Sea.  Believe it or not, an Egyptian Pharaoh by the name of Senausret III undertook to build a canal in the 19^th century B.C.  Yes sir!  He rounded up all the able-bodied men drawing EI and put them to work.  And they got the job done.  Unfortunately, the ditch filled in with sand almost as fast as they could dig.

Today’s Canal is 162 km. long and handles about 20,000 ships per year.  It costs $300,000 per ship to pass through the Canal!  (Maybe Holland America gets a group rate.)  That adds up to about $6 billion a year in revenue for the Egyptian government.  Since the Canal crosses a flat expanse of desert, there’s no need for locks.  We were told that 10% of the world’s shipping passes through the Suez Canal.

The ship anchored at the northern opening of the Canal for a whole day, waiting for its turn to pass through.  In the morning I stationed myself on the pool deck with a good book: Ian McEwan’s Solar.  The sun was warm on my back, though attenuated somewhat by the haze and by nearby Cairo’s pollution.  Nearby passengers slept through the morning, farted unselfconsciously, struggled to get in and out of deck chairs.  That’ll be me someday, I thought, but not for a while yet, I hope.

Next day, I woke at crow piss and watched the sun rise over the Sinai, thinking of how my day might have begun on January 22, 1985, thirty years earlier.  I might have spent a sleepless night after backstopping my rec hockey team, Ray’s Handy Andy, to a midnight victory over the hated Cape Carmel Crackers.  I may have had to dig my car out of a snowbank before making my way out to Highway 2 at Day’s Corner and, from there, to my work on the Upton Road in Charlottetown, 90 kilometres distant.  As the newly-minted Director of the Forestry Division, I might have had to chair a management meeting and deal with the challenges of program funding, personnel issues, and political interference from the Minister’s Office.  Instead, I thought of the guy my age waking up in Egypt, in another world, in an uncertain time, and how lucky I am.

More than two millennia ago, a Greek visitor called Egypt “The Gift of the Nile”.  Were it not for the Nile, the Sahara Desert would stretch uninterrupted from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea.

You never know who you’ll run across in your travels.  We arrived in the ugly port city of Safaga on the Red Sea.  The temperature was in the high 20s and we were excited to be going on an all-day excursion with Holland America.  There wasn’t much to see; bare mountains and desert on both sides of the road for the best part of two hours.  But, can you guess who found the only two Acadians in the group?  “Les mouches finissent toujours par trouver les Acadiens!”  Hence the old joke: “Why do they always bring a salt herring to an Acadian wedding?”  “To keep the flies off the groom!”

We passed through at least 50 checkpoints manned by machine-gun-toting soldiers and policemen before reaching our first destination, the Valley of the Kings.  Our guide explained that there is friction between Egypt’s ruling military faction and the rival Muslim Brotherhood.  We noticed dozens of idle Nile River cruise ships.  Tourism has slowed to a trickle.  (We learned that sixteen Egyptians were killed two days later in protests against the government.)

The Valley of the Kings is a big graveyard for Egyptian rulers and nobles.  To date, the tombs of 65 kings and pharaohs have been found, including that of King Tutankhamun, popularly known as King Tut.  We visited those of Ramses III and Ramses IX.  The main attractions are the frescoes and bas-reliefs on the walls and ceilings of the entrances, anterooms and burial chambers.  Over 3,000 years old, they remain very beautiful.  After visiting the Valley, we stopped briefly at the Temple of Hatshepsut, Egypt’s only female pharaoh, and the Colossi of Memnon.

Saving the best for the last, we strolled through the magnificent Luxor Temple, begun by Amenhotep III around 1,500 B.C., and expanded by other pharaohs, including Ramses II.  Luxor is part of a complex which includes the nearby Karnak Temple, the two linked by the three-kilometre-long Avenue of the Sphinxes.  The scale of these temples is impossible to imagine unless one has been there.

The famous Parthenon, the pride of Athens, was built almost 1,000 years later!  Although impressive, it pales in comparison to the Egyptian builders’ masterpiece.  And the obelisks at Luxor and Karnak make the Washington Monument look like a cheap knock-off.  We’re so glad we went.

And then there’s Ramses II, who ruled Egypt for an incredible 67 years in the thirteenth century B.C.  Not only was he an ambitious builder and statesman during the day, he was a busy old goat at night.  The man had more than 60 wives - two of them his daughters - and fathered 92 boys and 106 girls.  Just imagine the cost for Pampers and all the birthday parties he’d have to attend.  Obviously, the guy had no use for the prophylactics that would later bear his name!

As we sail through the southern half of the Red Sea and enter the Gulf of Aden, we bypass five countries whose citizens have never known the meaning of democracy: Yemen, Sudan, Eritrea, Djibouti and Somalia.  There, a good day means waking up and a really good day means going to bed with a full stomach.  And there are pirates in these waters.  A note from the Captain explains that the Rotterdam VI has taken security measures to protect us from pirates and that: “We are continuously being monitored by war ships of the coalition forces [the good guys!] and while you may not see them, they are not far away.”

After five long days at sea, we reach our next port of call, Muscat, the capital of Oman.  Located on the Arabian Sea, close to the Straight of Hormuz, the city has been an important trading and military outpost for thousands of years.  Oman’s economy and government are relatively stable.  Since the current sultan, Qaboos bin Said, took over in 1970, tourism has flourished.

Muscat is a beautiful city, surrounded by mountains, and featuring several well-preserved forts and palaces.  But it’s also a modern city, thanks to revenue from petroleum, and has all the fancy stores, flashy cars and decadent resorts that go with oil money.  As for the dress code, that’s a different matter.  Everyone must wear loose-fitting clothing that covers from wrists to ankles, and women must cover their heads.  Absolutely no Speedos!

Next, we’re off to Dubai!

2015 ADVENTURE – PART 2

This is how Elva described our last day in England:

I am constantly being stimulated, even on this travel day from London to Southampton.  We’re sitting at a Starbucks in Waterloo Station, people-watching while waiting for our train to Southampton Central where, this afternoon (January 8), we’ll board the MS Rotterdam VI.

We left Central Park Hotel this morning in the rain, wearing our raincoats and carrying small suitcases and backpacks.  We walked to the Underground, just a few blocks away.

With mon Jean-Paul, I find travelling so easy for I only have to follow his speed which I am very capable of doing.  His good advice helps me relax.  He will tell me: “We get off at the next station.”  “On the escalator, always stand on the right.”  “I’m just going to buy our tickets.”  Etc.  Consequently, I can enjoy the present moment.

In London, people are very kind.  We experienced it when we asked for information.  In the subway, a young guy, seeing me come in with two bags, naturally offered me his seat.

The railway station at Waterloo is quite interesting.  It has the atmosphere of an airport, except we have to pay to use the toilets.  There were lots of restaurants and small stores.

After we picked up our sandwiches and bananas from our favorite lunch restaurant, Prêt-à-Manger, we were ready to board the train.  We had to be sharp because our platform number came up on the big board only 3 minutes before our departure time.

After this lovely train ride, we took a taxi to the cruise dock and got settled quickly aboard ship.  Our room (2518) is on the same deck as last year which helps with our daily exercise: 102 steps to the eighth-floor Lido restaurant.

We’re looking forward to the next 88 days.  I feel so lucky!*

*Elva writes in her journal every day.  I only publish the parts where she  says nice things about me.

FYI, seven days’ worth of transportation, from Heathrow Airport to the cruise ship dock in Southampton, cost us the grand sum of $140.  It’s possible to do London on $300 a day, but not less.

The first order of business was unpacking.  Knowing we’d only have to do this once in 88 days made it quite a pleasant chore actually.  The second order of business was the official weigh-in, carried out with much pomp and ceremony on scales located in the fitness centre.  Full disclosure!

We soon discovered that we were well below the average passenger age.  “Jesus,” I thought.  “And I thought WE were old!”  At least half are over 70.  Many I’d describe as between nursing home age and palliative care!  One man had three hearing aids.  Swear to God!  Still they travel.  One old gentleman, who must be over 90, has his nurse with him.  Something to think about…

Our first full day was a rough one.  No sooner had we gotten into the English Channel than the wind picked up.  And not just a little breeze either: 45 knots and 4-metre seas!  Elva swallowed some Gravol.  I resisted at first.  But my sea legs abandoned me and I spent a very tough day.  By evening, I was feeling good enough to eat, but just barely.  There was even a tsunami in the pool!

The second day at sea was smoother as we made our way across the Bay of Biscay toward Cap Finisterre, the westernmost point of land in Spain.  There’s lots to do on-board, and the Rotterdam has a well-stocked library.  Elva is reading Through Black Spruce and I’ve finished Unbroken.  There are a couple of interesting lectures to take in every day and, of course, the fitness centre.  We dressed up for the formal dining evening at the fancy restaurant and studied up on Lisbon, deciding what we’d do on our day there.  There’s no such thing as a dull day aboard ship!

Captain Carsjens eased her into the Lisbon dock at 8:00 sharp.  As usual, we were among the first ones off.  I was damn glad to be on solid ground.  We walked first to Praça de Comércio, the central square, to get our bearings and check email.  Then we walked up the beautiful Rua Augusta and, from there, up to Castelo de Sao Jorge, the ancient castle fortification high above the city waterfront.  We made our way through narrow winding streets to the Church of Santa Engracia, a magnificent white structure converted into a National Pantheon commemorating several of Portugal’s national heroes.  We climbed inside the dome as high as we could to get another beautiful view of the city.

After lunch, we took the tram to Belém, about 10 kilometres downriver.  There, we walked past two UNESCO World Heritage Sites, the five-century-old Torre de Belém which stands guard over the Tagus River, and Mosteiro dos Jeronimos which houses a couple of museums.  (The first picture below is the monument to Portuguese navigators, with Henry the Navigator out front.  The second is the Torre de Belém.)

Rather than visit the museums, we opted for coffees, enjoying the 17-degree sunshine in front of a nearby Starbucks.  The tram took us back to Praça de Comércio and we sampled a local delicacy, custard tarts, called Pasteis de Belém.  Yum!!  After 10 kilometres of walking, we figured we deserved them.

What I’d thought was simple sea-sickness turned out to be some sort of stomach bug I must have picked up in London.  Out came the antibiotics!  On our last three trips abroad, we’ve taken Ducoral before leaving.  It’s supposed to protect against ‘Montezuma’s revenge’ but seems now like a waste of money.

We had dinner with Donna and Dave Crocker, both retired from their dental parctice in Tignish.  They’re on for the long cruise as well.  It’s a small world indeed.

During our day at sea, I read a book by Stephen Hawking, called The Grand Design.  Hawking claims to know - and that the laws of physics prove - that the Universe and everything in it was created from nothing!  It’ll take me a while to get my head around that one.

We arrived in Tangier, Morocco, and set foot on the Continent of Africa for the first time.  The port boasts two cruise ship docks.  We got the short end of the stick!  Elva and I walked the kilometre or so through the morning chaos of the fishing port, bombarded by sights, sounds and, especially, smells.  In our tourist garb, we felt about as inconspicuous as two skunks at a church picnic!  Passengers on the other ship in port that day experienced the more sanitized version.

After a coffee at the Café Mamounia (remember the Paul McCartney song), we trecked up the hill toward the highest point of land we could see from the ship, the Place du 9 avril 1947, dominated by a huge mosque.  It being our first taste of the Arab world, we were in for a bit of culture shock.  The streets are narrow and winding.  Most men over thirty wear long woolen robes, head coverings of various sorts, and open-heeled pointed shoes.  The women are similarly attired.  The younger generation are more liberal in the way they dress and carry themselves.

We found the fish market by following our noses and the herd of scrawny stray cats who march there every morning hoping to capture a morsel or two.  Some of the creatures on display were familiar to us while others looked like they’d come from another world!

From the market, we wandered through the medina and upward to the Kasbah (Arab for ‘castle’), hoping to tour the museum.  Unfortunately, it was closed.  The medina is the residential part of the old walled city.  It’s a maze of streets, many of them dead-ended, and is considered a ‘must-see’ in Tangier.  We’re glad we saw it but can’t say we were impressed.  We felt neither comfortable nor welcome.

We walked to a nearby park and watched as construction equipment worked on a new marina.  I spoke to a Spaniard who spends three months of the year in Tangier.  He told me that the present ruler of Morocco is young and progressive and wants to turn Tangier into an important industrial city.  Before returning to the ship, I took one last look toward Europe across the Strait of Gibraltar, amazed that two such different realities can be separated by as little as 14 kilometres.

The next morning found us docked in Malaga, Spain, on the Costa del Sol.  We walked through the ultra-modern cruise ship terminal, checked emails, took a shuttle bus to the centre of the city and set off on our walking tour.  We stopped first at the magnificent Cathedral of Malaga and then visited the Alcazaba, a citadel built by the Moors when they ruled Spain from the eighth to the fifteenth century.  It reminded us of the Alhambra in Granada, although on a much smaller scale.  The Moors may have been ruthless in battle but they had a well-developed sense of beauty as demonstrated by their architecture.

We wandered past the Roman-era theatre and to Merced Square along spotless streets paved with shiny marble.  On the square stands the building where Pablo Picasso was born.  Next we climbed to the Castle of Gibralfaro, a fortified position first built by the Phoenicians on the highest point of land overlooking the entrance to the harbour.  I know now why the Acadians didn’t build a castle to defend Miscouche.  There’s no friggin’ hill!

The view of the city from was spectacular, including a beautiful urban park, the Plaza de Toros, a 15,000-seat bull-fighting stadium, and the beaches that stretch along the Mediterranean coast.  After lunch, we wandered through the downtown and found the Plaza de la Constitucion and the nearby Marques de Larios, the main shopping district.  Although they are close geographically, Malaga and Tangier are like two different worlds.  Maybe we’re too set in our ways to fully appreciate Tangier.

Next, it was two days at sea as we made our way east to Malta’s capital city, Valletta.  We’d been there before in the fall of 2013 and focused this time on attractions we hadn’t yet seen, including St. John’s Cathedral, the Grandmaster’s Palace, and the National War Museum.

Malta is an interesting country.  There are megaliths here that date from as early as 5,000 B.C.  The country resisted attacks from the Ottoman Turks in 1565 when it was defended by the Knights of the Order of St. John, and during World War II when the Allies defended it against Germany and Italy.  It gained its independence from Great Britain in 1964 and is a member of the European Economic Union.  Only one-twentieth the size of Prince Edward Island, it has a population three times that of my home Province.

2015 ADVENTURE – PART 1

Even in my dotage, I can still be amazed.  As in how easy it is to get from 55 Hillsborough St. in downtown Charlottetown to 49 Queensborough Terrace in the heart of London.  We left home on the 8:00 pm flight on New Years Day and walked into the hotel lobby at 11:00 the next morning.  Getting through Heathrow, one of the busiest airports in the world, was a breeze.  We took the Heathrow Connect train to Paddington Station and walked the short distance to our hotel from there.

After some breakfast and a short nap, Elva and I crossed Bayswater Rd. to Hyde Park.  We’d seen that Kensington Palace was nearby, so decided to pay the Royal residence a visit.  It seems that Will, Kate, little George and Prince Harry all live there, as well as a few other Royal odds-and-ends.  We didn’t expect to see anyone important but enjoy an excellent exhibition on the lives of Queen Victoria and her consort, Prince Albert.  It was a nice way to spend our first afternoon.  And Elva found a dress she liked!

After a better night’s sleep than we’d enjoyed on the flight across the Atlantic, we walked the 5 km or so to Leicester Square and, from there, the short distance to Covent Garden.  Covent Garden contains a first-class market and the square is surrounded by some impressive buildings, including the Royal Opera House.  We had our first ‘pies’ - mine of the steak and kidney variety - for lunch.  They were excellent!  This is a shot of the interior of Covent Garden.

In the afternoon, we took in a movie called Unbroken, the story of Louis Zamperini, an American World War II veteran of the Pacific campaign.  It’s a tale almost too incredible to be true and well worth seeing.  Then, we walked back toward our hotel and dined on Indian fare at a nearby restaurant.

Sunday began with a walk through Hyde Park, past the Wellington Arch, down the Princess Diana Walk, past Buckingham Palace and through Saint James Park.  We were on our way to the London Eye and our 11:00 rendezvous.  After walking some more along the south bank of the Thames, we boarded the big Ferris wheel and got a better view of the City.  A clearer day would have been nicer but, in London in January, you take what you can get.

From the Eye, we walked past Big Ben and the Parliament Buildings to Westminster Abbey.  It being Sunday, the church was closed for the day.  Undaunted, we walked to the National Gallery on Trafalgar Square and took in some of the exhibits on our own before taking a guided tour.  Although we’re not art aficionadas, we did enjoy the impressive collection and the beautiful building in which it’s housed.  The National Portrait Galley is equally impressive, as is the church of Saint-Martin-in-the-Fields.  After the long walk back to the hotel, we dined on the quintessential London pub fare: fish and chips.

On day four of our London adventure, we bought ‘Oyster Cards’ - passes for the London Underground - and made our way to the stop nearest the Tower of London.  We arrived there at opening time and took the first guided tour with Moira, a member of the famed Beefeaters, officially called the Yeoman Warders.  She regaled us with stories of the Tower’s origins in the eleventh century; torture and beheadings; the ravens that call the fortress home; and the beautiful Chapel Royal.

On our own, we viewed the Crown Jewels and visited the White Tower, built by William the Conqueror after he defeated King Harold II at the Battle of Hastings in the year 1066.  We came away very impressed by this UNESCO World Heritage Site.  Next, it was back to bipedal transportation and a walk across the Thames on the Tower Bridge.

We walked along the south bank to the London Bridge and crossed it on our way to Saint Paul’s Cathedral, built under the supervision of Sir Christopher Wren after the Great Fire of London in 1666.  Our guide encouraged us to climb the 350 feet to the top of the dome (not that we needed any encouragement), so we hoofed ‘er up the 566 steps to take in a magnificent view of the city below.  See that little gallery just below the cross.  That's where we were!

On Day 5, we decided to take it easy.  We started our day standing patiently outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, waiting for the Changing of the Guards.  Surrounded by thousands, we didn’t see much, but at least the spectacle was free!  This is me holding up the nearby Canada Gate.

We walked from the palace along Piccadilly Street and called in at Fortnum & Mason, grocers and tea suppliers to the Royal Family, in business since 1707.  Sometimes the most interesting things, like our visit to this special store, happen quite by accident.  The most expensive bottle of wine I saw had a price tag of $3,000 on it!

In the afternoon, we walked through the pouring rain to Piccadilly Circus and to the matinee showing of Jersey Boys.  What a show!  For those who haven’t seen it, it’s the story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.  The narrative was inspiring and the singing and acting world-class.  No wonder people turn their noses up at shows like Canada Rocks and Johnny Cash at our own Confederation Centre.  We finished the day with a fine buffet meal in Chinatown.

We started our last day with a visit to Westminster Abbey, another of London’s UNESCO World Heritage Site.  Founded in the 10^th century, it has witnessed crownings, weddings and funerals of most of the British monarchs.  It is the burial and memorial place for many historical figures from the last 1,000 years of British history.  Too damn many tombs for my liking!

In the afternoon, we walked to the British Museum, a huge complex of buildings that reminded us of the Metropolitan Museum in New York and the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C.  We took in a couple of guided tours on ‘The Enlightenment’ and the history of ancient Egypt.  Interesting, but too much to take in given the one afternoon we had.  We did see two exhibits that were on my list of ‘must-sees’: the Elgin Marbles and the Rosetta Stone.  It’s true that the British were great collectors of antiquities, but these represent two that belong where they were found, not in the British Museum.

London impressed us.  We’ve been to other big cities like Paris, Rome, New York and Istanbul, and London ranks as the best.  People are unfailingly polite; the city is clean and orderly; everything runs on time; entry to the public museums is free; you feel safe wherever you go.  Another thing: Londoners are damn tough.  As the temperature hovered barely above freezing, we saw a couple bathing in a pond in Hyde Park, as well as numerous bare-legged cyclists out for a Sunday ride.  The city is expensive, but well worth a visit.  We wished we’d had more time, and we do hope to return someday.

Tomorrow, the next leg of our adventure begins: an 88-day cruise aboard the MS Rotterdam VI.  Elva’s fortune cookie read: “You are about to embark on a most delightful journey.”  Can’t argue with that!

A TRIBUTE

Dressed in a pink housecoat, she waved at us from the back door of our house in Wellington.  We’d just spent a wonderful Christmas together and I was anxious to complete the last semester of my MBA program at Université Laval and come home to my beloved Island.  She’d had a few tough years health-wise but was turning the corner.  She was as happy that Christmas as we’d seen her in many years.  On our third day back in Sainte-Foy, my life changed forever.

It’s Friday afternoon and I’ve just come in the door exhausted, after a full day practicing with the Laval team for the National MBA competition and the long walk from campus to our apartment.  I greet Elva and the children and barely have time to sit down to talk about how everyone’s day went.  The phone rings.  “C’est pour toi,” Elva says.  “C’est Père Albin.”  “Why would he be calling on a Friday afternoon?” I ask myself.

He begins by saying: “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but your mother was stuck and killed this afternoon by a drunk driver.”  I don’t remember much more of what he said: a few of the details maybe about how Mom died; what’s happening with the coroner’s office and the police investigation; who the driver was; when we’d arrive home.  I morph into Pater familias mode, taking charge, trying to stay strong.  The next week or so brings a series of intense experiences I’ll never forget.

Elva and I sit Sylvie, Clément and Jacques down to tell them the terrible news.  They’re 9, 7 and 5, respectively.  We all cry.  I try to sleep.  The next morning, we pile into the Dodge Caravan for a long quiet ride back to the Island.  Me on auto-pilot; a thousand things running through my mind.  Twenty-five years ago today, and it seems like yesterday.

As the days went by, each of us experienced the tragedy in our own way.  And I’m sure each of us has a slightly different recollection of events as they played out.  This is what I remember.

Mom raised me by herself during a time when being a single mother was frowned upon, almost taboo really.  My father left us before I had formed any memory of him.  Maybe it had been for the best, most people said.  She had to make a career for herself.  Find a job and support her aging mother and young son. 

 

The directors of the Wellington Coop took a chance and hired her in 1958 to manage their pitiful little store.  She stuck with it and helped transform it into a successful business, serving the members and directors until ill health forced her retire in 1979.  It was then that Elva and I moved in with her.  Our three children spent their first years in her house. 

The picture below shows her at a Maritime Coop Manager's Conference.  For most of the years she attended, she was the only woman.

 

Yvonne Gaudet was born into a comparatively well-off Acadian family.  Her father, Emmanuel, was a partner in Arsenault & Gaudet, Ltd., a successful mercantile business.  One of three sisters, her formative years were all frilly dresses and music lessons, boyfriends, family cookouts at the ‘shore’, summer school, and dancing with airmen training to become World War II pilots at RCAF Station Mount Pleasant. 

 

Approaching ‘old-maid’ territory, she married professor-politician Wilfred Arsenault when she was 33 and he 44.  They had one child: me.

Except at Christmastime, I never missed having a father or brothers and sisters.  Mom let me do my thing - for the most part - and I owe my independent streak and débrouillardise entirely to her.  She seldom questioned my life decisions.  When anyone asked her if she was proud of her son, she always answered the same way: “He did alright for the chance he had, I guess.”

We drove into the yard in Wellington around suppertime on Saturday.  Everywhere I looked in the house, something reminded me of Mom: her plants; half‑finished knitting; the TV table where she’d eaten her last meal; the lunch dishes soaking in the sink; even a dried-out apple core.

I couldn’t get over how empty the house felt when I first walked in.  I was overcome with a sense of time standing still.  Family members came to visit over the next few days and did what they could to help, including supplying enough food to feed a small army for a month!

After the obligatory visit to the funeral home, Elva and I retraced Mom’s last steps, up the Mont-Carmel Road to the very spot where the driver of the vehicle fell asleep and struck her.  I imagined the horror she must have experienced during the last seconds of her life, facing the car and knowing it was coming straight at her.  She must have frozen, unable to move out of the way.  That image, more than any other, haunted me.

The next days were an emotional roller-coaster.  At the end of it we were totally drained.  The loss of a loved one in tragic circumstances must truly rank as one of life’s most intense experiences. 

Memories: the many people who came to the funeral home to pay their respects and, especially, those we didn’t expect to see; the many errands people did and offered to do without our having to ask; and the crowded church on the day of the funeral.  Father Albin’s heartfelt sermon, spoken directly to Sylvie, Clément and Jacques, left not a dry eye in the place.  One special memory is the sight of my former Forestry Branch colleagues, all standing in dress uniform as my family walked out of the church together.

As we sat in my in-laws’ kitchen later that day, reminiscing and trying to come back to earth, a thought crept into my mind and wouldn’t leave me.  I had to go see Cédric, the man who’d killed my mother.  And I had to do it that very afternoon.  I knew him, though not well.  We’d played hockey against one another and his wife was a high school classmate.  He wasn’t a bad person, just a man with a drinking problem that led to tragic consequences.

I took Father Albin aside and asked him to accompany me.  I phoned Cédric’s home and was told that our visit would be welcomed.  He and his wife were distraught.  His remorse was evident.  He told me he hadn’t the strength to face us.  Before leaving, I told him I forgave him.  We hugged; one man with another.  At that moment, all anger and bitterness left me.

My visit with Cédric and Zita ranks as one of the best things I’ve done in my life.  It wasn’t until later I’d realize that forgiving the man who killed my mother is also one of the smartest things I’ve ever done.  It made healing faster.

The other great life lesson from such a terrible experience is that one must try to take it all in.  Every part of it.  There is much to be learned about the self, and about others who travel the same road.  Everyone handles death in a different way, some better than others.  And the little ones understand far more of what’s going on than we think.

Were she still alive, Mom would be 97 now.  Longevity was in her genes and she was in good health at the time of her death.  People said to me in a sincere attempt at a comforting message: “She lived a long life, you know.”  And I’d be thinking: “Maybe so, but she was no different than any of us.  She had the rest of her life to live.”  In retrospect, how many music festivals missed?  How many hockey games?  Three wonderful weddings, and so many other family gatherings held without her there.

I think of her often.  Of her strength in the face of hardship; the same strength that made me visit Cédric on the day we buried her.  How she never took shit from anybody.  How she loved a party!  The love she had for friends and family.  How good a job she did raising me.  How her example helped me get over her death, and go on with mine.

REST IN PEACE, MOM

I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU