This is the worst travel experience of my entire life.
We were in New York City. Then came the interesting part - getting to Toronto.
We had been told that it was "so simple" to take the train. The ticket agent almost laughed at us when he heard what we wanted,
"A sleeping compartment to Toronto".
They were sold out six months ago. How about a seat? - No, they are all sold out too. This train is full, come back in a couple of weeks?
"What, you are new immigrants? - I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll sell you two tickets, even though the train is oversold, and you figure out a way to get on."
That was certainly encouraging words.
It will forever remember this horrible train trip one of the low points in my life. All the stories, books read or movies seen, had totally mislead us on what to expect.
These were the days when the railroad companies were still trying, hard, to get out of the passenger business. We know now why they succeeded so well.
The train had fewer cars than listed. This lead to total overcrowding and a complete disregard for the seat reservation system, ever so incomplete and inaccurate as it may have started out to be.
We expected a "normal" train ride and had not had any dinner. We were "of course" to enjoy a leisurely dinner on the train, as always on any trip over a couple of hours. - There was no restaurant car, no food service at all on the train! Well, we had a least managed to find two seats in an air conditioned car, surely we can live on candy and water overnight. Neither was to happen.
Our car was one of very few where the air-conditioning actually worked. It was one of the warmest weeks of the year, remember. The trainman who came thorough occasionally muttered something like, "you must be freezing to death in here," and switched off the cooling. I paid attention to where the switch was and got the air conditioning started again each time. This went on for about half the night, then the trainman smartened up and added a large padlock to the switch after he, again, had cut off the cooling. We started to become really sick of this adventure.
As for our chocolate bars and water? The chocolate melted soon enough and we didn't find any water anywhere on the train. It had left New York on a fourteen hour run to Toronto with empty dispensers and empty water tanks. The stench in the toilets was unbearable.
Sunday, July 7, 2019
Friday, April 26, 2019
Life in small-town Canada.
We had been in Montréal for a few years. I was laid off (again!) and had received a job offer, too good to turn down.
I would become the maintenance superintendent at a thermal power plant in Port Hawkesbury, NS, starting in the fall of 1973.
My new manager had rented a newly built townhouse for us. We were all set.
What a contrast this was to be, in many ways, as we found out.
It was about 35 deg C and quite muggy as we left Montréal on our way to Halifax. On arrival, it was a cool, clear and sunny fall day.
My new manager had rented a newly built townhouse for us. We were all set.
What a contrast this was to be, in many ways, as we found out.
It was about 35 deg C and quite muggy as we left Montréal on our way to Halifax. On arrival, it was a cool, clear and sunny fall day.
We soon established ourselves in Port Hawkesbury on Cape Breton Island, then a “major” (?) regional city with close to 2,000 inhabitants. It has about 3,500 today.
The nature is overwhelming as you are never really far from either the sea or the huge Bras d’Or lake that fills the centre of the island. The forests are thick with plenty of wild-life.
We had many nice experiences in the forests. We picked mushrooms, I hunted, or we hiked and camped.
My eldest daughter, seven at the time, and I would sometimes walk into the forest after I returned from work. We would bring a small tent and back packs, set camp and spend the night at a lake only a half-hour’s walk away. One morning, as I was cooking our breakfast, I saw her standing in the middle of a small group of deer. I tried to approach carefully but they still darted away. “Daddy, why did you scare away the nice dogs that I was playing with?”
After our breakfast in the wild, we would break camp and be home in time for me to have a shower before going to work.
The hunting was great and I quite enjoyed the outings with some of my colleagues from the plant.
I shot a deer in the first minute (!) of the first day of the hunting season one October day.
The nature is overwhelming as you are never really far from either the sea or the huge Bras d’Or lake that fills the centre of the island. The forests are thick with plenty of wild-life.
We had many nice experiences in the forests. We picked mushrooms, I hunted, or we hiked and camped.
My eldest daughter, seven at the time, and I would sometimes walk into the forest after I returned from work. We would bring a small tent and back packs, set camp and spend the night at a lake only a half-hour’s walk away. One morning, as I was cooking our breakfast, I saw her standing in the middle of a small group of deer. I tried to approach carefully but they still darted away. “Daddy, why did you scare away the nice dogs that I was playing with?”
After our breakfast in the wild, we would break camp and be home in time for me to have a shower before going to work.
The hunting was great and I quite enjoyed the outings with some of my colleagues from the plant.
I shot a deer in the first minute (!) of the first day of the hunting season one October day.
As we were cutting it up, I opened a discussion about how to divide the meat.
“Oh no, we cannot take any, it is all yours. We all filled our freezers last month.” That was said on the day that the hunting season opened.
That made me into a real man in the eyes of many at the plant. I was no longer “the weak city boy”.
The seashore on the east side, facing the Atlantic Ocean is windblown and not really visitor friendly.
The other shore, facing Gulf of St. Lawrence is the opposite. It doesn’t get quite as many damaging storms and has lush forests and some sandy beaches for all to enjoy.
There were many small, and still rather poor, villages on the coasts. They seemed to all have a well-kept church and a garage with a bright yellow school bus nearby.
The houses were far less than luxurious. The cars, parked near, seemed to be held together with a fair amount of “tape and baling wire”.
At this time, Nova Scotia was gradually returning from a long period of economical decline. The fishing industry was still going strong, but the earlier dominant coal mining industry had shrunk to almost nothing. Thousands of ex-miners now found themselves unemployed and, in many cases, living on the government largess and certainly not in grandeur.
The lifestyle was good and quite stress free, too much so as we soon found out, somewhat to our dismay. There was a great deal of a Mañana attitude around. Nothing could be done fast, and sometimes not at all.
Our area on the southern tip of Cape Breton Island seemed to be the centre for many great investments. Several large companies were setting up shop. The pulp and paper business was increasing and, best of all, the Canadian government had chosen to put one more Heavy Water plant there.
This was based on the on-going successes of the CANDU nuclear plant process, calling for heavy water as more and more plants were being built. That era didn’t last all that long, these heavy water plants were soon shut down as the new nuclear plants were commissioned. Thousands of barrels of heavy water, H3O, worth more than its weight in silver, were soon stored around the country.
“Oh no, we cannot take any, it is all yours. We all filled our freezers last month.” That was said on the day that the hunting season opened.
That made me into a real man in the eyes of many at the plant. I was no longer “the weak city boy”.
The seashore on the east side, facing the Atlantic Ocean is windblown and not really visitor friendly.
The other shore, facing Gulf of St. Lawrence is the opposite. It doesn’t get quite as many damaging storms and has lush forests and some sandy beaches for all to enjoy.
There were many small, and still rather poor, villages on the coasts. They seemed to all have a well-kept church and a garage with a bright yellow school bus nearby.
The houses were far less than luxurious. The cars, parked near, seemed to be held together with a fair amount of “tape and baling wire”.
At this time, Nova Scotia was gradually returning from a long period of economical decline. The fishing industry was still going strong, but the earlier dominant coal mining industry had shrunk to almost nothing. Thousands of ex-miners now found themselves unemployed and, in many cases, living on the government largess and certainly not in grandeur.
The lifestyle was good and quite stress free, too much so as we soon found out, somewhat to our dismay. There was a great deal of a Mañana attitude around. Nothing could be done fast, and sometimes not at all.
Our area on the southern tip of Cape Breton Island seemed to be the centre for many great investments. Several large companies were setting up shop. The pulp and paper business was increasing and, best of all, the Canadian government had chosen to put one more Heavy Water plant there.
This was based on the on-going successes of the CANDU nuclear plant process, calling for heavy water as more and more plants were being built. That era didn’t last all that long, these heavy water plants were soon shut down as the new nuclear plants were commissioned. Thousands of barrels of heavy water, H3O, worth more than its weight in silver, were soon stored around the country.
The mayor of Port Hawkesbury who had been so good at redirecting tax payer’s money to himself, was out of prison, but no longer the mayor. That role soon fell to our soon-to-be-friend, Mr. Chisholm, a man of many trades, who I helped elect that first fall in Nova Scotia.
I worked at the newly commissioned thermal power plant, in the middle of the picture, supplying both electricity to the province and hot steam to the nearby heavy water plant, in the upper part of the photo.
In my position I had to manage, hire and sometimes fire, maintenance personnel.
The local school system had, until only a few years earlier, ended at grade eight. Some of the graduates had not kept up their skills and far too many were not able to read or write. They were illiterate. Many of my employees were not qualified for their jobs and had to be replaced. It was sad, but necessary.
To hire locals proved not too easy. There had been far too many trade certificates handed out in recent years, far more than there were qualified people who should have had them.
The recent improvements in Canadian healthcare had its effect. People were healthy but provincial healthcare didn’t cover dental care.
There were very few locals who even had all their front teeth in place. The first local dentist set up shop while I was in town.
One local doctor, of the two in the area, needs to be mentioned.
He came from India and still spoke with an accent. He had very gruff “bedside manners” and many just didn’t like him.
Our baby girl got False Croup, an incessant high pitch cough that can be dangerous if not well looked after. The doctor was walking by as he heard our, then, two months old baby cough.
I didn’t know him from Adam when he knocked on our front door and introduced himself as Doctor …
He gave good advice and the coughing subsided in the next few days. The contact was made. He was never very friendly but, for sure, knew his stuff.
Some time later, my family and I were in Paris, France, for a short stay. There, I picked up a “stomach bug” that just wouldn’t go away. I kept getting stomach cramps. My appetite was poor, and I was losing weight precipitously.
See our “Indian” doctor; He ordered some tests. A few days later the doctor confirmed that I had a bacterial infection, quite common in India, sometimes found in France but almost unknown elsewhere.
He opened his very old fashioned safe and gave me some pills.
“You cannot get these in Canada. Take these”.
He was right, and I soon recovered completely and even gained some of my lost weight back.
“Indian doctor knows more than Canadian doctor.” as my native Canadian Indigenous friends would have said with a chuckle.
The people of Cape Breton Island were very welcoming, and we felt a certain kindness wherever we went.
Shopping for food was a new experience. There was no fish-store or any fresh fish at all to be found in our neighbourhood.
All fish were sold directly by the fisherman. Our initial consternation about the lack of seafood was resolved when we drove to the homes of some fishermen to buy fish. My colleagues had given me the names and addresses.
The product was absolutely fresh, often fetched right out of the ice-box on the fishing boat. Lobster was to be had during many months. The two sides of Nova Scotia had different lobster seasons.
Tourism was great, but certainly not as overwhelming as today.
Some friends visited us, and then a Cabot Trail run was obligatory.
The Cabot Trail, a spectacular road, close to the St. Lawrence Bay on the western side, is sometimes terrifying. I preferred driving it in a northerly direction, then you are farthest from the cliff sides, on the inland side of the road.
Radio stations were still, in those days, operating on the AM band. During the day, you were lucky to get a couple of static free local stations.
Our Port Hawkesbury station was a CBC affiliate. It was very local, to say the least, and would only connect to the CBC grid well into the late evenings. The other alternative station was from all of 40 km away, Antigonish. That station seemed to have half all advertising paid for by “Webb-the-superstore”.
It was with great anticipation that we drove to Antigonish, a few weeks after our arrival.
The “superstore” was a convenience store. I suppose “super” had a different meaning from the slightly larger metropolis of Montréal.
I did put up a 30 metre-long outdoor radio aerial. One of those, made from heavy duty copper wire with insulators on each end, had been standard equipment for me ever since my teenage years.
After dark the radio scene was all different. You could receive all the powerful stations in North America. They were all in English and French, of course, with the odd Spanish speaking Mexican station. This was all so different from my youth in Sweden where you could hear dozens of languages and different music, just moving the dial a few millimetres on the scale.
Life was quiet, sometimes very quiet.
With our little baby at home we weren’t really free to venture too far.
Sure, we went to a few parties in the area. They were shocking to us, to say the least.
Coming from “the big city”, both my wife and I had clothes that may never have been seen before. We had no idea that we looked “different” until it was pointed out.
My pants were too tight, and my wife’s dresses were way too short for the local scene.
The drinking was heavy during the parties. It didn’t much bother us. We assumed, like we always did, that one half of a couple would be sober enough to drive them both home safely. My wife who was a light drinker and still nursing our baby, stayed quite sober and always drove us home.
No, there were no women here who were either sober or otherwise able to drive themselves home.
In this macho (?) world, only men drove. The women didn’t have a driver’s license, nor did they know how to drive.
At a late hour, after much merry-making, many a man would retire to his car and lie down in a drunken stupor. He would eventually stagger back. Now he was ready to drive his wife home.
I suggested that they, perhaps, should take a taxi. No that was not an alternative.
The results were terrifying. I witnessed how one man, hardly able to find the key hole for the starter key, drove straight out onto the main road – through the host’s carefully tended hedge. No wonder so many cars were dented.
Some of these people were outed for all to see: Monday mornings had a section in the Halifax Herald newspaper, always in the upper left corner of page two: “A list of drunk drivers apprehended in the last seven days.”
It was more than shocking to see how many I knew from among our employees and suppliers, just by working at the power plant.
Winter on Cape Breton Island could be brutal. The storms seemed to never end. They just changed wind direction. Some dropped rain, other ice pellets or mountains of snow.
I received a one dollar parking ticket for not using my driveway this day. Can you find it?
We did meet up with some expat Norwegians. They, as we, loved cross country skiing. That was a wonderful experience, as always and everywhere in Canada. Most outstanding was a three-hour after-dark cross-country ski tour, over absolutely white fields, no wind, under a full moon. We had invited a few of the locals too. One had brought a guitar that he played, keeping his fingers supple by sitting very close to our impromptu night-camp fire.
Other than partying hard, the local entertainment scene was rather meagre and, for the first and only time in my life, TV became of interest.
The TV is one part of two events that made us decide to leave.
Two events?
1. The local Sobey’s store had run out of Coca-Cola.
“The truck comes every second week, so we’ll get some more in a few days.”
2. And as I stepped in the front door and shed my rather smelly work clothes;
“I wonder what’s on TV tonight?”
Enough. Life is more than this. We decided to seek our futures in a larger community.
Our two years in Nova Scotia ended a couple of months later. I had a new job and we were back in Montréal.
But I am and will forever be carrying my love for Nova Scotia in my heart.
The fishing, both in fresh and seawater, the hunts for birds or deer, the Acadians, the black communities, the Highland Games, the scots, the bag-pipes and even the days when there were seals on TransCanada Highway.
Seals? Where?
Sometimes, in blinding winter storm white-outs they would enter the causeway in the upper left corner of the picture. That, for sure would stop all traffic.
There is so much to remember.
Oh, and Oland beer in a “stubby”.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
To Israel for a Bat Mitzvah
My impressions and thoughts from our 2019 trip to Israel.
Why go again? We were there as tourists six years ago and had a fantastically interesting and educational trip then.
This time, our 12-year-old grandchild Leah was to have a Bat Mitzvah on a kibbutz in Israel.
We made it into an 11-day trip.
First, a fast trip on a direct train from Ben Gurion Airport to Jerusalem. A trip that would take an hour and a half by car, took 19 minutes at over 200 km/h; Progress.
We had an Airbnb only a block away from the Jaffa gate, one of a few entrances to the walled city of Jerusalem.
It doesn’t matter what religion you adhere to, if any, this is walking on historical ground. Several “cultures” have lived there for thousands of years.
The tourist guides are all full of historical facts.
Our first view of the West Wall was from atop a nearby building.
The dome of the mosque is where the original Jewish temple was, 2,000 year ago.
We were a mixed group with me the sole man. I entered on the left side, the women all went to the much smaller right side in this photo.
I witnessed several small groups of men, celebrating the Bar Mitzvahs of some 12 or 13-year-old boys.
Rose and I meandered around the inner city for hours, watching the people and visiting both an Arabic/Moslem and a Jewish market, both greatly different in character.
A Hasidic Jew in his traditional dress at the market
Security is paramount in Israel, surrounded by warring nations.
We witnessed how two young men, low 20s in age were taken to the side. Their Paper ID’s and backpacks were crudely inspected and they both had to stand spread-eagled while searched for …?
The police found nothing, and the young men continued on their way, seemingly unaffected by this 20-min ordeal.
The Israeli Jews don’t have a happy relationship with the Hasidic Jews, they are seen as parasites who don’t want to do service in the military or even, many of them, work.
They marry young and it was common to see an emaciated young woman, barely 18, with the mandatory wig on her head, pushing a baby carriage. When 25, they were equally thin and often pregnant with several more children in tow.
It was striking to see how white and tender the Hasidic men’s hands looked. Many have never worked but only spent their time studying the Torah.
The multi-culturalism was striking. Hebrew, English Arabic were common with a fair sprinkling of Russian as well.
We met several young persons who had made Aliyah from the USA to Israel.
One was a 22-year-old Hasidic Jew from New Jersey. He spoke very poor English because he had, in spite of living in the USA all his life, only learned English in the last couple of years. His first language was not Hebrew, as spoken in Israel, but Yiddish, commonly spoken only by the Hasidic Jews, all over the world.
One was a 22-year-old Hasidic Jew from New Jersey. He spoke very poor English because he had, in spite of living in the USA all his life, only learned English in the last couple of years. His first language was not Hebrew, as spoken in Israel, but Yiddish, commonly spoken only by the Hasidic Jews, all over the world.
The contrasts of many cultures are striking. Israel is, and has always been, a city of many peoples. Some girls wore the skimpiest of skimpy outfits, others were covered from head to toe in black clothes. Same for the men, everything from torn jeans to full black suits, seemingly regardless of their ages.
It was time for Purim, a time for all to dress up gaudily.
Cell-phones were ubiquitous, just like everywhere else. If a question came up in a discussion, the person you spoke to would instantly look up more facts on their smartphone. Not all spoke fluent English but would quickly translate the missing words on their phone.
The food is mostly of middle eastern type, often quite spicy. For obvious reasons, restaurants were labeled either Kosher or Halal, some carried both designations. No pork was offered, of course, but lots of mutton was on the menu.
On more than one occasion, the menu was multi-lingual, but just because it had printed English, didn’t mean that the wait staff spoke much English, especially outside the large cities. One of our members had very specific food desires and we had more than one, rather funny, discussion about what she wanted. She always succeeded in the end even if the odd dish had to be returned.
We all liked this dessert, guranteed fresh.
Fortunately, I had brought my own portable GPS with a recent Israeli map to use for our drives. The one in the rental car was all in Hebrew. We could set the spoken words to English but not the input texts.
One of our guides had proudly pointed out how much rain Israel gets, as much a London, England, on an annual basis. The clouds tried to give us all of that in a couple of days.
Traveling the highways was an exercise, just getting out of Jerusalem proper took an hour. The very frequent high-speed train may have taken a bit of traffic off the highway, but it was still busy.
Next stop, two hours away was on a kibbutz. We were near Nazareth. Again, you almost felt like you could navigate by the names in the bible.
Our kibbutz, with about 400 families, was surrounded by a quite imposing fence with only one vehicle entrance, guarded during the day and electronically controlled after-hours.
About half the members were of the old school, living a communal life, but all in their own houses. The other half all had work outside the kibbutz and commuted by car.
Our Airbnb was a large sprawling home with a grand view of a valley and a mountain chain in the background. It was not very warm outside, and we quite enjoyed the warmth from the fireplace. It had its flue snaking through the house, warming it all, softly.
Songbirds were enjoying the spring-time weather, but the nights were totally quiet.
True to form, there was a Mosque in the valley. It used unbelievably powerful speakers to call for prayers five times a day.
Above it, high up on the mountain top was another imposing building, a Christian retreat. It had no loudspeakers.
Walking the nearby forested area, we were accompanied by a large dog. He just came with us. He was nice company.
He visited the mud-pool and then shook himself off well, to Leah's consternation.
He visited the mud-pool and then shook himself off well, to Leah's consternation.
On Friday night we were invited to Shabbat dinner at one of the neighbouring homes. What dog met us at the entrance, but the same large dog? He greeted us with a wagging tail and a few licks, we were now part of his family too.
I have been to many Shabbat dinners in USA and Canada, but this one was different.
The family had five children, from three to 16 years of age. First, the whole family and we, the guests, gathered in the living room for communal singing, accompanied by a guitar.
The dinner was all vegetarian, not to be too extravagant.
As you all know, wine is mandatory at this occasion. The little children were only allowed to dip their finger and lick the wine. It was hilarious to see how they all colluded to finish off the wine. Kids are kids.
The next day was Saturday, the day of Leah’s Bat Mitzvah.
The night before she had been very nervous about her ability to carry this out.
She performed splendidly. Over 100 persons from the Kibbutz community filled the Synagogue. It was full to capacity and more.
It was, as it should be, a happy occasion when the rabbi asked her:
“Are you prepared to leave your childhood behind? “
Leah:
“No, not yet, I am too young for that.”
“Too late, you are an adult now.
Leah performed as a true star and chanted her Torah portion in Hebrew beautifully.
The one-hour ceremony was, of course, in a mixture of Hebrew and English. There were many in presence that didn’t speak English.
The pressure was off, and all congratulated Leah on her new status in life.
After four pleasant days on the kibbutz, we proceeded to Tel Aviv via Haifa, the major port city of Israel.
We took in the mandatory high look-out view of the Mediterranean and the city and spent the rest of the day walking the old city. Was it older? Of course, it was old and certainly had winding streets and many interesting shops an eateries.
The beaches of Tel Aviv were much anticipated by Leah and she got her fill. It was windy and the water was cold.
Rose and I toured the various ethnic neighbourhoods and I took many photographs.
One highlight was a visit to the Children's Museum. Here we were to experience what it is like to be blind.
We spent 70 minutes in total darkness touring a city and a park, even traveling in a boat, with only a stick for guidance, learning what it is like to not see.
That was a real "eyeopener" for us all.
Again, as I may have said before, the country of Israel may be most interesting of all; You walk on history, you feel the history and you are close, very close to Judaism in its many forms, Christianity and Islam, all liberally displayed all around you, often only a few steps apart.
If you would like to see more photographs, press on this link.
Thursday, March 28, 2019
Canada by train in February
This year we didn't go south of the equator in the winter, we vacationed in almost the coldest weather Canada can offer instead.
Our 11-day trip across Canada was an absolute success. We enjoyed every minute of it.
First, five hours on a plane to Vancouver. Then a few days around that city.
We flew a small floatplane to Victoria on Vancouver Island. Then a few days around there, just meandering around, meeting friends and eating well.
We took the ferry back to Vancouver, the Skytrain to the railroad station and spent four days and four nights on the train. That was a grand experience. We could just as well have been on the Orient Express, judging from the many interesting people we met. We ate superb food, were well entertained and slept super well in our comfortable cabin.
VIA Rail - HIGHLY recommended for friendly service and good food.
We were never cold on the train but on our walks... The cold-pictures of us were in Jasper. AB. It was - 31 deg C on our walk around town.
The coldest outside temp was - 34 C. The last photograph, all white, was taken as we approached Toronto in a blinding snowstorm.
The coldest outside temp was - 34 C. The last photograph, all white, was taken as we approached Toronto in a blinding snowstorm.
A little adventure as observed.
The train was 7 h late in eastern Manitoba; Suddenly we stopped in the middle of the very dark forest. One of the drivers came to the last car, the bar car, where we were. He said:
"We missed a flag stop, there is a trapper and his dog out there. We cannot leave him in this cold (- 33 C)."
If you want ot know about "cold" read Jack London, "To build a fire".
We could see a very faint light about 2 km behind the train. Then we backed up until we came to where we saw the trapper, his baggage and his dog.
A couple of attendants jumped off the train and attended to his baggage.
The train, 13 cars and about 500 m long, continued to back up. The trapper's BIG black dog was taken into the heated luggage car, the first car after the TWO locomotives, wrapped in blankets and placed near an electric heater.
Our resident chef was arousen and went to the kitchen at a very late hour to prepare a warming meal for the cold man.
A bit of "Canada" for you. He had been there, outside by the track, for over five hours. No cellphone service and he had no idea when the train would arrive.
When it came, it drove by him at 100 km/h.
Imagine his horror.
Canadian Train drivers (Engineers) have good eyes and big hearts.
See our pictures here:
How did you like my photos? Enough of "cold"?
------------------
I've had many far more interesting experiences before this. If you 'd like to read my memoirs, "Seasons of a Man", please buy a copy here.
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Virgintiy lost
I was 15
Our two-week spring break was in February, during a real, rather seldom occurring, cold spell. Even Karlshamn, on the coast, recorded – 20 C.
I visited the neighbours of my late father's cottage. This is where I had been a truly happy foster child, living on a real farm around the time of my parent's divorce. I had started grade school there and still had many friends in the area.
One evening we went to a party. A couple of the older boys had cars and we arrived in great style. The party was a great success and all felt good as we were about to leave, long after midnight.
Not so fast, it was – 25 C and no car could be started. There was no taxi to be had in the forest at that hour so we all took off walking in different directions. I warmed my hands inside Solveig's coat, followed her into her parent's kitchen to warm up and, with a little encouragement, proceeded to undress. A large brown dog was watching us. Her parents were sleeping in the room next to the kitchen.
Sparing you the details, all went well on top of the wood storage box next to the warm stove. Continuing home to my foster parents place the world looked all different. I was now a man, the stars were brighter and closer than ever. I was on top of the world. The cold? It was the coldest walk of my young life until then but why care?
Solveig and I never met again. She took ill with Leukemia a few months later and was soon gone. She forever has a place in my heart. I sometimes put a flower on her grave when passing by.
On the good side, my childhood friend and grade school classmate Sonja, also at that party but walking home with a different boy that night, is still very much alive. We talk on the phone now and then and try to meet whenever I am in Sweden.
I have written a book about many more of my adventures, now selling well. If you are interested, have a look here:
https://www.amazon.ca/Seasons-Man-Lindvall-family-friends/dp/1723934151/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_1?keywords=bengt+lindvall+the+seasons+of+a+man&qid=1553996291&s=gateway&sr=8-1-fkmrnull
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
How not to make a car go faster
Have I ever modified a car?
Yes, with a terrible outcome.
In college ca 1960 one of my classmates had a 1954 model Renault CV 4
The engine was wheezing badly, clearly on its last legs.
I sometimes walked by a scrapyard. There was an almost new 1959 Renault Dauphine with a badly mangled front end.
The Dauphine was larger and wayyyy faster than the CV 4 model.
We “all knew” that all rear engine Renaults at the time used the same engine bolt on pattern.
We made a quick deal with the scrap yard - took the CV 4 engine out and bolted in the Dauphine counterpart. Perfect fit everywhere but about twice the hp. We even transferred the larger radiator.
That was fun, racing around town and showing off “the fastest CV 4 of all -
until -
The driver put the foot on the floor in second gear (not me that time) and
Full power in second gear - baaaad.
The driver put the foot on the floor in second gear (not me that time) and
- the extra force on the rear wheels made the very weak rear suspension bend both wheels forward
- that broke both driveshafts
and - made gear teeth salad of the interior of the transmission.
Full power in second gear - baaaad.
It was fun as long as it lasted.
- Money spent? Very little.
- Time? Too much.
- Enjoyment - immense.
- Lesson learned. “Things” are often designed to fit in tandem. The larger engine in a body designed for less hp was NOT a good match.
We all graduated our Mechanical engineering course with good marks, and probably better than most for our knowledge of “engineered limitations”, I think.
https://www.amazon.ca/Seasons-Man-Lindvall-family-friends/dp/1723934151/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_1?keywords=bengt+lindvall+the+seasons+of+a+man&qid=1551805469&s=gateway&sr=8-1-fkmrnull
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I've had many more interesting experiences since then. If you 'd like to read my memoirs, "Seasons of a Man", please buy a copy here.
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Canadian winter vacation
This year we didn't go south of the equator in the winter, we vacationed in almost the coldest weather Canada can offer instead.
Our 11-day trip across Canada was an absolute success. We enjoyed every minute of it.
First, five hours on a plane to Vancouver. Then a few days around that city, also meeting one of Rose's relatives, Errin. She's newly married to James. She's a doctor and he has a Master's degree in Architecture. They both just got their full certifications and are working in Vancouver, Happy times for both.
We flew a small floatplane to Victoria on Vancouver Island. Then a few days around there, just meandering around, meeting a friend and eating well.
A funny thing happened at the Empress Hotel (probably the premier hotel in Canada).
We got upgraded and enjoyed the best of services, free breakfast, snacks, drinks, desserts, etc.
We got upgraded and enjoyed the best of services, free breakfast, snacks, drinks, desserts, etc.
When we asked them to make a dinner reservation, they found these links on the Internet and sent them to "everyone". We were met like royals in many places. You have probably seen both before.
Put your volume on HIGH before you watch this:
We took the ferry back to Vancouver, the Skytrain to the railroad station and spent four days and four nights on the train. That was a grand experience. We could just as well have been on the Orient Express, judging from the many interesting people we met. We ate superb food, were well entertained and slept super well in our comfortable cabin.
VIA Rail - HIGHLY recommended for friendly service and good food.
We were never cold on the train but on our walks...
The "cold-pictures" of us were taken in Jasper. AB. It was - 31 deg C on our walk around town. The coldest outside temp was - 34 C. The last photograph, all white, was taken as we approached Toronto in a blinding snowstorm.
The "cold-pictures" of us were taken in Jasper. AB. It was - 31 deg C on our walk around town. The coldest outside temp was - 34 C. The last photograph, all white, was taken as we approached Toronto in a blinding snowstorm.
A little adventure as observed.
The train was 7 h late in eastern Manitoba; Suddenly we stopped in the middle of the very dark forest. One of the drivers came to the last car, the bar car, where we were. He said:
"We missed a flag stop, there is a trapper and his dog out there. We cannot leave him in this cold (- 33 C)."
If you want ot know about "cold" read Jack London, "To build a fire".
We could see a very faint light about 2 km behind the train. Then we backed up until we came to where we saw the trapper, his baggage and his dog.
A couple of attendants jumped off the train and attended to his baggage.
The train, 13 cars and about 500 m long, continued to back up. The trapper's BIG black dog was taken into the heated luggage car, the first car after the TWO locomotives, wrapped in blankets and placed near an electric heater.
Our resident chef was arousen and went to the kitchen at a very late hour to prepare a warming meal for the cold man.
A bit of "Canada" for you. He had been there, outside by the track, for over five hours. No cellphone service and he had no idea when the train would arrive.
When it came, it drove by him at 100 km/h.
Imagine his horror.
Canadian Train drivers (Engineers) have good eyes and big hearts.
See our pictures here:
How did you like my photos? Enough of "cold"?
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I've had many far more interesting experiences before this. If you 'd like to read my memoirs, "Seasons of a Man", please buy a copy here.
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