In which I visit the Saltspring Island Farmer’s Market, encounter the Cheese Twins, and chat with Raffi.

 

We really are so blessed to live in such close proximity to the Gulf Islands. Why I don’t visit these beauties more often, or indeed why I don’t live there, is sometimes beyond me. It seems like Island life would somehow be smaller and more manageable, more relaxing, less frenetic than city life, with time for an extra cup of tea in the morning. And idyllic, too. This felt especially true as we drove off the ferry at Fulford Harbour last weekend. It was a perfect September day all golden with trees full of ripe apples and a slight nip in the air. As we drove the Fulford-Ganges road I found myself paying close attention to the For Sale signs out front of the old farmhouses and country properties in this beautiful valley. I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking though. It’s not like I’m really the farming type, with my city sensibilities. But for a few brief moments I pictured myself out collecting eggs or wearing dungarees and riding a tractor, or helping the local vet with a difficult delivery. Fortunately, my All Creatures Great and Small moment passed and I was back to enjoying the moment.

We pulled into Ganges, along with everyone else in the world, it seemed, and spent the better part of 15 minutes trying to find somewhere to park. I must admit the shear number of vehicles in Ganges did briefly interfere with my preconceived notions of bucolic bliss, but this, too, passed as I happily reminded myself that we were on island time now and it didn’t really matter anyway.

It didn’t matter to this person either, who couldn’t think straight anyway.

The Saltspring Farmer’s Market is one of the great all-time markets, possibly in the world. And those of you who know me will remember that I do love my markets. I am happy to say that this visit did not disappoint and in fact only served to further deepen my respect for this awesome island and the people who live on it. Ok that’s enough of that.

First up was a delicious little rice ball ensemble filled with roast Burdock Root. It came with strict instructions on how to open it, which Kent ignored and for which he received an admonishing, and a demonstration.

Just beside the Rice Balls was this awesome bowl of felted fruit and veggies, and these super cute owls.  See, this is what you have time for when you live on a Gulf Island. When was the last time you felted a piece of fruit? I thought so.

The great thing about Markets is that usually you just have to think of something you desperately need, and there it is! Case in point, these baby watermelons. I was just thinking to myself that a baby watermelon would really hit the spot when Hey Presto! there was a basket of them! When, I ask you, does this sort of thing happen? Never. At least is doesn’t for me when I have a sudden urgent need for, say, $62000.00, or a night out with Daniel Craig. But I digress.

Anyway I’m sorry they aren’t baby watermelons after all, but no less than the fabled Mexican Sour Gherkin. I kid you not. Let’s just say I don’t think Jolly Rancher will feature Mexican Sour Gherkin as a new flavour any time soon.

By this time I was working up a thirst and happily downed some of this delicious fresh-pressed apple juice from Laughing Apple Farm.

Saltspring is Apple Heaven. There are many folks here who devote their entire lives to growing apples and I was sorry to have been a week early for the Saltspring Island Apple Festival, although this Apple Pie Fudge helped me get over my disappointment.

The produce stalls were at their prime and could barely hold the bounty. I sampled delicious little orange cherry tomatoes, fresh cantaloupe and juicy yellow watermelon and my bag was soon full off tiny little purple runner beans, ground cherries that grow in their own little papery bag, and sweet red strawberries picked that morning.

Nice!

While the produce and goods on offer are usually the main reason for a visit to the market, often the farmers and vendors behind the stall are just as enticing. They run the gamut from opinionated to passionate about their product, bored or grumpy, funny, chatty, engaging, or sometimes, as in the case of the Saltspring Island Cheese Co, all of the above! With one of the more popular (if not the most popular) stalls at the market, I guess the two twin brothers who work the counter can afford to be any way they want. My first impression of them was that they looked remarkably similar to the chefs in Maurice Sendak’s In the Night Kitchen and I kept expecting them to start demanding things. However, this was clearly not going to happen as they were much too busy slicing samples, chopping off chunks for demanding customers, and explaining the various cheeses on offer. The fact that they both had quite strong lisps and spoke in a quiet singsong voice only added to the fascination. I loved them!

The Cheese Twins…

The samples. They went fast and they had to replace several of them while I was waiting my turn. I appreciate this about these guys. They weren’t cheap with their samples and there were two types of crackers as well. These things are important.

We tried the one on the left – Montana, I believe, and it was delish. It’s a sheep’s milk cheese – mild and hard but sweet. So good. 

These Romelias, a surface ripened soft goat cheese, were flying off the shelves. I am partial to the Juliette, similar to Camembert, and also the Blue Juliette. I would post a picture but the combination of delicious cheese and crusty bread on a sunny September day has precluded the possibility of there being anything of which to take a picture…

Never one to neglect dessert, I finished buying up the cheese counter and moved on to the sweets. I meant to buy one of these brownies,

but got distracted by these instead

We went a bit crazy at this stall, home to many yummy French pastries baked by a bona fide Frenchman. Pear and Almond tart (if i must) and Raspberry Vanilla Somethings (oh alright) went down just fine.

By now our friends Mel and Pepi and Silas along with Mel’s parents were arriving at the harbour to take part in the Working Boats Rendezvous. This required us to spend time on their beautiful converted fishing boat lolling around in the harbour, drinking tea and lying in the hammock, while boats came and went, stories were told, and beers drunk. It’s tough life for these boaters. I feel for them. :) Actually, it is a tough life and the number of days of bliss seems usually to be greatly outnumbered by the days spent sweating over a whining engine, or mopping up hydraulic fluid, or writing out yet another cheque. That’s why these rendezvous are so great. Boaters really help each other out and the camaraderie is in the air. I think it makes it all worthwhile. Mel and Pepi may feel differently but that’s how it seems to those of us on the ground.

You can just see Silas to the right. He offered to ‘push’ me on the hammock and climbed up, got into position, and then said ‘oh you’re heavy’ and got down again. Hilarious.

We al headed back to the market where I encountered Raffi, well known children’s singer, sitting at a table promoting his latest gift to children everywhere, a non-profit society that he has set up devoted to honouring children and childhood around the world. I’ve always loved Raffi even when I had heard Baby Beluga or I Think I must Be Growing (Hey! I can reach the tap now!) so many times I wanted to stick forks in my ears, and this just proved that the guy really is amazing. Like I said, people on Islands have time for the stuff that matters in life.

We wandered the market a bit longer, then headed into the village to check out the shops where there were many great finds, and many not so great finds that would probably be Ok if they didn’t have a bird on them. As Pepi pointed out, it’s hip to “Put a Bird on it”. There is even a skit on Portlandia dedicated to this fact that I have yet to watch, but which sounds hilarious.

Case in point.

One of my first visits to Saltspring Market was about 20 years ago (when I was 5, that’s right). One of the things I remember was this dude with a didgeridoo, and some sort of spinning tube with holes drilled through it. The guy would wander the crowd asking if anyone wanted a psychedelic experience without the drugs. Unsuspecting types such as myself would say yes whereupon the dude would wind up the spinning tube, hold it before your eyes, and have you look toward the sun with your eyes closed while this kaleidoscope-like tube would spin, allowing the sunlight to assail your eyelids in a crazy pattern. All the while, he would play his didgeridoo in your ears. The effect was interesting, if not psychedelic, although that is three minutes I’ll never get back and could well have been spent on, say, world peace, or learning how to silkscreen birds.

Anyway, imagine my surprise when I saw the same dude, with the same didgeridoo, and the same little spinny tube, still hitting people up 20 years later. My point that people here have more time is again substantiated!

Looks like he has finally discovered a way to control Zombies.

Before dinner we decided to take a drive round the island which was uneventful in itself other than finding a nice little bit of yarn-bombing on a sign at the side of the road. So thoughtful.

We took the last ferry home laden down with cheese and bread, pies and produce. I could happily have stayed for longer.

If I find some time, I’m going to figure out how I can spend more time on Saltspring Island. Perhaps the Cheese Twins need an assistant…

Thanks for reading-

Cheers,

Jane

In Which we all Dine Al Fresco and Wear White, and it was Amazing

I may have mentioned before that I live on an amazing street. Clare St, located in that undefined neighbourhood between Rockland, Oak Bay, Jubilee and Gonzales, is a gem. We moved here when Zoe was just 1 year old,and Jacob was starting grade 1. She’ll be 10 next month and Jacob starts grade 10 in September; we wouldn’t dream of moving off this fabulous little street for all the world.

There are many things that make the street great – it’s short, the houses range from cute to grand, there are dogs and cats, flowers and blackberries, leafy yards and old cars. There’s always something going on. Babies learn to walk on Clare St, toddling up and down past roses and scooters. Kids play on their bikes or build imaginary worlds out of cardboard boxes. Teenagers hang out on the tire swing or shoot hoops while the adults solve the problems of the world, discuss home-made bread, or debate the best way to stain new shingles. We are truly blessed with some of the finest folk you’ll ever have the chance to meet. It’s a mystery to me how they all ended up on my street, but I’ll take it.

One of my favourite things about Clare St is our collective propensity for gatherings; whether impromptu or organized, haphazard or orderly, we really love to hang out together. Every June we all pile into a series of connected backyards for a potluck dinner and sooner or later the discussion turns to the organization of the September Fall Fair/block party with its pie contest and ‘best carrot’ competitions, games and BBQ. Early December sees us all out caroling with our lanterns, flasks in hands, followed by hot chocolate and a viewing of The Grinch for the kids. New Years Eve and we’re setting up the chiminea again and pulling out the deck chairs at Cafe Clare, as we like to call it, in Janet and Kent’s driveway, while the kids tear up and down the street on bikes and everyone sings Auld Lang Syne whether we know the words or not (more often, not)

It does help having a street full of City Planners (we have four on our one little street) as they regularly come across fascinating events and projects that have occurred in other cities across our country and around the world, which they then want to try out on our street. While many people contribute ideas, many of them come from our wonderful neighbour, Angela. The funky little communal book box that sits jauntily on the street was her idea as are the  regular ‘office parties’ for all the self-employed Clare St folks who miss out on seasonal office parties. I think we might be the only street around that does that!

Her latest project for our street, the Al Fresco ‘White Dinner’ is another keeper. This idea started in Paris some time ago and it has since become an annual tradition to hold a White Dinner outside somewhere in the city. Not to be outdone by Paris, we recently held our own White Dinner here on Clare St. We set up tables, brought out our white tablecloths and silverware, picked bouquets of flowers, dressed in white, and brought our dinners outside onto the street.

It was a magical night.

 

The kids got right into it

 

 

The band was great – we were all up and dancing as the night progressed.

 

One of the ‘off-Clare’ invitees took this awesome picture of Zoe with her parapluie looking like she would fit right in in Paris. And while it did rain (more of a sprinkle, really) everyone quickly mobilized an assortment of tents and umbrellas and we carried on as if it rains all the time on our white dinners…

There is something very special about a community gathering like this one. It brings people together in a way that is seldom found anywhere else. As far as organizing, everyone take a little piece and runs with it and it all comes together wonderfully. There are no subcommittees to discuss whether or not stakeholders’ interests are being considered. No soul-sucking meetings where everyone has opposing agendas. No bickering email streams discussing whether or not it’s a good idea (duh) or whether it shouldn’t be the ‘grey dinner’ just to ensure that people who don’t like white don’t feel left out…

But I digress. My point is that none of that happened, and none of that ever happens on Clare St, and instead we all left the street at the end of the night feeling the love.

And so to you, Angela, I send all my love and thanks for the amazing things you do for our street. We look forward to carrying on this new Clare St. tradition for many years to come.

And we are definitely looking forward to your next brilliant idea.

Thanks for reading-

Cheers,

Jane

In Which we Spend our Last Day in Stockholm

I often find that I waste the last day of a trip wishing that I didn’t have to go home, or worrying about what time I need to get up in the morning, or how I will be able to fit everything in my suitcase.

This time, I did worry about getting up early (4am yuck), and I did manage to fit everything in my suitcase (the packing fairy didn’t come), but I was ready to head for home. We all missed Kent and wanted to sleep in our own beds in a city that didn’t have 62 sets of bells within 8 square blocks. Have I mentioned the bells? But before we came home, we had some shopping to do.

We stepped outside the door to our place to a swarm of huge bumblebees buzzing around. There was a tiny hole down by the ground and these bees had, apparently, taken up residence here over night. They were enormous, and kind of cute in a large fuzzy insect kind of way. Jacob said he wanted one as a pet.

You can see it one of them here, albeit a bit blurred. But you get the idea. It seems that the theme of this trip has been Bells and Bees. What is with that? I guess it’s better than, say, tornadoes and Mosquitoes. Or Gunshots and Cocaine. Or Dead Kittens and Spam.

Anyway, we stared at the Mega Bees for awhile, then headed out into the fray.

Sweden is really crazy about their royal family. Perhaps almost as crazy as the Brits are about theirs. Last summer the Crown Princess got married to her personal trainer who looks a bit, as Jacob observed, like Gollum from Lord of the Rings before he turned into Gollum. Anyway, their wedding was a huge deal and you can still buy any number of trinkety items with their faces emblazoned on them.

We wandered through the Royal Palace and came out one of the entrances where the Royal Guards are posted. The two in the picture were having a very formal conversation, standing straight, eyes forward the entire time. It was of course in Swedish so we could only guess what they were saying:

Lieutenant: Larssen, will you have a pickled herring sandwich for your lunch?

Larssen: Yes sir. With tomatoes please sir!

Lieutenant: Multigrain, white or pumpernickel?

Larssen: Ummmm Sir!

Lieutenant: Come on, Larssen, I don’t have all day!

Larssen: What was the second choice sir!

Lieutenant: White!

Larssen: Is there oat bread, Sir!

Lieutenant: I think so.

Larssen: I’ll have it on oat bread with Jarlsberg slices Sir!

Lieutenant: Very good. I’ll have that ready for you in 5 minutes when Magnusson comes to relieve you

Larssen: Don’t forget the pickles Sir!

Or perhaps:

Lieutenant: Larssen, have you seen my hand cream?

Larssen: The rose or the white lily Sir!

Lieutenant: actually it was the Mandarin and tuberose

Larssen: Ummmm Sir!

Lieutenant: Come on, Larssen, I don’t have all day!

Larssen: Magnusson had it last I saw it. He was taking it into the bathroom with him Sir!

Lieutenant: How inconvenient. What am I to do now?

Larssen: You could borrow mine, Sir!

Lieutenant: What fragrance is it, Larssen? Is it that Freesia and vanilla because I’ve tried that and it wasn’t to my liking…

Larssen: No it’s banana coconut Sir!

Lieutenant: That should be Fine. I’ll return it to you later today

Larssen: Don’t forget the pickles Sir!

Lieutenant: What was that last comment, Larssen?

Larssen: Nothing Sir! Have a nice day Sir!

We moved on and hit a few stores running until we came to the Swedish department store, NK. It was a cross between Ikea and Harrods, except better. We spent forever in there wandering the paper shop, or trying on clothes, or sampling the wares in the food hall.

I loved the fabric store, even though I have never sewed a single thing in my life except for the world’s ugliest pantsuit in Grade 8 home ec class which has hopefully since been burned or torn up into rags.

 

There was an entire wall of buttons in little tubes like these but I couldn’t get to the other colours as a gay couple was trying to match a missing button from a shirt and weren’t moving out the way.

The bolts of fabrics were very appealing. I kept picking them up and holding out yards of them like Mrs Olson from Little House on the Prairie, until the saleswoman came over and asked if I needed anything.

And how about this stool? Is that not the cutest thing ever? Jacob says he is going to make one for me…

 

Next up was the toy department which featured rows and rows of smurfs, fabulous fabric toy houses that nested inside each other and were actually storage boxes, a high chair that looked like it was trying to get Baby ready for their first visit to the dentist, and of course, trolls. They are big on trolls here.

 

I won’t bore you with the bazillion other shops we visited. but suffice to say, it was a good day. As we walked home, we passed through the square in the middle of the old town close to our apartment, and happened upon a protest, of sorts, against US involvement in pretty much everything. A Columbian band was playing, and they were pretty good, but the real highlight was the fact that we got to see the Man with the World’s Largest/Bushiest Eyebrows. Amazing! Check those babies out!

We tried to get to bed early as we had to get up at 4am, but here in the land of the midnight sun, when it is light out at 2:15 am and fully light by 3:30am, those pesky Circadian Rhythms get all mucked up. And so I was pretty much up at 3am and stayed up for the next 24hrs. Somehow we manoeuvred our way from the apartment, to the train station dragging our suitcases along the cobbled streets at 4:45am. Fortunately the residents of the Old town are well used to rackets and clatter all night as most of the streets and alleys are too narrow for delivery trucks to make it down them so deliveries are brought in on huge carts that, as far as I could tell, do not enjoy the benefits of big fat tires. We passed a few of these carts, some were heading for restaurants and cafes, the smell of cinnamon buns and cardamom cake filling the morning air. Gonna miss those…

As per our luck for this trip, the Airport train was practically waiting for us and rolled out about a minute after we got on board.

Our first flight to Heathrow was uneventful although I was so tired I could not figure out which coast I was looking at out the window. We were flying south, and I was looking out the right side of the plane and that should have been enough information for me but I was still baffled. Was it Denmark? How far West were we? Germany? Scotland? Perhaps it was Holland? I finally figured it out (it was Scotland) and realized that that section of the North Sea isn’t really that big and when you are up 40000ft, you can see a good deal. I have since learned that the German and Dutch governments have both installed these wind farms in sections of the North Sea. I didn’t take this picture, but it gives you a good idea of the scale of them. It was a bit surreal to see them scattered around out in the middle of the ocean.

We landed at Heathrow and whiled away the two hour wait in the less than charming terminal 3 waiting lounge. This place is huge, and crowded, and full of expensive stores such as a Harrods outlet, Burberry, etc. Places where you can pick up a leather wallet for 1700 pounds if you happen to have left yours at home. These places just irk me. Perhaps they might notice that there is actually nobody in them (except the Harrods outlet which, FYI, actually has many of same items that are in the main London Knightsbridge store except they are cheaper) and they are a waste of space, and that if they would just go away, there would be more room for sitting down, and people we wouldn’t all be taking each other out each time you so much as turn your head to look for an empty seat. It’s the bookstores and candy stores that have all the people in them. Duh. Plus, (no, I’m not done yet) the place is permanently under construction, it seems, and half of it is all boarded up so it seems very incongruous to have all these fancy stores next to construction zones, and surrounded by the dishevelled masses waiting for their next flight. Ah well. I guess it’s better than Gatwick. Don’t get me started on that low-ceilinged pit of despair.

Guess who was at the airport? June and Tony! And also, Carol and Geoff (bit younger than June and Tony), Cliff and Barbara (sportier, Barbara has short, red brown died hair and Cliff has his keys on a lanyard around his neck), Sandy and Derek (more refined, Derek has loafers on, shorts and knee socks, Sandy has a tan, and is talking on her phone) and a few other archetypal English couples. I love them!

ANYWAY. Next was the flight to Toronto. Before we got on, the kids were taking bets on how long a flight it would be to Toronto given that it was close to 9 hours from Vancouver to London, and so it must be waaaaay less than that to Toronto from London. I started to explain the whole flying ‘up and over’ close to the pole thing but they weren’t listening. Zoe figured it would be 5 and Jacob said MAYBE 6. So you can imagine how thrilled they were when the Captain broke the bad news that it would actually be closer to 8 hours. WTF? It actually wasn’t a bad flight although we did have a few more brushes with adult movies, and the woman behind me appeared to be having some sort of issue with her tray table. Up, down, up, down, up, down. I finally turned around and gave her the kind of smile which I have used before when disciplining other peoples children to make it look like I’m really friendly, but am actually explaining that if they don’t stop the offending behaviour, I will stop it for them. This look is typically accompanied by some sort of death grip on the arm, which unfortunately I was unable to administer in this setting.

What I said: “Everything Ok with the tray table?”

What I meant: “Are you going to do that for the rest of the trip because if you are, I’m going to have to hog tie you and put you in one of the bathrooms. OK? Great. Thanks.”

What she said: “It’s fine”

What she meant: “Go back under your rock and leave me alone I’ll obsessively open and close the tray if I damn well want to to!”

She then went to sleep for the rest of the trip thank god.

We landed in Toronto where they have the annoying requirement  for those who are connecting to another flight, to collect all your baggage from the carousel, and then recheck it back into the system. It doesn’t matter that it has already been checked all the way through to Victoria, you still must do this or your bags will sit there unclaimed. Tons of people didn’t know this, and no one tells you. It’s only because I’ve done it before that I knew about it. I’m sure many people just go on to their final destination without knowing to do this, only to discover that their luggage is still in Toronto going round on the carousel.

By this time we had been up since last week or something like that and the prospect of another 5 hours across the country was daunting. We somehow struggled through although it felt like we were up there for days. They have those maps on the tvs that show your alleged ‘progress’ on the flight; we seemed to be flying over Bismarck North Dakota for so long that Jacob and I wondered if we had been stuck in the equivalent of one of those lap pools that has a jet of water that you can swim against and stay in one place.

When we finally landed in Victoria, it was sunny and crisp and clear and the air smelled amazing. We were all so happy to see Kent, and everyone was full of stories and yawns, and more stories and more yawning. We were all asleep by 9pm and that night, there were no bells although I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have noticed them at all. Really.

Thanks for reading. Until next time…

Cheers,

Jane

Stockholm I Think I Love you Part 2: Vikings!

We needed to get out of the city and escape the heat, so I planned a trip by boat into Lake Malaran to visit the Island of Bjorko. The site of the UNESCO World Heritage Site Birka, this island lies about 1hr and 45 minutes from Stockholm by boat, and was, in the 700s, a trading hub, and centre of Viking life.

Today, there is an excellent little museum, thousands of Viking burial mounds, recreated homes and some beautiful views.

The trip itself was great – this is Swedish Cottage Country and we passed some lovely spots, including this one with the best ever home-made water slide – it looked like someone had taken a bunch of your basic silver playground slides and welded them together.

When we arrived, we went for a look around at the museum. They had lots of neat things found at Birka but the best part was a model of the original town of which, unfortunately, there is nothing remaining as it was built entirely out of wood and has completely disappeared. Guess I’ll just have to take their word for it!

I was especially interested to see that there were zombies at Birka. This may explain why the place suddenly ceased to exist in 975 AD.

We then had a great lunch in the cafe. Of course, we had Swedish Meatballs:

Those are lingonberries.

It was then time for our tour which was given by a qualified archeologist who really knew her stuff.

She started by quashing many of the long standing myths around Vikings, including the one that they wore horned helmets! Can you believe it? WTF? What about all those helmets for sale in the gift shops in Stockholm? Shouldn’t someone tell the tourist trade? Then, to make matters worse, she told us that by no means did they put their dead in those Viking boats, set fire to the boats and send them out to sea! They just cremated them and buried the urns. I was starting to feel a bit ripped off until she cheered us up by telling us that they were still mighty warriors with axes and clubs with spiked balls on the end etc. We felt slightly better.

The remains of a Viking Hill Fort

Viking burial mounds

A Standing Stone. Clearly. Aren’t you glad you have me to point out the obvious?

The views were lovely – this is a shot of the only farm on the island, which has approximately 10 full time residents.

You may have noticed from the pictures that the weather was very different than the day before. It hovered around 20 all day and was very grey and even chilly at times near the water.

We stayed inside on the way back and drank tea, and were soon back in Stockholm.

 

I was so tired that I swear I did not hear the bells at all. Well maybe once.

Thanks for reading -

Skal!

Jane