31 October 2017
Social committee
Yes, Halloween is upon us once again. After initial ignorance, my time in Canada has by now made me well-acquainted, but no more enthusiastic, about the North American version of carnival. It remains an asinine, unnecessary, embarrassing and highly commercialized aberration.
Only recently, though, have I started noticing that the dressing up isn't just limited to rugrats and the alcohol-infused university set. Last year, I was irritated when on October 31st, I was served by a bank teller in a fairy queen outfit (good thing she didn't go for the bank robber look). But this year took the institutionalized silliness to new heights.
A few days ago, a company-wide email from the social committee (the first I heard of such a body) arrived in my inbox, alerting me not only to a communal pumpkin carving in the cafeteria and a ghoulish potluck (aren't they all?), but also officially inviting me to wear my costume both on the day before and on Halloween itself. Ever the cynic, I laughed at the hopeless attempt by company cheerleaders to lighten the workplace mood, and promptly deleted the message.
But as it turned out, many colleagues did not: For the past two days, I have worked side-by-side with cowboys, cops, Hotwarts wizards, and random creations with silly wigs. What seemed utterly undignified to me appeared to be great fun to my - normally straitlaced - colleagues.
For marketers and merchandisers, extracting not just kids' pocket money, but adults' hard-earned dollars for Halloween costumes surely is the holy
Fortunately, in Canada the hubbub will be over by tomorrow. South of the border, though, they are not so lucky. There, a serially bankrupted former Reality TV star has been acting as President since January. Who ya gonna call?
# posted by Oli : 22:08
31 July 2017
Wild Wild West
Cultural diversity, though, exists even within the WASP bedrock of Canadian society, as I found on a recent jaunt to Calgary. While the western city was mostly associated with the boom and bust of the oil sands industry (Canada's dirty secret) in recent years, its original claim to fame was as a hub for farming and ranching where the endless prairies meet the Rocky Mountains.
It is to this heritage that the town dedicates 10 days each summer, when it hosts the Calgary Stampede, described with signature modesty as the greatest outdoor show on earth. The festival of everything western had been on my bucket list for many years, and what better year than that of Canada's 150th anniversary to make tick it off?
From the moment I stepped off the plane, it was clear that this wasn't Montréal (or Toronto, for that matter): Cowboy hats abounded, boots and bolo ties were everywhere. Hotels had set out mock saloon doors and horse troughs. Everybody wore checkered shirts.
Things got more intense at the vast Stampede park. Apart from the standard fairground rides, there were large sections dedicated to agricultural exhibits (the maize of Manitoba, the berries of B.C.) and stables where prize artiodactyls were groomed, shoed, paraded and judged. Not much of an expert myself, I was impressed by the wide range of bovine cosmetics available.
The real fun, of course, was to see the beasts in action. Professional riders named Cody, Curtis or Clay competed in Bareback and Saddle Bronc riding, where success is measured in seconds on the back of a ferocious bull. Others preferred the rodeo staples of steer wresting and tie-down roping, their looks and skills putting Lucky Luke to a shame. And the most daring harnessed four thoroughbreds to a chuckwagon and raced them around a dusty track, much to the crowds' delight.
More remarkable still than their skills seemed the cowboys' pedigree, if you pardon the pun. These were not Disney performers in funny costumes, but true farm boys from small prairie towns north and south of the border. After the race, they could be seen smoking cigarettes and drinking Bud Lights by their pick-up trucks.
Of course, not everybody in boots and hats had the same stallgeruch: My Calgarian colleague happily confessed that his cowboy gear comes out exactly one time a year for the Stampede, and then swiftly disappears in the basement again. "This little shin dig is our western Halloween", as he put it.
But dressing the part certainly adds to the atmosphere. As I grabbed a watery beer and joined the crowds at the Nashville North scene, where country bands were playing and people were line-dancing, I suddenly realized that at the very least, I should have worn my Edelweiss shirt and the suspenders embroidered with Appenzell cattle. After all, we Swiss are cowboys as well. Yee-haw!
Labels: Canada, culture, event
# posted by Oli : 21:17
17 May 2017
375
1250 years, or even 700 years, that seems like an unfathomable amount of time. Or as Eddie Izzard put it: No one was alive then! But it is far from unusual in Europe, where history comes from.
By and large, the town and the country have aged well. Today, modern conveniences are abundant, the infrastructure is first class, and even if the population is ageing, it can rely on cutting-edge health care to keep adding candles to the birthday cake.
In North America, old has a different meaning, and people here are not willing to wait for millennia to pass until they can throw a party. This year, Canada is turning 150, and the federal government is going all out with events to mark the occasion. It also hopes that Canadians will follow it to the great outdoors, courtesy of free admission to all National Parks.
Montréal, of course, ever uneasy with just waving the Maple Leaf flag, prefers to focus on a celebration of its own. And it has found a reason.
375 years ago today, on May 17, 1642, Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve put a flag in the ground on the base of Mont Royal and founded Ville-Marie, the nucleus of what grew into Montréal. (He was likely sold on the location when he saw the splendid Boulevard de Maisonneuve running the length of the city, bicycle lanes and all....) This event must be commemorated, and only a sourpuss would point out that Samuel de Champain had already established a first trading post on the island in 1611, not to mention the Iroquois village of Hochelaga, which had existed long before that.
A website was launched, and even a mobile app found its way on my phone. Tonight, with much fanfare (courtesy of the city's symphony orchestra), a spectacular light show on the Pont Jacques-Cartier was inaugurated. Countless artsy events will follow throughout the summer - your (provincial!) tax dollars at work.
One could use the occasion to take a look at the city's health. Such a checkup would reveal a stagnating economy, crumbling bridges and roads, lacking or endlessly delayed public transit infrastructure, corruption in police and politics, excessive wait times for health care, and the highest tax rates in North America. No surprise, then, that the city prefers to direct citizens' attention to shiny lights.
But don't think that I am just a negative nancy. I don't mean to rain on the parade, not least because I plan on attending it. As the world capital of orange construction cones, Montréal is quite literally work in progress. A bit more modesty and honesty wouldn't hurt, but these are not traits typically associated with grandiose French character.
This does not mean the city has no reason to be proud: 375 years after its foundation, my home town consisted of a few feudal farms and a mill. The residents lived in subservient conditions under the thumb of local aristocrats, before succumbing to the plague or the flu at age 35. By comparison, Montréal is paradise indeed!
So for its birthday, let's cut the city some
# posted by Oli : 22:00
01 November 2016
Retro Metro
The other big birthday gift the city (or more specifically, its spendthrift mayor Jean Drapeau) gave itself was a subway. These days, the métro is celebrating its first half century of service.
It does so with fanfare - literally: As part of the 50th anniversary celebrations, Montréal's Symphony Orchestra premiered a purpose-written piece inspired by the sounds of the trains. Unfortunately, I missed the performances, but I imagine it must sound somewhat similar to Arthur Honegger's Pacific 231.
Yes, that oeuvre represented an accelerating steam engine. But Montréal's métro isn't much more modern: The most benevolent way to describe its rolling stock would be "vintage". The trains have not changed in 50 years, and still ooze of the sixties, with their neon lights and dot-matrix displays. Only in the past months, after years of delay courtesy of the standard inept cronyism, have new trains started arriving.
They will bring a breath of fresh air - albeit not too fresh, for they are still not air-conditioned. Why not? Because Montréal's subway, following the well-honed French tradition of function follows form that also gave the city an Olympic Stadium with a retractable roof that can't support snow, was built with inadequate ventilation. This means it is uncomfortably hot at any time of the year, and there is no way to evacuate the surplus heat that air-conditioned trains would blow off.
While the city prides itself on the public art installed at each station, and their individualized designs (many look like Ken Adam's movie sets), it tends to keep mum on the fact that even the stations with escalators all include at least one unavoidable flight of stairs, frustrating people in wheelchairs or prams and requiring the very costly, and slow, refitting with elevators.
Novelty in the last 50 years has been limited. In 2009, 12 years after Hong Kong, the transit operator started using RFID cards for tickets, but it has continued its restrictive ticketing practices dating back to scratch-card days ever since. More recently, screens indicating time to the next departure appeared, although they still fail to provide accurate information when it is needed most, namely when something is going awry. And while the city has been growing steadily since 1966, the metro has not kept pace: Several planned extensions have been abridged or cancelled, and to this day they remain subject to the political mood of the day.
Shortcomings notwithstanding, the métro remains a safe, largely reliable and efficient way of inner-city transport. 50 years after its inauguration, it doesn't just save time travelling. It also lets you travel back in time.
# posted by Oli : 21:26
31 July 2016
Patriot Day
2016 is the first year I can consider both of these events truly "mine", and it also marks the first time since 2009 that I took part in events for both of them. (Normally, I am on vacation during at least one of the days, but this year I was tied down.)
The Swiss event, the largest such celebration to take place in North America, was held on the last Saturday of July (since August 1 is not a holiday for expats in Canada) and offered the expected mix of folkore, pathos and culinary delights. Unlike the sole other time I drove to the picturesque town of Sutton for it, this year she came along, placing me in the role of a cultural interpreter. Having to explain traditions such as jodeling and lampion parades forced me to reflect on them, and the way the Swiss observe their national day.
The comparison with Canada Day imposes itself, with memories of it still fresh. Granted, the two were not like for like, as the Swiss festivities were those of a sentimental expat community, and the Canadian ones in Montréal's Old Port arguably these of a sceptical separatist province.
Indeed, the official act was repeatedly interrupted by loud demonstrators demanding more rights for First Nations people. While the jeering and booing visibly bothered the military band playing O Canada for the flag raising ceremony, the crowd generally chose to politely ignore the protesters, and the local MP addressing the audience ad-libbed a comment about Canada respecting everybody's freedom of speech.
Most striking, though, was what followed next. While the Swiss tradition may be to light a bonfire warning of foreign threats, the Canadians chose to celebrate by making more citizens. Across the country, a cornerstone of National Day proceedings is a special Citizenship Ceremony, where a lucky group of applicants is invited up on stage, and then sworn in to become subjects of Her Majesty in front of an applauding crowd waving Maple Leaf flags (helpfully handed out by government staffers beforehand).
In the inevitable speeches, Swiss politicians love to recall the story of William Tell and how the valiant Eidgenossen have resisted foreign invaders for over 700 years. Their Canadian counterparts invoke a history of immigration and multi-culturalism, and pride themselves in welcoming more people into their fold every year. (Only cynics would note the excellent opportunity to capture new voters before anyone else does.)
It was a touching and appealing message to listen to, and I would hope to hear similar words from podiums on August 1st. For there was a fine irony in hearing the Canadian politician say that the red and white of the Maple Leaf flag should evoke relief and compassion much like the flag of the Red Cross. Which of course was derived from the Swiss flag.
Labels: Canada, culture, event, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 22:02
11 July 2016
Halfway House
The move went reasonably well, but not without hiccups and not without lots of sweat, for we picked the hottest weekend so far this summer to lift boxes. Still, it could have been worse: By avoiding the province-wide moving day of July 1st, we saved the extortionate surcharges moving companies add on "D-Day".
As it happened, the three Russians hired to manhandle my furniture did an excellent and speedy job. Sadly, the same could not be said for the Latino cleaners we had also booked for the day to remove the previous tenants' grime and the inevitable dirt from movers, electricians, cabinet builders and other assorted craftsmen that had worked in our new home in the preceeding days.
On that sunny Saturday in late June, the cleaners simply no-showed on us (some would say that disappearances without a trace are a Latin American speciality), leaving us very exhausted at the end of a long day, in a dirty house, and unwilling to start stow away our belongings in filthy cabinets.
Instead, we spent the next day moving more surplus stuff into boxes, and transporting these to charitable institutions and garage sales. At the same time, we scrambled to find alternative cleaners. Word-of-mouth eventually led to an energetic woman, who showed up on Monday morning to assess the work, and promised that her team would move in later that day.
Imagine my reaction, then, when I got a text message around 17.30 saying that the cleaners were stuck in traffic and were not going to make it. As the next best available date, they suggested July 11 - today. It would have been unthinkable to live in such a mess for that long, and so we eventually resorted to a shady cleaning business from the online classifieds. They did a mediocre job on Wednesday, and insisted in cash payment - but they got it done.
And with that, we were able to finally start "moving in" for real: Deciding what things go where, finding storage spaces, filling wardrobe and fridge, and cooking meals without disgust.
The job is not done yet. In the two weeks since, we have relentlessly ticked of one after the other of the many smaller items still on the to-do list. Yesterday, the last Scandinavian flat-packs were transformed into furniture. Most of the boxes have been consigned to recycling. Lamps have been hanged, with curtains not far behind. The fight for bathroom shelf-space has ended in a draw.
To the author of these lines, with a perfectionist streak and two left hands, it was not a fun time. Nerves have been frayed, backs hurt, and far too much of a short summer spent with a frown on the face.
But as we slowly settle in, so does a new routine. The sweat and treasure (no blood, fortunately) were an investment, then, and it already starts paying dividends: A few days ago, we enjoyed our first dinner in the finished dining room - an important waypoint on the journey from a new house to a new home.
It is a new chapter. It will require adjustment, nimbleness, and compromise. We are keen, and by now we are well rehearsed... in thinking outside the box.
# posted by Oli : 22:50
17 June 2016
Think inside the box
Now, the time has come to move again. Not far, mind you: Just a few blocks, to a new location even closer to Montréal's core and within spitting distance of its most important place of worship - the hockey stadium.
The proximity of the old and new home does not change, unfortunately, the need to pack up an entire household and transport it down three flights of stairs, and up the same number again. And that makes for a comeback of boxes. Lots of boxes.
The nature of my last move meant that many of my goods were delivered: Either brand new by the employees of a large Swedish company, or shipped from Europe to my doorstep by burly freight forwarders. No such luck this time.
Instead, I found myself tossing and turning in bed as I went through various scenarios and schedules for when which belongings need to go into what receptacle so as to make the journey in the right order. Like anyone else in Québec, I will hand over the keys of my old place on July 1st, the province-wide moving day. But fortunately, I have the opportunity to place items in our new home in the preceding week, once that space is clear of the previous tenants' belongings. At the same time, I need to keep a skeleton version of my old household going until I myself move, for I will continue to require chocolate, fresh underwear, deodorant and other basic necessities.
That made for a brain-twisting planning exercise, further complicated by the merger of two households into one and a few renovations. Surplus was inevitable, and while my instinct would have been to deposit any and all unwanted items on the curb, I was instead taught the art of virtual garage sales - the proceeds of which were swiftly spent at bewildering stores named "Home Depot" (a retail category largely inexistent in Switzerland, where pro work is expected and contractors are hired for it). Canadians, unfortunately, insist to do it yourself. So the Swiss passport is definitely handy - as an excuse.
With the planning all done and precisely two weeks remaining until the current apartment is but a Souvenir, things are now moving to the execution stage. In other words: Into boxes. And as with most projects, that is when the heavy lifting starts. At least I have learned not to worry about cleaning up the old place.
If things go well, and emerge from boxes unscathed, the next entry in this blog will be written on the same keyboard, at the same desk, but in a different room of a new home. And going by its location, that home will truly be our castle.
# posted by Oli : 22:42
03 May 2016
Less is more
This was seven years ago, and I was getting ready to move overseas, bringing along some of my belongings. But not all.
Since then, I have lived comfortably in the same apartment. Silently but inevitably, it has filled with the assorted surplus of life, ducked away in drawers, stashed in sheds and crammed into closets. Out of sight, out of mind.
Not anymore. The stuff is back on my mind, crystalized by the rapidly approaching date for my next relocation. While this move will be covering a distance of no more than two kilometers, it nonetheless means that an entire household needs to be taken out of my current flat. And not all of it should go into the next one.
These days, I pace up and down the hallway, thinking what else I could get rid of. So far, old electronics have been recycled. Dozens of airline amenity kits have been given to charity. Cardboard boxes from the last move - transformed by squirrels into a drey during 7 years in the shed - have been disposed of (the infant rodents escaped). Toiletry and cleaning products are being used up while chocolate and wine reserves face rapid depletion. Who says moving is necessarily unpleasant?
More and meatier items remain to be liquidated. I am investigating virtual garage sale and classified sites to list some of the Ikea furniture once assembled with trademark aptitude. Soon, some towels will be used and then donated, rather than washed and dried again. And with at least one more trip coming up before the move, I will be carefully packing my bag with clothing that can stay behind at destination.
There, on a tropical communist island, it will probably find a happy new owner. But its former owner will be just as happy, for I increasingly find pleasure and satisfaction in getting rid of seven years worth of jetsam.
Whether it is due to a remnant of Japanese minimalist esthetic or an echo of the Christian diktat that it is more blessed to give than to receive, I rejoice every time I carry another load down the stairs. Less really is more.
# posted by Oli : 22:33
02 August 2015
Smoke on the water
We were not alone: Thousands emerged from the metro and took position along the riverfront. The bridge overhead was closed to traffic, and equally mobbed. In the distance, on Ile Ste-Hélène, the stage lights of the Osheaga festival could be seen. That performance, however, paled compared to what was about to erupt right in front of us.
At 22h sharp, we put on our headphones and tuned in to the right radio frequency for the soundtrack. And then, the sky exploded with lights: Another contestant in the international fireworks championship had fired his opening salvo.
For over a month every summer, Montréal is treated to weekly fireworks displays. Launched from the La Ronde amusement park on an island in the river, they can be seen from across the east of town, and they always draw huge crowds. Participating companies chose their own musical themes, and showcase a bedazzling array of visual effects, colors and timing to match the fireworks to the sound.
When Deep Purple's signature guitar riff started playing one night, and the sky lit up in fiery reds, it was definitely appropriate: The evening was calm, and during the previous 15min of rocket launches, a thick blanket of smoke had accumulated over the river. And now there was
Smoke on the waterPessimists could have been reminded of CNN's legendary coverage of the Gulf War, but positivity dominates in Montréal, and people were having a jolly good time. Every single Saturday.
A fire in the sky
Smoke on the water
When Zurich has a 30min fireworks show for two evenings every three years during the city's Züri Fäscht, the talk of the town is typically centered on the million-dollar price tag and the amounts of heavy metal residues in the ecosystem. In Montréal, nobody thinks twice about cost, no Funky Claude was running in and out and no one burned down the gambling house - a good thing, given that Loto-Québec, and therefore by extension the slot playing part of the population, funds the extravaganza.
This relaxed attitude and momentary indulgence in a folly of smoke and lights seems an apt reflection of Québec culture: No matter what we get out of this. The Swiss could take a page out of such open-hearted generosity. While this year's competition patriotically started with a "salute to the troops" on Canada Day, the finale was kindly set for August 1st - Swiss National Day.
So here we stood, music in our ears, and a complimentary light show in front of us that made anything launched back home look like child's play. Life was good.
I know, I know we'll never forget
Smoke on the water
A fire in the sky
# posted by Oli : 21:39
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