The Canadian Tulip Festival runs from May 3 to 19
this year in Ottawa. A million bulbs in 50 different varieties are planted every
year in various parks in the national capital region to commemorate a proud
chapter in Canadian history. During World War II, members of the Dutch Royal
Family took refuge in Canada to ensure succession after the Nazis invaded
Holland. As the war ended, Canadian soldiers liberated Holland from their German
occupiers one village, town and city at a time. Canadian liberators were greeted
with effusion and euphoria. Many Canadian soldiers married Dutch brides and took
them back home. As part of their expression of gratitude for Canada's help,
Queen Beatrix sent us 100,000 tulip bulbs. The tulip trade was an important part
of the Dutch economy during its historical apogee as a commercial state, and was
quite lucrative. The flowers remain a potent national symbol. To this day, the
Dutch Royal Family and Dutch tulip growers send Canada 20,000 bulbs each year.
The National Capital Commission, commissariat of fun for the city of Ottawa,
buys and plants the rest.
The main venue for the Tulip Festival is Dow's
Lake Pavilion and its adjacent park. This was close to where I used to live, so
I have fond memories of the beauty of the area. I used to walk to the lake in
winter, then skate on it and down the Rideau Canal to Carleton University where
I was a graduate student. The canal was a method of transportation, for
shopping or events downtown, as well. It's still an amazing experience to
skate on it in winter, as there are historic buildings to look at and other
scenery. In summer, I would cycle along the paths next to the canal. The
houses along the lake and park are stately and exclusive. The neighbourhood
reminds me very much of Lake Ramsey and its boardwalk in Sudbury. Dow's Lake
Pavilion is just at Preston, aka the heart of Little Italy, where I used to
wander for gelato on a hot summer day. Traveling north to Somerset is Ottawa's
Chinatown, a more orderly version of its Toronto counterparts, where fresh ripe
mangoes used to be 50 cents apiece and dim sum was a rare treat. It hasn't aged
a bit in the past 20 years.
These days, the tulip festival features
various boutique tents, buskers and a children's choir. I'm in Ottawa visiting
relatives, who suggested we go to see the tulips today. Weekend traffic to the
lake is turtle-speed. Even today, a weekday, the parking lot at Dow's Lake is
full and we wait in line for a few minutes until enough people leave. There is a
Tulip Shuttle; it seems a much better alternative than driving, though I don't
know where it starts from. The tulips themselves are in dozens of different
colours, blended together or forming separate phalanxes of petals waving in the
wind. The day is perfectly sunny and blue-skied, at least until we leave. We go
inside a boutique tent. They're selling pencils, pens and unidentified objects
in the shape of tulips, along with local artwork of uneven quality. The pencils
are inefficient, since the eraser end is twisted and bent so as to be unusable
in order for it to espouse the required shape. Other souvenirs have tulip motifs
stamped, painted or baked on ceramic, such as plates, cups and t-shirts. The
latter is the strangest item on display: on the shirt is a cartoon of Einstein
with tulips replacing his hair. I'm not sure whether to smirk at it or roll my
eyes.
By the time we get back to the car, the sky has started to cloud
over. We went just in time.
The convent where my aunt lives dates back to
about 1902. It's on Oblate Avenue, next to the priests' seminary and close to
St-Paul University, another Catholic institution. My mother went to boarding
school there as a teenager. She loathed it. My aunt, however, had the opposite
reaction and felt the call to God. The grounds are huge, with many willow trees.
It's a tranquil area that sometimes attracts joggers and
walkers.
I go to Hull to see an IMAX film at the Canadian Museum of
Civilization. Its architecture is among the most stunning anywhere in the world.
It reminds me very much of the work of my favourite architect, Antonio Gaudi,
who designed the Sagrada Familia cathedral, Guell park and several houses in
Barcelona. However, the Canadian museum was designed by Douglas J. Cardinal. The
flowing lines of the building are meant to represent an organic connection to
nature. I have no idea if the architect ever heard of Gaudi, but I imagine it
must be difficult not to, when studying in the field. I don't mind at all if the
style is derivative and would never fault anyone for this if it is well done.
And it is. Imitation is not merely the sincerest form of flattery; it's the
sincerest manifestation of how deeply you understand and appreciate the
artist.
Ottawa was recently rated the number one city to live in Canada
by MoneySense magazine. Toronto is something like 51st. I can see why the
quality of life is attractive here: there's an excellent equilibrium of outdoor
and urban life. Its gothic revival-style Parliament buildings, completed in
1876, are among the world's prettiest. The recreational trail along the canal
must be the most useful cycling path in the country, for getting where you want
to go without seeing a single car. Of course there are fewer pubs than in
Toronto and I don't think Ottawa has any dance clubs, but the nightlife is
enough for most people. There are a lot of artistic events, festivals, exhibits
and museums. There's the Byward Market, with its stalls of fresh goods and
adjacent restaurants in one of the two funky neighbourhoods in town, the other
being the Glebe around Bank Street. The only things I reproach Ottawa are its
public transportation and the difficulty newcomers can have in making friends. I
remember waiting 30 minutes for a bus to go to Carleton. My aunt has mentioned
waiting 20 minutes. Given the fact Ottawa is the coldest world capital in the
world after Ulang Bator in Mongolia, these wait times are brutal in winter.
Downtown parking is scarce, so using a car is not a good option for people
working there. Hence, the ubiquitous presence of bicycles, even at -30 C or
F.
After the film and dinner, I wander off in search of a car wash, since
my entire hood is covered in dirt. I finally find one on Glebe Avenue, close to
Bank Street: it's a car and dog wash. I suppose you can put Fido on the roof and
get a two-for-one deal. I get the outside of the car clean and realize I'm close
to Rasputin's café, which is over on Bronson Avenue.
Rasputin's is
legendary for the folk scene in Ottawa.
(Author's note: it has since
burned down, and owner Dean Verger has retired). Ian Tamblyn has
played there. Rasputin's is where I discovered Lynn Miles and Alex Sinclair, of
Tamarack. Tamarack is my absolute favourite Canadian folk band. Anyone who can
write an informative historical song about malaria has my undivided attention.
And they did: the song is called "Swamp Fever" and I sing it in the shower every
chance I get. Tamarack writes about Canadian labour history from the 18th
century to the present, and has revived little-known traditional songs from the
nation's past, rescuing them from obscurity in the process. I believe that what
they do is pure genius. One of their songs, Digging for Gold, was reprised by
the Cowboy Junkies. Another musical genius is Nathan Curry, who used to attend
Celtic Jam Mondays at Rasputin's faithfully, with his hand-made dulcimers. The
Celtic Jam is still on, though Nathan and his band, Six Mile Bridge, have moved
on. Apparently Nathan is now in Wakefield, Quebec, building original
instruments. The band has never digitized its work,
unfortunately.
Rasputin's is run by Dean Verger and his black lab,
Pilgrim. Dean is congenial and has the bushiest eyebrows in Ottawa. He operates
his beer fridge on the honour system, a trait which endeared me to the place 20
years ago and still does. Going to Rasputin's is like heading for a kitchen
ceilidh. Everyone is friendly once you talk to them. This is one place in town
free of bureacratic frigidity or nouveau-anything pretensions.
Tonight
at Rasputin's is open stage. I hesitate. I've always wanted to try it. Finally I
throw my name in the basket. I'm up in the second set. I decide to sing Prairie
Wind, since I'm proud of that song and have gotten good feedback. It's a song I
wrote in Saskatchewan - the only one I've written during my trip across the
country. Before starting I clear my throat and inform the audience this is my
first time on stage, and to please be gentle. I get through it just fine, even
if it's a cappella.
I head back to Hawkesbury along
Highway 17 in the dark. I like to take the scenic route. It doesn't take longer
than the 417 and there's less of a detour, so less mileage. I pass Rockland,
with its brand new commons malls and box stores; Wendover, with its upcoming
multi-million dollar development; and sleepy, sleeping Alfred, still content
with its Main street depanneurs and restaurants and old-style gas stations with
full service. One restaurant has been closed for a while, but its rusted-out
sixties-style sign still stands vigil along the highway.
The smell of
fertilizer is omnipresent in the night air. It's spitting rain now, but not
pouring. After over an hour on the road, I reach home.
For
now.
Canadian
Tulip Festival photos
Other
photos of Ottawa
Rasputin's
open stage