The train platform is elevated, so we took the stairs down. Looking over my shoulder, there’s a gate with Japanese characters leading to the platform.

The streets aren’t rectilinear around Nippori. Walking out a little from the station and looking east, there’s a commercial area … but not textile stores.

Looking south, there were also storefronts, but the rag trade is a little farther on.

We headed south in the direction we thought correct. Apartment towers reveal the area to be mixed commercial and residential.

One of the first stores that we saw oriented towards apparel was Lemon, catering to children’s clothes.

Many stores were crowded with merchandise. This one had mannekins in a more spacious layout.

Despite the rain, the bins outside storefronts offered specials for the bargain hunters.

Perhaps the foot traffic wasn’t high in the late afternoon, so this shopkeeper had covered up his bins, and closed up for the day.

The Tomato store at Nippori seems to be well known.

A place to park umbrellas before entering a store demonstrates the Japanese attention to detail.

The variety of buttons available for purchase underscores that this neighbour is the central market for fabric and notions in Tokyo.

Looking at the wall of buttons, I wonder about the design of the cataloging system.

The nicer buttons are displayed in trays.

To encourage novices, some samples were framed and hung on the wall for display.

Marianne bought a handle for a bag that she was making, and showed it to Jennifer.

Keen shoppers could spend days wandering in and out of these stores.

This store had multiple floors of notions. Just hanging out on the ground floor was enough for Gary and me, while the ladies looked around the other levels.

I can’t think of why I would need this variety of decals or stickers.

After a few hours of shopping, Jennifer and Marianne decided to return to the hotel for a rest. Gary and I crossed over to the other side of the Nipport station. On the bridge over the track is a marker for Shimogoendenhashi.

As it typical in Tokyo, turning a corner often unexpectedly reveals a temple. Since we’ve seen a lot of them, we continued on.

The main shopping street for the neighbourhood is down the Yuyake Dandan stairs.

This isn’t a tourist neighbourhood. The Yanaka Ginza shops serve residents.

The local bakery was shielding some of its displays from the rain.

The neighbourhood fruit vendor is a contrast to the corporate-owned supermarkets in commercial districts.

In the busy Tokyo lifestyle, boxed meals could be picked up by residents on their way home.

The local fish store still had stock in the early evening.

If the shopper didn’t want prepare the fish, there’s always takeout sushi.

Continuing our walk, we exited out the another gate for the Yanaka Ginza district.

We wended our way past Nishi Nippori station, and up the hill.

The sun had set by the time we reached the entry to Nippori Park.

The park has fences for cats.

In the dark, we could barely make out the Koryo Inari Jinjin shrine.

The grounds around the Seiun-ji temple were accessible, but the temple itself was closed for the evening.

Returning down to the main street, we found the Darjeeling restaurant.

After a steady diet of Japanese food, a change to Indian cuisine was welcomed.

The Darjeeling bills itself as a tearoom, as much as a dining venue.

The rain continued even into the late evening, as Gary and I found our way back to our hotel.

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After a day of meetings at the university, we took the train out to Jiyugaoka station.

Maps were consulted to figure out directions.

Up the side street, many of the storefronts in this district were closed. I noticed the bicyclist choosing the safety of sidewalk, while pedestrians casually strolled the streets.

The sidewalks were sometimes non-existent, so we had to be on alert for oncoming cars.

Around the curve, the directions led us uphill.

We found our destination, Aen, with a modest front door.

Shiomi and Satomi had a lengthy consultation with the server about a good selection of alternative dishes. The menu is complete vegetarian, but I complicate matters by trying to avoid dairy products.

The presentation was Japanese minimalist. We had egg cake with burdock.

The yam came with a sauce on the side for dipping. Various salad-type vegetables were served in smll dishes.

The sushi presentation is typical of Japan. These content was based on vegetables, without fish.

The grilled vegetables were plated with more altitude.

The vegetable stew was a contrasting texture to deep fried and cold vegetables.

We weren’t certain as to these vegetables. The seemed to be a type of root.

Our group enjoyed beverages with the meal.

Human beings typically eat three times per day. Putting constraints on the food selection presents opportunities for greater creativity.

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The area is called Shinshiba. Looking west, the towers — it’s hard to judge whether they’re offices or apartments — are built up to the edge of the canal.

To these southwest, the pedestrian bridge is painted pink.

I followed the main road to walk south over a bridge.  On subsequent walks, I discovered a Hanamasa supermarket further down this road.  Beyond that, there’s more highrises.

Following the main road, I turned east at the pedestrian crosswalk at the traffic lights.

Ot the souteast corner of the next major intersection, the old location of the Shibaura Institute of Technology has been vacated and not yet replaced with a new tenant.

On the northeast corner, there are restaurants on higher floors of that tower.

Walking north, I again crossed the canal.  Looking eastward, the buildings are so built up so that I expect that shadows are cast on the water almost all day.

I approached Shibaura Unga Dori, and could see the Shibuaura trains station behind.  My usual route takes me west to the hotel.

Near the corner, I noticed a map of the area.  The blue is a reminder of the relative proximity to Tokyo Bay.

Approaching Tamachi station, the restaurants had lunch displays out, both for dining in and for takeout.

The Shibaura neighbourhood doesn’t seem to be a destination for tourists.  The apartments and offices in the area demonstrate mixed use planning, so there are always feet on the street both day and night.

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As with most huge airports, passengers debark from the aircraft to face a long walk to the terminal.

Speedwalks in the terminal make the walk easier.  I passed by thermal monitors on the lookout for fevers, right before the lineups at immigration and luggage carousels.

Exiting the baggage area, my first stop takes me on a turn right.  Since my mobile phone from Canada hasn’t worked in Japan, I order a local mobile phone via ANA Skyweb for pickup, a week before the scheduled flight.

At the end of the terminal, the Ana sky porter had a mobile phone with my name on a list.

Turning around to come back through the centre of the terminal, I passed by the main escalator down to the trains.

There’s another wing of the terminal farther along, but my destination was the ATMs just to the left.

In Japan, credit cards are widely accepted, but it always pays to have a little cash for lunch and incidentals.

Just by the ATMs at this arrivals level, there are escalators down to the ticket hall.

Downstairs, local residents are likely to purchase their train tickets from the banks of automated machines . For foreigners, there’s another option.

To the right of the machines is a ticket counter.  Visitors with foreign passwords are entitled to purchase the Suica + N’Ex card, at a discount.  The Suica card eases boarding trains on the variety of companies in the Tokyo area easy, by allowing entry with a card swipe instead of a ticket obtained by pouring change into an automated ticket machine.  The N’Ex card makes the ride into Tokyo on the Narita Express effectively “free” with the discount.  The fare can be paid with a credit card, and the deposit on the card is refunded on its return to the airport.

After buying the card, the gates to the train are at the other end of the hall.

The platform to board trains is another level down on an escalator.

The specific platform and boarding time was printed on the ticket, and shown by the clerk at the ticket office.

Taking the express train means that I wouldn’t be making any stops, as listed on the schedule on the platform.

The ticket also specifies the seat in the car on the train, corresponding to the markers on the file floor.

The inbound train paused for a few minutes, to allow boarding for at a leisurely pace.

By the door, there was an area to store baggage.  I’ve learned that most Japanese ship their luggage to the aiport rather than dragging them onto trains as do foreigners.

The seating on the Narita Express is like on airplanes … with a little more legroom.

After slightly less than an hour of looking out the window at pitch black darkness and then some city lights, the Narita Express arrived at Tokyo Station.

Getting from the airport train underground up to the city trains on elevated platforms means riding several elevators.

My instructions to Tamachi had directed me to the Yamamote Line on Track 5.  This is a line that runs a circular path around the city.  I wanted to go towards Shinagawa and Shibuya.

On the Yamanote line platform, the overhead signs reported the wait for the next trains.

Just to instill confidence, I also referred to the listing of next stops timed by minutes.

The Yamanote line has benches facing each other, with a wide path down the middle for standing room at rush hour.  The cars are linked with so that advertising posters down the length of the train are visible.

Arriving at Tamachi station, I took the escalators up to the ticket hall.

Arriving on a weekend evening, the station was relatively quiet.

Exiting the gates, I turned towards the east exit of the station.  This direction passes over the train tracks.

Tamachi station is open to the outdoors, with overhead cover extended down the escalators.

There’s fewer restaurants immediately on the east side of the train station.  By the compass, the sidewalk actually leads southeast.

The Tamachi campus of the Tokyo Institute of Technology was lit up that evening.

At the first intersection, I turned right onto Shibaura Unga Dori, heading southwest.

Japanese sidewalks typically have a yellow tiled section to aid the visually impaired maintain a straight path.  They’re less helpful for a visitor dragging trolley cases.

Halfway down the street, the office towers gradually came into sight.

At the corner is the Granpark tower, with a grocery store and some restaurants in the basement.

Across the street was my regular destination when staying in Tokyo, the Villa Fontaine Mita.

There’s one entry for the office tower, and another for the hotel.  The hotel has a checki-in counter on the ground floor, and then rooms up on the top levels.

Settling in the hotel is usually happens around dinner time in the Tokyo time zone,.   My body is confused from travelling from Eastern Time, 14 hours into the next day and across the international date line.  I usually pick up a few things at the grocery store, and try to sleep early to ease into the Tokyo time.

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As oldsters, Diana and I prefer the tradition of Alpine skiing.  Adam and Noah have been on snowboards in prior years.  Ryan decided to stick with skis, and followed his parents for the first few runs.

Taking the ski lift up is more straightforward for skiiers than snowboarders, who have to release the binding for one foot.  After riding the lift to the top of the hill, Adam and Noah demonstrated the procedure of reattaching snowboard bindings while seated.

Unlike prior trips sunny enough for sunglasses, this day was overcast and cold both in the morning and afternoon.  From a north facing ridge, the clouds were low on the views of Georgian Bay and Collingwood.

On the ride home, we sometimes take a dinner break in Barrie, near the half-way point.  On Christmas eve, we weren’t completely surprised when the Barrie restaurant we had chosen was closed up.  Instead of settling for second-best, we decided to continue the drive directly home, allowing for a change into fresh clothes before having dinner in Toronto.  Korean restaurants are less traditional about holidays, and Mul Rae Bang-a is open 24 hours per day.

This restaurant has grills at the table, and the servers bring plates of raw meat.  Our sons are at a carnivorous stage, whereas their parents are beyond that.  All-you-can-eat at this restaurant means more and more meat, and limited banchan.  Subsequent orders for meat don’t allow picking-and-choosing, so full spreads of chicken, pork and beef are repeated.

December 24 is one day that I plan for family activities, and go almost completely offline.  Alpine skiing requires concentration, so I don’t listen to an MP3 player and dedicate my entire attention towards not falling.

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Although Berkeley has a long history of scholarship into Asia, the Chinese and Japanese collections were  consolidated into the C. V. Starr East Asian Library as a new building only in 2008.

Since Nancy was an east asian studies major some years ago, and then a library studies graduate student, this building was a natural for a peek.

The atrium down the middle of the building provides a feeling of greater openness inside the modern structure.

A large group of high school students was taking pictures just outside the library, prompting us to do the same.  Looking south, Sather Tower (Campanile) is a prominent landmark.

We wended our way south to Sather Gate, at the entrance to the campus closest to the central business district.  We thanked Nicole, and allotted ourselves one hour for last minute shopping before returning to the other side of the bay.

I spent my hour (and would have spent more) in one of my favourite CD stores in the world — Amoeba Records — browsing through their used jazz collection.

We walked back to the car at dusk, and were caught in the Friday evening rush hour south onto the Bay Bridge.  With four of in the car, we benefited by the High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lanes, only after we fought our way through the merging traffic.  We checked into the hotel in San Mateo, split up for the evening, and met in the dark of Pacific Time early the next morning for the flight back east.

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I’m not sure what I expected to see in a ferry building.  With people passing through on the way to catch a ferry to the other side of the bay, I guess it’s more than a bus terminal, but less than an airport.  Coming through the front door, the hall extended both left and right.  I turned right.

A ferry rider arriving a few minutes early could stop by the artisan bakery for a selection of specialty breads.

Meat has become fashionable again.  A salumeria — cured meat delicatessen — is in keeping with the times.

The refrigerator cases with complete pieces of meat remind us about animal origins.

I was intrigued by the custom built delivery bicycle that could eliminate a lot of issues with speed in San Francisco traffic.

It’s possible to just go to a forest and pick wild mushrooms, but risk of eating a poisonous variety deters the average eater.  A culinary fungus merchant removes that risk.

I recognized the names of some mushroom varieties, with many I had never seen before.

A connoisseur might not have to go to the forest, instead growing his or her own mini-farm at home.

The rear of the ferry building is more functional and less decorative than the front.

The ferry at the dock suggested that schedules at midday don’t run so tightly that passengers have to be rapidly unloaded and loaded again.

The ferry authority might consider providing better parking for bicycles.  As as bicycle enthusiast myself, I noticed that some of these rides didn’t look like the winter beater that is required in more northern climates.

A little further along, a ferry to Marin was docked.

Our group reconvened by the front door to go to our meeting.  Here’s the view of Market Street in San Francisco that a ferry commuter sees going to work every morning.

While San Francisco is famous for its cable cars, we happened to encounter a streetcar — or tram — that runs on an internal electric motor motor rather than being dragged by a cable.

Everyday sights like markets and public transportation are features that make San Francisco one of the most popular cities in the world to visit.

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The Math Corner of the Main Quadrangle is place where you might expect to find mathematicians and math students.

The main quadrangle is a hub for the campus, designed in the early 1900s.

Geovanni, Stephen and Nancy added to the layout of Rodin’s Burghers of Calais.

This late in the afternoon, Memorial Church was closing.

Kevin took us southeast through the campus.  We wouldn’t been able to drive there directly.  Stanford is at a scale and layout for bicycling.

The Department of Electrical Engineering is in the David Packard Building.

The Cantor Arts Center has collections both outside and inside.

Outside, the “Gates of Hell” — one of Rodin’s bronzes distributed around the world — is at a superhuman scale

We wandered inside to browse the collection.  Kevin, in his Christmas hat, was more warmly dressed than Slab Man, by Duane Hanson.

Stanford has a collection of Warhol prints, significant for the mid-20th century.

Staying on schedule, our group took Kevin out for a Cuban dinner in Palo Alto.  Since I had been travelling with these colleagues for a few weeks, Stephen made an extra effort to embarrass me in front of my nephew.  Before we took Stephen to the airport for his flight back home, we disposed of the Two Buck Chuck that would have taken him over the duty free allowance for alcohol imported personally into Canada.  Kevin doesn’t seem like a big drinker, but we were sure that some students in his dorm would welcome the refreshments.

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On a weekday in December, the rides were silent, and we were practically the ones ones in the park.

The Giant Dipper is one of the oldest wooden roller coasters in the United States.

There’s irony that the famous boardwalk is now concrete rather wooden boards.

Despite the fact that we hadn’t yet walked on the sand, and the park was empty, Stephen wanted to be first in line for the foot wash station.

The Sky Ride runs along the beach side of the walk.

We wandered south on the beach, to the sound of the ocean washing up against the shore.

We decided to stroll to the north end of the beach and circle around through the park.

The Santa Cruz Casino in the early 20th century had a history of burning down, and now operates as the Casino Arcade.

At the north end of the boardwalk are real wooden boards by a cafe.  Away from the theme park, the city streets are much closer to the beach.  We started the return walk south.

In the distance, we could see the beach volleyball courts.

On a weekday morning, these volleyball players must either have been professionals, or serious athletes.

Beach Street was quiet.  I could imagine the traffic jams on a summer weekend.

To rejoin the conference for the afternoon, we had to watch the clock.  The direct route through the Santa Clara Mountains is CA 35 — Skyline Boulevard.  This route doesn’t follow the usual definition of a boulevard, which has a centre median.

CA 35 has the feel of a mountain road for the use of local residents.  The main route is relatively clear, with a few smaller roads merging and intersecting.  Actual road signs are few and far between.

The road narrowed and widened at various points.  Stephen played his usual role as chauffeur, while I puzzled as navigator.

Coming around a curve, we paused to wait for a truck turning around.  We rolled the window down as he passed by, asking about the address numbering.  The driver gave us some advice — which we later discovered would have misguided us.  The numbering must be associated with various hamlets, so the sequences on Skyline Boulevard don’t run consecutively in one direction.

Why would anyone put farms up near the ridge of a mountain?

It seems that, in addition to the Santa Cruz mountains being known for wineries, it’s a Christmas tree trail.

Continuing north on CA 35, the view opened up.  I’m not sure exactly where we were, but it’s probable that we had reached the Open Space Preserves, looking west.

We paused to take photos.  Since I’m not a camper, I can’t imagine hiking through this region.

Seeing cyclists on this road was unexpected.  With relatively low traffic, I would guess that these are riders who are used to being on their saddles for hours, and climbing steep inclines.

After wondering if we had gotten completely lost, we found the gates to the Thomas Fogarty Winery.

The pond and the well-kept grounds suggest that the site might be desirable for private events.

This property is but just one of the many vineyards for the winery.  The Portal Springs Estate vineyard grows chardonnay on a steep incline, much like it might have on the original terroir in Burgundy.

The tasting room is part of an impressive pavilion complex.  Inside, we were surprised to see some displays of medical instruments from Dr. Fogarty in his previous career.

Through an open door, we saw some sample fermentation tanks that must serve as significant visual aids in a tour.

The range of wines at this winery is broad:  Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, and the infamous Pinot Noir.

We sampled a few wines.  None of chose to spit.  I held my consumption down to just a few mouthsful, and still got the Asian blush.

As we left the winery, the haze to the southeast seems heavier than we had seen looking west.

Looking to the northeast, the proximity to Silicon Valley was striking.

From the winery, there wasn’t a route directly east back to our conference.  We continued north on Skyline Boulevard to Woodside, which took us much farther north in Silicon Valley than I would have expected.  We drove through our hunger to make it back to our afternoon meetings, ordering lunch during the afternoon coffee break.

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We had saved our lunch hunger for the Pier Market, ordering the local specialty: seafood.  In addition to a view of the open kitchen serving meals, the hostess had given us choice seats overlooking the bay.

After lunch, we walked out onto the pier for sightseeing, as do thousands of tourists every day.

The sea lions entertained us.  Most just lie on the docks and sleep.  When one wakes up and honks, a few others join in.  With a slight shift in position, one sea lion falls into the water, and then swims around to squeeze into another spot.

There’s plenty of other tourists around with cameras, so we just asked one to snap this group photo with Geovanni, Kia, Nancy, Stephen and myself.

We walked west along the embarcadero.  The weather was clear, so it was easy to spot Alcatraz.

The narrow sidewalk between the Fisherman Wharf’s restaurants and their takeout counters is always colourful.

Working at the counters means tourists are always walking by snapping photographs.

I don’t eat crab, so I presume that the stacks are freshly cooked, but not necessarily sold hot.

On a Sunday midafternoon, the marina wasn’t very busy, with just a few workers on boats straightening up.

We walked west to Ghiradelli Square.  It’s been years since I’ve been there, so I didn’t remember a fountain.

Stephen went into the Ghiradelli store on a chocolate shopping spree for Christmas gifts.

On the return walk east, we crossed over Hyde Street, with a cable car approaching the northern terminus.

Continuing east, the view south on Columbus Avenue reveals a view of the Transamerica Pyramid that I hadn’t recalled.

The Cannery wasn’t as active as I remember in the summers.  The renovated structure still portrays a richness in history.

The Boudin Bakery at the Wharf is a new building since the last time I was in San Fran.  I do remember the sourdough bread well.

There were dozens of customers in the lineups for bread.

Behind the counter, the shelves were well stocked with a wide variety of breads.

After we exited the store, we passed a large window where we could see a baker preparing rolls.  I wonder how long the crocodile loaf has been in there.

On the land side of The Embarcadero across from Pier 39, there’s a series of art galleries.  This one had a bench of monkeys outside.

Back into the car, we drove up to the top of  Telegraph Hill.  The others went inside for a look while I waited for a parking space to clear.  When I joined them, I noticed that Coit Tower gives the backside view of Christopher Columbus looking out to sea.

It was getting late in the afternoon, with a beautiful sunset looking west from Telegraph Hill.

I found our way back to Lombard Street mostly by memory.  As we approached the crooked block on Russian Hill, Stephen wended around the traffic and tourists at the entry.

Cars creep down winding road. Residents in the nearby homes can’t say that they don’t expect it.

Since this section of Lombard Street is one-way northbound, Coit Tower is clear landmark.

By the time we arrived at Japan Center, the early sunsets of December had overtaken us.  The lighted gates on the plaza are welcoming.

The Peace Pagoda has been a landmark of Japantown in San Francsico for forty years.

Nancy was impressed by the variety of Japanese delicacies available at Nippon Ya.  We were culturally uncertain to share these tastes.

She said that she wasn’t buying very much, because after soon after she would have returned home, her whole family was going on a west coast vacation.

We strolled the Japan Center restaurants, weighing dinner alternatives.  Stephen enjoyed the Christmas lights on the menu displays.

Since we had had a late lunch, we chose to have a lighter meal of noodles at Mifune.

On a slightly circuitous route towards Santa Clara, we continued west through Golden Gate Park for a stop at the Cliff House.  In the darkness, we could barely make out Seal Rocks and the Sutro Baths — certainly with insufficient light to take photos.  With Stephen at the helm, and myself in the navigator’s seat, we’re sure that Geovanni and Nancy had nodded off in the back seat after a long day started in Eastern Time and finished in Pacific Time.

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The life-sized bronze casting of the Toll Booth Collector by George Segal wasn’t the place for admission to the building.

The front entrance to the museum is on Washington Street.

DLH says that museums remind him of bad dates.  The collection seems to aim for breadth over depth, spread over multiple wings.  I liked the architecture of the building more than the pieces chosen.  Annalenna, Marianne and DLH agreed.

One impressive work was five panels, collectively title the “Voice of the City of New York Interpreted” by Joseph Stella (1920-1922).

After an hour or so, we decided to leave the museum to go for dinner.  I was amused by the urban art of a painted tank, just on the street.

We had dinner at 27 Mix before I left for the return flight home.

My friends indulged me to see a museum that I might not have otherwise seen.  I like to see the local sights when I can.

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As we got oriented, some skateboarders came to the park and warmed up.

On our way towards the river, we passed a large covered stage, with an open field where I could imagine the audience sprawled out in the summer.

The Forks is a National Historical Site of Parks Canada.  A gate formally marks the entrance.

Just inside the gates is an orientation circle, with “The Path of Time” by Marcel Gosselin.   I hadn’t recognize this sculpture as a sundial.

Behind the sundial, the wall tells the story of “The Meeting Place”.

On the other side of the circle, the plaza leads to a walk by the Red River, a tributary of Lake Winnipeg.

In three languages, a plaque describes the Red River as part of the Canadian Heritage Rivers System.

Stephen noticed the petroglyphys embedded in the rock.

On this day, the Red River was placid.  Its history of flooding is well known in Canadian geography.

Returning from the shore, we walked by The Forks Chimney, which has been converted to be the studios for CityTv Winnipeg.

On the way to the market, a train is parked on the plaza, marking Winnipeg as a transportation hub, with Union Station nearby.

The Forks Market was part of the Forks Urban Revitalization Project from the late 1980s into the early 1990s.

The awnings suggest that the shops would spill outside in the summer.  All doors were closed on this fall weekday morning.

The variety and prices of fresh local produce says that everyday people shop at the market.  This isn’t a boutique.

As with most urban markets, I suspect a large portion of the fresh fruit is imported.

The atrium brings natural light into the hall with permanent and temporary stalls.  Our travel from Eastern Time to Central Time meant that we were ahead of the noontime rush.  Stephen, Roy, John and I went different directions to pick up casual lunches.  We settled at a table right before a group of elderly bicyclists swarmed for lunch.

Our meetings took us into central Winnipeg.  King Street is one of the major thoroughfares.

I hadn’t thought that there would be a Chinatown in Winnipeg.  The community is mature enough to have put in a gate.

Our hotel was on Portage Avenue.  From the upper floor, it’s clear that Winnipeg has relatively flat geographic features.

Downtown Winnipeg does have a few tall buildings that stand out.

A short drive south from the central core, the Osbourne Street village is a neighbourhood with restaurants, nightlife and small shops.

We parked just off the main street and had drinks in a pub.

Strolling down the street, we browsed menus, choosing fusion cuisine at Fude.  The service was friendly.  Stephen looked at the dessert menu before deciding on his main course.  Asking if he could have dessert as his appetizer, the waitress said “sure”.  Thus, Stephen started his meal with an apple pastry.

When Stephen went back to the car to check that he had put enough money in the parking meter, he was surprised to find a ticket.  It wasn’t a penalty.  The neighbourhood has a program where cars are checked to ensure doors are locked and valuables are hidden.  We passed.

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We again arrived with enough time for lunch and some sightseeing.  By the Saint John River, there’s a park with the Lighthouse Adventure Centre.

We walked around the front side, to see that the lighthouse was completely closed.  On a cool fall weekday, there wouldn’t be too much demand for ice cream on the ground floor.

Looking down, we saw the south section of the Riverfront Trail beside the shore.  The Saint John River curves, with a flow to southeast at this point.

The Riverfront Trail continues to the north, where we could see the Westmorland Street Bridge leading to Nashwaaksis, a neighbourhood now amalgamated with Fredericton.

As we walked back from the shore on Regent Street, the York-Sunbury Museum was right across the street, at the southeast end of Officer’s Square.

We turned onto Queen Street.  Checking our watches, we still had time before our meeting, so we decided to find out what the museum is about.  It’s run by the York-Sunbury Historical Society, reflecting not only those two counties, but also the general history of New Brunswick.

The museum houses the controversial Coleman Frog.  It was either overfed and preserved after death, or a hoax perpetrated on the community.

One room of the museum featured typical farm tools from bygone days.

Other displays that I found interesting included the 1940s war brides from Europe (e.g. bringing Italians into Canada), and the Acadians, with French settlements in the area before 1700.

After the short visit to the museum, we walked westward on Queen Street.  Across the street, the buildings are more modern.

Further along, the historic Garrison district has been converted into craft shops and restaurants.

There’s a Visitor Information Centre in City Hall, where we found some local maps.

The fountain in front of City Hall has traditional touches.

For lunch, we looked over on Regent Street, up from the lighthouse.

The reviews on The Blue Door Restaurant suggested a good option for lunch.

The menu had an interesting choice of fusion cuisine.  The most remarked item was Yesterday’s Soup; because soup always tastes better on the next day.  Stephen asked if he could have today’’s soup, but was told to “come back tomorrow”

After our meeting in Fredericton, we made a direct drive to the Saint John airport, which isn’t near the city centre, but beyond it on the east side.  It’s the most modest airport that I’ve been to, in some time.

We had expected a full-service restaurant at the airport, and were surprised to find only a small snack bar.  To their credit, when you request a chicken sandwich, it’s made to order … from whole pieces of chicken.  Stephen somehow lost his boarding pass, and when he went to the check-in counter to ask for another, the clerk didn’t even ask for his name.

On the flight, we were all tired after visiting three cities in two provinces in three days.  I’ve now had a taste of the Atlantic provinces of Canada, and appreciate the slower pace and sense of tradition in these original pre-Confederation settlements.

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On this rainy morning, Stephen dashed into the ferry office to buy a ticket.  The other vehicles we already boarding the ferry, so we didn’t have to queue up on land.

Some flagmen guided our vehicle into place, and we parked.

Passengers are not permitted to remain down below in the vehicles.  We took the stairs up.

I took a walk around the ship as it cast off.  From the aft deck, we pulled away from the gangway.

I walked around the outer deck.  Just casting off, we had not yet cleared the port walls.

A few minutes later, a more natural landscape became visible.

From the top deck forward, open water was to the west.

Looking east, a few minutes later, the Nova Scotia shore gradually fell away.

The ferry lounge is spacious.  I sat by the window, and cleared a few e-mail messages over the wireless Internet.  Geovanni, Nancy and Stephen chose to read, instead.

About 3 hours later, we arrived at the ferry dock in Saint John (not to be mistaken for St. John’s).

Looking off the starboard side, eastward, this ferry harbour isn’t very scenic.

Beyond the ferry harbour, the city centre is on another peninsula to the northeast.

Our meeting was scheduled a few hours away, in the city centre.  To maximize our sightseeing time, we drove northwest, taking a scenic route uphill.  We found ourselves by the Tower Hill Cemetery, with gravestones dating back to the 1850s.

Directly across the road from the cemetery is the Carleton Martello Tower.  It’s a National Historic Site of Parks Canada.

We went inside for a quick look of the displays.  After learning about 19th century defensive forts, we went outside to see the real thing.

We climbed the stairs up outside to the main floor.  From there, we took an internal staircase up to the top.

The top level of the tower was used as a fire control post.  This was not about controlling flames, but instead the correction of missiles trajectories from the land, targeted at ships at sea.

Looking out the windows to the north, the nearby neighbourhood is high ground for residential buildings.  On the other side of the bay is the city centre of Saint John.

To the northeast is the terminal for ferries from Digby, where we had just arrived.

Looking southeast is Partridge Island, which has a history as a quarantine station back to 1785.

We took the stairs back down to the main floor.

The main floor housed the barracks, with cots laid out as they would have been in the 1800s.

The cannons would have been loud inside the barracks.

The soldiers may have been stationed at the tower for months, but mobility would have required each to store kits in the packs put on top the shelves overhead.

The fireplace would have been welcome in the cold Maritime winters.

Downstairs on the ground floor, the gunpowder was stored in a magazine.

The walls had loopholes – slits through which muskets could be shot.  Stephen tried out the defensive position.

Leaving the tower, we took the long route into town, to stop by the world-famous Reversing Falls.  They’re actually shallow rapids that change directions with the tides.  We didn’t take the path from the lookout down to the shore.

We continued to the city centre.  Our hotel was connected to the main shopping centre, Brunswick Square.

Navigating down a few levels, we walked through the maze of connecting halls to the City Market.

The Saint John City Market is the oldest continuously operating market in North America, first built in 1876.  In addition to food vendors, there are food stalls.

One food that is truly local is dulse:  a seaweed dried and packaged in paper bags for an easy snack.

The market has two aisles with stalls in the centre.  Fruit is in abundance.

The floors in the market are gradually inclined.  This view from the northeast side shows the view downward (towards the harbour).

This close to the sea, the fish market couldn’t have had a fresher selection.

Stephen picked up some gifts for the family from the British shop.

The towers in the city centre are connected by a network of indoor walkways.  After our meeting, we decided to get a feel for the city outside.  On Germain Street, the brick buildings are typical for the winter cold.

Trinity Anglican Church is prominent, and has a history back to the 1791.

We turned down Princess Street, to more brick warehouse-style buildings.

On Prince William Street, we saw the old Bank of New Brunswick building, which is now Le Faubourg, for the Association Régionale de la Communauté francophone de Saint Jean.

We continued walking down towards the waterfront.  The Seaman’s Mission faces the port.

There weren’t any ships at the cruise port calling on Saint John that day.

Walking along Water Street, we saw the heritage of warehouses common of a port.

Walking away from the waterfront, our return took us along Prince Wales Street, which is mostly now office buildings, with a few restaurants.

The slope up from the waterfront is apparent on Grannan Street.

If we had chosen to take the indoor walkways from Brunswick Square towards the port, we would have gone through the Canada Permanent Building.

Market Square is a warehouse structure that has been converted into a community space and shops.

As the sun was setting, we decided to choose from the restaurants inside Market Square.

Visiting the Maritimes, we agred to sample the local seafood, and chose Grannan’s Seafood.

Stephen chose a dessert that was served with a flambé, so we got got a little show.

A relaxed dinner, good food, and great conversation.  Business travel has its benefits.

We had started the day early in another province, and Atlantic Time is one hour earlier than home.  The cool evening led us to wend our way back through the indoor walkways.  We agreed to take a late start the next day, and meet in the morning for hotel checkout.

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Across the bridge, we drove south and then nativated around some building towers to find roads down to the waterfront.  We parked the car, and walked out onto Queen’s Wharf Pier.  Looking southwest gave a great view of the city on a cloudy day.

Turning counter-clockwise, and looking south we saw more piers on Halifax Harbour.

Continuing counter-clockwise, Georges Island has a lighthouse as a navigational aid to shipping.

Continuing to pan, almost east, are the refineries at Dartmouth Harbour.

Skipping past the bridge to the northwest, I could see the towers that we had to drive circles around.

As we were walking back inland from Queen’s Wharf, I noted a well-fed bird on a comfortable perch.

Northbound, as part of Harbourwalk, we crossed over a pedestrian bridge between the piers.

Just off Queen’s Wharf is Murphy’s on the Water.

Moored just beyond is Theodore Too, a large scale replica of Theodore Tugboat.

Turning landward, I noticed a marker declaring “Halifax: Here We Began”, placing Chebucto Landing nearby.

We had flown from Eastern Time into Atlantic Time, so we were hungry for lunch.

The pub food at Stayners Wharf was convenient.

After lunch Stephen retreated to the car for a teleconference.  Geovanni, Nancy and I went for a short walk westward, up George Street.

This took us past a Celtic Cross, placed on the site in 1786.

On the next street, up some stairs, we found the back way to the plaza and some interesting sculptures outside the Art of Gallery Nova Scotia Halifax

We stepped into the building, but didn’t have time to tour the gallery.  I noticed a painting high in the atrium of the entry.

Continuing, away from the water, is the Province House.  I was surprised that legislature building is so modest.  The building was first put into use in 1819, long before Canada became a country.

At the south end of the Province House is a statue of Joseph Howe, who led Nova Scotia as the first British colony to win responsible government in 1848.

Walking south, we saw the old Halifax fire station, now McKelvies.

Of a similar vintage is The Old Triangle.

The Mitchell House is another historic building in the neighbourhood.

Our time was running out, so we headed back to where we had parked the car.  We passed the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic on the way.

It hadn’t occurred to us that is was Treaty Day in Nova Scotia.  The Mi’kmaq had set up a tent by the Harbourwalk.

Small tables were set up selling crafts.  Some artisans were working on pieces.

Festivities were just starting up on stage.  We couldn’t stay, as we had to go to our meeting.

The destination of our next meeting was in St. John, New Brunswick, on the following day.  There isn’t a practical airline service between Halifax and St. John, so the best alternative is driving.  Before we left Halifax, we detoured up the the big hill to the Citadel National Historic Site.  Without the luxury of time to go into the site, our best view was a drive-by of the back entry.

From the heights, the view northeast looks away from the city centre.

To the west, the foreground buildings are either institutional or commercial.

Our destination would take us northeast, by the city centre and back across the bridge.

There’s two driving routes to St. John:  one 4 hours via Moncton around the Bay of Fundy, or the other almost the same time to Digby and then a ferry across the bay.  We had agreed that the latter would be more fun.  As we drove north and west, the weather cleared.  I had seen a mention of Wolfville as potential place to stop for dinner.  We didn’t have a local map, so when we pulled off the highway, we were aimless.  We thought we had found a solution with the Wolfville Memorial Library, but it was closed.  Fortunately, we found a large town map on a kiosk in the park next to the library.

Reoriented towards Main Street, we discovered a variation on the theme:  the Library Pub.

This is when we discovered Nancy’s preference for dark, dark beer.  We were all delighted that the menu offered more than the average pub.  Our choices made this cosy upstairs restaurant a great choice.

Across the street is Clock Park, certainly a landmark for the town.

Wolfville is small.  After dinner, we could have had an easy stroll down Main Street.

We continue our drive to Digby.  As the night fell, we had the uncertainties of never having driven the route before, with detours around some road construction in the dark.  The weather got worse again, and we ended the evening at the Digby Pines Resort, unloading our luggage in the rain.

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After our business was done, John had to head back to Toronto.  Stephen and I took some leisure time to take in the sights.  We walked south on Metcalf Street.

At the foot of Metcalf Street is Mill Street.  Looking west, the road curves around, and the Elora Mill Inn is at the end.

On the east side of Mill Street, there’s an information centre.  The lady there gave us a local map.  She suggested crossing the Metcalf Street bridge south, and following the river west.

As we crossed the bridge, the scenic Grand River revealed itself.

Past the parking lot off Ross Street, there is a walkway leading to a concrete wall at the edge of the river.

This wall isn’t well maintained, so we had to watch our steps.  The Mill Inn is across the Grand River, on the north side.

Walking further west on the wall, we saw the falls right outside the Mill Inn.

The Islet Rock, or Tooth of Time, is a small island in the midst of the falls.  In 1902, the mill owner wanted it removed, but the village chose to reinforce the rock so that might last forever.

I stepped as far west as I thought was safe.  The wall is overgrown with trees, so I returned the direction from whence I came.

Heading back into the village centre, we would cross back over the bridge.

Our car was parked two blocks north on Metcalf Street.

To prepare for the drive back to Toronto, Stephen stopped by the bakery for coffee … and a dessert.

I’ve lived in Ontario for most of life, and have never had the occasion to go to Elora.  I can now appreciate the attraction of the natural beauty in the area.

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With a schedule to pick up the train from Oshawa through Toronto to Windsor, Stephen got caught in a traffic at the shift change at the General Motors plant.  Having missed the Via Rail train, he was told that he could catch the later GO Train from Oshawa to Windsor, and arrive at Union Station before the train left.  The voyage outbound from Toronto was considerably less stressful.

I prefer travelling by train over flying.  The stress is lower.  It’s too bad rail travel isn’t a practical alternative to most destinations.

The rail route through southern Ontario sees a lot of farm land.

Highway 401 is normally considered the direct freeway from Toronto to Windsor. The original Highway 2 ran through small towns north of Highway 401.  Approaching Windsor, Highway 2 lost its official designation in 1998.

In contrast to the flatland scenery of Highway 401, the last section westward of the railway tracks run with a view of Lake St. Clair.

About 4-1/2 hours after we had left Toronto, our train arrived at the Windsor Via Station.  In an unplanned lack of coordination, it seems that local taxis don’t wait at the train station expecting passengers.  We had to phone for one to come pick us up and drive us into town.

We were still early for our appointment.  The receptionist suggested that Tunnel Bar-B-Q would be a good choice for lunch.  The dining room was rather busy, so we were told that take-out would be faster.  Stephen took note of the dessert options — the first signal that I would be travelling with an appreciator of sweets.

We had a rapid picnic lunch at a table on the Windsor City Hall plaza.  Since lunch service took longer than we had expected, none of us could fully complete our meals before having to run to our appointment.  The food was good … and would have been better appreciated with another 15 minutes!

The return departure on the train would have had us waiting many hours.  A flight back was feasible, but still hours away.  We decided to pick up a rental car to drive back to Toronto.  Speaking with other consultants who frequent the Toronto – Windsor run, this seems to be a common pattern for transportation.

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I took the train north towards Victoria Station.

The northbound rail tracks pass over some east-west lines.

The route goes by a power station.

Approaching Victoria Station, tracks began to converge.

I disembarked at Victoria Station.  End of that line.

Exiting through the turnstiles, I put my ticket through the slot.

Victoria Station is a major transit hub on the south side of London for rail and the underground.

The coach station — with service to Heathrow — is not at Victoria Station, though.  The exit to the coach station points outside.

This exit leads to Terminus Road.

Walking southwest on Buckingham Palace Road, Colonnade Walk Shopping Centre is across the road.  I saw a lot of travel agents and bus ticket offices there, but none offered the direct service to Heathrow.

I rolled my wheeled luggage another few blocks down Buckingham Palace Road.  The Victoria  Coach Station is across the road.

The screens listing departures are just inside the front door.  To the left was the ticket hall.  I lined up and bought a ticket from an agent.

The bus to Heathrow left from gate 3.  I waited 20 minutes.

I boarded the bus.  It headed south and then west, along Chelsea Embankment.

In Chelsea, the bus passed Cheyne Walk, where a building had two plaques naming Walter Greaves and Hilaire Belloc.

The bus passed by Earls Court.  DY had told me about the reputation of cheap hotels in that district.

Cromwell Road took us on a busy bridge.

Westbound out of London, the A4 turns into the M4 Motorway.  I noticed tennis courts beside the road.

Off the motorway and around a few turns, and the coach entered Heathrow airport.

A model of an Emirates aircraft is near the entrance.

The ring roads give a few of the tower at Heathrow.

The airport roads have the coaches driving around many circles.

We finally pulled up to the Heathrow coach station.

I reclaimed my luggage from under the coach, and walked into the coach terminal.  I took the elevator down, to get to the airport terminals,

Walking through the underground tunnels, I eventually got to Terminal 3.  The exit took me outside and across a plaza.

The coach from Victoria Station to Heathrow seemed faster than the Piccadilly Line on the London Underground, and cheaper than the Heathrow Express.  I’m not sure that I would travel across the city to take the coach, so it really depends where in London I would end up.

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In the parking lot, we encountered some urban art:  a burned out car.  This vandalism was probably was the work of some juveniles.  We wondered why the chassis hadn’t been taken away, already.

Down the road, we walked into Happy Valley Park.  The park was quiet, and we encountered a few other families on the way.

On the way, Jasper stopped to check out some interesting smells.

The road led to a clearing, at the perimeter of the park.

Directly adjoining, the Coulsdon Common includes woodlands and grasslands.

We paused to give Jasper a drink.  This was a great photo opportunity for Scott, Daniel and Greg.

The commons were relatively open.  The picnic table seemed to be the only sign of civilization.

We circled back around the field.  The ground had a few traces of horseback riders in the area.

Next, we then drove over to Godstone, to the Surrey Flower Farm Shop.

Behind the store, there’s a farm.  I didn’t expect to see corn growing in England.

There’s nothing fresher than picking corn right off the stalk.

It wouldn’t be the same playing hide-’n-seek in the produce section of a grocery store.

The farm had pumpkins, but they were too early to harvest.

Further along, we found some raspberry bushes.

A few rows over were blackberries.

Inside the store were some other foods not grown on the farm.

This store isn’t a big operation, but it had what we needed for the Sunday.

I’ve seen some of the English countryside on my travels on trains.  There’s a lot of greenery outside the cities that I don’t always think about.

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Greg thought the best shopping would be in Croydon.  The bus took a route direct to the city centre, and then drove around some one way streets before dropping us off just north of the Croydon Flyover.

I waited on the street while Scott stopped in a store to buy a few household supplies.

A few blocks north, we came to a fork in the road at the entry to the Surrey Street Market.

This market has a history serving the neighbourhood going back centuries.

The selection of fruit looked great for the season.

We walked north up to Church Street to find the fish market.

We asked if sushi-grade fish was available.  The answer was no.  We decided to modify the menu, and picked up some smoked fish instead.

We picked up some pork to make soup.

Scott bought some greens for salad.

The garden shop had a variety of flowers and plants available.

We retraced our steps, and then walked beyond towards South End for the bus stop to return home.  The police had blocked the road, so Greg suggested an alternative route a few blocks west.

South Bridge Road was a low-rise commercial shopping street.

The detour eventually led us back to South End.

The Swan And Sugar Loaf  Hotel is a landmark in Croydon, with many bus stops nearby.

We caught the bus back towards Purley.  We got off the bus and walked by the Riddlesdown Road bridge, with more foliage in the area.

This neighbourhood is suburban, but walkable.

A few hours later, the ingredients had been transformed into a dinner for seven.

Friends know that it’s not unusual for me to offer culinary services when I travel.  I’ve been cooking for the family at home less frequently these days.  Dinner for seven isn’t a great effort for me, when there’s normally six people living in our home in Toronto.

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