Dawn Xiana Moon: Melodic folk pop infused with passion and honesty. From Chicago.

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Tuesday, November 09, 2004

Adventures in Canada, Part II

Or how to pretend you've been to Europe for a weekend without getting in a plane. Read Part I here.

While we were in the restaurant, the torrents started. And they didn't last long, but apparently some of the streets in Stratford (European Name #1) are really low and we plowed through river after river. Then came the sea. And the car drowned. We were buried in water three feet deep--if we'd have opened the doors the interior would have flooded immediately--and the car stalled. And wouldn't start again. After a slew of frustrated tries and anxious prayer, we were finally back on the road, contending with foggy country highways so dark you couldn't see more than five feet in front. Between calling Alex's father, a former mechanic, at 1:00am, directional confusion, crossing the Thames River (European Name #2) twice, worrying that the car was going to die--the "Check Engine" light alternately flashed and stayed solid--and non-existent visibility, it took us over three hours to make it to London (European Name #3) and Steve's apartment, what should have been a half-hour drive. (During the last 20 minutes of that drive, Alex and Melanie started laughing hysterically for unknown reasons. And couldn't stop.) We were greeted at the door by Daryn, whom I'd never met... and no Steve. So after deluge of stories about our misadventures to the poor stranger, who very kindly humored our need for not-us interaction after being cooped up in small spaces too long, we decided to hunt down our host, who had left the apartment hours ago in an attempt to guide us to the appropriate street by standing outside. Luckily, finding him was not as difficult as it very nearly could have been.

We spent the next morning eating fresh scones (courtesy of Steve and his culinary skills) and learning the merits of various types of teas and how one should brew them for optimal flavor (courtesy of Steve and his virtu) and the afternoon tinkering with the car, which was still unhappy, exploring Stratford, and consuming chocolate. That evening's production was again disappointing; as one reviewer put it, "The production of Macbeth... is not the worst one I've seen, nor is it the best. But it does have one unique distinction: It's the most boring." Lucy Peacock (Lady Macbeth) was overwrought and peaked too quickly; by the end of the play, when she becomes insane, she had nowhere to go--which was a shame, because that part is one of the most coveted by actresses in theatrical repertoire. Graham Abbey (Macbeth) was wonderful when he was enraged, but lacked the ability to enliven the rest of his speeches or understand the inner turmoil of his character. However, the lighting breathed life into a minimal set and Sarah McVie (Lady Macduff) gave a vocally beautiful performance.

After the production, we stopped in to Molly Bloom's for a dinner of fish and chips, one I'd been anticipating for weeks prior. We were lucky enough to catch an Irish band, and Alex made more new friends by singing along to songs he didn't know (in a noisy pub, who can tell?). By then Melanie was falling asleep, so we headed back to London--in a normal timeframe, since Steve was there to direct us--and dropped Melanie off at the apartment. The rest of us had a wonderful conversation on relationships in a café, hiding from the madness of Devil's Night in a college town and the requisite scantily-clad sorority types.

The next morning saw another breakfast of scones and tea (though since I was sleeping Steph ate my share); we finally left our Canadian friends in the afternoon and made the trek back to Ann Arbor. Too late we decided to take the Detroit tunnel home rather than Port Huron (a desolate drive) and spent some time in confusion, heading in the right direction but on unknown roads, trying to find the freeway that went toward Windsor (European Name #4) before it was entirely out of the way. We'd been driving through nothingness long enough that everyone was concerned that we were lost (and we were nearly out of gas and hadn't seen a station almost since we'd left London). Alex was calling a friend near a computer for internet directions when Steph saw a sign for Florence (European Name #5), a small town with a few houses and a general store. Finally, an inkling of civilization. And to someone who spends little time in the country, it was just that: an inkling, albeit with nice people. The little aluminum-clad store was fronted by two ancient gas pumps and a third of it was sectioned off into a greasy restaurant. But we got directions and loaded up on chips, chocolate, and cookies and were back on our way, stopping in Windsor for Chinese food.

We crossed the border easily--the guard didn't even check our IDs, quite a different experience than the one I'd had trying to get back into the country a year before. Then we were home, and back to life in its normal shape.

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