Toads Go East - Day 17

Sticky the Stick Insect comes to see us off

Monday.

So, our final day of this tour and we have 500 Km to go. Check out is at 11am although I've noticed that on previous days, the KOA management haven't been overly zealous in kicking people off their sites; some have been in situ at gone 1pm. Still, we needed to get going as it was going to be around seven or eight hours on the road and we had to clear Toronto.

Breakfast was fun as we used up our supplies. For me it was carrot cake and ice cream, which is the breakfast of champions of course, and Mrs Toad had some nice pasta salad which beats bacon any day. He lied.

Nothing to report in the packing up process other than a thorough sloosh out of the poo tank as we won't be dumping again for a while (you really needed to know that, didn't you?). Just as we were hitching up, a couple came by to ask us about our tow vehicle, mainly because hubby had just bought a nice new new pick-up truck and wifey was doubting the wisdom of that decision when it came to put gas in it. Unlike our mad medic neighbour medic the other day ("you're all going to jail!"), this couple listened patiently to how we were set up, sucked their gums a bit and said "Wow! That's interesting". No censure, no unsubstantiated claims, just an acceptance that there are alternatives to using a gas-hungry pick-up to tow a trailer. Lovely.

The weather was fine as we set off, behind another Minivan, this one towing a "Lite" caravan, probably half the weight of ours. They had no weight distribution system installed, and no anti-sway measures, which is why the back of the van was low down and the front end high. They'd have had less steering, less braking force and the much greater possibility of the trailer getting into a nasty sway situation. How can people tell us that we're doing it wrong? Anyway, we breezed past them on the motorway and set course for the south west. 

It seemed to take us an age to get towards the outskirts of Toronto. I called a fuel stop at the service centre near Oshawa, which we doubled with lunch. We came across the service centre weakness again in that the traffic signs point us trailer folk to park with the big trucks in the long bays at the back (nothing wrong with that), but in so doing, you can't then double back to get into the gas station without going the wrong way up a one-way road. Yes, it's only the service centre so with care it's quite do-able, but how about a recognition that not everyone in the truck parking area uses diesel? A simple division of the rear access road to the gas station to make it two-way would do it; are you listening Ministry of Transport Ontario?

In true UK fashion, the 407 ETR Toronto toll road that allows an alternative to the urban disaster that is Highway 401 doesn't actually connect up with said highway at it's eastern end and, unless you drive someway into Toronto you have to strike north on a lesser road for a few kilometres. This we did, preferring a slower run towards the ETR than risking getting snarled up in stationary traffic on the 401 trying to get to a faster link road. It provided a break in the monotony of the highway driving and in no time at all we were adding money to the ETR's coffers but speeding along on Toronto's northern fringes. The road has four lanes and I drove in lane 2, not the extreme right hand lane, lane 1. This was to allow people joining the highway at speed to avoid us as we are considered to be moving slowly, even though I was on or slightly above the speed limit. As the locals might say, "go figure". On this toll road, though, people seemed to take great delight in ignoring the two lanes to the right of me and passing on the left, normally at great speed. It's not an issue really as I just sit there at the regulation speed, but I can't help thinking that driving at well in excess of the speed limit and overtaking on the wrong side is just tad dangerous. Still, this is Toronto.

Auspiciously, Highway 1, Yonge Street, marked our halfway mark for the day. Yonge Street is quite interesting and if you have a bit of time, have a look at this link here. 

We rejoined Highway 401 west of Toronto and, on very familiar ground now, we made our way home into the setting sun. It was showing 28 degrees Celsius on the car's thermometer, as warm as we'd seen over the previous two weeks, although the wind was still present, keeping our gas mileage at 20.5 litres per 100 Km, which was better than the run from Quebec but still not good. 

Back home we parked up and emptied Towed Haul of all the dirty laundry, of which there was plenty, and set the washing machine going. Delivered pizza was our treat for the evening and we settled in to catching up with two weeks of Coronation Street.

I asked Mrs T what she thought of this year's tour. "Not the best" she said, honestly "but still pretty good". 

I'll do a summary post later, complete with the statistics that I remembered to gather, so please, tune in for one more episode of Toads Go East....

Toads Go East - Day 16

Patriotic Gananoque

Sunday.

Split activities today; the girls go off on a five hour cruise of the 1000 Islands and visit Boult Castle in the USA whilst the boys sample the breakfast delights of Gananoque. Obviously I can't report on the ladies' cultural activities but I can record how the breakfast went, and other exciting events. I'll bet that you're on the edge of your seats, now!

I drove the girls into Gananoque to pick up the boat and, on the way, encountered a man of later years driving an open topped MG Roadster. It was quite an old MG but looked resplendent in the morning sunshine, as the did the man driving, at least when he'd brushed his hair. He had a sort of a Neil Diamond seventies comb-over which was, as you'd expect, blowing about a bit as he drove. We followed him up to the red stop lights and he did no more than reach down and get a hair brush, with which he re-arranged his comb-over. As soon as he started off again, said comb-over blew about again and yes, you've guessed it, at the next red light out came the hair brush and the Neil Diamond tribute was restored.  Mrs T was in fits and I was horrified that the fellow had let down his sex so badly. I saw him a little later and he'd reverted to a baseball cap to keep his "do" under control - it's either that my trendy friend or get a proper haircut!

Anyway, girls aboard the steamer, the boys made their way back to Tilly's Restaurant in town. Whereas the place had been deserted the day before, this fine Sunday morning it was packed and the harassed Tilly suggested that we might be a bit better off going elsewhere; politely of course. It was still only 10 am and the Scottish Cafe was still an hour from opening so we took a punt on the "Bravo" restaurant on the strip mall, not least because it was advertising that it offered the best breakfast in town. The Bravo was pretty full, too, but we did get seated and whilst having to wait a while for our meals, it all turned out reasonably well. The Bravo makes it's money on the drinks, as I found out when I received the bill. Ouch! 

Whilst in there, I listened in to the conversations of a French speaking family and as they were addressing their children a lot in a fairly slow and simple manner, I was pleased to be able to catch most of it, linguist that I am. Also, a group of six young people went to pay for their meals (all French speakers, but that's irrelevant to this tale) and each had a separate bill. I know that bill-splitting happens a lot here, even in the line for Tim Horton'scoffee, and it's one of the cultural differences between Canada and the UK that always stands out for me. Whenever I've dined in a group, we've all just pitched in an equal amount to settle the bill and not been too concerned about minor differences in individual bills. C'est la vie and  vive la difference I suppose (in honour of my Francophone friends).

Back at base, we boys busied ourselves with a modicum of tidying up, plenty of reading and eventually some activity when the big Tadpole mooched over to see his new friend on the site opposite. Time then passed quickly and we were soon driving back into town to pick up the ladies after their cruise. A quick note regarding fuel prices here, because I have turned into my dad, I stopped in Gananoque and paid $1.21 a litre. This compares to the $1.46 a litre I paid in Quebec a couple of days ago, which is staggering; I'm pleased that we don't live in Quebec.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent snoozing (Toads) and gallivanting (Tadpoles). We had a minor panic when we realised that it was 6 pm and we hadn't been out to get our meal for the evening. We'd promised ourselves chips from one of the Chip Trucks nearby but they all close early here, especially on a Sunday. We did find one open on the parking lot of Canadian Tire, but only just made that. Still, we did find it open and we sat in the car and eat unhealthily in the late sunshine.

In the evening we lost tadpoles again so sat down and re-watched To Sir With Love on the DVD and followed it up with Swing Kids. It was proper late by the time we finally went to bed. 

Tomorrow we're travelling on our final leg, continuing down the St Lawrence and through Toronto. I'm hoping that the weather holds as it's been pretty good since we crossed back into Ontario. Hold tight for tomorrow's extravaganza!

Toads Go East - Day 15

Gantineau, from The Hill

Saturday.

A trip into Ottawa, the nation's capital was on the cards today, planned for a Saturday as it'd be quieter, and so it turned out to be.

The weather was being nice and we headed north into blue skies and sunshine on a highway that was really, really quiet. Once into Ottawa's environs, things picked up a little but in no time we were off the highway and making for the World Exchange Centre, just a few hundred metres from the Parliament buildings in the downtown area. Like Boston, the financial district is deserted at the weekend and the World Exchange Centre's capacious underground parking garage is free to use so, having driven past all the parking garages further out offering parking at the bargain price of $9 for the day, we were parked in underground splendour, free and for nothing. I was beginning to like Ottawa already.

Emerging into the eerily quiet street, we made our way up to "The Hill" and the Parliament Building. The whole of downtown Ottawa was quiet, quieter than a Capital has a right to be, really, and I thought of what London can be like on a Saturday - yuk. Still, the lack of people favoured us, that's for sure. On such a nice day we decided that a tour of Parliament wasn't the right thing to do so we walked around it in the sunshine and made our way to the rear terrace that offered spectacular views of the Ottawa River, Gatineau on the north bank (actually in the Province of Quebec) and the Gatineau Hills beyond. There were more visitors about here, mostly French speaking, all of whom seemed delighted to be there. The architecture of Ottawa is very Canadian with the big buildings being done in a style that is a sort of cross between French Chateaux and American Office Blocks; large and imposing but with turrets and towers. The Government buildings were all in a state of re-modelling with many of the copper roofs being renewed. This meant that some parts of the roofs were glowing copper, others dull copper and the rest green, much to the chagrin of Mrs T who felt that she'd have liked all burnished copper glinting in the sun or all green. Anyway, it was all very grand, especially in the sunshine.

Our next stop was the Three Brewers Brewery and Bar in Sparks Street. Sparks Street is traffic-free and lined with restaurants, most open, but not all as I suppose they'd really want to cater for the weekday office crowds. The Three Brewers was open and had the final thirty minutes of the Swansea v. Man Utd game on the TVs there, so in we went. I think Ottawa is little more sophisticated than a lot of places we'd visited recently as the menu had a lot of stuff for the veggie loving Mrs T as well as the usual meaty stuff. A fine meal was enjoyed by the toads and it was with a curious reluctance that we hit the hot streets again. We went the length of Sparks Street, past the Cenotaph (oft seen on the telly in November), down to the Rideau Canal and to the long staircase of locks that takes boats to the Ottawa River below. 

The heat was beginning to tell, now, so after consulting some Parks Canada types, we made our way to Byward Market and the Beaver Tail vendors. Beaver Tails are an edible delicacy that have very little to do with actual beavers, thank goodness, but they are much loved by kids as they are sickly sweet. Read more here.  Whilst in the market, the small tadpole happened upon a street vendor called Jammy Yang who, it appeared, could write your name on a piece of rice for you for $10 and for $15 add a picture, too. Small tadpole's name is short, so that was easy and took up one side of the rice, but she asked for a Greyhound picture on the other and Jammy, bless him, had to look up what a greyhound looked like on his iPhone. He eventually found a Greyhound Bus graphic and painted that onto the back of the rice and what a corking job he did. We had a few minutes chat and it seems that he has an entry in the Guinness Book Of Records for the most detailed landscape painted onto a grain of rice and, originally from China, he has been all over the world making money as a Microcalligraphist (what a great word!). Well done, Jammy, we were mightily impressed.

Jammy at work

The finished article

We'd had enough by now and started the hot walk back to the parking garage, which took a tad longer than it did on the way out. To remain consistent for the trip, we managed to get stuck in a traffic jam three floors down in the garage when the barriers at the exits began to get a bit stroppy when people who owed money, that is those that had left their cars overnight on Friday, tried to get out of the garage without paying. We thought we might get stuck for good down there but a quick about turn and we escaped via another exit and made the street whilst there was still oxygen to breath in there. (Just kidding, it was really well vented).

Back at base and the tadpoles disappeared again (what took them so long?) and Mrs T and I settled in for a quiet evening. Our neighbour, on the hunt for an iPhone charger, then proceeded to tell me that I should never tow with the Toadmobile in the US as it was highly illegal. He didn't mention lethal injection or firing squad but I could see that he wanted to. I stood my ground and he went away disappointed that I had a different view from his. Ho hum, everyone else knows best it seems.

Tomorrow is a free day for the boys and a boat trip for the girls. Find out why with another exciting post in Toads Go East!

Toads Go East - Day 14

Snug camp site

Friday.

Another cold night but the morning was at least sunny and warm, the step from inside Towed Haul to outside being a bit spooky as it was a good five degrees better in the open air. 

The day being Friday, quite a few people were packing up and heading off and the stream of trailers out of the site was constant. They would be replaced during the day, of course, with the weekenders and it was a nice feeling to think that we'd still be here until Monday when no doubt the campground would be quieter again. 

Mrs T and I needed to do some grocery shopping so we left the tadpoles in bed and made for Gananoque, the nearest town, about twenty minutes drive away. The 1000 Islands Parkway that we joined as we left the campground is one of those roads that North Americans do so well. This one follows close to the island-strewn shore of the river (it's widening out towards Lake Ontario here), has an 80 Km/h limit and is free of heavy trucks. I'd driven on the Colonial Parkway in Virginia before and that was a similar sort of truck-free road and there are plenty of others about - it's a good idea if you're not in a hurry and want to look at the scenery. Unfortunately there were a couple of the people on the Parkway this morning who were in a hurry and were doing the usual "let's see how close we can get to his bumper" trick; goodness that's annoying. Anyway, I peeled off the parkway and came to cross-roads junction leading to Gananoque, signalling left (across the traffic here, of course), looked both ways and moved ahead as it was clear. It was then that I spotted the traffic lights, on red! Oh well, no harm done as I had checked to see if the way was clear - how could I miss them, though? Doh! 

We drove down King Street into the centre of the town, found a nice free parking space and, unusually for us, dropped straight into a breakfast cafe and ordered a cooked meal. Mrs T had the veggie omelette and I had the $5 special. All very nice and enjoyed all the more (dare I say) as we didn't have the young 'uns for company. Hush my mouth.

Before hitting the grocery store, we ambled up and down the street, perusing restaurant menus, pulling faces at the prices of souvenirs and generally admiring the place when we fell upon a second-hand bookshop. The young lady behind the counter was really helpful, and that's really with a capital rerr. She offered many suggestions for books for the small tadpole and, whilst she didn't have them in stock, she offered to make up a list of recommended reading that we could collect later. I felt sure that with that level of dedication that she must own the shop, young as she was, but it turned out to be her mother's. Top, top marks to her, though, for being so knowledgeable and enthusiastic.

Groceries purchased, we went back to the campground for lunch (well, a cup of coffee and a slice of carrot cake), then threw the now washed and dressed tadpoles into the car and went straight back to Gananoque. This time we made for the little river-front area where the boats leave from so that Mrs T could enquire about a cruise for Sunday. There was some limited free parking down there, which was good, as well as a small public beach, a museum and a couple of small shops. We didn't stop long but the visit was most enjoyable in the afternoon sun. We did call back at the bookshop and, good to her word the young lady there had compiled an extensive reading list; what a star she is.

Back at the KOA, the place was filling up again, as we had anticipated. We sat and watched people arriving and setting up, which is one of the pleasures of camping. I did take the small tadpole up to the store to see if we could get a soccer ball for her to kick about but, as they had none we had a go on the swingball in the playground and then, much against my better judgement, went onto the bouncy pillow. Now this pillow is in fact a bit like a bouncy castle but without the walls. It's fixed down all around the edge and does look like half a pillow. This one was quite a bit bigger than the one in Massachusetts, though, being about 30 feet long, 10 feet wide and a good five or six feet high. It was a bugger to get up on and when there with a dozen kids bouncing up and down I immediately started to feel sick - see, I said it was against my better judgement. I think the movement spooked my feeble brain and it said "get off this contraption now", so I did. Yes, I'm a real lightweight.

Supper was cooked over the campfire, much to the interest of our neighbour who thought it a most novel idea; most campers carry a small, propane powered barbecue for these tasks. Anyway, it was real sausage, veggie sausage and our signature special, Haloomi kebabs. The kebabs also attracted the interest our neighbour, which I suppose the the price of the close together sites.

In the evening, the campground was humming with people moving around and campfires burning on nearly every site. The tadpoles had gone off and made new friends (at last!) and we sat in front of our surprisingly good campfire (the wood appeared to be rubbish but actually burned well) and watched night draw in. Some one released one of those paper lantern balloons and someone else had set up a projector thingy that made a couple of trees look like they were alive with green fireflies, which I thought was excellent. We even saw a shooting star. All in all, it was a really nice evening.

Tomorrow is our trip to Ottawa, the nation's capital. I feel a bit unsighted because I know very little about it, where to go or what to see. I guess the free-form visit format will be best, just go there and see what's what.

Tune in tomorrow to see how we managed our visit and what we did on "The Hill".

Toads Go East - Day 13

KOA Quebec City

Thursday.

A traveling day, with a trip of 500 Km inland along the St Lawrence River, almost to the upper end of Lake Ontario and a place called Gananoque. 

But first, a few lines about the KOA (Kampgrounds Of America) site in Quebec City. KOAs are commercial campgrounds that specialise in providing transient sites, that is not renting out a single pitch for a whole season, and offering tons of things for kids to do; usually that means a pool and play area and the like. Their individual pitches are often quite small and close together but they normally provide electricity, water and sewer connections which make staying in one place for more than a couple of days quite feasible. This KOA, in the manner of an EasyJet destination, was some way from Quebec City and curiously it was sited between a couple of industrial plots next to the Autoroute. It's closeness to the busy highway wasn't an issue as the main camping ground was down a small hill and hidden by trees. It being adjacent to industrial units made it relatively quite, too, so it wasn't actually a bad place to be especially as the management had a link up with a local bus tour company and ran daily shuttle buses into Old Quebec. The pitches were small and close to each other and when we arrived the campground was  pretty full, so the place resembled a caravan storage yard, and yet it wasn't noisy and, even with our pitch being right at the entry and exit point to the main camping area, I still felt like we were relatively private. Certainly the propensity for campers to have ratty old diesel pick-up trucks that sounded like tractors made it a little noisy when they went by, but it wasn't an issue. The facilities were excellent; clean showers, pool, kids play area with the now familiar bouncy pillow and a shop that not only rivaled a small supermarket but carried wine and beer, too. So, what on paper could have been a poor campground turned out to be really rather good. The one thing the management didn't do, though, was fix the weather. It was more like October than August and in that respect we were happy to be leaving and heading south (and west).

It was a slow process breaking camp, perhaps because it was cold and we were sluggish. When we did get out on the road, we had a reasonably straightforward run along the banks of the St Lawrence River, south to begin with and then north later in the day. Only the city of Montreal posed any worry as I knew from previous experience that the highways go right through the urban areas and are normally very busy. 

On a full tank of fuel we went south, first towards Drummondville, and immediately felt wicked headwind. It has been windy since day one of this trip but up until today, it has been at our backs mostly. Now were were going straight into it. Wind is probably the caravanner's worst enemy as the the frontal area of the trailer adds huge amounts of drag and puts a strain on the tow vehicle. With an Airstream, that frontal area isn't so big and is eased somewhat with its curved lines, which is why it's called an Airstream, but even so the Toadmobile was really feeling the added wind resistance. The automatic gearbox which would normally have us running in sixth most of the time, struggled to maintain fifth. The Scanguage was reporting 100-110 horsepower being developed when normally it'd be 60 or 70. The fuel trip meter was on 23.5 litres per 100 Km (and going up) when we have been doing between between 17 and 18 on this trip; I reckoned we'd need to stop for gas a tad earlier than usual!

The run down to Montreal was uneventful apart from the tugging on the wheel as the wind pulled us about. The big eighteen-wheelers going by always cause a bow wave of air that requires a steering correction but today it was worse than usual. Mind you, I did slipstream a truck for a few miles at 90 Km/h, ten below usual, and the gas mileage immediately showed improvement. The trouble is that it isn't really safe to slipstream like that, and the drop in speed just makes the trip longer.

Into Montreal and I wasn't surprised that the horrible highways were made even more horrible with many Traveaux and Diversions. Mostly the Circulation was Fluide but lane designations had been altered and I had to be really careful to be in the right lane at the right time or end up disappearing into the chaos of the city, something I'd rather not do with a trailer hitched to the car. I've said before that if you don't have any French then you could get yourself really stuck going through Montreal as the road work signs are resolutely in French only. The guiding lights in Quebec are rabid about retaining their language and I don't disagree that it's very important, but to completely exclude Canada's other official language is wrong; road work signs in Ontario are in French and English so why not in Quebec?

There's an aside here related to Quebec. We saw a sign to a Parc National just east of Montreal and you'd be forgiven for thinking it was a Canadian National Park, but Canadian National Parks are run by Parks (or Parcs) Canada so this one, despite being called "national" was in fact Provincial. It speaks volumes about the political landscape in Quebec that they already consider their Province is a country in its own right. Political commentary over.

So, having emerged unscathed from Montreal's highways, we made our way south west, now on the north bank of the river. The tank of gas lasted until about 20 kms east of the Ontario border so we made our last stop in Quebec to fill up. The gas was $1.45 a litre, easily 10 cents or more higher than Ontario, and it cost me $90 to fill up - that's another consequence of the political landscape in Quebec. Just saying, loike.

Back into Ontario and we ran the final 150 kms or so into the wind and raised knowing eyebrows at the resolutely bi-lingual road signs. There were yet more construction sites on the road but we weren't delayed and arrived on the 1000 Islands Parkway pretty much when we expected to and still had some gas. The trip meter was showing consumption at 22.6 l/100km; terrible, but it could have been worse.

We're on another KOA here and this one is different again, but more about that in later posts. We backed into our (very snug) site, unhitched and set up camp. The weather was certainly better than in Quebec but the wind was a tad on the nippy side so supper was taken inside Towed Haul rather than out. We had a short mooch around the campground, spoke to some Airstreamers who had a 1966 model and were towing it with a lovely old American Station Wagon, then headed back to our site for an early night. The early night, I have to say, wasn't planned but as I fell asleep on the sofa at 9.30pm I thought it better to give in and hit the sack straight away.

Tomorrow is a free day so I think sleep-ins are in order. More posts to come, Toad fans, so don't go away.

Toads Go East - Day 12

La Fleuve

Wednesday.

Another quick blog today as tomorrow we're on the road again.

Today was an excursion into Quebec City, more specifically Old Quebec, and a treat for me as we went on the bus. We were dropped at the Place D'Armes right outside the Hotel Frontenac and the Terrace Dufferin, high above the old town and La Fleuve. We had a quick look over the terrace and went straight down to the lower town on the Funicular Railway, primarily to look for some lunch. It's been quite well preserved down there and it was a little bit like being on a film set as everything looks old, but new at the same time. We watched the ferry leave for Levis on the south bank of the river then wandered back into the maze of shops and restaurants, settling on "Spag&Tini", a sort of Quebecoise and Italian fusion restaurant. It wasn't cheap, as you might expect, and we did have the trainee waiter, but I did get to have a beer with my meal which was another non-driving luxury.

Back up on the Terrace, we ambled along the Governor's Walk, a wooden walkway nailed onto the cliff just below the Citadel's walls which gave some stunning views and offered more than a few steps to negotiate - 350 to be precise. That led us onto the Plains Of Abraham where Wolfe defeated Montcalm in 1759 and finally killed off French interests in Canada (but somehow allowed the French to keep their language and culture). 

A quick walk around the edge of the Citadel had us back into the throngs of tourists on Rue Saint Louis and then back to Place D'Armes. We were way ahead of schedule for the bus so dived into Le Chic Shack for another beer and a bowl of chips, just to use up the time, you understand. We then spent half an hour sitting in the park while the rain half-heartedly tried to come on before the bus arrived to whisk us back to the KOA. 

Highlights today included Mrs T getting a nice necklace, seeing all the olde worldy houses not covered in snow this time and spending some quality Toad time in a place we like, Lowlights were the moany tadpoles and the restaurant bills. Well, we are on holiday.  

The weather was appalling for August, very cool although it was mostly dry. Back at base we actually put the heating on in the trailer for a short while, so cold was it when we came back.

Tomorrow we head south west and back into Ontario. It's not such a long drive as Monday's but it's still in excess of 500 Km so we'd better get motoring. More tomorrow, Toad fans. 

Toads Go East - Day 11

Ile D'Orleans as it should be

Tuesday.

We awoke to rain. Rain on rain. Measly single digit temperatures, too; we've camped in October in better weather than this. Everyone was tired from the previous day and even I was a comparative sluggardibed, using Towed Haul's facilities rather than the KOA's shower block. Today's options were a drive around the Ile D'Orleans or a day walking in Old Quebec City. I think you can work out which option we chose.

We didn't hit the road until about one in the afternoon, especially as breakfast had morphed into lunch. Not that it mattered because the grey skies were glowering and rain didn't look too far away. Why, I even stowed the awning before we left as the wind was getting decidedly blustery. August? Smaugust!

As soon as we hit the autoroute we were into a forest of orange cones, one that didn't really seem to dissipate until we left it just before we crossed onto the Island. To be fair, this part of the world has shocking winters and between December and April no outside work gets done as it's just too cold, so roads works are summer tasks and boy, were they busy! Mind you, the circulation was fluide so we made good time. We crossed the Pierre Laporte Bridge across the mighty St Lawrence River and went to the north side of the city before striking up the north bank of the river to the suspension bridge that links the island to the mainland. That bridge was alarmingly narrow for two lanes, especially with big trucks coming at you but we were soon on dry land and heading towards Sainte-Patronille on the southern tip of the island. The Ile (I don't know how to get this US English keyboard to put the circumflex, the ^ symbol, on the word Ile) is about 30 Km long by 2 Km wide and sits in the St Lawrence River. It was, I'm told, one of the first places that the great French explorer, Jacques Cartier, set up camp as he started to open up this part of North America to Europeans. Today the island is still farmed using the Seigneural System of land tenure where fields were made up in strips in each parish. Indeed, all the parishes still exist and you pass from one parish to the other as if they were small towns, Sainte-Patronille being one of them. This Seigneural System was how land was allotted in New France and in the Province of Quebec the evidence is still plain to see.

We drove around the island on the circular road that linked the parishes. The southern end, nearer Quebec City, was more monied and there was a mix of old French farmhouses and modern, expensive looking places, especially on the south-eastern side facing La Fleuve, the name the locals have for the main stream of the St Lawrence. Strawberries and raspberries seemed to be the main crop, at least in amongst the ubiquitous corn. As we made our way further north, the farms and houses became less expensive looking although each parish boasted it's own grand church and curiously it was the churches that were providing the only real places to park. 

At the northern end of the island we discovered a small rest area with a large wooden lookout tower that we were able to climb. From there were spectacular views up the St Lawrence river and especially of the mountains that flank the northern bank. The trouble was that the thick, grey cloud obscured almost all of it! we could just make out some of the ski areas on the slopes but most of what we could see was cloud. It was cold up there, too, although Mrs T is to be congratulated for climbing the many steps and the big tadpole for actually doing it at all as he's not good with heights.

Down the north west of the island we hit yet more road works but continued on to complete a circuit. We'd been looking for an ATM as we had no Canadian money at all, but apart from the one I drove past (much to Mrs T's chagrin) on the other side of the island, we hadn't found a single one. At the one set of permanent traffic lights on the island, I was waiting on red, signalling right and looking at a gas station across the road when I realised that it did have an ATM. Unfortunately, in the process of my discovery, the lights had gone green and the guy behind let out a long blast on his horn, no doubt cursing the tourists from Ontario. Stung by the sound, I shot forward, not turning right, and just across the junction turned left into the gas station, feeling ever so slightly harassed. This would be an opportune moment to mention that the drivers in both New England and Quebec display a marked lack of patience when they perceive that they are being delayed for anything more than a millisecond.  Downtown Boston was a cacophony of car horns and Quebec wasn't much better. Still, it's the duty of dawdling tourists to upset the local racing drivers.

So, armed with some Canadian dollars, Mrs T enquired of the best place to get Poutine, that local Quebec delicacy (French fries and cheese curds smothered in a thick beef gravy). The nice lady in the gas station suggested the best place was three minutes away on the other side of the island or one minute away on the approach to the bridge. She recommended the three minute trip, so off we went up the hill, on the look out for the Cafe D'Ete. I drove past it once, went a way down the road looking for somewhere safe to turn around and was further harassed by the local drivers as they attempted to drive over the top of me as I drove along looking. I did eventually turn around and drove back to the place only to find the little shop was open but not the Friterie. Double grrrr. In my now agitated state, not helped by the grumbling tummies of my traveling companions, I turned out onto the road onto the wrong side. I haven't done that in a while and no one else in the car spotted it until a big pick up truck came down the road straight at me! A quick drop into reverse and back into the cafe's car park and we were safe but goodness knows what the truck driver thought. 

Composure regained, we went back to the Friterie at the bridge approach but, as we rolled to a stop, a woman called out to us that the place was "no good". Mrs T made an executive decision to press on and we left the island in a state of confusion.

Just over the bridge were the Montmorency Falls, a big waterfall that was visible from the road but looked like it needed exploring. It was gone five by now and as we turned into the Montmorency Park were confronted with an $11 parking charge. At that time of the evening it was too rich so we, and others behind us, did a u-turn and headed out. We set course for the Provigo grocery store that was nearest to the KOA and promised ourselves a sit down meal in a local restaurant. Inevitably we hit the cones on the autoroute, and some circulation that wasn't fluide at all; well, it was rush hour, in the road works and there had been an accident. 

The Satnav dropped us off the autoroute at Saint-Foy and up the road we needed. As we turned into yet another forest of cones we realised that it was in fact a route barre and was blocked. Now I know that I'm not always that observant but I didn't see a single sign to indicate that the road was blocked, nor that there was a diversion in place. Had the locals been playing silly buggers with the signage? On turning around, we did find the diversion signs some way down the road and then made an alternative route to our intended destination.

It turned out that we were in the Laval University district and the street that the store was on had a number of reasonable restaurants. We chose one and whilst it wasn't cheap it was pleasant and the waitress spoke impeccable English for us, which certainly took the stress out of the event, and indeed out of the day. We gave her a big tip.

Shopping was achieved with minimal fuss, although for about the twentieth time that day I found myself apologising for my poor French and trying to get people to speak English. Actually, everyone bar the checkout operator in the store has had a go at speaking English, with no complaint at all; I'm hoping it's because I do at least try to speak a bit of French, even if it's to say that I don't understand! It was a pleasure to be able to buy wine and beer in the grocery store; Quebec's legislators need to be talking to their counterparts in Ontario to get them to see sense.

What with the traffic and the road works, we decided to call in at the KOA store on the way back in to book seats on the shuttle bus into town tomorrow. It'll certainly save us a lot of stress trying to park, or even to get there, so the $56 will be well spent, I think. The KOA store was actually very well stocked, with wine and beer as well as all the camping stuff; we were very impressed.

At about bedtime the rain started up again, and we settled in with the hope that our trip into town wasn't going to a wash out. Here's hoping!

More tomorrow, Toad fans.

Toads Go East - Day 10

Through the White Mountains National Park, New Hampshire

Monday.

It was Toads Go North today as we made our way from Massachusetts through New Hampshire, Vermont and back into Canada to the province of Quebec. 

Another slick pack up and hitch had us on the road at nine-thirty, which was early for us but not necessarily early enough given that we had over 700 Kms to drive. The trouble was that we didn't want to get snared in Boston's commuter traffic and, even selecting a route that described a very broad arc well west of Boston, we didn't want to lose any advantage we might have gained from an earlier start. We appeared to have made the right choice, too, as we made great progress along the I495, even though this western diversion added a fair distance to the trip. We spurned the Satnav's advice to plunge into Boston and again when we needed to strike north, avoiding the town of Nashua and going directly to the I93, the highway that would take us almost all the way to the Canadian border. That latter decision may have been a bit of a mistake. 

As we crossed into New Hampshire we stopped at a rest area that had one of those excellent tourist information centres to pick up a map. The helpful lady there offered a selection of maps of New Hampshire, all free I have to say, but I didn't see one for Vermont, the next state along. She delved down behind her counter and produced a Vermont map, as if it were some kind of subversive literature; I half expected her to put it in a brown paper bag! The bad news was that new Hampshire has no motorway service centres at all, just the occasional rest stop with no gas, no proper food but with honking great State Liquor Stores, just in case you need a beer and a smoke as you drive north. That's useful, I thought.

As we left the rest area, we joined the back of another four lane crawl into some road works. Four lanes went to two and one of those was clogged where people were leaving the highway to go into Salem; not the witch one this time. I was already a bit against New Hampshire as their State slogan is "Live Free Or Die", which is a nice sentiment don't you think? It adorns all their car licence plates and was on a big billboard as we crossed the state line and the irony is that the New Hampshire-ites didn't seem particularly free. In the couple of hours we spent there, we saw more Police on the roads than in the entire previous week in the US; if that's freedom then they can keep it. Anyway, their curious freedom, lack of service centres, Liquor stores everywhere and traffic jams all combined to make me think that this wasn't my kind of State.

Back on the road and moving freely now, we were in a steady climb into the Appalachian Mountains again. It wasn't steep but the gas mileage was bobbling about 20 litres per 100 Km, which was well up on all our previous travelling days. We passed Manchester, which was a tad leafier than the one I know, then Concord, or "Concurd" as the Satnav lady called it, New Hampshire's capital. I thought Concord was famous for something or other but apart from it being the State capital, Wikipedia doesn't say much else. Perhaps there's another Concord somewhere else that is more famous.

We could see the peaks of the White Mountains National Park in the distance as we motored north on, thank goodness, ever quietening roads. We stopped at one of the Liquor Store rest areas for lunch (sandwiches in the caravan) and the New Hampshire types managed to upset me some more by parking their cars in the trailer and truck parking slots, forcing some of the trailers to park along the fence and severely restrict the movement of bigger vehicles. Grrrrr. You get like this when you have a trailer to tow.

We later pulled off the highway to get gas and we were right of the edge of the mountains in the town of Campton. It's not too much of an inconvenience to pull off into a local town to get gas and I suppose it brings people in to spend their money in the shops and restaurants, but with the Airstream in tow, you have select your gas stations carefully as they don't always allow enough room to get in and out. I think crashing caravan panels against gas station bollards is one of the most common trailer prangs.

Then we were entering the National Park. The road narrowed to a single lane and the speed limit was down to 45 mph, but what with the uphill gradients and the stunning views, it was necessary to take it easy through there. These mountains are not Alp-like, but they are some of the highest points of the ancient Appalachian range and were most impressive as we drove through Franconia Notch, the pass that allowed the road northwards. I know from reading Bill Bryson that a notch is the New England term for a mountain pass and it was nice to be doing some notching, all be it in New Hampshire; Grrrr. The peaks are tree covered but have some areas cleared for skiing, this being the playground of the Eastern rich, but you'll not catch me barreling down those slopes because they were steep, with a capital 'S'.

We passed through the notch, down the hill on the other side and made our way to Vermont. Now Vermont's slogan is "The Green State", which it definitely is, but I'd call it "The Tidy State", because it certainly was that, too. Mrs T remarked on how "Alp-ish" is was with all the farms cut out of the wooded hillsides; Alpine might have been a better term but I liked "Alp-ish". The I93 terminated just inside Vermont and we joined the I91, John F Kennedy International Highway, on our way to Canada. Mrs T speculated as to whether or not the road was internationally funded because apart from going to Canada, there wasn't much reason to have such a swish highway in rural Vermont. 

All of a sudden we were at the border and saying Bonjour and Hello to the nice man in the Kiosk. It only took about 15 minutes to get through (please note, US border people) and we were making our way through southern Quebec towards Sherbrooke and Drummondville. Quebec is the home of the Francophone and Quebecers cherish their language and their culture greatly. They have not only the Canadian Anglophones to deal with but they border the US and it's from there that the bulk of the cultural pressure comes from, I think. The roads do look a bit like those in France and the signs are all resolutely in French, with no concession at all to English, but it still looked like the US with the houses and cars all the same. I have no doubt that they watch American TV, too.

We continued north to Drummondville, then north-east towards Quebec City, our eventual destination. We came off the highway at Drummondville for more gas, where I inexpertly fended off the compliments of a young lady who was admiring the Airstream. I hauled out my best schoolboy French and she replied in perfect English; We Brits are just hopeless at languages and I always feel worse than useless when people just slip effortlessly between languages.

Some ten hours after setting off, we arrived at the KOA Quebec City, 720 Kms (at 19.8 litres per 100 kilometres) with very few breaks and I was knackered; that's what happens when you don't get that early start. We'd just driven through a monster thunderstorm and discovered that our two full days in Quebec were going to be rain-strewn, which was nice. We were directed to our upgraded site (we'd ordered an upgraded site originally, agreed to change to a lesser site to help the KOA management then been given the upgraded site anyway) and drove straight in, this being the first pull-through of the trip. The campground is small-ish but boy, they've shoe-horned a lot of trailers in - I'll write a bit more about the place tomorrow. Our pitch is on a corner right where people drive in, so I can see it being a little noisy. Still, it has a patio, is level and has enough room for the car, so it'll be fine.

The people here are very friendly and again I had to exercise my schoolboy French. Most of the Quebecers here can speak some English and they don't mind doing it, either, particularly if you have a go at some French. I did meet a couple from Ontario who have an Airstream so I shall be going to have a nosy at their trailer in the next two days.

Mrs T prepared our new favourite camping meal, Tuna Gloop (just tinned tuna mixed with condensed mushroom soup and crushed up crisps, heated and served on five minute rice) and we all settled down to try the site's free wifi. Despite my insistence that I was going to stay up and enjoy the evening, I fell asleep in seconds on the sofa, cell phone on my chest where I dropped it. I did clamber onto my bed and slept whilst everyone else made ready for their beds and after an hour or so fell into the bathroom before hitting the sack properly. 

Tuesday promises rain and, I think, a driving tour for us. I'm quite intrigued about this KOA so will report back in the next thrilling installment of The Toads Go East.

Toads Go East - Day 9

Salem on Saturday

Sunday.

Slightly earlier and slightly shorter report today; it's a travelling day tomorrow and I shall be breaking camp during my usual blog writing time.

Today was a rest day. We hadn't really planned it that way but after the grocery shopping this morning and the laundry this afternoon, there wasn't too much time for anything else. Actually it's been a really hot day and the prospect of foot slogging around a busy tourist centre was just too much so this afternoon we've just chilled out and watched the sun go down, happily clutching a beer and a glass of wine.

We've enjoyed it here in New England but the edge has been taken off a lot of the stuff we've done having to negotiate the appalling traffic. Yes, the summer makes it worse but apparently it's bad all year round here. Ho hum.

One good thing today has been the disappearance of the tadpoles. They went off to the bouncy pillow and stayed there for an hour or more. It's taken them a whole week to pluck up the courage to join in with the Kamping Fun, but at least they did it in the end.

Tomorrow we strike north, across the Appalachians again. It'll be a long day but I'm hoping for some good scenery, a bit less traffic and not too much hill climbing; we can but hope.

Tune in again for further adventures from our next landing spot.  

Toads Go East - Day 8

Welcome to Boston

It's Saturday so it must be Boston.

We'd left this trip until the weekend because we knew it would be easier to get parked, given that a lot of the office block parking garages have a relatively low flat rate weekend charge. So we set off in search of the city's financial district and a free-form kind of day with no set plans other than to see this big American city. Being socially responsible Toads, we had looked at getting the train in but, at over $100 for the four of us, as well as the relative restrictiveness of being tied to a timetable, we decided against it, and we were quite pleased that we opted for the car in the end. Anyway, I've driven in London, Toronto, Atlanta and New Orleans; how hard could Boston be?

The highways leading to Boston were busy, given that it was a Saturday morning with no commuters about. The traffic became heavier the closer we were to the big city and we inevitably ended up in a four lane crawl as we neared the downtown districts. The trusty Satnav had us leave the crowds on the highway and plunged us down into a forest of concrete pillars that supported the motorways above. We popped up on Atlantic Avenue, along the waterfront, before turning into the relative calm of the financial district. In amongst the skyscrapers the roads seemed narrow and dark but we navigated our way successfully to Oliver Street and some public parking underneath of of those great office towers in Post Office Square. It was $15 for the day, which wasn't so bad for central Boston, and having parked we had the luxury of emerging into the street through the plush lobby of the offices of an accountancy firm, which was a real novelty.

Out on the side walk it was hot, thirty-one degrees Celsius today, but there were few people about so we were able to look around and enjoy the architecture, which was an eclectic mix of old and new. We're always taken with Art Deco and Art Nouveau buildings and there were plenty of those in amongst the modern steel and glass towers. One particular building, the John W. McCormack Post Office and Court House, was a 1933 Art Deco delight with some iconography depicting what I thought were symbols of Mussolini's fascist regime; bundles of sticks tied together with a spear in the middle. I wasn't far off as a little bit of research revealed them to be Fasces, symbols of ancient Etruscan civilisation, later passed on to Roman culture. Mussolini did indeed adopt such a symbol but it was with an axe and was supposed to represent power through collective strength, which I suppose was the motif for this building. Try this link if you want to read more.

Back in the real world, we strolled through the financial district, in the opposite direction to the one we intended, and enjoyed what we saw. I have to give credit to Mrs T who did suggest that we might have needed to turn left instead of right  at the corner of Post Office Square to get to the waterfront, but in going wrong, we did at least get to see some aspects of the city without the tourist throng. 

We ended up at Boston Common, which is on Boston's Freedom Trail (I never did find out any more about that) and certainly a place that wasn't devoid of tourists. From there we walked down past the First Church, the old City Hall and to a little square fronting the original Meeting House. Again, a lack of research on my part means that I have very little to tell you about it; sorry! It was here that Mrs T and the tadpoles watched "a bunch of black guys dancing" whilst I mooched about the Irish Potato Famine memorial, which was surprisingly interesting and served to me remind me of my Irish ancestry. It was reported to me that Mrs T squeezed the bottom of one of the young street entertainers so I guess that was a successful diversion for her. And him!

We also used a nice little bagel cafe there for lunch. It wasn't cheap, as you might expect, but the bagels were good and the small tadpole was quite taken with the serving staff who took time to help her choose. Bostonians are nice folk, it seems.

After feeding, we made our way past the State House and on towards the waterfront. In State Street I just happened to glance into the lobby of a building known as "75 State Street" - OMG! as the youngsters like to say.

...and this is just the lobby of 75 State Street

I just had a look at this link and discovered that it was completed in 1988 - no wonder it looked in such good nick. Anyway, they have our staircase railings.

We admired the Custom House (with the city's first skyscraper) before eventually finding the water, close to the Aquarium. Boston Harbour was busy with boats of all sizes and we were a bit surprised to see the very large vessels that sail from there to go and do the whale watching thing that we did in the week from Plymouth. These boats take up to 500 people and I can't imagine it being quite the same experience when shared with so many others. It was at this point that the tadpoles started moaning about wanting to go home, and to be fair it was very, very hot there. However, perhaps anticipating my disappointment, Mrs T suggested that we visit Salem, the place of the witch trials, seeing as how it wasn't so far north of where we were. No trip to Massachusetts would be complete without a trip to Salem, she said, and as it turned out, she was right.

It took a while for the Satnav to kick in around all those skyscrapers so we did a small tour of Atlantic Avenue before finding our way onto the Interstate and into the tunnels under Boston. It was busy but moving and we emerged after a few minutes to cross the Charles River on an impressive new bridge. Then we made our way north, along with many thousands of others, and let the Satnav guide us. We hit a few crawling sections and when off the Interstate system, relied on some (fortunately) consistent signs that took us right into Salem itself and the Mall parking lot which was next to the Visitor Center. Being us, we had arrived just twenty-five minutes before the place closed but the earnest young Parks Ranger (it's run by the National Parks Service) gave us a run down of places to visit which were free and/or open at that time in the evening. 

I knew very little about Salem other than some general stuff about witch trials and executions in the late 1600s. The town, though, was a lovely little former port that has many old houses, plenty of documented heritage and not all of it to do with witches. Certainly the locals trade on the witch thing, even to the extent of having a thriving Harry Potter shop (get the connection?), but then why not? It certainly gets the tourists off the Interstate and spending their money in the town. 

Mrs T had a paddle in the bay, we saw the replica tall ship, "Friendship of Salem", the old docks, the Custom House and many, many witch related shops and attractions. We had a recommendation from the young lady in the Harry Potter shop (who actually looked like Thelma from Scooby Doo - how's that for mixing your popular culture?) to visit a veggie restaurant. Fair dos to Mrs T who dutifully marched with us to the restaurant in the full knowledge that the rest of us would be appalled and refuse to eat there. We ended up in a place called Rockerfeller's (or some such) and had an ordinary meal that Mrs T didn't really enjoy. Your time will come Mother Toad!

Afterwards we threaded our way through the many and various witch and ghost walking tours that were taking place in the dimpsy light of the evening. We took in the Witch Trials memorial, a tasteful and poignant attempt to remember the events that have made the town famous, and the old graveyard which had stones marking a couple of the trial judges and one of the original group of pilgrims from the Mayflower. I have to say that the  graveyard was quite well maintained and the oldest stones had been set in newer, more protective granite casings; a nice touch but I don't know by whom.

So that was the day. We headed straight through downtown Boston on the way home and negotiated the high speed tunnels again, as well as the metropolitan highway network which was so busy, even at 9 pm on a Saturday night. We had to make a slight detour to Dairy Queen in Middleboro as there was no way we were going to bed without ice cream as it isn't natural, but we arrived back at Towed Haul safely, even if just a tad knackered.

Tomorrow is a quiet day (I think) so stay tuned, Toad fans, for more (less) exciting adventures.

Toads Go East - Day 7

The start of a very wet day

Friday.

What can I say about Friday? The day was a bit gloomy when I fell out of bed and it was starting to rain as I came out and sat under the awning to update my blog. It was still coming down in a half-hearted manner as I did a tank dump using the (alarmingly leaky!) "Sewer Solution" system and then the rain started to get heavier. And heavier. Being an optimist, I looked up the weather forecast and it said a mix of rain showers and cloud but gave no indication that the two would occur together. All day. 

Mrs Toad and I sat out together and watched the rain fall for a while, but a combination of splashes bouncing up off the patio and some nasty biting insects that had appeared, we scuttled back inside. I had already adjusted the awning to stop the water pooling on it, now I had to drop it to it's lowest point to stop the wind tugging at it and we simply retired inside and watched the deluge continue. We had planned a walk around Plymouth but sadly we hadn't brought our wet suits, so that was out. Mrs T prepared supper at midday and afterwards we just whiled away the afternoon reading and whatnot whilst the skies grew darker, the thunder rumbled and the rain became heavier. Being Friday, there were a few new arrivals at the campground and it was quite sad to watch them having to set up in the downpour; similarly the poor blighters using tents were spending long periods setting up and maintaining big blue tarpaulins over their tents and camping areas. What a wash out!

It must have been about four in the afternoon when the rain eased off sufficiently to hop to the car and we motored off to Dartmouth Mall, about half an hour's drive south of us. We didn't have a burning desire to shop but it was an indoor mall and we needed some clothes for the tadpole's return to school in September. The kids in this part of the US go back a bit earlier than they do north of the border so most of the school stuff was selling at knock down prices as they're clearing the shelves, and that was a good result on such a crappy day.

I must make mention of Rose and Vicki's Pizza emporium in Dartmouth, a place that Mrs T had spotted and proved to be an excellent stop for a light bite on the way home. Nice Pizza, ladies.

Back at Towed Haul, we had new neighbours in the shape of a monster motorhome. It's the size of a fifty-seater coach and dwarfs Towed Haul. It's truly a palace on wheels and must have cost easily over a quarter of a million dollars. Would I like one? No, not really; I just can't imagine driving something that big for pleasure and the prospect of five mile miles to the gallon frightens me a little.

Neighbours!

Anyway,we settled in for a DVD evening (Stranger Than Fiction - an interesting film) and an early(ish) night. As usual, I fell asleep through portions of the film but it didn't seem to matter that much; maybe the film was rubbish and I missed the worst bits.

The weather hadn't finished with us, though, as the temperatures had shot up and with the damp air all around, the humidity inside Towed Haul was stifling. We'd started with all the windows open but gave up and fell back on the air conditioning, noisy as it is, because we'd none of us have slept otherwise.

Tomorrow is Boston, and a free-form visit as we've nothing special planned other than to see what's what. It would be easy to have a lot of things mapped out but this is a holiday, so we're going to take it easy; I don't want to be more tired when we we get home than when we left!

Catch us tomorrow, Toad fans.

Toads Go East - Day Six

P. Town. Vibrant and gay.

Thursday.

We awoke to gloomy skies and all took an age to get going, despite plans to jump in the car and head off to Cape Cod. Well, we're on holiday, aren't we?

In anticipation of sitting on a sandy beach on the wild Atlantic shoreline, we packed up the deck chairs and swimming costumes and set off towards Plymouth. When we stopped to fuel the car, the payment system at the gas station bounced my credit card, which is a direct response to my not letting the credit card company know that we were going to foreign parts - if only I'd remembered! Still, the reserve card made an appearance and we were on our way. 

We crossed into Cape Cod on the Sagamore Bridge, which stretched high over the Sagamore Canal, and entered Boston's weekend playground. The road was worthy of the UK as it narrowed to a single lane each way and caused delays, so reminiscent of the A303. We had decided to dive off to the south eastern shore of the Cape so that we could visit Chatham, Massachusetts. The roads were fine but the traffic on them was ominous as it seemed to run without a break; cars everywhere. We did drive off towards the sea when we saw a sign for a beach, especially exciting as the weather had now brightened up, but we were shocked and disappointed to arrive at a grotty little parking lot that required a $15 flat fee to park. That was a little too rich for us so we were limited to a quick glance at the windy beach and white caps on the sea before we made our way back towards Chatham. The houses down there were nice, though, many proper Saltboxes, all hung with cedar shakers - that is tile hung with wooden tiles in good Cape Cod style. Back on the route into Chatham we were in a land of expensive restaurants and antique shops. We had plenty of time to study the BMWs and Mercs. in the parking lots because by now we were crawling along to some unseen junction in the distance. We kept up the crawl for about twenty minutes but gave it up just as the centre of Chatham was in view. It was choked with cars and definitely not where we wanted to be, so we dashed off in the direction of the highway to Provincetown. The traffic thinned a bit and we made progress past little creeks and inlets, all covered with boats. There were lots of private beaches and roads marked as being private, as well as yet more antique shops and, surprisingly, liquor stores. 

At Orleans we made the highway again but the traffic on that ground to a crawl, too. Here the road was lined with motels and eating places; not necessarily ugly as they nestled into the never ending woodland on either side of the highway, but so many of them! We crawled and crawled until we arrived at the part where two lanes went into one (just like driving to Devon), then crawled some more as we came across a junction with stop lights. Eventually we started to roll and completed the last 30 Kms to our destination in reasonable time. I'd fondly imagined that I'd get exciting views of the ocean through gaps in sand dunes but no such luck; until we reached the outskirts of Provincetown, there was nothing to see but trees. 

Provincetown, or P. Town as it's known, is a bit like a large Cornish fishing village; narrow roads, nice little wooden cottages and thick with traffic. We found a parking lot just a block from Commercial Street and the harbour and walked the final few yards into what turned out to be a bustling and vibrant little town. 

P. Town is a bit of a Mecca for the Gay community. A quick bit of research came up with this, lifted from Wikipedia:

By the 1970s Provincetown had a significant gay population, especially during the summer tourist season, when restaurants, bars and small shops serving the tourist trade were open. However, there had been a gay presence in Provincetown as early as the start of the 20th century with the introduction of the artists' colony. Drag queens could be seen performing as early as the 1940s in Provincetown. In 1978 the Provincetown Business Guild (PBG) was formed to promote gay tourism. Today more than 200 businesses belong to the PBG and Provincetown is perhaps the best-known gay summer resort on the East Coast. The 2010 US Census revealed Provincetown to have the highest rate of same-sex couples in the country, at 163.1 per 1000 couples.

The place was packed out with people and whilst I wouldn't assume to be able to tell a gay or lesbian person just by the way they looked, many there certainly fitted my stereotypical view. The rainbow flags and the Drag Queen in the street also went some way to convince me that this was a gay friendly place, and all the more vibrant for it. 

We had a quick paddle in the sea and then wandered up and down Commercial Street, soaking up the atmosphere and people watching, something Mrs Toad and I love to do. The arty shops were excellent and I'll assume that the Eros Toy Shop ("More toys than the Devil has sinners") was too, but the small tadpole wouldn't even look in the direction of that store. P. Town wasn't a seedy place at all and was being enjoyed by all, not just the gay community, which made the town an excellent place to be on a hot and sunny August afternoon. We were a bit fazed by the sheer number of people there and didn't do too much exploring. The centre of the town is dominated by a tall, stone tower that commemorates the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in what was to become Provincetown before they made their way across the bay to Plymouth. We perhaps should have looked at that and a few more cultural things but were dazzled with the vibrancy of Commercial Street. Anyway, who wants to do history when you can have soft ice cream and Portuguese doughnuts downtown?

Eventually we decided to make a move home as it was a two hour drive and we were all flagging a bit. The run back was a lot smoother and we made good progress. I had heard that the route between P. Town and Boston is a nightmare on a Sunday as Bostonians make their way home from their Cape cottages; having driven the route, I can well see that it would be!

Toad watchers will be pleased to note that with the prospect of thunderstorms in the night, I stowed the awning before going to bed. It won't even rain, now!

Anyway, more tomorrow, although the itinerary has yet to be established. Aren't we the wild ones?