Poutine On the Orient Express: An Irreverent Look At Travel

By Marcel Strigberger

A humourist lawyer? Not an oxymoron here. With Poutine on the Orient Express, Marcel Strigberger (humorist in the U.S.A.- Canadians are obsessed with that extra "U") takes you through an entertaining and trip about travel.

Have you ever naively tried to use reward points expecting to get a convenient free flight, taken a sightseeing tour with a guide who would rather be undergoing root canal, or spent ages at the airport arrival area watching that luggage carousel, with hope? Please read on.

Poutine covers it all, from airlines to trains, tipping and toilets. It also discusses the last letter of the alphabet, "zed" (in Canada eh?)

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9780995950115

Book preview

voyage.

INTRODUCTION

Did I say I come from Montreal? I am indeed a proud ex-Montrealer (now residing in Toronto), and a number of my references will be to this fabulous city. It is a natural beauty consisting of an island surrounded by over a dozen bridges and having a mountain park smack in the middle. Culinary-wise, its signature delicacy is Montreal smoked meat. However, it has also seen the proliferation of another favourite food item known as poutine. This is a treat consisting of French fries topped with cheese curds and drowned in a meaty gravy. But let us leave the topic of suicide for up ahead.

This book is about travel. But it is not a travel book per se. Sure, I have travelled here and there, more than some people but less than many others. In the course of my travels, I have at times made observations about certain aspects of travel, such as what types of tourists take sightseeing tours, why cathedrals appear to have taken forever to construct, and why travellers actually believe travel insurance companies will pay up on claims.

I was fortunate during my student days in Montreal to be engaged as a professional tour guide with the sightseeing tour agency Gray Line. This perspective gave me incredible insight into the psychological and philosophical aspects of sightseeing.

Since then, I spent the better part of my working life practising litigation law in Toronto, but I still consider my six summers as a tour guide as among the most enjoyable times in my working life. I can truly say that I actually got paid for having fun. Among other things, I will share some of the insights I gleaned from this experience.

Travel and touring entail a gamut of considerations, from accommodations to dining to modes of transportation to packing your bags. This book certainly is not a Michelin Guide to any of these subjects. There are enough guides on the market with advice on where to do what best (and cheapest). My goal is to stimulate and amuse you while discussing these topics.

I especially have a fascination for cities. Have you ever wondered what makes a city a city? The number of residents? Cultural events? Its major-league sporting team? I have given this one a lot of thought and have come up with a conclusion or two. Certainly, calling it a city does not make it one.

Being Canadian, I also refer to weights and measures in metric. This simple system of dealing in multiples of ten is so much easier to use than talking 16 ounces to a pound, or 4 quarts to a gallon, or 5,280 feet to a mile. To those unfamiliar with metric, for now all you need to know is that a kilogram is heavier than a pound, a kilometre is shorter than a mile, and a litre is less than a gallon. I trust this clears matters up. You now know metric.

Actually, does it not make more sense for water to freeze at zero rather than at 32 degrees? In Canada it freezes at zero. Incidentally, we refer to that first letter in the word zero not as zee, but rather, zed.

We also spell some words differently in this country. Although our American friends call us Canadians great neighbors, we reciprocate by calling them great neighbours. In this country as well, we visit Baskin Robbins to enjoy our favourite flavours. And we all cherish our sense of humour.

Similarly, as many travellers do indulge in alcoholic refreshment, there may be a reference to beer, which in this case will be something like Molson Canadian. It is easier to say Miller Time, but I would be inclined to say, Miller time, eh. I’ll stick with Molson Canadian. If anything, my sentiments will be consistent.

And after being in the legal profession for most of my life, there may just be a legal slant here and there to some of my musings. If I say she, for example, unless otherwise noted, I mean she or he, so he need not be offended that I left him out. And vice versa.

This opus is not about lawyers and the law. However, the law often enters into the world of travel, as you will see, for example, when I review the draconian clauses of a standard cruise contract in the chapter entitled Just Cruising. Yes, you do agree to waive all rights to your first-born child.

And so, all aboard. Please join me on this trip about trips.

CHAPTER ONE

Before We Go, Some Preliminary Travel Musings

BUT IS IT ART? BAH!

All too often we are told what we must see. One such culprit is the art gallery.

Although I discuss museums further ahead, I simply cannot restrain myself now from sharing my views of what art actually is and what the fuss is all about.

I visited the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) a while back, and I noticed a weird item on display. There was an old washroom sink bolted onto plywood and hanging on a wall. Next to it was a label stating the title as something like Old Sink Connected to a Wall. Reading further, the label went on to say something like On loan from Henry and Faye Rosenberg.

I turned to Shoshana, my artist wife, and gave her my informed thoughts on the piece. I said, Huh?

Shoshana replied, This is called an ‘installation.’ Modern art can be different from the traditional art you see in museums.

It certainly can be. For starters, I do not consider it art. Art to me is what you see in traditional museums—and what you can identify. I am talking about paintings generally. And these I noticed can usually be divided into three themes.

Firstly, you have the gory scenes. These are paintings by French, Italian, or Spanish artists depicting gruesome and hideous subjects. The titles of these works of art are often something like Messenger’s Head on a Spear. The expression don’t shoot the messenger usually did not gain much favour in the Middle Ages.

This theme often includes works of the crucifixion of Jesus. They all have Jesus in some state or other, with or without the accompanying thieves who went on to meet the same unfortunate fate. If a medieval artist ever ran into artist’s block, he could always count on jump-starting his artistic juices by commencing a crucifixion painting.

The second prevalent theme is the portrait. There would be a group picture, such as Rembrandt’s Night Watch, depicting a dozen or so nobles in their formal attire who look as though they were forced to pose for six weeks without a break.

Or you find that solo portrait. You know who I mean. The most common is that guy in France who wears a Louis XIV wig down to his derriere. The title will read The Duke de Beaufort du Château de la Caserne a Montagnac, 1678.

We haven’t got a clue who this gentleman was, but we know right away he felt he was important. Whoever he was, to me his portrait is art. It looks like what it is. It makes a statement.

You also frequently see a female counterpart to the duke, namely that lady with the short brown curly hair wearing a black dress and a pearl necklace and sporting the pinkest cheeks you have ever seen. Her name is usually Madame de la Tournadiere du Saint-Esprit. If you spend five dollars renting a tape-recorded tour of the exhibit, you will learn that the Madame was the duke’s mistress. I usually save the five bucks as I know for sure that she could be no one else but the duke’s mistress. I know my art.

The third theme is the landscape. In this category you find that beautiful autumn scene, which is called A Beautiful Autumn Scene. This group also includes a more focused subject, such as a bowl of fruit.

Usually there is a combo of the portrait and the landscape. You might see a painting called The Duke de Beaufort du Château de la Caserne à Montagnac Eating a Peach, 1670, whereby a gentleman is eating a peach.

Some art connoisseurs will make the connection between the peach and Madame de la Tournadiere du Saint-Esprit. This view is often inspired by the sequels of the Madame in the nude. I for one see the connection. Very nice.

To me, this is art. I see it, I know what it looks like, and I can stroke my virtual beard and say, Hmm.

Enter modern art.

If I see a blob or a blotch or a piece of junk in a museum, there is no way I’ll ever agree that this is art.

Take that sink hanging on the wall at the AGO. I actually think that it was brilliant. I didn’t say that it was art—just brilliant. I believe that Henry and Faye Rosenberg were brilliant. They wanted to get rid of an old washroom sink. It was large and maybe their garbage service charged a fee to remove items of this type. They called the museum and sold them the idea of displaying this work of art in their modern-art section. Of course, to create desire and whet the museum’s appetite, Henry Rosenberg said, I cannot donate it to the AGO. Eventually it goes to the Louvre. But I would be happy to lend it to you.

The museum whole heartedly agreed, and of course gave Henry and Faye due credit. I’ll bet you dollars to paintbrushes that Henry and Faye never ask the AGO to return it. I can just see the situation two years from now when the museum writes to the Rosenbergs:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg:

We have thoroughly enjoyed displaying Old Sink Connected to a Wall. As we are redoing our museum in preparation for a Group of Seven exhibition, would you kindly retrieve your work by the end of the month.

Germaine C. Johanssen, Curator

I can just see the Rosenbergs chatting:

I told you, Henry, sooner or later they’ll want to give it back to us.

Don’t worry, Faye, I’ll think of something … Ah ha!

Henry then fires off a letter to the AGO:

Dear Ms. Johanssen,

Please hold onto the sink. It should fit well with your upcoming exhibit. Did you know that Frank Varley and Arthur Lismer, eminent Group of Seven alumni, used this type of sink at their cottage near Sault Ste. Marie between 1914 and 1923? In fact, we also have a toilet similar to the type they used that we can also lend you.

Please advise.

Henry and Faye Rosenberg

Done deal!

And if you think installation art is held in outrageously high regard, what about those blobs and blotches? At least the Rosenbergs are calling a sink a sink. How does Picasso get away with calling a blue blob with an assortment of geographical patterns something like The Wife of the Mayor of San Sebastian?

Sculptor Henry Moore has a series of works consisting of several pieces of roughly shaped stones piled on top of one another. One of these works in front of a bank building in Montreal is called Woman Reclining in Three Pieces.

I have studied that one carefully and, sorry to say, I cannot tell the gender of that sculpture. If that’s a woman, then Henry Moore’s ophthalmologist failed him miserably.

Then you have the modern art that looks recognizable but makes you look like a dunce if you render your opinion about what you think it is. I am thinking of the work of Belgian artist Rene Magritte. He has a painting of a large smoker’s pipe on a table. You and I would say, Hey, a pipe.

Wrong. The caption reads, This Is Not a Pipe. That’s what the painting is called: This Is Not a Pipe.

Then he has one of a giant apple. If you say, Hey, an apple, you’ll be laughed out of your palette. The caption reads, This Is Not an Apple.

I challenge any member of the human race to tell me what in Van Gogh’s name those objects can be other than a pipe and an apple. I imagine that if Magritte had ever visited that Henry Moore sculpture in Montreal and had been asked what he saw, he likely would have answered, This is not a woman reclining in three pieces. And he would have been right.

I give up trying to understand modern art. I have, however, learned one thing. If I ever get stuck trying to get rid of an old fridge or a beat up gas barbecue, I’ll just have my artist wife nail a piece of plywood to the back of it and we’ll call the Art Gallery of Ontario for a pick up.

So much for art. Now you are all set to visit the world’s greatest museums, being as expert a connoisseur as anybody.

TRAVELLER TYPES

Given the many frustrations of travelling these days, do you really know why you actually paid your money to take that trip? Why don’t we talk about the types of people who travel? Or who do not travel? I have concluded that travellers fall into one of six categories. Here they are, in no particular order:

1. The Armchair Expert

This guy never goes anywhere, but you wouldn’t know that by chatting with him as he is an expert on all the places he has never visited. Mention Paris to him and he’ll tell you where to get half-price tickets to the Louvre, or he’ll rattle off the stats on the Eiffel Tower, like how many people have committed suicide by jumping off the second level. However, should you ask him when he went to Paris last, he’ll tell you, "Well … actually, I’ve never been. But I heard about it. Trust me.

At least his travel expenses are modest.

2. The Connoisseur

This guy does travel. The problem with him is he claims he knows everything there is to know, but he really knows nothing. You will see this guy in front of the Coliseum in Rome, oblivious to its history or significance. Ask him about it and he’ll say, Oh yes, I hear they modelled Yankee Stadium after this place.

He’ll watch visitors queuing up for two hours in front of the Vatican to see the Sistine Chapel and say, This is the place with that famous painting of a French lady smiling. Nobody knows why she is smiling, except the popes. And they are sworn to secrecy.

There is no hope for this guy.

3. The Scholar

The scholar takes his travel seriously. Very seriously. He gets brochures. And he even reads them. If he wants to travel to San Francisco, he’ll Google San Francisco. Then he’ll check out all of 1,234,567 possibilities. When he travels, he comes fully equipped. He goes to the local CAA office (AAA below the border) and buys every gadget on the display rack, including mini-padlocks for everything, including his sandals. If there is a possible disease out there, he gets inoculated for it. He is the only guy who will visit his family doctor before visiting medieval European sights and request a prophylactic shot for bubonic plague. Hey, you never know.

And when he gets to San Francisco, earthquakes wouldn’t faze him. He would probably leave San Francisco just before the Big One hits as he’d know exactly when it will happen. He will have studied about this contingency by visiting some obscure website called whentheBigOnewillhappen.com.

Then