Montréal - August 2022

 

Yesterday, Saturday 13th, was my first full day in Montréal in this very special and unexpected trip. I had arrived on Friday evening after what seemed like an almost interminable day of travelling. Leaving my house at 05.30 BST I finally arrived in my holiday rental unit at 19.00 Montréal time, that's eighteen and a half hours of travelling, sitting about in airports and standing in airport queues.

 The queue at the highly automated immigration/covid check was lengthy, but well managed by staff. The queue for a taxi was about 200m long, and was handled with an unusual but effective mix of calmness towards the passengers and manic hysteria directed towards the taxi drivers, with much screaming and waving of arms. It was mildly entertaining,  and a diversion from the actual wait. Because of the two queues and the time spent in them, my plan to drop my baggage off at my lodgings and then find my way to a concert space in Laval were thwarted. And thus the unexpected opportunity to see  Luce Dufault came to nought.

I had reserved my accommodation through Airbnb, and whilst I have used the system successfully in Russia, this was my first time in Canada. I had spent many, many hours trying to find somewhere suitable, a month or so ago it looked like I was going to have to reserve somewhere some distance from my optimum location in Montréal. And then a new property popped up at a very reasonable price. I was a bit wary, because the booking for a similar apartment had fallen through, as had another. But this booking  had gone smoothly and all instructions on finding the place and getting into it had come through on time. Aside from a wasted minute or two trying unsuccessfully to find the correct key to unlock an already unlocked exterior door, all went well, and I am happy to report that the rental unit far exceeded my expectations  for the price.

Once inside, and having decided to abort the expedition to Laval, it was decided that  some foraging for food and refreshments was required.

"It was decided" - sounds like there was a meeting. There's only you there!

Oh no, not you again. It has been a while.

Whose fault is that, infrequent blogger?

To continue, I needed to buy some essentials and I  knew of one supermarché where I could get them, even if it meant a swift trip on the Métro.

This supermarché wasn't located conveniently close to Bar Brasserie BENELUX, was it?

Well, yes, actually it was. But I did do the essentials shop first.  And I have to say that I was shocked by the price of some of those essentials  - ouch. Cheese is very expensive here. 

And what about the milk? Tell them about the milk.

I was about to. As for the milk,  it wasn't just the price, it was finding the milk. I don't mean I couldn't find it,  just that there was so much on offer that I couldn't find just ordinary whole milk.  There was almond milk,  oat milk, lactose-free milk, milk with this taken out, milk with that taken out. At one point  I had circled the entire store twice, searching for milk, just milk, to pour on my Weetabix next morning. There were two large fridge sections full of milk alternatives, milk derivatives and milk with added this and added that. Just give me some */#*/ milk!

I'm sorry I raised the subject.  I mean, come on it's still Friday evening and you haven't even got to BENELUX yet!

So, having guessed at one milk type being the one I wanted. I left Provigo and walked round the corner to that haven of sanity and good beer that is BENELUX. Aahh, I installed myself at the bar and ordered a pint of Frida.

  Ah, Frida - une bière blanche avec le goût de framboises  (sounds  better in French). A slightly sour but very refreshing  creation, which had first passed my lips in May.

Actually, quite a lot of it passed your lips, I seem to remember, and at 6%!

C'est vrai, I can't deny it. But on this occasion only one pint began its journey through my person. I was too tired for more.

I dare say it wouldn't be the last, during the coming days.

If I knew where you were I would nod towards you in agreement. Having left BENELUX I headed back to the Métro station at Place des Arts, but was waylaid by the sound of music, lights and smoke rising from the stage at the end of the place. It seems that there is a celebration of  Autochtone culture and music this weekend and for longer. More of this later, but here are a few photos that capture the mood of the evening. I didn't stay too long because I was dead on my feet.

And then a swift Métro ride to Atwater, and a five minute walk back to the apartment,  unpacking, and sleep...perchance to dream.

January 4th 2020: the excitement of a first ever session in a recording studio

It is difficult to believe that the previous three posts in this blog all relate to one day, 3rd January. It was an amazingly long day, twenty four hours long in fact. No, it was actually 21 hours long, allowing for time zone differences, but every one of those 21 hours had been a conscious experience. How could 4th January come close?

It did. An amazing day, one which will remain in my memory forever. It began with breakfast in the little apartment. At some point on the 3rd Iraida had done some shopping for food essentials, and so had black bread and cold sausage, with coffee. "Delicious to say the least", to quote one of my efforts at writing a song, a song based upon an overnight train journey from Moscow to Volgograd.

Now that links quite nicely to what was to be the first adventure of the day. A few weeks ago I had received a message from Eugenia. She had seen a video of me singing at the Harbour View Speakeasy (a weekly musical extravaganza at a pub in Sunderland, organised by two amazing musicians and good guys, George Shovlin and George Lamb). It seemed that Eugenia had enjoyed my performance and asked me if I had ever thought of being a singer, and had I ever thought about recording any of my songs. My responses had been "No" and "Yes".
Eugenia then asked whether I might be interested in booking a couple of hours in a recording studio in Yaroslavl. It seemed that there were several such studios in the city, and that they had very reasonable rates. I answered in the affirmative, thinking that this would be an interesting experience. So Eugenia agreed to search out and book a suitable studio. This was why I was carrying a petite Steinberger guitar on my trip, as well as a tiny Blackstar amplifier. Unfortunately I had forgotten to pack the cable which links the two, so wasn't able to practise or busk in the streets of Yaroslavl or Moscow. I should have ended that sentence after the word "practise".
Nevertheless, Eugenia arrived at the flat and it was time to prepare for the icy streets again. The worst part of this ritual is putting on my boots: a task which I find almost exhausting, particularly without a shoe-horn. With that task accomplished, we crammed in to the tiny lift again and descended to the ground floor. Apparently the studio wasn't too far, so we would walk there.

The pavements seemed even more slippery than they were yesterday, and on occasion the support system worked on a mutual basis as feet slipped sideways as they failed to get a grip. 

Eventually we came to what looked like the entrance to an industrial area. In fact it looked like the entrance to a derelict industrial area, a bit like those post-apocalyptic scenes in Destiny, the video game I have seen my grand-daughter Lucy playing. We approached one of the buildings and identified the metal door which would give us access. Inside there was a steep, narrow wooden staircase, which led to another heavy door. 
This in turn led to what could describe as the reception area of the studio with sofa and coat-stand, and here we met Aleksander, the owner. The room was lined with heavy canvas cloth, as were all of the other rooms in the studio. I assumed this was to absorb sound. I wondered what these rooms might have been in their previous life in a large building which seemed to have been a printing works at some time in the past. Following normal Russian etiquette we removed boots and replaced them with the slippers provided. Once divested of our outdoor clothing we were led into the studio itself, with microphone stands, amplifiers and a drum-kit. 

This was my first time in an actual recording studio, complete with window into the control room. After a discussion with Aleksander, and borrowing a cable to link my guitar to a large Vox amplifier, it was decided that I would record four songs live. By live I mean that I would sing and play guitar simultaneously, rather than record voice and instrument separately. We would just record the songs in one run, and the Aleksander would chop the resulting files into four separate elements. After that we would attempt a duet, with Eugenia and I singing to a backing track.
And so, once I was comfortably seated, my guitar on my lap and the microphone set at the right height and distance from my face, I began to play the first of my four songs. I say that I began to play, but in essence I had forgotten how to play my guitar, forgotten the lyrics and forgotten how to sing.

With the help of an iPad I at least could recall the lyrics, but I seemed to be singing a different version of the melody. First up was "I Once Met the Prince of Darkness" which recounts and unfortunate encounter in Moscow, with Soviet cognac and Soviet champagne back in 1966.
Next I moved on to "Immigration Card Blues", which tells the tale of a mislaid immigration certificate and its impact upon my visit to Moscow in April 2014. The song also refers to a wonderful song by Peter Gabriel, in which he duetted with Kate Bush: "Don't Give Up". To read a blog posting about this event, go to https://itsrobin-robin.blogspot.com/2014/04/dont-give-up-you-have-friends-moscow.html.

Next it was another of my own songs, "I'm Going To Do Some Travelling" which relates principally to the thousands of miles I have travelled in the last twelve years, and to some of the wonderful people with whom I now share precious friendship.
Although there were other songs of mine that I would have liked to have recorded, I really wanted to sing a song by Billy Joel, "Leningrad" which he wrote after a visit to the Soviet Union. It means a lot to me because again it refers to friendship to be found in unexpected places

Once I finished Mr.Joel's masterpiece, it was time for what was to be the highlight of the studio experience for me: the chance to try to record a duet with Eugenia. We had decided to sing "Don't Give Up", and this was to be undertaken in a more normal way for a recording studio, I understand. Starting with a backing track and then recording the voices separately to be mixed together by Aleksander. This was doubly new to me. I have never recorded anything before with a backing track, and never with another human being. Eugenia was wonderful. She guided me through the process, counting me in at the appropriate moments, stopping me when I made mistakes and helping me to eradicate the mistakes. Some of the high notes in Peter Gabriel's version were just beyond my reach, so I dropped down an octave, I think. I hoped it would sound ok. 

Eventually, when my part was complete, I went and joined Aleksander and Iraida in the control room, and watched and listened to Eugenia laying down her track (see, I'm learning the language!)
I enjoyed watching Aleksander manipulating the elements of the song, slotting in Eugenia's recordings between and with mine. It was fascinating.
When everything was recorded, including a retake of one line of my part, to replace a slide up to a high note with an effort at hitting it right on the note, we thanked Aleksander, paid our dues, put on boots and outdoor wear and ventured outdoors.

If by any chance anyone would like to hear the results of this session, please let me know in the comment section of the post, or by private message and I will try to share the songs somehow. It's fairly straightforward with my own songs, but I'm not certain about the formalities of sharing a copyrighted song.

We had decided to go back to the apartment to drop in my guitar and have lunch before setting off to explore more of Yaroslavl. We popped into a local convenience store to buy some food and water, and I was very impressed by some of the cakes on display.

Then it was back to the apartment , before setting off on what turned out to be a magical afternoon and evening when the city was transformed by a fresh fall of snow. But that is in the next post, coming soon.

3rd January 2020: Exploring Yaroslavl

I don't know about you, but one of my worst nightmares is walking on icy footpaths. Whether it has to do with my age, and fear of breaking a limb if I fall but I'm transformed from a fairly normal, if fairly elderly human being, into a stiff-legged, tensed up robot-like creature when faced with the challenge of walking on icy surfaces. So when Iraida, Eugenia and I crammed into the tiny lift and descended from the third floor to ground level, I wasn't looking forward to testing my 'walking on ice' skills outside.
I have to say, however, that my reluctance was tempered by the fact that I knew I wouldn't be facing the challenge alone. I've just had a thought, an idea for a tv program: "Celebrity Walking on Ice". Celebrities are equipped with normal footwear and are then challenged to walk unassisted 100 metres along a footpath covered in packed snow, which has frozen into solid and very slippery ice. I know a few celebrities that I would like to see undertake the challenge: it could be quite amusing.
Anyway, emerging from the building it was soon clear that it was going to be a challenge.

As we reached the footpath, Iraida and Eugenia took delight in walking ahead and indicating the challenge facing me. But with smiles on their faces they then took my arms, and linked into a powerful six footed trinity we strode along the treacherous footpaths towards the main road. It's amazing what a bit of support can do, in many situations.

Eventually we boarded a trolley bus, surviving the automatic doors which endeavoured to trap me half in and half out of the bus, and headed for a destination which as yet remained a mystery to me. Whilst on board the bus there occurred something quite strange. At one of the stops a gentleman got on board and  he clearly knew Eugenia. They spoke for a few moments and then she introduced him to me. The gentleman in question was Igor Gavrilov, Founder and Director of the Yaroslavl Jazz Research Centre. Now you may remember from an earlier post that one of the few things I knew about Yaroslavl was that there was a Jazz Centre. I knew this for two reasons, the first being that Eugenia had performed there. She has a wonderful voice, as you may discover later if technology and copyright allow. The other reason was much more tenuous. Some of you know that I am a massive fan of a band called Leonid and Friends, a Russian band of outstandingly talented musicians who play music in tribute to such bands as Chicago, Blood, Sweat and Tears and Earth, Wind and Fire. Through the Facebook Official Fans of Leonid and Friends I had read many interesting posts by Cyril Moshkow, and had become a Facebook friend of his. Now Cyril had told me that he would actually be arriving in Yaroslavl on 5th January to meet up with his friend and colleague, the Director of the Jazz Research Centre, and now here I was having a conversation with that very person. At this point there should be some strange, unearthly "what a coincidence" music playing in the background.

Eventually we disembarked from the trolley bus and said our goodbyes to Igor. We headed across the road to a very imposing building which looked like a cross between a fortress and a church. It was in fact the Spaso-Preobrazhenskiy Muzhskoy Monastery which was now a museum. We entered a small ticket office and Eugenia bought tickets which gave access to the main building.

Aren't smartphones wonderful? Not only can I write my blog on my phone but I can also take reasonably good photographs. In fact the camera on this Samsung S9 takes better photographs in poor light, without flash, than any camera I have ever known. It was getting towards the time of day when I would have abandoned my 'normal' camera, but I was amazed at the capabilities of the smartphone camera to capture images in increasing low light. Here are some of the results:

Did I mention that I like cupolas.
As dusk fell we left the monastery, comparing the picture on the reverse of the 1000 ruble note to the reality in front of us.

Then we walked, at every turn there seemed to be another wonderful building. 

Eugenia was a brilliant guide, proud of her city and its history. I didn't know that Yaroslavl had been capital of Russia for a time, and learned about Yaroslav himself, and the story of the bear, which is now an emblem of the city (Those hints are really prompts to encourage you to research Yaroslavl's history yourself.)  As we walked we approached the Strelka, a promontory which juts out into the mighty Volga. 

In the half light the river looked even more impressive, it's far bank indistinct in the murky distance to the naked eye but not the Samsung S9, giving the impression that its width was unlimited. I had met the Volga before, and dipped my fingers into its waters at Volgograd, icy cold. Perhaps it is because I was born in a town at the mouth of a river that I love them. I remember the first time I visited Paris, and was asked by my hosts what I would like to see most in the city. I replied, "The Seine". The Neva, in St.Petersburg and the St Laurence , in Quebec held similar attractions, almost spiritual. So now the Volga lay before us, but it was inaccessible.

Perhaps tomorrow. We continued past more cathedrals and walked down wide boulevards, beautifully decorated with new year decorations , passing the eternal flame burning in memory of those Yaroslavl citizens who had perished in war. 
Eventually we approached an open square, and long before we entered it we could hear the sound of live music. 

In front of another large church a large stage had been constructed, and on the stage were a trio of female singers dressed in traditional costume, belting out popular Russian songs. The appreciative audience jumped up and down in time with the music and were clearly enjoying themselves. The city was still celebrating New Year and the square was partly taken up by decorations and partly by a market. It was very busy and the atmosphere was tremendous. But we did not have time to dally, because Eugenia had booked a table at a restaurant in the city and we needed to get there. More walking, more support.
The city streets were very busy with crowded pavements and traffic filled streets: the atmosphere experienced in the square seemed to be filling the whole city.
Eventually we arrived at Mamuka, a very popular Georgian restaurant. There was a small queue at the cloakroom just inside the entrance, the place was very busy, so it was just as well that Eugenia had booked a table. The waitresses were dressed in flowing and very stylish red robes, and one of them guided us to a table almost hidden behind a row of large earthenware vessels. I have eaten Georgian food once before, in Moscow, but this menu was far more extensive, and I needed advice. My brain was tired, because I hadn't slept for a long time, and as a result I can't remember the names of the dishes we sampled, but they were delicious. (Perhaps Eugenia can remind me?) I enjoyed a refreshing pint of beer too - I think it was German.
After the meal it was time to head back to the apartment, again by a very reasonably priced taxi. We would meet up with Eugenia in the morning for another day full of new experiences.
In the meantime, for the first time in several days, I slept like a log in a very comfortable bed, aches and pains forgotten.

3rd January 2020: Moscow to Yaroslavl

Ticket and passport checked, I boarded the 07.35 train to Yaroslavl. I was in seat 65, a window seat at the end of the carriage, facing away from the direction of travel. The seat was comfortable enough, with a high seat back, much more comfortable than aircraft seats, the designers of which seem unaware that people taller than 5 feet 8 inches exist, and there was an equally reasonable amount of leg-room. 

The carriage filled up quite quickly, and it appeared that many of the passengers knew each other, and were off on a grand day out. A rather taciturn gentleman occupied the seat next to me, the odd grunt and excuse me being the only conversation we had on the entire journey.

The train left exactly on time. There's a novelty for us British folk - a train that leaves on time. And almost before we left the station a lady appeared in the aisle adjacent to my seat, carrying a cardboard box. Zaftrak! Breakfast! When Iraida had booked my rail ticket. she had asked if I would like breakfast on the train, and here it was. Paperwork duly checked the cardboard box was passed over and on opening it I found a sandwich, a biscuit, a yoghurt, a carton of orange juice and a bottle of water. Splendid!

It was still quite dark as I began my sandwich,  as we passed through the suburbs of the capital, but having consumed my yoghurt, biscuit, juice and water the dawn's  early light revealed that the landscape which was rolling past at a reasonable speed was covered in snow. Not that this was really surprising, it was the 3rd of January, and I was in Russia. No, the surprise was that there was no snow at all in Moscow, much to the chagrin of it's inhabitants. New Year without snow just isn't right. I believe that 'snow' had actually been created by crushing several ice rinks in the suburbs, and then been transported in lorries to sites in the city centre which were dependent  upon a supply of the cold stuff for their success.

But out here, north of the capital, there seemed to be a plentiful supply of the white stuff. By design the railway line is bordered on both sides by forested tracts, designed to protect the line from the worst of the winter weather, and so there is not a great variety in the landscape as one passes by. Occasional glimpses of small settlements break up what I suppose could be called monotony, but I quite like birch forests, so it's fine by me. The train was an express which meant that stops were limited to two, Sergiev Posad and Alexandrov, although for the life of me I cannot recall the latter at all. Sergiev Posad was quite a large town, and visible in the morning light, some distance from the railways line was an impressive structure with the iconic onion-shaped domes, gleaming gold. I wished that we passed closer, for a better look, being a real fan of this particular architectural feature. Little did I know what lay in store for me in Yaroslavl!

Yaroslavl. I knew little of the city. I knew that Eugenia Komandirova, one of the Brunettes lived there, and that there was a Jazz Centre there, and that everyone I mentioned the city to said that it was beautiful. Now, after just over three hours on the train it was getting quite close. My left leg had decided to protest about 12 hours of seated travel and seated waiting to travel, and so the last half hour of the journey was something of a torturous experience. As we neared the city I tidied the remains of my breakfast into the bin outside the toilet, and began to pile on the layers of clothing again. Then, standing beside my suitcase I peered out of the window as the train drew into the station, trying to catch a glimpse of my welcoming committee. As the train moved slowly along the platform there were lots of people waiting there, but I couldn't see Iraida and Eugenia among them. The train had almost come to a halt when a familiar figure appeared, Iraida, running alongside, waving enthusiastically and smiling as only she can. It was quite an achievement, to run, wave and smile simultaneously along the platform, because it resembled a bumpy ice-rink. I was the last to disembark from the carriage, to be greeted with warm hugs from Iraida and Eugenia. Hello Yaroslavl!

Negotiating the icy platform we exited the station and made our way out of the station, crossing the forecourt to a waiting taxi. The plan was to go to Eugenia's flat, have lunch there, and then take another taxi to the flat that I had booked for our two night stay in the city. Taxis are a good way to travel in Russia, and are very reasonably priced. I guess they have to be because public transport is cheap, and they can't afford to price themselves out of business. So on several occasions it cost less than a couple of pounds for journeys which would have cost four times that here in England. Having said that,the taxis themselves, particularly those belonging to local, independent guys, are often..., er, showing the signs of wear and tear. Still, it's all part of the adventure, particularly if you have someone to share the journey, someone who knows which taxi to call.

After a very pleasant lunch we made our way by taxi, this one with a very badly cracked windscreen, to our Airbnb apartment. It was in a block of flats familiar to visitors to Russia, and dated back to Soviet times. 

The view from our kitchen window

Our host, Galina, was waiting to greet us and give us a guided tour of the apartment and its facilities. The place was spotlessly clean, with towels and bedding individually wrapped. Having satisfied herself that we knew everything we needed to, she left us to it. Having deposited our belongings, it was time to do some exploring.