Twin team Olympics

One of the many advantages of living in one country and being a national of another is that you get to support two teams when it comes around to international competitions. Thus it was, when the Olympics started in Beijing, I found myself in the position of being able to support the athletes from both Britain and Canada. It must be said, that no matter how long we end up living here, Claire and I will always retain our British nationality but we would also like to become Canadian citizens when the opportunity arrives. The children may have other plans when they come of age, but we would certainly like the choice of which passport to carry around. It is fair to say that I am still biased toward wanting more British success than Canadian, if only to arm myself against any lighthearted bantering at work. Also with 2012 appearing over the horizon, you would want the UK to go into it's own games with some sort of positive sporting reputation.
Anyway, I had it all planned. The British would get the medals in their traditional fields, sailing, cycling etc and Canada would be superior in erm, hang on - what exactly are Canada's strengths? A glance at the event lists gave only minor help. So there is the canoeing. Yep, Canada have to be good at that, lots of lakes and rivers, tough and manly. Hockey? Probably. What about shooting? After all hunting and fishing are strong activities out here too. Fast forwarding to the end of the first week, the Canadian strengths became more apparent - they didn't have any. As the British seemed to be picking up medals for simply getting out of bed in the morning, Canada were collecting, well, bugger all actually. I logged on to the official website every morning to see that team GB had won another clutch of medals and team Canada had a big fat zero.

Much to their credit, the Canadian people didn't really seemed to mind. The press and tv continued to support the athletes by showing lots of clips of them in training, discussion of the games at the water cooler, although muted, was all about how close they came to picking up bronze in the womens 100m butterfly and there was a 'we are just pleased to get to Bejiing at all' sort of vibe. It was reminiscent of the UK 10 years ago. Plucky, but ultimately doomed. Optimistic, but quietly hoping that the athletes don't fail spectacularly and show them up. As time went on however, two things became noticeable.
Firstly, there were the British successes. The Canadian press and tv didn't mention it at all. Nothing. The otherwise excellent coverage by CBC of the games (apart from the infernal, overlong, overfrequent, repetitive and simply infuriatingly badly timed commercials) seemingly went out of their way to avoid showing any event where the Brits won anything. Naturally, they would show coverage of their own athletes, quite rightly, even if the competitor was challenging for 15th place in the archery or some such. The BBC would do no different. However, when settling down to watch Rebecca Adlington race for her gold in the 800m swimming freestyle, I was incensed when just before the start, CBC cut to the local news. They returned 5 minutes later to the mens 20km walk, and then back to the pool by which time, Adlington had dried off, dressed and was heading downtown for a well deserved beer. Was this deliberate? Could this be, dare I say it, jealousy? Or was it simply a coincidence of scheduling? Claire thought I was ranting unfairly, I thought hmmmm. It was noticeable, when Canada did start picking up medals, that coverage of British success started to become more apparent. I would be the last person to accuse the otherwise fair and decent Canadian mentality of anything resembling a toddler temper tantrum, but it all looked a bit too coincidental to me.....

The other noticeable change, was that everybody, especially the press, seemed to get a bit grumpy but in a kind of constructive way. You see, unlike the British in darker days, who would just blame the athletes for not trying hard enough, the weather, or the track markings being in the wrong language, the Canadians simply admitted that in many areas - they just weren't good enough. This is both laudable and noble and in my relatively short time here, not at all surprising. They cheered every performance of their team, no matter if they came 16th in a field of, well, 16 and not once did you hear anyone call the team's dedication and determination into question. Their support for their athletes, instead of waning, simply racked up a notch and when they did start winning medals, were all the more overjoyed for it. I became just as anxious to see Canadian success if only for the fact that I was starting to get embarrassed with the relative positions of the two teams in the medal table. I wanted Canada to do well. I didn't mind at all when their men's rowing eight beat GB's especially when, in typical Canadian style, they didn't crow about it. Immensely pleased they were, but not in a ' nah, nah, nah nah nah we beat you, we beat you' sort of way.

Which is why I really enjoyed these games more than I normally do, because the icing was really put on the cake at the expense of the world's perennial sporting big-heads. Yep, success to China and the USA is expected and well-deserved, GB's medal haul is unbelievable, Canada's resolve and sense of fair play is a pleasure, but the fact that GB won more gold medals than the bloody Australians is just priceless.

Jasper (2) - Down the creek (with a paddle)

There are many rivers in Jasper National Park. It should therefore not come as much of a surprise to know that many of the varied and numerous activities available to the daring traveller are connected to the water. One of these and an activity that has been high on my 'to do' list for some years, is white-water rafting. Once established in our comfortable chalet at the Alpine Village, we wasted no time in tracking down a reputable rafting company in order to book our water-bourne adventure. Claire was very much in the mind set too and we were pleased to see that children 6 and over could take part in the level 1 or 2 rafting, so we booked Charlotte in too. Now the difficulty level associated with rafting, aka the 'buttock-clenching rating' is measured from 1 to 5. Level 1 is for novices and wimps and it gradually increases to 5, which is for the clinically insane, the suicidal or the adrenaline freaks who think launching oneself of a vertical waterfall is 'jolly good fun'. We booked level 1.
On arriving at the launch point, having travelled there in a rickety old bus, we were read the safety rules, split into groups, appointed a jolly guide and distributed with our wet gear. This consisted of shorty wet suits, lifejackets and plastic bags for our feet - don't ask. Claire, Charlotte and I were teamed up with a pleasant family from Norway, all of whom, including the kids, seemed to be blonde and over 6 feet tall.

We all look particularly becoming don't you think?

A few instructions as to what to do if you fell in (panicking and freezing being already givens) and we were handed our little oars, took up our positions and launched into the fast moving waters of the Athabasca river. Charlotte sat in-between Claire and I and her job was very simple - scream at various intervals and hang on. Actually, I think that was me...Our guide and mentor, Jeremy, then proceeded to regal us with stories of rafts that capsized, ran aground or got eaten by bears. OK, the last one was made up, but you get my drift. Actually, after a few minutes, everyone settled down and the thrill of the experience started to kick-in. I was quite impressed with Jeremy's knowledge and skill and he had a superb knack of spotting a bit of white water and heading straight for it. After the first set of rapids and white-water navigation, it stopped becoming fun and became bloody good fun. Charlotte howled with laughter and glee everytime we got soaked. Our trip lasted about 45 minutes and took us right past where we were staying. Claire even rang ahead and told her dad when we were coming through so that he, Enid and Eleanor could stand on the river bank and wave as we bounced past. Eleanor looked a little confused and then, when she realised what she was missing out on, looked quite miffed.

Our highlight must go to the 'last chance wave'. This was a benign looking stretch of water, which at a distance looked less than challenging until you approached it at the right angle, when the river seemed to disappear down a vicious slope and form itself into a wall of water on the other side. Before you could think of any suitable last words, the raft tipped forward, hit the water, rode up the other side and soaked everbody in several hundred gallons of water. It was brilliant. We were still picking bits of flotsam out of our hair when we arrived at our exit point and our trip came to an end. We all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, not just from the rafting experience, but the trip gave you a chance, in between moments of frantic paddling, to take in the majesty of the river and the sights contained therein. There were trees chewed down to pointy stumps by beavers, little creeks and streams created by waterfalls, a myriad of colourful birds and the constant potential of seeing the wildlife. The following day, we all took a leisurely trip down the same river in a much bigger boat, so that Bill, Enid and Eleanor could enjoy the spectacle. After the rafting the day before it was a bit tame and neatly summed up by Charlotte, "It was a bit boring dad, we didn't get wet once" That's my girl.

We are not at home to Mr Scaredy-Cat - honest