The Archaeology Files - Verulamium Roman town (St Albans)

Date of visit: 7 March 2020
Location: South west of St Albans city centre
Time period: Roman, AD 43 to AD 410 (incorporating some earlier Iron Age remains)
Type of site: Roman town remains
Photos: Verulamium site visit photo album 

I've wanted to visit Verulamium for a number of years, so this was a very exciting trip, taking place only a few days before the first COVID-19 lockdown was announced.  

Verulamium occupied something of a unique spot in the administration of Roman Britain - more important than the regional civitas capitals, but not of high enough status to be awarded the title of colonia, Verulamium was a instead designated municipium, the second-highest ranking of Roman town, and the only example in Britain.  This status was awarded in AD 50, and gave the inhabitants of the town a higher legal status than those of other settlements - citizens of municipia possessed 'Latin Rights', a sort-of lesser citizenship status, and were entrusted with a certain amount of self-governance.

Why was Verulamium given this unique status?  Well, we know that Verulamium existed as an established settlement before the Roman invasion, where it was known as Verlamion and was the capital of the Catuvellauni people.  It appears that Verlamion grew into an important trading centre for iron ore, and that is was part of an established trade route with Roman Gaul, prior to the Roman invasion of Britain.  After the invasion, the tribe was friendly towards Roman rule, thus enabling the invading army to make haste in heading north and west - indeed, when the Roman army built the famous Watling Street shortly after the invasion, the course of the road ran slap-bang through Verulamium, enabling the very swift movement of troops.  The Catuvellauni were adopted as something of a "client kingdom" by the Romans, allowed to do things their own way (provided it complemented Roman ambitions) - and for this reason, Verulamium in the early days of Roman rule was not particularly Roman in appearance, although inhabitants were using high quality Roman pottery and metal works.  So I think the award of municipium status comes from the pre-Roman importance of the site, its clout as a trading centre, and perhaps as a reward to the people of the town for their cooperation in those early days of empire.

A decade later, the town fell victim to the Boudican Revolt - probably because of its attitudes to Roman rule and culture.  As with Colchester and London, archaeologists here have found burnt layers consistent with the razing of buildings, but in an ironic way, the destruction wrought by the revolt gave the Roman authorities the opportunity to start the town afresh, so that the Iron Age layout was removed and replaced with a more conventional Roman street system.  This included the construction of the usual Roman town buildings - a forum, basilica, bathhouse and theatre.  An inscription from the forum at Verulamium, dating from either AD 79 or AD 81, was discovered during works on in a school yard in 1955, near to the north-east entrance of the forum and basilica.  This is notable for mentioning Gnaeus Julius Agricola, the Governor of Britain (AD 77-84), whose son-in-law Tacitus wrote his biography, a fascinating work that has been largely relied upon in our understanding of the earlier days of Roman rule.  The reconstructed inscription hangs in the excellent Verulamium Museum, and is translated as follows:

For the Emperor Titus Caesar Vespasian Augustus, son of the deified Vespasian, Pontifex Maximus, in the ninth year of tribunician power, acclaimed Imperator fifteen times, having been consul seven times, designated consul for an eighth time, censor, Father of the Fatherland, and to Caesar Domitian, son of the deified Vespasian, having been consul six times, designated consul for a seventh term, Prince of Youth, and member of all the priestly brotherhoods, when Gnaeus Julius Agricola was legate of the emperor with pro-praetorian power, the Verulamium basilica was adorned.

Inscription in the Verulamium Museum

Interesting side note: the reference to Domitian was defaced on this inscription and many others around the Empire, after a damnation memoriae was pronounced on him in AD 96 (a damnation memoriae was essentially an instruction to forget somebody, to strike their name from public record, to wipe them out of history.) 

In the heyday of the Romano-British period that followed the Boudican Revolt, Verulamium flourished, and was the third-largest settlement in Britain.  Nowadays, the town's major archaeological focal-point is the Roman theatre, which must surely count as some of the country's finest Roman remains.  As far as we are aware, Verulamium theatre is unique in Britain, for it is the only example of its kind to have a stage, as opposed to an amphitheatre.  The theatre was built in around AD 140, and used for a variety of purposes, from religious processions, dancing, wrestling, armed combat, readings and wild beast shows.  Archaeologists have determined that the theatre was expanded in the AD 180s, and that by AD 300 it could seat 2,000 spectators. 

Verulamium theatre remains - amongst the finest Roman remains in the country

Reconstruction of Verulamium theatre

Beyond the walls of the theatre, archaeological excavations have uncovered a row of shop foundations, which open out onto Watling Street itself.  The shops seem to be in the classic Romano-British style, sometimes known as "strip shops", with a shop front and storage and sleeping quarters towards the back.  Excavations have revealed broken crucibles and waste metal, so these shops appear to have been used by metal workers and blacksmiths.  The site surrounding the theatre was also home to a large townhouse, which contained a hypocaust (underground heating system) and underground shrine.

The higher-status Roman townhouse

Strip shop remains - Watling Street lies directly behind

The public Verulamium Park also contains undercover Roman mosaic and hypocaust remains, which were unfortunately closed on the day of my visit.  The park itself is a large and beautiful green space, dotted with the odd fragment of original Roman wall (frustratingly I have misplaced my photo of the wall, so the below image is courtesy of English Heritage.)

Part of the Roman wall in Verulamium Park (source: English Heritage)

Finally, a note on Verulamium Museum, a rarity in this country for being solely focussed on the town's Roman history.  The museum houses one of the best collections of Romano-British mosaics anywhere in the country, including the amazing "Sea God" mosaic (AD 160-190), a fine piece of work that must have belonged to an elite person.  There are also an awful lot of artefacts taken from Verulamium and the surrounding countryside, much of which hints at a society which adopted Roman culture with some ease.

The Sea God mosaic

Toronto - 25-28 May 2011

My ride from Quebec to Montreal is hassle-free, and after a brief stop in the familiar surroundings of Gare Centrale, I board the Toronto train.  The train glides through a landscape with no distinguishing features, certainly the most built-up of my journeys here.  This should not be too much of a surprise - in a country of around 35 million people, 13 million live in the province of Ontario, without a doubt the economic powerhouse of the nation.  Tired out by a long journey, I feel like I've been dumped at Toronto's Union Station, where the navigation requires a sharp mind through the noise and the bustle.  Leaving the station quickly - I never like to linger at railway stations - I find Bay Street, one of two principal roads running north-south on Toronto's massive grid system.  My accommodation is the enormous Sutton Place, a luxurious hotel in the heat of the city, and a sort-of self-congratulatory conclusion to my journey.  I can see it from a long way off, but it never seems to get any closer, as I struggle with my luggage for what feels like hours, and wonder just why I didn't take the subway.  Eventually, though, it is in front of me and I stagger in, more resembling a hostel-dwelling student than a guest of four-star style.

One of the loveliest feelings of travel is the moment you find your feet, settle into your latest accommodation, and have a brand new city at your fingertips.  For me, this means going down to the city centre at Yonge-Dundas Square, where the lights are bright, the shops packed, the atmosphere party-like, and the crowd generally young.  At first glace, Toronto is the big North America mega-city I thought it would be, with an energy not paralleled anywhere else on my trip.  It starts to rain, so I head for the Eaton Center shopping mall, described in my guidebook as a tourist attraction in its own right.  Perhaps it's because I've come from one of the world's quietest and most idyllic cities, or maybe I'm just tired from a day on the rails, but my head can't quite comprehend the magnitude of Yonge-Dundas Square tonight, so I retreat back to the comfort of my eighth-storey hotel room, where I cosily watch an explosive thunderstorm roll over the city from my balcony.

Yonge-Dundas Square

Toronto is somewhere I've wanted to come since I was a child, and there's really only one place to start - the legendary Hockey Hall of Fame.  Billed as a shrine to the game, the museum is the world's largest collection of all things hockey, and a real site of pilgrimage for fans.  I tell the ticket man that I'm fulfilling an old dream by being there today,  and he asks where I'm from.  "Ah, our mother country!" he proclaims, reminding me that we are well-and-truly back in English-speaking country.  We share a conversation about the Royal Wedding which he, along with most of the world, enthusiastically watched just a few weeks before, and then I enter the museum, starry-eyed and excited, like the proverbial kid in the sweet shop.  The Hall of Fame is divided into many sections - record-breaking players, past and present teams, world hockey, interactive exhibits, and a reconstruction of the Montreal Canadiens' dressing room.  Upstairs, a former banking hall serves as a trophy room, where the actual Stanley Cup takes pride of place, surrounded by a number of other cups and trophies, some still awarded, others from defunct leagues and outdated competitions.  Back on the ground floor, I watch a twenty-minute film entitled The Stanley Cup Odyssey, which gives a touching overview of how North American hockey came to be.

Exhibit at the Hockey Hall of Fame

Wayne Gretzky's gallery at the Hockey Hall of Fame.  Gretzky is known as "The Great One"

After a few happy hours, I leave via the Spirit of Hockey shop, to explore the independent stores of Yonge Street.  In particular, I am searching for a shop that I've heard sells a great selection of sports memorabilia across all sports.  It's called The Toronto Sports Shop, and in addition to hockey there's baseball souvenirs, American football goods, and European soccer shirts.  I'm on a mission to buy hockey pin badges, which are all contained behind a glass counter.  In choosing them, the Indian owner of the shop struggles to find the badges I'm looking for, and drafts in his wife to help, who seems a lot more knowledgeable about every team.  She asks if I'm from the USA, and when I tell her I'm British, she raises a smile.  "Oh, then how come you know what the teams are?" she asks me.  I tell her that I try to follow the hockey, and we get talking about the current play-offs.  "Vancouver is our winning team here at the moment", she laments.  "We need them to win too; the cup has been going to America for too many years recently."  This is indeed true - the last Canadian side to win the Stanley Cup was Montreal in 1993, and although a handful of Canadian teams have reached the final in recent years, none has brought the trophy home since then.

The sculpture "Our Game" by Edie Parker sits outside the Hall of Fame

A hockey goalie in the Spirit of Hockey shop

Evening rolls around quickly, and I take myself down to Toronto's harbourside, enjoying a pleasant stroll past the famous CN Tower (which has been shrouded in cloud all day) and the Rogers Center, home of the Toronto Blue Jays baseball team. There seems to be a match in the offing, and the ticket touts are out in force, with prices starting as low as $10.  I toy with the idea of getting a ticket, but decide against it, and instead relax on the waterside with a Pepsi, watching the boats come-and-go.  It's easy to forget that this body of water is not a sea, but Lake Ontario, the smallest of the five Great Lakes, whose primary source is the Niagara River.  There are a number of yachts on the water, and many pleasure crafts moored around the harbour, giving a certain air of old-fashioned style that I rather like.  Night has well-and-truly fallen by the time I decide to head back to my hotel, and as I wander back, I catch a glimpse of the baseball fans, high up in the cheap seats, cheering their team under huge illuminations.  The Rogers Center is Toronto's premier multi-purpose venue, and it is said that the centre uses enough electricity during an evening baseball match, performance or concert to light the whole province of Prince Edward Island.

Harbourside pleasure crafts on Lake Ontario

Toronto's premier multi-purpose venue, the Rogers Center

The next morning, I decide to explore Chinatown, the main axes of which are Dundas Street West and Spadina Avenue.  Toronto's largest Chinatown (for there are in fact six in the greater metropolitan area) developed in the 19th century, and is now one of the biggest in North America.  Due to racial tensions in the USA during the 1870s, many in the Chinese community migrated to Canada, and with the construction of the Canadian-Pacific Railway, which was largely built by their manpower, hundreds of Chinese men settled close to Union Station by the 1880s.  An hour's wander around here is a fascinating activity, for there are so many shops and stalls selling everything, from household products to plants, toys to food, and although only a fifteen-minute walk down Dundas Street West, it feels like a different world.  In one shop, I get chatting to a man about the weather, telling him that I had plans to go up the CN Tower, but that it was still too cloudy to see anything from the top (I remark to myself that I would not be able to "CNything"... well, it made me laugh!)  The man asks me where I'm from, and excitedly tells me that he's heard of Exeter.  "Where does it compare to in Canada?" he asks.  "Is it as big as Edmonton?"  I explain that the population of Exeter is one tenth the size of Edmonton, to which he looks surprised. "Oh, it is really small then!" he says.  I like Chinatown - it's colourful and busy, but also relaxed and gentle, and whilst there aren't many people here of European descent, I don't feel at all conspicuous.  Everyone is friendly, and the sights, sounds and smells of the neighbourhood make it a unique pocket of the city.

Toronto's Chinatown

Toronto's Chinatown

For the majority of my second day in the city, I've earmarked the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM), Canada's premier museum dedicated to world cultures and natural history.  It's the Canadian equivalent to our British Museum and Natural History Museum rolled into one, housing a mind-boggling collection stretching from ancient Chinese art to dinosaur skeletons, Art Deco furniture to First Peoples clothing.  The ROM is one of those great museums of the world in which you simply cannot see everything, and where you walk miles without even realising it.  It's hard to pick a favourite artefact, but I especially like the Han dynasty figurines playing the forgotten game of Liubo (which means "six sticks"); the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton; and the macabre Mercedes-shaped coffin of the Ga people in Ghana.

Figures playing the forgotten game of Liubo

Mercedes-shaped coffin of the Ga People

The modern appearance of the museum owes much to the Michael Lee-Chin Crystal, a striking glass structure jutting out of the original building, perfectly contrasting old with new.  The crystal was part of a major renovation dubbed Renaissance ROM, designed to bring the museum into the 21st century.  By 2007, upgrades across the museum had cost an eye-watering $270 million, but it keeps the ROM on the map as Canada's premier cultural destination.  Personally, the crystal does nothing for me - it strikes me as modern architecture for the sake of it - but the museum's collection is up there with the world's best, and I leave after several hours, legs aching, yet feeling I've merely brushed the surface of what's on offer.

Michael Lee-Chin Crystal (source: Wikipedia)

My final morning in Toronto is an early start, as I board a train at Union Station, destination Niagara Falls.  The train is the 8.20 to New York Penn Station, but as much as I'd love to visit the Big Apple, I'm going to keep myself on the Canadian side of the border, and the town of Niagara Falls, Ontario.  The ride takes a couple of hours, after which time it's a pleasant 30-minute walk to the Falls.  I'm virtually the only pedestrian on this walk, up to the point where I meet the Rainbow Bridge, which links Canada with the US.  After this, tourists appear everywhere, and I know I've arrived.

There are actually three falls here - the smaller American Falls and associated Bridal Veil Falls, and the larger Canadian "Horseshoe" Falls.  In between these lies the American Goat Island, possibly the wettest island on the planet.  I hop aboard the Maid of the Mist boat tour, which takes the intrepid traveller on a wet and windy ride right up to the base of both falls, and provides a plastic poncho for every guest.  From the docks, this looks like an overreaction, but once our craft chugs out into the open Niagara River, it quickly becomes necessary.  We all get thoroughly soaked, and there are many squeals as the spray of Horseshoe Falls hits the boat with tremendous force.  Totally lost in the mists, thoughts naturally turn to the safety of our activity, but our boat seems more than up to the task, as we round the falls and return to base after an exhilarating ride.

The Maid of the Mist heads into Horseshoe Falls

Ponchos recommended for this voyage!

I have to remember that riding the Maid is actually one of the more sane activities to take place here, for the Falls has attracted all manner of weird and wonderful antics for nearly 200 years.  The first stunt was disgusting - it came when local hotels bought a condemned schooner in 1827, packed it with wild animals, and sent it over the falls in front of a crowd of 10,000.  Eye witness reports claim that two bears escaped just as the boat was about to head over the falls, and swam to freedom, as did a single goose.  Dare devils next descended on the Falls, including the legendary Sam Patch, known as the Yankee Leaper, who jumped from a 125-foot ladder positioned over the river, to a massive roar of approval from the crowd.  Next up came the French acrobat, Jean Francois Gravelet, "the Great Blondin", who on 30 June 1859 crossed the Niagara River on a tightrope in 20 minutes.  Gravelet would return seven more times to repeat this feat, including one walk where he carried his manager on his back.  After this came the barrel stunts, which began with British man Carlisle Graham, who was screwed into a barrel,  and sent into the rapids.  More followed, most famously Annie Edson Taylor, who has the distinction of being the first person to go over the Falls in a barrel.  Taylor survived, but her first words to her rescuers were that "nobody ought ever do that again."  Next to enter was aviation pioneer Lincoln Beachey, who, in 1911, flew his Curtis biplane under the arch of the Honeymoon Bridge at 50mph, leaving the 150,000-strong crowd awestruck.  Then came Bristolian Charles Stephens, another barrel artist, whose body was never found after his ill-fated trip over the Falls, save for his right arm, which was buried at Niagara Falls Drummond Cemetery.

Lincoln Beachey heads under the Honeymoon Bridge in 1911 (source: Disciples of Flight)

These and many other stunt artists must all have been certifiably mad, but my favourite has to be the Frenchman Henri Julien Rechatin, who was famous in France for his balancing acts.  This inevitably brought him to Niagara Falls in 1975, where he proposed to be the first person to escape from a straight jacket whilst hanging over the falls, upside down from a helicopter.  The authorities threatened legal action, so Rechatin cancelled this trick, but instead appeared on the 520-foot high observation deck of the Skylon Tower where, on a wooden platform protruding from the deck, he undertook a two-chair balancing act, placing one chair on top of the other, with only the rear legs of the top chair touching the seat of the bottom.  Rechatin then climbed onto the chair, balancing without using his limbs for support.  The next day, he and two friends climbed onto the wires supporting the Aero Car which transported people over the rapids, and began crossing the cable, on  specially-adapted motorcycle.  Almost inevitably the bike slipped, but the three daredevils were able to haul themselves into one of the cars, where they waited for the Police.  They were promptly arrested.

Henri Julien Rechatin stunt on the Skylon Tower (source: Picuki.com)

I suppose these pioneers of dare-devilry helped to shape the identity of the town, though I doubt they'd recognise it today.  After visiting the Falls, I take a stroll up the town's main thoroughfare, Clifton Hill, which includes gems such as a haunted house (with three levels of terror!), the House of Frankenstein, dinosaur adventure golf, and Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, where lucky visitors can speak to a genie in a bottle, or talk to a man with numerous pupils in his eyes.  I think it's the tackiest, gaudiest, more tasteless road I've ever walked down, a bit like Paignton on acid, and whilst the tourists lap it up, it's really not for me, and I'm happy when my train pulls in to take me back to Toronto.

Clifton Hill, Niagara Falls

The beauty of Niagara Falls - Canadian Horseshoe Falls to the right, American Falls and Bridal Veil Falls to the left. 

Toronto comes as a breath of fresh air, and to my utter elation, the clouds have finally lifted, and I can see the top of the CN Tower for the first time.  One of the world's most famous communications buildings, the tower was built by the Canadian National Railway Company in 1976, and was the world's tallest free-standing structure until 2007.  In 1995, the American Society of Civil Engineers designated it one of the seven wonders of the modern world, ranking it alongside the Channel Tunnel, Empire State Building and Panama Canal.  Night has fallen by the time I get up to the observation deck, and the view is mind-blowing, the electricity of Canada's largest city rolling away beneath my feet.  Up on the observation deck is the famous glass floor, a thick layer of reinforced glass strong enough for people to walk over, and apparently for mindless teenagers to sit across.  A further 33 floors higher in the Sky Pod (1,465 feet above ground), you can see the whole metropolis and, I fancy, all of Canada.  I strain for a view of my hotel, the Rogers Center, the ROM, the Hockey Hall of Fame, Chinatown and the airport, whilst on a clear day it's possible to see over to Niagara Falls.  I feel that I've punctuated my Canadian adventure here, and whisper a silent thank you over the view, for the entire country.

Toronto from the CN Tower

How fast can time go by that I, who landed in Edmonton with abundant excitement and enthusiasm three weeks ago, now strain for a final look as our plane heads back into the clouds.  For months, this trip has been my entire focus - booking tickets, making reservations, watching the exchange rate, researching destinations - only for it now to be in its final moments.  My journal is full of thoughts, my bag chock with souvenirs, my camera bulging with photos, and my mind stuffed with memories.  As we leave Canadian airspace, I realise that a childhood dream has been fulfilled and replaced with adult memories, infinitely richer and more colourful that those young imaginings.  I think back to boyhood nights, eager fingers flicking through the North American pages of my atlas and, sipping a Canadian beer, I raise a smile - perhaps I didn't fully know it until now, but I've been planning this journey for 15 years.  

Quebec City, 23-24 May 2011

Leaving Hotel Saint-Andre and my friendly hotel manager behind me, I head in the direction of Gare Central, for the three-hour train journey up the St Lawrence River.  Canadian railway etiquette seems to operate differently from Britain - for a start, nobody is allowed on the platform until the train is ready to board.  Instead, we all wait in the station concourse and when our train is announced, an orderly queue forms.  I line up behind a couple, probably in their mid-60s, with bag-upon-bag of luggage.  The queue shuffles forwards a foot, and the couple slowly shift their luggage forwards, before the gentleman suddenly spins around to talk to me.  "Sorry we take so long," he drones in a thick, American accent.  "We're from Santa Barbara - Santa Barbara, California... Or as Arnold Schwarzenegger calls it, Cal-eee-fornia."  Arnie was only in the news yesterday for fathering a son outside of marriage, so I reply that he's in a spot of bother at the moment.  "Oh yeah," comes the retort.  "Or as we say back home, he's in the shit." I ask what the couple are doing at Montreal station, and he tells me that they're touring Canada by rail, "before going home to Santa Barbara, California."  He returns the question to be, but obviously gets bored by my travel plans, turning around as I'm part-way through my sentence, in order to chat to his wife.

We roll out of Montreal and into the Quebec countryside, fields, woodland, and small towns.  In tying to sport a difference between the British and Canadian landscape, I privately observe that in Canada, the railways aren't fenced off as they are back home.  This is something of a prophetic observation, as moments later there is a sharp hissing from beneath the floor of the train.  On the far side of our carriage, an American woman goes into hysterics and starts crying "on, oh my, oh!"  The train rolls to a stop and there is great confusion, then the American woman speaks, almost in riddles.  "There was a tractor.  I saw a tractor and a trailer in the air.  It was in the air."  VIA railway staff, grave-faced, rush through the carriage, and a technician stumbles past our window. Lots of speculation is then followed by an announcement - our train has hit the trailer of a tractor crossing the line.  The hissing noise was the emergency brakes, which must now be fully checked, along with the front of the engine, which has sustained some damage.  Crucially, nobody has been hurt, and the atmosphere relaxes.  After a minute or two, the conductor walks back through the carriage and is faced with a barrage of questions.  "Did he have trailer insurance?" our Californian friend jokes.  The conductor looks at him for a few minutes, straight-faced and serious, before a wry smirk comes over his face.  "Well," he replies, "he may have to get a new trailer.  He'll also want to change his pants."  Much laughter around the carriage, and an hour later we are on our way again, passing the smashed up trailer.

Our moderately-damaged train at Quebec station

Quebec City, UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1995, the only walled-city north of the Rio Grande, pulls into view.  I step off the train and am swept into the tide of passengers rushing to the front of the train to see the damage - an unfortunate dent, which momentarily becomes the most-photographed object in the city.  I don't have much time in Quebec, so losing an hour on the rails is frustrating, but at least my hotel is easy to find, the comfy, cosy Hotel le St Paul, which exudes old world charm, and contains what I think may be the most comfortable bed in all the Commonweath.  Quebec is frequently described as being "more French than France", and it really does feel like a bit of a film set, so well-preserved, clean, neat, picture-postcard perfect.  The Old Town is divided into the walled city on the high ground, and the winding streets of the low ground, the obvious starting point of which is the square Place Royale.  Approaching the square, one simply cannot miss the immense Fresque des Quebecois, a huge mural recounting the early story of the city, and depicting at least 15 historical figures, along with many artists and writers.  As I admire the piece, a harpist plays a melodic and haunting tune, encapsulating the softness of the early evening air, and I fancy that I can step into the mural, meet the painted characters, climb the painted steps and lean over the painted gate.

Fresque des Quebecois

In the beautiful square of Place Royale, meanwhile, locals and tourists are taking it easy - it is Victoria Day after all (a national holiday here, making it all the more mysterious how the tractor driver managed to get hit by a train on a day where the service timetable was skeletal), and the bars and restaurants are full.  Place Royale was first planted up as the garden of Samuel Champlain, the founder of Quebec in the 17th century, before later becoming a marektplace.  A church, Notre Dame des Victoires, was built over Champlain's old home, which itself was destroyed by cannonball fire during the Battle of the Plains of Abraham in 1759, before being faithfully reconstructed to its original architectural plan in 1816.  More recently, it found Holywood fame through Spielberg's 2002 blockbuster Catch Me If You Can, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks.

Place Royale

The promontory upon which Quebec City is situated is called Cap Diamant, so named because French explorer Jacques Cartier found glittering quartz stones here, which he mistook for diamonds.  From this comes the French phrase "Faux comme un diamant du Canada", as fake as a Canadian diamond.  After a fantastic night's sleep, I scale Cap Diamant, which is also accessible via funicular.  Walking has its own rewards however, not least the many little shops along the way, including one selling vintage hockey wear. The lady behind the counter is only too happy to find me the correct size Quebec Nordiques jersey to try on, but she's surprised that I'd want to buy it.  I tell her I'm from England, and she almost screams with delight: "and you know the Nordiques?"  I tell her that not many people in the UK follow ice hockey, but she's over-the-moon none-the-less.  What makes the Nordiques so interesting to me is that the team hasn't existed since 1995, when it was relocated to Colorado.  The intervening years has done nothing to quell local passions, though, with the people of the city still fighting hard to bring a team back to their city.  In fact, just a few weeks before my visit, 4,000 Quebec fans took a 550-mile road trip to watch New Jersey play Boston, out-shouting the home fans and turning parts of the arena into a sea of blue.  As Vincent Cauchon, a Quebec sports radio host, said: "We just want to show the National Hockey League that Quebec needs a team... we had the same goal, in the same peaceful way, just to let the people know we won't give up and that we are the best crowd with our team."

Quebec Old Town

Quebec Old Town

The top of Cap Diamant is every bit as picturesque as the lowlands, and also makes an obvious spot for a military installation.  Here the French built a defensive site called the Citadelle, which the British inherited when the conquered the city.  It was the British that built a series of star-shaped fortifications here, with the intention of defending the city against an American invasion, and to serve as a refuge for the British garrison in the event of a public rebellion.  As it turns out, the Citadelle never has been used in battle, but it did play host to the Quebec Conferences of 1943 and 1944, which saw Franklin D. Roosevelt, Winston Churchill and William Lyon Mackenzie King discuss allied plans ahead of D-Day.  Since 1920, it has also been the home of the Royal 22nd Regiment of the Canadian Forces, the only French-speaking regiment of the Canadian army.  Their motto, I Remember, is poignantly enacted every morning with the reading of a single page of a book listing all regimental servicemen killed in action.  Battle honours include the Somme (1916), Vimy (1917), Ypres (1917), Passchendaele (1918), Flanders (1915-18), Sicily (1943), Italy (1943-45), the liberation of north west Europe (1945), and Korea (1951-53).

The Citadelle

Beyond the west defensive wall of the Citadelle, the highland of Cap Diamant descends steeply down to the famous national Battlefield Park, the Plains of Abraham.  I've been reading about this grassy space for weeks, for what happened here in mid-September 1759 pretty much changed the fate of Canada.  The Battle of the Plains of Abraham followed years of imperial tensions across the world, not least in North America where a three-way balance of power existed between the British, French, and powerful Iroquois Confederacy (an alliance of several Native American nations.)  This balance began to break down in the 1740s, and tensions reached new heights when the French expelled British traders from Ohio country.  Backed by superior numbers and a more-engaged government in London (at a time when the French public were increasingly disinterested in the New France project), British forces led by General Woolf descended on Canada, capturing several forts and pushing up the St Lawrence River until they arrived at Quebec, ready to face General Montcalm's French army.  The catalogue of errors which followed on the French side is almost unbelievable - British troops sailed undetected along the river; the French officer responsible for patrolling the cliffs was unable to do so that night because his horse had been stolen; when the British were at last detected, French guards assumed they were an expected supply convoy; when they were finally challenged, a British officer spoke such excellent French that all suspicion was allayed; a runner eventually took word to General Montcalm that the British had arrived, but Montcalm's aide assumed he was mad and sent him packing, before heading back to bed himself.  

The Plains of Abraham - a peaceful recreational park nowadays

As a result, Montcalm was rather surprised to learn that the British were in such an advanced position, and decided that a swift assault was the only answer.  The British held their fire until their adversaries were in range and then, according to captain John Knox's journal, "gave them, with great calmness, as remarkable a close and heavy discharge as I ever saw."  The shocked French line was shattered, but as General Woolf took a higher position to observe, he was hit twice, including mortally in the chest.  General Montcalm, meanwhile, was struck by a canister whilst still upon his horse, and died the next morning.  The Battle of the Plains of Abraham was over in only half an hour - yet it decided the future of the entire country, and in the Treaty of Paris that brought an end to the Seven Years' War, all of French Canada was ceded to Britain.  However, there would be a sting in the tail for the British - the French would not forget this humiliation, and when the American Revolution began 16 years later, French aid to the American rebels was instrumental in the loss of Britain's American colonies.

Gun emplacements atop Cap Diamant

Following the defensive walls further around, the Governor's Promenade clings to the cliff top, eventually leading to the Terrasse Dufferin, a great wooden terrace in the shadow of the mighty Chateau Frontenac, one of Canada's grandest hotels, built for the Canadian Pacific Railway Company in 1893.  The hotel was built to attract wealthy travellers, and it maintains its luxurious image today under the Fairmont Hotels banner.  It's a definite landmark, and has the title of being the most photographed hotel in the world.  I can certainly feel the opulence of the place, the style and sophistication of a hotel that has, in its time, hosted such figures as George VI and Elizabeth II, Princess Grace, Charles de Gaulle, Ronald Reagan, Charles Lindberg, Francois Mittterrand, and Alfred Hitchcock.

Chateau Frontenac

My full-scale walk of the walls - and indeed my brief visit to Quebec - ends via the beautiful Quebec Parliament Building, where business is conducted almost entirely in French.  I feel sad to be leaving after a mere 36 hours, but I'm glad I made the call to come here, for I nearly wrote Quebec off - it's awkward to get to, has no direct flights to anywhere useful, and means that in order to get to Toronto, I have first to take the train back to Montreal, in what will essentially be a nine-hour train journey.  Still, as I stand watching the coastal supply boats load up on the beautiful St Lawrence, this all feels rather inconsequential.  Let tomorrow come at its own pace - for this evening, I am breathing the soft airs of Quebec, one of the most unique cities on Earth.

Quebec Parliament Building

The mighty St Lawrence River at Quebec

Montreal, 19-22 May 2011

Montreal, second-largest city in Canada and second-biggest French speaking city on the planet, comes as a brash a dirty shock compared to the calm little Ottawa I have left behind.  My train has made good time in getting here - I've been on the rails for less than two hours before we are chugging through mile-upon mile of, at times, depressing suburbs.  Eventually some skyscrapers pop into view, as the lines curve around the city, then penetrate to its very heart, delivering us to Gare Centrale de Montreal - Montreal Central - a sort-of subterranean station, now almost entirely hidden by the encroaching buildings of the modern city.

My first observation - and I don't know why this is a surprise - is that everything is in French.  I had assumed, as was the case in the capital, that signage would be bilingual, but this not being the case, I leave the station with phrasebook in hand.  My hotel, the Saint-Andre, lays on the outer part of the city centre, in an obviously poorer part of town inhabited by a colourful cast of students from the Université du Québec à Montréal (UQAM). My guesthouse doesn't look too promising, but I receive a very warm and friendly welcome by the owner himself, an older man with dark, gelled-back hair, a little pointy moustache, a jolly smile, and a strong French-Canadian accent.  He confesses he is pleased to hear me speaking English, as the Italian couple in the queue ahead of me were quite a challenge.  We chat about the Canadian holiday season, and he tells me that his busiest time of year is when the Grand Prix rolls into town.  "It's also the time I make the mega bucks" he says, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.  I ask him if business is going well so far this year, to which he replies: "Oh yes!  Actually the hotel is currently overbooked, so I may have to murder one of the guests!"

The following morning, I take a leisurely stroll around Montreal's old town - Vieux Montreal - the original part of the city, where quaint old streets on the north bank of the St Lawrence River are punctuated by the fabulous Basilique Notre-Dame-de-Montreal, the city's grandest Catholic Church.  Originally built in the 17th century, the congregation had outgrown the church by 1824, and James O'Donnell, an Irish-American Protestant from New York, was commissioned to design a new building.  Being a proponent of the Gothic Revival movement, he designed the new church along this style, and when finished it became the largest church in North America.  Interesting side-note about James O'Donnell - he loved his church so much that, in order to be buried in it, he converted to Catholicism on his deathbed, and remains the only person buried in its crypt.  The lavish interior is indeed an awesome sight, its golden reredos sparkling throughout the nave, whilst beautiful stained glass windows allow in just the right amount of light,  The interior itself took a lot longer to complete, finally finished in 1879 to incredible detail.  A Chapelle du Sacre-Coeur (Chapel of the Sacred Heart) was added in 1888, along with a 32-foot organ in 1899.  Certainly I've never seen anything quite like it, and I can imagine the Montreal congregation on the 19th century attending services here, perhaps on a winter's evening.  It certainly adds to the swashbuckling atmosphere of the Old Town.

Basilique Notre-Dame-de-Montreal

Montreal Old Town

Just around the corner from the cathedral lies an old firehall, built in 1903 on one side of Place d'Youville.  This rather pretty building is now the Centre d'Historie de Montreal, a small interactive museum that traces the development of the city in five stages, from, the meeting of First Peoples and Europeans in 1535, to the 1960s.  It's possibly the best small museum I've ever visited, the information boards reading like a humourous story, light-hearted whilst also factual.  The addition of contemporary maps, paintings and photographs make this a charming place to linger, and you can clearly see that a great deal of thought has gone into the design of the exhibits.  It's a pretty decent grounding in the key moments of Montreal's history, all tied up in a lovely period building.

Centre d'histire de Montreal

Refreshing myself all-too-briefly back at the hotel, I ask my friendly murderous hotelier for a series of directions, then set off into the Montreal's fabulous metro network, under the mighty St Lawrence, and to the island of St Helene, home of Expo '67, the most successful World's Fair of the twentieth century, and the less-famous the Fort de Île Sainte-Hélène, built in the wake of the War of 1812.  To my sadness the fort is closed for my visit, but its surrounds are the perfect escape for the weary traveller, with woodland pathways and streams providing some wonderful respite from the bustling city.  Most visitors to St Hélène don't come for the fort at all, but rather to see the site of Expo '67, which is dominated by the Biosphere, the former American pavilion at the fair, and now an interactive museum about the St Lawrence River.  But perhaps the best attraction of all is the riverside view looking back towards the city, old town in the foreground, sky scrapers behind, a beautiful jewel floating on the river.

Montreal from Île Sainte-Hélène

The biosphere from Expo '67

Back on the mainland, I pay a visit to the Bell Center, home of the Montreal Canadiens hockey team, who play downtown in amongst the hubbub of the city.  One of the oldest sports clubs in North America, they have a pedigree to match their age.  Despite no cup win since 1993, the club are still way out in front with the most Stanley Cup championships, and if you're talking about great sporting clubs of the world, then this is one of them for sure.  Outside the Bell Center, the Canadiens have immortalised four of their greatest players - Jean Beliveau, Maurice "Rocket" Richard, Guy Lafleur, and Howie Morenz.  Each is worthy of more than a brief mention, but it is the story of Howie Morenz that made the most impact on me.

The Bell Center, home of the Montreal Canadiens

Howie Morenz can lay a claim to being the first superstar of the National Hockey League.  Brought to Montreal in 1924, Morenz was an instant hit, helping Montreal to several Stanley Cups in the second half of the 1920s and early 1930s.  When the Great Depression hit, Morenz was sold to Chicago as part of a cost-cutting exercise, in a very unpopular move.  Morenz returned to Montreal with his Chicago team in the 1934-35 season, and when he scored a goal against the Canadiens, the home fans gave him a standing ovation.  After a battle to save the hockey club during the Great Depression, a syndicate of local businessmen bought the club and rehired former coach Cecil Hart, who only agreed to return on the condition that Howie Morenz was brought back to the team.  This was not to be a happy return, however - in January 1937, Morenz was checked by Chicago's Earl Seibert, his skate caught the ice, and his leg was broken in four places.  Morenz would never play hockey again, and died of a coronary embolism two months later.  An explanation of his death was provided by Montreal's left winger, Aurel Joliat: "Howie loved to play hockey more than anyone ever loved anything, and when he realised that he would never play again ,he couldn't live with it.  I think Howie died of a broken heart."  On the day of his funeral, 50,000 people filed past Morenz's casket to pay their respects, and a benefit game raised $20,000 for his family.  In 1945, Howie Morenz was one of the first players elected into the Hockey Hall of Fame.

Howie Morenz statue at the Bell Center

I wish I could catch a game a the Bell Center, but the Canadiens failed to make the 2011 play-offs, and so I must content myself with the club's megastore, selling the usual sporting fare.  As it's a pleasant evening, I sit a while in the Bell Center square, which is also home to a railway hub, and watch the commuters leave the city centre for their homes.  You can feel the sense of sporting history about this place, the pride and passion of the city, as important to Montreral as the San Siro is to Milan, as Fenway is to Boston.  It's also an appropriate moment to be feeling this passion, for many miles away across the Atlantic, Torquay United are competing in a play-off semi-final against Shrewsbury Town, a match that has been in my mind all day long.  A sudden text from home announces that they have won, and are through to the final.  I raise a smile and leave the Bell Center, like countless thousands of Canadiens fans before me, bathed in the warm glow of sporting victory.

The Canadiens megastore at the Bell Center

Another morning, this time pounding the streets of McGill College Avenue, towards the McCord Museum of Canadian History, where I am suddenly stopped dead in my tracks by the appearance of a sculpture.  It's entitled The Illuminated Crowd by the artist Raymond Mason, and for some reason, it captivates me.  The piece depicts a group of 65 citizens gathered together and seemingly looking toward a light.  At the front of the crowd, characters are diligently and respectfully observing the light, as if caught in its wonder.  As the light decreases towards the back of the sculpture, the mood of the piece changes - there is hooliganism, distress and debauchery.  The inscription reads: "A crowd has gathered, facing a light, an illumination brought about by a fire, an event, an ideology - or an ideal.  The strong light casts shadows, and as the light moves back and diminishes, the mood degenerates; rowdiness, disorder and violence occur, showing the fragile nature of man.  Illumination, hope, involvement, hilarity, irritation, fear, illness, violence, murder and death - the flow of man's emotion through space."

The Illuminated Crowd sculpture

The Illuminated Crowd sculpture

The McCord Museum began as a collection of all things Canadian, acquired by the lawyer David Ross McCord.  In 1919 he donated his collection to McGill University, who established a museum in 1921, and have been adding to it ever since.  In celebration of the 90th anniversary, an exhibition entitled 90 Treasures, 90 Stories, 90 Years is running, with artefacts picked by the museum team.  Contained within the treasures are documents written by the Governor General of New France, Louis de Buade; a journal belonging to Major General James Wolfe; and Maurice Richard's Canadiens hockey sweater.  Upstairs, the permanent exhibition, Simply Montreal, runs through the everyday life of the city.  There is a lovely sledge and snowshoes selection, areas on different sports (hockey of course, but also skating, fishing, skiing, lacrosse, and even cricket), and a focus on fashion (one notes a 1920s cocktail shaker, glasses and soda fountain.)

Snow shoes at the McCord Museum

Leaving the museum, I wander the grounds of McGill University for a while, and am approached by a student asking for directions in French.  Acknowledging very quickly that I don't understand, he repeats his question in perfect English.  Of course, I am still none-the-wiser as to his destination, and as we part, it occurs to me that with my slightly travel-worn appearance, he may think I'm a student.  Not that I'd be offended, for taking a look around McGill, I wish I had studied here - the buildings are period, the grounds lovely, and there's even a student allotment.

The grounds of McGill University

If you leave the University grounds in a north-westerly direction, it's more than likely you will walk straight into Mont Royal, the city's defining natural landmark, first sighted by European eyes in 1535, when Jacques Cartier visited Hochelaga, the 16th century fortified village that predated the modern city.  Nowadays the mountain is a wonderful green space, protected by law from future development, thus theoretically green forever.  The hill officially became a park in 1876 when the city bought the land and hired Frederick Law Olmsted - the man responsible for New York's Central Park - to design the space.  A good 300 steps up brings me to the terrace of Chalet du Mont-Royale Pavilion, home of Centre de la Montagne, a citizen group set up to enhance the preservation and education of the site. From here, the views over Downtown are to die for, stretching from McGill University and the Bell Center, all the way to the St Lawrence River and beyond.  I actually think this may be my abiding memory of Montreal.

Montreal as seen from Mont Royal

Descending into the city once more, weary and ready for my hotel bed, I stop at the Eaton Center - one of the city's many malls - and realise on entrance that I have delved into Montreal's famous underground city, La Ville Souterraine.  With 19 miles of passages and walkways, 1,600 shops, 200 restaurants, 40 banks, cinemas with a total of 40 screens, seven hotels and three exhibition centres, this is the largest underground complex in the world.  With seven metro stations, two commuter train stations and a regional bus terminal, the complex offers everything the Montrealer could ever need to survive the long and bitter winter months, and it is reckoned that in winter, 500,000 people use some part of it every single day.  Shopping continues above ground too of course, especially on Rue Saint-Catherine, where the famous Hudson's Bay Company has an outlet.  I step in and take a look at the famous thick blankets they have on sale, made in England of caribou wool, with a decent sized one costing around £350.  I can't afford one, but I like them a lot, and fancy that my bedroom of the future could have one of these thrown across the bed, or draped over an armchair.

I intend to make my final day in Montreal a lazier affair, so I abandon plans to find the Church of Miracles or head out to the Olympic Park.  If I only have 24 hours left here, I want to spend it back in the Old Town, settling on the Musée Pointe-à-Callière, a museum dedicated to the founding of the city at Place Royale.  The visit begins by sitting on tiered seats and watching an 18-minute video presentation on massive surround screens, headphones tuned to the language of your choice.  My guidebook describes this experience as such: "one of the most inspired introductions to any museum - this voyage through the discovery of Montreal enchants visitors and sets the scene for a memorable visit."  And oh boy, did my guidebook tell the truth about this.  The film is phenomenal, colourful, interactive, innovative and graphically superb, and I'm not the only one who thinks so - at its conclusion, an impromptu round of applause comes up from some members of the audience.  After the presentation, visitors are left to wander beneath the city, where wonderful archaeological remains of Montreal's earliest buildings have been excavated and preserved.  Most of the tour group hurry through, so I linger for a few minutes until I am entirely alone in this underground world.  I walk past North America's oldest Catholic cemetery, the city's first customs house, the foundations of the once-mighty Royal Insurance Company of Britain, a crypt, a pumping station, cobblestones, walls, market gates, and a portion of the William collector sewer, an old sewage drain which the museum is renovating and which will, when opened, become the longest underground exhibit in the world.  If Montreal is a tale of two underground cities, then this one knocks the socks off the Downtown mall.

The Catholic cemetery at the Musée Pointe-à-Callière

Musée Pointe-à-Callière

Back above ground, I browse Old Town's souvenir shops, and eventually settle for two abiding images of Canada - a hockey puck, and a bottle of maple syrup.  The sun sets in the historic sky, and the time comes to move on again, to try and draw some conclusions about Montreal.  I have to admit, I've found the city more rough-and-ready than I was expecting, more bustling, more energetic and, for an historic city, more modern.  Montreal's brilliant though - it incorporates a lot of the past into its present, mixes this with abundant commerce, religion, sport and culture, then throws in a pinch of the exotic, to make one of the most wonderful cities I've ever visited.  In a leaflet I picked up at the McCord Museum, the description of the city concludes my thoughts far more succinctly than I am able to do: "At times dazzling and dark, dignified and frivolous, steamy-hot and icy-cold, Montreal - city of a thousand spires and crossroads of a continent - casts its eternal spell".  Perhaps that's a good place to leave it, at least for now, because I get the overwhelming feeling that I haven't seen the last of the magical city on the banks of the St Lawrence.

Montreal Old Town with the cathedral poking above the surrounding buildings