Mountain View BBQ
So, we’re back home (but we’re almost immediately off again, to drop by some mates in London. Normal service won’t resume until Monday).
I have some fond memories of this trip to Canada. After my previous visit to Montreal, which almost left me paralysed with ennui, I swore never to return—except of course for whale watching around Vancouver. Had I known that Vancouver is a short (well, 12hr) Greyhound ride down the road, I would have arranged for a longer stay!
But I digress.
Alberta stands in marked contrast to Quebec, or perhaps it’s just something to do with big cities. Despite the constant onslaught of tourists and visitors from Calgary, people in Banff are laid back and easy to talk to (as I’ve written in my first entry). It’s easy to have fun here. And of course, the scenery is stunning.
So, it is with some regret that I find myself back home, even though our week of uninterrupted sunshine was probably not typical for the area.
Only one entry remains:
No international conference is complete without the banquet.
From the few occasions when my wallet stretched to attending (or it was free), I remember them as grandiose, black-tie affairs with orange-skinned models handing out roses at the entrance and everybody having to don cowboy hats (also provided) which made them look stupid.
Coming to think of it, the European Cetacean Society once held an outing to the local bowling alley, which was great fun! In that, they probably have more in common with the IW3C crowd. The dress code for the evening was ‘western casual, i.e. blue jeans’. Neck-ties were optional.
When the coaches dropped us in front of the round huts and marquees which make up the Mountain View BBQ, there were indeed beautiful young people lined up by the entrance, but they played a heck of a mean fiddle (and the step dancing wasn’t bad, either).
Rather than silver service, big slabs of beef were carried inside on pitchforks. It was the finest that I have tasted (that includes anywhere in the UK—including Scotland—and Townsville in Australia. They take their beef very seriously around here.)
We enjoyed dinner to some decent Country and Western tunes. Not normally my style, but the bands played well. All of them had CDs out—including the Cree dancer whom we were lucky enough to see in the floorshow afterwards.
Dallas M. Arcand may be double World Hoop Dancing Champion and plays the love flute beautifully, but he’s damn good at hip-hop too.
I’m normally sceptical about traditional dance displays, but this was (obviously) a world class performance of spellbinding dynamism and creativity by a man with a message. My wee camera can’t really capture motion, so when looking at the picture below, imagine it in fast-forward, with the hoops blurring and being slotted into positions at amazing speed by Mr. Arcand; each pattern showing a specific meaning.
I wish I had a slow-motion video of this dance, with commentary.
The evening ended with geek karaoke. I didn’t know the guys had it in them: we’re talking serious rock ballads and blues harmonica here. Abba and Westlife didn’t get a look-in.
All in all, it was a great evening out. And they had some mean fires going.
With those logs buring, I reckon it is possible to survive – 40°C winters around here.
Denni