Tag Archives: London

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Canadian Summer Theatre and Concert Season is Heating Up

Cover of "Enchanted April"

Cover of Enchanted April

Tomorrow night I will be in the front row of a Boyz II Men concert. I bought the ticket a year ago, so you would be accurate if you told me to exclude the concert from my plans for summer theatre and concerts. Accurate but not true. If you want the best seats, sometimes you have to book early to ensure your summer of live entertainment is the best.

For example, I’m sitting three rows  from the stage in the centre section at a Great Big Sea concert in July. To get those tickets, which are sold out now, by the way, I had to subscribe to GBS’s e-newsletter, then loiter online until the tickets went on sale at 10 AM on day 1 of the advance sales. I also had to trust that GBS would not do me wrong, because I couldn’t choose the seats. Three days later they confirmed the seats and my faith in the band from the tropical isle of Newfoundland.

The Shaw Festival is a 2-hour drive from here. The getting there isn’t the problem, it is the coming home, after a 10:30 PM curtain. When my budget doesn’t include a hotel night, then I grab a matinée. Not my favourite time of day for a theatrical performance, I admit. But the value added – if you shop smartly – can make all the difference! I have tickets for Enchanted April, a play I have been eager to see ever since I saw the film of the same name. The Shaw packages a decent matinée ticket with a backstage tour, a “talk”, a buffet lunch and parking. Now that’s worth driving 2 hours for an afternoon matinée. Packages are limited, so you have to buy early.

Admittedly, when I visit New York or London I take advantage of the half-price ticket booth. That’s a last minute ticket offer that has, in the past, put me in some great seats to see some fine performances. Seeing Michael Gambon live was unforgettable. But for a Canadian summer, waiting to the last minute can be problematic. Book of Mormon is sold out! I left that one too late.

So, if you are planning on a theatre weekend to Southern Ontario, and you are seat snob like me…book early. Book now.

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Traffic: The Tourist’s Unknown

Heron Cove, Six Mile Lake, Muskoka

Heron Cove, Six Mile Lake, Muskoka

My mental image of visiting Mumbai is streets almost impassable with traffic. Rush hour in LA, sitting in traffic going nowhere, is something I would plan to avoid on a trip to Southern California. I don’t drive in London. I have driven in Manhattan, although I don’t recommend it. Traffic is unavoidable during urban holidays.

Last Saturday as I drove south from Cottage Country I was reminded that traffic is an unknown variable when planning a visit to a new region. The reminder was bumper to bumper northbound traffic – three lanes of it – beginning at Barrie, ON. The traffic had not let up when I exited the 400 at King City.  That is a distance of 60 km!

I had driven that northward route exactly one week before. I didn’t experience traffic that dense, although I did experience rain showers so intense that my windshield wipers couldn’t keep my window clear! One week later, the weather was perfect. Sunny, bright and cool – perfect cottage weather.

This is my final Cottage Country advisory. To avoid traffic when heading north from Toronto, travel earlier on the weekend. If you reach Barrie by 9 AM at the latest, you should avoid the worst of the traffic. Or travel during the week. Southbound on Sunday night should be avoided and early Monday morning during the summer.

I hope to meet you in Cottage Country one day.

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Participating in history; not merely reenacting

The Bayeux Tapestry is one example of the depiction of historic events that I recall when contemplating the significance of the Diamond Jubilee flotilla. I am fascinated by historic paintings of special occasions. They are as old as human kind. Some are inaccurate, shaped by ego and politics. I’ve gazed at them in galleries, and imagined myself as one of bystanders witnessing the parade, or battle or crowning.

Live television enables my fantasy to come true. In my lifetime, I have witnessed a man walking on the moon, the state funeral of Winston Churchill, more than one Royal Wedding and the fall of the Berlin Wall – just to name a few.

This morning , I will be one of millions of faceless folk who will watch as a Royal flotilla sails the Thames, an event that echoes the pomp of centuries and the music of Handel. Eating scones and sipping tea, in my pyjamas, history will unfold before me in real time and high definition.

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London, Ontario: insurance, hockey and other civilized delights

The Octogenarian and I have taken to the road once again. We’re spending a night in the third of Ontario that isn’t defined by the Canadian Shield. This is farmland  where tobacco museums depict the life of a transient picker. Some of Ontario’s distinctive breweries are open for tours. It is Festival country. And it is insurance. I don’t know why London became the home to head offices of large insurance firms.

We’ve missed the touring company of Cirque de Soleil by one night. We arrived in time to find hockey on the front pages. Dale Hunter resigned as head coach of the Capitals. He is returning to London, where his brother and son are involved with London Knights.

We have some exploring to do this afternoon. That is if the Octogenarian recovers from the 2 hour drive. Traveling is a challenge.

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Why I am still dissing the Dorchester Hotel more than a decade after the fact

Dorchester Hotel, Mayfair A no doubt very plus...

Dorchester Hotel, Mayfair A no doubt very plush hotel just off the city's Park Lane. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the travel business, a bad experience lasts longer than a good one. My experience at the Dorchester Hotel in London, England illustrates my point.

If you are unfamiliar with the hotel, watch Paul Bettany‘s film , Wimbledon. When his character plays his final tennis match, he departs from the hotel, with an honor guard of hotel employees.

The Dorchester was one of the hotels on my bucket list of hotels that I wanted to experience once in my life. I don’t have the disposable income to stay overnight at my dream hotels. I get around that inconvenience by having breakfast at them. What was so special about the Dorchester moment was that I could expense it. I was meeting a supplier for breakfast.

That morning I took a London taxi to the Dorchester from the hotel where I was staying. I had all my luggage, because I had an afternoon flight from Heathrow. My guest was making his way from the London suburbs. It was a wet rainy morning, nothing unusual really. The rain had begun the night before, when I awoke, records were being broken and flooding had been reported in areas. Perhaps my guest would be delayed. I settled down on a seat in the lobby of the hotel to wait.

Forty-five minutes later, after having gone to the door once more to look for the arrival of my guest, a liveried man from the hotel approached me. The gist of the conversation was that working women were not welcome at the Dorchester. He didn’t mean me, a woman on business at his hotel, but the other kind of working girl. Affronted I explained that I was waiting for my guest, who arrived in a flurry of sorries and a drenched raincoat a few minutes later.

That could have been all there was to a story that I have used at parties to entertain. But it wasn’t. No sirree.

We sat for breakfast and perused the menus. I settled on a egg white omelet – heaven only knows why because that is not my usual style. It came with a bowl of fresh fruit. My guest’s breakfast arrived. He seemed pleased with his choice and the presentation. So I spooned some fruit and found we were not alone. The biggest, ugliest bug I have ever seen was crawling in my fruit bowl. When I pointed this out to my waiter, I was given a look that I felt was meant to turn me to a pillar of salt. The food was taken away, then returned minus the bug. No apology, nothing. I wasn’t even certain that the bowl was new and clean. And I have been irked ever since.

If you want to spend $70 on a breakfast in London, I don’t recommend the Dorchester.