There are a few things not covered in C's narrative that I want to make sure I don't forget. The drive itself was uneventful. Wintery without being too much of a challenge. Most of Ontario was wet, thick, barely to be seen through the fog, and largely unremarkable. When we over-nighted in Wawa, we needed to make a choice on our route to the capital, being that the TransCanada, when it hits the north shore of Lake Superior, branches out into a bunch of eastbound tributaries. We could chose the Sudbury route and the Big Nickel, or the Timmons route and the Shania Twain Center. We chose the second option, because how often does an opportunity like that present itself? C's description of Timmons (shithole) and the Shania Twain Center (creepy) is complete, so I won't repeat it here. What I wanted to add is a little description of our stop in Chapleau.
Chapleau is a small village of maybe 300 people approximately an hour's drive east of Wawa. By the time we reached it, we were in desperate need of fuel...never a comfortable position to be in while driving a UHaul in unfamiliar country. We stopped at the first station we came across, likely the only one in town, fueled up and had an apple fritter -- the kind you can only get in a small town in the middle of nowhere and which bears no resemblance to the rolled-up sock versions they sell at Mr. Horton's establishments.
While we were inside munching away, the attendant noticed us tracing our intended route on a wall map and asked the usual, polite, if somewhat verb-stingy, questions: "Where you from? Where you headed?", which we answered.
"Ottawa?" he said, with some surprise. "Well you want to be on the number 129 through Sudbury. It's way faster." He drew out the "way", implying that we could reduce our trip by a number of light years by taking his advice.
"Oh no", we said, and explained that we wanted to make a stop in Timmons and see the Shania Twain museum.
This information had no visible effect on him whatsoever. It was almost as though we hadn't said a word. Blink. Blink. "Yep, what you want is the 129 down to the 17 and then east through Sudbury," he repeated.
Again, we assured him that we had no interest in over-sized nickels, having had our fill of gigantic fish, geese, moose, and a zoo of other animals along the way (that we were unimpressed is understandable as C and I are from towns with a gigantic Santa Claus and a U.S.S. Enterprise respectively...so a 4-meter aluminum goose was hardly noteworthy and a 5-meter nickel not enough incentive to miss out on Timmons). Shania was what we were after, and it was Shania we were going to get.
For the second time, our response had absolutely no impact. In fact, I think the light in his eyes actually dimmed a little while we were talking. So, rather hastily, I added, "We just want to take our time."
Finally something he seemed capable of processing. "Oh, well then, you're taking the right road! Great scenery. Very relaxing drive. This is the route you want."
Apparently, Shania Twain is not enough of a reason to compel anyone to travel through northern Ontario in winter, but a lack of desire to get anywhere soon is plenty reason enough. Love that.
The other thing I wanted to mention was our little whirl through the National Gallery while we were in Ottawa. It was a really great experience for me. I had recently been in Washington, D.C. and had thoroughly enjoyed my exploration of that city, but was feeling a bit guilty because I had never been to Ottawa. So a day in which I was able to get to both the Parliament buildings and the National Gallery was a great day for absolution of my unpatriotic sins...and I really enjoyed it besides.
My final moment of re-Canadianing occurred while I was standing amongst the Group of Seven paintings in the National Gallery. I drank it in and then happily moved on to the second floor galleries where all the international greats were on display: Matisse, Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet - master after master. I followed a fairly somber group around, who were doing a lot of whispering and appreciative tsk-tsking. I must admit that my knowledge of art and art history borders on the undetectable, but I was nonetheless appreciative and solemn, the air being thick with the demand for it. And then I saw the Picasso.
Dora Maar, for those who don't know (and I didn't...it was on the little placard beside the painting), was Picasso's mistress. Someone who, one presumes, he loved intensely, and she often sat as a model for his paintings. So perhaps I can be forgiven when, after reading this, and imagining poor Dora sitting for hours in her best Sunday hat while the great painter toiled away, anxiously awaiting the result, Picasso proudly displays this:
I can tell you that my face wouldn't be the only one rearranged in that studio that day. The absurdity of that mental picture was in such direct conflict with the solemnity of my environs that my eyes started to water from the effort of holding myself together. I was in great danger of being ejected from the gallery due to disturbing the peace and for being just a general nincompoop. I laughed for days about this. I still laugh about it. Out loud and at disturbingly inappropriate times.
Anyway, I had a fantastic time in Ottawa. Chris is a national treasure and was a great host. Wonderful dinners and more than enough to drink (we renamed the Market District as "Food and Booze"...since these items were plentiful and markets scarcely to be seen). Darren was a delight as well and I can't wait to take him up on his offer to visit New York. All in all a great trip.
I took a grand total of three photographs on this trip. A photo of a desolate stretch of highway in Manitoba (playing with my camera/phone/technoschmuzzle device), a photo of the biggest Christmas tree I have ever seen (huddled in the National Gallery), and this one: 
