Entry #7: Walking Tours - Talking with Strangers - Mr. Mumblemouth.

There we were, my family and I, standing in front of yet another historical building in the now somewhat depressing city of St. John’s, Newfoundland. This one happened to be the home of a former Lieutenant Governor, or something like that, so mom told us. We had to take her word for it, as, like all the other buildings we had seen, this one was unlabeled, without even a plaque to identify it from the other similar looking houses that lined the street. We had to have been traipsing up and down the confusing mass of one way streets nearly all day. At first the idea sounded fun – mom was going to take us on a walking tour around the town. Mom took on the role of a guide naturally, and the walking tours she had taken us on around Toronto were always first rate. St. John’s however, is not Toronto, and at this point I was ready to stop at any random building and declare, in my snarky twelve-year old way, that it had some historical importance, such as being the place the Premier once slept for the night. My sister, who was fifteen, and my friend Alex, were ready to do likewise, but it seemed that I was the only smart-alec in the lot. Man, was I beginning to hate walking tours…

Now at twenty four, instead of a sister and a friend, I have a wife in tow, and I’ve found myself yet again beside some non-descript building that my mother claimed has some historical significance. At least this was only the first building on the tour - maybe the others would be better. Ten minutes later, we reached the second set of buildings, which my mom declared were the two towers that might have inspired the towers from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. I was beginning to think that I still wasn’t old enough to appreciate one of mom’s famous walking tours, at least not quite yet.

We had our first, out of hopefully many, visitors to Birmingham last week - my parents. For young folk, the parental visit can be a perilous and dreaded experience. I even remember as that same aforementioned twelve-year old brat, finding a list of ten Star Wars-esque things to say if your parents drop by unexpectedly for a visit (my favourite one was yelling “I’ll never join you!” and hurling yourself down the nearest laundry chute when asked if you’d like to join them for lunch). Now that I’m married and in my own home, a visit from my parents can also feel a bit like an inspection tour to see if I’ve learned anything at all about cleanliness since I left them. In this case, however, the visit was neither unexpected nor unwelcome, as after two months abroad we could finally reconnect with the family and culture we had left behind in Canada.

My parents are now retired, and they spend much of their time planning and going on little adventures around the world. Their latest adventure, a hiking trip to southwest France, was bringing them to Europe, and they decided that this was as good an opportunity as any to visit us in our new city. We welcomed their visit so early in the year both because we missed them and because they brought vital supplies for us, like warm clothes, gifts from Jenn’s parents, and of course, real Canadian maple syrup.

In some ways my parents visit was an opportunity for them to make sure that Jenn and I were going to be alright so far from home. Like always, my mom immediately launched into a discussion of how we could cut our costs by spending less money on groceries and the like. Actually, I was rather impressed, as it took her no time at all to adjust to the new products or monetary system in the grocery store, and she still instantly knew when she had found a deal. My mom also decided she would cook all the meals during their stay. Although I love to cook and it sometimes annoys me when it seems that mom thinks I can’t, I know by now that it is her way of helping and showing she cares, and so I let her do it anyway.

Their visit was also an opportunity to see the city we had decided to spend the year in. Although I was sure my dad was going to instantly fall in love with the hundreds of trains that careen around Britain at breakneck speed (as he is sort of a rail-fanatic), he instead took a keen interest in another transportation system key to Birmingham’s development: the canals. In his typical way, he would trail behind the pack as we walked around the city, and every once in a while, we would have to wait for him as he took pictures of something he had seen in the many canals that traverse the city. On one of these occasions, dad spotted a canal boat going through a series of tiny locks to make the slow climb up the hills on which Birmingham is built. He called us all back, and we watched as the boaters maneuvered the heavy lock doors by hand. Mom, true to form, struck up a conversation with the strangers. Mom always seems to talk to strangers, whether it be in an line at the airport, with the cashier at a grocery store, or while sightseeing in an old church, she manages to start up conversations with just about anybody. Although this used to embarrass me as a kid, I now feel somewhat impressed by this unique ability of hers. Later, I asked her how she could talk to random people so easily, and she said that when you’re old, you lose all reservations, and it doesn’t really matter any more. I, of course, neglected to point out that when I was ten and mom was younger, she still did this just as frequently.

Whether it was at dad’s insistence or because mom thought it was a romantic idea, we all took a ride on a canal boat together. The boat was narrow and designed in such a way as to have two seats with a table, then an aisle and then one more seat across the width of the boat. Since everyone on the boat wanted to sit with their friends, we all sat on the side with two seats abreast which caused the boat list heavily to one side. Over the speakers came a mumbling voice asking that some of us move over to the other side. Of course too many of us moved, and we spent the rest of the trip leaning the other way. As our canal boat ride began, we discovered that, much to our chagrin, our tour guide for this adventure was that same undiscernibly mumbling voice with a thick Brummie accent to boot. We did manage to pick out some useful information between the mumbles, like for instance the price of the luxury condos that have replaced the old factories that used to line the canal, but not much else. Jenn insists that she didn’t understand a word that was said - she even wondered for a while why he was talking about topaz, when in fact he was explaining the toe paths. In typical English fashion, the canal boat sold alcohol and although we declined this public pleasure, our neighbour spent the voyage throwing back a can of beer. All in all, it was a good adventure.

I enjoyed my parents’ visit. Although I would never admit it to them of course, I had missed them. Our various adventures around the city brought back wonderful childhood memories that I could now share with Jenn. It was also nice to hear news from back home, where my niece is now talking, which led us to spend lots of time walking around the city being silly and saying “I don’t knoooow” in the cute way dad says she does. Most of all, it was nice just to be worried about and cared for. I know that might sound strange but I felt relieved by this, like somehow, although worried that we would run out of money, my parents were blessing this grand adventure we had chosen to go on anyways. With sadness therefore we parted. But we knew they too had a grand adventure of their own to get to. And by the way, the walking tour did get better.