Our military today…under our illustrious leader, Trudough.
It has begun:
(Ontario) NDP MPPs walk out of Queen’s Park in defiance of keffiyeh ban.
The new Univershity anthem: HAMAS, HAMAS – you bet your Ahsss!
I see your 1.5 kids infidel, but I raise you 10! Canadian Sharia Law here I come. In this world of ours, evil is good and good is evil!
The “Islamophobia” alerts are really flashing red in Australia.
This started with a Muslim teen stabbing a bishop in Sydney, Australia. That led to the arrests of 7 Muslim teens. It turned out that they wanted to go on a rampage killing Jews.
And now a white teen 16-year-old convert to Islam stabbed a man in the back in Perth and was shot dead by police.
The authorities and the media are assuring us that he was “mentally unstable”, but there seems to be a particular outbreak of “mental instability” involving Muslim teens and knives.
Surely this is a pattern that only an ‘Islamophobe’ would notice.
The leader of the Free World talks with the mentor of today’s Univershity protestors.
I was 9 and in grade 5 when this came out.:
Biden is definitely in the 20th Century, while the rest of us are in the 21st.
Ah….101 days until Le Puy. Can’t wait but have started my training regimen. This time? Hills and more hills.
I want to get out of Dodge. Just think: no TV, no news, no protesters…no hate…for 40 days. Just a beautiful walk in the natural park of southern France…and no noise. Love it.
Speaking of a walk in the park.
Protesters. What do they want now?
Yesterday??? Climate Change
Today??? HAMAS and the wholesale destruction of Israel. Kill the Jews… and Jewish state.
Tomorrow? The World.
“Nice.”
Climate Change is sooo…sooo yesterday man. Sooo…..so out of it. HAMAS is in baby. Oh yeah, we also want to destroy the west to become an alphabet culture. Everybody will love somebody…as long as it’s queer. HAMAS will love us…you’ll see.
We love you. C’mon over and see what we mean by that.
“How dare you!”
Greta is not too happy about all of this as this narcissist is no longer the center of attention.
I need a climate change exorcism.
Get lost Greta. Don’t you know that HAMAS is the in thing now? Not the planet!
Another excerpt from the book I am working on: My Camino: A First Hand Account”
Vezelay…Vezelay. How to describe it. It was not an exceptionally large town, but it had a unique footprint. It was wide and bulbous like a bowl at the summit of the hill where the Abbey stood and then narrowing down considerably like the long neck or stem of a bottle at its lower end, where the two main thoroughfares mentioned earlier intersected. It was as if Vezelay came about as a glass blown artifact of nature.
What appeared to me as being the main street of the town had a very steep gradient. It was cobblestoned and surrounded on both sides by neatly pointed brown coloured stone buildings. They were not tall or large but functional for the various commercial enterprises. From what I could see the upper floors were used as rooms to ‘let’ or quarters for the store’s owners. There were many cafes and restaurants with small outdoor terraces, courtyards, boutique hotels and what seemed to be high end fashion establishments.
Vezelay was extremely affluent and from what I would learn later it was an expensive tourist trap. This was due to the draw of the Abbey itself; the associated Pilgrim starting point on the way to Santiago de Compestele and the ambiance of the surrounding countryside that is steeped in history, culture, food, and wine, especially wine. The surrounding landscape of this hilltop enclave is picture perfect, as if sculpted by heaven itself. Every shade of green can be seen on the hills and in the valleys. The hills themselves seem to undulate in the heated air of the hot and hazy late afternoon sun but in perfect harmony with the environment. You see meadows and forests, separated by ploughed fields that emit a shade of gold, amber, and even bonze: dazzling colours. Now this may not be Canada, with its wild scenery, robust landscape and raging rivers, nevertheless, this countryside is no less spectacular than Canada is but in a more peaceful, subdued, and sculpted sense. Added to that is the rich tapestry of culture, history and hospitality of the Bourgogne and you have a heavenly recipe for happiness and well being. Indeed, I almost became emotional myself when viewing this scene, as I have been given the opportunity and blessing of being here at this moment in time. For the first time in months, I was happy, extremely happy, and not just for the circumstances I have found myself in but for the adventure that was soon to begin. I felt like crying. Tears of joy welled up in the tear ducts of my eyes. Moreover, the road up to the hilltop Abbey was like a stairway to heaven itself. And like the heavens it dominated the landscape. Why would anyone go to Paris or any of France’s major centres with all of their social ills, filth, and crime when they can visit a region like this is beyond comprehension?
An excerpt for my latest story about the Camino – The French Camino – Vezelay. I haven’t got a title as yet but I am leaning toward: “Camino de Vezelay: My Existential Journey.” What do you think?
“I walked fifteen kilometres today of which twelve were uphill, including the two-and-a-half-kilometre uphill climb coming into St Leonard de Noblat itself. Nevertheless, the countryside was gorgeous. Despite the never-ending hills, I was beside myself with joy. There were rolling hills and farmer’s fields that appeared golden brown in the early morning sunlight. The shallow valleys and checkerboard squares of green and fallowed fields, or the awakening splendor of a thousand sunflowers, and the bright yellow fields of rapeseed or canola flooded my senses.
On my way to St Leonard, I passed though several small villages and hamlets that separated these different fields of grain. One town, named Le Chatenet en Dognon, had an interesting house on its main street. Architecturally it resembled Canada House on Juno Beach, Normandy. That was the famous house that was captured on film as the Canadian Queen’s Own Rifles landed on D-Day to begin the arduous and dangerous liberation of France during World War Two. Interestingly, that house was the very first property in France to be liberated by the allies. And here it was in Chatenet en Dognon, an exact replica.
How can one explain the medieval tone of St Leonard de Noblat. Picture yourself sitting on a café terrace having a grand café au lait in a town’s square that is surrounded by buildings and structures that go back to 1200 CE, with a church even older than that. Visualize narrow cobblestone streets that harbor an array of shops, bakeries, and patisseries. Smell the aura of scents that are innumerable. Imagine the women of the town shopping and vying for bargains as the men chat and smoke and curse one another but laughing as well as they go about their morning rounds. Envision that and you would find yourself in the center of St Leonard de Noblat, a medieval town restored in all its medieval glory and patina. A town that was named after a sixth century hermit who lived in a dark forest during the dark ages. An individual who was canonized even though he was hermit. Tell me, how does one achieve sainthood in those circumstances?
Despite being old St Leonard de Noblat was a lively place. It was one of the few places that I have come across thus far during this Camino that showed some form of life. Yet the problem for a hiker like me to be able to take in and enjoy this scene as a welcome respite in the day’s grind was the requirement to climb a two-and-a-half-kilometre ascent from the countryside to the town center. “Closer to God than thee” – so the saying goes. If only I had me a donkey as St Leonard in all probability had.
I sat in the main square enjoying that coffee grande and a chocolate filled croissant and enjoying the scene that unfolded around me. It was a beautiful day with not a cloud in the sky. At long last the temperature was comfortable with little humidity. I had time to kill and enjoy a respite from the daily grind as the Tourist Office that controlled the access to the municipal Gite here would not open until noon. So be it. I was happy and content except for the constant pestering of the yellowjackets that were attracted to the sweetness of the croissant. And just like home at this time of year, August, I found myself swatting, brushing and cursing the onslaught of these bees while trying to enjoy my repose. This was a major irritant for me on what was an otherwise a faultless morning.[1] Mon Dieu.
