Winterlude/Bal de Neige '98 - Ice Bugs And Odd Explosions
Zachary Klaas
Well, it's February and for the first time in seven years, I am not in the
thick of Mardi Gras season, being rooted in the lovely National Capital
Region of this fine country you call Canada. Needless to say,
there have been a considerable number of withdrawal pangs regarding the
precipitous lack of sugary cakes with dangerous plastic objects cooked
into them and drunkards wearing plastic masks throwing cheap plastic beads
at my head in these environs. I mean, you get to miss that sort of thing.
In February, most former inhabitants of New Orleans, Louisiana start to
recognize that their homing beacon is on, and a place where gumbo and
jambalaya flow plentiful is calling them.
Which is why it's good that Ottawa/Hull has the Winterlude/Bal de Neige
festivities. Although, I'm a little unclear as to whose idea the whole
thing was. A while back, when I met Theresa's mom, she was asking me a
bunch of questions about Mardi Gras. One of these questions was when it
we actually celebrated it. I said it was usually in February, and folks,
you should have seen the look on her face. "February?!?!" I made some
effort to explain to her that in Louisiana the weather is rather
spring-like in February, but her mien continued to suggest to me an
unmitigated horror that anyone could actually be outside for a long period
of time in the month of February, and that even were this possible, no one
could actually have _fun_ under these conditions.
As I say, all of this is rather odd given the fact that Winterlude is just
that - people outside having fun in February. In Canada. Where everyone
lives in igloos.
When Luc asked me to review Winterlude in the same fashion that I used to
review Mardi Gras for my teeming USENET audiences everywhere, I wondered
just how much comedy material could exist in a festival where one of the
more likely events is competitive tucchus-freezing, and where
comparatively less hacking up alcoholic fluids onto public streets is done
(and even then only until 2 a.m. in Ottawa and 3 a.m. in Hull.) The next
three weeks will be devoted to exploring that question.
One thing I should mention off the bat. I spent fifteen years living in
the state of Iowa in the U.S., where I suffered through fifteen crappy
winters. Generally, winter never particularly occasioned in us anything
more than a lament about having to put the snow tires on. So permit me to
be majorly-impressed with what you've done with the curses of the season here.
Winterlude began for me with loud popping sounds outside my window on
Sussex Drive in downtown Ottawa. I hadn't read my Winterlude insert in
the _Ottawa Citizen_ very well, and apparently the first weekend of
Winterlude starts with an opening ceremony on the _Friday_ of the first
weekend. I had been told that Winterlude was the first three weekends of
February, but I foolishly did not allow for the possibility that Friday is
part of the "weekend." Perhaps if people had said it was the first three
"long weekends" in February. (People in Canada say "long weekend" as if
it were generally understood what this means - where I come from, a
weekend cannot be longer than two days. But this is now a phrase duly
entered into my burgeoning Canadian-American, American-Canadian
dictionary, which will be published by Random House in 1999. If I can
only help one more befuddled American understand these people, I will be
happy.)
Anyway, the opening ceremony concludes with a fireworks display. This
display, to people who live downtown, sounds suspiciously like friendly
fire. After I emerged from under my couch, I went outside to see if there
was any of the fireworks show left. None. Dang it. Next time I'll try
and watch this from the Regional Municipality of Ottawa/Carleton building
like everyone else.
I determined to do something Winterludish (Winterludy? Winterludic?) on
Saturday to make up for my shameful misreading of the _Citizen_ insert. I
selected to go see the ice sculptures in Confederation Park, which is not
too far from my apartment.
For those of you who have never seen an ice sculpture, they're just as
good as any other kind of sculpture when the right people do them. It
frankly amazes me that people can do the level of work they do on these
things and then turn around and say "Enjoy it, quick! Spring'll be here
before you know it!" How would Michelangelo have dealt with David
having a shelf-life of a couple of months before melting into a giant
puddle? Before Winterlude officially started I had seen an ice sculpture
of a giant skate (get it? ice? skate? an "ice" skate? ha! I slay me.)
It was damn good, but the stuff in Confederation Park was
museum-worthy...the very best in disposable art.
Here's an idea of what the general milieu of Confederation Park was last
night. You enter the park. A mobile office in the center of the park is
playing "The Blue Danube." Lights are set up all around the park to
showcase the sculptures, which are frequently dabbed with water to make
the art doesn't start to turn gushy. Kids are running around in between
slalom posts that have alternative realities either as their parents
or complete strangers. Every fifth two year old is being wheeled around
in some kind of sled-like conveyance. Small signs indicate what the
sculpture is called, what the name of the artist is, and from what country
they dragged him to make a beautiful sculpture with the destiny of
altering to a complete liquid state within months.
Most of the art is thematically not that odd, but every once in a while
you do have the ice sculpture of a giant fly descending upon an unwitting
victim. Okay, there was just one like this, but hey, one sticks with you.
The kids seem to like this one best.
Across Laurier Avenue, by the RMOC building, there are snow sculptures
grouped by the nationalities of the artists who made them. I am told the
Canadians have their snow sculptures out by Dow's Lake, and I will take
them in at a later date. At the RMOC, it's the rest of the world that has
their crack at things. Each of the countries contributing to the snow
sculpture exhibition had a nice explanation of their cultural place in the
world. "Japan: Just About Ready To Apologize." "Germany: We Now
Recognize Poland's Right To Exist." "China: Leader In Tank Technology."
That sort of thing.
The most recommended of these sculptures, for those of you into Siskel and
Ebert style thumb affirmations:
* "The Sumo Wrestler" - Japan. Physiologically correct.
* "Castle Neuschwanstein" - Germany. Lovely representation of the
former home of a completely off-his-tree Bavarian king.
* "Pandas" - China. Complete with explanation of exactly how long
the species has before utter extinction.
* "All We Do Is Catch Fish" - Norway. Okay, it was called something
else, but it was something like that.
* "Conquistador" - Japan. Spanish conqueror in sinking Viking boat.
Someone needs to re-read their European history notes.
So that's where we are so far in this Winterlude season. Updates as they
come in. Next stop, the "giant Monopoly" game at Carleton University. I
wanna be the thimble.
zak
--
Zachary Klaas, Master of Urban and Regional Planning
Now exported to Canada. (Blame NAFTA.)
Swell web page: http://www.ncf.carleton.ca/~bh022/
Ottawa, Ontario: "The road to Hull paved with good intentions."