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Fhill mé ar ais gCeanada, cuid a dó

Chuaigh Léna agus mé féin ar an maidin lá arna mhárach go dtí Easa Nhiagara. Thiomaint sí triu ar an bóthar mór a raibh an-bhualadh air. Is cosuil chomh na gCathair na hAingeal! Rinneamar ár slí go mall go imeall leis Nua-Eabhrac. Bhí aimsir mheirbh go tiubh. Bhí aer go dlúth. Bhí mé go mhúchta leis falsacht.

Mar sin féin, bhí Léna go maith! Bhí mian leatsa féin a feiceáil an radharc cáiliúil. Is amharc go halainn, ar ndóigh. Ach, nuair bímid go raibh ag feichthe air, i ndiadh gach ní, níl tú ábalta gníomhú a thuilleadh. Bhuel, mura tú go mbeadh a íoc a dhá luach a thabhairt ar an seans.

D'íth aran agus sicín ar an bialann Chairib. Fuair mé air ag teacht trasna de thaisme ar an tráthnóna sin. D'inis a chomhartha nheon ar an taispeántas fhuinneoig go mbeidh air "An Roti [aran agus feoil nó glasraí] ar scoth ar an bhaile." Mheasaionn Léna go raibh an fírinne seo. Bhí sé deireadh seachtaine sin fleadh mór "Caribana" ansin. Fhreastail míle duine air ansiud!

Tháinig mé mo phaipear faoi Menna Gallie ar an lá arna mhárach. Bhí sonas agam nuair d'fhág mé an comhchomhairle. Bhí me neirbeasach. Mar sin, chuala fuaim cruas ach rithim suaimhneasach Bhreatnais. Is teanga is díreach agus go lúbach. Aontaim go bhfuil Breatnais ard chomh Gearmáinis. Ceapaim ach go bhfuil bog chomh an Fhraincis fós.

Bhí muid ag ithe ár ndinnéir ar an áit Phortaingéalach. Bhain muid sult as béile breá ar fheabhas. D'ól muid fíon geal. Chaith suipéar iasc ar leith. Shúil muid triu sráideannaí plódaithe. Chodail muid níos mo.

Chuir cuairt muid ar an misean Íosanach in aice leis Loch Simcoe ar an tuaiscairt an céad mile. Bhí brú tráchta ar an bóthar mór aríst. Bhí trácht trangláilte ann. Chaill muid aon uair. Thosaigh an turas go déanach. Bhí sé leathuair i ndiadh a trí nuair shrioch muid ar an Naomh Muire i measc na Huronaí.

Léigh rionn na úrscéal Bhriain Ó Morhda, "Róba Dubh." Bhí maith linn scannán futhú. Anois, chonaic muid an misiún cónaithe céann na duine Wendat (nó Hurons). Bhreatnaigh muid scannánín faoi na dúshlán uafásach ann ag imeall 1640. Dhóigh sráidbhaile Íosanachaí i ndiadh forleatha fhlíu go raibh níos lag naisuin Whendat go leor. D'fhan an noimead ar an leacht na athriachaí Naoimh Jean de Brebeuf agus Gabriel Lalemont. Bhí dhá mairtíreach ann. Fhág sa bhaile siad síos crós bata bideach. Fuair bás i ndeas do cheithre céad duine ann.

Sheas muid ina thimpeall na tithe fadaí agus seipealaí mhisineachaí. Mhuinim stáitse le scannán seo go minic. D'fhoglaim go mbeadh dhá scór céimeannaí teochta nios isle ná an cothrom nialas ann fadó. Shíl mé faoi uaigneas ann i ndúlaíocht an gheimridh.

I return from Canada, part two.

Layne and I myself went the next morning to Niagara Falls. She drove through a motorway heavy with traffic. It's the same as in the City of Angels! We made our way slowly along the border with New York, of course. The muggy weather was thick. The air was clogged. I was shut down with sluggishness.

Nevertheless, Layne was happy! She had a desire herself to see the famous view. It's a lovely sight, of course. But, when we'd looked upon it, after when all's considered, you're not able to take further action. Well, unless yoú'd pay through the nose for the chance.

We ate bread and chicken from a Caribbean restaurant. I found it by coming across it by accident that evening. The neon sign in the window display told us that it'll be "The Best Roti (bread and meat or vegetables) in Town." Layne thought this was the truth. There was that weekend a great "Caribana" festival there. A million people attended it over there!

I gave my paper about Menna Gallie the next day. I was pleased when I left the conference. I was nervous. Still, I heard the tough sound but soft rhythm of Welsh. It's a language straightforward and sinuous. I agree that Welsh is hard like German. But I reckon that it's soft as French also.

We ate dinner at a Portuguese place. We enjoyed the elegant, hearty meal. We drank white wine. We took in a fancy fish supper. We walked along thronged streets. We slept very well.

We visited the Jesuit Mission near Lake Simcoe to the north a hundred miles. There was a crush of traffic on the motorway again. The congestion was tangled there. We lost an hour. We started our journey late. It was after half past three when we arrived at Ste. Marie-among-the Hurons.

I had read a portion of Brian Moore's novel, "Black Robe." We had liked the movie about it. Now, we saw the same settlement of the Wendat people (or Hurons). We looked at the short film about the terrible struggle there around 1640. The Jesuits burned the village after there was an influenza epidemic that had quite weakened many of the Wendat. I stayed a moment at the grave of the fathers, Sts. Jean de Brebeuf and Gabriel Lalemont. They were two martyrs. They rested in simple dirt under a tiny stick cross. Death took nearly four hundred people there.

We stood around the longhouses and the missionaries' chapels. I have taught a scene from this film often. I learned that the temperature could be forty degrees below the level of zero there back then. I thought about the loneliness there in the depth of winter.

[My Photo/ Mo Ghriangraf: Ste. Marie/Naomh Muire.]