My husband Will and I have developed the habit of spending part of November and/or December in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. During our visits these past four years, we’ve noticed that as soon as the Day of Dead (Nov 1-2) celebrations are over Christmas decorations appear on buildings and streets. We northerners find it a bit jarring to see Santa Clauses in snowsuits and boots, reindeer, and our traditional Christmas trees juxtaposed with palm trees and swimsuits.
No doubt Mexicans display these decorations partly for snowbird tourists, but they seem to enjoy the festivity. Our hotel desk clerk was pleased when I admired the suggestion box she’d creatively decorated. I wonder if part of the appeal is that red, green, and white Christmas colours happen to be the colours of the Mexican flag.
Most Christmas decorations we saw for sale were similar to ones available at Canada Walmart, although occasional stores sold Mexican piñatas. Unfortunately, they were too bulky and fragile for us to bring home in our suitcases to add a Mexican flair to our own Christmas decor.
Mexico is a predominately Roman Catholic country and Christmas is ultimately a religious celebration. From December 1-12 some 400 processions wind through the streets of Puerto Vallarta and culminate at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. These parades commemorate the appearance of the Virgin Mary to the peasant Juan Diego on December 12, 1531. Our hotel organized a procession for staff members and invited hotel guests to attend. They asked to wear white although the dancers appeared in colourful costumes.
The candlelight processions include both Aztec and Christian costumes and motifs, mariachi bands, and singing by all participants (the organizers gave us song sheets). Food stalls filled the park in front of the destination, Our Lady of Guadalupe Church.
We found it a beautiful way to welcome the Christmas season. With luck we’ll continue our Mexico habit next year.
In September my husband Will and I flew to Split, Croatia, to visit our son Matt, who is living there for a year. Before leaving, Will plotted a 10-day road trip from Split through mountains, lakes, and charming towns in Croatia and neighbouring Slovenia. Matt took a holiday from work to join us.
Our trip began with a couple of glitches – the long range weather forecast predicted rain and unseasonably cool temperatures and the airline lost our luggage with our warm and waterproof clothing. Our first stop on the drive was the Mall of Split, where we bought rain ponchos, umbrellas, toothbrushes, and spare t-shirts, underwear and socks.
Day two was Plitvice National Park, about three hours north of Split on the scenic mountainous route. We spent six hours at the popular park walking by hundreds of waterfalls and clear, green lakes. The views were awesome and we were comfortable in our five layers of clothes. The rain held off until the end of our walk, but I wore my poncho the whole time for warmth.
Selfie on the lake boat ride
The following day, we drove to Slovenia. The highway wound past cornfields and picturesque towns, including Novo Mesto, birthplace of Melania Trump. At Ljubljana airport we were reunited with our luggage, which Split Airport had eventually located and kindly flew to our next destination. Dressed in our warm jackets, we enjoyed an evening walk in Ljubljana’s downtown riverfront cafe area which buzzed with people and activity. It was lovely to see the castle, buildings, and bridges lit up on a dark clear night.
In the morning, we rode the funicular up to the castle that dominates Slovenia’s capital city. The highlight was the tower lookout’s 360-degree views of the surrounding area. The recent precipitation had fallen as snow on the mountaintops, which made the city’s backdrop extra spectacular.
After our Slovenian lunch of sausages and cabbage soup, we had dessert and cappuccinos at the rooftop restaurant in Nebotičnik Skyscraper (12 stories) for more panoramic views until rain chased us into the National Museum of Slovenia. The museum portrayed the history of Slovenian peoples from Neanderthal to the present time.
Oldest musical instrument in the world – 60,000 years old Neanderthal flute from the Divje babe cave
From Ljubljana, we settled in Lake Bled for three nights. On our first walk, the lake was stunning in the late afternoon light.
In the morning, we walked up to Bled Castle and around the lake. At the far end, we hiked to a viewpoint with views of Bled Island and Bled Castle. The day’s weather was perfect – sunny and high of twenty degrees Celsius (68 F).
A lite lunch at the Bled Castle cafe Bled Island with church in middle of the lake, Bled Castle at the far end
On our second full day in Bled, we did a day trip to Vintgar Gorge. Since COVID, the Triglav National Park has set up a system of timed entries and one-way trails to reduce congestion during the crowded summer season. We found the gorge didn’t outshine similar ones in our Canadian backyard, but the return path with views of Bled Castle and valley villages made the trek worthwhile. The park charges 10 Euro per person which includes helmets for protection from falling stones and banging your head on the rocks jutting out from the side of the gorge’s narrow boardwalk trail.
The following day, we set out for the Julian Alps, took a wrong turn, and found ourselves in a five-mile tunnel. Half-way through it, Matt’s phone pinged: “Welcome to Austria.” Oops! Our car rental was only insured for Croatia and Slovenia. At the Austrian end, a lineup of delivery trucks stretched for miles.
To avoid getting stuck in the lineup, Matt found us a route through Austrian villages and a mountain pass back to Slovenia. We stopped at Kranjska-Gora, a resort town that reminded of us of Banff in our home province of Alberta.
For several hours, we drove the fifty switchbacks (they are numbered) up and over the Vrsic Pass. We stopped at viewpoints with vistas of craggy mountains and a Russian Chapel constructed by WWI Russian prisoners of war who built the road. Many died in the process and are buried near the chapel.
Mountain sheep brought traffic to a halt on a switchback turn
Saturday was caves. First we visited Predjama Castle, built in the mouth of a cave. Guiness World Records lists it as the world’s largest cave castle. The original owner was a robber baron who possibly used the 12 miles of tunnels leading into the mountains to hide his booty.
View from castle cave window
Postojna Cave was massive, impressive, and fun. A 10-minute train ride took us deep into the cave. A guide led us on an hour-long walk through the multitude of formations. The walk ended at aquarium of olm, a cave salamander completely adapted to life in underground water. Since food isn’t plentiful in caves, olm only eat every ten years. Scientists estimate their average lifespan is 68.5 years.
Matt, Susan, & Will on trainOlm in aquarium
After the caves, we left Slovenia, re-entered Croatia and headed for the coast. Our last days of the road trip were sunny and warm. We took the slow and winding coastal route back to Split, stopping at seaside towns and villages.
The summer-like weather prompted us to swim at one of the numerous beach coves along the coast. Quite a change from our cool, rainy days at the start of our drive and a fabulous finale to our road trip.
When I was a child, I read numerous novels written over a century ago, such as Anne of Gables,Emily of New Moon, and The Story Girl by L. M. Montgomery. Characters who got sick in these stories routinely mentioned taking laudanum. I hadn’t heard of this medicine but assumed it was similar to our everyday modern drugs. So I was surprised to later learn that laudanum is essentially opium.
Anne of Green Gables took opium?
She almost certainly did. From the 18th to the early 20th century, laudanum was a common drug found in most household medicine cabinets. People took it for headaches, coughs, diarrhea, and “female complaints.” They fed drops to babies to ease teething pain and colic.
Drawings reveal that the juice and seeds of the opium poppy were used as medicines in ancient Assyria and Egypt. Opium treatment emerged in Europe in the 1660s, when doctors dissolved opium in liquor and added cinnamon, cloves, other spices and sometimes honey to mask the plant’s bitter taste to create a drug they called laudanum. The medicine worked quickly and more effectively than other drugs available at the time and came to feature in about 25 % of all prescribed medications. Opium was also the secret ingredient in 19th century drugs advertised and sold under innocuous brand names like Dover’s Powder and Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.
While doctors appreciated the value of opium, they were aware of the dangers. Overdose, called “acute poisoning,” could be accidental or intentional. Opium was the most common method of suicide in the 1800s and too many drops of laudanum tragically resulted in infant deaths.
Addiction, or “chronic poisoning,” was another problem. Poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s medical treatments led to a life-long laudanum addiction. His famous poem, “Kubla Khan,” was inspired by an opium dream.
In the early 1880s, researchers isolated the active ingredient in opium and named it for Morpheus, the Greek god of sleep and dreams. Morphine is ten times as strong as the same amount of opium but can be more precisely measured, preventing overdose. Hypodermic needles were invented to inject morphine powder and soon people could buy hypodermic syringes in the Sears catalogue for $2.00.
Next Bayer pharmaceuticals developed the even stronger heroin and marketed it with its other new drug, aspirin. Some people thought aspirin carried higher risks because it caused bleeding.
But many doctors and members of the public pushed for restrictions on dangerous drugs. In the early 20th century, governments passed laws making opium and its derivatives only available by prescription and requiring companies to list ingredients on drug labels. Researchers gradually developed effective medicines with fewer serious side effects. Laudanum is still available today but is mainly prescribed to control diarrhea when other medications have failed.
Why am I interested in old time medicine? It’s because my new historical mystery novel, A Killer Whisky, deals with common drugs of the early 1900s. These also included cocaine – great for nasal inflammation – and whisky. During Prohibition doctors were allowed to prescribe liquor to relieve stress, pain, and other physical and mental ailments. Many people took advantage of that legal loophole and enjoyed the medicine’s intoxicating side-benefits.
References:
Halpern, John H., MD and Blistein, David. Opium: How an Ancient Flower Shaped and Poisoned Our World. New York: Hachette, 2019.
Inglis, Lucy. Milk of Paradise: A History of Opium. London: Macmillan, 2019.
Malleck, Dan. When Good Drugs Go Bad. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2015.
On today’s BWL author blog, I write about some of interesting research I did for my historical novel-in-progress, A Killer Whisky.https://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/
At Calgary’s When Words Collide Festival for Writers and Readers this weekend, I’ll be moderating a panel titled “Mastering the Macabre: Techniques in Crime, Mystery, and Thriller Writing. The session will explore the techniques used to create heart-pounding narratives that keep readers hooked until the very end. Hear from panelists as they discuss how to craft compelling mysteries, develop intricate crime plots, and evoke suspense. Ideal for writers seeking to sharpen their skills and fans of the genre. Join us Saturday at 9:00 am for a discussion that I expect to be both enlightening and entertaining.
Panelist Juanita Rose Violini created this chilling poster:
On today’s BWL Author Insider blog, I write about my three beautiful bike rides this spring on highways close to Calgary. https://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/
My favourite research for my novel-in-progress set in 1918 Calgary has been reading novels written by contemporary authors of the time. This week I finished Rilla of Ingleside, the eighth and last book of L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables series. When I was a child, I devoured all the Anne books. I loved the first three novels in the series best, but once Anne realized Gilbert was her true love she got boring and the stories shifted focus to her six children. The story of Rilla, the youngest, grabbed me more than those of her older siblings because Rilla grows as a character and the war’s impact was poignant.
Rilla of Ingleside is set during World War One. The novel begins with the war’s start in 1914 and ends shortly after the Armistice of November 11, 1918. Wikipedia calls Rilla of Ingleside “the only Canadian novel written from a contemporary woman’s perspective about the First World War.” I found it an excellent portrait of the experiences, views, and feelings of people living on the Canadian home front. The book led me to make a few changes to my novel, A Killer Whisky, which takes place during the Great War’s final month.
Rilla lived in Prince Edward Island. A friend loaned me four novels written by early twentieth century Alberta writers. As their titles suggest, Cattle by Winnifred Eaton and The Cow Puncher by Robert J.C. Stead are largely set in ranch country, but the characters venture into Calgary. The Cow Puncher gets into World War One, which ties to its theme that meaning comes from service rather than selfishness. Cattle deals with the 1918 Influenza Pandemic aka the Spanish flu, which features prominently in A Killer Whisky.
The Shadow Riders by Isabel Paterson is set entirely in Calgary during the pre-war real estate boom. While reading all of the books, I kept a pen and sheet of paper handy to jot notes on descriptions of Calgary during that era, details of daily life, and word usage. A hundred years ago, expressions of surprise and horror tended to come from religion, such as “Lord Almighty!” “I’ll be damned!” and the softer “Heavens!” Peppering a novel with these as well as slightly archaic phrases — “he was wont to say,” “it’s a mortal disgrace,” “wicked to do this” — helps bring readers into that former time.
The fourth Alberta novel I read, The Magpie’s Nest, was Isabel Paterson’s second published novel. Set partly in rural Alberta and New York City, it provided less Calgary detail than The Shadow Riders, but The Magpie offered some interesting commentary. Today’s writers tired of the pressure to promote themselves on social media might appreciate this Magpie character’s view of fan worship: “What does anyone want to meet an author for? Or a painter, or any famous person? You’ve got all the best of them in whatever they create. I’d as soon meet a cook because I liked the meal.”
In addition to their practical value for research, I found these five novels jolly good reads. The female characters are remarkably spirited and smart. While the books’ styles are somewhat dated, I enjoyed them more than many modern novels I’ve read. There’s good reason to call them classics, but they all aren’t easy to get your hands on.
Rilla of Ingleside is the only one available for takeout from my Calgary Public Library due to the continued popularity of the Anne of Green Gables series. Cattle, re-released last year by Invisible Publishing to mark the 30th anniversary of Winnifred Eaton’s death, is available only for in-library use. You aren’t likely to find Cattle on a bookstore shelf, but it can be ordered or purchased online. The Leopold Classical Library has republished Isabel Paterson’s two novels by scanning the originals since books published in the United States before 1929 are now in the public domain. You can also read e-book versions free online.
I liked The Shadow Riders so much that I bought the republished paperback and was surprised — “Good Heavens!” — when it arrived in 8 1/2 x 11 format in large font with wide margins. A bargain for $30, even though the original novel probably cost about 50 cents in 1918.
Last month I visited the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa. The museum portrays the impact of war on Canadians from pre-contact to the present day. Before the Europeans arrived, indigenous settlements had warrior training areas, where youths learned skills with bows and arrows and clubs for the tribes’ battles with their enemies. French explorers heightened these conflicts by introducing guns to the weaponry and forming alliances with tribes to aid France’s quest for control of fur trading territories.
In 1759 Britain defeated France on the Plains of Abraham in Quebec City and took over the land that eventually became Canada. Seventeen years later the American Revolutionary War brought an estimated 45,000 US colonists to Canada, where they could continue to live under the British crown. The United States invaded Canada during the War of 1812 in an attempt to drive the British from the continent, but the loyalists held them back.
At the turn of the century, Canadians moved to fighting overseas. Over 7,000 volunteers rallied to the British cause in the South African War (Boer War). World War One was the first foreign war that engaged the entire country of Canada and affected every aspect of daily life.
My journey through the war museum’s WW1 galleries began with panels that displayed images of eager young Canadian men leaving for war.
Who knew married men needed a wife’s permission?
When the men arrived on the battlefields, life in the trenches quickly lost its glamour. Mud, rats, and disease prevailed. During long hours of boredom, some creative souls made trench art from discarded materials like shell casings, brass bullet cartridges, and chalk.
A viewer in the museum provided a visual of a chlorine gas — eerie and strangely alluring. The Germans first released the poison gas cloud during the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915, taking the Allied soldiers unawares. Troops fled in all directions. Thousands suffered burnt lungs or suffocated. The Allies quickly responded by developing increasingly effective gas masks for future battles and retaliating with their own poison gases.
A cloud of poison gas in Ypres. Photos from Collier’s New Photographic History of the World War (New York: P.F. Collier & Son, 1918) Most touching was the museum’s display of the dreaded telegram, which could arrive any minute with news of a loved one’s serious injury, missing-in-action report, or death.
Outside the museum, the tulips were starting to bloom in Ottawa, earlier than usual this year due to the winter’s low snow cover and mild weather in March. Each year, Ottawa hosts a tulip festival that goes back to World War II. Following the Nazi invasion, Princess Juliana of the Netherlands took refuge in Ottawa with her two children. Her third daughter, Princess Margriet, was born at the Ottawa Civic Hospital. A section of the hospital was declared Dutch soil so that the baby would hold Dutch nationality exclusively. Two years later, Canadian troops played a large role in the liberation of the Netherlands. After Princess Juliana and her children returned to their homeland, she sent Ottawa and the Canadian people a thank you gift of 100,000 tulip bulbs. Since then, the Dutch royal family has sent tulip bulbs to Canada’s capital every year and Ottawa celebrates each May with a tulip festival. This year’s event takes place May 10-20th. During my Ottawa stay, my high school friend and I walked to a park near Dow’s Lake to enjoy the beds of colourful tulips.
While researching 1918 fashion for my historical-novel-in-progress, I stumbled upon a 1918 Sears, Roebuck and Company catalogue, which someone had uploaded on the internet. The catalogue’s 1,676 pages provided a treasure trove of details about that year in time and brought back memories of my catalogue browsing in my younger days.
In Canada, where I grew up, the Eaton’s mail-order catalogue was a mainstay in middle class homes from the early twentieth century until the catalogue expired in 1976. My cousin, who lived in the countryside, ordered all her back-to-school clothes from the thick fall/winter catalogue. My aunt in the city turned ordering and returning catalogue items into a hobby. Her husband joked that the Eaton’s delivery truck made a daily beeline to their street. Catalogues were the forerunner of today’s online shopping although they couldn’t offer one-day service.
I don’t recall purchasing many catalogue goods, but I enjoyed flipping through the pages to see what was available. A common joke of the time was that little boys–and not so little ones–spent hours studying the ads for women’s underwear. I expect boys living 100 years ago were equally intrigued by the 1918 catalogue’s not-so-demure ladies modelling corsets. Prices for these complex articles of clothing ranged from $1.85 to $3.98 for Sear’s finest corsets. Corsets for children and teenage girls started at 98 cents.
I always find it interesting when old or historical books cite prices that are stunningly lower than today’s costs. On the next revision of my historical novel, I’ll look for ways to subtly insert a few 1918 prices into the story. While the earlier drafts mentioned corsets and petticoats, my catalogue stroll reminded me that people wore more underwear a century ago because houses were colder. The 1918 Sears catalogue featured twenty-eight pages of long underwear ads for women, men, and children. A note explained that wool underwear had become scarce because the Government required woolen mills to prioritize supply to soldiers and sailors fighting the Great War. Most civilians would have to make do with cotton underwear.
The one-piece undershirt and underpants garment was called a union suit in 1918. Long underwear was originally designed to liberate women from corsets, petticoats, and stockings. Perhaps I’ll have my protagonist wear a pair of long johns under her housedress to stay warm in her chilly home. Catalogue ads for coal kitchen stoves, called ranges, promoted their side benefit of warming the room in winter. Customers could purchase ranges fueled by hard coal, soft coal, wood, coke, corn cob, and/or gas. No kindling required. They’d start the stove with a lit piece of paper that might be a page from last season’s catalogue. Old catalogue pages also served as toilet paper and little girls cut out pictures of the models for paper dolls–the original Barbies.
All of these details would add period interest to a historical story and the 1918 catalogue offered many more. Women’s muffs and collarettes made from the fur of China goat, raccoon, opossum, muskrat, marmot, and weasel. Ostrich plumes for hats. Seventeen pages of pocket watches, watch chains, and watch fobs. Collar boxes with a round form inside to keep the shape of men’s shirt collars. Wool robes for riding in open-top buggies and cars.
The catalogue also sold War Savings stamps to “support our boys at the front,” official war pictures taken by the US government of trenches, gas attacks, and war ruins for ten cents each, and rubber face masks, presumably to improve complexion. The catalogue states, with surprising candor, “The usefulness of rubber masks has been exaggerated. We make no specific claims for these articles, but we offer them for women desiring them.” They also offered a washable rubber night strap to reduce double chins for the bargain price of forty-nine cents.
If you’re interested in your own stroll through 1918 daily life check out Sears, Roebuck and Co. Chicago: Originators of the Guarantee that stands the test in the Scales of Justice. https://archive.org/details/catalog1918sear/page/n3/mode/2up
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