Dispatches from Algoniquin: Issue 1 - The Phantom Menace
I hate people. Most people. As Tommy Lee Jones' character in Men in Black put it so eloquently "A person is smart; people are dumb panicky dangerous animals and you know it." The main point of this mini-vacation was to get away from the humdrum, the noise, the obnoxious drone of millions and millions of people. And what do we get for our troubles? Noisy people. Obnoxious noisy people. In the woods for Christsakes.
Our neighbours are not noisy people, our friends are not noisy people, and yet we wanted to get away from all noise of life, to tune out. What better place to do that then in the deepest darkest part of the wilderness...a place where you can only get by canoe. No electricity. No power boats. Just loons and the gentle lap of the water. And screaming in Dutch. Yes. Dutch. I didn't sign up for cussing from the Netherlands. If I wanted clog-stomping profanity, tulip-bulb-planting blue, or dyke-digging derogatives, I know places that you can go, honestly. I just didn't expect to find it 100 feet away from us in Northern Ontario.
We decided to camp at this little outcrop (decided wasn't exactly the term...it was the only site left). The nearest campsite to us was about a mile away. The site was quite nice, sunny and shaded in parts, with a beautiful little rocky island 100 feet offshore. And yet, shortly into enjoying the flow of nature in front of us, the Dutch arrived. About 8 of them. And they decided to picnic on the island. 100 feet away. There was screaming, the aforementioned swearing and worst of the worst, singing. The loons flew away, the lapping of the lake was drowned out, and we had the priviledge of listening to endless renditions of what I can only assume was the Dutch version of "Row, row, row your boat".
Honestly now, was this necessary? Was the hollering really needed? We stood and watched in dumb horror at these people and they just didn't get it. Didn't get it. I don't know why they bothered to come all the way up North to hear the sound of their own voices...can't they appreciate where they are? Can't they understand that there are moments for loud and this was not one of them?
And even when they left (thank god) we could still hear them a mile away! We couldn't even see these people with binoculars, but we could hear their intimate conversations held at 100+ decibels, screaming and screeching through the day and night. The next morning, there they were again, paddling past our campsite yabbering on at first light. They just didn't get it.
They left the same morning we did, singing all the way. We heard them coming for 20 minutes and for another 10 after they had passed us. Row, row, row your boat all the frickin' way. MF muttered under his breath "It's called 'paddling' dumbasses". But we say nothing. Nothing to say really...you cannot change people with a group mentality, only a person at a time.
Our neighbours are not noisy people, our friends are not noisy people, and yet we wanted to get away from all noise of life, to tune out. What better place to do that then in the deepest darkest part of the wilderness...a place where you can only get by canoe. No electricity. No power boats. Just loons and the gentle lap of the water. And screaming in Dutch. Yes. Dutch. I didn't sign up for cussing from the Netherlands. If I wanted clog-stomping profanity, tulip-bulb-planting blue, or dyke-digging derogatives, I know places that you can go, honestly. I just didn't expect to find it 100 feet away from us in Northern Ontario.
We decided to camp at this little outcrop (decided wasn't exactly the term...it was the only site left). The nearest campsite to us was about a mile away. The site was quite nice, sunny and shaded in parts, with a beautiful little rocky island 100 feet offshore. And yet, shortly into enjoying the flow of nature in front of us, the Dutch arrived. About 8 of them. And they decided to picnic on the island. 100 feet away. There was screaming, the aforementioned swearing and worst of the worst, singing. The loons flew away, the lapping of the lake was drowned out, and we had the priviledge of listening to endless renditions of what I can only assume was the Dutch version of "Row, row, row your boat".
Honestly now, was this necessary? Was the hollering really needed? We stood and watched in dumb horror at these people and they just didn't get it. Didn't get it. I don't know why they bothered to come all the way up North to hear the sound of their own voices...can't they appreciate where they are? Can't they understand that there are moments for loud and this was not one of them?
And even when they left (thank god) we could still hear them a mile away! We couldn't even see these people with binoculars, but we could hear their intimate conversations held at 100+ decibels, screaming and screeching through the day and night. The next morning, there they were again, paddling past our campsite yabbering on at first light. They just didn't get it.
They left the same morning we did, singing all the way. We heard them coming for 20 minutes and for another 10 after they had passed us. Row, row, row your boat all the frickin' way. MF muttered under his breath "It's called 'paddling' dumbasses". But we say nothing. Nothing to say really...you cannot change people with a group mentality, only a person at a time.
posted by Jennifer @ 5:37 p.m.
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