Le Capital- Ottawa, or, Reawakening a Lawyer

I have not set foot inside a courtroom, read a case or statute or consulted with a client for more than 2 months. I did not think I would miss it as much as I do. Visiting the British Columbia Provincial Parliament Buildings back in Victoria at the beginning of my trip was something of a touchstone. I was able to read the Canadian Bill of Rights, peek into the closed, legislative floor and view the portraits of the Attorneys- General.

Ottawa as a city was everything I thought it would be and surpassed my expectations. The slumbering lawyer within woke up.

The train I had taken from Quebec city to Montreal was one of the slick new VIA rail numbers, with the equivalent of business- class seats, giant leg room and handy pockets and things. Thumbs up! The train from Montreal to Ottawa was like a decent version of the XPT. Pedestrian really, but I had resolved not to become spoiled by the finer things in life Montreal had offered me.

Just as well I had that attitude. I had made the decision not to stay at the famous international youth hostel in Ottawa, the renovated Ottawa gaol, where you can stay behind bars for the night. This is quite a favourite with travellers, but I could not imagine much worse. I have spent quite a bit of time interviewing clients behind plate glass. The idea of sleeping behind bars for a lark is only comprehensible to people who have no idea of who and what has gone on there previously.

I ended up at the other, smaller backpackers' downtown, who at best was "homely", at worst was a dump. It was primarily populated by superficially nice but actually, passive-aggressive, political, ... well, ask me if you really want to know and why and have my email address, since my blog could be struck off by Yahoo at the first whiff of un-pc discussion. My roommates and the central location were the best redeeming feature.

Marie, a fashion model from Quebec was one of the most beautiful girls I've seen for a while. She was fiesty, determined and passionate about music, being Canadian (she is not a separatist), travel and military men. She also amused me by calling me "girl" and "girlfriend" a lot and admired my more PG rated romantic ideals. However, I am glad I am not blessed with anywhere near enough looks to have the choice of making money out of them. Whilst I have the self discipline, I simply think life is too short to punish myself at the gym for 3 hours for the transgression of eating 250gms of low fat cheese in one sitting, when there is a great city to see.

Philipa from Nova Scotia was the loveliest, funniest girl I could have hoped to meet from that province. I got to know her really on my second day and we became firm friends.

Ottawa was cold. Minus 20 and colder kind of cold. It was a real test and my Porsche (see previous post) and I stood up to it. Hooray !! I went for my self-guided "orientation walk" down to the Rideau canal, which runs through the centre of downtown Ottawa. It is also the longest/ biggest ice skating rink in the world (Guiness Book of Records). It is frozen solid. It was a little difficult for me to hold that concept in my head as a gingerly stepped out onto it in my hiking boots, with ice skaters whizzing past me and even parents on skates pushing muffled-up kids in pram/sleighs. I kept expecting the ice to break. I had never in my whole life seen a body of water frozen completely though. For goodness sake, in Oz we barely have any water, fullstop. Then I saw a snowmobile driving on the canal to clear the snow from the ice and felt better. I knew I weighed less than a snowmobile. I would be ok. I made it across the ice. My destination, a coffee stall on the other side and a stall that sold beavertails.

A beavertail is a flat donut, and surprise, surprise, shaped like a beavertail. It is more deepfried crust and more sugar than dough, has no nutritional value and is an Ottawa winter classic. I had been informed on good authority that cinnamon and lemon was the best so went for one of those. So in minus 30 temperatures on a clear sunny day, I sat down on a bench on a frozen canal to watch the skaters with my coffee warming my hands and my first (later turned out to be my only) beavertail.

Unfortunately in the time it took me to sit down and congratulate myself on remembering the recommended one to order, my beavertail had instantly gotten cold. I laughed out loud at myself. It had taken so much trust to step onto the canal and so much balance to get across the ice and the flipping thing was cold. But I enjoyed my beavertail, anyway, swinging my legs on the bench to keep warm and was quietly proud of myself for sitting outside so long.

I decided it was not too far to walk to the Houses of Parliament and off I went. I was not disappointed. For a moment I was back on Pall Mall in 1996 looking up at Big Ben and the British Houses of Parliament. The buildings are incredibly similar and very impressive. Of course I never seen Peter Pan fly by either Big Ben as per the children's story so there is always something to look forward to. Unlike England, there is a grand sweep of snow-covered land leading up to the House which served only to grace the building further.

I arrived in time to be informed that I could wait 40 minutes and would be allowed into "Question Period", the same session in the House of Commons (aka our House of Representatives) as our "Question Time". Super. I could see the Prime Minister do his thing and hopefully a bit of political biffo as well in The House. Free entertainment and educational too.

There was a lady from Newfoundland, Margie who had arrived as the same time as myself. She was a retired schoolteacher and was out for the day whilst her husband was attending business meetings. We got along swimmingly and went up together to the Peace Tower(inside the Big Ben clock), dedicated as a memorial to peace after WWII. My new friend was a little nervous of heights so I was proud of her for plucking up the courage to see the views of the city from inside the clock tower, which were spectacular- 360 degrees. I glued myself to the glass and looked down, around and everywhere.

We took our seats in the Public Gallery of the House of Commons. Like the British and the Aussies, their house was in the colour green (but ours is proudly eucalyptus green). It was stately and elegant and the MPs came filing in very casually (one brought his newspaper which looked like the local rag). There were "telephones" in each seat for amplification of hearing whoever was speaking on the floor, which was helpful as in the Aust Parliament, there was a lot of background muttering (or occasional shouting) from each side of the House to block out whoever was addressing the Speaker.

However, even when the debate got a little fiery, it was always polite. The Speaker only had to discipline one MP for failing to address the Prime Minister as "The Honourable Member" and no-one called anyone else a mongrel. How very Canadian. Question Time back home is like basketball. Enough personal "fouls" and you could be removed from the chamber. And it threatens to happen quite often. Not that I advocate bad manners, but it's just the way things are done in the House of Reps.

What was fascinating is that the Question Period was conducted both comfortably in a mixture of English and French. The leader of the Opposition is Quebecqois and remembering that Ottawa was deliberately located on the border between English-speaking Ontario and French-speaking Quebec (actually just on the Ontario side). All Federal government employees greet you with "HelloBonjour" as if it was one word and wait for you to respond in whatever language you feel comfortable in speaking to them in.

Of course, Question Period was half over before I worked out that my "telephone" had channels like the UN and that I could listen to the entire session in English- with the French bits translated so I didn't have to give myself a headache working it out. I still need work on my relationship with technology...

The topics for discussion were almost identical to those that are affecting us back home; crime and gun control, support for primary producers to sell their goods, the disadvantaged and the homeless, judicial appointments by the government to the bench being criticised as being too right wing. It was fascinating, it was immediate. I was watching the news before it was broadcast as news. I was thinking like a lawyer. I was differentiating between federal and provincial issues. I was thinking about the independence of the judiciary.

After Question Period, Margie and I went on the tour of the House of Commons and the Legislative Library (not open for use by the public). This law library is a work of art in itself. Have you seen the animated feature of Beauty and the Beast? The scene where the Beast shows Beauty the library and draws the curtains, showing floor upon floor of books and stairs leading up to them. My reaction was the same as the bookish Belle. I was enraptured.

It was not the biggest, but certainly the most beautiful law library I have ever seen. Full of sunlight from the high ceilings, Swedish carvers had lovingly and intricately worked with a light kind of wood to make the place a real dedication to the written word. I could've stayed there for hours and wished I could have been allowed to walk though rather than viewing from the main floor.

After the tour I said goodbye to Margie from Newfoundland who I hope will read this. She is the proud mother of several daughters, one of whom is training as a lawyer on Prince Edward Island (my current dream job). I do hope we meet again.

I decided during the last hour of the day to skip the Senate (where they were locking in to take a vote) and to view the Supreme Court of Canada, the highest court in the land. It was a few blocks away on the same avenue as the Houses of Parliament. I also knew that I would not be permitted to view the courtrooms for security reasons out of session, so it would be limited to the halls and the judges portrait gallery or portrait room. What I did not expect was to find "my goddess".

For a number of years now I have been on the search for a really apt portrayal of the Goddess Justice. You know, the one with the sword and the scales with a blindfold over her eyes. I wanted one that I could frame and put in my office at work or at home. The traditional one is fine but never sat well with me, much as I like the symbolism. At my request for my admission to legal practice in 2001, my then-boyfriend who was a fine artist did a sketch for me of a moving Justice, in a warrior-stance with a flaming sword. I liked that but again, it seemed too ambitious a portrayal for where my career was at the time and the community in which I was working.

There are twin statues outside the Supreme Court of Canada. Goddess Truth holds a mighty volume in her arms and is looking to the heavens. I immediately liked her, though was frustrated that I couldn't see the expression on her face, as she towered above me in the snow.

This Goddess Justice is not blindfolded and does not carry scales. Her sword stands at rest in her hand, pointed to the ground and she holds her other arm across her body. I will try to upload photos when I can. Her expression is serene, serious, responsible, sorrowful, compassionate and indifferent. A fitting tribute to the sculpter's hand and the Court itself.