I stalked the aisles of my local foodstore, looking at my fellow shoppers while I collected the ingredients for my evening feast.
"These people don't know about me," I thought to myself, "They don't know that yesterday I went wading into the sea from a snow covered beach. They don't know that I skiied down a mountain the day before. Heck, they don't know even know that a couple of nights ago I participated in a Rocky Horror strip party."
The thought amused me as I poked at the vegetables in search of an amusingly shaped carrot or potato that I could sell to one of the lower-end tabloids. It also distracted me from the memory of the final leg of the journey home.
Here's a phrase you never, ever want to hear at the gate (well, aside from "your pilot today is Captain Bin Laden"): "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to announce that the flight will be delayed for two hours due to severe weather at the destination airport and... er... hold on... ah, the Captain thinks he'll be able to fly through it ok, so we'll start boarding. Business first, please"
Yes, the last leg from Frankfurt was a little choppy. The drinks trolley was not pushed down the aisle for "safety reasons" - or rather the stewards and stewardesses were either too afraid to experience the bucking bronco ambience of the plane or were concerned about slipping on the vomit. Seriously - I've never seen so many people throwing up at the same time. Except for the time I was in the audience in a showing of Armageddon.
Next adventure... Dublin.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Funky In Frankfurt
The flight was uneventful. I entirely failed to sleep at all. The woman sitting next to me did. From the moment she'd sat in her seat and put on her belt she was asleep. Head on the window, mouth open, nostril hairs moving gently in the breeze.
After 8 hours had passed I began to toy with sticking a pen up her nose, or perhaps writing on her face. Not because she was snoring, but because I was desperately envious of her ability to sleep. In fact, the whole cabin seemed to be asleep. Anyone else get that feeling on long-haul flights? That you're the only one awake? I took to making circuits of the cabin. At the start of the circuit I decided who I'd look for and then find them.
My targets were:
The couple who'd just joined the mile high club
The person most resembling a dead celebrity
The individual who'd wanted to join the mile high club but whose partner hadn't been up for it
And so on. Anything to alleviate the boredom.
And now I'm at Frankfurt. I wonder where my luggage is. Probably somewhere hot and sunny.
After 8 hours had passed I began to toy with sticking a pen up her nose, or perhaps writing on her face. Not because she was snoring, but because I was desperately envious of her ability to sleep. In fact, the whole cabin seemed to be asleep. Anyone else get that feeling on long-haul flights? That you're the only one awake? I took to making circuits of the cabin. At the start of the circuit I decided who I'd look for and then find them.
My targets were:
The couple who'd just joined the mile high club
The person most resembling a dead celebrity
The individual who'd wanted to join the mile high club but whose partner hadn't been up for it
And so on. Anything to alleviate the boredom.
And now I'm at Frankfurt. I wonder where my luggage is. Probably somewhere hot and sunny.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Time Passes So Slowly...
Having been thrown out of the Cathay Pacific lounge, with its free internet and, most importantly, free beer and odd Japanese wines, I staggered back to join The Public.
I stepped on something sticky. I raised my foot and beneath me stared Bullwinkle the moose, encased in sugar. A nearby kid tugged my leg: "You trod on my lolly!"
"It was on the floor" I protested.
"But is was miiiiiiinnnnnneee!" the open pink mouth began to scream.
I crouched down: "Kid. I'm real sorry about the candy. Don't draw attention to me I'm... on a mission."
"A mission?"
"A mission. I'm with the British. Can't talk about it, do you understand?"
"Oh wow. Like James Bond?"
"Ssssh... here's some money for another lolly. You... never... saw... me... ok?"
I didn't have the heart to tell him that my 'mission' was a cocktail in each bar in a continuing circuit until boarding. Still, thanks to me at least one child has been stopped screaming although he'd have some interesting stories for his parents.
Back to circuit training. Ho hum. Weird airport this.
I stepped on something sticky. I raised my foot and beneath me stared Bullwinkle the moose, encased in sugar. A nearby kid tugged my leg: "You trod on my lolly!"
"It was on the floor" I protested.
"But is was miiiiiiinnnnnneee!" the open pink mouth began to scream.
I crouched down: "Kid. I'm real sorry about the candy. Don't draw attention to me I'm... on a mission."
"A mission?"
"A mission. I'm with the British. Can't talk about it, do you understand?"
"Oh wow. Like James Bond?"
"Ssssh... here's some money for another lolly. You... never... saw... me... ok?"
I didn't have the heart to tell him that my 'mission' was a cocktail in each bar in a continuing circuit until boarding. Still, thanks to me at least one child has been stopped screaming although he'd have some interesting stories for his parents.
Back to circuit training. Ho hum. Weird airport this.
The End
No, not the end of the journal. Just the end of this particular adventure. Assuming I make it to the airport and the plane isn't too badly delayed. Otherwise I may be back...
I could really have used another 2 weeks. Maybe 4. Perhaps 8. But there you go.
I learnt some stuff. I learnt that I really, really like Canada. So much so that I'd like to live here. I learnt that people you meet on-line are usually even nicer in the flesh. I learnt that strangers can be generous and wierd in equal measure. And I learnt that I really don't want to go home.
If all goes to plan, I'll be back on-line tomorrow with tales of Lufthansa's elderly airbuses, the soulessness of Frankfurt airport and a tearful reunion with First-Born. But for now, thank you. You know who you are.
Bellini Bear And The Fornicating Giraffes
"I really need a quiet night. Really. I do."
The fact that a light dusting of snow seems to bring Vancouver to a total standstill made it look increasingly likely that this would be the case. My plan for the evening was to wander from the hotel to a bar on the beach, drink myself into a stupor and play on the interesting looking quiz machine they had installed. My general knowledge is formidable; honed by many tedious christmases with the in-laws playing Trivial Pursuit and pretending not to notice my father-in-law cheating.
I brightened. I no longer had a father-in-law. Reasons to be cheerful part 1.
Reasons to be cheerful part 2 was a message from a Vancouverite journal reader suggesting meeting up. I was unsure, but The Bear likes to meet new people. As I waited in the hotel bar the waitress offered me the house speciality: deep fried spaghetti. I dutifully nibbled it and imagined the serving staff peering around the corner giggling: "He actually ate it! Go see if you can make him drink some of this cats pee..." but I wasn't in the mood for Budweiser.
Our party arrived, I learnt new things, and we headed out to Millstones. Highlight of the evening for me (aside from meeting fun people) was the suggestion that one of our party (who worked in London)'s 'bitch of a boss' could be turned into a happy, well adjusted person by, if not actual impregnation, certainly by getting laid. I love that expression. Naturally, I volunteered. However, the graphic descriptions of the anally retentive and controlling nature of this individual left me with the impression that intercourse would take the form of:
"What? You've finishd already?"
"Well, er, yeah, 60 minutes is a long time for a guy..."
"Well *I* haven't! Do it again, and this time DO IT RIGHT!"
Such a thing can dampen a man's ardour somewhat.
It was around this time that one member of our party constructed the scene below. Out of two of the giraffes from the Bellinis. Bellinis, for those that don't know, are a kind of alcoholic slush-puppie. I can only hope that Another Drink never reads this, otherwise my status as 'bloke' will be forever tarnished...
...and as for this picture. Well, maybe that gooey stuff isn't bellini after all. Oh deary, deary me...
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Mark And Mary 2
Oh yeah. The whole Mark and Mary thing.
I was interrupted this morning by the need to catch the SnowBus (highly recommended - 30 Canadian dollars for a return to Whistler from Vancouver is not to be sniffed at) and had planned to finish retelling the story on the bus (I have a tiny, tiny laptop and so can do such things.) Unfortunately, the host put a breathtakingly bad film called "Hellboy" onto the bus's video which distracted me for the whole journey in much the same way that a car crash tends to draw one's eyes whether one wants to look or not.
But I digress.
I was aware that following a naked man through the corridors of the hotel was not something I'd normally do but I figured - heck - whats the worst that could happen? Luckily my imagination had not had the time to provide options when we arrived at another door. The man (who I later learned was called Mark) thumped on the door.
"Mary!" he called "This the right room?"
"Ya" came the reply, and the door was opened. I peered inside. Including the one I assumed was Mary, I could see 3 more women and another man.
"I found my beer!" said Mark, holding the can up for the doubters in the room, "Left it in the hot tub. Hey, this is - what was your name?"
I said my name. Eveyone laughed. They normally do. The ski instructors loved my name, as do traffic police.
"Hey, cool name dude. Which part of Australia are you from, man?"
"I'm not Australian," I said, my fingernails digging into my palms, and adopted the clipped BBC accent reserved for such occasions, "I'm English"
"Oh man. Awesome. Let me fetch you a drink, man. You wanna beer?"
"Sure, beer is good"
Judging by the smell of the room, beer hadn't been the only thing taken that night. I sat on the sofa between 2 of the women and they explained the rules of the game they were playing: "Ya - see, we're watching Rocky Horror, and whenever you don't get the line right you got to lose some clothes, ya? And when you do, you got to take a shot, ya?"
They giggled: "Mark's not very good" - they clearly weren't much better.
"I see" I replied, wondering what had possessed these people to invite a total stranger in to play 'strip Rocky Horror'. Certainly not my physical appearance. I learnt later that the only people who'd known each other for longer than that evening were Mark and Mary.
And with that, I'll draw a veil over my last night in Whistler aside to say that the list of things below that I did is still correct and I wish I wasn't so British as to be practically handicapped.
I was interrupted this morning by the need to catch the SnowBus (highly recommended - 30 Canadian dollars for a return to Whistler from Vancouver is not to be sniffed at) and had planned to finish retelling the story on the bus (I have a tiny, tiny laptop and so can do such things.) Unfortunately, the host put a breathtakingly bad film called "Hellboy" onto the bus's video which distracted me for the whole journey in much the same way that a car crash tends to draw one's eyes whether one wants to look or not.
But I digress.
I was aware that following a naked man through the corridors of the hotel was not something I'd normally do but I figured - heck - whats the worst that could happen? Luckily my imagination had not had the time to provide options when we arrived at another door. The man (who I later learned was called Mark) thumped on the door.
"Mary!" he called "This the right room?"
"Ya" came the reply, and the door was opened. I peered inside. Including the one I assumed was Mary, I could see 3 more women and another man.
"I found my beer!" said Mark, holding the can up for the doubters in the room, "Left it in the hot tub. Hey, this is - what was your name?"
I said my name. Eveyone laughed. They normally do. The ski instructors loved my name, as do traffic police.
"Hey, cool name dude. Which part of Australia are you from, man?"
"I'm not Australian," I said, my fingernails digging into my palms, and adopted the clipped BBC accent reserved for such occasions, "I'm English"
"Oh man. Awesome. Let me fetch you a drink, man. You wanna beer?"
"Sure, beer is good"
Judging by the smell of the room, beer hadn't been the only thing taken that night. I sat on the sofa between 2 of the women and they explained the rules of the game they were playing: "Ya - see, we're watching Rocky Horror, and whenever you don't get the line right you got to lose some clothes, ya? And when you do, you got to take a shot, ya?"
They giggled: "Mark's not very good" - they clearly weren't much better.
"I see" I replied, wondering what had possessed these people to invite a total stranger in to play 'strip Rocky Horror'. Certainly not my physical appearance. I learnt later that the only people who'd known each other for longer than that evening were Mark and Mary.
And with that, I'll draw a veil over my last night in Whistler aside to say that the list of things below that I did is still correct and I wish I wasn't so British as to be practically handicapped.
The Polar Bear Club
Ok, so I entirely failed to do the whole Polar Bear thing. The Bear did. She stood amongst the snow, sand and sea as the water washed over her and fixed me with a disapproving stare.
It would seem I've brought the snow back from Whistler. Vancouver is covered in the white stuff, and I'm gratified to note that the car drivers here are about as bad as their UK counterparts when it comes to sudden snowy conditions.
The taxi from the bus drop-off to the hotel was particularly impressive - I thanked the lord for ABS while the driver muttered curses in some asian dialect as his wheels repeatedly locked up in the slush.
The Bear and I took a stroll along the beach, marvelling at the difference a week makes. This was the scene a mere week ago, and now...
I paddled in the freezing water for a while for no particular reason and enjoyed the surreality of a beach with palm trees covered in snow. The Bear made a new friend in a bar while I drank cocktails and explained The Bear's mission - to see the world...
...and then it was time to return to the hotel where it would seem I've been gifted the best room - a corner on the top floor with 5 windows looking out over the bay. And a bath that has a plug. And boy, do I need that hot bath right now.
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