Spook-a-rama lives!
My nephew, B2, is now old enough to be able to start attending this teen event in Yellowknife. His younger brother, A., is still not old enough, so he's still doing the trick-or-treating thing.
I can't believe this event still takes place, but this year is the 42nd year of this party! It's an alcohol-free dance party for the teens of Yellowknife, with big prize giveaways and food out at the military hangar at the airport. There are buses shipping the kids to and from town all night, and during my time, videos became part of the festivities. It happens on Halloween, and it usually means the junior high and high schools are full of tired kids on November 1st. My sister, K., went to these dances when we moved to Yellowknife in the mid-80s. I went during the early and mid-90s. Now her kids are starting to go in the early 2000s.
Continuity...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
October 30/12
Holy judgment batman!
I'm being a little harsh on myself at the moment because in the span of five minutes, I read that an acquaintance is off to volunteer in South America for three months in the near future, followed by hearing that tonight, someone questioned Etienne about whether he was reconsidering our relationship because I don't have any desire to have a baby.
It's one of those moments when you feel like you are a failure on two fronts...simultaneously. I've always wanted to go off and do the volunteering thing in a developing country, but it didn't fit in the life I've led. And I've never really felt that desire or urge to have a baby. One is a failure of my own making because I didn't find a way to make it happen, the other a failure pushed on me by society.
#FML...
...Wish you were here.
I'm being a little harsh on myself at the moment because in the span of five minutes, I read that an acquaintance is off to volunteer in South America for three months in the near future, followed by hearing that tonight, someone questioned Etienne about whether he was reconsidering our relationship because I don't have any desire to have a baby.
It's one of those moments when you feel like you are a failure on two fronts...simultaneously. I've always wanted to go off and do the volunteering thing in a developing country, but it didn't fit in the life I've led. And I've never really felt that desire or urge to have a baby. One is a failure of my own making because I didn't find a way to make it happen, the other a failure pushed on me by society.
#FML...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, October 29, 2012
October 29/12
Today was almost going to be a non-event, post-wise, until I was randomly asked a question on facebook by someone who doesn't normally reach out to me about finding something to be passionate about. This person is struggling to find something, and asked a lot of people that question, specifically about any course we had taken that got us there.
It turns out that my passion is learning about societies, both in the sociological sense and the anthropological sense. During my first year of my first attempt at an undergrad, I took an Anthro 101 course that just turned my world upside down and sparked me up. I was hooked. After a lot of twists and turns, I've parlayed that passion into a career of solving problems and issues that societies must deal with.
So, if you're reading this, Miss T., the easy answer is "Anthropology" but the right answer is that I had to take a lot of twists and turns, and I had to fall on my ass several times, get up, and keep going before I could trust myself to find my passion and turn it into my study and career.
School of Hard Knocks...
...Wish you were here.
It turns out that my passion is learning about societies, both in the sociological sense and the anthropological sense. During my first year of my first attempt at an undergrad, I took an Anthro 101 course that just turned my world upside down and sparked me up. I was hooked. After a lot of twists and turns, I've parlayed that passion into a career of solving problems and issues that societies must deal with.
So, if you're reading this, Miss T., the easy answer is "Anthropology" but the right answer is that I had to take a lot of twists and turns, and I had to fall on my ass several times, get up, and keep going before I could trust myself to find my passion and turn it into my study and career.
School of Hard Knocks...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
October 28/12
Jeff Kober, you are seriously awesome.
I'm watching season one of New Girl on dvd right now, and I'm up to the episode about the landlord. If you haven't seen that episode, I don't want to spoil it for you, I just want to say that the situation that develops is something I never in my life thought was possible coming for Jeff Kober. He gets typecast a lot, playing hardasses, psychopaths and seriously creepy guys (it's that voice...you would be terrified to hear that voice coming up behind you in a dark alley), but in this role, he most definitely plays against type in a way that is so hilariously cringe-worthy, I'm surprised he didn't get a special guest nod for the Emmy awards.
And kudos to the episode's director for probably the most twisted use of the song Send Me On My Way by Rusted Root. I used to heavily associate that song with the movie Ice Age and its characters, but now...wow...I'll never be able to hear it without laughing and cringing!
New Girl...
...Wish you were here.
I'm watching season one of New Girl on dvd right now, and I'm up to the episode about the landlord. If you haven't seen that episode, I don't want to spoil it for you, I just want to say that the situation that develops is something I never in my life thought was possible coming for Jeff Kober. He gets typecast a lot, playing hardasses, psychopaths and seriously creepy guys (it's that voice...you would be terrified to hear that voice coming up behind you in a dark alley), but in this role, he most definitely plays against type in a way that is so hilariously cringe-worthy, I'm surprised he didn't get a special guest nod for the Emmy awards.
And kudos to the episode's director for probably the most twisted use of the song Send Me On My Way by Rusted Root. I used to heavily associate that song with the movie Ice Age and its characters, but now...wow...I'll never be able to hear it without laughing and cringing!
New Girl...
...Wish you were here.
October 27/12
When the Etienne is away, the Fancy will play...a lot of movies!
Tonight, Etienne was scheduled for a Boys Night In at Brent's, so I took advantage of the time apart to view all the big movies that Etienne won't see.
I trekked to the cinema to see Argo first. That Ben Affleck kid...he's got some talent for storytelling. Not so much for acting, but I think he's got something with the directing gig. Why? Because even though we all know how the story ends (being based on actual events), every person in that theatre was tense. You can't help but become invested in how the story plays out. That's a sign that you are able to craft a well-developed movie.
Next up, I went home and fired up the Rogers on Demand. I'd never get Etienne to see Magic Mike, so that was next up on the list. It's a crap story, and I did not care for Alex Pettyfer in the least, but like any red-blooded woman, I'd be stupid if I didn't cop to finding the eye candy delicious.
Etienne was still out, so I got in a triple feature; rounding out the night was The Avengers. That's some good, clean, old-fashioned, loud-and-proud summer blockbuster! It's not a time for thinking, it's a time for sitting back and just enjoying frivolous entertainment. Probably the cutest moment of the whole film was the end-of-credit scene. Man, that Thor can put it away!
Fun at the films...
...Wish you were here.
Tonight, Etienne was scheduled for a Boys Night In at Brent's, so I took advantage of the time apart to view all the big movies that Etienne won't see.
I trekked to the cinema to see Argo first. That Ben Affleck kid...he's got some talent for storytelling. Not so much for acting, but I think he's got something with the directing gig. Why? Because even though we all know how the story ends (being based on actual events), every person in that theatre was tense. You can't help but become invested in how the story plays out. That's a sign that you are able to craft a well-developed movie.
Next up, I went home and fired up the Rogers on Demand. I'd never get Etienne to see Magic Mike, so that was next up on the list. It's a crap story, and I did not care for Alex Pettyfer in the least, but like any red-blooded woman, I'd be stupid if I didn't cop to finding the eye candy delicious.
Etienne was still out, so I got in a triple feature; rounding out the night was The Avengers. That's some good, clean, old-fashioned, loud-and-proud summer blockbuster! It's not a time for thinking, it's a time for sitting back and just enjoying frivolous entertainment. Probably the cutest moment of the whole film was the end-of-credit scene. Man, that Thor can put it away!
Fun at the films...
...Wish you were here.
October 26/12
What Southerners don't know about living in the North...
...is a lot.
I can't get into details, but today I heard a story about seeing comments on something at work that asked if there were alternatives to flying for getting around Nunavut.
Yes, really.
If you're a Northerner, right about now, you are rolling your eyes at the ignorance of Southerners. If you're a Southerner, I'm sorry, but that's a seriously stupid question. The North, especially the high arctic, is not like the south. We don't have many roads between communities, and hell, sometimes we have to rely on winter roads (over lakes or rivers) to get in and out by ground transportation. When I heard about the comment, I wanted to email the individual, instruct that person to do to Google Maps, try to get driving directions for, say, Iqaluit to Arctic Bay. Just from the south end of Baffin Island to the north end of Baffin Island (never mind going between the islands or to the mainland). If you do it, this is what you get:
Okay?
I just want to put up banners at the airports that service northern destinations: "Leave South at the Door!" You can't expect that the way things are down south will be the way they are up north.
Differing realities...
...Wish you were here.
...is a lot.
I can't get into details, but today I heard a story about seeing comments on something at work that asked if there were alternatives to flying for getting around Nunavut.
Yes, really.
If you're a Northerner, right about now, you are rolling your eyes at the ignorance of Southerners. If you're a Southerner, I'm sorry, but that's a seriously stupid question. The North, especially the high arctic, is not like the south. We don't have many roads between communities, and hell, sometimes we have to rely on winter roads (over lakes or rivers) to get in and out by ground transportation. When I heard about the comment, I wanted to email the individual, instruct that person to do to Google Maps, try to get driving directions for, say, Iqaluit to Arctic Bay. Just from the south end of Baffin Island to the north end of Baffin Island (never mind going between the islands or to the mainland). If you do it, this is what you get:
Okay?
I just want to put up banners at the airports that service northern destinations: "Leave South at the Door!" You can't expect that the way things are down south will be the way they are up north.
Differing realities...
...Wish you were here.
October 25/12
Colossal.
Interview.
Face.
Plant.
I'm not an idiot, I just panicked.
Fuck-up...
...Wish you were here.
Interview.
Face.
Plant.
I'm not an idiot, I just panicked.
Fuck-up...
...Wish you were here.
October 24/12
So tomorrow I have to go to Toronto for an interview. I'm flying down for it, and in order to avoid weather issues or mechanical delays, I booked an early flight. I've arranged to meet with Gail for dinner, but she works until 5:30, so I have several hours before and after the interview to kill, and I don't know what to do with that time.
It's going to be an adventure getting from Pearson to downtown. I'm trying to save money, so I've got to take public transit, which involves a bus which will take me to a subway and then I have to change lines to a different subway, all just to get to any of the destinations I might have in mind.
Should I go to the AGO to see the Diego and Frida exhibition? I dunno. I'm not a big fan of their work, but it's not often I'll be in a position to see a lot of their work at once. Should I go to the ROM? This month there is a big dinosaurs exhibit, an exhibit about one of the security camps of the Khmer Rouge, and an now there's an exhibit featuring my father's cousin, Jane Ash Poitras. Or there's shopping and hanging out in the entertainment district. Or a movie? A tour around Queen's Park?
I dunno!
So many choices...
...Wish you were here.
It's going to be an adventure getting from Pearson to downtown. I'm trying to save money, so I've got to take public transit, which involves a bus which will take me to a subway and then I have to change lines to a different subway, all just to get to any of the destinations I might have in mind.
Should I go to the AGO to see the Diego and Frida exhibition? I dunno. I'm not a big fan of their work, but it's not often I'll be in a position to see a lot of their work at once. Should I go to the ROM? This month there is a big dinosaurs exhibit, an exhibit about one of the security camps of the Khmer Rouge, and an now there's an exhibit featuring my father's cousin, Jane Ash Poitras. Or there's shopping and hanging out in the entertainment district. Or a movie? A tour around Queen's Park?
I dunno!
So many choices...
...Wish you were here.
October 23/12
Cats are such delightful creatures!
There's a saying that goes a little something like this: Dogs have masters, cats have staff. Cats treat you with such disdain and then they are all over you, wanting, nay *demanding* your love and affection. In our house, there's a clear delineation in roles: the cats love and adore Etienne, and would follow him to the ends of the earth just to be near him; and I clean their litter box, feed them, clean up their cat messes, and get ignored and shunned.
But I draw the line at stealing from me!
We were watching TV and eating in front of the TV. Engaged in conversation, I didn't notice until too late that Max was sticking his head into my water glass to take a drink. I tried to grab it before he got his little tongue in there, but as a show of defiance, the little booger snorted in the water.
Round 1 to Max.
I got up and emptied the water, rinsed the glass so I wouldn't be sharing his little cat germs so up close and personal, refreshed my water, and returned to the couch. A mere 35 minutes later, the little booger was back and making a beeline for my glass. This time I swooped in and saved my glass before he could pull rank.
Round 2 to Fancy.
Cats...
...Wish you were here.
There's a saying that goes a little something like this: Dogs have masters, cats have staff. Cats treat you with such disdain and then they are all over you, wanting, nay *demanding* your love and affection. In our house, there's a clear delineation in roles: the cats love and adore Etienne, and would follow him to the ends of the earth just to be near him; and I clean their litter box, feed them, clean up their cat messes, and get ignored and shunned.
But I draw the line at stealing from me!
We were watching TV and eating in front of the TV. Engaged in conversation, I didn't notice until too late that Max was sticking his head into my water glass to take a drink. I tried to grab it before he got his little tongue in there, but as a show of defiance, the little booger snorted in the water.
Round 1 to Max.
I got up and emptied the water, rinsed the glass so I wouldn't be sharing his little cat germs so up close and personal, refreshed my water, and returned to the couch. A mere 35 minutes later, the little booger was back and making a beeline for my glass. This time I swooped in and saved my glass before he could pull rank.
Round 2 to Fancy.
Cats...
...Wish you were here.
October 22/12
Tonight was the last presidential debate, and since it was "supposed to be" about foreign policy, I had a "stake" in this debate, being part of the 6.7 Billion people in the world NOT living in the United States. It's important for me to hear what mistakes the candidates are planning to make in US Foreign Policy which will impact the 95.5% of us who reside outside of US borders.
The thing is, they both started out saying the exact same thing, and both were disturbingly eager to bring the debate back to the domestic economy issues that they couldn't get into during the first two debates. This wasn't a debate when they were both saying the same thing, or avoiding answering the question.
If you've never seen 'Moon Over Parador' there is a scene somewhere in the middle where two lackadaisical drummers in the presidential military band are staring at a wall, discussing how they are going to vote in the upcoming presidential election:
Until a certain point in the debate, that was what I felt like.
Finally, Obama started to dominate and Romney fell apart. If it hadn't been for that shift, this really would have been a "Vote White" and "Vote Blue" situation.
Freedom of choice...
...Wish you were here.
The thing is, they both started out saying the exact same thing, and both were disturbingly eager to bring the debate back to the domestic economy issues that they couldn't get into during the first two debates. This wasn't a debate when they were both saying the same thing, or avoiding answering the question.
If you've never seen 'Moon Over Parador' there is a scene somewhere in the middle where two lackadaisical drummers in the presidential military band are staring at a wall, discussing how they are going to vote in the upcoming presidential election:
Until a certain point in the debate, that was what I felt like.
Finally, Obama started to dominate and Romney fell apart. If it hadn't been for that shift, this really would have been a "Vote White" and "Vote Blue" situation.
Freedom of choice...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
October 21/12
Today we needed some groceries. Bored and needing to get out of the house on one of these few beautiful fall days left before the awful winter sets in, we sort of steered ourselves toward the market and wasted some time there. I had planned to steer us to the Rideau Loblaw, but as we started to make our way there, Etienne remembered that he wanted to visit Nicastro's. Nicastro's is an Italian market in a very tiny place, packed largely with imported foods from Italy, a smart deli, and wonderful fresh breads.
At Nicastro's, I get more of a feeling of what it used to be like to shop in Europe than I did when I actually shopped in Europe. The large grocery store experience of North America is alive and well in large European cities (though with worse parking problems), and we ate out a lot, so I didn't get to take part in that European experience of shopping for supper after work in those small markets. When we went to a store in Switzerland, it was a large, well-lit, well-stocked multi-story Co-op store, reminiscent of Safeway or Loblaw here in Canada. There was no mom-and-pop shop experience, with reusable bags brimming over with fresh vegetables and deli-cut meat for supper that night.
In our own neighbourhood, we do have a small mom-and-pop market, Boushey's which we will sometimes go out of our way to get to after work, but it really does require going out of our way. If the Nicastro's or Boushey's were more accessible, I'd love to do daily or semi-daily shops there, but that isn't the case, so once a week, we venture to our large big-box grocers to stock up.
Fresh shopping...
...Wish you were here.
At Nicastro's, I get more of a feeling of what it used to be like to shop in Europe than I did when I actually shopped in Europe. The large grocery store experience of North America is alive and well in large European cities (though with worse parking problems), and we ate out a lot, so I didn't get to take part in that European experience of shopping for supper after work in those small markets. When we went to a store in Switzerland, it was a large, well-lit, well-stocked multi-story Co-op store, reminiscent of Safeway or Loblaw here in Canada. There was no mom-and-pop shop experience, with reusable bags brimming over with fresh vegetables and deli-cut meat for supper that night.
In our own neighbourhood, we do have a small mom-and-pop market, Boushey's which we will sometimes go out of our way to get to after work, but it really does require going out of our way. If the Nicastro's or Boushey's were more accessible, I'd love to do daily or semi-daily shops there, but that isn't the case, so once a week, we venture to our large big-box grocers to stock up.
Fresh shopping...
...Wish you were here.
October 20/12
Today was one of those days where nothing extraordinary happened. After our night out, we spent much of the day in. It was a good opportunity (as you can see by the time stamps) for me to catch up on my posting. But no matter how many I knock out, I'm so far behind! The only saving grace is that I'm at least capturing a moment in a few words on paper, so I'm not losing it to the memory void.
I'm sorry for the delays!
Working on it...
...Wish you were here.
I'm sorry for the delays!
Working on it...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
October 19/12
After a full day of "retreating" with my new team at work, I needed a drink. You know those days when you are tense because you expect a day of, well, tension? Yeah, I had that. A whole day of feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome. So of course, when I got out, I felt like I needed to...what's the word? Oh, yeah. LIVE.
We got home early, but neither of us was in the mood to just sit at home. For once, like the good old days, it was Friday, and we needed to get out! So Etienne declared it a pubwalk night: we'd hit the pubs up and down Elgin and have a drink!
We started at the Fox and Feather, enjoying our drinks and some policy talk (do we policy wonks know how to unwind after a day of policying or what!), but it wasn't long before the alcohol started screwing with my blood sugar levels, and I knew I needed to eat soon. We have only a few known places we can go that works for both Etienne's vegetarian diet and his no-gluten diet, so it worked out well that the next pub on the list was the Lieutenant's Pump, which serves gluten-free beer and has a somewhat more Celiac-friendly menu than most places on Elgin. More drinks, some food, and more conversation, though after our second drink in, it was less wonkish and more general...this really was feeling like the old days of my first summer in Ottawa, before Etienne and I were together, when we'd find a pub on a Friday, and set about with the very serious task of unwinding.
On to bar three: the Sir John A. We were surprised this time though, as they've recently started carrying a gluten-free beer (hurray! More options!), which turned out to be okay.
The only downside to all of this is that we started early, so we were home by 10, and after the tension of the day, I'm beat. So I take my leave of you, with this moment:
The Old Days...
...Wish you were here.
We got home early, but neither of us was in the mood to just sit at home. For once, like the good old days, it was Friday, and we needed to get out! So Etienne declared it a pubwalk night: we'd hit the pubs up and down Elgin and have a drink!
We started at the Fox and Feather, enjoying our drinks and some policy talk (do we policy wonks know how to unwind after a day of policying or what!), but it wasn't long before the alcohol started screwing with my blood sugar levels, and I knew I needed to eat soon. We have only a few known places we can go that works for both Etienne's vegetarian diet and his no-gluten diet, so it worked out well that the next pub on the list was the Lieutenant's Pump, which serves gluten-free beer and has a somewhat more Celiac-friendly menu than most places on Elgin. More drinks, some food, and more conversation, though after our second drink in, it was less wonkish and more general...this really was feeling like the old days of my first summer in Ottawa, before Etienne and I were together, when we'd find a pub on a Friday, and set about with the very serious task of unwinding.
On to bar three: the Sir John A. We were surprised this time though, as they've recently started carrying a gluten-free beer (hurray! More options!), which turned out to be okay.
The only downside to all of this is that we started early, so we were home by 10, and after the tension of the day, I'm beat. So I take my leave of you, with this moment:
The Old Days...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
October 18/12
...and just like that, there is news!
I didn't check my email until later in the evening last night, so I didn't see that I had been invited to a second interview (in person, this time) with the Mowat Centre in Toronto! I consider it to be a positive sign that the new policy director has requested this interview in person, and now I have to turn some attention to the contingency planning for any outcome from this interview.
Positive vibes...
...Wish you were here!
I didn't check my email until later in the evening last night, so I didn't see that I had been invited to a second interview (in person, this time) with the Mowat Centre in Toronto! I consider it to be a positive sign that the new policy director has requested this interview in person, and now I have to turn some attention to the contingency planning for any outcome from this interview.
Positive vibes...
...Wish you were here!
October 17/12
...and it's back to work.
Booooo!
Today, despite my flu, I got up and trudged off to the office.
I don't enjoy going there these days; I've been "reorganized" into a new group with new responsibilities (in addition to my old ones), and it just so happens it's a coordination group. I'd be lying if I said this change was good for me. It's a group whose function irritated me when I was just a "client" and I don't feel I'm the "best fit" for this group. To be honest, the only reason I'm there is because I am now the department's sole policy staff on my program, and in the reorganization, my program was moved to this group. I don't believe it makes a lot of sense for this program to be moved to a coordination group with no experience in running a program, but certain strong feelings and behind-the-scenes activities are responsible for this change.
So I was not exactly walking into the office with the best of mindsets, and being sick means I might as well wear a sign saying I'm Typhoid Mary for all the looks I got as I tried to drain my face of the excess of mucus currently overstuffing my sinuses. If I didn't want to be there, and people didn't want me to be there, why did I go? Well, mostly because neither the illness nor my professionalism were bad enough not to. I might be unhappy, but that's no excuse not to show up and do my best.
I just have to hope that something in my vast job search turns up soon.
Keeping the hope alive...
...Wish you were here.
Booooo!
Today, despite my flu, I got up and trudged off to the office.
I don't enjoy going there these days; I've been "reorganized" into a new group with new responsibilities (in addition to my old ones), and it just so happens it's a coordination group. I'd be lying if I said this change was good for me. It's a group whose function irritated me when I was just a "client" and I don't feel I'm the "best fit" for this group. To be honest, the only reason I'm there is because I am now the department's sole policy staff on my program, and in the reorganization, my program was moved to this group. I don't believe it makes a lot of sense for this program to be moved to a coordination group with no experience in running a program, but certain strong feelings and behind-the-scenes activities are responsible for this change.
So I was not exactly walking into the office with the best of mindsets, and being sick means I might as well wear a sign saying I'm Typhoid Mary for all the looks I got as I tried to drain my face of the excess of mucus currently overstuffing my sinuses. If I didn't want to be there, and people didn't want me to be there, why did I go? Well, mostly because neither the illness nor my professionalism were bad enough not to. I might be unhappy, but that's no excuse not to show up and do my best.
I just have to hope that something in my vast job search turns up soon.
Keeping the hope alive...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
October 16/12
I don't like to reflect on the sadness that this day bears every year. Eighteen years ago today, the community of Yellowknife, especially its high school population, was rocked by the deaths of two students in a terrible single-car collision that involved drunk driving.
Leading up to that point, I had lost a friend to a drug overdose, and my mother's cousin lost a son to disease, one of the tragic victims of the tainted blood scandal of the 80's. What I didn't know on October 16, 1994, was that I was just days from losing my favourite uncle to stomach cancer. He died on Hallowe'en. While both high schools grieved the loss of a student, I was hit with just a tidal wave of death. Of course I mourned the guys, Davey and Andrew; but I had just lost Jayson, and now a death of a second cousin. That day, I collapsed at school under the weight of the grief. Of course, almost everyone thought I was being a drama queen (comes naturally when you were, in fact, a drama queen), but almost everyone didn't know about the two other deaths in my life. Compounding this was my uncle's death days later. And it was decided only my father would attend the funeral in Fort Smith. So when I lashed the fuck out at my bio teacher who was riding my ass for something in class, it was shocking to everyone there, given that I was generally a good student, not prone to disruption. Once he learned about my uncle (which he could verify, as his parents lived in Fort Smith), he took it easy on me for a while.
Looking back over the years, other things have happened in October that give me so many reasons to truly hate and despise this month every year. I hate that in the span of 27 days in 1994, so many people died around me. I hate that a drunken friend's stupid, thoughtless actions led to one of my best friends being turned against me. I hate that October was always fraught with stupid drama leading up to Hallowe'en dances. I hate that in October 2001, my Gramma suffered a stroke which contributed to her death a month later, and I hated that I spent every day for three weeks in the hospital, watching her slowly deteriorate. Some wonderful things have happened to me in October, but they were overshadowed every year, like a curse, the months of October and November come upon me, signalling a long winter ahead.
Over the years, I've been learning to just shut up and stew in my hatred of October.
But this year has been different. For the first time, I had such excitement and joy as I traveled to Switzerland and celebrated a new beginning with Etienne's family. I saw fantastic places, I smiled, I ate, the sun was shining. It was a dose of Life in October that I hadn't felt in years.
Reasons to smile...
...Wish you were here.
Leading up to that point, I had lost a friend to a drug overdose, and my mother's cousin lost a son to disease, one of the tragic victims of the tainted blood scandal of the 80's. What I didn't know on October 16, 1994, was that I was just days from losing my favourite uncle to stomach cancer. He died on Hallowe'en. While both high schools grieved the loss of a student, I was hit with just a tidal wave of death. Of course I mourned the guys, Davey and Andrew; but I had just lost Jayson, and now a death of a second cousin. That day, I collapsed at school under the weight of the grief. Of course, almost everyone thought I was being a drama queen (comes naturally when you were, in fact, a drama queen), but almost everyone didn't know about the two other deaths in my life. Compounding this was my uncle's death days later. And it was decided only my father would attend the funeral in Fort Smith. So when I lashed the fuck out at my bio teacher who was riding my ass for something in class, it was shocking to everyone there, given that I was generally a good student, not prone to disruption. Once he learned about my uncle (which he could verify, as his parents lived in Fort Smith), he took it easy on me for a while.
Looking back over the years, other things have happened in October that give me so many reasons to truly hate and despise this month every year. I hate that in the span of 27 days in 1994, so many people died around me. I hate that a drunken friend's stupid, thoughtless actions led to one of my best friends being turned against me. I hate that October was always fraught with stupid drama leading up to Hallowe'en dances. I hate that in October 2001, my Gramma suffered a stroke which contributed to her death a month later, and I hated that I spent every day for three weeks in the hospital, watching her slowly deteriorate. Some wonderful things have happened to me in October, but they were overshadowed every year, like a curse, the months of October and November come upon me, signalling a long winter ahead.
Over the years, I've been learning to just shut up and stew in my hatred of October.
But this year has been different. For the first time, I had such excitement and joy as I traveled to Switzerland and celebrated a new beginning with Etienne's family. I saw fantastic places, I smiled, I ate, the sun was shining. It was a dose of Life in October that I hadn't felt in years.
Reasons to smile...
...Wish you were here.
October 15/12
AAAAAANNNNDDD cue travel.
It seems to be a tradition these days that when I travel, I come back sick. This spring, while in Phoenix, I caught the flu from hell, and had to fly back with a wicked-bad fever, aches, pains, and bad lethargy. Before that it was Vancouver and a cold, and before that Fort Lauderdale and a virus of some kind.
So it should come as no surprise that I woke up at 5 am this morning feeling slow. I put it down to being tired and getting up so early. We were off to the airport by 6 am, and our journey began. Through Swiss security and passport control, across France and the English Channel to Heathrow.
This time, we had a two hour layover, so the panic was not a factor, but this time we were traveling on American Airlines, which meant we had to check in again to get on our flight to Chicago. Change terminals, through security (AGAIN), on the flight for NINE hours, and this time, that rickety old plane only had four screens and played two movies (Men In Black III and Margin Call) which I wasn't interested in. I prefer being able to choose on my own personal in-flight entertainment system built into the headrest of the seat in front of me. But I had a bigger problem to deal with: a nasal drip and stuffed sinuses from hell! Nine hours of it! Those little barf bags the airlines provide? I filled mine with used tissues. So gross.
The worst part is that I had personally contacted the airline weeks ago to order the Gluten-Free meals for Etienne, but I had a bad feeling when I did, because the chatty girl at the other end of the AA call centre didn't know what Gluten-Free was, and spent half the call telling me about her friend who has an eating disorder. As I suspected, American Airlines fucked up, and Etienne was given regular meals, which he could only eat a small part of. HUGE fail, American Airlines. A nine-hour flight with almost no food? You'll be getting a complaint.
In Chicago, we faced only a 1.5 hour layover, during which time, we were supposed to get through customs, get our bags, check in (AGAIN), drop off our bags, change terminals, go through security (AGAIN), and haul ass to the very farthest gate possible. The only saving grace is that American Airlines has designed a fairly sophisticated system for shuttling passengers with fairly tight connections through all of this, but not without a few hiccups: we whizzed past the line-ups through customs, but had to wait 15 minutes for our bags; then we whizzed through check in and bag drop, only to be stopped by the wait for the tram that goes between terminals. Once at the new terminal, we are whizzed past the huge line up for security, but they only had two screening points open, so we had to wait and wait and wait our turn. After we get through security, we were on our own, so we race to the far end of the terminal to our gate, with about 5 minutes to spare. So well done American Airlines...sort of.
In two short hours, we were finally back in Ottawa, but the long flights played havoc with my knee, which swelled up and stiffened so much I couldn't walk properly. We were through customs quickly and on our way home to be reunited with our precious baby kitties!
Coming home to Max and Princess Purrball...
...Wish you were here.
It seems to be a tradition these days that when I travel, I come back sick. This spring, while in Phoenix, I caught the flu from hell, and had to fly back with a wicked-bad fever, aches, pains, and bad lethargy. Before that it was Vancouver and a cold, and before that Fort Lauderdale and a virus of some kind.
So it should come as no surprise that I woke up at 5 am this morning feeling slow. I put it down to being tired and getting up so early. We were off to the airport by 6 am, and our journey began. Through Swiss security and passport control, across France and the English Channel to Heathrow.
This time, we had a two hour layover, so the panic was not a factor, but this time we were traveling on American Airlines, which meant we had to check in again to get on our flight to Chicago. Change terminals, through security (AGAIN), on the flight for NINE hours, and this time, that rickety old plane only had four screens and played two movies (Men In Black III and Margin Call) which I wasn't interested in. I prefer being able to choose on my own personal in-flight entertainment system built into the headrest of the seat in front of me. But I had a bigger problem to deal with: a nasal drip and stuffed sinuses from hell! Nine hours of it! Those little barf bags the airlines provide? I filled mine with used tissues. So gross.
The worst part is that I had personally contacted the airline weeks ago to order the Gluten-Free meals for Etienne, but I had a bad feeling when I did, because the chatty girl at the other end of the AA call centre didn't know what Gluten-Free was, and spent half the call telling me about her friend who has an eating disorder. As I suspected, American Airlines fucked up, and Etienne was given regular meals, which he could only eat a small part of. HUGE fail, American Airlines. A nine-hour flight with almost no food? You'll be getting a complaint.
In Chicago, we faced only a 1.5 hour layover, during which time, we were supposed to get through customs, get our bags, check in (AGAIN), drop off our bags, change terminals, go through security (AGAIN), and haul ass to the very farthest gate possible. The only saving grace is that American Airlines has designed a fairly sophisticated system for shuttling passengers with fairly tight connections through all of this, but not without a few hiccups: we whizzed past the line-ups through customs, but had to wait 15 minutes for our bags; then we whizzed through check in and bag drop, only to be stopped by the wait for the tram that goes between terminals. Once at the new terminal, we are whizzed past the huge line up for security, but they only had two screening points open, so we had to wait and wait and wait our turn. After we get through security, we were on our own, so we race to the far end of the terminal to our gate, with about 5 minutes to spare. So well done American Airlines...sort of.
In two short hours, we were finally back in Ottawa, but the long flights played havoc with my knee, which swelled up and stiffened so much I couldn't walk properly. We were through customs quickly and on our way home to be reunited with our precious baby kitties!
Coming home to Max and Princess Purrball...
...Wish you were here.
October 14/12
...or, otherwise known as "October 13th: Part II."
The thing about Quebecois/European wedding receptions is that they tend to be structured differently than North American ones. My experiences of wedding receptions is that we eat, speeches happen, there's cake, etc. and then we're on the dance floor by 10:00 or 10:30 for the first dance. Not so in the experience outside of Anglo-North America. They have all five courses and do games or show slide shows in between. So you literally can sit there all night eating. If there's dancing, it usually not started until after midnight.
But whatever the format, in all experiences, where it is had, the alcohol flows freely! I stopped drinking by about 2 am, but Etienne, who was quite drunk, kept on going until nearly 4 am, when I finally hauled him off the dance floor, away from the 20 or so people still left partying (very drunk bride and groom included). We had to check out of our room by noon, so when we woke up some 5 hours later at 10:30, Etienne was still drunk (as were several people, I found out). We packed our sorry, tired selves back up in to the car, and headed across the border, back to Onex for much needed sleep.
When we finally stirred at close to 4 pm, I started the daunting task of packing, as we're leaving Switzerland tomorrow, and we had a lot more stuff than we arrived with. All of this while tired and hungover.
But it was a great party...
...Wish you were here!
After the wedding, everyone headed to the apéritif in the next town up the coast of Lake Geneva, Coppet. For those not familiar with this event (a common event in European weddings), it's like a cocktail hour for everyone, preceding the wedding reception which is for a smaller crowd, usually at a different location. Once there, I awkwardly alternated between listening to the conversations of Etienne's friends, and wandering off alone while the wedding photos were being taken. Everyone chattered on in French, German, and Italian around me, and I just quietly fell back to observe.
Finally, when all the photos were done, we were back in the car again, on our way to the reception at a hotel in Divonne, France. I didn't know what to expect other than eating all night. The seating chart called for me to be seated at the head table between a friend of Etienne's who turned out to be a shoe designer, and a young Bulgarian who didn't speak French. The idea was that the two English-speakers would be able to talk to each other, but as I learned prior to the wedding, this guy was 24. I had my doubts; even if we did speak English, there was no guarantee we'd have anything to talk about, with a 10 year age gap. Turns out, I had nothing to worry about, because this guy was in the same field as my ex-husband (Management and Information Systems), working at CERN. Yes, That CERN. We had plenty of pleasant, intelligent conversation, much to my relief. Whenever we weren't chatting, one of the two little girls, Lila, kept commanding my attention (and my iPhone), so her mother got to enjoy a couple of courses instead of eating and managing a four year old AND a two year old. Before I knew it, it was midnight!
The thing about Quebecois/European wedding receptions is that they tend to be structured differently than North American ones. My experiences of wedding receptions is that we eat, speeches happen, there's cake, etc. and then we're on the dance floor by 10:00 or 10:30 for the first dance. Not so in the experience outside of Anglo-North America. They have all five courses and do games or show slide shows in between. So you literally can sit there all night eating. If there's dancing, it usually not started until after midnight.
But whatever the format, in all experiences, where it is had, the alcohol flows freely! I stopped drinking by about 2 am, but Etienne, who was quite drunk, kept on going until nearly 4 am, when I finally hauled him off the dance floor, away from the 20 or so people still left partying (very drunk bride and groom included). We had to check out of our room by noon, so when we woke up some 5 hours later at 10:30, Etienne was still drunk (as were several people, I found out). We packed our sorry, tired selves back up in to the car, and headed across the border, back to Onex for much needed sleep.
When we finally stirred at close to 4 pm, I started the daunting task of packing, as we're leaving Switzerland tomorrow, and we had a lot more stuff than we arrived with. All of this while tired and hungover.
But it was a great party...
...Wish you were here!
October 13/12
The bride was stunning in a lace dress, the groom looked fashionable in a light grey suit, white vest, and white cravat; but it was Etienne in his new suit, looking so handsome, who I had my eye on. Today was it: Wedding Day!
The whole house was up relatively early, eating and starting all of those last minute preparations: Andre and Denis washed the car and adorned it with white ribbons; Anne gathered everything that needed ironing and set to work; Etienne...he tried to handle me as I ran into small disasters getting ready: my nail polish kept getting ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired; and my curling iron broke, leaving me upset that I would have to have flat, dull hair all day, or else do my hair in one of its all-too-common twists or ponytails which I do for work only because I'm too lazy and inept to do my hair. I opted for flat and boring because the dress was too nice for my usual hair "style."
We all dressed, and once more I waited for the feeling that Etienne looked like a stranger in a suit (I seriously had trouble ever thinking of him in a suit), but this time, it didn't happen. This time, he looked so handsome and, well, powerful, if I'm completely honest. He looked confident and elegant. I felt plain next to him.
We all set off to Versoix for the wedding, and I was seated with one of Etienne's stepsisters and her family: a cool Australian husband and two pretty, adorable little girls who had slowly been warming up to me over the past couple of days. Unfortunately, as is always the case, the two and a half year old was not okay with sitting quietly for an hour, but she was quite sweet, so I didn't mind.
It was time for the entrances. Etienne was escorting his cousin down the aisle, ahead of the bride and her father, and while I looked forward to finally seeing the dress (always the one thing I look for when a wedding is involved), I was stopped short by a sight that made me forget everything and just feel so much love: Etienne was nearly in tears. I've never seen him cry before, but on wonderful, special days filled with meaning for him and a sister he loves, I guess Etienne is just a big, tender, softy. Turns out the whole family are criers, as I learned when Andre tried to discretely pass Shanti (the bride) a tissue.
The ceremony proceeded, and I was nervous because all of the members of the wedding party had to make a short speech. I had an idea of what Etienne might say, but now I was wondering if he'd be okay to do it, as I watched him tear up from time to time. He was the last to speak, so I had to wait...and watch. When he finally came to the microphone, he composed himself and starting to tell an amusing story about how Shanti, his baby sister, and Laurent, his best friend, became a couple. But when he opened up to talk about the joy of this event, this wedding, he briefly broke down again, which pretty much made him steal the hearts of everyone in that church. You couldn't help but applaud! It was beautiful, loving, and tender...everything you would want from a loving brother on your wedding day.
Heartfelt love on your wedding day...
...Wish you were here.
The whole house was up relatively early, eating and starting all of those last minute preparations: Andre and Denis washed the car and adorned it with white ribbons; Anne gathered everything that needed ironing and set to work; Etienne...he tried to handle me as I ran into small disasters getting ready: my nail polish kept getting ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired; and my curling iron broke, leaving me upset that I would have to have flat, dull hair all day, or else do my hair in one of its all-too-common twists or ponytails which I do for work only because I'm too lazy and inept to do my hair. I opted for flat and boring because the dress was too nice for my usual hair "style."
We all dressed, and once more I waited for the feeling that Etienne looked like a stranger in a suit (I seriously had trouble ever thinking of him in a suit), but this time, it didn't happen. This time, he looked so handsome and, well, powerful, if I'm completely honest. He looked confident and elegant. I felt plain next to him.
We all set off to Versoix for the wedding, and I was seated with one of Etienne's stepsisters and her family: a cool Australian husband and two pretty, adorable little girls who had slowly been warming up to me over the past couple of days. Unfortunately, as is always the case, the two and a half year old was not okay with sitting quietly for an hour, but she was quite sweet, so I didn't mind.
It was time for the entrances. Etienne was escorting his cousin down the aisle, ahead of the bride and her father, and while I looked forward to finally seeing the dress (always the one thing I look for when a wedding is involved), I was stopped short by a sight that made me forget everything and just feel so much love: Etienne was nearly in tears. I've never seen him cry before, but on wonderful, special days filled with meaning for him and a sister he loves, I guess Etienne is just a big, tender, softy. Turns out the whole family are criers, as I learned when Andre tried to discretely pass Shanti (the bride) a tissue.
The ceremony proceeded, and I was nervous because all of the members of the wedding party had to make a short speech. I had an idea of what Etienne might say, but now I was wondering if he'd be okay to do it, as I watched him tear up from time to time. He was the last to speak, so I had to wait...and watch. When he finally came to the microphone, he composed himself and starting to tell an amusing story about how Shanti, his baby sister, and Laurent, his best friend, became a couple. But when he opened up to talk about the joy of this event, this wedding, he briefly broke down again, which pretty much made him steal the hearts of everyone in that church. You couldn't help but applaud! It was beautiful, loving, and tender...everything you would want from a loving brother on your wedding day.
Heartfelt love on your wedding day...
...Wish you were here.
October 12/12
After nearly two years of planning, it's finally the night before the wedding!
Etienne and I spent the afternoon in town, running final errands required for both the wedding and the end of our trip. His suit was ready for pick up, and I needed to find a stylish, last-minute jewellery solution for my Medic-Alert medallion. Once that was done, we took advantage of the last few precious hours available for indulging our Geneva tourist urges. Etienne took me for a walk through the city's venerable Parc de Bastions, home to the tributes of the founders of the Reform movement, as well as prominent intellectuals, scholars, and citizens of Geneva, with the exception of Jean-Jacques Rousseau...he gets a whole island to himself at the confluence of Lake Geneva and the Rhone river.
We raced to the train station to catch the train to Versoix, afraid we'd be late for the wedding rehearsal, but we made it to the church on time (somewhere, someone is probably breaking out into the chorus of 'Get Me to the Church On Time' from My Fair Lady; I know this because I did it!). We had a good time at the rehearsal, followed by a nice Italian dinner in Versoix before Etienne, his uncle and I caught the train to Geneva, then the tram to Onex to settle in for the night. We have to get to bed somewhat early because the big day is tomorrow!
The night before...
...Wish you were here.
Etienne and I spent the afternoon in town, running final errands required for both the wedding and the end of our trip. His suit was ready for pick up, and I needed to find a stylish, last-minute jewellery solution for my Medic-Alert medallion. Once that was done, we took advantage of the last few precious hours available for indulging our Geneva tourist urges. Etienne took me for a walk through the city's venerable Parc de Bastions, home to the tributes of the founders of the Reform movement, as well as prominent intellectuals, scholars, and citizens of Geneva, with the exception of Jean-Jacques Rousseau...he gets a whole island to himself at the confluence of Lake Geneva and the Rhone river.
We raced to the train station to catch the train to Versoix, afraid we'd be late for the wedding rehearsal, but we made it to the church on time (somewhere, someone is probably breaking out into the chorus of 'Get Me to the Church On Time' from My Fair Lady; I know this because I did it!). We had a good time at the rehearsal, followed by a nice Italian dinner in Versoix before Etienne, his uncle and I caught the train to Geneva, then the tram to Onex to settle in for the night. We have to get to bed somewhat early because the big day is tomorrow!
The night before...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
October 11/12
After yesterday's unfortunate series of events, what I looked forward to most was a down day. With the vacation part winding down, and the wedding part of the trip amping up, this was our last chance to do some sightseeing. We made a light day of it, taking it easy in the morning before we headed downtown to do some light shopping for souvenirs. The best place to do this in all of Geneva is the area immediately surrounding the train station, so we hit the stretch of shops along the Rue de Mont Blanc, making a few purchases before grabbing a very quick lunch at a Japanese place.
This afternoon, we toured the United Nations Offices in Geneva! I've been to the UN headquarters in New York for my Model UN conference, but I didn't tour the New York headquarters...I actually sat in the chambers while conference delegates voted on motions...talk about feeling all growed-up! The Geneva headquarters sit beside some prime parkland along the lake, and as it happens, Etienne's college (think university prep school, not college in the sense that we understand college in North America) sits literally two minutes away, so I got to see that part of his history, loosely speaking; the building he went to school in was demolished a few years ago, and new, updated facilities were built in its place. However it's cool to think he went to school among all those UN family facilities.
The main UN building was the only one we toured; there was not much to impress me in the "new" building, which was constructed in the late 1960's, except for the room that hosts the Human Rights and Alliance of Civilizations, which features a fascinating ceiling filled with kinetic energy, decorated by Catalan Miquel Barceló, and the bright, beautiful assembly hall which hosts the general assembly when it is in Europe. Compared to the stuffy, dark, rundown assembly chamber in the New York headquarters, the Geneva hall is refreshing and light.
No, the real highlight for me was the old building which housed the former League of Nations. Built in the 1920's, its constructed in a way that takes full advantage of the park on Lake Geneva and the mountain vistas. It's bright, with tall windows, gleaming marbles and granites, and charming old fixtures. The building itself is constructed in a way meant to inspire classical architecture, with large columns and elegant exterior stairways. Overall, it is luxurious without being gaudy, and stately without being overly-stuffy. It perfectly suited the business of world diplomacy in the tumultuous times of the post-Great War era.
After the tour, Etienne took me to the city's Botanical gardens, something of a rarity in Europe. It was a haven of peace in a busy European centre; I delighted in the simple pleasures of the elegant, tree-lined strolls, and watched salamanders scuttle for cover as we approached. From there we walked to Lake Geneva and strolled along, just taking in the views and the fowl life. Etienne would point out something and tell me about it, its significance to the city, its history, and what that sight meant to him. Once more, I was struck by the special experience he was privileged to have, growing up in this great city of Europe. Sure, it's not the most exciting city in the world, or Europe, or even in Switzerland for that matter, but his college was across the street from the office of the high commission for refugees; he would party at a lakeside "tent" bar across from the Hotel Woodrow Wilson; he lived in an apartment in the historic centre of Carouge...this is not the normal experience of the average North American. I'm sure this is a case of "the grass is greener..." but still...how many people get the privilege of playing football on a patch of grass in front of a significant UN building (and then get promptly kicked off said patch of grass by a quotable security guard)?
Geneva...
...Wish you were here.
This afternoon, we toured the United Nations Offices in Geneva! I've been to the UN headquarters in New York for my Model UN conference, but I didn't tour the New York headquarters...I actually sat in the chambers while conference delegates voted on motions...talk about feeling all growed-up! The Geneva headquarters sit beside some prime parkland along the lake, and as it happens, Etienne's college (think university prep school, not college in the sense that we understand college in North America) sits literally two minutes away, so I got to see that part of his history, loosely speaking; the building he went to school in was demolished a few years ago, and new, updated facilities were built in its place. However it's cool to think he went to school among all those UN family facilities.
The main UN building was the only one we toured; there was not much to impress me in the "new" building, which was constructed in the late 1960's, except for the room that hosts the Human Rights and Alliance of Civilizations, which features a fascinating ceiling filled with kinetic energy, decorated by Catalan Miquel Barceló, and the bright, beautiful assembly hall which hosts the general assembly when it is in Europe. Compared to the stuffy, dark, rundown assembly chamber in the New York headquarters, the Geneva hall is refreshing and light.
No, the real highlight for me was the old building which housed the former League of Nations. Built in the 1920's, its constructed in a way that takes full advantage of the park on Lake Geneva and the mountain vistas. It's bright, with tall windows, gleaming marbles and granites, and charming old fixtures. The building itself is constructed in a way meant to inspire classical architecture, with large columns and elegant exterior stairways. Overall, it is luxurious without being gaudy, and stately without being overly-stuffy. It perfectly suited the business of world diplomacy in the tumultuous times of the post-Great War era.
After the tour, Etienne took me to the city's Botanical gardens, something of a rarity in Europe. It was a haven of peace in a busy European centre; I delighted in the simple pleasures of the elegant, tree-lined strolls, and watched salamanders scuttle for cover as we approached. From there we walked to Lake Geneva and strolled along, just taking in the views and the fowl life. Etienne would point out something and tell me about it, its significance to the city, its history, and what that sight meant to him. Once more, I was struck by the special experience he was privileged to have, growing up in this great city of Europe. Sure, it's not the most exciting city in the world, or Europe, or even in Switzerland for that matter, but his college was across the street from the office of the high commission for refugees; he would party at a lakeside "tent" bar across from the Hotel Woodrow Wilson; he lived in an apartment in the historic centre of Carouge...this is not the normal experience of the average North American. I'm sure this is a case of "the grass is greener..." but still...how many people get the privilege of playing football on a patch of grass in front of a significant UN building (and then get promptly kicked off said patch of grass by a quotable security guard)?
Geneva...
...Wish you were here.
October 10/12
Today, I panicked.
Switzerland is 6 hours ahead of Ottawa, so I should have been getting paid shortly after 6 am Geneva time. The key words there were "Should Have Been." I was awake around then, after a lousy night of sleep (I was awake from 3:30 am to 5 am), so I got online and checked. No money.
Today, Etienne and I had planned to go back into Geneva for shopping, as he had found a suit he liked and wanted to buy to wear at his sister's wedding. Etienne slowly woke up, and checked his bank account; he had been paid. I was starting to worry. The department I work for recently reorganized and moved much of the compensation and benefits functions of its HR to a generic centre housed in Winnipeg, complete with a generic internal email address and an internal web form for contacting the HR people when you need to. Before all of this, I had a pay and benefits advisor assigned to me, and I could reach her from anywhere, even outside of work, but now...now I was in a foreign country, and had no access to the stupid internal system that is supposed to improve the delivery of pay and benefits. Fuck you, "organizational planners"!
Etienne had to go with his father to pick up all the booze for the wedding on Saturday, and the presence of the cleaning lady forced me upstairs, away from the best spot in the house to access the already spotty wi-fi connection. I sat there for hours and fretted; I have an automatic withdrawal set up on my account for the loan payments...what if I don't get paid? I wanted to do some shopping...what if I don't get paid? I have to pay our cat sitters...what if I don't get paid? Okay...I wasn't fretting, I was in full-blown panic mode. Even Etienne was worried. He tried to send me hundreds of dollars via email transfer that I refused to accept, knowing he wanted that new suit. I was literally on the verge of tears all morning. Finally, I called my bank, and learned that a glitch in the system had slowed the electronic funds transfer. Around noon, I was finally paid, but I'm afraid the stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me, and my bad morning turned into a bad day.
We went downtown to buy Etienne's suit, and ran into his mother at the department store; unfortunately, it was at this time that my outing took a turn for the worse: the store didn't have any of the shoes I wanted in my size (women's size 8 must be a really common shoe size in Geneva); then I got a reproach from his mother for wanting to buy all of the souvenir chocolate at this department store (she said it was overpriced), and I hadn't finished looking around before Etienne and his mother were ready to leave, headed for a cheaper place to buy all of the chocolate. As my stress levels were already disturbingly high, I'm afraid I had one of my infamous meltdowns, right there in front of his mother. She took her leave of us, and I felt horrible. I didn't cause a scene or anything, but I was so overwrought with the whole situation, it was terribly uncomfortable.
After the horror of all of that, Etienne steered me toward the Old city, as I think he knew I was in desperate need of a distraction and a drink. We found a bar and sat for a couple of hours, just drinking and letting me get my composure back, and then headed for the tiniest hole-in-the-wall restaurant (Yellowknifers, think only slightly larger than the old Wildcat Cafe) called Chez Ma Cousine; this place has only 7 items on the menu: chicken, and salads with chicken. Etienne used to go there all the time when he was partying in the Old city, but now things were trickier: now he is a vegetarian, and has a gluten-intolerance. He ordered a salad and turned over the breaded part of the delicious goat cheese balls to me, while I downed a half chicken and turned my potatoe wedges over to him. It was delicious! If you're ever in Geneva, and you just want a very simple chicken dinner, I highly recommend this place!
We returned to Etienne's father's house quite late, having bypassed much of the drama that had taken place in our absence, including an unfortunate series of events involving his uncle, a very sick baby (the son of one of Etienne's step-sisters), and a step-mother who had gone to France for the day to attend the funeral of a beloved aunt who passed suddenly. Turns out, I wasn't the only one having a bad day, though I was the only one to have a meltdown (that I know of, anyway).
Stress inhibitors...
...Wish you were here.
Switzerland is 6 hours ahead of Ottawa, so I should have been getting paid shortly after 6 am Geneva time. The key words there were "Should Have Been." I was awake around then, after a lousy night of sleep (I was awake from 3:30 am to 5 am), so I got online and checked. No money.
Today, Etienne and I had planned to go back into Geneva for shopping, as he had found a suit he liked and wanted to buy to wear at his sister's wedding. Etienne slowly woke up, and checked his bank account; he had been paid. I was starting to worry. The department I work for recently reorganized and moved much of the compensation and benefits functions of its HR to a generic centre housed in Winnipeg, complete with a generic internal email address and an internal web form for contacting the HR people when you need to. Before all of this, I had a pay and benefits advisor assigned to me, and I could reach her from anywhere, even outside of work, but now...now I was in a foreign country, and had no access to the stupid internal system that is supposed to improve the delivery of pay and benefits. Fuck you, "organizational planners"!
Etienne had to go with his father to pick up all the booze for the wedding on Saturday, and the presence of the cleaning lady forced me upstairs, away from the best spot in the house to access the already spotty wi-fi connection. I sat there for hours and fretted; I have an automatic withdrawal set up on my account for the loan payments...what if I don't get paid? I wanted to do some shopping...what if I don't get paid? I have to pay our cat sitters...what if I don't get paid? Okay...I wasn't fretting, I was in full-blown panic mode. Even Etienne was worried. He tried to send me hundreds of dollars via email transfer that I refused to accept, knowing he wanted that new suit. I was literally on the verge of tears all morning. Finally, I called my bank, and learned that a glitch in the system had slowed the electronic funds transfer. Around noon, I was finally paid, but I'm afraid the stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me, and my bad morning turned into a bad day.
We went downtown to buy Etienne's suit, and ran into his mother at the department store; unfortunately, it was at this time that my outing took a turn for the worse: the store didn't have any of the shoes I wanted in my size (women's size 8 must be a really common shoe size in Geneva); then I got a reproach from his mother for wanting to buy all of the souvenir chocolate at this department store (she said it was overpriced), and I hadn't finished looking around before Etienne and his mother were ready to leave, headed for a cheaper place to buy all of the chocolate. As my stress levels were already disturbingly high, I'm afraid I had one of my infamous meltdowns, right there in front of his mother. She took her leave of us, and I felt horrible. I didn't cause a scene or anything, but I was so overwrought with the whole situation, it was terribly uncomfortable.
After the horror of all of that, Etienne steered me toward the Old city, as I think he knew I was in desperate need of a distraction and a drink. We found a bar and sat for a couple of hours, just drinking and letting me get my composure back, and then headed for the tiniest hole-in-the-wall restaurant (Yellowknifers, think only slightly larger than the old Wildcat Cafe) called Chez Ma Cousine; this place has only 7 items on the menu: chicken, and salads with chicken. Etienne used to go there all the time when he was partying in the Old city, but now things were trickier: now he is a vegetarian, and has a gluten-intolerance. He ordered a salad and turned over the breaded part of the delicious goat cheese balls to me, while I downed a half chicken and turned my potatoe wedges over to him. It was delicious! If you're ever in Geneva, and you just want a very simple chicken dinner, I highly recommend this place!
We returned to Etienne's father's house quite late, having bypassed much of the drama that had taken place in our absence, including an unfortunate series of events involving his uncle, a very sick baby (the son of one of Etienne's step-sisters), and a step-mother who had gone to France for the day to attend the funeral of a beloved aunt who passed suddenly. Turns out, I wasn't the only one having a bad day, though I was the only one to have a meltdown (that I know of, anyway).
Stress inhibitors...
...Wish you were here.
October 9/12
Today, I took a bath.
No, I've had "baths" before (just in case you're being a smartass), in tubs, but if you've never heard of or experienced baths, let me enlighten you. These are complexes built on thermal hot springs, for leisure, relaxation, and therapeutic purposes, where you go and immerse yourself in the warm mineral waters that the Earth shares with us. In our case, we visited the Bains de Saillon (in French) on the outskirts of Saillon, a small town that sits in a beautiful valley in the Alps of the canton of Valais. Saillon sits just between the cities of Martigny and Sion, so we were up very early in the morning to get to Geneva station for our train to Martigny.
The train rolled by Lake Geneva all the way to Montreux before it veered sharply south into one of Switzerland's many valleys, and suddenly the scenery changed very dramatically to towering mountains on both sides, and the sophisticated cities of Lake Geneva gave way to alpine towns and small cities. Indeed, there were stations and stops that our train rolled right past, as they were too small, and were serviced by intra-regional trains designed to get you to one of the bigger centres. We arrived in Martigny by mid-morning, and needed to kill some time, as Etienne had planned three hours in the afternoon at the bath for us. He had done his research, and found an art exhibition at the Fondation Pierre Gianadda for us to see.
I have to say, for a small "provincial" museum, the building is quite fascinating; it doubles as a concert hall, so the main room is a large open courtyard, built down in the rock, surrounded by an upper balcony. The small art exhibition was featured on the walls surrounding the square courtyard, and we were through it fairly quickly (urged to speed through it by the presence of pushy, entitled babyboomer tourists and a visit by seemingly all the children at a local school). But the musuem hides a couple of surprises; in one corner, you head down a small tunnel to a room hosting more of the permanent collection, and to my surprise, in the basement further down, an automobile museum! The British Classic Car Show in Morges was a treat, but imagine how stunned I was when I entered a dark, subterranean room hosting a fantastic collection of cars dating from 1897 to 1939 from a variety of European car makers, including a Delauney-Belleville that had once belonged to Tsar Nicholas II of Russia! Amazing!
After the excitement and hurry of the morning, I needed to eat (hypoglycemia cares not for the schedules of touring), so we walked down Martigny's main street toward the train station, stopping for McDonald's fries along the way (yes, McDonald's even finds its way into the Alps), to catch our bus to the Baths. The bus took us through the countryside, past farms and villages, and the Château de La Bâtiaz, an old fortress jutting out from a high steppe of a mountain, before depositing us at the front door of the bath facilities.
At first glance, the exterior looks old, and dated from the 1970's or early 1980's, but once you were inside, it was a renovated, modern facility. If you are not doing the spa experience, you start out in the interior pool with a special jet experience designed to massage the body, starting at the feet, and slowly moving up to the neck and shoulders. From there you can go outside to the exterior pool with more jet experiences, this time in the form of two small, personal alcoves, or a line of beds along on side of the pool. If you want some fun, you go from there to the thermal "River Experience", a pool with jets that push you along (little swimming required!) in a simulated current experience, lined with side pools with more beds, or a fun little fake grotto that alternated between a very powerful jet and a waterfall...the trick is to fight the current in order to get into these places! When you are done with the pools/river, or you just want to take a quiet break, the resort recently built a large outbuilding that houses three types of sauna and a Hammam. Oh, and by the way...you are surrounded by 360 degrees of mountain views. Poor Etienne didn't have his contacts (a mishap ruined the only pair he brought to Switzerland), so he couldn't see much when I pointed out something in the mountains.
This was just what we needed in the middle of a hectic "vacation" schedule.
A bath in the Alps...
...Wish you were here.
No, I've had "baths" before (just in case you're being a smartass), in tubs, but if you've never heard of or experienced baths, let me enlighten you. These are complexes built on thermal hot springs, for leisure, relaxation, and therapeutic purposes, where you go and immerse yourself in the warm mineral waters that the Earth shares with us. In our case, we visited the Bains de Saillon (in French) on the outskirts of Saillon, a small town that sits in a beautiful valley in the Alps of the canton of Valais. Saillon sits just between the cities of Martigny and Sion, so we were up very early in the morning to get to Geneva station for our train to Martigny.
The train rolled by Lake Geneva all the way to Montreux before it veered sharply south into one of Switzerland's many valleys, and suddenly the scenery changed very dramatically to towering mountains on both sides, and the sophisticated cities of Lake Geneva gave way to alpine towns and small cities. Indeed, there were stations and stops that our train rolled right past, as they were too small, and were serviced by intra-regional trains designed to get you to one of the bigger centres. We arrived in Martigny by mid-morning, and needed to kill some time, as Etienne had planned three hours in the afternoon at the bath for us. He had done his research, and found an art exhibition at the Fondation Pierre Gianadda for us to see.
I have to say, for a small "provincial" museum, the building is quite fascinating; it doubles as a concert hall, so the main room is a large open courtyard, built down in the rock, surrounded by an upper balcony. The small art exhibition was featured on the walls surrounding the square courtyard, and we were through it fairly quickly (urged to speed through it by the presence of pushy, entitled babyboomer tourists and a visit by seemingly all the children at a local school). But the musuem hides a couple of surprises; in one corner, you head down a small tunnel to a room hosting more of the permanent collection, and to my surprise, in the basement further down, an automobile museum! The British Classic Car Show in Morges was a treat, but imagine how stunned I was when I entered a dark, subterranean room hosting a fantastic collection of cars dating from 1897 to 1939 from a variety of European car makers, including a Delauney-Belleville that had once belonged to Tsar Nicholas II of Russia! Amazing!
After the excitement and hurry of the morning, I needed to eat (hypoglycemia cares not for the schedules of touring), so we walked down Martigny's main street toward the train station, stopping for McDonald's fries along the way (yes, McDonald's even finds its way into the Alps), to catch our bus to the Baths. The bus took us through the countryside, past farms and villages, and the Château de La Bâtiaz, an old fortress jutting out from a high steppe of a mountain, before depositing us at the front door of the bath facilities.
At first glance, the exterior looks old, and dated from the 1970's or early 1980's, but once you were inside, it was a renovated, modern facility. If you are not doing the spa experience, you start out in the interior pool with a special jet experience designed to massage the body, starting at the feet, and slowly moving up to the neck and shoulders. From there you can go outside to the exterior pool with more jet experiences, this time in the form of two small, personal alcoves, or a line of beds along on side of the pool. If you want some fun, you go from there to the thermal "River Experience", a pool with jets that push you along (little swimming required!) in a simulated current experience, lined with side pools with more beds, or a fun little fake grotto that alternated between a very powerful jet and a waterfall...the trick is to fight the current in order to get into these places! When you are done with the pools/river, or you just want to take a quiet break, the resort recently built a large outbuilding that houses three types of sauna and a Hammam. Oh, and by the way...you are surrounded by 360 degrees of mountain views. Poor Etienne didn't have his contacts (a mishap ruined the only pair he brought to Switzerland), so he couldn't see much when I pointed out something in the mountains.
This was just what we needed in the middle of a hectic "vacation" schedule.
A bath in the Alps...
...Wish you were here.
October 8/12
I finally get to Geneva.
Whenever I talked about this trip, I was describing it as going to Geneva. The city of Geneva is the main city of the canton (like an autonomous state or province) of Geneva. So I was going to Geneva, but by this point in the trip, I had only been to the city of Geneva for accessing the train station. I hadn't actually "been to" Geneva since we arrived. To count off so far, we've been to Onex and Versoix (suburbs of the city of Geneva), Morges, Lausanne, Montreux, Gruyères, and Fribourg--but not Geneva.
When we got off the train, the first thing Etienne did (after stopping at one of the five Starbucks in the whole canton for my caramel macchiato) was to walk me past Geneva's famed Jet D'Eau, a single fountain that shoots up some 50 metres in the air, and the Horloge Fleurie (Flowered Clock), but as it's early October, the clock was "unflowered" so the dramatic effect was lost on me. We continued on to the shopping area of Geneva. We had decided that Monday was shopping day, and I really wish I had more fun with it, but it's two days before pay day, so it was less enjoyable for me, as I could only walk around, looking at all the bankers in their expensive suits, shoes, bags, and scarves with envy. The afternoon slipped by quickly, and as Etienne had ruled out going up into the old city (it was a cool, rainy day, and it wouldn't be fun climbing up in my blister-causing shoes), we were at a loss for something to do.
After a lunch of salad for him and a strawberry tart for me (dessert for a meal--it's a theme of my trip to Switzerland), Etienne decided we'd head over to the University of Geneva so he could show me around his alma mater, and maybe we'd run into Laurent, his friend/brother-in-law, who works there finishing his PhD in political science. When we got there, Etienne showed me the main building his classes were in, and then he showed me the doors he'd walk through to go to the bars instead of going to class! We went to locate Laurent's office, hoping he was still there, but he wasn't. We went down to the infamous doors, and there Laurent was, deep in conversation with a fellow student. Laurent hadn't observed either myself or Etienne, so when the conversation was done, we sneaked up on Laurent and surprised him.
The thing is, when you get Etienne and Laurent together, they live like it's the old days, so straightaway, we headed to a bar for a drink. Laurent decided I needed to see the place where Etienne lived while he was at University, so we set off for his old neighbourhood in Carouge, a former village that had been subsumed by the city of Geneva. While there, we headed for Etienne's old haunt, the Bar du Nord. Much of the decor had changed, but the guys seemed to have no trouble slipping back into their old routine, and the chatter was lively and joking.
We needed to eat, so we went back to a restaurant near the University, which served food that Etienne could eat. By this time, we'd figured out that Switzerland was not yet the friendliest of places for those with Celiac's disease (though it has improved a lot, according to fellow Celiac sufferer, Carolyn).
It was fun to watch Etienne; I caught a glimpse of how he was in his school days, out with his friends, and I could get a sense of the fun he would have, drinking and talking about a variety of topics that might stimulate his intellect. Sure, on this occasion, the talk was mostly about the impending wedding details, but none the less, it was easy to see why he and Laurent were friends...the boys just had fun in each other's company.
Comradery...
...Wish you were here.
Whenever I talked about this trip, I was describing it as going to Geneva. The city of Geneva is the main city of the canton (like an autonomous state or province) of Geneva. So I was going to Geneva, but by this point in the trip, I had only been to the city of Geneva for accessing the train station. I hadn't actually "been to" Geneva since we arrived. To count off so far, we've been to Onex and Versoix (suburbs of the city of Geneva), Morges, Lausanne, Montreux, Gruyères, and Fribourg--but not Geneva.
When we got off the train, the first thing Etienne did (after stopping at one of the five Starbucks in the whole canton for my caramel macchiato) was to walk me past Geneva's famed Jet D'Eau, a single fountain that shoots up some 50 metres in the air, and the Horloge Fleurie (Flowered Clock), but as it's early October, the clock was "unflowered" so the dramatic effect was lost on me. We continued on to the shopping area of Geneva. We had decided that Monday was shopping day, and I really wish I had more fun with it, but it's two days before pay day, so it was less enjoyable for me, as I could only walk around, looking at all the bankers in their expensive suits, shoes, bags, and scarves with envy. The afternoon slipped by quickly, and as Etienne had ruled out going up into the old city (it was a cool, rainy day, and it wouldn't be fun climbing up in my blister-causing shoes), we were at a loss for something to do.
After a lunch of salad for him and a strawberry tart for me (dessert for a meal--it's a theme of my trip to Switzerland), Etienne decided we'd head over to the University of Geneva so he could show me around his alma mater, and maybe we'd run into Laurent, his friend/brother-in-law, who works there finishing his PhD in political science. When we got there, Etienne showed me the main building his classes were in, and then he showed me the doors he'd walk through to go to the bars instead of going to class! We went to locate Laurent's office, hoping he was still there, but he wasn't. We went down to the infamous doors, and there Laurent was, deep in conversation with a fellow student. Laurent hadn't observed either myself or Etienne, so when the conversation was done, we sneaked up on Laurent and surprised him.
The thing is, when you get Etienne and Laurent together, they live like it's the old days, so straightaway, we headed to a bar for a drink. Laurent decided I needed to see the place where Etienne lived while he was at University, so we set off for his old neighbourhood in Carouge, a former village that had been subsumed by the city of Geneva. While there, we headed for Etienne's old haunt, the Bar du Nord. Much of the decor had changed, but the guys seemed to have no trouble slipping back into their old routine, and the chatter was lively and joking.
We needed to eat, so we went back to a restaurant near the University, which served food that Etienne could eat. By this time, we'd figured out that Switzerland was not yet the friendliest of places for those with Celiac's disease (though it has improved a lot, according to fellow Celiac sufferer, Carolyn).
It was fun to watch Etienne; I caught a glimpse of how he was in his school days, out with his friends, and I could get a sense of the fun he would have, drinking and talking about a variety of topics that might stimulate his intellect. Sure, on this occasion, the talk was mostly about the impending wedding details, but none the less, it was easy to see why he and Laurent were friends...the boys just had fun in each other's company.
Comradery...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
October 7/12
Etienne and I stayed in Lausanne overnight with Diego and Carolyn because Diego and Carolyn graciously offered to take us on a day trip today. The problem was that it was up to me to decide what to do. With no information to go on, I had to choose the destination: a trip to the tourist traps of the capital city, Bern, or a trip to Gruyères (the home of the cheese) and Fribourg (Diego’s home town), or my choice – whatever, within reason. Under the gun, I chose Gruyères /Fribourg. I’m glad I did! Carolyn had to work, so Diego, Etienne and I set off on a gray, rainy morning from Lausanne. As we drove, we passed lush, green, rolling hills populated with farms that were home to fat, well-maintained cows, heading into the foothills before the Northern Alps.
We arrived at Gruyères ahead of most of the tourists and day-trippers, so it was fairly quiet when we arrived at the parking lot below the village. The old part of Gruyères is a medieval village centred around a 13th century castle, recognized as one of the best known in Switzerland, but the area has been inhabited since at least 325 BC. The castle is set up in a hill which is surrounded by valleys that cut through the hills leading dramatically up to the Alps. As we trudged up the hill to the village, I had an amusing thought: all these cows are out to pasture, a lot of them just laying about, fat, lazy, and I presume fairly content; clearly, Switzerland has a lot of cows…I giggled as I asked Etienne, “You know what Switzerland needs? More Cowbell!” (Seriously, if you are North American, you have GOT to get that reference, there is no excuse.)
At one point, we ventured off the main drag (so to speak), and headed toward the village church, which sat below the castle and beside a medieval defense wall. The drop was fairly steep, and below us was a series of penned-in fields holding deer and cows. What made these cows so special? Cowbells! All of the cows in the herd below us appeared to be wearing cowbells, and we could hear the delightful tinkling as they moved and grazed.
We continued back up to the main drag but decided not to go in to the castle. Instead, we opted for what I’m going to say is our most bizarre activity on any trip thus far (never mind this one); it turns out that this medieval village is also home to the HR Giger museum. If you don’t know who HR Giger is, he’s the genius/madman who designed and developed the aliens from the ‘Alien’ series of movies. And wow…that guy’s mind is TWI-STED! No, that’s not right. More like a journey through ‘uhhh…fuck.’ He not only enjoys creating aliens, he’s also got a serious hang-up (hard on?) about the sexuality and sex of aliens, and to a lesser extent, humans. His artwork is filled with dark, unusual, and sometimes scary images of sex acts, and he clearly enjoys breasts. It was beyond incongruous to see this museum in a medieval village in “Small Town Switzerland.”
After we finished with the most fucked up museum experience I’ve ever had, we bought a cowbell (you know we had to…you don’t leave touristy Switzerland without one), and were back in the car, heading past more lush, verdant fields and more fat cows (lacking cowbells) toward Fribourg.
From the outskirts, Fribourg looks like any other city, with modern suburbs and services, but when you start driving toward the old city, it becomes a different world. The old city sits on the Sarine River, but it is enclosed on one side by an astoundingly stark, sheer cliff, and on the other sides are dramatically steep hills leading up to the “downtown” of Fribourg, which houses 17th and 18th century homes that overlook the lowertown. Like an idiot, I walked around with my mouth agape, utterly speechless. How could this place exist? Nature and humanity sometimes combine to do some incredibly wondrous things. Truly stunning.
Gruyères and Fribourg…
…Wish you were here.
October 6/12
Because
Geneva’s environs bear some similarities to BC’s lower mainland, it was really
hard for me to fully believe I was finally in Switzerland. Despite the different license plates, the
unfamiliar car makes and models, and the unrecognizable stores and businesses, I'd see familiar sights like Esso and Relay, and could have just
convinced myself I was in, say, the old city of Quebec City.
I was
cognizant that I hadn’t really felt that ‘I’m
in Europe’ sensation yet.
Etienne had
arranged that we’d spend the day (and evening) in Lausanne with friends of his,
so we were up and heading to the train station in downtown Geneva by noon. Etienne got us tickets on the express train
to Morges, which I foolishly assumed was part of Lausanne. Whatever!
It was my first ride on a real passenger train! I’ve been on subways, skytrains, and silly
little kids’ trains at West Edmonton Mall and Metrotown, but never a real
train, which are ubiquitous in Europe, and rare in Canada. It was a lovely ride; the route goes along
Lake Geneva, passing through small cities and rolling countryside with cows and
villas speeding past. But still no
sensation.
We arrived
in Morges, a beautiful little city on the lake, to meet his friends, Diego and
Carolyn. We exited the train station
into a little square, but I’d seen quaint squares before in Mexico, so this was
nothing new.
We met with
Diego and Carolyn at a beautiful park on the water, which turned out to be the
sight of an annual British Classic Car Show!
How delightful! It turned out
that Diego had a car in the show, so we spent the first part of the afternoon
wandering through the large show, looking at some truly amazing cars, but I
couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity; despite the presence of a 13th
century castle right in the middle of the park, I looked at the vistas, which
could have been mistaken for the vistas from Jericho Beach or Locarno Beach in
Vancouver. And the large trees, water,
and mountain views could have been Second Beach in Stanley Park.
We dined al
fresco on a charming cobbled street, and I took in the sights and sounds,
enjoying the company and conversation of our companions. Was this the much sought-after ‘sensation’? Not quite.
But I’m coming to it.
Diego’s
show car was a two-seater, and because neither Etienne nor I could drive
standard transmission vehicles, we could not volunteer to drive either the show
car or their regular car back to Lausanne, so it was decided that Etienne would
go with Carolyn in their normal car, and I would go with Diego in the show car.
As it was a
classic car, Diego wasn’t keen to take it on the highway, so we took the Rue de
Lausanne, the lakeside route that runs along Lake Geneva's Northern shore. As we drove, Diego pointed out interesting
sights and told me about various buildings and parks. As we cruised by the lake and the IOC
headquarters, it hit me…
I’m a
passenger in a 1958 Astin Martin convertible roadster, rolling past Lake Geneva
in Lausanne, on a gorgeous, warm, sunny October Saturday afternoon…Fuck me!
I’m in Europe!
After
parking the car, Diego, Etienne and I set out in the regular car for Montreux,
again on the lake road, where we walked along the lakeside promenade and
ate Switzerland’s best ice cream. I saw
the large, old hotels with their distinctive yellow awnings, and Freddie
Mercury’s statue, and in a distance was Chillon castle at the other end of Lake
Geneva. Yup…I was in Europe.
A 1958
convertible by Lake Geneva…
…Wish you
were here.
October 5/12
Today’s
moment could have been the astounding scenery of Lake Geneva (Lac Leman to the
Swiss), the infrequent, clear sighting of Mont Blanc on the gorgeous, warm,
sunny Friday afternoon in October, or the immediate sensation of tranquility I
got when we landed in Geneva because its landscape bears similarities to
Vancouver. But those are not today’s
moment.
Today’s
moment is the inhumane madness that is London Heathrow Airport.
Our
flight out of Montreal was delayed by a half hour, and we worried that it would
mean we’d miss our already-tight connection between London and Geneva. To make things worse, the only two seats together
were in the last row of the plane. The
final insult was that we reached London Heathrow at 9:20 am local time, but we
had to fly around for 15 minutes in a holding pattern while the airport cleared
a gate. We decided we’d make a run for
it, but were resigned to missing the flight to Geneva and trying to get on the
next.
The
thing about making a run for it in Heathrow is that you can’t. It’s not possible. Terminal 5 is one terminal, but it’s three
separate halls, so if you arrive at Hall A, and you connecting flight is in
Hall C, you have to catch this goofy little tram, then go to the flight
connection centre, then pass through security (AGAIN), and once your through
all of that, THEN, you have to hope your gate is close by, or you’re literally
stopped cold by the sheer wall of people and bags going every which way but up.
We
bolted for the flight connection centre, where a young BA staffer with an
atrocious Cockney accent told us that our flight to Geneva was delayed, but she
didn’t tell us for how long, so we still had to rush in case it was a matter of
mere minutes. At security, we faced the
first juggernaut of people; it was here I noticed that the garment bag carrying
our wedding attire and shoes was torn open on both sides, a side effect of the
weight and the running wildly through Heathrow.
Shit!
Fuck! Whatever.
We made
it through security and went down to try to find our gate; what we found was a
disturbing mass of humanity. Oh sod a goddamn dog! We dodged and weaved, but slow, elderly
people or dawdling, leisurely holiday-makers kept wildly shifting course and
getting in my way, the wily bastards, so I lost Etienne three times. Finally we found our gate, Lucky Number
13.
And the plane had only just arrived from Geneva. And it was being groomed for turnaround. So we had almost a half hour to wait!
And the plane had only just arrived from Geneva. And it was being groomed for turnaround. So we had almost a half hour to wait!
I’d say ‘Screw
you, Heathrow!’ but we have to transit through on our way back, so I’d rather
not tempt fate.
Order to
the Heathrow chaos…
…Wish
you were here.
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