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I Just Got Back from a Little Trip

Did you know that it takes three years to complete an education that allows you to run one of these things?  It's a type of engineering degree.  If you close your eyes while riding your super-Euro pedal bike along side of them, they sound just like sailboats with their sails flapping and their works creaking.  I didn't actually close my eyes because I likely would have died and I totally forgot about that whole traveller's insurance thing but, that's what they sounded like.

 

And, did I mention the beer??  I discovered Rose Beer.  It's really hard to explain the taste without sounding like a total girl; it lacks that whole belchy beer taste and, instead, has the aftertaste of a berry tea (a man's description).  I don't think we can get it here in the Kootenays but it gives me a new mission.

Speaking of men (I know, you're finally paying attention), I met some of the most amazing people.  Unfortunately, some of them were my co-applicants for my next great job.  One in particular is an amazing specimen named Werner (pronounced Vanner; this took me two days to get) who hails from the South African military where he has experienced all of the things that I have only learned about in theory.  He is brilliant, handsome and was so much fun to explore Den Haag with.  He was the one who knew to ask the hotel concierge how to get back to the hotel even before we left.  As I said, brilliant.

Nothing can make me appreciate Canada like talking to people from other areas of the world who have been shot at work and have never seen snow.

Good News in the Mail

One free, non-transferable round trip flight ticket anywhere in Pacific Coastal's world.  Which is:

I've spent quite a bit of time studying this map trying to pick my next vacation destination.  I can't seem to find Hawaii anywhere on their routes.  Everything seems to be north of my current location.  Who travels north?

I'm now wishing that it was Air Canada that elected to turn off one of their engines over the mountains whilst I was traveling with them last September.

Seriously, nice gesture on the part of the airline considering I didn't even write one of my typical super-bitch letters.  Also, I'm so glad that they were able to reiterate in the accompanying letter that I was completely safe throughout the entire incident.

They really look forward to serving me in the future.

Alfred Hitchcock? Is that you?

"The Birds are back."

"Pardon."  I said to the strange, dog-walking lady.

She pointed ominously up into the skeletal trees and said simply, "Look."

With a sense of dread and foreboding, I slowly turned and looked in the direction she was pointing.

In the City of Vancouver, there is a cluster of eight trees or so that serve as a seasonal home to hundreds of Great Blue Herons.

Air Travel in the 21st Century

Yesterday, following another angst filled week of training in Vancouver, I happily embarked on my journey home.  The trip generally involves a one hour flight in a small commuter airplane that even I have to hunch over in.  The plane du jour seats fewer than nineteen passengers so, no need for a flight attendant to service my every need.  In fact, I have flown with this airline so often now that I generally recognize the pilots (from previous flights, my friends, keep it clean).

One of the downfalls of living in Pleasantville, on the edge of a cliff, is the lack of available technology that those from major centres take for granted.  Things like functioning airports, for example, with lights and approaches and such.  Dare to dream.

Prior to boarding the plane this afternoon, I phoned home to ask one of my children how the sky looked.  Since taking this job and being weathered-in or weathered-out of various locations, they have become quite adept at analyzing cloud height and percentage of cover.

The mini-meteorologist reported that though the clouds were below the mountain tops, there were quite a few holes so, I was given a 50-50 chance of getting home.  The pilots (I did not recognize either of them) were giving slightly higher odds but neglected to tell us what I already knew; they were not frequent flyers into this region.

So, after about an hour of flying, I could see all the signs of a failed attempt; the weaving airplane, the pilots peering out the windows through the holes in the clouds to the unfamiliar landscape, looking back at the clock and the GPS.  Followed closely by the 180 degree turn and the announcement that they were unable to manoeuvre through the clouds to the airport, we were returning to Vancouver.  So predictable.

At least they kept both engines running this time.

And that, my friend, is two hours of my time that I will never get back.

Sir Stanley

Stanley Park is the oldest urban forest and park area in Vancouver.  Many great photo-ops, like this beautiful swan, along the walk.

I'm in the Wrong Business

In case you are wondering how much money it would cost you to have a specialized crew called out to an unnamed airport in Northern British Columbia at 1:00 am on a Sunday morning to de-ice your LearJet; that would be $55,000.00.

That's right.

Happy Thoughts

Vancouver in December.

After having three Vancouver flights canceled due to inclement weather, it was very cool to see this in the rear view mirror.

Me, In a Casino

Holy Etiquette!!

I am attending a course over the next couple of days in a resort that has a casino and a golf course; neither of which I have any use for.  I car-pooled with a co-worker who was driving mach-f***ing-six through the video game that I like to call "Wildlife at Dusk" so that he could get to the casino to play poker.  His intention during this two day conference is to make $1000 playing poker while we are not in class and, being paid by the government.  Wow, I'll be so happy if I get my travel reimbursement before the spring thaw.

After checking-in, hanging up my clothes, looking around and realizing that, though this is a gorgeous resort, there is nothing to do here except work out in the fitness facility or go to the casino.

So, when I got to the casino, I looked for my co-worker, Chris, at the poker tables so I could vicariously live through the eyes of a future millionaire.  There were two tables, one sitting empty and the other with four players, including Chris, and two security guards standing within the cordoned-off area.  I gave him a little wave and tried to position myself so that I could watch what's going on without looking like I was counting cards, distracting players, giving signals or sending off bad karma.  Very tricky and a little nerve-wracking.  A security guard approached me and politely asked me if he could help me; read:  You are pacing like a hyena, what the hell are you trying to pull.

"My friend, over there, is playing Texas Something and I wanted to watch but I don't know the rules."

Guard, "Follow me.  You can sit in the vacant chair to his left.  No, don't pull in to the table, it will confuse the dealer, sit back further.  And, don't look at anyone's cards."

Me, stage whisper, "Got it, thanks.  Chris, hey, what've you got?"

Guard, "I said, you can't look at anyone's cards."

Me, "I know.  But, I'm kinda like on his team."

Guard, "There are no teams.  Can I show you to the slot machines?"

Me, "OK.  Chris, I think I'm being kicked out, see you tomorrow."

Pleeeeaaaaasssssse!

"No, the menagerie is not looking for new members."

Liam and I found this guy just outside of Marmora, Ontario.  And, he's still there.  I was strong.

When to Listen to the Voices

I believe that there is a large part of my brain that goes entirely untapped.  I also believe that the unemployed majority of my neural synapses are firing like crazy to try to protect me from myself.  (Like in most of my relationships.)  Although I don't directly recruit all of this extra activity, I still know that it is trying to work for me.  I simply don't pay attention.  I will call them the Screaming Voices of my Suppressed Mind or, the Banshees.

Allow me to illustrate.

A week ago, I was scheduled to fly from home to Vancouver for a one day course on the following day.

Sign #1:

That morning, Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl was doing her best Linda Blair impression.

Banshees, "Don't go."

Sign #2:

I had procrastinated the hell out of my assigned course pre-read.  The two shifts in which I intended on cramming were, instead, filled with sick people and ambulance calls.  I was on page 17 of 234.

Banshees, "Don't go."

Sign #3:

The weather was the epitome of what our local carrier's pilots do not fly in:  clouds below the tops of the surrounding mountains.

Banshees, "Different approach.  You're not going."

The skilled pilots found a hole in the clouds somewhere down the river and made it in to get me.

Sign #4:

When I tried to check in at the airport, I was told that only half of my ticket had been paid for by my employer:  the return half.  The employer is already into me for a billion dollars in yet unpaid travel claims and I was not going to put another dime on my credit card.

So, Sunday afternoon at 4:00 pm, I called my supervisor (on a cell phone that never gets a signal at the airport) to tell him that I would be unable to leave my daughter at home alone to attend a course that I was not prepared for because the department had not paid for my ticket to get there.

He answered the phone, of course, and dealt with the ticket issue.  I got on the plane.

Banshees, "How many times.....seriously."

Now, since I had not heeded any of the Banshees warnings, this is what happened:

About 15 minutes from landing in Vancouver, I was wistfully gazing out the window, down the wing and into the clouds with my MP3 player on and my course pre-read opened in front of me (best of intentions).  I then watched the left engine (two engine plane) slow down and stop.

I looked around to see if anyone else noticed.  Apparently not.

I leaned across the aisle to the newspaper-reading dude on the right side, "Is your engine still running?"

He looked at me, looked out his window, looked back at me, "Yeah, yours?"

Me, "No."

I looked towards the front to see that our stewardess flight attendant, Miss Smiles-Alot, was on the phone with the pilots.  She leaned over to get a view of the left engine, still smiling, nodded lots, hung up the phone and then turned to address her audience.

"Hi, Everyone!  I was just talking to our Captain and he told me that they have chosen to electively shut down the left engine because of some warning lights.  I didn't even notice since our ride has continued to be so smooth.  I can tell you that we are already over Vancouver and we were just about to start our descent anyway.  This airplane is totally safe to fly on one engine and we are totally keen to do our descent and landing on one engine.  This is sooo normal."

And the proletariat totally bought it.  They all smiled back at Miss Smiles-Alot and went back to their reading and chatting and snoozing.

Idiots.

I checked to see if I had cell phone coverage, of course not.  Not sure who I would have called but I would have liked to have had that option.

After a couple of sharp banks, we landed to great fanfare consisting of fire trucks and ambulances at every runway entrance along the way.  By time we came to a stop, we had an entourage of emergency vehicles surrounding us and fire fighters at the bottom of the exit stairs.

Normal, my ass!

Banshees, a little louder next time, please.