You Say Firenze, I Say Florence

Florence is not only the birthplace of the Renaissance, but it is supposedly Italy’s most beautiful city.

Upon arrival the Engineer and I checked in to what can only be described as our ‘skuzzy’ hotel, in an area that was close to the train station and all the tourist things, but not exactly quaint or pretty.  We had to step around garbage bins to get out if that gives you any idea. 

I was still recovering from the bug that hit me in Venice and the rain was falling. 

Florence was therefore not winning me over.

Yet.

As we walked through streets teeming with teenage tour groups from the States, my mood was not getting better.  Where was this beauty I heard about?  So far all the buildings were miss-matched and falling apart.  To me, the famous il Duomo appeared too gaudy and colourful.  And the Ponte de Vecchio was not a breathtaking bridge.

But then the sun came out.  And something changed.

The light danced on the yellow stone, making Florence literally glow and shine.  The narrow lanes became charming.  Each building was unique and bursting with both medieval and Renaissance touches.

We also had an amazing meal that I did not throw up.  Wild boar paparadelle, beef Chianti stew, fried rabbit (weird right?) and amazing tiramisu. I was happy.

The next day was a busy tourist filled one.  Starting off with a walking tour of Florence.  As this day was about to prove, tours really are hit or miss.  Luckily, our tour was a hit.

I was worried at first.  As we tried to find the address, we were plodding behind a foursome of American tourists about my parents age.  Already they were bellyaching about something annoying and I just knew if they were on our tour I would hit them.  One of the couples was those ‘saggy face’ people you see.  You know?  The people who spent their whole life frowning and complaining and now have saggy, jiggly faces.  Complete with walking sticks, bum bags, and baseball caps that read ‘I’d rather be fishing’ made me want to pinch their jiggle faces.

Mean I know.  And trust me, I have nothing against American tourists.  Truth be known, I prefer them to European ones. I know I know, I am in Europe.  Too bad it’s full of Europeans.  HA!  Just kidding.  Sort of.  Many Europeans are very pushy and rude.  Americans may be loud but at least they don’t butt in line and they apologize when they walk into you and make you fall over.

Anyways, back to the tour.

So we were waiting outside for our tour guide when one came down.  He was an older gentleman who must be British or American, I couldn’t tell.  But he spoke super slowly with lots of ‘ahs’ and ‘umms’.  He told us we would be split into two groups.

The other tour guide came down.  She was my age, from Boston, but living in Florence for nearly a decade.

Please be on her tour, please be on her tour, I said to myself.

And we were!  As we followed her down the cobble-stoned streets, the Engineer said, “I wanted the other guy”.  Seriously?  “No, I’m kidding.  He can’t even talk in coherent sentences”.

So boring tour guide took jiggly faces one way, and we happily went the other.

These are the reasons this tour was a ‘hit’:  our guide was interesting, well spoken and a vast resource of fun facts.  She pointed out tiny details about Florence that really does make it Italy’s most beautiful city.  The Engineer and I both agreed that perhaps not immediately beautiful, the fact that the city is full of treasure and interest makes in incredible.  We loved the combination of medieval architecture living next to the Renaissance.  We loved how Donetello’s sculptures dotted themselves around the town and you could see his evolution as an artist.  Michelangelo walked these very streets, virtually the same as they are today.  Except I am sure the old wool guild was not a Gap back then. 

I definitely recommend this Florence tour..  I do NOT recommend our next tour (I forget the company).

To get into the Uffizi gallery, I had to book a tour (I had no idea these galleries were busy like this!).  I was hoping for incredible insight into the art of Boticelli and his contemporaries that I would ordinarily miss.

Too bad our guide barely spoke English and was as interesting as paint drying on walls.  For two hours, we dragged ourselves through the gallery as he pointed out things that were either incomprehensible or dead boring.  He was no Elaine in Rome who made a painting come alive right before our eyes.

I turned him off when it was time for ‘The Birth of Venus’.  Lucky for me, I have been reading my Rick Steves’ Europe 101 (don’t laugh, it’s actually a very handy guide to art and history!) and I could see the similarity between Venus and Eve and the evolution of medieval art to Renaissance.  It was beautiful.

Too bad our guide was there.  The only truly exciting times were when he stopped talking (which was a whisper that was hard to hear) to bellow at teenage boys:  “SHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  STOP TALKING!  You are in a museum!”  He scared the crap out of us!

I promised the Engineer I would not force him on any more walking tours. 

Our stay was short, but sweet.  And I was able to leave Firenze knowing that it was indeed, an interesting and special place.

Quinsam sea trials underway

A sight not often seen off Gabriola - MV Quinsam passing the Bowen Queen off Descanso Bay today, to the sound of ship's horns from both vessels as the Quinsam prepares to return to service after her $16m refit. 

At first sight, it's difficult to see much change in Quinsam's appearance, other than a fresh coat of paint.   On closer examination, though, there are at least two noticable changes.

Midships on (presumably) both sides there is now a new folding gangway fitted where previously there was an open railing..... usually covered with a tarp for weather protection. Is this simply a new emergency escape route for passengers, or has it been redesigned for use by walk-on passengers with a segregated ramp? There's no sign of any new ramps at the terminals, but maybe we should wait and see....

Up above the car decks there are now four shiny new engine exhaust mufflers - one over each engine - which will hopefully reduce noise levels substantially in the passenger lounges. 

Previously, the engine exhaust was routed through ducting alongside the passenger accommodation, making the seating areas noisy and, at times, very hot.

We must wait and see what delights await the passenger once aboard!




Quinsam's return to service is due next week; in the meantime the sea trials will no doubt continue - and on Sunday, she will be taking part in a multi-agency search and rescue exercise in Nanaimo Harbour, where a mock emergency will be played out aboard MV Quinsam with various federal, provincial and local agencies testing their collective response. The training exercise will take place off the Assembly Wharf on Sunday morning and public viewing will be available from Maffeo Sutton Park.


Meanwhile, for those of us who paid by credit card for our ferry tickets last weekend are urged to be patient while BC Ferries rectify the computer `glitch` that meant everyone was charged twice. I checked my credit card account today and, yes, I was charged double to top up my Experience Card, even though the receipt only showed one payment. Check your credit card bills now folks!!!

Venice: Disneyland on Rotting Foundations

I used to have recurring dreams about New York City.  I would be there, late for a Broadway show and never be able to get to Manhattan.

Then I went to New York and the dreams stopped.

They were replaced with dreams of Venice.  In my dreams, I searched through a golden gilded city looking for masks and swimming along the turquoise blue canals.

The only way to put a stop to these dreams was to finally visit Venice.

I guess I didn’t fully realize that Venice relies solely on the tourist dollar.  It’s not really a functioning city for anything but the 20 Million tourists it gets a year.  That’s 400 tourists for every ONE Venetian.  And for me, that means one big horrific headache.

The Engineer and I arrived later in the evening and made our way to Venice by night.  At eight o’clock the streets were empty, the shops were closed and only a few, true Italian restaurants were open.  It was sort of eerie and creepy – like this bizarre ghost town floating on water. 

We chose a tiny little restaurant where not a word on English was spoken, and sat in a cozy corner on the top floor. This place was so Italian.  I mean it was nearly ten o’clock and the woman across the way was breastfeeding her baby while a dog sat at her feet.  And she wasn’t using a breast cover-up or anything.  Did I mention she was drinking wine AND smoking?

I pulled my usual Sarah tourist thing and pointed to other people to order.  That’s what I like to do.  If something looks interesting I may as well point to it rather than try to find it myself.

So I got a spriz.  Which I think is a seasonal Venetian drink that is red wine, compari, something else, an olive and an orange.  It was good.  I also got amazing tortellini and a huge plate of vegetable antipasti.  Antipasti are for sharing but the Engineer was still sick so I managed the whole thing by myself.  Surprise surprise.

It was so quiet and Italian.

I should have appreciated it while I could.

The next day could only be described as entering into the depths of tourist hell. 

I have never seen so many people in one place.  And let’s remember that I just lived through the 2010 Olympics, I live half the year in New York City, and I have been to Bangkok.

None of that compares to Venice on Easter weekend.

Technically, the walk from San Roma (the bus depot – it’s like being at Disneyland and entering the magic gates, except the gates in this case was an uber busy bridge) to San Marco is about thirty-five minutes.  

It took us over an hour and a half.

Granted, I stopped many times along the way to pick up goodies.  All of the bakeries were spilling out Easter yumminess in the form of Marzipan lambs or eggs with chicks, pastry stuffed with Nutella, buns and breads full of nuts and chocolate, and of course, Lindt Easter bunnies smiling happily in every window.

Not to mention a store that sells wine from these big caskets.  I got a liter of Prosecco for two Euro.  TWO EUROS!  AAAAAAAAAAAH

We then walked through the Rialto market full of fish, vegetables we can’t get at home, and fruit. 

It was pretty incredible.  Well, it would have been if it weren’t for the extra slow-moving 20 million tourists.  I know that not all 20 million tourists come in one day, but it certainly feels like they do.

The colourful vegetable stalls gave way to lines and lines of tacky tourist crap.  Stripped shirts that say ‘I Heart Venice’ or aprons with the David statue shown with some ‘extra’ down-there glory. Perfect for the mother-in-law.

By the time we actually reached Rialto Bridge I wanted to hit someone. 

We pushed and prodded our way to St. Mark’s, where not only were there 20 million people taking pictures, but also there was scaffolding everywhere.  Of course.

I didn’t have the patience.

We found a little spot on the Grand Canal looking across the water and dove into the food. Well, I did.  The Engineer was still suffering his ‘stomach bug’ so I drank the entire litre of Prosecco (using a wine glass I had stolen from some square where everyone was drinking wine) while eating some ham, mortadella and cheese.  And quite possibly the most amazing cream puff I have ever tasted.

You can imagine what the hot sun and a litre of Presecco will do to a girl.

So we had to go home.

But how?

We decided to take the waterbus.  Well, that was a joke.  And an expensive one.

It was 13 Euros to take us to the wrong stop.  And we waited for the freaking bus for about an hour.  The worst thing was that our bus was sitting there; just floating and the Italian bus guys were just standing on the dock laughing amongst themselves.

The German couple behind us said ‘too many people wearing sunglasses having fun’.  So true, my orderly German friend, so true.

By the time we got to the wrong stop, I was feeling like I too was coming down with the same stomach bug. 

We had to wait in another line (so smart these people are that they have one person working on a busy holiday weekend) for some super slow-minded people to purchase tickets (another 13 Euros).  With our tickets finally in hand, we raced down to the bus boat just as he was pulling the ropes up. 

Would he let me on? No. I lost it.  Out came a stream of profanity about ‘stupid people’ and I glared at the slow-paced ticket purchasers who were gazing vacantly at the air as if they were surprised to have gotten to the bus stop by themselves.

The Engineer told me to not be so loud.  Whatever.  No one speaks English anyways. All the tourists seemed to be fellow Italians. 

In my Prosecco-hazy state I think I said that Italy would be better if it wasn’t for all the Italians.  That’s right.  I am apparently racist.  Or one of those American tourists we all hate.

Here’s the thing:  American tourists may be loud, but they are also polite and efficient.  Unlike European tourists who think just because you are on vacation, you must walk the speed of a hairy mammoth.  AND PUSH IN LINE!  Or not say 'sorry' when you run over a pink-clad blonde girl - SAY SORRY when you push me over and step on my toes!  

Anyhoo, I passed out for the rest of the day.  And night.  Woke up with not only hay fever worsening, but also a case of the ‘stomach bug’ that I had no patience with the Engineer for.

Super.

What does one do when one is blowing their nose, sneezing, has a sinus headache the size of Rome, and Italian food shooting out of them (from every direction) every 20 minutes?  Goes on a walking tour.

So SMRT.

For two hours, the Engineer and I were bored to tears on a ‘Hidden Venice’ tour.  If I think the tour is boring, that means it is.  We missed out on everything else because I had not read Rick Steves clearly (FYI – book your Doge’s Palace tour WAY in advance.  Same goes for Florence – still waiting to see if I get to go to ANY gallery). 

I didn’t learn any fun facts.  Which always saddens me. 

We both felt like crap but thought we should eat.  So eat we did.  After only half an hour (new record for me!) we found a truly Venetian place to eat where my wine (yes, I realize should not drink wine when ill) was the same price as water!  We had soup (I had bean soup – I realize the irony with said stomach issues), which was amazing and then shared the daily pasta special.  Rick Steves says to eat seafood when in Venice so we did. 

Why we thought this was a good idea,  I don't know.  Look at it.

That’s when the badness really started for me.  Lucky for me, we already had mapped out all the public bathrooms Venice offers.  For 1 euro 50, you are guaranteed a clean bathroom in Venice.

Which is a really really good thing.

So basically, that was how I saw Venice: the basin of a white toilet.  Awesome.

We went back to the hotel room and slept for about fourteen hours.  Then watched some ‘Friends’, then slept some more.

I am happy to report our stomach issues seem to have left us; unfortunately they also left me with a bad taste of Venice.  

I am sure I will return someday, preferably in the winter and on a Monday  - when I may be lucky to arrive on a day when Venetians outnumber tourists.

PS.  I also fell down the stairs of the San Rialto Bridge.  Like fully.  And not because of Prosecco but because of a hole in the stairs.  I grabbed some poor German woman – but luckily her husband was strong enough to pull us both up.  So many people came running, making ‘oohs’ and ‘ouches’ – I pretended it didn’t hurt and then limped to a hotel.  Ugh.

Not such a Good Friday

7am - woke to the sound of bits of tree blowing across the roof. The clock's still going, so the power hasn't gone out - yet.  Listen to wind and rain, check that power is still on and launch the coffee maker. Not a moment too soon; within seconds of delivering 2 mugs of Tim Horton's best, the lights flicker and die. This could be a long day.  Light the stoves. Contemplate the hot tub with no electricity. Maybe not - there are waves on the surface, but it's not quite the same.  The Queen of Alberni is ploughing through much angrier waves out in the Channel. At least the ferries are running.

No power = no water = no shower. Have to stay dirty then. Decide (albeit grudgingly) that work can go on without power tools, so work commences. Slowly. Cousins call by as promised to help move drywall panels upstairs, but they have bad news - their 26ft sailboat broke its mooring lines in the night and is beached on the rocks at Degnen Bay. 

Two tons of folkboat lying on her starboard side - thankfully very limited damage is visible, so plans are made to empty her of everything that's not screwed down and prepare to (hopefully) refloat her at high water.  After a long afternoon, the wind and rain show no sign of abating and all we can do now is wait for the tide and hope. Many kind souls have come down to the rocks to offer advice and assistance - some more realistic than others, but all genuine and well meant. This is Gabriola at its best, in the worst of conditions.

As the waters rise, the heavy hull starts to move and, with the valued assistance of a local boatbuilder providing a tow, she is pulled slowly (and a little painfully) off the rocks. It's evident that she's taking on water - and those of us left on shore can only watch and hope as she's towed slowly out across the bay, riding ever lower in the water. Another boat stands by to take off the crew if necessary - but after what seems an eternity, she is secured to the dock on the far side of the bay, where a heavy duty pump and a temporary repair to the holed hull save the day.

Meanwhile, the bush telegraph reports that the power is back on, at least in the Whalebone area, so the hot tub can prepare itself for the return of a very wet and very cold crew. 

Beyond the bay, there's been major disruption to ferries - with no sailings from Horseshoe Bay and waits of 6 hours or more the order of the day at Tsawwassen. A neighbour finally gets home off the late ferry from Nanaimo, with tales of seas lashing through the upper car deck on the Tsawwassen ferry and taking out a window on the passenger deck. By comparison, the short crossing from Nanaimo on the Bowen Queen must have seemed quite tame.

The 20 minute crossing from Nanaimo to Descanso Bay is comparatively sheltered - and it's rare to experience a truly rough crossing on this route. Both Bowen Queen and the regular boat, the Quinsam, have open car decks and I've often wondered how they would fare in really rough weather. 

One of the oldest vessels in BC Ferries' fleet is the North Island Princess, built in 1958 and still plying the rather less sheltered waters between Powell River and Texada Island. She's smaller than the Bowen Queen, but built to a similar design. This stunning picture (courtesy of the Vancouver Sun) captures the North Island Princess at the peak of the storm mid afternoon on Good Friday. Maybe I'm glad we chose Gabriola!

Bella Roma

The Engineer and I awoke on a perfectly warm, sunny spring Rome morning.  Ready and fresh for our sightseeing of the Ancient City. 

Except I didn’t really feel like sightseeing.  In fact, I sort of loathe sightseeing.  Mostly because I don't like annoying people and tourists generally fall into that category.

I used to be all into it:  museums, churches, and historical forts.  But now?  When I go to a new city my favorite thing to do is eat and watch people. 

However, one cannot go to Rome without going to the Coliseum.  Or the Vatican.

So we did all that.  Blah blah blah.

I won’t lie, they are pretty impressive and you should do them when you go to Rome.  And luckily I found a pretty cool way to see them.

However, there were some mistakes that of course cost you money and time.  Like an open-top bus tour.  Not that it was a waste of lots of time or money, but they never seem as worth it when you are on them.  Especially when you listen to the headphones and it’s clear that some guy has just hit ‘translate this page’ into a computer and a computer generated voice barks out the historical facts.  With the wrong emphasis on words, so that ‘The gladiators fought at the Coliseum’ turns to “The gladIATORS fought AT THE coloseeUM’. 

Then we thought it best to skip the live tour guide by getting an audio guide at the Coliseum. Why why why do I always think this is a good idea?  There has only been one time when this was a good idea and that was at the Tower of London.  The British male voice is so good when he describes the room Anne Boleyn sat in before her execution.  It even has the drumbeats that lead you down the stairs.

You’d think they could get creative with the coliseum.  Have the sounds of beasts eating gladiators.  But no.  Some boring British guy drones on about the construction of rocks.  At least being in the Coliseum was extremely cool.

The Engineer and I tagged on to a tour of the Forum because we could tell the guide was really good.  The Engineer told me to stay at the back so she wouldn’t notice me, but I can’t help just wanting to go to the front. 

It turned out to be a free tour in order to sell tours of the Vatican, so it was totally okay that I ditched the Engineer at the back and got up close with all the other nerds.

And that is how I chose my tour of the Vatican.  We attempted to go by ourselves.  The moment you come out of the station you are bombarded with tour guides trying to sell their tours  - it’s really confusing.  I put a small deposit on one tour; only to discover my bus tour had one for cheaper, and then the guide from the day before had the most expensive tour of them all.  But I thought better to have a good tour guide than to pay money for a bad tour guide.

And you need a tour guide. 

I can’t believe I thought we could go by ourselves.  I mean, you totally can, but then you miss out on all the fun facts that our guidebook (and limited art history knowledge) can tell us.

Like the reason Michelangelo was asked to paint the Sistine Chapel.  Or how he did it. And why you can’t take photos in there (not because flash will ruin it – although that is a reason – but because a Japanese television company paid for the fourteen year restoration and now own rights to all the images).  Everyone takes photos though.  I did.  Without a flash.  The Japanese are rich enough I feel.

Or that Raphael painted himself into each of his paintings.  And you can always tell who he is because he is the only one looking at you.

Our tour turned into a four-hour art history lesson that was, get this, interesting.  I loved my Canadian tour guide and all the things she told us!  So when in Rome, check out Romaround Tours for some excellent insights into this amazing city.

The coolest thing we did though, was take a 3-hour ‘Roman Holiday’ vintage Vespa tour at night. 

I surprised the Engineer at a nice restaurant when two vintage Vespas showed up to whisk us around Rome.  It hadn’t occurred to me at the time of the booking, but maybe riding behind an Italian man on a Vespa might not exactly be up the Engineer’s alley. 

They each assured us it was safe and that we simply had to sit and keep our hands on our knees.  ‘No touching’, said the Engineer’s driver.  Done.

Basically, you ride around Rome at night and check out all the cool sites sans the annoying tourists.  Lucky for us, it’s Easter weekend so the Coliseum and St. Peter’s were all lit up and pretty.

They showed us more than just the norm though.  We found original Ancient Roman cobbles where you can see the groove of ancient wheels, or the Malta keyhole that when you peer through shows an archway of hedges with the dome of St. Peter’s glowing at the end – very Secret Garden like, and the coffee house all Italians head to in the evening (where we had a coffee so strong it could strip paint.  My driver told me it wasn’t strong.  I told him I drink Tim Horton’s double double) or the quiet church that retains its appearance from the Middle Ages (no Renaissance art here, it’s all-simple inside) where Italians were gathering among the Dominican monks to welcome in Good Friday.  Well, I don’t know if welcome is the right word.  There was a closed curtain and they were all waiting until midnight for something to happen.  I’m not boned up enough in my Catholic to know what.  But it was really cool.  Especially as it was built on an ancient temple, parts of which you can still see.

Our drivers told us that Romans recycle.  They recycled stone and marble from ancient bathhouses for ‘modern’ churches.  Or they recycled the other Coliseum (yes, there is one) for people to live in (or on one level of).  Sure Romans, that’s recycling.  Where I come from its just beer cans and cereal boxes.

Again if you come to Rome, I highly recommend this tour.  Ideally, it for girls.  Or that’s what the Engineer’s guide told him.  He said it’s usually only women who want to ride behind a sexy Italian.  The driver said ‘she picked it right?’  But the Engineer is definitely man enough.  He didn’t have to hold on to his driver once.  Even though he did have to borrow his coat.

So that was our whirlwind Rome.  I threw my coin in to Trevi Fountain, so I am sure to return. 

The Things You Learn . . .

 . . .  about each other when you travel.

The Engineer and I are getting married.  And we have travelled together.  Therefore one would think we know each other well.  But nothing like a trip to Europe to really bring out each other's dark sides.

I wouldn’t say the Engineer is dishonest.  He’s one of the most straight-up people I know.  But he does have a bit of a sneaky side.

And I would never say that I am subtle.  Far from it.

So sometimes we go together about as well as vinegar and oil. 

For example, the Engineer has a method of placing his bag on the belt at check-in to hide the fact it is most likely overweight.  It’s not hard; you just don’t put it all the way on.  So when he puts his bag on, and it weighs 16.8 kg, not the allotted 15 kg, he hopes the check-in lady won’t notice. 

Well, she’s bound to notice when I yell ‘Oh No! Your bag is 16.8 kilograaaaaaaams!!’.

He also says I shouldn’t say certain things out loud.  Like when a Vatican tour guide is selling me on a tour, but I look at the Engineer who is making a face and say ‘are you making a face?  Is this bad?  Do you think he is a con artist?’ right in front of the non-con-artist-Australian work-holiday-Visa-person.

I also have a bad habit of imitating accents.  In Brooklyn, I will loudly say ‘I ax her to go’ at which point the Engineer almost gets beat up.  In this case, I started the accent before we got to Italy.  And Italian accents don’t even sound the way us Americans make them sound.    Or the way I make them sound.  For all my acting friends, or friend, Arlecchino has reared his ugly head again.  I can’t help but say things like ‘Bella Roma’ or ‘giva mia mora pasta’. 

To be fair, the Engineer has taken to saying ‘here we go’ the way Mario does before you start the game.

We've also learned that I will walk around for hours searching for the perfect restaurant before settling on one that I think will satisfy my foodie needs.  The Engineer could care less.  

I like to get lost and am certain that at some point I will figure out my way.  The Engineer has a map out at all times.

I take pictures of everything.  The Engineer does not.  He just looks at the sky waiting for me.

If I get sick, I got to the pharmacy right away and get a pill, then buck up because I am on vacation.  The Engineer does not go to the pharmacy but prefers to make grunting noises every three paces. 

We have learned that I have no patience for said illness and will dump the Engineer off at nearby seats while I go to the Trevi Fountain by myself.

Mostly we're learning that marriage is made of up compromise.  So I will go to almost any restaurant we find.  And the Engineer will take a pill (true love is a fiance who mimes throwing up and diarrhea for the pharmacist).  

We've also learned the valuable lesson in 'alone time'.  Hmmmm.  We're only fours days in . . . . . 

From First Class to Fist Class

My moment of first class glory was quickly extinguished with my flight to Rome.  On Ryan Air.

Have you ever done that before?

It’s crazy.

Firstly, you check in and have to empty your suitcases because their baggage allowance is only suitable for a pair of traveling kittens.  Nothing is worse than emptying and exchanging underwear for the world, or the Italian guy with no respect for personal space standing three centimeters from your head, to see.  Seriously, I almost punched him and three Polish ladies who don’t’ respect the rules of the yellow line.

See this line? Yes?  Well don’t freaking cross it until I have my suitcase on the belt and the check-in lady is waving us away.  God.  People.  Why can’t they all be polite Canadians?

Anyways, once we sorted out the cases, we tried to pay for booked seats.  Computer says ‘no’ our check-in lady informed us.  I asked if we just run on to the plane and grab what we can.  She smiled proudly and said ‘that’s the one!’  How does a computer not assigning seats save money?

Then you wait in the lounge, staring at the TV screens telling you which gate to go to like a runner at the start-line.  When the number flashes up, you start the race with the intent on winning gold.  Or getting to the front of the line.

This was us.  HA!  The Engineer said that there was no stampede.  I told him to wait.

We were right at the front of the line.  However, sneaky Italian buggers kept trying to inch their way in front of us.  The cheek!  I kept shooting them darts with my eyes.

And all the people trying to sneak in the priority line?  Shameless.  Luckily the ticket-taker girl was British and therefore rude to customers.  She told anyone who tried to get on first to get to the back of the line.  I felt somewhat smug watching the over-botoxed, Gucci-wearing, bottle-tanned Italian girl get forced to the back. 

Then it was pandemonium.  You can get on the plane from the front or the back.  Screw the line and respect of personal space.  This was war. 

And I was going to win.

The Engineer insisted in getting on from the front door.  But I was smart.  I went to the back.  He didn’t know any better.  Although many people were getting on at the back, they generally sit down close to the back so they can get off first.  People who get on from the front just stand there and debate.

I nabbed two emergency row seats with extra legroom.  Take that pushy Italians!  I waved to the Engineer who was stuck at the front, waiting behind people who were just standing.

No matter how many times the attendant said ‘find a seat and sit down’ in both Italian and English, no one seemed to get the gist. 

After forcing people to sit down, there were a few stragglers.  They were told to find a spare seat and sit.  It doesn’t matter if they are split up, this sucker isn’t’ going to Rome until you sit your ass down.

Dear god.  How simple is this? Not for some.  A couple was forced to separate, the man sitting next to the Engineer, and his girlfriend across the aisle.  She looked forlornly at him, then at me.  I could sense that she was hoping I would be so kind as to make the Engineer give her the seat next to her boyfriend.

Screw you, my glare said, get here early next time.  Then I popped a Bassett’s licorice in my mouth and looked out the window. 

If this really was war, I had just become the General.

The Road I Wish Wasn't Less Travelled

The Engineer and I have decided to take our honeymoon early as he starts work in July and will forever be chained to his Goldman Sachs desk.  

And as I can’t do anything in small doses, we are of course going for five weeks.  Much to the chagrin of my hosting/producer partner of my wedding television show.

But a girl’s gotta do what a girls gotta do.

And Rome was calling.

I booked my flight with airmiles.  It’s taken me about 7 years but I finally was able to purchase something from airmiles!  Well, sort of.  I borrowed half of them from my parents.  Shopping at Safeway only gets me so far. 

Have you ever flown with airmiles?  It’s horrible.

Firstly, I was on the phone for nearly two hours booking a flight between YVR and Heathrow.  I gave myself a manicure while the lady at the end of the line figured out the most horrific flight path possible for me.

The winner?

Leave Vancouver at seven in the morning, fly to Houston and the airport named after George Bush (blanket name to cover both senior and dumbass).  Wait for five hours.  Then fly to London.  Yes. That’s right.  Apparently Houston is exactly halfway between Vancouver and London.

But it’s worth it, seeing as the end destination is Italy and France with my Engineer right?

So up I get at four in the morning, say a teary farewell to my sleepy puppies and make my way to the airport.

Only to be bumped off my plane.

This is when I LOVE airmiles.

They booked me on an American flight.  And America flights are notorious for overbooking. 

The girl feels so bad (and I may have snapped when I thought I would miss my flight) that she offers me a direct route later in the afternoon.  First Class.

I practically made out with her.

The trouble is that once you fly first class, you can never go back.

First there is the executive lounge where you wait sipping wine and eating cookies (and soup, salad, sandwiches).  No one talks.  There are no screaming children.  And when it is time to board, a happy voice gently tells you to make your way, at your pace, to your flight.

Then you get on the plane.

As soon as the flight attendant checks your ticket and sees you are a first class passenger, they drop the snotty attitude and call you ‘Ms.  So and So’.  I’ve only been called Ms. Groundwater four times in my life so it’s kind of a treat!

Then you are escorted to your pod.

That’s right, your pod.

A private area where no one sits next to you, or near you.  In fact you can only see the other people if you purposely peer over your pod.

I tried not to show my excitement.  I subtly took a picture of my reclining toes to send the Engineer (my feet have a seat!) but I wanted to look as though I am used to this.  That I travel first class all the time.  You have to dress the part to get the part right?

Then you have people serving you champagne, peanuts, giving you hot towels.  By the time we took off I felt like I had spent a week at the spa.

Due to my early morning, I was super exhausted.  That could also have been the four glasses of Chablis that I had.  Whatever it was, by the time I finished my cheese plate it was time for sleep mask and full horizontal positioning.  I was asleep before dessert (that’s right, there is cheese AND dessert).

I slept all the way past breakfast and one hour before landing.  The only bad thing about the flight was that it was too short.  I ran out of time to watch all (or any) of the movies or partake in the ‘help yourself’ snacks and drinks. 

But it was the first time I ever arrived in London feeling wide awake and refreshed.

The goodness didn’t stop with touchdown though!

You not only get off the plane first, but you also go through a special no line customs!  AND you can go to the lounge at Heathrow to take a shower.  AAAAAAAAAAAAH!  SHOWER! 

It was such a shock to leave the first class behind and get on the underground with the rest of the plebs.  Bleck.

Who's at the helm?

Readers of today's edition of Island Tides will now know that the Coastal Inspiration has not, as previously suggested, been taken out of service because of an engine fault. That may be what BC Ferries would have us believe, but as Island Tides' reporter April Primus reveals on page 7, the truth is actually rather more sinister.  Read the full article here.....

BC Ferries developing first ROF 
BC Ferries, following its policy of leading the world in innovation, is quietly equipping Coastal Inspiration to be the first Remotely Operated Ferry (ROF) in service anywhere. The work is being carried out at the Esquimalt Graving Dock, under heavy security. The facility is often used for work on Royal Canadian Navy ships, and British Columbia's Ferry Service officials feel that it is an ideal site for this ground-breaking technical project.

The need for an ROF arose after extensive study of the sinking of the Queen of the North; it was eventually concluded that the cause of the grounding was ‘the personnel on the bridge’. A search of records for all previous ferry incidents, going back fifty years, showed that in each case, there had been personnel on the bridge at the time, confirming management’s conclusion.

Thus the radical idea was born that ultimate safety on the ferries could be achieved by running the vessels with no crew whatsoever. It was reasoned that if the absence of humans on the bridge could improve navigational safety, then eliminating the deck crew could eliminate accidents when loading and unloading the vessel, completely automating the cafeteria would cut out any problems with food services, and eliminating the engineering staff would halt any problems with the engines and other systems.

BC Ferries’ financial staff could also see significant potential cost savings, thus avoiding serious financial problems. They felt that the ship conversion would be preferable to an alternative ROF, a Remotely Operated Finance department. The technology for an ROF has only been developed in the last few years. Drawing on the GPS and internet innovations that have made possible BC Ferries’ vessel tracking webpage, combined with control systems developed for the operation of pilotless drones in the Afghan war, and interfacing them with heavily digitized automatic pilot, proximity warning systems, stealth technology, and radar equipment drawn from aircraft applications, the sophisticated systems on the Coastal Inspiration will make it all possible. Announcements on board will be made by a computerized voice messaging system, as used by telephone companies throughout the world.

The vessel will be controlled from a small, windowless room on the top floor of BC Ferries’ headquarters. Since the Coastal Inspiration is a double-ended ferry, two operating consoles will be required, with two operators, one to come and one to go. They will be cross-trained so that either operator can operate the ferry in reverse if required, a further safety precaution.

At the Esquimalt graving dock, the design and installation teams have priority access to the military technology involved, while being assured of absolute protection from industrial or maritime espionage. A covering rumour involving engine trouble is being circulated.

Visiting experts from other countries can be landed by submarine without attracting attention. The work will be completed on schedule and on budget, neither of which has been published. It is possible that the conversion to remote operation may be completed by April 1st of this year, or if not, by April 1st, 2011. A new slogan for BC Ferries is being considered to succeed ‘Bringing you home for 50 years’. It is ‘BC Ferries— completely crewless’.

As of April 1, out of respect for BC Ferries’ security concerns, Island Tides have made no effort to confirm any of the above; it is pure speculation. The union has also not been consulted.

The full edition of Island Tides can be viewed at http://www.islandtides.com/assets/IslandTides.pdf