Where the AC's cold and the girls still strip
It's always good to come home.
But getting there is a pain in the ass. I've never been a fan of airplanes and airports and thus have never been a good flier. This may have roots in a flight I took to Calgary in 1986 when I was stuck in a middle seat (I always have to be able to see out the window) and hit some hardcore turbulence. A secondary incident occurred when Rob Galipeau took me into the Air Canada VIP lounge before a trip to Miami and I got just drunk enough that I nearly passed out from dehydration before we even left the gate. In light of these incidents and many others, I would always get to the airport well in advance of my flight - to make sure everything was squared away - and just sit there and do absolutely nothing but wait - David Puddy style...
This started to change recently. A few years ago, my flight out of Boston was delayed and since it was only a one hour flight I figured I could handle a few drinks. Mosied over to the bar where I ended up getting pretty drunk with a guy from Texas (and this guy - quite memorably - would douse his clam chowda' with ridiculous amounts of Tobasco sauce). And it was there at Logan I discovered that airport drinking is fun.
Been engaging in it a bit more on these London-Toronto flights and it does make traveling a little less shitty. Last month, on the trip home - and thanks to a four hour flight delay at Heathrow - I ended up boozing with a Welsh guy who makes silver jewellery and was on his way to Australia (kind of looked like that singer from Great Big Sea - if he was a crack addict). You end up talking about the weirdest things but naturally we got around to women. He wanted to know what they were like in Edinburgh and said I was just thankful they didn't all look like Susan Boyle (no offence to Susan and her talents). So then, right out the blue he asks if I've read "The Game" by Neil Strauss. I hadn't heard of it specifically but I was aware of that type of "thing" (it's all about pick-up artists and strategies). He tells me to read it and it will change my life (I must have looked like a real loser). In the past I would have thought "whatever", but lately I've been getting into horoscopes and shit like that. It's primarily thanks to Frank Pilkington. He's "The Oracle" in the British Sun and for the past few months his weekly lowdown for Aquarius has been bang on (and I know you're thinking these things are written vaguely so anyone can relate to them but I read other signs as a test and they are rubbish). So I figure maybe I should read this book. I'm not supposed to be in this bar drinking with this guy right now - I should be on a plane. But events beyond my control brought me here and this is a sign. I am now the not-so-proud owner of this book and I will let you know if divine intervention was at play and my life changed (interesting how these things geared towards sex are never on sale either - $36!).
Finally get on the plane and I'm pretty loosy-goosey. Now I've commented on this to others, but it needs repeating - based on the demographic of the passengers, you would swear these Air Canada flights from London to Toronto (and vice-versa) were heading to Mumbai or Calcutta instead. I have no problem traveling with people of an Indian background - they annoy me no more than any other type of passenger. Well, except for one thing. The meals. The specialty dinners and those with dietary concerns are always distributed first so with such a predominantly Indian group (vegetarians and whatever) this goes on for about 20 minutes before you see that cart roll by and know it will be at least another 20 minutes before I get my tray of slop (not that I love airplane food but the little ritual helps break up the monotony of the flight). Having said all that, the guy beside me is actually a tubby Russian wearing camouflage army pants (oh, yes) and a bandana tied around his head Aunt Jemima-style (yes, indeed)....
Back in Canada - greatest country in the world. And back in Oakville - there is no better place to grow up. A bit different this time though. Parents moved to a condo by the lake in the summer and it's a bit of a weird vibe. They left the home I grew up in years ago but there's always been a sort of continuity with where home base is. But I'm now seeing this place for the first time and it registers that my family are doing things and life is going on without me (which is quite traumatic when you're a first-born son). Not to mention that "buffer-zones" have been diminished and the inflatable mattress I sleep on barely fits in the room. But the place does in fact rock.
So yeah, visit the old haunts. See friends. Watch some hockey which I sorely miss. And just enjoy the politeness and courtesy we Canadians are famous for (it's not just a stereotype, it's totally true). What strikes me too about being back is how much more optimistic we are in Canada. And youthful. This was noticeable in London but even more so in Edinburgh. There's just old people everywhere and they're always getting in the way with their canes and shit. Move along, Betty...
And another trip means another photo montage. I admittedly have become somewhat obsessed with Windows Moviemaker. Pics are just that much cooler with music. Stampeders rule!
Aside: It seems whenever I travel now, there's a trance song I'll end up listening to over and over while on vacay. This was it for the January 2012 journey home. A bit pop-ier than my usual stuff but still an absolute belter.
Vincent de Jager - "Things I Will Never Say"
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