Unsure Exactly What I Was Thinking

 "I will get a less lame post up tomorrow" hahahahahaha no I will not, it's November, getting A POST up is the most I am going to commit to every day. Five paragraphs? Four lines? WHO CAN SAY.

Anyone wondering how many posts I can milk the whole 'Stranded in Edmonton" thing for? I know I am.

Throughout the whole experience I was very aware how things could have been very much worse for us. We were traveling business class, my husband is a super elite (obnoxious term) Air Canada million-miler, we didn't have kids or pets with us, and we were at the airport with Matt's aunt and her husband and his uncle and his wife, all of whom we adore and never get to see enough. We hung out at Boston Pizza for a bit, where the waitress kept apologizing for slow service while we were completely happy for things to drag out because there was almost nowhere left to sit in the airport as every damn flight was delayed but no damn flights were cancelled yet. Katherine and Kate and I wandered around and shopped a little and giggled at stupid things. Everyone would split off to their own gate for a bit and then come back together when it was obvious nothing was happening yet.

Our flights were all cancelled fairly close in time. We were prepared to take a shuttle to a Hilton, but then Air Canada texted Matt that they had booked us into a room at a hotel attached to the airport. We had not abandoned the others to hang out in the lounge all day, but we decided that our familial love did not extend to turning down this surprise benefit - everyone assured us they would do the same. My contacts were nearly welded to my eyeballs at this point, and my feet were tired and boiling. 

The hotel was sort of fancy, sort of funky, sort of weird. Matt went and had a martini and a snack at the bar while doing some work, but I just are a handful of peanuts, showered and went to bed with Dungeon Crawler Carl (that's a book). 

We just had to get up and walk out to check in to our flight the next day. As I said, I was so aware of our privileged situation, and tried really hard both days to be nice to both employees and fellow travelers. I didn't get mad when people stopped with their suitcases right in the middle of a thoroughfare and pulled out their phone. I waited patiently in long lines and thanked employees profusely. I walked slowly and was careful not to knock into luggage or children. 

We got into the Super Elite lineup at check-in, and we were the only ones in it. Beside us was the Priority Check-in line for those who are, you know, slightly less elite. As the agent beckoned us to come, the man at the head of the Priority line said "Excuse me!" loudly. He was in the wrong line and pissed about it. The agent said "who is super elite", which we were (royal we), but Matt beckoned for the man to go ahead because he didn't want to inflict him on the other people in his line or the check-in agent if he had to wait any longer. 

We were so close to the end of the whole ordeal. We were so much luckier than the people in the long lines. Be gracious, I told myself. Who knows what he's been dealing with? 

As he turned to go, he looked at Matt belligerently, and Matt said sarcastically "is it okay if I go now?" Instead of saying thank-you, the guy muttered "nice try dude". 

"Say 'have a nice day'" I thought. But somehow when I opened my mouth what came out was "You're FUCKING WELCOME."

Sorry, better angels. I tried. 

THE COOKIES

Okay okay, I knew it wasn't cool to leave the whole 'mystery of the cookie aroma' thing like that. Shortly after we texted, everyone else walked to our gate and declared that they absolutely could smell cookies baking. As I said, my allergies were terrible and Matt has a very dull sense of smell, but as soon as I stood up and walked two steps from my chair I could also smell the cookies. Was there an invisible border over which the cookie smell could not travel? Was it the power of suggestion? We will never know.

I didn't even end up eating the cookies on the way home. I had $40 of vouchers and I got two chai lattes, two tea biscuits and six cookies which added up to 39.01, which on the one hand is horrifying and on the other hand was quite satisfying. Then I carried the little box of cookies everywhere for the rest of the day. 

I just got the classic chocolate chunk rather than a variety, because there was a long line of people trying to use vouchers and I didn't want to take any longer than necessary (I was TRYING, you guys).

So... yeah. They're big-ass, soft, chocolate chunk cookies, of course they're fucking good, what big thing did I think I was going for here? No complaints, George. 

Home

We are home, almost exactly 24 hours after we were scheduled to be. Edmonton had the dubious distinction of Most Disrupted Airport on Reddit yesterday, so at least we were part of something historic?

Today was crystal clear and very cold. Phil and Katherine got home to Vancouver a few hours before us. Kate and Fraser decided to drive to Calgary for a direct flight home to Ottawa tomorrow morning. 

I will get a less lame post up tomorrow when my brain is less mushy. We got food vouchers good for any place in the airport and the Starbucks line was too long so I did procure George cookies and will report on them tomorrow. 

If I had been previously asked about the nicest compliment someone could give me, "you would be a fun person to be stuck in an airport with" probably wouldn't have sprung to mind, and yet I think it is up there with one of my favourites now. Looking forward to catching up with everyone's start to NaBloPoMo tomorrow. 

Home

 We are home, almost exactly 24 hours after we were scheduled to be. Edmonton had the dubious distinction of Most Disrupted Airport on Reddit yesterday, so at least we were part of something historic?

Photo credit Katherine Ransom

Photo credit Katherine Ransom

Photo credit Kate Scott

Today was crystal clear and very cold. Phil and Katherine got home to Vancouver a few hours before us. Kate and Fraser decided to drive to Calgary for a direct flight home to Ottawa tomorrow morning. 

I will get a less lame post up tomorrow when my brain is less mushy. We got food vouchers good for any place in the airport and the Starbucks line was too long so I did procure George cookies and will report on them tomorrow. 

If I had been previously asked about the nicest compliment someone could give me, "you would be a fun person to be stuck in an airport with" probably wouldn't have sprung to mind, and yet I think it is up there with one of my favourites now. Looking forward to catching up with everyone's start to NaBloPoMo tomorrow. 

Foggy in multiple senses of the word

It is the first day of November and we are fogged in at the Edmonton airport. Fortunately we are with a few family members we really like, so thus far we have had fun hanging out at Boston Pizza. We may yet descend into mayhem and cannibalism. Will keep you posted. 

Fun Stuff in Spain Part II

 I am not a good solo traveler. I have friends that happily travel the world alone, and I admire it so much. When I'm alone I feel self-conscious and anxious, I always wish I had someone to ask if we're going the right way and to laugh about going the wrong way. The exception to this, kind of, is museums and art galleries. There is something intoxicating about going in to one of those knowing that I can wander around wherever I want and IF I WANTED TO, I could go in, look at one exhibit or painting, and then leave. I generally don't, but I could! 

The Picasso Museum was in a part of Malaga with a big public square ringed by restaurants and a rabbit-warren of shops and galleries. Malaga was Picasso's birthplace, so obviously I had to go check it out. Every souvenir shop within a one-kilometer radius is filled with Picasso shirts, prints, bookmarks, postcards, magnets and tote bags. I did end up buying Angus a shirt because Picasso painted bulls a lot and Angus is a Taurus (I do not really cling to the tenets of astrology at all, until I do). 

 Entering the museum was a little harrowing. Unlike many places I have traveled where English is the first language, most people did not speak English, which is fine, but I have some French and a little German and no Spanish at all. There were two long lineups for the museum, and I had a pre-purchased ticket and time slot, which meant I could go in the line that only moved slightly faster than the other line. Then some dude was barking at me that I had to leave my purse at the coat check, but not in a way that was immediately understandable, so I was flustered and clutching my phone and wallet when I finally got in. I was also sweaty because holy shit Malaga was HOT. The only saving grace was that it wasn't very humid, so shade made a big difference and it was more bearable at night. Walking around during the day was like being a bug under a magnifying glass.

I didn't have a lot of knowledge about Picasso beyond Cubism and women with eyes and boobs in weird places. I found it interesting reading about his life and work. He was a bit of a nepo baby - his father was a painter and art teacher and by all accounts very encouraging of his son's talent, so there was no 'rebelling against your parents' desire for you to be a doctor' thing (was that a thing in the late 1800s? No idea). He was strongly anti-fascist and obsessed with brothels and prostitutes - it's hard to decide if this was in any way admirable or largely exploitive, but I guess if they're in art they're not being erased?

 Before I went to the museum I accidentally went to the birthplace museum, which is diagonally across the square from the art museum. After I saw the art I decided I did want to see the birthplace, which was much less crowded and expensive and equally fascinating, if not more so, partly because I had an audio guide for that one. 

The various toasts of Malaga

I also went on a tour of the Alcazaba and the Cathedral. That was amazing, largely because the tour guide was fantastic - young, enthusiastic, and hilarious. The Alcazaba was built by the Muslim rulers of Malaga as a fortification, and the guide led us up to the top, stopping at every turn to describe why the way it was built was so brilliant. There were double doors  in narrow corridors and sharp turns so it would be almost impossible for the attackers to get enough momentum to use a battering ram. Once they got in the first door, it was dark so the first people who entered could be picked off easily by archers from above. There were walls where boiling water (not oil, apparently that's a myth, oil was too expensive and hard to heat) could be poured down, and the floors were constructed so the water would make them slippery. Where there were two ways to go, the guide would ask us which way we picked, and then tell us whether we died or not. Then when we got to the top, he told us that all of the ingenious construction turned out to be futile, because the Spanish laid siege to the city and they ended up surrendering. This made me feel really sad for the builders, which is probably weird because presumably fewer people died?

The Cathedral was visually stunning, even though I have a very complicated relationship with churches. I still liked hearing the history. 

By the end of the tour my feet were done and I was remembering the August that I walked around Central Park in New York with my friend Marilyn and when we got back to the hotel room I said this was the wettest I had ever been while still wearing clothes (I also said "you want first shower? I'm getting naked either way!" and she said "uh, you go ahead"). I now had a new contender for that benchmark. 

I booked an Uber, but then ran into the same problem I had encountered a few times - tiny, narrow streets and Uber drivers that could not locate me and did not speak English. A lot of street were not very well marked either. I walked up and down trying to figure out where the first driver was and never managed to find him. I felt like I was about to burst into flame and I was getting the stabbing pain that happens in my right quadripcep when I'm on my feet for too long, and I was feeling slightly desperate. The second driver finally mentioned something about a garbage truck, and I said wait! I just passed the garbage truck! And found him, thank all the gods. 

I went back to the hotel and had a very cold shower. Matt had a work dinner that night, so I went out with another couple - I had met the man in San Francisco, Matt's giant company had just acquired his tiny company and his wife was there helping him at the trade show. The company is called DORC, so Matt kept saying "are you ready for your three-way with the Dorcs?" They were super fun, we drank a lot of wine and I had Wagyu beef for the first time, despite the fact that I had kept reading that it was crucial to go to Malaga and try a Galician blonde (this apparently refers to steak, not sex workers, thank goodness, but nice callback to Picasso I GUESS.)