October 1st, 2011
Women of the Short Story Tour Starts Tomorrow
As you may or may not be aware, the Women of the Short Story Tour kicks off tomorrow night, and right on cue, I’m starting to get very very anxious about it. Also anxious about getting laundry done so that I don’t have to wear a bathing suit to Thanksgiving dinner.
But mainly I’m excited to be getting to do so many readings and in the company of Laura Boudreau and Cathy Stonehouse. I’ve read both their books now, so this is not general excitement but very specifically to be in the company of such story-writing talent, and to hear what I know will be 6 nights of amazing readings.
Want to hear some of them, too? It would be lovely if you could join us, so here’s the deets below–or at the Facebook invitation at the link above. Hope to see you somewhere this week!
September 8th, 2011
Vancouver to Halifax (but not in that order)–The Dream Tour
A couple nights ago, I dreamed I was Dave Barry. If you are not familiar with him, Dave Barry is a very sucessful American humourist who has written tonnes of books and newspaper columns, and used to do a lot of book tours and speaking engagements that took him all over the world. Then he would write subsequent books and newspaper columns about how he hated touring.
When I am awake, I don’t think I’ll ever be Dave Barry–as far as I’m concerned, all readings are thrilling. And I have a lot of thrills ahead on the upcoming Dream Tour–I’m a little in awe about hitting 7 provinces and doing close to 20 readings in the next few months. Of the cities I’m slated to visit, I’ve never set foot in 4 of them (I bet regular Rose-coloured readers can guess which). And I’m touring with cool people throughout, so I don’t think I’ll have many dull moments.
If you are in or near any of the following spots on the right days, please do come out and tell your friends and associates to join us. I will no doubt be talking up all of these events individually as they get closer, and of course some things might get added (or subtracted, I suppose) but for now, here’s the plan:
September 20, Toronto The Big Dream Book Launch at the Dora Keogh (141 Danforth), 7pm–featuring a stage interview with Kerry Clare, a short reading, books for sale, and a muffin tray–what more could you want??
October 2, Windsor Women of the Short Story Kickoff event in Windsor at the Phog Lounge, 7:30, in concert with Laura Boudreau and Cathy Stonehouse
October 3, London, with Cathy and Laura at the London Public Library, 3rd Floor, 7pm
October 4, Hamilton, with Laura and Cathy, at Bryan Prince Booksellers
October 5, Toronto, with Cathy and Laura, at Type Books on Queen Street, 6pm
October 6, Ottawa, with Laura and Cathy, at Collected Works
October 7, Montreal, with Cathy and Laura, at Cafe Matina
Then–a nap. Well, then Thanksgiving, then a nap, then some work. And then,
October 19, Peterborough, a solo reading at Trent University
November 6, Toronto (venue TBD), the Literary Deathmatch, Golden Girls edition, with Carolyn Black, Dani Couture, and Grace O’Connell, hosted by Julie Wilson
And then, oh my god, in an airplane. WITH WINGS!
November 22, Calgary, with Ray Roberson, at Pages on Kensington
November 23, Vancouver, with Ray and Cathy (remember her from October?), at Incite (scroll down), 7:30pm
November 24, Winnipeg, with Ray, at McNally Robinson Grant Park, 7pm
Then a whole bunch more work, the winter holidays, 2012, and then (you aren’t tired of this yet, are you?)
February 5, Hamilton, at Lit Live, Line up TBD, 7:30
February 6, Toronto, at The Rowers Pub Reading Series, Line up TBD, 7:30
Then work, and snow, and then OMG another airplane! Hopefully this one has wings too!
March 27, Halifax, with Amy Jones, at…details to come
March 28, Wolfville, with Amy, details to come
March 29, Fredericton, with Amy, details to come
~~
Ok, that’s a lot of readings, but stretched over 7 months it should actually be just about perfect–no Barry-esque kvetching from this corner. I also do the occasional school or book club visit, but I’m not including those here since they aren’t public. If you want to talk about that possibility in your school/book club, please drop me a line.
Also, if you are distant from all of the above readings and wish I were doing one closer to you, please let me know. Not just because it’s an ego boost for me, but because it’s helpful to know where I could schedule a reading and not be faced with a sea of empty chairs. Obviously, if you’re knowledgable about good venues to read in and that sort of thing, that’s helpful, but no problem if you just want to say, “Come read in Saskatoon (etc.)!”
Really hoping to see many of your lovely faces at some of these events!
July 19th, 2011
Days 8 to 11–Manchester, London, and Home
After a delicious breakfast in the hotel of Crunchy Nut Clusters (the heroin of breakfast cereals; seemingly available only in the UK; contains *caramel*) eaten dry and straight from the box–I never did get the hang of the English habit of eggs and toast and everything else for breakfast–we headed for the delights of Manchester.
M’s great goal was to see the Anthony Burgess Foundation, as he is a tremendous fan of that author. I, on the other hand, have not read any Burgess. When I’d thought the foundation had a museum, which would teach about Burgess, I’d plan to accompany him, but then I found it was just an archive, preaching pretty much entirely to the converted. So I set off for The Museum of Science and Industry.
I saw on my tourist map that there would be a church called “The Hidden Gem” close by my route, so I tried a detour to find, and failed–hence the name, I suppose. But instead I found Manchester City Hall, which is one of the loveliest buildings I’ve ever seen. I wasn’t totally clear on what it was at first–maybe a church–so I went in to find a busy, businesslike place of work. There’s a desk where you can sign in, though, and they tourists are allowed to look around, at least in certain areas. I signed a waiver to take these pictures, which had me slightly worried–not really sure what I agreed to. Except I did promise not to photograph the murals in the mural room (second picture below–I don’t know why it’s sideways, and I can’t seem to fix it. Sorry. Please just tip your head.). That’s too bad, as they really were stunning, depicting highlights of Manchester’s history over the past 500 years or so. Really, it was just an incredible place.
So I eventually got over to the Science and Tech Museum, which was also pretty interesting. I was there mainly for the older technologies, the spinning machines that the industrial revolution was founded on. I was less interested in the air and space stuff, though I’m assured Manchester had some wonderful accomplishments in that area. I actually snuck in with a kindergarten (called “reception” in England; I’m learning!) demonstration of the various IR-age machines–it was fascinating, if loud. 
Right around the time I was tiring of MOSI, it started to pour outside. This was very disappointing, as it meant that I had to forgo the intriguing fast-food options that would have required a soaking 5-minute walk, and eat lunch instead in the over-priced museum restaurant. 6 pounds for soup and some bread and soda–urgh!
Of course it cleared as I was finishing my last mouthful, but at least then it was an easy stroll to the People’s History Museum. I was a little confused about this one, as I had thought it would be a history of labour unions, and work in the city in general–some of my favourite topics! And there were certainly allusions to that, but it was more earlier stuff, about the fight for the vote for working men, and then for women. Very very interesting, if not exactly what I expected.
Then I went off to meet Mark at the Manchester Art Gallery, a lovely if smallish gallery in the heart of town. At this point, I may have been a bit tuckered by all the looking-at-stuff (I gave up taking pictures), but I still really enjoyed the exhibits, particularly the collection of pieces by artists and designers native to the city.
Then we had tea (on a tiered tray!), a nap, a stroll, dinner in a pub, and then the drizzle and exhaustion were too much for us and we went to see Bad Teacher, which I would not recommend, but that’s another blog post.
The next morning we staggered off to the MetroLink back to Piccadilly station (scoffing at other tourists in our hotel’s lobby, who were waiting for a taxi to the same place). The train back to London was non-local, non-crowded, and with assigned seats–bliss! I even found a bathroom! Back in London, I felt like a tube-map expert compared to my week-ago self, and we reached the hotel in, well, less than an hour, anyway.
For the bulk of the trip, we’d been super-cheap with regard to hotels (no bathroom door/half hour out of town/potato bugs–couldja tell?) but for the last two nights, we swung for something higher end. In London, there seemed to be no middle rung between cupboard-sized basement rooms and the truly posh–the middle rung that happy spots like Best Western and Holiday Inn typically occupy. So we ended up at Tara Copthorne, an incredibly nice (and expensive) hotel in Kennsington. Still, though, we actually *could* afford it, which meant it was the least posh of the posh, ie., in the parent company’s adverts for it’s five London hotels, the Tara doesn’t even rate a mention.
We were celebrated our bathtub and minifridge, functional tv and lack of potato bugs for a while, then headed off into Kennsington, which is a terribly nice part of town. We had an excellent lunch in a kebab shop–just like native Londoners, right?–and walked to where we’d get the airport bus two days later (I was already nervous). Then I thought…why not Westminister Abbey?
Ok, ok, more organized tourists would’ve thought of that before. And they also probably wouldn’t’ve said, “Hey, that’s a big clock! I’m going to take a picture of it…Hey, is this Big Ben?” But the experience of strolling around Parliament and Westminister Abbey was no less awe-inspiring even to dimwits (everything shuts surprisingly early there, so we couldn’t go inside).
Then we walked across the Thames, which I’d been wanting to do, and had dinner in another pub. Did I mention that London pub food is excellent, and fare cheaper than in other restaurants?
We got up early in order to do everything possible with our last day in England. This started with another walk across the Thames, this time on London Bridge, in the rain, but still fun (we’re getting used to it). Then the Tate Modern, where we had not nearly enough time but still managed to really enjoy the Material Gestures display, including the “red” pictures by my heartthrob, Mark Rothko.
Then back to Victoria Station for lunch with friends of Mark’s (my first London pizza=about the same as all pizzas, ie., great). Then briefly to the hotel, then dinner with Kim, who came into town to bid us farewell. We went for a walk in Kennsington Gardens, which later came up in the Martin Amis novel I read on the flight home–now that’s posh. Then we ate some Dairy Milk, watched some tube, and said our last good night to London.
So terrible was our entry into London that I insisted on getting up at 5am in a cold panic about our exit. We were at the bus stop–this doesn’t make me look sane–over an hour early for our planned pickup. The bus driver was mystified and annoyed about this, but finally allowed us onto the bus as the 5:50am bus apparently does not draw that much of a crowd. After the first EasyBus experience, I was pretty relieved.
Gatwick also was more sane the second time round. We were actually present before our flight had begun checkins (sigh) but once they got started it went smoothly enough. Mysteriously, the carryon I’d entered the country with was deemed too big to leave as carryon, so I had to check it. I was worried about my enormous collection of souvenir Dairy Milks being smashed, but let it go.
We wandered the food courts and malls of Gatwick, as our gate had not opened yet, and bought breakfast. My last scone of the trip came with a tiny glass jar of strawberry jam–yes, really! I took the jar home as a souvenir, and it’s in the fridge now. Then Mark bought some duty-free and I bought a 1500mL bottle of water–we won’t be having a repeat of last time’s airplane drought. Then we waited for our gate to open–and waited and waited. Finally I realized that there wasn’t a delay, Gatwick’s system is just different than I’m used to, and one waits mainly in the general seating, not at the gate. I guess that’s ok.
It was a 20 minute indoor walk to the gate when it was at least announced–that’s some airport. And the flight left on time.
The rest of this is not exciting (well, I’m not sure anyone else is finding *any* of this exciting, but if not even I do then it’s a bad sign) so I’ll try to speed up. The flight was fine, the food was edible, no one projectile vomited in my hearing, and though it took a long time our luggage eventually rematerialized (the Dairy Milks, near as I could tell, were fine). Then Mark’s kindly sister-in-law drove us home in her shiny new car. Once there, we bought groceries, and contemplated our mountain of laundry.
A great trip, I think. Thanks for letting me relive it via blog. Next post will be in present tense, and maybe even about a book!
July 18th, 2011
Days 6 and 7, Oxford and Manchester
Oxford is just so incredibly beautiful, full of history and learning, gorgeous architecture and fields and gardens and places to buy books and pubs. But the thing that blew my mind is that this historical place going back centuries is *still* an accessible (well, to some) institute of higher learning. Just as my parents drove me to Montreal with my purple sheets and London Boy t-shirt when I was 19, some people’s parents drive them to *Oxford* and leave them there to increase their brilliance.
It was the summer term while we were there, so we didn’t see all that many students. A young man biking frantically ahead of our bus with his academic robe streaming behind him gave some idea of what the vibe will be there come fall. And we saw a few groups coming into or out of graduation ceremonies: the girls in pretty dresses, the guys in white tie and tails for some reason.
It’s just as well that most of the students weren’t around, as the tourists would’ve completely trampled them. I know it’s terribly poor form to complain about tourists when one *is* a tourist, but it’s also practically de rigeur–everyone does it. There were MANY tourists in Oxford, which surprised me–it’s a university, after all. Most were there, I think, for the architecture, which was stunning, and not so much interested in the colleges themselves. There was also an undercurrent about Harry Potter that I did not understand–apparently there are some scenes in the films set there, but I haven’t seen the films. We saw this broom at All Souls’ College, and people seemed pretty excited about it–thoughts?
Other highlights of the day included the Bodleian Library (though I was very sad that we were not allowed to see the actual stacks), Blackwell’s Books, which has 3 miles of shelving in the basement alone, and where I bought my lone book purchase of the trip, The Book of Other People, which I am much looking forward to reading. (NOTE: If I had not grown to loathe both my luggage and my miserable lack of upper-body strength, I would have bought many more. Consumer responsibility is increased when one will have to carry it.) We also had some really good pub food.
We saw our 7th consecutive sunny dawn the next morning, and were really starting to doubt the rumours about English weather. We left our cosy hotel and it was only when we were standing at the bus stop preparing to depart that I realized we’d be staying next to a Cattery the entire time. A cattery! House of cats must be what that means, right? Certainly explains the cat I saw in the parking lot at the hotel (I chased it; it bolted; I never learn).
We took the bus to the train station, and were very early (as usual). Then the train was delayed. Then we got on the train and it was chaos–no assigned seating, no where to put large suitcases, totally zoo with people still staggering through the aisle 15 minutes after the train had departed, looking for a place to collapse. The strange thing is that I was the only one that minded; the English were quite cheerful about having to stand in the aisle for a whole stop, or sit with their legs sprawled around their baggage. In light of their good grace, I refrained from complaining (much) either.
Still, it was a looooonng train ride to Manchester, and the flapjack I had bought as a genuine English treat disintegrated into a million particles all over me (and Mark) and was much too annoying to eat. Plus I never figured out where the bathrooms were. So I was not in great spirits by the time we arrived at Manchester Piccadilly, which I had thought was not actually where we were supposed to be, as our tickets said Manchester Metrolink.
It turns out that the Metrolink is a tram service (basically just like Toronto streetcars, but with tootling little kids-show-style horns), so the ticket saved us 90p in getting to our hotel. Unfortunately, a) some idiot tripped me and walked away as I crashed to the ground, so then my knee hurt, plus I was angry, b) our train had been delayed so much it was rush hour by the time we got on the tram, and c) when we got off at the stop proscribed by the info dude at the train station, it was completely not apparent where we were, and none of the streets were labelled.
So, I didn’t get off to a great start in Manchester. By the time we arrived at the Stay Inn (which is technically in another town entirely, Salford), I was in a bit of despair, and not thrilled to see that there is no entrance to to hotel from the street, and you had to go through an alley and parking lot to get in there. The very helpful and sweet staff working the desk were horrified at my suggestion that it wasn’t safe to be sending pedestrians through a dark alley and lot if they came home late–they assured me both that it was, and that the owners were building a street entrance the next year.
The room was nice, if small–the tv was on top of the wardrobe, which meant you either watched flat on your back, or with your neck at a 45 degree angle. Odd. The kindly hotel staff misunderstood our desire to see the town and sent us toe Piccadilly Gardens, which reminded me of Yonge and Dundas Square, with spray fountains and artfully arranged cement plazas, and nothing much to do but shop. Actually, as Mark pointed out, Manchester is a lot like TO, down to the tram/streetcars.
Instead, we strolled the Chinatown, and had a nice, very authentic meal in a room full of Chinese people–always a good sign. I kept thinking I would learn about the Chinese population in Manchester when I went to the People’s History Museum the next day, but I never did. That’s odd, too.
The next day was much better and I didn’t fall down once.
July 15th, 2011
England Days 2-5: Dagenham, Romford, Windsor, Camden, and Oxford
One thing that has always marked me out as a Canadian with American roots is that I don’t care much about tea. I mean, I’m happy enough to drink tea, if you’re putting the kettle on anyway, but I don’t find delight or solace in it the way so many of my fellow Canadians and, I’m told, Britons do. I don’t even care what you put it in–I’ll drink tea with or without milk, sugar, or lemon. If I don’t feel like getting up, I’ll drink it black.
But it was kind of delightful to drink a “proper” pot of tea on our first morning at Charlie’s. Given the extremely basic level of the room, I was shocked by the quality and generosity of the morning feast. Eggs, bacon (very strange looking bacon), all the toast and jam you could handle, tomatoes, cheese, croissants, and lovely tea–it seemed *richer*, without being stronger, than the Canadian bag-in-cup kind. Thus fortified, we set for the heart of London.
Everyone I talked to who’d been to London said the best part was just walking around looking at stuff, so instead of going straight to Russell Square, we got off the tube at Covent Gardens and just wandered around. It was a bit early to see much action there, but the day was lovely and fresh, and the buildings and old markets really are gorgeous. We wandered somehow to Piccadilly Gardens, which was terrifying–the most traffic ever in the world. We went to the Waterstone’s, a nice giant bookstore, and I finally got an A-Z map–then we immediately got lost. Or perhaps we’d already been lost, but hadn’t known it until we looked at the map.
Finally we gained Russell Square–Bloomsbury!! I tried to imagine Vanessa and Virginia Stephens, Duncan Grant and Maynard Keynes and all the rest walking briskly among the old townhouses (less old, then), having brilliant conversations about the next great thing in art, literature, furniture, economics. I didn’t entirely succeed, but enjoyed myself. We found a bookstore devoted entirely to the works Swedenborg, sat on the grass in Russell Square and watched the pigeons, and finally went and got something to eat from a grocery.
We carried our food to the front yard (garden?) of the British Museum, which was an absolutely perfect place to picnic. See? 
The inside of the museum was pretty great too. Mark had wanted to go, and since it was free (well, a 3 pound donation is recommended, which is still pretty reasonable) I had thought we could just drop in for a little bit. But both the space and the exhibits were pretty enthralling. What I couldn’t get over was the Enlightenment Exhibit–the British Museum actually *existed* during the Enlightenment, and took on some of their collection on an as-it-happens basis. I have never seen anything like that.
After another grocery-store meal (they have really nice prepared foods in English groceries–who knew?), we went to see *Rosencranz and Guildenstern Are Dead* at The Royal Haymarket Theatre. We had gotten the tickets from of the 8 bazillion discount ticket outlets in central London, after seeing a single tiny poster for the show on the subway. Apparently, most people want to see *Shrek the Musical* or *Legally Blond, the Musical*, but I loved this play when I read it/saw the film, and wanted to finally see it live.
Totally great! The film, with Gary Oldman and Tim Roth’s portrayls of the title characters, is pretty firmly entrenched in my mind and I think many others’ minds, and it was so delightful to another brilliant interpretation that was so *different*–bawdier, goofier, just as weird but differently so. If you’re in London this summer, I recommend.
The next morning, we had another generous breakfast, this time including Red Leicester cheese, which I wanted to try because I hadn’t had it before. Turns out, pretty much like cheddar.
Then we hit the tube and parted ways, as Mark was off to Oxford and I was headed east of London to Dagenham. Dagenham is technically in another county (Essex) but such is the size of London that it qualities as a suburb and the tube goes there. There’s also a movie made about Dagenham, but I haven’t seen it and so can’t comment. Mainly Dagenham is where my friend K. teaches grade one (“year one”, I believe they call it), bakes cupcakes and remains awesome.
I was pretty proud of myself of getting myself all the way out there solo (over an hour, and without incident). It was also great to be reunited with K., who had left Canada a year and a half before. We hung out, ate chicken at Nando’s, bought underwear at Marks and Spencer, and went to the bingo hall in Romford. All the typical daily life of the residents there, which I was delighted to try out. Here’s me goofing around in the bingo hall.
Then to bed, because early the next morning, Windsor Castle!! I don’t mind doing touristy things when they are awe-inspiring, as Windsor truly is. After taking a train reminiscent of the GO (but with only one level), surrounded by the gorgeous and the posh on their way to a horse race (I think) also in Windsor, we got to this magnificent…fortress. Seriously, if you declared war on Windsor, you’d have a hell of a time getting in there. We saw all the stuff you’d imagine–Queen Mary’s dollhouse (I am a dollhouse enthusiast), lots of art and lofty rooms, and the best part, the changing of the guard with a random little show from the marching band. Here they are:
They we wandered Windsor proper for a while, before getting back on the train and heading into the heart of London, to the very beautiful Regent’s Park. Not only did the open-air theatre in the park have the most wonderous public bathrooms I’ve ever seen:
They have an amazingly huge and commodious theatre–not that the High Park Amphitheatre isn’t wonderful, but this one had actual chairs!! We saw The Beggar’s Opera. The set was so amazing it was copyrighted, as a very polite usher informed me when he made me delete the picture I’d just taken of it. The show was well performed, but at times hard to follow and…unimaginably filthy. What were people *like* in 1728? Oversexed and amoral, apparently. I was particularly stunned by the mega-meta ending, but it was a wild performance and exciting to be there.
The next morning we got a late start, ate a tasty Canadian breakfast (maple syrup!), and tried to go into town to drop my luggage off at Paddington Station, then go explore Camden Market for a couple hours before I had to get back for my train. This was the plan but…it was Sunday. I had been feeling very bad about how much better London’s subway system is than Toronto’s, but the nice thing about ours is that it mainly works every day of the week, while London’s becomes half-inoperative and entirely slow and baffling on Sundays. What should (I think) have been an hour’s journey turned into 3, with many crowded transfers. So by the time I finally left my bags and got to Camden, I had spent 17 pounds to be free of my things for less than an hour. Camden is very nice, I think, but all I saw of it was the Doc Martens’ store (wowsers!!) and a Pret a Manger, before i had to head back. And then of course the subway station we’d come out of had closed, and we had to walk to another one. My advice is not to use the Paddington left luggage if you’ll only be gone a short time, as it is the same cost for anything under 24 hours, and it’s very expensive.
After all that hassle, it was great to get on a train and just not transfer for an hour. It was still very warm on the train, though, and I hate sitting backwards, so it was even better to get *off* the train and find Mark waiting for me at the station in Oxford. After our merry reunion, we lugged my luggage (which I had grown to loathe) into the centre of town and had a little tour, before a delightful dinner at a centuries old pub. I had the mussels, which were younger than that.
Then we got on the Oxford city bus and went out of town about half an hour, to a place called the which is basically a rest area off the highway, although more advanced than the north American version–this one had restaurants, a mini-park. a grocery store, and hotels. We stayed at the Days Inn, which was very plain and cheap, but clean and comfortable and, thrillingly, had a door on the bathroom. There was a tea/coffee centre in the room complete with biscuits, and Mark had thoughtfully placed a Dairy Milk on my pillow. Hello, Oxford!
July 13th, 2011
England Day 1: Vomit, Gatwick, and EasyBus Conspire towards Disaster
Note: I’ve decided to review the first day of our legendary trip to England as a separate post, because it was awful and the rest of the trip was excellent–sort of cordoning off the pain. If you can appreciate a wry depiction of various minor miseries, by all means read on, but if you prefer avoid this grim and frankly disgusting post, feel free to skip to all the other days of the trip (once I write about them), as all the rest were super-fun.
So we were taking a redeye Air Transat flight from Pearson to Gatwick, which meant that when it was delayed just a tiny bit, it was hard to process because I was already really tired. But 45 minutes is not all that long, and eventually we were in the air, reading Rampike (well, I don’t know what everyone else was reading, but that’s what I had) and hoping they would bring us something to drink as I had forgotten to get water beforehand.
The flight staff were nice, but seemed a bit frazzled and overwhelmed organizing and distributing a hot meal to the giant aircraft. This was somewhat gratuitous, as a) it was the middle of the night so no one was hungry, b) I’ve had nice sandwich type meals on Air Transat before, but the hot one turned out to be disgusting. I tried a bit of my chicken and rice, but the texture of the meat was truly bizarre, so I gave up and ate my salad and cookie, which were fine, and then tried to go to sleep. Sorry to dwell on the food–this comes up (ha!) later.
I couldn’t sleep that well, and woke up less than two hours later to find that that there were still four more stupid hours until we could be in England. I read a bit more, and then heard a noise that sounded like a heavy chair being dragged across a tile floor. This turned out–though it took me a while to understand–to be the woman across from us being violently ill. This continued until after we landed–she was still retching as I walked off the plane. When an alarmed flight attendant–they were all both attentive and alarmed–asked the husband and daughter what they thought the matter was, motion sickness or perhaps the flu, both said in stereo, “The food!” I’m not sure that could be true, since no one else was ill, but that grey chicken being limp as wet toilet paper sure makes a powerful case.
Her husband and daughter were paragons of kindness and took good care of her, and I certainly felt bad for the woman and understand I was lucky to escape her fate. All that said, it is very very difficult to listen to four hours of intense sickness at close proximity without, at least a little, wanting to die.
So it was a very wrung-out and tired Rebecca who arrived at Gatwick. Also thirsty–the flight staff had never been all that generous with the little dixies of water, and the first thing I wanted was a big bottle all for me. Hahaha, said terrible fate, as there were no vending machines or drinking fountains before customs and, hahaha again, it was the day before the public workers’ strike and the border patrol was at a near standstill.
As we cruised past the border patrol area and down a long hall packed with sad-looking tourists and their luggage, wailing babies, and fairly baffled staff, I realized we were in for a wait of several hours. I asked staff members where I could get some water, and they said the wing was under renovation and thus, “There’s nowhere.” We stood in the line for a while. I kept licking my gums. Finally I found the bathrooms–one toilet for men and one for women, in a hall crammed with hundreds of people. I asked a staff member if I could drink the water from the taps in the bathroom. He said he wouldn’t recommend it.
Finally I encountered a staff guy who recognized my desperation (it had been over an hour in the non-airconditioned hall by this point) and actually went to the staff room, bought me a (big!) bottle of water, and brought it back for me, apologizing for having taken so long! He is and will remain my hero. All the staff were nice about my plight, just not sure what to do, and really the generous thing that guy did for me is not really a possibility for all the people who were there. I seriously don’t know how the families with little kids got through it.
When I finally returned to our spot in the lineup, Mark had made friends with the couple behind us, also engaged and also from TO–we talked wedding venues for a while. When the woman in front of us–floral-dressed and angry–drifted sideways away from her husband to see up towards the front of the line, and then remained there, a guy a dozen people back came over and tapped her on the shoulder. “You wouldn’t be trying to cut in the line there, would you? Because we’re all waiting here.” With wordless distain, the woman went back to her husband, and the guy went back to his spot in line. One of our new friends murmured, “This is how riots start.” Too true.
Here are some grainy shots of the terrible lineups:
They’re terrible shots and don’t show the full extent of the problem. I post them mainly because staff was roaming around stopping people from taking pictures of the mess. I figured out why when the next day the papers said the delays were “reasonable”–ahahaha.
So we of course missed the appointed time for our prepaid EasyBus ride into London. But we were within the hour’s grace period that our ticket allows when we finally reached the stop. The girls there waiting said the bus was late, and was later still when it arrived–after our grace period was over. I thought we could at least ask if the driver would honour our tickets based on the time we showed up, not the time the bus arrived, and expected a simple yes or no. Surprisingly, he instead started screaming at us and calling us liars, saying he knew we weren’t there when we said we were, because *he* was–a lie in itself. Welcome to London.
Exhausted, dispirited, hungry (would *you* have eaten the breakfast provided on the plane?), we wound up paying the second fare just to make him stop calling us names. EasyBus is really inexpensive, but not if you have to pay twice (I’ve since written to complain about all this, and received a form letter in response, stating of course they would investigate all complaints thoroughly, but due to “confidentiality” they could never speak of it again. Ugh.)
As soon as we got on the highway, I realized we were trapped in a vehicle with a driver whose relationship to reality was a bit loose–what if he dumped us in a field or held our luggage for ransom? So it was not a calm drive into town, though it was pleasant to look at the fields and other-side drivers and to think, “Wow, I’m really in England.”
Miraculously, the driver took us where he was supposed to, and even let us have our luggage back–yippee! Even better, the dudes in a convenience store we stopped at were overjoyed to see tourists. They unfortunately had no maps to sell me, but were happy to direct us to the subway station, and also to talk me through which of the English coins was which. I bought another beverage (I spent the rest of the trip stockpiling fluids) and set off for the tube.
At the tube we found maps, and more people who love tourists. As I puzzled over the stops, the guy at the “assistance” booth was hanging out his window, beckoning us over. I finally noticed this when he yelled, “Where do you want to go?” He talked us through the map to our destination, and then to buying Oyster cards, the inexplicably named metropasses of London.
We made it to our north-end B&B in…well, it took a while but we made it. Charlie’s B&B can only be described as a budget hotel, but it was a pleasant enough old townhouse with a kindly elderly proprietor (who asked midway through the checkin process if we were Jewish, with a seemingly neutral reaction to my affirmative response. Why is this always happening?)
Our room was both miniscule and in the basement, but I was content enough with it until I realized the bathroom had no door. With two hours sleep in the last 24, and no food in 12, this discovery seemed potentially worth crying over, but in the end we decided our relationship could withstand this blow, and went out for dinner (yes, by this point it was dinnertime–time flies!)
And…and…and…London is really awesome! We walked to Kentish town, looked at shops, read menus outside restaurants, watched the people bustling around (more native Londoners and fewer tourists than we would see later, as we were so far from the heart of downtown). We ended up having a lovely meal in an airy upscale pub, then wandered back to the hotel, where even the discovery that the bed had only one sheet could not prevent an excellent night’s sleep.
If you’ve read this far, thanks for listening to my rantings–it’s good to unburden myself of all this. The trip was nearly all brightside after this–stay tuned!
May 24th, 2011
New York Was Great…
is a song by the The Raveonettes that you should really listen to–it’s great!
My own experiences in the big city weren’t quite great, but were certainly very good, although by the time we were taxiing down the runway I had worked myself to such a state of anxiety that any scenario in which I did not actually die would have qualified as passable.
Despite the title of this blog, I can be a little pessimistic sometimes.
But really, when I am in such a state of terror over presenting my book to a giant group of strangers, it is helpful to be reminded that I am so lucky to have support and encouragement from my publisher to do it, and indeed, a book at all to present.
And of course, the strangers were perfectly lovely, warm and open and very excited about books–an excellent group of people to spend an evening with. Also, whoever had catered the event made these little chocolate-chip cookie/brownie hybrids that I hope someday to marry.
I did have some other obstacles that were harder to look in the brightside of, but I did try. Like when I got prescribed the wrong medication and had a reaction in the form of a hideous empurpling rash over my entire body right before the event, I was…somewhat dismayed. Also itchy. But I can be grateful that the rash mysteriously disappeared from my face within 24 hours, though it lingered itchily on the rest of me.
And when I had to abandon my lovely, expensive dress that I’d specially purchased for the occasion, in favour of something that covered every inch of my now-hideous body (including a man’s shirt with cuffs that covered my hands) it turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because New York was way colder than Toronto, and I wouldn’t have wanted to be out in that sleeveless dress, anyway.
And when my hotel failed to give me my 3:45 am wakeup call, it turned out I really enjoyed that extra 15 minutes of sleep until my backup alarm went off, and would’ve just been bored at the airport during that extra time anyway.
Of course, the best part of the event was all the other wonderful writers who presented their work, and gave me so much to think about (and read!) What’s really lucky about my life is how much time I get to spend with fascinating people, talking about books.
Or maybe the best thing was being greeted at the airport at home with flowers and party hats to celebrate my birthday.
In all events, I’m a lucky person.
AND as you can see in this last shot, the rash is nearly gone from my arms now (but don’t look at my ankles–blech).
I hope you had a really great holiday weekend too!
May 21st, 2011
NYC, City of Kittens
Yes, right, I know, New York City’s international reputation is actually not “City of Kittens.” I do know that, despite not being very familiar with that town. People always think I’m some sort of New York expert because all of the senior Rosenblums lived there for many years. I have personally actually been to the city four times, for a grand total of probably less than two weeks. Three of those four visits were before my 14th birthday.
So while I do have much anecdotal information about the Big Smoke, most of it pre-dates 1972 or comes from watching Friends/Seinfeld/Mad about You/Woody Allen movies, and I’m thus about as intimidated/excited as any other country bumpkin when I have to go there. Like tomorrow. It’s a very short trip, to meet some cool people at the Jewish Book Network and present a little book talk to them, and then turn right around and come home to celebrate my birthday.
I’m pretty nervous, though slightly comforted that, at least from the look of the map, the building where I will be speaking is next door to where one of the aforementioned senior Rosenblums lived in the 1960s. No idea why this is comforting, though it is a nice building. Maybe we can upgrade “pretty nervous” to “very nervous.”
Bottom line: when next you hear from me, I will (a) have made speech in New York City, and (b) have turned 33. I may be an entirely different person once those two things have happened. We can’t be sure.
In any case, wish me luck. More with (a) than (b), but all luck-wishes appreciated. And happy Victoria Day to you!
January 23rd, 2011
24-hour vacation
This weekend Mark and I took a 24-hour vacation, and it was glorious! Nice hotel, fun pool, my favourite chain restaurants, cable television, hot tub, etc. (FYI, Niagara Falls hotels much cheaper when the whole city is covered in ice!) Allow me to share some highlights:
–en route, briefly lost, attempted to sneak down a “local traffic only” construction route to get back to the main drag, only to find that it was blocked off entirely after a certain point. After turn the car around and heading back, we discovered that the reverse side of the “local traffic only” sign had been spray-painted to read, “We told you so!”
–walking through the mallway under the Niagara Casino (no, we didn’t gamble; we went to buy candy!) I was telling an anecdote about the cashier at my grocery store: “So he sees my name on my credit card, and he’s all, ‘You’re Jewish? I’m Jewish!'” Guy walking past me says, “And I’m Jewish!”
–waitress at International House of Pancakes assures us that the IHOPs will soon be making their way to Toronto. I am thrilled, but completely od on pancakes (they gave me an extra by mistake) in case she’s wrong and I won’t see them for another year!!
Everyone should take a 24-hour vacation!!
December 26th, 2010
Christmas and Reverb 25
Hi all! I hope you had an excellent Christmas! I turned off the computer for more than 24 hours, and had a glorious one myself. Highlights included something called “bubble bread,” a catnip toy frenzy with the local kitten, a game of Scrabble at which I lost miserably, a beautiful new jacket from The Fairies’ Pyjamas, and many hugs and friendly people. The only real low point of the day came when I said in passing, while talking about something vaguely related over Christmas dinner that microwaves run on nuclear energy. There was a long silence after that–it turns out, they don’t. Shame ensues.
Ok, back to reverb:
Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.
Me in the dressing room mirror in North Bay
This is me in the only dressing room I’ve ever been assigned, at the Capitol Theatre in North Bay, before my reading at Circus Wonderland. It’s me being “Wow, I’m a rock star, I have a dressing room” but also very obviously all alone, since I had to take the picture of myself in the mirror (There were, technically, a couple fellows asleep on the floor behind me, but I can’t really count us as being “together.”)
It’s me being wowed by one of the little flashes of glamour in the writing world as I know it, enjoying myself and yet not particularly enjoying the loneliness, longing for friends (and not just to take the picture). It’s interesting, this picture, and I don’t know exactly what it means, but definitely something, I think.
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