Since when does a Parker infant reject a pint of perfectly good ale?
Evidently he is of true French descent and prefers a fine vintage over the humble hop.
Monday, October 08, 2007
No nephew of mine
Since when does a Parker infant reject a pint of perfectly good ale?
Evidently he is of true French descent and prefers a fine vintage over the humble hop.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Don't ask for a receipt
The bakery was well named. Asked for a receipt and the lively staff member leapt into action. Ten minutes later... However the chocolate covered meringue blobs were Finn-tastic. Try it out in the inner harbour of Helsinki, close to the open air market at
Gamla Kauppatori
A fine recent show in Helsinki
Profanity is universal. Last night in Stockholm, some kids were chatting in Swedish, (think: teenaged Muppet Swedish Chef) when the universal language of English shone through:
"Hurr de fleur de doom bi diski doo what the fu-u-uck de blurr shi donski fu-cking shoop be doop".
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
It's Monday: Must be Linkoping
Blog
Meeting in Swindon as blah as I expected it to be. Customer's site office was like a gunmetal Red Dwarf had crashlanded on a windswept and abandoned Teletubby set. Customer was lukewarm and indifferent, coy and self absorbed. So thus I expect to get a deal there, since I didn't want one and never want to visit them again. Black batwing logo atop the entrance was a suitable tipoff that a dark and troubled master resided within.
Was driven back to Heathrow where we took up in the Ibis hotel nearby, pending our morning flight to Stockholm. Had missed my Great Aunt's funeral held that day at Mortlake, but managed to tube-bus-walk to the reception held in her old house in Kensington. The one and a half hour journey brought me to the door of her home, now filled with a subdued but loving crowd. Her two sons, their wives and children were there, along with her niece, friends and various cousins and other loved ones. Sparx was there and we hugged and commiserated quietly together. Great Aunt was wonderful to Sparx when she moved back to the UK, and the two had a very special and personal relationship as a result. We stood in the high ceiling'd rooms and reminisced ruefully. Met, chatted, and laughed with some cousins I didn't know I had. Nice but hard.
A lonely and cold walk-tube-bus back to my grim and charmless hotel made it more poignant. Hard to know that I'll never see her again, given that I'd seen her on every previous visit to London in the past 25 years.
The next morning, my colleague and I caught the 9am flight to Stockholm Aranda, and express-trained to Stockholm Central Station where we fumbled about trying to find the right station to Linkoping (Lin-SHO-ping). Finally found the office for the SJ station (SK is intracity; SJ is intercity). 1244Krona later (about $90 Canadian) and we were on our way. 20 minutes into the 1:20 journey however, the train (which had been travelling along at about 150km/h) stopped abruptly and the acrid smell of burning asbestos brakes filled the cabin. Some announcements were made over the PA system in Swedish. The other passengers didn't seem too concerned, so we assumed that the delay was temporary. So we waited.
And waited.
And bought a beer and sandwich.
And waited.
And bought a tea and sandwich.
And waited.
And slept.
And waited.
And watched the sky darken outside.
And waited.
After two and a half hours the conductor finally made an announcement (thankfully in both Swedish and English this time) that the train had broken down irreparably and we would be transferring to a different train. Given that we were in the middle of the Swedish countryside, now in the pitch dark, and trains were blasting past us at 200+km/h, this was interesting news.
True to their word, a duplicate train pulled alongside and stopped. Two rickety gangplanks were stretched across the gap between the two trains, and 400 people made their way to the one exit, and transferred to the other train, each to the same seat as on the original. To our surprise, this was conducted with minimal fuss or complaint, car by car, seat by seat.
And we were off again.
Moments later, another announcement was made that the NEW train had mechanical problems, and would be speed-limited for the rest of the journey. Since we still had over 1 hour to travel at the old train's original pace, this was not welcome news.
Finally, 6 hours later, we arrived at Linkoping and cabbed to our hotel.
It is cool, brisk and gray here. The hotel is comfortable and clean. Swedish is utterly incomprehensible, but everyone is very nice and most are thoughtful enough to speak English very well.
Off to bed. Conference tomorrow.
Eyelids drooping.
Goodbye, Liz, I say to the cold and dark night.
Please let me age the way you did, with grace, dignity, delight, and elegance. Please let me hold on to my wit and sense of self. And let me be as funny and giving.
Poo.
_________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Meeting in Swindon as blah as I expected it to be. Customer's site office was like a gunmetal Red Dwarf had crashlanded on a windswept and abandoned Teletubby set. Customer was lukewarm and indifferent, coy and self absorbed. So thus I expect to get a deal there, since I didn't want one and never want to visit them again. Black batwing logo atop the entrance was a suitable tipoff that a dark and troubled master resided within.
Was driven back to Heathrow where we took up in the Ibis hotel nearby, pending our morning flight to Stockholm. Had missed my Great Aunt's funeral held that day at Mortlake, but managed to tube-bus-walk to the reception held in her old house in Kensington. The one and a half hour journey brought me to the door of her home, now filled with a subdued but loving crowd. Her two sons, their wives and children were there, along with her niece, friends and various cousins and other loved ones. Sparx was there and we hugged and commiserated quietly together. Great Aunt was wonderful to Sparx when she moved back to the UK, and the two had a very special and personal relationship as a result. We stood in the high ceiling'd rooms and reminisced ruefully. Met, chatted, and laughed with some cousins I didn't know I had. Nice but hard.
A lonely and cold walk-tube-bus back to my grim and charmless hotel made it more poignant. Hard to know that I'll never see her again, given that I'd seen her on every previous visit to London in the past 25 years.
The next morning, my colleague and I caught the 9am flight to Stockholm Aranda, and express-trained to Stockholm Central Station where we fumbled about trying to find the right station to Linkoping (Lin-SHO-ping). Finally found the office for the SJ station (SK is intracity; SJ is intercity). 1244Krona later (about $90 Canadian) and we were on our way. 20 minutes into the 1:20 journey however, the train (which had been travelling along at about 150km/h) stopped abruptly and the acrid smell of burning asbestos brakes filled the cabin. Some announcements were made over the PA system in Swedish. The other passengers didn't seem too concerned, so we assumed that the delay was temporary. So we waited.
And waited.
And bought a beer and sandwich.
And waited.
And bought a tea and sandwich.
And waited.
And slept.
And waited.
And watched the sky darken outside.
And waited.
After two and a half hours the conductor finally made an announcement (thankfully in both Swedish and English this time) that the train had broken down irreparably and we would be transferring to a different train. Given that we were in the middle of the Swedish countryside, now in the pitch dark, and trains were blasting past us at 200+km/h, this was interesting news.
True to their word, a duplicate train pulled alongside and stopped. Two rickety gangplanks were stretched across the gap between the two trains, and 400 people made their way to the one exit, and transferred to the other train, each to the same seat as on the original. To our surprise, this was conducted with minimal fuss or complaint, car by car, seat by seat.
And we were off again.
Moments later, another announcement was made that the NEW train had mechanical problems, and would be speed-limited for the rest of the journey. Since we still had over 1 hour to travel at the old train's original pace, this was not welcome news.
Finally, 6 hours later, we arrived at Linkoping and cabbed to our hotel.
It is cool, brisk and gray here. The hotel is comfortable and clean. Swedish is utterly incomprehensible, but everyone is very nice and most are thoughtful enough to speak English very well.
Off to bed. Conference tomorrow.
Eyelids drooping.
Goodbye, Liz, I say to the cold and dark night.
Please let me age the way you did, with grace, dignity, delight, and elegance. Please let me hold on to my wit and sense of self. And let me be as funny and giving.
Poo.
_________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Monday, October 01, 2007
Planes Trains Automobiles Buses and Tubes
I landed in London Saturday morning after flying through Toronto for a total of 13 hours. Managed 0 hours sleep but watched Spiderman 3 (mediocre), Hot Fuzz (fun), and read two books: Ondaatje's In The Skin Of a Lion (stunning) and Haddon's The Mysterious Case of The dog in The Garden at Night (excrutiatingly good) (can't remember the title but it was something like that). Took the Heathrow Express to Paddington, dropped one of my unneeded bags at Paddington' left-luggage, bought my train ticket for Reading on Monday, and then tubed to Covent Garden to meet sparx and the spud. She had to divert to the bus, since the Victoria tube line was out of service for the weekend. She made it right as I arrived, but had had to cancel her original plans to meet me at Paddington.
At Covent Garden, the cufflink store I wanted to see was closed despite saying they would be open. Looks like someone else was diverted that morning too.
We had a tea and breakfast roll sitting at an empty cafe and chitchatted while we entertained Charlie. I walked him totteringly around the tables. I estimate he will be walking in two months, at least that's my inexperienced, uneducated, uninformed and yet hopeful opinion. The worst thing is that he still doesn't talk, which I always find frustrating in the children of someone that I love. Despite my fervent attempts, he never mastered "Hoto" or even "Uncle" which I felt was very insulting and thoughtless of him, although since he's not yet really mastered "Mama" or "Dada" I shall have to wait for him to trot out those two tired old epithets first before I can hope for anything more (sigh).
After sitting and listening to a lively string quartet+flute in the Garden, followed by an odd couple singing decent opera, we gave up on waiting for the cufflink store and bussed/cabbed to Brixton where we met sparx' better half D at the house and dropped my bags off. We then just pottered about, had an exceptional Thai dinner at D's hand before my eyelids finally were too heavy to lift and I staggered to bed. Slept late on Sunday (9-ish) and had a good breakfast followed by the much anticipated Japanese F1 race, where we watched Lewis Hamilton rise above all the conflict and hype and take the win in the pouring rain.
Then we all bussed back to Covent Garden, obtained my cuflinks, had lunch at Neal's Yard (where Monty Python's offices used to be when they were starting out), took some pics in Trafalgar Square with the Spud on my shoulders, and finally arrived back for a pasta dinner in Brixton.
Now I am barrelling west on the train to Reading for a meeting; am being picked up by colleagues to head to a customer site in Swindon.
The sky is yellow and gray, but as always, the England tearing past my window seems surprisingly green and verdant. Like a very old house, England is always somewhere that I will belong, comfortable and grimy in the corners, friendly and full of welcoming life.
More later.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Ghosts
Last night I stayed in my Grandmother's house on the lake by myself, for the first and perhaps last time. She, at 99, is moved in with my Uncle and Aunt now, either forever, or until either one of two obvious eventualities plays out. The house and its overgrown grounds were silent and calm, dark and moist. My wife called to speak with me and she, remembering cold nights spent trying to evade spider-webbed nightmares of ghosts, sleeping in the dark and creaky basement room where my Grandfather slept, asked me if it felt spooky being there by myself.
It is where my father grew up for most of his childhood, and where my grandmother lived for over 60 years. Most, but not all of my Gran's treasures are moved out now, and the main floor has been cleaned and tidied for renters or possible sale. Memories, for me all good, lay silently in each corner. Christmases, winters, spring, but mostly summers. There exist pictures of my sister and I at every possible age at that house, or at least, every possible era: greying and paunch-comfortable adults, slim and handsome 30-somethings, long-haired (or perhaps multihued-short-haired) idealistic 20-somethings, burgeoning and insufferable teens, children, toddlers, newborns at our Christenings and even as twinkles in our newlywed-parent's eyes; all pictures taken within the 1.3 acres of wooded, sun-dappled rainforest on a high lakefront perch. Virtually every member of our extended family has been to the house at one point; my mother's family; my father's many cousins; my many cousins with their spouses and children; All of them captured on print or slide: laughing in a cape-cod chair; drinking a homebrew beer out of a pewter stein on the wharf; lying under a card table with my Grandfather, surrounded by an abandoned card game, drunk on sunshine and Scrumpy; a cousin scrabbling with my 8 year old father among the goats and chickens that clucked around the yard in the 40s; my infant sister in her pixie-snowsuit, propped on the hood of a giant Chevy with a foot of snow blanketing the
world around her; Grandmother in outrageous cat-eye shades and audacious bathing suit, hoisting a glass of elderberry wine, the bare legs of her Grandkids visible in the corner of the frame as they lie in the sun, drying off;
So yes the house - old, dark, spiderwebbed and silent - contains a thousand ghosts for me - all my own ghosts though, none strange or frightening. All familiar ghosts, literally. Each one of us who has had a long relationship with the house and its inhabitants has ghosts there. My father and his remaining brother perhaps have the most. But those are their ghosts, not mine. Mine are memories.
And when I feel the ghost tickle the back of my neck as I sit out on the deck looking at the moonlit lake, or hear a ghost creaking up the basement stair as I lay in bed, or perhaps shuffling in the underbrush as I stroll the pine-scented driveway, I turn quickly with a smile, hoping to see someone I love.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
August 13
No really. There is nothing wrong with the scales.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
No no NO
Wrong way. Wrong f*cking WAY.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
update
Ok, so since there is basically no reasonable way to post pictures from my phone wirelessly in Canada to blogger, I've reluctantly come to realize that I will have to post the pictures from a computer instead. Therefore any blogging wirelessly will be maily textual for now. Sucks but there you go. Up in Pender Harbour for another weekend at the Garden Bay Pub. This time the better half is with me and so we are staying ay the Fisherman's Resort and Marina (www. Fishermansresortmarina.com) which is very pretty. Our cabin is basically over the water and has a great deck, from which I am posting now with the sound of rigging gently pinging against the masts of yachts in the marina here.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Paternal Grandparents
Spent a great weekend with my 99 year old Gran a couple of weeks ago. My wife and I trolled through their ancient photo albums with her and came up with this one. This is their wedding day, clowning around to contrast their more formal and demure wedding picture.
September 16, 1932. Maple Bay, BC
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Vancouver artist
I met Tiko in my rowing club. Extremely nice guy. Then I find out he's an amazing and prolific visual artist and HIV survivor with a long history as a national advocate of new drug therapies (as I am sure one is wont to be, in such a conditon). His work is absolutely stunning. Vancouver in all its glory, seen through the eyes of a man with (really) acute astigmatism.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
PCs suck
So I made plans to skype with JVM on Friday night from my home PC. He's Lonely in Boston, you see. So I get home around 10pm on Friday, fire up my trusty logitech web cam (circa 1998) and ping him. Get on the call and he can't hear me barely at all, let alone see me. So i try him from my other PC, a screaming 3GHz Pentium IV with 2GB ram, and the fucking Skype client won't connect through McAfee, (which I only installed because Norton was such a catastrophically hopeless tool). No matter what I did, I could't get McAfee rules configured in a way that it would let skype work.
So with two entire PCs at my disposal, I left them idle and skyped with JVM for almost 2 hours on my lowly little s620 mobile phone, which I also used to send a picture of myself to him via email from the phone during the call.
Worked well over 802.11g although there are a couple of limitations:
1. The phone can only be used in speakerphone or wired headset mode. Skype hasn't sorted the bluetooth or regular audio paths yet.
2. His inbound audio stream would sometimes repeat certain words and phrases repeat words and phrases (just like that). It didn't jitter or stutter, just repeated whole 2 or 3 second chunks. JVM didn't hear anything like that on his end.
3. Sucked my battery dry in 1 hour. The phone had 2 bars of juice when I started but it ran down quite rapidly when I had the speakerphone on.
However kudos to Rogers wireless, for although they are the Great Evil, they are one of the few North American operators to ship a GSM/EDGE phone direct from their retail stores with wifi enabled.
Thumbs up for the little s620.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Favourite Windows Mobile apps
One of a string of posts about my favourite phone apps:
Fizz traveller.
--------------
Love this one. Although its not optimized for the landscape QVGA screen yet, it is incredibly useful. It features a multicity weather forecast display, with high/low temperatures, precipitation, great graphics and an easy way to display todays weather in 6 or 8 cities with the local times displayed, country dialling code, time zone difference, and a sun/cloud icon. In fact the icons show rain, snow, lightning and can be displayed on the homescreen of the phone too but I don't do this because it removes some homescreen features that I need, like the communications manager shortcut for flipping wifi and bluetooth on or off.
The forecast comes down wirelessly in tiny chunks or when you cable synch to your PC. I set up the Fizz "home" screen so that at a glance I can use it to monitor the weather here at home, in Calgary, where I have family and friends snowed in, Boston where the aforementioned JVM is lonely, London where sparx et famille are expanding, Munich where my lead customer seethes, and Seoul where my distributor lies silently awaiting product. I bought the app for the multiple time zone feature and currency converter, but really like the weather feature and wish that it had tide charts and sunset times for rowing and other outdoorsy purposes.
The currency converter is priceless (fnarr) especially when I'm submitting a three-currency expense report which I have to do every month or so (airline tickets, cab fare and breakfast in Canadian, lunch in US, and then a weeks worth of accommodations and meals in Euros or Korean Won) thanks to flight paths that force me to connect through the US, etc.
Like the weather forecast, the currency rates may be set to autodownload, or on demand from the IMF. They appear to agree with x-rates.com generally and are available for a bewildering array of currencies from Venezuelan Bolivars to Polish Zloty and Slovenian Tolars (what's the plural for zloty?). The converter also handily does length, area, weight, speed, temperature, volume, power, mens and womens shoe sizes and even shirt and dress sizes for the Uk, US and Europe. Truly brilliant for travelling. Even does torque for those moments when you desperately need newton metres converted to pound feet.
I have to say that I use this tool in some way every day. Today I checked my German customer's loc weather forecast so that on our weekly call this morning, I could distract him from the grim reality of more slippages by waxing lyrically about the coming thunderstorms and wild temperature swings expected for Munich this weekend (low of 4C and high of 23C today, for those readers itching to know). Then later in the morning I booked a trade show in Sweden for October, and converted the equipment rental charges from Swedish Krona into Canadian to cut the PO. Marvellously practical. It does need a built in calculator though.
Great app and the 5 day forecast is 100% reliable so far, beating even the local news
Love the well-rendered alarm clock manager, which easily allows multiple configurations for repeats and weekday/weekend behaviour, and easy audio capture (I have a WAV of my better half whispering gently:
"Hoto..Ho-To. It's time to get u-u-p.") and nice graphics. Much easier to get to than the default alarm clock.
I could go on but you get the picture (well, at least the words - more on my ongoing picture blogging fiasco later).
Fizz is a steal at about $20 from Handango.com.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Thursday, May 17, 2007
189.5
This is for JVM who scoffed incredulously when I first claimed I'd got down to 188 and then stepped on his girlfriend's scale and weighed 196. Just wait, buddy.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
skype
Downloaded the skype client for Windows mobile today, installed with no issues and had a successful call over our home Wifi network with Shell at her office. This means that I can use the phone when travelling to Korea where there's no GSM. Anywhere there's WiFi of course. Brilliant. Free. Huge bonus.
Unfortunately picoblogger appears to be toast and there's no other smartphone blogging tool that I can find to post pictures. Also, picture messaging isn't working and some troll at Rogers told me "it's never worked for Windows Mobile" and proceeded to tell me that I was mistaken in thinking that it ever worked. The blogs and forums confirm that others are having the same problem. Boo.
190.5 tonight. Lost my Bavarian bulge.
The software works like a dream and my mum could have installed it.
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
yahoo
Talked Rogers into selling me the HTC s621 for $125. http://www.htc.com/product/03-product_s620.htm. Blogging on it now. Will test picoblogger on it tonight to see if I can get pics again. Rogers sucks. But i did get $1150 off my service charges over 3 years and $250 in up front discounts. We'll see if my bill reflects all the discounts properly.
This phone rocks. 97kbps over EDGE as tested today at www.bandwidthplace.com/speedtest. Quad band phone, nice camera optics, WIFI b/g and tons of storage. Tiny too. Windows mobile 5.0. Excuse me while I wipe my ejaculate from it.
It's OK. Don't worry gentle readers. I know the female members of my audience won't have been offended by that remark since they stopped reading at "this phone rocks".
__________________________________
(sent wirelessly from my phone)
Hoto
Monday, May 14, 2007
Tunisian spiced meat dish was...
...Kibbeh Nayeh
Seasoned minced lamb with chopped onion, mint and oil.
(urrrp)
________
(sent from my Voq)
Hoto
Friday, May 11, 2007
Blogging in der S-bahn
On the S8 heading for München Flughafen. Grey und köld. Missed früstuck zo am vaiting führ ze tee und bröt.
________
(sent from my Voq)
Hoto
Wiener und fleischpflanzer
Mmmm, meat and bread. Nay, eine höt-dög for früstuck.
________
(sent from my Voq)
Hoto
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Vielen danke
Ok. All done here in Munich.
10-12 hours per day at the customer site means we have eaten in the hotel three out of five nights. The food is apalling and carb laden. I have manfully moved from the tightest mark in my new 'skinny' belt to the third tightest. I guess I'm up about 10lbs since I left. Had a good day at the customer site today and finished the week off with a relatively succesful
customer demo for Siemens Nokia. our hosts here are great but likely glad to see the back of us.
10-12 hours per day at the customer site means we have eaten in the hotel three out of five nights. The food is apalling and carb laden. I have manfully moved from the tightest mark in my new 'skinny' belt to the third tightest. I guess I'm up about 10lbs since I left. Had a good day at the customer site today and finished the week off with a relatively succesful
customer demo for Siemens Nokia. our hosts here are great but likely glad to see the back of us.
Managed to get into the centre of München two times. Actualy it is a 5 minute walk across the Isar river, past the Deutches museum, through Isartorplatz and into Marienplatz. Quite pretty. Went for dinner at Spatenhaus for a reasonable deer steak, across from the King's Palace. They gave us English menus which was a little lame, since its half the fun figuring out options like Ochsenfilet and Spargel. They had translated the harder German words, but they also translated non German words...badly. Thanks to a vaguely tantalizing description for one appetizer ("spicy meat with malt bread") I ended up with another plate of fucking raw meat. Germans should be aware that Steak Tartare is in fact an internationally known dish.
tonight however the sun came out and we hosted our hosts at the (apparently) famous Knockerberg in Hochstrasse, sitting outside in the biergarten. Nice enough but newish and soulless. Apparently the old building was torched and the new one is like Vegas does Brau-haus. Food was OK and we enjoyed the hefeweissen. However, I actually can't remember what I ate which gives you an idea of the lasting impression the place made.
Wasted one morning trying to find a replacement travel charger for my ipaq and learned that one is not to be found in downtown München. Kaufhof, Conrad and many other stores are useless. I was repeatedly referred to MediaMarkt but it proved too elusive in the 30 minutes I had available. Note: stores open at 9 or 10am and close at 8pm. Most are closed by 5pm on weekends.
Anyway back at my hotel room last night I carefully applied all my advanced electrical engineering skills to my broken charger. By employing a systematic and scientific method, (aimlessly wiggling the cable) I fixed it. Now I can watch movies on the plane tomorrow and stave off utter insanity on the 11 hours between me and Calgary.
My summary of München? The city is neat, pretty, clean and easy to navigate, befitting the capital city of such an orderly place as Bavaria. However this is based entirely upon my hopelessly inadequate forays to and from Siemens along Rosenheimstrasse, and into Marienplatz and back. A total of about 8km of streets. My magnificent photo essay of this 800 year old gem will be posted soon (an eyecatching array of stunningly wrought images snapped from my hotel room window: same view, different weather. What a twat.)
Nice bike paths, like The Hague with their own traffic lights.
Too tired to be glib. <i>Sheisse</i> I can't wait to be outta here.
As they say in Bavaria,
ciao.
(probably ciäö, actually)
________
(sent from my Vöq)
Hötö
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Die Holiday Inn München
Dropped off by the Hornungs in time for my dinner meeting. Munich is gray and chilly but the hotel is comfortable. Another fabulous day with hikes up hills to stunning views over the Danube this time, a pastoral walk through a forest to yet another ancient brauerei with fat hunks of pig washed down by the brau der mönsch with the mighty river flowing lazily by. Back to reality tomorrow with an upset customer a 2km walk away. Sleep now. hopefully no bier for a few days as the abs are receding further behind an encoaching layer of schweinfleisch. Thanks to the Hornungs for a literally spectacular 2 days.
________
(sent from my Voq)
Hoto
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Ich bin müde
Arrived in munich after a frenzied race to Aerogare P. E. Trudeau in Montreal. I was still sitting at a lunch table in suburban Montreal 90 minutes before an international flight time at PET, which was 35 mins away in good traffic. finally arriving 45 mins prior to departure meant I was bolting through the terminal in enough time to just make the flight
but not in enough time to get anything but a middle seat, back of the bus, no recline. Luckily my seat mates were small, forgiving and ENL (English as a Non Language) so no distracting chatter and plenty of shoulder room. Unfortunately for them I had been dining with a colleague and prospect at La Poissonaire in Ste. Laurent which meant my clothes and I stank of fish and Tunisian cuisine (heavy on the garlic homous, onions and spiced meat). Apart from the fish, which I had declined to pick from a pile of slimy, unappetizing flesh, lunch was delish; but due in part to a particularly awesome menu feature (which I believe was named Kebbe Nayeh: raw minced beef, mint leaves, raw onion and oil) I was burping Tunisian air bombs like no tomorrow. I managed to grab two Dentyne Ice packs on my mad dash through the airport, put a whole 12-pack in my mouth, chewed it for 60 secs and swallowed it whole, adding a minty fresh overtone to my malaise d' gut, slicing the top edge off the foul stench rumbling from me every 5 minutes.
but not in enough time to get anything but a middle seat, back of the bus, no recline. Luckily my seat mates were small, forgiving and ENL (English as a Non Language) so no distracting chatter and plenty of shoulder room. Unfortunately for them I had been dining with a colleague and prospect at La Poissonaire in Ste. Laurent which meant my clothes and I stank of fish and Tunisian cuisine (heavy on the garlic homous, onions and spiced meat). Apart from the fish, which I had declined to pick from a pile of slimy, unappetizing flesh, lunch was delish; but due in part to a particularly awesome menu feature (which I believe was named Kebbe Nayeh: raw minced beef, mint leaves, raw onion and oil) I was burping Tunisian air bombs like no tomorrow. I managed to grab two Dentyne Ice packs on my mad dash through the airport, put a whole 12-pack in my mouth, chewed it for 60 secs and swallowed it whole, adding a minty fresh overtone to my malaise d' gut, slicing the top edge off the foul stench rumbling from me every 5 minutes.
LH actually fed me reasonable fare, the service was unreal, and the first movie (Freedom Writers) bearable (except when Swank was virtually alone on screen at which points her equine grimace and one-dimensional fluster abraded like a belt sander).
Some woman went unconscious mid flight again, and this time every crew member in Econ responded, literally dragging her limp form back to the rear galley directly behind me. The call went out for docs and there was a polite skirmish beside me and my bemused row-mates as several SimuDocs who had wormed their way aft to us engaged in a lively game of EscalatingCredentials(tm):
"Are you a doc?"
"I'm a radiologist. You?"
"Endocrinologist. How about you, there?"
"Gynecologist. You?"
"Resident. You?"
"Yah, I'M a surgeon."
So AlphaDoc goes into action. AEDs, O2 tanks and various other kits are summoned and dutifully delivered. 30 mins later, relieved-looking cabin crew start emerging from behind the gray curtains and, leaving them pulled aside, expose those of us in the back row to an ebullient and honking doc's post-trauma bedside manner, consisting primarily of shouting at the vic and her bewildered spouse-unit to ask how they feel now, and about how insignificant their world travels must seem in compared to his.
I manage to pack the Shure ear buds in deep enough to block out most of his '97-98 world tour and interminable waxing on about St. Petersburg, and enjoy 90% of The Good Shepherd on my iPaq, and 95% of Timothy Taylor's Story House before touchdown.
Misty and cold in Munich. Alex was there to get me at 0630. A 1.25hr rainy drive to Erlangen put us in time for a large Euro breakfast with Hannes, Bea and Ben.
Its now 10:30pm by the bedside clock. By my reckoning I've been up for
32 hrs and have a delightfully bloodshot tale to tell of cool misty hikes to the top of Franconia's highest hill that (thanks to an indefatigueable Hannes) start, are bisected by, and end with a litre of beer. I have added a layer of smoked meat, cheese and whitebread breakfast, double bratwürst sausage lunch and killer asparagus/cheese casserole dinner from Bea over the simmering cauldron of La Poissonaire.
I can only say how utterly grateful I am to be nausea-free at this point given the civil unrest below the equator. More tomorrow.
________
(sent from my Voq)
Hoto
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