This past week was a Moncton work week. It got off to a rocky start, first because the flight was delayed by an hour, then because we got diverted. We were flying over Montreal when I noticed we turned west, which…wrong direction, obviously. Then the pilot came on and said something was wrong with the plane, so we were diverting to Ottawa. I mean, sure man, do what ya gotta do and get us on the ground, no arguments. Montreal would have been preferable, but whatever. So I spent six hours in the Ottawa airport; luckily there’s a Vino Volo and an Aspire lounge, which made it easy to keep up on work and take meetings.
I landed in Moncton late that night, and saw just how much snow had fallen in the previous 24 hours. There were drifts everywhere, and hot on the snow’s heels had been the frigid cold snap that blanketed eastern North America. It was -32 with the wind chill on Tuesday morning when I walked to the office; on Wednesday it was -34. Thursday night it warmed up just enough for another snowstorm. Suffice it to say, I did not go any further afield for food than the restaurant in my hotel.
Just back from a week out east. A few days at the farm (where I got to meet brother #2’s newest dog, Yuki…timid chap), then back to Moncton for the work week. A company party, a few team meals. Three different seasons, seemingly: snowbanks –> rainy & warm –> freezing cold. Only one new restaurant excursion, a newish south Indian place called Darbar which satisfied my chicken 65 and parotta cravings.
I spent most of this week on the road. I was in Ottawa for ~24 hours for a conference, but I also squeezed in coffee at Little Victories on Elgin and a quick dinner at Riviera: my grilled octopus w/ green olive pesto, potato & guanciale was good (but a little oily) while the smoked duck breast & heart w/ cherries, yellow beans & pistachio was fantastic. Monday night I flew to Moncton, with a quick stop at the Ottawa airport Vino Volo.
The weather in Moncton the rest of the week was garbage so I didn’t get much of anywhere, but I did attend a Beaujolais Nouveau charity fundraiser!
We spent last weekend in Kingston, building a trip around a visit to a friend’s art exhibition…which was closed, unexpectedly for the day. And the gallery wasn’t open the next two days. So we missed the main reason for being there…but the food, to our great surprise, made up for it.
First, we stayed at the Frontenac Club, a new conversion of an old building, and our room was lovely: exposed brick, big windows, stained glass, huge bathroom, etc.
Next up was to get some warm coffee on a cold day, so we walked down the street to SENS cafe for some capps, which we took with us down to the waterfront to enjoy the view and the sunshine. On the walk back to the hotel we stopped at Bobbi Pecorino’s to rescue something from their bottle shop.
We had dinner booked that night at The Everly, which started a little funny but ended up very solid indeed:
Cocktails
Appetizers
East Coast Oysters w/ fresh horseradish & lemon
Kale Salad (Salt of the Earth Farms kale, cashew ‘cheese’, breadcrumbs, roasted cashews, lemon & olive oil dressing, Parmesan)
We wanted the salt cod fritters but they were out. The kitchen staff felt bad so as a consolation they brought us a 1/4 order of the polenta fries (Crispy polenta, pomodoro, basil, garlic, Parmesan) and an order of the roast pumpkin (Salt of the Earth Farm roast pumpkin, butter fried sage, lemon & parsley sauce, pumpkin seeds)
Glasses of Soave (Tessari Grisela DOC Classico, IT, ’22) and Chenin Blanc (Pearce Predhomme Stellenbosch Old Vine, SA, ’22)
Mains
Lindsay had the Butternut Squash Agnolotti (ricotta & squash stuffed pasta, brown butter, Ontario hazelnuts, sage, Parmesan)
I wanted the braised pork belly but they were out, so I ended up getting the Pork Sausage pasta (rigatoni, fennel and chili pork sausage, garlic, broccolini, fried breadcrumbs, Pecorino)
Bottle of Cabernet Franc (Stanners Vineyard, PEC, ’21)
The next morning we slept in and missed the hotel’s breakfast. Instead we walked slowly over to Kingston institution Chez Piggy for some comfort brunch: Chilaquiles con Carne (tortilla chips, salsa verde, black bean, bell pepper, avocado, grilled steak, sunny eggs, feta, jalapeño, coriander, scallion) for me, and Çilbir (garlic yogurt, poached eggs chili, garlic butter, mint, dill, cilantro, parsley, pan chancho za’atar pita) for Lindsay. Both were extremely delicious. The place looks like it hasn’t changed inside in fifty years, but who cares?
Back in the room we relaxed. Lindsay boiled herself in the tub while I finished the book I was reading (But What If We’re Wrong? by Chuck Klosterman) and then we want back out for dinner. We picked Wooden Heads because we felt like a chill pizza experience, but it ended up being extremely good as well, splitting an excellent pizza and Sicilia pizza. My glass of Tempranillo was good; Lindsay’s Sangiovese was not. But we muddled through.
We woke up early Monday as it was a work day for us both. After eating a very nice breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant The Bank Gastropub, Lindsay walked to a medical archive for some research while I posted up in the restaurant (they were empty but for us) and got a ton of work done. Once we wrapped up we grabbed a late lunch — fish and chips, both — at Dianne’s and bolted for home before the Toronto traffic got too bad. We had a pretty seamless drive, frankly, and were grateful to be home.
So yeah, after the bitter disappointment immediately after arriving, Kingston redeemed itself on the strength of its food.
Earlier this week I visited Prince Edward Island for the first time in (*checks with his mother*) about 45 years. I don’t know why that is — we lived an hour away, but never went. I guess it was just more of the same thing we grew up with in NS, except with a ferry ride (or, after 1997, an expensive bridge toll) thrown in.
To be more specific, I really only spent time in Charlottetown, for a couple of days of work. We did manage to sneak in a tasty meal and cocktails at Slaymaker & Nichols, excellent coffee from Receiver, a lobster roll from Salt & Sol, and a cruise around the harbour. We were lucky; the weather was 98% beautiful (no sign of the after-affects of a recent hurricane off the coast), the water was calm, and we even spotted a few seals. It felt good to be back on salt water.
After the harbour cruise, we all made an obligatory visit to Cows. A thoughtful co-worker even bought us all t-shirts from Cows; a few days later, the security personnel at the Moncton airport would be big fans of my Scoop Dogg shirt.
Yes, Moncton. After the meetings in Charlottetown ended I hitched a ride with a colleague back across the bridge (my first time traversing it, obviously) to Moncton where I worked for a few days. Not much of note in that short visit, except that I finally visited CoPain, an artisanal bakery. I’ll be back, on the strength of that croissant alone.
We spent last weekend in Stratford. We packed a lot into 48 hours.
Friday
After a long drive out of Toronto (is there any other kind?) and a brutal rainstorm, we arrived in Stratford and checked into the Bradshaw Lofts before checking out the wine bar downstairs, Brch & Wyn. We had:
stone fruit w/ fresh mozzarella, walnuts, basil, peach romesco
chicken nuggies w/ brch dry rub, spicy mayo, lime
massaman flatbread w/ beer coconut curry, cashew, chili crisp, pickled chili
some very tasty & well-curated wines: I remember there being a local orange wine, a Gewurz, a Sonoma Chard, and two local Cab Francs
We threw it all down our necks quickly; we had a play to get to — Cymbeline (link). My haiku review:
A twist on Shakespeare Casts Cymbeline as queen; pretty good but kinda long
By long I mean: 90 minutes into the play the lights went dark, which we figured was a shockingly abrupt end, but it turns out ’twas only the intermission and there was another 90 minutes to go. We made it, though. We all made it.
Saturday
Luckily Brch & Wyn is also an excellent coffee shop, so I grabbed us caffeine and breakfast downstairs. We watched some Netflix in the room (I’ve been forced to watch Love Island once again, so that betting may ensue), we made an unscheduled run to Wal-Mart (don’t ask), and then went out in search of lunch. After bumping into a few non-starters — NB: Stratford runs on a schedule, and the 2pm plays drive a lot of people into a noon lunch — we braved the lineup at Features, a Stratford institution. We banked on their ability to turn tables quickly, and it paid off: we had a table right away, with plenty of time to make it to our next play. I even had time to stop at The Ashborne Café for an espresso.
Our second play was the Ibsen classic Hedda Gabler (link). My haiku review:
Stellar work all ’round “People don’t do such things!” No, But our Hedda does
After a quick walk home and more bingeing, we were off to dinner at Lovage. It really feels like a home away from home now (to wit: earlier in the day, while walking around town, we were recognized by our favourite host Abra!) and on this occasion it didn’t disappoint. Here’s what we had:
Lobster salad
Marinated peppers
glasses of Ontario orange and Portuguese white
Fried squid w/ shishito peppers
glasses of Chablis and Sicilian white
Short rib special (described to us as “pastrami-adjacent”) w/ white kimchi
a half-bottle of Tondonia Rioja
Crème-frâiche ice cream + blueberry sorbet
glasses of Port and Madeira
Sunday
Once again: caffeine and breakfast from Brch + Wyn woke us up. We had to check out by 11, but our brunch reso wasn’t until 12, so we killed time sitting in a park on a summer day. Just as we were leaving I saw a hawk fly full-speed into the top of a tree, followed by the screaming chatter of a squirrel(?), then the hawk falling out of the bottom of the tree and flying away. Couldn’t tell if it was a successful hunting expedition or not.
As noon approached we walked to Revival House for brunch. Just as we were about to be seated Lindsay realized I didn’t have my umbrella. It’s the best umbrella I’ve ever owned so I didn’t want to lose it. We walked back to the park, relieved to find it there, and returned to Revival. It’s a converted church (with some stunning gardens out front) that feels quite cozy inside. We had cocktails, a fried chicken sandwich (me) and eggs bennie (Lindsay), followed by an almond coffee cake and some coffees, and then were off to the Studio theatre, just kitty-corner from the restaurant, for our final play.
The Edward Albee play The Goat, Or Who Is Sylvia? (link) has been much celebrated since it was first performed in 2002. All four members of the cast had been in Cymbeline Friday night, and one — Rick Roberts — was someone I watched many years ago on Traders. My haiku review:
Dark, hard, weird viewing This animal collective Comes wholly undone
It was a good thing we’d gone back to get that umbrella, because our walk home was through pouring rain. As was our drive home, pretty much the whole way. And that wasn’t the half of it: we knew there’s been weather warnings all over southern Ontario the past few days (including a tornado that touched down in nearby Ayr) but driving home and seeing cars submerged on flooded highways really brought it home. (Also, different kind of danger, but we also saw Batman.)
So, a successful 48 hours overall. Not sure we’ll return to Stratford next year for plays (we might go just to eat at Lovage, and maybe try cocktails at Elizabeth which we missed this time) but I feel like we did it right this time.
My 49th birthday was earlier this week. No big celebrations; we were still recovering from the cold we both caught at the tail end of our India trip. I skipped some work things earlier in the week, and yesterday was the first day I even started to feel normal.
Today was nicer. I went for a walk, bought a book at Queen Books, bought us lunch and a Deep ‘n Nostalgic chocolate cake from hot new bakery Alice Marie, picked up some meat at Butchers of Distinction, and bought some mini doughnuts at COPS. I watched some Olympics. I snuggled with Pluto, who we’re cat-sitting for a week. There might be some Pandemic later. There will definitely be wine.
It’s taken some time to recover from this one, but sometime yesterday I became desperate to plan more trips. Not that there’s a single red penny left in the vacation fund, but that hasn’t stopped me. I want mountains. I want an AirBnB with a pool. I want a cool city with parks and wine bars. I want Nova Scotia at a time that isn’t Christmas. I want wineries. I want a language gap.
Given the previous evening’s fuckery, we arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. We killed as much as we could in an overcrowded AC lounge, and headed to the gate, there running into a friend of Lindsay’s, and only then finding out the flight was slightly delayed. We grabbed a stupid-expensive drink from a nearby bar while we waited.
The flight itself was great, for me at least: I watched Dune 2, ate dinner, fell asleep for a few hours, and woke up just before breakfast.
Mon 15
Amsterdam! After enduring a very long customs line, mistaking where we’d pick up our bags, and being confused at where to meet an Uber, we were at our hotel. We elected to stay somewhere central, and as much as we would have loved to revisit the Conservatorium, we’d instead opted for the Hotel Aalders on the next street over. We napped for a few hours, then walked to meet a friend at Cafe de Spuyt, a beer bar we’d enjoyed years earlier.
Two more friends, also attending the same conference as Lindsay, joined us and we set out in search of dinner. We were in a very touristy part of town so the pickings were slim. We tried Pantry but it was rammed, so we ended up at De Hollande Tulp, which was actually pretty good. Bitterballen and stamppots all round! We went back to De Spuyt for one last drink, then retired early as two of the three conference-goers presented the next morning.
Tue 16
I grabbed our coffee from an excellent nearby place (Coffee District) and then Lindsay was off to her conference, so I opted to hang out on our room’s balcony for a bit and then wander around Amsterdam a bit.
After looping randomly around some streets just checking stuff out I ended up grabbing a cortado at the Screaming Beans on Runstraat, then walked back to the hotel, feeling quite sweaty, via the Vondelpark. Before long I needed some lunch and found myself at The Seafood Bar. I had a scampi & mango salad (which was big enough to be a meal) and glass of Chablis, followed by some salmon w/ grilled leek and a Provencal rosé. On the way home it started raining – hard – but the lovely great trees on our street protected me from the worst of it.
I dried off in the room and watched the new episode of House of the Dragon before walking back downtown to meet the same group of friends, this time at Shiraz Bar du Vin. The wine list was good but the vibe was weird, so we didn’t stay for food. In hindsight, we probably should have, because from there it became a gong show. We wandered aimlessly before kind of falling into Mikkeller at Morebeer for beer and fried snacks, then walking to Cafe de Koe where we learned the chef was out sick, then walking back to someplace called Bar-B Burgers & Beer. I have no idea why we were on a burger kick, but there we were. The burgers at this place were okay, but the place was VERY weird inside. Like it couldn’t decide if it was a cozy burger joint or a big soulless-purple-glowing-Heineken-sign-in-the-rec-room kind of place. We ate fast and ran, kind of annoyed at ourselves for this kind of unforced error.
Wed 17
Lindsay went back to her conference. I went looking for Indian rupees. (I was unsuccessful.) The main upside of getting all sweaty from walking around was trying an iced coffee from Bocca, after which I headed home. I got the call that the others were ready for lunch; we ended up going back to The Seafood Bar I’d visited the day before. Collectively we got oysters and salmon/avocado tartare, scampi mango salad, Champagne, 3 x fish & chips, pumpkin ravioli, and spaghetti vongole.
We ran back to the hotel to re-pack and head to the airport. We were flying Etihad for the first time, which I was excited about – business class, no less. Luckily we had access to the KLM lounge before our flight; that luxury translated over to the flight itself, which was on a fancy, new, streamlined plane. We didn’t get much sleep, alas, by the time we arrived in Abu Dhabi the next morning.
Before continuing on to India, we had an 8-hour stopover. The Etihad lounge in which we spent it was by far the nicest airport lounge I’ve ever experienced. We drank coffee and tea and juice, ate a few gourmet-level meals, got some light shuteye on the cozy chairs at the back, cleaned up in their immaculate washrooms, had some sparkling wine…what a space. Before we knew it we were heading to our final outbound flight: Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India. The plane was much simpler than the 787 we’d flown from Amsterdam, but it was only 4.5 hours.
Our arrival was a bit choppy – an overzealous Indian customs agent did not believe that our friend was getting married in Trivandrum – but we eventually got through and found Tess & Keal and Tess’ friend Dan (who grew up nearby) who were there to pick us up. By the time we walked to the car I’d sweated through my clothes, which was a taste of what was to come. We drove to the Uday Suites, checked in, and crashed right out.
Fri 19
Pretty exhausted from our travel, we had a good lie-in before finally rising and joining people by the pool to get introduced. It wasn’t too hot yet, as long as you were in the shade and ideally near a fan. We had some lunch at the hotel restaurant, took a lil nap, and then got ready for wedding celebration #1.
There was a poolside reception where we got to meet more people, then an excellent dinner and many lovely speeches, then lots and lots of dancing. The strobe lights (and possibly the smoke machines, and also possibly the heat which had all us Canadians/Swedes sweating profusely) gave me a pounding headache so I retreated early in favor of Advil, but Lindsay kept partying until the wee hours.
Sat 20
We managed to get up for breakfast (well…I did) and then we had some shopping to do. We were off to Jayalakshmi, a popular clothing store for formal attire. Lindsay got a traditional Indian outfit; I didn’t, which I would come to regret. After that experience we needed lunch so we uber’d to Turf Café for cranberry coffees / iced lattes / a cortado for me / some very significant burgers. What was it with us and burgers on this trip?
A quick stop at LuLu Mall later and we were back at the hotel for a bit of rest. We went to the home of the groom’s parents (who are lovely, by the way) for dinner, but left early as the next day was a big one.
Sun 21
Up early-ish and off to the venue. To my chagrin I realized that every one of the other visiting guests had acquired traditional wedding attire, while I was in a jacket and dress pants – I was so embarrassed. I had to remind myself that no one would be looking at me though — the bride would rightfully garner all the eyeballs. Anyway, as her quasi-family Lindsay and I had some duties, which we were honored to perform and very thankful not to mess up. This was the more traditional ceremony, and it was over quickly, but also featuring an officiant briefly catching on fire.
After the ceremony we ate an enormous meal downstairs, with some lovely locals helping us navigate what we were eating (and how to eat it) before washing up, taking more pictures, and heading back to the hotel to change. Once again we re-convened at the parents’ house for dinner and to say some goodbyes. We went back to the room and I had a little nap…which was a mistake, because I didn’t get to sleep again until 2.
Mon 22
We got several good hours of sleep in, but I woke up extremely stuffed up and with a sore throat. I assumed it was a reaction to the air conditioning, which was running non-stop in the room, since when I stepped outside into the 80%+ humidity I immediately felt better. But it would get worse over the course of the week.
We went downstairs for breakfast and to say bye to two new friends, Diya and Dan, and then just settled in for a lazy day. We relaxed in the room. We sat on our balcony once some rain went through and made the humidity tolerable. We eventually met Tom & Keal for a quick walk, dodging packs of wild dogs, down to the Old Coffee House on the water, had kombucha and milkshakes, and soaked in the sea air & pounding surf of the Laccadive Sea – which, truthfully, I thought was the Arabian Sea until I looked it up.
There was a small side-trip planned for the middle of the week, so we packed all the non-sweaty clothes that remained into a single suitcase and went out for an early dinner. We decided to splash out a bit at one of the fancier places in town: Villa Maya. It’s an absolutely stunning place, built in a palace, with tables cloistered off in little sections surrounded by plants and water. We ordered way too much food, though they seemed incredulous that we couldn’t eat it all. (That wasn’t the first time this had happened; I can put away a lot of food, but I’d already had multiple locals giggle at how full I felt.) We had mutton and prawn appetizers; fish curry and pork ularthu and a trio of paneer; and some kind of coconut ice cream dessert that escapes me now. We also had a bottle of local sparkling wine to go with it all – more on that in a minute. All in all, the food quality & flavours, the service, the ambience…this place was an order of magnitude more expensive than most of what we’d tried in Trivandrum (still, the cost was roughly 50% of what we would have paid in Toronto for a meal of the same quality, if you excluded booze) but it was one of the best meals we’ve had in months.
By and large, it’s not that easy to come by. Our hotel restaurant didn’t have it on demand, as far as I knew. At most, places would have a few wine selections, Kingfisher (and maybe a couple big international beer brands like Heineken or Corona), and no spirits unless it was a high-end hotel restaurant. The cost of any booze was also extremely high, compared to the food – for example, at Villa Maya, one bottle of local sparkling cost nearly as much as the five dishes + dessert mentioned above.
100% of the wine I drank in India was made in India. I’d never before tried Indian wine, and I still haven’t tried any Indian red wine (it was too hot to drink anything but white), but what I had I thought was pretty decent. While I’m sure there are more, the brands I saw on most lists were Sula, Grover, Fratelli, and occasionally Big Banyan; of these Sula was by far my favourite. I was surprised to find that most of the grapes are grown around the Maharashtra region, which is only about 20 degrees north of the equator (when normally grapes grow between 30 and 50 degrees latitude) so I’m guessing the wines must be planted at altitude to help cool them.
Anyway, dinner went on a little longer than we wanted, given we needed to be up stupid early the next morning to catch a train, so we went back to the room, did a bit more packing, and tried to get some sleep.
Tue 23
NARRATOR: They didn’t get any sleep.
Between our full bellies, and the power going off and on five times in the middle of the night (causing things to beep loudly each time), our sleep was basically non-existent. We scrambled out the door, just barely, and got in our taxis to the train station. About 20 of us were off to Kochi!
We arrived, fought through the Uber chaos, endured a bit of confusion around the car ferry that takes people to Fort Kochi (one of the city’s islands) and arrived as a group at Kashi Art Cafe for breakfast. My French Toast was excellent, as was Lindsay’s Turkish egg. After that we dropped our bags at the Forte Kochi hotel, which looked absolutely gorgeous, then went for a walk around while our rooms were readied. We saw enormous trees, walked along the waterfront (fending off aggressive autorickshaw drivers and street vendors all the while), and walked back to the hotel on quiet streets. Fort Kochi, the part of the city where we stayed, was much more walkable – making it also much more touristy. But we didn’t mind. It was a beautiful spot.
Finally able to access our rooms, we showered and cooled down (that walk was about as hot and sweaty as it got), hung out and had some lunch by the pool, and generally just chilled. Many of us went to Francis where we took over a room upstairs for dinner – most notably: giant bowls of sausage. The beer and wine and conversation and laughs flowed freely all night. We took a short walk by the water, then strolled back to our hotel for some much-needed sleep.
Wed 24
After some very excellent breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant (which, it turns out, was once the first department store in Kerala) many of us went to Mattancherry Palace, located at the edge of – and I promise you, it feels very weird to write this – Jew Town. We did a little shopping afterwards, but cut it short when Lindsay had to flee the heat. We Ubered over to Lila to meet Tess and Ellie, cooled down with some iced drinks, then walked to lunch at Fusion Bay, which was excellent.
We were just around the corner from a shop Tess wanted to revisit (One Zero Eight by Save The Loom) and we tagged along. We bought a beautiful blanket; Lindsay bought a dress and a notebook. We hit another shop or two on the way home as well. Pooped and poorer, we slid into the hotel to reset before going out for the evening. The whole group came out to see a Kathakali show, which was very much unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The theatre, the makeup, the costumes, the dancing – all pretty incredible, and in a tiny intimate (read: hot) setting.
Afterward we split into a couple groups, one of which followed me around the corner to Divine – The Wine Lounge, upstairs in the Malabar House hotel. The vibes were weird, but we got some tasty & cold bottles of local Viognier which I thought were pretty good. After that I directed two friends to Fusion Bay for dinner while the remainder of us walked back to the hotel. Ultimately we ended up as a group of six Nova Scotians eating an excellent dinner at Jetty, the hotel’s restaurant.
Thu 25
A day of stories!
This day started with another train ride, but a much more leisurely morning getting there than the inbound trip. Plenty of time to eat breakfast and re-pack; Lindsay even found some time to read by the pool. Things would get adventurous, though: about halfway to the train, it started to rain. Like, really rain. Crazy monsoon rain. When we arrived we told our Uber driver to stay dry; Tom, Kealin, and I jumped out and unpacked the car in a frenzy, Tom throwing stuff to Keal and I and then all three of us dashing under cover. Soon the train pulled in, and as we picked up our stuff to board, I asked them if they wanted me to carry their bag on for them. They said, “That’s not our bag.” We suddenly realized we’d taken the Uber driver’s bag, which had been in the back of his car when he rolled up. In the panicked chaos of our arrival, we were just trying to get out of the monsoon rain and I’d assumed the bag was Tom & Kealin’s while they assumed it was mine. Anyway, we had no time to rectify this as our train was just then pulling in and would only halt for two minutes. Luckily, Aravind’s parents’ friends’ son-in-law (follow that?) was sitting on the platform near us waiting for a later train, and Aravind just threw him the bag and said he’d call to explain after we boarded. (Station security wouldn’t accept it, nor would any stores.) A whole series of Uber support submissions and phone calls later, Aravind somehow got the driver to return to the station and collect the bag before the the son-in-law’s train departed. A minor miracle!
Some snacks and naps later we arrived back in Trivandrum, once again braved an Uber maelstrom, and got freshened up. A few of us went for an early dinner at O Cafe, in a fancy hotel. This is where story #2 unfolds.
First, the three of us who arrived early – Lindsay, Aravind and I – were looked up and down by the staff and then by the manager and told all their tables were “blocked for reservations”. Not reserved. Just being held in case someone reserved them. We were like…but we’re here now, and we will pay you. The place was empty at that moment, with maybe one or two more tables occupied, but they seemed terrified of running out of space. They agreed to give us a table if we promised to be out by 7:00 or 7:30 when the buffet opened. This started us off on a weird foot.
Second: don’t go to a fancy Indian restaurant before 7. They were serving only small snacks until then, so we ordered Chicken 65 and a few other things to go with our cocktails. That’s right, cocktails: this place had spirits. Tess and Ellie had arrived by now, so they too got to experience the extremely slow, casual, and clumsy service we’d been receiving from the jump. We’d go fifteen minutes without seeing anyone. Drinks sat empty on the table, the ice melting into a glass of water. At one point a server dropped a piece of pizza in Tess’ lap, and then just smiled and walked off like nothing happened. We never saw him again. It seems likely that these guys weren’t servers at all. They must have been food runners or bussers who were thrust into service duty when the restaurant thought no one would be there, not expecting a bunch of foreigners to show up needing cocktails.
Third: when 7PM rolled around the vast majority of tables were still empty. A few large groups had come in for the buffet, but nothing that warranted us being rushed. Finally, a decent server showed up and handled us from there, so we ordered some real food – we got two large meat platters and a bunch of parotta (which had become the star of the show for all us visitors to Southern India) – and ate our fill. All while wondering what all the table-scarcity fuss was about.
Fourth: the moment we finished with the boards, the staff started buzzing our table. Five people asked us in as many minutes if we were done, if we wanted any dessert, if they could clear the table – sometimes reaching for drinks that people were still enjoying – until we eventually just said, Okay let’s go. We had no idea why they were so insistent; the place was empty enough you could fire a cannon through it and not hit anything.
As we were leaving, Tess asked for the manager’s name, so she could mention it in a review. That prompted him to follow her out and ask if we had any concerns. Tess (never one to shy away from sharing her thoughts) and Aravind (instilled with a bit of liquid courage) laid it out plainly, making sure they didn’t just take it out on the staffers – he (the manager) set the tone, and the tone was garbage. Anyway: high entertainment. We told this story about ten times when we met up with the rest of the group at BLND for drinks, and the first round of farewells.
Fri 26
Our last day in India. We got screwed over by the hotel restaurant – now that Tess and Aravind’s wedding was over they kind of stopped being nice to us – then joined a few new friends in visiting the excellent Kerala Arts & Crafts Village in nearby Kovalam. It’s a stunning venue showcasing dozens of artists and craftspeople in one convenient location. We bought some art and a terracotta vase and some other small things, and prayed they would fit in our suitcases.
As it turned out they did, largely because we were now carrying a separate duffel bag for our flight home. We were ready early enough that we could hang out with the remaining folks by the pool for a bit and say our goodbyes before leaving for the airport. We’d heard plenty of horror stories about delays and long lines at TRV, so we arrived three hours early…and pretty much sailed right through. Luckily we had access to the lounge, so we killed some time there.
A relatively short flight to Abu Dhabi later and we were ready for some shuteye. We’d booked a room at the AUHotel, which is in the transit area of the airport itself, so we didn’t have to clear customs or leave the airport. The rooms are bare bones and don’t even have windows (at least our room didn’t) but we didn’t care. We just wanted a bed and a private bathroom with a shower. We hoped it would let us rest enough to take on the long journey ahead.
Sat 27
Mission accomplished: that hotel room worked a treat. We woke up, showered, got a change of clothes from the duffel, and walked maybe ten minutes to our gate just before our flight home boarded. We couldn’t have asked for a better layover.
The plane on our flight home wasn’t quite as posh as the flight from Amsterdam (that plane had been a 787; this was an older 777) but we weren’t complaining. I stayed awake the entire 14-hour flight, killing most of that by watching the Lord Of The Rings trilogy and enjoying some free wifi. The staff were exceptional, the food was excellent, and – burning throat aside (I was sick with what felt like a full-blown cold by this time, though the flight didn’t bother my sinuses in the least) – I felt pretty damn good when we arrived in Toronto. We sped through terminal 3 so quickly it felt like we were doing something wrong. Toronto traffic fouled our mood a bit, but we arrived at the house pretty glad to be home.
Epilogue
It’s been a few days, and we haven’t done much but try to shake this cold, get over the jet lag, and ease back into normal life. It’ll take some time to process such a long and intense trip, but on top of being honored that we were invited to share in the wedding of one of Lindsay’s oldest friends, we felt such gratitude that we got to meet their friends from Sweden, and Aravind’s family and friends. What a wonderful group of people. Usually people bring gifts to the bride and groom, but in this case, I feel like they gave us something precious.
Back in 2018 we hit a passport snafu on our way to Amsterdam, resulting in tears and dejection at the airport, followed by a quick rally and an excellent trip, the main purpose of which was to see our friend Tess, Amsterdam merely being a stop along the way.
About a month ago, as we prepared for another trip — again heading to Amsterdam for a few days before travelling onward to see Tess — we realized my passport was facing the same problem Lindsay’s had nearly six years before: it would expire in just under six months, the cutoff for our eventual destination. At least we caught it with weeks to spare, not at the airport like last time. I procured the rush job at the passport office, and had it in my hands with days to spare. Crisis averted, right?
Except. Last night we went to the airport, all set for our adventure, but definitely running late, and traffic (even at 9:00 on a Saturday night) was so brutal we were becoming more late by the second. We arrived at the airport 90 minutes before our flight, and went right to the kiosks. We tried to check in; because our original flight had been delayed, the kiosk forced us to take some meal vouchers we didn’t want, then kicked us out of the session. We started over, this time managing to get our boarding passes (which we also didn’t want) but telling us we missed the cutoff for baggage check-in at the automated kiosks. The employee wandering around — who knew we were going to Amsterdam before we even started — told us we’d have to go to the counter to drop our bags. We ran to the counter, where the Air Canada employee told us we missed the 90-minute cutoff entirely, that we couldn’t board our flight, and there was nothing she could do.
So, look: I know we should have been there earlier. Somehow both of us blanked on the appropriate arrival time, and then were late leaving, so we wear that. We played fast and loose with time, leaving ourselves little/no buffer, and once again Toronto traffic fucked us. I should know better. We own that bit, for sure. But what rankled was the following:
The Air Canada employee was mean. Really mean. Like, made Lindsay cry mean. Instead of saying, “Sorry, you’ve missed the flight, there’s nothing we can do.” she led off with “Why are you late?! Why are you getting here so late? What’s the reason?” A charitable interpretation of this would be that she was looking for the magic explanation that would let her bend the rules, but she seemed intent on berating us publicly. Everyone around was staring. It felt very much like she was scolding us.
I pointed out that we might have made the cut off if the kiosk had worked properly, or the first employee had simply directed us to the counter. That didn’t matter to her.
A slight aside: she kept saying the rule has always been that you arrive at the airport 3 hours before an international flight. Never in my life have I arrived that early, and for most of my life I was a very cautious (read: early) flier. My memory was always that you arrive 1 hour before domestic flights, 1.5 hours before US flights, and 2 hours before international flights. Perhaps that memory is pre-Pandemic thinking, but that’s what was in my head.
At one point she said, “The flight starts boarding in 40 minutes, you’d never make it!” I looked at the empty airport, pointed out that we have Nexus and could get through security quickly, and said it would be absolutely no problem to make it for the start of boarding, let alone the end of boarding, by then. She pivoted back to, well, anyway you missed the baggage cutoff.
Since we had our boarding passes I asked if our bags could be sent on the next flight to AMS. She said no. She didn’t call the gate. She didn’t check with anyone. She did absolutely nothing. Back in 2015 when (once again) traffic had made me late for an international flight, we arrived ten minutes after the flight had closed and the Air Canada staff called the gate, got us on, and told us to run. The employee last night just chastised us. Only when Lindsay broke down in tears in front of her did she let up and say, “Sorry.”
I asked if she could help us re-book. She said no, and that we should walk to the other end of the airport where there were “white phones” that we could use to re-book. Great. Thanks. Very helpful.
We attempted to collect ourselves before setting off down the terminal. I looked for a special desk, but saw nothing. Then I realized there was a bank of unmanned white telephones, looking like they’d been bought in bulk from Radio Shack in 1992. Lindsay described it as “demeaning” and I didn’t disagree. The first one we tried didn’t work properly, so I tried the second. And that’s where the night changed.
I didn’t catch the name of the agent we spoke to, but my goodness: what a star. She was sympathetic. She was helpful. Her information was clear. And she got us on the next flight to Amsterdam the following night, in the same class, sitting next to one another…for no fee. What? WHAT? When she took me off hold and told me all this, I almost couldn’t process what she was saying. I was prepared to spend hours on hold with unhelpful agents and be forced to pay for a whole new flight (all of which happened in 2018), so when I replayed back to her what she’d told me, she confirmed it all and told me she hoped we had an amazing trip. The confirmation was already in my inbox. I can barely even remember what I said to her, but Lindsay (an uninformed bystander to this whole thing; it’s not like ancient handsets have a speakerphone option) tells me I was effusive in my thanks and praise. Seriously, that lady saved our evening, and maybe a good portion of our trip.
What a difference an empathetic and empowered employee can make. I know it was our own fault for being in that position in the first place, but the first Air Canada employee neither expressed any kind of empathy nor tried so much as a phone call to help us out — which, given my own past experience, might have worked. She stood in awfully stark contrast to her colleague.
So, two lessons learned: get to the airport earlier, and don’t travel to Amsterdam. (Just kidding. Love you AMS.)
Why do the weeks leading up to vacation always seem the busiest? I suppose the pressure to pre-emptively “make up” for the weeks away (work, errands, friend check-ins, etc.) plus the actual logistics of travelling make that fairly real…though I’m sure there’s some confirmation bias at play as well.
Real or imagined, it’s certainly felt like a busy week.
I realized my passport was going to expire sooner than I thought, so I spent a couple hours at the passport office on Monday.
I wrote my WSET 3 exam Thursday, thereby crippling my own hand by having to write for 2.5 hours. With an actual pencil, readers! Like I’m in the olden times or something. Anyway, it’ll take two months to find out how that went, but I’m very glad to be done studying.
I finished season 3 of The Bear, which wasn’t nearly as good as the first two seasons, but I still thought it was okay. I also watched a lot of Euro matches, and luckily tuned into final few moments of the Canada-Venezuela Copa America match — just in time to see Davies score, Crépeau save, and Koné send Canada through.
I met Matt for lunch at Ardo. Lindsay and I had drinks at Mercantino e Vini (you can buy glasses or bottles from the shop out front, and sit in the cozy seats at the back) with Kirsten, and then we all ate a late dinner down the street at Ascari.
It won’t be a quiet weekend. At this point I’m just hoping for manageable.
Skirl | Dan Dickinson 