< Previous Page | Next Page >

I'm on the train. It ROCKS, except for the fact that I didn't plan on being in the refrigerator car. Damn. They must have the air conditioning set just above freezing.

The ramp at the (far
cooler than Toronto's)
train station.

Nothing exciting to report - we're just arriving in Ottawa. I spent the train trip watching videos of Mitch Hedberg, Dave Chapelle, Michael Moore and the Celebrity Deathmatch between Beavis and Butthead.

I have a sore throat left over from my cold. I'm going to find a Shoppers Drug Mart and possibly avail myself of our system of socialized medicine. I might go see three different doctors JUST BECAUSE I CAN.

Dudes and Dudettes, I would like to announce to you that the Fairmont Château Laurier is fuckin' sweet. It's not really my style, but by any objective standard the room is absolutely beautiful.

The staff are somewhat disturbingly deferential; there's a concierge from 6:30am-11pm that's dedicated just to the snotty types who are sharing the club floor with me. These people are expert service staff, but not in an an annoying way. They're extremely polite, cheerful and helpful. I want to invite them all to my room for a big mini-bar extravaganza and let them know that I'm one of them.

I have NO IDEA why people crap on Ottawa. It's a beautiful, relaxed city. And the people are so freaking friendly! It makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with us Torontonians, given my experiences here and on the East Coast. Time for a nap. I'm going to try to get on a real holiday schedule where I don't go to bed at 9:30pm every night, so I'm going to catch an hour of shut-eye, have a quick bite, work out, and then meet up with Caitlyn to relax on a patio somewhere.

Okay, that's it. When I get back to Toronto we're shutting down streets to car traffic and instaling expansive cobblestoned restaurant patios everywhere. Just so you know.

Unable to sleep, instead I am sitting on the patio at the Black Tomato, sipping my drink and enjoying how very civilized and European this experience is.

The first thing I did after
unpacking in my hotel room
was run a bath, pour a glass
of Chateau des Charmes 2002 Pinot
Noir, and have a soak while
reading the Ottawa guidebook.
I suggest not having a
glass of wine on an empty stomach
if you're a lightweight like
me. Five dollarsh get outta
here urrrrk

Relax.

Take a deep breath.

Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly.

Relax.

Now I want you to think of a time in your life when you were really relaxed.

Deep, slow breaths.

Have you thought of a time when you were relaxed?

Deeply. Slowly. Breathe in. Fill your lungs. Breathe out. Slowly.

This time when you were relaxed?

I am about 100 times more relaxed than that right now.

It's amazing: in less than 24 hours, all of the stress in my life is completely and totally gone.

This is going to be a good week.

I just got back from a nice dinner with Caitlyn at a place in Little Italy with a patio. She gave me a bunch of her CDs! Everybody say dawww.

LOOK AT ME I'M UP AT 11:40pm!!!

I managed to sleep in until 6am, when my STUPID BODY WOKE ME UP. AAAAA. On the plus side, the Fairmont's complimentary continental breakfast--of which I have just availed myself--serves the best coffee I've ever had in my life.

I went to bed early on Sunday night, knowing that I was going to have to get up at 5am Monday morning to catch my 7am train. I had everything packed by the time I went to bed. I took a shower and dried my hair. The plan was that all I would have to do was get dressed. I climbed into bed and nabbed the Z Train to Sleeptown.

I woke up on my own, noticing that the clock said 4:40am. Hey, a bit early, but whatever. I must be excited. So I got dressed and went upstairs to make coffee... at which point I noticed that it was, in fact, 1:40am, not 4:40. I have an analog clock that must have fallen on its side. I'm getting a digital clock when I get back so that doesn't happen again. Grr. Anyway, I went back to bed and woke up at 5 as expected.

The train is very nice. I traveled in VIA 1 class, which I guess is supposed to be first class but aside from the fancy-pants meal I can't imagine that it was all that different from regular class. They did have a power plug for my laptop, so I spent the trip watching stand-up comedy, the Beavis and Butthead Celebrity Deathmatch, and the special features of the Fahrenheit 911 DVD. The only problem was that the train was FUCKING FREEZING. It was like being in a meat locker for four and a half hours, except there was no way to escape to warmth without jumping from a moving train. I had dressed for summer in my climbing capris, a little t-shirt and sandals. I didn't bring a sweater or anything, so I ended up bundling myself up in my rain coat and wearing two pairs of socks just to keep warm.

We arrived in Ottawa almost exactly on time, where I disembarked to discover that the weather in Ottawa is just as gross and miserable as it is in Toronto. I guess I had in my mind that Ottawa was north of Toronto and therefore the weather should be more like, I dunno, Iqaluit or something. Nein. It was massively schveaty and gross, doubly so because I had just emerged from almost five hours in a meat locker.

The Ottawa train station is far cooler than the Toronto train station. It's a vaulted glass-and-steel structure with a few nifty little architectural features, including the staircase that I have in my photo gallery for the trip. The main area is just a big open space; it reminds me a bit of the Barcelona airport, except without everybody smoking like fiends.

I discovered upon arrival that there was one ATM machine in the entire train station and that it was out of service. This cramped the style of Little Miss Unprepared, because it hadn't even occurred to me to get cash before I left Toronto. I flagged down a cab and asked the driver to take me to my hotel by way of an ATM. While driving, he used his cell phone to call Habib (I have no idea who Habib is; apparently he's the expert on banking machines in downtown Ottawa).

Driver: "Habib? ATM machine near Chateau Laurier?" swerving around the road

Alaina: white knuckled grip on the seat in front of me, wondering if there was a way for me to buckle myself in with two seatbelts at the same time

The driver stopped right near the Rideau Centre, and I ran inside to the cash machine. When I got out, the cab was gone.

Okay, deep breath. My laptop and all of my clothes are in the cab. Shit.

Then I noticed the giant, friendly cab driver literally jumping up and down and waving his arms at me to get my attention. "Lady! Lady!" he was shouting, and I experienced a wave of relief. I trotted up to him and he explained that he couldn't park where he dropped me off, but rather he had to cross to the other side of the stoplight. Crisis averted. He dropped me off in front of the hotel, where I was accosted by several overeager porters who wanted to take my suitcase for me. Figuring that, hey, I might as well live it up, I let them drag my luggage to the concierge's desk while I checked in.

You know you're in a
nice hotel when they have,
uh, one of these. Whatever
it is. A whole stand for a
lint brush and a shoe
horn? Where's the little kid
to follow me around
and pick up the peanut
shells I drop on the floor
behind me?

Key card in hand, I went off to the concierge to find my luggage, running into a porter who--I assume--had been eavesdropping and knew I was going to the Gold Floor. He walked me through the hotel and explained each of its features, then into the elevator, keeping a constant stream of enthusiastically helpful information coming my way. We got off of the elevator and headed around the corner to my room... at which point I was, indeed, greeted by a SECOND concierge who was attending a desk dedicated exclusively to the moneybags clientele that would normally stay on the Gold Floor. "Hello, Ms. Alaina!" she said, brightly. I greeted her equally cheerfully, wondering in the back of my mind how the hell she knew who I was. The porter escorted me to my room--which they had open and waiting for me--and was nice enough to pick up a map for me and show me where the cool spots in Ottawa were.

It was 15C in my room when I arrived, which I must admit felt pretty sweet after a sweaty drive from the train station. I'm one of those types who likes to take advantage of my hotel room, so I unpacked everything: I set up my laptop, put my books on the bedside table, and hung my clothes neatly on the fine hangers in the closet. I then opened the mini bar, snagged a bottle of wine, ran a bath and poured myself a glass.

Now, put yourself in my place. By this time--around 1pm--I haven't eaten since breakfast at 7:30am on the train. I'm an alcohol lightweight even on a full stomach, one or two glasses usually being enough to get me thoroughly tipsy. I'm hot (you know it, sistah), I'm hopped up on DXM from my cold medicine, and I'm sipping on a truly awesomely tasty glass of pinot noir. As I stood up to get out of the tub, I realized that, erm, it had gone to my head. I love you guysh, you're my best friendsh heeeeeee.

Architectural detail at the
National Gallery of Canada

The National Gallery is easily the coolest art museum I've seen since the Miró museum, and toured their contemporary art exhibit. There are pictures in the gallery linked above, but that giant fucking baby head is the first thing that greets you when you walk in. It must be ten feet in diameter, complete with lifelike eyebrows and eyelashes. It's going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

This is the first thing
you see when you walk into
the Contemporary Art exhibit: a
giant decapitated baby head.
Thanks a lot, Canada: I
know what my nightmares are
going to be for the next year.

Now, I said this yesterday, but this part of Ottawa is VERY cool. If I lived in Ottawa, I'd have to live in this area. There are cute little shops and pedestrian streets and restaurant patios and cheese shops and even a farmer's market. I found a salon and got an overly aggressive pedicure from a small man man who, if I didn't know better, I'd think was trying to completely buff my feet off of my legs. My feet do look great now, and they're still attached, so it's all good.

I finally returned to the hotel and chatted briefly with online, making plans to meet some time after 9pm for drinks. I tried again (and failed again) to nap, so I walked back to the Market and sat on the patio of the Black Tomato restaurant, where I enjoyed a most excellent soup and their trout special of the day. I also noticed bikes just... parked. Not locked, but propped up on their kick stands. For a Torontonian, seeing a bike without a lock is like seeing Stephen Harper without a grim reaper standing behind him.

Returning to the hotel, I went downstairs to the health club for a workout. It's a decent little exercise room with free weights and cardio machines. After a ten minute run I figured I could do something that was easier on my knees. I managed to forget my jump rope, so I just be-bopped in place for three minute periods, dancing to Paul van Dyk remixes. I did my stretching to Jeese Cook's Nomad. How did I ever get along without my iPod? I honestly don't know.

I knew they had a pool, so I'd brought my swim suit down to enjoy it. And boy, did I ever. After 15 minutes of stretching, I just floated in the pool and felt all of my stress totally disappear. And this was in spite of the group of screaming and splashing kids at the other end.

Just after 9pm, I walked down Elgin to Lewis and met Caitlyn. We hopped in a cab and went to Little Italy to enjoy the patio at Pub Italia. We didn't even arrive until 9:45pm, a full 15 minutes after my normal bedtime! Woooo!

Anyway, a quick stop back at her place, and I finally returned to my hotel to crash, fully expecting to sleep in until 8am. Sigh.

Time for my workout and a swim, then maybe a tour of the Parliament buildings. I have a massage at 1pm.

My new vacation 'do,
courtesy of Sarah
at Hair bananas

Concierge: "Hair Bananas, in the Rideau Centre. They have the funk.

And they sure do. Courtesy of Sarah at Hair Bananas, I now have a funkalicious spiky style.

Off to lunch! Then massage! And spa! And then dinner!

Since my last update, I've had a 90 minute massage and a buffet meal at the hotel restaurant that was so good it made me want to gnaw off my own arm and use it to fend off the other potential consumers of the buffet.

As Tim wastes no opportunity to point out, I am an attention slut. I'm not a performer by any means--you won't see me standing up in front of my group of friends and pantomiming Ophelia's descent into madness and eventual drowning to the strains of a Massive Attack song--but I do like it when people fawn over me. I love being pampered, which is one of about two zillion reasons that Kit and I get along so well. We're both into manicures and pedicures and facials and, as she said in an entry a few days ago, "discussing politics in our fuzzy bathrobes at the spa while munching little finger sandwiches". I have a total weakness for that girly stuff.

I can let a professional do my nails or my hair or give me a massage, but I'm still not quite used to the maternally solicitous nature of upscale hotels. I'm a grown woman who lives alone, and I'm perfectly capable of making my own bed and deciding when it's time to wash my bath towel. (Note: not after a single use.) Sometimes--shh, don't tell anyone--I don't even make my own bed, and it's still comfy to climb into that night. And I can go a few days, at least, without throwing my bath towel into the laundry. This is mostly because, well, I take a shower before I use it.

Any hotel where the front desk clerks have all of their teeth makes your bed every day. The Laurier folks clean your room twice a day: once in the morning and once around dinner time. They seem to have either a Spidey Sense or hidden cameras in the room, because I *never* run into the people who do the cleaning. They magically appear, perhaps even folding out from a universe on an adjacent d-brane, and fuss with stuff in my room, practically within the three minute period it takes me to run down the hall and get a bucket of ice. It's an impressive display of efficiency, and would make the former cake-takers at the Swissôtel green with envy.

Booful fleurs. Ah,
downtown Ottawa in the
summer.

This morning, after my trip to the gym, I tried again. I thought, hmm, maybe I shouldn't hang it on the shower rod; maybe I should hang it on the actual towel rod instead. Presto, done. Arriving in my room after my massage this afternoon, I found that towel, too, had been replaced with a fluffy new towel. I took another shower before heading to dinner just now, hanging my towel on the shower rod again, and a quick peek in the bathroom yields the sight of ANOTHER fluffy new towel, with the towel I used not four hours ago nowhere in sight.

I'm reminded of that scene from The Pirate Movie where the Major General is throwing chicken bones behind him and trying to fool the guy who catches them on a platter. I honestly don't think I can fool these Fairmont people.

As part of the turn-down service, they remove the comforter, fluff the pillows, fold down the sheets and leave something for you. And I don't mean a dead bird or something that your cat would bring you, either, though I guess maybe the intent is the same. At the Swissôtel in Berlin (what with them being Swiss and all) they left you little chocolates on the pillow. At the Château Laurier, it's a little courtesy card (in both French and English, of course) that gives you the weather forecast for tomorrow, and a cheerful wish from the woman who turned down the bed:

Bonne nuit/Goodnight

Jennifer

Jennifer also tuned the radio to CBC Radio 2 and set it to a pleasant but unobtrusive volume. I've replaced that soundtrack with one of Caitlyn's trip hop mixes, which suits me much better.

A view of the courtyard
from my table on the patio
of the Black Tomato.

People in Ottawa seem to switch casually between conversational French and English. Pretty much everybody in a service job seems bilingual: one would hope that they get paid extra for it, and people like me who are limited to a single language (well, two languages, if you count my pointless familiarity with Scottish Gaelic) deserve to be slapped.

My time in Ottawa is coming to a close. I managed to sleep in until 7:30am in spite of my body's determination to wake me up at 6. I've just enjoyed the fruit and pastries of the complimentary Petit Déjeuner (see? I'm practicing my French!) and am going to start packing. In spite of my incredible soreness, I'm going to hit the gym again before I leave. That's just how dedicated I am to my boxing workouts.

Fucked up sculpture
in the courtyard

The pace here is more relaxed than Toronto, and that's contributing to my complete and total sense of relaxation. I mean, it's no Halifax--leisure in Halifax has been elevated to an art form--but I haven't yet been swarmed by speed-walking shirt-and-tie Bay Street types bellowing importantly into their Blackberries on their Bluetooth wireless headsets.

Skud says that Ottawa starts sucking three blocks in any direction from where I am now, but if you come to Ottawa for a couple of days and stay in or near the ByWard Market, I can state conclusively that you can have a most excellent time.

I'm not going to have much to report (not that that's going to stop me) until I get to Montréal today because I plan on doing fuck-all between when I lock my hotel room for the final time and the time I catch the train at 3:15pm. Hopefully the concierge will hang on to my luggage after I check out so I have time to go walkabout before hopping a cab to the train station. I wonder if I'll get the same cab driver? I'll find an ATM in advance so he won't have to call Habib again. Maybe I should ask him if there is an Habib equivalent in Montréal to whom he can refer me.

Think Rocky. DA NA
NAAAAAA, DA NA
NAAAAAAAAA

You could call it "killing time", but I choose to call it the purpose of this vacation. I'm sitting on the courtyard patio of Social, enjoying a glass of Pinot Gris and listening to the amusing soundtrack that has so far given me "Disco Infero" and "Do The Hustle". Amusing.

On the patio speakers now:

YYYYYYYYYYYYY
M
C
A

< Previous Page | Next Page >