Sometimes I wish I created a blog that was built on a platform of profanity, as now would be the perfect time to let every available expletive fly. But before I delve into the details where one finds the devil, let me first say that I have arrived in Victoria—safe and sound, well, in body at least. Of sound mind cannot be said. And, in the further interest of preliminary positivity, the weather has been beautiful and my first impression of the city is that it’s perhaps the loveliest one I’ve seen yet in Canada.
Now. Let me be clear: I will not be making another international move anytime soon. In fact, I’m thinking about boycotting a move from my bed for at least 3-5 days.
The actual journey began with a first class flight on Lufthansa, booked on frequent flyer points—seats that morph into beds, caviar, fine wine, inflight service that was out of this world, the works. We even had personal escorts who held up signs with our names on them as we arrived in Geneva and Vancouver, and provided a limo ride from one terminal to the other and hauled luggage off carousels. Air Canada can kiss my arse.
Then there was a long wait in customs that led to racing through an airport lugging 2 hockey bags, 3 suitcases, 2 knapsacks, and a set of golf clubs. It ended on a sardine can with two propellors, delayed for 30 minutes (for a 15 minute flight) while they figured out how to stow a 260 pound Great Dane in the hold. I believe I’ve mentioned what Air Canada can do.
Then there was the 9 hour time difference and the mother of all jet lags; the hotel room with a guy next door who held a 6:00 a.m. Skype session, complete with screaming and swearing; Neil’s endless battle with DHL to deliver his computer being held in customs in Vancouver (the battle continues); the apartment (which is indeed a good one) that had no heat on our first night—mmm, nothing says lovin’ like wearing your coat to bed.
What else? Oh yes, the rented couch that’s like sitting on a giant marshmallow (they threw in the crusted on food and brown stains for free); the frantic purchasing of all things electric like a toaster, a kettle, a hair dryer, and so on, plus, a fancy schmancy coffee maker (he cooks, so who am I to judge?). I’m not even going to bore you with the rest (e.g. having to throw out my sneakers at the last minute due to a dog poop disaster, a parting gift from Europe), just know that there was much more to contend with.
But it hasn’t been all bad. You can’t turn around here without crashing into a case of Miracle Whip, and while the general salesforce here seem to believe they are Valley girls and boys, they are indeed speaking some form of English. Like totally.
Anyway, despite being a victim of the move, I shall soldier on in setting up this new life. This morning I’m off to tackle the most important task of all: my head. The long dreamed of Canadian haircut is upon me. Cripes, I hope he doesn’t mind cutting my hair while I collapse forward for a nap on my knees. Someone, anyone, remind me of all this in about 10 months when I start yakking about how amazing it would be to live in Japan.