Pura Vida Day 2 - Tico Rhythm

It's Sunday, August 3, 2008 and we're in San Jose (just play along, okay?). According to the 'ABD storybook' provided for Pura Vida tour, today is Day 1 of the tour. Don't be fooled - today is Day 0 of the tour, for we're all on our own without any Disneyfied activities on the schedule.

It gets dark early in Costa Rica - by 6pm or so. Cruelly and predictably, it gets light by about 5:30am. As a result of awakening by 4:00am yesterday and coupled with the 2-hour time difference, I'm awake before the Costa Rican sun. Today is going to be difficult, and I'm pretty sure that I'll be testing the local coffee quite extensively today. The morning is bright and sunny - and I can see mountains out our window. Or maybe they're volcanoes. I make a mental note - albeit with very messy mental handwriting today - to find the travel book that clarifies this point.

We rouse the kids and hit the breakfast buffet in the hotel restaurant. It offers a lot of the generic American Business Hotel fare: eggs, sausages, etc. I opt to go native from the starting line and load up on fruit (plentiful and tropical), rice-and-beans (peppery goodness) and tamales (something akin to mashed potatoes cooked inside a banana leaf and tasting excellent). And, of course, coffee.

Tico Tip: Waiters will arrive at your table with 2 jugs: one containing coffee and one containing warmed milk. If you answer in the affirmative about wanting milk with your coffee, you'll get half you cup filled with warm milk. Otherwise, you get rich, black coffee.

Bellies full, we take advantage of the morning sun by hitting the hotel pool. We do this immediately after breakfast rather than safely waiting 1 hour. When one of the kids points out this safety fact, Dee and I gently explain that the 2 hour time-zone difference from 'home' makes it okay to swim. We take the kids' eye rolls to signify grudging acceptance of this biological math.

Around 10am we're back in the rooms in time to answer the telephone. "Frederico!", I think. I'm close. It's our other ABD Guide, Rae, who's called to introduce herself and let us know when she'll be in the lobby for a meet-and-greet. She sounds very nice on the phone, and I'm at ease now that ABD has coming a-callin'. Down to the lobby we go to meet Rae - and Frederico. We chat a bit, and discover that Rae is good friends with our ABD guide from 2007, Alex! I feel like the world just got a little bit smaller. This, of course, conjures up small dancing dolls and a neverending song in my coffee-addled brain. I make another illegible mental note to avoid doing this again. We also learn that Frederico goes by the nickname Fico. With our lanyards and assorted brochures in hand, we are ready to meet the day in San Jose.

At the Concierge desk we inquire about the Coffee Tour - which has received great reviews on several websites. Alas, we're 15 minutes too late for the 11am tour, so we opt to take the 4-hour San Jose City Tour. The Concierge makes the arrangements and instructs us to be in the lobby by 12:45pm where we'll be picked up for the tour. Since we have a bit of time, we hit the Multiplaze (again) for a quick food-court lunch.

Sure enough, a small tour bus pulls up to the hotel by 12:45pm and a driver comes in to collect us. He also collects a few other families for the tour - families who will turn out to be fellow ABD Adventurers in the days ahead. Yes, this is foreshadowing.

I won't spoil the City Tour (too much) for anyone who may consider doing it. It's a good way to see a bit of San Jose - which is not really much of a tourist town to begin with. The Tour involves a pretty good historical dialogue as the bus drives through various areas of the city. To get to that dialogue, however, you may have to endure a bit of a 'milk run' as the bus stops at other hotels to pick up other interested souls. Since we were one of the first hotels on the route, we win a 1 hour tour of other hotels. To be fair, it should have been a 20-minute process, but the police were busy closing streets (in an already-gridlocked city) to make way for a Cow Parade. You cannot make this stuff up.

With extensive English and Spanish narration, we see old buildings, run down buildings, historical buildings, heavily-fortified buildings, and a few parks as the bus negotiates the narrow streets of San Jose. Normally, the tour includes a peek inside the National Theater, but we have to settle for walking around its outside since it was closed for the day. We then walk across the Plaza Cultura to the Gold Museum, where we receive a narrated tour of ancient Tico gold artifacts. Back on the bus - we make a few more stops.

San Jose's National Theater

First, the President's house. Yes, his house - in a nice subdivision. It's protected by a police car, a security camera, and a couple of plainclothes security guys. I'm pretty sure I see the curtains move, so I'm guessing the President is home trying to avoid tourists. Or maybe he owes the paperboy for a few weeks of Tico Times. It's nice to see people are the same wherever you go.

The final stop is the inevitable gift shop gambit at a place called Esmerelda's. To be fair, the place was actually interesting. They make various gold and silver pieces using pre-Columbian designs and methods. We're escorted inside by a very young fellow holding a police stick and an umbrella (over our heads). One inside, the doors are locked, we all take a seat, and a nice lady gives us a lecture about their products and methods. The lecture ends with a give-away of a small gold charm. We're asked (all 21 of us) to pick a number between 1 and 21. Dee, who is the second person to choose a number, wins the prize! Why the other 19 of us go through the tension-filled process of picking unique numbers remains a mystery. Afterwards, we are let loose in the store, where we actually buy a few things. The staff there are very helpful and never pushy - a refreshing experience compared to other 'gift shop stop' experiences we've had.

The President's Place

We're the second stop for the post-tour drop off, and by 5:30pm we're back in our rooms making dinner plans. By this time the rain has started in earnest, so we opt for the hotel restaurant (again). The evening ends with packing and organizing, for tomorrow morning the Disney Pura Vida experience really begins!

Okay - Let's Do This

The Theater lights are on again - yellow lightbulb glow on fading red satin curtains. The floor has that familiar stickiness. The popcorn smell is all at once warm and stale.

I'm back.

But first, a little bidness. David, my congrats to you and yours on the arrival of your new bambino! Finally, the 4th controller has a set of hands. As others have undoubtedly made you aware, it all changes now. Kid Number 1 is no longer outnumbered. Be prepared, my friend.

Now, it starts - the Costa Rica trip report for all my friends over at Disboards.

Saturday, August 2, 2008. 3:35am came way too early this morning, but the alarm said I needed to get up and so I did. I never fight the alarm - it's bad karma. We needed to be out the door by 4:30am to catch our 6am flight out of London Slightly-International Airport. The plan: fly from London to Toronto Pearson. From there we'd push our loathing for Pearson Airport deep down into our guts and catch a direct flight to San Jose, Costa Rica. We'd spend the next 5 and 1/2 hours tempering our mistrust of Air Canada with the fact we were headed to sunny(?) Costa Rica for our Adventures By Disney tour: Path to Pura Vida (Spanish for Pure Life).

The trip to Central America was more or less glitch-free. Everything was on schedule. Air Canada has switched their in-flight entertainment over to personal video-on-demand, which affords hours of movies, TV, etc. via touch-screens built into each headrest. It was a little finicky to use, but it did allow me to watch a brutally editted version of Caddyshack and a few episodes of Big Bang Theory (a not-unfunny geek show, sorta). Once in awhile, I'd even read a few pages of Heart-Shaped Box.

We touched down in San Jose at 12:30pm local time as the clouds started delivering a light rain. The airport: smallish and modern. The Customs line was long but moved at lightspeed towards courteous officials who smiled as they stamped our passports. Being North American, I was immediately suspicious of any kind of good experience at an airport. It was obvious from the get-go that Costa Rica knows the importance of tourists to their economy (tourism is their number one industry these days).

As we passed through Customs we were immediately met by a nice fellow holding an Adventures By Disney (ABD) placard. We were on his list - and so he slapped some sticky-backed badges on our chests and propelled us towards Baggage Claim using Spanglish as fuel. All I could figure out was that (1) we needed to get our bags and (2) the stickers would magically get us some transportation.

Bags collected, another fellow materialized from the crowd to direct us to some kind of transportation. Either the badges were working, or we were about to be taken hostage. I put my fears aside and followed him. His partner materialized with a baggage cart and soon we were all following our luggage out of the airport to.... something. Just when it couldn't get any more bewildering, a nice lady wearing an ABD golf shirt appeared by our side. In a burst of friendliness she produced a van (oh, *snap* David Copperfield) that would take Dee, JediBoy, BandGeek, our luggage, and Yours Truly to the Real Intercontinental Hotel. Somehow, it all worked. I just don't know how, but I'm guessing there was math involved. Or magic.

The trip from the airport was an eye-opener. Poverty is not the right word - but whatever it was, there was way more of it than I had expected. Lots of shack-like buildings with rusted corrugated-steel roofing. Fences and bars protected everything. Those lucky enough to afford it would top off their defenses with razor wire. People went about their lives: waiting for buses, shopping, watching me watching them. It was a place so foreign. The narrow streets turned and dipped at crazy angles as small cars and brave motorbikes zipped through traffic. Eventually, old pavement gave way to newer, faster pavement - and we arrived at the decidedly more upscale environs of the hotel.

The Real turned out to be a standard-class business hotel. Except for the palm trees, Spanish signs, and frenzied drivers, the hotel could be just about anywhere. But this would be our home for the next 2 nights until the tour officially left the starting line. The ABD Golf Shirt Lady let us know that we would be met at the hotel by one of our ABD guides - Frederico. Sadly, there was no Frederico to be found, so we simply checked ourselves in with the expectation that ABD people would find us. The only bump we encountered was that the hotel had our 2 rooms on different floors (we had requested connecting rooms when we booked through ABD). Once we pointed out that the kids' room needed to be close by, they fixed it so that the rooms were separated by only one room. Good enough.

We lounged in our respective rooms for awhile. I floated in that semi-state that always finds me on a travel day. I marvelled that, in the course of 8 hours or so, I had gone from my bed in London, Ontario to a much more comfy bed, in the heart of Costa Rica, where I needed only to move my eyes the tiniest little bit to see palm trees and mountains. Amazing, although this kind of marvelling is, admittedly, far cooler in the Wintertime.

By 4pm, our bodies were sure it was 6pm (London time) and, therefore, ready for dinner. Being the Lonely Planet kind of travellers we are, we headed into the mall right next to the hotel (Multiplaza Escazu). The journey was interesting insofar as cars do not feel obliged to stop or swerve for anything - be it pedesterians, on-coming traffic, or confused baby bunnies. We bought our way across the road by being bigger risk-takers that the locals behind their steering wheels - running quickly with our kids held in outstretched arms all the while shouting. "We are tourists! We have tourist money!". It seemed to work.

We found some familar signs inside and a lot that were not so much. The basic mall-meme was there, however: stores, neon, kiosks, crowds, cinemas, food court, and semi-sit-down restaurants with vaguely Irish names. Since we're always up (or is that down?) for Gibson-esque juxtapositioning, we selected an Italian restaurant in the mall.

With the waiter's broken English and my broken Spanish, I was pretty sure I'd get served the wrong end of an exotic sea creature or end up buying the entire joint their meals. But it all worked out and the food was actually quite good. Of course, I was a tad jet-lagged and had a mild buzz from a couple of Imperials (the local beer). The price: 29,000 Colones or CRC - which is about $60 give or take.

After dinner, we shopped a little bit and made a stop at Cinnabon for a late dessert for the hotel. I made a mental note that the mall cinema was showing Batman with Spanish subtitles. That could be a cool activity - something that David Bowie would write a song about. I elected to keep keep that observation to myself since since I seldom seem to make any sense to my family. Digression!

Arriving back at the hotel, we found ABD 'goody bags' had been placed in our rooms. This was a good sign - they knew we had arrived. By 7:30pm we had eaten our snacks (for better or worse, they tasted like Cinnabon should) and we were all ready to power down. I wrote in my journal a bit while Dee flicked through channels on the TV - a melange of American stations, Spanish versions of American stations, and various local channels. It was dizzying seeing some shows in Spanish, some shows dubbed into Spanish, and some with Spanish subtitles. There's something patently kooky about watching Japanese anime dubbed into Spanish - so many layers of indirection.

Cognitive dissonance aside, it was a pretty good travel day. Tomorrow would be a free day to do as we pleased. We had ideas, but no plans. Our only goal - see something, and hook up with the mysterious and elusive Frederico.

The Path to Pura Vida

As infrequently as I seem to be posting these days, the Theater is going dark for a week. At 6am tomorrow morning, we'll be strapped into our seats out at London Slightly-International Airport for what will be an 8-hour trek to San Jose, Costa Rica.

Call me Bwana if you must. Over the next week we'll hike through rainforests, watch glowing lava ooze down Arenal Volcano against the night sky, try our hand at zip-lining over the jungle canopy, and shoot (mild) rapids down a Costa Rican river. And, it seems, we'll be doing a lot of this in the rain. But no matter - it'll be an adventure.

Due to an unfortunate incident a few weeks back, I'll have no personal Innertube technology this trip and it's unlikely I'll post anything here until I get back. That is, if I get back. The jungle is a dangerous mistress, you know. It's full of monkeys - face-biting monkeys.

Wish me luck.

Laugh, And The World Laughs With You

Every work-a-day morning, for more years than I can remember, I've walked into my building and spotted this box on the lobby wall. It's labeled 'Pre Fire Plan', which has mystified me time and time again. So every work-a-day morning, for more years than I can remember, I've told myself the same little quip.

"Must be filled with oily rags and matches", says I to myself. And then I smile all the way across the lobby, where my coffee will be waiting for me.

Oh sure, I could ask our building maintenance guy, Ray, what the heck that box is all about. And Ray would tell me because we've both been there long enough to be on a first name basis. But then the mystery would be gone, as would my morning smile.

Electrons Roam Freely Now

Last weekend was Week 4 in my forced experiment to see how many consecutive weekends I could traverse Hwy 400 north of Barrie. This weekend, which would have been Week 5, is being spent at home - looking for some normalcy (ya right).

Back to Week 4. It was the final sojourn to Dee's family cottage, with the express purpose of picking up the kids and bringing them home again. I always enjoy these missions of mercy because I know that the kids will be waiting for us on the cottage dock with the ruddy-faced thousand mile stare that says, "I need pizza. I need neon lights. I need a shower without mice for companionship. And I need The Internet".

It's nice to be loved.

The minor goal for the weekend was to help Dee's Dad complete some deck and dock repairs. Even after 20 years as part of Dee's family, I'm still a 'marry-in' and I still feel like I need to be pitching in. The fact that Dee's Dad is shade past 70 years and can out-work me might have something to do with it, too.

With chores done, we left for home on Sunday. Being at the mercy of an available boat driver to take us back to the marina, we inevitably left the cottage a few hours later than I had hoped. While this has been the way of things for two decades, it still puts me in a slightly black mood as I contemplate the drive ahead. As is the custom, our arrival at the marina means that I jump out of the boat, tie off, and head up the hill to bring the van down for loading. Whilst I search for the van, the rest of the crew hauls the luggage from the boat and drags it up the ramp for loading.

This time, there was a hitch. As I brought the van to a stop at the top of the loading ramp, I noticed JediBoy holding on to my embarrassingly old-skool iPod - his arms outstretched with the the unit in one hand and the ear-buds in the other. Odd, I thought. Why would he have my iPod just now? I then noticed Dee's Dad holding my pack with his arm held out in front of him.

In a flash, I knew what had happened. JediBoy had tripped on the ramp and let go of the pack he was carrying. The pack - my pack - landed in the oily marina water. A nearby dock-steward fished it out with a pole, but the pack had been submerged for a solid minute.

The pack - my pack - contained clothes, a book, a magazine, and electronic stuff: my old iPod, my old handheld GPS, and my seriously-needed Palm Tx. In the following few minutes I took whatever measures I could to remove water from everything while projecting an air of calm for all those around me. The clothes would dry, but everything else - books and devices - would not fare so well.

That was a week ago. Today, the book has been replaced (the old one was unreadable) and the iPod seems blissfully unaware that it ever went for a swim. The Palm, however, is battered and near death. I was able to retrieve the important data there (phone numbers, calendar entries, and little notes to myself), but the screen is mostly ruined, the battery charging circuitry is dead, and the wireless support is trashed. As for the GPS - he flickered to life a few times and even worked for a few minutes. Ultimately, he's trash, too.

I've gone through the emotions. Anger gave way to a resolve to fix things. My resolve eventually gave in to acceptance. JediBoy feels terrible about things, of course. So I've had to make a point to let him know he did nothing wrong, and that's sometimes it's okay to be upset about a situation without needing to place blame on anyone.

I've suppressed the need to run out and buy replacements for this stuff. That's all it is - stuff. The GPS was a gift from long ago. The Palm was an impulse eBay purchase. Both were useful while they were alive, but I think I'm going to try going solo for a bit and see what happens.

I feel positively Amish about my new-found freedom - untethered from needing to know exactly where I am, exactly what I should be doing, and exactly where The Internet might be lurking. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a new Disney podcast cued up on my iPod.

Cottage Lit 101

Okay, I'm back. You can tell because I have that healthy tan and hobbled posture that result from spending a week at a cottage doing mostly repair work. The dock needed work, a water pump refused to pump, a deck was losing its stain, a lawnmower sounded like a cat was trapped under its blade - you get the picture. It wasn't a particularly relaxing vacation, but it was a change of scenery and did give my lawn some well-needed time to grow itself beyond reasonable mowing limits.

In amongst the foraging through old coffee cans for decent-looking 5" bolts and swatting at a record-sized squadron of mosquitoes, I did manage to get a few books read.

I finally got around to reading The Yiddish Policeman's Union. I say 'finally' because I'd been avoiding the book on the vague pretense that I might not like it. I don't why I felt that way because I did (mostly) like The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

I have to say, I really liked this book. It took a few pages to grok the decidedly-Jewish dialogue style. After that small hurdle, it was a great read. The alternate-history that back-drops this crime mystery is fully imagined. While essential to the story, Chabon does not beat you over the head with clever minutia about his fictional Sitka, Alaska. The book's other strength is in the characters. They, too, are fully imagined and the story left me wanting to see these people again some time - always the mark of a great read for me.

So I guess I'm recommending this one. After all, it did win a Nebula award.



Okay so here's an embarrassing fact: I had never read the entire Watchmen story before last week. It was one of those things I always meant to do and just never did.

What can I say? I loved it - it's a masterpiece! I'm curious to see how it will translate to film in 2009, and I'm avoiding watching the video diaries over on the film's website. How long can I hold out?

Another fact: I lent the book to my 12 year-old JediBoy. I was concerned that some of the content (you know, sex and violence) is beyond his tender years. This was tempered by the assumption that the story might be too complex for his liking. Well, he devoured the thing inside of 2 days. He said he really the book, but - being who he is - he felt compelled to (seriously) point out that Watchmen does contain a lot of gore and sexual content that might be inappropriate for a 12 year-old. That didn't stop him from reading the book, however, and it did allow me to score points by assuring him I felt he was 'ready' for such a book. All in all, a soft-focus, feel-good moment for both of us.

Our final review - Spanish for Dummies. This represents my token effort to prepare for next month's trek through the mountain jungles of Costa Rica. The book - co-developed by the Berlitz people - is surprisingly well-written. However, the structure of the lessons is a little baffling in that I don't get a sense that I'm building my understanding in stages. I guess I just have to trust that someone knows what they're doing and I'll eventually have some kind of Ah-Ha moment.

Alas, I'm only a quarter way through this book and I seriously doubt that (a) I'll finish it before our trip and (b) I'll be anywhere near mastering the Spanish language.

But, dammit, I'm trying to make an effort here.

Gone Fishing

Come 5am Saturday morning I'll be pointing the rusty van towards Orillia to rescue BandGeek from 'band camp'. Assuming she has not gone feral and does not require medical intervention, we'll continue northwards for a week-long sojourn at Dee's family cottage - located in the environs of Parry Sound, Ontario.

This is all to say, I'm going off-grid for a week or so. With my dearth of posts in last few months, this is unlikely to be noticed. But let me leave a little something behind:

We have a neighbour cottager who has been living on the bay year-round. He keeps sane by keeping a blog. And, no, it's not post after post of "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".

The venerable JediBoy has dipped his toe ever-so-slightly into the land of Machinima. It's a first effort, okay? Okay?

Now for the Ick Factor. Verne Troyer - he of Mini-Me fame - made a sex tape. Inevitably, it has been released into the wild. A bit of Googling will find a clip. OMFG. Just....OMFG. But you know you'll peek, won't you?

So long for now.

How Bill Gates Made Me Smile Warmly

While Kerouac had something else in mind, I'm sure, I recently took an odd little road trip of my own that I'll never forget. Nor will I ever remember it exactly as it happened. Really, all I'll ever remember is the lump in my throat, a surprise discovery at 120kmh, and Bill Gates' handiwork.

The Beginning: My oldest spawn - known 'round these parts as BandGeek - was nominated by her school to attend something called a music leadership camp. She was obviously excited (along with proud Mom and Dad) about the opportunity to spend a week away from home - with other teenaged grownups - getting some professional music instruction. On the other hand, she quickly grew tired of the "last summer at band camp..." jokes that seemed so necessary to me. It's true - we are merciless at our house.

And so it was that last weekend found me driving BandGeek, 3 of her school chums, and their assorted backpacks and instruments some 3.5 hours north to OELC. Up the mighty-yet-boring 401 we went, across the bland 407, merging onto the fearsome 400, veering northeast on 11 past Orillia and, eventually, down a single winding lane that stops at Lake Couchiching. The time flew by for me, listening to these 15 and 16 year-olds making their own fun and even including Old Crazylegs. It is a rare occasion that I get to see BandGeek in her natural setting - not my daughter, but her own secret person - and I loved it.

The Middle: We were met at the camp gates by a teacher/counsellor and given our instructions. First was a stop at the registration tent to be checked-in and given cottage assignments. Next was a visit to a small building where the obligatory camp shirts would be dispensed. After that, the boys in my charge would proceed down one path to settle in while I would escort the girls down a separate path to their own cottages. This would leave the kids an hour to explore the grounds before their first 'camp meeting'.

In all of this, something emerged the ether - I was leaving BandGeek on her own. She'd be gone for a week - a long way from home and without parents or any other family nearby, keeping her safe. This was a 'first time'. I marvelled at that thought for a minute, but I didn't let it bother me. She's a good kid, an independent kid, and she'd be okay.

Ssoon she hugged me good-bye and whispered, "I'm going to miss you, Dad". Then the lump - out of nowhere - was hard in my throat crowding my tongue. I choked it down. I told her I'd see her in a week and assured her (and me) that it would be fun. A moment later, she was off with her friend to explore.

The End: I walked along the shore of Couchiching back to the van, with nothing left to do but go back the way I came. I had no more purpose now, other than to call home and let them know I was coming. A few klicks down highway 400 with the van cruising at a comfortable 120kmh, I slid a newly-burned Peter Gabriel disc I'd ripped from one of my old cassette tapes. The first notes of In Your Eyes played, and there it was - a sound out of step. It was a 'wrong' sound, but a familiar trill that I couldn't quite place even though I knew it shouldn't be there.

Gabriel rasped through the chorus and then the sound was there again. A trill, followed by another trill, and soon several more. Then it was clear to me. It was the 'MSN sound'. It was that little warbly trilly sound when someone you're chatting with on MSN says something while you're chatting with someone else. It was BandGeek. I remembered she was using my PC to chat with friends while the PC was also recording the Peter Gabriel cassette. I'd messed up the process and somehow recorded all the sounds on the PC - not just the cassette. While I was reasoning this out, there was an explosion of trills. BandGeek must have in fine form that night - jungle drums and party lines for the Internet Age. I laughed out loud.

I suddenly felt better, less anxious. BandGeek was there with me when I least expected it and sorely needed it. I resolved to bug her a little less about wasting hours on MSN. And I resolved to hug her tight when 6 days would bring me back to Couchiching.

'V' is for.....Ventilation?

I hate buying clothes. Strike that. I hate having to buy clothes - going out deliberately to shop for an article of clothing. With the possible exceptions of underwear and jeans, wandering around stores looking for something to wear generally feels like a criminal waste of time that invariably ends with bad feelings all round. I chalk it up to the fact I spent my formative years (far) East of Adelaide where genuine Levi's were for fancy boys with real money.

So, of course, I was shopping for clothes last weekend. In a little less than 2 months we'll be traipsing through a Central American rainforest and, according to Dee, I'm woefully under-clothed for the expedition. I've seen National Geographic and I know the lack of modesty shown by the locals down there, but Dee has seen too many Tilley Endurables adverts to let me off the hook.

Out I went - and I think I did pretty good, too. I got myself a lovely pair of overpriced NASA-designed jungle pants that can turn into shorts. They're made of space-age materials that block the Sun's evil rays and, apparently, never get wet. One of the dozen or so tags on the pants uses the phrases 'wicking action' and 'extreme punishment' quite a bit, so I'm pretty stoked to see the kinds of adventures I'll be having when I wear these pants. I'm thinking: Kathleen Turner (the '80's version) and golden idols or something.

I also picked up a couple of shirts put together by the same Nobel-winning scientists. They're even separate colours - pretty unusual by guy standards. But here's my beef: I can't find V-neck t-shirts anywhere. I like V-necks. They ventilate well, they don't feel constrictive, and they afford an oppotunity to display a bit of chest hair when the need arises. But these space-age polymer shirts are, like, crew-neck or something. When I wear them I spend all my time pulling the front of the neck opening like some kind of lame Rodney Dangerfield impersonator.

Perhaps they'll keep jungle spiders from falling down my neck. Oh, the sacrifices I make for eco-tourism...

Something For Everyone As World's Collide

I don't know what to make of this actual headline:

Daughter of George Lucas in Auckland fight

Somewhere, I imagine, the gods are laughing at us.

Because You're Never Alone

My Innertube friend, Kid Dork, had a Very Bad Day recently - so this post is for him. The rest of you can chat amongst yourselves for a bit. This will only take a minute.

KD, you obviously had a karmic meltdown on Monday. So here's your silver lining: you made me feel much better about my own Monday. You see, I spent Monday in jury duty. Just a whole day of sitting around, really. Normally, I'd appreciate a day away from the Evil Megacorp who pay me to implement their evil designs. But this was actually a day off that was inconvenient because I have a billion deadlines that would drive me to work a bit in the evening.

Not cool.

To make matters worse, the courthouse air conditioning was busted. Even the fans we're offline, so there was absolutely no movement of air - save the occasional fanning of legal pads from listless legal types. The high points: lots of free ice water and I was not selected for a trial jury on this, my second trip to jury duty.

Still - there was no spilling of Tim's liquid energy and no one rammed my ancient minivan. So thanks, KD. You've given me perspective.

And for that, here's a little pick-me-up I'd been saving for a special occasion. I hope you don't already have one. Enjoy!

I Am In Freakin' Awe

There are Star Wars fans and then there is Michael Kaminski. Out of pure love for fandom, he's written The Secret History of Star Wars. It's free, it's 500+ pages, and it's pretty damn good stuff. I wish had that kind of motivation, but here I sit working up the energy to wash the dishes.

Super Happy Fun Seizures

In a recent post, Mr. Dork opined on the joys of perusing magazine racks. I'd normally supply a link, but I'm lazy and Mr. Dork has too many posts to sort through in order to find something so specific - although he's certainly not on the same level of blogpost-proliferation as a certain Mr. Goodness. The latter is a subject on which Mr. Dork has also seen fit to make comment and I'm sure that if anyone Out There is interested they could just point-and-click their way through his blog on that count, too.

So, magazines! They're fun to find and the next best thing to finding them is having them find you. And so it is that 4 times a year my cherished Make magazine finds me - or, rather, my mailbox. I've probably blogged this subject, too, so you have free rein here to look it up.

Anyways, a few issues back Make included plans to construct a device called The Brain Machine. This gizmo is based on the premise that targeted frequencies of light pulses and sound can produce altered states of consciousness. The science (or lack of it) contends that the brain's alpha, beta, delta, and theta wave-states are consistent with varying levels of relaxation and concentration. While an EEG can certainly measure these brain responses, the Brainwave movement contends that these states can be induced through light and sound.

So it was that JediBoy asked if we could take on this project. It only sucked up a few hours of our time to build and probably set us back a mere $35 in parts. Jediboy got to learn a bit about soldering little pieces of wire to a circuit board and manipulating software on a chip. The results (seen above) have a certain geekiness that just screams for some background Theramin music.

The software that runs our Brain Machine is more-or-less a script that generates blink rates for the LEDs in the eye lenses and binaural sound frequencies through the headphones. All this blinking and humming is generated at different rates for varying durations to take a Guinea Pig through different stages of relaxation and concentration. Out-of-the-box, the software runs through a 14-minute cycle of brain-scrambling, but this is all customizable to whatever effect you might want.

The real questions on your minds are, "Did you make contact with a higher consciousness? Was L. Ron Hubbard right all along?". Alas, the effect of the Brain Machine is quite unexpected and not entirely clear altered-consciousness-wise. Something does happen, but I'm not sure what it means.

Consider the effect on your vision when you close your eyes and then rub them vigorously with the balls of your hands. For many people, this produces vivid black-and-white geometric patterns. Imagine this in Technicolor with 3D effects and a strong sensation of motion (the good kind, not the bed-spin kind). The Brain Machine is kind of like that. And when the script changes from one brain wave state to another, your sensory experience changes immediately, with new colours, new motion, and new patterns.

It's a fun experience, and we may experiment some more with the software and see what other effects we can produce. But I can't say that the experience leaves me with even the most fleeting ability to operate on a Vulcan's brain. But I'll keep trying. I assume I'll recognize Xenu when I see him.

Lock Up Your Mice

After last year's trama with poor Maple, I'm pleased to introduce you all to the latest four-legged resident at Casa Crazylegs. At nearly 14 weeks of age and weighing in at an astonishing 2.2 pounds, meet Mika.

She's a true Siberian cat - with Mom and Dad both hailing from the former Soviet Union. Like Maple before her, Mika has proven herself to be hypoallergenic as far as Dee is concerned. And as expected, Mika has made herself quite at home and we have all been dutifully trained to provide laps to sleep upon and bits of string to leap upon - all for the asking. We couldn't be happier.

Rocketeering Redux

Last Autumn we shot for the Moon and ever-so-slightly missed the target. Truthfully, we didn't so much miss the target as come up short - by about 1.2 billion feet less the 30 feet our rocket managed to travel.

It was all great fun, but there was effort in constructing the launcher mechanism and the rocket, itself. We've got too much skin in the game to walk away so we're taking things to the next level this Summer - faster, stronger, more dangerous. We have 2 simple goals:

1. Fly higher. A lot higher.

2. Get rocket-eye-view photographic evidence.

Let's start with number 1. In thinking about how we could fly higher, we turned the question around and wondered, "Why didn't we fly higher last year?". The answer was clear - pressure. We couldn't supply enough air pressure inside the rocket to give us maximum lift. The fact is, a 2L soda bottle - which acts as the 'engine' for the rocket - is capable of withstanding internal pressure upwards of 150psi. This limit, however, is more of a design goal for manufacturers of these bottles and can be dangerous for rocketeering.

Here's the physics: A liquid-filled 2L bottle that exceeds its pressure limit will rupture - but not explode. Since there is minimal air in the bottle, there is no scenario whereby high-pressure air is looking for low-pressure air and creating an explosion in the process. In the world of water rockets, the bottle is about 2/3 full of air. Exceeding the pressure limit here can be A Very Bad Thing in that you'll be rebuilding your rocket, maybe rebuilding your launcher, and maybe picking shards of rocket-stuff out of your belly. There are better ways to die, I think.

After some Googling, we've determined that 100psi is a good target to help us increase our rocket altitude. It is possible to throw a rocket 300 feet in the air at this pressure. In our flights to-date, we have been using a bicycle pump to pressurize the rocket and managed to squeak out a measly 30-40psi. A bicycle pump is just not powerful enough to achieve our 100psi target. In the heady world of high-pressure water rockets, some manner of powered air compression is de rigeur. I decided we needed something small enough to be carried into a field and powerful enough to manage launches at 100psi. In short, we needed some manner of portable battery-powered air compressor.

And here's a fun fact: Under the right conditions, a water rocket launching at 100psi or better creates enough launch thrust to (theoretically) break your finger.

Kismet shined us last week in the corporeal form of the Canadian Tire flyer. The Airman Inflation Station - a portable, rechargable, handheld air compressor - was on sale at half-price. We picked one up and charged it up overnight - with this past Monday evening slated for backyard pressure testing. Jediboy acted as ground crew and set up the launcher and rocket as if we were going fly. We uncoiled the 20 feet of tubing from the launcher and took our rather inadequate cover behind a cedar tree. The Airman, screwed onto the air valve at the end of the launcher tubing, hummed to life in our hands.

The gauge's needle swept smoothly across 20, 30, then 40psi. The pace slowed down at 50 and it was a full minute to get to 80psi. Things seemed to stall out and I feared that maybe the Airman wasn't up to the task. But the needle crept higher still. Over a grand total of perhaps 4 minutes, the gauge was showing 100psi while the rocket remained intact - if not turgid - on the launcher. The only sign of stress was 2 small drops of water tracing a path from the O-ring that seals the rocket 'engine' on the launcher. Success!

While the temptation to pull the launch cord was almost overwhelming, we knew it would not be smart to launch our reborn rocket from our backyard. So, our next step will be to move everything over to our neighbourhood school's field for a real test. We're waiting for good weather - dry, little wind - for this next step. So many other things can go wrong with launching a water rocket: launcher collapses, rocket veers off verticle, parachute fails to deploy. And all of these risks get magnified as rocket thrust increases.

We can't wait.

Euro Day 14: It's Terminal

Saturday, July 21, 2007. The end is nigh. Like drunken revelers waking up on the morning-after-the-night-before, we dragged ourselves from our beds to watch Paris awake just one more time. The thought of going back to the Real World seemed a bit sad and boring. But at 11:40am that morning, we would be buckled into Air Canada flight AC881 to take us from Charles de Gaulle airport back to CanadaLand.


Since we had booked our extra night at the Hilton through the good folks at Adventures by Disney, they would also be supplying us with a lift to the airport. Alex had given us the rundown during the previous evening: be in the Lobby by 8:30am and she would connect us with the driver that ABD had contracted. No fuss, no muss.


The morning went smoothly with packing, breakfast, and checkout proceeding sans problem. At the appointed time we were in the appointed place looking resolute and stoic for the trip ahead. By 8:45am I was getting antsy at the clear absence of a driver. While I always appreciate punctuality, my bigger fear was that we were in store for a repeat of the ABD misfire at Heathrow a week earlier. Just when I could feel the butterflies in my stomach starting to sprout claws, fangs, and a taste for flesh - our driver pulled smoothly into the Hilton loading lane. Relief!


With utmost courtesy and efficiency, the driver stowed our bags and invited us to our seats. We quickly said our final goodbyes to Alex and the Parisian minivan joined the morning traffic. Our driver made a point of double-checking that we were, indeed, heading out on Air Canada. I silently smiled in relief knowing that we were in good hands.


It did not seem to take much longer than 20 minutes and we were there - Charles de Gaulle airport (CDG). The driver deftly pointed the minivan through the inevitable airport construction sites and motioned towards the terminal entrance. Our bags retrieved, we gave our thanks and beelined it to the doors. Our standing goal at any airport is to rid ourselves of our bags right away, and then camp out in a restaurant or at the boarding gate for awhile. Never rush, never stress, never be late.


Inside Terminal 1 at CDG it looked like any other large airport terminal. As Veteran Travelers, we naturally sought out a directory so that we could find the Air Canada check-in area. No directory could be found and, instead, we had to rely on a Friendly Face at a nearby 'information desk'.


Air Canada, it seems, is located at Terminal 2 - not Terminal 1. The ABD driver had screwed up.


The killer butterflies made a return fly-by of my internal organs as the Friendly Face explained how and where we could catch a shuttle to Terminal 2A. Like a row of ducks, the four of us pulled our suitcases back through the terminal out to the shuttle stop. The shuttle stop was not quite what we expected. Rather than a signposted area where people waited in orderly fashion for well-marked transportation, the CDG shuttle stop was simply a stretch of construction-ravaged pavement covered by giant amoeba cleverly disguised as 200 anxious travelers all trying to get away from Terminal 1.


Once in awhile a bus would appear in a magic cloud of construction dust, and the crowd would lurch forward to (1) quiz the driver on where he was going and (2) push their way onto the bus if there was a hint the bus was going somewhere useful. We Four exchanged glances that said "How are we going to survive this?". Into the crowd I pushed - using my shoulder-slung carry-on as a plow whilst my family followed in the human wake behind me.


We made it to the leading edge of the amoeba. Now we could only wait and play the game. One bus came within 5 minutes and it did not take long before the news rippled through the crowd that this one was headed to Terminal 3 - no good for us. Through the din I was able to pick out the odd bit of English and was able to surmise that those voices intended to go to CanadaLand, too. While I'm always the most patriotic of souls, this time I could not afford to be Canada-nice. These voices were competition. I resolved to help them if I could, but not at the expense of my family. The bus was to be Sanctuary. Our Sanctuary.


10 minutes passed and I was caught looking the other way as the murmur of the crowd turned into a roar at the appearance of another dust cloud-shaped bus. Hopeful lemmings with their matching luggage surged towards the front of the bus. I could only imagine the moral decisions the bus driver was making at the moment, but I was positive he was considering plowing through crowd just to hear the satisfying snap of bones and silencing of shrill voices.


All of this provided an opening for We Four. The crowd, intent on speaking to the driver, had all but ignored the rear door. And that's where we were standing at that very moment! Burdened with the thoughts of never, ever seeing Terminal 2, I hoisted myself and my luggage onto the bus and hoped beyond hope that it was headed to Terminal 2. I interrogated the passengers as I deftly pulled my family up the stairs and into the small patch of land I staked out on board. Luck smiled on us. We were going to Terminal 2.


As the doors were shutting, a hand appeared from outside and grabbed the door. My first thought was that my fellow Canucks were expending their last, best chance to get on board. But, no - it was a different family and the father (attached to the hand in the door) was yelling excitedly in some Oriental language to his family, or maybe to the driver, or maybe to us. Before I could think about my actions, I pulled him inside. There was still enough room in the rear door stairwell for 3 - maybe 4 - more bodies. He, in turn, pulled his family in behind him - not 2 or 3 or even 4 passengers. By my count, this was a family of 7 who had improbably found a way to balance themselves and their luggage on 2 steps in an overloaded bus with a very bouncy suspension.


Any flaws in the bus's handling or the driver's ability were more than made up by the fact no one on the bus could move. Quite simply, we were relying on a totally organic suspension system made up of human beings fueled by airport sweat and fear. 7 minutes later, the doors opened at Terminal 2A. We ungracefully exited the bus, suitcases navigating the steps and curb at crazy, dangerous angles. We smelled the air like we'd never smelled the air before. Here was freedom and Air Canada.


From that point on, the trip was like any other airport experience. CDG is badly laid out and expensive and under construction. After checking in and then getting something to eat, we encamped at the boarding gate to await the inevitable Air Canada scheduling disappointment. True to form, our flight was delayed and no one at the Air Canada gate could tell us why or when we would be leaving. It felt like home again and reminded us why we usually avoid Air Canada whenever we can.


90 minutes later than planned, we took off - across water, across time. At Toronto Pearson airport we still had 30 minutes to catch our connecting flight back to London, Ontario. The functionaries at Air Canada, however, would not permit us to board our connection since 30 minutes was not enough time to transfer luggage, etc. We were given a new flight and found ourselves en route to our final destination (another) 90 minutes later than we had planned.



From there, into the minivan that Dee's sister was kind enough to drive out to the airport for our arrival. And then, the familiar ride through the streets of London - and home.


Epilogue:


For those who've braved narcolepsy and read all previous 21-ish posts on the topic of Euro Tour 2007, my thanks to you! They are as much a testament to the Ego Of Blogging as they are a reflection of the fun I had in writing them.


Many of the regular visitors here in the last few months have come from the family of Disney enthusiasts over at http://www.disboards.com/ - all with a special interest in Adventures by Disney. I hope I've given you a taste of what you're looking for and have answered some of your questions. Nevertheless, I'm always happy to answer more questions - here or over there. My final word - we loved what ABD had to offer on this tour! Notwithstanding the screw-ups with the airport transfers that bookended our week, we found the tour pretty darn amazing and worth every penny we spent. And, in fact, we plan to partake of the ABD Costa Rica tour (Path to Pura Vida) in August of 2008!


And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Euro Day 13: Be Our Guest!

Warning: I haven't had any time to get a video together for this post. On the rather ego-driven assumption that people like grainy home movies showing other people doing interesting things (or what's a Youtube for?), I'll have an update to this post within a day or two. In the meantime, you may proceed....

Update: Okay, there's video goodness below. Just scroll to the end. And don't say I didn't warn you.

Friday, July 20, 2007 - our last full day in France. It was inevitable that there would be a sense of melancholy at the end of our Adventure by Disney. We planned for this by adding an extra day to our itinerary (ABD offers an extra night accommodations before or after the tour). Disneyland Paris - or DLP for those hip to the lingo - would be the salve to ease our pains. We had originally planned to add a few extra days to our vacation and stay at DLP. In fact, many of The Gang did just that. DLP sticker-shock (and some iffy logistics) ratcheted those plans down to a day-trip to DLP. For those Intrepid Readers who've emptied their wallets at the venerable DisneyWorld - understand that DLP is in a whole different universe of 'spending'. Europe is expensive. DLP can be breathtakingly expensive.

The day started with another Hilton breakfast buffet, and a chance to say some more goodbyes. Faces that were strange just a week before were now familiar, and we were sad to see the last of them. Our plan: be at DLP somewhere near 10am when the gates open and the rope drops. Since we only had one day, we'd make the most of it with a blitzkrieg of the park highlights. DLP has many attractions that can be found at our old friend DisneyWorld, we reasoned, so we'd generally avoid those in favour of 'the new'.

DLP is easy to get to from Paris - about a 40 minute trip on the RER. We walked to the CDG Etoile metro station by the Arc. Return tickets were purchased easily and soon we were on the RER A line bound for DLP's very own station: Marne-la-Vallee-Chessy.

This merits a cautionary tale. At most Paris subway platforms you'll notice video screens hanging from the ceiling. Don't ignore these! While you might be catching the RER A train - for example - the train might not be stopping at every station on the route ahead. As each train arrives, check the video screen (your train with be obvious) and make sure it will be stopping where you want to go. We almost learned this Douglas Adams-inspired lesson the hard way.

The subway ride was uneventful and sparsely populated, and 35 minutes later we emerged from the subway car straight into DLP. It was just after 10am and the crowds were largely non-existent. It was comforting to know that our tried-and-true DisneyWorld tactic of arriving early seemed to apply half a world away at DLP.

DLP is actually 2 parks: Disneyland Park and Walt Disney Studios Park. We opted to hit Disneyland first and ride as many rides as possible before any lines materialized. Our luck continue to hold as the only barrier to riding the rides was our rumbling stomachs. By Noon we had done everything in our Disneyland plan. Before foraging for lunch, we made a point of re-visiting Pirates of the Caribbean to make dinner reservations at Blue Lagoon (more on this later).
Our lunch was found at a reasonable recreation of Toy Story's Pizza Planet. While the rather vast space was largely devoid of other organic lifeforms, the counter-service food was actually very good. This served to further deepen the mystery of how take-out food in France was so superior to the vacuum-molded styrofoam we take for granted in North America. As we exited the dimly-lit pizza joint, we noticed that - well - nothing had changed. The crowds still had not materialized. Not even a little bit. Perhaps Europeans sleep late, drink espresso at cafes, and only then saunter through the DLP gates with a faux-grimace for the bourgeois entertainment that lies ahead. Or maybe no one ever comes.

Next up was Disney Studios - a smaller, leaner avatar of the DisneyWorld version who's name escapes me since it's always changing. Yeah, that one. It turned out that the Studios park has some of the same rides and shows as its big brother. But, like Disneyland, it has a few unique wrinkles of its own such as Crush's Coaster. There were 2 rides under construction - Tower of Terror and a Cars-inspired ride (I think these are both up-and-running now). In all, there wasn't much to see and do for us, and we had pretty much 'done' the park by 6pm.

The ungodly expensive and beautiful Disneyland Hotel
has a private entrance to Disneyland Park just for its guests
(and special VIP Fastpasses for all the rides).

We hightailed back over to Disneyland for our 7pm reservation at Blue Lagoon. This restaurant had been touted as a 'must do' on a few websites, and that was our only reason for trying the place. Blue Lagoon it actually part of the Pirates of the Caribbean (POTC) ride experience - a feature not found in the Florida or Anaheim versions of the ride. It overlooks a part of the ride such that patrons can watch boats float by their tables. Ultimately, it's about living inside the POTC experience, just for awhile. Since this is one of my favourite rides (I love the immersiveness of the it all), Blue Lagoon sounded fun. Sadly, the Internet naysayers were right. While the ambiance was way-cool, the service was so-so, the menu was sub-par, and the prices were too high. One more pea under my mattress: I have a strong suspicion that guests who stay on-site at DLP get preferential seating (and service) at Blue Lagoon. All things considered, avoid this place.

Entrance to Main Street USA - European style.

With our disappointing dinner behind us, we hit up some more rides. We had intended to head back into Paris by 9:30pm, but it wasn't happening. The crowds were thin and we partook of more rides than we had planned. We even ran into one of our Adventure friends (David from Philly), which meant we had to visit for a while and further press our luck time-wise. With a few souvenirs left to purchase, we made a quick trip into the Disney Village shopping area. BandGeek found her coveted French Mickey Mouse (think: beret) - and we all said a little prayer of thanks under our breaths.

The Castle (with a real dragon in the
dungeon that you can visit!)

From there, it was back on the RER and back into Paris with 2 sleepy kids in tow. Once at the hotel, we ever-so-sadly did the bulk of our suitcase packing. The pixie dust cloud that had surrounded us for the past few weeks seemed to thin and I swore that I could almost see the real world through the haze. Tomorrow, we were going home.

Main Street at dusk.

And now - mini-review time!

Disneyland Park: Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. Very compact. Many of the rides are familar to Disney geeks, but they have their own personalities.

Disney Studios: Not very much to offer (some expansions under construction). Really feels like a sad imitation of DisneyWorld. Needs time and more attractions.

Awesome Rides: Thunder Mountain - pretty much like the original, Crush Coaster - be a turtle in the swirly ocean currents, Space Mountain: Mission 2 - it has a freakin' loop, Rockin' Roller Coaster - always a good time.

So-So Rides: Indiana Jones - just a coaster, Star Tours - like the original

Sucked Mightly Rides: Pirates of the Caribbean - felt contrived somehow, Phantom Manor - pale imitation, Pinocchio - didn't get the point.

Crowds: Disneyland was pretty devoid of crowds - and my theory is that the preponderance of rides for smaller tykes seems to keep the lines shorter for the big-kid rides. Disney Studios had longer lines for sure, and on Crush's Coaster we actually waited almost an hour in line (well worth it, I might add). On the whole, nothing like DisneyWorld in July.

Euro Day 12: High Society

It's Thursday, July 19, 2007 - so it must be time for a trip to Versailles! As we boarded the shuttle bus at 9am, we were warned that the 18km trip to this fabled chateau could last up to 45 minutes due to Paris' notoriously heavy morning traffic. As luck would have it, most Parisians must have slept late and we were able to reach our destination in a blistering 20 minutes.

Upon arrival in the chi-chi town of Versailles, Sylvie and Alec narrated as the coach did a quick spin by some local sites. The main theme: Versailles is a fairly wealthy and exclusive place to reside, and still bears the echoes of France's great aristocratic families. We soon departed the coach and spent a little while strolling through the (seemingly deserted) town center - pausing for awhile at Louis XIV's Notre-Dame 'cathedra'. My impression was that the town is picturesque enough, but lacks anything particularly distinctive. I was to be proven wrong, of course.

Sylvie led The Gang on the short stroll to Chateau Versailles. As we entered through its ornate main gate, my jaw nearly hit the ground. The entrance square is a massive field of something akin to cobblestone and guarded on 3 sides by the Chateau, itself. The right words are elusive, but panoramic and awe-inspiring probably come close. If King Louis was looking for a way to impress his visitors (and he was), then he had succeeded in spades.

Mere mortals line up in the square, hoping
to get inside the Chateau someday soon

We had a few minutes to kill as The Gang waited to enter the Chateau at the reserved time. I - along with Dee and JediBoy - strolled through through a nearby archway and suddenly found ourselves in the 'backyard' - the entrance to Versailles famed gardens. While we could see the canals and manicured greenery, we could not fully comprehend the massive scale of the gardens from this vantage. All we knew was that the garden's precise geometry extended into the horizon and into forever.

First glimpse of the gardens

We hurried back to The Gang and found ourselves in tour-mode (after yet another half-hearted security check) inside the Chateau's State Apartments. With Alec as our guide and professor, we saw the Throne Room, various salons named for Roman gods, and - of course - the newly-restored Hall of Mirrors. It's interesting to note that the Hall of Mirrors - much like the Chateau's grand entrance - was designed by Louis to impress and intimidate his visitors. With the entrance at one end of the Hall, and the King seated at the other end, visitors would have to traverse a long corridor full of (then-expensive) mirrors and windows all designed to reflect candlelight and sunlight. Louis was, indeed, the Sun King.

Marie Antoinette slept here

It's also interesting to note that the extreme ornateness and opulence of the Apartments soon became rather ordinary. Perhaps it was sensory overload, or perhaps I was channeling my Inner Aristocrat. But it was a wonder that anyone ever lived here. Sadly, many of the Chateau's furnishings - the things that people leave behind to say they stopped somewhere for awhile - have long been dispersed by descendants of the Revolution.

It was nearing lunch by this time, and we would be sitting down to our dejeuner at a small restaurant named La Flottille, a jewel hidden in the Chateau's gardens. We hopped aboard a tram for a bumpy tour of the gardens on our way to lunch. It was here that the scale of the gardens started to become apparent. We spied many lane-ways, paths, outbuildings, and fountains - all surrounded by geometrically manicured greenery. I marveled that so many large trees could be kept to such precise shapes and I imagined the Dr. Seuss-inspired devices employed for this purpose.

At La Flottille we sat outdoors at long tables under a large awning. In true French style, the meal was elegant, enjoyable, and lasted 2 hours. Lunch was also quite filling. A bike ride would be just the thing to burn off those French calories. And that's just what some of us did!

I should point out that a Very Large Pond, known as the Grand Canal, is the focal-point of the gardens - and it is around one end of this pond where various amenities such as La Flotille, bike rentals, boat rentals, and snack kiosks are located. All of these amenities exist not just for tourists - for the Chateau is also maintained as a public park for the local residents. As a result, we saw people with picnics, people rowing across the pond in little wooden boats, and people just generally enjoying the gardens.

Looking back to the Chateau

And so, Dee, JediBoy, BandGeek, and myself were fitted with bikes and set off on a 1-hour tour of the garden's byways. We opted to follow the tree-lined lane that skirts the pond and its various canals that, together, form a sort of large cross. The scale of the place became apparent again. One bike-lap around the pond is approximately 7km and requires about 30 minutes of peddling! We were able to complete 2 full laps before returning our bikes.



This marked the end of our Versailles experience and, before long, the coach collected The Gang and brought us all back to our hotel. At this point we had a couple of hours to kill before a planned farewell dinner that would mark the official end of the Disney tour. We made the most of this break: JediBoy and I dozed in front of a TV while the ladies made one last, desperate shopping run down the Champs Elysees.

Dinner would also be served along the Champs Elysees at an elegant restaurant known as Laduree - famous for its delicious macaroons. We were given a private dining room upstairs furnished in French antiques. Essentially, the establishment seemed like a toned-down version of Chateau Versailles. I won't spoil too many surprises for those Gentle Readers who are intending to experience this tour on their own. That said, there were gifts to be had and a remarkable video presentation of our tour highlights - obviously the fruits of the Double-A's constant camera-clicking throughout the week. We were even serenaded by a beret-clad musician, who was only too glad to give accordion lessons to JediBoy.

Our entertainment

As an extra-special surprise, Alex and Andrew presented Dee and myself with a very thoughtful anniversary card and pin. It seems that 2 kids we know intimated to our hosts that Dee and I were celebrating such an occasion the following day. It was just kind of Disney touch we've come to expect over the years.

After a fabulously decedent meal, a coach was waiting out front to bring us the few blocks back to our hotel. Many of us lingered on the street in front of the Hilton saying our goodbyes. We made a point of saying so long to a mother/daughter couple with whom we shared a number of mealtime tables. We also bid our fond farewells to the Double-A's, who had worked so hard to make the tour so memorable. There were others I wanted to seek out, but JediBoy was asleep on his feet by this point and I elected to finish my goodbyes at breakfast the next morning.

While this was the formal end of the Disney tour, we four had one more day of fun between this evening and the long plane ride home. Tomorrow: Disneyland Paris!

Euro Day 11: Parisian Palette

Set the way-back machine for Wednesday, July 18, 2007. With only a few days left in Europe, there is still much to do! As we planned out the day's activity over another Hilton breakfast, we four came to realize that this might be the most jam-packed day yet. While our morning would be Disneyesque, our afternoon and evening would be our own - and looking at our hoped-for itinerary, we were being pretty ambitious.

By 9am we had met up with Sylvie and our new (additional) guide Alec in the Hilton lobby, where we were to begin a lovely stroll to the Louvre. That suited us just fine as the weather was warm and sunny - perfect for walking. The Gang set off into the Parisian sunshine and we soon passed through the 'fashion neighbourhood', which is anchored by familiar names such as Hermes and Chanel. I thought the store window-displays seemed interesting enough, but a bit frou-frou for the likes of this fashion hound. Nowhere did I see any signs of denim or sweatshirt material. Go figure. I could see the wheels spinning in the minds of Dee and BandGeek, however. Our bank account stifled a little scream, and I was silently thankful we had no time for stopping right now.

Further along our route was the Presidential residency, Elysee Palace. I was struck at how the Palace just seems to be right there on the street. Perhaps it's just my North American sensibilities that expects lots of real estate between Them and Us. I was further struck at the security arrangements there. Because the Palace's entrance is off a very public street, there were a number of Surete directing traffic, and any driver who fancied slowing down for a little rubbernecking was met by wild arm gyrations and many loud bursts from an official Surete whistle! Stiff medicine, indeed. In addition to the local police, there were a number of military types hanging around in small groups - either on foot or sitting in vans. The folks were very low key, almost to the point of napping, it seemed. I swear I saw some of them playing cards! As The Gang - 34-ish strong - strolled through this tableau, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to all of these security arrangements. Perhaps the President was elsewhere and security was slacking off. Or perhaps this is just the way things work in France. Since the President was still alive, I supposed this was effective somehow.

We soon found ourselves at Place de la Concorde, once the site of many a grisly death by guillotine during the Revolution. Today, the obelisk in the center of the Place (a gift from Egypt) anchors the west end of Tuileries Gardens - while the Louvre backdrops the eastern end. We strolled the broad walkway through the Gardens, admiring the lush trees and posing for pictures by various fountains. We approached the Louvre end of the Gardens, which is a sort of miniature version of the Arc de Triomphe called Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. This spot was perfect for many family photos - the Louvre wrapping itself around us, its dramatic (and controversial) glass pyramid, the Arc, and the Place de la Concorde's obelisk still visible in the distance. Here was beauty - old and new - and history upon history, all writ on stone, glass, and metal.

View towards the Louvre

Once inside the Louvre (under the pyramid!) we were divided into groups for the 2-hour tour. The kids would have their own tour with The Double-A's while the adults were divided between Sylvie and Alec. Dee and I fell in with Alec, although I secretly envied the kids. Their tour would hit the same highlights, but would have more a scavenger-hunt-meets-DaVinci Code flavour.

Alec handed out small headsets to everyone and we were instructed in their use. Alec would be using a microphone tuned into our headset frequency - and this would let him narrate us through the Louvre while dealing with noisy crowds. Brilliant! Alec was obviously a seasoned guide since he seemed to know just how to navigate the crowds, always get a front-row seat, and never feel rushed.

While we had only a few short hours in the Louvre, we seemed to hit many highlights: Venus de Milo, Winged Victory, ancient Greek statuary, painting upon painting and, of course, the Mona Lisa. The temperature variations between sections of the museum were very noticeable. Rooms containing statuary were generally quite warm, while other rooms were very cool - all to keep these treasures healthy. All through the tour, Alec regaled us with his lessons on art and history. The time flew by and I was disappointed to realize that it was 12:30pm and time to re-group with The Gang.

The kids really enjoyed their time in the Louvre, too. Their highlight: being able to see the Mona Lisa up close and personal. This famous bit of paint on a wooden plank is displayed inside a case that controls heat, light, and humidity. There is a corral of sorts, marked off with velvet ropes, that lets people get no closer than about 7 feet from the painting. The corral was constantly jam-packed with touristy types - their cameras ready - all shoving their way to the front. The kids, however, were allowed by Louvre staff to ignore the velvet ropes and simply walk right up to the display case and inspect that Mona Lisa smile from mere inches away. And you know, she really does have a lovely smile.

Kids-eye view of Mona's smile



Venus de Milo - up close

Now, it was free-time - no more Disney-driven activities for the rest of the day. The four of us decided on a quick lunch at the Louvre to fuel us for the rest of our ambitious day. I should make a point of mentioning the food court at the Louvre. In a word - outstanding! Oh that food courts in North America served such fresh, delicious Italian and French food with (horrors!) the choice of wine and beer for a civilized repast. Within a half-hour or so, we were stuffed and ready for mega-walking around Paris.

Stop number one was the Opera Garnier. This historical theater, the setting for Phantom of the Opera, is decorated in a style that seems lavishly over-the-top even by French standards. Visiting the Opera was my idea, and I'm glad to have seen it. It's just a magnificent, dramatic building inside and out - with its marble friezes, gold leaf everything, and soaring spaces. We wandered its corridors and spied its treasures for a solid 30 minutes, and then it was the ladies' turn to lead the march.

The Opera's stage



Opera Garnier lobby area

Shopping! Close to the Opera is the massive Printemps department store, which actually spans 4 buildings around a Paris intersection. BandGeek wanted a new purse - which she found at a bargain price of 10 Euros - while Dee was content to purchase genuine Parisian silk stockings at a somewhat higher price than the purse. JediBoy and I just affected our signature 'department store shuffle' - making sure we kept the ladies in sight at all times.

With shopping done it was back towards Place de la Concorde, across the Seine, and over to Hotel des Invalides. The Invalides is actually a complex of buildings that have fulfilled various military purposes over the last 300 years or so - including an army hospital. Our main purpose was to visit Napoleon's tomb. By this time, however, we had walked far - very far. The hot sun and tired feet were taking their toll, and the Invalides was going to be a heart-breaker. The massive size of the place gave a false sense of how far one must walk to actually reach it from the street. Walking the uneven cobblestone laneway - which is guarded by trees and shrubs forced into precise geometric shapes - seemed to take an eternity.

Once we reached the archway that marks the entrance to the complex, we made a beeline for the nearby cafeteria for beverages and rest. Afterwards, I found my way to the information desk and used my very rusty French to purchase tickets. As has been my experience in France and my boyhood home of Montreal, any attempt to speak French will usually find receptive ears. Any attempt to speak English slowly, loudly, and with hand gestures will usually result in trouble. Alas, the poor fellow beside me at the ticket counter did not possess such secrets, and I left him vainly trying to explain that he was a Customer dammit and he needed someone to speak English!

We headed straight for Napoleon's Tomb, which is located in the Dome Church. One such as I cannot express the scale and decoration of this final resting place - other than to suggest it befits Napoleon's legendary ego and accomplishments. My first impression upon entering the rotunda was that somehow we had wandered into the Vatican. Entering through the main doors, the first sights are the soaring Dome, the massively ornate alter, and the delicate stonework throughout the well-lit space. Approaching the center of the Dome, a circular stone railing provides a vantage point to the floor below which is home to the Tomb, itself. It is the centerpiece - large, ornate, polished wood - guarded by statuary fulfilling their duties in half-light. On one side of the Dome, we found the stairs down to the bottom floor for a closer look at the Tomb. On the other side of the Dome, display cases containing Napoleon's trademark hat and long-coat. Whether one has any understanding of history or not, I cannot imagine that anyone could leave this place unimpressed and even a little overwhelmed.

Napoleon's famous clothes

The Tomb

After the Dome, we decided to forgo a tour the Invalides military museum (which is assuredly impressive). Instead, we headed back towards our hotel by way of Champs Elysees. This must be one of the most scenic tree-lined boulevards in the world - bookended by the famous Arc and the golden obelisk of Place de la Concorde. Along the way we had planned to find the Disney Store (yes, there is one there and, yes, this is foreshadowing) where we would purchase tickets for Disneyland Paris. Our secondary goal, find ice cream. While the Champs was tres packed with busy shoppers, we managed to complete both tasks and I managed to use some more French.

Back at the hotel by 6:30pm, we discovered how dead on our feet we really were! After walking perhaps 10 miles this day, we found the best antidote was rest and blessed showers. By 8pm, however, BandGeek was looking for some dinner. A mere 10 minutes later, we were back on the Champs Elysees where we found a table in lovely cafe across the street from the Arc. There could not be a more perfect spot for a leisurely dinner on a warm Paris night. We all ate a lot - including lots of wine and decadent desserts. And in true Parisian fashion, dinner lasted close to 2 hours!

It was nearing 10pm and we knew that soon the Arc would soon be closed to visitors who wanted to see the view from the top. There was no line, so we were able to purchase our tickets and make our way up the spiral staircase right away. This proved tiring after our big meal, of course. The view of Paris by night - all lit up - made it worthwhile. The Eiffel Tower was especially beautiful - outlined by lights which would shimmer from time to time.

I don't know how many pictures we took of the scenery below and of each other. None of us wanted to leave this bit of fairyland. The following snippet of video and music captures the experience just right, I think. Maybe you'll feel it, too.



But after 45 minutes we needed to leave since the Arc would be closed by 11pm. Down the stairs we went, down Avenue Hoche, and down Rue Courcelles to our hotel. Sleep would come easy tonight. We would dream of Kings and Queens knowing that, tomorrow, these dreams might come to pass.