Destination: Ninstints - Day 4 - The Return Journey

5/30/17, “The Return Journey”

Queen Charotte, British Columbia

Whenever I take a trip that necessitates me spending multiple days in the same city, especially days with not much planned each day, and I have a nice view from my hotel balcony, I always know that that view is how I will always remember that location.  The view from my hotel in Kingstown is eternally etched into my mind’s eye as the way I will always remember St. Vincent and the Grenadines.  Likewise, this view, from my hotel balcony, is how I will always remember the Queen Charlotte Islands.

My time here has come to an end, and I will be making my way back home in a few hours.  This view, should I live to be 100, is a view I will never forget.  I have enjoyed my team here, and I am very glad to have said, “Western Canada Complete,” and to have seen SGang Gwaay.  It is not a trip I will forget anytime soon, but now I must prepare for The Return Journey.

After I closed last night, I published my entry and finished off the rest of my melted ice cream before passing out.  I woke up to my alarm a little before 8 AM and headed out to breakfast.  After considering the brief menu for far longer than necessary, I decided on the “American-style pancake combo,” which was two pancakes, bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, and broccoli.  Broccoli?  What self-respecting American has broccoli with their pancakes in the morning?  Or even tomatoes?  I asked them to hold the broccoli and tomatoes, and they soon brought the food.  The pancakes did not look like any pancakes I ever saw back home, but it all tasted fine.  After breakfast, I headed back to the hotel and arranged the shuttle to take me to the airport.  I then went out to the balcony, where I lit up a Partagas and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get some souvenirs before I pack and get ready.

Sandspit Airport, British Columbia (YZP)

Before I get into the bulk of my entry, allow me to paint the scene.  I am smoking a cigar, sitting on a bench outside a small airport that services one flight a day to and from the mainland.  In front of me, I see a small parking lot and a few houses.  Beyond that, it is only trees.  Trees as far as the eye can see.  Paired with those trees, not directly visible, are water and mountains.

Besides me is a mug of coffee, not a paper cup, a ceramic mug.  This is all washing down a hot dog and some chips.  The food and coffee was acquired in the following manner.  Inside the airport, there is an unattended cafe with some foodstuffs and a pot of coffee and mugs.  There is a board with prices listed for the hot food items.  The coffee and chips did not have a price listed.  There is a mug with some coins in it.

The board said, “Honour system.”  Where am I?  I asked a fellow traveler how much the coffee was, and, in true rural Canadian fashion, he answered, “Oh, there’s no real price, we just leave a few bucks in the mug.”  Okay, then.  I took a hot dog, chips, and a cup of coffee, put enough money in the mug to pay for everything, and sat down to eat my lunch.

After my lunch, with my mug in hand, I headed to this bench to smoke my cigar, drink my coffee, and write my entry.  My focus of this entry will be on these rural northern towns.  It will be on similar moments to this.  It will be an ode to The North, and, as is my tradition, I will treat The Return Journey in its entirety from my gate at YVR.

When I finish this entry, I hope it will be clear why I am so in love with The North.  I hope it will further be clear why I am so looking forward to Greenland, perhaps more than any place I have ever wanted to visit.  If, by the end of this entry, my reader does not understand why I am certain that Greenland is sure to soon claim uncontended title of “my favorite place in the world,” I have failed as a writer, and I have failed as a traveler.  Reader, when I say, “The North,” what comes to mind?  Snow?  Eskimos?  The Alaska wilderness?  The aurora?  Russians wearing thick coats in Siberia?

To me, other than the aurora, The North means none of those things.  To me, it means a cool summer.  It means days with 20+ hours of daylight and a steady temperature in the 60s.  It means rural communities only accessible by one road if that, else by boat or plane.  It mean small towns with a mix of European-descended nationals, Chinese immigrants, and natives that have lived here for generations, their way of life only marginally affected by modern technology.  It means towns with a half-dozen restaurants, most of them serving Chinese food.  It means breathtaking scenery everywhere you look.  It means a place to escape from it all, where nature and culture has become as one.  There is nothing else like it in the world, especially since I favor the natural scenery of The North to that of anywhere else in the world.

For my money, the single greatest passage of literature comes from Lord of the Rings, between Eomer of the Rohirrim and the Dwarf Gimli.  For generations, the Dwarves and the Elves had been feuding with one another, but circumstance forced Gimli to pass through the Elven domain of Lothlorien with the Fellowship.  He was afraid to set foot in an Elven realm, but he followed his friends.  When he was there, he was so enchanted by Galadriel, the Lady of the Woods, his hostess, that the old feuds were forgotten.  He was enchanted by her beauty, yes, but more so by her kindness, that an Elven queen would treat so kindly a humble Dwarf.

After they left Lothlorien, they soon found themselves in Rohan, where Eomer spoke unfavorably about the Lady of the Woods, and Gimli, not caring that his party was outnumbered ten-to-one by the Rohirrim, was prepared to fight to the death to defend her honor.  Aragorn defused the situation, saying that they needed allies in the war, not enemies, but Gimli demanded the argument resumed after the war and that he would duel Eomer to the death if he was not prepared to admit she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

After the war, all the Free Folk came together, and Galadriel came to Aragorn’s coronation, when he was to be wed to Arwen, who was known as the Evening Star, while Galadriel was identified with the morning.  Eomer and Gilmi, now old friends having fought besides each other, met once more.  Eomer had seen Galadriel, and he reported his findings to Gimli, in a passage that still brings tears to my eyes for the shear brilliance of the language, which I will try to recount as faithfully as I can.

Eomer told Gimli that some words still remained between them about the Lady of the Woods, and Gimli, hesitantly, asked if should fetch his axe.  Eomer begged his patience so that he could explain.  He said that, in any other company, he would have said everything Gimli wished and more about Lady Galadriel, but he could not bring himself to call Lady Galadriel the most beautiful woman in the world having seen her next to Queen Arwen Evenstar.  He then asked if he should have his sword brought for their duel.  In response, Gimli bowed low and said, “Nay, my lord.  Your heart belongs to the evening, but mine belongs to the morning,” in reference to the respective associations of their favored Elven ladies.

That line, after 1000 pages of adventuring and warring, is just perfect, that they would come to such an understanding.  Why do I bring this up?  Most people would talk about pink sand and blue water in the Caribbean as the most beautiful place in the word.  Their heart belongs to the evening.  Mine belongs to the morning.

My heart belongs to The North.  It belongs to Alaska and Canada and Maine and Fennoscandia.  However, those are but a taste of what The North has to offer.  What is further north?  Greenland, of course, with its fjorded coastlines and endless water views among the mountains and icebergs.

Now, I promised some stories.  I suppose we should start in Fort Simpson, since that was my first true experience of The North.  When I landed at the airport, someone, a stranger, in a truck, asked where I was going.  I told him my hotel.  He knew the place and offered to take me there.  I did not feel a moment of danger or hesitation.  I then asked where to go for dinner, and I was told that the Chinese restaurant was open pretty late.  How late?  8 PM.  Okay, then.  I rushed over and had my first experience with Chinese food in The North.  Oversauced and overpriced, but it sure was good.

Fast forward to Iqaluit (where?), the capital of Nunavut (huh?).  It was the end of March and 0 degrees Fahrenheit.  Everyone left their cars running when they jumped into shops.  There was no fear of people stealing the car, but there was plenty of fear of the cars freezing if they were left off without the block heater plugged in.  I doubt that the police force gets even one report of a car theft per year.

Now, we come here, with the airport cafe on the “honour system,” and my reader can, I believe, start to see the picture I am painting.  While I will not disrespect my readers who would prefer to spend their vacation on an all-inclusive five-star beach resort in the Caribbean, their heart belongs to the evening.  My heart belongs to the morning.

Now, what is even more remote than these quaint towns in northern rural Canada?  The even quainter towns in Greenland.  I fully expect that Nuuk and Qaqortoq and Ilulissat will put to shame Fort Smith and Fort Simpson and Iqaluit and Queen Charlotte.  Now, reader, having followed along with me, do you doubt what I have I said about Greenland, or should I fetch my axe?

Vancouver International Airport, British Columbia (YVR)

My previous entry was an ode to The North.  This entry will be dedicated to The West.  Once you get past the Mississippi River, and this applies to the land above the 49^th Parallel, as well, it gets steadily more beautiful the further west you go.  It starts with the prairie, which is an underrated source of natural beauty.  Next you get the Rockies, which are stunning enough below the 49^th Parallel but even more striking above the 49^th Parallel.  What comes after that?

Well, the most beautiful places on this landmass.  You get the Pacific Northwest if you only go as far Oregon and Washington, but, keep following the coast to the west, which necessarily takes you north, and you get British Columbia, The Yukon, and, if you dare, Alaska.  The further west you go, the more water, trees, and mountains intermix.

You get those wooded mountains separated by small bodies of water, as I saw in the Queen Charlotte (Haidi Gwaii) Islands this trip.  You get the wondrous beauty of Juneau.  You get Kluane National Park and the glaciers of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, collectively the most beautiful WHS I have ever visited, with only Waterton-Glacier and the Canadian Rockies coming close.  However, all three of those WHS have that same northwestern geography.

While we have Acadia in Maine, and the Great Smokies and the Everglades in the southeast, they are rookies compared to what The West has to offer.  There is a reason my trip to the National Parks of the American West is the second greatest trip I have ever taken, second only to Rio 2016.  The Grand Canyon and the National Parks we saw in Utah are spectacular, each one of them putting to shame anything found east of the Mississippi, but there was so much in The West that we didn’t see that trip.  California alone has Yosemite and the Redwoods.  Washington has Olympic.  Wyoming and Montana share Yellowstone.

This is what The West has to offer, titans compared to their cousins in Maine and the southeast.  I do not know why it played out that way, and perhaps in the 16^th Century there were natural features east of the Mississippi that could rival those in The West.  Perhaps 300 years of unrestrained cultural destruction of nature with no eye towards conservationism is why we only have these morsels.  On the other hand, it was decades, not centuries before after the first settlers went into The West that the likes of John Muir came along.

That said, you cannot make or unmake mountains, and it is clear that no mountain range east of the Mississippi can hold a candle to the Rockies.  Where am I going with all of this?  Here’s where I’m leading.  If you combine The North with The West, by which I mean British Columbia northwest of Vancouver, The Yukon, and Alaska, you get something truly special.  Reader, if you think that the forests and mountains and waters of Oregon and Washington, what you call the Pacific Northwest, are special, just hold your breath and go to what I call The Northwest.

I probably should have just finished that cigar.  The thing about tradition is, a new precedent can always set a new tradition.  It is not one that something that I do lightly.  In fact it is something that I only do with the utmost of deliberation and consideration, but, sometimes rationality justifies establishing a new precedent.  The case in point here is whether or not to close out the trip tonight or in the morning.  I had thought that I would clear US border control here at the airport, but, due to the late hour of the flight, I will actually have to wait until I land at JFK to clear border control.

Tradition dictates that I do not close out the trip until after I have cleared border control.  However, writing about my flight home, on which I intend to sleep, and clearing border control at JFK hardly makes an entry.  If necessary, I could write an epilogue about that, but I think I need to break that tradition and apply the domestic rules to overnight international flights.  If I am at my gate for an international redeye, I can close out the trip at that point, just as I would for a domestic flight.  This is the new precedent I will be setting by closing the trip now.  The other main reason for doing this is that the specific line I will use to close this trip is going to be far more appropriate to this entry.  Okay, so, all that remains is to treat The Return Journey in its entirety.

After I closed at Queen Charlotte, I went for a bit of a walk, only to discover I had locked my keys in my room.  They were going to hate me.  I got some souvenirs and enjoyed the sights for one last time.  I then headed back to my room, packed, and got ready.  I headed down, where the shuttle almost immediately appeared, and it took us to the ferry terminal.  We had almost an hour to kill, so I lit up an Oliva.

Soon enough, we were on the ferry, which was a short ride, and I saw our friend from Saturday.  I did not say anything.  From there, we headed to the airport, where I had my lunch as previously described and had a La Palina and wrote my ode to The North.

It was then time to go through security at Sandspit, and we boarded the prop plane, which would take us to Vancouver.  I had Seat 1A, and the seat next to me was empty.  It was like flying first class, minus the alcohol.  I did some travel planning and took a bit of a nap.  By this point, my charger was almost nonfunctional, not just slow, so I knew I would need to replace it at YVR.

We landed soon enough, and I got a burger with bacon, mushrooms, and onions, along with fries, for an early dinner from a place called Vera’s Burger Shack, which was quite good.  I then went outside, where I wrote my ode to The West.  I lit up a La Espinosa, which was so bad that I threw it out after a few minutes in favor of a Camacho, which actually wasn’t much better.

After I closed, I did a little travel planning, but it was cold, and I just wanted to go inside, so I headed to security.  After security, I stocked up on maple and salmon products at duty-free.  Another shop had cigars, but they were too expensive, so I took a pass.  I thought to myself, “Hopefully, I’ll have better luck in Reykjavik.”  I then headed to my gate, which was not yet open due to US regulations, and that is why I thought that I should have just finished my Camacho.

Regardless, I found a seat by the gate, where I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out this trip.  I am not sure if my trip to Boston will be an overnight trip or not, and I am leaning towards no, so that will not count as a proper trip.  Next stop: Iceland and Greenland for what promises to easily be a top five trip of my life.

Destination: Ninstints - Day 3 - SGang Gwaay

5/29/17, “SGang Gwaay”

Ninstints, British Columbia (SGang Gwaay)

It’s been a cross between a chant and a prayer.  “SGang Gwaay.  SGang Gwaay.”  It is pronounced, “skUNG-wye.”  The thought of this establishing shot is what has caused me to endure the brutal cold and wind as we cruised at 30 knots, the wind chill making it below freezing.  The ceremonial picture the sole reason why I devoted a four-day weekend to this trip.  SGang Gwaay.  That is why I came, and that is where I am.  This was the destination, the purpose, the reason.  It is quite possibly Canada’s least accessible WHS, but I don’t think Nahanni was any easier.

SGang Gwaay is the local name, Ninstints the name the British gave it.  It is the same place.  I have made it.  Nothing else this trip matters.  In fact, after I close this entry, technically the rest of the trip will be The Return Journey.  Was it worth it?  Absolutely.

These mortuary poles (not totem poles) depicted in the WHS inscription photo provide one of the best establishing shots I have ever taken.  I think there are less than two dozen souls in this entire village, 14 of them part of our group.  It is so calm and peaceful here, but I did not come to see nature.  I came to see culture.  I came to see this World Heritage Site, and I saw it.  I have succeeded in my mission, and I have said, “Western Canada Complete.”  Newfoundland and Labrador awaits.  Okay, so, how did I get here?

After I closed last night, I published, relaxed a bit, had some ice cream, which had melted in the fridge, then went to sleep after letting the ice cream settle and packing for the morning.  I woke up a little before 6 AM and walked down to the dock.  They suited me up in boots, splash pants, and a heavy-duty jacket.  Was this really necessary?  Yes, it was. 

There were to be 12 of us in the group, but only 11 were here.  The other guy was coming from England.  He had flown to Calgary with a motorcycle, biked, then took a ferry.  He was running a little late, so we waited.  James asked if I had wanted to sit in the back with him, which would allow me to smoke my cigar, if I could manage.  As soon as we took off, even suited up, it was brutal.  The wind was, well, 30 knots right in our face, and there was no sun.  We stopped for breakfast, literally, just slowed down.  Breakfast was various pastries and wraps, along with coffee.

After breakfast, I asked James if I could smoke.  He said I could, if I could manage to smoke at 30 knots.  I quipped, “Smoking a cigar at 30 knots isn’t a problem, but lighting it is.”  He said he would take it slow until I was lit, so I lit up a Tattoo.  It smoked, but quickly.  Our next stop was a little dock to relieve ourselves and stretch our legs.

We got back aboard, and I lit up a Prensado, which would have lasted 2 hours indoors.  It last half an hour at 30 knots.  We soon came up on SGang Gwaay, and I could feel the WHS calling me.  It would be three hours from that point before I got to take my ceremonial picture, and I was really Jonesing.  First, since it was “zero tide,” we had trouble pulling up to shore.  It was a bit of an adventure to get off the boat, but we managed.  After five of us, he decided he would use a skiff to get the rest of the group to shore, no easy process.

After we settled ashore, he began to cook lunch, yes, cook, while his first officer checked us in with the local watchmen.  Lunch was soon ready, freshly grilled salmon and some sides.  It was delicious.  I loved every bite.  After lunch, we headed back to the watchmen cabin and had to wait.  It was after 2 PM by the time we got on the trail to the village, despite having first pulled up to the beach at noon.

I just wanted to take my ceremonial picture.  We started to see a few mortuary poles, and I asked where the spot from the inscription picture was, but they gave me a cryptic answer.  We learned a lot about the tribe, what the poles meant, and how they lived.  It was interesting, but I just wanted to light up my cigar and take my ceremonial picture.  Eventually, we came to that point, and they pointed me to the beach where it was taken.

I ran off from the group to take my ceremonial picture, and I could hardly contain my excitement.  It was the exact spot.  I lit up my last Vegas Robaina Exclusivo Canada, from my last trip to Canada, took my ceremonial picture, and made my announcement.  “British Columbia Complete.  Western Canada Complete.  Newfoundland and Labrador, I’m coming for you.”  I leave for Newfoundland and Labrador in a month and a day.  That is all that stands between me and “Canada Complete.”  I then sat down on a piece of driftwood in view of the inscription photo, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as we are about to head back.

Queen Charlotte, British Columbia

What a day.  What a day fucking day.  I am exhausted and chilled to my very core.  I just can’t wait to get into my nice, warm bed, which I will do the moment I publish this entry.  The tips of my fingers are almost numb.  My chest is cold.  I can hardly breathe.  That is what spending a day with very little sun and a 30+ knot wind in your face will do.  Was it worth it?  Abso-fucking-lutely.  I don’t just say that because it was the only way to see the WHS, the WHS that allowed me to say, “Canada Complete.”

I say it because it was an experience I will never forget.  I say it because it because the carved mortuary poles at SGang Gwaay were one of the most impressive cultural sites I have seen in all of my travels.  What on this continent compares?  Not much, but I would put it in league with Taos Pueblo and Teotihuacan.  It is just that one vista, but it is a seriously impressive vista.  They are not as old as I thought, only dating back to the 18^th Century, but that is about as far back as wood structures can remain, anyway, especially so close to the water.

James figured that there were only another couple of decades left before Mother Nature reclaimed them for her own.  That means, I am the last generation that will get to visit that site.  The culture dictates that these poles must be left to their own fate, otherwise the spirits will be trapped in them for all eternity, so we will not see any preservation efforts.  It was tribe that was eradicated by small pox, and these last remnants are soon to be gone.  I will never forget them, though.

After I closed, we made our way back to the boat, and I took a nap once we were underway.  We stopped to see some humpback whales, and I took that opportunity to light up an E.P. Carrillo.  We stopped next at a place called Windy Bay for snacks, and they have an actual, modern totem pole there.  We learned about the carvings on the pole, what everything meant, and posed for a group photo.

From there, James said that he would “clip it,” as we were running late.  45 knots.  That’s how fast we went.  That’s what made me feel like I was going to freeze to death.  I lit up an LFD for that stretch.  As soon as I had my cell signal back, it now being after 11 PM in New York, I posted my photo and got caught up on my notifications.  I was worried that the Chinese restaurant (J & T) would be closed when we got to shore, so James called my order ahead.  They said I could sit down to eat, so it seemed pointless to do it that way, but James was insistent.  We soon landed, and I rushed to the restaurant, just up the block and across the street from my hotel.

They were waiting for me, but they were still open for a bit, so I could have just ordered the traditional way.  James had ordered a large wonton soup and a sweet and sour pork for me, which turned out to be way too much food.  If I had ordered at the restaurant, I would have gotten the small soup and the combination plate.  As it was, the soup was enough to feed a family of four, and the pork was clearly meant for two, but it actually was only nominally more expensive.  I just didn’t need to eat that much pork, and I am paying the price now for such a heavy meal.

Sweet and sour pork seems to be a specialty of these small towns in the North, and having it at least once has become a fixture of these trips.  It’s always very good, but it’s a hard dish to screw up.  You just fry some pork in a wok and drown it in sweet and sour sauce.  It tastes the same in Fort Smith and Fort Simpson and Queen Charlotte.  If I get it in Nuuk or Ilulissat, I’m sure it will taste the same there, too.

After dinner, I went back to my hotel room and had a bad case of the shivers.  I started to wonder if it might not be viral, rather than physical.  No time to worry about that now.  I then went out to the balcony, where I sat down, lit up my trusty Ardor, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get back inside, where it’s warm.

Destination: Ninstints - Day 2 - A Day with Nothing To Do

5/28/17, “A Day with Nothing To Do”

Queen Charlotte, British Columbia

It feels weird having a day with nothing to do.  Unlike yesterday, which was spent in transit, and tomorrow, which will be the main activity of the trip, today is a completely dead day.  There are no sites in town I want to see, and I will be going to sleep tonight in the same hotel room where I woke up.  There are a couple of restaurants where I want to eat, but I would hardly call those activities, nor would I call the walk I plan to take around town after this entry an activity.  Why, then, did I plan the trip this way, in such contrast to my usual five-sites-a-day intense travel?

It’s just the way the timing worked out.  Leaving JFK after work on Friday gets me to Queen Charlotte late Saturday afternoon.  The boat tour is an all-day thing, and they don’t run tours on Sunday under most circumstances.  The organizer told me, though, that I should leave Sunday open, anyway, in case they wanted to push up the tour due to weather.  The weather looks fine for Monday, so Sunday is completely open.

Could I have done something else in British Columbia?  Well, no, since Ninstints will allow me to say, “Western Canada Complete.”  I could have spent the day in Vancouver, but I don’t think that that provides any value above spending the day here in Queen Charlotte.  Besides, I was able to meet James yesterday, and that put me at ease, seeing that everything was ready to go for tomorrow.

I have spent days like this before in Iqaluit and Yellowknife and various Caribbean capitals, but those are all capitals, and capitals have built-in activities, including the legislative assembly building and souvenir opportunities.  Sure, I will get souvenirs here, too, but I will easily find them on my walk around town.  Other than that, this is literally a day with nothing to do, but, like Yellowknife, it sure is a great place to do nothing at all, as this establishing shot proves.

After I closed last night, I published and soon passed out, it still being daylight outside.  By the time I woke up, the sun had long risen.  I didn’t get out of bed until 10:30 AM, at which point I went next door for breakfast.  The menu was limited, so I chose the first thing on the menu, which was everything I wanted, anyway.  I needed coffee most of all, so that came first, and the meal was bacon, sausage, ham, toast, eggs, and hash browns, so that was a nice feast.  After breakfast, and three large cups of coffee, I went back to my room relaxed a bit, and then went out to the balcony, where I lit up a Diamond Crown and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can walk around a bit.

Just because today was a day with nothing to do doesn’t mean that nothing happened today.  Well, almost nothing happened.  The biggest something happened immediately after I closed.  I went back inside to head out, or, rather, I tried to go back into the room.  The balcony door was somehow locked.  That shouldn’t have been possible.  The door only locks from the inside, and there is no way to accidentally lock yourself out.  It would be a serious design flaw if there was.  Somehow, the lock caught, and I couldn’t get back in.  Okay, no problem, I’ll call downstairs (I had the number memorized, since I had earlier noticed it was almost the same as their Wi-Fi code), and they’ll come through the room and let me in.  Simple enough, right?

Well, there was one hitch.  I had locked the chain.  That meant that they couldn’t unlock the door from the outside.  Here was my plan, I would climb over to the next balcony, and they could let me out through that room.  I had faith in my ability to make that climb, but, well, I still wouldn’t be able to get back into my room if they I did that.  They needed to somehow either unlock the balcony door or unlock the chain, both of which are only meant to be locked and unlocked from inside the room.  This was a problem.  I looked up online how to undo a chain lock from the outside, and it is simple enough.  I had faith in my ability to pull it off, but I did not think I could properly explain it to the staff, who did not seem to speak English as a first language.  They said to wait ten minutes.  They were going to take care of it.

Next thing I knew, a screwdriver was poking through the door.  It seemed they were trying to use the screwdriver to undo the chain.  That would did not work.  They had to use the screwdriver to either pry off the part attached to the door frame or otherwise dismantle it.  I was rescued.  They apologized profusely and told me they would not be able to replace the chain until tomorrow.  I didn’t care.  I was just happy to be rescued.  I suppose blunt force applied to the door would have accomplished the trick without the use of the screwdriver, but that was their decision to make.

I then headed out.  When I said there was nothing to do today, I meant it.  All the souvenir shops were closed, due to it being Sunday, even though this doesn’t exactly strike me as a Christian town.  I haven’t seen a single church, not even a cross anywhere.  All the restaurants were opened though, and I knew I would have time enough for souvenirs on Tuesday before I left.  I walked around, enjoying my cigar, loving the scenic vistas and checked out the restaurants to plan my eating for the rest of my time here.  I found a particularly scenic vista in front of the docks.  I was then starting to get hungry, so I headed back to my hotel to heat up my leftovers.  As I walked, I noted that I hadn’t seen a single police officer my whole time here, and then I saw a new hospital that was under construction.  It looked like a large hospital for such a small town.

When I got back to my room, I had my fried rice and another beer, which was plenty filling.  I then went outside and lit up an Ardor with the rest of the beer, taking great care to leave the door slightly ajar, just in case.  After my pipe, I went back inside to relax and take a nap.  After my nap, it was time to head out to dinner.  I walked down the block to Ocean View Grill, also known as OV Pizza & Grill.  On the way, I saw three armed police officers conferring about something.  That seemed odd.

When I got to the restaurant, the menu was simple enough, and I just needed to decide between the steak and a burger.  I asked the waitress which she recommended, fearing the steak would not be good, since I didn’t think there were any cows on the island.  She said that they were both good, and it just depended on the mood.  That was such a bullshit answer.  (Strike one.)  I went with the steak, as it came with mushrooms and onions and sounded perfect.  I also got a mushroom soup appetizer.  All I had to drink was water, as it seems the entire village is sold out of club soda.  Someone then commented on there being an unusual amount of police activity this evening, and the host said that they had to be up to something, as they had been out and about all day.  My reader will recall that I had earlier reflected on the fact that I hadn’t seen a single police officer.  The mushroom soup was good, and it used up my napkin.

When the waitress brought my steak, she asked if I needed anything else, so I asked for another napkin.  The steak was mediocre, and I much rather would have had a mediocre burger than a mediocre steak.  A few minutes later she came by and asked if everything was all right.  Before I had a chance to answer, she realized she hadn’t brought my napkin.  (Strike two.)  As I ate, I finished my water, and she never got around to refilling it, even as I resorted to chewing on the ice cubes.  (Strike three.)

I got my check, and I didn’t stiff her on the tip, but I didn’t leave much more than 10%.  What was with the bad service I have been getting the past few nights at dinner?  Is this like becoming a thing?  After dinner, I walked back to my hotel, changed into my nightclothes, cracked open a beer, and sat down in my usual spot on the balcony, where I lit up a Montecristo Open Eagle and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get to sleep before my big day tomorrow.

Destination: Ninstints - Day 1 - In Transit

5/27/17, “In Transit”

Vancouver International Airport, British Columbia (YVR)

I have now been in Canada for eight hours, or, more accurately, I have been at YVR airport for eight hours, but it feels much longer.  I have two-and-a-half hours before my flight to Sandspit, I love that name, plenty of time for a cigar and to write this entry.  I am fully refreshed, the airport hotel being as nice as any downtown hotel would have been, and I am ready to take on the world.  Unfortunately, today will be spent entirely in transit.  It will be evening by the time I get to Queen Charlotte tonight, too late to do anything, but it seems a nice enough place to relax.

I am actually surprised that more airports do not have hotels in the airport itself.  I know that MIA does, but I am not aware of any other US airport that has an in-terminal hotel.  To me, that would often be the difference between sleeping on a seat or bench in the terminal and shelling out for a hotel room.  I am perfectly willing to stay at an in-terminal hotel on an overnight layover, but having to take a shuttle bus to the hotel defeats the purpose.  I think JFK is actually working on building a hotel connected to Terminal 5, and LAX might also be working on one.  As I said, I am fully refreshed.

After I closed last night and published, as I got into bed, I noted that dawn was about to break.  I slept sporadically throughout the night, the sunlight and time zone change, along with my watch still being on Eastern Time, messing with my mind.  I got about four hours of sleep and then headed down for breakfast.  I was hungry but not starving.  There was a high-quality breakfast buffet, but I wasn’t sure I had the appetite to do it justice.  There were colds, hots, and desserts.  If I went for it, I needed to commit to a three-course meal.  I went for it.

My first course was a bagel half and a large piece of toast as my bases, various butters and cheeses and smoked salmon for my toppers.  I also had a plate of fruit, coffee, and juice.  I was starting to get full after the first course, but I powered through.  A breakfast buffet must be seen as a challenge, an opportunity to get a good start to the day, and one must make the most of it.

After the cold food, I went for the hot food.  The waffles were freshly made, and they had an egg station, so I asked for a waffle with fried eggs on top.  When they gave me the food, I also put bacon, mushrooms, potatoes, and a small sliver of French toast on the plate, and I doused the whole thing with maple syrup.  It was excellent, not as good as some that I’ve had in Europe or even at this hotel’s sister hotel in Quebec (AKA, The Frontenac), but it was definitely a solid B+.  After the hot food, I was full.  I knew that I would not be able to enjoy the dessert course, so I went back to the room to recover from that feast.

After about an hour, I wanted a cigar, so I packed, changed into my suit, and checked out of the hotel.  The smoking area was conveniently located immediately outside, so I left my luggage with the bellhop and went outside, where I sat down, lit up an LFD Reserva Especial, which I had gotten at Smoklahoma, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

Queen Charlotte, British Columbia

Well, I’m here, though it will be another 36 hours before we actually disembark for Ninstints.  I left my apartment in New York 27 hours ago, and it has taken that long before I have finally settled into my hotel room and am changed into my nightclothes.  Contrast that to the 6 hours it took for me to get settled into my hotel room in Toronto after I left my apartment for my last trip to Canada.  That number is also slightly inflated, as I spent an hour walking around town and also got dinner before I came back to the hotel.  Still, it is an inordinate amount of time to be in transit, whether I count it as 25 or 27 hours.

I am glad to be here, and, while I am used to rural Canada, being in the Pacific Northwest makes it even more dramatic, as this establishing shot proves.  Other than this small town, there is nothing but water, trees, and mountains as far as the eye can see.  I love it here, and I am very glad that I have a full day tomorrow to just relax and enjoy.  It seems that rural Canada is the only place I ever allow myself extended time to relax.  It is just a function of the scheduling, really, but I am glad that it works out that way.  I still have such fond memories of Yellowknife and Fort Simpson from that trip.  This is a similar trip.  I have written datelines with names of Fort Smith, Yellowknife, Fort Simpson, and Whitehorse.  Queen Charlotte will be a nice addition to the mix.

After I closed at YVR, I headed to my gate, which was a simple enough process, even though my gate seemed to be at the opposite end of the terminal.  We boarded a tiny propeller plane, and I happened to have the furthest seat in the back, a window seat in the last row.  There were no middle seats, just window and aisle.  I had hoped to have the pair to myself, but someone sat down next to me.  Just as we were about to take off, he switched to the exit row, and I had my little corner to myself.  I slept most of the flight, and we soon landed at Sandspit.  I had not given much thought to how I would get from Sandspit to Queen Charlotte.  It was an hour, including a ferry, and I wasn’t sure if cabs made that route.

When I walked out of the airport, I saw that there was a shuttle bus that makes that trip, and, fortunately, he had room.  It was slightly after 3 PM, and the ferry was scheduled for 4:05 PM.  It was a little tight to make the ferry, but, it was just that one flight, and he just needed to wait until everyone had their luggage.  The drive was very scenic, and we were soon at the ferry terminal.  One hitch.  The ferry was full.  However, the driver said he could cut to the front of the line, since he was a transit bus.

That was easier said than done, since it was actually a line of cars, and he actually had to cut to the front with his bus.  In the end, he wound up trying to park off to the side, which involved a tight maneuver around a parked car, which I was shocked he managed to successfully execute.  We waited for the ferry to come, and, once it did, he had to do the maneuver again in reverse.  SCREEEECCCHHHHH.

He hit the car.  It was just a fender bender, but the damage was visible.  Next thing we knew, one of the ferry workers came running to the car.  “Did you just hit my car?”  “Ohoh, Fuh-uh-UCK.”  That’s how they pronounce the F-word here.  A lot more f-bombs were dropped, far more than I thought were necessary given how minor the accident was.  We got on the ferry, and they exchanged information.  Meanwhile, I went to the smoking area of the boat and lit up a Nat Sherman.  It was a beautiful and short ride.  Once we arrived at the other terminal, I headed back to the bus, since we would be the first ones off.  The ferry worker was apologizing to the driver for cursing him out, saying that he needs to go back to anger management class.  You can’t make this shit up.

It was a short ride there to the village, and my hotel was right in town.  I checked in to the hotel and changed into some more casual clothes.  I was starving, so I wanted to go out for dinner.  I also wanted to finish my cigar from the boat.  Once I was ready, I retrieved my cigar and headed towards the dock to check-in for Monday’s tour.  I didn’t see a station for the company or anything, so I called the number.  James, the guy I had dealt with by email in January, picked up.

He actually had just seen me walk by him, so we hung up to continue the conversation in person.  Everything was all set, besides the final payment, and he showed me around, explaining the plan for Monday.  The boat was slightly less primitive than I expected, and He said that I could have a smoke at sea if I wanted to sit in the back.  He gave me some tips for meals how to spend tomorrow.  He also said that he thought he might be able to take me on a transport run tomorrow if I wanted to catch some extra time at sea.  I was glad for the offer.

I went to one of the two Chinese restaurants, a fixture of rural Canada, especially in The North.  They didn’t have proper egg rolls, nor did they have club soda, so I just got a main course, honey garlic chicken, which was quite good.  After dinner, I went to the convenience store to get some food for the next few days, and I also picked up some local beer at the liquor store.   I headed back to the hotel, went out to the balcony, where I sat down, lit up a Romeo y Julieta, cracked open my Red Truck lager, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, so that I can publish and relax a bit before I pass out.

Destination: Ninstints - Day 0 - One Last Summer of Travel

“Destination: Ninstints”

5/26/17, “One Last Summer of Travel”

John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York (JFK)

As my five-year mission enters the home stretch, I begin my one last summer of travel.  That is not to say that I will not take future summer trips.  Of course, I will.  It just means that that these intense summers of travel, of which this will be the fifth, are coming to an end.  I reached a key milestone in December by having visited the last of the Olympic Stadiums, and my past four Memorial Day trips to Athens (1896 and 2004), Stockholm (1912) and Helsinki (1952), Tokyo (1964), and Mexico City (1968) have all been built around visiting Olympic Stadiums.  This trip will be different.  It is entirely designed around visiting the World Heritage Site of SGang Gwaay, also known as Ninstints.  This trip and my July trip to Newfoundland and Labrador will represent the last of my Canada trips.  I have had some epic summers of travel, and this one is sure to measure up.

I have trips, either big or small, that cover the next seven weekends.  After that, “Game of Thrones” starts up again, and, once it is over, I fly to Hawaii for my epic trip to complete the mission.  During July and August, I will take care of some unfinished business with weekend road trips, but I will not miss any episodes of “Game of Thrones.”  After this trip, I will drive or ride up to Boston next weekend, followed by a nine-day trip to Iceland and Greenland, my annual Maine trip will follow, then the four-day trip to Newfoundland and Labrador on July 4^th weekend, and then a weekend trip to the Bay Area.  Once I get back from San Francisco, I will not get on another airplane until I fly to Hawaii two months later, but the road trips promise to fill the gaps, and I have some good ones planned.

On a personal note, pending the formalities, which I will miss while I am away this weekend, I have graduated from Hunter College with my Baccalaureate in Philosophy.  This means that the Travelling Philosopher can now truly claim the title of Philosopher with a capital pee.  It’s been an arduous process, especially with all this travelling, but the travel has provided the motivation for finishing, and now I have finished.  The next phase of my life can begin.

My flight has been delayed slightly, and it does not have much of a substantive effect on my trip, bar one.  Due to the fact that I will now not be landing at YVR until well after 2 AM local time and sleeping en route, when I write from YVR, it will be Day 1, not Day 0.  If the flight was on time, I could have still considered the YVR from the airport hotel tonight to be part of Day 0.  Instead, I will need to publish just this entry as Day 0.  Actually, it seems I may have set a precedent when I wrote from Waco as Day 0 even after sleeping after midnight en route ATL-DFW.  I might hold this entry to publish in conjunction with the YVR hotel entry, which is more elegant than starting Day 1 with an entry from before I sleep in the hotel room.

Okay, so, as is my tradition, I will start with Night -1, which was as epic as epic gets.  I need only say one word.  Pirates.  If I were to make a list of the top must-see franchises to see opening night, “Pirates of the Caribbean” would easily make the top five, maybe even top three among current franchises, since I do not think “Fantastic Beasts” properly carries the torch of the “Harry Potter” franchise, and the other YA franchises of late do not compete with the ones from the past ten years.  Those franchises would be “Star Wars” first, of course, maybe Marvel second, and probably “Pirates of the Caribbean” third.  DC, “James Bond,” “Fantastic Beasts,” and “Indiana Jones” would be among the next level.

Kourosh was out of town this weekend, but I had arranged for a different group.  My friend Kris had been tentative about this for months, but Raymond and his girlfriend were confirmed for just as long.  The four of us could make an epic group.  Kris wanted to go to Benihana for dinner, his favorite place, and I am always happy to go.  The meal is reasonably enough priced for the amount of food and the experience, and it’s become our tradition.  I realized that I had never gone without him during my adult life, but my finger still hurts whenever I think about the burn I sustained by touching the grill as a child when we went there as a family.  Kris has heard that story more than once.  This is at least the fifth time we have gone together, including another time last week.  It’s always much the same thing, though I try to get different combinations of proteins each time, and the experience is always the same but different, experiencing the unfamiliar within the familiar, indeed.

We were seated at 6:30 PM for dinner, and the movie was at 9 PM.  We should have had plenty of time for dinner and to meet Raymond for a cigar before the movie, right?  Wrong.  The way Benihana works is you have a waiter who takes care of the drinks, takes your order, and brings your soup and salad.  Then, the chef comes and cooks and plates the hot food in front of you with their signature flair.  It is a slow process, since they keep giving you little bits of food at a time, so appetite management always poses a challenge.  You have to be hungry enough to make it through the meal, but not too hungry that you’re starving before the food is served.

Okay, I mentioned the waiter was incompetent.  First he took our drink orders, and we had planned to drink later, so we just got soft drinks, club soda for me and Coke for Kris, simple enough.  After he took our drink orders, he later came back with water and to take the food orders.  Kris and I looked at each other.  In all of our times here, not once had we ever been given water without asking.  We had each ordered a carbonated soft drink.  We didn’t need or want water.  We wanted our carbonated drinks.  The waiter handed me a straw, which I handed back to me, only for him to give me a different straw.  I reminded him that I had ordered club soda, which he said was coming, and I told him I didn’t want the water.

Reader, we would be served the (very salty) soup and salad before our drinks came.  This is the very definition of gross incompetence.  Also, they have two types of beers, a 16-ounce draft and a 20.5-ounce bottle.  It is the same beer, just different sizes.  Anyone who asked for the 16-ounce draft, he tried to upsell the 20.5-ounce bottle, saying it was cheaper to get it that way.  That was a blatant lie.  On a dollar per ounce basis, the 16-ounce draft was actually cheaper.  This got me furious that he would misrepresent the basic math of it like that.  Between that and the drinks taking forever, and my plate being dirty (forgot to mention that), Kris and I both agreed that he didn’t deserve a tip.  We conferred, but we wondered if the chef didn’t get half of the tip, and we didn’t want to stiff the chef.  We decided we would give a cash tip to the chef and then tip a nominal amount (5%) on the check for the waiter.

We were relieved once the chef took over, and all the waiter had to do was refill our drinks, which he actually managed to do in a timely manner.  The chef prepared our meal with plenty of pomp and circumstance, but I just wanted to eat.  The fried rice is the best part, and it serves as a nice snack for while they are cooking the proteins.  There was just one hiccup.  One guy at our table had a shellfish allergy, and shrimp is a big part of the dish.  Also, my meal was steak and scallops.  He could not cook the shellfish until after he had cooked the meat for the guy with the allergies.  I did not want to eat my steak and scallops separately. 

It didn’t take too long, but I was starving, and it was torture.  Once I had all my food, I scarfed it down, and enjoyed it as much as always.  We got our sherbet for dessert and then figured out what to do about the tip.  After dinner, we decided we would walk to the theatre, and I lit up an LFD Andalusian Bull, the #1-rated cigar of 2016.  I had ordered a box in December, but it didn’t come until this week.  There was a light mist, which made the walk annoying.  I had to deal with my laundry, so I told Kris I would meet him at the theatre and also pick up a bottle of rum from my apartment.

The movie was at 9 PM, and we left the restaurant at 8 PM.  Without detailing all the drama, as my account of dinner was far longer than I anticipated, my suit was still not ready, and they were supposed to have mended it a week ago.  I also had forgotten my homecoming shirt, so I knew that I would have to drop off another load before the movie after picking up the just-washed load.  I met Kris at the theatre at exactly 9 PM, and he was worried he would not make his midnight bus.  I reminded him that he always has an open invitation to crash at my place, which he has done before when he has a late night in the city and an early autographing opportunity the next morning.

We went to the theatre, and I got my soda and a popcorn for us to share, along with the new caramel M&Ms.  I asked him to butter the popcorn while I went to the restroom, and he asked how much butter I wanted on it.  Sharing a smirk, I said, “Soak it.”  We met Raymond and his girlfriend inside the auditorium, and we had plenty of snacks to go around.  In addition to the rum, popcorn, and M&Ms I had brought, they had more sweets.  It was going to be epic.  There is nothing quite like watching Pirates with a bottle of rum, with one exception: watching “Lord of the Rings” and smoking a pipe.  We passed around the bottle of rum.  Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum.  A pirate’s life for me.

The movie was great, despite the lackluster reviews.  Most of the reviews were from people who had tired of the franchise.  For anyone who is still a fan of the franchise after 16 years, it is must-see.  As soon as the movie ended, we both looked at each other and, just as we did a year-and-a-half ago after we saw “The Force Awakens” together, instantly agreed that it the best since the original, the second best in the franchise.  Raymond and Elaine were quite pleased, too.  The rain was pretty bad, and Kris didn’t want to trek back to the Port Authority.  We all walked back to Park, and we said our goodbyes.  Raymond and Elaine took the subway, and Kris and I went to my place.  We chatted about the movie and where Lucas went wrong in the “Star Wars” prequels, along with brainstorming various ideas that could have worked.  Meanwhile, I worked on freeing up some space on my phone and backing up my files.

Around 2 AM, we went to sleep, and I wanted to be in the office by 7:30 AM.  I also wanted to pick up a bagel with lox first.  Without being explicit, let’s just say that the rum woke me up at 6:30 AM.  It was three full REM cycles, so headed out, walking up Park together until we had to part ways.  I got my bagel with lox, which I ate at my desk.  That was when everything went to hell.  I couldn’t breathe.  I had trouble staying awake throughout the course of the day.  At first I thought it was allergies, so I got some loratadine, but that didn’t help, nor did caffeine.

Something was off.  I have had plenty of nights with four-and-half hours of sleep or less, but this doesn’t happen.  Could it have been an allergic reaction to something I ate?  I didn’t think it was the lox, nor anything I had at Benihana.  Could it have been some type of mite in my apartment, such as a dust mite?  Why then did it only happen today and last Friday?  I tried to find the similarity.  The only similarity I could find was both nights I had drank a fair amount (half a bottle of wine last Thursday and a decent amount of rum last night), which perhaps combined with the short sleep in this fashion.  It didn’t seem likely to explain the shortness of breath.  What seemed more likely was that it was some type of anxiety attack, having to do with some aspect of the trip not planned perfectly, but that didn’t fit either, nor did it explain the sudden tiredness.  I am fine now, but it was very scary.

I got done everything I needed to do at work, and went to the street fair for lunch, instead of my usual pre-departure meal at Hop Won.  Once I was done for the day, I headed home and collapsed.  My flight was delayed, so I had time to nap for an hour or so.  I didn’t quite catch a full REM cycle, since I woke up every half hour.

I then picked up a slice of pizza for dinner and went to pick my laundry.  My suit was not ready, so I had to wear an old suit.  I packed and took a taxi to the airport, getting there around 8 PM, even though my flight had been pushed back until 11:55 PM.  There was a long line at security, but I had plenty of time.  Once I got to my gate, I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get a snack before we board.

Vancouver International Airport (YVR), British Columbia

It seems as if our long national nightmare is over.  Whatever black mark I had on my record was not carried over when Canada switched over to automated kiosks.  The border control process at Canada is now as quick as easy as using Global Entry coming back home.  This is the second time I have flown into Canada since they started using the kiosks, and both times it has been a five-minute process.  I will be able to catch three or four full REM cycles at the hotel tonight, which, when added to the two or three I caught on the plane, will constitute a full-night’s sleep.  Then, I can sleep in as late as I want Sunday, since that day is unplanned.  That said, I am very tired, and, while I do not have much to record since I closed, my initial entry was quite long and will take some time to publish.

After I closed, I got some chocolate and headed back to my gate.  I think I fell asleep while we were waiting to board.  That’s when I learned the reason for the delay.  These planes usually fly JFK-YVR-HKG-YVR-JFK and repeat the cycle.  The plane that flew YVR-JFK had to undergo some maintenance, so they swapped in a plane that was coming direct from HKG.  That plane would not land until 10 PM, and it would not be available for our boarding until 11:30 PM.  I didn’t really care.  We soon boarded, and I fell asleep as soon as we took off.

I woke up in time for dinner, which was a failed attempt at an American beef stew.  They should have just served us Cantonese food.  I fell back asleep immediately after dinner and woke up as we were making our descent.  From there, it was a short walk to the Customs Hall, an easy process to the kiosk, and another short walk to the hotel inside the terminal, a Fairmont, which made me very happy.

I didn’t even have to go outside.  Everything was right there.  They upgraded me to a suite, which was more like a small palace, far more than I needed to crash just for the night, but it sure was nice.  After meticulously turning off every light in the room so that I could get a proper establishing shot, I sat down by the window, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get some sleep before my flight tomorrow.