30.01.2008

the (r)amada

Things did not start well for this our last leg of the tour...Toronto to Vancouver.

To start with I was the brunt of a pursed-mouthed cranky older woman at check-in in Toronto (and this at 9am, mind you, and normally during tour time I'm still in my jimmy-jams at 9am, having a cup of tea, writing or doing yoga. I usually haven't spoken to anyone, let alone a nasty officious old bitch) so in her wisdom she decided to charge me $50 for my excess baggage. As far as the rule book is concerned she had every right to do this, my luggage being the vast amount of about 7 pounds over, but she handled it with maximum unpleasantness.

On the aeroplane, there were occasional bouts of turbulence and the accompanying announcements about seat belts etc. (turbulence is never very nice, and indeed we were all probably a little jumpier than most having experienced a rather nasty patch of turbulence during our flight from Melbourne to LA in which many people started screaming.) During a rather more vigorous patch of turbulence late in the trip, as we approached Vancouver, the stewardess made something like the following announcement: As you will see the captain has turned on the seat belt sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. This is for your own safety. Please obey the seat belt signs. We are approaching the area where the other aeroplane had a problem. I was so shocked, I laughed. And there was a little wave of slightly hysterical laughter in our section of the plane, all of us presumably having visions of falling from the sky.

Fortunately this did not take place.

Then the (R)amada. (So classy that the "R" on the neon sign is not working) We had been warned. When Bruce (our director) got here last week after he left Toronto, he changed rooms, and he's not really like that. Me, yes; Jim, yes, but not Bruce. The women behind the front desk were stressed; there were all of us to deal with and also a woman ahead of us, (the artistic director of a festival in San Francisco) who was waiting to get into a new room as she had been unable to sleep until after 3am because her room was on the first floor right above the night club next door.

I was last to check in. Lucky last. My first designated room was on the first floor, near the nightclub, looking into a light well, so I gently asked if there was something higher up. My next room was towards the back of the hotel, with a tiny unopenable window which looked into a light well and the rooms of about fifteen other people. It stank of cheap deodoriser and was dark, gloomy, not particularly clean and very very depressing. I stuck it out for one night, but then after learning that most of the others not only had windows that opened but also had at least some natural light I decided to see if anything else was available. Mercifully I was able to change and now have air and light.

It may sound a bit princessy, and indeed I have interrogated myself about this, but I guess the thing is that because we are working, and because of the nature of our work, and also because it is the middle of winter, our hotel rooms become a real resting place, a haven. So not only is it quite important that we can sleep well and feel safe, but also we spend more time in these rooms than we would if we were travelling as tourists, especially in the mornings before our crazy days begin.

Then, finally, after that long and rather trying day of travel, we had a dinner and small welcoming reception, which was very lovely but also challenging, as it involved yet more crappy diner food, bad bad white wine and talking to lots of strangers. I found some chocolate biscuits and did my best.

Yesterday marked a slight upturn in mood, precipitated by a very reasonable breakfast at the Elbow Room with Simon, Sonia and Jim. Bruce had recommended it and, given his soft spot for a greasy diner, I had low expectations, but they use free-range eggs and it was actually pretty good. Best of all was that my dear friend Sarah who lives in Vancouver had told me about a coffee place just down the road and so we went there afterwards and oh boy oh boy oh boy that was a great moment. Definitely the best coffee I've had since leaving Melbourne. In the afternoon Jim, Simon and I went on this fabulous long walk around Stanley Park, following the sea-wall most of the way. We were accompanied by the delightful Stefan, director of a festival in Hanover which hosted Small Metal Objects last year. So we walked and chatted about all sorts of things and looked at the sky and the water and the boats and the bridge and the sand and the rocks and the ice and the trees and then we walked through the woods and saw lots of old trees and it was really great.

In the evening Sarah took me to a lovely Thai restaurant to soothe my desire for vegetables and we talked and ate up a storm. I got home and had a lovely bath and my contentment was not even marred by the discovery that I appear to be allergic to Vancouver, or something, as I have come out in a rather nasty rash on rather large portions of my legs. (Oh well, it can accompany the welt I have on my face as a result of being allergic to the tape which keeps our microphones in place. Attractive lady...) Then it started to snow, which looked so pretty through my nice big window, and indeed this morning it is still snowing, and everything is covered with a layer of whiteness, the sight of which fills me with child-like joy. Things are definitely on the up.