The Bulldogs are Cheating

Travel

On the road again…

19 February 2023
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Finally giving in to the lure of travel once more and heading to the fabled south seas.

(note, pictures to follow once I get on some non terribad internet)

Well, here we are… I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever write another one of these. While I’ve taken a few mini trips since that last one left off on a cliffhanger they haven’t been of this sort. (side note, I need to go back and write the last post of that) I’ve missed traveling like you wouldn’t believe but wondered when I’d feel comfortable doing this sort of thing again. While I was probably more stressed out in the planning stage of this trip than any previous one that was more a factor of other life events, inept companies and this turning out to be a different style of trip than my previous adventures. More on that to follow of course as I discover Fiji.

Fair warning as well, it’s been an unfortunate amount of time since I’ve done any writing at all so please bear with me if the first couple posts are rusty and rambly, hopefully we’ll get back to normal quickly.

It was sometime in July last year that I stumbled across a thread on the red flag deals forums announcing ‘Fiji Airways new direct flights from vancouver, introductory deals’ or something of the sort. Having almost stopped in fiji on my trip to New Zealand and Australia about a decade (sob) ago I was intrigued… and when I clicked through and saw ‘Starting at $600’ I knew that this might put me over the edge to travel again. Sadly I didn’t snag one of those but I still locked in a great deal and got my seat for about $900 RT after some seat reservation fees. Coupled with a cheap Swoop flight grabbed a few months later to Abbotsford and some very much appreciated chauffeuring from my uncle Robin and I was going to be arriving in Nadi (pronounced Nandi) Fiji pale from winter and ready to relax. I had learned from the past and gave myself a 3 day cushion on the swoop flight heading out but thankfully their only change was to push it later in the evening and actually make it more convenient, a rare win.

Kind of hilariously in the days leading up to my flight Fiji Airways sent me emails inviting me to ‘bid on business upgrade’ (I took a look and the minimum bid one way was almost double the cost of my return flight) and later on offering me the chance to have a ‘bubble row’ to myself for a slightly more tempting $600. Once on the plane I wondered why they’d offered though as there seemed to be very few empty seats and I didn’t really see how that’d have been possible. However thinking about it now I remember now that the Auckland bound Air New Zealand flight had been cancelled that evening (likely due to the cyclone) so I’m guessing a few folks were transferred to our flight as a two hopper to NZ given roughly ¼ of the flight appeared to immediately head to the transfer desk on arrival in Nadi.

The flight itself was a bit of a nightmare, starting at 9:40pm and landing at 5:30am+1day. I couldn’t help but joke that as an eternally single person I’d found a way to skip valentine’s day by flying west across the date line on the 13th and not really experiencing the 14th as we landed the following morning. As I waited for the flight to board I became increasingly dismayed by the large number of people with very small children that kept arriving. Don’t get me wrong I love kids and I’m sure a couple of them were going home but man, maybe for the couple years while your kids are under 3 you could pick vacation destinations that don’t require a 12 hour flight? My usual recent luck for transcontinental flights held and I ended up beside another broad shouldered person and in a seat that didn’t recline at all. And yep, one or more of those toddlers caterwauled all through the flight.

For those that haven’t tried it, let me tell you, the cure for mild whiplash from a car accident a few weeks ago is not a 12 hour flight in economy.

—

I’ll admit I really only knew the absolute basics about Fiji before prepping for this trip. Tropical place, influences from a number of cultures, strong Indian influences in particular, very at threat from global warming. What I really didn’t know was just how small it was, a population around the same size of Manitoba strewn across a large number of islands (though with most of the ‘mainland’ of Viti Levu.) For the most part the population speaks Fijian, English and a Fijian Hindi dialect and thus far communication hasn’t been an issue. More to come on all that I’m sure.

I arrived at the hotel sometime around 7am, hoping against hope that they’d have some luggage storage so I could ditch my bags and go walk around a bit before check in time. Thankfully it turned out that my room was already free and a very grateful zombie stumbled up the road to the B&B offshoot of the main hotel, obviously a converted vacation home. Shown to a lovely clean (if spartan) room, I promptly dumped my gear, showered the smell of travel off myself and crawled between the sheets for a 2 hour power nap. I knew from experience that I couldn’t sleep for long if I wanted to beat the jetlag but I definitely needed something.

The B&B itself was nice, especially for the fairly bargain price (I’m splurging most of the rest of this trip so I kept the initial landing spot on the cheap end without doing the hostel dorm thing.) I’m guessing the hotel’s manager or owner lives in what was once the guest house and this main house now has 5 small guest rooms and a large living room/kitchen. 3 rooms share a bathroom/shower and two have ensuite. The bed was comfy and the place was spotless and that’s all that mattered at this moment.

A few hours later and brighter eyed if not bushy tailed I threw a few things in my daypack and went back to the main hotel to ask them to call and confirm my offshore stay. A couple weeks before I left I’d zeroed in on a multi hop trip up some of the offshore islands, had booked my reservation and gotten early confirmation… but had not had any final confirmation on the individual resorts I’d requested or any of my other questions. What was at first a minor annoyance became increasingly stressful as the trip approached and finally as I left for the islands not knowing if I had a place to stay beyond day 2. I gather I wasn’t the first with this problem as she told me to just go sit and she’d let me know what they said. Needless to say I blissfully complied, ordered a pineapple juice and proceeded to spend 3 hours reading on the shore as rain thankfully kept missing our end of the bay and I just watched the waves crash on the minimal beach. To say it was exactly what I needed was an understatement and the relaxation was increased by finally getting confirmation of my pickup for the boat even if they’d still neglected to finally confirm my hotels, something that would take 3 more emails. Still, at least I knew I was getting picked up

The combination of that relief, fatigue from lack of sleep and the overall stress of the last few months bleeding from me meant that bed was already calling again but I knew I had to last a couple more hours. As a result as inviting as the pool back at the b&b looked, I knew the post swim sleepies would do me in for the night so I followed the instructions of the hostess and found the minimart up the street. Amidst a couple snacks, some water bottles and a premixed gin and tonic I found my holy grail. A delicious bundaberg soda from Australia, not my personal fave blood orange variety but the still awesome peach soda. Annoyingly I’ve never found these in North America though Adam Savage is occasionally drinking one in his videos so someone must import them to california at least. Honestly if you ever have the chance… delicious on their own, delicious with gin/vodka/rum depending on the flavour. I polished that off very quickly back at the b&b while chatting with the new hostess Cecimaria. I’ve gotten better with the Fijian accent/lilt since that night but I was definitely in smile and nod territory a few times with this very bubbly young lady.

Between our chat and some angry emailing I managed to stay awake a bit longer but eventually gave in, had an early curry dinner back by the shore and raced back home through the rain to collapse sometime around 6pm local/10pm Vancouver/midnight Winnipeg with my body clock somewhere messed up between the three. Between my various efforts I’d managed to conk out until 6:45 the following morning and given I’d be up early the next morning anyway that seemed as close to a normal sleep schedule as I needed.

The Floods…

So I knew this was going to be the rainy season in Fiji. As the day of departure arrived I watched with increasing worry as the forecast shifted from a fair bit of rain to ’90-100% chance of thunderstorms every day I was scheduled to be here.’ It could have been worse of course given the NZ cyclone but still as I sat there eating my breakfast with a german couple who seemed to be youtubers the downpour increased to a dense tropical rain the likes of which I’ve probably only seen in Thailand. It came and went all day which I mostly spent reading and making sure I’d prepared everything else (fingers crossed.) A new guest arrived around lunchtime, his name was Jim and he didn’t talk much but I enjoyed him plucking away at his ukelele most of the afternoon under the thatched poolside shelter as we watched the water rise and rise. I’ll hand it to the local infrastructure though, the street flooding was fairly minimal until we’d reached a full 12 hours of this but by the time I went out for dinner manhole covers were overflowing on the main road and when they taxi brought me back I stepped out into lake roughly a foot deep. The next morning on the way to my pickup I had to wade through multiple troughs of calf deep water. I don’t think my poor sandals are ever going to be dry this trip.

The taxi drivers were hilarious in other ways as well. Pretty much everyone I talk to here at some point asks me if I’m travelling alone. When I reply yes some of them say something along the lines of ‘oh that’s the way to do it, others something like ‘you bring the wife next time?’ My driver on the way out to dinner that night had his own take. When told I was indeed travelling alone he considered that for a moment and said: You be careful… Fijian women very… INTELLIGENT.

Of course, the weather was worrying me for other obvious reasons as I had a 3-4 hour boat trip early the next morning. The rain was scheduled to continue and the islands I was going to had a ‘high winds/possible tidal flooding’ warning in place which didn’t sound hopeful. I kept waking up throughout the night as the heavens either opened up or quieted and checking my phone for note of cancellation (Why sleepy me thought they’d be that proactive is beyond me.) In fact when the shuttle bus showed up that morning they informed a few disappointed people that the day trip was cancelled due to weather (unsurprising given there’d be nothing to do really once at the island) but that those of us transfering to resorts were a go.

(since I wrote this things have apparently gotten much worse to the point where I may need to adjust end days plans if I’m not going to be able to safely get back along one of the roads, time will tell.)

The Boat:

I’m realizing that I haven’t really described Nadi much and I guess honestly that’s because there isn’t much to describe. It’s a relatively small city spread out in a couple directions. I didn’t see much of downtown given I was mostly dodging rain but didn’t see anything to really convince me I missed much in the city proper though I’ll be back my last bit of the trip and may try to explore more.

The port itself is a short trip from Nadi proper on an island/peninsula. This is where the fancier resorts close to Nadi are, a lot of places that from brief glimpses look like your usual all inclusives in Mexico (and indeed from talking to folks that’s basically what they are for Aussies/Kiwis.) Nestled in between all of them is a small but busy Marina which is home to a number of tour companies including the Yasawa Flyer, a high speed catamaran that runs out to a number of resorts on the offshore island chains.

I had chosen to do what’s called an ‘Awesome Pass’ which for a mildly exorbidant fee gives you unlimited boat rides, a number of nights accomodation (in my case 6) and bundled food. Normally I’m not down with the bundled food options on this sort of thing but on most of these islands the resort is literally the only thing there so it’s not like you can swing out to a mom and pop operation with a bit of a walk. That said, I’m writing this on night one of the islands and the food today was both fantastic and local.

I chose to spend three nights each at two different resorts (there are a large number to choose from) deeper in the island chain and more focused on snorkeling/diving. This meant a fairly lengthy trip as the first was about halfway through the catamaran journey. The big boat essentially runs a daily route up the two archipelagos and meets tender boats from various places which run passengers and luggage to and fro shore. Unfortunately for those who suffer from sea sickness the wind warning wasn’t a lie and she was rolling and hanging in the troughs a fair bit. As a couple of Aussies behind me kept saying, more than a few people had to ‘Chunder.’ Thankfully my seeming imperviousness to seasickness continues to be a thing and I enjoyed the ride until the stop was called.

The Islands

As much as I do hope to see these islands in their sun-drenched glory before the week is up there was something special about seeing the lush green hills appear out of the mist. The first island (and the target of many day trips) is called South Sea Island and seems to be little more than a sandbar with a few dorms and bures (huts) on it. Later islands have impressive craggy cliffs, lush vegitation and hidden sandy beaches where a small cluster of huts will suddenly appear. None of these resorts are huge, many (most?) are eco-travel focused and as sustainable as possible.

After about 3 hours I ended up on a narrow shoreboat speeding across a large bay and driving into shore at a welcoming crowd of singing staff and a hearty BULA (meaning health, a seemingly universal greeting hereabouts.) Between the musical welcome, the sand, the palms and the water… I felt at peace for the first time in months.

This only increased that feeling as I settled in to my bure, enjoyed my private view of ‘sunset beach’ and then went to enjoy a tasty lunch with my fellow new arrivals and those already enjoying the place.

The resort is small, I’d guess roughly 20-25 Bures with a couple of them being backpacker dorms with bunks and some like mine having an ‘ensuite’ which is open to the sky. They surround a larger ‘main bure’ which is basically a meal area/kitchen/lounge and a couple smaller bures which house other services. The whole thing is on a spit of land off one of the hilly islands and we’re surrounded by three beaches: my aforementioned sunset beach (though we didn’t see one tonight) a larger bay with a reef further out, and two (sunrise and ?) others seperated by a narrow point that share a large coral reef just offshore that offers fantastic snorkeling with absolute minimum effort.

You’d better believe I was in that water more or less as soon as I could be though I also set up some diving for the coming days, but more on that in the next post.

Spelunking

3 March 2019
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Somewhat frustratingly despite my best efforts I was unable to secure a dive while in Madeira. Many of the dive shops on the island weren’t starting operations until March or April because it’s “winter.” I thought I’d found one eventually but communicating with them was a constant pain and when I told them I was in for tuesday and asked for final details I didn’t hear from them again… hell of a way to run a business. In the end it seemed likely they were only shore diving in a pretty but not particularly exciting little cove… To be honest I’m guessing they didn’t have much interest and decided if they ignored me they wouldn’t have to work that day.

Punta Oliviera just west of our resort, path seems to be a relic of an earlier era

In the end I slept in a bit and we had a good walk around the shoreline and around the point. For whatever reason Madeira in general and this area (Canico de Baixa) in particular is very popular with Germans. While the area right by our hotel has a number of other hotels/small apartments even a 3 minute walk up the road in either direction takes you past a number of small rental homes ranging from a teeny walkup to larger multi bedroom homes with gorgeous gardens and balconies overlooking the sea cliffs. Unfortunately my german wasn’t really up to checking all the details but I may look them up once home out of curiousity.

After a couple hours of going up and down hills/steps/cobblestones we realized we hadn’t had lunch and decided to try the Taverna we’d seen on the way into the hotel zone. It was pleasant but kind of hilarious in that multiple times we were left alone for ages on the patio. It was pretty much the only place on the trip so far where we had much of a language barrier (the amount of English spoken by people in the service industry is astounding.) We ended up finishing the evening with a drink on the patio.

—

Wanting to explore a bit of the north side we booked a tour out to the volcanic caves with a couple of side stops. The tour itself had a bit more content from the tour guide this time and we were in a small Renault minivan. Honestly one of the more interesting things he let us know was just how many of the tunnels we passed through were relatively recent. He kept pointing out crazy zigzaggy roads going up volcanic ridges and telling us that was the old road to go where we were going. I can only imagine how long the roughly 30 minute drive would have taken before the tunnels. There was a burst of construction that finished roughly 15 years ago where they built an absolute whackload of tunnels and the highway that follows the south coast up in the hills. It’s a seriously impressive round of engineering.

We took the main road over the mountains through one of the few passes and eventually reached the entrance to the caves. A series of lava tubes large and small (some enlarged to allow easier access) they made a loop a fair way into the mountain. There were a number of different lava formations left behind that were neat to see. Somewhat hilariously in some of the larger water pools local winemakers had set up an experiment to see how their wine aged in the more or less uniform temperature water. It was a neat tour but the 3d video afterwards in the educational center was hilariously bad.

Wine Testing

Moving on with our driver Antonio we visited the village of Sao Vincente. We were somewhat baffled when he drove up to the upper village then slightly back down the road and directed us to walk down the steep road then staircase. We followed the path down slowly and had a peek at the simple but pretty church and tiny graveyard, the newness of some of the stones made me think it was a graveyard of the “you get 20 years in the ground then we throw you in the mausoleum” variety.

Sao Vincente

Moving onwards Antonio pointed us on the walkway down to the sea along a gently flowing river that clearly gushes hard when the rain is falling. It was actually the first time we’d seen strong breakers coming onto shore and I was honestly surprised not to see anyone surfing. It was a pretty spot and we both would have really enjoyed sitting down at a cafe and enjoying it for a while… unfortunately with this whirlwind tour that wasn’t really an option.

Sao Vincente shoreline

The last stop on our tour was actually another spot from the Travel Man episode, a cable car down to an isolated beach on the west coast. We didn’t have the chance to go down, but the view from above was breathtaking. I believe it’s one of the highest sea cliffs in the world. Apparently somewhere nearby there’s a glass floor observation deck that must be truly terrifying.

On our way back into town our fellow passengers decided to get dropped in Funchal and we decided on the spur of the moment to do the same and got out on the waterfront for a quick lunch. Somewhat happily we then discovered that the carnaval stuff we’d seen being set up earlier was actually now active even if they parade obviously wasn’t going to be for a day or two. We ended up grabbing some chorizo buns to take back for dinner and tried a few treats. Ginja (a portuguese cherry/berry liqueur, more on that later) in a chocolate cup. Crispy crusted chestnut tarts. A new tangerine poncha we hadn’t tried before. All delicious!

Carnaval

Winding our way back into the old town I decided we should go up to an area we hadn’t been to since the first day of exploration and there was a fantastic guitarist playing in the church square. We’ve been kind of shocked at how many buskers here have pretty elaborate sound systems. This guy had one heck of a pedal board set up and was doing a variety of styles over the hour or so we listened to him play. The Poncha was delicious, the sun was shining and the music was good.

Old Town Cat

Together with the carnaval sneak peek was an excellent treat and a nice way to (almost) end our time in Madeira. We decided to take the public bus back to the resort for the first time. It turned out to be pretty painless. Not a ride for someone with vertigo though as all the twists and turns on a high cliffside road that were slightly wild in a minivan were even more in a tall bus with a driver gunning it around the turns. It stays off the highway and snakes along the cliffside towns and stopped within a 5 minute walk of the resort. Honestly if I ever visited again the Madeiran bus system seems pretty fantastic, I guess that’s required in a town with so much up and down.

Poncha to the gut: Madeira Continued

23 February 2019
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edit note: While it was a bit overcast the days in question it wasn’t quite as grey as it seems. I can’t really white balance the photos easily while on the go so imagine some more warmth in them.

 

We actually managed to stay up reasonably late that night but I’m fairly sure as we hit our overly tiny pillows that night we were both out within seconds. Even the next morning we managed to sleep through a fair bit of noise before we were roused but honestly we really didn’t feel any jetlag. My only real complaint is that putting back on the socks I’d already worn for more or less two days was an experience I really didn’t need.

I will try not to turn this into the unending story of how not having your luggage sucks but it was definitely odd trying to find a few replacement items to tide us over. Finding socks was surprisingly difficult. Most of the small men’s stores in town didn’t sell socks and underwear at all, when we finally found some those that did either sold terrible thin touristy ones or teeny ankle socks. Shirts were almost as bad for a guy of my size as most portuguese shops don’t stock much for people over 5’8″. Still other than the quest for socks our first full day was pretty great.

There are a number with nautical themes

 

We started out more or less retracing our steps from the night before. We’d slept late enough that the fish market was more or less done for the day but many of the food vendors and flower vendors were in full swing, as was the small bakery nearby that we’d read about in our lonely planet pocket guide. Man was LP spot on with that recommendation. We got two giant ‘croissants’ (more of a croissant shaped semi sweet bun) toasted up with butter, cheese and ham and drinks for the equivalent of under $5. My mother only finished have of hers it was so large. We also decided to grab a couple of Pateis de Nata (Custard Tarts) to have later on.

Pau de Canela

Exploring the old town a bit more in daylight gave us a chance to see a bit more including some more of the painted doors previously hidden in the darker alleys and one of the older churches on a small square. The buildings are definitely still a mix of maintenance levels but you can definitely see the district throbbing with the life it must have been lacking before. It’s a hopefully sustainable mix of art and commerce that keeps things busy but isn’t a tourist only hangout. Private homes and apartments lie between and above the new businesses and you still see a mix of young and old locals hanging out at one of the microbars sipping a poncha or a local Corral beer.

Barking at the door

Poncha! Oh yes… Poncha. A traditional Madeiran drink that’s more or less a high octane rum punch (and also the more basic background of the Caprinha.) It’s made with a distilled sugarcane alcohol that packs a punch muddled with local honey and citrus juice. The traditional way would be with lemon, but many of the local ones have some fresh squeezed orange juice and Passionfruit versions are also tasty and delicious. We had one that first night and pretty much at least one a day since as they’re delicious and often quite cheap at the street cafes.

Heading towards the end of the old town the cliffs begin to climb again leading to another old church and some spectacular views along the coastline. For us prairie folk not so used to hills of any kind it was also the beginning of our calf muscle workouts that will continue into the later stages of the trip. At this end of the Funchal coastline there’s also a small fort that once help fend off pirates and the like during the era when Madeira was an important sugar (and later wine) producer.

Looking back across Funchal from just past the Fort

As we’d more or less reached the end of the old town we turned around and walked the length of the Funchal waterfront. For an island that relies on tourism so heavily it was really nice to see that the city’s waterfront isn’t just a mass of large hotels as it is in so many places. Some form of public walkway makes up most of the shoreline (sand beaches are not really a thing here since the island is so geologically young) with a strip of park or garden between it and the main oceanfront avenue. Most of the big modern hotels are in fact west of the city center in a ‘hotel zone.’ Many of the buildings closest to the water in the downtown area are still administration buildings, a historic fort and of course that necessity of necessities, a McDonalds :p

Funchal

A large portion of the locals are seriously well dressed. I suspected (and later confirmed on wikipedia) that the number of banks meant that Madeira was some form of tax haven, but even outside of downtown you often see large groups of people very elegantly attired for a random thursday afternoon. Most are also wearing quite snazzy footwear and we are both considering picking up some shoes at some point on this trip. Somewhat hilarious for people of our origin, many of these folks are also acting as if their winter was actually cold and wear wool jackets and scarves. Though the island has a number of climates and up on the peaks it can definitely be a bit colder… the Funchal ‘winter’ is in February an average temp of 18c. Part of the tourism draw of winter here is actually all the flowers that come out at this time of year. Birds of Paradise and other things exotic to us bloom freely here and liven up the landscape with colour, many of the gardens appear to be planted in such a way as to be a sequence of different blooming periods across the year.

We walked more or less the length of the center of Funchal, admiring the flowers, checking out the chestnut and gelato vendors and laughing at the newly arrived cruise ship with “Fahrtwind” stencilled on the side (which I believe means tradewind but I still laughed.) At this point there were two large ships and a smaller more vintage cruiser berthed with many shore parties roaming around. Nestled beneath them is the museum dedicated to (the ego of) Madeira’s most famous son: Christiano Ronaldo. The CR7 museum apparently houses a bunch of his personal trophies, jerseys etc. Outside is a pretty terrible bronze statue of him which was apparently controversial among some for being noticeably well endowed… presented without comment is a photo of said statue.

CR7 in front of his eponymous museum/hotel

Having vaguely decided that perhaps we needed socks that didn’t feel and smell as if they’d perhaps gain sentience we headed up from the shoreline into the more commercial part of downtown. We passed what appears to be a gorgeous old theatre sadly shut tight, but discovered the municipal gardens in the heart of downtown. It’s an elaborate garden (every time we’ve walked by since there have been at least 5 different groundspeople working) and also contains a small amphitheatre and cafe. Large old growth trees provide a canopy over varied flowers, fountains and waterfalls. It really has a feel of an oasis in the city.

We spent the rest of the day exploring the commercial district, eventually found some socks and then meandered back to our hotel before we grabbed another (more basic) dinner in the old town to wrap up day 2.

—

We knew that our airline didn’t run a flight out of Toronto the day after we left so day 3 was potentially the earliest we’d get our luggage. Anticipation was high, but we also had to transfer to our ‘permanent’ digs in Madeira which are actually well outside of the city proper on the coast. We reloaded our carryons, bid farewell to our residencial and continued our exploration of the city for a few hours until check in time.

I’m a fan of a show called Travel Man that Richard Ayoade of IT Crowd fame does on uk tv. Basically he takes a celebrity guest and does a weekend away in various places one can reach from the uk for a quickie holiday. His episode on Madeira had mentioned some of the things he’d already done and we had a bit of an aha moment as we stumbled across the shopping mall that was the ground floor portion of the fancy 5 star hotel that he and Robert Webb (also a personal fave) had stayed at.

After a quickie bakery lunch once again we found ourselves near the Santa Catalina gardens up on a cliff overlooking the harbour. Another gorgeous greenspace in a very pretty city, it also contains the first chapel built in Funchal as well as a small monument of thanks from the government of Gibraltar in recognition of the sanctuary and care offered to the many Gibraltar civilians evacuated here during World War II.

Once it was time, we hopped a cab up and out the same winding road and back towards the airport but turning off at the town of Canico (which is more or less just an outer suburb of Funchal at this point.) Here the very rugged coastline does have a line of hotels and condos. Our cabbie was not the most conversant in english but we managed to converse in a broken mix of languages where we wanted to go. Unfortunately he also wouldn’t listen to me as I told him that yes we were on the right street and stopped twice to ask for directions or to read a sign over and over when we could see where we wanted to be. Thankfully the second time he asked for directions we knew we had arrived and were already on our way out of the car when the man confirmed it.

Any hopes of luggage were dashed when we arrived inside to find blank looks from the front desk staff. Morale wasn’t improved when I received an email not long after informing us that “Hooray, your bags are on flight XXXX to Punta Delgada (the azores) and will arrive in Porto (on the mainland) later tonight. We are (obviously) not in Porto, have no plans to go to Porto. Later on after we were settled we asked the front desk manager to call the luggage folks on our behalf as I hadn’t been able to get through and we thought someone batting for us in Portugues might be helpful. Sure enough the baggage company claimed that the email had been a mistake and our bags would be on their way to Funchal soon (hah! It was definitely not.)

Our new home

Thankfully the condo itself was gorgeous. Small kitchenette, large bathroom and two very comfortable beds flanking a living room with balcony that overlooked the pool, cliffs and ocean beyond. It was a very welcome bit of luxury to two canadians starting to feel extremely grubby. The complex is made up of a fairly old but well maintained central hotel that was probably a very chic place in the 60s when the airport here first opened but is now a bit basic. Another newer hotel is on the east side and our condo complex (the newest buildings) are on the west.

I’m genuinely curious how different this area is in summer. Only in August does it ever get what I’d call truly hot here (an average of 25 degrees with little rain) but the outdoor pool is unheated. The lido area here on the oceanfront looks very neat in design but is all roped off at the moment. It’s also rather battered looking and I genuinely can’t tell if the missing guardrails/ladders etc are pulled out because it’s winter and no one swims, if they’ve perhaps been battered by particularly bad winter storm months back or if they’ve just not been maintained in a couple years. The hotel website has recent (or at least recent-ish) looking photos of the area well painted with lifeguard chairs and equipment.) It’s disappointing as I had hoped to get in the ocean, but it wasn’t as if I had a swimsuit at the moment anyway.

Looking pretty abandoned (doesn’t look much better in a shot someone took on google maps a year and a half ago either)

After the gut punch of still being without clothes, toiletries, my scuba gear etc for at least another day we went for a long stroll along the top of the cliffs. Further down from our hotel we passed a Riu Palace resort (one variant of wish we’ve stayed in in Puerto Vallarta) another older but very large hotel overlooking a small bay with a large oceanfront lido area, also looking very abandoned. (Though a photo on google does seem to perhaps show some people using the tidal pool there.) If not for the relatively new Riu (and another new-ish resort in the other direction) I would just think this area was perhaps a bit of a relic but perhaps I’m missing something?

The rugged coastline, somewhere down there is the complex’s currently off season dive center.

We did run across a few obviously feral cats. We’ve actually met more than a few stray dogs on the island but these were the first cats. They all seem really well looked after. More than once we’ve stumbled across little feeding stations where people have put out food and water for these animals and of course weather wise there isn’t much for them to worry about. While walking along the coast that evening we even found a little house someone had made for some of the ferals that lived near the ‘beach.’

Feral Cat Shack

After we’d explored (and really worked up an appetite on the hills) we went to a small pizzeria I noticed on the google map for some comfort food and some Poncha. Thanks to now having a kitchenette we could even keep leftovers for a quickie lunch or dinner later. Still as we strolled back downhill to the condo it was hard not to think about what we’d do if our luggage didn’t arrive the next day.

Chasing the Azorean Dawn – Portugal Day 1-?

22 February 2019
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So colour me shocked but again I’ve had a number of questions about whether I’m posting a travel blog for this trip. I honestly wasn’t sure as this is a bit more of a conventional holiday (I’ll be spending roughly half of it in resorts.) But as I always like to make notes about my travels and there seems to be demand I guess here we go again!

 

Our route (sort of?)

 

The morning we were leaving for Madeira my mother called me and asked, what time do you think we should leave for the airport? I couldn’t help but reply “it doesn’t matter what I think, Dad is going to get us there when he thinks it’s necessary regardless…” Sure enough, I was told 12:45 and in fact he was there closer to 12:30 as we set off on the 20m max trip to the airport for a 3:45 departure.

That was unfortunately the last bit of smooth sailing for the day. Does anyone remember when WestJet was about good service at a good price? At this point I can’t remember the last time I had a flawless experience with them and this time was definitely far at the other end. Unfortunately for us our flight had a fairly tight Toronto connection time of 1h30, but since we would be in the same terminal and the airport person confirmed our luggage would flow directly to our final destination we were feeling ok…

Toronto apparently had a minor amount of snow overnight so the plane taking us there was late arriving from TO. We were supposed to board at 3:45, ended up supposedly boarding at 4:10, only actually got away around 4:25. Our pilot tells us we should easily make up time in the air and sure enough he’s right, we arrive in Toronto only about 15-20 minutes behind our original time. In the meantime, our friends at WestJet have routed another plane into our gate. God forbid we just take the next one that’s open so we sit on the tarmac for another 45 minutes, by the time we sprint off the plane there’s 25m at most left til takeoff and they are usually closing the gates for good around 15 minutes beforehand. The supposed “gate agents to assist with connections” are nowhere to be found either.

I quickly scanned the board, found our gate (thankfully not the furthest end) and began powerwalking that way with mom trailing behind until I heard the robocall for final call, all passengers should be on board and basically began sprinting. I’m fairly sure I reached the gate just as they were about to offer our tickets to some standby folks and waited for mom to catch up as they told me our luggage was unlikely to make the flight (thanks WestJet!!!)

So hooray, we made it by the skin of our teeth but obviously had no time to buy a drink or any more food or, more importantly, use the restroom after ~30m of landing time and ~45m on the ground stuck in our seats. We were now on Azores Airlines which seems to have the lowest tolerance for turbulence of any airline I’ve ever taken so they seemed to take forever to turn the seatbelt signs off and unlock the restrooms. We both more or less sprinted the moment it dinged off. The flight was relatively uneventful otherwise despite some long “turbulence” times and more or less no service from the cabin crew after the meal (definitely wish I’d had a chance to buy some water.) Uneventful that is… until we arrived.

Madeira Island: A semi-autonomous region of Portugal (though actually closer to Morocco)

This second leg was Toronto to Puerto La Planchada in the Azores. We caught a healthy tailwind into/through the jetstream and arrived at the Azores around 5:30am local… at which point the airport was wait for it… NOT OPEN! So yes, we got to wait for around ~45 again, this time in the air, before we got landing clearance and landed at the teeny but modern airport. Deplaning directly onto the tarmac we got hit by a gale force wind coming off the open Atlantic and scurried inside for a brief passport check and a shortish wait for our flight to Madeira proper.

This time it was a Dash 8 (a smallish turboprop plane) and the two of us were surrounded by members of a soccer team. I don’t know about you but I have unwanted associations with travelling on a prop driven plane surrounded by a soccer team but we thankfully landed un-eaten at Christiano Ronaldo airport on Madeira just before noon. Shockingly enough, it was even a fairly gentle landing. (Do yourself a favour, don’t be like me and accidentally watch a youtube of “crazy landings at Madeira Airport” before you go.) It’s known to be windy and part of the landing path is out on pylons over the sea.

—

Not surprisingly at all there was no luggage waiting for us at the carousel so we registered our hotels for eventual (as I write this hopefully today*) delivery. Our luck finally turned as we emerged into a bright sunny day with a nice sea breeze, as views from an airport go I think it’s pretty hard to beat. Some preliminary research had made it clear the aerobus into town was the best way to go so we hopped on board and proceeded to marvel at the driver maneuvering the giant bus through the narrow cliffside roads heading off the highway into the capital of Funchal.

*not so much

For those who may never have heard of it Madeira is a volcanic island off the coast of Morocco that is a semi-automonous region of Portugal. It’s known as the ‘Island of Eternal Spring’ and has pleasant if not particularly hot climate overall with heavy variation depending on where you are on the island. The south end of the island where Funchal is located has most of the population nestled in the varied valleys that form a sort of ampitheatre leading down to the coast.

Funchal from near the harbour. The city core is quite small but the residential neighbourhoods sprawl upwards where ever a flat enough space for a house can fit.

Our first impressions were quite pleasant. I had a vague idea of where our hotel was and we started heading in the general direction when we found what seemed to be downtown’s central boulevard. Doing so we stumbled across a band of musicians playing various jazzy numbers with a bunch of folks flanking a bizarre creation of tubes. It looked and sounded like something the blue man group would play but their percussionists took turns getting some pretty amazing driving baselines out of the thing with their wide flat mallets. We ended up watching them for quite a while as we heartily enjoyed a bench and some peoplewatching at the same time.

Impressive sounds out of that collection of tubes, all mounted to wheels too.

Eventually we stumbled wearily towards our guesthouse, eventually finding it up a side road that was seemingly taking 50% of the traffic exiting downtown despite being at first glance only wide enough for a vw bug. Our plan for Madeira is to spend a week at a resort we got an exchange for via my parents’ time share, but that wasn’t until thursday so we thought we’d get some simple digs in the city in the meantime. It was tiny, very basic but utterly spotless and as we had no plans to really spend any time in the room at this point more than good enough. Only complaint was facing that same busy road but thankfully it quieted down almost completely after about 8pm.

The drainage channels out of the mountains collect various water channels and often have lovely flowers

Awake time at this point was roughly 23 hours so after squeezing in turn into the postage stamp sized shower we succumbed to the urge for a short nap. Unsurprisingly this turned into a longer nap but eventually we rousted ourselves, put on our only fresh clothing and managed to walk down towards the waterfront (with a quick stop for toothbrushes.) A second medium sized cruise ship had nestled in during our nap and the streets were fairly lively. I’m pretty good at quickly getting the hang of navigation in a new town (something about being able to mentally translate a map well) and figured out we were heading toward the large market. It was about to close but we had a quick look around at some of the flower stalls (the sellers required by law to wear traditional dress) and made a note to come back later. Thankfully the market also serves as a gateway to the old town.

Church plaza in Old Town with one of the many flowering trees here

Funchal’s old town has apparently undergone somewhat of a transformation of late with an area that was formerly somewhat rundown with many abandoned buildings. Not long ago all commercial shipping left Funchal proper and with it many of the residents. Thankfully unlike you might expect it wasn’t all torn down for a few giant hotels but is now filled with small restaurants and bars, art galleries, hostels and guesthouses (I would stay here next time.) Also notably, an art project was started to convince people to make and preserve art in the area that involved people painting the derelict (and non-derelict) doors with vibrant colours and murals. Some are great, some are just hilarious but they all combine to give the district a distinct vibe.

How could I not take a photo of this one (Doors of the Old Town, Funchal)

We eventually chose a Madeiran restaurant that was also hosting a Fado performance for a show while we ate. Fado is Portuguese folk blues, traditional music with a history of being about longing and melancholy. In practice it’s usually very dramatic sounding songs sung with much seriousness and accompanied by Portuguese guitar and an acoustic base guitar looking thing. Our group was 4 singers trading off and they were really quite talented despite my Portugues being essentially limited to yes sir, no sir, thank you, hot dog. By the time we finished our meal and show however we were absolutely done and headed back to our guest house ready to crash.

Fado!

Edit note: More to come soon, it took me a few days to finish this post as morale lowered a bit/other concerns overtook writing over the next bit.

Capitalist Pig Dogs

3 April 2015
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Somehow I’ve written two full posts and haven’t really discussed anything other than the flight and hotel. Oops!

One thing that catches people off guard as they prepare for a trip to Cuba is that the Cuban Convertible Peso (CUC) is a closed currency. What this means for your average traveller is that there’s no way to buy pesos in advance you’re forced to purchase them when arrive/during your stay.  Coupled with the Cuban government’s tight control over the exchange process this is a giant pain in the ass. Though once there appear to have been foreign exchange booths like you see elsewhere, these must have disappeared when the USD stopped being accepted as legal tender. For a current visit there are three places to change money: The Airport, A Hotel, The Bank. All three are terrible in different ways.

The Airport: Apparently offers rates comparable to the bank.Where once the booth was apparently in the arrival hall it’s now inexplicably located in the departure hall. My only guess is that this is to facilitate things for people who have forgotten their $CUC 25 departure tax but why they could not have just opened a second booth just seems to be one of the Cuban ‘Why would we do anything that makes this process easier’  things.

The hotel: Happy to exchange foreign currency for you but likely to do so at a ridiculous unregulated markup. Seriously, do so if you have to, but only enough to take you to the bank.

        The Bank: Best rates but a total ordeal.

When we eventually decided to head into town to get some pesos we pretty much did it entirely wrong (if you’re going anytime soon, learn from our mistakes.) We started off by converting a bit of money at the hotel in order to take the bus to town. We had literally no idea how far we were from town and had been told that taking the bus was a reasonable way to get into town (wrong.) In the end we sat at that bus stop for an hour in the hottest part of the hottest day of our stay never to see the bus go by (we thought, though in the end I think we’d been misinformed as to what we were waiting for) only to find out in the end that we were only about a 10-15 minute walk from the outskirts of town, though of course the bank ended up being on the far end of town.

The bank is a squat, unimpressive building though perhaps painted a little more impressively than others in town. Outside sit two ATMs of which only one was working on our arrival. It had a long line and we’d bought Canadian cash to convert so we stood in line to go to the bank. I’d been warned before departing that the bank was quite the experience and sure enough we experienced Cuban rules galore. If you’ve never been there it’s difficult to describe the stupidity of the process.

We joined the back of a queue of roughly 6 people  waiting to be admitted. A security guard (of the Cuban rentacop variety) stood at the door latching it every time he let someone into the bliss of the air conditioning. Because it was around noon there was a steady line of Cubans depositing half-day takings from businesses (gov’t and non) and they were admitted and served with priority. Once admitted to the bank proper (half an hour later) there were comfortable arm chairs and another long wait. Chatting in the bank or using a raised voice at all as a visitor is strictly forbidden. Anything to do with money is serious business. Standing at one teller is an elderly man apparently depositing his life savings recently rescued from his mattress. Stack after stack of weathered, ancient bills, carefully counting each one top to bottom before handing it over and watching the cashier’s moves carefully as she did the same. I’m guessing these were the old style pesos by sheet volume and the man had brought a giant sack full. I half expected there to be a dollar sign on it and for federales to burst in looking for someone who had robbed a train. Eventually we emerged with our cash but based on our spending habits the rest of the trip I’d probably make a few recommendations.

  • Bring an amount of cash (say $200) that you won’t convert except in case of emergency. Leave that and a credit card in your room safe. Since it stays in CAD, it’s not a big deal if you bring it home untouched.
  • Just hit the ATM and take out enough cash for your week, you don’t want to have to make a second bank trip.
  • Immediately set aside your 25CUC per person for departure tax and leave it with your passport/immigration card in your hotel safe.

 

Varadero itself is pretty much a nothing town. It’s mostly one strip of some of the older/cheaper resorts, a few market type areas and a collection of restaurants seemingly owned by the same company (most likely the government organization in charge of Varadero proper.) According to what I’ve read and from speaking from an older guy during my diving trip once upon a time the town was more of a cultural center but the increasing number of all-inclusives has killed a lot of that off. Further back it was apparently one of Al Capone’s favourite getaway destinations and a favoured spot for a number of wealthy folks both American and not. Most of these estates were later seized by the new government and became museums (not much sign of those now) or the foundations for parks like the one where we grabbed lunch that day.

A motley mix of Spanish influenced older buildings, brutalist communist designs  and more modern touristy establishments compete for space with more handmaid looking places. It’s clear that almost everyone who has property with access to the main avenue uses it for some sort of commercial purpose even if it’s just letting a vendor set up a hat stall or pina colada stand. Based on a later discussion with a tour guide my understanding is that for the most part property has been mostly inherited since the revolution and it’s only very recently that any sort of free market real estate business has started to be introduced.

Of course the other big attraction for some people is the one many people know about. Due to the US embargo there are not really any American cars from the past 50 years on the road in Cuba. While to some extent this means cars imported by the government/for businesses rule the road (mostly of eastern bloc make though now shifting to be European in general) there are still a large number of gorgeous old American cars on the road, mostly serving as taxis. Since spare parts are difficult/impossible to come by most of these cars have been held together by bodged parts and Cuban ingenuity until some point where the owner either replaces the engine with a repurposed engine (often diesel,) parks the car to repair later or sells it for parts (a veritable gold mine.) At one point walking down the street I passed in quick succession a Studebaker, early 50s caddies, Chevies and Pontiacs and a converted 30s Ford Hot Rod. This is unfortunately one tradition that will die off quickly once exports are possible to the US as any number of American car collectors are salivating over the opportunity to buy these old beauties and restore them. I only hope that when that happens their owners get every dollar they’re worth. They are beautiful cars, lovingly maintained for the most part and truly a blast from the past for someone who lives in a part of the world where salt insures that anything over 20 years old is a smoking heap of rust.

Almost without exception the Cuban people were lovely and friendly with us and for the most part it seemed genuine. There was very little of the “I’m smiling because I want your money” vibe, especially in Varadero and in fact that most people we met were intent on making sure you were enjoying and admiring their beautiful home. Because Varadero caters almost exclusively to the tourism industry (though another big local employer, Oil, brings in a number of foreigners as well) almost everyone you meet speaks at least some English and between that and my sadly dwindling spanish knowledge I never had any trouble being understood.

 

To be continued…

 

Cuba: A room with a view…

1 April 2015
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It’s two in the morning, we’re in a foreign country not exactly known for free enterprise and we’ve been told (not exactly politely) to sit and wait while the desk clerk handles all the registrations for people who haven’t had their reservations lost. I couldn’t help but begin to pace. Realistically I knew they’d probably find something for us but where the hell was our reservation? I knew from my time searching for hotels a few days before that most of the non-crap Varadero hotels were full for this week. Were we going to end up at some dive well off the beach just to have a place to lay our heads?

Twenty minutes later we’re following a hulking security guard/bellhop down various twisting paths to what looks like an abandoned outbuilding. There were no lights anywhere, most of the illumination once we left the main hotel block was from the moon or a slight dim wash from the powerful floods at the hotel next door. This hotel was clearly not party central (we’d learn the next day that we arrived after the ‘disco’ shuts for the night) and we didn’t see another soul while getting to our room. Thankfully Hodor knew the way and we were eventually dumped into what one could certain call a ‘room’ and not much more.

First: some perspective. I’ve stayed in some not great places, I’m well aware that hotel standards differ in different countries etc… I’ve stayed in hostels  and hotels all over the world, I regularly camp and sometimes rent a rugged cabin. This is all serving as preamble to say that I have a reasonable idea of what to expect when I walk into a lodging establishment of a certain quality. The Sunwing website had claimed this was a 3.5 star hotel, the hotel itself claimed to be 4 star on their entryway, the room we were put in that first night was neither. It was clean, I can say that for it, but spartan in the extreme. It was just wide enough for the two rock hard single beds that sat along each wall. (The pillows were seemingly inflatables.) One window face directly into the air conditioner for what we later learned was the kitchen for the a la carte restaurant and snack bar. The other window led directly into the corridor off which we’d entered. That window had a very flimsy lock and a curtain that really didn’t cover the entire window so you could easily wake up and see someone watching you sleep. A small tv from the 80s was perched precariously on a noisy old minifridge (neither of which seemed to function in any meaningful manner) and which occupied more or less the only free space in the room. The bathroom was tiny with a non functional sink and a shower that provided no hot water whatsoever. With a sigh we dumped our things, went back up to the lobby bar (through the darkness) had a quick rum punch as a nightcap then hit the hay. It was a measure of our fatigue that we were both out like a light.

Just before we’d left the check in desk the clerk had said “If you don’t like you’re room, you can return at 10 and we will see if we can move you.” That was a warning bell to me right there, I mean honestly have you ever heard a clerk in a decent hotel pre-emptively suggest you might not be happy in your room? The light of day revealed more about our first night’s stay. The room was one of two or three in this outbuilding which seemed to predate the existing hotel complex. It housed the beach bathrooms (which never smelled great and which were directly under our door,) the a la carte restaurant, snack bar and accompanying kitchens (usually reeking of fish) and the patio on which I imagine the original hotel had served some meals. If I had to guess (based on the complete desertion when we arrived, not even emergency lights were on) we were the only guests in this building. Most of the rest of the upper section we were appeared to be being used to store overflow furniture and in all honesty this room felt like what they probably used as overflow/spare staff sleeping quarters when needed. I could have easily made do with it (and would have been happy to on my backpacking travels) but even at the discount price we’d paid it wasn’t acceptable for the cost. Needless to say we were willing to take our chances on what else they might have for a room so after a quick breakfast we presented ourselves to the front desk.

The desk clerk of course went on again about how full they were but eventually consented to show us a recently vacated room to which we could be moved after it was cleaned. Somewhat unfortunately for the hotel’s claims the woman who shared the elevator with us (and the security dude) started chatting to us and it turned out that she’d been stuck in the same room on the first night… had been moved… and when their second room had turned out to not have a functional toilet the “full” hotel had found them yet another room to move to. In the end though the room they showed us was fine. Probably three times the square footage of the other room, beds softer than a concrete block, a shower that was instantly hot and a faucet that actually delivered water. Coupled that with a window that actually gave natural light (and a balcony!) and we were more than satisfied. Of course since they hadn’t cleaned it we couldn’t move in for a while but since the sum total of our ambitions for the first day were to explore the beach and swim/read it wasn’t a big deal.

—

Actually looking at the hotel in the sunlight revealed a small but quite pleasant place. Because the hotel was set back from the road a bit on a fairly narrow lot the distance to be beach was a lot shorter than most of the other resorts. The main level ring around the pool consisted of the lobby, the buffet, the ‘disco’ and two lines of what the resort called duplexes which seemed to be a room fairly similar to our second one with a spiral staircase up to a second bedroom above. The rest of the rooms were on the floors above. A largish pool bar sat next to the small main pool while a ‘river’ of shallower water snaked up to what was no doubt once a functional water feature but was now a block of concrete making it look as if a soviet sub was about to surface in the courtyard.  A small stage faced the patio by the bar behind which stood the building where our first room had sat, behind which was the beach. For the most part everything was clean and tidy but showing various levels of wear. Pretty much everything needed a coat of paint and anything that needed any kind of maintenance was likely shut down. From my understanding this is pretty common in Cuba but after discovering that the construction next door on a new mega resort was owned by the same company I would not be at all surprised to discover that our hotel was simply in low cost stasis mode until the new hotel opened and our was torn down to build villas or something.

I’d heard horror stories about the food in Cuba and while some of them were perhaps exaggerated… meals were definitely one of the less pleasant things about the trip. The reasons for this are probably many-fold. Some ingredients are no doubt difficult to get consistently, the cooks are not well trained and the job likely doesn’t pay well and doesn’t involve the fringe benefits of tipping that most other hotel positions provide. That said there’s really no excuse for some of the practices.  Food from previous meals will constantly turn up in following meals, usually not even disguised. The burgers you saw thawing in an unsanitary manner at the snack bar are likely the same burgers (now chopped in half) that are on today’s breakfast layout. Variety was pretty much non-existent. Actual food layouts themselves (particularly of the nicer things) disappeared quickly and were not replaced, cheeses being the most prominent example. More than anything else though the thing that killed me was the blandness. Pretty much everything I sampled had little flavour and as someone who does a lot of cooking I realised just how little effort would have been required to take things up several notches. Even dessert was a collection of different looking bar cakes that underneath were the same vaguely sweet spongecake with vaguely sweet layers or frosting at more or less tasted the same.

It quickly became apparent that sticking to the freshly made stations was the way to go, but just how many bowls of pasta with tomatoes and and onion can you have? By the end of the trip I was MacGyvering feverishly to get through meals, finding cheese and sausage and feverishly mixing it with the pasta and some salt (brought from home) to get more flavour or getting a second plate and mixing ingredients to something different and palatable. From talking to my mother as well as other people while outside the resort I gather some other hotels aren’t quite as dire in terms of variety/quantity but the pervasive blandness seems to be universal. I have to say, that’s one thing they’re really going to have to work on once the Americans start coming, even for a lower market American crowd you’re not going to be able to serve a tray of ‘pork’ like the one I saw everyone ignoring my last day there.  We slightly alleviated things by grabbing the occasional meal in Varadero proper. Well, that and copious amounts of alcohol.

 

To be continued

Viva la Cuba Libre (y viva Mojitos)

31 March 2015
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varadero

Cuba is an odd place. It’s a land of sun and sand but also a land of rules and regulations. It’s a curious mix of backwards and forwards, of old and older and of sudden hints at rejuvenation. There’s an air of anticipation (and indeed some fear) at the thought of another impending American invasion. While this one may bring investment and renewal many wonder if Cuba will ever really be the same again. This travelogue encompasses my impressions as a first time visitor (and longtime travel junkie,) some contrast/comparisons from others as well as a pretty lengthy diatribe against Sunwing Vacations with whom I hope to never travel again (part of the reason for the delay on posting this is my ongoing complaint submission with them.)

Arriving in Cuba is a different experience than most other holiday destinations we Canadians seem to frequent. It was dark when we arrived but even seen through the window of our 737 the airport looked very old/communist derived to me. It reminded me strongly of some of the train stations I’d visited in eastern Europe, and impression only reinforced once we’d deplaned and gone inside. Thanks to Sunwing’s ludicrously tight flight scheduling we arrived fairly late into Varadero itself. We deplaned to the tarmac then walked across, up two flights stairs and across a jetway into the terminal only to go back downstairs. (I’d originally thought that because we were late our jetway was in use, but in fact when departing we left from one that wasn’t in use when we arrived.) The warsaw pact vibe was reinforced inside as we passed a number of revolutionary slogan posters before even reaching the arrival hall.

Unfortunately (thanks Sunwing!)  our late arrival (and I suspect that of another large plane) made the arrivals hall into a packed cattle yard. You know the queue system(s) most sensible airports have to ensure immigration control moves along at a reasonable and fair pace? Not so much here. Let me paint you a picture…

You arrive at the bottom of a flight of stairs, to your left and right stretch a guide rope parcelling off the front section of floor for some unknown purpose. On the other side in the distance is a wall made up of individual customs booths. In front of each booth opening stretches a line of 50+ weary looking tourists. It’s instantly clear that the line is moving at a snail’s pace and indeed many people are sitting on their suitcases and fanning themselves (it may be midnight local time but this is a huge mass of people and there are no air conditioners.)

Back home sitting at our gate we’d become aware of a very hilarious group of Portuguese people. There were at least five of them, all seemingly in the same family, all (I’d guess) over 50. They were loud. VERY loud. One particular seemed beyond bitchy and would begin violently gesticulating and shouting every few minutes. Even the normal conversation was at the volume you would expect from a three year old tearing around a McDonald’s play area. This became markedly less entertaining as they were seated near us in the plane and started up again. It became beyond tiresome as they ended up immediately behind us in the customs line. They simply did not shut up ever and the yelling grandma got increasingly shrill. As someone who speaks French and some Spanish I think I found it especially grating as I could understand words and phrases here and there but it was just on the edge of intelligibility to me. It took everything I had not to turn around and shout “INSIDE VOICES PLEASE” at them. Adding to their annoyance factor was the two women leading the group who seemed to feel that unless they were pressing right up against us the line wasn’t going to move. I lost count of the number of times I was smacked by the woman’s sharp tote bag and it eventually got to the point where I stuck out my elbow a little knowing that eventually  she’d smack her head on it… (sure enough.)

Before we’d left my mother had warned me that Cubans are big about obeying the rules and often had arbitrary and stupid ones. I got my first taste of this as we waited in line as some poor Quebecois had the gall to go to the restroom. Upon emerging he made to cut under the rope line and head back to his spot in line with his wife and child. You’d think he’d pulled out a gun based on the shriek he got from the people dressed like nurses who seemed to serve no purpose at all. He was called back, berated in Spanish and made to walk the twenty feet to the gap in the rope line, then back down as though it made any difference (as mentioned the rope seemed to merely define the area that wasn’t the bathroom area… he was in no way inconveniencing anyone.)

Inevitably we’d chosen the wrong line at customs (we always do) and the processing was taking eons. There was little signage and indeed no clue why some of the people we saw that go into the booths went in groups and some solo. It turns out that if you have dependent children or a senior in need of aid ONE adult can go with them. How you are supposed to know this I’m not certain. In the end we chose lines so poorly that not only did everyone (probably 60 people) in line before us move to other lines and get through first, but in fact we ended up among the last 10 people processed in the entire queue. Our customs lady was beyond bitchy. I get that you hate your job miss but don’t mumble into your chest as you type and expect me to hear you while  standing against the far wall so you can take my photo. I was yelled at for:

  1. Not hearing the initial mumbling
  2. Being too tall and not sliding down far enough for their shitty webcams to take a photo
  3. Daring to put my glasses back on after she’d clearly had enough time to take 5 photos

Eventually cleared I found myself in yet another queue, this time for a security style metal detector. I suspect this one is mostly focused on not bringing in military grade radios and sat phones (though a lot of the things people claim you can’t take are myths) but with the amount of attention they were paying to the screen I could have brought anything in. It was very clear this was the end of their shift and in fact I ended up having to call them back to actually move my bag out of the machine.

In the end by the time we were parked on the bus we were fully 3 hours behind where we were supposed to be. Half the bus had grabbed beers from the hawkers outside the door (at a ridiculous markup) and it was a boisterous crowd of unfunny drunks that pretended to listen to the tour guide spiel as we headed out to Varadero. The young university student giving the intro guide talk was kind of hilarious. Her English was quite decent but for whatever reason she’d obviously used the words “well so you know” as a memory phrase so as she finished each memorized paragraph she’d revert and every single new paragraph went something along the lines of: “Well, so, you know, the oil industry is very important in Cuba…” Unfortunately due to the hour my first impressions of Cuba (non-airport division) were of a few poorly lit towns, a few spots with waves crashing that promised great views in the morning  and stop after stop dropping people off at hotels that weren’t mine. In the end it was after 2 am when we finally staggered up to the front desk of our hotel and tried to check in only to hear some of the most dreaded words in travelling: “I can’t find your reservation…”

 

To be continued…

 

 

The Next Adventure

17 June 2011
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With the Antipodean Adventure complete I settled back into Winnipeg fairly happily. Arriving back just before the May long weekend in Canada meant relaxed times all around. After a really (really) lazy week I attended the fantastic U2 360 show here.

All of this was of course a lead up to the real reason I came home when I did, my University convocation. Though I hadn’t really been looking forward to the occasion I did definitely want to attend just to have it really sink in that I was finished. This is of course in addition to the fact that (though she denies it’s true) my mother would have been heartbroken if I hadn’t gone.

It was definitely nice to catch up with a few of my Comp Sci classmates, people I hadn’t seen since the big final co-op party just before Christmas. Most of the people I was closest too were of course asking how the big trip had gone and given that it was somehow bordering on sub zero temps with a howling wind I said quite truthfully that I wished I’d never left.

That evening my parents surprised me with a party that turned out to not be a small family only gathering but a large get together with unexpected friends and family, great food and drinks and a large amount of teasing about the length of time I spent in school. As part of the pile of gifts and whatnot that I received my alcohol store was replenished to the point where I’m set for wine and beer (great beer too) until I hit the road again.

Since then I’ve been working on a short-term contract for a friend’s game company while trying to settle back into staying in one place for more than three days at a time. It’s honestly more difficult than I expected, I find myself itching to hit the road to europe already even though I haven’t made much more than a stab at planning. Of course the first part of the trip will be a more sedate jaunt through parts of England with my parents anyway.

With that in mind though, do any of my friends and readers have any suggestions for Europe? Thus far my tentative starting plan is to cross the channel, rent a car in Calais or Arras and do a trip out to Vimy Ridge, then maybe another random day along the north coast of france before heading back to turn the car in and hop a train to Bruges or Brussels before heading on to Amsterdam. I figure a few days in Holland then probably on to Germany, possibly to poland but definitely the Czech Republic. I suspect this will be the farthest east I get since part of me would definitely like to revisit Spain and the south of france. The last portion of the trip will be Italy as I leave from Rome, but I haven’t decided what else to make the effort to see there (other than restaurants to feed my love of pasta.)

Other thoughts:
-My parents loved Luxembourg when they travelled there way back when, still nice these days anyone?
-Strongly considering an Irish side trip, but it will likely depend on flight costs while I’m there.
-I’ll probably make a trip to Scotland before crossing the channel, this may be more contingent on where I end up towards the end of my time with my parents though.
-Sadly I think Scandinavia is too large of a cash/time investment for this trip.
-Thoughts on overall route construction? I’m planning to buy a rail flexible pass.
-Cash is of course an issue, thankfully I’ve refilled my coffers a bit from the side job so hopefully I can live somewhere above absolute squalor most places.

I’m also really looking for any interesting places that are still fairly easy to get to with public transport, but might be off the usual routes or tourist destinations. For my euro friends that I met in Aus/NZ please remember to think on a “colonial” time scale, a 3 hour drive is nothing to me.

Antipodean Adventure Part 2: The Bus Stops here

11 March 2011
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Day 2:

Finally feeling refreshed after a bit of a sleep in (at least compared the previous few days,) I started off my day by posting my day 1 rundown on the blog and throwing out a few emails.

The day before one of the other guys sitting around the dining area had mentioned that the Auckland Museum was well worth the trip, not just for the exhibits but also for the views from the high point it’s situated on. A quick check at the front desk for which way to go and I was on my way. The walk was particularly interesting, taking me through a couple streets I’d explored before, before sending me across a bus only bridge that crossed the motorway. The middle of this bridge offered some panoramic views of the port area of town. Even more interesting was a tiny cemetery dating from the relatively early days of Auckland. Founded not long after the city was, burials were relatively quickly restricted, then stopped due to concerns from local residents about the health impact on groundwater etc. What remains are many graves and their stones from the mid 19th century. Most are in amazingly good shape and covered in a canopy of trees and moss that lends the whole place a delightfully spooky air. Sadly I didn’t get a chance to go back at dusk.

A little ways after crossing the bridge I came to the Auckland Domain, a large relatively central park that made me think very much of Assiniboine park back home. This comparison was reinforced by the Cricket Ovals I passed at the entrance (understandably on a much larger scale than back home) as well as signs pointing towards a duck pond.  However, instead of a pavilion and band shell in the centre, this park had a steeply rising hill capped with the Auckland Museum and cenotaph. The view was worth it alone.

The museum itself has a large exhibition on the effects of war on New Zealand, a natural history section focusing greatly on the Maori view of flora and fauna as well as a large exhibit on volcanoes and how they’ll kill us all. The centerpiece however is their collection of Maori artefacts and the Maori cultural exhibition.

The cultural exhibition was quite good, though not cheap for what was basically a half hour show. Dancer/performers in native garb took the audience through a variety of their arts. After opening with a welcoming dance and some explanations, we were shown a variety of games, mostly designed as exercise and training for battle. The presentation ended with the Haka as made famous by the All-Blacks rugby squad. It was every bit as impressive and intimidating sounding as I expected, though I’m hoping when my tour does the big maori stop I’ll get to see it again. Once I’m somewhere with less expensive/free internet I’ll upload the video I took.

The experience continued with a truly stunning variety of different Maori exhibits. Woodcarvings, ancestral posts from fortified villages, carving tools, weapons and implements made from basalt and jade filled the first floor of the museum. Some of the most impressive pieces included the full canoe with intricately carved prow and stern and a massive jade adze that was so beautiful I can’t imagine anyone ever actually using it as a tool. However, the true highlights for me were the authentic buildings preserved inside the museum.  Large structures, almost every inch intricately carved with ancestral figures, tongues stuck out in an intimidating manner and eyes inlaid with shell material. To expand on the Maori examples, there were also several galleries full of similar artefacts from other pacific island nations such as Fiji, Tonga and the Cook islands.

Moving upstairs, I got to discover the Maori version of NZ natural history as well as see a few stuffed examples of the local wildlife including the adorable Kiwi, and a massive Cassowary that convinced me that if I see one in the wild it definitely needs to be from a distance. There is something definitely prehistoric about those things, and an Ostrich sized bird that can disembowel you easily is not to be trifled with. That’s an Australia thing though and they’re extremely rare. The last exhibit on the floor was all about volcanoes. I’d realized that NZ had a few, but the museum enjoyed highlighting the fact that the reason the view was so great was that they were on the lip of the crater of a still quite active volcanic system. In this exhibit was a small typical kiwi living room where you were invited to sit and experience the beginning of a major eruption in Auckland harbour. We got a view of the harbour out our “window” as it began to steam and bubble, then as the full eruption hit our house began to shake then violently crack as the blast wave hit. It was really well done and carefully presented to encourage Kiwis to learn their earthquake/volcano evacuation plans. I can imagine this is fairly present on everyone’s mind here after Christchurch’s major seismic issues last month.

The final main area was a combination of an exhibit similar to the Manitoba Museum’s life in Winnipeg in the past and a miniature version of the War museum in Ottawa. All of New Zealand’s wars are represented, beginning with the British wars against the native inhabitants. This in particular was done in an effective manner with one room divided in two, with each side being the war from either the colonial or Maori perspective. The rest of the exhibit was devoted to more recent wars where the story of the New Zealand (and Australian) contribution to the allied war effort is told. Much like Canada, Australia and New Zealand seem to have come of age as a result of these conflicts and it was interesting to add another colonial perspective to what I know of Canada’s role. The final exhibit was a collection of British/NZ honours and medals, unfortunately, their only Canadian example was the North West service medal given to soldiers who participated in quelling the Metis uprising (Riel mentioned briefly in a very Brit-sided view /rolleyes.)

I’d honestly figured the museum would probably take up two hours of my day, but I ended up spending 4 hours wandering the halls, completely neglecting to have lunch. I’d made myself dinner in the hostel the night before so I figured I could treat myself this evening and found a nice bistro with a patio overlooking a public square in one of the shopping districts after some walking. Newest NZ culinary lesson learned? They like to put lettuce and tomato on a steak sandwich, just wrong. Delicious regardless though.

The last bit of excitement for the day came after I spent some time browsing up and down the rest of the street and caught the nice downtown ring bus they have that goes right by my hostel. Two corners into my journey, the driver apparently wasn’t paying close enough attention and missed a light changing. *Smack* we’ve crunched the back of some woman’s sedan. The driver came to check that we were all alright (thankfully everyone was, it takes something a lot nastier than that to move a bus much) then went out to check on the victim. These buses have video feeds of various places on the bus as well as a forward camera so we could see quite well. She was alright too, but as he backed the bus up a bit so they could see the damage her trunk looked quite squished. I felt sorry for the driver as I recognized the car, a full sized Mercedes that I believe Top Gear informed me goes for 150k euros+ so lord knows what it costs here. All these worries I’ve had about getting smacked by traffic and THIS is what happens.

Tomorrow is the start of my big tour (the bus leaves at 8) and I decided to make it a relatively early night despite a new Chilean roomie who plans to go party til late. At the very least he’s made me feel better about the amount of stuff I packed. I’m peeved because my one main back is pretty much full if I empty my day pack. This guy has two full sized suitcases, several shopping bags with shows and other things and 5 shopping bags from his purchases today.

I have no idea what the accommodations are like the first night or two of the tour so there may not be any updates for a bit, there should definitely be some good pics once I do upload again though so stay tuned.

Tristan’s Antipodean Adventure: Part the First (Airplanes and Airports)

7 March 2011
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Only a few more hours left until I head out, last of my trip preparations are underway. I’ve actually gotten a mini video cam thanks to my father so you may see the occasional short video clip pop up here during my trip.

This post will be a general travel update and first couple days thing until I have time to write a proper update with pictures and whatnot, I’ll update it with quick snippets as I find free wifi.

4am comes awfully early, doubly so when you only finally managed to get to bed at 11:30, triply so when your bedtime for two months has been more like 2:30am. Probably could have slept in another 45 mins though as the roads and airport were as deserted as you’d expect at 4:30am. The flight to Calgary was uneventful but dull, crammed into a CRJ with minimal luggage space. Calgary was even more deserted, with a ridiculous transshipment to usa trek across the entire airport, only to be told I couldn’t even go through customs until 2 hours pre-flight. Once I finally got on it the flight to LA was pleasant enough. Seatback movies and a ton of legroom on those new embraer jets they’re using, with the added bonus of no one right next to me.

LAX meant a 7ish hour layover of no fun trapped in a smallish terminal because they were renovating how security worked and leaving that area would have meant re-clearing security. I ended up reading 1.5 of my 3 books travelling with me and likely would have gone through more if it hadn’t been for the extraordinary conversations I began to hear from the telephone bank nearby. Turns out I was sharing the flight with a massive mob of mormon missionaries (aliteration!) and I guess they’d been at Missionary training for a while or something because they were all calling home before leaving. I’m not sure if these guys were all going to the same place, but I heard at least one member of the group mention Tonga. One big blonde kid was of particular entertainment value, repeatedly commenting on how he was looking forward to sampling dog and horse meat and how different the culture was. He proceeded to repeat this to at least 9 different relatives, clocking in an overall time on these payphones of at least an hour and a half. It wasn’t that I was trying to eavesdrop, but the kid had one hell of a voice. My heart kind of sank once I realized they were mormons though as I had little desire to be preached to if I ended up next to one of them on the flight, especially after the blonde kid started thanking his brother for all his ski stories, because he’d been sitting next to a professional ski photographer while flying into LAX and those stories had been his “segue into talking about the gospel.” I can smile and nod, but a 12.5 hour flight promised to be an endurance test if I lost seat roulette. Annoying they seem to planning to board a Virgin Atlantic 747 at the exact same time at the gate right next to mine so I doubt we’ll be getting out on time.

—— Arrived in Auckland earlier than planned after spending a trip with that holiest of holy, happy strokes of luck. An empty seat between myself and another broad-shouldered fellow. Definitely makes a 13ish hour flight more bearable to be able to throw some extra stuff on the seat beside you and stretch out. I do have to commend Air NZ though, fantastic legroom to begin with for an economy section and top notch service throughout. My only complaint would be the boarding process, but that was likely LAX’s idiocy in boarding two 747’s at adjacent gates that use the same entry hallway to get to their jetways, as if there was any chance we’d be able to do things properly. We raced the dawn all the way across the pacific and it was only as we crossed the international date line that we began to see a hint of pink behind us, real light beginning to illuminate what was below us just as we crossed the coast to watch Kiwis beginning to head to work. Speaking of that date line, I don’t care how many times I make this kind of trip in my lifetime, nothing will make it normal that March 9th just disappeared on me. I was at least able to grab a few hours sleep on that flight, something I rarely do.

Auckland at first sight is a beautiful city, I got a very Vancouver/Victoria feel at first until I realized how many dwelling roofs were tiled in a distinctly south pacific way. (see also a fair number of palm and gum trees once one began to look closer.) A quickie backpacker shuttle conventiently dropped me all of a block from my hostel where I’ve happily been upgraded to a double for the duration of my 2 day stay. I’m waiting for my three week tour of NZ to begin (and it leaves directly from this hostel.) As I write this I’m sitting in the sun room/bistro/kitchen watching several little birds nibble at crumbs. Mosquito screens appear to be nonexistant here, hopefully a bit more prevalent once I’m in the Dengue fever zone (especially this year I’m told) in Queensland. Oh well, now that my batteries are recharged it’s time to go explore round the harbor.

————–

After some exploring it very much reminds me of a combination of Vancouver and San Francisco. It’s much hillier here than I first realized, most of them running down into the harbor where some beautiful yachts are parked. I have thus far managed to avoid being pancaked by looking the wrong way while crossing a street, but I have to say the flipped left and right way cut turns really play a number on your brain. Crosswalk indicators also seem to take an interminable amount of time to activate but I have thus far stuck to my travelling maxim of “Never jaywalk on your first day in a city.”

Many familiar sights to a north american as well, Wendy’s McDonalds and Burger King are all within a ten minute walk of the hostel. In a way, it seems very much like a retarded US/Canada. Here I use retarded in the sense of canada in the late 90s. There are phone booths everywhere (when is the last time you saw a cluster of phone booths on multiple street corners, even in the most touristy places in north america?), internet cafes are abundant (high speed internet is apparently still quite new and expensive in many areas of NZ/Aus, hence the no free wifi in every restaurant/pub/grocery store.) Everything seems very expensive as well, even with the exchange rate (I think I bought at 0.75 cdn = 1 nzd) some prices seem ludicrous. I’ve heard aussie gamers complain for years about prices and censorship, but I really wish I’d picked up another DS game before I left for rainy days and whatnot. Cocktails at a few places I looked at down by the harbour were at least $15, here’s hoping things are a little more reasonable at the places farther from the cruise ships. On that note I’m planning on doing a pub crawl for charity tonight, raising funds for earthquake relief in Christchurch.

As for the blog, for the next while at least I’m going to write a short snippet whenever I’m bored and have my laptop, but given the ludicrous price of internet here I’ll probably just do a batch upload every so often with pictures only being added when I have a cheap or free option.

Sorry for the wacky formatting, something weird happening.

Apologies for any site wonkyness, had to rebuild it right before leaving.

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