The Bulldogs are Cheating

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…

 

 

Is it because I’m eating alone?

20 January 2015
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Categories: Meanwhile... at stately Wayne Manor., Rant..., Winnipeg

First a little backstory:

The municipal government building in which I work is situated more or less on the fringe of ‘business downtown’ and starts the shift towards ‘sketchy downtown’ here in the city. We as employees don’t have any actual lunchrooms in the building (at least not that I’ve found on floors I have access to) other than a counter space for a person or two to sit in the floor kitchen. Happily on the main floor of the building there is a cafe that sort of doubles as a cafeteria with a number of tables as well as some couches. It’s open to (and frequented by) outside people as they often have a good lunch special and the food is decent if sometimes bland. Most days at lunch I take my lunch break in the cafe, almost always watching an hour’s worth of tv or 1/2 a movie on my laptop or sometimes reading a book. Usually I just eat my lunch from home but I often grab a bowl of soup or an order of fries.

Anyway… so today I’m sitting in one of the corners (wearing my parka but unzipped as the wind often sneaks in the door and chills the place down) my headphones on and my laptop open watching a show and occasionally texting. I eat my sandwich from home but leave the rest of my food upstairs as I’m working a bit late and want to fend off hunger eating my apple and almond tart later in the afternoon. As time winds on the place gradually empties out until it’s only about half full, the credits are about to start rolling on my show and I’m just thinking that I should get my butt back up to my desk. That’s when it happened.

I notice a woman across the room who has finished her lunch stand up and begin walking towards me. I figure she’s heading to pick up one of the freebie papers that are sitting a few booths down from me by the door but no, now she’s speaking to me but I can’t hear her over the soundtrack. I pull out my headphones and say: “Pardon me?”

“I said would you like a soda pop?”

I manage to stammer out some sort of puzzled reply along the lines of “I’m fine” as I have a closer look at her. She’s late middle aged/early senior citizen, wearing a faded pink sweatshirt and ugly denim skirt. Her eyes are somehow simultaneously caring and vacant and I quite honestly can’t begin to figure out where she’s coming from.

“Well, are you hungry? Do you need something to eat?” There’s a concerned inflection to her voice now and it begins to click that she thinks I’m homeless/needy. Now on occasion homeless people do come into the cafe, we’re not far from a few of the bigger shelters and someone once told me the cafe owner donates a fair bit of leftover food to one of them. I’m fairly sure he also gives them a fair bit for their money when they do come in and want to pay for a meal. The thing I can’t figure out is why on earth she would think I’m homeless. I realize now that she’d come in after I finished my sandwich and therefore hadn’t seen me eating but I’m pretty clearly a staff member here. About the only visible reason might be that I forgot to shave… yet

  • I look well fed (well let’s be honest, overfed)
  • Other than being unshaven I’m reasonably well groomed
  • I’m using a laptop/headphones and texting on a fairly new phone.
  • I’m wearing a spotless fairly expensive looking jacket over what’s clearly a pressed dress shirt .

Obviously none of these things preclude me being homeless, but I think all of them together don’t really paint a picture of someone who needs her to come over.

Slowly starting to realize where she’s coming from I say: “No thank you, I’m good” But she leans closer and insists “No, you look like you wanted someone to come over and buy you some food.”

I thank her as politely as I can, tell her I already ate my sandwich and she finally accepts it and walks away saying “You know sometimes people just sit here hoping that someone will get them some food. (I eat lunch in here every day ma’am, I’ve never seen that.) Eventually I start packing up to leave at which point she finally gives up and goes to police her tray as I scurry back out to catch my elevator.

The damn thing was… the moment I went upstairs… I DID want a soda pop.

—

 

Saving for a house is terrible…

29 August 2014
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Nothing says fun summer like trying to spend as little money as possible (especially after spending a fortune during the fringe weeks.)

Day 11: The Final Bloodbath

27 July 2014
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Categories: Theatre, Winnipeg

The end…

This has been a surprisingly great Fringe for me. Despite working full time I’ve managed to hit 26 shows (only 5 off my all time best,) caught a number of outdoor shows/bands and had an overall great time. I’m definitely missing some of my old fringing crew though so I think next year’s mission is to introduce at least 3 new people to fringing and try to get them out for multiple nights. I know, I know, I’m just getting older.

 

Outside Joke Breaks all the Rules (Venue 20, Rudolph Rocker Community Centre)

Back again with friends things were going incredibly well until the final applause when my chair decided to collapse under me. I could feel it shifting a bit during the show so I was holding carefully still until the finale when… thwump! Unfortunately the troupe also shared the monumentally shitty news that Leif is heading off to Edmonton leaving them (and DNDimprov) without their gifted musical component. Hope you come back for Fringe at least next year Leif.

—

 

Folk Lordz (Venue 20, Rudolph Rocker Community Centre)

Another talented improv group, this one with a style predicated on use of their heritage. Given the makeup of the group this made for a Cree origin story, a Chekhov theatre of the depressing drama and a third suggested by the audience which for this show was the world of breakfast cereal mascots. In my opinion the cree section hit the best notes despite a few odd and inspired jokes in the cereal storyline. The Chekhov drama ends up a little one-note in my opinion as turning it into a ~15 minute joke story essentially means hammering the drama of bleakness thing repeatedly. These guys are super talented though and combined with OJ and Hip!Bang made RRCC the place to be for improv this Fringe.

—

 

DNDImprov (Venue 16, Gas Station Arts Centre)

I love the final show. I love the bloodbath aspect as more or less everyone is killed off (particularly this year.) I love the party atmosphere among the fans of the show and I love the way the cast comes out to watch the end and interact with the audience. Unfortunately I also felt that this year’s edition kind of petered out storyline wise at the end. I appreciate that they were trying to do something different but in the end it just felt like we ended with a series of battles then flipped the switch rather than the “quest has ended” feel of previous years.

The fact that it went 20 mins overtime and the wrapup was rushed didn’t help either. Honestly guys, can’t we work out a special deal with the fringe where your last show is 90-120 mins? It’s not like you aren’t in a BYOV. Special shout out to the losers in the audience who feel the need to constantly yell out unfunny things , nobody’s here to listen to you, you aren’t funny, please shut up. That proposed redesign of the GSAC space can’t come soon enough either as those chairs get more terrible every year.

Lest my negativity overwhelm things let me say that the finale was still one of my favourite nights of the fringe and I hope the tradition continues. The cast is ridiculously talented and they bring the funny every night they perform.

 

Overheard in line (day 11): “Try not to break your chair this time.”

Highlight of the Day/Recommendations:

DnDImprov was the perfect way to end the fringe

Leaflets/handbills rec’d: 84 (I’m being environmentally responsible this year and turning away duplicates when I recognize them)

Up Next:

It’s oveeeeer L

Day 10: Roten storytelling

26 July 2014
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Categories: Theatre, Winnipeg

The Untitled Sam Mullins Project (Venue 7, Cinematheque)

I’m realizing now that I seem to be talking about storytellers a lot this Fringe. I have always had a soft spot for a really good yarn and Sam Mullins has quickly become a favourite. This year’s effort was every bit as good as last year’s Weaksauce and Mullins seems to be on track to become the new TJ Dawe now that Dawe doesn’t seem to be doing the fringe tour thing any longer. The show itself is centered around the artist identifying four personal truths and the humourous/affecting stories that explore them. It’s easy to see why he’s been getting a wider audience on The Moth and This American Life.

I must admit I’m curious why he split from the PTE promoted crew however as he seemed to be filling the playhouse studio venue last year no problem and his tiny cinematheque venue was sold out and near impossible to get into most of his run. Given that other companies that I know have dealt with them in the past aren’t there either I have to wonder if perhaps they raised their fees/cut this year. It’s also entirely possible that that was his fallback had he not got in on the lottery. Still if Sam comes back next year (and I hope he does) I really hope he ends up in a bigger venue as he could easily have filled Venue 1 or 6 by the sounds of it.

—

 

Canterbury Tales (Venue 10, Planetarium Auditorium)

Parts of this were really well done and the conceit was interesting but overall I was disappointed. I’d heard such great things about Erik de Waal and I think the abrupt changes of tone in this show just didn’t hit me right. I wasn’t the only one either as this was the first show I’ve been in this year where people left partway through the show. Still, what I enjoyed I enjoyed enough that I’ll give his effort next year another chance.

—

 

Die Roten Punkte: Eurosmash (Venue 25, Pyramid Cabaret)

Otto and Astrid return! It’s been four years since The Red Dots graced a Winnipeg stage but they appear to have not lost a beat. The ‘German’ duo had the house rocking from the first note even after a late sound tech kept everything from starting on time. As always their level of commitment was hilarious and the back and forth with the audience and each other made the show. That’s not to say that their songs aren’t catchy and hilarious as well though, you’ll likely end up humming one for the next few days.

Bonus points: being at the Pyramid this was one of those lovely venues where you can have a drink.

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Great Battles in History (Venue 11, Red River College)

I wasn’t sure what to expect from this one man production. Twenty minutes in I still wasn’t sure exactly where things were going.  Writer/Performer Mark Shyzer immediately draws you in to the tale of a Fringe production gone wrong, his character trying to hold everything together as it all falls apart. Yet as the show goes on and more layers reveal themselves you slowly begin to understand that there is a reason for the chaos.

Shyzer’s faux fumbling use of various media, goofy ukulele song and silly pirate voiced napoleon/obsessed Wellington are highlights of what turned out to be one of my favourites this year.

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Overheard in line (day 10): “The sound guy is late… but when we let you in there will be alcohol”

Highlight of the Day/Recommendations:

Way too tough to choose, if you’ve never seen Die Roten Punkte before though it’s a very different kind of show.

Leaflets/handbills rec’d: 84 (I’m being environmentally responsible this year and turning away duplicates when I recognize them)

Up Next:

Outside Joke and DnD Improv final shows, perhaps something else.

Day 9: Puppet Murder and Roller Skates

25 July 2014
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Categories: Theatre, Winnipeg

Day 9:

In an update on the pizza truck let me say that the Pesto, Spinach and Provolone creation was a much better experience. The Lovey’s BBQ Poutine was a letdown though as it’s considerably smaller than the restaurant version and much stingier on the meat/sauce.

 

Roller Derby Saved my Soul (Venue 8, Rachel Browne Theatre)

First off, what happened to this theatre? Did they redo the seating? While the seats are fantastic the legroom is simply ridiculous. If it had been a full house my knees would have been pressed against the seat in front of me all show (and my legs are probably around average length for a guy.) Anyway…

I adored this show. Amy is an introverted young woman who spends her days at an uninspiring job and her nights revisiting her pop culture heroes and wishing her life had some of that meaning (as I fervently pretend to have no insight on that experience.) When she receives a chance introduction to Roller Derby, it’s the beginning of a journey that unleashes the ass-kicking ‘warrior princess’ within her.  Writer/Performer Nancy Kenny was fantastic in the role of Amy. I particularly loved the occasionally cheeky/blushing grin that she’d let escape from shy Amy to convey those unguarded moments we all occasionally have.

Seriously, go see this show.

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Who Killed Gertrude Crump? (Venue 4, Alloway Hall)

For some reason I feel like Monster Theatre has been around as long as I’ve been going to the Fringe. Taking a quick look at their history I can see many of my favourite comic plays over the past 10-15 years. The Canada Show, Jesus Christ the Lost Years, Napoleon’s Secret Diary etc…  More recently there was Assassinating Thomson and Til Death: The Six Wives of Henry VIII and the latter was the first time I saw a showpiece for Tara Travis.

This time Tara Travis is serving as puppeteer/narrator/winker for a puppet based murder mystery in the Agatha Christie vein. The puppets themselves are adorable and the stage/scenery are designed in a way that a few waves of her hand and a comment from Travis are all it takes for a scene change. This is usually one of my biggest problems with Puppet Theatre for Adults as many productions overdesign their staging to the point where there are fully 30+ second interludes that completely destroy the pacing of the show. Kudos to the team for keeping the action moving smartly. The dialogue moves at a sprightly pace as well with Travis showing the same flair for quickly swapping between characters/accents that she showed in Til Death. It was a lot of fun. My only complaint would be that Alloway Hall is a particularly poor venue for them as it’s very much in the vein of ‘Make the stage and the seating as wide as we can to use up the room’ fringe venues that kind of destroy the ambience of smaller more focused acts. Nothing the performers can do about that of course with a lottery spot.

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Rumble Pak Improv (Venue 7, Cinematheque)

Not a lot to say about this one. Some funny/inspired moments, a fair bit of pointed silences for thinking though. Perhaps the performers were just dragging a bit at this point in the festival. Perfectly fine, but certainly not at the level of Outside Joke, Hip Bang or some of your other long form choices.

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Overheard in line (day 9): “You’re a wonderful man sir” –Fraz (after I responded to his flyer saying I’d been there last week)

Highlight of the Day/Recommendations:

Roller Derby Saves my Soul was the standout for me, and it won Patron’s pick so you have an extra chance to see it. Do it!

Leaflets/handbills rec’d: 82 (Mostly getting offered repeats at this point)

Up Next:

The Untitled Sam Mullins project at Lunch followed by… err… I’m honestly not really sure why afterwards. Friday’s right after work schedule seems a bit devoid of things I really wanted to see.

Day 7: Pizza and Beer are highly recommended.

23 July 2014
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Categories: Theatre, Winnipeg

Slightly laid back day today as nothing really leapt out at me on the schedule to finish off the night (plus I was already off the main site at the U of W.) Praise be to Garbonzo’s in the U of W annex for their cheap beer special and 15% fringegoer discount. An excellent idea when you can imagine they suffer a bit during summer session.

 

Anatolia Speaks (Venue 3, Playhouse Studio)

Despite being able to see the line from a nearby office window I almost didn’t make it here in time to get tickets. In the end I think only six people or so behind me got tickets and I’m lucky no one in front of me was buying large numbers. I wasn’t surprised though. Shows written by Kenneth Brown have consistently been among my favourite dramas for the past decade of fringes and this one was no exception.

The one woman shows follows a young Bosnian woman’s journey to becoming a New Canadian after fleeing the Yugoslav civil wars. Candice Fiorentino tells Anatolia’s story superbly and manages to show an indefatigable spirit while still letting the deep wounds of her past occasionally crack through. A lesser Actress would have gone overboard with the hysterics at points but giving the character that quiet strength made the story all the more powerful. Highly recommended.

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Moonlight after Midnight (Venue 13, Asper Centre for Theatre and Film)

This one was interesting but more or less impossible to describe here. Absolutely one of those plays where your interpretation may be fully 180 degrees from the person you saw it with. Two people come together in a hotel room, is your first impression right, is your second? Both performers were quite good but it was definitely something that needs to sit in my brain a bit longer before talking more about it.

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Overheard in line (day 7): “Boy is he sweaty, must be the ginger.“ (Older Lady re: Shelby Bond after he came by drumming up interest in One Man BTTF)

Highlight of the Day/Recommendations:

Anatolia Speaks was phenomenal but tickets might be a problem.

Leaflets/handbills rec’d: 75 (Mostly getting offered repeats at this point)

Up Next:

Day off from Fringing due to softball and other things (like rest,) back at it Thursday with Roller Derby Saved my Soul at lunch followed by other things.

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

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