Sunday, August 23, 2015
After a long train ride from Berlin yesterday, we arrived at the central station and hailed an Uber to take us to the hotel. Given the reputation of Prague taxi drivers, I figured we were better off using a service with clearly published and tracked rates, where I could provide instant feedback and get a credit were there any questionable charges. Unfortunately, standing directly in front of the Uber pick-up spot sign didn't help the driver find us at the station, and it took longer to locate the car than it did to drive the short distance to the hotel once we did. After that small hiccup, though, we spent a relaxing first night listening to the trams rumble past and reading my guidebook, in preparation for a full day of tourism.
I've been looking forward to getting to the Czech Republic for a long time, because I feel my Bohemian genes somewhat more strongly than most of the other European bits that make up my mutt-like form. Reading the guidebook, I was stricken by how every landmark noted had a quirky historical story to go with it. I've never seen so much unusual history in one place. Given that my Czech great-grandmother was quite a character (my mom has often said that I "would've liked her" in a way that really means you and she are the same kind of weird), maybe I was right about the dominance of the Czech genetic material in my makeup. She always claimed to be Bohemian royalty, and while my family rolls their eyes and translates that to crazy gypsy, I took it to mean I needed to check out the old palace while here.
So we got up this morning -- OK, afternoon, it is us -- and set out to see the city. Our hotel is in the old town (Staré Mēsto), so it was just a short walk to the Old Town Square (Staromēstské námēstí) which was full of tourists, with a large statue in the middle, surrounded by lovely old buildings, and home to the famous Astronomical Clock. Sadly, we arrived just a few minutes before the clock did its big display on the hour, so the entire street in front of it was jammed with people waiting. Since Jody had never heard of the thing, and I'm against those kinds of scenes, we wandered off without seeing it and hopped the metro to Prague Castle (Pražsky hrad), which is much more than just a castle.
After a 2 minute ride, we left the metro and walked a couple of blocks to the castle approach, which is a long uphill trek, with a few stairs mixed in. I'm reasonably healthy, but making that walk in the sun was a bit much for me, and I thought Jody was going to kill me for making him do it... until we got to the top and the most incredible view of Prague was before us.
After a lot of photos and a significant mood improvement, we walked around the corner and strolled through the large castle gardens, thoroughly enjoying the scenery in all directions. From the garden, we emerged into a square with the old palace and some other buildings, before going into a castle gate. The architecture was brilliant, so many beautiful buildings with ornate details, that we were constantly stopping to take pictures.
And then we came out a dark passageway to stand in front of Saint Vitus' Cathedral (Katedrála sv Víta), and both uttered curse words in amazement.
I love a cathedral. In addition to my general religion nerdery, they're some of the oldest and most incredible buildings you'll get to see these days. I'm always impressed by them to some degree, but never so much as by this one. We braved the massive crowds to go inside, took even more photos, and just generally marveled at its literal awesomeness for a while. They still do mass there, and I can't even imagine how much more inspiring the place would be during a high mass. Neither Jody nor I have ever done particularly well with religion, but we agreed that if we had that capacity in us, worshiping in a place like that would certainly do it.
After the cathedral, we saw some more nice buildings, all seeming a bit less spectacular than they would have otherwise, and made our way out of the castle. Another metro journey back to hotel, a bit of shopping, some Indian food, and that's us pretty much done for the day.
Tomorrow we're off to another country that's in my genes: work for Jody and another week of vacation for me, back in Edinburgh.
Saturday, August 22, 2015
I'm writing this somewhere past the Germany-Czech Republic border, phone signal going in and out, on a train from Berlin to Prague. Surprisingly, I've managed to get Jody on another short flight for a long weekend abroad.
After spending a night in Edinburgh, we arrived in Berlin Thursday night, with much less flight anxiety than last time. We found our hotel and some Chinese food (Jody's preferred cuisine, regardless of location), then spent the rest of the evening watching football on television and planning our one full day in the German capital.
On Friday we awoke to a hot and sunny Berlin. Jody picked us up some egg sandwiches and croissants for breakfast while I showered and slathered on sunscreen, then we were off to enjoy the city, notes of the carefully plotted route around the city in hand.
But as I should have known, planning always leads to frustration.
The subway line meant to take us to our first destination had changed since the printing of my subway map, and now the trip planner might as well have said 'can't get there from here!' After much study of a more current map and wandering from station to station, I found a new route with a combination of 3 S and U trains, only to discover the S train we jumped on wasn't going anywhere. Luckily, a functional one finally came along and we made the journey to Checkpoint Charlie.
The checkpoint itself is a relic of the past with a background of the modern consumer world. The guard post stands in the middle of a bustling street, along with the old signage, a couple of museums, and a small portion of the wall left intact. Our city map had a dotted red line to show where the Berlin Wall had been, and it was a bit strange strolling casually back and forward across it during the day, unable to imagine how the same spot would have been when the wall stood.
Next, we hopped back on the subway to the Holocaust Memorial. It seems to go by various names in maps and guidebooks, but by any name, it's a powerful experience. The monument itself is a huge field of cement blocks varying in size, some small enough to sit on, some dwarfing the tourists walking the narrow path between them, all representing those murdered by the Nazis. Jody commented that he had expected there to be names inscribed, but I pointed out that record keeping was probably insufficient in that situation, which made it even more depressing.
From there we took a walk up the road to the Reichstag/Bundestag -- again I was unsure of the correct name to use -- which is an impressive building, but not terribly exciting. No one was allowed inside without an appointment and special clearance, and nothing much was happening outside.
We walked a bit further, grabbed a snack, and jumped another S train out to the Olympic Stadium where Jody had gotten us tickets to see Hertha Berlin versus Werder Bremen. Jody was gushing about how excellent "the atmosphere" would be, which made me slightly concerned that I would hate it. His idea of a fun football game is one with rowdy fans constantly singing and taunting the opposition, where I prefer excitement when something happens, but otherwise... sit down and shut up. Luckily we sat in the calm family section, right next to the crazy die hard Hertha fans, so he got his madness, and I got to sit undisturbed.
As it happened, while I was very glad not to be in their midst, I didn't find the hardcore fans annoying. Unlike the often nasty and antagonistic supporters of most teams, the fans were more positive and joyful about their team; it reminded me of the Bell Centre. Maybe it's because I was one of the home crowd, but I never saw any negativity from them in Montreal. The Boston fans said awful things, and the Montrealers just shook their heads and went on being in love with their Habs. Your poor decision of a team is your own business.
In the end, the game ended 1-1, and was fun to watch, high quality football. While we cheered for the home team like the polite unaffiliated visitors that we were, to my semi-knowledgeable eye Bremen looked the better team for most of the game.
We got back to the hotel after 11pm, exhausted from a long day in the sun (and 8 miles of walking, per the trusty Fitbit), but content that we'd done well in seeing Berlin.
Monday, July 6, 2015
The Kansas City area spans over the border of Kansas and Missouri, so doing much of anything around here shows me 2 more states, but I wanted to also get to Oklahoma while I was nearby. Of course, everything looks closer on a US map than it really is, so I chose to visit Natural Falls State Park in the nearest corner of the state. It was still nearly 4 hours drive each way.
I flew in on Friday afternoon and had a quiet night, keeping an eye on the weather. There had been thunderstorms (from scattered to severe) and flash flooding in the KC area in the days before I arrived, and they'd been slowly moving south/southeast toward where I'd be driving. Luckily, the storms had completely cleared the area by the time I set off early Saturday morning, Independence Day. Granted, early after a 2 hour time shift was only about 10:30am, but it's summer, and the days are long enough that I still had plenty of time to make it back without getting lost in the dark.
The journey started out as one of my less exciting ones... highway, farms, trees, nowhere to stop at all. Then, somewhere in rural Missouri, every light on the car dashboard came on. Every light. Engine, door open, traction control, air bag. Then after just about a second, they went back off and the trip computer reset itself to zero. The radio, the AC, the engine, everything else kept going. So I also kept going, looking for a place to stop that would be populated enough to ensure cell phone service, while keeping an eye on the car's behaviour.
Finally, about 60 miles later, I came to Joplin, MO, a city I'd actually heard of, and pulled into a parking lot. With the motor still running, I checked the owner's manual: the trip computer will be reset like that only when you detach the battery. Well, that's not good. I searched the web and found all manner of issues with the electronics on the type of Hyundai I had rented, but nothing about spontaneous resets. I'd driven about 150 miles, meaning there were roughly 80 to go to the state park, then all of that back again. I sat in the car and had a debate with myself:
It seems to be running fine, it was probably just a computer glitch. Computers need to reboot all the time. Keep going!
The car will need more gas if it's going to make it there and back. If this is a battery issue, when I turn it off, it may not start again.
This is a gas station, try it!
And if it doesn't start, then I'm stuck here begging for a jump start or waiting god knows how long for AAA to show up.
But if it does?
Then I spend the rest of the trip stressing about whether the car will start the next time I stop. And the next... And the next...
Just keep going, it's silly to make it 2/3 of the way and not get there. Besides, it means I won't get to Oklahoma on this trip.
Yes, but the whole point of going to all the states isn't just to check them off the list, it's to enjoy myself. To remember it. I am not having the slightest bit of fun stressing about whether this vehicle will keep moving, and while a dead car in the middle of nowhere may be memorable, it's not exactly the memory I want.
But won't the car need to stop for gas either way?
The tank is over half full, and the range shows 199 miles. That's plenty to get back to the hotel.
Fine, turn back. At least if the car dies at the hotel, it's a comfortable place to deal with it.
So I headed back the other way, with the air conditioning turned down low to ensure my fuel consumption wouldn't increase. I made it back with no further issues and decided I needed barbecue. I consulted Yelp for something nearby (still not fully trusting the rental car) and ventured out for a few burnt ends. The car started, I found the place, and it was closed for the holiday. I saw another BBQ joint a couple of blocks away, also closed. So I stopped at the Hy-Vee and got some of their "BBQ" chicken and a bottle of sauce. It really wasn't good enough, but when you crave barbecued meats, nothing else will do.
I'm not really a fan of Fourth of July festivities, so I skipped the fireworks and stayed in with Netflix, hearing a few distant booms and crackles in the night air.
After the museums, I finally managed to get some barbecue -- burnt end and sausage sandwich with a sweet and spicy sauce (good, but I still like Texas style better) -- and then went to the airport.
Overall, the quick trip was a success, and I liked what I saw of Kansas City. I also really don't mind missing the corner of Oklahoma, because now I have a chance to take another trip for something I really want to see there. Because there's always something.
When I left Seattle, I shared the shuttle from off-site parking to the airport with a couple off to Alaska, their 50th state, for their anniversary. When they both retired, they sold their house, bought an RV, and set off to see America. This is so common as to be a joke -- and one Neal made about me and my own map of the USA getting slowly coloured in -- but I get their motivation, it's really the same as mine. I'm planning to move to another continent, their retirement brings the end of their lives into view... we're both just trying to get the most out of the country we live in before we leave it.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Jody lived in Newcastle briefly, many years ago. So almost as long as I've known him, he's been going back to visit and telling me he wished I was with him, that it's the greatest city, full of the greatest people. So when I saw that Admiral Fallow were playing there on a night that I'd already be in Scotland, I bought two tickets to the show and planned us a weekend getaway.
After a relatively short and overpriced train journey, we emerged from the station to a grey and blustery Saturday afternoon in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. We checked into our hotel, marveled at the view of St James' Park from our window, and then I asked what we should do. Jody shrugged: "Dae ken. What d'ya wanna do?"
I tried to make the argument that this was the city he'd desperately been wanting to show me around, so it was his responsibility to do so, but that didn't get us far. So I pulled up an internet list of things to do in the area and read them out... which resulted in us verbally crossing each off the list. Ultimately, we took a walk around a shopping area, nearly got blown over by the Hurricane Bawbag-esque wind, I read for a couple of hours while the man had a nap, then we got a takeaway in Chinatown and spent the night in, watching movies. At some point Jody admitted, "I always forget that when I think how brilliant Newcastle is, it's because it feels like home, not because there's anything to do here."
Sunday's adventures were slightly more exciting. I spent some time on the bike and elliptical machines in the hotel's rooftop fitness room, we ate excellent Indian food, and then we took a walk across town in the evening to achieve our reason for coming.
I loved both Admiral Fallow's first two records, but at the time of the concert, their third had only been out about 2 weeks. That meant I was at the point that I'd listened enough to recognise the songs and find them enjoyable, but couldn't sing along yet. Even though about half of what they played live was new, that still put me in a better spot than Jody, who only knew one of their songs... which they didn't play. However, when they started on The Paper Trench, he turned to me, looking proud of himself: "I know this song!" I grinned, "Yeah, I was walking around singing it the other night." Any way you get to know good music is legitimate, I guess.
The gig was at The Cluny, a pub with a small concert venue in an upstairs room. The sound was good, the lights were awful (all very bright and pointing forward from the rear of the stage, so that the band was backlit and the crowd was nearly blinded), and the show was perfect. Not only do Admiral Fallow sound flawless live, the room was exactly the right size for them. They're one of those bands who are all about the music, not the showmanship. The Barr Brothers are another perfect example of that. That's not to insult their live playing, they just dig making good sounds come out of instruments, and they want to bring you into that at a show, not make a big spectacle. So it was fantastic to see Admiral Fallow in that size venue, maybe 10 feet from the stage, feeling the sound waves rattle my ribs, while they pulled in the packed room of attentive fans and had a sonic conversation.
Seeing a band like that in a larger setting is always a disappointment, because you're too many and too spread out to become a part of their love of music. So even though they're probably having the time of their lives, the players seem boring and disinterested. You're separate, and they're no fun to watch. I've been in those situations, and it ruins some live shows that I should've really enjoyed. So I'm glad this one was in just the right sized venue and I got to have a great experience.
After the show, Jody and I admitted that we're both too old to stand around for hours watching music without suffering, and hailed one of Newcastle's recently acquired Ubers instead of walking the mile back to our last night in the hotel.
On Monday we woke up and went right back to Edinburgh, without me really having seen what makes Jody love Newcastle. But I had a great time anyway, and I'll be back. Maybe next time I'll get it.
Monday, May 25, 2015
I flew into Omaha Saturday and spent the night just over the border in Council Bluffs, Iowa. It turned out that my hotel was attached to a casino and nothing much else, so after checking the interwebs to find no attractive local attractions, and knowing I had a lot of driving to come, I went to the Hy-Vee for provisions and called it a night.
I have to say that driving through the working class suburbs nearby, I was reminded quite a bit of where I grew up. And all the people I've come across on this trip fit that mold as well. Everyone I've talked to has been lovely, I'm not insulting them, it's just that they're all very much like... my family. My family who I find increasingly difficult to understand from the relatively well-off, liberal, only-have-problems-you've-invented-for-yourself, yuppie world in which I reside. I guess I'm saying that I just no longer get most of America.
Anyway. At some point I had looked at a map and decided that 600 miles was a reasonable amount to drive in one day, so I set off at 10am Sunday to accomplish just that. I spent the first couple of hours going north along the Nebraska/Iowa border, then turned west on I-90 to go about 350 miles across South Dakota. The view was the same for most of that time: straight, flat highways without a lot of cars on them, farms, distant horizons, dark rain clouds, billboards for upcoming attractions... although neither Wall Drug nor The World's Only Corn Palace secured my patronage with all their miles of advertising. Even the Badlands looked mostly the same... at least the little bit I saw when I wasn't being pelted with rain so hard that I couldn't see out the windows.
It reminded me of a conversation with my cousin (who grew up visiting Nebraska annually) and his fiance:
Fiance - "I've never been to Nebraska, I can't wait to go!"
Cousin - "Yeah, there's a lot to see in Nebraska."
Me - "And if you just stand in one spot and turn in a circle, you can see it all."
"Y'know, because it's so flat?"
"Hope you enjoy it."
Shrug. As far as I could tell, I was right. Then I hit the Black Hills, which looked totally different. They were the kind of green rolling hills with livestock grazing lazily on them that you see in exotic places like New Zealand. Scotland. Idaho.
As I continued uphill to see Mount Rushmore, the rain kept pounding harder and the fog kept getting heavier (or the clouds lower?) to the point that visibility was just about the worst I've ever driven in. When I reached the national monument, I realised there was no way I'd be able to see anything more than a few yards from my face, and I wasn't going to pay the $11 parking fee to stand in sideways rain trying to photograph the side of a mountain through fog. Instead I stopped at the 'profile view' pullout and took a look. I saw clouds, a bit of rock, trees, and a mountain goat munching on shrubs at the side of the road. Maybe it was one of the bighorn sheep the signs warned me to watch for. I didn't care, I had been driving for 8 hours already and I was over it.
I turned back for the last part of the journey to my hotel in Deadwood, SD, which included a very familiar soggy drive through winding mountain roads lined with tall evergreens, and awful traffic due to road construction. My relief at arriving was short lived; Deadwood immediately struck me as a terrible place. It's a strip of casinos and tourist trap souvenir shops, neither of which appeal to me. After calming down over a chicken sandwich (the first food of the day not shoved in my mouth with one hand while I piloted a motor vehicle at 80mph), I decided to try joining them instead of beating them, and put $5 in penny slots. It took about 2 minutes for the money to disappear and for me to head upstairs to rest up for another full day's driving.
Today I needed to make the journey to Billings for my final night before flying home, which would have been just under 300 miles straight across on the interstate... but what fun would that be? Instead I drove more than 150 extra miles, meandering around on small, one-lane highways. The first portion of my journey took me through the northeast corner of Wyoming, and the small town of Aladdin, which with its population of 15 must keep the local road sign maker on his or her toes. I then headed up into North Dakota where the land started to look less like Scotland and added in more desert-like features of low scrub, red earth, and jagged rock formations poking up everywhere, until I arrived in the town of Bowman. I had seen online that they had some kind of pioneer/cowboy museum there that seemed worthy of checking out, but when I arrived, it just looked like kind of a joke (and not in a good way), so I decided to save my entry fee and keep driving. 0 for 2 on tourism.
The last half of the drive turned me back west into Montana, where the rain showers finally gave way to sun. I can't say how glad I was to finally be driving on dry roads again. Yes, I'm from Washington state and a champ at driving in torrential downpours, and OK, there was a cool moment going up a mountain into a cloud where I could see the far off droplets coming directly at me like a million little stars, but mostly I could've done without it.
Truth is, I really do prefer the small highways with their scenic views and lack of traffic, where I can sing along to my iPod on the car's sound system and actually appreciate the land around me. Where I saw a few antelope wandering around in a field and a pheasant pecking at something on the road side today. But after a couple of hours, the romance wears off, and I'm left with nothing but repetitive landscapes, RVs too slow to stay behind but too wide to see if I can pass safely, having to pee with nowhere to stop, and the miles left to go ticking down too slowly. I'll admit, this time I was happy to get back on a major freeway and into Billings.
But tedious views and long days behind the wheel aside, Cat Stevens reminded me of something very important today when he shuffled up on the iPod as I cruised along in the middle of nowhere:
"There's so much left to know, and I'm on the road to find out."
Monday, March 30, 2015
So where did we leave off? Oh, yes, my last day in...
My flight out of Fort Lauderdale didn't leave until mid-afternoon, so after consulting the innerwebs, I decided to spend my time before the flight strolling along the Riverwalk, and picking up some lunch. Per the web, I would find a walk along the river (obviously), along with some parks and cute little shops/restaurants. What I found when I followed my directions there, however... well, it reminded me of when a Floridian friend told me not to visit that particular city, adding "Lauderdale's a shithole."
So I ended up back in the 'burbs eating fast food, then off to the airport to spend 20 hours or so going FLL - PHI - LHR - EDI.
A couple hours after landing in Edinburgh, both Jody and I had to start working, which we were none too thrilled about. I was not only exhausted, I felt physically unwell after all that travel. It hadn't been all that much longer than usual, but for some reason it broke me. Jody mentioned several times that it's the worst state he's seen me in after a long-haul to Edinburgh. And he would know.
Unfortunately, working Seattle hours for a couple of days meant that my evenings were mostly occupied and I couldn't attend Jody's campaign events. I did take Tuesday off to celebrate his birthday, though, and Saturday was spent seeing Scotland lose at rugby. The game was... erm... well, at least it wasn't cold and raining. And by losing the game by 30 points, Scotland ensured that Ireland finished top of the 6 Nations Tournament instead of England, which is still sort of a win.
It's nothing specifically against England. Really. It's just that the Scottish no longer have all of that rage about the English murdering their ancestors and crushing their culture in daily life; it's all been redirected into sport. Team England losing any major or minor sporting contest will send waves of delight all across Scotland.
But anyway. After only a week in my adopted home city, I had to fly off to Spain, sans Jody. His excuse was a couple of political engagements while I was away, but I'm sure his desire to avoid flying also contributed. So we said goodbye at the airport, and off I went.
I took the train from the airport to a station a couple of blocks from my hotel. As I stepped off the escalator onto a busy sidewalk, blinking at the bright sun, my first impression was that Barcelona reminded me of Paris. But I quickly realised that was just the architecture; the city has a completely different attitude, much more upbeat.
I showed up really knowing nothing about Barcelona, or Spain in general. I speak no Spanish, but occasionally understand bits and pieces due to my past French and Italian lessons. I'd never had any desire to visit Spain, and only did because of the Robbie concert, so I did no research whatsoever before turning up in the country. I was lucky to do as well as I did.
Only after arriving did I search for things to do, and found that I had no interest in any of them. Tapas, meh. Young Picasso, enh. Architecture, history, the public squares that inspired this art or that book, psh. What did interest me, especially recently with all their attempts to gain independence, was Catalonia. So the tourist attractions I chose were the National Museum of Catalan Art, and the Catalan 14th century cathedral Santa Maria del Mar. The museum was interesting for a while, but it was a lot of very similar art from a very similar time period, almost all paintings, and their 'modern' collection only went as recent as the late 1940s. It failed to keep my attention for long. The church was pretty, but had just shut for the day when I arrived, so I got a quick snap of the outside and went back on my way.
I also walked many miles, despite also riding the Metro as much as possible. My hotel was in the midst of block after block of high end shopping, where the streets were always busy with cars and the streets were not well marked. I constantly got lost and worried that the rest of the city would be the same, but found it very easy to find my way in other parts of town where road signage actually existed and streets weren't choked with vehicles.
Of course, Friday night brought my main reason for the visit: Robbie Williams live at Palau Sant Jordi.
It was my fourth time seeing Rob live, all in about 3 years. The first three times were high production value affairs with huge, dazzling sets, pyrotechnics, dancers, and so on, all around the theme of the current record. This tour isn't supporting an album, it's just him playing live at cities he missed on the last tour, and was more like the shows of his heyday that I've seen on video. He appeared on stage with bleached hair, wearing devil horns and bondage trousers, and after spending an hour jumping around in front of the band, changed into a kilt which he used to flash his undies and shake his ass at the crowd. Basically, old rockstar Robbie was back, but now he seems happy about it, unlike in the previous days of stripped down shows like these.
It was great fun, despite me getting a bit of a lump in my throat during Angels. During the 15 years I raised my Selby from a kitten, many things changed in my life. The only 2 constants, there the whole time, which always got me through the rougher parts of it, were that demanding but totally devoted little siamese face, and Robbie's music. So given that I still miss her, hearing over 20,000 voices singing and through it all, she offers me protection, a lot of love and affection, whether I'm right or wrong... well, it hit a soft spot. I kept myself together, but I did stop singing along for a moment or two.
Regardless, Mr Williams sounded amazing and got the whole crowd into it, as always. I was buzzing way too late into the night afterward, especially considering that I got back to the hotel around 1am and had my alarm set for 6:00 to catch my flight.
After a couple of days back in Seattle, I'm still getting back into the old routine, and trying to catch up on sleep. And attempting unsuccessfully to knock my allergies into submission... it's clear that my sinuses are tired of going between climates and want me to just pick one where I'll stay for good.
Shrug. Never gonna happen.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
I booked a hotel near where the game would be played, figuring I'd have a car and could drive anywhere else, but would rather walk to the game than fight stadium traffic. When I arrived, the hotel had extra security measures like needing a key card to get up the elevator, but it's in a swanky suburb, and there's nothing nearby except shopping and the BB&T Center; it's not as if riff raff would wander in off the street. I thought, "I bet it's because the visiting teams stay here. The Habs will probably be here after their game in Tampa tonight." Then I laughed at what a silly coincidence that would be and put it out of my mind. Imagine my surprise to get back from the beach this afternoon and see the team buses and a row of fans waiting out front.
I didn't stay to gawk, it's not my style. As I've said before, I don't really get the point of fawning over celebrities. I like to show appreciation for their work, not worship them like gods. That's insane. If I saw some Montreal players in a bar, I'd chat with them, buy them a beer (or pineapple juice if that's what they're allowed during the season), and thank them for the years of happiness (and pain) they've provided me. But standing around watching them get on a bus? I'll pass.
So a couple hours after the guys had left our hotel, I took the walk down to the arena. Evidently this area is like LA, and nobody walks here. I don't blame them, with the temperature still around 32 C at 6:30pm, but I don't mind walking. I got to my seat -- 3rd row, between the faceoff circle and the corner, Habs end -- to find a sea of Montreal sweaters. Hurrah, I wouldn't be alone! Then warmup ended, and they all went back to their seats. I was surrounded by 3 or 4 other quiet Habs fans, and noisy, obnoxious, Panthers followers.
Going to away games alone, I always try to quietly blend in, because you never know what kind of away fans you'll get nearby. I've had the Canucks lover who hit on me all game, taunting and beer-throwing Rangers fans, friendly Avalanche supporters who chatted politely all game, and the passive-aggressive woman refusing to look my way while she bashed all of Canada for 60 minutes of play. But tonight was extra special. I had the superfans who bedazzled their Florida jerseys especially for the St Patrick's theme, and the angry assholes who swore about their own players and Montreal's all game, along with such generally hateful gems as kick their fucking French asses and I hate Canadians, all of them, I'll say it.
In the midst of my attempts to ignore this nonsense, I did enjoy a hockey game. Habs played brilliantly in the first period, but the game remained scoreless. In the second, both teams got sloppy with moments of good play, and whoever was sloppier got scored on. The third started with the Canadiens ahead 3-2, and Montreal's play was embarrassing. It was absolutely terrible, while Florida had a great period. Luckily the goaltender, Dustin Tokarski -- our backup, no less -- activated brick wall mode and the game ended with no more scoring. I would've been okay with the loss that my team deserved, but I'll happily take the win. And complain elsewhere about the coach's ridiculous system that relies on the goalie being a star every night and won't let the other 5 guys on the ice use their immense talent to the team's full advantage.
But anyway. It was a win and a good time, and despite the awful crowd near me, Montreal fans were the majority tonight. So it was nice for the guys to get a home away from home win for us.
Go Habs go indeed.