Game Day in Calgary

I felt amazing during the game, until I lost all feeling from the cold, that is. Then I got back to the hotel and had no idea what to say about it. I stared at a blank page for 10 minutes before walking away to have some tea and contemplate. I could never do it justice. I may never try.

All in all, today has been exhausting. I got in around 7:30pm and felt like going straight to bed. How was it that Calgary so took it out of me today?

I woke up early this morning and took the train down to the city center and checked out what makes this so-called Cowtown tick. Evidently, on a Sunday, it's not much at all. It's interesting to me that the population here is larger than Seattle's, but there's a lot less going on downtown. Perhaps that's because the city sprawls out so much farther, not wedged in between water and mountains. At any rate, I didn't find anything there to amuse me.. except for the brief thought that one could understandably assume Canada has some sort of inferiority complex, given the requirement of an extremely tall phallic tower in every major city. Aside from that, nothing; very little shopping was open, no people were around, so I got back on the train to the hotel and set about counting down the minutes until the game that brought me here.

After dressing quite fashionably for the affair -- base layer (mountain climber long johns) top and bottom, jeans, long sleeve tee, Montreal sweatshirt, coat, scarf, Habs toque with ear flaps, gloves with hand warmer inserts, sock liners, wool socks, stick-on foot warmers, and shoes which I could barely reach to pull on after all those layers -- I grabbed my ticket and took the 5 minute walk down to the stadium with the other fans. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of cans of Molson Canadian (each one for the price of a six pack at The Liquor Box across the road), and found my seat.

With the warm-up skate finishing up, the sun shining on me,and the temperature a balmy 15 degrees, my excitement was running high. Pre-game festivities included a song by Five for Fighting, singing of the Canadian national anthem (as well as the US anthem, why?), and a flyover by the Snowbirds, the Canadian equivalent of the Blue Angels. All of this fanfare would make me roll my eyes and say start the game already in the States, but here I got into it, singing along, cheering the pyrotechnics, and feeling a sense of one-ness with everyone around me. Despite the hassle of moving across the border, I should end up back in Canada eventually. I just love it so much more than my native country.

Anyway. My elation didn't last long. While I loved  being at this rare game, always enjoy live hockey, and will forever be glad that I came, the experience became a bit less enjoyable as it went on. The Flames came on strong in the first period, while the Canadiens seemed to be unable to get their feet under them, which dampened the spirits of me and all the Habs fans around me. Then it got colder. The sun went down, and the wind picked up, bringing the temperature with wind chill down to around -5 F. To add to our ordeal, Montreal continued losing (ultimately being shut out 4-0) despite picking up their game and outplaying Calgary for the second 2 periods. Penalties and resulting power play goals plagued our boys. The concrete under our feet was much colder than the air, and my foot warmers quit working, making me unable to feel my toes for at least 35 minutes of the game. Beer sales ended before the 2nd intermission, and as the outcome became obvious, the drunken Flames fans jawed more and more at those of us there to cheer on Montreal. I stayed until the final buzzer, but then this frozen Habs fan skipped any after-game hoopla and got back to the hotel post-haste.

In the end, I may voluntarily forget how the game went. I've seen my Habs play live many times, and fare much better. But I'll never forget the experience today. It was like nothing I've ever done in so many ways, and not all of it was entirely pleasant. But I'd love to do it again. And again. And again.

When's the next one? I'm ready... let's go!

Indoors... Where it is Warm

After some TV and a brief nap this afternoon, I layered up and ventured out to the streets of Calgary's Motel Village to see what I could find. Within the distance I could walk without my face freezing off, I found a couple of chain restaurants, McDonald's, an extremely sketchy-looking bar, a little strip mall, and of course the entrance to McMahon Stadium. Not seeing anyplace I really wanted to hang around, I grabbed something to eat and headed directly back to the warmth of the hotel.

Gearing up for the game. Go Habs!

During my walk, I kept spotting Habs and Flames fans all decked out in their team gear, and was feeling good about the fact that I'll be among many other Montreal devotees at the game tomorrow. I just hope my seat isn't in the midst of a bunch of Calgary nuts, or I might get lynched. The closer I got to the sky bridge to McMahon, the more I was surrounded by fans, all amped up and heading across to some sort of event. Confused, I hit the search engines the moment I got back in my room, but couldn't find any information about Heritage Classic events happening today.


As soon as I turned on the TV, though, I found out what they were doing. Hockey Night in Canada was showing an outdoor Habs/Flames alumni game, and all of the hooting and hollering fans I had seen were in the stands.

Given the bitter cold -- I'm starting to believe they call it that due to the bitterness I feel when trying to go anywhere in it -- I'm in for the night. Right now it's 1 degree out, and rapidly getting dark. Since my exploration also turned up a C-train station nearby, though, I may spend the morning tomorrow taking the train downtown to actually see a bit of Calgary before the game. Even with several layers on, I'd prefer to wander around in the 20s more than the single digits, for sure.

On the plus side, I'm finally starting to feel like I'm on vacation, and definitely like I'm in Canada... And that always makes me happy. I love being here, in the True North, strong and free.

Yes, I will be singing along with that line and every other one in the anthem tomorrow. You may hear my voice straining all the way back in Seattle. I'm that excited. Can't wait!

My Calgary Mini-Break

I need to realize that I'm on vacation.

I've been working nonstop for the last 2 weeks, and just finished 2 extremely long days. When I got up at 6 this morning and headed to the airport, it just seemed like more work. A few airport hassles ad a short jaunt over the Rockies later, I'm here in Calgary. But I haven't relaxed yet. As excited as I am about my reason for coming here, it hasn't hit me yet. I feel like I should be doing something, but I don't know what.

At the same time, I definitely don't feel like I'm in Seattle anymore. While Calgary is the Texas of Canada -- cowboys, oil, everything spread out -- it looks more like Eastern Washington. Just significantly colder. There's frozen snow everywhere, including ground into the pavement in the parking lot outside. The high temperature today is expected to be around 4 degrees. Fahrenheit. It was just below zero when we landed. It's not the kind of cold that I'm used to, where it takes a few minutes to hit and chills you slowly, it's the kind that makes you want to go directly back inside when you walk out the door and stays long after you come back in. Luckily tomorrow is supposed to be closer to 20, and I have plenty of layers for spending a few hours outdoors at the hockey game.

To make matters more difficult, my hotel is off in the suburbs, and there's not much within walking distance. I can see the stadium from my window, but there's a highway in between, and I have no idea how I'll get there. I'm not sure I'm ready to wander off and get lost on this frigid Saturday afternoon.

So I guess I'll curl up here, enjoy being back in Canada, and figure out what to do with myself. Maybe it will finally start to feel like I'm taking a few days away. Maybe. I hope so.

Food Adventureland

I've been sick, stressed and overworked lately, which has left me irritable and anti-social. Luckily, I found the time to finish a great book that has become one of my new favorites:

The Man Who Ate Everything by Jeffrey Steingarten

I couldn't help but love this collection of essays; it includes some of my most loved things: food obviously, science, travel, intelligence and wit. If I had to come up with a criticism -- and of course I do -- it would be that the book was written over a period of a few years back in the early 90s, so doesn't include anything that has happened since. For example, the chapter Why Aren't the French Dropping Like Flies? discusses the French Paradox, which Steingarten is credited with bringing to the public consciousness. Because it was written in 1991, though, it can't come up with any reasons why the people of France ate so much more fatty and "bad" food than Americans, but had much better health. I suspect that the same discussion today would conclude that the French's better health came from their intake of "bad fats" from whole food sources, rather than the processed, empty calorie versions that Americans are so fond of. Even with the outdated references, though, the central points are timeless.

I not only found the book entertaining, but very inspiring. I've already tried a couple of the included recipes, and the introduction about Steingarten's quest to truly eat everything has gotten me thinking differently about my own irrational food phobias. Whether I'll change my habits in any major way remains to be seen, but as we learned from GI Joe, knowing is half the battle.

I'm not much of a reviewer, so I'll stop now. My point is just to recommend this fantastic read to anyone who loves food; it should be a requirement for all of us.

On the Road... Alone

Jesse once told me that I should pitch a show to the Travel Channel about traveling on your own, because I take trips by myself more than anyone he has ever known.

That may be true; I do head out of town by myself far more often than I go with other people. Whenever other women hear that I plan to go away by myself, they either say they could never do that and express admiration that I do, or say I do the same thing. Isn't it the best way to travel? When anyone asks why, I give the standard spiel about how no one else has the time, money, or desire to travel as often as I do, so I just say fuck it and take the trip alone.

Fact is, I like traveling solo. In many cases, I prefer it. I love my friends. I rely on them in many ways; they're more family to me than my relatives. But when it comes down to it, more often than not, I want to do things in life by myself... especially the big stuff, the really hard stuff. I don't know if that exemplifies a fierce independence, a neurotic need for freedom, or just a fundamental tendency to be a loner.

For many years, I depended heavily on people, never did much on my own terms, and found I was extremely disappointed when they didn't come through, or simply felt lonely when they weren't around. To be honest, I didn't get all that much out of it. Several years ago, that all stopped, and my preference moved toward doing things alone. I'm not sure what changed, but since then I've experienced much more than I ever would have, waiting around for others to join me.

The society in which we live encourages women to have a fear and hatred of being alone. You need a partner to make you happy, you need girlfriends to support you in every action, you need protection from all the bad things in the world. We are the prey in a world full of predators. But all that does is limit our experience, our happiness. I've written about it before: there's really nothing more fulfilling, more confidence-building, than going off to a completely unfamilar place, having a great time, with no one to rely on but yourself. Sure, there may be some sense of insecurity, some self-doubt, but overcoming that just makes it all the more satisfying.

It's not just women, though; no one can manage to be alone anymore. Go to any public place and look around you. Anyone without a companion is talking on the phone or texting, is shut off from the world with an ipod, or has their head down over a laptop. What happened to the simple joy of going out into the world by yourself and seeing what happens? Maybe you'll meet someone new, see something entertaining in the crowd around you, or just have a nice time with the company of your own thoughts.

The weirdest thing about traveling solo is never having a guarantee of anyone to talk to, except the customer service staff directly related to your trip. That means that you either have to put yourself out there and meet people, or be your own only friend. I go back and forth on those options, with the latter winning a lot of the time, hence the loner comment above. When I do meet people, they're often guys (same as at home), and it can take some time to figure out if they're trying to pick me up, or just being friendly. Since I'm not out on trips to hook up, I have no interest in that prospect. On my last trip to Europe, I got hit on in every country I visited, and most were so obvious that I just pretended I didn't understand what they were saying and moved on. For the less obvious, I tend to imply that I left a significant other back in Seattle, and excuse myself from the situation. Unfortunately, there are some people out there who don't mean well, and particularly like to prey upon tourists. Then the key is to listen closely to your instincts, and not engage with someone who doesn't feel safe. It's better to be extra careful than to end up a cautionary tale that reinforces the fears of others.

To make it easier, most of the time no one knows you're a lone traveler unless you tell them so. In many locations, you're immersed in a mix of visitors and locals, and can just blend in. It only becomes very clear that you're on a solo trip in situations where there are nothing but other travelers in your midst. My all-inclusive in Cabo was one of those environments; all of the other guests at the resort had their social circles pretty well defined. Couples were happy with just each other, but might bond with fellow couples; families were happy on their own, but wouldn't shy away from other families; groups of singles were content to party together, but were really seeking others to hook up with. I was none of the above, so apart from the occasional random conversation, I spent the trip with myself. Keen observer that I am, though, I tended to notice anyone else in my own small category.

Oddly, in that situation, I think I found another me. I spotted a woman about my age a few times, always sitting alone, with that solo traveler vibe. I didn't bother approaching her, considering my poor track record in making friends with women. Plus, when I last saw her, she brought her laptop to dinner. It's almost as clear a sign as painting Fuck you across your forehead. She clearly was another me, neither of us looking for friends.

I don't really think there's a moral to this particular story. I just want to encourage everyone to have their own adventures, whether or not anyone will be along with them. Having people around is good, but being totally dependent upon others isn't. Going off on my own has been one of the best things I've ever done, and continues to be one of my very favorite things to do. It's one of the things that makes me truly happy.

And I can't wait to go do it again...

My Happy Place

My day of relaxation in the sun yesterday was a complete success. I spent the whole time lounging around various spots in the resort, read an entire book, and even managed not to get sunburned. I was, unfortunately, caught by a mosquito or two, leaving a few red, itchy welts down my left arm. I'm not sure what makes that particular appendage so tasty, but the rest of me was left alone.

At one point, I glanced up in the bathroom mirror while washing my hands and thought, Damn! This beachwear makes me look cute! Then I looked a second longer -- swimsuit peeking out of a cheap coverup brought back from Hawaii, hair in a messy ponytail, sunglasses atop my head, no makeup, skin shiny from sunscreen -- and realized that I didn't look cute at all. What I did look was relaxed; I looked happy. Apparently, that's more flattering than anything else I could do. Who knew?

Since I don't have much else to say, I'll just share a few of the views I enjoyed yesterday, and get back to my last full day in the sun.

Margaritaville

I finally feel like I'm on vacation.

Yesterday, I only left my room for specific errands -- eating, checking out the gift shop, visiting the one small area of the complex with wifi -- and spent the bulk of the day curled up in bed, blowing my nose. Last night around 10, out on my balcony in the midst of muffled strains of It's Raining Men from the Disco, I also heard crickets, and the crashing of waves against the shore. I looked up at the stars, felt the breeze, and became determined not to waste my remaining days here in the sun.

Luckily I woke up early this morning, still with a cold, but feeling much, much better. So, after breakfast, I packed my beach bag with essentials, slathered myself in sunscreen (even with only a few minutes outdoors yesterday my nose turned a lively pink), and vowed not to go back to my room until sundown. I'm certain this much pleases the non-English-speaking maid, who was quite dismayed yesterday to keep finding a "Do not disturb"sign on my door, no matter how many times she returned, desperate to clean up after me.

As I started my day walking on to the private beach, Jimmy Buffett's perennial resort favorite Margaritaville was playing, which struck me as cheesily apropos, although since I don't wear flip-flops, I'm unlikely to blow one out during my time here.

So in that spirit, I'm now going to shut down this electronic leash and head back to reading by the pool, where odds are high that my latest foray into the world of Bill Bryson will be accompanied by my third (or so) beer of the day.

Life is good here. Wish you were here... but mostly very glad that I am.