Flight delays

                 I have never had a major flight delay before. Seriously. I know, with
the amount I’ve traveled, it seems ridiculous, but thus far I had managed
to beat the odds and routinely show up early to my destinations. My
ridiculously bad luck with getting my luggage off last… now that’s
another story. It was really just a matter of time before my airline luck
ran out, and my timer finally caught up with me on my way back to
Vancouver from a wild, exotic trip to Kitchener/Waterloo, Ontario, Canada.
                It seemed like a good idea at the time – book into the KW airport and
save ourselves and one of Eric’s friends (who picked us up) the hour and a
half drive to Toronto’s beautiful, big, lots-of-flights-to-choose-from
airport. Plus it was CAD$30.00 less on a Westjet seat sale. But signs of
trouble brewed early, when, before we even left Canada, the airline
personally called me at home to tell me our nonstop flight was now an hour
connection in Calgary. Amazing customer service, though. Serious props
to Westjet for that. Plus, I’d never been to Calgary before, so this
could be fun.
                On the way there, it wasn’t bad. Our departure from Calgary was delayed forty minutes, but that just meant more time at the duty free, and I do love me some duty free. Side note – if I haven’t mentioned it before, I
freaking love airports. I love the way they smell, I love all the
luggage, I love the hustle and bustle and I even love the overpriced giant
Toblerones and amazingly cheezy souvenirs. The bigger the better – more to
see! So additional time in a new airport to me is like a little gift from
the airport Gods. Normally I have to haul my grumpy/sleep
deprived/hungover companions there early, only to have them collapse onto a padded bench seat and try to pretend not to know me as I skip through the terminal. This was far more efficient, espeically for a morning
flight. I was hoping to get the same fun in KW on the way home, but when
we landed and, before we even got off the plane Eric’s buddy Kyle texted
saying he knew we had arrived, because we were the only plane there, I
knew this wasn’t the party airport I was hoping for. The arrivals,
departures and luggage carousel were all in the same room, and only two
airlines flew out of here – Westjet and Bearskin – who only flies to
Montreal and Ottawa and whom I had never heard of, depsite all my years in
the travel industry.
                So on the way home after a fantastic week of sun and fun, complete with a family wedding and trips to Canada’s Wonderland theme park and Niagara Falls, I just wanted to get to the airport on time, get on my plane, and have more time to explore the Calgary airport (read: the airport where
there is something to do) on the way home. This is when lightening
struck. Literally. There were weird storms all over Eastern Canada, with
Halifax being lit up like a light show and rain in Kitchener/Waterloo,
despite the heat wave. Our gate (correction, THE gate) had a bar and a
coffee shop and a cart of used books. There was a great fiew out to the
tarmac. And there was no plane. About the time we were supposed to
board, the Westjet girl gets on the loudspeaker and announces that our
plane has circled the airport twice unsuccessfully trying to land, and now
needs to go to Toronto for fuel before trying again. Should only be an
hour delay.
               Five hours later, the recap was this: the flight spent four hours in
Toronto, during which time they were so sure they weren’t going to be able
to make it to KW that night that they offloaded all their passengers and
put them on a bus to KW instead of making them stay on the plane. In the
interim, we were getting half-hourly delays saying the “plane should be
arriving in KW is about 20 minutes”. Naturally. The look on the Westjet
lady’s face was one of pure regret every time she had to make another
announcement. We actually came very close to being boarded on a plane
ourselves and driven up to Toronto to fly from there, but just waiting it
out was determined to be the faster option, so we sat.
                Here’s the thing, though. This actually didn’t bother me all that much.  As an agent I know that the airline is legally obligated to somehow get you to your destination, so if there’s a chance to reschedule you/get you
going ASAP, they’ll do it. I wasn’t worried about that at all. And it
was kind of fascinating watching the reactions of the passengers and the
staff as they sorted through this uncomfortable situation. Normally this
is when I’d get a panic-stricken call from my client, demanding that I get
them to Wherever as soon as possible, despite the fact that I’ve advised
them that it’s way faster and more effective to just talk to the airline
lady yourself, she’s right in front of you. Then I’d spend a minimum of
half an hour on hold with the airline, listening to that spectacular hold
music, and then reschedule you on to the next flight (Which the airline
was totally going to do anyways!), or be told that the situation was
already resolved at the airport and all that holding was for nothing.
Maybe it was because we were such a small group at a tiny airport, or that
our average age was 55 and didn’t include any of the “my time is more
important than yours” businessmen, but most people were remarkably calm
and just went back to their newspapers. When we hit the four hour mark
and it became apparent that pretty much everyone who didn’t live in
Calgary was going to be forced to stay there overnight, people started
getting restless and anyone who could rebooked themselves on the following
day’s flight and went home for the night, leaving an increasingly small
group of us to watch the same newscast that had been on every half an hour
prior. There was a giant snake found in a bathtub in Calgary, by the way.
The group of us actually managed to empty out the little terminal cafe,
until there was nothing left to buy but a banana and some coffee. We took
it as a bad sign when they started bringing out breakfast sandwiches. You
mean we’re still going to be here in the morning?
                     At 1130pm, amidst loud clapping and some kids doing the wave, the plane finally arrived. We were loaded on immediately and took off for Calgary.  Two episodes of So You Think You Can Dance and a whole lot of House Hunters, combined with some horrible failed sleeping attempts and we were finally back at least in Western Canada. Wrong freaking province, but now we were at least within spitting distance to home. And it was 5am our body’s time.

               The instructions were to see the Westjet agents for accomodation
vouchers, and, since we were row 2 and there was nobody in row one, we
were the first off the plane and able to shanghai a gate agent all to
ourselves before we had to fight the crowds. They had a litle package of
a hotel voucher, a taxi voucher to get us there, and vouchers for
breakfast and lunch, if we needed it. Perfect. By now we were exhausted,
barely seeing straight, and grumpy, but the whole thing ran smoothly. Ten
minutes later we were in our room at the Holiday Inn Caldary Airport, and
let me tell you, that bed was so comfortable it was ridiculous. I could
have moved into that pillow for a week. What we got was less
than three hours. Our flight to Vancouver departed at 8, meaning we had
to be checked in and cleared security by 7, and we were on a 630 shuttle
to the airport. Getting up sucked. Seriously. Then some stupid shit who
clearly had a 10am flight and an ego figured he’d show up 15 minutes late
for the shuttle (for the life of me, I don’t get why they waited for him,
there was another shuttle 5 minutes after that), so it lead to some tense
line waiting at check in and security and then a sprint to a cafe to grab
a muffin for a 30 second breakfast before getting to our gate right as
they started loading. The lady at the muffin stand kept saying to me “buy
more, the voucher’s worth $20, you’re only spending $6 and you don’t get a
refund” to which, after the third time, I snapped “just give me my
freaking muffin and let me catch my plane before I hurt you!” You see, I
love airports, but I hate the possiblilty of missing a plane. Not gonna
happen.
              An hour later we were finally back in Vancouver, sunglasses on to cover the bags under our eyes and fueling myself with a slurpee in hopes the
caffiene and sugar would keep me awake. I hopped the train directly to
work and Eric went home to sleep. In my line of work, unless you’re
stranded somewhere that only one flight weekly departs and you have the
possibility to die of exposure/be eaten by sharks/stoned by cannibals,
then you’re going to show up to work. Why? Because the person next to
you has always been through worse. I have to admit, though, that for my
first horrible flight delay experience, it went really smoothly. It was
uncomfortable and exhausting, sure, but Westjet did take full care of us
with no effort required whatsoever by us stranded passengers, and no
additional cost required. Good on you Westjet. Apparently your
commercials are right, you do care.

Tags: Canada, Canada's Wonderland, delayed, Flights, Kitchener-Waterloo, Niagara Falls, Ontario, tired, Westjet

Engaged!!!!

Yep, it’s official!  Eric popped the big, romantic question, and I said yes!!!

My adorable other half is not known for his patience, and after picking up the ring, was too excited to wait for the special romantic moment he had planned, and just proposed in the parking lot of the mall!  I was wondering why he hadn’t opened my door to the minivan, and I turned around to find him on one knee!  It was amazing and so adorable.  At first all I could say was “I love you so much” over and over, until I realized I hadn’t actually answered him and clarified with a big enthousiastic “YES”!!!!

It honestly couldn’t have been more special, and I cannot wait to be Mrs. Eric

Hey Baby let’s go to Vegas

We called it The Hangover part 3 - The Birthday. And we made him wear a
wolf t-shirt to show the world he was no longer a "one man Wolf Pack". 
The twist was that instead of the four of us trying to get home from
Vegas, most of the drama was in the getting there. But there was a "huh,
why am I waking up in the middle of the night...and what are you doing to
me?" moment.
You see, up until 5am on the morning of his birthday, Fraser, the man of
honour had no idea he was going to Las Vegas. In less than an hour, to be
exact. Epic birthday present of epicness. It wasn't even my surprise, or
my Husband, but I was super excited just to be part of it. The planning
had been months in the making, and I have gotta give my best friend some
serious credit for managing to somehow book the trip, arrange it with Eric
and I, set up a ride to/from the airport and pack his suitcase, all
without her husband ever suspecting a thing. The only (weak) red flag
that had gone up in his mind was that he thought some of his clothes may
have been missing, but he just assumed they were in the laundry and let it
slide. The night before Eric and I had gone over for our usual friday
night Rockband extravaganza, and planned on crashing on their hideabed
under the guise that we were going to be too drunk to drive. Nothing
remotely unusual there. Except that at midnight we all started getting
suddenly really, really sleepy, but luckily our horrible overacting and
really dramatic yawns and stretches worked, and we were able to get some
shut-eye before our middle of the night wake up call. 
Long story short, he had a happy, still asleep grin on his face when we
loaded him on the plane, and by noon we were in shorts and beginning that
great Vegas passtime, drinking, in a booth at Hooters. When in Vegas, go
as classy as possible, right? 
Us girls had been to Vegas before, but both guys were Vegas virgins, so
we wasted no time showing them how to navigate the maze of Mexicans
handing out hooker cards (collect all 10,345 for a free t-shirt! No, not
really, but that would make all the guys collecting them slightly less
perverted). Funny story - we were all trying to collect a pile of these
to give as a free gift to a friend back in Vancouver (I swear... oh, never
mind...), so I reached for one as we walked past, and the guy wouldn't
give one to me because I was a woman! Sorry, lesbians, apparently Vegas
won't let you call 1-800-LIVEGIRLS.
Vegas is such a surreal place. Everything is oversized, flashy and
gimmicky, like Disneyland with exposed breasts. A place where everybody
walks around with their yard-ling frozen margarita permenently attached to
their lip and either a lizzardy brown tan that definately is not supposed
to appear in nature or clothes way, way too tight for the amount of flesh
squished into them. And if you tick both boxes... now that's just wrong,
people, wrong! I'm a shorts and tank tops kinda girl, and don't get me
wrong, I like my tanks pretty low cut and my shorts well above my knees,
but Vegas always makes me feel overdressed. Dramatically overdressed. 
Unless I'm standing next to a fully decked out bride (Vegas bride count
this trip - 7) sweltering in the heat and trying to look fabulous (and/or
trashy), then I feel underdressed and confused as to how my invite got
lost in the mail. Is it just me, or is Vegas the most impersonal place to
get married? It makes a wedding a production line event there.
But I digress. Back to The Birthday. The one thing Fraser had told his
wife he wanted to do if he was ever in Las Vegas was to see Carrot Top, so
we made sure we had third row seats on birthday night. Let me just say,
Carrot Top was freaking hillarious. The posters tout him as "Vegas' #1
act" for _ many years running, and I can see why. It's approachable
humour, not too dirty, not too clean, not too overpriced and just straight
up funny. But he is one weird looking dude up close! I am so glad we did
that. He had this one joke about how the theme song to Las Vegas should
be The Proclaimers' "I would walk 500 miles", because all you do all day
is walk. You walk the Strip, where the hotels are so big it feels like
half a mile just to get from the Paris to Bally's next door, you walk
through the massive casinos, and then you walk down one of those endless
hallways from your nightmares with nothing but a thousand doors to finally
find your hotel room, which is always in the other direction that you
originally turned. By the end of that first day we were all coated in
that wonderful Vegas combination of sunscreen, sweat and casino smoke, had
an "oh my god I've been up since 5 and drinking since noon" glazed look in
our eyes, and our feet were actually blistered from all that walking in
the wrong shoes. Eric turned to me as we got back to our room and
sleepily commented that he didn't care what we did the next day, but could
we take a cab there?
Day two began with the other Vegas passtime (aside from drinking,
gambling, and gorging on buffets - which we didn't do, BTW. The buffets,
anyway. Not yet) as we headed to the half price ticket booth to secure
discounted day-of tickets to Le Reve. From there it was to the Venetian
for a gondola ride. I love that! And then we walked. And gambled. And
walked. And gambled. My casino luck in the past had been a consistant
thirty seconds to watch my $20 dissappear, after which I gave up and
watched everyone else have fun. Not this trip, baby! While the guys
watched the Canucks' playoff game at the diner in the Treasure Island, I
won $200 on the penny slots, and by the time we went home was up over
$400! We all did pretty good, actually, winning over $1000 between the 4
of us. Booyeah! So we celebreated with a ridiculously overpriced steak
dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House (I will never understand that
restaurant name. Is a Chris Steak something that belongs to Ruth? Or is
it Ruth Chris' Steak House and someone put the apostrophe in the wrong
place? And what the hell is a Chris Steak? Looked like beef to me? 
Needless to say, I had the chicken, just to be safe).
Everyone kept telling us Le Reve was the best show in Vegas. For that
price it had damn well better be! Well, we almost didn't get to see it. 
We get to the Wynn, find the theatre and I reach in my purse to pull out
the tickets... only to find the zipper stuck. Not just a little stuck, but
terminally, can't even stick a finger in there to wiggle out the tickets
stuck. So we drop to our knees, pulling and yanking and trying to tear my
purse appart with our bare hands, which was then followed up with us
trying to hack into my purse with keys. This is when security showed up
and told us we couldn't sit on the floor in the Wynn. Apparently hacking
at a purse that may or may not have been ours was totally okay, but
sitting on the floor was just wrong. After a lot of elbow grease we
successfully ripped the zipper apart, shredded my purse, got the tickets
and enjoyed the show. Had to hold my purse closed for the rest of the
trip, but enjoyed the show. It was a kind of aerial acrobatics/high
dive/synchronized swimming/ballroom dancing show (try to picture that, I
dare you), but it was actually pretty cool. I'm not a fan of any of the
Cirque Du Soleil shows, they're just not my cup of tea, but this was
pretty cool.
Ironically, while all this was going down, the Billboard Music Awards
were going down at our hotel, the MGM Grand. Who knows, had we stayed
closer to the hotel we might have rubbed elbows with Rihanna or been able
to tell Britney that she's shorter, but just as slutty in person. But
alas...no.
Day three, the finale, dawned with us finally hitting a Vegas buffet. 
Shit that was a lot of food. Good, but a lot of food. And you feel
obligated to eat it all to justify the $30/head price tag. In an
overstuffed syrup induced stupor we then hopped a taxi to do something I
never thought I would ever do - fire machine guns. Not toy guns, not
paintball guns, but big ass, turn the wrong way your doing life for
manslaughter machine guns. The ads for the Gun Store were everywhere, so
we figured, what the hell. The boy went for the giant scare the shit out
of me packages, firing things that looked like they could take down
passing aircraft, but the girls stuck with the "Ladies package" firing a
nice, feel like a TV detective handgun and a pink AK-47. Not only was it
pink, but it had a sticker of Hello Kitty holding a machine gun on the
butt. No joke. I have pictures. Have to admit I was shaking during the
actual firing, but it was fun. The feeling of power it gives you is a
rush, and that adrenaline is actually kind of unnerving. We should have
considered the fact that we then had to fly home with gunshot residue on
our hands, but luckily we made it past the dogs all right.
In the taxi back to the hotel, we all had drinks to replenish our lost
fluids from the two-hour wait at the Gun Store, and our taxi driver, while
stopped at a light, actually used the clippy part of his seatbelt to open
a beer bottle for Fraser. Amazing. He got a good tip.
Then it was suddenly time to go home and back to work and reality the
next day. We were all packed and ready, and upon arrival at the airport
my friend tells the online boardingpass printer thing that we're
transporting dangerous goods. Seriously. One wrong button press and you
get this voucher telling you to report to the check in counter for
additional screening. Visions of cavity searches and that aforementioned
gunpowder residue test start flashing before my eyes, but luckily this
must happen all the time, because the gate agent believed us that it was
just a little mistake and printed out our boarding passes without problem.
Will keep that in mind if I'm ever on the lam from the po-po.
And as quickly as The Birthday had begun, it was over. Back in Vancouver
we collapsed into our beds, only to wake up the next morning and wonder if
it was all a dream. But no. The free camo tee from the Gun Store and the
extra $400 proved it was real. And so worth it. What a great birthday to
Fraz. And, just for the record, if anyone ever wants to surprise me on my
birthday with a vacation, the date is August 28th  

Tags: birthday, Carrot Top, friends, fun, gun, Las Vegas, shows, surprise, walking

The Game.

I’m sorry world, Vancouver is closed.  For everything.  You can stop calling, we’re not answering the phone for the next few hours.  Hell, we’re not even willingly getting up to go to the bathroom unless it’s really, really important.  The game is on.

The game.  It’s really the only thing that matters right now.  It’s the reason everyone who could went into work an hour early so they could be home in time.  It’s the reason everyone on the train is glued to their smartphones, is trying to figure out how to finally use the radio setting on their iPod, and if they don’t have either of those, they’re looking over the shoulder of someone who does.  And if you have to ask what game, consider this an internet smack upside your head.  Stanley Cup Finals, Baby!!!

Vancouver is a hardcore hockey town.  Seriously.  But yet we’ve never succeeded in bringing Lord Stanley’s cup to our Olympic city.  We’ve been close… 1994 versus the NY Rangers (*turn and spit*).  I was in elementary school, and my most vivid memory of that was school literally stopping for a week and being replaced with pep rallies, fan-sign making in arts and crafts, and wearing nothing but orange, yellow and black until the end.  Yep, that’s how long ago it was, back like two logos ago.  Even kids without facial hair were trying to grow playoff beards.   Today is the start of a series that is gripping the city in a similar way.  Standing at Waterfront station this morning, one of the busiest downtown commuter hubs in the city, 1 in 3 commuters, from businesswomen to bike messengers to seeing eye dogs had on Canucks’ jerseys.  The puck dropped at five, and the honking started at 4:30.  The excitement was just bubbling over so much that people were compelled to hit the horn.  And you know how it goes with honking, it’s like sneezing, once one person does it, everyone automatically follows suit.   Even those Vancouverites not watching the game (what’s wrong with you?  What, not from Vancouver?  Then become a Vancouverite for the day or go home, silly tourist!) will know the score, because the second someone scores the screaming or the booing coming from every car, home, sidewalk, airplane, magic carpet is loud enough to reach you wherever you are.

I love this.  The energy crackles in the air, the crowds randomly gather at street corners wherever a TV is on in a window, and everyone’s friends with everyone else.  It’s really similar to the vibe felt during the Olympics (hockey again, big surprise), but with fewer international visitors, and it’s magical.  There is something amazing about collective excitement that just can’t be beat.  The feeling is so nice, a tiny part of me wants it to stay for as long as possible, but a much bigger part of me wants it to end in 4.  If that happens, Vancouver is going to need a month off to recover, and no one is going to mind one bit.

Go Canucks!!!

Tags: hockey, Stanley Cup Finals, vancouver

Pilgrimage, anyone?

The Royal Wedding.  You know, that little tiny thing that monopolized all TV channels and would still be recapped 24/7 if it wasn’t for that little Bin Laden being killed thing to take over the news reports?  Well, aside from “oh my God, that dress was gorgeous…” the Royal Wedding got me thinking about pilgrimages.  Let me explain that jump in my thought process.  Pilgrimages are most commonly associated with religious sites – Mecca, Fatima, Vatican City and the like, but I’m going for any location/landmark/once in a lifetime experience/whatever that means enough to someone that they will lay down the credit card, pack up the Volkswagon and follow the siren’s call.  Like the thousands of people who flew/sailed/swam/hitchiked/magic carpeted to London to line the Mall and catch a glimpse of the Royal newlyweds.  See?  It all makes sense now.

Think Graceland.  Since Elvis died, people have been flocking from everywhere to walk past his pink Cadillac, see the Jungle Room and eat overpriced peanut butter and banana sandwiches from the on-site concession stand.  It’s inspired songs, movies, tattoos and countless frequent flier miles.  And it’s just a house.  A house no longer inhabited by the King (or is it?  There are websites out there that still dispute this – the internet is a great way for crazy people to network).  This is the classic, iconic case of the pop culture pilgrimage.

I had a client recently who booked a vacation to Thailand, and two weeks before he was to leave, he discovered Depeche Mode (or something, it was 80’s synth-something-or-other) was going to be playing a one-off gig in Phuket three days before he was supposed to arrive.  So he called me to change his ticket, only to discover that the flight was practically sold out and he’d have to play transpacific business class prices (think of a high number, multiply it and add three per cent and you might come close), plus additional nights hotel and expenses, all for three hours of techno.  I automatically assumed he would shoot it down, but there were a few hours when he really, seriously was considering this.  The band meant that much to him.  It was the age old cost versus payoff debate, and to him the payoff may have been worth that month’s mortgage payment.  In the end common sense prevailed (hey, I like my 80’s new wave more than the average duck, but this was the financial equivalent of a small car) and he left it as it was… and a day later he calls again, saying he discovered they were playing in Dubai four days after their Phuket gig, and asking how much it would be to add a little side trip to Dubai for one night.  Geographically, Dubai is not a little side trip from anywhere, except maybe Abu Dhabi, but it sure as hell isn’t one from Phuket.  So now not only is it cost, but this guy was willing to spend approximately two and a half days on a plane for that aforementioned concert.  At this point, I had tried to talk him out of it, done my ethical due diligence, and I was totally willing to sell him whatever he wanted, as long as he told me how it went when he eventually crawled home, burned out, still hungover, jet lagged and blissfully happy.   Ten minutes before he was going to come in and pay for the new ticket, reality must have smacked him upside the head and he called to cancel the changes.  Can’t say I blamed him, but a small part of me had wanted to see the pure joy in his eyes when I handed him a ticket that would take him to his promised land, complete with glow sticks and navel-baring tees.

Admittedly, my own Achilles’ heel is Disneyland.  All of them.  Any time I’m within two hours of one of the parks, I hear the call and I must go.  Can’t fight the call of the mouse…  I had a fairly high-end tour guide in Paris practically spit on my shoes when I asked him how to take the train to Eurodisney (”Yooooo vant to go zheeere?  Quoi?  Eeeeest un giant pile of tooooooooorist merde!”)  Naturally, this was the same guy more than willing to sell me a steaming pile of tourist merde - I mean, an evening at the Moulin Rouge, complete with a huge financial kickback to himself – but Disney was just so…. gauche.  Well, suck it, Mr. Tour Guide.   Made it just fine, had a great time, and four years later when I was in London, I hopped on the Eurostar again for a one-day Disney fix.  Same thing happened in Hong Kong:  ”You want to go shopping again?”  ”Not really, you?” “How much HKD$ do you have left?”  ”Enough for Disneyland”  ”Sweet.”  And I can’t even count how many times I’ve found myself in California, staring up at Space Mountain, and wondering how I’d ended up here again, but knowing it won’t be the last.

So, what place/event/landmark calls to you?   Where is your Mecca?  Your Depeche Mode?  Your Royal Wedding?

Tags: Graceland, London, pilgrimage, religion, Royal Wedding, USA

New job for the win!

Insert happy dance here.

Personally, I don’t need to insert it, as I’m doing it.  It’s three weeks into my new job as a travel wholesaler and not for one second am I regretting the switch.    I’m really enjoying being downtown, the view is awesome (they cleaned our blinds and for two whole days we were forced to look at Canada Place, Waterfront Station and the sun drenched north shore.  That was torture, let me tell you), and I am quickly becoming addicted to walking around the downtown core on my lunch break.   Plus, the building has a free fully equipped gym for employees.  Then there’s the actual work part.  It’s actually more closely related to my job as an agent as I had expected, the biggest difference (beyond new computer programs) is the fact that I’m expected to be an expert on Asia, India and the Middle East, as opposed to when I was an agent and the clients expected me to be an expert on everything.  But I have great new colleagues and the transition could not have been smoother.  Basically, it’s better pay, better hours, easier commute and I get to specialize in a region of the world I’m passionate about.  The only way it could get better is if it came with a puppy!

High five!

The big change

I got a new job!  

          Don’t worry, I won’t need to find a new outlet for my travel obsession, I’ll still get to talk about it all day every day, but with a twist.  Instead of a “travel agent” I’m becoming a “specialty reservations agent – Asia”.  See, Mama always told me I was special.    Ooh, does that mean I’ll get new business cards calling me “Special”?  Awesome.  But back on track… on paper the job’s not actually all that different: I still get to build and create great packages at the best available price to my clients’ specifications, but instead of dealing directly with the clients, I’m going to be the one the agents call for the best deal after the clients have asked them for the perfect vacation.   We always laugh here at the crazy people (very few of whom are actually diagnosed as crazy, but most who should be.  And that’s not counting the Older Jewish community, whom I love, but they’re in a category all their own) that we deal with on a daily basis, and at first I was wondering if I’d miss the insanity in my new position?  Then I stopped and thought about it, and there are a lot of batshit crazy agents out there, as continuously proven at trade shows, when they ask to take the displays home with them, try to shove four-foot promotional posters in their purses undetected and rush the free bar like it’s the last alcohol on earth.    God knows, just thinking back at all the shit I have gotten people in my soon to be position to do over the years… it’s going to be interesting to say the least.  But hey, I like a challenge.  Why else would I work in travel?

            I am so excited about this new positon I, according to friends and family, am talking very fast and in a  higher octave than normal, but at the same time it’s a little bittersweet.  I currently have the best office in the world to work at – all my coworkers are amazing, amazing women who I’m going to miss very much.  Telling them I’m leaving was the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time.  They’re not just coworkers, they’ve been my family for the past five and a half years.  There’s the Mom, the Grandma, the cool Aunt, the crazy Sister, the other crazy Sister, and the houseguests that live in the foreign exchange, I mean garage (gotta keep my metaphor consistant) who never left.   I kinda feel like the teenager going off to college.  They’re all ridiculaously supportive, but I just want to make sure I have it in writing that they truly, honestly, from the bottom of my heart, ROCK.  If my new coworkers are half as great as these women were, I’m set for life. 

         So now I’m loading my life into a cardboard box ( it really is amazing how much shit you can squeeze into one little desk over the years), getting ready to say good bye to the mall (no more walking to Safeway and the Gap when I got bored on break), and prepping to be unemployed for 9 days.  This is the part when the live studio audience in the sitcom of my life “awws” as I turn off the office light and walk off into the night.  But soon my little Mini Cooper desk clock will have a new home on the freshly installed (as of this week) desk in the big office tower with my name on it.  Zoom zoom

Tags: New job

Dubai visas are insane

Subtitled: How obtaining a dual-entry Dubai Visa for a Canadian citizen can promote premature aging, food molding, no cell phone service and take years off your life (In all honesty, I have no idea if it can mold food or mess with your cell signal, but it was a horrible enough process that I wouldn’t be surprised if it does).

So, a little background: last year the United Arab Emirates and Canada got into a little bit of a squabble because the UAE wanted permission to land more flights in Canada per week.  Canada, wanting to keep the business with Air Canada, turned them down.  So the UAE fired back with the ever-popular “Oh yeah?  Well, your Momma wears combat boots!”   And when that didn’t solve anything they added “and now your people need visas to enter our country as of Jan 1, 2011!  Take that, Syrupsuckers! ” *

The big catch is that they seemed to forget to set up the process to which one obtains said visa.  Cue December, 2010, and nobody has any idea yet what the hell’s going on and mass panic is ensuing.  Canadians with pre-booked pre-paid non-refundable vacations are wetting themselves wondering if they’re even going to be able to enter the UAE at all.  Dollar signs are flashing before their eyes,  and agents are breathing into paper bags.  With just days to spare we finally get word that you have to obtain the visa in advance, cannot get one on arrival, and have to get one issued through a company registered in the UAE, such as your hotel or tour operator.  Seems simple enough, right?

The problem with this is that there are a whole lot of loopholes.  And no infrastructure set up to deal with these loopholes.

This is where I enter the picture.  My case was this:  the clients booked a cruise starting in Dubai, leaving the UAE and stopping in Oman, then returning to Dubai and spending an additional week there before flying on.  Knowing we would have to arrange the visa with the hotel we pre-booked and paid in full for our post-cruise accommodations and then began the lengthy “email the hotel in Dubai” process.

Now let me just say as agents we don’t normally deal with visas.   We normally just hand you the number of the consulate or a visa service and wipe our hands of it (with a smile, of course), but in this case, since we had to get in touch with the hotel directly, I wanted to help my clients out and emailed them myself.  I’m an idiot.

It only took about a week of emails – since Dubai is 12 hours ahead of us and nobody works on Fridays and Saturdays, everything takes a long time – to learn that my passengers would need two visas, one for their original entry and one for their return after Oman.  Obtaining one visa is a pretty simple process, you just fill out a form, send copies of your passport, credit card, photos, your first born, etc. and they email you back a visa.  Simple.  This I could have done immediately without problem.  The BIG GIANT CATCH that cost me sleep, some of my natural hair colour and a layer of nail polish from all the frantic emails I typed is that you can only get the second visa after showing the exit stamp from the first one.  You cannot hold two active UAE visas at the same time.  This meant my clients would need to somehow send their cancelled visa to the hotel (from the ship?) and get the second one in 5-7 business days, which they didn’t have, since they were only leaving the UAE for 3 days.  Was this even possible?

The UAE consulate never responded to any of my 47 emails, an equal number of voicemails, and the two times I did manage to get a person they hung up on me.  I’m still waiting to hear back.  The cruise line just gives you a random email and tells you they won’t help you.  Over the next two months I emailed countless companies and sent so many messages to the hotel in Dubai they finally got fed up and stopped returning my emails. I found two companies that could issue the two visas, but only if you booked all your hotels and transfers with them, which would cost my clients a fortune, as they’d already paid for all that.  Every time I got any sort of answer, the next message/call would disprove it.  There was no consistancy, and the visa info on the internet (yes, I resulted in Googling) actually warns you that the visa information provided even by reputable companies is notoriously unreliable.  Fan-frealing-tastic.

My clients were incredibly calm duing all of this, and continue to be a dream to work with.  I personally hit the full-on panic point a good two weeks before they did.   I was just watching the clock tick down, and looking at this very expensive booking and thinking “what if they don’t get a visa in time?”  Insurance doesn’t cover not traveling due to lack of visa – that’s your fault and the insurance comapnies aren’t paying anything to cover your ass.  Not that I blame them there.  But every possible worst case scenario was flashing before my eyes.

We were down to the wire.  It was literally the last possible Thursday and if my clients didn’t submit the paperwork for the Visa by Tuesday we were royally screwed. That was it.  No more second chances.  About now I’m mainlining antacids and checking my email every ten seconds.  And then it popped up, as if sent from an angel: a company affiliated with the cruise line (whom I’d already emailed twice to no avail and had only tried again as a Hail Mary pass) said they normally require you to book land accommodation with them, but would gladly help me out if I had been unable to obtain the Visa any other way.  Hot damn.  There was a God.  Or Allah.  Or anything.  I instantly emailed back, asking for the paperwork to fill out, then nervously waited for a response while they were closed for the weekend, and on Sunday submitted all the forms.  I had expected to get a response the next day saying there was something wrong – that had happened on every other email I’d sent during this process, why would this be any different?  Tuesday rolls around and I’m just becoming convinced there’s something wrong when BAM!  In my inbox miraculously appears four perfect Dubai Visas, each numbered in order they were to be used, and a sheet of instructions on how to get a cruise Visa.  Life was good again.  Bunnies and rainbows appeared everywhere.

Here’s the thing: if someone had sent me that sheet of instructions two months ago, none of the panic would have happened.  I’m not insane to assume the company that issued the Visas, as well as the Canadian Consulate in Dubai, the UAE Embassy in Ottawa and the cruise line would have had this form.  Thousands of Canadians cruise in and out of Dubai every year.   I was one step away from petitioning the Canadian government to just let more Emirates flights land at Pearson, all the while thinking I was going to be fired when the clients sued my company for the CAD$20 000.00 they had lost.  Come on UAE, get your act together.  If you don’t simplify this process, you’re going to loose much needed tourist dollars, and only be able to build skyscrapers that rank as the Fourth tallest in the world. And you might have to downsize man made island chain shaped like all the continents of the world so it just resembles Panagea.  The horror.

My story had a happy ending.  Yay. But just consider this a heads up if you’re planning on cruising in and out of Dubai.  Start the visa process as early as possible, book your hotel accommodations with a Dubai-based tour operator who can issue your Visa for you, and if all else fails, ask me for the instructions and I’ll send them your way.  You can bet they’re always going to be close at hand for me from here on out.  If that doesn’t work, I recommend Prozac.  And please stay away from sharp objects for the first little while.

*I’m paraphrasing.  It was probobly written in much more formal language.

Tags: agent, cruise, Dubai, panic, Prozac, stamp, stress, trouble, UAE, Visa

Home is where the holiday is

‘Tis the season for millions of people to migrate back to their Motherland and spend the holidays with their families.  Consequently, it’s also the time of year all travel providers (airlines, hotel chains, etc) jack up the prices because they know whatever the cost, you’ll pony up, because being with your family is that important.  Hell, even seven elevens increase their prices, so you’re paying more for that road trip essential Slim Jim.  But with the economy being what it is, this year I’ve had a lot of clients forced to walk away from their standard plans, as the cost is just too high.  The majority still traveled, but it got me thinking about the significance of spending the holidays at your home, away from the usual folks. 

Yes, this is sad.  It hurts.  And there’s probably a good amount of guilt rolled up with it.  But at the same time, this is a chance for a fresh start.  A chance to spend time with your new “family”, biological or not, to gather together with the ones you love and see often and appreciate one another all the more.  And a chance to create new traditions of your own. 

We all have one – that family tradition you’ve been begging to get out of since you were old enough to formulate sentences.  It may be Aunt Suze’s caroling around the neighbourhood, regardless of the weather or her singing ability.  Or it could be watching A Christmas Carol, the old creepy one, for the millionth time.  I mean, I am all about the holidays, but that is one seriously depressing movie.  This year, you’re off duty.  You don’t have to do any of that crap, and you don’t even have to pretend you did. 

Ah, the Christmas dinner.  That gold mine of traditions and “oh my God, what is that and why is it mushy”-ness.  Being away gives you the freedom to decide what you want to consume.  If you’re invited to a loved ones’ family fete, you can always create a phantom “allergy” to anything you don’t want to eat, they don’t know your medical history, and as long as you’re friendly and festive, your lack of eating anything that wasn’t turkey or off the dessert table will be completely overlooked.  Or, if you’re cooking yourself, it’s even better.  Always wanted that Holiday lasagna?  What’s stopping you?  For less than 4 people, turkey is way more effort than it’s worth, and what could be more festive than a red-sauced lasagna with white noodles and a green side salad?  If it makes you feel better, refer to the cheese sprinkled on top as “magic snow”, then sit back and enjoy. 

But the point is that no matter where you are or who you’re with, the holidays can be special, and if circumstances prevented you from reenacting the identical holiday for the 30th year, that doesn’t mean all is lost.  It means you just have to redefine your definition of merriment and joy.  Have fun!  Have the happiest of holidays! 

Just don’t forget to call your Mom.

Tags: Christmas., family, friends, fun, holidays, love, travel

WTF? – Openly illegal

              If you’re committing fraud, don’t walk up to a travel agent and ask them to assist you.  Got it?  Unless there’s some cheezy hollywood plot where you’re blackmailing the agent into assisting you (and oh my God, if there is, you have some serious issues), we’re not going to help you.  Nobody wants to go to jail for a complete stranger just to make a CAD$50.00 service fee.

          Let me explain.  A week ago a man walks into our office and wants to buy all sorts of prepaid visa cards and air tickets in his various aliases.  The big catch was that he was so casual about it – “hey, I don’t want anyone to be able to track me so I’m living under an assumed name.  Can I book an air ticket?” 

No.

Hell no.

What were you thinking you dork?

       Luckily he never gave his name (any of them) and didn’t waste too much of our time (when we said “that’s not legal” he said “oh really?”  we said “yep” and he left), but it just left us scratching our heads.  Who is paranoid/wanted by the law/about to be whacked by the mafia enough to live under an assumed name, but then walks into offices and blatantly tells strangers his situation?  Was this for real?  Were we being punk’d? For his sake I hope Random guy survives, but walking around talking like that is not helping his cause.  All I can hope for is that he was mentally disturbed or something and that it was not his real situation.

          As travel agents, we are ethically bound not to discuss any of your travel plans with anyone unless you authourize us to.  Luckily, if you’ve got a lengthy criminal record, are carrying around thirty kilos of coke or laundering money, the chances are pretty good that we won’t be able to book you in the first place, as the government screening that every traveler goes through will catch you first.  Now the US has instituted a new Secure Flight program that requires anyone flying over US airspace (you don’t even need to touch the country) to submit their full passport names, gender and birthdate more than 72 hours prior to departure.  This of course opens up your personal information to more intense scrutiny. So basically, unless you’re really, really good, you’re going to get screwed.

          But geez, this guy was stupid.  Or nuts.  Or both. 

        Oh well.  Makes an entertaining topic around the water cooler!

Tags: illegal, Secure Flight, travel, US