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A Whale of a Good Time. Really.

4 Sep

Alan and I tipped off Labor Day in Pleasant Bay, on the northwestern shore of Cape Breton in Nova Scotia. The weather was, in fact, pleasant, so we walked over to the marina and jumped on the 9:30 departure of Captain Mark’s Whale Tour.

We soon realized how lucky we were: the boat (a tuna trawler-cum-research vessel) was sailing for its final day of the season,  presumably because the researchers – and their funding – had just returned to their homes the week before. One more day and we would’ve been on a veritable air mattress with a motor. Instead, we – and a dozen other people – chugged out of the harbor with Captain Mark himself at the helm.

Glancing around, Alan gave words to my own observation. “We’re the youngest people on this boat,” he whispered (as much as one CAN whisper over the thrum of a fishing boat’s motor). Awesome. I prefer old people to babies. (But if you’re giving me a gift, I’ll take a puppy over an old person ANY DAY.)

About that time, our guide Brandon covered a few rules, which gave the Seniors a chance to practice their stand-up. “Sounds like we’re in for a WHALE of a good time,” the love-child of Pat Sajack and Chuck Woolery quipped. A French-Canadian woman sporting a long white braid (whom we’d seen at dinner the night before and assumed was drunk) then jumped in with unintelligible jibberish. “Captain Mark! I ride the cock… pit with you!” she shrieked to the amusement/horror of her friends.

Alan and I traded a look and shook our heads. Please, God, bring on the whales fast. Or let someone fall overboard to chum the waters.

We shouldn’t have been so crabby. (<– See? I’m also funny on this boat!) Twenty minutes later we were well off-shore when we saw the first pilot whale. I’m not sure what I expected – a submarine slowly rising to the surface, perhaps? – but was more like Shamu showing off at SeaWorld. We soon had a dozen whales around the boat, including multiple pairs of mothers and calves. Which – despite my not liking babies – were ADORABLE.

It was breath-taking. Don’t believe me? Watch this video from our tour (and see if you can hear the crazy French lady screaming):

As if that weren’t enough, we then followed grey seals hunting in the water off the rocks.

All in all: not a bad way to start a vacation.

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Travel Post: First 48 Hours in Nova Scotia

2 Sep

I had no idea what to expect when Alan and I boarded a flight for Halifax Saturday. After only a two hour flight, we descended into what appeared to be a forest. There were dense trees – and nothing else – as far as the eye could see.

At this moment, Alan remarked, “Nova Scotia is known as Canada’s Ocean Playground.” Given his timing, and since (to my knowledge) he’d done absolutely no research on our destination, I assumed he was being a smart ass. Until that motto greeted us on the license plate of our rental car. One point for Alan.

We hopped in the car, leaving Halifax in our rearview mirror as we made our way to Cape Breton, where we anticipated gorgeous scenery, a great music scene and a solid dose of Celtic culture.

In case you’re not familiar with Cape Breton, it’s an island that was primarily settled by Scots. There are Gaelic signs dotting the road, advertising square dancing or Ceilidhs – live, informal music gatherings pronounced as “kay-lees.” It also is home to the Cabot Trail, showcasing some of the most breath-taking scenery in North America.

Among the highlights during our first 36 hours:

  • Dinner at the Red Shoe Pub in Mabou – featuring some amazing scallops and the promise of live music (if only I hadn’t gone to bed early!)
  • Fresh blueberry scones at the farmer’s market in Mabou
  • A tour and single malt tasting at the Glenora Whisky Distillery
  • A road-side music store featuring only Nova Scotian and New Brunswick artists
  • Sunset on the Cabot Trail
  • Fresh lobster rolls!

Sorry, I recognize this isn’t pithy and I should probably rename this blog MundanePants, but I’m just trying to provide a bit of context for the <hilarious> posts that will undoubtedly follow this week. Because if I happen to catch a moose running with a deer in its basket, or a baby seal seal doing a handstand on a whale, I don’t want to have to back-up to explain that these miraculous feats aren’t happening in Washington DC. Are we cool?

Guess what’s on tomorrow’s agenda?

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A terrifyingly wet playground

30 Aug

Pretty Much…

Alan and I took his kids to Splashdown Waterpark yesterday. I’m still recovering, so I don’t have time for a full post. Instead, I’ll just share a few pearls of wisdom with you:

First: the Lazy River is actually pretty fun when you’re not sharing it with turds. Seems obvious, but if your only other waterpark experience was like mine, then this actually comes as something of a revelation.

Also: the Lazy River is also a far cry from lazy. It’s more like a treadmill. We spent the better part of two hours playing tag by swimming laps around the lazy river. Not sure about the kids, but I’m wiped out.

Second: Water Slides? Kind of terrifying. I’ve never liked the closed-tube kind because it makes me claustrophobic, so I thought I was wise by choosing the open slide. I should’ve realized my instincts were failing me when I saw that the closed-tube version had a congo line forming to ride it, while the open slide essentially had a wad of tumbleweed milling about on its steps. Instead, I thought, “Suckers!” as I sprinted past.

Then halfway down, spinning wildly in circles and banking like a professional luge athlete, I found myself grabbing blindly at the sides of the slide, trying to slow myself so I wouldn’t go flying off it. And while they don’t have a mirror at the bottom, if Alan’s expression was indication, my face morphed from “Oh shit!” to “Thank the Lord!” as soon as I exited the slide. One and done.

Third: If you have a weave (by which I mean an elaborate hair piece), please don’t go to a waterpark. Or, if you’re going to go, then twist that mess up on top of your head. Otherwise, you look crazy walking around with butt-length hair, trying to keep it dry when you’re at a place called SPLASHpark.

Finally: I could spend an entire day watching people sit on the in-pool water fountains. At one point, Alan’s son was sitting on one and I caught Alan’s eye. “I’m not sure what’s happening,” I whispered, “but I’m pretty sure it’s either going to end with your son shitting in the pool or sporting a boner.”

And with that we left.

You’re welcome, Splashdown.

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Lakes trump Oceans. Or: Another Reason You Should Check Out Michigan.

16 Jul

WHY isn’t the state tourism board putting me on their payroll? Oh wait – probably because they don’t like to waste taxpayers’ money, which is YET ANOTHER reason you would enjoy living there…

The only thing dangerous about this is the possibility that I might poop on beach-goers.

I never understand why people love oceans. I mean, I enjoy water of any variety, but if I could choose, I’d pick a lake any time. It might be that those are simply my Michigan roots shining through (Hello, Great Lake State!), but let me share my logic and you tell me if it’s flawed.

First, when is the last time someone was attacked by a shark in a lake? Pretty sure the answer to that one is NEVER. (Actually, wait – just found this article and apparently it does happen. But I’d like to point out that it’s in Nicaragua. So if you’re visiting there, you’ve probably already come to terms with an untimely death anyway. A bull shark in a lake isn’t the worst end you could meet.) Nicaragua not withstanding, let’s assume your odds of encountering a shark in a lake are next to nil.

Second, no salt in your eyes. (Unless you’re talking about the Great Salt Lake, but that’s like an oxymoron. Let’s agree to call that Utah’s Ocean from here on out, ok?) Tell me this isn’t one of the most annoying things about the ocean… spend any amount of time out in the waves and you look like a stoner with bloodshot eyes. Not in a lake.

Third, not as many jellyfish. Sure, there are some freshwater jellyfish, but I can’t remember the last time I ran into one in a lake. Whereas at the ocean? They’re like landmines dotting the beach. Landmines that make people pee on each other for relief. In other words: not very friendly landmines.

Fourth, you can generally find GRASS near a lake, rather than sand. Some sand is fine, but having to walk through miles of sand? Having sand get in your drink? Decidedly NOT cool. Also: have you ever burned the bottoms of your feet on grass? I’m guessing NO, because grass is awesome.

But you can’t SURF in a lake, my ocean-loving friends claim. WRONG. The Great Lakes have waves, people. Don’t believe me? Check this out:

See? What else are you waiting for? NOW is the time to love the lakes and visit Michigan. Or any other lake in any other state for that matter. Just as long as it’s not in Nicaragua.

 

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For once, I’m not the one in the hospital!

14 Jul

I’ve spent a decent amount of time familiarizing myself with the Emergency Room in DC over the last two years, between getting hit by a car, having my leg do some random swelling thing, and thinking I had appendicitis. Based on my experience there, I assumed all hospitals were a flurry of activity, with nurses racing around, EMTs wheeling people in on stretchers and Code Blues being called over the PA.

So this morning, when Alan, my friend Kelly and I went to the VA Hospital in Ann Arbor to visit a classmate who wasn’t able to attend our reunion last night, I felt like I was in The Twilight Zone. The hospital was practically empty, with gates stretched over corridors and a closed sign hanging over the window of the gift shop. We walked the entire length of the building and got up to the fifth floor with only encountering ONE person.

It very much felt like we were in that television show The Walking Dead, where only zombies and a handful of humans populate the Earth.

Adding to the creep factor? The one person we saw standing behind the information desk when we entered the building. I approached him and asked, “How would we find out where our friend is and if she can receive visitors?”

He glanced up from whatever he was doing but made no move to the computer. “What the last name?”

“Allen,” I said. Without breaking eye contact, he said, “She’s up on 5 North.”

“SHUSH!” I exclaimed, causing him to stop speaking. (I didn’t remember this but Alan pointed it out after the fact because it was rude but the guy DID shush.) “How were you able to do that, without looking at a computer or anything?”

“I’m the chaplain,” he explained. “I’ve been up a few times to visit her, but she’s had doctors in there every time I go by.”

At the time it seemed like magic, but that was before we walked through the abandoned building and realized it was like a card trick where there’s really only ever one card that can be pulled. With seemingly no other patients, of course he knew who she was and where her room was. In retrospect, I’m a bit disappointed that he didn’t head us off at the pass by greeting us with, “Your friend is on Five North,” before we even asked. I mean, I’m pretty sure she’s the ONLY patient in the place.

After we found her, we asked if she needed anything to make her stay better. Candy? Books? Magazines? She shook her head, then relented, “Actually, some kind of mindless gossip magazine like People would be great.” Alan seized on the opportunity to go scout for one, leaving Kelly and me to chat with her in private.

Some ten minutes later, Alan reappeared, holding a book and a magazine. “Looks like you were successful,” I commented, before seeing what he’d actually retrieved.

At least it wasn’t this…

“Actually, the gift store was closed,” he said. Sheepishly, he held out his bounty. A Smithsonian Magazine and a Ken Follet novel. “But I found these in the waiting room so I thought they might work.”

Well, so much for reading about TomCat’s divorce. More like the fall of Rome. Which, I suppose, is probably better reading for someone in a VA hospital anyway. Good thing we didn’t go looking for games – probably would’ve only located Battleship and Stratego.

Now I’m wondering what the cafeteria serves. MREs?

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