Wednesday, October 24 2007
Jet Lag, Road Rash, Airplane Allergy and Travelling On Your Liver
I'm writing this on (another) Air Canada flight from Halifax to Vancouver. Limited Edition season always reminds me of a quote from Lord John Whorfin: "Home is where you wear your hat." Whorfin may have seemed a little deranged, but he had an excellent point. The seasoned traveller lives inside himself when away from home and family, relying on the contents of his noggin to keep him hale and hardy against the privations of the road.
I wound up having a late dinner at the Press Gang downtown, not far from the Citadel. We didn't get out until nearly 10:30, but luckily Halifax has a vibrant and active night life, and they were only too happy to accommodate us. The oysters were spectacular, and I don't say that lightly: I'm usually a pretty tough audience for oysters, being able to eat my own weight in Kumamotos on a regular basis, and living on the west coast, which has the best oysters in the world. But the Malpeques, along with some local wild oysters (didn't catch the name, but I think they were from near Digby) were sparkling fresh, plump, creamy and completely over the top with briny goodness. I followed it up with some seared Digby scallops on greens with bacon, and pine nuts in a tart cherry sauce–how could you top that, especially with a sassy, grassy, crisp Sauvignon Blanc?
Well, I guess the answer is, you could top it–but I was too tired to take in Bubble's Mansion, even though I walked right by it. Dang, I can't believe it: my hero opens a restaurant, I'm right there, and I'm too much of a road weakling to take advantage of it. I suppose the only answer is to go back again and drop in on the Bubster and talk some Plato with him.
Heck, I didn't even have time to drop in on Uncle Bob this trip (hi Bob, hi Eleanor!) I managed a visit last time, and it was great to see what I'm going to look like in about 20 more years (well, if I get four inches taller and shave my head, that is–but Bob and I seem to share some inter-family genetics, so he is, of course, devastatingly handsome). Interesting factoid about my family: my great-grandfather was a gold miner, and at one point used to own a rather big piece of land. Eventually he sold it off and the family moved across to Saskatchewan–the big piece of land? Now the Halifax airport. Go figure.
But now I'm nearly home–3:00 pm local time, twelve hours after I left Nova Scotia (that's one of the things that sucks the romance out of constant travel–time changes and the resulting circadian upset that leaves you either lying wide awake in your bed at 3 am, or falling asleep every time you sit down for more than ten seconds). Once I get there I'm gonna grab my horrible little cat (why I call a 19 pound, fur-covered serial killer 'little' continues to elude me) and plop myself down for a nice nap–well, I'll sleep and he'll surreptitiously try to remove my spleen or open the safe and get my passcodes–and then I'll busy myself with making a nice dinner for my ever patient and long-suffering wife.
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