We're home!

For the past two weeks, Kris and I have spent time in Canada and Alaska, thinking only briefly of the cats, of the house, and of you. Its been a great time — Alaska, especially in the southeast, is a beautiful place, well worth your tourist dollars — but it's good to be home.

For the next several days, possibly the next week, I'll be posting the copious notes I took during the trip. These ruminations vary from observations of the people we encountered to long — and probably boring — ruminations on Proust.

As we board the plane in Portland, a baggage handler approaches the woman in front of me. "Can I take your bag for you, ma'am?" he asks. "It won't fit on the plane."

"No," she says, indignant. "I've got it." And she schleps her suitcase up the ramp. The baggage handler rolls his eyes at Kris; she smiles at him.

At the top of the ramp, Jeff, our flight attendant — a middle-aged Asian man — stops the woman. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he says. "That bag is too big for a carry-on."

"I've got it," she says again, even more indignant. "It fit before." Jeff shrugs his shoulders and lets her by.

The plane is the smallest commercial aircraft I've ever boarded (though Dad's Cessnas and Flightcubs were smalelr). The cabin is small. There are ten rows, two seats on each side of the aisle. My seat is 5D. The woman with the suitcase stops at row five and begins to cram the suitcase into the overhead compartment. It doesn't fit. It's obvious that it won't fit, but she's determined: she insists on cramming and cramming and cramming.

A line of people, with me at its head, begins to stack up behind her. She begins to curse under her breath, as if the problem is any fault but her own. "Shit," she says, and she pulls the suitcase out and tries to cram it in from a different angle. This time it fits. Barely. But she can't close the ovderhead compartment.

Finally, a woman in the back of the plane shouts: "Why don't you put it under the seat?"

This is a novel idea to our heroine; she decides to give it a shot. She pulls the suitcase out of the overhead compartment — a challenge, but not as severe as putting it in — and she tucks it under the seat. It fits, but barely.

Maybe next time she'll listen to the baggage handler and the flight attendant, but I doubt it.

For light reading, I've brought along Wallace Stegner and Proust. I'm looking forward to the Proust. For this leg of the journey, though, I opt for Witi Ihimaera's The Whale Rider, a book recommended by Rhonda and Mike. (Kris has brought Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair, recommended by Joel and Aimee.)

We saw the film version of The Whale Rider last fall via Netflix. I thought it was great. It's a fantastic film for kids, especially girls. The novel is short, but not all short books are quick reads. As with too many books, The Whale Rider is laden with adjectives and adverbs. They're a distraction. In fact, the quality of writing throughout is poor enough that the book can't hold my interest. I give up.

I turn to Proust instead.

(Kris didn't like The Eyre Affair much better, though she persevered, and finished.)

In Vancouver, we catch a shuttle to our hotel where we meet Kris' parents. The four of us march up to the Vancouver Public Library where we marvel at its spectacular architecture. We take the escalator up to every floor, exploring the exhibits, especially the photographs of old Vancouver. I begin taping the first of my seven hours of tape of footage on this trip.

In the evening, we watch Shrek 2.

On Wednesday morning, we're joined by Tiffany and Richard, and the six of us tramp around Vancouver's large and vibrant Chinatown, taking photographs and, once again, recording video footage.

Kris and her mother in the middle of Vancouver's Chinatown (photograph by Richard Tull)

I'm dying to eat at one of the nearby restaurants, but everyone else is wary. "Look," says Richard, pointing. "There's an ambulance in front of that one. Never a good sign." In the end, I settle for "honey garlic buffalo wings" (do buffaloes have wings?) at a sports bar. Good, but not Chinese food.

In the afternoon, we board the boat.

Coming soon: video footage of Alaska!

Also: thanks to Dave for testing the weblogging waters. I hope he didn't find them too warm...

On this day at foldedspace.org

2005 — Army of Coons   I was lounging in the tub this morning, soaking in the glorious hot water, when Kris — standing at the bathroom window — whispered, "There are two raccoons outside. Come see."

2003 — Reflections From a Log   In which I sit midstream upon a log, alone in the woods outside Estacada.

2002 — Warcraft III Thoughts   Though Warcraft III and Starcraft seem to share similar features, it seems that the strategies for the two games are vastly different. I'm pretty competent at Starcraft. I suck at Warcraft III.