Flying in a dream

Dear Mr. Porter,

I know you’re not a real person, but the raccoon mascot for Porter Airlines. Nonetheless, I thought you would like to know about how much I love your company.

Thank you for having a simple yet stylish website that doesn’t freeze up and offers reasonable domestic fares around Toronto, Montreal, Ottawa and now New York, Halifax and Quebec City.

Thanks for offering to hang up my coat when I boarded the plane, even as an economy-fare passenger. The smiling attendant was just lovely in a sharp suit, her hair in a neat bun, and makeup from this decade, unlike some of my other air travels.

Kudos for designing a little cup holder on the back of the tray at my seat so I didn’t have to juggle a blazingly hot cup of coffee while trying to stash my (admittedly large) purse and laptop bag.

THANK YOU for the complimentary lunchbox with half a pastrami sandwich on marble rye with mayo, mustard, green leaf lettuce, and swiss cheese; a mini Babybel and crackers, and wetnap. Even the skinny model girl down the row ate her cheese. I’m glad you could provide her some protein.

And hey, thanks for serving my club soda in a real glass so I felt all classy, and not like I was at some six-year-old’s birthday party.

You have my gratitude for making air travel something I can enjoy rather than dread. I can’t wait until you expand your top-notch service and thoughtful air details to western Canada.

Please hurry.

Click here for more info on Porter Airlines.

 

Mr. Porter’s airline of choice

The mascot for Porter Airlines is a cheeky raccoon named Mr. Porter who looks like he’s got a secret. It’s a good one: you no longer have to suffer Air Canada or Pearson International Airport to fly between Toronto, Ottawa or Montreal.

Porter flies out of the Toronto City Centre Airport downtown. That means no more frustrating traffic jams getting to Pearson, long security lineups at the airport or getting elbowed by fanny-packed tourists.

From the sharp navy blue uniforms designed by Canadian fashion line Pink Tartan to onflight drinks served in real glasses, Porter re-creates an era when flying was a luxury and not a pain in the ass.

A cute ferry makes the 30-second trip from the heart of downtown Toronto to the island airport. I see mostly business travellers, which means the check-in line moves efficiently.

Porter’s swish lounge looks like the lobby of a boutique hotel. There’s a fridge of complimentary water - that raccoon’s looking at me from the label - juice and pop as well as an espresso machine. A few people are using the computer workstations and I take advantage of Porter’s free wireless Internet.

The Bombardier Q400 is pretty swish too with leather seats and a tad more legroom than economy flights. No TVs but the flight is less than an hour. Wine and beer are free. All staff are pleasant and professional. I feel pretty darn special.

I’d definitely fly Porter again. With me, a little service and attention to detail go a long way - unlike another airline I know.

 

Air Canada does it again

Air Canada lost my luggage this week. Boy do they suck.

Since they no longer serve meals, here’s the dinner I bought at the airport as I was seething.

On Tuesday, a computer crashed in Halifax which cancelled several flights east. I got stuck at Toronto Pearson which is apparently the worst place to lose your luggage. It’s just too big and too unorganized. On a good day, they lose several bags and this was a bad day.

I dutifully reported my missing suitcases and was told to monitor the Web site. The only message I ever got was, “Tracing continues. Check back later.”

Calling the central baggage centre is so helpful. The operators check their computers and say, “We are very sorry for the inconvenience but we still cannot find your bags.” Yeah.

I was authorized $100 US for toiletries and emergency clothes. Even after four days, don’t bother asking for more. Never mind that I have to go to work or that my company is now paying me to waste time on hold with them. They can’t authorize compensation. They’re in India.

Can I talk to a manager in Canada? Nope. Apparently, they don’t have phones.

If you search all of Air Canada’s info, the only way you can complain is through fax or email. I got an automatic reply that someone would get back to me in 10 business days.

I’m quite a patient person and I go onto Air Canada flights prepared for the worst. But this was ridiculous.

The only reason I got my bags back on the fifth day was an angel in the Fredericton airport. Ron has been in the business of chasing down bags for years. He called three airports. They said they had nothing. He insisted. Finally someone said, “Oops. Here they are.”

Ron is my hero. He was compassionate, smart, efficient and damn good at his job. So unlike Air Canada.

 

NEW BRUNSWICK: Moose and McDonald’s

You’ll never fall asleep driving along New Brunswick’s highways. For one, there are gorgeous fall colours to keep you company on a sunny day. And two, the fear of slamming into a moose is constantly drilled into your head with these signs.

Moose make tasty roasts. But they’re also really really big and dark. Few people survive car crashes with moose.

The signs are good reminders but they make me paranoid, especially at night. Every shadow I spy makes me jump.

I stopped in Miramichi for breakfast. This Mickey Dee’s doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I’m convinced it’s the world’s nicest McDonald’s.

There are two flat screen TVs mounted inside the restaurant and soothing contemporary paint colours.

The women’s bathroom could’ve come out of a magazine. There’s a marble-looking countertop, halogen drop lights and a fancy bowl sink. You gotta stop here, if not for the Sausage Egg McMuffin, then for design ideas.

 

TRAVEL: Air Crappy

I promise this will be my last Air Canada rant. I have the kind of personality that can easily be consumed by the airline’s amazing ability to offer awful service, so I have to set some limits.

Today, I checked an oversized framed painting onto a flight from Vancouver. At the counter, the agent said, “Oh, I don’t have any fragile stickers. Oh well, you’ve marked the package with big letters.”

I got onto the plane and two flight attendants were too busy chatting to each other at the doorway to offer a scant good morning. In fact, without a word or warning, one of them stepped right in front of me to get newspapers from an overhead bin. Oh I’m sorry, was I in your way?

Before takeoff, the passenger next to my boyfriend set his coffee cup down by his feet for a second. The flight attendant asked if he was done with it and he said no. So then she said, “Make sure you take that with you when you leave.”

She must’ve been too busy upholding Air Canada’s professional image, what with the two missing buttons on the sleeve of her natty blazer.

During the flight, some lucky few (business flyers I think) could choose anything they wanted from the food trolley! Free! Up to a value of $4! Whatta deal. Two bags of cashews for your patronage.

When I landed in Edmonton, I went into Air Canada’s baggage office to check where I could pick up my painting. No one was at the counter.

I walked into the back which smelled like hamburgers, stood behind a guy pecking at his computer and said “Excuse me” three times. He finally turned around and looked annoyed that I had the nerve to even speak to his mulletted highness. God forbid that you interact with your customers at all.

Why? Why?

 

SILK ROAD TOUR: 50 Chinese people and one white guy

I suppose I should’ve posted this from the get-go. Here’s a map of our trip. From Beijing to the Silk Road then south to Shanghai at the end. (Thanks to my sister for that graphic. She’s a professional for hire.)

In our group was me, my sister, our boyfriends, our parents — and 45 Chinese people from Vancouver. Have fun playing “Where’s Waldo” with the photo below. My boyfriend Jason is the one who’s not Chinese.

My parents have run a travel agency for 20-plus years. These days, they’re specializing in tours to China. (I’d put a link here, but their site’s not up yet. They can safely navigate hordes of Chinese-Canadians through foreign countries but still no site. Go figure.)

I don’t think we could’ve navigated this part of the world without their tour. But organized tours are not for the faint of heart.

• It’s highly regulated: wake-up call 5:30, breakfast 6:15, bathroom 7:12, bus by 7:15.

• It’s noisy: a bus full of 50 Chinese people? You betchya it’s rowdier than a Harry Potter midnight release party.
• It’s aggravating: one late person makes for one late group. One lost suitcase makes for a lot of waiting on a bus, watching bad Chinese karaoke videos. (Are there any good karaoke videos?)
• Group photos: enough said.

But there are good things too.

• No worries: meals, tickets, translation, transportation, and accommodation are all taken care of. These are quality restaurants and hotels tried and trusted by the agency. (If you’ve got a good one.)

• Security: everyone watches out for each other. And when Jason got a sore throat, fellow tourmates offered up three different kinds of lozenges.
• Discounts: better bargaining power in bulk.
• Endless entertainment: making fun of the sleeping, drooling person down the row never gets old. Especially if it’s my sister.

 

JAPAN AIR LINES: Airplane food of the gods

Canada is a fabulous country for hockey, donuts and yes it’s true, basic human pleasantness. But if we were judged on our national airline, we’d be seen as a cranky bunch of cheapskates.

Air Canada has officially scrapped any kind of meal service for North American travel — and now charges $2 Can for those flat little pillows and static-charged blankets. They say it’s because travellers are most concerned about price. So how much is that all going to save ME? All I know is it’s sure helping out the airline.

Which brings me to my utter worship of Japan Airlines (JAL).

First, there are individual TV monitors at every seat, regardless of class. You can choose movies, video games or flight information with your remote. Headphones are (gasp) free.

Then there’s the food. The Japanese have always valued the aesthetics of presentation. Translation: things should be pretty. And JAL takes airplane food to beyond pretty. Plus it’s tasty. Take a gander:

• rolled salmon with radish
• perfectly grilled sesame chicken
• braised tuna and welsh onion
• saskatoon berry mousse cake.

To be fair, these photos are from a business class meal from Vancouver to Tokyo (for which we were lucky enough to snag upgrades). But take a look at sample international economy menus on JAL versus Air Canada.

But it’s on sheer hospitality that JAL wins hands down. During a long delay due to a backed-up runway, the pilot came on every 10 minutes or so to give an update. When you’re strapped in like a kid straining on the end of those parent leashes, it’s nice to know what’s going on outside.

Then there are the JAL flight attendants. So lovely and so patient. They bring you things before you have to ask. They don’t bang into your shoulder when they walk down the aisles. And they wear these great aprons during meal service.

 

CHINA: Journeys by train

Train travel is one of the cheapest ways to see China. It is also one of the most aggravating.

Lining up on a train platform is the best way to rub shoulders with real Chinese citizens. And it ain’t pretty. I can guarantee you will be shoved, elbowed and stepped on. The driving mentality in any lineup in this country is to get as close as possible to the front. It doesn’t matter where the lineup is going or what it leads to. They don’t care.

Case in point. We had lined up patiently at the doors leading to our train platform for Jiayuguan. A group of four men started trying to push into the middle of our group.

“Hey! What are you doing?” yelled my dad.

“We’re getting into the line! We’ve got tickets!” they yelled back.

There ensued a very long, very loud argument. Despite the fact a ticket collector came to our aid, and the fact the men had tickets to a different train and a different platform, they were incensed that they weren’t allowed to budge into our line.

Once the doors opened, it was chaos. Everyone sprinted to the train — old ladies dragging little kids, men with huge bags on their shoulders — they bolted.

We had paid a little extra for assigned seats in a non-smoking car. Well, we soon figured out why the footrace to the train. All of our reserved seats were taken. It took my dad, another tour guide and two police officers all using their “forceful” voices before the seat thieves reluctantly took their stuff and left.

I can’t imagine what travelling by train would be like if we weren’t with my parents and their friends who can all hold their ground in Mandarin.

We settled into our seats and enjoyed four hours of intermittent horking (I shudder to think exactly where the hork was going), smoking (in our non-smoking car) and people’s dirty socks and shirts hung up on the curtain rods.

 

DUNHUANG: Camels in the morning

I am not a morning person, so waking up at 5:30 to a Chinese breakfast of noodles and rice porridge, then hopping on a double-humped mammal did not enthrall me.

It was also cold in the desert before sunrise and that makes me grumpy too. But the camels shut me up.

After a short bus ride from our hotel, we arrived at the Ming Sha Shan (Singing Sand Dunes). There, I saw my first camel. Rather, I saw my first hundred or so camels, lying quietly in wait for their cargo.

I found the number I was assigned on my camel’s blanket. I climbed onto the saddle, put my feet in the metal stirrups, and suddenly its rear end went way up, followed by the front of its body. Every group of five was led by a camel guide. Ours wore a T-shirt with dress pants and dress shoes.

More tourists began saddling up, and soon a long line of camels stretched across the dunes. As we bounced comfortably through the sand, the sun rose, silhouetting the camel riders in front of me like the climax of a majestic movie.

You’re much higher up on a camel than on a horse. It’s pretty cozy. Their humps can flop over; they’re not rigid. They felt soft and plush. Camels don’t store water there, just fatty tissue. But they sure do poop a lot. All along the 90-minute ride, they kept on pooping.

Stay tuned for part 2: camels in the evening.

 

GAOCHANG: Mush, donkey, mush

My mom brought a big box of disposable surgical masks with her on this trip. I thought that was so uncool and misinformed since SARS is no longer an immediate threat. Once again, her omniscience trumped my ignorance.

The masks weren’t for the SARS. They were for the donkeys.

The only way to reach the ancient ruins of Gaochang is by donkey cart. Eight people per cart, following dozens of other donkey carts on the same path. That’s a lot of donkeys, and a lot of dust. Mom’s masks came in handy.

The city of Gaochang was built in the 1st century BC. A key stop along the Silk Road, the remains of Buddhist temples, monks’ quarters and an imperial palace can still be seen here.

The city walls are still standing and only a few of the structures but judging from what’s left, it was a pretty swinging place. Lots of big mud walls.

Gaochang was burnt down around the 14th century and abandoned. Left to the donkeys.

 

NORTHERN CHINA: The Silk Road menu

More than 2,000 years ago, merchants laden with silk, ivory and later gunpowder, had only three main trading routes linking China to the West. Caravans travelled to today’s Middle East region via Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Syria and Turkey. The roads weaving through dangerous mountain ranges and desolate desert regions became known as the Silk Road.

More than commodities though, the Silk Road brought Buddhism and Islam east, leaving new legacies of art and culture in China.

When Genghis Khan led the nomadic Mongols to victory in much of Asia, the Silk Road became the path of communication between the empire’s cultures. Traders of different nationalities and religions, including Jews, Muslims and Christians, settled in northern China.

This is where I went in late September. On a breakneck 14-day tour tracing the northern Silk Road backwards, I was transported to a movie-set world of ruined cities, blazing desert oasis, dusty markets and breathtaking 1,500-year-old Buddhist art.

The northern provinces of Xinjiang and Gansu offered pictures of China I never knew existed. Rocky cliffs grander than the Grand Canyon, mountain lakes bluer than Lake Louise, and faces traced with more history than I could ever learn.

We joked that we were paying homage to Indiana Jones, travelling by plane, train, bus, dragon boat, speedboat, gondola, donkey cart, golf cart and camel.

Of course, there was the food: whole-roasted lamb, braised pork hock, camel hoof tendons, freshly made lai-mein (stretched noodles), goat head and intestine soup, desert oasis grapes, hami melon, and deep-fried snake. We tried it all.

I have pictures and in time, I’ll have the stories here. Please visit again soon.