Somehow (and believe me -- it's a mystery!) I managed to fall asleep last night. I woke up at about 6:30 AM, and puttered around, waiting to go. Unfortunately, Hubby was right -- the backpack was too heavy to go as one piece, so I had to break it down into two.
Tweet at 7:25 AM: Doing final packing. Am turning off Twitter updates sent to my phone in case costs extra away from home. Will keep you posted. Watch blog!
Hubby left me at the security gate and headed off to work. As much as I love to travel, I hate leaving him behind. We're no longer newlyweds (thirteen years of marriage and counting), but I still get a bit teary-eyed when I know I'm not going to see him for a while.
Tweet at 8:34 AM: I'm waiting in the security room. Less than an hour to lift-- I mean, take-off! And the vending machine here in security has Diet Pepsi! :D
Tweet at 8:57 AM: My "gadget bag" is bigger and heavier than the bag with my clothes. What does THAT say about me? :)
Tweet at 9:04 AM: My airplane just arrived! It's so little and cute! A turboprop! I love these little planes! Probably boarding in about 10 minutes.
I was clearly feeling a little lonely, sitting there in the security holding area by myself. When the plane arrived, I started to get excited. All of a sudden the whole thing became far more real to me.The first time I remember flying, I was eight years old. I was also flying by myself, to see my grandfather in Montreal, and from there we flew to Winnipeg. I still remember how excited I got the moment the wheels left the ground -- how peaceful it seemed compared to the rumbling pavement only a second before. At that very moment, at eight years old, I got hooked on airplanes.
It's been a while since my last flight -- four years, actually -- and I've really been looking forward to it. And I love little airplanes. Maybe it goes back to my fascination with a short-lived television show about a pilot in the South Pacific (Tales of the Gold Monkey), but little planes just make me happy. I think it's because, in a larger aircraft, you feel a lot more isolated from the experience. Close your eyes and you could easily be sitting in your own living room. But in a little turbo prop, you feel like you yourself are flying. I absolutely love it!I'd never been on a Beechcroft 1900 before, but it has replaced the Jetstream 41 Turbo as my favourite airplane (not counting my sentimental favourite, the 1939 Grumman Goose -- see the link above). The reason is very simple. I got to see everything the pilot did! The plane is so small that there is no room for a door between the cockpit and the cabin.
My favourite part of the flight (and it's hard to choose) was watching out the front window as we approached the runway. The only time I'd ever experienced anything like that was watching videos shot from the space shuttle's cockpit. That first flight set the tone for my trip perfectly. It was a real treat.
Tweet at 10:14 AM: Have safely arrived in Halifax and have found the gate for the flight to Ottawa. They've done a lot with this place in the past four years!
My last trip was down to Virginia to see Duran Duran with my friend Sharon. Well, on the trip back, the airline played with my flights and I wound up stuck in the Halifax International Airport for four hours with absolutely nothing to do. It was awful. Nice to see they've added food concessions and have free Wi-Fi!
Tweet at 11:51 AM (EDT): And we're on the ground in Ottawa!
The flight to Ottawa was interesting. First of all, it was my first time seeing the little screens on the backs of the seats, and although every item I wanted to play with (like the "Map", for example) would come up "Service Unavailable", that didn't stop me from pushing all of the little options on the touch screen over and over, in the hopes things would suddenly become available. In between screens, I stole glances at the man next to me in the aisle seat, partly because he was nice to look at (yes, that was a test to see if Hubby is reading this), and partly because he had his hands clasped and his thumbs twiddling for the entire trip!
Tweet at 12:23 PM: Wi-Fi at Ottawa airport costs $9.95. Uh, can you say "no" in both official languages? I knew you could.
I think the Ottawa International Airport could learn a few lessons from the Maritimes where hospitality is concerned! I had planned to blog once on the ground in the nation's capital, because I had some time on my hands. Last night I found out that one of my best childhood friends with whom I grew up was flying out of Ottawa pretty close to the time I was flying in. But rather than pay almost ten bucks to use Wi-Fi for a half-hour, I decided I could stare into space for free! :)
Tweet at 12:44 PM: What are the odds? Meeting a childhood friend at the airport. I'm flying in from the Maritimes, and she's flying home to them. Waiting...
Tweet at 12:45 PM: Nothing to occupy my time except watching hot pilots walking by. OH, THE AGONY. ;)
My friend Suzanne was a bit delayed in getting to the airport (her meeting went into overtime), but I'm so glad I waited to see her. It had been more than ten years! She and her husband and young daughter live on Prince Edward Island, and I haven't managed to get over there yet. The best thing about old friends is that you can share memories of good times as effortlessly as you can make new ones. Trying to get a decent photograph of the two of us had us laughing just like when we were kids.Suzy and I were having such a good time together (and a little extra time too, when her flight was delayed) that I temporarily forgot about the time difference. "I have to be at Parliament Hill at 3:15," I explained, "because a friend in New Brunswick is going to help me log a webcam geocache." In my excitement, however, I forgot that the plan was 3:15 PM Atlantic Time. In other words, I was already late!
So I said goodbye to Suzy, headed out and caught the bus, buying a $7 all day transit pass. Bob, a local man on the bus, lauded my decision. "Why pay thirty-five bucks for a cab?" he said. Bob and I chatted for a bit until I got off at Greenboro Station so I could transfer to the O-Train.
Now, there are two things I need to explain. Number one, I talk to everybody. I'm a Maritimer -- I can't help it. It's just what we do. Number two, although the bus I was on would have taken me downtown, I love trains as much as I love planes, so couldn't pass up the opportunity -- especially since it was included in my seven bucks! :)
While on the O-Train, I talked to a young guy and a girl sitting across the aisle. He was a hockey player (evidenced by the fact he was carrying a stick and a humungous bag of gear), and had played for the Gatineau Olympiques the previous year. Since Gatineau is in the same league as my home team, the Saint John Sea Dogs, it was a nice little chat.
Once downtown, I headed for Parliament Hill and did my best to look inconspicuous while shouting broken French into a cell phone and holding up a Canadian flag the size of a queen size bed. (The things I will do for a geocache!)The locals found it all very amusing (especially since the wind was interfering with my flag-handling skills). They were yelling things like, "What? Did you lose a bet? HA HA HA!" Fortunately when I learned that the webcam wasn't refreshing, I managed to persuade one of the hecklers to take my picture.
I'd had other plans for the afternoon in Ottawa, but by this time I was getting tired of schlepping around 50 lbs. of stuff, so I decided it was time to go to the hotel. I had plans for the evening, and I needed some rest if I was going to take a 90-minute walking tour! Unfortunately, I had my streets and bus routes mixed up, and it took me about ten minutes to find the right bus stop, and then I waited about fifteen for the right bus to show up.
Tweet at 4:02 PM: In downtown Ottawa, on the corner of "My Back is Breaking" and "My Kingdom For the #9 Bus."
Once the #9 finally arrived, I felt much better. About halfway through the trip, a lady sat down beside me. She was, she explained, heading home after helping her mother at chemo. "I came all the way from Kanata (on the western outskirts of Ottawa)," she explained. I nodded sympathetically. "I came from the East Coast."
Got checked in to the hotel and quickly checked my email, and then decided I wouldn't have time to go with Dinner Plan A, which would involve two buses and I'd have to rush in order to get back downtown in time for the walking tour.
Tweet at 6:08 PM: Am on bus, heading downtown after checking in to hotel. Going to go take a spooky walking tour after finding food!
With so many dining options in downtown Ottawa, I decided to enjoy the delicacies of a Tim Horton's chicken salad sandwich for supper, and then the ultra decadence of a Cinnamon Dolce Creme at Starbucks, both on Rideau Street. Quick and cheap, with very little thinking involved!
As I left Starbucks, I noticed a wild crowd of hockey fans waiting for the bus to Scotiabank Place. Although I've never been to an NHL game, somehow I don't think you could pay me enough to be sitting next to those insane (and seriously intoxicated!) Ottawa Senators fans!Tweet at 7:26 PM: Am on the corner of Sparks and Elgin, waiting for my Ghost and the Gallows Tour. From where I'm standing, Parliament Hill is so pretty.
I'd been to Ottawa a number of times over the years. My uncle has lived in the area since I was about ten years old, around the same time my grandfather left Montreal. My most recent visit was two years ago, so I thought I'd seen Parliament Hill in all its glory -- I didn't think it could surprise me. I was wrong. Being early for the walking tour, I had plenty of time to just take in my surroundings, and I caught sight of the Peace Tower glowing in the darkness. The picture doesn't do it justice at all.
The walking tour I'd signed up for was the Ghost and the Gallows Tour, and it was something I'd been wanting to do for years. I am interested in the paranormal and was familiar with the stories about the old Carleton County Gaol in Ottawa. Because it's one of the most haunted sites in North America, and because I tend to be sensitive to such things, a visit has been on my to-do list for a long time. The walking tour would take us to the jail, where we'd spend about 40 minutes touring it.
As I said, I was early, so I got to rest and breathe some crisp autumn air. As the crowds gradually arrived (because three tours were departing at about the same time), I chatted with a girl from Israel on her first visit to Canada. Then, after she found her tour group, I was instructed by staff to "Go to the bear," to wait for our tour to start.
"The bear" was a life-size (?) sculpture of a grizzly bear tossing a Pacific salmon towards its teeth-lined jaws. Despite its ferocious (and yet somehow happy) appearance, I liked the bear. I also liked the fact that there was a young couple there to talk to. :) Brennan, Monica and I chatted for about ten minutes or so before Laura, our guide, came to start the tour. By the time we set off, our group numbered about twenty, I would guess.
Once upon a time, I was a walking tour guide. I worked as a tour guide in my city for about thirteen years, at various venues, finishing up in 2002. And I gotta tell you -- Laura was good. Her pacing and delivery of the ghost stories was excellent, and given that it's the end of the season, I know I'd be afraid of sounding like a pre-recorded track. But she was incredible -- friendly, and funny, and just the right level of the dramatic for the ghost stories she was telling.
And then we went to the jail.
Tweet at 9:50 PM: On bus, heading back to the hotel. It was a great tour, but I had a very scary moment. I might blog about it, but will you believe me?
Looking back on what happened to me at the Carleton County Gaol, I keep trying to talk myself out of it -- trying to make myself be logical. But it was the timing that I can't get past.
We had gone through the first set of cells, the three-foot-by-nine-foot drum cells on the top level, and while it was creepy, it was more a matter of the atmosphere than anything supernatural. I didn't get too close to the cells, but I didn't really have any reason to, and the others on the tour were having a good time checking them out. Then we walked along Death Row and I still didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. I wasn't disappointed, exactly -- I was finding the history fascinating, and, as I said, Laura was very good. I was just a bit surprised that I wasn't feeling anything unusual.
When we got to the stairwell at the end of Death Row, it was lit with a weird red light. I was towards the front of the group, so I found myself partway down the stairs, almost to the landing. Off the landing was a small chamber with a trap door in the floor: the gallows.
I
snapped this picture, and was just thinking, "Well, I guess the ghosts have the night off," when suddenly I felt violently nauseous. I leaned back against the wall, and immediately felt intense pressure on my chest, as if someone were pushing on me with their hands. As if on cue, I heard Laura talking about how the beam over the stairway had rope burns, and that was likely used by the guards to dispose of "problematic prisoners."As I was trying (and failing) to take a deep breath, Laura went on about how people sometimes feel hands on their back, trying to push them down the stairs. By this time, I was getting dizzy, and the tell-tale numb/rushing sound in my ears was getting louder. By the time it reached a roar and I couldn't hear Laura's voice anymore, I was certain I was going to pass out. I must have looked panicked, because suddenly both Brennan and Monica were looking me right in the face, asking if I were alright.
Laura had finished her story and we were moving on, but I didn't trust myself on the stairs, so I just stood in a corner on the landing with Brennan and Monica while the others went by. After a few seconds, I thought I had enough wits about me to not pass out face-first, so we followed the group and went outside. After a few minutes in the fresh air, I was okay again. Completely freaked out, mind you, but generally okay, and listening to Laura talk about how some people on previous tours had taunted the ghosts and wound up with physical symptoms (sudden bloody noses, for example) as a result.
I tried to tell myself that what happened was just because we'd climbed to the eighth level and I was a little winded, but it had been a good twenty minutes since going upstairs, and I was breathing just fine before we got to the stairs by the gallows. I tried to tell myself that it was just my nerves, but I had already decided there was nothing to experience and was feeling pretty blasé about the whole thing. But what happened and what I felt was exactly at the moment I'd mentally scoffed at there being "nobody home."
After the tour was over, Brennan and Monica walked me to my bus stop, and I headed back to the hotel. To be honest, I'm not even sure what to think about my experiences in the stairway by the gallows. I just know that it came out of absolutely nowhere and it truly frightened me to the core.
(onward to Day Two)
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