The plans, they are progressing...

I have purchased myself a snazzy little all-Scotland bus pass and plotted out my route.

I'm one step closer to actually being ready for my travels.

Now if only I could come up with the remaining $800 I owe for the India trip...

Maybe I'm a cynic

No way! You are just so not going to believe this. I phoned England again, to make what I believed would be yet another futile-but-amusing attempt to purchase a train ticket from London to Edinburgh.

Strangely, though, it wasn't. It was not only successful, it was almost pleasant. The ticket agent was intelligent, coherent and helpful. I didn't have to spell Ontario even once! She'd already heard of it.

My ticket is booked. I paid the price I wanted to pay. I got the seat I wanted to get. I'll be travelling at the time I wanted to go.

Something must be wrong.

Oh, the futility of it all...

Still trying to book my train ticket from London to Edinburgh... Who would have thought one little ticket would be so complicated?

A friend agreed to purchase the ticket on his credit card. Made all the arrangements and then noticed one little, itty bitty problem. I would need to bring his credit card with me to the train station. Right.

I found a contact number on the website. A number for non-UK residents to use... Well, that's what it said on the web, anyways. I called it yesterday and couldn't get through. I called again today. This time I got through to a live human being. He had to ask a supervisor what to do. The supervisor gave him a different number I could call.

I called it. It seems I can book! We went through the whole process starting with my address. My postal code confused him. Just like it did the website. It sounds like a UK post code, but it shows as not valid. Right.

I read him my street address. No difficulties there.

Next line. Toronto [pronounced: Tranna], I said. There was a pause.

Toronto? [pronounced: Tow-rohn-tow]

Yes. Ontario.

Onero?

Ontario.

O-N-E-R-O?

O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

O-N-T-E-R-O?

No, O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

Oh, okay, O-N-T-A-I-R-O. Ontairo.

No, O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

Right, Ontairo. O-N-T-A-I-R-O.

No, O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

We finally got the spelling down pat, but we couldn't put the transaction through because I haven't got the security code on my credit card. I haven't got the card here. It's at home. I called my roommate to see if she can grab the card and call me. If she does, I'll have to go through the process all over again.

Sweet!

I believe [fingers crossed] I just found a subletter/doggie-walker for while I'm away. He's a musician (of the classical variety) from Ohio, and he's in town for just one month.

Oh, and my roommates will be happy, since he's a he. We've been e-mailing back and forth for a while and I fully thought he was a girl. But he's not.

I was attacked by a bat

I had the brilliant idea to buy the ticket at a travel agent. Simple, right?

First I had to wait in line behind a woman who undoubtedly has eight cats. She couldn't just buy her stuff and get out, no. She had to stand there and chat with the disinterested travel agent. It was a bit like a scene from Monty Python, but less annoyed rant and more 'when I was a lass'...

Finally I got to the front of the queue. I asked about the ticket, and was told that I could certainly book it there. Perfect.

Ten minutes later and she'd found the price: £85/$212. Er... Right. Not so perfect.

Tickets are £24/$60 right now, but most of the tickets are going for £90/$225. If I wait until I get there, I'll have to buy the most expensive one. Or I can skip that and buy the expensive one now.

I don't like doctors, okay

Okay. A solution has been found. I can go to India after all.

Mr Army Dude Trip Co-ordinator found a form that I can sign on my own behalf, which will suffice in place of the doctor's form. It's a two-page form, stating that I really, really, really, really promise that, to the best of my knowledge, it is unlikely that I will spontaneously combust whilst on the trip.

He most earnestly recommends, however, that I continue my search for a family doctor. 'Cause your health is important, you know...

I'm not dead yet...

Well, the art show was more of a success than I expected. We actually made money, so that's a good thing, right?

So anyways...

If I can't go on the trip, then I'm going to go bum around Europe for three weeks. Could be fun!

We'll see. I don't know what's going to happen.

Let it be

A friend told me that her doctor was accepting new patients and that he was rather [ahem] free with signing and prescribing things. I called. He's taking new patients, yes, but not until July.

I was advised to look up GPs taking new patients on the Ontario Physicians and Surgeons website. There were a couple. Except most of them weren't actually GPs... One was a mental health specialist. One was a sleep specialist. Two appeared to be plain old family doctors, and they worked at the same office. I called. Yes, they're taking new patients. In June.

Really. What, are they waiting for their old patients to die or something? Good grief!

Somebody else told me about the family clinic at Mount Sinai. The doctors don't take new patients, but the residents do. I can get myself a family doctor. Well, a doctor-in-training at any rate. Whatever. That'll do.

I left a message for them to call me back. Hopefully they will. I doubt they'll agree to sign the form, but at least I'll have a doctor.

Update:
The clinic called me back. I have an appointment to see my new family doctor-in-training. I made the next appointment open to new patients: the 3rd of June.

A long and ranty post...

Well now. That's just ducky.

I should preface this story by saying that at no point did I yell or behave in a menacing or threatening way. I did, however, give voice to my frustration and I... er... Well, I waxed a bit sarcastic. Shocking, I know.

I went to the travel doctor this afternoon. I got four needles and three prescriptions for assorted travel-related medicines. The doctor was pleasant and helpful. He even had a sense of humour. The nurse was good. The receptionist was nice. I got everything I needed in a relatively short period of time.

Then I walked up the street to the next doctor. I haven't got a family doctor, because no doctor in Toronto is taking new patients. I have been going to the same clinic for five years, though.

I waited my turn, and then the receptionist showed me to the exam room. She asked me the reason for my visit. I told her I needed some prescriptions renewed and a form signed. The form is a very simple one. It says this person appears to be in reasonably good health.

No, she replied tersely in her thick Spanish accent. We are not doing those-a forms here. Only jore family doctor canna sign such a forma.

Me: I haven't got a family doctor. I only ever come here.

Receptionista: Jou must go to a different clinica.

Me: So, you're telling me that the trip I just paid for, well, I can't go.

Receptionista: We have a policia for many jeers.

Me: Fine, I'll just talk to the doctor.

[time passes]

The doctor starts to enter the room. He's talking over his shoulder to somebody out of my view.

Doctor: What's wrong with that? Why shouldn't I sign the form?

Receptionista: Jou choulden't signa the forms becowse... Mebbe jou chould come in here for a minuta.

[doctor disappears]

[doctor reappears]

I tell him the same thing I told the receptionist. He says he cannot sign the form because they cannot accept liability for me while I'm in India. What a load of crap!

Me: So, that's it. I just can't go on the trip then?

Doctor: You should see your family doctor. He should be the one to sign the forms.

Me: I haven't got a family doctor. I've been coming here for five years.

Doctor: I can't verify that you're in good health. How would I know?

Me: You've got more medical history on me than anybody else on the planet. I can't just walk into a clinic and expect somebody I've never seen before to sign the forms.

Doctor: Well, obviously you'd require a complete physical first. And, of course, since it's for travel purposes it won't be covered. You'll have to pay for it.

Me: [exasperated] Whatever. Can you just renew my prescriptions and I'll deal with the rest later?

Doctor: Clearly you're angry. I'm not going to talk to you when you're angry. I'll leave you to calm down for a while.

Me: No, I'm fine; I just need the prescriptions.

Doctor: What ones?

Me: For my asthma and eczema. The eczema one isn't working very well. I heard about a new one I'd like to try.

Doctor: I'm not going to prescribe that. Not now!

Me: Why?

Doctor: Look, clearly you've got an anger problem. I don't have to take this from you.

Me: Why won't you prescribe me that medicine?

Doctor: Oh, because there are cancer concerns. I won't prescribe it to anybody until the issues are resolved.

Me: Okay. That's a perfectly reasonable answer. That's all I needed.

Doctor: Here are your prescriptions. I'd appreciate it very much if you never come back here again. I'm going to make a note in your file. You're obviously not pleased with my service and you've got anger issues.

I took the paper from him and left without another word.

So... The short version is: I might not be able to go to India. And now I have no doctor.

Stop calling me Shirley

I'm annoyed. I called the insurance company about my shots and vaccines. They were unhelpful, but polite. They gave me the run-around and generally irked me.

But then they did it... They pushed me over the edge. They crossed a line that is not to be crossed.

They called me Mrs.

I told them never, ever to call me that again and hung up.

Why must they do that? The cable company calls me Mrs. The phone company calls me Mrs. The bank calls me Mrs. My cell phone company calls me Mrs. That one really bugs me. I've been dealing with them for seven years. Every single time I talk to them they call me Mrs. Every single time they do it, I yell. They stutter and they stammer and they tell me that's what's written in my file. I tell them to change it and I yell some more.

And the next time I talk to them? They call me Mrs. And then we start the cycle all over again. Every single friggin' time.

Don't call me Mrs. Okay?

Warning: reading this may cause inanity

So, I'm looking into the various shots, pills and horrible medicines I'm going to need before going to India.

One of the recommended (as opposed to mandatory) ones is Dukoral. It protects against cholera and traveller’s diarrhea. Sounds good. I'd prefer to avoid that, if at all possible.

Okay. So what are the side-effects? Quick research on the internet. The hand on the little clock goes round and round... Ding! Results are ready!

Q: What are the side effects of Dukoral?
A: Some people experience diarrhea or abdominal pain.

Right. 'Cause that makes sense...

Co-operation with others: needs improvement

Stupid!

I bought my plane ticket from Glasgow to London last night. No problem. It was all quite simple. Today I tried to buy my train ticket from London to Edinburgh. Nope. No go. No can do. Why? Because my credit card has a non-UK billing address (duh!).

It's an e-ticket. They send me a reference number by e-mail. I quote the number on the day I travel, they check my ID and let me on.

It should be simple. It should, but it's not. First the stupid thing informs me that my postal code is not a valid UK post code. The fact that the country I selected from its list was Canada should be a dead giveaway that my address isn't in the UK, but that's beside the point. They don't need to send me anything, so what difference does it make?

Fine, I try over again, and this time plug in the hostel's address. So far, so good. Then I get to the billing section. I click the little button that says 'click here if your billing address is different than your mailing address'. Okay. It asks for my billing address. Again, I select Canada from the pulldown list of countries. It helpfully advises me that Canada is not in the UK. It then informs me that we will be unable to complete the transaction because I am refusing to co-operate.

If I don't book the train until I get there, it's going to be much more expensive.

Grr. Argh.

On a related note, train fare from Glasgow or Edinburgh to London is £90. From London to Glasgow/Edinburgh, on the other hand, is £24. Riddle me that one, Batman!

Planes, tranes & automobiles

Congratulations to me! I have just purchased my plane ticket from Glasgow to London.

Why is it that the train, which takes five hours, costs £90, whereas the plane, which takes just over an hour, costs £34? The bus is only £6, but it takes more than nine hours!

Set a course for elsewhere

Not that I'm going to Italy any time soon... If I were, though, I think I'd stay at the Navigator. It sounds like a classy, welcoming place.

BugEurope Review
Hostelz.com Review

Good news for me

I have a fairly good insurance plan through work. I knew it included some travel coverage, but I wasn't sure what. I finally checked into it today.

My health insurance covers me while I'm away, so the only extra insurance I need is for things like lost luggage and missed flights. I took care of that today. It was much cheaper than it would have been if I'd needed medical coverage as well.

I'm fully covered as far as shots and vaccinations go. I'll have to pay for them and then wait to be reimbursed. I won't get my money before I leave on my trip, but I will get it back eventually.

Wow, this entry was seriously deficient in sarcasm! Hmmm... How 'bout this then: have a look at the new pope, eh.

Ack!

I leave in just over three weeks! That can't be right.

Blue skies

I've finally booked all my hostels for my UK trip. For the most part, I booked the hostels that sounded the best, the ones with the highest ratings and the glowing reviews.

There was one exception: the Blue Sky hostel in Glasgow. I wasn't even planning to stay in Glasgow, but this place was just too good to pass up. It got terrible reviews, but the manager's responses to them are classic. He gets attitude, and he just can't let it slide. He has to respond. He gives as good as he gets.

Note to self

While in London, visit Fenchurch station.

Who said it

I may end up spending all my money,
But I'll still be alive!

It’s only a trifling matter

I lost my health card a while back. I have to get a new one before the trip. Actually, I need to get it before I can get any of the shots and meds I need beforehand.

Luckily for me, the ministry of health opened a brand new office not far from where I work. So instead of begging for time off and trekking out to the burbs to queue up for endless hours of government bureaucracy, I just had to walk up the street on my lunch break.

As I walked up the street I passed a busker. He was playing his guitar, but not singing. The tune was familiar, but it took me a moment to place it. Pretty girl on the hood of a Cadillac, yeah...

I laughed all the rest of the way to the ministry office. When I got there, the place was empty. Well, no. There were about 10 employees milling about, looking for ways to pass the time. I was finished in no time flat.

On the way back I passed two angry drunken buskers murdering Nothing Else Matters.

Tell me where to go

Okay, all you world-travellers out there, tell me where to go. I want interesting ideas of places to go and things to do while I'm in London and Edinburgh. And don't give me a bunch of 'go to the museum' crap! Did you think I had culture? Class? Nope. Got none.

So far I've got plans to go to this place while I'm in London. The rest is all up in the air.

Planning, dreaming, avoiding work...

This week hasn't been busy, so I've spent a bit of time planning my trip.

The India trip is relatively easy:

• get money (half a check)
• get shots
• get visa (check)

Aside from that sort of preparation work, all I really have to do is show up. The trip is planned out for me so I don't have to worry about what to do, where to stay, where to eat, what to see, blah blah blah.

But...

After I leave Calcutta, I have an eight-day layover in the UK. That I have to plan. Where to go, what to do, what to see, where to eat... It's not remotely surprising that there are a gazillion hostels in London to choose from; however, it's a bit of a shock to learn that there are almost as many in Edinburgh. And there are 19 on the Isle of Skye! That's kind of weird, no?

So now I'm trying to come up with a plan. It's fun. I think I'm most looking forward to hiking in Scotland.

From the filthy, stinky, sweaty, crowded streets of Calcutta to the wide open spaces and coastal breezes of the Isle of Skye. From daytime highs of 40 degrees to nighttime lows barely above freezing. That's toque weather! From polluted streets to... er... wait... According to BBC weather atmospheric pollution on the Isle of Skye is quite high. What's up with that?

I'm looking forward to visiting my old housemate in London, assuming she ever checks her e-mail. I'm excited about visiting Scotland. I'm a bit apprehensive about India, but in a good way. I'm looking forward to the whole trip, but somehow none of it seems real yet.

I don't think any of it's going to sink in until I'm actually on the plane.

Fun at the Indian consulate

We had to go get our visas for India this morning. A group of us went together. We had to wait for more than an hour to submit our applications. It was entirely uneventful. Well, almost...

I lost my little ticket-number thing. How? I don't know. I snuck in with another girl whose number was right after mine and all was well.

Oh, and...

What does it mean: exact change?*

What is this a bus? What kind of place doesn't have change? For that matter, what kind of place doesn't take debit? Hello! We are still in Canada, are we not?

*A bunch of points for the first person who can tell me where that quote comes from.

Passport drama, part the not-related-to-this-blog

When I was younger I spent a summer working in Germany. It was good. Happy fun. La la la.

Eventually, the time came for me to return home to Canada. By that point, I'd accumulated enough stuff that I couldn't carry it all at once. I took my carry-on bags and stowed them in a train station locker near the hostel I stayed at in my last night in Germany. Then I took my luggage and hauled it to the Frankfurt airport. I checked my stuff in and then headed back to the other end of the city to retrieve the rest of my crap.

I got back to airport and proceeded to the appropriate gate. The attendants asked for my boarding pass, which I gave them. Then they asked for my passport. No problem. It's... um... er... crap... I jumped out of the queue and began rummaging through my backpack. I emptied the contents onto the floor. I up-turned my crammed-full shopping bag onto the floor. No luck.

Wait. I didn't! No, surely not. I couldn't have. I wouldn't have. Did I?

I had packed my passport into my luggage, which had been thrown into the plane's hold two hours previous. Oops.

I confessed my error to the attendant, who was somewhat bewildered. He called his co-worker over and I explained my story again. Pretty soon all the attendants had gathered around and were staring at me and at each other in utter disbelief. I had to tell my little tale to each of them, one by one.

Finally, somebody called a manager over. In typical German fashion, he informed me, You should not have done this.

I know. I'm sorry.

Why, he demanded in English, would you have done such a foolish thing?

I'm sorry; it was an accident, I repeated for the 8,642nd time.

Look, he informed me in German, you must not do this.

Exasperated, I responded (also in German), I didn't do it on purpose!

Up 'til this point, everybody had been reacting as though I were a Canadian citizen trying to board a flight to Canada. Suddenly, they stopped dead in their collective track. They all stared at me, open-mouthed. The pause was uncomfortably long. They gawked at me. They looked at each other. Finally, one of them timidly ventured, You are German?

No, no, no. I'm Canadian. I am a Canadian citizen, trying to get on a flight to Canada. I have accidentally packed my passport into my luggage, which is currently in the hold of that plane there.

They sent luggage handlers out to search for my bags. Since my luggage was checked in so early, though, it was at the bottom of a very full hold. It could not be retrieved without completely unpacking the plane.

After much thought, the manager decided to let me on the plane. You must retrieve your luggage when you get back to Edmonton, and go through customs to show it to the attendants there.

Fine. No problem. Whatever. Thank you.

And, he oh-so-helpfully advised me, you must never do this again.

Right.

Fast forward eight hours. The Edmonton Internation Airport. I haul my luggage off the conveyor belt and dig through it to find the passport. I get it out and queue up for the customs desk.

After half an hour's wait, I get to the desk. The man looked at my passport and laughed. You're Canadian. You don't have to come through customs. Next!

Grr. Argh.

God does love a good joke

Well. It's official. God hates me. There's no other possible explanation.

There are two groups of people going to India: one in May and another in July. There are about 25 people going all told, but I didn't know who was going on which trip. Yesterday I learned that the May trip (the one I'm going on) consists of the two leaders, one other guy and nine girls.

And they look to be some very girly girls. In fact, I know one of them to be the Girliest Girly Girl alive.

So now you're probably thinking 'Ohmygosh! How could she say that? That's awful!'

But, really, I'm sure you're fine — you know, on your own. You're probably a super-nice person. (No, please don't cry.) One at a time, I'm sure we'd have a swell time together. Honestly. (Oh, for frig's sake! Stop the infernal crying. And wipe your nose.) It's just sort of the whole agorafemiphobia* thing I've got going on.

Put a bunch of women together in a room (particularly a bunch of Christian women) and suddenly all rational thought gets defenestrated. (I love that word!) It's all babies and weddings and Bridget Friggin' Jones and femenine** hygiene products and recipes. Inevitably, somebody's going to start crying.

Okay, so there are three guys on the trip: the two leaders and one other. Now, I suspect that the two leaders will stick together quite a bit. That leaves me with one guy to hang out with. He's a good guy. He can sarcas with the best of them. So far, so good, right?

I've actually lived with this particular guy, so I know a bit about him. He very much values his alone time. He won't get much of that in Calcutta, so I imagine he'll be spending every spare minute locked up in his room on his own.

Somebody pointed out that one of the leaders met his girlfriend on last year's trip (she was there as a volunteer as well). He said that maybe the same'll happen to me. Oh great! That's something to look forwards to: maybe I'll meet a lovely woman.

Ugh.

Can I get my money back? I've changed my mind.

*agorafemiphobia: [noun] the fear of large groups of women.
**It would seem I can't even spell feminine right!