Category Archives: Travel

Return to the World, Part 2

Queer stuff, Travel

I’m not going to sugar coat it, much like Disney would. Here’s your bullet to your brain, Bambi’s Mom: Disney World is very expensive. To put it into perspective: a week at one of DW’s value resorts (basic but fun landscaping, basic room, basic pool, cafeteria type restaurant) equals one month of some poor soul’s HIV medication. Yeah. That much.

When I first realized that Disney wasn’t for the unwashed was when SharkBoy handed me a pamphlet of the various types of park entrance tickets, even before we talked about flights or hotels. I remember it well because after seeing the prices I wanted to run screaming into the mall  (ProTip: there are usually park info kiosks in every Disney store). I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe something around $100 per person for the week because it was Disney and Disney = nice! Not expensive or seemingly greedy. Oh how Disney naive I was. I couldn’t believe the prices for just going into a bloody amusement park.

Of course, it’s more than just an amusement park. If you want that, go get overcharged at Universal (bazinga!). At the time I didn’t know how much more the parks actually were than just rides and carnival. I can say that the entrance fees are steep, but worth it. And with careful planning and knowing what you’re going to do while there and how you’re going to get around you can save yourself some dollars.

Here’s another reality you may have to take a .22 to the brain for: Splurge on the park tickets.

When I opened the pamphlet my eyes immediately saw prices starting in the hundreds. Next to the prices that went up in $50/$100 increments for add-ons and extra days. I went apeshit in my head. Take a look at this US$ screen shot from Disney’s own site:

Yark! That's a lot of candy corn...

SharkBoy pulled me off the ceiling and explained that like all good sliding marketing variables, the price of a daily ticket goes down the more days/options you buy.

In my little screen grab you’ll see that I’ve chosen a Seven Day, Park Hopper with Water Park option ticket, for the grand total of $380US. We always choose the Park Hopper with Water Parks for a couple reasons: As we get old, we like to cut the day in bits: morning at one park, back to the hotel for shower (it is hot muggy Florida, you know) or disco nap or both, dinner at Epcot or Hollywood Studios and off to where the best fireworks are that night. You could say we’re A.D.D. old farts.

I can’t imagine not getting the Hopper option. I would expect if you did then you’re the kind of person who knows EXACTLY how you’re going to spend EACH DAY in EACH PARK without any kind of deviation to your plans. That’s fucking hard core, man. And strangely anal.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re freakishly organized ahead of time. There is an EXCEL spread sheet on SharkBoy’s hard drive that has our days at the parks planned out, but when we get there, we have the option of lighting that list on fire and dancing around it like Lost Boys. We like he liberty that the Hopper option affords. We choose it mostly for another factor, dining, which I’ll get to in another post…

The water parks are something I’d be kind of upset if we didn’t go to because Disney’s Blizzard Beach and Typhoon Lagoon are the two best themed, most beautiful landscaped parks I’ve ever been in. I don’t think I would go if I was going less than three days though, because that would cut into park time big time. But they are beautiful, a lot of fun and welcome on a hot Florida day.

I digress. These are the options we’ve always chosen and they’ve always been good for us. You can say we like the structure but yet love the option of veering off the plan to something unexpected. I know I would be seriously disappointed if I discovered after entering a park on a non-Hopper ticket that the fireworks for the night were at another park.

Take into consideration that you’ll probably not use a day in the park on the day you’re leaving Orlando so you can drop a day if need be, but the savings isn’t that much if you’ve been there over 5 days (ooo you got yourself the price of a extra fancy Starbucks coffee!). If you’re around for a half day, that’s a good time to visit Downtown Disney and shop for crap. This isn’t much of a tip, so much to make the pricing scheme less daunting.

Next up, I’ll talk a bit about hotels! See you real soon!

Return to the World, Part 1

Queer stuff, Travel

So new only CGI renderings exist

In less than 80 days, SharkBoy and I will be going on a dream vacation.

Okay not a DREAM vacation, like seeing the Khmer Rouge Killing Fields or viewing a radioactive hole in the ground at Chernobyl, no. We’re going back to the World. That is, Disney World. The added plus for this vacation, the added spin, is that we’re spending 4 days on Disney’s newest ship, The Dream (see what I did there?). Go look at the video if only to see the freaking waterslide that hangs over the side of the ship! (singsong)Awwwesome!(/singsong)

The ship will be literally one month old when we board. The carpet will be fresh. The staff will be sparkling. The linen will be bed bug free (I hope). By the time we get on board, Sharkboy estimates that no less than 8 families/couples will have used our room. I have a good feeling that we’ll be the first queer couple to be in that particular cabin. I’ve been fantasizing that we’ll be the first gay couple to travel on the Dream, too.

Which brings me to my first moment of pre-vacation dread. The Disney cruises are super-“family” orientated. When you arrive at the port, you are called onto the gangplank thusly: a cluster of crew gather at the entrance, shipside, and with microphone in hand, announce your arrival on the ship. Thankfully there’s no real big audience other than staff, since everyone is eager to explore and get to their rooms.

If you’re thinking ahead, you’ve seen my dread. Two 45-something bald guys coming on board together, no kids, get microphoned across the ship’s atrium. While I’m dying to know how we’ll be announced (“Announcing Mr and Mr Paquette-Healey!!”), I don’t do well with everyone looking at my big gay entrance. Well we’ve always said we should live a little more “out and proud”. Not that I’m saying gay people should be seen, not heard. Fuck that. If you can’t handle my “family” then fuck off. No, I’m worried that there is a stigma of pedophilia that surrounds the notion of two middle aged men on a ship where at least half the populace are children. I’ve seen the concern in parents’ eyes before when SharkBoy and I travel to Disney: moms culling their children closer when we join a touring group, or ride, or bus. SharkBoy generally diffuses these situations with a kind word or a joke and we all relax – something he does quite well on DisneyWorld busses for some reason. Which will be a future post.

Despite being reassured from every person who’s been onboard and by Disney’s own marketing materials, the ship isn’t just for kids. There are designated areas for adults only and such. But I know that we’re going to get the questioning looks. Thankfully our last cruise (the one where I was surprised that when you sail out of New Jersey you have to suffer with spending two weeks with people from New Jersey) has taught me not to give one flying fuck what other people think of you and you should be having your own fun on vacation.

Actually I’m not that chuffed. From what I’ve read on various cruise web forums, the Disney ships might be devoid of gay passengers, but the gay crew will latch onto you like cultural leeches. Extra desserts for me!

Curiously inversely, our last cruise was our longest at 12 days, while this one will be the shortest at 4 days, at literally the same price. We board on Sunday, Monday is Nassau, then over to their private island, Castaway Cay, then home. I figure that’s the best amount of time for being on a self contained floating city where 2/3rd of the populace adores Dora the Explorer.

When we get back, we’ll be meeting up with Josh and Sean (of the blogs Grove of Blue and the dusty Fortress of Solitude) and spend a week in the World.

In the next couple days I’ll be writing about tips and tricks for visiting the World. I hope you come back soon and check them out!

Have a magical day!

Update: Thanks to W in the comments, this thread over on DIS makes the p-vacation dread disappear

Toronto vs New York: Some Observations

Toronto, Travel

Toronto (TO) is surpassing New York City (NYC) in dirt. While TO is still quite clean (I’d eat a pickle slice off the ground in the TTC over the NYC Subway) the actual “feel” of TO is becoming less than stellar. This morning I saw a lot more random garbage during my walk to the subway than I did in my 4 days in NYC.

NYC is friendlier (or, “getting” friendlier?). In NYC, ask anyone for directions and you’ll get a straight answer. Except for people on 9th Avenue for some reason. In TO, people don’t make eye contact so finding someone to ask a question becomes hard.

Taxis. Without a word of a lie: A 10 min cab ride in NYC is equal to a 10 second cab ride in TO, price-wise. NYC cab drivers know how to drive and will drop you off two blocks from your destination if they think they might get into some kind of jam, costing you money. In TO… Fuck. Where do I begin? $4.50 just to get into a cab? The driver we had last night decided that Parliament Street was “…not good! Not good!” because the street was closed to one lane (aren’t most streets in Downtown Toronto one lane these days?). And then proceeded to rack up a $16 cab fare to $25 (no tip) by going up a street with one lane.

Kelsey Grammer can fill a musical theatre venue. And can do it with the shittiest singing voice I’ve ever paid $75 to listen to. And thoroughly enjoyed. I doubt that if Jesus was a Canadian, and he came back to life, and he starred in “Godspell” at the Royal Alexander on King, and the tickets were free, the show would shut in two weeks. One thing I should mention: while Kelsey was the big name, the real star of La Cage Aux Folles was Douglas Hodge, whose edification of Albin won hands limply down over Nathan Lane’s in “The Bird Cage”

TO’s Dundas Square over NYC Times Square? I’ll take TO’s. It’s less crowded and less kinetic. While Times Square is breathtakingly bright and energetic, it gets tiring after 10 minutes trying to rest your eyes on something that doesn’t want your money. At least in TO you can look at Kevin Frankish.

Food? Hands down NYC. Travel to Food? NYC. TO is still young and is still compartmentalizing it’s ethnic diversity so if you want good Italian one night, it’s a streetcar ride over to College and Bathurst, another streetcar in the opposite direction for an hour to get great Indian. NYC is blurring these kind of lines as space becomes more and more expensive. In one block you can get Mexican Fusion, hi-fashion fried chicken on a waffle (I did!) or the latest in hip trendy sushi styles. You can get fried endangered Galapagos turtle on the streets of NYC. TO can’t even manage a good (edible, safe) hot dog.

Apple Store. TO’s Eaton Centre is far less frustrating than 5th Ave’s outlet. While ours smells like wet sock on a good day, at the NYC store, you could get knifed over a Mac Book Air and a Specialist would not even notice you until you bled out and fell hard onto the floor. Maybe.

Museums, Art and General Culture. NYC wins this by default – duh. How do you compete with the culture capital of North America? Besides, TO will soon be abandoning any semblance of intelligent art/culture endowments, replaced with corporate funded pap, thanks to Rob Ford’s proposed money cuts.

I know it’s not fair to compare TO to NYC. TO is an embryo compared to NYC’s maturity. But we’d be wise to look up to our older sibs if we want to be world class.

Couple more pics for you. Be sure to follow my photo updates on my NYC Set on Flickr

Its In The Fog!

Toronto, Travel, You Magnificent Bastard, You Stupid Dick

I’m standing outside SharkBoy’s office, looking at the CN Tower through the skyscrapers thinking how hazy the day is, despite the sun being out in full force. The tower looked like it was an overexposed photo. I shake my head and think I’ve been reading too many How To Photography books.

SharkBoy exits his office and his smiling face lights up my heart. Long weekend! New York Here We Come!

Later, we’re settled in our seats on Flight 113 to Newark. The props haven’t started up despite the plane being 15 minutes late. SharkBoy mentions that fog is rolling in. We wait.

An announcement comes over the PA. Since the plane will be flying in fog, they need to lighten the aircraft by 6 passengers. Those who leave the plane will get the next available flight and a $100 credit. No one leaves and everyone starts to look at each other to see who will blink. Someone yells out “Only $100?!”. After a time the shift supervisor boards the plane with the manifest. She’s… headed straight for us!!

Since we paid the cheapest fare, we’re first off the plane. How this is fair, I have no clue – we’re penalized because we purchased early? And wanted to save some bucks? But I bite my tongue. The aircraft itself is no place to start into something like this, even though SharkBoy tosses out a few cautionary comments about how is this unacceptable. We debark the plane. I’m angry but more embarrassed to be the first people walked off. The hot stares that laser the words “You poor suckers”, burnt into the back of my head as I curtly brush past the apologetic flight attendant.

I’m still not clear why a plane has to lighten it’s load in heavy fog. I may never know. I don’t care right about now.

Since we were first off that meant we were first to see the supervisor who had no clue we were coming back from the plane. No one informed the clerical staff that the ground crew were booting people off the plane and we were met with confusion. SharkBoy is ready to pop. I take a less combative stance and try to figure out what to do next with the shift supervisor. She’s not frazzled but at the same time, she’s got a lot on her plate as more people come off our plane and others are being delayed and eventually cancelled. I have to say while I’m mad (at the weather – how useless is that?) I did have a nice bonding moment with Allison (Ashtor?). We confessed to each other that we hated flying but loved travel.

In the course of the next couple hours I went back to her to stay informed as to out status. Allison (Ashley?) was dealing with one woman who demanded, quite literally, that Porter change the weather. Seriously, she was complaining that Porter had no back up plan for bad weather. Uh… Wot? She was the kind of woman who would jump the queue “just to ask one question” that turned into 5 and ended with her rolling her eyes and not listening to what the staff were telling her (Which she did repeatedly, cell phone hanging off her Holt Renfrew spa toned face). The kind of person you wanted to accidentally walk into a turbo prop engine, Holt Refrew spa toned face first.

At about 7pm they shut down the airport completely due to the fog. We made arrangements for tomorrow morning. My last contact with Asllsionshey I started our conversation by telling her that she was doing an amazing job. And she was. I made mention that working at an airport on an island in a large lake must be frustrating more so than a land locked one. She confessed that if she drove into work and couldn’t see the CN Tower, she knew her day would be trouble.

I’ll take that to heart.

Up For Adventure

The Bad, Travel

I’m going to relate to you a tale of intrigue and danger. A tale so Bourne Supremacy that you will urinate in your pantaloons, right where you sit!

During our recent cruise, after our tours and such on the island of Dominica, SharkBoy and I decided to wander the markets close to the dock and look for loud Caribbean shirts for the dress up dinner.

Know my state of mind at this moment of shopping: I just drove through some pretty depressed areas around the island. I witnessed people in less-than shack like accommodations by the side of a dusty mountain road. I saw armed security guards shove back riotous cab drivers a few hours before, shouting their displeasure at the shore administrators who would not let them near the ship’s disembarkation area. I felt guilty.

As we’re looking at shirts, a woman comes up to me and she casually asks “Can you go buy me two bottles of “RED” over in the duty free? Since I’m a local, I’m unable to buy it.”

Poor dear, I thought. And agreed. She handed me the US dollars (exactly $32?) and I wandered over to the shop. SharkBoy reluctantly in tow.

We find the bottles and I take them to the cash. The clerk asks for my ship pass.

Alarm one. I’m tagged!

The clerk takes my pass and enters it into the computer. My name comes up. She types something. My bowels turn to ice. I realize too late that I am recorded into the ship’s system that is somehow linked to this shop on shore and they know I am bringing liquor on board. Which I won’t be. Too late to cancel the transaction, I take the two Johnny Walker Red bottles over to the stall. As I approach, the woman yells over the heads of her customers, without making eye contact at me, “Pretend you’re shopping and leave the bottles behind.”

Alarm two. SharkBoy takes off like a lightning bolt.

I begin to think this wasn’t a great idea. A paranoia flows over me like a wave on a nice white sandy beach. I wonder if we’re being watched by any number of armed guards that patrol the streets. The thought that she herself might be a plant for the police slams into my head like a tour bus full of fat New Jersians.

Calmly, I bend down to look at a trinket near the front of her stall. I place the bag of liquor on the ground and pick up a carved mask. “How much for the mask?” I ask.

I’m fully expecting an extremely low price since my life and safety has been compromised by her seemingly innocent request. “Mask?” she says.

“Mask!” I repeat. I point.

“Maa– OH! Face!” she says a bit too loudly like she’s not sure where this game of intrigue is going to go. “If you wanted the face, you should say face! $25!”

I’ve seen better acting at a 9th grade winter pageant.

“Oh ok, thanks” and I walk away, sans bag. I’m pissed she didn’t give me the maskface at a good price. I’m too frightened to barter, regardless.

As I head for the mouth of the alley I’m waiting for the restraining hand on my shoulder, the shout to stop, the bullet in my back. It doesn’t come. When I finally meet up with SharkBoy again he’s got the lie all worked out: “You went to an internet cafe and it was stolen from you as you checked your email.”

Plausible.

Oddly enough, when I boarded the ship, nothing was said by the guard on the check in computer. Later we had 45 minute wait before we sailed form Dominica and every time the ship announcement bells went off we jumped, expecting a call to guest services to explain myself.

Nothing came of it. And it will never happen again, I assure you.

Leaving Bayonne – Dinner Guests Pt3

Travel

At the far end of our 12 person table was a family of three: Roseanne (mom), David (pop), and Angelina (precocious imp of a girl). We didn’t talk that much from dinner to dinner but would see them out and about the ship and chat them up then. From Connecticut, Rosanne had her own business as a hairdresser so SharkBoy and her made a small connection there (didn’t you know? SB was a scissor jockey way back when). Dave was a golf fan and opted to play the course on Antigua while we all went to Prickly Pear Island. Angelina was a chatty tween who reminded me a lot of my niece, Emma, when she was her age. Bright and eager to engage in conversation.

While on the island we discovered two things: Angelina had brought her precious cats with her. Not unlike SharkBoy’s stowaway of Patches. And Roseanne was in her fifties. My mouth hit the floor when I heard that. She looked like she could have passed for upper thirties, real early fourties, easy.
Our Guide

By the third dinner, I wanted to sit by them so I could get to know them better but alas I had to babysit Rudy for the most part.

I hope Angelina is keeping up the stage classes! Knock ’em dead kid!

Leaving Bayonne – Dinner Guests Pt2

Travel

When we arrived at the port on our first day, we got behind some poor lady who’s scooter back tire had given up the ghost.

What the hell does that mean, “Given up the ghost”?

Anyway. She was trudging along in front of us and we felt sorry for her as she barked orders at her husband and daughter. It can’t be good to start out a vacation with a flat tire.

To our surprise, she and her family were placed at our table. They were from Philly so conversation came easy for them. Especially her, Sue. The thing about Sue wasn’t how easy she could command a conversation (never a dull quiet moment with her – thankfully the content was interesting) but how much she resembled Mrs Puff from Spongebob Squarepants. (Bad video, but the voice and general body size is there)

They were a nice family and I did enjoy their company. She didn’t ask us if we were “brothers” and I suspect she sussed us out within minutes, however she didn’t ask about our relationship until day 10 or so. No matter, she had some doozey stories about drinking, children, cats, food, the army, various family members in the army, their grandson (who didn’t take is face out of his portable gamething all dinner long), hunting, you get the picture. If it happened, she could relate. But she wasn’t one-uppity with her stories.

On the last night of our cruise we all talked about packing and getting to our various homes and such. Depressing conversation about going back to the real world. At the end of the meal, we all stood and said our goodbyes, hugged our waiter and assistant waiter and gave each other hearty handshakes…

…except Sue and her family literally took off. One minute they were there, the next… Poof! No good bye, no nods, no eye contact, no nothing. Gone.

I’m convinced that it wasn’t Mrs Puff we were dining with but the actual Large Marge from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure:

Leaving Bayonne – Dinner Guests Pt 1

Travel

Enter with me now as we glide past the heavy glass and oak doors of the main dining room entrance. We’re greeted by 4-5 waiters with wide smiles. The expanse of a three story atrium dining room is breathtaking, considering we’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean. Gold, brass, wood and gilded plaster adorn every crevasse and corner. The lighting is perfect. The setting sun streaming through the windows just adds to the rich calm and beautiful atmosphere as we’re seated at our ornately dressed table. The waiter flips the cloth napkin sitting on your plate with a flourish and drops it onto our laps. It’s truly an exceptional–

“I was in WWII and we had these Japs come out of the forest and we shot two and then had to bury them right there.”

Huh?

“One grave was a bit short and the Jap’s knees stuck out!”

Pause.

“Can you believe it? We laughed. This poor bastards knees sticking out of the ground!”

Welcome to dining aboard the Explorer of the Seas.

I sat most of the trip beside a tiny 83 year old man by the name of Rudy from (shock horror) New Jersey, who was for the most part entertaining and a great time to talk to. The above exchange was one of our first conversations. I shrugged it off due to his age. But after day 7 he started to repeat himself unabashedly, prefaced with “I think I told you this…” and would still recant the story I heard a couple days before. Rudy spoke as if I knew his family intimately. His first story I learned of how his grandson’s neighbour’s son had come over and cleaned out his driveway with an old snow blower that he borrowed from someone and then the next snowfall Rudy offered the kid $40 (by the end of the cruise it was up to $60) to do it again but then Rudy went and got out the old snowblower in the garage that hadn’t been turned on in years and it started on one go. One go! And then he gave the kid the snow blower. Or something.

You get the gist of the thread of Rudy’s conversations.

He would start each conversation the same: leaning in to get your attention (he was nearly deaf on my side) and with hand to mouth as if to tell you a secret, Rudy would impart some beautiful gem of wisdom. Though the fingers by his mouth were splayed open, killing any hope of audio directional help or audio privacy, he kept his hand up by his mouth. It was a weird gesture but funny none the less. After he made his statement he would make a “Feh!” tip of his hand which today would be misconstrued as a symbol for gayness but to him it was a non verbal “Fuggedaboutit”. It was cute.

But Rudy had his set ways and seemed to be trapped in a post-war patriotic dream. One night we were discussing trips to Hawaii and the subject of the sunken memorial of the Arizona came up. A dinner guest mentioned that even today, a Japanese couple were ostracized during the sub ride down to the wreckage. Rudy went off on that:

“You have to watch what teachers are telling our kids. One time my daughter, who was I think 15 at the time, came home and said ‘what a horrible thing it was that we dropped the bomb on Japan’. I was so mad! I told her that if we didn’t kill those Japs, she wouldn’t be here today. I mean really! What are teachers telling kids today, huh? I’m glad that couple were treated that way, what with all those dead kids down there in the wreckage.”

I looked down at my napkin and I think I was wringing it so hard I nearly tore it in two. I didn’t say another word to him that night. I couldn’t. I think due to my silence he sensed that he stepped over some sort of conversational line and didn’t speak the rest of the dinner. The next night he was his old self again and the last night’s faux pas was forgotten. The rest of the cruise he was civil and the final memorable exchange was this:

Rudy: (leaning in) You know what’s a killer?
Me: No. What?
Rudy: Sugar! (Fugeddaboutit hand gesture). You know with all these medicines we’re living longer. I swear we’re living longer.
Me: We’re living in a modern world, Rudy.
Rudy: (Pause) Then again… (leans in closer, faux hand secret over mouth with splayed fingers) I haven’t had an erection for years.
Me: I think there’s pills for that.
Rudy: (Laughs)

Rudy’s wife was a pip. Even though she sat on his right and we never really spoke that much I could tell that she was sharp as a tack. SharkBoy told her that she had exact hair as Rita from Coronation Street. but she didn’t know the show.

(Fugeddaboutit hand gesture)