Doing A Canadian Dream I

The spousal unit and I have managed to live together in a real and legally binding manner for twenty-five years: September 24th 1988 was our wedding if you want to be precise about things.  We’re nothing if not romantics, so we decided that we should mark the occasion with something a bit out of the ordinary. 

Submitted for your approval, Doing A Canadian Dream, Part One. 

Canada, for those of you here and already know, is a damn big country.  For those readers in the US and elsewhere, we have a whole extra time zone and a half off the right side of the map of North America.  St. John’s Newfoundland is actually closer to London, England (2,326 miles) than Vancouver, British Columbia, which is 4,590 miles away.  So, being proud Canadians we decided to cross about 4/5ths of it in one go, but not the way you might think. 

From FL34 (34,000 feet) you don’t see much, even on a clear day with a window seat.  Marylou and I had talked for a number of years about flying to Vancouver and coming back on the train.  Yes, the train.  More specifically, getting a room on The Canadian, the only transcontinental train left in Canada.  To celebrate our twenty-fifth anniversary, that is exactly what we did.

Thanks to some Aeroplan miles we flew Business Class from Ottawa to Vancouver for a couple of days’ sightseeing.  Vancouver is stunning of course, an international destination city usually in the Top Five of “Cities You Must See” lists.  Those who live on the West Coast have a way of living that is the envy of the rest of us in the country.  If you invite someone from Vancouver to dinner on Tuesday night at 7 pm, they’ll likely show up on Saturday at 11 am.  Relaxed is the key word and being exposed to the beauty of the mountains right outside the front door is exactly why.  Nobody rushes, nobody worries and nobody cares in the nicest way possible.  Conversely, in Toronto, entire families will cram 72 hours worth of ‘living’ into 23 hours and wonder why the hell you are sitting on your ass with a whole extra hour left over.  We’re looking at the city and the mountains is why. 

As for accommodation in Vancouver, we did some comparison shopping.  Three nights in a nice hotel, a Marriott, or three nights in the very best hotel:  The difference was barely $200 and using the anniversary excuse, we went luxe.  The Shangri-La is, undoubtedly the best hotel chain on the planet.  We’ve both stayed at various Four Seasons, Westin and W properties and they are very, very good, but the Vancouver Shangri-La has a reputation of beyond very, very good.  In keeping with their corporate heritage, there is no 4th or 13th floor in the hotel and the service is astounding.  Do we, modest Central Canadians that we are, deserve this level of luxury and attention?  Hell yeah!

Let’s put it this way, had we called up the concierge and asked for a live giraffe, the inflatable escape slide from a 747 and a crate of champagne with a dwarf as sommelier, dressed in full hula-girl costume all would have appeared within the hour.  That level of service is however, only part of it.  Other hotels offer that kind of service for their guests, usually with a tiny hint of smirking disdain and the oh-so slightly raised eyebrow that you are not really deserving of their level of service.  The Shangri-La?  No condescension, just a genuine, sincere willingness to be of service. 

As an example, we spoke with the concierge about where to go for our anniversary dinner on Monday night.  She recommended L’Abbattoir, made the reservations and even arranged for a cab to pick us up promptly at 7 pm.  Come 7, the valet pulls up in the house car, a Mercedes limousine and drives us to our restaurant in Gastown, completely gratis.  At breakfast that morning, the service manager brought us two luscious chocolate dipped strawberries, with “Happy 25th Anniversary” chocolatiered on the plate, again with their compliments.  Small, important touches that were sincere and heartfelt.  Even when we checked out Tuesday afternoon, the cab was late, so the valet pulled out the house Merc again and drove us to the train station, unbidden and very welcomed.  Training a service staff can only go so far.  The Shangri-La ensures they hire good-natured, caring people to begin with, then hones them to an edge of service perfection that is simply impeccable.

We did do other things in Vancouver.  Being downtown Marylou wanted to see some of the high-end stores, Tiffany & Co. being one of them.  We entered and were welcomed to look around by a courteous staff, one of whom asked the usual where are you from, what brings you to Van?  We explained our circumstance and bless her heart, she took an interest in Marylou.  Would you like to see some of our diamonds?  Marylou being all woman said what any woman would:  Yes please.  Out came a 5.2 carat engagement ring and Marylou was invited to try it on.  Her current engagement ring is a modest .50 carat, from 25 years ago and she does cherish it, but a chance to try on a monster from Tiffany & Co. does not come often.  And the price? $478,000.  No, we did not buy it.

However, we did, in our stroll down Robson, find ourselves outside of a silver store.  We did buy two silver bands, for less than $60 and I did get down on one knee to propose again, in the middle of the store, much to the tearful delight of the shopkeeper’s staff and customers.  She said yes.

Tuesday evening we presented ourselves, courtesy of The Shangri-La-La house car, to the Pacific Central Station, the departure point of The Canadian.  Via Rail, the entity that runs The Canadian, has baggage limits on their train.  As we had a two-person room, there is not really enough space to have all your luggage with you.  They recommend that you pare things down to what you would take as airline carryon and check the rest in the baggage car, without access to it for the remainder of your trip.  The reason is simple enough.

The Canadian cars are the stainless-clad streamline train cars you might imagine from a mid-50’s Hollywood thriller.  Originally built by the Budd Car Company, they are the height of technology from 1953, built for the Canadian Pacific Railroad, the CPR, one of the progenitors of Via Rail.  They have been overhauled.  Once.  That was to bring their mechanicals up to 1970’s standards.  This is not to say they are primitive, or dangerous but they are, well, Spartan. 

Our room, Car 211, E, was a standard two-person room.  That means you get bunk beds that fold up into the ceiling, exposing two seats for sitting during the day.  A toilet, not much bigger than your high school locker and a sink and mirror with running water take up one wall.  There are a few cubbyholes to store your toothbrush, a book and your carry-on luggage.  Adding a bag of chips means the room is full to bursting.  Naturally, it being The Canadian, everything is brushed stainless steel or institutional blue-grey enamel.  The beds are exactly six inches too narrow for two people to sleep in them, so I took to the top bunk most nights, clambering up a narrow ladder that seemed to take up all the air in the room.  Changing your mind means that one of you has to go out into the hallway to give the other some space to do it. 

Fortunately we do like each other and don’t mind the close proximity that the room requires, except that one morning I had one leg in her yoga pants and one arm through her bra as we both tried to change clothes at the same time.  This has happened rarely in our life together. 

More in Doing A Canadian Dream Part II as we start our transcontinental voyage.