United Airlines: Hell in a Very Small Space

We'd booked First Class flights from Halifax to Newark, and then from Newark to Phoenix.
Several weeks before we left home, I got an email saying the flight from Halifax had been changed, and was now a tourist class flight.  I called United Airlines to find out what was going on, and spoke to a representative (who of course, did not possess a surname) who assured me that I would get a refund for the First Class flight I no longer had, and that I still had my bulkhead seat.
Not true.  None of it.
Xingxing and I were crammed into a space so small that if I put both of my feet on the floor in front of the seat there was no room for Xingxing.  There was barely room for me.  They knew I was traveling with a service dog -- suppose he'd been a Labrador?  Where would they have put him?  In an overhead locker?
The airplane wasn't full. I could have been given two adjacent seats -- but a young man (clearly a friend or relative of one of the snotty cabin attendants) carrying one of those huge backpacks -- no way that would fit in an overhead locker -- was given those two seats to himself.  He and his illegal backpack were given every consideration.  I was treated like a piece of dirt.  One of the cabin attendants did her best to step on Xingxing's tail every time she passed.  Xingxing was a really good sport.  Xingxing is always a good sport.
I'm not going to dwell on the Dantean horrors of Newark Airport, or the hostility and unhelpfulness of each and every United Airlines employee we encountered during our very long stay there.  United Airlines employees are not happy people, and they take it out on United Airlines customers.  
Hours and hours and hours later, we were finally in our First Class (but not bulkhead) seats on our United Airlines flight from Newark to Phoenix.  Did I want dinner?  Absolutely.  All that's left is pasta, I was told.  We go by priority.  The other passengers have priority, so they got first choice.  You get what's left.
I always thought a First Class ticket was a First Class ticket.  Silly me! But there is nothing on the United Airlines website explaining that there are different priorities of First Class service.  I didn't realize that I'd paid top dollar for a low priority First Class ticket.
United Airlines doesn't have a Vice President for Customer service.  Instead, they've got a Vice President for Customer Experience.  And he doesn't answer his mail.  He passes it on to underlings, who are as snotty and unhelpful as everyone else.
If you want a "customer experience" fly United Airlines.
As for me, one "customer experience" was enough to last a lifetime.  I will never fly United Airlines again.  If you're smart, you won't either.  Especially if you're traveling with a service dog!

Wet Rocks and an Amazing Work of Art

It's raining, now.
We have the same driver as yesterday.  His name is Mike, and today he's wearing a kilt.  On the way to Peggy's Cove, he tells us how lobster traps are constructed -- with two sections -- and other interesting things about lobsters.  Here, lobster is cheap and common.  Lobster is what you eat when you can't afford anything else.
By the time we get to Peggy's Cove, it is pouring.
Peggy's Cove is a straggle of little wooden houses scattered around a road that winds down to the waterfront where it ends at an enormous restaurant-cum-souvenir-shop surrounded by a parking lot.
Nobody actually knows why it is called Peggy's Cove, or who Peggy was, or even if there ever was a Peggy.
Unlike most of the surrounding area -- which was carved out by the retreating glaciers -- Peggy's Cove sits on a solid granite base, as does the lighthouse for which it is famous.  The red and white lighthouse, the massive granite cliffs and the beach below must be very picturesque when the sun is shining.  Mike tries valiantly to put a good slant on the rain, saying that it adds mystery and atmosphere to the scene.
Xingxing is intrigued by the rain.  He has never seen rain.  He keeps looking up at the sky, and trying to catch raindrops on his tongue.
There are half a dozen tour busses, and a large number of intrepid Japanese tourists with umbrellas swarming over the wet rocks that lead to the lighthouse and stopping every few steps to take photographs of one another.  There's a path down to the base of the cliffs, where there are tidal pools full of sea creatures.  But it's too wet and too crowded to tempt me.
Amazingly, there is absolutely nobody at William Degarthe's house, an unprepossessing wooden structure set down in front of a 100-foot long granite outcrop.  Degarthe was born in Finland, but came to Canada as a young man and became an important artist and sculptor.  He owned an advertising agency in Halifax, but spent summers here at Peggy's Cove.  When he was 70 years old, he decided to "do something" with the granite outcrop in back of his house.  His plan was to create a monument to Canadian fishermen and their wives and children.  Using hammers and chisels, he set to work.  Although he died before he could complete the work, its larger than life-size figures and depictions of fishermen at work and their families presents a poignant and incredibly moving picture of life here at the edge of the sea.  Under Degarthe's hands, the granite comes to life.  I find it much more impressive than the lighthouse.
When you've seen one lighthouse, you've more or less seen them all.  But Degarthe's sculpted masterpiece is utterly unique.  I linger for quite a while before making my way down the road to the restaurant and parking lot.
The time has gone so quickly.  I can't believe this is our last day!

The Halifax Explosion

Our last day in Halifax, and it's cool and overcast.  We've got one, last tour this afternoon.  But our morning is free, so we head for the waterfront and the Maritime Museum.
This is a fascinating museum.  Anchors and mastheads and models -- I was intrigued by the equipment they used to step the masts.  One nice touch is that the museum floors are made of wood, and the wood creaks underfoot, as if you're walking on the deck of a ship.  Xingxing was happy to ride in his stroller, and we ambled happily through the exhibits, ropes as thick as my legs (and that's saying something!) and wonderful, hand-carved bowsprits.
Everyone knows about the Titanic -- although I didn't realize the men who rescued the survivors and brought back the bodies of those who didn't survive for burial sailed out of Halifax harbor.  Or that it was the Halifax cemetery where they were laid to rest that inspired James Cameron's film.  The Maritime Museum features a huge display about the Titanic.  But we didn't get to see it because we got waylaid by the Halifax Explosion.
I have to admit, I have never heard of the Halifax Explosion.  Have you?
It happened in December, 1917.  And it was the largest, man-made explosion to occur on the face of the earth until the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, nearly 30 years later.  Large portions of the city of Halifax were totally wiped out, and thousands died in the conflagration.  It was one of the great disasters of the twentieth century -- and I'd never heard a word about it.  But when I went to school, we mostly studied American history and European history.  I don't recall ever hearing much about Canada. We knew it was there, but that was about it.

It was during the first World War. Halifax harbor was where the convoys gathered to set out across the Atlantic. What happened was that two ships collided in the narrowest part of the harbor.  One of them was a munitions ship, heavily loaded with explosives and waiting to join a convoy across the Atlantic. The other was a merchant ship.  When the ships collided, the crew of the munitions ship clambered into life boats and rowed furiously for Dartmouth, the settlement across the harbor from Halifax.  They were terrified, because they knew what was about to happen.
The ships caught fire, and burned spectacularly.  It was early morning -- people were going to work, kids were going to school.  Half of Halifax ran down to the waterfront to gape at the spectacle.  The two burning ships drifted slowly towards the Halifax shore. And then the munitions ship exploded.
It was as if an earthquake had hit the city.  The shock wave knocked down row upon row of the little wooden houses that lined the shore and fires from stoves and fireplaces swept through the wreckage.  It was total, utter disaster.  The desperate city officials sent out a plea for help and one of the first respondents was the city of Boston, which sent a trainload of supplies and personnel, includig doctors and nurses.  And every Christmas -- to this day -- the city of Halifax presents Boston with a huge Christmas tree, a token of the city's gratitude and appreciation.
By the time we've worked our way through the series of rooms documenting the explosion and its aftermath -- including recorded accounts from the survivors -- it's time for lunch.  We find a waterfront restaurant -- Murphy's -- and I decide I've had enough lobster, so I order a Fisherman's Platter.  It is the best Fisherman's Platter I have ever eaten anywhere, ever in my whole life.  Fish doesn't turn Xingxing on, but he enjoys the bread and butter.
Now, it's time for our tour to Peggy's Cove.

The King George Hotel in Halifax is Super Dog-Friendly

The description of a hotel as "dog friendly" can mean anything from "dogs allowed" to "dogs welcome".  Many hotels and motels that say they're "dog friendly" will put you in a room where the frayed carpets stink of tobacco.  That's not exactly what I call friendly. And if you arrive at some places without reservations, you're likely to be told that the rooms "where dogs are permitted" are already taken.

At the King George Hotel in Halifax, Nova Scotia, dogs are definitely welcome.  When you check in, you are presented with a "goody bag" that contains a brace of dog dishes (one for food, one for water) a fluffy flannel blanket, dog treats and poop bags tied up with a gold ribbon.  There's also a sign you can personalize with your dog's name and hang on the door of your room if you have to go out and leave your dog behind.  (Most places won't even allow you to leave your dog in the room)
But what's really special are the travel tips that focus on natural remedies.  Is your dog stressed out from travel?  Try a pinch of ground valerian root mixed in with food.  Or soak a doggie treat in chamomile tea.There are suggestions for the kinds of minor ailments that might occur during a trip, as well.  Yellow dock treatment kills ear mites.  And echinacea tea is good for minor cuts on a paw.  Urinary tract problems can be warded off with dandelion root. (I never knew that) Sprinkle several drops of the tincture or a teaspoon of ground root on your dog's food several times a week.  And you can boost your dog's immune system with a pinch of antioxidant herbs, which include oregano, dill, thyme, peppermint, sage, lemon balm and cinnamon.
Xingxing loves cinnamon.  I use it at home, to control ants.  If you sprinkle a bit of cinnamon where you see ants, the ants disappear -- unless your dog gets to the cinnamon first!  But I never knew it was an antioxidant.  Did you?

Lunenberg: A Mystery and a Lobster Roll

Halifax is English and it is all about shipbuilding and seafaring.  The city is built upon a hill that rises from the harbor, which is the second largest harbor in the world.  (Sydney Harbor is the largest)  There are dozens and dozens of pubs, which is pretty much what you'd expect in a seafaring town.
Early in the morning, we wander down to the waterfront past closed pubs that reek of beer.  We've got another tour in a few hours, to Lunenberg but I'm still reeling from all those hours on the train and I consider giving it a miss. What do you think? I ask Xingxing.  He wags, happily.  Whatever I decide is fine with him. This is one of the joys of traveling with a dog.
My itinerary said the tour featured a guide clad in an authentic kilt,  and that sounded like fun.  I was thinking it would make a cute photo for this blog -- Xingxing with a guy wearing a kilt.  So we decide to go. However, our guides's name was Barbara and she was wearing a tartan skirt. Really nice, but not the same as a kilt. Even so, Lunenberg turned out to be well worth the trip.
All this part of Canada was claimed by England, but when the Brits couldn't persuade  their fellow citizens to colonize this isolated bit of the Empire, they advertised for settlers in Germany and Switzerland, promising free land to anyone hardy enough to farm it.  Lunenberg was founded in 1753, although the farmers soon became fishermen and boat builders. Of course, the first public building they built was a church -- St. Johns,  in 1754.  Amazingly, nothing much has changed since then, as we saw during a walking tour that took us from the top of Lunenberg to the waterfront.  The original wood houses still stand, and one of them has remained in the same family for seven generations. Some of them are quite spectacular, which is why Lunenberg -- like Old Quebec -- is a UNESCO Heritage Site.
St. John's was a fine example of the architecture that put Lunenberg on the UNESCO map.  So it was an utter disaster when it burned to the ground in November, 2001.  Fortunately -- and thanks to the submissions that had to be made to UNESCO -- there was no shortage of photographs of the interior and exterior of the church, which was totally rebuilt by 2005, and is an exact replica of the original.  That in itself is a sort of miracle.
But the real miracle is the pattern of stars in the nave.  The original nave had also been painted to represent a star-studded, night sky, but nobody knew when it was painted, whether it actually meant anything or even who the artist had been.  And there was only an incomplete set photographs.  The artist who was given the task of recreating the original ceiling decided to consult an astronomer, who -- working with the information available and assisted by computer programs -- concluded that the original stars represented the way the sky would have looked over Lunenberg on the night Christ was born!  But how would anyone have known that, 250 years ago?
The Lunenberg waterfront is lined with restaurants, and we sort of tagged along with Barbara and a few other members of our group to The Old Fish Factory, where Barbara managed to get us seated at the last empty table -- there were several other tour busses in town, and the restaurants were packed out.  I ordered a lobster roll.  It was amazing.  I would not have thought you could fit  so much lobster into a bread roll.  There was as much lobster in that roll as in an entire lobster dinner.  And not little shreds of lobster, but great, big chunks.  It was delicious, better than any lobster I've had in years. It reminded me of the Maine lobster we used to have as a special treat during the summer, on the Jersey Shore.
I offered some to Xingxing, who didn't care for it.  I ended up bringing half of it back to the hotel, and having it for dinner.  That worked out well, because by the time we got back to Halifax we were both so tired that we were in bed and asleep before the sun had set.

An Impulse Purchase and a Narrow Bed on a Long Train

We both sleep late.  Yesterday was a long day.  And today is our last day in Quebec.  I can't believe it. Where has the time gone?

At ten tonight (way past our usual bedtime) we'll be driven to a station on the other side of the river where we'll board the over-night train to Halifax.  I've arranged for a late check out, so we can have a nap in the afternoon.  I'm usually in bed by 8 PM, so this is going to be a bit of a stretch for me.

I'd planned to sign up for a narrated walking tour of the Old City, but by the time we'd walked in the park (first things first, when you're traveling with a dog) and had breakfast, the morning tour had already departed.

I still had the Self-Guided Walking Tour.  We'll do that, I told Xingxing.  But this time we'll pay attention and do it properly. And off we went, conscientiously following the map and reading the placards and appreciating the history and the architecture until we came to the city walls.  You can actually walk around on top of the walls, which are made of stone and aren't all that high.  But I guess before the days of tanks and drones -- not to mention nuclear devices -- city walls didn't need to be terribly high.  We return along Rue Saint-Jean.  I see something called Paillards, dozens of people lined up buying bread.  Suddenly, I'm hungry.  We go in and I buy a delicious sandwich called the New Yorkais.  Turkey, swiss cheese, sun dried tomatoes, onion, lettuce and I don't know what else, on a completely divine, freshly baked crusty roll.  Yum!

After lunch and wine, the nap.  And packing.  And one last walk around Quebec.  Purely by accident, we find ourselves in front of the shop with that stunning handbag.  And this time, it's open.  I hesitate.  I can tell it's going to be too expensive.  And it is.  But I buy it anyway.  Xingxing loves it.  He loves the way it smells. Believe me, the photo doesn't do it justice.

We have a long wait for the car that takes us to the train, and even a longer wait for the train itself, which is an hour late.  The station is very small, and the train is very long.  So it has to stop three times -- because it massively overlaps the little station -- and passengers board depending upon which coach they're riding in.

Our compartment has bunk beds.  They are small and narrow. But we're tired, and shoe-horn ourselves in. The train stops three times between here and Halifax, and I've arranged to be awakened at the first stop (at dawn) so Xingxing can get out and do what dogs do.  When I wake up, the sun is shining and my heart sinks.  What if we've missed the stop?  We haven't.  The train is running two hours late, and that's why they didn't wake me up.  

They serve breakfast on the train, and lunch.  It is always a long ride, 18 hours normally. But this train seems to be going very slowly.  Is this my imagination?  No.  Turns out, there's been a terrible accident somewhere to the south.  A whole train of oil tankers derailed. An entire town destroyed.  Initially, they think it might have something to do with the heat wave.  Apparently, if the tracks get too hot and the trains go too fast, the tracks buckle and the trains derail.  So we're taking no chances.

For a while, we travel along Chaleur Bay, but most of the route is inland.  We pass through forests, and small towns and end up arriving in Halifax four hours late, at 9.30 PM.  We're all offered partial refunds.  Fifty percent off your next rail ticket, provided you purchase it within six months.  But of course, this won't be much use to us. Still, I think it is a nice gesture.

When we finally reach our hotel, I feed a famished little Xingxing (his food was in my luggage, which was in the baggage car and unaccessible) and order room service for myself.  

This, I decide, was one train too many. It feels wonderful to stretch out in a real bed, with a real mattress.  Xingxing thinks so, too.

Le Massif de Charlevoix Train: Truly a Moveable Feast

Up at the crack of dawn and out onto the Quebec cobblestones for our morning walk, because we've got to be ready to be picked up at 9 AM and catch the train to Le Massif de Charlevoix.  We wander past that shop with the beautiful handbag, again.  Of course, the shop isn't open yet.  Just as well, I think.
Le Massif de Charlevoix Train runs on its own little track built so close to the St. Lawrence River that it is sometimes flooded. Even on an overcast day like today, the views are amazing. We embark at Montmorency Station and roll peacefully past a handful of ancient little villages and the Cap Tourmente National Wildlife Reserve, where 175,000 migrating wild geese gather each September. Le Train only has two destinations:  the towns of Baie-Saint-Paul and Malbaie, the latter 87 miles north of Quebec and a popular destination for skiing during the winter.
But you don't take Le Train just for the scenery, or even the skiing.  Instead of riding in an ordinary seat, you're seated at a table. There's a reason for this. Le Train is not just transportation. It is also a gastronomic journey.
We begin with breakfast.  Actually, we begin with  a Mimosa, followed by croissants, jam and butter.  Xingxing is rapidly developing a taste for French croissants and French butter, and I have no choice but to share.  Then an amazing omelet, and wonderful little sausages. (Everything has a pedigree. The eggs come from a particular farm, as do the sausages) And a tiny pastry and coffee, of course.   One of the things I like about Quebec dining is that the portions are so reasonable you don't feel guilty about eating everything on your plate. But then again -- as everyone knows -- French women don't get fat.
After breakfast, Xingxing curls up and goes to sleep under the seat, and I settle down to watch the changing vistas along the river. Sometimes we're so close to the water that if I opened my window and tossed out an apple, it would land among the floating birds.
We stop at Baie-Saint-Paul, also known as the Cultural Capital of Quebec.  We'll spend three hours here, browsing the fascinating galleries and boutiques and perhaps stopping for a glass of wine at one of the many cafes.  That's the plan, anyhow.  But they're burying the power lines, and they've dug up the entire main street, which is now a vast expanse of sand, rock and earth-moving equipment.  The fascinating galleries and shops are still there, but there are great chunks missing from what used to be the sidewalk and -- with Xingxing in a stroller -- the whole thing rapidly becomes a bit of a challenge.
So we walk along the river, instead.  And here we find the delightful Mouton Noir, where the glass of Canadian red wine I enjoy on the shady, quiet riverfront terrace is so delicious that I order a second.  There's beautiful, crusty French bread, too.  Xingxing is in heaven.
Back on the train, we proceed north to Malbaie.  This is where the journey ends, if you're lucky enough to be staying at the Fairmont Le Manoir Richelieu.  We aren't, but never mind.  There's enough time during the stopover for Xingxing to walk around and do what dogs do. And we've still got our Four Course Gourmet Dinner to come. This begins shortly after we pass Baie-Saint-Paul again, with an exquisite salad of tiny beets and honey-caramelized pecans, dressed with cider cream and garnished with apple chips.  This is followed by a second appetizer of rolled duck and veal sweetbread with a thyme aioli and a compote of lentils and citrus.
 For my main course I've chosen grilled Charlevoix veal with organic prosciutto, which comes with perfectly cooked baby vegetables and rosti potatoes seasoned with rosemary.
Don't worry, Xingxing's got his own dinner -- the staff on the train kindly kept it in the refrigerator for him. However, there was many an envious glance at the veal, and I finally let him have a taste -- but just a little taste!  I remind him that he is a dog, after all.  He is not impressed.
Dessert is an extravaganza of four separate, beautifully presented miniatures:  A seasonal berry trio in a chocolate cup, two tiny blueberry macaroons held together with chocolate ganache, strawberry brunoise and Mistelle Saboyan.
These fabulous meals are planned by Executive Chef Patrick Turcot, of the Fairmont Le Manor Richelieu.
The sun is setting.  During the ride home, I doze.  We get back to Quebec at 9 PM, which makes it a really long -- if thoroughly delicious -- day.  We're both tired. Would I do it again?  Absolutely!