The saying goes: nothing good happens after 1 a.m. Well, nothing really happens at all after 1 a.m. at Edmonton International Airport, where arrived for the first leg of our great adventure: the 1 a.m. flight from Edmonton to the Centre of the Universe, aka Toronto, We strolled to and fro through a largely deserted airport, with almost nary an open shop, restaurant or bar on the gates side of Security.
Passing through Security took little time, as there was no line up at all; we walked right to the loading bins without a wait. We would have passed through in record time, had not the Bos Lady been selected — again — for the added security pat-down and scrutiny. It’s never a big deal, but the Bos Lady is clearly becoming frustrated with the extra attention on every trip we take. I tell her she needs to stop looking so shady, but so far she hasn’t taken my advice. 😃
Once on the plane, we sat for an extra thirty minutes at the gate. Our flight was identified as Westjet’s WS418. The de-icing crew at the airport not so fondly call it the Four-One-Late, because it typically leaves later than scheduled, even though it’s the last flight of every day, and nothing else is going on at the airport.
The flight to Toronto was uneventful, with no turbulence and only a few corny jokes from the Westjet crew. I managed to get some red-eye shut-eye, but the Bos Lady had trouble falling asleep. Not surprising, since it always takes her a while to nod off to Neverland. I, on the other hand, can fall asleep standing up (which confounds her mightily).
After a three-hour layover at Pearson in Toronto, we flew the second leg to Orlando. The Bos Lady actually caught a few winks, while I slept off and on to the silent toots of the gentleman beside me. Farting on a plane should be grounds for automatic ejection, right then and there, no questions asked. This guy’s flatulence had a nefarious quality: it wafted slowly to my senses, which caused the senses to pause and take spacial inventory: Hmm, what’s that smell? (sniff) Can’t quite place it yet. (sniff snifff) Wait, is that a fa—OH MAN, THAT’S BAD! DUDE, WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH THAT?!
After landing and collecting our luggage, we moseyed over to the car rental counter. There was a problem with my reservation, which was somewhat perplexing to me and the counter clerk. Until she pointed out that I had reserved with Alamo and that she was employed by National. Oops, wrong counter. She looked at me like I was
stupid, but then afforded me a sympathetic smile like one you’d give someone trying to push open a PULL door.
After the paperwork was completed, we moved over to the rental parkade where we learned we would receive a free upgrade to a mid-size model. “Pick any car from this row,” the staffer said, pointing to a row of about a dozen vehicles. “Keys are in all of ’em.” So we walked the line, noting the make and model of each one, and then selected a Jeep Patriot.
It seemed fitting to me, being in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. And home of the biggest and best patriot in the world, Mr. Donald Trump, no less!
We arrived at the Blue Heron Beach Resort 90 minutes before the 4 p.m. check-in, so we grabbed a bite to eat at the Subway next door, and then played a round of mini-golf at the neighbouring Hawaiian Rumble Mini-Golf Course to pass the time. It seems an odd name. I mean, how does rumble equate with anything to do with golf?
And come to think of it, Blue Heron Beach Resort is a bit of a misnomer, too. There isn’t any beach on Lake Bryan, which the resort’s twin towers are nestled up to. You can’t swim in the lake either, unless you like swimming with the gators. Which I’d recommend even less than trying to rent an Alamo from a National.
At 4 p.m. we checked in and checked out our condo for the week. Nice place! Beautiful view overlooking the pool and the lake, and a full kitchen where we tossed a few frozen mini pizzas into the oven. As mini pizzas go, they were pretty good. Red Baron deep dish, not a brand we Canucks are familiar with. But pretty good indeed.
And the weather? A cool day, said the locals. just 70 degrees (or 21 in Canuckese). If that’s cool, the Bos Lady and I thought, we’ll take it most graciously!
And so ended our first day of the Great Orlando Adventure 2018.
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