Senators Only

I work with a few people who sound exasperated when they have to travel around the world for business. I get one trip a year, within in Canada, and I’m thrilled out of my mind. I can’t wait until I’m old and jaded like them. My trip this year was back to Ottawa, where I was two years ago for this same conference. I’m hoping for a repeat on my sweet room at the Westin. Surely the fates will look upon me favourably, yes?...





It’s no short flight across Canada, especially when coupled with a stop in Calgary. But after a hearty breakfast at Chilis in the airport (which I always want to call “chill-jeez” thanks to their logo) and the massive time change, we arrived in Ottawa late afternoon. (We, of course, means me and my flying compatriots from the Research office at work.)



Unlike two years ago when I reigned supreme up on the 18th floor or whatever, I was now stuck in a non-upgradable room on the 8th floor with two double beds. Woe is me.





Boo hiss boo! Strangely enough (isn’t it?), I was incredibly cranky when I realized the ho-hum-ness of my room. I couldn’t control it. I eventually trudged down to registration for the conference which was to begin the next morning at the hideous hour of something like 9 AM, and was faced with a packed elevator when I attempted to head back up to my room. An elevator jammed full of men in suits stared back at me as the door hung open and I mumbled for them to continue on without me. One man tucked a few rows back shouted, “You look nice!” The whole group smiled at me as the doors shut. Okay, I feel better now.



My compatriots invited me out for dinner in the Byward Market down the street and we ended up at this Irish pub because Brad wanted Guinness. Gross. However, they did have the most heavenly-smelling carrot cake ever made.



The next couple of days flew by in a blur of accounting, research, rain, and the sights of Ottawa.



On one afternoon in particular, I had a chance to swing by Parliament Hill to gawk at all the Canadian-ness.








I like to take pictures through the gate. You wouldn’t understand. It’s a parliament thing.






That’s meeeee! (someday)


The lone Quebec photo.






Tulip Festival at Major Hill Park.



I made my way home through Byward Market, which was a little more quiet this visit than my previous, two years ago. The crazy people were still out in full force though. Ottawa has a PILE of crazy people. And I’m not counting parliamentarians.






Oh! It’s that awful Zak’s place than Janelle and I visited last time.



On the Monday night of the conference, they have their big gala dinner and it is always a fairly reserved affair. But this year during cocktails, there was this pimp guy who kept walking around and changing his suit every three to five minutes into different colours. When you’ve had three glasses of wine, this becomes very interesting. When the doors to the banquet opened, there stood the pimp underneath the disco ball, spinning tunes and the room was covered in glow sticks. WHEEEE! It’s like a rave for old people!






Yvette, rocking the glowsticks. Being the young people at the table, our enthusiasm was quite amusing to the oldies. Mostly.


No good rave is without flashing jelly rings.



What can I say…at one point before dinner but after the conga line, we were all jumping up and down to ‘I Gotta Feeling’ by the Black Eyed Peas. As I looked down on this little older fellow with glasses jumping beside me, I realized I was in the twilight zone. Awesome.

On my last full day in Ottawa I cruised downtown to find their Holt Renfrew. After peeking through what appeared to be a glorified K-Mart-style basement shop, I bolted and decided on some street meat and poutine for lunch. YUM.








Represent.



Another night, another day, and I’m heading out of town in a taxi with a driver who is yelling at his son who needs to go to the dentist. Where does the time go?



Goodbye Ottawa, and on to the next segment of the adventure – in TORONTO! I’m coming Shawn Desman!