"I" is for...what else? INCAS!

Today we had a bit more time to get the feel of Cusco. I'm going to try and get a few pictures downloaded here from the past day or two. When we arrived at our hotel, The Prisma, the first thing we were told to do was to drink some coca tea. We weren't even supposed to go to our rooms until we had had a cup. I guess more people suffer from altitude sickness than the tourist board really lets on, everyone seemed very concerned. I suppose that us spoiled and unfit North Americans don't really have a great reputation, you know, I'm sure we come roaring in like arrogant know-it-alls a lot of the time. I liked the coca tea...an awful lot. It tasted like green tea, and it seemed to have a calming effect, like chamomile I suppose. A few people were afraid to drink it...the 'derivative of cocaine" business, and the fact that a drug dog at an airport will often hit on it, but its not "like that". Its just tea. The Inca Trail porters chew it by the handful, as do a lot of trekkers. Its a homeopathic medicine. And, what's more, it worked.



My first of many cups of coca tea.



Our hotel is the very last building on the left, the creamish coloured one. There was our hotel on the street, and dozens of mattress places. Look at them all! There were also optometrists interspersed with the mattress places, a story of which comes into play in a few days. Sweet Eddy, our local guide, explained that in Cusco, all the similar stores are in the same area, (ie) all the mattress places are in a few block radius, the same as all the dentists, optometrists and so forth. It makes it easier to comparison shop, and really, isn't that a great idea? The dead animal area was bit disconcerting...and yes, pictures will be shown.


Mattresses, stacked up as far as you can see.



 As we walked down the street towards to Plaza de Armas, the central square of Cusco, the streets are lined with doors. You never know what sort of magical place might be behind one of these doors, some are open and you get a tantalizing peek at whats hiding back there.

 Believe it or not, this is one of the original Inca walls, still lining the streets of the city. It's true, what they say, that even after all these years, you still cannot fit a credit card between the blocks...all hand made and no mortar used. Astounding.

 Some of the brightly coloured displays of handcrafts along the sides of the streets.

 We walked into a t-shirt shop, to the back, and out a door into this somewhat decrepit courtyard, up some stairs and entered a fantastic restaurant. It had everything going for it except the name..."Inka-licious". Oh well, who am I to be critical? I was more concerned with trying some of the great Peruviuan cuisine Ive been reading about. I had a salad with avocado, grilled zucchini, roasted tomatoes...all chemical and pesticide free...ahhh, my taste buds felt like they had been reborn. And if that wasn't enough, how about some ceviche, with a side of two types of corn. Even though it looks like macaroni salad on the right, its the Peruvian Giant White corn...one of the reasons that Peru has banned GMO's and Monsato...once a GMO is introduced, well, things change. I had an interesting discussion about McDonald and Starbucks with our guide, I'll get to that later.

 Some more beautiful wares, alpaca scarves.

The one thing that was really hard to get used to is the "no toilet paper in the toilet". Its like in Greece, the sewage infrastructure is just so poor that you simply don't put the tp in the toilet. None. Not even for "that". I think its harder for women, because (this might be too much info for fellas), but we sit, wipe and drop the paper. Guys just stand and pee, no wiping needed.  I was constantly forgetting, and then holding my breath as I flushed, praying that there would be no overflowing of the toilet.  I"m sure that tons of tp ends up going down the drains, but I felt so bad every time I forgot. One of the girls that was our guide in Puno had just been to Calgary for a visit and she was most amazed at central heating, and being able to flush toilet paper...actually being told to flush it. She emailed pix of herself doing just that to her mom in Peru.

This blog entry didn't turn out to be much of an "I" for Inca, but I did put the picture of the wall. And I did touch it.

After lunch we wandered through the Plaza and headed towards the market. Oh, the market. What a place...I'll put those pictures up in the next post.

"H" is Horrid ATM machines and How did they do that? And Huffing and puffing from the altitude.

I love Cusco. I really do, it's like the best mixture of colonialism and Havana and parts of Africa as well as bits of Spain, and of course the Inca.
I'm not liking this iPad version of Blogger because the pictures will only download at the end of the blog, and you can't put a comment beside them. And the Safari version doesn't have a way to load pictures from the iPad to their site.
Point being, I'll finish up a bit of an explaination of Cusco, then I'll blog properly when I get home, which is only a couple of days from now.
So these are comments that don't really need pictures.

First of all, thank the gods that I'm anal and bring cash, for fear that my debit and credit cards won't work, because guess what? My debit and credit cards won't work. I tried two or three different ATM machines, all at reputable banks, and every one said things like "We do not recognize this card" and "error in reading card" and sometimes a Spanish sentence would appear that I couldn't decipher, it either said "Notify your bank" or "WE are notifying your bank". In any case, I'm thinking I might have to actually go into a bank and get a cash advance on my MasterCard, and that's a piss off. But hey, for the time being I have cash in my pocket and I'm in South America on a sunny day. Can't ask for more than that. Except maybe a working debit card and perhaps some coffee. All they serve here is "Nescafé". Ah yes, the infamous Nescafé. It was the same in Africa, a country that grows some of the best coffee in the world, yet they serve Nescafé. Very same here, Peru exports phenomenal coffee, yet they are so proud of their Nescafé.

In any sidewalk cafe:
Me : Cafe? preparado?
He: Si. Nescafé
Me: Nescafé instante. (Making a sad face)
He: Si. Nescafé.
Me: Necesito cafe preparado.(trying to look pleading)
He: Si, Si, Nescafé! (Looking very happy at having solved this crisis)
Me: Si, Nescafé. Con leche. (said in a pretend Happy Voice)

It's very discouraging

Anyhow, after exchanging some money, or attempting to, and having a refreshing coffee, or attempting to, we had some downtime to just wander the Plaza de Armas, the centre of the city. It's a truely beautiful city, "founded" by the Spanish in 1532, in reality however, the Killke were pre-Inca from 900-1200, and the Incas were there from 1300 until the Spanish came and decided to colonize it. They replaced indigenous temples with Catholic Churches, and replaced palaces with mansions for the invaders. I'll show some pictures as soon as I get home, showing how the Spanish used the walls of the Inca temples as foundations for their church. You can see how the church walls have shifted and moved and partially collapsed due to earthquakes, yet the Inca walls are still so exact that you literally (and you know that I know how to use "literally" correctly) you literally cannot slide a credit card between the rocks. How did they do that?

We actually toured this church the following day, so I'll tell a few more tales about it then, And show some pictures.

So now it's about supper. We went to Los Toldos Pollos, a chicken place, roasted chicken and fries. It's a dish that the Peruvians are extremely proud of, and they suggest it at every meal, but really, it's like chicken on a spit, the same kind we get at any supermarket, and fries. They love it however,and ya gotta try what the locals eat. It was fine, but not what I'd consider peruvian cuisine. We also thought we should try some Peruvian wine. There was only a white, called Tacama. Little tip: Dont try it. Chile is next door, bite the bullet and drink a great Chilean wine.

So after dinner, a few of us went to a local pub, a very cool little place down a side street, down some stairs, sort of like a rocky basement turned into a nice bar and had pisco sours. The place actually specialized in them, it was called The Pisco Museum. The pisco sour is the national drink. Ummm....it packs a punch. I'm a lightweight and less than a half a drink was all I could manage.

Headed back to the hotel, and I decided to take the altitude meds. I didn't want to, I'd rather not put weird chemicals in my body, but I was pretty winded and had a faint headache and upset tummy. I could feel my heart pound after I walked up the two flights of stairs, and I just didn't want to get sick this soon in the trip, so,I decided to take the Diamox for a day or two, suck back lots of coca tea and toss the malaria pills.

So I huffed and puffed my way upstairs and slept like a log. It may have been a combination of Tacama wine, pisco sours and Diamox, but the magic was there and I didn't move all night.

I will try to add one photo here, of the magnificent Inca walls that still run throughout the city

"G" is for Gastronomy both Good and Gruesome.

We arrived at the Lima airport once again, but the line ups were minimal, the security was quite lax, we are allowed to bring in our water bottles, large shampoo bottles...none of this "3 ounces or less" concern over here.

We were told there would be an hour delay as the flight from Bolivia was late and they would need to clean the plane, but the delay was only about a half hour...not sure if they cleaned quickly or not at all. The snacks on the plane were a type of salty plantain chip, and the most delicious shortbread/carmel square I have ever had. Bakery quality goods, apparently Peruvians have a sweet tooth, so I should fit in nicely.

The flight was only an hour, we landed on time, gathered our baggage (I am the only one with just a carry on...yikes, hope I haven't packed too light) and once again were shuttled off. We were at our hotel by noon and before we could even breath we were hustled off to the breakfast area where we were given coca tea and told to drink it. It wasn't a suggestion but more of an order. We had gone from sea level, which of course is more or less 0 elevation (I think Lima is actually 200 feet) to almost 12,000 feet. Altitude sickness has nothing to do with how fit you are, your age, your health, it's just one of those things that can affect anyone, and coca tea and/or chewing the coca leaf is a proven and natural preventative. That, and hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Water is 2 soles a bottle, which is about .75.

Our hotel is called The Prisma, and it looks like its a great place. Lots of little hallways, nooks and crannies, little sitting areas scattered throughout. I have 2 beds in my room, so lots of room to spread out my stuff.

The local hotels don't have central heating so the beds have a feather duvet as well as two of the heaviest, thickest woolen blankets I have ever seen. If I lay down under all of that it's like I'm being smothered, I don't sleep with blankets anyhow, so I do the frantic kick & struggle to untuck them and fling them away. Although with no central heat in the hotels, and the fact that it cools down to maybe 6 or 7 at night, I might start to regret that.

We got ourselves somewhat organized and took a walk to the Plaza de Armas to orient ourselves a bit, exchange some money, stretch our legs, and of course to start trying the Peruvian food.

Our hotel is at the end of a small street which has a dentist, a couple of small stores that sell water, pop, candy and souvenir type things, and about 20 mattress stores. We are apparently in the mattress district, and who knew there was such a thing? The mattresses are jammed in these tiny little stores, all propped up on their end, so you certainly can't lay down on one. There must be thousands and thousands of mattresses on our street. And I mean that literally. And I literally mean literally, not figuratively.....one of my peeves is when people use "literally" wrong.

So we wandered down the cobblestone street, the entire city is cobblestones. Beautiful to look at, but you need to watch where you walk, it's easy to roll an ankle. Especially when you're a gawking, camera toting, water guzzling tourist.

The stop lights are the type that have the countdown so you know how many seconds until the light changes. When it goes green, the little man does the salsa. OK, that's not true, but it really looks like it, his legs flash and move, as in "walk", but I prefer to pretend its the salsa.

The lights are also surrounded by beautiful wrought iron in an art nouveau style, like the metro stops in Paris. Probably nothing makes a Peruvian shake their head more than a tourist who stands in the middle of the road and takes pictures of the lights. Most crosswalk give you 30 seconds to cross, although some are 45, and when the lights changes, you'd better damn well be out of the way. Pedestrians do NOT have the right of way. Like in Rome, try to follow a nun, no one will run over a nun.

Eddy wanted to show us a restaurant that wasn't too touristy and that had some good, local dishes, so we walked into a T-shirt shop, tacky T-shirts no less, and continued to the back of the store which opened into a little courtyard, where we walked up a flight of stairs that looked like it was going to someone's house, but we ended up at a tiny place that had everything going for it but the name...Inkalicious.

I wasn't really hungry, but the menu looked so tempting...I really wanted an alpaca burger, but I knew I couldn't eat a whole burger, as I was deciding they brought the tray of...bread? No. Corn chips? No. Peanuts? No. They brought a wicker basket of tiny gooseberries still in their loose skins that you need to peel off, and a dish of corn nuts....but not the packaged North American ones that smell like dogs feet, but warm, salty, crunchy kernels of corn. Of course I ate those and was even less hungry, so Esther, who is another woman traveller who is travelling solo, and myself decided to share a salad and ceviche. The salad had avocados, grilled zucchini, roasted tomatoes....so good. The ceviche was trout, and quite spicey, but it was also excellent. It also came with two types of corn. Corn and potatoes are major staples here.

After that we went to a local market. It took us quite a while to walk there, between stopping at little stores, markets, money exchange places, gazing, photo-taking and the like. Just as well as it gave our lunch a change to settle because the local market was...quite an adventure.

As we walked away from the centre of the town, the area became a bit more dirty, and, for lack of a better word right now because it's midnight and I hiked up half mountain earlier today, I'll say the streets were disheveled. A lot of garbage bags on the sidewalk, but I found out later that the vendors put the bags out at the end of their day and they are collected later in the evening. Meanwhile, the stray dogs, of which there are many, many, many and it breaks my heart, scavenge. But it's all cleaned up by the following morning,and the streets are even hosed down. We just happened to be there near the closing of the market.

I just want to mention that from the amount of stray dogs you would expect dog poop to be everywhere but you never see it, never. And that's because of the hosing of the roads every night. Its not always "hosing" either, I saw people dumping buckets of soapy water on the cobblestones and scrubbing the street with a broom.The people are very proud of their city and they seem to work very hard at keeping it looking good.

Anyhow, back to the market. There are quite a few vendors outside selling everything from popcorn to wheels of cheese to street-meat-kabobs to fresh squeezed juices. The market itself is HUGE, hundreds of stalls inside a gigantic building. It's one block wide and three blocks long, a buzzing hive of activity. When you first enter the doors you can turn left and there is the meat/fish area, selling everything from feet, heads, windpipes, innards, snouts and skulls, as well as the more common things like chops and steaks. It's gruesome. No refrigeration and flies and dogs are everywhere. Can't possibly be safe to eat, certainly not for non-Peruvians.

Beside that is the milk and yogurt stalls, non-pasteurized of course and sits there from early morning to late evening, again, not refrigerated.

And beside that is the "restaurant" and I use the term lightly, but the locals can get a hot meal with a vegetable and a drink for 1 sole, which is about 70 cents. And obviously their system is used to it.

The rest of the building has everything you can imagine....everything, fruit stalls, dozens of them, veggie stalls, grains, potatoes....hundreds of varieties, flower stalls, tiny little "stores" no bigger than a bathroom, a small bathroom that is, where you can buy canned goods, liquor, some candy and comics, things like aspirin and shampoo, like a mini 7-11. Shoeshine places, barbers, hair salons, toy stores that are full of cheap Chinese toys that are probably banned in North America.

The building seemed to have built over the road because the floor was exactly that, cobblestoned road...and quite filthy too, But it was vibrant and colourful, loud and bustling. Dogs and little kids running all over.

Outside are more vendors sitting on the ground with their wares laid out. Lots of food and many, many with blankets loaded with herbs and other naturopathic healing meds. Some probably work, others, like the snakes in alcohol in an old Coke bottle probably don't. That was gruesome too. I guess the only good stuff was the fruit, veg, and grains, many things I'd never heard of, but on the culinary day, the chef will explain many of them, and let us taste. Looking forward to that!

Well, since pictures don't don't seem to want to download very well. I think I'll publish this and then. Add the pictures later.

"F" is for Failure of fotos to show up

See how I spelled "fotos" with an F?
I wanted to show a picture of the 4 hour hotel room, and the Lima airport, but even though the blog said "successful publication", the pictures weren't there, so here's another try.

"E" is for Elation and also Exhaustion.

Well, we arrived in Lima a half an hour early, which foolishly led us to believe that we'd arrive at our hotel at a reasonable hour and manage to get a reasonable nights sleep and rise at a reasonable hour the next morning. Alas, the gods had other plans, and "reasonable" was not included.

We had to wait on the Tarmac for 15-20 minutes, so that was a delay, which meant that the line up into immigration was huge, so that was a delay, which meant that the crowds around the baggage carousel were huge, so THAT was a delay. So our shuttle driver couldn't find us...he went one way, we went another, so THAT was a delay....oh domino theory, how I hate you.

However, everything soon fell into place and we shuttled off to our hotel. The ride into Miraflores, which is the area of Lima where we stayed, was interesting, I was surprised at the amount of night clubs and casinos, all lit up Vegas style. But then again, I hadn't realized that Lima has a population of over 11 million. Who knew? It's a huge, cosmopolitan city.

Our guide, whose name is Eddy, is an extremely likable kid with the most interesting past, which I'll tell you about later. He's also very cute and as he was telling us about the cuisine in Lima he mentioned had a sweet tooth, so his nickname instantly became "Sweet Eddy". He was quite concerned that we take our altitude sickness meds, I was planning on only taking them if I needed them, but for them to be effective you need to start taking them a day or two before you ascend, and of course if you wait that long, they're apparently not so effective. It's a half a pill in the AM and a half a pill at night, so what the hell. The travel nurses, doctors and other specialists know more than me. I will discuss this in more detail later.

After what seemed like a lifetime of being on the shuttle we arrived at the Hotel Britannia. Whenever I see the word "Britannia" I get an almost uncontrollable urge to sing that old song "Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the WORLD"' and stomp around like a proud British school child during WW2, but I digress. All of us had been up since about 5 AM and now it was well after midnight, we just wanted our room keys. Is that so much to ask? But the gods weren't done with us yet.

We were asked to give out passports to the clerk, by law they need to record your passport number. It's a common procedure in many places throughout the world. But there's one in every crowd. One fellow refused to give his, he was "uncomfortable" letting his passport out of his hands, to a "stranger". It's not like the clerk was working in a back alley somewhere, it's a respectable hotel. Anyhow, mine is not to wonder why, mine is just to do or die. It took another 20 minutes, but finally it was all worked out and we were give our keys. And a good nights sleep was the expectation everyone had. But the gods had to have one final laugh. We needed to be UP at 5:30 next day. What? Turns out that our flight to Cusco leaves at 9:30 the next AM. Lima is a pit stop until later. Ye gods.... I don't cope well with 4 hours sleep.

My room was cute, very plain and simple, but all you need when your only going to be there for 4 hours. Do I sound a bit sarcastic? But perhaps the gods were testing us.

I arose, stumbled bleary eyed into the little cafe and sucked down some coffee, had a bun with some cheese and pineapple marmalade (yes, all on the same bun. It was early and I wasn't thinking yet) Our shuttle arrived and off we went, back to same airport that we had just been at, mere minutes ago.

Driving in the daylight this time, I could se a bit more of the city. It looks like a cross between Havana and Cancun, I'm looking forward to seeing more it in a couple of weeks

The sky is overcast, Vancouver style, Lima being on a westerly coast as well as Vancouver, but generally with a lot less rain, it's actually quite arid most of the time.

"D" is for Departure.

I didn't know how much walking I'd get in the next couple of days, what with all the plane travel, so I decided to have dinner at the hotel and then walk over to the airport and "do laps" I'm not used to not walking every day. Anyhow, I had a fantastic spinach salad, filled with cranberries and walnuts and a creamy soft chèvre, some other nuts and seeds and strawberries all topped with a gingery vinaigrette. It was SO tasty. And a diet 7-up, which is odd for me because I just don't drink pop.

Then I went outside and since it was so beautiful I figured I'd walk around the airport. Yeah, good luck, there are dead ends everywhere and you can't go anywhere other than up and down in front of the drop off spots which were so busy that I couldn't go three feet without having to dodge carts laden with towers of luggage being manned by hasty, hurried people.

I decided that inside was a better bet, so in I went and started striding. I found a route and did about 4 laps, but when I started recognizing people as I whooshed by them, I had second thoughts, imaging phone calls to the airport police complaining about a middle aged woman running through the airport with spinach in her teeth.

So I just went back to my room and watched a rerun of Two and Half Men.

Woke up at 5:39, wide awake with excitement and trepidation. Got ready and headed over to the airport and the first people I saw were Margy and Carla, the organizers of the tour, as well as a few others that were going.

We all headed off to the US check in. Yeah, I know about the US paranoia and yeah, I'd rather be searched than get on a plane with someone who has dynamite in their pants (I mean that literally, not figuratively or obscenely) but sheesh...what a gong show.

Check in, get your boarding pass, walk 10 feet, show your boarding pass and passport, walk a few more feet to immigration, show your boarding pass and passport, go thru metal detector, show your passport, get your bag open and show your liquids...am I gonna get in trouble for bringing a 4 ounce container into a three ounce world? Shoes off, watch off, belt off, hurry, hurry, hurry, people are starting to pile up behind you, go thru metal detector again, hold breath as the X-ray lady backs up your case for another look......fak, am I going to airport jail for the toothpaste I stashed in my carry on? After a final squint she decides that whatever it is isn't a threat to US security. Stumble out of the way, shoelaces flapping, belt dangling, jacket grasped in one hand, trying to be quick and prompt. I need a coffee. The others, who are all equally disheveled eye up a Starbucks, but thank goodness a Tim Hortons was closer. You know the whole Starbucks thing and me.

Have coffee and go to our gate to board. Show passport and boarding pass, walk down the jetway thing, I don't know what it called, and show your boarding pass one final time. *whew*. I have a real love/hate relationship with airports.

Four hours to Houston where we had a two hour layover. Went for a quick lunch, a Stromboli, better than your average airport food, which is a plus for Houston, but the bathrooms were revolting, a double-minus for Houston.

While sitting at our gate, I noticed my seat number was GTE. "Odd" I thought, "Do they have some new code for seating, maybe a terrorist protection thing?" I went to ask the woman at the Gate and she said "oh, it means Gate, to come and see us." I got momentarily excited, thinking that maybe I was getting an upgrade? Imagine my dismay and annoyance when she told me it meant they didn't have a seat for me. Triple negative for Houston, even though it was a United error.

But, to make a long story short, she found me a seat on the (overbooked) flight, and it was an exit so I had more than enough legroom. Who ever says that on a plane? I could stick my feet straight out and still not touch the seat in front of me. And I did, just because I could.

Other than the seat glitch, United impressed me. Free headphones, and they were nice padded ones, the exit seat reclined (often they don't) the movie selection was good, I watched "Guilt Trip" (Seth Rogan and Barbra Striesand), and I guffawed a few times because I could SO see me in Barbra's character, then watched about 20 minutes of "Jack Reacher" (come on Tom Cruise, what's with THAT? Did you just need some extra cash to pay Katie's bills or to rent out another Disney castle for Suri? Talk about a useless, senseless movie) and also "The Hobbit- an unexpected journey" which was an unexpected pleasure.

Oh, another minus was the dinner. I know, I know, it's airplane food, but this was some whole new genre of terrible. Beef cannelloni in some sort of oily sauce. I think mine might have been the display model and thus it was plastic. I managed to hack off a small chunk, but I couldn't even swallow it. Luckily there was a bag of veggies and fresh brown bun to sustain me.

There was a beautiful sunset that also sustained me.

The flight was 6.5 hours and 3160 miles. Landed in Peru at 10:05.

"C" is for Canada, land of Casual Co-pilots & Comfy beds.

We are on our way! I know that some people "start" their holiday on arrival, but I start mine the minute I leave the house, and I savor every moment.

The plane left Cranbrook on time and the co-pilot told us we'd be 40 minutes in the air, and we were....to the minute. Canadians are so punctual. And I love living in an area where flying is still so casual....not only is the cockpit door not locked....there isn't EVEN a cockpit door. The co-pilot looked to be about 14 years old, I don't think he's started shaving yet and he welcomed us aboard and told us that if we were too hot or too cold, to just tap either him or the pilot on the shoulder....whichever of them looked to be the least busy, and they'd adjust the temperature.

It was pretty warm on the little plane, but I was fearful that an unexpected shoulder tap might cause all sorts of mayhem, 14 year olds tend to be jumpy at the best of times, so I refrained from any unnecessary touching of the cockpit crew. It was a short flight anyhow.

I'm staying at the Delta Hotel, which is attached to the airport, the departures gates are approximately a one minute walk from my room....seriously....what a nice treat, no super early rising and no worrying about catching a shuttle. The room is soundproofed, (so they say) the bed is a king size with 5 pillows and a feather duvet and a Keurig is supplied with a good selection of coffee, what more could you possibly want in a hotel room? Some cream would be nice, to be honest. There is only that packaged Coffee Mate powder, which is quite revolting. I wandered through the airport, checking all the coffee places, thinking I'd grab a few creamers, but wouldn't you know....everyone copies Starbucks now and has the silver thermos things. *sigh*, just another reason to dislike Starbucks. I couldn't even find an empty coffee cup to pour some cream in. Oh well....first world problems....

The morning flight leaves at 9 AM, we change planes in Texas and arrive in Lima at 10:30 tomorrow evening. Whoooo-hoo! Hopefully the next batch of pictures will be a bit more entertaining!

"B" is for Bucket List, Bored and Board.

I love lists. I love making them and reading them and I particularly love the satisfaction of crossing things off of them. Plus, when you're somewhat scatterbrained, as I am, things just don't get accomplished without lists; groceries, Christmas presents, Christmas cards, things to do while I'm downtown- it's sort of a symbiotic arrangement, me and lists. Well, not really, lists don't need me, but then again, my lists wouldn't exist without me...and, besides, I like that word, "symbiotic".

The trendy thing right now is The Bucket List, and you know how I hate "trendy", and now it's SO trendy that people don't even say "Bucket List", they just say "The List", as in "Whoa....that Drop of Doom fair ride was freaky....I can cross that off The List." and everyone nods and chuckles.

My list of things I want to do changes all the time. Going to Egypt used to be waaaay up there, but not so much anymore...it's not like it used to be, over there in the Middle East and the Far East. I wanted to go when it was Persia and Constantinople and Abyssinia and Siam and Ceylon. When it was magical. Now it's just a place of war. And scorpions. And gritty dust that gets in your teeth.

But Machu Picchu is still magical, even though there are more and tourists invading it every day. I first saw pictures of it when I was a little girl and if anything, my obsession with it has only increased over the years, it's been on my list of places that I really, REALLY want to see. And, tomorrow I finally get to board a plane and start my trip to see it. (See how I worked in the word "board" there?)

I'll try and blog when I can, from what I can tell most places seem to have Internet access and wifi, although there are a few days where there will be no power at all, never mind an Internet connection, so I'll catch up when I can. I hope you don't get too bored with my ruminations, I'll try to tone down historical stories....or, maybe not, it's my blog, if you're bored, just read through quickly (and see how I worked in "bored" too?)

These books are two of my favorites.

"A" is for Apprehensive and also for Advil....and Alcohol.

I don't like to fly. It's not been scientifically proven that a plane can fly. Wait....what? It has been? Well, not to my satisfaction it hasn't been. I am pretty sure that the planes I am on stay in the air simply because I concentrate and mutter "wingardium leviosa, wingardium leviosa" over and over. (Google it....you'll see...) That, and the firm hold that my clenching fingers have on the armrests, clenching and pulling upwards at the same time. The combination of those two things keeps my planes in the air. And it only has to be done for 7 minutes. Almost all crashes take place within the first 7 minutes of a flight, or the last 7, as you land. I can handle 14 minutes of spell casting and arm clenching for the good of all four or five hundred passengers.

I never, ever drink while on a plane, it dehydrates you and makes adjusting to a new time zone tougher, and besides, I'm not much of a drinker. I like a glass of wine in a nice atmosphere and a crowded, generally smelly, usually noisy, often bumpy plane just doesn't cut it for me. Plus, what if I get drunk and turn into one of those people that pee in the aisle? So I take a few Advil, the nighttime ones that relax you a bit, and save the alcohol for an enjoyable drink with dinner.

So if you look up into the sky this Friday and Saturday, and see a plane up there, winging its way south, send me a good vibe and say a gentle "wingardium leviosa" as we pass overhead.

To juice or not to juice.

Everybody is juicing. "Juice!" they say, "it's so healthy for you" they say, "look at the benefits" they say.

I'm not sure that I quite get the idea. I know it's trendy, Jennifer Anniston does it, Oprah swears by it and so does her pet Dr Oz (I cannot abide that man.....he is just creepy). I think juice bars have become the new Starbucks. There's one on every corner.

But...drinking my salad through a straw? How come? Wouldn't you rather sit down and enjoy a healthy salad? And then have a tasty bowl of fruit for dessert? Are we so busy now that we have to blend our meals and desserts into one slimy, sloppy, green sludge? And then pretend it's tasty?

Is your life truly so chock full of things to do that you can't sit with your family and enjoy a meal? If so, I really feel sorry for you.

BUT! I don't want to appear too negative or uppity. I understand some of the reasons you might feel the need to juice. Maybe your kids just can't or won't eat veggies....a glass of your magic juice indeed has lots of healthy vitamins, I get that. And that's great, really, I think it is.

And I guess there might be the odd occasion that you just have no time for a meal, although I never understood that concept. That's like when people say they have no time to read. How can that possibly be? You can always find time to do the things you enjoy, and the things that are important to you. That's kinda the point of being alive. To enjoy. But anyhow, I, as they say, digress.

What I find interesting is the people who claim that a juice cleanse removes toxins from your body. What toxins are these? What exactly are we cleansing? Doctors, nutritionists, dietitians all agree that our bodies, particularly liver and kidneys are "equipped to naturally remove toxins from our systems." And again, most doctors, nutritionists and dietitians agree that while juicing in moderation in wonderful....nothing wrong with it in the least, it's best to eat your vegetable and fruits whole. If you juice because you like it, fine, I could not care any less, but that doesn't mean you are healthier than I am.

My own self, I'd rather eat a banana, a bowl of fresh strawberries and blueberries, a crunchy apple, tart and tangy. And a huge bowl of spinach and romaine with a bit of balsamic vinegar and maybe some pink salt and freshly ground pepper...how can a glass of liquids even compare?

So, juice away folks, juice away. Enjoy your big, frothy mug of thick green stuff, I'm going to have an actual meal, use my teeth and jaws to chew and my tongue to taste, the way nature intended.

Which would you prefer?

Just a test.

I've been trying to figure out how to post the pictures from my ipad to this blog. I think I may have found an app for that. There really is an app for everything. But we will see.....

Up until now I could write my regular blog from the ipad, but I couldn't add any pictures. The other alternative was to start a whole new blog that was compatible with the ipad, and that seemed like a pain and too much work.

This may be the answer...let me try and add a photo....hang on...

Hmmm, I'm seeing the picture I chose, but it's about the size of my pinky fingernail. At least it let me access my pictures, lets see what happens when I hit the "publish" button.

The picture is Shane's dog, Sava, who is smiling with joy at her new toy set- up.

Road Trip!

We went on a little road trip this week, down to Coeur d'Alene. I love Coeur d'Alene, it's so....I don't know....quaint isn't the word, but it's something along those lines. Touristy, but not in a touristy way. And friendly?  Geez, the folks are nice. "Folks" is the right word, they're just a folksy bunch. But not hillbillies, or rednecks. Although we did see lots of big 4x4 trucks that had balls hanging from the hitch. As in "testicles", but not real ones. I asked a friendly folksy guy at a gas station what they were, and not only did he tell me (truck nuts is the term, and it's just a macho kinda guy thing) he said his buddy had a set for sale, and he actually called the guy to being them to work the next day so that we could pop back in and purchase them. We passed, but appreciated the offer. I don't need to drive around with truck nuts swinging beneath me. I could, however, see a yearning in Stevens eyes.

We stayed at the casino, which is about 30 miles south of town. It's a beautiful resort...golf course, spa, large casino, lots of restaurants, and live entertainment. And guess who we missed? The Bacon Brothers! For those of you from BC who read this, I don't mean the bad, gangster Bacon Brothers, I think they're mostly in prison or dead, I mean Kevin Bacon and his brother, who have a band and they tour places like this.  I think I may have shed a tear, in both disappointment and despair. I heart Kevin Bacon. And I really, really hate when people write "heart" instead of using ❤. Or just writing "love". So you know I mean it. 

And I had an ice cream experience. I'm not a huge fan of ice cream, but the menu said it was "prepared from fresh ingredients at your table" , which sounded fun. Our server girl brought out a table with a huge stainless steel bowl and many little bowls with mysterious powders and liquids, plus a steel pitcher, whisks and wooden spoons and big ol work gloves. She mixed fresh creme anglais  with our choice of flavours (there was Guinness & cinnamon, Jack Daniels & cayenne, huckleberry & dark chocolate , and something else which I have forgotten. We decided on the huckleberry and chocolate.

So she whisks and scrapes and whisks and scrapes and adds the liquid nitrogen, which steams and froths and billows and sputters and burns when a small drop splashes out onto your arm.  It was pretty scientific-y and chemistry-like, and it turns into the most delectable ice cream right before your eyes...oh.....so.....good.....yum!

We also did a bit of a hike, the whole area around the lake is filled with trail and paths. we stopped here:

See the hill in the middle of the picture/ It's called Tubbs Hill and  we ended up at the top of it.  Here:

I'm not sure why the flags were there. I know that they have a huge fireworks display on the lake for the July 4th weekend, so maybe from that?
And this is another view from the hill:

and then we back to the casino, where our rooms were wonderful...with a Keurig machine and a selection of coffee, decaf and regular, hot chocolate, green tea, breakfast tea as well as orange spice herbal tea....refilled daily! Yay! some of the extras ended up in my suitcase.

And if that isn't enough to make you want to race right over to Coeur D'alene...how about this elevator roof? You can fall down, either drunkenly or tiredly, and gaze at the roof and pretend you are outside. How thoughtful!

I was sad to leave, and in no hurry to get home, which was just as well as we were stuck behind this truck for miles and miles, which just goes to show that this should not have been the name on the back

 

There was an amazing full moon the other night. We were coming home from a hockey game and it was so large that it reminded me of a Saskatchewan harvest moon. It was so big and bright and  unusual for this time of year that I momentarily thought it may be an apocalyptic event. I really need to start reading a new literary genre.

So, to back track a bit, I've always felt somewhat annoyed that I could never see The Man in the Moon. For a lot of years I thought it was just an expression, and then I thought that people meant this:

And then I realized that people actually saw a face in the moon. I looked and looked and tried to imagine where it could be, I squinted my eyes and tried to picture a mouth, or eyes  or a nose in the various shadows. I looked for something  like the Mars face....there were lots of photos of that, and it is pretty interesting:

 but I could never find a picture of what this elusive Man in the Moon looked like. And the years passed.....and I pretty much forgot, because seriously, how important is it, really?  

But with today's magic Google button, one can find anything. ANYTHING. Googling things just amuses me endlessly.  So after I was gazing at this huge moon the other night, I decided that if I can't see a face in THIS giant moon, then there is simply no face to see. And nothing was there, not even an eyebrow or a dimple. And I have a pretty spectacular imagination let me tell you. 

So I came in to Google this phenomena once and for all. I discovered there are two schools of thought.  One: it's The MAN in the Moon....a figure of a hunched over man...not just a face. And of course Two: it's a face. And you know what? They are both incredibly creepy.

That's probably why crazy people and animals go even crazier during a full moon....knowing that a celestial creature of massive creepiness is watching your every move.  I feel a bit unnerved even now, during the light of day.  So I'm glad I don't see it.  Instead of that, I'm going to subscribe to the idea that the moon is made of cheese. I mean really, who doesn't love cheese?

Diamonds Aren't my Bestfriend.

It seems like every book I've read lately has had something to do with weddings. Either the main character is reminiscing about a wedding, or going to one, or trying to stop one, or dreaming about having one, or is finding death and mayhem during one.That's all sort of funny because I've never, even as a little girl, wanted to have one myself.

The thought of the planning, the details, the minutia to pay attention to, making sure everything is perfect down to the last piece of ribbon, the stress, it all chills  my blood. And doing it because "it's traditional" chills my blood even more.

And to be a bride, to be the centre of attention simply freezes my blood. I was always a little odd that way. but having said that, I have to admit that I am somewhat obsessed with looking at wedding pictures and dresses that are sparkly and coloured, and cakes and decorations...I love going to weddings...I've just never wanted to be in one.

But almost more than all that, is the cost and the marketing ploys of The Ring. It's such a scam! Really! Well, wait, maybe "scam" is the wrong word, how about "con" or "You're being Duped."?

So many women want, or hope for, or desire a diamond ring. And so many men are sadly aware of the fact that they should spend approximately two month salary to acquire this bauble. Why? Because in the 1940's, an advertising agency on Madison Avenue came up with a marketing plan for De Beers that said so. Tradition? I think not. But kudos to the marketing team, they managed to convince men that the bigger the rock, the greater the testament to their financial success and also, the greater the love.

De Beers also marketed the idea that a "used" diamond is bad luck. Of course they did! They want each couple to buy a new ring.....it doesn't do them much good if you go out and buy an antique, or use a family heirloom.

It's competitive too. Don't tell me that you haven't seen a friends ring and silently critiqued it as too large, too small, too ugly, too zirconia. Of course you have, we all have. I hate that about me, that those thoughts sometimes appear in my mind without any warning, and I don't want them there.

And of course there is the human issues to deal with. Conflict, or more commonly; blood diamonds.De Beers claims that more than 70 countries now participate in the Kimberly Process, which, in a nutshell ensures that the diamonds exported are all conflict free, involving stringent regulations. They  claim that 99.8% ofdiamonds exported from these 70 countries are conflict free.
However, the United Nations has recently released reports that as many as $23 million dollars worth of diamonds have been smuggled out from Sierra Leone in containers certified as conflict free. There's obviously far more to these stories than I know, but the point is....why do people feel the need to own diamonds at all? Oh, right, because it's tradition. From the 1940's. By a team of Madison Avenue marketers, who laughed all the way to the bank.

Experts say that if you truly feel the need to own a diamond, ask your jeweler where their diamonds come from (Canada and Australia being great choices, although there are legitimate diamond mines in Africa) and ask them to guarantee in writing that the diamond you are purchasing is not a conflict diamond. Any reputable jeweler will accommodate your request...if not, go somewhere else. If you want a diamond, don't you at least want it to represent love and happiness as opposed to hatred and death?

But first, before you buy, ask yourself this and answer super quickly the first thing that pops into your head: "Why do I want a diamond?" I will bet you that the first thing you think of is something like "Diamonds symbolize getting married/love/weddings" "He Went to Jarrod" means he loves you, "Every Kiss Begins With Kay" symbolizes true love and happiness.  Phfffft.  If you really want a diamond, by all means, get a diamond. Follow the pack. But I hope you break away from the pack and follow your own trail.

My Mothers ring, mine & my Grandmothers.

My parents wedding photo & rings.

I must have been in a bad mood this day

(I just found this in my Draft folder, boy oh boy I'm slowly turning into "that" old lady...)

I was in the library today and on the new book bookshelf  I saw a copy of "50 Shades of Gray".
I knew from the getgo that I would hate this book and that is precisely why I've avoided it.

I didn't even want to pick it up. Anything that's is cutely called "mommy porn" pretty much makes my skin crawl. The whole "50 Shades phenomena" and all resulting jokes and cartoons just bug me, bug me to pieces!

And then, I wondered why so many things bug me. Things like Starbucks and their baristas (pfffft.....baristas,  even just saying that bugs me) Things like people who follow trends and think they are "walking to the beat of their own drummer" and also people who use that expression, they bug me too. And people who always agree with you, faaaak, that really bugs me. I mean, agree with me if you actually agree with me, but don't pretend. You think it isn't obvious?

Oh, lets see, what else? Those mothers you see downtown who have a misbehaving kid and they say, in that syrupy voice: "Now Cossette, we don't do that...we use our (insert latest fad-word) "inside voice" "gentle hands" "no touch eyes" whatever the word du jour is. Really moms? Why don't you just tell your kid "no" Even "No, that's not ours, don't touch" or "Shhhhh....don't yell inside."  The kid never listens anyhow.

There is nothing wrong with simply saying "no". You know damn well you say it at home. So stop being so smug in public. Dare I say it? Just discipline your kid and be done with it.

I stood there, in the library, thinking of things that bug me.

The SPCA commercials bug the living shit out of me, and then ruin the rest of my day.

Men that aren't wearing a jacket but have a scarf artfully tossed around their neck. Oh just stop it. Do you to know how stupid you look? You look as bad as those idiot kids with their jeans hanging down to their knees, none of you are "marching to your drummer", you're lemmings. Douchy lemmings I might add.

People that park crooked, you know, the ones who pull into a spot on an angle and take up two spots so that you won't door-ding their vehicle? I seriously want to ram into their vehicle. Or at least kick it on my way by.

Little kids that won't say hello when you see them on the street. That bugs me, but in a sad way.

Politicians.  My blood is boiling before I even finish typing that word.

So by now I've worked myself into quite a rage, and the sight of the "50 Shades" book is making me want to have a tantrum. so I leave the library with a crappy James Patterson book, which bugs me, although at least it wasn't Danielle Steele.

I probably should have found myself a Dr. Phil self help book because there is obviously something wrong with me.

The best souviner

So, you know how you sometimes look in a mirror and see a few new lines, a new wrinkle here, an extra crowsfoot there, a crease that wasn't a part of your face the last time you looked?  That's always a bit discouraging even though you firmly believe that a few new wrinkles are a part of who you are, and every wrinkle has a story. I do believe that, and you know what they say; something like "the alternative to getting wrinkles is being dead."  That's true, unless you start with the plastic surgery and that's just scary. Not for me! No one is ever going to put a scalpel to my face, or inject poison into my forehead. Or put ass fat into my lips...eeek!

I've lost my train of thought now. Wait.....ummmmm, oh yeah, when I look in the mirror and see my face getting older, I sometimes miss the "dewy glow of youth", but I also look into my own eyes (that's not as creepy as it sounds) and I see my mothers eyes. It sometimes rather shocks me, our eyes are the exact same colour, which, when you look closely is a green/hazel/gold sort of colour.  They used to be really vivid, and yeah, I'll say it, pretty striking too. I used to get lots of compliments on my eyes.Now that I'm older they look tired and, well, older. That's how I remember my mothers eyes. It kind of makes me sad.

However, I spend very little time looking in the mirror these days, so I don't see my eyes that often. Honestly, sometimes I don't look in the mirror for an entire day after my teeth are brushed. To expand on that statement, I brush my teeth as soon as I get up, and I always look in the mirror and think of my dad, who used to love Crest toothpaste (which is all I use) because he said it made him "foam like a mad dog." My mum was always telling him: "Oh for Gods sakes Brian, would you go wash your mouth off" as he growled down the hallway, foaming like....you got it, a mad dog.

But, I digress.  I don't look in the mirror often, but I do see my hands a thousand times a day. My hands look old. I don't wear mitts or gloves much, and thus my hands have a kind of  weathered look, I think they look older than they are. They are not nice looking hands, I don't have a fancy manicure and they are pretty "crinkly" as my little neighbour once told me. But I love my hands. I just love them!  They are my mothers hands and my grandmothers hands. I look at them and imagine the people they have touched, the tears they have dried, the foreheads they have smoothed and the shoulders they have hugged. The beloved dogs they have patted and scratched, as well as the ants and grasshoppers and worms they have gingerly cleaned from little boys pockets, not to mention all the disgusting things, you know, things like diapers and flu ridden kids, housetraining puppies and the like.
I am very tactile, I love to touch things and I've been reprimanded in museums more than once, so  there is also all of the ancient statues and paintings that these hands have reached out to put a finger on, quickly before the guards could see. The sands, and beaches and oceans they have dipped into. The unusual and foreign foods they have carried to my mouth...mmmmmm. The clear plexiglass window they placed a palm on, not able to feel the palm on the other side. The phone they clutched, as if the voice coming through could be absorbed into their sensitive finger tips and stored away inside.

Talk about a souvenir....who needs fridge magnets and T-shirts? These hands have touched the places where emperors slept, and touched the places where my babies slept.  Touched the rough, red soil in a small African village and patted the deep brown earth around the petunias in my front yard.

Touched my mothers face the last time I said goodby to her, and held my fathers hand the last time I said goodby to him.  So why on earth would I look at my hands and be sad at the shape they are in? These hands are who I am, I look at them daily and marvel at the places they have been, and the stories they could tell. They say that the your fingertips are the most sensitive part of your body, I wonder if they retain memories too? Wouldn't that be something? If they could talk? Hmmm..maybe just as well that they can't. I think my hands are the ultimate secret keeper.

Can you imagine being able to travel anywhere you want, on a whim? Any time? Any place?

That’s something I dream of, that’s actually how I fall asleep….planning holidays and travel adventures…..so much better than counting sheep.

During the day I gaze at the jet streams that criss cross the skies above my house, and I try to imagine someone up there looking down at my little area of the world as I look up at them. I wonder where they are going, what they are thinking, are they excited? Having fun? Nervous? Scared?Although, I think most people on a plane are busy trying to get their share of the armrest, get comfy in that little area that you call your own...sort of your own mini-home away from home...you try to organize your spot, set your things up...your book, your  bottle of water, your pillow and blanket,  making room for whatever kind of dinner you may be lucky enough (or not)  to receive. 

And even though I have been lucky enough to have travelled at lot, and I am in the midst of planning a trip to Peru (T minus 107 days!) I still get travel envy when someone else is going somewhere. 

Science or nature?

Yesterday as we were leaving the house to go walking, a gentle gust of wind blew little snow flakes at me, little silvery looking flakes. I figured they had blown off the roof, or maybe off the trees in the yard.

But as we continued to walk, I noticed that these little flakes were falling from the sky, even though the sky was clear and blue...not a cloud in sight. It was most unusual, especially when I noticed that they were so small and so fine that when they landed on my coat they were nearly invisible. They were smooth and flat, they actually reminded me of minuscule shards of glass.When we walked towards the sun it was like walking into a cloud of silver glitter. Glitter! I love glitter and shimmery, shiny, sparkly things. Silver glitter makes me shiver with delight.

When we turned around, with our back to the sun, you couldn't see a single flake. Turn and look at the sun...clouds of glitter! Glitter! I walked up the street getting dizzy, turning from sun to no sun, sun to no sun, glitter, no glitter, glitter, no glitter. It was very dreamlike. Although that was probably from the dizziness of spinning. It felt like this:

I doubt it looked like that, but that was exactly how it felt!
And then we saw an old man walking towards us, he caught my eye and grinned, so I knew he has been enjoying the sparkles as well. I made a feeble sort of gesture towards the sun and he  pointed up and said: "It's just like walking through diamonds isn't it?"

Our walk took longer than our usual hour, basically because I was so busy looking and spinning and turning, but it was just spectacular. When we got home, I went straight to Google to find out what this phenomena was all about....I Googled: "glitter falling from the sky" and there were lots of hits (is that the term?..."hits"?) but they were mostly about actual glitter that you buy and then throw in the air at parties and what not. And other things like magical jewels falling from the sky in India, sillyness.

I then Googled "snow crystals" and all those hits were educational and scientific, websites that end in ".edu". Well, that's just boring and no fun at all. I don't even want to know those explanations. Pffft...science is depressing.

So I just decided that every now and then someone wants to surprise us. It could be Odin or Zeus or Jupiter...all gods of the sky. Maybe Tane-rore, he is the Maori god of the shimmering air! The Greeks had the god Chaos, he was the god of "nothingness from which all else sprang" There was certainly nothing there, these sparkles came from nowhere. Also, Chaos is the god of the lower atmosphere. I think it was him. Unless it was Theia, goddess of the "clear, blue sky".  Hey, what about Horagalles, god of the weather?

Maybe it was a combination, a party of the Gods. A competition, so to speak. And I got to watch. Lucky, lucky me.

Two Sides

One of my Dads favorite things to say to me, when I was young and full of myself, was "There are two sides to every story". Sometimes he'd change it up a bit, depending on what my opinionated rant was, to things like: "It takes two to tango" and "the truth is never pure and rarely simple" and of course the ever popular "whats good for the goose is good for the gander"

So I learned at a young age that there are indeed two sides to every story, but the older I get, the harder it is to decide what side is the right side. Or even if there is  a right side. And often there isn't.

I read an article the other day about a married couple, senior citizens, who went South for the winter and prior to going they applied for (and were accepted) for travel health insurance. As fate would have it, they both ended up in the hospital in the US and were flown home, and submitted their claims to their insurance company.

Long story short, they were denied. Even longer story short, it was considered fraud since they they had both answered a question wrong on their insurance application. His was "Do you suffer any bowel conditions" and he answered no. Apparently, however, in the 1960's, he was diagnosed with IBS and had not had a flare up in 50 years (50 years!) even though he does take a daily pill to prevent flare ups. He assumed (oh yeah....another of my dads platitudes...we all know the one about "assume") he had assumed that since he hadn't had a problem in 50 years that he did not suffer from a bowel condition. And besides, he ended up in the hospital from a heart problem.

Her error was "Have you been treated for a heart condition in the last 12  months". She assumed (here we go again...) that they meant in the 12 months from when she was going to be in the States, not 12 months prior to the day she was filling this out. She had been treated 10 months earlier for a heart problem, but she ended up in the hospital for a kidney problem.

So they were denied, and they now face bills of over $100,000 each.

The two sides are tough. One side says "It was a honest mistake, and it"s not like they were treated for the conditions they said they didn't have...if they had answered "yes" to those questions, they might have paid more for their premium, but they still would have ended up in the hospital, but with coverage"

The other side says "Oh come on....when your"re diagnosed with a condition and you take a pill a day for 50 years to prevent flare ups of that condition, how can you possibly say you don't have that condition?" And for her. "What part of "the prior 12 months" makes you think that they don't actually mean 12 months??"

I'm just so glad I don't have to make that choice. But it makes me doubt the sincerity of the insurance company, how long did it take them to delve back 50 years?

I think about that kind of thing a lot, but luckily it's only theoretical to me,  the type of thing that I can discuss with friends, and listen to other opinions and maybe get a fresh outlook on. Doesnt affect me personally (knock wood, that is.)



I'm just in the process of filling out forms for our health insurance, and reading this article has made me think I had better fill them out very carefully indeed. Now that Steven has officially retired, we need to fill out different forms, one came in the mail today. We need to register with a different part of Pacific Blue Cross, and they sent a form. However, the form says "this does not register you, please register first" with a phone number. I phoned them, of course there is a robot on the other end, and the first thing they want is your registration number.

I've been down this telephone game road before, and I think there is only one side to this story, and it probably isn't mine.