Tall But Not Tall Enough

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Calgary is an odd place to fly into because, from the air, the city stands out from the surrounding plains like some ultra-modern Oz, dwarfing all around it into two-dimensional nothingness. That is, until you look Westward towards the Rockies, where the peaks dwarf the city and its tallest buildings in turn. It's a good sight, especially in the sunshine.

CW and I arrived mid-afternoon, though our UK-bound bodies argued strongly that it was much later. The airport was all clean Canadian efficiency, though it did seem like we had to route-march across half of Alberta to reach baggage reclaim. Anyway, with our bags in tow (despite still using rucksacks, we opt for trolleys now, like real people!) we headed to immigration and were greeted by the official with our first example of that inevitable (and enviable) Canadian charm and politeness. We responded in kind, happy to shake off the memory of the depressing rudeness that infects just about every transaction in Britain nowadays. Welcome to Canada!

Next we found ourselves facing that age-old question that has confronted endless numbers of budget travellers - how to get into town without splashing unnecessary cash on a taxi (in this case around $35!!). The solution in Calgary is the city shuttle bus that calls at all the main hotels. Ours was the Sandman in the downtown district. At reception I presented our pre-booked voucher for a room and tried to ignore the familiar air of discomfort I always feel at such times. I know it's illogical, but despite being middle-aged and supposedly a responsible adult, I always feel out of place in hotels, as if I'm not supposed to be there, like I'm a runaway kid playing the system. As such, I find it hard to behave like a customer expecting service. I wonder if it shows on my face?

The Sandman is a mid-range affair with everything on offer that you might expect from a hotel in that price bracket. However, all CW and I wanted was a clean and comfortable bed. Our room had two, each big enough to drown in. We did just that. We awoke some hours later from what was supposed to have been a short nap to help us recover from the painful flight, and forced ourselves to head into town for a necessary if unwanted meal.

Unfortunately, being Sunday, little was open and we were hard-pressed to find anywhere that was even remotely inviting. In fact, at that time of day, the whole city was less than attractive and we gingerly picked our way through the many down-and-outs begging for change along the street.

Eventually we found a small Italian restaurant with a handful of customers (always a good sign) and settled down to eat. The food was fine and the service very good. And that despite the fact that the waitress made a couple of mistakes with our order. We forgave her however, partly because it was her first week on the job but mainly because, once again, she gave pleasant and attentive, though not overbearing service. In short, she was charming. As she worked, I couldn't help but be aware that she showed none of the surliness of British waiting-on staff and this, I'm sure, stems from the fact that Canadians do not view service industry jobs as demeaning. For the whole time that she dealt with us, this girl never behaved as if she was subservient to us and we never treated her that way either. The British have a lot to learn.

After the meal we wandered back to the hotel and crashed out, suffering from a very long and tiring day. We slept well.

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Photos

Calgary Tower
A Town Built On Oil