October 16, 2003

Travel bargains on the Internet are fast replacing grandchildren stories among the graybeards and granny set. Travelocity.com must be flying lots of folks around, as I hear of round-trip tickets to faraway resorts rich in luxury for less than the cost of a weekend playing dime a card bingo at the YMCA.

On our trip last month to Vancouver Island, I used a booking service to reserve an efficiency apartment at the Meridian Bay Hotel. Allow me, please, to go over the procedure: Me, the chump, logs in "vancouver.com" and clicks on the screen for hotel reservations. Views all the bargain rates. Loses his confidence booking online and calls the service's 800 number. Over the wire, loses his judgement, gives a friendly voice his credit card number for a deposit in the amount of $100 U.S. dollars or $130 Canadian to hold the space.

Then at checkout days later, the polite room clerk presents a bill for less than the rate quoted by the reservation service. Exhilarated by the unexpected windfall, overtips the bell man and makes a departure in a cab with a flourish befitting a northeastern banking magnate. Once back home, reality tolls the sad tune for a sucker in the form of a credit card bill showing the scoundrels at the reservation service charged the down payment payable to their account on the date of first contact.

Don't think I am going to admit to my luncheon group that I was skinned by an upstart of a booking service after all the time I've spent trying to wheedle a discount or an upgrade from every innkeeper on my path. Don't you go blabbing it around, either, how a gang of Canadian swindlers gave ol' Noelke a bitter lesson without ever straining a dot-com or exerting the energy to cradle a telephone for longer than five minutes. Sure makes a good story on a pirate ship to have a guy on board who didn't even have to be blindfolded to walk the plank.

Vancouver Island, however, was so pleasant I don't regret the loss. We rode a small bus around the clean city the first day, locating the museums, the gardens and restaurants. Unlike Toronto, Vancouver's tourist business hasn't been plagued by the horror virus SARS. Hotels showed decent occupancy rates; restaurants required reservations for the prime times to eat.

On the tour, the guide pointed to a grocery store featuring sourdough French bread flown from Paris every night for $90 Canadian a loaf. The lady sitting behind us sighed so deep her arms drew up in the sleeves of her dress.

"My lands, how many slices in a loaf of bread?"

The guide was already talking about Chinatown: Forty percent of the city is Asiatic. Chinatown is the safest neighborhood in all Vancouver. Only things sold under the table are live frogs. Ha, ha. (Tour guide talks in italics; the lady in quotation marks.)

"Good lands, how much is that a slice?"

Ten dollars, lady. Dolly Parton's son lives on Royal Street to the right. Likes to play hockey. To your left is where Henry Bankston, age eight, did the highest "wheelie" ever recorded on a tricycle. Ha, ha.

"Isn't it exciting to know where Dolly Parton's son lives? Wonder how old he is?"

First stop was the Granville Island Public Market. Huge affair of some 50,000 square feet filled with fresh cut flowers, baskets of blue berries and raspberries —plump and juicy — food stalls from all over the world and a solid mass of shoppers filling bags with cheeses and fresh fish.

Be back on the bus at 5:45. Anyone five minutes late will learn the cab fare back to their hotel. Ha, ha.

"May I stay on the bus? Cab drivers are reckless drivers. Cost a fortune to ride. Bad influence; brought my grandson home drunk one night."

As we crossed back to Vancouver Island, the sunset cast a film over the sea water like a veil dyed with rose petals.

We are now going to take you to see Stanley Park, named after Lord Stanley. Off Prospect Point, we'll see large black diving cormorants and beautiful great blue herons four feet tall with a wingspan of six feet. Maybe our bus driver Diane can shine the bus's lights over the water.

"My lands, sure is dark. How we going to see the black birds in the dark?" Before an answer could be made, "My stars, parks sure are dangerous places to be after nightfall."

Cormorants glow in the dark. Diane keeps a pistol and a flashlight under the seat to shoot bandits. Ha, ha.

Must have been 9 p.m. by the time the bus dropped us off at our hotel. Hard to sleep after seeing the street where Dolly Parton's son lives.

Last the lady said was, "My lands, you sure are a good tour guide. I'll tell the girls back home how to find you."

October 16, 2003