Die Hard Three

I wonder how the Quebec Ice Hotel stacks up against the Swedish, Iceland, and Finnish ones. If I had to rank them I bet the Finnish one would be the best because Finns are masters of the ice – be it with their powerful boats that smash it in the harbour or in the vodka drinks that contain their famous Vodka (Finlandia: it’s a quality vodka *and* tone poem). Also, what is one supposed to do in the Finnish winter besides build a house out of ice and then watch it melt in the summertime.

Anyway, I’m happy to report that we survived last night’s minus fifteen degrees celsius with almost no major problems as the training course adequately prepared us for the experience of trying to sleep in the cold. The instructor Claudine showed us how to use the sleeping bag (a minus thirty degrees rated North Face) and she also suggested we wear a hat. So everything was good on the physical comfort front.

Where we ran into problems was with the acoustics in the room. I figured that the snow walls would muffle my snoring to a quite, almost musical-like whisper – a sound so pleasant it would lull everyone within earshot into a peaceful slumber. This turned out to be true for the people in the other rooms but for one half of the guests staying in our room, it was problematic. This is because the snow structure seemed to amplify the sounds not quieten them.

So my apologies to Sarah. I promise the next time we stay overnight in hotel made from snow, I will bring ear plugs, a white noise generator, some Ambien, and a separate igloo for me to sleep in.

The sleeping

The room

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So we finally made it to the “ice” hotel and guess what: it’s made almost entirely out of snow.

I’m not making this up. Sure there are a few ice sculptures around and the drinking glasses are carved out of frozen water but ninety-eight percent of the main structure is made from compressed snow. I brought this up several times with the “hotel” management in an (unsuccessful) attempt to score a free upgrade but they seemed uninterested in my logical reasoning.

The good news is it’s a full moon tonight and the sleeping bags are warm. We had a couple of drinks at the Ice Bar and then we hung out in the sauna (pronounced s-ow-nah) for half an hour and now we’re going to attempt not to freeze to death in our sleeps.

Check back tomorrow to find out if we survived.

I have not been to Quebec City proper since I was four years old. In 1978 my family drove to Nova Scotia to visit the old country and we stopped off in Q.C. on the way down. I’m pretty sure this city has changed in the past 38 years but I wouldn’t know because I don’t remember any part of that long ago voyage. And, well, to be completely honest, I don’t remember anything about anything before grade five and that was almost seven years later. I’ve spoken about this with many doctors, therapists and cab drivers and they all tell me the same thing – early memory recall for most humans starts around the age of three.

What was happening to me in those missing eight years? Last week, in an attempt to find out, I started rewatching The X-Files (1993-2002). While I’ve just finished the first season, the only thing I’ve been able to figure out is that all these present-day anti-vaxers and 9/11 truthers and chemtrail conspiracy theorists, they’re all the godchildren of Patient Zero – Fox Mulder. I don’t think the show has aged very well because in every episode the protagonist comes across like a raving lunatic. Every time Mulder loses his pencil he claims the aliens did it. And the government’s ability to keep a secret (a secret that happens to be most important discovery in human history) from the general public, well, I don’t think they’re that competent.

Anyway, back to Quebec City. My earliest childhood memory I can recall is the time ninety-five percent of the grade five students at my elementary school got to go on a field trip to Quebec City and I was forced to stay behind while my friends and classmates had, what sounded like, the best time ever. There was this store that sold novelty items and everyone came back with switchblade combs and whoopee cushions and itching powder and I was defenceless against their pranks – left to survive on my wits alone. I lasted about four minutes.

Sticks and stones may OWWWWW!!!! IT BURNS!!!!!

So yesterday after we checked in to the regular hotel (the ice hotel is tonight) we went and had dinner at this amazing little restaurant (I should say the Old Towne Quebec City is very pretty – see above photo). Then after supper we went to this little pub that came highly recommended by our server. When we got there it was empty save for two patrons and we decided to be cool and sit at the bar at the far end away from the other two customers (let’s call them Goofus and Gallant).

We ordered our beers and then two minutes after they arrived Goofus comes over and drunkenly starts to hit on us. It was a rather awkward situation and afterward Sarah informed me that this is just another day in the life of a woman – having to deal with drunk idiots. So this guy tells us he’s an off duty police officer and from what I could tell he’s also a member of that Raelian sex cult (described in Wikipedia as a “UFO religion”). I thought this because he kept asking us about sex (that’s the Raelian part) and he wouldn’t leave us alone (the cult part).

The other guy (Gallant) was from Burkina Faso and he was also drunk and also looking to score. After telling us he’s a millionaire who drives a Porsche, he brought over two shots (whiskey I think) one for him and one for Sarah (which I took and didn’t drink). I didn’t see the bartender pour them and I wasn’t about to down a roofie colada so we gave them to Goofus after Gallant went home. He drank both of them without hesitation and we left soon thereafter (with the bartender quietly offering an apology).

This was such an eyeopener: experiencing first hand (and being on the receiving end of) what I can only assume is an incredibly commonplace situation for most women – harassment by random strangers and having to fear for their physical safety. I had visions of Goofus getting upset and there being a non-verbal altercation where at the end of the evening I would have to explain to a bunch of cops how my face managed to injure one of their co-worker’s fists.

But none of that came to pass. We found another bar, had a couple more drinks, and then went back to the hotel. At this time there’s still no word if Goofus made it home to his wife and children.

This weekend Sarah is taking me to the Ice Hotel in Quebec City as a gift for my (and, I guess Jesus’) birthday. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so thoughtful. And when I say this, I don’t just mean thoughtful in the usual sense of “oh, that’s going to be a nice weekend” – it’s more like when someone remembers something from a long time past conversation and then uses that information to plan an unexpected, extra-special getaway.

So how did we end up heading to the L’Hotel de Glace on a Sunday morning in February? Well, the whole thing started over one year ago on our first date. We were about 30 minutes into our first drink and I was sharing with her my passion for all things toilet. Regular readers of my blog are well aware of this fact, but if you are new here I should probably mention that I love discussing washrooms and all their various components – especially their most important feature: the toilet.

From the energy crisis-averting, terrorist-defeating summer cottage toilets of northern Finland, to the mysterious Turkish water blasters of central Istanbul. From the everyday squat toilets of the Chinese mainland to Algonquin Park’s famous, rodent infested shitboxes. From the German wall-mounted, ultra-efficient energy savers, to the heated seats of the Japanese washlet standalones with built-in cold water hand sinks. From the old-school German inspection stations to the low-flow toilets they installed at my work that rendered the washrooms unusable within twenty-four hours of their first use. I also regaled her with stories of my searching around Paris on my birthday for strange and unusual commodes and, at the end of the conversation, I (boldly?) claimed that “I’d seen them all”.

So this brings us to my Christmas / birthday gift. During that first date conversation, a light must have gone off (or is it on?) in Sarah’s head as she realized that there was one type of toilet I had not tried.

An ice toilet.

I figured that’s why she’s taking me to stay for one night in a hotel that is made entirely of ice. And I have to say I’m pretty excited. I thought I had seen them all but I guess I was wrong. It’s taken every ounce of self-restraint to not do a Google Images search – I want to be surprised by what’s in store!

Via Rail, you better send someone to righten up those telegraph poles.

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