Homeless

So much has happened over the past few days, and I've been out of reach from a computer. In a nutshell: packed everything in the apartment, moved it all to two places in Ottawa, bought the plane tickets. Read on for more...

Big thanks go out to the friends who lent their arms and backs to help us move: Dave, Michael, Irene, David, Steph, Jse-Che, Shannon, and of course P.J. and Amy's mother Margaret, who are providing tenancy to the majority of our worldly possessions for the next twelve months.

The move was not without challenges. Starting with U-Haul, which assured us at the time of our booking that a 14-foot cube van would be available for easy pickup at a location East of Downtown Toronto. When they called to confirm on Friday night, they politely informed us that we could pick up our van in Belleville.

For those not familiar with eastern Ontario geography: Belleville is two hours (175km) away from Toronto. After some discussion, Amy and I decided to take it, as they were throwing in some massive incentives by way of apology: 1,000 miles worth of road credit, the price was cut in half and we were given a 17-foot cube van instead.

The place we picked up the van from in Belleville was a bit of a surprise - we did a double-take when we first got there, but no, that was it, with all the U-Haul vans sitting in front of it - it was the typically rural storefront that's seen way too many winters, complete with missing letters - something like "DAVE'S HO E & COUNT Y TRAILE HITCHES". The proprietor (Dave?) was attacking a piece of metal with a grinder - a four foot long, thick rod with a thin cylinder on the end. Sparks were flying everywhere.

Our rental was smooth and effortless, nice given the drive from Toronto. As he punched in the reservation details it gave us real insight into the relaxed nature of the U-Haul operation - the individual franchise owners get a computer program and probably some training, but that's about it; everyone integrates it into their own fashion. In Dave's case, his storefront relating to trailer hitches and truck repairs probably had enough space to accomodate the U-Haul trucks, so it was a perfect fit. But the computer stuck out like a sore thumb: black oily grease marks smudged onto a precision instrument that you'd see in a lab. In a way, it didn't fit, but the ease with which he used the system made it work. He clicked and tabbed his way through the checklists until we had printed out our materials and jumped back on the road in our newly-christened hauling vehicles.

Unfortunately, we'd already been a bit behind in our packing and were counting on that Saturday morning to finish it before people arrived to help, so losing four hours in driving back and forth to Belleville to pick up the van completely thwarted our plans to be finished for supper and a party; people who had arrived for the latter were unwittingly recruited into the final phases of our moving effort. I don't think it was so bad: if it had worked out according to plan, we would have been drinking out of bottles in a completely empty apartment. At least this way we had something to do...

We must have finished around midnight, and chatted for another forty-five minutes. The van was absolutely packed. We would spend another couple of hours doing the final packing in the morning, and then after one final breakfast at our favourite breakfast place in Toronto, Three's Company, we drove an uneventful drive to Ottawa - Amy driving the car, and I driving the van.

The unpack was similar to the pack, but longer, and sweatier. The things I've learned about moving can be summarized in five bullet points:

• Devote four times as much time as you think you'd need to pack, towards packing. There's aways more than you think.


• If you have many able and willing hands, you become a director, and that's the most valuable contribution you can make.


• If you're good at Tetris, you'll be able to fit everything you own into a 17-foot cube van.


• Moving an apartment containing the worldly possessions of two adults over the age of thirty is an excellent way to prepare your body for a twelve-month world trip.


• Next time, hire movers.

And then we bought our tickets at the Ottawa airport (my, how that's changed since I was there last), which was the largest single purchase I've ever put on a credit card. Normally it would all be an e-ticket, but since at least one airline in our itinerary does not support e-tickets, all of our tickets had to be paper. It's not really that bad - perhaps the size of a very thin cheque book - but it's definitely something we're going to have to protect and squirrel away somewhere it won't get easily lost.

The revelation that in about a week we'll be en route on this big trip hasn't really struck me yet. So far, the revelation is that we're officially homeless is what's registering - that and most of our worldly possessions fit into a space that will eventually become a bathroom.

Customer service call of the day

As I mentioned in the last post, customer service calls to cancel your service are pretty much the easiest experience you can have when you mention you're going on a trip around the world for a year.

Instead of a call where they refer you to their "customer retention" unit, which focusses on giving you incentives to stay, the realize that there's nothing they can say or do to foist a service on you that you won't be able to use. It's a crappy job, especially when you're dealing with hot-headed complainants who want you to do something you can't do, so I try and pepper the call with praise for the employee, as well as being the caller they just want to help because I'm so charming.

Recently I have cancelled a few things: an AMEX Accident Protection plan we were thinking of using to act as Health Insurance (interesting, but not worth it in the end), our internet service, and our phone service. Having done a brief (thankfully, brief) stint in telemarketting, I know they work on a script philosophy, where every situation is mapped out for them on a flowchart so they know how best to service the customer's needs. The greeting and sign-off are also carefully worded to infuse the text with the company's chosen method of branding and flavour of corporate spirit. It's important that the employee recite the text exactly, because the calls are recorded.

Bell seems to have taken the script approach to new heights. My call went something like this:

After holding for about eight minutes and being informed that my call would be recorded for quality assurance purposes, and information would be retained according to their privacy policy, available online for my viewing at www.bell.ca/privacy... I'm not making this up.

Customer Service Representative (CSR): Thank you for calling Bell, my name is Samantha and my customer service number is THX1138, what Bell services can I help you with today?

Me: Wow, that's quite a mouthfull. Hi Samantha, my wife and I are going to be leaving the country for a year and we won't be taking our home phone with us. We have to cancel our service.

Samantha: No problem, I can definitely help you with that...

The standard interrogation in which I report to her our account details, address, everything to make sure I am who I say I am.

Samantha: So you're looking to cancel your service... can I ask why you need to cancel?

Me: Sure. We're going on a trip around the world, and we won't need a phone at home for that.

Samantha: WOW... that sounds amazing! Where are you going?

By now, we've told so many people about this trip that I can recite it from rote the countries we're going to, but for some reason I completely botched it here. I figured it really didn't make a difference, and it's a fun conversation to have, especially when her last caller probably went on and on about how expensive voice mail was.

Samantha: Okay... so I can do that for you...

She gave me a confirmation number for the cancellation: anyone calling us at home after 8 AM on the 27th of August will now be greeted by an automated voice saying the phone's out of service. Take that, telemarketters!

Now for the best part: the closing. For a cancellation request, someone in the script writing department has got to get on the ball here to give them some new pages.

Samantha: So your cancellation has been processed. Wow... a year around the world. I hope you have an excellent time.

Me: Thanks! I hope we do, too.

Samantha: Are there any other Bell services I can help you with today?

Me: Um, no, I think that's the only one I need to cancel.

Samantha: Alright, well thanks for choosing Bell.

Thanks for choosing Bell? In retrospect, I guess the script works pretty well - "thanks for having chosen Bell" is implied there - but I know that message is supposed to mean, "thanks for choosing us over the other guys", and by cancelling my service, haven't I just dumped you? I mean, this is akin to the breakup of a loveless marriage; a note left on the kitchen counter, "It's not you, Bell - it's me." I guess it's one of those breakups where we just stopped calling each other and drifted apart, which is, I suppose, exactly the case here.

A thousand little things

It's been quite a few days since a dispatch, so here is the latest.

Pulling up roots to embark on a big trip presents a variety of tasks that one doesn't normally encounter. Where does all your stuff go? Where do you direct your mail? How much underwear do you bring for a year? At least when you're moving residences, you know there is a home on the other end that you can live out of. Not so for us.

Here are some details about one tiny thing checked off the list, among many.

In an effort to travel as lightly as possible, we're using the carry-on approach, ie., just taking the carry-on allowance for luggage: one big pack and a detachable daypack. We spent a night a few weekends ago doing a "trial run" of packing - which I have to admit was exciting, in a "it's really real" kind of way - but was also very sobering. I managed to get my pack closed, it's still relatively light (17 lbs), but then started making a list of the things that weren't in there. And realized I'd have to start making sacrifices.

My daypack was almost completely dedicated to camera gear, which is the one thing that didn't sit well with me. While I want to bring my camera, a few lenses and accessories, I also wanted my daypack to be able to carry water, some snacks and other travel items. Armed with these intentions, I decided to investigate other daypacks that could be retrofitted to work with our main packs: something that would have enough room to store my camera stuff and extra stuff, and still approximate the "small component" of the carry-on allowance.

Of course, this was before the whole terrorist plot fiasco occurred in August. But I digress.

After doing some trolling around camera stores, I happened into Downtown Camera in Toronto, which people in the know will tell you is the best place to haggle prices, and generally has a great selection. The website isn't as glamorous as Henry's or Vistek, but the staff are friendly and knowledgeable, and they have alot of flexibility when it comes to prices, when you pay cash.

Looking at bags, I noted one in the murky corner of the store with a "special price" tag on it. I looked it up and down, did some measurements with a tape measure I'd brought with me (this happens more often that not lately), and figured that it would actually work as the small carry-on with a bit of squeezing. So, I had to ask, why were they getting rid of it? It's marvellously modular, something I love about any well-designed product, and has a large, segmented internal space instead of other bag arrangements which are actually two bags connected by zippers, one part for a camera and the other for a token amount of cargo.

It turns out the reason was this model of bag (the Lowepro Street and Field system, for the interested) is a pro-level system, which normally doesn't come with such things as a harness and a waiststrap. That's right, you could buy a camera backpack, but in the catalogue it wouldn't have straps to put your arms through. I gather it was confusing the customers, and they were only going to special-order them in the future. This was the last one.

So I bought it. It's working out splendidly, except for a minor problem that the waist strap that came with it was sized for extra-large, and I'm more of a medium man myself. When I took it back for exchange, one of their managers assured me it would be no problem to get one before our departure date. And if not, he would give me his personal one, which was brand new, the same size, and he never used it. In the end, it came in the Monday following the previous Thursday. Kudos to DTC. We'll see how many bungee cords I have to use to get it to fit into the small carry-on allowance, or if by the time we get to the airport, they're even letting me take my camera equipment on board the plane - perish the thought if I have to check it in luggage. Gasp!

So that's just one aspect of the internal side of preparation - we also have to deal with a number of things such as cancelling our services. These are actually really fun phone calls, as most customer service reps are trained to plead longingly for you to remain a loyal customer, and are armed with all sorts of incentives to sweeten the deal. But when I say that we're going on a year-long trip that will take us out of Canada, that all goes out the window, and they're right in there with us. "Cool, where are you going?" It takes about five minutes to get back to the purpose of the phone call...