WINTER WONDERLAND (6 page)

And then my mobile buzzed a message from my boss and I had to leave so we decided to continue our chat over lunch.

But there was always so much more to say, so we ended up meeting almost every day, talking about man stuff at first and then our mutual adoration of all things travel. That’s when we got the idea for Va-Va-Vacation! It was one of those, ‘What I’d really like to do is … ’ conversations that leads to, ‘Well, why don’t you?’ And then, ‘Why don’t
we?
’

At first we thought it would be more of a fun sideline than a full-time job, and it was certainly extremely helpful that we both had an alternative source of income for those initial months, setting up and working through exactly what we were hoping to achieve.

Things really started coming together when we got Danielle on board. You are nothing these days without a sharp, savvy website design, and she’s just brilliant at triggering that ‘I want to be
there
!’ response. So many travel websites are too text-heavy on their Home page, I feel. Images transport you in an instant, which is why we decided to invest heavily in photography – our own unique take rather than the generic stock shots you see used over and over. We wanted everything to feel fresh – the look, our approach, the design of our itineraries. For us it’s all about: how do you want to
feel
when you get there?

Exhilarated? Serene? Amazed? Carefree? Pampered? Sophisticated? Cultured? Earthy? Sexy? All of the above?

We can make that happen!

I’m all about the sensory experience – the sound of Spanish castanets, the sight of a whale tail breaching in Alaska, the taste of real Italian spaghetti sauce, the feel of Kashmirian cashmere, the smell of the durian fruit of Thailand – so pungently foul that you are forbidden to bring it into the posher hotels.

Laurie, on the other hand, loves the logistics – putting together flights and transfers like a puzzle, all to minimise your time in transit (not just airport layovers but sitting in taxis in rush hour watching the meter tick away your cocktail money) and maximise your time in your chosen location. And she loves to haggle – not with street vendors but hotel managers.

‘Come on, Ferdinand – what would you rather have: ten empty
casitas
valued at three hundred pounds a night or ten full ones with guests paying a hundred? And you know they’ll end up eating at your restaurant – no one can beat your tortillas!’

She’s a really fast worker too – I only have to mention we’ve had a lot of interest in Ireland lately and I find myself in Dublin with a Guinness moustache. It’s like having a fairy godmother with Airmiles. The fact that she had amassed so very many over the years was a huge, huge help to our initial budgeting. (Even though the airlines find other ways to jack up the cost of your ‘free’ flight.)

None of us is pulling a huge salary but it really doesn’t matter. As Danielle says, she’s got to be the only person in Britain making minimum wage who got to Morecambe and the Maldives last year. (And I should add that Morecombe is where her granny lives, not a Va-Va-Vacation! destination.) We give her nearly all the beach destinations to review because that’s what she lives for. No one is more experienced at sunbathing with a hangover than Danielle. And she always finds the ultimate sheltered cove, the yummiest picnic lunches and even rates the local waiters according to their flirtiness vs attractiveness ratio.

One of our more popular features is the What I Packed/What I Wore section, where we photograph the contents of our suitcase like those little cut-out wardrobes for a paper doll and then put a big red tick by the items that got the most wear.

Already I’m wishing I’d brought a second set of thermals and noting that those fluffy Dr Zhivago hats look like a wet cat on your head when the snow melts and soggifies the faux fur. I’ll also be reminding our readers to pack their sunglasses – as cold as it is, that snow is squint-inducingly bright.

In essence we are your travel guinea pigs – going ahead to a destination to make all the mistakes you won’t have to. We’re always upfront about the downsides to a destination. And not just the poverty in India or how much you’ll have to pay for a beer in Reykjavik. I remember Laurie asking me about the worst part of my trip to Salzburg and I said, ‘Having to call Andrew every night.’

I’d have these zingy, inspiring days – totally loved
The Sound of Music
Tour! – and then the second I heard his voice I’d feel this weight descending on me, this crushing realisation that he wasn’t really paying attention or interested, that no part of him was wishing he was sitting beside me in the coffee house sharing my apple strudel.

It wasn’t long after this trip that he concluded we ‘wanted different things’, but the truth was we both wanted one thing above all else and only one of us could have it.

I sigh.

I mustn’t dwell on this now. No one here knows anything about my relationship history. As far as they’re concerned I could be delighted about being single again! Yes, I had to let go of a thousand hopes and dreams but now I’m back to that state where anything is possible. Anything!

Which brings me back to the mysterious Monsieur Gilles …

CHAPTER FIVE

Unfortunately it is not possible to garner any more clues from Gilles’ facial expressions, since all that is visible now is his nose.

The remainder of his face is hidden beneath his hat, sunglasses and chin-covering scarf. If it wasn’t for his camera I wouldn’t even be able to tell him apart from the rest of the Carnival-goers.

Annique informs me that Quebec was founded on fur trading, but today I think the most desirable commodity would be Puffa fabric by the yard. We’re all at it, be it waist-, knee- or ankle-length. Wet-look or matte. Tubular or belted. Of course the kids look the cutest in their bright pinks and yellows, like squishy Jelly Babies come to life. I notice that the majority of the under-twos are being pulled along by their parents on a shiny plastic sled. I can’t believe how blasé they are – arms lolling out to the side, some of them even sleeping! I want to shake them and say, ‘Do you have any idea how cold it is?’

But no one – of any age – is complaining, or even wincing: they are all taking it in their stride.

‘Woah!’ I experience an ungainly skid on a covert ice patch, prompting Annique to link arms with me, and then Gilles.

One big, happy threesome.

At one point Gilles scoots ahead and then turns back and starts snapping us. He says he’s getting the Parliament building in the background but I suspect he’s supplementing his ‘My Conquests’ album. I certainly won’t be using any of these shots for the website – in my padded romper and pompom ensemble I look like an outsized toddler waddling along next to her model mummy.

I expel a white-vapoured sigh.

I still can’t wrap my head around this. What was he thinking? Did he forget about Annique and only remember partway through the kiss? It’s just so ridiculous. I mean, he knows he has to spend the week with the pair of us. Am I being an enabler saying nothing? Not that I care about making him squirm, but Annique does seem remarkably sweet for someone so pretty and I wouldn’t want to upset her. Then again, isn’t that all the more reason to warn her before her besottedness deepens?

‘We arrive!’ she cheers as we pass under a fluttery rainbow arch and enter the Carnival proper, set upon 250 acres of historic parkland known as the Plains of Abraham.

It has the feel of a fairground, complete with big wheel, and so many attractions that my attention is ricocheting every which way. There are all the traditional winter ways to go way too fast (cue much squealing from those hurtling down the 400ft ice slide) as well as more genteel approaches like the jingle bell sleigh rides. And then I spy the can’t-quite-believe-your-eyes art...

‘You want to begin with the snow sculptures?’ Annique notes my interest.

‘Sounds good to me.’

Gilles remains infuriatingly passive. He’s barely said a word this whole time and as soon as we reach the sculptures he drops out of our eye-line, kneeling in the snow supposedly trying to get the right angle of sun filtering through one of the gravity-defying loops.

I have to say these meltable artworks are incredible – everything from chess-piece horses to ball-balancing seals to a set of dentures biting into an apple core, each having begun life as a seven-foot cube of snow.

Annique tells me that the winner a few years back was a pair of hands twiddling a Rubik’s Cube but her favourite was Moby Dick – an open book with a harpoonist rising from the left side and a whale disappearing into the right, pages flaring like waves. Mind-boggling.

I see some artists are using fluorescent spray paint to mark their design prior to the first incision, using implements ranging from a two-person saw, metal teeth chomping through the snow, to wooden blocks bound in chicken wire to exfoliate and smooth the rough edges. Then there’s the more traditional chisels for the detail work. I could watch them all day.

‘Krista?’

‘Yes?’ I turn to face her.

‘How about we have you pretending to work on one of these creations?’ Annique suggests. ‘Which do you prefer?’

I do a quick survey. ‘That’s easy – the polar bear.’

‘I prefer the more abstract designs,’ Gilles points to a geometric structure akin to an early learning toy.

‘The polar bear has a more poignant message – global warming threatening his habitat and his future.’

‘I just think visually—’

‘Polar bear,’ I override him. I indulged his ‘vision’ last night and look where that got me. From now on I’m thinking only of what is best for the website.

To that end Annique is quite the asset. The artist – Brandon from Toronto – happily hands over his tools to me. As I try to position myself, I can see why so many of them have shed a top layer of clothing: it’s not easy to angle your arms with so much padding.

‘To me!’ Gilles wants me to make eye contact, with his lens at least.

‘I like the icy stare,’ Annique coos. ‘Matches the snow sculptures, no?’

I didn’t even realise my eyes were narrowing. Perhaps I’ll try something more cheerful …

‘Oh no!’ Annique recoils.

‘No?’

‘That big smile with a dagger in your hand … ’

‘Psycho-killer?’

She nods.

‘Perhaps it’s best if I just pretend to be chipping away and you capture me “
reportage
” style,’ I tell Gilles.

Frankly I don’t even want to look in his direction. I can’t believe he’s still not saying anything about last night, especially now that we have a moment while Annique is engaged with the sculptor.

‘Try and look like you’re really sculpting.’

‘My acting isn’t convincing enough for you?’

The dig goes over his head.

‘You need to lean closer. Make stronger motions.’

Everything Gilles says is annoying me now.

‘You are looking more like a dentist than an artist.’

That’s it! I reach back and thwack the chisel. Too hard. It spears into the thick neck section and, with a devastating creak followed by a powdery thud, the head falls into the snow.

Oh my god, I just decapitated a polar bear!

Gilles is equally frozen in horror.

‘What do we do, what do we do?’ I hiss-panic.

Gilles steps in to obscure the sculptor’s view. ‘Can we stick it back on?’

‘With what?’ I despair. ‘You can’t glue frozen water.’

And that’s when we hear Brandon from Toronto emit a gurgle of anguish.

‘
What did you do?
’

My blood runs cold. I can hardly bring myself to turn and face him.

‘We’re so sorry,’ Gilles and I begin, overlapping apologies. ‘It was a terrible accident. We didn’t mean to even touch it. It was so perfect. This is awful. Perhaps we could show the judges the photos of before—’

‘Before you cut him up?’

Oh god.

‘We’ll do anything to make it up to you,
anything
… ’

‘Anything?’

‘Anything.’ We solemnly swear.

His gaze flicks to the side. ‘I would like a dinner date.’

‘That’s very flattering,’ Annique demurs.

‘Not with you. With him.’ He motions to Gilles.

‘Oh.’ I bite back a smile. ‘Wow, you’re really on a roll.’

‘Well?’ Brandon’s eyes are bright with expectation.

‘That seems reasonable,’ I speak for Gilles.

‘I don’t know.’ He squirms.

‘It’s the least we can do, Gilles. And who better to understand a fellow artist’s pain?’ I take a step closer. ‘Besides, it’s not like you have to kiss him.’

‘Though that would be nice,’ the sculptor adds.

‘Shall we say eight p.m. at Auberge Saint-Antoine?’ Annique is already adjusting the schedule. ‘And why don’t we make it a party – would you like to bring a few friends, Brandon?’

‘Wonderful!’ he confirms, already relishing their prospective envy.

Neatly done Annique – sparing us from litigation and protecting Gilles in one slick move.

As my colleagues head onwards, merging into the crowds, I feel compelled to backtrack to Brandon. ‘I just wanted to say sorry one more time.’

‘Actually,’ he confides. ‘It is better this way. More dramatic.’

‘Really?’

‘Listen – already people are stopping and saying, “
Oh no, look what happened to the poor polar bear!
” which is exactly the reaction I was going for. Before they just thought he looked cute.’

Suddenly I am viewing my situation with Gilles in a whole new light. Perhaps the awful realisation he has something going with Annique is actually a blessing in disguise – the Universe is choosing to let me know nice and early on that he’s not The One. As opposed to letting me waste eight years of my life. Besides, I never did get the chance to retaliate against Andrew’s pitiless behaviour, so perhaps Gilles is a surrogate male for me to torment? I know I should be more evolved than this, but that actually sounds like a lot of fun.

Now I can’t wait to catch them up.

CHAPTER SIX

‘What next?’ Gilles asks when I rejoin them.

‘Something as far from the snow sculptures as possible,’ I suggest. I can tell we’re making the other artists nervous.