CDG Duty Free Wall of Whisky

Shopping for scotch at Duty Free locations isn't as easy as it sounds. Few Duty Free shops have a website where they list the different whiskies they sell. Many Duty Free locations have a very poor selection of whisky. Travelling to Paris, I wanted to know what whisky is available at the Charles de Gaulle Duty Free.

I wanted to come home from Paris with something special. I wanted something unavailable in North America, or Canada at the very least. I knew I was making a trip to La Maison du Whisky for one bottle most certainly. But I didn't know if I should buy a second, or take my chances and pick up my 2nd bottle at the CDG Duty Free. What if their selection was terrible?

My CDG Duty Free internet searches came up empty, so I asked on Tripadvisor. One fellow was aware that they sold the Macallan, but nobody else could offer anything. In fact, other people in that thread also began wondering what was available. I decided I'd help everyone out by posting some photos.

The Charles de Gaulle Duty Free was actually surprising. Their selection was the best I'd ever seen in a Duty Free store. Tags showed the price and compared it to common prices paid elsewhere in France. Glenlivet 21 y.o. was €94.40, compared to €107.50 elsewhere. Glenfiddich 12 was €34.90.

Here are some more from CDG, as of May 2012:
Balvenie 21 Portwood: €122
Chivas Regal 18 €80.10 (750ml) and €134.30 (1L)
Dalmore 18: €99
Highland Park 1990: €105
Johnnie Walker Double Black: €37.50 (1L)
Johnnie Walker Green: €48 (1L)
Johnnie Walker Gold: €60 (1L)
Johnnie Walker Blue: €166 (1L)

If you're looking for something I haven't listed like Jura, Cragganmore or Talisker, take a look at these photos I took. Photobucket will not allow me to upload a high quality image, so I've done my best to show as much as I can. Click on the links and you will see what's available and, in some cases, the price.

CDG wall of whisky 1
CDG wall of whisky 2
CDG wall of whisky 3
CDG wall of whisky 4
CDG wall of whisky 5

The biggest surprise for me was The Balvenie 40 year old. I'd photographed it earlier at Les Halles. Check out that hefty price tag. It was available at the CDG Duty Free at the bargain price of €3000.

So world travellers, there you go. I hope I've been able to help.

401 Road Rage Rampage

Nova Scotia, if DET 332 is your ambassador, I suggest you find another. Perhaps someone with human decency. Someone less predisposed to fits of rage. Someone who isn't just plain stupid.

Suz and I, heading towards the Ottawa area for a wedding, were travelling east on the 401 when we decided to stop for fuel. Since the Insight gets, like, eighteen billion miles per gallon, the fuel was food - for us.

When we returned to our car we found the above scene; a minivan, with no handicap permit wedged between two handicap parking spaces. It was so close to the car next to it that the poor elderly woman was unable to enter her car to leave.

The female driver of the minivan, having a smoke right behind me, witnessed me photographing this and aggressively confronted me. "Excuse me! Do you mind telling me why you're taking a picture of my car?" is how the conversation started.

"You parked your van over top of TWO handicapped spaces. And you don't even have a handicap permit!" I replied.

She motioned into the distance, towards the half-empty parking lot, "I couldn't find any parking spaces back there."

"So that gives you the right to break the law?" I asked.

She ignored me and, with dozens of people walking past us, began yelling ridiculous things about the legality of taking photos in the public. She was furious. She scrambled into her purse for her camera, "threatening" to take my picture.

Not wanting the scene to escalate, I got into our car. But as we drove away, the angry woman was screaming that she did not give her permission to take pictures and silly things like, "how about I take YOUR picture?"

Almost laughing, I launched one final insult: "Go ahead. I'm not the one doing something illegal."

She jumped in her van and pursued us east on the 401, chasing us, tailgating us and trying to intimidate us by taking photos of us. She pulled in front of us and alarmingly slowed down, trying to force us to pass her.

There was nothing we could do. Her V6 heavily outweighed our 3-cylinder hybrid. We were no match for the lunatic. Our only option was to stay the course and hope she got bored.

Instead, the danger factor increased as she became fed up with our refusal to play her game. She pulled onto the shoulder allowing us to pass her, then immediately pulled in behind us to continue the harrassment. With every flash of her camera, I felt like a rock star being pursued by paparazzi. I posed provocatively.

We decided to end the chase before she hurt someone. We exited at the first O.P.P. (Ontario Provincial Police) sign and reported her to the O.P.P. Dispatch was concerned about her unacceptable driving behaviour and said they would stop her if they saw her. Another officer stated they would also have Nova Scotia police talk to her about her behaviour. We were satisfied that it was safe to continue travelling and said farewell to the officers.

Lying in bed later that night I thought about the insane driver. I wondered if I should forgive her. Because, after all, I don't know the hardships she has endured in her life which caused her to have no human decency and no regard for the law.

Perhaps it's not her fault at all that she refuses to take responsibility for her actions. Perhaps the Nova Scotia school system failed her, her community failed her, and her parents failed her. Do we blame them, or her? I'll tell you this: I blame her. And Batman. You know, for not throwing her in Arkham Asylum.

Goodbye Canadian Winter

With record snowfall, below average temperatures and an un-insulated basement making our home feel as chilly as an igloo floating in the cold void of space, Suz and I are becoming a little tired of our un-typical Canadian winter.

Working on the basement was fun for a while, and kept my mind from the monotonous and daily grind. The daily grind, for you non-Canadians, consists of a) waking up, b) eating breakfast, c) shovelling for an hour, d) brushing off the car, e) scraping ice off the inside of the windshield, radio, and gauges f) working, g) brushing off the car and going home h) shovelling the nice wall the snowplow left while you are at work, i) eating, j) sleeping. Repeat for 4 months.

Personally, I kind of like i) and j). But they're hard to enjoy when you know that shovelling and scraping are just around the corner.

What makes winter worse is having to step over stiff, frozen hobos everywhere you go. Even worse than that is when your neighbours, during the full moon of a Canuck-style winter, turn into horrible asshole werewolves who park their cars in the middle of the road instead of their perfectly shovelled driveways. Now, I can understand parking in the road as the best option if the driveway was full of frozen hobos, but we live in a relatively hobo-free area. And the odd one you find blocking a doorway will usually move if you give him a poke with a stick.

Coming home from work is supposed to be the best part of the day. But not when your horrible ass-wolf neighbour has blocked the road by parking his Jetta directly beside another car. And this is precisely what happened earlier this week.

Leaving only enough room for a motorcycle to fit between, I blasted my horn for a good 17.2 minutes. Being completely ignored only made the horn-honking maniac in me even more honk-happy. By the time midnight rolled around, I decided the best course of action was to rent a Bobcat and ram the Jetta into the snowbank. But I turned around and drove all the way around the block instead. Go figure.

I made a hasty decision to leave a note on the windshield, explaining to the horrible ass-wolf of his illegal actions. Suz and I also made a decision to cut short our crappy winter and head to the famous crystal clear scuba-diving waters of Cozumel, Mexico.

So that's it for me for a while. Next time you hear from me, I'll be a little browner, a little relaxeder, and a little hung over.

5 Bizarre Things About Montreal

A week before Halloween, Suz and I headed off to Montreal where I learned 5 totally strange things. And I had plenty of time for the shock to nestle deep into my brain while I wandered around downtown Montreal on my cane for a few days.

In all my travels, I have never seen anything quite like Montreal. The 2nd largest city in Canada is home to approximately 1.6 million mostly bi-lingual people, and was surprisingly warm and sunny during our late October stay.

While Suz was busy working, I was observing the beautiful architecture all around me.

Some areas of Montreal were pretty desolate due to the Underground City, a series of tunnels and a mall, which was constantly crowded. But far above the hustling, bustling French mole town, I snapped pictures of fabulous buildings, both old and new, much to the shock and/or disgust of many Montrealers.

Most people, in their normality, ignored me, or simply made a mental note of the handsome guy with the cane taking photos of les gargoyles on buildings. At number 5 on my list of Bizarre Things I Learned about Montreal, however, were the oddballs who scowled at me and my camera, trying to imagine the unprecedented levels of retardation I had somehow achieved by wanting to take pictures of buildings.

As I walked around I noticed the same phenomenon at every intersection. Number 4 is how both drivers and pedestrians alike ignore traffic signs and signals. Every 2.3 seconds a pedestrian walked into the busy roads without looking or caring. Speedy drivers blasted through crowds of people, and merely gave the friendliest little honk to warn of their approach. Without slowing down, they pass, inches away from giving the nearest funeral home more business. It was amazing to watch. In fact, I even captured a crew removing speed bumps, just so those Villneuve wanna-be's could drive even faster.

I continued wandering around, admiring the architecture of both office buildings and churches. During my time on the streets I encountered lots of people. At number 3 are the beggars. What's unusual about these people is that they do not ask for money. Everyone, essentially, asked for either a cigarette or at the very least, 'a light.' Weird.

Exiting a Le Burger King, I encountered the only man who asked me for money. What offended me about this encounter was not that the 20-something guy rammed a Le Tim Horton's cup, literally, into my face, forcing me to jerk backwards. No. What bothered me so immensely was that this friendly fellow was better dressed than I was.

I like to observe. Okay, read into that what you want, but while observing people walking around Montreal, I noticed number 2; That everyone was extremely thin. Yes, Montreal, the city of skinny people. Quite seriously, I saw TWO slightly overweight people during my entire stay. Two.

And that might explain number 1. With everyone in the city walking, Montrealers must be extremely healthy. Being so fit, I assume they would take the stairs whenever possible. Which is why so many of them didn't know how an elevator worked.

Seriously.

It was actually funny watching the confused faces of people and hearing the gasps of horror escape their lips when the doors opened to reveal... wait for it... PEOPLE already on the elevator. It was less funny when these puzzled and perplexed groups attempted to force their way onto the same overfull elevator, while everyone on the elevator shoved their way past in order to get off. This happened to me at least twice a day, for four days straight.

But don't get me wrong based on silly observations. I loved Montreal, and would love to visit again. I was surprised at the friendliness, and how easy it was to get around. It is a very logical city, with beautiful, well-spaced buildings which allow light to brighten the seemingly darkest alleys.

Beck's Back From Africa

On Monday night, a one-a.m. knock at the door ended a 4-day nightmare for Suz's sis, Beck, who was staying with us upon her return from almost a year in Africa.

Beck, a former CBC reporter, went first to a University in South Africa to teach journalism. Mission accomplished, she then ventured north to Kigali, Rwanda, to teach more journalism at the National University of Rwanda as part of the noble Rwanda Initiative.

Most of the country's journalist population was decimated in 1994, along with close to a million others, during the horrific Rwandan genocide involving the Tutsis, the Hutus.

During her time there, Beck travelled and acquired many spiffy wood carvings, which were painstakingly wrapped in newspaper, and bright artwork that was carefully rolled, and packed in her suitcases.

But when she arrived in Toronto, Beck's African souvenirs, her clothes, her shoes, and everything she had acquired during her stay in Africa, didn't.

Almost an entire year's worth of memories was gone.

After a lengthy 4-day 'fight' with mostly unsympathetic United Airlines customer service reps, Beck was told her suitcases were untraceable and she should give up hope of ever getting them back. Furious, she filed her lost luggage report and compiled her very long list of lost belongings and their respective values so that the airline could reimburse her.

Unfortunately, that's not what she wanted. The money didn't really mean anything. She wanted her year in Africa back. And then, a miracle happened.

At 1:03 a.m. I ran downstairs and opened the door to a friendly United Airlines employee standing in the dark with both of Beck's bags, bursting at the seams with African goodness. An overjoyed Beck got her Africa back.

Florida: It's Like High School.

Our trip to Florida was a moderately smashing success. Actually, that phrase makes about as much sense as ordering an Extra Medium coffee, so scratch that. The Florida trip was totally excellent, even though the weather wasn't.

The reason for the excellence of the trip was threefold: excellent friends, excellent price, and excellent fun.

The two friends we travelled with happen to be pilots who work for Air Canada, so procuring tickets for the airline was much less painful than usual. It doesn't even matter that we missed our first flight by 5 seconds and had to wait 5 more hours for the next one.

Nor does it matter that the toilet on that plane exploded and leaked down the side of the fuselage, then had to be cleaned up and paperwork had to be filed while we waited and waited. No. None of that matters because the price just couldn't be beat. Except, perhaps by a big European named Stipe - with a stick of course.

The highlight of the trip was an old mini-putt place near Treasure Island called Smuggler's Cove. When I was an unruly teenager the line for this place in the summer often topped an hour, as it was of amusement park quality. Now that I'm an unruly adult, I have the patience for such things, but luckily, being winter, we didn't have to wait a bit.

The place was exactly as I remembered it, from the massive pirate ship right down to the super sweet, nasty-ass alligators chillin' in the artificially blueified swamp. Upon viewing the lazy gators fenced off behind a military-approved-possibily-electrified-could've-been-barb-wired fence covered in signs reading "Do not stick your fingers into the gators' eyes, buttholes or mouths", one particular friend wondered aloud if they were real.

I wondered if he should have kept that thought to himself.

This was not the first time we had to reassure our Air Canada friends that something was actually real. It was about the fourth time, in fact. After two cranes and a pelican. I don't think I've ever said, "yes, it's real!" more in my life. It didn't matter what I said as the dang things had to move before anyone believed me. Then I changed stories and explained, not-so-convincingly, that they were robots. When still no one believed me, I punched them all and ran away crying.

Like I said, I'm unruly.

Despite the rain on Thursday and the overcast Wednesday, we had a grand time hanging out in my parents' condo, eating tasty bagels, teasing each other and going to bed early. It was kind of like high school all over again.

Native Protest Backfireage

The Native protest along highway 401 on Friday was supposed to cause traffic jams (above), but the blockade was no match for technology... or the police.

The delicious blending of design and efficiency that is our Honda Insight forced the Natives into a collective burst of joy. Joy which resulted in tears. Tears of joy. And what happens when tears well up in your eyes? You can't see.

And that's when the smooth-talking police negotiators jumped in and cleared the highway for us, so that we could achieve a super-awesome 76 mpg (3.7L per 100km) average. We were expecting a Rosie O'Donnell size traffic jam, but instead the 401 looked like this. To all the shmoes who got detoured onto highway 37, I only had this to say: so long suckers. Serves you right for waking up early, trying to beat the jam.

In fact, the only reason we ran into a traffic jam as seen in the main picture is because everyone was rubbernecking to see this totally wicked burned-out transport. Not because of the protest.

The Native protest backfired. And here's why. I used to be on their side. I used to feel badly for their situation and the deal they got in the past, by our government, to place them in that situation today.

They say they were trying to make the rest of Canada feel their inconveniences and frustration, but essentially, what they did was to alienate and anger the rest of Canada.

Last I checked, causing frustration and anger among your friends is not a good thing. Like the old cliche goes, why would you need enemies when you've got friends like this?