Speed Dating, Mai Tais and the Mongolian Elastic Girls (part 3)

Posted on 30. Apr, 2008 by Kerry Banks in Writing from the road

A cowboy in a brown Stetson is singing beside a fully outfitted chuckwagon, his voice carrying through a room that is jammed with conventioneers filling their plates with pancakes and bacon. Both the musical entertainment and the breakfast have been supplied by Travel Alberta. God knows how much it cost them to ship the chuckwagon to Los Angeles. Groggily downing a cup of java, I gaze across the Beverly Hilton’s International Ballroom. There are about 100 tables arranged around the cavernous room, each one staffed by a bright-eyed tourism industry rep. I feel a stab of panic as I scan my “Official Appointment Schedule” and discover that the sadistic Canada Media Marketplace organizers have me down for 21 separate appointments. Tourism Victoria, Northwest Territories Tourism, Kicking Horse Mountain Resort, Royal Canadian Pacific Luxury Tours, Tourism Kelowna–the list goes on and on. I won’t have a spare moment in the entire day, aside from two coffee breaks and lunch. Holy crap!

Simply navigating the room looks like it will be a major challenge. I have an illustrated floor plan in my packet of documents, but the numbers denoting the individual tables are tiny and blurry, and there is nothing to distinguish one from the other. Each journalist is allotted a mere 15 minutes with a partner. At the end of that time a bell will ring, signalling a sprint to the next destination. It’s like speed dating on steroids. Slacking off doesn’t appear to be an option. A sign at the front of the room states ominously, “Partners: Please report no-show journalists immediately to the registration desk.”

After a couple of hours, my notebook is crammed with scrawl. I have learned that Moncton, New Brunswick, was recently voted the most polite city in Canada; that when sunlight penetrates the Canadian War Museum on November 11, it illuminates the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier; that Victoria has the oldest Buddhist temple in Canada; and contrary to popular belief, the Japanese do not journey to see the Northern Lights because they believe it will boost their fertility.

By the time lunch rolls around my head is buzzing. After we eat, Paul Raynor, director of corporate communication for VIA Rail, delivers a inspiring speech about Canada, and the 11th annual Northern Lights Awards for excellence in travel journalism are handed out. Some of the winners take home a cheque, others receive a piece of art. Afterwards, we return to the International Ballroom for more one-on-one interviews. As the day wears on, my note-taking begins to flag. By the end of the session, I’m seeing sparks.

At 5:30, I return to my hotel room. My window looks out over the Beverly Hills’ pool and the remains of Trader Vics. Opened in 1956, the Polynesian restaurant soon became a local landmark and a favourite hangout of Ronald Reagan when he was governor of California, but last year the hotel closed the restaurant to make way for a new development. As a gesture towards the many who protested the closing, the hotel made Trader Vics into a poolside lounge, where one can still order the restaurant’s signature drink—the Mai Tai. The refreshing rum cocktail was invented in 1944 by the restaurant chain’s owner, Victor Jules Bergeron, at his original outlet in Oakland. His first restaurant was a hamburger joint called Hinky Dinks and it had an Eskimo theme, but after Bergeron witnessed the success of a L.A. Tiki restaurant called Don the Beachcomber, he switched to a South Pacific look in 1937. Bergeron later introduced the Mai Tai to the Hawaiian islands in the 1950s. Eventually, his Polynesian empire would expand to 25 locations around the globe.

A Mai Tai would go down pretty good right now, but I have to get ready to attend another party, this one hosted by Tourism British Columbia at Paramount Studios. At 6:30, we begin boarding buses for the ride to the shindig. The route takes us along Santa Monica Boulevard through Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. We pass the former site of the Tropicana Motor Hotel, where I stayed in 1978. Torn down in 1987, it has been replaced by a hideous, pink Ramada Inn.

When we unload at Paramount Studios we are greeted by the three official mascots of the 2010 Winter Olympics: Miga, a snowboarding sea bear, Quatchi, an ear-muff wearing sasquatch and Sumi, a “spirit animal” that wears the Coast Salish hat of an orca, has the powerful legs of a bear and the wings of a thunderbird. On the VANOC website, they look like cute, stuffed animals, but in person they are large and buffoonish and unusually fond of hugging women.

Inside a huge sound stage on the Paramount lot the party is in full swing, literally. A zip-line has been set up and guests are flying through the air. There is a full-service bar, tables stacked with food and a blonde, miniskirted D.J. spinning discs. Just so no one forgets what’s coming, VANOC screens its latest Olympic video, “Celebrate the Possible.” It strikes me as an awful title, devoid of meaning and virtually impossible to remember. Shouldn’t it be “Celebrate the Impossible” or “Imagine the Impossible”? But the footage is pretty good, especially the last clip, an overhead tracking shot of a lone skater cutting across a frozen lake at sunset. A guy standing behind me pipes up. “That shot was totally unplanned,” he says. “The film crew was coming home after a day of shooting and they spotted this kid skating. They landed and asked if he could do it again for the cameras.”

We are also treated to a performance by a troupe of Mongolian contortionists. Encased in skin-tight spandex, they stand on podiums and slowly twist themselves into pretzels. The male guests move closer, clearly transfixed by the spectacle. A photographer, who has been snapping shots of the elastic girls, says to me, “They are very aware that they are inspiring lust.”

Judging by the gales of laughter and the feverish pitch of the conversation on the bus ride back to the hotel, the party was a runaway success.

(To be continued …)