I’ve been watching the live cams from the San Diego Zoo and other places and posting about my obsession with these bears for years in between my food stuff, along with reading all I can about these beautiful animals, so this trip is truly a dream come true. Patrick and I are meeting up for the Natural Habitat Adventures polar bear tour this week. It was hard not to book this trip without losing my mind, but I get to visit my admired animals with my best friend. Yes, it’s stupidly costly, but I know it’s going to be worth every penny.
I cannot think of anyone who would enjoy this trip more than me, so Patrick is my obvious guest of choice. But I have to check in with his wife before I ask him to be my companion. She is understanding enough to not flinch at our traveling together, knowing that we are family—brother and sister, basically.
Katrina:Lordy, I love my husband, but he can be a lot. You have my full support to take him off of my hands for a bit. Go and enjoy those bears. Send pics and videos, but keep him there for the full trip, ’kay?
Me:Am I going to regret this? I’ll blame you…
Patrick might not be a bear fanatic the way that I am, but he appreciates my interest, and loves me enough to meet up at the Winnipeg Airport and start this adventure.
“To the polar bears,” he says as he raises his glass of champagne as our flight takes off to Churchill.
“To the horrifyingly small chartered plane,” I toast back.
“To the champagne they offer!”
But thankfully, we fly and land without incident, and we’re picked up by a driver, who brings us to a hotel that is out of a storybook.
“Is this a castle?” I ask the driver. I’m joking, but also not joking because this hotel truly does look like a castle.
“Not officially,” he says. He unloads our bags and helps us check in.
We are escorted to our adjoining rooms, and it’s hard to know where to look because they are obscene in the best way. The main room and its crazy-comfy couches and stylish coffee and end tables, which are topped with artistic, clearly handmade sculptures. Local art on the walls. I’m sort of taken aback in a great way. The fireplace is ready to be lit, and before I can say anything, our hotel guy sets it aflame.
“Anything else, ma’am?” he asks.
I’m sort of frozen for a moment before I tell him no. Thank goodness I remembered to carry cash, as that’s not much of a thing anymore. Can we even tip with apps? I’ll have to ask Megan Madonna.
I sigh when I see the balcony, and it takes some muscle to open the large folding glass doors, but it’s even beyond my expectations. I jump back from the cold for a second, but then I lean in and balance against the railing to take in the night view. I spin to see the bedroom with the wildly puffy bedding, engraved iron headboards, and what are clearly hand-knitted blankets. I obviously start filming it all.
“Did you see the bathroom?” Patrick barrels into my room. “That tub? Like, I don’t even like baths, but I’m taking a damn bath!”
I smile. “Take the damn bath.”
He rips off his shirt and smiles gleefully as he jogs back to his suite. “Doing it now!”
When I land in bed later, I fall into such a deep, relaxing sleep, one I’ve needed so much.
Both of us sleep for hours. We’ll need to be rested for the days ahead. This polar bear adventure is something I never thought I’d ever experience, and I’m going to make the most of it.
The smell of coffee wakes me, and Patrick is barely a foot away on the bed, waving a ceramic mug under my nose.
“Oh, hello, lovely lady! Are you ready for French toast?”
“I don’t like French toast,” I grumble.
“I know you don’t. You think it’s heavy and stupidly sweet, which is why I got you a loaded omelet with cheddar, ham, sausage, green peppers, onions, spinach, and tomato.” Before I can say anything, he adds, “Yes, shut up. It’s topped with hollandaise. And there’s also a side of hollandaise because you need more. It’ll be here at any minute.”
If he wasn’t my platonic best friend, I’d marry him.
My phone sounds.
Oh fuck.
It’s a text from my father. Ofcoursehe has to interrupt this trip with his bullshit.
Our food arrives, and although I’m devouring my omelet and coffee, Patrick can see that something is off with me.
“Spill, kiddo.”
