Fireworkspotting

Choose Canada. Choose a city. Choose an event. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big fireworks show. Choose English Bay, Olympics themes, fireworks shaped as poppies, and faulty sound systems. Choose good health, low cholesterol and travel insurance. Choose a Wednesday night when China organise the display. Choose a spot. Choose your friends. Choose not hanging on and waiting for freeloaders. Choose a route downtown with minutes to spare in a sea of fucking teenagers. Choose late nights and wondering where you are on a Thursday morning. Choose standing on that beach watching mind-blowing spirit-lifting light shows, neighbours stuffing fucking junk food into their mouth. Choose sliding away at the end of it all, edging last into your mediocre home, nothing more than an short conversation with the friendly, fucked-up stoners you have happened to live beside. Choose your fireworks. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?

...because it's fun! Yes, I know, I just couldn't be bothered to write my own post, so I copied and pasted an iconic 1990s soliloquy and changed the words a bit. What you gonna do? In English, I went to the Chinese night of the Vancouver Festival of Light. It was fantastic.

In other news, I went to a Blues bar with the French and the Germans on Tuesday night. It was pretty fun, it's a shame I won't see them all again! Maybe some cheap stays on the mainland, yes?

Don't stop moving

These 6:30am starts are bad enough at my new job, without trying to run a social life outside of it! At the moment it is the Festival of Lights in Vancouver, where a three-way battle between Canada, the US and China takes place.

For a fortnight, there a grand fireworks nights in English Bay, where a million people gather to watch the spectacle.

On Wednesday, I went down with Anna, after I had been to the five year anniversary of my temping agency. It was quite surreal, going to the office straight from work, and finding all the chief execs of companies and organisations (such as the Vancouver Olympic Committee), sipping their Merlot or Shiraz. There were drinks, goodies and food, all gratuit. I appeared to be the only temping client there, with everyone else twice my age. I like to think I made good conversation for the bigwigs, and I enjoyed the party much more than I thought I would!

So I went from there to Vanier Park, in preparation for the fireworks. Anna, Laura et al picked a spot near the beach, where we could have a good view of the show. We ate popcorn and relaxed on the grass as kick-off time approached.

The fireworks were impressive by British standards, but I have to admit, the novelty of an expensive, choreographed fireworks display is wearing a bit thin. There seems to be an excuse for fireworks at every turn. Of all the displays I have caught in Canada (such as Canada Day or New Year), the baseball fireworks were by far the best. I think that because they were so close, and went on for much longer than Wednesdays show, they earn top spot.

Still busy, on Thursday night I was treated to a Lyle Lovett concert, courtesy of Anna and the strings that she can pull. It was a last minute decision, and I was apprehensive, as the one-time husband of Julia Roberts is a renowned country singer. In the end, it was not only enjoyable, it lasted for ages! They put on a really good show, with the cellist, guitarists, pianist, a ukulele player, two drummers, three old school R 'n' B showmen and a gospel choir all contributing to the fun.

Friday night and I was out again. After having a few drinks at the end of work, thanks to my new boss, I went out with my new colleague Catherine and her Irish friends. It had been a while since I had hit the clubs, and my body doesn't like me for it today. We all went to Catherine's friend's apartment beforehand, where I came in for plenty of stick from all the Paddys, but after a while (and some whiskey) I gave as good as I got.

Trying to keep up with an Irish gut proved challenging, and in the end we went to the aptly named "Blarney Stone", where there was an Irish folk band, and afterwards back to the apartment where we sat up until 5:00am (! I usually get up at 6:30am!). So I woke on a sofa in downtown Vancouver this morning, after four hours of poor sleep.

There are plans afoot to go to the fireworks again tonight, but I am not sure I have the energy, or enthusiasm for it. Maybe after a couple of Red Bulls...

Grouse Grind

Back in the hostel, many of the inhabitants had gone on about the Grouse Grind, a hiking trail up to the summit of Grouse Mountain. It's free, and something that most travellers do. I had had it on my list, which is ingrained in my head, but keeps becoming usurped by special occasions, festivals, and energy.

Finally, I had this Saturday earmarked as the Day of the Grouse Grind. I could finally go and see what Vancouver's closest mountain had to offer. All prepared with my water, and even a book (it was going to be a breeze), I set off on the less-than-fun journey to the mountain. All by transit, of course, but involves changes from bus, to skytrain, to seabus and back the bus, before I arrive.

First thing I did when I got there, was go to see the wolves. I did this by mistake, just finding a track that looked like the beginning of a trail. It ended rather abruptly, but I was treated to North American Timberwolves. Another native of the continent to tick off that I had viewed, then.

When I eventually did find the start to the Grind, and soon began to wish I hadn't. After two minutes of traipsing up 'Nature's Stairmaster', I was sweating buckets, in desperation to keep up with the pace being set my German Michael, a fellow walker I had struck up conversation with.

He soon disappeared off into the distance (he does it twice a week!), while I pushed on. After forty minutes of ascent, I was ready to give up, and wait for a mountain rescue team to helicopter in and winch me to the summit. Apparently that wasn't an option, so I had another surge, trying to get away from a group of loud, smelly, excitable South American teenagers.

Minus half my weight in fluids, I arrived at the top, breaking out into the sunlight. It was a grand feeling. The views were fantastic too; if I looked hard enough I thought I could see Victoria Drive.

The day was far from over. The summit of Grouse Mountain is a haven for foreigners. For the first time in my whole time in Canada, I felt like a lowly tourist. The fact that it was summer season, and that Vancouver is a popular holiday resort, finally struck me. The phrase 'Bloody Tourists' had cheekily crossed my mind.

But it did mean shows. There was a bird show (which was quite boring, having been well educated in peregrine falcons back in Boughton House), and a lumberjack performance. The latter was very entertaining, with all the skills of a classical lumberjack being showcased. The highlight was the tree-climb, where the two competing 'jacks scurried up 30ft poles, in a race to ring a bell, before casually dropping back to the floor.

There was also more wildlife. The grizzly bears were fantastic, but the tourists (philistines) generally spoiled the moment. A massive crowd gathered around the animals. I hate to be included, but they were nevertheless magnificent. It did remind me of that scene in Free Willy where all the children are banging on the glass, terrifying the poor whale.

After filling up on beaver tail pastry(a Canadian delicacy), I got in the queue (tour-ists!) for the gondola back down. I had a refreshing rugby chat with a Kiwi, before finding out (after 40 minutes) that I was in the queue for the gondola, not the tickets for the gondola! I was fairly outraged, but there was no choice but to go and queue for my ticket then queue again for the gondola.

Now finally I'm home, and exhausted. Another one for the scrapbook!

Astrid shoots off, the Drive and Richmond

With my new job now meaning I get up at 6:30 every morning, I'm finding it harder and harder to drag myself to the gym, or to fulfil a decent escapade every weekend. I leave it down to events to make sure I get out of the house, as opposed to lounging around the apartment catching up on sleep.

So this Friday I went to the Richmond Night Market, very much Chinatown's big brother. It was more impressive, but still filled with tat and worthless plastic oddities. So we stayed in the food area for the most part, drinking bubble teas, eating chow-mien and shrimps, and chomping on corn (Chinese?) straight from the cob, complete with large leaves. I wasn't impressed with the market, I never have been. It's hardly a cultural marvel. It's more Milwall than Great Wall. Shouting stall owners, cheap mobile phone covers, 'designer' gear, necklaces that turn green when you wash. Not too much to look at. But the company was good. I enjoy spending time with the Germans, and I wasn't careful of what I wished for.

Because two days later, I was overrun with Germans! No, I'm not complaining, apart from the fact that it was a celebration of Astrid leaving. She's the last survivor of the group that I met when I first got to Vancouver, and now, plus Erik, she is off to Whitehorse and Alaska in a camper van.

We hit The Drive on Sunday afternoon, into the evening. We had a great meal in the eclectic, South American oasis of 'Havana', drinking cider and light beers. I felt every inch in Cuba, with the faux-aged walls, Castro on the wall and a group of young revolutionaries, fresh from Europe, drinking to Astrid's health. The meal was good, the drink was better, the company was the best. I often find Germans to be the most friendly and comfortable people I have met, both from Berlin, through acquaintance, and of course, my family.

Inevitably, after a couple of glasses of wine, us Europeans were talking politics, past wars, and why we all hate each other so much. All in good nature, of course, but we're not wrong! In Europe, every country has fought with the next, and we all hate the French (sorry Damien!). I don't think the Canadians grasped our sarcasm, as they have never seemed to grasp that aspect. The banter between the Aussies and us Brits seems to fly over most of the North American heads I come across.

We all laughed, and drank (like Europeans, not British), and enjoyed the evening sun. It was a shame that this is probably the last time I will see Astrid, (apart from fleetingly as I give her the damned pictures she keeps moaning about!) until hopefully in the coming months and years where I take advantage of her close proximity to Munich, and the mountains!

I was home before it was too late, but I still suffered today. Alcohol always means a light sleep, and an early rise, for me. I was awake at 5.30am, which gave me an hour to kill before I officially had to rise! I hate those mornings, when I am clamoring for an extra ten minutes sleep, but my eyes don't want to shut - until mid-afternoon.

So I didn't go to the gym. I postponed it for a day. But I ate well (salad, again!), and drank plenty of water, and now I'll soak. Thoroughly deserved, no?

Work and Whitecaps

After a week of enforced luxury, I am now very much back into the working life, and spoken for until at least midway through October - basically the remainder of my time in Canada. Gone are the days of drafting letters, organising meetings, feigning importance and dealing with expenses. Now I am learning about the world of stocks and shares. While my title is technically 'Administrative Assistant', I am doing nothing similar to what I had been doing at Mercer. Today was my first day at Computershare. My training included billings for business name changes, some basics in consolidation and the Canadian stock exchanges, and more encoding than one can shake a binary stick at. It promises to be entertaining and educational, but also gruelling, as I have to get up an hour earlier than I am used to.

To help fill the time on Wednesday, I undertook a one-off day working at Highland Transport. This brought back fond memories of CTC Trading, where I used to while away ten hour shifts with Matt by watching Football Focus, playing table tennis and driving to the takeaway. This job was just as demanding. All I had to do all day was answer the phone for Milan, by extraordinary supervisor, and tell clients that he wasn't there. This amounted to about 15 calls for the eight hour shift.

Milan, a tall, loud Serbian was full of laughs and close-to-the-bone jokes (some involving his Bosnian friends, and "that bastard" Slobodan Milosevic). He knew fine well that I was being paid for doing absolutely nothing, and was all the happier for it. "You going to enjoy yourself today my friend", he announced as I introduced myself to him. We spent the first hour-and-a-half messing around with my PC, attempting to add RAM to it, so that Windows would run faster. In the end, after plenty of half-hearted fuss, we gave up and I began to use his laptop for my internet surfing instead. A good, productive couple of hours.

As I got settled into my book, and occasional news checking on BBC, I began to find increasing interest in Milan's 'hectic' work schedule. He had said that, "I needed to help him with the phones so I can sort out this fucking pile of paperwork, my friend", but in reality, he invited some of his Eastern European compatriots into the office and nattered about 1990s politics, football and differences in their languages, for the FULL day. Not that I was complaining, I found this whole fiasco hilarious and one that I was glad to be getting paid for.

As the day winded down, another tough task was given to me. Milan offered me some spicy Indian tea, but I was required to put my own teabag in the already boiled water. Stress! A great day's work, I have to say.

It was finished off with a soiree I had half-setup, through Mercer. I had been planning to go to the Vancouver Whitecaps vs. Toronto FC 'soccer' game for a while now, and had had the ingenious idea of seeing if I could get a group from work to go along with me. Two days later, they informed me my contract would be up soon. So I hastily palmed off the organising to Gemma, who sorted out 16 now-ex-colleagues to go with. The match was as hilarious as the work had been. Everyone in the crowd seemed to know nothing about what they were watching, apart from maybe a couple of middle-aged woman a few seats back. None of us had any idea who was playing (apart from Lauren Robert, which I thought was just an addition to the hilarity), but of course we wanted Vancouver to win. The amount of crowd knowledge was complete when the line of (drunken) lads in front of me began chanting "M-S-L! M-S-L!" as a nod towards the fact that Vancouver should be in the top North American football league, the MLS, and not the subordinate league they are currently in.

The match turned out to be a good one, with Vancouver taking the lead, before Toronto went up 2-1. A last minute goal for 'Caps meant that the match was a draw, but the action had been pretty impressive.

A great day of chuckling, and even some outright laughter! Just a shame Vancouver are out of the running for the Canadian Championship.

Oh, Canada!....Day

Another month begins, another celebration. Another friend gone, job finished, plan made and health-drive.

Because of my ridiculous, peeling sunburns on the right side of my chest, I have been forced to postpone my thrice weekly swimming sessions. Rather than my torso becoming reminiscent of a bronzed statue of Adonis, I have to be content with slapped, flaky salmon. So instead, I have since been to the gym, which is handily situated next door to the pool, and killed myself on the bike machines and strained myself on the weights.


Now I am not working, I can visit Templeton Pool & Gym during the day, which means I am not bothered by enthusiastic children and certain, strange Chinese men who switch on the changing room showers with their feet, clean between their legs while a heel is perched on an elbow-high shelf and only swim five lengths an hour (of which two are completely underwater, and three are performed using a pathetic, tsunami-creating front crawl). I could get used to the slacker life.


The honeymoon won't last long however, and some boredom is already beginning to set in. With no money coming in, I am reluctant to outlay any large sums either, so I am reduced to being both healthy, and lazy.



Returning to Tuesday, and the month starting with a bang. Many bangs, to be concise, as the fireworks rang out across the Burrard Inlet, spreading flashes of light and colour over the thousands of spectators who had gathered in Stanley Park, and in the city, to celebrate the country we were all sitting, standing, laughing in.


Earlier in the day, I had met Astrid at Canada Place, the origin of the firework display. There, they had put on bands (seems there is any excuse in Canada!) from all the provinces. Bagpipes from Newfoundland, and folk music from Quebec were two highlights. There were plate spinners, clowns, hot dogs and novelty VW 'Bugs' (that's Beetle's to you and me). Add to that face painting, flag waving, anthem singing, ice cream and magic tricks, and you can see how action packed the area was. It was definitely a family occasion, which made it heavy going through the crowds, as mothers attempted to keep their brood under control, tiny dots cried out for attention, and pretentious Grade 5ers recited all their knowledge and 'actuallys' to their glazed fathers.


Astrid and I caught the bus over to Jericho beach, which is well past UBC and out of town. The HI Hostel there was hosting a Canada Day party. The way it was advertised was much more impressive than we encountered. In truth, there were drinking games, but in the once again baking sun, I was in no mood for guzzling pints. There was no slip'n'slide, the food was poor.


The positives were hastily taken by me and my German buddy. This involved pear and mango cider - a hark back to my uni days chugging Kopperberg in Wetherspoons, free face painting (a Maple Leaf on each cheek please) and chilled music. As the entertainment turned to dance music, we moved onto the beach, which was perfect. I even dozed off under the shade of one of the giant trees just back from the shore. We stayed and relaxed on the sand for most the rest of the afternoon, before we headed back for the fireworks.


In the end, Astrid wasn't feeling too well, so I went and met another Bavarian, Anna. She was in Stanley Park with her friends from the jazz festival, on which she had been working studiously for the past couple of months. All of her companions were French, which gave me another chance to see how far I hadn't come with the language. Anything I had picked up in Quebec had been suppressed, and I was disappointed with my lack of understanding of the banter going back and forth. In my defence, the accents ranged from Southern French, to Parisian, to Quebecois and back again. As it shot across the picnic blanket (which, unsurprisingly, was littered with the remnants of baguettes, brie and M'n'Ms, a chocolate choice that every French speaker I meet seem to love!), the prose was fast, and colloquial, so I stood no chance.


Instead, I tried broken speech with Marseille native Laura, and with Anna. While quite capable of communicating in English, Anna is not near as confident in the language as her talents show, and she tends to back out of saying some things for fear of mistakes. It sounds familiar, as my French becomes much more vocal with a couple of pints of Dutch courage in me.


With my frustration in my linguistic inadequacies showing, I was partly relieved as the day dimmed, and the fireworks began. As with every North American fireworks show I have witnesses, it was très impressionant.



The boats were gathered in the bay, positioning themselves for the best view of the action. The sparks flew for almost half-an-hour, and the horns from the vessels all rang out with the final crescendo of the display. I envied some of this celebration, a show of unity in this young country. I know that back home in Blighty, a day such as this would not be enveloped so fully and sensationally as here. As with the music of the jazz festival, the celebrations of this country united people from all sections of the population. It was brilliant to see it in the faces of the crowds, including immigrants, tourists, natives, children, parents, teenagers, businessmen, homeless. Everyone was here. Well done Canada!