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!