Another lazy post

Here's the second BUNAC entry, documenting the hectic fortnight with Kate here!

With Kate here for a fortnight, I just haven’t stopped, and I’m so tired! In a packed first weekend, we had skydived and gone to Vancouver Aquarium, and then for Labour Day Monday, we were off to Pacific National Exhibition Centre (PNE).

It was the final night of the summer festivities at the PNE, which include food stalls, shows, gymnasts, a casino and concerts. Add to that the rides at the fairground Playland, and there was plenty to do! There was a farm section with lambs, piglets, hatching chicks, thoroughbred horses and pig racing. There was Superdogs, a show where rescued canines show off their Frisbee catching, high jumping, dancing and racing skills. There was a market where there were hilarious demonstrations of ridiculous inventions. It was all very family orientated, but the Big Dipper was fun, and the entertainment well…er…entertaining!

I was back to work during the days, but once Friday came, we got the plane to British Columbia’s capital, Victoria. It was just like an English south coast town. I had to have the Fish and Chips, which had chips instead of fries for once! We took the floatplane over from Vancouver, which offered great views of the city and the Gulf Islands, and also only took half an hour. The ferry ride back was longer, but was great again for different reasons – very relaxing, and more landscape to observe.

In the city, we mostly just chilled out, drinking rose wine and enjoying the sunshine. I ended up like a slapped tomato, keeping up an English tradition! The government buildings were as old and decadent as you can get in Canada, and the bay was just beautiful under the setting sun.

Arriving back in Vancouver, and there was more mid-week fun with a tandem bicycle ride around Stanley Park, and we also took in the views of the city from the top of the Harbour Centre.

The weekend following and I surprised Kate with a trip to Kelowna – Canada’s wine country. I hired a car, which was the first time on the right-hand side of the road for me. It was strange driving in the passenger seat! About four hours, and we were in the picturesque Okanagan Valley. Blessed with more perfect weather, we arrived in the early afternoon, and made our way to a lake that my friend had recommended.

My friend had said, “take the country road to Oyama Lake”. In retrospect, she should have said, “take the rocky, off-road mountain track to Oyama Lake”. The tiny, cheap(est) car I had hired struggled up the side of the valley to the isolated lake, but it was worth it. Not only could we enjoy the fishing haven, but on the drive back down to Kelowna we were greeted by the best views I have seen in Canada.

The next day, we went on a wine tasting tour of the region. I was glad we were driving, because the tour was fast and furious. We visited a range of wineries, and were just taking back mouthful after mouthful! We received some instruction on the tasting, and I am now a professional wine taster – I will be to the annoyance of my friends back home, anyhow. The Mission Hill Estate winery included a tour, and was absolutely stunning. The buildings framed the valley around an amphitheatre, and the only winery bell tower in the world rang out to give the impression we were in a village in Tuscany.

The trip to Kelowna, although short, was a real highlight of Kate’s visit. Canada keeps impressing me with the scenery, and the Okanagan really was breathtaking.

Two hectic weeks

Kate being here has been brilliant, but I haven't stopped! The eternal paradox is that the more I do, the more I have to write about, but the less time I have to write! So I am just adding my BUNAC entries, because it seems they will never get put on the BUNAC website (but I'm still getting paid, and that's the main thing!).

Here's for September 1:

After a quite couple of weeks, post-Whistler, Kate finally arrived in Vancouver. Amidst bankrupt airlines (which luckily she wasn’t booked on), and cancelled flights (which she was on), she completed her 9 hour flight just 9
hours late.

It wasn’t the best start to our action packed fortnight, but it soon got better. That was Friday night, and Saturday morning we were off to Abbotsford for a sky dive!

We caught an early(ish)coach out to Abbotsford, which is about two hours away. The way the bus schedule panned out, it was looking like we would have to hang around the airfield for something like four hours before we could get back to Vancouver, but we hitched in a taxi with two people who were also jumping out of planes, and who had caught the same bus as us. That meant we would jump a couple of hours earlier, which gave us less chance to build up our nerves!

I wasn’t half as scared as I thought I would be. Everyone around the airfield was really calm, which you would expect from seasoned pros. It was once we had been kitted out, done a quick training talk, and were squeezed into a small, camouflaged plane that the nerves began to come – no going back now.

As the plane climbed, I found out that it was me going out first, which didn’t encourage me. At 12,000 feet, the door opened, and I slid my feet out of the window. There was no chance to worry, because in a second I was freefalling! It was fantastic, the wind rushing past, and flying through the clouds. It seemed to last for ages, and gave me plenty of time to think about the small chance that I actually still might die. Well, I didn’t! Once the parachute was up, we could take out our cameras, and I got some great pictures of the view and the other sky divers.

It was definitely an experience I won’t forget, but I don’t think I need to do it again!

Back in Vancouver, and the next day was another packed one. We visited the aquarium in Stanley Park, which is definitely a must see. Quite expensive at $25, but it is a tourist attraction, so therefore a bit extortionate.

We got our money’s worth, and inside there were thousands of different sea creatures to observe. People gave talks on the sharks and otters, we saw the baby beluga whale (who was only born a couple of months ago) and took in the burping sea lions.

The highlight was the dolphin show. Three dolphins showed us their acrobatic skills, leaping ten feet out of the water, splashing spectators, and generally demonstrating their intelligence.

In the evening, I showed Kate Commercial Drive, with its great bars and restaurants. We had a Mexican, and then went and sampled some Latin Jazz.

It’s just the beginning of a packed fortnight, including a seaplane to Vancouver Island. Call back for more in a couple of weeks!

Hairy times

It was a momentous day today - my second haircut of Canada. It's in preparation for a visit from Kate - just half a day away!

Then we've got a packed couple of weeks, which I have already gone on about plenty. First, the skydive on Saturday, then Victoria next week. Mix into that lots of restaurant food, some Latin Jazz and a few more surprises, and it'll be an awesome fortnight!

So my hair is short for only the second time in 10 1/2 months. Just thought I'd let you know.

Mooning and Cranx

Three days in Whistler, and I have returned to a rainy Vancouver city. I had visited Conor, Fran and Adam. They moved up to Canada’s premier ski resort in the end of May and love it. I can see why.

I began the 2 ½ hour journey from Vancouver on Friday night, after work. I was full of cold, and not particularly looking forward to a busy weekend in some ways. I didn’t feel very well, but I had already missed a trip North due to a landslide and wasn’t going to postpone any longer.

Adam met me at the bus stop, and we headed for the bar where Conor works. Whistler was very similar in style to the other ski resort I had visited in Quebec, Mont Tremblant. It had a very surreal feel, with mainly pedestrian streets, hardly a shred of litter on the floor, and all the buildings perfect and quaint. It doesn’t seem real and, at the height of summer holiday season, is packed with vacationers and therefore a very fun and carefree place.

On the Saturday, we were hoping to go to the first National Cheese Rolling Festival. It is basically a silly race, where a wheel of cheese is rolled down a steep bank, and everyone has to chase after it, causing hilarious pandemonium. Unluckily for us, a waitress incorrectly told us that the festival was finished, so we changed our plans, when actually it had just been moved to a place we didn’t know about.

It wasn’t a problem; we headed for the BMX competition – The Cranworx. For the best part of the afternoon we watched skilled riders pulling back-flips, supermen, front-flips and many more tricks I hadn’t heard of. It was spectacular, and we were cheering on a British guy who came a close second. The winner performed a ridiculous double back-flip, to the delight of a packed crowd at the base of Whistler Mountain.

Afterwards, we went back to the house. With a few beers to prepare us for a monumental night, we settled into the hot tub and relaxed. This is the life in Whistler! A few of Fran, Conor and Adam’s friends came round and we all got ready for the Full Moon Party. This is basically a party out in the middle of The Interpretative Forest, a few miles outside of Whistler. It happens once a month (at the full moon, surprisingly), and carries on all through the night.

The party was immense. We arrived well after midnight, and in the pitch black could only see a psychedelic projected screen, and a DJ booth on the back of a truck. People were dancing, the music was blaring and fire dancers lit up clearing that we were in. As the night grew old and the morning came, we sat on a log at a rushing river a small distance through the trees, and watched the sun rise from behind the mountains. It was quite a surreal experience, it can be said.

Needless to say, Sunday was almost a write-off. We did make it to Lost Lake, where families and groups of friends were taking in the scorching sun (it was hotter than the Mediterranean!), swimming in the water, playing guitars and just relaxing on the grass. It was a great finish to a fantastic weekend. I hope to go back again, work, money and time permitting.

In other news Mat was in Vancouver for a few days, passing through on a mammoth road trip. He had hired a car with some of his friends and driven across the breadth of the country. We went out for a night, and reminisced about the time we met. In reality, I have only known Mat cumulatively for only a few days, but we have kept in touch throughout the year. Before this weekend, I had only seen him once since last November, and it was great comparing how our paths had been made over the course of the year. It was funny how we had both started in the same place, at the same time, and had such different experiences.

Whistler while you work

I have to admit, I haven't managed anything of too much interest to the outside world recently. Mat was over from Toronto. He'd hired a car, driven for eight days, and stayed in a few places along the way. Of course, he had managed to test the extent of the nightlife and gambling in choice cities such as Saskatoon and Winnipeg.

Talking of nightlife, I have become a little reacquainted with the beast. Firstly, with the Irish contingent at work, and now with Mat visiting. I can stretch to these few nights recently but I won't make a habit of it. For a start, it means I have nothing to write on here! I am beginning to recall the vast expense that comes with entry to a club and the furore beforehand.

So a Friday night of festivities managed to waste the best part of my weekend, and create a dent in my bank balance too. Thankfully, I could revert to halving any dollars to figure out how much it could have been had I been spending pounds. This usually warrants a huge sigh of relief.

This weekend, I'll be back into productive mode. I have purchased my tickets to Whistler mountain today, and am looking forward to meeting Conor, Fran and Adam in their hot-tubbed 'castle' at the famous ski resort. Saturday will be the First Annual National Cheese Rolling Festival, and the weather forecast is promising, so bring it on!

It means a thankful break from writing, although I have to admit that launched my text-based assault on the world gives a fantastic feeling that I am actually doing something for once! As of today, I am up keeping two blogs (this one, and http://grahamcreid.blogspot.com/), writing two entries per week for http://www.vagablogging.net/, writing countless replies via email and Facebook, and the pinnacle of my life to come - my novel. I have definitely regained a love for the written word, after becoming disillusioned post-university.

Per the previous paragraph, tonight I am currently all written out, and this entry is merely a jotting down of the basics of my current existence. My throat is sore, my head is thumping, and I am due a hot chocolate and a bath to suit.

So, to celebrate my poor attempts at Gaelic this afternoon; Slán agus beannacht leat (Goodbye and blessings on you).

Vagablogging

I am now blogging every Saturday and Sunday on Vagablogger, so go and check it out!

Up all night

My head aches. My eyes are puffy and red. My hair is matted and my skin is greasy and stinks. I'm sleep deprived. I'm hungry, but my stomach doesn't want to consume anything. It's dark outside - it was light when I went to sleep. My mind is still trying to comprehend the night I have just had.

It's not drink. Sure, I had a few whiskeys, and the beers were flowing around the Irish house party in South Kitsilano. Merry is the word. I love the Irish. With all my penny pinching, itineraries and travel plans, I think a good ol' knees up was exactly what I needed.

I had been planning to go to Whistler this weekend, but there had been a landslide that devoured the highway between there and Vancouver. The clear-up is still ongoing, so I have had to reschedule for a fortnight from now.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. My new pals from Computershare have reminded me that it doesn't have to all be about museums, sightseeing and effort. Sometimes just enjoying yourself, with a bunch of other people enjoying themselves, is just a fruitful.

I'm not too bothered that it wasn't Canadians that I was mixing with, either. With 90% of the party being Irish, I was launched into another culture that I am really quite clueless about. At times I struggled to understand a word of what was being said, and at others, people gave each other jibes about places I had never heard of. But it was fun!

I didn't go to sleep until 7am, and even then, I was on an unfamiliar sofa. That was after the music, the attempts at French as I tried to translate the slurred Irish babblings for a Quebecois man, and the brilliants singalong we had when one man broke out his acoustic guitar. I'll be honest, for a lot of the tunes I was murmuring half-words as I hadn't the faintest idea what they were.

The bloke on the guitar was fantastic. He even sang a song that he had wrote, about his time on Bondai Beach. I don't think I could imagine this happening with a group of English people. In a way it was disappointing, and at times I felt like us English are missing a trick when it comes to having fun. Live and learn, I suppose.

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!

Solos of the Lams

Another week, another perfect summer's weekend. My time at Mercer had come to the end, so I celebrated in time-honoured fashion of drinks at the nearest pub to the office. Gratefully, I didn't spend a penny as I was treated to a great wind down with a great bunch of people. Mitsubishi and coal mining awaits.

My luck with weather continuing, the sun blazed down on David Lam park in Vancouver's trendy Yaletown for the second installment of the Vancouver International Jazz Festival. Before I even reached downtown on Saturday, my skin was reddening. Maybe it was in preparation for the Spanish celebrations in Euro 2008 the following day. I set up my spot on the vast grass seating area, and whiled away the hours with the solemn trumpets of Zapato Negro, the folksy trappings of Newfoundlander Duane Andrews, the offbeat and disappointing African vibe of Ezeadi Onukwulu, before dancing the night away with the fun beats of Five Alarm Funk. If that wasn't enough, I could retire to the Festival Hall just a few short steps away, and hear Billie Holliday's old protege 'Red' Holloway on his fantastic saxophone, with John Grisham picking up any slack in between, with intermittent visits to the ice cream stall, and fish 'n' chip stand also in order.

More of the same for Sunday, please. And granted. Today I was joined by Astrid, Anna, and at times Laura and her Quebecois friend. We moved around much more, sitting on steps that slid down into English Bay, with the waves licking our feet, and the sun kissing our necks. When the fire spray relieved itself of pressure water into our relaxed corner, we were treated to rainbows and even more celebratory mood from the crowds gathered for the jazz.

As the evening moved on into the night, the mood once again moved towards the Southern Americas, and the salsa rhythm danced through the melody of people. All races of humankind were gathered together, demonstrating the full power of the unity of music, and in true Vancouverite style, many were letting themselves go with the beats of the drums, the power of the trumpets, and the joy of the vocals. Splashes of red, yellow and blue were spread throughout the day, as cars tooted their horns to celebrate Spain's win. I was spending the day with two Germans. But football was unimportant. Today was too perfect to upset.

Sax and the City

Eclectic beats, ad lib notes, South American flavour and Rat Pack suits - the Vancouver Jazz Festival is in town.

With over 1,500 bands assembling in the city, it is a dream for someone like me, who loves the medium and pinches pennies at every opportunity. Walking down the steady slope into Gastown, the festival unfolded in front of me. I have come to know Vancouver for it's unpredictability - volatile and faceless one moment, edgy and relaxed the next. This Jazz Festival exposes the latter, and I love it.

At the top of Water Street, the pianist of English jazz quintet Empirical wafts out a mixture of chords and arpeggios, while his fellow entertainers jump in and out with scatterings of saxophone, trumpet, drums and double bass. The smooth grooves are only interrupted for a few short words just once in an hour, and spectators soak up the evening warmth as they lie back on the floor, drifting away with the music.

Along the road, there are the standard collections of hotdog stands, lemonade stalls and street performers, but the crowds gather at two ends of the street, where two stages are erected. After taking my heartbeat down close to flat-line, I picked myself up and made my way towards the opposite end of the celebration. A coffee and newspaper stop in between (I had to feel cool on a day like this), I arrived to the magical sounds of samba beats, Spanish song and South American salsa. A very different proposition from the Londoners preceding them.

Here, different races from Caucasian to Chinese to African to Latino were mixing in a fanfare of colour and energy. People danced with people they had never met, old with young, shy with extrovert, there was no-one left out. Here, the power of music was evident, as people embraced in the fun. The lead singer in this band spoke not a word of English, but he still had the crowd at breaking point, as he raised the temperature with his chants which, from what I could surmise, were along the lines of:

"Do you want this?" ("Noooooooooooo!" comes the reply from the crowd)

"So you want this?!" ("Ciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!")

Another man was alive with dance, as he supported the lead with his own vocals. A hysteria descended upon the spectators as they moved in ways they probably never knew possible (me included!).

After offering great entertainment for two hours in an evening fit for a fiesta, the group finished off with a conga, South American style (I know what you're thinking, and there was no 'Let's all do the con-ga!'). The trombonist, trumpeters, drums, and vocals all seeped into the crowd, leading hundreds of people on a fantastic snaking line around the dance area.

The Jazz Festival has already impressed with only the first two acts I have seen. With over a thousand still to go, in the next ten days, the city will be sca-ba-bado-bob'ing for some time yet!

The Numbers Game

My activities, divided by days, multiplied by friends and subtract one splash of rain, and there is a very positive result. It's been a numbers game these past seven days:

1 week, 2 sports

I knew I would be going to the 'ball game' for a while, as it was a SWAP organised event. As a sport, the American version of rounders is particularly dull. As it happens, the game we watched was a particularly dull example of a particularly dull sport. Luckily, baseball isn't about watching the game (which Vancouver lost), it's about drinking beer, eating popcorn and peanuts, and having fun with your friends! The match was followed by a great fireworks display, to celebrate the first game of the season. Also, as 114 SWAPers attended the event, Irish rowdiness was everywhere, and a group of Scottish rugby lads bounced off the IRA chants by removing their tops, crowd surfing and generally creating a fantastic atmosphere. The robotic chants (to music), and the fascist demands ("Make noise now!") of the Canadian supporters were sunk and drowned by the traditional European fandom.

After experiencing what I thought was my sport fix for a week, and was welcomed with a fantastic prize today- tickets to the BC Lions Canadian Football team!So, my second sport of the week.

Almost on the halfway line, the tickets I received from a prize draw were much more expensive than what I would have been prepared to pay to watch the CFL, and so I was ecstatic! I raced back home after work to pick up my camera, and then Maisie accompanied me to the game.

The BC Place stadium is an impressive, indoor, 60,000 capacity all-seater stadium, and we had prime seats. With American football being one of my favourite sports on this continent, I found the game of great interest, especially as there were some great plays and some great scores!

3 downs, 4 bases

The German girls (Astrid and Anna) had never encountered anything like baseball before, so it took some time to explain the rules. Gradually, through a mixture of my distracting explanations and Maisie's direct facts, the combination of pitchers, fielders, home runs and bases gradually became clear. It didn't make the game any more interesting, though. So we stuck to amusing ourselves with Mexican waves and loudness.

As for the Canadian football, it is different from the more widely known NFL, in the fact that it only has three downs to reach ten yards, not four. This made for more passing, a faster game and more excitement.

5 friends, 9 innings

The first couple of innings went pretty fast in the baseball, not least because the score was 0-0, with no hits, no runs and no errors after 5 rounds of pitching. Finally, it was Tri-City who broke the stalemate, hitting in two home runs and four altogether as they took a 4-0 lead. As it wasn't our team, we weren't impressed. I was lucky that I had some good company to help me through this hard time.

After nine innings, we were aching for the fireworks to start. They were marvelous. I had expected a five minute fanfare. Instead, we were barraged by a blitz of light and explosions. I struggle to think of a display that has matched it in recent memory!

20 cheerleaders

Just wanted to get them mentioned.

39-35, 5-1

Scores by which BC Lions won, and Vancouver Canadians lost respectively.

Lots of food, endless fun

Even though I have attempted to be healthy, I treated myself to a steak after the football, and chomped on at least two hot dogs in the past few days. Add to that popcorn, beer and peanuts and it hasn't been a wonderfully balanced diet. Now, I am shattered, and ready for bed. I need to conserve energy for swimming tuition with Astrid tomorrow, and then Jazz Festival on Saturday! Non-stop I tell you!

Easy Like Sunday Morning

Picture a perfect Sunday afternoon. The sun is shining, the community is buzzing, the BBQ is flaming, the bands are playing, and there no work to do at all.

That is the Sunday I have just had in Vancouver. Perfect. Commercial Drive, the coolest, edgiest street in town, was holding a ‘Car-Free Festival’, where they closed off the roads, and replaced noisy cars with brilliant entertainment.

Every block there was a jazz band, country group, Latin dance group, Moroccan drums or Jamaican reggae. In between, there were stalls selling anything from headscarves to Indian Head Massages. Restaurants and cafés spilling out into the streets, offering grilled salmon, ‘smokies’, ice cream and fresh watermelon.

This year, the Car-Free Festival had spread from just Commercial Drive, to other areas of Vancouver, including Kitsilano and Main Street. Each location had its own style- and I visited Main Street later on in the day- but the Party on The Drive was head-and-shoulders above the others. In the park, as the reggae band floated out their relaxed and rhythmic Caribbean tunes, spectators laid back on the grass while others danced in front of the stage or took advantage of the hula-hoops laid out for people to use.

The added bonus was that we were enjoying our hottest day for a fortnight, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Laura (French), Astrid and Anna (Germans), Priscilla (Brazilian) and I (English- quite a mixture!) whiled away our afternoon on the Drive, enjoying the music, sights and sounds. Afterwards, Astrid and Laura made their excuses, so Priscilla, Anna and I headed over to UBC for some food and a drink. We found a nice pub near the University campus, where we sat out in the sun and enjoyed as much of the day as we could muster. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to end a great Sunday.

Vancouver Art Gallery

Today, I took advantage of 'Donation Tuesday' at the Vancouver Art Gallery. Taking in the Krazy! exhibition, I managed to while away most of my evening in the grand old building on Georgia Street.

Find out what I thought at http://grahamreid.blogspot.com

Whiling weekends away

It wasn't such an action packed weekend for me these past couple of days. To be honest, I just fancied lazing around for once! Plus, the sun has gone back into hiding again, like a timid mouse, peeping its head out for a second and then disappearing into the depths of the floorboards.

I did tick off one item from my list of tasks, which was the Chinatown Night Market. I was hoping for a vibrant celebration of Far Eastern culture, peppered with dragons, historical warrior dress and szechuan sauce. Instead, I was greeted with "Bra and panties for $10", some dry and sticky chow mein, and kitchen knife sets. The only promise of entertainment was a large stage erected near the bottom of Keefer Street, in the heart of the Chinese area of Vancouver. Set on the stage was a bronzed, lifeless pig. I had visions of an anti-Semitic, primeval sacrifice to the gods, but it wasn't to be. The only thing that was killed that night was the couple of hours it took me to walk from my apartment to downtown and back. I hung around a long as I could bear, and then headed home.

I was greeted with an proposition to hit the town from Jackie when I made it back to my room. Never one to negate an invitation, I changed into my only dress shirt and met everyone at Kris' house, which was surrounded by the now familiar sight of drunken hobos and vociferous crack-whores. Their apartment block was, to my relief, a beacon of light within the dingy neighbourhood it sat.

To cut a long story short, I was much too drunk, and I parted with much too much money. But I had a good time, and I don't go clubbing too often, so I am not too distressed. The most annoying point was waking up the next morning with a sore, bloody knee and torn jeans, the aftermath of a stumble on the way home. Oh, to be a proud drunk!

Tired wolves and treetop adventures

I had been hoping to make it up to Whistler this weekend. Conor, Fran and Adam had said I could squeeze into their rental car as they moved up North for the summer. Alas, it was not meant to be. When they packed their possessions into their vehicle, there was no room for a small(ish) addition.

No problems, although all my pent-up excitement had to be spent somewhere else instead. I made a rush decision, and headed for Capilano Suspension Bridge. Tom and Astrid had already visited a few weeks ago, and had returned with glowing reports, so I thought it would be an adequate replacement.

It took four modes of transport, by land and sea, to finally arrive at the park, which was also well known for its Native influences. I caught the bus down to the Skytrain, which shipped me to downtown. There, I hopped on the SeaBus to North Vancouver, and then one more short bus ride finished the journey.

It was my first time on the SeaBus, which was amusingly named "The Burrard Beaver" (seeing as I have witnessed hookers on Burrard Street in downtown Vancouver). The journey over the Burrard inlet offered some great views looking back at the main city.

Once at Capilano, I had to use my pathetic blagging skills to convince the entrance clerk that I was a BC Resident. For once, I wasn't actually lying; but I had no proof of residency, didn't know my postal code and barely knew my address. Childish assurances on my part (like "I really am, honest!") seemed to do the trick, and I entered with a half price admission!

The Capilano Suspension Bridge Park had much more to it than I had anticipated. There were guides dressed in turn-of-the-century (20th, that is) attire, offering enthusiastic histories of the soil I was standing on. First, there was the colonial section, where I learned about adulterating Victorians, and wealthy prospectors.

Next, I met an aptly named member of a First Nations' tribe, John. He explained the way that Natives had come to give the park its name (Kia'palano, which means 'beautiful river'). He then educated us on 'story poles', more commonly named as Totem poles. There was one particularly interesting rendition depicted a fable of a tired wolf, and something and something (I admit, I can't remember what happened).

After Kia'palano, I experienced the main attraction, the bridge. It wasn't particularly terrifying, but it gave a great vantage point to see along the canyon, which it crossed. Many excited fathers rocked the bridge to the terror of their young children, and creaks were alarmingly loud in the centre of the structure. However, I have been assured that it can hold the weight of two jumbo jets.

The fun didn't stop at the other side of the bridge. Not only was I relieved I had made it with my life still intact, but I was amazed at how much more the park offered than I had expected! I strolled through the forest canopy on the 'Treetop Adventure' and walked along the Cliffhanger Walk.

After a couple of hours of exploration, I discovered that I needed to attain novelty stamps at all the sections, in order to get a Capilano Suspension Bridge Certificate! So I redid all the sections, and stamped my 'passport'. Some of the stamp stations were well hidden, and I imagined they were designed to test childish adults like myself.

In other news, I had my first Chinese takeaway in this, the most Chinese of all Canadian cities. It was exactly the same as Chinese meals I have had in England, to my dismay. At least it was half the price!

Land Before Time

As I neared the end of my journey, tension was thick in the air. I had travelled for many minutes, over many miles (almost four) and passed many roadworks (three at most) to reach this place. Friends had come and gone (weirdos on the bus), and maybe trials had to be overcome (weirdos on the bus), but I was here. My re-enactment of "The Land Before Time" was almost complete.

The concrete wastes of Cambie Street, up towards Queen Elizabeth Park, had reflected the deathly sun into my eyes, and against my reddening skin. As I came over the crest of the hill, it was like a mirage before me. Gone were the grey streets of the city, and the weedy paths of the park. Now there was every colour imaginable in front of me. A waterfall trickled down the old quarry walls into the oasis of horticulture and greenery. Aging Indians (that's 'People of India', not First Nations) peppered the quaint paths and couples, flowery themselves with romance, held hands and strolled around the magnificent garden.

With 'The wee small hours' sounding blues from my iPod into my ears, I could have been Frank Sinatra in a 1950's talkie, strolling in slow motion around the park, on this most perfect of days.

After encapsulating as many plants as I could with my new found macro-photograph expertise, I had a look inside the Bloedel Conservatory, which overlooks the garden on Little Mountain, Vancouver's highest hill. Inside were a variety of tropical plants and birds, including Macaws. I was disappointed that they wouldn't say "Polly put the kettle on" or "Pieces of Eight" for me, but it wasn't through lack of effort!

Throughout the day, I was under the baking sun on this, the second proper summer weekend of the season. Today was no different, with the skies as blue as a baby's eyes and the sun as bright as the bleached snow-caps of Grouse and Cypress. I was content to don my 'thongs' (Andy should know about these by now) and flip-flop into town. I decided no harm could come of testing the walking distance from my apartment to downtown in these Mediterranean conditions, then sit myself in one of Vancouver's many parks.

Once again I soldiered through my Andrew Marr's My Trade which, although enlightening, has struggled to find a place into my routine during my travels in Canada. With the heat still sauntering through the streets of this West Coast city at six'o'clock, I was onto my second park, and still enjoying the fantastic weather. May it long continue.

Whale of a time *cough*

What a long weekend it was. From a rainy, muggy week at work to a fantastic, sun-bleached adventure into the Gulf Islands.

SWAP had managed to organise their best meet-up yet, whale watching. I have to admit it was breathtaking. Tom, Astrid and I caught the bus from downtown early Saturday morning, and made our way to Steveston Quay. It was quite amusing to hear the tour-bus driver commenting on the ancient buildings as we were taken through the quaint fishing town (which, at one point, housed the largest fishing fleet in North America). I was aware that I had lived in houses older than the buildings that we were being shown! History in North America is all a bit more modern, I have found.

Once we had boarded the boat, it took us two hours to actually get to the location of a sighted whale pod. We actually ventured into United States’ waters, down to the south point of San Juan Island. On the way, we passed California Sea Lions, a cormorant breeding colony, and majestic Bald Eagles, who glided overhead and perched on the rocky shore.

Actually reaching, and seeing, the whales was the icing on the cake. Many trips venture out and never manage to find the fantastic orcas, and we were still a little before whale season, so I kept my hopes purposefully lower.

Once we found the pod, they put on a show of tail whips, spy-dips (sticking their nose out of the water so they can see the surrounding area), and rolls. It was almost as if they were showing off for us.

It took us a while to locate the patriarch, Ruffles. He was slightly separated from the rest of his pod, and not as energetic as the younger whales. When we found him, it was straight away obvious that he was much bigger than the other orcas. His dorsal fin was huge, and he came very close to the boat to show it off.

After this fantastic experience, I went to Kitsilano Beach to take advantage of the scorching weather a bit more. I met up with some Maisie and Howard, and we braved the sea (well, paddled for a bit), and then found a nice terrace bar near the beach. This weekend has had the hottest weather of the year in Vancouver, and a local resident told me it was hotter than any weekend from last summer.


While the weather didn't manage to hold up for my extra day off on Monday, I still managed to enjoy myself. I met up with Conor, and we ended up having another fish and chips (my second of the weekend). A few pitchers of beer later, and we went for a different experience.

Conor's friend Adam told us about Hookah. We arrived at a Persian-themed bar, where you can drink herbal teas and, more importantly, sample the "calming" flavoured tobacco of the Middle East, through the use of bongs. It was quite eclectic, with the Arab music in the background, drinking our teas and inhaling the smoke. I enjoyed it actually, but doubt I'll ever need to go back!

Afterwards, we got some wine and headed back to Conor, Fran and Adam's house. We watched this ridiculous cartoon called Drawn Together. Post-smoking and drinking, it was fairly surreal watching this weird adult comedy that parodies reality TV shows!

I didn't enjoy the walk home in the early hours of the morning, or the limited sleep before work, but I'm still enjoying everything else. Next week, Whistler hopefully!

Sunday funday

When I came over to Canada, I had signed up to write a series of (bland, generic) diary entries for BUNAC, the student company who helped with my VISA, amongst other things. The main benefit of doing it, not least because I was getting some money for minimal work, is that it forces me to get out and do something in the two weeks between entries. I don't want to look like I'm just sitting on my arse and doing nothing!

Today was one such day, where I opened the increasingly battered pages of my Canada guidebook, and had a peruse at the different options open to me on this hot, perfect Sunday.

With 'Vankok' (or 'Hong Kouver') being up to 30% populated with inhabitants of Asian persuasion, I thought it was about time I paid a more in-depth visit to Chinatown. After touching base with home, using my brand-spanking new headset on Skype, I caught my usual 20 bus to the Skytrain, and then took the two stops to the Vancouver Canucks'stadium, not far from where I needed to go.

Walking towards the Dr. Sun Yat-sen Classical Garden, I noticed the change in architecture, with lampposts and bus-stops becoming red and oriental. Signs now included Han characters to signify the street names, and I had become a definite ethnic minority in this small area of downtown.

Before I made it to the garden, I stumbled across a park which included quaint stream. There were stylised stepping stones that were fun to walk across, climbing alongside the falling water that began at the top of a large slope, and resulted in a duck pond at the bottom. I spent a couple of minutes experimenting with the timer facility on my camera to try and capture the moment (see below), and it seemed to work quite well!

Once I reached the Chinese garden I paid the entry fee, accepted the positive comments about my t-shirt (not for the first time-thanks for giving it to me Sven!), and entered into a tiny haven in the metropolis.

The garden was split into four sections. There was a pond in the centre, which separated the more unkempt public side of the garden, and low walls, dotted with Ming Dynasty style windows boxed in the other areas. Gazebos offered great places to sit and relax, and a menagerie of horticulture native to China created a succulent aroma. It was all very relaxing.




In rooms of to the side of the main showpiece were an exhibition on bonsai trees, a typical writer's studio from the great days of the Orient (not Leyton- they never had any great days), and other assorted historical Chinese items. I spent a good hour and a half, strolling around the gardens, finding even more settings on my camera (macro-imagery, this time).

Once I had completed my tour of the gardens, I took a walk around Chinatown as a whole. It wasn't even nearly as desirable as the gardens were, so I quickly decided on another plan of action. The sun was still beating down on the West Coast, so I definitely wasn't returning home yet. I thought about where I could explore that wouldn't take up too much time and money.

I decided on Vanier Park, which is over the Burrard Bridge and into Kitsilano. It meant another couple of changed onto Skytrain and buses, but with every journey I take, my monthly transit pass becomes more value for money.





I arrived at the park around twenty minutes later. The main section of grassland in the park was taken up with the Vancouver Children's Festival. Amongst the clowns, bright colours and over-enthusiastic festival staff, I would usually be in my element. Today, I was in a calm, grown-up mood, so I steered well clear of all that.

There was Vancouver Museum, with a Space Section included. I took a look in the door, and was quickly put off by the price tag. I took a couple of pictures of the architecture and went on to the next sight. I had heard the Maritime Museum is quite extensive and interesting, so I opted to save that for a weekend in the future.

Instead, I was content with making my way along the beach and just admiring the fantastic views of the mountains, the city and the coast along Stanley Park. There are many places in Vancouver where you turn a corner, and you have to stop in your tracks and just admire what is in front of you.

By the time I arrived back at the apartment, I was spent. Even now, it is an effort keeping my eyes open and my brain concentrated for this entry.

Before I knock off for the night, and prepare myself for another week in the rat race, I must mention fete/market that I stumbled across yesterday. Coming back from a hard day of purchasing work shirts, my Skype headset and all my food for the week, I noticed something was going on at Britannia High School as the bus edged past. I could hear loud chatter, bagpipes and the smell of food was enough to make any person get off the bus there and then.

I had to drop of all my stuff at home first. I quickly hurried back to see what all the bustle was about. There was a small market, selling a host of homemade items, from brooches, to smoothies, to shiatsu massages. At the summit of the main hill, there was a group of musicians sitting in a circle, combining to make a vast mix of styles. They varied from folk, to some sort of reggae and then back again.



It had a real community feel to it, and I enjoyed browsing all the stalls. I have to admit, I am really enjoying the Commercial Drive atmosphere.

Peace at last

Approaching six months in Canada, my travels have now covered over 5000 miles, eight American states, seven different months, five Canadian provinces and two apartments.

Finally, the tally of apartments has increased to two. I moved into my Victoria Drive room on Wednesday night, and lapped up the mixture of double-bed, laptop desk, cable television and private kitchen. That first evening, I took a quick exploration trip along Commercial Drive.

I had heard of the road, which is notorious for its restaurants and friendly, edgy bars. But not many of the travellers (from the hostel I stayed in, anyway) make the trip out to see it. Strolling along the street, just browsing, and looking for the supermarket, I was excited to see the places I could be frequenting once I’m more settled into apartment life.

With the warm weather, balconies were buzzing with couples, groups of friends and rushing waitresses. Along the railings, blue and red fairy lights created a relaxed ambiance. This is a place I could get used to.

On Friday night, Conor (from SWAP and Sunderland University) and I took a stroll along 'The Drive', looking for some decent drinking houses. After a brief foray into an Irish pub near Commercial and Broadway, we ended up in the Libra Room, a classy, funky bar closer to my end of the street.

A three-piece band was set up next to the window, playing background jazz, minus any vocals. It created a fantastic atmosphere for the relatively small area. A pyramid behind the square bar to the back displayed the vast array of spirits on offer, and simple, lighted blocks of green, blue, yellow and red added some character to the wall.

We ended up staying for the remainder of the night, before I returned home to my gloriously comfortable pad. An early start for Microsoft Excel training at work the next morning wasn't the perfect requirement for my aching body. I made it, with tired eyes and dry lips, and learned a vast amount of knowledge which can come in handy for my savings plans that I need to think about today.

Yesterday, Jen arrived from Montreal, via Vermont and Seattle. In the evening she, Tom and I took a visit back to our favourite Granville Irish pub, the Lennox. I recall we spent most of the night talking about topics as random and diverse as 1980s cartoons, the Falklands war (which began in 1982. I was wrong, apologies to Tom. You win, you are the king etc. etc.), the Boston Red Sox and the 'Grouse Grind'.

Today I enjoyed my first lie-in for three weeks. The fact that my body had become attuned to rising before 9:00am was quite annoying but, out of stubbornness, I remained in my bed until 10:30am before emerging.

I am relishing this lazy day, and am determined to keep relishing it, with minimum action, until I go to see 'Ironman' at the cinema later. Ah, the relief.

Handyman, shmandyman

For over a week now, I have been pestering the front desk at the hostel, to make sure they know I'm leaving and to clear up how many hours I need to work to cover my rent. I must have been down the loud, tinny steps a thousand times to try and reach Tim, the manager. It was all to no avail.

On Wednesday, I had a note on my door telling me that I should be moving out now (I wish). I had explained that I would waving 'sayonara' to this decrepit place at the end of the month. So I trawled downstairs, yet again, to remind the person on the desk. Sorted- or so I was told.

A night later, and it was Thursday. There was a more urgent 'Graham- SEE DESK ASAP' note on room #210. Less than worried, I tore the note from the door, and stormed downstairs. Still calm, but obviously irritated, I demanded what was going on. The duty manager was none-the-wiser as to what my situation was (of course, being that this same one person was the main one I had been talking to).

"You need to wait for Tim, mate," he uttered, in a perplexed tone.

"Well where is he? When is he here? Can you make sure he knows I need to see him?" I returned.

"Oh yeah, 'course I will. Sorry about the mix up, dude. He works on Monday next, so come down on Monday, and he'll sort it out."

So, less that content that it wasn't sorted on Thursday, I dragged my feet back upstairs (P.S. this was one of the main reasons my run was so long, in order to use some adrenalin and cool off.)

Saturday was the beginning of my last working weekend at the hostel. After a relaxed, yet heavy night on Friday night, I was in no mood to roll out of my pit too early, so in an act of defiance I started work at midday. At worst, I would pay $30 at the end for the hours missed in the morning.

With minimum production, I forced my way through those five hours. I performed the usual procedures- relieving floorboards of carpet, staples and nails, painting some borders, standing around. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to help out any of the management who had been swinging me around the place like David and his sling.

Today, the last day of work, the Sabbath day. Again, I struggled against the establishment and clocked on an hour late. When I got downstairs, I gently inquired about whether anyone was looking into my predicament- am I covered until Wednesday? Will I have to pay up the difference? Is Tim definitely going to be in tomorrow?

"Oh, you won't see Tim, he's gone on holiday for a fortnight." (?!)

"Well what's going to happen with my room and everything then? Is Pete (the Assistant Manager) going to be around?" I mused, obviously shocked and disturbed.

"He'll be in later, but I don't think he'll be able to help you," came the reply, from the bespectacled gnome of a desk attendant, whose name was Elvis.

I would say I was reaching the end of my tether, but I was well past that point: "Well WHO is going to sort it out then? SOMEONE needs to sort it, because I've been trying to get this straightened out for days if not weeks!"

Elvis raised his hand in a gesture of calmness, seemingly anticipating a scene. I am incapable of causing scenes, but I was reaching my composed limit. I marched upstairs, and back to my work. Today, I was varnishing floors. The fumes from the Liquid Plastic sent me into a distant demeanor- which was for the best.

Finally Pete, who I had liaised with on countless occasions, arrived at the hostel. Out of everyone, I realise this guy is a nice bloke, and I have a lot of time for him, even though he has constantly been the wall between problem and solution.

"I just have to go on what Tim has left in his notes, dude. It seems that once you work this weekend, your hours keep you paid up until Monday. So you just need to pay two more days to keep to your room to Wednesday," he said. Once he was finished reading the notes, he looked at me in an apologetic manner.

He continued, "Sorry about the confusion, man. You can have those two nights on a discount rate, so it's only $16 a night for those."

Now there's a resolution. I had prepared myself for a $60 payout, as I had gradually come to the realisation that I wouldn't be able to cover all the remaining days with my working hours. From start to finish, this final exchange took all of about three minutes. It was done without the aid of the Tim (who seems fictional to me, I have never seen his face), and used notes that haven't been updated since last Wednesday.

I breathed a sigh of gratitude and relief. Pete had gone from zero to hero. Finally I have no worries about the room, outstanding payments and anything I don't need to have anything more to do with this hostel. Three nights left....