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.