By Lucy

Note: I’m running out of space to store pictures on my posts, so I’ve decided to delete the pictures on my older posts to make space. I won’t delete the pictures from the UK trip, but probably the ones before and after. So if you want to read them, do it now!

So there we were, newly decanted into pre-dawn downtown Vancouver.

Now what?

I plonked myself on a bench and opened Google maps.

“Don’t you need to go to luggage check?” Jakob asked.

“No? This is all I have.”

“That’s it?” Jakob exclaimed incredulously.

“What? Yeah. You only have the backpack.” I pointed out.

“But I was only gone for a week!”

Science World was just across the road, but it wasn’t open ’til 10. Actually, almost nothing was open until 10. What the heck? Is Vancouver not a city of 3 million people, like Toronto?

Technically not. As a municipality, “Vancouver” is the small chunk of downtown that I was currently occupying, and has a population of 700’000. The Greater Vancouver area, which includes the municipalities of Surrey, Burnaby and Coquitlam, contains 3 million people.

Still! The ROM is open from…. 10 to 5 as well. Nevermind!

Bollocks.

Steven and Jakob hung around me, also undecided on what they wanted to do. Jakob had rescheduled his flight home for 1PM today and was heading for the airport. Steven had a hotel room booked, as he was heading out tomorrow, but his only vague plan was to get ramen from some place on Robson that was supposedly so legendary there will be a line-up out the door before it even opens at 11.

Well, I’m out. I had a general plan to go to the hostel, drop my bags off (most hostels have a broom closet you can stash your luggage in before check-in) and then find a Timmies to camp out at until something was open. Probably the art gallery, as it was closest.

Oh, but I do love the lights of the city and the sound of broken dreams! I couldn’t live in the city (not anymore, anyway) but I love to visit. A dozen little cafes down every street corner, every kind of bar, any food you want, open at all hours. You can taste the potential, hanging in the air. Anything is possible in the city. You’re never alone here, even if you are still lonely.

One 15 dollar Uber later, I was luggage-less. As I walked down to the Tim Hortons, I realized I’d forgotten what being in a big city was like. I was surprised and confused by the homeless people, wandering around in a daze, panhandling and looking slightly threatening. Still not as bad as TO.

After about 20 minutes settled at Timmies with my coffee, Jakob texted me. He’d forgotten to change the time zone on his phone, and he’d realized that he actually didn’t want to spend 5 hours at the airport. I offered him to join me at Timmies and he accepted, and half an hour later he was there.

I wasn’t super thrilled about it, to be honest. After 3 solid days of enforced socialization, I was socialized out and needed to recharge my batteries. But I know what it’s like to be lost and alone in a foreign city.

We discussed a few plans for my travels. He suggested I could probably visit places like Iran, but I’m not even gonna try. I don’t fancy wearing a headscarf and I know I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut.

After an hour, we walked down to the art gallery for opening. At this point Jakob bid me farewell and headed off to the airport.

As I wandered into the lobby, there was a shout of excitement from the desk. I walked up to it; a young man was bouncing in his seat behind the counter. “Oh my god, I love your pins!”

I grinned ear to ear and took my toque off so he could inspect the pins closer. He nodded in approval.

“You are in the right place!”

Paid 40 dollars for a ticket. At the entrance to the exhibits, I was stopped by a security guard, who made me put my backpack in a locker (fortunately it was free to do so).

You can tell it rains a lot here… every building have umbrella bags by the door.

The exhibits were limited. The most interesting, to me, was the indigenous exhibit called “we who have known tides”. To an eye like mine, you can see what a magical place Vancouver was before it was colonized. From sea to mountains in a day. Red cedars, thousands of years old and wider than a house, reaching as tall as the steel buildings do today. Canoeing around the ancient craigs. Gathering herring eggs on fir branches and having a feast.

I learned about some of the local myths, like Kvauma, the Seat of the Eagle, the mountain the Musqueam took shelter on from the Great Flood. Or Sisiutl, twin-headed sea serpent that connects the waking world to the spirit world.

Upstairs was an exhibit by a man who was interned in the Japanese camps during World War 2, ostensibly about said internment, as it was called “Enemy Alien”. Despite that, most of his exhibit was about his time volunteering in the southern US during Jim Crow. Although I did learn that Chatham, Ontario was the end of the Underground Railroad, which I hadn’t known.

There was also a problematic exhibit by a woman who fell in love with the Vancouver area and the indigenous people, while also dramatically misunderstanding their stories, Emily Carr.

The gallery took me about an hour total to wander around, and that’s including me stopping about halfway through for a text break, so that’s a poor showing for a city’s art gallery! I’m starting to understand why Margaret had a favourite gallery and it wasn’t this one.

Well, it’s a little after 11. Let’s walk to this ramen place and check it out.

The line-up really was out the door, that’s wild. Fortunately I got in pretty quick because they have bar style seating and a singleton can be scooched in anywhere. They also have these cute wood block chairs that open, so you can stuff your bag and jacket into it.

Steven was still there! We waved at each other, and when he was done he came over and told me he’d meet me outside.

It was pretty good ramen. Honestly, I’d say not as good as the ramen place they had in Barrie, but way better than anything in Thunder Bay so I’ll take it. I paid extra for ramen eggs. I also fumbled a bit with chopsticks; I’ve never really learned to use them.

Now what? Steven convinced me to go for a wander along the waterfront with him, which I recognized as the ramble Margaret had dragged me through when I was severely jet-lagged from New Zealand. Much better when I was conscious!

We ended up at the Vancouver Aquarium. I couldn’t convince Steve to come inside with me, so we said goodbye and he headed back to his hotel.

Now, long-term readers will remember that I attempted a visit to the aquarium last time, but I was suffering from re-entry flu and couldn’t quite hack it. On a revisit, I realized I’d actually seen most of it last time, semi-conscious, but I was glad I had come back to see it again.

Now to go check in to the hostel properly.

I took the long way around. I could have walked through the downtown core and got there faster, but I decided to walk around the shoreline. That’s the whole point of this little exercise; taking the slow path.

The room was just mine, for the night.

So, I stayed at the HI Downtown. HI stands for Hosteling International, and it is an international brand; basically the McDonalds of hostels. It’s not flashy, but you always know what you’re gonna get. If I have one complaint, it’s that their beds don’t have any kind of privacy curtain. Their ideal client is someone who immediately bonds with their bunkmate and they all get up and go do crime together, but that’s not common in my experience. Then again, I do have a bad habit of going on the off season because I’m miserly and I hate people.

The hostel was both empty and full. Turns out, they were evicting everyone next week to do some mouse extermination, so it’s just as well that I had a house-sit all lined up. I asked the girl currently sitting if I could show up a day early, and she was fine with it.

The elevator here is the slowest one I have ever encountered in a hotel, and they put me on the fourth floor for some reason.

After I’d settled myself in my room, I did a lap around the lower floor. It’s two buildings; it was a nunnery for a long time, opened as a hostel in 1996. The second building has a TV lounge, the main building has the kitchen and a small “office” for quiet use of laptops.

I had to pay 5$ for use of a locker in the kitchen. I’d get the five back when I checked out.

Had a proper shower. I’m feeling the walking; I’d covered 16 kilometers. But after days of being cooped up on the train, and in the Airbnb, I needed it.

I went out for dinner. I’m in downtown Van, of course I did! Canada might be multicultural, but Vancouver is the most multicultural of them all; 49% of its population does not speak English as a first language. Thunder Bay might be a melting pot, but it’s mostly white and European; Finnish, Polish, Italian. Nothing to really challenge your palette.

That being said, I did just grab sushi for dinner, and not even good sushi, sadly. It was full of mayonnaise, which means they used cheaper cuts of fish, because the good stuff is full of fat, where the flavour is. But I was getting kind of tired. As I stood in the restaurant waiting for my order, I noticed a sign by AlcoholSafeBC that said something to the effect of “Are you choosing how much you drink? [or is someone else choosing for you]”

That made my guts flip flop. How much less would I have drank in Fort Frances if I wasn’t being peer pressured into it? At least half, if not more.

I noticed, from the abundance of rainbow decor, that I’ve somehow found myself in what is the Gay Village of Vancouver, because of course I did. Also, despite it being nice weather, there’s not a lot of motorcycles in Vancouver. Just not the culture for it.

Settled down in the kitchen to write. I’ll always be where I can have a tea. This hostel has a little thing that instantly dispenses hot water. I need it for my house!

Woke up bright and early Friday morning. Went down before breakfast was ready. The usual fare; yogurt, boiled eggs, toast, fresh fruit. I had some granola on my yogurt and perused Instagram. A post caught my eye; a tattoo studio nearby was doing a flash day.

I should get a new tattoo.

Y’know, it took me a while to get there, but I am turning into one of those people who just wants a new tattoo for the sake of it.

After breakfast, I stopped at the post office to mail my postcards.

Then I was off!

Over the bridge I had noticed the day before, to Granville island!

Basically, Granville Island used to be the fisherman’s wharf, but now it’s all gentrified and people sell pottery and cheese and overpriced knickknacks. It’s a nice little walk, though.

I wandered into what I thought was a donut store. Surprise! It’s actually a public market, with cramped aisles between small vendors hawking bespoke goods.

I froze in front of the donut shop. What to get, what to get…

“Want some suggestions?” The baker offered. “The honey dip is fresh out of the oven.”

“Sure!”

3.50 for a fresh, hot, yeasty donut. Oh, heaven!

I wandered around the market, eating my donut, when a blade danced across my heartstrings. This reminds me of the St Lawrence market… His little smile and laugh, slouched on the couch, beer in hand. “Yeah, some days I bike down to the St Lawrence market and buy the good cheese.”

There was a character in Mass Effect whom I really identified with, Thane Krios. He’s a drell, a species of alien who are all born with eidetic memory. The concept really isn’t explored as fully as it could be, but it did lead me to realize my memory was insane because I was just like Thane. A lot of people like Thane because he’s broody and introspective, but I found something else. Someone who also struggled with the weight of memories, constantly unspooling behind their eyes.

I mean, I imagine some involuntary reliving and intrusive thoughts are fairly normal, but not to my degree.

I can cope. I’ve been doing this for a long time.

Something catches my eye. A honey booth. They have no fireweed honey; not enough fires this year, ironically. She twists my rubber arm into buying a small jar of buckwheat honey.

Actually, it was funny because she offered me some samples, and I immediately reached for the buckwheat one. It’s so hard to get buckwheat in Thunder Bay.

“Oh, you just grabbed the most contentious flavour!”

“Yeah, I know. I love buckwheat, though.” And absinthe. Everything complicated, dark and bitter.

After I finished the loop of the island, I was starting to feel all the walking I’d been doing. I noticed these little tugs navigating the waterway; they call it False Creek, because it’s just a little inlet and the water is sea water, but it looks like the mouth of a river. I walked over to the first one I saw.

“Hi! I want to go to the maritime museum!”

The grizzled old man piloting the boat smiled at me, “We don’t go that way, but if you follow this wharf over there, the other company does.”

“Thanks!” I gave him a megawatt smile.

I followed the thin concrete wharf that is at water level. I noticed this hanger here, 3 journeymen standing around laughing at the apprentice. I’ve been taking pictures of all the construction I noticed, and sending them to Bruce and Duff.

I might love my job too much.

The boat was really pricy – it was 5.50 for a short ride that would have taken me 20 minutes to walk it – but it seemed like an experience, bobbing on the water like a cork. Seeing the city from a boat.

I asked the… pilot?… about the boats I noticed ashore. He said about 8 boats got washed up over the holidays; they got hit by a vicious windstorm while we were freezing in -30. These two were just the last ones, yet to be removed. I wonder if the owners have to pay to have them removed.

And then I was at the maritime museum!

I liked this one. It was short, but cheap. The exhibits were good, plus there was pirate stuff for the kiddies. I would have liked more of a history about boating in the Vancouver area, but whatever.

One thing I found interesting was the exhibit about beaked whales. Beaked whales are a species we don’t know much about, because despite needing to come up for air, they can dive down to 3000 meters and stay submerged for over 3 hours. Since they spend so much time in the Bathypelagic zone, some species have never been seen alive, but they found one washed ashore in Vancouver.

Of particular interest is the bones of its fins. Notice how it looks like it has five phalanges (you’d call them finger bones), a radius, and an ulna? That’s because it does. They are related to us!

They also have a tour of the St Roch, a RCMP schooner and the first ship to circumnavigate North America (partially because they got lost searching for the Northwest passage) and the second to transit the Northwest passage. They retired her in 1954, built this A frame building around her at dry dock, and here she has rested ever since. Although calling it a tour is not quite accurate; it’s more that they won’t let you on the boat without an attendant in case you damage something. They have a bronze cast of captain Henry Larsen at the front of the boat.

Now I was hungry. Neither museum has a cafeteria, so let’s explore!

I noticed there’s another ramen place on the main drag, but I chose to hop into this taco place for a bite. This was a mistake… I don’t bat 100, ok? I noticed a taco was 7.50 and presumed it would be reasonably filling. The waitress questioned my choice, but didn’t inform me a single taco is palm sized! But I wasn’t in the mood to spend enough money to buy enough tacos to fill me up, so I paid for my tiny taco and left, as if I had meant to do that.

Back to Vanier Park for the other museum, the Vancouver museum. This one I can actually see from the hostel.

Kai finally texted me back as I entered the museum. I sat down for a minute to text him back. He’s finally got a new girlfriend, learning how to take things slow. About time! He’s only 40, or something.

“I took a page out of your book and started dating someone older. Only 7 years, mind you.”

“*laughing emoji* My last beau is 8 years older than me, you still ain’t at my level.” I replied.

“I’m still older than [yours].”

“That’s not the point.” I keep forgetting how much older Kai is than me, actually. “The point is the gap.”

We go back and forth from a bit.

“He was from Peterborough.” I say.

“Oh, ugh. That explains a lot. The rich boys from Peterborough are the worst. Luca was one of them.”

“Oh, really?” I didn’t know that, but then I always hated Luca and avoided him as much as possible. The best part of their break-up was when I found out he was sleeping with James. Not that I care about that, because I had left James over a year before, but James told them about my struggles with fertility. When I refused to help Luca harass Kai, he started screaming at me about how I’m a terrible person who deserves to be infertile and I would ruin any kids I have etc etc. That was really rude of James, so I got him back by telling his dad about some other things. I heard from his sister later that that started a whole lot of drama, hah! Don’t pick a fight with me… I always win.

To be fair, I’m also a blue blood. People either forget or don’t know that, because I adapted so well to be perpetually broke, but while other families were losing their jobs or cars or houses in 2007/ 2008, my family was taking months-long trips to Europe for giggles. So I’m not throwing stones from my glass house. Being rich doesn’t automatically mean jerk.

Anyway. I don’t know if Kyle counts as one of the “rich boys”. I could make arguments for and against it, but regardless, it doesn’t matter. He’s the past.

“Happy for you, man. Keep in touch.” Kai is one of the people I send cards to. He actually had a Christmas card sent to the place I was working at in New Zealand. We don’t talk a lot, but then we don’t need to; our bond is deep. And probably relative; his family is also Mennonite. Usually I’d stay with him when I’m in Toronto, but he gave up and moved back to Brantford last year. I keep trying to convince him to move to Thunder Bay and be a carpenter, but he’s too anxious about moving away from his parents in their twilight years, I think.

The first exhibit in the museum was about long Covid. I’m sure some people need that exhibit, but I need to be reminded of the horror of chronic illnesses like I need a hole in the head. Pass.

The second exhibit is about their efforts to repatriate and return indigenous artifacts. Which seemed a little self-aggrandizing, but I suppose it’s leagues ahead of the British museums, so I’ll take it. They’ve even returned some Māori artifacts!

Part of the main exhibit was about the local Squamish, Musqueam, and Tsleil-Waututh people, which is the stuff I really wanted! Tell me about the bones of the land, the stories from the mists of time, the city before the city. When the land was a great green gem of trees and moss, dripping with life, and not this concrete jungle.

For the longest time, this land was the village Senakw (my computer doesn’t have the accents on it, my apologies). It was used for elk hunting and sturgeon fishing. For a while it was designated Kitsilano Reserve 6, after the name of a local chief (incidentally, nearby Jericho beach was originally called “Jerry’s Cove”, for the name of the nearby sawmill, and shortened). The original 80 acres were taken away from the indigenous people in 1911 to become the hot new suburb of neighboring Vancouver, or Gastown as it was known then. In 2003 they gave the People about 10 acres back, which the Burrard street bridge runs right through. So those interesting fish-shaped apartment buildings I’d been studying through the window from the hostel are actually indigenous-owned. Which is good, but still… they should get more back!

As a counterpoint, ‘whiteness’ is interesting, isn’t it? It didn’t really exist before the turn of the 20th century, honestly. Before the invention of the automobile, going to even the next town over was a long trek. People see France, Germany, Italy, but they didn’t exist before the first World War. It was Bavaria, Prussia, Austria, Veneto, Lombardi… on and on. The provinces were the countries, and anything the next county over was new and exotic. You weren’t “white” or even “European”, you were whatever country you were from, and whatever religion second. Whiteness is a modern concept, trying to create a home in a world with increasingly vague and porous borders.

Think of yourself, after all. Where is your homeland? If you’re a white person in North America, you might have some notion of where your family came from – France, Germany, England – but do you know anything about that place? Do you feel any real connection to it? Or is it your lack of connection to where you were born and raised?

Sigh… off my soap box.

One thing I found very interesting was this bit about dying wool with mushrooms. I didn’t know you could! This will be very useful when I’m harvesting wool from my rabbits. It includes recipes and everything!

Next was a section about the city itself, from the creation of the small village of “Gastown”, to the expansion and immigration, through the war years, 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s.

One thing that struck me about the museum is how much of it could be written in the last decade. Rising anti-immigration sentiment in response to a slow down in the economy. War, causing women to be given extra rights and careers in male-dominated fields, followed by a rapid rolling back of those rights and careers after the war. The generational goal of stability over anything else in the post-war era, before opulence took over again.

After the war, the hippies. Discovering hallucinogens, but other things that surprised me. There was a few plaques about how the hippies were really into things like gardening, in terms that really sound like the homesteading movement of the modern day. Pro gay rights.

What’s old is new again?

The more things change, the more they stay the same?

At the end of the the museum was an exhibit called the Suitcase Project. The idea was, if there was an emergency and you could only pack a suitcase before you left, what would you bring? Again, not something that interested me, considering how I live my life!

Finished at the museum around 3 and walked back to the hostel, stopping to admire the architecture. Toronto is pretty boring compared to Vancouver. I also realized that the apartment building on the right is shorter than the highest point of the water tower, and it doesn’t seem so tall anymore. Perspective, huh?

Made some noodles for dinner. Settled down for the night.

I found an article about the rise of “trad sons”, a tongue-in-cheek reference to the trad-wife nonsense. The basic gist is men my age, who decline to get a job or move out, and just cook and clean for their single, working mothers. I posted it in the group chat complaining that I couldn’t find a house husband before and now it’s trendy, and I had a few people offer up men they know who want to stay home. Everyone is really trying to help me with this break-up.

Saturday morning I did laundry and reorganized my things. The dryer at the hostel had no setting for heat, and it shrank my pants! Although they were loose on me, so they fit better now.

I’m starving, for some reason. All the walking I’m doing? I went across the road to Shoppers and bought a bag of those pea crisps, hoping the protein would silence my stomach.

Saturday afternoon, I had plans to go to one of the Soroptimist lady’s houses for a hotpot with the Tri-city club. Walked down to Yaletown to grab the bus.

Wait, where is it? I wandered around for a bit before I realized Google was directing me to a subway train.

Good thing I left early!

The ticket dispenser had a forgotten toonie in it, so now I’m up 2 dollars.

Train to bus. The bus I was getting on closed its doors just as I got there, so I had to stand in the rain for a bit. Rude. Bus to where I was getting off, walked in the rain.

I ended up in front of a neat house with a courtyard. I felt sort of out of place; almost everyone on the bus had been Asian. I walked up to the door and knocked, but no one answered. Called Darlene.

“Oh, hello! I’ll come let you in, we’re just finishing up.”

Turns out the ladies had already been there for 3 hours, working on a local project, and even though I was right on time they were not finished yet. Darlene introduced me to the homeowner, Ching, who immediately enveloped me in a warm hug and invited me in to the kitchen while the others finished up. She was preparing a truly gargantuan amount of food while watching the Lady Gaga halftime show, which is why no one could hear me knock. She directed me to set the table, but I was a little unsure on the proper procedure for hotpot. Do the chopsticks go on the right or the left? The mugs? I put the bowl in the saucer, which is how you’d do it here, but is that correct?

Hotpot is a lot of fun. Ching is Taiwanese, so her hotpot might be different from, say, Chinese. Everyone was fairly quickly crying for mercy, except me, because I was starving, and I knew I’d be even hungrier later. What I kept eyeing was the plates of salmon she was passing around; fresh pacific salmon, oh! I couldn’t afford that on my own, I don’t think. I made an effort to try everything. The egg balls were interesting. I don’t think the lotus root agreed with me. And then I gorged on plate after plate of salmon.

I also made a point to cycle around the table a bit and talk to everyone. To my amusement, at one point Darlene straight-up asked me “how old are you?”

We made some future plans. There was some discussion of a Soroptimist who lives in Thailand, and who’s going to conference.

The lady on my immediate right was actually shopping around for a new club. She thought the club she was in was doing too much volunteering, and she wanted to do more advocacy. Which is the opposite of me, considering I joined Rotary to do more volunteering! I should ask more about the kinds of volunteering they do.

Yolanda had to head out early. Sharon was driving back my way, so she offered to drop me off. At one point they made me hop out of the backseat and press the crosswalk button to make the lights change.

I was still on the fence about the tattoo, but I noticed she was taking a route right past the tattoo shop. I asked if she could drop me off nearby, not wanting to admit I was getting a tattoo. She agreed and started telling me about shops in the area.

After she left, I ran into the tattoo parlor, taking off my hood and smiling at the receptionist. The single artist stuck his head up; both of them frowned at me.

Ah, right. I look like a respectable member of society, dressed up for the Soroptimist ladies, my tattoos hidden by my sleeves.

This place is super empty for a flash day. There was one artist and one customer, besides me. New shop? Has a bad reputation? Gulp.

“Can I help you?” He asked, with a light Slavic accent. His name was Yev, presumably short for Yevgeny, which is pretty Russian.

“Yeah, I saw on Instagram that you were doing flash and small customs today.”

“Ok, let’s see it.” He sounded slightly nervous

Not even gonna offer me a lookbook? I pulled up the picture on my phone. “I was thinking between my shoulder blades.”

He nodded. “That would work. That’ll be nice there, actually.” He gestured to the receptionist. “She’ll get you set up while I finish up.”

The receptionist made me sign up for their website, which also boasted an app. Well, I was unlikely to come back, although I suppose it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. If I really commit to going to Van for every winter, I might come back here for more. Signed the usual waver; no I’m not drunk, yes I’m 18, yes I know tattoos are meant to be permanent…

It took about half an hour to actually get in for the tattoo. After about 15 minutes, he was done whatever he was working on at the back, and came over to have me Airdrop him the picture. He printed out a few sizes and took pictures of them against my collar, for comparison. We decided on a size and he seemed to be warming up to the idea.

“You know about aftercare?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah yeah, I have lots of other tattoos. They’re just under my sleeves.” I must have been really confusing him, because I don’t look like his usual clients but I also seem too confident for someone who has no other tattoos.

“Ah, good good.” He gestured to my clothes, “This might be a problem.”

“That’s fine…” I glanced around. “I can change in the bathroom? Put my hoodie on backwards?”

“Sure.” He didn’t sound sure.

I jogged up to the back and found a bathroom. Stripped to the waist and zipped myself backwards into my hoodie. Perfect.

Then the guitar started…

The songs on the speakers had sounded vaguely familiar. Now I placed it. He was listening to the My Darkest Days eponymous album.

A chill ran down my back.

I jogged back out to the main room.

“Oh, that looks perfect, actually!” He said excitedly.

He gestured for me to step under the overhead light. He started wiping down the spot on my back. Another guy stepped closer and asked some questions and I realized the point of the flash day was to train a new guy.

Stencil placed, everything sterilized. Laid down on the table.

The tattoo hurt a bit more than usual, placed right over my spine, but not as much as the wrist tattoo. It was over and done with within 10 minutes. He took a picture for the shop’s Insta, then one for me. Gave me the usual spiel about aftercare as he was wrapping it up.

When I went to pay, the receptionist offered me a draw prize. Amusingly, I drew a bottle of tattoo aftercare gel. Paid and headed out into the rain.

It was a little less than half an hour back to the hostel; the tattoo shop was right at the base of the bridge. By the time I was halfway back, I was burning up as my immune system kicked into overdrive, soaked from sweat and the rain. Good thing I had stuffed myself today! I’d need the extra calories.

Made dinner, hung out in the main room. There was a girl in the bunk above mine now, a Quebecois girl here for the weekend. She spent the evening in her bunk on her phone.

Clocked a solid 9 hours of sleep. If nothing else, I always get a good night’s rest after a tattoo.

Enforced rest day. Had breakfast, went back down for a nap. Rose around noon.

Now what?

It’s raining a lot today, an atmospheric river. They call is a Pineapple Express, because the moisture is being transported right from Hawaii. It’s so unseasonably warm the snow line is being raised above Whistler, and there’s a risk of avalanches. Over 100mm of rain.

Picked up a pizza from 2Good2Go. It was probably a further walk than I should have done in my condition, but a whole XL pizza for 8$… doesn’t get better than that!

On the way back to the hostel, the Soroptimist pin fell off my hat. I didn’t notice at first, and had to walk my route to find it. It got smushed into the ground… don’t think I’ll try to fix it, yet. It’ll probably just fall off again.

The day-old pizza was a little dry, thought. I hunted around the free bins for something to use as dipping sauce. Fortunately, there was some PC ‘spicy pickle mayo’, which was neither spicy nor pickley. Oh well.

Plan some more. I think I’ll do a couple of days in Whistler after the housesit. It’s a bit pricy, but what am I even travelling for if I just look at the price tag?

Actually, Whistler has been a bucket list for me for a decade. My ex-husband liked to snowboard, so our first year married, I bought him a new board, boots, and a seasons pass to Horseshoe Valley for Christmas. There was discussions of going to Whistler for vacation that never ended up happening.

I texted Victoria, “So, who did they get to replace me and Kyle?”

“Kyle is back.”

…

…

What?

Hah! Well, I stole some of his stuff, then. I have a million questions, but I don’t know how much she would answer and how much I should ask. No one is sleeping in my room, she says because the balcony between the two rooms is a liability. I wonder if he’s afraid to sleep in ‘my’ room. I want to ask her what happened to the iris.

Why is he back? Because he feels compelled to finish the job? Because things with his old company didn’t work out? What would he have done if he got there and found out I had stayed, after all?

Or… a chill runs down my back. He stopped texting me after finding out the return had been delayed. Was he just pretending because there was always a chance he’d run into me again, and he cut it off once he knew there would be no reunion?

No, that… that can’t be it.

Well, he’s made a mistake. Once Victoria gets liquored up, she’s gonna tear a strip out of him, 100 percent.

I can’t decide if that would be a positive or a negative.

At 4:30, there was a skating event. In theory. It’s basically just the manager walking anyone who wants to go skating down to the outdoor rink, which charges 5$ to rent a pair of skates. The idea is to be social, but it just ended up being me and Lee, the manager. Hey, why not go hurt myself in a different way?

As we walked to the skating rink, I noticed a bunch of kids congregated under the awnings, to dance. I’ve been getting a lot of reels of street dancing lately… I kinda want to get into it.

I do love skating. It took me ten minutes to get into it, adjusting for the skates that have been worn by a thousand different people, the cretins who can’t skate and won’t stay near the edge, and the kids who weave all over, but then I was flying. I could really feel my increased core strength, and it was tempting to push myself beyond what I knew I was capable for. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt myself.

Lee didn’t walk me back to the hostel, as he was returning to his apartment, in the opposite direction. Well, he offered to walk me back, but I’m a big girl and at this point, I know downtown Vancouver like the back of my hand. Walk for half an hour in any direction and you hit water. It’s not that big.

Spent the evening in the computer room. At one point a mouse ran up to my foot and started investigating it for food!

I was woken up in the middle of the night by a loud crash. Lightning? I checked the lightning strike map, but there was nothing. A car crash, somewhere downtown? These windows are single pane and do little to keep out noise or the chill.

Monday was boring. I’m actually running out of touristy things to do in Vancouver, which is just as well, I suppose. It’s also still raining cats and dogs outside, which precludes going for a walk for giggles. Hung around the hostel all morning. Showered and peeled the Second Skin off my tattoo. It was small and I heal well.

In the afternoon I headed to Science World.

Not a soul in sight, and it was barely raining!

Science World was not exciting. It’s definitely geared more towards the kiddies, unlike the former Science Centre in Toronto (thanks Ford, you nutjob). There were a few things that were sort of interesting, but overall I felt like I’d wasted 40 bucks.

I feel like something sweet. I order some bubble tea from 2Good2Go. When I get back from Science World, I wander upstairs to grab my laptop.

I was hoping it was just me and the Quebecois girl. I was disappointed. There were two extremely chatty German girls there, and from the look of them, on their first vacation overseas.

I walked over to our bunk, “You have some new friends, I see.”

Her lips pursed like she bit a lemon, “You do too!”

Yes… yes I do.

I spent the evening puttering around on the computer. I was starting to feel the “Ah, I have to sightsee more!”. I need to learn to squash that feeling.

At 6, I went back outside to grab my bubble tea order. It had stopped raining and felt warmer than the day, actually. I came back with 2 green tea and grapefruits, one blueberry slushie, and one regular milk tea.

Score! The blueberry slushie was just what I was craving.

Around 9, I gave up and went to bed. Everyone was laying in bed, playing on their phones. Ugh, I hate when they do this. Beds are for sleeping, and people like this tend to be disruptive.

Around 2AM, I was awoken by the Quebecois girl. She thought she heard a mouse, and she went around the corners of the room with her flashlight, looking for it. As if that was going to solve anything.

“Do you have food in your bag?”

“No…” She said nervously.

“It’s not going to eat you, you’re on the top bunk. It’ll eat me first.”

That did not calm her.

Around 6, I was woken again. The German girls were having a whispered conversation, except I sleep so restlessly. If both of you are awake, why not go downstairs to talk? “Sei ruhig!” I exclaimed. They both shut up.

They both went quiet. I tossed and turned for a bit, but sleep wasn’t coming back. Got up and went downstairs.

When the German girls came down for breakfast, I went upstairs to get dressed, and noticed an opened bag of chips and an apple among the German girls stuff. Aha, the real reason for the mouse!

I snapped a photo and went back downstairs, “The girls in my room have food there.”

She glanced at their booking. “I’ll catch them on the way back and talk to them, thanks!”

There was a fog warning this morning. I find it amusing. Who needs to be warned about fog?

Decided to do the Lynn canyon walk. Why not. It’s only 15 bucks and I’m bored. I poured a green tea into my empty bottle.

Our guide is a new Canadian, fresh from the British Isles, named Harvey. He’s from northern England, so I knew he could handle a few punches; he still has a mullet. We were joined by another British girl fresh off the boat, this one from London.

The first thing we did was walk down to the YMCA to buy packed lunches. There we met up with Harvey’s girlfriend, born in South Africa and raised in Vancouver. Turns out, Harvey is replacing the former tour guide while he is on vacation, not that I am arguing. I googled the name of the other guide and found nothing but complaints about him on Reddit. Harvey confirmed; he’s 83 and rigid as a board. He goes off the hiking trail, won’t stop for photos, and insists everyone listens to his inane stories on a hike and won’t continue until everyone is quiet. No thanks!

We waited at the bus stop for an hour. The next bus didn’t show, unfortunately. It was kind of drizzly, but we were all having fun chatting. Me and Harvey, in particular, were having a lot of fun giving each other the gears.

“The homeless problem is bad here.” Someone said, as a person pushing a shopping cart of belongings wandered by.

“It’s not as bad as Toronto.” I observe.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh, for sure. In Toronto, every storefront has a camp in front of it. Every one.”

Harvey punches Mia’s shoulder as a yellow car drives by.

“What are you doing?” We exclaim.

“What, you don’t do yellow car here?” He asks.

“No, we do punch buggy.” Mia says.

“And Cruiser Bruiser.” I say. She looks at me blankly. “Oh God, I’m the oldest one here, aren’t I?” I laugh.

(For context, Chrysler came out with a car called the PT Cruiser from 2001 to 2010, so young’uns don’t remember it).

“I’m 23.” She says.

“I’m 25.” Says Harvey.

“I’m 30.”

Everyone goes silent.

“Oh, yeah, so Canadians are nice until you get behind the wheel.” Harvey observes, as a driver honks at another.

“Yeah, the road rage is pretty bad here.” I’m not sure it’s even this bad in TO. “But let’s be fair, Canadians are nice until they’re not. We were shock troops in World War one and two…”

“Oh yeah! I read about that!”

Eventually we made it onto the bus and to Lynn Canyon.

Lynn canyon is a Vancouver secret. It has a suspension bridge, like Capilano, but unlike Capilano it does not cost 70 bucks to enter, it’s free!

It’s also popular for cliff diving. There was the suggestion of swimming in the pool (not for me, healing tattoo), but when we got to the pool, Harvey was stunned. The normally calm pool was a swirling, snarling mass of white water, boulders and trees from the intense rain over the weekend.

Nonetheless, the Londonite stripped down and hopped in for a moment.

We stopped at the little picnic area for a lunch, then kept going to do the other suspension bridge, before heading back.

Harvey and Mia took a different bus back to her apartment. Me and the Londonite took the same bus, but she got off before me to go grab dinner.

The free shelf floweth over today. An entire pack of instant noodles, some canned tomatoes, and even a mostly full packet of Swedish Berries! Threw it all in my locker to take with me.

Then it was off to bed.

Tomorrow is a new adventure!