east west

the world needs more canada

British Columbia touches Alaska. It touches the Yukon. It borders on all that is far away to me. Katie and I spent most of our time huddled under whatever wool articles we'd thought to bring along with us, reaching a point where we just surrendered to the rain. Here we are, go on, take us, wash us into the English Bay, see if we care.

We spent an evening in Seattle, in a bar under Pike's Place, telling stories with Katie's uncle and the other characters he collects. Made it through the Canadian border in ten seconds flat the next morning, wandered through the southeastern suburbs with very British sounding names: Surrey, New Westminster, Burnaby. Crested a hill in a residential district and there Vancouver was. Endless skyscrapers, like a waterlogged Minneapolis.

Found our hostel, and rode a ferry across Burrard Inlet to Granville Island. The rain started then, and decided it was here to stay. We took a quick tour of the artisans and seafood markets and coffee coffee coffee on the island, and then happily boarded another ferry to take us back downtown. At some point, we encountered a Welsh girl in our hostel who seemed elated that we were tired. "Oh, you're going to take a nap? That is so EXCELLENT!"

We went to see Harry Potter, and found ourselves on the third floor of a HUGE theater (I cannot over emphasize the bigness of this theater. It was just super super super BIG. Really really BIG.) absolutely alone. We sat in the middle of the theater, and then got slightly scared and moved to a back corner. If Voldemort decided to come take our muggle lives away from us, at least we'd stand a chance of survival by blending into the shadows. By the time the movie ended, we bolted down three flights of stairs onto the street, no turning back.

The next morning we made our way to Chinatown through the downpour. Katie pointed out a restaurant hidden in an alley, and we were happy to be the only North Americans in the place for breakfast. We turned down the turtle and duck tongue, opting for some sesame laden thing that looked palatable. We walked through Gas Town, and were excited to see the Hotel Europa (a precursor to New York's Flat Iron Building - I've got such a thing for triangular shaped buildings). I took out my camera to take a photograph and fell down HARD on the brick streets. The type of fall where everything goes black and you feel hot and the people in the café behind you point concernedly (though it must be noted that they did nothing to help). So much for geometrically inspired architecture.

We walked along the harbor in search of seaplanes and cruise ships bound for Alaska. I do not ever want to board a cruise ship. Anything that large must be up to no good. The sun broke through for about 2 minutes, so we optimistically rented bicycles to ride around Stanley Park. About five minutes into our ride, the sun very quickly ran away, dark clouds in hot pursuit. And it rained. A relentless Southwest Ohio brand of rain. We're on the far end of the island, riding tentatively around one of the sea walls, the sky is ominous, there's a yellow sulfur plant on the other side of the bay, it smells like hell, waves crash against the wall threatening to take us back with them, my jeans are stuck to my legs and show no signs of letting go, the temperature must be 32.1 degrees because damn it's cold. We return the bicycles and head for an unfortunate café to dry off. We stay there, unmoving, for about four hours. Our clothes refuse to dry, we're getting nasty looks from the proprietors; their upholstered sofas will never be the same again.

We drove the Sea to Sky Highway to Squamish. This drive must be beautiful when the sun is out, but it's quite a different thing when you're balancing cement trucks tearing by on your right, sheer drop offs to the ocean on your left, and construction construction construction because the Olympics are coming in 2010 and everything must look absolutely perfect. Much like the way mom would make us clean the house before company came over for dinner, so is British Columbia cleaning its room before the world comes over.

We took a hike along an estuary off the Howe Sound, convincing ourselves that every fresh track in the mud was from a bear. Drove to Whistler simply to say we were there - the ski lifts looked sad and useless, surrounded by muddy decidedly non-snow covered slopes. It's such a planned town, like a mountain version of the Pearl District.

Headed south yesterday. Got lost in Vancouver, but somehow made it to the border. We handed the customs agent our passports, and he replied in a deep and epic voice, "Welcome home, Ladies". I blinked - Wow, yeah, Thank you! America had been anxiously awaiting our return! Who knew? Patriotism, John Steinbeck, Fried Chicken, A Weakening Dollar, George Washington, Yeah!

I looked at a Canadian Geography book while I was there. They too, have an Appalachian region; It starts just north of Maine.

posted by jessica @ 2:30 PM