Tag Archives: canada

Hiatus – Vacation from Vacation – Fin

Posted
Filed under Writing

The Return..

We took our time waking up. We dressed, and packed. Nothing opened until 10 anyway. We watched the market brush the sleep out of its eyes. We drank coffee, and ate french pastries. I gave a man my napkin, and the barista made sexy eyes at my Pops. We strolled thru the narrow alleys of Chinatown. We got tacos for lunch. Then headed to the dock to catch our ferry..

Mid afternoon ferry back across the boarder. Doesn’t feel like it’s been a full weekend, but somehow it has. The sun is shining, the water is calm, and today I see just how much I’ve missed. It’s a different sort of culture, for someplace so close to home. If I end up taking anything away from this trip, it is simply to learn to enjoy my time and not take it for granted. If the price we pay for being stressed out, is that ws are a less welcoming country, then it’s not worth hanging onto the stress. It doesn’t make you work any harder and it doesn’t bring you more reward. What a beautiful thing it was, to spend a whole weekend surrounded by smiling, friendly faces. And to be in the presence of complete strangers, who genuinely wish you the best. The simplest thing to pay forward, to genuinely wish someone well. How and when did my country become such a hateful, angry place? I blink my eye and it is gone like a dream, and we are home.

Hiatus – Vacation from Vacation – Fin

Posted
Filed under Writing

The Return..

Mid afternoon ferry back across the boarder. Doesn’t feel like it’s been a full weekend, but somehow it has. The sun is shining, the water is calm, and today I see just how much I’ve missed. It’s a different sort of culture, for someplace so close to home. If I end up taking anything away from this trip, it is simply to learn to enjoy my time and not take it for granted. If the price we pay for being stressed out, is that ws are a less welcoming country, then it’s not worth hanging onto the stress. It doesn’t make you work any harder and it doesn’t bring you more reward. What a beautiful thing it was, to spend a whole weekend surrounded by smiling, friendly faces. And to be in the presence of complete strangers, who genuinely wish you the best. The simplest thing to pay forward, to genuinely wish someone well. How and when did my country become such a hateful, angry place? I blink my eye and it is gone like a dream, and we are home.

Hiatus – Vacation from Vacation – Day 2

Posted
Filed under Writing

I see now..

We rented a car, and after a satisfying breakfast, drove around a bit. There were a few markets scattered about. Upon parking the car we were overcome with the sombre tones of live market music. It felt like being home, the music filling the air, the smells of frying foods, and soaps, dogs, toddlers, craft. Something shiny catches my eye and we drift towards a booth. I hold the hand forged sickle in my hands. I want it, but I don’t dare. We wander some more before returning to the forged metals booth. Mom is buying a pair of earrings and I’m thrilled. The lone booth owner, quiet, humble, comes to assist. He finally looks up from the table and I am awestruck. His eyes are like honey in sunlight. I’ve seen that colour of eyes once before, and as before, I was left speechless. My hand closes around the sickle again, anything to get him to lay those eyes on me. But I let it go, and when mom’s purchase is complete, we move on.

We follow the edges of the coast, and I begin to think I finally see it. Those dashes of old English. I see it in the homes we drive past. They are an odd mixture of classic English and incredibly modern. One home with its white and black curving trim, the next all windows and right angles. And for a moment, as I fight fatigue, I am back in England, driving the harrowing streets to Nanny’s. Breath-taking homes hidden behind intimidating gates and solid fences, only catching a heart beat of a glimpse of them as you drive by.

But in truth, the whole place doesn’t feel too different from home. There are still kids selling lemonade on lawns, Saturday morning farmer’s markets, Starbucks on block corners… What feels different, is the atmosphere. People seem at ease. No one seems to be in a hurry, or weighed down with stress. No one seems angry. No profane graffiti covers the walls, no angry protests march up the streets. Even the homes seem to have room to breathe, rather than being stacked side by side by side. I, feel like I can breathe.

Maybe it isn’t the biggest city, or the most tourist attractive. Maybe I’m glamorizing the view. It is not somewhere I could live. I doubt it is somewhere you could live. Homes around here go for 700 grand upwards 1.5 million. Even restaurant prices are not humble. Granted, the current exchange rate between Canadian and U.S. is in our favor. It still makes my stomach turn to look down and order a $7-8 pint of beer, and a dinner entree for $20+.. I’ve never been good with math, and I admittedly hate numbers. Only pulling out my calculator will make me breathe a sigh of relief. Everything here just feels expensive. Maybe in some odd sense, you’re paying for the freedom from stress.

Hiatus 2.0 – Vacation from Vacation – Day 1

Posted
Filed under Writing

First Blood! …er First Beer!

We drove towards the ends of the Earth, caught a ferry, then kept on going. O’ Canada! I hadn’t been up to Canada in years, and admittedly felt a little nervous. What would it be like? Would I be judged for being an American? Would I fit right in as an Asian? Would I run into Nathan Fillion? But the suspicious customs agent shifted us thru quicky, and without a stamp…

I don’t know what to make of Victoria, B.C. as we walk up the main street to our hotel. We pass the typical tourist shops that sell the identical shirts at the same prices. We pass the untypical shops, the military antique shop where I hope to find a sword. My father reminds me I have no room in my suitcase for a sword. We saunter down the wee market street, and found a lone man selling home-made chain mail. I seemed to have caught his eye, rather than him mine. I stopped and he admired my subtly rude T-shirt. It wasn’t long before he had his phone out to snap a picture of it. Admiring my tattoo and piercing while at it, much to my mothers chagrin. I silently cheersed myself to being an International Head Turner.

We don’t find much in the shops on the drag. My father tries to feel the spirit of the Brits and we attempt to find him a woolen hat, but he scoffs at the prices. It’s not British enough here to warrant those prices. We head back down to the dockside stalls. Mother buys some icecream and father and I watch as a ridiculously small boat heads out for whale watching. The stalls sell handmade goods, jewlery, fabrics, wood work. I stop at a stall filled with box picture frames all filled with taxidermy bugs. The people hovering around all squirm at the sights, I lean in closer, wondering if the man has any larger spiders. He sells keychains of smaller bugs, and pendants of small animal skulls. I stare, longingly at the bird skull, but think of the joke. Wearing a bird skull around my neck, next to the cat tattoo.. 

Victoria boasts of Old English spirit, but I am failing to see it. Dinner is in a pub, though no pub like I’ve been in. It’s high ceilings and fancy chandeliers. We are seated in a booth facing the 3-4 man bar, each bartender buttoned up and skilled. Infront of us sits a young man with his pants halfway down his ass and us full view of his patterned boxers. Beyond him is a TV showing the Worst and Best plays in American athletics. Maybe I haven’t been in enough European pubs, but I’m thinking of those low ceilings, and the smell of old chips buildings. Cigarette smoke, and a game of darts in the corner. Floor might be a bit sticky from the beer. It sounds terrible. It sounds wonderful.

Give it time. I’ll try again tomorrow. The seagulls have gone to bed, music is rocking in the distance, Ma and Pa are passed out, better turn out the lights..