Friday morning and we wake up to a glorious, clear blue day. I’m staying with Krystal (a work friend from Ottawa) and her boyfriend. They are recent transplants to Victoria, having taken two months of the fall to drive across the better part of the country.
The previous day, Krystal met me at the bus stop and took me on a concise tour of the downtown. We had a delicious meal and locally brewed beer at ___ Inn [the name eludes me], played a game and drank tea out of real china (whole set off Used Victoria =$10!), then met some people at a bar, including Alanna – also, formerly of Ottawa, but a Victoria native – and her boyfriend, who was dj-ing that night.
Now, with the entire, beautiful day before us, Krystal and I set off for a seaside walk. We see a huge otter – my new favorite animal – and an enormous, bright orange starfish.
But what began as a “good walk” gradually morphed into something of more substantial proportions. Excluding brief stops for a BC-mandatory coffee, at Krystal’s work, and the grocery and liquor marts, we walked steadily from the time we left the house before noon until we returned around 5:30pm.
I don’t think my guide intended for it to become such a journey, a thought that only started to occur to me later in the day. Krystal began to casually throw in that she was still unfamiliar with all the streets in Victoria, still trying to get her bearings in the new city. We were still meandering about at this point.
Starting around 4pm, she would stop, pause for a moment, and then exclaim, “Hmm… oh, I know where we are!” Frequently. To the point where the surprised tone so obviously present in her reactions did not inspire confidence that we would make it back to the apartment. Ever.
But we did. And right into the building’s hot tub we went. Then into the pool. And then back into the hot tub.
The result: minimal battle damage. (The 4th toe on my left foot was more blister than anything else – yes Mom, it’s healing fine and no, it’s not because I had on inappropriate footwear. Even though I did, that’s not what caused the blister.)
Later on, a handful of people came over and the evening was spent enjoying homemade pizza, more delicious BC beer, Rock Band, and good company.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
To the Ferry
Left the apartment at 11am with ample time to catch the 1pm ferry to Vancouver Island. Google maps had kindly charted my course and I had even made note of an alternative route, just in case.
The #3 bus was pulling up to the recently-turned-red traffic light, so I dashed across the intersection and into The Hasty Mart on the corner to get change. Much to my chagrin, the clerk possessed none of the desired attribute implicit in the store's name.
"Are you able to change this? It's for bus fare."
He glances over his shoulder to confirm the aforementioned bus's presence. "Well, um… ah… I think…"
"Because I can buy something."
"No, no… it's fine. My… till is low."
"It's no problem, really. I'm just trying to catch that bus."
He ever so delicately takes out a five.
A ten.
Two toonies.
And finally, four quarters.
Zero hastiness.
The bus pulls away as he hands me the change. Onto the alternate route.
It was ultimately fortunate that I missed the #3 in question, as I was on the wrong side of the street. So on the next bus, to avoid further delay, I ask the driver to confirm my intended transfer and the side of the street I wanted to catch it on, all of which was nearly too much for him to tolerate. Despite having all the appearance of someone "not from 'round here" -- from over paying for regular fare to not realizing transit to the ferry would pass through 3 zones -- he interpreted my lack of orientation as a complete dearth of mental capacity. He slumped forward, glared, and with maximum exasperation, "That way, that way! Away from downtown. You want to go toward the ferry! Away from the mountains."
Maybe everyone was from out of town that morning and he'd answered the same question 20 times so far. For my part, the exchange sent me in the right direction and elicited sympathy from everyone on the front half of the bus.
The rest of the journey to Victoria was long, grey and, despite auspicious beginnings, completely uneventful.
The #3 bus was pulling up to the recently-turned-red traffic light, so I dashed across the intersection and into The Hasty Mart on the corner to get change. Much to my chagrin, the clerk possessed none of the desired attribute implicit in the store's name.
"Are you able to change this? It's for bus fare."
He glances over his shoulder to confirm the aforementioned bus's presence. "Well, um… ah… I think…"
"Because I can buy something."
"No, no… it's fine. My… till is low."
"It's no problem, really. I'm just trying to catch that bus."
He ever so delicately takes out a five.
A ten.
Two toonies.
And finally, four quarters.
Zero hastiness.
The bus pulls away as he hands me the change. Onto the alternate route.
It was ultimately fortunate that I missed the #3 in question, as I was on the wrong side of the street. So on the next bus, to avoid further delay, I ask the driver to confirm my intended transfer and the side of the street I wanted to catch it on, all of which was nearly too much for him to tolerate. Despite having all the appearance of someone "not from 'round here" -- from over paying for regular fare to not realizing transit to the ferry would pass through 3 zones -- he interpreted my lack of orientation as a complete dearth of mental capacity. He slumped forward, glared, and with maximum exasperation, "That way, that way! Away from downtown. You want to go toward the ferry! Away from the mountains."
Maybe everyone was from out of town that morning and he'd answered the same question 20 times so far. For my part, the exchange sent me in the right direction and elicited sympathy from everyone on the front half of the bus.
The rest of the journey to Victoria was long, grey and, despite auspicious beginnings, completely uneventful.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
India vs N.America
Pablo had buckets of stories from his travels, but my favorite is the one he prefaced as exemplifying the difference between India and North America and centers around his family’s neighbor in Bombay.
He’s an older gentleman and Pablo found it peculiar that he – like many people in India, apparently – watched The Discovery Channel non-stop.
One day, the neighbor began telling Pablo about a recent trip to a mountain town that is a popular pilgrimage destination for tourists. The town is plagued by monkeys, especially around the gondola at the base of the mountain. Locals know to clutch the coconuts they carry to their chests otherwise they'll be snatched by the brazen monkeys. The neighbor watched as the monkeys made off with several prizes before he walked over and bonked one of them on the head with a stick. Every last monkey scampered away and weren’t seen for the rest of the day.
The neighbor said he knew that if he hit the alpha male on the head, all the monkeys would leave.
He knew this, he said, from watching The Discovery Channel.
Suddenly, it became clear to Pablo: “So unlike here where people watch The Discovery Channel for educational entertainment, in India, everyone watches it to learn survival skills.”
He’s an older gentleman and Pablo found it peculiar that he – like many people in India, apparently – watched The Discovery Channel non-stop.
One day, the neighbor began telling Pablo about a recent trip to a mountain town that is a popular pilgrimage destination for tourists. The town is plagued by monkeys, especially around the gondola at the base of the mountain. Locals know to clutch the coconuts they carry to their chests otherwise they'll be snatched by the brazen monkeys. The neighbor watched as the monkeys made off with several prizes before he walked over and bonked one of them on the head with a stick. Every last monkey scampered away and weren’t seen for the rest of the day.
The neighbor said he knew that if he hit the alpha male on the head, all the monkeys would leave.
He knew this, he said, from watching The Discovery Channel.
Suddenly, it became clear to Pablo: “So unlike here where people watch The Discovery Channel for educational entertainment, in India, everyone watches it to learn survival skills.”
LA's Top Attraction
Pablo and I experienced insta-bond when we met 2 1/2 years ago. He had been abroad since December (Europe, Bombay, Goa) and Barb – our mutual friend – didn’t know if and when he was back. I hadn’t heard from him either and was expecting to get his voicemail when he answered: he had gotten into Vancouver the day after me.
“Where are you?”
“Main & 16th”
“What?”
Turns out, he lives about a block from where I’m staying. I go over and meet roommates in the flesh I had only known through Skype (laptops + webcams = walking tours of households). And we yak up a storm, catching up on everything since we last saw each other in August. Pablo interrupts me midway through my zillionth story: “You have to do voiceover work.” Pablo is an actor. He thinks I’d be particularly suited for animation stuff since my voice sounds so young. Voiceover work is one of his roommate’s bread & butter. How fun would that be?
***
I start grilling the boys (all actors) about LA since they’ve all spent time there, including one who lived there for a while. They hem and haw, tell me the standard Venice Beach, Hollywood, Santa Monica, don’t-bother-with-Malibu, yaddayadda I’ve been hearing from everyone. Until,
Pablo: “You absolutely must have yogurt from Pinkberry’s”
“Yogurt?”
“I’m serious. You have that on the 3rd day and you’ll kick yourself for wasting your whole time in LA.”
Yogurt it is, then.
“Where are you?”
“Main & 16th”
“What?”
Turns out, he lives about a block from where I’m staying. I go over and meet roommates in the flesh I had only known through Skype (laptops + webcams = walking tours of households). And we yak up a storm, catching up on everything since we last saw each other in August. Pablo interrupts me midway through my zillionth story: “You have to do voiceover work.” Pablo is an actor. He thinks I’d be particularly suited for animation stuff since my voice sounds so young. Voiceover work is one of his roommate’s bread & butter. How fun would that be?
***
I start grilling the boys (all actors) about LA since they’ve all spent time there, including one who lived there for a while. They hem and haw, tell me the standard Venice Beach, Hollywood, Santa Monica, don’t-bother-with-Malibu, yaddayadda I’ve been hearing from everyone. Until,
Pablo: “You absolutely must have yogurt from Pinkberry’s”
“Yogurt?”
“I’m serious. You have that on the 3rd day and you’ll kick yourself for wasting your whole time in LA.”
Yogurt it is, then.
Sushi & Caravaggio
I’m out with a friend for All-U-Can-Eat sushi. He’s in love… with a couple people – as usual – but the newest lady is the current stand-out. He’s telling me how this time, he’s going to play it cool, not give too much away, aloof even. I feel the pinch of recent experience and say that tactic doesn’t tend to work out so well. He smiles and leans across the table, “It never works out.”
I drop my head and before I realize what’s happening, a big alligator tear rolls down my nose and splats on the table. Damn. Didn’t I cry the last time the two of us were out for all-you-can-eat sushi? Of course I did! At least I had the decency to keep it together long enough to make it to the curb of Burrard. The situation was different then – even if the issues are thematically the same – and called for heavy sobs, where the present one deserves only a few silent tears of frustration.
I dish out the general overview through watery eyes and finish with the ever eloquent and conclusive, “What does it matter anyway?”
“It always matters. It always matter, and it never works out.”
Small giggle.
The server puts the cheque on the table. He picks it up and chuckles.
“Shows what they know, huh?”
He points to where our order is listed at the top: 2 Adults.
“You okay there, Heartbreak?”
Sniff, nod.
All this ridiculousness because I was scared.
Which brings me to Caravaggio.
***
My friend Owen told me about Caravaggio, a famous Italian painter from the early 17th century. He and his gang would run the streets of Rome, rapiers at their sides and servants following close behind, moving from tennis court to palazzo in search of action – both romantic and combative. Caravaggio eventually ended up killing a man in a brawl and fled Rome, but it was the gang’s motto that intrigued Owen: “Without Hope or Fear.”
He told me he’s recently adopted it as his own motto:
“It sounds negative at first, but when you really try to imagine what life would be like if you could live like that, it’s very tempting!”
Without hope or fear. It’s worth a shot.
After all, there are only so many all-you-can-eat sushi places in this city.
I drop my head and before I realize what’s happening, a big alligator tear rolls down my nose and splats on the table. Damn. Didn’t I cry the last time the two of us were out for all-you-can-eat sushi? Of course I did! At least I had the decency to keep it together long enough to make it to the curb of Burrard. The situation was different then – even if the issues are thematically the same – and called for heavy sobs, where the present one deserves only a few silent tears of frustration.
I dish out the general overview through watery eyes and finish with the ever eloquent and conclusive, “What does it matter anyway?”
“It always matters. It always matter, and it never works out.”
Small giggle.
The server puts the cheque on the table. He picks it up and chuckles.
“Shows what they know, huh?”
He points to where our order is listed at the top: 2 Adults.
“You okay there, Heartbreak?”
Sniff, nod.
All this ridiculousness because I was scared.
Which brings me to Caravaggio.
***
My friend Owen told me about Caravaggio, a famous Italian painter from the early 17th century. He and his gang would run the streets of Rome, rapiers at their sides and servants following close behind, moving from tennis court to palazzo in search of action – both romantic and combative. Caravaggio eventually ended up killing a man in a brawl and fled Rome, but it was the gang’s motto that intrigued Owen: “Without Hope or Fear.”
He told me he’s recently adopted it as his own motto:
“It sounds negative at first, but when you really try to imagine what life would be like if you could live like that, it’s very tempting!”
Without hope or fear. It’s worth a shot.
After all, there are only so many all-you-can-eat sushi places in this city.
Poker Night
Samm taught me to play poker the last time I was in Vancouver. I won $50 the second time we played and, as much as I’d love to credit solid instruction and/or deliriously incredible talent, we all know it was Fortune Fair, as is so often the case with me.
We’re playing nickel & dime for tonight’s game and everyone is super chill and having fun, for the most part. Steve, however, takes his poker very seriously. His surliness increases each time I take him out. My combination of no skill and dumb luck only make it worse. I get multiple straights on the river throughout the course of the evening, when a better player would have folded.
Steve and Johnny lecture me that it’s one thing to play like that if it’s only every once in a while, but it would never work if I played regularly.
I smile and happily take my extra $20.
***
En route to poker, one of the players came across a poster with tear-away phone numbers entirely in Mandarin, except for this at the bottom:
I will come and take your children when you are at work.
Two of the slips were torn off.
We’re playing nickel & dime for tonight’s game and everyone is super chill and having fun, for the most part. Steve, however, takes his poker very seriously. His surliness increases each time I take him out. My combination of no skill and dumb luck only make it worse. I get multiple straights on the river throughout the course of the evening, when a better player would have folded.
Steve and Johnny lecture me that it’s one thing to play like that if it’s only every once in a while, but it would never work if I played regularly.
I smile and happily take my extra $20.
***
En route to poker, one of the players came across a poster with tear-away phone numbers entirely in Mandarin, except for this at the bottom:
I will come and take your children when you are at work.
Two of the slips were torn off.
Tuesday Clean-Up
Samm is hosting poker, so the afternoon is spent cleaning. He hasn’t been at the place much in the last month or so, and it’s a bit disastrous. We’ve been friends for quite a few years now and from time to time, I have the uncanny ability to annoy the hell out of him, little sister style.
Oh sure, sometimes it’s intentional: Christmas ‘07 I tagged along for some very last minute shopping. After the initial novelty the bustle has when you’re not searching for something dissipated, I took it upon myself to “help” by intermittently pointing to an item and asking, “How about this? I bet your grandma/brother/letter-carrier would looooove this! Or oooh… what about this?!” He was needless to say not amused and I was more than lucky not to have ended up in a snowbank.
But other times, the pestering is completely inadvertent. I never felt well suited in my role as an older sister. Clearly, my strength lies as a younger one.
Me, from the hallway: “What is this book?”
Samm, from the living room: “How can I know if I can’t see it?!”
Upon discovering a delightful velvet landscape: “Can I hang this up??’
Sigh. “Yes.”
“Ali, do you think hot glue will keep this together?”
“It could possibly work.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for the insight, kid. [muttering]… could possibly…”
“So Al, should we pull the 2nd table out?”
“Depends. How many people are coming?”
“You’re consulting has been rock-solid today.”
Ah, few people are so easy for me to antagonize!
Fortunately, the snowbanks have all but melted here.
Oh sure, sometimes it’s intentional: Christmas ‘07 I tagged along for some very last minute shopping. After the initial novelty the bustle has when you’re not searching for something dissipated, I took it upon myself to “help” by intermittently pointing to an item and asking, “How about this? I bet your grandma/brother/letter-carrier would looooove this! Or oooh… what about this?!” He was needless to say not amused and I was more than lucky not to have ended up in a snowbank.
But other times, the pestering is completely inadvertent. I never felt well suited in my role as an older sister. Clearly, my strength lies as a younger one.
Me, from the hallway: “What is this book?”
Samm, from the living room: “How can I know if I can’t see it?!”
Upon discovering a delightful velvet landscape: “Can I hang this up??’
Sigh. “Yes.”
“Ali, do you think hot glue will keep this together?”
“It could possibly work.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for the insight, kid. [muttering]… could possibly…”
“So Al, should we pull the 2nd table out?”
“Depends. How many people are coming?”
“You’re consulting has been rock-solid today.”
Ah, few people are so easy for me to antagonize!
Fortunately, the snowbanks have all but melted here.
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